This story is set at the end of DS9's first season and the beginning of the second. The more familiar you are with the Homecoming/Circle/Siege arc that begins DS9's second season, the more sense this will make. And if you aren't familiar--go watch `em! They're good episodes. I'm giving this story an R for its m/m interactions; though nothing here is explicit enough to warrant an NC-17, the young and impressionable must be warned. My list of people to thank for help and support while writing this story is lengthy: Andrea Evans, Joanne Francis, Liz Williams, Mary Knasinski, Sophie Masse, Karen Colohan and, as always, Terrie Drummonds for giving me good advice on the first section--and also for the use of "sienush," a beverage of her creation. Thanks all! Kit -=*)]![(*=--=*)]![(*=--=*)]![(*=--=*)]![(*=- Covert Agenda (DS9 - G/B - R) Copyright February 1998 Kathryn Ramage -=*)]![(*=--=*)]![(*=--=*)]![(*=--=*)]![(*=- Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, the characters, and large chunks of the galaxy. This story was written for personal amusement and should not be taken as intended copyright infringement or indeed anything but the product of a slightly bored mind seeking to entertain itself and anyone else who happens to like this sort of thing. -=*)]1[(*=- Lunch at the Replimat. The conversation between Dr. Bashir and DS9's resident Cardassian tailor (some said spy) was unusually subdued. Garak rose to leave. "I hope I haven't offended you, Doctor." "No- uh- no. I'm not offended. I just- ah- need time to sort it all out." "You will think about it, won't you?" Bashir nodded. As he circled the table on his way out, Garak paused behind Bashir's chair as if he wanted to say something more, but he contented himself with brushing his fingers over the doctor's shoulder and left without speaking another word. After his companion had gone, Bashir sat with his chin resting on the knuckles of his folded hands, his eyes focused far away in thought. He sighed deeply. "Something wrong?" Dax asked behind him. Bashir looked up, startled. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't heard her approach. "No, I- I'm fine. It's just a little personal problem." She took this as an invitation and sat down. The doctor seemed unsettled--not unusual for him, but for once the source of his agitation was not the pretty lieutenant's proximity. After a moment's hesitation, Bashir leaned on the table and whispered confidentially, "Jadzia, have you ever been in a situation where someone you consider a friend indicates a more-than-friendly interest in you?" Dax laughed. "I'm sorry," she said, eyes bright with amusement. "I never expected to hear that question from _you_. Who is it? Not-" Dax turned suddenly to look down the Promenade in the direction the tailor had gone. "Oh, Julian, not Garak?" Bashir didn't answer. Instead, he said, "I have a lot to think about," and pushed away from the table. "Excuse me, please." -=*)]2[(*=- He retreated to his office in the Infirmary and settled back into a pensive position--arms folded, eyes distant. Garak had asked him to think. He _was_ thinking, very seriously. He'd been acquainted with Garak for months now. Even though the Cardassian's motives for befriending him remained unclear, he'd thought that he understood the nature of their relationship. But last night, something had happened and everything he thought he knew had changed. He'd been sitting at a table in Quark's, alone, as usual, when the waiter brought him a drink he hadn't ordered yet. Laqara pinked ice-mead--exactly what he'd been thinking of asking for. Julian had gaped at it in amazement, but before he could stammer out a protest, the waiter had scuttled away. Then Garak was standing there. Bashir had smiled shyly. "I should have known. But how did you...?" "I asked Quark what you usually have. He provided me with several possible options, but I remembered that you ordered Laqaran mead last week at the Replimat and complained that it tasted better here at Quark's establishment." Garak smiled, as if to suggest that this was an elementary deduction. "May I join you, Doctor?" He took a seat before Julian could say, "Yes." Their conversation was no different from the sort they shared over lunch: Garak asked about his day and seemed to take an interest in his most recent medical research; when he asked the tailor what _he_ had been up to, Garak told him about his difficulties with a hard-to-please Talarian customer and diverted him with a few juicy but harmless pieces of station gossip; they discussed the political impact of the Kai's permanent departure to the Gamma Quadrant. Nothing remarkable...and yet Julian had the impression that he'd been picked up. It wasn't the first time: When Garak had first introduced himself, Bashir had been certain that "the spy" was making a pass at him. There'd been few subsequent overtures. A glance, a teasing remark which might be flirtatious, a certain solicitous interest in his daily routines, but nothing more. Julian had begun to believe he'd misunderstood that first encounter. The whole thing might simply have been a matter of cross-cultural miscommunication; Garak might never have intended to be anything but friendly. He wasn't going to look like a fool by saying, "No, thank you, I'm not interested," before he was completely certain that Garak was interested in him. When he'd left Quark's, Garak had walked out with him. They were still arguing about the importance of spiritual beliefs to the solidarity of an oppressed population. "The Bajorans' spirituality does give them a certain determination," Garak had agreed with him, "but they are not a practical people. They need a strong authority to keep them from wandering into chaos." Julian had grinned at this condescending assessment. "A strong authority? You mean the Cardassians." "I was thinking of Opaka's successor," Garak answered. "Her loss will be incalculable to Bajor. A strong- willed and foresighted leader can focus the faith of her followers to a specific purpose. Without a focus, all that religious fervor spends itself in irrational pursuits. I suppose you've heard about the extremist factions appearing all over Bajor since the Kai's disappearance?" Bashir shook his head. "You ought to pay more attention to local politics, Doctor. They affect your situation more than you realize. The trouble with you humans is that you have no spiritual beliefs--you don't understand the power that faith can hold over a religiously oriented culture such as the Bajorans. Look at your oh-so scientific view of the Prophets. Even your `Emissary' to Bajor calls them `the wormhole aliens,' as if you refuse to consider the metaphysical implications of their existence." "Cardassians aren't a spiritually-minded people either," Julian retorted. "Oh, but we are, my ignorant young friend. We have a whole pantheon of major and minor deities to whom we offer our prayers for guidance and intercession in any problem you can imagine. Our religion is as complex as our system of government." "But surely _you_ don't believe the- ah- Prophets are gods?" the doctor asked incredulously. The whole conversation seemed to have taken a strange turn. "I never believed in them at all `til they showed up on our doorstep," Garak replied. "We were not speaking of _my_ beliefs, Doctor, but of the Bajorans'. You don't perceive the effect that this tangible evidence of their faith has had on them--or, I should say, you see the effects but you don't see their significance." "What would you- er- I mean, you Cardassians have done if you'd discovered the wormhole during the Occupation?" "I can't speak for the Central Command--" he began; Bashir nodded, "but I can tell you that we would never have let this system go." And, in an