Author Notes: In this chapter some allusions are made to Bashir's unique background from season 5, but I don't delve into the topic. I want to give a special thank you to AlwaysAbby, GeorgieGinger, and Ivycat for reviewing. I don't have much in the way of patience when it comes to posting chapters, so here is another one for today.
Sisko had come to the infirmary as soon as Odo sent him the news of what had occurred. The head of security had dispatched a security bioscanner team to go over every inch of Bashir's quarters. Sisko started questioning the medical professionals, who were analyzing the traces of poison they had found on Bashir. It was a fine white powdery substance that looked like confectionary sugar at first, until they uncovered its sinister composition. The doctor had been quickly decontaminated and ordered to rest while the matter was investigated.
Sisko was determined that the doctor should remain within earshot of their debate. The doctor may be worse for wear, but he was still the head medical professional in the station. Sisko had started asking questions of the Bajoran nurse who was analyzing the poison's data. So far, they had come across several unusual elements in the poison's composition, to the like of what had never been seen before by Starfleet's data banks.
"How is the poison unique?" Sisko was trying to make sense of the charts and numbers that had flown across the monitors of their medical computers as they analyzed the toxin.
"It's the origin, sir. It comes for the Terutan planetary system, but the Federation stopped trading with them years ago. This substance is extremely rare and has only particular functions."
"Such as?"
"It targets individuals with certain kinds of genetic structure."
"In other words, my family genetics are susceptible. I think it's safe to say that the poison reached the correct target." Bashir cut in.
"You are certain you were targeted?" Sisko started to grow suspicious of Bashir's conviction.
"I am the only person on this station who has a genetic structure that allows me to be harmed by that substance. I think it is safe to assume that I was not accidentally contaminated by a trader from the Terutan System. According to the constable's records, no one at this station has been there recently, ."
Julian shifted around on the bed, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. His shadowed eyes betrayed his exhaustion and pain. The commander's brow furrowed slightly as he surveyed the doctor.
"Are you going to make a full recovery?"
"I'll be fine in a few days. Nurse Hia'tal, can you bring me another blanket? It's a bit chilly in here."
They were interrupted by the door sliding open. Everyone looked up to see Garak stride in. He was wearing one of his ridiculous dark yellow outfits with puffed sleeves and a slightly perturbed look on his face. He surveyed all of them and turned to Bashir.
"Doctor, I was about to invite you to lunch, but it appears I am interrupting something. There is a security team keeping guard on the door. Somehow, I don't think the constable has set a guard on you to make sure you stay in bed." Garak was scanning them all with a slightly narrowed gaze.
The tailor shifted slightly closer to Bashir. His hand twitched at his side and Bashir realized that Garak was instinctively reaching for a phaser that was not there. The doctor had noticed the instinctual habit before; he had just never understood the purpose. He concluded that the Cardassian's observations must be alerting him to danger. Bashir hastened to explain.
"Constable Odo is conducting an investigation. I've been poisoned this past week in small doses. I should be fine after a few days, provided I don't come in contact with the poison again. We've been able to heal most of the damage."
The Cardassian blinked several times, but seemed to quickly string his thoughts together.
"Have you any suspects?"
"I don't have any at this time, Mr. Garak. But rest assured that the culprit will not go unpunished. Dr. Bashir's quarters are being scanned. Perhaps the doctor should relocate. The infirmary could have traces of the poison as well." Odo started to eye their surroundings with distrust.
"Good idea. Perhaps the doctor should stay with a friend while we get this situation cleared up. We can't risk him coming into contact with that substance." Sisko said with conviction.
"O'Brien would be a logical choice." Odo nodded.
"I beg your pardon, but the chief engineer is otherwise occupied with family matters. However, I would not object to a houseguest if Dr. Bashir would find the arrangement suitable?" Garak looked to the doctor, awaiting his approval.
"I could be just as safe with guarded guest quarters. I'm not in the best physical condition right now, and I don't want to subject anyone to becoming my nurse." Bashir frowned.
The day that Garak looked after him would be the day that hell froze over. The tailor might feel righteous fury over him whenever he was threatened, but he was not the type to keep a vigil on someone. Bashir had never liked feeling helpless in front of an audience, regardless if the audience was a close friend.
"Your condition is what makes you in need of the protection and company, doctor. Unless you have any further objections, I want you to take Mr. Garak up on his offer." Sisko said firmly.
Sisko knew he was making the right decision by pushing for Bashir to stay with the tailor. He remembered how that on the first day the doctor met Garak, Bashir had become animated. His face had lit up like he had just found a long lost friend. Since their meeting, the two had often been seen sharing lunch and engaging in philosophical debates and discussions about literature. The Commander had also seen the subtle protective body language Garak displayed towards the doctor and the agitation the Cardassion hid behind his passive façade. Sisko was convinced that the tailor was not the one who had tried to kill Bashir.
"I am going to go check on the work crews. For now, we will be delaying traffic leaving the station until this situation has been resolved." Sisko left the room and Odo followed him.
Bashir glanced over at his Cardassian friend after they left. Garak raised an eye ridge.
Their trek through the halls had been strenuous on Bashir's body. He had staggered several times and Garak had to stop him from falling. Bashir supposed that they must have made an amusing sight, human and Cardassian walking side by side, with the tailor keeping an eye on his movements. The doctor had put up a mild fight when the Cardassian had insisted on carrying his bag of medicines and equipment for him. Bashir was uneasy about the fact that Garak would probably insist on administering his shots and doing his tricorder scans. Julian supposed that the saying "doctors make the worst patients" had some validity.
The tailor's quarters were small and secluded next to his shop. Bashir had been inside the rooms a couple of times, but this was hardly a social call. He was very aware that he was not playing his caregiver role, or even that of a visiting friend.
When they entered, Bashir went towards one of the chairs and sat down. It was a rickety old wooden thing that appeared to be second-hand and Bashir was momentarily confused by its presence among Garak's newer furniture. If such an item had been in a humanoid household, he would have considered it to be of nostalgic value to the owner. Garak did not seem like the kind of individual that would keep furniture passed down from his family. Not for the first time, Bashir stated to mentally evaluate just how much he knew about the Cardassian.
Bashir kicked off his shoes and curled his long legs up, trying to get comfortable. One thing was for certain,he mused; he was not going to take the tailor's bed from him. He was determined not to impose. Bashir was unwilling to let a little poison bring him down. Or at least, that is what he kept telling himself.
Unknown to Bashir, Garak was at a loss of what to do. The human had strode to Garak's mother's old chair, curled up in it, and had stared into the distance. The tailor went unobtrusively to his side and placed Bashir's medical bag on the side table beside him. Garak retreated quietly and puzzled over the doctor's behavior. Bashir was eerily silent, which was uncharacteristic of his sociable nature. He reminded Garak of himself at that moment, so tight lipped and serious. The Cardassian wondered how often how often he had sat in that chair looking just as stony. He could not blame Bashir for his reticence. To find out that someone was trying to kill you was a sobering thing. Perhaps the doctor needed some time to think.
The Cardassian busied himself with doing cloth orders from his digital pad. Garak sat down on one of the chairs by the viewport. He got lost in measuring how many yards of cloth he needed, determining the best hues that were in demand, and the sheerness of the fabrics. He made lists of notes and sidenotes. He became so intent on the project that he had completely forgotten that he needed to adjust the room's environmental controls for Bashir.
He glanced over, stunned at the crucial mistake he had made as a host to the ill doctor. Bashir seemed…fine. Garak surveyed him with confusion. Any other human would have complained about the stifling heat or would even be showing signs of heat exhaustion. Instead, Bashir had curled up like he was cold.
"Is the temperature suitable for you?"
"Yes."
The doctor spoke quietly. This in combination with the continued silence caused Garak to put down his PADD and watch him more closely. The heat in the room was far too intense for a human to be comfortable in. Bashir's body temperature must be fluctuating. Garak rifled through Bashir's bag of medicines until he found a tricorder. While the tailor scanned him, Bashir mustered up the strength to give him a half-hearted glare.
"You have a fever." The tailor informed him.
"My immune system is trying to fight it off naturally. Hand me my bag."
Garak did as he was asked. Bashir dug through it and retrieved the proper bottles for reducing his own fever. He was attempting to load the hypo when his hands started trembling. He fumbled with a bottle, nearly dropping it. The Cardassian stepped closer.
"Allow me."
Reluctantly, Bashir surrendered the equipment. Garak swiftly loaded the hypo, gave him the correct dosage, and administered the next fever reducer with all of the deftness of a Starfleet medical professional. The doctor watched him with suspicious bleary eyes. Garak supposed that his "I'm but a humble tailor" excuse was falling flat more and more by the minute. Bashir normally took delight in seeing proof that Garak was not what he claimed to be, but now the doctor seemed increasingly wary of him. Bashir slowly slid out of the chair and stood. He was shaking, but he appeared to be well enough to stand.
"Do you have a sofa somewhere? And no, I'm not going to be taking your bed from you."
"You would not be 'taking' it. You are ill and the Commander entrusted your comfort and wellbeing to me. I would be remiss as your host if I did not insist you rest in bed."
"A couch, please." Bashir said more firmly.
Garak sighed. The doctor was a stubborn man.
"I have one in my bed chambers."
Bashir gave him a grateful nod and slipped into the next room. Garak arranged the medical equipment back in the case and went to go turn down the temperature in his quarters. He had the uneasy feeling that this was going to be a long road to recovery and Bashir would make it difficult for the both of them.