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gplusbfics · 7 years ago

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DS9 Garashir Fanfic Rec: “Kadz & Moxh"

We’ve all read the post-canon Cardassia fic where Bashir is either visiting or living with Garak while doing medical work on the planet. They’re not really in a relationship yet, but they’re friendly. Well, imagine this... but then imagine if Bashir happens upon two teenagers who are the last people Garak or any other upstanding or even half-upstanding Cardassian would want to associate themselves with -- and Bashir of course wants to help them. It could ruin their friendship... or maybe transform it? Without giving away all the twists and turns of this trilogy, I’ll reveal that it’s the latter; their lives, and the teens’ lives, are transformed in all kinds of ways. Nothing comes easy, though.

Background: I came across this amazing three-parter, by Henrietta Wotton, a couple of years ago and I was all set to share it last summer when nooooooo! I got a 404 on it. But thanks to the waybackmachine, I found it again -- all three parts. And rather than risk losing them to the sands of time, posting them here below. Inevitably somebody will have to use waybackmachine to find this too, but at least it’s 14 years later. I have read this over and over on the copy I put on Instapaper (imported from waybackmachine) and I sooooo think it’s worth saving.

Note: The poll I posted earlier today is running 96% saying “We want more fic recs!” so I’m immediately giving people what they want! :)

Metadata

Title: “Taking In Trouble” | “Letting In Love” | “Kudos” Author: Henrietta Wotton Year Posted: 2004 Approx. Word Count: 23,000 Chapters: 3 (stories) GB - Slash or Platonic: Slash My Rating (1-5): 5 Keywords: Post-Canon Cardassia, Cardassian Class System, Friends to Lovers, Teenage Prostitution, Cultural Misunderstandings, Sexual Hangups, Deafness

Taking in Trouble

The two moons orbiting Cardassia Prime stood high above the horizon, casting grotesque shadows onto the winding paths of the ruined Park of State Heroes. Now, a year after the end of the Dominion War, most of the rubble to which the planet had been reduced by the Jem'Hadar had been vaporized or recycled. The new ruling council had decreed that the blasted statuary of the looming war memorials here remain as they were, however. The purpose, the plaque at the park's entrance stated, was "to remind all Cardassians of the consequences of our past." The only addition took the shape of a new statue, honoring Damar as the martyred leader of the Cardassian Resistance. It stood at the center point where all the paths converged. Surrounding it were a grove of bacherben bushes, their silver petals and waxy green-black leaves glistening in the moonlight.

Dr. Julian Bashir paused to contemplate the memorial, as the heavy, warm breezes of Cardassia Prime rattled through the foliage. He'd often felt the urge to tear off his suffocating Starfleet uniform during the past five weeks that he'd been in the Cardassian system. Thankfully he was off-duty now. He had changed into the open-weave turquoise Tholian tunic and navy blue silk shorts he'd bought the last time he and Ezri had been on Risa. But he wasn't thinking of Ezri now, or of the victims of the Cardassian holocaust, but of his old friend Garak. More precisely he was thinking of a certain path their relationship had appeared destined to follow, and the detour it had taken instead.

Bashir had known from the minute they met that Garak was interested in a sexual relationship, and he had also known that there would never be one unless he himself made the first move. That he had not done, for a host of reasons, not least that someone with a very dangerous secret in his own past didn't need to invite the stepped-up Starfleet intelligence scrutiny that a liaison with a former Cardassian spy would inevitably bring about. Many times he told himself that he should simply back off from the friendship, since he wasn't prepared to take it through to a physical level. Jadzia used to chide him frequently about "leading poor Garak on," and he had to agree that she was right. Yet he had persisted in their lunches, a relationship by appointment only, feeling that the absence of any spontaneous invitations to get together on other occasions would give Garak fair warning that any further intimacy wasn't in the offing. Did Bashir himself desire further intimacy? He resolutely refused to consider the question, since it couldn't happen, no matter what he desired.

Then the secret of his genetic enhancements came to light, and everything changed. But Garak changed, too, mocking him as computer or Vulcan and spending ever more time with Ziyal. What did you expect, Julian, old man? he had thought. It's the rare person who isn't put off by the idea of sleeping with some unnatural freak, re-invented in a laboratory. So he had taken comfort in the acceptance shown by Miles and both Daxes and consigned any longing for Garak to the category of transient fantasy.

Recently, however, that longing had ambushed him in a very odd fashion. After the Cardassian holocaust, Starfleet Medical had rushed in personnel to treat the survivors, and the Cardassians had at long last made all their medical, biological, and physiological databases available to outsiders. Bashir kept finding himself drifting away from the sections on infectious diseases and the effects of cold and hunger, and instead studying in great detail everything he could download on Cardassian sexuality. He recalled his surprise, given the strict Cardassian prohibitions against "non-procreative practices," that both Cardassian males and females came equipped with self-lubricating anal passages lined with highly sensitive nerve clusters quite as capable of producing pleasure as those found in their genitalia. What a waste! he mused. And then came the further realization: You've wanted nothing these past eight years, Julian Bashir, so much as to aim your dart squarely at the center of that inviting, round Cardassian backside of Garak's.

Bashir had cursed himself for arriving at this realization only after Garak had left the station, but he knew that physical distance wasn't the main obstacle to their becoming lovers.. He and Garak had in fact been together a number of times since Bashir had returned to DS9, leaving behind the tailor, spy and Resistance fighter to begin the mammoth task of restoring his devastated planet. The ruling council had appointed Garak its special envoy to Bajor, and he often came to the station en route to various contentious meetings with first minister Shakaar and the new Kai. Twice Julian and Ezri had joined him and Col. Kira for dinner.

No, it wasn't physical distance, it was emotional distance. Garak and Bashir had replaced their weekly lunch appointments with weekly subspace conversations. Yet Bashir always felt a certain awkwardness between them in these instances, as if they were going through the motions of having once been friends, but were friends no longer. This awkwardness convinced him that he had irretrievably lost the moment at which he and Garak might have consummated their relationship. Therefore, when the doctor was assigned to assess whether the Cardassian medical infrastructure had recovered sufficiently for Starfleet to reassign the many physicians, nurses, and health technicians it had stationed throughout the system during the past year, he almost hesitated to inform Garak that he would be "in the neighborhood." Bashir had considerable doubts whether the Cardassian would welcome him.

As it turned out, the doctor was glad he had informed him, because the announcement brought a warm invitation to visit Garak on Cardassia Prime if he could find time to take "a little vacation" between performing his inspections and returning to Deep Space Nine. The Garak who greeted him at the spaceport, however, was the same distant Garak of the subspace chats. He had no sooner taken Bashir to his house and shown him the guest quarters, than he announced that he would be involved in long discussions with a Klingon delegation until late into the evening.

Bashir had killed some time exploring Garak's new dwelling. The Federation had rebuilt the house of Enabran Tain upon its old, ruined foundation, an acknowledgment of his friend's great service during the Dominion War. They'd worked from the original plans, but Garak complained that "Federation utilitarianism" had crept into the design, and that the beauty of the original had been lost. Julian studied the architecture carefully, so as to be prepared for the debate about the Federation's lack of taste that would no doubt accompany their dinner. Then he took a very long sonic shower, changed into his civvies, and, feeling restless and not a little apprehensive at soon being alone with Garak, went for a walk that brought him here to the memorial park. Part of him felt that he had judged correctly, that it was too late for intimacy. Another part, though, more stubbornly hopeful than the first, knew that it wasn't only the Cardassian heat that had made him put on this particular outfit.

"Hey, Terran, want some scales?"

Bashir jumped. It was as if someone had just been reading his thoughts. The voice came from behind the bacherben thicket. Bashir instinctively reached for his phaser. Garak had warned that the catastrophe had obliterated the once vaunted safety of Cardassian streets. "Who's there?" he called out in his sternest tones.

"Don't ruffle yourself. This studder's no robber." Two figures emerged from the shadows. Both had unkempt, shoulder-length hair and nearly identical height, build and features. They looked to be only a year or two past puberty. That they were a boy and a girl became apparent only from the trousers on the one who was speaking, and the dress on the one who was not. As they slowly approached him, the boy kept talking in what were obviously meant to be seductive tones.

"Any sport that appeals, we can do." He grabbed his crotch and gyrated suggestively. At the same time, the girl fondled her breasts through the thin material that revealed her utter lack of undergarments. "Want a girl, Moxh is game. Want a boy, Kadz is ready. Or we'll do each other and let you watch. Only one strip of latinum. Want us both, that's just another strip."

Bashir gazed at them horrified. They were little more than children. He'd read about abandoned urchins selling themselves on city streets on hundreds of worlds throughout hundreds of centuries, but he had never come up against the sordid fact of it like this. All he wanted to do was get away from them. "Sorry, not interested," he said, turning and heading swiftly for the path out of the park.

But the boy ran after him, persisting in his sales pitch. "You know you're curious how the Cardies do it. We always leave our sports satisfied." He stationed the girl in front of Bashir, blocking his way, and began to raise her dress over her head. "Don't go before you see what you're missing," he cajoled, giving the doctor a lewd wink.

"I told you I was not interested," Bashir repeated, pushing both of them aside. As a result, the girl lost her balance and fell, triggering a spasm of gasping and coughing. The doctor halted, raising her to her feet and taking a good look at her for the first time. Her eyes were red, and the tips of the scales on her neck looked white and brittle. He'd seen the symptoms often enough in the Federation resettlement centers for homeless Cardassians. In the crowded conditions a fairly minor respiratory virus had mutated into a potentially fatal disease. Many Cardassians had perished before a combined Federation-Cardassian research team developed an anti-viral agent.

"Listen," Bashir said to the boy, "your friend--"

"My sister, my pouch mate.. Pretty game sportin' with two of a kind, eh?"

"Your sister is very ill." Bashir resolutely put to one side the fact that the boy had offered to "do" his twin for a customer's amusement. "She shouldn't be out... sporting... in her condition."

"Don't ruffle. Kardasi sick-bugs don't bite Terrans."

"Some of them do, as a matter of fact." Bashir couldn't suppress a grin at the boy's expression of medical certainties. "But you're right, azmeri fever doesn't jump from Cardassians to humans."

"How do you know?" Kadz asked suspiciously.

"I'm a Federation doctor, and I'm telling you that you should get your sister to the nearest hospital immediately."

"Oh, no. Hospitals don't take accies, 'less it's to cut us up." The boy grasped his sister's hand and began to lead her back to their lair behind the statue.

Suddenly Bashir found himself doing the following, as he pursued the retreating pair. "Wait. What do you mean? What are accies?" His universal translator didn't seem to be coping very well with the boy's slang-filled street patois.

Kadz stopped and looked at him as if he were extremely stupid. "Acci-dentals, you know." Bashir shook his head, still not comprehending. "Kids not meant to be born, accies with no parents," the boy explained with a world-weary air.

Ah, now Bashir understood. Garak had long ago told him that children without parents had no place in Cardassian society. Somehow the doctor had never considered thoroughly just how appalling the end results of such a social policy could be. "Well at least take her home, put her to bed with lots of blankets, and give her plenty of liquids to drink."

"How long you been on Prime, Fedder, you think accies got homes and blankets?" The boy inquired sarcastically. "Half the gitters is homeless these moons. Me and Moxh live in those bushes there. And we'd best go back to them and wait for some sport that's eager."

"She could die if she doesn't get the proper care, " Bashir implored. "Back where I'm staying, I've got some medicines that can help her. What do you say, Moxh? Will you come with me?"

"She might, for the overnight rate," Kadz replied, his expression showing renewed interest in the possibility of profiting from the "Fedder."

Bashir had to restrain himself from punching the insolent street urchin in the mouth. "I want to help Moxh, not sleep with her. And I'm talking to your sister, not you. Let her answer," he insisted.

"Can't. Doesn't talk. Doesn't hear. Born that way. But Kadz takes care of her, he does."

Take care of her, by turning her into a whore? Bashir thought to himself. Could the situation get any more dismal, he wondered, torn between pity and revulsion. "Fine. I'll pay the overnight rate. Both of you just follow me."

"That's more like it, sport. Good time guaranteed. Coulda saved lots of time if you'd just said you wanted to do it at home in the first place, though," Kadz said in reproachful tones as he fell in behind the doctor with his sister in tow. Bashir ignored him, except to sigh a very deep sigh.

"Tell your sister to lie down on that sofa there," Bashir instructed Kadz, once he'd accomplished the considerable feat of getting Garak's multi-access-code-encumbered front door to open and ushered the two young people into the Cardassian's living room. "I'll go get my medical bag."

Retrieving the bag from the guest room, Bashir also picked up a blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed. When he came back to the living room Kadz was sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, while Moxh had herself posed seductively on the couch, totally naked. Just as Bashir had suspected. It was the reason he'd brought the blanket. The doctor quickly covered her with it, took out some of his medical scanners, and began his examination. He immediately ascertained that his diagnosis of azmeri fever had been correct, so he filled a hypospray with the antiviral agent and put it to her neck.

"Don't have to drug her up to make her willing," Kadz offered. "Unless playing doctor gets you excited."

"Look, I am not playing doctor. I am a doctor. I am treating your sister for an illness, and I have no intention of having sex with her."

"Sure, sure," the boy replied, totally unconvinced. His sister was evidently of the same mind, because she grabbed Bashir's hand and pulled it under the blanket to rest on her breast. He snatched it away and turned to the boy. "Please tell her just to lie still and keep her hands to herself."

"If that's the way you like it," Kadz said, making gestures in his sister's direction. "She'll be as quiet as the dead now."

Bashir leaned down and ran his scanner over the boy, who amazingly showed no infection from the virus. He refilled the hypospray and pressed it to Kadz's neck. "Hey, hey," the boy squealed, rising to his feet and putting several meters between himself and Bashir. "Kadz don't need drugging up either."

"This will simply help prevent your catching what Moxh has," Bashir reassured him. "Now, why don't you come into the kitchen and get something to eat while I finish my examination."

"Thought you'd want privacy at some point."

Bashir stifled an angry response and led the boy to the replicator in the adjoining kitchen. "Just tell the computer what you want."

