Garak had closed up after that; taking one of the datapadds and spending several hours flicking through some novels he had brought along to give to Bashir. Bashir spent the time working on his paper, 'The Development of Cardassian Medicine: An Application of Healing for Harming', trying not to draw Garak's ire when it became apparent that the Cardassian was annoyed for some unknown reason.
He had no idea how long he spent scribbling away at his notes. It must have been at least four hours; maybe longer; when he felt Garak slump sideways, landing in the space between Bashir and the wall.
Panicked, Bashir dropped the padd and rolled Garak onto his back, hands reaching to his throat. He was pale, his eyelids eerily dark, but there was a slow and relatively steadily pulse under Bashir's fingers.
"Garak." He shook his friend lightly. "Garak, wake up."
A hand lazily batted at him.
With a sigh, he rearranged the blankets again to fully cover his friend. He carefully tucked the edges in around the heavy form then reconsidered.
With some effort, he moved Garak again; not too much, just enough that his head was pillowed on Bashir's lap. Then the doctor rearranged the blankets again.
His lap was bound to be warmer than the pillow, and it meant he would know immediately if anything went wrong with his friend.
Softly, Bashir touched his finger to one scale on the exposed eye ridge. His friend's face screwed up slightly so he stopped, drawing his hand away again.
He'd held a snake as a child, the scales soft and warm. Garak's scales were cold on his fingers.
He went back to his padd, and wished that the Cardassians weren't so bloody secretive about their biology.
0
After an hour or so, Garak woke up. Bashir only realised when he rolled onto his back and looked up at the Human with a look caught between amusement and confusion.
"You fell asleep and wouldn't stir." Bashir said. He figured that was what Garak would want to know.
"I see." The Cardassian yawned into his fist. Bashir saw a wide expanse of white teeth for a second before he rolled away, back onto his side.
"Garak?"
"Yes, doctor?"
"You're sleeping a lot."
"I know. I'm trying to conserve energy." He sounded slightly annoyed at the chatter, which was exceedingly odd.
"Is that a conscious decision?"
"Does it matter? It is, and that is enough. Why ask if my motivation is biological or psychological when it is a irrelevant answer? I must try and conserve energy, so my motivation or lack thereof becomes a null point. Either way, I simply must."
"Don't get yourself upset over it, Garak." Bashir tried to soothe.
"Doctor, I'm not upset about it." Garak sighed. "I am simply trying to explain. You ask the wrong questions. Why not ask why I am conserving energy, when there is still plenty of food and water? Why not ask why I sleep instead on eating to compensate for the cold? There are a million questions, why ask the one which is irrelevant?"
Bashir thought abut it. "Because, that is the question I wanted to ask. I want to know how far you can push the demands of your body. I want to know how much control you can exert over your body before it decides to bypass your decisions and simply act."
Garak smiled nastily and tugged his hood over his face. "You'd be surprised, dear doctor, just how much."
"Garak?"
"No, I am not helping you anymore. You can think about it yourself."
"Tell me a story?"
The Cardassian rolled over again. Bashir got the feeling he could have sat up, but it meant abandoning his warm pillow. "What is it with you and stories?"
"It's not 'me and stories'," Bashir huffed. "I just like your stories. They're interesting and I like the way you tell them, even if I don't always agree with them. Like the one about Shel and Jurin."
"Hm." Garak smiled faintly. "All right. What sort of story?"
"A Cardassian fairy tale." Bashir replied promptly.
"Fairy tale?"
"You know... a made up story, a mythos, a magic story."
Garak blinked again.
"You don't have fairy tales, do you?"
"We have... stories about the Heibitians. We have tales of things that we are highly sceptical ever happened. You tell me a fairy tale first, then I might understand."
"All right." Bashir thought. He knew lots of fairy tales, but he didn't think that Garak would like any of them. "I don't think you'll like them."
"Well, pick one you like. I will even try to hold my remarks until you finish."
The Human grinned at that. "All right. How about, something with a dragon?"
"What is that?" There was a faint yawn at the end.
"A dragon is a... well it was a mythical creature. A giant lizard. The European cultures believed they were strong, stocky creatures with two or four legs and large bat wings that breathed fire and ate virgin maidens."
"Why virgins? Is it meant to be a statement about the desirability of virginity in young women? Why not virgin boys?"
