Bashir dragged Garak into the bunk, grabbing the medical tricorder and turning it onto Garak as he tried to pile blankets onto him.
Body temperature, plummeting. Breathing, non existent. Pulse...
His heart was still beating. No mater how slowly, it was.
With no thought, Bashir's hand found the respiratory aid and his mind assessed where it needed to go on the Cardassian body. He carefully applied it onto the throat and stripped Garak's outer layers off him, including his boots.
He pulled off his own soaking clothes and climbed into the bunk, bringing the medkit with him. He wrapped his arms and legs around his friend, chafing his hands roughly, encouraging circulation back through them.
His skin was freezing cold to the touch, but Bashir refused to let go. He carefully repaired the rapidly advancing frostbite damage done to Garak's face and fingers and dragged the Cardassian against him, trying to brush the worst of the ice from the black hair.
Had he been human, the shocking change of temperature would have probably finished him off. Fortunately, he was not.
"Elim, you insufferably arrogant bastard," Bashir angrily whispered. "How dare you? How dare you try to do this to me?"
The Cardassian did not reply, but Bashir didn't expect him to. Bashir's hand; which was warming up slowly; traced the healing pattern of frostbite around one eye.
He checked the readings from the tricorder again. Vitals were stabilising out, but they were distressingly low still.
They didn't have days anymore. They had maybe thirty six hours by Bashir's estimate. He needed access to a decently stocked and undamaged medical supply by then. Even a rescue shuttle would do, it would be enough to stabilise him further until they reached the station or even the Defiant.
He looked to the power readings. The two transports had considerably drained their reserves, but it didn't seem to really matter anymore. In thirty six hours, Garak would be beyond even Bashir's miracle working.
The doctor lay his head down on Garak's shoulder and hopelessly sobbed onto his dying friend.
That letter had the final words of a man who believed he was dead. He had said he didn't mind dying so long as he knew his death ensured Bashir's own survival.
Bashir sat up sharp, his face still wet but uncaring at that moment.
"Why didn't you tell me, Garak?" He hit the wall next to him. "Why didn't you tell me how you felt?"
He looked down. The air was too cold and so was Garak.
"Computer, if the cabin temperature in here were increased to thirty degrees Celsius and the door sealed, how long would the energy last?"
"Provided no other source needs the energy, the reserves will last for thirty hours."
"Computer, what is the maximum temperature that could be maintained in this room for thirty six hours?"
"Twenty six point seven degrees Celsius."
"Current temperature?"
"Thirteen degrees Celsius."
He calculated it. Slipping from the bunk, he was somewhat relieved when Garak feebly grasped at his retreating form. "I'll be right back, I promise. I'm not going anywhere."
He grabbed the pot and went to the replicator. He got a large reserve of water and some simple bread to see them through.
"Computer, recalculate maximum maintainable temperature with current energy and assuming all power is cut to the two forward compartments."
"Twenty six degrees Celsius."
"Set temperature to twenty six then." He knelt next to Garak and touched his face softly. "Damn it, Garak, either we both get out or neither of us do. I will not sacrifice you to save me. I can't do it." He stroked the soft hair again. "And not least of all because I took an oath."
Garak's lips moved slightly. Bashir gently touched his cheek then held his hand. It was starting to feel familiar in his own. "Shh. It'll warm up soon. Computer?"
It beeped.
"Cut power to the sonic shower, and all control panels except communications and life support."
"Affirmative."
"Seal the doors."
"Affirmative."
Bashir picked up Garak badge and gently affixed it to his shirt. "Both or neither, Elim. I said I wasn't going to leave you, and I'm not. You're not leaving me either."
He crawled into the bed and held his friend again.
0
Time passed by slowly now. After ten minutes, Bashir got up and ran some more scans on Garak. The temperature in the room was notably increasing; it felt down right hot compared to what they had lived through for the past three days.
Garak's body apparently agreed. He was stable; at least for now; and his brain wave activity was slowly increasing back up to normal unconscious levels again.
He was unconscious, rather than comatose. That was a vast improvement.
To be sure, he put the electrical blanket back up to near maximum and lay on top of the blankets, an arm and leg draped over his friend. It was getting too hot for him under the insulating material.
He waited impatiently as the time ticked by. He ran scans every ten minutes; just to make sure; and tried to read during the time in-between.