"Heard of these. Never used one." For the first time, the boy actually seemed somewhat uncertain of himself. "Two zabu steaks?" When they materialized, he jumped back a few centimeters, then laughed and removed the food to the table. "A dozen regova eggs. A larish pie. A cup of yamok sauce. A bottle of kanar."

"That's quite an appetite you have," Bashir grinned.

"Got to save some for Moxh."

"I'd go easy on the kanar, though. Aren't you a little young for that?"

"Been drinking it since I got my second molars. Moxh too. Helps on cold nights."

"Well, cheers and bon appetit, then," Bashir said darkly. The boy only raised a quizzical eye-ridge and fell to with relish. The doctor returned to his patient.

Moxh was indeed lying as motionless as the dead. Bashir's scanner hummed as its data readouts told the depressing story. Malnutrition, no surprise. Complete absence of the auditory nerve, a congenital deafness that no advanced medical wizardry could fix. A number of ulcers and topical infections, a secondary effect of the azmeri fever. He pulled down the blanket and treated each one in turn with a sonic debrider and a dermal regenerator. There was a particularly nasty accumulation of peccant matter around the hinge of her birthing pouch, and after he had cleaned it out, he knew why. The two lips of the pouch were still about a centimeter apart. Bashir cursed inwardly, tried to give the girl a smile that conveyed reassurance, and charged straight ahead to where Kadz was wolfing down his feast.

"Your sister's had a baby recently. Where is it?" Bashir hissed.

"Mff," Kadz hastily swallowed half a regova egg. "Don't ruffle. Came early, came dead," he responded matter-of-factly. He took a mouthful of kanar and looked up at the doctor's scowling face. "Good thing. Saved me getting rid of it. My mate Zanto showed me with his girl's first acci, how to cover up the nose and mouth till it stops breathing, but turned out I didn't have to."

"I'm sure you were terribly disappointed at not being able to show off your skills at infanticide." Bashir made no effort to conceal his disgust.

The boy glanced away, but not before the doctor thought he spotted a flicker of genuine emotion in the until-now hard, bright eyes and belligerent features. "No. Wasn't looking forward to it." Then Kadz glared back at him in defiance. "Would have done it, though, don't you doubt it. No choice in bad times. But Moxh would have been hard to manage after. Had herself set on keeping it. Must have caught some of our mo-mo's soft-headedness. I mean," he continued expansively as the kanar took effect, "Can you grab it, two accies at once, and the girl a dummy besides, and she don't throttle either?" The boy shook his head in bewilderment and took another drink.

"Where is your mother now?" Bashir asked.

"Gone. One, two moons after the Jemmies came. Went out to find sporters, never came back. Maybe she got grabbed by sec, maybe she got cracked by a bad one, maybe she found a keeper with no taste for accies hanging around."

"Surely you don't imagine that your mother would just abandon you to become some man's mistress?"

"Why not?" Kadz shot back. "Moxh and me was earning our keep. Good for mo-mo, if she finds a keeper 'fore her sporting days are over."

In the unforgiving street life the boy had been born into, his sentiments were perfectly logical, Bashir reflected. The fewer children born into such a life, the better. "I'm going to give Moxh another injection, one that will make sure she doesn't have any accies for at least a year," he told the brother.

"You got that stuff, Fedder?" For the first time, Kadz seemed to take him seriously as a doctor. "Ara Beldon on Kheramka Square sells it, but most of us studders can't pay her price."

"It's free of charge from me," Bashir returned with a smile. "You finish your meal here, and I'll go inject your sister with the contraceptive and offer her a few eggs and a slice of pie. Then I'll give her something so she can sleep--alone."

When Bashir returned to the girl, she'd made a good start toward falling asleep without requiring any of his healing arts. Her eyes were half closed and her breathing regular. He put the hypospray to her neck and then shook her gently. She blinked and flashed a sleepy smile. The provocative seductress was nowhere to be seen. This was only an exhausted child. Bashir helped her sit up and offered her the plate. She snatched at it eagerly and began cramming in the food with both hands. The doctor patted her on the head and turned back toward the kitchen to keep his eye on Kadz.

Kadz had left the kitchen, however, and Bashir's eyes met the boy striding toward him, barechested, his tunic cast over one shoulder.

"If you've not jumped Moxh yet, I'd say it's the boys that gets you worked up, eh, Fedder?" the young Cardassian smirked, as he sinuously stepped out of his trousers. "Kadz is ready to pay for the meal, he is." He displayed himself front and back to Bashir. "Is the coin to your liking?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Put your clothes back on at once!"

"You've not said how the scales and ridges strike your fancy." The boy had moved to within half a meter and was undoing the fasteners on Bashir's shorts. Whatever protest the doctor was preparing to make next died in his throat, however, as the door slid open and Garak walked in. Good God, there go my hopes for a romantic evening, the doctor thought, dismayed.

"Uh . . . this isn't what it looks like, Garak." Bashir stammered. The Cardassian's understandable expression of surprise had not turned into amusement at Bashir's plight, as the doctor had expected. His features were tight with anger, more naked anger than Bashir had ever seen him display. He hurriedly poured out further explanation, "Or rather it is what it looks like but... you see Kadz's sister there has azmeri fever and when I brought her here for treatment, Kadz got the wrong idea and... oh, for heaven's sake, Kadz, put your clothes back on."

Still Garak stared at the two of them in anger and did not speak. The tense situation did nothing to curb the ever-voluble Kadz, however. "Didn't tell me you had a keeper, Fedder," he said as he lazily stepped into one trouser leg, "And a jealous one too, by the look of him."

Garak fixed the boy with a malevolent stare of the most icy imaginable blueness. "I am not Dr. Bashir's keeper. He and I are old friends, and I am offering him my hospitality while he is on Cardassia Prime as part of his duties to Starfleet Medical." The words were all cordiality, the tone all threat.

Kadz appeared oblivious to the danger. "Sure, sure, all you twofie gitters got some story." He finally pulled his trousers all the way up, but, remaining shirtless, approached Bashir and draped himself over his shoulders. "You're a bit of an old one to keep him all to yourself," the boy remarked to Garak. "Sure you're not going to rob him of a nice young pretty like Kadz. You can always join the fun too, or just watch, if that's your sport."

Bashir hastily disengaged himself. "Kadz, how many times do I have to tell you that you've got this all wrong--" Suddenly Garak sprang, like a razorcat, grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shoved him up against the far wall. "Dr. Bashir is in no mood for your street boy impudence, and neither am I," he hissed. "Is that understood?"

Kadz thrashed and kicked in Garak's grasp, earning a knee to his groin. He gasped in pain and fell still. "Is that understood?" Garak repeated. The boy nodded vigorously, eyes wide and struggling for breath. Garak continued to hold him pinned to the wall, a look on his face that reminded Bashir of Miles's account of the time Garak had lost his reason on Empok Nor. The doctor moved to the Cardassian and put his hand on his shoulder. "Garak," he said, trying to sound calm. "Let him go."

Garak took a couple of deep breaths and then favored Bashir with his customary urbane smile. "Of course, doctor." He released his hold, ambled over to a chair, sat down, and crossed his legs, the picture of casualness. Yet Bashir saw clearly that he was trembling with rage.

Kadz had scurried over to where his tunic lay on the floor. He pulled it over his head, retrieved his sister's dress, and then grabbed Moxh up off the couch, where she had huddled in terror while the confrontation was in progress. "Can't say that Kadz stays where he's not wanted," the boy whispered to Bashir as they headed for the door.

"You can't go," Bashir implored him. "Moxh still needs more treatments." Kadz glanced sideways at Garak and shook his head. Bashir turned to Garak also. "Please, Garak, she's very ill."

"She may stay if you think it best, doctor." The Cardassian's tone hardened. "But not him."

The boy shook his head again. "Kadz and Moxh is a team--unless you're meaning to keep her. Kadz wouldn't stand in her way, if you make it worth his while."

"You'd sell us your sister, just like that?" Bashir exploded, but Garak rose calmly and addressed the boy. "Wait here," he said. He disappeared into his bedroom and emerged a minute later carrying a bar of latinum. "I think this will more than compensate you."

"No lies!" Kadz exclaimed, his eye-ridges rising half way up to his hairline. "Just let me give Moxh the score." He began to communicate with his sister in their private sign language, at some length. She nodded several times and signed back briefly. "She's game," the boy said to Bashir and Garak and then walked out of the house without looking back. Moxh returned to the couch, crawled under the blanket, and appeared to settle down for a nap. No teary good-byes, no last embraces, just a business deal concluded to the satisfaction of all parties. A Ferengi couldn't have done it better, thought Bashir.

Garak rubbed his hands together and turned to his friend, all smiles. "Ah, now that we've settled that delicate matter, I'm taking you out to dinner. There's a charming restaurant at the Federation recreation compound on the third moon of Cardassia Five-- the place all the dedicated relief workers repair to when the dust and the stench become too much for them. We heroes of the Cardassian Resistance have honorary guest privileges, of course."

Bashir stared at him in disbelief, at the mood change, at his decision to act as if nothing out of the way had happened. "But Garak, surely you don't think we should go off and leave the girl here alone?"

"Of course we should. She's asleep already, probably won't even realize we're gone. She'd doubtless prefer not to be disturbed by strangers in any event."

Bashir would have thought it impossible for Garak to grow any more inscrutable than he had been on the station, but clearly it had happened. The doctor had no idea what could be motivating him to treat the presence of a naked and feverish child prostitute on his living room couch as a matter of no importance. But he'd violated Garak's hospitality by bringing the two of them here in the first place, and he had no choice but to go along with what his host had planned. "I suppose I should change clothes before we go to this restaurant," Bashir asked, "something a bit more formal?"

"That would be appropriate," Garak concurred. "Oh, and while you're changing, my dear doctor, a cold sonic shower would also be advisable." His gaze halted deliberately at the decided bulge barely masked by the silk shorts.

"Uh, right, it won't take a minute," Bashir replied, blushing furiously.

"Take all the time you need, doctor," Garak purred.

They travelled to the moon in the runabout that the ruling council had assigned to Garak to facilitate his diplomatic efforts. All the way there, and through the appetizers, and the main course, and the dessert Garak made relentless small talk. He regaled Bashir with pointed barbs about Klingon intransigence and Bajoran grudge-holding and inquired about Kira and Ezri and Miles and the recent progress of the Sisko baby. Bashir numbly returned equally superficial answers, feeling more and more that he was in one of his holosuite programs talking to a mere simulacrum of his Cardassian friend. The doctor waited for some acknowledgment of that rage he had seen in Garak's eyes hours before and some kind of explanation for it. None was forthcoming.

Finally, on the return trip, he brought the subject up himself. Walking back from the replicator with a cup of Tarkalean tea in hand, he said. "I'm sorry for bringing those street children into your home, Garak. I never should have done it without your permission."

"No, you should not have, doctor. But when you see healing to be done, you don't ever stop for social niceties, do you? At any rate, there's no permanent harm done."

"You certainly seemed angry at the time."

"That little vermin's insolence could try anyone's patience. I was angry at him, not at you," Garak replied, in a manner that suggested there was nothing more to say.

Bashir tried another tack. "You know, those two have very odd names. Kadz and Moxh don't sound like any Cardassians I've ever encountered."

"They aren't names in the ordinary sense of the term. Sometimes these trash haven't even been given a name, just dumped on the street with no identity. Most of them usually pick up some slang nickname and use it, as our young visitors have," Garak chuckled.

"Why do you laugh?" the doctor asked, perplexed at Garak's complete lack of feeling for the twins' plight.

"'Kadz' and 'Moxh' are particularly vulgar street terms for male and female genitalia."

Bashir practically choked on his tea. "My God! I suppose they believe in truth in advertising."

"Apparently."

"That slang of Kadz's is pretty impenetrable. Half the time I didn't know what he was talking about. When he called us "twofie gitters," for instance."

Garak let Bashir's comment hang in the air for several seconds. To explicate it apparently meant committing himself to discussing the incident in depth, and the doctor had concluded from all the evening's evasions that he decidedly did not want to do so. Garak shifted in his seat uneasily. At length he spoke in subdued tones, staring out the view screen. "A twofie gitter is a bisexual of legitimate birth, the class of men that makes up the bulk of Kadz's clients, the class to which the boy erroneously presumed you and I belong, doctor." Then the Cardassian sucked in his breath and looked Bashir in the eye, "At least I presume that he is in error?"

"Garak, you can't believe that I wanted that boy, that I brought him back with me for any other purpose than to help his sister?" Bashir hadn't expected the conversation to take this turn.

"No, I never thought that," Garak smiled enigmatically.

"I know that's what it looked like when I became aroused," Bashir rushed on. "But I can assure you I felt no attraction for him whatsoever."

"Of course you didn't. Kadz makes his living arousing the bodies of men who have no attraction whatsoever toward him. I'm sure his hands are very skilled--"

"No, Garak, it wasn't like that--"

"I once knew a pain technician in the Order, Groblo," Garak continued, as if he hadn't heard the doctor's denial. "He had grown up like Kadz, servicing men on the streets. Sometimes when interrogations were dragging on and getting nowhere, he'd put down the instrument, pass his hands over the subject's body a few times, and bring him to arousal and climax, just like that. These were men in agony, mind you, an agony this fellow had inflicted. Yet he could get their bodies to respond just as if the touch were that of a lover rather than a torturer. Groblo said these little exercises of his helped ease the tension. Although I'm afraid I always thought them in questionable taste. An interrogation room is no place for parlor tricks, wouldn't you agree, doctor?"

"I'm afraid I have little use for anything that goes on in Cardassian interrogation rooms," Bashir returned with some heat. Why had Garak told him this chilling anecdote? Was this his friend's revenge for broaching the subject of Kadz and his advances?

"I was simply trying to show you that I understood the effect our young visitor could produce," Garak explained amiably, "not to defend my former profession."

"I'm surprised that someone with an 'acci's' background would be employed by the Order," Bashir pushed the point. "You've told me that these street children have no legitimate place in your society."

