The BLTS Archive - Vital Signs
by ARM

---

DISCLAIMER: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is copyright by Paramount
Pictures, a subsidiary of Viacom.  This story is for fan enjoyment
only and is not intended to infringe on that copyright.  Please do not
distribute this story without the express consent of the author.  You
may print out a personal copy for yourself as long as the story (and
header) remain intact.

WARNING: This story is rated NC-17. It is an adult story which
contains sex between characters of the same sex. If this offends you,
do not continue.  Otherwise, have fun.  This story takes place the day
after "Our Man Bashir".

---

Julian Bashir put down his PADD and frowned. The entire affair was
quite embarrassing and he was nervous about his fellow officers'
reactions.

The Chief would likely take the situation in stride.  He had survived
more bizarre situations than the average Starfleet officer and would
likely find the idea of being cast as an assassin after Julian Bashir
amusing.  Bashir expected some ribbing from the Chief, but other than
that he would be fine.

Bashir was not sure how Worf would react, but luckily Worf's role had
been small.  The Klingon would probably leave him alone.

Sisko would probably not appreciate being cast in the role of the
villain, but the Captain was a true professional and unlikely to take
his discomfort out on the young doctor.  Besides, the Captain was the
only other one on the station who shared Bashir's appreciation for
twentieth century earth, although the Captain's tastes tended to run
more towards baseball than James Bond.

Bashir was a bit nervous about Jadzia's reaction to playing a quiet
scientist in love with Julian Bashir, but Dax's sense of humor was
legendary.  She might even find an irony in the role.  From the few
tidbits of her past she had given him he suspected that Jadzia might
have a few things in common with Professor Honey Bear before she was
joined to Dax.  (Even Bashir had to admit that the names were
terrible.)

The officer Bashir was most worried about facing was Kira.  He and the
Major had become friends, especially after the embarrassing Gratitude
Festival, but she still scared Bashir.  Kira's often abrasive
personality contrasted against the doctor's soft-spoken mannerisms.
He suspected that she would not be pleased at having been cast in the
role of a Soviet KGB officer in love with Julian Bashir. More
importantly, while Dax had a tolerant air about her, Kira was more
likely to shoot now and ask questions later.  He debated whether or
not it would be best to simply avoid her for the next few days or to
try to apologize.

In his defense, he was not responsible for the malfunction and had
saved them from the program.  In doing so he had shot his best friend
Garak and it was he who had the doctor most nervous about facing
again.  Garak had expressed admiration for the doctor's actions, but
Bashir knew that a part of Garak must be furious at him.  Or was
Bashir once again attributing human characteristics to his Cardassian
friend?  The doctor's habit of viewing life through human eyes had
caused problems between himself and the tailor before.

"Doctor?" a familiar male voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Garak?"  Bashir looked up, concerned.  It was rare for the Cardassian
to visit Bashir in the infirmary.  "What can I do for you?"

Garak looked uncomfortable.  He made a movement as if turning to
leave.

"Garak?"  Bashir's voice was firm.  He took a closer look at the
Cardassian.  Garak's eyes were slightly clouded as if he were in pain
and his skin was shiny almost as if he were sweating. Cardassians
rarely sweat and Bashir grew concerned.

"It's nothing, Doctor.  I am sorry to disturb you."  Garak tried to
smile.

"It is not nothing," Bashir said in his best doctor voice. "Come here,
Garak."

Garak stood indecisively for a second before heading for the doctor.
He had taken all his courage to enter the infirmary in the first place
and it was only the memory of the last time he had rejected the good
doctor's offer of medical assistance that made him come now.

Bashir placed his hand lightly on the tailor's forehead.  The skin
felt hot even for a Cardassian and there was a definite layer of
sweat.  The tailor winced at the touch as if it pained him.

"You have a high fever and appear to be in a lot of pain,"  Bashir
stated.  "I need to run some tests.  When did you start feeling ill?"

Garak sighed.  He was trapped.  "Yesterday evening after I went back
to my quarters."

