HOME | DD

Description
Odo was normally an attentive conversation partner when he met Garak for breakfast. After all, he wasn’t exactly busy eating, so the conversation was all he was there for. But he had just let Garak go on for five minutes dropping hints about Quark’s questionable business practices without once interrupting to ask for more details. He just stared into his imaginary mug, sloshing its contents around—sloshing himself around, Garak thought.

“Constable?” he prompted.

“Hm?” Odo jerked and looked around as if expecting someone to sneak up on him. “You were saying?”

“Thinking about how to confess to Major Kira?”

“What?” Odo half-snarled. He shifted stiffly in his seat before he jutted his chin away in a motion like grinding his teeth. “Hmph. Hmhm,” he feigned a mocking laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He took a pretend swig of his pretend tea as an excuse to hide his face.

“Oh come now, Odo,” Garak said in sweet exasperation before he dropped to a near-whisper. “You know better than to underestimate my talent for observation. You may be good at hiding it from her—goodness knows, she certainly seems a bit blind to it. But I know better.”

“We’re friends. Colleagues.” Odo said bluntly, staring straight into Garak’s eye and shaking his head slightly. “That’s all.”

“True,” said Garak graciously. “For now. I didn’t ask about the status of your relationship. I merely pointed out that there’s no point in hiding your feelings about her from me. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been struggling with them for quite some time?”

Odo put his other hand around his “mug”, his shoulders hunched miserably. After a long moment he muttered hoarsely, “There’s no point in talking about what can never happen. For your information, I was actually thinking about all the Dominion ships coming through the wormhole lately. It’s only a matter of time before the station is attacked.”

“Ah,” Garak said softly. “Yes. Things are looking… rather grim.” He’d been watching the influx of ships heading toward Cardassia too, trying not to let the sight of it pull him further into the depression he’d been fighting ever since Empok Nor. Yes, he’d gone back to cautiously monitoring the situation on Cardassia as best he could, but his information network was a little stale at the moment, and he hadn’t gotten much beyond what was common knowledge.

“I don’t suppose you’ve gotten any news from the resistance on Cardassia,” Odo asked, right on cue.

“Believe me,” Garak sighed, “If I had information which could alter the current chain of events, I would certainly put it to good use. It seems there’s nothing to do but wait for the inevitable. It’s maddening, isn’t it?” Garak tugged free the napkin he’d tucked into his collar. “With nothing to do but sit back and watch fate pull us toward the brink of destruction.”

“On the other hand,” Odo murmured, “it tends to put certain… other problems into perspective.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling briefly.

“Hmm,” Garak said. “Unfortunately, I don’t consider a little perspective to be a very satisfying compensation prize.”

Both of them turned with relief as Rom and Leeta approached their table.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Rom said, hands clasped in front of his chest. “Hello, Garak,” he blurted. “Leeta and I were wondering if you could make our wedding dress. I mean—she’s wearing a dress, I’m not, but we’d be happy to have you make my outfit too!”

“You’re getting married?” Garak broke into an obligatory grin and rose, reaching a hand out to touch both their shoulders briefly. Leeta’s smile was radiant. “How wonderful! Congratulations to both of you. Why don’t we meet at Quark’s later this afternoon and I’ll bring the entire catalog of designs? Say, fourteen hundred hours?”

“Great!” Leeta squealed. “Thank you!” She grabbed Rom by the shoulders. “I can’t wait!”

“Me too,” Rom said hesitantly.

“I’m sure it’s going to be gorgeous!”

“Not as gorgeous as you,” Rom said shyly. Leeta made an adoring “ohhh!” and nuzzled his nose. Odo averted his eyes.

“Well, then,” Garak hinted, “I suppose it’s time for me to go open up shop.”

Rom and Leeta said their goodbyes and thank-yous and wandered off, Leeta making little wordless exclamations every few feet. Odo stood and the mug of tea melted back into his hand.

“Apparently we all have very different ways of reacting to a crisis,” Garak mused as he watched them leave.

^^^

Less than twenty-six hours later, the threat of Dominion attack went from a vague worry to something with a projected ETA. When the next convoy tried to come through in three days, they would hit the minefield being deployed by the wormhole, and backlash from the ships in Cardassian space would be inevitable. Worst of all, there was little Garak could do other than distract himself with designing Leeta’s wedding dress.

Ziyal stuck with him for a good part of nearly every day, even accompanying him to his usual lunch with Bashir. It felt heartless to shrug her off when he knew her future was nearly as uncertain as his. Garak spent a lot of time listening to the conversation in Quark’s, sometimes with Ziyal, sometimes alone. Then one day a little ping went off on Garak’s datapad late in the evening while he and Ziyal were in the sauna, both of them trying to relax in the midst of all this tension.

“What’s that?” Ziyal asked sleepily.

“Oh, just an update from Rom about the wedding dress,” Garak said, eyes fixed on the coded automatic data from the station’s security net. Through its notifications, he knew that a Jem’Hadar ship had docked earlier, and until now, Sisko had been in a meeting with the Bajoran Council of Ministers. The meeting was over.

“Is he asking you to make it transparent?” Ziyal laughed.

“Ah, no, he’s simply begging me for details,” Garak smirked, and tucked the datapad away again. “I told him he’ll just have to wait until our appointment tonight!”

“Do you have to bring your work everywhere with you?” Ziyal sighed.

Garak glanced at her, resting his back against the hot rock with his hands folded on his chest. She was watching him, as usual, lying on her side, never seeming to tire of his face.

“Well! Normally I keep my work and private life separate,” Garak teased. “But we’ve been spending so much time together I have no choice but to stay in touch with my customers this way. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“I’m not offended,” Ziyal said. She fell silent, and Garak wondered if she was finally questioning the wisdom of her feelings toward him. “You know,” she said at long last. “With everyone talking about a Dominion attack, it seems like everyone’s coming closer together. Rom and Leeta are getting married… and I heard that Dax and Worf are thinking about getting married.”

Oh dear. He could already see where she was headed with this, and it wasn’t any place he was comfortable going. The romantic desperation that seemed to have overtaken the entire station had not really been allowed to touch him yet.

“There does seem to be something in the air,” he replied casually. “I’ve seen it before. In desperate times like these, everyone looks for something to hold on to. They like to pretend they can control at least one aspect of their future.”

“Or they already know that the future is never certain,” Ziyal said quietly. “And they don’t want to have any regrets if something happens.”

Garak’s heart twisted and he tried to think of a way to get out of this.

“Garak,” Ziyal said, reaching out to touch his chest so he couldn’t ignore her. “You keep trying to discourage me from being with you, but you never really explained why.”

“But my dear, I have answered you on more than one occasion.” Garak glanced over at her face. She was calm, but so vulnerable.

“Maybe you have, but I don’t know which reason is the real one.” She looked searchingly at his face, lifted her hand to gently trace his eye ridges. Garak reached up to stop her, gently guiding her hand back down toward the rock. She didn’t protest.

“I’m afraid,” Garak said softly, “That just goes to show how little you really know about me. And I think that’s for the best.”

“So is that it, then? You think I deserve better than you, or that I won’t love you if I know everything about your past? I know you were exiled from Cardassia. I know you were a spy for the Obsidian Order—I know you’ve… assassinated people!” She didn’t flinch away from the words for more than a fraction of a second. “I know you’re willing to do terrible things for what you believe in, but so is my father, and it doesn’t change the fact that I love him! It doesn’t change the fact that I love you either.”

“Comparing me to your father? I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“This isn’t about him, Garak,” Ziyal protested. “Unless you’re saying it is? Are you afraid that he’ll do something terrible to one of us? Is that why you don’t want to stay with me?”

“The possibility is ever-present,” Garak pointed out, “but he’s no doubt assumed we’re courting in earnest for a long time now, and he hasn’t managed to kill me yet.”

“So it’s not my father. There’s a different reason. It’s someone else….” She leaned very close, so that their foreheads were almost touching, holding Garak by the shoulders as she stared into his eyes. “It’s Doctor Bashir, isn’t it?”

“My dear, do you realize how forward you’re being?” Garak asked.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Ziyal protested. “I’m being forward because I want to be with you! But you only want Doctor Bashir. That’s the real reason, isn’t it?” She put a finger to his lips when he opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t lie. You’ve already told me how you feel about him, remember?” Her voice, her face, was soft and sad. “I guess I just thought… maybe you’d changed your mind.”

