On My Arm DS9 - G/B - PG13 Kathryn Ramage May 1999 /~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~/ Summary: Garak goes to a party, and asks Bashir to come with him. Rating: PG13 for mild m/m situations. Setting: 3rd season, sometime after "Life Support." Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and the characters. This story was written for personal amusement and should not be taken as intended copyright infringement. /~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~/ "Where are you going on this trip of yours?" Bashir asked. "Not to Cardassia?" A wistful expression crossed Garak's face--if Bashir would notice--but the tailor answered evenly, "No, not Cardassia. The current political situation has given me more liberty to travel, but I fear I won't be welcome if I try to go home. No, my dear Doctor, I have been invited to a party on Xmirsis III." "A party?" "At the house of an old friend of mine who has retired there --Davri Ko. He was once the Besselian attache to the Romulans. It will be an opportunity to see a few people I haven't seen in years. Would you like to come with me?" This was one surprise too many: First, Garak's announcement, just as they had sat down to lunch, that he was leaving the station; then, this party being thrown by 'an old friend' --Julian found it hard to conceive that Garak would have any old friends who were the type to give parties. And now *he* was invited along? "You want me-?" "I think you would enjoy yourself," Garak explained. "Xmirsis is a beautiful planet, and I think you will find my friends quite fascinating. After the distressing events of these past months," he was obliquely referring to Bariel's death, "you know you could use a vacation." "I suppose I could," Bashir agreed pensively. Bariel's death had hit him almost as hard as it had hit Kira; he was still blaming himself, wondering if there'd been something more he might have done. After a few contemplative minutes of rearranging the remnants of his lunch--he really had no appetite--he looked up from his plate and decided, "All right then. When do we leave?" /~*~//~*~//~*~/ It was easy enough to obtain a few days' leave--Sisko had been pressuring him to take some time off anyway--and a 12- hour journey at Warp six brought them to the Xmirsis system. They checked in to their hotel in the early afternoon. The minute Bashir entered his room, he deposited his bags on the bed and headed straight for the balcony. He was hot and weary, and would like a bite to eat and a few hours of rest before he had to dress for the evening, but the view through the tall glass doors lured him out of the climate- controlled room and into the sultry Xmirsan summer. His room was on the 12th floor, well above the tops of the tallest trees that stood between the modern part of the city and the Old Town; he had an unobstructed view of a cluster of time-worn buildings on the steep slopes below, leading down to a vast sheet of glittering violet water framed by broad, white strips of sand that curved away to rise into equally white cliffs on either side of the bay. Xmirsis was a binary system: the larger sun was still behind the hotel, while the smaller, brighter star was already low on the horizon. He whirled, startled, as a door slid open behind him--he hadn't realized that the adjoining room also opened onto this same balcony. "Garak?" He relaxed as the tailor emerged from the dimly lit room. "You were right--it *is* beautiful." "Yes, isn't it?" Bashir had turned back to lean on his arms on the railing; he did not notice that Garak's eyes were not on the spectacular view, but on his profile. "Will we have time to go out and explore?" asked the doctor. "A few hours this afternoon, if you've recovered from that shuttle trip, and there will be plenty of time tomorrow before our return transport," Garak answered. "We are expected at Davri's at 2030, local time. You can see the house across the bay--there, on the cliff face. You did remember to bring a good suit?" "I brought my tux." He turned away from the railing and gestured, inviting Garak into his room, and took the suit out of its case to display. "It's not too dressy?" he asked as he held the jacket up to his chest to 'model.' The tuxedo had been the latest Federation fashion in formal wear when Julian had come to DS9: the jacket was short and close-fitted, dark blue, with slacks of the same color and a gleaming white silk shirt with a fan of pleats across the front and a high collar pinned by a single gold stud. Garak examined the garments critically, perhaps jealously, since he had had no part in their design. "No," he decided, "this will do. You'll make a favorable