DYSECDYSIS or THE LAST OF THIAZOLE
by Karmen Ghia


*My dearest, beloved Caratina,

*I feel I have come to life again.  When news reached me that that which has kept us apart all these long years had vanished, it was like a long prison sentence ending.  My heart beats more freely, my breath nourishes me again and I feel every step I take brings me closer to you, my love, my only love, my life, my soul, my darling.

*I have been very remiss in writing to you.  After the siege of Orta 17 I know you must have thought I had died there.  In many ways, I did.  I had so little left of me, I knew it was better to let you think me dead.  It was not as if you could come to me and comfort me.  There was no comfort after the Nyra pirates had finished with us.

*I did not think Ling would send anyone after us, what use had he for burnt out, battered and raped psi whores?  But I was wrong; Ling's eldest brother, Captain Talljet, came himself and bartered for our freedom.  We had been eleven in the joyhouse on Orta 17; only seven of us survived the Nyra captivity.  We boarded Captain Talljet's ship named the Tien; it means victory in old Klingon.  I put my whole attention on that word so I would not think of the past or the future because only in the present moment could I feel safe.  I could not feel whole; I could never feel whole again until now.

*You see, my dear, the Nyra are telepaths.  Vicious, cruel, evil beings who raped and battered our empath psi fields into submission and then into nonexistence.

*The empaths on the Tien healed our bodies but could do nothing for our psi fields.  Not even Qhoshi, the lead empath of the main Talljet house on Dhrgestra, could help us.  So we cowered on Dhrgestra, some of us are still cowering there or perhaps they are already dead.  I do not know.

*How good it feels to be able to share this with you at last.  I know you understand, you who have always understood everything, including my decision to flee from you.  But you knew it was not you I ran from; it was that we could not be together.  I could bear it no longer.  I could not see you married to another.  Joining the psi whores on Dhrgestra and later managing the joyhouse on Orta 17 were reasonable alternatives to my suffering on our homeworld.  Even the Nyra were less painful than those few days between your engagement and my departure.

*Perhaps suffering doesn't end; perhaps we just get used to it and learn to live with it.  And as I learned to live without you, I learned to live without my psi fields.  Flayed though I was, I began to be interested in the life around me again.

*Do you remember, when we were children, I wanted to be a healer?  I lost interest after I became a psi whore for Ling.  Empathic sex and empathic healing have certain similarities, but the fact remains that one is for pleasure and the other to remove pain and effect healing; one must not confuse them.  I could no longer heal anyone as an empath, but perhaps I could learn to relieve a little pain.  I certainly could not give anyone pleasure; that part of me was a wasteland.  With Qhoshi's permission and encouragement, I began to study physical therapy with the healer the house employed.

*He was an old, old Dhrgestrian, so not an empath or telepath.  But his touch was magical.  Sometimes painful; he knew the points in the body that release blocked energy.  He could feel them in the muscle tenseness, see them in postures and hear them in the voices of his clients.  I learned to feel, see and hear as a non-empath from this man and in that, I learned how to function again.

*So, I studied and studied and then worked for awhile on Dhrgestra.  When the old Dhrgestrian who trained me died, Qhoshi and Ling offered me the same generous deal they'd given him, or to set me up in a business anywhere I chose.  My body and mind had healed enough to be very sad when the old man died.  I was also sad seeing the ravaged beings I'd once worked with on Orta 17 drifting through the house like ghosts, so I asked to be set up in my own business on another planet, far away.  I chose Bajor.

*I suppose it was a good decision at the time; I certainly had no way left to foretell the future, and Ling and Qhoshi had no reservations when I chose Bajor for my clinic.  I chose Bajor because it was far away from the scenes of my suffering, because I didn't know anyone there and because the Bajorans were peaceful, happy people.  Or they were until the Cardassians enslaved them.

*I do have the oddest luck, Caratina.  I try to bury myself on a useless but lovely little backwater planet, which turns out to be mineral rich and to have a stable wormhole next door.  It was a ripe olasta berry waiting to be plucked.  Of course the Cardassians grabbed it.  If not them, then the Klingons or the Romulans or perhaps even one of the pirate empires from the autonomous zones.  And the poor Bajorans were overwhelmed and nearly destroyed.  They have survived only because the strong Bajorans have learned that the galaxy does not run on love.  Quite the opposite.

*Well, you must wonder what happened to me in the Cardassian occupation?  Nothing happened to me except that my clientele changed from Bajoran matrons and injured athletes to Cardassian soldiers and their whores.

*Qhoshi, god remember and bless her, made contact through a trader named Rhiba to find out if I was all right or if I wanted to be moved somewhere else.  I declined the offer of a move and assured her, through Rhiba, that I was all right on Bajor.  I was sorry for the Bajorans but I had been studying the Cardassians and I had discovered their weakness; a weakness that inspired just enough pity in me so I could not hate them as completely as I might have hated them.

*Dysecdysis:  the Cardassian condition that dare not speak its name.  The Cardassians do not shed the old skin and renew themselves easily.  They struggle with it, they ignore it, they lie to themselves about how serious the problem is until, nearly blind, unable to breathe properly and shaking with fever, they would crawl to me for help.  And I would help them.  For a price; a high one.

*I became very philosophical about it.  I considered ecdysis a normal healthy condition:  whether physical, metaphysical or psychic, it is necessary for beings to shed the old and embrace the new.  I developed a theory that the dysecdysis I saw among the conquering Cardassians was a symptom of their rigid, misguided society and state they were raised to serve.  That, if they were smart, they would relax and try to be more flexible in their thinking and that this would improve their health, their well-being and their economy, which I'm told was a shambles from poor, inflexible central planning.  And many of the Cardassians, most of them, were mean.  But I've never occupied a planet against its will.  I'm not vicious enough to even fathom what it must take to do that.

*And stupid, these Cardassians; why take what you could have negotiated?  It's that terrible rote education they get, it ruins any creative thinking that might have sprouted naturally.

*But I digress, do forgive me, my sweet Caratina.  So, I lived under the Cardassian occupation on Bajor and did not wither or flourish.  I was numb; I wanted to stay numb; I could live in numb.  However, I was not so numb that I did not step outside my clinic to dress the wounds of a Bajoran woman who'd been beaten to the ground by a Cardassian soldier.  As they say everywhere, no good deed goes unpunished.  Because of my skill in alleviating dysecdysis, the occupation administration chose not to kill me or deport me but merely to move me where there were lots of Cardassians and very few other distractions (like broken, bleeding Bajorans under my windows).  The next day, my shop and home above it were packed up and shipped to the new Cardassian space station, Terok Nor.

*How arrogant, how insensitive, how Cardassian.  It occurred to me to contact Qhoshi and leave these scaly bastards behind but I was still numb enough not to care where I was.  At least I was not witnessing as much Bajoran abuse on Terok Nor as I had seen on the planet.  So I settled back into my numbness and let time go by.  I could not be with you, so what did I care how I spent the rest of my life?

*I became quite adept at relieving dysecdysis.  I even put it on my cards, right under deep tissue massage.  The Cardassians always look up and blush when they come to it.*

~~~

Garak looked up from ThiaZole's card and felt the heat rising in his neck.  "Do you get much call for... much dysecdysis business, Mr. Zole?" he asked to cover his embarrassment. Dysecdysis was a deeply personal problem and to have an offworlder...

"I never discuss my clients, Mr. Garak." ThiaZole hissed softly, but politely, in Kardasi.  "However, I treat enough dysecdysis in my business to put it on my cards as a specialty."

"I see." Garak regarded the creature before him.

Taller than the Cardassian, ThiaZole was gaunt, which made him seem taller still.  He wore a loose tunic and pants of heavy indigo Chrisa silk over his long body.  He seemed not so much to stand as hover, as if the bones of his ramshackle skeleton were lighter than air and only his sallow skin weighted his narrow feet to the floor.  Motionless, he was like a marionette before the curtain rises, poised but lifeless.  He was plain; pale skin stretched taut over his flat skull, thin lips framed a wide, unsmiling gash of a mouth set beneath a long, sharp nose flanked by sunken cheeks, a high steep forehead, all framed by limp, white hair brushed back from his face and trailing halfway down his back in brittle tendrils.  His eyes were covered by dark glasses but still gave the impression that they were turned inward and seeing god knew what.  At rest, his face was like a death-mask wearing shades and that impression did not wane much when he spoke.  Standing among the filthy, ragged Cardassian uniforms strewn about Garak's shop, he seemed like a bad dream one suddenly remembers in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

But there was no sun on Terok Nor and Garak had no idea when, if ever, he'd see the sun, any sun, again.  He pushed the thought aside and focused on the tangible nightmare standing in his shop, in his new life as an exile.  'Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse...' He cut that thought off as well.  "Thank you for your courtesy, Mr. Zole.  I doubt I will have any need of your services."  He held out the translucent card to his visitor.

"You may keep the card, Mr. Garak.  After a few weeks of bending over a worktable, you, or your lower back, might wish to consult me.  I shall be at your disposal." Like all Cvomians, ThiaZole did not bother with greeting or farewells, he simply turned and left the shop, silent but for the rustle of silk.

Garak released the shudder he'd been suppressing and dropped the card on the floor.  Turning his attention back to the disaster that was now his life, he went back to work on the shop computer.  It was a wreck but, unlike so many things on Terok Nor, it was salvageable.  Several hours later, the tailor decided he needed a drink.

"I saw ThiaZole visited you," Quark said, casually as he poured him a kanaar.  His bar commanded an excellent view of Garak's shop doors.

Garak nodded over his drink.

"He's been here a long, long time," Quark observed in the silence.  "He was on Bajor before the occupation."

Garak looked bored and asked for another drink.

"He got in trouble with the Cardassians on the planet and they moved him here," Quark continued to his patron.  "I heard it was serious and they would have executed him except he's so good treating dysecdysis that..."

"Mr. Quark." Garak cut him off.  "Is this condition a topic of daily discussion here?  If so, I am shocked.  In my entire life, until today, I had never even seen the word written down and now you are the second offworlder to casually mention something of such a private and personal nature that I am..." 

"Neither of us wish to offend you, Mr. Garak." Having glided up unnoticed, ThiaZole's soft voice cut off Garak's tirade before it attracted the attention of the other Cardassians in the bar.  Although not a lover of gossip, ThiaZole did listen to it.  He knew that Garak was loathed by his fellow Cardassians, but not why.  It was painfully obvious that the tailor was different from the others of his species and this, as so very few things could, caught ThiaZole's attention.  However, the masseur simply asked for a bottle of Irkek water and told Quark to put it and whatever Garak was having on his account.  He ignored Garak's protest and left the bar, silent except for the soft rustle of his silk clothing.

"I think he likes you," Quark observed and watched Garak shudder.  "Don't undervalue that, Mr. Garak," he warned.  "ThiaZole's not a bad sort once you get used to him."

Garak grunted noncommittally and asked for another drink.  Might as well get lit if somebody else was paying for it.

Quark lowered his voice, "You know ThiaZole is full blooded Cvomi." 

"An empath healer here?" Garak whispered back.  "What an outrageous, ridiculous luxury."

"Not an empath anymore.  Something happened to him, dunno what but there's nothing but dead air around him.  And his touch is like any other good masseur."

"Have you...?"

"Yeah, threw my back out a coupla months ago lifting some cases.  ThiaZole fixed me up in two sessions.  He's expensive but worth it.  I think he charges the Cardassians more, especially for..."

"Please, Mr. Quark."

"All right, all right."

Back in his shop, somewhat tipsy, Garak estimated that his next ecdysis season was more than a year off.  He prided himself on never having dysecdysis but, then again, there had always been someone on Cardassia to help him if he did have even the slightest difficulty.  But not here, no one would help him here.  He'd heard stories of Cardassians dying horribly of dysecdysis.  Looking around the shop, he wondered if he'd be ready, if not happy, to die after a year of Terok Nor.

~~~

*Their embarrassment always amused me a little but I felt sympathy for Garak when he blushed.  He seemed wounded somehow and I know what it is to be wounded.  I would never want to cause one like Garak any discomfort.  He was unusual; a Cardassian civilian exiled, for reasons I never fully understood, to a military installation and loathed by the other members of his species.  I felt sorry for him and, although I was somewhat intrigued by him, I left him alone.  Most suffering should be done in private, some in public, and some with professionals.  I was not surprised when Garak called for an appointment; I had noticed the symptoms perhaps even before he did.*

~~~

"I can see you now if you can come."  Hearing Garak pant that he would be there immediately, ThiaZole began to reschedule his appointments for the next three days and, warm though the station was, cranked the heat up.  It did not take an oracle to know that Garak was in bad shape and would need much care for more than an afternoon.

ThiaZole worked on clients in a small white room that had a massage table, a sink, a changing screen for the modest and a comm unit.  A door led to his living quarters, which were no more luxurious than his Spartan treatment room.

"Undress.  There." ThiaZole pointed to the changing screen and locked the door, marking it 'closed until further notice'.  He snapped a fresh sheet over the table and told Garak, to lie face down.  A quick survey his client's body informed the Cvomi that Garak had been unsuccessfully trying to loosen and remove the shedding skin.  There were tears, irritations, one or two infected places.  He placed a hand on Garak's shoulder and noted that the Cardassian was not feverish.  Yet.  He could smell kanaar on his client.  'Trying to drink your way out of it, Garak?' he wondered.  He warmed bandages soaked in a mild antibacterial solution and laid them over Garak's neck, back, hips, legs, and feet.  Draping a heating blanket over the Cardassian, ThiaZole told him to sleep; this was going to take awhile.  The Cvomi sat down outside of Garak's line of vision and watched him doze off.

