The BLTS Archive - The Snow Doll
by jemisard (jemisard@internode.on.net)

---

Though it could have been worse, Bashir wasn't entirely sure
how that could have been achieved.

He slammed his hand onto the panel by the door, watching it
open and snow drift in. He hurried inside and shut it,
trying to ignore the grumbled protest from the cockpit.

"I can't get a signal from outside either." He shook off the
coat and hung it up. "I think we're just going to have to
tough it out." He stepped into the cockpit of the shuttle,
ducking under the panel that his companion had pulled down
to try and boost the communicator array. "How's the power
holding?"

"We'll be fine, providing that we get found inside of the
next week." The Cardassian slowly tapped at the control
panel. "We can hold out longer by using snow for water,
cutting all unnecessary power usage, such as lights and
unused control panels, and keeping the door closed at all
times. And we will have to live without decent bathing
facilities; the emergency sonic wash is the best we have."

Bashir sighed and slumped into the chair. "I'm so sorry,
Garak."

He didn't even get a sideways glance. "What for? For not
being able to work out how to stabilise the engines before
we were caught by the orbital gravity? Hardly your fault, it
was less than thirty seconds."

"No, just... I mean, this can hardly be much worse for you,
can it?" He tapped his finger on the control panel. "We're
trapped on a small shuttle, on an ice bound planet, with a
week of energy. You're not even meant to be here, you're a
civilian."

"I'll survive." Garak stretched and looked at the
thermostat. "Though I will agree, it is hardly pleasant to
be caught in such an environment, but it is just as hostile
to you as me." He raised his hand. "And I know, as much as I
would like the heat up, it simply isn't economical."

Bashir smiled apologetically. "There's a couple of coats in
the entrance, if you'd like."

"Doctor," Garak turned back to whatever he was doing,
tinkering with the control panels, "the entire station is
kept at temperatures no more comfortable than this. I do not
need any assistance."

"Not yet." Bashir murmured. "But the coat will give you
insulation and stop you from losing any further body heat."

"Stop fretting, Doctor." The Cardassian calmly slid a piece
of metal under the panelling and levered it up far enough to
get his fingers under it.

"It's in my nature to fret, particularly when my friend's
life is in danger if he doesn't stop being stubborn." Bashir
leant over and held the panel long enough for his friend to
get a good grip. "I'm not being unreasonable, Garak. Please,
just wear the coat."

"Not until we've finished here." Garak stood and Bashir
watched his arms strain for a moment as he prised the
battered panel off. He tossed it aside and plucked at a few
burnt out wires. "Provided you're hiding a few metres of
gold plate wire and a degree in engineering under that awful
jacket, we'll be fine."

"The wire we can replicate..." Bashir mused. "And there's
bound to be some kind of manual around here somewhere."

He started opening compartments while Garak rolled his eyes.
"Please, Doctor, don't be absurd. This is not a civilian
craft that comes with an instruction manual. We were meant
to have an engineer or Starfleet qualified pilot aboard."

"Yes, well, we didn't." Bashir folded his arms and sat back
down. "No one was available on short notice."

"And it's for the best they weren't or we would have even
bigger energy problems than we're going to." Pale eyes
flicked to an overhead display. "Unless you'd like to climb
out again and see if you can repair the engine."

"I would have thought you were more qualified to do that
than me," Bashir shivered, thinking about the cold out
there. "I'm a doctor, not an engineer."

"I am fully aware of that," Garak said quietly. "I was
attempting to tease you to alleviate your stress. It is a
traditional thing to do in these circumstances, isn't it?"

Bashir sighed and reached out to pat Garak's arm. "Thanks
for the sentiment. I'm just frustrated that I can't do
anything. I'm not used to feeling helpless."

"We're both helpless right now." He sat down and looked at
the panels. "The best I can suggest is that we disable all
unnecessary panels. Anything we don't need or that has been
damaged beyond use." He looked about, gaze calculating. "We
don't need piloting functions, thought we may well need
weaponry and shields."

"Weapons?" Bashir blinked.

"At the very least, a possible signal to where we are or
useful for removing snow if a blizzard hits us. But there
may be life out there. Hungry life." He gave Bashir a dark
look.

"Oh. Of course." He rubbed his head. "I think the crash
might have addled me a bit. Not having the benefit of an
armour plated skull would do that."

The dark look disappeared instantly. "Are you sure you are
unharmed?" A warm hand pressed the tender spot on his head.
"You had better not be, what is the term... Playing the
hero. Heroes too often wind up dead, and then who would I
have lunch with?"

Bashir smiled slightly. "It's just a bruise, I'll be fine."
He looked up. "I don't want to waste our supplies on a
bruise when we could face worse later on."

"If you are certain..." Garak turned back to the panels,
tapping his fingers as he muttered to himself, deciding
which he was going to cut and which would get to stay
online.

Bashir watched for a while, feeling a bit useless. He knew a
bit about engineering; you didn't hang around with Miles
O'Brien and not pick things up; but he simply didn't have
the background knowledge on crash survival to be helpful to
Garak right now.

He knew how to treat fatal injuries, use primitive sutures
to close wounds and manually resurrect someone, but he had
no idea if pulling that wire was going to cut power or get
him electrocuted, despite the few courses he had taken back
at the academy.

"Doctor, seal the cockpit. I'm going to cut the heat to the
back rooms until we're finished in here." He wished the
Cardassian would at least look at him when he was talking to
him.

"That means we won't have access to the replicator or the
rifles." Or the exit, should something dire happen. "What
about sealing off just the bunk area?"

"I won't be needing the replicator. Not unless we plan on
rigging up the controls to the bunk..." He sat up and looked
thoughtful. "That's a better idea."

"What is?' Bashir wasn't sure he followed right now.

"We cut the power here and rig the systems to the bunk area.
Seal off the cockpit and cut all life support in here. We go
to the back areas; we're going to need those areas anyway,
all the living facilities are back there." He looked at
Bashir. "Go and remove the emergency panels back there. I'm
going to shut down the cockpit."

"What if there's an emergency?" It was a good idea but it
was risky. "What if we need to move the craft?"

"We can't." Garak shrugged. "We couldn't get more than a few
metres anyway, so we're not sacrificing anything useful. We
have the transporter and probably enough energy to beam out
some distance if the worst reaches the worst."

Bashir thought about it. The cockpit was pretty badly
damaged, and there weren't any controls they needed that
couldn't be handled from the living area. "All right. In
that case, you're wearing the coat."

He left the cockpit, but still heard the mumbled, "We're
stranded on an ice cube with a crashed shuttle and he's
still worrying about the bloody jacket."

He had to laugh.

---

It only took half an hour to double check all the controls
in the bunk area and disconnect the cockpit. It was far
cooler back here; the cockpit had been sealed in and warmed
up at the expense of the rest of the shuttle earlier; and
they really couldn't spare the energy to increase the heat
rapidly, just try to keep it stable in here.

Bashir got them both a hot meal and drink from the main
area. Garak was staunchly refusing to leave the bunks, his
knees drawn to his chest. At least he'd conceded to the coat
before he had been forced to abandon the warmth of the
cockpit.

Closing the door, Bashir gave him one of the plates and a
warm mug. "It's all pretty simple; I didn't want to waste
mass and energy on anything lavish."

"I'm sure it's more than adequate, doctor." Garak took the
plate, set it aside and wrapped his hands around the mug
with a small sigh. "It is a luxury we did not have when I
was on Potak Nar."

"I don't know that planet." Bashir said.

"It's not a planet." Garak said into his mug. His eyes were
closed, soaking up the steam. "It was an orbital station in
the middle of nowhere, observing stellar motion."

"Oh." He really wasn't sure what to make of it. It might
have been real. Garak had an annoying habit of putting
enough truth in his lies to fool the poor doctor.
Irregardless, it would be a good story, knowing his friend.
"What happened there?"

"We were observing a comet but the fool of a navigation
officer miscalculated the path and we were caught in the
tail. The gravity of a nearby star pulled it off course."

"I thought it was in the middle of nowhere." Bashir
countered.

"It was. Nowhere has stars as well. Look at Deep Space
Nine." He smirked slightly. "As I was saying, we were caught
in the comet's tail. We lost everything except emergency
life support and gravity. Everyone was trapped in the rooms
they had been in, though there were few of us there."

He shifted closer. "What happened?"

"We were forced to survive on what we could scrounge. Both
engineers had been killed and the engineer's assistant was
crippled. We made do until we were finally rescued. Someone
had been trying to contact us; and upon getting no reply, a
team was sent to investigate." Garak smiled slightly and set
aside the mug, picking up his plate instead. "What do you
call this?"

"Um, beef and potato stew." Bashir felt a bit sheepish. "It
always made me feel warmer when it was snowing. It has some
spice in it, traditionally it should be cumin but I used a
replacement with a bit more kick."

Garak nodded and slowly started to eat, absorbed in the
meal. Bashir watched him for a moment before turning to his
own meal.

They ate in silence for a while.

"Why were you there?"

The Cardassian looked up. "Hm?"

"Why were you on that station?" Bashir tilted his head a
little.

"I was working there. I was the information officer." He
smiled slightly and went back to eating.

"How old were you?" Bashir persisted.

"Not far from your age." Garak stated. "It was early in my
career."

"I see." Bashir said.

He didn't ask any further. He wouldn't get anything else on
that story.

---

It had been two hours since they had sealed themselves in
the bunk area. Bashir had taken their plates and mugs out
when he went to get a bowl from the replicator and piled it
with fresh snow from outside. The scans said the snow was
made of basic H2O, and would melt into perfectly safe
drinking water. He left the bowl; it was more a pot or
cauldron really; in the facilities to melt.

Since then, he had been sorting what little information they
had gotten from their mission, surreptitiously watching as
the Cardassian buried himself deeper into his coat.

It was starting to get cold. He didn't know a huge amount
about Cardassian physiology, but he knew a few things. They
were reptilian, only partially able to warm their own
bodies. They could cope with the cold better than most
reptiles, but eventually; given prolonged exposure; they
would fall the way of their less evolved cousins and grow
sluggish and slow.

He also knew that if he could get Garak to do some more
exercise he would probably warm up a bit more. It was just
how to get around the problem of making an irritable
Cardassian exercise when all he'd want to do is sleep.

"Stop plotting, doctor. It doesn't suit you."

He looked up. "What?"

"Stop plotting. You're up to something; I can see it on your
face. And since I am the only other person here, I assume
you are plotting something around me. Stop it."

Definitely irritable. Bashir moved to sit next to his
companions, taking one cooling hand in his own. "You're
freezing."

"Not yet, but give me a few more hours and I might be." His
eyes were still sharp and clear under the hood of the
jacket. "However, I am not planning on letting it get that
bad."

"No, me either." Bashir continued to rub the hand he held,
noting the odd differences in their hands and the pale
colour starting to overtake the Cardassian's extremities.
"Get into the bed and curl up under the blankets. There's an
electrical rug in the emergency cupboard. It's very
efficient; we can run it for the same power outage of a
control panel."

"No."

He blinked. "No?"

"I'm fine. Cold, but healthy." Garak drew his hand away and
it disappeared into the folds of the jacket. "Are you quite
all right, doctor?"

"Yes. I'm used to the cold. Almost comfortable in it." He
smiled apologetically, as though this quirk were
unforgivable. "I just want to make sure you're not playing
the hero. Miles is dreadful for discussing literature with."

"Playing the hero isn't in the Cardassian nature, doctor."
Garak buried his face again, but not before Bashir caught
the slight smile.

"No, of course it isn't." Bashir agreed in good humour.
"You'd never suffer and not tell anyone, being the open,
communicative person you are."

"I'm very communicative, doctor. We talk all the time."

"And sometimes you nearly tell the truth." Bashir said
agreeably.

"Sometimes," Garak said agreeably.

---

Bashir must have fallen asleep on the chair, because when he
opened his eyes and checked his chronometer, another three
hours had passed him by.

