TITLE: The Tangents of Or AUTHOR: Terrie H. Drummonds (TDrummonds@aol.com) RATING: R; nudity, some profanity, allusions to consensual sex between two men SERIES/CODES: DS9; G/B SUMMARY: On the eve of his resignation from Starfleet, Bashir decides to initiate a more intimate relationship with Garak. TIMELINE: Most of the story takes place during the episode "Doctor Bashir, I Presume." The opening scene is specifically the evening in which Julian tells his parents he is resigning from Starfleet the next the morning. COMPLETED: June 1998 STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE and characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. Salute! But this story is mine. It does not intend to infringe on Paramount's copyright in any way. Do not change or alter in any way. Copyright 1998 by Terrie H. Drummonds (TDrummonds@aol.com). Feedback is always welcomed. COMMENTS: This is the fourth installment of what has turned into the "Converse Symmetry" series. It will help if you have read "Converse Symmetry," "Asymmetrical," and "One Man's Dying" but it is not absolutely necessary. A quick summary of events: Ambassador Julian Bashir crosses over to the DS9 universe and meets the alternate of his dead lover, Elim Garak. Ambassador Bashir and Garak share an intimate evening before the alternates are forced to return to their proper universe. Before the ambassador leaves, he tells Doctor Julian Bashir to "know him (Garak) as I have." The doctor finds a book of poetry in his quarters (a gift from the ambassador) and knows about Garak's liaison with the ambassador. But what is supposed to be the evening where Julian confronts Garak about what happened and Garak's opportunity to reveal some of his true feelings about the doctor turns into a disaster. During the year that follows, the two slowly attempt to resolve the issues of friendship and intimacy, dealing with Garak's attempt to annihilate the Founder homeworld, Julian's kidnaping by the Dominion, and the death of Enabran Tain along the way. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: To the Usual Suspects when it comes to my G/B stories . Any mistakes you find are all mine. Thanks to Joanne for saying it need to be "more" during the draft; to Kit and Karen for giving me the push for a better ending; to Mary for always knowing just what to say; to Liz, Andrea and Sophie for inspiration and support. Thanks also to Olivia - I needed the boost:> To all those who have read "Converse Symmetry," "Asymmetrical," and "One Man's Dying" -- thanks for the motivation to keep this going! *****(((End Part 0 )))****** ***<<< Evening, Day 0 >>>*** The kiss was sloppy and imprecise. Hands yanked the bottom of the tunic up past the hips and then slid underneath the waistband of the trousers. Fingers dug into buttocks, pulling forward until crotch ground against crotch. It was how drunken guls treated prostitutes at the Hotel Jaxixk. Elim Garak would have none of it. He pushed, using his superior strength to break the contact between them. His arduous suitor was not a trained military officer able to use his leaner build to his advantage; Julian was a doctor, physically fit but no match for a Cardassian. Garak stepped backward, reasserting his personal space, and reached up to wipe the saliva from the corners of his mouth with his thumb. There were a variety of comments perfectly suited for what had just happened, such as: "If this is how Terrans normally showed affection, no wonder most species in the Alpha Quadrant are wary of you. One would have to wash his face after every kiss." Yet as Garak was about to teasingly quip about such matters, the doctor suddenly turned away, head bent and shoulders slumped in shame. Humans. How they ever survived their youth was a mystery. They were too unpredictable, too indecisive, too impetuous. They believed they could charm their way out of any situation simply because they were born human. Julian was no different. He was frustrating. Smug. Arrogant. And now, Julian had decided to initiate a more intimate relationship between them by barging into Garak's quarters at 2325 hours, grabbing the Cardassian, and kissing in a way the humans romantically described as "senseless." It wasn't senseless. It was sloppy. Not disgusting, but it could be considered offensive. But over the years, Garak had allowed himself a certain amount of tolerance where Julian was concerned. If the Cardassian had asserted himself more forcefully, taking away Julian's control of the situation by twisting him down to the floor or across the nearby chair, the doctor would have panicked. No, Julian was not here for a simply tryst; he wouldn't have been so easily discouraged. While Garak had his own theories of why Julian had kissed him so intimately, he had learned over the past years that he rarely guessed correctly what the doctor's true motivations were. The times he had made assumptions, his soul had been seared. It was better to pry the reasons out of Julian rather than make a haphazard guess. Garak simply dropped his hands to his sides and gently queried, "May I ask...." Before he could finish, Julian muttered, "Even you." Garak snorted, "Even me? Would you care to explain?" Anger and the pain of rejection glittered in the doctor's eyes. "The one person on this godforsaken station I thought would understand, who is *supposed* to understand, *doesn't.*" "And what am I supposed to understand?" he prompted. Julian huffed and turned away. It was almost impossible to judge the doctor's mood right now, but the means to extract information from him had not changed. Goad him just enough, call his personal honor, behavior and/or pride into question, and the doctor would inevitably hiss or shout an answer. Garak tilted his head and rolled his shoulders back, choosing his words carefully. "What? Have you visited every person on this station and shown your affection just as you have done to me? Has no one taken you up on your - ah - offer?" "No!" Julian whirled around, his tone sharp and outraged. "Stop being so facetious, Garak! This is serious! I can't believe that you...." He then faltered, dropping his gaze to the ground. It was as if he realized something; his voice became ragged, defeated. "You know what happened, don't you? With my parents? You know about *me,* don't you?" Garak let out a slow breath and then gestured toward the couch against the portal. "Sit down. I'll fetch us something to drink, and then we will talk." The doctor didn't move; Garak suppressed the urge to roll his eyes."This is not the type of conversation one has by the door." Reluctantly, the doctor shuffled to the couch and perched rigidly on the corner edge. Garak ordered two glasses of tiennaaz from the replicator before taking his place on the opposite end of the couch. He placed the glasses of the golden-hued wine between them, noting the slight tremor of Julian's hands. "Now," Garak began as he settled back against the cushions so that he could face Julian while keeping one foot on the floor, "you were saying?" But the moment had fled. Julian was staring intently at the wine glasses, obviously unwilling to discuss the subject. Garak waited patiently, mentally reciting the first three stanzas of Ariakak's "Daggers of the Hebetian Nights." He knew what Julian referred to, but the ingrained habits of an interrogator prevented him to from acknowledging the information until Julian admitted to it. "You asked if I knew what happened, if I knew about *you.* There are a number of things which happen on the station every day, many which undoubtedly escape your notice. For instance, did you know that, just this morning, Quark had received a new shipment of Achmarian...." "Stop it, Garak," Julian hoarsely whispered. "You know what I meant." He paused, still refusing to look at the Cardassian. The long-term medical hologram. Julian's parents. The revelation of Julian's enhancement. As soon as the words had slipped from Richard Bashir's mouth, the news spread through the station like a plasma fire leaping through conduits. It hadn't been Chief O'Brien or Zimmerman who had disclosed the information; it had been one of Bashir's own medics on duty at the time when Julian's parents had made the confession to the hologram. And now, on the eve of what was rumored to be Julian's forced resignation from Starfleet, the doctor had visited Garak. Why? Well, exiles did have a habit of sticking together. Yet for all the doctor's brilliance, he tended to be a bit short-sighted and melodramatic when it came to personal crises. During Garak's five-year association with Julian, there seemed to be one predicament after another involving moral and ethical decisions in the doctor's role as the Starfleet chief medical officer of the station. However, whenever something of a more personal nature surfaced, such as the doctor's thirtieth birthday, the visit by Julian's medical school rival, and of course, the entire business with Ambassador Bashir, the doctor seemed to indulge in fits of emotionalism which were a sharp contrast the decisiveness he displayed as CMO. That role was Julian's armor, a concept which Garak understood completely. The doctor had invested so much of himself into his profession that, without it, he probably did not know how to exist. No doubt, Julian only saw two choices: either he resigned from Starfleet before the court-martial or he allowed Starfleet to dishonorably discharge him. Either way, he would be subsequently barred from legally practicing medicine in the Federation. Unlike Garak, who during his youth had endured the constant rearrangement of his life in order to hide another secret, it was perhaps the first, truly devastating thing to ever happen to the young doctor. Oh, there was that business with the Jem'Hadar soldiers, Bariel, and the Blight, but those revolved around his capabilities as a physician, not his true self. This... This would destroy Julian. Completely. Utterly. Still, Garak needed to hear precisely why Julian had shown up, so he fell back on his tried and true method of earning an exasperated outburst from the doctor. "If you are referring to that other doctor," Garak said with a wave of his hand, "I do know he is pursuing your former bed-partner with the eagerness of a male vole chasing a female in heat. It really is quite distasteful in a way. Really! A person of his age acting like a love-struck adolescent." He watched as the corners of Julian's mouth began to twitch. The doctor glanced over, as if debating the wisdom of poking fun at Garak, and the Cardassian gave him a small smile. Finally, Julian said, "Not like you." "I'd like to think I was a bit more discreet." "Flamboyantly discreet," Julian corrected softly before staring at the wine glasses again. "But that's all changed now, hasn't it? Now that you know what was done to me." He didn't clarify his sentence. It seemed he couldn't bring himself to say the words. Perhaps being genetically altered carried the same stigma as being illegitimate did in proper Cardassian society. "Doctor, believe me when I say this: it does not matter to me." That sparked a reaction out of the sullen doctor. "Dammit, Garak, I *lied*!" "Everyone lies, doctor," he admonished coolly. "Hopefully, I have instilled that belief into you by now." "But not like this." "It is in the *past*, doctor," Garak stated flatly. "It is a part of *you.