DS9 - And now an end to misery! [5/5]
Jul. 12th, 2013 06:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seikilosTitle: Held
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Action/Pre-slash
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to torture; panic attack; innuendo)
Betas: tinsnip and Yosie
Words: This part 3949, 16 006 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: "...[T]he dictator is merely the tip of the whole festering boil of social pus from which dictators emerge; shoot one, and there’ll be another one along in a minute." - Terry Pratchett. Approximately six weeks after The Circle's fall from power, a fragment of the organisation returns to lash out against the only Cardassian living on Deep Space Nine. What they didn't anticipate, however, was being interrupted mid-abduction. This chapter: Kira and O'Brien infiltrate The Circle's stronghold in an attempt to rescue Julian and Garak before Sisko's scheduled meeting with the leader of the cell.
Author's Notes: So this is Act 5, where Star Trek episodes tie everything up into a neat little bundle (provided they aren't multi-parters) --and consequently, that's what happens here. Thank you very much to everyone for reading! It's been a real pleasure, and the feedback I've gotten has been incredibly kind.
You'll probably be happy to know that I haven't been idle during the five weeks I've been posting this. I now have enough other fic lined up to keep posting at this rate for the next three months. I'm going to try to keep things coming at this rate for the next few weeks, although I may take a bit of a hiatus next month to get caught up on all my proofreading (there's a lot of it).
Once again, thank you for coming on this trip with me, and I hope you enjoy the conclusion. <3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
(5)
Kira couldn't stop checking her phaser. She knew her orders—that any violence was to be left to the militia. And she knew what was smart, for that matter, which wasn't charging forward, phasers blasting, two fighters versus who knew how many Circle members. She had been a terrorist herself, yes, and she knew how to turn a bad situation to her favour. The problem was, she was over a year out of practice—and these people weren't.
"I don't think your phaser has slipped out of alignment in the six minutes since you last checked it," Dax remarked without taking her eyes from the starfield before her.
Kira pinched her lips together until she could take the comment as it was intended. "I know. I'm just not that fond of this situation."
"Know what you mean," Chief O'Brien inserted from the seat behind her. "Even if these aren't the cream of the crop, I had my fill of the The Circle last month. I'm not exactly in a rush to renew my acquaintance."
"You probably won't even see anyone," Dax said to them both, annoyingly calm. "Don't worry."
"That's easy for you to say—you're piloting the shuttle," Kira pointed out.
"True," Dax acknowledged. A beat, then: "I think it's sweet, though, the way the two of you are so concerned about Julian."
It was hard to say whose "What?" was louder or more incredulous—hers or Chief O'Brien's.
Kira immediately followed it up with a, "Don't be ridiculous."
"The man is the worse pest I've met in my entire life!" O'Brien added. "I'm not 'concerned' about him in the slightest."
"Of course you aren't," Dax agreed mildly, but Kira knew her friend well enough to hear her hidden laughter. "You're only doing this because it's your duty."
"Right." O'Brien didn't say anything further—Dax was his superior officer—but Kira could hear his thoughts as loudly as if she were a Betazoid.
And that was more than enough of that. "How long until Commander Sisko is supposed to rendezvous with The Circle?"
Dax glanced at the console before her. "Not quite two hours."
Kira let out a breath and settled into her seat. In less than two hours—less than one to be safe—they needed to land on the moon, infiltrate the caves, perform their rescue, and beam back to the runabout without being detected. Otherwise, she got the feeling the whole deal would be off. That's how she would have run this, back in the old days.
"Now approaching the second moon," Dax announced.
"Got it."
As Kira stood up, she checked her phaser one last time . . . just to be absolutely sure.
*
"Garak! Garak, sit down."
Shouting would do no good, would further undo the pathetically little he had accomplished, but there was no separating the urgency from his voice. It slipped beneath the slap of Garak's hands on the walls of their prison as he pushed and pressed and caught at every fragment of jutting rock.
Garak's voice, by contrast, was loud enough to echo. "Thank you, Doctor, but I've done quite enough sitting! It's about time I found us a way out, or, or a bit of air, or a next step—yes, we've been staying on the same step for far too long, far too—"
"Garak."
Julian took hold of his upper arm; Garak whipped away and collided with the rear wall. He didn't seem to notice.
"I'll work on finding a way out. You need to sit and breathe."
"I can't breathe, you stupid man!" Garak yelled. "There's no air!"
"There is if you just—"
Garak yanked down on a jagged piece of stone that couldn't possibly give way. The skin of his fingertips tore; red-black blood smeared the sandy rock. He reached up to try again, unconscious of his injury, and Julian's hand locked around his wrist.
"Garak, stop! There's no point to this!"
Before he could go on, Garak once again twisted out of his grasp and circled back around their cell. His gaze raised and lowered from ceiling to floor at a frantic rate, as he'd begun to do the moment Julian's mouth had run dry and he'd taken just a bit too long to try to swallow to continue his story. Julian let him go, but only long enough to jerk a length of fabric from their blanket.
