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Chapter Text

Zero dark thirty. Doctor Julian Bashir didn't know the expression's origins but he certainly knew its meaning, he reflected, as he jogged along the deserted corridor on his way back to his quarters. Life on the remote station known as Deep Space Nine had gotten considerably more interesting recently, with the new threat of the mysterious Dominion making itself felt in many and random ways. It was hard to think of anything any longer as being normal, as being secure, with that mist of vague and unsettling tension permeating the passageways.

It didn't help that he was becoming somewhat of a nervous flyer in his "old age," he ruefully admitted. Taking a runabout for a very brief excursion into the closest reaches of the Gamma Quadrant had formerly been an adventure he loved to anticipate - he liked the feeling of adventure, he liked the solitude and the time to think, and he even liked the opportunity for his imagination to take him to unknown and even more distant places. Julian Bashir, intrepid space explorer, that kind of thing.

As if DS9 wasn't unknown and distant enough. But what had at first made it foreign and strange, and now made it almost endearingly familiar was the way his friendship with a Cardassian tailor and (former?) spy, Elim Garak, had grown and progressed to the point of intimacy. Intimacy - three years ago, Bashir had never even spoken to a Cardassian. Three years ago, and the sight of Garak himself in the replimat, standing over him and smiling confidently into his eyes had been enough to jolt Bashir into jittery incoherence.

But now - now, he and Garak had been friends for three years, very close friends for two of those and discreet lovers for just about the past year; that aspect to their relationship had progressed rather slowly in the beginning but had strengthened considerably after Garak's return from the Romulan battle in the Gamma Quadrant. It was as if he had made a decision there, for whatever unknown reason and for the first time in his life, to ally himself fully with a cause, with a people, and then, not coincidentally, also with Bashir.

Odo never referred to the events of that time, at least not any more than he was required to by Starfleet and certainly not publicly, and Garak did so only to Bashir and in only the most oblique of ways, but Bashir had learned enough from the intelligence reports he was allowed to see to know that the experience had probably shaken both his friends down to their Changeling and Cardassian souls. And as they, security officer and spy, climbed back up from that brink, it was remarkable how the two rebuilt what had formerly been a somewhat uncomfortable truce into a relationship almost like friendship. Bashir found himself rather envying the breakfasts his two friends now occasionally shared, simply because he was fascinated to know the new side Garak must be revealing to Odo. No matter how close he himself and Garak had become, his lover had many more facets than he would ever show to any one person. But Bashir longed to know them all.

So it was both a shock and a relief when Garak, over dinner a few nights earlier, had proposed an arrangement that was exactly what Bashir had most longed for, even while the thought of it made his heart beat faster with nerves. Garak had proposed that they begin sharing quarters. Garak, the spy, the most charming and yet most evasive person the doctor had ever known, had proposed in effect that the two of them spend every off-duty moment in each other's company, together. Garak, Elim Garak, had proposed this. Bashir shook his head, speechless, at the memory.

And what was even more shocking was that he himself had declined to give an immediate answer. What he most wanted had been presented to him on a platter, as it were, and there he stood stammering, saying in effect, "No thank you - I mean not quite yet - I need to think about this for a while. I mean - if it's not - if you don't mind..." Garak had smiled most graciously, had nodded charmingly and clasped Bashir's hand - not caring who else saw it - and said he hoped the answer would be yes. He was ready. He hoped his dear Julian was ready too.

His dear Julian most definitely was, at least now at zero dark thirty and after a trip back through the wormhole that rattled his nerves and caused his hair to almost stand on end at one very brief and very stomach-lurching moment of disorientation. But the moment was over almost before it began and his re-docking of the runabout was so uneventful that the technician (one he didn't recall seeing for a very long while, oddly enough) had yawned nearly into his face and wished him good night. He headed down the deserted corridor wishing for a little supper in his room, for someone - for Garak - to be there to talk to him, for a warm bed and for the security of knowing that, at least for that night, he was safe and things were secure. And if that meant that he needed to tell Garak that yes, he did want to be with him every day and every night, then this was the time to do it. He only hoped his delay in answering hadn't discouraged his lover too much, made him doubt himself and reconsider his proposal.

No, he wouldn't dwell on that. If Garak wasn't already in Bashir's room (as Bashir hoped he'd be, to wait for his return,) then he'd simply go and find him. And bring him back, and tell him what he meant to him and that he was ready to take that step. And if the Cardassian needed to be wooed, needed to know he was sought after and even lusted after, so much the better. Bashir was ready to woo him. The sooner the better.

And sooner it most definitely was. Bashir rounded a bend in the corridor leading to the habitat ring and saw, to his surprise and happiness, the Cardassian walking just a few dozen meters ahead of him. Garak was wearing a garishly striped tunic of the sort Bashir hadn't seen on him in years, and his head darted very slightly from side to side as if he were tasting the air, taking in the surroundings with every step, watchful and apprehensive. That was rather sad - Bashir hadn't realized that his friend had become so much more nervous after his return with Odo from battle, and it broke his heart to see the physical evidence of that. Garak's customary stride was normally so confident now, so much more relaxed than those early days when Bashir had first met him. Bashir had found out later that Garak had not been willingly left behind on Terok Nor and in fact had been in almost mortal fear for his life during that time of transition. But things had gotten better for him over the past few years - or so Bashir assumed - and his outward persona reflected that change in circumstance.

Or did, anyway. It appeared he'd need even more careful wooing and handling than Bashir had already been planning. Fine. He loved Garak and loved the thought of making that fact thoroughly and pleasantly known to him. Garak could feel safe and secure once again, secure and wanted. Let the magic begin. "Garak!" he called out, his voice echoing strangely along the deserted passage.

The Cardassian turned, startled, not smiling, and hesitant. "Garak!" Bashir called again as he caught up with him. "What are you doing walking around this late?" Garak blinked but didn't answer. "And, my God, that suit brings back memories! I don't think I've seen you wear that in a long, long time!" He smiled to take the edge off his words, Garak silently pondering the remark; he had worn the same clothing when he had approached the young doctor in the replimat just a few days ago - were humans really that forgetful? And just what, exactly, did they consider a 'long long time'? Then again, Bashir was very busy, very preoccupied with his new position on the station, and the very opposite of a spy - he couldn't be expected to memorize details and keep track of time the way a trained operative did. Even so, this situation was rather odd. Quite odd, in fact. Garak waited expectantly.

As did Bashir. "Garak," he tried again, uncertainly, "I - I had a little trouble getting back. Just the tiniest bit of trouble. I hope you weren't waiting for me too long."

"N-no," Garak answered, his voice rising slightly in an almost-question.

"That's good." Bashir exhaled, relieved. and clasped the other man's arm. "That's great, in fact. I've been thinking about what you said and I thought we could talk it over for a bit. In my quarters."

"In - in your quarters? Now??" Definitely a question - the upward inflection couldn't be missed, and Bashir didn't. Puzzled, he pressed on.

"Well, of course in my quarters. We can't very well go back to the replimat at this hour! In fact, I have to tell you -" and here he pulled the Cardassian closer and winked conspiratorially, "I was rather hoping you'd possibly be in my quarters when I got back."

"You were?" Garak blinked rapidly and attempted to extricate his arm from Bashir's grasp. A trick? A trap? Some kind of joke, or a dare? He had certainly been the victim of more than one of THOSE in his time. Still, the handsome and extremely appealing young officer was far too innocent and guileless to be able to successfully fool an old experienced spy... wasn't he? But on the other hand... maybe Garak's advances in the replimat had been unwelcome - maybe Bashir was angry with him and with his suggestion that the two of them seek each other out when in the mood for 'some enjoyable company now and then.' Maybe Bashir was attempting to give him some of his 'own medicine,' as the Federation Standard expression went. Still, the smiling face and the pleasant attitude certainly belied any thought that the Cardassian was being mocked... Garak relaxed his arm and, when Bashir's grip very slightly loosened, he successfully freed it. Bashir's face wore a look of genuine confusion.

"Well, certainly I was. I thought you knew." He paused. "Garak... Are you angry with me?"

Garak blinked again, for the hundredth time, it seemed. "Angry with YOU?"

"Well, it's just that you seem so surprised that I should be saying these things. I mean - hasn't it been obvious how I feel about you?" 'Obvious' how he felt about him? Garak was flabbergasted; the only thing obvious, from his very brief encounters so far, was that Bashir could barely stop shaking with nerves while in his presence and had a very difficult time even meeting his eyes. Were there depths to his feelings that even a trained operative was totally unable to detect? Interesting - and potentially disturbing, to be that far out of practice. Still, the conversation was proving more and more fascinating after all, at least once his initial suspicion had subsided, and Garak waited with quiet anticipation to discover what would happen next.

What happened next was that Bashir placed both his hands on Garak's upper arms and gently turned the Cardassian to face him. "Garak," he began again, "I'm tired, I had a difficult trip, and the truth is I'm even a little scared. And so what I want is to take you back to my room, have a little supper with you, and let you know what I think of your idea. I've had a lot of time to consider it and I promise you, I'll make it worth your while." He leaned forward and placed the most feathery of kisses on Garak's gray cheek. "I've been thinking about you almost nonstop these past few days." The Cardassian's rapid blinking, too, was almost nonstop as he reluctantly let Bashir lead him down the corridor.

Chapter Text

The door to Bashir's quarters slid open and he stood for a moment scanning the room with displeasure.

"Dax has been here again..:"

"Hmm? Who?"

"Dax. She's been in here again, I see. Taking things, rearranging things - I told her it's a perfectly satisfactory room but she keeps telling me how to reorganize it. Strange, though..."

"What is?" Garak couldn't help asking.

"That she emptied it out this thoroughly. Must have been planning to move some new pieces in and got sidetracked." He paused. "Are you sure you still want to consider - you know."

Garak didn't answer, only blinked.

"I mean - it's not as if we'll ever really have our privacy. Not any more. I could get called in the middle of the night - what I mean is, as chief medical officer, I could get called in PERSON in the middle of the night - someone could come marching in here at any time without warning..." He trailed off; Garak said nothing, and then finally, realizing an answer was required, offered,

"Well... perhaps it won't be so bad. That situation you're referring to. I wouldn't think so, anyway. Would you?"

"I don't know." Bashir strode purposefully into the room, Garak following, and the door slid closed behind them. "I know we'll be the talk of the station, no matter what happens."

