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It was another nightmare. Neither of them were surprised.
Ziyal shot up into a half sitting position of their bed with a strangled gasp, heart pumping out of control. Her mind had been back at the breen labor camp, only this time her father and Garak had been present. The plot had not been cohesive- of course not, it was a nightmare after all- but a distinct image had been brought up from the darkened corners of her thoughts to the forefront of consciousness. Her father and her fiance locked in combat, eyes wild and hands ripping at each other’s throats. Ziyal had been trapped, tied down and completely unable to move or even scream. The image was disturbing; the truth that it was so close to reality was horrifying. She and a burning hatred were all that connected the two people she loved most in the world. The Prophets had been cruel.
Garak, as light a sleeper as always, sat up quickly as well, his sharp cardassian eyes focused on the tense bajoran outline.
“Ziyal?” he placed a reassuring and on her upper arm.
She shook under his light touch. His jaw clenched and unclenched unconsciously in worry.
“Come here,” he whispered, simultaneously edging closer and wrapping his arms around the young woman’s waist, so that she was directly in front of him.
Ziyal leaned against his warm, solid chest and felt the familiar ridges press back. She closed her eyes. Not that it made much difference, she had clearly inherited her mother’s bajoran eyes when it came to seeing through darkness. That was a shame; she world have liked to see her fiance’s calming features just then.
Garak bowed until his ridged forehead came to rest comfortably on one of his fiancée’s narrow shoulders.
“Sorry for waking you,” Ziyal murmured softly into the darkness.
“That’s quite alright, my dear. I would hate for you to be alone.”
They sat that way in silence, until Ziyal’s shaking and heart rate slowed. Eventually, they worked themselves back into a lying position underneath the covers, Garak keeping an arm securely around her. Absentmindedly, Ziyal intertwined her hand with the tailor’s and kissed the back of it.
“Do you have dreams like mine?” she asked, suddenly.
Garak hesitated ust the right amount of time to appear genuine. “No.”
“Maybe not exactly like mine,” she conceded.
Ziyal suspected that he was more often the perpetrator than the victim in his nightmares.
The artist moved beneath Garak’s arm, turning around so that he could easily see her face.
“If you could,” she paused to collect her thoughts. This was a sentence she didn’t want to leave loopholes in, “If given the opportunity, don’t kill my father. Please.”
“What dreams you must have, where a simple tailor can kill an experienced gul.”
“Elim.”
Garak sighed and wearily rubbed his eyes. This was the one unfortunate consequence of falling in love with Dukat’s daughter.
“It’s alright, Ziyal. We should both get some rest,” he replied all of the sudden feeling utterly tired.
Fully aware of her lover’s non-answer, Ziyal turned back around and fell asleep. Avoiding the request showed more conflict than outright lying or telling the truth, so she took conflict for tonight.
Garak remained awake a little longer, thinking about something Julian had said to him once. Happiness is the best revenge. Garak had dismissed it at the time, along with most of what the doctor said, but it came back clearly to him now. He was happy- and with the gul’s daughter none the less!- but it remained to be seen whether or not that would be enough revenge for him.