The BLTS Archive - Guilt
by Elizabeth Helena (elizabethlovesherthesaurus@hotmail.com)

---

Rating: NC-17 for mild bdsm, not so mild torture, and more of the
gift that keeps on giving (see title) than you could safely shake a
Klingon pain stick at.

Warning: Kinky sex! Well, the G/B sex is kinkier than my usual
forays. However, there are absolutely no graphic details (kinky or
otherwise) of B/L or G/Z, so you will have to go elsewhere for such
depravity. As before, the opinions expressed in the story are those
of the characters, not necessarily those of the leather-clad author.

Spoilers: Seasons 1 through 5, up to and including "Dr. Bashir, I
Presume." A non-spoiling Garak quote was liberated from "Empok Nor" –
you may recognize it when it comes by :-).

Lexicon Alert: A berk is a very rude British term for an idiot, sort
of between a twit and a wanker. (If you know what the term actually
means, shame on you, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?) *Amor
vincit omnia* is the way Latin nerds say 'love conquers all.'

Part of the 6th round Garak and Bashir Fuh-q-Fest, and long promised
continuation of the story begun in "Condemnation." I think
that these two stories can stand on their own, but since I also
believe penguins are communists, you may want to read them in order.
Response to the marvellous challenge by Michael of Borg: "Post-
'The Wire,' pre-'Our Man Bashir,' when the guys are still having lunch
regularly, Julian finds out about something Garak  has done, something
worse than he ever thought or could have  imagined." The original
revelation took place during that time frame, this story tracks the
repercussions from "Life Support" to "Let He Who Is Without Sin ...".
This is my first attempt to write from Julian's perspective (gulp).
May  Cardassia and my readers forgive me.

Archiving: Automatic permission given to ASCEM, BLTS, and G/BFF to do
whatever they want to the quivering,  submissive body of this story
(ahem).  Oh hey, others can take it home and chat it up too, but I'd
love to know first so I can make sure everyone's home by midnight.

Feedback: Non-penguin related feedback extremely welcome.  I can be
reached at elizabeth loves her thesaurus @ hotmail .com (eliminate
the spaces that are there to thwart penguin-eating spammers) or reply
to the list.

Dedication: To Kathryn Ramage, whose wonderful stories introduced me
to the joy that is G/B, and have brightened up my life on many an
occasion.

Thanks: Many thanks to emptyfox for keeping me on schedule, and to
Adrienne for not beating on me or Julian while reading earlier
drafts. I am appropriately guilt ridden that in Condemnation's OLH
(overly-long header) I forgot to express my gratitude to the DS9
Encyclopedia and Lexicon which is an anal-retentive writer's dream.
Also, thank you to the talented Blue Champagne, from whom I  stole
without permission the idea of vascular regenerators and I have  yet
to send much deserved feedback to.

---
Mandatory Pretentious Quote:

Philip:   "I've spent two years on every street in hell."
Richard:  "That's odd.  I didn't see you there."

James Goldman, The Lion in Winter, 1968.

---
Life Support
---

"Doctor, your shift ended over thirty minutes ago."

"Hmm?" Julian glanced up at Nurse Jabara, but his mind was still
focussed on his office's console.

"The Em – the Commander ordered you to work half-shifts for the rest
of this roster, remember?"

"Yes, of course," Bashir replied automatically, turning back to the
monitor. Maybe if he had started with a lower dosage of the  Vasokin,
his fingers inputting alternative levels rapidly, the  initial
deterioration of Bariel's heart and kidneys wouldn't have been so
severe.

"You've barely slept more than a few hours since," she swallowed hard
before continuing, "the Vedek's condition began to worsen."

"I'll be fine, really." Julian was feeling worn down, but he knew that
sleep deprivation was playing only a minor role. He  frowned at the
data stream which predicted extensive heart and kidney  damage within
52 hours, and immediately entered another set of  figures.

Sighing loudly, his Bajoran head nurse retreated from his office, but
Bashir barely noticed. Grimacing, he added yet another variable to
the computer model, adjusting the amount of inoprovaline used before
resuscitation. First Kai Opaka and now Vedek Bariel had died under
his care, Julian brooded as he read over the dismal results. The
Vedek Assembly should ban him from coming anywhere near their members
before he did any more harm.

A weary but determined voice interrupted his self-flagellation. "I'd
always heard that Starfleet officers were big on obeying orders, but I
guess I'd heard wrong."

Julian leapt to his feet. "Kira, please come in. Have a seat. Can I
get you anything?"

Kira sat, but waved away the rest of his anxious words. "I'm fine,"
this assertion belied by the dark circles underneath her eyes. "So, do
I report you to Sisko, or are you going to take some time off?"

"I could ask the same of you," Julian prodded gently.

A pained smile, "Trust me, Odo is making sure I rest. He's worse than
a mother hara cat with her cubs."

"You're lucky to have a friend that cares about you so much."

"Yes, he's a good friend," Kira nodded absently, rubbing her palms
against her thighs. An uneasy silence descended, during  which Bashir
mentally rejected one comforting platitude after  another. Finally,
she cleared her throat. "We're conducting the death chant for Bariel
in the station's temple tomorrow. You'd be welcome to attend."

"Thank you, but I doubt the Kai would appreciate my presence."
Particularly after calling her a coward, Julian thought. It appeared
that he'd inherited his father's knack for diplomacy, after all.

Kira's expression hardened."Winn has already returned to Bajor, to
bask in the glory of the new peace treaty with Cardassia.  Seems like
she's the only person who doesn't feel responsible –." She broke off,
blinked rapidly, before continuing  emotionlessly,"A monk from
Bariel's order will be leading the chant, the ceremony will begin at
10 00 hours."

"I'll try to attend," Julian promised.

A brisk nod, and she rose to leave. "Nerys –," he called after her,
causing her to pause at the doorway."You shouldn't blame yourself,
Nerys. You did nothing wrong."

Another strained smile, "I could say the same to you."

Julian glanced down at the data he'd re-examined from every possible
angle. "A physician's prerogative," he mumbled.

"Then it's a Major's prerogative to order you to take some time off."

He met her eyes, and was relieved to glimpse a bit of the old Kira
there. "Stop beating myself up, that's your job?"

"Exactly," her smile became more genuine. "So knock it off, or I will
report you to Sisko."

"Yes, sir," he responded, watching her leave. Alone again, Julian
stared at his console for several more minutes, before  admitting that
Kira was right, he wasn't doing any good here.  Sighing, he closed the
files and left his office, returning the smile  Jabara bestowed on him
with good grace. He'd bet Quark's entire stash of gold-pressed latinum
that she had asked Kira to talk  sense into him, he thought on his way
out of the Infirmary. He should  have known a Bajoran wouldn't give up
so easily.

Walking along the Promenade, Julian contemplated whether he should
attend the ceremony for Bariel. Bajoran death chants were infamous
for their length, he'd heard that the shortest was two hours, and he
assumed that it would be even longer for a Vedek. Julian wasn't sure
if he could handle being surrounded by all of the Bajorans he  had
failed for that amount of time. He knew he was being irrational,  that
most of them didn't actually blame him. Regardless, he still felt the
weight of their broken expectations along with his own.

Bashir sighed deeply, thinking that all of his ideals felt battered
and bruised right now. His recent experience on 21st century Earth
had badly shaken his certainty in the moral superiority of humanity.
The Bell Riots had brought home that not so long ago his species had
been no better than Cardassians or Romulans when it came to the
treatment of their fellow citizens, let alone others.

Instead of three years, it now felt like three decades had passed
since he'd arrived on DS9. Head down, Julian wandered aimlessly,
recalling his excitement at finally reaching the frontier of space,
so confident that he'd make a name for himself.  Throughout his final
year at the Academy, he'd fantasized about bringing Federation
enlightenment to distant planets, performing medical  miracles for
grateful populations, and occasionally doing both while  fending off
hostile aliens with nothing but his phaser and a ripped  shirt. He was
going to be the next Leonard McCoy and James T. Kirk  rolled into one.
He was going to be hero.

The total berk he'd been then, Bashir reflected ruefully, could never
have imagined that his most courageous act as a Doctor would be  to
look a friend in the eyes and tell her to let her lover die.  Kira
had been the real hero, overcoming her own pain to face the bitter
truth, and then staying with Bariel until the end.

Julian swerved to avoid a Bajoran rushing past, and suddenly realized
that he was pacing in front of Garak's shop. Abruptly, he came to a
halt, startled that he would come here of all places. He hadn't been
inside the tailor's store, hadn't even spoken to Garak, for several
months.  Not since  the morning he'd marched in there and summarily
ended their affair.

*"As my patient it doesn't matter what you've done." Unable to turn
back, unable to look at the monster he'd let into his life. "I never
said that about my lover."*

Julian hastily repressed the memory, having no desire to relive that
particular moment in his life. He'd made several mistakes since
coming to DS9, but Garak qualified as the worst. From the very
beginning, he'd allowed himself to become completely enthralled by the
mysterious Cardassian, savouring every scrap of information  the
former spy offered. As a result, he now knew far more about
Cardassian customs and politics than those of the Bajorans he worked
with everyday. Hell, he could even read *kardasi* fluently, a fact he
had managed to hide from Garak, although not from Enabran Tain.
Julian shook his head, not wanting to recall his discovery of just
how well that evil man knew him.

Still, even before Tain had sent him irrefutable proof of what Garak
had been, he had known.  Not the details, but Odo had warned him
about the Obsidian Order, and the tailor's denials to the contrary,
the implant in Garak's head identified him as one of that infamous
organization's former agents. Yet in the wake of the wire's
deactivation, Julian had come to perceive Garak as someone  who,
despite all of the lies, was genuinely opening up to him.  A man
isolated, abandoned and in desperate need of compassion and
forgiveness, not judgement.

The next thing Julian had known, he had tumbled into a clandestine
relationship with the Cardassian. During their short-lived but
intense affair, it had been frighteningly easy to push all of his
doubts to the back of his brain. To simply ignore what the man he was
falling in love with had been, and for all he knew, still was.

