DS9 Fic: And So It Goes Ch15

At last, the time came. The rest of the Starfleet personnel on the station were heading to board the Defiant, and Garak took his chance to blend in with the crowd. In the cramped corridor to the docking bay, Bashir and a few of his nurses were lugging medical supplies.

"Mind if I join you?" Garak asked, falling into step with Bashir.

Bashir jerked, blinking at him. "Garak! I thought—you're coming on the Defiant?"

"Of course! Well, there's still the small technicality of getting Captain Sisko's permission, but I'm sure his Federation principles wouldn't allow him to abandon me to certain death."

Bashir laughed but didn't say anything. He must be deeply preoccupied, Garak thought.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Carry medical supplies for you? Make you a hot cup of Tarkalean tea?"

"I'll be fine. This is almost the last of it," Bashir sighed, and once they were inside the ship, he veered sharply into the infirmary. Garak didn't follow. He slipped to one side, out of the way. Bashir hadn't been avoiding him lately, per se. He'd just been too busy and stressed to notice that Garak had quietly withdrawn. No more badgering from the doctor about how Garak needed to accept his grief, his losses. At first it had seemed like a blessing. Then Garak had taken to glancing wistfully at the infirmary whenever he passed it. Bashir and O'Brien rarely even came into Quark's to play darts lately.

"Garak? What're you doin' here?" Chief O'Brien called, halting so suddenly that the ensign behind him bumped into his back.

"Waiting to talk to Captain Sisko, of course," Garak said cheerfully.

"About what?" Ah, that suspicious look. The Chief had many reasons not to trust him.

"I'd like to offer him my expertise."

O'Brien chewed on that a moment. "Well, he's not coming this way. Come on, you can wait for him in the transporter room."

...

The first part of the day was the most awkward; they hadn't yet cleared the battle zone, and everyone was still settling in for the forty-eight hour trip to rendezvous with the Federation task force. Garak tried to keep out of the way, nestled into a corner of the mess hall with his bag as people grabbed meals or snacks on their way to their duties—or more likely, to ask about their duties. Bits of speculation drifted to him but nothing of too much importance. Finally, Bashir came in with Lieutenant Dax and they both got hot beverages from the replicator. Garak watched them split off, Dax coming toward him while Bashir headed for another table. But then Bashir did a double take and changed course.

"Hello, Lieutenant," Garak said, startled at her sudden approach. "Is everything alright?"

"That's a loaded question," Dax said, grinning as she sat down across from him. "But all things considered, yes. Have you heard what your room assignment is yet?"

"No." Garak glanced questioningly at Bashir, who had just slipped into a chair on his left. A complicated mixture of anxiety and anticipation rose in his stomach. "Ah, let me guess. I'll be staying with Doctor Bashir, because no one else on the ship would dare sleep in my presence."

Bashir shook his head. "Chief O'Brien and I are assigned together already."

"Of course," Garak said, turning to Dax. "So, who is it?"

Dax stuck out her hand with a smirk. "Pleased to meet you, Mister Garak. I'm Dax, your new roommate."

Garak blinked and shook her hand briefly, laughing a little. "Well, I suppose this is the most logical arrangement. Considering the rumors I've heard, you may be one of the most capable warriors on this ship."

"Flattery's not such a bad way to start off," said Dax smoothly. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

Bashir was watching them with an odd little smile that he was only half-trying to hide behind a mug of Tarkalean Tea. "If we can't re-take the station quickly, correct rooming assignments might make all the difference in crew morale. Otherwise we might do the Dominion's job for them."

"Well, if nothing else, at least we won't be bored." Dax arched her eyebrows as she tried to read her data pad and sip her drink at the same time.

Bashir grimaced comically. "I'll be treating casualties for the next few hours at least, and I'm sure this is only the beginning."

"I'm confident that you and your fellow medical professionals have things well in hand," Garak butted in, "but… considering that I don't have an official position among the crew, I'm certainly at your disposal, Doctor. Errands to run, hot drinks to fetch, disgruntled patients to disarm—whatever it is you need, I'd be more than happy for something to do."