A single long stride was all he needed to catch up, but when he reached out, Garak turned to pry at what must have looked to him to be another chance for air. More blood was pressed into the walls of their prison.
And Julian was finished being gentle. "Garak, your hand."
The quiet force of his voice appeared to bring Garak back to himself, if only a little, and he turned to face him and hold out his hand. The violence of his movement had further disarrayed his already untidy hair. His wide and blank blue stare, the audible heave of his breath, they all were a part of his disintegration made visible, and though Julian's hands were careful with the least sterile bandage he had ever wrapped, his anger—which had ebbed in the face of his need to care for Garak—flowed into him once again. If only there were a way out of this damned place. The way he felt now, felt all over again, he'd take on the whole Circle single-handedly if only it would. . . .
There were two sets of footsteps in the cavern outside, and whispers.
Julian's hand reflexively gripped harder, and that should have hurt, but even now Garak didn't react. All the same, he hissed, "Sorry. Two of them this time."
Garak gave him no answer. He only closed his eyes and dragged in a shaking breath.
As the pair outside drew closer, Julian took Garak's hand in his, curling his injured fingers into his palm and clasping them there. This time, not only was it a show of solidarity, but it was to conceal what would have been an inexplicable injury. He didn't want The Circle spending any time trying to work out a reason for it.
Soon, he could hear speech, and he strained to listen to the few words they offered. He could catch their tone only, but as soon as he did . . . he dropped Garak's hand as he surprised himself with a soft gasp.
"It's the Chief!" Oh, it was going to take all he had not to give the other man the biggest hug of his life.
He took in a breath to call for him, and this time, it was Garak's hand striking out to bite his arm in a painful hold.
"You said two," he rasped. "Think."
Julian's eyes widened. He'd assumed the other person was a second rescuer, but of course he couldn't be sure. If the Chief was being tracked instead, he might as well be personally handing him to The Circle.
He stayed silent.
A breath and a breath more, and the thinnest beam of light flicked onto the rock wall outside their cell. It grew in size in a way Julian wanted to hope was different from that of the Circle member's (had the last light been so blue?). Both he and Garak stood almost against the barrier, silent and this time separate.
The light swept the outside room. It was followed by Chief O'Brien—even in these last uncertain moments Julian couldn't have possibly stopped the smile that flooded his face—and. . . .
"Major! Chief!" he whispered over the pounding of his heart.
"All right there, Julian?" the Chief asked ("Julian"!), a brief smile crinkling his face as he went after a bit of paneling that, thanks to the Major's hand lamp, Julian could see at last.
"Yes, but Garak's taken an allergic reaction to the sedative The Circle used on us," he answered crisply. "He'll need immediate medical care."
His eyes were first on the Chief at his work, then Kira as she covered the entrance to their holding area with her phaser ready—but beside him, he heard the shift of clothing and felt a shoulder brush his arm. Though he warmed at the touch and its intent, he kept his medical professional's expression fixed to his face.
It must have been no time at all, and surely after being held for hours with Garak in his deteriorating condition it ought to feel that way too. But of course this moment, as the Chief's blunt fingers tapped out the commands to release them, was the most difficult to stand.
The force field vanished and beside him Garak gasped painfully as most of their light went with it. Now they were down to only the thin portable light the Chief held. Julian didn't stop to reflect on how much worse this must be for Garak—he only curled his arm around him in the manner of one supporting a man on the verge of collapse.
"Hurry," he snapped out as Garak let himself be supported. (How did he even now have enough presence of mind to be a participant in this deception?) "I'm not sure how much longer he can last."
Major Kira cast one last look down the corridor, then strode across the outer chamber, her hand outstretched. "Here, put these on. Dax is on the Ganges—she'll need a minute to pilot into transporter range."
Julian knew what she had to be holding, but he didn't risk groping for the Starfleet combadges until they had been caught by the Chief's light. The moment both of them were in his hand, Kira tapped her own combadge.
"Kira to Ganges. Four to beam up."
Dax's voice was faint, and there was a whisper of static on the line, but Julian still smiled as she responded, "Got it. ETA two minutes, thirty-eight seconds. Dax out."
At Kira resumed her guard post, Julian fastened his combadge to his off-duty clothing. (Surely the occasion he'd worn it for was at least a day ago by now—he was certainly hungry enough for that to be the case.) Then, he pinned the other to Garak's thick tunic-style shirt.
Once again, he smiled. There was something not quite right about Garak with a Starfleet combadge. It just wasn't the sort of thing you expected a spy—sorry, tailor—to wear.
Before he pulled his hand back, he gave Garak's shoulder a light pat, making sure the touch landed well below the other man's ridges. "Steady on, Garak. We're almost there. Just hang in a little longer."
He received no response, but he had been expecting as much. It lent further weight to the idea that Garak needed medical care.
