II. Dr. Bashir, I presume?
It wasn't too difficult to let himself into Bashir's quarters. He had done it before. You'd think the good doctor would have had the entry code changed after that, but no. How fortunate that Garak wasn't given to overinterpreting certain gestures.
Bashir sat on the floor, knees drawn up, dark head buried in his arms. When Garak entered, he looked up. "Not you, too," he said listlessly. "How did you find out already?"
Garak went to him and sat down beside him. "Now I'm trying to decide whether I should be insulted that you don't want my company, or that you underestimate my capabilities. After all, Dr. Zimmerman is hardly the most discreet of individuals."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Bashir managed to look just the slightest bit embarrassed. It emphasized his youth, though Garak hoped the doctor would never lose the ability to blush. It suited him too well.
"It's not that," Bashir protested. "I... Garak, it's all true. What Zimmerman said. And don't give me that speech about my inner worth, Miles already did that."
"I do pride myself too much on being original to imitate the chief, Doctor."
"Doctor. That's a laugh. I won't be for much longer. I don't know how they handle genetically enhanced people on Cardassia, Garak, but they're not allowed to serve in Starfleet. Or to be doctors, at all, in the entire Federation."
"And here I thought I was supposed to be the one coming from an intolerant, ideological society," Garak observed mildly. With interest he noted that Bashir flushed again. For a quite different reason, it seemed, for as the young man rose, anger laced his voice.
"I'm not up to trading witticisms while my life falls apart," he said. "Go away."
Garak remained where he was, on the ground. Federation quarters were so impersonal, he thought; you could count the items in this room which made it Julian Bashir's instead of a random other officer's on two hands. Well, it wasn't as if Bashir would have to endure these sterile, unimaginative boxes for much longer.
"You forget, Doctor... Julian," he amended, when Bashir flinched at the title, "I am quite the expert at what to do when one's life falls apart. I doubt any of your colleagues has the same experience."
And this is what it comes down to, he thought, when Bashir slowly, hesitatingly sat down again. They won't be able to help you, none of them. I wouldn't be surprised if Sisko weren't the tiniest bit offended himself. He takes being deceived rather personally, does the good Captain, especially after being made a fool of by Eddington. As for Dax, she might have falsified your records herself; she's quite capable of that. But it's too late now, and she's no longer a legendary figure Federation officials would listen to. The Chief might rail at the injustice of it all to everyone who'll listen, and who knows, he might even shed a manly tear for you. But he won't be able to help you. Only I can do that.
"I'm sorry," Bashir said. "I know you mean well. But I can't let you do anything..."
"Oh, I'm not going to kill Zimmerman for you," Garak said pleasantly. "Really, try to wipe out one's enemy in advance and one's reputation is shot to pieces."
Bashir shook his head. "You would have committed genocide," he replied, "if Worf hadn't stopped you."
And that was when something else had stopped as well, hadn't it? Bashir had visited him during the ridiculously short time the Federation had seen it fit to confine Garak for attempting something most of the brass undoubtedly wished could have succeeded. But afterwards, their daily lunches had become weekly again, and then twice a month. Judging by the amount of time Bashir spent in the holosuites with O'Brien, it wasn't because the doctor suddenly lacked spare time.
"I would have saved my world, and yours," Garak said, "but that is neither here nor there. Believe it or not, Julian, I was only going to offer my advice on how to deal with exile and a change of profession."
Bashir sighed. "Sorry," he said again. "I guess we really are in the same boat now, you and I, aren't we?"
Garak put a hand on his shoulder, and felt Bashir lean into his touch just the tiniest bit.
"Yes, we are," he returned. "And why not make that literally?"
For a while, Bashir said nothing, which hardly ever happened. You could see something struggling and breaking behind his eyes, though, racing for alternatives and finding all alleys of escape closed. The Federation law concerning genetic enhancements offered no loop hole; Garak had familiarized himself with it quite thoroughly. If necessary, he was prepared to point out what had happened to those genetically enhanced children who, as opposed to Bashir, were found out. It was what made this entire gamble so very risky. After all, he did not want Bashir to end up tranquillized in some cross between clinic and prison.
