Disclaimer: I don't not own Star Trek DS9 any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor college university, yadda yadda yadda.

Authors Note: This is a Garak and Bashier story, a relationship that had so much potential and promise on the show, but unfortunately the Producers and writers turned them a blind eye, leaving us to only fantasize about what could have been. (Clue to a sad, long-suffering sigh).

A/N #2: Unlike in a zoo, feel free to feed the author with your comments and reviews. Not only does it provide us with ideas and constructive criticism, but a good review leaves us with a warm fuzzy feeling inside that lets us know our work is appreciated. So, please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

Illusive Innuendos

Doctor Julian Bashir, golden boy of Starfleet medical, resident heartthrob of the entire station, the ever smiling, ever cheerful medical savior of Deep Space Nine wore an uncharacteristic frown as he stalked down the sparsely lit corridors. His foul humor only increasing as he nearly collided with a passing crewman in the dim light, letting loose a few choice curses detailing the questionable parentage of the stations Cardassian designers as he moved on. Seemingly unaware that he had mixed a Klingon and Bajoran expletive together, creating a curse so scathing it would have made Chief O'Brien himself proud.

Upon reaching his rooms he stabbed in his code viciously, as if each key had done him some sort of personal injustice. He didn't even bother to turn on his lights as he locked the door behind him, heading straight for a hidden cabinet underneath the replicator, letting his keen eyes simply adjust to the gloom, the stars outside the nearest porthole serving as his only light. After a few minutes of rummaging through the small space he found his quarry and took out a single pale blue bottle, the color muted slightly by the copious layer of dust that covered it.

With a frown he blew off the dust, impatiently checking the seal with a practiced eye before grabbing the matching glass beside it, the brightly glazed decanter the same brilliant ice blue color as the long-stemmed bottle in his grip.

Tossing himself carelessly across the couch he unzipped his uniform jacket, throwing it to the floor with hardly a second glance, his shoes and socks unceremoniously joining the rumpled jacket in a growing multi-colored pile behind the charcoal gray couch. Even the color of the inert object bringing the very cause of his frustration back to the forefront of his trouble mind.

Pouring himself a generous measure he knocked back a quick mouthful, hardly letting the punishing liquid touch his tongue as it slithered down his throat, punching his empty stomach like Odo's mean left hook in combat training on the holodeck.

He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut as he ignored the need to cough before taking another swallow. As the evening wore on it wasn't long before the effects of the potent liquor had done their work, relaxing his tense muscles and soothing the confusion that roared in his mind to a dull muttering whisper.

"God damn, smart-assed...sneaky...Cardassian!" He muttered as he wove unsteadily to his feet, plunking down his glass on the table, not even noticing the liquid that sloshed out of the sides as he stepped away. Walking resolutely to the bathroom with all the confidence a significantly drunk person could muster, he pulled out the sonic sink and splashed his face with water, running a golden tanned hand through his unruly black curls.

'It never fails..' He thought sardonically, slipping off his regulation undershirt as he examined his reflection in the mirror critically, taking in the dark circles that had taken residence under his brown eyes, and the harsh bristly stubble that marred the smoothness of his face, marking nearly seventy-two hours since his last shave.

"We can't even have a simple bloody conversation without arguing." He muttered darkly, his arms balanced on either side of the sink as he watched the water swirling around and around in the basin below, gurgling past the dimly glowing lights, a testament to his fatigue as even the small light, barely visible in the near darkness of his quarters felt like phaser beams piercing his sore eyes.

Snapping the device closed he returned to his seat at the couch, stretching out to completely cover the surface of the uncomfortable couch, which like all the furniture and decor around the station had been designed with a Cardassian's comfort in mind. And therefore was hideously uncomfortable to everyone else. 'Very uncomfortable.' He commented mentally, wiggling around a bit, trying in vain to find a comfortable position.

"I'll bet Garak is perfectly comfortable." He snarled darkly, his voice echoing metalically within the walls of his empty quarters as he poured himself another shot. Downing it as quickly as the last, he brushed an idle hand across the toned expanse of his stomach to catch a few wayward drops, delivered there accidentally by his shaky hand.