empty stretch in the bridge between the central core and the habitat ring, the tailor turned to him without warning, placed a palm flat on his chest to press him back against the bulkhead, and kissed him hard. Julian opened his mouth to protest, and the Cardassian's tongue slipped in to conduct an insistent, thorough exploration. He grabbed at Garak's neckridges, then let go abruptly when he recalled that that cartilage was particularly sensitive--similar to a Ferengi's ears-- and _not_ to be touched unless he wanted to convince Garak that he welcomed this. He pushed at Garak's shoulders next, but the Cardassian was stronger than Bashir had guessed; he was firmly pinned. His hands plucked at Garak's wrists, arms, chest, and shoulders again, until he managed to pull his head up and his mouth free. "No," he gasped. "No?" "I'm not- I don't think I'm- ah- ready for this." "It can't be a surprise to you that I find you extremely attractive." Garak voice was low, silken, practically a purr. He smiled engagingly as he cupped Julian's jaw in one hand and swept a thumb over his lower lip. "I would consider it an extraordinary privilege to be allowed to take you to bed." "I- uh- thank you, but I'm really not..." He was usually much better at handling propositions. It wasn't even as if this were the first time a man had approached him. So why did _this_ man always reduce him to babbling idiocy? But Garak seemed to take this unintelligible rejection with good humor. "Perhaps some other time." The tailor released him and, with a little bow, left him standing in the corridor breathless, flushed, and rather weak at the knees. He hadn't misunderstood after all: Garak was interested in him. But why? Was it a simple matter of personal attraction, or was the Cardassian pursuing him for some other, more sinister reason? Was he after Federation secrets? Medical information? Or was Garak only playing with him, just because he could? Julian had begun to chew thoughtfully on the side of one finger as he considered what he was going to do, when the comm system trilled. "Sisko to Dr. Bashir." Pulled out of his reverie, Julian slapped the badge on his chest. "Bashir here, Commander. How can I help you?" "Can you come up to Ops--at your convenience? There's something I'd like to discuss with you." "I'll be right there." -=*)]3[(*=- A few minutes later, he sat before his commander's desk looking attentive and nodding at intervals as Sisko explained why he had been summoned. "You know, Doctor, that this is not a Federation station. You and I are here at the invitation of the Bajoran Provisional Government, and the security issues we have to face are not the same ones that other Starfleet officers deal with in more conventional assignments. We have people living on this station who wouldn't be allowed on a Federation starship or starbase. Quark, for example. Or Garak." "Oh," said Julian. "Oh." Sisko nodded, seeing that he understood. "Your friendship with the only Cardassian remaining on DS9 has drawn some attention." "You didn't seem to mind- uh- sir, when I first told you about it." "I didn't see it as a significant breach of security," Sisko admitted. He'd found it hard to be alarmed when his young and naive CMO had come bounding up to Ops so excited about "the spy" striking up a conversation. "But Starfleet Intelligence has been suspicious of Garak's motives in contacting you. They're curious about him--who he is, what he's doing here. Odo has been keeping an eye on him, but he doesn't have access to the kind of inside information they're looking for. That's where you come in, Doctor." Bashir's mouth dropped open. "You want me to spy on him?" "I told Admiral Nacheyev I would speak to you," Sisko answered evenly. The rumbling undertone in his voice suggested that he did not approve of this plan. Julian considered it. "What- ah- what do you want me to do, sir?" he asked. "Just do what you've been doing: Have lunch with him. Listen to him. Don't ask leading questions--it'll only make him suspicious. If you can gain his trust, he may be willing to tell you something about himself." "And then I tell you." "That's it. You don't need to give me an answer right now. Take your time. Ask yourself--do you think this kind of assignment is something you can handle? I know you consider Garak a friend." "Yes, sir," Bashir answered. "I'll think about it." -=*)]4[(*=- Well, wasn't that why he'd sought Garak out in the first place--to find out what the Cardassian was up to? What had he imagined doing with the information once he'd uncovered his spy? But of course there was more to it than that. He had other good reasons for taking on this assignment. That unexpected kiss had done more than startle Bashir--it had jolted him through. The agitation he'd felt had remained with him long afterward; he still wasn't entirely able to shake it off. He'd been restless and confused all night as he relived the scene, hearing his own idiotic stammers repeated endlessly like a malfunctioning audio chip. When he thought of those strong hands on his chest and face, his heart began to pound. He never felt in control around Garak. Although he tried to be cool and composed whenever they met, the Cardassian, with his urbane manners and air of a thousand experiences Bashir could never know, always made him feel like an awkward boy. Garak could manipulate him so easily... He had to reconsider all his assumptions about where this relationship might lead. Did he want to be involved with Garak? Bashir still wasn't certain, but now he had to acknowledge that it could happen. It wasn't just his duty to Starfleet to find out if Garak was dangerous; he had to know for himself. He went back up to Ops and, after a moment of indecision, approached the door to Sisko's office. Sisko looked up as he came in. "Doctor?" Bashir came to attention. "Sir, I've made up my mind. I accept the mission." -=*)]5[(*=- He began his assignment the next day. The last round of station physicals detained him at the Infirmary until nearly 1500, and he knew that Garak usually had his lunch the hour before. Once he was free, Julian tried not to break into a run as he crossed the Promenade, then he stopped just outside the Replimat. Yes, Garak was still there. The doctor hesitated, took a deep breath, and plunged in. "Garak, hello! Mind if I join you?" The tailor looked up, surprised but pleased to see him. "Not at all." And, as Julian pulled out a chair, he added, "Not if _you_ don't mind, Doctor." "I think I may have been- er- overreacting," Bashir told him. "Whatever happens, I don't want to let it spoil our friendship." Garak regarded him steadily, until Julian couldn't bear the penetrating gaze for another second and dropped his eyes before he became completely flustered. Some spy he was: Garak had only to stare at him and he was ready to spill all his secrets. He could ruin his entire mission even before it had begun! "I do hope," Garak agreed softly, "that you and I will be able to remain friends." The doctor gave him a nervous little smile. "Communication is so important," the tailor said. "You and I talk, Doctor. Our friendship is built upon conversation. I'm certain that we've both deceived ourselves that we know each other quite well." Julian nodded, even though he'd never felt as if he understood Garak at all. "And yet we remain strangers in so many ways," Garak continued as he rearranged the last remnants of his lunch on his plate. "This alliance we've formed remains remarkably fragile. A misspoken word. A mistaken assumption. The most innocent actions can lead to spectacular disasters." "Yes," the doctor almost sighed the word. "I confess I don't understand humans very well. You appear to be an uncomplicated species--so simple in your view of