Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!newshosting.com!nx01.iad01.newshosting.com!216.196.98.140.MISMATCH!border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!newsread.com!newsstand.newsread.com!POSTED.monger.newsread.com!not-for-mail Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated Approved: ascem@earthlink.net Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut Sender: ascem@earthlink.net Message-ID: From: "Penumbra" MIME-Version: 1.0 Mailing-List: list ASCEML@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEML-owner@yahoogroups.com Subject: NEW DS9 The Best Tales Told (G/B) [PG-13] (challenge) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 132 Date: Thu, 05 Aug 2004 12:55:05 GMT NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.198.142.218 X-Complaints-To: Abuse Role , We Care X-Trace: monger.newsread.com 1091710505 209.198.142.218 (Thu, 05 Aug 2004 08:55:05 EDT) NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 05 Aug 2004 08:55:05 EDT Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:82439 X-Received-Date: Thu, 05 Aug 2004 05:55:14 PDT (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) Title: The Best Tales Told Author: Penumbra Contact: penumbra at clinched dot net Series: DS9 Rating: PG-13 Part: 1/1 Codes: challenge, G/B Archive: Wherever. Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. Viacom/Paraborg is god. Summary: It isn't duties or loyalty or honour that make the best tales. "All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. ~ Leo Tolstoy --------------------------- The Best Tales Told by Penumbra (c) 2004 --------------------------- In the histories of every planet he has visited, the greatest tales reminisce of valour against seemingly insumountable odds. He finds it strange and always has that the Universe seems dead set on canonising luck and foolishness as its ultimate virtues -- a stance he can't understand because he's visited all those planets and seen all that men do to one another. The Universe is about as valourous as he is innocent. On the rare day when it rains radioactive mud, he goes to the window of his office to watch the dark sludge draw mad patterns on the glass. Those days are fewer now and secretly, Garak hopes it means that after three years, the Cardassian skies have finally cried down all the destruction Jem'Hadar bombs lifted into them. He doesn't quite know why he's back on Cardassia; duty, he sometimes supposes, or because of memories gilded with time. Nevertheless, there he is, trying to save a world that perhaps shouldn't be saved and working with responsibilities he never wanted. That day and for the first time in what seems like aeons, he feels something akin to hope. It hasn't rained and if he squints hard enough, Garak thinks he can see a shade of blue in the overcast sky. "Anything else?" his secretary asks. "Give the counselor my regards and schedule an appointment with him the next time I'm on Bajor." "Certainly, Legate Garak," the secretary replies, jotting down notes in a padd. Garak has given up on teaching him to drop the pompous-sounding title. "Anything else?" "No. I'm going home in a minute." "Ah -- dinner with the good doctor?" Garak's mind flicks back to the morning and the argument. It was about the orphans, as they always are. "Hopefully." The transport speeds across the dun sky and Garak takes care not to look down on his dying city. However, he can't avoid seeing the black thunderclouds rising from the funeral pyres or feeling how heavily his duty weighs down on him. That weight is as ever-present as the rasp in his lungs. When he finally gets home, at first he can't find Julian anywhere. He drops off his data padds in the office and while there, he spies a light glowing around the bathroom door. He follows the golden glow to find Julian in the tub, asleep in the now-tepid water and his glasses still perched on his nose. He looks young, delectable; he's the exact shape of gods Garak didn't believe in until he met Julian. Garak kneels by the tub, ignoring the protests of his admittedly aging joints. "Julian," he says softly, smiling, and doesn't remember how angry with him he was that morning. "Julian, wake up. You'll catch a cold soon." The dark brown of Julian's eyes is muzzy when he opens his eyes. "I was...I was waiting for you," he says, voice hoarse from sleep. "Everything all right?" Garak thinks he should tell Julian of the dead and the dying, of the almost blue sky and of the irreparable damage the atmospheric dust has done to his lungs. He discards the idea almost immediately. "Everything's all right now," he says instead and touches Julian's wet chest, just underneath the water. "Good." He pauses, and Garak can almost see the idea forming in the gleaming depths of his eyes. They slide to heat, as does his voice. "Take off your clothes and get in here." Garak smiles at the naked want and at the hint of command. "The water's gone cold." "By the time you're naked, it'll be hot again, Elim." "I see," Garak manages. Warmth suffuses his body, his scales lifting in a frisson of anticipation. "Do you, now?" Julian murmurs and leans forward. His skin gleams like burnt sugar. As he disrobes, folding his clothes with care that he knows drives Julian mad, Garak marvels at how his life has turned out. He's resigned to the fact that his stories will probably never be told as educational fables to future generations, but he doesn't mind. They're not very good stories anyway, full of boredom and pointless agony and death as they are. But thanks to Julian, he now knows it isn't duty or loyalty or honour that make the best tales in the first place. Instead, it's faith in love and trust that the stories should be about, for it is that faith that'll ultimately save his fragile, mortal soul from crumbling underneath the onus of his duty to Cardassia. He decides that whether he makes it to the storybooks or not, he won't care either way. His first duty is to Julian and that's all that matters to him. When his foot plunges into the water, Garak hisses in displeasure. "The water's still cold." "Give me a minute and you won't care if it's Romulan ale." ------------- End of story. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. Most recent messages can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML. NewMessage: