A/N: This chapter encompasses episodes 5x10 through 5x12, and briefly refers to elements from A Stitch in Time. Probably the chapter which stretches the interpretation of canon the most, but we thought we should have a little fun, given the circumstances.

Please review! And enjoy :D

Chapter 4: A Most Surprising Affair

...

Garak fired two shots in quick succession—his fellow Cardassians crumpled onto the sand. He rushed to Bashir's side. The doctor rubbed his own throat, where moments before a knife had been pressing. The Cardassian sun was hot enough to feel wonderful to Garak, but Bashir was sweating profusely and panting as Garak helped him stand.

"Good shot," Bashir gasped. "Thank you."

The Chief Archon approached with his small squad of bodyguards. "I owe you my life, Nestor. There was no doubt of their guilt before, but especially now, after they tried to kill you, their sole advocate! However—" he turned to Garak. "Now we may never know which crimes were committed by each."

"With the greatest respect, Chief Archon," Garak said in humble tones spoiled by the triumphant look on his face. "I believe that declaration to be a bit premature." At the Archon's questioning look, he raised a finger in a contemplative gesture. "You see, Gul Dumek used this knife to threaten the Nestor—" Garak picked up the weapon from the dead Gul's hand. "A knife bearing the insignia of the late Legate Marell, a knife he could only have obtained from his companion here—not by killing the Legate himself, oh no, he would never have been permitted to claim such a prize from the body of his superior's adversary. He could only have stolen it from Gul Kren, no doubt out of bitterness about the political decision Kren made recently which proved such a… disadvantage to Dumek's family. I'm sure he meant to use it to dispatch Kren and claim his revenge. Therefore, Dumek was the one who stole the key ingredient for the poison, but Kren was the one who carried out the assassination itself."

"I think I'm going to pass out," Bashir panted near Garak's ear, bent over with his hands on his knees. "I need water."

Garak immediately turned away from the very impressed Chief Archon. "Computer, end program."

Cardassia vanished, leaving only the blank grid of the holosuite. The air began to cool rapidly.

"It's a good thing there are plenty of beverages just downstairs," Garak said, putting his hands on the doctor's shoulders to lead him out. "I really do apologize; I'm afraid I was a bit caught up in the drama."

"No, it's alright," Bashir laughed breathlessly, walking more steadily now that the oppressive sun was gone. "I'm glad you were enjoying yourself, I just don't understand exactly how you can be so sure they both deserved execution."

"Well I can explain it again if you like!"

"I'll just take your word for it this time," Bashir grinned. "Quark! I want some ice-cold… juice!"

"Juice?" Quark looked a little disappointed. "What kind of juice?"

"Surprise me! Just make sure it's refreshing."

Quark started to walk away, a grin creeping over his face, when Bashir suddenly cried out, "Oh! And I'd prefer it be made out of fruit, not snails!"

"You sure you don't want a nice ice-cold root beer?" Quark asked sarcastically.

"No, just get me some kava juice—and I don't mind if it's replicated."

"Anything for you, Garak?" Quark asked.

"Red leaf tea would be perfect, thank you." He was still feeling quite exhilarated by the mystery he'd just unraveled. He sat down next to Bashir. "I appreciate you putting up with such a grueling program, Doctor. Next time, we can try that Sherlock Holmes program again. I won't even complain about the incessant and miserably cold English fog."

"You know, we could just adjust the environmental settings for these programs."

"But that takes a bit away from the spirit of things, don't you think? Besides, I happen to love the heat of Cardassia, and last time we were wandering around London, you said you enjoyed the rain."

"Your drinks, gentlemen," Quark said, eyeing them both with an odd look of gratification before offering a napkin to Bashir to mop his sweat. "You two must have been enjoying yourselves up there."

"Oh, we were!" Garak said happily, sipping his steaming tea and enjoying the way it prolonged the moment before he would inevitably be cold again.

"Very enjoyable," Bashir said, sighing in relief after guzzling half his kava juice.

"I'm happy to help," Quark smirked. "Whatever floats your ship." He looked between them for a moment before wandering off.

"Feeling better?" Garak asked, with some concern, once Bashir had polished off his juice.

"Yes. Don't worry about it," Bashir said, patting Garak's shoulder.

"Perhaps we should turn the heat down next time," Garak offered.

