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Limitless	By : CyreliaJ Category: Star Trek > Deep Space 9 Views: 2154 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek Deep Space Nine of any of its characters. I'm also not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Thank you to everyone reading. This chapter got very long and is definitely getting down the darker road. More characters will be appearing in later chapters and the plot thickens so to speak. There is also going to be some Julian and Leeta here as well as upcoming chapters. Also couldn't resist throwing in another line from "A Clockwork Orange." C&C is always welcome!
2
   The hair fell back in his eyes and Dr. Julian Bashir blew it away with an annoyed toss of his head. The atmosphere in Quarks buzzed around him and he studiously ignored it studying the datapad.
“Excuse me.” His eyes shifted to the side clearly having difficulty seeing through the curtain of bangs. Still, he didn’t turn his head until the second time the voice more insistently asked for his attention. Julian looked up then, assessing the newcomer as he set the datapad down. “You’re Doctor Bashir, aren’t you?” He appeared amused at the question.
“Some would say so.” His eyes were distant for a moment and the red haired woman took another step with obvious hesitation.
“I’m Leeta. I’ve been meaning to come by the infirmary to see you.”
“Have you now?” Julian smiled and Leeta coughed twice as he watched her with a raised eyebrow.
   “Yes, it is a disease that plagues us all, isn’t it?” He spoke the query softly to himself as if again sharing some sort of inside joke.
“Doctor?” She blinked at him not quite understand and Julian stood up at last laughing softly.
“Oh you mustn’t mind me. I haven’t been well myself, you see.” He gave another chuckle at this. “They all keep asking if I’m alright...” He stood up straighter as if donning a new suit in the mirror and closed the small gap of space between them. “But I’ve never been better, actually.” His voice was soft- husky- and Leeta shivered as he caught her eyes with a vivid intensity and leaned in.
She looked surprised as he brought his face within inches of hers but didn’t step back. Julian tipped his head and touched his index and middle finger to her throat with the tender stroke one would give a kitten. He pressed gently and breathed in the scent of her perfume ignoring the looks he was getting from the other patrons. From behind the counter Quark began discreetly initiating a new series of bets once again centered around the doctor’s increasingly erratic behavior. The odds were three to one that he would earn himself a slap.
   “Your pulse is fluttering like a little bird,” Julian whispered feeling her shiver against him. Leeta’s hands came up to push him away, her expression flushed and overwhelmed. His hands were around her wrists faster than she realized yet at the same time he stepped back, giving her space. Julian let his thumbs rest against the soft skin of her inner wrist but he took careful pains not to be rough keeping his eyes only on her until she looked down.
“Doctor I-“
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked wearing the most wounded of expressions as he set her arms gently down. “But how am I ever to heal you darling if you don’t trust me?” Julian brushed the side of her face with a near reverent touch eying her throat with an unreadable expression. He felt her tension slowly dissipate as he traced the line of her jaw. “That’s a good little lark,”
There was a slight sway to her stance as she listened to the particular cadence of his voice. Julian leaned in with another series of whispers undetectable to anyone else present and as he spoke, Leeta’s eyes fell nearly shut. Julian’s hand fell to her shoulder to steady her and he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek,
“I’m going to free you from your cage, my little lark. I’m going to give you… everything… you desire… Make you into everything you ought to be…” Julian’s voice was a warm wavelength of sound, soft and melodic like a familiar song. It was only when he saw Jadzia approaching out of the corner of his eye that lowered his hand with a last lingering caress to her fingers. “Tonight.” Julian turned his head, glancing up in time to see Jadzia frown at him. She had been doing that a lot over the last several weeks. He merely smiled in return as he left Leeta standing there quietly. “Come to my quarters- and you’ll learn how to fly.”
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Garak, there was a last minute emergency in the infirmary.” He’s careful not to immediately feel his pocket for the second isolinear rod keeping his anticipation tightly in check. The first had already passed the previous week without a hitch and he can’t afford to be careless. The doctor might gush like a school girl to Garak about whatever stupid thing had his fancy at any given moment but he is not the doctor and he keeps his face neutral as Garak smiles at him.
“Think nothing of it, doctor, I’d only just gotten here myself.”
‘You don’t need to keep doing this.’
‘As always, doctor, you’re a slave to your ridiculously fabricated morality rather than the reality of your desires.’
‘These are your perverse feelings, not mine.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
There’s a pause there and Julian considers how effective such suppression truly had been. After all, if the doctor truly did not desire- ‘This is wrong!’ Which not the objection he ought to making right now from Julian’s point of view. Somehow that annoys him.
‘Wrong? Oh no, no doctor it is not wrong! To be “wrong” is to be inferior. To be wrong, is to be fallible. And we are neither of those things now, are we?’ And in the span of time it takes him to process, to compartmentalize, to argue with that infuriating dullard he registers only a fraction of a second passing as he set down the plate bearing two scones and the cup of unsweetened Tarkalian Tea.
   Julian takes a drink watching as Garak silently watches him. He knows his hair is longer than the time frame would allow for and the but that’s none of Garak’s damn business.
“I must admit, that the composition you’d given me last week wasn’t entirely what I was expecting,” he says at last so Garak will stop that assessing look. The “music” was heart attack inducing. He’d felt like his lungs were going to burst from the reverberation before he was able to lower the volume and the bass. Julian had sworn when his head finally stopped pounding that Garak had done that on purpose.
‘Certainly would have served you right if he had.’ Julian can’t help the way his eyes flicker unconsciously to the side as if the doctor were sitting beside him and not buried inside his mind. He holds back the irritated hiss. ‘Maybe this next one will stun some sense back into-‘
‘Maybe this one will shake you right out of my head, doctor.’ He forces his grip to loosen on the cup before he breaks the damn thing in his anger.
Garak pretends not to notice anything untoward about Julian’s reaction as he pushes the isolinear rod across the table.
“And that is why, dear doctor, I thought to start you out with something a little more conservative to alien ears.” Unless of course one were a specific type of incorporeal being in which case the specialized recording from one of the science ministry’s less savory divisions could be fatal. “I do hope you weren’t… overwhelmed.” Garak affects a solicitous expression. “I’ve been told by some that the effects on non Cardassian physiology can sometimes be… intense.” Garak observes an interesting shift of Julian’s face and adjusts his suspicions accordingly. He can see the crease of consternation and like before where Julian had displayed an uncharacteristic outburst of anger in Quark’s he can see the telltale tremble of his hand. But just like that it’s gone and replaced by the familiar face of Dr. Julian Bashir. The tension on the cup is completely erased.
