IV. The Die Is Cast
There weren't many visitors that were granted immediate access to the head of the Obsidian Order, and certainly no one who wasn't Cardassian. Still, his faithful housekeeper Mila did not blink when she was confronted with the human young man who gave her a nervous, charming smile.
"He's been expecting you," she said simply, and invited him in. "I'll prepare some Tarkelian tea, yes?" she added, and withdrew.
Julian Bashir wasn't surprised to discover that the house on Cardassia Prime resembled Tain's retirement home on the Aeroth Colony; friendly, bright colours and furniture that spoke of a comfortable living but no too suspicious wealth. The only difference he could detect were some drawings that looked vaguely Bajoran.
"Do you like them?" asked the new head of the Obsidian Order. "I hoped you would, Doctor. I missed our discussions about art, you know."
Bashir looked at his host. Garak hadn't changed since the day he left DS9 with no luggage but some Delvian chocolates. Same civilian clothing, decidedly nothing military about him, same black hair almost at shoulder length, same amused expression as if he knew the universe was a joke, but decided to play along anyway.
"I missed them, too," Bashir answered, which was true. "Frankly, Garak, I missed you."
He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw something flickering in Garak's eyes.
"That's... very flattering, Doctor," Garak said, and made a motion inviting Bashir to sit down on one of the chairs standing there. They were made of triangular forms, which given the Cardassian fondness for this particular geometrical structure wasn't surprising. "Given the manner of my departure, I didn't think you would."
Mila returned with the tea and an actual human-style tea pot and cups. It reminded Bashir of the occasional afternoon with the O'Briens, when Keiko had brought out the Japanese dishes she explained couldn't be matched by any recycled items. Not that he had seen Miles and his family in recent years. O'Brien had made his disapproval for Bashir's choices more than clear.
After she had poured tea for both of them and had left again, Bashir said:
"What, because you took your chance and returned to your people? I never expected you to do anything else. I have to admit I was shocked about what your fleet did to the Founders, but that was Tain's decision, wasn't it? And you explained Cardassian hierarchy to me well enough for me to understand that he would have killed you if you had gone up against him."
He sipped something of the tea, which was just right, with the sweetness balanced perfectly by the intense flavour of the Tarkelian leaves.
"Kira and the others are another matter, of course," he added quietly. "They might agree that the Dominion would have invaded the Alpha Quadrant otherwise, but they'll never be able to forget that stopping it cost Odo's life."
Garak said, full of sincere regret: "I would have saved him if I could have. But after Tain had found out that his original Romulan ally had actually been a Founder, he wasn't taking any more chances. He ordered Odo's execution on the spot, before he even had his first conversation with me."
They sat in silence for a while, while Garak drank his tea as well. When he had finished, Bashir took the pot and refilled his cup, with the careful, elegant movements he had practised for quite some time.
"You're quite good at that," Garak said.
"Mrs O'Brien taught me," Bashir replied. "Before she and the Chief left the station, of course."
"Did they really?" Garak said, eyes widened in what was surely faked surprise. Given how the Order prided itself on thoroughness, Bashir was quite certain Garak had known about this already.
"With the Cardassian Empire stretching out in the Gamma Quadrant, Miles felt DS9 wasn't a safe place for his family anymore. Jake's back on Earth, too, with his grandfather."
Garak clicked his tongue.
"Paranoia is such a nasty habit."
"Isn't it," Bashir said drily, and Garak laughed.
"That's why you're here," he said, sounding glad and relieved at the same time. "You really haven't changed, Doctor. It is something of a relief, to tell you the truth. I do like my universe to have some constants. No doubt when you're eighty you'll still try to play secret agent, investigating potential villains in their lair."
"No, Garak," Bashir murmured, leaning back in his chair, tea cup in his hands, and feeling the triangular shape pressing into his back, "I stopped thinking of you as a potential villain quite some time ago."
"So why did you come?" Garak asked, after he had joined Bashir in sipping some more tea. His voice definitely had a teasing undertone now.
Bashir held out his right hand over the short table between them. After a moment of hesitation, Garak took it. With his fingers touching Garak's wrist, Bashir could feel his pulse.
"Because I want you to forgive me," he said, as Garak had done, once upon a time. Garak recognised the quote immediately. He did not move, but the pulse under Bashir's fingertips quickened, which meant the poison would reach his heart even faster.
"I finally learned your lesson," Bashir said. "Section 31 recruited me after your people wiped out the Maquis with the biogenetic weapons left by the Founders. Your people, Garak, not Tain's. He was already dead by then. That was when I finally understood, and I promised to do whatever it takes to stop you."
He knew he would die as well, and that was only fitting. There was nothing left of Julian Bashir now. Jules might have died when his parents took him to be redesigned in the image they craved, but Julian died when watching the incoming Maquis die of the Quickening because they had refused to leave the Demilitarised Zone. Julian had died when trying to find a cure, and failing, and knowing that he could have stopped this from ever happening if he hadn't saved Garak's life after the implant had failed. What was left walking and talking and taking death back to death's favourite blue-eyed boy wasn't Julian Bashir; it was his ghost.
The poison was designed to paralyse Garak's nervous system as quickly as possible, so he wouldn't be able to cry out. Or speak, for that matter. Nonetheless Bashir couldn't keep himself from repeating:
"I want you to forgive me. I need to know that someone forgives me."
Garak's hand grasped his and did not let go. It might have been a death reflex; Bashir couldn't tell. He only knew that he wouldn't have withdrawn even if he could have. So he kept sitting with Garak long after Garak's body had slackened, and the tea had grown irrevocably cold.
