Title:   Interspecies Courtship Rituals
Author:  Kathryn Ramage
Series:  DS9
Codes:   G/B 
Rating:  R for mildly explicit and sometimes scary m/m 
Setting: 4th season
Summary: Finding himself the object of an intense and frightening 
Cardassian-style pursuit by Garak, Bashir tries to teach his suitor 
a thing or two about human relationships. 

Special Thanks: To Terrie Drummond, who beta-read this, and Karen 
Colohan. 

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and the characters. This 
story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Copyright August 1997

~*\*~*/*~

Fingers closed around his wrist.

"Let go of me," Dr. Julian Bashir said softly, firmly, not wanting 
to draw attention from the other people at the tables around them at
the replimat.  He tried to pull back, but his lunch companion's grip
was unyielding.  He would have to put up a fight to free himself, 
and he wasn't going to make a scene in public unless Garak left him 
with no other options.   

"You want this as much as I do."

"No, I don't," the young doctor insisted. "Garak, let go--You're 
hurting me." 

Garak grinned.  "Little liar."  But he let go of Bashir's wrist as 
he rose and circled the table.  He stood behind the doctor's chair 
and, placing both hands on Bashir's shoulders, bent down to whisper 
in his ear:  "No one appreciates a skillful embellishment of truth 
more than I do, dear Doctor, but deceit is not among your many 
talents.  You can't convince me that you don't think about it.  My
hands on your delectable skin..." His fingers swept up one side of 
Julian's neck; the young man sat bolt upright, eyes wide, at the 
sensation.  "My mouth against the hollow at the base of your throat." 
Fingertips dipped lower to tease at the high collar of Bashir's 
lavender undershirt, as if he meant to reach in.  "Or my teeth on 
the nape of your neck.  Can you tell me you've never imagined 
yourself lying in my arms?  You've never thought of what it would 
be like...me taking you..."

Julian felt his face grow hot and a thin, electric thrill ran 
through his body at the string of graphic and salacious obscenities 
that were hissed into his ear, but he tried not to respond.  He 
refused to give Garak the satisfaction of seeing him flustered.  
Besides, there were too many people around them--people, he couldn't 
help noticing, who seemed oblivious to what Garak was doing.  What 
sort of secrets did they think the Cardassian was telling him?

So, he kept his hands folded on the table in front of him and his 
eyes fixed straight ahead, and he tried not to listen to the things 
Garak whispered to him.  But when the tailor's thumb began to move 
in little circles just below his ear, he could not suppress a sensual 
shudder.

"There," Garak said with a distinct note of triumph.  He straightened, 
but his hands still lingered on the doctor's shoulders.  "Now will 
you abandon this pretense of reluctance so that we can make arrange-
ments to spend a mutually pleasant evening together? Dinner, shall 
we say? My quarters?  2230?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Julian told him. "Not as long as 
you behave this way."

The grip on his shoulders tightened.  "I see.  This is how you intend 
to play?"

"You've left me no other choice."

"So be it," Garak answered.  He dropped his hands away, and stalked 
out of the replimat.  Julian turned in his seat to watch him go.  It 
was not until he turned back and reached for his mug of tea that he 
realized he was trembling.  From fear?  Or arousal?  Probably a bit 
of both.  Garak had been doing that to him lately, though never so 
profoundly as he had today.

~*\*~*/*~

The incident with Garak had left him confused and shaken, but once he 
returned to the Infirmary, there was enough work to keep his mind off 
his personal problems for the rest of the afternoon.  A handful of 
minor injuries, a routine physical or two, his ongoing research to 
find an effective remedy for that new and virulent strain of Rigellian 
upper-respiratory flu that had been going around--Bashir threw himself 
into each task, and then went straight to his quarters at the end of 
his duty-shift.  He was just considering what to order for dinner 
when the doorchime trilled.

Garak stood outside.

"You declined my invitation to dinner," he explained as he brushed 
past Bashir and stepped into the doctor's quarters without waiting to 
be asked.  "So I thought I'd come here instead."

"I didn't invite you."

"Ah, my dear Doctor, you didn't need to speak.  I could read the 
invitation in your eyes."

Julian cast his eyes to the carpet, and belatedly realized that this 
was the wrong thing to do.  Under the circumstances, Garak would take 
the gesture for flirtation or, worse, capitulation.

When he lifted his gaze, the tailor was smiling at him.

"Now, what about dinner?"  He tried to take Julian by the arm to guide 
him to the table, but the doctor pulled back and folded both arms 
tightly over his chest.  "If you'd been more obliging and agreed to 
come to my quarters, I would have offered you some non-replicated 
delicacies I've been saving for a special occasion.  And I think we'd 
be more comfortable on _my_ bed-"

"Garak, please get out.  I'm not in the mood for this.  I'll call Odo 
if I have to."

"And what will you say?"  The Cardassian's eyes were dancing.  "That 
you're inconvenienced by an unexpected dinner guest?"

The question made Julian feel silly, as if he were over-reacting to 
the entire situation.  Perhaps his reactions _were_ inappropriate. He 
knew enough about Cardassian-style flirting to know that Garak would 
take his argumentative behavior as encouragement; certainly, nothing 
he had said so far had deterred the tailor.

Julian tried another, less confrontational, tactic:  "It won't work, 
Garak," he began in an even, reasonable-sounding voice.  "You're 
pushing too hard to make things happen and I'm not-  I don't like 
what _this_-" he waved a hand, "is doing to us.  I haven't consented 
to one thing yet, and already you're grabbing and fondling me in 
public. You burst in here and assume we're going to go to bed. You're 
taking far too much for granted."