"Ah, the Order was always a special case. These accies have no scruples, as you've seen. That can make them very useful as informers, assassins or torturers. Of course, there was never a question of trusting them with any of the higher-level activities, those involving sensitive state secrets. Anyone that would sell his mother--or his sister--without qualm, wouldn't hesitate to sell out Cardassia if the price were right."

Bashir nodded, but did not otherwise comment. The conversation was too depressing to continue. Apparently any hope he'd had of restoring his friendship with Garak to its previous level of intimacy had vanished at the moment Garak saw Kadz standing there naked. He set his teacup down and idly glanced over at the navigational array. They were only a few minutes from entering orbit around Cardassia Prime. It was going to be damned uncomfortable with the girl still there in Garak's house. Once the reality of her situation sank in, she was bound to get agitated, and neither of them even knew how to communicate with her. What a mess he'd made of things!

"It's hard to believe that Moxh won't panic when she realizes that her brother really has abandoned her for good," he said softly, thinking aloud.

"Oh, don't concern yourself about that," Garak replied while making some course adjustments. "He hasn't abandoned her at all. The minute we were out of sight, she will have opened the door for him, and the two of them will have spent an hour or so looting my house. I made sure to secure anything of real value, but you'll have to get Starfleet to reimburse me for a depleted replicator power unit, which I'm sure they've quite used up in provisioning themselves."

"What?" Bashir exclaimed. "How can you know that?"

Garak smiled one of his patented infuriating smiles. "It's a very old street trick. That's how Mila ended up becoming Tain's housekeeper. He'd brought her home for an evening's pleasure and found her unconscious inside his front door the next morning, still grasping a bag full of the contents of his safe. She'd not anticipated his disrupter field that triggered every time anyone tried to exit the house without giving the proper security code. When she failed to divulge the identity of her accomplice, despite Tain's most persuasive entreaties, he decided that someone who could keep a secret that well might be of use to him. So he let her stay rather than turn her over to the security forces."

"So you think we'll return to find Kadz and Moxh unconscious inside your door?"

"Not at all, doctor. We'll find them gone. I deactivated my disrupter field."

"But the girl is ill, she can't just go back to the streets," Bashir protested.

"I'm sorry to annul your generous impulse, but I can't allow either of those creatures to remain in my house. They will at least leave better-supplied for survival than when you found them." Garak's tone left no doubt that the subject was closed.

Bashir had no intention of letting the matter drop, however. Nevertheless, he judged that a slight change of tactics was in order. "You seem to know quite a bit about the way these 'creatures' operate. Did Mila share the secrets of her past with you?"

Garak glared at him. "You are one of the most infuriatingly persistent young men I have ever met," he said. "No, Mila did not care to speak of her past with me, and no, I did not engage in long conversational sessions in which Order operatives who came up from the streets reminisced about the good old days." His features hardened, as he went on, "It was Tain who made sure that I was intimately familiar with the kinds of lives that children lived on the streets, so that I would appreciate what he had spared me by taking me under his protection. Of course, there was always the implied threat that he could send me out there to fend for myself if I didn't please him."

I should have suspected that Tain had something to do with this, Bashir thought. Whenever Garak starts behaving irrationally, it always seems to go back to Tain. "I can see why having those 'accies' in the house disturbed you then," the doctor murmured.

"Good, I'm glad you do--at last," Garak replied. "Now, we've achieved docking orbit, and we're going to beam down to my residence. I trust that as a thoughtful guest you will not bring up this subject again."

The place was a shambles, or at least the kitchen and living room were. (Garak had not disabled the security system that blocked off the other rooms with force fields upon attempted unauthorized entry.) As Garak had predicted, the replicator's power cell was completely exhausted, the blanket and sofa pillows gone and every drawer opened and looted, with items of no interest tossed all about the floor. The Cardassian went back to his bedroom and returned with a replacement cell. "Doctor, if you would go into the replicator menu and reproduce my couch cushions and the blanket, I'll tidy up the rest."

After the pillows materialized, the doctor repositioned them on the sofa. As he backed up to see if they were properly aligned, he inadvertently brushed his buttocks against those of Garak, who was bending over to pick up some of the items from the floor. The physical contact produced an overwhelming desire that astonished Bashir with its force. No matter how unpropitious the evening had been thus far, he had to disclose his true feelings to Garak.

The Cardassian was returning several PADDs to a drawer in his computer workstation. Bashir stepped in front of the desk and leaned forward. "Garak, it wasn't Kadz's skills that gave me an erection earlier," he began.

"My dear doctor, I told you I don't want to talk about Kadz any further," Garak said, his voice rising.

"Just hear me out. What aroused me was seeing how angry you were, how jealous of him, because that told me that you wanted me again."

Bashir saw a dozen subtle changes come over Garak's posture and features, as if he were a vessel that had suddenly lowered its shields. "Wanted you again, doctor?" he said in a whisper.

"You can't expect me to believe that you didn't want me once. But after you found out about--" Two elegant gray fingers were suddenly pressed to his lips. "Shh, shh. I'm not denying that I had once wanted you, I am telling you that I've never stopped wanting you." Garak caressed Bashir's lips with a brush of the fingertips and stepped back a few paces. "But am I now to understand that you want me?"

Bashir broke out into a broad grin. "Of course! Why do you think I brought this up?"

Garak cocked a skeptical brow-ridge. "And what do you think Counselor Dax will make of all this?"

"A month ago Ezri told me that she wanted to put our relationship on hold till I properly sorted out my feelings for Miles and for you. Now, the thought of making Miles my lover, it was ridiculous. I couldn't even begin to imagine myself in bed with him. When I thought about you that way, however, the scenario seemed perfectly logical. After all, for weeks before I'd been reacting to Cardassian anatomical schematics as if they were pornographic pictures." Bashir stepped to the side of the desk while the Cardassian moved out from behind it to meet him. The doctor took Garak's head in both hands and kissed him hard, reveling in the leathery texture of the lips and then the sensations of the strong and agile tongue that soon thrust itself inside his mouth. At length the Cardassian broke off the kiss, and when Bashir caught his breath and leaned forward again, Garak pushed him back with a soft touch of his hand to the doctor's chest.

"I've thought about this moment for so long, my dear boy," Garak began a little hesitantly. "And I'm afraid I've constructed a rather elaborate ritual fantasy of how I would want us to begin. Will you humor me in this? I think you'll find it very pleasurable."

Bashir paused to consider for a split second. What would it be like to live out one of Garak's fantasies? Immediately the answer came, it will be bliss--you wouldn't have kept longing for him all this while if you didn't trust it to be so.

"I am completely at your disposal," Bashir replied, smiling. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

Garak took his hand and led him into the bedroom. "Why, doctor, I don't want you to do anything at all." The Cardassian helped him out of the white linen jacket Bashir had put on over the oatmeal colored, open-necked shirt that Garak had made for him for a birthday present when he turned thirty-five. He folded it neatly on a chair, then unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it off Bashir as well. Placing each of his hands on his partner's shoulders, Garak applied to each a series of brief patting motions, as if he were straightening a garment on one of the mannequins in his tailor shop. He stared into the younger man's eyes with an expression of tenderness Bashir had never seen on his face before. Slowly one hand moved down Bashir's breast-bone and continued on to his navel, while the other massaged each of his vertebrae in turn. Bashir inhaled sharply at the intense and totally unexpected pleasure these motions produced in him. Soon Garak was covering him with light caresses to all sorts of places that Bashir had never considered very erogenous--the flesh inside his upper arms, the hollow at the base of his skull, his collarbones. With every touch the pleasure grew more and more exquisite. He moaned softly, and his legs felt weak. Garak put an arm around his waist to keep him from falling and guided him expertly to the bed. Bashir sat down and leaned back, balancing himself on his forearms and elbows. Garak deftly relieved him of his linen trousers, made a soft sound of surprise when he found no underwear beneath them, and then used a few vigorous strokes of his hands to relieve him also of the pressure that had built up in his eagerly awaiting cock. Bashir groaned with delight as he reclined fully on the bed.

"Did you find my little fantasy enjoyable?" Garak whispered as he leaned over and kissed Bashir lightly on the lips. Bashir reached up and pulled the Cardassian down beside him. "Indescribably so," the doctor said. He was, and was not, telling the truth. Certainly the pure physical sensations had been breath-taking. Garak was a master of technique. Yet there was something distant and remote about the whole experience--Garak making him stand there like a mannequin while the Cardassian remained fully clothed, receiving no stimulation himself, using only his hands, not his mouth or his cock. I suppose it's meant to be a special gift, giving all the pleasure and taking none yourself. And Garak does like to control situations. Still, I'd expect any man's fantasy to involve pleasure for himself, first and foremost.

Bashir's own fantasies were definitely less refined and predicated on more mutual satisfaction. Well, his moment had arrived. "Now it's my turn, Garak," he said, breathing heavily. "I can't promise to do it quite so . . . artistically as you." His eager hands pushed up Garak's tunic till it gathered just above the breast ridge. Then he thrust his thumbs under the fourth rib bones on either side. There he felt the small patches of scaleless skin his research had told him were there.. He pressured the area again and again with his fingertips while his mouth worked the scales on Garak's neck-ridges. The Cardassian gripped him hard across the back and thrust his body up to meet his lover's touch. Bashir kept on until he felt Garak grow hard beneath him. He slid off the bed, pulling down the Cardassian's trousers and loincloth as he went. His tongue worked the delicate edges of the softer scales at the base of the cock while his hands returned to the even softer skin beneath the ribcage. "Ah... doctor... uhh..." Garak groaned, "I see... you... ahhh... studied the schematics... ohh... very well."

Bashir raised his head. "Elim, don't you think it's about time you called me Julian?"

"I think you have a point, Julian," Garak nodded and pushed the human's head down to his crotch. Bashir took the Cardassian's cock into his mouth and slid his tongue up and down the shaft. "Oh, yesss, Julian, ohh yess," Garak repeated as he writhed beneath his lover, while gripping him tightly with strong calf muscles. His climax came quickly thereafter, all in a rush of gray foam that made Julian pull back a little as it streamed against the back of his throat.

Garak gave a contented sigh and released the grip of his legs, letting them dangle over the edge of the bed. The doctor rose to his feet, gratified that his efforts at pleasuring Garak had reinstated his own ability to act out his long-cherished fantasy, what he had been so impatient to do that all that had gone before seemed mere foreplay. He trembled at the thought of sliding his organ between the rippling scales that fanned out on both sides of the Cardassian's buttocks. Julian launched himself with a little spring onto the bed, rolled the panting Garak over, and climbed astride him, hands reaching inside the cleft--only to find himself flat on the floor a second later, expertly tossed off with one motion of Garak's left leg. He gave an inquiring look at his partner, wondering if this were some kind of Cardassian love play. Garak had sat up and was looking back at him with a serious expression. "No, Julian, there will be none of that," he said, calmly but firmly.

"None of what? Do you mean no fucking?" Bashir asked incredulously.

"Precisely. In Cardassian culture, no man would ever even consider fucking a man who was his equal. Such impulses are generally worked off with the assistance of little vermin like your friend Kadz."

Bashir clambered up and sat beside Garak. "It doesn't mean that in my culture at all. I had no intention of trying to assert my superiority over you. To me it's just the way of achieving complete closeness, getting inside your lover--figuratively as well as literally. If it will make you feel more comfortable, you can fuck me first."

"I would never take what I was not prepared to give, Julian." Garak sighed. "Because I have always kept my origins... mysterious... many of the Cardassian men with whom I became involved believed that they had a right to master me. None of them ever succeeded. It is a violation I could never allow, no matter how desperately I wished to satisfy a lover. The situation became so frustrating that I had resolved to restrict my sexual partners to women. Then I saw you sitting there in the Replimat, my dear boy, and my resolve evaporated. But even for you, this is something I cannot tolerate."

Julian struggled to hide his massive disappointment. He would not try to manipulate the situation by playing on Garak's fear of displeasing him. Now that they were finally lovers, the last thing he would risk was to hurt Garak through insisting on his own kind of gratification, no matter how fervently his cock was calling out for it. "I would never ask you to, Elim," he said, running his fingers through the Cardassian's sleek black hair and planting a kiss on his "spoon."

Garak responded by tracing the outline of Julian's right ear with his expert forefinger and flicking his tongue over the doctor's slightly parted lips, making the doctor's erection ache even more. "Don't despair, my dear. I can guarantee you that you will nevertheless not lack for pleasures while we're together." And with that he bent down his head and proved his point.

Letting in Love

Lake Ent'rakh sat in a small valley formed midway up the face of the tallest mountain of the Shimat chain that ran along the coastline of the northernmost tip of Cardassia Prime's northern continent. Here temperatures rarely exceeded 10 C. in full daylight--an unusually bright daylight--and fell well below freezing during the very long nights. Hardly a climate for heat-loving Cardassians, and no permanent Kardasi settlements had ever been established here. However, Lake Ent'rakh held a secret that the ancient Hebitians had discovered. Beneath it churned the molten core of a volcano not yet gone dead, as all the others in the Shimat chain had. Its waters therefore maintained a constant 27 C. temperature, and the Hebitians had duly established a combination resort and retreat here in the otherwise deserted mountains, its purpose to "chill the fevered spirit and warm the cold heart."

It must have been a remarkable sight in its day, Bashir reflected. A wall four meters thick and twenty meters high had ringed the entire lake. Archways opened out of it every ten meters, their interiors decorated in intricate patterns with thousands of tiny, multi-colored gemstones. At the portion of the wall which faced the entrance into the valley, a curving stairway led to the top. Garak told him that eight swaying rope bridges had allowed passage from one side of the wall to the other, but that a true spiritual experience required that a visitor walk the entire circumference, a distance of more than ten kilometers, before descending by these same stairs and then diving into the warm and welcoming waters. Now only about a fifth of the wall remained, in a dozen freestanding sections. The stairs no longer existed, the rope bridges had rotted centuries ago, and the gemstones had been torn out by generations of desperate men and women hoping to stave off starvation during one or the other of Cardassia's recurrent famines. And yet, even in it's ruined state, the place was magnificent. Garak had planned the excursion even before they became lovers. "I wanted you to see what we were before nature conspired against us and we lost our way," he had said solemnly upon their arrival. "Fortunately, they had no energy weapons when the Hebitian civilization fell, and its traces still linger. All that was ancient and beautiful in my Cardassia has been vaporized clean and replaced with bright new Federation functional."

