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Garak locked the back of the shop and barricaded it with what he could, which wasn't much more than an old table and some broken mannequins. With only seconds hesitation he had crawled into the vents and shut it behind him. It had been difficult, being trapped in such a tight space. He kept crawling, wishing in vain that he'd taken up Julian's offer of a holosuite session or two to shed some of those pesky pounds cushioning his gut. He wondered as to the doctor's current situation. He would most likely be in the infirmary under safe guard and wouldn't see most of the fighting until back up arrived. The invaders had only secured the promenade. Odo's security team would be surrounding them as of this moment in a carefully planned counter-attack. In any case there wasn't much point in worrying. He had his own safety to worry about. He knees ached, his breath coming in short heavy bursts. He needed to wait this out.
It was silent. The heavy footfalls of the invaders had fallen out with his hearing range some time ago, not long after Captain Sisko had relayed a message to the entire station. He hadn't heard much of it, the stress of the situation finally getting to him. He needed out. He had been crawling and stopping for hours now, his vision beginning to blur as the air became thinner. At the next opening he popped open the panel, letting it fall to the ground with a clang. There were boxes of equipment piled high which he used as leverage to climb slowly down to the ground. He let out a shaky breath. He could feel himself relax at the much needed open space but gagged as the rusty smell of blood hit his nostrils and the back of his throat. His eyes adjusted well to the dark room, and he saw that the boxes he'd climbed down contained medical supplies.
He was filled with a sense of dread as he wandered around the room. Patient's beds were twisted and bent, their thin sheets tangled and torn across the floor. The patients themselves were nowhere to be found. Garak supposed they had either been vaporised or thrown out into the corridor to be questioned then executed. A rather pointless endeavour, as from what he had heard in his time in the vents had shown a ineffective interrogation technique. Their question was too vague and their methods too quick. If anyone on the station did know of the whereabouts of another being like them they were most likely dead at their own hands.
“Pointless.” He muttered.
He kicked a few empty hypo sprays from his path and they rolled on until they hit the feet of some poor soul. He looked as if he had been taken by surprise, still in his desk chair with his back propped up against the table. His eyes took in his slim figure and dark hands lying limp at his sides and his face grew hot. He stepped forward, hand reaching out. Shaking, he delicately pushed stray hairs away from the young man's face. This required some gentle force, as the blood had caked his features as it had gushed from a neat bullet hole in the centre of his forehead. He rested a thumb on each cheek, other fingers cupping his jaw. He rubbed at the blooded cheeks and it crumbled, revealing soft brown skin.
“Oh, my dear...”
He frantically scrubbed away some of the blood from his eyelids and mouth but there was too much.
Garak stood there, staring into Julian's peaceful expression. He had barely knew him. It was strange to feel this way about someone who was no more than an acquaintance. He had known agents in the order and soldiers in the occupation for years and not shed a tear as they were lost on missions or killed right before his eyes.
Garak felt his throat close up and he coughed. He unstuck one hand from Julian's cheek and moved it to smooth down some curls that had strayed from his usual parting.
He had indulged himself in approaching this young man. So full of enthusiasm and curiosity that he had allowed himself to be stringed along into being his instrument in gaining some favours in the federation, either for protection against Cardassian enemies or as a source of information to be welcomed back into said enemies arms.
He had been young and pretty and an absolute delight. He slowly brought Julian's face towards his own and rested their foreheads together, noses aligning. He let out a choked sob as his chuva rubbed against the bullet wound, disturbing a pocket of wet blood that trickled down the spoon in ghastly decoration. He felt the tears start to spill. They were dead. They were all dead. No help was coming and he would meet his end on this station. Far from home and alone.
He kissed the top of Julian's head fiercely, his nose taking in the remains of clean soap and that awful cologne with too much spice.
“Goodbye, doctor.”
He rose up to full height, stopping only to straighten Julian to a more dignified position. He looked to the vent and dragged himself back up, bones heavy. The enclosed space now much more desirable to any place but here.