Captain Julian Bashir walked abruptly into the holodeck to inspect the recent repairs. The moment he entered, his body and clothes were immediately transformed into the stark contrasts of black, white and grey that were part of the running program. He noted he was on a rocky hill, a set of cliffs to
his left that dropped off into a violently rolling surf. The sky was a cloak of dense grey and darker grey rimmed clouds--an overcast of gloom.

He walked up the craggy stone path that led to the small moss-thatched cottage at the top of the hill. He reached the cottage with some difficulty, it was a steep climb, and he knocked three times on the heavy wooden door. It creaked open, and a somber Father O'Brien bid him inside.

The cottage was cosy enough, though dark and filled with black corners and an equally suffering ambiance.

"Where's Weyoun?" he asked Father O'Brien, and the priest pointed to a long wooden table where Counselor Weyoun was sitting in brooding pensiveness. He sat down quietly beside him.

"I need you to have a talk with the computer," Julian whispered to him. "I think she's feeling depressed."

"I know," Weyoun replied, with an equally hushed tone. "Just look at how well she's made this Bergman program. She's thrown in a few sad points of her own, too. Look on the windowsill," Weyoun pointed to a cracked pane above the sink in the parlor. "Dead flowers."

Captain Bashir frowned. "I wonder if Tom had a fight with her again," he said quietly. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in a tired gesture. He inspected the entirety of the cottage.

"Where's Dr.Garak?"

"Having a nap," Father O'Brien whispered, and pointed out the window that was decorated with the limp remnants of flowers.

Captain Bashir got up and gazed out of the cracked window, noting that the pot the dead flowers were in was cracked as well. Poor thing, she really was suffering. The view outside the window was completely incongruous with what should have been outside. Garak was in a starkly plain room, lying on an ancient hospital gurney, covered to the chest by a crisp, white sheet.

Though he was supposed to represent a corpse, his loud, croaking snoring betrayed otherwise.

"Jeez," Father O'Brien said, "how do you ever get to sleep with that racket pounding your ears all night?"

Captain Bashir poured himself a cup of tea from a lukewarm, cracked teapot that was sitting on the wooden table. It's muddy liquid traveled into a cracked mug set before him.

"He only snores when he's on his back," Bashir explained, as he sipped at the stale concoction. "Besides," he continued with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, "Garak's the one who doesn't get enough sleep."

He winked at Weyoun, but the reference to his energetic sex life was lost on the Vorta.

"Maybe he needs sleeping pills," Weyoun offered. Father O'Brien rolled his eyes.

Just then, as Julian was about to explain the facts of life to Weyoun, Nog burst in the front door.

"Captain Janeway wants to speak with you sir! She says it's urgent!"

Julian groaned. When wasn't something urgent on Voyager?

"I'm on my way," he said, resignedly.

***

Captain Janeway, perfectly coiffed and her officers in likewise spotless decorum, was displayed with imposing flawlessness on the Deafiant's viewscreen. Captain Bashir squirmed in his seat, and pulled a squeaky toy from its inner crevice.

"I was wondering where that went." Engineer and ship's cook Tom Riker took it from Bashir's grasp, "Scratchy's going to be happy to get this back."

"You don't still have that mangy hound?" Father O'Brien asked. He wasn't exaggerating, Scratchy had so many fleas they literally orbited him. He also had some sort of skin condition that left huge bald patches on his scrawny body.

"Where is the dog?" Captain Bashir asked guardedly.

"In the kitchen, where he always is," Riker replied. Bashir gave him a calculated look.

"Captain Bashir to Neelix," he said as he hit his comm badge. "Get those replicators fixed NOW. Bashir out." He pointed to Riker, "If I hear of that dog or any other life form that isn't being eaten right away littering our mess hall, I am going to drop you off at the nearest planet that doesn't use sex to procreate, do you understand what I'm saying?"

Captain Bashir turned his attention back to a waiting Janeway, "I'm sorry, Captain, what was it you were wanting to tell me?"

Janeway braced herself for the information she was about to relay. She threw her shoulders back and gave Bashir her strongest poised-for-action stance.

"We're approaching a nest of wormholes," she said.

All hands on the Deafiant paled in shock and horror. Nog began whimpering and biting his nails.

"I see," Captain Bashir replied. He glanced nervously around his bridge. "So, where is Ensign Kira?"

"On our ship," Janeway said. "We're keeping a very close eye on her. She's with Seven at the moment.."

"Wrong." Father O'Brien quipped.

"She's the only one who can track her movements effectively, " Janeway replied. "Regardless of her bizarre infatuation with Seven, I can't risk getting thrown deeper off course because of her incompetence."

"You honestly think I haven't tried?" Captain Bashir hissed. "That woman is a smiling Bermuda Triangle!"

"We have her under control..." Janeway insisted.

"Yeah, sure," Bashir replied, and he motioned violently for the message link to be cut.

"Heap of a mess," Father O'Brien muttered.

"I couldn't agree more," Bashir replied.

***

Seven of Nine forced her pace to quicken as Ensign Kira sidled up too close to her again. She'd been wanting to shirk this particular responsibility all day, but every time she tried to pass Kira off she would be subjected to a flurry of rushed, rambling excuses. Even Tuvok wasn't immune.

"I'm sorry Seven," he replied, "but it would be impractical for me to entertain Ensign Kira, since she is so exclusively entertained by you at the moment."

Seven of Nine gave a nervous glance back to the worshipful face of the Bajoran, a glance which only made Kira stand even closer to her.

"We are going to be such good friends," Kira gushed to Seven, and stroked her arm affectionately. "_Best_ friends."

"I find the concept of being 'best friends' with you disturbing," Seven replied, flustered. Ensign Kira tweaked her nose playfully, and Seven had to fight the urge to rip Kira's arm off.

"I'll just _bet_ you find it disturbing." She giggled.

"Ensign Kira, as you are aware I spent most of my life in the Borg collective," Seven began, "so you must understand that I now value my individuality over all things. That being said, your insistence on standing so close to me is very uncomfortable. It reminds me of the Borg.  Please stay at least one and a half meters away from me at all times."

