Chapter Text
“I'm not talking about war. What I'm proposing is wiping out every Founder on that planet. Obliterating the Great Link. Come now, Mister Worf, you're a Klingon. Don't tell me you'd object to a little genocide in the name of self-defence?”
Garak
Season 4, Episode 26 “The Great Link”
“ We believe that he became infected three years ago when he underwent medical examination at Starfleet Headquarters.”
“Evidently, Section Thirty One hoped that Odo would transmit the disease to the other Founders when he linked with them.”
“Genocide. Committed by people who call themselves Federation citizens.”
Julian Bashir, Miles O’Brien, Captain Sisko
Season 7, Episode 23 “Extreme Measure”
This would be Garak’s first time on Earth.
The planet was as blue as he had been told and he couldn’t help but stare it at, mildly hypnotized, as they waited for their ship to be boarded and checked. There were quite a lot of people coming to San Francisco from all over the galaxy. Garak could see from afar a Bajoran ship and wondered if Colonel Kira was in there, just as bored as he was.
His travelling mates were less patient than he, and had already started to complain about their stalled journey.
There was Alon Ghemor, the current Castellan of the Cardassian Union, Natima Lang, a former insurrectionist who was in charge of restructuring Cardassia’s political system, and Kelas Parmak, a doctor by trade but here to help Alon speechwrite, as well as serving the crucial role of making sure Garak did not suddenly go mad on such an expedition.
“Do you think the Federation envoys have to wait?” Kelas asked, idly scratching at his chin.
“You’d think, if they really meant their duty, they’d let us go first,” Garak quipped back.
Alon scoffed. “This is protocol, we would be doing the same thing on Cardassia, relax, you two.”
“I am relaxed, “Garak grumbled, tightening his arms across his chest.
Natima took the time to hand out some PADDs with information for them to go over the dozenth time. Garak already had it completely memorized, the names of diplomats, locations, political ongoings, but he made a show of going through it for the twentieth time regardless.
There was something about going to what was put forth as a celebration of peace and life while having to arm themselves to the diplomatic teeth that struck Garak as wholly distasteful.
“We want to be friendly,” Natima said. “We are not here for any secret mission, just to establish our existence.”
Alon nodded in approval. “Natima and I already know some of the diplomats there, Elim, Kelas, you will be less fortunate since you know no one.”
“I know some of the guests,” Garak said miserably.
He felt three sets of eyes on him.
“Since when , Elim?” Alon asked, staring at Garak with a frustrated expression.
“The event is taking place at Starfleet Academy, I know one of the teachers there, assuming he’ll be in attendance with his family. Chief Miles O’Brien. And there is the fact that rumor has it Bajor will be sending Colonel Kira, who if you remember, I fought with to free Cardassia,” Garak said. “Neither are guaranteed, of course, hence why I didn’t bring it up until now.”
Kelas snorted.
“Unbelievable,” Natima said. “You’ve been keeping that close to chest while I’ve been agonizing over how to broker talk with Starfleet at this event?”
Garak shrugged, his smile frozen on his face. “I wouldn’t call myself and the Chief close .”
“You-- you-- ” Natima pointed at him in frustration.
“Don’t be too harsh on him, Natima,” Kelas said. “Elim is terminally obtuse. You should have seen him as an interrogator. Half the reason I confessed to anything at all was because how terrifying it was I couldn’t tell what he would do next.”
Garak blanched. He had so been hoping he could have made it out of this trip without anyone bringing up their past experiences with him.
Natima’s eyes lit up in interest. “He… interrogated you?”
“Yes, spent three years in a labor camp because of him” Kelas said. He waved his hands defensively. “But don’t worry about it, I trust Elim with my life now.”
Natima almost laughed. “He tried to kill me, once, you know.”
“I didn’t try, I stopped,” Garak grumbled, his face hot.
“Really now?” Kelas asked, gaining a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Yes, on Deep Space Nine, he was sent by Central Command to kill my students and I. He did let us go in the end, however, which I do appreciate,” Natima said.
“Mm,” Garak’s smile grew.