* You can no more change the past than I can, unless you and Chief O'Brien have been secretly working on a time traveling device." Julian didn't even smile at the attempt of humor. "You make is sound as if it doesn't matter!" "Because," the Cardassian told him emphatically, "it doesn't." He rocketed to his feet. "Garak, I am a freak of nature! I am *unnatural*! I was altered...." "We are *all* molded by our parents," Garak patiently explained. "If not by them, then by our elders. They push us to conform to their ideals, to become what they wish to be. They took every opportunity to herd us along that path made of their personal mores. If we strayed, we were punished." He paused, watching as Julian's shoulders slumped and the indignance drained out of the doctor. "Altered, molded, enhanced... they are all synonyms for the one trait a majority of races in this quadrant share: the need to create a legacy in the best image of one's self. Your parents have simply taken one step further in ensuring that you are the supreme sum of their combined parts. You cannot blame yourself for something you had no control over." "Is that what you are? The 'supreme sum' of Enabran Tain?" he challenged bitterly. "In a manner of speaking. However, I never quite knew what my father wanted of me." He nonchalantly shrugged to play off the hurtful honesty of his statement. "So I dabbled here and there until I found something which hopefully made Tain not regret killing me the moment he discovered I had been conceived." Whatever hostility remaining in Julian dissolved; the doctor flopped back on the couch with a loud sigh before he focusing on the ceiling. "Then... then what I am...." Again, Julian trailed off, unable to say the words aloud. It was late; they could carry on this stop-start conversation for hours. Garak said the words for him: "The fact that you are genetically enhanced does not change my opinion of you." The doctor visibly flinched. Garak went on. "There are things about ourselves we cannot change, specifically the past. We are different, fundamentally so in many respects, but we have an understanding of our diversities. I accept you as you are, here in the present, Julian Subetoi Bashir." "You're the only one." "Oh, I doubt that," Garak gently chided. "I'm sure Chief O'Brien has a few choice comments on that particular subject. Now," he clapped his hands and then leaned forward, scooping up one of the wine glasses, "pick up your drink and tell me how you intend to handle this situation." The doctor didn't move. Instead, he said, "Tomorrow morning, I'm resigning from Starfleet." The uncharacteristic submissive tone made Garak bristle; there was no reason Julian should act that way. But then, he considered what had transpired this evening and put it into the context of what he had observed of the young doctor in the past five years. During his career on DS9, the doctor had brashly challenged not only Gul Dukat but Enabran Tain, himself. Bashir had not backed down from Kai Winn when Vedek Bariel's and Captain Sisko's lives were at stake. Bashir even risked his friendship with Chief O'Brien over those Jem'Hadar soldiers because of his oath as a physician. There were dozens of instances of Bashir going against the grain to do what he believed was "right." Julian Bashir was fully capable of fighting for anything he truly wanted, truly needed, truly believed in. This, however, was different. This was about Julian Bashir, who he was and what he was. And the fact that Julian wasn't fighting meant he didn't believe in himself. Garak sipped the wine. The insecurities that Julian had displayed during the first year and a half on the station had not been replaced by self-confidence as the doctor had led everyone to believe. He simply masked them better, giving the appearance of self-assurance. Another aspect of the dynamic between the doctor and the exile clicked in, why they were inexplicably drawn together. Garak almost closed his eyes. He was Julian's mentor, but in a way he hadn't expected. Had all those conversations been about how to cope with being an exile? Had all those lunches been merely a scientific study to see how an exile could operate in a hostile environment? It was why Julian was here tonight. Everything had been in preparation for his possible dismissal from Starfleet. He had ensured himself companionship when everyone else was supposed to shun him. For all his naivete and short-sightedness, the one thing Julian had always kept a close eye on was his future if his enhancement were to be revealed. So very Cardassian. "As to what I do after that..." Julian paused and then shrugged. "I haven't gotten that far. Perhaps Captain Sisko will let me remain on the station for a few days until I figure it out." A choice. A decision. A crossroads. Whatever he termed it, Garak knew the outcome all the same. If Julian wasn't willing to fight for himself, Captain Sisko, Commander Dax and Chief O'Brien certainly would take up the cause despite the doctor's protests. Sisko would allow Julian to stay on the station because it gave time for Julian's friends to talk to him, to convince him to rally against Starfleet to retain his commission. And Starfleet, being in the precarious position of preparing for a possible war against the Dominion and needing all the seasoned officers possible, would come up with some placating compromise which would satisfy all parties. Did Julian truly think his fellow officers would simply abandon him over such a trivial matter? Surely not. "And," Julian suddenly added, albeit shyly, "being with you, Garak." He ventured a look in the Cardassian's direction. "That is... that is if you still want me to be." He could only nod; it was one of the rare times words actually failed him. If only that were a good thing. In that odd twist of Fate which seemed to characterize all things Federation, Garak had won Julian Bashir. The strings binding the doctor to the Federation were about to be severed by Julian himself. It was supposed to be a moment of joy: Julian would finally be his. It wasn't. There were too many factors unaccounted for. While Garak could certainly manipulate some of those events so that things would turn in his favor, he had the distinct impression that Julian would not accept nor appreciate such an action. It would be deceitful, dishonest and dastardly, an apt description for a villain. "I wasn't sure if you could leave the station permanently or not," the doctor continued. Gul! What this Terran did to him! It was difficult decision, but one that had to be made nonetheless. Garak could suggest almost anywhere, embellishing the description with romantic notions and political intrigue to capture Julian's adventurous imagination, and allow Julian to convince himself that, yes, that was the perfect place to live in exile. And while Julian may have kissed and groped him when the doctor first walked in the door, Garak was not quite convinced Julian was completely... well, 'sincere' wasn't quite the word he was looking for... perhaps 'honest' or 'true' were better choices... in his intentions of a more intimate relationship. Therefore, Garak offered the one place he was sure the doctor hadn't thought of and one that would answer his own questions in a roundabout way. "Bajor." "Huh?" Julian blinked in surprise and then repeated, "Bajor?" "Of course!" he admonished as if it where the most obvious solution. "With the influx of non-Bajorans to the planet, I am sure the Bajoran medical authorities would welcome a Starfleet-trained physician. You do speak some of the language, don't you?" "Well... yes... But..." Julian began to protest. Garak cut him off. "They are not part of the Federation, therefore are not bound by foolish, out-dated Federation rules." "But when they *do* become members...." "Ah, my dear doctor, by that time, you will have endeared yourself to the establishment. You are a multi-species specialist, after all. You will be their foremost expert and will have to train the others. They could not bear to lose you." Julian shook his head, as if denying the entire notion. Then he stared up at the ceiling, perhaps willing *it* to provide an answer. An unexpected half-laugh reached Garak's ears and, if he hadn't been listening particularly hard for the doctor's reaction, he would have missed the muttered comment. "Except that I have a Cardassian lover with a mysterious past." Years of training prevented any emotion from showing on Garak's. It also prevented him from choking on the tiennaaz. Julian had said it so casually, as if it were a matter of fact and not a simple whim. Garak had his answer, one admitted in the rhetorical muttering humans seemed to rely upon when making a life-changing decision. His grip on the glass tightened. His trousers became distinctly uncomfortable. All he could do was stare. As if realizing he had made the comment aloud and was now subjected to Garak's intense scrutiny, Julian suddenly sat up and gaped at Garak. "I... I..." The Cardassian held up his hand to prevent the cascade of apologies from Julian. No. No. He didn't want to ruin this particular moment, the moment his mind now cherished as the best confession he had ever obtained. He had to redirect the conversation. It was the only thing he could do. "First things first. Will you consider Bajor? The reason I am suggesting it is because you are familiar with the people and their customs. Besides, you will be able to visit the station." "You think... you think it is for the best?" "For right now, yes. And when Starfleet realizes what a phenomenal mistake they have made by allowing you to resign, they know where to find you." Julian's expression changed from embarrassment to awe. "You make it sound so simple, Garak." "Experience, my dear doctor. Nothing else." There. It was set into motion. Garak had to simply sit back and wait for things to take their course. Julian was back to eyeing the wine glass, as if wary of it and what it represented. He remained quiet for a few minutes; Garak allowed the time to pass. There was no reason to push, to force any type of decision or comment. "About what happened earlier..." Julian trailed off as if suddenly unsure of the topic of conversation but felt it needed to be addressed. "When I... um... well... um... kissed you...." He turned to Garak, his eyes seeking forgiveness. "I was not offended," the Cardassian told him plainly. "Surprised, perhaps, but not offended. While I do believe myself to be a bit traditional, I am adaptable." "You must think I'm so... uncouth." "No." Then Garak grinned, "Eager. Young. Challenging. Refreshingly brazen. Everything which caught my attention those years ago." "I thought it was because I was an easy mark," Julian mumbled. "Perhaps." When the doctor flashed an indignant glare at the admission, Garak met it with a bland stare of his own. So young. So uncertain. Was Julian really ready for this type of relationship? Garak was unsure of it himself, especially since it seemed the doctor could not bring himself to saying aloud certain phrases or looking at Garak for an extended period of time. Was there regret so soon? Perhaps. Someone less disciplined would have immediately taken advantage of Julian's initial invitation. A year ago, Garak might have because he could. Now, on the cusp of consummation, he was well aware of the fickleness of human nature and that humans were amazingly awkward when it came to matters of sexuality and sensuality. He had to put some distance between them to give Julian time to consider all that he had proposed. Garak took a long sip of the wine. "But now is not the time for such a discussion." Confused, Julian looked up. "Why not?" "Because, we have your future to plan, don't we, doctor?" Garak tsked and set his glass down. He paused for a moment and then brightened. "I have a few suits in my shop which would be perfect for you." "Now... after all that... you want me to model suits?" Julian asked incredulously. "Of course!" The Cardassian fixed him with a particularly penetrating gaze as he stood. "We have all the time in the universe for *that*, don't we?" Almost reluctantly, Julian nodded. "Anyway, you will need proper civilian attire. I make sure my stock of ready-to-wear suits includes the latest in Bajoran fashion, no matter how dowdy it may be. You can render your resignation to Sisko tomorrow morning and then depart for Bajor immediately." He tugged at the hem of his tunic to smooth the creases. "While I'm retrieving those suits, why don't you contact the Bajoran