show: Deep Space: Nine
Title: Time Keeps On Slipping . . .
Author: Charon
Dates Written: August 20th, 2002 - November 2nd, 2002
Feedback: Please, and send it to kwaigoncainejinn@yahoo.com
Codes: G/B
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, and you should know what that means if you're 
reading this, but if you don't, it means male/male togetherness(at 
least in this story)and it's only PG-13 for a couple of kissing 
scenes. also, there are some mild swear words.
Episode spoilers: Kind'a' Sorta' for 'What You Leave Behind'
Disclaimer: So not mine, but I do love borrowing them a bit to play 
with, but I promise to return them to Paraborg . . . er . . . I mean 
Paramount relatively intact.
Answers Challenge: 10 years after "what you leave behind", Julian 
Bashir finally realizes that he's been in love with Garak all these 
years and takes an extended leave on Cardassia intent on winning 
Garak's heart. Garak, who has not heard from Bashir at all since the 
end of the Dominion War, is not at all receptive. Is it too late for 
the boys to get together? (WolfGirl) 

Okay, with that out of the way . . .

Complete And Total Fantasy
Deep Space: Nine
Time Keeps On Slipping . . .
By Charon
Started: 8-20-02
Completed: 11-02-02

"Ten years." The handsome, golden-skinned male sighed as he squinted 
his brown eyes against the bright Cardassian sky and looked around at 
the still badly scarred landscape.

The Dominion War was well past them, and the Pah-Wraiths and the 
Prophets had settled back into their own domains, as had the Founders 
and the Dominion, and indeed, even the Alpha Quadrant. What went on 
in the Gamma Quadrant was their own business, but occasionally, there 
were crossings, some sanctioned, but most not.

However, for the human that stood in the Cardassian City Center and 
held onto only a small over-the-shoulder bag and a medical kit, the 
ten years had passed in nothing less than a blink of an eye.

For a while, he'd tried to remain optimistic and had flitted, under 
orders from Starfleet, from one war-torn planet to another and taken 
care of those who couldn't take care of themselves. He'd tried 
marriage, but it hadn't worked out due to his work and the demands he 
placed on not only himself, but those around him . . . as well as the 
fact that he'd discovered that a wife hadn't exactly been what he'd 
wanted, or needed. They had also discovered that a human husband 
wasn't what his wife had needed, or wanted either, and the divorce 
had been amicable, if sad.

He'd resigned from Starfleet five years previous, when it was finally 
made clear to him that they were more interested in the politics of 
the planets they were supposedly there to help than in the actual 
Humanitarian work. He had then devoted himself to privately funded 
charities, and went where they sent him . . . as well as had worked 
obsessively on a private project that had been all his own, and one 
that no one needed to know anything about, but that had both failed 
miserably and succeeded wildly. 

Which was why he found himself on Cardassia ten years after the end 
of the war, and seventeen from the time he'd bounced onto the decks 
of the newly freed, Bajoran space station, Deep Space: Nine, Terok 
Nor, or whatever the hell whoever occupied it at any one time called 
it.

He stood in the main street, in front of the Great Building, and 
shivered, despite the heat. Seventeen years in all had passed, and 
it had taken him a hell of a long time to find out what he'd wanted 
out of his life, as well as to actually gather up his courage, and 
see if he still had a shot at it.

He looked around the imposing landscape again and shook his head at 
the scorch marks that decorated the sides of the buildings, the still 
un-repaired windows, the soot that still remained between the 
crevices in the sidewalks, and the fissures that still ran through 
some of the streets. He'd not been able to secure transportation 
from the spaceport to the city proper, so he'd walked. It had 
afforded him the opportunity to see, first hand, how *much* that 
still, even after ten years, needed to be done.

And he *could* help. He knew it. That was, he could help *if* the 
one person he'd come to see would let him.

He adjusted the strap of the bag more comfortably on his shoulder, 
gripped the handle of the med-kit, and inhaled as he walked up the 
steps into the cooler air of the Great Building. He took a moment to 
let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the lighting, then walked up to 
the Cardassian receptionist, whose mouth fell almost completely open 
in surprise when she saw him.

"Can . . . can I help you?" She stammered, and the man smiled 
enigmatically, his accented voice soft.

