The BLTS Archive - Choosing Exile
by Chastity Pureheart (chazpure@yahoo.com)

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Disclaimer: Viacom is Borg

Notes: Part of the "Garak Fuh-q Fest"

Archiving: Garak Fuh-q Fest; others please inquire.

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Her step was light and measured, purposeful yet graceful.  Her face
was serene; to look at her, one would never know that her heart and
mind struggled with a dilemma to which there seemed no satisfactory
solution.  Many sets of eyes turned to follow her as she walked down
the Promenade.  Some merely observed, others admired, and quite a few
followed her progress with unabashed curiosity.  Gossip bred faster
than tribbles on DS9.

She didn't notice them, nor hear the whispered comments as she passed
by.

Her mind was still trying to wrap itself around the events of the past
few days, especially the past few hours.  Trying desperately to make a
decision that was certain to hurt both herself and those she loved, no
matter which course she chose.

Gossip was the least of her concerns.

She'd been heading for her quarters, but the rhythm of her steps
slowed and stopped as she came abreast one shop on the Promenade.
There was a dress in the window - a rich, red creation of satin and
velvet with a delightfully provocative neckline.  Somehow, the scarlet
temptress in the window managed to break through her musings and seize
her attention.

"Oh..." she breathed, reaching out as if to touch it.  How long had it
been, since she'd worn anything even remotely like that?  A memory of
a young woman in a brilliant red dress, dancing in the arms of her
handsome young husband -- no.  No.  That had been Nilani.  Nilani, not
Lenara.  She couldn't let memories of the past seduce her.  It was too
dangerous.

Still...

It was a beautiful dress, and she had very few really lovely garments.
There was little occasion for such indulgence in the research labs and
classrooms where she spent most of her time.  But surely she deserved
to have something beautiful for her very own, once in a while, didn't
she?  Porcelain-fair skin framed in delicate brown spots, with deep
blue eyes looking soulfully back at her...  She shook her head, trying
to clear it.  The dress.  Why not at least try it on?

A flash of movement inside the shop made the decision for her.  It
wouldn't hurt to look at the dress, surely...

She turned and walked into Garak's shop.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Kahn!  How may I serve you?"  The proprietor, a
suave-sounding Cardassian, stepped from behind a display rack with a
charming smile.

She couldn't help but smile back.  "Have we met, Mr...?"

"Garak, my dear Dr. Kahn, please!  Just plain, simple Garak."  He
bowed slightly, still smiling at her.  "I'm afraid I haven't had the
pleasure of meeting you until just now," he said,  "But the station
has been bubbling with the news...of your work on wormhole
generation."

Had she imagined the slight pause and the twinkle in his eye as he
said that?  Lenara studied him more carefully.  The disarming smile
and guileless blue eyes concealed something far more than a simple
shopkeeper, she realized.  She vaguely recalled having heard something
about the lone Cardassian left on DS9 after the Federation took over
the station.  A spy, some said.  She gave a mental shrug.  He surely
wasn't planning to pump her for information on wormhole generation
while she was buying a dress!

"I was quite taken by the lovely red dress in your window," Lenara
said blandly.

"Ah, yes!  The red velvet with Selecean satin.  One of my latest
creations," Garak said smoothly.  "I think it would suit you quite
well, Doctor."

"Lenara, please," she said with a small smile.  "Lenara when I'm
shopping, always," she added with a twinkle.

Garak bowed and reached for his scanner.  "If you'll step into the
dressing room so I may take your measurements?"  He indicated the
rooms at the back of the shop with a slight wave.

Lenara stood patiently while the Cardassian ran the scanner over her
and checked the measurements.  He left her in the dressing room for a
moment, and then returned with his arms full of shimmering red satin
and velvet.

"How fortunate, Lenara," he said with a smile. "The gown in the window
is the perfect size."  He held it out to her and politely drew the
curtain closed for her to change.

Lenara removed her clothes and slipped into the red dress.  It clung
to her torso and hips, then fell in a radiant swath to the floor.  The
neckline ran just outside her spots, curved in and dipped enticingly
between her breasts.  It was stunning.  Lenara ran her hands over her
breasts and down to her hips.  Torias' hands on her waist, spinning
her around, his lips on her neck, her breast. . .   She shook her head.
Both Torias and Nilani were dead and buried.  Kahn lived on in her;
that was all.  And Dax. . .  Jadzia's deep blue eyes looking at her with
barely-disguised longing. . . her lips, full and ripe. . .   She shivered,
whether in fear or anticipation she couldn't have said.

"Lenara?  Is everything all right?" Garak's inquiry brought her back
to herself.

"Fine, Garak," she said, pulling back the curtain and stepping out.
She slowly turned in place before him.  "What do you think?" she
asked.

