Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I am never eating at Quark’s again!” Garak grumbled under his breath as he stared at a group of drunken Dabo players who had just bumped into his chair. He shook his head and scowled.

Bashir laughed, “Garak you say that every time we eat here and then in a few weeks when I invite you to come join me for another meal here you agree.”

“That’s because I don’t want to be rude. I hear that’s something very important in your human culture.”

Bashir smiled, “It is, but so is advocating for your own wants and needs. Especially if something is making you upset or uncomfortable.”

Garak stared back at Bashir as if he had grown three heads, “I will never quite grasp human customs.”

Bashir opened his mouth to respond to Garak, but he was cut off by the chime of his comms badge. “Sickbay to Dr. Bashir’”

Bashir tapped the badge to respond, “Bashir here.”

“Doctor, we just received an emergency transport from a Cardassian labor camp. Medical attention is needed for several on board.”

Bashir hastily stood up and left, frantically talking back and forth with the officer on the other end of the badge. He didn't even acknowledge Garak, much to his annoyance, but he understood Bashir’s job meant life and death for others and he came second sometimes. That was the price of dating a doctor.

--

Garak finished up his lunch and made his way back to his shop to work on a new order of dresses that we had insisted on hand tailoring and embroidering, a decision he was beginning to regret.

He spent the rest of the day working and closed up shop at his usual time when the Bajoran sun would set on the planet and went back to his quarters on the east end of the outer ring. He made himself some tea at the replicator and was about to settle in for the night when his door chimed.

His first instinct was to act like he wasn’t there, which is what he would usually do if it were anyone else, but he realized it was likely Bashir coming to say goodnight before going to his own quarters. His shift would have ended ten minutes ago anyways.

Garak got up and opened the door to see an upset looking Bashir, red rimmed eyes and shaking hands. A chill ran down his spine, the doctor was never upset by his work unless we witnessed something truly heinous. The last time he had cried was when a young Bajoran child had died of a genetic illness and there was nothing Bashir or the Bajoran doctors could do. He had spent the night at Garak’s after the child had passed, crying softly into his couch.

“Oh, my dear doctor,” Garak went to reach out to Bashir when he was interrupted.

“I need you to help me with something.” Bashir said, looking almost hesitant to even ask.

Garak was taken aback, Bashir never asked him for help with anything work related. He usualy compartmentalized his work and his relationship with Garak into two separate worlds. No one outside of the two of them knew about their relationship. Except for Jadzia of course, who took it upon herself to stark the two of them when she noticed a change in Bashir’s behavior after they started dating.

“You need to come with me, please.” Bashir almost begged.

Garak simply nodded and let himself be led to the sickbay. When they entered it was quiet and dark, most of the staff was off the clock at this hour, and there were only three nurses and a trauma doctor on shift in case something happened.

--

“Most of the passenger's injuries were superficial,” Bashir explained, “all but one of them were able to find boarding in their own quarters,” He stopped Garak outside the door to a private intensive care room, “except for one. A Cardassian. We might need help identifying them if that’s at all possible. I don’t really expect you to know them, but I’m worried they might not survive, and I would like to contact their family.”

Bashir opened the door. Inside was a single bed surrounded by medical equipment, a heartbeat monitor beeped softly, indicating the only sign of life from the worryingly still figure in the bed. A figure Garak recognized, much to his extreme horror.

“Kel-” He stopped himself, not even daring to say the name.

“You know them?” Bashir asked.

“No- no I-” Garak panicked, trying to think of a suitable lie, “I remember seeing his face in old government files when I worked for the order. I thought he was dead.”

“Well apparently not.” Bashir looked at Garak suspiciously. He knew he was being lied to, but he wasn’t sure about how to approach the situation.

Garak stared at the man in bed, he looked so aged, so much older than Garak knew he was. He looked like a ghost. He was one.

“Garak, if you know who this is you need to tell me so I can contact their family.”

“Kelas Parmak,” Garak whispered, “Their name is Kelas Parmak. They’re a doctor.” He lowered his head and without another word exited the sickbay.

“Garak!” Bashir called after him, “Garak wait!"

Chapter Text

“Do you ever think about him?” the words stung deep into his heart; a thousand little cuts to his soul. 

“I dream about him.” 

“Well don’t. Tain wouldn’t approve.” 

