STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE is a Registered Trademark ® of 
Paramount Pictures.  Copyright (c) 1996 by Paramount Pictures. 
All Rights Reserved.  No infringement was meant.

"THE TIES THAT BIND" copyright (c) 1996 by BGM

Note - The idea of the zadecha stalk belongs to Andrea Evans, 
introduced in the story "Inner Voices".  I only borrowed it ;-)

Note2 - This story is a bit dark, with a side of Garak I 
seldom explore.  I hear the scoffs and laughs, but truly; I 
usually make Garak dark when Julian wants him to be.  This is 
a tad different, and I'm not sure at the result.  But, oh 
well.

~~~

The criminal does not make beauty; he himself is the authentic 
beauty.
					Jean-Paul Sartre

Today

It was the blanket that brought him comfort and safety.  Odd, 
to consider a flimsy piece of cloth as protection, but at the 
moment it was the only thing keeping his naked skin sheltered 
from the dreadful chill permeating the ambient air.  Mentally 
he berated himself for his immaturity - for thinking that a 
piece of cloth would ever shield him from his one true fear.  
But it did nonetheless, and waking up on morning likes these, 
alone, fearful, he was grateful for it.

He inhaled deeply, shifting slightly within the silky armour 
before the cool air transported him back to Paris, waking up 
blearily to a sun-drenched room, his skin crawling with 
goosebumps from the chilly autumn air wafting through the open 
balcony doors.  When his eyes drifted open, he could almost 
discern a lithe, very female silhouette; solemn and silent, 
leaning against the frame with eyes closed and chest swelling 
as she breathed the pure morning air, long golden hair swaying 
in the breeze.

He blinked to confirm the spectre's tangibility, and the image 
was swiftly gone.  

Instead he woke to harsh reality; a life framed with 
disturbing angles, lighted only by the dimmest of lights and 
saturated permanently with the stark, ugly memories of those 
who'd previously inhabited his room.  Those who huddled in it, 
hugging the floor abjectly for their Cardassian masters at the 
same time he was struggling with the damn post-ganglionic 
question at the academy. 

He sighed and tucked the cover beneath his chin, shivering 
slightly in the cold-blooded air and scolding the annoying 
draft from the air recycler just above him.  Whoever had 
designed the place certainly hadn't positioned the bed where 
it was right now.  Maybe he would redecorate later in the day 
... move some things around so he would feel more at home.  
Maybe he would even change quarters all together.  He had 
time.  Why not?  

Julian Subatoi Bashir was, after all, unemployed.

A month ago

	The light was so bright it blinded him for a few 
disconcerting moments before he grew accustomed to it.  When 
he did, Garak's face cleared into focus and peered down at him 
angrily, a lip curled, eyes narrowed.

	"Wa's wrong?" he slurred sleepily, too comfortably 
buried inside his covers to move or even bother leaving his 
eyes open.  He allowed them to drift close, his mind already 
dancing between light sleep and playful dreaming.

	Only when the slap connected with his cheek did he fully 
wake up.  "Garak!"

	"Oh, so delighted you could return to me Doctor.  I 
don't know whether it was out of sheer contempt or simple 
stupidity, but I wasn't through with you last night when you 
fell asleep."

	Julian panted hard, his heart racing at a frightening 
speed.  It was never good to scare someone into consciousness 
- not good for the heart anyhow.  He willed it to a slower 
beat before he covered the developing bruise on his cheek.  "I 
didn't fall asleep Garak ... I fainted."

	Another slap made his head swing to the other side.  
"Don't lie to me," hissed the Cardassian ominously.  "I'm 
tired of your lies."

	"I'm not lying!" cried the young man passionately.  "But 
you went too far last night.  Gods ... don't you know what 
that thing was doing to my insides?"