“Elim was just as intense in the Bamarren Institute,” Alon chimed in, as apparently he wished for Garak to suffer. “He once took a fellow student who lost his eye in a battle competition and used him as a shield.”
“Yes! I did!” Garak groaned. “I did indeed do all these things, now are we going to continue to air Elim’s dirty laundry for fun and sport, or can we go back to the matter at hand? Or should we perhaps radio in our sister ships and find out if I tortured anyone there?”
There was a small chuckle from Alon, but he fell silent. Natima went back to pouring over the PADDs and Kelas put a soft hand on Garak’s shoulder.
“Sorry, Elim, but if it helps, it’s better if you build up your stamina for being ribbed with us, as opposed to the people down there,” Kelas said.
“I have no issue with being ribbed ,” Garak muttered back, staring at his PADD so intensely he thought he’d bore a hole through it. And it was true, he didn’t.
“Is something wrong?” Kelas asked, looking at Garak with that expression that told Garak he was about ten seconds away from pulling out some beeping contraption that would accuse Garak of having low blood sugar or something irrelevant like that.
Garak sucked in his cheeks and made a point to ignore Kelas. He didn’t want to explain his growing stress as he stared at that large, blue planet. The fact that he hadn’t been in contact with any of his old companions from Deep Space Nine for five years now. That the last time he’d talked to anyone had been when Doctor Julian Bashir visited him on Cardassia.
And Kelas already knew how that had gone.
“It is best to assume that any of my old contacts are useless unless I discover otherwise,” Garak said, as he thumbed through the list of visitors. “I will simply be my charming self and avoid stirring any pots.”
The computer on the ship gave a small beep , indicating a request for Starfleet to beam up. It was accepted and two cheery-faced yellow-uniformed Starfleet officers showed up, one holding a gift basket, the other holding a sensor that they waved over each of Garak’s companions, while instructing them of where they would be beamed down to and other such logistics.
Garak stood there, numbly holding three out of the four gift baskets, listening to the Starfleet officer rattle off what rights they did and did not have while on-planet. It felt like being arrested by a doting parent, which was not a sensation Garak wanted or appreciated.
Once it was confirmed they had not faked their identity in any way and had no weapons on them, their ship was docked and they were beamed down to the city of San Francisco, at the steps of the Starfleet Academy.
Shortly afterwards the other Cardassian ship beamed down, and the full procession was guided to their quarters for their stay by a stern-faced Vulcan Starfleet officer. It consisted of a spacious room where one could change, relieve themselves, and rest. No beds, but the event was to end at night, and there were of course beds in their ship.
Garak took a brief glance of himself in the mirror and made sure his clothes weren’t disheveled, and excused himself from the rest of his party to take a moment to soak in the world around him.
San Francisco was quite warm as had been promised. He looked up at the sky, marvelling at how damn blue it was. The city was massive, with many skyscrapers towering over the campus from afar. Some part of his brain made note of how easily a sniper could find a vantage point, before the thought disintegrated and returned to Garak’s subconscious.
The Golden Gate Bridge was less impressive than he had been led to believe. Typical.
The plaza was littered with decorations and street vendors offering food samples and party hats and whatnot. It was all so twee , Garak didn’t know what to make of it.
He looked down at his gift basket,--which he had currently in a single, white-knuckled grip-- and peeled back some of the layers to inspect it. It was all non-perishable human snacks, but with a small brochure explaining what each thing was, what it contained, and why it was chosen for a Cardassian tongue.
Garak buried a moment of revulsion as he read it over. These baskets were curated . Was this what this planet did for fun ?
No wonder Alon had been so keen on coming here. What an existence to throw a party for all the surrounding governments and to think their best choice was to give them gift baskets .
He walked across the plaza, instinctively calling it a test in the back of his mind. He wasn’t misbehaving, wasn’t causing any problems, not a sinister plan in his body, but all the same he walked to the nearby river and began to follow it, just to see if anyone stopped him.
It was true, Garak had no ill will towards the Federation or Starfleet. Anyone who thought he contained malicious intent would simply be incorrect. But anyone who acted as if it were impossible he did--well that would be quite a foolish individual.
