Note: A few minute late but this one gave me a bit of fits. Characters not wanting to cooperate but I egged them along. No real warnings here except for a slightly compromised Garak and a lot of long rambling out of him as well. Hopefully nothing's too confusing. Writing from his POV in this state was a bit of a challenge haha. Anyhoo, C&C always welcome and thanks for reading!

Garak is not sure whether or not he wants to wring Doctor Bashir's rather tempting neck or give him a full human kiss on the mouth for such a beautiful deception; the sadist in him rather wishes to do both at once. He immediately quashes that thought knowing that at this moment he is going to need every bit of his concentration in order to continue with this little dance. Were the implant functioning it would easily compensate for whatever disruptions the drug might cause to his pre frontal cortex, but his hard earned skills are hardly dependent on a piece of technology in his head. Yes, that has to be it. Remember your training on these types of Federation drugs, Elim. They all work on the same general premise, at least those typically employed by humans, and it is doubtful that without a thorough study of Cardassian biology that the doctor would have reason to use one of the more effective drugs.

That's not to say that whatever is running through his system doesn't have its uses against Carsassian biology. He can already find- and if it's a placebo effect it's a rather potent one- that from his initial ingestion that there is a slight lack of focus that had allowed that slip in facial expression at the doctor's revelation of the drug. That self satisfied smirk explained, Garak cannot help but feel a faint admiration, just as he can think of a million self recriminations for being so careless. It occurs to him briefly that the doctor may have unwisely placed himself as a similar disadvantage. Of course, he reasons, there is also an equal possibility that Doctor Bashir can metabolize the drug quickly enough to not feel its effects at all. Garak dare not waste a vital question on that idle wonder; it has no bearing on the actions he needs to take; he can spot a lie a mile away without needing to rely on drugs. Right now it's his own tongue that's the problem. Garak knows that he cannot trust his focus to remain constant, particularly depending on what the doctor asks.

It is quite the gamble. Should he dare let that curiosity guide him to try and probe he risks exposing himself in some way to those shrewd eyes. And it is more than that of course, it's a matter of professional pride. Are you such an amateur that you cannot work through this, that you would throw your hands up and walk because of a mere handicap? Guls, you may as well march yourself back to Cardassia Prime and have Tain put you down out of mercy. No, Garak is nowhere near ready to hang up the saddle to quote a quaint Westworld idiom, especially not at the hands of one human doctor.

"I might ask for a glass of water," Garak answers with a shrug, "but it seems there are no other beverages to be had."

"I wouldn't think you'd trust anything else I might give you to eat or drink, Garak," Doctor Bashir teases him back, uncrossing that leg, sitting back affecting an air of calm.

"Shall we begin then?" he asks brightly, not pushing, surely knowing if nothing else, that a few more moments delay will only allow the effects to increase in their potency. Garak nods, aware that he cannot rely on any pretense of elaborate plans. In fact, it would be best to follow through in the manner he does best. That is talking- unfiltered, unrestrained conversation. It's the Cardassian hallmark and as that scrap of a thought pings back and forth in his head, he finds it a funny notion, one that the doctor doubtless will not be prepared for. That only leaves the matter of his own questions and even with his somewhat compromised faculties the first question springs to mind so easily and obviously a child would have asked it.

"Yes, let's begin, doctor for there is a question that I have been wondering since reading your little bit of dramatic self pitying prose…" He catches a slight frown at the turn of phrase. Ah, your filters, Elim really, you'd forgotten them so soon, how thoughtless of you. "I did not mean to give offense, of course, it's a trait of most humans, most Bajorans to tend towards somewhat of a martyring tone where self reflection is concerned. If I had to speculate, I might suggest that the fanciful belief in higher deities to blame for that inclination. It makes one prone to these roles of fantasy, of battles between good and evil, twisted notions of justice, stories of prophets, virgin births, all sorts of justifications for the most impractical of customs- nothing like the infinite wisdom and pragmatism of the Cardassian State… Gods, baseless faith in the occult, religion as a whole, really, is such a poisonous undertaking, wouldn't you agree?"

