Note: Took a brief hiatus before I made myself crazy but everything is back to schedule so thank you all for your patience. I half debated kicking chapter 50 off with a big bang but decided just to roll along with the main plot. I got too much going on for that so yeah... Anyway I had to think about this a bit and then it hit me, the episode of TNG that I watched over xmas. Poor Garak, forever drug into everyone else's nonsense. Thanks to everyone for sticking around this long ride, and C&C is always welcome.
"Doctor Livingston, I presume?" Julian asks with a wry tick at the corner of his lip. Garak swears that's supposed to be some sort of joke but for the life of him he cannot figure it out. The android offers no smile in return, though Garak hardly expects it. He does, however, acknowledge the line, eyes carefully surveying the large basement corridors around them.
"It seemed a whimsical pseudonym to use during my investigation. I was surprised that more of the natives did not recognize it. I have only counted about a thirty percent recognition of the cultural significance and of that a fifty percent verbal acknowledgment."
"I hadn't seen much of you outside when I was here last," Julian acknowledges. "The em…" He too looks around seeming flustered. "Is there anywhere that we might speak more freely? Perhaps returning to your house? There are a few things I need to discuss that I'd rather not get into here…"
"As a matter of fact, Doctor, I have found that this basement room is a popular location for clandestine meetings. There is an expensive and advanced material used for the walls of each of these rooms that is a near perfect sound absorption. You may have noticed that even your hearing is not able to parse the conversations and other sounds from the activities and meetings taking place." Yes, meetings, I'm sure that's the source of that pungent aroma.
Garak listens as Data and Julian exchange greetings, not entirely certain if he trusts the discretion of the staff the longer they linger. Data mentioned that there is a careful code at work and seems almost naïve in his absolute trust in that. Ah, the secrets they must hold, those who work this room, and to have a hand on that… but he tamps that thought down as Data looks at him, hand extended in that old human greeting. He barely registered how Julian presented him and curses his lack of focus. It shouldn't be any difficulty at all to pay attention to more than one thing at a time, but that ability is woefully hidden beneath a jumble of thoughts, unwanted impulses, and just plain black spaces in some instances. He pastes a gregarious smile on his face as he remembers his training, firm, two shakes, eye contact, release. It is textbook perfect as is Data's and he feels an odd sense of two well practiced machines exchanging some parody of a human greeting. He then realizes how inane it is to smile when half his face is hidden behind the white cloth, but he supposes it's better to keep in practice. There is no comment to that affectation but he feels compelled to offer an explanation.
"You'll have to excuse me, the ambient smell is somewhat strong for Cardassian sensibilities."
"Then we will want to make use of one of the green rooms," Data supplies, already seeming to know exactly where to go. Garak finds that curious as he recalls Julian explaining earlier that he hasn't been home much, instead spending his night "galavanting". Which answers the question of just how close to human his design is, and Garak nearly sucks the cloth into his mouth as that unwanted intrusive thought creeps its way in. He watches as Julian nods, a rush of conversation going by his ears, drowned out by those errant thoughts and it unnerves him that this is only getting worse since returning from the west. Of course the pragmatic interrogator within will remind him that it's only the seed of the idea planted so that his own imagination can provide the reinforcement until it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy but that's small consolation when his eyes are darting anywhere but the android in front of them. Thankfully if Julian notices he does a damn good job of not showing it much to the relief of Garak's dignity.
Garak isn't quite sure why this is moving so fast, or if it's his perception again, but he finds himself walking with them, blinking a few times as the world comes back into focus and he registers exactly where it is they're going. Especially once Julian explains that the green rooms are a Cardassian accommodation that are usually held in reserve only status, but tonight there seems to be one available from a cancellation. How fortunate, Garak thinks, wondering all of a sudden if the plan is to actually use the room for its intended purpose. That seems something that would be discussed beforehand though if the rooms aren't monitored he doesn't much see the point. He considers this as Data makes the arrangement with the attendant and Julian shoots him an odd sideways look that begs him to go along. Oh you're being ridiculous, Elim. He's not going to suddenly spring some strange android augment threesome on you without forewarning. But you do need to curry his favor- assuming such a thing even exists- in order to get whatever Julian is convinced he can provide. Tit for tat, that quaint expression of his seems it would apply. He thinks of Jadzia upstairs, watching the doors and wonders if they ought to send word, but somehow he missed that part of Julian's message to the attendant. And surely whatever novelty about to occur cannot possibly be that time consuming. Garak follows them down a high walled corridor to the right, taking note of the faint swaths of color next to some numbers and symbols. It's curious to note that he cannot make any sound out except from all but the loudest patrons and he silently applauds the business decision.
