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Chapter Text

“So what is this conference about again?”

“Well, if you remember the last time I told you, you’d know that it’s about various scientific and medical advancements of the early 1960s,” Julian replies “We’re going to hear Jerome Horowitz talk about how he synthesized zidovudine for the first time! There’s also going to be some about advancements made during the second world war!”

“And, my dear Doctor, why are we wearing these suits?” Garak looks down and smooths out his lapels. “Personally, I find the neck a bit too restrictive.”

“Because this is the welcome reception! It’s like a party and an informal conference. There's more time to have conversations with the speakers and other attendees. And, these suits are haute couture for the time period!”

Garak shivers. “Alright, I see your point. I did agree to joining you on your ‘adventure’ this afternoon. You do look dashing in your suit as well. But I have to ask, why did you need to pick somewhere that’s freezing cold?”

“Garak, Milwaukee isn’t that cold. And it’s springtime.”

“I don’t know how you humans do it.”

“Warm-blooded.”

“Ahh, I must have forgotten,” Garak pats Julian on the shoulder. “Alright, then. Let’s head to this ’party’.”

Julian and Garak make their way down the dimly lit sidewalk. A few cars go past every couple of seconds, and their exhausts are the color of death. There are four other people within eyesight that are out walking this late at night. Ancient-looking buildings border either side of the street, and aren’t lit, all you can see is the silhouette.

  Garak’s tail (which somehow, he managed to fit in an opening in his suit for one) sways as he walks, hitting Julian’s calf every few steps. Julian’s heels click on the pavement and Garak is practically attached to Julian’s hip as he tries to leech off his body heat. They pass an alleyway.

Julian turns his head, taking in the scenery, and looks down the alleyway. A small group of beatniks are leaning on the wall, smoking ( I can’t believe that was ever legal! ), and two men are conversing on the other side of the small gap between buildings. One of them is moving his hands around more than he is talking, it seems. But then the guy pulls out a bottle of something— Julian can’t determine what it is.

“Garak, what do you suppose that is? That the man in the alley is holding?” Julian asks.

“The label claims that it’s isopropyl alcohol.”

“How can you see that? Even with my enhanced vision, I can barely make out the guy’s erratic hand movements!” 

“Your species didn’t evolve eyes properly, it seems. But why would someone be dealing isopropyl alcohol at night? Is it used in some sort of narcotic I’m not familiar with?”

Julian’s brows scrunched. “Why would this detail be placed here, if this program is just supposed to be a medical conference? Computer, what is the current program?”

Two computerized beeps play, and a voice that sounds suspiciously like Lwaxana Troi, Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed, announced to downtown Milwaukee: “The program currently running is Bashir Medical Conference 3, and was last edited by Lieutenant Jadzia Dax, who left the note: ‘I created a little mystery for you two! Enjoy your date!’”

“I am going to murder that worm. I’m never telling her anything again,” Julian barks, his face growing hot. Last week, Garak overheard Lieutenant Dax and Quark start a betting pool at the bar as to when he and Julian would start a relationship. He doesn’t mention anything to Julian, the very tip of his tail wags back and forth, like if a human were to twiddle their thumbs.

“Perhaps we should just enjoy the program,” Garak suggests, “I do love to see Mr. Bashir— secret agent— in action.” 

Julian huffs and runs his hands through his hair. “Okay, fine, we’ll keep going. But she better not have removed the conference part of the program.”

Julian and Garak find the Victorian-styled red brick building and walk down the ramp on it’s side. There is a set of stairs that leads to a door on the building’s basement level, and the boys head in. Garak is no longer shivering when the boys enter the building, but he doesn’t remove himself from Julian’s side. Julian doesn’t notice. 

They enter the building. The staircase and ‘welcome area’ have intricate wood carvings, including several Sheridan roses and a lot of swirly doo-das. A well-dressed woman is stood behind the counter right in front of the door. “Good evening gentlemen! Welcome to the Milwaukee Club! The party is this way!” she points down a dank hallway. 

“Thanks, Miss,” Julian says. Garak nods his head and they make their way to the meeting room. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be seeing any more women here tonight, at least women who aren’t purely arm candy. The 1960s was incredibly sexist.”

“It’s rather sad that your species has such a history with women in fields of study, Doctor. On Cardassia, the sciences are predominantly staffed by females, but there was never a stigma against males who entered the field.”