The Cardassian smiled in appreciation.  "Quite lovely, my dear.  The
color is very becoming to you, and the cut is. . . perfection," he said,
running one fingertip over the satin insets in the sleeve.

Lenara studied her reflection in the mirror.  "It is lovely, isn't
it?" She suddenly felt inexplicable sadness.  "I don't know. . . I really
have no occasion to wear something like this," she faltered.

"There should always be occasion to celebrate beauty," Garak said
suavely, "and reason to adorn it properly."

Lenara felt herself blushing, for the first time in years.  "I suppose
flattery is a useful skill in your trade," she said.

Garak acknowledged the hit with a slight inclination of his head.
"Indeed, my dear Lenara, but the truth can scarcely be called
flattery."  He looked her up and down again, admiring the fit of the
gown with a wistfulness that piqued her curiosity.

"It's a gorgeous dress, Garak," she told him.  "You have a wonderful
gift for design."

The tailor gave a snort.

"I'm serious.  In fact, I'm rather surprised to find such a talented
designer here, rather than on Risa, Betazed. . . or even Cardassia," she
added deliberately.  "Cardassian fashion sense can be rather severe,
but some of the quadrant's top designers have studied there, to learn
true purity of line. . . "

Garak didn't visibly flinch, but the look in his eyes was enough.
Lenara stepped forward and rested her hand on his shoulder.  "How long
has it been?" she asked softly.

Garak's pale blue eyes regarded her stonily for a moment, then looked
away.  "A long time," he said, making no attempt to dissemble.  "My
establishment here has the dubious distinction of celebrating four
years in business, next month," he continued bitterly.

Lenara was no empath, but she could feel waves of sorrow and longing
coming from the exiled Cardassian.  "That's a very long time," she
whispered.  "Do you have. . . family, a wife, children. . . on
Cardassia?" she asked.

Garak laughed mirthlessly. "No, my dear.  Exiles have no family,
didn't you know?" He reached up and brushed back a lock of her hair.
"No family, no friends, no career-no ties to anyone or anything,
anywhere."  He gave her a meaningful look.

"It sounds bleak," Lenara said, feeling her voice breaking.

Garak nodded. "Bleak is an apt term," he agreed, forcing a smile, "But
don't pity me, my dear.  I survive.  And every now and again I create
something. . . of beauty," he said, reaching to touch the lustrous fabric
again.

"Is that worth it?" Lenara asked.  "Would you give that up. . . to go
home?"

"Home?" Garak's smile faltered.

"Would you choose home over creating something truly beautiful?"
Lenara persisted, fighting back tears.

Garak studied her for a moment, and his sad smile returned. "Let us
say that. . . given the choice, I would not choose exile."  He patted her
shoulder and urged her back into the fitting room, pulling the curtain
closed behind them.  "Let me help you, dear; velvet and satin do tend
to water-spot rather easily."  He ran a practiced finger along the
fastener and slipped the dress down, then helped the tearful Trill
step out of it.  Lenara stood before him, slender and pale in her
delicate underwear, her face in her hands as sobs wracked her slim
form.  Garak hung the dress on a hook and turned back to his client.
He put an arm around her shoulders awkwardly and murmured vaguely
comforting sounds.  She turned toward him and buried her face in his
shoulder, sniffling and trying to apologize.  Garak sighed and put his
other arm around her, holding her close.

"There, there, my dear.  It's not quite as bad as all that, is it?" he
asked softly.

Lenara gave a shuddering sigh against his tunic and mumbled, "I don't
know.  I. . . you know. . . you've heard the. . . "

Garak nodded as he smoothed her hair.  "The gossip about you and
Commander Dax?  Certainly, my dear."

"We love each other.  We've loved each other for years, but. . . " Lenara
broke off, her voice choked with emotion.

Garak nodded again.  "Reassociation, it's called, isn't it?  Such an
odd taboo.  And so cruel of society to force the choice between love
and belonging," he mused.

"I can't give Dax up again, not after all the lonely, lonely years,"
Lenara wept.

"But, my dear. . . that wasn't you, was it?  It was your prior host who
loved and lost and lived on. . . alone," Garak said.

"It hurts, Garak; it hurts just as if it were yesterday!  And Jadzia
and I - we have feelings for each other; it's not just Kahn and Dax;
it's not just memories of the past!  I swear it!" Lenara pushed back
and stared intensely at him.

"And are you willing to trade your place in Trill society for those
feelings?"  Garak paused as he considered the problem.  "It is quite a
quandary, isn't it?  To create something of rare beauty, but never go
home again?  Or to go home and leave behind that which you hold most
dear?"  Garak shook his head sadly.

