#garak coming back in like well my dear doctor. the good news is that we dont have to live off ration bars.

[fauvester]

tain absolutely had millions stashed away in weird offplanet banks across the quadrant For A Rainy Day. and after he dies it all trickles down thru the wartorn legal system through mila and then to her sole inheritor. by rite of everyone else's cardassian investments being obliterated garak is now the richest man in the cardassian empire

[kiranxrys]

Alone Together Episode 1 Transcript - Alexander Siddig & Andrew Robinson

I hadn’t seen a transcript for this episode going around on Tumblr yet and I thought I would quickly make one to share with anyone who would prefer to read or wants to read along/revisit the first episode in text form (and the YouTube subtitles are mostly useless, annoyingly). Please let me know if you think I’ve made an error anywhere and I’ll amend it!

watch: one | two | three | four

read: two | three | four

ANNOUNCER (ON-SCREEN): ‘Alone Together’ - a DS9 companion, Episode 1 - ‘These Days’. It has been about 25 years since the Dominion War ended. The Federation isn’t quite the same. Starfleet is much more consistently militarized these days. Earth may be paradise, but humanity is less ideologically empathetic. Since the recent Romulan attempts to extinguish synthetic life by infiltrating Starfleet Command, benevolence is taking a backseat to security these days. 

Elim Garak has been Castellan of the Cardassian Assembly since the new order was established following the Dominion War. Garak, of course, also has direct control over a newly resurrected Obsidian Order, though not by title. 

Julian Bashir is still a doctor on Deep Space 9 but is also coordinating the activities of Section 31. What we’ve learned is that upon sharing a consciousness with Luther Sloane using stolen Romulan technology, his genetically enhanced brain committed much of what he learned to his eidetic memory. That information had to be contained but could be put to good use. He was given little choice in the matter. Maintaining his cover as a Chief Medical Officer in the Bajoran sector met his needs, and he saw no reason to change.

[fade to black]

JULIAN BASHIR (VOICE ONLY): Mission log, stardate 737114. I’m approaching Cardassia Prime in response to a rather enigmatic request for medical aid from Castellan Garak, the leader of the Cardassian government. Though it’s hardly surprising that Garak might be withholding information, it seems that a reunion of sorts will be forthcoming. I’ve left the Infirmary in the capable hands of Doctor Jabara while I’m off the station. I must admit, I’m not entirely sure what to expect. 

JULIAN (ON-SCREEN): Bashir to Central Command, I’ve just entered orbit of Cardassia Prime, requesting approval to transport to Cardassia.

ELIM GARAK (VOICE ONLY): Stand by, Doctor. Don’t be in such a hurry.

JULIAN: Garak. I didn’t expect you to be at the Central Command, it’s good to hear your voice.

GARAK: My dear doctor, are we starting the lies already?

JULIAN (LAUGHING): It’s true, Garak. It’s good to hear your voice! That’s not a- Look, more importantly, if you’ll grant approval I can beam to your current location.

GARAK: Doctor, I’m not at Central Command. I’ve merely intercepted your subspace communications link. Unfortunately, Doctor, the Federation will not be setting foot on Cardassia today, and, to be quite honest, you don’t want to be here.

JULIAN: Garak, your message suggested some urgency in my arrival. Quite frankly, what the hell am I doing here if I can’t beam down?

GARAK: Would you uh- [laughs] believe pure, unadulterated nostalgia?

JULIAN: Would you?

GARAK (ON-SCREEN): [laughs] I missed you too Doctor. So, how is life on the station?

JULIAN: Well, Bajoran fashions just aren’t the same since you left.

GARAK: I’m sure.

JULIAN: But much of life has returned to what it once was, as much as it ever could, I suppose. Now-

GARAK: I was sorry to hear about Dax.

JULIAN: Thank you. I um… I miss Ezri every day. Ten years. I, well, that is- we, Dax and I, we tried to make it work. I- I was so happy Dax made it back to Trill on time. Cairn and I, we were very different people. He’s a botanist – can you imagine? Dax as a botanist. I suppose it’s why Keiko didn’t seem to mind my business as much. She and Dax had so much to talk about but, well, once the Symbiosis Commission discovered our continued relationship, well, we just uh- we couldn’t-

GARAK: Doctor, there’s no need to explain.

JULIAN: No. Dax always encouraged me to talk about my feelings, though there’s not much else to say, really. I had never really considered being in love with another man, but it was Dax. Ezri, Jadzia, even Cairn, it was Dax, is Dax. But we- we just couldn’t- I didn’t-

GARAK: It is difficult to find a good counselor to sort out our deepest sorrows these days.

JULIAN: I suppose it is.

GARAK: You’re an honourable man, Doctor. You loved Dax, you could do nothing less than your heart demanded. I know the pain of love all too well, especially a love that has everything working against it.

JULIAN: Ziyal.

GARAK: Ziyal, yes. Yes, even exiles have hearts, Doctor. Even [laughs] Elim Garak. When it comes right down to it, he has a heart as well. In fact, my heart is partially the reason why I’m here.

JULIAN: So, this is a house call? Damn it, Garak, why didn’t you tell me on subspace? What- what are your symptoms? Why don’t you want me to beam down?

GARAK: Well, so many questions, one hardly knows which to answer first.

JULIAN: Your symptoms, Garak. What is wrong with your heart?

GARAK: Well, it’s not just my heart, Doctor. Actually the most concerning symptom seems to be a degenerative condition that causes the ill to be especially susceptible to suggestion. Luckily my infection is relatively new, and rather unexplained as my exposure to the public tends to be limited to state functions and the like, you know, the life of a politician.

JULIAN: The ill? Garak, what are you saying?

GARAK: A virus, Doctor. Cardassia appears to be facing a- a minor health issue. We’re trying to contain the infection to one region, but we may have moved… far too late.

JULIAN: A minor health issue? You are a champion of understatement! ‘The ill’ suggests that this isn’t just about you but your ability to hide the facts seems to have been tainted over the years.

GARAK: Doctor?

JULIAN: Since your speech at the Lakarian City memorial, the ridges on your neck have grown paler and your breathing rate has increased.

GARAK: You liked my speech?

JULIAN: Damn it, Garak, you contacted me! How is this the first time that I’m hearing about this? Why is the planet not being quarantined? Your message said ‘medical aid’ – I assumed that I was just coming here as a preliminary consultation having something to do with one of your colonies. Now it sounds like an outbreak that needs to be contained.

GARAK: Doctor, quarantine means announcing the problem to the galaxy. This is an internal matter. You obviously don’t appreciate the severity of this virus, but you needn’t worry – no one is allowed to leave Cardassia, no one is currently being permitted to enter the atmosphere.

JULIAN: I cannot imagine you can contain the population without a reason. Just how bad is it?

GARAK: Oh, I’ve given them a reason, Doctor, but you shouldn’t worry about that. There are more important things requiring your focus right now.

JULIAN: Of course. How much- how many are infected?

GARAK: At last count, the virus had been contained to three continents. Nearly 68% of the population in those regions has been infected.

JULIAN: And you call it a ‘minor issue’ Garak?! That’s a pandemic!

GARAK: Doctor, when I say that the ill have developed a degenerative condition, I speak specifically of their thought processes. It is true that we have determined that it is a virus – a biological contaminant of sorts – but the Central Command is hardly a healthcare organization and while the degeneration is affecting the cardiopulmonary system as well, all of the symptoms seem to be driven by misfiring neurons, and therein lies the problem.

JULIAN: A virus that affects the brain is no small problem. The fact that early infections are showing in terms of dysfunction relatively mild systems doesn’t mean people won’t start to die.

GARAK: Yes, Doctor. And I haven’t.

JULIAN: My God, Garak. You’re infected.

GARAK: Why do you think I contacted you? I want the best.

JULIAN: And hoping that my genetic enhancements will allow me to diagnose your symptoms without scanning equipment?  

GARAK: I really have missed your mistrust, Doctor. The physicians here have the tendency to avoid the necessary dispassion for harder truths. You, however, have a refreshingly forthright bedside manner.

JULIAN: Wow, a compliment. You must be neurologically compromised. Well of course, of course I’ll do everything that I can. Do you know anything more about the virus? How is it passed on? How does it proliferate in the body? Have your doctors attempted any therapies that show any promise?

GARAK: Well, it seems to take several days to propagate in the carrier. During that time, sufferers develop a rather serious cough... [inaudible] …the dispatcher reaches the brain so our assumption it that it is spread through the air. Most hospitals have been closed to all but the infected to try and control the outbreak. As a result, our doctors are learning from their patients as they are treating them. As it stands now, they can only treat symptoms. Medical staff is reporting to external bodies to ensure that anyone studying the infection isn’t also battling a neurological disease. Progress is limited and all too slow.

JULIAN: Garak, I’m not sure how I can help you if I can’t examine you or access your data.

GARAK: Doctor, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to put yourself at risk. After all, I’m counting on you to save us all. And I believe that an outside perspective may be exactly what we need.

JULIAN: So no pressure?

GARAK: You’re a bright man, Doctor – put that genetically-enhanced brain of yours to work.

JULIAN: Well, I can’t examine you from orbit. My shuttlecraft sensors may be able to me that you’re alive, they can isolate you for transport, but they can hardly determine more than the most modest of life signs, and while I can see outward symptoms, Garak, I can’t for the life of me figure out how to see through your skull. I suppose I could transport a tricorder down there for a preliminary scan.

GARAK: I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Doctor.

JULIAN: Oh, of course you can’t. Can you send me your most recent medical scans?

GARAK: Unfortunately, no.

JULIAN: And why not?

GARAK: All of my genuine medical records are routinely deleted and replaced with falsified data. All data rods in which those records once existed have been destroyed, all computers in which the data rods were placed have been vaporized. My dear doctor, I’m the leader of the Cardassian people! Especially now, I can’t afford to broadcast my weaknesses to all, to anyone who feels they could exploit them.

JULIAN: The more things change, the more they remain the same.

GARAK: Meaning?

JULIAN: A presumption of godliness, most certainly a great paranoia. You haven’t managed to find yourself a staff that you trust to protect your life. To be quite honest, I’m surprised your staff doesn’t have implants that allow you to control them.

GARAK: Oh, Doctor, your assumptions hurt me deeply! Of course they do. If news of this infection gets out, and I can’t be clearer than this, Cardassia will be devastated. And we won’t be the only world that will fall.

JULIAN: Garak, you seem to believe that I can cure this virus from orbit, without any information.

GARAK: Well, Doctor, this virus doesn’t only infect the average citizen. Everyone is at risk. Everyone – the government, the military. Imagine if only a few of their people were infected. They find it difficult to concentrate. They’re finding themselves susceptible to suggestion. And what if intelligence agents of foreign governments found their way to Cardassia during this crisis?

JULIAN: It could destroy the Cardassia you’ve been rebuilding for over two decades.

GARAK: Yes.

JULIAN: But quarantine would keep foreign nationals off-planet and keep the rest of us safe from infection, assuming it can even infect off-worlders.

GARAK: Again, Doctor, it would announce the problem before we have a solution.

JULIAN: But it could help produce the solution you so desperately need!

GARAK: The risk is too great, Doctor.

JULIAN: Garak! Lives are at stake!

GARAK: Hundreds, perhaps thousands, to save billions. Doctor – will. You. Help. Me?

JULIAN: First and foremost, I’m a doctor, Garak. And I’m your friend.

GARAK: Yes. One more thing we should keep to ourselves.

JULIAN: You know Garak… you are being more paranoid than usual. You remind me of the exiled tailor I met so many years ago.

GARAK: Ah, but as you said yourself Doctor, the more things change-

JULIAN: The more they stay the same. But Garak, so much has changed. You’re the leader of your people.

GARAK: Julian… let’s drop the pretensions, shall we?

JULIAN: Whatever do you mean?

GARAK: You know that I have rebuilt the Obsidian Order, and the reason that I know that you know is because I know that you are working for Starfleet Intelligence. Your posting at Deep Space 9 is merely your cover. Why would a religious sanctuary like Deep Space 9 need a doctor of your capability, with such a limited Starfleet presence? I must admit, you have done an excellent job of obscuring your intelligence role.

JULIAN: Dear, dear Garak. Have you been keeping tabs on me? I suppose of all people you would be the only person I might be able to trust with such information. Assuming any of your conclusions are true. But Starfleet still has a presence and Deep Space 9 is still a major way station for commerce and diplomacy in the Bajoran sector.

GARAK: Of course you can trust me with sensitive information Julian-

JULIAN: [chuckles]

GARAK: -at least until there’s a reason you can’t. Oh, but let’s hope it never comes to that. I do like you; I did from the very beginning. You may be my only true friend. Since Mila’s passing, our all too infrequent exchanges have been my only respite from a world without trust. The political world on Cardassia deplores a vacuum and the old ways are clung to, even after the war. It took me years to bring Cardassians around to another way of thinking. The arts are celebrated, the people are fed. Life is no longer a struggle, but… paranoia is rampant once more.

JULIAN: Then I suppose you’ve been the ideal leader.

GARAK: Well, I do appear to have the appropriate skill set and experience, yes.

JULIAN: You could always go back to being a plain, simple tailor.

GARAK (LAUGHING): You would be surprised by how many of my old vocations I still dabble in. I’ve even taken up taxidermy! Yes, it’s true! But stuffing a tribble isn’t as challenging as perhaps a six-legged [uncertain] marsupial, but it passes the time. And so many wonderful things fit inside an animal that need only trill to appear alive.

JULIAN: [laughs]

GARAK: But as you said Julian, you are my friend, and one of the things I learned from working in the Obsidian Order under Enabran Tain, was that friends are a liability. Enemies are easy. Friends… friends are the challenge. When I was his protégé I had a job to do, relationships were tools to achieve my objectives. I don’t have time for friends, I don’t have room for emotional attachments.

JULIAN: And then you were exiled.

GARAK: And then… I was exiled.

JULIAN: I had no idea.

GARAK: About what?

JULIAN: Am I your only friend?

GARAK: Well… the only one living.

JULIAN: You said that your cardiopulmonary system seems to be demonstrating symptoms consistent with this neurolytic virus.

GARAK: Mm-hmm.

JULIAN: I need to at least access the database being used by the off-site researchers working on a cure.

GARAK: I’m sorry to disappoint you, Doctor – I’ve never been an ideal patient, as you well know. But while I trust you, I cannot risk any access that Starfleet Intelligence might have built into your shuttle.

JULIAN: Garak, you’re tying my hands. Do you have access to a medical scanner? Can you scan yourself?

GARAK: I’ve been a tailor, a gardener, a spy, who’s to say I’m not a doctor as well?

JULIAN: I suppose stranger things have happened.

GARAK: Oh, a shapeshifter saved the galaxy by going for a swim, a Starfleet captain turned out to be a god, a Cardassian legate turned out to be the devil, you were married to a woman three centuries your senior – stranger things, my dear doctor, happen all the time.

JULIAN: You may have a point. Although to be fair, Dax is three hundred years older, not Ezri. Ezri was several years younger than me.

GARAK: Semantics, Doctor.

JULIAN: Ah, here we are.

GARAK: I’m sorry?

JULIAN: I’ve created an encrypted backdoor to your central database.

GARAK: Ooh, of course you did. Yes, but it won’t help you. Our researches are working in a closed system, it is impossible to access their research through the central network.

JULIAN: Damn it, Garak, I’m trying to help you! I encrypted the access, there was no danger to you or you people! I used a fractal regression to develop access points at either end.

GARAK: And I sincerely appreciate your efforts, Julian. That’s why you’re here. And of course that is why I am convinced no one else will be able to save us.

