Dangerous Game--Part I

[dark_sinestra]

Author Notes: This story takes place during and after the episode Distant Voices. It closely follows “Eye of the Needle” in continuity and probably won't make too much sense as a stand alone.

Summary: Doctor Bashir suffers a psychic attack from a mysterious alien, leaving him incapacitated and with the Bajorans in full control of the infirmary. Garak quickly discovers just how little influence he has without Julian's advocacy, and tension mounts high. Can Odo find a way to interrupt the growing cycle of enmity between the tailor and Nurse Decla before it turns deadly?

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: December, 2009

Category: Slash

Rating: PG for mild adult language and themes.

Disclaimer: I own no dashing doctors, tempting tailors, or staunch security chiefs, but I take all the blame for the nasty nurse.

Word Count: 11,641

 

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

 

Garak hummed to himself as he tidied up for the end of the day. In a good mood, he was looking forward to Julian's upcoming birthday party, even if Julian himself was feeling extraordinarily grumpy about turning thirty. Thirty, ha! He thought to himself. If he was so bent out of shape about thirty, he wondered how he'd feel about fifty. He was rather enjoying the other side of that landmark, even if it did mean that he put on weight more easily than he once had. Humans were so backwards about so many things that the age issue should have come as no surprise.

 

“G—Garak!” Rom's voice startled him out of his thoughts, the Ferengi waiter hurrying toward him quickly.

 

“What is it?” he asked, concerned. He had rarely seen the man so anxious.

 

“You have to come,” Rom told him, seizing him by the elbow and drawing him toward the door. “I just heard from Morn that something has happened to Doctor Bashir!”

 

“Where is he?” Garak asked tightly, no longer needing Rom's prompting to hurry.

 

“In the infirmary,” he answered.

 

“What happened?” he asked, trying to stay calm. With such little information to go on, panic was premature.

 

“We're not sure. Odo is keeping it to himself, but it has something to do with that Lethean that was being so pushy with Quark earlier today. I saw him being dragged into the security office.”

 

The Lethean. Garak felt himself go cold. From the moment Quark brought the hideous alien to their table, Garak had a bad feeling about him. He hadn't liked the way he stared at his doctor after Julian flatly refused to sell him contraband. I should have followed him, he berated himself silently. A more insidious thought followed closely after. I should have killed him.

 

As they reached the infirmary, both men tried to hurry inside. They found themselves stopped cold by two burly male Bajoran nurses. “Sorry,” the darker haired of the two said, looking straight at Garak. “We're under strict orders not to let you in.”

 

“Orders? Whose orders?” Garak demanded.

 

“My orders,” a familiar voice said from behind the second nurse. Nurse Decla stepped into view. “You're a security risk. With the doctor unable to fulfill his duties, I'm in charge of this infirmary.” She glanced at Rom. “You can come in, but you can't see the patient.”

 

Rom shot a darting glance from her to Garak. “Wh—Why would I want to come in if I can't see Doctor Bashir?”

 

“That's a good question,” she said, one corner of her mouth curving up in a condescending half smile. “Perhaps you should stay out of our way if you can't find an adequate answer.”

 

Garak shot her and the Bajorans blocking his way a look that could freeze lava. Perhaps sensing trouble, Rom plucked at his elbow insistently. “Come on,” he said urgently. “Garak? You need to come with me.”

 

In his mind's eye, he had already felled all three of them with a complex move he learned long ago, his training so thorough that his hands and feet could move completely independently of one another in lethal maneuvers that were difficult for most other races to adapt to. He took one step forward, only to find Rom squarely in his path, his toothy mouth agape in dismay. “Garak!” he said in a tone of voice the Cardassian had never heard from him before. It got his attention. His gaze slid to meet deep-set blue eyes, rounded with fear, not of him, he realized, but for him. The Ferengi shook his head very slightly, and his concern reached something in Garak that anger and fear could not.

 

The crisis passed, for the moment. He felt his lethal intent give way, although he knew it hadn't gone far. It was waiting for him to call it back at any time. He allowed Rom to take him by the shoulders and turn him away, completely pliant to his direction until they were far enough from the infirmary not to be watched or overheard. “Let go of my arm,” he said, dead calm.

 

The man did so immediately, but he said in a low, intent voice, “Whatever you're thinking, don't. They're not worth the trouble you'll get into. Look at me, Garak. Promise me,” he said.

