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thornfield13713 · 7 years

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So, how did exileverse Garashir meet?

It was a few years before Garak’s canon exile to Terok Nor, due to a few circumstances changing, and led to Garak being exiled a full year later than he was in canon for reasons that should become clear early on.

The Palandine affair was over, really, before it had even begun. One conversation, one nearly-public embrace was too little to build anything on, and too much for Tain to ignore. He had known of Garak’s visits to the park, it seemed, from the beginning, and Garak had never expected that would be otherwise. A little sentiment towards Tolan’s memory, controlled and never allowed to exceed its proper place, could be permitted. Whatever it was Tain had made of his watching Palandine could not. All the same, the thought of her was a torment now. He found himself haunted by her – her blue-black hair, the sadness in her face the last time he’d seen her, the feeling of her in his arms on the day they had finally spoken again, for the first time in…what was it now, two decades? Nearly three, and now he had spoken to her again he could not be rid of her. She and her daughter would join Barkan Lokar on Bajor, and Garak…well, there would always be another mission. Romulus again, this time, to meet an old contact from his gardening days who was suspected of having ties to another Oralian dissident group. This whole rigmarole, though, sending him in to see Dukat, the Union’s finest example of just why the flesh should never be allowed to interfere with the workings of the state…the message was almost childishly easy to decipher, and that cut deep. Tain was disappointed in him, was as close as he had ever come to being honestly enraged that Garak had been so obvious as to get caught.He had spent most of the journey to Terok Nor prowling the two-man shuttle, trying to restrain himself from snapping at the other pilot whenever he tried to make conversation. If he had been sent elsewhere – to Bajor, perhaps, where they always needed new agents, or one of the more troublesome colonies, hotbeds of sedition that they were, rather than this make-work assignment on Romulus – he would not have objected. Or maybe it was the simple necessity of dealing with Skrain Dukat, the most intolerably self-satisfied opportunist ever to disgrace the name of the Union. Oh, Dukat was hardly alone in despising Garak, and he should be poor-spirited indeed to return the dislike of all of them, but even if Dukat had thought Garak the wonder of the Union, it would have made no difference to what he was.They were met, at Terok Nor, by the usual pair of heavily-armed security officers, and escorted through to the Prefect’s office. Skrain Dukat’s own private province, a lucrative commercial enterprise on the edge of the quadrant that attracted all types for all reasons. If there was not already a permanent operative on the station, Tain had gone mad. It was Dukat himself, then, for whom Garak’s presence was intended as a message. He allowed himself a slight smile at the thought. Small wonder Tain had chosen him – almost exquisite in its cruelty, that decision, to send Dukat his father’s killer and let him do nothing. That would burn as nothing else, a reminder for as long as Garak was on this station that the Obsidian Order were the ones who held the power on Cardassia, even in Dukat’s little fiefdom orbiting Bajor. A reminder, if Dukat needed one, of just how truly insignificant he, his grudge and Garak were in the greater workings of the State. It was a reminder that had not come a moment too early, to Garak’s mind, although if Procal Dukat’s death had not been enough to instil it, Garak doubted one visit from him would do. The station itself was grey and bleak, charmless and hopeless, and Garak couldn’t help but feel it a fitting reflection of its commander as they were escorted through the filthy Promenade, where Bajoran labourers and their Cardassian overseers played out the daily dramas of slave and master. How very predictable. Equally predictable was the site of the commander’s office, raised on a slight dais and overlooking the military installation that sat at the heart of the ore refinery and had done since Dukat took up his post at Terok Nor. One man, one cog in the machine elevated above all others, at a remove from his command…how very typical of the mode of thinking that had become fashionable in the political class since the Occupation began. Dukat did not look around when Garak entered the office, but that was to be expected. Rather less expected was the nervous young man – Bajoran? No, human – with the tricorder in his hand whose eyes had widened and whose voice had stuttered as Garak stepped inside.“I do see your point, doctor,” Dukat was saying, as the young man dragged his eyes away from Garak and back to his work. “But with the recent attacks, I cannot see that access to medical care has done much to quell Bajoran unrest.”“Not amongst the Resistance, maybe,” the human allowed, adjusting the tricorder as Dukat turned his head to offer access, “But…with all due respect, sir-” If he had been Cardassian, that would have been perfect second-tongue, radiating inferior-submissive-respectful-admiring, and mercies, even Dukat was not fool enough to believe that, was he? Garak could see the young man’s eyes from here, and there was nothing submissive, nothing respectful, certainly nothing admiring about the look in them now. “The Resistance is a lost hope. Whatever you do, your- your generosity will only be read as a sign of weakness by the rebels. But by allowing the rest of the population medical treatment, and placing no cap on the numbers beyond my time and my abilities, it might limit support from the wider population.”Dukat hummed. “Your sympathies with the Bajorans should not be allowed to affect your judgement, doctor. Besides, they have shown themselves ungrateful enough for what they have been offered.”“Because of the caps,” the doctor said quickly, and if there was a sudden, startling ripple of desperation through his body in imprecise second tongue, “It seems…arbitrary. To them. Most people outside Cardassia don’t know or care about resources or quotas, so long as they have what they need. Assigning them a single doctor, and then putting caps on how many can be treated, rather than what time can be spared…it’s too easily attributed to Cardassian malice, rather than simple expediency.”Surely, not even Dukat could have missed the subtle irony flavouring those last few words? Garak raised a brow-ridge, and was startled to see the doctor’s eyes flick to him, wide and suddenly fearful. Resistance? Or…no, if he were he would not be exposing himself this openly, even the Bajorans had more subtlety than that. And human. Dukat’s taste for off-world exotica was well-known in the right circles on Cardassia, of course, but so long as it remained safely confined behind closed doors, the Order and the Central Command both were content to ignore it. A mistake, to Garak’s mind, but then, he had not approved of Dukat’s appointment in the first place, and no-one had thought to ask him then, either. After the business with Legate Porania, though, Garak hardly felt himself enough in Tain’s favour to suggest discreetly removing the present Prefect of Bajor. Still…a human doctor on Terok Nor. Easily spun into Federation links, potential spies, an ugly scandal that could be enough to remove Dukat from the position of influence he scarcely deserved…“I suppose you are going to make yet another request to be allowed to treat the labourers here? I have told you before, Doctor, I can hardly lend out my own physician-”“Of course.” The doctor’s eyes flicked downwards, and even without second-tongue Garak knew ‘demure’ when it was being performed so clearly. “But-” Gritted teeth, a slight tightening of the fingers, and even if Dukat could not see it, Garak was not nearly so blind. “With the recent…unrest…over injuries in the ore refinery, it might work as a temporary measure? At least until Odo has found the people responsible for this sabotage.”A long, thoughtful pause. “I’ll take it under advisement, doctor,” Dukat said at last, “That will be all.”The doctor paused for a moment, then swallowed and nodded and stepped away, leaving Dukat free to turn to face the courier he so clearly expected to be young, naïve, over-awed by the Gul’s little dominion on this miserable station on the very edge of the Union. It was quite satisfying to see the smile slide off Dukat’s face at the sight of Garak, to see his second-tongue flicker before being forced into the expected forms of superior-condescending-expectant.“I’m surprised they sent you,” Dukat said, as the young doctor made his excuses. “Does Enabran Tain have no other uses for you, then?”Garak raised a brow-ridge. “You ought not to use that name too lightly. One never knows who might take you at your word.”“Oh, I’m quite sure the Order will have no cause to object to my running of this station. Search all you like,” Dukat’s smile widened slightly, “I’m simply astonished they sent you. For such a…minor piece of work.”“Oh, I just happened to be passing through,” Garak said lightly, “And it hardly seemed worth the trouble of sending another…courier…for something so insignificant.”It was almost pathetic, really, how satisfying it was to see Dukat’s hackles rise at the implication. He had spent too long off active duty, living alone with his books and his orchids and just the occasional sight of Palandine to brighten his days. There was the usual volley of toothless barbs, and probably Dukat would quite like to arrange an unfortunate accident for Garak before he left the station, but really, if he couldn’t evade the painfully obvious machinations of a petty martinet like Dukat, Garak would deserve death.In his assigned quarters, later, and mostly for amusement’s sake, he hacked into the station’s computer network to pick over what he could, and was disappointed to find that the Union was already well-aware of the presence of Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir, Federation exile with a list of charges to his name that could impress even Garak. Resisting arrest, sabotage, a few different varieties of forgery and fraud, murder, suspicions of espionage, treason. Garak stopped at that one. Well. A man who will betray his own state is not a man who can ever be trusted again. So says Garak’s earliest education, so says Tain. Still…Dukat’s personal physician. Not a post that had existed before Doctor Bashir was brought to the station, and Dukat’s health had never seemed a particular worry of his before. No sign of any particular improvement in salary from the station doctors – indeed, Bashir’s pay matched that of the juniors lek for lek – but no official record of what those private health concerns might be. For a moment, Garak toyed with the supposition that ‘personal physician’ was just a coy euphemism, but discarded it quickly. Comfort women and prostitutes were excellent sources of information, and almost all of them were better liars than Bashir.There was little else of interest – he’d been hoping for at least a few financial misdeeds, but evidently Dukat’s vices lay elsewhere – and soon enough Garak shut down the search, and stretched, and considered where he might go for a decent meal in this floating barrack. Dukat was known to be fond of strolling the station Promenade, and there had already been more than a few attempted assassinations on such occasions. Seeing Garak there would unsettle him, and that was, after all, what Garak had been sent here to do. Besides, he’d been given what seemed to be the smallest single room on the station, and already it was starting to feel a little confining for his tastes.If anyone had asked – when Bashir did ask, later – Garak would say it was a matter of coincidence, that he encountered the young doctor on the Promenade that night. In fact, it was nearer morning by the time Garak stepped out, the gated section of the Promenade where the Bajoran workers not fortunate enough to have been granted housing slept. And Dukat wondered why he faced resistance. Give a people food and distraction and they would not care what else you took from them, and the Bajorans had neither. Already, the Resistance was growing bolder, Dukat’s failures more obvious, the faction within the Central Command that supported withdrawal gaining in support and confidence with every fresh dispatch from the front. For the time being, Tain wished the Occupation to continue, and so it could not be allowed to go too far, but the first rumblings were already being heard. He loitered a while on the upper level, looking down, trying to gauge the mood of the place, before he spotted the young doctor and, on a seeming whim, decided to speak to him. Later, he would call it a whim to Julian, to himself a calculated attempt to find information, to anyone else who asked…well, it hardly mattered, as no-one did.