"I realize it is odd for you to see a human here." He told her, and 
inclined his head shyly, as he remembered he had to get along with 
the local populace, who were naturally still angry with the 
Federation for the minimal help they'd received after the war, and 
had a general hate-on for humans and their types. "But I would like 
to meet with Advocate Garak, if I may."

"I . . . see." She inclined her head, then punched a button on the 
screen before her, then frowned as she looked up at him. "And who 
are you?"

"Bashir. Doctor Julian Bashir."

She nodded, pushed the call button, and a moment later, a 
familiar, if a bit more gravelly voice, answered. "Yes? What is it?"

"Advocate, there's a . . ." She couldn't quite keep the disgust 
from her tone, but managed most of it, and Julian simply looked back 
her, completely calm and unaffected by her scathing one. "Human . . . 
here to see you. He says his name is Bashir . . ."

To Julian's consternation, there was a silence that was almost 
unnerving, or would have been, if he hadn't been through what he had 
over the last ten years, and finally, Garak spoke again. "Really?" 
He asked, his voice completely devoid of any emotional fluctuation 
whatsoever. "Then I guess you'd better send him up."

"Right away, Advocate." She answered, blanked the screen, then 
handed the doctor a pass. "Third floor cor . . ."

"I know the way. But I thank you." Before he'd embarked on his 
mission, he'd made it a point to learn all he could about Garak, what 
he'd been doing, and where he was, and was glad of his foresight. He 
inclined his head once more and walked up a massive, curving 
stairway. He went to enter the doorway, but was unceremoniously 
pushed backward. Only his enhanced reflexes saved him from being 
pushed down the way he'd just walked up, and he caught himself by the 
railing. He flattened himself against the wall, as two, very large, 
very bulky Cardassians stormed past him.

"Gentlemen." A voice called to them civilly as they tromped down the 
stairs. "You may want to be careful on the stairs in the future. 
Someone could get hurt that way." Julian looked up and swallowed as 
painfully familiar cornflower blue eyes gazed at him, almost in 
surprise. However, with his own disillusioned eyes, he saw through 
the facade to the core, where the only emotions that could be seen 
were bitterness and indifference.

He sighed, then almost groaned aloud as his heart jumped up from his 
chest into his throat, and for a moment, he was once again the new, 
shy, Starfleet doctor he'd once been . . . and so in love with the 
charismatic Cardassian that he could barely breathe. However, he 
knew, with everything in him, that Garak hadn't really meant the 
veiled threat that his chastisement of his fellow Cardassians 
carried. That alone let him know how much Garak had left of any 
feelings he might have had at all, and he inclined his head.

"It's quite all right, Advocate." He told Garak formally, almost 
submissively, even as his eyes automatically, and as per 
his `training', roamed, seemingly innocently, over Garak's wrists, 
his shoulders, waistline, hips, and ankles. "I can understand why 
your people don't like mine very much. However, I have a proposal 
for you that just might help in that area of things."

"Do you now?" Garak asked as he led Julian into a large, imposing 
office, then sat in a large seat behind an equally large desk, and 
waited a moment as Julian acquainted himself with his surroundings, 
and mindlessly sought out each and every exit. "So, tell me, Doctor 
Bashir." The Cardassian leaned forward and clasped his hands 
together on the desk in front of him. "Just what is your proposal 
and why do you think it'd interest me?"

Julian looked at Garak for a moment, then blinked, and a corner of 
his mouth turned up in what was dimly reminiscent of a smile. "So 
this is how it's going to be, is it, Garak? Us separated by a desk 
while our speech is kept ever so formal and incredibly polite?"

"And how would you have it, Doctor? What would you have of me, 
especially after not contacting me at all in ten years? Would you 
have me order a meal for you? Offer you some Tarkalean tea perhaps? 
Or maybe we should talk about the latest books we've read."

"Well." Julian blinked. "I didn't get a chance to eat on the 
transport, nor have I had anything to drink, so either would be nice, 
and as for books, I haven't had a lot of time for reading." He 
exhaled and leaned back in his seat. "Damn it, Garak, I haven't seen 
you in so long, we could at least start by being pleasant to one 
another . . ."

"And who's fault is it that we haven't seen one another in so long, 
Doctor?" Bitterness entered Garak's voice, and Julian sat up. "I've 
been right here all the while trying to rebuild my planet, and what 
have you been doing? Gallivanting all over the quadrants making a 
name for yourself . . ."

