The Path of Most Resistance Part II

[dark_sinestra]

Garak

The Promenade

 

On his way to lunch at the Replimat the day before his departure, Garak looked in and noticed Jake and Ziyal seated at a corner table near the back, the two of them grinning and tittering with their heads close together. He was happy to see her having a good time with someone close to her own age, and if it had to be a boy, she could certainly do worse than Jake Sisko. He retrieved his food and found a place to watch them from which neither would easily notice. Perhaps the time of his planned talk with Jake was more imminent than he had realized.

 

He was barely into dessert when Ziyal stood, gathering her sketch book and a PADD, and left Jake with a press to his palm. She exited the Replimat with a bounce to her step, the sound of humming drifting back to Garak. He stood swiftly and silently, upon Jake with a hand to his shoulder before the young man could even think to get up and be on his way. He gave a satisfying jump beneath the touch. “Mister Garak!” he said, sinking back into the chair with relief. “I didn't hear you come up.”

 

“Mind if I join you?” Garak asked, taking the seat beside him before he could answer.

 

“N—uh, go ahead,” Jake said, brows knitting. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Not at all,” the tailor replied. “I couldn't help but to notice your charming lunch companion. Pity I didn't arrive in time to say hello to both of you.”

 

“Ziyal?” Jake asked. “Yeah,” he said, grinning. “She's great, isn't she? We're working on a story together. Well, I'm working on the story. She told me she'd illustrate it, so I gave her the rough draft to get some ideas for the sketches.”

 

“A collaboration,” Garak said pleasantly. “How nice. I assume that if this is for publication, you intend that she gets her share of any profit?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he said more uncertainly. “I mean, we haven't even talked about it that far. It might be just for fun. She's a lot of fun.”

 

“Is she?” the Cardassian asked, shifting very slightly forward in his seat.

 

Jake laughed nervously. “Yeah, sure. You know...as a friend. Totally as a friend. You don't think...I mean...”

 

He decided he had tormented the young human enough. He didn't want to put him off of her company altogether. He simply wanted to remind him that there were eyes on the young woman and her comings and goings whether he noticed them or not. “I think you're a reasonably intelligent young man,” Garak said, pushing to his feet, “and it pleases me to see you and Ziyal enjoying one another's company. You could both use friends your own age.” He paused and added, “If you do decide that you see her as more than a friend, I trust you won't make...assumptions...based on the fact that her father is not here, and Major Kira is distracted with the pregnancy.”

 

Jake's dark eyes widened. “No Sir,” he said, shaking his head quickly. “I wouldn't do anything like that. I promise, and anyway, I really do just like her as a friend. I...I don't think I can handle the idea of Gul Dukat as...well...you know.” His eyes said he didn't much like the idea of a hovering Garak, either, which was exactly what the older man was after.

 

Garak snorted a soft chuckle. “Believe me, that I can understand all too well. Enjoy the rest of your lunch.” As he walked away, he could almost feel Jake's eyes on his back, a bundle of nerves and relief. He hoped that he hadn't pushed him too hard. He simply felt like something needed to be said. Ziyal didn't need rumors flying around the station about her and the captain's son.

 

He still didn't feel as though his shop was back in the order he wanted it to be. Dust lay stubbornly in the folds of the clothing. The entire place had a slightly stale, slightly musty scent hanging about that no amount of ionization and ozone treatments seemed to touch. He realized he might need to call in a professional cleaning crew and decided that while he was away on Bajor would be the perfect time to have them come. He placed the call and made the appointment without further delay.

 

Business was brisk, most of his regulars stopping by either to place orders, browse, or drop off items for adjustment and mending. Apparently, quite a bit of work had piled up during his incarceration. He felt a small amount of pride that most of them had waited for him to get out rather than take their business elsewhere. It went a long way toward erasing the feeling that more than his girth had diminished while he was locked away.

 

By the end of the day, he felt somewhat overwhelmed, to go from long hours of solitude punctuated by brief visits one on one and unwelcome examinations in the infirmary to a steady stream of customers and a heavy work load more than he expected. He closed shop with a dual sense of accomplishment and relief and called Ziyal to let her know that he'd rather have dinner with her in her quarters than go out as they had planned.

 

He stopped by his own quarters first to freshen up and change into a clean tunic. It felt so good to be there, he almost called her back to cancel. He had no intention of inviting anyone there to see him any time soon, the sense of having his own place and genuine privacy too precious to wish to give away. Blessedly, Julian had been content to leave him alone since his release. He hadn't seen him since the party. Although he knew it wasn't the younger man's fault, that he had a job to do and was doing it to the best of his ability, he felt some residual resentment about being dragged in day after day for the hypospray injections. It had been a violation, one he didn't appreciate. Maybe the doctor sensed that.