He always led with his heart, Julian conceded, both professionally
and personally. But never before had he been so badly burned by
following its lead.

Bashir stared at the tailor's shop, unable to walk away. It occurred
to him that he hadn't come here to punish himself for past mistakes,
but seeking what Kira had found in Odo. Was it  possible, he asked
himself, that at this moment of pain and  disappointment he simply
missed his friend? For if he was going to be  honest with himself,
Julian reflected, he really did want to talk to  Garak, had for some
time. He wanted to know if anything could be  salvaged from his first
genuine friendship on the station.

He was still hesitating, sorting through his jumbled feelings and
motivations, when his body made the decision for him. As Julian
walked through the opening doors, it felt like he was plunging out of
an airlock without an environmental suit.

Garak moved out from behind the counter and greeted him, but if he
was either surprised or upset, Julian couldn't find any evidence.
However, the Cardassian's civility was pointedly impersonal, and all
thoughts of rapprochement fled. Desperate for an excuse for being
there, Julian blurted the first thing that popped into his mind. "Ah
yes, I need to order some baby clothes."

"Indeed?"

Garak's raised eye ridges caused Bashir to flush,"Not for me."

"Of course not. I didn't think I was that far behind in the station's
gossip."

It felt as if the store's environmental controls had been reset to
Cardassian defaults, but as much as Julian now wanted to flee, he  was
trapped by the reason he'd used. Wiping his damp palms against his
trousers, he said, "They're for Ensign Vilix'pran, we're planning a
baby shower for him."

"Shower?" Garak asked, but his curiosity didn't sound genuine to
Bashir. More like the Cardassian was playing the part that  was
expected of him.

"A kind of party for expectant parents." Julian explained, now staring
intently at the shop's carpeting. "So, would it be possible to – have
some made?"

After an extremely uncomfortable moment of silence, Garak answered,
his tone of voice maddeningly neutral.  "It will take some time, as
I've never made apparel for the Ensign's species before. And if I'm
not mistaken the outfits will have to be waterproof as well as
accommodate wings."

"That's alright," Julian responded quickly, "the shower is not for a
while yet."

Another long pause, during which he tried very hard not to  squirm.
"Very well," the Cardassian acceded. "I will investigate the
possibilities, and send you a couple of designs with  a price estimate
in three days."

Julian desperately wanted to say thank you, leave and never come
back, but his traitorous feet refused to move. You were friends, he
reminded himself harshly, lovers for God's sake, just talk to him.

"Was there anything else?" Garak asked.

Julian wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking, but this inquiry
seemed less remote, and he leapt on the opening. "Actually yes."
Bashir swallowed, then continued in a rush, "I would like for us to
have lunch together sometime."

"Would you." Not a question, but a forbidding statement. Any
encouragement that might have been in Garak's manner was now gone,
worsening Bashir's agitation.

"Garak, I was – I mean –  I am sorry about what happened – between
us." Great, he thought, incoherency is definitely the way to convince
him, Julian.

"No, you're not," Garak snapped. "Don't lie to me, Doctor. You don't
regret ending our association, you regret ever being with me."

"Maybe, but –."

"Not maybe, Doctor, definitely. And you are absolutely right." Garak
stepped in closer, leaning in like a predator impatient for the kill.
"A Federation Doctor and a Cardassian  interrogator is hardly a likely
partnership, now is it? Even the most  ludicrous of your human romance
novelists would doom such an affair  from the start."

"I'm not saying – I don't think I was wrong to end –," but he stopped
himself abruptly. Garak had taught him that hesitancy and excuses were
perceived as signs of weakness by his  people, vulnerabilities to be
exploited. Julian cleared his throat,  and began again, this time
making himself sound as certain as  possible. "Garak, the fact is I've
missed our lunches, our  conversations," a deep breath before adding,
"and our friendship."

"I see." Garak retreated from the Doctor, smoothing an invisible
crease on a displayed sweater.    "I've been wondering when this was
going to happen." Surprised by this  admission, Julian didn't foresee
the attack it heralded until the  words cut into him."Wondering when
your guilt would force you to come in here," Garak sneered,
"apologizing and making noises about friendship. If we hadn't been so
discreet about our  relationship, I'm sure Quark would have a betting
pool predicting the day it would happen."

Bashir's skin began to burn again, but this time not due to
embarrassment."Now wait just a minute –."

But the Cardassian overrode his protest. "Your problem is you can't
stand to hurt anyone, even someone like me, but I have no  intention
of  being your charity case. So you can keep your self- serving
Federation pity to yourself and leave now."

"That's enough!" Sharply enough that he actually managed to silence
Garak. "I'm not doing this out of pity or guilt, and okay, you're
right, we were absolutely wrong for each other. As *lovers,* but we
were good friends, and I miss that. I miss the  way you challenged my
mind, I miss the way you challenged every belief I've ever had, and I
miss just spending time with you." Julian paused to collect himself,
before adding emphatically. "But if that's not good enough for your
vaunted Cardassian standards then – forget about it."

For the first time since he had entered the tailor's shop, Garak's
eyes were no longer evasive, but piercing his own. Evaluating him,
Julian realized. He met the gaze boldly, challenging  the Cardassian
right back.

The expressive blue eyes became thoughtful, and Garak's voice was
remarkably mild as he confessed, "I have found lunch time to be
rather dull of late."

Julian released his breath, not aware until that moment that he had
been holding it. "So have I."     Garak looked away first, and
retreated slightly, covering the move by  straightening several
jackets. "Perhaps we could meet the day after tomorrow?"

It was an apology for his accusations, Bashir realized, and probably
the only sincere one he would receive from the proud Cardassian. "I'd
like that, very much," surprised how much he meant it. Now that his
anger had been vented, Julian was happy and relieved  that they were
talking again. "There's a book I just finished," he volunteered, "it's
a human mystery novel I could loan you, if you're interested."

Now it was Garak's turn to demonstrate genuine enthusiasm. "I'll bring
a volume of Shoggoth's enigma tales in exchange. You will find, my
dear Doctor, that Cardassians have  mastered the genre of mysteries."

"I'm sure they have," Julian responded, not bothering to mask his
amusement at Garak's boast. "If you like, I'll come by the shop at 13
00, and we can go to the Replimat together."

Garak bowed his head, a movement that somehow conveyed agreement
along with a respectful farewell. Julian had never been able to
figure out how he managed to communicate so much with a simple nod.
Doubtless Garak would claim that it was a form of subtlety unique to
Cardassians, Bashir mused as he exited the tailor's shop.

He was eminently pleased with himself, and felt more relaxed than he
had in a long time.  Yes, their intimate relationship had been a
ghastly mistake, Julian reflected as he strode down the Promenade,
but that didn't mean their friendship had been. He smiled to himself,
looking forward to the resumption of their literary and  cultural
debates.

He had been hopelessly naive, Julian conceded, just as Kira, Dax,
O'Brien, Sisko, and naturally Garak had all asserted. Gullible enough
to believe that the frontier was a place of holo-novel heroes,  where
the good guys never died and villains could be swayed by  reason. A
universe in which loved conquered all.

He now knew better, and Julian wondered if this was a sign he was
finally growing up. Considering he would soon turn thirty, the Doctor
recalled with an internal wince, it was about time he did.

---
The Die is Cast
---

Julian moaned as gentle kisses and licks tickled his ribs. "This is
wrong."

"You don't believe that," his lover whispered, pausing to taste
Bashir's navel before continuing southward. "You wouldn't be enjoying
this so much if you did."

"No, I –," he gasped as the tongue reached the undeniable proof of his
enjoyment. "It's wrong because you tortured Odo. I shouldn't be –."

"Of course you should," Garak soothed.  He shifted until he was
hovering over Julian, kissing him briefly on the lips. "After all,
you're responsible."

"What?  No – ." He tried to push the Cardassian off, but Garak pinned
him down, gripping his wrists painfully.

"I practised on you, didn't I?"

Julian woke, the taste of bile in his mouth. "Computer, lights," he
groaned, and stumbled out of bed. In the refresher, he rinsed his
mouth out several times, before requesting a water  shower, setting it
as cold as the temperature settings would allow.  Cursing, Julian
forced himself to stand under the icy stream until  his teeth were
chattering.

Minutes later he was dry, shaved and in uniform, a habit ingrained
during his internships, even though now he would be ridiculously
early for his shift. Exiting his bedroom, Bashir paused beside the
replicator, but his stomach heaved at the thought of solid food, so
he ordered a Tarkalean tea instead of his usual breakfast. Settling
onto his couch to kill time, he met the unblinking gaze of his oldest
friend.

"Don't look at me like that," he grumbled.

Kukalaka stared back at him, in Julian's imagination, condemningly.

"Even I can't control my dreams," he informed his teddy bear
irritably. While his enhancements gave him exceptional control  over
his body and conscious mind, his unconscious remained stubbornly
resistant. Bashir leaned back, closed his eyes and performed a series
of rapid breaths followed by one long inhale through his nose. But
instead of feeling energized by the meditative breathing, he just
felt more agitated.

It was clear what the dream meant, Julian thought. He was blaming
himself because of his willful blindness regarding Garak. It had been
so easy to resume their old habits, Bashir reflected darkly,
exchanging ideas and books over lunchtime as if nothing had happened.
As if they had never been anything more than friends, and he had
never learned just how dark Elim's past had been.

Worse still, Bashir castigated himself, he had made endless excuses.
Yes, Garak had done appalling things when he had worked for Tain, but
he had reformed during his exile. Julian had witnessed Elim's
compassion towards the Cardassian war orphans, and had learned of his
clandestine donations of clothing and literature to the orphanages.
So, it was all right for him to feel a certain amount of warmth
towards the Cardassian, even to have increasingly erotic dreams of
his ex-lover. Imagining that it was Garak's hand relieving the
resulting ache between his legs had been a little more difficult to
justify, but ultimately had been dismissed as a harmless fantasy, a
leftover of their past encounters. They were just friends now,
nothing more.

