A/N: This chapter encompasses a time frame of roughly six months, beginning with 5x3 and ending with 5x8. Some dialogue was taken directly from 5x8 ("Things Past"). Hope you enjoy! Please review!
Chapter 3: Honest Mistakes
...
They say time heals all wounds, but to Garak, six months of confinement in the brig was a mild form of torture. The one mercy of it was that his cell was not visually cut off from the main area, so he never had a true claustrophobia attack even though an anxious edge of restlessness settled on him that was impossible to shake. The food was redundant, and the conversation sparse.
"Constable, I wonder if you could tell me something," Garak said one day when Odo came in to check on him. "Is Captain Sisko planning to rent out the space where my tailor shop…was?"
"It's still there. I've seen no indication that he plans to do anything with it."
"Well, that is certainly a relief."
Having nothing to do was one of the worst punishments. Some days he felt he would do anything to be provided with a good ream of cloth and his tailor kit. He tried talking to Kasidy Yates, who occupied the neighboring cell; he wanted to learn more about the Maquis, but she proved quite averse to the idea of sharing pleasantries with a Cardassian of questionable loyalties. Odo occasionally took pity on him and gave him brief tidbits of news, and sometimes, if he was lucky, a particularly talkative troublemaker would be put in the brig for a few hours or days. But in the end, he only really had Ziyal's daily visit to look forward to.
Today she was dressed in a beautiful forest green outfit, one of the few on the station that Garak found himself analyzing and longing to draw patterns off of.
"Ah, Ziyal. You look particularly lovely today." He sat up to greet her and tried to appear cheerful; he had been lying on his back, miserably staring out toward the security office and thinking of certain people he had recently lost. "Not tired of seeing me yet?"
"Of course not!" Ziyal pulled up the stool she usually sat on while visiting. "I hope I didn't wake you."
"Oh, no, my dear, I wasn't asleep. I was merely… contemplating."
"Contemplating what?"
Garak allowed himself a sad smile. "How fortunate I am to have met you."
A delighted grin spread over Ziyal's face, one which she quickly supplemented with a compassionate, worried look. "I wish there were some way they could reduce your sentence."
"Oh, it's not so bad. I only have…let's see, how long has it been now?"
"A little over a month."
"Ah." Garak nodded. "You see? The time has flown." He didn't want to think about how long it had already been. Five more months. Five times more the boredom he had already suffered. Funny—when Garak had been arrested, Captain Sisko had yelled at him. Something like "have you lost your mind?!" Garak found himself slightly amused. If this was the treatment for losing one's mind, it wasn't very effective. Sisko could have a lunatic tailor on his hands by the end of this.
"Well. Tell me. What have I been missing since yesterday?"
Ziyal was not as keen an observer as many people Garak had known, but she had been trying very hard lately to notice and remember things she thought might be even vaguely interesting to Garak.
"Let's see." Ziyal stared upward thoughtfully. "Oh! You know that Klingon, Commander Worf? He and Dax are in a relationship now."
"You don't say? Very interesting…."
"I heard about it from Kira. Apparently it all had something to do with Quark—Kira said a Klingon woman came aboard who was Quark's ex-wife… it's a long story…."
And as Ziyal began to tell her long and bizarre story, Garak, who normally paid close attention to the nuances of all types of relationships aboard the station, found his mind wandering again, covering its tracks with an unusually vacant smile.
...
It had been a rough day. Bashir had been dating Leeta for several months now, and this had been one of their first real arguments. He wished things weren't so slow at the infirmary—he didn't even have work to distract him.
He checked the time, and on impulse turned to the pair of nurses on duty. "Can you two handle things here while I go out for a bit, stretch my legs? You can call me if anyone comes in."
They agreed, and soon Bashir was at Quark's. O'Brien was sitting at his usual spot, eating his usual dinner.
"Julian!" O'Brien cried out. "Sit down! I can use a sympathetic ear."
"Missing Keiko?" Bashir asked, perching on the neighboring stool.
"Doctor Bashir." Quark greeted him. "What can I get for you today?"
"Oh nothing, not yet anyway," Bashir sighed.
Quark eyed them both carefully. "Looks like you two could both use a drink."
"Let me think about it, Quark." Bashir let himself sound a little annoyed—it was hard to feel too guilty about taking out one's frustrations on the pushy bartender.
Quark lifted his hands and put on his patient, "considerate" voice. "Take your time. I'll be right back to take your order in a few minutes."
"So?" Bashir whispered, once Quark was out of earshot.
"What? Oh, it's not Keiko. It's Molly… she called me a 'bad daddy' because I'm busy, you know."
"Oh, don't take it too hard. She's just a child—she doesn't understand."
"Eh. You're probably right. But I tell you, Julian… it's heartbreaking." O'Brien nodded to himself while chewing slowly. "I'm always afraid that someday she's going to say it, and it'll be true."
"Oh, come on," Bashir groaned. "You can't be so sensitive over the things children say."