"Yesterday evening?  It took you nearly a whole day to see me.  Damn
you and your Cardassian stubbornness.  This could be serious," Dr.
Bashir was annoyed.  He knew his friend was a private man, but his
professional pride was hurt.  Again.

Bashir ran a medical tricorder over Garak.  "Have you experienced any
symptoms?"

Garak took a deep breath and forced himself to be honest.  Lying would
do him little good when Bashir was running a tricorder over him.  "A
fever.  Headache.  Dizziness.  I seem to be somewhat short of breath.
Either that or I am in worse shape than I thought."

"I am reading a mild infection in your neck wound, but your symptoms
sound like you might also be having an allergic reaction to
something,"  Bashir stated.  "Dammit, Garak!  Why didn't you get this
taken care of immediately after leaving the holosuites?"

"It didn't seem important," Garak answered dismissing the accusation.
"As you said, it was just a flesh wound."

"As I said...? Garak!" the doctor's voice sounded pained.  "Well, it
is more than a flesh  wound now.  The tricorder is having trouble
identifying the infectious agent and the allergen.  Come with me.  I
need to take a culture."

"And you can't take it here?"  Garak asked suspicious, but he followed
the doctor.  Upon seeing the doctor gesture him into the quarantine
room, he frowned.  "Doctor, I refuse."

"You don't have a choice,"  Bashir's voice was hard and he grabbed
Garak's arm, leading him into the quarantine room.  Garak was normally
much stronger than the doctor, but his illness was taking its toll and
he gave only a token show of resistance.  Even breathing took effort.

"Look Garak.  You have an infection which the tricorder can't identify
and seem to be experiencing an allergic reaction.  I need to run tests
to see if it is contagious and until I do I can't risk letting you
leave the infirmary infecting someone else.  I know that if I let you
stay in the front room you will get bored and leave.  Therefore, you
are confined to quarantine until I determine what has caused the
infection and am sure that you are not a danger to anyone else.  I am
informing Constable Odo and Captain Sisko of the situation.  Computer,
seal quarantine doors.  Authorization Bashir Alpha One More."

"What about you?" Garak asked curtly.

"I'm your doctor.  I'll be careful.  Besides, this is my fault."
Bashir turned and left the room, sealing the door behind him.

Hurrying back to his office, Bashir contacted Sisko and Odo before
accessing the main computer.  He felt horribly guilty.  Comparing his
tricorder readings and Garak's symptoms with known infections in the
medical database he tried to find a match.  No matches existed in the
computer.  A voice in the back of Bashir's mind whispered that he was
missing something.  Bashir's shift had ended, but he had no intention
of leaving the infirmary.  Finally he asked the computer to give him a
list of possibilities based on each given symptom.  Symptoms could
vary between individuals and information about Cardassians was
limited.  The computer announced that the task would take at least
four hours.  Bashir nodded and made his way back to the quarantine
room.

"Garak?" Bashir prompted upon entering.

"I must say that the decor of this room leaves much to be desired,"
Garak stated.  His eyes were glazed and his breathing was definitely
labored.

"I ran your symptoms and my tricorder readings through the main
computer.  It still can't find a match.  I am running a more detailed
analysis now, but that will take a few hours," Bashir updated his
patient.

"Wonderful.  Your skills as a doctor are quite impressive," Garak
snapped.

"Until I find a cause and a cure all I can do is treat   the symptoms.
I want to put you on oxygen for the night," Bashir explained.  "It
will make it easier to breathe."

"Easier to breathe?  I could breathe quite well till you came in.  I
made a mistake coming here in the first place.  All I am now is
another medical curiosity for Julian Bashir!"  Garak's voice rose, but
it was still tight with pain.  "This is all your fault."

"I know," Bashir said quietly, painfully.  "I made a choice in the
holosuites.  I had the choice between ensuring you were safe and
saving Dax, Sisko, Kira, Worf, and O'Brien.  I chose to ensure that
five officers would survive.  I am a Starfleet officer and a doctor. I
swore two oaths and sometimes they conflict.  In this case I chose my
duty as a Starfleet officer over my duty as a doctor.  I broke the
first rule of being a doctor- do no harm.  I shot someone.  I could
claim that it was a matter of numbers, but lives can not be counted by
raw numbers.  The truth is I made a decision.  I am sorry that you
were hurt, but dammit Garak, you brought it on yourself."