 

Garak's smile didn't reach his eyes. “Haven't you heard? I can't be trusted.” He walked for the turbo lift, grateful that the Ferengi had stopped following him. He knew he meant well, but in his current state of mind, he feared he would say or do something to him that he wouldn't easily be able to take back. Once in the lift, he directed it to Ops.

 

As he stepped off the lift, he noticed Dax, Kira, and O'Brien all glance at one another. By some unspoken agreement, Dax moved to intercept. “Garak,” she said, striding over to him and addressing him in a low voice, “you can't be here. You know that.”

 

“No, apparently the only time I can be here is when the station is about to be flooded with deadly gas thanks to inept Starfleet poking around, and the rest of you don't know what to do with yourselves,” he said acidly. “Then, of course, I'm a welcome sight.”

 

She winced slightly. “I'm sorry,” she said in such a way that he believed she meant it. Not that it mattered. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

 

“I need to speak to Commander Sisko,” he said, setting his feet the moment she tried to get him to move.

 

She glanced over at Kira who gave a subtle nod. “All right,” she said, turning and falling into step with him as he crossed the work area.

 

What do they think I'm going to do? He wondered contemptuously. Look at the control panels? They're already Cardassian technology, outdated Cardassian technology at that.

 

He climbed the steps to the office and paused when she touched his shoulder lightly. “Let me let him know you're coming,” she said, hurrying ahead into the office. He waited in stony silence for longer than he felt was appropriate under the circumstances. When she came out again, she said, “Go on in.” She shot him a look that he supposed was meant to be supportive. He was too angry for gratitude.

 

The doors parted to admit him. “Commander,” he began immediately, “this is an utter outrage.” His voice thrummed with suppressed emotion. While he was not shouting, the words had no less impact for lack of volume.

 

Sisko, already standing, circled his desk to Garak's side of it to face him. “Slow down, Mr. Garak,” he said, his baritone pitched to calm him. “Tell me what's going on.”

 

“Oh, Commander, really!” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Don't try to play games with me, now of all times. A security risk? You're going to toss that flimsy excuse to keep me away from my l...from Doctor Bashir's side when something has happened to him?”

 

Sisko reacted with what seemed like genuine surprise. He hadn't known, or he was a much better actor than Garak had given him credit for up until now. “A security risk? I know you find it difficult to trust me, but you have to believe me when I tell you I don't know what you're talking about.”

 

“That Bajoran harpy, Decla,” he spat, “refusing me entrance to the infirmary.” So great was his outrage, that for a few moments, he couldn't even speak. Too many words vied for expression all at once. “She said that with the doctor no longer in charge, she has final say as to who is admitted and who is not.”

 

The Commander frowned deeply, folding his arms and lifting a hand to rub at his chin. “Unfortunately,” he said heavily, “she's telling the truth about that. She does have that authority.”

 

“But it's a flimsy excuse to promulgate a personal vendetta against me!” Garak said, no longer able to contain his volume. “How can I be any more of a security risk in the infirmary than anywhere else on this station? If Doctor Bashir's condition is too fragile for visitors, that's one thing. Of course I'd respect that, but this? This is something else entirely, and it cannot be tolerated!”

 

“Please, calm down,” Sisko said, gesturing with both hands flat, palms down. “I sympathize with your position. I truly do. I'll be willing to talk to Nurse Decla, but I can't make any promises. I don't have the authority to override her judgment in this matter.”

 

“How convenient!” Garak spat. “It seems Starfleet exerts plenty of authority whenever it wishes, only to retreat behind protocol and platitudes the moment it's faced with a situation with which it would just as soon not get involved.”

 

“Mr. Garak,” Sisko said sharply, “I said I'd do what I can. I'm sorry I can't do what I know you want me to do, march in there and order Decla and the other Bajorans to stand down. I share your outrage at the possible reasoning behind the decision, but even as Commander of this station, my hands are tied!”

 

He stared hard into the dark eyes and felt himself deflate slightly. It was true. No matter what he wanted them to do, they weren't going to do any more than their toothless protocol allowed. “It won't make a difference,” he said stiffly, clinging to the only thing he had left to him at that moment, his pride.

 

Sisko seemed to deflate a bit at this as well. “You're probably right,” he conceded. “I'll still try.”

 

“Thank you, Commander,” Garak said, inclining his head formally. “Can you at least tell me how he is?”

 

“He's unconscious,” the man replied. “At the moment, I don't know any more than that. I'll head over there now,” he offered, gesturing Garak out ahead of him.