To his relief, Garak appeared to consider his words seriously. "That's 
the problem?" the tailor said.  "You're afraid that _this_-" he 
imitated Julian's vague gesture, "threatens our friendship?"

"Yes, I suppose that's it," Julian answered as he slumped back on the 
sofa.  "You've changed already.  The way you treat me.  You don't even 
think of me as your friend anymore, do you?  The man who saved your 
life.  The only person in the quadrant who gives a damn about you."  
In spite of his resolve, his voice was rising angrily; Garak began to 
watch him with renewed interest.  "You think you can play with me-"  
He stopped, furious and perplexed, when the Cardassian burst into a 
grin.

"I don't know which I find more fascinating, Doctor--your view of me, 
or how you imagine I view _you_."  Then he added, in a more solemn 
tone:  "You do know I would never deliberately harm you, don't you?"

"I'd like to believe that." 

"Cardassians can be quite aggressive in their...pursuits--no doubt 
you've heard certain stories--but I can assure you that you are 
perfectly safe with me," Garak told him softly.  "I'm sorry if I've 
done anything to alarm you." 

He sounded sincere, but the moment Julian relaxed, the tailor smiled--
as if to say `well, thank goodness we're past that unpleasantness'--
and joined him on the sofa, the glint in his eyes unmistakable.

"Garak!"  Bashir protested.

"What's wrong now?"

"It's not going to happen."

"Are you still attempting to deny this?"  He reached out to caress the 
doctor's cheek with his fingertips; Julian flinched back.  "You want 
me."

"I thought I did," Julian answered.  "I was wrong.  It would be a 
mistake."

"Mistake?" Garak was suddenly very intent.

"I thought you were...something you aren't." He pulled his feet up, 
curled his long legs close to himself.  "You were so gentle.  Kind.  
You lied to me all the time, but I thought I would be able to trust 
you when it really mattered."

"And now you don't think you can?"

"You'll say anything to get me.  I know you, Garak.  You'll cheat me."

"_I_ ? Cheat _you_?  Really, Doctor-"

"You'll take me and you won't give me the least little part of yourself 
in return.  I won't let myself be used like that.  I want some control 
over what's happening. If we're going to be together, it has to be an 
equal partnership."

"What a very human concept!" said Garak.  "You make a love-affair sound 
like a business merger.  On Cardassia, marriages are sometimes used 
to seal an alliance between influential families to consolidate their 
power, but I thought that you and I would have a much less formal 
arrangement."  He inched closer.  All the amusement had gone. "In any 
relationship, dearest Doctor, there is one who dominates, and one who 
yields.  We each have our role--we chose them at the beginning of 
our acquaintance.  You would not wish to change them any more than I 
would."  

"No," Julian answered.  "If that's the kind of thing you want from me-"

"_Doctor_."  Now, Garak sounded somewhat impatient and distinctly 
menacing.  "I am growing weary of these little games of yours."  He 
moved without warning, grabbing Julian's forearms and hauling him up 
off the couch to kiss him hard.

Garak had only ever kissed him once before; Julian was unprepared for 
this suffocating ferocity.  Insistent mouth forcing his open, teeth 
clashing with his own, nipping at his tongue, lips, chin--he felt as 
if he had been seized by some large and merciless predator that meant 
to consume him whole.  His first impulse was to twist, push, strike 
back, to fight himself free, but as the arms about his chest tightened 
and slowly pressed the air out of his lungs, he slumped and tried not 
to resist.  Garak could easily crush his rib cage, but he wouldn't if 
he didn't struggle.

Once he stopped fighting, the crushing embrace loosened slightly and 
Garak released his mouth.

"I can be gentle with you," the tailor said as Julian gasped to draw 
in breath, "if you will simply stop this foolishness and surrender."  
His grip tightened again as he lifted the younger man off his feet and 
carried him into the bedroom.

"Put me down," Julian insisted, still breathless. 

Look for vulnerabilities in your opponent, target, and attack.  The 
hunter's strategy was instinctual in most sentients who had evolved 
from a predacious species, but Cardassians had cultivated it into an 
art form.  They were taught to despise weakness, to hold in contempt 
any creature that begged for mercy.  

If Julian hoped to win this fight, he had to be stronger. No pleading. 
No useless struggles.  No sign of his fear.

"I said: _Put_me_down_," he repeated firmly.

Garak dropped him across the bed.  Julian tried to sit up, but the 
tailor grabbed his wrists and forced him back down.  He pinned him to 
the mattress with his own weight.
 
"Get off!"  Julian tried not to panic, but this yelp was pitched a 
little too high.

"You insist on making demands," Garak said dismissively as he hooked 
one finger into the fastener down the front of the doctor's uniform.  
"Do you really think you're in a position to tell me what to do?" One 
good yank split the garment open to the crotch, tearing the seam at 
the lower end.  

"Stop it!"

He shoved up the lavender undershirt beneath, leaving a triangular 
patch of exposed skin from the waistband of Julian's briefs to his 
armpits.

"Garak, stop it!"

Garak bent his head; Julian grabbed handfuls of his hair to pull him 
off, but the Cardassian took him by the wrists again and pulled his 
hands away.  He held them several inches off as he kissed the bare 
human belly, dipped his tongue into the navel.  

Julian squirmed beneath him, muscles tensed, breath in hard little 
bursts.  "Garak, I mean it.  I don't like this."

Garak continued to kiss the taut skin of his abdomen, then moved up 
along his breastbone until he ran into the barrier of rolled-up cloth 
high across Julian's chest.  He turned his head slightly to find a 
nipple, and let go of one of Bashir's wrists to grope downwards and 
slip a hand into his underpants.

"Stop it!" Julian commanded, bucking his hips to throw Garak off; 
Garak took his shoulders and clamped him more firmly down onto the 
bed.  

