TITLE: The Best Revenge
AUTHOR: Kathryn Ramage
SUMMARY: An alternate version of the situation
described in The Claiming.  Garak's attempt to
rescue Bashir from the Obsidian Order backfires
and the tailor has to deal with the ramifications
of having to injure his friend in order to save 
him.
RATING: R
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The Best Revenge: An Explanation

This story may not make much sense if you haven't 
read another story of mine called "The Claiming." 

This is not a sequel--more of an alternate version.  It's 
actually the way the story went when I first conceived it,
but I couldn't come up with a happy, or even satisfactory,
ending at the time, so I had to go back with the 
question--What if Sisko had shown up half an hour
earlier? 

I may be erring on the side of caution here, but I'm giving 
this an "R" for its m/m situation and the suggestion that 
something non-consensual has occurred.

So, disclaimers:

Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and the characters--
except for my own Medic Simmons (and a complex and
richly drawn character he is!). This story was written 
simply for personal entertainment and should not be taken 
as intended copyright infringement or indeed anything 
but the product of a warped imagination.

Kit

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The Best Revenge (DS9, B/G, R)
Copyright April 1997
Kathryn Ramage

~~~~~
i

The changing room for the officers' bath was unused at that
time of day, but Garak still looked about warily--old
memories returning to him--as he escorted the doctor in.

"The bath is through there," he gestured in the direction
of the only other door.  "If you need assistance-" He
reached for Bashir, but the young man flinched and
raised his arm as if he meant to strike back.

"Don't!" he hissed, his voice edged with a note of hysteria.

There was rage in those fever-bright eyes: humiliation
at his own helplessness--he had submitted to Garak
supporting him on the way here because it was obvious
that he would never make it unaided and because Garak
had threatened to carry him if he didn't let him
take his arm; fury at the outrages he had suffered at
Entek's command; hatred for the unspeakable betrayal
committed by the very person he had trusted to bring
him out of danger.

Garak felt a pang of remorse, and no little sympathy,
for his friend's pain.  So, Entek had won after all; he had
allowed Garak to claim his prisoner, to call Julian his own,
and in the same instant ensured that he would never be
able to have him.  Entek had turned the event he had
dreamt of for so long into the most degrading moment in
his long and dissolute life.  His poor, dear doctor, who had
clung to him as his only hope of rescue just a few minutes
ago, would scream now if he tried to touch him.

Garak held up his hands to show he meant no harm.

"Go," he said.  "Take your shower. Commander Sisko
will be here for you shortly."

Bashir nodded and, clutching the gap at the collar of his
robe, took a few unsteady steps toward the bath door.
He kept his eyes on Garak until he passed through to
the bath chamber.

After a moment, Garak heard the shower come on and
he sighed.

Bashir would certainly tell Sisko what had been done to
him--and then what?  What sort of punishment did the
Federation demand for the crime he had committed?
Their sentences usually seemed remarkably light...
Well, whatever penalty their laws insisted upon, he
would submit to it.  It would be worth it.

He had prepared himself for any number of unpleasant
consequences the moment he had learned that Dr.
Bashir had been captured by the Obsidian Order and had
sought out Sisko to bring him here to Cardassia.
When he had first found Julian in Entek's custody,
bruised, beaten, he had acknowledged to himself that
he would do whatever was required--*anything*--to see his
doctor safe.  He had never let himself recognize this fact
before, but there it was and he could not ignore it.

He had done what was necessary.  He couldn't regret it.

Perhaps the doctor's feverish state would help to blur
the memory. Could he hope, in spite of Bashir's extreme
sensitivity and that odd, human belief in an inviolable
personal space, that the doctor might be able to
understand what had happened--and perhaps forgive?

No, that was expecting too much.  Garak could not
forget that look of impotent fury in his beloved doctor's
eyes.  Julian hated him.

Garak turned away from these fruitless thoughts and
set about locating towels and a nicer robe.  He recalled
how Julian had tugged at his short prisoner's garment
as if he wanted to make it cover more of his body than
it possibly could.  Something longer.  A sturdier fabric.
Softer material...

As he rummaged through the contents of one cabinet,
Garak was suddenly aware of a clammy sensation at
the back of his neck.  He looked up quickly:  A cold
mist was rolling in through the bath-chamber doorway.

