Interspecies Romance: the Remedial Course, Part II

[dark_sinestra]

Garak

Holding Cell

 

Time had a strange way of distending and blurring at the edges when one was confined. His captors had been kind enough to provide him with a chronometer, but at times he could almost swear that it randomly malfunctioned. He was even allowed to perform some minimal work when various officers needed mending for their uniforms, and they paid him in full for it. It was a strange captivity that wore on him, nonetheless. He could and frequently did exercise himself to utter exhaustion without quelling the restless instinct inside him that screamed at him to short out the forcefield, incapacitate the guards who brought him his food, run, and run, and run some more, and never look back. Doctor Bashir said that his blood pressure was elevated. His frequent migraines seemed to confirm the diagnosis. He stubbornly refused the pills. Their effects were bad enough to endure in private. He didn't want anyone hearing him crying out in his sleep, saying who knew what.

 

He felt another coming on while listening to Ziyal, his most faithful visitor. She never missed a day. He didn't have the heart to tell her that sometimes he wished that she would. There was no one he enjoyed seeing on a daily basis, not even Julian when they were at their closest. “So then he took her springball racket and hid it somewhere. Can you believe it?” she asked, shaking her head.

 

He lifted a hand to rub at his temple. “I'm surprised he hasn't chained her to her bed,” he said dryly. “It was foolish of her to go live with them. Both adult O'Briens have rather overbearing, controlling natures. Throw the major into the mix, and there are bound to be explosions.”

 

“Your head again?” she asked, instantly picking up on the gesture.

 

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “You were saying?”

 

“It does so matter,” she countered, shaking her head. “Why won't you take the medicine Doctor Bashir has prescribed for you? That's what it's for. This is the third day in a row this week.”

 

“Actually, it's just one,” he corrected her lightly. “It never went away; so you see, it's not as bad as you think.”

 

“That's not funny,” she said briskly. “I notice you still have all of the cake left from yesterday that Aroya brought. You didn't touch a bite.”

 

“What do I need guards for with you and Aroya monitoring my every move?” he asked testily.

 

“That's not fair,” she said, pursing her lips and folding her arms. Something in the tilt of her head reminded him unfavorably of her father just then. “We're worried about you, the headaches, your blood pressure, the weight loss. You ought to see the doctor more often.”

 

“Ziyal,” he said, fighting to hold his temper, “I've survived far worse than this. If I can't handle spending a little time in one room, then I'm in far worse trouble than a few headaches and slightly elevated blood pressure would indicate.”

 

She sighed. “Your more stubborn than...” She cut herself short and frowned.

 

“Than your father. I know what you were going to say,” he said. “That may very well be. If so it's a good thing in this situation. It keeps my head straight.”

 

“Those new exercises you gave me have been keeping my head straight, too,” she said, thankfully changing the subject. She seemed to sense he wouldn't allow her to push him much further. “I still have nightmares sometimes, but when I awaken, I can tell if things are off and bring myself back to the present. You really helped me, and I appreciate it. It means I don't have to scare Nerys or the O'Briens in the middle of the night.”

 

He smiled slightly. “It means you don't have to be afraid. That's the most important thing of all.”

 

“I'm not afraid,” she said. “It's so nice to be able to say that finally. I'm somewhere I feel safe. People here are nice to me, at least some of them. They don't treat me like a freak of nature or like Prefect Dukat's daughter. I'd be a lot happier if you weren't locked up, but you're almost halfway through the time.”

 

And only half-mad from it. How nice for me, he thought wryly. “Many people here care for you,” he said. “It's neither because of or in spite of who your father is. It's because of who you are. You should remember that. Don't let the time you spent on Cardassia or in that Breen camp shape how you approach the world. You can make anything you want for yourself with your talent and by being who you are.”

 

“Yes, Father,” she said, rolling her eyes. He could see fond amusement beneath the expression, and her smile afterward gave her away completely.

 

“Oh, no,” he held up a hand. “I'm no one's father and certainly not the sort of father you'd want or deserve.”

 

“That's not the first time you've said something like that,” she said. “I think you sell yourself short. I think any child of yours would be lucky to call you father.”

