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

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Codes: G/B or G & B depending on one's perspective, while B/Leeta is
implied unless there was some other Bajoran dabo girl trollop he was
dating. What?

Rating: PG-13 because of naughty licking and implied drug use. My
apologies if this description raises false hopes regarding the content
of this story.

Warning: Not only is this my first attempt at writing from the first
person P.O.V., it's all stream of unconscious-y with no plot to speak
of. Damn, I knew that second piece of black forest cake was a mistake,
but I had no idea that this is where it would lead.

Spoilers: Everything from season one to seven, especially the lies.

Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Garak, Bashir, DS9, Carl Jung, or
chocolate, none of these things will ever bring money into my pocket.
Quite the opposite in fact.

Author's Notes: Inspired by Stephen Brust's bizarre epilogue to his
excellent book  "Sethra Lavode."

Dedication: To Paarfi of Roundwood, House of Hawk, with profound
apologies for the shortness of the piece. Alas, unlike Dumas or
Dickens, I am not paid by the word.

Thanks to: Adrienne for saying kind things about the first draft, and
Victoria Meredith for the Bajoran erogenous zone mentioned in her
mind-blowing story "Admiring Fools." Okay, again I'm making it sound
like this vignette has way more fun stuff than it actually does.

Feedback: Other than suggestions that I'm doing drugs stronger than
chocolate and anti-depressants, feedback is welcome. I can be reached
attempting to combine both medications to more creative effect at
elizabeth loves her thesaurus @ hotmail.com (no spaces) or on the
list.

Archiving: ASCEM-L and BLTS may handle with care, the rest can arrange
for shipping with me.

Quote that's appropriate for a story written from Elim Garak's
perspective:

"Most writers regard truth as their most valuable possession, and
therefore are most economical in its use." Mark Twain

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I first met Bashir when he was only weeks into his first posting,
hopelessly young for his years, and naive for his rank.

Sitting in the Replimat, isolated and beautiful, he was begging to be
used.

I didn't need to be asked twice.

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I first met Doctor Bashir when I could no longer hide behind the mask
of addiction. The pain of what and where I was had become too raw to
remain silent.

I insulted, threatened, and when all pride was gone, begged him, but
he was resolute. He healed what was left of me, and forgave more than
he should have.

I am too much of a survivor to regret this.

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I first met Julian Bashir in a dark corner of Quark's, as he tasted
every micron of exposed skin belonging to a Bajoran dabo girl. As I
watched him lick the curve of her neck, underneath her chin, and the
ridges of her nose, she squirmed and giggled in his arms.

At first, I was disgusted. He far outmatched her in intelligence and
abilities; yet he deigned to play with her. However, as I continued to
observe, I noticed how he never allowed her to move out of his grasp
or respond in kind to his ministrations.

This was how, long before I broke into his holosuite program, I
discovered that he enjoyed games of power.

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I first met Julian trapped on an asteroid, with no light to see by and
no air left to breathe. I was too irrational to understand what he
said, but I allowed him to lead me out of the darkness into our shared
barracks.

At first, I did not thank him. Inside the wall was suffocation and
terror, but outside of it was the scorn of Klingons and the despair of
failure. Paralysed by shame, it took hours before I understood that he
didn't despise me for my weakness, and that gave me the strength to
face my fears.

To this day, we disagree regarding who saved the other from that
Dominion prison.

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I first met Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir when he was counting the
dead, as if numbers could encompass the reality of what Cardassia had
lost, what I had lost. He tried to assure me that both would survive,
and these well meant condolences made me want to laugh and to throttle
him.

I could see that he really didn't understand what I said in response,
yet at that moment I realized why he had always been such a good
friend. Not once had he ever given up trying to see through my eyes,
not to believe me, but to understand.

I hope to meet him again one day, so I can return the favour.

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The  End