Subtle Ways
     by Mary Knasinski (mkk2@csd.uwm.edu)
     A sequel to "Distant Deeps"
     DS9 alternate universe, G/B [R] 
DISCLAIMER:
     Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and the characters
     created within are property of Paramount.  However the story and
     those parts not used by Paramount are COPYRIGHT 1996 by
     Mary Knasinski.
SUMMARY:
     In the mirror universe, First Officer Elim Garak has become a 
     prisoner of the Terran rebels; Captain Julian Bashir takes it upon
     himself to try to win Garak over to their cause.  
NOTE: This is a continuation of my alternate resolution to the fourth
	season DS9 episode "Shattered Mirror," called "Distant Deeps."  This
	story is rated R, but be warned that it contains profanity and several m/m
	sexual situations.
NOTE:  Thank you, Andrea Evans, for suggesting the ending to this story.
          

"If the red slayer think he slays,
	Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
	I keep, and pass, and turn again."
                         Ralph Waldo Emerson, 'Brahma,' 1857


     
Captain Julian Bashir approached the bunk in First Officer
Garak's cell on Terok Nor; as he did so, Garak stood up and advanced
on him till both men were standing almost eye to eye.
     
"What do you want with me, 'Captain'?  Why am I here?"
     
I want YOU, Bashir thought miserably.  But I can't have you,
not like this, not like a Klingon.  You have to want me too.  He
answered, almost inaudibly, "I wanted to help you.  I couldn't let them
keep you there.  And besides... I thought that you might agree to join
us someday."
     
"Join you?  In what?"  Garak smiled, but his voice held more
than a trace of annoyance.
     
"In the Rebellion," Bashir faltered, and licked his own dry lips. 
Garak stared at him, dumbfounded.
     
"Do you mean to say that I, a Cardassian, am supposed to join
you in a Terran rebellion against Cardassia?"  He began to laugh. 
"You may want to return me to the Regent's ship, Captain."
     
"Not against Cardassia - against the Alliance.  Against
oppression.  Against slavery."  Please listen to me, Garak, he pleaded
silently.  Don't cut me off like this.  We have a link.  I was willing to
sacrifice myself for you - give me some way to get through to you.
     
Garak stood motionless.  His lips had begun to form a cruel
reply, but in his eyes Bashir thought he detected a different answer,
buried far inside his soul.  He gasped.  Was he only imagining it? 
Why had he never seen it?  Why had he refused to see it?  'He could be
ours - and now we've got him.  Now I'VE got him.'  He stepped closer
to Garak, reached up, and wrapped both arms around his neck.
-----
     
Garak instinctively brought his hands up, throwing Bashir off
balance.  "Just - what - do you think you're doing, Captain?" he
hissed.
     
"I was... ah..." Bashir faltered, a flush creeping up into his face.
     
"Oh yes, I see."  Garak inclined his head slightly and glared at
Bashir, a small smile playing around his lips.  "You wanted your turn
with me too now, is that it?  Now that YOU'VE become my guard,
that is.  You wanted to see what your Cardassian prisoner has to offer
you."
     
"Garak, I-"
     
"No need to explain, really, Captain," he spat.  "This game is
played the same way all over the galaxy.  Now - shall we retire to the
bed, or shall I bend over for you right here?"
     
Bashir fumed.  "You are without a doubt the most arrogant,
unreasonable, pigheaded son of a bitch I have ever had the misfortune
to deal with."
     
"And I suppose you're going to teach me to behave?"  He
smiled maliciously.  "The great Captain Bashir - how did you put it
that day? - able to bend even the revered First Officer Garak to his
wishes.  Tell me, am I still a 'Cardassian whore'?  Is that why you're
here?  If so - I'm rather expensive, Captain."
     
Bashir blinked.  "Garak, I said those things before-"
     
"Before what?"
     
"BEFORE I knew you.  Before I changed my mind about you."
     
"I am truly grateful for your good opinion of me, Captain. 
However, if there's nothing further, perhaps you'll allow me to enjoy
my breakfast in peace."
     
Bashir stared at him helplessly, nearly trembling with
suppressed anger and frustration.  He had tried - he felt he had
practically opened his heart to the Cardassian, in the hope of receiving
- what?  An embrace?  A word or two of kindness?  A kiss, even? 
Well, it appeared that he had tragically misjudged the situation, wasted
his time, and made a fool of himself in front of Garak.  He swallowed
hard.  Garak's physical presence this close to him wasn't making
things any easier; Bashir had always been unnerved by it, and lately
his own body was even beginning to react to it in a somewhat
embarrassing fashion.  He cleared his throat.  Garak had already turned
away and was pulling a chair up to the small table on which rested his
breakfast tray.  Bashir watched him pick gingerly at the Terran food
with his spoon, then hesitantly raise a small mound of oatmeal to his
lips.  Gul Elim Garak, eating oatmeal - Bashir watched for a moment
more, then stalked over to the table and leaned down, resting his hands
on the edge.
     
"Damn you, Garak-" he snarled, "I didn't come here for this." 
He grabbed Garak hard around the back of the neck, drew himself
closer, and kissed him.  Garak, whether from shock or surprise,
remained unresponsive but didn't attempt to pull away.  Bashir
unsuccessfully tried to part Garak's lips, then gave up and contented
himself with licking the traces of milk and oatmeal off of Garak's
mouth as he stared back at him, wide-eyed.  The moment didn't last
long, however; Garak angrily pushed him away and began to wipe his
lips with the back of his hand.  Bashir reached the door and had
already let himself out through the force field before Garak was able to
climb out from behind the table.  He screamed after him, but Bashir
was already at the entrance of the brig, running almost headlong into
Jadzia Dax.
     
"How is he?"
     
"How is who?" he asked breathlessly.
     
"Garak, of course!" she laughed, amused.  "I thought you were
delivering his breakfast."
     
"Oh - oh yes, that.  He's fine - I left him eating oatmeal."  He
gave a small laugh and stalked off down the corridor, Dax looking
merrily after him.  Well, she didn't see anything - she COULDN'T
have seen anything, the cell entrance itself was not visible from the
brig entrance... was it?  Bashir felt too unsettled to care.  All that day,
he helped with what could euphemistically be termed "administrative
assistant" duties, handing Miles O'Brien whatever tools he needed
while he worked to disable as many of the station's Alliance security
codes as possible.  His duties took him all around the station, including
the promenade and the area near the security offices, but he took care
to stay as far away from the brig as he could manage.  Captain Miles
O'Brien was now the new leader of the Terran rebellion since Ben
Sisko's death, and Bashir found him intelligent and generally very
pleasant to work for; today, however, O'Brien was getting on his
nerves.  The feeling worsened as the day continued.
     
"Look at me," he thought, "a captain in the rebellion, an
example to all the other fighters, and what the hell am I doing?  I'm
handing out tools, bringing water, and generally tidying up the place.  I
ought to put on an apron.  Smiley's probably thrilled to have me as his
goddamned servant."
     
"Bashir, would you mind getting me a -"
     
"As the saying goes, what's the matter - do you have two
broken arms?"
     
"You know, this work would go a lot faster with your full
cooperation.  I can't do it all myself.  I thought you were willing to
help me." His Irish brogue became a little thicker as his temper flared.
     
"I'm tired of being your errand boy, Captain.  Get someone
else to do it.  There must be a FEW people here who aren't 'captains.'"
     
"Not many," O'Brien said, ruefully.  "Unfortunately.  So that
means that all of us 'captains' have to do whatever work needs to be
done, all right?  ALL RIGHT?"  He gestured toward the toolbox.
     
"No, sorry, it's NOT all right.  I told you, get someone else to
do it."
     
"Gladly.  You're relieved, Bashir."
     
"What - just like that?" he sneered.
     
"Just like that.  I suggest you go cool off in your quarters.  Or
better yet, go visit your Cardassian friend - you wanted him so badly,
well, here he is.  Dax could use the help.  You demanded we take him
with us, then you leave him in her care for almost a week."  Bashir was
already walking away.  Yes, he WOULD pay a little visit to his
Cardassian "friend."  In his present mood, not even Garak could
intimidate him - at least, he didn't think so.  Maybe he could work off
a little of his frustration, screaming insults at his helpless prisoner. 
Better yet, maybe he could begin to work on turning Gul Garak into
the new errand boy of Terok Nor.  Maybe Garak would be glad of the
chance to get out of that cell, at least.  And it would certainly be worth
a laugh.
     
He stopped by the worker cafeteria and chose a particularly
unappetizing dinner for Garak, consisting mostly of vegetables and
fruit that the meat-loving Cardassian would most certainly not
appreciate.  Then he stalked angrily down the hall to the brig.  Dax was
gone, but two other Terrans were there, deep in conversation.  Bashir
didn't even nod to them as he carried his tray past them and entered the
cell.  Garak was lying on the bed with his knees drawn up and his eyes
closed, although he didn't appear to be sleeping.  He slowly opened his
eyes and glanced over at Bashir, who had unceremoniously slammed
the food down onto the table.
     
"Would you please be a little more quiet?  I'm resting."
     
"Sorry, Garak," Bashir spat, then proceeded to pull him up by
one arm, Garak pulling back.  "It's supper time - I brought you your
meal."
     
"I've already eaten, thank you," he said, irritated.  "I was 'fed'
an hour ago.  You really ought to check with my guards, Captain.  And
would you mind taking your hands off me?"
     
"I thought you said I was your guard."  Bashir released his hold
on the arm.  "You know, YOU really ought to watch that tongue of
yours.  I don't think you really have much choice about whether or not
I put my 'hands' on you."
     
"I see - no, I don't suppose I do," Garak replied, slowly and
deliberately.  "So that IS what you want, after all...  Well, Captain," he
said brightly, "I think I WILL have some more supper.  Would you
care to join me?  You could get yourself a plate, or would you rather
just lick the food off of my face?"  He tilted his face toward Bashir,
who grabbed the plate and threw it at him; Garak caught it and sent it
sailing into the force field.   Food was spattered everywhere as the two
men began to struggle, Bashir lunging at Garak in rage but Garak
having the advantage of superior strength.  The disturbance brought
the two Terran guards running.  They burst in, phaser rifles drawn. 
Garak, noting that both of the rifles were trained on him, sank down,
panting, to the floor.  Bashir stood over him, his hands balled into fists
as the guards watched, expectantly.
     
"It appears our guest, Mr. Garak, is unhappy with the food
here.  In fact, he's so unhappy that he's begun attacking the people
who kindly deliver it to him.  Let's see if we can't calm him down a
bit."  The unreasonableness of his statement seemed to defy logic and
grow of its own accord; as Bashir listened to himself speaking, he was
struck by the absolutely perfect injustice of his plan.  'I'm going to
have you, you arrogant Cardassian bastard, and there's nothing you
can do about it.'  "Restrain him - stand him up.  That should give him
a comfortable sleep."  The cell was equipped with two different means
of restraint; a person's limbs could be bound to the edges of the bed, or
to the wall next to the bed.  The guards stared, puzzled, at Bashir, then
began to hoist Garak up and move him toward the wall.  As he started
to struggle, one of the guards stepped back and stunned him with the
phaser rifle - the setting was only enough to just barely affect him, but
it was enough to enable him to be pinned to the wall and securely
attached to it.  Bashir stood to the side, watching the entire procedure
with a smirk on his face.  Would O'Brien protest this?  Probably not -
it wasn't as if Garak was actually being hurt, he just needed Bashir to
teach him a lesson.  Oh, and what lesson is that? he heard O'Brien
asking.  Good question...
     
Bashir instructed the guards to withdraw, then observed Garak
as he slowly shook off the effects of the phaser blast.  He was wearing
civilian Cardassian clothing now, a rich gold - very attractive, Bashir
reflected despite himself, although it makes him seem a little less
menacing than he really is.  Bashir could not recall, until now, seeing
the First Officer in anything other than his black and gray gul's
uniform, with the heavier boots and usually even the chest armor. 
He'd have to see what he could do about finding another uniform for
him.  Garak suddenly began to struggle against the bonds.
     
"Release me!" he panted.  Bashir sidled up to him and brought
his face closer.
     
"No - sorry.  You need to be taught the proper way to treat your
guards."
     
Garak fumed, blinking rapidly as he continued to struggle,
"May I remind you, my dear captain, that you attacked ME?"
     