"I don't know." Bashir said. "I suppose so. Virginity was prized in females, but men were expected to be virile and experienced."
"Bit hypocritical of them." Garak murmured.
"Yes, it was. Anyway, the Asian dragons were long and slender and graceful. They were gods and represented the power of the world. Dragons were revered by the Asian cultures. They had no wings, but they were believed to fly by magic. They often had magic pearls with unique powers."
"Why pearls?"
Bashir shrugged. "Don't know. I never made a study of Asian culture and history. Which do you want to hear about?"
"The European one. It sounds more interesting." Garak smiled smugly.
"Only because it ate virgin girls, I bet. Okay." He hummed. "How about the Great Wyrm?"
"Worm? You're meant to be telling me about dragons, not worms." Garak snapped.
"No, um, 'w', 'y', 'r', 'm'. It was the old English word for dragon."
"How absurd."
"Yes, well, do you want to hear the story or not?" Bashir tried Garak's own tactics to make the Cardassian be quiet.
"I suppose so." He shifted again and closed his eyes. "Continue then."
"Oh, I have permission now?" Bashir gave a wry smile. "All right, all right. A long time ago,"
"How long?"
"Garak! You said you wouldn't interrupt."
"Well, you should be more specific then. How long ago?"
"It's a fairy tale. Fairy tales don't give exact dates because they never really happened. Now be quiet."
"Fine."
"A long time ago, there was a kingdom, separated from the rest of the counties by a large river. The king had tried to build a bridge to connect his kingdom to the others, but he had been unsuccessful.
"One day, a wizard came to the king with a deal. He would build the king a bridge over the river, but the king would sacrifice the life of the first living creature who crossed the bridge to the wizard.
"The king agreed, and over night, the wizard created a great bridge to span from one bank to the other. The king was overjoyed and rushed out to see his new bridge.
"However, the king's son had been on the other side of the bank, completing trade for his father. He was surprised to see the bridge but; upon seeing his father on the other side; rushed forwards to meet him.
"The king panicked. Remembering his promise to the wizard, he knew he could not allow his son to cross the bridge. He whistled loudly and the boy's hound; hearing the king's call; raced ahead of its master and dashed over the bridge."
"That was quite quick thinking. For a human." Garak muttered.
"Oh hush you, just listen. The dog's throat was slit where it stood and the king explained his actions to his son. But the wizard was angry at being cheated of the king's son's life, and he argued that the king had changed the deal by calling his dog across. The king said that he had fulfilled the contract, irregardless of how it was done."
"The wizard grew terribly angry and he levelled a curse on kingdom, that great sorrow would fall across the land."
"That's a rather poor curse. If he was so great and mighty, why didn't he just kidnap the boy and kill him?"
"Because that wasn't his point. His point was, the king had found a way out of his deal."
"Sore loser."
"Garak, stop interrupting!" Bashir lightly bopped him on the head with the datapadd. "Just listen or I won't finish the story."
"So long as you promise not to assault me anymore."
"Oh, stop complaining. Anyway, the kingdom grew prosperous because of the bridge and the kingdom flourished until one day, the prince went to fish from the bridge.
"He caught no fish, but instead a strange, small, scaled creature. It was hideously ugly, but the prince was proud that he caught it and took it home.
"He showed it to his father. His father told him to throw it away and not bring home defects anymore. The prince was unhappy but did as his father asked and threw away the little ugly thing.
"But the wyrm did not die. It landed in the scrap heap and began to eat. It ate the leftovers and the scraps and it started to grow.
"Within a week, the castle's residents were aware of it; for it started to eat the chickens from the coops and the vegetables from the gardens. They hurled spears at it, but it simply curled up and they bounced off its thick scales. They hit it with swords and the men were snapped up by the starving beast."
"They should have used photon torpedoes." Garak said.
"They didn't have that sort of weaponry, Garak. This is from the middle ages on Earth, they had swords and spears. They didn't even have projectile guns. They had bows and arrows."
"How simplistic. Continue, doctor."
Bashir held his tongue and took a deep breath before continuing. "Eventually, they decided to feed the beast, to stop it from attacking the soldiers and the villagers. They fed it the daily milking from the castle cows and sheep from the flocks everyday."
