Note: It kills me that I missed a week but between rewriting this with a different scenario each time like 3 times and starting a new job with a new schedule it just didn't happen. I guess since I was like 2 chapters ahead it works out but anyway, I hope this final version 's a lot going on and a lot of secrets that will start to be revealed while once again even more begin so hang on for the crazy ride. Thank you all for your support. It's been invaluable in keeping this sucker going. C&C is also always welcome so drop me a line :)
Garak rarely dreamed of her. But that night he did. He knew he was dreaming a lucid beautiful dream when he turned in the bed expecting to see both Jadzia and Julian but instead found her. He blinked awake, or at least what his subconscious illusory self supposed was a waking state to find her, head raised upon what was a dais of pillows, looking down at him. Her hair was a mess, a tangle fanning out, down from its usual careful updo. She wore an expression that he'd locked away long ago and buried deep down to die. But the easy recall of her phantom presence only showed what a folly that had been. She smiled at him, gentle, devoted, looking almost into his soul as her hand reached out for the side of his face. He'd always imagined it was that expression which gave Dukat some disgusting high to have turned towards him. It was no wonder he favored her so even while pretending she was the bastard offspring of his wife.
Her hand was soft as it brushed the side of his face and he took her hand quickly in his lest that memory of her touch leave him waking to a murderous state. Dukat would never know how close he came to ruining his old enemy. Garak would sooner carve out his own liver, and he turned her wrist gently, tracing a finger over her palm as she sat up. He knew as his eyes darted to the curtains of a room that he'd only ever been in twice before, as if he hadn't already realized, that surely he was dreaming as he'd never been in her bed like this. It was always his room, his darkened corner of the world to which she descended with an excited whisper, a smile, a touch to his arm. Her room was light, was still half a child's fantasy with a few carefully preserved dolls on her shelf that still couldn't even be half as old as he. Garak had always hated her room.
Garak swallowed almost afraid to look at her again, desperately wishing that she would disappear. She was gone, after all, or rather it was he who had gone. He didn't need another reminder dredged from the depths of his subconscious of yet another in a long list of mistakes in his life. But fate, the ancients, whoever, had never been inclined towards kindness nor he to himself.
"Have you been awake long?" she asked him already twining arms, already sliding around him in the silken nightdress, her face pressed to his neck just, as she used to say, breathing him. There was a time that there was no more wondrous sensation than her warm breath, her soft lips pressed where his neck and shoulder met, and in spite of every rational self preserving part of him telling him to just leave, he stayed. Dreams were meant to be indulged, he'd heard tell from some rogue scavenger years ago. Spoken like a man who would never understand what it meant to serve as he had, and yet it had still made him wonder for just that brief flash in so many decades of eager servitude.
And that flash of wonder down a rainy, wet street five years ago had blossomed upon meeting her to a long waking fog of "what ifs" that led to nothing but-
"How many times must I tell you, my dear, that I don't sleep." He spoke, thinking that he should still have more control over his actions, unless it were the will of his mind to leave him a helpless spectator to play out the same moments until he thought he might go mad. Garak knew just as he breathed that there was no more masochistic mind to be found than his. And as he remembered the feel of her body turning in his, close to him, he remembered as well her scent, the feel of her hair as it slipped through his fingers, the way that her toes would curl under her kneeling, her habit of half climbing on him until he thought he might be wearing her as a second skin. Childish, that's what it was. Yes, Elim Garak and his beautiful child pride, Dukat had said scornfully, hatefully raising that glass in his memory. A toast- a human custom that had seemed so wildly out of place until Garak had watched her innocently raising the glass to her lips.
There was a tightness in his throat at that recall, still feeling her there, still feeling her breathe and he stupidly dared for just a moment to-
"I felt him move, Elim. Just a little, but I knew he was there. I'm sure it was when I felt you next to me." Poison, whispered in his ear that made him hover between shoving away the demon shade of his memory and crushing it so close that it broke apart into a million unmendable pieces.
"Perhaps he's already trying to kill me," he'd answered glibly, that wonder in his voice as if he were truly there, for the first time hearing those words. He could swear that he was shaking but she didn't seem to notice. She wouldn't notice. She was nothing but a holoprojection of his mind playing out the same miserable programming over and over again. He thought he if killed her now it wouldn't stop the next words being spoken from a broken android head rolling around on the carpet.