“Garak, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Cardassian woman become a Gul. Do they ever enter the military? Or do they ‘serve the state’ by designing chemcial torture devices?” Julian crosses his arms.

Garak pulls at his collar. “Well, there aren’t any laws that prohibit women from entering the military, but I do hear that there are many women in the Obsidian Order.”

“I don’t suppose you have any other information about that organization. After all, you are just a simple tailor .”

“Quite correct, Doctor! Now, are there going to be any drinks tonight? I’m rather parched.”

There are about 25 other people in the room, which has a couple of poker and billiard tables lit with stained glass lamps of all sorts of colors. Julian grabs two flutes of champagne from a waiter passing by (very suave!), and hands one to Garak. Garak goes to sip his, and spits it out. He hands his off to someone else.

A couple makes their way over to them. The man’s arm is wrapped around the woman’s waist. She has a rather form-fitting blue sweater dress on; the man is in a boring black suit, as is almost every other man there, though a couple of people are wearing gray and brown suits, (how interesting they must be). 

“Are you a speaker?” the man asks. 

“No, but apparently I’m important enough to be invited to the welcoming party,” Julian replies with a chortle. “My friend here does know a thing or two about medicine, though,” Julian says as he rubs Garak’s shoulder, not touching his ridges, but close enough for Garak’s whole body to vibrate. Garak gives him the side-eye, for the assault on his ridges and the remark about medicine. Julian is the doctor here after all.

“Well yes, I do have many talents” Garak adds. And bumps Julian’s shoulder as a plea to get him to not act a fool. The man who started the conversation, who frankly looks like a loaf of white bread, looks interested.

“Really! What field of medicine do you study?”

Garak looks ready to murder Julian right now. “Well, I’m looking into causes of various mental deficits at the moment. Very interesting,” he says to White Bread. Julian smiles awkwardly and wiggles his fingers in his palm.

“Well, I’m speaking tomorrow on acetylcholinesterase, I’d love to see you two there,” White Bread says. His date’s eyes dart around the room, and she’s fiddling with her skirt.

“May I ask, what are your names?” Julian says.

“I’m Dr. Jerzy Cala, and this is my girl Carol Volta. We’re from around here.” White Bread— Dr. Cala— says. Carol’s eyes look empty.

“I’m Ameer Beasly, and my colleague Elim Garak.”

“I’ve never heard a name like that before,” Dr. Cala remarks to Garak, “Where do you hail from?”

Now it’s time to test Garak’s knowledge of Earth toponyms. Julian’s eyes widen and shoot over to him. “I come from an island in the Far East called Cardassia,” Garak says. Julian scoffs.

“Wow, I’ve never heard of that place, I’ll have to look into it. Maybe I’ll visit one day!” Dr. Cala laughs.

“I’ve never been, but I do hear that it’s extremely hot. I’d pack a bathing suit if I were you,” Julian adds.

“Well, it was certainly nice to meet you both. Do try your hand at the poker table!” Dr. Cala says. He leads Carol by the waist again, and they go find someone else to exchange pleasantries with. 

Garak whips around to face Julian, his tail almost breaking a table’s legs, “So you get a code name, but I don’t?” he asks.

Julian raises his shoulders defensively, “Mr. Bashir has a reputation, and I want to save it for the big reveal! Also, ‘an island in the Far East called Cardassia’? You’re mad!”

“Do you think that that man can list all of the nations in what you humans call ‘the Far East’?”

“Alright, I get it. How about we go play some poker?”

Chapter Text

The sun shines brightly in the clear sky. The air is crisp, and there is pleasant chill. Garak and Julian walk across the street to the cream-colored Pfister hotel. They’ve just had a spot of lunch and a wardrobe change. Garak now sports more of a tunic, with a chequered suit jacket. Julian has a navy colored suit on.

They enter the building, and Julian stops to look at the schedule. Again. They heard Jerome Horowitz speak about zidovudine during the morning session. Julian remarked to Garak that the drug was originally synthesized to try and attack cancers, but was later used to medicate an old Earth disease called HIV. 

“Should we go and hear what Dr. Cala has to say about acetylcholinesterases? The event starts in twenty minutes,” Julian asks Garak.

Garak smooths his hair down and pulls on his cuffs. He curls and uncurls his tail in disinterest. “Whatever you say, dear.”