 

The Cardassian paused. “Commander, if I may, I'd like to speak to Major Kira.”

 

Sisko considered a moment and nodded. “Wait here. I'll send her in to you.”

 

He did so, lacing his hands tightly behind his back, fingers clasped together. He had to keep them contained, or he'd do something rash. He could see Kira ascending the steps and braced himself for further confrontation.

 

“Garak,” she said the moment she had passed the threshold, “I know what you're going to ask me, and I can't do it.”

 

“Can't,” he said frostily, “or won't?”

 

She narrowed her black eyes. “Look!” she said sharply. “You and I have had our differences. Still do, but it's not fair for you to stand there and accuse me of standing by and letting this happen when you have no idea of the politics of the situation or the shitstorm it would cause if I were to try to override this woman. This goes way beyond one petty bitch, you, and Julian. I'm sorry, but it does.”

 

He understood difficult politics better than most. He reflected that the night Decla had boasted to him of her connections, it was no idle claim. “I'm sorry, Major,” he said, much subdued. “I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that.”

 

Turbulent emotion roiled very close to the surface in her expressive eyes. “I wish I could help,” she said, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I know how hard this is for you. I went through something similar with Winn pushing Antos.”

 

“I know you do, and did,” he said, his mind already moving forward to his next option. “Maybe there is something you can do, after all. How does your Provisional Government feel about Odo?”

 

“They trust him,” she said. “He has been invaluable to us since the Cardassians...since the end of the occupation.”

 

“So if Odo were in the presence of someone declared a security risk...”

 

Kira smiled tightly. “No one could reasonably object without throwing his entire career into question, something not even Decla could do without costing herself some support.”

 

Garak nodded, moving for the doors. “Will you please inform the Constable that I'm on my way to see him?”

 

“I will,” she said. She stopped him briefly with a light hand to his forearm. “Don't do anything stupid, OK? If anything happens to Decla, you'll be the first person they look at after this.”

 

“Don't worry, Major,” Garak said tightly. “I wish that one a very long, very miserable life. Your concern is appreciated.” He strode from Ops with his head up, his bearing regal. He wouldn't allow any of them to see the gnawing, clawing desperation mounting with every road block thrown in his way to seeing with his own two eyes what had happened to his lover. If Odo also told him no, he'd be back to option one without a friend there to stop him.

 

The shape shifter was waiting for him in Security. “Major Kira apprised me of the situation,” he said. “Unless Decla manages to come up with a better reason, I'm not going to allow her to do this to you.”

 

The stolid offer of support came close to undoing his control. As he fell into step beside the security chief, he wondered how it was that kindness could be so much more emotionally devastating than cruelty. He inclined his head deeply, in that moment not at all willing to trust his voice. The two walked nearly shoulder to shoulder, arriving at the infirmary only to see the same nurses guarding the front. When the two saw Odo, they glanced at one another uncertainly.

 

“I understand there's some concern about a security risk,” Odo said in saccharine tones. “As you can see, I'm here to ensure nothing untoward happens while Mr. Garak visits the infirmary. I suggest you stand aside.”

 

“We're under strict orders,” one of them said tentatively. The other shook his head and stepped out of the way, seeming to know when to quit. Garak ignored both men as though they weren't even there. If he allowed himself to meet either of them eye to eye, he didn't trust what he'd do.

 

Decla spotted the two of them from the hallway leading to the surgery room. She strode forward quickly. “Constable Odo,” she said, “this is highly irregular.”

 

“Indeed it is, Madame,” Odo said, his steely look matching his tone. “Is Doctor Bashir's condition so critical that he can't be allowed any visitors?”

 

“I'm not at liberty to reveal details of a patient's condition,” she said smoothly.

 

“Then we'll have a look for ourselves,” Odo said, brushing past her and pulling Garak in his wake with a solid grip to his upper arm.

 

She took a few trotting steps and positioned herself in front of both of them again. “Not while I'm here you won't,” she said firmly. “You may have authority out there,” she gestured toward the Promenade, “but this is my domain. If you have a problem with how I'm handling a critical case, feel free to contact the Bajoran Medical Board and file a formal complaint. I'm told they've been working on their backlog. Your petition has a good chance of being heard by the end of the year.”