 

“You're young,” he said. “I can forgive you your terrible judgment of character.” He winced as the migraine blossomed in full and his left eardrum began to pound and flutter. It wouldn't be much longer before the vision in his left eye began to tunnel and the nausea set in.

 

“I know that look,” she said, gracefully standing and bending to kiss the top of his head. “I'll be sure to tell the guard to turn out the lights. Please consider taking the pills.”

 

“I'll consider it,” he said, and reject the idea.

 

“Mmhmm,” she said in exasperation, “and I'm sure that's all you'll do. I'll see you tomorrow.” She hailed the guard and left him then.

 

As she had promised, a few minutes later the holding area went dark. He lay as still as possible. If he was very lucky, he wouldn't need the bucket sitting conveniently within reach just beneath the bunk.

 

Julian

Quark's Bar

Holosuite Three

 

Dax drew back her bow string, her arms in perfect alignment, her head tilted slightly. She exhaled half a breath, paused, and let fly her arrow. It sailed completely over the straw target and landed somewhere out in the meadow. The pennants flying King Arthur's crest atop the distant castle battlements fluttered and snapped in the strong headwind. “Computer, stop breeze,” she said, sounding annoyed.

 

Julian made a small, doubtful noise.

 

“What?” she asked, looking over at him sharply, her bow held cocked to the side.

 

“I don't think it's the wind,” he said. “You've had something on your mind all evening.” He had truly enjoyed the time they had been spending together lately. He had even taken a few tentative forays into the land of flirtation without finding himself outright rejected or stopped cold. It was encouraging.

 

“It was so the wind,” she said, curving a determined smile and drawing another arrow from her quiver.

 

“Fine,” he said, stepping back and gesturing with a hand. “There's no wind now, so you should easily be able to hit the bullseye.”

 

“I will,” she said with her best “see if I don't” expression. He watched from the side. Her form was good, and yet he could already tell she was going to pull up just a bit with the release of the bowstring. The bow twanged, and the arrow just skimmed the top of the rolled hay bale, knocking free a couple of stiff pieces of straw.

 

“You were saying?” he said.

 

“It's your turn,” she replied, stepping out of his way.

 

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she was going to be difficult. She was never quick to confide her own problems and concerns, much preferring to play the role of the wise advisor or playful gossip. He decided that it was likely he was going to have to give a little to get a little, as the saying went. Besides, he did have a couple of issues on his mind he didn't mind discussing if push came to shove. Fitting an arrow to his string, he raised his bow, drew his line, and deliberately pulled slightly to the right. His arrow hit the edge of the target with a satisfying thunk.

 

“Who has something on the brain?” she asked archly.

 

He knew not to give in immediately, or she'd see through him. “At least I hit the target,” he said.

 

“Hey, I hit! Well, skimmed. Besides, I told you before we started tonight that archery isn't really my thing.”

 

“And yet I've seen you do it before in the Robin Hood program with no problem at all,” he said. He notched another arrow to the string and let fly, this time hitting low and to the left.

 

She widened her eyes and poked him in his chest. “You were in that program, too. I remember your being a lot better than this. You hit moving targets.”

 

“Maybe I am a little distracted,” he said, shrugging out of his quiver and laying it aside with the bow.

 

“I knew it,” she said, following suit. “So, spill it. What's going on?”

 

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head and lifting his chin. “We're not going to do this that way tonight.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“You're not going to sit there all ears while I spill my secrets and hang onto your own. If I'm going to tell you what's on my mind, it's only fair that you return the favor. I want your word.”

 

“Julian...”

 

“Your word,” he repeated with emphasis.

 

“Fine,” she said, throwing up a hand. “You have my word. Now, you first.”

 

“Computer, resume breeze,” he said, as it was beginning to feel hot without it beneath the blazing sun. He took a seat in the fragrant vegetation and stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands. Dax sat beside him and mirrored his posture, leaning a shoulder against his companionably. “Needless to say, this doesn't go beyond us, and I mean it, Jadzia. This is the sort of gossip that if it spread could do some real damage to people we both care about.”

 

“OK,” she said, her look more serious and thoughtful.

 

“I'm a little...concerned...about Miles and Nerys.”