"Every morning, the dragon would uncurl itself from the hill it lived on; wound about the base; and set off to the castle. At the castle it would drink two barrels of milk and eat a sheep and then go back to the hill. Every evening, it would do the same."
"Why didn't they kill it?"
"They couldn't work out how. Every time they attacked it, it would curl up and the weapons would bounce harmlessly off its scaly hide. If any man got too close, the wyrm would curl upon him then crush and devour him.
"Soon, it began to eat more. As it ate, it grew, and as it grew, it wanted more to eat. The country was falling into poverty as every scrap of food was fed to the hungry beast to stop it from attacking the people.
"The king made a decree. Whoever could destroy the beast and save the kingdom from ruin would be reward with his only daughter's hand in marriage and a hefty reward of gold."
"What if it was a woman? Or a homosexual man?"
"Oh for... Garak, in those times, women weren't considered capable of great deeds. Society was sexist, it was believed that a woman was only good for cooking, cleaning and bearing children. And being homosexual was simply unacceptable. It was considered a deviation and a sign of the devil."
"Hm. Some things are universal, I see."
"So, it was a perfectly acceptable reward and a very generous one. Men from all over the country; and in fact the known world; went in to fight the beast, and one by one, they fell to the dragon's fierce attacks."
"By now, the wyrm had grown so large it wrapped itself about its hill seven times, its body leaving deep grooves in the soil. Its great claws dug into the land, and its heavy head lay on the top of the hill, slitted red eyes watching the land about it. Its scales were so thick and large that it seemed that nothing would ever defeat the beast.
"But, there was a boy in the village who believed he knew how to defeat it. After watching his father's farm fail and his master's business collapse as people could no longer afford the metal worked goods of the blacksmith, he decided to go and fight the dragon.
"Unlike the others, he took no sword. Instead, he took with him armour that he had laboured over late at night in his master's smithy.
"He arrived at the hill at dawn, just before the beast would slither from the hill and set off to the castle. He put down his armour and carefully put it on, making sure that it was fitted just right.
"His armour was special. All over it were a multitude of blades and spikes, jutting out from all over the heavy metal. He was a walking array of spikes, deadly to the touch.
"The wyrm watched his approach and uncurled from the hill. He walked onwards, until the dragon fell upon him and curled its body about his, intent on crushing him before devouring him.
"The vulnerable underbelly of the creature curled around the spikes and as it squeezed, it impaled itself on the spikes and blades. As it thrashed and convulsed, it dragged itself further onto the blades until it collapsed at his feet dead.
"The boy went back to the castle and the kingdom rejoiced that the wyrm was dead. The body was dismembered and buried and the boy married the princess. The kingdom came back into splendour and only the grooves about the hill showed that the wyrm had ever existed."
There were a few seconds silence. "So, this nobody manages to come up with a simplistic plan to undo the curse of a great and mighty wizard?"
"Yep." Bashir smiled. "That's the point of fairy tales. Good always wins, the evil man loses and often the hero is a simple boy; or occasionally girl; to show that anyone can make it."
"What made the wizard evil? He made an offer, which the king accepted, and was then cheated of his end. He attempted to gain vengeance, which was thwarted. He was stupid; I'll give you that; but he did nothing evil."
He knew it. Garak seemed to deliberately miss the point of these things. "He attacked the entire kingdom for the folly of the king. Innocent people were targeted."
"Were they? The prince was the one who found the wyrm. Maybe it was intended only to eat him? The king told him to get rid of it; and rather than killing it, he told the boy to throw it away. It was the king's mistake. Besides, the leader must always resume responsibility for his people. The people accept the leadership of the king, they must accept his mistakes or overthrow him."
Bashir thought about it. "I... guess you're right in a way. Maybe that wasn't such a good example of a fairy tale."
"No, it was sufficient. I understand what you mean now." Garak yawned again and propped his cheek on one hand. "Cardassians do not have fairy tales such as that. Our stories sometimes contain magic and mythical creatures, but the lessons are more subtle."
Bashir huffed. "See I ever tell you a story again, you ungrateful-"
"Manners, doctor. If we don't have out civility, what do we have?" Garak smiled smugly and yawned again.
The doctor in Bashir perked up. "Are you all right? Do you want me to stop chatting so you can get more sleep?"
"I'm fine, simply disinclined to move." His voice was husky sounding.
"Do you want some water?"
