DS9 FanFic, "Apple," G/B, PG, 1/1
Title: Apple
Author: Prelocandkanar (Prelocandkanar@aol.com)
Series: DS9
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG
Codes: G/B
Summary: Garak and Bashir discuss the story of Eden over lunch
Author’s Note: This story was written for the contest “Last Author Standing” at LiveJournal. The contest required each author to write a story within four and a half days in response to a prompt, each week. The prompt for this story was “Apple.”
Thanks to Jen Ingram for her beta.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns these characters, but has let them gather dust on the shelf. I only borrow them.
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“Doctor-” Garak paused to wipe his mouth before returning to pick at his salad - “I wonder if you could clarify something puzzling I overheard yesterday. It’s an Earth expression, I believe.”
Bashir was attacking his shepherd’s pie as though it might be snatched away at any instant, and casting an furtive eye toward the I’danian spice pudding waiting off to the side. “Sure, Garak,” he said, his usual elegant tones somewhat coarsened by the mouthful of food.
“I overheard Chief O’Brien talking yesterday. He was referring to some Cardassian soldiers who had come through DS9. I believe he had heard them expressing their eagerness to return home. Understandably so, of course.” A hint of wistfulness crept into Garak’s voice, and his sharp eyes took on a far away expression. It had been years since Garak had been forced into exile on DS9, the sole Cardassian on a station that was too bright, too cool and filled with those who hated his people. After all, the Cardassians had more or less enslaved the Bajorans, to whom the station now belonged. He did not receive many dinner invitations.
Garak’s attention shifted back to his lunch companion. Bashir alone had withheld judgment and chosen to associate with the Cardassian. In fact, they had become friends, after a fashion. Garak regarded the young doctor, recalling their first meeting. The chill of the station receded slightly at the memory.
Bashir, dispatching the last bit of mashed potato, didn’t notice the older man’s brief melancholy. He sighed with satisfaction, then pushed the plate away. In one fluid motion, he drew the spice pudding to the vacated position and picked up a spoon.
Garak couldn’t help but be amused at the slim man’s voracious appetite. Enthusiasm was all very good, but he needed to learn how to slow down and appreciate what life placed before him. That was just one of the lessons he intended to teach the good doctor. He studied the face just a moment longer, then continued speaking.
“Chief O’Brien was... skeptical at the intensity of their desire.” A note of disapproval crept into his voice. “He said...” He paused, thinking. “He said, ‘It’s not as if it’s a bloody Garden of Eden, after all.’”
Bashir smiled at the Cardassian’s sketchy impression of an Irish brogue, as he dipped his spoon into the pudding and brought it to his mouth. Somehow, whatever Garak said had an urbane, wry feel to it. O’Brien’s earthy expressions coming out of those grey lips just didn’t match up.
Garak, perhaps sensing Bashir’s thoughts, smiled back. He pushed his half-finished salad aside, and drew a small bowl of colorful fruit to its place.
“My dear doctor. Please tell me: What is a “Garden of Eden”?
Bashir closed his lips over the spoon, then slid it out, as Garak watched. Bashir grunted softly with pleasure, then swallowed. “Well. It’s from a creation myth, a story from one of the major religions of Earth.” He carved his spoon into the pudding again and brought it up. Garak followed the movement closely. The pudding was excellent today; Bashir stopped just short of licking the spoon. He wondered if Garak was enjoying the pudding’s aroma; he seemed fascinated. Those eyes were staring at him quite intently.
“Ah. A creation myth. Our ancient Hebetians had several. Would you mind sharing this one with me?”
“Oh, of course.” Bashir paused, gathering his thoughts. “Well. Ah. I’m not sure if I can remember it correctly. I’ll try. Let’s see. Uh, the first man was called Adam. He had been created by God. He was all alone in a beautiful Garden. The Garden of Eden.” He flashed a smile, bright against his Raktajino skin. Garak couldn’t help smiling back.
