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He was still reeling from Eddington’s betrayal, too stung to think clearly. That’s what he told himself, later, for never forgiving her. She didn’t stand for it, of course. There was only so much apologizing one could do to a former beloved who would never accept it. So when her sentence in the low-security Federation prison camp was up, Kasidy took her ship and crew and left Deep Space Nine. No mission, no trade run, would ever coax her back.
“You’re a fool,” Dax had told him, brow furrowed. Her tone was light, but she didn’t smile. Sisko agreed with the pronouncement, but for different reasons.
How could he not have seen it?
He let her go. After a year, even Jake stopped complaining.
* * *
No one had ever confirmed the existence of scopaesthesia, at least among humans, and Ben Sisko wasn’t the type to believe in fringe theories. Well, in as much as the Emissary to the Prophets could be a skeptic. Yet as he fought through the fog of sleep, thicker now from the insomnia that continued to chase him, he had the tingling, uncanny sensation that someone, somewhere, was staring at him.
Bleary-eyed and half asleep, Sisko squinted into the darkness of his quarters. There, a foot from his bed, stood a figure. A man’s silhouette. Quiet as a corpse and just as unmoving. Sisko sucked in a breath and reached out to activate the headboard light. Cold fingers caught his wrist, stilling him. The grip was gentle, but it didn’t let go. Sisko looked down at the alien hand-- the skin rough as his fingers slid against the grain of fine, gray scales-- and up into the man’s face. Angular ridges caught dim starlight; the bruise framing his eye gave him a haunted look.
Why? came a sudden, nonsense thought. Why didn’t he go to Bashir and have it healed?
“Garak?” Sisko cleared his throat. “What?”
The hand released him. “Shh. Go back to sleep.”
“What are you--”
“I was only worried,” Garak whispered. “I thought I’d check to see if that Federation morality of yours was keeping you awake.” A pause, and Sisko could almost feel the slither of a smile. “I’m relieved to see that it hasn’t.”
How did the man manage to sound both snide and affectionate at the same time? Sisko settled back into his pillow, weariness threatening to take over even as an intruder towered over him.
“Has yours?” Sisko heard himself say, slipping back into sleep.
“Pardon me?”
“Your morality, Garak,” Sisko said. He couldn’t finish the thought. This must’ve still been a dream, for all the sense it made. If it were real, after all, he would’ve grabbed for his combadge. He’d be wide awake and demanding that Odo send in a security team. Under no circumstance would he let this bastard into his home.
“My morality,” Garak repeated. There was a swish of fabric as he moved, turning away. “Goodnight, dear Captain.”
“Night,” he slurred back, reflexively.
The specter vanished into the shadows. A hiss of a door signaled its disappearance.
Sisko awoke at oh six hundred on the nose, with the feeling on the nape of his neck like he was being watched. Yet he was still alone.
* * *
The personal log helped with the insomnia. The healthy serving of gin that accompanied it might’ve done some of the heavy lifting.
After his meeting with Admiral Ross, he found Garak folding piles of cloth in the darkened back room of his tailor shop. It had been a long while since they’d last seen each other. That was not accidental. Sisko looked for any sign that Garak had broken into his quarters that night, but Garak carried on as if it had never happened. Soon they were arguing about the upcoming conference on Earth, with Garak stringing him through the conversation like a baited fish. The skin on Sisko’s knuckles itched to make contact again.
All of it, only to come around full circle. Oh eight hundred hours. Runabout pad A.
“I always know exactly where I stand with you,” Garak had said. Sisko wished, strangely, that the feeling were mutual.
* * *
He knew Garak was staring at him.
They’d long left the Rubicon for the personnel carrier. Time had given Sisko the ability to cool off following their latest, and doubtless not last-- altercation. “I didn’t do it just so you could lose your nerve and go begging for forgiveness from your superiors.” Garak had been in his face. The words, mocking his convictions, mocking his very core, still set Sisko’s teeth on edge as he recalled them.
Now, the staring: the tingle radiated down the back of Sisko’s neck and pinched between his shoulder blades. It chafed. But whenever Sisko tried to catch him in the act, Garak innocently sat underneath the viewport, attention ostensibly on coaxing a strip of fabric into a seamless, joined loop. His murderous fingers were deft, despite being so square and broad. Massaging his wrist, Sisko watched him work.
There would be no beating Garak at his own game. Fed up, Sisko retired to the back of the carrier and locked himself in the sleeping quarters, where no prying gaze could follow. Laid out on a bunk, he closed his eyes.