JULIAN: I cannot do this without any information about the pathogen. And even the smartest person in the galaxy would be hard-pressed to develop a cure to an unknown virus quickly enough to prevent its spread or knowledge of its existence to the outside world.

GARAK: I have faith in you, Doctor. And to put your mind at ease, you should know that very few citizens on Cardassia are even aware that they are infected. And I’ve committed the Order to a substantial misinformation campaign to keep it that way.

JULIAN: How long do you expect that to last? The longer the infected believe that they’re free to live their normal lives or even to travel to and from health centers for treatment for whatever malady they believe they have, the faster the real virus will spread.

GARAK: Well, it seems its symptoms vary in their intensity. The cough can be persistent or periodic. And when that initial symptom passes, the neurological symptoms cause sufferers to present a variety of ailments. It is only those doctors who discovered the virus and were subsequently visited by some associates that are aware of the larger problem. And they are the very physicians currently researching the virus on my behalf.

JULIAN: If you are able to contact them then there’s no reason that I can’t access their data!

GARAK: Doctor, we’ve been through this.

JULIAN: Garak, we’ve been through a lot of things!

GARAK (LAUGHING): Yes.

JULIAN: You didn’t call me here to explain Cardassia’s post-war isolationist bureaucracy!

GARAK: [laughs]

JULIAN: I came because a friend in need asked me!

GARAK: You didn’t know why I called you, Doctor. So please, don’t offer me your selfless pretense.

JULIAN: Pretense?! You think after all this time your lives and deceptions would keep me from helping you? I can tell when you’re lying Garak, and you know when I’m telling the truth. I promise you that no one will ever know about your role in the cover-up of the virus, at least not from me.

GARAK: I… I want you to set course for the southern polar region of Cardassia Prime. The magnetic interference will make it more difficult for prying eyes to access your subspace signal. You’ll find that my alleged paranoia has a purpose. 

JULIAN: Computer, set course 118 mark 72.

COMPUTER: [chimes] Acknowledged.

JULIAN: Engage at one-quarter impulse.

COMPUTER: Course laid in. [chimes]

JULIAN: My signal was encrypted from the very beginning. I assume the same is true of the signal you used to isolate and redirect my subspace carrier wave. Isn’t it a little bit late to begin worrying now, Garak?

GARAK: Our signal may be secure between one another, but any system can be breached given enough time and expertise. And what I have to tell you…

JULIAN: Just tell me, Garak. I’m over the polar region as you asked.

GARAK: Yes, so you are, so you are. Now, good, wait- wait… Good. Now that we’re comfortably alone, let me ask you this: do viruses normally pop up undetected in a population with little to no prior warning? And how many unknown pathogens exist in a planetary ecosystem with our level of technological development?

JULIAN: Well, to be quite honest, pathogens can unexpectedly adapt or cross species barriers. Centuries ago on Earth, industrial pollution led to a climate change which in turn caused previously isolated microorganisms to be released into the biosphere.

GARAK: Yes, you truly have an answer for everything.

JULIAN: It comes in handy. But I suspect you’re going somewhere with this so please, continue.

GARAK: Our research has found some… peculiarities in the viral RNA, and admittedly I don’t understand all of the specifics, but, to put it bluntly, the virus has been engineered. I’m sending you two images of the viral RNA we’ve discovered. The images are all that I can risk sending you now. If you can find the source, you may find a cure. Alternatively, if a cure was not developed… you can avenge my death.

JULIAN: Not currently one of my skill sets, Garak. But why the pretense? You could’ve told me this immediately- actually, don’t answer that. I’ll need some time to do an analysis of this to determine what might work to counteract the viral infection. Annoyingly, there is no systemic treatment that I can even begin to research without knowing the underlying cause. But over the last twenty-five years, you must’ve made all sorts of new enemies. According to the latest intelligence, the only dangerous political intrigue is coming out of the Romulan Empire these days.

GARAK: Yes, well, leading a government comes with its own risks, to be sure, Doctor. But why do they have to be new enemies? Of course the Romulans have never been great fans of mine – I mean I left their embassy’s grounds-keeping staff so many years ago. Oh, those poor orchids, they’ll never be the same. And there’s always Kai.

JULIAN: The Kai.

GARAK: Ah, Kira- Kira, dear Kira’s never been a fan of mine.

JULIAN: We both know that Nerys would have never worked this slowly if she wanted to kill you.

GARAK: [laughs]

JULIAN: And she would only kill you. But Nerys is hardly the same person since she left the militia to join the Vedek Assembly, and now that she’s the Kai, this level of genetic manipulation would have to accomplished by someone with intimate knowledge of the Cardassian physiology as well as the capacity to evade security of your medical system.

GARAK: Yes, although like I said, it is an internal Cardassian matter. I’m sure there are plenty of elder Cardassians who would enjoy watching my life come to an end from torture. Dukat’s father- I mean, uh… [laughs] to one kanar-induced tryst with the man himself, to finally becoming involved with Ziyal, and whatever else-

JULIAN: Wait- wait, wait, wait you- hang on, you- you and Dukat?

GARAK: Ooh, yes. Surprising, isn’t it? Yes, two nights, maybe, before my exile, I’d been feeling quite powerful. I wouldn’t have normally lowered my guard even among my fellow Cardassians. Dukat was enjoying his second bottle of kanar, was looking for someone to blame for his most recent failures to overcome the Bajoran resistance, and there I was. He promised my death from across Quark’s bar. Later that evening he found his way back to my table to apologize – uncharacteristic, absolutely, to be sure. But kanar can do that to a man. We stole away to a quiet corner on the second level to talk, and then we found our way to an unoccupied holosuite.

JULIAN: I don’t know what to say.

GARAK: Well, I don’t need to tell you, Doctor – it was an unplanned direction for my evening to take. And suffice to say it didn’t soften Dukat’s general opinion of me. [laughs] He did keep his distance for a long time afterward.

JULIAN: So, that story had a happy ending, if you’ll pardon the pun.

GARAK: Pun?

JULIAN: Uh, it- it’d be funny on Earth. Though tragic, too – sort of like a sad clown, really. Miles will love it.

GARAK: Doctor, could we perhaps find out what is slowly eating away at me before revealing my darkest secrets to Professor O’Brien over an ale.

JULIAN: Of course, of course. I think the first step is to cross-reference known immunogenic agents that could have been introduced into your system. Even if the virus is a new pathogen, its mode of infection could be a million different things. You should review your schedule and try and determine an environment over which your control was limited, a place where the food and drink could’ve been tampered with or perhaps a place where you could have been unexpectedly exposed to an air assault. But… about this dalliance with Dukat-

GARAK: Oh Doctor, please. Provincial human attitudes aside-

JULIAN: Of course.

GARAK: -your species didn’t always have synthehol, and every species seems to go through a period of poor choices. Believe it or not, Cardassians are a passionate people, a people who yearn to find joy wherever it may lie. And remember, that we were in the midst of a Bajoran occupation and there wasn’t much joy to be had for those of us assigned to Terok Nor. Decades later, my reforms are helping to shape a modern Cardassia.

JULIAN: Understood. Though I take exception to the word ‘provincial’.

GARAK: Oh, of course you do. Now, let me take a look at my agenda… According to my doctors, I could have been exposed more than a month ago.

JULIAN: A month? Well, you certainly waited long enough to contact me.

GARAK: Well, well we do have doctors on Cardassia, and I wouldn’t be much of a leader if I didn’t look to my own people before seeking outside assistance. However, I’m not naïve enough to trust them completely. And what kind of leader would I be if I did?

JULIAN: Fair enough. I need to get some biometric information, please, from you if I’m even to begin researching cures. Can you transport yourself to a hospital with proper scanning equipment that I can access?

GARAK: Oh dear, I- I- I can do better than that, Doctor. I can do better than that. My residence is equipped with some of the best holographic technology in the quadrant – what type of equipment do we need?

JULIAN: I didn’t realize Cardassia had made such strides in holography.

GARAK: Oh, the technology is Federation, actually. Cardassian engineers build wonderful ships, but their work with artificial intelligence isn’t what it should be. Political life has its perks – I even have an EMH.

JULIAN: Well can I talk to him?

GARAK: Doctor, he’s obviously offline during this crisis. We’re wasting time better spent on the issue at hand! Now shall we begin?

JULIAN: Alright. Well the first thing we’ll need is a standard biobed with-

GARAK: Doctor, doctor, wait- I’m detecting a coherent signal directed at your shuttle. Yes, the magnetic currents over the poles should’ve obscured your presence. We may have a problem.

JULIAN: Hang on, it looks like an encrypted subspace signal… but I can’t determine the origin. Stand by, I’m trying- it’s… it’s from Earth. Well, I think I’ve got it. One moment… Jake?

[fade to black]

[CREDITS]

[helisol]

Wait so.. link to this quodo fic you mentioned in your tags?? I’m intrigued :DD

its only an idea but i will HAPPILY ramble about it in detail under this read more because i never finish writing fics but i do love sharing my notes.

they get Pretty Extensive considering this clocked in at 2k words. so strap in.

tl;dr: karaoke night gone wild leads to garashir and quodo setting each other up for holodeck shenanigans

so basically quark has acquired a karaoke program. everyone on ds9 is going mad about it and it's keeping the holosuites booked out for weeks

the main squad decides to try it out and they just jam to a mix of human, klingon and bajoran music. but lets be real it's mostly human music because i have a mighty need to see captain benjamin sisko tear up the dancefloor to Earth Wind & Fire’s September. so sue me.

anyway everyone has to sing, even odo, even garak and they all have a blast. the only person who is notably absent is Quark because Quark has a bar to run and Quark can't indulge in mindless fun activities when he has money to make.

Unless… Odo challenges him and he has to prove that Odo is wrong.

so yeah quark checks on the gang to see how they like this “Hooman Kara-oke” and if he can sell them some drinks and everyone is like “hey you should sing. just one song. we won't even laugh about your bad ferengi singing! we promise!"

and quark is about to say "ferengi voices arent that bad. im still not gonna sing tho."

but odo is ahead of the game and insults his grating voice and how it could only be worse in song. and because this is quark he’s like “actually fuck you. now I WILL sing.”

so he snatches the mic from whoever was about to go next and fucking Crushes It. 

while odo starts Looking Respectfully everyone else is just going "woooooo! go quark!" which makes quark just get even more into it

Takes His Jacket Off, Drops It On The Floor, Dances With The Microphone Stand. The Works. and he's also enjoying himself like "haha! suck it odo! i'm a good performer, it's how I make money!"

until he actually looks at Odo and Odo is Looking Back and then he’s like “wait what the fuck why is he looking at me” and Promptly Messes Up A Step And Falls Off The Stage-

so now quark has a twisted ankle and julian has to take him to the infirmary, which bums out quite literally Everyone and the gathering disperses, leaving only Garak and Odo.

garak as we know is but a simple tailor, but he’s Observant and his little lizard eyes did spy odo looking at quark and making the soup-version of heart eyes. we also know he is the gayest bicth on this station so of course he’s going to poke and prod at odo to see how he reacts.

garak waits until everyone is out of the room and asks odo if he can walk the dear constable home to the ol’ bucket. because odo looked a little melty during quark’s performance, y’know. it’d be bad if he turned into soup on the promenade.

odo denies this, of course, so garak is like “oh great then we can have a Chat :)”

and odo goes "wait no i hate talking” but then they’re in garaks shop and drinking kanar and garak is getting drunk off his lizard ass and talking about Julian because, again, he IS THAT BITCH!

meanwhile in the infirmary, Julian is trying to take care of quark’s ankle, but since he’s nosy and kinda Knows that quark wouldn’t just mess up his steps for no reason he asks about that.

and quark loudly goes “NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS JUST FIX MY DAMN ANKLE-”

which of course turns the nosyness up to 11 and has julian going 👀

"no i mean uh- i was distracted" "distracted? by what?" "nothing" "distracted by nothing?" "FIX. MY. ANKLE."

so julian sits him down on a biobed and gets whatever medical thingie fixes ankles in the 24th century. and while he does that he offers quark some wine to loosen the tongue about what made him slip.

anyway one thing leads to another and before you know it quark and julian are wine-drunk sitting on the infirmary floor and talking about garak. which suits quark just fine because it means he doesn’t have to admit he fell because odo was looking at him like he just revealed all the secrets of the universe along with his bare arms when he took off his jacket.

so we have two sets of gay idiots getting drunk in two locations and the next morning two sets of gay idiots have hangovers. yes odo gets a hangover. being soup does not exempt him from it.

julian and odo do the right, logical thing and take some meds to go to work and be productive and garak shows up in the bar to fight fire with fire and finds quark Already Doing That. 

so they just sit next to each other, beating their hangovers with more alcohol, and they get to talking.

garak goes on about how he took odo home and pretty much only talked about julian all night and quark is like “wow what a coincidence, the doctor and i only talked about you all night.” 

and it's all downhill from there because basically quark and garak just figured out that the garashir pining is Mutual.

"wait, julian was looking at me???" "yes." "AND I WAS LOOKING AT JULIAN-" "Yes."

and then they hash out this elaborate scheme to trap julian and garak in one of the Spy holosuite programs until they make out. this is garak and quark planning. how could they NOT make an elaborate scheme involving holosuites.

anyway i promised quodo so i will keep the ‘garashir makes out in the holosuite’ section a lil more brief

so within the next two days these two gay bitches whip up a new “The Adventures Of Agent Bashir” program, but quark has ‘adjusted’ the program a little so that it only ends when the main characters kiss. fun stuff.

garak and julian go through the program, havin a blast being spies, but at the end garak’s character gets “shot”, and they are so immersed in the story that julian is Actually Concerned and garak Actually Acts like he's in pain.

they kiss, the program ends, and garak- not actually shot- goes “haha gotcha, you wanted to kiss me before i died” 

so they walk out the holosuite one hour after their time is already up with a lot of hickeys and untied bowties. hooray.

But That’s Not What We’re Here For.

after garak and julian come down from the high of getting together julian asks Just How and Why quark would agree to help with this. quark Never helps Unless he’s helping himself.

and they realised Quark Has Played Them Like Cheap Kazoos. he just wanted to take attention away from himself and the unanswered question of why he suddenly fell off the stage.

so they go "wait, if odo and quark were both lying and obscuring facts and being weird about this, doesn't that mean- ohhh"

and it boils down to them deciding to help those poor fuckers because they are apparently off even worse than they were in terms of mutual pining.

they also hash out an elaborate scheme. this time it involves odo’s never ending hard on for finding reasons to throw quark into jail.

since quark technically violated the holosuite rules by locking garak and julian in there garak goes over to odo to report the “Crime”

after some back and forth about Why In The World Garak, Friend And Tailor, would report a crime to odo that doesn’t affect anyone’s safety Odo heads to the bar to investigate the holosuites and if there really was criminal activity.

he doesn’t ask quark for permission, mostly because he’d never ask permission to snoop around in quark’s property but also because quark is actually not there at the moment. for Some Reason he’s being held up in the infirmary. Weird.

so odo is looking through the holosuite recordings of the last few days, and he runs through what garak said was the illegal activity of locking them in there and just goes "Ah, alright, i can throw him in a holding cell for that.” but then he sees a message left by garak.

it was apparently left there today so garak must have prepared this which means something is afoot. and the message just reads "the karaoke session was recorded and you might wanna check what Actually™ made quark trip :)"

to which odo reacts with "hmph. why should i care. maybe hes just messing with me and quark tripped over a cable." but Odo looks at it anyway. respectfully.

and he watches the whole performance up until the point where quark falls. Multiple Times. until he remembers that this is a criminal investigation and he finally looks at the part where he falls from quark’s perspective, which is the important one.

and he just. looks right at himself. looking at quark.

and holy shit. he looked at him like he was going to shove him against a wall, not to beat him up, but to make out with him. he straight up looked like he was going to mess him up but not with his fists.

so he stands right in front of quark and replays that moment to see quark’s reaction and analyse how he fell. and sure enough quark Saw Him and his knees gave out.

after that he really just wants to walk out and spend the next 30 hours as a houseplant to cleanse his mind of any quark-related thoughts but uh oh. when he opens the holosuite door Quark Is Right There.

and odo panics and just pulls him inside, accidentally re-initiating the spy program.