medical facility in the capital and arrange a meeting with the director? You've met with him before, haven't you, during that medical conference last year? You are more than welcome to use my terminal." <<<((( End Part 1 )))>>> Julian swallowed and then scratched the back of his head. His voice lacked its usual sparkle, sounding slightly confused and almost disappointed."Then, you're not going to try and talk me out of it." Garak almost winced, but he had been expecting the second-guessing. It was as much a human tendency as claiming a lack of common sense was a justifiable defense. "Talk you out of what? Resigning? You know Federation law in this matter much better than I do." "Well...." The doctor glanced around the quarters again, looking everywhere but at Garak. "Miles said I should fight it, that I shouldn't run off, that there was a way to get through this." "The chief is welcome to his opinion of the situation." He dusted non-existent specs of lint from his sleeves. "My dear doctor, how long have you been preparing yourself for this?" "Since I found out what my parents did to me," Julian replied absently. "I was fifteen." "So you know the situation far better than the chief does, correct? You have been preparing yourself for this possibility since then, correct?" Garak waited until the doctor nodded again. "Then you are capable of making difficult decisions given the facts at hand. I trust your judgement on this matter. Is such a compliment so unbearable for you to hear?" "Not unbearable. Unexpected." "Surely not unexpected," Garak teased. "Otherwise, you would not have kissed me in such a manner when you walked into my quarters." Julian held up his hands in mock defeat. "What about, 'surprised it would turn out the way I planned?'" "Much better." As Garak turned to walk away, the doctor whispered, "Thank you. For everything." Pivoting, the Cardassian slowly reached toward Julian with his right hand, tracing the doctor's jaw affectionately with a forefinger. "You have something I never had," Garak told him. When Julian looked at him with the question in his eyes, he answered, "Companionship." The doctor captured Garak's hand in his own and stood up. "Do you have to go?" His voice caught on the plea as he brushed a thumb across Garak's knuckles. The Cardassian stilled, watching with fascination how Julian touched him. Unable to formulate a verbal answer, he simply stood there. Julian dragged his eyes to meet Garak's. "I could use a bit of that companionship right about now." A shiver chased down Garak's spine as his body immediately reacted to the words. He remained unmoving, caught in an unexpected intellectual dilemma. Julian almost let go of his hand, but the Cardassian tightened his grip, squeezing with just enough force to retain the doctor's attention. And then, just has he had done over a year ago, he settled his left hand on Julian's shoulder, sliding it up until he touched the doctor's nape. Julian closed his eyes and leaned forward, clearly anticipating the kiss. When their lips met, Julian became aggressive, demanding, echoing the movements from that first, distasteful kiss. Garak pulled back slightly, placing his thumb against Julian's lips. "Shhh," he hushed as his fingers fluttered against Julian's throat. "You must learn to savor. Let me teach you." Julian nodded mutely. This time, Garak placed his lips on Julian's chin and then slowly trailed kisses along the jaw. The doctor made an odd sound and squeezed Garak's hand tighter. Garak continued nipping his way across Julian's throat to the other ear. All at once, the Cardassian felt transported to that time, over a year ago, when he held another Julian Bashir. The two Julians kissed differently; the ambassador had more restraint and had understood the subtleties of Cardassian sensuality. The ambassador knew how to use his voice, his body language, his entire being as a means of foreplay. But here and now... this Julian needed to be unconditionally accepted. Unconditionally loved. To be made whole again. To believe in himself again. "Please..." Julian began. Another choice. Another decision. How far would he allow this to go? It was all about self-control and in ensuring Garak maintain control of himself, he had to exert a certain amount of dominance over Julian. His lips were against Julian's skin, his left hand still at the base of the doctor's neck while his other hand was still captured in Julian's grip. Garak could feel the doctor's rapid-fire pulse against his tongue and the vibrations of vocal chords as the doctor continued with the odd sounds. Then, Julian's right hand settled on his shoulder, toying with his neck ridge. The Cardassian moved his hand from Julian's neck to encircle the human's wrist and pulled until their arms were at their sides. "Please..." Julian pleaded again, "let me touch you...." "Patience," Garak whispered, nuzzling against Julian's cheek. "Tell me, do all humans scent as you do?" "Scent?" he echoed. "You mean as in give off pheromones? Well... yes... we all do. Especially when aroused. I thought you knew that." Garak ignored the last part of the comment, satisfied he had distracted Julian. His tongue traveled up the human's slender neck. "It is... intoxicating." At that moment, Garak captured Julian's lips with unexpected intensity. Julian's knees buckled as he groaned, low and guttural, and leaned into the kiss. Garak steadied him simply by flexing his arms, capitalizing on the human instinct to brace against the stronger force. This time, Julian responded more appropriately, allowing Garak to command the intimacy of the contact. Garak slowly moved them backward until he felt Julian almost topple onto the couch, and then gave a slight push. The doctor tumbled back and Garak immediately straddled him, pressing his human prey firmly against the back of the couch without breaking the contact with his lips. He still held Julian's hands, preventing any touch he did not sanction, and the doctor continued with his odd sounds. Charming. Enchanting. Encouraging. It was control, so different from his last encounter with the other Julian Bashir. Different circumstances. Different outcomes. Different repercussions. This wasn't an all-or-nothing situation. It wasn't until he felt Julian's shoulders relax did he let go with his right hand, using it to pull open Julian's uniform. The doctor lifted his arm to assist but Garak placed a firm hand against his shoulder and pushed him back into the couch cushion. Julian yielded. The Cardassian gently tugged the coverall open and then slid his fingers along Julian's well-muscled stomach, along the middle, until he found the zipper of the undertunic and pulled it down far enough to expose a nipple. He brushed a thumb against the hard nub and Julian immediately arched his back, gasping so hard Garak had to break the kiss. "By Allah, Garak... Elim... *please*!" Julian panted, eyes closed. That unadulterated, whimpering plea wasn't the reaction Garak was expecting; a veteran of the art knew the sound of complete and utter surrender. He felt as if he had been doused with ice water. He couldn't do this. The legacy of Ambassador Bashir. They were supposed to be equals, he and Julian. A year ago, all he wanted to hear was Julian begging for him, pleading for him... but now the sounds curdled his passion into a sour mass in the pit of his soul. With all he had done in the past, he knew he had lost a taste for such things during these years in exile. It wasn't an ego-shattering discovery; Garak had realized it on board that Romulan ship when he had been interrogating Odo. Ambassador Bashir had only reinforced it. "Elim...." The sound of his name.... The raspy sound of that voice. "Please Elim, I need you. Please. You're all I have." Garak refused to believe that lie. He pressed his forehead against Julian's, scooping the human's shoulders forward in a tight embrace. "Please." The doctor wrapped himself around the Cardassian's torso. "You're all I have." Too much. Too fast. Too soon. With a gentle push, he broke contact for the second time that evening. Julian immediately turned his head, staring down at the floor and away from Garak, as if he believed he were being rejected again. Carefully, Garak moved off of Julian to sit next to him, settling himself in the corner of the couch. He tugged slightly on Julian's arm, a silent invitation to return to his embrace. The doctor didn't budge; Garak tried again. Julian gave a disbelieving snort and then shook his head before cautiously leaning toward Garak. The Cardassian trailed his hand softly against Julian's shoulder, a wordless appeal for the doctor not to fight him. Finally, Julian scooted closer, twisting so his back would be against Garak's front, and leaned against him. It was an unusual but not an uncomfortable position. Julian stretched his legs out on the couch and rested his head against Garak's shoulder. The Cardassian simply held him. No words, no caresses. Just sitting there on the couch and allowing Julian to sort through all that had happened and perhaps even figure out what would happen next. He felt Julian begin to trace the fabric patterns on his sleeve; agile fingers then captured his hand and began gliding across his knuckles and the back of his hand. It was a gentle touch, one more of exploration than anything else and it shouldn't have been as rousing as it was. The words were whispered, almost rhetorical. "It's going to work out, isn't it?" Garak's response was automatic. "Of course, my dear." Fingers now stroked his thumb. Up and down. Up and down. Circling the tip. Up and down. Up and down. Great Gul! Was Julian doing this intentionally? He had to stop it now. Gently, he asked, "You haven't slept in the past two days, have you?" "No," Julian admitted. "The moment Zimmerman and the captain told me about the holoprogram, I haven't been able to. Then, Zimmerman said 'interviews'...." He trailed off, wrapping his hand around the Cardassian's. "Then rest. You'll need your strength." Garak gently pushed forward, prompting Julian to move. "I still have to get those suits from my shop. Why not nap in my bed until I return?" Julian glanced at him dubiously. He didn't smile, but allowed his eyes to convey his amusement. "I will only be gone for a few minutes. Twenty at the most." "And then?" "As I said, you need your rest." ***<<< Early Morning, Day 1 >>>*** He remembered shedding his clothes and washing up after Garak had left and then shyly crawling in the Cardassian's bed. The sheets had been wonderfully sensual, at least against human skin, and made of what felt like some type of silk. The blankets had been made from light-weight material and had felt comfortable despite the fact Garak's quarters had been quite a few degrees warmer than the station's norm. At that point in time, Julian hadn't cared. He had just needed a place to think. A place to gather his thoughts. A place that was isolated from the rest of the station. He had been dazed by the turn of events, from his shameless assault upon Garak to the incredible tenderness the Cardassian had displayed. And when Julian had pulled the covers over his shoulder, he had every intention of remaining awake until Garak returned. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. But when the annoying burning in his left shoulder finally became unbearable enough to jolt him awake, he opened his eyes to discover Garak sleeping next to him. His left arm was wedged between the Cardassian and the hard mattress. While Julian was completely naked, Garak wore a long-sleeved, buttoned front, indigo silk tunic and matching, full-length bottoms. Julian almost chuckled. Who knew Garak would be such a prude? Carefully, he extracted his left arm, popping his shoulder to relieve the ache, and propped himself up. The two of them were tangled together on a bed obviously designed for one person. Garak lay flat on his back, his left arm at his side and right arm under and around Julian; the doctor's right leg was firmly sandwiched between Garak's. He could feel the rise and fall of Garak's chest; he could tell by the rhythm that Garak was still asleep. He held back the long sigh. That terrible argument with his parents, his father's usual posturing about "coming up with a new plan" and inability to take responsibility for any negative thing that happened... No wonder he had not seen his parents in three years or barely mentioned them to his friends. He didn't want to explain. It was too complicated. They were more like acquaintances than blood relatives. They were more like distant cousins who only met once every ten years at family reunions than a father, mother, and son. They expressed love out of society's expectations rather than true feelings. They had nothing in common, nothing at all. His father drifted from one job to the next; his mother dutifully followed. Whenever asked about his parent's professions, Julian was careful to parrot Richard Bashir's job description instead of the truth. It was, after all, the easiest. Perhaps it was why he tolerated Garak's myriad of explanations of his past professions as much as they angered him. While Sisko and Dax and Odo and O'Brien found such tactics infuriating, Julian had not. He had heard them all his life. But unlike Richard Bashir who insisted on delusions of grandeur, Garak did his best to de-emphasize his importance in the grand scheme of things. It was rare for Garak to let the mask of "plain and simple" slip to reveal just how much power he had commanded at one time. Moments of desperation. Moments of pure honesty. Moments when the Cardassian had no other alternative. No other alternative. The words rang hollow. Curled up next to the one person on the station who understood the situation and who supported his abdication, Julian couldn't help but feel like a hypocrite. Was giving up Starfleet really his only course of action? With what had happened to Simon Tarses, Julian knew it was the only way. He always kept a careful watch on how Starfleet dealt with those who lied about their background on their applications. Tarses' only crime had been that his paternal grandfather had been Romulan. Something innocent, something he had no control over. One didn't choose one's parents, after all. But Julian knew that what had happened to Tarses would happen to him if and when the doctor's secret came out; like Tarses, he would drift quickly into obscurity. Now, of course, it was easy to trust Garak's judgement. He *had* lived through the pain of exile, hadn't he? He knew more about being shunned from one's peers than anyone else, right? He did know how to be unobtrusive even in the most difficult circumstances. He was, in many way, the ideal rogue. Mysterious. Playful. Everyone wanting to know more about him but not daring to ask. The consummate spy. After all Julian had put Garak through, the betrayal and the accusations and the rules, the Cardassian cared enough, *loved* enough, to forgive him for everything. Such power. No one had ever quite treated Julian in quite the same fashion. No one as intriguing and elusive as Garak had ever shown such interest in him. The feeling that someone as educated, refined, and fascinating could have such a phenomenal affection for him was almost overwhelming. Hell, it *was* overwhelming. Why else would Julian have stripped and crawled into bed, hoping that Garak would wake him with a kiss or a nibble or something more? Still, Julian's forcefulness last night was embarrassing, intolerable. After first confirming the whereabouts of Ziyal, the only other station resident who would ever visit the Cardassian in his private chambers, Julian had stormed off to Garak's. When the Cardassian hadn't responded after the first chime, he'd used his medical override codes to barge in and basically throw himself at Garak. Maybe he had been hoping Garak would knock sense into him. Maybe he had been hoping Garak would rebuff him. Maybe he had hoped Garak would take him right then and there, in front of the door. Julian hadn't expected Garak's unconditional acceptance about his past. There was no anger about being lied to all these years. He hadn't expected Garak's approval of his decision to resign from Starfleet nor the complete confidence in his ability to weigh the facts need to arrive at that particular outcome. Garak had simply accepted Julian's authority on the situation and gone from there. Julian hadn't expected Garak's enthusiasm in planning his life as an exile. Practicing medicine on Bajor? Sure, he'd considered it, but had thought it was too close to Federation space, that he would be recognized, that he would be remembered. Yet Garak's argument in favor of the planet made sense. In an odd way, it mirrored the Cardassian's own exile. DS9 was close to Cardassian space, Garak had experience in dealing with Bajorans, and, despite his protests, he did have an understanding the Federation mind set. But Julian certainly hadn't expected Garak to take complete control of the situation, right down to deciding where Julian was going to practice medicine and then ordering him to bed. Was it just for that one evening, when Garak had sensed that he had been tired of making all the decisions and that, for one night, he wanted to be in the care of someone he trusted? Or was this an indication of the type of relationship Julian had kissed his way into? But Garak had specifically said he was traditional yet adaptable, something which Julian translated as the Cardassian being willing to compromise when it came to control issues. He didn't necessarily like being ordered around; perhaps that was why he coveted his position as Chief Medical Officer so much. He had a measure of authority no matter who his patient was. Yet that power was about to be snatched permanently from him, the end of his career a few short hours away. No wonder he had surrendered himself to Garak; it was the first time he had felt safe since the whole business with the long-term medical hologram had started. Julian let out a slow breath. His new life. Waking up every morning in bed with Garak. Julian suddenly smirked. He had no idea what type of morning person Garak was; the only time he had seen the Cardassian sleeping was in the Infirmary and in that Jem'Hadar prison. He had no idea if Garak was the type to "wake up swinging." However, since Garak had joined him last night, it was logical to assume that the Cardassian was well aware he was in bed with Julian. With the practiced expertise of many morning romps involving divesting his partner of clothing without waking said partner, Julian reached forward and carefully undid the first button. He watched for any signs of waking, but Garak didn't stir. So Julian undid the second. And then the third. And the fourth. The nightshirt had twenty buttons in all and Julian had unfastened them without waking Garak. His grin grew broader. Now was the tricky part. Julian tugged the hem gently with his right hand, mimicking the movement made as if he had turned in his sleep, and exposed the center chest ridge. The series of scales and ridges had always fascinated Julian, but he had been too much the professional and also too embarrassed to gaze at them for extended periods of time. But now as Garak continued to sleep, he felt as if he had all the time in the world to admire them. Julian knew just how physically fit Garak kept himself. He remembered thinking a long time ago when he had first had the chance for a thorough examination that exercise was a possible means of passing time when one had been cut off from his former life. And given the fact Garak had been a prominent member of the Obsidian Order, the need to fend off enemies by both mental and physical prowess was a must. It explained the muscled torso and abdomen, features hidden cleverly by the style of suits Garak preferred. He tugged the material again, revealing more scales. He noted the color was paler than its usual slate gray; a closer visual inspection revealed Garak's chest scales to be drier than normal. He recalled the medical text that he and the chief had pried out of the computer banks after Garak's ordeal with the implant; there had been something about keeping the chest scales softened by the use of various oils. Perhaps that was why Garak had shied away from Julian investigating his person last night; he hadn't properly "prepared" himself. Knowing Garak, the necessary items were lurking somewhere in his quarters. Either that, or programmed into the replicator's database. It still meant Julian had to get out of bed and possibly waking up Garak and therefore, something he decided against. Instead, he opted to bare the part of Garak's chest closest to him so he could more thoroughly inspect the intricate patterns. Being this close, Julian felt he could fully appreciate the complex designs. He'd had a few non-human lovers before, most recently Elaysian and Bajoran, but never one as truly alien as Garak. He was fascinated, so caught up in mentally recording the sight before him, he almost didn't notice the change in Garak's breathing pattern. As the Cardassian woke, Julian carefully schooled his features to show none of his earlier smugness. Acting as if he didn't realize Garak was awake, he cautiously felt the Cardassian's center chest ridge with his forefinger. The touch was feather-light. When Garak didn't react, he placed his thumb on one side and forefinger on the other and trailed his fingers from the middle of Garak's chest and down the slope of his abdomen where the ridge seemed to merge with a flare of scales partially hidden by the waistband of the pajama bottoms. Julian had no idea if it was a rousing sensation or if he was merely annoying Garak by tickling him, so he cautiously peered up and found one blue eye staring at him intently. The raised eye ridge said everything: Enjoying yourself? Julian grinned. "You said 'learn to savor' and that you should teach me." His hand traveled up the ridge to the protruding triangular hollow where the shoulder ridges and chest ridge met. "Well, I firmly believe in independent studies." Garak didn't reply, only continued to watch him. "My behavior last night...." he let his voice trail off and then modulated it to be one of his most seductive tones he'd ever cultivated, "let's just say I fully intend to make it up to you this morning." He pressed his lips against the dry chest scales. The Cardassian rolled to his side, facing Julian, but didn't bother to brush the hands away. The set of Garak's features conveyed everything. They were the most open Julian had ever seen, even in that awful prison when Garak had dealt with the claustrophobia. Perhaps it was because it was so early in the morning. Perhaps it was because they were close to becoming lovers. Perhaps it was because Garak was waiting for a decision. *The* decision. Garak or Starfleet. One or the other. It was the reason why they didn't consummate their relationship. The reason Garak had held back and had not allowed himself to be touched. The reason Garak had left him alone for however long last night. The reason Garak had worn pajamas to bed. The reason why he was not reacting now. Garak or Starfleet. If Julian had woken up this morning and decided that Miles was right after all, that he should fight Starfleet to keep his commission, all that had transpired between him and Garak were a few intense kisses and sharing a bed. Simple, irrational acts done in a fit of desperate passion and emotional volatility. Forgivable. There would be a few weeks of enduring embarrassed conversations, but they had survived that before. No wonder Garak had fled his own quarters last night. The Cardassian had known that if they had gone any further and Julian had any doubts the next morning, his only source of "companionship," to use the word Garak had, would be alienated from him. Julian would have probably believed Garak had taken advantage