It would only be logical for an outsider to be suspicious of Cardassia and her ilk. And as rose-tinted as those goggles were for many of the Federation’s people, Garak knew they couldn’t be ignorant of the danger of putting so many diplomats and other members of government in the same city.
As he walked, he found himself hoping that Starfleet’s security was lax enough for Garak to enjoy his time out in the open. He had gotten used to not being on the cramped quarters of a starship.
Garak stopped his walk underneath a large tree and sat down in the warm grass, watching the water flow underneath the bridge.
What a peaceful planet, Earth was. It didn’t smell like home, didn’t feel like home in any way, but maybe one day, this was what his home could be like. Truly peaceful, with nothing but clean air as far as the eye could see.
Museums, parks, the sound of laughter and good cheer, even amidst the hustle and bustle of this city. Oh, what luxury it was to hear the sound of existence for existence’s sake. Garak sighed, finding himself more emotional than expected. He wasn’t as good at closing off his heart as he used to be. There was something vaguely humiliating about almost tearing up at the sight of a well maintained river.
His peace was interrupted when a small group of Galamite diplomats came to Garak’s location, and settled on the opposite side of the tree to take pictures.
Garak stood up, brushed the dirt off his pants, and returned back to the Academy plaza. More species were beaming down every second, and he arrived just in time to see the Bajorans beam down.
He had been correct, Colonel Kira was present, alongside Kai Nohlu and a good deal of Vedeks and other ranking members of Bajoran government.
Garak knew that the Bajoran presence here was a tricky one. Bajor was still a contender for joining the Federation, but they had never sealed the deal. If Cardassia’s information was correct, Kai Nohlu took Captain Sisko’s final words to heart, and was waiting for his say-so to start the process. It was not an unpopular stance, political opinions on Bajor were widely varied on the Federation, ranging from positive, to positive-but-not-yet, to negative to negative-because-sisko-said-so.
The weight Sisko held in this matter was a problem because while Captain Sisko had been spotted many times over the past seven years, he would often only be around for a few weeks or months to help raise his children before vanishing again.
Why that wasn’t enough time to question Sisko on such things, Garak wasn’t sure. He didn’t have anyone close enough who could give him the details, so all he had were the reports. At this point he had to assume that either the tales of Sisko reappearing were a myth, or perhaps his family had decided that every time he materialized the wisest choice of action was to hide him from any sort of government inquiry.
Considering how Cardassia’s plan of attack on this conference was simply to Be Incredibly Pleasant, Colonel Kira would have her hands quite full, comparatively.
Kira’s gaze locked onto Garak, and she frowned in recognition.
She had cut her hair recently, the last image Garak had received of her from reports showed hair that barely touched her shoulders, but it was back to being cropped.
Garak lightly tugged at his own hair that he had tied back in a ponytail and realized he probably didn’t look that much different either. He smiled at Kira and braced himself for whatever would happen next.
Kira broke from the crowd, gift basket in tow, and walked towards Garak with a look of determination. Garak froze and did his best to appear relaxed.
“Garak,” Kira said.
“Colonel Kira,” Garak replied.
She gave a short smile and raised her arms out for a brief hug, and Garak reciprocated.
“I must say it has been far too long,” Garak said.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve been very busy,” Kira said, she leaned back slightly and put her hands in her back pockets. “I’ve been following Cardassia’s rebuilding efforts, it looks like it’s been going very well.”
“Indeed--and I’ve been following Bajoran politics. It seems that Bajor is quite unafraid to probe philosophical quandaries,” Garak replied.
Kira slightly rubbed her forehead with her thumb, looking at Garak with pained aggravation behind a forced smile.
“I don’t mean any offense by that,” Garak said quickly.
“Oh, I know you didn’t,” Kira replied. “Look--doesn’t matter, I’m happy you’re here, I’m happy we’re at peace, lets not worry about anything else while we both scope out for potential assassination opportunities.”
Garak nodded. Kira was speaking his language. He pointed at one of the towers of the Academy.
Kira turned to look and grimaced. “You could hide an entire squadron up there.”
