Summary: Julian reflects on his life after many years.
Warning: Violence. Spoiler warning link.
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is the property of Paramount. This story, written in 2000, never has been and never will be sold.
Feedback: Any and all. Criticism welcome.
My life after DS9 unfolded as I never could have imagined.
I could have stayed there, with Ezri, trying to relive Jadzia's life with her... fooling myself and everyone.
Instead, I went to Cardassia.
On the surface, I was the pretty alien prize of a professor of Hebitian literature at New Lakarian University... at least for a time. Only Garak called me pretty after I passed sixty.
I taught xenomicrobiology and immunology seminars at the graduate level, and practised at a hospital that took alien patients.
At the same time I was the mitigating influence behind the new Cardassia. I involved myself in rebuilding and maintaining a fascist state, arguing with Garak over the problems that had caused its fall the first time. He always listened to me, even implemented my wishes occasionally -- he guaranteed the protection of political criticism in academic discourse, for example. It was partly selfish, of course... he enjoyed arguing with me in the faculty lounge.
Finally, I was a spy. Garak knew, I'm sure, that I was working both for him and for Section 31, loyal only to my conscience, choosing sides as my own ethics dictated.
I loved him... I still love him. We both knew we could trust each other in that, even if the spy game put us at odds occasionally.
In the end, I can't be sorry for what I've done.
He knew... I could feel it in the set of his shoulders as I embraced him from behind, a sob escaping from deep within my chest as I slid the knife between his ribs. He turned around, smiled sadly, and kissed my forehead gently. "I understand," he whispered as he sank to his knees.