They glared at each other.

There were certain defensive measures Bashir knew he could use at this 
point--a sharp blow to the temple, pressure on the nerve cluster just 
behind the ear-ridge, a well-placed kick--but he would not resort to 
these extremes until he was in unavoidable danger.  He still had a hope 
of talking Garak out of this before it went too far.  The Cardassian, 
terrifying as he was right now, was in control of himself.  This wasn't 
a Kardasi version of _pon-farr_; the man was certainly aroused (in 
their present positions, Julian was very much aware of _that_), but 
he was not overwhelmed by hormonal impulses.  He was still capable of 
listening to reason.

Julian had realized that Garak was responding to the tone of his voice. 
It didn't matter what he said: If he sounded plaintive or conciliatory, 
Garak ignored him.  Shouting only seemed to excite the Cardassian. But 
if Julian kept calm and spoke with authority, he could get Garak's 
attention.

He made his voice as icy as he could.

"If you're going to try and rape me, you could probably do it.  You're 
stronger than I am.  But remember this:  If you do, it will be the last 
time you will ever touch me.  It's the end of our relationship. I will 
never speak to you, never see you again.  I'll go to Odo and make a 
formal charge against you.  Do you understand?"

Garak blinked at him in amazement.  "Rape?  No.  Doctor, I have no 
intention of taking you forcibly." He actually sounded offended by the 
suggestion.  "Whatever gave you such an idea?"

"You're holding me down," Julian said patiently.  "You're touching me, 
even though I've told you repeatedly to stop.  It certainly looks like 
force to me."

"It isn't."  But he did release him.  "Believe me, my dear, if I 
thought you were serious..."  

"I _am_ serious!"  

"You want me to believe that you don't find this an enjoyable 
experience?"

"It isn't.  Honestly, it isn't."

Garak scowled at this reply.  "I don't understand you." He kept one 
hand on Julian's chest, fingers playing lightly over a damp and erect 
nipple.  "You give me every indication that you're eager to pursue a 
more intimate relationship, but whenever I approach you, you refuse 
me!  You flirt--and then you tell me to stop. I only give you what you 
desire--and you cry `rape.'"

He sounded genuinely aggrieved, as if he thought _he_ was being cheated 
out of something he had a legitimate right to.  It occurred to Julian 
that Garak must be thoroughly confused by his apparently contradictory 
behavior: if Garak was seeing compliance, or even eagerness, in 
his unintentional body language and vocal tones, then his continued 
objections must sound infuriatingly false. No wonder Garak refused to 
believe him.  Julian could almost sympathize with his frustration.

"Is this what you humans call `being a tease'?" Garak continued.  "You 
amuse yourself by making any number of intriguing offers when you have 
no intention of accommodating the desires you provoke?  I must tell 
you, dear Julian, I don't appreciate it at all.  I think it's extremely 
unfair of you to make promises, then withdraw your favors at a whim."  
He gave the nipple a vicious little tweak.  Julian gasped and arched 
his back.

Garak regarded him with smug delight.  "You enjoyed that!"

"It's a physiological response," Julian said as he squirmed free.  
"You could fondle me into an orgasm if you worked at it long enough, 
but that doesn't mean I _like_ being handled this way."

"What a little hypocrite you are!"  The tailor sat up at the foot of 
the bed.  "You deny the responses of your own body."

"My body is not in charge here," Julian answered, and tugged his 
rumpled shirt down into place.  "I won't let it lead me into making 
a stupid decision."

"Stupid decision?" Garak leapt upon the words.

"Going to bed with you now would be the stupidest thing I've ever 
done."

"Explain," Garak said darkly.

Could he make him understand?

"I don't want you like this.  I don't happen to find this domineering 
attitude of yours attractive.  In fact, you're scaring me."  Bashir 
sighed.  "I know this is the natural way for Cardassians, but I'm not 
a Cardassian."

"I am.  And this is how we win our mates--by conquering them."

"I don't want to be conquered!  You won't get me that way."

Garak didn't believe him.  "I already have you, my pet. If you weren't 
such a fool, you'd recognize it and learn to submit.  I think you 
relish every second of the struggle."

He stood up.

"Since you insist, I will leave you alone tonight.  Oh, by the way, if 
you're thinking of going to Constable Odo with your accusations, please 
remember that I have a story to tell as well.  For once, my version of 
events will be closer to the truth."

With fastidious care, the tailor readjusted and smoothed his clothing. 
He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and, looking as 
if he had not just been wrestling, walked out of the room.  A moment 
later, Julian heard the outer door whisk open and shut, and he flopped 
back to the bed.  

How many times had he smiled at Garak's improbable stories, watched 
the tailor's hands fly as he gestured to illustrate a particular 
phrase, met those startling, bright blue eyes across a lunch table, 
and wondered what it would be like to have his fascinating friend admit 
that he was interested in more than conversation? Well, his wish had 
been granted.  His most secret fantasies had been fulfilled: Garak had 
swept him up and carried him off to bed--but the scenario as it had 
played out was nothing like he'd imagined.  Now, he was sorry he had 
ever wanted Garak's attention and he wished feverently that they could 
have their old friendship back.

Well, no, that wasn't true.

He _did_ want Garak as his lover, but he refused to knowingly place 
himself in a relationship where he would be abused and degraded. He 
had his pride. He was not a Cardassian plaything--damned if he'd be 
treated like one!  But how could he make Garak understand that his 
determination wasn't pretense?  

He was only now fully aware of the gulfs of alienness between them.  
He thought of all those discussions they'd had over lunch, arguments 
about moral concepts; the tailor had his own opinions, particular to 
his culture and upbringing, but Julian had believed that Garak really 
did understand the human point of view even though he so often 
professed to find it incomprehensible.  He'd always been certain that 
Garak was teasing him.  

