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Date: Wed, 19 May 2004 23:43:29 -0500
Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW DS9 Ten Punishments 1/2 (G/B, G/Du, G/m) [R]
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Title: Ten Punishments, or The Decalogue According to Elim Garak
Contact: penumbra at clinched dot net
Author: Penumbra
Series: DS9
Rating: R for m/m sex, violence, language
Codes: G/B, G/Du, G/m
Summary: The self-destruction, two curses, and seven death sentences
with heartfelt gratitude either on-list or via email.

Warning: I'm sure this bit o' experimental storytelling is blasphemous
in more ways than I can count and for that, I do apologise. I have no
clue how a queer atheist like me wound up mangling the scripture in
this manner, but I guess I just liked the symbolism. The ten
punishments selection is from positiveatheism.org, arranged and
misused with artistic license during one long, sleepless night. (Yes,
I'm obsessed. Help!)


------------------------------------------------------------------- 
Ten Punishments, or The Decalogue According to Elim Garak, part 1/2
  by Penumbra, May 2004
------------------------------------------------------------------- 


      He that sacrificeth unto any god, save unto the Lord 
      only, he shall be utterly destroyed. (Ex. 22:20)     


Elim Garak's last sacrifice is not for Cardassia but for love, and he
is surprised he's not more surprised at his reasons. His voice is
quiet when he touches the headstone.

"The years changed both of us, my love." He knows Julian would smile,
but he's not there with him. "Our family," he adds. A dash of blood
wets his cracked lips.

Thirty years ago, he would have never thought he'd meet his end on his
own front yard in South Metok City, or that he could kneel on green
grass. But it is grass that's wetting his aching knees and real
sunshine he can once again feel on his back, although the Human
tombstone seems so out of place on Cardassian soil.

   If you seek my monument
   Look around you  

A fitting epitaph for a man who made the grass green again. Garak's
heart swells in pride as he looks around, seeing all that Julian gave
him and Cardassia. The green grass, the chartreuse sky, the decades
filled with the most unlikely of things: love. 

When he speaks, his voice is thick with the blood. "You gave me
everything, when you were all I needed." 

A few feet away lies the slab marking Mi'boq's grave, now half
overgrown with moss. Garak estimates that in another dozen years, the
moss will have covered the entire grave; maybe then, the Bolian
government will stop pestering their Cardassian counterpart. He'll
never see that day because he's half gone already, his senses
dulled. He can't feel the slender poniard that sticks out of his chest
or even the sun any more. All he feels is the love that he had inside,
a grain of sand that had once troubled him. Now, it is encased in
luminescence, in mother of pearl, in the memories of the decades he
shared with Julian. 

Where it seeps into the mulch hiding Julian's decomposed body, Garak's
tired blood makes the moonswain flowers grow red for years to come.

* * * * *

It takes Gentor a day to find his father's body and eight more until
he can stop crying. He buries Garak in the traditional Human way
although he unwittingly errs in the details: Elim Garak's duranium urn
is buried atop Julian Bashir's, in the same grave. The headstone he
erects next to Julian's and the epitaph is done in Standard, much like
Julian's is in Kardasi. 

   Surrender to the sky
   Your heart of anger

Gentor knows that in time, he too will be buried there, between Mi'boq
and their fathers. He wonders what his epitaph will say. Something
about patience, he hopes, because that's what his father taught him. 


-------------------------------------------------------------------

      And he that blasphemeth the name of the Lord, he shall 
      surely be put to death. (Lev. 24:16)                   


The first rule of any good interrogator is, Wait. That moment, Garak
hates Cardassia for stealing his best trick, because she's making him
wait. 

He gave all that was his to Cardassia, yet she asked for more and more
and more, until he had nothing left but his eloquence as he curses the
name of his only lord and ruler. Quietly, of course, because it would
only humiliate him more to make a spectacle out of his
misfortune. Here, at the end of space, he waits, silently, counting
the rotations of the space station he inhabits like a mantra. He's
gotten used to being patient; in fact, he has made an art of it. 

Garak grins into the semi-darkness of his tailor's shop. Enabran would
be so proud. 