 

“You can be sure that is exactly what I intend to do,” Odo said, turning around and pulling Garak with him. The Cardassian tried to resist, but he could tell by the tightness of the grip that if Odo felt that he needed to drag him physically from the facility, that was exactly what was about to happen. He yielded, only to prevent giving Decla the satisfaction of seeing him manhandled.

 

Once they were back out on the Promenade, he shook himself free. “So that's it?” he demanded, his voice more shrill than he intended for it to be. “She says go, and you walk out?”

 

The changeling dropped his voice and leaned closer. “You heard her. While she's there. She can't stay there indefinitely. She has to leave at some point, get some sleep. We'll try again with whoever she leaves in charge.”

 

“It won't matter,” Garak said, ready to tear his own hair out from frustration. “They all hate me, every last one of those Bajoran staff members. They resent our relationship. They think he's too good for me. They've been waiting for the chance to do something to put me in my place. Now that they have it, there's no way they're going to relinquish their advantage.”

 

“I'm not giving up,” Odo said staunchly. “Neither should you.”

 

Commander Sisko emerged from the infirmary and walked over to the two of them. Garak could tell by his expression what he was going to say before he said it. “I'm not going to ask what you did to garner such animosity,” he told Garak, “but that woman is bound and determined that you not be given access to the doctor. Unfortunately, without good cause, I can't override her, can't have her removed, and can't go over her head with the Bajorans.”

 

“Even if you did, they wouldn't listen,” Garak said. “They'll never side with a Cardassian over one of their own, no matter how wrong she is. I'm their token, a convenient target for all of their resentment over the wrongs they suffered during the occupation.”

 

Sisko frowned deeply. “I doubt that every Bajoran feels that way. Not all of them will be willing to forget that you were at Vedek Bareil's funeral or how much you risked to be there.”

 

“Please, Commander,” Garak said tiredly, reaching up to rub at his temples. A headache was coming on. “Good news and goodwill both die quick deaths. We both know that.”

 

“I'll talk to Major Kira,” Sisko said.

 

“No,” Garak shook his head. “She told me there's nothing she can do.”

 

“Perhaps she'll see things a little differently if I ask,” he suggested.

 

“No,” Garak said more sharply. “I don't want her to feel pressured to do something that will put her in an awkward position.” At Odo's look of surprise, he continued. “Who knows when she may need her political capital, or for what? No, as much as the situation pains me, I can't ask the Major to sacrifice any advantage she may have over my personal concern. There's nothing of value that I could give her in return.”

 

“You saved her life already,” Odo said simply.

 

“Please, Constable,” Garak snorted softly. “You and I both know that was no noble act.”

 

The changeling tightened his lipless mouth to a thinner line than normal. Glancing from Garak to the Commander, he said, “I'll talk to Major Kira. Perhaps between the two of us, we can come up with something. In the mean time,” he pinned Garak with a very keen gaze, “don't do anything rash. While you have my every sympathy for the unfairness of this situation, I will not tolerate your breaking the law or harming Nurse Decla or any of her staff members. Don't make me have to lock you up.”

 

Garak nodded, not willing to verbalize any sort of agreement to that effect. Odo would hear it for the lie it was as soon as it left his lips. While he wasn't yet back to the point of doing anything that drastic, he knew it wouldn't take much to get him there. Shaking his head as though he knew he had wasted his breath, Odo strode quickly away, leaving Garak alone with Commander Sisko.

 

“I was able to see him,” Sisko said more gently than he had ever spoken to Garak before. The Cardassian stiffened, detesting so much as a whiff of pity sent his way. “He's not visibly injured. As of yet, we're not one hundred percent sure of what has been done to him, although we have our suspicions.”

 

Garak knew. It was a psychic attack. Letheans were notorious for them. He felt his hands clenching spasmodically and had to fight to relax them again. He wanted nothing more than his fingers around that ugly throat to squeeze until it was pulp. It wouldn't help. If anything, it would make things much worse. If the alien died while part of his consciousness was delving into Julian's mind, the psychic backlash would quickly kill Julian as well. No, that wasn't the answer, although if Julian did die, it just might be the last thing Garak ever did. He could give his lover no comfort and support, but he could give him revenge.

 

“Garak?” Sisko said, clearly not liking the look in his eyes.

 

“I'm sorry, Commander,” he said mildly. “I'm developing a migraine. I should probably rest for a while. I trust that if the Constable and Major Kira work something out, I'll be contacted?”

 

“Immediately,” Sisko said. “You have my word on that.”