 

“What about them? You mean that they've been fighting? Come on, Julian, what would you expect from them? They're two headstrong, opinionated individuals used to giving orders, not taking them. Add to that Kira's pregnancy hormones, and it's a recipe for disaster,” she said reasonably.

 

“No, it's not that,” he said. “It's...hard to explain.”

 

“Try me,” she said. “I've had a few lifetimes to collect a pretty big repository of context for subtext.”

 

“I think...they may be getting...closer than they ought to,” he said hesitantly, recalling what Miles said to him about helping Kira out of the bathtub and noticing a rash on her thighs. He didn't doubt that the action itself was innocent, but it spoke of a level of familiarity he hadn't expected to develop between the two.

 

Dax frowned thoughtfully. The fact that she wasn't dismissing his concern out of hand made him a little more worried than he had been. “I admit Nerys has been talking a lot about Miles lately. I chalked it up to the fact that she's living with him, but she doesn't talk all that much about Keiko or Molly.”

 

“It's probably something they're not even fully aware of,” he said. “Pregnancy hormones and pheromones have powerful effects that to this day aren't fully understood. It becomes even more complicated when you consider the unusual nature of the situation. Kira is carrying Miles' baby. She's aware of him on a physical level that she wouldn't normally be, and vice versa.” He paused, thinking about it more in depth. “It's probably nothing to worry about.”

 

“On Earth there's a saying. Where there's smoke, there's fire. If you honestly think something is developing along those lines, you owe it to Miles as a friend to talk to him about it. If he's not aware of it, like you say, maybe it will make him aware of it and make him pay attention,” she said.

 

“That's a good idea. It's not going to be an easy subject to broach. He got very defensive with me when I just teased him about it a little earlier,” he said.

 

“That's not good. In my experience, people don't get defensive about things that don't at least have some ring of truth.”

 

“And that's why I like talking to you,” he said, half smiling. “You have so much experience from which to draw. Now. Your turn.”

 

She sighed and flopped to her back, stretching her arms above her head and gazing into the sky that was a near perfect match to her eyes. “It's stupid,” she said.

 

He shifted onto one hip to face her and propped himself on his elbow. “Apparently not stupid enough to just let go of. Tell me.”

 

“It's Worf,” she said, glancing at him.

 

Of course, he thought, careful not to let his irritation at the revelation show. It's always Worf these days. “What about him?” he asked.

 

She sighed again, sounding more unhappy than before. “I think I may have waited too late to let him know I'm interested,” she said.

 

“Oh?” he asked, loathing himself for feeling hopeful at this turn of events. He wasn't being a very good friend just then.

 

“Yeah. You know the Klingons that came to the station yesterday? Grilka, Tumek, and Thopok?”

 

“Not personally,” he said.

 

“It doesn't matter,” she brushed that aside. “The thing is that Worf has suddenly decided he has a bad case of par'Mach for Grilka.”

 

“Par'Mach?” he asked.

 

“Eh, consider it the Klingon version of being head over heels,” she said glumly.

 

“Does he even know this Grilka?” he asked.

 

“No,” she said, now sounding irritated. “She just swept onto the station into Quark's Bar, and he decided she's everything he wants in a mate. Regal, stately, dignified.”

 

“Well, if you ask me, all that sounds like is high maintenance and boring,” he offered, trying to cheer her up.

 

She shook her head. “Not to a Klingon,” she said, bringing her arms down and folding them across her chest. “He's just so hard to approach. I never know exactly what to say. If I was still Curzon, I'd know.”

 

“If you were still Curzon, you wouldn't want him,” he pointed out.

 

“True,” she said. She rolled to her side to face him. “I think he's going to approach her tonight and state his intention to court her. Why did I have to be so slow with him? That's so not me! I go after what I want. I always have. I don't let people intimidate me.”

 

“Maybe...maybe it's better this way. Worf has trouble adapting to the way things are here. It's why he moved onto the Defiant. Maybe a traditional Klingon woman would help him feel more settled.”

 

“Grilka isn't a traditional Klingon woman,” Dax snapped. “She married Quark!”

 

“Does Worf know that?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” she said. “I told him. It didn't make a difference.”