Julian raised his head, and his eyes burned into Garak's. His voice 
never rose, but for all the intensity of his words, he might as well 
have shouted them. "Don't you, of all people, judge me, Garak. You 
don't know what I've done . . ."

"Well, then let me inform you. You were married to Ezri Dax soon 
after the war. You stayed on Deep Space until you were ordered to 
the Gamma quadrant to study the Founders, invited, if I'm not 
mistaken, by the now Ambassador Odo. Then you were ordered to planet 
after planet, where you assessed wounded, performed minor miracles, 
and won several awards. You became disillusioned by the imbeciles at 
Starfleet, who were more into politics than what you so laughingly 
call humanitarian works, and you resigned. After that, you were 
divorced from Ezri, citing `irreconcilable differences', after which 
she ran off and married Ambassador Worf. You then joined a series of 
privatized charity organizations, where you continued to perform 
minor miracles and win awards for your dedication and single-minded 
determination to wipe disease and medical afflictions from the 
universe. Am I wrong, Doctor? Have I missed anything?"

"No. No, you aren't wrong, and you haven't missed anything. For the 
most part at any rate." The doctor shook his head, then raised his 
eyebrows slightly. "However, I see you haven't lost your talent for 
information gathering."

"And you haven't lost your talent for sticking your nose into places 
where it doesn't belong, and where it's not wanted . . . or needed." 
Garak almost spit at him.

"No." Julian denied quietly. "I may not be wanted here . . ." He 
instinctively hid the painful constriction of his heart at Garak's 
rather cruel, if not accurate assessment of him behind his somber 
facade, and inclined his head briefly. "But I certainly am needed 
here. In fact, I do believe you have asked Starfleet repeatedly to 
send you a doctor who knows how to work with, and on, Cardassians, 
rather than the, and I use a direct quote from you, ` ignorant, stand-
offish oafs who they've sent before'. Your last request did indeed 
get to Starfleet, but they pulled their `peacekeeping humanitarian' 
forces out of here as soon as they got the orders to withdraw and go 
to other more `desperate' planets. Which, as you and I both know 
translates into more `friendly and desirable' planets who didn't side 
with the Dominion for most of the war. Subsequently, your request 
for help for those you represent, has gone completely unheeded, and I 
would go so far as to say ignored."

Garak raised his eyeridges and inclined his head. "My 
congratulations, Doctor. I see you aren't as blind to things here as 
I first thought."

"I'll take that compliment in the spirit with which it was offered." 
Julian answered as he shrugged. "I may not be in Starfleet anymore, 
but I do still have some sources of information." He leaned forward, 
his eyes intense. "Will you be so damned proud, Garak, that you turn 
down my help? I'm a good doctor and you know this. I'm also 
connected to several, as you called them `privatized charity 
organizations'. Tell me, *Advocate*, how many more of your poor 
will have to die from poisoned water, bad food, and diseases that 
shouldn't even be *around* they're so simple to cure, but are, 
because you can't get the proper medicines and people how know how to 
use them? Damn it, Garak, you are the Advocate of the Poor and 
Displaced. I don't know how or why you got that title, and I don't 
particularly care. But, what I *do* care about is the fact that you 
have done everything in your considerable range of power to help the 
people that no one else *will*. Regardless of your feelings for me 
and my `gallivanting', I am here, I can help, and while I personally 
may not have the resources you need, I know who has them, I know how 
to get to them, and I know how to get them quickly."

"And what do you get out of all this, doctor?" Garak demanded with a 
scowl. "How many honors and distinctions are you going to win for 
this oh-so-charitable action of yours?"

"In other words, `why am I doing this after so long'. Not only did 
you never know when to just come right out and give straight answers, 
you never knew when to come out and ask straight questions either." 
Julian's lips twisted into a bitter mockery of a smile, and he 
stood. "In answer, Garak, I could paper my walls, if I actually had 
any, three times over with the `honors and distinctions' I've already 
received. So, whether you believe me or not, I really don't want, 
nor do I need any more of those. However, as for what I wanted from 
you, I've already gotten, and with that, all dues are paid, Advocate 
Garak."  Julian inclined his head, and his disheveled, dusty bangs 
fell into his eyes as he stood. "Now, due to the fact that I'm human, 
I've been refused lodging all over the city, so I can't tell you 
where I'll be when I actually find a place to stay, but when you 
decide what you want to do about my offer, I'm sure you'll be able to 
find me."

