Work Text:
Garak’s plan had been flawless, of course.
The Emergency Medical Hologram double was starting to draw suspicion. However, the Castellan was not quite ready to return to the endless receptions and ribbon cuttings and enjoinment proposals that made up the life of the premier.
Assassination attempts were also a routine part of Cardassian politics, after all, even in this brave new world of democracy. So if the Castellan were to be seriously but not critically injured, he would need to direct the Union from his residence rather than parading himself all about the place.
Which would leave him more time for diplomatic liaisons, or whatever his recent conversational endeavours portended. He was eager to find out.
There was, however, one factor that Garak had neglected to account for.
And that was Julian Bashir.
“Good evening, Castellan.”
Garak turned on his heel, completely unable to hide his surprise and nearly spilling his drink. An unpardonable lapse in poise in such a public space, with so many eyes on him.
But the very last person he had expected to see at a gala for Cardassian poetry patrons was Dr Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer on Deep Space Nine and secret head of Section 31.
Bashir shouldn't have been able to enter Cardassian space without his knowledge, let alone set foot in Kardassi’or on Cardassia Prime and appear right in front of him.
Bur Garak had been distracted by this ridiculous plan, a plan that was rapidly escaping his control.
“Doctor,” he managed to say, not having to feign any of his breathless surprise. “I was not expecting you.”
“Clearly.”
Bashir was wearing a well-fitted tuxedo and had trimmed his salt-and-pepper beard, which was significantly impairing Garak’s ability to think his way out of the current situation.
Except he had no way to modify the plan from his position. An essential component of appearing surprised by someone trying to kill you was to ensure that there was something to be surprised about.
It had seemed so clever at the time. Now it seemed like a fatal weakness.
Bashir moved closer, not quite touching him, but speaking low enough that they could not be overheard by the gossipy guests surrounding them. “Are you all right? You don’t look well.”
Garak could see Bashir was about half a minute from ushering him into a side room and whipping out a medical tricorder. Though where he could be hiding it in that incredibly form-fitting suit…
Focus, Elim. His inner critic still sounded exactly like Tain. That, at least, grounded him.
He managed to paste on his professional smile.
“Quite fine, my dear doctor. I’m just afraid that I won't have time–”
It all happened too fast for him to follow. One moment, he was in close conversation with Bashir - and then the stupid, brave, self-sacrificing doctor moved, faster than any man should be able to move, and pulled Garak out of the path of the shot.
Not quite fast enough to save himself.
Julian choked - and Garak lost his sense of everything in the room except his doctor. Another unforgivable lapse, but at least he had people for this now, people who were probably surrounding him and managing the crowd and finding the perpetrator–
Julian was trying to speak, but the words wouldn't come, bright red human blood trickling out instead.
Garak couldn’t breathe, as he lowered Julian to the floor, to his lap, holding him in the circle of his arms as if that was enough to protect him from the consequences of Garak’s machinations.
Suddenly, Kelas Parmak was at his side, heedless of his pristine mijast as he scanned Julian. He had an emergency medical kit that looked military in origin, but Garak could only spare a glance for it, his eyes returning to the clammy pallor of Julian’s face.
“There is a metal projectile in his lung,” Kelas said, with confusion, and Garak froze.
“The Federation make projective rifles,” a voice said from behind him.
His head of security. The man in charge of this fiasco. It was a good job that Garak’s hands were otherwise occupied, or he might throttle the incompetent fool himself. To stage an assassination attempt by the Federation - did he have any idea of the implications–
Julian coughed, a horribly wet sound, and Garak moved his hand to stroke through the man's hair, to draw his attention back to him and away from the agony of drowning in one’s own blood.
“Everything is going to be fine, my dear,” he said, in defiance of all evidence. “We will return to my residence, and you will have the best care I can provide for you. And I will find whoever did this and–”
“Not for me,” Julian gasped, and Garak scowled, a terrible breach of his usual total control over his expression.
“Perhaps a state or military hospital,” Parmak offered, drawing the heat from Garak’s glare.
“My residence,” Garak snarled, clutching Julian to him possessively. He was never delegating anything ever again. “And I will deal with the assassin however I see fit. I am the Castellan!”
But he was painfully aware that he was not acting as the Castellan of the Cardassian Union right now. He was acting like a desperate man whose beloved was in pain because of him.
He should have paid more attention to what happened next, all the arrangements for moving Julian and the updates from security, but instead he stared into Julian's waxy, pale face and placed his hand over his cheek.
Julian leaned into the touch and closed his eyes with a sigh.
“No, my dear, you cannot sleep. Not yet. I promise we will rest when all this is done with - but not yet.”
But Julian did not open his eyes. Garak could feel his panic rising, the sort that was typically only induced by enclosed spaces and total loss of control.
The transporter beam took him by surprise. He hadn’t heard any of the preceding commands, not one. Now, in fact, would've been the perfect time to assassinate him - what a failure he was, in the face of this.
When they rematerialised inside his official residence, he finally registered that they were surrounded by his security team. And Parmak was thankfully still with them.
“Get out!” he screeched at his useless guards, and they scattered in defiance of their training.
He staggered to his feet, carrying Julian himself, as far as the state-of-the-art Federation medical facility that equalled the infirmary of most starships.
He laid Julian down on the biobed with infinite care, curled on his side like a child. Garak smoothed back his hair from his face, a useless gesture for an unconscious man, one meant to soothe Garak alone.
It did not help.
“Computer, activate EMH,” Parmak commanded, before Garak could stop him.
The hologram materialised - wearing the face of one Julian Bashir, albeit as Garak had first met him. It had started as a little joke, both to needle the dear doctor and to prove that Garak could acquire an LMH prototype from the Federation undetected.
Then he had kept the hologram as an indulgence. A small pretence. The only way to have the doctor near him.
