[IRC log, On the phone with Amsha Bashir]
Amsha: It is Saturday and while her husband is busy outside, Amsha has very sensibly taken the number she copied for Garak and dialled it back, hoping to get in contact with her son's tutor
Garak: On a typical Saturday afternoon, Garak will be making himself busy with any number of things that he feels needs to be done. He'll go to the library and continue his reading back issues of local newspapers, he'll grade homework and add to his lesson plan. Today, he's sitting in his armchair, hands curled around a hot cup of coffee.
He picks up almost instantly. He always keeps the cell phone within reach. "This is Garak speaking, how may I help you."
Amsha: "Garak, it's Amsha Bashir. I was wondering if I could speak with you."
Garak: "Naturally, Mrs. Bashir. I am at your disposal." He smiles, setting aside the cup and the few piles of paper in his lap. Notes, article clippings, they can wait.
Amsha: "Just Amsha, please. If I am to call to Garak, you must call me Amsha." She pauses, looks to make sure none of the boys of the house are around. "I am not a foolish woman, even if I do not have my son's genius."
Garak: "Amsha, then." He isn't sure he likes that comment, right there. It feels like quite a heavy 'but' is waiting in the wings. "We inherit the most remarkable things from our parents... I'm sure he has many traits to thank you for."
Amsha: "Perhaps, but the fact remains, I am not possessing Julian's intelligence. Very few people are. However, I am his mother and there are some things I understand about my son. I know, for example, that the problems between him and his father are far from over, for all the resolution we may have found. There will be other fights. Other spats."
Garak: He nods, trailing one hand over the side of his face to rub at his forehead. "I anticipated as much, to be frank. But, as naïve as it may sound, I do believe the situation can improve over time."
Amsha: "Improve, maybe. But I know Richard and I know Julian and I know that Julian will not speak to anyone about his problems. Not his friends. I want to know that if something happens, you will look after my boy, Garak. He won't come to me to let me do it."
Garak: "I have opened my door to your son, Amsha. He knows that if anything at all comes up, he can find...refuge, if you will, for as long as he needs." That must hurt, knowing your child doesn't trust you. He can only imagine the depth of it, but he would never want his own mother to experience something like that.
"If there weren't for you, Amsha... Julian wouldn't have come home."
Amsha: "I know. He's a good boy. He really is. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that. But he'll keep it all to himself to spare upsetting someone else. He's done it before, let himself get sick because he didn't want to upset me by telling me he was sick."
Garak: Garak nods, even though it doesn't accomplish anything where communication is concerned. This is a test. He can feel it. He pauses, going over the possible outcomes of a few potential responses, much like calculating a chess game. It only takes a second or two, and he knows what to say.
Garak: "I suffered a series of severe panic attacks on the ski trip." He won't say 'when we were snowed in', because the pills only help so much. "And your son was one of very few who stayed with me for the duration of the incident. I owe him my sanity, Amsha. I honestly believe that."
Amsha: "That's my Julian." Her tone lightens. Softens. "Right now, he's with a friend having a nervous breakdown. Despite two days of intensive testing, a fight with his girl friend and no sleep, he's over there." If he misses the point of this, she might even be disappointed. "You will look after him, won't you, Garak?"
Garak: Mum is, as always, the word. Personally, Garak draws far too many different conclusions from that list of observations. Intensive testing (of his intelligence? Of his psychological make up? His health?), fight with *girl friend*, no sleep, helping friend in need. She knows. He's dead certain of it.
Garak: "I will, Amsha. You have my word." In spite of the raging paranoia, his voice is warm, friendly, even caring.
Amsha: "Thank you, Garak. I won't take anymore of your time."
Garak: "Oh, not at all, it was a pleasure talking to you. You're welcome, and have a good day." She knows. She *knows*, and what gets to him is the nagging feeling he *doesn't*.
Amsha: "Have a good day, Garak. Good bye." And she hangs up.