The suited boys head down the marked hallway to get to the conference room where Dr. Cala would be speaking. The mid-day sun is streaming in through the windows and it feels warm. There are quite a lot of people for the afternoon session; the crowd looks like fishes (in various grayscale suits) that swim past each other to get to where they need to be. 

Only a few women are present, including Carol, who’s dashing down the hallway, in the opposite direction of her partner’s conference room. She’s holding an umbrella and a large purse. Now that you mention it, she’s not the only one with an umbrella.

Julian stops walking, and Garak (somehow) doesn't notice. “Garak, do you think it’s going to rain?” he asks.

Garak stops and does a three-quarters turn to face Julian, but doesn’t stray out of the rays of the sun. “Why ever do you ask?”

“I’ve seen more than five people with umbrellas today. The sky is clear. And it looks like it’s going to stay that way.”

“Perhaps they’re being cautious. It is springtime, you know. However, I find it hard to believe that any rain won’t freeze on it’s way down, it’s so cold here.”

Julian’s lips form a line and he takes a stern look at Garak. He’s already entered the room, so he can’t see, but Julian’s annoyance is audible. Julian takes the seat next to Garak in the second row of the conference room. He almost trips on Garak’s tail.

“Hey- watch where you put that thing!” Julian complains.

“I should say the same to you, my dear Doctor,” Garak slyly replies.

Julian is nonplussed. “Let’s just listen to this man talk about acetylcholinesterase, shall we?” he says.

The boys sit in silence as the seats fill out, and after an eternity, Dr. Cala and Carol enter the room. Carol is now wearing a floral shirt and yellow pants, and Dr. Cala has a white science-y lab coat on over a plain dress shirt, and a tie. Carol looks rather nervous.

Dr. Cala slaps a manilla file on the podium at the front of the room and takes out several papers. Behind him is a blackboard with name and his paper’s name written on it.

“Welcome all, I am Dr. Jerzy Cala. Today I will be discussing my work with acetylcholinesterase and its function in several nerve agents. I always like to start my presentations with a little biography about myself. My parents brought me over after the war, and I was interested in the sciences from the very beginning.”

Dr. Cala’s voice should be used as a replacement for NyQuil. He definitely ranks as one of the most pretentious people Julian’s seen this month, even more so than that one patient that decided that their third liver replacement was more important than a Vedik’s brain surgery.

Garak leans over to Julian and says quietly, “Doctor, I do hope that his speech picks up. This is rivaling some of the torture methods I’ve heard that the Obsidian Order uses.”

“That’s rather bold, coming from you, Mr. Simple Tailor. ”

“You know, if I wasn’t going on this thrilling holosuite adventure with you, this would be my naptime.”

“You agreed to come, so you have to sit through it. But this guy really should work on his routine.”

“What exactly are acetylcholinesterases? Cardassians might have something similar to them, but I’m not familiar.”

“Acetylcholinesterase is an enzyme that catalyzes the breakdown of acetylcholine and of some other choline esters that function as neurotransmitters. Essentially, it controls nerve signals. If it gets inhibited, you can convulse and have seizures.”

“All of that knowledge and still only the salutatorian.”

Julian looks down and wiggles his fingers. He sighs. Dr. Cala is now actually talking about his paper, going in depth on what Julian had explained to Garak in a few sentences. Carol has disappeared, so it’s just White Bread behind his podium.

“Now, there are several different types of nerve agents that have been discovered. Sulfur mustard was developed and streamlined during the first world war, and is commonly called mustard gas despite not being a gas,” Dr. Cala explains. Julian yawns.

“You know, I think the equivalent of acetylcholinesterase in Cardassians is lam kinbreyet raN’reknet . I’m not a medical professional, but I don’t believe human nerve agents work on Cardassians, those enzymes are too different,” Garak tells Julian, then takes a pause to think. 

“There was an assasination attempt on some political figure, I can’t remember who it was. But someone hired an off-worlder to assassinate him and it failed because the nerve agent they used didn’t work on Cardassians. What an ameteur.”

Julian is paying more attention to Garak than to the speaker. He shifts his knees toward Garak’s and puts his hand under his chin, like that ancient Earth statue Le Penseur . “Really? How was it done? Do you know?” he asks.

Garak shifts and his knees now bump with Julian’s. “The politician was giving a speech at the square, and then would retire to his hotel room. The plan was to have operatives break into his room and spray it down with tabun,” Garak says. “The politician’s entourage caught the perpetrators before they could carry out the attack.

