Chapter Text
“The Akmar faction has gathered important information on just what the Romulan dealings were in the Japori sector,” Admiral Sisko had explained. “They’re willing to share it with Starfleet Intelligence in exchange for more mining permits in that area.”
That came to no surprise to anyone. The Akmarians had been trying to establish a mining colony in that sector for years.
“You are sending me for a preliminary meeting with them to discuss the terms, aren’t you?” Agent Jadzia Dax asked.
“Of course we are,” Sisko answered. “Curzon helped direct the talks that granted the faction some of those permits in the first place. Also, you’re the only one who’s even remotely familiar with anything about the mining industry.”
Lela had been passionate about it, what could she say?
“I don’t know if I can go, though,” the Trill said. “Julian and Garak have to infiltrate that scenic arts award ceremony, and the mission requires someone that can pose as some kind of artist.”
The team had been preparing for that mission for weeks- it wouldn’t feel right to drop out on her partners like that.
“It’s bad luck when we get separated,” Jadzia was always saying, although Garak and Julian dismissed the notion with different degrees of insistence.
Ben found it amusing on a good day, and annoying on occasions where he needed them to go on solo missions. “Bashir and Garak are trained agents with years of experience, just like you are, old man.” he repeated, for the third time this week. “They can handle the affair by themselves.”
Jadzia still didn’t look convinced.
Sisko sighed. “Okay, we’ll send Worf with them. He’s always wanted to be an opera singer for a mission, anyway.”
And so Jadzia had met with the Akmarian leader and settled down on an agreement that was deeply satisfying for both parties. The leader was sharing a glass of Calderian wine with her, as they lounged in their luxurious quarters, when Jadzia received the call.
“Our cover has been blown! Agent Bashir has been stabbed!” a very panicked Worf was saying into the com. “We require immediate assistance, I repeat, we require immediate assistance!”
The leader had stared at Jadzia’s com badge with furrowed brows. “Are those the partners you’ve told me so much about?”
Jadzia sighed. “Yes, they are,” She set her cup down on the table gently, putting her jacket back on. “I am sorry, Teraan, but it appears that I have to leave immediately.”
The leader pouted, disappointed. They had touched her hand, their palms facing, a gesture between lovers in Akmarian culture. “Will you ever come back to this system, my lovely?” they asked, in that honeyed voice that had drawn Jadzia to them, right from the start.
Jadzia squeezed their hand. “Perhaps.” she replied, leaning to kiss Teraan’s hand. The Akmarian smiled sadly, for they both knew she was probably lying.
And so, here’s Jadzia now, in a runabout orbiting Imaga IV on the Risa sector. While the Federation at large still doesn’t have cloaking devices, Starfleet Intelligence builds their ships with a signal beacon that projects a code into enemies’ sensors that generates a similar effect. It works quite well, and Dax would know. Tobin had perfected the model, after all.
Jadzia types into the pilot’s console, and turns her chair around, waiting. After a couple of seconds, a bright light appears, and Agent Worf has beamed up into the runabout.
Worf seems shocked at first. He’s holding up a phaser, while he looks around, relaxing when he notices where he is. Jadzia inspects him, wincing. His formal Klingon robes are torned and covered in dirt, there’s blood on his right shoulder, and gashes on his torso. He’s fine though; Jadzia knows it’d take more than that to keep the Klingon down.
“Agent Dax,” he says, a little breathless. He must have been running for his life, Jadzia assumes. “I see someone received my distress signal.”
“Be glad it was me,” Jadzia goes toward him, taking him to one of the chairs. “Where are the others? You said Julian had gotten hurt.”
“We were separated, after the bombs went off at the party,” Worf explains. Jadzia raises her eyebrows. Bombs? “Agents Garak and Bashir were taken somewhere, a few hours ago. I don’t know where.”
Jadzia returns to the pilot chair, and starts typing into the console immediately. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring them back.”
It didn’t take long. Jadzia had hacked her way through the shields of top level Dominion facilities, this planet didn’t even have a proper defense system. Also, the sensors detected there was only one Cardassian life signal in the whole planet.
When Bashir and Garak beam up, they are on the ground, locked in a passionate embrace, their mouths on each other.