“Well if that’s what you call mild perhaps I ought to be afraid of what you have in store for me this week.” Julian breaks off a piece of the scone slipping the small bite into his mouth with unusual indulgence. He’s far more open with these newly acquired mannerisms this week. Garak’s eyes follow the small lick to the tip of Julian’s fingers and there’s a small part of him that’s terribly tempted to damn whatever wants to uncover the mystery and just… enjoy himself. But I owe you far better than that, doctor. And the game itself is proving to be rather… titillating. Garak chooses his next words carefully.
“I assure you, my dear, it’s perfectly safe. Cardassian music is woefully unsuited to harboring subliminal messages.”
The reaction comes almost instantly to the human word inserted deliberately into the conversation. The word is an older human construct and there isn’t any proper equivalent in Cardassian or most other alien languages that Garak’s research indicated. The translator never would have used that word- no it comes straight from Garak himself. The pronunciation might have been incorrect but the effect is telling all the same. Garak watches the hand still midway to breaking off another piece of scone and that flash of the familiar vanishes. Garak begins to wonder if it truly is time to rule out an alien presence in the doctor’s mind as he sees a small tilt of the head one might give when listening to something. Irritation gives way to panic, to fear. The lies rushing over Julian’s face- every infinitesimal tic- clear as day. You know you’ve never used that word and you know that I suspect your intentions to be less than noble. But the question remains just what are your intentions?
Julian freezes. Laugh but don’t overcompensate, he tells himself in that quick second. Don’t go for the cup. Drinking instead of responding would indicate nervousness- guilt. And you have no reason to feel anything untoward about the comment. You’re not that sharp. You don’t pick up on these things. That’s not the doctor, Jules. Julian laughs just enough as he removes the isolinear rod from his own pocket. The excitement is almost tangible, an excited quickening of his pulse and he’s back on top where he ought to be playing the game perfectly. Let’s just see how strong your control over your own mind truly is, Elim Garak. The only question remaining then is when and where now, isn’t it?
“And here I was afraid you were going to hypnotize me into buying a new summer wardrobe.” Julian’s hand is steady as he holds the rod out for Garak to take.
Julian also makes sure their hands don’t touch as he gives it over not noticing Garak’s eyes observing the precise movement followed by retreat. If my memory serves, and it always has, you’ve taken great pains to avoid any physical contact at all these past few weeks. Could it be the incarnation from the mirror universe the doctor spoke of? He watches Julian take another finicky morsel of the pastry. He considers that the hair once more. No, the mirror would have had those minor differences from the start and if not then he’d be trying to blend in far more. The mystery intrigues him far more than is healthy. Julian sees him watching and lets his thumb slip just a little bit inside his mouth to clean the jam with more effort than necessary. Garak smiles.
“Much as you might be in dire need of a change in attire, doctor I hold out hope for reason and enlightenment winning out over... utility.”
   Julian shakes his head bringing the long standing argument to its usual stalemate with a last catlike lap to the tip of his thumb averting his eyes almost coyly.
“I suppose you’re right then, I don’t give you enough credit for being an optimist after all.” He picks up the isolinear rod Garak placed in the table and looks at it curiously. “You don’t have any special instructions for this one, do you?”
“Well I would highly advise against mastication.” Garak pockets the rod Julian had handed him and watches him suddenly begin his usual speed eating ritual. And here there should be that telltale stiffening when you think your dignity has been affronted but no, your entire body posture has changed. Julian Bashir the first is back in full force it would seem. Garak sips his soup with consideration.
“You’re certainly in a glib mood today,” the doctor- he’s determined at least a ninety eight percent probability that he is speaking with the doctor this time- remarks quickly finishing the scone. Garak shakes his head in response.
“Ah, but things are seldom as they appear, doctor.” he watches for any reaction and sees nothing but Julian as he’s always known sitting in front of him looking with guileless curiosity. “You know how it is in the world of fashion” Garak continues noting the charming look of familiar disappointment. You should not still be finding him half as attractive as you do. “The wedding isn’t for another three months but if the dress isn’t properly let out by this evening somehow our two starscrossed lovers might be doomed to death marked love- my words, of course, not the bride’s.” Garak smiles in amusement as he recalls the mother of the bride and the equally charming young miss were not quite so eloquent in their histrionics.
   And hello again. There’s a flash that he sees on Julian’s face- another glimpse of that familiar irritation- and it’s far too intriguing reaction to what was nothing more than innocuous small talk.
“Doctor?”
“Death marked love, you say?” Julian doesn’t meet his eyes, his gaze strangely averted once more as if he’s impatiently listening to something only he can hear. He rests his head on his hand with an interesting tilt, a look of lazy seduction in his eyes that calls to Garak to respond in kind. “Oh surely you’re not going to toss out that little tease and leave me hanging here, are you?” he all but purrs. Of course, Caesar had been the topic of their last debate not any other Shakespearian work and as Garak is learning, Julian the second does not react well to surprises.
“I might have sought out a little extra Shakespeare on the side,” he says offhandedly watching Julian’s eyes blinking thoughtfully.
   But Garak has no intention of giving him time to mull that over. “And shame on you for your callous maligning of Shoggoth. I’ve yet to read the single work of your ‘bard’ that isn’t both completely predictable and utterly devoid of what you humans call ‘common sense’. At least when Erza murdered Dellal in Beneath the Scarlet Moon it was a neat, nearly undetectable affair.”
“Didn’t she dispose of the body by feeding him to his own riding hounds?”
“It is a far more palatable scene than Tamora being stabbed to death in the middle of a dinner party.”
“For a man who referred to Candid as ‘irredeemable pornography’ I find that a little… hard to swallow.” Another half-smile accompanied by a sensual drawl, and Garak can’t help but think that Julian the second wears seduction like an arrogant adolescent. And you most certainly should not be finding this Julian anything resembling desirable either. He takes another spoonful of the soup, letting himself become pleasurably distracted as Julian begins to fidget with his hair. Tain would be terribly disappointed in you.
“Violence, like sex, my dear,” he finds himself saying in answer to the coquettish demeanor, “is an act that all too readily lends itself to obscenity.” As he speaks, he sees Julian pick his head up just a little and that index finger move to toy with the open collar of the jacket. Julian’s eyes are bright as he hangs off his every word. Garak looks at the inviting exposed skin and the intensity of that stare beckons him to let his eyes linger a touch more than he otherwise would out in the open like this. “There is a certain skill one must possess-” Garak doesn’t drop that look for a moment but instead meets it head on “-in order to transform violence into art.” He would have never spoken that way to the Julian Bashir that he’s known for the last three years but in this moment he knows for a fact as those eyes continue to bore into his that the man in front of him is not the same Dr. Julian Bashir.