“So they tried again, this time having the operatives go to another public appearance bringing small bags of tabun. Then, at a predetermined time, they would pierce the bags with converted walking sticks and the tabun would spill on the hot Cardassian soil and evaporate. As you may know, tabun only affects mammals. So it didn’t work.”

“Fascinating.” Julian says quietly. Garak’s speech was a bit loud and several people have turned their heads at the boys, but they’re just holograms, so Julian doesn’t mind that much.

Dr. Cala’s voice drones on in the background. “Gerhard Schrader and his team also discovered the nerve agent sarin, and is the acronym of his team’s initials. It can be synthesized from the reaction of methylphosphonyl difluoride and methylphosphonic acid dichloride, called the Di-Di mixture, or from the reaction of methylphosphonyl difluoride and isopropyl alcohol. The reaction creates liquid sarin which quickly evaporates into sarin gas.”

Julian straightens his posture. He’s heard of sarin before, like, one time during med school. It was outlawed just before the 21st century, almost 400 years ago. And something doesn’t seem right. 

“Garak, do you recall the men in the alley we saw? What was it that they had?” Julian asks.

“I believe it was isopropyl alcohol, Doctor.”

Chapter Text

Julian and Garak excuse themselves from Dr. Cala’s speech and retreat to the hallway. Garak stops in a stream of sunlight coming through the windows, but Julian continues to walk back and forth.

“I’m not imagining this, am I? Someone’s bought rubbing alcohol to make sarin?” Julian says more than asks. He rubs the palms of his hands on his temples.

“Yes, I do believe that’s the logical thought in this situation. But what will Mr. Julian Bashir, secret agent, do about it?”

Julian continues to rub his head, and shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Well, we need to figure out who ordered the rubbing alcohol. Obviously something malicious is going on.”

“Obviously.”

“Alright. So. Back to the alley. Right? Or do you have any recommendations?”

“Well, are there any big political rivalries going on at the moment? Or is there a distributor of isopropyl alcohol nearby that we could ask? I don’t believe the man in the alley we saw would be there during the day.”

Julian stops moving, puts his hands down and looks at Garak. “That sounds like a great place to start.”

“Doctor, I was being facetious-”

“Don’t care Garak. Let’s go.”

Finally, Julian’s genetically enhanced growth spurt has come in handy. His lanky legs take him swiftly down the hallways of the Pfister hotel. He’s really booking it— Garak has to lightly jog to catch up.

Julian blinks a couple of times when he exits the building and looks up at the sky. He gathers his bearings and jogs to the alley that they saw the man in earlier. Julian remembers where the man was standing, and in the light of the day he can see that there is a door at that same spot.

Julian stops, and Garak gets there a little later, breath coming out hard. “Please warn me next time you plan on running about. I’m getting rather sluggish in my senior years.”

Julian makes the ballsy move and knocks on the door. 

“Doctor, do you really think that someone is going to answer?”

Julian turns around to face Garak, his lips forming a line, his eyebrows stern. Then a noise turns his attention back to the building in front of them. The door pulls open, and the man from the other night is there wearing a wife beater and dark circles.

“You guys ain’t coppers, are you?” he asks.

“No, friend. I hear you distribute rubbing alcohol.” Julian says.

“I ain’t distributing no more, I sold it all.” the man says.

“...May I ask who the client is?”

“What do I get out of it?”

Julian whips out a wad of cash out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The man’s expression doesn’t shift from his general disinterest and he looks at it for a moment. He grabs it out of Julian’s hand.

“My good buddy Dennis needed some for some reason,” he says. 

Julian looks at Garak through the corner of his eye. “Dennis who?”

“Dennis Volta, he lives down the street from me. Think he’s working at that restaurant on the river now.”

Garak looks at Julian, and they share a look . “Thank you, sir,” Garak says.

The boys exit the alley and head toward the Milwaukee river. The sun is still shining, but it’s not at the top of the sky anymore. Julian starts jogging down the street and Garak takes a second to catch up to him.

“And, dear Doctor, what do you plan on doing when we reach our destination? Are we going to sit down and have a meal?” Garak asks.

Julian looks over to Garak and scrunches his eyebrows a little. “Actually, I’ve got something up my sleeve.”

