***<<< Late Morning, Day 1 >>>***

Nothing ever turned out the way he had planned. If it had, Julian would have wooed Dax to his bed within the first three months he knew her. If it had, he would have saved Ekoria and the others from the Quickening. If it had, Bariel would still be alive. If it had, he would have tendered his resignation to Starfleet and lived the life of an exile with Garak at his side.

No. Like so many times before, Richard Bashir managed to foul up his plans.

"Listen to me, Jules, and listen *real* good... We didn't sacrifice everything so you could play tennis. You are going to be more, Jules Bashir. You hear me? You are going to be more!"

"Second?!? What do you mean, graduated second in your class? All those gifts, all those talents! You should have been first! That's why we made all these sacrifices for you! Don't you see that? And now? You're running off to some station in the middle of nowhere? No. You belong on Earth! Pelise's father has offered you the opportunity of a
lifetime! Don't be stupid, Jules."

After all the arguments, after all the battles, after everything, Julian shouldn't have been surprised that Richard Bashir had made another "sacrifice." He had offered himself to Starfleet so Julian could continue on, to be his legacy. He hadn't turned himself in because it was the noble thing to do, the thing a father does for his son; it was simply Richard Bashir's latest tactic to avoid facing the bigger problem: the truth. Richard may have taken him for the treatments, may have forged documents, and may have altered records, but it had been Julian who had not disclosed his enhancements to Starfleet. To the Federation. To everyone.

He should have been drummed out of Starfleet, just like Simon Tarses.

But he hadn't been.

And just like all those times before, Julian was forced to give up something he loved because of what he was, because of what his parents had done to him, because of his "gifts."

Now, as he gathered the book into his arms and trudged down to the Promenade, he was going to have to...

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Garak or Starfleet.

Starfleet had won.

It was phenomenally unfair. He didn't want to do this again. Garak would never forgive him. Ever.

Julian entered the deserted tailoring shop and immediately went to the private work area where he knew Garak was probably lurking; his grip on the leather bound book tightened considerably. He stood at the doorway, bowing his head in shame before he raised his eyes to meet the pale blue of Garak's. The Cardassian's face was expressionless.

Words failed him.

Garak set down whatever implement he had been using and pushed aside the mound of dark burgundy material heaped on the table. The Cardassian's eyes didn't sparkle with excitement. His lips weren't lifting into a smile.

A death sentence. An execution.

Julian now understood why Pelise had been so devastated. It hadn't been about him. She could find another lover, another companion, another mate to take his place. It had been that he had rejected her for Starfleet; in Cardassian terms, he had given her up for the State.  It was a concept he supposed Garak could accept. It was a belief Garak
had often doggedly defended. But Julian had learned in the past year that Garak had accepted him on human terms, treated his beliefs and his love of Starfleet with the same respect, albeit teasingly, as he believed in Cardassia. And when dealing with things pertaining specifically to them, when it wasn't involving Starfleet or Bajor or anyone else except them, Garak related to him via the human perception of things. Garak had adapted. Garak didn't hold Julian to Cardassian beliefs. He had adjusted, making  accommodations for Julian's convictions, while at the same time maintaining his own faith in Cardassia.

Garak had told him that last night. Traditional yet adaptable.

At once, he understood what he had done to Garak the last time he had presented the book of poetry to the tailor over a year ago. Garak had been expecting Julian to react in a traditional human way. Garak had been a few steps ahead, already morphing his convictions to allow Julian some level of tolerance, to even perhaps be an equal. Garak had
prepared himself to deal with the human interpretation of events and what had Julian done?

Become Cardassian.

And Garak wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. It was why he had denied himself last night. Why he had insisted he leave to "get those suits" and allow Julian to go to sleep. Why he had worn pajamas to bed. Why he had refused to respond this morning. Garak was no fool. He wouldn't put his soul on the line twice. And here Julian
was with the book of poetry and expecting Garak to understand what had happened, understand his choice, because Garak was Cardassian.

The book fell from Julian's hands.

Garak or Starfleet.

Julian hadn't chosen Starfleet. He had been ready to give it up all right then and there except that Richard Bashir had decided to take responsibility for his actions. Starfleet had chosen him. He couldn't just hand in his resignation after that; Bennett wouldn't have allowed it. Sisko would have undoubtedly pulled him aside and literally knocked sense into him.

Starfleet had chosen him.

And his father had ruined his life once more.

Julian dropped to his knees.

