Title: Sonata Author: Elizabeth Helena Series: DS9 Code: G/B (sorry Alara!) Rating: A mild R for violence against Romulans, strong suggestions of m/m sex, and engorged naughty bits. Warning: Assassination, angst and classical music - it ain't *Brigadoon*. The opinions of the characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author who was traumatized by clarinets as a child. Spoilers: Primarily set post-series and post-*A Stitch in Time*, so despite its brevity has the potential to spoil everything, Mwahahahahaha! (Ahem, sorry). Disclaimer: I have made no money from the work I did here, a practice which my regular employer apparently wants to emulate. Dedication: To Adrienne, with whom I share the other love that dare not speak its name. Yes, it is that special love between two heterosexual women known as - gasp - friendship. Beta: Adrienne, who won't marry me until my writing starts bringing in the big bucks. Love you anyway and appreciate your insight and evil sense of humour. Summary: Part of the 4th round Garak and Bashir Fuh-q-Fest, and response to Olivia Monteith's lyrical challenge to "choose a piece of music that inspires you, and write a G/B story from it." Further inspired by attending a concert where renowned violinist Pinchas Zukerman played Brahms' *Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor*, shortly after having a conversation with Adrienne about what our darlin' Elim might get up to after the war's end. The titles for each section were liberated from the four movements of the above sonata. Archiving: After June 29th, 2003, the G/B Fuh-q-fest deadline, feel free. I promise not to let it go to my head, Mwahahahaha! Damn, note to self: reread evil overlord rules. Feedback: Yes, please - including "hey, this isn't a sequel to *Condemnation*! Where the hell is that sequel you promised!!!" Working on it, working on it. What can I say, clarinet phobia notwithstanding, musical appreciation was a lot easier to write about than massive guilt trips. Quote from a scene I shamelessly pilfer at various points during this story: Garak: I must tell you I'm disappointed at hearing you mouth the usual platitudes of peace and friendship regarding an implacable foe like the Romulans. But I live in hope that one day, you'll come to see this universe for what it truly is rather than what you'd wish it to be. Bashir: Then I shall endeavour to become more cynical with each passing day, look gift horses squarely in the mouth and find clouds in every silver lining. Garak: If only you meant it. from: *Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges*, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Part I: Allegro The pleasure was so intense, it nearly overwhelmed Elim. It was all he could do to remain seated, his expression properly composed. Yet his mind refused to remain still, striving to reassert its dominance over his surging emotions by categorizing and labelling each one. This was the joy felt in the presence of beauty, he initially thought, but then corrected himself. No, this was being awed by beauty, that was what this music evoked. Garak turned his head slightly and smiled at Julian, who despite his exhaustion had insisted on accompanying him to the opening of the capital's rebuilt performance hall. "You worked too long and too hard for this night for me to miss it just because I had a long day," Bashir had announced, and stubbornly would not be persuaded otherwise. But then, it had been an argument that the Cardassian had been fully prepared to concede, on the condition that Federation Medical's Liaison Officer to Cardassia refrained from wearing his repulsive dress uniform for the evening. After all, Julian looked adorable in his tuxedo, especially now, with his head on Elim's shoulder, fast asleep. He had grown soft over the last decade, Garak chided himself, for he was neither offended nor disappointed by his unconscious companion. Oh, he had surreptitiously checked that the good Doctor wasn't drooling on his own formalwear, but this precaution had not been motivated by any desire to preserve his dignity as Cultural Advisor to the Cardassian government. Ironically, his concern had been a holdover from his many years as a tailor, for the soft Bolian velvet of his tunic matted terribly when damp. Nonetheless, Elim was momentarily tempted to wake him, for doubtless Julian would be disappointed if he missed the only human composer that would be played this night. But the impulse passed, for the view of his dear Doctor in repose perfectly complemented the music. Moreover, the Cardassian rationalized, when Julian had offered his unsolicited opinion on who should be included in this concert, Brahms had been one of the few Earth composers Bashir had not suggested. Garak had tried not to sneer when he had suggested Mozart, but not very hard. "Mozart was a genius, Elim. He was composing music when he was