things, so forthright in declaring your opinions. And yet there are times when you reveal... hidden depths. I suspect that your real nature is deceptively subtle." Julian smiled, more naturally this time. "You make us sound almost Cardassian." "It was meant to be a compliment, dear Doctor." "But we're- uh- not like that," Julian added hastily. "Humans don't like ambiguity. We're not comfortable with it. We prefer things to be open--out in the open. Plain facts. The truth. We like our mysteries solved." "Whereas we enjoy the mystery itself. Believe me, Doctor, there is nothing more satisfying than peeling away the layers of disguise to discover what lies underneath." "Then you want to get to the heart of the matter as much as I- er- we do." "Not at all. Each layer has its own value--its own truth." "It sounds confusing." Garak's smile in response sent a shiver through him. "I can see we still have a few mysteries of our own to explore." -=*)]6[(*=- On the other side of the Replimat, Sisko and Dax were finishing their lunch as well. Dax had been glancing over the commander's shoulder at intervals until Sisko, wondering what could be going on behind him, twisted in his seat. He saw nothing out of the ordinary: Odo patrolling the Promenade, a handful of Bajoran officers at one table, Garak and Bashir at another. "Interesting..." Dax said cryptically. "What?" Sisko turned his head again, following her gaze. "Dr. Bashir and Garak? Is _that_ what you're worried about?" "Not `worried' exactly." "They've been having lunch together for weeks, Old Man. I don't think there's any harm in it." As he sipped his coffee, Sisko considered how much he could tell her. Bashir's mission was completely confidential, but Jadzia Dax had adopted the young doctor--much as Curzon Dax had taken him under his wing so many years ago. Surely he could say something to let her know the situation was under control. "In fact, I think it's a relationship worth encouraging." The lieutenant's eyes were suddenly intent upon him. "What do you mean?" "I think," Sisko answered carefully, "that we have a lot to learn about Garak's presence on this station, and Dr. Bashir is in a good position to help us find out." Dax gaped at him. "Oh, Benjamin, you didn't." "Didn't-" Sisko's brow furrowed. "Why not?" -=*)]7[(*=- As Garak left the table, he thought that humans were indeed incomprehensible. This Federation doctor was full of surprises. Only yesterday, he'd believed that all his plans for Bashir had been ruined. His initial advance had been too forceful. It was sometimes difficult to assess the correct sexual protocols for other species; a cursory study of Terran romantic literature had led him to believe that this human would respond favorably to an aggressive approach--which was also in keeping with Cardassian courtship rituals and the most natural way for him to proceed. But Bashir had surprised him. One simple kiss had sent the little doctor into an incoherent flutter. In spite of his efforts to repair the damage, Garak had been certain he'd frightened Bashir off. And then, the human had surprised him once again. Bashir had sought him out. By some maginificent stroke of luck, he'd been given a second opportunity and he would not spoil it. There must be no further mistakes in this seduction. When the Occupational forces had withdrawn from Bajor and he had remained behind here on the station, his primary objective had been to observe the Federation intruders. Cardassia's civilian government had decided to leave this sector, but not every Cardassian concurred with their decision; there were factions among the military, powerful members of the Obsidian Order, and a few...private citizens who thought that the withdrawal had been a mistake. Their interest in returning to Bajor had only grown more intense after the discovery of the stable wormhole to Gamma Quadrant. And while Enabran Tain himself had expelled Garak from the Empire, he might win his way back into favor. The old man might forgive him yet, and Garak still had a few friends in Cardassian space who could be of help in revoking his exile-- factions among the military, members of the Obsidian Order, and certain private citizens. To observe the Federation presence, Garak had opted to make contact with one of the Starfleet officers. He'd chosen the young doctor as the most accessible; indeed, Garak had been surprised at how quickly a friendship had developed between them. In spite of his over-confident posturing, Bashir was really very insecure and anxious to be liked. He would respond-- _had_ responded--to any overtures. A junior officer, and a medical officer at that, did not possess high-security information, but Bashir was aware of routine station operations, the comings and goings of various Federation ships and personnel, and the opinions and actions of the rest of DS9's senior staff. A thousand little pieces of relatively unimportant information, extracted from casual conversations, might be assembled to form large and interesting pictures. Garak had not yet gained any quadrant- shaking secrets from the doctor, but he had learned quite a lot about the nature and intentions of these interlopers. And when matters of mutual concern to Cardassia and the Federation had arisen, he sent them helpful information via Bashir, to return the favor. Recently, he'd received new orders from his influential friends: he was to exploit his friendship with Bashir. Information wasn't enough. The balance of power in the sector was tipping once again. In the aftermath of Kai Opaka's departure, Bajor was fragmenting. An assassination attempt had been made on the Kai's most likely successor. One of the extremist factions squabbling over the wayward planet, the group which called itself the Circle, was growing more powerful every day; there were rumors that they had even infiltrated the upper ranks of the Bajoran militia. Without the support of the military, the Provisional Government could not hope to survive. Here was a marvelous opportunity for Cardassia to take back its rightful property. Crucial plans were being laid, and a Starfleet officer who could occasionally be persuaded to undertake small tasks in their interests would be most useful. For Garak, the most effective means of gaining this level of influence over Bashir was to seduce him. He did not flinch from the task; even in his days of power, he'd been recognized as a man of exotic, even decadent, tastes and he found humans--particularly _that_ human--rather intriguing. In fact, he'd been contemplating this move for some time, for more personal reasons. He was lonely here on the station, and bored. The activation of his implant helped to take the edge off the most jarring aspects of life among the Bajorans, but the companionship of an attractive young person would certainly do more to brighten his dreary days. When he was most disheartened by his situation, Bashir's naive prattle was always diverting. Garak had already found some measure of entertain- ment in their conversations; he'd begun to instruct Bashir in matters of literature, Cardassian culture, local politics, and the development of his observational skills--really, the boy's education was deplorable. He could imagine the variety of pleasures to be derived from expanding his promising young student's lessons into other areas. If the worst occurred and Bashir refused to perform as required, their sexual interactions could be used as blackmail to force his cooperation. But Garak thought that, with the proper management, the Federation doctor would be perfectly willing to do whatever he wanted, and that rather charming innocence need not even be disturbed. -=*)]8[(*=- "Doctor?" Bashir jumped a little as Sisko laid a hand on his arm. The doctor stood in