Their first day here they had hiked the entire perimeter of the lake in the four hours of daylight that came around between 26 hour stretches of chill darkness. Today, the second and last of their camping trip, they had spent in the water. Bashir's enhanced reflexes enabled him to catch in his bare hands a dozen of the silver and rose colored fish that darted everywhere in the azure green water. They planned to cook them over an actual fire when night fell and hunger beckoned. Then Garak had suggested they swim to the opposite shore and back. It surprised Julian somewhat how strong a swimmer Garak was for a man of his years. As long as the doctor did not particularly exert himself, the Cardassian kept pace at his side. Three-quarters of the way back, however, Bashir's exuberance took hold, and he crossed the remaining meters at the maximum speed his special gifts allowed, leaving Garak far behind.

Now he treaded water a small distance from shore and studied his lover's approach. Garak swam in a very peculiar way, at least to human eyes. He held the top of his head out of the water just below his nostrils, leaving the rest submerged. All four limbs churned underneath the surface as well, rarely causing the slightest wave or ripple. As Bashir watched, he realized that all those racist jokes about "Cardies" as lizards or snakes had got their reptiles mixed. What the man swimming toward him resembled was more powerful, more dangerous by far. And Julian had to admit that he had always been attracted to danger. Ah, my clever, charming crocodile, he said to himself, as he set out with rapid strokes to enfold the Cardassian in an embrace. Then, like a rescuer pulling a drowning man to safety, he practically dragged Garak ashore, where they made passionate love just as the sun began to dip beneath the horizon.

They were ironically spending the nights in pure Federation functional, a small emergency tent, thousands of which spread across the emptied landscape of Prime to house homeless Cardassians. They'd brought four portable heating units, and the interior temperature, even at night, was for Bashir a comfortable 15 C., but Garak complained constantly of the cold, and spent all his time wrapped in or huddled underneath three superinsulated thermal blankets. Julian felt lucky he had been able to persuade Elim to sleep naked under the blankets, but he found snuggling beneath them so stifling that he kept having to get up and cool off. They'd only been asleep an hour when he fought his way out of the covers, went over to the water container, and poured a cup of the icy liquid over his head. He dried off with a towel, stepped out into the cold night for a few seconds, and only then felt shivery enough to dive back into the overheated cocoon with Elim. The Cardassian was sleeping heavily, his breathing deep and regular. Julian slipped in beside him, his chest nestled against the scaly back, his head resting on the shoulder just where the neck bones stopped. Garak shifted slightly but soon grew still.

Why did I wait so long for this? I'm so happy, Julian's no longer sleepy mind told him. Unfortunately, his body told him something else. What was the matter with him, that he still longed to fuck Garak. Hadn't his lover shown him countless ways to experience exquisite pleasure without any necessity for penetration? Was it because most of his previous partners had been women, that he didn't think you'd really made love unless you'd stuck your cock in someone's hole? He could just hear Elim saying, "What an unimaginative notion, my dear boy, so narrow-minded." Nevertheless his cock was now definitely ready to poke itself in between those silver gray buttocks. Bashir cursed his weakness and reached down to do something about the situation. As if it had a will of its own, however, his hand instead delved down into the scale-lined crevice. Garak stirred and murmured softly. Julian let his index and middle fingers probe further, past the guardian muscles, to stimulate the pleasure cluster he knew lay right beyond. The Cardassian's body jerked as if an electric current had passed through it. Now fully awake, he arched his back and moaned loudly. Julian rubbed harder and faster, and his lover's cries increased in tempo accordingly. "Oohh, my dear, go deeper, deeper," Garak whimpered.

"I'd have to use my cock for that," Julian said ruefully.

"Yes, yes, do it."

What the hell was going on? After all Elim's protestations about not tolerating anal penetration? Was this another of his elaborate obfuscations, designed to work Bashir up into this very state? Well, he certainly wasn't going to refuse the long hoped for invitation. He quickly straddled his lover and thrust eagerly as Garak writhed in apparent ecstasy. Try as he might, Julian couldn't prolong the experience to the extent his partner would obviously have preferred. He came in a convulsive rush, and withdrew, rolling over on his back in a haze of bliss.

Without a word, Garak was on him, flipping him onto his back and pinioning his wrists with a powerful grip while he used his knees to spread Bashir's legs so that he could, seconds later, slam into him hard. Bashir was momentarily puzzled. Garak had shown absolutely no interest previously in playing rough, but then he had shown complete aversion to fucking, too. Obviously their sex games were simply being switched into a different register. Just enjoy the excitement, Bashir, he told himself.

Human anal clefts were definitely not self-lubricating, but fortunately the fine scales that lined a Cardassian's organ ruffled out, soft and moist, when the man was fully aroused. The first time he saw it, Bashir had thought "feather duster"; the first time he had taken it into his mouth, he revised the metaphor to "cotton candy on a stick." Still, the impact of Garak pounding away at him, coupled with the uncomfortable position of his arms, was not making this the most pleasant fuck he'd ever experienced. "Elim, can you take it a little easier?" he said.

For an answer, Elim jerked his arms back in an extremely painful way, and, matching his syllables to the rhythm of his thrusts, barked, "Doc... tor... for... once... in... your... life... just... shut... up."

Julian felt a little frisson of fear. This seemed to be something other than his partner's desire for new kinds of sexual stimulation. Everything in Garak's voice said rage, not passion. The doctor reassured himself with the knowledge that his superior strength and agility would allow him to break free if he felt in danger of serious injury. Besides, how much longer could the Cardassian keep this up? He had always come very rapidly in Julian's hands or mouth. Now, however, he seemed unwilling or unable to let go. He grunted with each thrust like a man chopping away with an ancient axe at a tree that refused to fall.

For what seemed like an eternity to his partner, the Cardassian labored, until at last his body stiffened. He gave a shrill cry like that of an animal howling at the moon, and Julian felt the rush of warm liquid inside him. Then Garak uttered another cry, almost like a sob. He let go of Julian's wrists and clambered up. The doctor rolled over and got to his feet, seeing that Garak had retreated to the far corner of the tent. He was standing there naked, his back turned, and his whole body heaving convulsively. Partly it was the cold, but the rest of it was either grief or anger. Bashir couldn't tell. He gathered up one of the thermal blankets and made to wrap it around Elim's shoulders. Without turning to look at him, Garak pushed him away savagely.

"Elim, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" came a strangled reply. "Surely you cannot have failed to notice that I just raped you."

"Raped me? How can it be rape when I've been begging you to fuck me for the past five days. Granted you were a little more forceful than--"

Garak turned around then, his face anguished. "Oh, please, doctor, spare me the hair-splitting. It was my intention to violate you, to master you utterly, and I know that you are quite intelligent enough to realize it."

"All right," Bashir went on, carefully measuring his words. "You warned me that you wouldn't tolerate being fucked, and I pressed on anyway. Your reaction wasn't exactly welcome, but it's psychologically understandable. I shouldn't have been so eager to take a few drowsy syllables as consent. Although you certainly did seem to enjoy the whole process."

"Oh yes, I did enjoy it. I've never felt anything so erotic in my life. That was the problem." Garak's voice was filled with a bitterness and self-loathing Bashir had only heard once before, when the Cardassian was having his worst moments of withdrawal from the endorphin implant. "And just as my pleasure was about to crest, I heard HIM, as clearly as if he were standing in this tent. He laughed at me. 'So, Elim, at last we see you for what you really are. All that veneer of sophistication and cleverness, all that fine appreciation of literature and art you acquired under my protection, it can't hide the fact that you're the bastard son of a street whore who can find no greater joy than letting himself be fucked up the ass by his betters.' Suddenly I was overcome with the irresistible urge to take you and dominate you and prove to Tain that he was wrong, that I belonged on top, that I was nothing like that contemptible piece of filth, Kadz."

"Kadz?" Bashir said incredulously. "Do you mean to tell me that you hate him so much because you think you might have become him?"

"Of course. Isn't that the obvious reaction? Suppose you were to encounter a young man who had been born with limitations similar to yours, and had not had the good fortune to be genetically enhanced. Wouldn't the sight of him fill you with hatred?"

Bashir shivered. The unreconstructed Jules was a figure who stalked his nightmares. "I think he might frighten me, Elim, but I wouldn't hate him. I would hope that I would simply feel sympathy for him."

"Pity," Garak snorted. "No thank you."

"Not pity, compassion. Is that not an emotion known to Cardassians?"

Garak didn't answer. Instead he began to put on his clothes, then to roll up the blankets. "Gather your things, doctor," he said at length. "I can't bear to remain here. I'll drop you off at the nearest starbase."

Julian gripped him by the shoulders and forced him to look him in the eye. "I agree we should get out of here, but I won't leave you like this. We'll return to your house. I'll move back into the guest room. We'll forego being intimate until we can rebuild each other's a trust, a step at a time. I won't give up on us, Elim."

"Always the optimist," Garak whispered, his face a picture of hopelessness. "Very well, we'll go home together, for all the good it will do us. Although I can't fathom how you can stand to be anywhere near me, after what I've done."

Julian had lain in his bed sleepless, replaying the disturbing events over and over in his mind. So he leapt up immediately when the security alarm sounded. But Garak had reacted even more quickly. The Cardassian stood checking out the video feed from his external security cameras. Underneath the whine of the alarm, the doctor's ears discerned a series of dull thuds. Someone was pounding on the front door. Bashir came up behind Garak and looked at the screen as the rate of the pounding accelerated. Its source was about the last he would have imagined. Moxh stood outside, kicking at the door desperately while struggling to hold up Kadz, who leaned against his sister, supporting all his weight on his right leg, while the left dangled a few centimeters off the ground, twisted into an unnatural shape. A bone protruded at mid-calf. The boy's head lolled like a rag doll's upon the girl's shoulder. His face was a blur of blood and bruises.

"Garak, what are you waiting for? Let them in," the doctor insisted.

"Not so fast. It might be a trap."

"I doubt that he beat himself to a pulp just so he could get another crack at your replicator."

"No, but whoever did this to him might be using those creatures to gain entry." Garak gestured at Bashir with his disrupter. "Get your weapon also, and we'll risk opening the door."

Julian went to his room, shaking his head at Garak's paranoia. Still, he supposed that his friend had made plenty of enemies with very long memories during his career in the Obsidian Order. He would probably never be able to let his guard down. The doctor retrieved his phaser from his luggage and stood to one side of the door, covering Garak, as the Cardassian programmed it to open. The two young people stumbled inside as the door immediately slid back and locked behind them. Moxh looked around in dismay at the two men's weapons and froze for several seconds before pushing her brother toward the doctor. She uttered strangled cries of distress while imploring him with frightened brown eyes, still rheumy with the after-effects of her illness.

"My God!" Bashir exclaimed after getting a close look at Kadz's injuries. He swept the boy up in his arms and started barking orders, not now lover or houseguest but CMO. "Garak, beam up to your runabout and bring down the emergency medkit. I'm taking him into the guestroom. When you get back, I'll need all the blankets you have in the house." The doctor half expected a protest, but Garak only nodded silently and did as he had been requested.

That Kadz had made it to Garak's house from the park, the assumed location of the attack, was nothing short of a miracle. The cuts and bruises looked to be a day or two old. His sister must have dragged him here slowly, meter by meter. The boy was now only semi-conscious, dehydrated and delirious. And in excruciating pain. Every step Bashir made, every arrangement of his patient on the bed brought a little bleat of agony. The doctor fumbled through his bag, took out the most powerful painkiller he had and injected Kadz with the maximum dose. By this time Garak had returned with the medkit. The doctor started some intravenous fluids and then began the arduous task of trying to repair the damage.

He found his efforts impeded, however, by Moxh, who was clinging to his robe and addressing him with a series of incomprehensible grunts. "Garak, take the girl into the kitchen and try to quiet her down, will you," he asked. But when the Cardassian approached, Moxh screamed and dived under the bed.

"She hasn't seen me at my most ingratiating,"Garak apologized with a shrug of his shoulders. "One has to admire her courage, returning to a house they had robbed, risking immediate confinement in a labor camp. She must love her brother very much. And trust in your compassion even more."

Julian smiled at Elim's managing to say "compassion" without a sneer. "Well, she's at least out of the way at present. It's probably best just to leave her there."

Refocusing his attention after the interruption, Bashir rechecked the readouts on his diagnostic instruments. They gave a grim account. There was internal bleeding where a cracked rib had punctured a lung and more from a lacerated organ that served Cardassians as both spleen and liver. He injected cloptamarine to slow the blood flow; to stop it would require surgery. An operation would also be needed on the crushed and mangled leg. For now he simply straightened it out as best he could, made preliminary repairs with a bone regenerator, and immobilized the limb in a cast. The other fractures, and there were many, fortunately had come as clean breaks, and the bone regenerator sufficed to mend them. Finally Bashir took out his dermal regenerator and worked carefully to restore Kadz's battered face, to reduce his swollen eyes and mouth to normal proportions.

Just as he erased the last bruise, Kadz stirred to consciousness. "Fedder?" he asked, confused. "Where's Moxh?"

"She brought you here, she's just fine," Bashir said in soothing tones. "What the hell happened to you?"

The boy tried to scoot up into a sitting position, but the effort soon caused him to groan and lie still. "Mmmmmmm. Head hurts, dizzy." he gasped. "What happened? Klingon. Made him mad."

"You certainly did," Bashir observed. "Whatever did you say to him?"

"Klingon asked... that I do Moxh for him... wanted to watch how Cardies sport. Then, he's not pleased... Said I don't do it like a real man--he's going to show me how... Fine I say, but that's one strip more... Klingon just laughs, says it's free, 'cause I'm such a... disappointment." Kadz paused and struggled for breath. "No one cheats Kadz out of what's his, though. So I pulled him off her. Said cheaters got no honor. He grabbed me up by the leg... Don't remember much else..." he trailed off into a wracking cough that brought up a trickle of fresh blood to the corner of his mouth. "Not easy to talk," he gurgled.