"The talk of the station?" Garak's blue eyes widened with unease. "The station is going to be talking about us?" This was not good. He had already been playing with fire, flirting with the intriguing young officer, not suspecting that anyone at all knew about his little adventurous forays beyond a few random station inhabitants - even the affair with Tahna Los hadn't put him very high up on Commander Sisko's watch list. At least, he hadn't thought so. Oh, Odo watched him unceasingly, but Odo watched everyone, most especially Quark - nothing to be extremely concerned about there. Unless he was mistaken, very badly mistaken, and the entire station was indeed noticing and expressing concern over his intentions toward their new doctor.

Their new doctor with the graceful long limbs, gorgeous hazel eyes and mellifluous voice in an unfamiliar accent that Garak found mesmerizing... He started at the sound of his own name; he'd been daydreaming for a second or two.

"Garak - I said, please sit down! You look so uncomfortable standing there. You're quite on edge tonight." Bashir himself gracefully sank down onto the sofa. "And besides, you never did tell me what you were doing out so late."

"I was - I was just - walking. Couldn't sleep. I didn't realize you were looking for me."

"I'm sorry - I wasn't exactly looking. I was just hoping I'd see you. The last thing I want is for it to seem that you're accountable to me for all your activities now."

"Oh, I assure you, I certainly wasn't thinking that." He lapsed into silence. Just when, in the past few days, had the young doctor suddenly taken it into his head that Garak felt accountable to him for his activities? When he was in the shop eavesdropping on the Klingons? When he was evidently watching the Cardassian from afar, perhaps asking questions about him, quizzing Odo about him... The thought, again, was unsettling - Garak felt safe and secure being on the prying end of such inquiries, not the receiving end. Never the receiving end. He had certainly misjudged his attractive new friend. Bashir addressed him once more.

"Will you please sit down, Garak!" Garak sat, stiffly balancing on the edge of a chair, back rigid, posture bolt upright. "Ah. So you ARE angry."

"Not at all. I assure you, I don't have any idea why you should think so." That was the total truth.

"Well... I didn't really respond to your little - suggestion - in the most eager fashion." The suggestion to stop by and talk once in a while? At least, that was the suggestion that Garak had made overtly - the undertones could be left freely to the imagination. So no, come to think of it, Bashir had mostly conveyed fright at that suggestion, perhaps slight confusion, definitely not eagerness. But there was nothing in his manner that even a sensitive soul like the doctor's should have assumed gave offense. Nothing at all. Bashir rose and approached him, Garak staring up into his eyes.

"I had been planning for us to have a little supper here, but I don't think I'm really very hungry after all. Are you?"

"N-no, not if you're not..."

"Then, I think I really just feel like going to bed."

"Oh, certainly! I'm sorry." Garak leapt up and moved rapidly in the direction of the door; Bashir reached out and in one smooth motion grabbed hold of his arm.

"Where are you going?"

"Well - out. Back to my quarters. You said you're going to bed."

Bashir sighed and closed his eyes. "Garak, Garak, Garak. Garak. Would it help if I told you my answer was yes?"

Garak hesitated. WOULD it help, if this mysterious answer to the unknown question was yes? Bashir certainly looked most fetching in his Starfleet uniform, collar unfastened, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with some kind of longing. Longing for him? Was this how the normally so shy and reserved young doctor behaved when he wished to pursue a mate? Was he actually inviting Garak, after less than a week, into his bed? Were those undertones blaring loudly and insistently in the doctor's ear right from the start? And if so, was Garak going to resist the temptation and hold on to his solitary dignity in this bizarre late night situation?

He was not. "Yes - yes, it would help a great deal if I knew that - your answer was yes." He smiled. Bashir smiled too and led him back over to the sofa.

"Then my answer is most definitely yes. I agree to your proposal. Let's try it."

"All right," Garak answered somewhat breathlessly - Bashir had begun planting very light bites on the neckridge closest to the Cardassian's left ear and the effect was making him swoon. "Yes, let's try it - my popro- my - my proposal." He gasped for air. This was really extraordinary, that a young man who had seemed to know absolutely nothing about Cardassians should now know exactly where to exert the greatest pressure with his teeth - "AH!!" Garak almost shouted. Bashir smiled and climbed up onto the cushions, straddling him, then leaned in for another bite. Garak thrashed from side to side as Bashir muttered, amused, "I always did like the lower necklines on your old suits..." With a roar, Garak scrambled back to his feet and practically dragged the human to the bed. The last thing he coherently recalled was Bashir calling for lights out before he too lapsed into incoherence.

Eight hours later, nine hours later - it was difficult to tell. Garak awoke to the sounds of his new human lover splashing around in the bathroom. His new human lover who, for whatever reason and without giving so much as the tiniest hint beforehand, had seemed to know exactly what to do to drive a full grown male Cardassian body into a frenzy. He even knew how to rub the scales on the back of the neck in exactly the right direction to elicit a cry that Garak hadn't voiced in many, many years - in fact, he reflected, he hadn't felt so delightfully satiated since - since never. Never. This human was a miracle sent from the Federation to soothe the ravaged Cardassian soul. What a thoroughly delightful surprise. The sounds from the bathroom stopped and Bashir walked back to the bed, a towel loosely and enticingly draped around his waist. Just barely.

"Good morning, love," he smiled, detouring to the replicator and ordering two cups of tea. "Sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't," - love? - "I was just -"

"You were in kind of a strange mood last night," Bashir continued. '*I* was in a strange mood?' Garak reflected in wonderment. "I hope I made it all better now."

"Oh, I don't think there's any doubt of that." Garak wriggled in contentment and reached out carefully for the cup of tea Bashir had placed on the bedside table. "You're quite the - I mean, you - Well, I'm curious how you know so much about Cardassians. You were quite incredible."

"Oh, thank you! But it's not as if I've never done this before, you know," Bashir smiled archly, pulling a sock onto his foot. Garak's face fell. And here he thought he had definitely been the doctor's first. Well, at least the mystery was solved. His new young friend was a serial Cardassian bedder, if that were even a word in Standard. Garak was simply the next one in a long line of conquests... The shy stammering in the replimat and in the shop had all just been an act. How unfortunate. Or - no - perhaps it was instead possible that the doctor had simply earned his experience with only one very lucky and very skillful Cardassian, before a rejection had sent him scurrying to Garak's willing arms. That was better, even if not entirely so. But who would that Cardassian have been?

"In fact, you might say I learned from the best," Bashir said, as if reading his thoughts. "He taught me everything I know. He's very particular, very demanding - oh, and he has a TREMENDOUS - ego! Isn't that what you thought I was going to say?" He laughed loudly at his own remark; Garak fumed. Dukat!! Of course!! Bashir had already been wooed, bedded, and then tossed aside by the despicably supercilious former prefect, and was even now trying to exact some sort of revenge on him by seducing his bitter enemy. But, oh my, he ruefully admitted to himself, Dukat had been quite the instructor. He'd have to thank him some day after all, should the opportunity ever present itself.

Bashir was now fully dressed and gently slid an arm behind Garak's back, in an attempt to move him closer to the edge of the bed. "Come on now, get up - I'm hungry and we slept too late. Hurry up if you want a shower. I have a lot to do today. Let's get some breakfast at the replimat, if they haven't already switched over to lunch." He grinned. "If they haven't, and Odo's there, maybe you'd let me join you two." Join them? Him, with Odo? "We can tell him what we're going to do." He grinned even wider. No, let's not, Garak silently pledged. Let's not go anywhere near the Constable, who will toss me out the nearest airlock if he so much as suspects I've done anything remotely like this with you. Bashir threw a pile of clothing at him and Garak reluctantly climbed out of the bed. Time to get dressed, say good-bye, and make his escape, while he still could. If he still could - Bashir was smiling at him in that peculiarly familiar way he had suddenly adopted and was slowly creeping closer. Garak flopped onto his back, his arms flung out to either side, and closed his eyes. "Thank you, Federation," he breathed in Kardasi as Bashir giggled.

Chapter Text

Down the corridor they walked, Bashir with his arm linked through Garak's, Garak marveling at the easy familiarity with which the doctor was treating him - him, a Cardassian whom the young man had only recently met - but then again, even more recently, well... They rounded a corner and passed a woman Garak recognized as the Dax to whom Bashir had referred the previous evening. Bashir's face lit up and he stepped forward to greet her.

"Jadzia! Hey, I've got some big news!" She didn't speak, only stared with her mouth half open in a sort of an "o" shape - Garak recognized it well, as he had observed more than a few of those expressions in the past few weeks as Starfleet personnel took over the station. But never was the "o" combined with eyes as wide as the Standard letter too, and a defensive stance that almost made it appear as if she were warding off some sort of unexpected and unwelcome threat. Garak sighed and withdrew a few paces, but still close enough to hear every word the two exchanged.

"Jadzia! Why do you look so surprised?" Bashir was genuinely puzzled.

"Why do - why do *I* look surprised?" she repeated, in a kind of daze. "I suppose it's because - I suppose it's -" She stopped, then tried again. "Julian - I admit that I don't know you too well, but this - this -"

"This what?" Bashir smiled encouragingly. "You know how much I care for you, Jadzia, and how much I respect your advice. So what I'm going to tell you can't be a total surprise to you. I did it. Well, we did it. Garak and I are going to move in together. I thought you'd be happy for me." He waited for a response.

He received not one but two. The Trill inhaled sharply with a slight choking sound; the Cardassian did the same, but more unobtrusively. So THAT was the proposal - he had made such a proposal to Bashir? When?? Or had the doctor interpreted his overture in the replimat in such a bizarrely forward fashion? Move in with the young man? Garak wasn't even sure he was comfortable spending the night with him, so exposed and vulnerable, but what was done was done. But to actually share quarters with a young human male he had only just met... It boggled his Cardassian mind. The one called Jadzia - Dax - luckily agreed.

"Julian, I think we need to talk." She inclined her head toward Garak. "Somewhere private." Bashir stiffened.

"I thought you'd be happy for me. This can't be a surprise, can it? Not any longer? You know what I feel for him." He too inclined his head toward Garak. "Oh, and you can say whatever you want to say in front of him. I guess I didn't realize you still had these feelings for me."

"*I* still have feelings for *you*?" she gasped. "I mean - I mean - yes, I like you very much but it's not as if you've been ignoring me." Bashir sighed.

"That was a long time ago."

"It was two days ago!!" she shouted. Bashir flinched.

"Jadzia, I expected better from you. I can't believe you're trying to sabotage this for me. Don't listen to her -" he called over to Garak, who was standing motionless and staring in amazement at the little scene being played out, "- I don't know what's going on but I'm sure it's nothing personal. We've all just been under a lot of stress lately." He reached out and patted Dax's arm, which she quickly withdrew in a huff. "Haven't we? But that's no reason to take it out on Garak."