Then the Promenade had rocked from the force of the explosion. Julian
recalled dashing into the burning tailor's shop, heedless of his own
safety, and his profound relief that Garak had sustained only  minor
injuries. He also remembered the rush of affection he had felt  for
Garak when he had left with Odo to find Tain, grateful for the
Cardassian's teasing words for otherwise he might have kissed him
goodbye. Next came the anxiety he had refused to admit to himself
while they were missing; followed by the relief he couldn't deny when
they both appeared on the transporter pad of the Defiant.

One day later, Julian read Odo and Garak's account of what had
transpired in the Gamma quadrant. The revulsion Julian now felt
towards Garak was only matched by his disgust with himself. A shame
compounded by his behaviour on the Defiant before he had known what
had happened; immediately treating the bruise on Garak's face,
without even thinking of checking Odo. Yesterday, he'd made up for
this lapse by scanning the Constable as many times as the  Changeling
would permit; his guilt only marginally appeased by the  lack of
evidence of any damage or impairment.

It could have been worse, Julian admitted. If all of them hadn't been
so busy in the wake of their forbidden trip through the  wormhole, he
would now have much more to feel remorse over.

Julian shook himself, his internal clock alerting him, but no longer
trusting any of his instincts he demanded, "Computer, time?"

"The time is 07 50 hours."

"Bloody hell," a curse he'd picked up from O'Brien.  Bashir quickly
returned the untouched tea to the replicator, bestowed  a strained
smile on the still disapproving Kukalaka, and briskly  exited his
quarters.

Hurrying towards the turbo lift, Julian reproached himself for being
twice over a fool, both for failing to recognize what Garak really
was and for lying to himself about his emotional attachment to his ex-
lover. On his way to the Promenade, he vowed that from now on, there
would be no more lies, and no more forgiveness.

Crossing the Promenade, Bashir warned himself to look the other way
as he passed the Replimat, mindful of Garak's habit of watching the
morning arrivals as he breakfasted. Nevertheless, Julian couldn't help
but quickly glance at the Cardassian's usual table and confirm that
sure enough, he was there. However, Garak  wasn't alone.

Julian took two steps towards them before coming to a dead stop and
staring, his brain unable to process what he was seeing. What the
hell could Odo be doing there, Bashir asked himself in total
bewilderment, an incoherent jumble of possibilities assailing him.
Odo was questioning Garak, he thought. No, that didn't make sense, the
Constable wouldn't interrogate him in the Replimat. Garak was
harassing Odo, threatening him, possibly even blackmailing  him. But
if that was true, Julian asked himself, why did the  Changeling look
so composed?

No doubt sensing he was under surveillance, Odo finally looked  up.
"Can I help you, Doctor?" Garak, meanwhile, kept his eyes  focussed on
his breakfast.

"Yes – I mean, no," Julian stammered, now embarrassed as well as
confounded. "I thought –," he abruptly shut his mouth, belatedly
realizing that this was neither the time nor place  to voice his
misgivings. "Excuse me, Odo," he glanced at Garak but couldn't say his
name. "Excuse me," he mumbled again, and rushed away from the
Replimat.

Once he reached the Infirmary, Julian stayed by the entrance watching
the Promenade intently. The moment Garak hove into view, Bashir
ducked back to avoid detection. Ignoring the stares of his puzzled
staff, he first checked that the Cardassian was heading for his shop,
and then set out in the opposite direction.

However, Julian discovered that he wasn't the only DS9 officer
disturbed by Odo's behaviour this morning; Major Kira had already
waylaid the Changeling on his way to the Security Office. Following
them as covertly as possible, he overheard Kira insist, "Odo, we need
to talk about this!"

"Major, I don't see how this is anyone's business." Was it his
imagination, Julian pondered, or was Odo less gruff with  Kira than
with other staff?

"Don't speak to me like I'm the First Officer, Odo, I'm here as your
friend. And as your friend –." The rest of her words were cut off as
the Security Office doors shut after  them. Bashir slowed to a stop
just outside the entrance's sensor  range, wondering if he should
return later.

Security's doors slid opened, revealing Odo standing behind his  desk.
"What do you want, Doctor?" He demanded curtly.

Of course, Julian thought, feeling his face flush. One couldn't hover
outside of Security without Odo being aware of it.  "Ah, nothing," he
stepped into the office, glancing at the Major who  stopped in
mid-pace as he entered.  "In fact, I'm here for the same reason as
Kira."

"You see, even Julian's concerned." Kira flung her arm towards the
Doctor.

Bashir nodded automatically, until what she meant registered. "Excuse
me?"

"You're friends with that Cardassian – ." Her last word was rendered
incomprehensible by the universal translator's  refusal to give the
Federation equivalent to the Bajoran expletive.  Julian often wondered
what genius in Starfleet believed censoring  alien swear words was a
really helpful idea. He seriously doubted  that the station's original
Cardassian technology had been so  prudish.

Kira resumed her pacing and her focus on Odo. "I'm going to get that
back-stabbing vole off this station, I don't care what you or Sisko
think."

"As I'm sure the Commander has already made clear to you, under
Bajoran and Federation law we have no grounds for expulsion.
However, I am fining him for the damage to the Promenade and for
creating a public hazard."

"A public hazard!" Kira looked like she was about to go apoplectic.
Julian made a mental note to himself to pay close  attention to the
Major's blood pressure during her next  physical. "Odo, he tortured
you! How can you say there are no  grounds?"

"As the incident in question occurred in an area of space not covered
by either Bajoran or Federation treaties, there would only be  grounds
if I was willing to press charges. Which I'm not."

Kira's entire being radiated exasperation. "Why not!?"

Odo shook his head and turned away, looking deeply uncomfortable.
Julian, unused to seeing the Constable reveal his feelings through
his body language, suddenly felt ashamed. They were the ones
harassing Odo now, he realized, not Garak.

"Major," the Changeling rumbled, "there's really no point in
discussing this further."

"Odo," Kira's voice softened, becoming much less  aggressive.
"Alright, you don't want to press charges. I don't understand it, but
that's your decision to make. But how can you sit there in the
Replimat with him like it never happened?"

"As I have never shared breakfast with Garak before, I can hardly be
accused of treating him like it never happened."

Kira made a frustrated noise, and threw up her hands. "Fine Odo, do
what you want. But I swear if Garak so much as touches you again,  I
will kill him." She stormed out of the Security Office, not giving the
Changeling an opportunity to respond.

Odo turned his attention to the Doctor, his manner forbidding. "Do you
have any ultimatums you would like to add?"

"Ah no," Julian said quickly, "I'm just concerned." It wasn't his
imagination, he decided, the Constable was far less curt with Kira
than with other people.

"So you've said. Now, if that's all, I have work to do."

Julian braved this clear dismissal. "I was also wondering if you
could stop by the Infirmary later today."

"Doctor, I have already allowed you to scan me as many times as I'm
going to."

"No more scans," Bashir agreed hastily. "But there are other
components of your recovery to consider. After a traumatic
experience, it's standard procedure to administer such a – test."
Stumbling on the last word.

"Doctor, you're not suggesting that I require counselling, are you?"
The Changeling's gravelly voice gaining a hostile burr.

"No! Well actually, yes." Julian found himself wishing that he'd
followed Kira out of the Security Office. But he forged ahead,
reminding himself that Odo was his patient, and clearly in need of
his aid. "I mean, that's what this assessment will determine. Trust
me, the test won't take much time, and it's completely standard
procedure."

"Really," Odo commented dryly. "Then why didn't you administer this
test at the same time as the medical scans?"

"Well, you left in such a rush afterwards," Julian began, but the
Constable's glare caused him to confess truthfully, "Given what I
witnessed this morning, I thought an assessment might be in order."

"Because I was having breakfast with Garak." A statement, not a
question.

"You may not be familiar with the condition, but it was first
identified on Earth as the Stockholm Syndrome and –."

"Doctor, are you aware that wasting Station Security's time is a
criminal offense?"

"Er –."

"One that could result in you spending the remainder of your duty
shift inside a holding cell?"

"Excuse me, Constable, I think – I had better return to the
Infirmary."

"A wise decision, Doctor."

Bashir could feel Odo's eyes follow him as he beat a hasty retreat out
of the Security Office.  Although he did return to the  Infirmary,
Julian was not yet prepared to admit defeat. He quickly  briefed Nurse
Jabara on the priorities of the day, and issued strict  instructions
that he wasn't to be disturbed unless there was an  emergency.
Grabbing a cup of Tarkalean tea, Julian locked himself  into his
office, determined not to leave until he had solved this  conundrum.

As Odo would not submit to a psychiatric exam, Julian mused, he would
have to search for other evidence of a traumatic response in his
patient. He settled into his chair and sipped his tea, reminding
himself to start by separating his facts from his fears. He was
momentarily distracted by the irony that this was a lesson Garak had
taught him.  But then, Julian decided, what could be more appropriate
than using the analytical and observational skills he had gained from
his ex-lover to benefit one of the Cardassian's own victims.

Refocusing his mind, Julian asked himself what he knew for certain.
Odo and Garak had been sitting together in the Replimat, conversing
while the Cardassian had his breakfast. Bashir closed his eyes and
replayed the memory, but could find nothing in Odo's behaviour that
indicated he'd been interacting with the Cardassian against his will.
As for Garak, none of his mannerisms suggested that he was  dominating
the Changeling. If anything, Julian reflected, throughout  the brief
period of observation, Garak had been utterly deferential  towards
Odo.

Julian opened his eyes, so far everything he knew for certain
suggested that Odo was voluntarily socializing with a man who had
brutally tortured him. A completely inappropriate and unhealthy
response to his ordeal, reminiscent of the concern displayed by the
former hostages in 20th century Stockholm for their captors. He now
had more than sufficient cause to medically intervene, except for the
rather significant problem that Odo was not a human being.