Now, Julian had to wonder how much Garak really did understand about 
humans and their almost inborn desire for personal freedom and dignity. 
Could he ever know how important these were to the young man he was 
trying to capture? 

If he didn't gain Garak's respect, he could lose everything.  But after 
this last encounter, he knew he wasn't strong enough to win the battle 
on his own.

He needed reinforcements.

~*\*~*/*~

"I'm sorry to trouble you with my personal problems," Bashir told Sisko 
and Odo the next morning in the Captain's office, "but I don't know 
what else to do."

"Do you have any idea why Garak's threatened you?" Odo asked.

"Yes, I know why," he answered reluctantly.  "I'm being courted."

Sisko frowned.  "Courted, Doctor?"

"Pursued as a potential mate."  They understood, but Bashir was the 
one who blushed.  "Unfortunately," he continued, "he's behaving just 
as he would with a Cardassian lover--he's rude, bullying, physically 
intimidating.  He's scaring the hell out of me.  I've tried to make 
him stop, but nothing seems to discourage him.  If I argue with him, 
he takes it for flirtation.  If I don't fight, he thinks I'm being 
submissive.  If I try to talk to him reasonably, he thinks we're 
playing word games.  Sometimes, I manage to hit exactly the right 
tone to make him listen, but it never lasts for very long."

"Can't you just tell him you're not interested?" Sisko asked.

"I've tried, sir." Bashir didn't want to explain every nuance of his 
relationship with Garak, but once he had invited them to examine his 
personal life, he couldn't avoid answering the question.  Besides, 
once Odo talked to Garak, the secret would be out anyway.  "But he 
knows I don't mean it."

He saw his captain and the constable exchange astonished glances.

"Garak wouldn't be behaving this way if he didn't have a reason to 
believe I shared his feelings," he admitted.

"Doctor," Sisko asked tentatively, "what did you do?"

"You remember the night of the Ambassador's party...?"

~*\*~*/*~

Ambassador Elorgast had gained her diplomatic reputation during the 
last round of the Federation's peace negotiations with Cardassia, and 
she had come to DS9 in hopes of achieving some sort of resolution to 
the ongoing Klingon hostilities.  Captain Sisko had arranged for a 
reception to welcome her, and all the station's senior staff had 
attended in dress uniform.  

To honor Elorgast and her homeworld, a variety of native Ysprekkan 
delicacies had been served.  Among these was a pale green liquor 
called _neoxenortorhwa_, or Tears of Paradise.  The Ysprekkans 
considered it a rare treat, but to Julian Bashir it had tasted as 
flat as tepid water.  Nevertheless, he sipped down two or three 
thimble-sized glasses just to be polite.

The size of the glasses ought to have warned him about the potency of 
the innocent-tasting beverage; by the time he made his excuses to the 
Ambassador and left the reception, his head was spinning and he was 
soon lost in the familiar corridors of the habitat ring.  Every curve 
and doorway looked exactly like every other.  He thought he must have 
circled the entire ring at least twice, and still had no hope of 
locating his quarters, when Garak found him and insisted on escorting 
him home.

Garak took him straight into the bedroom.  Once there, the doctor sat 
down on the bed, then flopped back, as his friend knelt and lifted one 
of his feet, then the other, to snap back the stirrups on his pants 
and pull off his boots.  Julian usually flung his boots aside, and 
tripped over them in the morning; the meticulous tailor placed them 
neatly side by side near the door, heels to the wall.  Garak then 
extracted Bashir from his dress uniform, loosening the stiff coat-
collar and cuffs and untangling long arms from sleeves with movements 
that were practical, efficient, and remote.  There was a shield down 
behind his eyes; Julian had seen that look before, when he visited 
the tailor's shop and Garak took his measurements or helped him in 
or out of his clothes.

While Garak carefully folded the uniform and promised to give it a 
pressing, Julian curled on the bed in his briefs and watched him.

*He wants me,* Julian thought, not for the first time. *I see the way 
he looks at me.  That far-away, unfocused expression when we get too 
close, as if he's trying not to think about what he's doing, touching 
me.  What he could do with me if he dared.*   

He felt a sudden rush of sympathy and affection for this man who 
desired him but was too circumspect to ever speak of it.

*My lover. Secret lover. We're so discrete, we never even acknowledge 
it to each other.  But we both know, don't we, my friend?*

"Where do you keep your pajamas, Doctor?"

"Don't bother," he answered.  "I'll sleep like this."

"You're not cold?"

"A little."

Garak returned to the bedside and tugged at the corner of the blanket 
the doctor lay on.

*He'll tuck me in,* Julian thought, *as efficiently and impersonally 
as he undressed me.  Then he'll go out without saying one improper 
word.  As if he doesn't wish he could spend the night here, making 
love to me.  If I just asked him...*

He moved obligingly off the blanket.  As Garak gathered it up, Julian 
sat up.  Still light-headed and slightly off-balance--very drunk; no 
doubt he would regret this tomorrow--he rose to his knees and slipped 
his arms around the very surprised Cardassian's shoulders.  He rested 
his cheek on Garak's shoulder, enjoying the spicy, alien scent and the 
sensation of the rough, woolen fabric of the tailor's tunic against 
his bare arms and chest.

Hands brushed lightly over his back, as if Garak didn't know whether 
to hold him close or to pull him away.  The cool touch made him shiver.

*My lover.*

"Doctor?"

He lifted his head and stretched up to whisper in Garak's ear.  "Stay 
with me."

~*\*~*/*~

"So..." Odo growled at the end of this story, "you coupled with him."