"Don't try. I shouldn't have asked you to. Here, I'm going to give you something that will let you rest." Bashir filled a hypospray with a strong sedative and put it to Kadz's neck. The boy's eyelids fluttered a few times, and then he drifted off to sleep. The doctor bent down and gently pulled Moxh from under the bed, lifting her up to have a look at Kadz. She reacted with a happy chirp at seeing her brother's face returned more or less to its usual appearance and then climbed in carefully beside him, draping one arm over his shoulder. Bashir covered both of them with two of the blankets Garak had brought in and then beckoned the Cardassian to leave the room with him. "I can't believe he'd take on a Klingon-- all for one strip of latinum," Bashir confided as they walked into the living room.

"Oh, it wasn't just the latinum, my dear doctor. Poor Kadz was defending his manhood. I suppose there's been no one to tell him that he lost it the first time he bent over for a twofie gitter."

"I think he'll live," the doctor said as he reclined on the couch with his feet propped up on its arm. He stifled a yawn. "When his vital signs have stabilized, I'll beam over with him to the nearest hospital, because he'll need surgery for the internal bleeding and a major reconstruction job on the leg."

"Julian, there isn't a hospital on Cardassia that would admit him. He won't ever have had his birth registered. He'll never pass the DNA scan."

Bashir shot him a disbelieving look. "You can't be serious," he exclaimed. "When they see how much he's suffering, they certainly won't turn him away just because he's illegitimate."

"The most they will do is offer him a lethal injection to end that suffering," Garak explained calmly.

"Good heavens, it's not as if he were some animal who'd been run down in the road."

"That's precisely what he is, to Cardassian eyes."

"With all the people you lost in the Dominion exterminations, you'd think that every surviving Cardassian life would be precious," Bashir said accusingly.

"Yes, but we lost an even greater percentage of our resources," Garak responded. "If the hospitals wouldn't treat accies during prosperous times, they're hardly likely to change now that everything from hyposprays to biobeds are in short supply."

It was true that the Cardassian medical institutions had only returned to a subsistence level of care, capable of handling the life-and-death cases, but little else. The doctor had noted in his report that the less seriously ill should be accepted into Federation hospitals for elective treatments for at least another year. Otherwise it would be unconscionable for Starfleet Medical to pull out completely, which had been the recommendation of the commission he had served on. "I suppose I could evacuate him out to the Infirmary on Starbase 419," Bashir mused, "but he really doesn't need to be dragged about again." Then his eyes lit up. "Wait, I've got a plan. The big medical supply depot for the relief effort is on Cardassia Two. If you've got space you could clear, I can get what I need from the industrial replicators there, load them on your runabout, and perform the surgery here. It will only take a few hours."

"If I pack up the materials in my sewing room, it could serve your purpose," Garak replied.

"You don't mind?" Bashir felt a twinge of guilt. He'd landed Garak with these two unwanted guests, and now he was about to turn his lover's home into an outpatient clinic.

"Consider it a small recompense--for what happened earlier."

"Right." Bashir ducked his head, feeling awkward. He dared to give Garak's hand a little squeeze. "Uh, I'll go dress and then be off immediately. Kadz should stay asleep the whole time, with all the sedation he's under, but you might check in on him every half hour or so, to be on the safe side. Sorry to keep you up all night."

"I don't think I would have slept in any event," Garak said with a tight smile.

"No, nor I." The doctor took two steps toward the door, then stopped. "Um, Garak," he began, regarding the Cardassian with slight apprehension, "I hate even to ask this, but I can trust you not to give him a lethal injection, can't I?"

Garak's face relaxed into a more genuine smile. "It would be the best solution for all concerned, but you need have no fears. You will find him just as you left him."

Bashir piled the three supply containers onto the biobed, hopped up beside them, and beamed down from the runabout into Garak's sewing room. The Cardassian had moved all the rooms's regular furnishings up against the walls, leaving ample space for the doctor to set up his surgery. He activated the biobed's energy source and opened the first container, sorting its contents by the order of the planned procedures. He hadn't been there for more than a minute or two, however, when he heard several piercing screams, followed by a repeated anxious cry of "He's going to catch me, he's going to catch me." Damn, Bashir swore. Kadz must be that one in a thousand Cardassians in whom cloptamarine induces nightmarish hallucinations. Elim will be delighted if he's been having to listen to that for long!

He had to open the second container and rummage through it before he came up with the anesthetic he planned to use for the boy's surgery. Loading a hypospray, he took off at a brisk pace for the guest room at the other end of the hall. By the time he reached the doorway, however, the screaming had died down into a few whimpers. The doctor halted at the threshold to take in an unexpected tableau. Garak was seated by Kadz's bed, his back to Bashir. His index and middle fingers were stroking the two bone-ridges that ran along the boy's jawline and met at a thirty degree angle just below the ear. "Shh, shh now," he said softly. "You're safe here. He can't hurt you any more." With his other hand, Garak was caressing the youngster's hair. Moxh, sensing her brother's distress, had retreated to a corner of the room, where she was signing emphatically to no one in particular.

Kadz's own hands groped about wildly until he grabbed onto the one with which Garak was stroking his face. He nuzzled against it with his cheek, heaving several contented sighs. "Mmm Mo-mo, Mo-mo," he finally whispered.

Julian stepped deliberately into the room and laid his hand on Garak's shoulder. The Cardassian didn't flinch. Well, Julian hadn't really imagined that he could sneak up on one of the Obsidian Order's finest. "He's not always a contemptible piece of filth, is he, Elim?" he said, leaning down to inject Kadz with the anesthetic.

Garak extracted his hand from the boy's grasp with great care and got up. "No, not always," he replied. Then he shook off his tender mood and gave the doctor that little smirk so familiar from countless lunch table debates. "Only when he's awake."

The surgery took three hours. Bashir did the trickiest procedure first, the one that required Garak's hands in support of his own: the reconstruction of the shattered leg. He had to piece the fragments together and then attach the ragged bone ends one to the other with synthetic skeletal grafts. Both knee and ankle also had to be replaced. To assure that the limb would heal straight, he put pins through the two artificial joints and attached four external knee to ankle rods to brace the leg and hold it immobile. This done, he sent Garak off to bed. Moxh had evidently been impressed sufficiently by the Cardassian's recent solicitude toward Kadz that she allowed him to lead her to the couch and tuck her in for what little was left of the night before he retired himself.

Bashir's genetic enhancements allowed him to function at his peak through extended periods with very little sleep, but he was more than ready to crawl into his own bed as the first murky light appeared above the horizon. He took off his uniform and threw it into a chair, told the computer to awake him in two hours, and was snoring softly two seconds after his head settled into the pillow.

He awoke to what passed for blazing sunlight on Cardassia Prime and knew that he had slept for far more than two hours. A check of the chronometer revealed his slumber's duration to be in fact nearly six. He scrambled up to go check on his patient, but before he'd even got his shirt on,

he encountered Garak at the door bearing a tray of hot Tarkalean tea and buttered scones

"Just sit back down on your bed, doctor. Your breakfast is right here," his friend said.

"I have to see if Kadz is doing all right,"Bashir protested.

"He is. I've been checking on him regularly."

"But you're not a doctor."

"No, but I do know what normal Cardassian life signs look like, and which abnormalities indicate a crisis," Garak responded smoothly. "I can assure you that the boy's condition is quite stable." He produced a PADD from under the napkin, "This is the last five hours' readout from the biobed. You can look it over while you drink your tea."

Julian reluctantly got back into bed and took up the PADD in one hand and the teacup in the other. Garak was right, the life signs were just as they should be. But they indicated that the patient had come out of the anesthesia three hours earlier. "He's been conscious?" the doctor inquired, taking a bite out of a scone.

"Not entirely focused, but conscious, yes. A little scared, too, although he tried to hide it. Whether the source of the fear was me or that contraption on his leg, I'm not sure." Garak observed with his customary irony. "I told him that you would explain everything to him shortly and gave him a bowl of taspar broth. He ate about half of it before he dropped off to sleep again."

Bashir wolfed down the second scone and drained the rest of the tea. "Thanks for playing nurse and letting me sleep, Elim. I'll go see to him myself now."

"Julian, don't, not yet." Garak's tone was half command and half plea. As the doctor's brow creased in puzzlement, the Cardassian quickly divested himself of his clothes and slid into the bed, his agile fingers moving over those places that produced in Julian the swiftest arousal. Then he turned over on his belly and spread out his legs. "My dear, I want you to come inside me, I want us to be as close as lovers can be."

"Elim, how can you be asking me this, after what happened last night?" Julian's mouth was hanging open in disbelief. "We agreed we would take things slowly from now on."

"Please, don't argue with me," Garak urged. "It's what I want, and I want it now."

Bashir bent over and massaged the powerful neck. His cock ached to find its way into the welcoming cleft, but he held himself back. "You're sure?" he whispered into Garak's ear. "I don't want you to subject yourself to something that feels like a violation, just to please me."

Garak thrust his hips upward, brushing his buttocks against the doctor's erect organ. "A silly prejudice," he gasped. "Please, Julian, come inside me now."

Bashir hardly needed further persuasion, his own desire had grown so powerful. Yet he couldn't get rid of the fear that he would make some false move that would sunder them forever. You can't be overpowering him in any way. It's a joining. You're becoming one. Every moment of pleasure must be secondary to that, he told himself. He entered slowly, gently, wrapping his legs around Garak's as he ran his hands rhythmically up and down the Cardassian's powerful gray arms. Very gradually the force and speed of his thrusts increased as their reciprocal sounds of pleasure struck up an almost musical counterpoint. As Julian approached his release, Garak took his lover's hand and drew it to his own fully expressed cotton candy. The Cardassian came in the doctor's hand a fraction of a second before Bashir stiffened and then relaxed with the rhythm of his own orgasm. He withdrew quickly and tumbled off Garak, seeking his lover's face and covering it with wave after wave of kisses. He felt absolutely overwhelmed with pure joy. "Oh, Elim, I've never loved anyone so much as I love you now," he sighed.

Garak stroked Julian's hair with both hands and sent his tongue probing deliciously deep into the human's mouth, but suddenly the doctor broke off the kiss and sat upright, clutching the discarded covers to him. "Uh oh, we've got company," he yelped, pointing to the doorway, where Moxh was standing, studying them with rapt attention. The minute Bashir's eyes lighted on her she skittered away.

Garak laughed heartily. "You can tell, my dear boy, that I'm not used to having children in the house. I never even thought to lock the door."

Before Julian could say anything further, the voice of Kadz echoed from the end of the hall. "Hey, hey, if you twofies is through fucking each other, this studder here is starving."

Garak got out of bed and put his clothes back on. "The operation has been a success, doctor, and your patient obviously is on the way to a full recovery," he observed, with an amusement tempered by an equal dose of annoyance. "Shall I prepare the meal for his highness?"

Julian still had eight days leave to spend with Elim, but it was clear that they were also going to have to share the precious time together with Kadz and Moxh. Garak immediately laid down some ground rules, which he asked the doctor to communicate to their guests, since both children were still deeply distrustful of their host. They were to learn and observe the rudimentary elements of Cardassian hygiene. The makeshift infirmary would be the place they both ate and slept; they were under no circumstances to intrude on Garak's bedroom when both he and his lover were in it. Nor were they to interrupt the meals Garak and Bashir shared in the kitchen.

The twins' ragged clothing was filthy and blood-stained beyond restoration, so Garak made them each a set of sleeping robes, two daytime outfits, and also provided the unfamiliar novelty of several pairs of underwear. He also replicated for each a tooth polisher, a scale buffer, and a comb. Moxh, especially, was delighted with these new toys, and spent hours grooming her bed-ridden brother, who tolerated her efforts without protest, although he was obviously mortified at the spectacle he presented every time Bashir walked in to check up on him.

Today was the third since the surgery. Garak had a council meeting that promised to take up the entire afternoon. Julian, reading in the living room, had just managed to sort out all the guilts in one of the enigma tales in Garak's library--his first complete success after struggling through a half dozen of the damned things. He rose and stretched, then decided to go in and examine his patient. The doctor had by observation picked up the meaning of a number of Moxh's signs, and he gestured to her to leave off styling her brother's hair so that he could make his examination. She hopped down with a smile and took up one of the sewing tools Garak had shown her how to use after he noticed her fascination with how he pieced the various cloth shapes together in order to produce their garments. She had gathered some of the scraps from his recycle basket, and, climbing onto her own bed, the girl took up again her project of attaching them together in a number of fantastic configurations.

The doctor ran his scanner over Kadz's leg and smiled with satisfaction at what it told him. The natural and synthetic bones were knitting together well. He clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Your leg is coming along splendidly, Kadz. Tomorrow I think we'll start letting you put some weight on it. I imagine you're more than ready to get out of bed, eh?

"Sure, sure," the boy replied without enthusiasm, his attention focused not on his physician but on his sister. Then he turned toward Bashir with an unusually earnest expression. "Fedder, the old twofie bought Moxh fair up. I know the girls don't excite him, but maybe he could keep her as his slavey, let her clean and fix, so's he don't have to mind about the dirty work?"

"Garak wouldn't want her here, Kadz. He only pretended to buy Moxh so he could get you both out of his home as quickly as possible."

"Oh, that's a ruffler." The boy's countenance was glum.

"Why would you want her to be his 'slavey' anyway?"

"Sure you've grabbed it, Fedder, how happy she is in this gitter house. Soft bed, clean clothes, food for the asking. Kadz won't ever get her those, no matter how hard he sports. She's never been as strong as me, and ever since her acci died, she don't have much heart for the work. After that Klingon, I don't think she'll ever do a sport again. Kadz can't get enough on his own to keep us both." He lifted up his broken leg and tapped it up and down on the bed several times. "Can't even get enough to keep myself these moons. Moxh stays with the twofie, at least Moxh don't starve."

The doctor just stared at him for a second. What have you been thinking Bashir? You're going home in less than a week, and you know that Elim's only letting them stay here to indulge you. What exactly did you suppose was going to happen to them when you'd gone? Maybe Elim is right to distrust compassion. Shaking off such doubts, however, he grasped the boy's shoulder and said to him earnestly, "Don't worry. I'll see to it that neither one of you starves."