impression." /~*~//~*~//~*~/ A shower, a half-hour's nap, and then they spent the rest of the afternoon touring the Old Town. Garak was familiar with the city; as he led Bashir along the narrow, twisting stone- paved streets, he pointed out ancient buildings and hidden courtyards where he claimed a dozen key events in Xmirsan history had occurred: the murder of a prince, the meeting- place of a conspiracy, the site of the rebellion-razed temple where generations of ministers had been anointed, countless marital alliances formed, and a thousand intrigues conducted. He led the doctor down to the waterside, to the fruit vendors in the market for a taste of the famous Nyosian pebbled nectars, then into a cool basement tavern for a licorice-flavored tisane. All the while, he took in their surroundings with a sad air of nostalgia, although when Julian noticed and pressed him for more personal details of his experience in the city, the tailor only replied that he never expected to see this place again. When the larger, redder sun set hours later, they returned to the hotel. Bashir changed into his tuxedo, and Garak put on a formal suit the doctor had never seen before, an open-throated tunic of a velvety black material with silver-thread brocade on the sleeves and shoulders. They took the hotel's hover-transport across the bay to the party. The house on the cliffs was bright, casting colored lights onto the water, and music could be heard over the soft hum of the transport's engine. Bashir had thought that they might be early--but Davri's house was already crowded. Apparently, no culture represented had the concept of 'fashionably late.' And a number of cultures were represented: the variety of people here was as diverse as any group Bashir had ever seen on the Promenade; there were even several species he had never seen before, and for the first time, he had the disconcerting experience of being the only human in the room. The guests were primarily older men and women-- Garak's contemporaries?--with a smattering of younger persons. "I know you would like to mingle and meet the other guests," Garak said as they entered, "but for the present I hope you won't mind accompanying me?" "No, of course not." "Thank you, Doctor." To emphasize their arrangement, he took Bashir's arm. "Come--let me introduce you to our host." Garak had referred to Davri Ko as a Besselian, a race Bashir knew only by name as non-Federation members. Davri turned out to be an enormous man, with pale bluish skin, a round face with full cheeks spattered with spots of darker blue, and a shock of white hair. "Elim!" he boomed, grinning at the sight of the Cardassian. "I didn't think you'd make it tonight! After all that trouble you had on Bajor with that stubborn Gul-" "Yes, that was a difficult situation," Garak agreed swiftly as Bashir began to look curious, "but that was a long time ago. I wouldn't have dreamed of missing this opportunity to see you again. Davri, this is Julian Bashir." That broad smile turned Julian's way as Garak brought him forward. "Charmed!" A large hand reached out, fingers spread wide; Bashir recoiled, startled--his first thought was that his host meant to push him over. Then he realized that this was a greeting, equivalent to a handshake, and he stood his ground as Davri pressed his fingertips briefly to his chest. Should he return the gesture? He caught Garak's eye; the tailor shook his head slightly, and Julian didn't try to shove back. "Charming!" Davri told Garak. /~*~//~*~//~*~/ There followed a round of similar, imprecise introductions --'old friends,' many with no names and no background; even after meeting a dozen of these people, Julian had no idea who they were to Garak. When he was free to mingle later on, he sought out the more promising ones, hoping to pump them for information without Garak interrupting the conversation whenever it began to get interesting. This was a prime opportunity. Would he ever have a better chance to find out about his friend's mysterious past? His first choice was a tiny, aged Krause woman with a tower of raven-black hair. She had smiled and patted his cheek like a fond aunt when he had been presented to her, and she smiled as fondly when he took a seat next to her at the edge of the terrace, which served as a dance floor. "You're very pretty," she told him. "Why aren't you dancing?" Julian ducked his head, a little embarrassed by her bluntness. "No one's asked me." The dance was not one that he recognized: instead of standing close together, the couples remained a half-meter or so apart, touching wrist to extended wrist as they circled each other and changed partners at intervals whenever their