It was the cry of the wounded. A last, desperate plea for survival. A final appeal for mercy sent to unlistening gods.

Around him, drums flared. Choirs sung. All celebrating his torture. His pain. His despair. His death. Across the small arena, he could see Dukat's grin. Hands thrown up in revelry. Liquor passed between Bajoran _min'tokea_. Female sluts. All draped over the Prefect and lavishing him with mindless praise and shallow compliments.

The dark, fresh blood across his shoulders and chest glistened brightly in the spotlight. His hands were clawed into helpless talons - statues of agony - raised up and fending himself vainly against the repeated blows of his executioner.

Salvation, at this point, was unexpected relief.

Garak was unsure when the pain stopped. Or rather, when the additions to it ceased. He knew only for certain that when he opened his eyes and stopped screaming for a moment, he noted that the merriment had paused. People were silent, looking on with expressions ranging from mild annoyance to downright fury. Dukat was of the latter kind, raised over the podium, clenched fists at his sides.

Garak blinked. He dared not breathe. He watched his executioner walk back a few steps.

"Jules," Dukat was saying now, jaw squared, eyes ablaze with wrath. Garak inhaled sharply, and saw indeed his young friend, holding up high above his head some sort of device. It was blinking. It was humming. It was a heat bomb. Garak cowered back against the arena's gate wall.

"This is highly inappropriate behavior," the Prefect hissed, leaving the safety of his alcove to enter the arena. Through the long strands of dust-colored hair which hung limply against his face, Garak surveyed the scene, observing how the former doctor moved toward Dukat with the air of one who controlled the situation. As indeed he did. For the moment.

He had changed since last he had seen his friend. Had it been five years? Ten? Through the haze of continuous torture and starvation, Garak had lost count after the first three years. Bashir was taller it seemed, confidant, moving with every grace a man could muster without passing off as an overly fragile creature. His hair was thicker, curlier, swept back and tied loosely in a low ponytail. His clothes were Kardasi, that much Garak recognized in his poor state of consciousness.

"I am not here to discuss with you the finer points of appropriate behavior," Bashir hissed back, shaking the small device in his hand with emphasis. Dukat paused, leaning back with caution.

Garak was shocked to alertness at the tone. That soft accented voice he had come to familiarize himself with was gone! Replaced by some insidious inflection which was accentuated by a Kardasi dialect, of all things. This could only mean the young man had resided on Cardassia for quite some time if he had developed such verbal skills. Garak peered at the duo over his raised knees, trembling in spite of himself.

Dukat's eyes were locked on the bomb. "What do you want?" he asked finally. Bashir waved his armed hand at Garak.

"Don't act so ignorant. It does not suit you, Elja," Bashir smirked. "You knew this day would come." Bashir glanced quickly at his long ago friend, and for a split-second, there was sorrow in his eyes. "I'm only sorry I arrived this late," he whispered, more to himself than anyone.

"I allowed you to reside here under Kardasi rule provided you did not interfere with our laws." Dukat lowered his voice, and Garak tensed up, trying not to let his wildly beating heart meddle with his hearing. He thought he caught the Cardassian hiss, "I trusted you ..."

Bashir smirked at this and stepped back. "I'm giving you an hour to bathe him, clothe him and deliver him to me at the front gates. If you do not do so by the allotted time, I will make you regret the day you ever thought there was one shred in me you could trust. I somewhat like you, Elja. Don't make me crush that sentiment long enough to blast your ass from here to the gamma quadrant." He looked around at the unmoving people. "Was I not clear enough? Do you want me to repeat my demands? I warn you, it will cut into the hour ..."

Bitterly, Dukat turned to the attendants and nodded briskly. Impatiently. It would do no good to continue this charade in front of his worshippers.

Before he understood what had just transpired, Garak was hoisted by his arms and led out of the arena. His eyes were fixated on Bashir, shocked, bewildered ... complete unrecognition shining in his stare.