Stunned, Garak waited for her to take her hand away, then laughed lightly. “Ziyal, that was all just a misunderstanding. Me and Doctor Bashir?”

“Don't laugh like it's some joke! If it really was, then what happened before? Did you really make it all up, that whole supposed relationship, just to drive me away?” The hurt in her voice was quite evident.

“Even if it were true, even if I really did have some sort of... feelings for the doctor, do you really think I would dwell on it when he clearly has no romantic interest in someone like me? Do you think I would waste other opportunities hoping for an impossible change of heart like....” Like you? he couldn't help but think.

“I'm another opportunity,” she said. “Won't you at least try to take me seriously? You don't have to commit to anything but one date at a time. Please give me a chance to show you how much I care about you!”

Garak looked into her eyes, seriously, but not unkindly. “My dear, you and I are very different people. We have some similarities, but we have led very different lives. You are young, innocent, idealistic—”

“Like Doctor Bashir,” she said pointedly.

How could he tell her that she and Doctor Bashir may as well be on opposite sides of the wormhole in terms of their mental similarity? Doctor Bashir was not so naïve, not so innocent. He was a genius, one of the few who could keep up with Garak's philosophizing, who could see through the layers of his lies and uncover the seed of truth from which they sprung, much to Garak's annoyance and admiration. Ziyal was a nice girl, a true friend, but she could never be the intellectual equal to him that Doctor Bashir was. All of this was true, possibly the most revelatory truth about their relationship he could tell her, and yet it was the one thing he didn't have the heart to say.

Ziyal mistook his hesitance as an indication that this line was nothing more than another diversion from the truth, rather than the heart of the truth itself. “You're trying to protect me,” she said. “You don’t want to be in a relationship with me because you’re afraid your past will somehow taint me, that I can’t handle the truth about you. But I want you to be honest with me, Garak!” Ziyal moved her head closer to his. Garak pulled back, just a little, just enough to let her know that that was close enough. “I’m stronger than you think. No matter what you’ve done, it won’t change the way I feel about you.”

“I’d really rather not test that fact,” Garak warned. “You believe you can handle any aspect of who I really am, but the truth is that you don’t know the first thing about me.”

“You’re right,” Ziyal said. “But that just means that dishonesty is a part of who you are, and I think I’ve proven I can be patient with that part of you. I’ve proven I can handle the lies. But now I’m ready for the truth, too.” She stared at him steadily, determined. “I want the truth, Garak.”

“A spy is useless if he can’t keep secrets, my dear.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything. You don’t have to tell me names. Just whatever it is that you think I’ll hate you for, so I can prove you wrong.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Garak shifted so he was up on one elbow and could see her face more clearly. “But you are right about one thing. The reason I haven’t told you yet is that I’m really quite selfish, and I’d hate for you to stop speaking with me. Besides… it would be a shock to you. It’s better that you don’t know. Trust me.”

Ziyal raised herself on one arm too so she could look him in the eye imploringly. “Garak, do you really have so little respect for me? Do you think I’m that weak?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Garak raised his eyebrows. “Secrets can break people—can change the course of history. I should know.”

“You have to give me a chance,” Ziyal pleaded. “I’m tired of wondering what’s holding us back. I know you’ve already decided that it won’t work between us, but I haven’t! I’m not going to stop asking until I have a chance to prove you wrong.”

Garak frowned at her, wishing there was a kinder way out of this mess. He should never have led her on as long as he had. Depending on the truth he told, he could either wound her trust or wound her pride; he knew which one of those he would choose.

“It’s cruel of you to keep me guessing,” Ziyal continued. “If you truly don’t think it will work, and you’re so confident that I’ll agree if I know the truth, then what are you waiting for? What’s the use of being loved by someone who would hate you if they knew the truth?”

At that, Garak dropped whatever ghost of a smile was left on his face and sat up. “So be it,” he said coldly, looking down his nose at her. “You are right. I have assassinated people. But if that were the extent of it, I would spare little more thought to it than if I had been a tailor all along. By the end of this war, none of us shall be strangers to the fine art of murder.”

Ziyal stared up at him with a guarded look. He continued.

“No, my dear,” he whispered, “I tortured people, and I did it well. I strung out their minds and souls until I could take what I wanted, and I never worried about what I left behind. Consider yourself fortunate that you are completely ignorant of Cardassian methods of interrogation. It didn’t matter to me whether it was a soldier, civilian, or politician; whether the party was guilty or innocent. I was Tain's most prized protege, and he kept me very busy. I never questioned him, or the morality of what I was doing, as one victim became ten, which soon turned to hundreds. Your grandfather himself was among them.”

Ziyal’s face went slack for a moment. She sat up and her eyes moved rapidly over his face. “You mean my mother’s father? Was it during the occupation? I know my father was responsible for the deaths of many Bajorans during that time.”

“No. Procal Dukat, Gul Dukat’s father.”

“He never mentioned his father,” Ziyal said in a hushed tone.

“He was a Chief Justice of the court, and a criminal. I was part of the investigation that led to his arrest, and I also interrogated him during his time in prison. He was just one of many that died at the conclusion of his usefulness.”

“You mean… you tortured him to death?” Ziyal whispered.

“Your father has never forgotten who led to his family’s disgrace,” Garak said stiffly. “Nor should you.”

“What kind of criminal was he?” Ziyal pressed.

“If you’re seeking some justification for my actions, you are doing so in vain. I wasn’t ordered to kill him, but I did anyway. The lives of others meant nothing to me but for their usefulness in ingratiating myself to Enabran Tain. The death of a subject was barely worth note.”

Ziyal’s voice was small. “But there must have been a good reason for the things you did, even if you didn't know them.”

“A good reason?” Garak said, his voice quiet and quivering with tension. “A good reason for manipulating Procal Dukat's mind? For fooling him into thinking he was safe, that I was his son simply asking for advice so that I could succeed him? A good reason for turning up the agony in his nervous center too quickly, past even the usual levels required for interrogation, because I was in a hurry, not caring that it might permanently damage his body, only worried because if it did, my enemies might then realize that I had been there, and be able to track me down? A good reason for feeling not even the tiniest pang of remorse when he died?”

Ziyal struggled to find something to say. “That was in the past. Everyone has regrets.”

“But I don't regret what I did, don't you see?” Garak stared into her eyes, never turning his face away. Ziyal was having a hard time keeping eye contact.”The only thing about my past that I regret is letting Tain have the degree of emotional control over me that he had. But I’ve barely spared a thought to those who paid the price of that loyalty.” Garak waved a hand to signal that his concern for the lives of his victims was no greater than for dust in the air.

“But I know you wouldn’t do something like that now,” Ziyal said faintly. “Even if you don't think about the past... you've changed. You're not the same man now you were then.”

Garak laughed coldly and shook his head. He then looked back into her eyes. “How wrong you are. Just a few months before you joined us, I interrogated Odo. I tortured him even though I knew he didn’t have the information Tain wanted.”

“Tain? You mean you were working for your father again? I thought he rejected you.”

“That’s just the point, my dear. Tain was willing to take me back if I proved my loyalty,” Garak said, his voice a low purr. “My old life. My old job. That’s all I cared about. Far from turning over a new leaf, I was excited to be given the opportunity to use my gift for interrogation again. Now you know that at least part of what your father says is true. I am the kind of person who would stab someone—a friend—in the back, if I thought it would be to my advantage.”

Ziyal’s eyes went down and Garak was satisfied that she was finally beginning to understand that he was not someone she should be associating with at all.

But then, after a moment, Ziyal looked up, and although Garak thought he could detect fear in her eyes, there was determination as well. “It couldn’t have been as bad as you’re making out. And you obviously changed your mind—otherwise you and Odo wouldn’t be friends today.”

“No!” he snarled, making her jump. “Ziyal, I betrayed him with barely a second thought! He arranged things so that I could try to find Tain when I thought the man was in danger; Odo was helping me, and when we did find Tain, I turned on him immediately once Tain indicated that Odo had information he wanted. I agreed without batting an eye. As far as I was concerned, Odo wasn’t even there anymore. He was just a single piece in the game, and the only players I cared about were me and Tain. I only cared about Odo as a way to get me closer to what I wanted!”