"Well, what's got you all glum, then?" O'Brien nudged him roughly with his elbow. "Bad day at work?"
"No… no, I wish that's what it was."
"What then?"
"It's Leeta."
"Your girlfriend?"
"What? Yes, of course, my girlfriend, what other Leeta would I be talking about?"
O'Brien gave Bashir a baffled shrug and returned his attention to his food. "So what happened? You two uh… break up?"
"No… it was just a little argument, that's all."
"About what?"
Bashir checked to make sure Quark was still occupied, and kept his voice low. "Garak, of all things!"
"Garak?" O'Brien blurted, much too loudly. "You and Leeta had an argument about Garak?"
"Shh! Not so loud!"
O'Brien looked positively befuddled. "She and him… him and her… have they even exchanged two words together?"
"I don't know, but that's not the point! Actually, I don't really want to talk about it."
O'Brien was silent for a moment. Quark came and took their orders for drinks. But the Chief kept fidgeting and his curiosity finally got the better of him.
"I can't really imagine what she'd have to say about Garak that would make you get in an argument with her. Did she uh… say she was attracted to him or something?"
"What? No! No… it's…." Bashir shook his head dramatically at his drink, as if disgusted at the world. "She wants me to go visit him in the brig." He took a long sip and grimaced.
"Well when was the last time you visited him?"
"In the brig? I haven't been. Haven't seen him at all, not since just after he tried his little stunt and tried to kill everyone!"
"Oh." O'Brien raised his eyebrows and quickly went back to his drink. "Right. Course."
"I don't understand why it's any of her business whether I go see him—she was making it out to be some sort of... I dunno… some moral failing or something. She said she didn't want to be with someone who didn't value their friends. What is that supposed to mean?"
O'Brien shrugged again, then cleared his throat and spoke tentatively. "Why exactly haven't you visited him?"
Bashir looked at O'Brien as if he were crazy and coughed a laugh. When nothing but an awkward silence pursued, he frowned and took one last sip of his drink, smacked O'Brien on the back and said "Nevermind. Good luck with Molly." He headed back to the infirmary.
...
The dull pain and pressure in his skull was like rocks grinding together. Sharp slivers of thoughts and feelings broke off and embedded themselves in Garak's consciousness as he tried to sleep away the countless hours he had left. The cell was closing in on him… he would always be trapped here, forever, suffocating slowly under the weight of silence. Pacing didn't help. All he had left was to start talking to himself, and he wasn't sure he wanted to resort to that just yet.
"Garak?"
His eyes flew open, and he nearly gasped. The ceiling seemed frighteningly close for a moment before he got his bearings and sat up to see Ziyal approaching his cell.
"I'm sorry," she said. "You really were sleeping this time, weren't you?"
"Perhaps, but there's no need to apologize. I wasn't having very good dreams, so I'm quite glad you're here." He winced as the blood rushing to his head punctuated the ache with a sharp, throbbing pain.
"Are you alright? What's wrong?"
"Nothing at all. Not to worry. I think I just sat up too quickly." His smile felt crooked on his face from trying not to screw his eyes up against the pain.
"I don't like that they're keeping you here for so long—what if something's wrong with you? Shouldn't Doctor Bashir come and make sure?"
"My dear," Garak laughed. "If all of Doctor Bashir's patients called on him every time they sat up too quickly, he would never get any sleep! No. I'm not going to bother him about it, but—" he hurried on when he saw Ziyal bow her head in embarrassment— "you are very kind to worry yourself over me. I promise you… I am in no danger. If anything serious does happen, I'll have Odo call the infirmary right away. Does that ease your fears?"
She nodded, but her smile was small and reluctant. "I believe you."
"Thank you."
Garak studied her kind face, so familiar and yet so foreign. It was all the distraction he had. She had tried to ask him about Tain, and the painful things that she saw behind his cheery façade. But that wasn't why he relied on her.
"So… what dazzling tales of mystery and intrigue have you gleaned from the station today?"
...
"Ah. Doctor Bashir." Odo spun around in his chair to face him. "What can I do for you?"
"I've come to see Garak." Bashir stood stiffly with his hands behind his back. "How has he been, anyway?"
"He doesn't seem to take very well to confinement, but I think he'll live. Six months is honestly not that severe a punishment for what he tried to do."
"Well… I guess I can just ask him for details myself." Bashir took a deep breath, unexpectedly nervous about walking into Garak's line of sight. He tried to brace himself—no matter what, they couldn't get caught up in another argument like last time.
The robust greeting he expected didn't come. Garak was lying on his back as if asleep, breathing in a steady rhythm but, as Bashir drew closer, he could see that each breath was a little shaky.
"Are you feeling alright?" He asked. "Headache?"
Garak's eyes fluttered open wide, and he turned his head quickly to stare at Bashir. For a moment, shock showed openly on his face before his usual pleasant look kicked in. He sat up slowly.
"I'm fine, Doctor. Thank you for asking."
"You haven't had your medication for over two months. You're telling me your headaches have stopped bothering you?"