 

“Thank you, Commander,” he said, inclining his head and watching the man head toward the turbo lift. It was strange to him, knowing that he could take at face value something a human authority figure said to him. Were he dealing with a Legate or even a Gul, he knew he could have no such assurances. Strange creatures, humans.

 

He waited until the man was out of sight and turned toward Quark's Bar. At the last moment, he decided on a different ingress, taking the stairs two at a time to the second level of the Promenade and ducking in through one of the smaller side doors. His eyes adapted very quickly to the lower light level. He saw Nog stationed near the front door, looking expectantly outward. So the uncle was expecting this visit. It didn't matter. Nothing short of Odo and a full contingent of Bajoran security guards was going to stop him from this.

 

He wove between tables as silently and sinuously as a cobra that some Terrans claimed Cardassians resembled with their scales and flared necks. Scanning the bar from his shadowed vantage of the balcony, he saw Quark at the very far end of it, nervously drying a glass and looking toward Nog. Good, he thought, keep looking for just a moment longer.

 

He was down the stairs, over the bar, and on the hapless Ferengi before anyone even knew he was there except Morn, who was too startled to say a word. He bunched both fists into Quark's jacket and yanked him clean off his feet. “You!” he growled in a voice he barely recognized as his own. “You brought that piece of filth to our table knowing fully well that the doctor wouldn't do what he asked!”

 

“Garak!” Quark squeaked. “P—please! You have to believe me! I had no idea what he intended to do!”

 

“He's a Lethean! What did you think he would do?” Garak bellowed, shaking him so hard he could hear the man's sharp teeth clacking together.

 

“Uncle!” Nog shouted from somewhere off to his left, “do you want me to call Security?”

 

At Garak's look of potentially lethal intent, Quark quickly shook his head. “N—no, Nog! Be a good boy, and watch the bar.” He licked his teeth nervously. “Garak, please, you're scaring my customers. C—can we take this to the back?”

 

Garak flung him back so forcefully he stumbled and sent an entire row of glass shelving crashing to the floor in a spill of alien alcohol of various lurid colors. He cowered to shield himself from the breaking glass and scuttled into the back room, the tailor hot on his heels and feeling dangerously close to murderous. “If he dies, in addition to that Lethean,” he hissed the alien word, “I'm holding you personally responsible.”

 

“He threatened me,” Quark gibbered. “What was I supposed to do? How could I know he'd be crazy enough to attack a Starfleet officer? Garak! You know I like Doctor Bashir. Whatever you think of me, and whatever I might be, I'm not a murderer! Please!” He placed his wrists together in that odd Ferengi begging gesture that resembled a man in cuffs. “I'll do anything I can to help you, just don't kill me!”

 

“That insane bitch won't even let me see him,” Garak rasped. His head felt as though it would explode, and Quark's unrestrained desperation threatened to unleash his own.

 

The Ferengi looked confused. “Wait,” he said, “Decla? Rom told me about that.” He slowly lowered his hands, eying Garak as though he had a bomb strapped to him that could go off at any moment, or perhaps as though he were the explosive device. “M—Major Kira! I bet she could help you.”

 

“I've already talked to her,” the tailor snarled. “I didn't come here for any of your schemes. I've done everything I can short of killing the lot of them in that blasted infirmary.”

 

Quark blinked at him, calming further and looking grave. “Listen to me, Garak. I know Rom has already told you this, but you can't do something like that. It won't help the doctor, and it'll get you put away for life. What good will that do?”

 

“What good is this doing?” he asked through gritted teeth, gesturing sharply.

 

“Not being in a prison colony has all sorts of advantages,” Quark said evenly. “I know you say you don't want my ideas, but I think I have something you haven't thought of. There is more than one way into that infirmary, and I don't mean any of the doors.”

 

Garak stilled, fixing the man with a burning stare. “I'm listening,” he said tersely.

 

Odo

Kira's Private Quarters

 

After leaving Garak, Odo stopped first in the security office and downloaded a small file onto a data rod. He was hoping he wouldn't have to use it; however, he was a careful man, and he planned for as many contingencies as he could. He knew that it wouldn't be long before Nerys' shift ended. He decided the best course of action would be to wait for her outside her quarters rather than trying to intercept her from Ops. His wait hadn't been a long one. She came home straight from work and allowed him to come in with her.

 

“We have to talk,” he said.