He still felt it. A thousand eyes, each one trained on him. Crawling over his skin. It wasn’t Garak, then. Part of him was disappointed by that revelation.
Maybe it was Vreenak, watching.
“Prophets,” he muttered.
* * *
They leaned against a brick wall, sucking in sea air, grinning, high off adrenaline. The demonstrators, on their heels only minutes ago, hadn’t followed. They’d lost them. Garak shook his head and muttered something about pacifists. Hands on his knees, Sisko half-laughed, half-gasped, and tentatively touched his throbbing lip. He winced as his fingers came back bloody.
“Let me,” Garak said. He reached into a pocket and withdrew a square of fabric, the same olive green shade as his suit. He grasped Sisko’s chin in one scratchy gray hand and dabbed at his split lip with the other. “How gallant of you, stopping that young man from pummeling me. I really must thank you.”
There was no sarcasm in his tone. His eyes glittered like the ocean under sunlight, full of mischief and-- something else. Fondness.
Sisko caught Garak’s wrist this time. He’d intended to tell him to cut it out, but instead he said, “Any time.”
Garak smiled and inclined his head. They looked at each other, feeling out the moment.
Above them, Chaplin cleared her throat, jarring them apart.
* * *
Roeder was dead. Another name to add to the list: two people Garak had killed, arguably, on Sisko’s behalf. He remembered Garak in that chair, bound, Roeder’s phaser to his skull, silently imploring Sisko not to do anything stupid. And what had he done? He had set down his own phaser, taking a stand that only benefited his own battered conscience-- and Garak had saved his life by making the choice for him.
At the time, he’d done it to save himself further regret. Another mistake.
If Garak held a grudge over it, however, he hadn’t let on. The man often didn’t seem to prize his own life, carrying on with a bravery that bordered fearlessness. Sisko had half-heartedly offered to bring him along to New Orleans, but Garak had politely declined to stay behind in London. “I have a souvenir to acquire,” he’d said, brightly.
They met up again in San Francisco for the transport back to Starbase 375. Visiting Judith and his father had done Sisko a lot of good. By then, he was ready for the journey. Once on the Rubicon, he and Garak had laid the last of their cards on the table. Garak had forgiven him-- for Roeder, for telling Ross everything. Sisko had hoped, maybe, it was finally over.
Then he felt the now-familiar itch at the back of his neck. Sisko didn’t think. He whirled around and glared. “Enough, Garak!”
Amid his sewing, Garak blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. I’ve had enough of you staring at me!”
Garak’s expression softened to one of pity. Infuriating. “Captain, I’ve been working on this embroidery for the past hour. I haven’t had the opportunity to give you a passing glance.”
Either he was losing his mind, or Garak was lying. Both were a possibility at this stage. Something about the man could make Sisko feel like a child amid a tantrum. He took a deep, steadying breath and mentally counted the overhead lights.
Garak set aside his sewing to stand. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed a hand on Sisko’s elbow. “It’s been an eventful week, hasn’t it? Perhaps you should lie down.”
“Maybe I should,” Sisko agreed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he turned, he caught it-- a glimmer of amusement in Garak’s eyes. “Dammit, Garak! Is gaslighting people some kind of Cardassian torture ritual, or are you that bored?”
“Torture, no.” Garak smiled. “Ritual, yes.”
“Of course it is.” Sisko wasn’t about to prompt him into what was sure to be a long-winded explanation. “I thought Bashir would’ve taught you by now that humans find staring pretty damned rude.”
“Precisely why I was surprised to find you doing it so often!”
“Me?” Sisko snorted and turned away. “Staring at you? I never once--” He stopped and inwardly groaned.
He was guilty as charged, wasn’t he? He’d been eyeballing Garak the entire trip. In the runabout, at the conference, the meet-and-greet. With suspicion, yes-- to keep an eye on him, yes-- but still blatantly watching him. Of course Garak would take that as an open invitation to stare back.
Sisko shook his head. “Sorry, Garak.”
“It’s quite all right, my dear Captain.”
Garak was still smiling, with that hint of something else. He looked like a cobra, coiled within striking distance, waiting to see if his prey would amble even closer. Once again Sisko hated that so much of him was below the surface. The war might not be a game to him, but whatever was going on between them certainly was.
Sisko had always been a straight-shooter. Subterfuge had never been his style. But he was a fast learner, and he had a feeling he knew what Garak wanted.
Funny how that didn’t scare the hell out of him.
* * *
Sisko sat in his quarters with his mug balanced on a knee. Garak had always inspired a visceral reaction in him. Since the beginning, really. Disgust at his methods warred with grudging respect over his willingness to accomplish any task.
