The stone walk is paved with dark cries.

Pierre-Jean Jouve

The rhythm was slow, but it was building.

Garak walked down the few flat steps into the main Gardens as the drummers began to up the tempo. The Cardassian and all those who chanced passing by knew what that particular cadence meant. Indeed, the Gul looked up to the gallows, and saw that a man was being prepared for an execution. There was something familiar about the man, though Garak could not be sure.

Again, the drums flared. Not unlike the Kudo ceremonies from Japan -- as he had watched them from long - too long ago -- the Setkha drummers were exquisitely-dressed Cardassian females, clad in robes and ribbons that flowed gracefully in the fresh afternoon breeze. The temperature was muggy, and Garak had dressed into a light suit instead of adopting the heavy, heat-attracting uniform. He was off-duty, anyway.

Around him, a crowd was gathering between the pylons surrounding the great Gardens. There were paths leading up to the execution square, drawn by entrenched plots of exotic flowers that thrived in the humid atmosphere of Tolaki's suburban districts. The pylons reached high up in the sky, arching elegantly toward the middle, almost touching each other in a metallic-framed dome. Banners of various factions flapped gently in the wind, and Garak looked up proudly to the Obsidian Order's; a deadly black insignia surrounded by a backdrop of bloody crimson. The Cardassian's chest filled with pride.

He chose a bench, privileged seat as well, near the square. Beside him, other agents were filling the empty spots, some he knew, some he was still unfamiliar with. Again, he inhaled the air. Home. It smelled home. The drums upped the pace. Excitement coursed through his body - it had been so long since he had witnessed a ritualistic execution. He wondered again at the familiarity that he had with the condemned man. He sighed softly. It didn't matter. He was Human. The wars had peaked severely a few weeks ago, and numberless Cardassians had suffered death at the hands of the Federation and its allies. And now they had one. A prisoner of war who would pay - serve as example that the Union was still strong. Still pulsating with strength and honor. A burst of pride made Garak smile, straightening on his bench.

They had even brought in the Deshanaya for the occasion. Garak had to appreciate the gesture; he was certain they would not have done so had the condemned been female. The Deshanaya was a strong Matriarchal faction still operating in Cardassia's underground. Rituals, religion - every lost concept had been rekindled by these extremists. They wanted Cardassia to be returned to the Great Mother Deshanaya, and not the Great Gul - although all their attempts had failed. But it seemed only appropriate, however, that the xenophobic Deshanaya be called onto to execute a male Human. The Head Priestess, D'Koria, took place on the main podium. She held a frightfully long blade, and robes that concealed all but her eyes. Garak's eyes, however, strayed to the Human. Again, that familiar ping.

A hush of silence quelled the excited murmurs in the audience as D'Koria spoke of the Human's crimes. Yet Garak's mind was not on the words. *Think ...* The haze of endorphin was clouding his thoughts, however. The steady flow of drug into his veins was distorting the event - drawing it in smooth, swirling colors and soft-edged lines. The Priestess was elevating the knife. Garak's heart beat faster, rising to match the throb of drums. Excited murmurs and general electrified anticipation sizzled across the audience, licking at Garak with tendrils of enticing pleasure. Horrified realization. An agonizing scream. Another - and the maddened howls of an enticed and ecstatic audience. Horrified realization - too late.

Hanging limply from the restraints that had held him in place, Julian Subatoi Bashir had died too quickly.

"Easy! Garak, shhh ..."

Garak screamed again, the sound torn from his bloody lips as he tried to wrest himself from the comforting arms that attempted to calm him. "No, I let it happen ..." Other murmurs spilled from his lips, wreathed with startled shock at himself, berating words of disgust at his own stupidity. Bashir could only watch helplessly as he tried to allay the Cardassian.

"Garak, please ..."

"NO!" The Cardassian broke free and walked slowly toward the viewport, Bashir watching himself carefully. "...just a dream," he murmured to himself, hugging himself as he stared at the stars. Julian took a step toward him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"NO I do NOT want to talk about it, thank you for minding your own business," thundered the Cardassian, glancing viciously at his young friend. The doctor stole back his step, and frowned lightly.

"I was just asking. Sometimes it helps to talk about what scares us."

