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DOWN TIME

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The title is a double-entendre, because this is as low as they sank! (But it was fun to write).

 

It wasn’t all that often that Bashir and O’Brien spent a quiet secluded evening getting pleasantly drunk together. But on one of the few occasions that they did, it turned out as anything but quiet or secluded.

“Now who could that be?” posed a nonplussed engineer when the door chime sounded at his best friend’s quarters.

When the doctor rose to find out, in rushed a very disgruntled station’s tailor.

“Garak, what’s wrong?”

The visitor stopped short at the sight of O’Brien. “Oh. I didn’t realize that you had a guest; I suppose that I shouldn’t intrude.”

“Hey, don’t leave on my account. You seem agitated; what’s the problem?” seconded O’Brien.

Garak sagged where he stood. “Only one of the worst days that I’ve ever had, as a tailor! Frankly, Doctor, I came here to get drunk with you.” He peered closer at both humans. “Actually, I see that you’ve already started, yourselves. Bad day, too, you two?”

“Not really. We’re just relaxing,” said Bashir. “But sit, now, and tell us about it.”

Garak dropped into a chair, and plopped a bottle onto the table.

Bashir stared. “You brought your own???”

The Cardassian eyed him. “Necessary, since I assumed that the chances of you having kanar on your premises were about the same as the odds of a Vulcan having a humor section in his library.”

“Granted, but you could’ve joined us in some whiskey.”

“Please! I’ve had a bad enough day as it is!” he responded sarcastically.

“Okay, let’s hear it.” Bashir resumed his seat.

“Bajoran women customers!” Garak declared with a loud, exasperated sigh, as if that explained all.

Bashir frowned in puzzlement. “I thought that you said that you had a surprisingly good relationship with your Bajoran clientele?”

“With most of them, yes. But there are just a very few who endlessly try my patience, and they all seem to have picked the same day to show up; you know, I suspect a conspiracy!”  He took a strong slug from his bottle without even reaching for the glass that Bashir offered. The two humans exchanged raised brows at that, but uncharacteristically, Garak appeared not even to notice, as he ranted further. “How in the name of common sense – actually, all too uncommon, at that – do they expect me to be able to fit them properly, if they continually shy away from letting me take their measurements?? Honestly, you’d think that my fingers were coated in deadly poison, the way that some of them fear my least touch!”

Bashir’s brow immediately unfurrowed in comprehension. “Well, now, Garak, that’s a bit understandable, when you remember how so many Cardassian men have abused Bajoran women.”

O’Brien began to agree. “Sure, you’ll have to make allowances for….”

“Oh nonsense! I haven’t raped anyone since the Occupation!”

Both humans blinked at him.

“Well, it’s been years! And none of my former victims have come to my shop, so it’s not as if they would have any bad memories of me personally!” He looked pensive. “Actually, they couldn’t have been any of the same women anyway, because none of them survived the interrogation.” He finally noticed their stares, and became defensive. “Well, it’s not as if I just ran around raping Bajoran women in the streets; what kind of a low-life do you think that I was???”

Bashir and O’Brien fumbled, speechless. Garak was clearly ready to expound further, until the chime sounded again, at which he promptly silenced in annoyance. Perplexed, Bashir went to respond a second time.

“Gul Dukat!” The brunette human could scarcely believe it.

“Let me in, before anyone sees me!” The station’s former prefect pushed past the room’s owner.

“You’re limping.”

“Oh, very astute, Doctor.”

“You’re hurt!”

“I know that I’m hurt; that’s why I’m here!” Dukat’s biting sarcasm turned to affront when he saw that he and the doctor were not alone. “Garak!” he hurled in disgust. “What are you doing here?!!”

“I could ask you the same; in fact, I am asking.”

“Get out, and take O’Brien with you!”

“Now just one moment,” objected Bashir. “Garak and Miles are my guests, and besides, you need to go to the infirmary.”

“I absolutely will not go to that infirmary, and none of you will dare to utter a word of this to anyone! Is that understood?!”

“What’s wrong with the infirmary?” wondered a bewildered O’Brien.

“Most of the nurses are Bajoran women!”

