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Date: Sun, 9 May 2004 22:52:23 -0500
Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW DS9 "Nineteen Shades" 4/12 (G/B) [NC-17]
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Please see part 1 for codes, disclaimers, and notes.

-------------------------------------------
Nineteen Shades, by Penumbra (part 4/12)
-------------------------------------------


Bashir sighed and stretched his arms over his head, frustrated that it
was almost lunchtime and he'd made no progress all morning. Wincing as
his muscles complained, he acceded to the fact that it was time to try
his last chance.

"Computer, locate Elim Garak."

"Mr. Garak is not on this station," the computer replied in its dulcet
tones.

"What in the..." Bashir murmured in confusion. Garak hadn't mentioned
anything about leaving the station. "When did he leave?"

"Mr. Garak left Deep Space Nine on stardate 46371.3. Current location
is unknown."

Bashir made the quick calculation. "Now wait a minute. That was before
the Federation even came on the station?" he started, but his tirade
was cut short by Garak's voice coming over the comm. 

"Garak to Bashir. Doctor, you wished to speak to me?" 

"Well, yes," Bashir balked. "Garak, are you tampering with the
station's computers again? Or maybe you've added telepathy to your
range of dubious hobbies? Which wouldn't surprise me one bit, now that
I think of it," he added, grousing when he couldn't decide if he
should be amused or exasperated. 

"Neither, I'm afraid. I have spent a rather banal morning adjusting
all of Morn's trousers to accommodate his ever-expanding girth. So
while any interruption is certainly welcome, I trust you had something
you wanted to discuss with me?"

Shaking his head at Garak's evasion and haughty tone, Bashir decided
to let it go. Again. "I've been trying to wake Mr. Serka from his
slumber and frankly, my inability to do so has been severely
detrimental to my professional ego," he said, trying to keep the
annoyance out of his voice. Whatever signals the cortical implant was
sending to Serka's brain, they'd eluded Bashir's instruments. Garak
was his last source of information on how to wake up the man.

"Ah! Say no more. I shall be there promptly. Garak out."

True to his words, within five minutes Garak stepped through the open
doorway of the infirmary. With a welcoming smile answered in kind and
a wave of his hand, Bashir invited him in towards the ward, where
Delemek Serka was resting on one of the biobeds. At the entrance to
the ward, however, Garak paused and gestured discreetly towards the
young Cardassian man who'd been glued to Serka's bedside for hours,
never moving except to whisper unknown words into Serka's ear or brush
away stray hairs from his forehead. A much younger man, he had a
slender build with broad shoulders and narrow, delicate features that
were accentuated by the simple tan tunic and trousers he wore. 

"Doctor, who is that? And has he been here long?"

"Yes, ever since Odo allowed him to exit their quarters. I think he's
a family member -- a brother, perhaps. His name is..." Bashir paused to
check his files. "Thuli. No other name given."

"Thuli, no second name given?" Garak bared his teeth and exhaled a
disapproving hiss. It was a sound that was an obvious reptilian
atavism, alien enough to disturb Bashir. 

"Yes, but what?"

Garak stopped the question with a gesture, his eyes on the man sitting
by Serka's biobed. "May I?"

"Certainly," Bashir said and followed Garak into the isolation
ward. He took position by the wall, close enough to monitor his
patient but far back enough to ensure the privacy of his patient and
visitors, while Garak approached the Cardassians.

"Thuli."

The Cardassian turned and hastily wiped away the tears that had pooled
on the rims of his eyeridges. "Yes?" he said, and Bashir was surprised
to hear the note of fear and submission in his voice -- a very
un-Cardassian tone to use, but a natural compliment to the quiet
menace in Garak's voice.

"Why are you here? What is he to you?" Garak said, gesturing at Serka
as he came to stand by the foot of the biobed. "You're certainly not
his brother. A slave?"

Thuli lifted his chin, anger warring with fear in his eyes. "I'm not
his slave, Master Garak. Serka is of the future of Cardassia, he
doesn't keep slaves. He's taken me as his *ha'kem*." 

Garak reared back in surprise and outrage. "He's done *what*?" His
question was almost breathless.

"You heard me right, Master Garak." The deference of Thuli's address
clashed with the obvious trepidation in his voice, as if he were
deathly afraid of the words coming out of his mouth. 

"Delemek Serka...Dele," Garak muttered, his gaze reproaching as it
regarded the unconscious man. "I should kill you where you lie, for
the disgrace you've brought to yourself and me."