The three of them walk in unusual silence given Julian's propensity for small talk. Garak notes some rooms are reserved, others not, peering inside where the doors are open to see some beds, bars, an assortment of implements, a tub, some sort of mud room even, and it confounds the mind how these are kept in such condition on a nightly basis. He supposes the expense more than pays for the cost, and if the elegance of the establishment is any indicator, they seem to be doing quite well for themselves. He nearly walks into Julian when he stops, Data comparing the numbers of the key ring to the… series of locks on the door. Garak counts three, two normal tumblers, some inverse sliding bolt and as they enter. He sees that the door bars as well is is thankful the smace is large enough that the panic doesn't immediately seize him at the thought of being trapped. And more than that, the room is actually comfortable in its temperature and he's able to lower the cloth much to his relief. He doesn't smell anything except for Julian and leather. He isn't sure why he notices that before his eyes properly focus on the strange series of chains hanging from the ceiling, and coming out of the walls, but he supposes it's a matter of priorities. Julian seems completely unperturbed as the door shuts and he leans back against the wall. Garak continues to stare at the black leather cuffs hanging at the ends of the of the chains, straps of varying adjustments. He supposes if he lets his imagination run he can see some positioning of the body that would fit the strange setup, but he isn't so certain why anyone would want to-
"Garak?" He hears Julian's voice, and realizes that to his utter humiliation that the conversation had already resumed while his mind was otherwise occupied. He makes a show of carefully folding the embroidered cloth back, not looking at either of them.
"My apologies, as Doctor Bashir will doubtless inform you, there seems to be an issue with my…" Garak trails off almost huffy, frustrated with his inability to keep his usual calm. "ability to focus."
"We'll be able to treat you shortly, I promise you," Julian says, and Garak can just feel that sympathetic doctor's gaze. He ignores it and knows he really ought to not speak, knowing that whatever filters are usually present in triplicate have long deserted him.
"I was merely distracted by the presence of all these restraints. I can only imagine the sort of perversities the proprietors think we Cardassians indulge in. Likely they've been listening to all those wild Bajoran stories of torture dungeons and other lurid tales of unbridled sadism." He feels rather than hears Julian come up behind him, a hand on his shoulder accompanied by mock sympathy. Garak looks at that hand filled with an insane urge to nips his fingers.
"And all any of you ever wanted was a spot of tea and a chat, right?"
"Don't patronize me," Garak grumbles still feeling out of sorts. He shakes Julian off, watching curiously as he circles around, long fingers toying with one of the chains thoughtfully, carefully.
"You know they do expect us to make use of what's here," Julian says seemingly to himself though Garak certainly knows better. "At least to avoid any suspicion from prying eyes." He gives Garak a look and that little voice in Garak's head cheerfully informs him that he wasn't imagining this bizarre three way but instead somehow seeing a window to the future. Perhaps the Kironide has made him clairvoyant.
"You cannot be serious," he says flatly. Julian chuckles already starting to unbutton his shirt.
"Nothing kinky, and I'm volunteering myself anyway. Don't give me that look, I'll keep my knickers on and everything. Just want to make sure everything looks a bit used is all." Julian shrugs out of the shirt and Garak is filled with an irrational urge to stand in front of him. He notices though that Data has already half turned not seeming particularly interested in anything but reviewing the notes on a small paper pad. Does he really need that? Surely his memory storage can more than accommodate whatever it is he needs to store. Unless he's been using these poor parchments as backup to keep the space free bit it can't possible be more than a byte or two of data here and there so… So… looking at his garb, he's likely playing some fanciful dramatic role. Lovely.
"I really don't think this is necessary," Garak protests, finding his voice, while starting to find the notion perversely intriguing. Still, there is a closely associated memory stirring of Julian in a similar position that's not entirely pleasant.
"It won't be more than a half hour or so and it's not the worst that I've ever-" Julian stops speaking and only then Garak realizes it's because his hands are over his. He blinks, feeling almost out of body as he speaks.
"Surely you're not so eager for another torture session so soon, my dear." He watches Julian blanch and suddenly feels quite silly for the prudish objection in the course of his work. Because he realizes now, that that's exactly what this is. It's still part of the assignment, Elim. Of course, it's all part of your mission. You're not at home in your living room entertaining guests with a bottle of kanar, you're still very much working. You're not in a relationship, you fool, you're here for a purpose, and you need to remember that. This isn't a vacation, this isn't a leisure trip. The Order may have very well collapsed, someone is trying to murder you, and you're sitting here hand wringing about a Guls damned android seeing some human doctor nude! This isn't your spouse, your lover, this is a man you're engaged with as a matter of convenient resources and idle sexual release. Garak in fact blinks a few times resisting the urge to shake the nonsense clear out of his head. The immediate objective is to meet whatever conditions their contact provides, possibly negotiate, and then achieve a clearing of his head. Of course. It's simple. It's so painfully, stupidly simple he has no idea how Julian and his motley crew of Starfleet exiles has sucked him into this endless barrage of madcap capers.