“But you care about him now,” Ziyal protested weakly.

Garak stared at her, sitting with her face upturned, watching him desperately. “I timed it perfectly,” he said, with no trace of emotion. “Tain gave me a device that could prevent Odo from changing shape, and I turned it on right when I knew it was time for him to revert to his gelatinous form. I taunted him, sneered at him, only acted as if I knew him when I wanted to use our so-called friendship as a ploy to get him to talk.”

Ziyal was still too calm. She needed to realize the full horror of what he was saying. He grabbed her by the shoulders, raised his voice, and some part of him was pleased when she flinched. “He told me over and over that he didn’t know anything! The betrayal in his eyes thrilled me!” Garak laughed and cut himself off, reminded with a sick jolt of how he’d acted on Empok Nor. But this was necessary. She had to understand. “Tain knew me better than anyone, and he knew that deep down I enjoy interrogating people. Making them vulnerable, slowly tearing back the layers of information until I could finally get the one piece I was looking for!” Garak’s teeth were bared, clenched around his words. “Where do you think I learned everything I know about avoiding the truth, Ziyal?”

Tears were welling up in Ziyal's eyes and she swallowed, but her jaw was set.

“I pressed Odo for hours,” Garak hissed. “He started to fall apart. He was in so much pain he could barely speak, shaking in the corner. Soon, he started thrashing around as if he were being electrocuted.” Garak’s voice got quieter and harsher. “Bits of him started to peel off and fall on the floor—before too long he looked like he’d been shredded, like an animal caught in some kind of machine. He started to howl wordlessly. Can you imagine that, Ziyal? And I still didn’t turn the machine off, until he got so desperate that he spilled his most private secret to me. He was practically begging me to stop, and I didn’t care.”

Ziyal was rigid, tears going down her cheeks. He released her all at once and crouched in front of her. She took deep breaths, closing and opening her eyes, and he waited.

“Odo obviously forgives you,” she finally whispered. “You even have breakfast together.” She swallowed, and the new fear in her eyes hit him like a frozen wind. “If it doesn’t matter to him, then it doesn’t matter to me. Major Kira says Odo is an excellent judge of character.”

“How good of a judge can a man be when he failed to notice that the one he was offering to help would turn on him at the first opportunity? This story isn't about Odo but rather about the one sitting in front of you, someone you claim to love, but who you do not know. Odo may have forgiven me for betraying him—he's a good man—but that doesn't change the fact that in the innermost core of my being, I am someone who enjoys dissecting people's minds with the most aggressive means necessary, especially in the service of my people. My loyalty to Tain and Cardassia is greater than the love I could ever offer any individual potential lover.”

Ziyal pulled a cloth from her dress and looked down as she wiped her face. Garak exhaled, hoping that finally she understood him. He felt a sickening mess of guilt, anxiety, and sadness. He wondered if he had made a poor choice, if turning her away from pursuing him romantically was worth losing her as a friend. Focusing on these emotions he often tried to leave on the periphery made him feel freshly disgusted with himself, not just because they were true, but because he was using them as a weapon against someone he cared about. But Garak took a deep breath and told himself it was for the best. With the way things were progressing, he was beginning to doubt he would live to see the end of this war, and if that was the case, it was better for her to lose him now in this way than to lose him later as a casualty of war.

“Someday you’ll find someone much more worthy of you than I could ever be,” Garak said softly.

Ziyal remained silent, and Garak, for once, couldn’t think of anything else to say. He stood up and called for the exit to the holosuite.

“I’ll always be your friend,” Ziyal choked out, and Garak looked over to see more tears on her face through the steam.

“Of course,” he said numbly.

They were interrupted when the holosuite door materialized and Major Kira walked inside.

Garak hastily stood back. “Major Kira!” He beamed at her innocently. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here so… suddenly?”

Kira only gave him a brief warning glance. “Ziyal, I’ve got some bad news—what is it?” she said, noticing her tears. Kira instantly rounded on Garak. “What'd you do to her.”

“I—” Garak began, but was cut off.

“It's nothing,” Ziyal said miserably, wiping her face a final time. “What did you come to see me for? Is it about my father?” She sat up.

“Not exactly.” Kira’s voice became gentle. “Listen to me, Ziyal. There’s going to be a Dominion attack on the station…. It’s not safe here. Bajor just signed a non-aggression pact with the Dominion, and all the Bajorans on the station are being evacuated to Bajor.” She took Ziyal gently by the shoulders and smiled sympathetically. “That means you too.”

“But—!” Ziyal blurted, glancing desperately between Kira and Garak. “What are you going to do?” she asked Garak. “You can’t stay here. Father will kill you.”

“Don't worry about Garak,” Kira said as she tugged on Ziyal's shoulders.

“I will be fine,” Garak said.

“Come on,” Kira said, gentle but firm. “Let’s go pack your things. I have some friends you’ll be staying with. They’ll take good care of you.”

“You’re not coming?” Ziyal cried.

Kira shook her head. “I can’t.” She exhaled heavily and tilted her head. For a moment she looked nearly as dismayed as Ziyal before she got a grip on herself. “No, I’ve got to stay here as a representative of Bajor.” She gave Ziyal a weak smile.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Garak said gently, holding a hand out to her just as he grasped at her renewed promise of friendship despite everything he had said. “I’ll be sure to come and see you off. I’m sure when things settle down, we’ll see each other again.”

Ziyal gripped his hand tightly, though she still wasn't entirely meeting his eyes. After a moment he pulled away, and she turned to follow Kira.

For the next several hours, the station fell into a barely-organized frenzy. Garak threw together a sorry substitute for the wedding dress he’d promised Leeta so that she and Rom could be married before the evacuation. He packed his things and created contingency plans. Then, a short sleep, and before he knew it, Ziyal was at the door to his quarters, throwing her arms around him. Garak nearly choked at the complete lack of influence their talk had seemed to have on her. Sleeping on it seemed to have brought her some sort of clarity, for better or worse—she was a bit subdued, but no longer in tears as they walked to catch her transport. She was even looking him in the eye again and he felt another pang of guilt noticing that hers still had a hint of redness.

She held his arm and Garak accepted it gratefully—this was the last kindness he could give her for who knows how long, and really it was a comfort to him as well. Up until this moment, he’d been consumed with trying to prepare for his own survival, but now that it came to it, the parting wasn’t going to be easy for him either, even if just a few hours ago, he expected that she would never want to speak to him again. He wasn’t worried about her—she would no doubt be safe on Bajor. It was a brilliant move by Sisko, insisting on a non-aggression pact. But privately, he knew there was a chance that he might not live out the day.

“Are you sure you won’t come with me?” she asked.

“I don’t think I’d be very welcome on Bajor,” Garak said, a laugh in his voice.

“I’m not going to be very popular there either,” Ziyal said sadly.

Garak stopped to the side of the foot traffic and took both her hands. He tried for as earnest a tone as he could muster. “My dear, you are half-Bajoran, so at least half of you will be accepted.”

Ziyal looked down doubtfully.

“I’m sure that Major Kira’s friends will take good care of you,” Garak added.

“Well what’s going to happen to you?” Ziyal asked again. He hadn’t really answered her before, and she deserved something more than a change of subject… something that might actually ease her fears.

He took a quick breath and looked around in an exaggerated show of secrecy “Ooh, well, let me tell you a story.” He paused a beat before diving in. “I once knew a Cardassian, a dashing, handsome young man, with a promising career!” Ziyal was smiling now; she knew where this was going. “Well, one day, through no fault of his own, he found himself exiled and alone, with nowhere to turn. But! Did he give up?” He put his hand on her back and led her forward a few steps before pausing again to gesture and lean close in emphatic whispers. “No. He… struck upon a brilliant plan. Instead of fleeing for the rest of his life, he sought shelter in the one place where no one expected him to go. In a stronghold of his people’s most hated enemies. There, surrounded by hostile strangers, he built a life. And there, against all odds—against the merciless logic of the universe itself… he thrived.”

Ziyal tilted her head up toward him and grinned, mimicking his quiet, emphatic storytelling voice: “By becoming the greatest tailor in the galaxy!” It seemed she was quite keen on pretending he was still little more than the tailor she had known for years.