of him, something deemed almost unforgivable in his culture. He dropped his hand from Garak's chest. Garak or Starfleet. He glanced around the Cardassian's quarters, noting his uniform draped neatly across the back of a chair. The Bajoran-styled suit Garak had been so adamant about retrieving last night was nowhere in sight. Garak had known that Julian would have second thoughts the morning after. The fact Julian didn't call the Bajoran medical facility last night when the Cardassian told him only reaffirmed it. Even the explanation that it had been too late in the evening to contact the planet fell flat. Snippets of last night's conversation suddenly burned in Julian's mind. "Experience, my dear doctor. Nothing else." "We have all the time in the universe for *that,* don't we?" "Let me teach you." They all had double meanings, like almost everything Garak said or did. Julian had been too emotionally distraught last night for him to even *think* on two levels. Without another word, Julian slipped out of bed, shuffling into his uniform, socks and boots, unable to even look at Garak. He didn't have the courage. He didn't have the strength. And when he walked out, listening for the hydraulic hiss followed by the clunk of the door closing, he asked the computer for the time, calculated if he could take a shower before meeting Sisko just as the captain came on duty, and then made his way to his quarters. Garak or Starfleet. <<<<< End Part 2 >>>>>> **<<< Mid-Morning, Day 1 >>>** For the fifth time in his life, Garak declined Julian Bashir's invitation of intimacy. He was either a love-struck fool or a masochist. Refusing the ambassador that last time had been one thing; the ambassador wasn't his Julian. Refusing the doctor last night when Julian had barged in and kissed him had been a matter of principle; if he was going to consummate his lust for Julian, it would not be a grotesque grappling in front of his door. Refusing the doctor's plea before Garak had left last night had been a matter of priorities; Garak had to set his plan into action and then wait for the results. But last night when he had returned from his errand forty minutes later and found Julian sprawled naked in his bed... Guls! The flushed, glorious look of a human whose unscarred skin reminded him of Dravian sand and Vulcan satin stretched across the deep, luminescent hues of sapphire Givattian silk had been intoxicating to say the least. Garak had dropped into a nearby chair and stared, the sight making him hard and damp. He had known he would have never made it through the evening unless he did something. A frigid shower and a firm hand. A change of clothes. Lowering the temperature of his quarters to station norm, too cold for him and therefore uncomfortable. If he had slept on the couch, Julian would have taken offense because it would have been seen as a rejection. It would be another blow to the doctor's delicate ego, so Garak had rearranged the bunched up sheets and blanket and had settled down next to Julian. Of course, Julian had immediately curled around him. If that wasn't proof enough he was a masochist, Garak had been unable to sleep and frankly too wary to move. If Julian's hand had strayed to the Cardassian's groin, all resolve to wait until everything had been settled would have instantly evaporated. It was all so shamelessly un-Cardassian. He had to win Julian fair and square by *Federation* standards. No coercion. No dominance. This emotionally extenuating circumstance would have to serve as the trigger for a more physical relationship. If it was handled properly, hitting all the necessary requirements of a "natural" culmination between two people according to Federation philosophy, there would be nothing Sisko or O'Brien or Dax or anyone else could do except accept it. Last night, Garak could have completely convinced Julian that resignation was the only option. He could have insisted the best way to leave quietly, to avoid last minute pleas from O'Brien, Dax or Sisko, was to deliver his resignation electronically. He could have capitalized on Julian's fears, used his influence to bend Julian's will, and pressured the young doctor to renounce Starfleet and the Federation completely. There were many things he could have done last night by an overt assertion of his power. He hadn't. It had meant abandoning Julian when it had been quite obvious the doctor was more than willing to cross the line of intimacy. It had meant a late-night visit to the one person on the station who had, at one time, held more influence over Julian than he had ever had. And that one person had not been particularly happy to see him. "What do you mean, 'he came to my quarters'?" "Exactly what it sounds like." Sisko had crossed his arms, silently demanding an elaboration. "He considers me his friend," Garak had replied. "You do know about what happened in Infirmary this afternoon." Again, no response. "Captain, it's late at night. You're tired. I'm tired. And if you expect me to believe that no one has informed you of what transpired earlier today, then you are a far bigger fool than I had ever thought you were." "I'm not in the mood to be insulted, Garak." "Then don't play stupid, captain." Sisko's nostrils had flared and there was an angry glitter in his eyes. Perhaps it had been because Garak had called his intelligence into question. Perhaps it had been because Sisko had no control over the station rumor mill. Perhaps it had been because it was Garak standing in Sisko's quarters at an obscene hour of the night, warning him about Bashir, instead of Dax or O'Brien. Perhaps it had been because O'Brien had beaten Garak to Sisko's door and the captain didn't want to hear the same argument twice. Then, Sisko had given a single nod, his permission for Garak to continue. "He believes his only recourse is to resign from Starfleet. No doubt he will be waiting in your office when you come on duty in the morning." "Why are you suddenly interested in Doctor Bashir's career?" "As I said, he considers me his friend." "And you don't consider what you're doing right now betraying that friendship?" "If I have to explain *that*, captain, then it is clear I have severely misjudged your ability to evaluate the strengths and weaknesses of your own command staff." Blue eyes had stared into bottomless black. "He asked for my opinion. I told him what he *wanted* to hear." He had paused and then had said flatly, "I am telling *you* what *you* need to hear. Surely *that* is self-explanatory enough for you, captain." Sisko's lips had twitched into a sneer. "I don't trust you, Garak." Garak had met it with a sharp, vicious smile of his own. "No one does, captain, except him." The emotions which thundered across Sisko's features were perhaps the most intense Garak had ever seen from him. There had been the distinct possibility Garak had pushed too far; it was always difficult to judge just how Sisko's mind worked. Some moments, the captain emulated the heroes of the Federation, boasting tolerance and level-headed decision making. Others, he was just as brutally calculating as Tain, feral as any Klingon, and as passionately obsessed as Dukat. "What do you plan to do about it?" Sisko had hissed in that deadly soft tone that was distinctly the captain's, somewhere between even-toned Federation and maniacal Dukat. "What I have already done," he had replied plainly and then dropped his gaze. "I listened to his plans about resigning and then made an excuse about retrieving suits from my shop." The final comments had been the most crucial and had been delivered with a soft tone and a genuine plea in his eyes. "He will be destroyed by this, Captain Sisko. Starfleet defines who and what he is. He has trained himself to be the best at a single profession. I'd like to think the two of us are living proof of his abilities. Without his career, he is lost and, therefore, he has lost himself." Sisko's face had remained frozen. Then he had asked quietly, "Are you speaking as a friend?" "No. As an exile. Surely you can appreciate the difference." As he had turned to leave, he had heard, "I don't think I've ever seen you this passionate about something, Mister Garak." "Then, my dear captain, you've never had the opportunity to debate me on the finer points of Kardasi literature." The doors had whisked shut behind Garak and he had returned to his brazenly naked and extremely tempting charge. Somehow, he had finally drifted off to sleep; he had then woken up to the cooler air prickling his chest scales and a not-so-shy hand traveling up and down his center chest ridge. Garak had willed every micron of arousal to be contained and to let his face convey the one question Julian had to answer before the Cardassian allowed himself to feast upon his Chosen. Amazingly, Julian had understood. No argument. No tears. No protests. Just simple acceptance. Garak's refusal to possess what had been offered to him was so very un-Cardassian. Then again, Garak had been feeling particularly un-Cardassian ever since Tain died, so much so he had placed the outcome of this particular game on that weird, serendipity of Starfleet. Perhaps he would succeed at this one final attempt of intimacy, the last he intended to try with Julian. There would be no more after this. His soul couldn't take it. ***<<< Late Morning, Day 1 >>>*** Nothing ever turned out the way he had planned. If it had, Julian would have wooed Dax to his bed within the first three months he knew her. If it had, he would have saved Ekoria and the others from the Quickening. If it had, Bariel would still be alive. If it had, he would have tendered his resignation to Starfleet and lived the life of an exile with Garak at his side. No. Like so many times before, Richard Bashir managed to foul up his plans. "Listen to me, Jules, and listen *real* good... We didn't sacrifice everything so you could play tennis. You are going to be more, Jules Bashir. You hear me? You are going to be more!" "Second?!? What do you mean, graduated second in your class? All those gifts, all those talents! You should have been first! That's why we made all these sacrifices for you! Don't you see that? And now? You're running off to some station in the middle of nowhere? No. You belong on Earth! Pelise's father has offered you the opportunity of a lifetime! Don't be stupid, Jules." After all the arguments, after all the battles, after everything, Julian shouldn't have been surprised that Richard Bashir had made another "sacrifice." He had offered himself to Starfleet so Julian could continue on, to be his legacy. He hadn't turned himself in because it was the noble thing to do, the thing a father does for his son; it was simply Richard Bashir's latest tactic to avoid facing the bigger problem: the truth. Richard may have taken him for the treatments, may have forged documents, and may have altered records, but it had been Julian who had not disclosed his enhancements to Starfleet. To the Federation. To everyone. He should have been drummed out of Starfleet, just like Simon Tarses. But he hadn't been. And just like all those times before, Julian was forced to give up something he loved because of what he was, because of what his parents had done to him, because of his "gifts." Now, as he gathered the book into his arms and trudged down to the Promenade, he was going to have to... He squeezed his eyes shut. Garak or Starfleet. Starfleet had won. It was phenomenally unfair. He didn't want to do this again. Garak would never forgive him. Ever. Julian entered the deserted tailoring shop and immediately went to the private work area where he knew Garak was probably lurking; his grip on the leather bound book tightened considerably. He stood at the doorway, bowing his head in shame before he raised his eyes to meet the pale blue of Garak's. The Cardassian's face was expressionless. Words failed him. Garak set down whatever implement he had been using and pushed aside the mound of