Bashir placed a hand on Garak's shoulder and stared into his
face.  "I attacked YOU, a Cardassian gul?  I don't think so - I don't
think I could last one minute with you.  In fact, I'm so frightened that I
had to have help in restraining you."  He then took hold of the other
shoulder and pulled himself up to Garak's chest.  "It's just as you
said," he breathed.  "This is how the game is played."  He brought his
lips close to Garak's, already anticipating the shower of saliva that
sprayed his face and neck.  Oh well, Garak owed him that.
     
"That, Mr. Garak, will not make your guards any happier,
believe me."  He wiped his face on his sleeve.  "In fact, that little -
surprise - of yours will buy you a little more discomfort than you
probably anticipated."
     
"Why don't you go fuck yourself, captain?" he sneered; Bashir
was surprised at the Cardassian's use of the Terran expression, but he
preserved his composure.
     
"Ah - I'm perfectly willing to perform the activity, but not on
myself.  Still, I'll have to decide that, or any further punishment, in the
morning.  Sweet dreams."  He trailed his fingers down the front of
Garak's tunic, laughing softly as Garak tried to twist away; he let his
fingers linger just long enough over Garak's groin to, he calculated,
begin the process of natural lubrication.  He was already familiar with
it from his involuntary contacts with other Cardassian overseers, and
grinned happily.  Yes, there it was - he could almost feel the warmth
through the fabric.  The lubrication was the first signal that arousal was
beginning, and for a Cardassian, the lack of opportunity to act on it
would be - unpleasant.  He savored the enraged look on Garak's 
face, as he swiftly crossed the room and left him alone.  What a cure
for irritability, captain, Bashir smiled to himself - YOUR irritability,
anyway, not his.  This type of treatment could go on forever - and the
real beauty of it was, Garak didn't actually have to do anything, Bashir
could invent any number of infractions on his own, which his cohorts
would be only too willing to believe.  The arrangement was perfect -
he smiled gleefully all the way to his quarters.
     
He was awakened the next morning by the insistent beeping of
the communications unit near the bed.  "What?" he croaked, blinking
sleep out of his eyes.
     
"Julian."  It was Dax.  "Julian, could you please let me know
when you plan to put our prisoner in restraints?  We had to stun him
again so we could get close enough to release him."
     
"RELEASE him?!" Bashir shouted.  "_I_ was supposed to
release him!"
     
"Well, you might have TOLD me that.  And besides, I don't
think O'Brien would approve of it."
     
"FUCK O'Brien."  He heard Dax giggle.  "I'LL decide what's
to be done with my prisoner - just let me handle him, all right?"  He 
flinched inwardly at his poor choice of words.
     
"I won't argue with you.  Just what is it he's supposed to have
done, anyway?  I haven't had any problems with him until you came
along.  What did you do to set him off?"
     
"I didn't 'set him off,' as you put it," Bashir snarled.  "He
attacked me when I was bringing him food.  Probably thought he could
pull something because we were prisoners together."
     
"Well, whatever.  I just wish you'd check with me next time. 
O'Brien put me in charge of station security, remember."
     
"I'll keep that in mind."  Bashir angrily switched off the unit. 
Great - his morning ruined, his beautiful scheme to subdue Garak
completely undone.  Stupid guards - they should have said something
to Dax.  Maybe Garak had intimidated them.  He sighed loudly and got
to his feet.  Oh well, best thing to do now would probably be to avoid
Garak entirely for a day or two.  He stumbled into the bathroom,
rubbing his eyes.
     
The incident with Garak began to take on more of an aura of
unreality for Bashir as the day wore on.  What was I thinking, he
mused - just where exactly did I want that little scenario to lead? 
Bashir could never be accused of being overly gentle or considerate,
but at the same time, he had never thought of himself as particularly
intimidating, either.  So just how did he intend to "master" Garak -
why would he even want to?  The Klingon guards had undoubtedly
already attempted that very thing as well - wasn't the First Officer
brought back to Terok Nor to get AWAY from that?  Bashir tried
desperately to justify his actions to himself; what the Klingons did was
abuse, after all, while what HE planned could be categorized as...
discipline?  Well, whatever it was, Garak himself could surely
appreciate the distinction.  He needed to be subdued, brought into line
with the rebels' cause and made into less of a threat to them.  He
needed, in short, to be made to respect them - Bashir's heart leaped at
the thought of taking on that role.
     
He no longer even speculated about his feelings of attraction
for the First Officer - he didn't care whether they sprang from his
attempts to protect him, from his previous glimpses of Garak on Terok
Nor, or from some deep-seated need to submit to a more powerful
male; all he knew was that Garak was his now and he was not going to
let opportunity pass him by.  His heart pounded at the thought of
actually enjoying physical contact with Garak; he guiltily realized that
the Klingons had undoubtedly "enjoyed" the same thing.  Well, so
what if they had?  It's not as if Garak OR his Cardassian overseers had
been models of restraint, as Bashir himself knew.  Still, that brand of
physical contact had usually been brief, painful, and anonymous. 
Bashir wondered what it would be like to feel that tough, scaly skin,
GARAK'S skin, and slowly run his hands along the eye and neck ridges
and then down to the chest and stomach; he wasn't exactly sure where
the scales stopped, IF they stopped.  He felt a pleasurable kind of
shyness at the thought of exploring Garak's unwilling body, perhaps
charitably enticing it into willingness, perhaps just concentrating on
his own pleasure and damn what the Cardassian felt.  His thoughts
finally led him back to the brig, his mind in a tumult, his plans
unknown even to himself.

Dax was there, and greeted him, "What - no tray?  I thought
you were the official food bringer."
     
"I assumed he'd already eaten.  Last time, my offering was a
little - unwelcome."
     
"You could have helped me clean it up.  There I am, scrubbing
on my hands and knees the next morning while Garak is glaring down
at me from those stupid cuffs."
     
"You should have made HIM clean it up."  He tried to imagine
washing a floor with Gul Garak chained just a meter or two away -
how could Dax stand it?  How in the world could she stand it?  "Ah -
should I go get something for him, then?"
     
"Please do - it'll save me a trip.  I'm sick of this feeding
routine, anyway; I feel as if I'm running a zoo.  Maybe we ought to get
him a replicator."
     
"Are you serious?  O'Brien would never allow anything like
that in the brig.  He'd find some way to make himself a weapon - you
and I both know it.  And anyway, I'LL 'feed' him from now on.  Don't
worry about it.  I'll consider it one of my jobs."  He strode back down
the corridor to the cafeteria and filled a plate for Garak, then carried it
back to the cell.  He was shocked to find that his hands were trembling
- was Garak really starting to affect him that badly?  Stupid
Cardassians, thinking they could manipulate Terrans like that, just by
their physical PRESENCE -   Entering the cell, he found Garak
lounging on the bed, reading a padd Dax must have procured for him. 
"They brought you something to read, I see."
     
"No, captain, they brought me something to bathe in.  Of
COURSE they brought me something to read, you ignorant Terran." 
He threw the padd down onto the bed and climbed to his feet.  "Why
are you here, anyway?  Do I get to wear my meal again, or will you
save time and chain me to the wall immediately?"
     
"That depends entirely on you, Mr. Garak."  Bashir slid the
tray onto the table.  "Sorry about the food - I know you're not really
much of a VEGETABLE eater..."
     
"You know damned well, Terran, that I can't survive on all that
plant food."
     
"You ate it willingly enough in the Klingon cell.  In fact, you
positively relished it.  What's the matter - why isn't it good enough for
you any more?"  He felt a flash of inspiration.  "Can it be that your
guards were able to control you a little better over there?  Made you
show your gratitude properly?  Maybe you'll have to do the same thing
for me, Gul - I COULD just let you starve, you know."  Garak didn't
answer, but turned his back toward Bashir and picked up the tray, then
whirled around and flung its contents directly into his face.  Bashir was
ecstatic.  "Dax!" he bellowed.  "We have a problem with Mr. Garak's
food again.  It seems to be continually landing on the floor."  Dax
rushed in and looked disgustedly around the room.
     
"Okay, Garak, let's go, new cell -" she said, pointing a phaser
at him.  "And, Julian - get out of here."
     
"_I_ will take Mr. Garak to his cell," Bashir snarled.  "Just let
me have the rifle and we'll be out of your way."  Dax handed him the
phaser.   "Okay, Garak, let's go."  He nudged him toward the doorway,
where a second guard was also waiting, rifle in hand.  They escorted
Garak to another room in the semicircular suite of holding cells; this
one was at even more of an angle from the main entrance, and Bashir
realized delightedly that it would thus provide even more privacy. 
"Leave us," he said to the guard, who immediately obliged.  Then he
turned toward his captive.  "Well, Garak, it appears you're in need of
another little behavior lesson."
     
"One that you're waiting eagerly to teach, I'm sure."
     
"I don't WANT this, you know - it's just that you NEED this."
     
Garak laughed halfheartedly.  "If you say so.  I really seem to
have very little choice in the matter, do I?"
     
Bashir gestured toward the bed with the rifle.  "There - lie
down."  Garak moved as if to comply, then launched himself toward
Bashir with a shout.  Anticipating the move, however, Bashir easily
stunned him with the phaser, watching as he slowly crumpled to the
floor, half-conscious.  He hoisted him up onto the bed with difficulty
and began fastening the restraints to his wrists and ankles, muttering as
he did so, "You've got to be a little more careful, Garak.  You keep
forcing us to stun you and you're going to end up with a headache that
never goes away."  Buckling the straps around Garak's limbs was a
new and somewhat unnerving experience for him; taking the heavy
arms into his hands and tightening the straps around the wrists proved
to be more difficult than it appeared, and he wondered if he had even
fastened the cuffs correctly.  He had never done this before, put
restraints on another person's body - just how much tension was
appropriate?  He didn't want to do more than immobilize Garak, not
hurt him.  Garak began to stir and glared groggily at Bashir.
     
"If you... if you do that to me..."
     
"Do what?  Stun you?  I'll be glad to stop - just give me a
reason to."  He knelt down next to the bunk.  "I'm sorry about that, by
the way, even though I don't expect you to believe me."  Garak
continued to watch him.  "You and I aren't doing too well here, are
we?  Not that we got along any better before..."  He remembered
Garak's illness, in the Klingon cell; he remembered clasping the
shivering Cardassian body against him, no pretense between the two of
them any more, no posturing.  It was back to the pretense, Bashir
thought sadly; 'If he only knew how close I am to freeing him and
taking his place on that bed... damned Cardassian.  I will NOT hurt
him, at least; I'll let him see that I won't hurt him.'  "I just want you to
know," he began, placing his hand on Garak's chest, "that I'm not
really as bad as you think I am.  In fact, a lot of people here like me." 
What a lie, he thought ruefully.  "I had hoped you could learn to like
me too."  Well, at least THAT was the truth.  Garak smiled faintly,
obviously amused.  Bashir ran his hand down the Cardassian's
muscular chest; oh, it felt good to do that, it was wonderful.  Garak
began to tense under him, but was unable to move more than a
centimeter or two away from him.  Bashir reached out and began to
massage the chest with his other hand as well, eventually working his
way down to the Cardassian's groin.  Garak gritted his teeth and began
to repeat something in Kardasi.  "What are you saying?" Bashir
smiled.  "Is it something like - don't stop, please?"
     
"No, Terran," he gasped, "I'm reciting all the ways I'm going
to kill you."
     
Bashir felt the bulge under the thick trousers with his hand. 
Yes, Garak was definitely well lubricated already - the warmth and
moisture were apparent even through the fabric.  He had certainly
managed to recover quickly from his run-in with the phaser - Bashir
was impressed.  He was impressed still more at the state of arousal into
which he had evidently managed to manipulate his prisoner; Garak felt
deliciously large and firm underneath his fingers.  He longed to know
the feeling of touching the First Officer, just once, without the barrier
of fabric in between - but Cardassian clothing was a mystery to him -
how did one go about - ah, there it was, some type of fastening.  He
slid his hand underneath it and the trousers opened up - but, no, there
was an undergarment of some kind in the way now.  Difficult job,
divesting one's prisoners of their clothing, made still more difficult by
the way Garak was alternately raising himself up and flopping back
down onto the mattress, all the movement his restraints would allow. 
He continued to mutter quietly in Kardasi, as Bashir pulled the trousers
partway down his hips, then reached over and did the same thing with
the slightly damp briefs underneath them.  His hands seemed to be
working independently of his rational thought, as his mind kept
reminding him that Dax and the other guard were only meters away,
and would be sure to tell O'Brien about the abuse of their prisoner. 
O'Brien would disapprove, even if Dax wouldn't.
     