"Awww..." Kira grabbed Seven's arm and hugged it close to her, "I remind you of
home."

"The collective was not my home," Seven replied angrily. "Voyager is my home."

Kira waved her hands in the air, dismissing the remark with a giggling grin, "Whatever."

"Tell me, " she said to Seven, still clinging onto her arm, and smiling with cherub-like sweetness. "What would happen to me if I was forced to join the Collective?"

"The Borg would assimilate your consciousness into their own," Seven replied. "You as an individual would cease to exist. You would be Borg."

"Yeah, but, " Kira was trying to look on the bright side, "my consciousness would still be floating out there, wouldn't it? All my memories would become part of the greater whole...Kind of like Karmic Enlightenment."

"Yes, you have a point," Seven said guardedly. "The Borg would have your thoughts and memories in their consciousness." Seven shuddered, the image of a million Ensign Kira Nerys's made her nanoprobes freeze in horror.

"What kind of input do you think I would have added to the Borg?" Kira asked excitedly, her eyes sparkling like a starstruck teenager.

"Thousands would die." Seven replied, inwardly thinking about a drone's auto-destruct components.

***

"We are approaching the wormholes, sir!" Nog bounced up and down in his seat in anxious anticipation.

"Settle down, Nog, she's not on board," Captain Bashir reassured them. "It'll be different this time, we have Voyager to help us." So if there is a screw-up I can always blame them, Bashir thought.

Outside of the ship, space was in chaos. Volts of what Bashir guessed were time line waves crackled across the entrances of several wormholes. What space would look like if it were fractured glass.

"We're halfway through the wormhole, sir." Tom said evenly. The crew of the Deafiant held their breath.

"The wormholes are nearly behind us, sir," Nog said, gasping. "In exactly five seconds we'll be..."

The Deafiant suddenly lurched. On the viewscreen Voyager had already cleared the nest of wormholes, but the ship was decreasing in size on the Deafiant's horizon as they were pulled back into the dense mass of shattering space.

"Nog," Captain Bashir tried to steady himself as he was violently flung to the floor by the quaking ship. "What the hell is going on?"

"We've been nudged into a wormhole sir," Nog replied, terror edging his voice. "We're going in!"

Bashir's look of horror suddenly transformed into a ghastly grin.

"And _she's_ not on board," Bashir began to laugh. "She's not here!" He caught the eyes of his crew as he gave them understanding. "She's Voyager's problem!"

The crew began to understand. Father O'Brien began to laugh heartily, as did Tom Riker. Even Weyoun let out a chuckle.

In the midst of the mirth, the door leading to the bridge slid open.

"I think we're going into a wormhole!" Ensign Kira exclaimed.

***

Seven of Nine is so sweet, Ensign Kira thought, I wish she'd let me hold her hand.

Ensign Kira had tried to do this earlier, but Seven snatched her hand back and looked at Kira as if she was crazy. And she certainly was -- crazy over a certain Borg Bombshell. She was like a sentient version of the consoles Kira worked on when she had half a chance and nobody was around to prevent her; a walking, talking, feeling gadget box. Kira was just dying to know what all those little extra components did when you pressed them.

They had approached Voyager's bridge because Seven had to give Captain Janeway some analysis reports of the wormholes. While she was handing over the data PADD, Kira suddenly remembered that she had left a gift for Seven back at her quarters on the Deafiant. She stole away, unnoticed, to the
transporter rooms and quickly got back to her ship. Seven was just going to love this present.

***

"Brownies," Captain Julian Bashir said to the open white box containing the said item. "Always with the brownies."

"They were a present," Ensign Kira said, thinking of Seven.

"You realize that beaming back here caused enough of a disturbance to put us in the direct line of yet another wormhole," Bashir said calmly, a direct contrast to the vein that was popping up and down in his neck. "You realize you will never see Seven of Nine again."

"I know," Ensign Kira replied, and bit her bottom lip. A little, pathetic tear was edging its way out of the mirth line around her right eye.

"Well," Bashir hissed. "You've finally done it to yourself. It's almost worth it, in a way..."

"Captain!" Nog burst into the ready room, "You're not going to believe this!"

"Try me Nog," Bashir said, balancing his chin on his hand. "There's not much I don't believe anymore."

"We're home!" Nog shouted.

Father O'Brien frowned.

"He's delusional," Counselor Weyoun charged.

"Come and see, sir! It's incredible!"

Bashir allowed himself to be led to the bridge by the Ferengi lunatic, sighing. He'd have to get Dr.Garak to prescribe some tranqs for the poor lad.

Nog pointed to the viewscreen and Bashir let his gaze fall upon it. There, in its full glory, was Outpost Nine.

He fainted on the bridge.

***

Captain Julian Bashir came to, his focus still fuzzy from the shock of falling unconscious to the bridge's floor. Someone was bending over him running, from the sounds of it, a tricorder over his head. He managed to smile through the murk that was his awakening, and he lifted his hand to
touch the face that he knew to belong to his intimate savior.

"Elim," he said, and brushed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. It felt strange in his fingers as he did so, as if it were human hair instead of Cardassian. He tried to trace Elim's eye ridges but was shocked to discover they were now smooth. The face began to come into full focus, and
he found himself staring eye to eye with--himself!

"Allow me to introduce myself," the double said to him. "I am Dr. Julian Bashir."

"Really?" Captain Bashir replied. "Allow me to introduce *myself*. I'm Captain Julian Bashir of the Deafiant, and the people you found there are my crew." He suppressed the amazement he felt at discovering his counterpart was a doctor and he wondered fleetingly what that made Elim. "We're from the universe next door."

"We've gathered that," a deep voice resounded behind him. Captain Bashir sat up on the biobed to see who the baritone voice belonged to.

"I am Captain Sisko," the large man said, and held out his hand to shake
Bashir's. "Welcome to Deep Space Nine."

