Elim Garak hadn't slept in over a week. To be fair, he hadn't tried too desperately hard, simply laying down upon the heated mat on his sleeping slab, only to get up half an hour later and pace the floor of his quarters. His mind was full of schemes and scenarios playing out continuously as he tried to decide on what to do about his latest predicament.
The tailor had found himself being continually distracted by a relatively new resident of Terok Nor who he had somehow accidentally befriended.
And it truly was accidental. He had been trying to unsettle the fresh faced Starfleet officer when he had walked up to him and grabbed his shoulders, talking about his shop and his need for companionship. It was in the hope that the naive doctor would spread word of his eccentricity, and it would keep him in the peripherals of the collective consciousness of the stations new masters.
Instead the doctor had somehow found the tailor intriguing, or else he picked up on the Cardassian symbolism of grabbing at the shoulders, as he had agreed to a regular pattern of lunch dates that had become a spot of light in the Cardassian's otherwise tedious life. After his unfortunate medical collapse, it was Doctor Bashir who cared for him and literally risked his life to get the necessary information to save him. Even going so far as to unconditionally forgive him for actions and past atrocities, on the basic principal that he Elim Garak, was his friend.
It was here that the issue lay. Garak was starting to feel more than an amicable admiration for the Starfleet officer. Indeed he was getting attached to the doctor in a way that any sane Cardassian would think was inappropriate at best.
So his current dilemma was this, to sever his relationship with the doctor completely, removing himself from all contact possible, and thus also removing the best part of his tedious existence in exile, or to embrace whatever it is that is developing. Such acceptance of an unorthodox relationship would do little to sully his name, as he had already been reduced to a tailor in exile. But the Doctor's reputation may well take a nose dive if their friendship strayed at all from the platonic.
And what if he was completely misreading the young doctor? What if his actions where simply those of an overtly friendly personality? Surely someone like the good Doctor Bashir was completely uninterested in an old Cardassian traitor.
Garak paced the floors of his quarters until the walls of the room seemed to grow closer, and his breath grew more rapid. He needed to take a walk and clear his thoughts. The promenade was still closed at this hour, he was certain that Odo would still be a gelatinous puddle resting in his bucket for the next two hours at least.
He stepped out of his quarters and headed straight to the turbolift bent on walking the promenade and deciding what, exactly, to do about his own mind.