He drank raktajino and stared out the viewport well into the night. When he finally rose and checked the time, he whistled low. Late enough that even Quark’s would be closed. He was about to strip down and prepare for bed when he hesitated. There was yet more unfinished business.
As he walked down the Habitat Ring, nodding and smiling to the one Bajoran he passed along the way (bidding him a reverent “Good-night, Emissary!”), he knew he should turn around. The thought struck him again as he approached the door. He ignored the ever-fading warning and entered his command override. The whole of his life had been guided by fate. This was only one of many inevitabilities, a series of misturns beginning with Vreenak. He was the one who had opened the door. It only suited that he should be the one to close it behind him.
The door swished open. He stepped inside.
Garak’s quarters were dark and haloed in red light. Sisko held out a hand to guide the way as he searched for the bedroom. Everything was silent and still. Payback would be--
“Captain,” a voice purred from behind him, “to what do I owe the pleasure of such an unexpected visit?”
Sisko mentally cursed. He regrouped quickly. If he could spar with an unstable Dukat, surely he could handle this. “Funny,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately upbeat. “I must’ve taken a wrong turn.”
Garak drew closer. “Oh. Very wrong indeed.”
They were on the same page, then.
“You’re up late, Garak.”
He was only inches away now. “As are you.”
Sisko risked a glance over his shoulder and wasn’t disappointed. Garak wore a maroon robe. The color suited him, Sisko decided. He hadn't cinched the belt. It hung open, revealing a vertical stripe of gray skin that left little to the imagination.
Garak raised the glass in his hand in a silent toast.
Sisko turned away before Garak could see him begin to smile. “Conscience keeping you up?” he said.
There was a clatter of ice as Garak took a sip from his glass. Sisko had no doubt that he understood the reference, but would be damned if he’d ever acknowledge it. Instead, Garak leaned in. “Care for a drink, Captain?”
Sisko accepted the offered glass. He didn’t care for kanar, but now wasn’t the time to quibble. He was surprised when whiskey hit the back of his throat, warming him down to the center of his chest. He drained the glass, didn’t pass it back. His ice-chilled fingertips reached between the folds of Garak’s robe to rest on his thigh. The move paid off-- Garak drew in a sharp breath. Sisko allowed a private smile and ran his fingers up and down the smooth, warm scales. Surprise!
Garak grabbed Sisko’s bicep, bringing himself flush with Sisko’s backside. Through the thin fabric, Sisko could feel every ridge in Garak’s body, pressing in. Sisko turned around to face him. He brushed his knuckles over Garak’s cheek.
Garak flinched-- Sisko couldn’t blame him for that-- then relaxed when the blow didn’t come. “Captain,” he began, and it was a clear warning. One Sisko chose not to heed as he tilted his head down.
They met halfway. The kiss that followed was slow and deep. When Sisko opened his mouth, Garak’s tongue pushed inside, tasting him.
Sisko pulled away long enough to catch his breath and rethink. “I don’t want to step on Doctor Bashir’s toes,” he said.
“What a curious turn of phrase.”
“It means to overstep your boundaries,” Sisko explained. A shake of Garak’s head stopped him from elaborating further.
“I understand the idiom, Captain, but what does the good doctor have to do with--” Garak gestured between the two of them.
“You mean, you two never--” Sisko faltered. He’d assumed his CMO and the resident Cardassian were having an on-again, off-again affair, and although he’d never approved, he’d opted to look the other way as long as it didn’t interfere with duty and loyalty to the Federation. Apparently he’d been mistaken.
“One of Quark’s fanciful rumors,” Garak said. “I thought you’d know better than to take that seriously, Captain.” Sisko must’ve still looked skeptical, because Garak lowered his voice, continuing, “He prefers his partners young, beautiful, and decidedly of the opposite sex.”
Sisko glanced down. Somewhere in the course of the conversation, he’d lost the whiskey glass. It glinted from a nearby shelf, beside a mean-looking dagger of carved obsidian. Freed, his hands had found their way to Garak’s waist, where they stroked the twin ridges that ran across his hipbones. Garak, meanwhile, seemed absorbed in the texture of Sisko’s beard. Sisko bent to steal another kiss.
“His loss,” he murmured against Garak’s lips.
Garak’s eyes widened. Then he tilted his head, as if granting an opponent a well-deserved point. He doesn’t believe me, Sisko thought with some disappointment. He thinks it’s part of the game. From what he knew of Garak, it wouldn’t surprise Sisko if he’d gone the entirety of his life complimented only for his cunning mind and ability to sew a straight line.