"Well then he'll have to be strong like you, won't he?"
"He will be," Garak answered, that automation of his body, his mouth, needles under his skin. "You will trust me, and I will betray you" were the words that echoed in his head every time that he lied to her. and so he kept on lying.
"What are you doing?" Garak never would have thought that his attention would be diverted from such a plaguing nightmare relived in his head over and over again but somehow Nog manages to do just that with a mind boggling move of his piece. It's a retreat, a fall back just when Garak thought he might actually have a chance at making this an interesting match. No, he amends that thought. It has been a very interesting match indeed, just not for the reasons he'd initially thought. He'd proposed the game as a means to get a better feel for Nog's head, and he's always found people to be far less attentive being interrogated over a friendly game. He had hoped after the first day's instruction that Nog might prove, with his clear excess of intelligence and cunning, to be a challenging opponent, but so far that hasn't exactly been the case.
"Regrouping." Nog's reply is terse and Garak can see him concentrating hard on the silver bottle cap neatly bent in half. Royal Crown is the brand in enough abundance discarded in some galley area that Julian had found along with his own gold Seagram's. They worked oddly well in a pinch, Julian also able to scare up something called chalk and a a black board from his room.
"But you're losing." Garak almost shakes his head at the move, finding it almost perfectly reflective of everything about to occur.
"That's why I have to protect my assets." Yes, regrouping, protecting the assets, saving that which should not be saved, trusting that which should not be trusted. Like that woman Collins. You shouldn't trust her, Ferengi. Your ears might hear everything but your eyes are blind if you can't see the looks she still casts at Watters. Not romantic no, that seems saved for you as you suggest but that worship, that devotion to his command is something you've clearly blinded yourself to.
Yes, you know better than anyone Elim, how poor a security that seduction is. He almost shakes his head, almost laughs when he considers that folly of youth, of the young to believe that a tussle between the sheets, that some mutually shared pleasure, some sweet words will eclipse the character of a man, or a woman. Really, Nog is as blind to his ally as he is the Kotra. But then again, so had Garak nearly allowed himself to be equally blinded.
"This isn't a financial transaction. Protecting your "assets" is what got you into trouble in the first place. You have to go on the offensive. You have to attack." One always must be ready to attack, anyone, at any moment. Betray anyone at any moment, no matter the price. Garak watches, face grim as Nog goes to make a move but then stops.
"Point of clarification," he says suddenly, looking not at Garak but at the bent bottle cap between his fingers: a Gul. Garak looks at him curiously. "Am I allowed to sacrifice my own pieces?"
The question is a curious one, one he wouldn't ever have expected coming from a Ferengi. He considers the question, several game masters having had a go at that very debate over the centuries. Garak has always himself sided with Lanark's treatise on real war and its' role in Kotra. It was a theorem based on the idea that one must achieve victory by any means necessary and therefore rules of war were suggestions at best and any feasible moves ought to be allowed, doubly so for those not implicitly addressed in the rules. And beyond that, Garak is curious to see where the affirmative answer to that question leads. He keeps the smile on his face and takes a long sip of tea.
"Of course. It's only a game, after all," Garak answers easily, his attention straying another moment when Julian comes into view from the other side of the sofa, face like a storm cloud marking their final descent and landing. Yes, nothing but a game...
"I know you're going to betray us." Julian had spoken the words some ten count after Jadzia entered the bathroom and the sound of running water met his ears. Garak had watched him, had looked at the lean sweaty body that shadowed over him, half hard, sticky, hair plastered to his face, still wearing a darkened flush. He had considered a move, a divesting of damp sheets, of that unpleasant spot, or rather spots which clung to his back. He considered a lot of things but remained, waiting for Jadzia to return and perhaps advise him on where they might come by a fresh set before he move. He licked his lips absently, an odd though, an odd terribly human thought to roll over and half lick half kiss the mess coating Julian's cock just to taste him. His tongue already tasted the air, a triple sex mixture that lingered thick in the air. Still, it seemed not to be enough.