Worf clears his throat, a little uncomfortable, while Jadzia just exclaims, “Woah, took you two long enough!”
The two agents curse, separating almost immediately. Julian’s cheeks are flushed, and Garak’s usually perfectly combed hair is now a mess. Jadzia laughs.
And then she notices all the blood in Julian’s shirt. Her eyes widen, and they all rush to his side. Julian groans in pain as they help him up, and Garak looks at him, more concerned that Jadzia’s ever seen him.
“We left the targets down there,” Julian coughs. “Sisko was right; the Orion Syndicate was behind this- we have to-”
“We have to take you to the medbay immediately, my dear, that’s what we have to do,” Garak finishes for him. He reaches to touch the other man’s shoulder, but then moves his hand away. Julian gives him a look, frowning a little. Huh, Jadzia thinks.
“Agent Worf,” Garak calls. “Can you take him there and make sure he doesn’t strain himself while Agent Dax and I take care of our friends, down on the planet?”
Worf nods, despite never being happy with taking orders from the Cardassian. “Come, Doctor,” he says, putting an arm around Julian. “I’ll patch you up to the best of my abilities.” Julian stares at Garak as they leave, but the Cardassian refuses to meet his eyes. The doctor huffs and turns ahead, leaning on Worf as they walk.
Jadzia sighs. So much for that, she supposes. The Trill grabs the phaser Worf left on his chair, and looks at Garak. “Beam me down, and then beam me back up in exactly ten minutes,” she says. Usually, Garak would argue, but the Orions must have really done a number on them, because he moves to the pilot’s chair and does exactly as he’s told.
Agent Dax beams down. Garak stares at the console. He can hear Bashir and Worf on the medbay, as Bashir runs the other agent through what he has to do to stop the bleeding from the stab wound on his torso. Bashir hisses as Worf applies the proper hypos. Garak clenches his fists over the screen.
Since they apparently did survive the Orion death trap, the good doctor is probably going to want an explanation for… some of the things Garak had said and done. He’d want to start one of those ridiculous conversations about feelings he liked to have so much, no doubt.
Garak isn’t looking forward to it.
Just five seconds before the timer goes off, bringing Agent Dax back on board, an explosion goes off right on the Orion base below them. Garak raises his eyebrows.
Jadzia beams back up. Garak looks at her, almost impressed. The Trill smiles, handing him the phaser.
“You’re on my seat,” she says. Garak steps away, and she takes the pilot’s chair, warping them out of the place.
When the runabout lands on the Starfleet Intelligence HQ’s, a medical team is already there to meet them. They put Doctor Bashir into a hover cot, despite his loud protests, and they take him off to get his injuries properly treated.
Garak finally exhales. Agent Dax puts a hand on his back and smiles, in a way she probably thinks is comforting, but Garak just finds bothersome.
While he finds her the most competent operative in the agency, after himself of course, they’re only coworkers at the end of the day. A Cardassian would never have taken such liberties with a fellow employee.
The Federation races were so gratingly casual, sometimes.
“He’ll be okay,” Jadzia reassures him, and it is once again, completely unnecessary. “We brought him in alive, they’ll return him like that.”
“I have to go give Admiral Sisko my report of the mission,” Garak states.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Worf is taking care of it,” Jadzia answers. “You know he’s very thorough with his reports.” Garak gave her a look. “You’ve been on the clock for the past week and half, Garak, just go rest for a while.”
The Federation took their ‘R&R’ time very seriously- every worker was granted a certain number of off-hours for every shift they did, and Starfleet Intelligence was no exception. The Obsidian Order would have laughed, but Garak wasn’t above making use of it.
The Cardassian sleeps for fifteen hours. If he dreams about what happened on the mission, well, it was a good thing mind-probing technology had been banned after the Dominion War, wasn’t it?
Garak wakes up to someone ringing the bell to his quarters. The Cardassian gets up grudgingly, wrapping his favorite robes around himself, and answers the door.
Agent Dax is there, with her hair pulled back in her usual ponytail and holding three different PADDs in her hands. “Good morning, Garak!” she says, stepping inside. “The files for the next affair have come in- they cleared Julian for visitors, so I thought we could go deliver him his in person!”