paths intersected. It looked rather complex, but he didn't think it would be too difficult to pick up the basics. "I don't suppose you'd care to-?" The offer produced a musical laugh. "How gallant! But I'm afraid I'm not so limber as I once was. I've had to turn away one young man already." She waved a hand in the direction of the dancers, indicating a youth of her own species, perhaps one-third her age and wearing a gold- trimmed, black body suit, spinning gracefully with a girl in a shimmering pink gown. "Your son?" Julian wondered. Another laugh. "It wasn't very nice of Elim to bring you all this way, and then abandon you among strangers." "Oh, I don't mind. He has so many people to catch up with, and I can fend for myself." Then he ventured, "May I ask, how- er- long you've known Garak?" "Elim? I don't know. Years. It seems like forever." She turned to look over her shoulder into the main room; although the words were somewhat muted, the distinct lilt of Garak's voice had carried through the open doorway. "I can barely believe he's the same earnest young Kardasi officer I met on his first assignment on Romii. We were both sent to attend to the same senator-" she stopped and turned back, eyes on him sharply. "He hasn't told you, has he?" "No, ma'am," he admitted, caught in the act. "Then I don't think I'd better." She smiled at him again. "How long have *you* known him?" "About two years." "On that Bajoran space station where I understand he lives now?" "Yes, ma'am," Julian answered, feeling now as if *he* were the one being pumped. "I'm the medical officer there." "Really?" Her eyebrows lifted. "You're a doctor?" "Yes." He was puzzled at first by this response, then recalled that Garak had introduced him to this woman merely as 'Julian.' "Dr. Julian Bashir," he added, giving her more complete information, "Starfleet's Chief Medical Officer on Deep Space 9." The woman shook her head. "Nothing about Elim will surprise me." /~*~//~*~//~*~/ His second try was a man whose features were as unformed as Odo's, the result of surgery to remove the distinguishing characteristics of whatever species he belonged to. "The Cardassian?" he answered Bashir's inquiry. "I don't know him." Julian doubted this. He had just seen this man speaking to Garak a few minutes ago when he'd returned from the terrace. Regarding him steadily, the man added, "I noticed you with him earlier. I'm sorry I can't help you, but I am curious-- how did a young human like yourself get mixed up with a back -stabbing old reprobate like that?" Bashir grinned, convinced that this man knew Garak very well in spite of his denials. "We met on DS9, the space station where we both live." "I take it that you're one of the Federation personnel?" "As a matter of fact, I'm the station's CMO." "Really?" The artificial face was not very expressive, but the tone of surprise was unmistakable. "You're a Starfleet doctor?" /~*~//~*~//~*~/ Garak was not the only person in the Quadrant who could hold onto a secret. After a few more tries, Julian began to see that whatever past life these people had shared, they were all just as evasive about it as his Cardassian friend was. Even their genial host was more circumspect when Bashir tried to speak with him just before the party gathered for a midnight dinner. "What's past is past! If Elim wants to put it behind him and not trouble you, then who am I to interfere?" Davri pushed aside his questions. "I know how he feels--we all did a lot of things when we were younger that we'd like to forget-" With a warm, indulgent chuckle, he seized Julian by the shoulder and gave him a brisk shake. "Isn't that so? Don't worry about it, my boy! You're here to have fun!" And he all but flung the young man into the dining room. The guests were seated at a series of long, narrow tables. Bashir found himself directly across from Garak; it was the first time they had been reunited since the tailor had sent him off on his own. "Having a good time reliving the old days?" he asked pointedly over the soup. Garak grinned, as if well aware of Julian's earnest and ineffective investigation. "Yes, I've been enjoying myself immensely. And what about you? I hope you haven't been bored, dear Doctor?" "No, not at all. It's been- ah- interesting. You were right --your friends are fascinating people. Someday, you'll have to tell me who it is I've been talking with." Instead of answering, Garak abruptly changed the subject. By 0200, the party was just getting into full swing, and Julian's quest for the truth about Garak was going nowhere. He was just about to give up, when the girl in the pink dress--the one who had been dancing with the Krause youth --came up to him