"Is that your question?" Doctor Bashir sits up suddenly looking oddly anxious and it takes a moment for Garak to realize that of course the doctor had orchestrated this entire situation towards one specific goal, and that in fact unless Garak is willfully blind or disobedient to those subtle cues, he's not likely to accidentally ask incorrectly. Now that's reassuring, it's one less thing you need to worry about in your current state of indisposition. Yes, the doctor looks quite distraught at his little game going down in such a ridiculous way. Garak doesn't quite allow himself a laugh- after all, he's supposed to be playing the unwilling dupe here. He holds up a hand and shakes his head.

"Not at all, doctor, and I'm almost offended that you think I would waste such a golden opportunity on a matter of philosophy, though if you do feel inclined to answer and let us proceed then to a more abstract discussion date, I am always eager to… test out a new partner," He feels thirsty, he realizes, as again Doctor Bashir looks somewhat pained.

"Conversation," Garak clarifies, feeling almost lightheaded. "Conversation partner of course but I… did you want to answer that question?" He continues before Doctor Bashir can answer him. "No, I hardly imagine you would, given all the trouble you've gone through to get me here, where are my manners, no, no, the question I have for you is rather…" he trails off going for the pitcher. Doctor Bashir looks almost ready to intercept him. "Of course anyone reading your book would be dying to know just exactly what you are, my dear doctor."

"You're asking me then, Garak?" Doctor Bashir presses as if bound and determined to hold them to a rather concrete set of rules. "That's your first question?" Garak doesn't look up from pouring, finding that it requires just a touch more concentration that normal.

"Yes, that is my question. I inquire, I officially declare my primary query to be, what are you, doctor? And that's speaking in the concrete physiological matter of your person, your genetic makeup, not in the sense of what is a man, or any of innumerable abstracts that say a man such a Descartes- ah, you didn't think I'd know that name did you?- might inquire to and certainly not to your mood were you looking to divert me from the information I seek with a pat one word answer such as "irritated" or thirsty" then I'm afraid I must-"

"Garak!" Doctor Bashir sits forward and as he finishes pouring- that was terribly torpid, wasn't it?- with a deliberate look up seeing a far more flustered countenance than he had before. He'd be lying- and he's certainly not particularly capable of doing that with his usual efficiency so he most certainly isn't- if he said that he didn't find the sight funny. He can feel the curl at the corner of his mouth far more mischievous than it was some ten minutes ago.

Doctor Bashir takes a deep breath seeming to regain himself.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Garak but it seems there may be an unintended side effect to your biology that I hadn't intended." Garak is about to offer his opinion on a doctor who prescribes a drug so thoughtlessly heedless of the consequences when Doctor Bashir holds up a hand quickly. "Yes, I'm sure there's something you'd like to say to that, but if you will please allow me to answer the question I… I think you may find the information you need." Garak nods, almost not trusting himself to speak as he drinks more of the lemonade. "Perhaps ah…" Doctor Bashir reaches for the glass. "Perhaps I can do something about the drinks after all." Garak turns away, leaving that hand to grasp empty air as he primly feigns taking a sip.

"Water. I'll get some water," Doctor Bashir instructs him firmly and Garak lowers the glass without having drank any. He watches as the doctor walks to the opposite wall, turning to look as he opens a small door. "Shouldn't be long if you can be patient. But in the meantime why don't I start?" Garak sees a small notepad and pencil inside the open door- the entire inside a small cubby space perhaps some sixty centimeters cubed. "There's really not any point in being coy about it. You may have already guessed in fact so…" He sees the doctor's glasses carelessly slide down on his face, and he finds himself far more interested in the doctor's long fingers hastily scribbling something down than what he's saying. Garak reminds himself to focus, finding it somewhat difficult when the note pad is placed back inside, and Doctor Bashir takes a step over to twin ropes. There's a slight strain of muscles to pull the one and he really must ask Leeta if that is some magic water bearing box that- "Garak?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear me?" Doctor Bashir turns around looking concerned. "You're not feeling ill, are you?" Ill? That's a rather curious thing to ask. Distracted, somewhat out of sorts but unless I've developed some sort of death pall I can't imagined that I look all that bad. Now you doctor, Garak thinks as Doctor Bashir comes and takes a concerned seat beside him. Now you are looking anything but ill and though it could stand to be warmer in here you might sit there a moment and delight me with some anecdote or another that involves you… putting your hand on my forehead? He looks into a look of concern closer than he realized feeling a firm hand to his temple. "You know I don't even know if this is an accurate temperature indicator for Cardassians." There's a shake of the head that accompanies that statement, a click of the tongue that's a strangely erotic sound, and though it's quite pleasant to smell that earthy tincture, Garak recalls that seducing the doctor is not why he's here.