Kadz shook his head. "That Damar, the one in our park, used to come on the big screens. Once he told us, those Fedders always think they can save everyone just by wishing. Kardasi know there's plenty of things--nobody can save," he said pointedly.

"Well, despite Damar, I prefer to cling to my Federation delusions a little longer," Bashir responded stiffly, and left the room.

He went immediately to Garak's comm console and logged on. The girl's deafness might actually provide an opportunity for placing her. He searched his enhanced memory. Which one of his medical school classmates was it who had gone into speech and audiology? Right, Bhatt, the one with the hearing-impaired parents. "Computer, find comm location for Bhatt, Dr. Adger V...

"So Adger Bhatt told me about the research his sister was doing into gestural communication, and she told me about the Institute on Camerzion." Julian was in full explanatory mode, excitedly filling Garak in over dinner of the positive results of his search for a better life for Moxh. "The Camerz have no vocal chords--their mouths go directly into their stomachs. They communicate with their hands and their facial expressions. They're the leading experts on all kinds of sign language in the galaxy, and they maintain a training program for gestural speakers from non-gestural species. Of course there's a waiting list a kilometer long, but they reserve spaces for any subjects needed by their resident scholars. As luck would have it, Professor Bhatt is a linguist who studies gestural systems unique to a few individuals. She'll take Moxh to the Institute and map out the system she and Kadz use with each other. In return she'll teach the girl one of the standard gestural languages that universal translators can handle. And the Camerz are also working on a chip that can be implanted behind the retina and then convert speech into sign. She might not want to go that far, but at least she'll have the choice and--" Bashir stopped for breath, at the same time noticing Garak's preoccupied air "--you stopped listening to me about five minutes ago."

"You've found the girl a school where she will learn to communicate with someone other than that reprobate brother of hers," Garak said. "I've heard every word you've said. I don't suppose they are going to invite him to Camerzion also?"

"Professor Bhatt will want to observe the two together. I was hoping that you'd let them stay on here until she arrives next week. But, no, she won't be taking Kadz with her. I-I suspect you'll have to send him to me on the station. He'll probably cause as many problems as that young Jem'Hadar Odo tried to tame, but I can't think of any other alternative until his leg heals."

"I think it would be better for all concerned if Kadz remained here."

"I agree that he shouldn't necessarily leave Cardassia, but there's no way he can survive on the streets now," Bashir replied.

"You misunderstand, Julian. I meant that Kadz should remain here, in my house."

"You can't be serious," Bashir exclaimed. "The very sight of him makes you livid."

"Ah, but the sight of you makes me indescribably happy. You'll want to check up on him often, like the dedicated physician you are. If he's here, that gives you an excellent excuse to come see me. You know I'm never without my ulterior motives."

"I don't need any excuses to come see you. I love you."

"Not an excuse, then, but an explanation-- to your colleagues, in case you'd rather not tell them about your devious Cardassian lover," Garak said.

"Look, Elim, I'm not ashamed of our relationship. If this is about my not resigning my post on DS9--"

Garak put his hand to Bashir's lips. "Of course it's not. I don't expect you to change everything in your life just because we're lovers. As Preloc says, 'To have one's beloved in one's arms for only an hour suffices if one's beloved dwells always in one's heart.' Besides, I'm probably doomed to end up Cardassian ambassador to Bajor, and you'll eventually have more than enough of me in your quarters every night complaining about quarrelsome Kais and Vedeks and First Ministers. In the meantime, you must allow me my little intrigues. I can't let my skills get rusty." He folded his napkin and reached for Julian's empty plate . "I'll clear up, and then we can go find out how well our guests take to the new futures we have mapped out for them."

The doctor went in alone to tell Kadz of the plans for Moxh. The boy listened to him intently. When Bashir had completed his recitation, he inquired, "This Ins-ti-tute that will study Moxh, you're sure it's no hospital to cut her up?"

"Of course not! It's really a school. The researchers will learn from Moxh, and she'll learn from them. She'll have a room all to herself and everything she wants to eat."

"Can't say no then," Kadz beamed.

"Now Kadz, you do realize that Camerzion is very far away. You and Moxh may not see each other for a very long time. I know how close you are. It may be hard." The doctor didn't want to deceive the boy that the advantages of the proposition came without any cost.

"Hard, yes, but has to be," Kadz said. "Better that Moxh gets close to other studders than Kadz. Lately she's been talking that no one does her like her brother, wants us to go off by ourselves and have some accies. Guess she thinks their food's going to fall from the sky. But even if it did, we can't be doing the rest. Ara Beldon, the one that knows all about how babies come, she says that it's not the best thing for sisters to have accies with their brothers." He turned an inquiring countenance toward Bashir. "That true, Fedder?"

The doctor did everything in his power not to sound judgmental. "Yes, it's not at all the best thing , Kadz."

The boy sucked in his breath sharply. "Then she'll go to the Institute, and Kadz will stay behind. If I tell her slow, she'll be ready when the study woman comes to take her."

"Good man," Bashir said, impressed at this unexpected capacity for self-sacrifice. "It's not just Moxh who'll be well cared for, though. Garak has agreed to let you stay with him until your leg is better. Here he is to tell you about it himself." This was the cue for Garak to enter, but before he had taken two steps into the room, Kadz delivered his analysis of the situation.

"It's fair, I nabbed his keepings, cheated him out of the latinum rock. He gets more from working me than calling sec." He looked Garak up and down with an appraising eye. "Won't be so bad. Kadz been fucked by half the twofies on Prime, lots of them older and uglier than he is."

"No, no, you've got it all wrong. Garak isn't demanding anything in return for his hospitality--certainly not sexual favors."

"Why else would a gitter keep an acci around?" Kadz asked skeptically.

Behind him, Bashir heard Garak suck in his breath, much as Kadz had done moments before. "No other reason Kadz. Except that I'm not a gitter, I'm an acci, just like you."

"You lie!" the boy declared.

"Frequently. However, this happens to be the truth." Kadz looked with incredulity at Bashir, seeking confirmation. The doctor nodded.

"Can't grab it. No acci gets a big house like this. 'Cept maybe the Jemmies got his keeper, and he's just squatting."

"My mother's... keeper took an interest in me when I was small," Garak explained. "He gave me the opportunity to learn what he could teach me, so I could become an asset to the state, rather than a nuisance to it. I'm willing to pass on that opportunity to you."

"Why? You don't even like me."

"And I imagine I will like you even less before our time together has ended. However, these days Cardassia is in no position to throw away any of its people, even impudent street boys."

"I hope you can appreciate the chance Garak is offering you," Bashir intoned sententiously, all the while wondering why this was the first he was hearing of this motivation for Elim to keep the boy with him.

Garak raised his eye-ridges slightly at Julian's pronouncement. "The doctor has, however, mislead you in respect to my requiring nothing in return for my hospitality. Becoming capable of productive service to the state will require extremely hard work from you."

Kadz hardly looked overjoyed at the prospect. "Kadz says no thanks, you call sec, right?"

Garak grabbed Bashir hard by the wrist to forestall any indignant denial by the doctor. "That's right. Hard work for me or hard labor for the security forces."

"Guess you win then, old twofie."

Garak stepped forward and grabbed both the boy's wrists even harder than he had Bashir's. "All right Kadz. We're going to have your first lesson right now. Kardasi is a rich and beautiful language. You will use it properly and respectfully in this house. The correct response is "I accept your offer, Garak."

"I accept your offer, Garak," the boy spat out, his eyes blazing defiance.

"Good." The Cardassian released his grip. He gave Kadz his characteristic little mocking bow of the head and walked out.

Whew, what a battle of wills this is going to be, Bashir thought to himself. Before going out himself, he bent down and said to his patient. "Before you think about taking Garak on, Kadz, let me give you a little advice. He's the man who made it possible for your Damar to drive the Jemmies out. After facing down the leader of the whole Dominion, I don't think he'll have any trouble with you."

And Kadz, his eyes as big as Prime's two moons at full, for once had not a word to say.

The day he had to return to Deep Space Nine came all too soon for Julian Bashir. Being apart from Elim, having to explain things to Ezri--it wasn't going to be easy. Yet the joy these past days had given him made any future difficulties appear eminently surmountable. He smiled as he folded each of the six pairs of the briefest of silver silk briefs his lover had made for him and packed them at the top of his travel bag. "The more I have to peel off that lovely body of yours," Elim had said, "the more satisfying it is." Julian then closed the bag's fasteners, picked up his uniform jacket from the bed and put it on. A glance at the antique Cardassian chronometer told him that they wouldn't have to leave for the spaceport for another quarter hour. He sighed and went into the living room.

Garak was sitting on the couch studying a PADD; Moxh, curled up beside him, was concentrating on piecing together a pile of colored cloth squares according to a simple pattern Garak had provided. In contrast to these two still figures was Kadz, fidgeting like mad in his seat in front of the computer console. The boy took Bashir's entrance as a welcome cue to swivel his chair around and hop up on his good leg. He limped energetically toward the doctor and reached for his bag. "Ready to go, Fedder? Kadz will take that out and beam it to the runabout."

Garak rose and put his hand on Kadz's shoulder. "Kadz will do no such thing. Kadz will go back to the computer and attend to his lessons."

"Lessons? Stupid time-wasting more like--ugh" As the boy was in the middle of his protest, Garak's hand slid up the neck bones, provided a little pressure, and Kadz was suddenly flailing like a sea-gettle washed up on shore. Garak caught him before he fell, dragged him back to the computer, and with another touch to his neck restored his muscle control.

Despite the painful correction, Kadz was unrepentant. "Aw, Garak, what's the good of lessons for an acci?"

"I've told you that you'll have no chance of getting off the streets and being of service to the state unless you acquire some useful skills."

"Sure, sure. And then what? Cleaner at Central Waste Extraction's the best state service they'd trust to the likes of Kadz. I'd rather stay with the sportin'."

"Until another Klingon you insult decides to finish the job?" Garak inquired acidly. This reminder of his failure finally sufficed to quell the boy. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the desk and balancing his chin on them with a surly expression. "Kadz got honor too, not just those Klingon gitters," he muttered.

Julian patted him on the head. "Of course you do," he said earnestly, casting a reproachful look at Garak, who however showed no remorse. True, that it's a hard case to make when you've named yourself after your own testicles, the doctor thought. That thought led to a question. "Kadz, did your mother ever call you and Moxh by different names than you have now?"

The boy nodded, "Jilana"--he motioned toward his sister-- "and Jogal. Rich gitter names. Our mo-mo was a dreamer." Kadz gave a little snort. "How our street mates laughed when we said 'em. Dropped 'em soon enough for names more fitting."

Garak knelt beside the boy and held him with his famous interrogator's stare. "Listen, you learn what I can teach you, and I promise you that I'll find you work far more to your liking than either sporting or waste extraction maintenance."

The boy regarded him with suspicion. "No lies, Garak?"

"No lies, Jogal." Garak insisted. "Now, while I take Dr. Bashir to the spaceport, you will therefore memorize every single symbol on those five screens and be able to reproduce them for me, in order, by the time I return. Is that understood?"

"Understood, Garak." Kadz sighed loudly and screwed up his face into an exaggerated representation of concentration as he stared at the computer.

"And the next time I come back to check on your leg, you can amaze me with your powers of recall," Bashir said.

The boy's face brightened. "Will do Fedder. And you can count on Kadz to see the old twofie here don't get too lonesome those moons, case you're worried."

Garak's hand hovered over the boy's shoulder again. "Ah, my dear pupil, another lesson you're going to learn is the positive effect of abstinence in cultivating self-discipline."

"Hey, hey, a sport can't do lessons all the time."

The hand moved lower, but did not go for the nerve. "True. And when you need some relaxation, you can do some needlework. Perhaps you have as natural an aptitude as your sister."

Kadz laughed. "Studders don't do no sewing, not this one at least."

"I hardly think that someone who boasts that he's 'been fucked by half the twofies on Prime' is going to suffer any further damage to his masculinity because he knows how to hem a pair of trousers in an emergency." The hand rested lightly on the boy's shoulder. Kadz lowered his eyes and chewed on his lip. He reached up and carefully removed Garak's hand. "Kadz has to work on his screens," he muttered. Garak stepped back and said, "I think we should be going, Julian."

Bashir clapped Kadz heartily on the back, but the boy shrugged him off and continued to stare at the computer display. The doctor then went over to Moxh and gave her a hug and planted a kiss on her forehead. She favored him with a dazzling smile and one of her little happy sounds. He'd figured out the sign she used for good-bye and made the gesture to her. The smile faded. The girl bent down and returned to her sewing. Evidently she and her brother handled partings by ignoring them. Garak had already stepped outside, and Bashir, feeling ever more reluctant to go, nevertheless saw no further reason to linger.

Garak carefully programmed the outside door locks and then tilted the transporter device around his wrist toward Bashir. "Shall we?" he asked.

In these last few minutes alone together in the runabout before they would have to part for at least a month, Julian knew he should not breathe a word about Kadz, who always seemed to be annoyingly tangled up in their relationship. Yet he had nagging doubts as to whether leaving the boy with Garak was a good idea. "Elim," he ventured, "don't you think you're being awfully hard on Kadz- on Jogal?"

"Julian, every day of that boy's life he's learned that gentleness, that compassion are weaknesses he should relentlessly exploit in others and crush absolutely in himself if he's going to survive. He never thanked you for saving his life, did he? And he never will. If there is even the slightest chance he is to learn to respect himself, to set worthy goals and persevere until he meets them, to become anything more meaningful to his devastated planet than a sexual parasite, then I cannot afford to let up on him for a minute." Garak paused and shook his head. "It's probably too late. He's done as he pleases during all the years that properly raised Cardassian children learn to subordinate their wilfulness to the greater good of the state."

"What will happen to him, if you fail?"