He continued. “It was perfect. A paradise. Whatever he wanted was there. All his needs were met. He could eat fruit growing abundantly from all around him. It was warm. Perfect temperature. Perfect weather. Adam had no clothes, and no need for them. He had no need for shelter. It was quiet, and still. No, wait. There were animals. None of them dangerous. Adam went around, marveling at them all. He gave them names.” Bashir paused, frowning slightly. “I may be telling this all wrong,” he complained.
“If so, doctor, I will never know. Please continue.”
Bashir grinned. “OK. Well. After a while, Adam realized that he was unhappy. He was lonely. He wanted-”
“-an enemy! An adversary! Someone to match wits against!” Garak chimed in, an enigmatic look on his face. “Oh, a promising story.”
Bashir shook his head ruefully. “No, Garak. He wanted a companion. A... mate. He wanted someone to share the world with. Not an adversary.”
Garak considered. “Perhaps the right mate could be both?”
Bashir shook his head.
Garak sighed dramatically. “Very well. Please continue.”
“Let’s see. God made Eve to be a companion for Adam. There are some differing versions of this story, you must understand,” he added quickly. “And I really can’t guarantee that I’m telling it correctly. I’m not that familiar with it,” he apologized.
Garak tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment.
“OK. Let’s see. Everything was going along splendidly. Adam and Eve were happy. All their needs were met. Everything was... perfect.” He glanced up, and caught Garak’s expression. He looked as though he had eaten something sour.
Bashir gave him a questioning look.
“Why, they sound like veldt-grazers. How could they be happy without a challenge?”
“Well, you’re anticipating the story, Garak. One day, Eve was strolling in the Garden when she came upon the snake. They were - Oh, I forgot to tell you. God had told them they could eat from any tree of the Garden except one. That was the one in the center, the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Of that one, they must not eat.”
“Doctor. Is this a child’s tale?” Garak asked, indignantly.
Bashir chose to ignore this. He continued.
“In the Garden, there was a Serpent. A snake. Except, the snake had legs back then, and walked upright. Wait... maybe that’s from a different story...” He paused. “Is that from the one with the leopard and its spots? Oh, well. Anyway, the snake tempted Eve. He took an apple from the tree and urged her to eat it. He said she would then know everything, and her eyes would be opened. Wasn’t wisdom a good thing?”
Bashir looked at Garak. He was listening closely, with absolute attention. In fact, his eyes seemed to be slicing directly into Bashir’s guts. This intense scrutiny was typical of Garak. Still, it always made Bashir nervous. He dropped his eyes and fiddled with his napkin.
“Please continue, doctor.”
“Well. Eve was tempted. She ate the apple, and she gave it to Adam. He ate, also. Suddenly they knew they were naked.” Before he could stop himself, he found himself looking up at Garak again. That face, those ridges, those scales, those eyes... he felt pinned.
“...Yes?...” Garak whispered.
Bashir swallowed. He could feel his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat. His mouth was suddenly dry. “Uh... God was displeased. They were kicked out of the Garden of Eden. They wrapped themselves with furs and they had to go out and work to survive. The snake lost his legs and had to crawl in the dust. That’s the end of the story,” he finished, in a bit of a rush.
Garak smiled again, a slow, broad smile that made Bashir’s spine tingle.
“A most entertaining story. Thank you, Dr. Bashir.”
The Cardassian casually glanced down at his fruit assortment, then separated a piece from the rest. It was a whole fruit, about the size of a large plum, with pebbly, blue-green skin. Garak picked it up and presented it to Bashir.
“In honor of your story. I don’t believe you’ve ever tried one of these, doctor. It’s called a Ja-Mil’ton. It is a delicacy, and rather exotic.” He leaned forward slightly and, in a conspirator-like fashion, whispered, “It doesn’t usually come with the fruit platter. I had to place a special order.” He straightened up again, and resumed in a normal tone. “While I don’t guarantee that it will grant you wisdom, I believe you will find it... pleasant.”