"Well, thank you, Garak." Bashir gave him a brief nod and grin. "I like my early-morning coffee with two measures of kava and a teaspoon of sugar. Make sure it's filled up to exactly a centimeter from the top of the mug."

"I didn't think you drank coffee," Garak said, glancing at Bashir suspiciously. "But I suppose we don't usually meet for breakfast."

"That's exactly how Kira takes her coffee," Dax observed.

"I know. And I'm joking, Garak." Bashir rolled his eyes and clapped Garak on the back, almost like he did with Chief O'Brien. "You don't need to fetch me my drinks. It takes two seconds for me to order from the replicator—but I do appreciate the sentiment."

"Any time," Garak nodded back, a bit put out by Bashir's distracted attitude. Normally Bashir noticed his body language, and reacted in one way or another—even if that reaction was to deliberately ignore it. But he could clearly see that Bashir was somehow oblivious to the tone of his voice, the precise arrangement of his features that were meant to tell him I've been missing you, Doctor, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of you.

Ah well. There would be time—or there wouldn't. There was no use fretting.

Bashir finished his drink quickly. "I'd better head back. I'll let you two get acquainted."

As he walked away, Dax shook her head a little and spoke to Garak in a confidential tone. "Don't take it personally. He's stressed. Unfortunately, I've got to get back to work too." She winked at him and got up to leave. "See you later."

Garak watched her go, feeling off-balance. Between Bashir's obliviousness and her overly familiar approach, he was starting to feel the same old sense of isolation. There was no one here to truly connect with. But then he thought of Odo, back on the station, having to deal with Dukat. And Ziyal, surrounded by a sea of perfect strangers once again. Perhaps things weren't so bad for him, all things considered. After all, on a ship this small, people couldn't help but bump into one another.

...

When Bashir returned to the infirmary, the nurses were still working through the casualties from earlier that day: some Federation crewmembers that had been caught in explosions when the station's shields went down, and a handful of Klingons who had been transported to his medical bay from their ships while their comrades continued to push back the Dominion fleet. He joined the nurses, trying to occupy his overactive mind by focusing fully on his patients. But he couldn't help himself—his thoughts were in overdrive, dwelling on the Dominion, trying to find a quick and easy fix to the war.

Earlier that day, he had already calculated roughly how many people were likely to die on the station if Captain Sisko didn't surrender it to Dukat before real damage was done. He'd taken all the basics into account: the station's structure; the location of its life-support and weapons systems, and the most likely areas to be targeted; the time it would take his teams to reach victims in certain sections if the lifts were down or the transporters were offline; the maximum amount of harm Dukat might allow to be dealt to the station before forcibly boarding it and taking over from the inside out; the likely number of Jem'Hadar soldiers in each of the ships in each of the convoys they'd seen gathering in Cardassian space.

The only thing that had taken the edge off Bashir's dread at these prospects was when the order came for all Bajoran residents to evacuate. But by then, he was already beginning to feel premonitions of how much death he would soon be witness to. There had to be some logical way to end this before it started.

"Julian?"

Jadzia's voice broke into his concentration, and he looked up from the computer analysis he was working on. Finding the antidote to the biogenic compound from Empok Nor had been a stroke of good luck, but there were still details of its composition that he wanted to hammer out, especially in relation to its exact affect on Cardassians. It was his pet project, but he rationalized it by telling himself that the more they knew about what the Central Command was capable of, the better prepared they would be if their enemies resorted to such tactics. Perhaps the compound could also reveal a way to disarm the Jem'Hadar non-violently. He could always hope.

"I thought you could use a break," Jadzia was saying. "Want to grab a bite to eat?"

"Oh, I haven't been working that long," Bashir said dismissively, barely looking at her.

"Julian, it's past nineteen-hundred hours already."

Bashir glanced at the clock, startled. "So it is." He rubbed at his eyes with one hand. "Time does fly when you're enjoying yourself," he remarked, only half-sarcastically.

"Come on." Jadzia nearly yanked him up by his arm and he stumbled after her—she always startled him with how strong she was. "Let's walk. I was actually wondering if you could give me any tips about Garak."

