Chapter Text
Garak hadn’t survived this long without getting stabbed once or twice.
That didn’t mean he enjoyed it all that much. It was so terribly slow—and all that mess. No, give him a nice, clean phaser wound any day and—“Garak!”
The intense pressure vanished (if not the intense pain) and then the good doctor was there in his line of vision, phaser still outstretched. On the ground, a smoldering burn nearly a foot wide across his chest, lay their attacker—motionless and most certainly dead. “My dear doctor, the was no need to overreact."
Julian started, knocked out of whatever trance he’d been in. He fumbled his phaser back into his belt and pulled out his medkit instead. “He stabbed you!”
Garak glanced down at the weapon still protruding from his chest. “Ah. Yes.”
The blade had entered just under his left lung, judging by the odd sensation. He tried to keep his breaths shallow. “I think—“
“Hold still.” The doctor moved towards him, loaded hypospray in hand.
“It won’t work,” Garak countered. Even before the chemical ramp-up from the implant, Federation painkillers were ineffective across species.
“Be quiet.” The hand on Garak’s jaw was warm, if insistent. He didn’t even feel the pinch of the hypo, but the rush of relief—hot and buzzing—was immediate. If he closed his eyes he could almost ignore the eleven centimeters of metal embedded in his chest.
Garak’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been scanning my physiology?”
Bashir pressed—hard—on his chest to apply pressure; he winced.
“You’re welcome.”
“There’s a reason all Cardassian medical files were deleted from the station before it was released to the Federation.”
“Yes, yes…the classified information of your blood type is safe with me.”
With the medical compress primed to staunch the certain flow of blood, Bashir placed one hand firmly around the handle of the weapon and the other braced against Garak’s shoulder.
“You’re not the only species with a vestigial tail, you know."
The comment took Garak utterly by surprise—he blamed the blood loss. For a moment he just stared up at Bashir, fighting an overwhelming degree of fondness for the man. It was hardly the time or the place, after all—and he was being so difficult…
“Remind me to show you a picture of a chimpanzee when we get back,” Bashir said with a wry chuckle. “Now quite fidgeting or I’ll nick your second pulmonary artery.”
“Third pulmonary artery, my dear.”
Bashir grinned.
“Noted.”