"Maybe, but it's nothing to worry about for now."

Garak sighed. "I suppose it's nearly time for you to return to the infirmary."

"Unfortunately, yes. But I'm still planning on joining you and Ziyal for lunch tomorrow if it's no trouble."

"Not at all, Doctor!" Garak beamed. "I would be delighted!"

Bashir smiled at him and patted his shoulder yet again before standing up to leave. "I'll see you later then," he said softly, his head close to Garak's.

Garak nodded once, and watched the doctor leave the bar. The last week had been full of pleasant surprises. Bashir seemed determined to make things up to Garak, and they were spending more time together than Garak had ever expected. They'd had lunch together four times since Garak had woken up in the infirmary, and had dinner in Bashir's quarters twice. The last two days, they had spent every free hour Bashir had designing and playing with their two new holosuite programs. For the first time in years, Garak was beginning to feel happy more often than not.

It was a little unsettling.

"So… what's this I hear about needing to turn down the heat in the holosuite?" Quark said in a suggestive voice.

Garak just smiled mysteriously at the bartender and paid him for the tea. He hadn't realized right away how their conversation could be misconstrued. Well, let people think what they wanted; the important thing to Garak was that they were spending time together. However, a creeping feeling in the back of his consciousness told him that he shouldn't let himself get used to this. It wouldn't last, this new state of things; such was the nature of their relationship. He shook his head as he entered his quarters. Well, there was no reason not to enjoy it while it lasted.

...

A little over a week later, when Garak nearly caught a cold after spending a particularly drizzly day in the Sherlock Holmes program, Bashir decided they should take a break from the holosuites. Then the doctor got caught up in some medical work for a few days.

Garak was eating breakfast with Ziyal when Bashir unexpectedly showed up.

"Well this is a surprise!" Garak exclaimed when Bashir took his place at their table as if he'd been there all along. "I thought you were busy?"

"I am, but I thought I'd stop and say hello. Good morning, Ziyal." Bashir nodded politely to Ziyal, who smiled back with a gracious "good morning, Doctor Bashir."

"Well," said Garak, recovering quickly. "Ziyal and I were just discussing Bajor's recent decision to decline joining the Federation."

"Yes, there's been a lot going on, hasn't there?" Bashir said, smiling secretively. "I don't suppose either of you have heard of the lost city of B'hala?"

"I can't say that I have," Garak said, even though he had in fact heard an interesting piece of news recently about an ancient Bajoran painting the Cardassians had returned to Bajor.

"Captain Sisko was lucky enough to get a look at a twenty-thousand-year-old painting of it, and actually, he ended up decoding the coordinates from a spire in the painting and found the city buried underground."

"Remarkable!" Garak leaned forward in his seat. "So that's what all those Bajorans at Quark's were so excited about!"

"Twenty thousand years old?" Ziyal stared in fascination. "I wish I could get a chance to see it."

"Perhaps you will," said Bashir. "I'm sure they'll be keeping the painting in one of their finest museums. Perhaps they'll even build a new one in the ruins of the original city. Luckily, their emissary survived the experience of discovering it, but it was a close call."

"What do you mean?" asked Garak.

"Captain Sisko was only able to find B'hala because of visions he was having as a result of neural shock—he had an accident in the holosuite and I eventually had to operate. Unfortunately, now that the operation is complete, he won't be having any more visions."

"That's unfortunate," said Ziyal. "Maybe if the visions had continued, the Prophets would have revealed a way to end the war peacefully."

Garak put a hand over hers in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "Don't worry, my dear. At least the Bajorans still have their emissary." It was still a bit odd to Garak, hearing Ziyal talk of her religious beliefs in Bajoran prophets, when most of the time he thought of her as simply a fellow Cardassian. How easy it was to forget differences, indeed. He glanced at Bashir, who was watching him and Ziyal with a funny little smile. Garak slowly let go of Ziyal's hand.

"What do you know about the Prophets, Ziyal?" Bashir asked quietly.

She looked a little startled. "Well, I've only just started learning. Kira's been taking me to the Bajoran shrine here on the station but it's all still new to me."

"But surely something must have attracted you to going in the first place."