only five." "How unfortunate that his compositions never matured beyond that age." A flash of indignation from his beloved's eyes, "That's hardly fair!" Oh, how Garak still relished goading Bashir. Despite their many years as friends, then lovers, and finally spouses, his enjoyment of this pursuit had never faded. He seriously doubted that it ever would. When Garak remained silent, his expression cooly cynical, Julian acknowledged with obvious reluctance, "Alright, I suppose it was foolish of me to think you would enjoy *The Magic Flute*." "Indeed." The Cardassian responded with a martyred air. "But it's supposed to be light-hearted and childlike! It's not fair to judge all of Mozart's works on the basis of one opera you didn't like." "But it's not just that saccharine, headache-inducing piece of nonsense, Julian. If you recall I did try to listen to his so- called serious works." "I hardly call listening to one sonata trying." It continually amazed Garak that Julian still failed to understand how such overt irritability was unbearably sexy. But then again, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, perhaps his husband only pretended not to understand. "My dear, you insisted that *Helas, j'ai perdu mon amant* was Mozart's elegy to his grief and anger over a lost love. That piece had all of the emotion of someone mourning the loss of his favourite pair of pants." "Misplaced by a vindictive tailor, no doubt." "One could only hope." Garak raised his hand to forestall any further argument. "The purpose of this concert is not just to thank all of the alien species who assisted Cardassia after the devastation of the Dominion War, but also to introduce Cardassians to other cultures. To combat, as you so bluntly put it the other day, my people's unfortunate tendency to be insular. Trust me Julian, Cardassians will not appreciate Mozart. His music lacks subtly." The Doctor was clearly about to challenge this assessment, when Garak silenced him by covering his mouth with his own. Between enthusiastic kisses, Julian moaned, "You're cheating," but the Cardassian ignored this half-hearted complaint, beginning to massage the human's back with sure, firm strokes. With a sigh that somehow managed to express both annoyance and delight, Julian wrapped his arms around Elim's waist. "No Mozart," he finally conceded. "Now, Brahms' music blends passion with subtly, precision with boldness" sliding his grey hands further downwards, "attributes that Cardassians admire. Believe me, my dear," a less than gentle nip at his ear, "I have analysed all of these factors very carefully in making my decision." Garak had been lying of course. Not about his evaluation of Brahms, nor his assessment of the composer's potential appeal to his fellow Cardassians. However, his selection of that particular human's music had not been the result of careful analysis. Secretly, Garak adored Brahms, had for decades. Like Preloc's words, Brahms spoke to his soul. And like most of the loves of his life, it had been completely unplanned and unexpected. Part II: Adagio It was yet another Cardassian holiday extolling the virtues of family life, yet another reminder to Elim of just how alone he was. Mila, who had rarely been Mother since his induction into the Order, had become even more distant since Tolan's death, more firmly ensconced in her role as nothing more than Tain's housekeeper. As for the great man himself, Enabran was not even a nominal Uncle anymore, but a superior officer that he interacted with far more often through impersonal memos and reports than in person. Resolutely determined to keep self-pity at bay, Garak had reported early to the Hall of Records, and filled the empty hours researching alien cultures, specifically those identified as enemies of the Cardassian Union. The lone inhabitant on his floor, he was free to indulge his curiosity, plundering the vast resources of the Order's computer libraries at will. He was wholly engrossed in this pleasurable activity when he accidentally activated a recording. Before Garak could enter the command to abort, the first strains of the second movement of Brahms' *Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor* issued from the computer's speakers. Of course he hadn't known that was what it was then. All he had known was that the music expressed the barely acknowledged pain buried within him, transforming the primitive, threatening emotions into a beauty that ached. Transfixed, Garak listened until the piece ended, and immediately started it again. He then retrieved the whole sonata and played it as well, but it was the *Adagio* that spoke to Elim's heart. By contrast, the joy of the first movement reminded him of the first time he had heard an alien speak without the benefit of a universal translator, the rhythm of sound and breath instantly recognizable as language but completely incomprehensible. Whereas