Part 2

That had quite possibly been the weirdest conversation he'd ever had.

Bashir inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly to gather some coherence of thought. He needed some time to think. What he needed was some time to talk with someone other than Garak. But whom could he talk to? Not Dax of course… and he doubted Kira would see the urgency of the matter, or the sincerity of his doubts. He could certainly not talk to Leeta. She might claim to be skilled in the field of sociology, but he somehow doubted she would keep much of what he told her secret… Of course, that would apply to Dax as well, as she'd earned the reputation of knowing almost as much as Odo about what went on around the station. Going to O'Brien or Captain Sisko seemed out of the question. It was simply something he couldn't talk about with them. But if that was the case concerning his friends and fellow officers, who could he trust to keep their conversation a secret? It would have to be someone with a keen eye for human behaviour. Someone who could keep an objective standpoint throughout their conversation. And then it hit him. Odo? Could he trust Odo?

He was certainly trustworthy, and known for observing humanoid tendencies every chance he got. He was also a highly logical man who always kept an unbiased eye on the world.

It seemed Bashir would share the most embarrassing conversation in his life thus far with Constable Odo. It would have to wait though. He still had work to do in the infirmary… But as that was the case, and quite obviously so, why had he returned here? If he saw Garak again on his way to the infirmary he'd-- Well, he didn't know what he'd do.

***

Late afternoon came to the station calmly. Most of the Promenade was deserted by the time Bashir made his way to Constable Odo's office.

The doors parted, yet he hesitated to step inside. Seeing Odo's somewhat indifferent expression as he raised his head, Bashir found himself forced to take that final step towards total and utter embarrassment. He went closer to the desk, yet kept a healthy measure of distance between himself and the Constable.

"Yes…?" Odo drawled. "Is there something of importance I can help you with, Doctor?"

"Well…" said Bashir. "There's this thing I think you might be able to help me with…" At the Constable's still quite indifferent expression, Bashir took the easy way out. It was a bit risky perhaps, but Bashir was confident it could work, "A friend of mine… well… he's a bit …shall we say, anxious about this thing that happened to him a while ago…"

"Oh?" Odo said, not much interest evident in his voice, but he put away the padd he'd been working on. Folding his arms, he leaned back into his chair, nodding for Bashir to continue.

"You see…" Bashir chuckled, not quite knowing why. "It's really quite funny, actually--"

"Really," Odo harrumphed.

"Yes," Bashir cleared his throat. "Though I doubt he thinks so himself. You see, one of his long-time friends made a… This friend made a pass at him."

"And… that is a problem?" Odo asked, slowly becoming intrigued. "Why?"

"This friend of his… is actually a male too. And according to this friend, my friend has been uhm… acting in a certain way… that might indicate interest in his friend."

"The friend of your friend?" Odo offered.

"Yes," Bashir smiled. "I'm glad you keep up… I know I am prone to babble."

"Don't worry about that," Odo made a dismissive wave with his hands then folded his arms again. "Now. Why would there be a problem? I don't seem to recall Humans having gender issues quite like … oh, let's say, the Ferengi?" He paused, searching Bashir's face. "There's more to this than you're telling me, Doctor. Am I right?"

"Well. Yes, you are. See, my friend is a ladies' man," He said, putting emphasis on 'ladie's man'. "He's never been known to show interest in men!"

"Ah," Odo smiled briefly, "That does not mean that he's never been interested in males, does it?"

Bashir fidgeted uneasily in his chair, but agreed, "No, it doesn't exactly… But, what do I tell him? It's really making him feel awkward around his friend. It seems as if their friendship might end altogether."

"And he doesn't want that? Your friend, I mean."

"No, I don't. I mean--"

"*He* doesn't," Odo smiled again, in that closed-off way that always made him seem so indifferent. He leaned forward over his desk, "I do hope your not-so-secret admirer isn't Quark, but I would understand your discomfort if that is the case."

"It's… quite honestly none of your business, Odo," Bashir replied curtly.

"Oh, but surely you cannot deny the irony? The self-proclaimed ladies' man of the quadrant having a male-- Well…" Odo smiled that smile that seemed too stretched out to be comfortable once more.

"This is ridiculous!" Bashir exclaimed. "I don't much enjoy being interrogated like this!" Bashir fidgeted where he sat.

Odo tilted his head in surprise, "Oh, you misunderstand me completely, Doctor. I am not interrogating you," Odo sighed at Bashir's tense expression. "But you're right. I'm afraid I am too set in my work routine. This should be a conversation between friends, don't you think?" he didn't wait for Bashir to answer. "And friends would hardly do as I have." he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms again. He stayed silent, giving Bashir some time to gain his composure.

"Thank you," Bashir said quietly after a moment of silence. Keeping his eyes downcast, he said, "It really is quite embarrassing. He seems to think that we've been flirting ever since the day we first met at the Replimat."

"And you do not?" 'So he *does* live on the station, or at the very least frequent it at a regular enough time for them to meet,' Odo pondered, but said nothing.

"No. At least, I didn't think so… I don't-- I mean…" Bashir sighed, gazing at some place far off, beyond the many view screens behind the Constable's desk. "He thinks I'm drawn to men. No, let me rephrase that. He believes it is quite obvious, just by looking at me, at the way I behave, that I am-- I don't see it. I've never-- I don't know what to think!"

Odo nodded, but stayed silent. Humans were known for their amazing skills at rambling, and this particular young Human had proven to be a fine example of such skills. It seemed the need to talk and *be listened to* was most prominent in the young doctor.

His whole face showed tension; his eyebrows were pulled together, the fine lines by his nostrils just barely made visible by a slight sneer.

He was an impatient Human, and right now he was clearly indecisive on a number of matters. It seemed the doctor had finally hit the proverbial brick wall that his species seemed so fond of.

"He's a good friend. But I don't know if I can trust him… with anything. He once told me that there was a measure of truth in every lie, and that their success lay in the amount of truth laced within them. At the same time, he doesn't believe there is such a thing as truth!" he exclaimed, "How do I know that this isn't just another game of his? To see how I react? That it's just another mass of lies with just some insignificant measure of truth?"

"Is he prone to playing games with you?" Odo was intrigued. Bashir was revealing more with every word than he was aware of.

"Yes," Bashir sighed. Then as if in after-thought, he added, "I even enjoy some of them. It feels like I'm getting closer to solve the whole … web obscuring his true self."

"Like a puzzle to solve, perhaps?"

"Yes…" Bashir nodded, his eyes snapping to meet Odo's as if a light had just been shed on something of utter importance, "But, the thing is, the picture never clears up. The pieces never quite fit together, and for every piece I manage to fit into the puzzle, the more pieces pop up out of nowhere. The picture is growing too large, and there are too many pieces that don't fit, and I don't know what to do about it. Do I ask him out loud about the things I want to know, or do I simply go on playing his games and construct new ones of my own?" He stopped abruptly, his frown etched a bit deeper on his face.