Cardassian literature was not the way to relieve his boredom, he decided.
After an hour, Garak showed signs of regaining consciousness. He seemed to be in pain, which in and of itself was reassuring. Pain meant that the nerves were still working.
He sat and stared at Garak for the full twelve minutes it took him to come around.
The Cardassian looked confused when his eyes slowly; and what looked to be painfully; opened. He was immediately calculating, eyes flickering back and forth, trying to work out what had happened.
"You're a jerk, Garak."
His eyes flicked to Bashir's face. Carefully, the Terran kept his features neutral, not betraying the traces of anger he felt.
"You wouldn't let me go out there, and didn't even think of how your death would affect me, abandoning me here. I told you, I need you. I won't keep my mind without someone to talk to, or at the very least talk at."
Pale grey lips parted slightly but only a breath escaped.
"You probably can't talk very well. Your breathing isn't strong enough. That's all right. I'll talk." He moved up onto the bunk and rearranged the blankets. "I'll take off the respiratory aid later, when you've stabilised a bit more. I turned up the temperature, there didn't seem to be much reason to conserve the energy anymore. As you probably know, you're dying now. Quicker. You've got thirty four hours, forty minutes before you suffer untreatable system failure. Yes, the communication system is working, we're broadcasting an automated distress signal. You succeeded."
He looked away, refusing to let Garak see tears. "So, being the stubborn sort I am, I transported myself out to the array when I realised you were missing. You must have miscalculated the dosage, because I woke up too early. Wouldn't have stopped me anyway, I would have gone out there even if I slept for a whole day, and had to bring your cold... dead body in here."
"Juli-"
"Don't." He reached back blindly, patted the hefty breastplate. "You're sorry for upsetting me, but only because you have to actually face it." He took a deep breath. "I should have suspected something. You were being too open, too caring. You'd never let me see that unless you thought one of us wasn't going to be around for me to ever exploit it."
He didn't use the word Garak had. He wasn't going to provoke him, even now. It would be too much for the emotionally repressed Cardassian. He thought it though. It was the only time he had seen the word and really felt the impact of it.
In great Terran literature, the greatest sacrifice ever made was to die for your love. They made it out to be a noble act that brought tears of grief and joy.
Bashir just wanted to throttle him for trying it.
"I should have seen it. It's in your nature. Just like I have to be me, you'll always be you. And you would do anything for what you care about. Be it a person or your planet."
He turned back. "I'm not angry, Elim." He shifted both of them, leaning himself against the 'headboard'. He drew Garak back into his arms, his legs firmly wrapping around the other's waist, his arms around the broad chest. "Well, a little. I'm hurt, I'm scared, I'm annoyed even. I'm a little angry." He reached up to stroke his thumb over one eye ridge; mimicking Garak's earlier actions. "Are you warmer?"
"Yes."
Bashir smiled, despite himself. "Good. I'm glad."
"Should... left me."
"Maybe. But it isn't in my nature." He kept up his actions. "I'd sooner die out here than abandon you. Enough people did that." He felt Garak shift slightly; his face leant against Bashir's chest; his head at just the right height for the Terran to prop his chin on the black hair.
"You're... a fool."
"I know. So are you." He got up his courage enough to press a soft kiss to the other's head before he went back to propping his chin there. "But luck favours fools."
"I thought... it was... the brave?"
"Probably. But I like my version better." Bashir smiled to himself. "Don't talk anymore. Save your strength."
With a weak nod, the Cardassian fell back into unconsciousness for a while. Bashir just sat there and held him, happy for once.
0
Garak stayed unconscious for five hours. Bashir left him long enough to eat some of the bread; just enough to stave of hunger; and to get the medkit prepped to keep them both going.
Adrenaline ready in case Garak's heart failed. A little something to keep Bashir himself awake, not that he needed it yet, but he couldn't afford to sleep any more.
He spent the time reading and thinking and humming to both of them, though undoubtedly Garak would have told him to stop with the incessant screech of noise had he been awake.
When Garak stirred, Bashir was reading his third Cardassian novel. He put it aside and watched for a few moments as his friend struggled to focus on his face.
"Doctor?"
"Still here. Still awake. Are you all right?" He touched one warm cheek.
"I've... been better."