Bashir didn't care.  To his shocked and stunned surprise, he
had taken hold of the First Officer's naked penis, slick with clear
lubricant, and was gently probing it with his fingers as if it were an
exhibit of some kind; his intention was not to stimulate Garak, but to
satisfy his own curiosity, but stimulation seemed to be a byproduct
nevertheless as Garak's breathing began to grow more rapid and the
Kardasi ceased.  "See - I told you," Bashir cooed softly, "I knew I
could get you to like me."  Garak's enraged look didn't mask the
arousal in his eyes this time; Bashir began to slide his fingers, shiny
and slippery from the lubricant, slowly up and down the penis.  He
knew he was doing it much too gently for a Cardassian; hell, it was too
gentle even for HIM, but the object of this little - exercise - was to
satisfy HIM, not help Garak attain release in the shortest amount of
time.  He decided, to his horror, that he suddenly needed to know what
it tasted like as well as felt like, that mysterious fluid - but, no, that
would be too kind to his prisoner as well as too humiliating for
himself, should anyone look into the cell.  Damn these force fields. 
Still, if he turned a little bit more THIS way, with his back completely
toward the door, Garak shielded from it... ah, but Garak shouldn't be
given something like that for free, he should be forced to work for it. 
Bashir smiled, and slowly removed his hand.  Garak almost screamed
his frustration.
     
"See, you DO like it - whore.  And little do you know how
willing I am to give you even more, Garak.  But you have to tell me
you want it.  No, you have to beg me for it."
     
"Go to hell."
     
Bashir began to stroke the wonderful dark gray head of the
penis with his thumb.  He was becoming mesmerized by the sight of
Garak's wide, slightly upturned blue eyes, somewhat cloudy now with
passion - oh, he wouldn't have long to wait - 'I won't make you
suffer...'  "Just tell me... just tell me..." he began; he had to save face
somehow - "that you need me."  'Not too humiliating after all,
captain,' he told himself, 'then again, I don't want to wait much longer
either.'
     
"Fuck you," Garak panted.
     
"Wrong, Garak."  Bashir again removed his hand.  Garak
closed his eyes, his breathing becoming even more rapid.
     
"All right, I need you, you fucking Terran."  Good enough -
Bashir, already kneeling beside Garak, lowered his head and began to
lap timidly at the head of the penis with the tip of his tongue; now that
release was this close, he was afraid after all of the alien taste and
sensation.  It had never occurred to him before to enjoy it, those times
he had been penetrated in the mouth by one of the overseers - he
hadn't been SUPPOSED to enjoy it, that wasn't the purpose.  Oh, but
now... his mouth opened wider and he took more of the textured penis
into it.  Just a few centimeters, but it was enough to enable him to feel
the texture all around his lips and tongue.  It was strange, and yet
enticing, the feel of each overlapping scale as he traced them with his
tongue; the motion seemed to produce even more lubrication, which
had a spicy taste like... he couldn't remember the food.  His hands
were resting on Garak now, one on his thigh, one on his chest, and he
brought his body even closer to the bed and tried to rub against it, but
in his kneeling position he found he couldn't quite get close enough. 
Well, he could take care of that afterward...
     
"You're doing it all wrong!" Dax shouted.  Bashir's head flew
upward in surprise and shock; he stared at the doorway in horror. 
There was no one there.  "You don't clean food off the carpet by
smashing it down like that.  Slob.  I'm SICK OF THIS, JULIAN!!" 
She was evidently still cleaning up the mess in the cell next door. 
Bashir was so mortified at being discovered that he could no longer
continue his assault on the now willing First Officer.  He knew Garak
was very close to release this time, though, and sudden compassion
overtook him.
     
"Here - let yourself out of these," he hurriedly mumbled,
unfastening one of the arm restraints and then running for the entrance. 
He looked back to see Garak lying still, on the bed.  Next time, Bashir
thought, I will be alone here.  I'm going to arrange things so I'm alone,
or so help me, I'll stun all the guards first, including Dax.
     
"Interesting punishment, Julian," Dax laughed, sitting with
Bashir in the cafeteria later that evening, "very unique.  Yes, there's
nothing like stunning the prisoners, tying them up, and then letting
them free themselves.  What the hell is your problem with Garak
lately, anyway?"
     
"Well, the bastard needed to be taught a lesson - I taught it to
him.  End of story."
     
"What exactly did you TEACH him?" she smiled.  "How to
manipulate you?"  Bashir's face reddened.
     
"I told him to watch his manners."
     
"Did you?  Was that all?"  'Yes, that was all,' you fucking bitch,
Bashir thought angrily.  What do you want me to do, act it out for you?
     
"What else WOULD it be?  Excuse me, Dax - I've got to go
look for O'Brien; I need to ask him - something."  He jumped to his
feet and stalked away, Dax looking after him amusedly.  Once inside
his quarters, he threw himself face down onto the bed.  'Stupid bitch,'
he thought again, 'I had him - I HAD him.  And now I'll never get
THAT opportunity for quite a long time - I will NOT keep stunning
him.'  His thoughts drifted to visions of Garak, tied helpless
underneath him - suddenly, HE was the one helpless - oh, that was
very nice as well.  He recalled angrily that tomorrow would be the
twenty-first of November on Earth, his birthday - what a way to spend
it, pining in his quarters over a strong, aggressive Cardassian male who
would probably kill him if given half a chance.  "I've got to try
something else on him - I've got to try to intimidate him just a little
more.  I'm like a pathetic, slobbering little baby around him, and he
knows it.  What can I do to humiliate him?"  He found the answer.
     
Bashir reached under the bundle of clothing to cancel the force
field around the cell, then quickly crossed the doorway as the field
automatically sprang to life behind him.  Garak was lying on the bed,
watching him, slight confusion on his otherwise pale features.  He sat
up slowly.
     
"Mr.Garak, today is my birthday!" Bashir heartily called over
to him.  "And among Terrans, birthdays are considered truly special
occasions."  Well, not lately, he thought, and not here, but he
continued, "With that in mind, I hoped you'd be willing to - dress up a
bit - for dinner this evening."
     
"'Dress up a bit?'  What are you talking about?"  Garak eyed
him suspiciously.
     
"You used to be - ARE," he corrected himself, "a gul, in the
Cardassian military, am I right?"  Garak didn't answer.  "Well, since
you once held, and still HOLD," he hastened to add, "such a
prestigious position, I'm sure you don't like the symbolism that goes
along with having to wear all that 'civilian' clothing every day."
     
"What's your point, Captain?"
     
"Here - a gul's uniform from the station's supply."  Bashir
nodded toward his burden, heaped up in an unceremonious pile in his
arms.  "It looks to be about your size, I would say."  He gave Garak an
appreciative leer.  "I want you to wear it."
     
"No, I refuse."
     
"You refuse?"  Bashir hadn't expected such an immediate response.
     
"I don't need to humiliate myself in front of you, parading
around in some memento of my past glory."
     
"I simply want you to feel comfortable."
     
"I'm comfortable just as I am, thank you."  
     
Bashir thought for a moment.  "All right, Garak, have it your
way.  You don't have to wear the uniform.  When I deliver your food
tonight, have your clothing removed and folded up for me.  I'll collect
it then."
     
"You'll collect it THEN?"  Slight confusion crossed Garak's
usually confident features.
     
"Yes - either you wear the uniform, or - you wear nothing.  It's
your choice."  His lips curved upward.  "Both alternatives are perfectly
acceptable to me."
     
Garak's eyes blazed.  He lunged toward Bashir and ripped the
uniform out of his arms, letting the armor and the heavy boots fall to
the floor.  Then he stepped back and regarded him with barely
suppressed fury.  "Captain, if you think -"
     
"Shh."  Bashir placed a finger against Garak's lips, infuriating
him even further.  "As I said, you'll wear this, or you'll wear nothing. 
But, unfortunately, the station's power needs to be conserved, all
because of some damage your damned Alliance did to our fusion
reactor.  We're thinking of lowering the temperature in some of the
little-used areas here, such as the brig.  Cardassians don't like the cold,
now do they?"  He leaned closer to Garak and grinned.  "While the
thought of keeping you naked as my prisoner excites me, I'm afraid
YOU wouldn't find it particularly comfortable."  He moved toward the
door, then turned.  "Remember - be wearing this when I return, or I'll
have to stun you again and remove everything, clothing, blankets,
everything." 
     
"You goddamned little bastard - goddamned little Terran dictator -"
     
"Garak," Bashir calmly reminded him, "would the Klingons
have let you talk that way?  I ought to stay and punish you NOW, but
don't worry, I'm better than that."  He waited at the doorway.  "Well,
you'd better hope I am, anyway.  See you tonight."  He departed,
leaving Garak spluttering in rage behind him.
     
This was too, too perfect, Bashir rejoiced - he could feel his
temperature begin to rise at the thought of the mighty Cardassian gul
writhing under him, bound and possibly gagged, his gorgeous uniform
soaked with sweat, his body helplessly allowing any liberty Bashir
chose to take with it.  Just a few hours more, he told himself - just a
few hours until you, Julian Bashir, give yourself the most magnificent
birthday present of your miserable life.  He felt perspiration begin to
bead on his forehead as he rode the turbolift to Ops.  There was a
fluttering in his stomach that he couldn't suppress - "You're a little
over-eager, Julian, my boy.  Damn it, just relax... he's not going
anywhere."  He sincerely hoped not, anyway; where Garak or even the
annoying Jadzia Dax was concerned, anything was possible.
     
But four hours later, tremendous anticipation and equally
tremendous fear both threatened to weaken his resolve.  Still, someone
was going to have to take the First Officer his evening meal, and
Bashir didn't want to suddenly delegate that task to someone else, on
this of all nights.  It had become his exclusive right, one he wasn't
going to abandon just after winning it.  All right - he could do this.
     
He entered the cell, carrying the tray with two plates set upon it
this time.  Garak was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading; to
Bashir's intense relief, he was wearing his uniform, all but the chest
armor, which after all was a little too "formal" anyway.  "What - no
birthday cake?" he sneered.  Very clever, Bashir thought; you certainly
know a lot about Terrans.  You were probably also waiting to smash
my face into that cake, bastard.
     
"No, Garak, no cake.  Just dinner, that's all.  I'm - glad - to see
you dressed properly."  Garak bowed his head slightly.  "I just want
you to be comfortable."
     
"You just want me to look like a complete fool."
     
"Is that what you think?" Bashir smiled.  You look like
anything BUT a fool - you look so positively edible that I could let you
take me right now in front of Dax, O'Brien, and every other Terran
rebel who cares to watch - "I think you look extremely distinguished.  
I always liked Cardassian uniforms very much."
     
"Why didn't YOU wear it, then?"  
     
"I just couldn't - carry it off - the way you do, Gul."  Garak
looked up at Bashir's obviously lascivious tone.
     
"What is it you want from me?"
     
"Don't you know?"  He paused, his heart pounding.  "Lie down
again and I'll show you."
     
"I have no desire to 'lie down' for you.  You obviously like a
powerful male -" he had risen and crept close to Bashir, "and I'll be
glad to play that role for you.  But I want YOU on the bed."  Bashir
gulped.  The situation was rapidly spinning out of his control. 
Anything you say, master, he wanted to answer; instead, he laughed.
     
"No, I'm afraid not."  He clenched his hand a little more tightly
around the phaser he was holding.  "You misunderstand me completely,
so completely in fact that dinner will have to wait while I
teach you another lesson.  Lie down."  Garak stared at him,
incredulous.  "I said lie down.  Or I'll stun you - I know you don't
want that."  Garak, amazingly, went to the bed and slowly lowered
himself down onto it, on his back, staring at Bashir all the while.  "On
your stomach, please."  That was too much - Garak lunged for Bashir,
who again lightly stunned him with the phaser.  "PLEASE stop
making me do this to you!" he wailed.  "Please - I don't like this!  I
don't!"  While he spoke, he worked at fastening Garak again into the
restraints; he was a little more practiced with them this time, a little
more confident.  He had him now - the mighty First Officer, helpless,
not a guard anywhere near, nothing to interfere this time.  He lowered
himself onto Garak's back and lay draped over it while the Cardassian
again recovered his senses and began to shift under him.  He began the
familiar refrain of Kardasi curses as Bashir reached under him and
pulled his black shirt up, over his neck and head to the cuffs binding
his arms.  The Cardassian back was exposed in all its glory as he
straddled Garak; he reached down and gently probed the area around
the scales that ran from the neck downward.  So intricate and beautiful,
he thought, begging for someone to touch them, to caress them...
instead, on a sudden impulse, he unfastened his belt and pulled it
through the loops around his waist, and struck Garak once, then twice
with it.
     