Apparently, the Chief thought so as well. "Damn, his allergy's pretty bad, isn't it? He looks really out of it."
Julian felt Garak roll his head upward on his shoulder to briefly fix his stare on the Chief. He couldn't see the kind of expression Garak had pulled together, but he could imagine it.
"Well, it has had hours to progress," Julian answered, but before he could say anything more in Garak's defence, Kira whispered, "Stop talking, both of you. I don't know about you, but I'd really hate to get caught in the last thirty seconds."
His heart gave a tremendous jump at the reminder of how close safety was to them. If they were discovered now, he wasn't sure Garak could stand it. He'd summoned some threadbare control to wear in front of the others, but if they lost their chance to escape, Julian was certain it would give way, and then. . . .
And then his body was caught in the transporter beam. In the second before he lost control of his movements, he pulled Garak tight against him.
*
When they materialised on the runabout, Julian barely glanced at Jadzia before he yanked open the onboard medkit and snatched up a hypo. He fitted in the lowest dosage he possibly could of ambizine; the runabout was of course not carrying anything that could be used as a placebo to keep up the illusion of Garak's “allergic reaction.” Privately, he thought Garak could actually do with a full dose of the sedative. He wasn't in a position to offer it with the others listening in, though, and he certainly wasn't about to administer it without consent.
As he suspected, being out of the caves and into the bright (though not spacious) runabout was calming enough for Garak to mimic the physical signs of an antihistamine taking effect. That bought him enough time to take the two of them to the station and then to the infirmary.
It was very touching to see just how many people were relieved at his return, particularly out of the senior staff and his own medical staff, but he hardly needed to see Garak tensing up to know that large numbers of people crowding around them to express said relief was not helpful. And so he ordered them all out of the infirmary so he could "treat" Garak in peace.
Once he judged enough time had passed, he sneaked Garak out and walked him back to his quarters, at last completing what he'd started a surprisingly short time ago.
"There we are," he said once Chamber 901 of Habitat Level H-3 came into view. "Back at last—and it only took us two tries to get there."
His joke fell flat; it didn't pull even the slightest of smiles from his friend. That worried him, but it didn't surprise him. He'd been watching Garak all the way up from the infirmary. Garak's movements had been very contained—almost fragile—and his back had been very straight. It was clear he was at the end of his endurance.
That was why, when Garak unlocked the door to his quarters and stepped inside, Julian made no move to even ask to come in with him. However much it felt like abandonment, it was time to leave Garak alone.
But not, by any means, without a lifeline.
"Good night, Garak. If you need me for any reason, at any time of day or night, just call me. I'll be there immediately."
He kept his tone firm and without pity, but apparently it didn't matter. Garak was looking straight through him.
"Thank you, Doctor," he replied, his voice as distant as his gaze. "That's most kind of you. Now I believe it's past time for me to be in bed. Good night."
"Good ni—" Julian began before the door slid shut in his face.
He hesitated on the threshold for some time, the fingers of his empty hand curling in on his palm. If he hadn't recalled just how famished he was, he might have stood there for some time more. But, it seemed, at last it was his turn to think of himself. Garak would have to wait until he was ready for company again. Until then, he would have to try not to worry about him.
As he suspected, that was not a simple task.
He forced himself to stay away for a full day. It wasn't as though he were unavailable, he told himself. If Garak wanted to see him, he'd call him on his combadge.
He came as close to breaking his resolution as walking past Garak's shop—which, incredibly, was open for business—on the way to the replimat, but he didn't step inside. After a while, he went over to Quark's. The replimat wasn't helping him not think.
The second day, however, he entered. Garak was seated at his sewing machine in plain sight of the door. The professional smile on his lips as he looked up soon warmed into something else when he recognised who his visitor was.
"Doctor! How good to see you. I trust you've recovered from our little adventure?"
It was as if nothing had happened, Julian thought in a kind of wonder. As if their "adventure" had been a—a malfunctioning replicator on a vacation, not a kidnapping. As if Julian hadn't stood up to terrorists for him, hadn't done his all to stop him from beating his hands bloody in the worst panic attack he'd witnessed in his career.
Garak was a proud man, he knew, as he was himself. He understood that. But surely there ought to be some acknowledgment there, that something had happened. That things had changed between them.
"Yes, I'm all back to normal, thank you," he answered, and there. He was no better, was he? "Actually, I was coming by to see how your recovery was going."
"Oh, I'm quite fine now." Garak smiled at him from behind his desk, across several metres of shop. "It's remarkable what a good meal and a night's rest can do. After that, I felt like a new man."
The physical distance, at least, was simple to cross. Those gangly legs of his were finally useful for something, and that was bringing him to Garak's sewing table in seconds. So as not to loom, he half-sat against the nearest corner before he answered.
"I'm glad to hear it. And I thought you would be glad to hear that the entire cell of The Circle responsible for kidnapping us was arrested by the Bajoran militia. It will be some time before they come to trial, but I assumed you'd appreciate that they're the ones behind the field instead of us."