Before Bashir could react, the young Cardassian launched himself from
his chair and plowed into Garak. The force of his sudden lunge threw
them against the wall so savagely that Bashir could hear the
containers in the cupboard behind the wall rattle. Garak's face hit
the wall support with a dull thud and a gash split into his forehead.

"You fatherless beast!" Thuli hissed into Garak's ear, his shoulders
and face flushing to a dark, murky blue. "How dare you judge him, with
all that he was to you?"

Garak roared and made a sudden twist to his side, making Thuli
stumble. A quick kick to his shin and a double-handed jab to the side
of his neck brought him to his knees and as Bashir watched, horrified,
Garak punched him in the face. The impact made a sickening sound, like
a watermelon hitting duranium, and the force sent the young Cardassian
reeling back on the floor. Blood flowed freely from his torn eyeridge
and with obvious fear in his eyes, he watched Garak crouch down over
him. 

"Weak idiot! That's what Dele is, a weak man who has taken an
*as'kjresnic* like you as his chosen."

Thuli flinched at the words Garak spat at him, shielding his face with
a hand as he looked at the floor. Shame was written all over his
features, even as he spoke with a voice so fearful and trembling
Bashir would've thought him a Ferengi and not a Cardassian. "I love
him."

"You don't deserve him, you son of waste," Garak murmured in reply,
his voice dangerously calm now even as he lifted his fist into another
strike. "His choice disgraces both him and me, and I will put an end
to it."

"Garak!" Bashir exclaimed, stepping in and restraining his friend with
a hand on his shoulder. When he turned, Bashir saw the look in Garak's
eyes and it was unsettling, as was the trail of blood flowing down his
forehead and nose. "Stop it. You're bleeding, he's bleeding, and I
will have no further violence in my infirmary."

Garak's hand lowered slowly even as his eyes fixed on Thuli. "You're
right, my friend. His flesh is not worthy of my fist," he said and
rose with his usual fluid grace, obviously once more in control of his
faculties. Without another glance at the shivering, prone Cardassian
on the ground, he stepped away and touched his forehead. His fingers
came away bloody and he regarded them with abstract interest. "Well,
doctor, it seems I'm in need of your expert services."

Glancing at Thuli, who was bleeding all over the carpet, Bashir
figured they both were. But Thuli's cuts were as superficial as
Garak's, so he instructed Nurse Jabara to tend to the young Cardassian
while he himself guided his friend into the nearest visitor's
chair. After digging out a dermal regenerator, he took the one next to
it and got to work on Garak's forehead.

"Now do you want to explain to me what the hell that was all about?"
Bashir asked as he ran the regenerator over the cut. "Who is Thuli,
anyway?"

"Serka's illegitimate catamite. The old fool, he's chosen a Lower
Sixth as his *ha'kem*."

Garak's statement, incomprehensible to Bashir, was pronounced with a
tone of abject outrage and disgust. Rolling his eyes, the doctor
thought that recently, all he did around Garak was frown and feel
generally clueless. "His what?"

"It seems you're in desperate need of a refresher on Cardassian social
customs," Garak tsked. "*Ha'kem*. A brother of flesh." 

"A what?"

Garak sighed and rolled his eyes with baroque eloquence of
gestures. "His lover, doctor," he enunciated carefully, wincing as the
dermal generator attending to his forehead jerked clean
away. "Careful, my dear man. I wouldn't want to end up with Bajoran
nose ridges for my trouble."

Bashir mumbled an apology and switched the instrument off. He turned,
eyes back on Thuli. The young Cardassian had seated himself by the
biobed again and as Nurse Jabara worked on his wounds, he was brushing
away stray hair from Serka's face. His composure was a study in sorrow
and love, and Bashir finally saw what he hadn't before understood. The
closeness he'd previously presumed to stem from familial bonds had
turned out to be something quite different; it was the bond of
lovers. Promptly, Bashir's concept of the Cardassian society underwent
major upheaval from vague generalities to a swirling mass of
uncertainties. 

"I...see," he said faintly and took a deep breath before dragging his
eyes back on Garak's disapproving visage. With an apologetic smile, he
resumed tending to Garak's wound. "So what's the Lower Sixth, then?"
he asked conversationally.

"The undesirables -- the *as'kjresnita* that live on the fringes and 
are not spoken of," Garak replied, and there was deep disgust in his 
curt words that discouraged further inquiry. "To take one as your 
*ha'kem* is...." Garak trailed off, obviously unable to find strong 
enough a word to convey his revolt, but his tone spoke volumes.