“But how did Quark happen to be there at just the right time?” i hear you ask well it was OUR MAN BASHIR

while garak was at odos place telling him to investigate quark’s wrongdoings, quark himself got called to the infirmary for a check-up on his twisted ankle.

and julian kept him there, examining his ankle over and over, until garak came in to Insinuate that Someone is snooping around in the holosuites.

so quark, yelling "NO COPS IN MY BAR", hurries over to the holosuites on his totally fine ankle and bada bing bada boom, here we are.

with two idiots stuck in a locked holosuite.

odo is like "QUARK WTF" meanwhile quark is like "ODO WTF"

"YOU LOCKED US IN A HOLOSUITE" "NO YOU LOCKED US IN A HOLOSUITE" ”well it was you who pulled me in here" "but it was you who designed it like this"

anyway to get out they have to go through the program somehow. quark and garak programmed this very carefully. unless they follow the general story, there’s no way out.

and at first quark says "listen, its okay, we just have to kiss" to which odo replies with that kinda look you’d get from someone if you told them to swallow a cactus whole, for fun.

"you heard me" "quark if this is a joke-" "its not. i made rom pull an all nighter to put in the new sensors." "you paid him for this???" "no." "right of course."

and after a very quick cheek kiss doesn’t end up doing the trick the two actually go through the program properly. except quark knows the script, cheats a little, takes shortcuts and totally doesnt impress odo by shooting a few hologram guards on the way.

so they get to the end, where they believe odo is supposed to get “shot”, but turns out they mixed up the roles and quark is the one who gets shot.

And Odo Doesn’t Know. The Safeties. Are. On.

so he tearfully goes "WAIT NO- QUARK!" and quark is like "odo...odo come closer..."

"yes, quark?"

"kiss me"

"quark please dont die i'll kiss you and we'll beam you straight to the infirmary and-" "ODO JUST KISS ME"

and then they kiss. the holosuite controls unlock and quark thinks ‘oh great, now we can leave-’ but odo doesnt stop kissing him

and he doesn’t Stop kissing him until quark actually speaks up and has to go "HEY IF THIS WERE REAL I’D BE DYING BY NOW-"

"what?" "the safeties are on. I didn’t get shot. you just had to kiss me to unlock the controls-"

and odo is like "QUARK"

and quark is like "ODO"

and then odo gets up and is very convinced that he Must Turn Into A Houseplant For A Ferengi Lifespan To Atone For His Sins.

but quark says “no, wait. can you do it again?”

"yelling at you?" "kissing me."

anyway odo finally gets to fulfill his fantasy of pushing quark against a wall and quark finally gets kissed by odo like hes dreamed of for like 15 years or however long ago it was that they were first on terok nor together during the cardassian occupation.

the end.

[pollyna]

Garak arrival at Tarak Nor doesn't go unnoticed but, even if he's in exile, he's still Tain's protege and everyone and their mothers are afraid of him. So he has more free time than ever, his new job is relatively easily once he learns how to do it and trying to kill Gul Dukat is fulfilling for just a couple of hours the first week he's on the station. The man is quiet boring and not important enough to really attempt to his life.

Garak's day is spent sewing, reading, eating food that doesn't taste of much and hoarding secrets, one after another. But, even if he speaks most of the Kardasi's dialect and a good number of other languages, bajoran is almost alien for him. It takes him weeks to really understood a full sentence, during a lunch between two workers, and his life would be a little less miserable if he had, like everybody else, a UT but it doesn't work well with Tain's implant and the implant is more important than is own life.

By the time Tarak Nor becomes Deep Space 9 and Bajor is free, Garak knows how to speak Bajoran and three of it's dialect, Standard, a decent amount of Trill, Japanese and Arabic. For them, for the Federation just as for his fellow cardassians, there's no reason to think he doesn't have the UT and that he actually speaks all that languages.

After all the mess with the implant, doctor Bashir little trip to find Tain and a solution to save him, some adjustment to his quarters, is captain Sisko who asks him about the lack of UT and Garak laughs in his face with the little grace he has left. They don't dispense them for plain, simple tailors captain. Nobody tried to talk about him about it or to talk to him in general.

It's routine goes back to the one he had with the Cardassian's around, sewing, eating food that doesn't taste like much, reading to many books and trying to exercise a little, in the middle of the night when sleep doesn't come and the pain makes him almost blind(*). Odo still checks on him and Quark tries to sell him replicated liquor, that he swears, come directly from the capital of Cardassia Prime. The first smirk is almost disappointed when he doesn't do much else than his work and the second persists until Garak doesn't spend almost an hour straying at him, directly in his eyes, without telling a word. Apparently he hasn't lost his touch when it come to intimidation practice.

Garak is in the middle of a discussion with a Bolian man about the cut of his pants when doctor Bashir enters his store. Garak smiles at him, always polite and compose because he's a client, before turning his attention to the other man. After forty five minutes of discussion they finally find an idea that please both of them, Garak takes a break before his next costumer and he can almost forget about doctor Bashir still being there.

The number of language you can speak is astonishing Garak and oh boy, he really wants to have a conversation, doesn't he? More than enough, doctor he smiles, now, what can I do for you today? New suit or do you need another extravagant costume for your holosuit games?

No, I'm here because I wanted to ask you if you want to have lunch with me? Maybe today? ha asks and he almost seems to stand taller while he speaks.

I have to much work to do, doctor. But thank you the same for the invitation. Why his clients are always late? He has another three and then a bride before closing for the night and doesn't want to take other work to his quarters.

I- Garak, please. I know the last month I've been cancelling our lunches but- believe me when I say it was for a good cause.

I'm sure of it, doctor. That doesn't change I have a half dozen of pants to adjust, two betazoid clients coming in for two new dresses each and a Vulcan bride who's particular picky about the shade of her dress. Maybe next week. And gods be blessed because one the betazoid woman decides to arrive just in that moment and cut off their conversation. He barley notice doctor Bashir leaving the establishment. Or, at least, it what he likes to think.

The Vulcan bride leaves the shop but she doesn't take with her the headache she caused him. Cardassians may speak in circle but Vulcans are no better with their "truth". At the end Garak has to take some work to do in his quarters anyway.

The next morning, waiting for him in front of his shop, is Odo and what it follows is the most strange and peculiar breakfast he has ever had. And he had sat at the same table with the heads of, almost, every secret agency in the Alpha Quadrant.

To that it follows a lunch with commander Dax and a reluctant major Kira, who spends the entire hour alternating between looking at him waiting for a mistake and asking him about a particular fabric for a dress she would like to order from him. And then a breakfast with Quark and Odo, a lunch with Keiko and Molly, filled with pretty drawings, long talks about plants and the promise to help her to create a space for Cardssian's flower and, maybe, to look after Molly a couple of times.

In the next two weeks Garak eats with everyone, even captain Sisko and his son, a boy too tall for his own age. But not with doctor Bashir. After the Vulcan bride problem is solved he decides to go to find the Doctor, maybe to say sorry, think about how much he missed him, and maybe the could grab a bite together if he isn't busy?

What he isn't expecting, when he chimes to Julian's door, is to find the man listening to a recorded lesson of Kardasi, while repeating some of the sentences.

Doctor Bashir? Are you going to leave Deep Space 9 to live on Cardassia?

Garak! Oh god, I was hoping to have a little more time... he answers, looking almost embarrassed.

For what exactly doctor?

When we took care of the implant I realized you didn't have an UT and I asked captain Sisko if we could procure one for you because it could have been simpler for you? Just after I realized you didn't need help because you were speaking everyone's language without problems, but no one was talking yours. And I, sorta?, decided to learn Kardasi but it took me more time that I would ever imagined and a month went by and the others decided to help? I didn't even have to ask, they did all themselves and gave me a little more time to study but I still don't grasp it enough to have a serious conversation...

Oh dear doctor, you didn't have to go and learn kardasi for me! I would have continued to talk your language without any problem!

But I wanted to. And I learned about a little about your culture and about the meaning behind all that arguing at lunch. And I would like to invite you to another one, maybe tomorrow? If you have resolved your Vulcan bridezilla problem, obviously.

Garak doesn't remember the last time his cheeks felt so hot all at once. I would be delighted, my dear. And, perhaps, I could tell you some about my Vulcan bridezilla problem.

I would be perfect, Garak. he answers before kissing him on his forehead.

—

Garak's routine doesn't change much after their first date, he still sewing, eating food that doesn't taste of much, read books but now they're from all over the galaxy and in every language he speaks. He's still learning new languages and existing without a UT. But now he rarely spends a lunch alone sometimes he gets invited to dinner by Keiko or Capitan Sisko. When he doesn't sleep and everything hurts to much there always are a couple of hands shooting his ache and talking him down most of his nightmares.

Deep Space 9 it still to damn cold and distant from what he defines has home but it's something he could learn to live, because now is not alone anymore.

(*) I don't honestly know if there's some equivalent of the Italian sentence "non vederci più dal dolore" but it seemed the most appropriate translation.

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: DS9 Fanfic: Chris’s Story

Not only has A Star to Steer Her By wrapped all of Deep Space Nine, but your podcast hosts are also celebrating our fifth anniversary of bringing you through all of Star Trek! As a treat, we’ve concocted DS9-themed fanfic stories and teleplays in our much-celebrated “Tales from the Holodeck” series that you can listen to us cold read here (this one starts at 39:05). Read on for the transcript of Chris’s Weyoun-Ee’char story below, that might pilot a whole new series we’re all asking for!

[images © Paramount/CBS]

“Dude, Where’s My Ee’char?”

By Chris

Random picks: Weyoun, Ee’char

“Tea, earl grey, hot?”

Miles O’Brien instinctively glanced up at those words. Surely not. Sure enough, a lanky Andorian walked up to the counter and accepted the drink that had been called out. Admiral Picard – well, not Admiral, anymore, but even thinking of him as “Jean-Luc” was bizarre to O’Brien – had less than no reason to be hanging around Starfleet Academy. Or Starfleet anything, for that matter.

“Not that I can entirely blame him,” he mused to himself, going back to the PADD containing last week’s warp field dynamics exam. “Nothing’s felt right since Romulus was destroyed. And then Mars…maybe Keiko’s right. Maybe it’s time to retire.”

He sighed and put down his stylus. Twenty years of teaching at Starfleet academy and even he could see how things were shifting. The students grew less and less enthused, dropout rates going up, those that did stay becoming so by-the-book when it came to everything that it was maddening.

“They’re just lacking in imagination,” he’d moaned to Keiko one day. “If I’d thought like them we’d’ve never got the Defiant working like she did. They think the deflector array is just for deflecting things.”

He had immediately realized how ridiculous and old-mannish it had sounded. But even his wife had been on Starfleet ships long enough to get it. Everything on a ship potentially had a purpose no one had ever dreamed of, and dreaming it up in that critical moment could be the difference between getting the ship home and a warp core breach.

“Professor O’Brien?” came a strangely-familiar voice from behind him. He turned and saw what he thought, at first, must have been a Romulan because they were smiling. And there was a sardonic edge to the tone that didn’t seem terribly Vulcan, either. But the fellow had that waxlike pallor that was unique to the latter, something their cousin species had evolved away over their centuries apart.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“No, but my employer believes he can help you.”

Well, this was shady. Was Section 31 out for belated revenge? Maybe someone had finally slipped in Starfleet Intelligence and the Orion syndicate found out he’d worked undercover against them? Could it be that some T’Lani was still cross about what he and Julian had revealed about their corruption? The grudge could’ve gone further back; someone related to the incident at Setlik III had tracked him down. Christ, for someone who’d only ever been an engineer he’d sure managed to pile up a list of old enemies that could come calling. Ought to at least make him an honorary Commander for that.

“And he would be?”

“An old friend.” The mystery man reached into a pocket and pulled out a small, red figurine. The coonskin cap was unmistakable. “He said this would explain. He remembers the hours you and the good Doctor spent on this.”

So it wasn’t Julian, but someone who knew how they’d passed their time in their DS9 days. Didn’t rule out Section 31, or necessarily a few others, but it did make him feel a little better. He realized the man was still holding out the figure to him, so he reached out and took it, putting it in the bag he’d been carrying his PADD and some miscellany in.

“My employer understands that you’re too cautious a man to just meet somewhere.” The man’s voice – what was it that was so familiar? – had dropped even further. “Be at your desk in twenty minutes. A signal will come in. Use the code on the bottom of the figure.”

The man turned without another word and strode off. O’Brien raised his eyebrows and watched him go. He’d have to tell Julian about this next time they talked; he’d be jealous. Goodness knows how long it had been since his old friend had been involved in any cloak-and-dagger shenanigans.

*

Despite everything O’Brien was a little surprised when, back at his desk, his computer began to chirp. The text on the screen read “incoming external transmission”. External transmissions were always supposed to go through central comms; only an Admiral could bypass that procedure, normally. He turned the little figure over and punched in the numbers he saw there.

“Ah, my dear Professor O’Brien!”

“Ga-” O’Brien stopped himself. For some reason he felt if he said the full name of the Cardassian now grinning at him from the screen it would just summon the whole of Starfleet security. Just behind him and to his left stood the mystery Vulcan/Romulan from the cafe.

“You look well, Professor,” Garak continued, not acknowledging whether or not he had caught the Engineer’s odd outburst.

“Having you call me that is a bit weird,” O’Brien admitted. “How about Chief? I think that’s still technically my rank.”

“Very well, Chief. I believe you know my associate?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” the man said, reaching up. “I still have the mask on.”

His hand slid down his face, and the telltale webbing of a holographic disguise flickered to life as the pallor, eyebrows, and eyes vanished. Instead there was a very different kind of pointed ear, skin like powder, and violently violet eyes.

“Weyoun…”

“Yes, it would seem there were, in fact, a few leftover despite what we had been told.” Garak smirked in that old, familiar, entirely unsettling way of his. “It seems they just meant their Alpha Quadrant supply.”

“Of course, I’m now the actual, final one,” Weyoun added. “Garak here found me right before I was…discarded. My predecessors had not been quite so lucky.”

“Is that where you’ve been the past two decades then?” O’Brien asked. “The Gamma Quadrant?”

“Mostly.” Garak raised his brow briefly. “Someone has to keep an eye on the Dominion. Starfleet Intelligence can hardly be trusted to do it on their own, the Romulans are too busy trying to keep their culture intact, and Klingons have never had a spy agency in their entire recorded history.”

“I see.”

“I came across a story that I thought might interest you.” He glanced down and pecked a few buttons just off-camera, and a ping sounded on the Chief’s computer. “Look particularly carefully at the upper left-hand corner of the screen. It was a pleasure to see you, Chief.”

“Wait…”

But Garak was already gone. O’Brien knew there’d be no point in asking for a trace. Should he report this? He was supposed to, certainly. But this was Garak. O’Brien…well, okay, to say he trusted Garak would be a staggering lie. But he certainly felt like both the Federation and he personally owed him enough that he could be allowed this little indulgence. At least once.