Garak looked pitifully at the other man, a stout older order member by the name of Gudrik Rana. He was driving the transport to the Parmak residence. It had been six months since Kelas was sent away. Six months since Garak realized he was capable of love. Having something to lose terrified him. 

“Tain says you’re to do all the talking,” Rana said, “I assume you don’t have any objections.” 

Garak shook his head. 

The transport pulled into the modest home on the outskirts of Lakat. It was one of the hottest weeks of the year, unbearable by even Cardassian standards. The uniform stuck stiffly to Garak’s scales, catching a bit under his throat. It was uncomfortable on purpose, supposed to keep member’s postures stiff and professional. A form of torture. A reminder. 

“Don’t take long,” Rana said, not paying any mind to Garak’s clear discomfort, “We have to be back in the city by nightfall.” 

Garak nodded and exited the transport. He looked at the house. It was small, quaint, built into the rocks of mount Ciath. Garak knew the Parmak family was not from a wealthy background, but he didn’t realize how poor they really were. It’s a wonder he was able to get into medical school on merit alone, most schools catered to less talented students from richer families. He spotted a small child in the round front window. The child, a boy, was looking at Garak with wide blue eyes. The child probably didn’t see many people from outside this rural community. 

Making his way to the front door he almost considered quickly picking some of the pink wildflowers sprouting by the cracked road at the end of the yard but stopped when he began to imagine what Tain would do if he found out about even the smallest gesture of weakness. This was supposed to be a punishment, not a picnic. 

Garak made his way up the steps and knocked three times on the yellow front door, an old country superstition to ward away desert spirits from following you when visiting a stranger’s home. After a few moments the door was opened by a woman, probably ten years younger than Garak. She had the same slender features as Kelas, the same blue eyes, the same long hair braided into a circle around the top and sides of her head. 

“Can I help you sir?” Her voice was soft, quivering. The uniform Garak wore commanded both respect and fear. The Order didn’t visit you without reason. 

“Are you the mother of Kelas Parmak?” Garak obviously knew the woman wasn’t, but he had to stick to the prewritten script. 

“No sir I’m sorry,” The woman looked at Garak sadly, “Our mother passed away three weeks ago. Natural causes.” 

Garak nodded, “I’m sorry to hear that ma’am,” He replied, “Who is the next closest family to Doctor Kelas Parmak?” 

The woman’s eyed widened in silent panic, but she knew better then to cause an outburst in front of a government official, “That um... That would be me and my sister sir.” 

“And your names?” Garak asked, pulling up Kelas’s family records on his watch padd. 

“I am Mirin Parmak. My sister is Aska Rell, wife of Prin Rell.” 

Garak confirmed the names on his padd, “Is your sister Aska or her husband here?” 

The woman, Mirin, shook her head, “No sir. They are in town for the day; they won’t be back for hours. I’m here watching their children.” 

Garak nodded, “Well in that case ma’am I am to inform you that there is news about your brother from the Central Command.” He pulled a paper and a badge out of his pocket and unfolded the paper to read it aloud. 

“To the family of Doctor Kelas Parmak:  

We, the Central Command and Provincial Government of Cardassia regret to inform you that your beloved family member, Doctor Parmak, has been killed in action. We are not at liberty to inform you of how he died nor to release his remains into your custody but be assured his personal effects will be returned to you when the provincial government deems it an acceptable time.  

We thank you for your sacrifice and the privilege of honoring your family member's life which was given for this great empire. Praise Cardassia.” 

When Garak finally finished reading and looked up at Mirin. She was on the ground sobbing hysterically, “Oh, oh Kel.” She wept into her hands, gripping her hair and pulling it free from her perfectly pinned braids. 

Garak noticed movement from inside the house and looked behind Mirin to see three small children peering from behind a partitioning wall, the boy in the window and what Garak assumed to be his sisters. All three children looked scared and confused. They had no concept of death yet. This would be their introduction, and thus the end of their childhood. 

Garak returned his attention to the Mirin. He had no scripted obligation to say anything more. He took the paper and the badge, one given to the families of the deceased, and placed it on the threshold in front of her. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He wasn’t supposed to say that he really wasn’t, but seeing Kelas’s family, his sister, broke something inside him he didn’t know wasn’t already shattered. In another life these would have been his in-laws. 

Garak turned and left the porch. He trudged down the walkway through the heat to the transport and got in, slamming the door loudly. The only protest he could make. 