"THAT is for making me stun you again," he growled, into
Garak's ear.  "Don't make me do that anymore.  Understand? 
UNDERSTAND?"  He sat up again and cracked him once more across
the back.  There was hardly a mark in the thick gray skin, but Bashir's
arm already hurt from the force he had exerted.  Amazingly, Garak
nodded his head, face down on the mattress.  "Good," Bashir panted. 
"Now, Mr. Garak, I want you to lie perfectly still.  PERFECTLY
STILL, or you know what I'll do to you again."  He slid his hands
down to the waistband of the thick black trousers and slowly eased
them downward, exposing a tantalizing expanse of smooth gray skin. 
He hurriedly unfastened his own trousers and lay down once more
across Garak's back, enjoying the feel of the firm Cardassian body
underneath him, the access to that body his for the taking.  It was
difficult to believe that Garak was allowing this - yes, he was trapped,
but even his cursing had ceased as he lay quietly underneath Bashir. 
Bashir began to feel a little pity for him; God alone knew the last time
the Cardassian had been able to enjoy that activity, without being
beaten and tortured for it.  He guiltily remembered the belt, now cast
off in a corner of the cell.  Damn.
 
"Garak," he began, resting his chin on the strong Cardassian
back, "Garak - I don't want to hurt you.  I want you to know that." 
Garak remained motionless.  "It's just that it's important now for you
to see who's in control here."
     
"It's certainly not you, Terran," Garak snorted in disgust, his
face turned to the side.  "If anything, you're making it painfully obvious
that you could never truly 'control' ANYTHING.  You're arrogant and
childish, though, and that gives you some degree of power, I'll admit."
     
"What do you mean by that?"  Damn him, Bashir thought - he's
right, I can do nothing to him that he doesn't want me to do, and now 
I'm even begging HIM to explain that to me.
     
"You're not very well liked here, are you?"
     
"That is none of your fucking business, Cardassian pig."
     
"Let me ask it in a different way - you're not very well
RESPECTED here; am I correct?"
     
Bashir's incipient erection was rapidly subsiding as he listened
to Garak's questions.  Growling impatiently, he reached around and
clamped one hand against the Cardassian's mouth; with the other, he
pushed the phaser into the small of his back.  "Shut up.  I told you to 
lie perfectly still, remember?  That didn't include letting you talk." 
He waited a moment, till he was sure Garak was properly subdued, 
and then began to rub gently against him; he felt himself  
growing deliciously hard again and longed for a way to remove his
hand from Garak's mouth without having to listen to more insults. 
Instead, he maneuvered the phaser back into his side pocket and began
again to massage Garak's scales.  They ran all across the back of the
neck and shoulders, gradually tapering into a column that trailed
enticingly down his spine, ending at the curve of his smooth buttocks. 
Bashir's fingers followed that curve, as he raised himself slightly above
Garak's back; he then let his fingers gently probe the warm area
between the buttocks, a delightful contrast to the normally cool
Cardassian skin.  He felt Garak stiffen, whether in protest or from
arousal he wasn't sure.  It was most likely the former, he decided, as
the image again flashed into his mind of Garak being dragged out of the
cell by the Klingon guards to undergo who knew how many bouts of
this very activity.  Damn it all.  He was just about to slide off of his
captive's back when he felt a warm, wet sensation on the fingers he
was holding against Garak's mouth.
     
He gasped in surprise.  Garak was licking his fingers with his
tongue, his surprisingly gentle tongue.  The sensation was completely
new to Bashir, and completely intoxicating.  He continued to rest his
hand against Garak's mouth, no longer exerting any pressure; then, as
Garak began to open his mouth wider, Bashir slipped two fingers inside
it.  It was incredibly arousing; Bashir didn't quite know how to
reconcile his fear of the First Officer with the wonderful, warm feeling
of being so gently enveloped inside his soft mouth.  He slowly
withdrew his fingers and traced them, wet with saliva, against Garak's
full lower lip, then suddenly realized what Garak had been preparing
him to do.  
     
Never having attempted such a thing before, he almost gave up
when his wet fingers encountered the strong muscles tightly encircling
Garak's anus.  He felt scarring there, too, undoubtedly from the abuse
Garak had endured on the Klingon ship, which further weakened his
resolve.  But Garak wants this, he told himself - for some strange
reason, he actually wants this now.  He slowly let one finger penetrate
him, then another.  Garak stiffened again but made no sound, so Bashir
withdrew his fingers and slowly, very slowly, began to replace them
with his own penis.  He was still almost completely clothed, out of the
fear of someone happening to gaze into the cell, but he knew his
position atop Garak's back, his flushed face, and his rapid breathing
wouldn't leave room for too many doubts about how he had been
treating the prisoner.  The prisoner, however, had become surprisingly
acquiescent.  Bashir hadn't enjoyed struggling to subdue him, but his
masculine pride also didn't enjoy the thought that Garak was allowing
him to do this, uncaring and unmoved, as a sort of "favor" to him.  He
rested his chin on Garak's shoulder and murmured into his ear, "You
don't know how long I've dreamed of doing this to you, Garak."
     
"I'm happy for you."  Good - his breathing was a little ragged
too, his voice a little unsteady.  He was evidently more aroused by the
physical contact than it seemed.  Bashir slid his hand underneath the
Cardassian's firm body and felt, as he hoped he would, the 
well-lubricated penis, firm, textured with soft, overlapping scales
and slightly more well-defined ridges.  He traced his fingers along one 
ridge as he slowly continued to penetrate.  Garak, restrained at both 
his hands and his feet, was nevertheless attempting to press backward 
against Bashir, who responded by grasping him a little more firmly.
     
"I knew you'd like this - I knew all you needed, all this time,
was the right Terran to master you."  Garak remained silent.  "And," he
panted, "I always knew I was the right Terran."  He heard Garak
chuckle, low in his throat.  "Does that amuse you?"
     
"Certainly not.  I was merely agreeing with you."  Bashir
regarded him suspiciously, but his passion overcame his irritation and
he began to rhythmically thrust deeper into Garak, reveling in the
delicious contrast of his cool skin and the warm, almost hot muscles
tightly surrounding him.  I could lose myself in this, he thought, I could
forget who I am and who he is and just EXPERIENCE this - at that
moment, he saw Garak, again in full uniform, unceremoniously
dumping a Terran prisoner onto the floor.  Bashir and six of his
companions in ore processing watched, horrified, as the First Officer
looked up at them and sneered, "End of demonstration.  I trust the
Intendant has your full cooperation from now on."  Damn him - God
damn the bastard who had managed to singlehandedly terrorize them
for so long, who had ENJOYED it all so damned much - he began to
pound into Garak, his hand reaching up to grasp his shirt, his other
hand reflexively squeezing Garak's penis in almost a death grip.  He
came finally, in a burst of rage and passion, and felt something wet and
sticky on his fingers; Garak had evidently managed to do the same
thing, against the mattress.  Bashir slumped against him, exhausted, and
crossed both arms in front of him, on the back of Garak's neck.  He
closed his eyes and tried to focus again on his anger but it was no use;
his natural instinct was to equate sex with, if not love, at least mutual
affection.  Was he sharing 'mutual affection,' then, with Garak?  After
all he had gone through because of him?  Just how unbalanced WAS he?
     
But he saw Garak being hoisted to his feet by the Klingon
guards, after vomiting his pitiful meal onto the floor of his cell.  What
had they done to him then, when he was sick and in pain?  Had they -
"Garak - I didn't hurt you, did I?"
     
Garak had been facing forward, his chin on the mattress; he
turned his face and looked sideways up at Bashir.  A barely perceptible
but definite flush suffused his gray features.  "Hurt me?"
     
"I... I just didn't want to hurt you, that's all."
     
"I thought, Captain, that hurting me was the object of this entire
- activity."
     
Bashir gulped.  "No, the object was - was to -" It was no use. 
He was still resting partially inside Garak, who suddenly began shifting
restlessly, as much as the bonds would allow.  "What are you doing?"
     
"If you're finished, captain, I'd appreciate it if you'd get off of
me."
     
"Don't call me 'captain' any more," Bashir said, on a sudden
impulse.
     
"What do you WANT me to call you?"  Bashir slid off Garak's
back and knelt next to him on the floor.
     
"Julian.  It's my name."
     
"Ah.  Well then, JULIAN," he said, deliberately exaggerating
the Terran pronunciation, "I hope you enjoyed your birthday dinner. 
You can run and tell all your friends now about the thrill of fucking
First Officer Garak.  Believe me, not many others have had that
pleasure.  I congratulate you on your conquest."  He knows me, Bashir
thought; that Cardassian son of a bitch knows me completely.  He's
saying and doing exactly the right things to control me, manipulate me. 
He knows I feel attraction for him, he KNOWS I don't want to play
Klingon guard - I guess I'll just have to surprise him.  He stalked over
to the corner and picked up the belt he had discarded earlier; Garak
was facing the opposite direction, and so wasn't prepared for the
sudden sharp blow across his naked back.  He stifled a cry of surprise
as Bashir grinned savagely over him.
     
"I've let you do enough talking, Garak.  Even you will admit
that I've been more than tolerant.  THIS," he shouted, reaching back
and bringing the belt crashing down onto Garak's skin, "is for what you
did to the Terrans in ore processing.  THIS is for what you did to
Quark, who was one of the only friends I ever had there."  He
continued to rain blows down onto Garak, but he found himself
becoming more affected by his actions than Garak seemed to be.  His
arm hurt from the exertion, and it was nearly impossible for him to
continue harming that beautiful gray skin; were the scales more
sensitive than the rest of the back, he wondered, or did they shield the
skin from pain, like a callous?  He stopped suddenly, and pulled
Garak's trousers back up to his waist; he owed him that much dignity,
at least, since he HAD managed to use him for his own pleasure after
all.  Then he moved over to the force field at the cell entrance,
preparing to let himself out.  Garak was lying quietly on the bed, his
face turned toward the wall, his back glowing a light pinkish-gray from
the beating, with darker red stripes where the belt had landed
particularly hard.  Good - it'll probably sting, if nothing else, Bashir
smiled to himself.  He began to turn away when a movement caught his
eye.  Garak's shoulders trembled slightly, as if he were shivering.
     
"Garak?"  Bashir hesitantly approached him again.  "Garak? 
Are you all right?"
     
"Not again," he said.  "How many times are you going to ask
me that before you finally leave me alone?  Get out of here, Terran -
JULIAN."
     
"Gladly."  But he remained standing near the bunk, watching
Garak.  Cardassians were quite sensitive to the cold - he certainly 
remembered that, from his earlier experiences.  The cell was NOT cold,
but it was certainly not warm either, by Cardassian standards - one of
the first things the rebels had done when they re-took Terok Nor was
to make its environment a little more Terran-friendly.  There Garak lay,
unable to move, probably overheated from the earlier sexual activity
and then the whipping.  "I'll never get this right, will I?" Bashir
thought, leaning over and unfastening the cuffs binding his prisoner. 
"I've got to make up my mind; do I want to be his lover or his jailor?  I
obviously don't have it in me to be both."  He prepared to run for the
exit, as soon as he had unshackled the fourth limb, but Garak simply
pulled his shirt back down over his neck and chest and sat silently
gazing at Bashir.  "I'll be back tomorrow, Garak," Bashir said, turning
again to leave.
     
"Wait."
     
Wait?  He paused, not looking back.
     
"We haven't eaten yet."  Is he kidding, Bashir thought?  Or
does he think all that was just a Cardassian-style prelude to some
enjoyable dinner conversation?
     
"I'm really not... very hungry now.  And besides, the food's
cold - I'll get you some more, if you'd like."
     
"No, Terran food is all the same to me, hot or cold."
     
"I'll get you some Cardassian food then, or - or whatever you
want," he suggested, quietly and eagerly, still not turning around.
     
"You know what I want."
     
"I can't give you that."
     