It was like a trick question on an inter-species final exam, Bashir
thought, except that here the consequences were more dire than
becoming class salutatorian. A wrong answer now meant that he would
fail a patient.

Taking a sip from his tea, Julian tried to think of a resource he
could consult, but what Federation Medical knew about Changelings
made their knowledge of Cardassians look positively encyclopaedic.
Moreover, all multi-species psychology presupposed the existence of a
brain influenced by chemical imbalances, and a personality formed by
socialization and experience. But how could he apply such
assumptions, Julian asked himself, to a species that did not appear
to have a separate organ for cognition nor an equivalent to brain
chemistry. Furthermore, Odo's socialization bore more resemblance to
the treatment of a lab experiment than the upbringing of a  sentient
being.

Frustrated, Julian admitted that he was back at square one, with no
way of objectively gauging if Odo was acting irrationally. He pushed
aside his cooling mug, and wondered if should force himself to eat.
Before he could decide, Bashir realized that he had overlooked the
obvious. His expression grim, Julian activated his computer console,
submitted his clearance code, and accessed the reports from Odo and
Garak on their actions in the Gamma quadrant.

Julian started with Odo's statement, but after reading the terse
report countless times, the Constable's psyche remained a mystery. If
any other non-Vulcanoid had provided such an unemotional  accounting
of being captured and tortured, it would have been a clear  sign of
deep distress. The problem was, Julian mused as he stood up  and
stretched, it sounded just like Odo always did.

Shaking his head, he tidied up his console, first disposing of the
mug of cold tea, and then organizing the stack of padds, only to
rearrange them two more times.  Don't be such a coward, he scolded
himself. Settling back into his chair, Julian forced himself  to
review the one remaining source of data on Odo's state of mind.
Unconsciously hunching over the screen, Bashir opened Garak's report,
trembling with the effort of restraining his  outrage.

However, it didn't take long for Julian to conclude that this effort
was equally hopeless, for naturally the Constable had supplied  the
more complete version of events. If anything, Odo  provided  insight
into the Cardassian's behaviour, for only the Constable's account
disclosed Tain's role in the hiring of the Flaxian assassin to kill
the tailor, and that Tain was also the  one who had offered Garak his
old life back.

Damn his Cardassian evasiveness, Julian thought, but then shoulders
slumped, he admitted that it had been a long shot anyway. Attempting
to understand Changeling psychology, he reflected, was a lot like
trying to decipher those enigma tales Garak had inflicted on him.
Wholly alien and impossible to solve because his human  assumptions
not only led him to the wrong answers, but also to ask  the wrong
questions. He remembered complaining to the Cardassian that  all of
the suspects were guilty in enigma tales, and his incredulity  when
Garak responded that "the challenge comes from determining  exactly
who is guilty of what."

Picking up the medical padd containing the results of his numerous
scans of Odo, he composed a brief report for Sisko.  Julian included
his concerns, but frankly admitted there was no evidence to
contradict his patient's insistence that he was fine. With a sigh, he
downloaded his report, and was reaching over to shut off his  computer
console when he abruptly stayed his hand.

The Garak he knew was a consummate manipulator of the truth, adept at
drawing attention away from detrimental information, while refusing
to confirm even the most incontrovertible of facts. Frowning, Julian
read Garak's statement again, confirming that this time the
Cardassian had done an uncharacteristically poor job of damage
control. The bulk of his report focussed on the brutal interrogation,
while releasing Odo from his cell and attempting to save Tain's life
at the risk of his own were both absent. Furthermore, Garak knew  that
these were precisely the sort of actions that would appeal  to
'Federation sentimentality,' he had criticized such devices in human
literature often enough.

Mulling it over, Julian realized that beyond the missing details was
an even more fundamental difference between the two accounts. Garak's
solely focussed on his role in the events that transpired, while in
Odo's version Tain and the Romulans played a  prominent part. The
Cardassian depicted Odo as his prisoner, while  the Changeling
described how the Romulans entrapped him in a cell  completely
surrounded by force fields.

Odo wrote that "under orders from Enabran Tain, Garak activated a
quantum stasis device developed by the Obsidian Order, and
interrogated me for three hours and ten minutes." Switching back to
Garak's report, Julian read: "Utilizing a quantum stasis prototype
which prevented Odo from returning to his liquid state, I  questioned
him regarding the Founders for several hours."

Garak had cast himself as the villain, while Enabran Tain was reduced
to a shadowy figure in the background. Why would he go to so much
trouble to protect Tain, Julian pondered, even at the risk of
condemning himself? He pulled back from the screen, suddenly
realizing that his comparison of the two reports wasn't like
analysing an enigma tale, it was one. Garak's report wasn't a
description of events; it was an admission of guilt.

For several moments, he could only stare at the screen in shock.
Taking a deep breath, Julian cautioned himself that he was in as much
danger of attributing human motivations to an alien now, as he had
been when trying to diagnose Odo. For wasn't it far more likely that
he simply wanted to believe that Garak was capable of remorse?  He'd
already learned that he couldn't trust his instincts when it came to
his ex-lover, what he needed was objective evidence  to back his
hypothesis.

Ignoring the inner voice warning him away, Julian accessed an older
document, the one sent to him by Tain. If he wanted, he could summon
up from memory every word Gul Elim Garak of the Obsidian Order had
written, but he needed to see it again without the distortion of the
overwhelming emotions of that terrible day. Skimming the report,
Julian quickly found the section where his fantasies regarding the
former spy had been crushed by the reality of what years ago had been
all in a day's work for Garak.

"As the subject proved resistant to the standard persuasions and
neuro-chemical treatments outlined above, it was deemed necessary to
remind the subject that his lack of cooperation with the current
investigation could jeopardize his immediate family.  When this
reminder proved insufficient, the subject's wife (see attached file
15754P-A, Premak, Natine age 38) and youngest daughter (see  attached
file 15754P-B Premak, Zalan age 6) were detained by the  Order."

On it went, Garak's own responsibility concealed by the passive,
clinical language used, his victims nameless save for the briefest of
official notations.  By contrast, there was no such invisibility of
the perpetrator, nor anonymity of the victim in Garak's most recent
interrogation report. "Approximately one hour after I activated the
prototype, the first signs of Odo's physical distress became
noticeable. His facial features began to appear  parched, and his
limbs began  trembling. Within an hour and a half,  his suffering
became more apparent as his surface began to flake." Odo suffered,
whereas Gul Premak - the subject - had proven resistant.

Julian turned back to the Obsidian Order memo, the kardasi
demonstrating none of the beauty which Garak so often lauded in his
favourite authors' writings. "While verbal warnings distressed the
subject, they proved insufficient. It was therefore  deemed necessary
to intensify the stimulus by excising two digits  from his daughter's
right hand (see attached images 15754P-B-1/5  through 5/5). When this
demonstration failed to have the desired  effect, further
interrogation was deemed unproductive, and the  session was ended."

Julian closed his eyes tightly, unable to forget the pictures of
Zalan's mutilated hand, grateful there was nothing in his stomach.
Overwhelmed by the same fury and sickness he'd experienced  the first
time he'd read this portrayal of an atrocity as if it was  nothing
more than an unfortunate consequence of a completely  appropriate
action.

After several deep breaths, Julian opened his eyes and returned to
Garak's statement to the Federation. "Over the next hour, I observed
the acceleration of Odo's deterioration, as significant  portions of
his substance peeled away and his form became skeletal in  appearance.
After three hours, he collapsed and his life was clearly  in jeopardy.
At this point, I determined that Odo had no secrets  regarding the
Founders, and I deactivated the device, ending the interrogation."
Here, Garak provided no justification for his  actions, only a stark
acknowledgement of the harm he had caused.

Both were damning documents, Julian reflected, but clearly composed
by very different men. However, while Garak was no longer the full-
fledged monster of the past, neither was the Cardassian the fully
reformed criminal Bashir had allowed himself to imagine over the last
few months. As usual, Julian acknowledged begrudgingly, when it came
to the erstwhile tailor, nothing was plain and simple.     Julian
closed all of the documents, and exited his office, only  vaguely
aware of the looks of concern from his staff. As he left the
Infirmary, he had no plan in mind, but was unsurprised to find
himself in front of what remained of Garak's shop. Despite the lack of
power within the store, the light from the Promenade revealed  that a
fair bit of progress had been made cleaning up the debris.  Moments
later, Bashir detected Garak's movements within its depths.

He was a torturer, Julian reminded himself as he watched from the
threshold, not had been but was. No matter that Garak had stopped
after a certain point, no matter that he now felt guilty for what he
had done, the fact remained that he had decided to torture Odo and
then methodically proceeded to do so. Which meant that the Cardassian
was everything that as a Doctor, as a human being, he was supposed to
despise.

"Can I help you, Doctor?"

"No, I –," Julian began, but discovered that he didn't know what he
wanted to say to Garak. "How are you?" He finally asked, inwardly
cringing at the lameness of the  question.

"A trifle busy, as you can see." Despite the blase tone of voice,
Bashir knew the Cardassian well enough to hear the despair  beneath
the polite evasion.

Damn it, Julian cursed himself, he was beginning to feel sorry for
Garak. Only this morning his concern had been placed squarely where
it should be, with the victim and not the perpetrator. Yet watching
Garak in the midst of his ruined shop, Julian couldn't help but see
how well it reflected the Cardassian's life. Tain was dead, whoever
Tain had been to him. The Obsidian Order was destroyed.  Garak's exile
would now be permanent; he really was a tailor now.

"Who was Tain?"  He blurted out, surprising both Garak and himself.

"Excuse me?"

"Who was he that you would obey him like that?" Julian entered the
shop, deliberately invading the Cardassian's space. "Even after he
ordered your assassination?"

"Hardly the worst punishment he ever inflicted on me."

A typical Garak answer, Julian thought, all dark humour and  evasion.
"Worse than killing you?" He challenged.

The Cardassian paused before answering. "He was directly responsible
for my exile."

