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A Perfect Day	By : MKK Category: Star Trek > Deep Space 9 Views: 1429 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine or any of the characters portrayed therein; this work is written purely for my entertainment and I receive no money or profit from it.

Chapter List
- 1-A Perfect Day
- 1
The water lapped softly against the shore, the birds clustered in picturesque groups a little distance down the beach, and Elim Garak drowsed, lazy and contented, in the arms of Julian Bashir. Bashir, in turn, was resting against a hill of sand, a large blanket providing a cushion against the ground and some protection for Bashir's naked body. His legs were separated and Garak lounged between them, leaning back against the young man and luxuriating in the feel of the warm Risian sun on his gray scales.
"Mmm - that feels wonderful when you do that," Garak murmured. Bashir had reached his hands around Garak's chest, under his arms, and was massaging the scales that ran along the breastbone. "I shouldn't have let you talk me into swimming, though - that salt water is going to cause me days of trouble later."
"Then you must be sure to stop in at the infirmary so I can treat you. I recommend an intensive program of therapeutic massage... with a special oil I keep just for Cardassians - it needs to be rubbed in very, very slowly and carefully..." His hands had drifted lower on Garak's chest as he demonstrated the technique, causing the Cardassian's nipples to stand out in bold relief against his slate-gray skin. He reached up and covered one of Bashir's hands with his own.
"My dear doctor - I think I'm going to be needing that treatment immediately."
"Ah! You're tense, irritated -"
"Yes, the - tension - is crying out for release. In fact, your earlier efforts in that regard seem to have exacerbated rather than eased the - condition." He glanced down at his burgeoning erection and smiled - Bashir would never refuse him, never delay him. All he had to do was ask, and his human lover would take the hint and instantly respond to him. Life was perfect. The wind caressed his face softly, almost lovingly, as Bashir pulled Garak further up against him so his hands could reach down to fondle the beautiful, intricately scaled and moistening Cardassian organ. Garak gasped with anticipation - any moment now and Bashir would remove his hands and satisfy him in an even more shudderingly pleasurable way. Eyes closed, breaths coming rapidly and eagerly, he felt the doctor slide out from underneath him. One eye opened, just the tiniest slit, but it was enough to see Bashir's gorgeous head bowed in front of him as he knelt before the Cardassian and lowered his face to his lap, hands spread out and supporting him above Garak's muscular thighs. "Oh, Julian - oh, Julian, my love, my beautiful darling..." He stopped speaking suddenly as Quark's voice filled the holosuite, startling him.
"Time's up, Mr. Garak. Unless, of course, you'd care to extend the rental another half an hour. You'll have to make it well worth my while, though - the suite is already reserved."
"No, no, Quark, that's all right." Garak sighed and looked down regretfully at his human lover, whose lips had curved into a pout of disappointment. "Don't worry, Julian, my love. We can do this again next week. Computer, end program." The sky, the water, the sand all disappeared with a shimmer; an instant later, Bashir disappeared too, in a slightly more lingering glow, and Garak was alone.
He was too dispirited to return to his lonely quarters for dinner, so he dined by himself on the upper level of the bar, gazing moodily down at the holiday revelry below. After all, it was "ek-Tabor," or the eve of Tabor, a Bajoran time of rest and meditation that occurred approximately once every eight days, depending on the progression of Bajor's moons. It served to divide the Bajoran calendar into "weeks," corresponding to the Terran concept in spirit if not in length. Thus, Tabor was always observed on DS9 as a sort of "weekend," a two and a half day holiday which allowed time for relaxation and recreational pursuits. Everywhere Garak looked, he saw happy faces, cheerful smiles, arms clasped lovingly and possessively around companions' waists - and there he sat, alone. For nearly two months, an ek-Tabor session in one of Quark's holosuites had become almost obligatory for him. The only problem was that after two hours of intense pleasure and companionship with the otherwise-unattainable Doctor Julian Bashir, it was doubly hard to fall back into the familiar patterns of polite but distant friendship. It generally took Garak the rest of the holiday to recover emotionally; by the next workday's lunch date, however, all would be back to normal and he was ready to enjoy a week of rather impersonal verbal sparring with the good doctor, one part of his mind remaining focused on Tabor's approach with ever-growing anticipation.
But it was now late on ek-Tabor, his session was over, and it was time to forget about what would never be and concentrate on reality. Garak stabbed his fork viciously into his salad and stared down at his plate, not noticing the activity around him.
"Excuse me." He looked up, irritated, his irritation vanishing when he found himself gazing into the gentle hazel eyes of - Julian Bashir. Bashir pulled out a chair across from him and gracefully straddled it. "I thought I might find you here - how did your little adventure go this week? In the holosuite, I mean?" He waited expectantly; Garak gulped, embarrassed, fighting for some sort of control. But Bashir's face was guileless and innocent, and Garak found himself falling into his usual practiced evasion with very little trouble.
"Fine... fine. I do love the chance to return to Cardassia, even if only in my imagination."
"You ought to do this more often, then."
"At Quark's prices?" He gave a deprecating laugh. "I only wish I could, but I'd very soon find myself without a credit to my name - even two hours a week is too much, but unfortunately an hour isn't quite enough time in which to enjoy the comforts of - my beloved home world."
"I see." Bashir paused a moment in thought. "You must let me join you sometime. I'm sure I'd love it."
"No!" Garak's exclamation was a little more forceful than he had intended; he quickly calmed himself. "No, it's much too hot on Cardassia for a human such as yourself. I'm afraid you'd never be able to tolerate the environment - and I wouldn't want to be responsible for hurting you."
"Well, perhaps we can try another program sometime," Bashir agreed, not really interested. His eyes had wandered down to the bar; suddenly his face brightened, and he jumped to his feet. "You'll excuse me, Garak - Chief O'Brien just arrived, and we have an appointment for a rematch tonight. Darts, of course. Um... you're welcome to join us!"
"No, thank you," Garak smiled, and watched the retreating back of the young man who had, less than an hour ago, been making slow, delicious love to him on the beach. It wasn't fair. He jumped to his feet as well and quickly left the bar and his half-eaten meal, desperate for the quiet solitude of his quarters and the chance to escape the sight of Bashir's smiling face, laughing and joking with Miles O'Brien. "You're welcome to join us" indeed - Garak was no more than a means to pass the time until the doctor's real friends showed up. He climbed into his bed, fully dressed, grabbed a datapadd, and spent the rest of the evening reading forbidden Cardassian novels he'd NEVER recommend to Bashir, Cardassian novels of love and of conquest, of an older man taking a young soldier under his wing, training him, becoming his teacher, his mentor, his friend, his lover... He slept.
As had been true every week for the past two months, lunch with Bashir the day after the holiday was no different than any other lunch with him - the same complaints were agreed upon about the crowded restaurant, the same opinions were offered about art, politics and cultural differences, the same station gossip was exchanged; no, this lunch was no different than any other. Garak found himself growing a little bored with the whole routine. Perhaps he should endeavor to move things to a more - personal level. He took a sip of juice and smiled cheerfully at his companion.
"We won't agree, then, on the relative merits of Dickens or of Trollope in illuminating Victorian Earth society. All right. Let's talk about something else. Your discussion group - how is it going?"
"What? Oh! The medical conferences! They've been very enjoyable, Garak - thank you for asking."
"What sorts of things do you discuss?"
"Well," he began, embarrassed, "we were SUPPOSED to be discussing the difficulties and rewards of practicing medicine isolated out in deep space." He smiled.
"But... that's not what's happening?"