the second movement, he wholly understood, for it spoke of the moment he had realized what it meant to be Tain's son. Not the moment when he had first learned that `Uncle Enabran' was his father, and all of its concomitant feelings of confusion, love, and betrayal. But later, when he had finally comprehended that being Tain's son meant never pursuing his own dreams or desires. Never having an identity of his own. Enveloped by the music of the sonata's second movement, it momentarily felt safe for him to mourn the death of Elim Garak. Part III: Un poco presto e con sentimento The concert hall was packed, the attendance for Kovatte's performance assured the moment the Romulan Senate had condemned the evening's program as `decadent'. Hardly surprising as he insisted on playing non-Romulan musical instruments and composers, including Brahms. Even so, Garak was not consciously aware of which of Brahms' compositions the Romulan was performing until the third movement began. After all, he was not there to enjoy the concert but to kill someone, and such work demanded one's entire attention. But now, Elim allowed himself to momentarily listen, for he had always found this to be the most intriguing part of the sonata. For beneath the barely restrained ecstasy of the melody, this variation revealed glimpses of deadly secrets and machinations lurking just behind the scenes. Hardly surprising then that he admired this movement so, for it was behind the scenes that Garak now lived, or what was left of him. On particularly bleak days he believed that the only part of Elim Garak that still existed was the outer shell, his interior life purged until all that remained was his devotion to Cardassia. And to Enabran Tain. As the music became almost frantic, Garak picked up his pace as he approached the private balcony, aware of how vulnerable he was. Still, it was not for him to question the choice of such a public and therefore risky locale. If anything, the Cardassian reflected as he slipped past his target's bored guards, he was grateful for the potential exposure of this assignment. For it guaranteed that this would be his last operation on Romulus for some time, and Elim was very tired of this grey, bleak world. His entry onto the dimly lit terrace was more than adequately masked by the turbulent score, its lone occupant unaware of his presence until the Cardassian's hand clamped over his jaw and nose. As he pinned the suffocating man to his chair, Garak mentally distanced himself from his victim, reminding himself that the Romulan Senate would protect its own. The public would only hear of a fatal heart attack or some other dignified form of death, saving the man's family a considerable amount of grief. As he injected the now unconscious Romulan, Garak further reassured himself that only those closest to the Praetor would learn that one of their colleagues had died from an overdose of a drug usually favoured by male prostitutes. Before long, the Romulan's breathing slowed to a stop, and his assassin experienced an unexpected twinge of regret. But as the Cardassian efficiently arranged the body so that one hand rested near the discharged hypo and the other on the Senator's visibly engorged penis, he knew it was too much of a risk to stay for the rest of the sonata. As the third movement ended, Elim Garak, or what was left of him, disappeared into the shadows. Part IV: Presto agitato The beginning of the fourth movement always reminded Elim of sex. Specifically, the energetic, almost violent foreplay of Cardassian sex. Garak closed his eyes, allowing the music to return him to the moment when seven years of repressed craving had finally been released by an almost anti-climatic murmur of permission. Shoving the Doctor against the wall of his soon to be abandoned tailor's shop, Garak had devoured him with open mouth kisses and sharp bites, Julian's moans only encouraging his aggression. Gentleness would come later, only after he had marked this resistant, infuriating human as his, for each bruise on the Doctor's golden skin reassured him that he was the conqueror, not the conquered. As his dear spouse had once rather charmingly expressed it, Cardassians did not make love, they waged it. Garak had found the characterization rather apt, and not just regarding their sex life, for their entire relationship had proved to be a battle of wills, from the very beginning. Naturally, Julian had been loathe to admit it, Elim mused as his eyes opened and turned towards the man nestled against him, still sound asleep, but he had always known how hard it had been for this human to love him. How hard the good Doctor had fought his desires because of what Garak had been, and very well might still be. After the war, Julian had finally unravelled his conflicted emotions, informing Elim in no uncertain terms that he could never marry that man: the assassin, the torturer, the