dark_sinestra

( And now, the conclusion... )

Author Notes: This story takes place during Body Parts.

Summary: A fatal diagnosis from a Ferengi doctor forces Quark to look to settling his affairs, and a near fatal accident on a runabout means a sudden change of address for Miles and Keiko O'Brien's unborn son. A visit from the ruthless Ferengi liquidator Brunt drives Quark to a desperate and dangerous arrangement with Garak, who realizes perhaps his days as an assassin are not as behind him as he believed.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: May 2010

Category: Slash

Rating: NC-17 for explicit sexual content and adult situations, and mild adult language.

Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Paramount knows it. These characters and setting aren't mine. I'm not selling this work. The only “profit” is fun.

Word Count: 17,124

 

 

( The story starts under the friendly cut! )

 

Author Notes: This story takes place shortly after For the Cause ends and ends shortly before Body Parts begins. This time around, I pretty much just wrote around episodes, not including any of them directly. It worked better that way.

Summary: Garak finally learns of the mysterious daughter of Dukat's intentions and discovers that sometimes more knowledge simply means more complications. Swamped with work and facing some of the largest challenges of his career to date, Julian struggles to salvage what he can of his personal life while performing his duties and keeping his oaths. Can he manage, or has at least one of his partners had enough?

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: May 2010

Category: Slash, Het

Rating: R for strong adult situations and sexual content.

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, which means not for profit, not about the author's original characters, yadda yadda. I think we all know the drill.

Word Count: 21,326

 

 

( Part I lies under the cut. )

 

Julian

The Infirmary

 

The entire situation seemed unreal. Murder aboard the station was extremely rare, usually the result of some underhanded or illegal dealing gone bad or the occasional result of domestic violence. He performed the autopsy with his usual sense of detachment because it was his job. However, it didn't stop him from thinking about the circumstances of the death and the ugly climate that had permeated the station in just a matter of days from Akorem's announcement. He didn't buy the will of the Prophets rubbish. In his private opinion, non-linear aliens simply had no concept of time or the consequences of jumbling the time line. Who knew why they brought Akorem to the present, or if they had any reason at all other than to see what might happen?

 

It didn't take him very long to be able to determine the cause of death for certain, broken neck from the fall leading to rapid asphyxiation from total body paralysis. Fortunately, it seemed as though he lost consciousness upon impact. He entered his official findings for the record, stripped out of the red scrubs, and put the body in cold storage for evidence in the murder case. He was down to one nurse and one medic for the shift, both of them grim and silent. He wondered if they'd try to put in for a transfer soon. He wondered if Starfleet would pull all of them out of the sector within the year. The only positive he had to focus on in the moment was knowing Garak was with Leeta. He couldn't think of anyone better suited to keeping her safe.

 

“Sir,” his nurse approached him hesitantly.

 

He glanced up from the report he was writing. “Yes?”

 

“Aside from the murder, we had an incident at lunch,” she said.

 

“What sort of incident?” he asked, thinking silently, What now?

 

“You remember a family had an appointment to bring their two children in for routine vaccinations?”

 

“Yes,” he said, nodding.

 

“Someone from a higher caste walked in complaining of a rash and became irate when we refused to see him first. He said he's going to file a complaint with the Bajoran government. I was wondering what our official policy is going to be on this?”

 

He wanted to hit something. He genuinely wanted to hit something, his fists balling tightly. “Our official policy, Nurse, is that Starfleet doesn't operate under a caste system. Since the majority of our Bajoran staff has quit, this is a Starfleet medical facility, and it will be run as such. Tell them next time if they have a complaint to tender it to Starfleet, because we don't look to the Bajoran government for guidance on how we conduct our business.”

 

She smiled slightly and nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, Sir!” she said. “Before I forget, we also received three more Bajoran resumes.”

 

“This should be good for a laugh,” he said. “Are they in my office?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

He retreated to the back and sat at his desk. As he expected, all of them were Belans, Belan Dar, Belan Rasheek, and Belan Pema. Healer caste. “Oh, this is promising,” he said wryly. “Thirty years on a farm in Lonar Province. Experience with wild herb craft, harvesting and preparation. Or how about this one? No formal education, but eager to learn. Oh, quite possibly my favorite yet. 'I've always known I had a special calling. It's the Prophet's blessing that I now know what it is. Please give me the chance to fulfill my pagh path. You won't regret it'. Perhaps not, but I imagine my patients soon would.”

 

The male medic ducked his head into the office. “Sorry, Sir, did you say something?”

 

“I was just talking to myself,” he sighed, “apparently loudly. I'll try my best to keep it down.”

 

An hour later he was summoned to the wardroom. He felt guilty about it, but he was relieved to get out of the oppressive environment of the infirmary, if only for a little while. He met up with Dax on the way. She wasn't her usual mischievous self, rather quiet and looking tired. “You've looked better,” she told him.

 

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” he said. “Short staffing?”