	Garak smiled slyly, his hand reaching beneath the covers 
to cup Julian's painful cock.  "Oh you didn't seem to mind 
when I was inserting it my sweet ..."  Julian closed his eyes 
and moaned involuntarily, remembering.

	Elim had called it a dukth, but all it had been was a 
long needle-like pin, tapered bluntly at one end, and swollen 
into a slight sphere on the other.  And before Julian's 
imagination had naturally divined where Garak was intent to 
use it, the tailor had lubricated it and inserted the blunt 
point into the small slit on Julian's cockhead.
  
	Tied, Julian was denied struggle, and even if he'd been 
free no amount of pain could have convinced him that the 
pleasure wasn't worth it.  Specially when Garak had swung his 
legs up and entered him in one swift thrust, pushing the pin 
completely into the length of his cock.  The dual penetration 
had been an almost out-of-body experience, so intense and so 
pleasurable, yet also painfully agonising, that Julian 
couldn't have prevented the sweet darkness from invading his 
mind when he came even if he wanted too. 
   
 	And now Garak was angry about that it seemed.

	He sighed and gracefully slipped out of bed, out of 
Garak's grasp.  
The tailor let him go, smiling amusedly at him.
  
	Ignoring him, Julian walked with the languid speed of 
one who'd been wakened too early toward the washroom, rubbing 
his face.  When he slid his hand away, a flash of crimson 
caught his eyes.  He glanced down and gasped sharply, spying 
with horrified surprise the dried blood crowning the head of 
his penis.  Not much of it, but Julian Bashir -- like any 
other normal men -- was not very enthusiastic about leaking 
blood from that particular part of his anatomy. 
  
	He turned to Garak, then sideways to the bed where more 
blood tainted the white linens.  Tears sprang to his eyes 
without conscious knowing, and he rushed to the little room. 
 
	As he frantically reached for disinfectants and 
unguents, Garak lazily walked up to the entrance and casually 
leaned against the frame as he watched Julian's endeavours to 
erase the vestiges of human blood and close imaginary wounds.  
"It's only a little blood Julian," he drawled on a lightly 
scolding tone.  "You shouldn't be so dramatic about it."

	Julian sniffed angrily and focused his misty eyes on his 
lover.  Soon to be ex-lover.  "Dramatic?  _Dramatic_?  You 
bastard, did you _see_ what you did to me?  I'm tired of this 
Garak.  I thought you respected me, but all you're doing is 
treating me like a Cardassian lover."

	A smile touched the tailor's sinuous lips, though it 
never quite reached the brilliantly blue eyes.  "You like it.  
That's the only reason I do it."

	"No."  Julian finished his task and closed the lights, 
pressing close to the Cardassian and staring back with a hint 
of challenge in his eyes.  "The only reason you do it is 
because you _can't_ have a Cardassian lover, so you act as 
though _I'm_ one.  Well sorry my friend, but I'm not 
Cardassian, and I won't stand for your bloody games anymore."
 
	He brushed by him to reach the den, but Garak's 
lightening-fast arm gripped his wrist and swiveled him back 
to him.
  
	The smile had long vanished. 
 
	"Are my ears deceiving me Julian?  Are you actually 
insulting me?"  Still with his hold on Julian's slender wrist, 
Garak reached up with his free hand and curled his fingers and 
thumb around the narrow neck.  "I'm not very pleasant when I'm 
insulted, _Doctor_"
	"Garak," Julian strained.  "Garak, stop it, _now_.  I 
don't want to do this anymore."

	The tailor laughed cruelly.  "Since when do those words 
ever stop me?"

	*Never,* Julian thought in a panic before he swung his 
knee to Garak's groin.  Insane fury crossed the icy depths of 
the tailor's eyes.  "Are you trying to anger me Julian?  
Because you're doing a fine job of it!" he barked before he 
flung the slender body across the bed.
  
	Julian landed with a bounce and a swift exhale of air.  