"Y- yes," he drawled, "but I'm afraid it's turning into more of a social club. Garak," he began, leaning toward him in his enthusiasm, "I can't tell you how much I've begun looking forward to ek-Tabor." I know the feeling, Garak thought ruefully; the doctor's beautiful eyes, so close to his own, and slightly parted lips were beginning to make the Cardassian decidedly uncomfortable. "In fact, the time I spend chatting with my colleagues via subspace has started to become one of the high points of my week."
"Well, surely there are enough people here for you to - talk to." He tried to keep the petulance he was feeling from creeping into his voice.
"Yes, yes, of course, but there's nothing like communicating with real soulmates. In fact, I don't know if I should tell you this, but..."
"But what, doctor?"
"Well, I know this is probably not the most efficient use of subspace transmitters, but... I've started to become rather close to one of the members of our group, a Vulcan doctor. She's serving on the Enterprise - her name is Selar." He paused, lost in thought, a bemused expression on his face. Garak struggled to suppress his agitation.
"Rather close - in what way?" He was prying, he knew, but in his desperation he no longer cared.
"Oh, just... I can't really explain it, Garak. We just seemed to 'click' right from the beginning. Ever have that happen to you?"
"No, I can't say that I have." He had no idea how he managed to get through the rest of the meal; he offered only brief and noncommittal replies to the rest of Bashir's remarks, so obsessed was he with thoughts of the Vulcan doctor with whom Bashir seemed to 'click.' It was all he could do to return to work that afternoon and go on as if nothing were out of the ordinary; how he longed to burst into Quark's and rent the holosuite for the rest of the day, with his holographic companion there to soothe him and satisfy his every whim. But no. He had set a limit for himself of two hours a week, to 'celebrate' ek-Tabor, and two hours a week it would remain. Any more than that and he'd be running to Quark's two or three times a day, completely out of control, completely addicted to his fantasy life and his imaginary lover, becoming completely impoverished in the bargain. No, he could wait until the holiday and his regular reservation time.
Ek-Tabor. Elim Garak stood in front of the temporary shelter, the wind strong and exhilarating against his face, the nearby trees thrashing wildly with the force of the impending storm. Military maneuvers on Dreion Seven - he even thought he could recognize the surroundings. The heavy gul's uniform felt good on his strong, muscular back, felt 'right' once again. He inhaled deeply, the air heavy with the scent of ildath pines, as a few drops of rain stung his face. Any moment now, and the sky would open in a veritable cloudburst - storms on Dreion Seven were nothing if not sudden and violent. He scanned the distant line of trees for his aide - yes, there he was, running up to him. "I'm sorry, sir," Julian Bashir panted. "I was lost for a moment -"
"That's all right, Bashir," he answered graciously. He couldn't quite bring himself to give Bashir a Cardassian title such as "Glinn;" it seemed inappropriate on him somehow, too harsh, too close to the type of world Garak did not miss. No, he would be "Bashir" until they were inside the shelter, alone. He smiled at the hologram's seeming naivete. Ever since Quark had arranged for an outside expert to help him revise this underlying program, he had found the holographic Bashir to be so much more natural, personable, lifelike, than the rather stiff and artificial "Bashir" with whom he had first interacted. That one had been just as obedient, true, and even more sexually proficient - but perhaps that was the problem. Garak didn't want a sexually proficient computer program, he wanted Doctor Julian Bashir. And Quark, with a few clever and artfully-phrased questions, had swiftly divined that fact and promised to help. The amount of latinum he took in exchange for his program adjustments was incredible, almost obscene, but good holosuite programmers did not come cheap and Quark always took a substantial margin off the top as a matter of course. So Garak had sighed, and had threatened, but had paid. At least he knew one thing for sure - at least the Ferengi would never tell the real Julian Bashir about Garak's ek-Tabor "activities." Doing so would cost him a steady and substantial income, and possibly the use of his limbs - no, Garak felt safe in Quark's holosuites, even if a trifle taken advantage of.
He beckoned Bashir into the tent-like structure. "Come inside - it's going to rain very soon, and besides, you and I have much to talk about."
"We do, sir?"
"Yes, we do. The topography of this place, for one. Tell me what you've learned today on your exploratory hikes." He sat down on the cot and leaned back against the rolled-up blankets, motioning for Bashir to sit down as well.
"My... my exploratory hikes?" Interesting, Garak thought. While the new Bashir program was so much more appealing than the old one, it was also took a much longer time to get into the "spirit" of the holosuite scenarios - he found he had to provide more explanation and description of just what he intended the program to do. But then acquiescence was swift and invariably satisfying. Garak smiled. Topography be damned, anyway - it was fun to play the mighty Cardassian gul again, but this Bashir always seemed to want one thing, and one thing only -
"Come closer." Bashir sidled up next to him. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Bashir sheepishly shook his head. "Well then, I'll tell you. I obviously didn't adjust the settings properly. You're my assistant, a young human who has asked to join the Cardassian infantry to serve with me. You and I are exploring this planet, finding out all we can during the day about its physical features, its animal life, its inhabitants." His voice became quieter, more intimate. "Then, at night, we work on finding out all we can about - each other." Bashir smiled and wrapped one arm around Garak's waist. "This appeals to you?" In answer, Bashir leaned close to Garak's side and gently bit into a neck ridge; the Cardassian uniform exposed such a vast panorama of ridges that it was simple for Bashir to locate a suitably tender one, and Garak gasped from the sudden pain and arousal. "Ah... that was... that was really not appropriate yet, my boy." The hologram looked suitably chastened. "You have to wait until I can get this ridiculous - uniform - off..." He began to struggle with the heavy breastplate, Bashir assisting him in easing it over his head since it stubbornly refused to open up at the sides. Then he tore off the dark gray shirt underneath while Bashir tried to spread the blankets over the ground. Garak couldn't wait - it had been an entire week, after all. He pushed Bashir onto his stomach, on the pile of partially-unrolled blankets, and hooked his arm around the young man's neck, whispering hoarsely into his ear, "You know I'm ready for you, don't you?" Bashir nodded; Garak saw a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "But if you'd like me to use anything else..." Bashir shook his head. Good. Garak always believed that the natural lubrication of Cardassian males was enough; stopping to retrieve and apply lubricant, even for the comfort of a hologram, was an unwelcome and unnecessary delay.
He raised himself slightly off of Bashir's back and undid his trousers, then reached down and helped Bashir with his own, sliding them down to the knees. Not much room for movement, but enough. His scaled chest scraped against the rough cloth of Bashir's shirt as he positioned himself and then slowly began to penetrate him, listening for any gasps of pain or surprise. Even a hologram had certain limits, built into the program for added realism, and Garak found it was impossible for him to exceed them, so much did he imagine that this imaginary creature was his beloved Julian. He moaned low in his throat and kissed the back of Bashir's neck, then began to whisper words of endearment to him to make up for the forcefulness of the encounter. "Julian - oh my love... my precious Julian... " He closed his eyes and clasped Bashir around the arms, as the young man pushed back against him. "I've loved you from the first moment I met you..." It was true, too, but the real Bashir would never know that. This wasn't the real Bashir, however, or the real world - this was a holosuite, where Garak could say and do anything and no one would ever know. He kissed Bashir's neck again, then opened his mouth and grazed his teeth against it, his hands working their way under Bashir's shirt and pushing it up, massaging the smooth human chest. Bashir began to speak, his voice muffled by the blankets. "What is it, my love?"