“It’s Doctor Bashir, isn’t it? Of course it is. May I join you?”The doctor looked up, startled, and Garak took the opportunity to scrutinise him more carefully. Unruly hair, a little overlong, pulled back from his face, wide dark eyes, fine features. Not unappealing, if one liked the type, and it so happened that Garak did.“What- Oh. Oh, yes, of course. Um…sir.”Garak smiled faintly as he fell into step at the doctor’s side. “No need for that, Doctor. Allow me to introduce myself – my name is Garak. We’ve met already, of course, but the Gul does seem to see all attention not given to himself as rather an insult.”The corner of Bashir’s mouth twitched at that, though his eyes remained wide and slightly nervous as they flickered up to where Gul Dukat was standing on the next level up, watching them. Garak turned to look too, and smiled at the Gul, whose lips curled back into something like a snarl.“Might I be allowed to buy you a drink?” he asked, turning back to Bashir with his most harmless, charming smile.Bashir shook his head. “I don’t,” he said simply.“Dinner, then? I’ve found eating alone to be quite a…lonely…experience.” He caught Bashir’s eye on the second-to-last word, second-tongue spinning out into equal-mild-harmless, and saw the doctor’s stance relax slightly.“I suppose you’ll devise any number of reasons to seek me out, instead of…well, any number of other people aboard this station?”Garak’s smile widened. “Do you intend to force me to?”Bashir pretended to consider it. “No,” he said at last. “Not this time.”They ended up in an establishment called Quark’s, sitting at a quiet corner table, pointedly not drinking, and the owner had looked positively flabbergasted to see Bashir there at all. Bashir was looking carefully at the table, avoiding Garak’s eyes, and carefully not looking at the other patrons – mostly the local garrison. Bashir and the Ferengi behind the bar were the only two non-Cardassians in the room. This didn’t stop the Ferengi from bustling up to their table, grinning widely.“Doctor Bashir! Good to see you back again – look, uh, you know I can’t-”“I know, Quark,” Bashir said flatly. “We’re just here for dinner.”The Ferengi nodded, and visibly relaxed at that. “Ok, good to hear – getting kicked off the station ‘d be pretty bad for business. ‘Specially out an airlock, if the Gul really did mean that part.”“I wouldn’t take the chance,” Bashir said, with a wry, twisted smile, and looked at Garak, “I’m sorry, am I keeping you?”“Not at all, doctor.” Garak smiled, and glanced at the Ferengi, who got the hint at once and asked for their orders before disappearing off without a backwards glance. Well. He had thought, before this next meeting, that this would be a simple enough case of plying the doctor with alcohol and letting that work his secrets out of him. Not the best form of interrogation, or the most skilled, but quick and serviceable and possible in the limited time they had. Evidently that would not be possible, and he smiled at the doctor, half-genuinely, because alcohol was almost as unsatisfactory a means of extracting information as simple physical pain.“So,” Bashir said, with a smile that only looked slightly forced, “What brings you to Terok Nor?”“Oh,” Garak made a careless gesture. “Orders. The courier service waits for no man.”Bashir’s eyebrows lifted. “You don’t look much like a courier.”“How is it you expect a courier to look?”“Uniformed?” Bashir suggested dryly, his eyes flicking over Garak’s beautifully-cut dark suit.Garak paused for a moment. Of course, the whole station knew what he was. He was here as Tain’s voice, a sign of his power, a reminder that the Order was there, and that Dukat should be cautious. “I’m off-duty.”“You weren’t earlier.” Bashir smiled at him, nearly a smirk. “You haven’t asked.”Garak raised his eye-ridges. “Is your life that fascinating?”“Most people do.” Bashir’s eyes flicked downwards, “I don’t mind it.”Discounting the obvious lie…well. Confessing treason, even against one of Cardassia’s enemies, was hardly something that went down easily with most citizens of the Union. Garak himself could conceal and contain his reaction, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it, the instinctive revulsion at the enormity of such a betrayal. Still, traitors were something Garak had to deal with often enough in his work – indeed, assignments like this one to Romulus would hardly exist without them.“I think,” Garak said meditatively, “I’d rather figure you out myself, doctor.”Outworlder he might be, but Bashir had lived more than a year now among Cardassians. He tipped his head to one side. “Me? Oh…I’m an open book.”“Quite so.” Garak let his smile widen, and laid his hand on Bashir’s wrist, his eyes lingering a moment at the doctor’s throat, where the collar of a uniform cut for Cardassian ridges had, finding none, slipped down to reveal a tempting hint of brown collarbone. “And…if I may be allowed to read it, doctor…you did permit me to join you. You might, if you so chose, have sent me packing at no detriment to yourself.”“And left you to eat dinner alone? How very rude of me.”Their drinks arrived, and Garak took advantage of the chaos to test a few more of his assumptions. The espionage charge was, clearly, nonsense – Bashir could hardly hide his dismay at the sight of Garak’s kanar. Was the doctor a less recovered addict than he wished to appear, perhaps? In any case, his hands were steady but his eyes still sharp, and his second-tongue signs were too stiff and too clear and too clearly practiced for that despite how smooth they had been earlier. Garak’s tongue flicked out, tasting the air and drawing it over his s’oc in anticipation of the puzzle to be unravelled.“How are you finding Cardassia, so far?” he asked, more to watch Bashir’s reactions than because he was really interested in the answer.Bashir shrugged, “I’ve never seen it, and if this-” he glanced theatrically around the bar, “-is representative than I can’t see how the Cardassian species has survived this long.”Garak clicked his tongue. “Oh, hardly. This is Cardassia, just as all the colonies are Cardassia – but it’s hardly the best Cardassia has to offer. Would you judge all the Federation based only on Starfleet?”“I might have, once.” Bashir said neutrally, toying with the handle of his cup. “But you admit, there isn’t much chance to see more of the Union with my duties keeping me here.”Garak was quite certain, now, that Bashir had no more desire to see more of the Union than he had to return to the Federation. There had been something in those words that was just a touch too sly, too close to the tone he had used in dealing with Dukat.“Yes, your duties…quite peculiar, really, that the Gul suddenly felt the need of a private physician. Usually, one has to make Legate at least before such eccentricities are tolerated.”A flash of something in the eyes – fear? And then Bashir’s face smoothed out. “I’d have thought being unquestioned dictator of a whole planet would be close enough.”“Hardly unquestioned, doctor. Gul Dukat reports to the Central Command, as must we all. Besides,” Garak added, since this line of enquiry seemed unlikely to bear fruit, “There are other ways of seeing more of the Union than simply visiting them.”“Am I supposed to take your word for that?” Bashir asked, all dry irony once again. “I’d hardly think a courier officer had need of other means.”Garak shrugged, “Need…perhaps not. But then, one gets far more of a sense of a place from literature than is sometimes possible upon visiting – especially visiting for purely professional purposes.”“Yes.” Bashir glanced down, “I’ve been meaning to make a start on Cardassian literature, but between my duties and not knowing where to start I haven’t had much opportunity to read since I came here.”“You prefer your old favourites from the Federation, I suppose?” Garak asked, raising his brow-ridges.Bashir laughed. It was not an altogether pleasant sound. “If I had any with me, I’m quite sure I would. As it is, I came to Bajor with nothing but the clothes on my back, and finding human literature in Cardassian space would cost me more than I can spare – especially at Quark’s prices.”Garak cocked his head questioningly to one side, but Bashir did not elaborate. “Well, then,” he said, “I hope you intended to ask for recommendations, doctor, for now you’ve told me of this appalling oversight, I can hardly leave without offering a few suggestions.”“I’m all ears.”The doctor, it turned out, liked what seemed to be the human form of enigma tales, although strangely they seemed only ever to have one guilty party, which seemed quite counter-intuitive to Garak. Bashir also had strong opinions on plays and poetry which, even if they did not align at all with Garak’s own, were still well-considered if not always brilliantly argued. It seemed to have been a long time, too, since Bashir had really talked to anyone. Oh, he had let slip hints here and there of a friendship with the shape-shifter Dukat had chosen to appoint as head of security, but most of those hints seemed to suggest that this ‘Odo’ was not by any means a talkative person, and that Bashir certainly was. Quite unfortunate, really, that Garak was certain now that there was something there, something hidden. The doctor had deflected every one of Garak’s sly, probing questions, with such apparent innocence that even Garak could not be sure, the first time, if it was deliberate. Once was happenstance, twice…Palandine would say twice was coincidence, but Garak had never trusted the idea. And the third through fifth times had no excuse. To borrow a phrase from the one human novel Garak had ever read, and manifestly failed to understand, curiouser and curiouser.Bashir excused himself once dinner was paid for, claiming he’d taken the sunlight shift for the morning and really ought to get back to sickbay. Garak’s next shuttle would be leaving mid-morning, giving him a little more time in which to probe Dukat’s arrangements here, testing for cracks. Still, he found himself reluctant to end their conversation – how long had it been since Garak himself had sat and talked with someone for so long at a stretch? Pythas had never been much for conversation, Palandine and he…well, that was long past now, and would not be rekindled. He should remedy that, when he had the time. Find someone quite insignificant who would never know who Garak was or why they had started talking, and chatter on about something completely inconsequential, no doubt driving any observer mad trying to figure out a code that was not there. Well, it was something to consider.The business on Romulus was, as Garak might have predicted, pure make-work. Tain would never have wasted Garak on such a task if he had not been seriously displeased. At least it was over quickly, the greatest part of the difficulty being the length of a journey to Romulus. Really, it was nearly a working holiday, a description which would not have been at all to Tain’s taste, and appealed to Garak only out of spite. The most remarkable part of the whole enterprise comes when, while idling and waiting for a contact in a disreputable part of what Garak cannot quite help but think of as the Romulan version of a caravanserai district, he spotted a rather shabby shopfront and decided, on a whim, that it would be as good a place as any in which to wait. And, if the shop-owner had not coughed and suggested in an undertone that less state-favoured texts were to be found in the back room, that story might have held water.He had not been thinking of Julian Bashir when his eyes fell on the data-rod which the old woman who ran the shop had informed him, in a discreet undertone, contained the complete collected works of a classic Terran author from the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. All the same…hmm. Bashir had been hiding something, and hiding it well, but then, it had only been a first meeting. And he had mentioned missing human literature. A gift, then, to soften him up a little, convince him to trust, maybe introduce the discreet suggestion of repayment…yes, that would do very nicely.“You’ll take it, then?”Garak turned his most appealing smile at the old woman, “Yes,” he said. “I think I will.”