 

He arrived for dinner precisely on time bearing a replicated bouquet. As gifts went, he knew it was less than impressive. He was too exhausted to make much effort. Besides, he dined often enough with Ziyal that the custom of the host gift seemed almost a little superfluous. She accepted it with her usual gracious smile and arranged it pleasingly on the dining table. “I didn't have time to order take out,” she said. “I hope that's OK.”

 

“At this point, I'm willing to eat just about anything,” he said, sinking into his seat with a soft grunt of relief to be off his feet.

 

“Long day?” she asked, shooting him a concerned glance and taking her seat opposite him. She deftly reached to pile both of their plates with the Cardassian cuisine she had replicated on trays.

 

He nodded, waiting for her to begin eating before he did so. “It's flattering, truly, and also a relief. Many businesses would die if the sole proprietor and worker was away as long as I was, particularly considering what I did.”

 

She leaned in closer and lowered her voice, despite the fact that just the two of them were there. “People aren't as angry with you about that as you might think,” she said. “At least most people I've heard talking about it aren't. Some of them wish you had succeeded.”

 

“In killing their Emissary?” he asked, a brow ridge rising. He had heard no such thing, himself.

 

“Not that part,” she shrugged it off. “But in destroying the Founders? Definitely.”

 

“Are you one of these people?” he asked, beyond surprised to be having this conversation with her.

 

She glanced away, her lips tightening slightly. “I'm...divided...in how I feel about it,” she said. She took a small bite of sem'hal stew and chewed thoughtfully. “Had you succeeded, pretty much everyone I care about except Nerys and Father would be dead, you included, but...” She sighed and took a sip of spring wine. “I can't help but to worry about how many people will die because of them, if they invade like people keep saying they're going to.”

 

“I wish you didn't have to worry about such things,” he said. He tired quickly of the depressing topic. “Are you sure you won't change your mind about coming to Bajor with me?” he teased. He knew fully well her reasons for not wishing to attend the conference and believed them to be good ones. However, it seemed to please her when he admitted to wanting her company, and he wanted to see her smile.

 

The grin broke sunny and lit her eyes. “I'm positive,” she said, reaching to swat him. “I don't have to tell you why. Ask me again at some other time, and I'll go anywhere you like. I've wanted to see more of the planet. Mother and I never had the opportunity to travel much when we lived there. It was too dangerous for us. There are probably still places it would be dangerous. I'd feel safer with you.”

 

“You would be anything but safe with me,” he protested, shaking his head and recalling his last disastrous visit to the surface. “I'm not entirely convinced this conference isn't some elaborate ruse to lure me in and finish what some people started a few years ago.”

 

“What happened?” she asked, eyes wide and smile fading.

 

“A botched kidnapping by two rank amateurs,” he said lightly. “I'd be lucky if it happened again, something to break the boredom I'm bound to experience if this goes anything like I expect it will.”

 

Her smile returned, a little teasing and reproachful. “You're terrible; you know that? It's not going to be that bad. I'm sure you'll be very eloquent and persuasive. Maybe you'll even manage to stir up some real, honest debate. I know how much you like that.”

 

“I'll let you know, either way,” he said, also smiling. The two lapsed into very comfortable silence while they finished their meal together. He didn't worry about how much he ate or about having a full helping of spice pudding. As others had said to him, he knew he had lost too much weight during his time in the holding cell. He wanted to feel like himself again, inside and out. Ziyal's gaze on him was warm and approving while he consumed the dessert.

 

After the meal, he insisted on clearing the table then joined her on the sofa where she showed him her new sketches. The one of Jake struck him as particularly...true. She managed to capture the boy with his stylus in hand and his head bent over a PADD. “Did he know you were sketching him?” he asked.

 

She giggled lightly. “No. At first, I tried to do one having him pose for me, but he couldn't hold himself right, and he kept fidgeting and saying he itched. I realized we could be there all day, so I told him we'd try again some other time, and then I just waited until he settled himself at a table in Quark's and started writing. It's the only time I've ever seen that he's mostly still. You really like that one?”

 

“I think you captured him,” he said. He wondered if there were any sketches of him tucked away somewhere that she would never show him and if any of them had been created in the same way as this one. He could usually tell when he was being watched, but would he notice such gentle attention? He wasn't sure that he would.