'He thinks he's said too much,' Odo surmised. "The games change often? " He asked.

"Yes," Bashir went back to staring resolutely at his own hands folded in his lap.

"And you fear that this revealed attraction of his is another change of the rules?" Odo suggested. Bashir nodded, tapping one foot against the floor in an edgy manner.

"Then," Odo stated carefully, trying to gauge the reaction of the young human. "That must mean that there is some measure of …affection towards him, perhaps, on your part?"

Bashir's face snapped back up, and he stared at Odo as if he had shape-shifted into a highly unsettling item or creature. 'A most unusual expression,' Odo made a mental note to re-evaluate that certain look when he had more time available. 'But, obviously not now.

' Bashir stared at him, completely dumbfounded.

"I hope I haven't offended you, Doctor. I did not mean to pry."

Bashir swallowed audibly, scratching at the back of his neck. The frown was still there on his brow and around his eyes.

"I don't know," he said simply. "I value his friendship. He was one of the first friends I had when I came here."

'But?' Odo added mutely, tilting his head in an attempt to decipher Bashir's reaction.

"But…" Bashir sighed. "I guess I just feel silly. Because there *have* been gestures and touches… words… I feel so stupid, not to have seen it all," he combed a hand through his hair. He tried to smile, but only managed a crooked sneer.

"Not to have seen…" Odo urged him on. "The flirting between you?"

'Could it be…?' An idea was swiftly forming in Odo's mind. He decided the direct approach might be the best choice of action.

But before he had the chance, Bashir continued, "That he has obviously been flirting with me, whether or not it's one of his games, and … I've done nothing to dissuade him of it. I don't think I've been leading him on, but I must have done something to make him think his flirting was welcome."

Odo nodded. 'But that isn't what's bothering you, is it, Doctor? You fear that there might be something behind it all, something that you have yet to see.'

"Apparently. Tell me Doctor, do you have any knowledge of the most general Cardassian courtship rules?" Odo asked, testing the Doctor.

"Well…" Bashir raised his eyebrows, shrugging. "There was so very little that could be salvaged from the Cardassian databanks. Though I doubt anything on that topic would have been accessible."

"I see," Odo nodded. 'So… is it Garak, perhaps?' Odo thought. "If I may ask, but have you had any disputes with Mr. Garak?"

"Well, of course! Minor disputes, most of them, but some have been… Not physically violent, but hurtful. Sometimes I've almost thought we'd tear each other apart verbally!"

Odo nodded again, "Have you ever started some of these disputes, Doctor?"

"I…" Bashir said, visibly growing more uncomfortable. "I may have …a few. I think so. Why--?"

"Being irritable towards a Cardassian might be misinterpreted as flirting. Showing annoyance, or even starting disputes would in most cases signal a wish to…" Odo hesitated, not quite knowing how the Human would react.

"Yes?" Bashir asked, a look of descending doom in his eyes.

"To be intimate with the Cardassian in question," Odo said simply.

***

Memories of his past encounters with Garak flashed before Bashir's eyes. How Garak had offered small touches every now and then, the smiles he gave that seemed reserved for none other than Bashir… All the small things that he'd never paid attention to now seemed so obvious. Garak had been continuously trying to make subtle advances on him. Ironically enough, a lot of those gestures were the same that Bashir used when trying to charm a beautiful woman. Images of Garak's uncharacteristic behaviour from the time when his implant had ceased to function bombarded Bashir. He'd never seen Garak so tense, so easily agitated. The memory of an inebriated Garak inviting him for Kanar back in his own quarters stood out in relief. He'd been in so much pain, yet he had never stopped trying to charm and tease Bashir.

The complete turn-about in his quarters, when they'd had their most intense fight yet was now not simply a fight. Somehow, Bashir couldn't help but see it through a different light after what Odo had just told him. Had Garak's defences been down so low that he'd thrown his desire in Bashir's face? Was it just the pain of withdrawal making him say things he never meant to?

***

"He brought me chocolates once," Bashir whispered, a hollow look to his eyes. "And I accepted them," He looked away from the Constable, unable to meet his perplexed gaze.

"You didn't see anything unusual or perhaps inappropriate in that gift?" He asked.

"No. I guess I didn't. I gave them back though. I thought he might need them more than I did… I don't know what I was thinking."

"Does Mr. Garak know of your lack of awareness concerning his more romantic advances?"

"I don't know," Bashir said, swallowing visibly. "How … how did you…?"

"Deduction, Doctor. Nothing more," Odo said quietly.

"I always say too much," Bashir grunted. "It doesn't matter whom I speak with, I always manage to ramble on and on and *on*. You'd think it was a way for me to get more patients, since it seems I bore people half to death as soon as I open my mouth."

"Aren't you being a bit harsh? Humanoids sometimes need to 'vent their system', don't you think?" Odo stood up to come around his desk.

He leaned back on the corner of it and said, "No one can blame you for feeling awkward, being in your situation. Love is a difficult subject, even for those with more experience than others."

Bashir huffed. He folded his arms, turning away just slightly, "What makes you think I've got more experience with love than others?" He murmured angrily.

"Well. You do have a certain ease when it comes to approaching women that interest you."

"What good does *that* do when none of them ever bothers to stay long enough for more than a few weeks?" He turned aggravated eyes to the Constable.

"I wasn't aware of that. I apologize," Odo said, sincerely regretting his assumption. "Humanoid courting rituals are still somewhat of a puzzle to me. I might know how they work in theory, but none of them makes much sense."

"Don't think it makes more sense in practice," Bashir retorted.

"Perhaps…" Odo paused. "If you were to tell Garak of your concerns? Being forward is always the best way to act when dealing with Cardassians. If you're not, they just try to-- Well. You know all about that already."

Bashir nodded. He seemed tired. He still radiated anger, but there was a defeated edge to his posture. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes lacked their usual glint.

"I don't know what to do, Odo," he sighed. "I don't know what I feel for him. It's all so complicated. And I'm tired."

"I can see that. It is getting late. Perhaps you should get some rest. You could always come back later if you want to talk. I am a good listener, aren't I?" Odo tried a smile, but Bashir paid it no attention.

"Yes. Thank you, Odo. Goodnight," He said, getting out of his chair to leave.

"Goodnight, Doctor Bashir," Odo replied, the doors already sliding shut after the doctor.

Part 3

"Ah! There you are, Doctor. I was beginning to wonder when you would finally be available for lunch this week!" Garak leaned closer as Bashir sat down heavily. He added with an arch of his eye-ridges, "When the food is below mediocre, I find myself more appealed by the company, than the food itself."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Bashir replied. He wasn't being wilfully disinterested, but neither was he encouraging Garak to go on.