Garak just massages his temples. “Of course, Agent, you can come in, thank you for asking for permission.” The Trill smiles, and Garak is still far too tired for this. “I take it they want us back on duty, despite the couple of days off the agency owns us after our previous missions, then.”
“Not exactly,” Dax says, taking a seat on Garak’s couch. Garak wants to groan. Apparently she hasn’t understood that just because Bashir and her like to just hang out in each other's quarters, doesn’t mean they can do the same on Garak’s. “We still have those days off, but Ben wants us to take a look at the files because we’re better at ironing out the details than any of his actual planners are, you especially.”
Garak hums, pleased, but only because Starfleet Intelligence planners were truly a bunch of idiots who favored the flair of a mission over reality sometimes. Agent Dax was annoying, yes, but at least she knew when to take the pragmatic approach. While her opinions were often clouded by useless emotion, her judgement rarely was.
“I am glad Admiral Sisko is quite competent as Head of the agency,” Garak told Dax, as he walked to his replicator. He replicated himself a plate of poached taspar eggs with a cup of red leaf tea. “Would you like anything, agent?”
“Oh, just a cup of raktajino will be fine,” she replied.
Garak sits down to have breakfast while Agent Dax recounts her mission with the Akmarians. It isn’t discussing Preloc with Doctor Bashir, but it’s entertaining enough.
Not for the first time, Garak wonders how his life had spiraled so off course from what he’d been, years ago.
The two agents arrive at the hospital wing of the HQ’s, as a nurse directs them to Bashir’s bed. Garak holds his breath as he sees him there. The Cardassian is briefly pulled back into Imaga IV, as a hand touched the scales of his cheek, and his dear doctor bled in his arms.
Human blood is a ruby red color, so different from the deep brown of Cardassians.
Garak hasn’t been able to look at the red curtains of his quarters when they’d come back.
“Collect yourself, Elim,” a voice says inside his head, and it sounds very much like Tain.
Bashir smiles, and Garak’s heartbeat doesn’t stay completely normal. “Thank god you are here,” he says. “Can you please tell Nurse Jabara that I am alright and that I don’t need to stay bedbound for another 48 hours?”
Dax takes a seat on the edge of his bed while Garak takes the chair, placing it close to his colleagues. The doctor’s warm eyes are firmly on him as he sits, and Garak doesn’t flinch, although it takes a lot of self control.
“Julian, you were stabbed twice," Dax protests.
“The blades missed any important internal organs,” Bashir replies. “I would know.”
“I think they are more worried about all the tyr gas you inhaled before we got out of the room, doctor,” Garak tells him, a little grim.
While the chemical concoction in the gas was designed by the Maquis to cause Cardassians death, it was meant to be a slow and painful one. It took prolonged exposure to it to cause the desired effects. Humans, however, had a more fragile anatomy. The Orions that put them inside the thing had found it deeply amusing.
Bashir’s augments had permitted him to survive long enough for Garak to crack their way out of the room, as they’d had all the previous times an enemy placed into a morbid death trap. Why they went to such lengths when just a phaser set to kill would do, Garak had no idea. But then again, he knew torture of a target wasn’t without its uses in their field.
Garak had certainly been tortured on the mission. The sensation of Bashir’s lips on his haunts him more than any trap ever could.
“I will be fine,” Bashir reassures them. “I didn’t stay in the cell long enough to receive any lethal doses, and the literature says there won’t be any long term side effects if I received proper attention. Which I did,” he adds the last part eying Nurse Jabara, who has stayed at the door.
“Still, we’d feel more comfortable if you stayed here for as long as they’ve asked you to,” Dax says, but Bashir just frowns. The Trill eyes Garak, asking him to help her here.
The Cardassian sighs. “Just do as you’re told, doctor.” The man still looks unsure, so Garak gives in and adds. “Please.”
Bashir’s look softens, and Garak feels both annoyed and content, that it did. “Okay, I’ll stay,” he complies. Dax smiles. Bashir then gestures at the PADDs they’ve brought. “Is one of those for me?”