"Please, Garak - sir, lower..." Garak understood, and slid his hands down to grasp Bashir's penis, the other hand gently cupping and squeezing the balls as Bashir began to squirm and moan with arousal. He let his thumb slide over the soft head and then, as concentration left him, began to rhythmically slide his hand along the length while he continued to thrust into the hologram's warm and eager body. Cardassian and human began to move together, the human's cries becoming breathier, more indistinct, the Cardassian growling almost like a Klingon. Soulmates with Doctor Selar, indeed - he and Bashir came together finally, passionately, and lay, panting, one on top of the other, the storm raging outside, the shelter warm and peaceful within. "That was wonderful - sir," Bashir said at last, causing Garak to smile. Should he ever in his life find a way to lure the arrogant Doctor Bashir into his bed, he had no doubt that "sir" would be one of the last words he'd ever hear. But on Dreion Seven, everything was his for the asking. He drew Bashir against him as he rolled onto his side.
"Oh yes... I thought so too, Julian. I hope... I didn't go too fast for you."
Bashir reached his arms behind his head, capturing Garak's neck in an embrace. "Well, you WERE a little eager - sir." Garak began to laugh. "But I suppose I can forgive you... IF we can try it again, more slowly this time, lover." Garak smiled and kissed Bashir's hair, then swiveled him around so he could manage a proper kiss on Bashir's lips.
"I believe I could be persuaded to - try it again."
He smiled ruefully to himself as he walked back to his quarters, alone. 'I believe I could be persuaded to try it again' - he was so exhausted he could barely stand. Oh, to be young again, with Bashir's stamina - with the HOLOGRAM'S stamina, he corrected himself. Then again, he couldn't be sure but it was just barely possible that he had begun to tire his imaginary companion as well - the holosuites WERE programmed for realism, after all, and Bashir's deep, regular breathing just before the program ended certainly seemed to suggest he was sleeping. Garak continued to smile, and then, on a whim, retraced his steps to the turbolift and from there to Doctor Bashir's quarters. Surely the doctor's so-called medical discussion group had ended its proceedings for the night, and he could enjoy a few moments of the real Bashir's company to finish off a thoroughly pleasant evening. It was only 2230, after all. He approached the door and signaled Bashir. A moment later, a voice answered, "Yes? Who is it?"
"Garak. I was wondering if I could come in."
"Is something the matter?" The door slid open to reveal a tired-looking Bashir, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
"No, of course not - I just thought, it's early yet and your conference must be finished -" He stopped. There was a still image on the viewscreen, a Vulcan female face - Garak couldn't help noticing it from his position in the doorway. "Unless I'm interrupting something?"
"Well... to be honest, Garak, I AM rather tired. I was just doing a little reading before heading off to bed."
"Ah. I see. Some work, perhaps, of that doctor you were telling me about, Doctor -"
"Selar. Yes, I was looking over a paper she had recommended to me. Perhaps you'd be interested in -"
"No, doctor, I'll leave you to your reading. You're right, it IS late. Have a good night, and - I'll see you tomorrow." He bowed; Bashir bowed slightly as well as the door slid closed. Garak let out a long but barely audible sigh. So. He was now even staring at her image, after his conversations with her had ended. This did not bode well for any real-life relationship of his own with the doctor - but then again, when had he ever let himself expect such a thing? Never. It was impossible. He stalked off to his room, his thoughts only of disappointment and self-pity.

"You're becoming obsessed, Garak, old boy," he told himself, as he hurried the last customer out of his shop ten minutes early. "You're letting these silly holosuite programs take over your life." He knew it was true. But his lunches that week with Bashir had been maddening - the doctor had canceled two of the dates, and during the other four had done little else but talk of his new friends in his "discussion group," including the ubiquitous Doctor Selar. Garak had grown to loathe the name. Listening to glowing descriptions of the Vulcan and her achievements was bad enough; his blood had nearly frozen when he heard Bashir casually mention, just that day, that there was a possibility the Enterprise would be paying a visit to Deep Space Nine at some point within the next few months. Garak had been unable to frame a suitable reply to that bit of good news.
"Don't you see, Garak? This will be the first time I've ever met anyone from the group in person - and to meet SELAR, no less! I'm almost ecstatic!"
"So am I." Garak glumly stirred his soup. "I'm happy for you, that is."
"Why thank you, Garak! You'll have to meet her too - I know you'll find her as fascinating as I do."
"I've no doubt I will."
"I KNOW you will. Well, I'm sorry, but I really have to run - I promised Selar I'd review another one of her papers so I could discuss it with her tonight." He threw his napkin down onto the tray. "See you afterward, perhaps? After you're finished with your visit to Cardassia?" He smiled, amused. Yes, that's right, Garak thought, make fun of me, mock me - I'm reduced to entertaining myself alone with silly holosuite fantasies while you, the great doctor, flirt via subspace... is there really much difference?
He arrived at Quark's half an hour early; Rom was behind the counter, Quark nowhere to be seen. "Rom," he began, "is the holosuite I usually reserve in use now?"
"No - I don't think so," the Ferengi replied, in his normal, slightly obsequious manner. "Why?"
"I was wondering if I could use it right away, then. I have it reserved for 2000 hours anyway - I just wanted to start early. My muscles are crying out for that Cardassian sauna."
"I understand! Of course!" Rom agreed. "Go right ahead! I'm sure my brother won't mind." Garak nodded and ascended the staircase, then paused in front of the holosuite door. It was difficult to believe that the same person who was even now preparing for his ek-Tabor date with some emotionless Vulcan doctor was about to become the love of Garak's life... He keyed in an alternate program code and stepped inside.
The room was dark and ornate, overstuffed furniture upholstered in deep burgundy velvet, burgundy curtains framing the windows. At a table in the corner sat several human males, dressed in the early Edwardian style, suit jackets draped over the chairs behind them, white cotton shirt sleeves rolled up. They were engaged in some sort of card game, smoking pipes that colored the air a cloudy blue-gray. Garak coughed unobtrusively. Several other men dined alone at small tables scattered about the room, while in the corner, music was emanating from an ancient-looking machine, a "phonograph," a soprano voice singing, "When you come to the end of a perfect day, and you sit alone with your thoughts..." from the depths of its flower-shaped horn. Well, Garak thought, some of the details are a little out of sync but this certainly LOOKS like a gentlemen's club of that era. He sat down on one of the intricately carved armchairs, picked up a pipe from the table next to him, and attempted to light it, his eyes wandering to the doorway in anticipation of Bashir's entrance. Ah - there he was, and as absolutely enchanting as ever. The hologram fidgeted with his tie, as his eyes scanned the room, looking for Garak; then his face brightened and he hurried over to him.
"Mr. Garak! They told me I would find you here!"
"Julian, please, it's 'Elim.'" He motioned to the chair opposite him. "Please - sit down. Let's talk." Bashir sat, eying the pipe Garak was still trying to light.
"I think you're supposed to put it in your mouth while you light it, Mr. - Elim." He smiled; Garak smiled too, and placed the pipe back on the table. Bashir's costume was remarkably authentic, and he wore it with ease, all the way from the soft brushed velvet suit, vest, and flowing tie to the ankle-high leather boots, which he had extended out in front of him. Garak was impressed. He had been in such a rush to get to the holosuite that he hadn't thought to clothe himself appropriately this time; he was wearing a metallic blue tunic in a very 'Cardassian' style. No one in the program, of course, paid his costume the slightest bit of attention. Still, he would have liked to have blended in a little better - removing Bashir's old-fashioned garments, here in the middle of this bastion of male respectability, was going to be half the fun, and he should likewise have been dressed appropriately.