Bashir frowned and inspected his handiwork by smoothing a finger up
the ridge leading from Garak's nose to the spoon shape on his
forehead. The skin under his fingers was smooth and warm, like the
finest silk. "Love is love, is it not?" he muttered as he placed the
dermal regenerator back into his kit. "It overcomes all obstacles."

His words earned him a sharp glance from Garak. "Trite cliches rarely
hold anything but generalisations of complex issues. Yes, love is love,
but not always." He paused and the scrutiny he gave Bashir made him
fidget. "To provide a crude analogy, how would your society view an
intimate relationship between you and your biological brother?"

"As the breaking of an unbreakable taboo. But they're not biologically
related, are they?"

"No, thank Guls. They're not," Garak murmured and felt his own
forehead. "Thank you, doctor, I feel good as new."

When Garak offered no further words, Bashir leaned in and caught his
eye. "So? This taboo," he prompted. "After taking part in a game of
fisticuffs in my infirmary, you can't expect to be let off with just
the vaguest of explanations as to why it took place to begin with."

"Doctor. You're a scientist, yes?" Garak asked, his eyes once again
glittering with his specific shade of mischief. 

"I like to think of myself as one, yes."

"Then research is your path to enlightenment. I have every faith in
your abilities, my dear friend," Garak said and stood up, smoothing
down the creases in his pants. "Now, I simply must go. An afternoon
appointment with Ambassador Troi and her voluminous dresses awaits
me."

"What about him?" Bashir said and hooked his thumb towards the
still-unconscious Serka on the biobed. "You promised you'd wake him
up."

"Ah. Yes. I did, didn't I?"

With that, Garak re-entered the isolation room, with Bashir again in
tow. The doctor was relieved when neither Garak nor the young
Cardassian made any moves towards one another; instead, Garak merely
eyed the young man with contempt, and he in turn shrank into his chair
on the other side of the biobed, chagrined and desolate. Approaching
the bed, Garak leaned over the prone figure, and when he brushed his
fingers gently down the sharp angle of Serka's cheekbone, Bashir was
startled to realise that Garak's touch was no less gentle than Thuli's
had been. 

His hand still on Serka's face, cradling it as if it were made of
glass, Garak leaned in and whispered something into his ear, unheard
by all but the two. With one last lingering glance and touch, Garak
turned away and approached Bashir.

"He should wake up in an hour or so."

Bashir blinked. "Uh...thank you, Garak. I think."

"Good day, doctor."

Watching Garak's back as he exited the infirmary, Bashir shook his
head. He'd grasped none of what had just happened and understood even
less of what little Garak had explained about the
situation. *Ha'kem*. Lower Sixth. Taboos. Recalling Garak's words of
advice, it was clear to Bashir what he needed to do to satisfy his
curiosity: research, research, and research.

His mind made up, Bashir checked the wall chrono. Good. It was time
for lunch, and he had a particular establishment in mind for that.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lunch at Quark's was always a noisy affair, but Jadzia Dax didn't
mind. She rather enjoyed the loud, boisterous ambiance generated by
the more or less seedy characters inhabiting the bar seemingly round
the clock, screaming 'Dabo!' and drinking alcoholic drinks in cheery
disregard of the early hour. The bar was so full that day, in fact,
that she'd been forced to take a seat by the bar to be able to enjoy
her plomeek soup and raktajino seated. Trying not to be bored out of
her skull with the lateral sensor telemetry data she was browsing on
her PADD, Dax saw Quark approach her with an air of idle curiosity -- a
certain sign that the Ferengi had something juicy to share.

"Well, this has been a day of surprises and coincidences," Quark
sighed with aplomb as he leaned his hip against the bar across from
her. 

Dax glanced at Quark from the corner of her eye. "How so?" she said, a
study in nonchalance as she kept her eyes on her PADD.

"Well. You see, last night and thus before this whole business with
Dr. Bashir, I see Chief O'Brien playing a board game with Garak--"

"What?" Abandoning all pretense of reading her PADD, Dax sat up
straighter and frowned at Quark. What he'd said made no
sense. "O'Brien, with *Garak*? You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," Quark said and smiled with the full range of his thin lips and
sharp teeth. Dax recognised that smile as only a fellow lover of
gossip would: this was juicy indeed. "Since they went to Empok Nor and
what happened, y'know, with Amaro and..."

Dax waved her hand impatiently; she'd been at the inquest so all this
was old news to her. "Yes, yes, go on."

"Well, it seems this entire episode led to a bit of a bonding action
between the Chief and Garak."

"Even though Garak killed a Starfleet officer, threatened to shoot
poor Nog, and then proceeded to wipe the floor with the Chief himself?
What gives?"