It wasn't until he was halfway through pouring another when he realized what he had said, and with a rush of self-loathing he immediately sobered. The bottle in his grip clanking abruptly back to the table, his hand going up to massage a sudden ache in his temple.

He had no right to think like that and he knew it. If anyone on the station deserved to be recognized for their tolerance and pure determination to continue going on it was Garak. He existed in a place that offended his every sensibility, ground his every nerve. Julian couldn't even begin to imagine his discomfort. Not that he hadn't striven to understand however. As after he had removed that endorphin releasing device from the over grown lizards brain, he had sworn that he would never be caught so unprepared again, Cardassian secrecy be damned!

So, after quite a lot of sweat and cursing O' Brien had finally unlocked the old Cardassian medical files..or what was left of them anyway. And from the few uncorrupted bits, he had managed to glean a great deal, finally quenching at least a portion of his curiosity on the mysterious physiology of the Cardassian race.

After he had devoured all there was he couldn't help but marvel at the mans determination. This station, now completely altered for a more Human and Bajoran population must truly be torture. His keen doctors eye had certainly not missed those few subtle signs the extremely closed off man had displayed. Like the most slight of winces over lunch at the replimat, or the addition of another later of clothing to stave off the chill he now felt in full force. 'Yes, Garak was certainly something to marvel.' He allowed himself cautiously. He only wished the man could see what was right in front of him!

"Me!" The troubled doctor groaned, bringing his innermost thoughts to voice, as if somehow finally saying it aloud would magically make it so. 'But no...' He thought with a snort, letting his head drop on the back of the hard cornered couch with a muted thud, instantly regretting the action as his head throbbed painfully. Instead the man insisted on arguing virtually every sentence he voiced, his every word nearly to the point of disagreeability. He seemed to find delight in tormenting him to near exasperation and anger, making an epic argument over a mere observation or insignificant comment. It was driving him bloody well mad!

He sighed heavily, letting the pent up breath exit in an explosive rush as he poured himself another drink, his eyes trained on the swirling ice blue brew as he thought back, wondering just when he had realized he had fallen for the blue eyed tailor.

It had all began right from their very first meeting in the replimat. Julian had been drawn to him immediately, his unending enthusiasm latching on to the intriguing man as fast as the Lebonize Zeta flu attacks the motor muscles of the human brain. At first, it was merely the allure of excitement, the possibility that the elegantly spoken Cardassian was more then the 'plain and simple tailor' he claimed to be. Gradually however, the mystery diminished into a more simmering curiosity as he strove to know more about the nature of his secretive acquaintance.

And then, with a sneakiness that rivaled his dark-ridged friend, a friendship had blossomed. Sporadic meetings in the replimat turned into permanent lunch dates every few days. Their conversations grew rich as the foundation of trust was slowly laid down between them. Even then Julian had felt a distinct feeling of triumph, knowing that Garak had come to trust him, and because of that trust share with him many things he would never discuss with others. He had also come to value their closely matched intellects, finding a scholarly-like pleasure in their virtually endless debates. They discussed anything and everything, even exchanging classical literature and film recommendations, both eagerly anticipating the discussions that always followed.

To Juilian, Elim Garak was a man of uncountable facets. Both gentle and ruthless, open yet still unfathomably mysterious. He was the very embodiment of a person that was both, all at once, the hunter and the hunted. He had been witness to both sides of this man, the good and the bad, and yet his respect for him had not once diminished.

He was fully aware of what his seemingly passive tailor was capable of. There was barely a person that could match the Cardassian's skill at breaking passwords and codes, and barely anyone he knew who could raise their phaser faster. The man was always two steps ahead of you and had proved his deviousness ten-fold over the years since Julian had known him.

And then there was that rare, softer side, when the calculated mask of the battle-hardened man fell and the true man hidden beneath was revealed. Whether it was something as simple as watching him laugh, his breathing coming out in rattle-like wheezes, a Cardassians version of a full on belly-laugh...or with acts of compassion and selflessness, each one unveiled another part of the complex man to light.