line for the replicator; it was only after Garak had gone that he realized he'd forgotten to order his lunch. "Yes, sir?" "Can we talk for a moment?" His table had already been taken by someone else. "Uh- yes, sir." Hand still gripping the doctor's arm, Sisko led Bashir out of the Replimat and onto the Promenade. As they walked, he spoke softly. "Doctor, are you sure you're prepared for this assignment?" "I think so." Julian glanced back at the Replimat. "Did I do something wrong? Garak and I usually have lunch together. We hadn't made a date for today, but I thought under the circumstances-" "No, no. It's not that," his commander assured him. Sisko hesitated, then asked delicately, "Doctor, do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Garak may be- well- attracted to you?" Bashir's eyes widened. "Did Dax tell you that?" Sisko didn't answer this question. Instead, he said, "My concern is that this situation may be more complicated than you're able to cope with. There are... elements to it I hadn't anticipated and I don't think I would have asked you to encourage Garak's friendship if I'd been aware that there was more to it." They stopped near the doors of the turbolift. "Julian, are you certain this is something you want to do? I understand that this may be awkward for you and I don't want you to do anything if it makes you uncomfortable." He met the doctor's eyes meaningfully. "I don't want you to do anything foolish. You're free to refuse this assignment. I'll back up your decision with Starfleet Intelligence." "No, sir," Julian answered quickly. "It's all right. I can handle it." He lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. "I want to do this." -=*)]9[(*=- Bashir had been invited to dinner at Commander Sisko's before, but this night was the first time he had come alone. After the dining-room table had been cleared and Jake had gone to hang out with Nog on the Promenade, the doctor sat on the sofa and made his report about Garak. "He talks quite a lot about Cardassia, the superiority of _their_ society." Doctor and commander exchanged wry grins at this display of Cardassian arrogance. "I've learned about their history and politics and the educational system--did you know that they enter intensive programs in memory expansion and mental discipline when they're only four years old? But Garak won't tell me anything about himself." "Nothing?" "Nothing significant, sir." As he watched his commander pace the carpet in front of him, Bashir hastened to describe his impressions. "He only talks about other Cardassians when _I_ bring up their names or we hear of them in the Bajoran news announcements. If it's some prominent figure, he always sounds like he knows them personally, but I- ah- he could be doing that just to tease me. I've heard him mention the names of places he's been--Crennis, Harathia, Trenellus, Neth Arun. I looked them up; they're all Cardassian colony worlds. He'll tell me about a certain flower that grows wild on a planet, or about a famous sauna, or a library, or the color of the oceans somewhere. I think- Well, sometimes, he sounds sad when he talks about them, as if he doesn't think he'll ever see these places again, but he never says what he was actually doing there. I can't tell you a thing about his life before he came to DS9." Julian was still fidgeting. "I have an idea that he's been around Bajor for awhile." The commander looked interested. "In what capacity? Do you think he had some position of authority in the Occupational government?" Bashir shook his head. "I don't know. But he's familiar with the planet, sir. He lends me books. Most of them are Cardassian, but right now, we're reading Vulcan poetry, and he's also given me some Bajoran history." "Bajoran history?" "Yes, sir, about the Occupation. _He_ says that it's mostly Resistance propaganda, but that I ought to understand the `peculiarities of the Bajoran mind' if I have to work with them." He smiled self-consciously. "I can tell you all about Li Nalas's battle with Gul Zirale. Uh- Garak seems rather knowledgeable about the current political situation. He doesn't think much of the BPG--I suppose that's only to be expected. He says this government will end in disaster." "I hope he's wrong," Sisko answered. He stopped pacing directly in front of Bashir. "Do you think Garak is reluctant to reveal any personal details because he's suspicious of you?" "No- uh- no, I don't think so. That is- I don't think he ever forgets I'm a Starfleet officer and that I'd be obliged to report any information he gave me even if I weren't- ah-" he gestured to indicate the present situation. "If he thought I was deliberately trying to get information out of him, I'm certain he'd lie to me." Bashir folded his arms and slouched back with a sigh. "Honestly, I just wish I had something to give you, Commander. Some vital piece of information so we can tell whether we can trust Garak or not, and I wouldn't have to do this anymore." "_You_ insisted on this assignment, Doctor," Sisko reminded him. "You wanted adventure. You wanted to be a spy." "I'm not complaining, sir," Julian answered. "It's just that this mission is more complicated than I thought it would be." Sisko contemplated the young man on his sofa. "Garak's not-" he hesitated. "He hasn't been giving you any trouble, has he?" Bashir looked up, blushing at this delicately phrased question. "Oh, sir, no! No. He's barely laid a hand on me." "Barely..?" "Nothing like that," the doctor assured him. "It's all right. That part of the situation is perfectly under control." -=*)]10[(*=- He hadn't lied to Commander Sisko, not really. Since they had agreed not to "spoil" their friendship, Garak's courting of him had become more cautious. The tailor would test to see just how far Julian would let him go, pushing a little to try and further their intimacy, but he seemed to respect whatever boundaries Julian established. Garak _had_ barely touched him: the tailor's fingers might rest lightly on his arm as they engaged in conversation over one of their increasingly frequent lunch dates, or Garak might pat his shoulder in greeting, but these harmless caresses were not worth mentioning. Why worry Sisko with them when _he_ didn't object? And if Garak placed an arm about his waist while they walked along an empty stretch of corridor--as he happened to do the next evening--why report it? Julian did not feel threatened. He didn't even try to slip free. Sisko would certainly disapprove if he knew that he'd been encouraging the tailor's interest in this way, but Julian had accepted it as a consequence of his assignment. After all, he had gone to Garak and asked to continue their relationship. Could he really blame the tailor for taking that as an unstated invitation? When Garak had made his first tentative advances, he had not rejected them. It would look too suspicious. Once he had given Garak a little encouragement, the rest had followed naturally. And, though it would shock his commander if he admitted it, he enjoyed this flirtation--or would if he didn't feel so guilty about why he had engaged in it. "I know so little about you," he told Garak as they walked. Sisko would not approve of this tactic either, but simply listening and waiting for Garak to give himself away had not produced any satisfying results. Besides, Bashir thought it would seem more strange if he didn't ask a few personal questions. "I'm not familiar with how Cardassians conduct- er- romantic matters, but we humans like to know a bit about someone before we get into serious relationships with them." "I do hate to disappoint you, Doctor, but there is not that much to tell. I am a simple tailor." "You weren't always a tailor." "No, I wasn't," Garak answered. "What then?" "Oh, I've