Julian shook his head.  "We didn't.  _I_ would have.  I- I guess I 
felt sorry for him.  He seemed so lonely--I wanted to do something to 
make him happy.  But Garak wouldn't stay.  He only said I had obviously 
had too much to drink and he ought to be going.  He put me to bed, 
tucked me in." Julian recalled this with a soft, wistful smile.  "He 
kissed me good-night.

"When we saw each other after that, he tested me.  He'd stare at me, 
ask me leading questions, and when I didn't discourage him, he began 
to flirt, Cardassian-style.  He got more and more aggressive.  Then, 
yesterday when we were at lunch, he asked me to come to bed with him 
and I told him no--and he grabbed me."  

Bashir sighed.  "I shouldn't have done it.  I opened a door I might 
have better left shut.  I knew he wanted me, but I didn't realize that 
he _wanted_  so much."

~*\*~*/*~

Later that morning, he sat in his office in the Infirmary and tried to 
concentrate on his research into that flu remedy and not to think about 
the full two meters of beefy Bajoran security guard standing in the 
doorway. In his conference with Sisko and Odo, they had decided that 
this was the best course to take: they had no idea how Garak would 
react to the news that his access to the doctor was being restricted.  
Julian knew it was a sensible precaution; nevertheless, he felt 
extremely silly.  Worse, he felt as if _he_ were the prisoner.  

Odo must have informed Garak by now.  It was just a matter of time-

At that moment, Garak burst into the Infirmary

"What is this?" he demanded.  The guard moved to block him.  Garak 
stopped.  "Constable Odo dropped by my shop to deliver this padd 
personally--" he waved it at Julian.  "It's some sort of ultimatum:  
As I understand it, I am not permitted to speak to you, or even to 
come within 20 meters of you, without one of _these_"--he looked up 
at the implacable barrier of a Bajoran with annoyance--"new bodyguards 
of yours in attendance."

"Yes, that's right.  It's an old Earth custom for dealing with overly 
ardent suitors.  We call it a `restraining order.'  I couldn't think 
of any other way to make it clear to you that I don't appreciate being 
assaulted."

Instead of answering this charge, Garak said,  "When I tried to offer 
the Constable some...insight as to what this complaint of yours was 
_really_ all about, I got the distinct impression that he had already 
heard some of the more interesting details."

"I told him-" Bashir hesitated.  They had some very important personal 
matters to discuss, but it was difficult to open the discussion with 
a security guard standing there listening.  "I told him what happened 
after the Ysprekkan Ambassador's reception, if that's what you're 
referring to."

"I never thought you'd be so indiscrete.  This entire tactic is a 
surprise to me. It's really very childish of you, dear Doctor.  Didn't 
I tell you you were safe?"

"And you thought I'd believe that?" Julian laughed angrily at the idea. 
With the protection of the guard between them, he allowed himself the 
luxury of losing his temper.  "I'm not trusting myself to your mercy, 
Garak.  If you want to talk, you'll just have to do it under controlled 
circumstances where you won't be able to intimidate or threaten me.  
You won't be given the opportunity to lay a finger on me.  You'll be 
thrown in the brig if you try.  Maybe _that_ will convince you that I 
mean what I say."

Garak's eyes were glittering after this outburst, but he only answered 
stiffly, "Yes, I see. Very well, Doctor." He tossed the padd at Julian; 
the doctor caught it.  "If this is the way you wish to continue..."

"I prefer it to your way, Garak."

"Then I won't disturb your sanctity any longer," he finished as if 
Julian had not spoken.  "Good day, Doctor."  With a formal little 
bow and the air of a man who meant to preserve the remnants of his 
grievously injured dignity, Garak turned on his heels and left the 
Infirmary.

After he had gone, the guard said, "Excuse me for prying, Doctor 
Bashir, but you've just been asking for trouble by being friends with 
a Cardassian in the first place.  You can't trust any one of them--you 
shouldn't try to." 

"Yes," Julian agreed, "perhaps."

~*\*~*/*~

He thought it would only be a day or two.  Garak would see that he 
wasn't playing games, then he could dismiss the security guards and 
they'd have a private talk. He hadn't foreseen how stubborn Garak 
could be.

For the first three days, Garak had scrupulously kept his distance.  
Whenever Julian left the Infirmary for lunch or a visit to Ops, the 
tailor stood watching him from the far end of the Promenade, glaring 
sullenly, but he never tried to breach the 20-meter limit.  Then, 
he applied to Odo to find out if it were permissible to invite the 
doctor to lunch.  Bashir, via Odo, consented, only to have a miserable 
experience at the replimat.  The conversation he'd hoped for was 
nonexistent.  And since then, nothing.

Meanwhile, guard after guard in six-and-a-half-hour shifts followed 
Bashir everywhere.  Being Bajoran, they were not entirely sympathetic 
to his situation; like the first guard assigned him, most of them 
thought he'd brought this problem on himself.  Odo maintained a strict 
policy about his deputies discussing their assignments, but the other 
inhabitants of the station couldn't help observing that _something_ 
was going on.  The guards were impossible to miss.  As far as Julian 
knew, no one had learned all the embarrassing details--although Quark 
and Dax were the most persistent in trying to dig them out.

He kept telling himself that his ultimate goal was worth all this 
trouble.  He wasn't just concerned with his love-life; he was fighting 
for the fundamental principles he believed in as a human being and a 
Federation citizen.  The stakes were too high to give in.  If Garak 
was being stubborn, then he would just have to be more stubborn still.
He could wait it out.

When Julian returned to his quarters one evening at the end of a week 
passed in uncomfortable silence, he had long since ceased to expect 
any unpleasant surprises.  He did not immediately notice the small 
object left on his dining table.  It wasn't obvious--a curved, silvery 
irregularity in the glints and reflections on the glass surface, rather 
like a large beetle--but once it caught his eye, he leapt away as if 
it might explode in his face and shouted for "Security!"

