Summary: Garak has an unfortunate accident in his shop. He tries to hide the results of the incident from Bashir.

Garak considered himself to be a tolerant man. Living on the station was bad enough in a social sense without his own people to debate with or enough individuals with cordial personalities for company. He would have fared well enough if that had been his only dilemma, but a whole host of problems nagged at him. The station was kept at a constantly cold temperature ever since the Bajorans and the Federation had claimed it. He had managed to fix the temperature of his rooms and his shop, but if he simply wanted to take a stroll on the promenade, it was like stepping into a refrigerator.

There was a certain human stigma attached to wearing thermal underwear. Admittedly, the garments had unattractive qualities like bagginess, stretching, an unflattering fit, and a peculiar texture. They were, however, crucial to maintaining a healthy body temperature. He had sewn several pairs in various materials that had been expensive, but worth the investment. If it had only been the lack of good company and the chills he would have maintained some semblance of calm in the lonely shell of Terok Nor. That was including the retina searing quality of the new lights and the general monotonous atmosphere.

It was his customers that most inflamed him. He enjoyed tailoring for the majority of the time. He liked the color matching and quiet nights spent on an outfit that was coming out beautifully. The artistic process itself made up for much, but there was always a customer that managed to get under his scales.

Today had been relatively quiet. Two of his favorites had visited that morning. Young Elna and her mother Letren had come by for a couple of fittings for something to wear to the Bajoran Gratitude Festival. It was only a week away. Elna was a quiet Bajoran child, but she was inquisitive. Garak enjoyed answering her questions and he treated the parent and child to his customary smiles. There was genuine warmth in his expression when he greeted them that clients of lesser quality went without.

Elna had a cloth toy with her of a Kelnar wolf. Its snarling face was depicted in brightly colored embroidery. She clutched it to her chest with one hand and poked around the shop with the other. She was rarely disruptive. She would often choose one piece of fabric to feel the hem of or just look around until her mother took her hand and steered her towards the changing rooms. Their visit went off without a hitch. Letren found a somewhat plain but silky dress that accentuated her eye color. Her daughter was given a similar piece, but with some playful stripes on the lining and ribbons woven into the miniature crochet shawl.

Garak waited eagerly for the afternoon. Doctor Bashir had invited him to play tennis in the holosuites with him. The Cardassian had accepted the invitation despite having no particular interest in learning the human game. The doctor had been busy lately and they had to skip the past couple of lunch meetings due to medical emergencies or off station trips. Today, they would finally have time to talk.

After a quick lunch in his shop, Garak looked over his digitized record keeping books and stitched the hem of a Bolian's shirt. His shop door chimed and he straightened up. He had been bent over his sewing on the measuring table.

"Hello, how may I help you this afternoon?" The Cardassian beamed at his new customer.

It was a wiry Bajoran with a similar stature to Bashir, but a tad stockier. He was muscular and he had the agile grace of a spring ball player. Garak would have many appropriate outfits for such a figure and the man would likely be pleased with them. Of course, he could be there to merely pick up an outfit for someone, but the Cardassian had a way of persuading his customers to stay and try things on.

"You'll be wanting an outfit for the Gratitude Festival, I gather? Or perhaps I could interest you in some comfortable sporting wear."

"I've been hearing some rumors about your shop." The inflection of his voice left Elim without a doubt about the nature of these rumors.

The tailor blinked with surprise but kept up his customer service smile. He waited for the Bajoran to elaborate.

"I have a friend who works in security and they can confirm that you have illegal equipment here."

Really, did the man want to start a quibble over his self-constructed fabric laser? It was likely that he had heard false information about something else.

"I assure you that my equipment is legal and safe. In fact, you'll find that most of it is quite common for tailoring businesses in this quadrant. Constable Odo looked over my tools himself. There has never been an accident in my shop. You are in good hands, and-"

"What about the equipment in your changing rooms? Can you account for that?"

"My dear sir, your friend must have seen something else. I keep no sewing equipment in my changing rooms."

"What about surveillance equipment? I hear that you've been harassing Bajorans." The man took a step closer.

Garak's eye twitched, keeping a calm look plastered on his face. So, he was being accused of being perverse and taking advantage of his customers was he? It was apparent that this man had no interest in buying anything, but wanted to agitate him with his accusations.

"There has never been any surveillance equipment inside my shop except for the camera at the front door, which is in plain sight of any customer who enters. I would never impose on my customers' privacy to put bugs in a changing room. Not only is it illegal, but it is uncouth and uncivilized."

"So am I supposed to take your word on that? Cardassians have never been above being uncivilized."

Garak waved a hand. "By all means, investigate my changing stalls. Please be timely about it though. I have a scheduled meeting with someone today."