"I had Odo call one of your nurses to deliver it last week. They're under control, now. I heard you were away somewhere."
Bashir wasn't sure if it was wise to make assumptions, but he couldn't help but wonder if there was a subtle implication in how Garak worded his response. Had he purposely waited to ask for his medication until after he knew Bashir was gone?
"Yes, I was attending a medical conference and ended up answering a distress call from a Federation colony on Ajilon Prime. Turns out they had been attacked by Klingons and were in desperate need of another field medic." Bashir took a deep breath and forced himself to stop furrowing his brow so much.
"I'm sure your services were quite appreciated," said Garak, with all his usual warmth.
Bashir swallowed his guilt and cleared his throat. "I suppose. But I'm certainly glad to be back. So how's life in the brig?"
"Quite insufferable," Garak said, in an entertained tone of voice. "Except I suppose not, since I am still here, suffering it. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the relative mercies of a Federation prison, but it's still not how I'd choose to spend my time."
Bashir laughed under his breath and studied his feet. "People who are being punished for attempted genocide don't have the luxury of that choice, I'm afraid."
"So I've learned. But I hope you appreciate the honesty of my response, even if it wasn't exactly what you wanted to hear." Garak's voice was light but he kept his eyes wide and fixed on Bashir. "That is what you want, isn't it?"
Bashir sighed. "You remember when we had lunch after that ordeal with the implant?"
"Of course, Doctor. I remember all of our lunches."
"Well," Bashir faltered for a moment. "Do you remember when I asked you how you could so easily talk about something like spice pudding after all that had just happened?"
"Yes," Garak smiled as if they were reminiscing about a trip to Risa. "I said that I saw no point in dwelling on what was no doubt a difficult time for both of us."
"Yes…" Bashir said softly. "Well. I'm beginning to think the incident with… uh… when we were last in the Gamma Quadrant… maybe it belongs in the same category."
"The only problem with that is that everything I told you during the first incident was not particularly important for you to know about me. But it is clear to me, after our last…." Garak waved a hand, "conversation… that our relationship cannot progress any further without some kind of resolution. Unfortunately, I can't promise you that I will never do anything to offend your Federation values again."
"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," Bashir sighed heavily, looking at the floor. "I'm not sure I can trust you."
"But I never asked you to trust me, Doctor!" Garak shook his head. "In fact, I think you'll agree that I've always encouraged the opposite."
"And I've never quite understood why."
"Doctor," Garak said softly, intently, leaning forward from where he sat on his bunk. "I was never under any illusion that we had similar interests or similar goals. To be perfectly honest, I did initially approach you out of a hope that you might provide certain opportunities for me, opportunities that might lead to the end of my exile here."
"I suppose that's understandable."
Garak stood up and began to pace slowly. "I began to think we understood each other when you shot me in the holosuite. We may have separate loyalties, Doctor, but we are equally fierce about protecting our ideals, aren't we? Imagine my surprise when it turns out you didn't understand my actions against the Founders."
Bashir felt tired, the weight of what he wanted to say pressing on him with every step they took toward another argument. "Just because I understand your reasons doesn't mean I can condone them. We all have our reasons, our ways of justifying violence."
"Yes. We do." Garak was no longer smiling.
Bashir stared back, trying to decide if he should walk out now or not.
"So." Garak came closer to the opening of his cell. "If we can't agree to disagree, is there some other reason you've come to see me, after all this time?"
"I wanted to make sure you weren't suffering needlessly."
"Ah. Compassionate as ever."
"Leeta told me to come see you, weeks ago," Bashir confessed. "But it wasn't until I was being shelled by bombs on Ajilon Prime that I realized I couldn't just ignore you for four more months. Even if I did, you'd still be here on the station, once you were released. And besides… I've always tried to follow my conscience, even if it goes against convention."
"Now that's something I have always found quite attractive about you, Doctor. Tell me, how are things between you and…Leeta? I'm curious as to why she would ask you to come and see me. Does she want to place an order for a new garment?"
"No, nothing like that. She said I don't value my friends enough." Bashir kept his voice blunt and brutally honest. "She's right. If we are friends, it's wrong of me to ignore you. You were only doing what you thought was right. I still don't agree, but…." Julian laughed under his breath, rocking on his feet slightly. "Well, who said friends have to agree on everything… or even trust each other?"
Garak narrowed his eyes at Bashir, smiling with his chin inclined in a way that said he understood. "Certainly not I."
Bashir didn't mention all the sleep he'd lost over the past few weeks as he'd tried to avoid his guilt, or how he'd felt all the angrier because of that guilt—after all, he wasn't the one who had tried to destroy a planet full of sentient life forms, including his own friends. He didn't mention how, as he had found himself nearly panicking in the midst of a storm of bombs exploding on every side, his first horrible thought had been how, if he died, he and Garak could never be reconciled.
He was still a bit baffled by how important Garak's happiness was to him, but it was all the more confusing because deep down, he knew he had trusted Garak before, otherwise his "betrayal" wouldn't have been so infuriating. Now that trust was damaged. And more than that, he was frustrated at how it seemed impossible for them to truly be on the same side.