"I'm leaving the respiratory aid on. I hope you don't mind."
"Not... at all."
He smiled again and ran his fingers through Garak's hair. "I've been thinking. About the stories you told me. Well, mostly about Shel and Jurin."
Garak looked confused for a while. Bashir waited until he realised what was being discussed. "That... silly story?"
"Yes. And how Jurin dies in Shel's arms and with his dying breath he tells her that she never had a chance."
"Hm?"
Bashir took that sound to mean, 'What about it'. "I didn't realise what you were telling me. If you hadn't told me that story, I might not have really thought twice about your letter."
Another slow, confused blink. It was painful to see the quick witted tailor so confused and disorientated.
"In your letter, you left me with no doubt that you care deeply for me. You always treated me like your protégé, and I was... I was proud that you felt I was worth the effort to know. I hope you know that I admire you, even though I would condemn some of the things you've undoubtedly done."
Right, if he didn't get to the point soon he'd completely lose his friend. He shook his head and gently cupped Garak's jaw. "If you hadn't told me that story, about Jurin and Shel, I would never have thought twice abut that letter. But it got me thinking, looking for double meanings. You never could just tell me anything, you always made me work at it. But, I wouldn't have... I don't want to be Shel... I don't want you to be Jurin..." He trailed off, not sure what words he wanted.
Garak just closed his eyes, turning his face from Bashir's.
Bashir pulled him closer. "Shel was stupid not to see what Jurin was doing for her. She didn't know him like she should have." He pulled Garak's face back up towards his own. "I'm not Shel, Elim. You don't have to be Jurin."
With a sad smile, Garak reached up and weakly patted Bashir's face. "I fear... I already am... Julian."
"No," Bashir hissed. "I will not give you the satisfaction of dying guilt free."
"Spoken... like a... true... Cardassian," Garak smiled and sank into Bashir's arms.
Bashir checked his vitals and decided that he had just passed out from the strain of talking. He lay him down flat and resumed stroking his scales gently.
He checked his watch. All the stress and worry was fading now, there was no real point to it.
They'd live together, or they would die together. It felt strangely fitting.
He lay down, moving Garak's head to rest on his own chest. He wondered if his heart beat against his friend's ear would soothe his dreams while he slept.
The way that Garak was so awkward in an intimate embrace, it made him wonder if anyone had ever held him while he slept before. It was one thing to hold someone, but the absolute protection of being cradled and cared for; he severely doubted that it was a feeling that Garak had ever had the chance to become familiar with.
He hoped that he was doing a good job of making his friend feel safe. He wanted Garak to know; at least once; what it was was like to feel protected and loved.
0
"Tell me... a story... Doctor."
Bashir blinked and looked down. "What sort?"
Garak shrugged; at least, it was an attempt at a shrug. His breathing was still laboured, but he at least seemed comfortable for now.
"How about a folk story? You know, a fairy tale."
"No... dragons..."
Bashir smiled and buried his left hand in Garak's hair. He loved the softness of it, the warmth wrapped around his fingers. His hand lay across the scaled jaw. "All right. No dragons."
He thought about what story to tell. Most would seem insipid and childish to the Cardassian, lacking any qualities that would appeal.
His eyes widened. "All right. I think you might like this one a bit more than the last. It's a Russian story. The Russians of old were very fatalistic, very pragmatic and stubborn. On the surface, there are similarities to Cardassians."
Garak narrowed his gaze slightly. "Doctor... I'm... dying... Get on... with it."
Bashir looked away briefly, but there was no bite in the words. "Sorry. All right, this story is about an old couple. They lived in a small cottage on the out skirts of their town. They had lived there all their married life; which had been quite a long time. He worked the fields during the day, helped by his wife; and they had quite a good life.
"Unfortunately though, they had no children. For all their longing, they had never managed to conceive a child, and seemed doomed to die childless."
Bashir paused and looked down at Garak. The Cardassian's eyes were closed but he opened them when it became apparent that the doctor was no longer telling the story.
"Just checking. So one year, in the middle of winter; the old couple sat in their home and wished to hear childish laughter in their house. The old wife did not cry for what was not, she simply stared into the fire with desperate eyes.