"Well…" Ziyal paused in thought. "I suppose… I like knowing that there are beings out there who protect the innocent, and that everything happens for a reason. Kira told me that she believes the Prophets protected me while I was separated from my father, and maybe even reunited me with him… and that if I let them guide my life, maybe someday I'll make a difference. Maybe someday, I can help Bajorans and Cardassians understand each other better. I'd like to believe that."

"I've no doubt you can make a difference," Bashir said kindly. "But what do the Bajorans say the Prophets are? If they are some sort of powerful alien race, why do they favor Bajor in particular?"

"I'm afraid I don't know very much," Ziyal said sheepishly.

"Oh, it's alright, I'm just curious," Bashir smiled. "What about you, Garak?"

"Me?" Garak said. "I have little interest in Bajoran spirituality."

"But what's your perspective on the Prophets, as a Cardassian?"

Garak glanced at Ziyal, hoping she wouldn't be too put off by his response. "Well as far as I know, most Cardassians see the wormhole as the spatial phenomena it is. The aliens inhabiting it are certainly mysterious, but they are no more gods in our eyes than any other life-form might be. However," he added, with a brief smile at Ziyal, "I'm sure there's a great deal that we could learn about them, if we weren't so caught up in… other affairs."

"I see," said Bashir. "Well, I can't stay long, actually, I promised Miles I'd take another look at Kira to make sure everything's going better than perfect before the baby arrives." He got to his feet with a longsuffering look. "I'll see you at dinner tomorrow night, Garak?"

Garak hadn't heard of any plans for dinner until just now, but he immediately agreed. "Shall I bring anything?"

"If you like, but I intend to serve at least one dish of the best Cardassian cuisine in the replicator's memory banks, so don't think too hard."

And before Garak could ask what occasion had prompted such an invitation, or whether anyone else would be coming, Bashir had strolled off with a roguish grin and Ziyal was looking at him curiously.

"Well… where were we?" Garak asked.

...

When Garak stepped into Bashir's quarters, it became instantly apparent that this was to be a private dinner.

"I hope you're hungry," Bashir said merrily. "Unfortunately, I've been taking too many samples of the dishes I was replicating, so I probably won't be able to manage more than a plateful."

"Well in that case, I hope you'll save some room for this." Garak held out the small box he'd brought along, and Bashir took it with a grin.

"What's this?" He asked, opening the lid, then looked up at Garak questioningly.

"Well, they're supposed to be brownies, unless the replicators are malfunctioning. My sources tell me that among humans, they're a very popular dessert," Garak said with unnecessary mystique.

"Oh!" Bashir said, his face lighting up. "I haven't had brownies in ages!"

"I hope that isn't because they're your least favorite dessert."

"No, no, not at all!" Bashir's grin was huge, and it took a moment before he seemed to come to himself and put the box down on the table. "Well, shall we sit down?"

They moved to the table. Garak looked over the food laid out in front of him. "Is that Tojal? Well, we certainly had better get eating—it's no good when it's not fresh."

"Agreed."

For a few minutes they were unusually quiet, eating their Tojal. After a moment Garak paused and watched the doctor carefully.

"This was quite thoughtful of you, Doctor. I'm… still not exactly sure what the occasion must be, but the Tojal is quite good."

Bashir set down his utensil. "Do I need a reason to invite a good friend to dinner?"

"I suppose not," Garak said pleasantly, taking a moment to dish up a bit of fruit salad for himself. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"And what's that?" Bashir asked, folding his hands and resting his chin on them.

"You've had some experience with young women. How would you suggest I go about making it clear to Ziyal that friendship is all I'm interested in?"

"Are her hints getting more blatant?" Bashir smiled into his hands.

"Well, I wouldn't say that—it's more a matter of realizing that no matter how many times I try to gently insist that she can't possibly want such a relationship with me, she remains quite persistent. She's convinced I'm about as perfect a man as ever breathed—except perhaps her father, I suppose." Garak took a sip of spring wine, his eyebrows raised in an uneasy look.

Bashir laughed, shaking his head at the ceiling. "I dunno, Garak. You may have to force the issue."

"And how would you suggest I do that, Doctor?"

"Well… maybe you need to prove you're not interested by… I dunno. Maybe you could try dating someone you are actually attracted to."

"A much preferable alternative to someone I don't find attractive, I'm sure, but I'm, ah… not sure that's a good idea," Garak said, clearing his throat and helping himself to more fruit salad. "In fact, I'm not sure I can say I've ever actually dated anyone."