"What would you choose?" Lenara asked him, wiping her eyes.

Garak smiled bitterly, "As I said, my dear, I would never choose
exile.  But then, I have never been offered any alternative, so
perhaps I am not the one to ask."  He gestured at the walls around
them.  "All of this - it's merely an excuse for continuing to live.
It's not a grand passion or a sacred cause.  I would trade it all -
everything I own - for the chance to go home. . . but unhappily, everything
I own is. . . insufficient."  He ran a gentle hand over Lenara's damp cheek
and cupped her chin in his palm.  "Be certain, my dear, that you make
the best bargain you can."

Lenara looked into the Cardassian's surprisingly sympathetic eyes and
saw the aching longing behind them.  She reached up and covered his
hand with hers, turning her head to kiss his palm.  A tremor ran
through her at the contact.  Her jangled nerves leapt as she closed
her eyes and rested against his hand, feeling the pulse of his blood
against her cheek.

"It's a grim life, exile," Garak said softly.

"I know," she whispered into his hand.  She kissed his palm again,
then leaned in and slipped her other arm around his neck.  "It's a
terrible, bitter thing, to be alone," she whispered.

Garak jumped slightly as she pulled his hand down from her check to
her breast and pressed it against the slippery silk camisole she wore.
She rested her cheek against his chest again and softly stroked his
back hair and neck ridges.  After a moment, he relaxed and let his
hand cradle her cool, firm breast, his fingers gently pressing as his
thumb sought her nipple and rubbed it slowly.

Lenara sighed and slipped her free hand inside his tunic, running her
slim fingers over his chest.  The scales and ridges felt odd under her
hand, but not unpleasant.  She dipped her head and breathed in the
rich, spicy scent of him; so different from Torias' warm male musk. .
or Jadzia's sweet fragrance.  There were no reminders of the lost past
here, no temptation of forbidden love, only two tormented people, each
suddenly finding aloneness too much to bear.

Garak caressed her nipple with slow, tender strokes and then bent to
kiss her with lips that tasted of spice.  She opened her mouth to
admit his slender, agile tongue, which flicked across hers like a
slithering snake.  Lenara felt her blood heating.  Her hands struggled
with his tunic, until he broke the kiss and helped her with its
fasteners.  She stripped his simple knit undershirt from him and ran
her hands over his ridged torso in fascination.  Ridges outlined his
collarbone and ribcage, joined by a large, concave, teardrop-shaped
bony projection over his sternum.  The ridges on his ribcage ran
downwards, heading for his hipbones as they vanished beneath his dark
trousers.

She ran her fingers down one long line, curling them so her fingertips
grazed the soft skin just beneath the stiff scales.  Garak inhaled
sharply, then groaned as her hand followed the ridge line past his
waistband.  She managed to get his trousers open, giving her room to
trace all the way down to the placket of softer scales at the base of
his belly and the hot, swollen erection rising from beneath them.

She stroked it lightly as she pulled Garak's head down and kissed him
hungrily.  Garak grasped her by the arms and pushed her backwards
across the dressing room to its padded bench.  Lenara fell onto it,
pulling Garak down with her.

Shoes and socks went flying.  Four hands fought to rid him of his
trousers.  Lenara managed to drag her own panties down and kick them
away, then Garak pulled her camisole over her head and sank into her
impatient embrace.

Lenara clung to him, anxious to feel the solid reality of his body
moving against hers.  For all his reptilian heritage, his flesh was
hot against her skin.  He kissed her again, deeply, as he ran one hand
along her spots, from her temple, down the side of her face, along her
neck and shoulders and on down her torso.  His thumb gently caressed
the sealed slit that had brought Kahn into her at their Joining,
before he continued tracing her spots all the way down.  She seized
his hand as it reached its nadir and guided it lower, until his
fingers brushed the warm, damp cleft between her legs.

He slipped a finger inside and rolled it around her slick, swollen
nub, making her gasp.  She thrust her hips up, grinding them against
his, trapping his straining cock between their bodies and rubbing
against it.  Garak hissed as she eased her hips and reached for him,
curled her fingers about his shaft and guided it into her waiting
flesh.

"Yes!" she cried as he slid in.  Garak said nothing intelligible.  He
kissed her again, toying with her nipples as he began to thrust into
her.  She arched her back and wrapped her legs tightly about him,
urging him deeper with every stroke.

Lenara ran her hands along whatever ridges she could reach, grazing
the soft underlying skin with her nails.  Garak groaned in response
when she found a particularly sensitive point.  As he licked at the
spots along her neck, tracing their edges with his amazingly mobile
tongue, she threw her head back in ecstasy and abandoned herself to
pure sensation.