Julian  was surprised by this admission. While he no longer trusted
any of the Cardassian's assertions at face value; Tain's haunting
words, "he doesn't deserve a quick death," substantiated Garak's
claim. Yet, if what he said was true, this only deepened the mystery
instead of alleviating it.

"Then why did you try to save him – twice?"

Garak looked momentarily puzzled, before nodding in realization. "Ah,
Odo must have included that in his report. I didn't get to read his,
which isn't particularly fair, when you think about it."

But Julian refused to be distracted, "Who was Tain to you?"

"It doesn't matter anymore." Garak returned to sorting through bolts
of scorched fabric.

"It does to me."

As if acceding that a standard evasion wouldn't be enough, the
Cardassian stopped what he was doing and turned his full attention to
Bashir. "Suffice to say, he made me everything that I am."

Julian wondered if Garak would ever offer an answer that made things
less opaque rather than more. Not that it mattered, he admitted, for
his own obstinate nature would never allow him to stop trying for
one. "And now that he's gone?  What does that make you now?"

But Garak deflected the second question, by focussing on the  first.
"Do you know Doctor, I find it difficult to believe he really is gone.
I saw his ship destroyed, and yet–." A gentle shake of his head, and
the walls were up again.

Julian sighed heavily, for he was no closer to understanding Garak's
behaviour in the Gamma quadrant than comprehending why Odo had
suddenly begun socializing with him. As far as he could tell  they
both followed their own alien codes of behaviour, equally
unfathomable to outsiders. Furthermore, since Odo had apparently
forgiven his torturer, it felt increasingly ludicrous to condemn
Garak on the Changeling's behalf.

"Odo's forgiven you," he blurted out.

Garak simply continued cleaning as if Julian had said nothing.

"I haven't." Bashir prodded again, determined to get a reaction.

"I didn't expect – anyone to." The hesitation and uncertainty in his
voice persuaded Julian that Garak really hadn't anticipated that
reaction.

"I don't understand.  I try, but you do such appalling things, and yet
–." A frustrated release of breath, "Nothing's black and white with
you, Garak."

"I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

Against his will, Julian smiled. Watching Garak, Bashir realized that
he had lied, he had forgiven him or at least was in the process of
doing so. Sighing again, it occurred to him that instead of wasting
his time trying to figure out the inner workings of either Odo or
Garak, he should direct some of his dogged persistence at
understanding himself. For against all logic and despite everything
he had learned, he kept renewing the connection between himself and
the Cardassian.

Then again, Julian thought, why should he be the only one that didn't
get to have unfathomable motives? "Perhaps when you're not so busy,"
he found himself offering, "we could have lunch some time."

Garak looked up at him, but if he was surprised, he managed to hide
it well. "I'd like that."

"I don't understand you," Julian took a deep breath before confessing,
"but I'm glad that you're back."

Before Garak could respond, Bashir retreated from the wreckage of the
shop onto the Promenade. Friendship he could allow, Julian  reflected,
maybe even forgiveness eventually. However, anything more  intimate
between them was finished. There would be no more fantasies  and no
more regretful longing. Doctor Julian Bashir was free and  single, and
by God, he was going to start acting like it.

The frontier had bruised him the first time around, Julian conceded,
but he was going to prove his resilience and find love in this
dangerous universe. With a determined set to his shoulders, he
marched towards Quark's, ready to conquer.

---
Our Man Bashir
---

"Computer, end program." With a sigh of relief, Julian watched his
secret agent program dissolve around them. "Bashir to  Sisko," he
signalled, indicating to Garak with a wave of his hand to remain in
the holosuite for a moment longer.

"Sisko here," his voice over the computer channel sounded
reassuringly sane, not at all like Dr. Noah.

"Captain, I need everyone involved in the accident to come to the
Infirmary for an examination. There are several potential after
effects from having one's pattern saved for such an extended period of
time. "

"Unfortunately, we're a bit busy with some after effects of our own."
As the Captain paused, the Chief's voice could be clearly heard in the
background, "you're not the one who's going to have to fix this bloody
mess!" Sisko resumed, "But I'll make sure everyone makes their way
there before the shift ends."

"Thank you, Captain. But if anyone experiences any dizziness or pain,
they're to report to the Infirmary immediately. Mr. Garak and I are
heading there now."

This time he could hear the reassuring sound of Dax laughing, and the
not so reassuring anger of Kira. "You may be used to being in
Julian's fantasies, but I'm sure as –." Julian felt his skin grow hot,
but fortunately the rest of the Major's tirade was cut off by Sisko's
response. "Understood, Doctor. Commander Eddington informs me that we
all owe you our thanks."     Bashir glanced at the Cardassian who
seemed quite amused. "Mr. Garak and I accept your thanks," Julian
replied with a wry smile, quickly adding "Bashir out" before he
overheard anything else. As they exited the holosuite, Julian
contemplated asking Dr.  Girani to check over the command staff for if
Kira ever found out  about the negligee and the kiss, he was –.

Tackled by Leeta. "Julian, you're safe! I knew you'd be." She hugged
him with an almost painful enthusiasm.

"Yes, I'm fine." Acutely aware of Garak's presence, Bashir extricated
himself from the embrace with some difficulty. "My God, I can see why
Miles was so upset," looking over the chaotic jumble of tubing,
wiring, and was that a spatula? "I'm surprised Quark's keeping the
place – what am I saying, of course the bar's open." Julian glanced
back, "But I guess the holosuites won't be for a while."

"At least now you will be able to spend more time with me instead of
that ridiculous program."

His embarrassment increasing exponentially, Julian quickly changed
the subject. "When my shift's over I'll meet you here. After today's
adventures, I'm going to need a real drink tonight."

Leeta squealed with pleasure,"I'll serve it to you myself, that way it
won't be watered down."

"I wouldn't want you to risk your job for me," he joked, giving her a
quick peck before she returned to her Dabo table.

"Such a charming young lady," Garak remarked. "You really shouldn't
neglect her so."

Recognizing the lie for what it was, Julian refused to be  baited.
"Let's just get to the Infirmary, Garak."

"Certainly, you are the Doctor."

Julian sighed, how did Garak manage to make the most compliant
agreement sound like a deliberate provocation?

As soon as they reached the Infirmary, Bashir instructed the three
staff members on duty to go into his office and review the existing
data on transporter buffer accidents on his console. He ignored their
puzzled looks at his tuxedo as he shooed them out of the general exam
area, knowing that Garak would appreciate the privacy.

Once he had the Cardassian seated on a bio-bed, Julian administered a
general pain killer before applying a local anaesthetic to the
injured neck ridge. As the wound had been exposed for a while, he
took particular care cleaning it, determined to eradicate any
microbial invaders and the gun powder residue left by the
malfunctioning holosuite. Garak remained uncharacteristically
quiescent throughout, until the last stage of the procedure when
Bashir wiped the remaining dried blood from his neck with a medicated
sponge. The flinch was so slight, Julian almost missed it.

"Does it hurt?" He asked anxiously. "It shouldn't hurt, the hypo I
gave you should still be working."

"I'm fine, the sensation is simply unpleasantly cold."

Julian nodded understandingly, disposed of the sponge and then
carefully scanned the area for nerve damage. He was relieved to find
none.

"For a mere flesh wound, you are going to a great deal of trouble."
Garak commented mildly.

Bashir grimaced, knowing full well that the Cardassian's observation
was not as innocuous as it sounded. However, years of  their lunchtime
debates had taught him a thing or two about  deflecting questions.
"And for a plain and simple tailor you certainly manage to get injured
quite a lot."

"I'm sure no more than the industry's average."

Using the vascular regenerator, Julian encouraged the natural healing
of the vein his bullet had nicked open. "I rather doubt that the
average tailor gets severely bitten on the hand or requires
extensive brain surgery. Although I suppose the time you claimed to
have injured yourself with the thread cutter could be attributed to
your current profession."

Naturally, Garak could not resist such a tempting opening. "Claimed,
Doctor? Surely, there is nothing suspicious about a  straightforward
sewing accident."

"Save that it *coincidentally,*" Julian said with deliberate
emphasis, "happened at the same time as the Lethean who'd attacked me
disappeared while in transit to the Federation  authorities."

"A shocking lapse of security on Starfleet's part. I'm certain Odo
would never have allowed  such a thing to happen."

Bashir resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, and finished up his
repair work on the ridge with the dermal regenerator. "And then who
can forget the time you blew up your own shop."

"That was rather memorable," Garak agreed, sounding distinctly proud
of himself.

Julian frowned at him while applying the regenerator to the small cut
on the inside of the Cardassian's lip. "Well that bit of subterfuge
cost you several burns and contusions. Not long after, you  gained a
broken clavicle and several ribs from some not so friendly  Klingon
customers, and let's not forget the numerous lacerations from
defending the Detapa Council members." Placing his tools aside for
re-sterilization, he added, "I still can't believe you fought
alongside Dukat."

"I have difficulty believing it myself, Doctor, and I was there."

"And finally a gun shot wound."Assessing the now healed area, Julian
concluded that except for a slight discolouration that would  soon
fade the Cardassian's neck was as good as new.  However, before he
could announce this positive evaluation of his work, Garak  killed his
self-congratulatory mood.

"Now don't forget to include in my file the damage done to my cheek
and lip when Falcon's thug hit me. Although, I suppose I can't hold
you responsible for that particular injury."

Julian cleared his throat, trying to ignore the twinge of conscience
this disingenuous remark caused. "Yes, well, all I'm trying to say is
that the only other civilian on DS9 with a larger medical  file is
Quark. In fact, yours is longer than most of the Security  staff, and
their profession, unlike tailoring, is supposed to  occasionally put
them in harm's way."

"Isn't this coming close to breaking patient confidentiality, my dear
Doctor? Perhaps I should be concerned about my privacy."    The smile
that played along the Cardassian's lips was difficult to resist, but
Bashir made a concerted effort to sound  disapproving. "Speaking of
privacy, you claimed to have no idea how I spent my time in my
holosuite program, and yet you were wearing  a tuxedo when you broke
in." Julian touched the damaged collar of the garment, "and not a
replicated one I see. Care to explain?"