#exiles together au #garashir #elim garak #Julian bashir

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1960z · 7 months

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tbh whenever I think too deeply about the kind of love triangle kind of throuple thing garak palendine and lokar had going on I feel a little bit insane

#what they had going on. fucked up and fascinating truly #the way garak’s feelings for lokar and palendine were very similar but after lokar betrayed him he started conceptualising his feelings for #palendine as love and for lokar as hate but after he killed lokar he realised it was still the same feeling he also loved him #shut up abe #elim garak #barkan lokar #palendine #a stitch in time #beta canon #star trek

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garakcore · 3 years

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Genuine question: how do you pronounce the last names of Pythas Lok and Barkan Lokar? Do you pronounce the first syllable the same? Differently? help

#i have this need where i need to know how to pronounce fictional characters' names :)#a stitch in time #star trek

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ladyylavenderrr · 2 months

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This has always been a big source of mystery for me when reading A Stitch In Time and there’s tons of contradictory information. In some parts, Garak describes himself as a grown man, in other parts he’s described as a kid. Some students in his group have not gone through the brunt of puberty yet (developing their ridges) which implies a younger age, and Garak is old enough to have developed a semblance of sexual interest, but he also does come off as naive regarding that topic in some ways (that comment about not understanding what his teacher meant by female students being a distraction didn’t read as a joke to me, though maybe you interpreted it differently) I’m just curious what age range everyone was envisioning when reading this book.

Reblog for a bigger sample size and maybe tell me why you picked your answer in the notes or replies. Thank you :-)

#star trek #ds9 #deep space nine #elim garak #tumblr polls #a stitch in time #deep space 9 #asit #andrew robinson #I always was imaging him being about 14 #young enough to still be a bit underdeveloped #but old enough to still be going through those feelings for Palandine and Barkan so intensely #not to mention Pythas Lok lol #palandine #Barkan Lokar #pythas lok #eight lubak

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bijoumikhawal · 5 months

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Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Four

Fic as of this chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence, disassociation

Kardasi: Peikirvi - would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

---

It wasn't a baby. In terminating it, you were admitting that- it wasn't a baby. It never breathed, thought, or spoke.

Garak wished there was something physical that made sense. He knows if he asked, they'd show him some vial, or petri dish, with an unidentifiable clump, and that didn't feel right. It didn't feel like something worth funding over. In terminating it, you were admitting that it wasn't.

It wasn't a baby, so of course it didn't look like one, and it wasn't worth fussing over. Not once it was gone, anyway.

“Everything checks out.” Dr. Ammshah said. “I also talked over a few options for your care going forward with Dr. Bashir. First, I know you said you wished to keep all your organs, but we still can do a tubal detachment-"

“No.”

“I thought you might say that.” Dr. Ammshah looked away- purposely a display of deference. “In that case, there are implants available which don’t need to be replaced more than once every kashmim. It’s a lot longer lasting than the shots preferred in the Federation, and if you ever want to have children, it’s not too difficult to remove. I know you’ve had issues with an implant before, so let me reassure you: this implant has no electrical components. The worst it can do is move somewhere it shouldn’t.” She's rolled her sleeves up- most likely a nervous habit. It reveals inked scars on her forearms.

Garak thought for a moment. “Doctor Bashir.” The observation of her arms is distant and evokes no feeling in him. He knew from the moment Julian said her name why she had been eager to help him in particular.

His head turned to Garak quickly- he hadn't stopped paying attention, but hadn't expected to be called upon. “Yes?”

“If I were to do shots, would I be allowed to keep the doses on hand and self administer them, or would I have to come to the infirmary every time?” His own arms are unmarked. It was too dangerous, given who would see his bare skin, for Tolan to give into that form of sentiment- to permanently have Garak carry evidence with him.

“Normally I give patients a few doses and they self administer. I see no reason why you'd be different.” It was not said with anything but pure neutrality.

“I wanted to be sure. I'd rather use the shots, in that case.” His name would have become fetid in her mouth if she knew of Garak outside the boundaries of this room and those marks.

“Would you like me to go ahead and give you the first dose?”

Garak nodded. No more incidents like this. At last.

The first time he sees Kel, the stripes of her childhood have faded, and he assumes she is Barkan’s. So did everyone else. As her age of emergence approached, its clear to everyone they'd assumed wrong. One time at Bamarren, in the garden, and Barkan a week late coming back for Palandine's cycle-

It must've been embarrassing, when Barkan realized. Most peikirvi fucked the wife too, at least once. Historically, it was thought all they did was transfer the husband's seed, with a little of themselves- ultimately, they were not recorded as the father in that case. They knew better now.

Barkan never allows the two of them in the same bed without him as a physical barrier. They went back to Prime a few times- Garak has his own room in the historic Lokar home after the ceremony.

Dr. Bashir put the hypospray down next to his hand. “I'll go ahead and have the pharmacy retrieve a few more doses for you so they're ready when you leave.”

Garak’s hand curled around the handle. “Thank you, doctor.”

The round circle of metal (always cold) went a half inch past the end of his neck ridges, under the chin, like always.

He never sleeps well there. He kept remembering- one time he'd been helping prepare guest rooms, and fell asleep on top of an heirloom silk quilt. Mila never locked him in a closet, but she'd roll out a mat of rough sticks and make him kneel on it in front of the estate cenotaphs for hours.

He'd lived decently on his own as an Order agent, but never that decently.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Ammshah asked.

“No.” He'd already dismissed the one from earlier. Except- “If this happens again, will Dr. Bashir need to call on you?”

She turned to him. Like with now, and the examination, she'd had Dr. Bashir take careful watch. “I think that may be something at his discretion. Normally, I would have someone observe quite a few procedures before trying to undertake one. But usually I'm dealing with residencies, not a full fledged doctor. Most likely, I'd still end up supervising over video at least.”

Dr. Bashir inclined his head. “I do think I’d be able to handle it, but yes, I would most likely call you just in case.”

The Lokars have silk quilts too- they'd been very fashionable, six to eight generations ago. Barkan has him on top of one once. The whole time Garak is thinking about the launderer, a quiet young thing, and wondering how the hell he was going to clean it.

The Garak cenotaph on Tain’s estate was blank in his childhood (Tolan is on it now), but the message was clear- you will die here.

Garak nodded and leaned back. “I don't plan on this happening again.”

It was better if it wasn't a baby. If it was, where would he bury it? Where you buried your dead was your home. What name would be put on the cenotaph he did not have, on a station with no soil deeper than his knee?

---

Jabara sat next to him, jarring him out of his thoughts. “You're three hours into overtime today.”

Julian wished he could say he hadn't noticed, but he had. Perfect internal clock and everything.

Dr. Ammshah would be leaving in a few days. A check up after a day, a few days of buffer in case of a last minute emergency, then she'd be on her way back to Vulcan. Which left him with one less pair of hands soon.

“I'm just trying to make sure everything goes smoothly.” Julian rubbed a hand over his face. “How's setting up the storage bay going?”

“It's going fine. It hasn't really been used since the last time we needed it, so it didn't need to be cleared out.”

He had been to send his earliest cases home with a minder. That freed up eight beds, with more flagged as being viable to go home under the same conditions. However, he still had more patients coming in- both newly ill and those who'd tried to tough out what they'd assumed was a bad dining choice at first. The surgical suite had a few beds in it now.

Calculations in his head guessed that at least they'd seen a slowdown starting the day Dr. Ammshah left. “That's good. Are any beds ready yet?”

“A few. Yaatare wants to move the first patient over in the next hour or so.”

“I'll want to look things over first.”

“I know. And I was hoping I'd have to comm you to tell you instead of finding you still here.” Jabara stared scalpels in the side of his head.

“Everyone's doing overtime right now.”

“When was your last day off?”

Julian sighed. “Jabara-”

“You're comfortable telling off the rest of the medical staff and any Starfleet officer you see for poor work habits like too much overtime, but you set a poor example.” Jabara leaned back. “You asked me to be blunt with you from the beginning sir, so- it gives the impression that you're a hypocrite, or that you don't trust your staff.”

Julian flinched. It wasn't the first time Jabara told him that- the fact that she fully took him up fully on the request to be blunt was why he preferred working with her. “You want me to check on the storage bay and go back to my quarters.”

“At least. I also frankly don't want to hear you came back here any sooner than eight hours from now. Ten would be better.”

Julian put his hands up. “Alright. I'll go.”

---

Quark’s was perhaps not the best place to unwind if your stress came from how busy you were. Normally the sights- bright lights, Dabo attendants covered in glitter and rhinestones, flashes of brilliant color everywhere- sounds- shrieks of delight and anger, the wheels turning, glass clinking, conversations- smells- all kinds of food, astringent alcohol, a bit of sweat, cleaner (Quark never allowed vomit to sit the way he never let a paying customer's glass sit empty)- made it exciting.

Right now, Julian was just regretting his choices, holed up in a corner alone. Quark had taken one look at him and mixed something without even asking what he was in the mood for- it was vaguely reminiscent of a hot toddy. Julian found he didn't mind it.

He wiped the red foam from the corner of his mouth and sighed.

“I don't usually see you here by yourself.”

Julian managed a smile as Jadzia slid into the seat across from him. “Well I'm not by myself now, am I?”

“Mm. Is this how it usually works for you?”

“How what works?”

“Dates. You sit alone, looking sad and pretty, and someone eventually walks over.”

“Ah, so I'm pretty.” Julian said, sipping his drink. “And no, usually I'm here for fun and enjoying myself.”

Jadzia peered at his mug. “Oh, Quark gave you a Sweet Howler.” She grimaced a bit. “I heard kunowaat was going around. I didn't realize it was this bad.”