"I'm not taking it out on -" She suddenly called over as well toward the waiting Cardassian, "Would you give us a few moments, please, Mr. Garak?" He inclined his head in silent acquiescence and turned; Bashir ordered, "Stay where you are, please, Garak," his eyes never leaving Dax's face.

"Please give us a few moments alone, Mr. Garak," she called out again, and despite Bashir's repeated request, Garak began slowly walking away.

"Oh, all right, get us a table in the replimat if you prefer. I'll be right there." He turned back to Dax. "And now - you've scared him off, you've attacked me, you've made it clear after all that you have no idea what's best for me... So let's talk. Just what, exactly, is the matter?"

She struggled to suppress a shriek with an obvious attempt at calm. "Julian. Julian. Surely you must understand how this looks. You can't possibly be unaware that this situation, coming this soon -"

"How WHAT looks?" His expression was incredulous. "Everyone surely knows by now that -"

"All everyone knows by now, Julian, is that this man must have swept you off your feet somehow and you seem completely oblivious to that fact or to the opinion of anyone else around you. What you're planning to do is not only inadvisable but, frankly, unbelievable."

"Oh, it is, is it?" Bashir's hazel eyes glittered with annoyance. "Unbelievable. I'd tell you what's unbelievable, but I have to get to the replimat. To have breakfast. With. My. Friend." He turned on his heel and left Dax standing, blinking, in the corridor.

Garak sat alone at a table in the crowded replimat - the breakfast hour had long since started to wind down and the early lunch crowd was already filtering in, and there were never quite enough tables for the two shifts at once. But Garak was, as always, alone and undisturbed as he waited for the maddeningly confusing doctor to join him - in fact, not only was he alone but there was a barely perceptible "zone" of clearance all around his table. Well, no matter. He was already used to that, from both the Bajorans and the newer Starfleet personnel, and he would no doubt have to get used to it again once Bashir had gotten over his odd fever or virus or whatever was afflicting him, and left him to eat by himself once more. Garak grinned a little at the memory of the previous evening, his odd expression causing a Bajoran couple at a nearby table to lean a fraction further away from him. Security chief Odo had entered the area in the meantime and was conversing with one of the Bajoran shopkeepers who made Garak's life miserable. Odo sat down at the man's table, in fact, and remained there as the Bajoran got up to leave. Just then, Bashir entered the room and quickly scanned the area.

"Odo!" he happily exclaimed. Odo watched him with suspicious interest. "Odo - it's my fault."

"It's your fault?" the shapeshifter repeated slowly. "For -?"

"For making Garak late for breakfast. I wouldn't want to be the one to cause you both any inconvenience." Odo looked over at Garak, who shrugged in an 'I don't know what he's talking about' sort of motion as their eyes met. Bashir was continuing, "So should we join YOU, or are you going to join US?"

"Join you? For what?"

"For breakfast! For lunch!" He smiled. "I suppose whichever meal you consider this to be will determine which table we end up at. So which is it?"

"Which is what?"

Bashir exhaled loudly. "Not you too. What's gotten into everyone today?" Garak, at his table, was pondering the same question silently and with regard to someone other than Odo. "I know you usually eat breakfast with -"

"I don't eat."

Another sigh. "Well, that's your business, what you do exactly, but I know Garak looks forward to these times with you." Garak, for his part, was staring in amazement at Bashir, then quickly focused on Odo who was in turn fixing him with an irritated, suspicious glare. Just what was the Cardassian up to now? What tales was he spinning for his very new and very impressionable young - young what, exactly? Friend? He'd have to give Garak a very stern lecture, and very soon, on just what he thought he was going to be doing with Starfleet's new doctor. At that moment, an equally stern and flustered Major Kira burst into the replimat and immediately spied Bashir.

"Doctor - I need to speak with you. Now." She strode up to him and reached out for his sleeve - he instinctively backed away.

"Major - is this an emergency? I was just planning to have breakfast with -"

"Yes, this is an emergency. I need to speak to you NOW." She grabbed hold of his arm and practically propelled him into the corridor, where the muffled sounds of her tirade could still easily be heard in the replimat. Garak grimaced and closed his eyes. Was last night, after all, going to have been worth it if the entire station was now falling over themselves remonstrating with the doctor over him? Against him? Perhaps not - the low profile he so carefully cultivated was now as high as a pedestal and looming higher every minute, if the station's second-in-command was now getting involved. This was no longer amusing. His eyes met Odo's for an instant and he quickly looked away.

Kira had pushed Bashir up against the wall and, in a carefully controlled snarl just centimeters from his face, said, "I need to ask you something. Something very important. I'm going to put this in the clearest way I know how and use all the restraint I can summon." She took a breath. "Doctor - just what the FUCK do you think you're doing?"

Bashir, momentarily stunned, had no answer to that question, at least none that he felt were appropriate to use in that setting. Finally he faltered, "I don't understand - what is it I'm doing?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Dax told me you were inviting that Cardassian to move in with you." She visibly shuddered. "I know you're naïve, but I didn't realize you were stupid too." Bashir reddened.

"Listen, Major - I don't know what your problem is now with Garak or with me, but your language is completely unacceptable. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd think you've gone back in time to - well, to when we all first met. You can't be telling me you *still* have all these issues with Garak."

"STILL have them?" Kira growled. "Doctor, he's a lying, conniving, deceiving, dangerous - spy. I'll leave it at that. It was kind of a joke to watch you with him but now that you're actually SERIOUS..." She drew herself up to her full height. "I'm going to involve Commander Sisko in this, if you won't listen to me. I'm not going to let -" Bashir's communicator beeped.

"Doctor Bashir, I need to see you in my office immediately. Immediately," Sisko himself repeated. Bashir frowned.

"Well, Major," he snarled, freeing himself from her grasp, "it appears you already have your way. I have no idea where this is coming from, but I'm not going to let you win. This attack on Garak and on me, this rudeness, this, this - well, you'll see." He stepped over to the doorway of the replimat and announced to Garak, "I'll be right back - Commander Sisko wants to see me. I'll come talk to you later in the shop. You and Odo just go ahead with your breakfast without me." With that, he departed, leaving Kira still fuming, and Odo and Garak regarding each other in total confusion, both still seated at their respective tables. Garak shrugged again in Odo's direction and shook his head, blue eyes blinking innocently. Somewhat innocently. Odo only scowled.

Two hours later. Bashir tentatively and hesitantly approached the doorway of Garak's shop, where the Cardassian stood near a mannequin, arranging the folds of its long gown. He looked up as Bashir stepped a meter or so into the room.

"Doctor?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No - I mean, yes - I mean, no; well, sort of." Bashir stopped. "I mean - yes. I'm in a situation that's really quite impossible to comprehend." Garak watched him inquiringly but didn't speak. "Impossible, but Dax found out it happened. She went in and checked the runabout after that little conversation I had with her - says she thought I was acting a little too strangely..." He didn't finish.

"And?" Garak finally prompted.

"And... well... Garak, you may need to sit down for this. I certainly did."

"Oh, I don't know if that's necessary..."

"I think it is." Bashir staggered a few more meters into the room and collapsed into a chair. "At least for me." Garak watched him solicitously - puzzled, but solicitous. "Garak... we only met a few days ago; is that right?" Garak nodded. "Just a few days ago?" Garak nodded again. "And we've never actually spoken for more than a few minutes at a time?"

"Doctor Bashir - may I ask what you're trying to say -"

"And... and we've never - I mean, we had never..."

Garak shook his head. Bashir did not need to elaborate.

"So when I asked you..."

Garak waited.

"You said yes. Right away. Even though we've just met."

"Well, of course I did," Garak smiled. "What else could I do in that situation but go along?" Bashir grinned back at him for a fraction of an instant, then frowned.

"I'm not sure you would have gone along if you knew what I'm going to tell you now." Garak froze. By all the gods, an incurable space disease - no, that wasn't it. Bashir was beginning to grin again. "Or maybe you would have. Knowing my Garak the way I do, you probably would have."

Julian Bashir held onto the wall for balance as he dizzily made his way back to his quarters along the darkened corridor. That little trip through the wormhole had been memorable, to put it mildly - whatever possessed him to take a runabout for a little exploratory mission of his own? Ego? Adventure? Curiosity? This new frontier was fascinating and all but the bumpy ride back had played havoc with the remains of his dinner. He'd done the best he could but would have to apologize to whoever was in charge of cleaning the runabouts later. For now, though, he longed for nothing more than a warm bed in his relatively stable room in his new home on Deep Space Nine. The door to that room slid open and he was dismayed to realize that Dax had probably been there that day, 'redecorating' - he didn't recognize half of the furnishings or the wall coverings. But one thing he most definitely DID recognize, with a start and a near-scream; the Cardassian tailor and suspected spy, Elim Garak, was lying in the bed reading. In the bed. Bashir's bed.

Chapter Text

"Wh- what are you doing here?" Bashir stammered.

Garak sighed. "So you're still making me chase you. After all this time. All these vague uncertainties you enjoy inflicting - without even telling me where you were going." 'Making' the Cardassian *chase* him? Vague uncertainties? All this time? After - what? Three days? The doctor began to back away.

"I - I really don't know what you're talking about - I had no idea you even knew I was gone, much less that you cared about where I was -"

Garak sighed again and practically slammed the padd onto the mattress next to him. "I admit that I do love the fluttering eyelashes and the stuttering. Very charming. Very calculated and quite an act, but charming none the less. But if you're now going to stand there and mock me..."

"I'm not mocking you, Garak," Bashir answered. "That's the truth. I have no idea what you're talking about or what you're doing here." He surreptitiously slid his hand toward the communicator on his chest, but the Cardassian was now angrily climbing out of bed and Bashir stopped.

"Then all those hints before were really just an act to appease me. Well, doctor, I will not be appeased and put off. I'm afraid I'm going to have to finally call your bluff. Are you, or are you not, interested in going along with my suggestion?" He waited expectantly, breathing rapidly, blue eyes fixed on Bashir.

Who stood, mouth open, mind churning, facing him in turn. Suggestion? What suggestion? That he and Garak get together for some enjoyable conversation once in a while? He suspected the Cardassians were talkers - in fact, one might almost say inveterate talkers - he had found that out just from his few encounters with Garak so far and from the transcripts of Commander Sisko's dealings with Gul Dukat. One thing you could never say about Cardassians was that they were reticent and hard to draw out. Still, he had no idea that spurning such an offer to converse, or at least not immediately acting on it, would cause such offense and even such hurt. Garak looked positively distraught, eyeridges furrowed, shadowing his lovely blue eyes... Lovely? Bashir started. Garak noticed the slight movement.

