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It was over with. Like in any deadly situation, O'Brien had focused on the task at hand, leaving the deeper thinking for later. Later was now, and it was just as well—he had to write his report as soon as he could, to prepare all of the facts for the inquest. And talk to Amaro's wife, at some point.
He left the infirmary and stepped back out onto the Promenade, as light as its twin was dark. There weren't any bodies strung up from the rails here, and he glanced around to be sure, his eyes forcing his mind to acknowledge it. He kept going, making his way toward his quarters.
Still, his away team being posed like that wasn't an image he'd soon forget. The whole bloody thing would take a while to fade away, but it would eventually disturb him less. That's what always happened. Those memories of Setlik III had sat far enough back in his mind to let him have peace until they were dredged up again by Garak and this mission.
He didn't know what kind of new game Garak was trying to play by poking and prodding him on the way there, even before the drug's influence exacerbated it, but it really had nothing to do with kotra. He suspected he was done with that game now, anyway, and what had transpired on Empok Nor would settle the subject for good. But what was it all for, in the first place? Just to get under his skin, to give Garak something to do? Or to see how much ill will he still held towards Cardassians? To get a look into the mind of someone who once struck a blow to the pride of the world he was so very proud of?
But the point of Garak's antagonizing didn't seem to be about killing Cardassians, necessarily. He knew Garak had killed other Cardassians, too, even before this mission.
It was about O'Brien himself. He got a definite feeling that there was an odd sort of admiration coming from Garak. Maybe in part for his present achievements, but apparently more for the soldier he used to be, though he tried to make it clear that he was a different person now. Sure, he'd done his share of fighting since then, but it was one thing to kill out of sheer necessity and survival, in an immediate sense, and quite another to personally plan and stage the neutralization of a target.
He supposed that, in a way, Garak had won his game. For a short time, O'Brien had done just that, again—a premeditated attack—and in doing so, legitimized his taunts, even if most of them were thrown out in that deranged state.
He wondered if Julian would have forgiven him, if he'd actually killed Garak. Julian was the forgiving type. After all, he seemed to have no qualms being close to a man with a certainly questionable past, who had blood on his hands and ghosts in his eyes.
He did what he had to do, and Julian would have understood, just as easily as he understood that it wasn't Garak's fault what he did under the influence of that psychotropic compound.
Understanding was a far cry from forgiveness, though, and he was just glad that it didn't have to go that far. He didn't kill Garak, even if that was the intended outcome of his phaser trap.
Garak said he understood, too. More than just that, though. He knew. Knew the danger was real, knew how he would have lost himself completely if he hadn't been stopped.
O'Brien wondered why he didn't see it before, but now it seemed obvious—Garak was a man who was afraid of himself. Of what he was capable of doing, of all the things he'd done. He was always telling people not to trust him, maybe as a fair warning, because he didn't know when the situation would change or a darker nature would get the better of him. Well, now it had, for a brief time, and he hadn't been able to control it or do anything to stop himself. Honestly, O'Brien felt a little sorry for him.
And maybe less fazed by him, as well, because after all, he'd faced the most ruthless and dangerous version of Garak—the one that wouldn't have even cared about Julian, in that moment—and had not only gotten out of it alive, but had defeated him.
But mostly, mostly he just felt disturbed. The more he thought about it, the more the feeling came to him.
The look on the Cardassian's face in the infirmary, offering his regrets—apologizing—seemed absolutely genuine. Genuine remorse. Embarrassment, even.
No lies. No games.
Really, the most disturbing thing about this incident, was that he found himself somehow trusting Garak more than before. There was hardly any trust to begin with, but now it was something. Maybe he'd finally gotten used to him enough, like a frog in hot water, or maybe he was starting to see in him what Julian saw in him—within reason, of course. He wasn't about to go smiling soppily at him over lunch. But barring an altered mental state, which wasn't likely to happen again anytime soon, he suspected this Garak wouldn't shoot him if he happened to turn his back. Maybe even to save himself, at this point. Maybe with all that time spent with Julian, he was rubbing off on him.
O'Brien stopped in his tracks. That wasn't the best way to put it.
He shook his head, and continued on. He needed to write his report.
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