The boys make it to the river. Julian looks left and right, down the body of water, looking for any signs of a restaurant. The buildings lining the river are all different tones of brown. They have the strange property of both blending together and sticking out, depending on what you’re focusing on. Julian scans along eye level. He spots some umbrella-clad tables and what looks like a walking path on the other side of the river and down a little ways.

“This looks like our best bet, my friend,” Julian announces, and jogs across the bridge right in front of them. Garak huffs and trails after. 

Julian stomps down the sloped riverfront path. The buildings on the river are just tall enough that they block out the sun, and the entire left edge is draped in shadows, including the path that Julian spotted the restaurant on. Garak has caught up again, and Julian walks up the steps to the outdoor seating area.

A waitress notices them walk up. Normally, one man in a suit would be suspicious, but the suited man has brought a date. She doesn't judge. Good afternoon gentlemen! Are you interested in a table along the river?”

“We’ve already eaten, ma’am, thank you. But you could help me with something. I’m looking for a Mr. Dennis Volta, and I believe he works here,” Julian explains. 

“Sir, I don’t think I can give out information like that…”

Julian whips his wrist and a badge falls into his hand. He presents it to the waitress. “I’m Julian Bashir, and this is Elim Garak, operatives of New Scotland Yard, on loan to the FBI. This case is urgent. Please escort us to Mr. Dennis Volta.”

The waitress’ face hollows. She gulps and puts on a neutral expression. “Right this way, gentlemen.”

She leads them in the building and into the kitchen. She points to the sinks on the back wall, where a lanky man is washing dishes. “That’s Dennis,” she says. 

“Would you tell him that there are some visitors waiting for him out the side door? Thanks,” Garak says, and he shoves Julian out the kitchen exit. They end up in another alley, and there’s less sunlight making its way into this alley than there was on the riverwalk.

The door opens again and the bean pole of a man appears in front of them. His hair is black, mid-length, and very messy. His face has pockmarks all over it. A young adult, it seems. As soon as the kitchen door closes behind him, Dennis’ eyes grow about five times their normal size. 

“Oh God. Oh my Lord. I knew this would happen. Oh God. I’m done for-”

Julian cuts him off. “Mr. Volta, please calm down,” he says and puts his hand on Dennis’ shoulder. “I just need some information.”

Dennis is still heaving, his chest moving up and down like a metronome. “It was all my sister’s idea, I swear!” he shouts, and his knees start to buckle. He sinks down against the wall, Julian’s hand slowly lifting off.

Julian removes his stern look and takes on the face that he uses to console small children who’ve scraped their elbows and think they’re going to die. He crouches down to better talk to Dennis.

“Hey, Dennis, it’s really alright. I just need you to tell me a few things.”

Dennis swallows hard and starts to breathe semi-normally again. He nods his head.

“Okay, I heard that you bought some rubbing alcohol the other night. Why do you need so much rubbing alcohol?”

“Um,” Dennis mumbles, his eyes not meeting Julian’s, “My sister needed it. Her boyfriend is a scientist.”

“Why couldn’t he get it, if he needed it for his research?”

Dennis opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if he was going to say something, but couldn’t get it out. “She didn’t want him to know.”

“Why wouldn’t she want him to know?”

“Because she…,” he says, then starts to breathe harder. “She wants….”

Julian shifts and turns his head to look at Garak, who’s been standing behind him. Garak throws his hands up. Julian turns back around. “Dennis–”

“She’s going to kill him!” he shouts, then starts to cry. He puts his head in his hands. Julian rubs his shoulder. ( What is going on?) He stops moving his hand in circles, but doesn’t take it off Dennis’ shoulder.

“Thank you for telling us. Dennis. Can you tell us why she wants to kill him?”

Dennis sniffles. “No, sir. She wouldn’t tell me. But she made me get her the rubbing alcohol. She got all her friends to help her though. They’re going to gas him.”

Julian takes in a rough breath. “Okay,” he says, “Okay.” He raises up to his feet. “I have an idea. Thank you for your help, Dennis.” He sticks out his hand to help Dennis up off the ground. Dennis doesn’t take it, he gets up by himself. 

He wipes his eyes with his wrist. “Don’t be too hard on her. She’s my sister,” he says and heads back inside.

Chapter Text

Julian tears the door to the Pfister building open, and storms inside. Garak strides in after him. There’s a man at the welcome desk at the entrance of the building now. He starts to ask what the boys are in such a hurry for, and there’s a conference going on right now, for christ’s sake, be quiet, but Julian presses on. 