“And the moral of this story, my dear,” Garak murmured, touching her shoulder gently one last time, “is to never underestimate my gift for survival.”

Some part of him hoped that, given what he knew of her guileless ways, she would see something of herself in the story he’d just told, and know that he considered her a survivor in her own right. Their eyes were locked for several seconds and he could see some kind of comprehension there. Just as when he’d left to answer Tain’s distress call, he felt the common theme of their lives, despite their obvious differences.

But then she rushed forward and kissed him. His head jerked in surprise—slightly. He stopped himself from pulling away. With his hand on the small of her back, he leaned in just a hair before she released him and pulled him into a hug. Garak caught his breath, staring numbly forward as their cheeks pressed together. Poor Ziyal. He held her, gladly, but the kiss… he knew it was a parting gift—her attempt to go without regrets, now that she knew there would be no romantic future for them. But if she could feel his gratitude for her friendship in spite of everything he had done and said, then perhaps nothing else really mattered. He held her tight and smiled encouragingly as she pulled away. Then she turned to leave, and he watched her go.

^^^^

For the next hour, Garak weighed his options. There weren’t many. Chances for survival if he hid on the station were slim. Even if the Dominion felt merciful toward him (unlikely, given what both he and Tain had tried to do), Dukat would find a way around their benevolence. His only hope at that point would be to escape by smuggling himself onto another ship, but to where?

Garak packed the essential items and closed up shop. With conflicted feelings he also tucked in a little bag of amaryllis bulbs Ziyal had given him a few days ago. He’d told her about Edosian Orchids, and she hadn’t known just how different amaryllis were, but it was all for the best. Amaryllis were much hardier, much more likely to bloom even without constant care. He didn’t know when he’d have the opportunity to plant them, but they still represented some kind of hope.

He also included the chocolates she’d gotten him the week before (her gift giving had rapidly been increasing before the inevitable confrontation in the sauna) but left the embroidered pillow. Perhaps Dukat would see it and feel a pang of remorse at treating his daughter so despicably. Again, unlikely.

Restless, he ended up pacing around the second level of the promenade, watching the Federation troops take up their positions at intervals below. Odo was watching too, sitting half on the railing with his arms crossed, trying very hard to look completely unconcerned.

“I must say, Constable, I admire your composure,” Garak said as came up next to Odo from behind. “You’re an island of tranquility in a sea of chaos.”

Odo didn’t look at him, just glumly kept his eyes on the patrolling troops. “What I am is useless. My entire staff has been evacuated to Bajor.”

“I’m not feeling too terribly useful myself at this moment,” Garak commiserated. “But if it would make you feel any better you could always deputize me?” He said it as a joke, but if Odo had offered, he certainly wouldn’t have said no.

He was rewarded with a brief laugh from Odo. “I’m sure if the Jem’Hadar board the station you’ll make yourself useful.”

Garak took a deep breath and moved to Odo’s other side to get a different angle of the lower level in view. He could see the very spot where, already so long ago, Ziyal had intercepted his assassination plan. “It’s ironic,” he said. “When the Klingons attacked the station, Gul Dukat and I were fighting side by side. At one point, he turned his back to me, and I must admit… that for a moment, he made a very tempting target.”

Odo finally raised his eyes but seemed relatively unsurprised by Garak’s confession, never mind the dangerous friction in his voice.

“You’d shoot a man in the back?”

“Well, it’s the safest way, isn’t it?” Garak looked at Odo, his insincere smile dying before it was fully formed. His voice dropped to a dull, low tone. “But then I thought, well, I can’t fight all these Klingons by myself. So I let him live.”

“And now you regret it,” Odo nodded.

“Ah, my dear Constable,” Garak said sadly, “Before this day is over everyone on this station is going to regret it.”

Odo didn’t say anything to that. Garak stood for a moment, frustrated by the past until he managed to refocus himself.

“If… you’re not going to be needed here for the next few minutes,” Garak said suddenly. “I was wondering if you might come by my quarters. I have a small favor I’d like to ask.”

Odo looked intrigued. “What sort of favor?”

“Nothing too questionable, I assure you. Now, are you busy, or aren’t you?”

Odo got off the railing. Garak smiled brightly and led him to his quarters. Odo was a good friend, coming along without much questioning, but he was also a good security officer—his natural curiosity would have proved irresistible one way or another.

Garak opened the door. “Well, here we are. Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

Odo immediately looked toward Garak’s travel bag on the floor. “Going somewhere?”

“Well, seeing as neither Gul Dukat nor the Dominion are very fond of me, I can hardly do otherwise,” Garak said. “Now, I don’t expect you to preserve my tailor shop or any of the decorations I’ve accumulated, but there are a few things I’d like to save.”

Odo looked around—there were hardly any decorations in the main room. When Garak went to open his bedroom door, Odo came up close behind him, craning his head to see more. Garak smiled and said, “Computer, raise lights to station standard.”

There, in sharper relief than Garak usually preferred, was his bedroom. A few Cardassian cultural icons adorned the walls, including a poor replica of an Oralian recitation mask he’d made himself. There were a few potted plants scattered on small tables, and one hung from the ceiling in the corner.

“You can snoop around in here as much as you like after I’m gone,” Garak offered, moving to pick up a pot of Melanth. “I trust your ability to follow instructions, Constable. I’ve made up a list of how to care for each of my plants, and attached it to the pots.”

“Your plants?” Odo blinked at the tall straight stems of the Melanth and hesitantly took the pot. “So you really were a gardener on Romulus?”

“Of course I was! You mean you didn’t believe me? After all those stories I told you while you were ill?” Garak made a little tsk, pretending to be offended, before dipping into an ominous, warning tone. “Just be careful to trim off any flowers that form. No matter how lovely they might be, the Melanth blossom produces a pollen quite deadly to Romulans. I’d hate for my plant to be the cause of any accidental deaths.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why you need a plant like this?” Odo asked. “Planning to poison any Romulans?”

“A man needs his hobbies, Constable. Indulge me.” Garak huffed a small laugh. “Destroy it if you must, in the interests of station security. Although it is quite rare and valuable, it holds no particular… sentimental value to me.”

“But one of these plants does hold sentimental value?” Odo looked back into the bedroom, curiously pacing around to inspect the Hipecat, Invernian herb, Bajoran Spiny Basil, and a few others which would have been quite impressive for Odo to identify on his own.

“It’s not any of those,” Garak said, after giving him a few moments. He withdrew to the little table in the main room and picked up the Favinit plant. It was coming toward another round of fresh flowers, covered in tiny green buds.

“What’s so special about this one?” Odo asked, as he took it and turned the pot in his hands as if looking for clues. “It’s a Vulcan flower, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But the plants of Vulcan are enjoyed by many species. I didn’t get it by killing a Vulcan, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Odo grunted, or laughed, it was hard to tell. “Was it a gift from someone?” His face softened and he looked at Garak knowingly. “Ziyal?”

“No,” Garak said quietly. “It belonged to a very dear friend of mine.” He paused a moment to muster a serene look. “Luckily, it’s fairly easy to take care of. You only need to give it a little water once a week. There are a few other tricks to keep it in peak condition, included in the list.”

Odo held the pot at eye level so he could look at the list. “Seems simple enough.”

“I really do appreciate this, Constable,” Garak said. “Somehow I can’t see Quark being a very diligent gardener, and I doubt Major Kira would appreciate my request. I trust you’ll take good care of this one.”

“I’ll… try to keep the others alive, too,” Odo said, giving in. “But I can’t promise anything.”

“I understand. If the station is taken by the Dominion, I imagine you’ll have plenty to worry about yourself.” Garak raised his eyebrows pointedly at Odo. “I don’t suppose anything is resolved between you and Major Kira.”

Odo clamped his jaw in annoyance. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he growled, then paused and finished much more calmly, “I told her I’m not going to pursue a relationship with her. At least… not now. We both need to focus on our work… we can’t afford that kind of distraction.” He shifted his grip on the plant, moved to put it down, then thought better of it.

“And how did she react?” Garak prompted.

“She… seemed relieved.” Odo turned toward the door to indicate the conversation was over. His speech resumed a clipped pace. “I’ll take this back to my quarters. Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?”

“No,” Garak said. “Thank you. Take care of yourself, Constable.”

Odo hesitated, and nodded once. “You too.”