Sardonically, Garak commented, “One would think that you of all people would consider that a plus. On the other hand, perhaps you’ve had the same sort of day with them that I’ve had.”

Dukat regarded him uncomprehendingly, but then waved it away impatiently.

By now, Bashir was dutifully scanning him with his medical tricorder. “My god! Your left testicle is crushed!”

“No wonder you’re so testy,” O’Brien quipped, and then shrank into his seat when his remark fell flat.

“Who did this to you?” Bashir demanded.

“Major Kira!!!”

“Need we wonder why?” Garak said dryly.

“Garak, so help me, if you mention this to anyone, including Kira, I will personally kill you!”

“What, Kira doesn’t know that she hurt you??” inquired O’Brien.

“She doesn’t know that she hurt me this badly! I didn’t let her know! She laughed at me enough the time that I sat on a sand spine; I don’t even want to imagine how she’d laugh if she knew about this amount of damage, that she caused! Bashir! Do something!”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to disrobe, if you expect me to be able to help you.”

Dukat growled and grumbled, but complied.

O’Brien did his absolute best not to stare, but the shock was just too great.

“What??!!” Dukat demanded angrily.

O’Brien was sheepish. “I…I’m sorry; I just didn’t realize, …I mean….” His face was crimson. His gaze now wandered in every direction except Dukat’s.

By contrast, Garak was grinning smugly. “You didn’t realize that we Cardassian men are so much better, ahem, endowed than you humans. Or Bajorans, for that matter. Sexually, humans and Bajorans are virtually identical. You see what fun facts you miss when you belong to a species that refuses to strip and torture its prisoners?”

Irked, O’Brien insisted, “Yeah, why do you guys do that anyway? Strip your victims, I mean.”

“For psychological effect. It makes you feel helpless, as nothing else can. It’s also symbolic: the stripping away of all subterfuge; you no longer have any secrets from us, physically or mentally. In any case, our far greater physical endowment is another reason why Bajoran women reject us, even outside of rape: we hurt them; we can’t help but do so. ”

Irritably, Dukat protested, “Not necessarily, Garak; it can be managed, if we’re extremely careful, as I always am.”

“So you’ve long maintained, but I remain quite skeptical.” Then his brow ridges rose slightly. “On the other hand, I suppose that I’ve never really tried. To take a Bajoran woman painlessly, that is.”

Bashir couldn’t resist asking, “Is that why you’ve always found them so interesting, Dukat? For the challenge of proving that you have the skill and kindness not to hurt them?” When he saw how peculiarly both Garak and Dukat were staring at him, he added, “What??”

“You don’t know?” Garak sounded fascinated by his friend’s innocence.

“Don’t know what?” Bashir felt somewhat embarrassed, without even knowing why.

Dukat took over, “Why we find your mammalian women so much more intriguing than our own women.”

“No, no, I’m afraid that I don’t.” Bashir was at a loss. “I haven’t professionally specialized in sexuality, I’ve never medically treated any of your women, and even I can’t have studied all of the anatomical types; there are just too many alien species out there, and more being discovered all the time.”

Dukat and Garak actually managed to share a smug grin at their in-joke, however briefly.

“Let’s put it this way,” said Dukat, with a smirk. “In their most intimate region, mammalian women have such delightful, intricately complex features, all of which our reptilian women lack.”

O’Brien stared. “You…you mean that…your women have nothing but…but…?”

“An opening. Nothing more,” Garak confirmed succinctly.

“Well, then, how can they…?”

“They can’t.”

“But then, why do they…?”

“For procreation. That’s all that they get out of it.”

“Jeez.” O’Brien marveled, “I’ll bet that they envy our women like crazy!”

“Count on it,” Garak assured him.

“Which doesn’t always make it easy to live with them,” Dukat added emphatically, with a sigh. Then he abruptly blurted, “Ouch! Bashir!”

“I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt a little.”

“It already hurts more than a little; I can assure you!” His animosity grew when he saw Garak’s expression. “What?!!”

“And to think, I was in a bad mood when I came in here. Now I’m getting a marvelous floor show! After all, Dukat, I’ve always wanted to get you into my torture chamber.”