 

She nodded. “In the worst way. We've now got a backlog of at least half a dozen necessary experiments. That's not counting things that are lower priority. For some of the work, we don't have enough people to man all the stations, so we're having to double up and hope we don't miss anything important. I can't imagine what it's like for you in the infirmary.”

 

“You don't want to,” he said. “I'm down to a skeleton crew. I had three nightmares last night, all about the same thing. We're overrun with Jem'Hadar and Klingons, and there's a constant stream of people with horrific injuries being brought into the infirmary. The only instrument I have is an old fashioned scalpel which I keep waving around like a concert director, trying to get three zombies to do my bidding.”

 

Dax tried not to laugh but couldn't quite stop herself. “Oh, Julian, that's awful,” she said, wrapping an arm at his waist and lightly bumping the side of her head against his.

 

“If I weren't really that anxious, I'd find it funny, too,” he said. “I'm glad at least one of us can get something of entertainment value out of it.”

 

She released him before they entered the wardroom. He had been glad of the comfort. They both took their seats and realized they were only waiting for Chief O'Brien, Major Kira, and Captain Sisko. Commander Worf, Lieutenant Commander Eddington, and Odo nodded to them. None seemed inclined to speak, so Julian took his cue from them.

 

Captain Sisko arrived with the major and quickly took a seat. “Chief O'Brien can't get away for this, unfortunately. He's a bit understaffed.” He nodded his understanding at the various grunts and displeased looks from around the table. “I'm aware we're all suffering the same problem.” Kira looked strangely guilty and refused to meet anyone's gaze. “In light of this recent murder and the Bajoran government's inadequate response, I feel as though I have no choice but to fly with Akorem Laan into the wormhole and find out what the Prophets really want.”

 

A chorus of protests immediately rose from everyone else at the table with the exception of Kira. Julian couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Captain, as Chief Medical Officer I really must object. What you're proposing...”

 

Sisko cut them all off with a sharp chop of his hand. “I know,” he said sternly. “Every single one of you has a valid point, and I'm well aware of the risk I'm taking. I can't just sit by and watch three years of hard work and progress flushed down the toilet in a matter of days based on the words of some ancient poet from two hundred years ago. Now, the way I see it, the only ones who can tell us what they're really thinking are the wormhole aliens themselves. If I don't do this now, Bajor and this station are going to descend into chaos and possible civil war. I will be leaving within the hour. Commander Worf, you'll have the station.”

 

Although he looked reluctant, Worf nodded. “Aye, Sir.”

 

“As for the rest of you, I expect you to continue doing your very best with your short staffing and aid Mister Worf in any way you can. For good or ill, I'm hoping I can bring us an answer within the next twenty-six hours. Dismissed.”

 

No one lingered after the meeting, as none of them had the luxury of the spare time. Julian was in no mood to talk on his way back to the infirmary. He had no reason to trust the wormhole aliens not to do away with the captain altogether if they had decided to back Akorem. While he knew Worf was capable of short term command, he worried about the long term effects on morale of everyone being under such a stern, unapproachable task master, particularly with the staffing issues. He really wished that Miles could have made it to the meeting. The bluff engineer had a way of putting things into perspective that made even the worst case scenarios not look quite so bad.

 

They saw two more patients before his day was done. Fortunately neither arrived at the same time, so caste wasn't an issue. One had a broken finger that seemed to have gone untreated for a few days. He was less than talkative about the circumstances. Julian gave him an antibiotic for a mild bone infection that had set in, broke and set the bone properly, and gave him pain medication. He noticed a suspicious cut across his throat, long since scabbed over and healing. Of that the man refused to speak at all. The other patient was another rash case. He wondered if stress might be getting to some of the people, because he could find no easy cause of the skin irritation. He prescribed a cream and sent the itchy woman on her way.

 

As soon as his relief arrived, he hurried back to Leeta's quarters. She was dressed for work, and she and Garak had their heads bent over a game board. He drew closer and discovered they were playing kotra. “I had no idea you knew how to play kotra,” he said to Leeta.

 

“I don't,” she answered. “Garak is trying to teach me. Operative word, trying.”

 

“You're too hard on yourself, my dear. It's a complex game that takes years to master. You grasped the rules more quickly than many I've instructed in the past. Improvement comes with time and practice,” Garak said. He straightened his back and twisted a stretch, looking at Julian. “You seem to have news,” he said.

 

“I do.” He pulled up a chair and straddled it backward, resting his forearms on the back in a loose fold. “I can't say I think it's good news, I'm afraid. Captain Sisko is going to enter the wormhole with Akorem so that they can ask the wormhole aliens directly what they really want for Bajor.”

 

“Well, that's good,” Leeta said, glancing sharply at him. “If there's confusion, go straight to the source. Why do you think this is a bad thing?”

 

“What if their answer is that this is what they actually do intend for Bajor?” he asked. “What if they decide the captain is a dangerous distraction? They could do anything to him. We could never see him again.”