 

He reached to take her hand, keeping his gaze on the contrast between her pale skin and his dark. “You can't look at things as though you only get one chance,” he said. “It's true that there are times in life when that applies, life and death situations, observing rare quantum anomalies...” He glanced up, satisfied to see her taking the small joke in the spirit in which he intended it, her eyes twinkling. “But most of the time, it's not nearly that cut and dried. So you didn't take an opportunity when it might have been better timing. It doesn't mean you can't take that opportunity now.” He felt his heart rate quicken as he realized he was working up to telling her that he had been wrong about being completely over her. He didn't think he would've had the courage had she not revealed that Worf might not be an option any longer.

 

“You know what, Julian?” she said. “You're absolutely right. If I give up now, it just proves I'm not right for him. I've overcome bigger challenges than Grilka. Just because I'm not Klingon doesn't mean I don't have anything to offer.” She squeezed his hand and leaned to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I was so caught up in feeling stupid for being jealous that I didn't bother looking past it to what I could do. I'm so glad you're my friend. It's not easy for me to open up to people like that.”

 

Somehow he managed to find a smile. “You're welcome,” he said, the words sounding hollow to his ears. “I'm glad I could be of help.”

 

She smiled brightly and sat up, shaking out her pony tail. “We've still got some time left. Do you want to walk down to the lake and take a dip? It's hot in here even with the breeze.”

 

“Some other time, maybe,” he said, pushing up to his feet. “The sun's glare has given me a bit of a headache.”

 

She stood beside him and pulled him into a tight, warm embrace. “Get some sleep, then,” she said. “If you want, I'll work the Kira angle with the Miles problem. She talks to me. If there is something going on, I think she'd tell me. I'll work to steer her right, explain about the hormones and pheromones. I'm sure you're right about that having an effect. I remember my pregnancies...”

 

“I don't think any woman would be able to forget,” he said, pulling away from her. “Good night, Jadzia. Enjoy your swim.” He took a few steps away from her and said, “Computer, show door.” He walked out before he could embarrass himself.

 

Your stupid speech about last chances. You may as well have lit up a sign above his head and turned it on just for her, he thought. Why do I keep being drawn to people who can't or won't love me back? I'm sure it would make a fascinating psychological study, except for the fact that the counselor will never get the full picture.

 

He hadn't seen Counselor Telnorri in a while. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to schedule another appointment. He knew he had been somewhat irritable and short tempered ever since his return from the Founder homeworld. He also knew why, yet he was reluctant to discuss Garak with the man. Did he fear judgment, or was he afraid to find out something unsavory about himself? He descended the spiral staircase and left the bar. He had a bottle of scotch waiting for him in his quarters. Besides, he was in the mood to drink alone.

 

Garak

Holding Cell

 

Tuning out the drunk Bolian snoring two cells down from him, Garak worked quietly on the newest alterations to Major Kira's uniforms. It was amazing how much her girth had swollen in the past couple of months. Cardassian pregnancies were never so large or obvious. Neither were Bajoran pregnancies, their gestation period even less than that of his people. He wondered what evolutionary advantage there was to a mother's growing so large and cumbersome on her feet, or for that matter carrying a child for a full nine months, sometimes a little more.

 

He liked this time of night. It was the only time he could be assured that he wouldn't get visitors, as the security office was closed to all except necessary personnel. He realized that there was a certain ungratefulness to wishing that people would just leave him alone when his friends were going out of their way to make him as comfortable and well provided as possible. To complain at all about such painless confinement was ridiculous when he knew of the alternatives.

 

He frowned slightly as he meticulously ripped out a side seam to the fluted tunic. When did you lose your patience, Elim? he asked himself. There was a time in his life that staying in one place for extended periods was all he ever did. How odd it was that the psychological effect of being imprisoned was so very different from being bound by duty to an assignment. He could pretend all he liked, but he was not watching the Starfleet and Bajoran security officers, no more than he ever had. Closer proximity didn't reveal new information. He had been too thorough in the first place.