How badly was this going to hit him in the morning? Julian sighed. “It's not the worst thing to deal with. A steady, high, clean water intake, and a constant drip of diozaine, and basically anyone who catches it will live. It's just resource intensive and… annoying."

“I can imagine. I'm glad I'm vaccinated.”

“We've been working on that.” Julian muttered. “I told other Starfleet Medical doctors on Bajor to make it a top priority, but the problem with Bajorans and vaccines…”

“We still haven't built up everyone's trust after the Occupation.”

“No. Especially not in rural areas, like where it started this time.” Julian looked up at her. “Enough about work. How have you been? Any interesting holosuite programs you've discovered?”

Are you alright after the Joining Council almost let you die to save themselves some face?

“I've been okay. And no, no new interesting programs have made their way into my clutches.”

I've been okay, often meant something very different, Julian found.

“And which ones does the major like?” Julian asked.

“I don't think she has a preference yet.”

“Really?”

Jadzia shrugged. “She likes a little of everything, and nothing in its entirety out of what I've introduced her to. We've been trying out more programs recently…” she cocked her head. “Some people are just a bit picky. That makes it all the more special when you do find what they like.”

Interesting.

“How has Bareil been?”

Jadzia gave him a puzzled look. “Why would I know?”

Julian tapped his fingers on the side of his mug. “You just mentioned you've been with the major a lot lately. I thought she might’ve mentioned something.”

Jadzia doesn't quite buy it, still giving him an odd look. “She hasn't, really. Since when are you interested in what vedeks are doing, Julian?”

“Well, he's not just any vedek. If I'm to live right next to Bajor I ought to know what's going on with… politics.”

Jadzia squinted at him. “Do you know something I don't?”

“About Bareil? No.”

“Hm.” Jadzia leaned back.

“Are you going to report me to Odo?” Julian said lightly.

Jadzia softened a bit, not that she was especially hardened in the first place. “For all I know, he put you up to asking me.” She looked around, then peeked under the table. “Doesn't look like he's nearby, though.”

“You can't tell.”

“Well, not anymore.” Jadzia admitted. “It used to be something was a little off about whatever form he took. He's gotten better recently. A spare jacket in one of the labs turned out to be him and made me jump half a Quark into the air a few days ago.”

Julian snickered. “Half a Quark… I'll have to remember that one.”

---

Garak sat on the floor.

His holding cell was now an apartment. A ransacked apartment- Garak had accidentally slept in his shop last night, and Dukat hadn’t hesitated to seize the opportunity to target him in his tantrum- but just. An apartment.

He wondered if he'd be pushing his luck to request different quarters now.

He looked around, taking stock, and halted on an ajar wall panel. He yanked at it, heart pounding, and the metal bent- the red box was still there. Garak cradled it in his lap for a moment.

The recitation mask stared up at him. And kept staring.

Garak picked it up and threw it at the wall.

It only bounced off. The mask was lightweight, but the stone was strong and resilient.

Garak let out an angry sigh- bordering on a growl, really- as he got up off the floor. He picked up a chair leg that had broken off.

The mask gave him no more satisfaction than a clunk.

Garak tried, all night- throwing it, stomping on it, putting it under a table leg and then pushing down with all he had- the mask did not break.

#ds9 #garashir #Ds9 fic #Fic: bite the hand that starves you #garashir fic #Cipher talk

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bijoumikhawal · 4 months

Text

Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Five

Kardasi: peikirvi- would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

Cheoche and cheyeda: could be translated as something like "patron" and "vassal". "Che" in Kardasi refers to charity, which is viewed as a duty to society rather than a choice made of good will. More specifically, a cheoche is a wealthy family/clan who takes on the affairs of a poorer or weaker one (the cheyeda), legally binding the two together for several generations. This can be typified in three ways: the cheyeda being a family who was once great and has become destitute, the family of a beloved artist, or a family of the "service class". For the latter, having a cheoche often provides a stable income, food, housing, and better schooling and training. Some cheyeda even have inheritance rights from their cheoche. However, while the relationship is glorified as going above and beyond ones duty, it is a system rife with abuse. The Tain and Garak families are bound this way.

Kisam- a matchmaker

kashmim- Cardassian time unit roughly equal to nine years

---

“I’ll be just a moment.” Garak said, sensing someone enter the shop and hearing the small noise maker he’d attached to the door be set off by the sliding motion of the door.

He finished the slight adjustment of the clothing in front of him, and turned around. “What can I-“

The words died In his throat when he saw just who had walked into his shop. Suddenly he was both full of white hot anger, and felt like a young, easily manipulated schoolboy again. “What are you doing here, Lokar.” He leaned into the anger. There was no time to question why he was alive, or how. The fact that his punishment had initially been execution still was within reason, given this… sight.

“Lokar? Oh, Elim, we were much closer than that, weren’t we?” Barkan leered at him, his voice, once simply gruff, now like sandpaper over the ears. A lesser man wouldn’t have noticed the hatred burning under his gaze. He looked around. “Charming little shop. I expected you to be up your elbows in soil or circuitry the next time I saw you.”

Garak moved so that the display table in the middle of the room was solidly between the two of them, and his way into his backroom was clear.

Not for the first time, he wished there was more than one entrance and exit to his shop. It had after all, been purposely designed so any proprietor within could be easily cornered by the Cardassian soldiers sent to fetch him. Almost all the shops had similar design features. He simply was unfortunate enough to be more intimately acquainted with them than the other merchants. The only other that had been there in those days was Quark, and his establishment had the privilege of at least one exit on every level.

“There isn’t much soil here I’m afraid, and I doubt Starfleet would allow a random civilian to get his hands in their circuitry.” He quashed the temptation to ask after Paladine and Kel. Barkan would only lie, and mock him all the while.

Barkan tilted his head. “A shame. You looked so at home when you were tending orchids on Romulus.”

Something about that made Garak snap. “You’re begging for an assassination, coming here.” Garak snarled. “The Bajorans did not forget who started ore processing here.”

Barkan sighed. “Such a shift in conversation, and here I was being civil.” He started to stalk in front of the table, not leaving Garak with a clear shot out the door. “And frankly, I’m surprised you’d say such a thing. After all, there are Bajorans that certainly remember you, yet look at you- sitting so nicely in your shop.”

Oh yes, they remembered him- that first morning, after the withdrawal, they certainly remembered him. In his low moments, he used to wish Odo hadn't interfered.

“You're being horribly cold to me, you know.” Barkan chided him. “A good Cardassian would be hospitable, even to a stranger.”

“I could hardly afford the hospitality you're used to.”

Loudly, someone cleared their throat. Garak saw Odo filling the doorway now, and had rarely felt such relief in his life. “Garak, is there a problem here?” He eyed Barkan suspiciously.

“No, constable.” He said in a tone that doubtlessly would only convince Odo that there was, in fact, a problem. “Lokar here was simply lost. He was looking for Del Floria’s, I believe.”

Barkan clearly recognized Odo, eyes flicking down to his Bajoran uniform with distaste. “It's nice seeing you again, Odo.”

Odo crossed his arms. “Del Floria’s is on the other side of the Promenade.”

Barkan smiled. “Thank you. Always helpful, aren't you?” He began walking out. “I’ll be on the station for the next few days, Elim.” He clapped Odo on the chest. “I have a great deal of catching up to do with Dukat, now that I’m returning to public life.”

Odo rubbed his chest, staring after him.

---

One could say Barkan Lokar possessed certain characteristics. Among them, unfortunately, was persistence. Going about his day, Barkan kept appearing just on the edge of his vision. Often, Odo was there as well.

Garak acted as though he hadn't noticed either of them. Things were stabilizing, now. He was able to (mostly) focus on work again. The outbreak of kunowaat- which he'd noticed, but hadn't been able to concern himself with- had no new patients, according to the station rumor mill. A Ferengi festival was upcoming.

It had been three days since Dr. Ammshah left.

Garak had a special delivery to pick up. He'd placed it before this whole mess, knowing it would take awhile back then. He'd almost forgotten it until today- when he got a message from the vendor saying it'd be dropped in corridor J, not too far from where it connected to the promenade. Little foot traffic to worry about, but still accessible.

Unfortunately, that made it an excellent tome for Barkan to be direct in his efforts once more. The seeming lack of presence as he entered the hall gave no comfort. Garak often regretted teaching Barkan what he'd learned from the regnar.

He could delay- his delivery wasn't out in the open- but it wasn't just that.

He had no desire to wait for Barkan to act.

He sensed the shift as the lights changed- they were kept dim here, due to the lack of traffic. It saved a bit of power. He kept walking.

With more time to plan, he could have put himself at great advantage. But then… he'd have to explain himself, after. And no matter what, that would go very poorly for him.

Barkan formally announced himself with a hand on Garak’s wrist.

Garak turned, twisting his way out of the grab. “Rather forward, aren't you?”

“Did you hit your head, Elim? I'm rather curious about where this amnesia of yours has come from.”

“I had hoped for your death. I think you'll find a better answer in that than playing doctor.” Garak said. And yes, he had. He’d felt foul and yet he knew that best outcome would be this man’s blood on his hands.

“You did a lot more than hope.” Barkan stepped forward. Perhaps he was goading Garak to run further down the corridor, away from the promenade.

“And was about as effective, it seems.” Garak didn't give in, standing firm.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that.” Barkan lunged forward him. Garak ducked, punching him in the ribs. Barkan wheezed out a laugh, catching himself. “I've learned my lesson about underestimating you.”

Garak waited. Watched. It was almost like the pit- his energy crashed against Barkan's, even as he stayed against the wall, catching his breath from the blow. Then- his foot came out, catching Garak’s weaker leg, and sending him back against the opposite wall.

Barkan turned, lunging again. He seemed more intent on grappling Garak than striking him. Garak dodged him again, this time not bothering to try and hit him.

That changed things. Garak had expected a fight- a most likely deadly one, yes, but something he could get it over with. Barkan was a hitter when angry, and not especially good with self control in private. He normally had no plan, simply seeking a way to satisfy his anger. Going with a grapple meant he had one.

He had to get out of here.

Barkan had kept him with his back facing more corridor- to get to the promenade, Garak had to get past him.

They both stayed locked in stance. Seeing what move the other would make- had Barkan figured out Garak had switched expectations?

Garak moved first, aiming to hit Barkan on his left arm and get past him.