Description
Odo was normally an attentive conversation partner when he met Garak for breakfast. After all, he wasn’t exactly busy eating, so the conversation was all he was there for. But he had just let Garak go on for five minutes dropping hints about Quark’s questionable business practices without once interrupting to ask for more details. He just stared into his imaginary mug, sloshing its contents around—sloshing himself around, Garak thought.

“Constable?” he prompted.

“Hm?” Odo jerked and looked around as if expecting someone to sneak up on him. “You were saying?”

“Thinking about how to confess to Major Kira?”

“What?” Odo half-snarled. He shifted stiffly in his seat before he jutted his chin away in a motion like grinding his teeth. “Hmph. Hmhm,” he feigned a mocking laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He took a pretend swig of his pretend tea as an excuse to hide his face.

“Oh come now, Odo,” Garak said in sweet exasperation before he dropped to a near-whisper. “You know better than to underestimate my talent for observation. You may be good at hiding it from her—goodness knows, she certainly seems a bit blind to it. But I know better.”

“We’re friends. Colleagues.” Odo said bluntly, staring straight into Garak’s eye and shaking his head slightly. “That’s all.”

“True,” said Garak graciously. “For now. I didn’t ask about the status of your relationship. I merely pointed out that there’s no point in hiding your feelings about her from me. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been struggling with them for quite some time?”

Odo put his other hand around his “mug”, his shoulders hunched miserably. After a long moment he muttered hoarsely, “There’s no point in talking about what can never happen. For your information, I was actually thinking about all the Dominion ships coming through the wormhole lately. It’s only a matter of time before the station is attacked.”

“Ah,” Garak said softly. “Yes. Things are looking… rather grim.” He’d been watching the influx of ships heading toward Cardassia too, trying not to let the sight of it pull him further into the depression he’d been fighting ever since Empok Nor. Yes, he’d gone back to cautiously monitoring the situation on Cardassia as best he could, but his information network was a little stale at the moment, and he hadn’t gotten much beyond what was common knowledge.

“I don’t suppose you’ve gotten any news from the resistance on Cardassia,” Odo asked, right on cue.

“Believe me,” Garak sighed, “If I had information which could alter the current chain of events, I would certainly put it to good use. It seems there’s nothing to do but wait for the inevitable. It’s maddening, isn’t it?” Garak tugged free the napkin he’d tucked into his collar. “With nothing to do but sit back and watch fate pull us toward the brink of destruction.”

“On the other hand,” Odo murmured, “it tends to put certain… other problems into perspective.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling briefly.

“Hmm,” Garak said. “Unfortunately, I don’t consider a little perspective to be a very satisfying compensation prize.”

Both of them turned with relief as Rom and Leeta approached their table.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Rom said, hands clasped in front of his chest. “Hello, Garak,” he blurted. “Leeta and I were wondering if you could make our wedding dress. I mean—she’s wearing a dress, I’m not, but we’d be happy to have you make my outfit too!”

“You’re getting married?” Garak broke into an obligatory grin and rose, reaching a hand out to touch both their shoulders briefly. Leeta’s smile was radiant. “How wonderful! Congratulations to both of you. Why don’t we meet at Quark’s later this afternoon and I’ll bring the entire catalog of designs? Say, fourteen hundred hours?”

“Great!” Leeta squealed. “Thank you!” She grabbed Rom by the shoulders. “I can’t wait!”

“Me too,” Rom said hesitantly.

“I’m sure it’s going to be gorgeous!”

“Not as gorgeous as you,” Rom said shyly. Leeta made an adoring “ohhh!” and nuzzled his nose. Odo averted his eyes.

“Well, then,” Garak hinted, “I suppose it’s time for me to go open up shop.”

Rom and Leeta said their goodbyes and thank-yous and wandered off, Leeta making little wordless exclamations every few feet. Odo stood and the mug of tea melted back into his hand.

“Apparently we all have very different ways of reacting to a crisis,” Garak mused as he watched them leave.

^^^

Less than twenty-six hours later, the threat of Dominion attack went from a vague worry to something with a projected ETA. When the next convoy tried to come through in three days, they would hit the minefield being deployed by the wormhole, and backlash from the ships in Cardassian space would be inevitable. Worst of all, there was little Garak could do other than distract himself with designing Leeta’s wedding dress.

Ziyal stuck with him for a good part of nearly every day, even accompanying him to his usual lunch with Bashir. It felt heartless to shrug her off when he knew her future was nearly as uncertain as his. Garak spent a lot of time listening to the conversation in Quark’s, sometimes with Ziyal, sometimes alone. Then one day a little ping went off on Garak’s datapad late in the evening while he and Ziyal were in the sauna, both of them trying to relax in the midst of all this tension.

“What’s that?” Ziyal asked sleepily.

“Oh, just an update from Rom about the wedding dress,” Garak said, eyes fixed on the coded automatic data from the station’s security net. Through its notifications, he knew that a Jem’Hadar ship had docked earlier, and until now, Sisko had been in a meeting with the Bajoran Council of Ministers. The meeting was over.

“Is he asking you to make it transparent?” Ziyal laughed.

“Ah, no, he’s simply begging me for details,” Garak smirked, and tucked the datapad away again. “I told him he’ll just have to wait until our appointment tonight!”

“Do you have to bring your work everywhere with you?” Ziyal sighed.

Garak glanced at her, resting his back against the hot rock with his hands folded on his chest. She was watching him, as usual, lying on her side, never seeming to tire of his face.

“Well! Normally I keep my work and private life separate,” Garak teased. “But we’ve been spending so much time together I have no choice but to stay in touch with my customers this way. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“I’m not offended,” Ziyal said. She fell silent, and Garak wondered if she was finally questioning the wisdom of her feelings toward him. “You know,” she said at long last. “With everyone talking about a Dominion attack, it seems like everyone’s coming closer together. Rom and Leeta are getting married… and I heard that Dax and Worf are thinking about getting married.”

Oh dear. He could already see where she was headed with this, and it wasn’t any place he was comfortable going. The romantic desperation that seemed to have overtaken the entire station had not really been allowed to touch him yet.

“There does seem to be something in the air,” he replied casually. “I’ve seen it before. In desperate times like these, everyone looks for something to hold on to. They like to pretend they can control at least one aspect of their future.”

“Or they already know that the future is never certain,” Ziyal said quietly. “And they don’t want to have any regrets if something happens.”

Garak’s heart twisted and he tried to think of a way to get out of this.

“Garak,” Ziyal said, reaching out to touch his chest so he couldn’t ignore her. “You keep trying to discourage me from being with you, but you never really explained why.”

“But my dear, I have answered you on more than one occasion.” Garak glanced over at her face. She was calm, but so vulnerable.

“Maybe you have, but I don’t know which reason is the real one.” She looked searchingly at his face, lifted her hand to gently trace his eye ridges. Garak reached up to stop her, gently guiding her hand back down toward the rock. She didn’t protest.

“I’m afraid,” Garak said softly, “That just goes to show how little you really know about me. And I think that’s for the best.”

“So is that it, then? You think I deserve better than you, or that I won’t love you if I know everything about your past? I know you were exiled from Cardassia. I know you were a spy for the Obsidian Order—I know you’ve… assassinated people!” She didn’t flinch away from the words for more than a fraction of a second. “I know you’re willing to do terrible things for what you believe in, but so is my father, and it doesn’t change the fact that I love him! It doesn’t change the fact that I love you either.”

“Comparing me to your father? I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“This isn’t about him, Garak,” Ziyal protested. “Unless you’re saying it is? Are you afraid that he’ll do something terrible to one of us? Is that why you don’t want to stay with me?”

“The possibility is ever-present,” Garak pointed out, “but he’s no doubt assumed we’re courting in earnest for a long time now, and he hasn’t managed to kill me yet.”

“So it’s not my father. There’s a different reason. It’s someone else….” She leaned very close, so that their foreheads were almost touching, holding Garak by the shoulders as she stared into his eyes. “It’s Doctor Bashir, isn’t it?”

“My dear, do you realize how forward you’re being?” Garak asked.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Ziyal protested. “I’m being forward because I want to be with you! But you only want Doctor Bashir. That’s the real reason, isn’t it?” She put a finger to his lips when he opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t lie. You’ve already told me how you feel about him, remember?” Her voice, her face, was soft and sad. “I guess I just thought… maybe you’d changed your mind.”