Garak lazily watched as Julian stood there, the bed sinking down with his weight. Garak puts his arms behind his head with a nonchalant affectation he's seen many a time in Rom's.
"Why Doctor Bashir, after everything that we've been through, you still don't trust me?" He sighed as Julian half crawled over him possessively. It was a rather nice feeling even as tired and stiff as he was. "You've no idea how pleased I am to hear that," he said cheerfully, allowing Julian to pull his wrists above his head and hold them. It was a dangerous position given Julian's strength, but Garak never truly let his guard down and between the two naked males, his money, as the Ferengi would say, would be on the one whose genitals were inverted and safe. Julian met his smile with a much darker one of his own, straddling him, bowing his head until their faces nearly touched.
"You didn't drug me just so you could shag Jadzia. You didn't drug me... you didn't play that hand just to plot with her." The words are whispered nearly to his mouth and Garak could feel the cold sticky on Julian's stomach hit his own until it warmed between them, dirty, erotic, Julian's breath cinnamon red hots that he kept in a small satchel near the bed. "You wanted to know what it would take... how much time you would have... Isn't that right, Mr. Garak?" He felt Julian shift, felt a resettle down on his hips, a squirm, Julian's hands getting tighter around his wrists in a small warning. Of course you knew from the start that I was contacting someone and I'm sure you guessed it was the Order. You don't believe me when I tell you they're going to help us destroy the Kironide to keep it out of Federation hands. You're wise to doubt, Julian, you're wise not to believe, but you're not wise to allow me to get so close to you.
"No Mister," Garak protested with a careful twist of his wrists, flexing his hands, "just Garak."
"Are you going to give me that plain simple nonsense? Do you really think I'm that stupid?"
"I think you're strong enough, I think that you're clever enough, my dear, that I shouldn't be a threat to you. That an aging tailor shouldn't make you resort to such violence..." Garak found that his voice was thick, that Julian's breaths were getting heavier with that proximity, that Julian was, the State bless him starting to get harder. Garak doubted he was in any position to mirror such a feat so soon, but then again he didn't necessarily have to be.
"I haven't begun to show you violence," Julian whispered softly, dipping his head, voice trembling as the words were spoken to Garak's cheek, down to his neck sensitive, hot, and he really wanted to taste that cinnamon on his tongue.
"How many of them are coming, Garak?" Garak's response was a turn of his hips, a small arch of his body beneath Julian's not to struggle, no, not at all.
"Coming?" he repeated breathlessly, feeling the tension above him, feeling that grip tighten half in anger but certainly also in-
"Don't play with me, Garak."
"I thought you enjoyed it when I played with you, Julian." Another twist, another arch, a small push of his hips and Julian raised up on his knees, likely to relieve that pressure but instead it allowed Garak to slip his right leg out.
"Don't you dare..." Half begging, half threatening, my, Garak never should have underestimated the draw of sex for a man like Julian Bashir. He squirmed, feeling Julian's knee move almost out of instinct, not content to straddle him, but instead moving to kneel between Garak legs. Garak not only allowed it but invited it, spreading his legs, hearing a small pop of one knee as he did. Guls, getting old was a bitch, as he'd heard slip from Miles O'Brien's mouth a few times while renovating his room.
"What shouldn't I dare, Julian?" he dared to ask as Julian pressed again him, as his prick swelled between their bodies, slipping between his legs, over the still sensitive slit making him hiss in hypersensitive pleasure. "I shouldn't dare to play with you? Such a selfish request when you clearly enjoy playing with me, coupling with me, or should I use that vulgar Federation vernacular to say that you clearly love fucking me, my dear?"
"Shuttup, Garak." Julian gripped harder, almost dangerous, almost growling hard, heavy prick slipping down lower he was almost terrified at what he might push in such a heated moment but Garak didn't stop there.
"You don't distrust me enough not to- I'm afraid there's no polite euphemism that immediately springs to mind- bury your prick balls deep in my ass every night."
"Garak..." Julian let go of his wrists, the blood rushing back as those strong hands gripped his shoulders, holding them hard to the mattress. Garak allowed that as well pushing, teasing, squeezing Julian's hips with his thighs, not trusting Julian's resolve, but rather his own pain tolerance should it prove necessary.