 

“Would you like it?” she offered.

 

“I think you should give it to Captain Sisko,” he said, “if you intend to give it away at all.”

 

“Oh, I don't know,” she said quickly. “I...wouldn't want him getting the wrong idea about me and Jake.”

 

“I don't think he would. If anything, your offering him the sketch would indicate not only that you're not trying to hide anything, but that there's nothing to hide. Ziyal, I've known you long enough to see that you wear your heart in your eyes. Captain Sisko isn't going to read anything that's not there.”

 

“If you think so,” she said hesitantly, a little shyly. “You really think it's that good?”

 

“I really do,” he said honestly.

 

She carefully tore the sketch free and set it on the low table in front of them. “Then I'll give it to him tomorrow before all of you leave,” she said. “I'm so glad you're out of that cell. I've missed being able to talk like this, about anything at all without worrying about a security feed or a guard walking in on us. It never felt right in there, and I positively hated having to leave you behind every day.”

 

“I know,” he said. She was good to him, so much better than he deserved. Sometimes it made him feel sad and old, but mostly it was a comfort he never expected to have in his exile. He decided he should leave before the temptation to tell her so overtook him. She didn't need burdening with his regrets. “Walk me to the door?” he asked, moving to stand. “The shuttle leaves early in the morning for Bajor. I want to be certain I'm well rested.”

 

“Of course,” she said, standing gracefully and moving with him. “I'm glad you decided to eat in. I wasn't much in the mood for a lot of noise or having to watch Rom avoid Leeta yet again.”

 

“I noticed that at the party,” he said mildly.

 

She rolled her eyes expressively. “It's so stupid. He likes her. She likes him. Life is too short to play games like that, don't you think?”

 

Coming from her at her young age, it was amusing. He did his best to hide it, fairly sure she wouldn't appreciate his laughing at her for her earnestness. “I do,” he said instead, offering her a palm to press.

 

She did so with mock demureness, mischief dancing in her eyes. “What time does the shuttle leave?” she asked. “I want to catch the captain to give him the sketch.”

 

“I'm sure it has nothing to do with seeing me off and wishing me luck,” he deadpanned.

 

“Oh, that's right. You'll be there, too?” she asked, fighting a smile.

 

“Seven,” he told her, amused with the teasing. “Good night, Ziyal. Thank you for dinner.”

 

“No, thank you,” she said, stepping back and letting the door shut.

 

He smiled off and on all the way back to his quarters, wondering how it was that any Dukat could be quite so charming or lift his spirits so thoroughly. He already had most of his things packed, holding off on grooming essentials until the morning. It seemed as though his head hardly hit the pillow before it was time to get up, shower, dress, check his bag one last time, and eat a quick breakfast. He approached his impending task with very mixed feelings, yet again wondering if he had made a mistake. He figured that he would know soon enough.

 

When he reached the docking ring, he found Odo and Captain Sisko already there with Aroya and Jake. The boy looked sleep muzzy and barely awake. Aroya was her usual alert, chipper self, chatting happily with the constable and the captain. She turned a beaming smile on Garak when he walked up to the small group. “Keep an eye on this one,” she said, patting Odo's chest. “Don't let him get into trouble.”

 

“I'm not the one you should be worried about,” Odo grumbled. Garak could tell that for all his protesting, some part of him enjoyed being fussed over.

 

“I have to say, I was surprised to find your name on the roster, Mister Garak,” Sisko said, favoring him with one of his peculiarly aggressive smiles.

 

Aroya cut in before Garak could retort in kind. “I don't find it that surprising,” she said. “Garak has always shown an interest in the treaty between Cardassia and Bajor. Who better to attend this conference than someone who has lived among Bajorans after the occupation but was also here during it? I think it gives him a unique perspective.”

 

Being defended so openly took him aback. He recovered himself quickly, offering a complex smile of his own to Sisko. “Precisely what I was about to say, only she said it so much better.”

 

Ziyal's voice from behind him interrupted anything further Sisko might have said. “Oh, good, I'm not too late,” she said. She pressed a quick kiss to Garak's cheek in passing and held up a small cylinder to the captain. “I have something for you.” She gave a playful side glance at Jake. “Don't look at it until you're in the shuttle, OK?”

 

Jake attempted to pay a little more attention to the conversation, smirking at the girl. “What are you up to?” he asked with mock suspicion.

 

“That's for me to know,” she teased.

 

Surprised and perhaps a little flustered, Sisko accepted the gift. “Thank you, Ziyal,” he said. “What's the occasion?”