He looked up and saw pale eyes watching him from the
darkness of the Cardassian's hood. He was trembling faintly,
eyes heavy lidded.

The cold had must have woken him up. He noted that he was
shivering as well.

"Garak?"

" 'm awake."

Did he just slur? Bashir got up and made his way over to his
friend, sitting next to him. "Garak? Are you all right?"

Rather than nodding, he just sort of leant forwards and back
again, hands buried under his arms.

Bashir gently touched Garak's cheek, hissing slightly.
"You're barely warmer than the air. Get under the blankets,
no arguing this time."

Together, they got the blankets untucked and out from under
the Cardassian's considerable weight before Bashir tucked
him under the blanket.

"I'm going to get the heated rug. Don't complain, once
you're warm we can argue about wasting the power."

He went into the other room and got the emergency blanket.
Garak didn't say a word, just half watched him as the thick
wool was shoved under the blankets and it was connected up
to the nearest terminal. Bashir set it at the highest
setting and sat up against Garak, rubbing his shoulders to
try and generate a bit of warmth.

If they could get the blankets and bedding warm, the
insulating nature of the materials would keep the heat in.
The problem was, Garak wasn't giving off enough heat to get
the material warm.

"Is it improving?"

Sleepy blue eyes peered at him and he could almost see the
question being ticked over. "Yes?"

He would have laughed if it weren't so serious. The
Cardassian was almost cute with that sleepy confused look on
his face. He reminded Bashir of a young snake he had once
seen in the zoo. It had been cooled down to make it docile
with the children.

Hesitating briefly, he lay down; on the blankets; and curled
up behind his friend. When he was feeling better, Garak
would undoubtedly be mortified at being helped by a Human,
even if it was Bashir.

It didn't matter right now. He needed to be woken up enough
to be mortified.

He leant over and saw that he was falling asleep. "Hey,
Garak. You can't sleep. Not until you warm up."

He shook his friend until he opened his eyes again, half
heartedly glaring back.

"You can't sleep. Your body temperature will drop if you go
to sleep, and until you and the blankets are warm enough,
going to sleep could kill you."

"So keep me awake," Garak said hoarsely. "Do something
entertaining."

"Hm, I was going to say I could talk about my medical
training, but that would probably put you to sleep." He
laughed slightly. "Tell me a story. You're the one who has
to stay awake. You should be active, not me."

"Story?" Once more, he watched those intense eyes fall half
shut with thought. "All right. I will tell you a story told
to me. A few years ago, there was a great ship, the pride of
her people. On this ship was many people, many great people,
but the story is about two lower ranked crew members."

"What did they do?" Bashir asked.

"I'm getting there." He was still speaking slowly, even for
him. "One of these people was a pretty young female officer
called Shel Baran. She was the ship's teacher, caring for
the young children who lived there with their families."

"Okay," Bashir leant closer to hear the soft voice. "Who was
the other one?"

"Be quiet, doctor, and let me tell you. The other was a
senior security officer. He was called..." Garak hummed
thoughtfully. "Olik Jurin. Yes, Officer Jurin."

Bashir noted that he was still trembling, but his voice was
a little surer.

"These two were very unlikely friends. Jurin was constantly
annoyed at the freedom that Shel gave her children, and Shel
could not understand why Jurin was so strict with the young
ones. Despite this, they were friends, and very good ones."

"Why was Jurin so strict with the children?"

"Ah, maybe you should ask why Shel was not stricter with the
children, rather than assume that Jurin was the one at
fault." Garak smirked, and Bashir felt much better at the
slightly teasing tone.

"All right. Why wasn't Shel stricter with the children?"

"Who can say?" Garak looked insufferably smug. "She simply
was, and it annoyed Jurin no end, but he never scolded Shel
for it, because it was something he found endearing about
her."

"Did Jurin love Shel?"

"Doctor, if you interrupt one more time I will refuse to
continue."

"I'm sorry." He lay back down, burying his face against the
Cardassian's back. "Go on."

"Yes, Jurin loved Shel. At first he was merely enchanted by
her looks, but he found everything about her enchanting,
even the things that annoyed him. Shel also loved Jurin,
despite his gruffness and sometimes curt manners."

Garak fell into a thoughtful silence. After a few moments
Bashir leant back and poked the hard muscles in front of
him.

"What is it, doctor?"

"Just checking that you're awake."

"I was remembering the story. Anyway, one day the ship came
under attack. This was not of much concern, but one of the
enemy's shots hit the lower decks where the children; and
Shel; were.

"Jurin went down there and found the children in their
classroom with Shel. She was trying to hold open the door
long enough for the children to escape, but she was not
strong enough.

"Jurin took the weight of the door from the injured woman.
The children crawled through, but another blast hit the
ship, and the door collapsed onto Jurin. He was fatally
injured, lying under the rubble, having pushed Shel outside
the debris."

Who ever knew that the Cardassian's had love stories? Bashir
always imagined their love stories would be arranged
marriages that best benefited the State and dying in the
name of Cardassia.

"Shel crawled to Jurin and sobbingly confessed her secret
love. He took her hand and told her that he could never have
loved as more than student."

Garak fell silent.

"Then what?" Bashir demanded.

"What do you mean, then what? That's it."

"He doesn't tell her with his dying breath that he loves
her? So that she knows her love was returned?"

"No." Garak rolled over to look Bashir in the eye. "What if
he had? She would have lived the rest of her life knowing
that if she had acted earlier, they could have had good
times together before he died. This way, he dies with the
love of his life, and she can move on, believing that there
was never hope in the relationship, and she has not lost her
life mate. She can love again, and not cling to the memory
of love that might have been."

"That is so bloody Cardassian!" Bashir exclaimed.

"Of course it is. It is a Cardassian tale. What else would
you expect? That it would be a Klingon story of heroics or a
Human story to love conquering all? We are far more
pragmatic than that, Bashir."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "I should have expected nothing
else from your people. Any race that considers the truth to
be a disgrace..."

Garak smirked. "There are so many things far more
interesting than the truth. Why settle for second best?"

They both smiled slightly until Bashir started chuckling. He
sobered after a few moments, but he was still glad to see
the spark of life back in Garak's eyes. "Do you feel
better?"

"Somewhat." Garak closed his eyes. "I feel well enough to
know I was overconfident before." He shifted a little deeper
into the blankets, looking at Bashir with suddenly sombre
eyes. "Are you warm enough, doctor?"

Honestly, no. He smiled and nodded. "I'm fine."

"Doctor... leave the obfuscation to those who are good at
it. Your lips have a distinctive; and not exactly
attractive; blue colour to them."

"I'll be okay. Let me worry about you for a while."

"You can't worry about me if you've dropped unconscious."

"I'm just going to move about for a while." Bashir got up
and started to bounce on the spot to prove his point. "Get
some sleep. I'm awake now; I can keep watch for anything
coming. You must be exhausted."

The silence was the Cardassian's way of conceding that
point. "Are you sure you're warm enough, doctor?"

"I'll be warm enough for a few hours while you grab some
sleep."

With obvious reluctance, Garak disappeared under the
blankets, his voice wafting out. "Wake me up if you need
sleep, doctor."

"I will, Garak." But he suspected the Cardassian was already
asleep.

---

Some time later, Bashir looked over and saw that Garak's
eyes were open and watching him with that same intense,
level stare.

He hadn't been awake when Bashir had looked half an hour
earlier, at least, he hadn't seemed to be.

"Better?" He asked quietly.

Garak nodded slightly, one hand emerging from the bundle of
blankets long enough to tug the hood around his face more
firmly. "Much better, doctor."

The Human smiled slightly and turned back to the padd he had
been reading. He had given up exercising; it was too tiring
and cramped right now.

"Doctor, are you quite all right?"

He nodded. "Yes, I'm fine." He forced another shudder still.
"Just a bit stiff from sitting."

Blue eyes fell shut for a few long moments, and Bashir
watched and Garak shifted under the blankets again,
assumedly trying to get comfortable.

"Garak?"

He looked up with a faintly questioning gaze.

"Are you sure you're all right now?"

"Yes, doctor. Quite pleasant, actually, I must see about
investing in one of these electrical blankets." He rolled
onto one side, pillowing his face on one large hand. "I was
thinking about other matters."

"Other matters?" Bashir came closer, kneeling by the bunk.
"You're sure you're not too cool?"

"No. In fact I'm warmer than I have been for several years,
barring one or two extenuating circumstances." The
Cardassian looked almost smug for a moment as he softly
rubbed his cheek against his hand. "I am more concerned
about the colouring of your skin."

"My skin? Um," Bashir touched his cheek, but his fingers
were feeling distinctly numb. "Why?"

"Because that shade of white and blue is not healthy for
Humans. In fact, you're starting to look a healthy shade for
a half Bolian. You're starting to match that ugly uniform."

"Garak, I said I was fine." He sighed and rubbed at his face
with cold fingers.

"I know what you said, but that makes it neither accurate
nor the truth." He sat up. "You need to warm yourself. I
cannot care for both of us in this temperature." It seemed
to almost pain him to admit even that weakness to Bashir.

Bashir knew he was being a bit stubborn, but he had to be
careful. Given half a chance the Cardassian would be up and
about and trying to repair the engine if it would save face
in front of his companion.

Bashir understood how that mind worked a little more than he
would like to admit.

"Nothing is going to happen to me." He assured the
Cardassian.

"No, it isn't," the other agreed with a smile.

It triggered warning bells in Bashir's mind, about three
seconds too late. A strong hand grabbed his wrist and yanked
hard, dragging him onto the bed. In a perfectly planned and
executed action, the blanket was up, Bashir was dragged in
and a hard arm came down over him, clamping off the cold
air.

Almost instantly, the painful clenching and the muscle
spasms slowed, easing off into the occasional tremor. The
warmth started leeching into his hands and wrists.

Garak swiftly undid the heavy coat and pulled it open, his
hands moved to rub at Bashir's upper arms and hands,
encouraging circulation again.

With slow realisation, it dawned on the Human how close to
hypothermia he might have actually been. Even his enhanced
body would only take so much, and it was entirely possible
that he hadn't felt anywhere near as bad as he actually was.

The feeling creeping back into his cheeks and nose was
almost painful. Moving them to wince hurt even more.

Soft hands cupped his face and stayed there. Warmth always
felt better when it come from a living creature and nothing
had felt as softly warming as the tailor's hands at that
moment.

That brought him up short. He was lying in a bunk, under the
blankets, with Garak.

He would have blushed if he could have spared blood, but his
body was too busy trying to keep itself warm to bother with
his embarrassment.

Gently, more gently than he would have thought possible, he
was pulled until his face was against the warmth of Garak's
chest. He had tugged open his jacket enough for Bashir to
bury his hands next to the heated body, eliciting a hiss
from his companion.

"Sorry. They're a bit a cold."

"I noticed." There was a distinctly amused tone behind his
voice as he said it. "But it would be a pity for a surgeon
to lose any use of his hands; so for the good of the station
it is my civil duty to save your hands from frost bite."

Bashir laughed and pushed a bit closer. He was far too cold
to care about the embarrassment and it was a solution he
should have thought of hours ago. Of course; several hours
ago, both of them would have refused it as a viable option.

He noticed that his shivering had died down to the point
that only the occasional tremor was running through him,
barely a tremble to be honest.

He could feel a slow, steady thumping under his cheek.
Garak's heartbeat was still slow, but it was not that likely
to increase until he was somewhere warm. He might be stable,
but his body seemed aware of the cold just scant inches
away.

His hood was pulled back up, closing off the chill of the
cold air. He wanted to curl up his legs, but he would have
to knee Garak in the gut to do it, so he resisted the urge.

His feet were cold. Starfleet boots were sturdy and
insulated and not equipped for this kind of cold.

"Garak?"

"Hm?" The Cardassian didn't look down, his eyes were half
closed. Bashir could feel him shivering again, probably a
shock reaction to having a freezing cold body invading his
cocoon of warmth.

