Garak stared around at the grim, gray office. He was seated behind a large, imposing desk--fitting for a man of his status. After the war with the Dominion, Garak had been named a war hero on Cardassia. More than one city had erected a statue in his image. Garak sometimes found himself chuckling, imagining the horror on Enabran Tain's face at such a sight.
Now, though, Garak's face held no humor. The status and state dinners, the parades and attention all served to make Garak feel hollow.
Garak stood and crossed to the mantel, and he pressed a concealed switch. A panel slid back to reveal three pictures. One was Doctor Julian Bashir in his current Starfleet photo, taken a few months ago. Next to it was an image of Garak and Ziyal--Garak felt a familiar pain when he looked at it. He remembered feeling so numb as he'd accessed Odo's security footage to obtain the image just a few days after Ziyal's death. The last photo was of Enabran Tain's housekeeper, Mila, when she was still in her prime. It was the only image of her that existed, to Garak's knowledge--the photo had long been a prized possession of his.
Garak allowed himself to be weak for a moment longer as he rested his forehead on the mantel. After a few seconds, Garak straigtened and pressed the lever to conceal the alcove once more.
Garak made a mental note to contact Julian once the hour was more agreeable. News of the Bashir-Dax union had spead, even to Cardassia, and Garak intended to offer his congratulations to the good doctor. Garak also intended to express his regrets that he wasn't able to attend the wedding.
Garak sighed, and he resolved to work if he couldn't sleep. He seated himself behind the desk once more and grabbed a nearby padd. Garak read report after report; he filed reports of his own; all the while he sipped Tarkalean tea.
Garak regarded his Tarkalean tea and wondered idly if it was a sign of another weakness. He quickly brushed away the thought.
As he worked, Garak felt the heat begin to press at him. Garak pulled at his collar and instructed the computer to lower the temperature several degrees.
Years of living with the Federation, with rooms far too bright and cold, had changed Garak. He was no longer quite acclimated to his home, and often found that his body still craved that bright chill. Bright light especially seemed to help Garak when the corners of the room seemed to shrink in; stark Federation standard seemed to keep the walls a little more at bay than Cardassian lighting.
Garak shoved the padd away with an aggravated grunt. What little focus he'd had was gone now, swept away under the foolish wave of nostalgia. Garak requested the time; the computer cheerfully replied that it was 0425 hours. Federation time was another peculiarity to which he had become partial, as he had been bemused to realize.
Garak shook his head to clear away the fog, and he stood and stretched. He made his way to a door hidden behind a large statue and pressed another hidden lever to open a passage.
Garak stepped through into a small, concealed courtyard. Though one could see the starry night sky through the leaves above, anyone looking down would see a holographic projection of a roof. Garak wandered around his exotic blooms, admiring their beauty and scent. He trimmed a few leaves here and there, removed a few faded blooms. After a time, the garden offered no more small tasks to distract him.
Though tending his plants had helped settle his mind a bit, Garak still felt haunted by the ghosts of his past. He brushed the dirt from his hands and he returned to his office. He sank into the chair and let his head fall into his hands.
Garak had never felt more alone than he did in this moment. Even at his starkly worst times, Garak had always had Julian, or Mila, or some friendly soul to help ease the pain. Now, he was surrounded by bootlickers and toadies who feared him more than they knew him.
Garak stood suddenly with an oath--he reached for the comm panel and requested to patched to Deep Space Nine. The hour be damned, Garak needed Julian. Needed his wit, needed his dry and biting sarcasm--Garak needed his friend.
A few moments later, Garak regretted his decision. The doctor would likely be sleeping, probably next to his new bride. Before Garak could end the transmission, Julian answered.
"Hello?" Julian's musical voice was thick with sleep.
"Hello, my good doctor. I see I've woken you--now is obviously not the best time. I'll contact you again at a more decent hour," Garak said. He intended this to serve as a goodbye, but Julian sat up in bed. Behind the doctor, Garak saw Ezri stirring. Julian leaned to murmur something in her ear before standing.
A few moments later, the image of Julian reappeared on Garak's screen--the living room was now in the background.
"What's wrong?" Julian asked. All traces of sleep were gone, flushed by professional concern and personal worry for his friend.
Garak face crooked into a smile--it felt like the first time in years.
"At the moment, nothing," Garak replied. A look crossed Julian's face, but Garak continued before the doctor could protest that statement. "I simply found myself in need...of a friend."
The pronouncement soothed the worst edges of worry in Julian's face.
The two talked, of literature and news, of the Promenade and its shopkeepers. They exchanged stories of dinners and meetings and changes made since the war--both by the Federation and Cardassia.
After a time, Julian saw the lines in his friend's face smooth a bit. Garak no longer looked ready to break; the former tailor's sensual loquacity had returned, washing away the insipid platitudes with which Garak had opened the conversation.
"Alright, Garak, I'd better get some sleep, soon," Julian said. They had been speaking, of everything and nothing, for the better part of an hour.
"Of course, my dear doctor," Garak acquiesced with a regal nod. "Just--one more thing before you go, Julian?"
Bashir quirked an eyebrow in question, hand paused to hover over the end transmission button.
"Thank you, Julian," Garak said. Julian smiled, and it was like the sun breaking free from the clouds.
"Anytime, my friend," Julian replied. He pushed the button to end transmission, and Garak sat in silence for a few moments.
Garak requested the time again; the computer chirped that it was 0600 hours. Garak pulled up his schedule as he yawned. He rearranged a few things, pushing back any meetings until that afternoon (noon--more Federation nonsense). He set the padd back down and rose; he walked down a hidden hallway to his bedroom and slipped under the blankets without bothering to change clothes.
Garak was asleep, a small smile on his lips, before he formed another thought.
Author's Notes: Just a simple little one shot, nothing too major.