had many occupations," Garak replied evasively. "Most of them quite uninteresting, I'm afraid. _You_ never speak of your past, Doctor." "I don't suppose I have much of one," Julian admitted. "I was at Starfleet Medical, and then I came here." "You must have had a few romantic adventures before this." "Er- yes. A few." "And what about your family?" "We don't get along." Garak nodded as if he understood. At the sound of footsteps ahead of them, Julian drew away; Garak's hand lingered at the small of his back for few seconds more, but he did not try to restrain the doctor. One of the Starfleet security officers strode briskly toward them, nodded at Bashir and took Garak in with a suspicious glance as he went past, and then disappeared around the curve of the dimly lit corridor. Once they were alone again, Julian resumed the conversation with, "I'll make a deal with you, Garak. Answer one question, and I'll answer one for you." The tailor appeared to give this proposal solemn consideration. "Agreed." Julian smiled impishly as he planned his attack. "You're always giving me books to read," he began innocently. "Which one's your favorite?" Garak answered without hesitation, "'The Neverending Sacrifice'." "I don't think I've read that. Is it Cardassian?" "Of course. It's one of our most edifying works of fiction, exemplifying the virtues we Cardassians value most: the renunciation of personal interests for the good of the state, the cohesion of the family unit. I must lend you a copy. You'd find it enlightening. And now, Doctor, I believe it's my turn for a question." "Yes, all right." Julian nodded. "Go ahead." "What are the names of the Federation vessels currently deployed along the Demilitarized Zone, their locations, and their weapons capabilities?" "Garak!" Julian stopped dead in the corridor, then laughed when he saw that Garak was trying not to smile. "You really don't expect me to give you that kind of restricted information? Even if I knew, I couldn't possibly..." Garak, still smiling, waved his protests away. "My dear young friend, I'm joking, of course. I thought you'd appreciate it--isn't it exactly the sort of question you'd expect a spy to ask?" Julian ducked his head. "I suppose. Have you got a real question for me?" The Cardassian studied him speculatively. "Oh, I have at least a thousand questions for you, Doctor." "I have just as many for you." Then he grinned. "If you're going to ask that kind of question, then I ought to be able to too. _Are_ you a spy?" Garak chuckled. "I thought we'd gotten past these outrageous suspicions of yours weeks ago. You aren't still determined to capture your Cardassian spy for Starfleet, are you?" Bashir averted his face momentarily, to keep his expression from betraying him. Garak sounded as if he knew exactly what he was up to. _ Did_ Garak know? Had he been playing with him all along? "No," he answered, heart thumping with the lie. "I'm not trying to catch a spy. I'd just like to find out who you really are. You've never told me the truth." "Truth, dear Doctor, is never a matter of simple facts. Personally, I refuse to believe it exists at all." "You-" Julian turned back to him. "How can you say that? _Truth_ doesn't exist?" "Indeed." He assumed the tone that Julian had come to think of as professorial. "I could give you certain pieces of information about myself, all verifiable if you were to consult the right sources, but they wouldn't provide you with that `truth' you're searching for. I could then give you another set of facts which would also describe me quite accurately, even though they contradict everything I had told you before. All true, Doctor, as the occasion requires them to be, but they would tell you no more about me than a perusal of your Starfleet record would tell me about you. When I know who I _really_ am, I assure you you'll be the first to hear about it." Aside from the disturbing suggestion that Garak had been looking at his personnel file, Julian could sympathize with this philosophy of equivocation. Garak could have many reasons for presenting alternate aspects of his personality to suit different circumstances which had nothing to do with espionage; hadn't he done so himself? _He_ was more than he appeared to be. Garak couldn't know about _that_--there were some secrets even Starfleet didn't know--but perhaps the tailor was trying to tell him that he knew about the investigation he was conducting now. Was Garak trying to tell him that this layering of the identity to accommodate the professional and the private was common for Cardassians and he didn't blame him for doing his duty? Perhaps he understood that even though Julian was unabashedly pumping him for information, their relationship was not entirely a lie. "I answered your question, Doctor," Garak reminded him once they arrived at the door to Bashir's quarters. "But you still haven't answered mine." "That hardly seems fair," Julian agreed. "Ask one I can answer then." "Very well." He stepped toward the doctor, eyes gleaming with unmistakable intent. "May I come in?" This was one of those "pushes"; Garak was testing him again. "No, not tonight," Julian answered. "I'm not ready." "You keep saying that. What does it mean?" "This isn't something I can jump into without thinking of the consequences." But he didn't resist when Garak took him by both arms and gently guided him back into the shadows between the support beams framing the door. "There's- ah- a lot to consider." "If you were afraid of the consequences, you would have put a stop to this long ago," Garak told him. His hands dropped to Julian's waist. "You don't share the prejudices of your fellow humans with regard to Cardassians. You aren't afraid of what your friends will say, are you?" "Uh- no." "Or your Federation superiors. Are you worried that I could damage your career?" "No." Julian was prepared this time. When Garak drew him closer, he leaned in to meet him, eyes shut and lips parted. As they kissed, he kept his hands firmly on the tailor's shoulders, arms slightly bent but rigid. An embrace that held them a safe distance from each other. He felt like a teenager, necking in the corridor, but it was preferable to letting Garak into his quarters. It'd be much harder to hold Garak off if they had uninterrupted privacy. He was having enough trouble keeping control of the situation as it was. "There are only two things you need to consider," Garak said softly against his ear. "First: Do _I_ want this? The answer to that, dear Doctor, is yes. I would like very much to make love to you." He nipped Julian's throat and made him gasp. "Second: Is this what _you_ want? I sincerely hope it is, but you are the only one who can answer that question." He pulled the slender body more firmly against him, taking Julian off balance and forcing him to hold on tightly to steady himself. "I need-" Bashir said against his shoulder, trying to catch his breath and compose his thoughts. "I just need a little time." Another kiss, then Garak told him, "There's no need to be embarrassed if you have never been with a man before." Julian pulled back. "I have been!" he insisted. Garak looked amused, indulgent; he didn't believe it. "Sort of." "Sort of?" The tailor smiled. "You might have told me. I suspected as much." "No, it isn't that. I just- Garak, I'm sorry. This isn't easy for me." He reached for the panel behind him to unlock the door. "Look, I'll make it up to you. Uh- What about dinner? Tomorrow night?" "My quarters?" Garak pressed him. Julian nodded, a little too quickly. "Yes, all right." They both heard the sound of footsteps and voices down the corridor, growing louder as someone approached, and they stepped away from each other. "`Til then," Garak said, and disappeared in the opposite