"Oh, come on," Bashir coaxed him. "There must be at least one person on this station you find irresistible?"

"Well, I suppose I… could come up with at least one." Garak trained his concentration on a particularly slippery berry which was eluding his fork.

"So, why don't you approach her?"

"Doctor, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm not the most popular person living on this station. Just by virtue of being Cardassian, I'm faced with very unlikely odds that anyone would find me particularly desirable in that regard. Besides… I live for my work. Pursuing a romance seems a bit irresponsible for someone like me, don't you think?"

"Oh yes," Bashir said. "The unpredictable and dangerous life of a tailor."

"Oh you'd be surprised how often I receive death threats from my customers, not to mention the wounds I've sustained from faulty sewing equipment!"

Garak ate the last of his Tojal and set his utensil aside.

"Well," said Bashir. "Shall we break into the brownies?"

Several minutes later, Bashir excused himself for a moment—probably headed to the bathroom—and Garak found himself alone, meditating on the way Bashir had been looking at him over the table. Was he just imagining things? Up until recently, he'd assumed that Bashir knew, on some subconscious level at least, of his attraction to him, but they'd never discussed it before. Garak didn't want to start now, but if Bashir did know, it was a bit cruel of him to tease like this.

Bashir came back and broke into his reverie. "You know, I've been thinking… have I ever actually asked you your opinion on the occupation of Bajor?"

"Well we have discussed various aspects of the occupation," Garak said, a bit taken aback by the out-of-the-blue question.

Bashir sat down beside him on the sofa. "Do you think the Cardassians really believed they were imposing order on a chaotic world—and that they were doing the Bajorans a favor?"

"If you're asking me to generalize, Doctor, I'm afraid I can't. For every Gul or Legate who had a vision of a new Bajor in harmony with Cardassia, there was no doubt a Gul Dukat who had lost sight of any higher cause in the pursuit of fame and pleasure." Garak's voice got a little sour at the mention of Dukat's name, as always. He sighed. "And for both, I'm afraid the worth of Bajoran lives only lessened as the years went on."

"Some Cardassians say that if it weren't for the resistance, the occupation would have been peaceful and would have benefited both worlds. If that had happened, do you think the occupation would have been justified?"

"Would there have been anything that needed to be justified?" Garak asked.

"Well, the Bajorans could still say you had no right to impose your idea of order on their culture. They certainly insisted on that, even after engaging in terrorist action. I can see how that would be seen as a bit ironic—insisting they don't need help establishing order, while creating chaos all around them."

Garak was silent for a moment. Bashir was no stranger to playing devil's advocate in their discussions, but this was something he had never approached before. "I assume you aren't really implying that the Bajoran resistance was futile. After all, Bajor is free and independent now because of those terrorist actions."

"Oh, not at all… they certainly got what they wanted." Bashir leaned into the couch, slinging his arms over the back. "But I suppose I'm just exploring the possibility that the Cardassian occupation could have been a good thing if the Bajorans hadn't resisted violently."

"Well, I wouldn't express that where any Bajorans can hear you," Garak said in a low tone. "Or Federation officers for that matter."

"I never said it was my opinion, Garak," Bashir smirked. "I'm just trying to examine the possibilities from a dispassionate historical perspective."

"I never said it was mine, either. But yes… a dispassionate historical perspective. Well, you're doing a better job of it than the people at that conference I went to on Bajor, that's for certain," Garak lifted his almost-empty glass of spring wine to Bashir, draining the last from the bottom. "I've always thought you were unusually open-minded for someone from the Federation."

Bashir looked gratified. "Well! I guess I'll take that as a compliment!"

As Garak sat back against the couch, he became suddenly aware that he had leaned back into Bashir's arm, and the doctor's hand was resting on his shoulder again. He glanced sideways at the doctor, who was looking at the opposite wall, then looked away, trying to relax.

A few seconds ticked by in silence, and Garak cleared his throat.

"Doctor, I'm afraid my knowledge of human culture is still lacking in certain areas."

"Oh?"

"Yes. How much physical contact do friends normally engage in?"

Bashir turned toward Garak and began to withdraw his arm. "I'm sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable? I suppose Cardassians aren't particularly touchy-feely people."