Good interrogators learn that waiting and observing, not sharp blades
or blunt objects, are their tools. Torture is the last vestige of the
desperate, the method of those who care only of the quantity and not
the quality of the information they get. Men in pain say many things
and confess to any atrocity when suitably encouraged...and such
blindness to the truth has no value for men like Elim Garak. Quality
is what he delivers, be it with his tailoring or in the darker
pursuits of his past, and he always does it by waiting. Endless
patience is what made him Enabran's protege.

He sometimes misses the blood, though -- at moments like this. Garak
looks into the penumbra coloured silver by the starlight and the low
lights and tries to hear the blood coursing through his veins. He
knows how the scent of blood can be intoxicating, its sticky heat like
the finest aphrodisiac to an addict like him. Alas, he has learned how
to do business without breaking skin. In the end and as the irony of
ironies, he became too good in what he did to spill blood. His skills
killed his desires. 

But then again...there can be new desires. Garak puts down the laser
seamer and sits back.

"Garak to Bashir."

The viewscreen in front of him flicks to show Dr. Julian Bashir's
harried countenance. Despite his obvious tiredness, Julian smiles. 

"Bashir here. What can I do for you, Garak?"

Garak lifts his eyeridge into a measured show of
disapproval. "Sleeping would be an adequate starting point, my dear
doctor. Pardon my bluntness, but you look terrible."

Julian's sardonic yet amused smile makes a pool of warmth ignite in
Garak's abdomen. He makes the decision like he always does: swiftly
and with no hesitation. It would be tonight.

"Thank you. Now did you call with a specific subject in mind, or were
you just in the mood for some general harassment?"

"Mmm," Garak temporises as he recognises the glint of something heated
in Julian's eyes. Oh yes. Tonight would be perfect. The scales along
his spine bristle as desire scales his spine. "As a matter of fact, I
did have a specific topic I wished to discuss with you...over dinner."

That night, Garak teaches Julian many things about Cardassia and
Cardassian stamina, but he also learns -- learns that he can have
desires without blood. His world is changed for good.


-------------------------------------------------------------------

      He that smiteth his father, or his mother, shall be 
      surely put to death. (Ex. 21:15)


Elim Garak is sixteen years old and his world has just changed
irrevocably. His palm stings where it hit his father's cheek and he
wants to see if his father's cheek stings, too, but all he can see are
the tips of his shoes. He burns inside because Enabran has not
understood his actions. He explains although he knows it's in vain.

"I love him, father." His voice sounds thin even to his own ears.

"And so you took him with a knife?"

Garak closes his eyes. In a flash, he remembers the blood and the
keening, wet sound Lemtek made and the way his muscles corded as he
fought against his bonds. Somehow, seeing the memory of the blade
entering Lemtek feels more arousing, more intimate, than any of the
times when his cock was in its place. 

"He wanted me to." His father has taught him well; the lie is
convincing.

"I doubt that, Elim."

"But he did!"

Enabran looks five hundred years old. "Very well. We'll speak of it no
more."

Garak feels relieved because he hasn't yet learned that every action
changes him. Because of poor Lemtek, he will always prefer a sharp
blade to a blunt tool, and that's just the first of his lessons. 

The years afterwards are a blur. Enabran teaches him things he doesn't
like but must know. He learns that humanoids can still smell after
their nose has been cut off and that hearing the pain of others is
more effective than pain itself. Fear is to be his tool, not
pain. Good interrogators have no ego because they're subservient to
the needs of their subjects. 

These are important lessons he sometimes forgets, because his need for
blood overcomes his good senses. During his mistakes, he learns to
enjoy the intimacy of pain and the smell of fear. He learns that fear
is a smell he will know even with his nose cut off, because it comes
from within that intimacy. 

For Garak, from that day until Julian, sex is but a precursor to
violence.


-------------------------------------------------------------------

      He that believeth not, shall be damned. (Mark 16:16)


Garak has forgotten the meaning of faith long ago. He needs a saviour
to erase the seven years of emptiness and dust on post-Dominion
Cardassia, and when one walks into his office at the Provisional
Government complex that morning, he also forgets how to speak.

"Well, don't look so surprised," Julian says and smiles. 

His memories have faded, faces becoming blurred and featureless, but
not Julian's, never his face. That smile is still as sharp in his mind
as it is in piercing his heart. 