"Doctor? You still seem a bit distressed."
Bashir broke out of his thoughts and shook his head. "I suppose I am, a little. It's just… well, it'll probably take some time for me to get used to… to uh…." He wasn't sure how he meant to finish that sentence. "Well, nevermind. I imagine you've been bored out of your wits these last two months. Have you had many visitors?"
"Oh, just Ziyal… and Captain Sisko, actually, once or twice, but it was brief. Otherwise it's just me and… the silence of my cell." Garak motioned around as if surrounded by friends. "You're certainly welcome to change that, if you'd like."
"I think I will. It's my turn to recommend a book to discuss isn't it?" Bashir swayed in place, thinking. "Hmm… have you ever heard of Sherlock Holmes?"
"I believe you have mentioned him before. He was some sort of investigator, wasn't he?"
"A fictional detective, famous for his ability to analyze tiny clues about a person, and then deduce all sorts of information such as… where they last ate, how many family members they have, that sort of thing."
"Well that sounds fascinating! Provided, of course, his leaps of reason are actually reasonable."
"Oh, that's up for debate, but I think the theory is sound, even if it's not always executed perfectly."
Bashir felt the weight slowly lifting off his shoulders. Perhaps he was projecting his feelings, but Garak seemed to look much better than when he'd come in. Still, the image of him lying there breathing shakily remained lodged in his mind. He hoped he could prevent as many lonely hours like that as possible.
Besides, he felt an odd sort of security now. For some reason, being with Leeta and knowing Garak was being pursued by Ziyal made him feel like he and Garak almost had a normal friendship.
...
"So then, I told him that I was conducting a study on work-related stress." Bashir was leaning close to the edge of the containment field of Garak's cell, grinning. "And Miles pulled something out of the panel he was 'repairing' and the lights went out! All the lights on the entire deck!"
"Oh dear!" Garak exclaimed. "How did they react?"
Slowly, little by little, things were starting to feel normal between them again. The time passed more quickly for Garak now that Bashir was speaking with him again, and the doctor, for his part, was feeling more cheerful in general.
"Well, when he put it back, the lights came back on. I said to the engineer, 'I've seen enough!' and I told the Chief it was time for him to go to sick bay." Bashir sat back triumphantly.
"My dear doctor," Garak laughed. "I must say, you are getting better at… improvising. It's a skill one must never be complacent about improving, you know."
"Well, I couldn't very well risk disrupting the timeline by telling the truth, now could I? I mean, it's bad enough we ended up rummaging around on the Enterprise—James Kirk's Enterprise!—and what with people getting involved in that fight in the mess hall…." Bashir sat back, shaking his head at it all in childlike astonishment. "O'Brien did pretty well, too, actually. He asked the engineer not to mention this to anyone, and the man wished him a quick recovery from his 'work-related stress'!"
"You know, I've been thinking." Garak's face took on a distant, excited look. "Starfleet could use a training program for Federation officers where they can learn the subtle art of improvisation. Do you think Captain Sisko might consider recommending me as a candidate for professorship?"
"I'll relay that request to him first thing in the morning," Bashir laughed and sipped his raktajino. "I'm sure he'll be able to land you the job as soon as you're out of prison."
"I look forward to it!" Garak nodded, ignoring the undercurrent of tension that was still detectable in the doctor's voice. "Ah! It's not that far off now, is it? Only another month. I suppose I can start making plans."
"Plans? Like what?" Bashir frowned, putting his mug down with a suspicious look.
"Oh, don't look at me like that, Doctor. I'd just like to get off this station for a little while," Garak exclaimed. "As happy as I'm sure I'll be to resume my work in the shop, I think I could use a little fresh air and sunshine after six months in this cell!"
"Oh, well in that case… let's see. Would you like me to find you an excuse to leave? Did you have any particular destination in mind?"
"Somewhere close. It doesn't really matter, as long as it's warmer than here."
Bashir sighed. "I suppose Bajor's out of the question."
"Well, if you can find a good reason for the Bajoran authorities to allow me a few days on their lovely planet, I'd be more than happy to go to Bajor."
"Wait a minute." Bashir suddenly sat back in his seat, turning his mug slowly in his hands. "There's a conference going on about a week after your release… it's a historical examination of the Occupation, but I heard they're open to allowing anyone to speak, even Cardassians—as long as they're respectful of course."
"Well! Wouldn't that be interesting?" Garak stood up, easily excited by the idea of interaction with anyone after such prolonged isolation. "I'm always up for a good debate. Bajor it is! Will you be giving a presentation there, Doctor? Something about how the occupation impacted the health of the parties involved, I assume?"
Bashir suddenly took an unusual interest in his coffee cup. "Actually, I'm not planning to attend."
"You have other plans?" Garak didn't let his disappointment darken his tone.
"Mm. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Leeta and I are going to Risa the week before, but then I have another medical conference immediately following, and that's going to overlap with the historical conference."