"Yes," Garak went on regardless, stopping to take a sip of tea. "Now, I was hoping to see you today. You see, I took the liberty of making some research on our last topic of discussion. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh? What topic, exactly?"

"You wouldn't *believe* how much homosexual insinuations or full-out homoerotica there is in Human literature from the time the Harry Potter series was written! And it has only escalated ever since! Absolutely fascinating, if you ask me."

"I find it hard to believe you'd find it interesting," Bashir stated, keeping his eyes at his plate as he systematically ate bit by bit of his replicated meal.

"Oh, it is!" Garak beamed. "There is nothing quite like it in Cardassian literature. Though, I doubt there is any actual need for such literary topics on Cardassia. For obvious reasons, I might add."

"How come?"

"Ahh," Garak got a look of mischief in his eyes the instant Bashir worded his question. "I don't think that is quite a proper thing to discuss over lunch. Perhaps dinner in my quarters would be a more appropriate setting for such an… *intimate* discussion."

"I'm sorry Garak, but I don't think so."

"Oh? Still angry at me for bringing your deep dark secret out in the open, are you?"

"You were about to say something about Human literature," Bashir pointed out, ignoring Garak's previous statement.

"Yes. Yes of course," Garak nodded, leaning away from Bashir. There was a time and place for everything. And this was apparently not a time for dinner invitations.

He went on, "Have you ever read the works of a Human author named Anne Rice?"

"I don't believe so. I remember her being mentioned as the greatest vampire author to live during the 21st century, though I've never been much interested in cheap vampire novels."

"I see. You have clearly missed something of great interest, if I may say so myself. She didn't write 'cheap vampire novels', as you so put it. They are quite involved, actually. The most famous of her series, the Vampire Chronicles, is a series that spans over hundreds of years through more than ten books!"

"Oh. How interesting," Bashir sipped his glass of tea.

"Very much so, I can assure you. She manages to weave the story of these separate characters into a most delightful web. And it seems as if she has put a lot of thought to the whole story, leaving hints about things that aren't going to happen until another three books or so. Fascinating author she was, for a Human, I must say. You should read some of her works, Doctor, I really do think so."

"If you say so, Garak. I mean, how could you *possibly* be wrong about anything?"

"I'm glad we agree. Now, if I may suggest, since you have an aversion towards vampire novels, why not start with a book which is not part of the Chronicles?" Garak smiled. "Perhaps Servant of the Bones would suit your fancy?"

"Sounds a bit macabre, don't you think?"

"Oh, but it is!" Garak exclaimed. "The macabre is what she does best, in my own humble opinion. Somehow, her writing reminds me of Human Renaissance paintings. Very elegant, utterly detailed; delightfully refreshing and innovative, though I believe she could use some of the depth of Cardassian literature. A pity she died so young."

"Oh, really," Bashir murmured, finishing up the last of his meal. "I don't have time for this. Have a nice day, Garak," He said, his voice not quite sincere as he stood up and left.

***

Garak remained, quietly contemplating his next move. This one had been less than successful, obviously. Perhaps pushing the subject wouldn't do any good. He tapped the side of his cup absent-mindedly, trying to come up with some sort of gesture that would give him the upper hand again. But what could he do? He'd already tried chocolates - and a fine brand at that - but it surely hadn't done him any good. Flowers? He supposed it was a nice gesture, but it was so… *Human*, it seemed highly pathetic for a Cardassian. Chocolates he could understand, since he enjoyed them himself, but flowers just withered away. Why would Humans insist on giving away something that would shrivel up and die after only a day or two, he wondered.

Making Bashir something like a suit or a shirt didn't seem appropriate either. They were supposed to be friends, not tailor and client. It seemed too sterile a gesture. What he needed now was something… an eye-catcher if nothing else. An especially designed holo-suite programme? No. It would not only be much too expensive for a friendly *gesture*, it would also seem too big. Perhaps… yes, a letter! A simple gesture, yet tasteful and elegant in its simplicity. He'd write a letter, explaining the situation, and at the same time asking forgiveness. He knew from personal observations that Humans were partial to letters - why that was the case, he had no idea - so it seemed he might have a chance of getting things back to normal.

As much as he enjoyed a bit of an argument now and then, he felt highly awkward at the tension that was radiating off of Bashir. There was a difference between tension and *tension*. One type was good, and the other was just plain unconstructive. But as much as he would like to do something drastic to change this awkwardness between him and Bashir to something more enjoyable, he knew he couldn't. A love letter was out of the question. Now was the time to act; to salvage what could be salvaged.

Having set his mind, Garak finished his meal and returned to his shop. Everything may be fair where love and warfare were concerned, but work would have to come first…for now.

***

It had been a mistake to join Garak for lunch. He knew he should have stayed away, but somehow he'd found himself drawn to the Cardassian.

He didn't want to lose what they had, but it seemed Garak was just as willing to throw it all away. Bashir was confused. The mere mention of homoerotic literature had caused an aching knot to form in his stomach. The fact that Garak had seemed completely unaware of his discomfort didn't help.

And, had he really invited Bashir for dinner? In his own, private quarters? Bashir shook his head, staring at the console before him.

The words were jumbled on the screen. They kept going out of focus at uneven intervals. He couldn't remember ever being so preoccupied by anyone before. If Garak was going to disturb him in his work like this, perhaps it was best to just avoid his company. Yes, Bashir nodded, it seemed like the best solution for all parts. Bashir wouldn't have anything to worry his mind over if he didn't come in contact with what caused his distress. Garak would have no more reason to continue this 'research' of his, there'd be no Doctor left to aim his misguided romantic interests at... That meant he could move on to further his work in the underground Cardassian Intelligence, or whatever he did when he wasn't an exiled tailor. Bashir's work would never suffer again simply because his mind was preoccupied by some literary discussion they'd shared over lunch. No more looking forward to meeting for lunch once a week. No more touches or gestures or looks or anything of the sort. Yes, it would all work out for the best. Bashir had made up his mind. Until he came up with something better, he would kindly explain to Garak that they couldn't do this anymore.

It was interfering with both their work, as he must be aware of. And it would most certainly only be good for Garak if he stopped entertaining his silly fantasies of whatever they had evolving into something more. Bashir would make him see the logic of his reasoning. It couldn't be too difficult. Could it?

***

The doorbell chimed just as Garak punched in the specifications for a light dinner and a cup of tea. "Enter," he called out, lifting the bowl of soup and cup of tea out of the replicator, and the computer blipped in respond. When Garak looked up from the replicator, he was surprised.