"I believe I'm feeling a bit adventurous," Garak says, his usual glibness returning as he starts unbuttoning his own shirt to Julian's surprise. "I think it only fair to let you take the reins in this encounter, my dear. Tit for tat, and all that as you're so fond of saying."
"Garak," Julian says, eyes narrowed a bit suspiciously. Well, let him. Julian is hardly privy to his innermost thoughts.
"Forgive my lapse, Mr. Livingston," Garak sees no reason not to keep up the charade. "As I said before, I've been suffering a bit of a malady with my thoughts as of late that I hope you'll be able to assist with once we've solved the matter of?.." He looks up expectantly as he continues undressing, enjoying the happy warm air coming up from the metal grate in the bottom of the wall. Julian looks about to put his own shirt back on when Garak affects a leer- not too much affected, Julian shirtless is always a rather nice treat, after all- and lets it be known he's perfectly happy to enjoy the view. With a shrug, the shirt is instead balled up and discarded which pains Garak to no end as he folds, tucks, and sets every stitch of clothing neatly on a pile shoes to the side in the reverse order of which they were removed. He says nothing to Julian's amused grin and instead finds himself looking at the chains curiously. He isn't sure if his fear of small spaces will extend to being bound in such a fashion. He certainly hopes not but he doesn't feel that familiar stab of anxiety when he cheerfully holds out his right arm to be cuffed. Good.
"We really ought to get you situated first," Julian says almost clinically and Garak finds it very interesting indeed that he seems to know his way around the swinging setup. He files that away for later certain he can make use of it in some... professional capacity.
"Noted," Garak says, gingerly slipping onto that seat, practiced enough with the hammocks that tend to freely swing on various Indigo common spaces to not topple backwards; this seems much more settled in any case. He looks up, hands absently circled around the chains suspending the seat as if he were seated on one of the swings out back behind Rom's. Something Leeta informed him Jake and Nog used to play with as children. Strangely, he understood, the swinging motion a rather hypnotic relaxation even if his first attempt left him convinced he was going to flip clear over the wooden crossbeam at the top. There was also an amused look that Jadzia shot him when she came upon him freely swinging there letting him know there was a massive "tire swing"- whatever that was-over a gorge in Chapparal that he decided he absolutely had to see one day. He shakes that errant thought aside, frustrated at the moment lost in that daydream. The last thing he needs is to be planning site seeing trips around Westworld as if he's going to be here the rest of his life.
He lets it drop however as Julian gently starts moving his limbs into whatever position he sees fit.
"Lay back," Julian instructs him almost as if he were a patient on a hospital bed and Garak supposes that affecting any real sensuality will be difficult at best as Data turns back around, barely even sparing him a glance.
"The matter has grown more complicated than I had originally surmised, but with your assistance, doctor, I believe we can bring it to a swift conclusion. Your skills will be invaluable in assisting. It starts, you see, with the Betazoid Ambassador, Lwaxana Troi-" Garak sees Julian stop, wince, and wonders if there's not an interesting story to be told there. Data stops as well, seeing that reaction and Julian clears his throat as he secures Garak's left hand out, both arms now up and out at his sides in the comfortable cuffed leather.
"We've ah… met before," Julian answers evasively, face darkening just a touch. Garak feels a slight disappointment that the matter isn't pressed further.
"It would seem that the Ambassador went missing some months ago along with her daughter Counsellor Troi. That was the report I received from Captain Picard when I sent an inquiry. The reason for the inquiry was my happening upon the Ambassador quite by accident in the company of several Ferengi. She did not appear to be complicit in their trip but my suspicions were not completely aroused until she caught my eye. She looked at me a very long time and I don't believe she realized my programming allows me to lip read. Nonetheless…"
"Nonetheless…" Julian says, finishing the cuff of Garak's left leg, leaving him feeling rather strangely trussed up, his heart picking up in spite of the complete lack of sexual air to the situation. He's certain that it's the position, his knees pulled up and out from his body much in the way Julian's had been when he… Ah… that's likely intentional then… Though Julian doesn't seem eager to begin with any of the implements of… well perhaps torture isn't exactly the right word as he passes up a paddle in favor of some long feathery thing that seems to hold no practical purpose that he can determine.