 

“No occasion,” she answered with a shrug. “Haven't you ever been given a gift just because?”

 

“Not often,” he admitted with a much softer smile than he had given to Garak.

 

“It looks as though Commander Dax is late...again,” Odo said, shooting a significant glance at the captain.

 

“Don't grumble,” Aroya said. “More time for us.”

 

Odo didn't say it, but Garak could hear the “hmph” loud and clear in his head just from the security chief's expression. He gave him a vaguely sympathetic look. He didn't care for tardiness, either. The reason for it was evident enough when Dax rushed up with Worf in tow a few moments later. “Sorry,” she said. “So sorry! It's this stupid dress uniform!”

 

Sisko arched a brow. “We didn't have to dress up for this, Old Man,” he said. “Not until the opening ceremony this evening.”

 

“We didn't?” she asked, eyes wide.

 

Garak snorted inwardly. It was one of the most transparent attempts at innocence he had ever seen. Honestly, why did she bother? Everyone knew what she and Worf had been doing and why. Nobody cared.

 

“Can we please go now?” Odo asked. “I want to get settled at the hotel as soon as possible.”

 

He had become quite a bit more impatient since being made a solid, Garak thought. Perhaps it was because now he was capable of feeling real discomfort, his feet tiring, his back hurting, hunger, all of the little things that went along with having a body that always stayed cohesive.

 

He couldn't keep himself from glancing around the docking ring once. He was a little surprised that Julian hadn't come to see him off. While he appreciated being given his space, it just seemed a little strange not having him there. Even Rom and Leeta both had left him quick messages over the comm to say good luck. He wondered if Julian felt as offended as he had about the hypospray issue. If so, perhaps he had a little mending to do beyond tailoring when he returned.

 

He glanced away from Odo and Aroya to give them their privacy for their good-bye, Dax and Worf, too, for an entirely different reason. He accepted a hug from Ziyal, good luck wishes from Jake, and then a hug from Aroya when she was done with Odo. “I want to hear all about it,” she told all of them with a cheerful wave and draped a companionable arm around Ziyal's shoulders.

 

Garak stepped onto the runabout last. He didn't enjoy the feeling of people at his back he didn't entirely trust, and as Odo had boarded first, that left him with no other option. He took some satisfaction in being able to tell that neither Dax nor Sisko particularly wanted him at their backs. It was nice to have reminders of who he really was and of what he was capable when he put his mind to it.

 

He relaxed once the craft cleared the station, its nose pointed toward Bajor. Despite his earlier misgivings, he was completely seized now with the desire to set foot on firm ground, breathe fresh air, and see an actual horizon again. It had been far too long.

 

Julian

Internment Camp 371

 

Some time after Tain regained consciousness, Julian curled on his side on a metal bunk to try to get a little sleep. His entire face throbbed to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Martok's snores seemed loud enough to rattle the door, and Sela and Tain went another round, this time about his carelessness regarding his own health. Eventually, the bickering died away, and sheer exhaustion drove the Klingon's snores into a distant part of Julian's awareness.

 

He jolted awake to the sensation of being dragged from his bunk by the nape of his uniform neck. “Hey!” he shouted reflexively. “Where are you taking me? Hey!”

 

Varal's face swam briefly into view as the Jem'Hadar dragged Julian from the cell. “Don't fight them,” the Romulan hissed urgently. “It's processing.”

 

What's processing? Julian wanted to ask. There was no time for it. He somehow managed to get his feet under him so that the toes of his boots weren't dragging on the hard, bare floor. The guard released him to stand in a small, motley grouping at the center of a wide open space. Harsh white light bore down on the prisoners, all of them blinking and squinting as though just roused from sleep as he had been. He noticed at least one other human and a Vulcan to either side of him. He didn't dare crane his neck to look behind.

 

A Jem'Hadar stepped out of rank with two others and raised his voice to address them. “This is Internment Camp Three Seven One,” he said, his voice echoing from the walls. “You are here because you are enemies of the Dominion. There is no release, no escape...except death. You are free to move about the compound, but remember, beyond the atmospheric dome, there's nothing but airless vacuum and barren rock. Leave the dome, even for an instant, and you die.”

 

It sounded to Julian as though this was a speech the guard was used to making. A dozen different questions shot through his mind. He chose to voice none of them. It didn't seem wise to call attention to himself. He could better spend his time exploring and discovering if this place truly were as impregnable as they seemed to want the prisoners to believe.