Surely, this was not the mild-mannered, by-the-book young man of a few years ago ... was it?

"Bide your time, bide your time. Bless Vedek Kira, but she missed the whole damned train on that one. And like an idiot, I listened to her. Look at you. Because of that, I almost allowed yourself to be killed."

Garak shook unrelentless as he was tended to, still shocked by the speed of events. He had made peace with his past and his demons. He had been prepared for the Great Death. Now he was sitting in a shuttle module, being coddled by a friend he had not seen in ages. He looked up, feeling vulnerable. Completely lost.

"Date ..." he rasped out, unnacustomed to the sound of his own voice uttering coherent words. It seemed so long since he had lost the power of speech and found the ability to scream out or pitifully moan his requests.

Bashir nodded with understanding, and as he took care of the last gash on the Cardassian's neck ridge, he said, "Roughly nine years since we parted ways, my friend. Although ... we never really did, mind you," he added with a brilliant smile. "You lost weight," he remarked after a long pause, his voice a soft murmur. "I hardly recognized you when I came in. I was afraid ..." He trailed off, then shook off the rest of his thoughts with a frown. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is that you're safe now. Do you have any idea how long it took me to pinpoint your location? Dukat was sly about it. The bastard really wanted you dead. I didn't even-" Bashir stopped, looking down. Garak was gripping him with a steel grip. He looked at him questionally.

"Trust," Garak managed to hack out. "What ... did he mean ... trust you?" he asked with difficulty.

Bashir sighed softly. "Ask me again sometime," he only said.

The Cardassian looked out the viewport at the passing stars. He knew better than to ask. He blinked dazedly, unfamiliar with the sight of space. Open space. "Where are we going?" he husked.

"New Bajor. Vedek Kira and Constable Odo are waiting for us there," Bashir explained as he put away the medical kit. "We'll be safe there for a while. I wouldn't put it passed Dukat to be looking for us by then. But we'll be relatively safe for a while."

Garak smirked, ever so slightly. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and while it was only the bland, recycled air of a shuttle craft, it held more fragrance and invitation than the stale, dusty atmosphere within the cell he had occupied all these nine years.

"What happened to your eye?" Garak asked, his voice a little clearer. Lots of tea and nurishment had brought him back to life. Although not by much. Now he peered at the young man's eyes. One was the deep mahogany he remembered - yet the other was pale and blue. Bashir sighed softly.

"A Cardassian soldier ... caught me flirting with his mate. I was fishing for information, naturally-"

"Naturally," Garak echoed, a slight smile dancing on his lips. Bashir dismissed it with a gentle grin. He inhaled before recounting the rest.

"And ... well, he decided that if he took one of my eyes, I wouldn't be so eager to look at another man's wife in the future." Garak stared at him with shock. Bashir shrugged. "I was well treated at Dekara hospital, which, incidentally, was where I was staying. Dekara, that is. Few resourses though - they didn't have my color," he grinned. "I'll correct it when I'm back on Bajor," he added with another shrug.

Garak nodded quietly. He was still having difficulty coming to terms with the fact he was free. And belatedly, he realized he had not thanked his rescuer. Quite suddenly, he took Bashir's hand and pressed the palm against his nose and lips. He closed his eyes, simply breathing in the scent of his friend. Familiar. Friendly. He was home. Not Cardassia, not Deep Space Nine - but with this young man who had risked everything to save him from the clutches of death. After a moment, he mouthed his lips against the palm, uttering silent words.

Bashir watched, his head tilted sideways. Into the second verse of Garak's prayer, Julian parted his lips and spoke along with him. "Ash'ka minar do'k nalsh coultara." He smiled when Garak looked up. "Silly Cardassian," he whispered. "Don't you know I was always devoted to you?"