One such instance stuck out in his mind, still to this day creating quite the poient picture when recalled. Garak of course vehemently denied it, simply smiling his crafty smile and replying, "Why doctor, I believe you have fallen prey to a rather gross exaggeration" or some other such nonsense. Julian however, knew better, having the best witness anyone could ask for, an eternally grateful father.

It had occurred during a surprise attack by the Romulan empire, an instance that was later blamed on a rebel military faction. Since the stations sensors had been damaged during the attack it was impossible to know just how many uncloaked, but Dax estimated it was close to five.

Regardless the number, the barrage of plasma missiles they let loose caused chaos and carnage over half the station. And as fate would have it Keiko O'Brien and young Molly were in the replimat when it happened. She had been at the replicator when a nearby power conduit blew, throwing Keiko into the air and far into the grips of unconsciousness.

Garak was there in moments, having been lunching alone nearby, and while others stampeded out in panic, leaving the crumpled woman and screaming child behind, Garak was at the fallen womans side, hushing the crying child and checking the petite Chinese woman for any serious injuries.

O'Brien had later told him, his tongue adequately loosened by some of Quark's finest Irish whiskey, that he had never seen the likes of it in all his years. He had come barreling around the corner, his hydro-spanner held in his fist like a club, quite sure he would find his wife and child in the grips of some Romulan foot solider, bent on slaughter, destruction, and rape. But instead he almost slammed right into the man, having to take a few quick steps backward to avoid him.

He came upon them on their way to the infirmary. The stronger man, usually appearing so rigid and confrontational, had slung Keiko gently over his shoulder, her long black hair spilled over his neck ridges as she hung there limply, his dark-ridged hand wrapped around her slim waist for support. O'Brien's small daughter in his other arm, curled tightly into the shelter of his arm pit, her little hands griping the wide collar of his tunic, her face pressed softly into the hollow of his neck, as he murmured soft, encouraging words to her.

Both men had stopped short upon seeing the other. Both shocked and surprised...both suddenly unsure of where they stood, even as the smoke of the explosion fanned out around them, the flickering flames crackling in the background as the conduit threatened to short circuit again.

Finally, Miles pushed back his initial distrust, and inherent dislike of the Cardassian race aside, and had given Garak an appreciating nod, one in which the Cardassian had returned. Somehow still managing to look dignified as he inclined his head, with a curious four year old latched tightly around his neck. One in which, who had gotten over her initial fright and shyness, and had begun to play with his shining dark hair, and was eying his scales with childish curiosity.

As Miles told it, he had taken Molly in his arms, and both men had walked side by side to the infirmary, where Garak had silently slipped out, leaving the worried man to attend to his injured wife. It was because of that simple, yet powerful gesture, a gesture that unwittingly showed Garak's true colors...that since that day the Chief set aside his long nurtured, though understandable prejudices, and took the Cardassian's hand in his own and they shook hands, forming a new, if not shaky friendship. Though both would only admit to merely tolerating the other, everyone who knew them, knew better, for something drastic had changed between them that day. Julian supposed that if he ever had children of his own he would understand it better.

He dragged his palms over his eyes in frustration, attempting quite hopelessly to banish his traitorous thoughts from his alcohol addled brain. Pouring himself another shot, he idly noticed the bottle was nearly half empty.

A noise behind him attracted his attention and he craned his head backwards to peer blearily behind the couch before his brain finally recognized the sound. But instead of dutifully retrieving his chirping comm-badge he ignored it and returned to the drink he was nursing, with only his fingers betraying his distracted attention as they tightened reflexively as the badge continued to click behind him, the sound slightly muffled from under the pile of clothes.

He was not in the mood for seeing or talking to anyone. 'Why couldn't they just respect his goddamn privacy!' He thought angrily. He just wanted to be left alone with his thoughts, god knew he had enough on his mind. When his com-badge finally fell silent, he raised his glass to the ceiling and silently thanked Major Kira's all knowing Prophets for the reprieve.

Sighing, he tipped his head back and stared unfocusedly through the gloom at the dark ceiling panels above his head, snorting in half-tortured amusement as he found even the color of his ceiling reminded him of his dark-gray friend. He could still remember the precise moment he had realized his feelings for the sly shopkeeper. It had been over half a year ago now, the realization coming to him from a series of repeated dreams, all stemming from one particularly passionate evening of discussion.