~~~~~
ii

Fever.

He didn't have the proper medical instruments to monitor
his own condition, but he knew that his body temperature
was dangerously high.  He had passed in and out of
delirious states for days.  He could go into convulsions.

The bath was rimmed by two meters of slate on all sides
and a series of shower jets ran around the walls just
below the ceiling. Bashir sank to the cool slate floor and
fumbled at the nearest set of controls until a fine,
refreshing spray rained down around him.  The water
relieved the burning welts on his back.  Cleansed them.
Brought down the swelling.  Left him numb.

If he could numb his mind as easily . . .

He reached back to adjust the control panel.  Colder.

Everything here was cold.  The concrete floor of the
interrogation chamber.  The hands of his Cardassian
captors.  Cold-blooded people.  Cardassian body
temperature averaged 10 degrees below the human
norm.  Their bodily fluids were cooler.  Their skin...

The cool touch upon his heart.  The cool, silver-grey
chest-scales--he had pressed his bruised, feverish lips
to them, seeking comfort.

******************************************************************
"Understand this, Garak: You don't have a choice.
Accept my terms or the human remains in my custody.
You will leave this room alone."

"I understand ... I'm so sorry, Doctor.  Please, try to
trust me--this is meant for the best."
******************************************************************

The cold concrete floor of the interrogation chamber.
The cool fingertips rubbing gently between his shoulder-
blades to try and soothe him.

******************************************************************
"Ssh, my dear one.  Be still.  It will all be over soon.
Believe me, I don't want to hurt you.  I don't like this any
more than you do."

"Liar!  You always wanted me!  You want this--
You were just waiting for the chance."

"No, Doctor.  Not this way. I never wanted you like this."
******************************************************************

The cool spilling within him.  It was still there--a chill
at the core of his being, a coldness that his fever could
not touch.  He could feel it, as if it were colder than the
water streaming down his back.

Colder.

******************************************************************
"Put yourself someplace far away, Doctor ... a secret
place where nothing can touch you.  A safe place.  No
harm inflicted on your body can reach you there.  You're
far away from all of this."
******************************************************************

Far away from here.  Nothing could touch him.  His body
was icy, numbed beyond pain.  He had turned the shower
controls as far as they would go, but he couldn't escape
the cold inside him.

******************************************************************
"There, now it's done," Entek announced with smug
satisfaction.  "You can go now.  Take your- ah- TeHua.
I'm sure you'll be very happy together."
******************************************************************