and said, "I heard you were asking about Mr. Garak?" Julian regarded her, astonished. It was sometimes difficult to assess the ages of alien races, but this young woman, who could be mistaken for human except for the tiny, scalloped ears peeking from under her golden ringlets, looked as if she were barely out of her teens. "*You* don't know him?" "No, but I came with Koraz." She lifted her chin to indicate the group seated at the far end of the main room; Garak was there with Davri and a few others, reminiscing about gods- only-knew what past adventures. "Which one is he?" "The Rigelian, in the red suit." Julian found him. "Your boyfriend?" he asked. She shook her head and sent her curls flying. "He's just a man I know. We see each other whenever he comes to Thetos. He asked me if I wanted to go to a party. You know how it is--a man like Koraz likes to have someone pretty on his arm, to show off in public, and this is almost a vacation for me. *He* won't ever tell me a thing about himself," she concluded, "but I asked him about your Cardassian." Bashir decided that she *must* be older than she looked, but her conspiratorial attitude had reawakened his hopes. This was the most promising lead he'd had all evening. "What did Koraz say?" "Well, I asked him who your Mr. Garak was--we don't see many Cardassians on my side of the galaxy, and I thought he was kind of cute. Koraz said that I shouldn't be fooled by all that Kardasi charm, and I'd keep my distance if I was smart. He told me..." her voice lowered; Julian had to lean closer to hear, "that Garak was 'the most treacherous, conniving, double-tongued slime devil' he'd ever met. He said that Elim Garak was the most deadly assassin he knew, except for the woman he calls 'Atropos'--her, there." She pointed with her chin again, this time to indicate the Krause woman Bashir had first spoken with. He tried not to smile at the young woman's breathlessly earnest tone and her improbable choice of deadly assassin. "You're joking." "It's what Koraz told me," she insisted. "He meant it as a compliment." "I'm certain he did." Or, more likely, her date had been teasing her with outrageous claims, just as Garak played with him when he asked too many questions. "Koraz was surprised to see someone like *you* with Garak," she told him. "He thought you must be a fool or a thrill-seeker." "Neither, actually." Feeling as if he had already said it a hundred times tonight, Julian explained, "I met Garak on the space station where I work. I'm the medical officer." She giggled. "Who's joking now?" "No, really. I am." "*You're* a doctor?" "Yes." Julian frowned. "Now why does that surprise you?" "I'm sorry. I-" she giggled again. "I thought that you- Oh dear!" Another burst of nervous laughter, and she retreated swiftly, leaving Julian to stare after her in complete bewilderment. Why was everyone so surprised that he was a doctor? Surprise at his being a Starfleet officer, he could understand; it would seem strange to most people to see someone from Star- fleet with a Cardassian, but why did his profession alone strike them all as odd? Surely they didn't think he had nothing better to do than accompany Garak to parties...? Julian froze, wide-eyed, as it dawned on him that she had assumed--they *all* assumed--he was- *he* was- His mouth dropped open and his face grew more and more red by the second as he reviewed every conversation he'd had tonight. All those odd remarks he had not understood at the time. All those vague introductions, which he saw now had been as imprecise with regard to *him* as any of Garak's old friends. *This* was what Garak had intended them to think! He'd been invited along as an escort, just like the young women herself and all the other decorative, well-dressed creatures who had come with the older men and women here. He'd kill that blasted Cardassian! Throttle him bare-handed, then revive him just to have the pleasure of strangling him again. How could Garak dare-? And *why*? If the slightest hint of this ever got back to DS9, he'd never hear the end of it. Then he was overtaken by an impish impulse. If *that* was what Garak wanted... Bashir strolled deliberately toward the Cardassian, draped himself over the back of the lounge, and placed his arm around Garak's shoulders. "Elim," he said poutingly, "you promised me at least one dance tonight." Garak whipped his head around to stare up at him; Julian gazed back with innocent hopefulness. Then the tailor slowly smiled. "Yes, my dear, of course. I've neglected you too long." /~*~//~*~//~*~/ The eastern sky was pink with the approach of dawn as Bashir returned to his room at the hotel. He dropped his suit jacket on the