“Yes,” Dax hands it to him. “It’s the file for the next affair- we won’t be leaving right away, but Ben wants us to take a look.”
After a few seconds of reading the file, Bashir puts the PADD down, sighing. “It’s another blasted seduction mission- You’d think that after saving the quadrant so many times they would give us less of those!”
Intrigued, Dax takes the PADD. “Oh, interesting!” She looks up at Garak, grinning. “They want Julian to do the honeypotting this time. On a Ferengi.”
Garak’s nose twitches with disapproval, while Dax gives the thing back to Bashir. “If Starfleet Intelligence has to rely on such unpredictable methods for getting information out of a simple Ferengi, I’m afraid I’ll have to take back my previous comment about Admiral Sisko.”
“Don’t let Ben hear you say that,” Dax replies. “He would be heartbroken.”
Meanwhile, Bashir had already read through the 10+ pages of the file. “A bartender? They really want me to pose as a bartender?” He looks up at his colleagues, the same way he always does whenever he’s perplexed by something. Garak does not find this in any way endearing. “I’m not complaining about not having to wear that dabo boy costume again, but there has to be a better way to get close to the target...”
And this is the part where Garak knows he’s still tired beyond measure, because it takes all of his willpower not to remember how the doctor had looked like in those particular garments.
Desperate for a distraction, Garak reaches for his own file. Agent Dax does the same. Garak starts reading it absentmindedly, mainly criticizing whoever came up with the plan for this affair as he always does, when he notices something.
“There’s no mention of any Ferengi on my file,” Garak informs the others. Bashir and Dax share a look.
“Nor on mine,” Dax says, brows furrowed. “You don’t think they’re sending us on different assignments again, are they?”
“It is likely,” Garak admits, as he reads more of his file. Yes, no mention of any Ferengi, or of Bashir’s apparent bartender for that matter. Dax’s frown deepens, and Bashir grabs her PADD, going through it as he did his own.
“This says you guys would be leaving in three days,” Bashir notes. “Mine says they won’t be shipping me out until the end of the week- and that you two would be joining me in a couple of weeks, to give me time to get close to the target.”
Garak… isn’t sure how to feel about that. “Are you sure?” he asks.
“Positively.”
“I don’t like this,” Dax says. “It’s bad luck when we get separated.”
Garak resists the urge to roll his eyes. This again? “For the last time, agent, your Federation concept of luck bears no actual effect on our assignments.”
Dax raises her head at him. “I didn’t tag along for the previous one and you and Julian ended in a room filled with tyr gas!”
“She has a point,” Bashir concedes. Garak glares at him. “I’m not saying I agree, Garak, just that there does appear to be a correlation between the missions I end up injured, and the missions where one of you doesn’t tag along on.”
Not for the first time, Garak wondered why he even felt attracted to this human.
“You were the only one sent to the Deneb II affair, and it went well,” Garak reminds him. “It was a simple mission that could have been done by the newest of recruits, yes, but after years of working with Starfleet Intelligence, doctor, one would assume you could manage assignments without me or Agent Dax to direct you through every step.”
Bashir grins, a glint in his eyes. “Oh, don’t be so sure, Garak; maybe I’ve grown to rely on your constant nagging about every little thing I’m doing wrong. It’s always so enlightening,” Garak opens his mouth for a reply, but the human continues. “Don’t worry, I think I’ll be able to seduce one simple Ferengi by myself.” The Cardassian freezes and the doctor’s grin widens. “Unless you have objections about it?”
Garak straightens his back. “Why would I have any, doctor?”
The two looked at each other, Bashir’s grin starting to disappear. Agent Dax sighs. The Trill stands up from the doctor’s bed, grabbing her PAD.
“I’ll take this as my signal to leave,” Dax says, and for a panicked second, Garak wishes she wouldn’t. “You two obviously have a lot to talk about,” Dax puts a hand on Bashir’s shoulder and kisses him on the cheek briefly. “I’ll see you later, Julian. Do get some rest, okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” he replies coldly, still holding Garak’s gaze.
Dax walks out of the room. Garak exhales. Bashir leans into his bed.
The silence between them is long and heavy.
Bashir grows annoyed. “Garak, you can’t possibly act like nothing ever happened!”