"It's Outpost Nine where I come from," Captain Bashir said. He couldn't help but steal furtive glances at his double. So that's what I look like to other people, he thought, Not bad, I suppose. I could use more bulk in the torso, though. I'll get that weights training program going on the Deafiant again.

"How's my crew?" he asked Sisko.

Sisko paused. So, he's met them, Bashir mused, awkward pauses are always a dead giveaway.

"They're...fine. I believe they are all in Quark's at the moment." Sisko rubbed the back of his neck with a sweaty palm, "I must admit to you, Captain Bashir, I'm finding your alternates are a little difficult to get used to."

"I'm not even used to them," Captain Bashir replied.

"Yes, but, there are several things that are radically different..." Sisko began.

"Julian!"

At the sound of their name, both Bashirs looked up. Dr. Elim Garak walked briskly into the Infirmary and approached his Captain. He grabbed Bashir's hands into his own and clasped them to his chest.

"I was so worried about you, they wouldn't let me see you," Dr. Garak said plaintively. "That Constable fellow was insufferably rude, he said I had no business being near a Starfleet Captain and that I should go back to my shop and mind my own business." Dr. Garak rested his head on Bashir's shoulder, "I can't imagine why he would think I owned a shop, you know how terrible I am with money. And then that Ferengi wouldn't let me have a glass of root beer without going on and on in some strange soliloquy about how I've been 'corrupted at last by the Federation'. Why would he think I've been corrupted? I haven't missed mass once since I've been on the Deafiant."

Dr. Bashir gave Dr. Garak a rueful smile. "Obviously, they are mistaking you for *our* Garak,"he said. "He's not as...uncorrupted....as you are."

"Another me?" Dr. Garak said nervously. "I wonder what...How very strange, knowing there's another one of me, and seeing another one of *you*, my dear. It's all very disconcerting."

"We should all have lunch together," Captain Bashir teased.

"That can easily be arranged," Dr. Bashir replied, eyes twinkling with mischief, "as I'm sure he would love to meet you as well. I'm having lunch with him a couple of hours from now, the two of you could join us."

Captain Bashir shrugged, "If Captain Sisko doesn't mind."

"Father O'Brien has taken the liberty of giving me a tour of your ship," Sisko said, a smile edging across his features at the thought of his Chief Engineer in a priest's garments. "And he's also been quite adamant about the repairs that need to be made to the Deafiant as well. He's a very
competent officer."

"Just don't let him near the bar," Captain Bashir warned. He sighed heavily, and ran his fingers absently through Dr. Garak's hair, "In that case I could use a little vacation. Do you have quarters for us?"

"Your quarters are on Deck Seven," Sisko answered. "The rest of your crew, including Dr. Garak, are in individual quarters on Deck Six. I'm sorry for splitting you up, but there weren't enough empty rooms in one place."

Captain Bashir smiled. "Dr. Garak and I will be sharing our quarters, thank you. So if you don't object, I'll be moving him with me," Captain Bashir straightened out his uniform, "on Deck Seven."

"Sharing quarters?" Dr. Bashir asked, frowning.

"Of course," Captain Bashir replied. "You don't expect me to abandon my spouse alone on another deck?"

Sisko gave the lithe young man on the biobed and his Cardassian doctor a double take. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "Did you just suggest...Did you just say that you and Garak are -- married?"

"Five years last month." Captain Bashir answered, and gave Dr. Garak a quick kiss on his forehead before getting up from the bio-bed. "Whereabouts will lunch be?" he asked Dr. Bashir, accepting his earlier invitation.

"The replimat," Dr. Bashir replied tonelessly. He watched as his double eased Dr. Garak out of the Infirmary and out into the corridor, Captain Bashir's arm entwined boldly around the Cardassian doctor's waist.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Dr. Bashir breathed. Sisko nodded in terse agreement.

"Dr. Bashir," he said, by way of premonition, "you haven't seen anything yet."

***

Ensign Kira sat on a barstool in Quark's nursing a Bloody Mary, her normally grinning countenance was replaced by a rueful smile. She didn't even notice when Colonel Kira sat beside her and when she looked up she thought that the Ferengi had placed a mirror in the other seat. When she angled her head to see the mirror's edge, it turned into the very fully dimensional, breathing form of her counterpart.

"Oh, you're me," she explained to herself aloud.

"Sort of," Colonel Kira replied. "I'm more of a possibility of yourself."

"Wow, how neat!" Ensign Kira exclaimed. "Wow, and a Colonel too!"

Colonel Kira straightened in pride in her seat, "Yes, I have had quite a career since the Occupation ended."

"So, they let you touch the consoles," Ensign Kira said to her double conspiratorially.

Colonel Kira frowned, "Of course they do."

"They don't let me touch them on the Deafiant," Ensign Kira said, with a sad smile. "Not with all those wormhole incidents. And that auto-destruct fiasco. Oh yes, and the fire..." Ensign Kira brightened into a sunny grin, "But I _do_ get to meet all the aliens first. I'm kind of like a liaison officer. Captain Bashir says its because I give off a semblance of the Deafiant being harmless so all the psychotic jerk-offs will leave us alone. He says that Captain Janeway, she's the Captain of that other lost ship from
your universe, she's a 'shit-disturber that has to figure out that saying hello to hostile aliens is probably not a good idea'."Ensign Kira gushed a little, remembering Voyager, "I really liked her ship. And she was nice, she let me fiddle with a console on the bridge and she didn't even yell at me
when those explosions got set off in the cargo bay. She has this person, named Seven, on her ship." Ensign Kira took a deep breath, "She was a Borg, but now she's learning how to be an individual and I was going to help her. She was my best friend." Ensign Kira's tone turned wistful, "I miss her so
much."

"Maybe you'll see her again," Colonel Kira replied, looking around Quark's for a speedy escape. She'd never considered herself to be an airhead, but here this Kira was, grinning like an insane elf. This was one possibility of herself she didn't wish to explore.

"I doubt it," Ensign Kira replied in uncharacteristic pessimism. A tear edged it way out of the corner of her eye and she dabbed at it with a fingertip.

