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Garak carefully extracted his limbs from around the sleeping Human and pushed back the covers. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, groped on top of the chest-of-drawers for his clothing, dressed by feel in the dark, and crept to the door. He winced as it hissed open, but Bashir didn’t stir.
“Computer, lights at eighteen percent; time.” He instructed once the door had closed behind him.
“The time is oh-five-fifty-three.”
The dim glow of the overhead light illuminated the living area of Bashir’s quarters, with padds, discarded clothing and assorted odds-and-ends strewn over most of the surfaces. Garak hummed a tune to himself as he cleared a space on the coffee table; he had a few minutes before the doctor woke.
At the replicator he tapped in a few codes and waited while a tray materialised on the platen. He carried it over to the table, sat down on the adjacent couch, and took a long sip from the glass of tea while rummaging through the detritus on the tabletop for a pen and paper. He smoothed out a crumpled receipt from Quark’s and—cradling the tea in one hand—scribbled a note on the back, read it over, smiled to himself, and wedged it under a plate on the tray. Returning to the replicator, he ordered a double-sweet raktajino and a single yellow carnation in a small vase, which he placed on the tray.
“Computer, time. To the second.”
“The time is oh-five-fifty-eight and twenty-four seconds.”
Garak seated himself on the couch again and took another mouthful of tea. He shuffled the contents of the tray around until he found an arrangement which met with his approval.
Plate - right front; glass - left back; vase - right back; note - under the glass. No.
Plate - left front; glass - right back; vase - right front; note - under the vase. No, not this either.
Plate - left front; glass - right back; vase - left back; note - back under the plate where it had started. Yes. This one.
The Cardassian bowed his head in acknowledgment of a job well done, picked up his half-drunk glass of tea in one hand and the mug of coffee in the other and rose from the couch.
“The time is oh-six-hundred hours.” The computer announced as the bedroom door hissed closed behind Garak. He had timed it perfectly.
“Raktajino, dear?” He offered as a sleepy Bashir stretched and yawned.
“Mm,” The Human grunted appreciatively, reaching out a hand for the mug. “Thanks. I’m going to need a few of these today.”
“Double shift?” Garak enquired, sitting on the edge of the bed and sipping he tea, scrunching up his eyes in defence against the harshness of the fully-powered lights in the bedroom.
“Yes, we’re short staffed with this Thelusian flu doing the rounds.”
Garak looked up from his tea in alarm, “Be careful you don’t catch it, dear.”
“Oh, no chance of that.” Bashir replied, “Humans are immune. You, however,” He scolded, “Are not up-to-date with your vaccinations.” Garak scowled. “I’m serious, Garak. One of my patients died yesterday.”
“Very well,” Garak conceded, “I’ll drop by the Infirmary this afternoon if it’s convenient?”
“Fifteen-thirty. Don’t be late.”
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Constable Odo.” Garak pressed a quick kiss to the doctor’s cheek and left.
“Fifteen-thirty hours. Bye.” Bashir called out as his friend departed. He set his now-empty mug aside, heaved himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
Once showered and dressed, Bashir—still yawning—made his way through to the living area and to the replicator.
“Raktajino, double sweet, and—“ His eyes roamed the room while he considered his breakfast options and alighted on the tray. He grinned. “—Nothing else.” The machine whirred.
Bashir grabbed his coffee and approached the tray to inspect its contents.
A Delvan fluff pastry? He smiled approvingly. Garak knows me so well, He chuckled to himself. He spotted the note under the plate as he sat down, reading it over as he bit into the pastry.
My Dear Doctor,
The pastry has almost no nutritional value and will cause a spike in your blood sugar. However, you would surely get one from the replicator if I hadn’t provided it. The rokassa juice, on the other hand, is high in vitamin C and electrolytes, and is therefore an excellent breakfast choice. Drink up, dear.
—E.G.
Bashir nearly spat his mouthful of pastry out as the laughter caught him by surprise.
Not orange juice, then.
He swallowed carefully, picked up the glass and brought it to his nose, a sharp, bitter scent assaulting his sinuses. He recoiled. Nevertheless, he braced himself for a sip.
“Urgh.” He made a face and replaced the glass on the tray.
Finishing his pastry in two bites, he wiped the crumbs from his hand absentmindedly down the front of his uniform and downed the raktajino on his way out the door.
The Changeling’s hand rippled and turned momentarily to a golden liquid before resolidifying into a facsimile of a glass of coffee.
“Did you enjoy your date with Doctor Bashir?” He enquired.
Garak lowered his forkful of regova eggs back to his plate. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Constable?”
“You tripped an alarm in the security office when you broke into his quarters.”
“I didn’t break in,” Garak protested, “I used his access code.”
“Humph,” Odo scoffed, “Without his permission.”
“And yet you didn’t send a security team to investigate?” Garak sniped.
“I knew it was you,” Odo shrugged, “And when the Doctor didn’t call in an intruder alert, I decided to leave you two to enjoy your evening without interruption.”
Garak returned his attention to his eggs.
“And how was your date?” Odo pressed.
Garak put his fork down and fixed the Constable with a bland smile. “It was... private.” Odo shrugged again and took out a padd. “What are you doing?” Garak asked.
“Resetting Doctor Bashir’s access codes.”
“Really Constable?” Garak protested. “You’re no fun at all.”
“You shouldn’t let Jadzia anywhere near you when she’s holding a bat’leth, Major.”
“We were in a holosuite. I didn’t know it was real.” Kira dismissed the doctor’s concern with a wave of her hand.
“Still, no lasting damage.” Bashir replaced the tissue regenerator on its tray. “Just be more careful next time you train with her.”
“I think I’ll try a different workout routine. One that doesn’t involve sharp-edged equipment.”
“That might be wise.”
Kira hopped down from the bio-couch. “How was your date last night, Julian?”
“What?!” Bashir’s head jerked up from his padd.
“You had a date with Garak, right?” She flashed him a smile.
“What makes you think that?”
“It was in this morning’s criminal activity report. He broke into your quarters.”
Bashir rolled his eyes and muttered something about privacy and being snooped on. “Well, you’re all done here, Nerys.” He said aloud, ushering her toward the exit.
“Thanks. Goodbye, Julian.”
Bashir turned to to computer terminal and pulled up the latest stats on the flu outbreak.
His head whipped round when his enhanced hearing picked up the chirp of Kira’s combadge and her voice saying “Kira to Dax” as she stepped through the door to the Promenade. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Gossip spreads faster on this Station than a Thelusian flu outbreak.” He grumbled.