"You'd LIKE to, though."
     
"No.  No I wouldn't."  He desperately tried to assume an
authoritative tone.  "I'm not available to be used like that - I'm not a
slave any more, Garak, not yours or anyone else's.  And I won't risk
being seen acting like one."
     
"I didn't say I wanted you for my slave," Garak purred,
gracefully rising and approaching Bashir.  "I simply want to give back
to you what you gave me.  I know you, Ter- Julian.  I know exactly
what you want."
     
"Not here."
     
"In your quarters, then."  Bashir's knees began to buckle.  You
need to be shown who the master is, indeed - in exactly one minute, he
was going to be on his knees in front of Garak begging for him, if he
didn't act immediately.  
     
"My quarters?" he laughed.  "No thank you; I'm afraid I'll have
to decline the invitation."
     
"A pity.  It doesn't seem like the proper way for a Terran to
spend his birthday, all alone in his room, entertaining himself."
     
Bashir, with relief, felt a little anger rise to the surface.  "That 
is not my intention, Garak.  Not that it's any of your business.  I have
friends I'll be - entertaining tonight."
     
Garak laughed as well, low and seductively; the hair on the back
of Bashir's neck stood on end as he leaned close against his back.  "I
see.  I'll be imagining you with your - friends, while I'm lying here
alone."  He pressed himself against Bashir, nestling the hard bulge in his
uniform trousers very slightly between Bashir's legs. 
     
"Oh God," Bashir moaned under his breath; his knees turned to
jelly and he fell back limply against Garak's chest.  Gul Elim Garak,
First Officer of Terok Nor - this isn't possible, Bashir thought,
mortified - I can't win, I'll never be able to win against him.  I want
him, I want that strong Cardassian body, I want him inside me so badly
that I can't even think straight.  I'm his slave and he knows it; the
bastard knows it.  This has all been one big farce right from the
beginning.  Garak had placed one arm around Bashir's waist and had
begun to pull him backward against him.
     
"No, no," Bashir finally managed to protest.  "My quarters." 
He withdrew the phaser and pointed it unconvincingly at Garak, his
hand trembling uncontrollably.  "Let's go.  If anyone sees us, do NOT
say anything to them - let me think of something."  Please.  He
canceled the force field and led Garak down the corridor toward his
room.
     
What does one do with one's overnight guest the next morning,
when that guest is supposed to be one's prisoner as well?  Bashir
awoke to the sensation of slight movement in the bed next to him, as if
someone were sitting up - he opened his eyes to find Gul Garak leaning
on one elbow, watching him intently.  He had never realized just how
blue Garak's eyes were, and just how penetrating.  He averted his eyes,
embarrassed, leaning back against the pillow and stretching.
     
"Ohhh," he groaned despite himself.  Garak grinned.
     
"Not quite as pleasant when you're the victim, is it?"
     
"I never hit you that hard."
     
"No, you're right, you didn't have the strength.  I'm glad, then,
to have been able to give you a proper demonstration."  Bashir winced
at the memory of Garak's "end of demonstration" speech to the
workers in ore processing; this was proving to be an almost surreal
experience, "possessing" the First Officer in this way and yet NOT
possessing him.  He rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up.  Garak
reached over for his arm, pulling him back down.
     
"Garak - please - I have to get you back to your cell.  You
realize I can't let anyone know you're here."
     
"True."  He sighed.  "It will be, as you Terrans say, our secret." 
He pulled Bashir against his chest.  "Thank you, Captain - Julian - for
an enjoyable evening."  He kissed Bashir on the lips with surprising
gentleness at first, then with increasing passion as Bashir collapsed
back down onto the mattress next to him, smiling inwardly at his
"Captain Julian" designation.
     
"Please - Garak - it's late; we have to go."  It was no use; he
LOVED being wrapped in Garak's arms, he LOVED the thrill of illicit
pleasure he received when he imagined the other fighters observing
this.  They didn't understand him at all, and they certainly didn't
understand Garak.  He opened his mouth wider and luxuriated in the
sensation of Garak totally possessing him, his mouth, then his neck and
chest.  What a skillful lover he was - not for the first time, Bashir felt 
a stabbing pang of jealousy.  Who on Terok Nor, not so long ago, had
been the recipient of Garak's attentions?  Was it another Cardassian? 
Or the Intendant?  Or - another Terran?  Garak seemed too
experienced with Terrans for this to be merely coincidence.  Bashir
groaned in irritation; Garak evidently thought it was from passion, and
he redoubled his efforts to stimulate Bashir's already sensitive nipples
with his tongue.  "Garak - please - I have to put you back -"
     
"In my cell.  Yes, I know, Julian.  Let's go."  He licked a trail
down Bashir's stomach to his already hardening penis, continuing to
murmur as he did so, "You'll visit me often, won't you?"
     
"Well... well, of course. I think - I think -" He gasped in
surprise as Garak's tongue flicked at the very tip of his penis; then his
lips gently closed around it, just the tip, and slowly began to slide
downward.  Bashir moaned in frustration.  "Stop it, please - stop it,
Garak, we have to go now -" He tried to sit up but Garak placed both
hands on his stomach and effortlessly pinned him down.  Bashir was in
a daze.  This whole "birthday" inspiration was really too much - no one
else, not a single person, had even remembered the occasion despite the 
fact that he had mentioned it more than once.  So it was left to Garak 
to do what no Terran seemed willing to do in any fashion - make him feel
special and important.  Damn the manipulative Cardassian anyway. 
Bashir knew he had asked for it, but still...
     
He had never been very vocal during activities like this - the
overseers didn't like it, not when they were "administering" the
treatment and not if they chanced to suspect its occurrence between
two Terrans.  So when he cried out involuntarily after Garak had
nipped him with unexpected roughness, he braced himself for the
Cardassian's disapproval.  Instead, Garak merely smiled up at him and
resumed his attention to Bashir's groin, evidently enjoying the sensation
of Bashir's soft skin as compared to his own, rougher scales.  Bashir,
more confident now, began a chorus of soft moans and phrases with
which he encouraged Garak even as he pleaded with him to stop. 
"They're - going - to discover that - to discover that - oh please... oh
please don't do that - you're not -  in your cell.  We have to go - NOW,
Garak.  NOW!  Please don't do this to me - please Garak - please don't
get me in trouble.  PLEASE STOP, GARAK!"  He arched his back and
even lifted his hips off the bed with the force of his climax, noting with
amazement that Garak hadn't even attempted to pull back once.  Could
it actually be that he liked that?  Or was he still the natural manipulator,
in reality finding the taste of Bashir's Terran body disgusting?  Bashir
lay back, panting hard, but eager for the next logical step to commence;
Garak was lying at his side, against his leg, and Bashir took hold of his
shoulders and slowly began attempting to ease him up alongside of him. 
"I believe I told you to stop, Garak."
     
"Yes you did," Garak answered, amused.
     
"Your disobedience can not go unpunished."
     
"Ah.  I quite agree.  But shouldn't I be getting back to -"
     
"That can wait," Bashir growled savagely, and bit down on the
ridge at the side of Garak's neck.  The texture amazed him.  Garak
gripped Bashir's arms and pulled him tightly against his body, then bit
Bashir's lower lip, drawing blood.  The feel of Garak's lips against his,
his breath mingling with his own, sent another spurt of arousal through
Bashir's body - he didn't know how he would ever be able to let go of
his captive, his tormentor.  He slammed Garak back against the
mattress, with all the force of which he was capable, and dove in for
another taste of the alien Cardassian neck.  The bedside
communicator chirped.
     
"Dax to Bashir.  Why the hell is Garak in your quarters?"

Bashir froze, poised motionless above Garak, who was again
smiling at him in the smug manner he had begun to affect.  "In - in my
quarters?" he stammered.
     
"Yes, in your quarters.  God damn it, Julian, what did you do to
him THIS time?"  Garak's grin widened, infuriating Bashir.  He fought
for concentration.
     
"He was trying to disable the force field of his cell.  When I saw
THAT, I couldn't very well just leave him there, could I?   You've
been assuming you don't need to assign guards to him any more,
remember.  It's not MY fault."  He realized he had begun to babble,
and abruptly stopped.  Garak, in the meantime, had taken hold of one
of his hands and was gently tracing his tongue along his fingertips,
sending involuntary shivers all through Bashir's body.  He again tried to
clear his mind and concentrate.  "Why did you think to scan MY
quarters, anyway?"
     
"I didn't.  I saw the prisoner was gone and ran a general scan. 
To my absolute amazement, he was with YOU.  Listen, Julian."  Her
tone became more severe.  "I know you have a lot of grudges against
him.  We all do.  I know he can't have been too pleasant to you on that
Alliance ship.  But please stop persecuting him.  He's our prisoner, not
our victim.  I'm tired of listening to O'Brien rant and rave.  You should
have heard HIM when we located Garak."  Bashir lay back against the
mattress, stunned.  So they were thinking, all this time, that he was
PERSECUTING Garak?  Garak was now licking a trail up Bashir's
arm to his neck, giving extra attention to the bend of the elbow where
he found Bashir was most ticklish.  Dax continued, "I don't even want
to know what you've been doing to him.  For your sake, he had better
be all right.  And bring him back to the brig, please."  She abruptly
ended the communication.  Garak had now reached Bashir's shoulder
and was gently biting it, his lips curved into his usual smile.
     
Bashir couldn't help but smile too.  "So - ARE you all right?"
he asked.
     
"I will be, captain, when I recover from your violent and
unprovoked attacks on me."
     
"Please don't tell them anything like that, Garak."
     
"Of course not - I was only joking.  It appears I have to return
to my cell, though, captain.  Are you planning to escort me, or should I
simply stroll back there on my own?"
     
Bashir grunted absently and sat up.  His back still ached from
the beating he had allowed Garak to administer the night before.  It
assuaged his guilt, true, but now made going back to work, helping
O'Brien, that much less appealing.  What he really needed was a warm
bath, soothing and peaceful, with perhaps someone there to massage
some oil onto his tender skin... someone with large, strong hands who
would know exactly what to do to make a Terran comfortable... 
"Garak?  I just realized - we're going to have to put on a little show 
for them when I take you back."
     
"Of course, captain."
     
"Julian."
     
"Of course, Julian."  They had begun to dress, companionably
sitting side by side on the bed, pulling their trousers up.  "This is very,
very strange," Bashir reflected, as Garak reached over to the pile of
clothing on the floor and handed him his shirt.  He accepted it
awkwardly.
     
"All right then.  I just wanted to make sure you understand
what I'm doing."  They left the room, Bashir almost forgetting to bring
the phaser along.  He pointed it unconvincingly at his prisoner, as
Garak walked ahead of him down the corridor; when they came nearer
to the brig, he raised his voice and began to berate Garak disgustedly. 
"If you EVER try that again, you fucking Cardassian scum, I'll make
you sorry you ever left that Klingon ship.  We are NOT a bunch of
ignorant Alliance soldiers - you will NOT be able to pull that crap on
us."  They had reached the area in front of the cells; Dax was sitting on
a chair near the entrance, watching O'Brien, who had been crouched
down at a control panel.  Both looked up as Bashir and Garak came
into view.  Bashir grabbed Garak's arm and roughly propelled him into
a cell, then slammed his hand down on the force field activator.
     
"There.   That should hold the fucking bastard for awhile.  He
didn't get too much sleep last night - I was trying to beat some
gratitude into his thick Cardassian skull.  I say we've been a little too
gentle with him.  Now the Klingons - THEY knew how to control
him."  O'Brien watched his performance, a puzzled expression on his
stoic face.
     
"Bashir - these power conduits have not been touched.  You
say he was trying to disable the force field?"  Bashir nodded.  
"And just how was he intending to do that, may I ask?"
     
"How should I know?  You're the expert.  All I know is that I
came here and saw the field power flickering at the same time he was
hurrying away from the panel.  He's got knowledge of this station that
we DON'T have, you know."  O'Brien nodded, unconvinced.  "I was
going to suggest - moving him to regular quarters.  It would be easier
to manually lock the door, and then we'd never have to worry about
him disabling the field, or - or -"
     
"And he'd NEVER be able to figure out a way to open the
door, right?" Dax replied.
     