"Nonetheless," he too repeats dumbly, eyes fixed on Julian as he walks around with a smirk that's absolutely brimming with ill intent.
"Nonetheless," Data continues, oblivious to Garak's impending doom, "I was able to determine that the men she was with are holding Counsellor Troi, yet I have not been able to determine where. It seems to be outside of Central but my resources and contacts here are limited."
"Surely you could ask Starfleet to at least send someone? I understand they've no jurisdiction here, but that's no reason that the resources couldn't be spared for a clear case of kidnapping. They sure could spare the personnel for other matters," Julian concluded darkly though Garak would point out that Section 31's priorities don't necessarily mirror Starfleet's own.
"Oh I've already made that request, Doctor," Data assures him calmly and Garak doesn't know why but something strikes him in that moment, a sense of impending doom that has little to do with the feathery stick and Julian's curious question asking if Cardassians are ticklish. That isn't to say that that ominous query doesn't concern him as well but- "I sent a brief message to Worf some weeks back and received a response but he's yet to make contact with me. I am sure he must have arrived by now but-" But Julian stops just as the feather hovered dusty light over the scales around Garak's knee leaving him one part relieved and two parts uneasy.
"What did your message say, Data?" Julian interjects, that playfulness gone from his countenance. Garak almost huffs in irritation, thinking that if he's gone through all this trouble the least Julian can do is finish this properly, but he too would be curious as the the answer. Data doesn't seem to register anything amiss but, Garak can practically hear Julian's thoughts screaming as they both recall the scene of Jadzia fleeing on horseback from her husband's unexpected arrival.
"I did not wish to give anything away should the message be intercepted so I simply let him know "She is here. And she needs you to come.""
Julian nearly drops the rod he's holding and Garak's eyes roll back with suck heaviness his head follows suit, almost dizzy as he looks to the gray ceiling. Of course, Data would think only of the MIA counsellor in reference and yet-
"You… are aware of the other her who's here as well, aren't you?" Julian asks in an almost strangled voice. Garak would laugh if it wouldn't be terribly inappropriate. Oh… he already is laughing, and is acutely aware of the android's confused stare at them both.
"I am afraid that I do not see the humor in the situation."
"Jadzia," Julian answers with a laugh that, like Garak's isn't so much amused as it is bitterly beautiful. "His wife is here. He came to Indigo to bring her back. God, he's probably still there even." Garak's head heavily rocks back up to watch Data, he sees that introspection dawning to understanding. The chain rattles as he forgets that his hands aren't free to applaud.
"I see," he says at last after a brief silence. "Then it would appear I have made a miscalculation."
You don't say…
Of all the adjectives that could ever be used to describe Jadzia Dax, "cautious" has never been at the top of that list. And tonight, wanted poster decorating the city of Central, she sits amongst a group of Ferengi, placing another bet with the latinum she's won a short while ago. Watching the entrance of the large club by herself wasn't exactly her idea of entertainment. In actuality that had lasted all of about ten minutes. She isn't sure when Julian and Garak are going to emerge- or the target for that matter. She's settled for scaling back the drink, knowing how to carefully feign imbibing instead, enjoying the loud crowd and the breeze that blows outside. Jadzia almost doesn't put it past Julian and Garak to become distracted downstairs, and after another round, and another few slips of latinum mournfully going to the Ferengi across from her who reminds her a little of Rom, she finds her attention starting to wander away from the sporadic looks towards the gates and instead doubling down her attention on the table game to see if she can't win some of her latinum back. Of course she can always get more in the morning, but that wouldn't be earned and it just wouldn't quite feel the same.
She actually loses track of just how much time passes as her winnings vacillate wildly back and forth. She loses track of a lot really as she bluffs her way to another victory, a leg under the table catching a slick switch of cards between the two men across from her. She smiles prettily at them. They smile back not quite so prettily at having been caught. Those smiles drop in an instant however leaving her curious, but still oblivious to the situation. And that's why when she feels the hand on her shoulder she nearly jumps out of her skin from where she'd been leaned over the table. Jadzia lets out an involuntary yelp thinking that she must be getting out of practice.
"I'm sorry, you-" She turns to the side briefly as she speaks and nearly falls into the table itself when she sees exactly who is standing above her. She can hardly believe it in fact, and when she does her initial instinct is to run again. She's already considering it as practically jumps from the chair, taking a subtle step back out of range.
Because the man she's facing now is none other than her husband Worf.