"Oh, I see. Your brilliance runs in high demand," Garak proclaimed. "Well, I suppose I'll have to manage without your company. We can compare notes when we get back." The mischievous tone never left his voice. He was in higher spirits today than he had ever been since his arrest. Still, there was no mistaking the rift that remained between them. Garak was careful to tread a bit softly around certain topics and not ask too many personal questions—like what Bashir and Leeta would be doing on Risa, for example. Then again, the general idea of what people did on Risa was usually the same no matter who was going.
"Maybe you could take Ziyal with you," Bashir suggested. "If you think she would like to go, that is."
"Well… I suppose she is half-Bajoran," Garak mused. "I'll mention it to her tomorrow when she comes in. But it's unlike you to encourage us to spend time alone."
"I assume you won't be alone much. Captain Sisko was planning on attending."
"Oh, well in that case…." Garak trailed off, not sure he wanted to have Sisko bringing up his 'questionable decisions' in front of Ziyal. He'd explained his reasons to her for what he'd done, but all the same, he was starting to realize that he might be more comfortable expressing his opinions without her present.
"'In that case' what?" Bashir looked at him suspiciously. "Are you saying there's no point in inviting her if you two aren't going to be alone? That's not at all incriminating."
"Oh no, you misunderstand me!" Garak laughed a little. "I was just struck with the realization that Ziyal could have an entirely different view of things than either the Bajorans or the Cardassians."
"All the more reason for her to go!"
"I suppose you're right. Perhaps if she sees my true nature, she might be dissuaded from dropping any more obvious hints about me being the perfect man for her to marry."
"Has she actually said that?" Bashir looked amused despite himself.
"Not in those words, exactly, but her intentions are quite clear to anyone who's paying attention. She often laments that her father and I don't get along. I do feel sorry for her, Doctor… it seems none of the people she loves can stand being in the same room with each other."
"That does make for a bit of an awkward family dynamic."
"Yes." Garak sighed. "Well, I'll just have to keep dropping my own obvious hints."
"Perhaps you need to make them a bit more obvious. Anyway, I've got to run, I need to check up on Kira."
"Thank you for coming, Doctor. I hope you have a good time on Risa."
"Thank you." Bashir's smile seemed strained. Garak couldn't help but wonder why, but he held his peace. It was probably a reflection of the state of their relationship, he thought, more than anything out of the ordinary.
...
The conference was not quite as exhilarating or relaxing as Garak had hoped it would be. Ziyal had decided not to go, saying she had prior commitments with Major Kira. And even as Garak ordered a drink from the ship's replicator and sought some commiseration about how lacking in debate the conference had been, no one else seemed to share his opinion.
An empty feeling still remained in him at the thought of how Doctor Bashir had only met with him once since his release from confinement. Still, Garak couldn't help but look forward to talking with him again. Even if their conversation was bound to include references to his and Leeta's vacation on Risa, at least Bashir didn't label him a "former Cardassian oppressor." Well, not outwardly. Either way, their approach to DS9 was something to celebrate.
And then, suddenly, something hit the ship.
The next thing Garak knew, he was being shaken awake by an unfamiliar Bajoran, and opened his eyes to a horrible sight. He knew it instantly: Terok Nor under Cardassian rule. The filth and chaos was all too familiar.
He helped Odo up and hurried to a spot out of the way. They were in the Bajoran sector, and if they didn't get out of sight soon, there was a good chance they might be attacked. His mind worked in a frenzy to catch up. This was certainly not a dream. It was all too real, too vivid, and he was too aware of the fact that just a moment ago, he had been sipping tea on a Federation ship.
Sisko sat down once they'd found somewhere relatively private. "This is Terok Nor—DS9 during the occupation."
"Time travel?" Dax asked.
"No, it's more than that," Garak said instantly, still glancing around at the Bajorans passing by them. "Our clothes have changed." He had instantly noticed that his usual fashionable attire had been replaced by a rather garish red vest and nondescript trousers. None of the others had fared much better, either.
"Could we be in a holosuite?" asked Odo.
Sisko said, "Computer, end program," but nothing changed. "Let's assume that's a no for the moment."
"Benjamin." Dax leaned closer to Sisko. "We're not attracting any attention."
"And we should be," Sisko said, echoing Garak's own thoughts. "Humans, Trills, and Changelings didn't just stroll through Terok Nor unnoticed."
"Well, I should be getting some attention as well," Garak said tensely. "We are in the Bajoran sector and Cardassians weren't exactly welcome here."
"I don't think they see you as Cardassian," Sisko said. "I'm beginning to think they don't see any of us as who we really are."
"The clothes we're wearing are Bajoran!" Garak pointed out. "They're treating us like Bajorans."
As they discussed the possibility of trans-dimensional shifts and went over what the plasma phenomena they'd noticed on sensors might have done to their minds, Garak noticed that Odo was looking particularly distressed by all of this. He certainly could relate; his own experience with the Terok Nor that now surrounded them was not one he had ever wanted to revisit, especially not in such a direct way.
