Note: Made it under the wire to wrap up this little scene. I'm excited that soon we'll be seeing some other characters and getting to a great idea I've had brewing for a while with this. in the meantime I get to be a bit mean to Garak and keep some of the mystery going. No real warnings here. Thank you everyone reading and C&C is always welcome!


"Am I? Perhaps you are unaware of your current position, doctor." Garak, of course, is anything but unaware at this moment. His attention has been drawn like a darting insect amongst a bed of bright foliage back and forth between a multitude of heady scents, and now he finds himself with one rather enticing one, some potent pheromonal pollen pervading his olfactory senses. He can feel a mirthful flutter at that mental alliteration, nearly sidetracked into some mental nonsense word challenge to see just how far he can take that rather pointless play of… Oh stop, it, already. You're letting this lack of focus get frightfully out of hand and if you're not careful you're going to find yourself in an indefensible position. He's been inexcusably sloppy these past several minutes, and ironically enough it's only the rather distracting picture that the doctor presents so close to him, body turned, chest nearly pressed to his that brings his focus back to razor sharp clarity.

He sees Doctor Bashir look to be contemplating a particular answer to that query as his wrist rotates around, fingers awkwardly closing over Garak's light stroking the side of his hand. Garak wonders if the game isn't then one of seductive power play or more of that attempt at hypnotic push. He has his answer when Doctor Bashir doesn't look him in the eyes, but passes that hazel gaze down, making a thoughtful study of Garak's mouth.

"Are you… unaware of my current position, Garak?" Anything but, doctor, I promise you that. I would almost think that this was your goal but then why do I feel as if I'm missing something terribly important? Why is it that I can still detect those slight tells that indicate you're not entirely comfortably with this seductive pretense? He feels a slight press of Doctor Bashir's knee just a touch to the side of his leg bringing that awareness of it closeness to bear, disrupting his thoughts. Garak smiles back- not quite blankly- in response.

"I'm aware that I have two more questions for you doctor, and I'm uncertain as to how I'm to proceed with you so rather familiarly draped over my lap." He blinks slowly, mind swimming towards some other diversion but he carefully, slowly fixates on a point, on a rather small thread hanging off the collar of Doctor Bashir's white shirt. White. Blank. Clarity. Focus. Right. That's it. Remember everything you've been taught about subverting these types of chemical agents.

"You didn't seem to have any trouble focusing that night with Jadzia." That answer comes quickly, smartly, the end of it just a bit too clipped to quite match the drop in the doctor's volume. it catches his attention immediately, strangely enough. Yes, a sensual whisper to cover that bit of anger, ohh, if there is nothing better to keep the mind on point it is that. Garak feels those caressing fingers stop when the doctor speaks and he picks that motion back up, thumb a small sensual circle around his wrist. He feels a slight jump beneath and lets that smile grow.

"Ah but that is where you are wrong, my dear doctor, for I was in fact quite distracted." Tension, alertness, a fervent darting of the eyes to the side, it seems that his powers of observation have not left him hanging as he thought they had- curious. "I could see you clearly, you know. A trick of the spy trade." The admission is a risk, but Garak deems it worthwhile when Doctor Bashir's head snaps just a few centimeters higher. Those eyes widen not with that pitiable farce of calculation, but with shock. So it would seem that you hadn't anticipated that admission; exactly as I figured. And if I continue to figure correctly, doctor, by the end of this evening you won't know what to believe about me. Yes, always keep them guessing, Elim, that's always been your greatest strength.

"Oh you didn't know that did you? Ah, we spies, we cutthroats, we… nefarious assassins stalking the shadows, we always keep a careful watch on those watching us, and I assure you doctor, the sight of you, watching me was a far greater distraction than you realize." And he watches closely as Doctor Bashir wriggles and tests his grip almost nervously, eyes drawn to the distraction of Garak's grip. That excites him far more than it ought to, he observes. It is a danger to grow too close to another of them, you know. You should really let the doctor and his ragtag group of defenders to their own devices, continue laying low, and finish what you've set out to accomplish. Garak sees a slight flex of Doctor Bashir's hand, holding back some hidden strength. No, there's no way he could possibly do that.

"Look at me, doctor," he whispers, not having any mental parlor tricks to call upon but possessing something far greater in his own arsenal. Doctor Bashir obeys, and Garak becomes acutely aware of his other hand making itself known once more, nails lightly dragging down from the back of the sofa to let a palm rest on the cushion right next to him. He makes a note of the time it took for the muscles to start to fatigue. It was far longer than he thinks it should have been. "Yes, that's better."