"Doctor?"

~~~~~
iii

"Doctor?"

Bashir didn't respond even when Garak repeated the word.
He sat at the edge of the platform that rimmed the bathing
pool, huddled with his knees to his chest and his head
down, swathed in a distastefully chilly mist.  The cold
was apparently as uncomfortable to humans; the doctor
looked miserable.  He was shivering violently, his skin
was mottled and the welts on his back had turned a
dark, angry purple.

Garak shut the shower off.  "Are you all right?"

"I can still feel you," Bashir answered through chattering
teeth.  "How could you do that to me?"

"I had no choice.  Entek would not have been satisfied
until we completed the ceremony exactly in accordance
with the old tradition.  He would not have allowed me to
claim you otherwise."  He wanted to be kind, but he also
wanted Julian to understand.  "Entek would have kept you,
Doctor.  You know what he would have done with you--
and I assure you he would feel no compunction to handle
you gently."

Julian sniffled and lifted his head.

"It was the only way," Garak continued.  "I know how
distressing this ordeal has been for you-"  He lay his
hand on the doctor's shoulder, and Julian yelped and
whirled around.

"Don't touch me!  *Never* touch me!  I'll-" he stopped
suddenly, mouth still open, as he realized he had no
threats to make.  What *could* he do if Garak insisted
on touching him?  Nothing.

He pushed himself over the edge of the platform and
dropped into the bathing pool.

The water couldn't be more than a half-meter deep, but
in his present condition, the doctor might easily drown.
Garak jumped in after him.

He hissed at the nasty shock of the ice-cold plunge, but
dropped to his knees immediately and fished around
until he gained a secure grip around the slender body.
As he pulled Bashir up, the doctor shrieked incoherently
and swung at him, landing several surprisingly sharp blows
to his head and chest, but Garak hung on doggedly and
dragged him to the nearest edge of the pool.  He flung
Bashir up onto the platform and scrambled out quickly,
before the cold water made him torpid and unable to
act effectively.

His clothes were sodden, heavy, chilling; he undressed
swiftly, flung the soggy mess toward the door, and sat
down to gather the shivering human into his arms.

Bashir didn't fight, but stiffened as he drew him close.
"Wh- what are you going to do?"

Garak heard the fear and suspicion in the question, and
he ignored it.

"What I'm going to do, Doctor," he answered brightly,  "is
try to keep you from freezing.  Right now, you're a
remarkable shade of blue--a lovely complexion for
a Bolian, but hardly a natural color for a human."  He
reached back to slap the shower control panel behind him
and adjusted the controls to create a steamy spray.

Within minutes, he felt a delicious warmth returning to
his own body.  The young man in his arms stopped
shivering and began to relax against him.  The steam
soon took the ragged edge from Bashir's breathing
and his skin tones returned to a more normal human
color--even flushed pink.  His eyelashes fluttered
as he tried to hold onto consciousness.

"It's not too hot for you?"

"No," faintly.

Garak readjusted the controls to a fine mist anyway.
He stretched himself to reach the bathing pool and dip
his hand in the water.  There was a layer of warmth on the
surface, but the depths beneath that remained
uncomfortably cool.  He swept his wet fingers over the
doctor's face--Julian gasped and his eyes flew open. A
second dip, and Garak bathed his cheeks and brow, the
back of his neck. The cool water seemed to revive him.

Julian lay down on the slate floor, head on Garak's knee,
mutilated back to him.  The tailor stroked cautiously along
his spine, careful to avoid brushing the nasty-looking weals
and causing the doctor further pain.

"Is this what you wanted?" Bashir asked after a moment.

"Hm?"

"You said you didn't want me like that. Is this more like it?"

Garak didn't know how to interpret the question.  Was
it a challenge?  Or an opportunity for reconciliation?

"I never set my fantasies in the officers' bath at Obsidian
Order Headquarters," he answered.  "But since you ask--
how did I want you?  Not screaming and crying, certainly.
Not with Entek and a full compliment of guards looking
on."  Although Julian's sobbing had probably been more
useful to their ultimate goal with Entek watching.  Of
course, he couldn't tell the doctor that.  "I had hoped that
if I were ever fortunate enough to touch you, I'd be welcome."

Julian sat up.

"*Why?*" he asked tearfully.  "Why did he want you to
hurt me like that? He kidnapped me to hurt me--because
of *you.*  He thought I was yours."

"Yes, Doctor, I know."

"He gave me to you."  Hesitantly, Julian lifted one hand to
place his palm flat on Garak's chest.  "`Thy heart in my
hand...'  What does that mean?  That ceremony he had
us perform?"

"It's an ancient rite among my people," Garak told him.
He took the hand from his chest and, still careful of the
doctor's injuries, drew him close again.  Julian did not
resist. "Its meaning is not important--it served its purpose."

"Was that last bit part of the rite?"

"It was, once, long ago.  No one would insist upon it in
these civilized days."

"Except Entek."

"Mhm, yes."

Julian made a soft, choking sound which might have been
a laugh or a sob.

"I never felt so close to you," he said.  "When you said
those words to me, and we kissed.  If Entek had left us to
our own devices, I would have wanted you to make love
to me.  And he *saw* that, didn't he?"  He began to put it
all together:  "I wasn't supposed to like it, was I?"

"No, Doctor."

"He wouldn't have let me go with you otherwise.  When he
saw that I was responding to you, he couldn't stand it.  He
couldn't let us have even a chance to be happy with each
other.  He had to spoil it.  Make it filthy and degrading.
Right now, I couldn't bear to have you touch me."

Garak moved to withdraw, but the doctor gripped his
arms and refused to let him go.

"No!"  He looked up suddenly. "We can't let him win!
You see--don't you?--he put this horrible thing between us
to drive us apart.  He wants to destroy our friendship,
everything we have together.  We can't let him!"

His eyes flickered over Garak's face--eyes that were fever-
glossy and not quite lucid, but fiercely determined. Garak
felt a renewal of his hopes, but he made no overtures.
He simply waited to see what Julian would do.

Somewhat timidly, Bashir reached up to wind an arm
about his shoulders and pull himself close enough to
brush his lips softly over the corner of Garak's mouth.
When Garak turned his head slightly--to be of assistance--
Julian jerked back, and stared at him until he seemed
satisfied that there was no danger.  He moved close again
and offered a second, more decisive kiss.

Garak wanted to sweep him up in a tighter embrace,
devour him with kisses, but he restrained the impulse. The
worst thing he could do right now was alarm the doctor
by taking control of the situation away from him.  He had
to regain Julian's trust; so much depended upon it.

He deliberately matched the gentle pressure on his mouth,
brushed the tip of his tongue just within the parted lips,
tasting delicately.  Sipped rather than devoured.  He could
not be less of a threat.  He felt Julian relax in his arms,
and then tentatively dart his tongue out to meet his.

In another moment, the doctor was covering his face
and throat with a flurry of kisses.  Garak took the
opportunity to whisper in his ear:

"I'm so sorry.  Did I hurt you?"

"No," Julian murmured.  "You were very gentle." And he
took Garak's mouth more urgently.  He wriggled closer
--Garak felt an unmistakable erection brush his thigh and
he was suddenly *very* aroused himself.

It was the perfect way to have revenge on Entek--
replace an act of violence with an act of love and find
happiness where he had intended eternal misery--but
Julian couldn't possibly be ready for this either physically
or psychologically.  Did they even have the time?

They both froze at the sound of the outer door hissing
open.  Their eyes locked into each other's as they
listened together to boots on the changing-room floor.

"Dr. Bashir?"  Sisko's voice. "Are you in here?  Garak?"

Julian sighed, at once relieved and frustrated by the
commander's arrival.  He rested his forehead on
Garak's shoulder.

The tailor lifted his head.  "In here, Commander!"

Sisko appeared in the doorway.  His eyes widened at the
sight of them; this was obviously not what he had expected
to find, but he managed to control his surprise.

Garak met him boldly and refused to explain.

"Commander Sisko, you can't know how pleased we are
to see you.  The doctor requires immediate medical
attention.  Can you please hand me a few towels?"