direction. Julian retreated into his quarters. As the door slid shut, he blew out a puff of breath and flopped down on the nearest chair. This wasn't his first experience with another male, but it was very different from his adolescent experiments and the discreet attention of father-figures who had been a little too fatherly for him to respond to. No one had ever pursued him with such determination before. It was thrilling, in its way, but he could only lead Garak on for so long before he had to either stop this game or let the Cardassian have him. Garak's patience must have limits. Sooner or later, this extremely dominant older male would demand something more than surreptitious kisses. Dinner tomorrow! What had he been thinking? If Garak tried to push him too far, he was certain he would be able to restrain him. After all, it wasn't as if Garak would use force. He had heard the Bajorans' stories about abusive Cardassian guards, sadistic overseers, and interrogators who included rape as part of their repertoire, but Julian couldn't believe that Garak would ever be that rough with him. Even at his most aggressive, the tailor had never been brutal. To be honest, Garak wasn't the one he was worried about controlling. If he were acting purely on his own impulses, he might have let Garak take him to bed already. The attraction was undeniable. The more time he spent in Garak's company, the more intrigued he became. Whenever he felt the tailor's hands brush him, cautiously, deliberately, he felt a pleasant little shiver and he couldn't help wondering what would it be like to have this man as his lover. He had very little to base his imagination upon; the scant information on Cardassian sexuality in the Federation's medical database was dry, clinical, and unhelpful, and none of the books Garak had given him described a typical romantic encounter. It would be easy enough to succumb to his natural curiosity and sense of adventure, but he couldn't give in. Not now. There were too many other issues to consider. He could recite them to himself by now: He had a mission; Garak was the object of his investigation and he couldn't afford to become physically or emotionally involved with him; he had agreed to this assignment to find out what Garak was doing here, but so far he had not learned one thing to resolve his doubts. But, in spite of a few genetic alternations, he was only human. Unless he had concrete evidence that Garak was working to fulfill some obscure Cardassian agenda, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he let himself be drawn in by Garak's persistence and his own inclinations. He'd never had to face this kind of conflict between his desires and his duty before. He had to keep them separate. He knew he ought to wait until he had discovered Garak's motives for remaining on DS9--but that might never happen. At the very least, he should hold off until this mission was complete. If he could just get through tomorrow night. -=*)]11[(*=- Garak was still smiling as he walked back to his own quarters. They were close now. If he exerted exactly the right degree of pressure, he could have the Federation doctor. Soon. Perhaps tomorrow night. Garak was determined to proceed cautiously. He would rather be patient than risk a disaster by forcing Bashir to submit before he was willing. If he were acting purely for his own amusement, Garak would have taken the risk and- What was that phrase from the Earth fiction he had examined? Yes, "swept him off his feet." But his present goal was to extend his influence over Bashir for the greater good of the Empire, not to satisfy his own petty needs. Garak knew a few things about conquest: He could easily overwhelm his subject and have Bashir immediately in his hands, but he might also make this spirited young creature sullen, resentful of his domination, and ultimately rebellious. If he let Bashir give himself willingly, then his control of the human would be far more secure. At each encounter, he brought Bashir one step further. The doctor's response was encouraging; he seemed at the brink of surrender--but why then did he continue to resist? Garak couldn't understand it. This baffling reluctance contradicted everything he had ever heard about the rapacious and indiscriminate sexual appetites of human males. Their reputation--especially the Starfleet officers--was legendary; their single-minded pursuit of adventure with willing partners of any species had been the talk of the quadrant for more than a century. At first impression, Dr. Bashir had seemed to conform to expectations. He chased after Lt. Dax. He flirted with Quark's Dabo girls. But Garak had made some discreet inquiries; he'd learned that while Bashir had been seen around the station with a variety of young ladies, not one of them--nor any man, for that matter--claimed to have shared the doctor's bed. More significantly, the doctor had not been in anyone's company except his own for some weeks. As far as Garak could determine, _he_ had an exclusive claim on Bashir's attention. This discovery had produced a surprising sense of relief. Garak would like to believe it was merely that he had ceased to worry about complications arising from other contenders for Bashir's affection--but he realized that the feeling was not so impersonal as that. He was becoming possessive of the young doctor. This was not necessarily dangerous--a real emotional attachment to his subject would make his displays of ardor more convincing--but he had to be careful. He couldn't let himself become too involved with this pretty, ridiculously naive boy. Very well then--there were sufficient indications that Bashir _was_ interested. So why did he struggle against the inevitable? Was this squeamishness? Shyness? An unheard-of human concept of virtue? Was his little doctor so inexperienced? Or was Bashir more sophisticated than he appeared, and were all these infuriating delaying tactics merely a ruse to manipulate _him_? If they were, what did Bashir hope to accomplish by making him wait? Whatever the reason, Bashir had offered him an unexpected challenge, and Garak could not resist. He had no doubt that Bashir would be his eventually, completely--soon--and these delays only made the pursuit of his object more interesting and the inevitable conquest more sweet. -=*)]12[(*=- Dax was sitting in the Replimat the next morning with her usual raktajino while she and Chief O'Brien argued over the best way to clear the last of the encrypted Cardassian files from the main computer's security subroutines. It was the sort of highly technical discussion both of them enjoyed and although both seemed thoroughly engrossed, Dax was apparently ready to welcome an interruption; when Bashir tried to slip past their table to order a cup of Tarkelian tea from the replicator behind them, she called out cheerfully, "Julian, you look so forlorn." "Yes, well, I've got a lot on my mind," he answered as he retrieved his cup. As he took a testing sip, he lifted his eyes over the cup's rim to consider the lieutenant, who was still smiling at him. He _did_ need to talk to someone, and Dax already knew something of his situation. He could confide in her without compromising his mission. Funny--a few months ago, a smile like that from Jadzia Dax would have set his heart pounding and his head swimming with foolish hopes. He would have taken her friendly, teasing greeting as...something more, and made an idiot of himself in his eagerness to respond. He'd done it a dozen times before, and yet Dax had managed to overlook every stumbling advance and clumsy attempt at suggestive innuendo. She had even been remarkably understanding when he'd conjured up a fantasy-Dax who couldn't keep her hands off of him. He hadn't dared to think