"Doctor!" he smiled, "I didn't expect you to come by!" He placed his spoon in the bowl. He added, "Of course, there must have been some misunderstanding between us earlier today. I would naturally have made some genuine food, instead of this replicated mess. What would you like for supper, Doctor?"

But Bashir stayed by the door, shuffling his feet. His eyes were averted, and he was chewing his bottom lip. Garak found himself transfixed. It was a most lovely display. Indeed. But then Bashir moved, and Garak tore his eyes away.

"You misunderstand, Garak," Bashir said, looking around the room. "I didn't come here for dinner."

Garak smiled, a twinkle in his eyes, "Surely, you didn't come here only for dessert? Though, that can be arranged, as well."

"We can't do this anymore!" Bashir exclaimed, shooting a glare at Garak, who frowned. He'd never seen quite such a look on the doctor's face, and he found himself unsure of what it meant.

"Do what, exactly, Doctor?"

"Whatever it is that we do. The lunches and everything concerning our friendship. I can't…" He sighed. "Surely you understand that if we didn't do this anymore we would both benefit from it? No more misguided flirting on your part, and no discomfort on mine…"

Garak didn't seem too convinced. He was frowning slightly, but easily covered it with another smile, "I thought we agreed on this *misguided flirting* being mutual?"

"No. We didn't. Not at all."

"Ahh. Forgive me then, dear Doctor. I must have made yet *another* misguided assumption." He said with an amicable air, "Oh, but where are my manners? Do come in," Garak gestured at the small couch in the middle of the room, but Bashir stayed put.

Stiffly, he countered, "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"Really? You look a bit pale to me, but that may very well be the lighting. At least, it has that effect on me."

"Why won't you listen to me?!" Bashir ground out. "Stop being so damned friendly and listen to what I'm saying!"

Garak stopped mid-step on his way to the sofa. He looked at Bashir intently for a moment, paused to put his bowl down on the coffee table along with the cup, then walked up to him. Stopping at a few steps' distance, he said, "You know, doctor. Dear, *dear* Doctor…" his tone almost condescending. Bashir backed away a bit to further distance himself from Garak, feeling the first inklings of real anger starting to bubble deep down inside. Garak went on, never letting the distance between them increase beyond a few steps.

"I am having quite a difficult time trying to decipher your actions. On one hand," Garak showed the palm of one hand. "I have been doing my best for years now, trying to use every Human means of showing interest. Flirting like your species does, showing affection like your species does… And you've never even noticed. I've made innuendos, dropped thousands of hints and subtle invitations, I even brought you chocolate!" Garak enunciated, not even the hint of a smile left on his lips.

"On the other hand," he showed the palm of his other hand. "We have had numerous fights, several disputes and heated discussions, and you've seemed more than eager to start more than one of them," He folded his arms across his chest.

"Meaning?" Bashir countered, staring Garak right in the eyes in silent challenge.

"Meaning, I have been a hair's breadth from tearing those hideous garments off of you like tissue paper so I could ravish you. On several occasions," He hissed. "I have done everything in my power to evoke your interest in me, while you have done exactly the same."

"I have done no such thing!" Bashir sneered. "You're delirious! Out of your damned perverted mind!" Bashir raised his voice heatedly.

"And what do you think you're doing now?" Garak raised his eye-ridges, "I hope you realize you are looking quite delectable. Your skin flushed, radiating heat. I can almost feel your heart beating from where I stand. Most…" He stepped closer, and his next word was not much more than a whisper. "*arousing*."

Bashir was caught. Cornered. He couldn't move. Those eyes, they… they were dilated, just slightly. He remembered seeing that look before. They'd been the same during all of their fights, and most prominently so when he was treating Garak after the implant-- Good God, how could he not have seen it? He'd dismissed it as nothing more than a side effect of the abstinence… or anger, the… The agitated state Garak had been in.

Garak was slowly moving closer, and Bashir couldn't move. He stood frozen, staring into those eyes. He'd never pondered the possibility of ever feeling like prey, but now he did. This must be what it felt like to have run for miles, only to be caught just when you thought you were out of danger.

He didn't see it coming, suddenly the air was knocked out of him completely, and those pale eyes were staring into his from much too close. He swallowed heavily, tried to breathe calmly, to gather a rational explanation to get out of this situation. And then Garak-- He growled, deep in his chest, and it was like nothing Bashir had ever heard. …Or *felt*. He felt it through his clothes, through the skin on his chest and then it spread throughout his whole body. He felt dizzy at the proximity of all that compact Cardassian body. 'Male Cardassian body,' His mind added for him.

Trying desperately to clear his mind, he pleaded, "Garak, please, I didn't mean to--" He gulped. "Let me go, I--" But then there was heat everywhere, two hands entwining in his hair and a hot mouth moving against his… He'd never thought being pressed up against a wall could be so… erotic. The scent of the spicy soup mingled with another most peculiar scent, which he dimly realized belonged to Garak. His eyelids fluttered closed as Garak did something so… teeth and tongue, nips and licks at the side of his mouth, Bashir couldn't believe it. His head was swimming with heat, his whole body seemed flooded with liquid fire. Cardassians weren't cool to the touch, as he'd thought at first. Garak's skin had been cool once, during an examination but now… He was so, so… He was the source of all heat, where his lips touched they left what must be visible burn marks, nothing could burn so good without leaving some sort of evidence for the world to see.

Trails of heat travelled from Bashir's mouth to his ears, and he couldn't help but moan at the loss of lips against his own and an alien tongue in his mouth. Garak's hands burned him, and they were everywhere, skimming along his ribs, rubbing at his hips, stroking at his back and moving lower. He'd never ached with such intensity as he did now, every fibre of his being longed to be complete. Garak's hands moved steadily lower, and so did his mouth. His teeth nipped at the side of Bashir's throat, his tongue stroking the sore spots after every nip, and his hands pressed strongly and steadily downward, bringing their hips closer inch by inch. More heat the closer they were, and Bashir couldn't help but try to squirm closer into the heated body in front of him. As if from a distance, Bashir could hear loud moaning and an even louder purring, as if a giant cat was hiding somewhere in Garak's quarters. But Garak's chest wouldn't be rumbling like that if a cat was making those sounds. It was all too much. He wanted to get closer, but he couldn't, everything was on fire and he wanted more. He wanted to burn in Hell for all eternity if it felt even remotely like this. Then Garak bit down; searing heat at the base of Bashir's neck, and he did something with his hips that had Bashir shuddering. His hips moved in unison with Garak's, and he whimpered when those burning hands closed just below the small of his back and squeezed.

He screamed. Heat everywhere, and his thighs ached, but he didn't care, because all the heat was gathering between his legs with such intensity he lost his breath. His eyes were shut so tightly they hurt, and everything was swimming before them even though they were closed. Dimly he felt a long moan starting deep in his chest. And then, after what seemed like eternity cramped into the space of a few seconds, Garak came to a stop. Everything was so silent. There was only heavy breathing in the room.