"Nothing nefarious, I assure you. It was merely the result of close
observation of your peculiar sartorial choices of late."

Realizing his hand was still resting on Garak's silk shirt, Julian
yanked it away, and picked up a padd to begin updating the
Cardassian's medical file. "Which you couldn't resist the temptation
to investigate further," he muttered.

"Really Doctor, what choice did I have? For weeks on end you have
disappeared mysteriously from friend and lover alike." Garak paused,
and Julian could feel the Cardassian's eyes assessing the discomfort
his words had caused before continuing. "You knew that  eventually one
of us, if not me then either Chief O'Brien or the  lovely Commander
Dax would be moved to investigate."

"No, I expected that my friends would respect my privacy."Julian
corrected sharply, keeping his eyes fixed on the  medical padd.

"Of course," the Cardassian agreed, not sounding at all convinced. Out
of the corner of his eye, Bashir could see Garak's  head dip down
predatorily, but was still unprepared for the next  salvo which neatly
penetrated his shields. "Doubtless, you will next try to convince me
that you didn't get any satisfaction from shooting me."

Julian's typing came to an abrupt halt, as he recalled the surge of
pleasure from genuinely surprising Garak. Furthermore, the  Cardassian
had become positively submissive afterwards, *"Who am I to question
Julian Bashir, secret agent?"* There was no denying that the obedience
and respect he had gained from Garak had been a  heady experience.
All feelings that as a Starfleet officer, as a  Doctor, he should
never have had, let alone savoured.

He met Garak's knowing eyes without flinching, admitting nothing. "I
did what was necessary."

"Oh, I'm not questioning your action, Doctor. In fact, I find it quite
laudable."

"I wouldn't go that far," Bashir objected.

"In fact, the only question that lingers in my mind is just how good
your aim really is."

Julian smirked, sensing his opportunity to regain the upper ground in
this exchange. "I'm sure no better than the industry average for
physicians."

Garak bowed his head with a smile, acknowledging Bashir's rhetorical
skill. Pleased, Julian returned the smile and asked, "So, does this
mean there's still hope for me?"

"Always, Doctor," the Cardassian's tone of voice had suddenly gained
an intensity that took Bashir aback. "However, a word of advice. When
you begin to feel guilty," he raised his hand to forestall Julian's
complaint. "I know you my dear Doctor, and it is inevitable that you
will feel guilty." Garak  slipped off of the bio-bed and advanced on
him; Julian felt his   heart race as the Cardassian invaded his space.
"When you do, know that I forgive you." With an enigmatic smile and a
slight bow of his head, Garak took his leave and exited the Infirmary.

Julian clutched the medical padd in his hand and reminded himself to
start breathing again.  He felt slightly dizzy because of his
elevated heart rate, or so he told himself, ignoring the evidence
that his blood supply had been busy rushing somewhere other than his
brain.

Bashir slapped the medical padd onto the bio-bed in frustration,
knowing deep down that the Cardassian was right. It didn't that his
enhanced coordination had guaranteed that Garak was never in any
danger of a serious injury. Already, his conscience was questioning
why he had targeted such a sensitive area of Cardassian physiology.
Had his intentions been purely to save his friends and fellow
officers, or had he selected a particularly painful target as
retaliation? To finally punish the monster who had lured him into his
bed?

Resting his palms against the bio-bed mattress, Julian knew Garak
would tease him for entertaining such self-doubts. He could imagine
the Cardassian at their Replimat table, eyes sparkling with
amusement, telling him how his Federation conscience still hadn't
accepted the universe as it actually was. A place where one couldn't
always live according to one's ideals.

Julian closed his eyes, no longer thinking of the neck ridge he had
injured and then so assiduously repaired, but of the time he had
nearly lost Garak. Holding the Cardassian's cool hand in his,
overwhelmed by emotions he couldn't yet name. *"I forgive you, Garak.
For whatever it is that you did."* He had unconditionally forgiven
Garak, and then unconditionally loved him.  Leaving himself in the
ridiculous position of now feeling ashamed for  having done so.

How Garak would relish such an admission, Julian thought. No doubt
the Cardassian would claim that it proved what he had said all along.
Bashir was far too trusting, he should never have tried to save his
dying friend in the first place. No, Julian contradicted this
imagined Garak, he was a Doctor, and he would never be ashamed of
acting on those ideals. Faced with the same situation again, he
wouldn't hesitate to act in the same way. In the end, Bashir decided,
he hadn't been wrong to offer his forgiveness, his mistake had been to
forget just what Garak must have done to need it  so much.

Julian shook himself, reminding himself that not only was he a
Doctor, but one that was currently on duty. Pushing all regrets
aside, he changed into a spare uniform, and then summoned his staff
members from his office to start the shift in earnest. To his relief,
the time remaining passed relatively smoothly, and was busy enough to
keep him from thinking too deeply. Ultimately only Miles had to be
threatened before submitting to his check-up, and thankfully Nerys
did not ask for any details regarding her role as Colonel Komananov.

When his shift finally ended, Julian kept his promise to Leeta and
made his way towards Quark's, but first spared a moment to glance in
the direction of the tailor's shop. The memory of the Cardassian's
intensity and the rush of heat that had passed through him momentarily
overwhelmed him, but he managed to squelch  its effects with a splash
of cold analysis. Had Elim genuinely  forgiven him for wounding him,
Julian pondered, or was there some  ulterior motive behind his
uncharacteristic magnanimity? He shook his  head, reminding himself
that wondering if Garak had an hidden agenda  was like asking if Rura
Penthe was cold.

Concluding that discerning the clandestine motivations of exiled
Cardassians was not a task to approach sober, Bashir turned his back
on the closed shop and resumed course for Quark's. The bar looked a
great deal less like a disaster area, and now had more customers  than
the ubiquitous Morn. Julian waved at Leeta, but she was stuck at  her
Dabo wheel, and he had participated in quite enough games of  chance
for the day. Smiling at the memory of Worf as Monsieur  Duchamps, he
decided to wait at his regular bar stool for the end of  her shift.

As Bashir took his seat, he overheard the tail end of Quark's
orientation for his newest Ferengi waiter. "Your first shift begins
tomorrow at 20 00 hours sharp, and every second you're late or not
serving the customers will come directly off your pay.   And don't
forget to order your uniform at Garak's tailoring shop tomorrow
morning. All my staff go there, so he'll be able to finish it before
your shift begins. And he's a Cardassian, so he   won't gouge you
unreasonably for the rush job."   Sending his new employee scurrying,
Quark turned his attention to  Bashir. "What can I get you, Doctor, or
are you just here to destroy more of my holosuites?"

Knowing it was pointless to protest, Julian ordered, "A single malt
scotch please, any age just as long as it's not synthehol."

Within a few moments, Quark served him his watered down alcohol, but
after a sip Julian decided it wasn't half bad. Watching as a
uniformed waiter hurried past, he asked, "Quark, do you actually make
your staff purchase their own uniforms?"

Quark looked scandalized, "No self-respecting Ferengi businessman
would provide employee uniforms for free."

"No, of course not," Julian smirked in tolerant amusement at this
latest proclamation of Ferengi commerce practices. Turning to  watch
Leeta, he recalled the long litany of complaints she often  regaled
him with regarding her employer. Considering the number of
non-Ferengi Quark hired, Bashir mused, it was astonishing he hadn't
experienced a revolt yet.

"You know, Doctor, if Starfleet was smart they would make their
personnel provide their own uniforms as well." Once he had secured
Julian's attention, Quark leaned in, warming up to the idea. "In fact,
I know a very reputable Ferengi supplier who would provide excellent
quality for a very reasonable price."

"You mean someone who wouldn't gouge us too unreasonably?" Julian
teased.

"Exactly," Quark responded seriously. "Tell you what, I'll get you the
information, and you can bring it to Captain Sisko. I would give it to
him myself, but he never comes in here."

"Not since you printed those 'the Emissary drinks at Quark's'
coasters."

"An unfortunate misunderstanding," the Ferengi demurred, before
launching into a detailed analysis of the mutual benefits of  his
latest scheme. Julian was only pretending to listen, when a
contradiction suddenly occurred to him. "Quark, why do you have all
your staff go to Garak instead of this Ferengi supplier of yours?"

Quark's eyes lit up, the avaricious gleam indicating he had spotted
yet another unexpected source of latinum. "How much would it be worth
for you to know?"

"I'm sure not very much." Bashir replied in an effort to discourage
Quark's greed, for it had only been an idle question.

"Oh, but the reason why has to do with something Mr. Garak did,
something I'm sure he never told you about. Should be worth at least
five slips of latinum."

Damn, Julian thought, wavering for a moment, but Quark knew his
clientele's weaknesses. "Two slips, and that's final. And only if it's
something I don't already know."

"Trust me, Doctor, now just authorize the payment here," holding out
the padd for the human's thumb print. Quark smiled  approvingly as
Bashir acquiesced, even though he knew paying in  advance meant he
would never see the latinum again even if the  Ferengi's information
proved uninteresting. As it turned out, Julian needn't have worried.

"Thank you, Doctor," Quark sequestered the padd away and leaned
forward conspiratorially. "Now, do you remember when Professor Natima
Lang and her two students came to the station?"

---
Let He Who Is Without Sin ...
---

"Doctor, your shift ended forty-five minutes ago."

"Hmm?" His mind still focussed on his conference paper, Julian briefly
glanced up at his head nurse.

"You do remember you are on half-shifts this week?" Jabara prompted,
not moving from his office doorway.

"Yes, of course," he acknowledged, absently.  Julian had been staring
at his presentation for the upcoming medical conference for  the
better part of an hour. He was beginning to suspect that deleting  the
entire document might be a better strategy for improving it.

"It should be a quiet afternoon," the Bajoran persisted, "and we can
always comm you if there is an emergency."