The lie is automatic. "I'm not." Automatic, but expected.

The smile widens. "I've come to help." He dangles the Doctors Without
Borders insignia from one finger.

"But...why?"

"Because I believe in the Cardassian people." He doesn't say that his
faith is stronger than the people themselves have, but he doesn't need
to; Garak can see the knowledge in the dark wells of his eyes. "I have
faith in you."

"I'm glad." I'm glad one of us does, Garak thinks but doesn't say. He
doesn't quite trust Julian, but that's only because he knows of his
difficult years.

"I've missed you, Elim. Us."

Later on, there is time to curse circumstances and recount all the
stories they have accumulated during their time apart. They'll speak
of Julian's dealings with Section 31 but never of the Obsidian Order,
because some things are best left in the dark. 

Right now, though, all Garak can think of are Julian's hand on his and
that smile that's just for him. He never did learn how not to think of
Julian at a distance, and that smile says he doesn't have to, not any
more. Julian doesn't care that he is older or too short for a
Cardassian or that his gestures have always been slightly too epicene
next to the unabashed masculinity of his muscular form. Julian
embraces his flaws, his claustrophobia and curious delicacy and
sensitivity to fashion faux pas.

There will be no more distance, Julian's gaze says. Just us, it
promises. 

Garak wishes he could believe these things, these promises. A part of
his soul withers away because he is old and can't see that Julian will
be the one to teach him the meaning of faith again.


-------------------------------------------------------------------

      And the man that committeth adultery with another man's 
      wife, the adulterer and the adulteress shall be put 
      to death. (Lev. 20:10)


Garak never forgets his first man.

A Gul in the Central Command, Tisamet Ghemor is a Cardassian patriot,
a husband to the noble Mist'ika, a father four times over, a beautiful
body of muscle, and a most dangerous man -- a predator who will not be
prey except accidentally. People who know the right things easily
manufacture such accidents.

Garak has come to know these things, things learned in the indirect,
convoluted way one learns of such matters in the Obsidian Order. He's
learned that Tisamet is also a man of many vices, among them expensive
kanaar and smiling men of impeccable physique. So when Garak visits
him that day on the pretence of business but with a gift of
Kshi'ankanaar and himself, he has faith in what's about to take place.

Because he's still young, it takes Garak two minutes to verify he has
judged Ghemor correctly (he soon learns to read the signs in seconds)
and another five minutes of polite flirting (something he learns to
savour only later in life) until Ghemor leans in and puts his hand on
Garak's thigh.

"Please, Mr. Garak. Do call me Tisamet."

Garak smiles and the hand on his leg moves to his groin. "Of
course. Elim."

"Elim."

That first time, Tisamet fucks him right there on the divan. Garak
sees stars because the hard, ridged cock inside him makes him forget
how to breathe and think and feel anything but his own lust and the
man on top of him, screaming his name. He comes three times that night
and every time, Tisamet catches or swallows his semen as if it is the
exquisite kanaar he brought.

Three days later, when Garak can sit down again and after Tisamet has
undoubtedly finished the kanaar, an accident is arranged for Mist'ika
Ghemor. Garak takes care to select a method that's not too mutilating
yet convincing enough. Mist'ika's body survives the fall reasonably
intact and during the funeral, Tisamet takes Garak's hand in his. The
sorrow and need bleed through the connection into Garak, and his
desire is so strong that it takes several years before Enabran can
convince Garak to dispose of him.

In Tisamet's funeral, Garak has no hand to hold on to. Instead, he
grasps the slim ceremonial dagger of the Obsidian Order, and the sight
of it makes everyone whisper and give him a wide berth. Tisamet's
brother, Tekeny Ghemor, watches him with something dangerous gleaming
in his eyes, and Garak wonders whether the blade of the poniard he
holds would feel the same going into Tekeny as it did with Tisamet. At
the thought of Tekeny's blood, his uniform seems especially
constricting and Garak makes a mental note to have Mila look into
letting it out at the seams. 

When Tisamet's ashes are scattered into the wind, Garak feels a part
of his soul wither because he is young and doesn't yet know that there
will be others. One day, he will have a family that has nothing to do
with blood.

---------------------
  End of part 1/2.
---------------------



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