"Oh no, you haven't made me feel uncomfortable," Garak said lightly, and Bashir put his hand back where it was. "I simply wanted to make sure I wasn't missing some sort of cue." He found himself rubbing his thumbs against the wineglass. More fidgeting. He stopped.

Bashir was silent for a moment, then slowly withdrew his arm again. "I guess I didn't think about it. Miles puts his arm around my shoulders all the time, we clap each other on the back, that sort of thing." He paused, momentarily subdued. "I suppose I thought… well, since you're my friend as well, it's not strange to act the same with you."

Garak stared at Bashir, and after a moment allowed a small smile to show. "Well, in that case… no harm done."

...

Garak inspected the Favinit plant Mrs. O'Brien had handed him. Its lavender star-shaped flowers were crisp and healthy.

"It's lovely," he said, nodding his approval. "I appreciate you taking the time to order it for me."

"Oh don't mention it," she said, waving a hand. "I had no idea you used to be a gardener. Do you have a favorite plant?"

"Mm," Garak raised his eyebrows at the plant, turning it to get a view of it all the way around. "I used to grow Edosian Orchids—quite a challenge in Cardassia's climate."

"Oh wow, I didn't even know it was possible to grow orchids on Cardassia. You must have been some gardener!"

"You're very kind. Congratulations again on the birth of your child."

The plant was for Bashir, but as far as Mrs. O'Brien knew, Garak just wanted something to brighten up his quarters. Him and Bashir were meeting later that night—another dinner. It had been about ten days since their last one.

Before he knew it, the time had arrived. He took the plant off the table in his shop where he'd been sneaking glances at it all day, and headed to Bashir's quarters.

He spent a long, anxious few seconds waiting after ringing the door chime, but then the doctor appeared, and his face lit up with surprise when he saw Garak holding his gift.

"Is that for me?" he asked.

"No, I'm just bringing it along to keep me company."

Bashir grinned. "Very funny, Garak." He reached for the plant. "Well, I hope I can keep it alive—I don't know if Keiko's forgiven me yet for killing her bonsai trees. What is it?"

"It's a Favinit plant. They originated on Vulcan, so they're quite hardy—hopefully, that means it will be less likely to die."

"I'll try my best, then. I have to say though, I'm a little surprised—is there a specific reason you're giving this to me?"

"A few, actually." Garak took a few steps further into Bashir's quarters while Bashir found a spot for the gift. He felt distinctly aware of his own cautious posture and told himself to relax, but it was difficult.

Bashir turned to give Garak his full attention once a few seconds of expectant silence had passed. "Alright, what are they?"

"Well, first of all," Garak began, forcing himself to look Bashir in the eye, "I wanted to give you something to thank you for being such an excellent friend and conversation partner."

"Ah, you didn't have to do that. I enjoy our conversations too—very few people actually like hearing me talk for an hour straight." Bashir had that self-conscious smile on his face.

Garak only paused for a moment, aware that he was being unusually serious. "I also wanted to thank you for giving me a second chance… after what I tried to do."

Bashir blinked at him for a moment and then gave a tiny shrug. "Well… who am I to let political differences get in the way of our friendship?"

This last one wasn't going to get any easier.

"Now come on, sit down. I hope you like hasperat."

"Ah-not yet, Doctor, I'm… not finished."

Bashir turned around in the middle of pulling out a chair for Garak. He gave Garak a long, thoughtful look. "Alright, I'm listening."

Garak drew a slow breath, thinking. "I'm not sure if you're aware of this, and if you aren't, I hope you'll forgive me for jumping to conclusions." Already, his eyes were beginning to wander uncomfortably all around the room. "You see, I… have always thought you were a particularly attractive person, but I could see your interests were… elsewhere."

It was ironic, how his heart was beating faster, as if his life were in danger. But there was nothing to be afraid of, of course. He took a quick glance at Bashir's face—it was impassive, listening, perhaps even curious, and so Garak went on.

"It's been five years since I first approached you at the replemat, and from all I've observed during that time, you have no interest in me as anything other than what we've always been—conversation partners, certainly, and perhaps even friends…."

"Are you saying you do want to be in a relationship with me?" Bashir's brow had furrowed and he was looking at Garak intently.