Julian frowned. This was the third time Jabara had reminded him that
his shift was over, even though it wasn't unusual for him to stay in
the Infirmary while he was on call. Turning his complete attention
towards his head nurse, this time Julian noticed her expression, one
that he'd seen on a number of faces today. "Oh, I see," he said,
finally catching on. "I'll be out of your hair in a couple of
minutes."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jabara smiled approvingly. "Have a good lunch."

Julian managed a strained smile in response, but she had already
left, her mission accomplished. With a sigh, Bashir glared one last
time at his presentation before saving it to a padd, and took  it with
him as he left his office. He pretended not to notice the  relief on
human and Bajoran faces alike as he headed for the exit.  Considering
his mood since returning from Risa, Julian acknowledged  morosely, it
wasn't surprising that the entire Infirmary needed a  break from his
constant moping.

Once on the Promenade, he decided to check Quark's first just in case
Miles was having a late lunch. As Bashir scanned the interior  from
the lower entrance, he barely registering the presence of Ziyal  until
his eyes reached her luncheon companion. Frozen in shock,  Julian
clutched his padd as if it were a weapon, realizing that this  was the
first time he'd seen Garak since the Cardassian had tried to kill him.

He immediately felt embarrassed for this melodramatic reaction,
reminding himself that Garak had been aiming those quantum torpedoes
at the Founders, not him personally.  Even so, Julian reflected, it
was impossible to ignore how ruthlessly the Cardassian had nearly
killed them all.

"I see you've noticed the return of our resident tailor and
saboteur." Odo observed wryly, joining Bashir at the bar's entrance.

For a heartbeat, Julian feared that the Cardassian had escaped before
logic subdued his overactive imagination. A fugitive Garak wouldn't be
calmly eating with Ziyal, nor would Odo be watching him with such
passivity if not equanimity. His eyes not straying from  Garak, Julian
asked, "Isn't he back early?"

"Time off for good behaviour." The Constable's tone of voice made it
abundantly clear what he thought of that Federation  practice.

"Of course," Bashir murmured, more to himself than to Odo, and he
barely noticed as the Changeling left his side to harass  Quark. Not
allowing himself to analyse the urge, Julian also entered  the bar,
selecting a seat not too close to the lunching couple yet  near enough
to keep them in view.

A Ferengi waiter almost instantaneously appeared at his elbow, but
Julian was distracted by an enthusiastic cry of Dabo from across the
room. Automatically ordering a drink, he now remembered why he'd been
avoiding Quark's. He still couldn't bring himself to appreciate the
irony that the Rite of Separation had been his idea,  as had tagging
along with Worf and Jadzia to Risa. The Bajoran  ceremony set in an
idyllic environment was supposed to make their  break-up as smooth as
possible. Instead, in the wake of Leeta's  shocking confession of her
attraction to Rom and Quark's unwanted  solicitude afterwards, he'd
been left hurt and humiliated.

Still, Julian did not move from his seat, for he couldn't avoid Leeta
forever. Moreover, in spite of everything, he still genuinely  cared
about her, and knew that he couldn't blame her for the demise of their
relationship. During their last fight, Leeta had accused him  of
deliberatly avoiding her whenever their relationship became too
serious by spending all of his off-time with Miles or his favourite
holo-characters. Having no valid defence, he had acceded to the
inevitable, having been in this position too many times before not to
recognize the end.

His drink arrived, and Julian was relieved that he'd ordered
Tarkalean tea and not something alcoholic. Bad enough that he was
alone again, he thought, there was no need to encourage his current
self-pitying mood.

As Julian poked disinterestedly at the padd before him, he tried to
convince himself that the sight of Garak and Ziyal together didn't
make him even more miserable. Watching the young girl laugh at
something Garak had just said, he felt a stab of anger at  their
obvious happiness in each other's company.

Suddenly ashamed of himself, Bashir looked away, reminding himself
that it was ridiculous to feel jealous of her. Besides, Julian mused,
considering how discreet he and Garak had been, he had no way of
knowing if Ziyal and Garak were only friends or going after each
other like voles in heat.

Grimacing at the latter, unwelcome image, Julian calmed himself by
sipping his tea. Thank goodness none of the senior staff had ever
suspected him of having an affair with Garak, he reflected. At the
very least, Sisko would have curbed his security access, and Miles
certainly would never have warmed up enough to become his friend. Odo
probably would have arrested one or both of them, and Kira, Julian
involuntarily shuddered, Kira would have slapped him silly.

How could he have been so naive as to take such risks, Julian
wondered, thankful that he now restricted his more dangerous impulses
to the holosuite. But it had been exciting, he acknowledged, and for
the most part not that difficult to hide their involvement. Garak had
fortunately agreed to the wisdom of one human maxim, that discretion
was the better part of valour.

The only time Julian had been tempted to throw caution to the wind
was when an old Cardassian security program had tried to suppress a
non-existent Bajoran rebellion and nearly destroyed DS9. He hadn't
wanted to remain on the other side of Ops from Garak during their last
ditch effort to save the station, and if it hadn't been for the
presence of Dukat he might not have. Fortunately, in the elation of
their success and Dukat fleeing   Kira's ire, Garak had been able to
sidle up to him unobserved,    and whisper an invitation before
retreating from Ops.

---

After healing Miles' burns and supervising the care of the minor
injuries sustained by the crew, Julian had practically run to Garak's
quarters. The moment he was through the door, their clothes were
strewn everywhere, and they didn't make it any further than the couch.
Unable to keep their hands off each other or  slow down enough for
anything as complex as penetration, they had  kissed, bit, and rubbed
each other into a frenzy. It had been  animalistic, brutal, and bloody
fantastic.

Julian remembered afterwards lying alone on the couch, for he'd
refused to give in to the tailor's fastidiousness as it would require
moving. He closed his eyes, letting the memory encompass him  and once
again he was listening to Garak washing himself in the  refresher, and
vaguely wondering what lay behind the Cardassian's  near
compulsiveness regarding cleanliness. Not that he was  complaining,
Bashir mused as he stretched his back cautiously. The  first time he
had showered with Garak had been nothing short of a  revelation.

Wrapped in a lush, velvet robe, Garak returned and knelt beside the
couch. "Still alive?"

"Barely. You didn't happen to see my legs lying about, I think they
fell off."

"I'll see if I can locate them for you." The Cardassian chuckled, and
began to clean him with a warm, damp cloth.

"Oh, that feels wonderful," Julian groaned, closing his eyes as Garak
rubbed him down with the wash cloth.

Soon the cloth was replaced by a skilful hand, lightly stroking his
naked skin. "So beautiful," the Cardassian murmured.

Bashir snorted, then yelped when Garak pinched a nipple in
retaliation. Opening his eyes, Julian complained, "What was that
for?"

"Your inappropriate response to my observation." The affronted
expression on his lover's face was so funny, Julian started to laugh,
only to completely lose control when the Cardassian  added in mock
offense, "My dear Doctor, you're not insinuating that I am a liar?"

When he caught his breath, Julian teased, "Didn't you once tell me
that truth was in the eye of the beholder?"

"Yes," the Cardassian smiled, "but as I have the higher developed
sense of aesthetics, you should defer to my opinion in this matter."
Tilting his head as if puzzling something out, he  chided, "Beauty is
nothing to be ashamed of, my dear."

"Should I be proud of something I'm not responsible for?" Julian
responded, suddenly serious. He turned his head away,  recalling the
fuss he'd caused when his classmates at Starfleet  Medical voted him
the sexiest intern and he'd refused to accept the accolade. As far as
he was concerned, the geneticists on Adigeon  Prime could walk away
with such honours.

"Julian, I find it very disturbing that someone with such brazen
overconfidence in his abilities, is so insecure about his appearance.
Or is this somehow related to the human virtue of modesty, pretending
to be ashamed of your outer beauty?"

"It's not insecurity or –." Julian abruptly sat up, meeting his
lover's eyes. "Look Garak, just drop it. You're never going to make me
agree that I'm beautiful."

Garak's fingers stilled, his eyes gaining an intensity that caused
Julian to shudder. "Is that a challenge, Doctor?"


Julian stepped back from the memory of the sudden surge of arousal,
almost painful in its intensity. God, to this day he was so ashamed.
Not for the fantasy of Garak forcing him to make a confession, he
knew from his basic psych training that there was nothing inherently
wrong with sexual games of domination and submission. Hell, Julian
reflected, fiddling with his tea mug, his British ancestors had
practically perfected such play. No, he was ashamed because that
night he had forgotten that he was living out his fantasy of torture
with someone for whom it had not always been a game.

This was the point where Julian always stopped remembering, never
revisiting the remainder of that evening. For it would be far closer
to reliving the event than what most people meant when they used that
phrase, as his enhanced recall could make the past become the present
again. And why would he want to return to that place in time, Julian
reflected, when his mistake of ever becoming Garak's lover had been
compounded by the disgrace of forgetting who and what the  Cardassian
was?

Glancing over at Elim chatting amiably with Ziyal, he decided that
for once he wanted to remember the rest.  Not allowing himself to
question this sudden desire to punish himself, Bashir closed his eyes
and took a deep breath. "You're never going to make me agree that I'm
beautiful," Julian whispered to himself, triggering his enhanced
memory.

Garak's fingers stilled, icy blue eyes piercing Bashir's with such
intensity that he couldn't prevent himself from shuddering. "Is that a
challenge, Doctor?"

His sudden arousal was overwhelming, and he was hardening again, so
rapidly that it was almost painful. "Yes," he managed, somewhere
between a hiss and a moan, "if you think you are up to the task,
*tailor*." Deliberately using the same title Dukat had used so
insultingly. Garak, with a flicker of a smile, rose to his  feet and
told him sternly, "Remain here."

"And if I don't?" Unable to resist the mischievous impulse to
challenge his lover's authority.