He stood back, out of the way, as the Bajoran currently assigned to 
his safety rushed in from his post outside the door and cautiously 
approached the item on the table.  Bashir kept one hand hovering over 
his commbadge, ready to call on Odo for further assistance, while the 
guard thoroughly examined the thing with a tricorder.

At last, the guard pronounced, "It's all right, sir.  No electronic 
devices.  No explosives."

"But he left it here, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir.  It looks like it."  The guard picked the small metallic 
object up and handed it to the doctor.  "This is definitely Car-
dassian."

Julian took it.  An ovoid token in silver with thin, inlayed strips 
of black material forming an elaborate pattern on the convex surface
a little larger than his commbadge--he could cup it in the palm of one 
hand.  "What it is?"

"A family emblem."

Garak's family emblem? The doctor examined the elaborate black sigil 
more closely.  The pattern was beautiful, yet strangely menacing.  
Like the imperial symbol of Cardassia, it appeared to be a stylized 
representation of some kind of animal.  The outermost curving lines 
might be wings, he thought, or horns.  The emblem was obviously not 
replicated: Julian could see tarnish on the silver, tiny fractures in 
the inlays.  It might be hundreds of years old.  An heirloom, then.

But why had Garak left it here for him to find?

From the Cardassian literature Garak had given him, Bashir knew that 
such tokens could be used as calling cards to convey a variety of 
messages: a challenge to a duel, a proposed alliance between factions 
or families, a petition from a suitor, a warning of pending assass-
ination, and possibly a dozen more things he had never encountered in 
his reading.

The sound of his door hissing open tore him from his speculations.  
The guard, searching the room for other surprises, whirled, phaser 
drawn.

Garak held up his hands.

"I mean you no harm, Doctor," he said quickly, pleasantly. "I simply 
came to talk."  Then, watching the guard reholster his weapon, he 
added:  "I find this situation rather awkward.  Can we speak privately
--without your chaperone?"

Julian nodded to the security guard.  "If there's any trouble, I'll 
call for you."  Then, to Garak:  "There won't be any reason for me to 
require help, will there?"

"Oh, no."  Garak addressed the guard.  "I assure you the doctor will 
be perfectly safe."

The Bajoran continued to look doubtful, but at the doctor's second nod, 
he reluctantly stepped back toward the door.  "I'll be right outside, 
sir." And he retreated to his post in the corridor.

Once the guard had exited, Bashir held up the emblem.   "This is 
yours," he said.  "Your family."

The tailor answered, "It's been in my possession for years."

"Why send it to me?  What does it mean?"

Garak took a deep breath.  "It means that this maneuver of yours has 
been successful.  These past few days have been unbearable without your 
company and I refuse to endure it another minute.  I want you, Doctor," 
he announced matter-of-factly.  "I will give you whatever you want, if 
you will get rid of the infernal Bajoran sentinels and agree to belong 
to me."

Julian had to smile.  He'd been hoping for a reconciliation, but _this_ 
was completely unexpected.  "Was that some sort of proposal?"

"It's an offer of a mutually exclusive commitment. Call it by any name 
you wish," Garak answered.  "Your recent actions have persuaded me 
that you believe what you're saying.  In spite of the fact that you've 
shown every indication-"  The doctor yelped, and Garak held up a hand 
and raised his voice slightly to override this protest.  "Despite every 
sign of encouragement I've received from you, I have to take you at 
your word. You wish to be pursued more gently--so be it. I am reduced 
to begging for you." He sounded as if he despised himself for 
confessing this weakness.

Emblem clasped tightly between his hands, Bashir considered this rather 
ungracious plea.  He was aware that he was holding himself rigidly, 
to prevent his body language from giving him away.  He had to get this 
exactly right.  So much depended on it.

"I need to think about this," he answered.

"What do you need to think about?" Garak demanded.  "Believe me, I have 
never been more in earnest.  If you insist on legal reassurances, I 
will sign the necessary contracts.  Is there a ceremony you require?  
I'm afraid I'm not familiar with all your human mating customs."

It wasn't the legalities.  Garak might be desperate enough to promise 
him anything, but Julian saw no indication that he had retreated an 
inch on his very Cardassian ideas about the roles they would assume. 
A commitment was no guarantee of safety: he was just as vulnerable to 
abuse in a legally binding relationship as he'd be in a casual affair.

"Do you love me?" he asked softly.  "You've never said."

"Love you?" The question surprised the tailor.  "Is that it?  You need 
to hear me say it?"

"I need you to mean it."

"My dearest Doctor!" Garak scolded, thoroughly exasperated by his 
idiocy.  "Do you think I would subject myself to such an awkward and 
undignified ritual if I didn't?"

Julian gaped at him.  "You mean you _knew_ what you were doing?"

"Yes, of course."

"You put me through this-!"  Bashir exploded.  

"I know the past few weeks have been distressing for you, but it's how 
we do things."

"This has just been a game to you?"

"A time-honored tradition."

"Tradition-!"

How often during this ordeal had Garak told him he was safe?  Had the 
tailor been trying to assure him all along that this was only ordinary 
love-play for his species and he had nothing to be afraid of?  Had 
Garak expected him to recognize the rituals, as another Cardassian 
would, and go through the appropriate motions, responding to his 
mate's posturing with acceptable meekness, putting up mere tokens of 
resistance before his ultimate submission?  

He'd been forced to participate in the game, ignorant of the rules, 
ignorant even that he was playing.  Time-honored tradition!  He was 
angry enough to pummel Garak senseless, but the tailor would probably 
take a punch in the nose to mean that he was thrilled to be pursued 
according to Cardassian customs.