   Garak’s expression grows darker and it makes Julian’s pulse quicken.
“One must be willing to cut away…” Julian licks his lips as that voice caresses his auditory senses and he shifts his leg underneath sliding one hand just below his knee as he curls it under, squeezing, massaging to break that unbearable tension. “To dye…” And the emphasis on the homophone freezes his blood in the most delightful way imaginable. “And of course,” Garak finishes, sitting back looking far too damn satisfied with himself, “-the tinge of justice is one of the most brilliant dyes one can employ for such an undertaking. The Cardassian state being the most expert of artisans.” Julian practically kneads at his leg, keeping the more obvious affectation in check though his fingers ache to twine around the finely spun threads of silver underneath the tunic. The chains which bind Prometheus for daring to bring fire to man…
The necessity of restraint makes Julian feel trapped in confines of the damn Starfleet uniform. He wishes they weren’t in this station. He wishes that he wasn’t watching for the fucking doctor or the other officers he’s sure are keeping tabs on him, but most of all he longs to be back in total control. He can’t remember how to breathe and as he looks down feeling the noose tighten around him he knows that Garak still has his eyes on him. You know what you’re supposed to do, dammit. You’re supposed to rise to the bait and make some allusion to Garak’s shaded past. You’re supposed to keep up this miserable charade until all the pieces are in play and make sure this lot of chattel doesn’t suspect anything more than the after effects of your trauma. But right now at this table across from Garak it’s all a bunch of pointless shite when they both know full well that this is nothing more than a game and Julian’s mouth remains firmly closed in defiance of expectation.
Until suddenly it isn’t and his head spins as it’s completely out of his control.
“You’re missing the point of everything, Garak.” Julian hears himself speak. He feels his mouth moving. It isn’t him that’s speaking. “The point of the tragedies,” of course it’s the doctor, “is to showcase the fatal flaw of the hero leading to his demise.” He almost throws his hands over his mouth to shut the git up. “It’s not to play a five hundred page matching game. If you focus on the violence… if you only focus on the overdone obscenity of flesh and blood… Then you’re not seeing the bigger picture. You’re not seeing the heart of the pieces and there are far more layers to this vessel than you’d think.” He can feel the tightness of his jaw as he fights and he almost thinks his head is about to split open. Don’t you dare. “You’re not seeing it, Garak.” But if Garak isn’t, Julian is, and he seethes. “Othello is driven mad with jealousy. King Lear cannot see past appearances because of his arrogance!” Garak is analyzing him curiously and he can feel that anger flooding him. ‘You want him to see you, doctor? Well maybe he isn’t seeing you because he doesn’t want to fucking see you! So sod off, this isn’t your damn body anymore!’ “If you would just look at-!”
   Julian coughs violently, head thrown over the table eyes flashing dangerously as his nails dig into the side of his neck nearly hard enough to draw blood. Shuttup, damn you shuttup! It’s red. Nothing but deep dark crimson and he feels like his head is about to explode with agitation or that he may even swallow his own tongue but he forces himself to be calm. Julian himself back in control imagining nothing less than the doctor up in flames- immolated and shrieking his death throes- and at last he looks up defiantly. He lowers his hands, hair hiding the dark red half-moons marking the skin.
Julian’s face feels flush and just as he’s about to take a drink he catches sight of Garak meticulously unwrapping one of the chocolates he’d given him.
“Poison,” Garak remarks as he studies the carefully molded candy, “is another method I’ve never been terribly fond of.” He rolls the truffle around in his palm and Julian wonders if he isn’t being toyed with. “It’s far too imprecise and messy.”
“Is that in your personal experience, Garak?” Julian snaps wishing he’d stop arsing around and just eat the damn thing before it melts.
“Pycan space moths, doctor,” Garak replies in a tone that is nothing if not baiting, “are not only crippling to any deep space station clothier but they’re notoriously hard to exterminate… and quite hard to detect unless one knows what to look for.”
   “We are not talking about Pycan space moths!” Julian rises, slamming a hand down on the table just as Garak primly pops the chocolate into his mouth. Garak says nothing, only watches in amusement as the warm cacao coats his tongue and the other patrons turn to stare at them. He allows the sweetness of rokassa juice to wash any lingering bitterness from his throat as Julian stammers an apology and sits back down. Garak’s eyes don’t miss the trembling scratch of nails over the table top, and he thinks it’s hasn’t been neatly long enough since anyone has so clearly wished to do commit violence upon his person.
“You might consider moderating your tone, doctor,” he offers watching Julian’s head jerk up in the midst of trying to calm himself down, “lest the other patrons think they’re observing Cardassian courtship at work.”
Garak doesn’t bother keeping his amusement hidden this time as he watches that fetching look of arrogance turned disbelief on Julian’s face.
“Unless of course, that was your intention all along in which case I must say I’m flattered but-”
“You...” Garak studies the play of emotions with a detachment borne of years of experience as he continues to remain perfectly steady. Julian clears his throat, and that stunned faltering slowly morphs to a anger blooming like a delicate flower in accelerated time. Julian makes another false start and while his face is flushed it is not with the doctor’s embarrassment but the usurer’s affront. Garak sees him tug furiously at the collar of his uniform nearly scratching the skin and a vision of raking his own nails down the exposure quickly flickers through his thoughts; he files that away for later.
   “Believe me, Elim Garak if it was my intention to give you a fucking knob job you’d bloody well know it.”
“Is that so?” Garak asks with mock surprise.
“Yes that is very much so!” Julian doesn’t seem to be able to resist striking the table again and Garak is sure they’ve once more attracted an audience. He lifts his glass very much enjoying the display.
“In that case, might I offer my services in local customs next time you find yourself visiting Cardassia Prime, doctor. Not everyone is as much of a gentleman as I am and I would hate for you to find yourself in a situation you’re… ill equipped to handle.” He punctuates the statement with a rather reptilian flick of his tongue to the sweet juice as he raises the glass high enough to hide the rest of his face.