The pleasure mounted higher with every thrust of Garak's hips; her
legs locked about him, straining to keep him driving deep within her.
She could feel her own passion building, coiling tighter and tighter
like a spring that must find release.  At the limit, she drove her
nails into his tight buttocks and choked off a scream as her orgasm
broke free, sending powerful spasms coursing through her body.

Garak gave a hoarse cry as she raked him with her nails, gripped her
shoulders to the bruising point, thrust deeply once more and spent
himself within her.

They clung to each other, their sweaty bodies shuddering together
until at last the spasms ebbed.  Lenara relaxed her grip and let her
legs slip from Garak's back.  The Cardassian gave a long sigh and
slumped down onto her.  Lenara idly ran one hand up and down his back,
letting it glide softly over the now-familiar terrain.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Garak gave a tired chuckle.  "It was my pleasure," he said, "but I do
hope you shared in it."  He groaned slightly as he rolled to one side
and sat up.  "I fear these benches were never intended for such
activities."  He pressed one hand to the small of his back.  "And this
aging body is rather unaccustomed to them as well," he added ruefully.
He stood and stretched, then began looking for his clothes.

Lenara stretched, then sat up as well.  Garak had slipped his trousers
back on and stood with his back to her.  Lenara fought to keep from
laughing at the incongruity of turning away from one another to dress,
after what they had just shared.  She pulled her panties back on and
slipped her camisole back over her head.  She got to her feet and
retrieved her outer clothes, still patiently hanging on the dressing
room wall.

She dressed quickly and checked her appearance in the mirrors.  Once
she smoothed her hair, she decided she would pass muster.  She looked
a bit...flushed, but nothing that would cause any more comment than
the week's events had already occasioned.  She studied the woman in
the mirror as if she were a stranger - a slim, fair. . . young and lovely
stranger.

"I'll take that dress," she heard herself saying.

Garak chuckled.  "I'm deeply gratified, my dear...my dear Lenara."

She turned to find him fully dressed, regarding her rather strangely.

"I would like to assure you that...this," he gestured vaguely at their
improvised bed, "Is definitely not part of my usual sales repertoire."
His tone was light, but his expression was mildly embarrassed.

Lenara smiled.  "I didn't think it was," she said.  She walked over
and kissed him lightly on the cheek.  "But I do thank you, for
everything."

Garak inclined his head graciously.  "I'll wrap up the dress for you,
Dr. Kahn," he said briskly, as he exited the dressing room.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Garak," she replied, following him.

He packaged the dress swiftly, but with great care.  Lenara inspected
the sales PADD, smiling to see that he had charged her the marked
price.  Business was business.  Nothing else that passed between them
would have the taint of commerce about it.  She pressed her thumb onto
the PADD and took her parcel.

"I hope it brings you much happiness," Garak said.  "And I wish you
every success. . . on your experiment tomorrow," he added.

Lenara nodded.  "And I hope that your talent will one day be
recognized as it truly deserves, Mr. Garak, in the most noted art
centers of civilization...from Tinvassi to Cardassia," she said,
touching his hand lightly.  "Thank you again, for everything."  She
turned and left.

Garak heard, of course, about the nearly disastrous results of the
Defiant's scientific mission to attempt the generation of a stable
wormhole.  Dr. Kahn had been injured and trapped in the engine room by
plasma fire.  With courage and quick thinking, Jadzia had rescued her,
undoubtedly saving her life.  Well, that may help Dr. Kahn make her
decision, he mused.  He shook his head sadly at the thought of the
lovely Trill living an exile's life.  A pity.  Ah, well, he sighed to
himself,  At least she will have Jadzia at her side.  Perhaps exile's
torment will be lessened if there is someone to share in it.  He shook
his head again.  No, he thought grimly, No exile could ever wish this
misery on a loved one.  He fiddled with his design PADD, and was
mildly annoyed with himself when all his new sketches seemed to have
cutouts or lace inserts following the general line of a Trill's spots.
At last he put the PADD down in disgust and sighed.  Perhaps a cup of
redleaf tea would help him focus.  It was nearly time for Dr. Bashir's
customary morning cup of tea at the Replimat; perhaps some congenial
company...

Garak straightened his tunic and stepped out of the shop.  As he
crossed the Promenade, he saw Dax standing alone on the upper
level, solemnly staring across at the airlocks leading to the shuttle
bays.  He followed her line of sight and saw Dr. Kahn standing there,
her travel bag over her shoulder.  There were tears in her eyes, but
when the airlock cycled, she turned and walked through it without
looking back.  Garak permitted himself a small smile. "It hurts, I
know, my dear," he murmured to no one, "But it won't hurt as long or
as bitterly as choosing exile."

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The End