bed, then unfastened the close collar of his shirt as he opened the balcony doors and stepped out into the cool early-morning breeze. It had turned out to be a strange, but incredible evening. To his surprise, Garak was familiar with the circular dance, and really quite good at it; the tailor had led him through the opening steps until he gained his confidence--the dance *was* easy to learn. In spite of his determination to play along with Garak's game, he'd felt awkward and self- conscious at first. But since everyone had taken it so casually for granted that he and Garak were a couple, he soon realized that the only source of embarrassment lay in his own mind. He began to have fun. Between dances, Julian threw himself into the unaccustomed role: He hung on Garak's elbow whenever they spoke to anyone and used the most ridiculous endearments he could come up with, moving rapidly from 'darling' to 'sweetums' to 'pookie-bear'. When Garak hauled him back out to the terrace for a second dance, he was emboldened to flirt outrageously, and enjoyed seeing the perplexed look that flickered in his friend's eyes. He had only balked when the music suddenly slowed and the other couples paired off for something that resembled a waltz. As entertaining as the game of 'lets-pretend' had been, was he willing to go this far for a joke? But before he could retreat, Garak had pulled him close enough to slip an arm around, and assured him, "It's all right, my dear Doctor. I know this one too." Julian had squirmed briefly, then decided 'Oh, why the hell not?' and relaxed. The slow dance had seemed to go on for hours: The lazy rhythm of the music. The velvet softness of the star-filled sky. The comfortable warmth and solidity of the body so close to his. It felt almost natural to lean into Garak and sway to his lead. And when, drowsy, light- headed, and mildly, pleasantly drunk, he let his cheek rest on the tailor's shoulder, the arms around him had tightened and Garak had murmured against his ear with a hint of amusement, "I think I'd better take you back to the hotel. It's getting late." They'd made their farewells to their host. After exchanging a few parting remarks with Garak, Davri had turned to him, smiling broadly. "A pleasure to meet you!" he said, and gave Julian another shove. "Elim's a lucky man--you be sure to take care of him." "Yes, sir," Julian had promised, baffled by this injunction. "Thank you." They went back to the hotel with other guests who had departed at the same time. On the hover-transport, Garak had one last quiet conversation with the Krause woman-- Atropos? Julian had smiled once again at the idea of this fragile-looking creature being a professional killer, until he caught the whispered name of 'Senator Tira,' and shivered slightly as he recalled what she had told him about Garak's first assignment on Romii. He shivered now in the cool air, and wondered for the thousandth time what kind of man his friend really was. This evening had raised a score of new questions, but given him no concrete answers. When the door to Garak's room opened behind him, he did not turn around. "Thank you, Doctor, for being so understanding." Bashir chuckled. "I wish you'd told me what you wanted. I would've dressed more appropriately for my role if I'd known--something more decorative." "I wouldn't want my old friends to think that you'd been hired for the occasion." Garak's arm stole around behind him to take the opposite wrist. "It was an impressive performance. Most convincing." The other arm went around his waist to draw him back; Julian was jolted by a light nip at the base of his neck. "Garak!" He twisted out of the embrace. "I was joking!" Then he saw the hurt in the tailor's eyes, and realized that whatever Garak's reasons for bringing him to this party, it had become more than a game to him. He tried to stammer out an apology, "Garak, I'm sorry. I had no idea-" but Garak cut him off. "No, Doctor. It is I who must apologize. You *were* convincing." He bowed formally, then turned and left Bashir standing alone on the balcony, staring after him in amazement and mouth still moving without making a sound. /~*~//~*~//~*~/ In his own room, Garak flung off his clothes, and climbed into bed, furious at himself. The irony was that he *had* started this as a joke. The usual deception. Once he had received his invitation to Davri's party, he'd decided immediately that he couldn't appear before his former acquaintances as a man disgraced and pathetically alone. They were all aware that he'd fallen out of favor, but he had to give them the impression that he was not to be pitied for his misfortune--that, even if he had lost all power and influence in Cardassia, at least he had an attractive young companion in his exile. There had also been a certain appeal in the prospect of seeing the naive young doctor acting the role of his lover, ignorant that that was what he was doing. And of course it would be pleasant to have Bashir to himself for a day or two in any case. But ultimately the joke had been on him. After the young doctor had discovered his ruse, he'd risen to the occasion remarkably well. As Garak had watched Bashir play along so beautifully, he'd begun to believe that he saw something more than mere performance. He'd begun to hope... *Fool!