Bashir fumbled for an answer to that.  "Well, it would be much
easier to contain him; you could post guards outside the door -"
     
"Who wouldn't be able to see what he, or YOU, were doing
inside," Dax chimed in.  "Julian, your solution is amazingly transparent. 
You just want to think of more ways you can isolate him with you." 
Bashir flinched, and glanced into the cell at Garak, who was sitting on
the bunk, his head down.  Probably grinning from ear to ear, Bashir
thought irritably.
     
O'Brien stood up.  "Bashir, you've already been warned about
carrying on your own personal vendettas against helpless prisoners. 
Now I don't know what it is you're doing to him, or WANT to do to
him, but I want it understood that we do not treat him the way he
treated us.  We show him compassion and dignity.  We do not terrorize
and threaten him."  He moved closer toward Bashir.  "You are a
vindictive little bastard; do you know that?  I guess the only time you
were able to show anything remotely LIKE compassion was when he
was almost dead.  Well, I have a suggestion for you - if you don't want
to join him in there, you'll get rid of this damned chip on your shoulder
and stop letting him get to you.  Understood?"  Bashir nodded.  "Oh,
and Dax, just in case our guest DID try something with the force field,
I want a guard here at all times till we can figure out somewhere else 
to keep him."
     
"I'll stay here," Bashir quickly offered.
     
"Didn't I just get through telling you to leave him the hell
alone?" O'Brien snorted.
     
"Yes, but - I think he's afraid of me now.  I think we finally
understand each other.  I assure you, captain, I can handle this.  And
him."  O'Brien regarded him for a long moment, then sighed.
     
"All right, Bashir.  Against my better judgement, I leave the
prisoner at your mercy.  We're too shorthanded for this as it is - I
TOLD you we should have left him behind.  Dax, you're with me. 
That - situation - I mentioned has been confirmed."
     
"Situation?  What situation?" Bashir asked; O'Brien glanced
meaningfully at him, then into the cell.  Oh - the Alliance.  "I'll take
care of Garak - I still have something else I need to say to him." 
O'Brien began to protest.  "I will be gentle with him, Captain!  I
promise - nothing but soothing hugs and caresses from now on.  Will
that satisfy you?"  He smiled; if they only knew how accurate that was. 
He entered the cell.  Garak had been listening to the conversation and
was watching the entrance, annoyed.
     
"Do they seriously think I'm afraid of a Terran like you?" he
said, under his breath.
     
"Seems so," Bashir smiled, pleased.  "They seem to believe I've
really got you scared.  Wonder what they think I DID to you last
night?"
     
"I can not even imagine."  He sighed.  "They're watching us,
by the way.  You'd better entertain them."
     
"I don't want to hear orders from you, Garak," Bashir
bellowed, for the benefit of O'Brien and Dax.  "You'll do what I tell
you, when I tell you, or I'm afraid those gentle caresses I promised you
won't be so gentle after all.  On your feet."  Garak groaned loudly. 
"On your feet, I said."  He grasped Garak's wrist and shoved it into
one of the cuffs mounted on the wall, then stood in front of him while
fastening the other one.  Garak leaned down and kissed Bashir's neck,
then opened his mouth and bit into it; Bashir yelped.  Dax, startled,
began to move toward the cell.  Bashir smiled sheepishly.  "It's all
right, everything is under control here.  I'm afraid Mr. Garak's lessons
haven't quite sunk in yet.  I want to give him a little more time to think
things over."
     
"Bashir -" O'Brien began threateningly.  "Wasn't I JUST telling
you -"
     
"Do you want me to beat him again?  Because I promise you,
I'll do it, if that's the only way I can keep him in line.  You should have
seen him crawling at my feet, begging for mercy.  It's amazing what a
few well-aimed phaser stuns can do.  He was practically offering to
become my slave."  Careful, Julian, he thought, you're laying it on a bit
TOO thick - you've already learned that Garak holds a grudge.  "Well,
he forgot my kindness to him, and I just need to remind him again."
     
"Be careful, Bashir.  I don't want to have to remind YOU." 
The two departed for Ops, leaving Bashir in the cell with Garak; Bashir
immediately began unfastening the cuffs.  Garak grasped one of his
wrists hard and twisted it behind his back, as Bashir fought to keep
from crying out.
     
"Garak - please -" he gasped.  "I had to give them a show -
weren't you the one who told me that?"
     
"I found your little 'show' annoying, Terran.  Let me give YOU
a show."  He twisted harder, bringing Bashir down to his knees in front
of him.  "Do you like this?  Is your Cardassian prisoner behaving
properly now?  You'd better stun me again.  You're getting so good at
it."  One more savage pull, and Bashir nearly saw stars.
     
"I'm sorry, all right?  I'm sorry about all of this!  Listen to me,
Garak - I brought you back with me because I didn't want them to hurt
you!  I felt SORRY for you!  I -"  He stopped.  Garak was regarding
him with barely concealed disgust.
     
"I know why you brought me back, captain, and it wasn't from
any sense of pity or compassion.  Recall your own words, if you can. 
You were going to let me freeze down here."
     
"No, I wasn't, Garak!  I swear it!  That was just a threat; I
would never have done that to you.  Did you think I LIKED seeing you
that way, on the ship?  I thought I would die."
     
"I don't believe you."   Garak dropped the wrist, causing Bashir
again to stifle a shriek.  "You may not believe THIS, captain, but I
appreciated what you did for me when we were prisoners together.  I
appreciated it when you tried to protect me.  I have never in my life
been as vulnerable as I was then, and you came to my assistance." 
Bashir's head swam from the complimentary words contrasting with
the pain in his wrist; Garak had undoubtedly managed to sprain it, if
nothing else.  He moistened his lips and tried to answer.
     
"Th- thank you, Garak."  
     
"And now, Julian, I need some further assistance from you.  I
need your security code.  If, as I suspect, the Alliance is returning to
the station to mount another attack, I don't want to be caught helpless
in this cell."
     
"But you can't escape from here - there'd be nowhere to go,"
Bashir answered, alarmed.  Oh God, he thought, two days ago I could
hardly even communicate with him, and now I'm actually planning to
give him my security codes?  "Are you sure you need to escape, if the
Alliance attacked?  Maybe that would make you even MORE of a
target for them..."  His voice trailed off.
     
"Don't be ridiculous, captain.  The Regent had begun to
consider me his own personal trophy, before my attempt on his life. 
And I don't think I need to remind YOU of all people that his guards
don't exactly hold me in esteem.  I will not be retaken.  I'll kill myself
first." 
     
Bashir gulped.  What he said was only too true, and yet... trust
Garak with security codes?  Yes, he had been a cooperative prisoner
for Dax, and yes, he had never expressed anything but hatred and fear
of the Regent, but still...  His personal security code?  "Garak, I, ah, 
I don't think I can do that."  Garak's eyes took on a menacing gleam. 
"It's not that I don't see your point, it's just that I, ah -"  Garak had
dropped down onto his knees in front of Bashir.
     
"Please, Julian.  Please help me.  You're the only one who will,
the only one who ever did."  He reached for Bashir's uninjured hand. 
"You have no idea how grateful I'd be to you.  You cannot even begin
to guess."  Bashir felt the familiar weakness in his knees and fluttering
in his stomach as the First Officer looked up at him, clear blue eyes
penetrating him, lips curved into a secret smile for him.  Garak threw
both arms around his hips then and pressed his face into Bashir's groin,
his lips gently beginning to kiss him through the fabric, his mouth
opening against him.  Bashir shuddered involuntarily.  All this could be
his; this incredible, powerful Cardassian could be his alone, just as he'd
always dreamed, just as he'd almost not dared to imagine, if he'd just
give up a stupid number.  Garak was right - in the tumult surrounding
an Alliance attack, he'd be a very low priority and would be at the
mercy of anyone who happened to locate him.  "And I will NOT allow
that to happen," he thought; Garak had already unfastened his trousers
and Bashir felt himself growing faint.  "That's First Officer Garak doing
this," he told himself, "GARAK.  You've got him now, you fool - he's
yours."
     
"You enter Bashir 308, Garak," he whispered, "then you wait
for confirmation and enter 217.  That should get you out of here."
     
"Thank you, Julian."  He grasped Bashir's hips firmly and
pulled himself against him; Bashir cried out at the sensation as Garak's
teeth closed around him.  He slowly sank to the floor, weak with
passion, Garak leaning over him.
     
Preparations for the probable return of the Alliance were
continuing.  Bashir found, to his irritation, that his visits to the brig 
had to be less and less frequent, as work on upgrading the fleet of raiders
absorbed more of his energies.  Then too, the Defiant, the principle
rebel "battleship," managed to steal any other time he could spare.  Yet
he still found opportunities to see Garak at least once a day, and in fact,
now that the Cardassian was installed in regular crew quarters down
the hall from Bashir, he frequently paid his visits to him at night and
remained until morning, after which he was exhausted for the rest of
the day.  But it was worth it - Garak had become, while not exactly
"sympathetic" to the Rebellion, at least not diametrically opposed to it. 
He had begun to see the need for some type of counter force to the
Alliance's grip on the sector; his own future depended on it, in fact, as
no Alliance communication ever mentioned a possible pardon for him. 
"And even if they did decide to offer one," Garak told Bashir, "I'd
never trust the Regent, or the Intendant, to make good on it."  So it
appeared that the rebels had gained a valuable ally after all.
     
Bashir was overjoyed.  His naturally suspicious and somewhat
abrasive nature was softening under the attention he received from the
First Officer.  He felt stronger, more intelligent, braver when he was
with Garak; he was no longer a Terran slave but a colleague, even a
friend.  He discussed his pre-Rebellion life with Garak, and sensed a
grudging compassion in return - perhaps Garak's eyes were finally
being opened to the reality of life from a Terran's viewpoint.  He hoped
so, anyway, as he couldn't imagine a return to the old life and the old
hostilities.  He began to need Garak too much to ever be able to regard
him as his 'enemy' again.
     
But he was also afraid to let the other rebels learn of his true
feelings toward their former First Officer.  "He's only using you, taking
advantage of you," he was sure O'Brien would say.  "Surely you can
do better for yourself than a Cardassian overseer," Dax would agree. 
"Julian, be reasonable for once - where is this friendship supposed to
lead?  Are you going to go back to Earth with him and settle down on a
farm together?"  He smiled - what a pleasant prospect.  He burrowed
down into the covers and imagined himself walking in a field, among
shining leaves of delicious fresh vegetables, with Garak at his side. 
First Officer Garak, his beautiful gray skin glowing in the Terran sun,
his eyes reflecting the blue of the Terran sky - how he missed that sky,
that sun, here on a dark and cold Alliance space station.  How he
missed a life where he didn't have to be perpetually worried and afraid. 
The glory and adventure of life as a Terran rebel didn't make up for the
years of hardship as a slave.  And it was all because of the Cardassians -
he was taken from his home, his mother, his friends, by the damned
fucking CARDASSIANS - He jumped.  Someone had entered his room.
     
"Garak!  What are you doing here?"  His heart pounded.  Garak
had never before, to his knowledge, actually used the security code to
free himself.
     
"I missed you, captain.  You didn't pay me your usual visit."
     
"I was just too tired - I'm sorry.  There's so much work to do
before we're really prepared for an Alliance attack."
     
"Perhaps I should finally be allowed to help with the
preparation.  Don't forget, it's also in MY best interest that you
succeed."
     
"Yes, I know, but no one else will agree.  For that matter, you
shouldn't be HERE now - I'm supposed to come to you."
     
"True.  But I found the waiting intolerable."  He sat down on
the edge of the bed; Bashir felt the familiar thrill of anticipation.  He
brushed the hair back from Bashir's forehead and looked into his eyes. 
"So beautiful - I never thought a Terran could be this beautiful.  You,
my dear Julian, are a prize I would never have surrendered to the
mines, if I had only known about you."
     
"Garak - I don't think I'd want to be your slave, either in the
mines or outside of them.  I want us to be free, as we are now."
     
"Yes, of course."  Garak stretched out beside Bashir and
languidly placed a hand on his chest.  "You're free.  You're so tired
and worried you can barely function, but you're free.  Tell me, my love,
about these difficult problems you're trying to solve."  Bashir gulped. 
'My love'?  Garak had never called him that; his words of endearment
had never gone beyond 'Julian,' no matter how tender his kisses had
occasionally become.  The feeling of being called Garak's 'love' was
most pleasant, as was the concern he was being shown.  No matter that
Garak was now displaying a willingness to move about the station at
will - "That's only because he wanted to get to ME," Bashir thought
happily.  He stretched, yawned contentedly, and held the blanket open
for Garak to join him in the bed.  To hell with the other fighters, with
the whole damned Rebellion - he was too tired to worry about it
tonight.  He lay his head down on Garak's strong chest as if it were a
pillow.  
     