"Thank you."

"For what?" His voice was quiet.

"For making me wake up to what an ass I was being."

A moment of confusion showed before Garak managed to work
out what Bashir actually meant. "No thanks is needed,
Doctor."

"But I want to thank you." He closed his eyes; he could feel
the warmth was inside now, not just a superficial warming.
"How did you know I was in trouble before I did?"

"Aside from the fact that you were slurring your speech and
seemed unaware of it?"

Bashir pulled back to gape. "I was not!" He managed to
splutter indignantly.

"You indeed were," Garak assured him with a faint smirk.
"Not badly, but there was a distinct slur in your speech
when you spoke to me. The fact that you had become impaired
enough not to notice was what spurred me to take action."

"In that case I really do owe you thanks," Bashir smiled
slightly. "I could have... I might have gone to sleep
without realising."

"Yes, you might of. And you would have died had I have not
realised before it was too late." Garak paused and shifted
slightly, sliding an arm under Bashir's neck like a pillow.
"However, I was here, and I was awake, so it bears no
further thought."

That was so Cardassian. Bashir didn't argue though, Garak
was right. It could have been bad, but it had turned out all
right.

"You're not, um, uncomfortable?" He ventured to ask.

"Not particularly." Garak shifted slightly. "Are you? I can
move my arm."

Damn it. "No, not that kind of uncomfortable, Garak."

"Hm?" There was vague confusion in those blue eyes. "Ah, you
mean am I disturbed by our proximity. It does not matter if
I am, doctor. There is nowhere else for either of us to go."

"That's not an answer, Garak." Bashir looked up.

"No, I suppose to you it isn't." Garak smiled; in an almost
fond manner; and tugged Bashir's hood further down. "You've
used significant amounts of energy wasting time out there
exercising and shivering and trying to stay warm."

"I suppose you know all about trying to stay warm," Bashir
teased.

"Yes. Cold weather survival is an important part of being a
Cardassian. As I was saying, you are tired. Even with your
abilities, you've weakened yourself." His head was guided
back to the broad chest. "Sleep it off, doctor. I will still
be here when you wake."

The warmth was making him sleepy. "All right," he murmured.
The hand cradling his head lingered for a few moments.
Despite the vulnerability of the position, he felt safe with
the Cardassian.

In an odd sense; he thought as he dozed off; he felt like a
protected child.

---

He woke up being held in a loose grip, his hand lying
against a broad rib cage and warm material.

Sleepily, he blinked, reaching to rub at his eyes, yawning
slightly. There was a low chuckle from above, making him
look up into amused blue eyes.

"Sleep well, doctor?"

He suffered from a moment of confusion before his brain
decided to let him in on the last few hours. "Yes, very
well. How long was I out?"

"Five hours or so." Garak set aside the padd he'd been
reading and touched his fingers to Bashir's forehead. "You
feel warm still."

"You too. Your hands are very warm." He let his eyes drift
shut for a moment before opening them again. "How long have
we been here?"

"The planet? Eighteen hours." Garak looked to the far wall.
"It's been a week since we left Deep Space Nine."

"They must be looking for us by now." Bashir said. "We're
overdue."

"I expect so," Garak said amicably. "Doctor, would you be
good enough to get us some food?"

Bashir nodded and stretched, then slipped out from under the
blankets, tugging his jacket closed again. It was frigid,
but somehow more bearable, knowing he would crawl back into
the warmth afterwards.

He detoured to the other room for the conveniences before he
hurried to get their food. He came back with a tray with two
plates of Ildarian roasted fish and hot tea.

Garak took the tray while Bashir crawled back into the bunk.
They silently arranged themselves under the blankets; the
Cardassian leant against the back wall while Bashir made
himself comfortable against the 'headboard' wall.

They set the tray on their nearly touching knees. Garak ate
slowly, but Bashir was too hungry to savour the food, eager
to feel it warming him from the inside.

He finished and leant back, watching Garak eat his meal.

"It's interesting, that despite the fact that your species
has the far superior higher brain function, you are more
victims of your own physiology than many others."

It occurred to him; as he said it; that it was comments like
those that made people think he was an arrogant jerk. But
Garak just thought about it and nodded slightly. "Yes, I
suppose so. Our bodies are not as adaptable as mammalian
forms. Your bodies are weaker, less resilient to externals
forces and lacking the same sophisticated smell and taste
senses, yet in some ways you have strengths that Cardassians
sorely lack." He gave Bashir a look. "Such as your tolerance
to the cold."

"Not just the cold, Garak." Bashir was silent for a moment.
"We can resist extreme temperatures for quite a period. We
have more immunities than Cardassians and we can eat a far
wider range of food to no ill effect, at least, not a
physical one. Our sight and hearing is far keener than
yours."

"What about touch?"

Bashir frowned. "I don't know. No one has ever had the
opportunity to compare Cardassian and Human physiology. Most
Cardassians are quite hostile about it."

"Hm. We do not like to be confronted with our short comings.
No one does." Garak finished off his meal and tipped his
head, fingers snapping the jacket's throat closed. His eyes
half closed, he had apparently decided to finish that
conversation for now.

Bashir took the tray and laid it on the floor. He'd take it
out when he next went into the other room. "It's warmer in
here than out there."

"I'd imagine so. That doesn't say much for this room
though." Garak murmured.

"Lie back down, Garak." Bashir patted the space next to him.
"Your face is gaining a distinctly white colour."

"Hm." The Cardassian seemed poised to argue but slid under
the blanket obediently, disappearing completely from
Bashir's sight.

He could feel the faintly trembling form against his legs.
With a soft smile; shared with only the biting cold; he
reached under the blanket and tugged his friend until he was
curled up next to the Human's legs, the heat coming off
providing a valuable source of warmth.

"Garak?"

There was a questioning noise that he could feel though his
legs.

"Certain reptiles; when left to prolonged exposure to cold;
end up falling ill, lethargic and eventually comatose even
when they have access to a warm haven. The ambient air
temperature and stress takes too high a toll on their
bodies."

"Really? How fascinating." Garak's muffled voice said.

"My point, or rather my question is, are Cardassians like
that?"

"Doctor, as you said, we are not reptiles. We are reptilian,
but we do have some ability to warm ourselves."

"Okay." Bashir said. "Just checking." He tentatively stroked
the nearest shoulder. "You all right in there?"

"Fine, doctor." There was a half stifled yawn. "Just a
little weary."

"Sleep it off. I'll still be here, I promise."

"Doctor, where else would you be? Outside ice skating?"
Obviously the cold made Cardassians irritable.

"Don't tempt me." Bashir quipped back.

When silence followed, the doctor wasn't sure if Garak had
nothing more to say or if he'd managed to fall asleep again.

Either was equally possible.

---

Bashir read for a while, only vaguely aware of the warm
weight leaning against his legs. He had been a little
concerned that his friend might suffocate at first, but he
seemed to be perfectly content, dozing away under the mound
of blankets.

The cold was having bad effects on both of them. Bashir
normally didn't sleep much, but now he was feeling tired and
lethargic. He either needed more to eat or more sleep, and
they needed to ration their supplies as much as possible.

He had some of the water from the pot before he slid down
into the bunk further, adjusting his hood and the blankets
until no cold air was getting in.

A hand gripped onto his leg, he jumped slightly, but it was
followed by no other action. He smiled slightly and peeked
under the blanket.

Garak was curled up, loose strands of black hair across his
face. One hand was loosely holding Bashir's calf, probably
an instinct to stop the heat source from moving away like it
had threatened to.

He gently removed the hand from his leg, his hands lingering
for just a moment. The Cardassian looked younger asleep, the
perpetual smirk was gone and he looked almost peaceful.

Something had gone from his face, something less tangible,
but Bashir couldn't put his finger on it at that moment.

He ordered the light turned off. It didn't use much energy
but there was no point in leaving it on if he was planning
on sleeping as well.

When he got back to DS9, he'd probably not sleep for a week.

He turned slightly, frowned as he realised his fingers had
just been caught in a loose grip. Apparently his friend was
trying to stop his pillow moving about so much.

There was no point untangling their fingers, he'd probably
be grabbed by the knee again, and sooner or later Garak
would hit his ticklish spot; which would be pleasant for no
one involved. He burrowed down further and carefully moved
his fingers so that they weren't being gripped, just
slightly laced with the other's fingers.

The station might not have even realised they were missing
yet. They'd been wildly off course when they crashed, and
their communications array had been basically knocked out in
the crash.

He tightened his grip slightly. They needed to be rescued
within the next one hundred and forty four hours, or they'd
been doing a recovery, rather than a rescue.

He pushed the thought from his mind and let himself drift
off to sleep.

---

He woke up when he heard footsteps.

Sitting up, Bashir forced his eyes to adjust to the dim
lighting. He could see a figure moving through the doorway
and closing it behind.

"Garak?"

Bright eyes, even in this light, turned to look at him. "I'm
sorry, doctor, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"What are you doing?" He pawed his eyes, trying to make them
focus properly. It was like trying to see in the haze of
predawn on Earth.

"I was checking a connection in the cockpit." He fancied he
could hear the Cardassian's teeth chattering from here.

"You should have woken me up and let me do it." Bashir
protested. "You're not equipped to deal with the
temperatures."

"And you were asleep. You did not stir when I got up, so you
were deeply asleep. If you had stirred, I would have invited
you to do it. You obviously needed the rest." He came back
to the bunk and looked down expectantly.

Bashir slid over, making room for his friend. "I guess so."
He didn't watch Garak climb in and drag the blankets around
his body tighter. "I'm just; I can't do anything but worry."

"Certainly you can, good doctor." Garak smiled slightly and
tilted his head, then frowned as a strand of hair fell over
his face. He reached into his hood to tuck it behind his
ear.

"What?"

"Hm?" The Cardassian looked confused for a moment.

"What can I do?" Bashir asked, exasperated.

"You can get us something to eat. I had no intention on
staying out there long enough to get breakfast. Since you're
awake, it seems only appropriate you do it. I checked the
connections."

He was incorrigible.

---

They ate in silence. Even the normally chatty Cardassian had
run out pointless chit chat for the moment. The food was hot
and filling, which was really one of the only concerns that
Bashir had right now.

Almost subconsciously, Bashir kept his lowered gaze
monitoring his friend, watching for signs of ill health.
Despite the silence and slightly pale skin, Garak seemed to
be as healthy as would be expected, his eyes were bright and
focused and his hands were steady.

Mind you; Bashir reminded himself; this was a man who
managed a semblance of health whilst dying from his neural
implant addiction.

"Doctor, why the long face?"

The sudden voice surprised the Human, he nearly dropped his
fork straight into his dinner. "Long face?"

"That is the correct term? Long face as a metaphor for a
saddened or depressed expression conveying some form of
internal misery?"

He smiled despite himself. "No, I mean, yes, that's the
right use for the term, but I'm not sad or depressed. I'm a
little worried, that's all."

"Your expression indicated far more than just concern. You
looked..." Garak hummed for a moment, almost visibly picking
over his vocabulary for the exact term. "You looked scared."

Bashir shrugged uncomfortably. "I was just thinking on some
things that have happened."

"You're obfuscating."

"Maybe. But it was the truth." Bashir rubbed his hands
together, trying to generate a little more warmth. "I was
thinking, well if you must know, I was thinking about what
happened with your implant."

Immediately, a look of disinterest came over Garak's face.
"Oh, that. Well, there's no use dwelling on matters such as
that. It ended, no lingering repercussions." He smiled that
slightly simpering smile that indicate no small measure of
contempt for the topic.

"No, I wasn't thinking about any... never mind." He shook
his head. "I know you don't like that topic."

Garak sunk into his jacket, looking mollified.

"Garak, you would tell me if your condition started to
deteriorate, right?"

He got a raised eye ridge in response.

"I'm serious, Garak. I don't want your odd sense of
Cardassian pride losing me a good friend. That's nearly
happened once." He reached over on impulse and took the
Cardassian's hands in his own. "If you got sick, I'd kick
myself for not realising sooner. I don't want to be left
alone in this craft."