Nobody else is in the hallways, save for some hotel staff. The sun no longer shines through the windows, so Garak butts up to Julian for his heat source. Julian makes to bust the door to Dr. Cala’s conference room open, but Garak shoves his arm in front of Julian.

“Doctor, shouldn’t we go about this quietly? If we march in, guns blazing, the perpetrators might get nervous and start the attack right away,” Garak whisper-yells at Julian. 

Garak man-handles Julian around so that he can see through the window to the conference room. Dr. Cala is still talking, and Julian can spot several people, mostly wives and girlfriends with umbrellas and large purses. It doesn’t look like they’ve started the attack yet. Maybe they’re waiting until the end of his boring speech, so they can pierce the bags of chemicals and then exit the room with the crowd.

“They haven’t started yet,” Julian whispers. He takes a deep breath. “Ok Garak, what do you suggest we do then?”

“Perhaps we could escort Dr. Cala out of the room. That way, he won’t die. But it will make the perpetrator’s next acts hard to predict.”

“Can we get everyone out of the room at the same time, without waiting until his talk is over?” Julian asks, then pauses to think, his hands pressed together on his mouth.

The man from the entrance comes running down the hallway. “Excuse me, gentlemen. What the hell are you doing, running in here like that? I could have you thrown out!” he says sternly. 

Garak and Julian turn to face him, and Julian’s eyebrows shoot up. He sticks his arms out and grabs the welcome desk man and asks him: “Sir, does this building have a fire protection system, like a fire alarm?”

“Why the hell do you need to know that? And get your hands off of me!”

Julian forgoes the fancy display of whipping out his badge, and holds it up like a normal person. “Julian Bashir,” he points a thumb at himself, “and Elim Garak,” he points a thumb at Garak. “From Scotland Yard. Working for the FBI currently. Tell me.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think I will?”

“Sir, we have reason to believe that several women are planning a gas attack on one of the speakers of this conference. And he’s reading his paper right now,” Garak says, pointing to the conference room behind them.

The man closes his mouth. “Okay,” he says, “What did you want to know?”

“Does this building have a fire alarm?,” Julian repeats.

“Yes, it does,” the man says, “Why, what’s your plan?”

“I think the women are waiting until his speech is over, then are going to deploy the gas as they exit the room, leaving Dr. Cala in the room to die. We can’t just escort Dr. Cala out during the middle of his talk, so we thought if there was a fire alarm, then we could get everyone out,” Julian explains. 

The man narrows his gaze and looks from Julian to Garak. “Okay, I’ll help you two. Just don’t barge in here like that again,” he says and turns to walk to the desk he was at. 

This leaves Garak and Julian in the hallway with about a minute to wait. Julian’s forehead is visibly sweating.

“Okay, so they’re all going to exit out of this door, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to grab each person who has an umbrella,” Julan says. Garak turns to look into the conference room again. He spots Carol in the same spot she was in when they first entered the room this afternoon.

“Perhaps we should just go with grabbing Dr. Cala and Ms. Volta. Then we can protect him, and catch the ringleader. And everyone will be making their way outside, so even if they release the gas, no one will be affected,” Garak suggests.

Julian brings his hand up to his chin. “Okay. I’ll grab Carol, you grab Dr. Cala,” he says, just as the fire alarm starts to go off.

People start to get out of their seats, and Dr. Cala looks a bit confused. He watches as his audience runs to the door. You can see the moment when he recognizes what is going on, he sort of jolts, and his eyes bug out. He grabs his papers and shoves them back into the manila folder they came from, and he runs to the door. 

Garak, who was positioned just next to the door but out of view from the conference room, spots Dr. Cala’s lab coat and grabs him. Pulls him away from the doorway and into the hall. More people are vomiting out of the doorway, and the din of all the other conference attendees and hotel residents exiting the building is getting louder.

Julian almost gets lost in the wave of people, but he sees Carol’s floral shirt and steps in front of her. She freezes. 

He grabs her umbrella. “I’ll be taking this, Ms. Volta,” he says.

She looks up at him, first with shock, then her face scrunches together. She throws a weak punch at Julian, but he easily dodges it, and grabs her wrist. Over the sound of everyone rushing to the exits and the fire alarm awooga, he can hear a faint siren blaring. 