He blinked away the faint disorientation, and looked up to see 
the tailor looming over him, eyes livid, fists clenched.  "Why 
do you always find it in yourself to anger me Julian?" he said 
in a calmer voice.  "You know how it fuels my temper."
 
	"Oh to hell with your fucking temper," spat the young 
man, straightening up abruptly.  "You're always blaming it on 
something else.  If it's not your temper, it's something else.  
And I'm sick of it Elim. This is not working, and you know it.  
I can't go on like this anymore."

	Determined, he moved to get up, but Garak abruptly 
advanced on him and pinned him to the bed, painfully holding 
the slender wrists with a vice-like grip.  He lowered his head 
very close to Julian's and sneered.  "A bit of trivia for you 
Julian.  When a Cardassian is interested in you, and you lead 
him on, it's never a wise choice to break ties with him after 
you've had _your_ fun." 
 
	"You're insane," Julian breathed, testing Garak's hold.  
Unfortunately for him, it was a good one.  "Garak, let me go 
please ... I want you to leave."

	"Leave?  _Leave_?" bawled the tailor, snarling like a 
savage animal. He struck the human across the jaw before he 
pulled back, releasing his captive.  "What you need," he 
hissed, "is a reminder of who dictates what in these quarters.  
And when I'm around, that's _me_!" he snapped, unfastening his 
trousers and unleashing his cock, achingly hard and weeping 
with anticipation.  Julian peddled across the bed, shaking his 
head.     

 * * * * *
	
Julian lazily slid out of bed and walked slowly to the 
washroom, unheeded by the rush of time or haste for duty.  On 
the way he paused to glance in the body-length mirror, inspect 
the healing process which wasn't going nearly as fast as he'd 
like it to be.  There was still a light, very light, scar at 
the corner of his mouth where Garak had repeatedly struck him.  
He looked at it now, twisting his face around to study it more 
clearly.  At least he'd left his face alone.  Julian had no 
wish to be constantly reminded of the ordeal by indiscreet 
inquiries about the gruesome scars on his face.  

But of course, this only made the other bruises on his body 
more prominent.  Specially those beneath the waist.  Discard 
the marks Garak's nails had made on his back, forget the 
blemishes on his arms, and you're left with a very pretty 
array of wounds on his inner thighs, backside and penis.  And 
even though those marks would eventually fade with time, 
Julian knew he would never forget their existence.  Nor the 
memory of how they got there.

 * * * * *   

	"Garak, please; just stop!  I don't want it anymore!  
Don't you get it??  I don't want YOU like this!" he cried 
before he fumbled out of bed and ran toward his console.  
Garak ran after him and caught his waist.  With sheer 
Cardassian strength, Garak lifted him up from his feet, turned 
and dropped him with a loud thud on the floor.  Julian 
screamed; a sound which ended up like a sickening exhale of 
air.  The breath was gone from his lungs, and weakly, he tried 
to raise himself, only managing to lift his frame by his hands 
before collapsing back on his stomach. 

	"I won't even bother using lubricant," hissed the 
Cardassian as he knelt to the floor, hoisting the narrow hips 
from the floor before he thrust in without admonition.  "You 
don't deserve it," he sneered.

	No screams were left in Julian to offer the pain which 
slashed across his body - no voice, no struggle.  With disgust 
he felt his sticky blood oozing from torn muscles and down his 
inner thighs, and still Garak kept pounding him, grunting. 
 
	"...Please..." he whispered, lowering his forehead to 
the floor and trying to ignore the pain.  After a moment it 
went away, and all he was left with was a numb presence in his 
body, sliding in and out with a steady, brutal rhythm.  When 
the smell of blood reached his nostrils, he coughed, and 
before he could violently spill his stomach's contents, he 
closed his eyes and allowed darkness to fill his mind. 

 * * * * *

He sighed and walked away from the mirror.  He saw too many 
things when he stared at himself.  Too many painful memories.  
He walked into the washroom and opened the lights, pausing 
with a vacant stare.

