Disclaimer: Let me think... No.

A/N: First Star Trek fic! This is old, and I dredged it up and decided to post it... Just because I wanted to, I guess. Anyway, this is Garak's thoughts in that episode where he's having all his clausterphobic attacks. Yep. Shortest oneshot from me ever. Please, enjoy.

I want out.

It's too small, too cramped. The station is going to confine me, squish me against the walls. Work. That's the answer. Sewing is the only thing that'll help. I go to my shop and begin to sew. It's not working. The room is shrinking. It's going to crush me. My stomach feels queasy. No... No.... It can't be happening. I have work I need to do, or millions of people will die. No good. I can't convince myself otherwise. The room is spinning.

I leave my shop, run down the hallways, not knowing where I'm going. That silly little slip of a Counselor thinks she can counsel me? She can't even solve her own problems. How can she solve mine?

Suddenly it hits me. I have to get out. I can't stay here any longer. I go to the nearest airlock. The place is confined, yes, but outside is space. Glorious space. People are shouting at me. I ignore them. They'll try to stop me, I know it. I lock myself in the airlock. Unfortunately the glass doors on both ends are transparent.

"Let me out!" I shout. I raise one, gray, humanoid hand, and pound on the glass. I have to get out!