Decision made, O’Brien opened the message he’d been sent. He winced when he recognized rather quickly the world of Argratha. It had all the appearance of a news story of some kind. But the Universal Translator hadn’t caught up to the shift, so he started over and paused it.

Argratha. He’d been twice. The second time some fifteen years later, to testify at a public hearing about his experiences the first time. What his false-memory twenty year imprisonment had been like. There was talk at the time of abandoning the practice; it made the judicial process too casual, too many false guilty charges because, for those who’d never experienced it, what was really lost? The Chief and countless others had told them. How real the time felt, and how cruel the simulation was. He’d told the Special Envoy who’d arranged for him to go that he felt he deserved a medal for how calm he’d been during his testimony. The Envoy had chuckled until the Chief’s expression had told him he had very much meant it.

He started the story up again. When he’d not heard anything for months after his testimony he’d assumed the reforms had failed and the sick practice was still going on. But in fact it had simply taken a bit of extra time and work. The story was about the closing of the final facility that had run such incarcerations. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to weep or go celebrate. He was going to call Keiko straightaway, that much was…

The upper left hand corner.

“No.”

He had almost forgotten to look.

“No.”

Despite it being the entire reason Garak had dropped by.

“Fuck.”

Ee’char. His “imaginary” cellmate. Standing among the crowd of politicians and other self-congratulatory types formally shutting the program down. Almost identical to the twenty-year-older Ee’char from his memories, though one that had clearly lived a somewhat less wretched life. One who’d gotten proper meals and sleep and care, just like O’Brien had.

But did he have the false twenty years that still occasionally wafted into his nightmares and had him waking in a cold sweat? Did he still, on rare occasions, almost set aside a bit of his meal before realizing saving it wasn’t necessary?

“In short, friend,” the Chief said aloud. “Who the fuck are you?”

*

He was glad the stopover at DS9 to switch transports had been short. None of the old crew were there, anymore, but he was fairly certain he was at least vaguely acquainted with some of the Stafleet staff that still maintained a presence on the Bajoran station, and the last thing he wanted to be was some old man wandering around his old posting looking worn and nostalgic. Even Quark had shipped out for Freecloud. A part of him had been tempted to see if Morn was still at his usual seat in whatever the bar was called now, assuming it was even still a bar. But he had just stayed in the docking ring and then made his way to the next leg of his journey.

He spent the flight through the wormhole standing by a window with just about everyone else. He realized that he’d never gone through it after the War had ended, so it was his first time making the journey in ages that he wasn’t expecting to potentially die on the other end. It was so nice to just watch it, to get lost in its beauty, and vaguely wonder if Sisko was watching him just then.

*

O’Brien stood in the space between two homes, watching as a car slid noiselessly from the sky and halted in front of the house. Finding his old friend had been much easier than he’d expected; Garak had encoded everything he needed to find the man in the newsclip he’d sent. A door hissed open and the old Argrathan stepped out. He exchanged inaudible words with someone in the vehicle before the door shut and it lazily drifted back into the sky. O’Brien glanced around. No one else seemed to be coming. He watched as the other man walked towards the his home.

The Chief darted from the shadows and jogged across the street. If Ee’char heard him he showed no sign. O’Brien reached up, paused, and then gently tapped the other man on the shoulder. He gasped and spun.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’m…ah…I’m Miles O’Brien.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, yes, I remember watching your testimony.” He held out a hand “Ko’vax.”

“A pleasure,” the Chief replied, taking his hand and shaking it.

“But why did you come to see me?”

“We…well, we were cellmates, you see.”

“Were we?” He nodded slowly. “Well. Someone had quite the sense of humor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been arguing against our mental prisons for a very long time.” His lips went slender and he glanced off. “Please. Come in, have a warm drink.”

“I…sure, thank you.”

*

“I never had the misfortune of experiencing what you or so many others did,” Ko’vax explained, putting down what seemed effectively to be a mug in front of O’Brien. “But my father did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He picked up his own mug, almost took a drink, but didn’t and put it down. “His story was similar to so many others. To yours. Adjusting was so hard. Too hard. They don’t offer any kind of help to reintegrate to society. To help you deal with the fact that you’ve not actually lost any time but it still feels like a huge swathe of your life is gone. That might be worse than actually losing time. I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. I’ve never had the real version.”

“He lasted…half a year. My brother found him.” Ko’vax paused and took a sip of his drink, and the Chief finally did automatically. Not that he took any note of the flavor. “I’d already started writing letters, but I got more active after that. Showed up at politician’s doorsteps. Showed up and shouted at meetings that had nothing to do with it. Became a real pain.”

“Must’ve been afraid they’d…well, you know.”

“Oh, sure. But I didn’t care. Let them. Let them put me in a fifty year dream, a century, I knew I’d be fine. I’d have my rage to see me through.” He sighed. “I was so angry for so long. I mean, I never stopped being angry, but you can’t be as constantly angry as I was at first. That would be impossible.”

“So what happened?”

“I lived my life. But I never stopped my campaigning. Whatever free moment I could scrounge up was spent talking with others who shared my goal. I guess someone thought it would be a good laugh to have a cellmate based on the man who hated them and their program so damn much.” He smiled. “But then I got to be there today. When it all ended. Thanks to so many people. Like you.”

“I…” The Chief paused. “I’m glad I could help.”

“So what made you come to see me?”

“I wasn’t sure who you were, to be honest. Outside of looking like Ee’char. That was his name.” He paused. “I guess a part of me was almost hoping you’d been part of it somehow. So I could let you have it. And feel less bad about…how things went between me and the other you.”

“We didn’t get along, eh?”

“We did, eventually. And then for a long time. But then, towards the end…”

“It gets particularly bad, yes. Everyone says that.”

“Well. Glad to know it wasn’t just me getting special treatment, I suppose.” O’Brien took another drink. Now that he was paying attention he realized it was very pleasant. He’d have to find out what it was and bring some home. “We fought. You…he…I killed him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I killed you. Sort of.”

“I’m sorry on behalf of a government that will never properly apologize fo anyone affected by their sick little program because they think it’s just fine. They are giving it up with great reluctance you can be sure.” He paused. “And I’m sorry you were driven to that. I know we’ve barely met but you don’t seem the type. So it must have been truly awful to drive you that far.”

“I guess so. I hope so.” He paused. “I don’t know. I’d killed before. Served in one war already by then. But this was something else. Something that still comes up at me in the wee hours. Every time I’d killed before then I could justify it as having been for my survival. And that’s what I told myself it was that time, but I’d not actually proven that first. I told myself it must have been so I could.”

“I wish I could help. I’m almost sorry I’m not who you thought I was.” He shrugged. “If it helps, well…I didn’t go what you went through, but I saw firsthand what it does to people. I know how real it can seem, even to those who go in knowing it isn’t. You had no idea. I’m sorry they used my face as part of your torture. But, if it helps…well, I forgive you. On behalf of the false me. And I only wish you the best.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, nodded. “That actually is nice to hear, somehow.”

*

The wormhole again. Its eddies and currents and majesty unchanged even as the twenty years around it had entirely altered O’Brien’s world. Why had the gone all the way to the Gamma Quadrant? What would he have done if Ko’vax had been involved somehow? Certainly not killed him. Shouted for a bit? What good would that have done? But what good had this done? No. Time to move on. Figure out what’s next. He’d been in neutral for far too long, and…

“Oh, I know that look,” came a voice to his side that he scarcely believed he was hearing. “That is the look of the Chief when everything seems against him. When things have stopped making sense.”

O’Brien turned. There, not looking a day older when he’d last seen him, still in the now very out-of-date uniform, stood Captain Sisko.

“Well, Chief. It’s time for things to start making sense again. And I’m going to need your help.”

The End

—

For more DS9 fanfic, check out Caitlin, Jake, and Ames’s stories from this round of Tales from the Holodeck! And be sure to keep listening to new episodes every Thursday on SoundCloud, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and stay out of brain jail if you can. Jay-sus.

[greatgatsbyhateblog]

Notes: written 12.26.20, i watched the ds9 documentary and this was the only thing in my mind when i walked away, Ira was talking abt a “The Wire” Garak coming out scene so i wrote it :), takes place after “The Wire” episode 2x22, barely episode related but it’s still there as context I guess. Also, I’ve no clue when Bashir first started running the James Bond program, but let’s pretend it started as early as season 2. A little bit of angst, but nothing major. Supposed to be pretty fluffy.

Word count: 638

Julian Bashir’s lean build had found its way into the shop again, hands clasped behind his back and he sauntered around the mannequins and racks of clothes. His lips opened, strings of words in that wonderful accent filling the air. Starfleet’s simple black-with-teal-shoulders science uniform stood out amongst the colorful garments, and gave Julian a structured, more angular look. He wore it handsomely. The doctor, eyes wandering, bumped into a chair, playing it off as intentional as he lay his arms across the top of the back, leaning forward to rest his chin upon them, before continuing his talk. He looked over at the only other man – who was already staring at him – in the room, lips closed into a ghost of a smile. Julian blinked, as though he was waiting for something.

“Garak? Is there something on my uniform?” The Brit joked.

The words finally registered in Garak’s ears, and he let out a breathy chuckle, glancing away for a second. “Apologies, Doctor, my mind seems to be wandering today. What was it you were saying?”

Julian stood tall again, walking over to Garak, who was absentmindedly fidgeting with the sleeves of Julian’s Bond holonovel tuxedo, which had ripped and needed repair. “Oh, no worries! I was only wondering if you were feeling well, no lasting symptoms,” he paused, grinning sheepishly, “and if the suit was fixed yet.”

A grin that had all the mischievousness of a smirk but none of the mocking implications settled upon Garak’s face, tutting the doctor’s medical inquiries. “Doctor, I assure you, I am fine. Bedrest never did a Cardassian any good, and I say we shan’t argue it.” he said, adding a bit of volume to the last bit to overrule any protest that lay on the tip of the other’s tongue. Lifting the tuxedo off the rack where it hung, mended and good as new, Garak folded the outfit into a neat pile to hand to Julian, who so eagerly waited, hands held out at the ready and fingers tapping against his thumbs, much like an Earthen crab. As he handed the garments over, the doctor thanked him and headed for the door, outfit tucked underneath an arm.

Just as he reached the door, however, Julian stopped, turning on his heel, and took a few steps back towards Garak, pausing with his face screwed up in thought for a moment before he asked, “Do you have any family?”

Glancing back at the man, Garak replied rather dismissively, “My dear Doctor, I’m afraid I don’t see why this is relevant.”

Julian either missed or ignored the avoidance and continued, “A wife perhaps? Children?” His free hand tapped against his thigh rhythmically as he stood there. When Garak offered no reply, Julian pressed further, aware he might be treading on thin ice, “You must miss them terribly, being stuck here.” A beat. “Do you th—”  

“Julian.” At the harsh tone, the man in question fell silent. Softer, Garak added, “I appreciate your interest but I’m afraid I’ve none.” After a second, Garak decided he and Julian had grown close enough over the past two weeks to learn a definitive truth about him. “No children, no wife, no interest in women altogether, if I must be frank.”  

The silence that followed might have been awkward, had Julian’s face not lit up, despite a clear attempt to hide it by acting as though a noise from the Promenade had momentarily caught his attention and he turned away to face it. “That, um, that’s great, actually. I was wondering if you’d maybe like to have dinner with me later? After you close for the day?” he said after turning back, although his eyes continued to dart around, landing anywhere but on Garak.

A grin broke across Garak’s face. “My dear Doctor, I would love to.”

[starfleetimagines]

Garak - “So, you like me?”

Requested by an anon here and user Indirect_Detective on Wattpad. I combined the two requests: “I wonder if I could please request a DS9 Garak x reader imagine where the normally quiet plus-size reader flirts with Garak in front of everyone and leaves him flustered but in the end he just kisses her and everyone cheers?” and “Could you do a Garak x reader? Him coming to terms with loving the reader and finally trying to admit is but doctor Bashir keeps cutting in and ruining the moment. Garak finally gets the reader alone and compliments the reader (looks and personality) as he's hemming readers uniform before opening up to the reader” and “ Word count: Just over 1k Warnings/notes: None that I can think of Tag list: @wraith-queen-todd, @naivara-duneimith, @thisismysecrethappyplace - if you would like to be removed from or added to a tag list, please let me know!

“How’s your food?” you asked before putting a forkful of your own into your mouth.

“It is decent,” Garak replied. “And yours?”

You nodded. “It’s good. We should check out that new restaurant some time. Dax tells me it’s good.”

“Hm. Well, hasn’t Dax also eaten Klingon gagh before? Can we really trust her taste buds?”

You laughed. “Point taken, but we should still try it.”

“Perhaps next week’s lunch can be there.”

You pushed your food around on your plate. “Actually, I was thinking maybe we could go in the evening sometime.”

Garak looked to you. “And break our routine of having lunch together?” he asked teasingly. “Are you feeling all right?”

You smiled slightly. “I was just thinking maybe it could be like a date. If you want.”

“A date,” Garak repeated.

You looked up, trying to read his expression. You couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking or feeling, so you took in a deep breath and decided that if you were going to tell Garak how you felt, you should be direct. “Yeah, a date. Between two people who maybe want to be in a relationship together. I can’t speak for you, but I know I would be more than happy to try it and see where it takes us. I really like you, Garak, and not just as a friend. I think… I think I might be falling in love with you.”

Garak didn’t say anything. He just looked at you with an expression in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

“I’m sorry if I’m just kind of springing this onto you,” you said quickly, “I just don’t want to keep it to myself anymore.”

Before Garak could reply, Julian approached your table. “Mind if I join you two?”

You looked at him then at Garak. You didn’t want to be rude, but you also really wanted to hear what Garak was thinking.

“Please, have a seat,” Garak said, standing. “I should be on my way, anyway.”

Your heart dropped.

“You haven’t finished your food,” Julian said.

“Oh, I’m quite full, thank you.” He shot you a soft smile. “Thank you for the company, Y/N. I shall see you in my shop later to fix your ripped uniform.”

You mentally swore. You had forgotten that you had an appointment with him. You already knew that was going to be painfully awkward.

Julian sat down next to you and smiled, completely oblivious to what had just occurred. “So, how’s your day going?”

“Fine, how’s yours?” you asked, not wanting to admit that you were starting to feel as though it might be one of the worst days you’ve had in a while.

---

“I’m terribly sorry that our dear doctor interrupted our lunch earlier,” Garak said as he worked on fixing the fraying seams on your uniform.

You smiled slightly and shrugged a shoulder contralateral to the side he was working on. “It’s all right. Julian just loves to be around his friends sometimes, you know? Though I guess I was hoping to spend some more time with you. Alone.”

Garak cleared his throat. “I’m done on this section. If you wouldn’t mind turning ninety degrees to your left, I’ll work on the other portion of your uniform. How you Starfleet officers get your uniforms so tattered and ripped is beyond me.”

Despite the tension, you laughed and turned. “Thank God we have such a talented tailor on board to help us.”

Garak hummed and began his work.

“So,” you said after a few silent moments. “Have you thought about what I said earlier?”

“I did.”

“You did?” you asked. Your heartbeat started to quicken as thoughts of the many possible responses he could have started running through your head.

He nodded, fingers carefully fixing the fabric of your clothing. “Yes. I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly. I needed some time to think of how to properly respond, though I now realize I should have told you that then rather than now.”

You nodded. “It’s okay.”