"Well, you see, the problem is that we're really not as prepared
for an Alliance attack as we'd like them to think.  You wouldn't believe
the problems we're having with the central computer - we can't even
access all the weapons systems yet..."  Garak stroked Bashir's long
brown hair, smiling gently to himself.
     
"All right, Bashir, I want an explanation."  Bashir stood in front
of O'Brien, his eyes cast down, a guilty smile on his face.  "What are
you doing to him?"
     
"Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  He's bored, sitting alone all
day, so I've been letting him read to me.  He's learning Terran history. 
He tells me about what he's learning, and then we discuss it together."
     
"YOU?  An expert on Terran history?"  O'Brien laughed
mirthlessly.  "Tell me the truth, Bashir - the only Terran history he's
learning is your life story, explaining the reason you're such an
impossible son of a bitch nowadays."  Bashir smiled at that.  "I don't
want him in your quarters any more - understand me?  He doesn't need
to subject himself to your vengeful tirades - you've got more than
enough to keep you busy."  Bashir nodded.  "And besides, no matter
how meek and humble you say he's become, I'm sure there's some way
he could access the computer, or the comm system.  They're not
disabled in YOUR quarters, after all."
     
"All right, all right, I agree with you.  Stop lecturing me - that's
what GARAK has to put up with.  I don't need to."  He grinned.  "My
student wasn't too attentive last night, though - but he will be in the
future.  I saw to that."
     
"Oh, you did, did you, you fucking little bastard?"
     
"Listen, I don't need -"
     
"No, and neither do I.  And neither does Garak.  You know,
I've been thinking we ought to see if the Alliance will take him back."
     
"WHAT?!"
     
"You heard me.  We brought him here out of compassion,
YOUR compassion.  But I don't think letting him become your
whipping boy is showing him much compassion, do you?"
     
"No, no, please, O'Brien, I'm not hurting him - you can't be
serious about giving him back to them.  They'll kill him - they'll torture
him to death -"  O'Brien watched, puzzled, as Bashir began to plead
with him.  "You don't know what those guards were like - YOU saw
him after they got through with him!  Do you want to send him back to
that?"  O'Brien had opened his mouth to answer when the red alert
sirens began to wail.
     
"Dax!  What's going on?!" he shouted into the communicator.
     
"We're going to be under attack - it's the Alliance - the Regent's 
fleet is back!"

"Bloody hell!" O'Brien shouted.  "There is no way they could
have decided to stage another attack this soon!"
     
"Well, they're DOING it!" Bashir panted, running alongside
O'Brien and trying to keep up with him.  "I can't believe it either, after
what we put them through last time, but they're doing it!"
     
"I've got to get to the Defiant.  Dax thinks they're still several
light years away, although our sensor readings are garbled.  You - take
a raider and see if you can pick up any more detailed information.  I'll
leave Dax in charge here -"  He began to bellow orders into a comm
unit mounted in the corridor; Bashir sprinted off in the opposite
direction, toward the docking bay that held the rebels' pitiful collection
of raiders.  It would be good to at least DO something, to get away
from the station and try to confront the Regent again on his own turf,
as he had done before.  Only THIS time, he wasn't going to let himself
be captured.  THIS time, he was going to make sure they paid in full
for their previous treatment of him and of Garak.
     
Garak.  Bashir stopped dead.  Garak was even now trapped
inside his room, unaware of what was happening, unable to escape the
Regent's troops if they managed to invade the station and find him.  He
had to get to him - he had to warn him.  He ran down the corridor,
stopping in front of the quarters that had been assigned to Garak as a
cell.  His security code quickly opened the door, and he rushed inside
to find Garak sprawled across the bed, evidently asleep.
     
"Julian!" he said, as he opened his eyes and saw Bashir.  "What
are you doing here at this hour?  Shouldn't you be preparing for that
dreaded Alliance attack?"
     
"Don't joke about this, Garak - the Regent is less than an hour
away and rapidly closing in on us.  Dax picked up his fleet on
long-range sensors."  Garak looked panic-stricken.  "So you see, all our
preparations may not do us any good - we're in no condition to fight
him yet."  Garak blinked.
     
"What do you mean, in no condition yet?"
     
"We had estimated, based on the damage we inflicted on their
fleet, that the Alliance wouldn't attack for another three weeks or
more.  That would have given us ample time to complete repairs and
put our own defenses in order.  But for some reason, they must have
accelerated their plans.  It's as if they knew we were still vulnerable."
     
"Perhaps you have a spy here, a saboteur," Garak said, fear
creeping into his voice.
     
"I don't know.  Probably.  I hope not," Bashir replied. 
"Because I'll tell you, if we DO, there's no way I'll ever be able to
figure out who it is.  I have absolutely no clue."  He grabbed hold of
Garak's arm.  "I'm taking a raider to try to gather some additional
information, maybe even distract the Regent and hold him off.  I just
want you to know, Garak, that I'm going to do all I can to protect you
here.  You will NOT be returned to the Regent's hands - I give you my
word."
     
"Thank you, Julian," Garak said sincerely, as he bowed his
head.  "I trust you.  I knew I could, ever since that day you started
defending me against the guards."  He drew Bashir into a close
embrace and kissed him; Bashir felt warm and excited from the firm,
confident touch.
     
"Don't worry," Bashir managed at last to repeat.  "I'll be back." 
He reluctantly parted from Garak and moved toward the door.  
     
"Wait."  He looked back expectantly.  "I want to come with
you."
     
"No, that would be a terrible mistake.  I was captured ONCE
already, remember?  I just told you I plan to protect you from the
Regent, not deliver you into his waiting hands.  Besides, I've given you
the security codes - if things become too dangerous here, you can
always evade the soldiers."
     
"I can't evade them very effectively, though, trapped here on
the station.  I'll be - what do you Terrans call it? - a sitting duck.  At
least with you, I have a chance of escape, should the Alliance re-take
Terok Nor."
     
"But you don't understand, Garak - the Regent could just scan
the raider, see that you're on board, and beam you out of it.  That's
how _I_ was captured, remember?  I clearly explained all that to you. 
Now, please, I've got to go - O'Brien told me to leave immediately."
     
"Julian."  Garak took hold of his arm.  "Julian, I beg you, let me
come with you.  I don't want to be trapped here.  I want to be able to
fight for myself, at least.  I'm a soldier; can't you see that?  Give me a
chance to help you."
     
"What about the Cardassian life form readings you'll be giving
them?"
     
"We can easily reconfigure the sensors to mask those; perhaps
I, too, can be a Terran, at least to the Alliance computers."  He smiled. 
"Let's go - and this time, captain, your mission will succeed."  He and
Bashir raced down the corridor toward the raider docking bay.  
     
As Bashir had expected, there was no one guarding access to
the raiders; all available fighters were occupied with other, more
pressing, duties.  He climbed into the cramped ship, Garak following
behind him, and began launch preparations.  Dax's voice crackled over
the comm system.
     
"Julian, who the HELL do you have on that ship with you?"
     
"Shall I answer?" Garak smiled, glancing over at him.
     
"No, I'll handle it."  Bashir thumbed a control.  "I'm taking the
prisoner with me, Dax.  He's going to be my bargaining chip with the
Regent, should I need one."
     
"The Regent, asshole, won't give a FUCK that you've got
Garak with you - he was going to let him die, remember?"
     
"Watch your language, Miss," Bashir snarled.  "Captain Bashir
out."
     
"Julian!" she screamed.  "He's going to sabotage the controls -
he's going to lead you right back to them -"  Bashir cut the connection.
     
"Let's go," he smiled at Garak.  "And - success this time."
     
"Success, Captain Bashir."  The raider shot out from the
docking bay and veered off toward the Alliance base and the source of
the recent subspace emissions.  Bashir's mood had rarely been as
elevated.  He was at the helm of a fast, powerful ship, he was going to
take the Regent by surprise and seriously damage him again, and - his
assistant and his lover had formerly been one of the Regent's most loyal
subjects.  There was no chance that this plan could fail - he was
invincible.  Garak seemed unfamiliar with the raider's control systems
at first, and rapidly worked to familiarize himself with the new
configurations, leaning close to Bashir and patiently listening to his
instructions.  Bashir was elated.  The two of them were going to make
fantastic partners - the Regent didn't stand a chance.  And when the
battle was all over, and he and Garak were once more safely ensconced
on Terok Nor, accepting the gratitude and adulation of the other
fighters, he would at last be able to convince them of Garak's loyalty
and dedication to their cause.  What an asset he would be to the
Rebellion - what a terrific fighter he would make.  He was a rare
specimen even among Cardassians, Bashir happily mused, in more ways
than one.  What a relief not to have to keep up the pretense of hating
him, battling with him.
     
"We're nearing a source of unusual subspace emissions,"
he said, slightly puzzled.  Garak glanced over at him.  "These can't be
the ones Dax had picked up - they're in another direction entirely.  I
think we should investigate."
     
"No, captain," Garak proclaimed adamantly.  "You said
yourself that the Regent is less than one hour away - we don't have
time for survey missions to explore subspace anomalies.  I don't believe
we should veer from our charted course."
     
"Garak, the last time this happened, I think I recall hearing
about some unusual ship that seemed to appear out of nowhere -"
     
"NO, captain!" Garak shouted.  "You are not following the
orders you were given - we're to try and intercept the Alliance fleet. 
Wasn't that clear enough for you?"
     
Bashir thought for a moment.  "Yes, you're right, Garak.  We'll
keep to our original course.  And, Garak," he said, sliding closer to him
and staring menacingly into his eyes, "_I_ give the orders here, not you. 
You are still our prisoner, or have you forgotten that?"
     
"No, I couldn't forget that, captain.  Not when I'm at the mercy
of such a frightening, intimidating Terran like you."  Bashir had turned
away, but glanced back at him, irritated.
     
"I brought you along so you could fight the Alliance, Garak, not
me."  
     
"I'm sorry."  Garak smiled then, and Bashir's stern resolve
melted away.  What a beautiful smile he had, in that otherwise
forbidding Cardassian face.  It was really quite spectacular.  Bashir
reached over and grasped Garak's hand.
     
"No, I'M sorry.  I know you're feeling the pressure too.  But
don't worry - I'm quite an expert at flying this ship - you'll see.  The
Regent will never even know what hit him."  He turned back to the
control panel.  "There - dead ahead.  We'll be able to observe him for
at least five minutes before he even sees us.  Start scanning for
weapons, please.  I'm going to hold our position here."
     
"Don't you think we should move in a little closer?"
     
"It's unnecessary right now, Garak.  We're just here to gather
information first and relay it back to O'Brien, on the Defiant.  We're
not a battleship, you know.  But I promise you, we WILL do a little
damage of our own, when the time comes."
     
"Can we be transported from here, would you say?"
     
"No, we're much too far away for that.  You have nothing to
worry about; your signal is scrambled beyond recognition anyway."
     
"Then I think we ought to move in closer."  Garak had risen
and was standing behind Bashir, both hands on his shoulders.  Bashir
leaned into the gentle touch and fought to keep from closing his eyes.
     
"No, absolutely not, Garak.  It's unnecessary right now - this is
nothing more than a survey mission at this point."
     
"I see."  Garak began to knead Bashir's shoulders, rubbing
them absently as he stared down at the readouts on the screen. 
"You're right, of course - why subject ourselves to unnecessary
danger?"
     
"Precisely."  Bashir let a small moan of pleasure escape him. 
"Um - this is not really the place for this, I'm sorry to say.  In fact, 
I can't imagine a LESS appropriate place.  But later, if you still want
to..."  Garak smiled indulgently down at him.
     
"Yes, there will be ample time later for me to enjoy you to my
heart's content, dear Julian."  Something in his tone puzzled Bashir; he
swiveled around and stared into Garak's face.  Garak had already
resumed his seat and was intently studying the tactical display.  "The
flagship is evidently still badly damaged; it should present few problems
for us."  His hands almost imperceptibly moved toward the communications
controls; Bashir watched, suspicious, then dismissed the thought and
likewise consulted the tactical display.
     