He had been walking down the nearly deserted promenade, fresh from his evening shift in Sickbay when he had come across the tailor just closing up his shop. After their usual banter, Garak had proposed a stop for tea at the replimat and Julian and readily accepted. Soon they were neck deep in yet another debate on Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew, the latest play Garak had chosen to peruse from the rather lengthly list Julian had recommended. Julian thought it was rather ironic, thought he was not entirely surprised when Garak claimed to have enjoyed it. 'It figures...' He remembered thinking. 'One of the only Shakespeare plays he disliked, Garak would love.'

The main debate began however, over their two separate interpretations of the ending, and before they knew it the resulting discussion had leeched far into the evening hours.

It had happened quite suddenly, they had been walking back to the habitat-ring, still vigorously arguing the various possible interpretations for the rather depressing conclusion to one of Shakespeare's earlier plays, when the lights above them suddenly flickered. The plasma powered overheads beginning an ominous ear-tingling whine, drawing their eyes upward before the traitorous fixture suddenly flashed brilliantly above them, the obvious malfunction causing the lights to increase in brightness nearly ten times their normal setting before flickering down to pale, dull yellow. It wasn't only Garak that had been affected, the momentary incident had caused hundreds of undulating dots to swarm over his own vision.

But Garak's reaction was far more serious. The intensity of the light burning his delicate retinas caused him to hiss in pain and surprise, sending him ducking against the wall, attempting to avoid the intense flare. Julian's enhanced reflex's only just caught him, grasping the larger man by the shoulders, half-supporting his weight as he tried to recover, his whole form shuddering lightly in his grip.

"Garak! Are you alright?" He had inquired worriedly, his practiced physicians eye cataloging the mans reactions, noticing his drawn face, his rapidly blink eyes, and taking in the lack of color between his facial ridges, the color now a unhealthy pale gray.

A few long seconds past before the stunned man could answer, and while he smiled encouragingly at his friends concern, he was still breathing hard and blinking rapidly, trying to clear his temporarily blinded vision.

"I am quite alright doctor. Thank you for the loan of your quick reflex's. My knees thank you." He managed, his free hand smoothing his dark navy tunic fastidiously. However his attempt at his usual candor was ruined when he attempted to unobtrusively wipe away the suddenly bout of cold sweat that had formed above his ridges.

"The hell you are! Your nervous system is in a hyper-state of alert! Your lucky your hearts didn't stop!" He retorted, entirely forgetting himself and bringing his hand up to rest at his friends forehead in an admittedly futile attempt to gage his temperature. But since it was already there he had allowed himself the rare pleasure of feeling those tantalizing ridges sliding roughly under his fingers, delighting in the realization that the spoon-shaped formation that adorned the center of his forehead was in fact some of the softest skin he had ever felt.

A retort that had only just begun to leave the Cardassians lips died there, instead he sucked in a hasty breath, his eyes closing momentarily before flickering open again, his piercing blue eyes coming to rest fully on him, a look that even then had sent tingling shivers of emotion tumbling down his spine.

"Why my dear doctor...I had no idea you had become such an expert on Cardassian physiology." Garak finally replied, his usual sly tone returning.

"You will find Garak, that I am just full of surprises." He replied distractedly as he measured the man's heart-rate, not realizing how his words could have been taken till he looked up and caught the surprised yet inquisitive look he shot his way. Causing him to flush a brilliant shade of magenta as he realized the full implications of his words.

However, thankfully for Julian's masculinity the moment was effectively broken by the appearance of a two-man repair crew who quickly passed them, throwing them both curious glances before halting at the malfunctioning fixture and unpacking their equipment.

Julian had insisted on walking the recovering Cardassian back to his quarters, ignoring the mans indignant remarks, but noticing how he had not attempted to remove the doctors supporting arm from his own until they were at his doorstep. At the time he hadn't thought much of it, or of the mans reaction to his unintentional facial caress...but now he was unsure..what if...?