~~~~~
iv

As Sisko entered the Defiant's sickbay, Medic Simmons
was treating Bashir's injuries; he seemed to be in the
middle of an argument with his patient.

"How is he?" Sisko asked the medic.

"I've given Dr. Bashir a painkiller, an anti-inflammatory,
and a fever reducer.  He is already responding to the
medication and I expect him to make a full recovery.
However," Simmons waved the dermal regenerator he had
been applying to the welts on the doctor's back, "these
injuries are more severe.  There may be some permanent
scarring."  He paused uncertainly, as if he had more
to report but didn't know how to begin.

"Go on," Sisko urged.

But Bashir snapped, "Don't!"

This, of course, only piqued the commander's curiosity.
"What is it?  Tell me."

Simmons hesitated, caught between contradictory orders
from his superior officers, but his duty lay with obeying
Sisko.  He reported:  "I've detected traces of a Cardassian-
based residue in Dr Bashir's intestinal tract.  I believe it
to be seminal fluid."  He paused to be certain Sisko
understood the implications.  "I'd- uh- like to do an internal
exam to collect evidence and perhaps make a DNA
identification."

Sisko nodded.  "Then what's the problem?"

"*He* won't let me."  Simmons gestured to the prone patient,
who looked very embarrassed and angry and, in spite of his
illness and injuries, ready to put up a fight.

Sisko sympathized with his doctor's distress, but Starfleet
protocols required medical personnel to report and gather
evidence for all suspected crimes.  If Bashir were not the
victim, he would be the first to insist on following the
proper procedures.

