Bashir stepped from the shower and wondered why he was taking so much trouble. He was, after all, only dining with Garak that evening. In Garak's quarters. And Garak had been especially charming to him lately. And it seemed like a good idea to be immaculate, in a casual sort of way, for the Cardassian, whose critical eye could still make the doctor squirm. And there was something special about the way Garak had asked him; formal, gallant and wary, as if Bashir might refuse but he doubted it very much. And there'd been something breathless, reckless and daring in accepting this invitation to dine in the mysterious Cardassian's quarters.

So, Bashir was mulling all this over as he carefully combed his damp hair and selected a tunic and pants in tastefully muted hues he'd had Garak make for him when they first met. He'd never worn it before and belatedly realized he'd been saving it for a special occasion.