He handed it to the young man. Bashir accepted it but eyed it cautiously.
“It’s very highly prized. The skin is completely edible, doctor. Do try it.”
Bashir took a sniff. The aroma was intriguing. Although he knew that Garak believed in lies the way that the Vorta believed in the Founders, he trusted him this far, at least: he would never offer him food that was unsafe for humans. He threw a quick glance at the tailor, then gave a brief shrug and took a bite.
The initial flavor, that of the skin, was tart. Then a complex web of flavors flooded his mouth. It took a moment to sort them out. He looked at the fruit as he rolled the bite over his tongue.
The inside of the fruit was pale green, studded with many round - seeds? - about the size of cranberries, of a purplish color. Bashir thought of a cherimoya. The flavor, though, was - what was it? Earthy, Bashir decided, pushing the creamy flesh around with his tongue, crossed with smoky. It reminded him vaguely of mushrooms, scotch and very dark chocolate. There was a hint of bitter. The seeds were soft, though, like a pomegranate’s; Bashir could feel them pop in his mouth. As each popped, its own flavor burst forth.
He pushed one against the roof of his mouth. It released a flood of sweet and tart juice, offsetting the almost musky background. He had never tasted anything so complex before. It took time to sort out the flavors. He swallowed, and the taste lingered for a bit in his mouth before fading. When it was gone, it was as though he had lost something important. He quickly took another bite.
He lifted his eyes to Garak, and found the Cardassian watching him with a warm smile.
He savored that bite, then took another. This time, the scent and the taste of the fruit suddenly hit him strangely, and he paused. It was as though the flavors were too complex; there was too much to sort out. He needed a moment. He swallowed and reached for a glass of water. He took a sip, then a deep breath.
“Are you all right, doctor?” Garak’s voice sounded concerned, but the smile seemed to be lurking behind his expression. Bashir frowned slightly. He knew that look. He studied Garak closely.
He found himself momentary distracted by Garak’s Cardassian ridges. He had never before noticed how the scales were slightly iridescent; the play of subtle colors was really quite beautiful. It was most noticeable on the large neck ridges as they emerged from his wide-necked tunic. Bashir’s eyes traveled up, following the elaborate trail of ridges: up the neck, to the jaw-line, to the ear, then disappearing into the sleek black hair, then re-emerging, down the forehead and splitting into the two eyeridges, the spoon-like embellishment between them in the middle of the forehead. It was almost mesmerizing. His gaze returned to Garak’s eyes. Even hooded beneath their ridges, they were so bright, they seemed to be glittering...
He looked away, but he could feel Garak’s eyes on him. Was there something going on? One of Garak’s games? Bashir’s mind was racing. Suddenly, he felt exposed. Surely every thought was visible, as plain as the ridges on Garak’s face. He felt vulnerable: a mouse before a cobra. And yet... he took a sharp breath. It was like this, sometimes, with Garak. You had to be so alert. Dealing with him forced you to focus. Adrenaline, sharpening the senses, he whispered to himself in his doctor’s voice. There you were, having lunch, when suddenly, you were “en garde.” It was... exhilarating. Exciting.
The world seemed to stand still. Every sound was clear and distinct. He could smell the aroma of the fruit, and past that, a spicy scent. He breathed it in deeply before he realized with a shock that was Garak himself. The Cardassian was leaning in closely, studying him. He was mesmerized by those eyes...
He shook his head. Was he having a reaction of some kind to the fruit, after all?
“Garak. Is this fruit a narcotic of some kind?” He winced at the sound of his voice. He was being slow-witted and obvious. He was definitely feeling odd, but... he didn’t think there was anything wrong with the fruit. As he looked at Garak, it was as though the Cardassian was emitting an intense gravitational field and he was falling, falling... The ridges of Garak’s face were crisp and sharp, each scale seemingly carved out by laser scalpel. Surely he had never seen anything in such detail before. The rest of the promenade seemed to fade away as those eyes bored into him.