"You said you're an… augment?" Garak says out of the blue as that memory, that snippet of Doctor Bashir's explanation floats back to the forefront of his memories. Right, that's what the doctor had been saying. An augment, a dated term for those genetically enhanced humans who were said to possess extraordinary strength, speed, intellect, a whole myriad of biological advantages over their kin. They are also, to Garak's recollection of Federation intelligence natural criminals by their very existence. Which suddenly makes all those minute puzzles and questions make a lot more sense when viewed in that context: his ability to move around Garak undetected, his reflexes, his ability to process such complex code in an instant. He's certain there must be a far greater list than even that and yet he wonders at that strange look, that compulsion he felt when looking into the Doctor's eyes on those few occasions. But right now, he needs to focus his attention on the answer rather than the speculation and that's quite a bit more difficult with the doctor half breathing down his neck.

"Yes. That's the technical term, I don't care to repeat all the other names," he says looking faintly pained, "but it all comes down to the same thing in the end. I'm a man who by all rights shouldn't exist as far as the Federation is concerned. You've read the book of course so you can only imagine that the... consequences of my lineage are a little more than a few years hard labor." Garak notices that the doctor's eyes dart towards the glass still in his hand. "I won't bore you with the details of the Eugenics Wars but suffice it to say they've good reason for their policies. Well... it's easy to say that when you haven't spent your entire life looking over your shoulder for..." Doctor Bashir stops himself. "...things. I'd almost rather you didn't ask what things either."

"The Hunters," Garak answers automatically with a discreet sideways study as Doctor Bashir seems in a blink to have moved closer. He can't be sure if that's in fact what's happened or if his awareness has been too compromised to notice of shift of the cushion. He's almost afraid if he focuses too much on that one bit of nonsense he'll miss something far more important.

No... no I can feel his leg, I can feel that fabric close enough that it brushes... yes there... when he folds his leg beneath him, he gets comfortable, he shifts, I know he's doing it. That's all the he knows is going on, again that hyper focus flitting to Doctor Bashir's every move until he is aware of the respirations, of the slight slow of them. The drug it seems, might almost have its uses were he able to more consciously control the things his mind chooses to focus on. But now, even as Doctor Bashir talks- presumably of those who hunt Augments for profit and sport- Garak cannot bring himself to an awareness of the conversation, but instead to the slight shift in temperature. There's a slight radiant body heat he can feel move closer, subtly of course and there is nothing he thinks in the doctor's tone to indicate anything out of sorts. Still, he can feel the change in air as an arm moves behind him, dully aware as he is that he's gone back to blankly staring at that painting on the wall once more.

There is a laconic impulse to lazily turn his head, to turn his body and see what all the motion is about but somehow the accent of the ribbon catches his eye until he fixates on it so clearly that he doesn't so much as flinch when he detects Doctor Bashir's arm cross in front of him, a hand over his own that holds the glass. Garak hadn't noticed before that there is the faint reflection of the dancer's face elsewhere in the crowd, a subtle pattern of the outline of those Trill features and... And I can sense you, Doctor. Certainly, I don't know why but right now I can feel you moving I can... He can feel it, he realizes dumbly, because the doctor is half on top of him trying his best not to be as he extracts the glass and places it on the table. Garak catches sight of the top of his head moving back, or at least starting to, his eyes at last dropping back to what should be the subject of his whimsical attention. It's then Garak notices that he's stopped moving and that by some impulse his hand has neatly trapped Doctor Bashir's to the arm of sofa, leaving him in the odd position half stretched across his lap.

He looks down as Doctor Bashir looks just slightly up, their faces inches apart.

"You know doctor," he says casually, not feeling any resistance to his grip. "For an infamous augment, I seem to have caught you rather easily." And he isn't sure why, but he catches then a brilliant, little smile marking that sensuous looking mouth as the doctor looks at him from over those spectacles, hair a seemingly artful mess. Garak thinks that is the most dangerous expression that he's seen on that face to date.

"Are you so sure about that, Garak?" That question is followed by an almost nervous dart of a tongue, just a teasing little flicker moistening that terribly tempting mouth. "I think you're the one who's about to be caught."