He sighed. "What's the matter?" Bashir asked, sliding forward on the chair and watching him with concern... with a semblance of concern, anyway. Garak allowed himself to look a little more deeply into those beautiful hazel eyes. They were indeed very beautiful - they were also very empty. He had grown accustomed, ever since Quark had helped him modify and improve this set of programs, to a Bashir who seemed as real as his human counterpart, with an intelligence and a vitality about him that this hologram, no matter how physically flawless, seemed to lack. He leaned forward and looked more deeply into Bashir's face, then took both his cheeks in his hands and kissed him on the lips. Bashir responded instantly, his mouth opening to allow Garak entrance, his eyes focused on him with a pleased but rather vacant expression. Garak pulled away.
"Computer, open a connection to the bar, please." He waited.
"Yes, Mr. Garak? What can I do for you?" It was Quark, sounding a little frantic.
"Quark - this is NOT the program we worked on. You know what I'm talking about. There's something wrong with this one - it's... boring." He assumed his conversation could not be overheard, but remained cautious just in case.
"I understand - and you're right, Garak, I've been having some trouble with that holosuite - Rom wasn't supposed to let you in there early. Your reservation is always for 2000 hours, you know. I was going to use these few minutes to make some final adjustments."
"Yes, I -"
"Well, it doesn't matter." His voice assumed a businesslike tone. "I'll see what I can do about 'adjusting' the program from down here. You just carry on - I assure you that the problem will be cleared up within minutes. There may be a momentary glitch, but you'll hardly notice a thing." He cut the connection, leaving Garak alone to stare at a confused but still eager Bashir, who crossed the short space between them and climbed into Garak's lap.
"Now... what were you saying was the matter, my love?" He wrapped his arms around Garak's neck and began to kiss him again, with more outward passion but just as little inner fire. Garak resisted at first, then decided that a pale imitation of Bashir was better than no Bashir, and began to return the kiss. Suddenly the entire room seemed to flicker for an instant, revealing the yellow-and-black grid pattern on the walls and floor; Garak felt himself suspended in air, alone, for a split second until the chair re-materialized underneath him and Bashir re-materialized on his lap, lips pressed against his. An almost imperceptible gasp escaped him; Garak again pulled away slightly.
"Is something wrong?"
"No... no, not at all," Bashir answered, looking down at his clothing, a gold watch chain trailing from his pocket. "Pardon me." He looked around the room for a second or two, seemed to note with surprise the other occupants, then turned back toward Garak and resumed the kiss, his lips warm and responsive now, his touch insistent. This was more like it; Garak breathed a sigh of relief. This was the Bashir for whom he had paid Quark such an unheard-of sum of latinum.
"My dear boy," he panted, breaking the kiss, "where have you been?" Bashir only smiled and began to nibble his chin with his even white teeth. Garak tried to nuzzle his face into Bashir's neck but the high white collar stopped him - he had to get the garments off his partner, the sooner the better. It took very little effort to lift Bashir into his arms as he stood up and carried him over to one of the wide burgundy sofas. Two men were sitting at either end, each reading a newspaper under the lamplight; Garak stood in front of them, cradling Bashir in his arms like a baby. "Excuse me," he began, drawing their attention, "if you wouldn't mind, my friend and I need to use this sofa - I plan to stretch him out across it and ravish him so thoroughly he won't be able to stand." The men smiled and rose to their feet, gathering up their newspapers and heading for the armchairs Garak and Bashir had so recently vacated. "Ah, Julian..." Garak sighed, settling the young man against the pillows at the end of the sofa. Bashir giggled.
"They're all certainly very understanding here, aren't they?"
"Yes, they are." Garak's head lolled on Bashir's chest; he had grasped the tie with his teeth and was trying to loosen it by shaking it. Bashir reached up and awkwardly helped him unfasten it; once that was done and the tie was flung onto the floor, the vest and the snowy white shirt opened easily, exposing Bashir's tantalizing brown skin underneath. Garak licked at the hollow of his neck and then at his small round nipples, Bashir arching his back and wordlessly urging him on. He collapsed again onto the overstuffed pillows; Garak's strong and wet alien tongue was moving lower, down his stomach, under his waistband, then to his groin as his trousers were opened and slid down. He was still partially dressed, partially undressed, the clothing acting as a kind of a restraint, restricting his ability to maneuver under the heavy Cardassian body - he felt deliciously pinned and helpless as Garak took the penis into his mouth and began to gently suck.
"Ahh!" he cried out involuntarily.
"Is something wrong?" Garak asked, not lifting his head.
"No... no... it's just - ahh... It's just that I didn't - expect this - quite - so - quickly." He panted and moved his hips frantically upward, but Garak had again withdrawn his mouth and was gazing at him from the foot of the sofa.
"What did you have in mind, then? Perhaps a lively discussion of the relative merits of Victorian authors such as Dickens and... and..."
"Trollope?" Bashir panted, then froze. Garak was regarding him with a strange expression on his face; he seemed to shrug, however, and resumed his attentions, swirling his tongue against the soft, sensitive head of the penis, then taking as much of the length as he could manage again into his mouth and gently closing his teeth around it as he sucked it with more enthusiasm. Bashir held onto the back of the Cardassian's head for support; his body felt as if it were trying to free itself and float above the sofa, the velvet and the prickly wool covering grinding into his back as he writhed. He gasped, finally, and opened his eyes to see the group of card players looking over at him and smiling indulgently. He smiled back, perspiration matting the hair on his forehead and slightly stinging his eyes.
"Do you think what the end of a perfect day can mean to a tired heart..." the phonograph droned on, as Garak kissed his way back up to Bashir's face, pulling the antique-style clothing completely open as he did so.
Freshly showered and dressed in his usual impeccable Starfleet style, Julian Bashir hesitantly approached the bar. Quark noticed him and sauntered over. "I'm looking for Garak - has he already left?" Bashir asked, glancing at the occupied tables.
"Yes, half an hour ago. He seemed quite - pleased with himself. That must have been some program."
"Must have been." Bashir drummed his fingers on the counter absently. "Did he look for me at all afterward?"
"No, I don't think he did. In fact, I hardly noticed him leave - when his two hours were up, he was gone. Disappeared."
"Oh. I had hoped to have a drink with him, or something."
Quark sidled closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I would think, doctor, that you're having more than enough 'or somethings' with Garak to satisfy you."
"Shh." Bashir cast a quick glance at Morn and the other occupants of the bar, but no one appeared to be listening. "Quark - that wasn't supposed to take the place of our friendship - it's as if he's avoiding me lately. Nothing I say has any effect - even testing him, trying to make him him jealous, hasn't seemed to work."
"Why should it? Why should anything you say or do matter to him, when he can have the Julian Bashir of his dreams, every ek-Tabor at 2000 hours?" Quark smiled patronizingly. "Really, doctor. I confess I was more than a little shocked when you first brought this scheme up to me-" Bashir grimaced at the sarcasm, "but now that it's working better than you ever imagined, why are you complaining? Garak doesn't suspect a thing - I explain any difficulty you may have with blending in as a problem with the 'sophisticated programming codes' we're using now. It's perfect." He picked up a glass and began to polish it. Bashir watched him for a moment, lost in thought.
"We nearly ran into a problem tonight, though, didn't we? You're not supposed to let him start till 2000 hours. You know that, Quark. I couldn't believe it when Rom told me he was already inside."
"Yes, that COULD have been - tricky," Quark conceded. "But luckily the original hologram makes a satisfactory backup. I simply explained that something went wrong, transported you in, and the rest, as they say, is history."
Bashir smiled. "I have to admit, if you weren't a businessman you'd make a terrific transporter operator. I materialized in the identical spot where the hologram must have been. It was incredible."