It was the best shot he had for weaselling a promise to
confess from his friend. If he made himself the weaker
party, made Garak's small physical weakness seem like less
than his own emotional need, the other man might give in.

Garak watched him for a moment. He could see him
calculating, trying to gauge the best response. "All right,
doctor. I will not allow any illness to go unmentioned to
you."

He smiled. "Thank you, Garak."

"Have you finished, doctor?"

He looked to his plate. He thought he'd eaten more than
that. "Um, no, but it's all right." He moved the tray. "I
can finish here if you want to sleep more."

"I am not tired, doctor. I have slept far too much over the
last day." He shifted. "I am simply... unaccustomed to being
unoccupied."

"You're bored? Why didn't you just say something?" Bashir
smiled.

"I am not bored. Cardassians do not get 'bored'."

"Oh, right. Naturally." He settled down further. "Electronic
chess?"

"You must be joking."

"Fine. Jah Mekh?"

"I am not playing any games against your, doctor." He
indicated his hands, buried under the blankets. "I like warm
fingers."

"Fine, fine." There was a moment's silence. "Tell me another
story then."

"More stories?" He sighed. "Very well, dear doctor, if it
will keep you from fidgeting. What do you want to hear
about?"

"Tell me about Cardassia Prime. Not the cities, the outlying
areas, the wild life."

"Hm. Well, there is only some undeveloped lands left on
Cardassia Prime, enough to provide training grounds for the
military and other such organisations. When I was young,
little more than a child, my class was sent on a camping
trip out there." He fell silent for a few moments.

Bashir waited. Trying to prompt Garak now would probably
just annoy him.

"I was to start formal training in a few years. We were sent
out, given a few cutting tools and told to find a way to
survive and make it back."

"You're pulling my leg. Not even the Klingons would abandon
their children with nothing more than a cutting tool."

"But they do, for rights of passage. You may consider this
tale the story of my right of passage, if you wish." Garak
smiled pleasantly. "There were twenty five of us. We were
each given the same tools. We were left three days out from
the nearest city. We had to find our ways back to our
school.

"It is a competition. Four of the students set up a command,
and drew the rest under the their wing. They planned as a
unit and utilised the combined tools. They planned how to
get themselves back, bringing the others back with them as
necessary.

"Two students set out alone. They agreed to travel as far as
needed together, then split up when they reached the city.
They figured that their best chance was to work together to
gather food and keep watches at night.

"They were being hunted, you see. By the other students. The
loners were a threat to the unity of the class.

"Together, they travelled for five days, hiding and stalking
their way to the city limits. They breached the city limits
and split up.

"One; however; understood far better the danger of the
united team. He followed his companion, then sabotaged his
attempt to sneak onto a shuttle. Not enough to stop his
flight, merely long enough that the team would find evidence
of his travel and follow in his footsteps.

"That one lone student made it back, just ahead of the
group, but behind his saboteur."

"And which were you, Elim Garak?" Bashir leant forwards with
a slightly teasing smile. "The saboteur or the victim?"

If Garak was surprised at hearing his name, he didn't show
it. "Victim? Only of his own foolhardiness. He should have
suspected his friend."

"So which were you?" Bashir persisted.

"I never said I was either," Garak smirked. "How do you know
I was not one of the four who forced the other into service,
nor indeed one of the followers?"

"You're not a follower." Bashir promptly replied. "And I
don't think you would ever rely on others to do a job.
You're too cynical. I would imagine you were as a cynical
child as you are an adult."

Garak smiled slightly and shrugged. "As you wish, dear
doctor."

"Therefore, you were one of the two loners. I just don't
know which. I like to think you were the one who was
betrayed, but I rather suspect you were the one who betrayed
him, in order to succeed." He leant in. "So, am I right?"

Garak leant close, his lips slightly parted. Bashir's breath
caught for a second as the Cardassian brushed past him to
whisper in his ear, the scales around his eyes almost
touching Bashir's cheek as he moved.

"What's to say it ever happened, dear Julian?"

---


Garak had closed up after that; taking one of the datapadds
and spending several hours flicking through some novels he
had brought along to give to Bashir. Bashir spent the time
working on his paper, 'The Development of Cardassian
Medicine: An Application of Healing for Harming', trying not
to draw Garak's ire when it became apparent that the
Cardassian was annoyed for some unknown reason.

He had no idea how long he spent scribbling away at his
notes. It must have been at least four hours; maybe longer;
when he felt Garak slump sideways, landing in the space
between Bashir and the wall.

Panicked, Bashir dropped the padd and rolled Garak onto his
back, hands reaching to his throat. He was pale, his eyelids
eerily dark, but there was a slow and relatively steadily
pulse under Bashir's fingers.

"Garak." He shook his friend lightly. "Garak, wake up."

A hand lazily batted at him.

With a sigh, he rearranged the blankets again to fully cover
his friend. He carefully tucked the edges in around the
heavy form then reconsidered.

With some effort, he moved Garak again; not too much, just
enough that his head was pillowed on Bashir's lap. Then the
doctor rearranged the blankets again.

His lap was bound to be warmer than the pillow, and it meant
he would know immediately if anything went wrong with his
friend.

Softly, Bashir touched his finger to one scale on the
exposed eye ridge. His friend's face screwed up slightly so
he stopped, drawing his hand away again.

He'd held a snake as a child, the scales soft and warm.
Garak's scales were cold on his fingers.

He went back to his padd, and wished that the Cardassians
weren't so bloody secretive about their biology.

---

After an hour or so, Garak woke up. Bashir only realised
when he rolled onto his back and looked up at the Human with
a look caught between amusement and confusion.

"You fell asleep and wouldn't stir." Bashir said. He figured
that was what Garak would want to know.

"I see." The Cardassian yawned into his fist. Bashir saw a
wide expanse of white teeth for a second before he rolled
away, back onto his side.

"Garak?"

"Yes, doctor?"

"You're sleeping a lot."

"I know. I'm trying to conserve energy." He sounded slightly
annoyed at the chatter, which was exceedingly odd.

"Is that a conscious decision?"

"Does it matter? It is, and that is enough. Why ask if my
motivation is biological or psychological when it is a
irrelevant answer? I must try and conserve energy, so my
motivation or lack thereof becomes a null point. Either way,
I simply must."

"Don't get yourself upset over it, Garak." Bashir tried to
soothe.

"Doctor, I'm not upset about it." Garak sighed. "I am simply
trying to explain. You ask the wrong questions. Why not ask
why I am conserving energy, when there is still plenty of
food and water? Why not ask why I sleep instead on eating to
compensate for the cold? There are a million questions, why
ask the one which is irrelevant?"

Bashir thought abut it. "Because, that is the question I
wanted to ask. I want to know how far you can push the
demands of your body. I want to know how much control you
can exert over your body before it decides to bypass your
decisions and simply act."

Garak smiled nastily and tugged his hood over his face.
"You'd be surprised, dear doctor, just how much."

"Garak?"

"No, I am not helping you anymore. You can think about it
yourself."

"Tell me a story?"

The Cardassian rolled over again. Bashir got the feeling he
could have sat up, but it meant abandoning his warm pillow.
"What is it with you and stories?"

"It's not 'me and stories'," Bashir huffed. "I just like
your stories. They're interesting and I like the way you
tell them, even if I don't always agree with them. Like the
one about Shel and Jurin."

"Hm." Garak smiled faintly. "All right. What sort of story?"

"A Cardassian fairy tale." Bashir replied promptly.

"Fairy tale?"

"You know... a made up story, a mythos, a magic story."

Garak blinked again.

"You don't have fairy tales, do you?"

"We have... stories about the Heibitians. We have tales of
things that we are highly sceptical ever happened. You tell
me a fairy tale first, then I might understand."

"All right." Bashir thought. He knew lots of fairy tales,
but he didn't think that Garak would like any of them. "I
don't think you'll like them."

"Well, pick one you like. I will even try to hold my remarks
until you finish."

The Human grinned at that. "All right. How about, something
with a dragon?"

"What is that?" There was a faint yawn at the end.

"A dragon is a... well it was a mythical creature. A giant
lizard. The European cultures believed they were strong,
stocky creatures with two or four legs and large bat wings
that breathed fire and ate virgin maidens."

"Why virgins? Is it meant to be a statement about the
desirability of virginity in young women? Why not virgin
boys?"

"I don't know." Bashir said. "I suppose so. Virginity was
prized in females, but men were expected to be virile and
experienced."

"Bit hypocritical of them." Garak murmured.

"Yes, it was. Anyway, the Asian dragons were long and
slender and graceful. They were gods and represented the
power of the world. Dragons were revered by the Asian
cultures. They had no wings, but they were believed to fly
by magic. They often had magic pearls with unique powers."

"Why pearls?"

Bashir shrugged. "Don't know. I never made a study of Asian
culture and history. Which do you want to hear about?"

"The European one. It sounds more interesting." Garak smiled
smugly.

"Only because it ate virgin girls, I bet. Okay." He hummed.
"How about the Great Wyrm?"

"Worm? You're meant to be telling me about dragons, not
worms." Garak snapped.

"No, um, 'w', 'y', 'r', 'm'. It was the old English word for
dragon."

"How absurd."

"Yes, well, do you want to hear the story or not?" Bashir
tried Garak's own tactics to make the Cardassian be quiet.

"I suppose so." He shifted again and closed his eyes.
"Continue then."

"Oh, I have permission now?" Bashir gave a wry smile. "All
right, all right. A long time ago,"

"How long?"

"Garak! You said you wouldn't interrupt."

"Well, you should be more specific then. How long ago?"

"It's a fairy tale. Fairy tales don't give exact dates
because they never really happened. Now be quiet."

"Fine."

"A long time ago, there was a kingdom, separated from the
rest of the counties by a large river. The king had tried to
build a bridge to connect his kingdom to the others, but he
had been unsuccessful.

"One day, a wizard came to the king with a deal. He would
build the king a bridge over the river, but the king would
sacrifice the life of the first living creature who crossed
the bridge to the wizard.

"The king agreed, and over night, the wizard created a great
bridge to span from one bank to the other. The king was
overjoyed and rushed out to see his new bridge.

"However, the king's son had been on the other side of the
bank, completing trade for his father. He was surprised to
see the bridge but; upon seeing his father on the other
side; rushed forwards to meet him.

"The king panicked. Remembering his promise to the wizard,
he knew he could not allow his son to cross the bridge. He
whistled loudly and the boy's hound; hearing the king's
call; raced ahead of its master and dashed over the bridge."

"That was quite quick thinking. For a human." Garak
muttered.

"Oh hush you, just listen. The dog's throat was slit where
it stood and the king explained his actions to his son. But
the wizard was angry at being cheated of the king's son's
life, and he argued that the king had changed the deal by
calling his dog across. The king said that he had fulfilled
the contract, irregardless of how it was done."

"The wizard grew terribly angry and he levelled a curse on
kingdom, that great sorrow would fall across the land."

"That's a rather poor curse. If he was so great and mighty,
why didn't he just kidnap the boy and kill him?"

"Because that wasn't his point. His point was, the king had
found a way out of his deal."

"Sore loser."

"Garak, stop interrupting!" Bashir lightly bopped him on the
head with the datapadd. "Just listen or I won't finish the
story."

"So long as you promise not to assault me anymore."

"Oh, stop complaining. Anyway, the kingdom grew prosperous
because of the bridge and the kingdom flourished until one
day, the prince went to fish from the bridge.

"He caught no fish, but instead a strange, small, scaled
creature. It was hideously ugly, but the prince was proud
that he caught it and took it home.

"He showed it to his father. His father told him to throw it
away and not bring home defects anymore. The prince was
unhappy but did as his father asked and threw away the
little ugly thing.

"But the wyrm did not die. It landed in the scrap heap and
began to eat. It ate the leftovers and the scraps and it
started to grow.