He shook his head, as if to banish all the thoughts crowding about in his brain as he idly twirled his empty glass around in his fist, finding he didn't even have the drive to refill it as he recalled the dreams that had begun that night after he had returned alone to his quarters, still grumbling about the stubbornness of Cardassians and the relative disrepair the station always seemed to fall into whenever the Chief was away for too long. Because, lets face it, it was nearly a written fact. O'Brien was practically married to the station!

He had been startled awake the first time by their intensity. He had rubbed his sweaty palms over his equally sweaty face as he attempted in vain to steadfastly ignore his raging hard on. Looking down as it tented the thin covers around him, still pulsing in unrealized pleasure. The half remembered dreams, muddled by the veils of deep sleep had come rushing back to him, the lurid and erotic flashes turning into full pictures, rich sounds, deep smells, and tingling touches. He remembered the intoxicating feeling thought hard ridges, so sensitive to their owner as they slid through his grip. He remembered his own arousal spiking is he watched Garak's face alight in unmeasurable pleasure, a moan and small whimper escaping those elegant lips as Julian pressed down, just so on his neck ridges. He remembered exploring the trim tailors body, nimble fingers caressing each scale, leaving no ridge or crevasse untouched until a low growl of pleasure and dominance left the Cardassians throat. And before he could so much as protest, he had found himself possessed, kissed more deeply and soundly them he had ever before experienced. In his dreams Garak had just not kissed him, he had owned him, and Julian had let him all too willingly.

It wasn't just a passing infatuation...and it wasn't as simple as an attraction...it was something much more that he felt towards the secretive man...

The chime of his quarters, annoying and altogether too loud echoed obnoxiously through his nearly silent quarters, the unexpected sound causing him to start nervously in surprise. Wincing as the hard-edged couch dug uncomfortably into his sensitive flesh, he glanced wide-eyed at the door as the chime sounded again, the speed belaying his callers impatience.

But like his comm-badge, he simply ignored his caller, staring idly off into space, wondering when they would give up and go away, when a irritated voice, the Irish accent thick in his annoyance, and the banging of a heavy fist effectively shattered his attempts at ignorance.

"Goddammit Julian! Open the bloody door!" Miles shouted, his voice muffled slightly from the other end of the door. "Don't make me short out the locking circuit! 'Cause you know I will!" He continued, cursing loudly as he kicked at the door. "Julian!" He shouted again, even louder this time, banging on the door again for good measure.

Cursing softly, he leveled himself unsteadily off the couch, shaking his head to ward of the alcohol induced dizziness as he set his glass on the table beside the bottle, and without even bothering to put on a shirt he shuffled to the door, kicking at his furniture in bad temper as he passed, fully intending to give the Chief a piece of his mind when he opened the door.

Bracing himself on the door frame, he punched in his code, and the incensed Irish red-head almost fell inside as he leaned into his next, unconnected knock. "About time you-." He began, only to be cut off as he took in his friends half-naked and rather rustic appearance. "Jesus Julian! You look like hell! Whats wrong mate?" He inquired, his friends concern out weighing his irritation for a moment as he pushed his way uninvited into Julian's dark quarters.

Julian finally pulled his wits together and turned from the door frame, entirely forgetting his lack of clothing as he crossed his arms in what he hoped was a intimidating posture over his chest. "Miles. I don't mean to be rude...but I don't want any company tonight." He ground out, the rude tone of his voice belaying the thin layer of politeness that had frosted his words.

His friend turned sharply to look at him, coming to stand right in front of him, invading his space as his keen eyes surveyed him for a moment before replying. "Dax was right. There is something wrong with you. Because the Julian Bashier I know would never let himself wallow in self pity, shutting himself away from everyone to sit alone..." He paused, sniffing the doctors breath before continuing. "Drinking, in the dark!" Miles replied, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, his face turning ruddy in the near light.

Stunned by the force of his friends words, he remained silent for a moment, unable to recall when he had ever seen his usually mind-mannered friend so aggressive and angry. Knowing that Miles wouldn't leave till he got some answers, he turned away, reclaiming his seat on the couch as Miles followed closed at his heels.