"Ah. So you do know what I'm talking about." His expression relaxed slightly. "Julian, listen." Bashir's eyes widened at the very familiar use of his first name. "We're both tired, we're both a little on edge. This is going to be a big change for us and I can understand your hesitation. What do you say to us ordering a little late-night snack here and then perhaps - calling it a night?"

Bashir nodded in agreement. Oh, not so much at the thought of the snack - his stomach was still experiencing a little flip once in a while, although that may have been because of Garak as much as from the turbulence - but at calling it a night and having his new Cardassian friend return to his own room, leaving Bashir in peace to ponder this odd new development. Garak walked to the replicator in the wall and, as if he done the same thing many times before, calmly addressed it, ordering himself a redleaf tea and Bashir a glass of sparkling water, with a plate of crackers and cheese for the two of them to share. He placed the drinks and the plate on a low table and sat down in front of it, beckoning the doctor to join him.

Bashir did so and perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, barely leaning back, gazing in wonderment not only at Garak the spy but at the changes Dax had wrought to his formerly spartan quarters in the space of a single afternoon. Even the couch was covered in a soft weaving and two bright pillows were placed at either end. Garak grasped one of these and gently wedged it behind him. "My back," he grinned in explanation. "It's been bothering me a little more than usual lately." Was that a wink?

"Oh! You should let me take a look at that, then!" Bashir offered, in his best professional - although nervous - style. This time, there was definitely a wink from the Cardassian. No question about it.

"Yes, yes, I really should," he drawled, grinning. "Especially since you're the very person who's been the cause of these recent - difficulties - of mine. You and your boyish stamina." He smiled even wider. Bashir, thoroughly confused, gamely smiled back and sidled a little further away from him on the sofa; Garak slid closer. Bashir slid further. Garak slid even closer, exhaled, and with a "This is ridiculous," grasped the doctor firmly by the arm. Bashir pulled it away and, in so doing, fell backwards against the opposite pillow, Garak looming over him.

"Now. Let's talk." He placed one hand on each of Bashir's forearms; Bashir was too stunned to resist. In addition, the sensation of Garak holding him like that, so forcefully and without any hesitation whatsoever, was making him a little dizzy. He blinked. "Let's finally talk this out."

"Talk what out?" Bashir squeaked.

Another sigh. "When I first proposed this idea to you, you were in favor. I could tell you were. The only thing I could think of that would have held you back was some obscure Starfleet regulation. But I was patient with you and your nerves and gave you time to think. But now, my dear doctor - my dear, dear doctor - time's up." He leaned down as if to plant a kiss on Bashir's unwilling cheek; Bashir sat bolt upright, dislodging him. This was - this was impossible to believe. Oh, he wasn't so naive as to be unaware that his new Cardassian friend had been showing definite signs of interest since they met - very definite, and Bashir for his part had never in his life encountered a being more mesmerizing and more enticing, try as he might to remind himself that Garak was not only a Cardassian and a spy but a male, from a culture that might not even have a clue that some humans had no such taboos. But never would he have expected that Garak, within days of setting eyes on him, would now be attempting to forcibly seduced him after accusing him of being "in favor" of it. Bashir panted, "In favor of - held me back from - Garak, I don't know what it is you have in mind, but -"

"Oh please." Garak sat up too and regarded him. "This is no longer funny. Did I offend you in some way, that you're now going to make me look the fool? I believe we've known each other far too long for these silly games. Just do me a courtesy and give me your answer."

"All right." Bashir thought for a moment; Garak was obviously upset, annoyed, possibly even dangerous when in that state, and while Bashir was feeling a definite thrill at the situation unfolding, it was a thrill he'd no doubt be paying for dearly if he let things get out of hand. Far better to reason calmly with his determined guest and puzzle out just what exactly was the matter. Far better. He took a deep breath. "My answer is... my answer is that I need more time. To think."

A sigh practically exploded from Garak. "More time."

"Yes."

"Then I'm going to take that as a no. Good evening, doctor - it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He rose and Bashir, to his own shocked amazement, reached out and grasped hold of his sleeve.

"No - I didn't mean -"

"You obviously have already given my proposal a great deal of thought and have no better answer for me than these ridiculous games and evasions. I'm ready for much more than that, and I thought you were too. But you're not. So - good evening." He tried to pull free.

"Garak - wait." Garak waited. "I'm not feeling myself tonight - I had a difficult trip in the runabout," and here Garak's eyes narrowed slightly in sympathy, "and you'll just have to forgive me. Please." He smiled gamely. "But, um, tell me again - just why do you think this - proposal - of yours is a good idea?"

Garak unsuccessfully stifled yet another in a continuous series of sighs. "Because we've known each other for a very long time, long enough to be sure of this. Because I believe the station itself is ready for this at last. Because," and here he leaned close to the doctor's ear, despite the fact that no one was in the room, "because I want you, Doctor Bashir, as much as you want me. Even more. I want to be with you." Bashir gulped; Garak grinned and leaned down for the kiss he had been unable to bestow earlier. "Now. Have I spelled it all out to your satisfaction?"

His lips touched Bashir's cheek, which visibly reddened as Bashir stammered, "A - a very long time? You think it's been a very long time?" Cardassian culture, or at least the little he knew of it so far, seemed staid and conservative - quite staid and conservative - and yet here was the spy, Garak, seemingly proposing some sort of physical relationship after only three days. A relationship he seemed completely comfortable with and almost expecting - surely Bashir's shy smiles and gentle encouragements couldn't have been THAT provocative. Three days? And now he wished to - to WHAT, exactly? What did Cardassians do after only three days?

"I'll be able to move everything in myself. We'll choose your quarters, obviously - no one in an emergency is going to remember to look for you in mine, and besides, I relish finally moving far away from my Klingon opera fan. You have no idea how that sound jangles my nerves. These walls may be built to Cardassian standards but the ductwork is pure Federation." He laughed. Bashir was dumbfounded.

"You're moving in? Here?"

Garak laughed again. "Very good. I'm getting to like this little farce. Yes, doctor, I'm moving in. Here. Don't tell me you don't want me to."

"I don't want you to."

"Very, very good! Now finish your cracker and let's go to bed." He paused. "I wonder - in all the vastness of the universe, has any Cardassian ever said that phrase to any human before?" At Bashir's stunned silence, he shook his head. "I didn't think so. Well, one just did. Now let's go to bed."

Chapter Text

"To - to - bed? My bed?"

"Yes, to bed. Your bed." Garak stood and brushed an invisible crumb off the front of his shirt. "I'm already dressed for it - as you can see." He gestured toward his soft, loose clothing. "Unless you would prefer that I be... un-dressed for it?" He grinned.

Bashir gulped. "N-no, that's all right, what you're wearing is - is fine." 'Oh God,' he thought, 'I basically just told him he could stay. I just told GARAK THE SPY that he could indeed GO TO BED in my bed - what was I thinking? What AM I thinking? And he even wants to get undressed??' His heart again began to pound. Garak, not noticing the panic in his eyes, disappeared into the bathroom while Bashir remained seated, staring blankly at the opposite wall; he returned a minute or so later and tapped Bashir lightly on the shoulder.

"Come, doctor - get up. You're tired - we're both tired. I may have been wrong to push you this evening when you're obviously not feeling well." He reached back and began to urge Bashir forward by the seat of his pants. "I say we go to bed and talk again in the morning." Bashir scooted away from the hand, eyes wide, mouth open.

He knew he could - should - put a stop to the bizarre circumstances already taking place in his quarters. He knew he could - SHOULD - tell Garak that he was going to be having a stern talk with Commander Sisko about the situation, and that he was very sorry but such a talk could possibly lead to - "Ah!! What are you doing??"

"Removing your jacket, Julian. You seem very little inclined to do it yourself, and I can't imagine you'd be very comfortable sleeping in full uniform." Garak calmly unzipped the jacket the rest of the way and gracefully pulled it off Bashir's shoulders. Then he pushed the table a little further away and knelt down in front of the couch, reaching for Bashir's ankle. "Would you like me to help you with your boots?"

Would he? Bashir, eyes still enormous, had begun breathing harder - Garak was softly stroking his calf, one hand still grasping the ankle so Bashir was effectively immobilized. Garak had raised his eyes to gaze into Bashir's face, while he continued to softly stroke up to the knee, then a circular movement around the knee, then to the thigh, fingers gently finding the inside seam that ran along the trouser... "AH!!" Bashir exclaimed again. "Garak!! You're -"

"Shhh." The Cardassian clucked his tongue. "You still haven't given me your answer about the boot. One thing at a time. Do you want me to help you, Julian?"

"I'd - I'd really rather you not call me Julian just yet - I mean, if you don't m-"

"Oh, I see. All right. Shall I call you... now what's the name of those sweets they sell at the Gratitude Festival... 'honey buns'?"

"'Julian' is fine."

Garak smiled, a thoroughly self-satisfied and triumphant smile that crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. "Dearest, sweetest Julian." He tugged at the boot. "Do you want to know when I first fell in love with you?" Bashir, still immobile but now with shock, mutely nodded. "When I saw you in the replimat fidgeting with that ridiculous flower! You were so - adorable, is I think the word in Standard. Completely adorable. Those big frightened eyes, your lovely accent, that attempt to put me in my place... I was entranced." The boot came off with a sucking sound and Bashir fell backward against the sofa. Garak calmly reached for the second foot. "Who would ever have believed that such an inauspicious first meeting should have led to this?"

Bashir certainly couldn't. Three days - was it only three days ago that the event in question had occurred? And now Garak was proceeding as if their friendship, or whatever the Cardassian regarded as their relationship, was decided completely in the space of those three days. He had said he was going to move in! He was, even now, leaning forward and gathering Bashir into his arms as if he were as light as air - and now he was moving toward the bed and depositing the doctor onto the mattress as carefully as if he were afraid Bashir might break. And now he was stretching out next to him on the bed, and caressing Bashir's hair with his soft gray hands, and whispering "Good night" as he leaned slightly closer and closed his eyes...

"I think - I think I need to get out of this uniform," Bashir was stunned to hear his own voice saying.

Garak's eyes opened. "I agree. You shouldn't sleep in those clothes."

"I'll just go and - and retrieve my pajamas," Bashir faltered as he slid back to the edge of the bed; it was by no means certain that he'd be able to FIND his pajamas in the disarray into which Dax had left his quarters, but he could at least try.