"What do you mean?" Bashir rubbed his arm where she'd gripped it and followed her down the hall. With effort, he pulled his mind away from its puzzles and focused on Jadzia's face.

"You know," she said. "Are there any quirks I should know about? Snoring, sleepwalking, pet peeves, topics to avoid? The basics of getting along with him as well as you do?"

"Why would I know all of that?" Bashir scoffed, amused. "It's not as if we've ever shared a room before."

"You must have sometime—on a runabout, maybe, or... I know, when you were at the Jem'Hadar prison compound! You were in the same barracks, weren't you?"

"Well, there was that, but none of us got much sleep after him and Worf arrived." Bashir sighed, thinking back. "If I'd had my way, Garak would have, but he was too busy working on our escape and dealing with his claustrophobia."

"Claustrophobia?" Dax looked surprised. "Somehow I never would have expected a former spy to have a problem like that."

"Well, don't bring it up if you can help it," Bashir said in a hushed tone. "I don't think he likes to talk about it, and I don't think he likes me telling people about it either."

"He's gonna have a rough time on this ship." Jadzia said, exhaling slowly with eyebrows raised. "Does he get grumpy when he's feeling claustrophobic? Should I sleep with a phaser under my pillow?"

"I think you're misinterpreting his comment," Bashir laughed under his breath. "About you being a capable warrior. Garak knows he wouldn't be trusted as a roommate for just anyone, but he's not looking for a fight… he was only commenting as a way of…." Bashir paused to think of how to phrase this. Explaining Garak to other people could be so difficult.

"I didn't think he was looking for a fight," Jadzia shrugged. "He came off as more sullen and defensive than anything else."

"Really? That's not what he was aiming for, either," said Bashir. "If I'd been paying more attention…." He sighed, giving up. There was no way to explain it without making Garak sound like someone obsessed with psychological power play. Which, in a way, he was, but that was too simplistic. "Well, it doesn't really matter. Just don't take his comments too personally—he likes to show that he sees past the pleasantries of any situation. And he likes to keep people guessing."

"Well, as long as he doesn't take too much offense when people guess wrong."

"Even if he seems like he does, he's probably just trying to test your reaction. Just take it as his way of getting to know you. Anyway, it's probably no use asking him personal questions. If you want to learn anything about him, you're better off talking about your own interests and letting him pick them apart… unless you enjoy going around in circles for hours until you forgot what you were curious about in the first place." Bashir laughed at himself and Jadzia laughed with him.

"I'll take that as a challenge."

"Well, if you get anything new out of him, I'll be very impressed." They had reached the mess hall now, and Bashir deliberated for a moment before ordering a pot pie.

"How did he cope with his claustrophobia?" Jadzia asked. "When you were trying to escape?"

"I'm not sure." Bashir sat down with his food, remembering with an odd pang the way Garak had clung to his hand so desperately… the way he'd apologized for failing them. Physical contact was obviously something that had steadied Garak in that moment, but there was no use telling Jadzia that—somehow, he doubted Garak would appreciate her trying to hug him at the first sign of anxiety, no matter how perfect she was. "Talking to him seems to help. Distraction."

"About what?"

"Anything." Bashir shrugged. "I'm sure he'll be fine. He was only suffering from it so badly because he was in a dark, hot crawlspace, and we had to keep closing it whenever the guards got too close. Apparently the panel he was working on also had some exposed circuits, and he kept getting shocked."

Jadzia made a face. "That's enough to give anyone a panic attack."

"Exactly. Still… it's not a bad idea to give him some distraction before it gets to that point. We might be on this ship for a very long time." Bashir sighed and looked across the mess hall, stared out the window at the endless blackness of space. For a long time, he'd thought he could serve the world best by being a doctor… giving individual care and saving lives. But wasn't an ounce of prevention worth a pound of cure? Wouldn't avoiding war be a surer way to help people? But even if he thought of an answer… what could he do by himself? He was only a doctor… not a captain, not an admiral. He wasn't one of the powers in this fight.

When he turned back to his food, Jadzia was smiling at him as if she'd caught him mooning over another dabo girl.

"What?" Bashir asked.