"To save myself?"  Garak let out a labored laugh.  "You believed me?
Dear doctor, I thought you had learned *something* during the past two
years.  Save myself?  Oh certainly it was on my mind doctor, but do
you think that was my only motivation?"

"You said so yourself.  'A real intelligence agent has no conscience,
no remorse.  Only a sense of professionalism.'  You wanted to save
yourself and only yourself," Bashir snapped.  "I did what I had to do
to save my friends."

"A real intelligence agent?  When will you get it through your thick
skull that I am not a real intelligence agent anymore?  I am an exile!
Do you know what that means, doctor? I was not just worried about
saving myself, I was worried about saving YOU!" Garak retorted,
sweating.  "Friends, doctor? No, I would never risk my life for solely
a friend, but you-"

Bashir bounded forward as Garak started to collapse.  "Computer. One
oxygen mask,"  Bashir ordered furious at himself.  He had allowed his
own guilt to taunt him into arguing with Garak.  His friend needed to
relax, not argue.  He fit the oxygen mask over the tailor and placed a
hypospray against the Cardassian's neck.  The medication would calm
the tailor, hopefully allowing him to get some sleep.

The results were almost immediate.  Bashir took one last look at the
peaceful figure of his friend lying silent on the bed and returned to
his office.  Once there he placed his head in his hands and started
sobbing.  It had taken everything in him to shoot his friend and the
emotional impact was just starting to hit him.  For the first time in
years he was thankful for the genetic enhancements that had been done
to him as a child. A person with normal hand and eye coordination
would likely have killed the tailor.  The infection and allergic
reaction only tripled his guilt.  A doctor's job was to save lives,
not put them in jeopardy.

Slowly the tears subsided and Bashir found himself drifting off into a
restless sleep.  Garak haunted him in his sleep.  Images of Garak
bleeding to death on the floor of the holodeck.  Images of Garak dying
on the bed in the quarantine room.  God, what had he done?

The sound of the alarm for the quarantine room woke him. Recognizing
the sound he sprung out of his chair, deeply worried. Reaching Garak's
bed he noticed that the Cardassian's fever was dangerously high.  He
gave his friend a fever suppressant.  Making a decision, he grabbed  a
chair and sat next to Garak, gripping his friend's lax hand.

"Please Garak, fight it.  I will never forgive myself if you die.  I
don't know if you can hear me.  If I knew you could I would not be
saying this.  I just hope that maybe my words will be enough to help
you fight harder.  Maybe it is arrogant of me, but I don't care.  I
can't lose you.  I need you, Garak.  I never told you this- I
couldn't- but I didn't work so hard to save you when your implant
malfunctioned solely because I am a doctor.  It hurt me to admit it,
but I wouldn't have worked so hard for anyone.  I needed you then and
I need you now.  I may have learned some of the lessons you were
trying to teach me, but I haven't learned enough to say good-bye to my
best friend forever.  I know that someday you will be gone, but I
can't face that possibility right now.  Gods Garak, there is so much
you have to tell me.  There are even a million things that I need to
tell you."

Bashir took a deep breath and continued, "This might be my last
opportunity so I guess I should tell you what I can.  I need to thank
you Garak.  You were the first one on this station who treated me as
an adult.  More importantly, you were my first best friend I had as an
adult.  Even at the Academy most of my classmates did not like me.  I
told myself that it didn't matter, that things would get better once I
got out of school.  Except the problem was not school.  It was me.  I
love you, Garak.  Don't ask me how or why.  I can't even explain it to
myself.  I just know that I find myself looking forward to our lunches
and finding any excuse I can think of to stop by your shop.  It is
killing me watching you in pain and watching you lying here.  When I
shot you I felt like I was shooting myself.  I would rather have shot
myself.  I simply had no choice."

Bashir lightly ran his hand over the tailor's cheek. "I am babbling
again.  What do you expect?  I do that when I am nervous. Sleep well
Garak, but please don't sleep too long."