As it was, Garak seemed much more confident now that he had managed 
to provoke an emotional response.  "It's important for a Cardassian 
male to establish dominance over his chosen mate at the beginning of 
the courtship period," he explained.  "The strength to conquer is the 
strength to protect.  It also saves so much trouble with domestic 
disputes later on."

"It doesn't matter how Cardassians are supposed to treat their lovers," 
Bashir answered tersely.  "I'm _human_.  We do these things differently."

"I've consented to court you on more human terms.  My behavior this 
evening has been beyond reproach, wouldn't you agree?"

"It's not good enough.  Behave however you like--_I_ won't be involved 
with someone who considers me subordinate."

Garak looked amused.  "You're not still clinging to that romantically 
naive idea of an equal partnership, are you?"

"Don't sneer," said Julian.  "This is too important to me. If you truly 
do care for me, you'll respect my ways.  Garak- er- Elim," It struck 
him as absurd that they were not on a first-name basis.  "I didn't fall 
in love with you because you can overpower me.  I'm not impressed by 
your strength. It was when you were gentle.  That night when you helped 
me home--you were wonderful.  You put my interests before your own. I 
wanted you because of that."  He sighed.  "I don't want you to pretend 
to be human for my sake, but can't you see that you could have had me 
right away if you'd just been nice instead of trying to dominate me 
so completely?  I want us to be lovers, not slave and master."  He had 
to make Garak understand that whatever compromises he was willing to 
make to bring them together, _this_ point was not negotiable.  "If we 
can't work this out between ourselves, we might as well give it all up 
as hopeless right now."  He held out the silver token, offering to 
return it to its owner.

It was a gamble--an all-out, everything-or-nothing act of desperation
--but it seemed to produce the desired effect.  Garak appeared to be 
surprised, even disturbed, by his gesture.  He stepped back, adamantly 
refusing the offered emblem, and peered sharply into Julian's eyes, 
searching for some sign of whether or not the doctor truly intended 
to dismiss him.  Julian met the piercing stare with bland innocence.  

After a moment, Garak almost snapped, "Oh, very well!  If that's what 
you want..."

"That's precisely what I want. I'd also like-" Julian paused, then 
smiled.  "I want the man I fell in love with." He set the emblem down 
and held out his hand again, empty; Garak took it.   "If you can be 
everything I imagined you were, then I will be yours." 

"And if I can't?"

"Then I yell for my guard, Odo tosses you in the brig until I decide 
whether or not I want to press charges, and this is as close as you 
will ever be to having me."  He spoke with a smile as he stepped 
backwards, leading Garak toward the bedroom, but his tone was far 
from playful; he wanted to be certain Garak knew that he meant every 
word.  "It's your choice, Elim.  Are we agreed?" 

"Agreed."  Once they stood at the bedside, Garak drew the doctor close 
and extricated his hand from Julian's to reach for the fastener on his 
uniform.

"Careful," Julian's hand closed over his.  "You'll tear it. Let me."

This was a test; he had to see if Garak would let him remain in 
control.  He might still lose. Already, his heart was racing with 
anticipation, exhilaration, and the terrible fear of betrayal.  They 
were so close now...

He was at the point of surrender, and but he couldn't give himself.  
Not yet.  If Garak had any idea how much he desired this--he had 
dreamed of their joining so often, exactly as Garak had described it 
to him in the replimat that day--then he'd give his Cardassian lover 
the power to conquer him.  He would gain his love, but at the price 
of everything else that mattered to him.  He refused to live his life 
that way.  Surrender was only possible with complete trust; tonight, 
he needed to determine whether or not he could trust his lover at all.

Garak dropped his hand away from the doctor's chest.  Julian took it 
as a good sign.  He escaped the loose embrace without a struggle, and 
began to undress.

"I sincerely don't know what went wrong," Garak said as Bashir slipped 
out of his uniform.

"It was simple cross-cultural miscommunication," the doctor answered, 
and he stepped close again to search out and pull open the clasps of 
Garak's tunic.  "But I don't know why it's happened now either.  I'm 
behaving no differently than I have been for years. You never thought 
I was flirting with you before."  The tunic dropped to the floor 
beside his own discarded clothing.

Garak smiled.  "I always thought you were flirting.  I simply didn't 
believe I was meant to take it seriously.  I saw no reason to pursue 
the matter, until..."

"Until I threw myself at you," Julian finished for him, and ducked his 
head.

"You must admit," Garak was still smiling as he pulled the warm, 
pliant, human body back into his arms, "it was impossible for me to 
misinterpret that charming, if inebriated, invitation."  He brushed 
Julian's cheek with his fingers--the doctor let him--then firmly 
cupped the side of his head. "Julian, I want to kiss you."  He tried 
to draw Bashir's head forward, but the young man held himself in 
reserve, lips centimeters from contact.

"No. Not yet."

Another test.  He expected Garak to seize him impatiently and insist 
that he stop these teasing delays, but for the moment Garak seemed 
willing to abide by whatever limits he established.  After these 
weeks of intense pursuit, this patience was eerie.

Julian slipped free and sat on the bed.  He drew his legs up and 
scooted back a little.  "But you didn't stay."

"You were offering a night's dalliance," Garak answered as he sat 
at his feet.  "I was interested in far more.  I had to consider the 
consequences...whether you and I were fully prepared to undertake the 
rigors of courtship properly." 

"Properly," said Julian, "according to _your_ traditions."

"Mhm...yes.  It seemed the reasonable course of action."  Fingers 
lingering on one bare kneecap, he pressed closer, urging Julian to 
open to him.  