"Actually... yes." He sat up enough for Bashir to scoop a cup of water from the pot and hand it to him. "Thank you."
He watched for a few moments before looking back to his datapadd. "One hundred and thirty six hours."
"Until we run out of energy?"
Bashir shrugged. "Until we run out of energy, until our bodies are going to be unable to deal with the stress, whatever you want to call it. Our chances for survival past then decreases dramatically."
"Ours?" He could feel that icy blue gaze, even though he wasn't looking.
"Yes, ours." He said, stubborn on the point. "Neither of us has great chances without the other."
Garak said nothing, just kept watching with those sharp eyes. "As you say, doctor."
"What does that mean?" He looked up, meeting and holding the gaze.
"Whatever you take it to mean." He lay back down, carefully rearranging himself on the bunk, his head laying on the pillow, back turned to Bashir.
"Garak?"
"Yes?"
"You can, I mean, unless you're uncomfortable with it; I just thought you would be warmer; you know, but; if you are cold like that, well..." He trailed off, seeing the amused laughter in his friend's eyes. "Oh, you know!" He puffed out, exasperated.
The Cardassian tilted his head and blinked.
"If you're cold over there, I don't mind being a pillow." He looked at the door, hoping it was too cold for his cheeks to flush. "It's warmer for me too."
Garak shifted back, curling up near Bashir again, his cheek resting on one thigh. "Thank you, doctor."
"No need, Garak. But you're welcome."
They both read in silence, with only the howling of the wind to break the sound of their breathing.
0
Bashir listened to the sound of the storms that wailed outside. The lights were off, making the wind and snow seem louder. He shivered as he listened to the storm and slid further into the blankets.
Another eight hours had slid past. One hundred and twenty hours left. Five days and seven hours left.
Garak had fallen asleep a short time ago, the hand clutching the datapadd falling to the blankets as he struggled to stay awake. Bashir had taken the padd from him and moved deeper into the blankets, letting the Cardassian curl around his body again for the meagre warmth it would provide.
He felt oddly comfortable with it. Normally it would be uncomfortably intimate, having someone else sleeping curled about him, but he found it almost reassuring right now, as though his ability to keep Garak healthier by his very presence had nullified all embarrassment.
It was an incredible feeling, saving someone's life, one he was familiar with; but this was even beyond that. Just by being here, he was extending his friend's life.
As though aware of Bashir's thoughts, Garak made a small sound of protest in his sleep. Bashir smiled and resisted the urge to lift the covers to look.
There wasn't any light, so he wouldn't be able to see and all he'd do is let in cold air, which would probably wake up the tailor.
And then he'd get grumpy for being woken up.
Briefly, Bashir was reminded of the old stories of great dragons, slumbering away on piles of treasure that they guarded, their sheer presence enough to deter all but the bravest or most foolish.
He sniggered slightly. Garak, dozing away on Bashir like he was a pile of gold.
"What are you laughing at?"
"Sorry, Garak. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Mm." He wasn't entirely sure that the Cardassian was properly awake.
"Go back to sleep." He soothed.
"What is so funny?"
He better answer or Garak would wake himself up thinking about it. "I was imagining you as a dragon, sleeping on a pile treasure. Go to sleep, I'll explain it to you when you wake up."
"All right." His voice trailed off into a murmur and his breathing fell regular again.
That was somewhat more concerning. Garak never gave in easily, not when he had the option of driving Bashir up the wall instead.
Surely someone was looking for them by now. Deep Space Nine must have realised they were missing and have sent someone out to find them.
He chewed his bottom lip. They had no way of signalling the rescuers, not unless they could get out there and fix the broken links to the communication array. Even Garak had admitted that he couldn't do anything about that.
One hundred and twenty seven hours, forty minutes.
He looked to the door and the dark light panels.
His hand wandered down and gently touched Garak's shoulders, the other's body warm but not as warm as Bashir would have liked.
He wanted to go home and go to the Replimat and argue with Garak about Cardassian mysteries and Terran romances and debate the merits of sacrificing both categories of novels for the sake of interstellar peace.
Okay, that had been Bashir's suggestion. Garak had stared at him like he was insane then given that half smile, like an indulgent parent who can't admit amusement because it would be improper.
God, how he wanted to be home again.
One hundred and twenty seven hours, thirty minutes.