Garak's smile remained in place, but his eyes narrowed just a bit. "What a pity that their accommodations will be far more pleasant than ours were. And, for that matter, that they're going to be tried in a Bajoran court."
That . . . was a little more vindictive than Julian was feeling, given what he knew about the Cardassian "justice system," but then again, he wasn't the claustrophobic one. He supposed it was understandable.
". . . There's one thing I don't understand, though." It had been bothering him long before the rescue, during those immeasurable periods of counting and counting their breaths, and he hadn't stopped wondering since. "The Circle left you alone when they were at the height of their influence, a Cardassian living on a Bajoran station. It was only when they were struggling to survive that they went after you. Why now?"
Garak flipped something on his sewing machine; it powered down. "I can only assume that before now, they were unaware of me. I do tend to lead a quiet life."
Was that possible? Circle members had been on the station for some period of time, leaving their mark and even going so far as to assault Quark. Then again, if his suspicions about Garak were correct, Quark would have been the far safer target. It hadn't seemed to bother them this time, though. And if he accepted Garak's explanation. . . .
"Then what made them aware?"
Garak beamed at him. "Very good, Doctor! Although, the question should be not 'what,' but 'who.'"
He frowned. "You think someone deliberately told The Circle you were here?"
"Mm." Garak gave a precise nod. "Though not directly. There are certain people The Circle would not take instructions from all that well."
"Certain people" obviously meant the Cardassians. The Circle were extremely xenophobic and so technically Garak could be referring to any non-Bajoran species, but knowing his fondness for understatement, he doubted it was anyone else.
Still, it was best not to assume just yet. "Do you think it was someone from your past?"
He doubted he was getting an answer to that one; after months of fishing, he'd had not a single bite. He was surprised, then, when Garak answered, "Yes—though not the distant past. I've made an enemy recently, and so have you. Frankly, I'm surprised The Circle was so willing to let you go . . . but perhaps our friend has other plans for you."
That didn't make any sense. "An enemy that we've both made?" Their acquaintances didn't exactly overlap, and anyway, though he couldn't speak for Garak, he couldn't think of anyone he'd angered to the point where they'd arrange a kidnapping.
. . . But that wasn't right, was it?
"You mean Gul Dukat."
Garak spread his hands. "I really couldn't say."
"In other words, there's no evidence."
There was only a great deal of logic. Dukat was a vindictive, amoral man, and just last month, he and Garak had ruined a plot of his eight years in the making. He was foolish not to have expected retaliation in some form. If Dukat had made his suggestion through an intermediary, had perhaps even given The Circle the funding they no doubt desperately needed . . . they wouldn't have asked too many questions about where it was all coming from, would they? Not if they wanted to get their movement back on its feet and restore it to its previous level of influence.
"Doctor."
Julian looked up from where he'd been staring very hard at the sewing machine to find Garak watching him.
"Hm?"
"I believe it's time for lunch." Garak rose and replaced his chair. "I know it isn't our usual day, but would you care to join me?"
"Julian," he answered, because suddenly the way across more than just the shop had become obvious.
Garak tilted his head slightly. "I beg your pardon?"
"Well, it seems a bit silly, doesn't it? Here we've just been kidnapped and locked up in a cell together for hours, facing an uncertain fate, and we're still calling each other 'Doctor' and 'Garak.'I tell everyone to call me 'Julian,' and most of them haven't shared half the experiences we have—not even a quarter." He huffed out a chuckle. "Most of them don't do it either, of course, but my point still stands."
Garak was silent for a moment, those brilliant blue eyes of his taking in seemingly every last detail of his face. He'd read in one of the few medical books on Cardassians he'd been able to find that their average rate of blinking was significantly lower than that of Humans. He'd also heard that some people found it unsettling. He wasn't one of them. That simply was how Cardassian were—how Garak was. Even now, as he waited for a response, the only thing making him nervous was how damned long Garak was spending on his answer.
At last . . . he smiled. "Then it's Elim."
"Elim?" He blinked. "Elim Garak?"
"That's right," Garak—Elim said and mercifully didn't comment on how stupid he sounded.
And continued to sound: "It's . . . nice."
Honestly, could he have sounded any more inane? It was true—he did like the sound of the name and the way it slipped quietly through his mouth—but if there was a worse way to express himself, he certainly couldn't think of one.
At least Elim was entertained, judging from his voice as he said, "Well, then, Julian Bashir, shall we be off? The replimat awaits."
Those light words, the neat gesture to the door, and the smile on his face all banished his embarrassment and a smile of his own sprang easily onto his face. Not that long ago, he'd had to explain to Elim what the phrase “silver lining” referred to in one of his books. Elim had been dismissive, unsurprisingly, and had poked a bit of fun at him for believing in the philosophy. Right now, while he wouldn't express it until Elim had at least a week between him and their experience with The Circle, he felt very strongly that the expression applied.
"Then let's not keep it."