~~~

*I am no longer an empath but I would have to be a monster or Cardassian not to see and feel sorry for Garak's pain and isolation here.  I could do nothing for that but I could help him out of his old skin and perhaps make him feel good, if he'd let me.*

~~~

When he was certain that Garak was deeply asleep, ThiaZole uncovered one calf and surveyed the damage.  It was bad but not as bad as he'd seen in his long career.  Most of the shed had come off naturally but there were a few tears, a few abrasions and several spots that ThiaZole had to carefully work loose and then off.  After the shed was free, he daubed on a stronger antibacterial lotion and massaged around the inflamed scales to get the blood circulating near the surface again.  Leaving it to air, he moved onto the other calf and found more of the same.  He worked up over Garak's thighs, removing stubborn sheds, liberally swabbing on antibacterial lotion, massaging the blood back into constricted areas.  As he moved over his client's buttocks, ThiaZole double checked that Garak was still deeply asleep before he examined his cleft and anus.  These seemed all right but ThiaZole smoothed on some lotion and massaged the scales until they were supple again.  Garak seemed restless or cold, so the Cvomi covered him back up and sat down again.

Watching Garak sleep, ThiaZole mulled over the fact that Garak was younger than he'd suspected.  The Cardassian had seemed so old but perhaps that's what happens when this species is unhappy; they seem old.  At any rate, ThiaZole filed this information away without speculating on it too much.  He tried not to speculate on his clients.

Eventually, Garak's breathing attained the shallowness that indicated deeper sleep and ThiaZole returned to work.  He uncovered Garak's lower back and found the shed, except for a few tears, intact.  The scales were now dry enough that, probing along the seam at the juncture of Garak's hips and back, he was able to find a place to start to lift the shed.  Carefully working his long, bony fingers under the old scales, ThiaZole loosened and lifted as much as was possible to easily remove at that moment.  He stopped and went around any resistance he met.  The areas that were not ready to be removed, he swabbed with a gentle astringent and left it to do its work while he checked on Garak.

The Cardassian was sleeping peacefully.  Probably it was the first peaceful sleep in days, because the suffocation of the scales that is part of dysecdysis produces toxins in the system that cause headaches and nausea.  So he let Garak sleep a little longer before he continued.

ThiaZole did not believe in mercy even though he was guilty of it from time to time.  Listening to his client's even breathing, he began to contemplate the wisdom of letting this one survive the dysecdysis.  Garak was so lonely here.  So palpably lonely, it pulled at ThiaZole's withered emotions in ways he'd forgotten he could feel.  It hurt, and, strangely, it almost felt good to hurt for another being.  Even though he could do nothing for him, ThiaZole did allow himself some compassion for Garak.  They were both exiles; however, Garak's exile was involuntary and unpleasant, whereas ThiaZole's exile was his choice and he'd numbed himself to it long ago.  Nicely numb, too, until now.  'Now I've become maudlin and tender over this worthless pile of scales,' he thought ruefully.  'And I will help him survive this because he wants to live enough to come to me and I will not refuse that.'  Shoving these thoughts aside, ThiaZole rose and returned to work.

It was very hot in the room now and the masseur changed into a loose linen smock.  His stick-like legs shot out from the hem, careening into bony feet moving silently around the treatment table.  

Carefully removing the rest of the shed from Garak's back, ThiaZole picked up a pair of very sharp sterile scissors and cut the old scales off just below the top of Garak's shoulders.  He loosened the shed along the center of the nape enough to make a cut to the hairline.  He would steer clear of touching the nape and the neckridges until Garak was stronger and his system able to endure the stimulation.  In the meantime, ThiaZole gently massaged a nourishing cream into the new scales and stepped back to let them absorb it.  He daubed more antiseptic on the inflamed areas and put the heated blanket back on the Cardassian.  Pouring himself a small Irkek water, he sat back to relax before he tackled the front of Garak's body.  He slipped softly into the refreshing contemplation of nothing Cvomians use to replenish their body energy.

Several hours went by before he roused himself and decided to move Garak to his bed.  He wheeled the massage table into the adjacent room where ThiaZole lived when he was not working and, lowering the table to be level with his hard Cardassian bed, rolled Garak into it, supine this time.

Pleased that his client did not wake up but concerned that he was sleeping so heavily, ThiaZole went over Garak's life signs and found them normal.  'Hochofedra,' he shrugged and began to work the shed off the tailor's toes.  He paused frequently to use antibacterial lotion on the inflamed places and astringent on the stubborn ones.  Allowing the shed to come off more or less of its volition, ThiaZole once more cursed Cardassian biology.

The masseur had researched dysecdysis when he began to see a lot of it during the occupation.  Information about it was difficult for a non-Cardassian to obtain because, well, the Cardassians were embarrassed by the connotations of the condition.  What ThiaZole eventually gleaned from his gentle and oblique interrogations of his clients was that, in Cardassians, ecdysis was linked to their endocrine system.  If their endocrine system was in balance, the sheds were quick and easy, needing only minimal assistance, which could be rendered by a spouse or someone else.  If not, the Cardassian experienced dysecdysis, which could, in the worst case scenario, result in death either from toxicity, infection, autoimmunity, or suffocation.  The reason all this was a big secret was the most optimal way for Cardassians to keep their endocrine system in good working order was regular sexual activity.  This explained to ThiaZole why he never saw Dukat unless the Gul strained his back.  Dysecdysis was not spoken of in polite company because usually prostitutes with some medical training treated it.

The Cardassians were very private about their sex lives, one could even say shy.  ThiaZole, since his retirement from prostitution, never had sex with his clients.  However, he did take pity on the hysterically aroused Cardassians he treated and, handing them a towel, discreetly left the room so they could re-balance their endocrine system in private.

ThiaZole's discretion, tact, speed and efficiency were so highly valued by the Cardassian Occupation Forces, he was able to charge and receive his rather outrageous prices for dysecdysis treatments.  After all, as he explained to a recalcitrant account, were it not for his treatment, the Cardassian would not still be alive *not* to pay him.  Also, it was hoped that if said Cardassian ever needed ThiaZole's services again, the masseur might not be able to find room in his schedule for him.  So the Cardies paid and paid well.  Central Command on Cardassian Prime even created a fund to pay for treatment of the officers of the Occupation Forces.  Enlisted soldiers made do with the clumsy efforts of Bajoran prostitutes.  Occasionally Dukat dragged in some poor half dead subaltern for ThiaZole to save, which he did, and Dukat always paid promptly.

ThiaZole did not care.  He worked, he existed and he waited for death.  Blase was too mild a word for his utter lack of interest in anything around him.  Well, Garak, sprawled in his bed, was of some interest to him.

'What did you do to get sent here, tailor?' ThiaZole wondered and then cursed himself.  This was the problem with taking an interest, it all led to questions a non-empath cannot easily answer.  And riddles annoyed ThiaZole so he loftily dismissed them as puerile.  He went back to work, removing the shed on Garak's shapely thighs ('Stop thinking these thoughts', he commanded himself.)  Dropping a towel discreetly over the sleeping Cardassian's erection, he continued to work on the breastplate, which was easier than he'd hoped it would be.  For some reason Garak had left it alone so there was very little inflammation to deal with and it came off easily.  The shed on Garak's arms was more work, but only because the Cardassian had been fussing with it.  'Idiot,' ThiaZole mentally scolded, but only to strangle the tenderness he felt for this lonely exile.

But now, now came the delicate part:  the neckridges.  ThiaZole had learned that this was a very sensitive part of Cardassian anatomy and that if Garak was aroused now he would be extremely aroused when the Cvomi started working the shed off his neck, not to mention his genitals.  So ThiaZole's dilemma was whether to wake Garak and warn him about what was about to happen or start and hope he slept through it.  'They never sleep through it,' he sighed.  'Better wake him.'

Standing well back, ThiaZole slapped the tops of Garak's feet and called his name.  He was savagely kicked at but the Cardie did wake up.

"Welcome back to the living, Mr. Garak," ThiaZole drawled and proceeded to explain that he was about to remove the shed from the Cardie's neckridges.  Predictably, those ridges darkened in embarrassment.

"You woke me for that?" Garak snarled to cover his blush.

"I've worked on enough Cardassians to know that if I don't wake them up before I start, they will wake up during and take a swing at me," ThiaZole explained, bringing fresh towels from his workroom.  "I never startle or box with my clients.  Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Garak lied.  He was hard as a rock and, even though he was appalled by the pale, emaciated creature touching him so intimately, he mostly just wanted to roll ThiaZole into the bed and fuck him senseless.  Or be fucked senseless by him, it didn't matter, it had been so long since Garak had felt even remotely like this.

"All right, all right, that wasn't so bad," ThiaZole crooned as he straightened up and crossed to the recycler to discard the neck shed.  "Now, Mr. Garak, I can't remove the shed from your penis until it's soft again and the quickest way for..."

"ThiaZole!"

"I'll be in the other room; just call me when you're done." The Cvomi hid his amusement and went into the other room, where he picked out a better quality of oil than he usually used on clients.  Garak had amused him so Garak deserved a treat.  Not that the Cardie would appreciate it, but it would please ThiaZole to rub the luxurious Ibla wood oil into the tailor.  Hearing his name, he went back into the bedroom to a sulky, but flushed and relaxed, Garak.  The Cvomi said nothing, merely set the bottle of oil on the bedside table and drew aside the towel.

Without making eye contact, ThiaZole swiftly and carefully removed the shed from Garak's penis and testicles.  There were a few badly suppressed squeaks of pleasure and the Cardassian was half hard again by the time ThiaZole draped a fresh towel over his groin.  "Are you warm enough, Garak, or do you want to be more covered?"

"I'm fine," came a sleepy reply.

'Indeed you are.' ThiaZole mentally slapped himself.  'STOP thinking these thoughts RIGHT NOW!'  And warmed some oil in his hands and worked it into the shiny new scales of Garak's feet.  And up, up, up, past the obvious tenting under the towel.  Obliviously, ThiaZole worked the oil into Garak's arms and chest and neckridges.  He switched to an oily cream for Garak's face.  Like most of the dysecdysis cases the Cvomi saw, Garak needed to be touched and stimulated so the blood would flow vigorously into the new scales, so even this massage was therapeutic.  Not as therapeutic as vigorous sex in these cases, but it would do.  That he was taking more time and care with this massage was a fact ThiaZole chose not to examine at that moment.  Nor did he pull away when Garak grabbed his wrist and hissed "Anything!" at him, guiding his bony, sallow hand to his erection.  

"Mr. Garak," ThiaZole said gently.  "I never have sex with my clients."  

"Make an exception."

"No." He removed the Cardassian's hand and poured a little oil into it.  "I will be in the next room, please call me when you're done."  And left Garak to masturbate in peace.

ThiaZole drank some Irkek water to steady his nerves.  'Make an exception, Mr. Garak? How very tempted I was, alas, the proprieties must be observed,' he thought.  'And I have made an exception for you, you're recovering in my comfortable bed instead of out here on the table.  But you don't know that and that's fine, too.'  Hearing his name, ThiaZole went back into his bedroom.

"I apologize, Mr. Zole, I'm not sure what came over me," Garak said, abashed.

"I am not offended, Mr. Garak."  Serene as ever, ThiaZole asked him to roll over so he could oil his back.

Working the oil into the beautiful pattern of scales, ThiaZole felt Garak relax and go back to sleep.  'Good; more sleep,' he thought fondly.  He covered his client with warm blankets and sat next to the bed, letting his mind follow tiny tendrils of thought into oblivion.

Hours later, Garak stirred and ThiaZole roused himself back into the present.  He watched Garak roll over onto his back and shiver.  "Are you well, Garak?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you, a little cold though."

"Go take the hottest shower you can stand," ThiaZole said.  "That usually helps put your internal thermostat back in sync."

While Garak showered, ThiaZole changed the oily sheets again and picked out a lighter oil.  He made the Cardassian drink two large cups of water before he massaged him back to sleep.  It was progress that Garak could go back to sleep without an erection and ThiaZole knew his body was able to balance its chemistry again.  A few more hours of sleep and his client would be able to go home.

This caused a small pang in the Cvomi and, unused to such sensations, ThiaZole let it float in his consciousness for a moment longer than usual.  Did he want this Cardie for his own?  It could probably be accomplished.  Although he was no longer an empath, ThiaZole still possessed much of the charm that had made him an extremely valuable and effective whore for the Talljets.  It had been necessary in his career to gain the trust and affections of many diverse beings, Cardassians among them, before he could inventory their minds.  Usually this was half the battle and an enjoyable battle, as he recalled.

But, in truth, he did not want Garak.  He wanted to protect and care for Garak when the Cardassian was weak and vulnerable but had no interest in him otherwise.  It was a momentary weakness, well, he'd spent several hours examining it, but still, the irrational urge passed and that was all to the good.  Really, it was.  He noticed that Garak, nestled in the blankets and pillows, had woken and was watching him tussle with himself.

"ThiaZole," the Cardie said drowsily.  "This is your bed, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mr. Garak." Wary, but wondering where this oh, so innocent question was leading.

"How long have I been here?"

"About three days."

"You've been sleeping in that chair for three days?"

"More or less." ThiaZole was not disposed to enlarge upon the wide, wide definitions of 'sleep' in the universe.  He met Garak's steady, determined gaze, trying to divine what the Cardie was after.

"Wouldn't you like to be in your bed?" Garak asked.  "With me?"

"I do not have sex with my clients, Mr. Garak."

"I don't want sex."

ThiaZole considered this and searched his copious memory for the Kardasi word he'd read once in a book, only once and a long time ago, because Cardassians seldom use this word, even less than dysecdysis.  It floated to the surface and the Cvomi formed a grammatical sentence in hopes of shocking Garak out of his needy languor.  "Oh, you want a snuggle."

But it was ThiaZole who was shocked when Garak simply said "yes", with such heartbreaking sincerity the Cvomi got into the bed and drew his client into his bony arms.  "I don't usually do this, Mr. Garak."

"I appreciate your dedication to your profession, ThiaZole."  Garak looked up at him curiously.  "And do you wear your dark glasses to bed?"

"Not when I'm alone, no."

"But now?"

"I do not have humanoid eyes, Mr. Garak.  It has been my experience that your species find my visual organs disconcerting."

"Won't you make one more exception for me?"

"If you wish."

"I do."

"Very well." ThiaZole removed his glasses and looked into Garak's lovely blue eyes.

His Cvomi eyes were dull, slate gray, flat ovals, set deep in their sockets.  They were lidless and, although they seemed to Garak strangely appropriate for his features, they gave ThiaZole's face even more of a death mask-like appearance.  Garak closed his eyes and lay against the masseur's narrow chest.

"Would you like me to put the glasses back on?" the Cvomi asked after a moment.

"Yes, please."

"Go to sleep, Mr. Garak."  ThiaZole felt his client drift off into peaceful slumber and let himself enjoy another being in his arms for the first time in years.  Even if it was only for a few hours, it was more pleasure than he'd allowed himself to experience since Orta 17.