Colonel Kira's drink arrived, and the waiter used an automatic stirring stick to mix her drink. Ensign Kira grabbed the kitchen gadget from the waiter's startled grasp.

"Oh, gee," Ensign Kira sank into tears, fiddling with the buttons on the gadget, "everything reminds me of _her_." She threw her arms on the table and sank her head into them, loudly sobbing.

"I, uh, I have to go." Colonel Kira replied to the weeping form of herself at the table. She hastily left Quark's.

And I thought the Intendant was bad, she thought.

***

"A little rustic for my taste," Captain Bashir said in irony to Dr. Garak as he surveyed their new living quarters. It was at least three times the size of their home on the Deafiant, and it contained its own fully functional replicator. A small room off to the side of the bed was a luxury they hadn't had for a very long time. A fully operational bathroom, complete with a sunk in bathtub. Bashir groaned in ecstasy over the simple thought of a hot bath--they'd had nothing but sonic showers on the Deafiant.

The bed itself was large and of Cardassian design. He fell back on it and moaned in pleasure. It had been a long time since he'd had the benefit of Cardassia's oestrapeadic mattresses, and his long suffering back seemed to spring back into alignment.

He raised his arms over his head and clasped his hands behind his neck. He studied Elim who was making a few tentative requests to the replicator. Elim turned from the machine and gestured to the two mugs on the replicator's surface.

"Tea!" he exclaimed. "And hot, too!"

Captain Bashir squirmed in the bed. "Elim, my back..." he groaned, and Elim left the mugs where they were to tend to his beloved's old injury. Bashir had slipped a disk last year, insanely trying to lift eighty pounds worth of gym equipment. He'd been immobilized for a week and Elim took the initiative
and erased Bashir's weight training program permanently from the holosuite before he had a chance to protest.

He was expecting a near invalid, so Bashir's sudden lunge for him threw him off guard and before he knew it he had been tossed onto his back on the large bed, Bashir's lust filled visage pressed close to his face.

"I thought you had a sore back," Elim questioned. Bashir answered him with a nibble on Elim's ear and the Cardassian doctor closed his eyes as a low moan escaped his lips.

"How long has it been since we've had a comfortable bed to do this on?" Bashir murmured. He slid a hand underneath the confines of Elim's Starfleet uniform, and his Cardassian spouse shuddered at the intimate touch. He relaxed beneath the massaging heat of Bashir's flexible, strong fingers, emitting small groans of sweet pleasure as he stroked the sensitive ridges that adorned his side. Bashir's hand slid into Elim's pants, and he gently raked with his nails the hidden fold in Elim's hip.

Elim cried out in ecstasy, and Bashir halted his oral exclamations with a deep, penetrating kiss. The Cardassian moaned repeatedly into Bashir's mouth as the Captain's tongue caressed his own. Bashir's ministration's on Elim's hip deepened as the kiss moved into increasing passion.

Elim grabbed Bashir's head with both of his hands and wrenched him from his mouth.

"I-I-I'm...Oooooh..." And suddenly he came, the damp stain between his legs mute evidence of spent pleasure.

"Hmmm," Bashir whispered into the Cardassian's ear, nibbling along his neck as he spoke his confidence. "You're going to have to get out of those wet pants." He undid the zipper on Elim's trousers and easily slid them off, leaving the Cardassian doctor half-naked beneath him. Impatiently, Elim fumbled at the assemblance of Bashir's pants, and virtually ripped them as he slid them down to reveal his love's ready sex.

Bashir bit fiercely into a ridge on Elim's neck, leaving a small trace of blood along a scale. He moved both of his hands down to Elim's hips, entrenching his fingers firmly into their crevices. Elim arched his back violently and howled. Tears were beginning to fall freely down his face.

"Now for the tricky part," Bashir said aloud.

<bleepieblobo>

"Sisko to Bashir."

"NoNoNoNo, not NOW!" Bashir shouted. He slapped his comm badge, "Bashir to Sisko, what do you want?"

"Excuse me, Captain," Sisko's voice said curtly, "but we're having a problem with your ship's computer."

"Of course you are," Bashir sighed, already feeling himself go limp, "I'm on my way. Bashir out."

Reluctantly, he eased himself off of the bed and pulled up his trousers. Elim, fully satiated of course, was already falling asleep.

"Don't forget lunch at the replimat," Bashir said to him.

"Mm-hmm," Elim answered, his eyes fluttering closed. Bashir bent over the Cardassian and lightly kissed both of the closed eyelids. He pulled up a blanket to cover him and keep him warm.

"I'll see you later," he said softly, pausing once to let the back of his hand caress the damp of Elim's tear stained cheek.

***

He'd sent both Counselor Weyoun and Counselor Ezri Dax to talk to the computer. When Sisko's  officers had tried to access her visual records they were given a massive download of pictures of every depressing piece of history the ship had to offer. Lonely officers trying to hang themselves in
the hall, hysterical lovers shrieking at one another over coffee. For some reason that he couldn't fathom the Deafiant was feeling heartbroken. Bashir shook his head at the image of Tom Riker, whatever did she see in that man? He was the kind of person who didn't wash his hands after going to the bathroom.

He was so lost in thought he nearly walked straight past the replimat. He checked his watch as he backtracked and entered the establishment; he was already ten minutes late. He glanced around the crowded replimat anxiously, looking for his counterpart. He didn't find himself, but he did see Elim
tucked away in a corner.

Typical, Bashir admonished, hiding himself away. I wish he wouldn't be so insufferably shy.

He was greeted with a wide grin as he approached the table.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up," the Cardassian said to him, and motioned to the seat opposite him. Captain Bashir didn't sit down right away, he glanced around the replimat.

"I wonder where they keep the holosuites," he mumbled.

"What about the holosuites? Are you planning on running a program today? Not that spy program again, please..."

"Maybe. We'll see how lunch goes. I've got that new one ready that I was telling you about."

The Cardassian cringed at the thought of the Alamo. Such banal, primitive warfare. That was definitely more O'Brien's fodder.

"No sign of him," Captain Bashir said, disappointed. He looked down at his companion and noted that he was dressed in a new suit of more casual and flattering design than the Starfleet uniform he usually wore. A tentative spark of jealousy crept into Bashir's consciousness, who was Elim hoping to
impress? He thought of his counterpart. Yes, if anything the two of them, being doctors, would have a lot more in common than what they had.

What am I thinking, Bashir wondered. Am I actually jealous of myself?

He frowned at the thought, and decided to force it away by bending to his love and bestowing a lingering, proprietary kiss on Elim's mouth.

He broke from the kiss and sat down in the opposite chair and waved over a waitress. A large breasted woman approached him tentatively.

"I'll have the chicken, but only if its broiled, and only with Adrovian white sauce. Make sure it's thoroughly cooked, I see any hint of pink and I'm getting this place shut down due to risk of salmonella. And I guess a red wine. Elim, what about you?" He looked over at his companion
expectantly.

Elim had covered his mouth with a shaking hand and was staring at Bashir in what can only be described as utter, complete, shock.

"Elim? Are you alright?" Bashir waved the waitress away, "Are you sick? Please, tell me you didn't eat at the Deafiant's mess hall today, did you know Riker keeps that mangy hound of his in the kitchen? For all you know, you've caught distemper..."

"Y-You..." Elim was inanely sputtering. "You *kissed* me!"

Understanding dawned on Captain Bashir, and he felt his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"Tell me," Bashir said, "Can you remember who was the Pope in 1943?"

"What are you talking about?" the Cardassian replied.

Bashir grimaced, "You aren't *my* Elim, are you?" He held out his hand, "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Captain Bashir of the Deafiant. I'm your neighbor from the other side of reality."

"The 'mirror' universe?" Garak asked, hesitant. "I thought my counterpart in that universe was dead and that the Federation didn't exist."

"Wrong on both counts," Bashir shrugged. "Must be another set of dopplegangers." He studied the confused look the Cardassian was trying desperately to conceal.

"Why don't you get something to eat?" Bashir offered, and his companion nodded. Bashir waved the waitress back and Garak ordered the day's special and a mug of rokassa juice.

"Now that's a drink I haven't had in a long time," Bashir replied. "Get me one too, please." He gave his spouse's counterpart a once over, amazed by how much the Cardassian's physical appearance was still enough to arouse him. Still, there were little differences. Elim was a little thinner. And his demeanor significantly less rigid than this version whose awkward poise was making his back hurt just thinking about it. Not to mention the flickers of coldness Bashir detected in this Cardassian's eyes, his Elim simply radiated warmth and kindness.

"So," Bashir began, "I hear you hear own a shop."

"I am but a plain and simple tailor," Garak replied.

Captain Bashir snorted, "I'll bet. Tell me, how long have you been in exile here? No, let me guess, ten years? Thought so. So, who did you royally piss off in the Secret Service?"

"I see the Doctor has brought you up to speed," Garak replied tersely.

"No, he barely mentioned you," Bashir answered. Two mugs of rokassa juice were placed before them, and Bashir took a healthy gulp of his, "I just know Cardassians very well."

"Obviously," Garak said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

"You can tell me," Bashir said, "who forced you here?"

"Enabran Tain," Garak replied simply.

Bashir gave Garak a rueful smile, "Ah, yes, dear old Dad."

"You've met him?"

"Met him? Cursed with him, you mean." Bashir's grip tightened on the mug he was holding as he thought of Elim's troublesome father. Their distance from him was the one golden point to being lost in space. "I've put him in every crooked nursing home from here to Vulcan and he _still_ keeps getting kicked out. Last we saw of him was two years ago, when we were stupid enough to let him housesit. He's probably turned the place into a technicoloured brothel by now." Bashir took an angry gulp of his drink. "How that man ever managed to keep his job with Cardassia Prime's post office is anybody's guess. I have a running theory that he was fired years ago and he was too stoned to notice."

Garak stared at Bashir, highly discomforted by the idea of his father, former leader of the Obsidian Order, taking part in any kind of illicit pleasures that didn't involve killing his enemies.

Bashir shook his head, his expression dark and brooding. "He vomited on our wedding cake, too. Sonofabitch." He downed the remainder of his rokassa juice in one angry gulp.

***

Dr. Garak inspected his uniform for any minute trace of dust or fluff. He fussed and preened himself in front of the full length mirror provided on the back of the bathroom door. The last thing he wanted was for his counterpart to be less than accepting of his double, at the very least he could look his best He adjusted the jacket again and sighed; Starfleet uniforms never did fit Cardassians very well. The shoulders were always a little off. Maybe if there was a tailor on the station he could finally get
the suit fitted properly.

He patted down his hair one last time and left the bathroom, not noticing the two Jem Ha-adar soldiers standing behind him. He didn't even notice when one of them lifted the butt of his phaser and brought it against the back of his neck.

He collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
 
 

He awoke to a dazzling light that blinded him as he opened his eyes. He blinked into it, wondering if he was dead and now his soul was taking its long journey. Beside him, a robed figure came into view, his blue eyes sparkling, the light glowing off of his pale skin.

"Weyoun? You're the one taking me to Purgatory?" He said to the figure groggily.

"Purgatory?" Weyoun frowned.

"Of course, no one goes to heaven until the final day of judgement."  The light was becoming easier to see through, and the outlined patterns of Cardassian designed tiles could be seen decorating the walls. "But it looks like I'm wrong and I'm not going to either place after all. Where am I?"

A deep. low chuckle resounded through the room. Elim peered over Weyoun's shoulder to see a tall, dark figure emerge from the shadows. Though he was wearing what looked to be the most uncomfortable armoring Elim had ever seen, there was no mistaking the presence that was Dukat.

"You!" Elim exclaimed.

"Now, now, why so surprised?" Dukat tutted. "Surely you would have guessed that I had never completely forgotten you."

"No, I don't suppose so," Elim relented. "But I have to admit, it's a little odd, especially with the restraining order, and all." He chewed on his thumb thoughtfully, "Besides, what are you doing out of the Vatican?"