dark burgundy material heaped on the table. The Cardassian's eyes didn't sparkle with excitement. His lips weren't lifting into a smile. A death sentence. An execution. Julian now understood why Pelise had been so devastated. It hadn't been about him. She could find another lover, another companion, another mate to take his place. It had been that he had rejected her for Starfleet; in Cardassian terms, he had given her up for the State. It was a concept he supposed Garak could accept. It was a belief Garak had often doggedly defended. But Julian had learned in the past year that Garak had accepted him on human terms, treated his beliefs and his love of Starfleet with the same respect, albeit teasingly, as he believed in Cardassia. And when dealing with things pertaining specifically to them, when it wasn't involving Starfleet or Bajor or anyone else except them, Garak related to him via the human perception of things. Garak had adapted. Garak didn't hold Julian to Cardassian beliefs. He had adjusted, making accommodations for Julian's convictions, while at the same time maintaining his own faith in Cardassia. Garak had told him that last night. Traditional yet adaptable. At once, he understood what he had done to Garak the last time he had presented the book of poetry to the tailor over a year ago. Garak had been expecting Julian to react in a traditional human way. Garak had been a few steps ahead, already morphing his convictions to allow Julian some level of tolerance, to even perhaps be an equal. Garak had prepared himself to deal with the human interpretation of events and what had Julian done? Become Cardassian. And Garak wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. It was why he had denied himself last night. Why he had insisted he leave to "get those suits" and allow Julian to go to sleep. Why he had worn pajamas to bed. Why he had refused to respond this morning. Garak was no fool. He wouldn't put his soul on the line twice. And here Julian was with the book of poetry and expecting Garak to understand what had happened, understand his choice, because Garak was Cardassian. The book fell from Julian's hands. Garak or Starfleet. Julian hadn't chosen Starfleet. He had been ready to give it up all right then and there except that Richard Bashir had decided to take responsibility for his actions. Starfleet had chosen him. He couldn't just hand in his resignation after that; Bennett wouldn't have allowed it. Sisko would have undoubtedly pulled him aside and literally knocked sense into him. Starfleet had chosen him. And his father had ruined his life once more. Julian dropped to his knees. Garak or Starfleet. Garak was supposed to understand. He was Cardassian. He understood the love of the State. And no matter how much the Federation downplayed undying loyalty, it was still a belief hammered into all Federation citizens. Call it by any other name, it was still duty to the State, no matter if it was Cardassia or the Federation. But Garak didn't view Julian from a strictly Cardassian point of view. He had adapted, treating Julian with some of the same principles humans accepted about humans. Last night. Julian understood last night. Garak's enthusiasm. Garak's acceptance. Garak's conviction. The Cardassian had been playing the political game long enough to be able to judge the outcome of Julian's situation. He had observed behavior long enough to know just how far some parents were willing to go to protect their children. How far they were willing to go to protect their *legacy.* After all, Tain didn't have Garak killed, he had him exiled. It was an odd show of favoritism from a father to his illegitimate, outcast son. Tain was dead. Dukat ruled Cardassia. It was safe to assume Garak had no one left, no one except Julian, Odo and Ziyal. A human, an exile and a pariah. Companionship. Such a simple word. Such a neutral word. A hand settled on Julian's shoulder, a soft voice at his ear. "I'll only be a moment." Garak retreated. Not to spare himself the display of human emotions, but probably to ensure privacy. It was a sign of protectiveness, something Garak only extended to a select few. Julian. Ziyal. And occasionally Odo. He didn't deserve such treatment. Julian felt the burning inside of him, the helplessness of having to chose between two sides. Garak or Starfleet. Garak or Starfleet. Garak... Hot tears slid down his cheeks. The revelation of his genetic enhancement had been played out with a surprising result. His father and mother were on a transport back to Earth where Richard would be in prison for two years. Zimmerman was gone as well, taking the LMH program with him. Julian still had friends. He supposed he was still somewhat respected by them despite his lying about his past. Miles had shrugged it aside in a manner which surprised Julian; the chief normally didn't take too well to liars and cheats. But Miles had been ready and willing to fight for Julian's commission. To the two most important people in his life, the past didn't matter. Starfleet had ensured his continued friendship with Miles and had doomed his relationship with Garak. Broad hands touched his shoulders then gently pulled him up. He was eased down to a chair draped with soft materials. Gentle fingers brushed away the tears. Garak.... A once great and powerful being reduced to accepting whatever meager attention a human gave him. It wasn't fair. Garak deserved more. The Cardassian had patiently waited. He had indulged in Julian's silly fantasies, taken the time to instruct him on the finer points of so many things, and had even gone so far as to accept Julian on human terms. Garak now knelt before him. Julian's hand touched the collar of the Cardassian's tunic. A man so powerful, the protege of Enabran Tain, the *son* of Enabran Tain... to be reduced to this.... Julian remembered the Cardassian's impassioned speech from the ordeal with the implant. How could he forget? The words had been sharp, stabbing, hurtful... desperate. Truthful. Terrifying. Somewhere, amongst all those vehement statements, Garak had revealed just how much Julian meant to him. Julian undid the clasp of Garak's tunic. He pulled down the collar of the undershirt. He traced the pale gray scales with his forefinger. All at once he was dizzy and cold as the realization hit him. "You knew." If Garak had believed for even a second Julian would go through with his plan of resigning from Starfleet and joining him in exile, the Cardassian would have prepared himself. His scales would have been oiled and smooth instead of rough and dry. And no matter how much the Cardassian may have wanted to take him last night, he hadn't in order to preserve their friendship in a manner a human could accept. "What have I done to you?" Julian's hand pressed against Garak's chest. His eyes closed. The tears continued. The one person who could possibly understand all the implications. The one person who could possibly accept all the reasons. The one person. "The only one." Garak or Starfleet. "Garak or Starfleet." Garak or Starfleet. Garak... Garak... And then a voice broke through his despair. The one syllable word crashed through the gates of morbidity and rallied against the self-hatred.... "And." Julian blinked, staring into the blue eyes before him. "Garak *and* Starfleet," came the whisper. He fell forward, wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders, touching his forehead to the thick corded neck. "And," Julian repeated, as if he had never heard the word. So alien. So foreign. Lips searched for cool skin. Hands ran across muscled shoulders. "And." It was both a question and an answer. "And..." he breathed into the gray ear his lips touched. "And." <<<<<<< End Part 3 >>>>>> ***<<< Evening, Day 1 >>>*** They only kissed while in the shop. It was all that Julian wanted at the time, perhaps all he could handle. The contact had been by no means chaste but it hadn't been frantic either. It had been slow. Exploratory. Not especially gentle but relaxed. Julian had tasted of salt, had scented of sorrow, relief and desire, and had continued to tremble for however long they had kissed. Sitting on the edge of the stuffed chair, Julian had pulled him between his knees as his hands had continued to caress his upper arms and shoulders, as if seeking reassurance that this was actually happening. Garak had not intended to stay on his knees for however long it had been; it had been the sharp muscle spasms in his lower back, twinges made more painful by age and by sleeping in such an awkward position last evening, that had finally grown unbearable enough to cause him to rock back, out of the embrace, and hope that the doctor did not take offense. A shy, grateful smile had broken across those features, reflecting in those eyes which had grown red and puffy from the crying. Then hands had reached toward Garak's face, thumbs touching his eyeridges and then tracing them softly. The touch of a ghost. An echo of the past, of the final time another Julian Bashir had caressed him with such familiarity. But that had been the past. "The official statement will be released this afternoon," Julian had told him quietly as his hands had settled back on Garak's neck ridges. "I don't want to be anywhere near the Promenade when it does." So the doctor had used Garak's private washroom, scrubbed his face, and made himself somewhat presentable to the public again. They had decided to meet in the Cardassian's quarters in thirty minutes, time enough for Julian to stop by his own quarters and change and for Garak to close up for the day. He had picked up the discarded book of poetry and smiled to himself as he left the shop. The day was his. He had won. And when Garak had entered his quarters, Julian was already there, walking towards him and pulling the book out of his hands, tossing it carelessly on the floor. Some time, some day, they would give the poetry the attention it deserved. The salute to the Legacy of Ambassador Bashir. But somehow, some way, such legacies were not part of this day. The doctor then kissed him thoroughly, almost mimicking how Garak had kissed him last night, complete with the nuzzles and the nips. Then, Julian said in heavily Terran-accented Kardasi, "Come to bed, my one." So charming. So seductive. His accent curdled the Kardasi vowels yet made them sound lyrical. Their clothes were heaped by the dining table. Garak barely had time to engage the more sophisticated computer privacy lock on his quarters when Julian was upon him, sinking teeth into neck ridges and running hands over scales. And while in Garak's dreams and fantasies of the first time he possessed Julian, *his* Julian, everything had been well-paced and sensual, the reality was harsher. Harder. Tumbling over furniture. Rolling on the floor. Clambering into bed. Tasting. Nipping. Grinding. Pounding into a lithe body he was convinced he was going to injure only to hear growls of encouragement and feel fingers digging into his flesh. Erupting with such force it felt like plasma fire in his system. Watching as Julian arched and cried out and peaked. By the Gul! It had been intense, both gasping for air and staring dazzled-eyed at each other. And after a few gentle kisses, murmurs of reassurance, and caresses of comfort, they settled down in the bed and rested, not a word spoken between them. Who would have known such a simple Terran conjunction could have led to so much? Although he had been feeling particularly un-Cardassian the entire morning, the fact that his elaborate game, his self-discipline, and his cunning had factored into the outcome of Julian retaining his commission meant that Elim Garak was still Cardassian somewhere beneath those clouded mores and skewed sense of duty. He basked in triumph. Lips suddenly caressed his neck ridge. Fingers toyed with the scales along his hips. The sheets were tugged down to his knees. Warm, human flesh pressed more insistently against him. Like