* he thought, and turned restlessly. *Did you think _he_ could ever care for you?* Then the balcony door slid quietly open and he heard the soft pad of bare feet on the floor. Garak sat bolt upright, and found the familiar silhouette framed in the rosy light from the windows. A tentative voice spoke: "Elim?" /~*~//~*~//~*~/ Bashir was sitting at the foot of Garak's bed later that morning, when he heard a slight movement behind him. The smaller sun had made its way around to their side of the hotel and the light cast through the curtains had finally awakened Garak. He turned to look over his shoulder; the tailor sleepily stretched one arm across the sheets, encountered nothing but empty space, and then opened his eyes. An expression of relief crossed Garak's face when he found Julian still there, then it was replaced by concern. "Haven't you slept at all?" he asked. "An hour or so," Julian answered as Garak crawled down to position himself behind him. When he was pulled back between the tailor's knees, he nestled in the embrace, covering the arms that encircled him with his own. He let his head fall back and sighed as Garak nipped at the side of his throat, and turned just enough to receive a kiss. "I've been thinking--what happens when we go home tonight?" "That's up to you," Garak replied cautiously. "I do understand if this was nothing more than a gracious gesture of sympathy for a lonely old man. If you wish to pretend that it never occurred, I won't make things awkward for you." "Elim!" Bashir twisted fully around. "It was more than pity--you know that. I can't promise you that we'll ever make something substantial out of it, but last night was *wonderful*. The party. The dancing. The..." he trailed off, dropping his gaze shyly, and admitted, "I felt happier than I have in a long time." Then he peeked up at Garak speculatively through his lashes. "Even if I did spend it with the galaxy's second most deadly assassin." He was fishing again. Garak chuckled. "You can't believe everything you hear about me," he said as he moved slowly back toward the head of the bed, bringing Bashir with him. "Especially from Koraz. In fact, most of my friends are terrible liars." "M-hm," said Julian. "And what about that Romulan Senator your friend from Krause mentioned--Tira, was it?" "I'm afraid it's really very dull." Garak lay down. "Are you certain you wish to hear it?" "Yes, please." He settled with his head on the tailor's chest, ready for a story. "Very well," Garak conceded. "If you must know, when I was young, I served for a time as aide to a diplomatic envoy to the Romulan Star Empire. My first assignment was to escort Senator Tira to Cardassia Prime for a series of territorial negotiations." "That's what your friend meant by 'attend to'?" "Of course. What did you think?" His fingers played in Julian's rumpled curls as he continued, "However, due to a scheduling conflict, the Senator was also expected on Krause IV that same day. It was then that I first made the acquaintance of that most remarkable woman you met last night--she was with the Krausian ambassador's staff. Unfortunately, before we could sort our way through the confusion, Senator Tira suffered a cardiac failure--but I assure you I had nothing to do with that." Julian lifted his head to meet the Cardassian's eyes. "Is that what really happened?" "It is as true as anything you heard last night." This was hardly reassuring. "I'll get the truth out of you someday, Elim." "Perhaps you will, someday," Garak answered. He lifted Julian from his chest and, rolling swiftly, lay the young man flat on his back and smiled into his startled eyes. "It will certainly be interesting to see you try." /~*~//end//~*~/ Kathryn Ramage kramage@erols.com /~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~/ The following tale of alien encounters is true. By true, I mean false. It's all lies, but they're entertaining lies--and, in the end, isn't that the real truth? The answer is no. Leonard Nimoy, hosting The Simpsons /~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~/