"My friend said that there was a camera in there, but the Constable was keeping it quiet to stay on your good side. I always thought that he was a collaborator." The Bajoran took a step closer, body language radiating hostility.

Garak had never started a physical fight in his shop and he was not going to start one now. There was always a time and a place, but this was neither.

"Sir, if you would care to bring in security into my shop to search it, then feel free to summon them. If that does not appeal to you, then I suggest you leave." It was an obvious dismissal.

"Are you throwing me out because I discovered your sick little game? How many times have you 'invited' yourself into a changing room? How often have you pretended you needed to measure Bajoran women with-"

The rest of the tirade was lost in a string of Bajoran that the universal translator left untranslated. Elim was fluent in Bajoran and he knew precisely what he was being accused of.

"Leave." His tone was firm. The false accusations were too grotesque to keep up an appearance of politeness.

"So you can get away with the assault of your customers? I'll tell everyone I know about this disgusting place and you'll have to shut down your business."

"I have asked you to leave. Do so before I call security," the tailor hissed.

When he looked back on this moment and the time that followed, the Cardassian began to critically evaluate his competence. Perhaps his skills had gone to the wayside. Perhaps he had resigned himself into his nonthreatening tailor role so much so that any act of violence towards him took longer to defend against. For whatever reason, the first blow caught him by surprise. The very nature of it was unexpected. He would have expected a blow to the abdomen, nose, or eye. Instead, he was firmly struck on the ear.

It was a Bajoran equivalent of a knee to the groin, only laden with an undercurrent of insult. Bajoran ears were extremely sensitive, like Cardassian shoulder ridges. They only struck the ear when they were in immediate danger or wanted to perform an act of seething insult or serious damage. This had been a brutal hit and it snapped Garak's head back. He nearly lost his balance and he had to step backwards to recover. His feet became tangled in something and then he was falling. His head collided with the edge of his sewing table and he hit the floor at an awkward and painful angle. He blinked, dazed and momentarily confused. He felt wetness on his face. The Bajoran retreated haughtily. Garak heard the door chime as the man walked out.

It appeared that the Bajoran was not interested in proof of his claims after all. It was typical of the species, acting before thinking. The man just wanted to take his anger out on someone, preferably a "Cardie" from the occupation. The tailor lay there for a moment until his instincts told him to move. Move to survive. The enemy was gone, but he could be back. His vision was tunneling and his left ear was ringing like a shrill siren. What had he tripped on? He never left anything on the floor in his showroom. His confidence with his familiar surroundings had undermined the situation.

The tailor reached up to wipe the wetness off of his face. Saliva clung to his hand and he frowned. It seemed that the man had spat on him and he had been too stunned by the fall to register it. He wiped the saliva onto the carpet, making a mental note of it to have it cleaned later. He sat up, moving slowly so as to not aggravate his head injury. This area of his shop was darker and not visible from the promenade.

As he straightened up, he discovered what had caused his fall. Elna's Kelnar wolf doll grimaced at him. The child must have dropped it just before she left. With a shaky hand, Garak picked it up. He knew from experience that his head could take savage blows and let him remain unaffected because of his thicker Cardassian skull. He was fairly certain that the table had not damaged anything vital, but he was still dizzy and pained.

Julian was expecting his company in a few minutes. If he claimed to be unable to socialize because of illness, the doctor would come to investigate. If he claimed to be too busy, Julian would think he was giving him the cold shoulder because of the medical emergencies he had to attend to the past few times. It seemed that facing his friend was inevitable. What could he tell him? "I'm sorry that I cannot play sports with you today, doctor. I was assaulted in my shop and then I tripped over a child's toy and hit my head." Yes, a graceful and quaint explanation. He huffed a small bitter laugh and then winced when his head gave a nasty throb.

Bashir would call Odo about the incident, and then Captain Sisko would be informed. Dukat would overhear the story somehow and this would become yet another humiliating tale that the sneering back stabber would use to his advantage.

His mind was made up. He must act as though nothing had happened. He would seek retribution on the Bajoran later. He would meet Bashir, play a round of tennis, have a friendly and numbing drink, and then go back to his quarters. He was an Obsidian Order Operative. This would be simple, or so he hoped.

He met Julian outside of Quark's. Elim had dosed himself with a mild painkiller and put on a slim and dark outfit. It was tighter than his usual clothing, but inoffensive and it covered his neck. Julian had traded his usual racquetball outfit for something less eye catching. Still, he drew many appreciative looks as he waited for Garak on the promenade.

"I was beginning to worry that you were going to back out."

"And lose an opportunity to teach you new techniques? I would never have dreamed of it, my dear doctor."

His gait was steady, as was his gaze. He knew that his appearance was holding up to scrutiny despite his ringing ears and splitting headache.

"I'm supposed to be the one teaching you." Julian smirked.