Garak reached towards him and he flinched instinctively, but the
Cardassian didn't strike him. Instead, he lifted Julian's chin up and
leaned down, bestowing a brief kiss. "I'll stop," Garak murmured,
giving the skin of Bashir's jaw a sharp pinch before releasing his
hold, and retreating into the  bedroom. Julian's breathing became so
loud he could not hear what was being prepared for him, but despite
his overwhelming curiosity,  he did not move. Garak's threat had been
too perfect.

When his lover reentered the room dressed in a plain, dark outfit, it
made Julian feel vulnerable in his own nudity, and even more  excited.
"Stand up," the Cardassian ordered briskly, and without thinking
Bashir obeyed. When Garak blindfolded him, he  thought his
self-control was going to completely disintegrate. "You know what you
have to confess to make this stop?" Garak whispered, and Julian
nodded, reassured that they both understood  this was only a game.

With a suddenness that disoriented him, Julian was spun around and
hauled backwards, barely keeping on his feet. That slight bit of
control was lost as he was launched onto the unforgiving surface  of
the Cardassian's bed. Bashir didn't even have a chance to try to get
up before he felt the bite of restraints at his ankles.  Then his
upper body was pinned down by his lover, and Julian could  not hold
back a moan as his wrists were shackled.

Just as abruptly, the weight on him was gone, and Julian lay
abandoned, straining against his bonds and the sudden silence. The
knowledge that he was being watched while blind and helpless
amplified his arousal until he felt that he would explode from the
tension alone. "Garak, please," Julian groaned, unable to remain
quiet.

The first touch, a sharp fingernail scraping along his left inner
thigh, caused his whole body to convulse. This overreaction earned a
soft chuckle from the Cardassian, "Ready to confess so soon, my
dear?"

"No – ahhh!" Something struck him, landing exactly where Garak had
scratched him. Julian was still trying to figure out what  had hit
him, when another sharp blow to the opposite thigh stopped  all
analysis.

"I trust I have your complete attention now?"     "Yes," a whisper,
not daring any louder for fear of what he would sound like.

Something smooth but unyielding slid up his left thigh,  threatening.
"Yes – what?"

"Yes sir," he tried to sound defiant, but his voice betrayed his need.

"Better," the unknown weapon slid all the way up to his hip,
bypassing his erection, and Julian wasn't sure if he was relieved or
disappointed as it traced along his rib cage. "I was going to take it
easy on you," the amusement in Garak's tones felt so much more
threatening than Dukat's sharp reprimands. "Warm you up first."

Now the stiff edge of the implement was teasing each of his nipples in
turn, making it very difficult for Bashir to focus on  the
Cardassian's words. "But I can see you've already started without me."
Without warning, his left nipple exploded, and just beyond his cry of
pain Julian could hear his lover    chastise,"naughty, naughty."

Despite Julian's perfect recall, each torment began to merge into the
next, a blending of sharp pain and Garak's voice, of unbearable heat
and ever increasing need. One instant caressed and  the next punished,
until it was all the same, for his torturer never  went near the one
part of him so desperately in need of attention.  This was what
finally broke him. Not the commanding but amused voice,  nor the
throbbing welts that he didn't bother using a dermal  regenerator on
the next day, but the ecstasy of climax so  tantalizingly close and
yet so ruthlessly denied.

Struggling as much as his restraints permitted, Julian was reduced to
begging Garak to take him into his mouth, to touch his erection, to
do anything, before finally admitting, "You were right."

"Of course, I was." Fingernails raked the tender skin of Bashir's
inner thighs for emphasis, eliciting a sharp cry. "I hardly need you
to tell me that."

"Oh, please," Julian held out for a second longer, and then it burst
out of him in a rush. "You were right, I'm beautiful, just please,
please Elim, let me come – oh God."

A hum of pleasure emanated from the Cardassian that Julian swore he
could feel reverberate right through him. He expected to be
immediately released, in more ways than one, but instead, Garak bent
his head over his ear, almost but not quite touching him. "Now, my
very dear Doctor, should I reward you for finally admitting I was
right," a deliberate, agonizing pause, "or punish you for making me
wait so long?"

A shudder and a strangled sob was Julian's inarticulate  response.
"Now that is hardly an answer," Garak mocked, as he rose from the bed.
"Perhaps, I should leave you here to think it over for a while, unable
to move, unable to touch yourself."

"Punish me." Julian pleaded, shame and excitement fighting for
dominance in his voice.

Immediately, the Cardassian's body was pressed against his, the heat
of it making Julian delirious. "Oh, my love," Garak promised,"I'm
going to do both."

"Are you sure you don't want something else, Doctor?"

---

Julian started, and the gaudy interior of Quark's bar came back into
focus. He mumbled a request for the daily special at the  hovering
Ferengi waiter to avoid the hard sell patter inflicted on  loiterers.
He certainly had no intention of getting up to leave, not  until the
effects of his recent trip down memory lane had faded  somewhat.

It had been without a doubt, Julian reflected, the most intense
orgasm he had ever experienced. He still could barely remember being
released from his bonds before slipping into unconsciousness, and the
next morning had passed in a daze. It wasn't until long after he had
left the Cardassian's quarters that Bashir realized Garak had
actually used the word love for the first time.

Then three days later, Julian had received a message from an unknown
Cardassian source, although the moment he opened it he knew who had
manipulated his curiosity for his own ends. His horror grew as he
realized what he was reading and who had written it, but was unable
to turn away, not even from the pictures of six year old Zalan
Premak's mutilated hand.

Julian had not made it to the closest refresher, nor to the disposal
unit in the lab just outside his door. Instead, he had vomited
helplessly into the closest recycling bin in his office. Jabara had
immediately summoned Dr. Girani, but thankfully had not insisted on
him staying to be examined, accepting his explanation of a bad meal
at Quark's.

Somehow Julian managed to close down the incriminating files before
lurching to his quarters, where he wore off at least two layers of
skin in the sonic shower. Afterwards, Bashir had gone to Garak's shop
to confront the erstwhile tailor with what he had just learned,  all
the while berating himself for being so hopelessly naive.

Julian watched Ziyal smiling at Garak and realized that everything he
had told himself then and every day since had all been a lie. He
hadn't been a gullible child suffering from the blindness of a first
crush, nor had he fooled himself into believing that Garak had
reformed. The interrogation report and pictures sent by Tain had not
told him anything new; Julian had known what Garak was when he had
allowed the Cardassian to seduce him.

He had known before Garak had nearly destroyed them all in order to
eradicate the Founders, before he had tried to end the holosuite
program jeopardizing the senior staff's lives, and even before the
Cardassian had tortured Odo. After all, the Changeling had made it
very clear to him what the Obsidian Order was, and for all the lies,
Garak had done nothing during his breakdown but try to shock him with
what he had been.

No, Julian thought, he hadn't been a naive fool, the truth was so
much uglier than that. This was why he always shied away from the
memory of their last time together. That night he had submitted
himself so thoroughly to his lover, because earlier, as the station's
security program went mad, Garak had not been a tailor  anymore. The
truth was that Dr. Julian Bashir had always been  attracted to the
unreformed Garak, the Obsidian Order agent.

Hardly surprising, Julian reflected bitterly, considering all of the
spy novels and holo-programs he'd devoured as a teen. The excitement
and danger, the total immersion into a secret identity, a  life that
mirrored his own but coated with protective layers of  fantasy and
escapism. Then so soon after arriving on the frontier of  space, a
real life spy had sat down across from him and he had been  lost.

No wonder, Julian thought, that he had begged Garak to punish him
that night, for he deep down he had known he deserved it. For he
hadn't fallen in love with all that was good in the Cardassian, not in
the intelligent, literate, and surprisingly gentle side of  Elim.  Not
the man who was capable of letting Dr. Lang and her  students escape,
or showing compassion for Cardassian war orphans.  No, he had been
attracted to and loved the dangerous, ruthless spy of  his
imagination. Their relationship had simply been a game to him,  Julian
lambasted himself, and it had taken the pictures of Zalan  Premak to
wake him up to his own guilt.

Looking down, he realized that his food had long since arrived and
gone cold.  He really should return to his quarters, Julian thought,
he was on half-shifts right now in order to prepare for the
conference on Meezan Four.  Maybe he needed to get away from DS9 for
a while, he thought, focus on his medical work, the work that was
supposed to make up for all the advantages he had been given and
didn't deserve. The one part of his life where he didn't feel like a
fraud. At the very least, sitting here beating himself up  wasn't
getting the medical paper done, and the deadline was looming.

Startled out of these musings by a gentle pressure on his shoulder,
Julian realized that Garak was practically standing over him, a
concerned expression on his face. "Are you alright, Doctor?"

"Of course."

Blue eyes acknowledged the lie in that automatic response, but
thankfully let it pass. "Ziyal and I were wondering if you would care
to join us." He released his hold on the Doctor to indicate the young
girl at the nearby table, and Bashir found himself  regretting the
loss of physical contact and feeling foolish for that  regret.

"Yes, I'd like that," he answered quickly, although it wasn't entirely
true.  But he kept his eyes averted from Garak's as he picked up his
padd and followed him to where Ziyal  waited, concern obvious in her
expression as she welcomed him to  their table. Just how bloody bad
did he look, Julian wondered, as he  thanked her for the invitation,
grateful that at least her eyes did  not pierce his. "It was kind of
you to ask me to join you."

"We couldn't help but notice that for someone recently returned from a
vacation, you don't appear very relaxed." The tailor commented
diplomatically.

"What? No, I've just been busy since I got back." He kept his
attention on the friendly, open face of Ziyal, avoiding Garak's more
discerning gaze. "But I'm alright, really."

Of course he was alright, Julian mused bitterly. The longest
relationship he had ever managed to keep going had ended, and Leeta
had made it very clear on Risa that she had already moved on. Worse
still, Julian thought, watching Garak chatting with Ziyal about some
upcoming conference on Bajor, he was still in love with someone else
for all the wrong reasons. Someone who had also, very clearly, moved
on.

Why wouldn't he be alright? *Amor vincit omnia.*

---

The End