“I know. It’s disgraceful,” Garak said dryly. “Imagine all of us, corralled in here, to get mowed down like wounded hunting dogs.”
“Well, if that happens, I'll show you where I've stashed some phasers,” Kira said with a quirk of her lips. “Assuming we're on the same side, of course.”
“I find one should never assume,” Garak said with a tsk .
Kira snorted and the two walked into the Academy hall together.
“I've heard you're going to be a Vedek,” Garak said.
“Ah, no, they want me to be a Vedek. That's two very different things. I am not impressed with Cardassia Intelligence.” Kira cocked an eyebrow at Garak, her smug smile firmly entrenched. “What about you? You a politician?”
“If Alon Gemor has his way with me,” Garak said.
“Rumor has it you're getting quite popular. Cardassia sees you as a man of integrity,” Kira said, watching Garak closely for a reaction.
Garak grimaced. “Your guess is as good as mine for that one.”
Kira seemed satisfied by this answer and the topic quickly turned to more mundane things.
The arrows and guides directed them to a grand hall, already filled with representation from across the quadrants. Anything that could tolerate Earth's oxygen seemed to have a presence, and those that couldn't were still making appearances with breathing apparatuses or other assistive devices. It was all so… cloying.
“Nerys!” Keiko O’Brien called from across the room. She was in a dazzling dress, accompanied by a young Kirayoshi, a teenager Molly clad in a series of clashing colors, and of course, the Chief himself, dressed in the plain Starfleet uniform and a long, hard stare at the ground.
Kira looked at Garak, and Garak instantly saw the decision she was making. Garak decided he would make it for her.
“Don't stop on my account, I've got politicians to annoy,” Garak said, looking off to a random direction.
Kira smiled, gave a little nod to Garak, and left. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kira embracing the O’Briens like family.
That had been both better and worse than what Garak was expecting. Kira had been kind to him, and none of the O’Briens had given Garak a rude glance, but it was Kira’s look that confirmed his fears. She had been trying to decide how to separate from Garak without saying flat out that it was not desired for Garak to socialize with the O’Briens.
At least they were professional. It wasn't like Garak had held any deep affection for the O’Briens anyway. There was no loss on missing a greeting with them.
Garak kept his distance, allowing himself to to mingle with all those pretty names on the list Natima had given him. His fellow Cardassians had scattered about, following the same orders as Garak.
Unfortunately Garak found himself quite distracted.
Every once in a while he'd find himself observing the small group clustered around the O’Briens. Worf had appeared for a greeting, as well as Jake Sisko (although he immediately left to start interviewing) and Ezri Dax arrived late, enveloping Kira in a large, excited hug.
Garak tried very hard to focus on other things.
There were speeches, scheduled discussion panels, and free drinks as far as the eye could see. Garak made himself useful but found it impossible to truly distract himself.
He managed to neatly avoid the O’Brien contingent for half the day. It was the surprise arrival of the Grand Nagus that ended the streak. They arrived when Garak had found a corner to sip kanar with Kelas as the two recuperated from their diplomatic duties. Rom arrived with Leeta and notably Quark, who Garak had never seen looking more uncomfortable.
Rom’s eyes lit up when he saw Garak, and he hurried over, his procession following him in worry. Kelas looked to Garak with amusement and quietly stepped back, leaving Garak to fend for himself.
Rom hugged Garak in one swift movement, not leaving any time for Garak to react. When he let go, Garak looked at the ornately adorned Ferengi in shock. They had never been enemies, and he had tailored Rom’s clothing many times, but he certainly wouldn't call him and Rom “intense hug” close.
“Garaaak,” Rom said cheerfully.
“Grand Nagus!” Garak responded.
“Good to see you Garak,” Leeta said, who judging by her gorgeous red dress, has adapted quite well to a life of luxury. Her smile was as genuine as Rom’s, if slightly more mild.
Garak gave her a respectful nod, matched her smile, and clasped at her hands. “You look absolutely lovely as always.”
Leeta beamed.
“Garak,” Quark said miserably.