On that thought and with their strides matched, side-by-side, Julian and Elim left for lunch together.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Action/Pre-slash
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to torture; panic attack; innuendo)
Betas: tinsnip and Yosie
Words: This part 3949, 16 006 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: "...[T]he dictator is merely the tip of the whole festering boil of social pus from which dictators emerge; shoot one, and there’ll be another one along in a minute." - Terry Pratchett. Approximately six weeks after The Circle's fall from power, a fragment of the organisation returns to lash out against the only Cardassian living on Deep Space Nine. What they didn't anticipate, however, was being interrupted mid-abduction. This chapter: Kira and O'Brien infiltrate The Circle's stronghold in an attempt to rescue Julian and Garak before Sisko's scheduled meeting with the leader of the cell.
Author's Notes: So this is Act 5, where Star Trek episodes tie everything up into a neat little bundle (provided they aren't multi-parters) --and consequently, that's what happens here. Thank you very much to everyone for reading! It's been a real pleasure, and the feedback I've gotten has been incredibly kind.
You'll probably be happy to know that I haven't been idle during the five weeks I've been posting this. I now have enough other fic lined up to keep posting at this rate for the next three months. I'm going to try to keep things coming at this rate for the next few weeks, although I may take a bit of a hiatus next month to get caught up on all my proofreading (there's a lot of it).
Once again, thank you for coming on this trip with me, and I hope you enjoy the conclusion. <3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Kira couldn't stop checking her phaser. She knew her orders—that any violence was to be left to the militia. And she knew what was smart, for that matter, which wasn't charging forward, phasers blasting, two fighters versus who knew how many Circle members. She had been a terrorist herself, yes, and she knew how to turn a bad situation to her favour. The problem was, she was over a year out of practice—and these people weren't.
"I don't think your phaser has slipped out of alignment in the six minutes since you last checked it," Dax remarked without taking her eyes from the starfield before her.
Kira pinched her lips together until she could take the comment as it was intended. "I know. I'm just not that fond of this situation."
"Know what you mean," Chief O'Brien inserted from the seat behind her. "Even if these aren't the cream of the crop, I had my fill of the The Circle last month. I'm not exactly in a rush to renew my acquaintance."
"You probably won't even see anyone," Dax said to them both, annoyingly calm. "Don't worry."
"That's easy for you to say—you're piloting the shuttle," Kira pointed out.
"True," Dax acknowledged. A beat, then: "I think it's sweet, though, the way the two of you are so concerned about Julian."
It was hard to say whose "What?" was louder or more incredulous—hers or Chief O'Brien's.
Kira immediately followed it up with a, "Don't be ridiculous."
"The man is the worse pest I've met in my entire life!" O'Brien added. "I'm not 'concerned' about him in the slightest."
"Of course you aren't," Dax agreed mildly, but Kira knew her friend well enough to hear her hidden laughter. "You're only doing this because it's your duty."
"Right." O'Brien didn't say anything further—Dax was his superior officer—but Kira could hear his thoughts as loudly as if she were a Betazoid.
And that was more than enough of that. "How long until Commander Sisko is supposed to rendezvous with The Circle?"
Dax glanced at the console before her. "Not quite two hours."
Kira let out a breath and settled into her seat. In less than two hours—less than one to be safe—they needed to land on the moon, infiltrate the caves, perform their rescue, and beam back to the runabout without being detected. Otherwise, she got the feeling the whole deal would be off. That's how she would have run this, back in the old days.
"Now approaching the second moon," Dax announced.
"Got it."
As Kira stood up, she checked her phaser one last time . . . just to be absolutely sure.
"Garak! Garak, sit down."
Shouting would do no good, would further undo the pathetically little he had accomplished, but there was no separating the urgency from his voice. It slipped beneath the slap of Garak's hands on the walls of their prison as he pushed and pressed and caught at every fragment of jutting rock.
Garak's voice, by contrast, was loud enough to echo. "Thank you, Doctor, but I've done quite enough sitting! It's about time I found us a way out, or, or a bit of air, or a next step—yes, we've been staying on the same step for far too long, far too—"
"Garak."
Julian took hold of his upper arm; Garak whipped away and collided with the rear wall. He didn't seem to notice.
"I'll work on finding a way out. You need to sit and breathe."
"I can't breathe, you stupid man!" Garak yelled. "There's no air!"
"There is if you just—"
Garak yanked down on a jagged piece of stone that couldn't possibly give way. The skin of his fingertips tore; red-black blood smeared the sandy rock. He reached up to try again, unconscious of his injury, and Julian's hand locked around his wrist.
"Garak, stop! There's no point to this!"
Before he could go on, Garak once again twisted out of his grasp and circled back around their cell. His gaze raised and lowered from ceiling to floor at a frantic rate, as he'd begun to do the moment Julian's mouth had run dry and he'd taken just a bit too long to try to swallow to continue his story. Julian let him go, but only long enough to jerk a length of fabric from their blanket.