Evidently, that was not the right thing to say to the Cardassian. Garak rushed to him and grasped his collar, squeezing harshly as he bawled into Julian's face, "I do NOT get scared, get that through your thick skull Doctor! I'm not one of your kind - not some feeble Human who can't stand an innocent, little dream!!" This was said as Garak shoved Bashir back, with enough strength to send the young man stumbling a few steps back.

It was getting trying. Two nights now - two nights of living with an emotionally unstable Cardassian who would, with all intense and purposes, know the strength and conviction to break his neck. And it's not like the Cardassian hadn't demonstrated the will to do it. Bashir had the bruises to prove it. And what was going on through the Cardassian's mind? What were these dreams? How could Bashir ever hope to understand the agony of withdrawing from a steady supply of endorphins? He sighed, softly, and retreated to the other side of the room where he began to sort through his equipment. The time was nearing when Julian had to give Garak his medicine, and a knot twisted his stomach. Last time he'd done that, the Cardassian had nearly hurled him physically across the room. Twice he had been tempted to call for a security guard, and twice he'd reminded himself that a guard was the last thing Garak needed right now. He needed someone to trust him - to be there with him while he went through this ordeal. It was the least Julian could do.

And meanwhile, what was going on in Garak's mind?

Chaos.

There was great conflict in numerous levels of the Cardassian's mind - one of the greatest was the conflict he felt for Julian. Deep down, he was grateful - touched even that someone would care enough for him to go through this with him. That part of himself was the one who had dreamt the dream that had woke him - the horrifying imagery of Bashir being killed, and he letting it happen. Was this some sort of indication that Garak was dangerous? That he could, at any moment, snap and kill his precious caretaker? The other part of the conflict was a sum of every negative emotion the Cardassian had surpressed all these years. His hatred, his xenophobic tendencies - everything that told him to grab a knife and twist it mercilessly into Bashir's stomach. Rip him open, and laugh while doing it too. That part was winning, at the moment. Yet the agony - the pain was so severe. If Garak knew there was at least an ounce of what he needed inside his quarters, he would have turned the furniture upside down by now. Ripped the bulkheads from their hinges, tore the carpeted off the slick, metallic floor. Everything to find that particle of Happiness. His addiction was overwhelming even his hatred for Humans and Bajorans, at the moment. He bowed his head and pressed his hands to his temples. If it could only stop - dammit - damn bloody pain - go away!!

"Garak."

And again, that voice - that irritating sound that grated at Garak's brain, scratched and picked and - he swiveled around, yelling louder, wanting to quell the buzzing in his skull, overwhelm it, scream louder. "WHAT??"

The young man was holding up a hypospray, and Garak's pupils dilated. No, of course it wasn't Happiness. Happiness was impossible, it wasn't here - it was elsewhere. In a small wire that was not even on the station. The Ferengi - yes, the Ferengi, another feeble race that deserved to be annihilated. Pestilence ... Garak grabbed his temples again. "Tell me it's what I need," he whispered harshly, his eyes pleading. This was wrong, begging a Human - wasn't it? But perhaps - there was a chance, yes a chance that the Human would have what he needed. "Make me happy," Garak sobbed out.

Julian shook his head as he approached Garak. Even if it hurt him to see his friend in such a state, he was at least relieved that the Cardassian was not throwing another fit. Without hesitation - no, you can never show hesitation with a Cardassian - Julian reached up and touched the hypo to Garak's neck. There was a hiss, and the young man was already backing away. The Cardassian shook his head, his eyes tightly shut.

"I'm not happy." Horrifying truth that burst into Garak's brain. He screamed and grabbed another vase, hurling it on a wall as he continued his ireful seizure. "Make me HAPPY DAMN YOU!!"

Bashir slammed the hypo on the medical tray and finally raised his voice. "Enough! Garak, STOP it! Now! You're not a child, for God's sake, just calm down!" The effect was quick. Garak paused, out of breath and staring at his friend as though he'd metamorphosed right in front of his eyes.

"What .... what did you say?" Garak blinked, straightening up. "You're right ..." he said after a moment, shaking his head. "I'm not a child - I ..." He moved slowly, feebly - and he was Garak the Patient again - toward the biobed installed in his quarters. Cautiously, he climbed over it, drawing himself into a ball. Julian watched him sadly, pushing the tray away to access the tailor. He took a few covers from Garak's bed, and slid them softly over the Cardassian's supine form.

"It'll be all right Garak, I promise. Just rest."

