(Day 3)

Julian was the first to wake the following day. He threw back a corner of the quilt to free his face and was hit with such a blast of cold air that he immediately retreated under the surface. Damn. The bedroom felt even cooler than it had last night, and the air seemed perceptively thinner too. If the Defiant didn't manage to dock with the station and reinitiate the life support systems, they would both be in serious trouble. Fretting about it though wasn't going to help either of them right now. He also knew that running countless scenario probabilities and statistical outcomes in his head was a pointless endeavour. Making up his mind, Julian concluded that this had to be their last day in this situation. Either they would be rescued within the next 26 hours, or he was going to have to force Garak onto the remaining escape pod.

Julian was trying to wrap his head around why Garak was so reluctant to go to Bajor. Understandably, the Bajoran's had never been overly comfortable with the only remaining Cardassian left on Deep Space 9, but Garak never seemed to let that faze him. Surely, the planet's occupants wouldn't be significantly different to the current population that lived aboard the station? It wasn't like he could just put it to Garak and ask him outright, the way he would with any of his other friends. As though Garak could sense the whirring of his brain and had been disturbed by it, he moved back towards him in his sleep to coil an arm around his waist. The simple action unintendedly grounded Julian, snapping his attention back to the present moment and to the complex person curled up next to him. Garak's face was so relaxed in his sleep. Julian had never seen him look so natural. It suited him.

He settled back down and turned his body towards Garak, bringing his arms around the Cardassian's shoulders to hold him close. Garak adjusted to the change and moved the hand from around Julian's back to rest on his chest instead. Julian had to admit that he could get used to sharing his bed with Garak. But, alas, this was only a short-term solution to a peculiar set of circumstances. It was foolish and presumptuous to think that somebody like Garak, who valued his privacy so highly, would be happy to regularly cohabit the same space with him. Plus, where would he even start in untangling and deciphering Garak's thoughts and feelings? It was almost impossible to know what they were to each other. He couldn't trust Garak to give him a straight answer, even if he did drum up the courage to ask. Everything was always kept resolutely hidden under a smile and many intricately woven layers of cleverly deflected conversation.

Julian almost stopped breathing when Garak shifted again and suddenly slid his hand between the buttons on his pyjamas. Garak's questing appendage, on reaching the warm skin and chest hair underneath, came to a stop and started to apply gentle pressure with his nails. Overwhelmed with the instinctive need for similar contact and comfort, Julian moved a hand down Garak's back until he felt the edge of his shirt. He slipped his fingers gently under the smooth material and caressed the exposed scales, mimicking the press of Garak's grip on his skin. Garak hummed in contentment and Julian found himself closing his eyes and letting out a satisfied sigh of his own. Oh, he definitely had it bad. Julian was well and truly down the rabbit hole now.

Garak smiled serenely into Doctor's chest as he came to. He lazily started to draw patterns with his fingertips, mapping the delicate area of skin he'd been pleased to discover within his reach. "You are divinely warm, my Dear. Arguably, even better than that water filled device of yours."

Julian chuckled. "How flattering. Presumably, I only have the edge because I manage to maintain my temperature?"

Garak hummed in response. "Yes, and you have the advantage of being larger and more malleable. It's not a fair contest, I admit. I can pilfer your heat simultaneously at various points of contact whereas the bottle only really warmed my feet for a spell." To reinforce his point, Garak briefly rested his cheek against the skin below Bashir's chin as he prodded him with his foot.

Julian shook his head, knowing that Garak couldn't see his face but would register the movement, nonetheless. "Oh, I see how it is. I'm just a conveniently life-sized hot water bottle with adjustable limbs?"

"Doctor! Fishing for compliments now? Hmm, maybe I'll amend my choice. The bottle wouldn't give me this much trouble..." Despite his tone, Garak hadn't moved a muscle and was fully buried in the warm embrace of his bedside companion.

Struck with sudden inspiration, Julian's eyes lit up as he recalled something that he'd read in one of Garak's books. "Surely, there are some things that even you would have to admit that you need a living, breathing humanoid for?"

Julian leant down and gently lifted Garak's chin with his hand before lovingly bringing their foreheads together. Closing his eyes, he allowed the contact between them to linger. He savoured the feel and texture of the unfamiliar spoon shaped crest against his skin before he slowly started to pull away, unable to resist dragging his nose over and along the entire curve of Garak's nearest eye ridge. Sitting back up, his cheeks flushed, Julian was rather pleased with himself. There, Garak can read into that whatever he liked. From what he understood, it was an intimate gesture used on Cardassia between family and the closest of friends. He hoped that he'd silently communicated how important Garak was to him, circumnavigating their complicated maze of interpretive phrasing and wordplay.

Garak had opened his mouth to protest but didn't manage to produce any sound. It was both jarring and unnerving to experience such a familiar cultural gesture from somebody who didn't understand the significance and was only doing it to prove a point. The Doctor, presumably, had done it to shock or embarrass him.