"Or..."

"Or?" The doctor stopped and waited, both fearful and, yes, he realized it then, fearful and excited too; this developing situation was, after all, really quite extraordinary.

"Or - you could get undressed and so could I. Neither one of us would then be wearing pajamas." Garak tilted his head as if making a point. "What do you think?"

"I think - I think..." Bashir, after a few moments, no longer thought.

Doctor Julian Bashir, very recently arrived at Deep Space Nine, awoke to the sounds of his new Cardassian - lover? - splashing around in the bathroom. Two mugs of a rather vile-smelling beverage sat on the bedside table, and moments later, the Cardassian himself emerged from the shower, hair gleaming, gray skin glowing, eyes bright, and sat down on the edge of the mattress, cradling one of the mugs in his hand.

"Sleep well?" He took a sip; Bashir made a face. "Oh come now - after all this time! You'd think you'd have gotten used to my strange alien ways by now!" He chuckled.

"You mean the - what exactly is this?" Bashir took another sniff and made an even more displeased face.

"That trip must have really affected you, my love. This, after all, is perhaps the only blend of rokassa juice you told me you could tolerate. And now you're finding fault even with this. I must tell you, this does not bode well for our future together." He grinned and let his free hand fall to Bashir's forehead, gently stroking the hair back from his eyes.

Bashir found himself in turn closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation. "I said I liked it? When did I say that?" he mumbled, confused but suddenly not really minding.

"Oh, I don't know. Recently. I think you said it, anyway." Garak took a sip. "And now - not to rush you, but I think you should be getting out of this bed soon. I promised Odo I'd meet him for breakfast. You can come too, of course, if it wouldn't make you late for your other duties."

"You're meeting Odo for breakfast??" Bashir was wide awake now and began climbing out of bed, dislodging Garak's hand in the process. "Odo? The - the shapeshifter?"

"Well, yes, I suppose that's one way of describing him. Odo the Shapeshifter. It sounds rather amusing to hear you say it that way, but don't let him hear you - I don't think he'd find your joke funny any more! It sounds a little bit like you're making fun of him."

Bashir only stared; Garak leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "Hurry up, my love. Odo the Shapeshifter is waiting." Oh well, Bashir thought, maybe it was a good thing after all - he'd have some breakfast in the 'daylight' hours and see if the bizarre mood of the night before had dissipated. He'd also see what reaction Garak was hoping to get from Odo and the other station inhabitants, who would no doubt be amazed and even appalled at the way the Cardsassian had taken their new doctor to bed. Yes, he'd definitely have to keep THAT little detail a secret... or maybe not so little. He smiled broadly. Garak noticed and smiled back.

"Garak... Garak," Bashir shyly began, to the Cardassian's silent encouragement, "I was just wondering..."

"Yes?"

"I mean - I mean, you seem so - I mean, you've only known humans like me for such a short time, and yet you -"

"What are you asking me?"

"Well... just.. how you know so much about..."

"Ah." Garak rose and held a towel out to Bashir, who was awkwardly trying to turn away as he discarded the blankets. "I can read your mind, my dear human. I know exactly what you want even before you do." He smiled mysteriously, enjoying his private joke. Was it possible? Bashir mused. Was it truly possible that the Cardassians were telepathic in some way? Garak had known exactly what to do, exactly how to do it, exactly what to say - and that was ANOTHER thing. His pronunciation of Standard had become almost extraordinarily good in just the past day or two - the awkward hesitations he had occasionally evidenced when in the doctor's presence were almost entirely gone now. Was he reading the words from Bashir's own brain? The thought was sobering. On the other hand, perhaps that was simply Garak having a little fun with him - was it instead the case that sexual activity brought out these qualities in his new friend? If so - amazing! Truly amazing! Bashir smiled all through the shower, and not just because the Cardassian had entered the bathroom to help towel him dry afterward.

What was also truly amazing was the walk to the replimat. Bashir had been expecting nothing but odd stares, perhaps hostile remarks, and certainly at the very least a fair bit of curiosity as he strolled down the Promenade with a Cardassian spy. But all he saw were friendly looks directed not only at him but even at - Garak! Impossible! Why, only three days ago, Garak had seemed to be almost shunned - just what had changed? Or had he interpreted the situation, and the opinions, that breathtakingly in error?

Evidently so. Bashir braced himself as Major Kira strode purposefully but obliviously toward them, her head down. She raised her eyes when still a few paces away, saw Garak possessively take Bashir's arm - as Bashir tried to pull it free - and a smile lit up her formerly preoccupied face. "Doctor! I heard the news from Dax! It's definitely a surprise, but I have to say - congratulations! It's about time!"

"About time?" He succeeded in freeing his arm then. "For -?"

"For you and Garak! Dax says you're moving in together! Good!" Now it was Bashir's turn to definitely be surprised. Stunned, rather.

Chapter Text

"Good?" Bashir stammered. "You think this is - good?"

"Well, I'm still not completely over the fact that you and Dax called it off -" and here Kira smiled even more broadly, "but I think I can get used to this new situation."

"And you don't have a problem with..." Kira waited expectantly. "I mean - you don't see any issue with - what I mean is, you don't think that -"

"Julian!" Kira smiled. '"I know what you're getting at, I think," and here her gaze flicked to Garak for the fraction of an instant, "and I admit this all took me a little by surprise, but - no. No, I don't think I have a problem with this. Not any more." She turned slightly and looked the Cardassian squarely in the eyes. "Not any more. I think Garak understands us now and understands how we feel about our chief medical officer." Garak held her gaze in turn, then nodded imperceptibly. Kira turned back to Bashir. "And as long as you both keep your work lives and your private lives separate, then I say, good luck to you both."

Bashir was dumbfounded. "Good luck to us both? But Major, just two days ago, you said -" He stopped. No point in starting a fight between those two, and especially not out on the Promenade in plain view of every resident of the station. He started again. "You essentially led me to believe that you bore the Cardassians no great love." There. That was diplomatic, wasn't it?

Kira smiled again. "Oh. Well. I may have said something like that, and the prophets know I still have my issues with a few of our Cardassian - associates," and here she took a breath, "but I'm not inclined to include Garak in that group. Not any more. I think we've reached a little, ah, understanding." With that, she nodded at them both and hurried away in the opposite direction, as Bashir watched her retreating back.

Remarkable. Incomprehensible and remarkable. After only three days. Well, surely Security Chief Odo would lend these bizarre proceedings some welcome measure of sanity. The shapeshifter was indeed seated in the replimat, regarding the assembled morning diners with his usual look of impatient disdain - but then again, there was something a little odd to Bashir about the face, and the smooth lines of the cheeks and jawline. Bashir looked closer. Odo's face, while still not human in any appreciable way, seemed less harsh than it had been just a day ago. Even his posture was more relaxed, more open, despite the watchfulness in his expression. Nevertheless, Bashir swallowed hard as he and Garak approached the table. He didn't relish the lashing that was sure to come from the constable's sharp tongue and waited for it with trepidation.

But there was no lashing. There wasn't even a comment. Not a comment. Odo simply nodded as Garak took his place at the table, Bashir awkwardly settling himself into an extra chair he retrieved from a vacant spot nearby. Bashir stared at his companions for a second or two, then decided that, while discretion was often the better part of valor, there was little point in drawing this out any longer. There was no conceivable way that Odo was not going to bring up the fact that the two of them had arrived together and were expecting to dine together with him. But even as he haltingly began to speak, Garak had already reached out and patted the constable's arm almost affectionately. Bashir held his breath.

"Odo, I wanted to tell you your supposition was correct. He did say yes." Was that actually the faintest, ghostliest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of the shapeshifter's mouth? No. No? Yes. Unbelievable. "He did need a great deal of persuasion," and here Garak smiled more broadly, "but he came around to my way of thinking. No more separate quarters. I'm moving in." Odo inclined his head in graceful acknowledgement. "Think of the money I'll save."

"Think of the secrets you'll learn." Odo's rigid face had resumed its suspicious cast. "Think of the confidential details you'll be privy to as our dear doctor mumbles in his sleep."

"Now, now, Odo," Garak wagged a reproving finger at him, "I was already privy to confidential details while the dear doctor slept. This just makes it official." He sat back and smiled, and again, it appeared to Bashir that Odo was smiling back. Simply smiling back and not even making an attempt to hide that fact - it was as if he and Garak were sharing some sort of private joke, continuing a conversation they had already shared at possibly that very table. Bashir, eyes wide, felt the sudden need to interpose himself into that conversation.

"I don't think there's any possible way Garak could have heard me in my sleep - I mean, I don't see how he -" He froze. The Cardassian had already hinted at a strong telepathic ability - and then, too, he was a spy. A devious and highly inventive spy - it would be virtually impossible to tell which sorts of listening devices had already been installed and hidden in Bashir's room - and, oh dear God, viewing devices too - Garak had probably already seen him dressing, and bathing, and sleeping, many days before he had even first approached him in the replimat - in fact, that was very possibly WHY he had approached, to finally meet the object of his Cardassian desires in person and start the whole process of cementing his claim.

That was why three days were all that were necessary - Garak probably knew almost every thing he cared to know about him at that point. He certainly knew just about everything he cared to know about Bashir's quarters, as evidenced by the very practiced way he operated the doctor's food replicators and made use of the other facilities in the room. Bashir suppressed a shiver, and fearfully looked up at the Cardassian -

- To see him wink, most definitely wink, at Constable Odo as they continued discussing Garak's nefarious reasons for wishing to share quarters with the human. That was definitely a wink. But why? What could it mean? Unless -

Of course. Of COURSE. This was a joke. This was all a joke, an elaborate ruse that both Odo and Kira, and who knew how many others of the station's inhabitants, had arranged to confuse and disorient the new doctor and put him in his place. Bashir knew he hadn't started out on the right foot with Kira, that Dax and O'Brien smiled, amused, at each other when he spoke, and that even Commander Sisko had so far refused to take him seriously. He had no idea what powers of persuasion would have been brought to bear on Odo, to get him to agree to go along with this complicated farce, but he had no doubt that his new Cardassian "friend" had required very little persuasion at all.

Last night was proof of that. He began to wonder if that were also part of the joke. But on the other hand... No. From what he knew so far of Kira, Sisko, and Odo (no telling about Dax,) he didn't think they would have at all welcomed the thought of the liberties that Garak had taken as part of his role in the little drama. Garak had no doubt been recruited by the team after Bashir had made it clear that he believed he had been singled out by the Cardassian for special attention and information. The rest of them must have decided upon taking this to an extreme and having that attention be personal - little dreaming that Garak himself would use the opportunity to - well, to fully use the opportunity.