He was about to turn away when he heard his name called from under the covers. He looked over his charge, and - eerily - Garak's blue eyes were trained on him steadily. Oh the fear that pierced the young man then - the eyes ... the only things to peak beyond the black sheets, electric blue targeting him perfectly - Julian had some irrational urge to sob and scream at him to stop looking at him. His heart sank and his breathing heightened. He knew - he KNEW - then what made Garak a good interrogator. Or what had made him a good one. Those eyes - Ask me anything, damn you, I'll answer it - anything!

"I'll kill you, Julian," the soft baritone said from invisible lips. "If you don't make me well again - I'll kill you. And all your friends. All this bloody crew." The serene psychosis which had swam in those eyes were now replaced with familiar fury. "Do you understand me??" Somehow, anger from Garak was less threatening than his serenity.

"Sleep, Garak," was all Bashir said as he turned away. "I know you don't mean that." A shiver ran its course down his spine. He was turned away, and this then might have been his mistake. But no. No knives, no strangling - when he glanced fearfully over his shoulder, Garak's eyes were closed.

A brothel now. Yes, Garak clearly recalled those places from long ago. Sweet Cardassian boys and girls lavishing him with every possible attention. Before the scandal, of course. Before the horrifying murder that had made headlines and pointed the finger at Garak. No - this was where it had all began. The beginning of the end. Garak didn't want to be here, but there was no escape. The Cardassian Mistress was smiling at him, politely inviting him. No no no no no, please, Great Gul, Deshanaya, anywhere but here. Where it had all began - where the scandal and the finger-pointing ... then Tain's disappointment, and Madred's cold, smug smile. No!!

The truth, this was also the truth. The painful truth - the one he could not tell his young protege, ever, never. No ... he could not bear it again ... He was walking up the staircase now, mindlessly, his movements vague and mechanical. "As always, I reserved him for you, Gul." The Mistress's voice penetrated his intoxicated mind, and he smiled obscurely, automatically. Doors were opened, voices hushed and murmuring. They're all talking behind my back - Garak didn't care, did he? And there, the vision of his dreams and reality - the young man sprawled on the luxurious obsidian bed sheets. Smiling at him. Nude, ready, flesh shining with a delicate sheen of sweat. Not Cardassian! No, this was not the same young man. This one he knew. He knew from another place. The beginning of the end. Garak watched and did what had happened long in the past - watched himself ravish the young flesh, biting, snarling - the young, smooth cock that quivered in need. He ignored it, he bit, he scratched. Cries of pain - there was no longer pleasure, just frustration. Why? Why so young and happy and free of corruption? He did not deserve it! More cries now, screams, pounding on the door. Undeserving wench! Filth that belonged beneath Garak's boots. Knife pulled, grinding of teeth and sweat pearled on a ridged brow. Death for filth, for beautiful filth that writhed and sobbed and cried out. Large, hazel-colored eyes - smoldering - etched in pain - Garak stabbed and tore - endorphins pumped maddeningly into his brain, his body - ecstasy and torment together - straining sex that pulsated and trembled with need - undeserving of it all!!!

"NO!!!!"

Julian gasped as he was wrested from slumber, jerking upright in his chair at the tormented cry of his patient. Garak was sitting up, panting and shielding his face with his hands. Bashir walked over and, afraid to touch him, simply looked at him compassionately. "Can I get you something?"

Garak's eyes focused on the young man, and Bashir could not understand how he could have ever feared those eyes. So full of agony, despair, Julian bit back a sob as the Cardassian looked away and scrambled down from his makeshift bed. "Leave me alone."

And he had been so close. Julian slumped his shoulders slightly, watching the Cardassian's straight, broad back. "Why won't you trust me?" he asked finally. "Why won't you stop being so stubborn and reach out to someone. It doesn't even have to be me, but for God's sak--"

"Stop invoking your God at me," Garak hissed, glancing over at Bashir. "He has no meaning for me." He walked back toward the bed, already wordless, nothing more to slip from his lips. Julian sighed again.

"Have it your way," he said, then sat in his chair for another few hours of sleep. Garak watched him for a moment, then shifted into a more comfortable position.

"Come here."

Bashir squinted an eye open. "What was that?"

Garak growled in annoyance. "Don't make me repeat, come HERE," he said with deliberate clarity. Bashir frowned and stood before walking cautiously toward the Cardassian. He'd threatened to kill him. Those eyes ... don't forget the threat!