A single long stride was all he needed to catch up, but when he reached out, Garak turned to pry at what must have looked to him to be another chance for air. More blood was pressed into the walls of their prison.
And Julian was finished being gentle. "Garak, your hand."
The quiet force of his voice appeared to bring Garak back to himself, if only a little, and he turned to face him and hold out his hand. The violence of his movement had further disarrayed his already untidy hair. His wide and blank blue stare, the audible heave of his breath, they all were a part of his disintegration made visible, and though Julian's hands were careful with the least sterile bandage he had ever wrapped, his anger—which had ebbed in the face of his need to care for Garak—flowed into him once again. If only there were a way out of this damned place. The way he felt now, felt all over again, he'd take on the whole Circle single-handedly if only it would. . . .
There were two sets of footsteps in the cavern outside, and whispers.
Julian's hand reflexively gripped harder, and that should have hurt, but even now Garak didn't react. All the same, he hissed, "Sorry. Two of them this time."
Garak gave him no answer. He only closed his eyes and dragged in a shaking breath.
As the pair outside drew closer, Julian took Garak's hand in his, curling his injured fingers into his palm and clasping them there. This time, not only was it a show of solidarity, but it was to conceal what would have been an inexplicable injury. He didn't want The Circle spending any time trying to work out a reason for it.
Soon, he could hear speech, and he strained to listen to the few words they offered. He could catch their tone only, but as soon as he did . . . he dropped Garak's hand as he surprised himself with a soft gasp.
"It's the Chief!" Oh, it was going to take all he had not to give the other man the biggest hug of his life.
He took in a breath to call for him, and this time, it was Garak's hand striking out to bite his arm in a painful hold.
"You said two," he rasped. "Think."
Julian's eyes widened. He'd assumed the other person was a second rescuer, but of course he couldn't be sure. If the Chief was being tracked instead, he might as well be personally handing him to The Circle.
He stayed silent.
A breath and a breath more, and the thinnest beam of light flicked onto the rock wall outside their cell. It grew in size in a way Julian wanted to hope was different from that of the Circle member's (had the last light been so blue?). Both he and Garak stood almost against the barrier, silent and this time separate.
The light swept the outside room. It was followed by Chief O'Brien—even in these last uncertain moments Julian couldn't have possibly stopped the smile that flooded his face—and. . . .
"Major! Chief!" he whispered over the pounding of his heart.
"All right there, Julian?" the Chief asked ("Julian"!), a brief smile crinkling his face as he went after a bit of paneling that, thanks to the Major's hand lamp, Julian could see at last.
"Yes, but Garak's taken an allergic reaction to the sedative The Circle used on us," he answered crisply. "He'll need immediate medical care."
His eyes were first on the Chief at his work, then Kira as she covered the entrance to their holding area with her phaser ready—but beside him, he heard the shift of clothing and felt a shoulder brush his arm. Though he warmed at the touch and its intent, he kept his medical professional's expression fixed to his face.
It must have been no time at all, and surely after being held for hours with Garak in his deteriorating condition it ought to feel that way too. But of course this moment, as the Chief's blunt fingers tapped out the commands to release them, was the most difficult to stand.
The force field vanished and beside him Garak gasped painfully as most of their light went with it. Now they were down to only the thin portable light the Chief held. Julian didn't stop to reflect on how much worse this must be for Garak—he only curled his arm around him in the manner of one supporting a man on the verge of collapse.
"Hurry," he snapped out as Garak let himself be supported. (How did he even now have enough presence of mind to be a participant in this deception?) "I'm not sure how much longer he can last."
Major Kira cast one last look down the corridor, then strode across the outer chamber, her hand outstretched. "Here, put these on. Dax is on the Ganges—she'll need a minute to pilot into transporter range."
Julian knew what she had to be holding, but he didn't risk groping for the Starfleet combadges until they had been caught by the Chief's light. The moment both of them were in his hand, Kira tapped her own combadge.
"Kira to Ganges. Four to beam up."
Dax's voice was faint, and there was a whisper of static on the line, but Julian still smiled as she responded, "Got it. ETA two minutes, thirty-eight seconds. Dax out."
At Kira resumed her guard post, Julian fastened his combadge to his off-duty clothing. (Surely the occasion he'd worn it for was at least a day ago by now—he was certainly hungry enough for that to be the case.) Then, he pinned the other to Garak's thick tunic-style shirt.
Once again, he smiled. There was something not quite right about Garak with a Starfleet combadge. It just wasn't the sort of thing you expected a spy—sorry, tailor—to wear.
Before he pulled his hand back, he gave Garak's shoulder a light pat, making sure the touch landed well below the other man's ridges. "Steady on, Garak. We're almost there. Just hang in a little longer."
He received no response, but he had been expecting as much. It lent further weight to the idea that Garak needed medical care.
Apparently, the Chief thought so as well. "Damn, his allergy's pretty bad, isn't it? He looks really out of it."