"Within a week, the castle's residents were aware of it; for
it started to eat the chickens from the coops and the
vegetables from the gardens. They hurled spears at it, but
it simply curled up and they bounced off its thick scales.
They hit it with swords and the men were snapped up by the
starving beast."

"They should have used photon torpedoes." Garak said.

"They didn't have that sort of weaponry, Garak. This is from
the middle ages on Earth, they had swords and spears. They
didn't even have projectile guns. They had bows and arrows."

"How simplistic. Continue, doctor."

Bashir held his tongue and took a deep breath before
continuing. "Eventually, they decided to feed the beast, to
stop it from attacking the soldiers and the villagers. They
fed it the daily milking from the castle cows and sheep from
the flocks everyday."

"Every morning, the dragon would uncurl itself from the hill
it lived on; wound about the base; and set off to the
castle. At the castle it would drink two barrels of milk and
eat a sheep and then go back to the hill. Every evening, it
would do the same."

"Why didn't they kill it?"

"They couldn't work out how. Every time they attacked it, it
would curl up and the weapons would bounce harmlessly off
its scaly hide. If any man got too close, the wyrm would
curl upon him then crush and devour him.

"Soon, it began to eat more. As it ate, it grew, and as it
grew, it wanted more to eat. The country was falling into
poverty as every scrap of food was fed to the hungry beast
to stop it from attacking the people.

"The king made a decree. Whoever could destroy the beast and
save the kingdom from ruin would be reward with his only
daughter's hand in marriage and a hefty reward of gold."

"What if it was a woman? Or a homosexual man?"

"Oh for... Garak, in those times, women weren't considered
capable of great deeds. Society was sexist, it was believed
that a woman was only good for cooking, cleaning and bearing
children. And being homosexual was simply unacceptable. It
was considered a deviation and a sign of the devil."

"Hm. Some things are universal, I see."

"So, it was a perfectly acceptable reward and a very
generous one. Men from all over the country; and in fact the
known world; went in to fight the beast, and one by one,
they fell to the dragon's fierce attacks."

"By now, the wyrm had grown so large it wrapped itself about
its hill seven times, its body leaving deep grooves in the
soil. Its great claws dug into the land, and its heavy head
lay on the top of the hill, slitted red eyes watching the
land about it. Its scales were so thick and large that it
seemed that nothing would ever defeat the beast.

"But, there was a boy in the village who believed he knew
how to defeat it. After watching his father's farm fail and
his master's business collapse as people could no longer
afford the metal worked goods of the blacksmith, he decided
to go and fight the dragon.

"Unlike the others, he took no sword. Instead, he took with
him armour that he had laboured over late at night in his
master's smithy.

"He arrived at the hill at dawn, just before the beast would
slither from the hill and set off to the castle. He put down
his armour and carefully put it on, making sure that it was
fitted just right.

"His armour was special. All over it were a multitude of
blades and spikes, jutting out from all over the heavy
metal. He was a walking array of spikes, deadly to the
touch.

"The wyrm watched his approach and uncurled from the hill.
He walked onwards, until the dragon fell upon him and curled
its body about his, intent on crushing him before devouring
him.

"The vulnerable underbelly of the creature curled around the
spikes and as it squeezed, it impaled itself on the spikes
and blades. As it thrashed and convulsed, it dragged itself
further onto the blades until it collapsed at his feet dead.

"The boy went back to the castle and the kingdom rejoiced
that the wyrm was dead. The body was dismembered and buried
and the boy married the princess. The kingdom came back into
splendour and only the grooves about the hill showed that
the wyrm had ever existed."

There were a few seconds silence. "So, this nobody manages
to come up with a simplistic plan to undo the curse of a
great and mighty wizard?"

"Yep." Bashir smiled. "That's the point of fairy tales. Good
always wins, the evil man loses and often the hero is a
simple boy; or occasionally girl; to show that anyone can
make it."

"What made the wizard evil? He made an offer, which the king
accepted, and was then cheated of his end. He attempted to
gain vengeance, which was thwarted. He was stupid; I'll give
you that; but he did nothing evil."

He knew it. Garak seemed to deliberately miss the point of
these things. "He attacked the entire kingdom for the folly
of the king. Innocent people were targeted."

"Were they? The prince was the one who found the wyrm. Maybe
it was intended only to eat him? The king told him to get
rid of it; and rather than killing it, he told the boy to
throw it away. It was the king's mistake. Besides, the
leader must always resume responsibility for his people. The
people accept the leadership of the king, they must accept
his mistakes or overthrow him."

Bashir thought about it. "I... guess you're right in a way.
Maybe that wasn't such a good example of a fairy tale."

"No, it was sufficient. I understand what you mean now."
Garak yawned again and propped his cheek on one hand.
"Cardassians do not have fairy tales such as that. Our
stories sometimes contain magic and mythical creatures, but
the lessons are more subtle."

Bashir huffed. "See I ever tell you a story again, you
ungrateful-"

"Manners, doctor. If we don't have out civility, what do we
have?" Garak smiled smugly and yawned again.

The doctor in Bashir perked up. "Are you all right? Do you
want me to stop chatting so you can get more sleep?"

"I'm fine, simply disinclined to move." His voice was husky
sounding.

"Do you want some water?"

"Actually... yes." He sat up enough for Bashir to scoop a
cup of water from the pot and hand it to him. "Thank you."

He watched for a few moments before looking back to his
datapadd. "One hundred and thirty six hours."

"Until we run out of energy?"

Bashir shrugged. "Until we run out of energy, until our
bodies are going to be unable to deal with the stress,
whatever you want to call it. Our chances for survival past
then decreases dramatically."

"Ours?" He could feel that icy blue gaze, even though he
wasn't looking.

"Yes, ours." He said, stubborn on the point. "Neither of us
has great chances without the other."

Garak said nothing, just kept watching with those sharp
eyes. "As you say, doctor."

"What does that mean?" He looked up, meeting and holding the
gaze.

"Whatever you take it to mean." He lay back down, carefully
rearranging himself on the bunk, his head laying on the
pillow, back turned to Bashir.

"Garak?"

"Yes?"

"You can, I mean, unless you're uncomfortable with it; I
just thought you would be warmer; you know, but; if you are
cold like that, well..." He trailed off, seeing the amused
laughter in his friend's eyes. "Oh, you know!" He puffed
out, exasperated.

The Cardassian tilted his head and blinked.

"If you're cold over there, I don't mind being a pillow." He
looked at the door, hoping it was too cold for his cheeks to
flush. "It's warmer for me too."

Garak shifted back, curling up near Bashir again, his cheek
resting on one thigh. "Thank you, doctor."

"No need, Garak. But you're welcome."

They both read in silence, with only the howling of the wind
to break the sound of their breathing.

---

Bashir listened to the sound of the storms that wailed
outside. The lights were off, making the wind and snow seem
louder. He shivered as he listened to the storm and slid
further into the blankets.

Another eight hours had slid past. One hundred and twenty
hours left. Five days and seven hours left.

Garak had fallen asleep a short time ago, the hand clutching
the datapadd falling to the blankets as he struggled to stay
awake. Bashir had taken the padd from him and moved deeper
into the blankets, letting the Cardassian curl around his
body again for the meagre warmth it would provide.

He felt oddly comfortable with it. Normally it would be
uncomfortably intimate, having someone else sleeping curled
about him, but he found it almost reassuring right now, as
though his ability to keep Garak healthier by his very
presence had nullified all embarrassment.

It was an incredible feeling, saving someone's life, one he
was familiar with; but this was even beyond that. Just by
being here, he was extending his friend's life.

As though aware of Bashir's thoughts, Garak made a small
sound of protest in his sleep. Bashir smiled and resisted
the urge to lift the covers to look.

There wasn't any light, so he wouldn't be able to see and
all he'd do is let in cold air, which would probably wake up
the tailor.

And then he'd get grumpy for being woken up.

Briefly, Bashir was reminded of the old stories of great
dragons, slumbering away on piles of treasure that they
guarded, their sheer presence enough to deter all but the
bravest or most foolish.

He sniggered slightly. Garak, dozing away on Bashir like he
was a pile of gold.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Sorry, Garak. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Mm." He wasn't entirely sure that the Cardassian was
properly awake.

"Go back to sleep." He soothed.

"What is so funny?"

He better answer or Garak would wake himself up thinking
about it. "I was imagining you as a dragon, sleeping on a
pile treasure. Go to sleep, I'll explain it to you when you
wake up."

"All right." His voice trailed off into a murmur and his
breathing fell regular again.

That was somewhat more concerning. Garak never gave in
easily, not when he had the option of driving Bashir up the
wall instead.

Surely someone was looking for them by now. Deep Space Nine
must have realised they were missing and have sent someone
out to find them.

He chewed his bottom lip. They had no way of signalling the
rescuers, not unless they could get out there and fix the
broken links to the communication array. Even Garak had
admitted that he couldn't do anything about that.

One hundred and twenty seven hours, forty minutes.

He looked to the door and the dark light panels.

His hand wandered down and gently touched Garak's shoulders,
the other's body warm but not as warm as Bashir would have
liked.

He wanted to go home and go to the Replimat and argue with
Garak about Cardassian mysteries and Terran romances and
debate the merits of sacrificing both categories of novels
for the sake of interstellar peace.

Okay, that had been Bashir's suggestion. Garak had stared at
him like he was insane then given that half smile, like an
indulgent parent who can't admit amusement because it would
be improper.

God, how he wanted to be home again.

One hundred and twenty seven hours, thirty minutes.

---

Three hours after their exchange, Bashir found himself
sitting up far enough to grab his datapadd again; calling
the lights back onto minimum. He wanted to doze the time
away, it would certainly make it more tolerable.

Yet, despite the warmth that saturated their den of
blankets, he could not sleep anymore. His body balked at the
idea of resting any longer.

So, he read. He read one of the Cardassian novels that Garak
had brought along. He hated Cardassian literature; it was
the most boring things he'd ever read; but it was something
new and it would keep him occupied.

He read all twenty eight chapters. Every one of those 75,000
words.

He paused occasionally, to check on Garak. The Cardassian
slept on, though sometimes his fingers would twitch against
Bashir's leg and he would give little sounds of distress in
his sleep.

It scared Bashir. Like he'd been scared when he'd realised
Garak was dying from his neural implant.

He got up, blasted himself under the sonic shower without
undressing, and drank some more of the water.

Then he decided the water level was low and they needed more
snow.

Huddled in his jacket, he braved the chill of the outer
room. It was eerie without the hum of the engines, he found
himself glancing around the darkened room as though waiting
to see something lurking in the shadows.

He hurried to the outside exit and slapped his hand over the
door control. It opened slowly, infinitely too slowly.

The blast of cold was far worse than anything Bashir had
expected. He was almost knocked backwards by it, but he
forced himself onwards until he could bend down and scoop
more snow into the pot.

Desperate, his hand slapped the control again. The door
closed and suddenly the room felt like an oven; at least
compared to what lay outside.

Trembling, Bashir made it back to the bunk. He set aside the
pot, near the headboard but on the floor, where the cold
wouldn't get to them as it melted.

With a little thought, he abandoned his jacket to dry.
Spreading it over a chair, he eased back into the bunk,
hissing as the warmth hit him again.

In those few short minutes, he'd forgotten what warmth felt
like.

He looked under the blankets to see Garak. The Cardassian
shied away from him, curling up into a foetal ball away from
Bashir.

Gods, he must be freezing to touch. Of course Garak didn't
want to be near him, he'd leech precious warmth from the
reptilian alien.

He cuddled in the bunk as far from Garak as he could; until
his body reached bed temperature at any rate. He could feel
his friend start shivering again, so he pulled the
electrical blanket away from himself and tucked it closer to
his companion.

He lay there, desperate for sleep to claim him, yet
desperate to stay awake and make sure nothing happened while
he was asleep.