“You ever try it, Garak, and so help me, you will be the one tortured to death, when I turn the tables on you…! Ouch!! Damnit, Bashir!!”

“Hold still, please.” The doctor was growing increasingly frustrated.

Probably to distract Garak and Dukat from their mutual animosity, O’Brien asked, “So, is that why you guys are always so smug: you’re the best endowed of Alpha Quadrant species?”

“Not quite,” admitted Garak. “Nausicaans take that prize; I know; I’ve seen them tortured. And much as I hate to admit it, Vulcans and Romulans are just about our size, although sickeningly green, of course.”

O’Brien sat forward. “Yeah, I’ve often wanted to ask you, Garak: why do you dislike Vulcans so much? I mean, you’re so much alike.” At Garak’s affronted look, he hastened to add, “Hey, I mean that as a compliment! It galls me to admit it, but Vulcans and Cardassians are arguably the most intelligent species, by far, of any with roughly our level of technology. Although, what you and they choose to do with that vast intelligence is worlds apart.”

Garak was rueful. “I suppose that I see your point. However….”

The blond wasn’t finished. “You both insatiably desire information. You Cardassians interrogate everyone that you can get your hands on, and Vulcans constantly interrogate the universe.”

Bashir paused in his work to give his human friend a glowing smile. “Miles, I’m impressed! How very poetic!”

O’Brien preened slightly. “Thanks!”

Garak wasn’t through protesting. “But Vulcans are pacifists.”

“Well, okay, but you’re not exactly a warmonger either, Garak.”

“No, but they are unrealistically pacifistic, and nearly as naïve as you humans.”

“Oh, so do you dislike us, too?”

Then, Garak appeared almost fond. “No. At least you humans acknowledge your emotions, and you’re not generally aloof and haughty, unlike Vulcans.”

Bashir grinned in appreciation. “In fact, Garak, you’ve long found my naïveté rather adorable, haven’t you?”

“Indeed.” Garak was still smiling. “It’s the trait that made me gravitate to you in the first place.”

O’Brien hesitated. “I’m not trying to insult you or make you angry, Garak, but ‘aloof and haughty’ is how a lot of people characterize Cardassians.”

Dukat regarded the blond disdainfully. “But unlike Vulcans, we Cardassians have a good reason to be.”

O’Brien could easily see that neither Dukat nor Garak liked his skeptical return look, so he kept quiet.

Perhaps to bail him out, Bashir changed the subject back to what it had formerly been: a discussion of physical differences. “You know, …next to you Cardassians, I feel…unformed. Almost fetal. I mean, our male organ is so…featureless. By comparison, yours is so…textured.”

Sympathetically, Garak said, “That was my first impression, too, the first time that I saw…one of you. But don’t take it too badly: Vulcans, Romulans, Bajorans, Betazoids, and Trills are all as ill-formed as you.”

Self-consciously, he said, “That’s one of the reasons why you-all feel so superior to us, isn’t it?”

“One of them.” Dukat said bluntly.

Bashir bit his lip. He couldn’t resist. “Does that make Nausicaans superior to all of us??”

Garak regarded him with calculated disdain. “Not mentally. Anyone who can’t think his way around a Nausicaan isn’t worth much. They’re thick-headed brutes, really; one doesn’t get much out of them. They’re hardly worth the trouble to torture. But they are…endowed.”

 “About a reference that you made earlier, Garak: do you usually…rape female torture-victims?” He gulped.

“Sometimes.” Garak was matter-of-fact.

Dukat said, “The torturer must have a sense for what would be effective on that particular victim. Sometimes, the mere threat of rape is enough to have her babbling her brains out, whereas the completed act itself wouldn’t even faze another.”

Bashir frowned. “But how can you know what will break any one victim?”

“Practice,” Garak said flatly. “You get a feel for these things. And, we’re not always right. Just almost always.” Perhaps the kanar was mellowing Garak, or perhaps the unity of attitude between him and Dukat that this topic currently inspired made him feel just a bit kinder toward the latter. Either way, Garak relented, and extended his bottle toward his fellow Cardassian. “Here. Dull the pain.”

Dukat accepted. “Why that’s…decent of you, Garak.”

“I can be. On occasion.”