   “Is that so?” Julian’s voice is quiet as he parrots the question carefully watching the rest of the replimat until the majority have decided things aren’t about to get interesting again. It’s too much. Julian can once more hear his own pulse in his head and it drowns anything else. Thump. His vision goes red. Thump. It’s nothing but brilliant scarlet. Thumpthump And he’s sure Garak is saying something else but it doesn’t matter. You have no idea... You have no idea just who the hell you’re... That pulse intensifies, vision swimming in a sea of scarlet until it looks like a bloodied lens. Julian sees Garak leaning across the table softly speaking with that sickening patronizing concern. Concern for him, for your fucking patsy but I’m not him and you’re not making a fool out of me. The doctor is gone- dead and damned to the world or wherever Julian shut him away and it’s nothing but empty blessed silence. Perfect.
Julian looks up from dark, almost black eyes with a wicked smile on his face and a nasty playfulness to his countenance. The fingers finally dare to drip below the neckline, toying with the chain as if he’s God about to pass judgment and he leans in catching Garak on the shoulder with his free hand and a small titter of laughter.
“You’re taking the piss out of me again, aren’t you, you Cardie bastard?” Julian’s voice is light, teasing, and he doesn’t let Garak respond to the insult. This is his game now and he’s the one in control. You think that only you can skirt the shadows, Elim Garak? Why don’t I show you what real power looks like? “But you don’t have to answer that, Garak, luv.” Julian laughs softly sliding the chain twined fingers up the side of his face as if deciding where to strike. “In fact, why don’t I let you in on a little secret…”
Julian licks his lips, the anticipation worth every moment locked away in silence and whatever motivation keeps Garak still he seizes upon it. “I am the key,” He whispers into the charged air between them. Julian dares where even Ogden Salsbury remained hidden on in the darkness. The darkness may be where stars shine the brightest but I’m no star I’m the god of the fucking sun. He’s a quasar ready to erupt into brilliance and he holds his breath and waits. He doesn’t fail. Julian never fails. But not even the expectation of triumph can prepare him for the rush of adrenaline seeing Garak blink at him as little more than a glassy eyed doll.
“I am the lock.” It’s hard to reconcile the automated voice devoid of inflection, of warmth, and Julian frowns petulantly even as he gives that shoulder a squeeze and exults in his control. I don’t want this damn shell. I don’t want this empty eyed protoform. I was you, alive and aware, and in my thrall as you ought to be. But this was what he has now. And right now this is all his to command. He drops his hand sitting back regally.
“Assume your normal posture,” he orders softly so that no one will notice anything amiss. Garak obeys completely. “I don’t have much time, dear Garak,” he says with that superior grin, “and in another few moments you’ll be back and remembering nothing but teasing me about my…“ He has to remind himself to remain steady. “The last thing you recall is teasing me about flirting with you...” He laughs softly out of breath seeing that the eyes no longer watch them so closely without the loud spectacle to keep them entertained. “...teasing me... you’re always teasing me Garak... but this time...” He swallows and shifts both legs under him on the seat. “This time it’s my turn to tease…”
Garak blinks slowly, looking at Julian just as he finishes speaking.
“We are creatures of ego, after all, Garak,” Those are somehow the only words he remembers having lost a portion of the conversation. There is no doubt as to the source- Julian resembles a child who’s just gotten away with something exceptionally naughty. And the time is off. The temperature of his soup has dropped more than even his leisurely eating usually results in. Yes, Julian is definitely the source. It seems you have another layer to add to the mystery once the sample returns, Elim. Ha takes another spoonful of soup as if he’s unaware that there’s a difference. There are still two weeks until the analysis of the sample will be ready. And depending on the results, my dear I might consider charging you for the cost. An internal check of his vitals- at least to the basest level- doesn’t set off any alarm bells. No, the only thing off about the entire situation is the man sitting across the table from him. Once again Julian is back to being perfectly, painfully ordinary and in spite of his best attempts, even his memory can bring nothing to the forefront. Garak is thoughtful as he answers at last.
“Ego, yes. That would be Caesar’s fatal flaw, I believe.”

   The light from the datapad was the only illumination in the room but Julian’s eyes easily adjusted to darkness. Naked, he laid on his stomach on his bed, hair lazily pulled back to the nape of his neck. He tapped thoughtfully, considering the next key part of the operation, wondering how he might be able to tie in Dr. Lenz’s impending visit. He had no doubt that he would be able to make use of her once she arrived on the station. Julian was counting down the days and he made sure to note the date. Everything in his mind was a perfect arrangement, the plans carefully vaulted in the Cathedral, back with the maps and other topographical references. It was far safer means of storage. Julian scrolled down, reading off the series of numbers, the cryptographs meaningless to all but him and even then they were little more than a series of cues. His mind was a perfect quiet, working in the silence with a precision he hadn’t felt in-
“Julian?”
   Leeta’s voice, the barest whisper was unbearably loud in the room.
“It’s late.” He whispered with a kindness he was hardly feeling. “Go back to sleep, darling.” Julian didn’t look up from the datapad as he continued to add a few more codes to the list. He heard the bed shift and felt her hand on his naked back. He’d have to make sure to disabuse her of that presumptuous physical contact. But for now, Julian was careful not to flinch or pull away.
“It’s late for doctors too,” she teased and he entered a few more codes before turning to look at her. He could see the outline of her body perfectly in the dim lighting. Charming- she was so terribly charming. ‘Doctors perhaps, but those of us born to a higher purpose have little need for such wasteful things as excessive indolence.’ Julian set the datapad down and turned on his side looking up at her while managing to look down at the same time. He doubted she could see him half as well anyway.
   Julian gently disengaged that hand which continued to touch him and rubbed the soft skin of her palm against his face with a perfectly affected sigh of contentment.
“You’re such a thoughtful little lark but this little lark has a lot of work to do tomorrow, doesn’t she?” He squeezed her hand not unkindly. Leeta’s slight frown was evident, enhanced vision or not. He smoothed away that frown sitting and decided to let her see that he could see her perfectly. “I need my eyes and ears, luv. I need you so terribly you know...” Julian leaned in and allowed his lips to brush the side of her mouth lightly. Tomorrow would begin the test and from there it would be easy to keep her going.
“It’s not that I don’t believe Jules,” she hastily added and that pleased him. “It’s just… it’s Quark. I swear that little miser doesn’t miss much and I don’t want to lose my-“
“And here you said you believe,” he chastised releasing her, pulling away when she put a hand on his shoulder.
   “Jules, I-“
“If you cannot have faith in the vision of the Prophets... If you cannot trust in the Emissary... in the word of his highest disciple then how can you possibly say you believe?” Julian’s voice grew louder, infused with a mixture of incredulity and disdain.