“Quark,” Garak replied with a cocked browridge. Despite Quark’s discomfort, he was dressed immaculately and reeked of Cardassian cologne. A realization struck him. “I thought Ferenginar had declined the invite.”
“Oh--I did, it's tax season right now and I've got a lot of work to do,” Rom said cheerily. “We were sad, Leeta really wanted to go, and I told her she could go alone but she said, No, I'm helping run this planet--isn’t that so sweet?”
Leeta nodded and draped herself over Rom, interlacing her fingers around his chest.
Quark had gone rigid and Garak's smile grew.
“But then my dear brother --” Rom started, shaking Quark's shoulder in glee.
“--We don't need to bore him with the details. You thought you couldn't make it, but you were wrong and you could,” Quark actively pulled away from Rom, shaking his arm as if Rom had gotten something disgusting on it. “And now we're here, surrounded by… free food… free entertainment… and so many… happy people… it's disgusting.”
Leeta rolled her eyes in amusement and momentarily met Garak's gaze. He nodded at her.
“Quark, it might interest you to know that Natima Lang came with me to this conference,” Garak said.
Quark could not contain his grin. He waved his arms back and forth in feigned surprise. “What? You're kidding! I had no idea! Where is she? Has she talked about me at all? How do I look?”
He placed his hand on his chest and spun around the room looking for her.
“I believe she's in conference room C,” Garak supplied.
Quark went to the nearby serving table, grabbed a glass of champagne, raised it in a silent toast, drank it, gagged at the taste, swallowed it, and hurriedly strode off towards the conference room.
Garak chuckled. It was going to go terribly . No doubt he would hear all about it when they retired for the evening.
“He wouldn't stop talking about her the entire trip,” Rom said cheerfully. “Oh, I hope it goes well.”
It would not.
“As do I,” Garak said. “It is good to see you two again.”
“Come on, you should say hi to Nog!” Rom said. He grabbed Garak by the elbow and pointed to the exact corner of the party that Garak had been avoiding. “He's going to love seeing you!”
Garak blanched. Every instinct was telling him to break Rom’s grasp and to escape, but instead he allowed himself to be guided to the small cluster of the O’Briens, Kira, and sure enough, obscured by the taller bodies, Nog. Nog seemed momentarily shocked when he saw Garak approaching, but otherwise turned his attention to the other Ferengi.
Rom embraced his son as fiercely as he did Garak, before making his rounds through the rest of the group. How this man was named leader of an entire planet and yet still maintained a sense of carefree compassion was beyond Garak.
“I’ve been reading on Cardassia’s rebuild efforts.”
The sentence took him so off guard that Garak had to look around to figure out who said it. It was Keiko O’Brien, who was looking at Garak with the most polite, disarming expression Garak had ever seen on someone. Next to her was Miles, an empty glass in his hand, red in the face, looking to the side and neatly avoiding eye contact.
“How well read you are, I imagine we have another seven years ahead of us,” Garak said to Keiko. “So much has been built, but there’s still so much more to do. It’s as if the work doubles every time a task is complete.”
Keiko nodded sympathetically. “You’ve accomplished a lot, I think you should be proud.”
“Oh, I’ve accomplished nothing. It’s the workers of Cardassia who have. I’m just a small cog in the machine,” Garak said. His chest swelled. “But yes, I am proud of them.”
“You’ve started the reintroduction process for endangered species recently, yes?” Keiko asked.
“My dear, you do your research!” Garak exclaimed. “Yes, we’ve already re-introduced quite a lot of wildlife, but there are a few mammals with longer gestation periods that we had to keep in captivity until we could get them to large enough numbers. We’re still tracking the long term effects of the city bombings in our water supplies and nearby forests, but overall things look promising. It’s merely a matter of being patient, diligent, and incredibly precise with our actions.”
It was what Cardassians were good at.
Keiko asked a few more questions about their nature programs, and Garak found his joy seeping into his words. This event had been a great stressor, and he severely regretted his choice to come. But Alon had insisted, so here he was.