 

Still, it was fascinating to spend time with Odo now that he was a solid like the rest of them. He watched him eat and drink, read the simple pleasure he took in the very novelty of it. He wisely avoided asking him about Aroya, instead letting the woman herself tell him of the two dinners the two had shared so far. He couldn't tell if she was being overly optimistic or if perhaps there was a genuine spark. He'd know if he ever had the opportunity to see the two of them together in the same room, something he intended to angle once he was released.

 

He carefully pinned the new seam line for the maternity tunic. Had he chosen to do so, he could have shorted out his security forcefield with the pins, concealed them in various places upon his person and used them to painful and nefarious ends, or even swallowed them to gain release from his cell and a chance at escape from the less secure infirmary. This, too, was one of the many mental games he played with himself to avoid the vicissitudes of walls that were too close for comfort. Somehow, knowing that he could escape if he chose made them feel less confining.

 

He thought of his old apartment in the heart of Cardassia City, a small, squalid one room affair that he managed to keep neat and clean despite the ever-present dust. What had really attracted him to the place was the terrace out back and the small garden plot in a fenced courtyard. The land lady fancied herself as a green thumb. It had been easy to endear himself to her, negotiate a lower rent due to the need for repairs, and get it lower yet by the promise of tending the flowers and vegetables when she couldn't be there.

 

It was his secret retreat, something untouched by Tain. He could wander any street in the district that he wished and hear countless conversations behind high walls, the people under the mistaken impression that simply because they could not be seen, they could not be heard. He learned things that amazed his father and mentor, earned him high praise for being resourceful. He wondered if the old man ever realized that it all came from enjoying evening walks and literally stopping to smell the flowers.

 

He thought about the recitation mask shoved deeply in his closet and protected by a box with his very best lock and security code and Leeta's question to him some time back. Have you ever heard of the Oralian Way? Why would she ask him such a thing? How did she even know of it? His people had worked hard during the occupation to stamp out the last of the Oralians, both on the homeworld and on Bajor. He recalled how he felt when Tolan handed it to him, a last gift from his deathbed, the dread he felt. The shame. The curiosity. The confusion.

 

“Faugh, you're making connections where there are none,” he murmured, tugging the newly sewn hem to be certain it would hold. “Next you'll assume Leeta broke into your closet.” He knew it was such a ridiculous thought it didn't bear examination. If she didn't know of the mask, why ask? Did he want to re-open that conversation or let it lie? What good could come of it? “No good,” he said firmly. “Drop it.”

 

“Who's there?” a thick voice slurred from the only other occupied cell.

 

“No one important,” Garak said. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“Will, if you stop talking,” the Bolian retorted. Garak heard him shift on his mattress. He sounded large. He hadn't actually gotten a good look at him when he came in.

 

He turned his attention to Kira's boots. Why the woman insisted on wearing such tall heels for duty was beyond him. It was her knees and toes she was killing, no scales off his side. Pulling out the inadequate insoles, he flopped them up and down to test their viability for anything else and chose to discard them. He couldn't stop her from wearing impractical shoes, but he could at least make them more comfortable and supportive. Tailor, cobbler, and gardener extraordinaire, he thought with wry amusement. Your one stop shop for a dress, shoes, and a corsage. Why do I suddenly miss Mila?

 

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

It was late. He probably should have gone home at least two hours ago instead of sitting at the bar drinking and listening to Morn drone about his siblings. What was Dax doing in that holosuite with Worf and Quark, of all people? It seemed everyone else had associations to keep them busy, Miles his family and Kira, Dax her obsession with Worf, Odo the woman Garak had introduced him to, and Garak...he didn't want to think about.

 

He raised his head from its prop on his fist and glanced around the bar, having stopped really listening to Morn over an hour ago. It never bothered the Lurian. Julian believed he'd talk to an empty barstool if he had no one else around. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Miles with his head hunkered down between hunched shoulders at a table in one of the dark corners beneath the upper level balcony. Giving an absent pat to Morn's arm, he grabbed his ale and headed over. His friend looked surprised and not particularly happy to see him. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at the chair to his right.

 

Miles nodded and pursed his lips. “If you want.”

 

Julian slid into the chair. “You get in another fight with Major Kira?” he asked.

 

Miles averted hazel eyes with a furtive look. “No. Nothin' like that.”

 

“But it is about Kira?” Julian pressed.