Julian felt Garak roll his head upward on his shoulder to briefly fix his stare on the Chief. He couldn't see the kind of expression Garak had pulled together, but he could imagine it.
"Well, it has had hours to progress," Julian answered, but before he could say anything more in Garak's defence, Kira whispered, "Stop talking, both of you. I don't know about you, but I'd really hate to get caught in the last thirty seconds."
His heart gave a tremendous jump at the reminder of how close safety was to them. If they were discovered now, he wasn't sure Garak could stand it. He'd summoned some threadbare control to wear in front of the others, but if they lost their chance to escape, Julian was certain it would give way, and then. . . .
And then his body was caught in the transporter beam. In the second before he lost control of his movements, he pulled Garak tight against him.
When they materialised on the runabout, Julian barely glanced at Jadzia before he yanked open the onboard medkit and snatched up a hypo. He fitted in the lowest dosage he possibly could of ambizine; the runabout was of course not carrying anything that could be used as a placebo to keep up the illusion of Garak's “allergic reaction.” Privately, he thought Garak could actually do with a full dose of the sedative. He wasn't in a position to offer it with the others listening in, though, and he certainly wasn't about to administer it without consent.
As he suspected, being out of the caves and into the bright (though not spacious) runabout was calming enough for Garak to mimic the physical signs of an antihistamine taking effect. That bought him enough time to take the two of them to the station and then to the infirmary.
It was very touching to see just how many people were relieved at his return, particularly out of the senior staff and his own medical staff, but he hardly needed to see Garak tensing up to know that large numbers of people crowding around them to express said relief was not helpful. And so he ordered them all out of the infirmary so he could "treat" Garak in peace.
Once he judged enough time had passed, he sneaked Garak out and walked him back to his quarters, at last completing what he'd started a surprisingly short time ago.
"There we are," he said once Chamber 901 of Habitat Level H-3 came into view. "Back at last—and it only took us two tries to get there."
His joke fell flat; it didn't pull even the slightest of smiles from his friend. That worried him, but it didn't surprise him. He'd been watching Garak all the way up from the infirmary. Garak's movements had been very contained—almost fragile—and his back had been very straight. It was clear he was at the end of his endurance.
That was why, when Garak unlocked the door to his quarters and stepped inside, Julian made no move to even ask to come in with him. However much it felt like abandonment, it was time to leave Garak alone.
But not, by any means, without a lifeline.
"Good night, Garak. If you need me for any reason, at any time of day or night, just call me. I'll be there immediately."
He kept his tone firm and without pity, but apparently it didn't matter. Garak was looking straight through him.
"Thank you, Doctor," he replied, his voice as distant as his gaze. "That's most kind of you. Now I believe it's past time for me to be in bed. Good night."
"Good ni—" Julian began before the door slid shut in his face.
He hesitated on the threshold for some time, the fingers of his empty hand curling in on his palm. If he hadn't recalled just how famished he was, he might have stood there for some time more. But, it seemed, at last it was his turn to think of himself. Garak would have to wait until he was ready for company again. Until then, he would have to try not to worry about him.
As he suspected, that was not a simple task.
He forced himself to stay away for a full day. It wasn't as though he were unavailable, he told himself. If Garak wanted to see him, he'd call him on his combadge.
He came as close to breaking his resolution as walking past Garak's shop—which, incredibly, was open for business—on the way to the replimat, but he didn't step inside. After a while, he went over to Quark's. The replimat wasn't helping him not think.
The second day, however, he entered. Garak was seated at his sewing machine in plain sight of the door. The professional smile on his lips as he looked up soon warmed into something else when he recognised who his visitor was.
"Doctor! How good to see you. I trust you've recovered from our little adventure?"
It was as if nothing had happened, Julian thought in a kind of wonder. As if their "adventure" had been a—a malfunctioning replicator on a vacation, not a kidnapping. As if Julian hadn't stood up to terrorists for him, hadn't done his all to stop him from beating his hands bloody in the worst panic attack he'd witnessed in his career.
Garak was a proud man, he knew, as he was himself. He understood that. But surely there ought to be some acknowledgment there, that something had happened. That things had changed between them.
"Yes, I'm all back to normal, thank you," he answered, and there. He was no better, was he? "Actually, I was coming by to see how your recovery was going."
"Oh, I'm quite fine now." Garak smiled at him from behind his desk, across several metres of shop. "It's remarkable what a good meal and a night's rest can do. After that, I felt like a new man."
The physical distance, at least, was simple to cross. Those gangly legs of his were finally useful for something, and that was bringing him to Garak's sewing table in seconds. So as not to loom, he half-sat against the nearest corner before he answered.
"I'm glad to hear it. And I thought you would be glad to hear that the entire cell of The Circle responsible for kidnapping us was arrested by the Bajoran militia. It will be some time before they come to trial, but I assumed you'd appreciate that they're the ones behind the field instead of us."