"Before his moment of insanity, Garak did sort of save them, too -- he
killed the two Cardassian soldiers, right? I guess him being under the
influence and all sort of....hu-manised Garak for O'Brien." Quark
cocked his head. "You know. New sides to him and such. And then, next
thing you know, they're drinking kanaar and synthale together over a
game of Kotra."

"All right," Dax said slowly, not quite believing it herself. "So what
was that with Julian, then?"

Quark leaned forward, both elbows on the counter as he obviously
warmed to his topic. "Yes, well. As if the Chief socialising with the
Cardassian contingent wasn't enough for one day, then Dr. Bashir walks
in, just five minutes ago. I have his Tarkalean tea keyed up on the
replicator but to my surprise, he marches right up to the counter,
agitated as all get out. And then..." he said, trailing off as he eyed
Dax. "He was very adamant that I shouldn't tell anyone."

Dax leaned in, her best predatory smile spreading on her
lips. "Quark. Do you want me to tell Odo what you have stored in Cargo
Bay 6, behind all those innocuous barrels of blood wine?"

Blanching into a fetching shade of pale ochre, Quark hastened to
speak. "No, really, there's no need to get the good constable involved
in all this."

"Quite so. Proceed."

His token resistance given, Quark smiled again. "We were on
Dr. Bashir, yes? So he walks up to the counter looking very perturbed
indeed and makes an order for one kanaar -- kanaar, at this hour! -- and
some literature. Specifically, all the literature I can find on
Cardassian social customs and," he said, lowering his voice as he
finished with, "sexuality."

Astonished, Dax set her empty mug down and stared at Quark's wagging
eyebrows. "Really?" she breathed. This was excellent gossip, indeed
the best kind: surprising, unbelievable, and featuring the word sex. 

"Mmm-hmm," Quark hummed as he reached back for the raktajino
thermos. "To the tune of two bars of latinum, no less. Paid in
advance, too," he said, patting the breast of his suit as he lifted
the thermos to Dax, a question in his gesture.

"Please," Dax said absently and waved at her cup. "Well I'll
say. Julian researching Cardassian social customs."

"And sexuality. Don't forget about sexuality."

"How could I?" Dax exhaled, not quite knowing what to think. "Oh,
Julian."

"We've got only one and a half Cardassians here on the station, so
guessing the who is not that hard," Quark muttered as he refreshed her
raktajino. "What I don't get is the why."

"Garak is an...interesting man," Dax said. She was unhappy with her
flat choice of adjectives but couldn't think of a better one since she
was feeling somewhat stupefied by the implications. Julian and 
*Garak*?

"He's a Cardassian, and as Cardassian as ever. Talkative, devious,
holier-than-thou...interesting, pfft," Quark snorted. He leaned an
elbow against the bar as he gazed up to the second level, where Garak
was lunching with Ziyal. "And all those dark, conservative colours he
wears! The man calls himself a tailor and wouldn't know style if it
hit him upside the head. I've needed to teach him a thing or two over
the years about the finer points of fashion."

Dax ran an appraising eye over Quark's outfit that was a kaleidoscopic
riot of colours, patterns, and styles with gold clasps and flared
edges and ruffles everywhere. All that was missing were some artfully
placed tassels and maybe a few blinking lights, she mused.

"I can see why you would say that," she remarked neutrally and hid her
smile in her raktajino when Quark gave her the fish eye. "So you're
thinking it can't be Ziyal?"

"Feh," Quark said, dismissing her with a roll of his eyes. "She's not
been brought up in a Cardassian culture, so it would make no sense for
Bashir to study these things to woo her. And furthermore, would you
want Gul Dukat as your father-in-law?"

Cringing at the thought, all Dax could do was to nod in
agreement. "Maybe it's one of the Cardassian visitors we have on
board?"

Quark sucked in a breath through his teeth, obviously evaluating the
proposition. "Maybe," he finally said, "but seems unlikely. The doctor
hasn't been in much contact with them. No, my money's on Garak."

"And the doctor's intentions regarding Garak are...?" Dax prompted.

"Oh, I have a few ideas," Quark mused, his eyes half-lidded as an
expression part greed and part curiosity flitted across his face.

Dax smiled. She had a few inklings of her own as to what had so
distressed her dear Julian, but before she could investigate the
matter further, there were things of greater importance that had to be
attended to. "Well. Care to make a wager on that point, Quark?"

Meeting her eyes fully, Quark smiled. "The very words I live to hear
from you, Jadzia."

-------------------------------
End of part 4/12.




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