“I assure you I can,” he affirms. “As a matter of fact, so should you.” Bashir huffs, indignated. “What happened in Imaga IV was just a mistake brought forward by our exposure to tyr gas, doctor, it held no actual meaning. It was just one of those spur of the moment things, as you humans always say.”
“Oh, really?” Bashir’s voice is dripping with disbelief. “Because from my perspective, it sure seemed like a last minute love confession of some sort, passionate now-or-never kiss included.” Garak’s scales flush, but just slightly. Bashir smirks.
Bashir leans forward, hand reaching for Garak’s on the bed. Garak’s eyes travel down, their fingers interlacing, similarly to how they had done back on the planet.
“Garak,” Bashir says softly. “You care for me a lot, you said it yourself.” Garak looks up at him, and the Cardassian is breathless for a second. “What happened in Imaga IV doesn’t have to be just a one time thing. We could have something here.”
Garak squeezes his hand. “And what would that something be, doctor?”
“I don’t know, what would you want it to be?”
The things Garaks wants, and the things he’s allowed to have, have never been one and the same for as long as he’s been able to remember.
"Collect yourself, Elim," Tain says in his head again.
Garak lets go of Bashir's hand, giving him a look of discontent that’s hard to make, and even harder to hold. “Please, doctor, you know as well as I do that romantic relationships aren’t viable for people in our line of work.” Bashir’s smile falls, again, and this time it feels as if Garak himself has been stabbed. “After so many years, one would think you’d finally understand.”
Bashir groans, looking up at the ceiling. “Understand what, Garak? That you are going to keep denying yourself all and every opportunity of happiness you can have for more and more foolish reasons?” Garak scoffs. Please, as if the doctor made him that happy. “I talked about this with Admiral Sisko, you know? He said it would be alright, as long as we don’t let it interfere with our assignments too much.”
Garak’s facade was blown away with the genuine surprise of that statement. “You brought it up with Sisko?!” he exclaims, eyes wide. “Julian-” Bashir grins at the mention of his first name and Garak clears his throat. “I meant to say, doctor, you can’t be so naïve as to not realize the consequences such a thing could have for us. What would happen if any of our numerous enemies learns that-” Bashir grins again, Garak glares at him. “-Assumes that I have that sort of affection for you.”
Bashir dismisses it with a gesture. “Everyone and their mother has tried to kill us at some point, and we always escape. That’s what we do! We’re spies!” In everyone’s opinion, Bashir’s insistence that their lives are just like that of 20th century fictional Earth character James Bond had stopped being charming years ago. “And as far as assuming goes, you’d be surprised. The Tal Shiar is convinced we’re married already- must be because I pretend to be your arm candy for half of our missions.” Garak looks at him, horrified. Bashir rolls his eyes. “Come on, Garak, it’s not like marriages are uncommon in the agency, even some of Dax’s hosts got married. Surely there must have been some official couples in the Obsidian Order.”
“Yes,” Garak hisses at him. “But never two men!”
Bashir lowers his shoulders, taken aback. His gaze softens at him again, and Garak can’t do this, not right now.
Not when he’s obviously letting sentiment get the best of him.
“Garak-” The doctor tries to reach out to him, but Garak steps away.
The Cardassian stands up, grabbing his PADD. Bashir clenches his hands on the sheets of the hospital bed.
Garak turns to him, when he gets to the door. “Despite what you might have… interpreted from the events of Imaga IV, doctor, a relationship like that can never happen between us,” He says.
Bashir looks at him, pained. “Even if the emotions were mutual?”
Garak inhales, sharply. His eyes widen, and he stares at Julian, who smiles sadly and nods. The Cardassian looks away. No, it still can’t be.
“Even if they were mutual,” he finishes.
Garak leaves the hospital room, and Bashir watches him go. The doctor will be unhappy for a while, but he’ll get over it, Garak hopes.
As for him? Well, Garak permits himself a brief moment of joy at the thought that his affections might not be one-sided, whether they can act on them or not.