Without a look back, Julian left the office.

% % % % % % 

Garak let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd held, leaned 
back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

Great Guls, it had been all he could do not to grab the two other 
Cardassians by their throats and fling them over the railing himself 
when he saw they'd almost pushed Julian down the stairs. Thank the 
heavens for the human's Genetically Engineered reflexes.

After the woman at the desk had announced that Julian was there to 
see him, he'd decided that he'd remain impassive and detached, find 
out what the younger man wanted, and then summarily dismiss him. 
However, the Julian that he'd pictured in his mind, the young man 
who'd bounced into his miserable, lonely life seventeen years before, 
was NOT the one who gazed, or more appropriately, hadn't gazed, into 
his eyes.

No. This Julian Subatoi Bashir *wasn't* the same man . . . not at 
all.

The dark brown velvet eyes that Garak could still remember going 
green when he was tired, had faded to a dull, dirt brown. His hair 
was as ebony as it had been, even coated with Cardassia's dust, but 
like the man himself, it had taken on a rather wild look, and was 
just a tad too long to be able to keep the curls tamed as he had in 
his younger days. His body was held in a straight, upright position, 
rigid and unbending. His face held a guarded, almost severe 
expression that had never been there previously, and his eyes bore a 
lifelessness that Garak had never seen, not even when the man had 
forgone sleep for days on end. However, even more disturbing than all 
of that, was the complete lack of a smile on any of Julian's 
features . . . something which Garak hadn't seen, ever. Even when the 
Station and the war were at their darkest moments, Julian had almost 
always found something to smile about . . . but it was more than 
clear that was all over.

In fact, Julian bore the trademark look that Garak had seen all too 
often on other people, and had hoped never to see on the younger 
human. Julian had obviously gone through some fire of personal hell 
that Garak hadn't been privy to, and had lost himself in it. Garak 
knew, even as he'd railed at Julian about his `gallivanting' that the 
man had done more than just what the official reports had said. 
Though he had never been able to garner any official admissions, 
there had been things that had happened that accompanied Julian where 
ever he'd gone - things like unexplained deaths, sudden transitions 
in governments, withdrawals of key officials from seats of power - 
and Garak had needed to hear his Julian admit to doing those things, 
but, of course, he hadn't.

The Cardassian suddenly growled as he realized the turn his thoughts 
had taken. He slammed his hand down hard onto the surface of his 
desk and made the few items on it jump.

His Julian. The young fool - not so young - he had to remind 
himself as he thought of the ancient, almost dead eyes that had 
looked at him from the face that seemed to have been set in stone, 
had never been *his* Julian.

That was the main part of the problem, as well as a part of the 
bitterness and the indignant anger he'd so projected onto the human 
as he'd sat, so very calmly, across the desk from him. Garak had 
wanted an explanation for the fact that Julian hadn't contacted him, 
not once in ten years . . . not even just to say `hello', but it was 
clear that none was to be forthcoming, and the absence of that had 
angered Garak. Angered him enough to have made a personal attack on 
the younger man . . . an attack which Julian hadn't risen to, and 
that alone let Garak know just how much he had changed.

Garak thought back to the man that had looked up at him with wide-
eyed innocence and outright fear the day he'd placed his hands on 
those oh-so-tempting shoulders, and sighed. After all they had done 
together and after all the things they had gone through, he had 
actually allowed himself to believe that Julian was going to be at 
least his friend, forever. He'd allowed himself to believe that 
they'd always have something in common and have something to talk 
about, even if it was only bad literature from their respective 
planets. But then they'd gone their separate ways . . . him to 
rebuild Cardassia, and Julian to marry the woman . . . and follow his 
own pursuits of glory.

After that, days had gone by without contact, and those had turned 
into weeks. All through those long weeks, Garak had reasoned that it 
was Starfleet that had kept Julian so busy he didn't have time for 
even a quick chat. However, then he'd heard about Julian and Ezri's 
marriage through, of all things, Starfleet gossip at what was left of 
the Cardassian Center's Great Building.