“Reset EMH to default skin,” Garak snapped, and Zimmerman’s dour face appeared instead.
“Please state the nature of your medical emergency.”
Garak glared at the hologram, who took one look at Julian and pursed his lips together.
“Well, I suppose it beats another repetitive strain injury,” the EMH muttered, and Garak considered deactivating him.
But the holographic doctor and Parmak moved around the medbay with perfect synchronicity, and Garak was not prepared to put Julian’s life at further risk. Not after his sentimental whim to bring him to his own home instead of an actual hospital.
Not after his foolhardy plan had injured him so grievously.
Garak was probably in the way here, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He clutched onto Julian’s hand like a lifeline, as the doctors stripped away his tuxedo, muttered over the wound and the state of his lungs, and decided to operate.
Which is when he was finally and decisively banished from the room. He considered putting up a fight, but he could imagine Julian’s disapproving look in his mind’s eye and relented without protest. If he ever wanted to see that look again, he had to comply.
It was just like the last time. It was nothing like the last time.
While Julian was in surgery, Garak attempted to do some damage control. He could not appear publicly - he could not trust himself to maintain the appropriate veneer of calm - but he directed his deputies to make appropriate statements.
The newscasts had already caught on, inside and outside the Union, but Garak couldn't maintain his usual dispassionate attitude to the headlines:
Federation Doctor Foils Assassination of Cardassian Premier.
Castellan Garak Saved by Dominion War Hero.
Augment Involved in Cardassian Plot.
They were all true, especially the lies, but none of them came close to the truth - that it was Garak who had endangered Julian.
After that, he paced, unable to even look out of the window. To glance at the casts.
It was only when Parmak approached him, his lips twisted in revulsion, that Garak realised he was still soaked in Julian’s blood.
“He’ll be fine,” Parmak said, handing him a towel. “But I really must insist you wash off before you see him, Elim. He doesn't need to see that.”
Cursing himself for wasting time when Julian needed him, Garak threw himself into the sonic shower, donned the first clothes that came to hand, and returned to the medical bay with all haste.
Julian was lying on his back now, a bolster keeping the weight off his wound, and a profound pallor draining his cheeks of colour.
Without thought, Garak took up his hand - and was surprised when Julian returned the grip, his eyes opening.
A sleepy smile graced that beautiful mouth. “Elim.”
“And what, dear doctor, do you have to smile about exactly? You were almost…almost…” For once, words failed him.
Julian’s smile faded. “Not going anywhere. Promise.”
“How can you possibly make such a promise?” Garak said, his tone and emotion far beyond his usual control. “You were a bare inch away from dying, Julian!”
“It would've killed you!” Julian said, fervently, trying to lever himself up to argue and failing miserably.
Garak caught his upper arm, gently laying him back down on the bed and fussing with the pillows and bolster.
“It was meant to hit me!” Garak said, exasperated now. “You weren’t even meant to be there!”
Julian froze - and Garak realised he had given himself away.
“Meant to hit you… You planned this? Why?”
“Does it matter now? Clearly it was a grand mistake, and one I will never make again, I assure you.”
But Julian was frowning. “The shot would’ve hit you. Were you wearing armour? A shield?”
“You can’t expect me to give up all my secrets, Doctor.”
“Elim.” Julian said his name with such weariness, such resignation, that Garak lost his power of speech entirely.
This close, it was impossible to ignore how fragile Julian looked. His fear for Garak had temporarily animated him, but now he looked drained and ill.
A bare inch away from dying.
Garak found he was unable to move away, one hand still wrapped around Julian’s arm, and the other in danger of smoothing down his hair again.
“No armour, my dear,” he said, gently. “And no shield. I didn’t even know it would be a shot. It could’ve been a poison or a knife–”
Julian made a distressed noise, and Garak fell to silence again.
“That shot would've killed you,” Julian said, with certainty.
Garak made to argue - then hesitated. Who better to know that than the doctor of frontier medicine, the Starfleet spy? Perhaps there was more to his head of security’s “incompetence” than met the eye.
“I was serious before,” Julian murmured. “I don’t want you to…dispose of people on my account.”
“A euphemism, Julian? Really? We’re all professionals here.”
“Speak for yourself,” Julian said, heavily. “I just wanted to listen to some poetry.”
“You came all this way for poetry?”
“A handful of light years for high quality poetry–”
“You don’t even like Cardassian poetry!”
“I like it well enough,” Julian said, a little defensively. “Besides, we need something new to talk about over lunch.”
Garak stilled. “Lunch. You came with the expectation of lunch.”
“Perhaps dinner,” Julian said, evasive now, and Garak finally saw clearly what had been before him all along.
“You came to visit,” he said, with a little thrill of deduction, of victory. “You came here for poetry, yes, but in anticipation of discussing that poetry with me over lunch or ‘perhaps dinner’ - or both together. You wanted to surprise me.”
“Did it work?” The note of playful hope in Julian’s voice almost undid Garak entirely.
“Well, I am certainly surprised,” Garak said, finally giving into the urge to run his fingers through Julian’s hair. His doctor’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into the touch.
“This wasn’t entirely how I imagined it would turn out,” Julian mumbled, forcing his eyes open again.
“Hush, my dearest,” Garak said, stroking his hair again. “There will be plenty of time for poetry - and more recriminations, no doubt, and dinner and…everything else you desire.”
“Everything?” How the man could possibly tease in his condition… and yet it was still the temptation it had always been.
“Everything. You have my word.”
Julian sighed, as he allowed his eyes to close, his body drifting into sleep.
And Garak contemplated how to rid himself of a dangerous head of security without ‘disposing of him’, and exactly what poetry would pair well with gelat.
Because he would give Julian Bashir everything he desired - even if he did ruin his plans.