 

“What're you gettin' at?” the man snapped.

 

He leaned in closer so that they wouldn't be easily overheard. In a bar full of Ferengi, it was always a wise precaution. “Miles...she's carrying your baby. It's natural that you might develop...well, some confusing feelings, both of you.”

 

“She's not my wife,” he said, lifting his scotch glass and taking a hefty swallow.

 

“No, she's not, but she is your baby's surrogate. She's living with you, working with you; you see her more than you see Keiko. You probably even have more in common. There's no reason to feel guilty about how you feel.”

 

“Isn't there? I have my hands all over her all th' time. We talk a lot when she can't sleep because of her back or th' swellin'. Sometimes I feel like she understands me better than my own wife, an' sometimes I find myself wishin' Keiko would find somethin' else t' do when we're all in th' living room together.” He dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned so close their hair almost touched. “An' now I think she feels th' same way.”

 

Julian frowned. “Did she say something to you?”

 

Miles leaned back again, sighing. “In a manner o' speakin'. I got t' talkin' about Ireland, an' how lately I've been feelin' a little...I don't know...homesick. I said I'd like t' take some leave and visit for a few weeks. She said she wouldn't mind comin' with me. I liked th' idea. For a couple of seconds, I actually considered it!”

 

Julian took a swallow of ale and thought about what to say. “You considered it, but you didn't rush off to make plans. You're not touching her just to touch her. You're helping her because she's very uncomfortable and sometimes in pain from carrying your son. Even if you have an attraction, even if it's mutual, it's not something either of you has to act on. Right?”

 

He nodded, looking a little uncertain. “Sometimes it's hard not to.”

 

“That's the nature of attraction. When you first met Keiko and realized you were interested, wasn't it the same way?”

 

The engineer smiled slightly and nodded. “Couldn't keep my mind off of her. I'd go t' work every shift just thinkin' about how long it would be before I could see her again. It got t' the point I couldn't see livin' my life without her, no matter what.”

 

Julian nodded. “That was when you had biochemistry on your side, a flood of endorphins and all sorts of feel good brain chemicals, making her seem intoxicating, literally. It's a form of intoxication. What happened when that feeling wore off?”

 

“Well, we weren't married too long before we had Molly. She came first after that, but it didn't mean we didn't still enjoy each others' company an' want t' spend as much time together as we could. You know it hasn't always been easy for us. We've had a lot of ups and downs, sometimes more downs than ups since coming t' the station. This new pregnancy threw me for a loop. I was thinkin' we could reconnect, but so far it hasn't really worked out that way.”

 

“How do you see Kira? Is she the sort of person you'd want to spend the rest of your life with?” he asked.

 

Miles snorted a soft laugh. “T' tell you th' truth, I think th' two of us would kill each other if we had t' live together long-term. One of th' things making th' whole arrangement bearable is knowin' it's temporary.”

 

Julian smiled faintly. “You can see that even with brain chemistry working against you. Whatever attraction you feel for Kira, even if at times it seems strong, is just that. Attraction. You love Keiko. This doesn't change that, and as long as you don't act on your attraction, you have no reason to feel ashamed.”

 

He nodded slowly and polished off his scotch. “You're right,” he said. “You're absolutely right.” Pushing to his feet, he clapped him on the shoulder. “Knew there was a reason I keep y' around. I'm headin' home. Been a long day.”

 

“Glad to be of help,” he said, holding his smile until the man was out of his line of sight. Miles was able to make a difficult situation work out. Why couldn't he ever seem to manage the same? He signaled a waiter and ordered another ale.

 

He was well into his cups when a shadow fell across his shoulder. Looking up blearily, he saw the last person on the station he wanted to talk to besides Worf—Ziyal. “I couldn't sleep,” she said, then glanced over her shoulder, “and it's a pretty lively crowd here tonight. Leeta's working.”

 

He gave a less than gracious gesture for her to take the empty chair to his left and picked up his ale glass to drain it. “You'll forgive me if I'm not one hundred percent coherent.”

 

“Of course,” she said, pulling out the chair and slipping into it. She laced her fingers on the tabletop and squeezed them together tightly enough to lighten the knuckles. “Can I be frank with you about something?”