 * * * * *
	
	He wanted so desperately to get up.  To crawl away from 
the disgusting pool of blood on the floor to the shower.  
Immerse himself in water, wash away the dirt, the shame, 
himself.  

	But he couldn't.  It was so much easier to remain where 
he was, let his mind again drift to oblivion, away from now 
and its gruesome realities.
  
	Was he here?  Watching?  Sitting in a chair behind him 
with a nicely chilled glass of kanar in one hand, stroking 
himself idly with the other as Julian tried to lift himself up 
with about as much energy as though he'd just completed three 
hundred push ups?  Was he chuckling under his breath, 
silently, reveling in the perverse feeling of studying his 
bloodied prey trying to survive?

	Julian felt the angry tears burn trails of fire across 
his cheek, and he used his last bout of energy to glance over 
his shoulder. 
 
	Nothing.  Empty.  Left alone to die.  To drown in his 
own blood.  He collapsed again, and this time the darkness 
which enveloped him was even more oppressive.  A darkness he 
wasn't sure he even wanted to run away from.

 * * * * *

He looked inside his closet and sighed.  His pants, not here, 
but _there_.  He'd forgotten about them during the following 
month of his recovery.  He'd forgotten about his favourite 
pair of trousers resting neatly on Garak's rack, awaiting 
pick-up.  

It would be so easy to ask Dax or Kira or Miles to pick them 
up for him.  

He slid into a pair of sweats and sauntered out of his 
quarters, toward the Promenade ... 

... toward *his* shop.

 * * * * *
	It was O'Brien who found him. 
 
	The time was a little before noon, and Julian had 
scheduled a lunch hour of kayaking with his friend.  When 
Julian failed to make the appointment, O'Brien had wondered if 
he'd simply forgotten and went to Julian's quarters after 
inquiring the computer where his friend was located.  When all 
attempts at communicating with the young man were met with 
dead silence, Miles finally grew worried and opened the 
control box by the doors, quickly making a few adjustments to 
the wiring. 
 
	Not two seconds later he had the doors opening for him, 
and the sight greeting him from inside almost made him throw 
up himself; Julian, his friend, the gentle doctor, was 
sprawled over the floor on his stomach, a frighteningly large 
pool of blood slowly leaking from the doctor's inner thighs. 
       
	Instead the engineer made a little noise akin to a 
strangled gasp, and fumbled backwards until his back touched 
the opposite wall of the corridor.  He closed his eyes 
tightly, panting with horror before he gathered his wits and 
touched his insignia.  "O'Brien to Infirmary.  Prepare to 
receive an injured patient," he said with no breath, stepping 
over his shock and re-entering Julian's quarters.  
   
	"But Mister O'Brien," a nurse answered him.  "We're 
missing Doctor Bashir."

	"That's because the patient IS Doctor Bashir," he 
bawled, even as he wrapped the bleeding body of his young 
friend into a bed sheet.  "Bloody hell," he cursed, looking up 
at the young face.  Peaceful as it was, he looked no older 
than a young boy.  "O'Brien to Ops; two to beam directly to 
the Infirmary.  And bloody hurry!" 

 * * * * *  

"Well."

The word was meant to sting, and it did.  Julian winced ever 
so slightly and buried his hands in his pockets, silent.  
Garak continued folding clothes, not even sparing a look at 
the young man.  "I suppose you're here for these," he 
muttered, reaching back without looking and pulling a pair of 
pants from the rack.  He turned toward Julian, flung them at 
the doctor and continued walking the other way.  "Now that you 
have them, get out of my shop," he snapped.

Julian clutched the cloth with claws, gritting his teeth.  
"You know, I don't even understand why you're so damn angry.  
_I'm_ the one who should be furious with you.  At least I make 
an effort."