Julian moves the umbrella to his side, and grabs Carol’s other wrist. He kicks her purse to the ground ( I hope nobody trips on this ), and drags her over to a wide spot in the hotel hallway. She keeps wiggling back and forth, trying to break free from Julian’s grasp, but she’s going nowhere. He glances around the halls and finds Garak explaining the situation to the faint Dr. Cala. 

There are less people crowding the inside of the Pfister now, and the sirens outside are louder. They’re police sirens. Welcome desk guy really came through, didn’t he. Garak and Dr. Cala, who’s fallen down with his hands now on his temples, are now the only people in their hallway. Julian can’t see down the other hallway, Carol is blocking him from checking. 

He hears thuds making their way down the hall he can’t see, and soon there are four police officers, handguns raised, standing in the hallway. The fire alarm stops.

“Good afternoon officers,” Julian says, still restraining Carol. She almost knees him in the crotch, but a cop grabs her and handcuffs her. 

“Thanks gents,” Julian says and catches his breath. “There are several other women with suspected involvement,” he tells them. He walks over to Carol’s purse, it’s been kicked and stepped on, and is five meters down the hallway now. Julian picks it up and brings it to one of the officers. He shoves his hand inside and finds two bags of clear chemicals. 

He shows the officer the chemicals and the umbrella, which has a razor blade attached to the tip. Man, how strange was that. Her boyfriend was talking about the very nerve gas that she planned to murder him with. 

Garak walks over to Julian and the three officers. One cop has escorted Dr. Cala out of the building and probably to a shock blanket. The cops have radioed their colleagues outside to find the other suspects. 

“Well done, Doctor!” Garak says, walking right up next to Julian again. Julian tilts his head and gives a little smile. Their hands are dangerously close to touching.

Julian composes himself, and addresses Carol and the cops. “I have to know, before I go work on the paperwork, why did you do it? Why?” he asks.

Carol huffs. “Well, I’ve been caught, so I might as well spill it,” she says, “Jerzy’s as smart as a rock. I’ve been doing the majority of his research for him, and he takes all the credit. Then he parades me around like I’m a porcelain doll or something. He never lets me take any credit for the work that I’ve done.”

Julian and Garak’s mouths open in a gasp. Definitely was not expecting this. Julian is utterly baffled. “So murder is the logical first choise of action?” he asks.

Carol laughs. “I’ve been planning on murdering that tool for years now. It all started out small -- what if he died? What would I do? It was addicting, thinking about life without him. I tried leaving him once, I did. He said he’d kill himself if I left him. He couldn’t live without me, he said.

“So I stayed with him. And I thought about it at least once a week. This conference just seemed like the best opportunity. So I got the methylphosphonyl difluoride from the lab, and I made my brother get me the rubbing alcohol. He’s always been a pushover.

“And I got some of my girl friends to help me out. They understand. They know what it’s like. They volunteered to help me.”

Everyone was silent for a bit after that. Then a cop broke the tension. “Well, Ms. Volta, you won’t ever have to see that man again, as you’ll be locked up for a long time,” he says to Carol. “Thanks for your great work, gentlemen. Thank you Mr. Garak, and… what was your name, sir?” he asks Julian.

“The name’s Bashir. Julian Bashir,” he says, proudly, with a wicked grin on his face. Garak is smiling too. He wraps his hand around Julian’s shoulders.

“Computer, end program,” Julian says. Carol, the policemen and the Pfister hotel dissolve into nothing, and the boys are left in the empty holosuite. Julian turns to face Garak. 

“Although it was a bit nippy, I had an excellent time with you, Doctor,” Garak tells Julian.

Julian is the picture of joy at the moment. “It was a pleasure working with you, Garak,” he says, “I’ll have to thank Jadzia later. That was a lot of fun.”

“Tell her thanks from me as well, dear. It was an excellent date,” Garak says as he exits the holosuite.

Julian’s face heats up, the ghost of Garak’s arm is still felt around his shoulders. He lets out a chuckle that quickly evolves into a giggle. Julian, face red like a tomato, exits the holosuite giggling like a little schoolgirl. 

Jadzia is sitting at the bar, and Quark is cleaning out glasses while chatting with her. Julian slides down the spiral staircase and strides out of Quark’s with a big smile plastered on his face. 

Jadzia and Quark look at each other. “Looks like you owe me 5 strips of latinum, Quark,” she says with a devilish smile on her lips.