"Don't misunderstand me, Doctor, I'm proposing nothing of the sort!" Garak said, looking very amused. "It's just that lately, you seem to be much more comfortable with moving toward the possibility of something like that, and I want to stop tiptoeing around the issue and find out what your intentions are."

"I thought you enjoyed a little mystery," Bashir smirked.

"Oh. I see," Garak said softly, pulling his head back dramatically. "Is this revenge?"

"Revenge?" Confusion wiped the smirk off Bashir's face in an instant. "What do you mean?"

"You're aware of my—a-attraction to you…." It was so strange to say it out loud. "And you're using it to manipulate me." Garak's eyes widened. "Perhaps I've taught you too well!"

"Wait—Garak, I'm sorry." Bashir was suddenly floundering. "This isn't revenge! Why would I have any reason to manipulate you? I like you!"

Garak looked at him narrowly.

"Look," Bashir said, stepping closer to Garak. Garak stood his ground, stiffly, and allowed him to approach. When Bashir spoke, it was in that peculiarly soft tone. "Garak. After five years… I suppose I've had plenty of time to become aware of your feelings. Now I may not understand them, but I do value our relationship. Maybe…."

"Yes?" Garak prompted curiously.

"Maybe," Bashir said, taking a deep breath and looking up at Garak. "Maybe I could try giving it a chance, if that's what you'd like."

"Giving what a chance?" Garak asked cautiously.

"Well, this is awkward, isn't it?" Bashir blew out a sigh and grinned nervously, turning away and scratching his head before glancing back. "I guess I shouldn't jump to conclusions. After all, you do lead a dangerous life—perhaps, like all good spies, you have no serious interest in a lasting romance… at least not with me."

"Very clever, Doctor." Garak began to laugh. "You really are getting to be quite formidable. For a moment there, I almost believed you were serious!"

"Oh, I was being serious," Bashir said, folding his arms. "But if you're not interested, I guess there's nothing more to discuss."

Garak stared, waiting… waiting for Bashir to give some indication he was joking. But he could detect nothing in Bashir's eyes, which looked particularly large and absorbing at the moment.

"Forgive me if I find this a little startling, Doctor," Garak said. "But you have, to my knowledge, never shown this kind of interest in me before."

"Well, I suppose it's never too late to try something new. It may not work out, but I don't see any harm in exploring the possibility."

"This is quite unexpected," Garak said, baffled. "And a little hard to believe. You're actually suggesting we engage in some sort of… romance?"

"Well…." Bashir looked at him openly. "If it would make you happy. I am very fond of you, Garak. Is it so unnatural that I'd be willing to try exploring other possible aspects of our relationship, especially if I knew it would make your life a little more… full?"

"I suppose not," Garak said, but the idea was still foreign to his mind. He felt undoubtedly touched at the open expression of verbal affection, but he had never expected something like this.

"If there's anything I've learned in the last year," Bashir said quietly, "it's that your happiness is important to me. And if all it takes to make you really happy is something like this, then I'm happy to give it a try. Now, can we have dinner?" Bashir held out a hand.

Slowly, Garak lifted his own hand and let it rest in the doctor's gentle grip. Before he knew what was happening, Bashir had lifted it to his lips and briefly kissed Garak's fingers.

As he was led numbly to the table, Garak felt hyper aware of one very startling fact. Despite the undeniable truth that he found Bashir more attractive than ever, his instincts were not telling him to take the doctor's offer. If anything, they were warning him, but against what, he couldn't say.

...

He told the doctor he would think about it.

Think about it! Most people would be jumping at the chance to be with the handsome young doctor, but embarking on any sort of passionate romantic saga with Bashir was a fantasy Garak had never seriously considered as more than just that: a fantasy. In fact, he hadn't allowed the thought to really occur to him at all. Oh, he had always found the doctor attractive, but if he wasn't mistaken, their friendship had been a bit of a surprise to them both. Their boundaries had been reset during the incident with the wire, but they had been re-establishing a certain acceptable distance ever since.

They had separate loyalties, separate agendas, and although Garak admitted Bashir's companionship was currently essential to his happiness, the thought of beginning such an affair was disorienting at best, terrifying at worst. Garak had little experience with committed relationships, but what he had experienced was tainted strongly by the disastrous consequences of his last and only attempt. Life had never allowed him much chance to be openly involved with someone else. But this opportunity was being dropped in his lap, and though he could see no immediate danger, it was hard to overcome his conditioned cautiousness. He wasn't even sure he should try.