“Don’t question my faith in the Prophets, Jules! I’ve spent my entire life-“
“Don’t question?!” He rose from the bed. “Computer, lights.” The lights came on and he saw her temporarily blinded, her nudity, her vulnerability so fucking brilliant he wanted to slide back onto the bed and fuck her again willing or not. “I’m not the one questioning, Leeta,” ‘And how dare you presume to speak to me as an equal.’ “I’m the one speaking for the Prophets. I’m the one blessing you with the vision the Emissary has for a new world, a marriage of all races in harmony and you sit there like a petulant child worried about one Ferengi barkeep!”
   Julian was loud but made no movement towards her- no that wasn’t the play he was making right now. Leeta was distressed but not to tears and that mettle would certainly serve him well should he takes pains to bend and not break it. She didn’t answer him immediately and he took the time to throw on a robe running frustrated fingers through his still sweat dampened hair. He turned away as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her.
“This was a mistake.” He listened carefully and heard faint rustling, heard her shift as if she might rise but she hesitated. “But how... can it possibly…” He spoke to himself making sure it was loud enough for her to hear. “But how could the Prophets have been wrong when they showed me the way?” is voice was pitched to the pinnacle of despair and she seized on that opening as he knew she would.
“They’re not wrong, Jules!” He allowed himself to turn back around keeping his arms crossed. “It’s me! I...” She looked down after the initial outburst and he could see the tremble of her body as she aborted an instinctive reaction to cover her nakedness. Leeta looked at him every bit of earnest in her eyes and he made sure to shift to his most open and forgiven expression. Benevolence. That was the hallmark of Saint Jules and he closed the robe tighter so she wouldn’t see him getting hard again with the excitement. She mistook the gesture for uncertainty but that only made her more determined to convince him. ‘Poor pitiful Jules, yes darling, you know just what I need to hear now, don’t you?’
   “The Prophets aren’t wrong Jules,” She repeated firmly. Leeta stood up and Julian’s hands paused on the belt of the robe letting her rest her hands over his. Let her think she was guiding him, after all. “You’re not wrong,” ‘That’s a good girl. Tell me again just how-‘
“I’m so terribly sorry Leeta.” He wasn’t sure at first that it was him that spoke but it was and he felt that odd disconnect whenever the damn doctor was trying to reassert himself. But this time he thought it almost might work in his favor if he was able to clean up the damage properly afterwards. “You shouldn’t be here... not like this,” he heard himself say and her stricken expression at the words showed such a different interpretation at that ignorant prat’s guilt. His internal laughter echoed inside whatever chamber he’d been shunted off to as she protested even more fiercely.
   “No Jules, I have to be here!”
“Please Leeta just listen to me I don’t have-“
“Hey don’t go underestimating me, Jules!” Oh that pang he felt when she called him “Jules”! She squeezed his hands in what she likely thought was reassurance . “I do that enough myself sometimes. We’re in this together, right?” And there was that unwelcoming unasked for touching of his face but staring at the cute little wrinkle of her nose while the doctor continued some mental self-flagellation made it more than excusable. He felt the hopelessness pouring over him in waves and he shrugged it off like molted scales feeling almost giddy as he stomped the bastard back down. Julian leaned in and kissed her lips feeling a rush greater than anything Miles ever procured for him to imbibe.
   “You’re right of course. You... are my most precious little lark, Leeta, the first of many but right now...” Julian promised giving a chaste little kiss to her forehead, “right now you are the one I want to reward the most when the vision comes to pass.” He strokes her hair in an almost fatherly gesture shushing any protest of reward for doing the work of the Prophets. “I want you to have your restaurant. We want you to have all your little dreams and our highest blessings- strength, health, and an eternal life exalted... But we need you, darling.” Leeta looked up at him trusting, so terribly trusting of Dr. Julian Bashir disciple of the Emissary that he felt a wave of nausea bubbling up from the last vestiges of the doctor. “You see what I cannot see, and hear what I cannot hear. Just like a little songbird, my Leeta.” Julian was sure to breathe her name with all the devotion he could muster and his fingers danced down the nape of her neck until she leaned against him.
   “Yes, Jules,” she whispered with an obedience that wasn’t half as strong before.
‘She doesn’t deserve this.’ He’d grown far better at masking any sign of the other presence and only allowed the smallest shift of his eyes in response to that voice.
‘She deserves everything that I can give her, doctor. I’ll give her the world, you know that. Anyone who follows me-‘
‘-is poisoned! Is irreversibly damaged. Is-‘
‘-transformed beyond the meager potential they started with. Surely you don’t think that you’re any different?’
‘I am nothing like you. I help people. I save people.’
‘Such a terribly noble hero you are, but you’re already too late. This one is mine, doctor. And I don’t intend to stop with her either.’
   Julian put his arms around her, hugging her tightly to him, as if she were the only one anchoring him to the world. Leeta murmured some more religious nonsense and already he was thinking steps ahead to the next phases of the plan. Quark, Miles, Garak, it all tied together and the end result was-
“I’m sorry, Jules.” Such a perfect perfunctory thing to say yet he could tell she actually meant it as she put her head on his shoulder. Yes, he definitely needed to fuck her again.
“The Prophets don’t need apologies my little lark. They already know what’s in your heart.” He let her go and pressed between her breasts carefully controlling any reaction outward excitement on his part. “I believe in you, Leeta. The Emissary believes in you.”
“I won’t let you down, Jules,” she promised. He believed her.
“I know you won’t darling.” ‘Who says the Prophets are the only gods in the heavens, doctor?’ He licked his lips as he drew that finger up to just under her chin. “Now let me kiss it and make it better.”
   Julian glances once again at the datapad in his hand as he toys with the collar of the damn restraining uniform. Collar indeed, I don’t know how the hell he didn’t go completely barmy. His afternoon is filled with more routine appointments and nonsense than he thinks he can bear but he’s already counting down the days until he leaves this god forsaken station behind. Julian furrows his brow not hearing but rather feeling the sense of unwelcome coming from the doctor. I’m winning, damn you. I can’t hear you anymore I can’t… But he stops just then as if he’s lost control over his own body and realizes that he’s just shy of Garak’s Clothier’s.
No, you wouldn’t want me to go inside now, would you? It is tempting. It is so very tempting… Twenty nine minutes until the next bloody appointment… That’s not enough time- not by half for what he wants to do. “But this is so dreadfully boring…” He gives a quick glance inside and feels every muscle in his neck straining against the action. Julian feels the thoughts again from earlier. Tardiness on his reputation would look- Julian shakes his head. No, not his reputation: the doctor’s. And these are not his thoughts but the doctor’s as well. He continues to look over the screen to the empty shop and smiles prettily for the Bolean who brushes past him.