"Julian," Garak said, offering a bridge to save Bashir's pride, "you know how I hate life on this station. Admittedly, since Dukat has made my return to Cardassia quite impossible for as long as the Dominion is still around, I have no realistic prospect of ever going home, but then again, there are still a lot of areas to explore left in space. Entire races, dare I say, who would welcome a doctor without asking for any Federation licences. Who knows, they might even offer acceptable lunch meals."
This earned him the ghost of a smile.
"I suppose it would still be frontier medicine," Bashir finally said, and once again, struggled to stand up. He held a hand out to Garak.
"Thank you," he added, and while he started to pack and Garak elaborated on the kind of transports they could take before the day was over, the Cardassian knew it had been worth it. He had started to investigate Bashir's past ages ago, when the Doctor first ceased to be an entertaining diversion and become a daily fixture; of course he had never mentioned what he had found out to anyone, least of all Bashir.
But there was only so much to occupy one's time with if one was confined to Constable Odo's holding cells, or to waiting for hours until certain people deigned to show up after their dart board games, if they didn't forget altogether. When he had heard about the Federation's plans to create a new long term medical hologram, one modelled on a living doctor, he had seen his chance. Planting a campaign for Bashir had been easy, so very easy. Zimmerman, thankfully, had done the rest.
This was the end of his exile on Terok Nor then, and he would not miss the place one bit. The only person he would miss was Ziyal, and she was far better off without clinging on to her somewhat misguided affection. Her father had already presented her with a harsh dose of reality; she did not need to be disillusioned about him as well, as she inevitably would have been if Garak would ever permit her to get closer.
Bashir, now, Bashir was that rare thing, an idealist and a deceiver at the same time. He was worth a lifetime of study, and that was what they would get. Perhaps, at one future point, Garak would even tell him how this had come about.
Echoing his thoughts, Bashir suddenly stopped packing, looked straight at Garak and said:
"You've saved my life, you know."
"Yes," Garak replied. "I know."
It wasn't too difficult to let himself into Bashir's quarters. He had done it before. You'd think the good doctor would have had the entry code changed after that, but no. How fortunate that Garak wasn't given to overinterpreting certain gestures.
Bashir sat on the floor, knees drawn up, dark head buried in his arms. When Garak entered, he looked up. "Not you, too," he said listlessly. "How did you find out already?"
Garak went to him and sat down beside him. "Now I'm trying to decide whether I should be insulted that you don't want my company, or that you underestimate my capabilities. After all, Dr. Zimmerman is hardly the most discreet of individuals."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Bashir managed to look just the slightest bit embarrassed. It emphasized his youth, though Garak hoped the doctor would never lose the ability to blush. It suited him too well.
"It's not that," Bashir protested. "I... Garak, it's all true. What Zimmerman said. And don't give me that speech about my inner worth, Miles already did that."
"I do pride myself too much on being original to imitate the chief, Doctor."
"Doctor. That's a laugh. I won't be for much longer. I don't know how they handle genetically enhanced people on Cardassia, Garak, but they're not allowed to serve in Starfleet. Or to be doctors, at all, in the entire Federation."
"And here I thought I was supposed to be the one coming from an intolerant, ideological society," Garak observed mildly. With interest he noted that Bashir flushed again. For a quite different reason, it seemed, for as the young man rose, anger laced his voice.
"I'm not up to trading witticisms while my life falls apart," he said. "Go away."
Garak remained where he was, on the ground. Federation quarters were so impersonal, he thought; you could count the items in this room which made it Julian Bashir's instead of a random other officer's on two hands. Well, it wasn't as if Bashir would have to endure these sterile, unimaginative boxes for much longer.
"You forget, Doctor... Julian," he amended, when Bashir flinched at the title, "I am quite the expert at what to do when one's life falls apart. I doubt any of your colleagues has the same experience."
