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Dr. Bashir is sprawled in a chair at sickbay station two, seeming to be scrolling back and forth over some file or another that he quickly clicks away from when Garak comes through the door. Though he cannot read the report from this distance, Garak can guess what it is.
“Garak!” he exclaims, shaking his head as if to dislodge something in it. “What- Er, what can I do for you?”
Ignoring the looks he always gets from the Bajoran nurses, Garak smiles as he approaches. “I just came by to inquire about the Major. And to see you.”
“She’s doing fine. Still sleeping, but she should be good to go in a few hours.”
“You look tired, Doctor.”
“Reversing Major Kira’s alterations took a long time. I just need a coffee and I’ll be okay. Maybe something stronger than a coffee.”
“Wonderful. I was just heading to the Replimat myself. You wouldn’t be opposed to the company?”
Dr. Bashir flashes him a tired but brilliant grin. “Never.”
They walk side by side down the promenade at a leisurely pace. Often, the young doctor’s long legs and excitable nature have him bounding ahead of Garak’s steadier pace, but now he is subdued and lags a little behind.
“What happened out there?” he finally asks.
“You haven’t yet read the report?”
“No.” Garak notes with some amusement that Dr. Bashir is certainly getting better at lying. He immediately is overcome with exasperation when Dr. Bashir corrects himself, “Well, er, actually, yes, but…”
Garak waits for him to continue.
“It’s nothing.” He dithers, then blurts out, “Thank you. For helping bring the Major back.”
It was definitely not what the doctor had meant to say, Garak can tell that much. But he lets it slide and pushes no further. Hearing stories and implications in a game of verbal sparring is one thing- reading a dry report is quote another. Though Dr. Bashir should have no illusions about Garak after the incident with the implant, he supposes it could be easy to forget that one’s well-read lunch companion was capable of things other than clever obfuscation and hemming pants. As, of course, is the point.
“I had little choice in the matter,” he says, a little huffily. “But though I doubt the Major would share the sentiment, I am glad she is back on the station.”
Dr. Bashir raises his eyebrows. “You are?”
Garak leans a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I shudder to think what havoc she could’ve wreaked on Cardassia, running around disguised as Iliana Ghemor. The trouble she clearly gave Entek- ”
“Cardassian disruptors don’t have a ‘stun’ setting, right?” Dr. Bashir asks suddenly.
The word ‘murder’ is very carefully not spoken aloud. Garak smiles widely , likely without nearly enough contrition for Dr. Bashir's taste . “No. That is a Federation conceit, I’m afraid.”
Dr. Bashir nods, refreshingly unfazed. “I see. It’s just that I was researching disruptor burn patterns the other day…”
He launches into one of his monologues about the rapid cellular decay that occurs when one is shot, and the differences between Romulan, Cardassian, and Klingon disruptor wounds. His eyes have lit up, as they tend to, when he goes off on one of his tangents, and Garak finds himself unable to hide a very genuine sort of smile as they enter the Replimat.