He was so proud of how far Cardassia had come. The work had shifted, and the long list was not a sign of their failures, but in fact their success. There was growing turmoil in Cardassia these days, not from lack of resources, but because now there was finally enough, and the question was arising of what to do next. More and more children were being born every year and the education program was still deeply unfinished despite it being worked on non-stop once the rebuilding had started.
The generation of Cardassians who had been children at the time of the Dominion war were now starting to reach adulthood, and with it came a growing rumble in differing opinions. Cardassians who believed in what they were building, but also knew little of what came before it. And the gap would only grow more and more with each year. It unnerved Garak to no end.
“Why don’t we stop distracting Mr. Garak from the others,” Miles muttered.
Keiko’s smile faded and she looked over at her husband.
Garak didn’t particularly trust Keiko’s pleasantness, although he certainly appreciated it. Miles O’Brien however, was not as good an actor. He was already intoxicated past the point that was socially acceptable, and seemed to be coping by remaining silent.
“I think that would be wise,” came Worf’s voice from behind Garak, stern as ever.
Garak’s first instinct was to say no and just to come out with the burning question that no one was daring to speak-- So, what has the doctor told you about me? It would be a great way to start a fight, especially if he tacked on a I can’t imagine it being too damning, since you haven’t tried to arrest me yet . If Doctor Bashir was nearby--potentially even at the conference--oh the chaos it would cause. Garak could probably ignite their entire insipid little friend in three gloriously vile sentences.
But he wasn’t here to cause problems. He was here to behave and put on a good face for Cardassia. And Garak knew how to behave. It was a skill he mastered long ago, being unafraid to make himself subservient in the face of his targets.
Like a hound on a damn leash.
So he smiled, gestured in good-bye, and backed away. He caught Keiko’s diminishing smile, confirming his suspicion she was merely trying to be polite. Excellent woman, that Keiko. She dropped it too quickly and there were some obvious tells, but for a civilian she really did wonderful work. He had the utmost respect for anyone who could put forth an exceptional smile under duress. No wonder Miles was so deeply in love with her.
In order to avoid Rom ignorantly wrangling Garak into meeting other people who wanted nothing to do with him, Garak left the main hall and lurked in a conference room that was discussing breaking technology in genetic engineering for bee and bee-like insects. He found himself sitting with some Ferengi who were eagerly taking notes on anticipated business trajectory, as well as one who seemed to be writing down thoughts on potential ingredients for a bee-related recipe.
Finding himself oddly drained, Garak wandered the halls, hoping to come across Natima to see if he could catch a glimpse of the disaster that would be Quark trying to reconnect with her. It was to no avail, and after nearly half an hour of searching, he found neither of them.
He found himself deeper and deeper into the halls of the Academy, none of it guarded save for password protected doors. Garak’s skin prickled in the silence, but nonetheless he continued to walk.
It was when he hit a completely empty hallway with dimmed lights, several alcoves and narrow but accessible windows, accompanied by a sense of deep visceral satisfaction did he know he had gone too far. If he had wanted to kill someone, this is where he would have taken them. Which meant he shouldn’t be here.
Garak sighed. Old habits died hard. He turned around, preparing himself to return to his duties, when he heard the sound of shoes scuffling on the ground. His curiosity piqued, he skulked down the hallway, completely silent.
“ -- this shouldn’t be your mission--” a woman’s voice muttered angrily from behind one of the alcoves. “You were given one order--”
“I ran the numbers, I planned it, I’m not going to let an unthinking drone mess it all up,” a man’s voice replied. Soft, firm, and so painfully familiar that Garak froze in his tracks.
“You’re bleeding…” the woman spoke.
The sound of a soft grimace. “It’s fine. I’m quite used to it by now.”
Garak’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding. He still hadn’t moved, and he knew he needed to. This wasn’t surprising. He had suspected this since he saw Ezri Dax’s entrance. He shouldn’t be shocked, this was mundane .
Still he did not move.
“We need to move that thing before anyone sees it,” the woman spoke.
“Read my mind,” Doctor Julian Bashir said as he poked his head out from behind the alcove, saw Garak standing still only a few feet away and froze in shock. He had grown his hair out, with slight, dark curls resting around his ears. His clothes were formal, and the blood that the woman referred to appeared to be the result of a nosebleed that had dripped down past the doctor’s lips.
“Garak,” Bashir said, crinkling his brow in confusion. His hand rested at his side, as if he had a concealed phaser that he was going to pull out. “What are you doing here?”
The woman he was talking to looked out at Garak. She looked young, with a nearly-shaved head and minimalist plainclothes. She looked to Bashir for direction. Her training was quite good. Garak could only barely tell she was nervous.
“I got lost on my way to the bathroom,” Garak said, every ounce of him at attention as the hair prickled on the back of his skull. Nonetheless he kept a polite smile plastered on his face. “I don’t suppose you know where it is?”
He took a step forward. Bashir took a step back and his hand disappeared into his jacket.
Garak's smile grew. “Jumpy, are we?”
Bashir gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Of course not.”
He stepped back, allowing Garak to approach the alcove.
That “thing” was not a dead body, as Garak had instinctively assumed, but instead a serving cart adorned with a multi-layered cake, several feet tall. There was no conspiracy, no training, just Garak intruding on a former friend's surprise.
“If you’re here, why not make yourself useful and help me?” Bashir asked, completely pleasant.
Feeling incredibly foolish, Garak looked upwards and gave a dramatic sigh. “I have nothing better to do, I suppose.”
Bashir dismissed the woman and Garak rolled the cake down several halls into a kitchen, and then into the walk-in refrigerator. Bashir did not help, instead observing Garak silently.
Alarm bells were still going off in Garak’s mind, with the only thing repeating in his mind that the cake could still be a bomb or potentially poisoned. He did his best to ignore it, even if the alternative meant stewing in his own shame.
“How have you been, Garak?” Bashir asked as Garak closed the doors to the bitingly cold room.
“Marvelous, Doctor,” Garak said, his mouth dry. “Yourself?”
Bashir gave a sly smile. “I have been quite busy since we last met.”
“I can imagine. Have you said hello to the O’Briens yet?” Garak asked. Formalities. All formalities. None of it meaning anything real.
Bashir wiped at his nose, despite there being no remaining blood to wipe away. “I believe there are plans to reunite for dinner for hibachi.”
Garak’s smile grew pained. “I see. Well, I am sure you will have a wonderful time.”
“That’s news to you, isn’t it?” Bashir asked, his eyes narrowing and his smile deepening. “That the others were planning to celebrate after the conference.”
“Not in the slightest,” Garak lied. “I can’t imagine I would find much enjoyment going to such an event.”
Bashir leaned against the wall. He pursed his lips together in thought. “I imagine it would be torture for you… too cold… dull conversation… and come to think of it, with Odo gone, there really isn’t anyone left who actually likes you, is there?”
The question cut through the tension like a knife. Garak's grip on the cart nearly slipped, but he remained firm.
“How should I know? I’ve been so busy with rebuilding Cardassia I don’t have time to keep track of who thinks what or who has said what,” Garak said flatly, looking Bashir up and down.
There was something deeply strange with how this man was talking. Their last interaction had involved screaming, blows had been thrown, and the visceral rage had left Garak shaking. The amount of contempt on the doctor’s tongue was hardly surprising, but still there was something about off about it that Garak found wholly unnerving.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve kept yourself busy,” Bashir said. “It suits you.”
Garak was wholly baffled by the statement. It sounded like an insult, but it was so wholly unexpected on multiple levels that all he could do there was stand there as he tried to process from what direction he was being insulted in. It was then he realized what was activating his instincts.
Bashir’s contempt wasn’t what was bothering him, it was the fact he was amicable . The doctor had always worn his heart and his hate on his sleeve.
Doctor Julian Bashir was acting like Garak did when he met someone he despised.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am also very busy,” Bashir said. He clapped Garak on the shoulder, grinned, and left the kitchen.
Garak exhaled in relief, his heart pounding still in his ears. He stared at Bashir’s exit, and any pretense of following Alon’s orders vanished completely. He followed Bashir’s footsteps, not making a single sound as he did.
Something was going on with the Doctor. And whatever it was, Garak intended to find out.