"I know you've been through a traumatic experience," the
commander said in a gentle but unyielding tone.  "And I
don't want to upset you any further, but you know you
have to undergo this examination.  It is necessary.
Simmons can sedate you if he has to."

Julian could hope to bully Simmons into leaving him
alone, but Sisko was another matter.  "All right," he
answered sullenly.

As the medic went to gather the proper equipment, Sisko
took a seat beside the biobed.

"Doctor," he said softly, "you mustn't blame yourself for
whatever the Cardassians did to you.  You have no
reason to be ashamed if you have been raped.  You
couldn't have stopped them and you only torment yourself
by thinking that you should have."

He left Simmons to his work.

~~~

He returned later.

"I've received the results from the samples taken, sir,"
Simmons reported.  "They *are* seminal fluid, mixed with
an oily glandular secretion--a natural Cardassian lubricant."

"So we have evidence of a rape?"

"Well, evidence of sexual activity.  My examination
revealed no sign of tearing or bruising consistent with
violent penetration.  Also, sir," the medic lowered his
voice,  "I've got a positive i.d. on the DNA."

"So quickly?"

"Well, the pattern looked familiar," Simmons replied.
"I'd seen it before, when I worked with Dr. Bashir on
removing Mr Garak's brain implant."

Sisko turned to look at the doctor, who still lay prone 
while the attending nurse repaired the last of his welts.  
The commander waited until she was done before he went
over to the biobed.

"Julian?"

Bashir opened his eyes. "Sir?"

"We have an i.d. on the DNA.  You knew what Simmons 
would find, didn't you?  It's why you fought so
hard to resist the exam.  It wasn't rape."

The last response Sisko expected was the doctor bursting 
into tears; Bashir hid his face in his folded arms
and wept quietly.  Sisko took a seat and waited it out.
He patted the young man's arm comfortingly.

When Julian was quiet, he said,  "Doctor, it's nothing to
be ashamed of," to put him more at ease.  "After all," a
lighter tone, "it's not as if I didn't suspect you were lovers--
not after finding the two of you necking in the shower."

Bashir sniffled.  "*Not* necking," he answered.  "Cuddling."

This sounded so much more like his doctor's normal,
impish self that Sisko smiled.  "I thought I'd interrupted
the beginning of something, but it would have been worse
if I'd come in a few minutes earlier."

"I wish you'd come in half an hour earlier."

Sisko didn't understand this last remark, but he took it to
be a product of Bashir's still feverish and exhausted brain
and he let it go.

~~~~~
v

"I didn't tell him," Julian told Garak not long afterwards. He
had avoided the tailor throughout his recovery, but today
he visited Garak in his quarters to assure him that he had
nothing to fear.  "He just assumed we were lovers and I let 
him think that.  I didn't want you to get into trouble."

"Very kind of you, Doctor."

Bashir shrugged.  "You saved my life.  I don't know if I can
forgive you for *how* you did it, but I think it's better if
it remains a private matter between us.  We both did things
I'd rather forget."

The doctor still held himself stiffly, reserved.  Which
embarrassed him more, Garak wondered: Entek forcing
them together, or what had happened afterward in the
baths?

"You've done nothing you need to reproach yourself for,"
he tried to reassure Julian on this second point.  "You
were not yourself--you couldn't know what you were
doing.  It was only a kiss or two.  That is easily forgotten."

Julian relaxed enough to give him a small smile.

Garak did not dare to hope.  His friend did not hate him,
and that must be enough to satisfy.  If anything more was
meant to be, the doctor would come to him in his own
time.  He had waited this long; he could go on waiting.

After all, he had claimed Julian for his own; there was a
bond between them now, even if the dear doctor did not
realize it.  They might have their revenge on Entek yet.

"Will you tell me about that ceremony?" Julian asked
him.  "What it was we did?"

"Perhaps, Doctor...someday."


~END~

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The following tale of alien encounters is true.
By true, I mean false. It's all lies, but
they're entertaining lies--and, in the end,
isn't that the real truth?  The answer is no.

Leonard Nimoy, hosting The Simpsons
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We get lots of letters that say: "I love Zorak.
Blow him up!" I mean, what's *that* about?

Space Ghost
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Kathryn Ramage         kramage@erols.com