I suppose this is far easier for you than nattering in my ear all day about petty morality and your insipid ethics. There’s no answer and Julian draws himself up wearing the uniform with far more majesty than it deserves.
“Oh that’s right. I don’t have a higher nature to appeal to, isn’t that what you would say?” he whispers amused. If nothing but silence greets him it’s replaced with a sense of urgency slamming into him making him pause once more. He’s going to be late. That’s the next thought that enters his mind with far more insistence. My, you’re such a clever one, aren’t you? Julian tamps that back down and steps inside just as the last customer leaves. He schools his expression into that boring solicitous doctor face as almost an afterthought. Even so he knows Garak doesn’t trust him- never trusted the doctor before him either. And you’ve never had a single reason to distrust me you damn suspicious snake. Everyone trusts me, Garak, everyone. Three years on this damn station being the perfect patsy to your lies and for what? But now isn’t the time for such distraction. He doesn’t want to keep Garak waiting, after all.
   Julian, however, does not appear to be aware that Garak has already caught sight of him. The flash of the uniform in the mirror is the first thing that captures his attention as he stands arranging a scarf on the bust of a mannequin. In spite of the pinpricks he feels between his shoulder blades, Garak keeps his back to Julian to give himself enough time to properly survey who it is he’ll be speaking with. Julian’s grip noticeably loosens on the datapad the more he looks around at the people passing through but nevertheless his eyes harbor the signature aloofness of Julian the second. And the longer he lingers the more Garak sees the demeanor and mannerisms vacillate between two seemingly different men.
Yes, you’re coming along quite nicely now, aren’t you? Post- traumatic stress disorder I believe is the story you’ve been carefully circulating. Garak watches him just a moment longer before turning around with a non-threatening smile of his own.
“Good afternoon, doctor.” He watches Julian smooth that calculating expression into congenial Dr. Bashir as if he were as fluid a being as Odo. Garak hasn’t entirely ruled out that probability either no matter how far-fetched it seems.
“I do hope I’m not imposing too much on your time.” Julian looks at him in the same manner that he always has yet Garak has his suspicions with this encounter. There’s that little overeager lick of lips which follows and it makes Garak’s smile grow even wider. I suppose it’s time to see what naughty thing you have planned for today, then.
“Not at all, doctor. In fact, I was just getting ready to close up for lunch.” He’s certain that Julian already knew that but far be it for him to disappoint in yet another one of these delightful new games. “Is it Wednesday already?” Garak steps towards him finding it almost laughable how easily Julian swallows the exaggerated exclamation. Julian’s face radiates innocent amusement with a beacon of arrogance shining behind. Garak wonders how Chief O’Brien has been faring with the new and improved doctor since the change. Surely I cannot be the only one who sees it, after all. Nonetheless Garak ignores anything untoward and notes the hair is just a little longer still, obscuring a part of Julian’s face in a manner he imagines might be intended to be darkly mysterious. Perhaps if one were a child easily distracted by theatrics but it does suit this second self of your rather well.
   “Don’t worry, Garak, your sense of time isn’t slipping it’s just...” Slipping is the perfect word to describe the expression on Julian’s face or if one were to cache it in racquetball terms missing the ball entirely. For one brief moment dark eyes look at him with a raw desperation that’s nearly tangible. It’s not the first time he’s seen that expression in the last few weeks but it is the most obvious and profound. Julian’s lips move not seeming to form any words he can make out and certainly not hear. He attempts to sync the movements with the words he’s learned to recognize over the years but there are many that are still far too alien.
“Doctor?” Garak doesn’t finish the rest of the sentence and realizes he doesn’t need to when he sees a slow blink, clearing away that passing glimpse of fear. He observes a slow motion of fingers toying with what he’s established is a series of some sort of jewelry beneath the uniform. The tips of Julian’s fingers trace the outline and Julian looks at him with that dark expression that tells him the doctor is very much out. Garak has already sorted through and ruled out numerous other possibilities since their last meeting. Right now every shred of evidence points to nothing but what his eyes say is truth. But you remember your training, Elim. Eyes always lie and ears can mishear but your instinct is golden. Especially now that even his memory is suspect.
   So help me Garak if you ask me if I’m alright... Julian watches that assessing reptilian countenance and it makes him seethe. Damn you. Damn the doctor and whatever the hell he’s doing because Garak takes a step towards him and Julian freezes again in spite of himself. His hand, his fingertips are still at the collar of his uniform and he can feel the slight tremor as he tries to force the movement finally feeling it break. He shakes his head and brings them to his temple with a small rueful smile.
“My apologies, Garak I’m afraid my head is bothering me today. Just another side effect of the…” He trails off as if it pains him to remember. But enough of this, Jules, you’re wasting precious time.
“Of course. I understand you’re still suffering the after effects of your ordeal.” And Julian grows tired of the inane small talk, sliding his fingers down the side of his face, tilting his head somewhat dreamily as he imagines, as he takes just a moment to savor that last damn mocking expression before once more diving into darkness. The shop is about as empty as it’s going to get for a through way and he needs to act quickly and discreetly.
“And such a terrible ordeal it is, Mr. Garak but I know just what will be a balm to soothe my poor damaged psyche. I am the key.” And in that moment Garak is frozen.
“I am the lock.” Julian’s hand is steady as he brushes the side of Garak’s face with a small smirk, the skin smoother against the back of his hand than he would have imagined.
“There was never any doubt of that, darling. But as for locks… Why don’t you lock up for lunch and give us a little more privacy?” He steps back and watches the wordless obedience with a soft hiccup from his throat that’s half giggle. Julian sets the datapad town on a neatly folded shirt and finally pulls the chains from beneath the tunic with a sigh. His fingers deftly twine the silver links around as he crosses an arm over his midsection under his elbow to watch Garak finish politely hussling the last few stragglers out and closing the doors. Let them find another damn way around. Julian feels that perfect clarity upon him as he loosens his body posture into something far more comfortable. The tilt of his head, the narrowing of his eyes. and the nibbling of chains between his teeth is all finally him. Julian revels in that heightened sense of awareness, that feeling of being complete and alive in the world and that clarity of existence is as addictive as Garak’s submission.