 

Turning abruptly to face him, she raised a hand impatiently. “Look, Odo, if this is about Garak, there's nothing to say. You know as well as I do what the situation is like down on Bajor right now. Any influence I had is pretty much gone thanks to Winn and all the people wanting to kiss up to her. I'd actually like to still have a career by this time next year.”

 

“This isn't right,” he said pointedly, “and you know it.”

 

She unfastened her uniform jacket and tossed it over a chair. “You're right. It's awful. Decla is being a royal bitch, but honestly, Odo, what's at stake? She and the rest of the staff are caring for Julian as well as they can. Garak's being there, or not, isn't going to make a difference, not if what you said about Letheans is true.”

 

“Any more of a difference than your presence with Bareil made at the end,” he said ruthlessly. Her gut punched look hurt him, and knowing he put it there hurt worse. Nonetheless, he held his ground.

 

She sucked in a swift hiss of air through her teeth. “How can you say that to me?” she asked.

 

“How can you know what that man is going through and not even try?” he retorted.

 

She shook her head and turned away from him. “He's a Cardassian,” she said flatly. “Do you have any idea what he has put Julian through in that relationship? He told him...he told him outright he doesn't love him. You'll have to forgive me if I find this sudden show of his just a little suspect in light of that,” she snapped. “If anything, it seems more like...like a territory dispute!”

 

She could be so stubborn, so blinded by her prejudices. It angered him when she got this way, and it disappointed him, too. She was better than that. Sometimes, it took a lot of pushing to get her to remember it. “Naturally, you find it easier to believe that he's lying now, rather than in telling the doctor he doesn't love him,” he said querulously.

 

“Frankly? Yes!” she said. “Look. I appreciate what he did about the funeral. I do. I even think that maybe in some way, it's the most selfless thing he has ever done, but...”

 

“It's not,” he cut her off abruptly.

 

She shook her head. “Oh, don't start! Don't even try to talk about that trip to Cardassia. You and I both know that Commander Sisko threatened him with deportation to get him to agree. Even so, I half expected that he would have just as soon shot me and Tekeny instead of Entek, if he thought it would get him something.”

 

Sighing to himself, he produced the data rod, offering it to her silently, his look a challenging one.

 

“What's this?” she asked, taking it from him and turning it over in her hand.

 

“It's a copy of the transmission Garak received regarding your abduction,” he replied. “It took me a long time to find it, even longer to decode it, but I know it's authentic. He doesn't know that I have it, and I'd like for it to stay that way.”

 

She frowned deeply. “What does this prove?” she asked, her voice taut with suspicion.

 

“What are you so worried about?” he asked, a mocking tone rising in his voice. “You're so certain you're right. This should mean nothing, right?”

 

With a stubborn set to her jaw, she crossed to her terminal and shoved the rod into its slot. He watched her body language closely as she read the short line of text. She caught her breath, then sagged, her head dropping slightly forward. “I don't understand,” she said softly.

 

“What's not to understand,” Odo demanded, “if you accept that Garak actually loves the doctor a great deal more than he knows how to handle or can even admit to himself? The only way his actions in light of that transmission don't make sense is if we accept your version of what he's like.”

 

She scrubbed a hand back through her hair. “I always assumed he was ordered to do it, some game within a game they're all so fond of. I...” she trailed off and sighed. “Fine,” she said, resigned. “I'll do what I can. I just don't know if it'll be enough. The only person I can think of who might have even close to enough influence to pull strings like this is Shakaar, and I don't think he'll be thrilled with the idea of doing something like this for a Cardassian.”

 

“He won't be doing it for a Cardassian,” he said reasonably. “He'll be doing it for you.”

 

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

 

He, too, felt resigned for a different reason. “I'm going to contact Doctor Mora,” he said. “He has some pull with the Bajoran Medical Board. None of them may be fond of Cardassians, but I believe that all of them are professional enough to know that visitation protocol should never be shaped by the personal feelings of the attending medical personnel in charge of the facility. I'm also going to dig deeper into this Decla's background. There may be something there we can use.”

 

“Odo,” she said hesitantly, “we don't have any evidence that this is personal, just Garak's word against Decla's.”

 

“I'm sure Doctor Bashir could enlighten us further,” he said.

 

“If he wakes up, yes,” she said, nodding. “If he doesn't...”

 

“Nerys, if he doesn't, I'll accept whatever fallout occurs because of our actions. We're doing the right thing. That's all that matters.”

 

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered darkly, turning to make the call to Shakaar.