"Unable to take her desolation, her husband went outside into the snow. There, he gathered up piles of snow and lovingly moulded the shape of a young girl from the ice. He brought the snow doll into the house and his wife dressed the doll in the clothes she had always intended to dress her child in.
"So strong was the love of the old couple, that a miraculous transformation took place. The snow white ice started to gain warmth and the crudely made face gained definition.
"Slowly, during the night; powered by the devotion of the old, childless couple; the little snow maiden came to life."
He paused once more and looked to Garak. The tailor blinked slowly and nodded to Bashir, encouraging him to continue.
"Though she walked, and talked and looked just like a real girl, her 'parents' were always conscious of the fact that she was born of snow, and no amount of love would ever change that. It was part of her, as much as her sweet smile and her pale skin and hair.
"During the winter, she did not mind so much. She ran to the village to play with the other children and spent days on end laughing and having fun, returning to sleep in her parent's home. Her laughter brought light back to the old couple and they delighted in her company.
"Yet, inevitably, the summer came around, the snow outside melted away, and the only safe place for the little maiden was in her parents' stone house. She spent her days hiding away from the hot sunlight, yearning to play in the bright light, but knowing that she could not.
"Instead, she and her friends haunted the nights. Her friends did not know her secret; that she was only snow and love; but they accepted the conditions of her release from the house and they played all night during summer, until the rising sun drove the maid back to her house.
"Late one night, her friends beckoned her outside with them. They went into the woods, to a fire in the clearing of the trees. Children danced and leapt over the flames; a tradition to bring true love into your life.
"The maid shied back from the fire at first and merely watched her friends play and leap about in red light. She had never before been near a fire; because her parents had warned her that it would end her quicker than the sun, but the warmth of it made her tingle deep inside.
"Slowly, she overcame her fear and drew nearer the flames. She joined in the dancing and whirled about the edges, her hands clasped with those of her friends."
Bashir took Garak's hand into his own, smiling back at the sleepy half smile he got.
"One by one, her friends leapt over the flames to bring love into their life. They egged on the maid, calling for her to leap over the fire as well.
"Finally, she gathered her strength about her and leapt over the fire."
He stopped and looked at Garak. Garak frowned at him. "What...?"
"What happened? She disappeared in a puff of steam and mist. After all... she was only snow."
They sat in silence. Garak slowly mulled over the story, Bashir fancied that he was rolling the words in mind, assessing the weight of each one.
For a man with so little time left; unless help came; Garak seemed to be delighting in using what energy he had left on judging this story.
"Doctor...?"
He looked down, holding his breath.
"I... like that one."
Bashir beamed and squeezed the hand he held. "I hoped you would like it. It seemed, sort of appropriate."
"Yes..." The tailor hissed out. "You... cannot... fight... your... nature."
His eyes slipped shut. With a pain in his chest, Bashir leant over and softly brushed his lips over his friend's, not trying to stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks and splashed against the cooling grey skin. "I know, Elim," he whispered against the other's mouth. "I know."
Elim Garak's eyes would not be opening again.
0
Bashir sat by the bunk, singing softly to his patient. Up until three hours ago, Garak had still shown some signs of life, his fingers twitched when his hand was held and his face flinched occasionally as the doctor softly traced the scaled ridges that covered his face and jaw.
Now he lay still, the harsh sound of the respiratory aid and the steady glow showing from the pulse monitor he had affixed to the soft skin of the temple the only signs of life still remaining.
He glanced to the communications panel. Soon, it wouldn't matter if they arrived or not. Garak was fading fast now. The drugs that had been pumped into his dying body would keep him alive for a little while, but even they were starting to leave his systems.
He kept up his soft tune, and wished that Garak would growl at him to shut up and stop singing that sentimental piece of rubbish. He welcomed something as lively as a full blown temper tantrum or a panic attack brought about by the enclosed space.
His voice faltered for a few seconds as he stared at the somnolent face.
The communications channels remained stubbornly silent.
They were both nearly out of time. Unlike Shel Baran, Julian Bashir would not move on from the man who died for him. He did not have that luxury, not any more. He could not deny the truth of what had happened here.
Slowly, painfully, the glow disappeared from the monitor.
Bashir lay down his head on Garak's shoulder, holding one cool hand to his chest.
Time had run out.
Caught up in his grief, Bashir didn't realise they were being transported until the Defiant's walls appeared around them.
The End