"Effort?" Garak scoffed, finally locking his stare on the 
young doctor.  "You call slapping a restraining order in my 
face an effort?"  He growled and smothered the urge to advance 
intimidatingly on Julian. Such a gesture could get him in 
trouble.  "Because of that I can't even approach you or talk 
to you anymore.  I have to sit by and twiddle my thumbs until 
you muster the courage to come and see _me_ on your own.  You 
were frightened, terrified every time you saw me, so you 
thought getting Odo to write up a restraining order was a 
marvelous idea.  Well you got your wish Doctor.  I won't ever 
approach you or talk to you.  But I will _not_ take pleasure 
in the few crumbs you leave behind for me either.  So please 
do me the courtesy not to waltz in here, full of pompous pride 
over the fact I can't lay a single finger on you without 
risking transfer.  You didn't want to see my face; that's what 
restraining orders are for."  He sneered, his eyes dark and 
malevolent.  "Well the same goes for me, _Doctor_.  I don't 
ever want to see your face around here either.  So get out 
now, while I still consider the prospect of transfer less 
attractive than breaking your neck."

 * * * * *

	"He's stabilised for now," Nurse Selanas told a quiet 
conference meeting, "The blood loss wasn't as great as we 
anticipated, so we were able to account for the deficiency in 
a fairly short amount of time.  Other than that, we've treated 
him for other bruises - but at this point we're unsure which 
ones are related to his recent injury."
	Sisko jerked his head up, "Well where the hell could 
they have come from if they weren't from his assault?"

	She shrugged.  "I've detected some light scaring on his 
back, that aren't consistent with the pattern of the assault."

	Dax looked thoughtful when she said, "Considering the 
injury, is it plausible to consider other causes than rape?"

	Selanas frowned and leaned back in her chair.  "I very 
much doubt it, but that's a question you'll have to ask Doctor 
Bashir himself when he wakes up."
	
	"Constable," Worf chimed in.  "Perhaps it would be wise 
to make a security sweep of the station; to discover the 
identity of the assailant."

	"No need for that, Commander," Kira said tensely.  Her 
eyes were hard when she turned to Sisko.  "I took a wild stab 
in the dark and asked the computer if there had been any 
people inside his quarters at the time he was attacked."

	Odo snorted.  "I doubt the one who did this was foolish 
enough not to erase his presence from the computer logs."

	Kira nodded and looked at her friend.  "He was.  The 
computer identified the presence of 'Garak' in Julian's 
quarters from 1856 last night to 1109 this morning."

	"I found Julian around noon," O'Brien said, but there 
was nobody else there."  Good thing too.  O'Brien might have 
very well killed him.
 
	"You mean he was by himself a whole hour?  Joint Gods, 
he was left to die!"

	Sisko turned to Dax and took a deep, steadying breath.  
"That doesn't sound like our eminent tailor.  Could he have 
been framed?"

	Selanas pursed her lips, and shook her head.  "No ... 
unless there's another Cardassian on board, it makes perfect 
sense.  The scars I discovered on his back were laid in a 
specific pattern.  And now that I think about it, they could 
have been the result of a zadecha stalk; a Cardassian whip of 
a sort, though a lot more painful.  The pattern matches, 
though I'll have to verify with the computer.  The thorns 
always leaves faint traces of its own fibres in the skin."
 
	Dax widened her eyes at the idea.  "If the scars were so 
light, then that means Garak, or whoever's done this, did this 
a long time ago.  Why didn't he say anything?"

	A deafening silence fell over the conference room, and 
all chose not to dwell on the implications.  "I want to see 
him," Sisko said quietly.  "Nurse, can he be wakened?"

	"Yes, of course."

	The Captain nodded.  "Meanwhile, Constable, I want your 
men to take Mr. Garak into custody."

	"Under which charge?"

	"Both.  Rape and attempted manslaughter."

 * * * * *

"_Listen_ to me Garak, I know drawing up a restraining order 
was a bit of a drastic measure, but dammit!  Aren't you the 
least bit remorseful over what you did?  You fucking raped 
me Elim!  Not to mention left me to die."