Bashir brought his knee up gently into Garak's chest to block him, but 
at the same time he let his other leg fall slightly aside.  He held 
his breath, regarding Garak anxiously, expectantly, as the tailor's 
sensitive fingertips trailed up his inner thigh.  

"May I..?"  Fierce blue eyes locked into his, watching, waiting for--
what?  Indications of what was permitted? A sign of acquiescence?

How much longer could he make Garak wait?  How much longer could _he_  
wait?  Fingers tentatively brushed--*oh God!* he stifled a whimper 
and curled his toes.  In another minute, he wouldn't be able to 
contain his excitement.

They had arrived at the most crucial test. Without breaking eye 
contact, he reached around to arrange the pillows behind him, and 
settled back.

"Now," he said.

~*\*~*/*~

"Security to Captain Sisko."

The captain slapped his commbadge.  "Sisko here.  What is it?"

"Dr. Bashir let Garak into his quarters over an hour ago.  He said he 
would call for help if he needed it, but I haven't heard a word from 
him since."

Sisko appreciated the awkwardness of the situation: the guard didn't 
want to intrude on a private tryst, but it was his duty to keep the 
doctor out of danger.

"I'll take care of it."

~*\*~*/*~

He pressed the doorchime, then waited and chimed again.  He was about 
to initiate the security override protocols, when the doctor answered 
the door.  Bashir was rumpled and flushed, and still fastening the tie 
on his robe.

"Uh- Sir."
 
"Are you all right, Doctor?"

"I'm fine-" he smiled apologetically at the security guard.  "I'm all 
right."

"Is Mr. Garak still here?" asked Sisko.  Unless the guard were 
incompetent, he didn't think it was likely Garak could have left 
Bashir's quarters unobserved.  And the doctor's tousled condition 
told him the tailor was probably still around.

"You'd better come in -ah- sir.  We can talk privately." Bashir stepped
back from the doorway to allow Sisko to enter.  

"Where is he?" the captain asked as he looked around the room and tried 
not to glance too obviously at the bedroom doorway.

"Sleeping."  Julian sat down, and tugged modestly on the hem of his 
robe.

"I take it you've solved your personal problems?"

"Yes, sir."  He took up a small silver ornament that had been left on 
the sofa's arm and began to play with it.  After a moment, he confided: 
"Garak pursued me as if I were Cardassian.  If I let him have me on 
those terms, he would have done whatever he wanted with me." The 
doctor's voice was quiet, but determined.  "I wanted him on _my_ 
terms."

Sisko was impressed by his young doctor's tenacity.  In spite of 
Bashir's gentle demeanor, no one could force him to back down when 
there was a principle at stake.

"So, this has been a power struggle?"

"That's what Cardassian courtships are."  He slipped the silver token 
into his pocket.

"And you've used this station's security personnel to conduct your 
romantic intrigues?  Couldn't you two play your games in private?"

The doctor looked abashed.  "Oh, it was no game--not to me.  I really 
was afraid I was in danger.  You don't know how terrifying a mature 
Cardassian male can be when he's decided you're going to be his mate."

"Doctor," Sisko answered with a deadpan expression, "I pray that I 
never do."

This brought a smile.

"Are you sure you'll be all right now?" the captain asked.

"Yes, sir," Julian assured him as he saw him to the door.  "Everything 
will be fine.  Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Doctor."

After Sisko had gone, Julian returned to his bedroom, where his lover 
still lay.

"Oh, you're awake."

"Since Captain Sisko came in," Garak answered.

"You heard what we said?"

"Every word.  I found it a fascinating conversation."

"I hope you understand," Julian said.  "I had to make you respect me."

"Believe me, my love, you have my most profound respect."  A pause.  
"Will you please untie me now?"

"Just a moment."  Julian shrugged to let his robe slide off his 
shoulders and onto the floor, then climbed onto the bed.  He swung 
one leg over Garak's chest and sat astride him while he loosened the 
cords restraining the tailor's wrists.

"These aren't tied very tight," he observed.  "You could have slipped 
out of them any time you wanted to."

"I wanted you to do it."  Garak's hands, freed, traveled up the 
doctor's thighs, encompassed the slender waist.  "Have I matched all 
your requirements satisfactorily?"

"Beautifully," Julian murmured. 

One test had followed another.  He hadn't intended to let it go so far; 
he'd only wanted to be certain he could keep Garak from dominating him. 
Before he knew what had happened, he'd wound up setting more and more 
outrageous tests and Garak--well, who ever knew the reasons why the 
Cardassian decided to do anything?  Garak had complied, indulgently, 
with every one of his demands.

He'd won.

He'd gotten what he wanted.  He'd upheld his ideals and done only what 
he had believed exactly right and, almost by accident, he had attained 
the object of his desires just as effectively as he would have by being 
devious and deliberately manipulative.  

Well, perhaps there had been just a little deliberate manipulation.

He dropped the cords over the edge of the bed.  "I don't want to 
control you, Elim, any more than I want you to control me.  We have 
to find a balance of power between equals."

"I'm not entirely certain I understand the concept," Garak told him, 
"but I am willing to learn.  It's not often I admit to being wrong, 
but I think your way might be more interesting than what I had in 
mind."

Julian smiled.  As he crouched down to kiss his lover, his heart began 
to thump rapidly.  At the memories of how he had spent this past hour? 
In anticipation of a thousand future nights spent the same way?  From 
simple happiness?  Or was it the exhilaration of triumph?  For once, 
it was not fear.

~*\~end~/*~

Kathryn Ramage                    kramage@erols.com
~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~
"It's about Garak...I'm afraid this relationship has 
gotten a little out of hand."
                            - Dr. Bashir, Past Prologue
~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~