He'd been awake for seventeen hours. He'd certainly lasted
longer when he'd been forced to, but it felt like the cold
was sapping away his will to stay awake, draining his life.

One hundred and twenty hours, twenty two minutes.

He rolled over and stared at the door. Rolled onto his back
and looked at the darkened ceiling.

"Doctor?"

"I'm sorry, Garak. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Hm." The Cardassian rolled over, even in the darkness, his
eyes seemed almost luminescent enough to be seen. "You
cannot sleep."

"I don't want to sleep." He admitted quietly. "We've been
here two days, Garak. They know we're missing, right?"

"Almost certainly." Garak sat up and called up the lights to
minimum illumination. "What is wrong, doctor?"

What wasn't wrong? "I... I'm just full of nervous tension."
He rubbed his hands together and blinked. The temptation to
leave his eyes shut and go to sleep was powerful. "I don't
want to sleep. I need to check on you, you won't tell me if
something's wrong, so I need to check."

Garak blinked slowly and crawled over Bashir, his movements
slow but determined, like a waking crocodile.

"Garak?"

"I'm simply going to retrieve some nutrients for your addled
mind, since you saw fit to abandon your outer garments." He
stood up and shivered, but padded out silently, disappearing
around the corner.

"I, what?" He looked at his coat and shook his head. "If you
were hungry you could have just said! You didn't have to
climb over me."

The Cardassian reappeared with a tray of something hot and a
smile. "But doctor, what fun would that have been compared
to having a small climbing expedition?"

Bashir took the tray while Garak clambered back over him and
under the blankets again, laying it down once both of them
were settled again. "It would have been easier."

"Easier is not always more productive."

"You would have gotten exactly the same out of it, either
way," Bashir argued.

"Would I?" Garak smiled again and took a plate.

Bashir watched for a long moments, or maybe they were long
ones distorted by weariness, it was hard for him to say. He
slowly started eating the food, not tasting anything but
heat.

He blinked and felt a hand on his face. He opened his eyes
sharply, saw Garak's hand on his cheek and the other on his
chest. "What...?"

"Shh." The fork was prised from his fingers and he was leant
back. He stayed there, blinked again as Garak leant over him
to lower the tray to the floor.

He opened his eyes at the end of the blink and found that he
was being lowered into the bed. He fought to keep his eyes
open and saw Garak smile at him.

"Go to sleep, Julian."

Arms drew him close to a warm body and he found there was no
good reason to keep denying himself some rest.

"Thank you, Garak."

"Just go to sleep."

He listened to a steady beat and was lulled to sleep, and
realised he still hadn't explained the grumpy dragon
reference.

---

Slowly, the world came into focus.

Bashir opened his eyes and looked about, trying to work out
what had woken him up.

He shifted and realised he was being held still, encased in
heat.

Garak was still holding him. He shifted uncomfortably,
trying to work himself free.

"Doctor?" The tone was soft, deceptively so.

"I'm awake, Garak."

"Ah. I wasn't sure. You've been stirring on and off for
nearly an hour." In the darkness, a hand came up and pushed
his hair from his forehead. "Are you well?"

"I think so. Just a bit warm."

Immediately, the arms around him moved away, and whilst the
temperature dropped to almost bearable, he didn't feel more
comfortable for the space. "How long was I asleep?"

"Six hours."

One hundred and fourteen hours. Bashir shivered slightly.

"Are you cold now? Are you sure you are not sick?"

"No, I'm just... chill down my spine, as the saying goes."
He lay on his back. "Have you been awake all the time?"

"Mostly." There was a yawn. "At first I was not tired, then
I noticed you seemed warm. I was going to remove myself from
your presence in the hopes it was just my; to your body;
excessive heat that was bringing up your temperature,
but..." The soft voice trailed off.

"But?" Bashir prompted.

"You didn't want me to move. You... whimpered, when I moved
away, and reached out for me. So I stayed. I turned down the
electrical blanket instead."

So it was the heat that had woken him up. Overheating, body
wakes itself to react... "Did you say I whimpered?"

"I suppose that would be the word. It was this small animal
noise, in the back of your throat." Garak sounded deadly
serious, no sound of mocking in his voice. "It reminded me
of a pup missing its mother."

Bashir wasn't sure what was stranger about what just
happened. The odd, slow; almost nostalgic; way that Garak
said that or the total lack of teasing that came with it.

"Garak?"

"No one... hm." The Cardassian yawned again the darkness.
"Tell me about the grumpy dragon, doctor."

"No one what, Garak?" Bashir caught one hand blindly as he
felt it move past his face. "No one what?"

"Tell me about the dragon." Garak persisted.

"Oh, fine, be that way. Western dragons were often believed
to spend their lives slumbering away of hoards of treasure,
usually plundered from caravans, merchants, castles and the
such. I though, at the time, that you reminded me of a
dragon sleeping on its hoard. Every time I moved you grabbed
me to stop me doing it. Like you were trying to stop your
gold from running away. It was amusing at the time."

There was a long silence. Bashir briefly wondered if Garak
had gone to sleep in the intervening time. He gently
released the hand he held.

"Do I remind you of a dragon, doctor?"

Bashir blinked. "Seriously? In a way, I suppose. You have
the scales, and you get grumpy when you don't get your own
way. I suspect you'd devour virgins if you thought you could
get away with it."

"You're teasing me." He sounded sleepily reproachful.

"Just a little." Bashir grinned to himself and folded his
arms behind his head. "Only about the virgins, though. I
guess, in some ways you remind me of the Eastern dragons.
You have this great wisdom and you're fond of cryptic
riddles. Harsh sometimes, but usually with reason. You do
strange things and guard yourself almost fanatically, but
sometimes... you don't seem to get the world you live in
now. Like you belong on another plane of existence..."
Bashir blinked and tilted his head. "I feel like you're
completely beyond my comprehension, but I don't mind, so
long as its you I don't understand."

There was a stunned silence on both their behalf.

"Julian?"

He turned to look, surprised at the use of his first name by
itself. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Why?" He rolled onto his side, straining to hear the half
whispered words.

"I... because, Julian. Just because." Garak shifted and
buried under the covers again. "I don't want to talk about
it."

"All right."

"Do you know what I miss about Cardassia?"

Bashir blinked. This was unexpected. "No. What?"

"It's not my people. I do miss other Cardassians but... I
suppose I've grown accustomed to other species. I don't miss
the architecture, obviously. Ter... Deep Space Nine is still
a Cardassian station in design. I miss the gardens. I miss
the gardens of the government buildings. You have never seen
the like, doctor. Great sprawling gardens, stone and
sculpted glass amongst the vines and shrubs that best
survive Cardassian climate."

Bashir shifted closer. "What was your favourite part of the
gardens?"

"Ah. The gardens... they were almost maze like. The greatest
sculptures were in the centre, designs and mosaics sprawling
in perfect patterns, so often overlooked by the careless."

"But that's not your favourite place, is it?"

"No." Garak sounded amused. "I preferred somewhere quiet.
Somewhere I could simply be. The centre was crowded,
enclosed..."

Bashir's eyes shot open. "Garak?"

"I'm... I'm fine." His breathing was short and fast.

"Don't think about it, Garak." He grabbed one hand, held it
to his chest. "Tell me about your favourite part. Where you
liked."

"The abandoned areas. Out back. Large rolling hills, as far
as the eye can see. Sparse vegetation, just hill after hill
and clear skies overhead." His breathing troubles were
easing off. "I always walked until my legs burnt, then just
sat and watched. A completely frivolous pastime, but one I
enjoyed indulging in, I must admit. There was nothing as
refreshing as being able to simply look and see nothing but
wide, open spaces... absolute... open."

Bashir rubbed the hand he held soothingly. "Is that why you
like space?"

"I suppose so. Space in and of itself is the perfection of
the open area, but unfortunately we are not so well equipped
to revel in it." He sounded a little bitter... maybe
reproachful. "We must settle for star ships to live in
space; the pinnacle of enclosed spaces is the only way to
experience the perfection of nothing."

"Garak?"

"Doctor, I can't take this shuttle. This room. It feels like
the walls are determined to press me into the floor." His
voice sounded reasonable, analytical. "I know I'm in no
danger; no immediate danger; from the enclosed space, but I
still cannot take it. We have been here little over two
days, and I have had enough."

Bashir gritted his jaw. He didn't know why Garak was so
scared of small spaces; simply that he was. Garak never
discussed it.

"Doctor. I can't breathe."

Bashir decided. Calling for lights, he scrambled from the
bunk and grabbed the emergency medkit, pulling the
tranquilliser from it and prepping the hypo spray. "I'm
sorry, Garak, it's the best I can do for now."

He pushed it under the Cardassian's jaw and released a dose.
Almost immediately, his friend started to relax, his eyes
glazing slightly.

"Better?"

"Somewhat." Garak's hand curled around his again, his eyes
slumping shut. "I can't..."

"I know. Your natural response to the cold and the
tranquilliser will put you to sleep. You'll feel better when
you wake up."

"Ju..." His eyes closed and flicked open again.

"I'll be here when you wake up. You watched over me when I
was asleep, I'll do the same." He smiled slightly, tried to
seem reassuring.

"Yes." Garak agreed.

Agreeing with what, Julian wasn't sure.

---

With one hundred and nine hours and twelve minutes to go;
just shy of three days after they crashed here; Bashir was
starting to feel a bit claustrophobic as well. He was
generally quite able to cope with cramped and close
quarters, but the shuttle felt too small when all he had to
do was sit and wait; knowing that it wasn't actually going
anywhere.

He'd spent a lot of time thinking. He hoped; against hope it
felt; that the station had realised they were missing and
had search teams out looking for them by now. At the very
least he was hoping that there was a shuttle with a two man
team searching.

He'd checked the medical supplies. There were a few more
doses of the mild tranquilliser, but he didn't want to have
to apply anything stronger to the already sleepy Cardassian.
Hopefully, they could stave off his claustrophobia
naturally. Bashir was certain that it was a panic reaction
much like his own, Garak had been in shuttles many times and
never had any real problems, therefore it was a reaction to
the situation, not the space itself.

It was getting difficult to sit here and do nothing. Even
with the comforting weight and warmth of his friend beside
him, Bashir felt like he was losing his mind. Worrying over
Garak, listening to his stories when he was awake and
fretting about when he'd wake up when he wasn't; it was all
that was keeping him from going out into the storm and
laying down out there, just to breathe fresh air.

If anything happened to Garak...

He shivered and grabbed one of his friend's hands, holding
it close to his chest. It was warm, and the strong fingers
curled around Bashir's when his hand was picked up.

He'd never forgive himself if he let his friend die. Never.

One hundred and nine hours exactly.

He called the lights up to minimum; startled when Garak
hissed through his teeth at the sudden light. "You're
awake?"

"Yes, doctor. I'm awake." His eyes were closed, but he used
his free hand to rub his eyes. "I'm sorry for that little
display before."

"You can't help it, Garak." Bashir sighed slightly. "I just
want to get off this, this ice cube of a planet. I want to
hear engines under my feet and see the wormhole flashing
when ships come back and forth."

"You will, doctor." Garak patted the hand he held.

"Garak... I scanned you while you were asleep. I'm sorry,
but your breathing fell to next to nothing. I was worried."

"Ah."

Bashir watched for a few moments. "You said you'd tell me
when you got sick. You promised me, Garak."

"No, I promised not allow any illness go unmentioned." The
Cardassian smiled sadly. "I am not ill, doctor. No medicine
will help me. I did not want to distress you."

"Garak, you're suffering from cold related stresses. That
tranquilliser could have killed you. If I'd picked up the
slightly stronger one, your organs would have shut down. You
would have been killed by it." He took a deep breath,
forcing himself calm. "I could have killed you."

"Nonsense. I refuse to die at anyone's hand but my own."
Garak smirked. "Anyway, you didn't use the other drug, so it
doesn't matter." He looked sidelong at the doctor and then
back to the ceiling. "You can't do anything abut it,
doctor."