"When his injuries are healed, I'll send him back where he came from. He'll be no worse off there for my tutelage. On the slight chance that he applies himself to his lessons in good faith--well, the government is establishing residential schools for the many orphans the Dominion has left us with, and if the boy had my recommendation, the authorities would probably not look too closely into his background. I warn you though, my dear Julian, if that happens, and he should come to us on his holidays, I will not have you destroy all my hard work by infecting him with your sentimental Federation ideas."

Bashir leaned over and kissed him. "Oh, Elim, I do love you," he said.

"So you have convinced me."

Bashir felt a twinge of disappointment. Come on, you didn't really expect him to say he loved you, not this soon. That would be just as likely as an expression of gratitude from Kadz.

However, Garak had already deciphered his lover's countenance. "You're unhappy, are you, that I didn't return your declaration of affection?"

"No, it's all right, Elim. I know you're not the type to wear your heart on your sleeve."

"What a gruesome expression!" Garak said with a teasing air. "But surely you're aware how often I've told you I love you."

Bashir wrinkled his nose to nearly Bajoran proportions to express his exasperation. "Really, Elim, I don't think that's something I would have forgot!"

"Why, Julian, my dear, I tell you I love you every time I ask you to come inside."

Kudos

"A toast now, everyone," said Miles O'Brien, holding his glass of champagne aloft. "To my old chum Julian Bashir. We've got used to his winning every biochemistry prize in the quadrant for his cures for genetically engineered diseases. But even the venerable Nobel pales beside this one. The Federation has only awarded the Leonard McCoy medal for medical practice as a humane discipline twice in the last hundred years. Garak, why don't you read the inscription?"

The Cardassian's blue eyes sparkled as he proclaimed in a voice husky with emotion, "To Dr. Julian Subatoi Bashir, whose brilliant research has given hope that no power will ever again willfully induce suffering in entire peoples, secure in the knowledge that nothing can end that suffering, but whose true greatness is revealed in the words of the former patient who nominated him for this award, 'There was never a hurt so small or a sufferer so base that he would not stop to heal.'" Garak touched his glass to O'Brien's and said, "Gh'mak entar, praise to the praiseworthy."

"Gh'mak entar," repeated the small circle of friends who surrounded the doctor-- Miles and Keiko, Ezri and Jake, Jilana and Jogal. Then they all touched glasses and downed the bubbly liquor. Julian embraced Elim and clapped Miles on the back. "I, uh, want to thank all of you for being with me tonight. Honors don't mean much unless you've someone to share them with.

And Elim's not lost his touch, bringing you all to Cardassia without my ever suspecting a thing. I do know that the replicator's been working overtime, so let's all go into the kitchen and see what delicacies are on offer."

"Wait a minute," O'Brien put in. "We've had the Cardassian sentiment, now it's time for the human." With that he launched into a rousing version of "For he's a jolly good fellow" in his slightly off-key baritone. Keiko and Jake joined in enthusiastically, while the Trill and the three Cardassians maintained a slightly puzzled silence.

Just as the singers were stretching out the last syllable of the last repetition of "And so say all of us," a small girl ran into the room from the hallway. She was wearing a bright print nightgown whose background matched her shock of flaming red hair. The hair came as quite a contrast to her slate blue complexion and the white nubby antennae that protruded from her forehead. She made her way to Jilana's side and signed to her, in words converted to speech by everyone's universal translators, "Mo-mo, these people are too loud. I can't sleep."

"Shh, Trel'ammi, it's a party for Doctor Julian, remember?" Jilana signed back. "Don't insult all his friends who've come from so far away."

The child extended her lower lip in a pout. "You tell me always to let you know if sounds keep me awake, so you can get my ear shields."

"That's right," Julian intervened. "We've got to protect those super sensitive ears of yours." He

swept the girl up in his arms. "But you're in luck, Trel'ammi, because now that all my noisy friends have awakened you, we're going to get you some of Takkon Garak's sweeties." She nodded her head and gave him a dazzling smile as he led the other guests to the dessert table.

Garak had asked all the invited guests to send him the replicator formulas for their favorite desserts, so the table was laden with everything from Idanian spice pudding to larish pie to trifle. Julian even caught sight of the date and honey cake his mother always made for him as a boy. Of course Amsha and Elim had been exchanging recipes for years, and Julian had laughed long and hard at his lover's discomfiture when one of them came inscribed to "the best daughter-in-law any fond mother could have."

Julian picked up an Andorrian confection made of menala seeds rolled into balls of spun sugar made from the sap of the menala tree. "Open wide Trel'ammi, " he said, popping it into the little girl's mouth. He planned to dig into the keva-flavored sponge cake topped with Delavian chocolate icing that Garak always made for him on special occasions, but he wanted to wait for his guests to serve themselves first. As he stood popping still more menala balls into Trel'ammi's eagerly anticipatory mouth, he saw Jogal cut a slice of the larish pie and hurriedly return with it and a glass of kanar into the living room. Trying to stay well out of Elim's way, Julian concluded with a sigh.

The relationships he and Elim had maintained with these twin Cardassian street children whom they had rescued ten years ago couldn't be more different. Jilana had stayed five years at the Institute for Gestural Communication on Camerzion, and the instant she had learned a standard sign language, she had kept in regular touch with them both (although she was in many respects noticeably partial to Garak). She visited two or three times a year, had invited them to her wedding to Telar, a mute Andorrian fellow student at the Institute, and had insisted that Julian deliver her baby. She behaved, in general, as if she were their daughter.

Jogal, on the other hand--it had been one melodrama after another. He had spent a half year under Garak's tutelage, demonstrating a quick intelligence and aptitude for computer codes, and a complete unwillingness to cultivate self-discipline. He and Garak battled constantly, and Julian wasn't at all pleased by how often his lover would resort to physical punishment to control the boy. Finally Garak, with decided misgivings, managed to enroll his charge in a state-sponsored boarding school, from which he was promptly expelled two months later for "being a corrupting influence on the other students." The school had provided Jogal with transit vouchers to return to Bajor, where Garak was serving as the Cardassian ambassador, but he never showed up.

Julian had been frantic, Elim resigned. "We did our best for him, and he chose his own gratification instead," the Cardassian said. "He's no doubt gone back to the streets where he belongs."

Three weeks after Jogal had disappeared, he turned up completely unexpectedly at the Infirmary on DS9, looking decidedly the worse for wear. Gradually Julian got out of him that the boy had indeed returned to selling himself on the streets of Cardassia Prime, only to find that the business was not what it had been. He no longer could offer the novelty of being part of a twin act, there were fewer curious aliens on Prime now that Cardassia was beginning to be self-sufficient again, and, he confessed, "there's younger and prettier studders out there in Kadz's park these moons." He begged Bashir just to let him live with him on the station, away from that "horrible old twofie," but the Doctor couldn't agree. While Jogal had in a peculiar way brought him and Elim together, he wasn't going to allow the boy to play them against each other and thus drive them apart. "Elim will be coming here in four hours. You'll have to make your peace with him before we can talk about your future."

Elim had no sooner caught sight of Jogal than he said, "Well, have you come crawling back so soon?" Without waiting for an answer, which the boy seemed unlikely to supply, he then told Julian, "Go entertain yourself at Quark's for an hour, my dear. Jogal and I have matters to discuss." The boy had pleaded for Julian to stay, claiming that Garak was bound to kill him.

"I will not lay a finger on him, I promise you," Garak insisted, and Julian took him at his word and left.

When he returned, Jogal wasn't in his and Elim's quarters. Garak explained that he had found the boy his own accommodations on the station for now and that he was planning to enroll him in a training school for computer technicians in the Chin'toka system. He had made it clear that this was absolutely the last chance he would offer Jogal but that no matter how things worked out, he refused ever to let the boy enter his residence again. "I know you are fond of him, Julian, and I don't object to your maintaining contact, but I refuse to have anything more to do with him myself."

Bashir had never got Jogal to tell him what had transpired during the interview with Garak. The boy shipped out for Chin'toka without protest the next day. He communicated with the doctor on a haphazard basis and occasionally dropped by the station when his school holidays and Garak's trips back to Prime coincided. He claimed to have been awarded a certificate for completing his training course two years later, and to have been flooded with job offers to serve as a data systems designer, although Bashir never saw any hard and fast proof of these stories. The only fact about Jogal's post-graduation activities that Julian could verify was that he had for the past three years been working as a sales representative for a Ferengi wholesaler whom he had met one day at Quark's. His product was "pleasure enhancers"--sex toys-- and he had his own runabout, "The Kadz," with which he traveled from Orion to Risa to Earth and dozens of systems in between to contact potential clients. Bashir couldn't help laughing at the appropriateness of the young Cardassian's career choice, but Garak had been furious to hear of it. "The State invests in his training and then he abandons Cardassia for a life of promoting degeneracy," his lover had thundered, and he couldn't be teased out of his anger by Julian calling him a prude and asking whether he might buy one of Jogal's wares for Elim's birthday.

Julian reflected that it proved Elim's great love for him that he would have invited Jogal once more to enter his home on Cardassia Prime, where he now served as Minister of Culture, in order to have their entire "family" present to celebrate the great honor Starfleet had bestowed upon the doctor. Ever since Jogal's arrival with Jilana and Trel'ammi this morning, however, he and Garak had devoted most of their energies to avoiding each other. They had exchanged at best a few perfunctory phrases. The doctor wished he knew why these two people who were both dear to him could not get over their deep-seated animosity toward each other.

A hand on his arm brought him out of his reverie. "Julian," Jilana signed, "how much candy have you been feeding Trel'ammi?" While he had been lost in thought, the little girl had stuffed her mouth full to bursting with the Andorrian delicacies. "If she gets sick, you're the doctor who's going to deal with it while I enjoy the party," her mother joked.

"Uh, sorry, I got distracted," he replied apologetically.

Jilana reached up to take the girl from him and shook her head with an affectionate smile. She expertly balanced the child on one arm as she carried her plate and drink in her other hand on the way back to the living room.

Julian glanced around and saw that he was the sole remaining inhabitant of the kitchen. He cut himself a sizable piece of the sponge cake, poured a glass of the very old port Miles had brought, and rejoined his friends.

The party had resolved itself into three little clusters. Jilana sat on the couch with Trel'ammi on her lap while Miles stood in front of her demonstrating something on a PADD. Engineering talk, Julian concluded. Jilana did structural designs for large industrial installations. Over in the corner by the window, Garak was engaged in animated conversation with Keiko. Since his return to his native planet, Garak had gradually let gardening overtake sewing as his passion, and he was no doubt taking advantage of Dr. O'Brien's skills as a botanist. Up against the bookcases that lined the rear wall, Ezri and Jake were talking to Jogal. Julian decided that this conversation would be the most congenial and walked over to them.

"So how's the man of the hour?" Ezri said with a smile, and then a kiss on the cheek. Julian saw Jake stiffen. Although Garak and Bashir had been together for ten years now, and Jake and Ezri had been married for four, the young human never seemed totally comfortable about the doctor's previous relationship with his wife.

"Rather overwhelmed at all the fuss, to be honest," Julian muttered, ducking his head. "Jake must know what it's like, after all the praise he got for his definitive history of the Dominion War last year."

"Yeah," Jogal chimed in. "It seems every planet I land on to make my sales, you see his book in the shops, or find out he's coming to give a lecture. Got to read it when I get the chance. We didn't exactly hear the full story on Cardassia, with the Jemmies and Vorta saying what was what."

"I'm not sure even my book gets at the full story," Jake said. "I've never been satisfied with the chapter on how the Romulans came into the war against the Founders. Senator Vreenak's ship blowing up, that stolen data rod--it always seemed too, too... convenient. I've always wondered if some anti-Dominion faction of the Romulan senate in fact arranged the whole thing, to get rid of opposition at home. Maybe I should ask Garak what he thinks. He knows a lot about the Romulans, doesn't he?"

"He knows a lot about everything, if you can believe what he tells you," Jogal replied dismissively. There was an awkward silence, until Ezri launched an obvious attempt to change the subject. "So, Julian, are you enjoying your work on Starbase 274?"

"Yes, it's very challenging. We gather data on any illness that makes a first occurrence in Federation space, track epidemics, do research on vaccines. And besides its quarantine wing for infectious disease patients, the Infirmary that's affiliated with the laboratory also receives any trauma cases that occur on ships in the entire sector. There's really never a dull moment. Still, I must admit that the main attraction is that it's only an hour from Cardassia Prime, instead of twenty. Now I can come home to Elim every evening I'm not on duty."

"Wouldn't trade that for Quark's holosuites myself," Jogal said. Julian shot him a disapproving look. "Speaking of which," the Cardassian added, unrepentant, "how's that wreck of a Kardasi station doing without the services of the Fedder doc here?"

"Oh, it's very grim," Ezri intoned with mock solemnity. "The new CMO is a Vulcan--very skilled, but absolutely no bedside manner. Patients of hers no sooner check out of the Infirmary than they come straight to me to receive counseling for depression."

"Let's have no talk of depression on such a festive occasion!" Garak had come up behind them, putting his arm around Julian. "I hope you're all enjoying yourselves."

"I think I'll get some more pie," Jogal answered, bolting for the kitchen.

"All the desserts are great," Jake said. "It's the best Idanian spice pudding I've had in years."

"A secret ingredient I learned from some Idanians themselves, many years ago. I'm glad it pleases you. Julian and I have both been fascinated by your account of the War in that history you so kindly sent us."

"Elim is especially fascinated that you gave him an entire chapter to himself," Julian teased. Elim responded by making those small motions with his fingers on his lover's collar bone that usually were a signal for them to retire to the bedroom. The doctor disengaged himself, breathing hard to keep his composure. "I'd better go mingle with the rest of the guests," he gasped out.

"Always so polite, my Julian," Garak observed with a smirk.

Julian found Jilana still sitting on the sofa with Trel'ammi, but now her conversational partner was Keiko rather than Miles. The two women were deeply engaged in "mother" discussions. "I haven't seen hair as red as Trel'ammi's since Miles' last family reunion in Dublin. It's quite amazing," Keiko was saying as the doctor approached. "You'd think Cardassians and Andorrians would produce gray haired children somehow."