~~~

*I worked on Garak for three days.  Part of even a healthy ecdysis is hours and hours of deep, dreamless sleep.  In dysecdysis, the sleep is longer and troubled, so I kept Garak with me until he was well enough to go to home.

*I did not see him for a long time after this, but I do not expect to see my clients unless they need my services.  I prefer it that way.*

~~~

"You must be special, Garak," Quark said, several days after the Cardassian emerged from ThiaZole's lair.

"How so, Mr. Quark?" Healthy, hale and in an excellent mood, Garak sipped his kanaar and decided he might live after all.

"ThiaZole never keeps anyone in there more than a few hours," the Ferengi told him.  "You're the first I've ever seen be in there for three days."

"I was very ill," Garak said, glibly.

"Garak, I've seen ThiaZole toss Cardies out half dead but fixed up enough to recover on their own." Quark said.  "I've also seen him let them die.  It's not pretty, but ThiaZole really doesn't care."  He paused to give the tailor a hard look.  "So, I figured you for dead and now I'd like to know why you're not."

"Ask ThiaZole."

"I did.  He said, 'I never discuss my clients, Mr. Quark.'"

Garak had chimed in on ThiaZole's trademark statement and they both found it funny enough to laugh about.  Pathetic, but there was so little to laugh about on Terok Nor, one laughed when one could.

~~~

*It was not always easy for Garak to live among Cardassians as an exile.  He was despised and occasionally victimized.*

~~~

"Garak's in trouble, ThiaZ..."

"Mr. Quark, I never..."

"No, Cvomi, three big Cardassians just dragged him into an empty shop to the left of yours and..."

Though no longer an empath, ThiaZole was still as strong as any member of his species.  And fast too.  He darted into the nearby shop where three Cardassians had just beaten Garak senseless and were deciding who got to rape him first.  They yelled at ThiaZole to get out but he ignored them to check Garak's condition:  alive but not wonderfully so.

It was ThiaZole's hope that one of the Cardassians would strike at him before someone with authority, like Dukat, showed up, and ordered him back to his shop so the grunts could finish the tailor off.  On the other hand, Dukat might order Garak's attackers back to their barracks, one never knew which way Dukat was going to jump in any situation.

Fortunately, his wish was granted by one of the impatient attackers.  ThiaZole was faster, stronger and had a longer reach.  It was necessary to conceal the first two but the third was obvious.  A graceful fighter, the Cvomi camouflaged that fact by simply shaking the Cardie at arm's length like a rag doll.  He even shook the knife out of the soldier's hand.  The Cvomi seemed so clumsy, yet, still shaking the Cardie, he herded all three onto the Promenade.  Hopefully some reasonable officer would come and do something like take the trio back to Quark's.  This would give ThiaZole an opportunity to patch up Garak.  It was necessary to use the Cardie he was shaking as a shield to fend off the knives and fists of the other two and in the process the Cardie he was shaking was knifed by one of his comrades.  

The commotion had attracted a crowd, few had seen ThiaZole so active and so public.  The stabbed Cardie's howling finally convinced a senior officer to break it up.  ThiaZole let the Cardie crumple at his feet; his comrade lifted him and alternately shouted abuse at the Cvomi and explanations at the crowd.  The other solider had fled after the stabbing.

ThiaZole did not care; he picked up Garak and carried him into his shop and put him into his bed.  Garak needed a doctor.  The Cvomi suspected he had several broken ribs and internal damage.  Being a civilian, as well as generally despised, Garak was not entitled to medical care.  ThiaZole looked down at his useless hands, shaking in frustration and fury and reached to comm Dukat, when Dukat overrode his door lock and stormed in, demanding Garak.

Poor Garak.  Only semi-conscious and in pain, he merely lay there as Dukat hurled abuse at him.  The tailor could not imagine what stabbed and beaten subaltern Dukat was raving about.  In his stupor, he barely registered ThiaZole hauling the enraged, and now, deeply shocked (one did not drag a Gul around), Dukat into his treatment room and closing the door.

Garak dozed for a while.  Next time he woke there were three Cardassians standing over him, running tricorders over him and consulting each other on the best treatment.  He later learned that they were a battalion medic, the doctor from the ore processing plant and the surgeon from one of the orbiting troop ships.  ThiaZole stood watching from the doorway and Dukat was hissing furiously at the silent Cvomi.  It looked to Garak as if Dukat were arguing with a stone idol, so still and lifeless seemed ThiaZole.  Since his active participation was not needed, Garak went back to sleep.

The next time Garak woke, ThiaZole was cleaning the blood off him.  He was healed, inside and out, but had dried blood on his face, neck and hands and his clothes were in tatters.  He vaguely recalled his clothes being ripped and bleeding on them but now he was naked, clean and wrapped up in blankets in a warm, dim room.  He felt ThiaZole moving around the bed and then strong arms around him.  Since he couldn't remember why he was where he was or how he got there, he went peacefully back to sleep.

It was later that Garak woke up screaming and fighting.  ThiaZole comforted him and told him what happened and soothed him back to sleep.  Garak buried his face in the Cvomi's narrow chest and wished his life were different.  But there was nothing to be done then except shake for a while and go back to sleep.  He stayed with ThiaZole for several days until he felt brave enough to venture back to his shop and quarters.  

Dukat came to tell him, among other things, that the word had gone out from his office and Gul Xriet's command that any violence to Garak, or Quark or ThiaZole, for that matter, would be severely, most severely, punished.  The example of the stabbed but recovering soldier was also a warning, but whether to leave Garak or ThiaZole or both alone was unclear.

Dukat cursed him and wished him dead and Garak could almost understand that.

"I'm surprised you didn't let me die, Dukat," Garak said in a lull in the abuse.

"ThiaZole can be most compelling." The Gul spun on his heel and left the tailor shop.

Curious, Garak stepped over to ThiaZole's and was told to come back in an hour when he'd finished his client.  He nodded at Quark, who was keeping a discreet eye on him from his bar, and went back to his shop.

Less than an hour later, ThiaZole commed him.

"Yes, Mr. Garak?" as if nothing unusual had happened.

"What did you say to Dukat to get me a doctor?"

"I reminded him that, as an exile, you are in his care, more or less, and he was duty bound to look after you better."

"I see.  And what did you say to him to get me three doctors?"

"I said that if you died I'd leave the station and they could all die of dysecdysis.  And that if you lived and were threatened ever again, I'd leave the station and take you with me and they could all die of dysecdysis."

"And he believed you?"

"Apparently.  Or perhaps his innate love for his fellow Cardassian asserted itself.  I do not care which."

"And could you?"

"Could I what?"

"Leave the station and take me with you?"

"Mr. Garak, I never speculate on moot points with my clients.  In the event that such an action becomes necessary, then I will know if I can or cannot take you from this station."  He clicked off.

Garak sat back and considered how much more caution he'd have to exercise to survive his exile and if he'd want to go anyplace ThiaZole could possibly take him.  He recalled the old Terran saying:  'The devil you know is better than the devil you don't know.'  And Terok Nor was the devil he knew for now, perhaps for always.