"Nothing," she said innocently. "Are you going to eat that thing, or just keep hovering your fork over it until it surrenders?"

Bashir looked down at his pot pie and realized he hadn't even cut it open yet.

"Eat your dinner, Julian," Jadzia commanded in a motherly tone. "And after that it's time for bed."

Bashir gave her a warning look and dug into his pot pie with hasty movements, only to have his tongue burned because the inside—as always—was too hot.

...

That night, Garak and Dax went to their sorry closet-sized excuse for a room, which contained bunks on one side and a few small storage compartments on the other. But there was no use complaining, Garak knew. All the rooms on the Defiant were just as pitiful.

"Alright. Top or bottom?" Dax asked, once they'd both used the tiny adjacent changing room to put on their night clothes. Garak's were cut similarly to the suits he wore every day, but made of more flexible fabric. Regrettably, the cloth was also thinner, which meant he would probably be a bit cold all night long. Dax wore a sleeveless shirt and fitted shorts. Garak had never gotten quite this close a look at her spots before. Fascinating people, Trill.

"Hmm." Garak eyed the bunks and glanced at the ceiling. "I'll take the bottom one, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." Dax hoisted herself up onto the top bunk and settled in, watching as he pulled open the storage compartments one by one. "Lose something?" she asked.

"Oh, just checking to make sure there's not a spare blanket somewhere," Garak muttered half to himself."

"Try the compartment under your bunk," Dax suggested.

Indeed, when Garak inspected the side of his bunk, there was a handle-less drawer which opened with a press and contained three spare blankets. He pulled out two and spread them over the drab mattress before settling in under them, lying on his side so he could face the opposite wall instead of the bottom of Dax's bunk which was so suffocating overhead.

"Lights out?" Dax prompted.

"Yes, thank you."

A small panel on the wall remained aglow once the rest of the lights had dimmed. Garak's eyes adjusted all too quickly and within a few minutes he could see the dimensions of the room quite clearly. He traced the lines between each cupboard in the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was in his bedroom back on Deep Space Nine. His chest felt tight—he tried rolling onto his back, but it didn't help. He tried lifting his arms above his head so the air could flow more freely, but this only made the tight feeling worse.

"You know," Dax's voice shot out of the darkness, startling him. "I've slept in a lot of beds over the years, and these aren't so bad, but they can definitely take some getting used to. I remember when I first started at the Academy; I couldn't stand the dormitory mattresses. Do Cardassians prefer firmer beds or do you like it a little more luxurious?"

"It varies," Garak said, frowning at the wall. "I've known some Cardassians who would be dissatisfied with a mattress three times softer than this. Others could sleep on bare rock."

"I guess that just goes to show that you can't generalize," Dax said breezily.
"Personally, I'm always glad to learn how my first impressions are wrong. Even if a person seems perfect at first, that's usually all the more reason not to trust them. Of course, people get the wrong idea about me all the time. Well, maybe it's not exactly wrong, but it's not accurate. I'm sure you've experienced the same thing. It's bound to happen when you have two very different cultures or people meeting for the first time."

"You're obviously a very dedicated observer of alien behavior, Lieutenant," Garak sighed. "But may I ask why you're telling me all this now, instead of sleeping?"

"Well. We don't have to talk if you don't want to," Dax said, a shrug in her voice. "Julian told me you have claustrophobia and I thought it might help if I distracted you."

"He did, did he?" Garak took a deep breath to calm his stung pride and affect a careless tone. "I suppose it's just as well that you know, but I wish he'd consulted me first."

"That's Julian for you," Dax laughed. "He'll choose a person's health above their wishes as much as he possibly can. It's an important quality in a doctor. And sometimes it serves him well as a friend, too. He's not afraid to talk some sense into people…. that's at least one thing we have in common. You spend a lot of time with Julian."

"Oh, not that much," Garak muttered, still resentful at her knowledge of him. "We've shared some meals, discussed novels, that sort of thing."

"What kind of novels?"

"Classics from Earth and Cardassia."

"The Never-Ending Sacrifice?"

Garak blinked. "So you've heard of that one, at least."

"I like to learn a few well-known titles from any culture I encounter," Dax said. "It makes it easier to start conversations. What did Julian think of it?"