everything that was Julian Bashir, the doctor was intent on experiencing everything at once. Garak knew it would be the death of him. But what a way to die. "Elim..." Hands slid to his chest scales, a part of his anatomy which seem to fascinate Julian. He glanced over to find Julian's eyes sparkling with lust and mischief. "Yes?" Lips lifted into a wolfish grin. "Join me in the shower?" Was it to be like this for the rest of their lives? That didn't matter right now. What mattered was that Julian wanted him, all of him, all at once. There was no shame in enjoying the spoils of victory, was there? "The water can be as warm as you like," Julian added as his fingers slid down the center chest ridge to the Cardassian's groin. "What do you say?" Garak rolled, pinning him to the bed. "Why not just stay here?" "Because I live for adventure," Julian grinned impishly. With that, he slithered from underneath Garak's body, a sensual movement that startled the Cardassian so much that he'd been unable to react quick enough, and the doctor trotted into bathroom. Then Garak heard the water running. Slowly, he pried himself out of bed, ordered the computer to increase the ambient room temperature, and wandered into the 'fresher. Julian was already in the shower, turning beneath the cascade of water and causing it to splash against the transparent shower door. The Cardassian leaned against the wash basin, taking in the sight. "Not going to join me?" Julian teased when he realized the Cardassian was in the bathroom but only staring at him. "In a moment," he replied. "Oh." The human abruptly turned around, presenting his smooth skin and tempting backside. It confused Garak for a moment before he understood Julian had interpreted his momentary pause for a request for privacy. Garak, however, was content to watch. "I accessed your replicator earlier for some toiletries for myself," Julian called out as lather foamed down his back. "I hope you don't mind." "Not at all," he replied, entranced by the suds as they formed wide patterns across Julian's skin. He had missed this the last time; the ambassador had literally dragged him in the shower, refusing to let go of him for even a short while. Garak hadn't been able to enjoy such a delicious sight. Now.... "Those bed sheets of yours," Julian continued, "what are they made of?" "Givattian silk." "They're quite nice. I've never been on anything like that before. Sure, an occasional satin sheet, but to tell you the truth, those make me slide all over the bed. Can't get a bit of leverage." He began scrubbing his hair, more white foam frothing down his fingers and skin; he still hadn't turned around. "Have you had them for a while? I mean, the last time I was here, you had the standard cotton ones." Garak blinked. The last time he was here. Such unpleasant memories, those were. Garak was sure he hadn't meant to remind him of those less than stellar moments. But the fact that Julian had paid attention to such a minor detail as to the choice of bed linens surprised him. "They were a gift," the Cardassian answered succinctly. "Oh," Julian said as soap suds splattered against the door. "Didn't mean to pry like that. Just curious." Garak picked up on the slight affront in the doctor's voice; it was a tone Julian often used when he refused to give elaborate answers. There was also a bit of jealousy, as if the doctor were trying to figure out who would give a Cardassian exile such an intimate gift. Oh, Garak supposed he could have a marvelous time teasing the doctor about it but found himself unwilling to spoil the moment. The sight of his wet, sudsy lover was definitely arousing. "A merchant had sent them to me," Garak explained, "as an incentive for me to sell luxury home goods as a compliment to nightclothes." "Hmpf." Julian doused himself underneath the water again, rinsing off. When he spoke again, his tone was neutral, wonderfully neutral, as if all were forgiven. "Well... I like them. Very much." Then his voice dropped to that seductive tone which made Garak's toes curl. "Think I can cajole a set out of you? Or do I have to come here to enjoy such luxury?" Garak didn't answer; instead, he slid open the transparent door and stepped in behind Julian, pressing his body to the doctor's. "Oh, Elim," Julian cooed, as if he possessed all the confidence in the universe, and then shifted his hips, "a little feisty today, aren't you?" By the Guls, what this human did to him.... "You've been tempting me for far too long," Garak spoke softly, lips against Julian's ear. "Far longer than any sane being should have to endure." ***<<>>*** There was something to be said about the power of incredible sex. In the shower, Garak had held him tightly, more possessively than before. Then again, that second round of sex had been more primal, conquering in a way, as if Garak were fully claiming him. Perhaps it had been the heat. Perhaps it had been the water. Perhaps it had been the way in which Garak had taken him, right there in the shower, and drove into him so hard that Julian thought he was going to be pounded through the wall at any moment. Still, it had been delicious. For a while, Julian had been able to ignore the part of his consciousness that repeatedly told him that getting involved with Garak was wrong. He had ignored that part of his mind before, when he had chosen to have lunch with the exiled Cardassian those years ago. He had ignored that part of his mind before, when he had charged off to Cardassian space to confront Tain in order to save Garak's life. He had ignored that part of his mind before, when he had realized the depth of the affection Garak had for him. He had ignored that part of his mind before, when he had forgiven Garak for almost killing him and all those Founders. He ignored that part of his mind when Garak had offered the compromise of "and." It wasn't a solution. It wasn't an answer. But for this moment, this day, it was what he needed; Garak had sensed that. So now Julian was standing in the middle of Garak's quarters, a damp towel wrapped around his waist, as he waited for the Cardassian to hunt up a "comfortable pair of trousers, something much more suitable than that dreadful uniform of yours." It was the only thing Garak had said to him since they had finished the shower. It was particularly odd, especially since their entire relationship had been built on conversation; now there were huge periods of silence, as if neither were quite sure what to say. And as the silence dragged on, Julian's mind kept insisting he think about the repercussions of this change in their relationship. How people would react. The Bajorans. The Starfleet officers. The command staff. Major Kira. Captain Sisko. Miles.... The chief may have accepted the fact that Julian was genetically enhanced. For Miles, it was probably something as simple as rationalizing Julian had no choice but to lie about his background because his parents had not given him a choice. But Garak was another matter entirely. Julian had chosen to become involved knowing the full implications of just what a relationship could do to him, his reputation, and his interaction with his fellow officers. And while Miles may have been able to accept the "orphaned" Rugal into his home and had put up with working side-by-side with those Cardassian scientists last year, he had never had a particular liking for Garak. Julian supposed there was respect for the Cardassian buried somewhere in Miles' hostility, but there never would be trust. For Julian to expect Miles to accept Garak's new status as Julian's lover... he snorted to himself. It still came down to Garak or Starfleet, no matter what Garak had said. Julian had made his choice. Garak had made his. And Miles had to make his own. The doctor let out a long sigh. Why wouldn't his mind allow him a moment's peace? He had just had one of the most incredibly intense sexual encounters of his life and already his mind was racing ahead, contemplating the next battle instead of enjoying the certain languorous feeling that always accompanied a particularly satisfying sexual peak. Or, in their case, peaks. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Julian focused on the display shelf he stood in front of, inspecting Garak's collection of odds and ends set on the three-tiered bookshelf. The last time he had been here, during the ordeal with the implant, he had eyed each memento and had then tried to imagine the wild tale that went with it. They were eye-catching. There was some type of reddish quartz on the second shelf, a striking indigo flower preserved in glass on the first, a plume shaped like a Terran peacock's feather but was at least twelve shades of green displayed against a cream satin square of cloth on the third.... Intriguing yet surprisingly impersonal. They had to be for show, conversation pieces if one wanted to give them a title. Each probably had a story, complete with a shred of truth just to make it authentic, to divert attention away from the owner, to give the visitor something to talk about. There was nothing purely Cardassian in entire the collection: no emblems of the State, no badges from Cardassian military regiments, no holopictures, nothing representing who Julian had come to view as "Garak." This room, this place wasn't Garak at all, just some pleasantly decorated generic living space. As Julian turned, he caught the pensive look on Garak's face, as if the Cardassian was worried that he would select a piece, present it to him, and expect an explanation. He saw Garak's gaze drop to Julian's empty hands. He saw the slight surprise in those blue eyes and a bit of confusion as they lifted to meet Julian's. Was that relief or wariness he saw? It was hard to tell. Their entire friendship had been built around conversations, teasing statements and outrageous lies, arguments about literary styles, and debates about the achievements of their respective cultures. Yet since Julian entered the tailoring shop after his parents had departed, none of their verbal exchanges were even close to the level before. Even Julian's attempt at banter in the shower, to try to ease the awkwardness of the situation, had been gently rebuffed by short answers. The only time Garak had bothered with an explanation was when Julian apologized for prying about the bedsheets. There had been a bit of amusement in the Cardassian's tone, but also a bit of resignation, as if he didn't want to play the game... Playing the game... Julian tilted his head, staring at Garak curiously before realizing the Cardassian wasn't playing one. Not now. Not in his quarters. Not as Julian wandered around half-naked and inspecting the trinkets he had on display. Garak was being... himself. Julian offered a soft, reassuring smile, and then walked to the Cardassian who had already dressed while Julian had been wandering around. The doctor accepted the clothing, pulling on the crimson silk pajama bottoms which felt like Garak's bedsheets and tightening the drawstring so they wouldn't fall off. He handed the shirt back to Garak with a small grin. "It's a bit warm in here. Unless I'm violating some Cardassian sensibility regarding nudity, I'd rather keep my shirt off." "Of course, doctor." Julian trotted back to the bathroom to hang the towel up. When he returned, Garak had settled on the couch with the book of poetry on his lap and a glass of wine cradled in his hand. Another glass was on the table in front of him. The Cardassian had not glanced up when Julian had reentered the room; his attention was focused entirely on the book. As Julian walked closer to the couch, he passed by Garak's desk and casually looked down out of sheer curiosity. He stopped in his tracks -- on the left corner, just above a padd, gleamed a Cardassian Empire crest cast in polished silver. Julian almost had missed it. It wasn't hidden underneath the padd or obscured by another item. It sat where anyone could see it but only if they were looking. It was so obvious it was practically invisible. Had Garak set this out deliberately? The doctor strained to remember if he had seen this item before, but knew he hadn't. Why was he paying so much attention to this emblem? Because it was the only thing in Garak's quarters that could be identified as specifically Cardassian. Was it there to remind Garak of his homeland whenever he sat at his desk to do some work? Perhaps. Maybe Ziyal had given it to him, but upon closer inspection, Julian noted the ornateness of the piece. It wasn't meant to be a functioning... whatever... just a decoration. Just a reminder.... In an instant, Julian knew precisely what this badge was and who it was from. ///"Would you go?"