Garak's smile remained in place, but his eyes narrowed just a bit. "What a pity that their accommodations will be far more pleasant than ours were. And, for that matter, that they're going to be tried in a Bajoran court."
That . . . was a little more vindictive than Julian was feeling, given what he knew about the Cardassian "justice system," but then again, he wasn't the claustrophobic one. He supposed it was understandable.
". . . There's one thing I don't understand, though." It had been bothering him long before the rescue, during those immeasurable periods of counting and counting their breaths, and he hadn't stopped wondering since. "The Circle left you alone when they were at the height of their influence, a Cardassian living on a Bajoran station. It was only when they were struggling to survive that they went after you. Why now?"
Garak flipped something on his sewing machine; it powered down. "I can only assume that before now, they were unaware of me. I do tend to lead a quiet life."
Was that possible? Circle members had been on the station for some period of time, leaving their mark and even going so far as to assault Quark. Then again, if his suspicions about Garak were correct, Quark would have been the far safer target. It hadn't seemed to bother them this time, though. And if he accepted Garak's explanation. . . .
"Then what made them aware?"
Garak beamed at him. "Very good, Doctor! Although, the question should be not 'what,' but 'who.'"
He frowned. "You think someone deliberately told The Circle you were here?"
"Mm." Garak gave a precise nod. "Though not directly. There are certain people The Circle would not take instructions from all that well."
"Certain people" obviously meant the Cardassians. The Circle were extremely xenophobic and so technically Garak could be referring to any non-Bajoran species, but knowing his fondness for understatement, he doubted it was anyone else.
Still, it was best not to assume just yet. "Do you think it was someone from your past?"
He doubted he was getting an answer to that one; after months of fishing, he'd had not a single bite. He was surprised, then, when Garak answered, "Yes—though not the distant past. I've made an enemy recently, and so have you. Frankly, I'm surprised The Circle was so willing to let you go . . . but perhaps our friend has other plans for you."
That didn't make any sense. "An enemy that we've both made?" Their acquaintances didn't exactly overlap, and anyway, though he couldn't speak for Garak, he couldn't think of anyone he'd angered to the point where they'd arrange a kidnapping.
. . . But that wasn't right, was it?
"You mean Gul Dukat."
Garak spread his hands. "I really couldn't say."
"In other words, there's no evidence."
There was only a great deal of logic. Dukat was a vindictive, amoral man, and just last month, he and Garak had ruined a plot of his eight years in the making. He was foolish not to have expected retaliation in some form. If Dukat had made his suggestion through an intermediary, had perhaps even given The Circle the funding they no doubt desperately needed . . . they wouldn't have asked too many questions about where it was all coming from, would they? Not if they wanted to get their movement back on its feet and restore it to its previous level of influence.
"Doctor."
Julian looked up from where he'd been staring very hard at the sewing machine to find Garak watching him.
"Hm?"
"I believe it's time for lunch." Garak rose and replaced his chair. "I know it isn't our usual day, but would you care to join me?"
"Julian," he answered, because suddenly the way across more than just the shop had become obvious.
Garak tilted his head slightly. "I beg your pardon?"
"Well, it seems a bit silly, doesn't it? Here we've just been kidnapped and locked up in a cell together for hours, facing an uncertain fate, and we're still calling each other 'Doctor' and 'Garak.'I tell everyone to call me 'Julian,' and most of them haven't shared half the experiences we have—not even a quarter." He huffed out a chuckle. "Most of them don't do it either, of course, but my point still stands."
Garak was silent for a moment, those brilliant blue eyes of his taking in seemingly every last detail of his face. He'd read in one of the few medical books on Cardassians he'd been able to find that their average rate of blinking was significantly lower than that of Humans. He'd also heard that some people found it unsettling. He wasn't one of them. That simply was how Cardassian were—how Garak was. Even now, as he waited for a response, the only thing making him nervous was how damned long Garak was spending on his answer.
At last . . . he smiled. "Then it's Elim."
"Elim?" He blinked. "Elim Garak?"
"That's right," Garak—Elim said and mercifully didn't comment on how stupid he sounded.
And continued to sound: "It's . . . nice."
Honestly, could he have sounded any more inane? It was true—he did like the sound of the name and the way it slipped quietly through his mouth—but if there was a worse way to express himself, he certainly couldn't think of one.
At least Elim was entertained, judging from his voice as he said, "Well, then, Julian Bashir, shall we be off? The replimat awaits."
Those light words, the neat gesture to the door, and the smile on his face all banished his embarrassment and a smile of his own sprang easily onto his face. Not that long ago, he'd had to explain to Elim what the phrase “silver lining” referred to in one of his books. Elim had been dismissive, unsurprisingly, and had poked a bit of fun at him for believing in the philosophy. Right now, while he wouldn't express it until Elim had at least a week between him and their experience with The Circle, he felt very strongly that the expression applied.
"Then let's not keep it."
On that thought and with their strides matched, side-by-side, Julian and Elim left for lunch together.