 

“Y...you're Starfleet?” a timid voice drew him away from his thoughts. The guards were already dispersing. Apparently, they were done with the group for now.

 

Julian looked at the man addressing him, the human he had noticed in his peripheral vision. “That's right,” he said. “Doctor Julian Bashir, and you are?”

 

“T...Timor Branagh,” the man answered, licking his lips. He ran a spidery hand through thinning hair. “I'm a...I'm a merchant. I don't understand why I'm here.”

 

“You're a liar,” the Vulcan said, turning a cool eye upon the man.

 

“You know him?” Julian asked, glancing between the two.

 

“I do not,” the Vulcan responded.

 

“Then how do you know...” Julian started to ask.

 

“I can hear it in his tone of voice. He may or may not be a merchant, but he assuredly knows why he is here.”

 

Branagh dropped the timid act. “Bah, Vulcans,” he muttered, shooting the taller alien an unpleasant look. “Alright, sure. I know why I'm here. I suppose you do, too, and so does he. You tell me, Mister High and Mighty, what does it say of any of our chances that they've taken a Starfleet officer prisoner?”

 

“I do not possess enough information to make that calculation,” the Vulcan said simply. He then turned his attention to Julian with such a finality that it was obvious he had nothing else to say to Branagh. “Doctor Bashir of Deep Space Nine,” he said.

 

Julian glanced at Branagh and back to the Vulcan. “That's right. I believe you have me at a disadvantage. I don't know who you are.”

 

“A disadvantage?” the man arched a brow. “I do not understand how.”

 

Branagh snorted and turned to walk away, shooting over his shoulder to Julian, “You get tired a' hanging around green bloods, come find me. Might be interesting.”

 

Julian nodded politely at the man and addressed the Vulcan. “It's...a figure of speech. It's just...a little uncomfortable when someone knows more about you than you do about them.”

 

He took it in impassively, still looking slightly puzzled, then seemed to decide to let it go. “I am Murak, one of the lead researchers at the Kulik'toh Institute.”

 

Julian's eyes widened. “The Murak? One of the premier geneticists on Vulcan?”

 

“Just so,” he replied. “I am familiar with your work. It is impressive...for a human.”

 

“I'm flattered,” he said sincerely, still trying to recover from the shock.

 

“Do not be. It is merely the truth,” Murak said.

 

Julian nodded, trying to order his thoughts. “If you're here...” he said, not at all liking where that train of thought was going.

 

“Yes, it does not bode well. The same can be said of you,” Murak said. “There seems to be an unusual number of Romulans and Cardassians here. Have you noticed this?”

 

He shook his head. “I was brought here just last night. Well...that's when I became aware of where I was. I had been attending a burn conference. I believe I know who they are, though, or at least where they came from and why they're here.” At Murak's gesture that he should continue, he gave him a brief explanation of the failed joint Obsidian Order/Tal Shiar offensive and informed him that Enabran Tain himself was still alive and a bunk mate. He didn't mention Tain's project.

 

“I have been so absorbed in my research that I rarely take time to inform myself of current events. It would seem that I have missed a great deal. I have heard, however, of changeling replacements of government officials and the most recent disturbance on Earth. If I am here, it means that the Dominion now has access to very sensitive information regarding not only the Vulcan genome but that of many races of the Alpha Quadrant.”

 

He felt himself pale. “I don't even want to imagine what that means. I intend to explore the facility. You're welcome to join me if you wish.”

 

“No. We will attract less attention and cover more territory if we conduct separate searches. I am being housed in barracks three. If you find anything of note or discover a weakness in our captors' defenses, you will have what aid I can give you, Doctor,” Murak said.

 

“Likewise,” Julian answered, feeling slightly bolstered at the thought of having an ally in this place. “I'm in barracks six.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the geneticist about the escape plan, but he felt that it was not his to tell. He also had no idea what Tain or the others would do to him for spilling their secret and considered it highly likely they could decide to kill him. He had to be careful. Perhaps he could slowly convince the rest of them to trust Murak, though given the history between Romulus and Vulcan, he didn't consider it likely.

 

The scientist walked away without offering a farewell. Julian watched him a moment then set out in a different direction. The facility was larger than he expected. He found the guard compound, or what he assumed to be such by the large number of Jem'Hadar congregated behind fencing. Giving them wide berth, he also located some of the other barracks. He contemplated sticking his head in and introducing himself. Right, he thought dryly, because there's nothing Cardassians and Romulans love more than Federation humans. Use your head, Julian.