Julian Bashir stood up slowly and left.  He wanted desperately to give
the tailor a kiss, but it would not be right.  Making his way back to
his office he put his head on his lap and fell asleep.

---

A few hours later the computer announced that it had finished its
list.  Bashir was still exhausted, but he was determined to find a
cure.  Garak's condition was rapidly deteriorating and if Bashir did
not do something in the next day or two he was going to lose him.
Finally, after several more hours of careful research, he was able to
identify the infection.  It was a normally harmless virus in humans,
but dangerous to Cardassians.  The allergic reaction had been caused
by a speck of pollen on the bullet.  The pollen was benign to most
humans, but dangerous to many Cardassians.  Bashir felt a brief wave
of nausea as he realized that he truly was responsible for Garak's
illness.

It took the doctor only an hour to concoct the cure for his friend.
Entering the quarantine room, he swallowed painfully at the still,
pale figure of his friend.  The monitors indicted that his pulse was
threading.  He desperately hoped that the serum would act quickly.

After a tense twenty minutes Garak opened his eyes.  "Doctor."

"Garak, thank God," Bashir breathed.  "I found a cure.  The virus is
benign in humans so the holodeck did not see it as a threat. The
symptoms were compounded by your body's allergic reaction to a speck
of pollen.  I will explain later, but you will be fine."

Garak smiled slightly.  "Doctor, would it bother you if I told you
that Cardassians can subconsciously hear people talking while they are
asleep?"

"I, uh... No, it wouldn't," Bashir said determinately, but he was
blushing.

"Good.  Please ask the computer to access the file Elim three
jay-bee," Garak instructed.

"Ok," Bashir said, confused.  He wanted to question Garak, but this
was not the time.  "Now please get some sleep.  I have not yet
released the locking mechanism for the door."

Garak rolled his eyes, but was too exhausted and shaky to respond.
Instead he closed his eyes and immediately fell back to sleep.

Bashir double-checked Garak's vital signs before leaving the room and
heading for his office.  "Computer, access file Elim three jay-bee.
Display on my terminal"

"Please state your name," the computer responded.

"Julian Subatoi Bashir,"  Bashir responded raising an eye-brow.

"Accessing," the computer replied.

Bashir skimmed the file.

-- "Doctor, If you are reading this, it is because I am dead and I
never told you.  Maybe it is easiest that way since it will not put a
strain on our friendship as you do not feel the same way.  It has
never been easy for me to speak of what I am feeling.  I told you a
few weeks ago that you deserved the truth and you do, my dear doctor.
I meant to tell you then, but I could not. I don't know what truths
you saw in my stories.  Maybe someday you will tell me. Maybe by the
time you read this, you will have told me.  I don't know.  Contrary to
some of the more colorful rumors about me, I can not predict the
future.  Here I am avoiding saying what  I need to tell you.  We make
the perfect couple, you and I.  Neither of us knows when to shut up
and get to the point.  I am going to say it now before I decide this
is a foolish delusion of an old exile. The truth is that I love you
Julian Subatoi Bashir.  I know how hard it must be for you to believe
that I would tell you the truth, but please believe me now.

Computer end message." --

Bashir leaned back in his chair stunned.  Garak must have written the
message shortly after Bashir removed his implant.  The tailor had been
in love with him for at least two years.

'Dammit Garak?' he wondered.  'Why didn't you say anything? Couldn't
you see that I was interested?  Didn't you notice me staring at you
across the table?'

Physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, Bashir fell asleep in
his chair.

---

Two days later Elim Garak was released from the infirmary. Much as the
tailor hated being stuck in the infirmary he secretly admitted that it
was not as bad as he had imaged.  The infirmary was relatively quiet
and Bashir spent his free time in the quarantine room keeping Garak
company.  Bashir explained his visits saying that it was his best
chance of being sure that Garak did not leave before Bashir released
him, but both men knew that was not his real reason.  On several
occasions Garak had noticed the doctor struggling to retrain his
professional detachment.  Garak had to admit he enjoyed seeing the
hints of desire that periodically flickered behind the young man's
eyes.  He knew that the doctor was too professional to act on his
desires so long as Garak was his patient, but Garak had every hope
that Bashir would be more receptive once he was released.