The question of how did an augmented Human, a joined Trill, and the most paranoid ex-Obsidian Order operative in existence ended up becoming Starfleet Intelligence’s best team of agents is one often asked around the SI HQ’s. Chief O’Brien, director of the R&D department in the building, has to answer it almost every time a new intern finds out just who they’re making all of these gadgets for.
“Look, kid.” Miles answers, because he got tired of having to explain why his best friend is best friends with a Cardassian of all people. The Federation fought with them during the Dominion War, there’s still some resentment left. “If you’re really curious, you can bring it up with Admiral Sisko.” The Ferengi intern pales a little. Miles sighs. “I meant, he likes to tell the story whenever he can. If you catch him during lunch, I’m sure he’ll be happy to share.”
And so Cadet Nog went to find the Admiral. He was best friends with his son, so he’d be open to talk about something more informal, right?
Sisko smiles at him. “How I got those three working together? Oh, that’s a funny story, Cadet.” While the Admiral is one the most intimidating people in the Agency -rumor has it that even Agent Worf is scared of him- Ben always takes the time to be nice to the younger interns, particularly Nog. He reminds Sisko of himself and how he used to be, back when his office was Curzon’s. “I’m sure you know about Agent Dax?”
“Agent Dax?” Nog says, his eyes shining as he sets his plate down. “You mean the Spy Legend Jadzia Dax? The one that had holo programs based on some of her previous hosts?” The cadet pauses, remembering himself. He clears his throat, a bit embarrassing. “Yes, sir, I have heard of her. The lower decks are huge fans of hers.”
“They’re not the only ones,” Sisko agrees, but only because Dax isn’t there. Eight lifetimes spent under the agency will do that to you. “Well, then you know this Dax is technically not a Federation officer.”
“No, sir, she’s a Klingon agent, lent to the agency by the Klingon High Council in an effort to aid us against the growing Romulan threat,” Nog recites, then pausing again, perplexed. “I apologize for asking, sir, but isn’t it strange that the actual Klingon agent is Federation while Dax, a member of a Federation race, is not?”
“Yes, cadet, it’s a little weird,” Sisko admits. Worf will never forgive Jadzia for knowing more about Klingon culture than he does. “Do you want to know how it happened?” Nog nods, enthusiastically. And so Sisko tells the story.
Jadzia was an intergalactic thief, before Dax, and before that, she was a Starfleet officer. Her file as a cadet was impeccable- top scores in all her subjects, captain of the Klingon Martial Arts team, all qualifications for a prospective host, and even ship captain, if she hadn’t been so in love with exobiology. She’d been promoted all the way to Lieutenant Commander, in just a few years.
Nog tilts his head, intrigued. “How could such a condecorated officer become a wanted criminal, sir?”
Sisko’s eyes soften. “The Dominion War changed everyone, cadet.” The Ferengi nods, understanding. He has a prosthetic leg for a reason. “It really changed Jadzia. She was honorably discharged from the Fleet at her request, after the emotional toll the Battle of the Toron System took on her.” Nog winces. Toron had been dark, or so the veterans said, even for the Dominion War.
While Jadzia had indeed survived Toron, and multiple other battles where she had to take command of her ship on some occasions, the real reason she was discharged is a secret for everyone under Alpha 3 clearance.
It hadn’t been the battles or the deaths that had made Jadzia lose her faith in the Fleet. No, Jadzia was stronger than that, even before Dax.
It had been the knowledge that Starfleet had helped the Symbiosis Commission on the biggest cover up of Trill history that had finally made her crack. Disheartened, Jadzia had turned in her insignia to her commanding officer.
“I felt like I was drifting,” the old man tried to explain once. “The war was nearly ending, but everything was far from over. That Trill docent had been right; I lacked purpose. So I took some time for myself, and fought for a cause that I could actually believe in.”
Sisko is glad she found herself, in the end. A part of Ben thinks he himself hasn’t done that, not really, not since Bajor.
But it’s okay. Sometimes, just being behind a worthy cause helps.
“Are you aware of just how much art and other cultural artifacts the Cardassians and other invaders stole from a lot of non-allied planets?” Sisko asks Nog. Nog furrows his brows, then nods. “Well, while Starfleet and the rest of the Alliance helped them with food and medicines, Agent Dax decided to take another approach.”