“Good timing,” was all Rana said, “Five minutes. Usually takes longer.” 

“Well, they didn’t have any questions,” Garak replied with a coldness that shocked him, “Not like I could say anything anyway.” He wanted to drop the act. He wanted to scream. 

As they pulled away from the Parmak residence, Garak looked one last time at Mirim. She was still in the doorway, sobbing into the ground. The three children had come out to comfort her. It looked like they were trying to get her attention, showing her shoulders gently. Garak turned his gaze away, ashamed that this was entirely his fault. He caused these people’s pain. 

-- 

Garak entered his quarters and practically ran to lock the door and disable the bell like it would explode. He was panicking, everything felt so small. He felt small. 

“Oh, Galor be good,” Garak breathed through his fingers, holding his hot face into his hands to try and cool it down, “No no no not like this.” 

A selfish part of him had always hoped Kelas had died quickly. The lucky ones always died within weeks of being at one of the camps. Being there for years was far worse. It wasn't living or even surviving, it was torment. To know Kelas had spent over a decade in that place, being beaten, starved, and now in the state he was in, it was too much guilt.  

Garak knew he was a horrible person for what he did with the Order, but to see the consequences of his actions in front of him like that? The consequences affecting someone he loved? His mind thought of Bashir lying in a sickbay bed like that, malnourished, beaten, all but dead. The thought caused him to bend over and retch. He dropped to his knees; arms wrapped around his stomach. He kneeled forward and placed his forehead on the ground. It was a centering technique he taught himself as a child. When his father locked him in the closet he would sit like this to remind himself the floor was still there. 

He breathed out, slower and slower each time, trying to calm himself. He needed to act like this was nothing, like Kelas was no one. If he avoided seeing him and Kelas never mentioned him then Bashir would never find out what happened. He would never break up with Garak and life would continue as normal one Kelas left. 

It was a selfish desire, but he knew that his old life was gone. He needed to separate himself from it as much as possible. It was the only way to survive.  

Chapter Text

“Garak he might die!” Bashir clenched his jaw in frustration, “If you know who his family is I need to contact them now!”

Bashir had left Garak alone for the rest of the night but the next morning before his shift began, he had gone to Garak’s quarters to confront him.

“I’m telling you doctor I only remember seeing files with his name sprinkled around back when I worked for the order!” Garak insisted, “I wouldn’t lie to you!”

Bashir scoffed, “Oh please, you lie like you breathe.” he crossed his arms defensively.

Garak opened his mouth to protest but he knew he didn't have the right to be offended, not when he was in fact lying through his teeth. He had spent the night coming up with a story and playing it repeatedly in his head, just like the order taught him to do. He made it the truth in his mind; he made himself believe he didn’t love Kelas Parmak.

“Garak, I know there are things you aren't ready to share with me, and I know there are things you will never share with me but for the love of God this man’s family deserves to say goodbye if the worst happens.”

It touched Garak how much Bashir truly cared for his patients, it was what drew him to Bashir. It was what drew him to Kelas.

“Fine,” Bashir turned to leave, his body language hostile, “Let him die alone.”

“He won’t,” Garak said quietly, “He has you.”

“I’m not what this man needs Garak. And you’re not what I need if you’re not going to be honest with me.”

Garak felt a pang of fear shoot through his body, “Julian-”

“I’m not breaking up,” Bashir replied quickly, “but I think I need a break. Just to reevaluate where this relationship sits. Maybe you should reflect too.”

Both men stood silently looking at the floor. Neither dared acknowledge the other for fear of being the first to show weakness. Eventually it was Bashir who broke the tension.

“My shift starts in half an hour. I need to go.” And with that he left Garak’s quarters.

Garak stood there for minutes after the doctor left, silently hoping Bashir would walk back in and he could apologize. There was no way he was going after him, not with Kelas in the sickbay.

--

“Here’s the records you asked for Doctor,” Odo said, handing a padd to Bashir, “I do have to say I am quite intrigued about why you are so interested in the Obsidian Order.”

“I’m afraid I can’t really say,” Bashir replied, taking the padd and skimming the index page, “doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Odo made a small noise of annoyance and acknowledgement. While not pleased with the secrecy, he could respect duty to one’s work.

