A/N: This is for Ro's Fireplace Alliance December Crossover Challenge


Methos is from Highlander: The Series. He's the oldest immortal in the world and has been many things in his long life – including one of the legendary Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. More recently he's been a scholar and likes to 'pass' as an unassuming graduate student. He's very snarky and likes to play with people.

Garak is from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. He's currently in exile and working as a tailor on the space station. He's a former military/intelligence member, spy, assassin, torturer, etc. He also loves to play with people.

Of Gods and Tailors

Part One – Wolves in Sheep's Clothing

Methos made his way to the replimat. He was hungry and although he would never admit it to himself, a bit lonely as well. At least in the bustle of the promenade he could pretend as if he were a part of something. He kept asking himself why he'd come here. He never liked traveling by ship and even spaceships made him feel a bit queasy. Even now he could feel the station rotating and stargazing only made him feel worse. Sure he'd looked out the viewport – once – since arriving on the station, to see the wormhole or Celestial Temple or whatever the locals preferred to call it. That was why he was here after all, to study the religious significance of the wormhole on Bajor.

Hey, it passed the time.

The gods had always fascinated him. Not that he could recall the last time he'd worshipped one. He'd seen too many in his 6,000 years, watched them rise and fall like the tide. This, however, was the first time he'd come across a religion that made some sense. At least the Bajoran's gods were real and not some make-believe phantoms. It was curiosity that brought him here. A fleeting hope that the prophets could answer the why of his existence. He doubted it, but that hadn't stopped him from taking the journey out to meet them.

Methos reached the replimat only to find it packed to overflowing. There was not a single free table in sight. Men and women and beings unidentifiable crowded around the tables enjoying their meals and each other's company. As his gaze passed over the crowd, he noticed one man sitting alone with three empty chairs keeping him company. Men stood around neighboring tables eating with their plates in their hands. None had asked to sit with him or bothered the lone man for a chair. It shouldn't have been too surprising. Methos had never met a Cardassian in person, but the man eating at the otherwise empty table could be nothing else. Mister Garak, the resident tailor, spy, assassin … Methos had heard enough rumors about this particular fellow to pique his interest. It wasn't every day he encountered a mortal who held as many secrets as himself, and he could use a bit of entertainment.

Methos picked up his meal from the replicator and made his way across the crowded room. Arriving at Garak's table, he cleared his throat.

Garak looked up, surprised by the intrusion. He'd been reading a particularly interesting bit of news from his homeworld only to be interrupted by a young Terran man.

"Can I help you?" Garak asked with more enthusiasm than he felt.

"May I sit with you? It appears all the other chairs are taken," Methos replied, matching the Cardassian's cordial tone.

Garak kept his face in check but his thoughts were running circles around his head. Who is this Terran? Why would he want to sit with me? Is he another Bashir … a young fool who hopes to learn more about evil Cardassians? Garak mulled the prospect over in his mind. He was in a rather sour mood and the Terran's timing could not have been worse – or better? He could always teach the young fool a lesson. What was that clever little phrase Bashir had used about cats and curiosity?

The young man continued staring down at him, and, not wishing to cause a scene in the middle of the busy replimat, Garak gestured to the seat opposite. A few patrons glanced their way as the Terran sat down at his table.