Stunned, Garak waited for her to take her hand away, then laughed lightly. “Ziyal, that was all just a misunderstanding. Me and Doctor Bashir?”

“Don't laugh like it's some joke! If it really was, then what happened before? Did you really make it all up, that whole supposed relationship, just to drive me away?” The hurt in her voice was quite evident.

“Even if it were true, even if I really did have some sort of... feelings for the doctor, do you really think I would dwell on it when he clearly has no romantic interest in someone like me? Do you think I would waste other opportunities hoping for an impossible change of heart like....” Like you? he couldn't help but think.

“I'm another opportunity,” she said. “Won't you at least try to take me seriously? You don't have to commit to anything but one date at a time. Please give me a chance to show you how much I care about you!”

Garak looked into her eyes, seriously, but not unkindly. “My dear, you and I are very different people. We have some similarities, but we have led very different lives. You are young, innocent, idealistic—”

“Like Doctor Bashir,” she said pointedly.

How could he tell her that she and Doctor Bashir may as well be on opposite sides of the wormhole in terms of their mental similarity? Doctor Bashir was not so naïve, not so innocent. He was a genius, one of the few who could keep up with Garak's philosophizing, who could see through the layers of his lies and uncover the seed of truth from which they sprung, much to Garak's annoyance and admiration. Ziyal was a nice girl, a true friend, but she could never be the intellectual equal to him that Doctor Bashir was. All of this was true, possibly the most revelatory truth about their relationship he could tell her, and yet it was the one thing he didn't have the heart to say.

Ziyal mistook his hesitance as an indication that this line was nothing more than another diversion from the truth, rather than the heart of the truth itself. “You're trying to protect me,” she said. “You don’t want to be in a relationship with me because you’re afraid your past will somehow taint me, that I can’t handle the truth about you. But I want you to be honest with me, Garak!” Ziyal moved her head closer to his. Garak pulled back, just a little, just enough to let her know that that was close enough. “I’m stronger than you think. No matter what you’ve done, it won’t change the way I feel about you.”

“I’d really rather not test that fact,” Garak warned. “You believe you can handle any aspect of who I really am, but the truth is that you don’t know the first thing about me.”

“You’re right,” Ziyal said. “But that just means that dishonesty is a part of who you are, and I think I’ve proven I can be patient with that part of you. I’ve proven I can handle the lies. But now I’m ready for the truth, too.” She stared at him steadily, determined. “I want the truth, Garak.”

“A spy is useless if he can’t keep secrets, my dear.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything. You don’t have to tell me names. Just whatever it is that you think I’ll hate you for, so I can prove you wrong.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Garak shifted so he was up on one elbow and could see her face more clearly. “But you are right about one thing. The reason I haven’t told you yet is that I’m really quite selfish, and I’d hate for you to stop speaking with me. Besides… it would be a shock to you. It’s better that you don’t know. Trust me.”

Ziyal raised herself on one arm too so she could look him in the eye imploringly. “Garak, do you really have so little respect for me? Do you think I’m that weak?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Garak raised his eyebrows. “Secrets can break people—can change the course of history. I should know.”

“You have to give me a chance,” Ziyal pleaded. “I’m tired of wondering what’s holding us back. I know you’ve already decided that it won’t work between us, but I haven’t! I’m not going to stop asking until I have a chance to prove you wrong.”

Garak frowned at her, wishing there was a kinder way out of this mess. He should never have led her on as long as he had. Depending on the truth he told, he could either wound her trust or wound her pride; he knew which one of those he would choose.

“It’s cruel of you to keep me guessing,” Ziyal continued. “If you truly don’t think it will work, and you’re so confident that I’ll agree if I know the truth, then what are you waiting for? What’s the use of being loved by someone who would hate you if they knew the truth?”

At that, Garak dropped whatever ghost of a smile was left on his face and sat up. “So be it,” he said coldly, looking down his nose at her. “You are right. I have assassinated people. But if that were the extent of it, I would spare little more thought to it than if I had been a tailor all along. By the end of this war, none of us shall be strangers to the fine art of murder.”

Ziyal stared up at him with a guarded look. He continued.

“No, my dear,” he whispered, “I tortured people, and I did it well. I strung out their minds and souls until I could take what I wanted, and I never worried about what I left behind. Consider yourself fortunate that you are completely ignorant of Cardassian methods of interrogation. It didn’t matter to me whether it was a soldier, civilian, or politician; whether the party was guilty or innocent. I was Tain's most prized protege, and he kept me very busy. I never questioned him, or the morality of what I was doing, as one victim became ten, which soon turned to hundreds. Your grandfather himself was among them.”

Ziyal’s face went slack for a moment. She sat up and her eyes moved rapidly over his face. “You mean my mother’s father? Was it during the occupation? I know my father was responsible for the deaths of many Bajorans during that time.”

“No. Procal Dukat, Gul Dukat’s father.”

“He never mentioned his father,” Ziyal said in a hushed tone.

“He was a Chief Justice of the court, and a criminal. I was part of the investigation that led to his arrest, and I also interrogated him during his time in prison. He was just one of many that died at the conclusion of his usefulness.”

“You mean… you tortured him to death?” Ziyal whispered.

“Your father has never forgotten who led to his family’s disgrace,” Garak said stiffly. “Nor should you.”

“What kind of criminal was he?” Ziyal pressed.

“If you’re seeking some justification for my actions, you are doing so in vain. I wasn’t ordered to kill him, but I did anyway. The lives of others meant nothing to me but for their usefulness in ingratiating myself to Enabran Tain. The death of a subject was barely worth note.”

Ziyal’s voice was small. “But there must have been a good reason for the things you did, even if you didn't know them.”

“A good reason?” Garak said, his voice quiet and quivering with tension. “A good reason for manipulating Procal Dukat's mind? For fooling him into thinking he was safe, that I was his son simply asking for advice so that I could succeed him? A good reason for turning up the agony in his nervous center too quickly, past even the usual levels required for interrogation, because I was in a hurry, not caring that it might permanently damage his body, only worried because if it did, my enemies might then realize that I had been there, and be able to track me down? A good reason for feeling not even the tiniest pang of remorse when he died?”

Ziyal struggled to find something to say. “That was in the past. Everyone has regrets.”

“But I don't regret what I did, don't you see?” Garak stared into her eyes, never turning his face away. Ziyal was having a hard time keeping eye contact.”The only thing about my past that I regret is letting Tain have the degree of emotional control over me that he had. But I’ve barely spared a thought to those who paid the price of that loyalty.” Garak waved a hand to signal that his concern for the lives of his victims was no greater than for dust in the air.

“But I know you wouldn’t do something like that now,” Ziyal said faintly. “Even if you don't think about the past... you've changed. You're not the same man now you were then.”

Garak laughed coldly and shook his head. He then looked back into her eyes. “How wrong you are. Just a few months before you joined us, I interrogated Odo. I tortured him even though I knew he didn’t have the information Tain wanted.”

“Tain? You mean you were working for your father again? I thought he rejected you.”

“That’s just the point, my dear. Tain was willing to take me back if I proved my loyalty,” Garak said, his voice a low purr. “My old life. My old job. That’s all I cared about. Far from turning over a new leaf, I was excited to be given the opportunity to use my gift for interrogation again. Now you know that at least part of what your father says is true. I am the kind of person who would stab someone—a friend—in the back, if I thought it would be to my advantage.”

Ziyal’s eyes went down and Garak was satisfied that she was finally beginning to understand that he was not someone she should be associating with at all.

But then, after a moment, Ziyal looked up, and although Garak thought he could detect fear in her eyes, there was determination as well. “It couldn’t have been as bad as you’re making out. And you obviously changed your mind—otherwise you and Odo wouldn’t be friends today.”

“No!” he snarled, making her jump. “Ziyal, I betrayed him with barely a second thought! He arranged things so that I could try to find Tain when I thought the man was in danger; Odo was helping me, and when we did find Tain, I turned on him immediately once Tain indicated that Odo had information he wanted. I agreed without batting an eye. As far as I was concerned, Odo wasn’t even there anymore. He was just a single piece in the game, and the only players I cared about were me and Tain. I only cared about Odo as a way to get me closer to what I wanted!”