"*Julian*." Garak breathed against Bashir's neck. It wasn't loud, but it was enough for Bashir's mind to clear up in a heartbeat. His heart was beating too fast; it felt as if it would hammer its way out of his chest. He could feel Garak's heart too. Everything was wrong. He shouldn't feel anything like this. He followed his arms with his eyes, seeing how his hands were madly clutching at Garak's shoulders.

Garak's head was on his shoulder and his breath was warm and humid on his neck, but all Bashir could think of was how filthy and disgusting everything looked and felt and smelled.

"Julian?" Garak's voice was clearer now, and it sounded worried.

"Julian, are you all right?" he lifted his head from Bashir's shoulder and looked at him.

Bashir's heart lurched; much like the clenching feeling he'd get when falling. He realized with a measure of fright that his legs were wrapped around Garak's waist. His breath hitched, and he scrambled to get away.

"Get off me!" He croaked. His voice sounded different, smaller than what he was used to. It was hoarse and weak, and it sounded nothing like it should. He was startled when Garak backed away, but the gesture didn't make him feel any better. There was something different about Garak, something that Bashir didn't think he'd ever seen on the Cardassian's face.

"Julian?" Garak asked again, a most peculiar look in his eyes. But Bashir didn't care. He slumped against the wall. As he reached for the door opener he realized the look in Garak's eyes was one of pleading. The door slid open with a silent whoosh, and even though he could hear Garak asking him what was wrong, he ran.

Part 4

His knees wanted to buckle, but somehow he managed to keep moving with the help of the walls of the corridors. He felt sick. The back of his uniform was soaked through with sweat, as were his chest, his armpits and between his legs… He shuddered in something close to disgust.

He'd-- He was-- He knew Garak was right behind him, trying to talk, but he couldn't hear what he was saying. His whole face burned in shame and embarrassment.

Then Garak wasn't there anymore. He didn't know why, but he wasn't. His legs wouldn't hold him up any longer. He slid down on the floor by the wall and looked around, a blur shielding his view. He wiped at his eyes, suddenly feeling angry. He didn't understand why he was crying.

He was so mad he wanted to put his hands around someone's neck and strangle them to death. He wanted to pound someone into a bloody pulp.

But the more he thought about it, the more it hurt, and the more tears fell down his cheeks. He'd never go near Garak again. Never wanted to see him ever again. He never wanted to feel how soft his lips were or how strong his arms were or how silky his hair was… 'Never… Never ever ever again…!'

The doorbell rang, over and over and over, but he didn't answer. He was afraid. He'd never lost control like that, and it scared him. More than anything ever had.

***

"*Bashir to Odo*," Odo's comm-badge chirped. Odo just had time to morph back into humanoid shape before the same call was heard again, "*Bashir to--*"

"Odo here. How can I help you, Doctor?"

"*I… I know that it's late, and that we're both off duty, but…*" there was a distinct tremble to the doctor's voice, but Odo said nothing of it.

"Yes?"

"*I was hoping you had some time to spare. Though I understand if you don't, but…*" Bashir's voice hitched most unusually. Odo tilted his head in surprise.

"Is everything all right, Doctor Bashir?" He inquired carefully.

"*…I really need someone to talk to,*" Bashir replied after a moment's silence.

There was something wrong with the way his voice wavered. It seemed strangled at times, and his breath would hitch when least expected.

Odo wondered what had brought on such a change in the young Human's voice.

"I am in my quarters, Doctor. If you feel a need for a continuation of the topic we discussed a couple of days ago, you are welcome to meet me here," He offered.

"*Thank you,*" Bashir whispered. The communication ended abruptly.

Almost instantly afterward, Odo's doorbell rang. A bit perplexed, Odo stated a calm 'Enter' to the computer. Bashir hurried inside as soon as the doors opened, his arms wrapped around his chest, his hair wet, and a look of total misery etched on his face.

"I don't know what happened. I have no idea what happened," his voice was subdued, but he was talking very rapidly. "It just did, and I couldn't breathe, and he was all over me and I did nothing to stop him, but I didn't want him to stop, but I did and--"

"Doctor."

"--then he was kissing me! I tried to reason with him but he didn't listen, and then I couldn't think anymore, and I don't know what got into me, but there was heat everywhere and he was so strong and I couldn't believe any of it was happening…" Bashir gasped, leaning heavily against the wall beside Odo's door. He pulled at his hair before wiping at his face. His arms went right back into position hugging himself.

"Please, calm yourself," Odo said. "What are you talking about?"

Bashir took a gulping breath, "I saw him at lunch today," He breathed weakly. "And I left. I didn't want to talk about anything he wanted to talk about, so I left. I've thought about him all day… and yesterday, and the day before…" Bashir paused, darting an accusatory glance at Odo. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about him since we talked."

"And…" Odo said, uncertainty laced in his voice. "That is a problem?"

"Yes!" Bashir hissed. "It is a problem! I can't work properly because of him!" He glared at the floor. "I thought it would all work out if I simply told him we couldn't go on the way we were…" He whispered, voice sounding too small for a grown human.

"It didn't?" 'Did Garak assault him?' Odo speculated. 'But would he have reacted this way if—'

"No, it didn't!" Bashir groaned, sliding down to sit on the floor, his legs pulled up against his chest. "I never thought he'd… He got it all wrong! He still thinks the flirting was mutual!" his face became an ugly sneer at the last word. Odo cautiously approached the young man.

"Tell me what happened, please," He requested, sitting down on the floor in front of Bashir. "Tell me why you're so upset." 'His epidermis is swollen. He's been crying.'

"Everything happened so fast," Bashir said, voice trembling along with his body. "He got mad, I think… I don't know what to think, but suddenly he was kissing me…"

"You think he was mad?" Odo questioned softly. "Tell me, have you ever seen a maddened Cardassian? It is not a pretty sight. They tend to get very violent."

"Oh?" Bashir sounded mockingly relieved. "Well that's just great! So all that growling and sneering was a show of friendliness?"

"More of a show of desire, probably," Odo admitted.

"Considered how he pounced on me the moment he stopped sneering, I think I have to agree!"

"You didn't wish for him to," Odo hesitated at the choice of word.

"…pounce on you?"

"No, I didn't!" Bashir answered testily, but lost the fire in his voice as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "I just didn't think it would be like that, I guess. So …rough. There was no time to think anything through! He just…" He sighed. "I've never felt anything like it."

"Oh…?" Odo tried his best to sound interested, but couldn't help wondering if he really wanted to know.

"He… growled, but… it was more like a purr. It went right through me in never-ending tremors, and the mere sensation of it…it was amazing."