~~~

*It was a difficult and lonely life for Garak, but it was not all sustained horror.  He was more wary of Cardassians, which was a shame as they were his own people.  I think some of the Cardassians might have been friendly to him, but by that time Garak had put up such high walls only the bravest and most powerful among them would try to scale them.  And as we know, my Caratina, such beings are as rare as true love.*

~~~

"I'm tired of Bajoran whores and my own men," Gul Tirn Xriet complained.  "I want someone special, familiar, sophisticated, Cardassian and willing."

Silent as usual, ThiaZole continued to work the tension out of the Gul's shoulders and let him talk.  He'd learned long ago that many clients like to talk during their massage so he tuned it out until Gul Xriet said something interesting.

"I want Garak."

"Why?" ThiaZole asked.

"He came here in disgrace, was assigned a humiliating position and yet he flourishes enough to annoy Dukat."  Xriet propped himself up on his elbows.  "Annoying Dukat is enough of a recommendation for anyone; but being in disgrace means I have a chance of getting him.  Don't you agree?"

"I never speculate on my client's sexual prospects, Gul Xriet."

"No you don't, do you, ThiaZole?" he laughed.  Gul Xriet had been coming to ThiaZole for this that and the other thing for years so he was used to this kind of statement.  "So, as I said, the other thing that's attractive about Garak is that he's flourishing here as a tailor," he continued.  "Shows some spirit and intelligence for a man not to go to pieces because his life is over.  I find that courageous.  And attractive."

ThiaZole said nothing about the difficulties he'd seen Garak endure and began to wipe the excess oil off Gul Xriet's scales.  He let his mind wander over a possibility that would make Gul Xriet a happy Cardassian and solve some of Garak's problems, two that came immediately to mind:  loneliness and dysecdysis.  

It was ThiaZole's opinion that Gul Xriet wasn't a bad sort of Bajoran-occupying Cardie.  He'd never seen him be unkind to anyone, Xriet, like Dukat, brought him enlisted personnel in acute dysecdysis and paid for their treatment.  Xriet was generous with his lovers and ran an account with ThiaZole for them.  Of course he was a rough lover but all Cardassians are.  ThiaZole never heard them complain about the bruises or bites.

But was he right for Garak?  He was taller than Garak, less sophisticated, less charming, less depressed, less devious, less maudlin, and less cynical.  In short, Gul Xriet was everything a soldier needed to be, whereas Garak was everything a member of the Obsidian Order, active or retired, needed to be.

Oh, yes, though ThiaZole would say gossip did not interest him, he listened to it nevertheless.  The Obsidian Order was a big organization; rumor had it that Garak had been important in it.  It was the Cvomi's opinion that Garak could not have been that important or he would still be there, and if he'd been as vicious as the Orders' members are reputed to be, he'd still be there.  Ergo, ThiaZole concluded, Garak's failure in the Obsidian Order made him a success in every other respect.

But did this make him a suitable companion for Gul Xriet?  Years of observation had, somewhat against his will, endowed ThiaZole with a discriminating eye for Cardassian beauty.  He was willing to admit that Xriet was attractive in a rugged sort of way.  The Gul was a few inches taller than Garak and was bigger overall, broader shoulders, longer arms and legs.  He had the usual pointed face and black eyes set above a broad nose that had been broken many times, but such is the lot of a combat officer's nose.  Now that he was thinking about it, ThiaZole allowed that Xriet had nice eyes; the usually fierce and piercing black gaze was a nice contrast to when it mellowed in relaxation or pleasant contemplation, which, encouragingly, it did when Xriet spoke of Garak.  Among Cardassians, Xriet was what ThiaZole had come to consider the 'brick-wall' Cardassian body type. Garak, and even Dukat, were rather more delicate and willowy, or gave that impression.  Even their hair seemed silkier than Xriet's, but that might be because he was in the elements more than they were.  Xriet led an active life so was very fit and seldom needed attention for injuries, usually related to some sporting activity, or other tissue stress.  In addition to a muscular physique, he had nice scales, well defined ridges, high cheekbones.  The Cvomi further assumed that Xriet must be a good lover because, like his fellow Gul, Dukat, ThiaZole had never treated him for dysecdysis.  Gul Xriet had been in the Cardassian Occupation forces for years but, due to terrorist activities on the planet, had only recently moved his residence to Terok Nor.  Where Gul Dukat was the administrative head of the Occupation, Gul Xriet was head of troop training and deployment for it.  It was fortunate that their areas did not overlap much, fortunate for Dukat, because Xriet would have had him for breakfast.  At least that was ThiaZole's opinion.  Although its reason was a mystery, Dukat's hatred for Garak was well known; would an affair with Garak cause problems for Xriet with Dukat?  A generous protector like Xriet could only be good for Garak, if the tailor could bring himself to accept it.  The Cvomi let these thoughts play out while Xriet dressed behind the screen.

"I've only seen them from a distance, but Garak has very pretty eyes," Xriet said, paying for his massage.

Ah, longing from afar!  Oddly, it was this remark that decided ThiaZole that Xriet was right for Garak, if he could get him.  Of course Garak was so lonely, he was ripe for the taking, all one had to do was treat him with minimal kindness.

"Any ideas on how I could meet him?" Xriet broke into the Cvomi's thoughts.

"Gul Xriet, I never..."

"Yes, I know you never, but of all the beings on this station, you're the only one whose discretion I can count on."

"Mr. Garak relies on my discretion as well."

"So, you're sending me back to my grunts and the Bajoran whores, eh, ThiaZole?  What a heartless creature you are."

"Perhaps, Gul Xriet, perhaps.  On the other hand you could simply go to Mr. Garak's shop and introduce yourself."

"I've been watching him, he's far too wary of Cardassians.  Especially Cardassians in uniforms.  Can't really blame him for it, can you?"

"No.  How long have you been watching him?"

"Oh, off and on since he arrived.  I've been seriously looking him over since I moved up here four months ago," Xriet said.

"He's rather old for your usual tastes."

"I'm not that young myself, ThiaZole, would be nice to have an adult Cardassian native speaker to talk to in bed."

"And you want me to help you meet Mr. Garak?"

"Yes."

After a moment of contemplation, ThiaZole said, "Very well."  He stepped behind the Gul, selected a seam on his uniform and ripped it from hip to shoulder. 

"What the...!"

"You now have an excuse to introduce yourself to Mr. Garak." ThiaZole leaned back to admire his handiwork.  "If you are tactful enough and throw yourself on his mercy because you have nothing else to wear, he might agree to fix it while you wait.  He might even let you sit in his workroom while he repairs it.  You may even tell him that I was clumsy and ripped your uniform and that he must send the bill to me.  I will add it to your next massage.  Ask for his help; beings like to be asked for their help.  Garak receives nothing but demands and abuse here, a polite request will make him suspicious, but will also be a nice change of pace for him."

"All these years among us and you know nothing of Cardassian courtship," Xriet scoffed.

"I know that Garak has seen too much Cardassian aggression to appreciate it anymore, even in courtship.  At least, not at first; you can be as aggressive as he will let you be once you're in his orbit.  I merely suggest delicacy and gentleness as an effective method for getting his attention.  You may ignore me, if you wish."

Not likely to ignore more words than he'd ever heard from ThiaZole in all the years he'd known him, Xriet nodded his approval at these radical ideas.  "Clever, clever, clever Cvomi.  I hope I have something to thank you for in a few days," he said, plotting his unique campaign to win Garak.

"You may thank me by being kind to Mr. Garak."  ThiaZole turned away.  "That's all."

Gul Xriet also took these words to heart.  Cvomis were notorious for their loyalties and infinite capacity for revenge.  That Garak had enough of ThiaZole's esteem for the Cvomi to threaten him, a Gul, in even the most subtle way, caused the Xriet's already rather high opinion of Garak to rise a notch or two.  He took a deep breath and made his way to the tailor's shop.

"ThiaZole sent me," Xriet announced and was pleased to see the defensive set in the tailor's shoulders relax fractionally.  "He said you might fix this for me."

Garak waved at the pile of mending beside him.  "You can have it tomorrow."  Big Cardassian males made him a little nervous so he kept his wary gaze on Xriet.

"He said you might fix it while I waited so I don't have to walk to the habitat ring naked." Xriet watched Garak's lovely eyes flash with humor and become bland again.  "And you know how pathetic a naked Gul is," he said and was delighted when the tailor lowered his eyes to hide his amusement.  One did not laugh at Guls, even when they were being funny, it was unCardassian and rather dangerous into the bargain.

When Garak raised his eyes, they were completely and politely under control.  "Very well," he sighed and drew the curtain across his workroom so no one on the Promenade could see the Gul's nakedness.  He was not sure this was prudent, but hopefully ThiaZole would not send someone who would attack him.

Xriet stripped off his tunic and handed it to the tailor.  Taking a seat where he could watch him work, the Gul was impressed by the skill and nimbleness of Garak's fingers and the neatness of his workspace.  "Your name is Garak, is it not?" he asked as an opener.

Garak nodded but did not look up.

"Mine is Xriet."

Garak nodded.

"I remember this room before you came here," Xriet said.  "It was a mess.  Dukat had some poor, beaten Bajoran trying to manage all this."

Garak nodded.

"He gave up."

Garak looked up.  "The Bajoran?"

"No, Dukat.  Dukat decided to hell with the uniforms.  I don't know what happened to the Bajoran."  Xriet held the tailor's gaze.  "You, on the other hand, have got it under control."

Garak nodded and looked back down at his work and began to sew more quickly.

"That must annoy Dukat."

"What must?"

"That you haven't hung yourself like the last poor bastard they had in here."

"The poor, beaten Bajoran?"

"Yes."

"I thought you said you didn't know what happened to him."  Garak looked up, interested now.

"I lied."

"I see," Garak said, knotting the thread at the end of the seam.  He held the repaired garment out to the Gul and named double his usual price for such a minor repair.  He was beginning to wonder if this Gul was flirting with him in some strange, new way, and if so, why?

"ThiaZole said send the bill to him." Seeing that this annoyed Garak, Xriet simply paid him and said he'd get it from the Cvomi at the next massage.  "You do very nice work," he said, examining the repair.

"Thank you."

"How did you become a tailor?"

"I was sent here and this is what I was told to do."

"But you do it well.  Do you like it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Garak finally decided the Gul *was* flirting with him.  Why, was a mystery to Garak but he thought it might be wise to play along.  "Because it affords me so few opportunities for pleasant conversation," he said, smiling slightly.  "Like this one."

"I imagine not, just you and the rags," Xriet said with more confidence, seeing Garak finally warming up to him.  "I talk all day but never have conversations half as nice as the one we've just had.  I'd almost prefer the silence, truth be told."

"I do enjoy the quiet sometimes," Garak charmingly admitted.  "It gives me a chance to think."

"And what do you think about, Garak?"

'Revenge, suicide, sex, death, food, revenge,' he thought but merely answered that he thought about his favorite Cardassian authors and wished he could obtain their works here on the station.

This was exactly the opening Xriet needed and they spent a few moments comparing their reading tastes.  That Garak's tastes were remarkably similar to Xriet's rather narrow ones only seemed to reinforce Xriet's high opinion of the tailor.  "I've just finished Tezik's new work.  I could lend it to you, if you'd like," Xriet offered.

"I would like that."

"Could you come to my quarters tonight?"

"No, I think I couldn't do that."  Shields up.

Xriet cursed himself.  "Perhaps I could come to yours?"

"I would not want to inconvenience you."

"No inconvenience at all!"  Xriet saw Garak flinch and realized the tailor might be shyer and need more courting than he thought.  "Or I could bring it by your shop tomorrow," he suggested.

"That would be best," Garak agreed.

"We could have lunch."

"I'm so busy these days, I usually eat here and keep working," he lied.  "I'm quite used to it."

A wave of tenderness swept over Xriet as he considered the poor creature's loneliness.  "I could bring something for us to eat."

"If you'd like, I would enjoy that," Garak said quietly.  "Aren't you concerned to be seen associating with me?  I am very much despised here."

"I'm a Gul, I don't have to worry about that."

"But Dukat..."

"Garak, anything Dukat disapproves of is a fine and excellent thing in my opinion." Xriet smiled evilly.  "Don't worry about that useless paper pushing Gul."  Xriet put on his repaired tunic.  "You're not ashamed to associate with me, are you?  I'm not deeply and widely loved on this station either."  Xriet leaned forward so his remarks were more intimate than their words.

Garak lowered his eyes.  "No, Gul Xriet, I'm not concerned at all."

The Gul gently took Garak by the chin to make him raise his eyes again.  He just wanted to look into them once more.  "Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow."

***

Some time went by.  

Xriet eventually lured Garak into his quarters for dinner.  He shocked the Cardassian very deeply by walking him home afterwards instead of pouncing on him, which is what Garak had been expecting.

By the third dinner, they were on the couch discussing the novels Xriet lent Garak.  If Garak found the novels or the discussions boring, he kept it to himself.

On their fifth evening, he was in Xriet's arms.

***

"ThiaZole, how well do you know Gul Xriet?" 

"Not as well as you do," ThiaZole said softly. Garak was lying on the massage table, he was tense and his masseur had been waiting for him to speak so he would unclench.  He rubbed a scale nourishing cream into the fading bite marks on Garak's shoulders and a regenerating cream into some of the more prominent bruises.  He mentally nodded his approval; it was his experience that such minor wounds augured well for sexual and romantic compatibility in Cardassian couples.  "Why do you ask?"

"You've known him longer than I have."

"What do you want to know?"

"Is he bored with me?"

"I'd say not." The masseur traced a love bite on Garak's right shoulder.

"Has he said so?"

"No.  But he's in remarkably good spirits as he usually is when he's pleased with a new lover."  ThiaZole began to work an expensive oil into Garak's calves.  "He paid your account up and my bills are to be sent to him from now on.  You must be doing something right, Mr. Garak, you are certainly bruised and bitten in all the right places."  He felt Garak relax fractionally under his hands and was pleased; he could get on with the massage now.

"He paid up my bar bills at Quark's and I'm on his account there now," Garak admitted.

"He must be very pleased with you to spend that kind of money," ThiaZole remarked dryly.

"I don't want to bore him," Garak mumbled.

"Then don't."

"But how?"

ThiaZole wondered if there was some diminishment of Cardie intelligence that went along with sexual satiation.  "Does he bore you?"

"No, not at all."

"Well, I think if you are not bored, he won't be bored.  And if he seems bored, by that time, you should know enough about him to discover what new ideas will please him."  ThiaZole had not lived nearly four hundred years and not learned a few things.

"Do you have any specific, technical suggestions?"

"I never have any specific, technical suggestions for my clients, Mr. Garak.  However, you might prosper by listening to his body and using your mind at the same time.  I am told this is effective."

"Ah."

"And relax."

"Yes, I think I can relax with him."

"And with me, here and now, or this massage will take the rest of our lives.  Go to sleep or think about something pleasant but for the mercy of the unknowable mind of god, unclench your muscles."

"If it pleases you, ThiaZole, if it pleases you."

***

"With Gul Xriet's compliments," the young Cardie officer sneered.  He was not pleased to be playing delivery boy to Xriet's concubine.  No one even thought of Garak as Xriet's whore; no one dared.

Politely accepting the bolt of cloth and the note from the junior officer, Garak wondered why he didn't leave.

As if in response to his unspoken thought, the Cardie said, "I'm to wait for an answer."

Garak suppressed his smile as he opened the note and began to read.  Sending notes on Bajoran paper was an extreme extravagance, but many things Xriet did were extravagant.  Garak, who neither possessed paper or writing utensils for it, was at a loss as to how to respond.  The thought of sending a verbal reply with this officer was abhorrent to him.  However, he looked up to find the officer holding an ink stylo out to him.  'Thoughtful of Xriet to think of that.' And Garak began to compose his reply to: 

'Make yourself a sleeping robe from this silk and come to my quarters for dinner tonight. Tirn'

Garak had just tactfully explained that he would not have time to make a suitable robe by this evening, however... when Xriet himself came charging into the shop.

"How long does it take to write the word 'yes'?" he demanded.

"It depends on the 'yes'." Garak gazed serenely at his lover looming over him.

"Srikan, go look out the window," Xriet ordered the junior officer.  He pulled Garak into his arms and kissed him passionately.  "It feels like I've been away from you for a lifetime," he growled against the tailor's lips.

"Only a few days."

"A lifetime.  Come to me tonight and you can explain why you do or do not have a sleeping robe from this cloth." Xriet stepped back and compared the dark bluish turquoise silk brocade to Garak's skin.  It was the match he thought it would be and he was pleased.  His dark eyes softened and crinkled at the edges with pleasure and pleasant anticipation.  He picked up the note and admired the graceful curves of Garak's writing next to his own spiky scrawl.  Of course he admired and enjoyed everything about his lover.

"Yes.  Tonight then," Garak agreed, already thinking of robe designs, materials and construction time.  "But go now, and take your fidgeting subaltern with you."

"Was he rude to you?" Some menace appeared in Xriet's eyes.

"Not in the slightest.  I'm just sure you both have more important things to do than stand in my shop chatting with me.  I know I have a sleeping robe to make, so if you don't mind..."

Xriet cut him off with a kiss and bellowed "Srikan!  Let's go!" and they were gone.

Garak picked a design from his computer and began to cut the silk from the pattern.  Whatever else he had to do could wait.

***

The double breasted sleeping robe had a wide and plunging shawl collar to show off Garak's neck ridges to their best advantage.  It had bell sleeves and was cut on the bias, so it flowed around him as only expensive, well tailored fabric will do.  Garak's broad shoulders and the discreet pleating of the robe slightly nipped in the waist, creating the illusion of an hourglass shape.  The deep turquoise cloth brought out the softer gray tones in Garak's skin and threw his blue eyes into charming contrast with the darker fabric.  The tailor had worked with such speed, he'd even had time to run a border of black braid around the hem and sleeves.  It was probably the most beautiful garment on the station, perhaps the sector, and Xriet even admired it for a full minute before slipping his lover out of it and into bed.

~~~

*But Garak has the oddest luck:  he's blessed with life when he'd rather die.  He finds a tiny space of happiness, and all of fate conspires to ruin his joy.

~~~

"When will you leave?" Garak asked, curled in Gul Xriet's arm on the couch.  The tailor had read the Federation dispatch twice.

"In a few weeks." Gul Xriet looked around their quarters, which he hoped Garak would be allowed to keep.  "The victorious Bajorans are willing to allow us a dignified withdrawal."

"I should hope so," Garak said more calmly than he felt.  "I would think the Bajorans, 'having shaken off the yoke of Cardassian oppression,'" he quoted sarcastically from the padd, "would be gracious.  After all, they have the entire Federation of Planets threatening one little system..."

"Yes, Elim, yes."  Xriet soothed his lover; neither of them liked the Federation's threats of what would happen if Cardassia did not withdraw from Bajor.  Pathetic little Bajor would now be run by the terrorists who thought they'd liberated it, when in fact only the threat of an all out war with the Federation could break Cardassia's hold.  They were welcome to it; they inherited a planet stripped of natural resources, a wormhole leading to god knew what and three generations of slaves to govern.  Bravo, Bajor, well done.  "If it's any consolation to you, this will wreck Dukat's career as well as mine."

"There's no way you can be held accountable..."

"You've been away from Cardassia too long if you think that, Elim.  Dukat and I were responsible for holding this space for the empire and we have now lost it for the empire.  It does not matter how or why it's lost, merely that it is and Dukat and I will be blamed.  Quietly rewarded and promoted for handling the disaster so well, but publicly humiliated for a while.  It's better than being dead."

"Yes." Garak put the padd aside and closed his eyes.

"I've made some inquiries and I can't bring you back to Cardassia with me."

"Thank you for trying, but it would take the Federation of Planets, and the Klingon and Romulan Empires all threatening Cardassia in concert to restore me to it."

"I don't know what you did to be exiled, Elim, but it must have been remarkable.  Not one of my old and powerful friends spoke to anyone who was even willing to admit you still exist."  Gul Xriet pulled him a little closer.  "What will you do?"

"What can I do but wait for whatever is in store for me?"

"I will leave you some weapons and money and I will come back to move you to more amenable surroundings."

'But you won't come back.  You'll want to but you never will and eventually you'll forget I'm here,' Garak thought realistically but merely said, "Thank you."

"And I'll keep your accounts with Quark and ThiaZole open," Xriet said reassuringly.

"That will make life a little easier." Garak even managed to smile.

"I thought we'd have more time together," Gul Xriet said sadly.

"So did I, Tirn, so did I."