"Glad to be of service. And I am nothing if not incredible."
Bashir waited at the bar a few moments more, then stifled a yawn. "I suppose I'll head home - he's obviously forgotten that I said I'd look for him tonight. Well - I suppose that's to be expected, after all. I'm really playing this 'subspace medical conference' bit to the hilt." He bowed to Quark and departed, the disappointment he felt at Garak's forgetfulness warring with the tiredness and stiffness in his body - making love for two hours on a badly-cushioned Victorian sofa did not do kind things to one's back.
"How was your conference?" Garak asked at lunch, the first workday after the holiday.
"Oh, terrific," Bashir enthused, his mouth full of food. "Everyone was in top form - we debated, we argued, we laughed - I enjoyed it immensely. How was YOUR evening?"
"I enjoyed it immensely."
"Good." The two ate in silence for a moment.
"Ah - doctor," Garak finally began, "tell me the truth - there ARE no group conferences taking place every ek-Tabor, are there?"
"What - what do you mean, Garak?" Bashir asked, wide-eyed.
"You know perfectly well what I mean. And you don't need to hide it - I understand not only what you've been doing, but WHY you've been doing it."
"You do?" Bashir whispered.
"Yes. Perfectly. You've been deceiving me all along. You're pretending these 'conferences' serve some medical purpose, so you can indulge yourself with long, drawn-out personal conversations without having it cost you one credit. You're pursuing Doctor Selar with an almost pathetic intensity, I'll have you know. I did a little research on her - she's too old for you. Too old and too incompatible - you'd have NOTHING in common."
"That's really none of your business, Garak," Bashir found himself saying. "How I choose to spend my holiday evening is as much my own concern as your holosuite adventures are yours." Garak was staring at him intently. "I don't presume to judge what you're doing - I'd ask you to spare me your opinions of MY activities." He began to breathe a little harder; if Garak was indeed "researching" Selar, would it be possible that he would actually go so far as to contact the Vulcan himself, under some pretext? Bashir had never spoken to her in his life, had never even heard the name until he read it in a medical report. Damn. This whole thing was getting completely out of hand. He must somehow attempt to begin revealing the fact that, for the last seven of the eight sessions Garak had spent in the holosuite, Bashir himself had been his holographic partner. Bashir recalled it all vividly - wandering into Quark's the morning after Garak's first, unsatisfactory, adventure had been the best thing he ever did. Quark was almost bursting with the news of Garak's demandingly precise holographic requirements and the fact that he found the artificial Bashir less than satisfactory. A few tricks with the replicator and the transporter, a few precautions for safety and 'realism,' and the "artificial" Bashir became almost more satisfactory than the real one. If only Garak wouldn't vary the programs so much each time - it was all getting so confusing, Risa one week, Cardassia the next, New York the one after that... Bashir ended his reverie as Garak stood up and coldly took his leave of him.
"Then it appears we have nothing to discuss today. Good afternoon, doctor." He turned on his heel and was gone. Touchy bastard, isn't he, Bashir reflected. It must be almost impossible to reconcile his holosuite nights with the rest of the week - he smiled despite himself. It was getting to be impossible for HIM, too. Fun was fun, but now that he had let things go this far, a simple "Surprise!" instead of de-materializing at the conclusion of the program would probably earn him Garak's enmity for years. It hadn't started out that way, but had now progressed a little too far for any easy answer. He'd have to approach a solution gradually, perhaps work on making the 'adventures' a little less appealing and interactions with his 'real' self more appealing. If Garak was now going to choose to avoid him, however, that plan would be more difficult than he anticipated.
Ek-Tabor, 1955 hours. Bashir waited, alone in his quarters, for the familiar tingle of the transporter that would take him to Holosuite Three and clothe him in the replicated garments he was supposed to wear. He shivered; he had never really grown accustomed to this part, to the uncertainty of finding himself in someone else's fantasy with very little clue as to what his role was to be. Quark used to be able to fill him in on many of the details ahead of time, but Garak had taken to calling up such strange scenarios lately - He blinked. The transporter effect had begun.
He continued to tremble - he was stretched across an elaborate, fur-covered bed, almost naked except for a sort of fur loincloth, more like briefs really, his arms held secure in fur-lined cuffs, fur hangings decorating the walls, fur rugs scattered on what he could see of the floor. Symbols vaguely familiar to him were carved into the ceiling and into several of the tapestries. Where had he seen that style of script before? What did this room remind him of? Oh no, it couldn't be - it was too ridiculous. Garak had actually done it - he had given in to his obsession with Selar and had called up a representation of prehistoric Vulcan; the air was hot and dry, although not as hot as Bashir knew it had become in modern times, and a reddish glow from the Vulcan suns illuminated the little room. The meat-eating ancestors of the Vulcans had been passionate about the use of fur, and while the feel of it was a welcome relief to last week's prickly wool, Bashir didn't relish the naked and helpless position into which he had been placed. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he was acting out some sort of prisoner scenario... his mind struggled to recall the little Vulcan cultural history he knew... when had the Vulcans taken prisoners in this manner? Never. The warring tribes would kill their enemies, not make sexual conquests of them - unless he was another sort of 'prisoner'... "Garak!" he shouted.
Garak entered the room, dressed in black and gray furs that contrasted very handsomely with his gray Cardassian skin. Bashir began to struggle.
"Calm down," Garak admonished him gently. "No harm will come to you here - you are perfectly safe. You can see how comfortable I've made you." Bashir stared at him. "And you agreed to accompany me willingly - don't give in to your longings for home. This is your new home now." He approached the bed and sat down on the edge. "I'm only restraining you until your parents and your clan are far enough away that you can't escape to them. That was at their request, I might add." Bashir began to smile. As if he'd need to be forced to stay with Garak - "It is an honor to be accepted into my household. You will see. Many families have wished to be chosen to supply me with a consort. None have been able to offer anything this appealing in return." Bashir closed his eyes and tried not to smile even more broadly. So - it was as he feared. He had been traded for livestock and other goods and was now Garak's semi-willing "consort;" the man certainly did know how to live out a fantasy. Vulcan tribal leader, ruler of a great territory, vassals vying for his favor - a far cry from the first holosuite scenario they had shared, set predictably in the station's infirmary. This could almost be fun. Bashir wriggled contentedly into the furs as Garak leaned solicitously over him. "Are you thirsty?" he asked. "I'll have my servant Selar bring us some water." Bashir nearly laughed out loud.
"Selar? You have a servant named Selar?" he smiled. Garak watched him, puzzled.
"Yes, I do - is that unusual?" He leaned down and smoothed the hair back from Bashir's forehead. "You're hot - and I'm sure you're thirsty. I'll get you something to drink." He called out toward the open doorway; a moment later, the image of Doctor Selar herself appeared with a flask of cool water, which Garak took from her and held to Bashir's lips. Bashir had never drunk holosuite water before and didn't know what to expect, but the sensation was remarkably satisfying. Perhaps the program, aware that he too was real, had replicated the water rather than simply duplicating the image. He liked having Garak assist him, holding the ceramic container to his lips, watching him intently. The sensation of being so sought after and adored was quite pleasant indeed. He finished drinking and leaned back against the pillows; Garak reached out and gently traced his finger along Bashir's still-wet lower lip. Bashir opened his mouth slightly and, when the finger had partially slipped inside, gently bit down on it with his teeth. Garak, startled, pulled his hand away, then hesitated. "Oh, I see. You're hungry. Just a moment." He spoke again to Selar, but in Kardasi, Bashir noticed, not Ancient Vulcan. She returned with a tray of unfamiliar foods - wonderful, Bashir thought - if this is the prehistoric Vulcan equivalent of wild game meat, I'll refuse to eat it. But the morsels were instead sweet and delicious, dissolving on his tongue as Garak fed him; he cleaned Garak's fingers thoroughly after each piece, knowing how quickly the sensation must be traveling directly to the Cardassian's groin. "Thank you," he breathed when he had finished, gazing invitingly into Garak's face.