"Even now, Julian, even now as you accuse me of treason, of endangering us all, of betraying us all to my people, you can't stop thinking about how you'll feel inside this treacherous Cardassian's body, can you?"
"I'll kill you if I have to," Julian swore before taking his mouth roughly, mashing the next words out messily so that they were almost impossible to decipher. "If I need to protect my..." trailed off to some fumble as Julian rutted against him, almost slamming his head to the wooden board above in frustration, hardly daring to go further. Garak silently applauded his restraint even as he goaded him further.
"Do it..." voice pitched lower, pleading, already relaxing his body, breathing heavier, not needing much acting to make Julian groan. "Give it to me..." It was so easy, it was almost pitifully easy. He'll never forgive himself if you allow him him to take you so roughly...when this is over... But when all this was over there would be no him and Julian. No him and Jadzia. None of them. And that guilt would only work to his advantage. "Please, Julian..." Please give it to me. Your secrets... all of them... anything I can use against you I will. Never doubt that. Never doubt that I won't do anything to go home again. Even if it means I have to-
"No..."
"I beg you pardon?" Even if I have to use your-
"I'm not playing your game Garak." Julian let go of his shoulders and Garak looked in his eyes, dark, violent, beautifully passionate, some moment of brilliance clicking as Julian's words played back at him. And of course then, it seemed to obvious that next dark little secret of Doctor Julian Bashir was-
Garak blinks that away and makes a study of the board again, following Nog's move carefully as he loses the piece leaving a paltry opening that otherwise makes no sense. Garak can only assume that it was intentional, but he also is aware that Nog would know how obvious it appears. His hand hovers, not committing, eyes scanning the array, the diminished pieces screaming to him that there must be something in the puzzle that he's missing as Julian steals his attention with what Garak swears is an almost seductive walk by, long fingers trailing over the wood carved sofa back, eyes meeting his. But it isn't sex that meets his gaze when the two of them look at each other, but perhaps a promise of death as well. Garak wonders if there isn't something misfiring in his brain to find that so alluring as he refuses to take Nog's bait and repositions for a final assault. Nog smiles at him when he does, and as the pieces fall into place, he realizes his error in expecting a Ferengi to always act like a Ferengi.
"The sixty second rule of acquisition. The riskier the road, the greater the profit." He considers those words as there's a roll of the dice, and a wide grin that splits Nog's face with a turnaround towards victory. But Garak doesn't consider that when Julian stops, eyes boring into his like Archon Makbar on a particularly bad day.
"Good morning Julian, I'm afraid this game is going a bit longer than I'd anticipated but I'd be quite curious to see you play the winner." He meets that stare evenly as Julian stops.
"We have a problem." He looks as if he hardly expects an answer and as he slowly, stalks around the table as if to take a seat between to two of them, his eyes still never leave Garak's. He stays standing instead. "I just spoke with Molly. She told me that Yoshi failed to make the rendezvous." Julian's voice drops quiet, and the tremor that lances through as he speaks only confirms Garak's suspicion in the worst possible way. "Yoshi never misses a rendezvous, Garak. He never misses a rendezvous."
"I'm sure that-"
"We're turning around." Julian says as if there is no consideration for any other possibility and while such a statement might be expected from Keiko weighing the possible peril of her son against the fate of the galaxy, it shouldn't have come from Julian. But it did. And as Julian's face turned far more pale, deaf to Nog's incredulous protest, it only confirmed exactly what he'd suspected from the moment that he met the girl jumping some twenty feet to the ground that day. And that fact is that by whatever means it may have occurred, Molly O'Brien and Juriyoshi O'Brien are Julian Bashir's children.
End note: I don't think I'm spoiling anything when I say in regards to the last line, that this isn't even remotely a "Julian banged Keiko and O'Brien's not the father" type deal no no, It's something way crazier than that. Having said that a note about Yoshi's name. I know in the series his name is Kirayoshi because of Kira's role in his birth and her friendship with Miles. Given the timeline and events, that never occurred and that friendship doesn't exist yet so it wouldn't have made sense for that to be his name. Still the same character, and it will be revealed as well and doesn't have anything to do with mpreg (if anyone was curious) so stay tuned!