"You could have not aggravated it by getting up to get
food." Bashir persisted.

"Doctor, the team will get here or they will not. A small
sojourn to the outer rooms was hardly going to turn the tide
in that regard. But you must accept that it has become a
possible outcome, doctor."

"Don't, Garak." He didn't want to hear it.

"Doctor..." He sighed and shook his head. "You're right. I'm
being fatalistic. There is a good chance that we may be
rescued before we run into difficulties."

"One hundred and eight hours, forty minutes."

Garak frowned.

"Before we 'run into difficulties'; as you put it." Bashir
shifted restlessly. "We don't even know if they're looking
for us!" He got up, pulled on his jacket and started to
pace. "We need that communication relay up and running
again."

Garak must have read his intentions. "Doctor, no. You'll
freeze, and I am not qualified to nurse you through
hypothermia. We will live without the relay, but I will
not..." He sat up and grabbed Bashir's arm as he passed by.
"Doctor, I will not survive alone. You know that. You must
not go out there."

Bashir sat down on the edge of the bunk. "I know. I won't. I
just hate it in here. I hate feeling... trapped."

Trapped, like being in the Dominion prison. Garak reached up
and gently patted his upper arm, rubbing it soothingly. "I'm
sorry."

"Don't be." He smiled ruefully. "I just need something to
do, keep myself from worrying over details."

"Like keeping a count down?"

"I am not..." Bashir hung his head. "Yeah, maybe. I can't
help it, my mind keeps track, even when the rest of my mind
is thinking on something else." He shrugged. "I can't let go
of it. Every minute passes and I can't help but feel... a
little more stressed. I just wish we could signal, or
receive, or anything!"

"Doctor, stop it." Garak pulled him up against his chest,
leaning back. Bashir leant his head back onto one broad
shoulder, holding the arms that encircled his torso.

"Stop fretting, doctor. Someone will find us. If it our
side, all the better. If it is not, we will still be off
this planet and that means we have a chance for escape back
to Deep Space Nine." One hand moved to gently stroke
Bashir's eyebrow, soothing out the tension around his eyes;
the broad thumb swept from between his eyes around and
across his cheek bone before starting again.

He'd seen a Bajoran mother with her adopted Cardassian child
doing the same thing when the little girl had been upset.
The sentiment, as much as the action itself, was soothing.

Garak shifted long enough to get a glass of the water and
sip it, Bashir kept his eyes closed, his body somewhat
relaxed.

He felt the cup at his lips, obediently drank what was left.
The cup was set aside and both hands gently worked the
tension from around his eyes and temples.

"You're such a fragile looking creature, doctor." Garak's
voice was soft in Bashir's ear. "All this unadorned skin,
just long lengths, so uncomplicated, so simple. So...
unprotected."

He felt himself sinking into darkness. He was getting tired,
weakening. "I feel awful."

"It must be the stress. You didn't eat earlier; maybe it's
that." Garak gently stroked his hair for a few moments. "You
need to rest, Julian. You need to look after yourself for
when the rescue team comes. Undoubtedly they will throw you
straight back into work."

He smiled slightly. "Probably."

"So you need to look after yourself now." He could hear the
smile. "Sleep well, Julian."

He tried to respond, but he was slipping deeper. He felt
soft, dry lips press against his temple as he was being
rocked, tumbling helplessly into darkness.

He knew. Garak had drugged him.

---

He struggled back to consciousness sometime later,
disorientated and confused. The world was blurred and he had
an awful thick feeling in his mouth.

His hand tightened convulsively, and he felt that he had a
data padd clutched in his fingers. Driven by habit, he
raised his hand and peered at the writing.

'Dearest Julian,

I am most terribly sorry about earlier, but I had to ensure
that there was no chance of you waking up while I was busy.
I do hope that you understand.

I have been thinking a lot, Julian. It is all I am able to
do under the circumstances. You keep your morbid tally,
reminding yourself constantly of how long until we are in
dire circumstances, but you overlook the obvious.

The energy will last longer. Provided that only one of us is
alive to need it.

It is the outcome you would not let me speak. My body is
slowly dying, a most uncomfortable feeling. Unless the team
were to arrive in a day or two, I would most likely be too
far gone to be the same again. My mind is also cracking bit
by bit, unable to take the strain of these walls, pressing
ever closer. I know that you are driving yourself closer and
closer to breakdown as you worry whether or not we will be
found before I become too weak.

However, I found another solution. I am dead either way, and
I have decided to do something "stupidly heroic" on my way
out. I told you, Julian, I will die by no one's hand, bar my
own.

I am going outside, to repair the communication relay. If I
am successful, the shuttle will begin broadcasting an
automated emergency distress beacon upon activation, taking
the place of the portable one damaged in the crash.

The supplies will last you longer this way. I do not mind
dying as much, knowing that my death will mean that you have
a better chance of survival.

I know you're about to 'throw a fit', Julian, but don't
bother. I'm going to destroy the door panel on my out, so
that you can't come out looking for me.

Either way, I will not be coming back. I am sorry about
that, but it is the only way. Without the emergency beacon,
we never had any hope of being found. I can't let you die
like that, not when I could do the 'decent' thing just once
and save you.

I hope you hold your final memories of me close, dear
doctor.

Love, Elim Garak.'

The padd dropped to the floor, already forgotten. Bashir
leapt to his feet; hit the deck as his legs collapsed under
his weight and scrambled back up again; forcing them
onwards.

He ran to the outer room. The damage was immediately
visible, it looked like he had taken a wrench to the
delicate circuitry.

He scrambled back to the bunks. The communication panel
Garak had rigged was flashing steadily, a small red light
signalling that the communication array was indeed active.

He activated the computer. "Computer, locate Elim Garak."

As the computer spoke, his eyes narrowed in the small note
and the pin. "Elim Garak is in the bunk area."

'I've already thought of that, Julian,' the note read, the
communicator pin neatly set on top of it.

Grim determination came over Bashir. "Computer, transport me
to the communication array."

The computer beeped and he felt his body disintegrate under
the transporter beam.

The cold hit him even before he had fully materialised. It
had been bad in the doorway; here, unprotected and caught in
the stronger winds, it was intolerable.

His looked past the ripped up panel and saw the black boots
showing from behind it. "Elim!"

The pushed him easily, until he skidded back onto his
bruised knees.  The Cardassian's face was deathly pale, his
eyelids black and the  delicate ridges of his face heading
the same way. Bashir grabbed him  and prayed to a God he had
never believed in that he wasn't too late.

"Computer, two to transport to bunk area."

They disappeared back into the ship.

---

Bashir dragged Garak into the bunk, grabbing the medical
tricorder and turning it onto Garak as he tried to pile
blankets onto him.

Body temperature, plummeting. Breathing, non existent.
Pulse...

His heart was still beating. No mater how slowly, it was.

With no thought, Bashir's hand found the respiratory aid and
his mind assessed where it needed to go on the Cardassian
body. He carefully applied it onto the throat and stripped
Garak's outer layers off him, including his boots.

He pulled off his own soaking clothes and climbed into the
bunk, bringing the medkit with him. He wrapped his arms and
legs around his friend, chafing his hands roughly,
encouraging circulation back through them.

His skin was freezing cold to the touch, but Bashir refused
to let go. He carefully repaired the rapidly advancing
frostbite damage done to Garak's face and fingers and
dragged the Cardassian against him, trying to brush the
worst of the ice from the black hair.

Had he been human, the shocking change of temperature would
have probably finished him off. Fortunately, he was not.

"Elim, you insufferably arrogant bastard," Bashir angrily
whispered. "How dare you? How dare you try to do this to
me?"

The Cardassian did not reply, but Bashir didn't expect him
to. Bashir's hand; which was warming up slowly; traced the
healing pattern of frostbite around one eye.

He checked the readings from the tricorder again. Vitals
were stabilising out, but they were distressingly low still.

They didn't have days anymore. They had maybe thirty six
hours by Bashir's estimate. He needed access to a decently
stocked and undamaged medical supply by then. Even a rescue
shuttle would do, it would be enough to stabilise him
further until they reached the station or even the Defiant.

He looked to the power readings. The two transports had
considerably drained their reserves, but it didn't seem to
really matter anymore. In thirty six hours, Garak would be
beyond even Bashir's miracle working.

The doctor lay his head down on Garak's shoulder and
hopelessly sobbed onto his dying friend.

That letter had the final words of a man who believed he was
dead. He had said he didn't mind dying so long as he knew
his death ensured Bashir's own survival.

Bashir sat up sharp, his face still wet but uncaring at that
moment.

"Why didn't you tell me, Garak?" He hit the wall next to
him. "Why didn't you tell me how you felt?"

He looked down. The air was too cold and so was Garak.

"Computer, if the cabin temperature in here were increased
to thirty degrees Celsius and the door sealed, how long
would the energy last?"

"Provided no other source needs the energy, the reserves
will last for thirty hours."

"Computer, what is the maximum temperature that could be
maintained in this room for thirty six hours?"

"Twenty six point seven degrees Celsius."

"Current temperature?"

"Thirteen degrees Celsius."

He calculated it. Slipping from the bunk, he was somewhat
relieved when Garak feebly grasped at his retreating form.
"I'll be right back, I promise. I'm not going anywhere."

He grabbed the pot and went to the replicator. He got a
large reserve of water and some simple bread to see them
through.

"Computer, recalculate maximum maintainable temperature with
current energy and assuming all power is cut to the two
forward compartments."

"Twenty six degrees Celsius."

"Set temperature to twenty six then." He knelt next to Garak
and touched his face softly. "Damn it, Garak, either we both
get out or neither of us do. I will not sacrifice you to
save me. I can't do it." He stroked the soft hair again.
"And not least of all because I took an oath."

Garak's lips moved slightly. Bashir gently touched his cheek
then held his hand. It was starting to feel familiar in his
own. "Shh. It'll warm up soon. Computer?"

It beeped.

"Cut power to the sonic shower, and all control panels
except communications and life support."

"Affirmative."

"Seal the doors."

"Affirmative."

Bashir picked up Garak badge and gently affixed it to his
shirt. "Both or neither, Elim. I said I wasn't going to
leave you, and I'm not. You're not leaving me either."

He crawled into the bed and held his friend again.

---

Time passed by slowly now. After ten minutes, Bashir got up
and ran some more scans on Garak. The temperature in the
room was notably increasing; it felt down right hot compared
to what they had lived through for the past three days.

Garak's body apparently agreed. He was stable; at least for
now; and his brain wave activity was slowly increasing back
up to normal unconscious levels again.

He was unconscious, rather than comatose. That was a vast
improvement.

To be sure, he put the electrical blanket back up to near
maximum and lay on top of the blankets, an arm and leg
draped over his friend. It was getting too hot for him under
the insulating material.

He waited impatiently as the time ticked by. He ran scans
every ten minutes; just to make sure; and tried to read
during the time in-between.

Cardassian literature was not the way to relieve his
boredom, he decided.

After an hour, Garak showed signs of regaining
consciousness. He seemed to be in pain, which in and of
itself was reassuring. Pain meant that the nerves were still
working.

He sat and stared at Garak for the full twelve minutes it
took him to come around.

The Cardassian looked confused when his eyes slowly; and
what looked to be painfully; opened. He was immediately
calculating, eyes flickering back and forth, trying to work
out what had happened.

"You're a jerk, Garak."

His eyes flicked to Bashir's face. Carefully, the Terran
kept his features neutral, not betraying the traces of anger
he felt.

"You wouldn't let me go out there, and didn't even think of
how your death would affect me, abandoning me here. I told
you, I need you. I won't keep my mind without someone to
talk to, or at the very least talk at."

Pale grey lips parted slightly but only a breath escaped.

"You probably can't talk very well. Your breathing isn't
strong enough. That's all right. I'll talk." He moved up
onto the bunk and rearranged the blankets. "I'll take off
the respiratory aid later, when you've stabilised a bit
more. I turned up the temperature, there didn't seem to be
much reason to conserve the energy anymore. As you probably
know, you're dying now. Quicker. You've got thirty four
hours, forty minutes before you suffer untreatable system
failure. Yes, the communication system is working, we're
broadcasting an automated distress signal. You succeeded."