"Oh… I'm almost certain he hated it," Garak said bluntly, and Dax giggled a little.

"Did he actually say that?"

"Oh no, he was much too polite, of course."

"Of course." There was a smile in Dax's voice. "And I bet he even agreed to read another one."

"Well, why wouldn't he?" Garak said. "Despite what some humans will tell you, not all Cardassian literature is the same."

"And I'm sure he realized that. Still, some people get turned off by one dish on the menu and won't try other Klingon food no matter how dead it is."

Garak exhaled in a short, impatient laugh. "I hope you're not comparing Cardassian literature to gagh, Lieutenant."

"I happen to think gagh is alright. Have you even tried it?"

"No, and I don't intend to."

"Well, don't worry. I'm not offended," Dax said. "Even most Klingons don't like the taste—it's just the sensation. But Julian actually really likes racht! Can you believe that?"

"I'm afraid I've never heard of racht, but I can only guess it's something just as repulsive as gagh."

"Good guess. Actually, most would say it's worse. The worms are bigger."
Despite his grumpiness and claustrophobia, Garak almost laughed. "And here I thought he was joking when he suggested we go to the Klingon restaurant for lunch."

"Julian's full of surprises, isn't he?"

"How else has he surprised you?" Garak asked, genuinely curious now.

"Oh, well, you know. When we all started out our assignments on Deep Space Nine, he was such a… he was so overconfident and," Dax laughed, "I mean, he's obviously brilliant, but he was so naïve! I thought he had the worst superiority complex, like when a five year old thinks they know everything just because they can count to a hundred. He came off as a little sheltered, you know. No real-life experience, just book learning, and I have to admit, I thought he was going to be a thorn in everyone's side and Benjamin would have to request a reassignment for him."

Garak did laugh now, but softly, fondly. "Yes, he was certainly brash and arrogant, back then. But it… seems to have endeared him to some people."

"He's an idealist," Dax said. "All the best people are, and sometimes the worst people. I guess in a way, his enthusiasm bothers people because it frightens them. He was always so confident that he could do anything he set his mind to. I don't think he's quite that overzealous anymore."

"He certainly has come a long way," Garak murmured thoughtfully. He'd seen Bashir grow through that entire process, these past five years. He'd been right there the entire time, and sometimes even fooled himself into thinking he knew Bashir better than anyone else. But he didn't resent Dax's accurate reminiscence. It only served to remind him how fortunate he'd been to know the man.

"Of course, we all have a little different perspective now that we know about his genetic enhancements," Dax admitted. "It makes me wonder how much of his old personality was an act."

"Yes, it does raise some questions," Garak agreed. "What do you think?"

"I think some of it might have been exaggerated, but it was still Julian. He's just grown up a lot between now and then. It's a good thing, too, because if the secret had gotten out back then, before he proved how valuable his skills are, I think it would have been much harder for him to get away with it. He wouldn't have had so many powerful people on his side."

"Isn't there an old Earth saying?" Garak asked. "It's not what you know…"

"It's who you know. Yeah," Dax sighed. "Sometimes that's true." She paused a moment, and laughed suddenly. "You know, he used to ask me out almost every day. He was so determined to start a relationship with me, no matter how many times I turned him down. Quark told me later that he'd come in there and order a synth ale five or six times a week and cry about how I'd turned him down again. I felt bad—he's definitely cute, with those gorgeous brown eyes, but I just wasn't interested."

"That's a shame. I can't imagine why you wouldn't want him," Garak sighed half to himself. "Even as immature as he was back then."

"What do you mean by that?" Dax squirmed around on the top bunk until her head was hanging over the side, all her hair falling to the left of her face. Garak blinked up at her amazed grin, and her voice took on a conspiratorial tone. "Are you saying you're attracted to Julian?"

Garak laughed a bit loudly to cover his dismay. "Oh, Lieutenant. Just because I can see that he might be appealing to someone like you, doesn't mean I have any interest in the way you're talking about."

"Are you sure about that?" Dax coaxed. "After all, you have saved each other's lives more than once. That's got to count for something."