We could both use a little earnestness, it would seem.
Sisko caught him by the back of the neck and brought their lips together again, harder this time, until they both couldn’t breathe.
There were a thousand reasons not to lead Garak to the bedroom, twenty of which came to mind as Sisko rubbed the corded, scaled flesh of Garak’s neckridges, drawing out a groan that sent spikes of heat across Sisko’s groin. Those broad, deft fingers snapping apart the fastenings of Sisko’s uniform added another thirty. Ten more: Garak biting Sisko’s lower lip, then sucking it into his mouth. Sisko’s hands went to cup Garak’s ass underneath the robe. A moment later, he felt the unmistakable jab of another man against his thigh. That had to count for at least a hundred.
Cardassians. Even their dicks were sneaky.
With Kasidy, their relationship had been full of affection, but underneath it was an ongoing demonstration that he’d moved on. With Jennifer: love and the inevitable duty that came with any responsible partnership. It had been a long time since he had taken anyone to bed simply for the fun of it. Twenty years. What would Curzon say if he could see him now?
Attaboy, Ben, most likely.
Sisko’s laughter hit a high pitch. He buried his face in Garak’s neck, fighting to control himself.
“If this is how you handle your romantic overtures,” Garak said with a sniff, “I can see why you’re having relationship difficulties.”
“I’m not laughing at you, Garak,” Sisko said as he drew back to look him in the eye. He softened his tone, unsure of this new ground between them. “I was just thinking of how fast things can change.”
The hint of a smile returned. “So they can.”
In the bedroom, Garak dropped the robe and made short work of what remained of Sisko’s uniform. Sisko let his hands roam-- to the scales along Garak’s shoulders, to his chest, down his sides. He felt the uneven grooves of scars but didn’t linger over them. Garak answered back, caressing him with a gentleness that made Sisko shiver.
Garak’s fingers found the waistband of Sisko’s underwear and slid them down. “My,” he said.
And then, then Garak was silent. The only warning Sisko got was the tickle of breath against his exposed skin. Garak’s mouth was around him, hot, sucking, licking maddening circles with his tongue-tip.
Sisko groaned and threaded his fingers through Garak’s hair. He sat at the edge of the bed, thighs trembling, watching in amazement as Garak bobbed his head, sucking with obvious enthusiasm. Sisko clenched his jaw. It wasn’t enough to keep a traitorous “Oh, god!” from escaping.
Garak sat up. The ridges along his neck were dark and swollen. His intent was written over his face as he slithered closer and kissed Sisko with single-minded determination. It was a tempting distraction. Sisko didn’t take it. Just as Garak began to push Sisko onto his back, Sisko rolled away and shoved Garak face-first onto the bed. Garak landed with a startled “omph!” and glared over his shoulder when Sisko held him down. “What are you doing?”
“Come on, Garak,” Sisko said, panting as he tightened his grasp on the back of Garak’s wrists and struggled to keep him pinned. Garak wasn’t making it easy; he bucked his hips and tried to throw Sisko off, fighting for leverage. Sisko had to use his entire weight to hold him down. It was like wrestling an alligator, and equally as dangerous. “You didn’t think I’d just let you fuck me, did you?”
There was a low rumbling, and Sisko felt a thrill as he realized it was coming from Garak’s chest. Garak was growling at him.
Oh, he was in trouble now. “What’s wrong, Garak?” he said, deciding to prod that alligator a little more. “Afraid to yield to a human?” Sisko punctuated his words by rubbing against the cleft of Garak’s ass.
Garak’s bared teeth were a flash of white. Sisko had a feeling he was seconds from getting elbowed in the face. When Garak spoke, his voice was strained by Sisko’s weight compressing his lungs. “If I were you, Captain, I’d advise--”
Sisko bit Garak’s neckridge. Hard. His teeth sank down until Garak was moaning and arching his spine. He seemed to melt underneath him.
Sucking on the ridge of scales, Sisko let up to growl into the curve of his ear, “Show me.”
“Oh, my dear Captain,” Garak said, sweetly, as if this had been his plan all along, “whatever you wish.”
* * *
Bent over the bed, Garak fisted the bedsheets and grunted with each thrust of Sisko’s hips. Sisko admired the elaborate curve of his spinal ridge, the way his muscles tensed beneath scales wet with Sisko’s sweat, the simple feel of him.