There weren't many visitors that were granted immediate access to the head of the Obsidian Order, and certainly no one who wasn't Cardassian. Still, his faithful housekeeper Mila did not blink when she was confronted with the human young man who gave her a nervous, charming smile.
"He's been expecting you," she said simply, and invited him in. "I'll prepare some Tarkelian tea, yes?" she added, and withdrew.
Julian Bashir wasn't surprised to discover that the house on Cardassia Prime resembled Tain's retirement home on the Aeroth Colony; friendly, bright colours and furniture that spoke of a comfortable living but no too suspicious wealth. The only difference he could detect were some drawings that looked vaguely Bajoran.
"Do you like them?" asked the new head of the Obsidian Order. "I hoped you would, Doctor. I missed our discussions about art, you know."
Bashir looked at his host. Garak hadn't changed since the day he left DS9 with no luggage but some Delvian chocolates. Same civilian clothing, decidedly nothing military about him, same black hair almost at shoulder length, same amused expression as if he knew the universe was a joke, but decided to play along anyway.
"I missed them, too," Bashir answered, which was true. "Frankly, Garak, I missed you."
He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw something flickering in Garak's eyes.
"That's... very flattering, Doctor," Garak said, and made a motion inviting Bashir to sit down on one of the chairs standing there. They were made of triangular forms, which given the Cardassian fondness for this particular geometrical structure wasn't surprising. "Given the manner of my departure, I didn't think you would."
Mila returned with the tea and an actual human-style tea pot and cups. It reminded Bashir of the occasional afternoon with the O'Briens, when Keiko had brought out the Japanese dishes she explained couldn't be matched by any recycled items. Not that he had seen Miles and his family in recent years. O'Brien had made his disapproval for Bashir's choices more than clear.
After she had poured tea for both of them and had left again, Bashir said:
"What, because you took your chance and returned to your people? I never expected you to do anything else. I have to admit I was shocked about what your fleet did to the Founders, but that was Tain's decision, wasn't it? And you explained Cardassian hierarchy to me well enough for me to understand that he would have killed you if you had gone up against him."
He sipped something of the tea, which was just right, with the sweetness balanced perfectly by the intense flavour of the Tarkelian leaves.
"Kira and the others are another matter, of course," he added quietly. "They might agree that the Dominion would have invaded the Alpha Quadrant otherwise, but they'll never be able to forget that stopping it cost Odo's life."
Garak said, full of sincere regret: "I would have saved him if I could have. But after Tain had found out that his original Romulan ally had actually been a Founder, he wasn't taking any more chances. He ordered Odo's execution on the spot, before he even had his first conversation with me."
They sat in silence for a while, while Garak drank his tea as well. When he had finished, Bashir took the pot and refilled his cup, with the careful, elegant movements he had practised for quite some time.
"You're quite good at that," Garak said.
"Mrs O'Brien taught me," Bashir replied. "Before she and the Chief left the station, of course."
"Did they really?" Garak said, eyes widened in what was surely faked surprise. Given how the Order prided itself on thoroughness, Bashir was quite certain Garak had known about this already.
"With the Cardassian Empire stretching out in the Gamma Quadrant, Miles felt DS9 wasn't a safe place for his family anymore. Jake's back on Earth, too, with his grandfather."
Garak clicked his tongue.
"Paranoia is such a nasty habit."
"Isn't it," Bashir said drily, and Garak laughed.
"That's why you're here," he said, sounding glad and relieved at the same time. "You really haven't changed, Doctor. It is something of a relief, to tell you the truth. I do like my universe to have some constants. No doubt when you're eighty you'll still try to play secret agent, investigating potential villains in their lair."
"No, Garak," Bashir murmured, leaning back in his chair, tea cup in his hands, and feeling the triangular shape pressing into his back, "I stopped thinking of you as a potential villain quite some time ago."
"So why did you come?" Garak asked, after he had joined Bashir in sipping some more tea. His voice definitely had a teasing undertone now.
Bashir held out his right hand over the short table between them. After a moment of hesitation, Garak took it. With his fingers touching Garak's wrist, Bashir could feel his pulse.
"Because I want you to forgive me," he said, as Garak had done, once upon a time. Garak recognised the quote immediately. He did not move, but the pulse under Bashir's fingertips quickened, which meant the poison would reach his heart even faster.
"I finally learned your lesson," Bashir said. "Section 31 recruited me after your people wiped out the Maquis with the biogenetic weapons left by the Founders. Your people, Garak, not Tain's. He was already dead by then. That was when I finally understood, and I promised to do whatever it takes to stop you."
He knew he would die as well, and that was only fitting. There was nothing left of Julian Bashir now. Jules might have died when his parents took him to be redesigned in the image they craved, but Julian died when watching the incoming Maquis die of the Quickening because they had refused to leave the Demilitarised Zone. Julian had died when trying to find a cure, and failing, and knowing that he could have stopped this from ever happening if he hadn't saved Garak's life after the implant had failed. What was left walking and talking and taking death back to death's favourite blue-eyed boy wasn't Julian Bashir; it was his ghost.
The poison was designed to paralyse Garak's nervous system as quickly as possible, so he wouldn't be able to cry out. Or speak, for that matter. Nonetheless Bashir couldn't keep himself from repeating:
"I want you to forgive me. I need to know that someone forgives me."
Garak's hand grasped his and did not let go. It might have been a death reflex; Bashir couldn't tell. He only knew that he wouldn't have withdrawn even if he could have. So he kept sitting with Garak long after Garak's body had slackened, and the tea had grown irrevocably cold.