The blow landed, but Barkan pivoted, turning and slamming them both against the wall.

Barkan’s hand moved to his chest, as though to press his comms for the Cardassian ship docked, when an alarmed voice called out.

“Garak!” Julian was quickly making his way towards the two of them.

Barkan startled at the interruption, and Garak took the opportunity to send him down to the floor by elbowing him in the face. He moved quickly, grabbing the doctor by the arm and steering the both of them to the more populated parts of the station.

“Garak, what was that about? Do you want me to call security? God, you’re bleeding!”

Garak touched his neck. It seemed at some point, Barkan had managed to scratch the unprotected skin in the center. “Doctor, in the future I would advise against you walking around near derelict parts of the station by yourself.” He stole a glance behind them, turning his torso. No sign of Barkan. Unfortunately, he knew Garak’s favorite trick, so that couldn’t be assured.

“Me?! Garak, I came looking for you. It was halfway through our usual lunch appointment, you hadn’t shown up, you weren’t in your shop, you hadn’t messaged me to say you had to miss it this week-“ Julian took a breath. “And I either found you being attacked, or…”

“The first option, I assure you.” It wasn't really soothing, Garak could tell, but it gave Julian more time to breathe instead of talking.

“My question stands about security, then.”

By now there were at least a dozen other people milling about, and Garak allowed himself to relax into his usual state of awareness. “No, I do not want to report this to security.” Dimly, he realized that Barkan had seen Julian with him. If Dukat hadn’t told him about the incident with Rugal, then surely now he would be on Barkan’s radar. “I might perhaps discuss it with constable Odo, off the record.”

Julian stopped him. “I doubt you’ll go to the infirmary with me to get your neck seen to.”

“You would be correct.”

Julian sighed. “Will you wait outside while I grab some equipment and let me do it in your shop, then?”

Garak considered it. “Yes, doctor.”

---

Sisko was going over his weekly communique from Starfleet went Odo came in early. He set aside the padd. "Constable. I've been eager for our daily meeting."

"Did something happen?" Odo tilted his head slightly.

"Dr. Bashir made a report today regarding something he hoped we'd coordinate on."

"A report about Garak." Odo harrumphed. "Coincidentally, that's why I'm here early today. One of Dukat's guests is someone you need to be aware of."

"Sounds like this is going to be a long talk. Take a seat, Constable."

Occasionally, Odo would remark that neither made any difference to him and remain standing, but not today. "Barkan Lokar was murdered close to three years ago. Today I saw him on the promenade."

Sisko sat up a little straighter at that.

Odo took a breath, considering. More out of imitation, Sisko guessed. "Lokar was the mastermind of the mining operation on Terok Nor, though he left the day to day to Dukat. His presence on the station, for that reason alone, is a security threat."

"And then there's the reason Dr. Bashir made his report." Sisko tapped his fingers on this desk. "He said he suspected they knew each other."

"He suspected correctly. Garak was Lokar’s… the closest translation would be concubine, peikirvi. His wife stayed on Prime, but Garak traveled with Lokar while he was on duty. Back then I only knew of Garak as “Elim”."

Sisko didn't hide the displeasure on his face at hearing the closest translation of the word. "I see."

"Garak was also supposed to have killed him. At the beginning of peace talks with the Federation, when the military was starting the evacuation of all non-essential personnel, Lokar stayed to help Dukat close out the mines. I was ordered by both to keep Garak confined to quarters, ostensibly for his own safety. A week later, he was found trying to steal a runabout by a patrol. The officer who found him tried to return him to his quarters, where they found Lokar's body, strangled." Odo paused. "No close examination of the body was allowed. Garak was incredibly agitated and bore injuries. I suspect he may have been intoxicated as well, but no testing was carried out. Dukat decided no further investigation was needed- to him, it was obvious there was a fight, and Garak had gone too far. Something about how the two had known each other since military school, and that Garak must have let old grievances get to him."

"I presume he was more biased than that." Garak at military school… now there was an odd picture.

Odo hmphed. "Of course. Lokar was his closest friend that wasn't a subordinate. He'd requested that the Central Command allow him to handle things personally. Garak was sentenced to labor under military detention after execution was denied for whatever reason, and Dukat assigned him to work as a tailor. Then he was intentionally left behind during the final evacuation."

Sisko gave in to the urge and grabbed his baseball. "So. I have a dead man walking, who happens to be one of the most hated men on the station, if not all of Bajor, and he has a personal violent history with one of our primary informants on Cardassia, who he's harassed today already."

"Twice."

"Twice." Sisko repeated, rubbing his temple. "First, keep an eye on Garak, but be subtle about it. Second, look into Lokar's whereabouts between now and then. Third, keep an eye on him, and don't be subtle. Increase security around the meeting tomorrow. Try to leave any investigation of the murder aside until Lokar is off the station. The rest, I leave to you."

Odo nodded. "As for my usual report…"

---

They'd tentatively resumed lunch. A day off from their usual schedule, unfortunately. There was a relieving quality to it- just like how the ones between the incident with the implant and this one had been, though stained with tension.

Three days worth of meetings... then Barkan would be off the station. He'd still be Garak’s problem... but at a distance.

Garak put that out of his mind. He had a young man to castigate. "As usual, it seems you don't understand your own literature. It's incredibly obvious that-" Garak stopped.

"Garak? Cat got your tongue?" Julian asked, amused.

Garak didn't bother chastising him for using idioms that gave the universal translator trouble. His attention had been pulled away by his parasite. Not only was Barkan around- he was walking toward them, which was what bothered Garak enough to stop.

Was he really going to do this in public?

The look in Barkan's eyes was cold, the way it was the first night Garak had navigated out of the wilderness successfully. Barkan’s gaze somehow became more cruel upon seeing Julian. “Ah. And here I had hoped you had some sense of properity within you.”

Julian tensed, recognizing the voice. "I didn't know Dukat had adopted the policy of giving his crew shore leave while a meeting is currently in progress."

Ignoring Julian, Barkan continued. “I never released you, Elim.”

“Never released me? I wasn’t aware I was a game bird.” Garak didn't deny the implication- the kind of person Barkan was, he'd take that as proof. The best thing to do was step around it, distance yourself from it.

"Game birds are better behaved."

The rest of the replimat was unsubtly looking over at them. Was that his game? After all, there are Bajorans that certainly remember you, yet look at you- sitting so nicely in your shop.

Many of the Bajorans previously on the station had left after withdrawal. Most of the people who associated Garak and Lokar that Garak still had to interact with weren't Bajoran- Odo, Quark and his staff, and so on.

It wasn't that Garak had never been publicly accosted by another Cardassian before. Most ignored him, but a few lacked the self control. What was making this differ was that anyone listening- even if they didn't quite get the implications, and many Bajorans did- could tell this was personal.

It was hard to predict how this would impact him down the road.

"Game birds don't follow orders, Lokar. They fly out of instinct. Perhaps you can relate." Garak turned away from him. "Speaking of, do mind your manners, doctor."

Dr. Bashir had been staring at Barkan the whole time. His attention snapped to Garak once called upon, eyes shifted, but still visibly thinking about how to get rid of Barkan. It was charming.

"I'm sorry, Garak. At my age I should know how to focus on a conversation, and not ignore someone."

Garak didn't laugh, but he did smile a bit. "Being aware of your flaws is good, but you need to act against them." He chided. "What would you do if you were at a medical conference, and ended up snubbing someone important because there was a fight at the snack bar you couldn't ignore?"

"How crass, Ten Lubak." Barkan said, sounding genuinely disappointed as he stalked away. He'd gotten what he wanted, after all- no need to linger.

---

Pay me a visit. And do not dress ostentatiously. The message read.

Garak frowned at it. When he was younger, he would have wondered if being ordered to return to his childhood home was a test, given that he was not to do so unless under specific circumstances. At this point, he knew the summons themselves were not the test.

He had a green outfit that would work well enough. It was a nice day- he might as well walk.

His mother was the one to greet him. "They're in the study." she told him. No recognition beyond what she'd give a normal guest- this was not a personal visit on Tain’s end, then. And, he already had a guest.

He nodded to her. “Thank you.”

Garak had not often gone upstairs when he lived here, and even less often to the study. He opened the door himself- he was allowed to, after all. Tain had his guests escorted if he felt guarded about such a thing as them opening doors by themselves.

He'd already had on a smile, and kept it firm even upon seeing the other guest.

He had expected Barkan would check if his “Elim Vronok” story was true, but this seemed a little much. At least he knew the role to play now; Elim Vronok, disgraced Bamarren washout who found out he was a bastard, changed his name, and now was a service class gardening drone. That still left the test…

“Barkan Lokar. I didn't expect to see you again so soon after our last meeting.” He gave it a formal distance, with a little warmth. He turned to Tain and bowed forward. “Patron.” Most likely, Lokar was here because Tain was officially the Garak family’s cheoche (this branch, anyway).

“You're being terribly formal, Elim. Sit, we have kanar.” Tain gave off the appearance of being relaxed, his presence withdrawn. And he did indeed, have a bottle of Kanar out and open. The two of then had each already poured a glass.

Garak did as he was told (it was never a request) and sat in the spare chair, pouring himself some kanar. Owing to the status of Elim Vronok compared to the room, he poured just half of the usual amount. “Might I ask what the occasion is?”

“How long has it been since Bamarren, Elim?” Barkan asked, looking into his drink.

“About two kashmim.”

“Two kashmim.” Barkan repeated. “As you know, Palandine and I were already betrothed back then. We formalized our relationship after completion of our studies at Bamarren. Two kashmim… and we only have one child.”

Garak bowed his head. “My condolences.” It was terror, to have just one child- that was only one opportunity for your hopes, ambitions, continuation of your name, and of course, only one opportunity for Cardassia. It would weigh especially heavy on Barkan, the man who taught Garak the real meaning of the word opportunity.

Deaths had decreased from what they'd been just before Garak was born, with hunger and illness rampant before the state made reforms. But both still hounded children in particular. And war…

Barkan sighed. “I love Kel dearly. The responsibility of being the only Lokar of her generation would crush her. Seeing you on Romulus reminded me… that I have options.”

The artifacts Tain kept on the walls suddenly made the room feel smaller.