“A narcotic? Don’t be absurd, doctor. What do you take me for?” Garak looked offended, then leaned forward and asked, so quietly Bashir could hardly hear him, “Why? Are your eyes opened? Have you gained wisdom? And do you know now that you are naked?”
Naked? Bashir almost jumped, the color draining from his face. That was just how he had been feeling. Exposed. He was definitely having a reaction. But not from the fruit...
Garak was sitting up again, and his face was bland. Bashir wondered: had he - misheard? His mouth was so dry. He swallowed, and again felt his Adam’s apple jump.
He opened his mouth to ask... something, but before he could get the words out, Garak had stood, rounded the table and was at his side, gesturing broadly with his hand.
“Come, doctor, walk with me. Do you have time to extend our lunch a bit? Let us go to the arboretum - the change of scene will do us both good. We haven’t had enough time recently; you’re always gulping down your food and racing off. You simply must allow me to enjoy your company some more.”
Bashir rose slowly. Garak softly rested a hand on his arm, guiding him along. Bashir was finding that touch rather distracting...
“Hello, Julian. Garak.”
Garak looked up sharply. Dax smiled at the doctor, then nodded at Garak. Kira simply nodded at both.
“Good day, ladies. We were just leaving,” Garak said, with a tight smile.
“Good. We’ll take your table.” Dax glanced at the food left strewn behind. “Hey, Julian. Did you clean out the Replimat again?” she asked playfully. When he didn’t respond, she looked at him more closely. Her face grew concerned. “Julian? Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” he murmured, and to Dax’s surprised, his ears grew pink.
She gave Garak a quizzical look.
“Oh, don’t worry about the good doctor; he’s never been better.” Garak said, a bit forcefully. “Let’s be on our way, shall we?”
Dax frowned and let her gaze follow the pair.
“What’s the matter?” Kira asked her.
“Hmm. I’m not sure.” Dax watched the pair amble away for a moment, Garak now gesturing, Bashir apparently listening closely. Then she and Kira sat down and Dax looked for a waiter to clear the remains of the previous lunch.
Suddenly, Dax peered at the plate in front of her.
“Ohhh.... !” She whipped her head around. Garak and Bashir were still in sight. They has stopped and were facing each other, deep in conversation. “He’s got some nerve!”
“What?” Kira looked at the table in confusion.
Dax lifted the half-eaten fruit between two fingers. “Ja-Mil’ton. It’s illegal on a dozen worlds. I wonder how he got it? I don’t think even Quark could sneak it past Odo.”
Kira looked alarmed. “Is it dangerous? Should I call Odo?” Her hand poised at her communicator.
Dax shook her head. “...no...” she murmured. “It ... it won’t hurt Julian. And I don’t think he will, either. He’s too smart for that,” she mulled quietly, watching the two of them walk on again. She went on, thoughtfully. “It’ll just... open up some possibilities. He’s not after a one-shot deal. He won’t jeopardize his long-term goals by doing anything foolish.” She paused again. “I don’t think. Besides, they would have gotten to this point eventually, anyway. I think we should just let them be. It should be interesting.”
Kira looked confused. “..’this point’? What the wraiths are you talking about?”
Dax turned back to her friend with a brilliant smile. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn. Just forget I said anything.”
Kira narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure it’s OK? I don’t trust Garak.”
Dax nodded slowly. “It’s OK. Don’t worry.” In the distance, she could see Garak incline his head close to Julian’s as he spoke in his ear. “It’s fine,” she added, more forcefully.
Kira looked at her a moment longer, then shrugged. “If you say so. But someday, you’ll have to tell me what this was all about.”
“Maybe.” The waitress came and cleared the table. Dax glanced back one last time. Bashir and Garak were almost out of sight. Garak was guiding Bashir with a hand on the small of his back.
“Poor Julian. He hasn’t got a chance.”
--- end ---