“Until you said what you did, I hadn’t realized just how much I appreciate the time we spend together and that the time we spend together is my favourite time of the week. You make me happy Y/N, and I want to spend more time with you. Much more.”

Butterflies were starting to swarm in your stomach. “You do?”

“If the offer of a date is still on the table, I would like to accept.”

“I—yeah, yeah, it’s still on the table.”

“Good. Then how about tomorrow night after your shift ends?”

A wide smile broke out on your face. “That sounds great.”

“So, you like me?” you asked after a few moments.

Garak looked to you, holding the hem of your shirt tightly. “Was I not clear enough? I’ll admit I’m out of practice with this sort of thing,” he said, sounding a little insecure.

“No, you were fine. I was trying to make a pun. Get it? So sounds like sew, like sewing?”

A faint smile formed. “Ah, yes, that is amusing.”

“Sorry, I guess I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never really done this before. Admit my feelings in this way, that is.”

Garak straightened and made eye contact with you. “Why did you admit them? Not that I’m not grateful that you did.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always been so insecure. I don’t have an average body type and I’m so shy that it’s hard for me to get to know people. But with you I feel so free. I don’t feel insecure when I’m around you. It’s like I can just be myself without having to worry about how you might react.”

Garak took your hands in his gently. “My dear Y/N, you are absolutely stunning in every way possible. When you walk into a room I can’t help but stare.”

You blushed and smiled. “Thank you… I’ve never felt this way about someone else before. I’ve never felt so comfortable around anyone.”

“Neither have I,” he said. His eyes moved downwards momentarily before going back up to your eyes. “May I kiss you?”

You smiled wider and nodded. “I’d like that very much.”

Garak smiled and placed a hand on your cheek gently before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

When the kiss ended, Garak pressed his forehead against yours. “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

If you enjoy my writing, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi

[cteranodon]

I'm gonna go with 34 for our dear doctor and not-a-spy-but-a-simple-tailor ;D Have fun!

(34: a kiss to pretend)

“How many times have I said, NOBODY MOVE!”

Nobody had been moving, so Bashir quite frankly didn’t know what the man’s problem was. The Orion who seemed to be leading the operation, however, was back to aggressively pointing his phaser rifle at the host of hostages before him.

Deep Space Nine had been infiltrated by a band of Orion, apparently a faction of war-hawking rebels, who had taken over Ops and were now planning to hijack a starship. Bashir’d had the bad fortune of being in Sisko’s office at the time, so he was stuck at phaserpoint with the rest of the senior staff.

“Colonel,” one of the other Orion said, “we’re getting a signal from the station’s hostage negotiator.”

This time, Bashir saw movement in the form of Sisko’s eyebrow arching. Bashir thanked his stars that Sisko had saved him the embarrassment of wondering for too long if the station had a hostage negotiator he didn’t know about.

“What do they want?” the Colonel demanded.

“He says he wants to negotiate the release of one of the hostages… in exchange for supplies.”

“What supplies?”

“He didn’t say yet.”

The Colonel spun on his heel to face the senior staff, absolute fury in his eyes. “And which of you is he planning to have us let go?”

“You know,” Jadzia said with a keen smile, “not letting the hostage negotiator do any negotiating… kind of defeats the purpose of us having him around.”

The Colonel opened and shut his mouth several times, before apparently conceding the point to Jadzia and making his way to another console to have his negotiations.

Sisko sidestepped closer to Jadzia to have a hushed conversation of his own with her. “I don’t suppose you know what’s going on here.”

“Not exactly,” Jadzia replied. “But I have a guess as to who our ‘negotiator’ really is.”

“And when will we know if your guess is correct?”

A much softer smile played on her face. “When we find out who they want released.”

After a minute, the Colonel, looking several orders of magnitude less grumpy than before, trudged back over to the senior staff. His eyes scanned over them, then he pointed his phaser rifle firmly at Bashir.

“You! Come with me.”

Jadzia responded with a click of her tongue and a “Thought so.”

That was enough for Bashir to catch on. He dutifully followed the Colonel over to the lift.

“Keep the rest of them right where they are,” the Colonel barked to one of his lackeys.

The whirring of the lift started before they called it. The Colonel didn’t seem to think anything was wrong with that at first; perhaps he didn’t realize it wasn’t quite so automatic. When the lift came into view, it had the two Orion who had been stationed just outside, flanking a certain Cardassian.

“Julian!” Garak stepped down and flung his arms around Bashir.

“Is this the appointed go-between?” the Colonel asked the guards.

“Yes, the package is below,” one of the guards said. “He insisted on coming up here—”

“Just to make sure my Julian is safe.” Garak accentuated the point with a kiss directly on Bashir’s lips, lasting several seconds, with a mechanical precision, before he broke and looked Bashir up and down. “I trust you aren’t hurt?”

“Hhhhhuh,” Bashir answered.

“You poor thing, you must be in shock.” Garak clasped Bashir by the shoulder and glanced back at the Colonel. “Thank you, my friend, for being willing to let him go.”

“I’m nothing if not reasonable,” the Colonel half-growled, not all that interested in remaining reasonable for very long. “Let’s go back down and do the exchange. The rest of you, make sure the other hostages don’t move one micron.”

Garak guided Bashir by the lower back to the lift, where they stood beside the Colonel as they were taken back down. Bashir was still a bit dazed from the kiss he wasn’t remotely expecting, but he noticed the crate left in the middle of the floor.

“Is that the package?” the Colonel asked.

“Y-yes, that’s the one,” Garak answered.

“Open it.”

Garak went to it with an affected nervousness, pressed a button, and removed the lid, standing back for the Colonel to see what was inside. “Latinum, a photon torpedo, and a weapon that I am told will put your current one to shame.”

Glee made itself known on the Colonel’s face as he tossed his phaser rifle aside (in the opposite direction from Garak and Bashir) and picked up a similar, but more contemporary-looking weapon from within the crate. “Now this is a rifle.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Garak smiled affably at the Colonel, an immediate signal to Bashir that the Colonel was already dead. “A gift from the Orion Syndicate.”

The room was filled with heavy silence for a five second count.

“…Excuse me?” the Colonel finally asked.

“Yes, delivered personally by Thadial Bokar, as a matter of fact.”

Another silence. Bashir wondered what it was Garak had just said, and how much this Colonel knew of what was about to happen. He could never really be sure with a trap set by the “plain” and “simple” “tailor.”

“How dare you speak that name to me.” Considering how temperamental the Colonel had been up to now, he was speaking remarkably evenly.

“Ah, is there some unpleasantness in your history?” Garak blinked innocently. “Perhaps there’s a message you’d like me to deliver him when I see him next?”

“I’d rather deliver it to him myself,” the Colonel said. “But… I might as well give it to you, first.”

He pointed the new rifle at Garak and pulled the trigger. Instantly, instead of any energy fired from the weapon, it was the Colonel himself who was surrounded by it, as he vanished with the distinctive sound of the transporter.

Garak eased his posture. “Well. I don’t believe he thought that idea through at all.”

Bashir had finally found his ability to speak. “Where did you… send him?”

“Nowhere at all. Or, at least, far enough away from the station that his body isn’t likely to collide with it. I doubt Chief O’Brien would appreciate the carcass of a reactionary terrorist arriving in one of the docking pylons.” Garak pulled the supposed photon torpedo out of the crate and began fiddling with it.

“No, I don’t suppose he would.” Bashir watched Garak carefully. “And what, dare I ask, are you doing with a torpedo?”

“Ah, but it’s not a torpedo, it’s a computer disguised with the casing of a torpedo. I can use it to interface remotely with the station’s transporters. I would hate for our Colonel to feel lonely out there, and he was so helpful in making sure the other officers of this station didn’t move, so I would know exactly who not to lock onto.”

“But if you have a torpedo casing, that means you have the internals of a photon torpedo elsewhere,” Bashir finished.

“Nonsense. Someone accidentally left an empty torpedo casing in my shop while I was measuring them for a wedding gown.”

“And how exactly is it that you can interface with the station’s transporters?”

“Oh, that knowledge I came by during my time with the Obsidian Order.”

Perhaps it was partially the lingering surprise from the kiss, but Bashir was once again shocked beyond words.

Garak offered Bashir a sweet smile. “That is what you wanted me to say, is it not?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have assumed you were… that is, I—”

“Not to worry. It’s untrue. I’m shocked you could believe me capable of something so disreputable as membership in the Obsidian Order.” Garak smirked as he went back to the torpedo casing. “It’s just some knowledge I was given as payment for a bit of weeding.”

“Weeding.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Now why do I find that so hard to believe?”

“I couldn’t say. You hardly have what I could describe as healthy skepticism. Ah!” Garak appeared to have finally pinpointed all of the persons in Ops. “Now, I’ll have to transport one more of them into space just to prove I mean business, otherwise they won’t surrender before killing your fellow Federation officers, plus Major Kira, and I simply couldn’t bear a world without her.”

“You’re not planning to just beam them all into space?” It had managed to take Bashir by surprise, and despite the fact that these particular Orion were all despicable, he found himself relieved.

“I know. You must be having an undue influence on me.”

“Are you sure? I mean, to a veteran spy, there must be value in the taking of prisoners.”

Garak rolled his eyes. “Certainly, to a veteran spy, but to me it just serves as a source of danger.”

“You think these Orion could be dangerous prisoners? What, you think they could take over the station again?”

Garak gasped, affixing Bashir with a scandalized gaze. “My dear Doctor! What possible reason could you have to jump to that conclusion?”

“It seemed like a natural—”

“Oh, I don’t believe that.” Garak stood, placing the torpedo/computer to one side, and stepped closer to Bashir. “There are any number of reasons political prisoners could be dangerous. You picked one of the least likely among those reasons. Escape! Now, perhaps my understanding of the human psyche is not what it should be, but I wonder if some part of you… hopes for a second takeover of the station? Perhaps…” He stepped closer still. “Perhaps you are hoping that I will perform the same harried spouse routine for them a second time?”

Bashir was feeling very warm all of a sudden, but he managed to say “The thought hadn’t even occurred to me, my dear Mister Garak.”

“Ah. Well, I’m disappointed to hear it.” Garak didn’t back down. “Rest assured, I will take a different angle in future rescues.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Hm.” Garak had the smug aura that signaled that Bashir had played right into his hands. “Then perhaps you want to rehearse? Only to ensure that you play the part better in the future, of course.”

“Naturally.” Bashir didn’t let his eyes back down from Garak’s, despite the intensity of the situation and how badly he wanted to break. “Perhaps some preparation work will do me good.”

There was a twinkle in Garak’s eye as he smiled back. “Then prepare a list of fake terms of endearment that are believable but uncomfortable to hear. Putting the listener in a position of discomfort is the key to the entire operation. I expect at least twenty, and I plan to critique each one at length.”

For the umpteenth time today, Bashir was left speechless.

“Now then. I must return to the problem at hand.” Garak swiftly placed a kiss on Bashir’s cheek, then spun to face his contraption. “Well done out there for your first run, my dear Doctor.”

(Sorry this took forever! Hope you enjoyed! ao3 link in comments.)

[gaslightgallows]

First lines meme thingie

I got tagged by @teadrinkingwolfgirl! 

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

I haven’t read anyone else’s fics in ages (mea culpa) so I’m really doing this to remind myself of what WIPs I’m supposed to be working on. XD

Tagging! @firesign23, @rivendellrose, @cigaretteburnslikefairylights, @pendragyn, @kiwimeringue, @timetravelbypen and anyone else who’d like to play!

The Patience of Angels (Good Omens)

“Right,” shouted Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of the First Circle of Hell, “shut up, you lot!”

The rabble quieted down, but not without trouble – Hastur had to set a few unruly demons on fire before Beelzebub could finally make themself heard without screaming. They settled into the chair at the head of the long, long table, with Hastur at one elbow and Dagon at the other, and surveyed the assembled with resigned disgust (which was the most neutral emotion Beelzebub could summon).

Every demon with any scrap of authority was there, every prince and duke and a bunch of other ranks besides, by Satan's own order. Except for Satan himself, of course. He hadn’t been to a board meeting in a year, which wasn’t like him – he usually at least came to the once-a-year all-staff meetings. But the boss was still sulking and licking his wounds after that business in Tadfield. Beelzebub supposed he had the right to sulk; after all, six thousand years of planning had been flushed straight down the toilet, all because of one disobedient brat.

There was something marvelously poetic in that, somewhere, but Lord Beelzebub did not possess a poet’s soul. (Though they had possessed a few poets, over the centuries, but they hadn’t picked up much in the way of insight.)

Sideways (MCU, Stoki)

Loki was not expecting to see Captain Rogers again – vastly preferred not to see him again, in fact, along with the rest of the Avengers – and when he did, the first thing he thought was that wasn’t sure about the new beard.

Thankfully, Captain Rogers couldn’t see him, so he didn’t have to concern himself with the captain’s feelings on the matter.

In theory, the less Loki had to see or hear or be aware of Earth, the better. In practice, he'd learned enough about humans to realize that it was at least prudent to keep tabs on Midgard and its infuriatingly stubborn inhabitants. Unlike Odin (not quite late, not quite lamented, safely and comfortably sequestered away in the most inconvenient corner of the palace dungeons), Loki did not have the ability to see and hear all things within the Nine Realms, so he’d had to take the Gatekeeper into his confidence.

Heimdall was... he wasn’t entirely sure what Heimdall’s opinion on the matter of Loki pretending to be Odin was. He recalled the first time he took the throne—

‘Took.’ It was given to me, justly, by Asgard’s own laws of succession and by order of... the queen.

—when Heimdall obeyed his commands up until the moment Loki relieved him of his duties. He knew better than to make the same mistake twice; Heimdall had guarded the Bifrost for longer than Loki had been alive, and he’d learned a thing or two about the watcher’s loyalties. With the true king alive but incapacitated and Thor having abjured the title, who was there left to be king, save Loki?

And it clearly didn’t matter to Heimdall that Loki was technically supposed to be dead.

Upon the Mountains, Like a Flame: Chapter 10 (MCU)

"Are you truly going to prevent Loki from using his magic to defend himself?"

"I have said that I will. It is the only possible way of ensuring a fair fight, especially if Loki and Sigyn are to face Theoric together. Unless you wish to make it that easy for Loki to defeat him. His power has grown--"

"No," said Frigga, "he hasn't." She sounded tired. "He had help. From whom or who, I know not, but I do know the scope of our son's power."

Odin stopped his disgruntled pacing and turned to face her, and suddenly Frigga felt very cold. "Are you certain? We have never been entirely sure what manner of power to expect from one of his... lineage."

"If Loki had learned by nature how to shield his appearance and his identity from us both, he would have used it – and crowed about it – long before now. As it is, he can transform himself into any number of animals in order to bedevil his brother, but we always know it is him. And before you ask again," she continued, "no, Sigyn did not help him. This manner of magic does not belong to her."

Odin conceded that point, at least. "Sigyn's preference would have been to slip away from Asgard between dawn and morning and never look back. And you would not have been able to find her, I think, any more than I would have. And yet... she stayed."

"For Loki."

"For love of him," Odin sighed, feeling old, as he had when Loki had pleaded for Sigyn's hand in marriage. "They make a frightening pair, those two.

The Art of Weaving (Sequel to “The Art of Spinning”) (MCU)

“He lacks compassion.”

“Lacks...” Thor stopped dead in his tracks. “Father, he spent a month caring for Mother and wouldn’t leave her side even when I wanted him to come to Svartalfheim with me. He helped me free Jane from the Aether and find a way to defeat Malekith that saved the last of the Dark Elves from slaughter, when you and I would have gladly let them all die.”