So. That was what he'd come for. A slight panic must have appeared somewhere in him- his eyes, his posture. Barkan set down the glass, making a beseeching gesture. “I've been perfectly formal in discussing the matter before you arrived.”

Of course he had. He was wearing his newfound refinement like a shawl. Garak hadn't even been worried about Tain hearing of his school boy liaisons until it was alluded to.

Garak smiled as though relieved. “As fits the occasion.”

How did Barkan know? Had it come up while he was checking his Vronok story or had it been known at Bamarren and kept quiet as future leverage?

“Why me?” Garak asked, cloaking the question in a blend of bashfulness and humility. “Surely your family could find you a peikirvi, or a kisam could look further afield.”

Barkan smiled- the same smile he'd used on Garak at Bamarren. “I already know you, Elim. I came to like you and respect you during our time at school. I know you and Palandine won't destroy the household with petty strife. Those are guarantees I cannot get, no matter how clever my family or a kisam is, if I am marrying a stranger.”

“Well argued. Don't you agree, Elim?” Tain looked to him.

Barkan was friends with Skrain Dukat. Son of Procal Dukat, the would be coup leader. That was Tain’s angle here. Keep close to Barkan to keep aware of the Dukats.

How funny. Procal would despise his son's friend if he could see this now. An aristocratic military man raising a service class bastard to the honor of his peikirvi- what a fit he and every other member of the True Way would have.

“Very well argued.” How fortunate for Tain, that Barkan had thought of this himself and come to Tain as Garak’s cheoche. The latter was no matter of fortune, of course. Just good planning. As was this: positioning Garak this way had the potential to be very good planning.

Who was Garak to deny the will of his father, patron, head of the Order?

---

Julian knocked on the door frame to alert Sisko of his presence. "I have forms for you to sign." This was the last thing he needed to do- then he was off to bed.

"Oh, wonderful." Sisko lowered the padd he was looking at. "Inventory reports?"

"Among other things." Julian replied. He handed the data rod over to Sisko. "There's also requisition forms and a post-hoc form for that medical consult I had to call in." Normally, Julian would have done that before whoever he'd called in arrived, but Dr. Ammshah had caught him off guard.

"Did that go well?" Sisko connected the rod and the padd.

"Confidential." Julian said.

Sisko's brows raised as he skimmed the papers. Julian could pinch himself- normally, he would at least say if something went well. His knee jerk response gave the opposite impression, and he couldn't correct it. Sisko could probably guess who the consult concerned, and of course, had just reported to Odo the other day...

"This... is a long set of requisition forms." Sisko said after a moment. "Even for how many people have been ill."

"That's just how this disease is. It doesn't help that it's one of those where people tend to catch something else while already sick." Julian leaned on the back of the chair across from Sisko.

"How have you and the infirmary staff been holding up? Anyone giving you trouble?"

"No, no trouble- it's about as you'd expect." Julian replied. "We aren't being pushed to our limits yet, but we'll all be very glad when this is done with."

Sisko's eyes lingered on him, not bothering with subtlety as he squinted at Julian's face, then his uniform. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm very careful to make sure I don't give anyone more work than they can handle, and we managed to borrow a few nurses from the nearest outpost planetside." This was true- and key to this, just as much as the extra nurses, which of course no one else knew, was that Julian could do the work of two people in the infirmary. He was careful about it. No one noticed anything obviously unusual. "It's under con-"

A yawn rudely interrupted him. Julian felt his face warm slightly.

Sisko sighed. "Don't be over eager, doctor. It's better to ask for help early on if you need it, and to overestimate."

Julian laughed. "Thank you, sir, but I know my limits, and the limits of my staff."

"Good. Keep them in mind, and don't be shy to ask when you need something." Sisko nodded at him and raised the padd in Julian's direction. "I'll send these off once I'm done."

Julan inclined his head. "Thank you again."

#ds9 #garashir #garashir fic #Ds9 fic #Fic: bite the hand that starves you

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bijoumikhawal · 3 months

Text

Bite the Hand That Starves You: Chapter Eight

Fic as of the chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence, disassociation, kidnapping, explicit sexual content

Kardasi: -ijje: an affectionate Kardasi suffix. One adds it to a shortened version of a name. It is inappropriate to use this for a person you aren't very close to.

Whoo, final chapter! The sex scene here is the section that starts with "Garak had wanted to be alone, Julian guessed."

---

“We're within range to transport.” Garak rolled his shoulders, sitting up. “Alright. Do you have any questions about the sensor scrambler, or anything else I'm leaving with you?”

“I don't know if you should be going alone.”

“That's a no, then, I take it. I can't explain your presence if I don't. At best, Lokar will deny any knowledge of Dr. Bashir.” Garak began patching in a comms signal. “Besides, if I know Lokar- and I do- he'll try to sabotage the ship. Someone needs to keep an eye on it. And you have 15 seconds before they start getting video of this room.”

Sisko narrowed his eyes, but left quickly. Garak suspected there'd be… an interesting debriefing, after this.

Sisko had no qualms about strong arming others for a good cause, but he rarely appreciated it himself.

Garak was put through to a secretary he'd never seen before first, standing over the shoulder of a traffic controller. “Ship 5371-B, state your purpose. You are not scheduled to be here, and without good reason and authorization, you will be subject to detention until trial.”

Garak smiled. “Of course. Tell Barkan Lokar that Elim Garak has come to pay him a visit.”

She gave no sign of recognition. “What nonsense is that? Elim Garak is not on our list of those with authorized access.”

“-if you tell him that,” Garak said, cutting off her next sentence, “I think you'll find I have an appointment. And do tell him it was very rude to schedule one without asking me about it first.”

She bent and pressed some keys on the console, sighing. Garak felt the shift in gravity and momentum as a tractor beam took hold. “I hope detention is worth your little prank, sir.” The video switched off. Presumably, she was double checking his statement.

Typically a secretary would not be immediately available to traffic control. Barkan had not mentioned him by name, but clearlh he'd told his staff to expect someone. This was going well, so far.

Garak got himself a glass of rokassa juice.

The video came back on, though the tractor beam didn't turn off. Garak expected as much- odds were they'd set up a stasis lock, or potentially tow it into dock. The secretary was good. Her face betrayed no sense of shame or embarrassment. “Get on the transporter pad and you'll be beamed in.”

Garak bowed his head to her with a smile. “Thank you.”

Barkan and a helmeted guard were waiting for him. Garak gave the latter a curious look. “Updating the uniform, are we?”

Occasionally Cardassian units used helmets, but they didn't look like this, with a full face cover- giving no indication of who was underneath. “Something like that. Why don't you sit, Elim? It's been so long since we talked.”

Garak did take the offered seat. “Has it.”

“Within the bounds of the Union, I mean.” Barkan amended his statement. “There's something freeing about being here instead of on enemy territory, isn't there?”

“I don’t know. The line designating “the Union” and “enemy territory” simply passed over me one night- I didn't find much difference in how I spoke in the evening or the morning that bookended it.”

“How about the evening and the morning that bookended the last time we spent a night together?”

Garak let himself tense. Better to make Barkan think he really had the advantage, to let him revel in it. "I was interrogated after, you know. I imagine you find that funny."

Barkan laughed. "You make me so cruel in your imagination, Elijje. Sometimes I worry I won't meet your expectations, and leave you disappointed."

"I find you meet them effortlessly."

Barkan sat, resting his head in his hand. "You're wanting your Terran doctor back, I take it. Have you ever noticed how similar they look to Bajorans? It's uncanny."

Garak rolled his thumb over the transmitter in his pocket. "They also look much like Vulcans. I wouldn't have come for anything else, Barkan."

"So we're back to first name basis, then." Barkan smiled. "Perhaps you'll be amenable to my suggestion, then."

Garak didn't bother to respond.

Barkan's mouth twisted. "Obviously, I don't want your doctor. He means less than nothing to me. Palandine has… gone missing, while I've been away. And as I've made clear, I do not consider our partnership annulled."

Garak had long suspected such was the case with Palandine. His few contacts didn't run in her circles, but they had heard nothing of her- and no news had remarked on Kel's emergence party. A girl of her standing would have a public one, and to not have it would normally make the news as well. The confirmation made his stomach drop all the same. It dropped further knowing their disappearance had not, as he had assumed, been at the military's direction.

"My brother died in the war with the Federaji, as you know. I am the last Lokar."

Garak flexed his hand in his pocket. It was a quiet admission regarding Kel, but a quiet admission was still terrifying. "It always comes back to this with you."

"I can end your exile."

Garak’s tongue stuck.

Barkan smiled. "Yes, even considering that incident on Bajor."

Garak centered himself in his mind. The cost of ending his exile this way was being alone with Barkan. Without the Order behind him. And if he struggled to conceive… Lokar would not examine himself. Besides, he surely wanted revenge.

But, to be on Cardassia again… and he still had contacts outside the Order… he could even find Palandine, he was smarter than whoever Central Command had assigned to look for her.

If it was Tain before him, he knows he wouldn't bother weighing the options. No matter what he'd asked, Garak would do.

He will still have to earn Tain’s forgiveness if he accepts. Until then, he will still treat Garak as a traitor and enemy. And Garak knows- Tain prides himself on outliving his enemies.

“You seem overwhelmed.” Barkan stepped behind Garak, squeezing his shoulder ridges- not in a way appropriate to do in one's office. “I'll let you sleep on it, hm?”

“In a cell?”

“Hardly.” Barkan’s grip eased, hands sliding down Garak’s shoulders. “Second. Show Elim to our guest quarters.” The helmeted guard nodded.

It was a cell. A comfortable cell (not silk quilt comfortable), the one you got when you fucked the warden, but a cell nonetheless. He couldn't leave, after all.

But if he was smarter than Barkan, he could get out. And if he could get out, he could trust himself to take the deal and come out on top.

---

Julian laid on the floor of his cell, pressing his swollen cheek to the cold tiles.

After Lokar was satisfied with himself, the helmeted guard took him back here. According to his internal clock, it was well into the night.

He turned, giving his the other side of his face a chance with the tile. Left-down, left-up, right-up...

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of feet.

Earlier, a medic had come to see him, and promptly left upon being satisfied that Julian's injuries wouldn't kill him. He'd expected to be left alone for some time after that- it had only been three hours.

Julian kept still, closing his eyes most of the way.