“Done,” Bashir declared to Dukat and withdrew, and the latter smoothly pulled up his uniform trousers.

The human doctor, though, was becoming uncomfortable with how nonchalantly they discussed something as grizzly as torture. He again changed the subject back to what it had been previously. “What about…um…other species? I mean, besides Nausicaans?”

Garak grinned. “Well, …Pakleds are.…”

Dukat nearly guffawed. Now once again comfortable, and finding the conversation flattering and therefore interesting, he seated himself on the sofa.

Garak went on, “Miniscule. About the size of their brains.”

Now Bashir laughed with them a little, hesitantly, charmingly almost shyly.

“Ferengi are not much larger, not surprisingly. Although, since they’re much shorter than Pakleds, I suppose that that makes them much better endowed, proportionally speaking. Betazoids and Trills are essentially like you humans. Andorians are…strange. Of course, the exact details depend upon which of the four genders you’ve captured. Tellarites are as bristly and be-whiskered as their faces, like a bottle-brush. Jem’Hadar, ironically, for all their prowess, have nothing at all, because they have no females and do not reproduce naturally.”

Dukat commented, “You know, I always found it strange that Ferengi, for all their insistence that their females run around naked, are surprisingly the most modest and ill-at-ease when stripped by us.”

Garak replied, “I’ve always assumed that that’s because they’re the most cowardly in general.”

“Hm. Makes sense. Maybe they’re afraid that we’ll cut it off during the torture.”

Bashir and O’Brien both flinched, and the Cardassians laughed.

Again eager to change the subject, Bashir asked, “I can’t resist: what about the Klingons?”

Garak and Dukat exchanged a knowing look.

Smiling a cat-ate-the-canary smile, Garak said, “Let’s just say that all of their blowhard blustery posturing is because they’re overcompensating.”

Dukat smirked. “I’ve always suspected that that’s why they hate us so much: because we know.”

Bashir stared.

Garak continued, “Of course, they’re rough, blundering, bull-in-the-china-closet in bed, so I am told.” He stressed the lack of personal experience. “Lacking in technique and finesse, no surprise there. So I understand that that makes them seem greater in prowess than they really are.”

Trying not to picture Jadzia with Worf made Bashir’s head spin.

Seeing that the other human was uncomfortable, and probably guessing the reason, O’Brien put in, “You know, I’ve always thought that you Cardassians and the Klingons ought to adore each other; you’re a match made in heaven.”

“How so?” Garak’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Well, think about it: you’re sadists, and they’re masochists: a perfect case of ‘opposites attract.’ What could be more natural?”

Dukat’s expression was conflicted between humor and outrage, as he stared at the blond human.

“Masochists??” Garak questioned in disbelief.

“Sure! Hey, believe me, you guys should’ve been with me on the Enterprise, when Worf was as cranky as a bear the time that he was convinced that he’d be deprived of his ‘Rite of Ascension,’ and grateful as hell when the senior officers staged it for him on the holodeck, after all.”

“‘Rite of Ascension?’” Bashir inquired.

“Yeah. You should see the spectacle. Or maybe you shouldn’t. Worf had to walk between two rows of Klingon warriors who tortured him every step of the way with rods that they called Klingon ‘pain sticks,’ that hurt him badly enough to make even him yell in agony.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.”

“And he was grateful???”

“Yep. Scary, isn’t it? To imagine the warped mind that first came up with that idea.”

“Which idea: the ‘pain sticks’ or the ceremony?”

“Both.”

Garak observed, “Frankly, I’ve often wondered how Klingons managed to work together long enough to develop the technology to get out into space; they’re so quarrelsome, and so impulsive: so inclined to act without thinking.”

Dukat nodded. “They generally aren’t renowned for their innate intelligence, either, which is another decided strike against their having made it into space.”

O’Brien agreed. “And they’re so bull-headed, if Worf is any example.”

But now Bashir shook his head. “They’re not all like that. I find Martok downright reasonable, sensible. Remember, Miles, how he straightened out Worf for not appreciating our going along on that mission with them?” Abruptly remembering myriad reasons why he did not want to be discussing that subject in front of Dukat, Bashir hurriedly dropped it and made his point. “Anyway, I’ve long felt that Martok is one Klingon, the only Klingon, with whom I might be able to actually sit down and have a normal friendly chat, not that I’ve tested the notion. Frankly, I’d like to; he’s intriguing. Think of it: a reasonable Klingon.”