Garak snorted and turned away.  "Humans.  Always over-
exaggerating."
	
"Yes, I am human Elim.  Which is also why my body isn't able 
to withstand what you had in store for it.  It might have been 
pleasurable for another Cardassian, but not me!  I - am - not 
- Cardassian, how many times do I have to tell you?"
	
For this, the tailor had no answer, thus swiveled on his 
heels angrily and stalked to Julian, this time unconcerned by 
the repercussions.  The young man cowered slightly, but still 
he marginally held his ground.  When Garak was only a few feet 
from him he paused and narrowed his eyes.  "Do I have to ask 
permission now to enter your personal space?"
	
The connotation was sarcastic, but Julian detected the 
seriousness in the tailor's tone.  Slowly, he nodded, closing 
his eyes and reminding himself that help was only a tap away. 

 * * * * *

	Again, the damn light was too bright.  Julian's eyes 
fluttered opened, then quickly he winced , turning on his side 
to avoid the bright illumination.  He groaned, then his eyes 
flew opened.  "My legs ..." he whispered.  Selanas was 
immediately beside him, her voice soothing.  

	"It's all right Doctor.  It's only a nerve suppresser."

	If she had to use a nerve suppresser, then he guessed 
the pain would otherwise be too intense to bear.  He nodded 
faintly, frowning as he began to register a headache, and an 
upset stomach. 
 		
	"Doctor?"

	He lifted his eyes, now blurred with faint tears, and 
they came to rest on Sisko's imposing form.  "Yes?"

	"We were worried for you Doctor.  You were pretty badly 
hurt when Mr. O'Brien found you."

	"Really," he muttered, hiding his face in the pillow.  
When he looked back at Sisko, an ironic smile was on his lips.  
"I hope he wasn't too annoyed I had to cancel our lunch date." 
 
	"Julian!"  A different voice, behind him.  He turned 
languidly over to his back, tossing his head back as his 
stomach clenched with echoes of what it would feel like to 
have the pain he should be experiencing right now.  He turned 
his head to see Dax.  

	"Is it true?" she whispered, taking a few steps toward 
him.  "Was it ... Garak?"

	Shock and surprise quickly came and passed, eventually 
replaced by subtle anger.  "Who do you think it was?  It's 
hardly secret around here.  Not anymore."

	"But Julian, he hurt you ..."

	"Really?  And what was your first clue?  Listen," he 
snapped to both Sisko and Dax, "I'm all right now, okay?  I'm 
fine, I'm alive, and I'm grateful that you all care so deeply.  
But leave Garak out of this.  He didn't give me anything I 
didn't ask for."

	Dax gasped slightly.  "Julian ..."

	"You heard me.  Now Captain, I'd appreciate it if I was 
left alone for a few moments.  I need to think."  Think about 
what I'm going to do, he thought silently, bitterly.
     
	Sisko nodded then circled the bed toward the exit.  He 
stopped next to Dax and nudged her quietly to follow.  She 
shook her head, partly in pity, partly in disbelief, then 
reluctantly followed.
	
	His legs still unresponsive, Julian twisted his upper 
body to the side and rested his head on the bend of his elbow.  
His eyes narrowed with quiet rage.

 * * * * *  

As soon as he'd nodded, he felt warm breathing sweeping over 
his face, and the scent was so _Garak_, that he had to take a 
sharp inhale of air.  Then, there was whispering very close to 
his ear.

"I know you are not Cardassian Julian.  It was always hard for 
me to understand that, and unfortunately for us both, it took 
_that_ to make me realise it.  I was never good with feelings 
Julian.  I could always hide them behind anger or 
indifference.  But know that I've laid awake at nights 
wondering what was going on in your mind.  Julian I ..." he 
paused, gathering his wits before adding, "I even thought of 
... transferring off Deep Space Nine on my own.  I couldn't 
live with the pain I'd caused you."  He pulled away just as 
Julian's eyes drifted open.  He reached up and caressed the 
smooth cheek.  "I need help ... with my temper, I agree.  But 
Julian, I don't want to lose you."  He gathered the young man 
in his arms and held him tight.  "I love you too much for 
that."