“But you care about him now,” Ziyal protested weakly.

Garak stared at her, sitting with her face upturned, watching him desperately. “I timed it perfectly,” he said, with no trace of emotion. “Tain gave me a device that could prevent Odo from changing shape, and I turned it on right when I knew it was time for him to revert to his gelatinous form. I taunted him, sneered at him, only acted as if I knew him when I wanted to use our so-called friendship as a ploy to get him to talk.”

Ziyal was still too calm. She needed to realize the full horror of what he was saying. He grabbed her by the shoulders, raised his voice, and some part of him was pleased when she flinched. “He told me over and over that he didn’t know anything! The betrayal in his eyes thrilled me!” Garak laughed and cut himself off, reminded with a sick jolt of how he’d acted on Empok Nor. But this was necessary. She had to understand. “Tain knew me better than anyone, and he knew that deep down I enjoy interrogating people. Making them vulnerable, slowly tearing back the layers of information until I could finally get the one piece I was looking for!” Garak’s teeth were bared, clenched around his words. “Where do you think I learned everything I know about avoiding the truth, Ziyal?”

Tears were welling up in Ziyal's eyes and she swallowed, but her jaw was set.

“I pressed Odo for hours,” Garak hissed. “He started to fall apart. He was in so much pain he could barely speak, shaking in the corner. Soon, he started thrashing around as if he were being electrocuted.” Garak’s voice got quieter and harsher. “Bits of him started to peel off and fall on the floor—before too long he looked like he’d been shredded, like an animal caught in some kind of machine. He started to howl wordlessly. Can you imagine that, Ziyal? And I still didn’t turn the machine off, until he got so desperate that he spilled his most private secret to me. He was practically begging me to stop, and I didn’t care.”

Ziyal was rigid, tears going down her cheeks. He released her all at once and crouched in front of her. She took deep breaths, closing and opening her eyes, and he waited.

“Odo obviously forgives you,” she finally whispered. “You even have breakfast together.” She swallowed, and the new fear in her eyes hit him like a frozen wind. “If it doesn’t matter to him, then it doesn’t matter to me. Major Kira says Odo is an excellent judge of character.”

“How good of a judge can a man be when he failed to notice that the one he was offering to help would turn on him at the first opportunity? This story isn't about Odo but rather about the one sitting in front of you, someone you claim to love, but who you do not know. Odo may have forgiven me for betraying him—he's a good man—but that doesn't change the fact that in the innermost core of my being, I am someone who enjoys dissecting people's minds with the most aggressive means necessary, especially in the service of my people. My loyalty to Tain and Cardassia is greater than the love I could ever offer any individual potential lover.”

Ziyal pulled a cloth from her dress and looked down as she wiped her face. Garak exhaled, hoping that finally she understood him. He felt a sickening mess of guilt, anxiety, and sadness. He wondered if he had made a poor choice, if turning her away from pursuing him romantically was worth losing her as a friend. Focusing on these emotions he often tried to leave on the periphery made him feel freshly disgusted with himself, not just because they were true, but because he was using them as a weapon against someone he cared about. But Garak took a deep breath and told himself it was for the best. With the way things were progressing, he was beginning to doubt he would live to see the end of this war, and if that was the case, it was better for her to lose him now in this way than to lose him later as a casualty of war.

“Someday you’ll find someone much more worthy of you than I could ever be,” Garak said softly.

Ziyal remained silent, and Garak, for once, couldn’t think of anything else to say. He stood up and called for the exit to the holosuite.

“I’ll always be your friend,” Ziyal choked out, and Garak looked over to see more tears on her face through the steam.

“Of course,” he said numbly.

They were interrupted when the holosuite door materialized and Major Kira walked inside.

Garak hastily stood back. “Major Kira!” He beamed at her innocently. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here so… suddenly?”

Kira only gave him a brief warning glance. “Ziyal, I’ve got some bad news—what is it?” she said, noticing her tears. Kira instantly rounded on Garak. “What'd you do to her.”

“I—” Garak began, but was cut off.

“It's nothing,” Ziyal said miserably, wiping her face a final time. “What did you come to see me for? Is it about my father?” She sat up.

“Not exactly.” Kira’s voice became gentle. “Listen to me, Ziyal. There’s going to be a Dominion attack on the station…. It’s not safe here. Bajor just signed a non-aggression pact with the Dominion, and all the Bajorans on the station are being evacuated to Bajor.” She took Ziyal gently by the shoulders and smiled sympathetically. “That means you too.”

“But—!” Ziyal blurted, glancing desperately between Kira and Garak. “What are you going to do?” she asked Garak. “You can’t stay here. Father will kill you.”

“Don't worry about Garak,” Kira said as she tugged on Ziyal's shoulders.

“I will be fine,” Garak said.

“Come on,” Kira said, gentle but firm. “Let’s go pack your things. I have some friends you’ll be staying with. They’ll take good care of you.”

“You’re not coming?” Ziyal cried.

Kira shook her head. “I can’t.” She exhaled heavily and tilted her head. For a moment she looked nearly as dismayed as Ziyal before she got a grip on herself. “No, I’ve got to stay here as a representative of Bajor.” She gave Ziyal a weak smile.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Garak said gently, holding a hand out to her just as he grasped at her renewed promise of friendship despite everything he had said. “I’ll be sure to come and see you off. I’m sure when things settle down, we’ll see each other again.”

Ziyal gripped his hand tightly, though she still wasn't entirely meeting his eyes. After a moment he pulled away, and she turned to follow Kira.

For the next several hours, the station fell into a barely-organized frenzy. Garak threw together a sorry substitute for the wedding dress he’d promised Leeta so that she and Rom could be married before the evacuation. He packed his things and created contingency plans. Then, a short sleep, and before he knew it, Ziyal was at the door to his quarters, throwing her arms around him. Garak nearly choked at the complete lack of influence their talk had seemed to have on her. Sleeping on it seemed to have brought her some sort of clarity, for better or worse—she was a bit subdued, but no longer in tears as they walked to catch her transport. She was even looking him in the eye again and he felt another pang of guilt noticing that hers still had a hint of redness.

She held his arm and Garak accepted it gratefully—this was the last kindness he could give her for who knows how long, and really it was a comfort to him as well. Up until this moment, he’d been consumed with trying to prepare for his own survival, but now that it came to it, the parting wasn’t going to be easy for him either, even if just a few hours ago, he expected that she would never want to speak to him again. He wasn’t worried about her—she would no doubt be safe on Bajor. It was a brilliant move by Sisko, insisting on a non-aggression pact. But privately, he knew there was a chance that he might not live out the day.

“Are you sure you won’t come with me?” she asked.

“I don’t think I’d be very welcome on Bajor,” Garak said, a laugh in his voice.

“I’m not going to be very popular there either,” Ziyal said sadly.

Garak stopped to the side of the foot traffic and took both her hands. He tried for as earnest a tone as he could muster. “My dear, you are half-Bajoran, so at least half of you will be accepted.”

Ziyal looked down doubtfully.

“I’m sure that Major Kira’s friends will take good care of you,” Garak added.

“Well what’s going to happen to you?” Ziyal asked again. He hadn’t really answered her before, and she deserved something more than a change of subject… something that might actually ease her fears.

He took a quick breath and looked around in an exaggerated show of secrecy “Ooh, well, let me tell you a story.” He paused a beat before diving in. “I once knew a Cardassian, a dashing, handsome young man, with a promising career!” Ziyal was smiling now; she knew where this was going. “Well, one day, through no fault of his own, he found himself exiled and alone, with nowhere to turn. But! Did he give up?” He put his hand on her back and led her forward a few steps before pausing again to gesture and lean close in emphatic whispers. “No. He… struck upon a brilliant plan. Instead of fleeing for the rest of his life, he sought shelter in the one place where no one expected him to go. In a stronghold of his people’s most hated enemies. There, surrounded by hostile strangers, he built a life. And there, against all odds—against the merciless logic of the universe itself… he thrived.”

Ziyal tilted her head up toward him and grinned, mimicking his quiet, emphatic storytelling voice: “By becoming the greatest tailor in the galaxy!” It seemed she was quite keen on pretending he was still little more than the tailor she had known for years.