It wasn't really so amazing, Julian reflected. All you had to do was understand the peculiar properties of the chromosome sequence that determined Andorrian pigmentation. Red hair had actually been the most likely result of this particular cross-species mating.. He refrained from saying so, however. Elim was always chiding him afterwards when he became too explanatory: "My dear boy, when people say in casual conversation how miraculous they find some occurrence, they really do not want you to tell them that it is in fact quite commonplace to anyone who has a brain."

Jilana smiled as he came up and stood beside Keiko's chair. "Not as amazing as Trel'ammi's having hearing. Isn't that right, Julian?"

"That's right. The genetic tests placed the likelihood of Jilana and Telar having a deaf and mute child at 95% and of the child having hearing without speech at less than .0001%."

"Of course, we would have been perfectly content if she hadn't been able to hear, but Telar speaks so eloquently through his music, they tell me, that it's a truly special gift his child can share that with him, since his wife cannot. Of course," Jilana continued, noticing that her daughter was fidgeting and rubbing at her ears, "the gift is sometimes too much of a good thing. There are definite drawbacks to raising a little one whose hearing would, how do you say it, Julian, put a Ferengi to shame?"

Jogal returned from the kitchen at this point, engaged in an animated conversation with Miles about sending him "a catalog and some free samples." But O'Brien turned beet red and shushed him once they were in range of the others. Jogal laughed and scooped up his niece, then settled down next to his sister with the child on his lap. "Believe me, there's very little that would put a Ferengi to shame," he said, "and certainly not Uncle Kadz's own little sharp-eared gettle here." He tickled Trel'ammi's stomach, evoking peals of silent laughter.

"Kadz?" Keiko asked. "I thought your name was Jogal."

"Oh, it is, but Kadz is the nickname I had as a kid, and I've always thought it suited me better than my given name." He winked at Julian, who fervently hoped that no further explanations of the nickname's origins would be forthcoming. To forestall that possibility he hurried to say to the little girl, "And where did you get that pretty nightgown you're wearing, Trel'ammi?"

"Grandpa Elim made it for me," the child signed, casting her eyes over to where Garak stood with Ezri and Jake. "Come say to everyone where the pieces came from, Grandpa Elim."

Not daring refuse this august summons, Garak ambled over and knelt in front of Trel'ammi. With the child on his lap, Jogal for once had no way to escape, but leaned back as far as he could get, with a surly expression on his face. Garak pointed to various fabrics that made up the child's garment. "Here's a piece of Cardassian ilm for where your mo-mo was born, and here's a piece of Andorrian tilapo seed cloth for where your rakka was born, and here's some Camerzion leather for where they met. And here's some Terran cotton from the Federation hospital where Doctor Julian delivered you, and underneath there's a lining of Tholian silk, because that's Takkon Elim's favorite fabricl in the whole galaxy."

"And this is Trel'ammi's favorite thing to wear in the whole galaxy," the child said and then bent forward to kiss him on his spoon.

"Of course Elim never got over my becoming a structural engineer instead of a fashion designer,"

Jilana chuckled.

"You had such a talent for putting patterns together, my dear, but then the Cardassian female's predilection for working in metals and polymers led you astray from satins and velvets," Garak replied with mock regret.

"Grandpa, don't fight with mo-mo," Trel'ammi said with an anxious expression.

"Grandpa is only teasing mo-mo, don't worry," Julian hastened to reassure her.

"So how come Garak is her 'grandpa' and you're not?" Miles asked with some amusement.

"That's very complicated." Bashir answered. "Andorrians define family with almost complete disregard to actual blood relationships. All adults who are involved in raising a child qualify as a rakka or rakke, a father or mother. The same goes for takkons and takkens, grandparents who've helped raise the child's parents. However, Andorrians feel about species the way Cardassians feel about biological parentage. So, as a human, I don't qualify for any kinship relation to Jilana or her child. I just have to settle for being Doctor Julian."

"I'll take the Cardassian way anytime," Jogal interjected with a scowl. "No way I'd want anyone to think Garak was my rakka."

"Kadz!" Jilana exclaimed. Then she began to sign in their own private gestural language, which the translators couldn't decode. Bashir had gotten pretty rusty on understanding those signs, but there was no mistaking Jilana's anger at her brother's rudeness and hostility toward their host. He was signing back just as angrily. As the other guests studiously attended to their refreshments, Garak picked up Trel'ammi and retreated with her out of the line of fire. However, the child soon began to cry and wriggled free. She ran to her mother and grabbed her hands, thus stopping

the conversation. When Jilana gathered her into her arms, the little girl then grabbed the eyeglass-type device that her mother wore to translate oral speech into sign and threw it to the floor. Then she covered her ears with her own little hands and started rocking back and forth in Jilana's arms.

Jogal got up and said in Alpha Quadrant standard sign language, "Here, she's tired. Let me put her to bed." His sister handed her daughter over with a glare, and no one protested when the young Cardassian and his niece left the room.

There wasn't much that could be done to rescue the evening after that. The O'Briens and the Siskos made embarrassed good-byes and returned to the orbiting transport that had brought them to Prime. Jilana started to clean up, pausing every few minutes to make apologies to Garak for her brother's conduct. When Jogal failed to reappear after a half hour, Julian went looking for him. The doctor found him sitting in a chair beside his sleeping niece's bed, apparently lost in thought. Bashir tiptoed in and motioned Jogal out into the hall.

"You can't hide from Elim forever, you know," Julian began.

"Oh, no? I've done a good enough job of it until now. It was a mistake for me to come, doc, even for your sake. I'm leaving early in the morning. Telar's concert tour is over in a couple of days, and he'll fetch Moxh and Trel'ammi back home."

Julian didn't know what else to say about Jogal's feud with Garak beyond what he had said to both of them, to no avail, throughout the years. "Did Trel'ammi calm down right away," he asked instead.

"No, she's always gets upset around oral speakers, even if she can hear. Specially when the voices overlap. She does like it, though, when her uncle Kadz reads her the tale of the ghostly riding hound of the Ghetakeret plain and imitates the wail of the hound as it hunts down the unwary enemies of Cardassia. I had to read it through four times before she dropped off, and I've put on the ear shields to keep her from waking up this time." Jogal shook his head. "To think of my Moxh married and with her own little gitter. Wouldn't have grabbed that as anyway possible when we first met all that time ago."

"Trel'ammi is a very special child," Julian agreed. "I'm just sorry they live so far away, and we see them so rarely. I wish they'd chosen to settle on Cardassia. Have you ever thought about coming home, Jogal? I can't imagine the cold, damp climate of Ferenginar would be very attractive to a Cardassian."

"I'm travelling nine days out of ten, plenty of hot dry planets on my route. Besides, I've no love for Cardassia. It's still no place for an acci."

"How can you say that? They repealed the bastardy laws six years ago. You'd be a full citizen now."

"Didn't repeal people's opinions," Jogal retorted. "Those will never change. Look how they've treated Garak. First he has to wrangle with those ungrateful Bajorans, then they bring him home to be Minister of Culture. Running around giving speeches and opening museums and libraries! If he'd been a gitter, it would have been different. He'd be in charge of everyone. Even that human Jake thinks more of him than his own people do."

"This human thinks pretty much of him, too, as you well know," Julian laughed. "Besides, Elim loves giving lectures and dedicating libraries. He's in his element." Then he realized the oddness of what Jogal had just said. "Since when do you care whether he gets the respect he deserves from Cardassia," the doctor asked. "You can't manage to stay in the same room with him for more than a quarter hour."

"Just because I still think he's a right bloody bastard, as your friend Miles would say, doesn't change the fact of him driving the Jemmies out and getting nothing in return for it. He should have stayed on that station with you and left those Cardie gitters to fend for themselves. That's what this acci is doing."

Suddenly Bashir's communicator chirped: "Level five emergency at Starbase 274 trauma center. All off-duty staff report at once."

Bashir hurriedly changed into his uniform and summoned his runabout from orbit. He paused briefly to say his good-byes to Elim, who was still putting dishes in the recycler and leftovers in the preserver. "There's been a rupture of the main plasma conduit that runs the length of deck five on the Starship Verdun. The area's been sealed off, but the bridge has lost communications with the trapped crewmen. The ship's traveling to Starbase 274 at Warp 8.5. They think there may be hundreds of casualties. I expect to be in surgery most of the night, so I'll just sleep over in my quarters on the base. I'll call you in the morning about when I'll be back, as soon as I know myself."

Elim kissed him passionately on the lips. "I hope it's soon," he said a little wistfully.

"I'm sorry the party fell apart on us Elim," Julian commiserated, returning the kiss. "It was a wonderful idea, and I love you for planning it." Then he pressed his communicator and beamed up to the runabout.

Bashir arrived at the base a few minutes after the Verdun docked, only to discover that, thankfully, the casualties had been far fewer than anticipated. A young assistant engineer had contained the plasma eruption before it contaminated the whole deck. There turned out to be a ratio of only one trauma patient per doctor, so Bashir was released from duty about midnight, Cardassian time.

There was no need to stay on the base, he reasoned. What could be better than surprising Elim by slipping into his bed with hours of darkness still before them? It would make up a bit for the party debacle. Besides, the doctor felt decidedly uneasy about the prospect of Jogal and Elim in the same house without him there to mediate.

Garak's security was such that even the residents of his house couldn't beam directly inside. You had to transport down to the front door and then enter the access codes. As Julian programmed in one complex series of letters, numbers and symbols after another, he heard voices and male laughter. Who could be visiting so late, he wondered. Finally the door sprang open and he walked into the living room, where Elim and Jogal were sitting on the couch, smiles on their faces, toasting each other with glasses of kanar. They turned and regarded Bashir with surprised expressions.

"Julian, you're back early, how delightful," Garak beamed, not missing a beat. "As you can see, Jogal and I have finally decided to put this feud of ours behind us."

The truth of it hit Bashir in a flash. How could he have been so blind all these years? Jogal's job, servicing a clientele that no doubt specialized in pleasuring some of the most influential people on dozens of Alpha Quadrant worlds--it was a perfect cover.

"You can drop the pretense, Elim," he said, his face dark with anger.

Jogal and Garak exchanged meaningful glances. "Oh my, I've stayed up much too late," the younger Cardassian mumbled. "I'd better get to sleep--since I'm shipping out so early. Night, doc." He scrambled up and hurried off down the hall.

Bashir plopped down into the nearest chair, clenching and unclenching his fists. He stared straight into Garak's eyes. "You turned him into a spy, didn't you?"

The Cardassian smiled, "I promised long ago that I would teach him what I knew. Since he absolutely refused to take up the needle, and his taste in literature was even worse than yours, what else was there left for me to do? "

"It's not funny, Elim," Bashir returned with a snort.

"I don't know.. I find it most amusing that you've only now figured things out. I must congratulate Jogal on his performance."

"And yourself. He learned from the master."

"Thank you very kindly, my love. I did worry through the years that both of us might have overplayed our parts."

"Perhaps you did," Julian replied. "I'm obviously not much of a drama critic. How could you do this to him, Elim, after all the Obsidian Order did to you?"

Garak finally grew serious. "Every great power has to have an intelligence service, your precious Federation included. I've never been able to fathom your fascination with espionage as a fantasy and your contempt for it as a reality."

Julian absorbed the rebuke for several seconds. "And you don't care whether the memories will make him wake up screaming thirty years from now, as they do you?" he asked, his voice almost breaking.

Garak leaned forward and took the doctor's hand. "I've not trained him to be a torturer or an assassin, believe me. He simply gathers intelligence. That's all."

"Right you are Garak," Jogal chimed in, returning from the corridor from which he had been listening in on their conversation, like the able spy he was. "I only kill them in self-defense, doc, so don't ruffle." He perched on the arm of Bashir's chair, grinning broadly. "So, Julian here has tumbled to our little charade at last?"

"He has," Garak said.

"About time I'd say. Wasn't any fun keeping up the pretense. But I thought you were Mr. Superbrain, doc. What took you so long?"

"I suppose I didn't want to see it, so I didn't see it."

"I never grabbed why Garak wanted you in the dark in the first place. I mean, we could trust you. Now, it would have blown my cover the first week if people thought too closely about my being virtually the adopted son of Garak of the Obsidian Order, but you could have still told them how much he and I hated each other, even if it was just a game."

"He's not a very good liar, Kadz," Garak said. "I've told you that often enough."

"Well, I hope some of the skill's rubbed off from being with you all this time, 'cause he's going to have to keep our secret now."

"Or you could quit the business, now that your cover's blown," Bashir suggested.

"Doc, don't make me do that," the young man pleaded. "I was born to be a spy. At least I took to it like a wompet to alcara trees."

"And you've no regrets?"

"Not a one. Plus I really am the quadrant's leading profit generator for Graks and Zag Pleasure Enhancers, Ltd. It's a great life. Only--" Jogal's exuberance dimmed slightly.

"Only what?"

"Only, don't tell Moxh, all right? She'd worry herself sick."

Julian could see that he had long ago lost this battle. "Your secret is safe with me, from your sister and everyone else."

Jogal clapped him on the back heartily. "I knew you'd go along. Kept telling Garak we shouldn't wait till you found out on your own. And now that we're all of us friends again, how about a threesome? I've got a number of my top of the line accessories in my sample kit."

"Kadz! Go to bed," both Garak and Bashir shouted in unison. "And we do mean alone," Garak added, once he stopped laughing.

"You are the most conventional pair of old twofies I've ever met." the young man exclaimed in annoyance. "But I'll seduce the pair of you yet. 'Cause, till you've done it with Kadz, you don't know what you're missing." He caressed each of them on the neck in his most provocative manner, planted a kiss square on each of their lips, and then dashed off to his bedroom before they could retaliate.

"That boy is utterly shameless, always has been," Julian observed after Kadz had departed.

"It helps him in the work, of course," Garak said, as he began caressing Julian's face and working to unfasten his uniform.

"Ummm," Julian replied breathlessly, as he reached inside Elim's trousers. "With all the action he sees, I don't understand why he's set on getting 'two old twofies' like us into his bed."

"Isn't it obvious, my dear?" Garak purred as he maneuvered his lover to their bedroom. "He knows full well that he is the one who is missing out on something very special."

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