The weeks then passed into months, the months into years, and Garak, 
bitterly, finally told himself that he could forget about Julian. He 
convinced himself that the doctor had merely used him, and had never 
meant to be a friend beyond Deep Space. Hence, comfortable in his 
anger and grief, when he acknowledged himself to feel even that 
much, he settled into his own routine. He was elected the Advocate 
for the Poor and Displaced Persons, and he fought for them, as well 
as for the new government, with the same enthusiasm that he had 
fought, in the far distant past, against those who would have 
destroyed the old.

So deeply engrossed into his work had he become, that he'd actually 
managed to put Julian, his exploits, and his memory out of his mind, 
and he'd thought from his heart as well.

That, he knew, with the wonderful clarity of hindsight, had been his 
own considerable talent for self deception. He knew that was the 
case the very moment he'd felt his heart as it madly leapt for his 
throat as Julian had looked at him. Or, more appropriately, had 
looked OVER him.

It was then that Garak's heart suddenly shattered in his chest, for 
he knew the look that Julian had appraised him with. He'd watched as 
those wonderfully guileless eyes he'd spent so many hours admiring, 
looked him over calculatingly, and slightly narrowed, as if the 
doctor could see right through him. They'd lingered briefly on the 
wrists of his tunic, his chest, his beltline, his hips, and his 
ankles . . . all the places where he could have hidden weapons. 
Then, when they'd entered, or more correctly, when Julian had all but 
prowled into the office, he'd watched as those same eyes flashed 
around the room and had taken note of all the exits - the obvious 
ones and the not-so-obvious ones - searched the corners of the 
ceilings and the pictures on the walls . . . and all the while they 
had remained seemingly fixed on Garak himself.

He very probably would never have been aware of Julian's intense 
scrutiny, as he knew thousands wouldn't have been, but for the past 
he had. A past which he and Julian so obviously shared. A past 
which had disillusioned the human, the way he had never 
been, as he, unlike Julian, had literally been born into the life of 
a spy . . . and not the kind that Julian had so admired in his 
holosuite games. A past that had proven the dark suspicions that 
Garak had held, but never really thoroughly investigated as he never 
wanted, in the deep recesses of his being, to believe Julian capable 
of doing any of them.

"My dear doctor, I have been most lax in gathering my information as 
far as you are concerned." He said aloud, then frowned, determined to 
find out just what Julian had been doing to have been so injured by 
the life he'd chosen.

He stood and looked out the window over the center, and absently 
looked for Julian, though he knew the man would have been long gone, 
and shook his head as he continued his thoughts. Maybe, though, 
Julian hadn't chosen the life of a spy. Surely after everything 
Sloan and that Section 31 had put the younger man through, he 
wouldn't have gone willingly to them. Maybe *they* had chosen him 
and not given him any kind of a choice to say no. After all, if 
anyone knew how insidiously that kind of life crept up on someone, it 
was he. 

He almost kicked the wall in frustration and wondered what the hell 
he thought he was doing. After all, it had been ten years. Ten 
years, and Julian hadn't contacted him once. Why now? Why had 
Julian, looking as he did, why had he *really* come to Cardassia?  
For a moment, Garak had the fleeting, rather paranoid thought that 
Julian's `superiors' might have ordered him to kill either him or 
someone else in the new government, but he snorted at himself and 
just as quickly dismissed that as ridiculous.

No, the doctor hadn't come to kill him. But it was more than clear 
that Julian had definitely come for something . . . but what?

He shook his head and knew he wouldn't find the solutions out his own 
window. There were others who had the answers he sought, and he 
would find the answers through said others.

"Advocate Garak." The receptionist's voice broke into his thoughts, 
and he sighed. "Your appointment has arrived."

Damn.

Unfortunately, Julian and his problems would have to wait until 
later. Garak had been trying to get this branch of the new government 
involved in his cause from the start, but they'd just had a change of 
leadership, and his requests had finally been honored.

"Have Alwayne show him up." He answered, and his work resumed.

%%%%%%

"It's been over two weeks, Garak." Julian grumbled as he bent over 
the water purifier he'd built out of parts he'd scrounged.  He 
banged, probably with unnecessary roughness, on one of the coiled 
ends with a rock, then briefly wiped sweat from his blurry 
eyes. "Where the hell are you?"