Dukat's chuckling ceased at this odd question, but he let it pass with a wave of his hand.

"Obviously, that blow on the head was a little harder than necessary." Dukat glared at the Jem Ha'adar soldier at the far end of the room, "Especially since I wanted to be the one to bestow that pleasure."

Without warning he turned on Elim and struck him full force across the face. His ring cut into the flesh of Elim's cheek, and a trickle of blood traced its way down his face to the crevices in his neck.

"Really, Dukat," Elim replied, stunned, "is that any way for the Pope to behave?"

If Dukat thought Elim's reply was strange, he didn't acknowledge it. "There are many things you aren't going to like about my behavior during our time together here Garak..." Dukat said, his words sprung from every blackened corner in the room, filling Elim's innocent heart with dread.

***

Dr. Bashir scoured the replimat, but could see no signs of either Garak or their respective  counterparts. Inwardly he cursed, he'd been dying to see Garak's reaction to finding out he was a _doctor_, thus, forcing upon him the unsettling concept that he and Garak had a lot more in common than either of them realized.

From the brief encounter he had with Dr. Garak, he couldn't help but notice the stark differences between the two Cardassians. When the Deafiant had first docked, it was Father O'Brien who had appraised Sisko of their situation and their crew was allowed to board the station freely. Captain
Bashir had been immediately transported to sick bay. Dr. Bashir was taking a break in a holosuite at the time, planning in some final touches for the Alamo when he received a hail of a medical emergency. As he rushed back to his post he had nearly collided with Garak's double.

"Garak! What a surprise, I thought you were in your shop."

The Cardassian was wringing his hands nervously and couldn't bring himself to look Dr. Bashir in the eye.

"I-I-He's in the Infirmary. I'm v-very worried..."

"Is this about the medical emergency? Come with me, I'm hurrying there now. Is this a friend of yours?"

Garak was still not meeting his gaze, his words coming out of his naturally eloquent mouth in stunted, broken sentences.

"Captain Bashir...Fainted...The Deafiant...He thought we were at Outpost Nine."

Dr. Bashir barely registered what his friend was saying, and he ushered Garak into the turbolift. It wasn't until they were encased inside of it that he realized what Garak was wearing.

"Why are you wearing a Starfleet Medical uniform?" he asked curtly. The Cardassian remained staring at the floor and began nibbling on his thumbnail.

"You're not Garak!" the good doctor suddenly exclaimed. He grabbed the startled imposter roughly by the shoulders, convinced this man was a Founder. "Who the hell are you?"

"I-I'm Dr. Garak of the Deafiant," Elim replied weakly. Dr. Bashir's angry shove had caused the Cardassian to bite his nail a little too harshly. A bead of blood fell to the floor of the turbolift, and remained a small black stain on its floor. Dr. Bashir let his grip relax and stared at this strange
possibility.

"Another universe," he said aloud, to himself. Elim nodded.

The rest of the morning had been startlingly surreal. There was a fair crowd around the Infirmary that was made up of a Weyoun, O'Brien in a priest's garments, a sputtering Nog, and, nipping at everyone's heels, the ugliest canine he had ever seen. He could have sworn he'd seen a disheveled man who looked like Tom Riker, and Kira was also there with a goofy grin on her face. 'Dr.' Garak had gotten lost in the fray as he entered the Infirmary and bolted the throng against entering.

He had treated that other version of himself for a concussion, and as if that wasn't unsettling enough, he discovered that the relationship between his counterpart and Dr. Garak was a lot closer than friendship could allow.

He eased himself into a conspicuous seat in the replimat, keeping his eye on the establishment's entrance for signs of company. He couldn't help but think of Dr. Garak in contrast to *his* Garak. Unlike his double, his impression of Dr. Garak was of a person who was awkward in their own skin,
endearingly shy. He seemed to be imbibed with a sense of innocence that most people he knew lacked.

The waitress brought over his tea and he sipped at it thoughtfully. The way Dr. Garak wrung his hands, and the way he nibbled at his thumb when he was nervous was positively adorable, he had to admit. Dr. Bashir smiled wryly to himself, the Cardassian doctor was (how Garak would detest this word!) cute. He thought again of the shy, awkward figure struggling to talk to him in the turbolift and Dr. Bashir couldn't help but imagine folding the little creature up and putting him in his pocket for safekeeping.

Too bad he's married, Dr. Bashir thought with disappointment.

The sounds of two arguing voices disturbed his reverie, and he rose out of his seat and peaked out of the entranceway to the replimat. Captain Bashir, and an unknown Garak, were walking out of Quark's.

"I really don't know what the problem is," Captain Bashir was arguing, "everything seemed pretty straightforward to me."

"It made absolutely no sense!" the Cardassian rebutted. "At least Doctor Bashir's holoprograms follow some train of continuity--yours merely jumped from one insane notion to the other with no correlations whatsoever!"

"It's called creativity." Captain Bashir balked. "Besides, it made perfect sense if you followed along with it like I told you. It was still a basic spy story at heart."

"Surely you jest," Garak cried, incredulously. "The scene in the bar, where you won at cards and met with the archvillian, that I understood. And the fact that he was suspected of hoarding nuclear weapons was also a flagrantly clear synopsis of our spy mission. What I don't understand is what that
hooded creature carrying a scythe was doing tending bar."

"It's called subtext," Captain Bashir replied.

"Or, for that matter, why our contact had such a banal name as Stephen King."

"Paradox," Captain Bashir explained.

"And why did all the corpses keep coming back to life? And what was that whole business with Schroendinger's Cat?"

"It gave us a loophole!" Captain Bashir exclaimed.

"And why, in Gul's name, did we have to see a 'Log Lady'?"

Dr. Bashir cleared his throat, interrupting the odd dialogue that was churning before him.

"Doctor!" Plain and Simple Garak exclaimed, relief evident on his features. "We were just about to return to the replimat to see if you'd arrived yet. Captain Bashir had taken the liberty of showing me one of his holoprograms," he tried to hide his grimace but he failed, "a very *interesting* program."