"Garak-" a touch breathless, a curl of those fingers near Garak's hip a faint skipping stone making nothin but a tiny ripple of sensation but it is there nonetheless. "I saw you, doctor," he hushes, not looking Doctor Bashir in the eyes, but drawing his focus to that mouth so intently it forces an unconscious lick of lips. He takes that cue to continue. "I saw you, doctor," he repeats, "such a sight, on your knees, watching, panting, and I couldn't help but wonder for who it was you were so fervently fixated but now that I have you here all to myself, the lingering scent of Miss Dax's perfume around us, I cannot help but feel that I have my answer to that question."

"And… what answer would that be?" Doctor Bashir answers, without a single hint of contrivance. No, it is as guileless as that further scratch of nails on the fabric, the tension palpable. There is a moment where he leans in, where Garak feels that hand slip through his grasp not with some overpowering strength but a sly, slippery little wriggle. Only he doesn't draw back, keeping that same intimate space between them, a brief half start to that tilt of his head that tells Garak while the statement might have been without forethought the following action is definitely chock full of calculation. Ah, but that doesn't mean that ulterior is utterly lacking in desire, Elim. No, I can smell it, doctor, that sweet scent of arousal just barely beginning to bloom. I can practically taste that heat on you. I can see the faint dilation of your pupils, the shrinking band of green gold around, I could feel that increase flutter of our pulse before you escaped me.

"The answer?" Garak teases him back sensing with that faint parting of lips, that the contact which Doctor Bashir seeks goes past the slow sensual Cardassian dance of gustatory pleasure. No, he senses a desire for that base mash of mouth to mouth human lip pressing, perhaps inclusive of tongue, teeth even. He usually finds such a thought off putting, but there is a certain smell, a certain taste that he detects off that warm breath as Doctor Bashir asks softly, "Garak?" that makes him want to seal their mouths messily in just that manner.

"Did you forget, Doctor," he chides him voice thick and heavy, "that you do not get to ask any questions until I'm… finished with you."

"Then finish me," Doctor Bashir challenges, tense but far too eager. Even so, Garak leans in, knowing at the heart, that whatever might pass between them, whatever heat might sizzle and crackle electrodes humming right now that at this time- in this instant- it is far more a ploy than even his previous encounter with Jadzia, but he finds he cannot stop himself from-

From the ring of an insidious bell that he has an irrational urge to rip from the wall; Garak wonders if that violent impulse is some side effect of the drug or an outcropping of his impatience to… Yes for another experience of that physical contact, that intimacy that you've been lacking for so long. Such an unprofessional lack of impulse control you've expressed since coming here you ought to be thankful you're not being audited. He sighs as Doctor Bashir practically jumps out of his skin- nearly falling on the floor, in fact. Garak sits back on the couch, head lolling back onto the top of the low cushion suppressing a completely unprofessional groan of frustration. He shuts his eyes, letting himself embrace a short meditative state to recenter, refocus the swirl of color that appears behind his eyelids as thought after thought rushes to his immediate consciousness. It is almost overwhelming, and he's thankful for that distraction while he sorts and redirects his purpose towards those last two questions, and then whatever Doctor Bashir may then inquire of him.

"I suppose you're wondering as to the nature of my… enhancements," Doctor Bashir offers, bustling around him, the steps, the clang of silver speaking to his likely changing the lemonade for water of some other innocuous liquid. Garak runs his tongue around the dryness of his mouth looking forward to it as he digests that not so subtle suggestion. Really, Elim, you're failing so badly at this you're needing help just getting to where he wants you to be, and where you know you need to go. Yes, let him hold your hand while you're at it. But the water should help. Surely Doctor Bashir knows this, but there's a brief flash of concern that he reads before the doctor takes a seat, back on the chair to Garak's disappointment. Clearly whatever advantage he thinks to take in this is at odds with his sense of ethics. It makes Garak wonder if he shouldn't overplay his handicap- if that won't be enough to throw the doctor's plans to a tailspin.

He funnels that though carefully placed, so as not to misplace, as he takes a glass of cold ice water.

"It seems you really have read my mind, doctor," Garak agrees with a bit of exaggerated wonder that causes an eye roll in return. It's playful however, relaxed, and whatever aborted attempt at seduction he played has seemed to relax him and put him at ease. It seems that the bell may have saved him from taking things farther than he would have liked. But up and til then you have to admit it was all his game. Of course he thinks he's back in control. Even a fool could see how ridiculously you were panting over him. And now he thinks the advantage is his; it doesn't matter if it's true or not, you know as well as any it's all about perception. And what he perceives now is the poor hunted Cardassian, desperate for any sort of warmth, any intimacy, all too eager to fall into bed with any attractive face who shows him the slightest crumb of affection. It is, admittedly, not the effect he was seeking but he can certainly use that to his advantage as well. Of course he can.

"If I may be frank, doctor, while I have been absolutely burning with professional curiosity I feel it only fair to let you know that I can ascertain at least one of them with complete certainty," he declares, the water definitely easing his thirst and helping his drifting thoughts.