	
Julian was about to whisper a reply when a cough interrupted 
them.  They both looked back toward the shop's entrance, where 
Odo stood with arms folded.  "Should I be interrupting here?" 
he asked gruffly, looking at Julian inquisitively.

 * * * * *

	Before she knew it, Jadzia Dax found herself standing in 
front of Garak's temporary cell, staring at the tailor through 
an energy field scattered with mild static.  He'd afforded her 
approach a curious glance, but had languidly returned to his 
position; bent over his knees with dejected monotony.  

	She remained still for a few moments, simply staring at 
the Cardassian, sympathy and disgust warring inside her.  
Finally, when he lifted his icy gaze to meet hers, she lightly 
shook her head.  "Why?"  she asked quietly, watching as he 
sighed and spread himself casually over the hard trestle.

	"You would not understand Commander, so please.  Just 
leave me alone," he whispered, settling the inner crook of his 
arm over his eyes.  The light was too damned bright anyway, 
and Commander Dax's eyes were always somewhat of a disturbing 
sight for the tailor.  So used he was to have people's eyes 
hug the ground when he stared hard enough that he was 
moderately troubled when one like her came along, revealing no 
qualms at all about returning the steady stare.

	"I want to understand," Jadzia replied firmly, dragging 
a chair in front of the wide entrance.  She sat down 
carefully, her eyes never leaving the Cardassian's lax form.  
Even when he snapped his head sharply at her and allowed a 
glimmer of barely smothered wrath to cross his eyes.

	"Oh spare me, please!  No-one wants to understand!  I'm 
good as already transferred," he growled, tossing his head.  
"No-one on this station has as much as a speck of respect for 
me."

	The woman shrugged a shoulder, her eyes finally blinking 
in a peaceful fashion.  "Of course not; not after you go and 
brutally rape their friend," said Dax evenly.

	Garak stared at her for a moment more before he 
retrieved his indifferent affectation.  "I did nothing he 
didn't like," he exhaled loudly.

	She passed her hands in her face, partly to rub her 
tired eyes, partly to compose herself.  There was a thin line 
between understanding and fury doing battle in her mind right 
now, and she was dancing on a very careless rope.  "Rape is 
tricky and encapsulates a lot of definitions Garak," she said 
carefully after a moment.  "He might have enjoyed being 
overpowered before, but when he said no, you should have 
listened."

	"The only reason he stayed with me all that long is 
because he enjoys the power I have over him.  He _likes_ it, 
Commander.  In fact, I would go as far to say he's addicted to 
it.  You know the average length of his usual relationships - 
short.  I'm the only one on that station who's managed to keep 
him that long."

	"That could also mean he was too scared of what you 
might do to him if he left you.  Julian has always been with 
women, Garak.  As much as he enjoyed your power, he wasn't 
used to it.  Maybe you moved a little too fast for him.  It 
might have been right in your mind, but he panicked.  He was 
pushed over the edge." 

	Garak sighed and physically shut her off as he turned 
away from her.  "I'm tired Commander.  And as delighted as I 
am that you'd care enough to visit me in the bowels of the 
station's prison system, I'd also like to be alone."

 * * * * *

Wrapped up in his emotions, Julian mutely shook his head and 
rasped, "It's all right Constable, we were just ... talking."  
	
Odo stared at them for a moment more before he tossed his head 
with a grunt, turning away and leaving the couple alone.
	
"Is it Elim?" Julian asked the tailor.
	
Garak looked down at him questioningly.  "Is it all right?"
