The morning hadn't turned out the way he expected. Garak had been looking forward to showing off his latest gown to one of those busty Dabo girls who liked to spend her entire paycheck on clothing. (At the rate they visited his shop, he would have a sizeable nest egg in no time.)
Instead, he was nursing a sore cheek and lip where the major had struck him. It was a pale comparison to the pain he felt elsewhere.
His alter ego, that seemingly untouchable source of pride, had finally been exposed and thoroughly rejected. That in itself didn't surprise him; he fully expected a Bajoran to reject him considering he was a Cardassian. Now the moment was here.
Although the major was only one Bajoran, he still sensed it was the end of the line for his alter ego. He had hoped Aeroin Primm could have lived for a little while longer.
In his hand was a data rod from Gul Dukat. He exhaled at the thought of that epic failure of an officer. He certainly knew how to destroy everything good, for himself and everyone else.
He inserted the rod into the computer and instructed it to open its contents. It was a text document. A short series of words that made him clench his fist and grit his teeth.
Is it lonely in your exile yet?
Serves you right.
Pray your silly doctor doesn't find out, Primm.
- D.
He wasted an entire data rod just to gloat? He removed it from the console and slid it into his pocket. He would have to destroy it later. It would do no good for some snoop to discover it and air his dirty laundry to the rest of the station.
It was lunch time, and the smells from the eateries were wafting throughout the station. He hadn't eaten since lunchtime yesterday, so the smells and hunger was gnawing at his belly.
He locked up his shop and passed by Bajorans who were doing the same. Normally he would try to strike a small conversation on his way to the replimat. They were always polite, basic and shallow pleasantries lacking substance. But he didn't feel like speaking to them. He felt exposed and naked despite his layers of well-sewn clothing.
The Occupation was still too fresh for Bajorans to simply accept him with open arms. That was why he had sought Bashir. He was intelligent and could carry a good conversation. He was the closest thing he could call friend.
He was supposed to meet Bashir for lunch, but he saw the table where they met was unoccupied. He wondered if the doctor had discovered his secret and wanted to express his disapproval. Would this mark the end of their friendship now? The top brass was very careful about who they chose to associate with, just like Cardassians did.
He tapped the back of the empty chair. No use standing around, taking up space. He could either sit and order something to eat, or go hungry. The latter did sound appealing.
Cardassian males got bigger as they aged. Not just fatter, but their bones thickened and widened, too. By the time they were middle-aged, they lost their attractiveness to all females outside their own species.
A few Cardassians learned to counteract the effects of age by regularly skipping their meals. The result was less energy but the payout was a thin frame, delayed aging and preserved attractiveness.
Sometimes Garak took it too far: if he went too long without eating, he got tired. If he was too tired, he wanted to sleep, not eat. Then a vicious, lethargic cycle would start until he forced himself to eat. And then he would begin to worry while standing in front of his tall shop mirror, whether his bones were getting bigger.
Bashir had formed his own opinions about that method, which was why he pushed Garak to eat lunch with him more often and brought him sweet foods like chocolate.
'You should be fifty percent larger than you are,' he would say, followed with some variation of 'How long are you going to starve yourself?' and 'So how much do you weigh today?'
It really wasn't starvation, Garak would retort. He compared just fine with other humanoids.
'Not for a Cardassian male! You are too small!' And the argument would repeat over and over again until the meal arrived or until Garak managed to distract the doctor with another topic.
As much as he disliked the threat regular lunches brought to his physique and the doctor's constant hen-pecking, he loved the conversations. It kept the loneliness at bay.
Well, he may as well take the opportunity as it presented itself. A fast and a walk along the promenade would do him good.