Bashir scrolled through the names on the index until he found Parmak. He clicked on the name only to find one file, a trial report recovered from encrypted Cardassian files recovered from the liberated camp the transport ship arrived from yesterday.

On the first page was basic information, nothing Bashir didn’t know already. Height, weight, eyes color, full name, occupation, etc. It was the second page that shocked Bashir. Attached was a photo dated fifteen years ago, one of Dr. Parmak. He was smiling, something rare for Cardassian portraits. He had long black hair loosely braided back and thrown over one shoulder. He wore a Cardassian medical uniform and coat. Traditional seeing glasses sat upon his head, something rare for the day and age. He looked kind. Warm.

“I can’t believe someone could be so transformed in just a decade.” Bashir shook his head.

“Those labor camps are nothing easy,” Odo said, “I’m surprised he lived for a decade. He’s either very unlucky or someone really wanted him to suffer.”

“I wonder what someone could do to warrant that.”

“On Cardassia it doesn’t take a whole lot,” Odo replied, “Especially during the occupation.”

Bashir kept scrolling through the file until he saw something that sucked the breath out of his lungs. The signed confirmation of torture, something on each political prisoner’s arrest and deportation records. On the manual signature document, it read E.G.

Elim Garak.

This was one of the results of Garak’s role in the Order.

Bashir quickly exited the file and acted like he couldn’t find anything useful so Odo wouldn’t see what he had found. He hoped Odo wouldn’t go in after he left and look at what he was reading.

“Thank you for your help, Odo, but I can't find any family on here.” He handed the padd back, hoping his hands weren’t shaking.

“Anytime doctor. Say, did it say what, if anything, your patient did for the order?”

Bashir shook his head, “Only that he was a victim of them.”

Only that he was a victim of Garak.

--

He stared at the man in the bed, the one he no longer knew. There was a time when Garak used to lie in bed next to Kelas and imagine their future together. A future in some perfect world where Tain would die and Garak and Kelas could be free and marry and have children and a small house in the countryside. The closest glimpse of this life Garak ever got was seeing the house Kelas had grown up in when telling Kelas’s sisters he was dead. For a moment Garak tried to remember their names but ultimately drew a blank. He felt guilty that he couldn’t remember their names. They should have been his sisters too.

He was so engrossed in through he didn’t even hear someone else enter the room.

“You did this to him?” It wasn’t a statement, but rather a question. Garak wasn’t startled, but he was nervous to answer.

“I-” He couldn’t really answer. He didn't afflict any physical injuries on Kelas, even during interrogation, but he did cause the suffering Kelas endured by falling in love.

“Did you torture him?” Bashir asked.

“No. Not physically.” Garak couldn’t take his gaze off the scars of Parmak’s feet, suspended in the air for healing. They were nearly black with bruising, dozens of cuts and scars and blisters covering every inch of them. The result of no shoes allowed in the mines as punishment.

“But you did something that led to this.”

Garak didn’t even realize he had begun to cry. Hot tears stung his eyes and began rolling down his cheeks. First one then many.

“I loved him.” he said. “I loved him and Tain found out and sent him away. I wasn’t allowed to love anyone and if I did, they were to be taken care of immediately.”

He finally worked up the courage to look at Bashir. He knew he was going to be judged, to be feared, unloved, but when he finally met his gaze, he was taken aback by the look of pity on the doctor’s face.

“Garak...” Bashir couldn’t even form the words, “Tain’s orders... they aren’t your fault. You had no control.”

“BUT I DID!” Garak snarled at Bashir to jump back in surprise, “I SHOULD HAVE CONTROLLED MY FEELINGS! I- I- I shouldn’t have fallen in love. With him, or with you.”

Bashir looked like he’d been kicked by Garak’s words.

“Does he have any family?” he finally said, falling back onto work as a natural defense.

“Two sisters. They think he’s been dead for over a decade.”

Bashir nodded, “Thank you, I’ll try and contact them.”

“Please tell me if they’re coming here,” Garak replied, “I’ll clear out for a few days. They’ll find out what I did, and they’ll hate me for it.”

Garak gave one last tired look to Bashir and left.

Chapter Text

I’m sorry I’m weak, the curse got me. In the past week: I failed a test for the first time in my life, all my chickens mysteriously died, our house was broken into, my favorite necklace broke, and my credit card info got stolen. I will never publish here again unless I truly have nothing to lose. Sorry :(