~~~

*I could not rejoice for Bajor's freedom.  I am weak and only care for the happiness of the few I care about.  I could not bear to see more of Garak's suffering where I had so briefly seen joy.  I am a coward; I did not seek him out.

*Nor did he seek me out.  He kept to his quarters for several days after Gul Xriet and the other Cardassians left Bajoran space.  Eventually, he emerged into the uncertainty of his new life and began to take its measure.

*The first real indication that the Terrans had taken over Terok Nor was that they turned down the heat and turned up the lights.  I did not care.  Quark and Garak seemed disturbed, but most beings are when confronted with the unknown.  I have seen the unknown's worst, it is not interesting anymore.  I knew quite a lot about Terrans from my experience with them and the Talljets.  I had concluded that, though they were uninteresting to me personally because of their inherent dullness, arrogance and extremely low psi rating, they were not a bad species as long as you don't startle them.  However, I did go to Quark's when he asked me to come by one afternoon since, aside from Garak, he was now the only other familiar face on the station, now called Deep Space 9.  An utterly pedestrian name but there you have it.*

~~~

"I have a client in fifteen standard minutes.  You have fourteen standard minutes to tell me what this is about, Mr. Quark."  ThiaZole was frankly curious; the Ferengi had never called him to his bar nor offered him a drink on the house.  The masseur nodded to Garak, who also was getting a comp.

"I'll tell you, ThiaZole, it's this:  Federation taxation file and business license.  Did you get a comm telling you to get one of each?"

"Yes, those and something called a 'massage/dermal systemic stimulation license'," ThiaZole said.  "Garak?"

The Cardassian nodded.  "I only got the request for the first two.  What about it, Quark?" he asked.

"This is not a Federation station, it's Bajoran," Quark snarled.  "How can the Federation ask us for these things?"

Garak shrugged.  The Cvomi shook his head but had wondered about it enough to ask his former employer, Talljet Inc., to look into it for him.  He had not received an answer yet but told Quark and Garak he would let them know when he knew.

"I'm especially incensed about this," Quark said, handing ThiaZole a padd.

The masseur handed it back.  "I can't read Standard, Quark."  He met their puzzled looks and finished his drink.  "I've never needed it," he said as he left for his client.  His client was a Bajoran; he hadn't worked on a Bajoran in over sixty standard years and he was rather looking forward to it.

~~~

*The Cardassians were gone; I had Bajoran clients again but it really made no difference to me.  Clients are clients, although Bajorans do not suffer from dysecdysis.

*Unfortunately, I was not able to work on the Bajoran because that nasty little Terran doctor and nastier shapeshifter constable-thing closed my clinic pending I produced my Massage/Dermal Systemic Stimulation credentials.  No matter, the clever Bajoran simply got a room and we went there.

*I have never liked Terrans.  They are too fragile to be in the places they insist on sticking their noses into.  Yet, they persist, expecting some merciful and attentive deity will rescue them when needed.  And if not, then they go to some kind of 'higher reward', whatever that might be.  They are so vague on the subject, either they don't know or they won't tell.  I suspect the former.  They are arrogant and low psi.  Well, I'm also low psi now, but I'm not arrogant and never have been.  I fully realize how large the universe is and how small I am in it.  Unlike the Terrans, who might claim to understand how large the universe is but still believe they have some kind of impact.  Ha.  This is one of the annoying Terran ideas that rubbed off on the Talljets when they were too young to resist.  Cause and effect:  what complete offal.  But, then again, one might have to be born Cvomi or Phol or a full Mage or some horrible combination of the three to understand the utter meaningless chaos of existence.  Understand it and, with skill and luck, ride it.  Alas, those days are over for me, have been for a long time.  I'm used to it and numb, just the way I want to be.

*So, since I was closed by the authorities, I tidied my rooms and spent more time in contemplation.  Bored, I had Garak make me some clothes.  On a whim, I had him make me a coat, a long black one with a big hood.  I looked like the Terran version of death incarnate in it, most impressive and rather sexy, I thought.  Terran Death in little round dark glasses.  I had the coat over my arm as I stepped out of Garak's shop, the tailor beside me, as it was his lunch time.  He did not ask me to join him because he knows I do not socialize with my clients.  I noticed that his attention was captured by that nasty little Dr. Bashir.  I found it hard to believe Garak had not seen him before but the level of fascination in the Cardassian's face was almost religious, in a predatory sort of way.  I don't like Terrans and I loathed Dr. Bashir but from a purely aesthetic angle, the little doctor possessed big brown eyes and a bony, emaciated frame that were not exactly unappealing, even to a Cvomi like me.  Too bad he had such an annoying Federation rules and regulations attitude.  I had decided upon my first meeting with Bashir that he needed someone to take him down a few pegs and it was rather a shame he was so repelled by me physically because I might have forced myself to enjoy doing it.  But what Garak, my funny Cardassian, was seeing in Bashir's leggy stride across the Promenade was a mystery.  The tailor looked hungry for more than food and licked his lips as Bashir disappeared into Quark's.  I leaned down to rouse him from his trance.

*"Tallyho, Garak," I said, hoping he would understand the tone, if not the word.  He smiled a hunter's smile and headed for Quark's.  I silently wished him luck; if he wanted the Bashir, well, he'd need it whether he got the boy or not.  Probably need it more in the former case, I reckoned, but it was none of my business.  I walked away, wondering if lust could make one insane as well a stupid.  It was an old question and even if I live all my five hundred years, I doubt I'll ever answer it.  

*But I was glad Garak had found someone new to take an interest in.  Garak is not a lover of solitude and I hoped he would be able to forget Gul Xriet with the Bashir.

*When I got to my rooms, I found a message from Talljet Inc. that my business license and tax file were in order and in the Federation's database.  However, it would be necessary for me to come to Dhrgestra, which was now in the Federation, to prepare for something called the Massage/Dermal Systemic Stimulation Boards so I could get my license.  I debated this but decided I would enjoy a sojourn in the Dhrgestra joyhouse with Ling and Qhoshi while I prepared for these board things.  Thoughtful and thorough as ever, Talljet Inc. had attached to the message a list of ships I could take from DS9 and connections to Dhrgestra.  Ah, travel; how long had it been?  I chose one that was already docked and would leave in seven hours.  My ticket was arranged and relayed before I'd finished pouring a glass of Irkek water and I turned my mind to closing my clinic, packing and the fact that my new coat would be excellent for the journey.  Just before I left, I sent a comm to Garak, my only remaining Cardassian client, to let him know that I was leaving but would be back before his next ecdysis, which was considerably in the future.  