For some reason, Bashir sounded devastated.

"So you…" Odo tried to work past the mental obstacle forming inside him. He knew much of how Cardassians worked, yes, that was true. But he didn't need to know any intimate details. He hoped he would receive none.

He went on, "So you mean to say that you derived some measure of… satisfaction from the encounter?"

"No!" the answer was forceful, but swiftly followed by a weaker "Yes… But I wasn't supposed to! I was never supposed to!!"

"Why?" Odo enunciated, growing increasingly exasperated. He watched as the doctor's discomfort increased, but didn't quite know what to do about it.

"Because!" Bashir cried out, hugging himself tighter. "I'm not gay! I'm not homosexual, I never have been before and I'm not now! I never will be, and he's not going to change that!"

'Said with a big dose of frustration and anger,' Odo surmised. 'He is in denial. Not ready for the consequences of accepting his sexual preferences...'

"I see," He said, getting up to walk to the replicator built into the wall. "Would you like something to drink, Doctor Bashir? Now that I have a guest here for once, I might as well make use of this," He gestured toward the replicator.

"No, thank you," Bashir declined, not looking at the changeling.

'He thinks he's said too much again.' Odo shook his head, and then ordered a cup of strong tea with a touch of honey. He brought the cup to Bashir, then sat down again.

"Drink. You look like you could use a cup or two."

Bashir sighed heavily, but accepted the cup. If nothing else he could warm his hands on it.

"Thank you," He said, sincerely. He hadn't had dinner, and at the smell of warm tea and honey, his stomach groaned in protest. He looked at Odo, an apology on his lips, but Odo interrupted him before he had the chance to start.

"Hungry?" He smiled. Bashir nodded, averting his eyes.

"Then, what would you like? A couple of sandwiches, or perhaps something more substantial?"

"I haven't had dinner," Bashir admitted quietly.

"I see," Odo nodded. "Something more substantial then. My treat. When we've sorted this situation out between you and Mr. Garak, you can buy me dinner in return, if you feel thus inclined," Odo added. "I do not eat normally, but if it makes you feel better, I promise I'll make a sincere effort."

"Thank you…" Bashir said, managing a weak smile. Odo did not miss it. Standing with his back to the human, he allowed himself a small stretched-out grin. It was a start, at least. If Doctor Bashir felt relaxed, he was more inclined to look at his situation with an open mind. And, as Odo had learned through thorough observation, sometimes it took a good meal to relax a humanoid enough for him or her to open up his… or her mind.

***

What exactly had gone wrong? They'd been flirting for years now, and Julian knew that as well as he did. When Bashir had come to Garak's quarters the night before, Garak had been sure it was to apologize for trying to deny his attraction towards him. How could he have been so wrong?

"Ai!" he exclaimed, ruining another piece of cloth *and* managing to snag his fingertip while at it. He couldn't work like this. He'd be ruined before he'd finished his commissions.

Sighing, Garak went back out into the shop itself and settled down behind his desk and started to go through the list of outfits to be made, cloth to be acquired and at what date his already ordered shipments would arrive.

The day had gone by slower than ever. Garak couldn't manage to get anything done. 'All because of one, silly Human,' He made a disgruntled noise at the figures. Everything seemed all right, so there was no real reason for him to look them through. He looked at the chronometer for what must have been the hundredth time in twenty minutes. It was past closing time, and he might as well go get something to eat.

Part 5

He didn't know why he'd gone there in the first place, but he'd made his way to Quark's to order a meal, which turned out to be just barely edible. In retrospect, he had no idea why he'd chosen Quark's when the Replimat was so nearby. Perhaps, he thought, it reminded him too much of past times of his meetings with Julian.

Sometime during the below mediocre meal, he'd decided he might as well think the time away at Quark's, instead of in his shop. Thinking, it turned out, required a most unhealthy amount of alcohol. He wondered why.

Garak stumbled from the bar stool, managing not to fall down, only with the help of an unusually friendly wall. He'd done enough thinking about stupid things for one night. Considering he had thought every single one of tonight's thoughts at some previous point in his 'friendship' with the station's doctor, it really seemed like a whole lot of wasted time compressed into one night. Vaguely he wondered if he'd had a bit too much to drink, but he shook his head vigorously in respond. The floor wasn't even *trying* to smack him in the face. He was perfectly, purrfectly, *perfreckly* fine.

Now, the way he figured it, there was only one man on the entire station who could answer all the questions swimming around in his head - Julian. Julian held the answers to all of them. Not just one, or two, or three, but the whole lot of them… Now if he could only remember if Julian's quarters were to the left or the right, in the habitat ring… he turned around after walking a few steps into the corridor. Ah! There it was, the turbo-lift! That meant Julian's quarters were either - he swivelled around to point with two fingers - '…*this* way…' - then made another twirl to point in the exact same direction - '…or…*that* way.'

Determined that he was on the right track, Garak made a point of counting the numbers of every set of quarters he passed on his fingers. For some odd reason, he never got past five quarters, before he had to start all over again. Most peculiar. But there it was, too many figures and letters to bother thinking out loud. There it was. He leaned against the kind wall, which held him up with not so much as a complaint, and pressed the panel with the palm of his hand. It was too small for his fingers to connect with, but no bother. Julian would open the door. *He* wouldn't care about Garak's fingers shaking too much now that he realized where he was. Julian would understand, when no one else would, he was certain of it. It seemed so simple. Come here, ask Julian what he'd done wrong, promise to never repeat same mistake again. 'Done!' They'd be back to having lunch once a week or more again, and everything would be just as shallow and miserable, because now Garak *knew* that he was the only one enjoying their games. Julian didn't. He'd made it clear enough the night before.

Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, Garak noticed the door hadn't opened yet. He pressed the panel again.

"Julian?" He asked, ear pressed to the door, trying to hear anything from inside the quarters. He didn't stop to think that his Cardassian hearing was already lousy, and a door between his ear and what he wanted to listen to wouldn't help matters.

"Julian! Open the door, please," He asked, a bit louder, pressing the doorbell a bit harder than necessary. "We *need* to talk!" Vaguely, he knew the emphasis was unnecessary, but it sounded so much better that way. Muffled by the door, Julian's voice went right into his ear. He closed his eyes in relief. Julian was all right. Or, at least, he was *there*.

"We don't *need* to talk about anything. I don't want to see you."

Why did the word 'need' sound so much better when Julian said it? Garak sighed.

"Why did you…" He swallowed a nasty taste of something at the back of his throat. "What happened? What did I do wrong?"

"*Everything*! It wasn't so much the act itself, but the way it came about! I wasn't ready for anything like that!"

Garak smiled, "And you mean to tell me you are now?"

"No! Just go away!"