To make matters worse, neither Odo, Sisko, nor Dax seemed receptive to his plan to approach the authorities and convince them that he was an undercover operative. He wanted to get off this station as soon as he could and find a way back home… or the closest thing he had to a home.
When Gul Dukat showed up, Garak knew this was not going to be one of his better days.
"You!" a Cardassian soldier approached Dax and took her by the arm. "Come with us."
"What has she done?" Sisko demanded as she was dragged away.
"Nothing," said the other soldier. "Yet."
"Perhaps there's been some misunderstanding." Garak stepped forward, reluctantly abandoning his higher place on the raised platform where they'd been talking, and approached the soldier, who was much taller than him. "If I may be so bold—" he motioned to the one holding Dax to lower his weapon— "You may find something which will bring you infinitely more profit than the arrest of a Bajoran woman."
"Latinum?" said the soldier.
Garak did a vague imitation of one of Quark's greedy smiles. "Two strips."
"Where is it?"
"Ah… well, our friend is still in your custody."
For a moment, he thought it might work, but Dukat chose that moment to pass them on the upper level of the promenade, and the soldier took this opportunity to show his loyalty by punching Garak square in the nose so hard that Garak flew backward into some barrels.
Through the haze of pain, as the first soldier dragged him to his feet, Garak let his hand drift close to the soldier's belt and slipped the Cardassian's scanning device up his sleeve.
Once the soldiers were gone, he allowed himself a moment to process just how much his nose hurt, and realized it was bleeding. No, this was definitely not a dream.
...
His nose hurt, his back hurt, his fingers reeked of cleaner, and the plates full of food scraps he had scraped off the tables smelled even worse. Garak was miserable. In comparison to this, the cell he'd just spent six months in seemed like a vacation. It was really no wonder that he had turned on the implant in his brain after just a short time of being exiled here. This place embodied all the worst moments of Garak's life.
Not that his life was going to last much longer.
"Timor, Ishan, and Jillur were the names of three Bajorans who were accused of attempting to assassinate Gul Dukat on the promenade," Odo was saying. Using the scanner he'd stolen, Garak had revealed their Bajoran identities earlier—they were Timor, Ishan, and Jillur.
"Half the resistance tried to kill Dukat," Sisko said.
"These three were innocent," Odo growled under his breath. "However, no one knew that at the time, and Dukat wanted to make an example of them, so he had them led out onto the promenade and… publicly executed."
Garak took a short breath, still squinting against his aching nose. "If we're them…."
"If we're them," Sisko continued for him. "We'd better find a way out of here before Dukat makes an example out of us."
"Excuse me!" Quark interrupted their whispering. "Did I promise three five-minute breaks? No, I did not, I said two. One twelve-hour shift, two five-minute breaks. Get back to work or you don't get your slip of latinum, and you'll be working for another five hours!"
Garak hurriedly went back to collect the last two trays of scraps. Well, he was currently out of ideas. Trying to talk to the authorities hadn't worked, and honestly, now that he thought about it, he wondered why he'd suggested it in the first place. Had he really forgotten so quickly how sloppily this place had been run? Well, with Dukat in charge, of course there was no sense to anything. Still, he had to think of something. To die in some alternate dimension which seemed personally designed to torment him—and Odo, apparently—without another chance to….
To what? He asked himself. Six months ago, it would have been another chance to redeem himself in the eyes of Tain and the rest of Cardassia. Now Tain was gone, and Garak's obsession seemed emptier than before. It was something he had thought all too much about during the last six months.
...
When the explosion went off, they were eating watery, disgusting soup with a Bajoran resistance member. He was supposed to be their ticket out of there. But then there was a flash of light and Dax and Dukat were lying motionless on the ground. Odo tried to stop Sisko from running to her—something Garak knew to avoid instinctively—but in the end they were all arrested.
The brig was nearly unrecognizable—dark and noisy and filled to capacity with unruly Bajorans. Garak found himself strung tight with irritation. Luckily, someone from Cardassian security made them all shut up and came to accuse them of making a bomb out of cleaning solution from Quark's and materials they'd supposedly bought from a chemist's shop.
As much as Garak held few illusions about all Cardassians being infallible, he had hope that their case would be dealt with rationally. But, although Odo brought up many relevant points, their investigator dismissed them all.
"You were seen rushing toward Dukat after the explosion. Everyone else was running away."
"I wanted to help my friend," Sisko protested. "She was injured in the blast!"
"The report of the Cardassian guard states that you were found over the body of Gul Dukat, attempting to strangle him."
"That's a lie!"
It burst from Garak's mouth before he could stop it. He could hardly contain the frustration he felt. Just how blind did these so-called Cardassians have to be to believe such a ridiculous thing? Even from where Garak had been standing, it had been obvious what was going on. He felt disgusted and resentful toward the man in front of him for claiming to uphold any sense of Cardassian justice.