"I've only just arrived," Dr. Bashir said. "Dr. Garak isn't with you?"

Garak froze. Captain Bashir smiled, "He's probably still asleep. I gave him quite a workout this morning, if you know what I mean." He winked at his counterpart.

"Well, I guess we can re-arrange our plans for another time," Dr. Bashir replied, visibly disappointed.

"We could always get together for dinner at our place," Captain Bashir offered. "Elim makes a wicked tasper egg curry."

"Sounds intriguing. I'm game if you are, Garak."

"I..."

"We accept," Dr. Bashir replied, ignoring the murderous glare that Garak was giving him

<Sisko to Bashir>

Both Bashirs slapped their comm badges at the same time. "Bashir here," they chimed.

<Sorry. Sisko to Captain Bashir>

"Captain Bashir here."

<We have a problem on the Deafiant. It concerns your crewmember Counselor Weyoun>

Captain Bashir clenched his teeth and let out a hiss of frustration. "I'm on my way," he replied resignedly. "Until later, gentlemen," he nodded to Dr. Bashir and Garak and left them alone together.

"He's insane," Garak whispered to Dr. Bashir.

"Good thing you're a doctor, then," his companion quipped.

***

Father O'Brien wiped small beads of sweat off of his forehead with the sleeve of his robe. "We were sitting here, having a little counseling session with the computer. Ezri asked the computer if she had ever expressed her feelings to Tom Riker openly, and then all of a sudden Bam! Weyoun..." Father O'Brien pointed to the slimy blue globs that littered the room. In an adjoining room Captain Bashir could still hear the hysterical wails of Counselor Ezri Dax, obviously traumatized against Vortas for life.

"What, he's spontaneously busting now?" Bashir gestured to the blobs, annoyed.

"It's really too bad," Father O'Brien said sadly. "This one was actually kind of normal." He scratched his head pensively, "I bet that had something to do with it."

"There's nothing we can do but clean this old one up and wake up a new one." Captain Bashir shook his head, "Poor Elim is no doubt waiting in that sickbay, cursing me to every Saint known in history."

"Dr. Garak isn't here," Father O'Brien replied. "And he didn't answer our hail. I assumed he would be coming with you."

"That's strange," Bashir replied. "It's not like Elim to not answer." He hit his comm badge, "Bashir to Elim". There was no response.

"Computer," Bashir said, a faint trace of anxiety lining his voice, "trace Dr. Garak."

<Dr. Garak is no longer on the station>

"Alright, now I am panicking. Get everything on this ship online and ready to go at a moment's notice. What was the security officer's name again?"

"Odo." Father O'Brien replied. "Do you want me to hail him?"

Captain Bashir paced on the deck, thinking. Obviously, his spouse had been mistaken for the ex-spy version of Garak, and was no doubt either being tortured for information or dead. He chose not to believe in the latter, although the thought of his beloved being hurt by anyone was enough to send
him into psychotic paroxysms of rage.

"No," Captain Bashir said tersely, "I have a much better plan."

***

Dukat paced before Garak, savoring this triumph. He smiled openly at the shivering form of his enemy. Elim Garak, the great Obsidian Order interrogator, brought to a quaking, weeping mess by his, Legate Dukat's, ministrations.

And to think, he mused with pride, all I had to do was mention Enabran Tain.

"What he did has nothing to do with me," Elim was insisting. "It's not my fault..."

"Everything is your fault," Dukat hissed, lowering his face dangerously close to Elim's. He smiled, almost with affection, when he heard Elim's sharp intake of breath. He waited for him to exhale, but Elim was too frightened to breathe.

Still smiling, he stood up and backed away, reveling in the sound of his enemy regaining his breath.

"This posturing is getting tiresome," Weyoun said, interrupting Dukat's pleasure. "Just get the information we need and kill him."

Elim swallowed, his voice barely carrying across the quiet room, "I always thought the Vatican didn't approve of murder." He swallowed again, "At least, not in the church's modern context..."

Dukat eyed Elim curiously. Perhaps that blow had caused some serious damage? His prisoner was certainly acting strange ever since his arrival. For the two hours he had been restrained here, Elim hadn't uttered one sarcastic quip or one insult. In fact, when he thought deeper upon it, the usually
talkative Elim Garak hadn't uttered more than a couple of barely negligible sentences.

And why does he keep wringing his hands like that? Dukat wondered.

"Leave us," Dukat said to Weyoun, eyeing Elim pensively.

"You will be monitored," Weyoun warned.

"Leave us!"

Weyoun grumbled something about the Founders not being pleased and left Dukat alone with his prisoner.

Dukat paced before Elim, the sound of each one of his steps pounding in Elim's ears like the sound of a slamming door. Dukat inwardly smirked as he watched how Elim flinched with every weighted step -- how wonderful to have this power!

"Tell me, Garak, what do you believe is the gift to the purist of Cardassians?"

Elim's thumb went to his mouth and he chewed it's nail. He looked up at Dukat, uncertain.

"Stigmata?"

Dukat faltered in his step, that nagging realization that something was definitely wrong with Garak surfaced yet again.

"I was talking about power, Garak. That I am now Cardassia's ruler."

"Well, you rule the Vatican, but the Primary of Hebeitia rules Cardassia," Elim corrected him.

Dukat remained silent for a long moment, weighing Elim's answer carefully. "Garak," Dukat asked guardedly, "have you been put on any medication that we should be aware of?"

"Before I ended up on the Deafiant I was on mild anti-depressants," Elim replied, "but since I haven't been near Cardassia for the last two years I haven't needed them. My father," he gauged Dukat's reaction to mention of him for signs of intense rage, "is a very difficult man to deal with on a daily
basis."

"I see," Dukat lied.

"On my wedding day," Elim continued, feeling a little encouraged by Dukat's attentiveness, "he stood up to make the congratulations speech..." Elim's eyes were beginning to mist in tears, "And he stood up, and said to Julian 'You're a mighty handsome man. Honestly.' and then he gestured to me and
said 'Which makes me wonder what the hell you're doing marrying my son. Jesus Christ, Julian, you can do better!'" He looked up at Dukat, shocked that he had actually taken the Lord's name in vain in front of the Pope. "I'm sorry, for the cursing. Just thinking of my father..." he trailed off.