*It was a shame I could not come back, but fortunate that, at my request, Captain Talljet could spare the Pholana healer, Djerian, to get Garak through what turned out to be a routine but intense case of dysecdysis.*

~~~

"Really?  You must be doing a rather horrible job of looking after the civilian residents of this station if you haven't seen your Cardassian for days and don't even know what dysecdysis, Dr. Busher."

"It's 'Bashir,'" the doctor corrected again, growing impatient with the error and also with looking up at the tall, gaunt creature in dark glasses looming over him.  "Mr. Djerian, if you would please sit down and explain..."

"No time, Terran, your Cardie might already be dead."

Said in a such a matter-of-fact way, it sent a chill down Bashir's spine.  "All right," he said and told his staff to comm him if he was needed.  "Tell me again why you're here," he demanded as he led Djerian to Garak's quarters.  Bashir was hoping Garak was in his quarters; he realized, sadly, that he had not seen the Cardassian tailor in days.

"ThiaZole couldn't get back in time so he sent me.  I've come as quickly as I could.  TZ said this Cardie has problems with his sheds, so it was crucial someone who knows what they're doing be there to help him." Djerian did not add that TZ had called the CMO of DS9 a pretty little idiot.  The Phol could agree with all of that, especially the pretty part, if one liked Terrans.  "And that's why I'm here," he concluded, omitting that Captain Talljet had sent him in one of his fastest ships, so deep was ThiaZole's anxiety and Ling's concern.

"Are you a doctor?" Bashir asked, standing before Garak's door, wondering if he really should take this weird creature in there.

Based on ThiaZole's description of it, Djerian could feel Garak's distress as they neared the door.  There truly was no more time to play with this little Terran so the healer fixed him with the kind of compelling stare that is the specialty of empath/telepaths and said:  "Of course."

Bashir, on the verge of asking for some credentials, found himself using his medical override and following 'Dr.' Djerian into Garak's quarters.  If he found it odd that Djerian walked straight into Garak's bedroom and began to caress the Cardassian's temples, hands and feet, Bashir kept it to himself.

Having established that Garak was much more alive than dead, Djerian pumped some energy into his body and wondered how ThiaZole treated this condition as a non-empath.  Tossing off his coat, the healer recalled working on what the Nyra pirates had left of ThiaZole.  The mere fact that TZ had survived and was slightly sane was so incredible, a miracle in fact, Djerian was of the opinion that the Cvomi could do anything.  He decided to ignore the Terran doctor standing at the foot of the bed, tossed off his long black coat, shook the excess energy out of his hands and went right to work.  Very quickly Djerian healed all the inflamed and irritated places on Garak's back, flanks and legs.  He closed his eyes and went on energy levels to find them.  He could feel the Terran doctor moving around the bed, watching in stunned disbelief.  

Djerian ignored him.  This human was so young, so new, it surprised the Pholana that he was let out without his wet nurse.  'All the way out here, little one, and have you never seen an empath healer?  Pathetic.'  Djerian scowled down at Garak, wondering if the Cardie was aware of the Bashir's sexual curiosity.  Damn ThiaZole to leave out the most interesting detail of the whole situation.  He rose and took a bottle of oil from his bag.  Noting the human's startled jump, the healer asked him what was wrong.

"You move so fast," Bashir stammered. "It startled me."

"Child, child, child," Djerian soothed.  "And that was really nothing.  I'm a healer, not a hunter.  Now the hunters, they move very fast indeed."  He bared his teeth in what passes for a smile among the Pholana and swiftly rubbed the oil into Garak's fresh scales until they glistened in the soft light.  "Come now, Mr. Garak, time to turn over," he crooned, rousing the tailor enough to turn him over.

Djerian found more of the same and quickly healed the inflamed places and removed all the old scales.  When he'd finished the basics and began to rub oil into the new scales, he turned his mind to Garak's erection.  ThiaZole had mentioned that an erection, as well as a climax, was inevitable and necessary in this process.  The Cvomi had left it up to Djerian to decide if he wanted to get Garak off or simply leave Garak the privacy to get himself off.  Djerian knew TZ had a big heart underneath it all.  And the Cardassian wasn't as repulsive as the usual of his species.  As he worked the oil into the new scales of the breastplate and lower and lower, Djerian noticed Dr. Bashir watching intently and just as intently not looking at the Cardassian's erection.  'Shall I let the little human take care of this?' Djerian wondered.  'He wants to but is vacillating.'  To give himself more time to mull this over, Djerian draped a towel over Garak's midsection and moved to the Cardassian's feet and worked his way up.  When he reached the tops of Garak's thighs, he turned to Bashir.  "You know, Doctor," he said in a soothing, seductive voice. "I understand that a sexual release in this process is necessary to create a hormonal rush that rebalances the system and sets the new scales in their proper chemical balance." Djerian paused to rub some oil into Garak's groin, carefully avoiding his penis.  "Now," he continued to the mesmerized Bashir.  "I can caress him to climax, or we can wake him up and leave the room while he does it, or I can leave you in here to do it.  And all purely in the interest of patient care and proper hormonal functioning for the Cardassian physique.  So, what shall it be, Julian?"

Blushing furiously, Bashir was startled to hear his first name; he was certain he had not told it to Dr. Djerian.  He was further startled when his comm badge chirped and he was called to the Infirmary.

'A pity,' Djerian thought at his retreating back.  'I think you were just on the verge, Dr. Busher.  Unlucky for you, Mr. Garak, but perhaps he'll want you another time.'  He lowered his long hands to Garak's erection and slowly stroked the sleeping Cardassian to an excellent climax, efficiently removing the shed while he was at it.  Tidying up, Djerian probed around Garak's memories a little and concluded that the tailor had been a minor monster among major monsters in the Obsidian Order.  He felt no regret in Garak for the torment Garak had inflicted in the name of Cardassian state.  No regret yet.  Djerian smiled; regret for wrongdoing is a construct of the society in which such actions are viewed as wrong.  He wondered if the Terran idea that the Cardassian idea of state torture as wrong would began to torment the tailor?  Djerian could not wait to tell ThiaZole what he'd learned of Garak and Bashir on this visit:  that they were in love and hadn't a clue.  Well, the Terran Bashir hadn't a clue, but that was typical of Terrans.  Even though ThiaZole claimed to have no interest in the beings on this station, he had had enough interest and concern for Garak to send him, Djerian, here to make sure the fool Cardassian didn't die.

But that was and always was ThiaZole:  cold as ice until he burst into flames.  'A pity,' Djerian thought for the nth time, 'the universe lost one of its great souls when...'  His communicator went off and he answered it.

"This is your starship clipper taxi driver messenger boy and gofer, Neria-Tza." That good creature hailed Djerian in the patois.  "I have interesting news for you."

"Oh?  I'm almost done here."  He was in fact just stuffing the last of Garak's shed into the recycler.  'I hope he didn't want that,' he thought idly.  'Too late now.'

"Well, I'd say you can relax a little, Djerian.  The head honcho of this joint, Lieutenant Crisco, didn't like our power readings so he chased us off.  We're in a wide arc between the planet and the station and won't be able to get you until we get his permission."

Djerian cursed and assured Neria-Tza that it was all right.  "If it takes forever, Neria-Tza, you know where to find me," he sighed, signing off.

"Who are you?"

The healer swung round to find Garak regarding him with weak hostility.  'It lives!' he thought, staying put in case his patient lashed out in a fit of Cardassian pique.  Touchy little devils, these Cardies.  "I'm Djerian.  ThiaZole sent me to get through your ecdysis because he couldn't come back in time."  When he saw Garak relax, he approached the bed and sat beside the sleepy tailor.  "How do you feel?" he asked, smoothing the rumpled dark hair and feeling the energy in balance and humming along again.

"Fine."

"Better than when ThiaZole works on you?" Djerian teased.

"No.  Different but not better."

'Liar,' Djerian thought.  'But loyal.'  He decided to humor Garak.  "Ah, well, ThiaZole is actually better at this sort of thing than I.  I'm just doing him a favor."

"I thank you and him."

Djerian saw Garak's weariness.  "You need liquids and broth.  Don't go to sleep before I get back," he said as he went into the adjoining room.  Of course Garak went back to sleep so Djerian had to wake him to pour the soup and water into him.  Then he left him to sleep and sat by his bedside, listening to the music of the void that only the Phol and a few other species are able to hear.  He watched over Garak's peaceful sleep, thinking that the pretty little Terran doctor should be here doing this, when the pretty little Terran doctor arrived with a large dark man, who had some questions for Djerian.

"If you're checking on the Cardassian, take some water and make him drink it," the healer said to Bashir, who was trying to slip past him and into Garak's bedroom.  He stared at the Terran doctor until he was obeyed and then turned his attention to the large dark man.  "Speak."

"Who are you?" Sisko grated.  He was not happy that this strange creature was on his station.  He also hated to have to look up at anyone and the Phol healer was at least a head taller than he.

"My name is Djerian."

"State your business here."

"I was asked to come look into Mr. Garak's condition."

"Which is?"

"Personal, and a question for Mr. Garak and perhaps that little pup doctor you kennel here." Djerian was amused by the waves of Sisko's hostility roiling around him before he decided civility would be a waste of time.  Anyway, he was not setting up shop here so why bother making friends?

"I see.  May I know why you arrived in a ship with more firepower than a battlecruiser?"

"I'm a healer, not a gunner, Mr..."

"Commander Benjamin Sisko."

"Crisco?"

"Sisko.  Answer my question."

"The ship?  I know nothing about it.  I suppose Captain Neria-Tza chose it because we came in from the Idria Autonomous Zone and through what you call the Badlands, which is actually rather stupid because there's actually no actual land involved and..."

"Mr. Djerian," Sisko boomed.  "Shut up."  He looked over his shoulder as Dax came in.

"Ugh!  A Trill," Djerian recoiled a little.  "And in Starfleet uniform.  Just when I thought it couldn't get worse..."

"And what species might you be?" Dax asked with something very like a sneer.

"Phol."

It was Sisko's turn to recoil but the Trill stood its ground and even smiled a little.

"Steady, Benjamin," Dax said.  "If this was a hunter we'd already be dead."

"Ah, Terrans," Djerian sneered.  "You think we're all hunters like the one you've got locked up for mass murder.  Well, another of my species is the Oracle at Cxirvisinia, so you could say we run the gamut of existence.  And only one of us to a body," he added, wrinkling his nose at Dax.

"You Phols don't like us because we're tough to scan and harder to predict," Dax said serenely.  Phols might be the seers of the galaxy but they were disconcerted by all joined species and that was perhaps the only edge anyone had on them.  It was widely appreciated that the Phols were not interested in expanding their empire and very few of them ever left their homeworld.  Which is why when Quark had commed Odo to say he thought he'd seen a Phol on the Promenade, except it was probably impossible, but could Odo go check before everybody's heart was stopped?  Djerian's presence on DS9 had Sisko and Dax worried and Odo on the alert.

"Let's just say your species makes interesting prey for the hunters," Djerian said calmly, unreadable as ThiaZole behind his dark glasses.  "And turns everyone else's stomachs."  He looked over their shoulders at Odo coming to join them.  "And a shapeshifter!  My goodness, you have a whole menagerie here, Mr. Crisco."

"It's *Commander Sisko*," Dax snarled. "And if you want off this station..."

"Very much, but my ship..." Djerian raised his voice.

"With good reason..." Sisko raised his voice above the din.

"If you cannot keep it down out here, I suggest you take this discussion somewhere else," Bashir said icily.

They all turned to look at him standing outside Garak's bedroom, with the door firmly closed behind him.

Djerian turned and brushed past the doctor to check on his patient.

"What's wrong with Garak, Doctor?" Dax asked calmly.

"I don't know," Bashir admitted.  "He was in a stupor when Djerian arrived and now he's sleeping peacefully.  Djerian did do something to him, but I don't know what."

"You've never seen an empath healer work, have you?" Dax asked, staying in the forefront because of the potential danger Djerian represented.  Phol healers and hunters could change roles at a moment's notice, with or without provocation, no matter how benign the healer seemed, and it was crucial to get this one off the station as quickly as possible.  At least that was Dax's opinion.

"No, never.  It was... fascinating."

"Yes, I'm sure." Dax turned to Sisko.  "If Djerian is ready to leave, call his ship and send him off.  Now; Benjamin, the sooner he's gone the better."

/I couldn't agree with you both of you more/

Except for Odo, this clanged through the humanoids' cerebral cortex and they were silenced.  Sisko recovered first and had Ops hail Captain Neria-Tza and his ship, the Catyana, to come collect Djerian.

"I have questions for Mr. Garak," Sisko grumbled to Dax.

"Leave Garak alone for another day," Djerian said, gathering up his things.  "He needs more sleep and more liquids.  You can talk to him tomorrow."  As he buttoned his long black coat, the healer pinned Bashir with his shaded gaze.  "And he needs to have more sex, Terran.  Dysecdysis is caused by a chemical imbalance.  Regular sex is the simplest, most elegant, perhaps the only reasonable way to maintain his systemic harmony."

Bashir was disconcerted but hid it fairly well.  "And why are you telling me this?" he asked coolly.

"Because," Djerian leaned forward, his voice intimate.  "You're the doctor here."

"I don't prescribe sex, *Mr.* Djerian."

"Maybe you should, *Dr.* Bashir, maybe you should.  In addition to being salubrious, sex is... fun."  At that moment Djerian was hailed by Neria-Tza and, although he detested transporter beaming because it upset his psi fields, beamed directly to the ship.  He and the Catyana flashed away before anyone had drawn three breaths.  There was then a collective sigh of relief.

"What's wrong with Garak?" Sisko asked again.

"I don't know but let's ask him tomorrow," Bashir said in his best soothing doctor voice.  "Whatever it is, he's worn out and does need sleep, as Djerian prescribed.  I'm off duty so I'll sit with him for awhile," he added blandly and frowned at Dax's smirk.

"Very well.  Until tomorrow." Sisko gathered up his command presence and marched the Trill and shapeshifter out of Garak's quarters.

Bashir replicated more water and broth and took them into Garak.

"Are they gone?"

"I thought you were asleep."  Bashir looked down at the supine Cardassian.

"Oh no, dear Doctor, that conversation was far too interesting to miss."

"What?  Sisko throwing Djerian off the station or Dax pushing Jadzia aside?"

"Neither.  I thought Dr. Djerian's prescription for my condition was... interesting." Garak, after many days of discomfort and despair, was feeling remarkable good and remarkably mellow.  If the doctor was alarmed by this, well, he could flee to his infirmary; at the moment, it was all the same to Garak.

"I'm surprised you could hear all that."  Amused by the seductive lilt in Garak's voice, Bashir decided to ignore it, for now.  "Did you also hear Dax out there?"

"Yes.  I don't think I've ever heard quite so much Dax."

"Dax seemed... hostile somehow.  Any idea why?"

"Perhaps Dr. Djerian frightened it for reasons we can't understand because we're not two hundred or so years old."

"Hmmm."

"Perhaps Dax didn't like Djerian's suit, which I thought was remarkably elegant.  I like those long boxy, single breasted coats with narrow lapels that button a little higher than usual.  I also liked the high necked shirt and flowing cravat and straight legged trousers, with high heeled boots.  Not that he needed more height."

"Garak!  How could you take all that in?  I thought you were dead asleep."

"Not always.  The last time he came in, I asked him where he got his clothes and he said Povarb, wherever that is."

"Well, I thought he was chic, too," Bashir admitted.  "But I don't think that was Dax's problem."

"You'd look silly dressed like that."

"Would I?"

"Yes, you're too young for it.  Yet."

"Do you know anything about the Phols?"

"No.  Let's ask ThiaZole when he returns.  Or Quark, he might know.  Is there anymore water?"

Bashir leapt to the replicator and returned with a fresh bottle.  "How do you feel, Garak?"

"Excellent, completely relaxed.  You ought to get Dr. Djerian to set up shop here."

"He's not a doctor.  I checked the Federation Medical Association."

"You've ascertained that he's not a Federation doctor, which is probably true, because I've never felt quite so good after Federation doctoring."

"I've never seen that before," Bashir said, gliding his hand over Garak's bare arm in imitation of Djerian.  "What did it feel like, when he was healing you?"

"It itched."

"Itched?  Like the dermal regenerator?"

"Not quite like the dermal regenerator.  I could feel Djerian healing me from the bottom of the wound, whereas the dermal regenerator merely seals the top and lets the bottom heal on its own."  He watched Bashir pout.  "The other benefit is the amazing sense of peace I'm now enjoying."

"You do look very relaxed.  Would you like me to leave so you can get some sleep?"

"I'm wide awake, Doctor.  If you leave I'll have only my own company again.  Am I boring you?"

"No, not at all, Garak.  Actually, I could rub you down with this oil Djerian left.  Your new scales are looking dry already."

"New scales will be dry for a few days.  I always forget to oil them until ThiaZole drags me into his rooms."

"What's he like?"

"ThiaZole?  Very much like Djerian, but without the sense of humor."

"Oh."  Bashir picked up the bottle of oil.

"If you'd rather not get oil on your uniform, Doctor, there's a robe behind the bathroom door you could wear."  Garak watched him lazily, keeping his face bland, as if he couldn't care less what the doctor was wearing.

"Oh, that's a good idea," Bashir said, thinking just the opposite but deciding to go with it anyway.  Perhaps Dr. Djerian's treatment inspired courage as well as relaxation.  Or something; it really didn't matter where the evening led, and Bashir was ready for anything as he slipped out of his uniform coverall and into the robe.  He rolled up the silky sleeves and wondered if all Garak's intimate clothing was of such sensuous stuff.  He set these thoughts aside and rejoined the Cardassian in the bedroom.