"Oh? Well I'm all ears." The doctor takes a drink himself. Garak is completely sure that if the drug ever was in his system if won't be for too long. He notices that his own focus is returning faster than he would've thought and he can only hypothesize the cause is either a weak dilution or in fact… "I've already caught you…" Doctor Bashir's words come back to him- rather they slam into him an unpleasant kick to the gut as he comes into full focus- a focus that he's possessed this entire time. He's careful to hide any reaction as that scene replays word for word, that smug little grin that never left his face even after Garak took over with nothing more than playful banter dismissing the statement entirely. He hides a grin behind that glass far too amused to even be properly angry with himself for falling for such a novice trick.

They always talk, don't they? The amateurs, the novices, they always boast. The ego cannot help but want to bring itself to the forefront, show off its brilliance, make you bow before such cleverness. Oh, but not clever enough never clever enough. Perhaps this time there was almost a moment but… But there were enough tells from him, enough clues that… Oh yes, Elim, he was practically screaming at you with all of his body language that there was something in your drink. The man who by his own written admission has deflected any number of likely skilled bounty hunters suddenly is so bad at hiding those little tells from you. Oh no, he read the diary as he should and he played right to your arrogance. Yes, of course the master spy would see these things because he is the master. What was that human saying Jadzia taught you while arranging this meeting? pride cometh before the fall... yes, beautiful foreshadowing, a little taunt for this evening. Clever. Too clever, both of you. Yes, you are correct, doctor, I am in fact caught. But as to whether or not I reveal that to you. We'll see if you figure it out on your own.

He doesn't feel the slightest bit of guilt then, when he declares straight faced, a long sweep of his eyes up Doctor Bashir's body,

"Surely they've gifted you with some ultra sexual allure to make you completely irresistible to all those you choose to seduce." He sets the glass down as Doctor Bashir nearly drops his, a swallow down the wrong pipe sending him into a red faced fit of coughs that nearly coughs the spectacles off his face. The fact that he doesn't drop the glass- or rather starts to but stops without overcorrecting, his hand still steady, reveals that there's likely a reflex enhancement. He also made sure to drop his volume lower, softer, with each spoken word that was almost unnoticed by Doctor Bashir. So we can assume hearing as well. Eyes, I have no doubt or else he wouldn't hide them behind those spectacles, and now to ascertain if his little mental tricks, if his little tests of control, if his ability to mask himself are the result of augmentations or merely years of practice.

Garak himself knows a handful of operatives with comparable skill sets so that he does not assume. He sits back, affecting an interest to a shelf behind Doctor Bashir, reading the titles of the books. A fascinating assortment, he catches sight of a collection by Iloja of Prim, naturally, along with some other assorted human, and a surprising number of Klingon epics as well. He decides against inquiring as to the doctor's wellbeing- that would only require a further lengthy tangent and he's saving that for a much better use of his time. The coughing continues long enough for him to take another drink of water, making his own mental wager as to the questions that Doctor Bashir might ask him in return. They all of course are based on the supposition that the doctor believed every word he read to be true and there is some strange instinct that flares up inside him, carefully bred from his years of service that make him question that certainty.

"I must say, you have a way of surprising a man," Doctor Bashir says at last, still sounding breathless and strained." Garak remains staring at the books on the shelf and hears a poorly hidden sigh. Yes, the doctor still seems to think his little mental placebo to be fast at work. Garak is almost tempted to push his patience and see if he can get the doctor aggrieved enough to come out with the truth but… But there was a certain heat, a certain fire, that steers him away from that. No, let's see, Doctor, just how strong your powers of observation in fact are. Let's see then if your arrogance will lead you to believe that your suggestion is in effect even when the signs seems have worn off. The fact that his lack of loquaciousness has been seemingly written off in that little flirtatious dance does not bode well for the doctor in that exercise. Yes, you do still have much to learn after all, for a man with your gifs, with your experience, there is still so much potential to be unlocked.

Garak takes another drink.

"Then you may be surprised to know that while I definitely consider that second question a correct guess on your part, my dear, I already have all the answers I need." He watches those eyes narrow faintly as he primly sets the glass down. There's a sharpness there that immediately resurfaces almost blended with a look of quickly hidden anxiety. Not so unobservant after all.

"There's no possible way you could know that."

"There is no such thing as impossible, doctor, I'm sure your own rather unconventional life is testament to that. No, I believe that all things are possible, particularly with the proper motivation." There's an almost sullen cross of his arms as Doctor Bashir sits back, boyish in that gesture.

"And what motivation might that be?"

"I already told you doctor," Garak scolds him unable to hide just a hint of smug reproach, "it's not yet your turn to ask the questions."

"Then why don't we get to the last one of yours so that it will be."