As Odo continued to raise his voice more and more desperately in defense of reason, Garak felt himself mentally backing away from the entire situation. For a moment, he wondered—although really, there was no comparison—if this was the type of disappointment Bashir had felt toward him six months ago. Of course, there was no chance for error with the Changelings; they were responsible for the obliteration of Tain and the rest of the Cardassian fleet that had attacked the Founders' home world. There was no doubt about that in Garak's mind.
But still, Bashir had expected a certain pattern of behavior from Garak, and apparently, Garak had betrayed that pattern, just as this Cardassian was breaking the pattern of behavior Garak expected from his own people. It was sickening.
He wondered if he only felt this way because of the bizarre circumstances they were in. If he were a Cardassian soldier on the other side of this containment field, looking at three Bajorans who seemed more likely than anyone else to be guilty, wouldn't he feel confident that some punishment should be carried out?
...
Hours later, their fate seemed to have been decided. Dax had shown up, and they'd made a good attempt at a prison break. They got pretty far, even shooting a few Cardassian guards before encountering the inspector, who was actually a Changeling. Then, just like that, they had reappeared in their cell as if they'd been transported there. Whatever was going on, whatever force held them in its power, it wasn't going to be thwarted by a couple of phasers. And yet, Garak was less willing than ever to let the matter rest.
He had to talk to Doctor Bashir. No matter if his decisions were wrong or right, he wanted to express the understanding he had come to about what had happened between them. He thought of the effortless warmth that used to exist back in the day when he could bring Delavian chocolates to the infirmary and Bashir would be grateful rather than embarrassed or unnerved. Would they ever find themselves in such a place again?
Odo began ranting about how they had to find another way out. Garak stood attentively, and suddenly it started to make sense. The Founders had something to do with this, and it was because of Odo.
"How could Thrax be a Changeling?" Sisko was asking. "At this time period, the Founders didn't know about the wormhole."
"I don't know," Odo growled, pacing with his arms folded, shivering.
Garak turned his attention onto the constable. Very curious, his behavior. "Putting aside the newest shapeshifter in town for the time being, how did we end up back in this cell?"
"I don't know!" Odo repeated.
"Care to guess?" Dax asked. The others seemed to be coming to the same conclusion.
Odo moved away from her. "What makes you think I have the answer?"
"You've been acting strangely ever since we first woke up on the promenade," Sisko pointed out calmly. "Continually distracted, depressed, and agitated."
"And you knew the names of the people we're supposed to be," Garak continued.
"You knew the details of the case like you were there!" said Sisko.
Garak leapt in. "But you couldn't have been there because it happened before you came aboard the station."
Odo's pacing was getting more frantic. Sisko pressed him again.
"Everything seems to lead back to you and I want to know why!"
For half a moment, it seemed like they were going to get some answers out of the constable, but then the inspector showed up and Odo followed him out to discuss the details of the case.
"Why do you think Odo's trying to hide what's going on?" Dax asked from her spot on the floor.
"I'm not sure," said Sisko. "I don't want to believe he's betrayed us, if that's what you mean, but he definitely knows something. Perhaps the Founders shared some of their plans with him, plans he hoped they wouldn't act on, but didn't want to share because he was afraid we would harm his people in retaliation. What I don't understand is what this has to do with being here, at this time, on Terok Nor?"
"Well, remember, this may not be a dream, but it's certainly not our usual reality," Garak pointed out. "There was less than a second between when we were outside this cell and when we found ourselves back inside it."
"This could all be an elaborate illusion of some kind," Sisko muttered into his fist. "We don't know what sort of technology the Founders might possess. But what purpose does it serve?"
"Perhaps this is just another way of punishing Odo for betraying his people?" Garak suggested. "After all, they could have easily decided that turning him into a human wasn't very effective in putting him back on the right path."
A thought flickered across Garak's mind. Some sort of punishment device, Bashir had once called his implant. How quickly he had assumed that Garak was the victim of his society, rather than one of the people who had worked through unpleasant means to protect it. It was so unusual, and so naively blind. It was no wonder Garak couldn't help but love the man.
As Dax and Sisko continued to debate the possibilities of what was going on, moving back to theories of spatial anomalies and chroniton radiation, Garak leaned against the back wall of the cell and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and hoping that whatever Odo was telling the other Changeling would get them out of here before their execution in half an hour.
He lost himself in reliving whatever pleasant memories he could dredge up. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes before Sisko and Dax suddenly fell silent, and Garak opened his eyes to find himself on the upper level of the promenade, staring at Odo while the others looked around, similarly confused.
The sound of phaser fire made them turn around to face a parallel walkway, where one of three Bajorans had just been shot by a small Cardassian firing squad. The other two kneeled facing the rail, waiting for death, and were shot one by one. As Odo gasped beside him, Garak recognized a second Odo dressed in Cardassian clothing standing with the Cardassian soldiers on the other walkway.
Then, all of it vanished.
"Constable?" Sisko said softly.
Odo gripped the rail, nodding slowly. "That's exactly how it happened seven years ago."
"It was you all along."