"Do you have a romantic attachment to everyone who's saved your life?"

Dax paused for a moment. "I guess not. I'd have to think about it. There are a lot of lives to go through."

"Well, I can assure you, my feelings of gratitude have nothing to do with Doctor Bashir's supposedly gorgeous brown eyes."

Dax laughed, but then seemed to sober. "What about Ziyal?"

"What about her?"

Dax's voice went smooth with suggestion. "Well, it's no secret that she likes you, Garak. And I know you two spend time in the holosuites."

"So do Doctor Bashir and Chief O'Brien. I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"Let me be a little clearer, then. Have you been physically intimate with her? Or is that still too vague?" Dax said it all casually enough, but Garak thought what little he could see of her expression had changed. If nothing else, he could hear the tension underlying her friendly affectation. After all, he often approached confrontations in the same way.

"Not to be rude, Lieutenant, but do you ask everyone you bunk with about these kinds of personal details?"

Dax took a deep breath. "Well, Kira and I talk. Ziyal is young and inexperienced, after all, and you're…."

"Old?"

"Well, I was going to say more experienced," Dax said. "To put it bluntly, Kira thinks you've been taking advantage of Ziyal's loneliness, and she's too blinded by her infatuation with you to realize that you don't actually love her back. Personally, I would like to believe you care about her more than just for the sex, but I really don't know you well enough to be sure."

Garak took a deep breath, surprised at how disgusted and dismayed he felt at finally hearing these rumors he had always known would arise. "What does Ziyal say about that?"

"She denies all of it, of course. Kira's tried to get the truth out of her multiple times, but Ziyal just said she's an adult and she understands what she's getting into. But that doesn't prove anything to Kira."

"No, I don't suppose it does."

"I don't think it should, either. She's an impressionable young woman, and you're too clever for your own good. I also can't imagine you took a vow of celibacy when you were exiled. A girl like Ziyal is probably irresistible. Especially in a station full of Bajorans, who aren't likely to want to go to bed with you."

"Charming," Garak said dryly. "If this is your usual practice when assigned a new bunk mate, it's no wonder you're so popular."

"I'm just being realistic!" Dax said, putting both her hands up by her face. "How often would a Cardassian exile really get to have sex unless he paid someone or went to a holosuite? No matter what Quark says, a hologram isn't like the real thing. But a young half-Cardassian girl like Ziyal, with a neglectful father, who's lived most of her life in a hostile environment? She'd be perfect for you because she might not know the difference between regular attention and actual love! Why wouldn't you take advantage of her, especially if her father doesn't care? Your bases are covered—she likes you, and she's an adult, so no one can do anything about it unless she decides to turn against you. But she won't, because you're the only intimate relationship she knows."

"Well," Garak said tersely, when he'd waited a space to make sure she was finished. "I can see you've already come to your own conclusions about this. And you've no doubt heard from Doctor Bashir that I'm an excellent liar as well. At this point, I'm not sure anything I say would convince you!"

"Don't give up on me yet," Dax said, and he could have sworn she rolled her eyes at him.

Garak went on as if she hadn't spoken. "I suppose a Trill would assume that every other species is just as sexually driven and indiscriminate of age differences."

Dax laughed. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Obviously, nearly every one of the countless aliens you've no doubt bedded in your long string of lives was much too young for you!" Garak said in a lazy sing-song. "I'm sure the gap of wisdom and experience was far beyond even that which exists between me and Ziyal. So forgive me if I don't give your judgment of me much weight. Cardassian males aren't sexually reserved by any means, but self-mastery is near the very peak of our values."

"Fair enough… I suppose," Dax said grudgingly. "But we're getting off track. You're supposed to be telling me why I should believe you aren't taking advantage of Ziyal."

"As you said, she is young. What if I'm not interested in the inexperienced? What if I only enjoy her company, so I let her have her romantic fantasies because they keep her close to me?"

"You're saying you're not sexually interested in her at all?"

"Well, if we're going to get technical," Garak huffed, "I'm sexually interested in lots of people, but acting on that interest is rarely worth the effort and danger involved. Ziyal is undoubtedly beautiful, but I've never seen her as a potential partner in any respect."