/// ///"Their Cardassia is not *my* Cardassia."/// It had been Ambassador Bashir's or, at least, Ambassador Bashir had given it to Garak. A token of affection? A plea to cross over to the other universe? The means in which Garak could have contacted the ambassador when he had packed his bags and had been ready to go? No matter. Garak had chosen to stay here, hoping that he could have the Julian Bashir he desired, not the substitute. He carefully picked it up. To anyone else who walked into these quarters, this piece of silver shaped in the Empire crest was just a token of Garak's patriotism. Nothing more. Nothing less. They were the only ones who knew just what it meant. Julian doubted Garak would disclose such information to Ziyal. Was this a subtle hint to Julian that he was being honest, to reinforce his commitment to their agreement made in the brig those months ago and that moment in that Dominion prison? No. Garak hadn't deliberately pulled this out of his collection and placed it where it would catch Julian's attention. If the Cardassian had decided to do that, the emblem would be on the table in front of him, within easy reach. No, Julian wasn't supposed to notice this at all.... The metal warmed from his touch; a smudge from where Julian had brushed his thumb across the etched surface marred the shine. Ambassador Bashir. The man who had probably loved Garak with all the intensity Garak had ever imagined. The man who had set everything in motion, his final gift to the alternate of his beloved. Julian and Garak's relationship was supposed to be impossible simply because of the politics involved, but the ambassador... no... actually it had been Dukat who had given Julian the firm shove toward Garak by sending him that book. Ambassador Bashir and Gul Garak. They belonged to a different universe. They had made it work, hadn't they? The book of poetry was proof of that. And Ambassador Bashir's final words to Julian now burned: "Know him as I have." The alternate-Dukat had thought it had to do with the poem in the book; why else would Dukat had beamed over such a personal item? But like his mentor-lover, the ambassador spoke on at least two levels. The most obvious message now was: "Don't be stupid." The doctor had already integrated Garak into his plans as a physician in exile, why couldn't he do so now? If people were going to hate him because he was genetically enhanced and had lied about it all these years, why not hate him because he loved Garak at the same time? And he did love Garak. That was the thing. And Garak didn't know. A declaration now would be met with a scoff; the Cardassian would probably believe such a confession had to do with Julian's chaotic mental state, not because he really felt those emotions. His love for Garak had not been instant; it had been progressive. It wasn't until last night he realized just how much Garak meant to him. Just why had he pursued this relationship? Pity? Selfishness? Julian stopped himself. He wasn't going to think along those lines. He'd made his own decision, hadn't he? He hadn't been coerced into anything. If he would have said no, Garak would have probably accepted that answer, wouldn't he? How could Julian forget what happened last night, when Garak had kissed him and had held him against the couch? How stunned he had been after Garak's cool hands ran across his torso and then suddenly stopped, pulling away, drawing back. It was as if Garak didn't trust him, that the Cardassian didn't believe Julian was capable of staying in the relationship for more than a few days. It was as if Garak had already decided that his liaison with Julian was a short-lived affair, that the Cardassian had to take advantage of every bit of affection he was given until Julian realized the mistake he had made. That when Julian woke up tomorrow morning, he would decide the relationship was a bad idea. That he couldn't handle the pressure put upon him by his peers, his friends, and the station's residents. That he would stammer out some explanation that they had to end the relationship now, before they were seriously involved, before either of them could be seriously hurt. Could he really blame Garak for thinking that way? Julian's track record consisted of affairs stemming from infatuation, not anything substantial. His entire relationship with Leeta had been based on mutual compatibility in bed; she was charming and had a good heart, but she wasn't exactly an intellectually stimulating companion. Garak had even referred to Leeta as Julian's "bed-partner," not girlfriend or lover. Perhaps it was the translation of the Kardasi word Garak had used but somehow Julian doubted it; the Cardassian was always very precise in the words he used. Did Garak believe he was another one of Julian's "bed-partners"? Was that why the Cardassian was so quiet? Garak was angry with himself for giving in to a few hours of mindless passion? He had a new mission: to somehow convince a wary Cardassian that his feelings were genuine. Julian turned toward the couch and picked up the glass of wine, ready to start talking about something, anything, to end this terrible silence. Garak still held the book, but now it rested against his lap. The Cardassian stared at him and then tried to mask his features, to flash that bright, disarming smile that was so distracting. He wasn't quite fast enough; Julian still saw a bit of raw emotion clouding the Cardassian's features. Surprise. Wariness. Edginess. His eyes were focused on the crest. "This is not about him," Julian said quietly. "We had something before he even showed up. Maybe it took understanding *him* for me to realize a lot of things." He scratched the back of his head. "Do you at least understand why I... well... couldn't before?" "You couldn't risk the exposure to Starfleet security," Garak replied softly. Julian nodded and took a sip of wine, allowing the tart flavor to burn down his tongue and throat. "My father had insisted I take the Starfleet entrance exams as soon as I was eligible, which was when I was fifteen. Of course, I was accepted. My test scores were exceptional. I had two captains sponsoring me. I had the enthusiasm. I had the drive. I had all the characteristics of a budding Starfleet officer. "When the Academy let out for the semester break, I went home. One night, I was rummaging through my family's storage area and I found a sealed box. It didn't take me long to crack it and what I found...." He took another sip of the wine. "Well, they say there are skeletons in everyone's closet. I just had one in a closet I didn't know about." Julian took another step forward until he was standing directly beside Garak. "What could I do? My father said, 'How will anyone know unless you tell them?' And then he proceeded to explain to me exactly what would happen if anyone ever found out about it. That was the day I ceased being Jules Bashir. Julian... well... I'm sure you know all about creating a persona for yourself. It was the one that I created, that I became. "I had mentors... oh... a whole *list* of them. I had to find substitutes for my parents, those who were worthy of the new 'Julian.' My parents left Earth the day classes resumed at the Academy. I don't quite remember what my father's new occupation was, but it took up all his time and concentration. It didn't matter. I had men and women who were thrilled to have an eager pupil to pass on their knowledge. If my parents could bargain for a better son, I certainly could bargain for better parents. "When I met you... you had everything. Don't you see? The mystery, the allure. I felt as if I had finally found someone who would understand all that I had been through and wouldn't judge me because of it. And when I realized what had transpired between you and the ambassador...." Julian met Garak's gaze. The Cardassian had placed the book on the cushion. "This isn't a fling. This isn't a one-night stand. Sure, we'll have our arguments, but I want this to work. "Tain told me about you. He would launch into stories about your skills as an interrogator, how many people you interrogated, what methods you favored. I don't know what he reasoning was. Perhaps it was to scare me. Perhaps it was his final act of revenge. I don't know. I didn't believe much of what he said just because who he was. But I want you to know that I'm not walking into this completely blind. I'll never know everything about you and I'm certain I don't want to even if you chose to tell me." Slowly, Garak stood. There was a stunned quality to his hushed tone. "Tain spoke of me?" Julian opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of what to say. He hadn't lied to Garak about what Tain had said, but he had believed it to be tactic Tain used to keep himself amused. Martok and the others barely paid the elder Cardassian any attention when he began rambling about the betrayals by his former proteges, but Tain had found himself a captive audience with Julian, taking full advantage of Julian's compassion. How much of what Tain had said was truth and how much was a lie? Julian wasn't sure. But the intensity of Garak's stare was completely unnerving. "The first three weeks I was there, before that solitary confinement, he would make comments. He would ask general questions about your life on 'that miserable little station' and if you had recovered fully from the implant or not. I know I probably shouldn't have, but I did tell him about when you tried to... well... annihilate the Founder homeworld. He seemed impressed, but it was hard to tell." He paused, unable to break away from Garak's gaze. "He knew we had lunch together and that we discussed literature. It did seem to amuse him." Julian shrugged. "He was very intent on getting a message to you. To tell you the truth, given his condition, he shouldn't have been able to continue to work on that communications device, but he was remarkably stubborn about his health." He grinned and then laughed, "I guess you get that aspect honestly." "Perhaps." He knew if he allowed the conversation to focus on Tain, he'd never be able to make his point. Julian took a deep breath. "So, you see? I... I didn't just *suddenly* make this decision. This was just the final... oh, I don't know... the final thing. What you said about 'and' could work. I'd like to make it try. And if I'm booted out of Starfleet - well - I happen to think being forced to abdicate one's position of power because of love is rather romantic." Garak raised his eyeridges in surprise. "Another Terran romanticism?" "Our culture is chalked full of them. It is an earmark of a true romance." The Cardassian snorted softly and his expression changed slightly. Julian had no idea if the Garak believed him after that impassioned speech, but was wary to continue until he at least had some acknowledgment from Garak. After a few seconds, the Cardassian asked, "And Chief O'Brien?" "It's something I have to deal with. But I'm not about to sacrifice you or myself again to conform with the public's 'ideal' romantic situation. I've done that enough already." He raised his wine glass. "To 'and'?" A bare smile lit across Garak's features. Slowly, he nodded and raised his own glass. "To 'and.'" ***((( Finis )))***