My Star Trek One-Shots

Garak - Watchful Eyes

Taren Roana was just a teenager during the final years of the Cardassian Occupation. Her father was a resistance fighter, and her mother died in a labor camp. Though she was too young to join the resistance, she carried the weight of it in her bones. After the Occupation ended, she joined the Bajoran Militia and eventually accepted a security posting aboard Deep Space Nine, working under Odo-whom she both respects and fears disappointing.

Taren was quick on her feet, a natural investigator, and unafraid to confront shady dealings. Her friendship with Major Kira began over shared trauma and resistance scars, while Dax's warmth and mischievous curiosity drew her in like a sister she never had.

Then there was Garak.

The moment she met him, she expected to hate him-another Cardassian spy, smooth-talking, manipulative, and smug. And yet . . . every interaction left her off-balance. His wit, his mystery, his sharp eyes-he wasn't what she expected. What started as suspicion turned to fascination . . . and eventually, infatuation. She visited his shop under the pretense of "keeping an eye on him," when in truth she just wanted to hear him say her name with that little smirk of his.

But she couldn't tell Kira-Kira would never understand. And Dax? Dax would tease her mercilessly. So she buried the truth. Every shift, every report, every encounter with Garak becomes a quiet test of will.

The Promenade buzzed with quiet life as the afternoon lull settled in. Roana stood across from the shop, pretending to read something on her PADD. In reality, she hadn't turned the page in over five minutes.

Inside the tailor shop, Garak adjusted a mannequin's collar, humming to himself.

Odo's voice crackled over her commbadge. "Odo to Taren. Any updates from the Promenade?"

Roana clicked her badge. "Negative, Constable. Everything is quiet." She hesitated, then added, "But I'll continue monitoring."

She didn't mention who she was "monitoring."

Just then, Garak stepped out of his shop. "Ah, Miss Taren," he said with that maddeningly amused tone. "Am I under surveillance again? I do hope it's because you missed my company."

She blinked, thrown off-as always.

"No, just . . . routine patrol," she replied curtly, shifting her stance. "We can't be too careful."

"I quite agree," he said, tilting his head, eyes twinkling. "Although I must say, I've never known a security officer who patrols so often by my storefront. Should I be flattered or worried?"

She tried to suppress the blush creeping up her ears. "You tell me. I'm still not convinced you're just a tailor."

Garak chuckled. "Neither am I, most days."

As he turned to go back inside, he paused. "You know, if you're going to loiter near my shop, you may as well come in. I've just received a bolt of Andorian silk I think might suit you."

"I'm not here to shop," she said sharply-too sharply. He raised an eyebrow and smiled that infuriating smile again before disappearing inside.

As soon as he was out of sight, she exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for an hour.

Behind her, a familiar voice spoke.

"You've been staring at that shop window for ten minutes, Roana," Kira said flatly. "Don't tell me you think he's planning something."

Roana jolted. "Just . . . being thorough," she muttered.

Kira narrowed her eyes, studying her like she was trying to solve a tactical problem. "Right. Thorough."