Following Djerian's example, Bashir began with Garak's feet and worked his way up to his thighs.  Carefully concealing the Cardassian's groin under the blankets, the doctor ignored, for now, the tenting there.  He sat on the edge of the bed and oiled the arm closest to him, admiring the soft sheen on the mosaic of new scales.  'Beautiful,' he thought.  'How had I not realized how beautiful he was before?'  Stopping at the junction of arm and shoulder, Bashir carefully avoided what he'd learned was one of the major Cardassian erogenous zones:  the neckridges.  He reached across Garak's chest as awkwardly as possible in hopes the tailor would ask the obvious, to Bashir, question.  It was not long in coming.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable if..." Garak trailed off delicately, but a gentle pull on Bashir's arm encouraged the doctor to straddle him.

"I would be more comfortable," Bashir agreed, sitting astride the Cardassian's hips, working the oil quickly into his arm and then breast plate.  "If you don't mind..."

"Mind?  Not at all, doctor," Garak sighed sleepily, glancing at him from lowered lashes.  "You're doing me an enormous favor, you know."

"Oh?"  Bashir began to work the oil into Garak's neckridges in long, gentle circles, carefully saturating each bump and crevice.

"Yes, with ThiaZole gone, there's really no one on the station I could ask to..."  Garak, reclining against his pillows, his voice was relaxed and lazy as his posture, looked up at the doctor with sultry, unreadable, blue eyes.  They were eyes one could put any meaning on and not be wrong.  It was a look the Cardassian had perfected, if not raised to an art form, over the years.

"Ask to what?"  Bashir hoped he detected just a hint of wickedness in those indigo depths.  And perhaps a dash of come hither.

"To take such trouble over me.  You have my deepest thanks, dear Doctor Bashir."  This was said with such sweet simplicity that the human was touched to the core.

"Garak, I'd..." Bashir trailed off, uncertain how to proceed.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"I'd like you to call me Julian."

"Yes, Julian?"

"And I'd like to kiss you."

"Oh?"

"May I?"

"If you like."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"I don't know how you kiss so I don't know that I've anything to be enthusiastic about, Julian."

"Well, I'll show you how I kiss and then you can make an informed decision."  Bashir leaned down and pressed his lips to the Cardassian's.  It must have pleased Garak, because a pair of oily gray arms encircled the human and held him gently in the kiss.  "What you do think?" Bashir asked, coming up for air.

"Too soon to tell," Garak said, drawing him down again.

They kissed for a while.  Bashir could feel Garak's cock straining against the covers, as well as his own straining against his briefs.  "I'm wearing too much clothing," he sighed, easing out of Garak's arms and stripping off the rest of his clothes, including a rather oily lavender t-shirt.  "That's better," the doctor sighed, stretching out full length and nudging the Cardassian's legs apart so he could lie between them.  

Surprisingly, to Bashir, Garak did not resist spreading his legs and simply rubbed his supple inner thigh scales against the human's bony hips.

Bashir grabbed the bottle of oil and poured a little into his hand.  He warmed it and leaned back to caress it into Garak's groin and penis.  Taking the opportunity to examine Garak's anatomy, Bashir let his slippery fingers find every place that made the Cardassian shiver, sigh or thrust against him.  The doctor was hard as a rock just from watching the lascivious display he was provoking.  Emboldened by Garak's surrender and enthusiasm, Bashir poured a little more oil into his hand and warmed it well before he let his slippery fingers probe behind the Cardassian's balls.  He reached back to caress Garak's anus and felt him jump.  "Garak?" Bashir asked, going very still, looking into startled blue eyes.  "Do you want me to stop?"

"No..." Garak relaxed back into his pillows and lowered his lashes again.  "No, don't stop.  I've never done this before."

"With a man?" Bashir's fingers grew bolder.

"I've been with a man before; not a human and not like this."  He let his voice be rather husky as he lied.  He'd never been with a human, that was true.  There was probably much he could teach and would teach the little doctor eventually.

"No?" Bashir asked absently.

"No.  Have you?"

"Oh, once or twice."  'Almost ready,' he thought.

"Does it...?  Is it...?"

"What?"

"Painful."

"No, not really," Bashir arranged Garak's legs over his arms.  "Do you want to stop, Garak?"

"No.  Call me Elim."

"Elim, shhhh, Elim," Bashir crooned against Garak's lips as he rolled him forward and centered his cock.  He carefully thrust the head inside and resisted the urge to plunge in all the way.  He looked up into Garak's face and only saw pleasure as he gently slid the rest of his cock in.  When he hit bottom, Bashir stroked Garak's erection while he caught his breath and centered his energy.  Looking in to the Cardassian's trusting, open face, Bashir felt a wave of affection nearly overwhelm his desire, but Garak pulled him into a passionate kiss and hissed two words into his ear:  "Fuck. Me."

"Immediately," Bashir sighed and began to move with controlled energy.

"Harder," Garak demanded.

"I don't (pant) want to hurt (pant) you."

"You can't.  Fuck me harder!"

And Bashir did, flinging himself against his lover in almost a frenzy.  He came hard and lay panting on Garak's chest.  He could feel the Cardassian's erection against his stomach and reached down to stroke him to climax.  That accomplished, they lay against each other in a mutual post climactic haze. 

"Are you all right?" Bashir asked softly.

"Yes, Doc... Yes, Julian, I'm quite fine."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, not at all, my dear."

"I was worried, this was your first time and..."

"Well, once we got started, I was fine," Garak assured him.  "You know, fear of the unknown."

"But it was all right?"

"Yes, very enjoyable.  You were most gentle, really, Julian.  I couldn't have dreamed of a better lover than you."

"Ah.  Good." Julian felt quite pleased with himself as he eased his cock out and folded Garak into his arms.

"There is one thing..." Garak began tentatively.

"Anything."

"Would you be so kind as to rub some oil into my back?  I feel it drying."

Bashir expressed his enthusiasm for the project and Garak rolled over.

Rubbing the oil into the new scales, Bashir had the leisure to admire the swirls and whorls on Garak's broad back.  'Lovely, truly lovely,' he thought, enjoying the cool, textured surface beneath his fingers.  He ran his oily hands over Garak's ass and finished up his thighs and calves, giving his feet another swipe since they looked dry again.  Somewhere in the process, the Cardassian went to sleep on him and Bashir didn't have the heart the wake him.  After a small debate, wherein the fact that Garak would need an oil rubdown in the morning played a prominent part, Bashir decided to stay the night and curled around his sleeping lover.  Tired himself, he was asleep in moments.  Not the deep, dreamless sleep Garak in his post ecdysis state was enjoying, but a peaceful, hopeful, sated kind of sleep that males who've made love, and made it well, enjoy.

***

"Computer, locate Dr. Bashir."

Sisko scowled at the result and commed the doctor's badge.  Judging by how long it took Bashir to answer, Sisko concluded that his CMO was not wearing his uniform.  Of course, it was only 0600, and if Bashir had spent the night with Garak, which was a logical deduction since he was in Garak's quarters at 0600, likely neither of them were dressed.

*

Bashir scrambled out of Garak's arms, clawed his way into the bathroom and dragged his uniform off the peg behind the door.  He fumbled for the comm badge under Garak's sleepy but amused eyes.  "Bashir here," he said, trying to sound wide awake.

"Why are you still in Mr. Garak's quarters at this hour, Dr. Bashir?" Sisko voice oozed disapproval through the tiny device.

"I fell asleep," the doctor answered honestly.

Momentarily disarmed, Sisko merely demanded he and Mr. Garak be in his office in one hour.  "*If* you can get out of bed.  Sisko out."

"You handled that beautifully, Julian," Garak praised, rising from his bed.

"I said three words," Bashir said, somewhat stunned.  "Five, if you count in 'Bashir here'."

"Never mind, darling.  I think we should have a shower and some breakfast before we face Captain Sisko, don't you?"  Garak dropped Bashir's oily t-shirt into the fresher and herded his new lover into a bracing shower and on to a nourishing breakfast.

***

Having assured Sisko and Dax that he had no idea why Dr. Djerian came to visit him other than that ThiaZole had sent him, Garak could only suggest that they ask ThiaZole about it when the masseur returned.  Unable to get anything more from the Cardassian, Sisko had dismissed him.  This was agreeable to Garak, as he was wondering if he had any clientele left after being closed without notice for three days.

"I don't usually counsel my officers on their private lives, Doctor, but you ought to think long and hard about getting involved with Elim Garak."  Sisko let this drop into the silence after Garak had left the Commander's office.  

Bashir considered a number of replies to Commander Sisko's warning and decided to stick to the minimalism he adopted this morning.  "Yes, sir," he said politely.

It was really the perfect reply and Sisko even admired it before sending the good doctor on his way.  He looked up to find Dax studying him.  Not that he disliked Jadzia but he liked having Dax in the forefront again.  The powerful, aggressive, arrogant Dax was more familiar than this calm female he persisted in calling 'old man', as if he, Sisko, really believed it .  But here was the gallant soul he knew and loved and whatever there was of Jadzia in there was suppressed into non-existence.  "And just what are you laughing at, sir?" he drawled.

"Your caution.  What makes you nervous about Garak?"

"His physician."

"Julian?"

"Djerian."

"Let's not panic until we talk to ThiaZole."

"Then the fact that a creature like Djerian would come here to see Garak at anyone's request."

"You know, Benjamin, if I'd been better prepared to meet Dr. Djerian, I might have liked to consult him about some of my ailments."

"Are you ill, Dax?"

"Little aches and pains only an empath can really cure.  Except empaths truly dislike Trills, so..."

"So, he was hostile to you.  I noticed."

"Well, we don't like empaths either but take us both by surprise and you can multiply that by ten squared.  What I wonder is how Garak rates such a luxury as an empathic healer.  I've heard of dysecdysis; usually it doesn't require such a rare treatment."

"Garak isn't going to tell us, he might not even know, as he said; we'll have to talk to ThiaZole."  Sisko leaned back, trying once more to see what Bashir could possibly see in the Cardassian.

"Still worried about Julian?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't.  Garak doesn't want to get thrown off the station, I don't think he'll do anything to provoke you."

"He has already, he should know better than to keep Bashir in his quarters all night."

"He might also know better than to try to hide it from you, as well."

Sisko nodded.  "Still, I don't like it."

"Let's see how it shapes.  I think it's premature to try to forbid anything right now."

"You like him."

"Julian?  Of course."

"No.  Garak."

"I like him a little.  I think he's got more than he can handle in Julian, but I think he'll manage.  He's definitely the oddest Cardassian I've ever seen in my life."

***

Much to Garak's approval, Dr. Bashir managed to hold out until midmorning.

"Have lunch with me!"  The youngster had demanded.  Such enthusiasm; how amusing.

"Impossible, dear Doctor.  I was closed for three days and I'm now besieged!"

"Dinner, then."

"I might have to stay in the shop quite late.  I'd hate to keep you waiting at Quark's."

"I mean dinner in my quarters, whenever you can make it."

Garak allowed a dramatic pause.

"Garak?"

"All right," he sighed as if in surrender.  "I shall try to be in your quarters by 20:00, hopefully not too exhausted."

Bashir had said it was very nice of him and he would see him then.  Garak said goodbye and went into the display room to tactfully convince Mrs. Cimabue that neon orange really wasn't her color.  And so the morning flew until Garak looked up and found Bashir standing before him with a sandwich.

"You have to eat, Garak," the good doctor said, smiling at Commander Memphis, who was just leaving with a beautifully tailored dress uniform over his arm.

"You're very kind, doctor." Garak took the sandwich and waved Bashir to a chair.

"I was expecting mobs." Bashir was drifting toward the dressing room, hoping to lure the tailor into a more private, sheltered environment for a kiss or two.

"You should have been here earlier," Garak said around bites.  He was staying put, eating his sandwich and watching the doctor's mild frustration with concealed amusement.  "This is the first quiet moment I've had all day."  Finishing his lunch, he began to tidy up for the next wave.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, Doctor."

"We're alone, Elim, call me Julian."

"Julian.  Now if you'll excuse, I have a fitting in ten minutes."

"Until tonight, then?"

"Until tonight."

As if drawn on strings, Bashir leaned forward to kiss Garak goodbye but stopped when the tailor stepped back.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Bashir," Garak said firmly.

"Until tonight, Mr. Garak." Bashir blushed and went back to the infirmary.

'Excellent,' Garak thought, smiling.  'At last, a little intrigue to liven up my days.  Even if it's only romantic intrigue, it's better than nothing.'  This charming train of thought was interrupted by a customer and Garak was a very busy tailor for the balance of the afternoon.

Later, in his quarters, Garak ran a soapy sponge over his body under the hottest water he could stand.  It was exquisite, as only the first few days of new scales could be.  The need to be touched, caressed had made him mercilessly pester poor ThiaZole (that good creature) for massages and delighted Gul Xriet.  But it was worth the travail of ecdysis; only now and for the next few weeks of this cycle would his nerve endings be so responsive, so on fire.  And how pleasant and timely to have lured Dr. Bashir into his bed.

He hoped the doctor was enjoying himself.  Garak would let the human top as long as his post-ecdysis languor made such passivity enjoyable for him, so the human was lucky there.  It was also the tailor's opinion that Bashir would be easier to 'hook' if the young man thought he could dominate and protect him.  Ha ha, well, fine for a while.  As soon as he ascertained the rest of Bashir's weaknesses and had him wrapped around his little finger, Garak would assert himself.  Until then, the Cardassian would simply enjoy one of the blessings of his species: the tactile hyperawareness of new scales.

Garak debated on whether to take the oil Dr. Djerian had brought or the one Rhiba had given him last year.  He decided on the oil from Rhiba; it had a darker, more passionate scent.  Deciding not to linger on that memory too long, Garak put on a flattering outfit, an elegant suit in basic black wool, trimmed with a subtle, almost black, metallic bronze velvet, and made his way to Dr. Bashir's quarters, only an hour late.

"You're late!" Bashir had scolded.

"Oh?  I had to pick up some oil from my quarters," Garak said, innocently.  "I was hoping, since Dr. Djerian and ThiaZole aren't here, you'd help me out by rubbing it into the areas I can't reach."

Bashir's only response was to grab Garak and thrust his tongue down the tailor's throat.

"Are you giving me dinner now or later?" Garak asked when the human's mouth descended to nibble on his neck ridges.

"Are you hungry?" Bashir tried looked the good host but the impassioned lover kept elbowing him aside.

"Famished."

"All right."  The doctor pried himself off Garak.  "We'll have dinner first.  But quickly." And darted to the replicator and had a meal on the table in record time.  They sat down, the Cardassian pleasantly chatting about his day and the new novel he was reading.  Bashir inhaled his food and listened, entranced.  The doctor was polite enough to wait for Garak to finish his dinner before he grabbed the bottle of oil and walked meaningfully into the bedroom.  Garak, on the other hand, picked up his mraglean liqueur and sat on the couch.

After a moment, Bashir, without the bottle of oil, joined him there.  Politely, he asked if Garak would like more liqueur or some tea and, receiving a negative answer to both questions, he removed the tiny liqueur glass from his guest's hand and flung himself on said guest.

Momentarily taken aback, the Cardassian smoothly adjusted his body beneath Bashir's lithe undulations.  Inclined to laugh at such ardor, Garak checked his mirth.  It was unwise to laugh at a man who wants to ravish you; it was something to be taken seriously, very seriously indeed.  He schooled his expression to one of demure languor and lay back in Bashir's arms.

"Julian, really, I appreciate your enthusiasm but do slow down a little.  We have all night, haven't we?" he asked when he could get his lips back.

"I haven't been able to think about anything else all day."

"Well, I have thought of you today as well," Garak demurely admitted.  "Especially when I sat down," he added slyly.

"Did I hurt you last night?"  Bashir, all doctor now, sat up.  "I should have looked you over.  Your first time with a human and..." he trailed off, thinking, 'I'm the biggest cad in the galaxy, a swine, a complete...'

"You did not hurt me last night, Julian.  I was pleasantly reminded of our..." Garak paused as if modestly searching for le mot juste. "...our encounter, really."  He pulled Bashir back into his arms and buried his face in the human's neck.  Garak was so amused by the emotions, lust and compassion, at war in his new lover, he thought he'd die of suppressed laughter.  He eventually allowed Bashir to lure him into the bedroom and coax him out of his clothing.

Lying naked and prone on Bashir's bed, Garak gave himself over to the human, also naked, working the fragrant oil into his new scales.  He purred and sighed his appreciation and admired his lover's restraint.  It must have been torture for Bashir every time the doctor's erection brushed some part of his languid anatomy.  His own cock was stirring pleasantly under Bashir's tender ministrations.  'Soon I must rouse myself enough to let him have me again,' Garak thought lazily.  'How delightful to have such an energetic lover during these days of passivity and extreme sensation.'  He might have elaborated on these thoughts but Bashir was urging him to roll over.  Ever agreeable, Garak rolled onto his back and nipped playfully at the lips that were again locked onto his.

"Elim," Bashir disengaged.  "Did I take advantage of you last night?"

"Did you what?" Garak squirmed his erection against the doctor's belly.

"Were you fully in control of yourself last night?"

"Absolutely not!  And I hope to repeat the experience tonight."

"I mean, were you still affected by the ecdysis when we made love?" Bashir persisted.  "I read a little about it today.  The condition brings on an extreme state sexual arousal due to the sensitivity of the new scales.  Would you have said yes to me under more normal circumstances?"

"Probably." Garak reached up to stroke the frown off Bashir's forehead.  "After all, you're not completely repulsive, Julian."

"Well, that's good to know," Bashir laughed.  "I suppose I shouldn't worry; you are here with me now, aren't you?"

"Yes, very much so," Garak said with a smile.  "Julian, are you going to make love to me?"

"Yes, very much so."

And, as Bashir took him with the same gentle thoroughness he'd taken him the previous night, the worldly, cynical and blase Elim Garak felt something surrender inside himself that he did not realize was love until much later.