"But I don't WANT to!" Garak exclaimed. How could Julian tell him to leave? After all they had been through, it only seemed fair that they… "I want to see you, Julian. I need to see you!"

Silence, and Garak rested his forehead on the cold surface of the door. Maybe he should go back to his own quarters. He pressed the panel again, weakly this time.

"Please, Julian…" He asked. He would never beg, but a polite request was never below dignity. More silence, and then the floor came up to smack him in the face.

"Garak!" Julian exclaimed, not at all muffled now, for some reason.

And then there were two arms around his shoulders, prying the floor off of his face, "Are you all right? You weren't leaning on the door were you, Garak? Please tell me you weren't."

"I weren't… wasn't… *Am* not." Garak settled, leaning back in Julian's arms, only to find them taken away from him. Then came the accusation. "You're drunk!"

"No," Garak shook his head, slightly annoyed at all the hair that slapped him in the eyes. "Just slightly in…neebredated…Tipsy, one might say. Or slightly intoxinated…-dated…"

Bashir looked angry, for some reason Garak couldn't quite fathom. He also looked absolutely delicious. Too much icky clothing, though… That would have to be taken care of. He took a couple of steps forward, happy to see that the wall helped keeping the floor away. And Julian came to him! Garak beamed, and gave Julian a big hug, wrapping his arms around him and holding on like he was the only thing keeping them both vertical. Indeed, he was, but Garak wouldn't tell him that. 'His ego's already big enough, bless the beautiful Human.'

"Garak! Sit down, and I'll get you some coffee." Julian said, and Garak did as he was told.

'Beautiful… And he smells just *lovely*.'

"Pardon?" Julian turned to look at him with a quizzical look on his face. He must have said something. Raising his eye-ridges, Garak took a guess.

"You smell lovely…" He frowned, looking at nothing in particular. "And you're beautiful. And I do *not*, at all, in *any* way, understand you…"

"Oh, really," Julian huffed. He still seemed angry about something.

Ah! He was being *sarcastic*! Guls, but Garak loved him! Julian stopped mid-motion as he gave a cup of Raktajino to Garak. He swallowed convulsively, and Garak found himself staring at the display. '"Adam's apple", was it?' Most delightful. He wondered what it would taste like…to nibble on. Julian sat down heavily in the armchair beside Garak's.

"It seems I say a lot of things I'm not aware of," Garak remarked.

"Perhaps I should stop thinking so much… I have thought about a great variety of things since last night."

"Oh. I can only imagine," Julian wouldn't stop looking at him.

Garak threw him a smile and nodded.

"Good," he said, swallowing a big gulp of disgusting coffee. It tasted funny, and he couldn't help but grimace as the hot liquid burned down his throat. "Is this really supposed to be helping?"

"Yes," Julian replied, an annoyed note to his voice. "Now if you could please tell me what the Hell you're doing here so I can throw you out and go to bed? It is very late, if you didn't already notice."

Now that Julian said it, Garak realized he wasn't wearing his uniform… he was wearing some sort of silky trousers and a robe. He'd been in bed… Garak smiled at the thought.

"Ah, yes well… I wouldn't mind accompanying you to bed," He beamed; 'Finally!' He'd gotten through to Julian, and he had no idea how. That didn't matter though, all that mattered was he'd *finally--*

"No. You out. Me bed, Garak," Julian shook his head. "Now drink that up, and I'll make sure you get back to your quarters without making a mess of yourself."

Garak was confused, "You don't want me to stay?"

"I thought I'd made it perfectly clear I didn't even want to see your face."

"Oh," Garak nodded, averting his eyes, a far-away look and a frown on his face, "Well, it *has* lost that certain appeal it had when I was younger… But surely… You don't base your attraction simply on the face of a man?" the question was rhetorical, but Garak was still slightly disappointed that Julian didn't answer him.

"I've waited all my life to feel this way." he grunted, not looking at Julian. 'Julian doesn't understand.' He was supposed to, but he didn't, and that hurt. Julian shook his head. Garak didn't much like that.

He sneered, eyes thinning into slits of pale blue, "I may be old, but I am not senile! Don't think I didn't check you out thoroughly before I even *considered* approaching you. I made sure I knew everything there was to know about Julian Subatoi Bashir, Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Nine before I'd so much as look at you properly! Do you really think, Doctor, that I would risk anything in my situation? I lost my home when they exiled me, if you weren't already aware of that! They stripped me of my life, my dignity and far too much of my pride! I wasn't about to risk losing what meagre life I led here! If I'd just wanted a quick fuck," He sneered the word. "I could just as well have picked *anyone* available and willing!"

Julian swallowed noticeably. Though Garak knew that he shouldn't, he found he rather liked seeing the young human flustered.

"What about Ziyal?" Julian asked, eyes wide open. Such lovely eyes…

But Garak looked away before he'd say something else he shouldn't.

"*Ziyal* can go find herself someone who's actually interested in silly young girls," Garak snapped. "And I know for a fact, that I don't… doesn't… do *not* like silly women or silly girls."

"And here I thought you two would make a nice pair," Julian muttered, but Garak noticed. His nostrils flared in something close to disgust, and put down his cup of Raktajino.

"I don't much fancy taking care of a war-victim who previously worked at a labour-camp left since the occupation! Dukat's daughter, nonetheless! Are you insane?!"

"But you fancy me, is that it?" Julian snapped in return, getting really annoyed, and fast.

"You're damn right, I fancy you!" Garak flashed teeth, the room suddenly swimming before his eyes. "I wouldn't have wasted years trying to… get closer to you…" He breathed shallowly. It seemed to be too cold in here, and he could swear the walls had closed in just a bit on him. He couldn't breathe sufficiently.

"Are you all right?" Julian asked, a measure of concern creeping into his voice.

"No…" Garak panted. "I've wasted too much time on a… hopeless project. I just thought… we could…" He swallowed what tasted a lot like bile. "…make each other happy, that's all…"

"I am happy!" Julian protested. But, he was *lying*. Garak knew that for a fact. He wasn't happy… How could he be, trapped on this too cold station, playing along in a game of deceit with just about everybody here?

"Oh, but the things we could be together, Julian!" Garak sank lower into the armchair. "I have wanted to find someone for so long, and now that I have found you, you make me beg!"

Disgruntled, Julian went up to order a Raktajino for himself, "You make it sound so… You make me sound like some…"

"Someone who's too busy trying to be a ladies' man or a guy's guy, or whatever the term is. It's insignificant… Oh! I remember that word… Insssignificant… Such a nice ring to it… almost lyrical, isn't it?" Garak chuckled, but stopped. He was feeling rather queasy, and that burning taste at the back of his mouth wouldn't go away now. He pushed his cup of coffee away.