	
Garak shook his head, pulling away.  "No it's not.  And it 
won't be for a long time.  But if we were meant for each 
other, as I think we were, then I think we will be able to 
temper the mending."   	
	
"Come on," Julian said, taking the tailor's hand and pulling 
him toward the exit with him.
	
"Where are we going?"
	
"To the security office.  There's something I need to do 
there."

 * * * * *

	'It might have been right in your mind'. 
 
	Of course.  As right as would kissing Ziyal be all 
right.  Who was she kidding?  More importantly, who was _he_ 
kidding?  What had been crossing his mind when he so brutally 
abused his dear Julian?  Granted he usually enjoyed Julian's 
fervid spirit, the utter contemptuous submission of the young 
man's nature.  But never had he ever taken that power and 
steal pleasure with it, not bothering to give any of it back.  
Julian had said no, repeatedly.  And while any novice master 
would have probably taken the refusal as part of the game, 
Garak considered himself a consummate player - he'd 
_recognised_ the seriousness in Julian's voice.  Nowhere in 
that boyish, tender face had registered a hint of pleasure or 
anticipation at his turbulent conduct.  And throughout the 
scene, Julian had remained limp, not a hint of arousal 
tingeing that delicately golden skin.  Nothing he'd done had 
excited the young man, not even on a subconscious level.  
  
	He sighed and rolled on his back.  So why had he ignore 
all the warning signs and gone through with his conquering?  
He had to admit to himself - never had he felt so hard, or so 
filled with lustful dark pleasure than when he'd plunged into 
the tight ass of his captive. 
 
	But was it truly Julian he'd abused?  Julian, his tender 
love, his sweet innocent friend?  Garak frowned at the 
unexpected question.  Of course it was ... but had it been 
Julian's _face_ in his mind, as he'd pounded into him? 
 
	Garak had been abusive during his years in the Order.  
It had not been the first rape he'd done, but it was the first 
where his victim was not facing him.  There had been an almost 
methodical way to his conquering, pinning the man or woman 
down on the cold floor and taking them this way, so they would 
see the face of their tormentor.  But with Julian, this had 
not been the case.  He'd turned him _away_ from him.  

	Why?

	Garak knew exactly why.  Because in all his life, only 
one person had been able to master _him_.  To abuse and rape 
and hurt him.  And never in all his life had Garak been able 
to retaliate.  Even at the end, when his last breath had been 
offered on that Romulan ship, Garak had tried to save him.  
And now that he was gone, Garak had slowly come to realise 
that he would never get the chance to get his revenge. 
   
	But he did get it, in a way, didn't he?  With Julian's 
innocent, boyish face turned away from him, Garak had given 
freedom to his imagination.  But to what cost?

	He rolled to the other side and hid his face inside the 
crook of his arm.  He hated himself.  Hated himself for being 
weak, for being selfish, but most of all - he hated himself 
for his tears.

 * * * * *

Garak held Julian close to him as the doctor spoke with Odo.  
	
"Are you sure this is what you want?" the Changeling asked, 
throwing a suspicious glance at Garak.  
	
Julian nodded firmly.  "Yes.  I want it destroyed."
	
Odo shrugged lightly and lightly tapped a sequence in the 
computer.  A moment later, he nodded and looked up to the 
couple.
	
"It's done.  The order was deleted.  I should warn you Doctor 
... you have nothing to help you now.  Only yourself."
	
Julian shook his head as he turned with Garak.  "Not true.  
I'm not alone."
	
Odo pursed his lips wryly, watching the couple saunter out of 
his office, holding each other tightly.  He sat back down in 
his chair, looking at the screen where the restraining order 
was still on screen, still active.  He hadn't destroyed it; he 
didn't trust Garak at all, not after what he'd done.
	
So what if he didn't destroy it?  Everyone had secrets, and 
this one was his.  If Garak ever hurt Julian again, the young 
man wouldn't be alone to fight for himself.

~END~