Bashir began to redden. How dare he. How dare THEY. Little did they know that - Wait. That was it. They were trying to humiliate and embarrass him, to make him as uncomfortable as he could possibly be made to be - but he'd show them. He'd take the joke to its logical conclusion. Let them feast their eyes and ears on THAT, beginning with Odo. The only problem he could foresee was that they'd realize he was on to their silly game if he behaved too radically out of character, at least in front of most of them. Garak was probably oblivious to any changes in Bashir's normal methods of operation, as it were - intentionally oblivious, it appeared. Very well, then - he'd have a little fun with the whole lot of them. While Odo was leaning over in conversation with a Bajoran at a nearby table, Bashir snaked an arm around the Cardassian's waist and pulled himself closer, then rested his chin on Garak's shoulder.

"Mmm. You smell nice," he grinned, pursing his lips and sending a little puff of air toward Garak's sensitive neckridges. Garak grinned too but tried ineffectually to pull away.

"I'm glad you think so - I used whatever you had in the shower..." Bashir glanced over at Odo, and was pleased to see that the constable had rejoined them and was looking just the faintest bit uncomfortable. But not much more than that. Strange. Bashir slid away from Garak once more and addressed his companions.

"I've been thinking..."

"Yes?" they both chorused.

"I've been thinking... why just move in? Why not make it official while we're at it?"

"Make what official?" Garak asked, eye ridge slightly raised.

"Our new status. Even Kira approves - don't you think that's an opportunity we shouldn't waste?" Garak waited. "I mean, a Bajoran approving a union like ours... I say we get married." He decisively slapped his hands down onto the table. "Soon. This week, even."

That got the attention of both Odo and Garak, but not quite in the way Bashir had expected. A broad grin started to break out over the Cardassian's face, while the Changeling rolled his eyes slightly but didn't seem at all surprised.

"Are you serious? I really don't think -" Ah. Good. Bashir hoped he had successfully bluffed the Cardassian spy. Proposing marriage over breakfast - time to watch his very new friend Garak run for the airlocks. "I really don't think Starfleet will give its approval on such short notice." Ah. Unexpected - very much so. Just what, exactly, was going on? "But if you want to find out - who am I to stop you? I say yes. I accept. Let's do it. But I'm very disappointed you weren't on one knee for this." Odo again rolled his eyes with a groan.

Bashir gulped. Garak reached for his hand and clasped it hard - at that moment, Quark, the Ferengi owner of the Promenade bar and the station's resident expert entrepreneur, wandered by. Spying the group of three, he hurried over to their table.

"Gentlemen! I've just received the specifications on that bed you ordered."

"Bed?" Bashir weakly repeated.

"I think you'll be pleased. It combines the firmness and support of Cardassian cushioning with the gentle contouring of the finest Federation mattress." He beamed proudly. "And I was able to get it for you for only seven thousand credits."

"Seven THOUSAND credits??" Garak thundered. "Quark, are you out of your mind?" Bashir was silently asking the same question. "The doctor doesn't have that kind of money!" Garak smiled and Quark toothily reciprocated. "Still, I'm not denying that it sounds most intriguing..." He pulled a padd out of the Ferengi's hands and examined it. "This appears to be excellent quality. My back is going to be thanking you." Quark bowed, but was simultaneously elbowed out of the way by Lieutenant Dax; the Trill science officer had come barrelling down the corridor, spied the group at the breakfast table, and ran to them.

"Julian - Julian," she gasped. "Come with me to Ops right away." Bashir had instinctively risen to his feet; Garak laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. "We need to see you in Ops. There's something important you need to know."

"Oh, really, Dax, can't this wait? The doctor hadn't quite finished proposing to me yet." Garak's eyes twinkled; Dax glanced over at him distractedly.

"NOW, Doctor. Please." She took hold of the other arm and pulled him away. "We need to talk to you now."

"Then - I guess I'd better be going. Now." Bashir let Dax pull him up out of his chair and toward the entranceway. A new wrinkle to the game? Some sort of invented peril to fool him? Perhaps a bizarre twist to the mattress story? Anticipation warring with a vague sense of unease, he hurried with Dax down the corridor to Ops, as Quark slid into his newly vacated chair.

Chapter Text

"Well, Garak, we have two choices, as I see it." Bashir perched on the arm of the sofa in his uncharacteristically spartan quarters, as he let one leg dangle gracefully in the air. Garak sat stiffly on the edge of the seat cushions, his back ramrod straight. "We can either go back to the type of relationship we had when I was new to DS9 - I mean the type of relationship that you've been presently, ah, 'enjoying' with my counterpart..." Garak looked uncomfortable. "Meaning, not a relationship at all yet. Or, since you already know how things developed between us, shall we say..." He smiled - Garak attempted to awkwardly smile back but failed. "What I mean is, we could just - you know."

"We could just what?"

"We could just proceed as if I've been on the station longer than simply the last several weeks. Oh, I don't mean we should enjoy a repeat of last night," and here he grinned again, "but simply that we not avoid each other. That we spend some time with each other. I don't know how long this situation is going to last - Dax is working on it even as we speak - but in the meantime, and seeing as how I certainly induced you to rather memorably get to know me last night, I say we... talk. Have lunch. Sit down together, share our feelings about all this." Garak looked unconvinced.

"So you're saying you've known me rather well, I suspect, for the past three years, not to mention all the things that have happened here on the station, and on Bajor, and on the other side of the wormhole... and you won't tell me anything at all about them?"

"Not won't. Can't."

"Can't? Why not?"

"It's forbidden. Not only on my oath as a Starfleet officer but simply because I have a very great interest in making sure I don't destroy anything while I'm here, make any situations worse that might otherwise have resolved themselves, that kind of thing."

"Oh."

"And it's so easy, so terribly easy, to forget that and let things slip. Commander Sisko wouldn't even let me hint at certain things to him - he's gone straight to Starfleet Command with this news, and I'm going to be in for a, no doubt excruciating, debriefing session too later this evening - and even then, there are certain things I can't say."

"Oh," Garak responded again. "That must indeed be very difficult."

"Not just difficult. Impossible. Even Dax agrees and has worked out some sort of algorithm that says I was destined to make this journey here and so things I do or say will have been intended to happen - but it's still a very tenuous straw we're grasping there." He fell silent and regarded the Cardassian with concern. "Are you all right? You really haven't spoken much at all since I came back from Ops - and the Garak I know talks a great deal."

"Well, you must admit - the Garak you know - knew - has never faced anything quite like this before."

"No, that's true," Bashir sank down onto the sofa next to Garak, who promptly shifted half a meter away from him. "I'm sorry again about last night. Must have been quite a shock." He thought for a second, then began to smile. "A pleasant shock, I hope, Garak. Elim." He tried to place his arm gently around the Cardassian's shoulders - Garak instead leapt to his feet and stared wide-eyed at the doctor.

"What did you just call me?"

"Oops, sorry. There I go already." Bashir didn't look sorry, however. "Of course I know your first name after three years, Garak. I didn't think that was the sort of detail that would cause a problem." He paused a moment, remembering that Garak had not himself revealed that detail in the past, then said more softly, "I thought it might, well, make things easier for you. Help you realize you can relax with me. You can trust me. I won't tell any of your secrets."

"You know my secrets? Which secrets?" Garak had backed away a few centimeters and his face took on a decidedly suspicious expression.

"No secrets. No secrets," Bashir soothed him. "I simply meant - business secrets. Tailoring things you've told me here and there. Little things about certain customers' measurements..." Garak appeared unconvinced. Bashir, looking up from the sofa into his friend's guarded, haunted blue eyes, felt a stab of pity for him, adding to the compassion that was always there. His friend... His friend who had tried to convey the most urbane, the most confident, the most sophisticated air of mystery which instead revealed such a deep longing and loneliness Bashir couldn't help but sense, almost from the beginning.

And then there was the implant - the implant that enabled Garak to carry on with his deceptions even while his body and his brain were slowly being eaten away by it... Bashir flinched. That implant was operating right then, right at that moment, of course. Seeking out Enabran Tain and learning how to deactivate it had in fact been the reason he'd learned Garak's name was Elim. He prayed that he'd have the presence of mind to deactivate the device once again, when the time came - if he hadn't done something to permanently disrupt the natural flow of their relationship. Or - or he could perhaps try to figure out a way to... No. The information he needed had been transmitted to the station computers a year from now, or more - and he couldn't trust his memory, especially at a time like this, to re-enact the procedures he had followed then. Or would follow. Whichever. Still... If there were only some way he could ease his friend's pain, break through that air of false bravado. He had to earn Garak's trust again so the Bashir he used to be could resume their friendship. But after last night...

Oh what the hell. Why not. "Garak - Garak, please sit down." The Cardassian didn't move. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable - far from it. I want you to be very comfortable indeed." Bashir reached out and patted Garak's arm. "I want you to have dinner with me tonight, and maybe watch a holovid together. Maybe go for a walk. Maybe -"

"They'd never allow that."

"Hmm? Who'd never allow that?"

Garak grinned, but his eyes held no trace of humor. "Your friends here on the station. You forget, my dear doctor - no one here likes me. Least of all would they like me keeping any sort of company with their new medical officer. Commander Sisko could have me removed, Kira could save him the trouble and kill me first - and there's always the issue of Dukat." He paused, as if readying more arguments in his mind.

"Yes, there's always the issue of Dukat," Bashir laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "My Sisko still deals with that issue constantly, and believe me, it doesn't get better. But listen, Garak -" he tugged at the Cardassian's sleeve, "things are different now. They have to be, whether they want that here or not. I'm different, and there are things that have happened that no one would have expected. Situations are different. What I could tell Sisko is what I'm telling you - he has nothing to fear from you."

"Nothing?" Garak pulled his sleeve free.

"Nothing." Bashir held his gaze and tried to convey reassurance. The attempt failed.

"Do you mean to tell me that no one at all has any lack of trust in me where you come from?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. In fact -"

"So I'm harmless? Not a threat? A little - what do you call it - a little puppy dog?"

"Garak!" Here Bashir laughed out loud. Garak's eyes darkened. "You're not a puppy dog! You're simply not the fearsome terrifying Cardassian you seemed to want me to think you were, when we first met. You're not a bad person. You care about people. You care about me." He reached out again but Garak moved further away. "Let's talk again later, when I'm free."

"We can't talk. You already told me that."