"You're welcome - Julian," Garak stammered, handing the empty tray back to the Vulcan.
"Why do you keep a Vulcan servant - sir?" He wasn't quite sure how to address Garak in this scenario, not that it mattered anyway - if it were important, Garak would have told him.
"Because the Vulcans are a brave and loyal people, intelligent and trustworthy - and they recognize the Cardassians as their physical and intellectual masters, which makes them eager to serve us and to learn from us." Bashir pressed his lips together and desperately fought to keep from laughing; his face began to redden with the effort, as Selar walked over and stood next to Garak, looking down at Bashir on the bed.
"What the Cardassian tells you is true - it is an honor to serve him. All of Vulcan recognizes the superiority of Cardassian ways. You are extremely fortunate to have been chosen by him." Bashir turned his face to the side and tried desperately to hide it, but the pillows weren't quite plush enough to smother him. Garak had patronizingly placed his hand on Selar's head; she was looking at him with an expression of adoration. Oh my God, Bashir thought, this is terrible - if he ever finds out it's really me he's going to kill me - and what a way to drag poor, innocent Doctor Selar into this. He coughed loudly in an attempt to cover up his rapidly mounting hysteria. Garak crouched down next to him and again placed his hand on his forehead.
"Are you all right? Selar, bring me a towel." He poured a little of the cool water onto it and began to stroke Bashir's face and chest with it. The sudden cold distracted Bashir temporarily, but the sight of Selar hovering over him, watching him with holographic concern, threatened to destroy his composure completely.
"Please, sir," he managed to choke out.
"Yes? What is it, Julian?"
"Please, won't you untie me yet? I assure you, I would never try to escape you. How could I ever think of escaping the privilege of a Cardassian household?" Garak eyed him with suspicion, but, satisfied with Bashir's bland expression, he unbuckled the straps and took Bashir's wrists into his hands, massaging them; they hadn't been injured, of course, but the cool Cardassian touch in this warm place still felt pleasant. Bashir gazed up at him with what he hoped was a suitably subservient expression. "In fact, I am very, very grateful and proud to have been chosen by you. If you will send your - servant - away, I hope to be allowed to demonstrate my gratitude and my affection for you."
Garak, obviously thrilled with his unexpectedly delightful holosuite program, nevertheless answered, "No, my love, I would like her to remain."
"Of course you would," Bashir silently groaned, "of course you'd want Doctor Selar to stay and watch us together... especially with you taking the position I expect you're going to be taking... Oh well, she IS only a hologram, after all." He reached up and pulled Garak down on top of him. "Whatever you wish, my Cardassian - master." He smiled again but quickly pulled Garak's lips to his in an almost bruising kiss, his tongue pushing into the spicy alien mouth and exploring it before Garak could fully react.
"You're - you're very... forceful," Garak panted, pulling away.
"How could I not be, when I find I've been chosen by such a magnificent creature?" Selar, resting against one of the wall hangings, smiled approvingly. Bashir turned away to avoid her eyes; he was dangerously close to laughing again and destroying the illusion. Holograms might be amused, but they didn't laugh at the very fantasy they were supposed to be carrying out... if only Selar would drop that worshipful expression, though... He laughed despite himself and disguised it as a cough; Garak again looked at him with concern.
"You're not well -"
"Yes, of course I am," Bashir said, again maneuvering the Cardassian to lie on top of him. "I just breathed in a little - fur." The amount of fur in the small room was incredible. "In fact, I may have to remove some of it so I can be more comfortable." With one hand, he reached down and loosened the loincloth around his waist, then squirmed free of it as Garak slowly pulled it lower and tossed it aside. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Selar move forward and gather it up from the floor, so he quickly distracted himself by pulling Garak's mouth to his for another kiss. His hips began to grind into Garak's; he was already growing hard from the earlier contact but now, with no barrier but only his bare skin, he was becoming uncomfortably so. Garak was still fully 'clothed' in his fur robes, but they seemed simple enough to remove - Bashir's exploring hands slid the coat and tunic off of his shoulders, while the loose trousers were barely secured and were opened in an instant.
Lips still fastened to Garak's, Bashir raised his knees till his legs rested against the outside of the Cardassian's thighs. "I need you," he breathed into Garak's ear, "I need you now... please send the Vulcan away - I want to be alone with you, my love, just you..." Getting rid of Selar would markedly improve his ability to continue in his role without obvious merriment. Garak made a small motion with his hand and Selar disappeared through the curtained doorway. Excellent. Bashir tightened his embrace and rocked his hips upward, spreading his knees a little further apart, the insides of his thighs scraping against Garak's scaled, muscular legs. "I need you now," he breathed again. The slick fluid coating Garak's erection left no doubt that the Cardassian was ready; Bashir's own erection was pressed between them but he wanted Garak to take him first. It seemed appropriate somehow. He began to groan with the effort of waiting, as Garak's organ, poised just above him, oozed a generous amount of the natural lubrication. "Please..." he heard himself moan, just as Garak entered him with a deliberate but steady push. Breathing faster, trying to control his own passion, he felt the Cardassian slowly pull out and then thrust forward again, Bashir's hips languorously and then more vigorously moving up and down in the same rhythm.
"Julian... Julian, my darling, my beautiful boy..." Garak whispered, the words of endearment serving, even more than the elaborately-designed holosuite scenario, to bring Bashir to a climax just before Garak succumbed, panting loudly and clasping the young man tightly against him. Their lips again sought each other's mouths, their bodies sealed against each other and sticky with semen and perspiration. Bashir breathed in the fragrance, thick with sex and heat. He'd have to tell Garak the truth some other time, some time far in the future... he would not be the one to end this, end the intimacy that they'd never be able to recapture. No. He wouldn't do it. There was no reason to do that yet, none at all.
His body was young and strong, and the physical closeness with Garak was again rousing him, stimulating him; Garak, of course, was still displaying Cardassian signs of arousal, all the way to the flared scales on his chest, back and shoulders. Bashir kissed and gently teased one of the scales with his tongue, eliciting a moan from Garak and a forcible kiss that left him breathless. "Yes," he panted, his body moving into the same position as before, waiting for his lover to enter him and claim him one more time. Again and again and again he wanted him, forever - the thought that the holosuite had a time limit seemed ridiculously incongruous. This was wrong; they should be in a bed, a real bed, alone, not pretending... but now it was too late for anything BUT pretending...
"Sisko to Doctor Bashir."
Bodies frozen, mouths separating, Garak and Bashir stared at the doorway, the seeming source of the transmission. Bashir was beyond thought. Quark had always intercepted all messages, had even transported Bashir out of the holosuite on one emergency occasion - there should be no announcements reaching this room, ever. It was all a bad dream, a horrifying mistake. Garak had raised himself up slightly on his arms and stared down at Bashir; Bashir stared back, his eyes blank. "Sisko to Doctor Bashir," the voice said again.
"I... I don't -" Bashir began. Garak, deathly calm, turned again toward the doorway.
"Computer - location of Doctor Julian Bashir." Bashir almost felt his heart stop.
"Doctor Bashir is in Holosuite Three," the bland voice responded, as Captain Sisko again called out, more irritated this time, "Sisko to Doctor Bashir. Answer me, please, doctor."