He sat back on his heels and thought about the Cardassian, and shook 
his head then grimaced as the small motion made his pounding headache 
even worse. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he'd walked 
out of that office, then had wandered around the city for hours as he 
tried to find a place to stay. However, he'd found no one willing to 
put him up, and the currency he'd had to offer would barely have 
tempted a starving vole, let alone a naturally xenophobic Cardassian 
with a serious, though understandable, hatred of humans.

Humans truly were persona non grata on Cardassia, and resignedly, 
he'd headed to the outskirts of the city. It wasn't the safest place 
he'd ever stayed, but it certainly wasn't the most dangerous or worst 
either. He knew from personal experience that his phaser, as well as 
the several other unpleasant little surprises he had hidden on his 
person, would put off even the most avid of thieves and murderers, 
and he had set about making the still devastated section of town his 
home.

The first thing he'd done was to have searched out the least damaged 
of the buildings, and claimed the highest floor as his own. He'd had 
a brief run in with the inhabitants of the building, but, as he had 
known it would, his phaser had convinced the biggest of them that he 
meant business. Also, the fact that they were half-starved and sick 
hadn't hurt his abilities to defnd himself, and had allowed him to 
subdue a couple of the more stubborn ones physically, though he'd 
made it a point not to hurt them. After that, he treated them for 
their wounds as well as their illnesses, gave out what ration bars he 
carried, then promised them he'd help them get fresh water. For all 
of that, all they had to do in return, was to allow him to stay and 
keep him from any undue harm that might have been caused by other 
locals who decided they'd challenge his right to be there.

He'd hoped to have been able to have won them over with charm and 
kindness, but if there was one thing he'd learned over the past ten 
years, it was that charm and kindness only got a person so far. When 
brute force and bribery were the only things one had to depend on, 
one did so, and the result was all that mattered.

He shook his head and wondered when, exactly, he'd become so jaded.

However, he persevered in his attempts at kindess and gentility and 
also made his medical services freely available.  Eventually, he had, 
indeed, won over the people of the district in which he'd settled in. 
Over the course of two weeks, the word that there was a doctor, 
though he was human, willing to work with them, had spread quite 
quickly, and poor people came to him from other districts. Small but 
neat tents soon cropped up among the broken buildings, and 
Cardassians started to work together for the good of not only 
themselves, but for others as well.

Julian allowed himself to turn up the corners of his mouth, in almost 
a half-smile, though his face hurt from the burn he'd managed to 
acquire from the relentless sun.  He remembered the people that had 
heard of what he and the others were doing, and had come to help. The 
ones, the middle class, the semi-influential ones, and even doctors 
and nurses had come to help in their off times and volunteered their 
services.

Garak may have been late in getting the permission he needed from the 
government, but the regular Cardassians, the ones who not only 
suffered, but saw the suffering and wanted only to relieve it, no 
matter who started the help, had pushed things into gear themselves. 
However, there was only so much that relatively poor people could do 
for extremely poor people, and Julian knew they needed more help if 
they were to save even half of those who had almost literally come 
crawling to the small haven he'd started.

"Come on, Garak. There's barely enough food rationed out here in 
this district for your people, let alone for me too." He knew that 
if Garak didn't come to him in the next day, he would have to go to 
him.

It was not a visit he looked forward to.

He growled once more, banged on the distiller, then froze as the 
perimeter breach light he'd set up, blinked on and off. A moment 
later a small chime rang, and he knew that someone was on the way up 
the rickety stairs. He dropped the rock, picked up his phaser, and 
moved behind the half-broken wall that served as a table as well as 
protection from the open `livingroom' doorway.

Slowly, the door opened, and Julian's heart thudded in his chest as 
the handsome face of the man he still loved showed itself, and he 
blinked rapidly as his vision once more blurred, and he stifled a 
cough. "Doctor?" Garak's voice sounded, and Julian stood, then 
lowered the phaser. Garak nodded approvingly, and Julian stepped over 
the wall. "I see you've learned caution."

"I'm glad you approve." He commented brusquely, then brushed at his 
dust-covered clothing. "I take it you've thought over my proposal."