"There are still plenty of things we can talk about. For better or worse, we shared an evening last night that was never supposed to happen. I mean, not yet. I caused it. So now I have to make it right. If I leave here, I don't want you avoiding me - I mean the other me. It wasn't his - my - fault. Damn." He shook his head. "This is too confusing. Can't you just sit down?" Garak glowered at him. "And if I stay - well, I can't lose you because of that either. I know you're upset and uneasy now. But it wasn't your fault. I couldn't bear losing you because of that." He gulped, then looked deeply into his friend's hooded blue eyes. "I love you, Elim Garak."

"You love -" Garak froze, stiff as a statue, then ran. The door barely had time to slide open before he was through it and gone.

"That went well," Bashir sighed.

Chapter Text

"Well, Doctor, we have two choices, as I see it." Garak perched on the edge of the sewing table, one leg swinging freely in the air, as Bashir sat nervously huddled nearby in a chair. "It's imperative we decide how we're going to deal with this bizarre situation." He smiled encouragingly. "I admit that it presents a level of complication I've never in my life experienced. So this is what I propose. We can go back to the way things were - I mean the way things ARE - when you were last on the station..." Bashir glanced up at him, then back down to the floor. "Or... or we could both realize that there's no going back, after last night, and not try to ignore what happened." Bashir shifted slightly. "What I'm trying to say is - I'm very sorry about the way I took advantage of you. Completely without knowing I was doing so, you understand, and after all, I would never have let things proceed as far as they did if I had been given any indication at all that you were, well... not who I thought you were." He waited; Bashir was silent. "But... despite all that, it happened, and I'm afraid there's no way we can ignore it, try as we might."

No - there was definitely going to be no ignoring of what happened, if the Cardassian's barely-suppressed grin was any indication, and really, would he even want to? He had been fascinated with Garak for weeks, and the recent contact with him - before last night, that is - had only whetted his curiosity to the point of near-obsession. So now it appeared that his obsession had, over the past several years, turned into a relationship of the sort that he could not even have imagined - he was actually, in this timeframe, contemplating a permanent relationship with the Cardassian.

A relationship. With a Cardassian - with a male Cardassian, no less, and one who obviously had no qualms about publicly announcing that fact to others. So maybe there was something more to this odd state of affairs, after all. But on the other hand, the Garak he knew - the Garak in the past, that is - was outgoing and friendly on the surface but was also subtly but quite certainly playing a role. Bashir, in fact, was not as naive as he knew he appeared, and he had little doubt that the Garak he knew wanted nothing so much as to get him into bed - that was obvious - but certainly had no wish to link himself irrevocably to a human partner.

So why now? What had changed, over these years, to bring about this attitude? Maybe... maybe it would be useful to talk things over a little more, draw the Cardassian out and see why he was so open and free about his plans now. Or was this, too, part of an elaborate deception of a different sort? Was he trying to use Bashir to ease his passage into the Federation, perhaps in an attempt to convey secrets back to the Cardassian government that Bashir didn't even know he was revealing? Was that it?

"I think," Bashir began, as Garak leaned forward, "I think... I think we should have dinner. Tonight. Somewhere we can talk privately," he flinched then at Garak's sudden expression of interest, "I mean, somewhere we can talk privately but in public. I mean."

Garak sighed but nodded. "Yes, I agree. We do need to talk. But with you such an object of curiosity now - no, don't look so frightened, I only mean because word will be getting around about your time travel - I'd rather not have too many people in the vicinity listening in. I say we go to my quarters." Bashir shook his head. "All right, I say we go back to your quarters. But just for dinner. I give you my word, we'll just talk. I'll give you any information I'm allowed to give you, about us, that is. I'm meeting with the station command staff in an hour to discuss what I CAN'T tell you. But I don't think that's what you really want to hear anyway, is it?"

He grinned, and Bashir hesitantly grinned back, then stopped. Garak again in his quarters - what would he do if - That is, how would he be able to - He needed to hear a second opinion on all this. And he knew exactly from whom that second opinion should come.

"So... you're saying we never..." Bashir awkwardly focused on the murky brown depths of his Tarkalean tea. Jadzia Dax, sitting across from him on the upper level of Quark's bar, smiled enigmatically.

"Oh, I wouldn't say never. Don't sell yourself short, Julian."

"I wasn't -"

"You were - are - a very wonderful, very attentive, and very dedicated friend."

"Ah."

"And," she leaned closer, "a surprisingly good lover."

"Ah!" He brightened.

"But."

"But?"

"But I knew, even then, that it couldn't last. It would never have worked between us."

"Ah." A long pause. "Just how long did we - that is, when did we... That is, how many times did we -"

"Once."

"Just once?" He blushed. "You gave me just one chance, and then decided that it would never have..."

"Don't look so upset." Dax smiled again and took a sip of her own drink. "I'm not the one who gave you just one chance. It was the reverse."

Bashir was now as red as one of Sisko's beets. He had given this gorgeous woman, this sophisticated and beguiling Trill, just one chance and then - dumped her? Impossible. She was only saying that to flatter him. Wasn't she? "No, I don't believe that. Not for a minute. I watch you every day, Jadzia," and he blushed again, "and - and -"

"I know, Julian." She placed her hand comfortingly over his own. He was, of course, trembling slightly, which made her smile all the more. Oh, it was fun to have this Bashir back again, but she wouldn't be so cruel as to deceive him and take him back. He needed to know the truth, especially if the reversal didn't work and he was going to be marooned here. He needed to be snapped right out of the adorable infatuation of yesterday. Oh but it had been fun, hadn't it, while it lasted! And here it was again! Still... "I know it's hard to believe. But, you see, I was, well..."

"Too old for me?"

"Please!" Her eyes flashed in slight indignation. "I'm only a year older than you are! Were - I mean, was - I..." She paused. "No, it was something else. Someone else. I knew right away that you were looking for something else and it took you a long time to figure it out. But when you did, well..."

"You mean Garak." He stared down again into his tea. "You mean - you could tell I wanted to be with - Garak?"

"Yes. I could tell, Kira could tell, Quark could tell," she smiled as Bashir hunched forward, embarrassed, "everyone could tell. All except one person, that is. No, two people."

"Who?"

"You and Garak. Took a LONG long time, you two. A very long time." A waiter bustled over to the table with food; Bashir stared forward, not noticing. "Come on, Julian, I'm starved and I don't want to eat alone."

"Yes, but," Bashir mechanically reached for his fork, "he was never exactly a shrinking violet, Jadzia. He's really been quite bold. I don't understand you."

"Garak loves to put on an act. He loves the challenge. But as for his real motivations -"

"Yes, what ABOUT those?" Bashir stabbed at his lunch with the fork. "He seems very adamant that we should live together. But the Garak I know -"

"The Garak you know is very little like the Garak we know now. Yes, he's adamant. You two had been discussing it for weeks. I know you were dragging your heels a little bit but I had thought it was just nerves."

"Nerves? A dangerous Cardassian spy wants to move in with me and you're surprised I have a little bout of nerves?" Dax smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "Frankly, I'm the one who's surprised. At all of you. You don't think he's dangerous?"

"Well, certainly he's dangerous," she laughed, "but I think you were starting to give as good as you were getting. But none of this matters right now. You're not yourself right now - you're you, but not you. Know what I mean?" Bashir nodded uncertainly. "And so things on your part are back to when you started here. Garak knows that now. We all do. I guess I just wanted you to know why the situation has changed so much. In case something happens and we can't get you back home, I don't want you to worry and be upset by those things. Speaking of which -" She took one deep swallow of her drink and rose to her feet. "Back to the shuttle bay to see about those readings." Bashir started to rise too; she pushed him back down by the shoulder. "Finish your lunch and relax. Let us do the work right now. And Julian -"

"Yes?"

"Welcome back. Nice to see you again." She smiled and walked to the stairs.

"Wait - Jadzia!"

"Yes?"

"Garak has asked to have dinner with me tonight. Should I - let him?"

"Well, that's up to you," she called over her shoulder, "but I'd say yes. He misses you too. Talk with him a little bit, see whether you have anything in common with the new Garak. And don't let him scare you."

No, I definitely won't do that, Bashir mused, staring off into the distance. Definitely not.

Bashir, frightened, was perched on the edge of his chair - his usual position where this new Garak was concerned - as the Cardassian took another long swallow of kanaar and regarded him. They were in Quark's bar - Bashir had spent virtually the entire day there, after having in the end no wish to be "trapped" alone with Garak in the quarters of either one of them.

And now Garak, despite his assurances that he would simply talk and get re-acquainted with his old friend, was sidling nearer with every swallow and had even placed a hand - not once but twice - on Bashir's arm as they talked. Bashir's hazel eyes grew wider as the Cardassian again punctuated another remark with a grasp of his hand across the table; Bashir drew it back.

The truth was, Garak was thoroughly and utterly intrigued with the return of the young doctor he had grown to love so many years ago - with the stammering, shy, hopeful face turned toward his, with the idealistic young innocent who would forgive anything and who believed only the best about him. This Julian Bashir had never seen the effects of the malfunctioning wire - the device which had been humming along at near-full strength in Garak's brain back then. This Bashir had never, unknowingly, met Garak's father, had never heard of Garak's violent past, had never read reports of his torture of Odo.

Oh, he knew Bashir was frightened, surely, but this fear had no real evidence to back it up - this was just the fear of a charming young soul confronted with more of the mysteries of space. Garak was entranced and leaned forward; Bashir slid back even further.

"Sorry," he murmured; Garak inclined his head.

"No need to be sorry. It is I who should be sorry - I'm afraid I keep intruding on your area of the table, Doctor."

"No, no, it's just that -"

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm aware that you still barely know me." He smiled enigmatically. "And I'm also aware that now is not the time to change that. I know you simply wanted to have dinner. As do I."

"Y-yes, just dinner. You know, on my DS9..."

"Yes?" Garak couldn't help it - he leaned closer the better to catch the almost-whispered words.

"On my DS9... We've never had dinner. Never. Not even once."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad we're remedying that omission now." Garak smiled brightly and took another long sip of kanaar, which went down smoothly, steadied his nerves, and emboldened his advances. He reached out and clasped Bashir's sleeve. "Very glad indeed."

Bashir froze. This wasn't what he had in mind; things seemed to be progressing much too rapidly, despite their earlier conversation and despite the fact that they were in the middle of a brightly-lit establishment surrounded by other people. This Garak - this spy - had some reasons for moving this quickly, no doubt. Perhaps, in fact, he himself was responsible for the situation that had brought Bashir forward in time to the station - perhaps there was some bit of Starfleet knowledge he was going to try to wrest from him... No, that made no sense... Anything that had happened in the past would already be known to someone like Garak - wouldn't it? So what else could he be after? Federation medical secrets?