“And what has been the result of those good deeds? A long-dead race returned to the Nine Realms, upsetting the balance of power even further, and my heir abandoning his birthright to waste the next century in the company of a woman who will be gone in a blink.”

Thor remembered his brother’s parting words, the tight, sorrowful embrace, and the lock of hair Loki had given him. “He gave up his chance for freedom. He accepted responsibility for his crimes, even though we know now that he was being manipulated. What more would you have from him?”

“Nothing. I am grateful to have my youngest son back. But I would have my eldest reclaim his place as well.”

But Thor shook his head, and stepped away from his father’s fond hand. “I can never be the king you want. Loki can. He is like you in ways that I am not.”

Odin went suddenly still. “What do you mean?”

“I lack your ruthlessness.”

L'éternité de la damnation, l'infinité de la jouissance (Crimson Peak)

It had been two years. Two years of independence and travel and writing and of seeing the world. Her life would never be normal again, but at least now it felt charmed instead of cursed. At least during the day.

At night, she still dreamed of red-soaked white nightdresses, and of Lucille Sharpe haunting the crumbling halls of Allerdale. She woke with the taste of blood in her mouth, and visions of Thomas screaming in hell.

She didn’t know if he deserved that. He had done terrible things, but how many had been of his own choosing? He had not been a good man, but he had so desperately wanted to be.

Demon in My View (Good Omens)

Normally, Aziraphale was loath to part with any of the books in his collection – though he was not above going against his own grain for people whom he knew would love and cherish the tomes almost as much as he himself did – but in this case, he was delighted to make an exception.

"No charge. No, I absolutely insist. After all, my dear boy, they were meant to be yours."

Adam thanked him politely, and then asked, "Do you still have that wicked flaming sword?"

Aziraphale winced a touch at the adjective but let it pass. "No, no, I'm afraid not. I was required to give it back."

"That's not fair. It was yours, Crowley said it was. And you did help save the world with it. They should give it back to you."

"Well, perhaps they will, one day."

And His Feet Were Made of Clay (Good Omens)

The bookshop of A.Z. Fell was closed. It was the middle of the day and every shop surrounding it was open for business, but most passersby didn't seem to notice the bookshop, and the ones who did weren't surprised that it was closed. In fact, if you examined the diaries of London citizens going back to eighteen hundred, you would find countless entries complaining about the fact that Mr. Fell and Co. (Aziraphale had added the 'Co.' in the eighteen-forties, when he realized he needed to start pretending to be his own son.) never seemed to be open, and that when they were, the very nice gentleman inside was always curiously reluctant to actually sell you anything.

The thing that Aziraphale had always liked most about his corporation was that it looked human. It lacked basic human needs and drives, but it could simulate and perform those functions with perfect adequacy, and really, that was beside the point, because it looked human. It looked unique, the way humans did. Looked like God the way humans did, and the way angels most emphatically did not. Angels had been created by the Almighty with a variety of ineffable functions in mind, and what they looked like when they weren't cramming all their eyes and wings and wheels into a chunky bipedal casing with odors and fluids reflected those functions.

Humans, as near as Aziraphale had been able to figure out in six thousand years of watching, had no preordained function. God had made them because they were fun and that was enough, and he rather liked that about them. Envied that about then, even. (Envy wasn't something he was supposed to admit to, but he lied to himself about so many other things that he simply couldn't have this one on his conscience.)

Although if they did have a function, he was convinced that they existed for the sole purpose of making more of themselves.

A Pause From Thinking (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

“Doctor, I appreciate the courtesy call, but it this is some sort of human mourning ritual, I’m really not interested.”

"I didn't think you'd be interested in mourning. I just thought you might want some company. A loss is a loss, after all." Julian poured out the whiskey and handed Garak a glass. "Here's to terrible fathers."

Lots of Rules and No Mercy (sequel to “I Say, Why Not?”) (Tron) 

It was about a month after Alan was first able to communicate with his security program that Tron made the request—not out of any doubt in his user's abilities, but out of respect for the human he looked to as both creator and guardian angel.

"His name was Ram," said Tron, the words appearing on the screen beneath his angularly-rendered face, his voice coming through the headphones like an echo of Alan's own voice. "We were in the MCP's holding cells together for a while. He was just an actuarial program, but he was good at the games and..." The blocky, pixelated face didn't convey one-tenth of the emotion Alan was sure he could hear in the program's tight, gruff voice. "He was a good friend."

"I'm sorry." Alan felt silly, even after a month, apologizing and offering sympathy for the erasure of a program. He was a software engineer after all—he'd been writing and rewriting and erasing programs since high school. It had never been that big of a deal before. "I'm sorry, Tron."

Tron seemed to gather himself together. "Alan. Can you resurrect him?"

Alan stared at the face on the screen, unsure of what to say. He knew Tron couldn't see him or his expression of dumbfounded shock, but the silence said enough. "Forgive me," Tron murmured, seeming to bow his head in the way that made Alan the most uncomfortable. "It was impertinent of me, I shouldn't have asked—"

"It's not that," Alan blurted out. "It's just—I wouldn't know where to start," he added, trying to ignore the uneasy thrill of his creation's simple faith in him.

The Goblin Emperor’s Garden (The Goblin Emperor)

It became Maia’s habit, following the drama of his first Winternight as emperor of the Elflands, and once his wife-to-be decided that he no longer needed quite so many dancing lessons, to hold small intimate suppers one evening a week in his private dining room in the Alcethmeret. Sometimes he entertained several people, sometimes only a few, but nearly every week, Csethiro Ceredin was at the table.

If it was only the two of them at supper, she sat opposite him, where he had the privilege of listening to her speak until the small hours of the morning on all manner of topics, while he forgot about his meal and tried not to drown in her brilliant blue eyes. If there were others at table, she sat at his right, and though she had other social obligations on such evenings, it was worth it to Maia, to be able to sometimes, quickly and surreptitiously and not always entirely secretly, squeeze her hand under the embroidered tablecloth.

His secretary and all of his nohecharei always noticed, and he suspected that they desperately wanted to tease him about it. His nephew Prince Idra also always seemed to notice, and as he and Maia grew closer, Idra did not hesitate to tease him.

“You should be careful,” Csethiro playfully warned the prince, one night after the rest of the guests had taken their leave and the three of them were alone at table, lingering over dessert. “For someday your uncle will find you a wife, and you will make just such a fool of yourself, and he will be as shameless in laughing at you.”

Idra and Maia both blushed, stamping their utterly dissimilar features with a moment of family resemblance. “If I am so fortunate as to someday have such a wife as to be worth making a fool of myself over,” said Idra, half-bold and half-shy, as only a fourteen-year-old boy could be, “I should thank my uncle profusely for his choice, and not mind the teasing.”

“Well spoken, cousin,” Maia said gratefully.

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

Various Feelings About ASIT Part 3:  Invisibility, Insincerity, and The Wire

In which I look a little bit at some of the most famous parts of what makes Garak’s character and how they're developed upon in the book.

also I’ve figured out how many parts are going to go into this. Six main parts:

4: Revenge or Redemption

5: Garak and Kira

6: Doctors and Other Lovers

and then a 7 that is just a collection of things I also loved.

I keep trying not to use the same quotes, because they’re just so good! but they’re all so good so just, in summary, read the book because I can’t quote all of it, because then I’d just be giving you the book and also AHHHH

Spoilers:

So one of the most fascinating parts of the book, which at the same time made me go “of course, this is exactly how it should be!” is that Garak isn't good at being sociable when he's a kid/teenager (even though, or probably because, he's very sensitive).

In fact the trait that he initially becomes incredibly good at is becoming practically invisible through bonding with the regnar while on a training excercise that requires him to evade capture. This is a technique he uses partially to succeed at the school and partially to avoid other people. In essence, it reads like his first trauma coping mechanism.

[excerpt from book: Inspired by my guide Mila, I would experiment at withdrawing my presence when I had to remain in the same room with people I didn’t like. Of course I couldn’t change my coloring like a regnar, but with constant practice I was learning to change the nexus of thought, feeling, and perception that defines my presence in space. If I am sitting on a rock, I surrender to the vibratory rate of that rock, using techniques I began learning in the Wilderness. The more successful I became, the more I was able to keep the other students at a comfortable distance - especially the ones so involved with their own agendas, they were not paying the attention they should have.]

The second important lesson that Garak receives is from Palandine:

[excerpt from the book. Palandine is giving Garak advice: “Let the ones witohut power scowl and make fierce faces. You smile. It’s-” the excerpt is cut there]

[excerpt from the book. Palandine is giving Garak advice: “There you go again. They tell us their truth, Elim, and we are here to learn how to listen.” Palandine paused and gave me one of her looks that went to the back of my head and made me shiver. “You’re so serious, Elim, so glum that even before you open your mouth you’re telling a story. But the nonverbal stories are the most dangerous, because they can be interpreted any number of ways. You have to smile, because you have power. If you listen to people with the look you have on your face right now, they’ll suspect that you’ll disapprove or criticize or - even worse - laugh at their stories.]

Again, the fact that smiling didn't come naturally to him (and why should it, he had nothing to smile about) explains so much about why he has such difficulties with coming off as sincere on DS9. I can count on one hand without a thumb probably the amount of times he smiled on that show where I thought it was without any hidden intentions and usually these moments were when he was taken aback at something Bashir had done (be still my emotional heart)

It's interesting then that both his invisibility and his politeness gets him into situations on DS9 in which he gets punched...a lot. But his abilities also get him to the table when he really, really shouldn't be, by the logic of the people in charge, Sisko and Kira and to a lesser extent Odo. So it’s interesting to see how these skillsets shift post-Dominion war, when by all accounts he’s openly emotional, an integral part of the rebuilding process, and the accidental builder of a spiritual mecca (not very invisible at all).

The backbone behind Garak's choices on DS9 as described in this book is absolutely wonderful and, naturally, heartbreaking.

I could find numerous quotes to go deeper into it, but suffice to say that Garak’s most “competent traits” (and the ones that cause the most distrust) are ones he learnt as survival mechanisms and he actually, to a large extent, unlearns after returning to Cardassia, which speaking of...

As an added tidbit of information – Garak's sensitivity is what led to the creation of The Wire in the first place (in a sense, they may have been developing it anyway, but he was the first test-subject) and the scene in which he gets it implanted is horrifying on multiple levels and feels like the final step, so to speak, to turning Garak from a sweet, emotional child, to a killing machine.

[excerpt from the book. Garak is about to get The Wire inserted. “What is it,” I asked. "Ah, Elim. We have something special for you today. Lie down here, if you will. Head close to me.” I complied, as Timot now thumped me on the shoulder. “I’ve just about calibrated the connective adjustment... .” Timot mumbled, as he continued to work on the panel. His other hand was now probing his skull behind the right ear. The man’s ambidexterity was impressive. “Yes. That’s your molecular structure. Otherwise the brain would never accept the little coil.” Timot held up a small wire device with four or five coils that began with a tight one and widened out. “And that wouldn’t be very good, would it, Elim?”]

gaaaah the use of “Elim in this section (and as the scene continues) is urgh. Stop hurting him!

One inferrence I make on this is that his inability to think of himself as a person, rather than a series of learnt parts, is one of the reasons that he can’t see himself as someone who could be a leader in the rebuilding of Cardassia (which is interesting, because I wrote a fic in which he implies that as well, before I read the book, and in that fic he’s also spearheading vital community projects in the rebuilding). He is a broken machine of a dead empire and the parts of him that he is don’t function with the creation of a new world... and then he chooses to grow flowers, build sculptures, and assist in idealist plans... oh, my dear Elim, as Parmak would say...

After Bashir pulled the wire out of him he suddenly had the chance to become Garak again, but while on DS9/the Dominion war was raging he was too full of pain without any place to turn to to even try...

the journey to understanding who he is, let alone if there is anything left of him, is finally given some sense of resolution in ASIT (if not a finishing point - he’s still an unfinished man, but, like Cardassia, he’s mending).

[girlsinthestars]

There was Probably a Better Solution

Pairing: Elim Garak/Julian Bashir

Word count: 1493

Warnings: None

Read on AO3

It was ridiculous, this whole plan was insane and for the third time that night Julian wondered how Garak convinced Sisko to let them go. They were on a cardassian planet, in cardassian space, searching for some kind of new weapon Sisko had sworn Garak to secrecy about, based on a hunch Garak had that it was here. He didn’t even know why Garak had picked him for the mission. That being said, sneaking into a cardassian settlement that was potentially hiding some top secret military base was everything Julian had been dreaming about ever since he befriended the cardassian spy- sorry, plain, simple, Garak.

Julian would have stuck out like a sore thumb as they walked through the settlement if it weren’t for the empty streets owing to the fact that it was midnight. They hadn’t bothered with cosmetics to blend in because it was supposed to be a quick mission, transported down well after sunset, four hours to search the colony, then they would be picked up from the rendezvous point.

“We’re turning right up ahead, I’m getting some strange readings from just outside the city.” Julian said, altering the tricorder’s settings slightly. “I can’t get any indication on what it is exactly.”

“That does sound like-” Garak cut himself off, pushing Julian back against a wall.

“Who’s there?” A voice called from a little ways ahead.

“I’m sorry about this.” Garak hissed, then he pressed his lips to Julian’s and slipped a thigh between his legs.

Julian barely had time to gasp as Garak’s mouth opened against his own. It was like a dream come true, in fact Julian had almost certainly fantasised about this scenario at some point. Garak’s hands tugged his body closer, before pressing him harder against the wall, Julian pressed closer easily, his hands finding their way into Garak’s hair and tugging slightly, revelling in the gasp Garak let out against his mouth. And if, just for a second, Julian forgot they were doing this to hide, well, Garak didn’t have to know.

“I apologise, Doctor,” Garak said, smoothing his hair and adjusting his clothes, as footsteps faded into the distance behind them, the person having walked past and left them to their business, “There was probably a better solution to that situation, however, that was the best I could come up with in the time given.”

“No, no, its-” Julian coughed, and attempted to make his voice slightly less breathy. “I didn’t mind- I mean, that is to say, it was a perfectly reasonable solution.”

“Thank you, shall we?”

The rest of the mission went as planned, they located the base and Garak took detailed readings of the new weapon, muttering under his breath about how it was exactly as he suspected, then they were collected before the sun rose.

It had been weeks, but Julian couldn’t get the kiss out of his mind. There were thousands of other ways they could have avoided detection, they could have hidden in the alley they had passed, they could have just stood pressed together against the wall, it was dark enough that the person probably would have assumed they were making out. It just didn’t make sense, Garak was an ex-spy, making out with your associate to hide while on a mission wasn’t a professional tactic, it only really happened in Julian’s spy holo-programs. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Julian desperately wanted the kiss to have meant something to Garak, it didn’t even have to mean the same thing it did to him, as long as it was more than just a necessity.

He tried to force himself to forget about it, Garak clearly had, sitting across from him at their sixth lunch since the mission, talking about some cardassian book he was sure Julian would love. But Julian couldn’t get himself to focus on what Garak was saying. His mind replaying the kiss over and over again, imagining Garak turning up at his quarters in the middle of the night saying he couldn’t stop thinking about him and-

“Doctor?” Garak asked, Julian glanced up, Garak was clearly waiting for an answer to a question Julian hadn’t heard.

“I’m sorry, Garak, I must admit I haven’t been listening.”

“Is everything alright? You’ve seemed distracted the past few weeks.”

“Yes, yes of course, I’m just busy.” Garak looked doubtful. “Speaking of, I really must be going, thank you for lunch, same time next week?”