   “Oh if you could only see yourself Mr. ‘Cardassians cannot be hypnotized...’” But Julian doesn’t allow himself to linger in the main shop. He knows Odo’s damn cameras are crammed into every corner of public space and he doesn’t need to give the walking flan a fucking show. “Go to the dressing room,” Julian orders as soon as Garak is finished, his voice barely above a whisper. He counts to ten before grabbing a tunic that appears to be about his size and follows him making a study of examining the fabric. That sense of anxiety hits him again as he looks to the small open area and it nearly freezes him. He bites his tongue hard until the quickening of his pulse comes from the pain and not whatever mental trickery the doctor is dreaming up. There’s not enough time. There’s never enough damn time and one day he may freeze every moment he desires into a world of ice but for now he contents himself with following Garak into the dressing room and closing the curtain with barely restrained haste.
   The tunic is dropped to the floor with little regard.
“Yes, stay there while we get a good look at you, Garak darling.” Julian’s voice drops low and there’s a distance between them that remains as Garak’s eyes stare at him blankly. The chains switch hands as his right now reaches out almost childishly to touch the collar of Garak’s tunic. “Aren’t you a sight then?” Twine, twist- his right hand mirrors the action of his left as he makes a study of Garak’s face. “The doctor…” he confides at last to the automaton in front of him, “is not sexually attracted to men.” Julian’s hand trails down Garak’s shoulder, the soft material rippling beneath his touch as he slides down to the back of Garak’s hand. “It is not... in his...” he stammers and feels his face hot and shakes his head. “not in my... parameters it…” He drops the chains and trains his eyes on the dip at the base of Garak’s throat. “Why are you doing this to me?” Julian closes his eyes, closes his grip around the hand beneath his and nearly breaks at the slack touch at the feeling of someone who isn’t him or isn’t Jules afraid to let go.
   His palm is sweaty and he can feel himself try not to hyperventilate as the he opens his eyes finding the walls far too close and the colors far too bright.
“You don’t…” He swallows as his eyes remain trained on the floor. “You don’t even know that it isn’t me... that’s he’s not...” Julian releases Garak’s hand and finally dares to look across at that vacant stare. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway, does it, Garak?” Julian laughs bitterly as he drops his head and wipes his hands on his trousers. “Damn you...” He can feel his body starting to shake and he isn’t sure why he hasn’t brought Garak out of his trance. “I need to stop this… I know I need to stop this but I just can’t…” He runs fingers through his hair and almost gives into the urge to pace. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t be I... God I never meant to... I just...”
Right, Julian, and how are you going to explain any of this to him? Sorry, Garak, I just drugged you, raped your mind, lied to you, lied to everyone, took Leeta and... And why? Because I’m a laboratory experiment gone wrong, of course. A right Dr. Jekyll turned to Mr. Hyde and I no, actually I can’t guarantee I can control it or know how to stop him because I’ve been completely barking mad since they mucked up my brain. God I can’t do this... Julian feels his knees start to buckle and he locks them, leans against the wall and tries to remember to breathe. And you know what comes next, Julian, it’s off to the Institute just like father always said would happen if you didn’t stop this madness and- “No... no not now not now... “ It’s not going to help if he passes out. Don’t pass out, be strong, fight this, dammit fight it you can’t…. He’s not going to pass out. He’s not going to-
   Julian blinks as the room spins and he forces a deep breath, forces all the air he can into his diaphragm as he inhales and bends over letting the excessive energy flow out of him. He doesn’t know why he lost control the way he had. It’s just an aberration. It won’t happen again. He’s gone. The doctor is dead and he’s not coming back. It’s all you now, Jules, luv. Julian huffs as he stands back up.
“No... it’s not me. It’s you, Elim Garak. It’s your fucking fault the damn doctor can’t stay dead and buried.” He slowly circles Garak with a slight sway to his walk, examining, watching for anything which might betray a deception. His eyes move over Garak’s body and in a thorough affront to dignity- and sod dignity anyway- he squeezes Garak’s ass through the cloth with a soft laugh.
“But he can’t have you. You’re mine,” Julian declares in a low voice as he walks back in front of him. “If I have to rip every bit of him out of my fucking head with my own two bloody hands I’ll be rid of him.”
   Julian looks past Garak to the mirror as if he might be able to detect a trace of the meddling doctor. He suddenly slaps Garak’s face and sees his unresisting head rock to the side with satisfaction.
“How that now? Surely you didn’t think I was going to let that go? We can’t just have bloody Julian Bashir rearing his nasty ickle head whenever he pleases can we?” Julian laughs a little titter and slaps his face with the other hand this time. “Maybe one to grow on, right?” He slaps him again laughing louder. “Stupid tit, you’re supposed to say ‘Thank you sir, may I have another.’” Julian slaps him again with the back of his hand and another exclamation. “Naughty naughty naughty! You filthy old soomka!” It makes him nearly mad with giddiness when that head goes back and forth like a jack in the box and he almost cannot restrain himself. But oh if there is blood there’ll be talk and explanations and nonsense. Stop.
   Julian stops. He’s breathing heavier. His mouth dry, and he wets his lips again excited.
“I could have anything I want from you, darling, can’t I?” His left hand toys with the collar of Garak’s tunic straightening it, letting his fingers brush the warm skin of Garak’s neck. He lets his hand trail, circling that thick neck, shivering when Garak’s body gives a lovely unconscious physiological reaction to the caress of his neck ridges. “Yes, that’s it.” Julian half closes his eyes and cups the back of Garak’s head as if he would kiss a lover, bringing their faces painfully achingly close. He savors the warmth of Garak’s hot breath as he hears the affirmative to the question and with a small tilt of his head he feels the steady exhalations to his face. Julian closes his eyes for however long it takes to let him float and dream. He dreams of imagined Cardassian air and what it will be like to hold an empire of biological perfection with the ex-spy as his slave. Soon, Jules, soon everything will be within your grasp momentary master of a fraction, of a dot to quote Sagan but it will be the most brilliant dot history has ever seen.
   “You cannot lie to me,” he declares opening his eyes and pulling back just enough to see the shadow of hazy gray features sharpen to clearness in his vision. “And yet…” he says dreamily as he strokes Garak’s slicked back hair, “somehow I still don’t believe you.” Julian feels heat- no space remaining between them now as his left hand is trapped to his chest between the two of them, the pads of his fingers lightly- so lightly- sliding up to trace the line of those soft lips.
“Have you ever told the truth even one day in your miserable life?” Julian asks so quietly he thinks Garak might not hear even him.
“I always tell the truth, doctor.”
The response makes Julian’s heart nearly drop out. There is an inflection. There is an infusion of feeling, of personality that should not exist and he searches desperately, those damning fingers still not leaving Garak’s mouth.