The security field's hum ceased abruptly. Whoever it was walked in, stopping by his hip- Julian could just make out the toe of a uniform boot. Not the medic again, then, or anyone else interesting.

"Preparing for death." The helmeted guard muttered to himself. Julian heard him sling his rifle onto his back, out of immediate reach.

Nothing for it.

Julian braced his arm against the floor and swung his legs up and forward, catching him below the knee.

It wasn't his best, but it worked- knocking the guard off balance and having him flail a bit, hands away from his gun.

Julian got up, grabbing the rifle and strap. It wasn't that hard to tear the two apart- there was decent give, and the snapshot unfastened easily.

The guard spun on his heel. Julian hit his side with the rifle, between his ribs. Unfazed, the guard grabbed Julian by his shirt and hauled him forward. Julian hit him on the side of the head with the rifle, then jabbed him in the front of his neck with his elbow.

The helmet was more about secrecy than armour. The guard grunted in pain. Julian hit him again, then threw the rifle, skittering, across the room.

The helmeted guard slammed him against the wall. Julian grabbed for his throat, shaking off the dizziness.

At first the guard ignored it, slamming him again. Julian's grip did not break.

It was a common misconception that you couldn't strangle a Cardassian, because of the shape of their cervical vertebrae. It was certainly near impossible to break a Cardassian's neck- the force required would decapitate most. But strangulation simply required one to know where to put pressure- just below the corners of the jaw.

Two more slams, a little more panicked, then the guard grabbed his wrists, trying to break his grip.

This wasn't the time to worry about being found out.

Julian threw the guard to the floor once he slumped against him and began stripping his uniform off.

If nothing else, he could get word back to Deep Space Nine about where exactly he was- though Barkan wasn't too unlikely of a who, narrowing things down still would take time, and wouldn't help them much. It wasn’t exactly easy to get prisoners out of the Union even during scheduled exchanges.

The fit wasn't terrible. Fortunately, most Cardassians were Julian’s height, or a bit taller.

Now he just had to hope Second was the one monitoring his cell.

He pulled Second under his cot, so it wouldn't be too obvious who was laying on the floor looking in from outside. Pressing a fob hidden in Second's pocket rematerialized the security field.

Julian took a second to breathe, and turned. Would he be able to send a message from Barkan's office? That was where he knew to go- if nothing else, it'd be safer than wandering around.

Julian adjusted the strap of the rifle, and began heading for the first locked door. Before he even got there, he ran into trouble- not for himself, thankfully.

The first tell was that the lights were darkened- someone had cut the power here. Julian steeled himself, pressing onwards.

Garak was a welcome sight, even when fighting a guard by himself. Neither paid him attention- Garak was focused on winning, and the guard had his back to Julian.

Julian had never seen Garak get physical while in his right mind before. During his withdrawal- well. It hadn't come down to it, but Julian had been afraid of hurting him precisely because Garak was too strong to easily subdue.

The guard lost.

Garak faced him, and stood, approximating a stance. "Well, Second. I didn't expect a friend of Barkan’s to be so chivalrous as to wait his turn."

Julian took off the helmet and allowed Garak’s genuine surprise to warm him.

"Doctor." Garak stared a moment longer. "I was coming to get you- but it seems you only needed some help, hm?"

Julian touched the bruises on his cheek. "These are from earlier, actually."

Garak raised his brow ridges. "What a busy week you've had."

---

Julian had let Garak take the lead on their detour, though he wasn't entirely happy about it. He said nothing, but it showed in his posture.

Garak had never been to this particular prison before, but he was familiar with the particulars of their construction. Seperate maintainence corridors with manual locks were necessary- not too unlike the station's, though with more vertical space.

"May I see that?" Garak held out a hand beside him, eyeing the lock. Julian handed him the rifle.

Breaking it was a little louder than Garak would have liked, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Garak had Julian slip inside before him, and urged him to walk a few meters before leaning against the wall to rest.

“You don't seem surprised to see me.”

Julian looked up, having chosen to sit on the floor. “Should I be?”

“We fought the last time we talked.”

Julian managed not to laugh, but couldn't help a smile. “Garak, anyone could tell that fight wasn't about me.”

Garak narrowed his eyes in slight annoyance. Yes, it hadn't been his best showing.

Julian looked down. "Besides, practically speaking, there's not many people who would get here so quickly. The rest of the senior staff, you, Odo... you're about it."

And it hadn't been so long that a quick rescue was utterly improbable to him, compared to drawn out negotiations, or no rescue at all.

"I presume I make that list because of my connection to Barkan. After all, compared to the rest, my qualifications are lacking." Lying was always easy for Garak, even silly, obvious lies.

Julian looked up again, this time serious. "Barkan isn't going to leave it at this. He knows where you are." He stood.

“I know.”

“So we can't just escape.” The hall was narrow, and Julian’s expression was made all the more intense this close up.

“What else can we do?” Garak raised his eye ridges. “I got caught trying to get to you. You only haven't gotten caught yet because you got lucky with the uniform and you have decent aim. Do you think assassinating a warden is a spur of the moment decision?”

“What's your plan, then?” Julian didn't hide his frustration.

“To get out of here alive, just like it was when I beamed down. We are in his territory, doctor. He has the advantage. That's why you were brought here. I am far safer on the station than just about anywhere else in the quadrant.”

Julian covered his eyes with his hands, frustrated. Garak, being the one who lived this careful balance, had a point. Even if Julian didn't like it.

Garak took his transmitter out of his pocket and began adjusting the dials on it.

Julian looked up again, probably in response to the clicking Garak himself only barely heard. “What's that?��

“A transmitter. We'll have ten minutes to talk when it's activated.”

Julian stared at him. “To who?”

“Commander Sisko took your disappearance personally.”

“Ah.” Julian paused, clearly reasoning through it. “By himself?”

“He didn't want anyone else in trouble if things went poorly. I only barely convinced him to stay on the shuttle.” Garak stopped for a moment. “The only things of use on you are that uniform and rifle, correct?”

“More or less.”

Garak nodded to himself and hit the last button. “Commander, can you hear me?”

There was a slight crackle on the other end. “I can hear you. Do you have Dr. Bashir?”

It'd ended up more the other way around- “I'm here.”

“I take it Lokar isn't simply handing you over.”

“No. We're going to need to break out.”

A moment of silence. “Alright. What are we working with?”

“I've got a uniform with a helmet and a rifle. And I stole some gloves from the medic who they had look at me earlier.” Julian shifted to rest against the wall.

“I have everything I beamed down with: this transmitter, a spare knife, nothing else interesting.”

“Did you find an angle with Lokar?”

“No.”

Julian looked at him with a tinge of suspicion. It almost made Garak feel better. “Nothing?”

“He wants revenge. Unfortunately, I can't give that to him- and if I did, I don't think he'd let you go anyways.”

Julian accepted that, but his brow remained slightly furrowed.

“I don’t think your suspicion of possible sabotage is wrong, Garak, but so far nothing has happened up here. They did weaken the strength of the tractor beam, but that’s all. And judging from what I saw of the engine earlier, it won’t be able to break the hold on it’s own.”

“That won’t be a problem. Remember what I told you about the triangular device?"

“The one you clearly soldered together on the way over? Yes.”

“In…” Garak checked the time on the transmitter. “Half an hour, attach it to the spot I told you about. You won't need to worry about the tractor beam once its active.”

“That's me taken care of. How are you two getting out of there? You don't know where the transporter room is.”

“No need.” Garak said quickly. “We just need to get to Barkan’s office. They beamed me directly down there. Many in administrative positions have the transporter block stripped from their offices for convenience. It seems he picked up the habit.”

“Do you know how to get there?”

“Of course,” overlapped with Julian’s “Yes.”

“He had me brought in a few times to harass me.” Julian gave as explanation.

“That explains your face,” Garak said to himself, then spoke louder, “Once we're in, I can signal you on the other transmitter. The transporter controls aren't too different on the shuttle compared to what you're used to. There shouldn't be any other life signs to be confused by once the signal goes up.”

“And if you don't get there?”

“It's still what we agreed to on the station.”

“Alright. I'll be waiting for both of you.”

Garak ended the transmission, looking down the corridor as he put away the transmitter.

“What did you agree to?”

Garak looked at him, managing not to startle at Julian speaking so close to his ear that he could feel his breath across it. “My dear doctor. What do you think?”

---

They couldn't get to Lokar's office from the maintenance corridor, unfortunately, but it did let them bypass most of the locked doors.

Garak peered out in the hallway first. "Clear, so far."

Julian put the helmet back on before stepping out after him. There was another door, a few meters away, not locked, and then they'd be at Barkan’s office.

Foot steps sounded. Quickly, they turned to each other- Julian grabbing Garak roughly, and Garak putting up a theatrical struggle.

It was one of the normal guards. He laughed, amused. “I heard the warden had a guest. Did he not like his accommodations?”

“Not at all.” Garak snarled. “One is hardly a guest in a prison."

Julian jerked on his arms, pulling him down the hall.

“I am not going back in there!” Garak was testing the limits of of the strength Julian normally allowed himself to use, but not too badly. “Central Command will be hearing about this!”

Julian raised his eyebrows. Banking on the guard not knowing how nonsensical that statement was wouldn't have been his first choice. He kept pulling on Garak, they were almost to the door, and-

“Second, since when do you wear gloves?”

Julian kept pulling on Garak. He'd hardly premeditated all this- he wouldn't be able to imitate Second’s voice on his first try.

The guard raised his rifle. “Second.”

Julian stopped. They did not have time to get to the door before the guard fired his gun.

Unfortunately, the very act gave him away.

“Well, at least he won't be such a smug bastard after this.” The guard advanced.

Garak was clearly thinking too much to admonish him for the potentially fatal error.

“Take off the helmet or I'll shoot the other one.”

Slowly, Julian did so.

“Ah. That's why you're a special interest prisoner.” He laughed.

Julian hadn't turned around yet, but it sounded like he'd walked until he was just out of arms reach.

“You do know he was planning to go back to the warden, don't you?”

An odd look entered Garak’s eye, then- he yanked the helmet out of Julian’s hand and lunged forward, pushing Julian aside. He swung down first, nearly knocking the rifle from the guards hands, then at his head.

There was a loud crunch.