"You know, I've heard it said, that a good doctor is never short on patients," Garak quips, not allowing anything but pure innocence on his face when the doctor sits of suddenly at that admittedly awful pun. But Garak does not allow for whatever indignant protest he may be wanting to make. Instead his face is all business when he himself leans in, expression allowing some of that hard earned darkness to fall from the shadows of the oil lamp on the sofa table behind them. "But I've decided, that your patience so far deserves a reward, and that reward is this. I'll give you my best game, my dear, and I won't ask the question that I've decided you've written there and lead me to with your trail of literary breadcrumbs, but rather to ask the question that I've been dying to know more than anything else."

And it is that declaration that he sees cause those hands to clasp in front, between his knees almost like a prayer as Doctor Bashir looks at him, likely summoning every ounce of whatever psychological manipulation he can muster to sway him. No, Garak has been swayed far too much this evening and he's going to let himself savor this moment while those hands clasp tight and the doctor's eyes meet his beautifully angry.

"And what question is that, Garak?" Tight, clipped, impotent fury barely contained in that lush mouth hiding half grit teeth. And people wonder why he smiles so much. Garak feels it would be rude to do anything but as he asks simply,

"Of course, you're expecting me to make some crude inquiry as to how many you've killed or some violent obscenity that's always fascinated you humans. But no, Doctor, I've as little interest in that as I do with the clandestine Mr. Sloan that you reference. My interest is more of a... personal nature if you will. I simply wish to know how many times you've watched me in my room."

He waits for another sharp intake of breath, for any indicator of surprise but instead he finds none. Instead he watches as Doctor Bashir slowly bends, hands reaching down to the crumpled paper, his head, his hair obscuring what Garak can see just long enough for him to remember that with enhanced reflexes Doctor Bashir is quite likely a master of sleight of hand. Even so, Garak reasons, there's no possible way that he could do more than a switch of papers and that question is not on any page that he should hold in his possession. "There is no such thing as impossible, Doctor." Isn't that what you just said Elim? He finds that thought strangely thrilling as he watches the paper unfold, plain as day, Doctor Bashir's face unreadable as he holds it out for Garak to read.

And there they are the three questions written one after the other right to that final query, "How many times have you watched me?" It does not specify as he did in his room, but Garak does not protest that point as Doctor Bashir hands him the paper slowly, not looking nearly as satisfied as he should- doubtless because his little voyeurism has been exposed- as he takes a deep breath. He stares at the coffee table, at the rug, at some indeterminate point that Garak cannot make out, a long silence passing before he answers. It's a soft confession, but even at its near hush, Garak doesn't miss it, his own eyes going wide in surprise as he hears those words, as Doctor Bashir looks head hard, those hands clasped like a prayer between his legs.

"Every night," he says lips barely moving to those sounds, and it is that answer, that makes Garak realizes just why he affected that sudden reticence. Every night... the words replay rapidly and he cannot almost believe them to be true if the doctor refers to far more than just- "Every night since you arrived,."

It's Garak's turn for surprise as Doctor Bashir slowly raises his head, eyes locking to his in some moment that Garak cannot even hope to describe. He himself is at an odd blank, a strange loss for words as that silence stretches that answer far beyond what he'd ever imagined. There are of course several follow ups, several demands for answers that he knows he cannot now ask as Doctor Bashir maintains that silence. That silence, of course, nothing but an eternity encapsulated into seconds at beast before Garak breaks it soberly.

"I believe then, doctor, it is your turn," he says that reminder a hesitant hedge. And he thinks he sees a deep breath to some riveting revelation but just as the bell, just as Kira those weeks ago in Rom's, just as too many damn "coincidences" for Garak to stand, there's a loud knock at the door followed by Odo's harsh voice.

"Doctor?! I'm sorry for the interruption, but you're needed immediately at the mine. There's been an accident and they're calling all medical personnel from here to Chapparal and points west of the mountain."

"Dear God, that many?!" Doctor Bashir is on his feet in an instant, a flurry of action as he runs for the door, nearly jumping over Garak in the process. "I'm coming, now, I'm there, tell me Jabara is back on world or else we're going to have a disaster before Dr. Zimmerman can come from-" Garak doesn't need to turn his head as that voice trails off following the opening of the lock, the door, Garak finding himself alone in Jadzia's room. He has no doubt of her assured swift return- if she was ever more than a few feet to begin with- but it does give him an opportunity...

Garak's eyes catch sight once more of a discarded notebook and he laughs out loud, taking it from the chair.

"Oh, doctor, doctor, when will you ever learn your lesson about these precious books of yours?" He doesn't even make it to a step before he hears the sound of another door- this, the closet across from her bed- causing him to turn. Jadzia Dax strides sassily out wearing nothing but a thin strapped green nightgown, bare feet crossing the distance between them on the hard wood as she holds out a hand.

"And when will you learn, Garak, not to take things that don't belong to you?"