“Sounds like a contradiction in terms, doesn’t it?” By now, O’Brien slightly slurred. “Garak, there’s a question that I’ve always wanted to ask you, but without being drunk, I didn’t have the guts.”

Bashir was dubious. “Miles, are you going to regret tomorrow, having asked it?”

“Sure.” O’Brien was unfazed, and fully prepared to go on with his inquiry.

Bashir stared. “You missed my point,” he urged.

“No, I didn’t. I’ll regret it, but I’ll still be glad that I found out, that is, if he’ll tell me.”

“In this rather inebriated condition, I just might. What is it?” Garak encouraged him.

“Well, do you happen to know anything about that time that Gul Evek caught me and dragged me off to face a Cardassian Tribunal? I mean, why they picked me? And how they knew about certain…um…unflattering remarks that I’d made about your people, that I’d thought that no one could have overheard and repeated?”

The enigmatic look exchanged between Garak and Dukat prompted both humans to sit farther forward in their seats.

“Shall we tell them?” posed Garak.

“Why not?” Dukat shrugged fatalistically. He said flatly, “We bugged the whole station.”

O’Brien sagged, almost as if his skeleton had been beamed out of him. “Then you guys know nearly everything that I’ve ever said….” He looked from one to the other of the two Cardassians morosely, and in extreme shame. “So, of course they chose me! It’s a wonder that you two don’t despise me.” Then, he looked instantly self-conscious. “Or maybe you do.”

“No,” Dukat informed him blandly. “We’re used to it.”

“Besides, we know that you were at Setlek 3,” Garak amended tolerantly.

“Um…thanks.” Suddenly withdrawn and ashamed, O’Brien couldn’t face them, and stared only at his lap.

Bashir couldn’t help automatically thinking of the expression: “Saved by the bell,” when it rang again in the very next instant. He was happy for O’Brien’s rapid reprieve from humiliation, but to cover that fact, he muttered, “Now what???” As he responded, his next utterance was, “Do I know you?”

But Dukat said, “Damar!” in surprise, as he caught sight of the newcomer.

“Sorry, Dukat. I know that you said not to disturb you, but that was when we thought that you would either spend the night in Kira’s quarters, or report back to the ship presently. Once I knew that you were injured, and that you’d reported to the doctor’s quarters, I became concerned.”

“Whom did you leave in charge??”

“Rusot.”

Dukat made a brief face at the name, but then muttered, “Oh well, I suppose that he can’t do any harm while merely in orbit.”

“I believe that you underestimate him, sir.”

“Maybe. I imagine that we shall see someday. In any case, Damar, surely you also know that Bashir healed my injuries.”

“Well, yes. So when I realized that, as well as the fact that you seemed to be staying for a while, I wondered if I could…join the party.” He produced his own bottle of kanar from behind him.

Throughout their brief conversation, O’Brien was slowly nodding. “Of course. With the entire station bugged, you were able to monitor his every movement.”

Damar straightened proudly. “I am the only one to whom Dukat would grant permission to monitor while he was on such…private business, however.” He peered closer at the blond human. “I know you. The last time that I saw you, you were a Klingon.”

O’Brien nodded, but groaned at the memory of that tense, unpleasant mission.

Damar went on, “Not a very convincing one, however, nor was Odo.”

“Thank you. I take that as a great compliment.”

“I meant it as one. But now your Commander Sisko: he was a natural.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dukat put in, “I believe that Benjamin actually enjoyed that role, and I suspect that he frankly admires those Klingon savages.”

“I had the same impression,” agreed Damar.

O’Brien pointed. “What’s that other thing that you’ve brought?”

“A Klingon ‘pain stick.’ When I heard you speak of them, I had one replicated from computer records. I thought that it might stimulate conversation.”

O’Brien shifted uneasily. “I had a feeling that it looked familiar. It’s not…functional…is it???”

“Of course,” Damar responded straight-faced, pretending not to know why that bothered the human.