"Oh God," Bashir moaned. "Oh, please, no..." Garak had slid off of him and was staring at him with an expression both shocked and hostile. Bashir tried to speak to him but could not think of one word to say.
"Answer your message," Garak finally barked, pulling his robe around his shoulders. "I don't want them all storming in here, looking for you."
"Th-this is Bashir," he weakly addressed the door. "Go ahead please, Commander."
"Doctor - the Enterprise was unexpectedly diverted here after picking up injured colonists. Doctor Crusher and Selar are going to need your help in docking bay four immediately."
"I'm on my way, sir," he replied, sitting up unsteadily and reaching for his cast-off fur covering. Sisko's words took a moment to sink in; when they did, his face turned ashen gray and he slumped down at the edge of the bed. "Garak - I -"
"Don't bother. I understand." Garak hadn't moved from his position next to the bed.
"No, you do NOT understand. You don't -"
"You'd better go. Now."
Bashir knew he had no choice; he got to his feet, then realized that a loincloth wasn't quite regulation attire on DS9. Garak had opened the door of the holosuite. "I can't go out THAT way!"
"Why not?"
"LOOK at me! I have to go out the way I came in. My uniform is in my quarters. I always - transported - in."
"I see."
"Look, Garak, you need to allow me to explain this. You need to let me talk to you -"
"And you need to get to docking bay four. NOW, doctor."
Bashir stood, clutching the furs to his body, his heart pounding. "Garak, please meet with me afterward - please let me explain this -" Garak turned abruptly and was gone, undoubtedly causing quite a stir among Quark's ek-Tabor patrons in his own multi-layered furs. Bashir sighed.
He had no clue about what had possessed him to choose Doctor Selar as an imaginary companion - the woman proved to be harsh, abrasive, condescending, totally convinced of her own superiority - and married, as most adult Vulcans were. Strange that Garak wouldn't have discovered that fact in his researches, and informed Bashir with accusatory glee. Bashir, in his brief contact with the forbidding Vulcan, was horrified rather than amused at the thought of what he and Garak had been 'inventing' for her - should she ever find out, he had a suspicion his Starfleet career would be put in serious jeopardy. The Enterprise had responded to a distress call and was bringing injured Earth colonists to DS9 for treatment and temporary shelter; Bashir was kept constantly busy for two hours, in the sick bay of the Enterprise, although it was difficult for him to understand the need for his presence there. He was given nothing but the most menial tasks to do and, when he tried to question Crusher or Selar on some point of medical procedure, he was treated with rather impatient scorn.
Confused, but too tired to pursue the matter further, he returned to his quarters for four hours of fitful sleep, all thoughts of his troubles with Garak subdued but not forgotten. When he awoke, however, with time on his hands and in need of someone to talk to, he ventured to Garak's shop just before breakfast. Garak always opened the shop early on the first day of the holiday, as Tabor was a popular time for shopping as well as more spiritual pursuits. When Bashir walked in, however, Garak became obtuse and difficult and refused to hurry any customers away. So he waited alone in the replimat for almost an hour, finally realizing that the Cardassian had no intention of appearing. He returned to his quarters, his messages to Garak's shop and quarters not returned, his efforts to contact him via Quark similarly rebuffed. Bashir couldn't blame him. The embarrassment, the sense of being mocked and exposed, must be acute.
And yet, Bashir haughtily defended himself, what had he really done? Broadcast Garak's holosuite fantasies to the station? Used his imaginary scenarios to trap him and humiliate him? If anything, I'M the one who should feel humiliated, he decided - I'm the one he was 'using' like an inanimate object, every week for months, with no intention of ever telling me - all I did was give him what he most wanted, Doctor Julian Bashir; you'd think the bastard would be grateful. His anger warred with a sense of guilt so tremendous that he thought he'd never live it down. If only Garak would let him explain, let him try to undo the damage he'd done... He closed his eyes and tried to put the whole sordid incident out of his mind.
"Quark to Doctor Bashir." Bashir jumped, startled. He was still alone in his quarters, later that morning, and was nearly asleep again on the couch.
"This is Bashir. What can I do for you, Quark?" he mumbled, blinking his eyes.
"Doctor, Garak is in Holosuite Three and would like you to join him. He says you're to transport in, the way you did before. He also says," Quark lowered his voice, "that you're to wear what you wore last time." I didn't wear anything last time except a piece of fur, Bashir thought, and I haven't got the fur - He brightened. This was promising. Surprising, but promising.
"Tell Garak I'm on my way," Bashir replied, then quickly began to strip. It was unusual, but not unthinkable, for Garak to choose the very place for their reconciliation that had led to all the difficulties between them in the first place. He'd have to tread very carefully, say just the right things, go along with his friend's wishes as much as possible, for his apology to be accepted. He signaled his readiness for transport to Quark, and dissolved in a shower of sparkles.
He rematerialized, not in the Vulcan setting he had expected, but in a representation of some sort of crew quarters - but not his, and not Garak's. Momentarily nonplussed at his nakedness in the unfamiliar room, he began to look around for something with which to cover himself, but then sighed with relief when Garak entered from the corridor. "So, doctor - I see you saw fit to join me. I'm glad." He didn't sound glad, however; Bashir noted in addition that he was also fully dressed.
"Garak - you never let me apologize. So I'm apologizing now. I'm so sorry. What I did was incredibly wrong and stupid. I embarrassed you, and that was NEVER my intention. I assume you know by now that I've been joining you here for several weeks - well, I meant to tell you that very first time, but somehow I just couldn't." He moved over to the bed and sat down, trying to cover himself with a corner of the blanket. Garak's cold, unfriendly stare wasn't making his repentance any easier. "You see, I wanted those evenings as much as you did, Garak, maybe more. I was afraid that if I told you the truth, after so much time had gone by, you'd be so furious you'd never forgive me."
"Just how long do you think you could have kept up this deception? Months? Years?"
"No... no, of course not." YEARS? Just how many fantasy scenarios did the Cardassian have in reserve? "I meant to tell you every single time. I WOULD have told you. But outside of the holosuites, you were becoming so distant that it made it impossible for me to bring it up. How could I?" He faltered under Garak's unwavering gaze, unable to continue.
"You're right, of course, doctor. You couldn't have brought it up. I never would have trusted you again. I never WILL trust you again. All that talk about the great Doctor Selar - well, you shall have her. Since she's the one you want so badly, I arranged this entire holosuite for you to have her."
"Damn it, Garak - I don't want Selar. I don't even know her. I only brought her up to see if you'd be jealous."
"Of course I'm not jealous, doctor. How could I be? Selar is superior to me in so many ways - a true soulmate for you. A hologram similar to the one I created last time will be arriving shortly - I suggest you get into bed and look suitably - amorous for the good doctor." Bashir bit back an angry response. Fine. If his apologies, his pleading, his begging even, carried so little weight with Garak that he wouldn't even condescend to take him seriously, then so be it. It was his turn now to be pigheaded and unreasonable. He'd welcome Selar with open arms and let Garak ponder THAT view for a while. Perhaps his apologies would be more readily accepted afterward. He climbed onto the bed and settled back against the pillow, drawing a knee up and encircling it with one arm, extending the other arm behind his head and smiling suggestively. "Enjoy yourself, doctor," Garak spat, furious, as he swiftly made his exit. He's undoubtedly watching the entire thing, Bashir realized, hoping I'll be embarrassed by this whole "Selar" incident and will call this off. I'll show him. The door again slid open and Selar entered; preoccupied, she kept her face lowered and never noticed Bashir on the bed as she moved about the room.
"Welcome home, baby," he finally cooed, waiting for Selar's - and Garak's - reaction.
The Vulcan's head snapped up. Taking in the sight of Bashir's luxuriously naked body in an instant, she seemed to reel backward. "Doctor Bashir - may I ask what you're doing here?" she demanded, her irritated tone of voice contrasting with her cool Vulcan demeanor.
"I should think that's completely obvious," Bashir drawled, arching his back against the pillows and stretching. "I was waiting for you. These ARE your quarters, and this IS your bed, isn't it, Selar?" His eyes twinkled as he grinned triumphantly. Oh, how annoyed Garak must be becoming, watching from his observation post.
"That is correct - however, I fail to see why that information should be any concern of yours. Whether this is meant to be humorous or is a serious attempt on your part to offer yourself to me, please be assured that I am not amused. I am asking you to leave here at once."
"Leave? But I've only just arrived!" he cried petulantly. For a hologram, the furious expression in Selar's eyes was certainly realistic. He decided to test the program's limits a little further. "Get undressed and come over here," he smiled invitingly, then remembered a bit of dialogue that had gone over well with Garak in the beach program. "You're tense and irritated - I have some special oil that I keep just for Vulcans. But it has to be rubbed in very, very slowly... come here and I'll demonstrate." Selar was speechless, staring at Bashir as if he had gone insane. She finally ran to the communicator in the wall and held her finger against the control.
"I will give you one more chance to leave before I summon security." What would holographic security be like, Bashir wondered - would an imaginary version of Odo come storming in, or would he not even recognize the officers? He decided to wait and find out. "Then I plan to let your superior officers know of this - oh, and I also plan to inform my husband, who will certainly wish to speak with you the next time he visits the station." Bashir's mouth dropped open in horror. Garak hadn't seemed to have known that Selar HAD a husband - thus he couldn't have programmed that detail in - thus these could possibly be Selar's actual quarters - thus this woman could be the actual Selar - he had been beamed in, after all, and had no real way of knowing where he was -
"Quark!" he screamed. "Garak! Get me out of here!" He waited for dematerialization, which of course never occurred, then leapt to his feet and raced for the doorway, dragging the blanket behind him as he hurriedly wrapped it around his waist. "I'll kill him!" he vowed. "This is the most humiliating experience I have ever had - that I WILL ever have! He could have cost me my job! This cannot be happening - this is the most -" He finally and with difficulty managed to reach his own room and collapsed behind the door, hugging the blanket to his chest, his heart pounding and angry tears starting to form. Talk about humiliation - talk about believing you were with a hologram, when instead you were revealing your innermost feelings and even making a fool of yourself in front of an actual, living person - He'd have to find Garak and again try to apologize. He owed it to him to keep trying until his apology was accepted. Now he knew how the Cardassian must have felt, in exquisite and much more horrifying detail. All last night, being treated like an errand boy by the rude and arrogant Doctor Selar, talked down to as if he hadn't even quite managed to get through medical school... He had tried to assert himself and impress her, to no avail. The more he struggled, the more disagreeable she became, almost as if she WANTED to catch him in some humiliating blunder.
And what could be more humiliating than to be stretched out naked on her bed, offering to "rub oil" onto her Vulcan skin - he groaned aloud with terror. Sisko was going to kill him, when Selar told him - maybe he ought to save the commander the trouble. He'd be publicly reprimanded and humiliated, an object of laughter to everyone, Quark telling the story of Bashir's holosuite misadventures to anyone who would listen. He curled up into a ball, his mind racing through possible solutions, none of them satisfactory. Contacting Selar was out of the question; as for Commander Sisko, Bashir was reluctant to go asking for trouble ahead of time. Running to Garak for advice - now that was just as preposterous; Garak bore him nothing but ill will now, as evidenced by his hostility in Selar's room... but wait a moment. Garak, it was true, had an extraordinary and carefully concealed level of technical expertise, so it was perfectly plausible that he'd be able to break into Selar's quarters - but how had he managed to secretly beam Bashir and himself onto the Enterprise? Even if it were possible, such a breach of security could land him in serious trouble with Sisko and even Starfleet - would he risk it for some petty need for revenge? Bashir opened his eyes and looked around him - this certainly appeared to be his room; at least, it was the room in which he had collapsed, exhausted, after working with Selar for half the night.
The haughty, the amazingly disdainful and impossible to please Doctor Selar, who would barely condescend to speak to him... a slow grin spread over his face. He began noticing formerly insignificant details in the room, details he had been too exhausted to notice before. Flowers which he had meant to discard two days ago were now as fresh as they had been almost a week earlier. He crawled over to the desk - there was a datapadd he had disposed of days ago, and another one containing an unfinished letter he had been working on at the beginning of the week. It was as if his room were now frozen in time, like a holographic museum display - or a holosuite. It must have been scanned and put into the computer memory banks right after last weekend's night in the Victorian club. All Garak's subsequent arguments and accusations to him about Selar were deceptions, every one of them, so Bashir could be lured back to the holosuite and subjected to this excruciating scenario.
"Computer - location of Doctor Julian Bashir since 2000 hours last night."
"Doctor Bashir has been in Holosuites Two and Three continuously."
Damn, Bashir thought, he did it. He found out everything - he must have contacted Selar on some pretext, and then spent the week plotting this elaborate fantasy. He kept me up half the night with this torture, then put me through hell again all morning - Bashir rolled onto his side and began to shake with laughter.
Downstairs, at the bar, Garak sipped his kanaar and smiled conspiratorially at Quark. "I would say the good doctor should be even now finding out that Selar is 'real.' Oh, how I wish I could see the expression on his face."
"It almost makes you want to go up there and intrude, doesn't it?" the Ferengi grinned.
"Almost. But what a lesson for him. Deceiving me for two MONTHS in a holosuite - I think I was suspicious of the new 'program' right from the beginning, but refused to let myself question it."
"What finally gave it away?"
"Finding out that Doctor Selar had never even heard of him, of course. If there were no holiday subspace conferences, then why the elaborate ruse? Why did he have to be busy every single time, so I'd never suspect his activities?" He took another sip of kanaar and rose to his feet. "Oh, and thank you, Quark, for the extended holosuite rental. You become very generous on Tabor, don't you?"
"Either that," Quark agreed ruefully, "or my instinct for self-preservation foolishly gets the better of me."
"You owed this to me. You and Doctor Bashir. You've paid your debt; well, part of it, anyway, and now he's paying his."
Quark grimaced. "Fair enough. I congratulate you. I never doubted for a minute that you'd discover the truth sooner or later."
Garak bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Quark, although I wish it had been sooner. And now, if you'll excuse me - I believe it's time to go and comfort our young friend. He's either begging or crying himself into a stupor in one of your holosuites. I look forward to graciously accepting his thorough - apologies. Good day." He departed, leaving Quark staring after him, shaking his head.
The communicator behind the bar suddenly chirped, signaling a message from - holosuite three. "Yes?" Quark whispered, stunned; Bashir was in holosuite three.
"Quark - listen to me." Bashir sounded slightly frantic, but amused. "I know what Garak's doing - and I expect he'll be back here any minute, correct?"
"Even sooner than that," Quark agreed, his mouth still hanging open in surprise.
"Listen to me carefully. I want you to beam me out of here and substitute the original Bashir hologram - make sure it's suitably amorous and repentant, please." He giggled. Quark stared at the communicator, then grinned, then hit several controls on the computer panel just as he saw Garak reach the top of the stairs.
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A Perfect Day