Garak reached up and pulled Julian's arm to him. He elevated the sleeve, then looked off to the tray under Bashir's interested, though suspicious look. Garak crumpled his brow. "I can't work like this," he muttered, then stood up with lightening speed. Bashir would have stepped back, but his arm was still being held. "Sit down." Garak pushed him slightly, and the young man fell limply into his chair. He was about to protest when Garak grabbed hold of the medkit.

"Garak, don't - what are you doing? Put that back."

Garak ignored him and rummaged into the kit, finding what he needed before throwing the now useless kit to the side. He walked over to the pile of debris that was once his work desk, and grabbed something that was slender and shining. Bashir cleared his throat. "Garak?" His voice held a tinge of fear now. "Please, tell me what you're doing ..."

The Cardassian broke the slender object in two, and collected a small, clear container from inside it. It held something dark - black, and liquid. Satisfied, it seemed, Garak walked back to Bashir's side. He put the objects he had collected on the tray, then grabbed one of Bashir's wrists. "Garak!! I'll call security if you don't tell me what's going on!!" There was odd serenity in the Cardassian's behavior now as he plucked the insignia and hurled it away from them. Pale and shuddering, Bashir now attempted to struggle out of the Cardassian's grasp. "Tell me, please - stop this!"

"Doctor, STOP IT! Just remain still, or I will most certainly hurt you," Garak hissed, the first words he had spoken since the whole mysterious procedure had began. The Cardassian took the tourniquet he had collected from the kit and deftly attached Bashir's right wrist to the chair's armrest. Bashir grind his teeth. If he tried to struggle out of the clever restraint, he'd sooner do permanent damage to his wrist than escape. Garak was making sure to stay away from his feet, too, so a smart kick to the groin was out of the question. Bashir whimpered and squirmed on the chair. "Garak, please, whatever you think you'll accomplish ..."

Garak ignored his pleas and carefully held the container - ink? - between his teeth as he produced a scalpel. A scalpel! Bashir began toiling for an escape, flailing his free limbs. "GARAK! Please, don't do this!" The Cardassian grabbed his wrist and hissed,

"I SAID to stay still." He elevated the sleeve even more, then leaned in to work. "Don't make me bind your legs - you're not even supposed to be bound. But considering your pathetic intolerance for pain - pain is an intricate part of it all, Julian. Stay still."

Mad. He'd finally snapped. Julian sent off a prayer or two, so sure he was this were his final moments. He closed his eyes, tears shining softly at the skin underlying them. "Please ... Oh God ..." The first slash had been painful. He hadn't screamed - no, he wouldn't allow Garak the pleasure. Then the Cardassian was using the container, then more slashes, more ink, and Julian screamed at the end, begging to be set free.

Garak let him go when he was evidently finished, and Julian opened his eyes. He wasn't dead. But what had he done? Some horrible scripture? Julian took a pain reliever when he was loose, pointedly ignoring the Cardassian as he scrambled back into bed. When the pain was numbed, Julian sniffled and vanished into the bathroom.

He elevated his sleeve again and looked into the mirror at what Garak had done. Surprisingly, Julian found no horrid scars, or disgusting skin mutilation. Rather small in fact, there was only a symbol with a Cardassian letter imprinted in it. A tattoo! Garak had made him a permanent tattoo - and he had done a rather clean job of it too. He passed a finger over it, still frowning before he closed the lights and walked back into the living room.

"It means Nekuu." Garak said, his back to him. "It was a ritual given to non-Cardassians in past ages. We trusted no one that had no Cardassian blood. Those we did, we gave them that symbol. No Cardassian by blood will ever harm you, Doctor. Not even the most xenophobic of them all. I've seen to that." And then, there was nothing. And Garak was asleep, while Julian sat shocked, staring at nothing.

Several days later - that night, in the infirmary - before Bashir went off after Tain to save his life - Garak had told the truth. What was a name? He'd simply changed them to confuse the young man. He knew Bashir would eventually learn that Elim was his own name. And he would wonder if Garak's story was true. It had been - but told in a way that was to Garak's satisfaction. That night he watched the ceiling inside the infirmary, waiting for sleep, waiting for the nightmares to come. But as the sedative did its work and the Cardassian fell into a deep slumber - there was nothing but a vision of home and Julian's sweet, compassionate smile.

The End