"I have, and I see you are as direct as always, doctor." Garak 
blinked and wondered what he'd expected from the second meeting, and 
tried for what he hoped was a friendly smile. Julian blinked, though 
he didn't react, and the phaser disappeared into the folds of the 
loose tunic he wore.

"And you're as evasive as ever." He shrugged and went back to the 
purifier. "So, now that we know neither one of us has changed, what 
have you decided?"

"On the contrary, my dear Doctor." Garak frowned slightly, more 
worried about Julian's odd behavior than he wanted to admit. "*You* 
have changed considerably. However, as to the matter of your 
proposal, I have spoken with some of my colleagues, and they are, 
quite understandably, not particularly happy to place any kind of 
trust in a human. Most certainly not after all the promises that 
were made then broken." He squatted beside Julian, and watched the 
younger man intently as he continued to work on the unwieldy 
distiller coil. "I persuaded them it would be a good idea to at 
least listen to you, and, once I'd told them who, exactly, they were 
trusting, their attitudes improved immeasurably. Also, many of them 
had heard what you'd accomplished here already. It seems, Doctor, 
your reputation has preceded you." He placed his hand on the 
distiller wire and held it steady while Julian pounded it into shape, 
then connected it to the siphon.

"Good." Julian nodded, and Garak briefly wondered whether he'd 
responded to the conversation or the fact that the coil worked. "I'm 
going to need access to a subspace communications relay, and then we 
can get the ball rolling, so to speak."

Garak looked around the broken down room, and sighed. "You've been 
staying here."

"Nowhere else to stay." Julian shrugged, then the corners of his 
lips turned upward, but if it was a smile, it never reached his 
eyes. "I've stayed in worse places, believe me. In fact, once we'd 
established the bigger purifiers in the streets, I decided to come in 
here and make a smaller one for myself. I could do with a personal 
luxury . . ."

"You can't stay here forever, Doctor." Garak frowned, and Julian 
nodded.

"I don't intend to stay here forever. Just until I'm finished with 
what I came to do."

"And just what did you come here to do?" Garak asked and had the 
oddest feeling that he'd heard those questions a lifetime ago, only 
from reversed perspectives.

"To help." Julian answered, and Garak frowned.

"Not a particularly descriptive answer, doctor."

"It covers everything. Everything important at any rate."

"It covers nothing." Garak frowned, and realized that after ten 
years they'd indeed reversed roles, and Julian's lips curved 
slightly, and the Cardassian knew that the human had realized it as 
well.

"Don't worry about it, Garak. It's enough to know that all I want to 
do at this moment is to make the same kind of arrangements for the 
forgotten people of Cardassia that I've made for the forgotten beings 
of other planets."

"And then you'll leave, just like you have all those other places." 
Garak fairly accused, and Julian leaned over the distiller, used a 
dull knife as a screwdriver, tightened a bolt, then shook his head. 
His hair fell over his face and obscured it from view, and Garak 
struggled against the almost irresistible urge to gently tuck the 
dark curtain behind the man's ear.

"No. Not like the others." His voice rasped in his throat and he 
cleared it, connected another part to the distiller, shifted the 
entire contraption so that it sat in the sun, and poured several 
containers of water into the holder. He placed a large container 
under the spigot and released the clamp. "Now." He sat back and 
watched as the heat from the sun condensed the water in the 
holder. "Let's see if this thing works like it's supposed to."

"Of course it'll work." Garak snorted. "After all, you made it." 
He suddenly sighed in resignation. "But now that it's done, come 
with me."

"Where to?" Julian questioned and Garak frowned as he realized that 
ten years ago, Julian wouldn't have hesitated to go anywhere with 
him, whether he knew where it was or not.

"You said you needed to get to a subspace communications device, and 
I have one at my home." He wrinkled his nose and ran a critical eye 
over Julian's rather dirty figure. "I also have a shower and 
recycler, as well as a change of clothing."

"I'd kill for a shower." Julian commented and Garak glanced at him, 
unsure if he were joking or not. Slowly, Julian stood, then inhaled 
deeply as a wave of nausea passed over him. A moment later, when he 
was sure he wasn't going to throw up on himself or Garak, he opened 
his eyes and gathered his meager belongings together, though he was 
aware of the older man's eyes on him, and their narrowed gaze of 
suspicion at his uncharacteristic slowness.

%%%%%%

(end part 1)