“And the moral of this story, my dear,” Garak murmured, touching her shoulder gently one last time, “is to never underestimate my gift for survival.”

Some part of him hoped that, given what he knew of her guileless ways, she would see something of herself in the story he’d just told, and know that he considered her a survivor in her own right. Their eyes were locked for several seconds and he could see some kind of comprehension there. Just as when he’d left to answer Tain’s distress call, he felt the common theme of their lives, despite their obvious differences.

But then she rushed forward and kissed him. His head jerked in surprise—slightly. He stopped himself from pulling away. With his hand on the small of her back, he leaned in just a hair before she released him and pulled him into a hug. Garak caught his breath, staring numbly forward as their cheeks pressed together. Poor Ziyal. He held her, gladly, but the kiss… he knew it was a parting gift—her attempt to go without regrets, now that she knew there would be no romantic future for them. But if she could feel his gratitude for her friendship in spite of everything he had done and said, then perhaps nothing else really mattered. He held her tight and smiled encouragingly as she pulled away. Then she turned to leave, and he watched her go.

^^^^

For the next hour, Garak weighed his options. There weren’t many. Chances for survival if he hid on the station were slim. Even if the Dominion felt merciful toward him (unlikely, given what both he and Tain had tried to do), Dukat would find a way around their benevolence. His only hope at that point would be to escape by smuggling himself onto another ship, but to where?

Garak packed the essential items and closed up shop. With conflicted feelings he also tucked in a little bag of amaryllis bulbs Ziyal had given him a few days ago. He’d told her about Edosian Orchids, and she hadn’t known just how different amaryllis were, but it was all for the best. Amaryllis were much hardier, much more likely to bloom even without constant care. He didn’t know when he’d have the opportunity to plant them, but they still represented some kind of hope.

He also included the chocolates she’d gotten him the week before (her gift giving had rapidly been increasing before the inevitable confrontation in the sauna) but left the embroidered pillow. Perhaps Dukat would see it and feel a pang of remorse at treating his daughter so despicably. Again, unlikely.

Restless, he ended up pacing around the second level of the promenade, watching the Federation troops take up their positions at intervals below. Odo was watching too, sitting half on the railing with his arms crossed, trying very hard to look completely unconcerned.

“I must say, Constable, I admire your composure,” Garak said as came up next to Odo from behind. “You’re an island of tranquility in a sea of chaos.”

Odo didn’t look at him, just glumly kept his eyes on the patrolling troops. “What I am is useless. My entire staff has been evacuated to Bajor.”

“I’m not feeling too terribly useful myself at this moment,” Garak commiserated. “But if it would make you feel any better you could always deputize me?” He said it as a joke, but if Odo had offered, he certainly wouldn’t have said no.

He was rewarded with a brief laugh from Odo. “I’m sure if the Jem’Hadar board the station you’ll make yourself useful.”

Garak took a deep breath and moved to Odo’s other side to get a different angle of the lower level in view. He could see the very spot where, already so long ago, Ziyal had intercepted his assassination plan. “It’s ironic,” he said. “When the Klingons attacked the station, Gul Dukat and I were fighting side by side. At one point, he turned his back to me, and I must admit… that for a moment, he made a very tempting target.”

Odo finally raised his eyes but seemed relatively unsurprised by Garak’s confession, never mind the dangerous friction in his voice.

“You’d shoot a man in the back?”

“Well, it’s the safest way, isn’t it?” Garak looked at Odo, his insincere smile dying before it was fully formed. His voice dropped to a dull, low tone. “But then I thought, well, I can’t fight all these Klingons by myself. So I let him live.”

“And now you regret it,” Odo nodded.

“Ah, my dear Constable,” Garak said sadly, “Before this day is over everyone on this station is going to regret it.”

Odo didn’t say anything to that. Garak stood for a moment, frustrated by the past until he managed to refocus himself.

“If… you’re not going to be needed here for the next few minutes,” Garak said suddenly. “I was wondering if you might come by my quarters. I have a small favor I’d like to ask.”

Odo looked intrigued. “What sort of favor?”

“Nothing too questionable, I assure you. Now, are you busy, or aren’t you?”

Odo got off the railing. Garak smiled brightly and led him to his quarters. Odo was a good friend, coming along without much questioning, but he was also a good security officer—his natural curiosity would have proved irresistible one way or another.

Garak opened the door. “Well, here we are. Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

Odo immediately looked toward Garak’s travel bag on the floor. “Going somewhere?”

“Well, seeing as neither Gul Dukat nor the Dominion are very fond of me, I can hardly do otherwise,” Garak said. “Now, I don’t expect you to preserve my tailor shop or any of the decorations I’ve accumulated, but there are a few things I’d like to save.”

Odo looked around—there were hardly any decorations in the main room. When Garak went to open his bedroom door, Odo came up close behind him, craning his head to see more. Garak smiled and said, “Computer, raise lights to station standard.”

There, in sharper relief than Garak usually preferred, was his bedroom. A few Cardassian cultural icons adorned the walls, including a poor replica of an Oralian recitation mask he’d made himself. There were a few potted plants scattered on small tables, and one hung from the ceiling in the corner.

“You can snoop around in here as much as you like after I’m gone,” Garak offered, moving to pick up a pot of Melanth. “I trust your ability to follow instructions, Constable. I’ve made up a list of how to care for each of my plants, and attached it to the pots.”

“Your plants?” Odo blinked at the tall straight stems of the Melanth and hesitantly took the pot. “So you really were a gardener on Romulus?”

“Of course I was! You mean you didn’t believe me? After all those stories I told you while you were ill?” Garak made a little tsk, pretending to be offended, before dipping into an ominous, warning tone. “Just be careful to trim off any flowers that form. No matter how lovely they might be, the Melanth blossom produces a pollen quite deadly to Romulans. I’d hate for my plant to be the cause of any accidental deaths.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why you need a plant like this?” Odo asked. “Planning to poison any Romulans?”

“A man needs his hobbies, Constable. Indulge me.” Garak huffed a small laugh. “Destroy it if you must, in the interests of station security. Although it is quite rare and valuable, it holds no particular… sentimental value to me.”

“But one of these plants does hold sentimental value?” Odo looked back into the bedroom, curiously pacing around to inspect the Hipecat, Invernian herb, Bajoran Spiny Basil, and a few others which would have been quite impressive for Odo to identify on his own.

“It’s not any of those,” Garak said, after giving him a few moments. He withdrew to the little table in the main room and picked up the Favinit plant. It was coming toward another round of fresh flowers, covered in tiny green buds.

“What’s so special about this one?” Odo asked, as he took it and turned the pot in his hands as if looking for clues. “It’s a Vulcan flower, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But the plants of Vulcan are enjoyed by many species. I didn’t get it by killing a Vulcan, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Odo grunted, or laughed, it was hard to tell. “Was it a gift from someone?” His face softened and he looked at Garak knowingly. “Ziyal?”

“No,” Garak said quietly. “It belonged to a very dear friend of mine.” He paused a moment to muster a serene look. “Luckily, it’s fairly easy to take care of. You only need to give it a little water once a week. There are a few other tricks to keep it in peak condition, included in the list.”

Odo held the pot at eye level so he could look at the list. “Seems simple enough.”

“I really do appreciate this, Constable,” Garak said. “Somehow I can’t see Quark being a very diligent gardener, and I doubt Major Kira would appreciate my request. I trust you’ll take good care of this one.”

“I’ll… try to keep the others alive, too,” Odo said, giving in. “But I can’t promise anything.”

“I understand. If the station is taken by the Dominion, I imagine you’ll have plenty to worry about yourself.” Garak raised his eyebrows pointedly at Odo. “I don’t suppose anything is resolved between you and Major Kira.”

Odo clamped his jaw in annoyance. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he growled, then paused and finished much more calmly, “I told her I’m not going to pursue a relationship with her. At least… not now. We both need to focus on our work… we can’t afford that kind of distraction.” He shifted his grip on the plant, moved to put it down, then thought better of it.

“And how did she react?” Garak prompted.

“She… seemed relieved.” Odo turned toward the door to indicate the conversation was over. His speech resumed a clipped pace. “I’ll take this back to my quarters. Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?”

“No,” Garak said. “Thank you. Take care of yourself, Constable.”

Odo hesitated, and nodded once. “You too.”