Julian grabbed his own rifle from its holstered position and aimed. His parents had gotten their money's worth. Sometimes he was even glad of it.

Garak stalked back to him, pulling the helmet down over his head.

“You aren't taking his…”

“We can't shoot our way out, doctor. We have to keep up the charade successfully if we run into someone else.”

Julian felt a hot rush of shame, but Garak seemed content to leave it at that. He pushed past Julian and through the door.

---

The hall to Barkan’s office had not been busy before, so Garak didn't expect to see anyone. At the same time, the absence of others had him on the knife's edge of aware and nervous.

"You didn't happen to get Second's access fob, did you?" Garak asked.

"Actually..." Julian stuck his hand in his pocket. "I might have." He handed something over.

Garak looked at the polymer in his hand.

There was such a thing as too easy.

There was, also, no other good path out of here. He'd failed the parameters of his own test- he couldn't stay, take his chances with Barkan, and leave Julian in custody. Especially not after Julian had attacked Second.

Garak pressed the fob up against the door's scanner.

The door opened to a dark room. The power hadn't been cut- if it had, the door wouldn't have opened, and there would have been emergency lights. Garak shut the door behind them and pressed the button on his transmitter, letting Sisko know they'd reached their goal.

Julian stood in place, shifting his weight. "Something isn't right."

Garak didn't reply. Hopefully, this part would be fast, and the rest would catch up with them after they were on the runabout-

The door creaked behind them.

Garak kept still as light cut across the floor.

"Second? Did our guest get antsy in his quarters?"

Barkan’s tone was easy. He assumed he was still in control.

Garak saw Julian’s fingers tighten on the rifle. Don't, he thought, wishing it could be heard. You won't be able to commit. The fallout will spin out of control immediately. Don't.

Luckily, Second was a somewhat quiet man, and Barkan had interpreted the finger tightening as a "yes, something like that". He circled around them, sitting at my desk. "Am I lucky, Elijje? Have you reached a conclusion about my proposal?"

A good Cardassian doesn't believe in fickle luck, Garak thought. "Perhaps."

Barkan’s smile broadened. Naturally, he assumed his offer had been too tempting for Garak to refuse him. "Are you always shy at times like these?"

Garak almost laughed at him. He'd been acting both times- was Barkan not suspicious of the first?

He replied easily, "Perhaps not all of me has outgrown being Ten Lubak."

There was no way to signal to Sisko that they'd been interrupted. He would know soon enough, in any case. Julian remained tense beside him.

Barkan let out a soft laugh. "Ten Lubak could be rather shy, couldn't he? Back then, that was... alluring."

At what point, Garak wondered. Their first two meetings had been marked by scorn.

The trouble with transporters was, without a badge, the operator had to select individuals manually, going off life signs- species, age, height, and weight. Barkan was taller, but otherwise, he and Garak had similar readings.

Barkan's desk terminal beeped, indicating an incoming call. Barkan pressed the button to answer it.

"Warden, that Federaji prisoner you were interested in has escaped. We just found Second on the ground in his cell."

Barkan and Garak both reacted quickly. Barkan lunged for Julian, and Garak lunged at Barkan, throwing him back into the wall.

Garak’s stomach lurched, and he had enough time to be grateful Sisko had chosen correctly even with unfamiliar controls before the sight of Barkan’s office faded.

He and Julian had been of the same mind, it seemed, as each had a hand on the other, keeping them supported as they rematerialized on the runabout.

Sisko turned his chair to face them. “Next time I'm bringing the Defiant.”

Julian took off the helmet and looked at Sisko. “What do you mean next time?”

"It's good to be prepared, doctor." Garak let go of him. "Thank you for all your help- I'll take over here for awhile, commander." He leaned over the console. "You and Dr. Bashir should get some rest."

---

Garak had wanted to be alone, Julian guessed. And he was- for as long as it took Julian to take a nap.

He woke up to the sound of Sisko getting out of his bunk. "Commander?"

"Ah, I'm sorry, Julian. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's fine. I expect you're probably going to order me away from work when we get back anyway." Julian sat up. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. However, I expect Garak didn't sleep during the time he beamed down, and I know he didn't sleep beforehand. I'm going to relieve him in a bit."

"In a bit?"

"I'm going to shower first."

Julian got out of bed. "Don't use the water setting. I'll go tell him."

Garak leaned over the console, carefully going over every readout he could get displayed, it seemed.

"Sisko's in the shower. He wants to take over once he's..." Julian trailed off.

Garak had turned to look at him. Very... particularly. Julian’s hand had come to rest on the back of the pilot's chair. Garak’s own hand crept up to cover it. "Yes, doctor?"

"Uhm. He'll be out in a little. I warned him off using the water setting. I know the temperature can be difficult." Julian backed up a bit, his mouth dry and face growing warm. "He had the top bunk, but we can swap if you want."

Garak kept staring a moment. "I'll decide after I get a look at them."

Julian nodded, and retreated to the sleeping cabin.

He laid back down on the bottom bunk, facing the wall. His heartbeat was fast and his cheeks stayed flushed with heat, even as he heard Sisko pass behind him into the cockpit, the door opening, closing, and opening. And closing.

He was able to feel that stare again.

The mattress dipped behind him as Garak slipped under the covers. Things were quiet for a moment.

“You said you didn't want anything else, that night. Have you never wanted anything else of me, doctor?”

“Garak,” Julian started, then cut himself off with a gasp as Garak's hands slipped under his shirt, pulling him close.

“Yes?” Garak

"I- we-"

"Surely, you know why Barkan focused his attention on you, doctor. The conclusions he jumped to the second he saw you."

Julian closed his eyes. "Yes, I suppose it's rather ridiculous." A faint dissuasion.

Garak was quiet for a moment. "To be condemned for something you haven't done yet, yes, I suppose it is."

Julian opened his mouth, then closed it. He turned in Garak’s arms to face him.

Garak shifted back slightly. “Just once. We don’t have to think on it ever again.”

Even Julian could appreciate that it was a pretty lie, even if it wasn't a happy one. It was his move- Julian leaned forward, tilting his head to kiss Garak.

"I'm still not safe." Julian reminded him as he broke away.

"How convenient. So am I." Garak nudged Julian onto his back, rising up over him. "It's nice to be on the same page." He pulled Julian’s pajama bottoms down to his knees.

Garak’s gaze had dimmed in intensity somewhat, but Julian still felt pinned. It wasn't exactly a bad feeling. One only had to look down to confirm that. He kicked his trousers the rest of the way off and began pulling at Garak’s tunic- fair was fair.

Garak let him, but pulled his own trousers down. He leaned down, blanketing Julian and pressing him onto the mattress. Garak kissed him as he shifted into what Julian guessed was a more comfortable position.

Julian’s cock slipped between Garak's thighs, and groaned into the other man's mouth as he jerked upwards against him. Noticing, Garak pressed his thighs together. Julian let out a choked moan. Apparently Garak had been anticipating this for some time, as the soft flesh between his legs was slick.

Garak grabbed Julian’s knee and pulled it to the side, spreading his legs apart.

Julian broke the kiss. "Garak-? Oh!" His head fell back as Garak- it was, what he could best describe as a thrust, with Julian's cock trapped between his thighs. Julian grabbed his hips, letting out a string of breathy moans as he tried to meet Garak, thrust for thrust.

He'd certainly never tried intercrural like this.

Garak’s teeth grazed his earlobe, making Julian flinch away.

Garak pulled back, and Julian stroked his shoulder, trying to soothe him.

"It's alright, you just- startled me." Cardassian front teeth were sharper than many other species, despite not looking so obvious.

Julian’s hand tightened as Garak's teeth met his skin again, this time the soft flesh neat the hinge of his jaw.

No longer occupied by kissing, Julian looked down at the shoulder in his grasp, watching the deepening blue color spread over the ridge, and the shift of muscle under the skin as Garak kept thrusting against him.

Garak's teeth traveled down his neck- never biting down fully, as Julian half expected. Only grazing, nipping- almost like a tease.

Julian’s cock slipped out from between Garak's thighs as Garak groaned into his collarbone. A rush of warm wetness spilled forth, and Julian felt something new sliding out of Garak, prodding against his stomach.

Garak’s breaths changed as he ground his cock against Julian’s. Julian could feel ridges, though instead of the scales he was used to, they were of soft flesh that reminded him of the inside of a body. It also felt teasing- brushing against his cock, but more forcefully against his stomach, leaving wet trails.

Julian slid a hand down between their bodies, wrapping his hand around both of them.

Garak shuddered above him, halting for a moment before fucking into Julian’s hand, against his cock, with renewed vigor.

---

Garak would die before saying so, but having had his cycle hit its peak after the removal of the wire violently confronted him with the fact that while he certainly felt arousal, orgasm carried shockingly limited pleasure for him now. Perhaps it was temporary.

Pleasure hadn't really been the point, of course. And the rest of it had still been nice enough.

They had had to part to clean up- tired as they both still were, neither had really wanted to go to sleep like that. Julian was in his arms now facing the wall of the bunk in a mirror of before.

Garak had known the vagueries of the human body, but of all the aliens he'd met, he'd never seen one naked before. Some parts were unremarkably similar to other species- the same body hair he could expect from dozens of others, the nipples, the navel indention.

What had stuck him was, though the muscle of Julian's body was lean and hard, his skin was delicate. That the graze of his teeth had caused such a reaction, on unbruised flesh... and of course, the sight of darker bruising on Julian’s face and chest.

He could see the marks he'd left with his teeth now, a few above the collar of Julian’s sleeping clothes. They were superficial enough to hopefully fade over the next few days. Enough not to come up when Julian would surely be physically examined and debriefed regarding Barkan.

Barkan...

“You were thinking about going back to him. Weren't you.” Julian spoke, evidently not asleep. It was almost like the thought had drawn his attention.

A snarled feeling rose in Garak. “Who?”

“Lokar. He offered you something, didn't he?”

There was that infuriating pity again. “It doesn't matter.”

It was quiet for a moment. "Alright."

If Barkan persisted, Garak would refuse. He couldn't rely on himself to deal with the man- he'd proven that twice now. There were other ways back to Cardassia, and this wasn't the first time an opportunity was simply untenable.

He just had to be clever in the future.

#cipher talk #Fic: bite the hand that starves you #ds9 #garashir

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