"Yes. I was chief of security on the promenade. I was the one who charged those men with a crime they didn't commit, and I was the one who turned them over to Dukat."
Garak glanced at Dax and Sisko, who were listening raptly. He kept his eyes open for the other Changeling, waiting for something to happen at any moment, something to reveal the trap they'd just been dropped into.
But Odo just went on in his sad, grim voice. "Three days after the executions, there was another bombing on the promenade, identical to the one that almost killed Dukat. Timor, Ishan, and Jillur… were innocent. All the evidence was there… the inconsistencies… the reports of the soldiers who arrested them… the pattern of bombings, the ballistics…." He shook his head. "It was all there from the beginning. But I was too busy… too concerned with maintaining order and the rule of law."
Garak's attention was slowly brought back to Odo. It seemed he wasn't the only one who had been re-evaluating his ideas of how things ought to be done. The tone in the constable's voice was fitting for the regret Garak was fighting, but he didn't expect to be able to replicate that kind of earnestness if he ever spoke to Bashir again. Was that what he would have to do to set this right? Come forward, vulnerable and ashamed despite all his experience telling him he had to stand his ground? He wasn't even sure that he'd been wrong at all.
"I thought of myself as the outsider, a shapeshifter who cared for nothing but justice. It never occurred to me that I could fail, but I did. And I never wanted anyone to know the truth." Odo lifted his head and took a long, shaky breath. "That seven years ago, I allowed three innocent men to die…."
Suddenly, the room faded. Everything seemed to melt, and Garak felt, for a short but horrifying moment, completely detached from his body. Then his eyes opened, and relief flooded him. He knew that ceiling.
He was in sick bay. And that was Doctor Bashir's voice, nearby. Garak sat up slowly, glad to feel in sync with his limbs again. He looked over at Bashir, who was running a medical tricorder over Captain Sisko. Of course. The Captain is top priority. Worf was helping Dax sit up.
All Garak could do was stare at Bashir from across the room, waiting for him to notice that he was awake. But it couldn't wait.
"Ah-Doctor," he called, and Bashir turned, unexpectedly breaking into one of those gorgeous smiles that had first drawn Garak toward the young genius.
"How are you feeling? Well enough to sit up, I see."
"Yes, I appear to be alright—though, my nose still hurts." Garak put a hand to it briefly.
"You gave me quite a scare for a moment, when it started bleeding." The doctor ran a quick scan of Garak. "But you're on the mend." Bashir put a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly for only his ears. "It's good to see you, Garak. You'll have to tell me all about whatever it was you experienced in the last few hours. And about how the historical conference went."
"Of course, but—I'd like to speak with you privately if you don't mind."
"Of course. We can have dinner in my quarters later."
It was hard not to get derailed by the unexpected invitation to dinner. "Ah-no, I really think it should be now."
Bashir looked surprised for a moment, and then nodded. "Alright, just give me a moment to check Jadzia."
Garak watched and waited, startled by the way Bashir seemed to have forgotten to maintain the small barrier of personal space he'd been insisting on lately, especially now that they had no containment field between them. That trip to Risa must have really been something.
Soon Bashir was back at his side, leading him around the corner by the elbow into a vacant corner of the infirmary.
"So, what is it?" Bashir's expression was open and patient.
"Well, I just…." Garak paused, feeling unsure of himself now that it had come to it. "I realized something in the last few hours that I wanted to share with you. I think I understand now why you were so… upset by what I tried to do."
"Garak," Bashir said, stepping backward with a half amused, half exasperated look on his face as if Garak had just told a bad joke. "Is this really necessary? I understand! You did what you felt you had to do. I can't blame you for that…." Bashir's voice went low and serious. "Even if it was absolutely the wrong thing to do."
For a moment, there was something in Bashir's eyes and tone of voice that made Garak think Bashir was still angry with him, but then it was gone. Well, he could hardly be sure of anything at the moment, having just woken up from a very realistic hallucination. He blinked, and suddenly Bashir was putting an arm around his shoulders and leading him back toward the others, speaking softly.
"I say we just forget the whole thing. So, are you coming to dinner tonight?"
"Well, if you don't think Leeta will mind."
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Bashir stopped and turned to face him. "Leeta and I aren't together anymore. We split up while we were on Risa."
"Ah," Garak said, wishing his brain would process all this information more quickly. "So… I take it one or both of you found other companions on Risa?"
"No, we went there to undergo a Bajoran separation ritual. Well, I suppose Leeta might have found another 'companion'… turns out she's been attracted to Rom for quite a while."
"Rom?" Garak asked in astonishment. "You mean… Quark's brother? The Ferengi?"
"That's the one!"
As Bashir laughed grimly, Garak couldn't help noticing that Bashir's hand was still on his shoulder. For just a moment, he felt optimistic that maybe, just maybe, their relationship would start to develop positively for once, drawing closer rather than slowly drifting apart. If this latest wedge between them had been removed, who was to say? He smiled at Bashir, and it wasn't a mask. It was good to be home.