O’Brien deliberately looked toward the only other human. “Julian, I’m going to turn in; it’s getting late.”

Garak eyed him. “What’s the matter, Chief? Afraid to be in the same room with three of us ‘Cardies’ and a Klingon torture device??”

Both humans regarded him askance.

“Now, Garak, be nice,” advised Bashir.

“Honestly?” said O’Brien. “Yes.” He rose.

“Sit back down and rejoin us,” Damar instructed, taking playful aim with the gadget.

O’Brien dropped back down abruptly and resentfully.

“Now Damar,” Dukat pretended to chastise. “You wouldn’t really have hurt the Chief, would you?”

“Of course not,” Damar deadpanned. “I was simply trying to avoid a lengthy and boring argument.”

“That’s better,” Dukat agreed soothingly.

O’Brien didn’t for one moment look convinced in the least by the reassurance, nor pleased by Garak’s resulting amusement, but after only a brief hesitation, he accepted the bottle that Bashir extended, and poured into his glass from it. At the same moment, Damar took a long drag from the bottle that he’d brought.

After a moment of more or less amiable silence, Damar remarked, “Actually, Dukat, the other reason why I replicated the ‘pain stick’ was because I thought that you might like to use it…on Kira.”

Dukat hesitated only briefly before shaking his head. “While I feel…less than charitable toward the lovely Nerys at the moment, no, that wouldn’t help, and I still haven’t given up, at least for the future.”

“I don’t see why you continue to try to seduce her,” the legate replied impatiently. “Just take her and be done with it.”

“No,” Dukat responded flatly. “I’m not interested in merely raping her. I want time to…admire the exotic flower-like appearance of mammalian women, and I don’t want her to be fighting me while I do.”

Disgusted with what he clearly thought of as Dukat’s only weakness, Damar obviously sought to change the subject. His eyes again fell on O’Brien. “If you keep drinking at that pace, you’ll soon be ‘feeling no pain’ even if I do jab you.” He motioned at his replicated item.

The blond regarded him balefully. “Why do you think that I’m drinking in such a fervor now? I want to make sure that that’s the case. Self-defense.” At Garak’s peculiar look, he added carelessly, “Hey, whatever works!”

Garak raised his brow ridges at him, but said nothing.

Following a period of amicable silence, O’Brien produced a rather authentic yawn. At Garak’s resulting disparaging look, the Irishman protested, “No, I’m not faking! Booze’ll make a guy sleepy, ya know!”

Damar held up the “pain stick” and studied it speculatively. “I’ll wager that this would awaken you rather spectacularly, if you should fall asleep.”

Bashir couldn’t help but chuckle with the Cardassians at the resulting image. “Sort of like a cattle-prod!”

O’Brien flashed him a wounded look. “Some help you are!” After a brief pause, he added, irked, “Fine state of affairs: at this stage of drunkenness, I’ve been known to take a nap on Julian’s floor. Now I have to be afraid to do it!” He favored the three Cardassians with a resentful, mild glare. Then he had a thought. “What if Julian falls asleep first this time?”

Julian returned a hurt look. “Miles! Don’t give them ideas!”

“Not so funny now, is it?”

Bashir relented. “I’m sorry, Miles; the mental image that Damar described struck me as amusing, but you’re right; I shouldn’t’ve been laughing with them at you.”

O’Brien instantly appeared more charitable in turn. “No, I’m sorry, too, Julian. I know that you were only joking; I shouldn’t’ve become so defensive, or seriously lashed back at you about it. I know that you would never truly be party to hurting me.”

Then, the two humans noticed how Dukat and Damar were looking at each other.

“Sickening, aren’t they?” said Dukat.

“Nauseating,” agreed Damar.

Garak, though, clearly had some doubts. “Well, I must admit that they are far more genteel than we are.”

The three Cardassians began to debate the issue, but presently they paused at the sound of soft snoring. O’Brien was peacefully sleeping on the floor. Damar got an unhealthy gleam in his eye, and slowly reached for the Klingon implement, but Bashir quickly put out a hand to block him.

“Don’t! Please!” he whispered urgently.

With a sheepish expression, Damar subsided, and even Dukat didn’t taunt him for it.