Chapter Text
"Constable," Garak huffed in exasperation and put down his spoon. "You've been staring at me without saying a word for the past five minutes now. Frankly I would've assumed that for someone who does not eat you'd be better suited as conversational partner during my breakfasts, but this really is--"
"Hm? Oh, I'm sorry, Garak, I must have gotten... distracted."
After glancing down at himself skeptically, Garak turned back to Odo. "Distracted? Not by me, were you?"
Odo let out a noncommittal grunt and averted his eyes pointedly. "No. Well, yes. Although it isn't you per se and more... your attire that is bothering me. There is something... off about it today."
"Ah, perceptive as always," Garak smiled pleasantly and brushed down the front of his tunic. "This is fashioned from the new Karemma flannel I recently acquired from a Tellarite trader - high quality, beautifully woven and very insulating, mind you."
"Hmm, no. It must be something else."
"I tried out a more daring cut with this piece - you may recall my fondness for the tried and tested classic angular neckline, but recently an intricate layered style has become all the rage back on Cardassia and I--"
"No, Garak. I don't think it's the way your top is designed, it's more about the way... it fits..."
Garak's expression soured a little, though he played it off smoothly. "It fits just as I intended it to, constable."
Odo hummed. "But it doesn't look very comfortable? Usually your outfits tend to combine form and function very well, but this one just seems to be a little..." he trailed off and gestured helplessly.
"A little what?" Garak growled dangerously, disregarding any previous etiquette.
Odo gave a feeble shrug. "...small?"
"I see."
"I... hope I didn't insult your handiwork, Garak. I wasn't trying to question your abilities as a tailor."
Waving him off, Garak returned his attention to his Delvan fluff pastry, stabbing his spoon into the flakey dough and then watched in contempt as the salted yolk filling spilled out onto his plate. "Your assessment is not wrong, Odo."
"It isn't? Allow me the question, Garak, but why would you sew an item of clothing that doesn't fit the person it is made for?"
"When I made this tunic I used a pattern based on my measurements", Garak replied and smeared the pastry's filling over the rim of his plate. "It fit perfectly, as does everything I make - some small adjustments here and there notwithstanding..."
"So," Odo narrowed his eyes a little, clearly feeling that he was onto something. "Somewhere between then and now your tunic changed its size? That is very concerning."
Garak let out a long-suffering sigh and dropped his spoon again, less gently this time. "No, constable. I did."
"...did what?"
"Change size."
Odo thought on that for a moment, then gave Garak a mildly suspicious look.
"Oh, for the love of--" Garak leaned forward and pulled Odo closer by the sleeve, his voice dangerously low. "I gained weight, Odo. That's all - I'm getting old and soft!"
"Hm."
"There," Garak scoffed indignantly and pulled back, crossing his arms. "Are you happy now?"
"Not particularly, no," said Odo.
"Well you should be, because if this continues escalating you won't get much fun out of accusing me of being involved in various unorthodox happenings on the station anymore!"
"'Escalating'? Garak, I really don't think that your... performance will be impacted just because you've gained a few pounds. But if you are that concerned about it perhaps you should consult Dr. Bashir about sustainable ways to stay in shape."
Glaring at the remnants of his dessert bitterly, Garak curled his fingers around the spoon again. "Perhaps I just should stop eating."
"Now, that hardly seems advisable," Odo said.
The mutilated pastry seemed to agree with the constable, glossy egg filling and tantalizingly crisp layers promising a sweet and tender respite. Garak sighed, dug in and refused to acknowledge the smug little smile playing around Odo's mouth for the rest of their meal.
Nearing the late hours of the evening the amount of people populating the promenade had already reduced starkly, though Quark's was obviously as lively as ever when Garak passed the establishment, walking at a brisk pace towards the infirmary.
Garak was, of course, hoping to catch Dr. Bashir at the end of his shift - though that had been a while ago now, so if he was lucky the good doctor perhaps would already have retreated to his quarters.
"Garak? What are you doing here?"
As it turned out, Garak was not lucky.
There Bashir stood in the arch of the infirmary's entrance, looking very much exhausted, with curls of his hair sticking to his forehead and his uniform unzipped down way past the standard regulation.
"I was hoping you could... provide me with a bit of medical advice, Doctor," Garak said hesitantly and peeked over Bashir's shoulder into the infirmary. "Oh, don't tell me you're already done with work for the day? My apologies, I had no idea."
"I'm afraid so," Bashir said and uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck.
"A shame, truly. Well, perhaps we can figure out something tomorrow, hm?"
There was a delightful amount of suspicion strewn across Bashir's expression, though he did not falter quite as well under Garaks piercing stare as he once would have and merely averted his eyes a little. "I'm really tired, but if it's urgent I can make some time for you..."
"Oh, no! Please, Doctor, don't deprive yourself of rest on my account! The only thing I would like to ask of you is to perhaps tend to my concern a bit early tomorrow, since I'd rather avoid any... uncomfortable confrontations with your other patients during regular hours."
"Garak, that is completely unnecessary. Why would anybody object to you seeking treatment?"
Garak wrinkled his nose. "Would you believe me if I told you that I simply would prefer to be as private about this as possible?"
"No," Bashir said, sounding a little too skeptical. "But I suppose there is no harm having you come in early. Hm, let's say... 0630 hours, maybe?"
"That seems ideal. Thank you very much, Doctor. Now, a good night to you! Until tomorrow!"
It was indeed ideal. Garak was intimately familiar with infirmary schedules and knew that Bashir had invited him for an examination set just in between shifts, which meant that most of the present staff would be preoccupied with change reports which in turn would give Garak plenty of inconspicuous private time with the doctor himself.
Not that he was lying or trying to achieve anything else but to spare himself from public humiliation. In fact, Garak felt a bit disgruntled over the fact that Bashir apparently was unable to appreciate his innocuous and honest approach.
"Thank you. And good night to you, too, Garak," said Bashir and presented him with a brief, tired smile, then made his way down the promenade and towards the turbolift.
Garak exhaled and uncomfortably smoothed down the fabric of his tunic. Hopefully a little bit of that dreadfully advanced Federation medicine would prove its worth and rid him of his dilemma in a swift and uninvasive fashion.