Garak or Starfleet.

Garak was supposed to understand. He was Cardassian. He understood the love of the State. And no matter how much the Federation downplayed undying loyalty, it was still a belief hammered into all Federation citizens. Call it by any other name, it was still duty to the State, no matter if it was Cardassia or the Federation.

But Garak didn't view Julian from a strictly Cardassian point of view. He had adapted, treating Julian with some of the same principles humans accepted about humans.

Last night. Julian understood last night. Garak's enthusiasm.   Garak's acceptance. Garak's conviction. The Cardassian had been playing the political game long enough to be able to judge the outcome of Julian's situation. He had observed behavior long enough to know just how far some parents were willing to go to protect their children. How far they were willing to go to protect their *legacy.*

After all, Tain didn't have Garak killed, he had him exiled. It was an odd show of favoritism from a father to his illegitimate, outcast son.

Tain was dead. Dukat ruled Cardassia. It was safe to assume Garak had no one left, no one except Julian, Odo and Ziyal. A human, an exile and a pariah.

Companionship. Such a simple word. Such a neutral word.

A hand settled on Julian's shoulder, a soft voice at his ear. "I'll only be a moment."

Garak retreated. Not to spare himself the display of human emotions, but probably to ensure privacy. It was a sign of protectiveness, something Garak only extended to a select few. Julian. Ziyal. And occasionally Odo.

He didn't deserve such treatment. Julian felt the burning inside of him, the helplessness of having to chose between two sides.

Garak or Starfleet.

Garak or Starfleet.

Garak...

Hot tears slid down his cheeks. The revelation of his genetic enhancement had been played out with a surprising result. His father and mother were on a transport back to Earth where Richard would be in prison for two years. Zimmerman was gone as well, taking the LMH program with him.

Julian still had friends. He supposed he was still somewhat respected by them despite his lying about his past. Miles had shrugged it aside in a manner which surprised Julian; the chief normally didn't take too well to liars and cheats. But Miles had been ready and willing to fight for Julian's commission.

To the two most important people in his life, the past didn't matter.  Starfleet had ensured his continued friendship with Miles and had doomed his relationship with Garak.

Broad hands touched his shoulders then gently pulled him up. He was eased down to a chair draped with soft materials. Gentle fingers brushed away the tears.

Garak....

A once great and powerful being reduced to accepting whatever meager attention a human gave him. It wasn't fair. Garak deserved more. The Cardassian had patiently waited. He had indulged in Julian's silly fantasies, taken the time to instruct him on the finer points of so many things, and had even gone so far as to accept Julian on human
terms.

Garak now knelt before him.

Julian's hand touched the collar of the Cardassian's tunic.

A man so powerful, the protege of Enabran Tain, the *son* of Enabran Tain... to be reduced to this.... Julian remembered the Cardassian's impassioned speech from the ordeal with the implant. How could he forget? The words had been sharp, stabbing, hurtful... desperate. Truthful. Terrifying. Somewhere, amongst all those vehement
statements, Garak had revealed just how much Julian meant to him.

Julian undid the clasp of Garak's tunic. He pulled down the collar of the undershirt. He traced the pale gray scales with his forefinger.

All at once he was dizzy and cold as the realization hit him.

"You knew."

If Garak had believed for even a second Julian would go through with his plan of resigning from Starfleet and joining him in exile, the Cardassian would have prepared himself. His scales would have been oiled and smooth instead of rough and dry. And no matter how much the Cardassian may have wanted to take him last night, he hadn't in order
to preserve their friendship in a manner a human could accept.

"What have I done to you?"

Julian's hand pressed against Garak's chest. His eyes closed. The tears continued.

The one person who could possibly understand all the implications.

The one person who could possibly accept all the reasons.

The one person.

"The only one."

Garak or Starfleet.

"Garak or Starfleet."

Garak or Starfleet.

Garak...

Garak...

And then a voice broke through his despair. The one syllable word crashed through the gates of morbidity and rallied against the self-hatred....

"And."

Julian blinked, staring into the blue eyes before him.

"Garak *and* Starfleet," came the whisper.

He fell forward, wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders, touching his forehead to the thick corded neck.

"And," Julian repeated, as if he had never heard the word.

So alien. So foreign.

Lips searched for cool skin. Hands ran across muscled shoulders.

"And."

It was both a question and an answer.

"And..." he breathed into the gray ear his lips touched. "And."
 

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