“It wasn’t stealing, Ben!” the old man would insist as well. “Think of it more as… righteous archeology unsanctioned by the government.”
“All of the pieces Dax took from Orion ships or a retired Gul’s villa,” Sisko continues, “were returned in excellent state to their original homeworlds.”
Nog smiles. “She was more of a Robin Hood than an A. J. Raffles then, sir?” He hopes he used the right Hew-man pop culture icons. He always gets them wrong, when Jake tries to explain them to him.
“Correct, cadet,” Sisko replies. “And she was a successful one at that, until she decided to steal something from the wrong Klingon Noble house.” Nog’s eyes widen. “Luckily for her, Starfleet Intelligence needed a Trill at the time, and the Noble houses always held Curzon at a high esteem, so they were willing to help as much as they could to find his Symbiote a new host. As for Jadzia… I’m sure anyone would pick almost anything over a Klingon prison.”
Nog shudders. “My uncle landed himself on one of those once, sir. I used to have nightmares as a kid, hearing about it.”
“I almost got thrown into one, once, but that’s a story for another time,” Sisko says. “But yes, that’s how Agent Dax joined our team. Having the memories of three previous Heads of Starfleet Intelligence truly does help you skip most of the new recruit training.”
Nog’s face darkens. “I’m sure being from the Obsidian Order helps as well, sir.”
While Sisko normally doesn’t allow any form of bigotry among his crew, the admiral can’t really blame Nog for his distrust of that Cardassian, specifically.
Sisko will never forget that the reason the Romulans joined the Alliance during the Dominion War lies solely on that man.
“Agent Garak is one of our best operatives, cadet,” Sisko scolds him. “Even if he was employed by a different agency in the past, his loyalties are with Starfleet Intelligence now.” At least for as long as Cardassia was dependent on the Federation, but then again, Sisko smiles, Garak is not without his ties here now. “He fought against the Dominion just like we did, under Damar’s rebellion. While Dukat’s Cardassia betrayed the quadrant, not all Cardassians were compliant under his rule. The Union has always had dissidents.”
It doesn’t really stop being sad, that Garak helped free his home but they still didn’t lift his exile.
His undying loyalty for his people is annoying at times, since he never ceases to compare how Sisko runs things with how the Order did, but it’s so heartfelt it hurts, sometimes. Especially in the way Garak always tries to pull as many strings as he can, to pressure the Federation into sending more aid to his people.
Sisko and Dax help him with that, when they can.
Still, it doesn’t mean Sisko won’t collect his money from the betting pool the office has going on the Cardassian and Bashir.
“Would you believe me if I told you that when I recruited him, I found Agent Garak hemming pants in some cold space station?” Sisko tells Nog. The cadet’s expression is hilarious.
“But,” Nog protests. “Rumor has it that he was Tain’s right hand and he’s the one responsible for at least 5 different political assassinations, sir, how-”
“Exactly,” Sisko says. “Now you see why it’s better to keep him on our side.”
Ben doesn’t want to think about the timeline where the Tal Shiar grabbed the sad, lonely tailor before he did. Sisko nearly shudders.
“Sir,” Nog asks. “What I still don’t completely understand is how Agent Bashir ended up partnered with both of them.” Sisko gives him a look. The cadet adds quickly. “I meant no disrespect! It’s just that Agents Garak and Dax have decades of experience and training while Agent Bashir simply… doesn’t.”
“His full degree in medicine has saved the team more than once,” Sisko answers, because as far as everyone is concerned, Bashir really did graduate from Starfleet Medical. “And to put it bluntly, cadet, having a person who can do calculations almost as fast as a Vulcan and has lightning-fast reflexes, yet passes for a normal human most of the time is a very useful asset.”
Bashir is more than just his intelligence and surgery skills, of course. His genuine enthusiasm was adorable, yet a little irritating during the first year, but his firm morals and genuine care for everyone balances the team pretty well, especially when Garak’s concerned. Sisko also knows that Bashir, somehow, centers Dax a little from her more impulsive tendencies, like the affair with Miss Lenara Kahn showed.