~~~

*So, having completed my Massage/Dermal Systemic Stimulation Boards and obtained my Federation Massage/Dermal Systemic Stimulation license, I returned to DS9 later than I had thought I would return.  I would have been back on schedule had it not been necessary for me to undergo detoxification for an amola berry addiction.  The amola berry is the main ingredient in Irkek water.  It never occurred to me that I needed Irkek water, or why, until I could not get it anymore.  I merely thought I was enjoying it.

*So, Ling and Qhoshi found a quiet and discreet hospital where I screamed down the walls for several weeks.  They, as well as Dr. Djerian, used their empathic abilities on me.  Still, my recovery was very slow and painful.  

*Hobie visited me and told me I was hard to kill, among other things.  Charming as ever, that pirate.

*Djerian's report on Garak was encouraging and I was pleased to hear about Dr. Bashir's interest.  I came back to the station and sought out Quark, curious to know if they had become lovers.  I was not in suspense very long.*

~~~

"Hullo, ThiaZole, long time.  Garak bagged Dr. Bashir while you were gone," Quark leaned over the bar to tell him.

"How do you know this?"

"Gossip."

"Ah."

"No more Irkek water, ThiaZole.  It's banned in the Federation."

"So I've learned.  A bottle of kanaar."

"Price's gone up since you left," Quark said, handing over the bottle.  "Not as much traffic between here and Cardassia, you know."

"How is your back, Mr. Quark?"

"But for such an old customer, ThiaZole, I'll leave the price the same for you!"

ThiaZole turned to go but found Odo and Dax blocking his path.

"Commander Sisko has some questions for you, Mr. Zole," Odo growled.

ThiaZole had never seen Dax before and turned to examine it.  "Are you Sisko?"

"No, I am Lieutenant Dax." The Trill had never seen a non-empath Cvomi and found it disturbing.  "Please accompany us to Operations."

Tucking his bottle of kana under his arm, ThiaZole followed them out of Quark's and up to Operations, where Sisko was waiting.  Garak and Bashir had been summoned as well.

"Hello, ThiaZole, welcome back," Garak rose to greet him.

"Mr. Garak," ThiaZole said quietly.  "And Dr. Bashir," he added, studying them a moment longer.  "Quark tells me that you are..."

"And this is Commander Sisko!" Garak was able stop the Cvomi from speaking but did not divert his attention from himself and his lover to Sisko.

"Please sit down, Mr. Zole," Sisko said after this abrupt introduction.

"I prefer to stand."

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No."

"Tea?"

"No."

"Rossoka juice?"

"No."

"Water?"

"No."

Sisko leaned back in his chair and looked at Dax, who shrugged.  No help there.  "Mr. Zole, are you aware that a Phol calling himself Djerian was here in your absence and, he told us, at your request?"

"Yes."

"Why did you send him here?"

"My return was unforeseeably delayed."

"And?"

"That is why I sent Djerian here."

Sisko took a different tack.  "Djerian said you sent him to treat Mr. Garak for dysecdysis."

"I never discuss my clients, Commander Sisko."

"A commendable policy, Mr. Zole.  However, I would like to know why you sent what the Federation classifies as a dangerous species to DS9?"

"I was not aware it was forbidden for Pholana to visit Bajoran space or territories."  ThiaZole finally turned to face Sisko  "Be they administered by the Federation or not."

The room went from tense to very tense when ThiaZole turned to face Sisko.

"May I have some of your kanaar, ThiaZole?" Garak, who was still standing beside him, asked.  He accepted the bottle and poured some into his coffee cup.  "Thank you," he said and sat down.

Sisko looked away first.  "I find it disconcerting to speak to someone wearing dark glasses.  I would appreciate it if you would remove them."

ThiaZole did so.

Not even a flinch; Sisko continued his questioning.  "How do you know Djerian?"

"He treated me for some injuries once."

"May I know the circumstances?"

"I was injured during the occupation of Orta 17."

Sisko made a note to look up Orta 17 and continued.  "Your Federation papers are in order, Mr. Zole.  Is it your intention to reopen your business?"

"Yes."

"May I request that you review the Federation Dangerous Species list and, in future, please advise this office if you intend to invite any of its members here?"

"Yes."

"And are you aware that you, as well as Mr. Garak and Mr. Quark, are being allowed to remain on DS9 at my discretion?"

"Yes."

"However, you are subject to same rules of conduct as any other resident of this station and will be treated as any other resident."

As it was not a question, ThiaZole was silent.

"Do you understand this?" Sisko asked, wearily.

"Yes."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Zole, you may go."

The Cvomi put on his glasses and turned to do as he was told.

"ThiaZole!" Major Kira brushed past Dax, a look almost of awe on her face.  "Are you ThiaZole?"

"Yes."

"I always believed you were still alive," Kira said.  "You're one of the first heroes of the resistance.  Thank you."

"For what?"

"For risking your life to save a Bajoran."

"You are welcome."  ThiaZole stepped around the Major and left Ops.

~~~

*And life went on.  With my Federation Business license, tax file and Massage/Dermal Systemic Stimulation license in place, I could open my treatment room again.  I was busy, as I am told good Massage/Dermal Systemic Stimulation practitioners are everywhere.

*My one act of mercy on Bajor, so many years before, returned to haunt me briefly in the form of Major Kira.  This strange and angry young woman could not understand how I could have lived through the Occupation of Bajor and not hate the Cardassians.  She even wanted to believe that I was held prisoner on Terok Nor during all my years here.  She could not understand that I did what I did because it seemed like a good idea at the time, that I do not hate all Cardassians because I do not know all Cardassians well enough to hate them as much as she does, that there are no absolutes in temporal existence and that Bajor's victory is of no more interest to me than its struggle for it.  I refused to be her hero or her villain and eventually she left me alone.

*If I did decide to hate the Cardassians for their occupation of Bajor, it would be for creating a generation of angry and narrow-minded automatons like Kira Nerys.  They have a saying on Priataian that all the revolutionaries should be shot with the oppressors and let the rightful heirs of victory, the bookkeepers and lawyers, take charge after the revolution.  The transition would be much less painful if only Bajor could have adopted such a plan for itself.

*But I did not care.  I sank back into the familiar numbness of my routine.  Bajorans, Cardassians, Terrans; what did the species matter?  They hurt, I fixed them, they paid and it was all the same to me.

*After Major Kira decided I was not a worthy object, I was left in peace..  Nowadays, I see no one but my clients and Quark, when I need a bottle of something.  I see nothing of Garak, I assume Dr. Bashir is keeping him busy.  This pleases me and I wish them both well.

*Dr. Bashir wants to discuss dysecdysis with me tomorrow.  His lover's, I presume, although Mr. Garak has not suffered from that condition since he and the Bashir have been intimate.  At least I assume so since the Cardassian has not sought me out for it in many years.  But I will speak to Dr. Bashir tomorrow at the time he requested.  That should be perfect.

*My dear, I believe the secret to being an exile is simply to not want to be where you are forbidden.  Perhaps the secret to life is to not want what one cannot have.  I do not know; this no longer applies to me for soon I will be with you again, Caratina.  It is all I have ever wanted and it is all that matters to me now.

*I shall count the hours until I am with you my love.  Until then I remain yours and only yours,

*ThiaZole*

Epilogue

As it turned out, Dr. Bashir did not find ThiaZole's body; one of the sweepers tripped the door sensor, which had been deliberately left open, and called Odo.

The fast acting poison had left no marks and the Cvomi looked really no different in death than he'd looked in life.  Quark, who was just closing for the night, found this unnerving when he was called to identify the body.  He also found he was crying and thought that was odd, too.  He was never close to ThiaZole, yet the masseur was such a part of his life and the station, Quark was surprised by the level of ache and loss he felt.

Garak had simply put his face in his hands and wept when Bashir told him.

No one had any idea if ThiaZole had any family.  Odo's inquires were met with indifference or outright hostility.  ThiaZole was dead; no one cared what happened to his carcass.

Surprisingly , Garak and Quark split the expenses and Kira found room in a mausoleum on Bajor.  Whatever ThiaZole really was, he had still defied the Cardassian Occupation and his act had been part of the spiritual foundation of the ensuing resistance.  His ashes were quietly interred there and forgotten.

~~~

"Well, that's done," Garak said over Quark's bar as they settled up ThiaZole's cremation and 'container' expenses.  "Expensive to die, even if we did economize as much as possible.  We owe much to Colonel Kira, or one of us would have that sealed box in our closet somewhere."

Quark grimaced.  "Are we suckers or what?"

"Oh, I think he would have done it for us, Quark."

"Yeah, probably."

They drank in silence for a while.

"Did Odo tell you he found a death notice on ThiaZole's comm unit?" Quark asked.

"No.  Whose death?"

"Apparently ThiaZole's sister."  The Ferengi wiped the bar.  "Said 'it is unknown if she is survived by her younger brother, ThiaZole, who disappeared in 111,287,12-41.856', which is some weird Cvomian date that turns out to be over four hundred Standard years ago."

"So he was even older than we thought."

"Did you know he had a sister?"

"I never knew a thing about him, Quark.  Did you?"

"No.  But I know his dead sister's name now.  Strange but pretty kind of name."

"Which was?"

"Caratina," Quark said quietly.  "CaratinaZole."

*~*~*~The End~*~*~*

Notes:

Cvomi or Cvomian - Long-lived empath species.

Phol or Pholana - Long-lived empath species.

Ecdysis - Shedding of reptile skin.

Dysecdysis - Difficulty in shedding of reptile skin.

Nyra - very scary telepathic pirates.

Caratina -to whom ThiaZole's letter is addressed.

Djerian - Hobie's personal empath Pholana physician.

Neria-Tza - Captain in Hobie Talljet's fleet.

Qhoshi - madam of Ling's joyhouse, lead empath whore, managing director of Talljet Inc., former novice in the Yzerianian Oracle priestesshood.

ThiaZole - Cvomi masseur, former empath employee of Talljet Inc.

Xriet Gul Tirn Xriet - Head of troop training and deployment for Cardassian Occupation of Bajor.

Hochofedra - (always accompanied by a shrug) oh well, life goes on, that's too bad, let's try it, let's not try it, etc.

Hobie Talljet, Hobie Tossara (of Tossar), Hobie the Pirate, Harold Easton Castairs - eldest Talljet, shipbuilder, entrepreneur.

Ling Talljet, Ling Gyharine (Ling the Whore), Louis Phillipe Duvallier - Hobie's younger brother, developmental economist, chartered accountant, prostitute, tycoon, and author.

~*~end of notes~*~

MORE NOTES and HEADERS:
karmen_ghia@yahoo.com,
http://karmen_ghia.tripod.com,
http://geocities.com/dysecdysis/ 
Series: DS9
Romance Code: G/B
Rating: NC-17
Feedback:  Please and Thank You! 
Archive:  Wherever, just please keep the headers intact and let me know where it lands.  Thanks in advance.
Note: Hypertext and conventional format at http://geocities.com/dysecdysis/

Summary: ThiaZole's letter.  A story about Terok Nor, and later, DS9's civilian business folk, including Garak, how they lived and how Garak and Bashir became lovers.

Warning: This story contains m/m sex.  If you are offended by this or under age, please move on.  Click here http://google.com and have a nice day.  This story is a Mary Sue.  If such things give you a rash or dysecdysis, contact your doctor immediately.  This is not canon, it's a mild AU.  The characters are pretty much themselves but few canon events occur.  Although there are some echoes of ASIT, there is no wire, there is no war and most of whatever else happened in the series doesn't happen in this story, so please don't look for them.  

Disclaimer:  Copyright 2000 by Karmen Ghia. This original work of amateur fiction based on Star Trek makes transformative use of Star Trek for noncommercial purposes. This work makes "fair use" of Star Trek copyrighted material; intended not to infringe on the intellectual property rights of Paramount, Viacom or other owners of Star Trek copyright or their assignees or licensees. Author's copyright extends only to the original material in this work. 

Notes:

Cvomi or Cvomian - Long-lived empath species.

Phol or Pholana - Long-lived empath species.

Ecdysis - Shedding of reptile skin.

Dysecdysis - Difficulty in shedding of reptile skin.

Nyra - very scary telepathic pirates.

Caratina -to whom ThiaZole's letter is addressed.

Djerian - Hobie's personal empath Pholana physician.

Neria-Tza - Captain in Hobie Talljet's fleet.

Qhoshi - madam of Ling's joyhouse, lead empath whore, managing director of Talljet Inc., former novice in the Yzerianian Oracle priestesshood.

ThiaZole - Cvomi masseur, former empath employee of Talljet Inc.

Xriet Gul Tirn Xriet - Head of troop training and deployment for Cardassian Occupation of Bajor.

Hochofedra - (always accompanied by a shrug) oh well, life goes on, that's too bad, let's try it, let's not try it, etc.

Hobie Talljet, Hobie Tossara (of Tossar), Hobie the Pirate, Harold Easton Castairs - eldest Talljet, shipbuilder, entrepreneur.

Ling Talljet, Ling Gyharine (Ling the Whore), Louis Phillipe Duvallier - Hobie's younger brother, developmental economist, chartered accountant, prostitute, tycoon, and author.

Thanks, thanks, thanks to Jane Skazi for the beta and lynn for the proofread.

*****end*****

    Source: geocities.com/karmen_ghia/atr

               ( geocities.com/karmen_ghia)