Even so, even as he tells himself to move back, to be ready to defend himself, as his mind works in rapid succession to fabricate the necessary lies and yet there he stands rooted like some cretin unable to process the most basic of functions. I don’t want to leave you. The thought comes unbidden and unwelcome and for a horrified second he doesn’t know to whom the thought even belongs when at last he nearly falls backwards against the wall looking up anxiously. Garak still hasn’t moved and hasn’t said anything further. Julian feels the tension still tight and he frowns. It’s has to be the layered memory. It has to be the multi-lateral nuances. He makes a faint noise of irritation and almost slaps him again.
“Yes it’s all true, of course. It’s always true- especially the lies,” he hisses daring to step back into Garak’s personal space, just daring him to come to, to go toe to toe and he feels a hitch in his throat at the insanity of it all. “Of course you’re imagining things, Jules,” he says quietly as he searches those blue eyes for any signs of further cognizance. Julian leans in closer once more as if he would allow their lips to meet in some cloying cliché fashion. “I can tell lies too, Garak.” Julian speaks the words only the barest distance from Garak’s mouth and if he were to tip his head, to move just a little closer-. “Doctor Julian Bashir is a lie, Elim Garak,” Julian says so softly it’s nothing more than breath. “He is nothing but a puppet strung together with subconscious patterns and commands. He is nothing but a fabricated persona and unlike me... he does not himself dream, he does not want, he does not desire. But we aren’t talking about the doctor now, are we. It’s only you and me now. And this is my world.”
Julian holds Garak’s face between both hands now with a soft purr to Garak’s lips not quite kissing him.
He tastes him. Julian flicks his tongue out like a snake sampling the unbearable humidity of the air, the salt of another’s skin, and he gently, with such solicitious delicacy laps at those closed lips. His fingers rest on the warm cheeks of that face which remains frozen. Julian licks the corner of Garak’s mouth and tastes just a faint hint of rokassa juice. He insinuates his tongue inside that unresisting sliver of an opening and closes his eyes long enough to let a million minutes of fantasy rush by in his head. Julian pokes again, stabs that tip of tongue just a fraction inside hallowed ground feeling the ache, feeling his hands tremble and he wants to just force those broad shoulders down to worship him with that mouth.
Julian’s tongue outlines soft lips, traces a perfect slippery wet mosaic against the unresponsive lips remaining still as a corpse and he wonders if not for the warmth if this is what it would be to make love to the dead. It shouldn’t make him this fucking hard but he can feel the swell of his cock as he twists and presses to Garak’s front with a soft groan.
“This is all-“ lick. “Your fucking-“ lick. “Fault.” He pulls back breathing heavily, letting his hands gently, almost gracefully fall down the front of Garak’s tunic and he closes his eyes for just a moment rubbing his cheek against the ridges of Garak’s neck panting hard, tightening his grip on the fabric just daring the fucking doctor to object. He presses against Garak’s hip torturing himself with the pressure. “I should make you suffer. I should make you... so fucking sorry.” The room seems to be spinning the more tightly he shuts his eyes and goddammit it’s not midnight and he’s not turning back to a fucking pumpkin.
   His hands loosen and Julian swallows.
“Oh god…” He takes stock of where he stands and steps back almost tripping over himself in his haste to put distance between them vigorously wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand hard enough to feel the scrape of teeth over skin. Julian feels another wave of nausea looking down almost stupidly at his body and wondering in panic why he’s in a state of arousal. “God what have I?...” He hears the chirp of his COM badge going off like sirens or phaser fire in his head and his eyes are so wide open that he can feel the painful unblinking rush of air as he looks at Garak terrified.
“I...” Julian grabs the tunic from the floor practically throwing it at him. “I...” The COM badge chirps again. “I was in here trying this on and I...” He feels as if his heart is going to thud out of his chest and he can’t help but press his fingers to his lips stupidly feeling an onslaught of excuses, of lies and there’s no way out of this. And is that the start of a liar? One lie on another because the truth is just too…. “I decided not to purchase it.” He finds himself saying to Garak and he starts to shake again. Stop it! “I was c-called away on an emergency to the infirmary.” chirp. “And if anyone asks you I... you... you needed my help on... god you’re a liar make something up already!”
   Julian throws the curtain open wondering why his hands still won’t stop shaking and as he looks up at the store, at the bright lights and imagines the buzz of patrons walking past outside in the Promenade. He touches the COM badge and his hands steady themselves.
“I’ll be right there. Mr. Garak was feeling faint and I was seeing to him.” He glances back at the slightly darkened face. “He may have taken a fall as well but everything’s fine here. Please give Kang my apologies.” He tucks the chains carefully back beneath the collar of his uniform and straightens his hair in the mirror. It’s almost as it should be. The face isn’t right but it will be. He looks at Garak with a nasty smile and walks back over to him one last time. “You will remember nothing else of what transpired here. Only that you felt faint and I assisted you. Now you will let me out and then go about your business and not come back until two minutes have passed.” He indulges himself in one last teasing swipe, one last taste of Garak’s mouth and he thinks the next time he just may well kiss him after all as a reward for good behavior as he arranges the tunic over Garak’s shoulder in a ridiculous mimicry of a toga. Julian smiles with a contented purr.
“Fare thee well, Caesar.”
   Sloppy. That’s Garak’s first thought as he finds himself in the middle of the shop staring at the tunic in his hands. His mind tells him that Julian had to leave on an emergency but he knows better than to trust such easily manipulated things. Garak folds the tunic back up taking note of the time. Time lapse not withstanding, there’s something that feels off about his memories and he doesn’t seem to be able to pull up any particular details about Julian’s visit. Curious and curiouser to quote a human idiom. Garak walks into the back, checking the locks, deciding to keep the shop closed for the rest of the day. He doesn’t waste time as he pulls up the images on the small screen in the back hidden behind a stack of boxes. Not that your security isn’t more than adequate, Odo, but there are some places I know you dare not tread.
   There is a piece of chocolate that makes its way from his pocket to his hand and he stares it at. His hand is still and any thoughts of discarding it, of not eating it are met with resistance from his body. Fascinating indeed. But soon enough that mystery too will be unravelled. He unwraps the chocolate thinking that he should be angrier than intrigued, thinking that ten years ago this would be playing out far differently. His hands work the controls quickly as the chocolate melts in his mouth. Garak leans in almost voyeuristically as he rewinds the first camera in the main showroom back to the good doctor’s entrance. His memory syncs perfectly with what he sees right up until-
“I am the key.” As Julian speaks the words on the screen, Garak sits down with an unreadable expression and watches.
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