"Computer, lights on thirty percent." He ordered, rubbing his eyes reflexively as the room was suddenly bathed in light, thought still dim in human standards, to Julian's tired eyes it felt strangely like standing planet-side in the middle of a North-American summers day.

"Miles, I just tired. I have a lot on my mind..." He finally replied as he friend sat across from him, slouching like Julian on the edge of the smaller couch, the sleeves of his dirty uniform rolled up to the elbows, looking for all intents and purposes like he had just crawled out of a dusty Jeffreys access shaft, which, when Julian actually thought about it, he realized it was probably true.

"Bullocks." His friend replied crossly, even his body language indicating he was in this argument for the long haul. Julian started to say something else then stopped abruptly as he realized quite suddenly that his excuses were no longer working, thinking alone shut up in his quarters, canceling lunch dates, holo-deck activities and the like were not helping...What he needed was advice, he needed to use someone as a sounding board for his troubles, to help him work out a solution.

Julian groaned letting his head fall into his hands, rubbing at his face viciously as the thick stubble that covered his cheeks prickled his fingers harshly, a coarse reminder of how far he had let himself slip. Mile was right and he knew it.

Finally he looked up, sobriety falling on him like an iron weight. He shook his head lightly, steadfastly ignoring the small voice inside that muttered that reality was distinctly overrated, afraid that if he admitted it to himself he'd end up losing his liver.

With some trepidation he met his friends worried eyes, but found no disappointment, nor disgust there, only friendship and concern. "I know...I know." He finally replied, his voice going so soft that the handsome engineer had to lean forward to hear. "I am a bit of a mess aren't I?" He offered, a tentative smile ghosting across his lips.

Miles only snorted, "Well I wasn't going to say anything.." The older man replied, a grin appearing on his face, as he moved forward, noticing the long-necked bottle in front of him. Letting out a long whistle he picked it up delicately.

"Jesus Julian!...Is this...is this what I think it is?" He questioned his voice trailing off as he reverently inspected it. "It is... It's Andorian Glacial Whiskey." Julian confirmed with a nod, enjoying his friends awe as he got up to retrieve another glass.

"Julian, how in the world did you get a hold of this? It must have cost you a fortune!" He exclaimed, watching in barely concealed anticipation as Julian poured him a generous measure, letting the brilliantly ice blue liquid swirl smartly in the glass as he handed it over with a exaggerated flourish.

"No, actually it was a gift." He replied, pouring himself a half a glass, bringing it up in a mock salute before downing it impressively in a single gulp. "So who was she?" The Irish man asked slyly, his eyebrow raised as he came to his own conclusions, turning the glass about in his hand, as if savoring even the color.

"Oh no. It wasn't anything like that..Sufficed to say it was a gift from an ecstatic father." He elaborated, remembering with a smile. "I was on my way to a medical exchange on Andoria for my final year. And I ended up delivering quadruplets right there in the transport. I hadn't even gotten to the surface yet!" He said with a laugh. "Apparently it was the first time in over one hundred years that such a birth was successful." He continued, a smile lighting up his entire face, as he swirled the last bit of liquor in his glass.

"Damn." His friend commented, arching an eye brow over at him before holding up his glass. "I'll drink to that." He replied, and they toasted each other, a toast to generous Andorian's and Julian's change in humor before downing the rare and expensive treat together, with the walls echoing the appreciative Engineers pleasure in rebounding waves as his exclamations filled the room.

The evening spawned into night, and 0200 hours found them still together, sprawled happily on the floor, having abandoned the uncomfortable couches hours ago, finding the floor a much more stable platform for discussion. The empty bottle of liquor sat between them, not even a drop remaining in the crystalline bottle, as they sat propped up beside each other, singing 'Jerusalem' for what was likely the third time that evening, their mugs of Vulcan Port coming together heavily as they toasted each other grandly.

As the last verse of chorus died away, Julian sighed loudly, his chin resting on his chest, the thin white shirt he had grabbed laying remarkably stark against his more natural golden tone. He hadn't gotten out three words when O'Brien had saved him from embarrassment. His dear friend had simply assumed that this was another woman-related problem, probably thinking Julian was suffering from a tragic breakup with some foreign and mysterious woman. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, and he had smile into his cup, as to not burst out into laughter.