Unfortunately, Garak wasn't as detached as he'd like Bashir to believe. He had momentarily read the move as reciprocation of his own affections and had been on the verge of leaning in to take what he'd thought was being offered. His stomach had plummeted as the truth of the matter dawned on him, and he'd implemented the highest levels of his self-control to avoid disgracing himself. Although his reflexes hadn't been as quick as he'd like, he didn't think the falter had been noticeable. Despite his best efforts, the unexpected attention to his chufa had alarmingly sent a bolt of electricity straight through to his core. As a result, Garak was sure the visible scales on his neck were already starting to change colour. Thankfully, the Doctor was no expert on Cardassian anatomy. He may not spot the difference, or at least, wouldn't know what the characteristic blue tint signified.

Gathering himself, Garak channelled his mounting fury and implemented his more derisive tone of voice. "You -Doctor Bashir- are a shameless flirt! Has the lack of available women in the immediate vicinity really addled your brain this much? Perhaps you, and not me, are the one in need of a life-sized hot water bottle to cuddle up to in bed each night! Do you have ANY sensitivity for the cultures and practices that exist outside of your precious Federation? If so, maybe I should run your medical tricorder over you to assess YOUR current mental faculties? Evidently, you have been impaired in some way. It hardly seems fair that you invited yourself here to babysit me, when clearly, YOU are the one who needs to be kept an eye on. You obviously can't be trusted not to grope and accost the people who are supposedly in your care!"

Julian recoiled sharply as if Garak had physically struck him. This wasn't at all what he'd wanted. He had assumed that Garak would have welcomed his touch or would have laughed off the whole thing as a misunderstanding. Still reeling, Julian said the first thing that popped into his head. "Excuse me? It was you who couldn't keep his hands to himself this morning!"

Sitting up, Garak primly drew the nearest blanket around himself. "I can hardly be blamed for my actions while I was unconscious. In these sorts of temperatures, trying to keep my extremities warm is a basic survival instinct."

Julian went to stand up, shrugging off the remaining covers. "I wasn't blaming you! I didn't have a problem with any of that. Bloody hell, Garak. If I'd thought it would bother you this much, I wouldn't have done it! Don't worry. Oblivious or not, I can take your not-so-subtle hint. I'll back off."

As he hurriedly crossed the bedroom, Julian looked back over his shoulder. "I was thinking only before; if we don't get picked up today, we'll have to get ourselves off the station. We can't stay here indefinitely. So, fear not. You won't have to put up with my overbearing presence for much longer."

As he watched the Doctor storm out, Garak was astounded. Bashir seemed to be genuinely upset. About which part exactly? Whatever game the Doctor was playing, he was not going to fall for it! He was a feared agent of the Obsidian Order and would not be manipulated or made a fool out of. His life, pathetic as it currently was, wasn't there to be exploited and toyed with for the amusement of others. He wasn't the station's pet Cardassian! That was how many of them saw him, he was sure. Declawed and stripped of his power with nowhere else to go. Garak was certain that Starfleet and the Bajoran's would get a big laugh out of this, once the story of his hapless infatuation with the Doctor got out.

Garak had managed to convince himself that Bashir was different to the rest of them. The Doctor had stood out in his eyes like a beacon of hope. The strength of his beliefs and convictions to be open and compassionate without prejudice, no matter the situation he found himself in, showed an innate goodness. The likes of which Garak had truthfully never experienced before. Which was what made this morning's behaviour all the more confusing. Maybe he'd misread the situation after all? It was possible. Could it have been intended as a friendly show of solidarity? On reflection, Garak could admit that he'd gone in a little stronger with his wording than he should have. The Doctor was fiercely proud of his medical demeanour and professionalism, which was what made it such an easy target. Bashir was also much more sensitive to verbal attacks than he was and tended to take things to heart.

Shivering alone in bed, Garak looked morosely at the now frosty hot water bottle. One of them must have kicked it to the floor when the last of the thermal energy had been utilised. It was far too cold for comfort in here without a primary source of warmth. Garak yawned widely and tried to wake himself up. Despite his sudden venomous outburst, he was feeling lightheaded and a little sluggish. He was, inevitably, going to have to swallow his pride to try and figure out what was going on with Bashir. It had gotten to the point where he clearly needed the young man's body heat. But was he up to the task? The Doctor unsettled him like nobody else, and Garak found himself unable to wade through and organise his already muddled thoughts concerning his companion.

As Garak started to fight to keep his eyes open, he considered that he might well be better having a lie-in. The sleep could do him good and may help clear his mind. He could leave figuring all of this out for later. They weren't going anywhere. Closing his eyes, he was sure that not even Bashir in his anger would begrudge him some restful peace and quiet.

The last image Garak's brain supplied him with as he lost consciousness was an expressive pair of tenderly concerned hazel eyes.