"Well, the Defiant is ALSO badly damaged, don't forget. Not
to mention the fact that Terok Nor itself is quite defenseless if our own
fleet should be dispersed."  He paused.  Garak's fingers had begun
entering unfamiliar commands into the helm control system, but Bashir
hadn't remembered providing the Cardassian with access to it.  "Garak -
what are you doing?"
     
"I told you I thought we should move in closer, and we will."
     
"For God's sake - WHY?"  He fought to keep the panic out of
his voice.
     
"Because, Terran, I have an appointment to keep with the
Regent.  Surely even you, in your sex-blinded ignorance, can see that
my future lies with the Alliance, not some pathetic band of Terran
slaves."  Bashir's mouth hung open in shock.  "Don't worry - you will
be very hospitably treated.  At least - as hospitably as you treated ME. 
Ah - I think I see a shadow of guilt behind those pretty Terran eyes. 
Exploring it further will indeed be a pleasure."  Bashir leaped from his
chair and lunged toward Garak, who effortlessly pinned both arms
behind his back, wrenching them upward.  Perspiration began to bead
on his forehead as he struggled against the Cardassian, but each move
only increased his agony.  The raider, he noted with horror, was
rapidly closing the distance to the Alliance fleet; Garak had evidently
been able to finish re-programming the controls.
     
"I don't understand you, Garak," he panted, nearly doubled
over in his effort to reduce the pressure on his arms.  "The Regent
almost killed you - he was going to let you die - don't you
REMEMBER?"  He couldn't see the Cardassian's face, but assumed he
was wearing his usual supercilious smile.  "Why do you want to go
back to him?  Answer me, Garak!"
     
"Please refrain from barking orders at me, Terran.  You're
addressing the new Intendant of Terok Nor - I should think even YOU
know the proper forms of respect."  He twisted Bashir's arms once
more, causing the young man to drop to his knees against him, his face
contorted with pain.  "I'll say one thing for you, though - you were
extraordinarily easy to manipulate, once I realized how to use that
Terran smugness and pride to my advantage.  Tell me honestly - did
you ever for a moment believe that I could actually be won over by a
TERRAN?"  He laughed, flinging Bashir to the floor of the raider and
resting a foot on his back.  
     
"Go to hell," Bashir gasped, his face pressed against the floor,
tears of pain still stinging his eyes.  "I trusted you, you fucking
Cardassian.  I believed you."
     
"It certainly didn't take much to accomplish that, did it?  A few
more sessions in your bed, and I believe you would have found a way
to give me command of the entire station."  Bashir felt himself redden
with humiliation.  Garak reached down and hoisted him to his feet, then
tied his arms behind his back with a piece of cable and removed the
phaser from his pocket.  "Please be seated, captain.  The more
cooperative you are, the easier it will go with you when I present you
to the Regent."  Bashir sank down into his chair, defeated.  He was
sure that this time, Garak HAD broken an arm.  O'Brien's voice
boomed over the speakers, demanding information from them; Garak
switched to another frequency and addressed the Alliance flagship,
as the raider continued its journey to meet it.  "I'm returning with one 
of the Terran rebels, 'Captain' Julian Bashir," he mockingly announced.
"Please prepare another 'stateroom' for him, Regent."
     
The Regent's gruff voice filled the tiny cabin.  "Well done, Intendant
Garak.  We'll be sure to make your guest most comfortable."
     
"Thank you.  I'll be approaching the flagship within two minutes.
Garak out."  He leaned back and smiled, pleased.  Bashir noted that the
comm link to the flagship had not been severed, but he was too infuriated,
and too disgusted with himself, to care.
     
"You know what, Garak?" he grimaced painfully.  "I think the
Regent may be using you just the way you used ME.  Think about it -
you send him the information he needs, AND he gets you back as his
prisoner... he can't lose in this little arrangement."
     
"Shut up, Terran.  Not everyone is as ignorant as you seem to
be.  And, I might add, not everyone is as blinded by their passions."  He
looked into Bashir's face and smiled.  "Still - I won't deny that you
were a very pleasant diversion, once I divested you of your childish
need to dominate me, that is."
     
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."  Bashir closed his eyes and
tried to concentrate.  Garak was evidently still struggling with the helm
controls; he had never piloted a raider before.  Good.  That left more
time to think, and possibly to arrive at an alternate solution.  But the
throbbing in both his arms made it almost impossible to do so - he
couldn't very well manipulate the raider's controls without the use of
his hands, either, so distracting Garak seemed to serve no purpose.  He
opened his eyes once more and saw the Cardassian leaning intently over
the console, his brow furrowed in concentration, his breathing rapid.
     
"What's wrong?"
     
"Nothing is 'wrong,' we're simply nearing the flagship and I'm
unfamiliar with the proper docking procedures."
     
"Would you like me to help you?"
     
"Surely you're not serious."  Garak again leaned over the control pad
and began entering commands into the raider's computer.  Bashir watched him
impatiently.
     
"If you'd let me take the controls again..."  Garak shook his
head.  "What the hell can I do to you, anyway?  You've nearly broken my
arms, besides the fact that you're holding the weapon now."
     
"I'm not giving you access to the ship, captain.  Just sit back
and be quiet - I'm sure the Regent will have many questions for you
later, if you wish to talk then."  He smiled triumphantly.  "See?  He's
awaiting us - allow me to say, captain, that your service to the Alliance
will not go unrewarded."  The flagship loomed in front of the tiny raider;
Bashir felt his throat constrict.  "This very day," Garak continued, "you
will receive the gratitude of the Regent himself."  Bashir flinched.
"After we re-take Terok Nor and immobilize your pathetic little fleet, you
can assist us in the re-education process."  As he spoke, his hands flew
over the controls.  Bashir was puzzled; a simple docking should not be so
complicated, even for someone as unfamiliar with the ship as Garak seemed
to be.  He tried to lean over to see exactly what Garak was doing when the
Regent's voice again distracted him.
     
"Welcome back, Garak.  Prepare for docking."
     
"Yes, Regent - may I say that it has been an honor to assist you."
     
"You've proven your worth to the Alliance, Garak, and to me."
     
"That is most - gratifying - to hear, Regent.  I had thought our
relationship could not be salvaged."
     
"Your debt to me has been paid.  See that you continue to serve the
Alliance as you have done, and your future is assured."
     
"I thank you again, Regent."  Garak closed the connection; Bashir
saw his smile fade, almost as if it had been wiped from his face.  It must
have been a trick of the cabin's lighting.  The control panel flashed the
information that the enormous flagship's shields had been lowered; seconds
later, a door opened to a small docking bay near the underside of the ship.
The raider was poised just outside it, Garak frantically studying the
controls and re-checking information provided by the computer.
     
"This is not all that difficult," Bashir said resignedly.  "Trust
me - if you can't manage to dock properly, I'm sure the flagship can
tractor you in."
     
"How little you understand me after all, Terran," Garak spat,
perspiration trickling down his forehead.  "I had very little time to make
these modifications - if I had thought of a way to get your security codes
just a day or two sooner - well, we'll simply have to hope for the best."  
He entered a sequence of commands into the computer.  "If this should 
somehow fail, however..."  He let the sentence trail off.
        
"If WHAT should somehow fail?"  Bashir was suddenly flung backward
against his chair; the Regent's ship seemed to rock with the force of the
explosion, as smaller explosions soundlessly shook the enormous structure,
flinging sections of the ship into space and directly toward the raider.
"Garak!" he screamed, but Garak was frantically piloting the ship away from
the path of the debris.  Bashir slid out of the chair and landed on the
floor, gritting his teeth against the pain in his bound arms.  "Garak!
Please, answer me!  What happened?!"
     
"A direct hit, my dear captain.  A direct hit to their engineering
section."
     
"A direct hit with WHAT?"
     
"A quantum torpedo."
     
Bashir struggled to raise himself to a sitting position.  "That's
impossible!  Raiders don't HAVE quantum torpedoes!"
     
"This one does."  Garak's face held a look of triumph that Bashir had
rarely seen, even when the Alliance still controlled Terok Nor.  He crawled
forward on his knees toward him, crouching down at his feet.  The
raider still vibrated wildly as it careened away from the explosion.
Several of the smaller ships that had been escorting the Regent were
likewise madly dodging sections of debris as they pursued the raider;
Bashir craned his neck upward so he could see the tactical display, then
closed his eyes involuntarily at the hopelessness of the situation.  He
leaned against Garak, who to his amazement did not try to dislodge him.
     
"Why did you do it?"
     
"Why do you THINK, captain?  I had no wish to become the Regent's
plaything again," he answered absently, his attention focused on the
readouts.
     
"I thought you were going to become the new Intendant."
     
"Do you really believe the Regent would install, as Intendant, someone
who had made a nearly successful attempt on his life?"
     
"Well, YOU seemed to," Bashir remarked.
     
"Nonsense.  Now, if you please - I need to concentrate if I'm to 
prevent us from falling into the Alliance's hands after all."
     
"Garak -"  Garak looked down, impatiently.  "Garak - thank you."
     
"For what?"
     
"For not... for not being what I thought you were."  Garak frowned,
puzzled, as a blast shook the tiny ship.  Bashir struggled to climb to his
feet.  "Garak, please, for God's sake!  I'm a pilot!  Let me help you!"  He
tried to brace himself against the console as another explosion rocked the
ship and reflected blindingly in the viewscreen.  Garak remained hunched
over the controls, frantically attempting to evade their pursuers, as
Bashir likewise frantically tried to wriggle free of the knot binding his
arms.  The pain was intense, however, and he flopped back down into the
seat and looked over at Garak, his betrayer who had proven after all to be
the best friend the Rebellion had ever had.  He sighed.  If he had to die,
at least his death had served to defeat the Regent and throw the entire
Alliance into disarray.  The comm system crackled to life.
     
"Defiant to Bashir - what in the name of God did you take with you on
that ship?"
     
Bashir smiled, then laughed, then almost screamed with joy as the
Defiant burst into view directly in front of them.  Remnants of the
explosion seemed to bounce off its shields as it raced after one of the
Alliance ships, its phasers neatly slicing an opening through its side,
its own companion fleet of raiders dodging in and out of the debris,
chasing other targets.  "Hold on," O'Brien shouted again, "we're reading
that your propulsion system is disabled.  We'll be back to pick you up.
You've done enough for one day, captain."
     
"I didn't do it," Bashir managed to reply.  "It was Garak."  Silence.
Oh well - there'd be time enough to make the true story known, back on
Terok Nor.  Bashir closed his eyes again and listened to the communications
rapidly being exchanged between the rebel ships.  He heard Garak stand 
and approach him, then felt him gently untying the cable binding his
wrists.  They were swollen with pain, yet when Garak took them into his own
hands and began to massage them, Bashir had never felt any sensation as
wonderful.
     

"So you see, Garak - they trust you now.  All of them.  DESPITE the
fact that you lied to us and nearly left us wide open for an Alliance
attack, that is.  They trust you.  You're one of us now."
     
"Thank you, Julian."  Garak lay next to Bashir in bed, in their 
quarters, again massaging Bashir's bandaged arms.  Bashir felt himself
slowly beginning to drift off to sleep as the painkillers took effect; he
struggled to stay awake just a little longer.  There was still so much he
wanted to ask Garak, still so much he needed to know.  The fact that Garak
had been able to install a torpedo on the raider was not terribly
mysterious, given the First Officer's familiarity with the station -
"But, Garak, how did you know which raider I'd end up taking out?" 
     
"I decided you'd head for the first one in the docking bay.  I knew
you'd be the first person to go after the Regent."
     
Bashir smiled and settled closer against him.  "You know something,
Garak - you could have TOLD us what you were planning to do.  You could
have warned us."
     
"Would that have made a very convincing show for the Regent, you and
I asking him to let us escort him back to Terok Nor?"
     
"No, I suppose not."  He yawned.  "Forgive me - I'm really so...
tired.  I can't wait to see them all working with you now, Garak, accepting
you.  It's going to be... wonderful..."
     
"Shh, Julian - sleep."  He cradled Bashir's head against his chest.
"Just sleep."  Bashir slept.  Garak stared at the ceiling, absently
stroking Bashir's hair and listening to the gentle breathing of his Terran
companion.  Finally determining that Bashir was indeed fast asleep, he
slid out of his embrace and crept to the comm system near the door.
The codes to reach Cardassia Prime were easily entered and scrambled.
     
"This is Garak," he whispered into the computer.  "I need to speak to
Dukat."  He smiled.


The End