Bashir grinned to himself; he had mentioned that very phrase in Ops just a few days ago. It sounded just as ridiculous now as he gathered it had then... Except that those entrancing blue eyes were now watching him with even more interest than before. That pleasant face was again moving closer - that hand was again grasping his sleeve, and now reaching up to clasp his forearm. This is a very attractive man, Bashir reflected. This man was no doubt revered on Cardassia and was simply toying with life on the station as a sort of diversion until he received what he needed. Information, no doubt.

Perhaps that information was easier to obtain if he wooed his targets first, lulled them into a false sense of security, made them feel he was focused only on them, until he took what he wanted and left the bodies, both literally and figuratively, in his wake. Perhaps he was even now thinking of ways he could lure the confused and disoriented young man back to his room, to his bed, and finish the job he was unable to complete all those years ago. Bashir had obviously been too clever for him, all this time in the future - he had eluded him. He had successfully ignored the honeyed words Garak used to draw his victims in. After all, he hadn't even agreed to move in with Garak yet, had he? No he hadn't. So now here he was, back at square one, and the Cardassian had a second chance with him. It made perfect sense. So what would that Cardassian say now, to set his trap? What words would he use this time?

"I know I shouldn't say this, Doctor. Julian. I know this is not at all appropriate." I'm sure it's not, Bashir nodded silently. I'm sure it's not. "But I can't help it. I'm being taken back to the days we first met. It's as if I can relive those encounters again and do better this time." Oh please, Bashir thought. Do better? I'm on to you, Mister Garak - I may be new here - new THERE - but my future self hadn't let his guard down and neither will I. What can you possibly say that will surprise me, that will cause me to lower my defenses?

Garak leaned even closer, both hands now grasping Bashir's arms, kanaar pungent on his breath.

"I love you, Julian Bashir."

"You love -" Bashir froze, stiff as a statue, then leapt to his feet and ran. The door of Quark's bar barely had time to open before Bashir was through it and gone.

"That went well," Garak sighed, cradling his forehead in his hand.

Chapter Text

Julian Bashir held onto the wall for balance as he dizzily made his way back to his quarters along the darkened corridor. That little trip through the wormhole had been memorable, to put it mildly - whatever possessed him to take a runabout for a little exploratory mission of his own? Ego? Adventure? Curiosity? This new frontier was fascinating and all but the bumpy ride back had played havoc with the remains of his dinner. He'd done the best he could but would have to apologize to whoever was in charge of cleaning the runabouts later. For now, though, he longed for nothing more than a warm bed in his relatively stable room in his new home on Deep Space Nine.

Or was it his new home? Just why did he feel as if he had walked these corridors many, many times before? Why did he feel as if the station inhabitants, and his fellow officers, were old friends and not mere acquaintances with whom he had been trying to ingratiate himself for only the past few weeks? Why were the twists and turns in the passageways - and even the darkened entrances to other passageways - not the slightest bit menacing but in fact rather familiar to him? And, most puzzling of all, why did he feel a persistent hope, almost an urge, to see his new Cardassian contact, Garak, again? Why would Garak be occupying his thoughts the way they were now?

It must be the effects of that wild ride through the wormhole, Bashir reflected, as his steps quickened and he rounded another bend. It was playing tricks with his mind, planting images there that had no basis in reality. Either that, or the "wormhole aliens" were having a little fun with him. What images they were, after all - what feelings. Just why was it suddenly so damnably easy to imagine the feel of Garak's hand on his back, on his arm - just why was it so easy to imagine, to almost FEEL, Garak's lips pressed against his lips?

He shook his head. This was crazy. Garak was a Cardassian, a spy, a near-total stranger, a MAN, even. So why did Bashir know, with almost crystal clarity, that this man enjoyed holding him close under the blankets, cuddling him, sleeping with his head nestled between Bashir's chin and his shoulder? Most odd - and most unsettling, except that the imagined remembrance was so real, so warm - so totally out of character. It must have been a childhood memory mixing in with thoughts of one of the most mysterious people he had ever met. Maybe it was his subconscious way of coming to terms with the uneasiness Garak the spy called up in him. Maybe.

Or maybe it was simply that those expressive lips, those fascinating ridges, those ethereal blue eyes, were really quite - what? And why did he feel in turn as if Garak was more than just interested in him as a diversion, or a conquest - why did it now feel as if it was all so much deeper than that? Where had those thoughts even come from?

Bashir reached another turn in the corridor leading to the habitat ring and saw, to his surprise and happiness, the Cardassian walking just a few dozen meters ahead of him. Garak was wearing a garishly striped tunic of the sort Bashir had recently seen in the replimat, and his head darted very slightly from side to side as if he were tasting the air, taking in the surroundings with every step, watchful and apprehensive. That was typical. What wasn't typical was the fact that Bashir then hurried forward to catch up to him. "Garak!" he called out, as the Cardassian warily turned.

Zero dark thirty. Doctor Julian Bashir didn't know the expression's origins but he certainly knew its meaning, he reflected, as he jogged along the deserted corridor on his way back to his quarters. Life on the remote station known as Deep Space Nine had gotten considerably more interesting recently, with the new threat of the mysterious Dominion making itself felt in many and random ways. It was hard to think of anything any longer as being normal, as being secure, with that mist of vague and unsettling tension permeating the passageways.

He headed down the deserted corridor wishing for a little supper in his room, for someone - for Garak - to be there to talk to him, for a warm bed and for the security of knowing that, at least for that night, he was safe and things were secure. And if that meant that he needed to tell Garak that yes, he did want to be with him every day and every night, if he needed to quickly and enthusiastically accept Garak's suggestion that the two of them begin to share quarters, then this was the time to do it. He only hoped his delay in answering hadn't discouraged his lover too much, made him doubt himself and reconsider his proposal.

He also hoped he'd be able to shake an odd feeling, almost one of melancholy, as he contemplated his friend. He didn't know why now of all times he should be recalling the Garak he had met years ago, the one who concealed his isolation and loneliness behind a too-confident air of bravura. Why now, when Garak had finally learned to trust him and to confide in him, should he be so vividly recalling the man who smiled evasively whenever he was asked the simplest question about his past? The wire - the implant - in Garak's brain had been de-activated a long time ago - so why was the worry forming in the back of Bashir's mind that he had really better take a scan of that again, just in case it was still transmitting? Of course it wasn't. Garak was well past any danger now - wasn't he?

He finally reached his quarters, and the door to the room slid open to quickly reveal the Cardassian tailor and former spy, Elim Garak, lying in the bed reading. In the bed. Bashir's bed. Bashir smiled broadly and strode over to him. "I hoped I'd find you here," he murmured.

"So you're proposing... lunch. Regular lunches. The two of us."

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm - proposing." Bashir eagerly leaned forward. The very earliest patrons of the replimat were groggily wandering in as he sat with Garak at the table, the table at which the Cardassian had approached him just days ago. Again Bashir was nursing a cup of Tarkalean tea, and this time his new friend was likewise sipping one. "I've been thinking about your offer - for some enjoyable company, I mean..." He blushed. He was not so naive as to be unaware that Garak's "offer" had, at the time, been a thinly-veiled attempt at flirtation, but on the other hand, so be it. He felt an unaccustomed and growing confidence now where the Cardassian was concerned, despite the blushes, so why not, well... go for it. "And I would like that too."

"Really." Garak's eyeridges were shadowed but his eyes below them were bright. "You seemed rather, ah, 'hesitant' when I first introduced myself."

"That was before. I've been learning more about you, Mister Garak," and Bashir was pleased to see Garak's eyes widen, "and I would indeed like to make your further acquaintance. If you're still willing, that is."

Why - yes, yes, certainly," Garak answered, eyes narrowing once more. "And, Doctor, it's the oddest thing..."

"What is?"

"I feel as if... well, I can't fully explain it, but - I feel as if we've already had this talk before." He fell silent.

"I know what you mean." Bashir took another sip of tea.

Garak stretched, yawned, and let the padd fall onto the mattress. "You're finally home. I was beginning to worry."

"Yes, I can see that," Bashir smiled, as he sat down on the edge of the bed and began pulling off his boots. "You're in quite a state of agitation." The Cardassian stifled another yawn. "I mean it, though, I'm glad you're here. Saves me the trouble of going to fetch you."

"Oh, I assure you, I have no intention of giving you any trouble whatsoever." He reached out and began to draw Bashir down next to him. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

Bashir smiled but resisted being pulled into the Cardassian's embrace. "To be serious for a moment, though - I was wondering how you're feeling."

"How I'm feeling?"

"Yes - any headaches, any discomfort with the temperature?"

"No more than usual - with the cold, that is." He hooked a thumb through the neckband of his thermal shirt. "And no headaches whatsoever. Why?"

"No reason, really. Just wondering. I've been remembering those days when - no, never mind."

"Never mind?" He raised himself up on one elbow. "Doctor - you have to have a reason for suddenly being so concerned about my health."

"Not really. It's just - a feeling. Not a bad feeling," he added, as Garak's face took on a look of concern. "Just a feeling I've been having - hard to explain. I keep thinking of the past. Of the issues you used to face here with - things." Things such as the incredible loneliness that Bashir now sensed, more than ever, had been hiding behind that pleasant, too-confident smile. Bashir couldn't imagine why he hadn't realized it at the time - Garak was so frightened, so unsure of himself and his reception among the Starfleet crew who were then beginning to occupy his home. His defense mechanisms, so obvious in hindsight, had been completely overlooked by the doctor, who was struggling too with his own reception on the station. And even now, years later - now Garak still seemed to be craving the reassurance that full acceptance by Bashir would give him. He wanted to know he was welcome in Bashir's quarters, that he was home.

"So do I."

"Hmm?" Bashir was startled out of his reverie.

"I've been thinking of the past too - it's as if these thoughts appeared from out of nowhere. I suppose I was more worried about you than I thought. I'm glad you're back safely."

"So am I."

"And - if you don't mind, that is - it's so cold out in that corridor, and I'm so tired - I was hoping to stay here tonight. I'll go home in the morning." He yawned theatrically. Bashir flopped down next to him, sharing the same pillow.

"Go home? You ARE home."

"Ah. I see." Garak turned and looked into the human's eyes, then smiled and called for lights out.

And somewhere beyond the station, somewhere between the Alpha and the Gamma quadrants, the wormhole settled down peacefully into its familiar and regular pattern once more.

The End