He barely gave Garak a chance to reply, jumping up and making his way to the infirmary. He really had to do something about this situation, Garak was noticing his odd behaviour and there was no way he could keep using the busy excuse. Maybe he just needed some space, give himself some time to get over this infatuation before it ruined their friendship.

So the next week he dropped into Garak’s shop to tell him he wouldn’t be able to make their lunches this week, making up something about a big report being due, and while Garak seemed suspicious and even a little disappointed, he didn’t ask any extra questions.

He did, however, ask questions when Julian cancelled their next six lunches, excuses varying from ‘I have a patient I have to deal with’ at the time to ‘I have a staff meeting’ the day before.

“I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding me.” He said, when Julian finally ran out of excuses.

“No, I- I’ve just been busy, I told you.”

“You can’t lie to a liar.”

Julian sighed. “It’s silly.”

“Then it shouldn’t matter to tell me.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Try me.”

“It’s going to change how you think of me.”

“Really, my dear, you are being awfully cryptic, I don’t like competition.”

“Okay, here’s the thing…” Julian lowered his voice, looking around them. “I can’t stop thinking about the kiss.”

“What kiss?” Garak leaned in and lowered his voice dramatically, Julian could tell he was taking the piss.

“The Kiss, between you and me.”

“On the mission?” Garak leaned back again, brows furrowing. “I didn’t know you were so uncomfortable with it.”

“Well, that’s the thing… I’m not uncomfortable with it.”

The corners of Garak’s mouth twitched up. “I see.”

Julian stared at him, waiting for him to say something else, but he didn’t say anything, just watched Julian with that tiny smug smirk.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Well… what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking this food is rather dry, you must talk to Chief O’Brien about these replicators.”

“Garak! You know what I mean.”

Garak sighed and put down his fork. “I am not a relationship person.”

Julian’s heart sank, Garak was rejecting him, their friendship would become awkward, they would both start making excuses to get out of coming to lunches and soon enough it would be as if they had never been friends.

But then Garak continued. “That is to say, I am not good at them, I lie just as much, I do not turn into a warm, loving person.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” Julian said quickly, his eyes lighting up again.

“You must understand what you are getting into.”

“I do, come on Garak, who on this station knows you better than me?”

“That may be true, my dear, but surely you know even you barely know me.”

“I do. Come on Garak, I know you felt it too, there’s something here.”

“Do you use that line often?”

Julian didn’t bother replying, putting on his best pleading eyes.

Garak sighed. “You are incredibly persistent, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Months later, they were lying in Julian’s bed, it was late in the morning but Julian was on an ordered rest day (apparently working for 48 hours straight was unacceptable and displayed a level of stress that could only be solved with a break), and Julian was lying on Garak’s shoulder, tracing patterns on his chest. And it was then that he finally got up the courage to ask.

“Did you deliberately kiss me on that mission?”

Garak laughed. “You didn’t really think that was actually the only method of hiding I could think of?"

“I guess not, I was just never sure, you seemed so reluctant when I asked you out.”

Garak sighed, moving so he was face to face with Julian. “That wasn’t because I wasn’t sure, I wanted to make sure you were sure, that you knew what you were getting into.”

“So you liked me before that?” Now that he had gotten started Julian wasn’t stopping now.

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“Since I laid eyes on you that first day in the replimat.”

Julian grinned. “You old romantic!”

“Says the man who used ‘I know you felt it too’ on me, like we had walked right out of one of your ridiculous holo-programs.”

Not much had really changed, not in the way they talked to each other at least, except now their light arguments ended in making out.

[cyrelia-j]

Prompt? Garak and Parmak are in exile and happily together on DS9. How does their wooing of Bashir go?

OT3 humor (plus my Bolian OC) coming up!

First Contact

“Are you sure it isn’t suppose to be The Fornby Project?” Parmak had asked the question innocently enough to the Bolian completing the set up of goods right outside the entry to the shop. The newcomer had enlisted Parmak’s help in hanging the mysterious curtain leading to the shop inside. That comment unfortunately had seemed to put up a wall between their positive interaction following as the Bolian, Ziw Tralar informed him sounding annoyed that the “other skinny overly pedantic doctor” had said the same. Parmak wasn’t quite sure what other doctor that was until he learned later of another Federation transfer expected to join him. Parmak had tried to apologize for any slight. He’d been trying to work on his Federation Standard starting with the basics and he thought he remembered that words used some sort of “the”, “a”, “an” or something. His vocabulary was sadly eons behind.

Ziw had given him a measured look when they finished deciding with a bit of a strange expression that even if Parmak was apparently just as ill mannered as every other Cardassian he’d ever met, at  least he had the decent to appear contrite, so he gifted him with several books. First and foremost was a book that Ziw assured him was full of useful old Standard greetings that he should take note of. Parmak had discovered to his delight while offering his assistance that the eccentric “Fornby Project” a few stores down from Garak’s, contained a wide variety of old books. The old texts were one of his true loves though Garak often despaired at the volume of Parmak’s “collection”.

Parmak was curious about the new medical team as he later parsed the book of idioms. He knew that the Federation was bringing a medical team per protocol but he had yet to meet any of them. He didn’t exactly see the need for them protocols aside. Nurse Jabara too had commented on the Federation thinking they were the only power in the quadrant capable of diplomacy. Parmak laughed as she said it, being that she was currently performing a check up on one of the Starfleet ensigns. While Parmak agreed, he had to politely demur. It was the logical assumption that there would be resentment from the Bajorans directed towards the two Cardassians on station, especially a doctor. Still, it would have been nice had anyone thought to ask his patients what they thought.

As far as the Bajorans and previous Cardassian occupiers knew, Parmak and Garak were both exiles due to their anti occupation leanings and revolutionary activities. That may have been true in Parmak’s case, but Garak rather was only there because he refused flat out to torture his lover even under threat of death. Death for Garak would have been preferable to exile but well, at least they had managed to foster rather positive working relationships with everyone on station. Even if Garak was quite vocal in private on how irritating it was to hear the constant racial slander always followed by “but of course you and Doctor Parmak are nothing like them.”

“Do you get fries with that shake?” Parmak puzzles over that one in present time, repeating the words, checking his diction against the computer. It’s a Federation System and takes some getting used to, but he and Garak have been adapting.

“Are you still at that?” he hears Garak ask, coming into the room looking particularly well put together. Hmm, it seems Garak too has caught wind of the new Federation Doctor. From some of the gossip around the station that Parmak’s heard, the new Chief Medical Officer Doctor Julian Bashir is a young handsome man with no known attachments. One of his and Garak’s former partners, a dashing and considerate young Bajoran named Teja, was keen to let him know with a suggestive wink that the doctor was definitely “their type”.

“Are you an angel? Because you must have fallen from heaven…” Parmak mumbles to himself, repeating the sounds as best as he can. Yes, he absolutely is “still at that”. Thirty six hours from learning of Doctor Bashir, and finally seeing a picture hasn’t been nearly enough time to gain proficiency in a new language but it absolutely is enough time to try and memorize a few greetings from the old book. It took him just that long to understand the thing they call romanized script well enough to pronounce the words. He’ll leave the definitions for later. Perhaps Doctor Bashir can teach them…

“Did you hear that he’s a xenobiologist?” Parmak asks, looking up to Garak with a wicked gleam in his eyes as he pushes his glasses back up on his face. Garak snorts as he sits down and neatly plucks the book from Parmak’s hands idly thumbing through it. “Do you suppose that it ah… has the same implications as it does back home?” That gives Garak pause as he checks to make sure he’s holding the book the proper way.

“You realize Kelas, and forgive me if this sounds uncharitable, that the primary cause of the xenobiology field becoming synonymous with ‘alien fucker’ back home originated solely with you.”

“I think you’re giving me far too much credit, Elim,” Parmak replies, absently toying with the end of his long braid. “I noticed you’re wearing one of your new pieces. Were you planning on going somewhere without me?”

“I am aware that you have no true appreciation for the craft of subtlety, but I thought perhaps a little reconnaissance might be in order.” Garak holds up the book pointing to the shortest phrase on the page. Parmak is still somewhat mystified that Federation Standard has so many types of greetings, and he’s been somewhat at a loss to decide on the best one. The Bolian had informed him primly that since he had “all the answers” where Federation Standard was concerned he could very well figure it out for himself. “This is the shortest one so it might be the easiest to recall.”

“Is that supposed to be a slight on my age?” Parmak asks snatching the book back, giving Garak a smack on the knee with it.

“I would hardly cache your age as slight,” Garak answers with a tug to Parmak’s long, white, plait of hair. Parmak pauses, reading that fire in Garak’s expression trying not to smile. Garak had used to lament that his ability to properly engage in a good bit of flirtatious banter was permanently damaged from all of his off world fraternizing, but Parmak has had a good several years now to work on it with his husband. He gives Garak’s stomach a little poke in return.

“Mmm, we shouldn’t speak then of things that aren’t slight,” he answers, letting a book drop a moment. It’s all lies and misdirection. Garak is delightfully thick, and Parmak was born with white hair, but it’s fun.

Perhaps there’s a renewed vigor between them as well, when Parmak decides that Garak’s dapper new creation deserves a bit of dishevelment and they both agree that Doctor Bashir can wait one more day before a proper introduction.

---

“It’s Doctor Bashir, isn’t it?” Garak asks as soon as he sidles up to the table, Parmak hovering just off to the side. Parmak thinks the young human is at least twice as easy on the eyes as Teja had said. Really, Parmak is surprised that Teja didn’t go after the doctor himself but Parmak has never been one to question good fortune. He remains smiling politely, sadly not dressed anywhere near as smartly dressed for his shift later, as Garak continues. “Of course it is. May I introduce myself?”

Parmak notices that the doctor’s eyes get wide, the size of dilated dinner plates as he looks between the two of them. Oh dear, perhaps Teja had been spreading stories after all.

“Uh yes… yes of course,” Doctor Bashir answers not looking the least bit excited. Parmak wishes he didn’t look so nervous because it’s making Parmak nervous and Garak just soldiers on his usual engaging self. It’s entirely unfair, he thinks as he tries to recall any of the dozen phrases he’d memorized out of the book the last few days.

He notices that Garak is also taking a seat, taking the lead in this, and taking Parmak into the deep waters where he usually doesn’t tread. Well really, if Garak had wanted to work alone he could’ve said something, because now that Parmak recalls the earlier conversation, Garak had likely only passive aggressively agreed.

“My name is Garak; Cardassian by birth, obviously. This is my husband Kelas,” comes seemingly as an afterthought, leaving Parmak to shuffle around, push his glasses back up, and try and decide if he ought to steal another chair from somewhere or just sit on Garak’s lap.

“We’re the only two of us left on the station, as a matter of fact. So we appreciate making new friends when we can.” Garak looks up to him now, clearly passing this bit off to him and he sort of wants to get close enough to step on Garak’s foot because this is all so sudden and he doesn’t have half of Garak’s charm or ease of tongue. Doctor Bashir is also still completely ill at ease which is clearly amusing Garak but only making Parmak’s inclination towards empathy entirely out of sorts. Garak is expectant, needling him even further with that wicket serpent’s grin. “Oh come now, my dear Kelas, don’t be so shy. I know you were just aching to introduce yourself to Doctor Bashir without the - what did you call it? - formal trappings of the office?”

Garak is radiating smug at that easy lie, and Parmak is going to kill him tonight, doctor’s oath be damned. He clears his throat, sure his smile doesn’t look nearly as coy or practiced as Garak’s as he stammers and tries to remember everything he’d taught himself and picked up from Ziw.

“Perhaps you might take the opportunity to demonstrate one of the charming little phrases you’ve been working so hard on. You really should hear him, doctor. My Kelas has the delightful dulcet tones of an Andorran songbird.” A songbird who’s going to peck Garak’s eyes out, Parmak decides as his eyes dart everywhere but Julian’s face as he tries to pull something out of that blank page.

By some miracle of the ancients, his eyes catch one of Julian’s black shoes from under the table, bringing forth, as Garak had suggested from the outset the simplest and shortest phrase that he’d memorized so far. Well then, they’re going to see who looks stupid now when Parmak beams at Julian and slams both hands on the table just as Ziw had taught him by way of greeting.

“Nice shoes!” Parmak exclaims, hoping that his cadence and tone are at least passable.  “Wanna fuck?”

[edosianorchids901]

131: “ Lets run away together. ” For the Garashir prompt, if ya wanna! ^_^

Finally getting caught up on prompts! I particularly enjoyed writing this one.

131: “Let’s run away together.”

               Newvaccines. Alternate Andorian nutrition theories. Studies on every diseasepossible, even ones I’d never heard of. And somany biographies of attending doctors.

               Groaning,I rubbed my forehead. This was entirely too much to read, but I would feeltotally inadequate if I wasn’t prepared.

               Lookingup from his embroidery, Garak gave me a sympathetic look. “Overwhelmed, mydear?”

               “Justa little.” I shoved my padd away and massaged my temples. “I have no idea howI’m supposed to make it through all this before the conference.”

               “Mm.”My Cardassian padded to the window and gazed out. “It looks like a lovelynight. You doctors pick far better locations for your conferences than wespies.”

               Despitemy exhaustion, I laughed. “Spy conferences?”

               “Ohyes. Very public, formal affairs.” His mouth twitched in amusement.

               “You’reso helpful,” I teased. “Torturing me with things like ‘it looks like a lovelynight’ when I’m buried in work.”

               “Well,someone must keep your spirits up. And I’m both an expert in torture, andtelling whether a night is lovely.” He came to stand behind me, resting hishands on my shoulders and kissing the top of my head.

               “Thanks,love.” I returned to reading, still totally overwhelmed.

               Gentlefingers combed through my hair. “’Dissertation on the effects of subspacetachyon particles on the microbiology of Trill symbionts’,” he read over myshoulder. “That seems oddly specific.”

               “Butimportant.” With another sigh, I leaned back into his touch. “That’s thetrouble. All of this is important, but there’s so much information that I canbarely absorb it all, even with my enhancements.”

               “Isn’tthe point of a medical conference to absorb the information duringpresentations? You may be genetically enhanced, but you can’t possibly beexpected to know everything.”

               “Yeah,but if I don’t study it all, I won’t be prepared.” The thought of that made medeeply anxious, and I took a slow breath to steady myself.

               Garakleaned on the edge of the table, covering my hand with his. Surprised, I lookedup and saw compassion in his eyes. “The thought of not being prepared causesyou great distress,” he observed, voice soft. “Is this because you feel a needto prove yourself?”

               “Yeah,I guess.” Turning my hand to grasp his, I stared out the window as I thought.“I dunno, Elim. I still feel like such a fraud sometimes, even after all theseyears of everything being out in the open. I always worry that everyone issecretly judging me, waiting to see if I’ll measure up. And they’re probablysaying things like ‘Oh, Julian Bashir? He’s not a real doctor.”

               “Butyou are a real doctor, dear heart.”

               “Maybeso.” I rose, feeling almost trapped, and went to the window. “I just don’t feellike I belong, that’s all.”

               “I’mafraid that’s a feeling I’m well acquainted with.” Elim joined me, slipping hisarm around my waist. “You do belong, though. Your ability to truly understand,your clever ideas, and your gentle compassion have nothing to do with theenhancements. You’re a marvelous doctor on your own merit.”

               Stillnot reassured, I leaned against him and rested my head on his shoulder. Theunsettled sensation in my chest and stomach hadn’t abated.