They fell in and out of rhythm, fast and hard. When Sisko came, it was in a flash of white, an almost out-of-body experience that left him dazed and briefly lost.
He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but he’d denied himself rest for so long, and Garak’s bed was too warm. When he woke, he found himself wrapped in rough blankets. Sisko tossed them off and called on the computer for the time. He’d been passed out for two hours. In Garak’s bed. The surreality of that mowed him down.
Beside him, Garak lay stretched out, still naked, black hair disheveled. A glass of blue kanar sat on one of his bent knees. His eyes were closed, but Sisko didn’t doubt for a second that he was anything but fully awake. After a beat of hesitation, Sisko wrapped an arm around the Cardassian’s middle. Garak hummed approval and drew closer.
Presently, Sisko broke the silence. “Garak. How familiar are you with Terran mythology?”
“I’m nothing more than a reluctant student, Captain.”
Whatever that meant. “You must’ve heard of the devil, at least. What about Cardassians? Did they ever believe in a similar creature?”
“Similar, perhaps.”
“Care to elaborate on that?”
Garak opened one eye, closed it. That was all the answer he’d be getting for now.
“I was thinking of an old quote,” Sisko continued, not letting Garak’s uncharacteristic reticence slow him down. He ran a finger over Garak’s shoulder and traced the indentation in the center of his chest. “He who sups with the devil should use a long spoon.”
Garak sat up. “Captain, I had no idea you read Shakespeare!”
“I don’t. It’s from Chaucer. I was never much of a fan of Shakespeare’s.”
Garak settled back, propped on one elbow as he looked Sisko up and down. “Captain,” he said, his smile wicked, “are you concerned that you’ve been dining with bad company as of late?”
“Not as much as I should be.”
Garak’s smile widened. Setting the kanar aside, he rolled over to give Sisko a slow, lingering kiss. It must’ve been the right thing to say, Sisko thought as Garak dipped his head and sucked along his neck. Sisko moaned and writhed as teeth nipped at his skin. When Garak drew back, his glance questioning, Sisko nodded.
Garak didn’t need to be shown the way. They rocked against each other, panting and gasping at every shared pleasure, Garak’s lips hovering over his but never touching. Sisko kept his legs hitched over Garak’s waist, urging him on with the press of heels. His eyes followed the sharp edges of Garak’s face, watched the ebb of emotions there: cold focus to fondness to lust and back again. When Garak buried his face in Sisko’s neck and bit his shoulder, Sisko couldn’t hold it in. He howled.
Garak’s laughter was a puff of hot breath against his ear.
* * *
“I wasn’t waiting for you,” Sisko said, another night. Garak had slipped into his bed so silently that he hadn’t known he was there until a solid arm circled his chest.
“You don’t normally sleep in the nude, Captain.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Oh, only an educated guess.”
Sisko turned around. “I hope you’re not making such lazy assumptions while decoding the Dominion's messages.” That earned him an indignant huff. He reached for the clasp of Garak’s pants. “I’m the Emissary,” he said, suddenly. “Of the Prophets. Of Bajor.”
Please understand what I’m trying to say.
“Of course you are, Captain.” Garak yanked down his constraining undergarments, and for a moment it seemed he was mocking him. As he guided Sisko’s wrist, he inclined his head, his tone becoming a formal introduction as he whispered, “Elim Garak. Former Cardassian oppressor.”
* * *
Odo knew.
It was impossible for them to pay each other visits in the dead of night without drawing the constable’s attention. It was only a matter of time, Garak had warned him. And find out he did. Two weeks later, Odo passed Sisko in the Habitat Ring, only seconds after he had left Garak’s quarters. Sisko froze in place, caught. No possible excuse would pass muster.
There was no need; Odo had walked on, casting a hollowed-out, pointed stare in Sisko’s direction before he continued down the corridor.
Sisko’s chief of security wasn’t one to withhold an opinion. The next day, as they stood alone in the conference room, looking over the latest casualty report, Odo shifted his weight. “Captain,” he began, the words coming like they had to be shaken out, “do you know what you’re doing?”
Sisko weaved his fingers together and regarded the list of names. “Not in the least.”
Odo gave a short nod. “I know what it’s like,” he said. “To be lonely.”
Sisko had heard about Odo’s liaisons with the female changeling, how he’d betrayed Kira. He'd thrown away everything he was, ignored the suffering of his friends-- temporarily. They were still working to reestablish trust. Sisko rested a hand on Odo’s arm, even as his thoughts rebelled against the conclusions being drawn. This was not the same. Not even close.
“It makes it easy,” Odo said, “to make mistakes.”