And this is what it comes down to, he thought, when Bashir slowly, hesitatingly sat down again. They won't be able to help you, none of them. I wouldn't be surprised if Sisko weren't the tiniest bit offended himself. He takes being deceived rather personally, does the good Captain, especially after being made a fool of by Eddington. As for Dax, she might have falsified your records herself; she's quite capable of that. But it's too late now, and she's no longer a legendary figure Federation officials would listen to. The Chief might rail at the injustice of it all to everyone who'll listen, and who knows, he might even shed a manly tear for you. But he won't be able to help you. Only I can do that.
"I'm sorry," Bashir said. "I know you mean well. But I can't let you do anything..."
"Oh, I'm not going to kill Zimmerman for you," Garak said pleasantly. "Really, try to wipe out one's enemy in advance and one's reputation is shot to pieces."
Bashir shook his head. "You would have committed genocide," he replied, "if Worf hadn't stopped you."
And that was when something else had stopped as well, hadn't it? Bashir had visited him during the ridiculously short time the Federation had seen it fit to confine Garak for attempting something most of the brass undoubtedly wished could have succeeded. But afterwards, their daily lunches had become weekly again, and then twice a month. Judging by the amount of time Bashir spent in the holosuites with O'Brien, it wasn't because the doctor suddenly lacked spare time.
"I would have saved my world, and yours," Garak said, "but that is neither here nor there. Believe it or not, Julian, I was only going to offer my advice on how to deal with exile and a change of profession."
Bashir sighed. "Sorry," he said again. "I guess we really are in the same boat now, you and I, aren't we?"
Garak put a hand on his shoulder, and felt Bashir lean into his touch just the tiniest bit.
"Yes, we are," he returned. "And why not make that literally?"
For a while, Bashir said nothing, which hardly ever happened. You could see something struggling and breaking behind his eyes, though, racing for alternatives and finding all alleys of escape closed. The Federation law concerning genetic enhancements offered no loop hole; Garak had familiarized himself with it quite thoroughly. If necessary, he was prepared to point out what had happened to those genetically enhanced children who, as opposed to Bashir, were found out. It was what made this entire gamble so very risky. After all, he did not want Bashir to end up tranquillized in some cross between clinic and prison.
"Julian," Garak said, offering a bridge to save Bashir's pride, "you know how I hate life on this station. Admittedly, since Dukat has made my return to Cardassia quite impossible for as long as the Dominion is still around, I have no realistic prospect of ever going home, but then again, there are still a lot of areas to explore left in space. Entire races, dare I say, who would welcome a doctor without asking for any Federation licences. Who knows, they might even offer acceptable lunch meals."
This earned him the ghost of a smile.
"I suppose it would still be frontier medicine," Bashir finally said, and once again, struggled to stand up. He held a hand out to Garak.
"Thank you," he added, and while he started to pack and Garak elaborated on the kind of transports they could take before the day was over, the Cardassian knew it had been worth it. He had started to investigate Bashir's past ages ago, when the Doctor first ceased to be an entertaining diversion and become a daily fixture; of course he had never mentioned what he had found out to anyone, least of all Bashir.
But there was only so much to occupy one's time with if one was confined to Constable Odo's holding cells, or to waiting for hours until certain people deigned to show up after their dart board games, if they didn't forget altogether. When he had heard about the Federation's plans to create a new long term medical hologram, one modelled on a living doctor, he had seen his chance. Planting a campaign for Bashir had been easy, so very easy. Zimmerman, thankfully, had done the rest.
This was the end of his exile on Terok Nor then, and he would not miss the place one bit. The only person he would miss was Ziyal, and she was far better off without clinging on to her somewhat misguided affection. Her father had already presented her with a harsh dose of reality; she did not need to be disillusioned about him as well, as she inevitably would have been if Garak would ever permit her to get closer.
Bashir, now, Bashir was that rare thing, an idealist and a deceiver at the same time. He was worth a lifetime of study, and that was what they would get. Perhaps, at one future point, Garak would even tell him how this had come about.
Echoing his thoughts, Bashir suddenly stopped packing, looked straight at Garak and said:
"You've saved my life, you know."
"Yes," Garak replied. "I know."