He looked away, refusing to let Garak see tears. "So, being
the stubborn sort I am, I transported myself out to the
array when I realised you were missing. You must have
miscalculated the dosage, because I woke up too early.
Wouldn't have stopped me anyway, I would have gone out there
even if I slept for a whole day, and had to bring your
cold... dead body in here."

"Juli-"

"Don't." He reached back blindly, patted the hefty
breastplate. "You're sorry for upsetting me, but only
because you have to actually face it." He took a deep
breath. "I should have suspected something. You were being
too open, too caring. You'd never let me see that unless you
thought one of us wasn't going to be around for me to ever
exploit it."

He didn't use the word Garak had. He wasn't going to provoke
him, even now. It would be too much for the emotionally
repressed Cardassian. He thought it though. It was the only
time he had seen the word and really felt the impact of it.

In great Terran literature, the greatest sacrifice ever made
was to die for your love. They made it out to be a noble act
that brought tears of grief and joy.

Bashir just wanted to throttle him for trying it.

"I should have seen it. It's in your nature. Just like I
have to be me, you'll always be you. And you would do
anything for what you care about. Be it a person or your
planet."

He turned back. "I'm not angry, Elim." He shifted both of
them, leaning himself against the 'headboard'. He drew Garak
back into his arms, his legs firmly wrapping around the
other's waist, his arms around the broad chest. "Well, a
little. I'm hurt, I'm scared, I'm annoyed even. I'm a little
angry." He reached up to stroke his thumb over one eye
ridge; mimicking Garak's earlier actions. "Are you warmer?"

"Yes."

Bashir smiled, despite himself. "Good. I'm glad."

"Should... left me."

"Maybe. But it isn't in my nature." He kept up his actions.
"I'd sooner die out here than abandon you. Enough people did
that." He felt Garak shift slightly; his face leant against
Bashir's chest; his head at just the right height for the
Terran to prop his chin on the black hair.

"You're... a fool."

"I know. So are you." He got up his courage enough to press
a soft kiss to the other's head before he went back to
propping his chin there. "But luck favours fools."

"I thought... it was... the brave?"

"Probably. But I like my version better." Bashir smiled to
himself. "Don't talk anymore. Save your strength."

With a weak nod, the Cardassian fell back into
unconsciousness for a while. Bashir just sat there and held
him, happy for once.

---

Garak stayed unconscious for five hours. Bashir left him
long enough to eat some of the bread; just enough to stave
of hunger; and to get the medkit prepped to keep them both
going.

Adrenaline ready in case Garak's heart failed. A little
something to keep Bashir himself awake, not that he needed
it yet, but he couldn't afford to sleep any more.

He spent the time reading and thinking and humming to both
of them, though undoubtedly Garak would have told him to
stop with the incessant screech of noise had he been awake.

When Garak stirred, Bashir was reading his third Cardassian
novel. He put it aside and watched for a few moments as his
friend struggled to focus on his face.

"Doctor?"

"Still here. Still awake. Are you all right?" He touched one
warm cheek.

"I've... been better."

"I'm leaving the respiratory aid on. I hope you don't mind."

"Not... at all."

He smiled again and ran his fingers through Garak's hair.
"I've been thinking. About the stories you told me. Well,
mostly about Shel and Jurin."

Garak looked confused for a while. Bashir waited until he
realised what was being discussed. "That... silly story?"

"Yes. And how Jurin dies in Shel's arms and with his dying
breath he tells her that she never had a chance."

"Hm?"

Bashir took that sound to mean, 'What about it'. "I didn't
realise what you were telling me. If you hadn't told me that
story, I might not have really thought twice about your
letter."

Another slow, confused blink. It was painful to see the
quick witted tailor so confused and disorientated.

"In your letter, you left me with no doubt that you care
deeply for me. You always treated me like your prot�g�, and
I was... I was proud that you felt I was worth the effort to
know. I hope you know that I admire you, even though I would
condemn some of the things you've undoubtedly done."

Right, if he didn't get to the point soon he'd completely
lose his friend. He shook his head and gently cupped Garak's
jaw. "If you hadn't told me that story, about Jurin and
Shel, I would never have thought twice abut that letter. But
it got me thinking, looking for double meanings. You never
could just tell me anything, you always made me work at it.
But, I wouldn't have... I don't want to be Shel... I don't
want you to be Jurin..." He trailed off, not sure what words
he wanted.

Garak just closed his eyes, turning his face from Bashir's.

Bashir pulled him closer. "Shel was stupid not to see what
Jurin was doing for her. She didn't know him like she should
have." He pulled Garak's face back up towards his own. "I'm
not Shel, Elim. You don't have to be Jurin."

With a sad smile, Garak reached up and weakly patted
Bashir's face. "I fear... I already am... Julian."

"No," Bashir hissed. "I will not give you the satisfaction
of dying guilt free."

"Spoken... like a... true... Cardassian," Garak smiled and
sank into Bashir's arms.

Bashir checked his vitals and decided that he had just
passed out from the strain of talking. He lay him down flat
and resumed stroking his scales gently.

He checked his watch. All the stress and worry was fading
now, there was no real point to it.

They'd live together, or they would die together. It felt
strangely fitting.

He lay down, moving Garak's head to rest on his own chest.
He wondered if his heart beat against his friend's ear would
soothe his dreams while he slept.

The way that Garak was so awkward in an intimate embrace, it
made him wonder if anyone had ever held him while he slept
before. It was one thing to hold someone, but the absolute
protection of being cradled and cared for; he severely
doubted that it was a feeling that Garak had ever had the
chance to become familiar with.

He hoped that he was doing a good job of making his friend
feel safe. He wanted Garak to know; at least once; what it
was was like to feel protected and loved.

---

"Tell me... a story... Doctor."

Bashir blinked and looked down. "What sort?"

Garak shrugged; at least, it was an attempt at a shrug. His
breathing was still laboured, but he at least seemed
comfortable for now.

"How about a folk story? You know, a fairy tale."

"No... dragons..."

Bashir smiled and buried his left hand in Garak's hair. He
loved the softness of it, the warmth wrapped around his
fingers. His hand lay across the scaled jaw. "All right. No
dragons."

He thought about what story to tell. Most would seem insipid
and childish to the Cardassian, lacking any qualities that
would appeal.

His eyes widened. "All right. I think you might like this
one a bit more than the last. It's a Russian story. The
Russians of old were very fatalistic, very pragmatic and
stubborn. On the surface, there are similarities to
Cardassians."

Garak narrowed his gaze slightly. "Doctor... I'm... dying...
Get on... with it."

Bashir looked away briefly, but there was no bite in the
words. "Sorry. All right, this story is about an old couple.
They lived in a small cottage on the out skirts of their
town. They had lived there all their married life; which had
been quite a long time. He worked the fields during the day,
helped by his wife; and they had quite a good life.

"Unfortunately though, they had no children. For all their
longing, they had never managed to conceive a child, and
seemed doomed to die childless."

Bashir paused and looked down at Garak. The Cardassian's
eyes were closed but he opened them when it became apparent
that the doctor was no longer telling the story.

"Just checking. So one year, in the middle of winter; the
old couple sat in their home and wished to hear childish
laughter in their house. The old wife did not cry for what
was not, she simply stared into the fire with desperate
eyes.

"Unable to take her desolation, her husband went outside
into the snow. There, he gathered up piles of snow and
lovingly moulded the shape of a young girl from the ice. He
brought the snow doll into the house and his wife dressed
the doll in the clothes she had always intended to dress her
child in.

"So strong was the love of the old couple, that a miraculous
transformation took place. The snow white ice started to
gain warmth and the crudely made face gained definition.

"Slowly, during the night; powered by the devotion of the
old, childless couple; the little snow maiden came to life."

He paused once more and looked to Garak. The tailor blinked
slowly and nodded to Bashir, encouraging him to continue.

"Though she walked, and talked and looked just like a real
girl, her 'parents' were always conscious of the fact that
she was born of snow, and no amount of love would ever
change that. It was part of her, as much as her sweet smile
and her pale skin and hair.

"During the winter, she did not mind so much. She ran to the
village to play with the other children and spent days on
end laughing and having fun, returning to sleep in her
parent's home. Her laughter brought light back to the old
couple and they delighted in her company.

"Yet, inevitably, the summer came around, the snow outside
melted away, and the only safe place for the little maiden
was in her parents' stone house. She spent her days hiding
away from the hot sunlight, yearning to play in the bright
light, but knowing that she could not.

"Instead, she and her friends haunted the nights. Her
friends did not know her secret; that she was only snow and
love; but they accepted the conditions of her release from
the house and they played all night during summer, until the
rising sun drove the maid back to her house.

"Late one night, her friends beckoned her outside with them.
They went into the woods, to a fire in the clearing of the
trees. Children danced and leapt over the flames; a
tradition to bring true love into your life.

"The maid shied back from the fire at first and merely
watched her friends play and leap about in red light. She
had never before been near a fire; because her parents had
warned her that it would end her quicker than the sun, but
the warmth of it made her tingle deep inside.

"Slowly, she overcame her fear and drew nearer the flames.
She joined in the dancing and whirled about the edges, her
hands clasped with those of her friends."

Bashir took Garak's hand into his own, smiling back at the
sleepy half smile he got.

"One by one, her friends leapt over the flames to bring love
into their life. They egged on the maid, calling for her to
leap over the fire as well.

"Finally, she gathered her strength about her and leapt over
the fire."

He stopped and looked at Garak. Garak frowned at him.
"What...?"

"What happened? She disappeared in a puff of steam and mist.
After all... she was only snow."

They sat in silence. Garak slowly mulled over the story,
Bashir fancied that he was rolling the words in mind,
assessing the weight of each one.

For a man with so little time left; unless help came; Garak
seemed to be delighting in using what energy he had left on
judging this story.

"Doctor...?"

He looked down, holding his breath.

"I... like that one."

Bashir beamed and squeezed the hand he held. "I hoped you
would like it. It seemed, sort of appropriate."

"Yes..." The tailor hissed out. "You... cannot... fight...
your... nature."

His eyes slipped shut. With a pain in his chest, Bashir
leant over and softly brushed his lips over his friend's,
not trying to stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks and
splashed against the cooling grey skin. "I know, Elim," he
whispered against the other's mouth. "I know."

Elim Garak's eyes would not be opening again.

---

Bashir sat by the bunk, singing softly to his patient. Up
until three hours ago, Garak had still shown some signs of
life, his fingers twitched when his hand was held and his
face flinched occasionally as the doctor softly traced the
scaled ridges that covered his face and jaw.

Now he lay still, the harsh sound of the respiratory aid and
the steady glow showing from the pulse monitor he had
affixed to the soft skin of the temple the only signs of
life still remaining.

He glanced to the communications panel. Soon, it wouldn't
matter if they arrived or not. Garak was fading fast now.
The drugs that had been pumped into his dying body would
keep him alive for a little while, but even they were
starting to leave his systems.
 He kept up his soft tune, and wished that Garak would growl
at him to shut up and stop singing that sentimental piece of
rubbish. He welcomed something as lively as a full blown
temper tantrum or a panic attack brought about by the
enclosed space.

His voice faltered for a few seconds as he stared at the
somnolent face.

The communications channels remained stubbornly silent.

They were both nearly out of time. Unlike Shel Baran, Julian
Bashir would not move on from the man who died for him. He
did not have that luxury, not any more. He could not deny
the truth of what had happened here.

Slowly, painfully, the glow disappeared from the monitor.

Bashir lay down his head on Garak's shoulder, holding one
cool hand to his chest.

Time had run out.

Caught up in his grief, Bashir didn't realise they were
being transported until the Defiant's walls appeared around
them.

---

The End