As soon as he had been formally released, Garak turned to Bashir,
"Would you be interested in dinner in my quarters?  Say at 1900
hours?"

The doctor's smile caused the tailor's breath to catch in his throat.
"Certainly. I would love that."

The tailor noticed the emphasis the doctor placed on love and smiled.
"Until then, my dear doctor."

---

The rest of the day moved slowly for both the tailor and the doctor
who were both eager for their evening plans.  Finally, Garak closed
his shop and Bashir's shift ended.  The doctor stopped by his quarters
to change clothes.  He had the worst time deciding on an   outfit
before he reminded himself that the outfit was not likely to stay on
very long.  He chose a pair of black pants, a white shirt, and a brown
vest that set off the golden tint of his skin.  The pants had been
altered by Garak and the vest was from the tailor's shop.

Bashir hurried to the tailor's quarters, arriving a few minutes early.

"Doctor," Garak smiled as the doctor entered.  "You look quite
handsome this evening."

"Thank you."  Bashir blushed. "As do you."

Garak smiled at the compliment and wondered about the doctor's
blushing.  If the young man found a simple comment embarrassing he did
not know how his dear doctor would survive the evening that the tailor
had in mind.

"Garak?"  The doctor looked surprised as he saw the spread on the
table.  "How did you know I love steak?"

"I have my sources."  Garak smiled mysteriously.  "I have to do
something to make sure that my observation skills do not completely
wither away to nothing."

"I do have one question, Garak," Bashir commented.  "How could you not
have known that I would be interested?  I assumed that you were simply
not interested."

Garak took a deep breath and looked away.  "Human emotions are not
always easy for me to interpret.  Some emotions- pain, fear, hate,
joy- are easy enough to detect in nearly any species, but other
emotions are more complicated."

"That they are," Bashir agreed.

"Well, doctor, shall we eat?" Garak asked.  "Red or white?"

"Red, of course."  Bashir smiled.

The two men shared a comfortable meal discussing trivial gossip each
had heard aboard the station until the topic wandered to Vulcan music
and Andorian Blues.  Finally both men retired to the couch.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Garak asked.

"I think I have had enough synthahol for the night.  A cup of tarkalean
tea would be nice,"  Bashir stated.  "And you should probably have
something non-alcoholic too."

"Forever the doctor," Garak sighed theatrically.  "I suppose the
company is intoxicating enough.  One cup of tarkalean tea, extra sweet
and one glass of Rokassa juice."

"Rokassa juice.  I never understood how you can drink that stuff,"
Bashir commented.

"Doctor, have you ever tried it?  You always complain about it, but I
have never seen you drink it.  You need to be willing to experiment
more.  Here have a taste," Garak held out the glass.

With a look of trepidation, Bashir took a tentative sip and swallowed.
"It is, uh, interesting, but I think I prefer tea."

"As you wish doctor.  Some experiments are more successful than
others," Garak pointed out.

"Have you ever tried tarkalean tea?" Bashir asked.

"No, I am afraid I haven't," Garak admitted happily.

"Try some."  Bashir held out his cup.

Garak rolled his eyes, but took a sip.  "Dull.  I have never
understood the desire to drink water that has a bunch of leaves
soaking in it.  It seems... unsanitary."

"Unsanitary?  Is it anymore unsanitary than drinking kanar?  As I
understand it, the process for making kanar involves soaking insects
in the fermented juice," Bashir pointed out.

"It is from a replicator," Garak argued.  "Any bugs in the kanar on
this station are solely the result of Quark's incompetence."

Bashir laughed softly.  "You know if we start taking our meals in our
quarters, Quark is going to miss us."

"What makes you think that we will be doing that, doctor?" Garak
asked, trying to sound surprised.

Bashir looked down, hurt.  "I, uh, thought..."

"That we were going to be spending some time together out of the
public eye?  Really, doctor?"  Garak milked the moment. "I like the
way you are thinking tonight."

"Do you know what I am thinking about right now?" Bashir asked
seductively.