Elim sank into a sob at that hideous memory. He looked up at Dukat, tears threatening to spill and pool into his eye ridges. "And then he vomited on the cake." Elim buried his head in his hands, sobbing.
 
 

"What do you mean he's the 'wrong' Garak?"

Dukat paced angrily in front of Weyoun. "He's from a mirror universe, it does happen from time to time. I've had our doctors check his RNA, and they've confirmed it. He's not 'our' Garak."

The Vorta was having a very difficult time piecing together this possibility. "Then that would mean that there is another me."

"There 'are' other you...Apparently you're just as replaceable in their universe as you are in ours," Dukat replied.

Weyoun slit his eyes at Dukat haughtily. "No matter. The problem is easy enough to resolve, I'll send another team to..."

"You're sending no one," Dukat replied angrily. "You botched up this mission so terribly I have no choice but to ensure its success myself. I'm taking Dr. Garak back to DS9 and if I have to use him as a hostage in exchange for our Garak then so be it. Unlike my little friend in that interrogation room,
I doubt anyone will miss a traitorous Cardassian tailor."

***

Dr. Bashir and Garak walked along the corridors of the Deafiant, remarking to each other the little differences that this ship contained compared to their familiar one.

"It's certainly much more worse for wear," Garak said with disgust as he eyed yet another stray cockroach crawling up a bulkhead.

"Who knows what they've come up against in the Delta Quadrant."  Dr. Bashir shrugged, "I heard they actually lost one of the Weyouns to a cannibalistic society."

"Hmm, I feel for the cannibals."

Captain Bashir had been strangely adamant that all three of them take a tour of his ship, and Julian had naturally assumed that it was due to pride. After all, if he was in command of a Starship, he'd want to brag to himself too--almost like giving oneself a literal 'pat on the back'. Then, of course, there was that other motivation named Dr. Garak. He couldn't help but be anxious to meet him again.

Garak himself couldn't help but feel a little curious over what his double was like. Captain Bashir had assured him that they would meet if they took a tour of the Deafiant with him, insisting that he himself was anxious to have all these possibilities together in one room.

A doctor, Garak thought, how very strange. Just how different could I have been?

"I have to admit Garak, you are right, this place is rather--gritty."  A dust 'rhino' floated past his feet and continued down the corridor. Maybe they should have waited for dinner after all.

They entered the bridge, noting that there were several scorch marks near the viewscreen. Garak wondered briefly if they had anything to do with this Captain's rather brash temperament.

"This, of course," Captain Bashir gestured to the area with a sweep of his hand, "is the bridge." He nodded to Father O'Brien at the helm.

Immediately, the Deafiant sprang into life and broke from the docking bay on DS9.

"Nog, Cardassia Prime, warp nine," Captain Bashir said.

"What's going on?" Dr. Bashir exclaimed. "Why are we leaving the station? Are you kidnapping us?"

"No, no, I'm not kidnapping you," Captain Bashir said calmly, sitting in his captain's chair. "I just need you to help me with a little rescue mission."

"This kind of impulsiveness only gives me reason to believe that you are going to fail," Garak said, "since you have obviously not thought through your plan."

Captain Bashir looked at Elim's counterpart with amusement. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"

"I have all the evidence at my disposal. Your ship is a mess and your crew is...deficient You can't even spell 'defiant' properly. If your little 'rescue' has anything to do with the Dominion, then you can rest assured that they will overpower you. Besides," Garak added with mock sweetness, "if you wanted our assistance, all you had to do was politely ask."

Captain Bashir rose out of his seat and approached Garak. He stroked the Cardassian's jawline affectionately, causing Garak no small amount of discomforture.

"I don't wait for permission to do anything," Captain Bashir said sweetly. "Especially when it comes to you." He let his hand brush against the Cardassian's neck oh-so-briefly, but it was enough to make the ridges blush, as Captain Bashir knew they would. He also sensed the quiet anger from his counterpart who was glaring at him. So, my suspicions are confirmed, he thought. He released Garak from the subtle torment and went back to his seat. "Dr. Garak has been kidnapped, and I suspect the ones who did it were some friends of yours from the Dominion. I have a pretty good idea of where they would have taken him, Vortas are pretty predictable in their thinking. I just brought you for the ride, Garak, because we are going to Cardassia Prime and I need a couple of security codes to get in. Once I'm there, I'll rescue my Elim, bring him back to the ship and head back to DS9."

Dr. Bashir frowned, "How do I fit in the plan?"

Captain Bashir paused. His right hand smoothed out his hair as he struggled to maintain his cool composure. "I need you here in case he's been injured," he replied tightly. "And the Dominion better damn well hope there isn't a scratch on him, or else they'll have me to contend with." He steeled
his eyes on the viewscreen with a look that would have sent a Klingon cowering, "I might wear the uniform doctor, but I'm definitely not as 'friendly' as the Federation."

***

Nestled in a small runabout, Dukat was personally escorting Dr. Garak back to the station. His companion was making minute adjustments to the seat, and when this distraction was complete he stared morosely out of the window into space.

"Are you comfortable?" Dukat asked.

"I-I'm not sure." Elim replied.

Dukat couldn't help but stifle a chuckle at this. "I can't believe how different the two of you are," he said, smiling. "Your counterpart is a devious, lying traitor and you," he chuckled again. "You might as well be a -- what did you call them?"

"A saint," Elim explained. "But in order to be canonized I need to have performed at least three documented miracles."

"You certainly have one under your belt," Dukat observed. "You made it out of the Dominion alive and virtually unharmed. Weyoun still wanted to kill you, you know."

"Thank you for intervening," Elim said sincerely.

Dukat shook his head and smiled yet again. How adorable this version of Garak was, he almost hated the fact that he had to bring him back to DS9.

"Alright," Dukat continued. "Tell me more about this St. Thomas Aquinas person."

End Part I