Author's note: My first story! This will hopefully be the start of a series of stories in a shared universe. For those looking for the crossover bits, they will show up in later chapters. It will be worth the wait though!
Stardate 49263.5
The Promenade was still not the bustling hub of activity that it was before the Klingon attack. Some businesses and families had left as soon as they felt safe enough to get on an outgoing transport. As much as Garak enjoyed his solitude on occasion, he was starting to get anxious waiting in his tailor shop to be of some use to just about anyone.
After spending years on a station where danger and excitement were everyday occurrences, boredom was not something he was terribly used to. With many lines of communication with Cardassia cut and with fewer visitors to the station to buy things, he was becoming increasingly reliant on the command crew for both information and entertainment. Not that he would admit either to them. A good portion of any well known spies' power comes from the mystique that they know more than you do and are capable of just more than you would expect.
Most of his usual companions were in the Defiant, off on a mission to the Gamma Quadrant to deal with a trade dispute with the Karemma. It always seemed like a terribly foolish policy to have the entirety of the command staff for such an important station shoved into a single ship and thrust right into the heart of every situation that pops up in this sector. The only time that would happen at a Cardassian military outpost was when the Obsidian Order decided that it was time for an accident to occur.
Starfleet is far too soft. There is no fear of betrayal from your subordinates, little concern that your every mistake will be attached to your family's' name for years to come, and almost no incentive to learn the valuable skill of hiding secrets from those you keep near you. The Dominion threat may good for them. The paranoia brought on by a group of shapeshifters leading a military force so great that it threatens half the galaxy may bring some positive, if rough, changes to the "utopian" Federation. Maybe the Cardassians can teach the Federation about real security, provided the regime can withstand the Klingon's aggression.
Garak got so caught up in this train of thought, he almost missed a stitch in the pair of pants he was planning on displaying in the shop window. With the decrease in regular traders on the station, he wanted to try to cater to the one group of people he could always rely on being on Deep Space Nine: the Bajorans. Despite the history of his people with the Bajorans, he still managed to be good enough with a needle and thread to attract business from the locals. He certainly didn't begrudge them their general dislike of him. What the Cardassians did to Bajor was quite scarring and besides, he himself was not the plain, simple tailor he made himself out to be.
He just wished that the number of people he could "trust" enough to talk to wasn't so limited. He couldn't exactly chat with most Bajorans unless they were being fitted for a new suit. Doctor Bashir was an enjoyable person to have a discussion with and seemed more clever than he let on, but he was frequently working on the many crises that appeared in this place.
On thinking about the doctor, he was reminded that he would have a visitor in the next day or so. Doctor Bashir asked Garak if he could host a friend of his that was traveling to the station to work on a large commision for an upcoming Bajoran religious ceremony and needed a proper workplace. Garak wasn't thrilled about the idea of sharing his workspace but there was never a bad time to be owed favors.
Finishing up the display pants, he was just about to get them ready to be hung up when a rather foul smell wafted over him as someone entered his shop. Standing in his doorway was a ragged, yet still quite intimidating, Nausicaan that looked like he had just walked away from a battle with a Gorn. This day might be more interesting than he had assumed. Setting down the pants on his work table, he approached the man he could only hope was a customer.
"Hello, how may I help you good sir?"
The Nausicaan walked in and pulled off the massive heavy jacket he was wearing and throws it down on top of the display pants. The weapon damage on it looked so recent, Garak thought he could still see smoke coming off the holes in it. Looking up at its' owner, Garak couldn't help but notice quickly that the stitching on a portion of his protective armor was changed to create an amateurish secret pocket. The Nausicaan gestured, with his obviously injured arm, to the pockmarked jacket before grunting, "Fix it, I will be back in a day." With that the Nausicaan turned and headed out the door.
While the abruptness of the exit normally would have given Garak a moment of pause, the jacket in front of him absorbed all of his attention. The jacket showed signs of being shot with a Klingon disruptor. Since Nausicaans tended to join criminal organizations this shouldn't have been too interesting but Garak was starved for information and needed something to analyze and study, even if just to keep his skills sharp. As he rotated the jacket to get a better look, he noticed that some of the other weapon patterns didn't match Klingon weapons. In fact, they looked Cardassian and seemed almost as recent as the disruptor marks. This man had likely been near the front lines in the Klingon's assault on Cardassian space!
The mental stimulation granted to Garak just by looking at this jacket was freeing. He looked forward to hypothesizing where the Nausicaan traveled and why. The small amount of evidence made it even more exciting. Supposition and instinct could fill in the gaps that logic could not. It didn't matter that he was over analyzing something so simple, he had work to do with both his hands and his mind and he couldn't be happier.
"This might not be such a dreary day after all..."