The rest of the dinner hadn't been too unbearably awkward. Bashir talked about the O'Briens and their new baby, and how Major Kira had reluctantly moved back into her own quarters. They discussed the infant Changeling that Odo had tried to save, and debated whether the Founders' "no Changeling has ever harmed another" law was hypocritical in light of the way they had sent their own helpless infants into hostile space without any protection. By the end of it, Garak had relaxed a little.

For the next few days, he could barely concentrate at work. Then, at breakfast with Ziyal one day, she caught him staring as Bashir walked by.

"Garak? Did you hear what I said?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm sorry, my dear. I'm feeling unusually distracted today."

"I can tell," she said. "You're not sick, are you? Or having those headaches again?"

"Oh no, nothing like that." Garak hesitated, sensing the opportunity he'd been waiting for. "I wonder if you could give me some advice, Ziyal."

She looked a bit surprised. "Well—I don't know, but I'll do whatever I can to help. What is it?"

Garak lowered his voice to a half-whisper, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard. "It's Doctor Bashir. He's been acting… unusual, lately."

"How so?"

"He's been inviting me to his quarters for private dinners, sometimes more than once a week, and last time I was there," Garak slowed his voice dramatically, "he kissed my hand."

Ziyal stared at him. "I… well… are you sure he's himself?"

"He seems perfectly healthy, and otherwise normal in every way!"

"Perhaps you should talk to Captain Sisko," said Ziyal.

"Oh, I think that would be a bit of an overreaction," Garak said, still in an undertone. He looked around him again and then met Ziyal's eyes. "There's something I need to tell you… but you have to swear to me not to tell anyone. Not even Major Kira."

Ziyal nodded. "Of course."

He took her hand gently. "Doctor Bashir is a very important person to me, Ziyal," he whispered. "When I was exiled here, on the station, I… never thought I would have a real friend again, much less someone I could trust with some of my innermost weaknesses." He surprised himself with the sadness in his own voice. "When I met Doctor Bashir, I was instantly attracted to him—but I never expected to get so close to him as I have. He has been the only person here, until you came along, that showed me real compassion."

He could see the sadness creeping into Ziyal's face, but he wasn't sure if it was because she knew where this was going, or because she was empathizing with his loneliness.

"I have always been more than happy to remain his friend, especially since so often, even our lunches together seemed so easily jeopardized. I knew he wasn't interested in reciprocating any advances I might have made. Besides, I told myself…" Garak's voice slowed again, becoming agitated. "It was best not to get too attached. I still wanted to go back to Cardassia! I was still waiting, biding my time for an opportunity to carve out a place for myself again, and go back to my old life—under Tain."

"And now?" Ziyal asked in a faint voice.

Garak patted her hand softly, not looking at her face. "Whatever I might have once been, Cardassia has little use for me now. The entire time I was in that cell, I kept thinking to myself—what now? I don't have any direction, anything solid to work toward. Maybe it's time I recognize the fact that this is my home—and maybe the reason I'm afraid of accepting the doctor's… acceptance of my feelings… is that I don't want to move on and allow myself to admit that I'm never going back. This is my life now—here, this station, these… people that I know, the very, very few who actually enjoy my company!"

Ziyal was silent. Garak listened to the footsteps of people passing the replemat, barely processing the sounds of their conversations.

After a long moment, Ziyal withdrew her hand from under Garak's. He looked up; she seemed surprisingly calm.

"I'm sorry," Garak said softly. "I know what it is to be alone, and I don't want to stop seeing you. I just can't seem to decide what to do."

"If you really love Doctor Bashir, you should be with him," Ziyal said simply, studying her own hands on the table.

"You deserve a much better man than I can ever be," Garak said quietly, smiling sadly at her. "But I'm still not sure why Doctor Bashir would suddenly be willing to have that kind of relationship with me, when all this time he has clearly not been interested!"

Ziyal began to blink at the table, and then forced a smile at him. "I don't know, but… if the same thing happened to me, I wouldn't question it. It would be an answer to my prayers."

Garak could only sit there as she rose suddenly from the table, murmuring something about how she had to go. He gave a deep and heavy sigh. Far from becoming clear, the situation seemed more muddled than ever.