son of Tain. However, he had also sworn quite convincingly that he did want to enjoin his life to the person that Elim had become. The man who had overcome all of his Obsidian Order indoctrination in order to aid the Federation in its just cause, and help Damar overthrow the Dominion's oppressive regime. The man who had protected Cardassia's incipient democratic movement and nurtured the growing Hebitian renaissance. The man who had enthusiastically accepted his appointment as Cultural Advisor to the re-organized government, and was whole-heartedly engaged in the task of resurrecting the arts from the devastation left behind. It was as if Doctor Bashir had used his genetically enhanced brain to perform yet another impossibly elaborate calculation, only this time not in the service of computing dismal survival odds. Instead, all of the ugliness Garak had created at Enabran's side had been enumerated and then measured against each act as both a Cardassian revolutionary and then Cultural Advisor, until his current restitution outweighed his legacy as the son of Tain. The music changed, the sexual energy giving way to the elegy to beauty once again. Mirroring the pleasure he experienced as he gazed at his spouse peacefully asleep at his side, a joy that belied the Cardassian teaching that such emotions were a vulnerability. Although, Elim mused, if one listened very carefully, a hint of the machinations from the third movement remained. This thought inspired Garak to shift his attention from the slumbering Doctor, and glance up at the balcony that had been reserved for the Romulan Ambassador, who had only grudgingly attended tonight's performance. Hardly surprising as the Ambassador was currently the loudest voice within the Romulan government in favour of war reparations, insisting that if Cardassia was able to restore libraries, art galleries, and concert halls, they could afford to pay for their part in the Dominion War. Moreover, this vulgar barbarian had remained deaf to all arguments that such cultural pursuits were just as essential as the emergency rations and medical care initially provided by the Federation in the aftermath of the Changeling's revenge. That Cardassians desperately needed to rebuild their culture as well as their infrastructure if they were to survive as a civilization, as a distinct people. Garak noted with approval that the Ambassador's reserved balcony was now empty, his well trained eyes catching the shadow of movement at the back of the terrace. He smiled to himself, satisfied that this particular Romulan Ambassador would no longer be a problem. Garak returned his gaze to Julian, reflecting sadly that the good Doctor would simply never understand. Remembering how his husband had completely panicked years ago when he had learned that the newly elected Cardassian government was organizing an information service, convinced it would lead to the rebirth of the Obsidian Order. It had taken countless hours to reassure the human that the new information service was no more than it appeared to be, a necessary component of every political entity, including Julian's beloved Federation. By contrast, the Obsidian Order, Garak had argued, had legally plied assassination and torture throughout the Empire and beyond, whereas Cardassia no longer sanctioned such nefarious actions. At least, not officially. No, he thought, Julian would never understand, so it was simply best that he never learn that Cultural Advisor was not Garak's only role in rebuilding Cardassia. For no matter how many blows Julian had sustained to his idealism, from the horrors of the Dominion War to the villainous machinations of Section 31, he persisted in seeing the universe as he wished it to be rather than what it actually was. In this, Julian would never change, but much to his surprise the Cardassian now cherished this quality in him. For how else could he have gained the love and trust of this beautiful man, and at such a negligible cost? For Elim had long ago decided that the occasional resentment at being so thoroughly misunderstood was a small price to pay for the gift of Julian Bashir in his life. Recognizing the last strains of the movement, Garak gently woke his spouse, the human's eyes opening just as the audience burst into loud applause. Elim smiled indulgently as the Doctor blearily joined in, and then acting on impulse stood to give his ovation, deciding that both the musician and the composer deserved this recognition for the beauty they had brought into existence. No, the Cardassian reflected, his husband could never know of the ugly decisions he had to make. For he loved Julian and in truth did not want to ever hurt him. But Elim loved Cardassia too. And unlike his love for Julian, it had not been an unexpected nor an unplanned love. For he was the son of Enabran Tain, it had been planned before he had left his mother's womb. end