of her since that horribly embarrassing episode--and, since he'd begun seeing Garak seriously not long afterwards, there had been enough to keep him otherwise occupied. In that time, something had changed between them. He could see her as a friend. "Jadzia, can I ask you-? I need some advice." "Yes, of course." She indicated the empty chair at their table. Bashir stepped forward hesitantly, eyes on O'Brien, who scowled back and showed no sign of budging. _He_ had not welcomed this interruption. "It's- ah- personal." Julian knew he couldn't have chosen a worse person to explain his problems in front of: In addition to his automatic hostility toward Cardassians, the Chief barely tolerated Bashir's existence. Julian did want O'Brien like him, had made repeated efforts to be friends, and _these_ circumstances were certainly not going to win him over. "Perhaps we can talk about it later." "Oh, sit down," O'Brien snapped. "I'm sure there's nothing we'd rather do more than listen to you talk about your love-life." Dax, eyes twinkling, gave Bashir an encouraging little nod. He wasn't certain what she intended, but he trusted her enough to take the seat. Playing with his teacup between his fingers, he began, "You've been a man before, haven't you?" "Three of my former hosts were male," Dax answered. "So you've had to deal with- er- relationships from both sides, from every possible angle." "Yes, I suppose I have." Her smile grew more gentle, sympathetic. "This isn't that same problem you were having a couple of months ago, is it?" Bashir nodded. "What problem is that?" O'Brien asked impatiently. "One of your Dabo girls gotten tired of the medical- school stories?" "No..." Between the Chief's intransigence and Dax's encouragement, Bashir's own impish sense of humor overtook him. "It's Garak," he announced. "He wants sex and I'm running out of excuses." "Jesus!" Miles exploded. He looked from one to the other, and huffed in disbelief. "If you wanted to get rid of me, you just had to ask!" And he got up and left the table abruptly. They waited until he was half-way down the Promenade before they dared to meet each other's eyes and burst into laughter. "He won't-" "I'm positive he doesn't believe it," Dax assured him. Then she leaned across the table to whisper, "Julian, _is_ Garak the problem?" He nodded again. "But I thought you two-" Jadzia paused. "You've been seeing so much of him lately, I just assumed..." "No," he told her, somewhat mortified that she had jumped to this conclusion. "I've been putting him off. He's been very understanding--you'd be surprised how sweet he can be. But I am running out of excuses. We're having dinner tonight and I know he expects it to end in a romantic evening. I just don't know what _I_ expect, what I want to happen." "You do like him?" "Yes. Yes, I like him." He sighed. "He's a fascinating man, Jadzia. I guess I'm intrigued by the mystery he represents. He seems to think _I'm_ worth all the trouble he's taking to get me." He blushed as it occurred to him that Dax might take this as an implied slight; _she_ had never troubled herself with him. But Dax only nodded. "I have a wonderful time whenever we're together, but ultimately I can't trust him the way I'd like to. I can't help wondering if he has some ulterior motive. After all, he's very probably a spy!" "Are you afraid he's only interested in you for your Federation secrets?" Julian had to smile. It sounded so melodramatic. "I don't _have_ any Federation secrets." "You can't just tell him you're not interested-" she left the suggestion unfinished when Bashir shook his head quickly. "I can't," he told her. "I've let him think I care--I- I do care." "Julian," Dax asked softly, "are you in love with him?" "No," he answered after a moment. "It's far worse. Garak's...my friend. Spy or not, _he_ trusts _me_. I respect him too much to feel right about leading him on when I know this relationship can't go anywhere--at least, not right now." Dax sat silently for a few minutes, sipping her raktajino and considering the young man who sat across from her and watched her with an anxious timidity in the wake of his confession. She made a decision. "Have you told Benjamin you feel this way?" she asked. Bashir's mouth dropped open. "You- uh- Commander Sisko told you-" "He had to," Dax answered. "I was about to interfere, and he couldn't let me blunder in and spoil everything. Does he know about you and Garak?" "He doesn't know. He'd be furious if he did," Bashir said glumly. "He only asked me to listen to Garak. I wasn't supposed to flirt with him. If Commander Sisko had any idea I'd let it go so far-!" His eyes flickered to her. "You were going to interfere," he said. "You don't think I should be involved with Garak at all, do you?" "Usually, my advice in these situations is to go with your heart," Dax began carefully. "When you have to make a choice between one person who really matters to you and all the rules and regulations and social codes, you'll find that in the long run none of the rules or codes measure up. It's one of the most important lessons I've learned in several lifetimes." Then she sighed and looked up suddenly; her expression was more solemn than he had ever seen before. "But in this case I think it would be a dangerous mistake to tell you that. Garak could do you a lot of damage if your worst suspicions are correct--and I'd hate to see you hurt that way, Julian." "You would?" It was not the sort of declaration he had once hoped to hear her make, but he felt a warm flush of pleasure at it just the same. "I think you ought to wait `til you know more about him. You shouldn't even be thinking of taking this major step with someone you don't consider trustworthy. At this point, it's better to keep him at a distance." "I can't stop seeing him, Dax," he reminded her. "More than my own feelings are involved in this." "I know. Just be careful." -=*)]13[(*=- Garak lay out the plates and flatware for dinner that evening--settings for two, for a change. This was the first time since he'd come to this gods-abandoned place that he'd received a guest. He'd never before entertained anyone so crucial to the direction of his future. He'd taken great care with every detail: The room was dimly lit and more warm than the rest of the station, but closer to the human range for comfort than he usually kept it. The items he'd selected for dinner were all standard Cardassian fare, but he'd checked each one with the Federation's medical database for compatibility with the human digestive system; the last thing he wanted tonight was to make his companion ill. He'd obtained a small bottle of sienush, a floral-distilled liqueur, lighter than kanar; it was difficult to get these days but, he hoped, more palatable to his guest. It would be to his advantage if Bashir drank enough to relax and forget whatever it was that had been restraining him. As he opened the bottle of sienush, to give it time to breathe, the computer terminal on his desk beeped. A message had just come in. He didn't receive very many of those his private quarters, but anything that was routed here deserved his immediate attention. Once he had entered the appropriate codes to decrypt the message, a few terse words appeared on the screen: _The task is accomplished. The token has been sent._ Cryptic, even in plain Kardasi, but the meaning was perfectly clear to Garak. An earring belonging to a Bajoran of legendary and spurious reputation had been "smuggled" out of the labor camp on Cardassia IV. It would reach the station in a matter of days. Whatever hands it first fell into-- Bajoran, Federation, Ferengi--it would come to Commander Sisko. Garak had no difficulty imagining what Sisko would do with the knowledge that the famous Li Nalas still