But regardless, he used the situation to his advantage, and staged the discussion on what Miles thought was his problem. Only feeling the smallest bit guilty in duping his friend, feeling that this thing between him and Garak...if there even was a thing, was too unstable, to new to be shared... at least just yet.

"I just don't understand it!" He hiccuped, refilling the Chief's near empty glass from the dark brown port bottle between them, thanking whatever deities that were listening that at least some Vulcan's knew how to enjoy the simple pleasures of alcohol induced euphoria. Clear their minds and pallets Morns ass!

"Every time we get together, we end up arguing. It is like everything I say, he ...er she! Turns into a bleeding argument!" He posed, slipping slightly but managing to correct himself without his friend seeming to notice.

"And furthermore..." He began again, pausing as he tried to remember his train of thought, delivering a friendly punch on the shoulder to his companion who had begun to laugh at his state distraction.

"And furthermore, she is always toeing the line between being rude and disagreeable. It's as if she enjoys the arguments. I would give it all up as a lost cause if I didn't get the strange feeling that she wants me..." He finished, gazing into his cup slightly morosely.

"Eh, women." The buzzed Engineer offered unhelpfully, slapping Julian on the back as he flopped down on his stomach, stretching out on the floor, his elbows holding him up. "Sometimes, it is impossible to know what they are thinking." He replied with a smile. "But I wouldn't trade Keiko for the world." He affirmed, raising his glass together with Julian for another toast.

Their discussion continued on the same vein until O'Brien seemed to recover at least a small fraction of his sobriety, his eyes suddenly focusing on Julian's face for the first time in a few hours. "You know.." He began. "You haven't told me what she is you know..Human, Bajoran, Vulcan, Betazoid, or..or...you know.. The race could make all the difference." He finished knowingly.

Julian shook his head, attempting to clear it. The thought of racial differences in respects to relationship rituals had never fully occurred to him before. Stupid...Stupid! He cursed himself internally, just how could he be so dense?

"Really? How so?" He asked, his attention fully focused on the older man laying on the floor beside him, wondering for a brief moment if the man had much experience in interspecies relationships.

"Ach, well you remember a few years back when those three Cardassian woman from the Cardassian Science Ministry came aboard the station to help us set up that subspace relay to the Gamma quadrant?" He inquired, fiddling with his glass in apparent embarrassment.

"Of course, how could I forget, with you and ...Gilora Rejal was it?" He questioned, waiting for Miles nod before continuing. "Yes with you and Gilora butting heads with every repair and adjustment, and all that intrigue with the Obsidian orders spy. Hard to forget." He replied interestedly.

"Yes well...Damn. Anyway, it turns out that Cardassians...erm... Flirt by being confrontational." He stammered slightly, eyes averted as he recalled. It was good fortune for Julian as his mouth had dropped open, his whole face speaking of disbelief and surprise. His secret would have been out before there was anything to tell.

"What?" He managed, his voice almost a croak, which he covered by taking a long unsteady sip from his drink. "Yes...apparently Cardassians pursue relationships by being disagreeable and argumentative to the person they want." He continued. "Bloody strange way to show affection...but I guess that makes sense for a Cardassian." He finished with a snort, downing the rest of his drink in one quick, nervous gulp.

"Well I'll be damned." Julian breathed, entirely ignoring his friend as he moved on to the more ferocious concepts of Klingon flirtation. Every memory of every conversation they had ever had raced through his brain, his enhanced photographic memory recalling every argument, every veiled glance, each of the most slightest of touches they had exchanged. The man had been flirting with him shamelessly for years and he hadn't had a clue! Prophets! I have been such a fool... He thought bitterly, thinking of all the wasted time.

Suddenly he sat up straighter, somehow more sober then he had any right to be after all the alcohol he had ingested. He came to his decision quickly, all his nervousness, and uncertainty were unceremoniously shoved out the proverbial airlock, a new, almost predatory smile blossoming across his lips. He would go for it, he would have that smart-assed Cardassian as his own, even if he had to insult and ferociously argue his way to oblivion.