               “Ijust feel like I need to be better than everyone.” Realizing how that sounded,I winced. “Not like that. Just…”

               “Iknow, Julian. You want to be able to show everyone that you’re competent,prepared, effective. You don’t need to justify yourself to me.”

               “Thanks,dearest.” I fell silent, gazing out the window at the activities below. Theopen market was lively, but not overly crowded. Towering, willowy trees linedthe stone paths, and I could see a garden, filled with varieties of plant lifethat I knew Elim would find fascinating.

               Theocean was visible in the distance, too, teal water lapping at the shore. Justmy luck that we’d finally get to come somewhere lovely like this, and then endup stuck inside.

               “Itreally does look like a gorgeous night,” I sighed.

               Garakpressed his lips to my head. “Julian?”

               “Hmm?”

               “Let’srun away together.”

               Surprised,I tilted my head back so I could see him. “Are you serious?”

               Heinclined his head, eyes bright. “Just for the night. Or, if you’d prefer, wecould skip the conference altogether.”

               “Garak,I can’t miss the entire conference.”

               “Justtonight, then.” He beamed at me.

               “ButI’ve got all this reading…” I protested weakly, wanting nothing more than to goadventuring.

               Hetook my hand and tugged. “All the reading is doing is increasing your anxiety.It’ll do you good to get out of here and stop fretting about whether or not you‘measure up’.”

               Relenting,I let him coax me into motion. “All right, if you’re sure this planet has goodsecurity. I’ve had enough of being abducted from medical conferences.”

               Elimpaused, patting his waistband. “Don’t worry. I came prepared.”

               “Didyou really smuggle a phaser in here?” I shook my head, not exactly surprised.“Well, that doesn’t say much for the security.”

               “It’snot a reflection on the security. I’m not your average medical conferenceattendee, my dear.”

               “Neitherwere the Jem’Hadar, Section 31, or the Tal Shiar,” I answered darkly.

               Theamusement in Garak’s eyes burned away, and fierce protectiveness took itsplace. He grasped my arms, gaze intense. “I will never allow them to touch youagain,” he said, such conviction in his voice that it eased my fear.

               Grateful,reassured, and turned on all at once, I wrapped my arms around Elim and kissedhim passionately. He responded with immediate eagerness, pulling me forwardinto a snug hold. I relaxed in his arms, savoring his cool lips, the feeling ofhis tongue meeting mine in a dance, his hands skimming over my back.

               Eventually,I drew back and caressed his cheek. “Thank you, Elim. For everything.”

               “Anythingfor you,” he murmured, eyes now soft with love. “Shall we go?”

               “Weshall.” And so, I took my husband’s arm, and we went out to explore.

[lacefedora]

Garashir prompt: first time (can be morning after, a fade to black, explicit, whatever you prefer)

Oh hello there. I think I can manage that. Thanks for the prompt. perhaps I will go for ‘morning after’ or perhaps it’s just ‘basking in the afterglow’

takes place on the Defiant during the months that the crew was forced to abandon DS9 to the Dominion.

-

“You know… Eventually Chief O’Brien is coming to notice you haven’t come back to your bunk.” Garak says, dipping his chin and looking down at Julian. The Doctor is currently busying himself with the soft ridges on Garak’s chest, Kissing and biting lazily. Upon hearing his question; Julian on pauses a moment, then shrugs and resumes course.

“And eventually your bunk-mate will come back from her shift in engineering and likely be very put-out that your room smells like sex and is harboring a naked doctor and Cardassian.” Julian points out, punctuating every few words with a bite to Garak’s scales. “We have some time yet. Or do Cardassians not bask in the afterglow of good sex?”

“We bask, my dear.” Garak assures him, chuckling a little. Each time Julian bit him with this perfect teeth it took an increasing amount of effort to prevent a shiver from running through him. Yes, he could get used to this… his shouldn’t, but he could. “And it was rather good wasn’t it.” He says and hums.

“It would have been better sooner,” Julian says and unfortunately stops his lovely biting and raises himself up on his arms, looking down at Garak. “If you had clued me in that you wanted me, rather then becoming increasingly sharp and bitter about my genetic background.”

Garak licks his lips and reaches up absently fixing Julian’s thoroughly mussed hair. “Forgive me, my dear. I forget that human seductions are rather different. Though, to be fair to myself, I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I knew you’d come around to me eventually.”

Julian leans in, kissing Garak slowly, his legs sliding to straddle his waist. He rolls his hips in a way that tells Garak they’re going to be cutting their timeline very close. The Chief will come looking before too long though the look on his face could well be worth an interruption from him.

“Was that honesty I heard in your voice there, Elim?” Julian asks after they break off their kiss. Hearing his given name from Julian is a new kind of delight. He makes a show of widening his eyes with a teasing smile though.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” he says and grips his slim waist, finding fingertip bruises he’d left there and tracing them. Julian looks particularly lovely when he throws his head back and laughs.

“Actually I couldn’t care less when it started. Only that it did.” Julian says. Elim smirks and just pulls him back down to kiss him again.

In the end it’s only fifteen minutes before O’Brien finds them in the middle of their second round. The look on his face is priceless, but not at all worth an interruption.

[zapiarty]

Mila Bashir’s favorite thing is the holosuites. Specifically, the Disney Holonovels (because of course Disney lasts until the 24th century!). Normally, Garak plays the villainous role in these games (which he thoroughly enjoys, and none more so than playing Hades, but that’s because of what Julian is forced to wear for that specific novel...) so when Mila asked him to be the Beast in this novel, he figured he was the villain again.

As it was just the two of them, this idea lasted until half way into the session. He broke character and paused when he got so confused by Mila-as-Belle’s actions in terms of the story:

“Quark charges too much for these sessions for you to go and forget the role, my dear. If you just wanted to read or throw the plot away, we could have done that in the shop, or my quarters.” “Yadik! Don’t break character, this is supposed to happen!” “My dear, you’re being particularly friendly to me, your captor and the villain of this story.” “Yadik, you’re not the villain.” “I’m not?” “Noooo, silly! You’re the Beast!” “Indeed, and am I not keeping you here against your will?” “Yeah, but it’s because you’re lonely. And I’m lost, and we help each other.” “Ah. Who, then, is the villain- if this story has one. ...Don’t tell me it’s the good Doctor.” “No, it’s Gaston. There’s no way Daddy could be Gaston. Even you can’t be Gaston, what makes you think Daddy could?” “I don’t know since I don’t know who Gaston is.” “A big meanie. He’s a brute and only cares about glory and hunting. In the story he wants to skin you- the Beast, and take me away.” “Oh my. Nothing like your father. Well we can’t allow that, now can we? Come now, my dear Beauty. Pick out a book from your new library and let’s get back to the program, yes?” “Yes Ya-ah, Beast!” “That’s my girl.”

This program ends up being Garak & Mila’s bonding time program, edited to make the Beast and Beauty relationship one of a pseudo-father-daughter one instead of romantic. On occasion when Julian joins them, he takes the role of Maurice. Gaston bares a striking resemblance to Gul Dukat.

Julian got a picture of Garak and Mila in their outfits for this and it’s the background on his PADD for years. Garak is embarrassed by this. He gets back at the Doctor by having the picture of Julian in his outfit for the Hercules holonovel as his background. No, Julian is not Hercules.

[cyrelia-j]

[Drabble] Deuces (Garak/Bashir)

In honor of Ziyal I had to do this one to take a look at a parental relationship between the two of them so here goes:

AU (no Dominion) Garak and his surrogate daughter Ziyal find themselves on Deep Space Nine on a stopover to Bajor. They chance upon a gorgeous Federation doctor, but who does he have his eye on?

“Yad’ he’s coming over here.” Ziyal’s excitement is palpable as she looks at him over her sketchpad. Her mouth doesn’t move as she speaks the words through her smile. He’s so terribly proud of how far she’s come with her lessons; Tain himself couldn’t read her lips. Elim Garak, former Obsidian Order Agent had not imagined when he was given the choice of exile on Terok nor as a tailor of all things or nursemaid to his most hated enemy’s bastard daughter, that he would become so thoroughly enchanted by his young charge. His first year of guarding both her and her mother Tora Naprem was one of the most trying of his life and he’d often caught himself with a sewing needle full of murderous thoughts and what ifs. But when her mother had died, Garak was all that Ziyal had between Dukat’s infrequent trips. It pleases him to think that Ziyal regards him as much more a father than that arrogant slag sucker.

Garak hadn’t thought there would be much fun to be had on the trip from Cardassia Prime to Bajor where Dukat had finally deigned to allow her to study art. Garak had expected if anything to be stoned by primitive Bajoran natives upon their arrival but the detour to the current Federation occupied Deep Space Nine and former Terok Nor has at least provided a blessed stay on that execution. Vedek Bareil, a thankfully open minded man had gladly offered them a home while they settled in but it seemed they would have a temporary refuge on the station for the next month while that was finalized. Garak said a prayer to the Ancients that he’d have another month to keep his head. Ziyal had told him he was overreacting. They agreed to disagree on that point and Garak endeavored to at least keep his defensive skills prepared.

But nothing could have prepared Garak for the delectable specimen of a doctor who’d introduced himself during their brief arrival guidelines letting them know that he and his helpful group of nurses would see to all their needs should they require his services. Somehow Ziyal- damn observant girl!- had caught Garak’s less than discreet once over of said delectable doctor and teased him about it with their old hand signals during the course of the tour. Oh to be sure, Garak could imagine a pleasant fling that would have few strings attached, but he too was observant and he noticed that Ziyal’s eye lingered a bit longer than it had on the other men and women they’d met on their trip so far. Now Garak was just as protective as any murderous interrogator turned surrogate father but Ziyal was more than old enough to know her own mind and if say she happened to become smitten with a certain Federation doctor and that affection was returned in a manner which prolonged their stay well then as the Bajorans would says it was merely the will of the Prophets.

So when Ziyal makes that announcement Garak swears on the State that he will do everything in his power to be nothing but a doting father [far too old for a luscious young human doctor to ever give a second look to] and not even think about the taste of that lovely tanned skin. “Good morning,” Doctor Bashir says to both of them quite boisterously. Garak waits for Ziyal to look up first but she’s looking at him instead. Oh dear. “I hope I’m not intruding,” he continues, “But I like to introduce myself a little more personally to the new residents of the station- even temporary ones. I like to think it helps put people at ease.” He has a  lovely smile and he’s completely full of it but Garak isn’t completely sure to which of them the doctor’s attention is directed. Statistically speaking Ziyal would be the more likely but Garak’s been surprised far too many times on their adventures to take anything for granted.

“Well now this is an unexpected but pleasant surprise!” Garak exclaims supposing it won’t hurt anything to take the lead for a moment to try and get a little more information. “Doctor Bashir, is it?” Doctor Bashir nods at that and Garak continues indicating the empty seat between the two of them. “Please, have a seat. I can assure you you’re not interrupting anything. My name is Garak. and my daughter Ziyal and I were just enjoying a spot of breakfast and the atmosphere of the station. She’s a fantastically talented artist you know and they say that a true genius can find inspiration anywhere.” There now, that’s a perfectly nice endorsement without seeming like some country yob trying to foist his plain middle child off on a wandering merchant. “Your daughter?” Doctor Bashir says incredulously as he sits down looking between them both. “You’re having me on, you couldn’t possibly be old enough to be her father.” He turns a smile to Garak and as tempted as Garak his to happily throw himself across Doctor Bashir’s lap, he can’t quite tell if it’s plain parental flattery or actual flirting. My, perhaps he is getting old.

“You flatter me doctor, but while we Cardassians wear our age well, I’m certain that I’m old enough to be your father as well.” Ouch that one stings. Ah, the things one must do for family... “You’re always so quick to put yourself down, yad’.” Read the cues, read the cues, Garak silently begs. “Maybe that was his way of saying he finds me old.” Oh my dearest Ziyal, he’s a human, you can’t flirt with him like a Cardassian. Either he’s taught her too well or she’s spent far too much time on Cardassia Prime. True to Garak’s assessment, Doctor Bashir looks a bit taken aback and his charming and awkward attempt to correct what be must surely believe to be some sort of cultural faux pas would be amusing if it weren’t getting in the way of progress. “She’s just teasing you, doctor,” Garak assures him with a hand to his shoulder that nearly makes him jump and well he wasn’t intending any significance there but well, the more put off by Garak he is, the better for her. “Be nice, Yaya,” he says using the nickname Ziyal had given herself as a young child when she couldn’t quite say her own name properly. It’s their subtle signal that she needs to act more Bajoran. She catches on right away.

“Yes! I was just teasing you, Doctor Bashir.” Good, she looks like she more at ease now- she’s always preferred to catch regova with sweet berries as the saying goes. The two of them share a quick look to see who would be better making the proposal. They don’t need to say much, each of them weighing the pros and cons quickly. Guls, Garak hopes this human has an intellect worthy of her! Ziyal sits back just a bit, subtly adjusting her upbraided hair and Garak takes his cue. “You’ll find that we Cardassians, even those of us who are half Bajoran enjoy a little banter amongst friends. Really, there’s so much that we can learn from each other. Though if you absolutely feel that you must make it up to her, I’m sure that Ziyal would be happy to teach you more over dinner.” Garak makes that proposition, sitting back, letting Ziyal feign embarrassment at that. Really, he’d almost feel bad for Doctor Bashir as his eyes get wide and he realizes how nicely he’s been set up. Right, doctor. You wouldn’t want to be insulting to her father now would you? Garak imagines this isn’t the first time that Doctor Bashir has found himself in this scenario and he almost thinks given that he’d be better at extricating himself if that wasn’t what he truly-

“Actually,” Doctor Bashir says with a breath and a clearing of his throat. “While I’m ah flattered and I’m afraid that I em...” He doesn’t seem particularly smooth and Garak almost feels bad. Almost. “The truth is,” Doctor Bashir says with a strangely intense look at him and Garak catches a small smirk from Ziyal, “I was hoping that I might take you to dinner, Mister Garak.” Garak blinks at that honestly stunned, and he sees Ziyal’s enthusiasm on his behalf poorly hidden behind her hands. Well, they can continue working on that as well, he guesses- but as for the... incredibly sexy doctor who apparently has taken her glee as some sort of go ahead... “Oh it’s not Mister, just Garak,” he answers stupidly, actually at a loss for words. He feels her lightly kick him under the table and alright, so marrying off Ziyal to forestall his doom this time around isn’t going to pan out but well, if this is to be his consolation prize for a certain death on Bajor in a month he can certainly think of worse things. Garak does decide to play just a bit coy with him. “I really am old enough to be your father, Doctor Bashir,” he says as a token protest knowing that humans can be funny about things like that.

“You can call me Julian,” Julian answers with a brief look to Ziyal before continuing with his next words. He offers her a bit of an apologetic look that hardly concerns her and he looks to be gearing up to say something particularly scandalous as he leans in naughty, whispering in Garak’s ear. “You may be old enough to be my father, Garak. But I’d rather you be my “daddy”.” Which is a hell of a thing to risk the universal translator getting right, but Julian uses the exact right words necessary for them to filter properly. Which means this definitely isn’t his first time doing this. Garak’s eyes are rather wide with a wondrous glaze to them as Julian sits back looking rather proud of himself. Ziyal is shooting him a look like details are going to be in demand in the future and there is no way, grown woman or not he is ever breathing a word. “Dinner at Quark’s?” Julian asks looking far too smug. Garak opens his mouth, realizes that its somehow stopped working and says a silent prayer to the Bajoran Prophets when Ziyal picks up right where he needs her most. “I promise, Doctor Bashir. He’ll be there.”

(Part 2 is here)