"That's a vague statement," Dax said. "Not a partner, maybe, but she could still be a plaything."

Garak sighed, meeting her eyes in the dim light. There was no way to shrug this off without incriminating either himself or Ziyal. "Whatever else I might be, Lieutenant, I assure you that I am not the type to force myself upon an unwilling partner. Ziyal is… very fond of me, for reasons I'm not sure I fully understand, but she's a good friend. For the moment, that's all we are, however much she might wish I felt differently. She knows I don't want that sort of relationship with her."

"Okay," Dax said skeptically. "The only other Cardassian on the station is a young, beautiful, intelligent female, and you just want to be friends? Somehow I find that a little hard to believe. If Dukat doesn't care anymore, there'd be no danger in pursuing her. Unless you're counting Kira."

"Major Kira isn't very fond of me already," Garak admitted. "But that's not why I'm holding back."

"Maybe you were going to use her against Dukat somehow, but now that he's not interested, you're not interested either? Or you're just hanging on to her because no one else on the station will have you?"

Garak's voice turned a little sharp. "Are you suggesting Ziyal is only worth as much as her sexual allure or her relation to her father?"

"No, not at all," Dax said. "I just wasn't sure if—"

"Not every Cardassian is like Gul Dukat, Lieutenant," Garak said, not bothering to cover his annoyance. "And Ziyal is no fool. She knows better than to get involved with someone unless they truly return her feelings. Say whatever you like about me, think whatever is easiest for you to believe. But give Ziyal a little credit. She may be naïve. She is not, however, as passive and easy to manipulate as you seem to think."

"Well." Dax paused a moment, absorbing what he'd said. "I guess I had this all wrong. But you said she's a good friend… so you obviously have feelings for her of some kind."

"I never said I didn't," Garak said quietly.

"Just not sexual ones?"

"I've never exactly had my pick of sexual partners," Garak said in a resigned tone of voice. "And that's certainly not the hardest loss to cope with in my exile." He paused, hardly believing how he was casually baring his soul here, walking right into the trap she'd set for him. "No, the thing I long for most is having someone to share some time and good conversation with. A friend. Someone who genuinely enjoys my company." He exhaled a little self-mocking laugh. "And that's why I hadn't confronted Ziyal about her feelings until recently. She is… smitten, and she deserves someone who will love her back with that same kind of devotion. Someone who will hold nothing back from her."

"A touching speech," Dax said. Normally, it would have seemed sarcastic, but there was something open-ended about it, as if she almost believed him. "So you like her, but not nearly as much as she likes you."

"I have no fantasies of building a life with her."

"I see." Dax didn't say anything for the next minute, but she didn't pull her head back up onto her pillow either. Garak took slow calming breaths.

"Lieutenant?"

"Hmm?"

"If this conversation is over, I'd like to get some sleep, and knowing you're staring at me might make that a little difficult."

"Sorry," Dax said, but she didn't move. "You really do care about her, don't you?"
Garak sighed, long and softly. "A shocking thought, I know." Somehow, Dax had steered this conversation exactly where he never expected it to go. She had created a scenario in which telling the truth was ultimately more attractive than keeping secrets—the key to any good interrogation.

"Is there anyone you've ever wanted to spend the rest of your life with?" Dax asked, a trace of wistfulness in her voice. Garak wondered if she was thinking about her Klingon lover.

"I think that's quite enough gossip for one night, Lieutenant," Garak said chidingly. "If I told you any more now, you'd have nothing left to distract me with for the rest of the trip!"

"You're right." Dax's head withdrew from Garak's sight and he heard her roll over above him. "We can talk about you and Julian later. Goodnight, Garak."

Garak hoped he was imagining the insinuations in her voice.

"Goodnight, Lieutenant," he replied politely.

"And you can call me Dax."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Garak closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd have to watch himself around her. People sometimes described her personality as disarming, but he'd never expected it to be such a literal description of her ability to put someone off guard, or at least trap them into cooperation.

Still, he did feel better now. The distraction had worked, and for the moment, Garak realized he was actually relieved to have spoken the truth. And what was more, it seems she had actually believed him.