Vedek Kira Nerys rushed out of her chambers. She lounged the corridor leading to the inner gardens, her robes flapping wildly behind her as she crossed the lawns and entered yet another array of corridors. When she exited the temple, she stopped abruptly, hit by a wave of recognition and shock. Then she continued her wake and pulled Julian Bashir into a tight embrace. "Prophets be blessed," she murmured against his shoulder. "We thought you didn't make it."

Bashir leaned back, smiling affectionately as he held her by the shoulders. He turned his head, to Garak, who was standing slightly apart and looking as though he wanted to hide into a bush. As with the doctor, he had not seen the younger Bajoran in quite a while, and remembered that in their last moments together, he had kissed her deeply and thanked her for at least trying to save him from the life of Hell Dukat had promised.

"Vedek," Garak whispered, then smiled sheepishly. "From Colonel to Vedek ... at least from my point of view. Quite a promotion," he remarked. Kira stared at him for a moment before she advanced on him and touched his cheek. Before Garak could pull away in anticipation of what was to come, Kira was gripping his ear tightly, her eyes closed.

I have no Pagh, don't look for one ... he thought miserably. My beliefs left me long before you ever came along, Major. He had to smile - how would the Vedek feel, he wondered, if he addressed her as Major? Now Kira had her eyes opened, devoid of revelation. She nonetheless drew him into an embrace, and murmured that she was glad he had come out of it before it had been too late.

Garak emerged from the washroom, his hair cut, his face and body scrubbed, his pride reinstated at least marginally. He draped a towel over his shoulders, then watched Bashir conspicuously. The young man was seated at a table, hard at work on a project which had drawn every bit of his attention. Garak leaned against the doorway, letting his starved eyes take in every detail of his handsome friend. Deep in thought, Garak had always found the doctor to frown in the most endearing way, which he was pleased to note had not changed.

The change of clothes Julian was wearing was also Cardassian. The neckline dipped low, revealing a deep scar beginning at the base of his throat. His flesh was darker than usual, no doubt a result of Cardassia's warmer weather. His hair was loose now, spilling over his shoulders in thick curls. There was the whisper of a beard beginning at his sides and jaw. Where Julian had been a lanky youth, positively gangling, there was the curve of muscles. His arms were thicker, his face was rounder. Whilst he had kept his innate beauty, Julian looked much fiercer, much more powerful. Nowhere on his smooth features was the face of a forty year old. He still looked like a teenager.

Either that, or Garak felt too incredibly old.

Julian looked up finally, then smiled brightly. "Garak, I'm glad to see you. Do you want something to eat?" he asked, already half-standing. Garak raised his palm to arrest his offer.

"Thank you, but ... I'd rather just sit quietly and ..." Garak seemed shamed, prompting Bashir to rise and approach him closely. When Garak looked into those mismatched eyes, he smiled and said, "For the first time in nine years, I have the freedom of choice, and yet I can't seem to choose what I want to do," he confessed.

Bashir chuckled, then did a double take as he was about to walk away. "You cut your hair," he remarked suddenly.

Garak vampily primped it. "You like?" he inquired, grinning like a mad fool. He paused when he noticed Julian looking at him strangely. He cocked his head. A little more seriously, he added, "Or not?"

"No ... it's not that," Bashir murmured. "It's just ... I ..." Unexpectedly, the younger man pulled Garak into a hug, and simply held him for a long moment. "I missed you. These past nine years ... I can't begin to imagine what's been happening to you. Looking at you now ..." Julian leaned back, inspecting the Cardassian's face closely. "It's like I was back on Deep Space Nine for a moment there, sharing lunch in the replimat with you."

Garak smiled indulgently. "I wish I could say the same, my young friend," he said lightly. He reached forward and lifted a thick strand of Bashir's hair. "You have, after all, changed a great deal more than I have." His fingers caressed the silky texture before they lowered to a nearly-uncovered shoulder. He stopped himself before going any further. Blinking, he inhaled deeply and retreated his hand. "I'm afraid it will take some ... time before I truly appreciate the meaning behind my return."

The End for Now