lived; although he had only spoken to the station's new commander once or twice, he had listened to Bashir talk about Sisko countless times and he felt he knew the man quite well. Surely this Federation official, beleaguered by the Bajorans' petty quarrels, would welcome anything which would make his thankless assignment a little easier. Sisko would do what was necessary to see that the long-lost hero of Bajor was set free. Garak had no doubt he would succeed. Of course, Li was not equal to his celebrated reputation. The Bajorans didn't know this, but they would learn it once their hero was among them. A simple people, Bajorans. They needed symbols to rally round, icons to adore. The ferocity with which they clung to their cultural illusions was only surpassed by their sense of betrayal when one of those illusions was destroyed. When they saw the truth behind the cherished hero of the Resistance, their disappointment would be explosive; rather than unite Bajor, Li would serve to divide it even further. Garak did not envy the position poor Commander Sisko would find himself in then. Other events had been set into motion recently. The Circle had already received their first shipment of Cardassian-sponsored arms and their infiltration of the militia in the capitol was well established. When the time was right, it would be Garak's responsibility to see their activities furthered here on the station--without their being aware of his help, of course. Bashir would be of use. If their coup was successful, the Provisional Government on Bajor would collapse within a month. The Federation presence would be expelled from this sector, and the station, the planet, and the wormhole would be restored to the proper, Cardassian hands. It was time to end this long, slow tease of a seduction; he couldn't wait much longer for Bashir to make up his mind. The Federation doctor had to be brought into his control. The doorchime trilled; Garak deleted the message and went to answer the door. Julian stood there, wearing a loose white shirt of some gauzy fabric and dark blue trousers that Garak had tailored and only now appreciated the work he had put into them. There was a lost, helpless look in the doctor's eyes; Garak had seen the expression many times before, in interrogation rooms, at the moment when his subjects were ready to spill all their secrets. "You are beautiful," he told Bashir sincerely. "Come in, Doctor, please." As the young man stepped through the doorway, Garak kissed him quickly, casually. The doctor started at the touch, then relaxed appreciably. It was so easy; a compliment, a kiss, and everything else fell into place. Now, he had only to act out his part, and await his restoration to favor. And when all this was over, Bashir would be sent on his way with the rest of his kind, never knowing how he had been used. Garak felt a sad little pang at this thought, and smothered it abruptly. This was no time to allow his personal feelings to intrude. Yes, he would miss Bashir, but it was really a small sacrifice to make for the good of Cardassia. -=*)]14[(*=- Julian awoke in a strange bed and, for one drowsy moment, he couldn't think where he was. Then the soft sound of another person breathing registered in his ear and he realized that a muscular, grey-scaled arm encircled his chest--and his eyes opened wide. His first guilty thought was *Commander Sisko is going to kill me.* Whatever breaches of conduct he had previously committed in this investigation, they were nothing to _this_. He couldn't say that he'd had too much of the lavender liqueur, or that Garak had coerced him. From the time he'd entered Garak's quarters, he'd known what was about to happen, and known that it was wrong. He'd never forgotten that. Not when they'd finished dinner and moved to the sofa with their drinks. Not when Garak had asked him, "Do you want to stay?" and he'd stammered out an ambivalent reply. Not even when the tailor had extracted the half-finished glass of sienush from his nervous fingers and drawn him close for a kiss. Everything that was left of his common sense had told him to leave while he still had a chance --but, in the end, what was left of his common sense hadn't been enough. He'd never felt in control with Garak and, last night, some more primal need had finally won out over his rational judgment. He'd simply been overwhelmed. He was still astonished at how easily he'd abandoned himself. Everything had happened so quickly: They had been debating the matter between kisses, when Garak had deftly undone the clasps fastening his shirt and slipped his hands beneath the gauzy fabric. The touch sent little ripples of pleasure through him. He'd made a few faint sounds--"Garak, please...We shouldn't do this..."--that might have been protests, and then, somehow, they were on the floor. He was whispering, "Please"; he still didn't know if he had been begging one last time for Garak to stop, or if he couldn't bear to wait another second. And Garak was covering him, still kissing him, and speaking to him in a strangely soft, soothing tone, as if he comforted a frightened child: "You have no reason to trust me. Your people and mine have been taught to mistrust each other for decades. I can only show you. You don't need to be afraid of me." "I'm not afraid of you," he'd answered, breathless. "It's me." "What is it you think you'll do?" He could hear the amusement in the question. "Something incredibly stupid. This." He'd tried to explain without giving himself away. "This isn't right. I- I'm not myself when I'm with you. I don't know me anymore. The things I do." He knew he was beginning to babble, but as he spoke he felt the hands caressing his body pause. When he opened his eyes and peeked up, he found that Garak was regarding him with wonder and something like sympathy. "You have the same effect on me, Doctor." He'd said as he gathered Julian up. "I know I ought to know better, but...you." Garak kissed his shoulder, moved up to his throat. "I could forget everything for you." Julian lifted his face; his mouth was trembling, waiting, as Garak gave him one more kiss. "Perhaps this is who we really are." Then he had been lost in sensation. And then he lay curled beside Garak, exhausted, sated, and feeling so vulnerable that he thought he would burst into tears. He'd shivered in spite of the warm temperature of the room. Garak sat up, taking him by the arms to raise him gently, and said, "I don't know about you, but I'm beginning to find this carpet rather uncomfortable." He'd gone into the bedroom, and emerged a moment later to toss Julian something dark green and silky-- Robe? Nightshirt? Pajama top. "Come to bed." Julian had pulled on the top, and followed him in. And now... Hours later, he was no less overwhelmed and no less uncertain. What sort of person had he given himself to? He still didn't know. His mind was a tangle of conflicting emotions: Terror at the consequences of what he had done. Resentment that there had to be consequences. A newly born thrill of exaltation. An anxious need to get out of here and back to the safety of his own quarters. Self- reproach for his stupidity. Shame at his own weakness--He should have been smarter; he _was_ smarter. He should have had the will to resist--and yet he despised himself for feeling that way. He squirmed a little, preparing to slip out of bed, and the arm about his torso flexed and pulled him back firmly against the solid body behind him. The ridges of the Cardassian breastplate pressed against his shoulderblades. Scaly thighs scraped the softer skin of his backside. Teeth nipped lightly at the nape of his neck, and Garak murmured in his ear. "My love, go back to sleep." "I can't," he answered in a groan. "Computer, what time is it?" <