"We shall see what develops. I think you'll find my nature to be somewhat- competitive." Agony spiked in his skull and he shut his eyes for a brief moment. He walked into the bar and towards the holosuites. Julian followed him.

"So, should we try a regular field court or did you have something in mind?" The doctor had picked a holosuite in hopes that he would not trigger his friend's claustrophobia. Here they could play the game wherever they liked, whether it be in a court in the middle of a forest or even a Cardassian desert. The computer could handle the simulation.

"A field court would be adequate."

"I've brought the racquets. Quark's are a little damaged."

Julian handed him one and directed him over to the holosuite he had reserved. Garak glided through the open doorway without stopping. Julian quickly put in the program and hastened to follow. Garak could feel his composure slipping and he knew that this charade would not work. If he did so much as hop, his stomach would rebel.

"This is a field in…"

Elim was unable to catch anything he said. The ringing in his ears had reached a deafening pitch. Julian had been lining up to serve his first shot whilst talking. For some reason, he straightened up and began walking towards him. His mouth was moving and Garak was about to answer him. He was about to make a polite remark about the court or the doctor's outfit.

As if he had beamed to the spot, Julian was in front of him. The Cardassian could see him mouthing his name. "-ak?"

"Doctor." The sudden deafness was fading away.

"Garak, are you all right?"

Time seemed to slow down as the tailor looked into the human's eyes. It had never struck him until this moment just how different they were. Julian's face was so soft and unridged, devoid of sternness and utterly uncardassian. His gaze was open and clear, innocent of ulterior motive. It was quiet and unassuming and something in him responded to it. This was safe because this was Julian.

"Doctor, I can't do this." It was the most honest thing he had ever said.

Julian's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"I have a head injury. It's mild, I assure you."

The human's eyes went impossibly wide at the vulnerable admission. Then, his expression closed off.

"Sit down. Slowly." Julian took his arm and gently lowered him down. He turned to the doorway. "Bashir to-"

"No." Elim seized his forearm. "This is a private matter, doctor. I am relying on your discretion."

Julian shut his mouth, but crouched low beside him and started pulling gently at his eyelids, checking to see if his pupils were unevenly dilated.

"Where are you hurt?"

"My left ear and the back of my head"

Julian sat down behind him, fingers tracing over the back of his skull. He found the large bump there and he held the tailor's dark hair out of the way while he inspected the bruising. The examination felt strangely mammalian, as though this was a primate grooming a reptile. Garak nearly snickered and then wondered just how hard he had hit his head. Julian shifted around to his side, squinting and inspecting his ear. His genetic enhancements allowed him to quickly determine the cause of the injuries.

"What happened? You're definitely going to the infirmary if you can manage it on your feet, but how did you smash your head into a table and get punched in the ear? The person who attacked you didn't hold back. This couldn't have been from a Bajoran."

Garak merely gazed at him.

"Good God, who assaulted you?" Julian looked thunderous. It seemed that he was familiar with the insulting nature of the blow.

"I didn't have the chance to discover the man's name before I joined you. I want to make it clear that I will not have the Federation or any other Bajoran know about this altercation."

Julian started to protest, but Garak cut him off.

"There will be appropriate retribution, I can assure you of that. A clip on the ear is not a horrific injury for a Cardassian, despite the intention with which it was delivered. I'm fine, doctor."

"Says the man with a goose egg on his head."

"A goose- what?"

"Never mind. This person would be dealt with harshly by his own government. Unprovoked assault and then striking you there is a huge cultural offense to the Bajorans."

"I will heal thanks to your ministrations. Really, doctor, I'll be fine. I appreciate the concern, but I don't want to inflame the politics of this situation."

Julian blew out a defeated breath.

"At least I may now enjoy the pleasure of your company without chasing after a ball. It's a rejuvenating activity, but not suited for good conversation."

The human gave a reluctant smile. "I enjoy our conversations."

"We don't need to have lunch or hold a sporting event to have one. I could have invited you to tea."

"We can still do that." The doctor grinned. The Cardassian mirrored his expression.

"After I walk you to the infirmary."

The smile fell and the doctor chuckled at the expression. "It'll only take a couple of minutes, I promise. I want to thank you for being honest with me. I wouldn't have liked it if we started playing and you fainted on the court."

"I wouldn't have fainted," the tailor said defensively.

"Something would have happened. The point is that I'm glad you weren't the boy who cried wolf and was gobbled up."

"I'm not sure if you're making the right literary reference," Garak murmured as Julian helped him up off of the ground.

"I'm trying to say that I'm glad you didn't lie to me about this," Julian explained

"My dear doctor, I would never lie to you. Though, I must admit that a Kelnar wolf was responsible for most of my injuries."

"Now I know you're trying to fool me."

The tailor merely smiled and he was led off of the holosuite field. Julian kept a warm supportive arm wrapped around his back.

The End