"Very," Julian said dryly, sitting back down in front of Garak.

"You are… most tempting, Julian. Always, but especially so now…" Garak sighed. "And even so, I find myself wishing I hadn't…" He cringed, a jab of pain in his stomach. "--hadn't done anything to upset you. I still don't know what I did wrong…"

"Are you all right?" Julian asked again, concern in his voice and in his eyes. "You look awful."

"How utterly delightful. Here I am showering you with truthful compliments and confessions of my lonely heart, and you treat me with insults! You wound me, Julian--" Garak swallowed heavily. The taste of bile was everywhere in his mouth. Completely disgusting. He put a hand over his mouth, as if that would help the nausea go away. Against all logic, it felt better, somehow.

"Come here, Garak," Julian said softly from somewhere very close by. There were hands steadying him, and suddenly they were walking somewhere further inside Julian's quarters.

'It's freezing in here!' Garak noted, as he stood inside Julian's bathroom, and Julian made him sit down on the awfully chilly floor beside what looked like an even cooler toilet. The most degrading part came when he had just barely gotten down on his knees as his stomach turned itself inside out and repelled everything he'd had for dinner. Gagging, he gripped the edge of the sink nearby to hold on to something, and coughed up far too much wasted alcohol. Julian didn't even seem phased about it, or so Garak though absently. He was there in the background somewhere, the chirp of the computer mingling with his voice. Garak pressed a nearby button to be rid of his self-made mess and slumped underneath the sink. It was too cold. Much too cold, but somehow it felt good to be cold right now. His throat was burning, and so was his stomach; it seemed appropriate to freeze on the outside after such a lovely performance this evening.

He'd made a complete fool of himself. Professing his love like some old lovesick fool! It didn't become a Cardassian to be so… foolish. Garak sighed in resignation. It seemed as if his entire vocabulary had disappeared in a whiff of alcoholic fumes.

"Here you go," Julian again, managing to sneak up on him when he least expected it.

"I do hope it's not…" Garak breathed, "Klingon coffee."

"Water," Julian replied simply, and sat down on the floor in front of Garak. "You know, you really shouldn't be sitting on a cold floor like this. You complain enough about your own quarters being chilly. I can't imagine what you think of mine."

"Freezing, Doctor… absolutely lovely decorating, but freezing."

Julian tilted his head, a look of something peculiar in his eyes. But then he looked away, and it was gone.

"It is getting late, Garak. And quite frankly, I don't feel much like dragging a drunken Cardassian half way around the Habitat Ring."

"Yes. Of course, of course," Garak nodded. "I'll just drink this wonderful replicated cup of water, and I'll be on my way!"

Hands were on his arms again, and Julian was getting up, pulling him along, until they stood facing each other, "Take the bed, Garak. You don't look fit to go all the way back to your quarters. I'll sleep in the armchair. It will be fine."

Take the bed? With no doctor in it? That was no fun… Garak was confused.

"Why should I take your bed?" He muttered. "It is yours. I would feel much better if--"

"If I shared it with you?" Julian smiled wryly. "I don't think so, Garak. Nice try, but I don't… think it's appropriate," He sat Garak down on the side of the bed. He looked so innocent. So pure and lovely and beautiful in so many ways.

"Doctor…" Garak hesitated. He might not like the answer at all…

"Yes?" Julian asked, lifting Garak's legs up on the bed, pulling the comforter around him snugly.

"Why did you…" Garak began asking, but his eyes got caught in Julian's. Dark brown in this light… His eyes were dark brown in this light. They were so innocent, yet they had been hardened by years of serving the Federation. Garak found he had to look away, or else he might do something… *inappropriate*…

"Yes?" Julian sat down on the side of the bed.

"Why did you run away?" Garak breathed out, still not looking at Julian.

"I don't know…" He said after a long moment of silence. "Everything felt so wrong, I guess."

Garak winced inwardly.

"I've never lost control of myself like that… with anyone." Julian went on, "It… frightened me, I suppose."

"Oh," Garak's voice felt small when he spoke. He didn't know what to say, or think or do. It was all so confusing.

"If we had been… established as a couple…" Julian said, clearing his throat. "Perhaps gone on a few dates…"

"But we have been on *hundreds* of dates, Doctor!" Garak snapped tiredly, looking Julian straight in the eyes. "Or, perhaps you don't think having lunch several times a week qualify as going on a steady stream of dates?" He huffed resignedly. "Perhaps if I were a female, you'd been all over me for years now," He said, regretting the words even as he spoke them.

"Garak… You know I didn't see it that way. And, honestly… do you think I could have managed to become such good friends with you, had you been a woman?" He grinned, but without mirth. It surprised Garak.

Perhaps he had a chance after all.

"But… I hope you didn't run away because I…" Garak hesitated, then sighed. "I know I forced myself on you, Doctor. It was never my intention for it to get out of hand like that. I have been going crazy with wanting you to be my lover for years now. I always wanted us to be friends, but I thought we were heading towards becoming something more… substantial."

"I don't know…" Julian admitted, a frown on his face. "I don't know what I feel about you, Garak. You sure made it clear that I… enjoy being kissed by a man, but…" he looked at Garak for a moment, then reached a hand to brush away some hair from Garak's face.

"Doctor… I--"

"Call me *Julian*, Garak. It sounds so much nicer than the way you say 'Doctor' now…"

"I…" Garak blinked, then nodded, eyes wide open. "Julian…" He dared a smile.

"That's better," Julian smiled too.

Garak felt better instantly. "Are you sure you do not mind me occupying your bed?" He asked.

"Yes. Now, go to sleep." Julian said, stroking his cheek softly.

Garak's eyes fluttered shut.

"Feels good?" Julian asked.

Garak nodded. "Very. I could fall asleep from this."

"Huh," Julian nodded, moving to run his thumb along Garak's eye-ridge all the way down the curve underneath his eyes. He moved away, but turned around at the bedroom door. "I do like you Garak. I like you so much, and I hope that it might grow beyond attraction… and *lunch*…" He glanced at the floor, then looked up again. "I just have to trust you before I can be… all I want myself to be with you…" He smiled. He moved into the living room with a soft, "Goodnight, Garak," and the lights dimmed.

Garak laid still for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for the door to slide open and Julian to come rushing into bed and his arms.

But he never came, and after a while, Garak was too tired to stay awake. The bed was warm with the comforter wrapped around him so snugly. And he felt warm on the inside too. A most peculiar feeling, but it was not at all unpleasant. He could make Julian trust him, more than anyone he'd ever trusted before. And then, perhaps they'd be lovers. No. They would be lovers then. Garak smiled, on the verge of falling asleep. Living on DS9 might not be so dull and lifeless in the future. Not if he had a Julian Subatoi Bashir all of his own.