 

Trying to ignore the rumble in his belly, he next located a large shower facility of sorts. He recognized the chemical units and made a small moue of distaste. No wonder everyone smelled. Those dry powder showers did little more than remove body oil and thick grime. He hoped to find more than the foul bucket in the barracks for elimination but had no such luck. He wondered if the waste facilities were behind the locked door beside the showers. Probably, he thought glumly. If Garak were here, we could find out. He smiled slightly at the thought, wondering how much time it would take for Garak to find something he could use to pick the lock and then make quick work of it.

 

Aside from three separate airlocks, a wide, double set of metal doors shut tight and guarded, and an odd central arena, he found nothing that pointed to quick escape. Did you really expect to if Tain has been here ever since the offensive? Feeling a little foolish and a lot daunted, he returned to the barracks to check on his reluctant patient. The Cardassian was already in the hole in the wall with Sela standing watch and Varal binding a seeping wound on Martok's forearm. The Breen was in its usual place on its bunk. He wondered idly if it was sick or simply overwhelmed by the oppressive heat of the place despite its atmosphere suit. He couldn't bring himself to think of it either as a “he” or a “she” absent any way to tell.

 

“Thanks for the advice,” he said to Varal.

 

“I didn't say it for your sake,” the Romulan retorted in a surly tone.

 

“Right. I'm only useful for keeping Tain alive,” Julian said dryly.

 

“Try not to take it personally, Doctor,” Martok said, lips twisting a curve of irony. “We all have our uses here.”

 

“Except that one,” Sela shot over her shoulder with a twitch of her head toward the Breen.

 

“How did he look this morning?” he asked, walking over to the hole in the wall and trying to peer into the murk. He couldn't see Tain. He was wormed too far into the maintenance shaft.

 

“Ugly as ever,” the Klingon snorted. “How should we know? You're the doctor.”

 

“He couldn't wait until I returned?” he asked, feeling exasperated already.

 

“You're welcome to ask him that yourself,” Sela said with syrupy sweetness. “He loves visitors while he works.”

 

“You should be doing this,” Varal said abruptly, stepping away from Martok and moving to shove Julian by the shoulder.

 

“Hey! Hands off,” Julian barked. “I've been manhandled enough for one day.” He glared at the slightly taller Romulan until he spread his hands and stepped back, a small smirk up-ticking one corner of his thin mouth.

 

Kneeling before the general, he peeled back the slash in the thick sleeve to have a closer look at the wound. “You're lucky it's not septic,” he said, glancing up into the man's one blue eye, “but it's a jagged cut. Do you really think picking fights in this situation is wise?” All three of his speaking companions let out harsh laughter. He glanced among them in consternation. “Did I say something funny?” he demanded.

 

Martok sighed and pulled his arm out of Julian's gentle clasp. “I'm not 'picking fights', as you say,” he said curtly. “The Jem'Hadar see me as a challenge.”

 

“I don't understand,” he said, brows knitting in confusion.

 

“Every day they bring me to the arena, and I fight them, until all of them are beaten,” he said without emotion.

 

“How long have you been here?” he asked, feeling the strength leaving his voice.

 

“Two years,” Martok replied, standing and stepping around him. “Look at me with that cloying pity of yours again, Doctor, ally or no, and I'll have both your eyes.”

 

Frustration and anger bubbled in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. How could he possibly manage in this place, where every virtue of his was seen as vice or insult? How could he help these people if they refused him at every turn? “We're not allies, anymore,” he said harshly. “Your replacement saw to that.” He turned then and instantly regretted the words, the Klingon's shoulders sagging very slightly.

 

“Tell me later,” Martok said, keeping his back to him. “They'll come for me soon.”

 

“I want to watch,” he said, fighting tooth and nail to keep the waver from his voice.

 

The Klingon glanced at him over his shoulder, a smile exposing sharp teeth. “You have a taste for blood sport?” he asked, sounding surprised.

 

“No,” he said, standing from his kneel. “I need to see what I'm up against keeping you in the best shape possible.”

 

“He's not the one you need to worry about,” Varal said.

 

“I'll decide who I need to worry about,” Julian retorted. “You just do...whatever it is that makes you think you're useful.”

 

He could tell he scored a point, the Romulan's jaw tightening. Sela snorted a derisive laugh. “What are you useful for, Varal? Remind me?”

 

The Romulan male stalked toward the woman, a threat of violence in every line of his body. When he was nearly nose to nose with her, he hissed, “Ask me that the next time you need water from the Breen,” and pushed his way out of the barracks without another word.