"I could wager a guess,"  Garak said.  "Would it involve me carefully
removing that *wonderfully* tailored vest of yours?"

"That it would."  Bashir smiled at the tailor's self-compliment. The
vest was quite beautiful.  "And much more."

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Garak put his glass on the
table and reached for the doctor drawing him into a deep kiss. Bashir
responded immediately, putting his own glass down and wrapping his
arms around the tailor.  The two snuggled awkwardly trying to bring as
much of their bodies as possible into contact with the other.

Garak's mouth closed over Bashir's.  The doctor's lips parted
willingly and the tailor slipped his tongue in, exploring the doctor's
mouth.  Julian sighed into Garak's mouth.  Even in his fantasies it
had never been this good.  Garak finally broke off the kiss and
caressed the doctor's cheek.  "You are truly beautiful, my dear
doctor."

Bashir took the opportunity to remove the tailor's clothes.  The tunic
came off easily enough as did the pants, but his shirt had a stubborn
clasp.

"Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a tailor," Bashir muttered, drawing a bark
of laughter from Garak before the tailor undid the clasp himself.

Once the tailor was naked, Bashir took the opportunity to observe him.
He had studied Cardassian anatomy and seen Garak as a patient, but
this was different.  Bashir had never before taken the time to notice
the subtle differences in the Cardassian's grey skin.  The grey skin
of the tailor's face slowly gave way to the paler skin of his body.
The scales that covered the tailor's  face, neck, and arms tapered
down to the smoother skin of his belly.  The Cardassian's penis was
smooth and Bashir was suddenly surprised to realize that there was no
hair on the tailor's body aside from the mop of black hair on his
head.

'He is a reptile.  What do you expect?'  Bashir wondered.  The
acknowledgment of the tailor's alienness did not bother the doctor as
much as he might have expected because Garak was not simply a
Cardassian to the doctor.  He was Garak, the individual and that made
all the difference.

On impulse Bashir ran   his hand over the tailor's chest, squeezing
the nibbles.  The tailor growled, already quite aroused.

"I usually like to go slowly and savor every moment,"  Bashir
commented.  "But tonight I don't think I can wait.  I have waited for
this for too long."

"As have I," Garak said and, with a growl, he set to removing the
doctor's clothes.

"That feels much better," Bashir sighed, but he was still nervous
about how he looked to the Cardassian.

Garak chuckled quietly.  "You look as handsome as I imaged.  It is ok,
doctor.  You don't have to look at me out of the corner of your eye.
So, how do I look to you?"

Bashir blushed.  "Wonderful.  Delicious.  Although I do wish you would
call me Julian.  When you call me doctor I feel like I am preforming a
medical   examine and should be maintaining some shred of professional
detachment and right now detachment is the last thing on my mind."

Garak noticed that the doctor's breath was coming out in short gasps.
"As long as your examination is complete.  I will try to call you
Julian, but I have called you Doctor for so long.  Habits are hard to
break."

"What do you call me in your fantasies?" Bashir asked teasingly. "In
mine I call you Elim.  Is it ok if I call you Elim tonight?  I would
love to believe that my fantasies are coming true."

"Do you have any doubts that they are, Julian?" Garak said grasping
the doctor's erection and pumping it.  "I had no idea that you knew my
given name."

Bashir smiled as the look on Garak's face melted into one of pure
pleasure as Bashir  stroked the spoon shaped ridge on his forehead
before dropping his hand to the tailor's genitals.

So aroused were the two men that conversation soon became impossible.
Their couplings were frantic and explosive, but they were also tender.
Each man cared too much about the other one to risk hurting them now
and driving them away.  Afterwards, as both snuggled together too
tired to move they agreed that next time they would be more patient.

And so they were.  The two men continued to meet for dinner and
entertainment once or twice a week and if anyone suspected the true
nature of their entertainment they kept quiet.  For months Garak and
Bashir fell into a pleasurable routine that would have likely
continued indefinitely if Captain Sisko had not ordered Dr. Bashir to
attend a medical conference on El Nath III and to bring the tailor
with him.  But that, as Kipling said, is another story.

---

The End