Still, it is easy to see why people see Bashir as the odd-man out of the team. While his lack of training is still obvious at times, the reason why he’s such an important agent needs Alpha 1 clearance.
Even Ben doesn’t know the entire story, but let’s just say that when Section 31 asked for one of their operatives to be placed on the team, Sisko picked the man who stood up for ideals, even among the darkest points of the Dominion War and everything the Federation had to do to end it.
“I get that, sir,” Nog continues. “But… you know about the Federation’s laws against Augments,” He raises his hands. “Not that I have anything against them! That is a silly Hew-man prejudice, if I’m being honest, sir.” Sisko had to agree. “But… yeah, a lot of the lower decks seem unnerved by him, for some reason.”
“Silly prejudice always finds us one way or another, cadet,” Admiral Sisko tells him. “I do my best to put it behind us, at least on my agency. Or I wouldn’t have accepted the first Ferengi in Starfleet Intelligence.”
Nog blinks for a second, then straightens his back, smiling proudly. “I will do my best then, sir!”
Sisko smiles. “I know you will, Nog.” After all, that’s what everyone in the agency is expected to do.
Julian goes to see them off at the dock, when Garak and her are about to head into their next mission. The man still looks a little pale, and he’s got orders to steer clear from straining exercise at least for the next week, but Jadzia is glad to see him back on his feet.
“Try not to have too much fun without me,” the doctor says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“The same could be said to you,” Jadzia replies. “You’ll be deep in Ferengi territory, the next time we see you.”
Julian groans, letting go. “I don’t know why they are sending me on this one, Garak’s much better at honey potting than I am.”
Garak simply huffs, offended. “And mind you, when did I ever demonstrate such skills?”
His partners give him a look.
“That Vulcan lady when we needed to board the T'Kelvat,” Jadzia says.
“That other lady on Defera Prime,” Julian adds.
“That pirate captain on Roxana Station,” She continues.
“That other Cardassian doctor,” Julian crosses his arms.
“-And everything you did during the Nimbus III affair counts as honeypotting, even if it was for an old enemy,” Jadzia finishes.
Garak’s scales flush just a little, but he dismisses everything with a hand gesture. “Agents, please, that was just necessary for completing the assignments.” He looks up, meeting Julian’s eyes for the first time since they got to the dock. “I’m sure you can do the same, doctor. Even if this is a Ferengi.”
Dax nudges him with her elbow. “Hey, Ferengis aren’t so bad. They make for surprisingly good friends, if you get to know them well.”
“If only the same could be said about the Trill-” Jadzia nudged him again. Julian laughs. Garak rolls his eyes. “Just try to not get too attached to anyone this time. It seriously complicates the mission whenever either of you two do.”
Julian holds his gaze, almost defiantly. “Who knows, maybe I will try and find someone for real. It’s two weeks in a luxury resort, after all.” Oh, dear. “Some drinks and relaxation are bound to do me good, after so much work.”
“You know what they say,” Jadzia said. “No rest for the wicked.”
Garak was unimpressed. “Oh yes, because we count as the wicked in this case.”
“You’d be surprised.” Julian smiles, this time for real. “Please do take care. It’d be dreadful if it was also bad when I’m not there,” Garak opens his mouth, but Julian cuts him. “Aw, save it, you ridiculous lizard, I’m going to wish you good luck whether you like it or not.” His face shifts to worry for a second, and Jadzia’s chest aches, just a little. “A peaceful assignment can turn sour when you least expect it, like we just learned.”
Jadzia puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Julian, we’ll be okay. We’ll watch each other's backs, like we always do.”
Garak pauses, but he inclines his head, in a Cardassian gesture that Jadzia remembers from another lifetime ago as signaling fondness with a person. “We will do our best to arrive back on one piece, doctor, that I can assure you.”
No death traps could ever kill Dax, after all.
Julian hugs her goodbye, and shares an awkward moment with Garak, where they settle on shaking hands, like they’re old colleagues twice their age. Jadzia winces.
If she wants to win the betting pool, she has to find a way to get these two together before the affair with the Ferengi ends. It's for her own sanity and theirs, at this point.
Garak and her get on board the runabout, and Julian waves them goodbye, staying behind as his friends go on to the stars without him.