 

Garak broke in before things could get heated. “Let's...not excite ourselves with what ifs,” he suggested. “Captain Sisko has returned from all of his encounters with the aliens so far. They've never seemed particularly malicious or spiteful, just...mysterious, correct?”

 

Julian grudgingly agreed.

 

“Regardless of the outcome, one thing we will be able to say is that there will be no more confusion or potential for varying interpretations, assuming they return with an answer at all. In its own way, that is progress, Doctor.”

 

Leeta gave a satisfied nod. “I'm glad he's doing it,” she said. “I'm glad somebody has the guts to challenge the status quo. Considering you look like somebody dragged you down the Promenade behind a rampaging rakazo, I'm going to ask Garak to escort me to work and ask you to get some sleep,” she said, leaning over and kissing Julian's cheek.

 

He was too tired to argue. The three of them left the quarters together and parted ways in the H-ring. Julian promised he would talk to both of them later. At home he was too tired to remove his uniform, simply flopping into his bed and going dead to the world within minutes. The last waking thought he had was, Two straight days in this uniform without a change. Somebody's about to get a little ripe.

 

Garak

The Promenade

 

Garak had an odd sense of symmetry of events as he watched Captain Sisko ascend the podium before the Bajoran temple. His arrival back on the station the evening before without Akorem sent shock waves through the Bajoran populace that still hadn't settled. He imagined this speech was designed to do just that, settle the people and get them back on track, whatever that might entail.

 

As he listened to the mellifluous voice, he also watched the captain's expression and body language. He was relaxed, serene. He was a man no longer divided within himself. For good or ill, it seemed that Sisko had finally accepted his role as Bajor's Emissary. Although he wasn't sure what that meant for Bajor or indirectly Cardassia, Garak couldn't help but to believe that this was better than the alternative that had been presented. Seeing a caste system from the outside had opened his eyes to some ugly truths about his own people. For one of the first times ever, he felt grateful to be at a distance from his home world so that he would have the luxury of processing his newfound insight without being accused of sedition. At the end of the speech, he applauded right along with the Bajoran throng no less enthusiastically than the least among them. The caste system was no more.

 

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

Julian accepted his ale from Quark with a grin and turned to survey the crowd from his vantage. He still felt a small thrum of adrenaline from the fracas in the holosuite, he and Chief O'Brien against the entire court of the King of Leinster in a brawl to end all brawls. Others could say they looked ridiculous if they liked. He thought that he and Miles cut fine figures in their Irish warrior regalia. He couldn't believe how quickly everything had turned around. If anyone had asked him two days ago if he thought he'd be spending a fun evening with his friend, have a full staff at the infirmary, and no longer have to worry about some hothead murdering his girlfriend for looking at him wrong, he would have scoffed.

 

Keiko's intervention on behalf of her depressed husband just couldn't have had better timing. Of course, he would never let Miles know that he had been told how he felt. That would just embarrass him. The stress release of being able to cut loose and just have fun was pure balm to his spirit. He slouched shoulder to shoulder against the engineer and toasted Leeta with his tankard. She smiled brightly at him from her place at the dabo wheel and rolled her eyes playfully. You look silly, she mouthed.

 

“Looks like things are better for you,” Miles observed. “Bein' honest paid off, didn't it?”

 

Julian beamed at him. “More than you can possibly imagine.”

 

The End

Author Notes: This story is set during the episode Accession. It was one of the creepier episodes to me, the whole idea that on the word of one person speaking with supposed divine authority an entire society could be taken back two hundred years and return to a form of oppression that rivaled the occupation in its own grim way. It seems to me that DS9, unlike some of the other Trek series, just keeps getting more relevant over time, not less.

Summary: Bajoran society is rocked to its foundations by the return of Akorem Laan from the distant past to replace Captain Sisko as Emissary to the Prophets. Not a single part of the station is left untouched. Julian battles staff shortages and his own internal demons as he attempts to set things right with Leeta. In a climate of hostility and paranoia, no one is safe, not even Garak who sought to make Deep Space Nine his haven, only to find that havens can quickly become traps.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: April 2010

Category: Slash, Het

Rating: PG-13 for adult situations and violence

Disclaimer: If I could claim them I would, but then you guys would get mad at me because they're really Paramount's. Paramount, I know the economy is tough and MGM is in huge trouble, but please don't sue. I have nothing but the voices in my head.

Word Count: 18,215

 

Don't throw the past away.

You might need it some rainy day.

Dreams can come true again,

when everything old is new again.

–Peter Allen, “Everything Old is New Again”

 

Julian

O'Brien's Quarters

 

After nearly an hour of packing away cable, burnt out parts, randomly appearing single socks and other articles of clothing Julian didn't really want to touch, much less look at too closely, he straightened and fixed Miles with a curious look. “Remind me again how I got roped into helping you clean up this mess,” he said.

 

The chief snorted. “You helped make it. Besides, how many times have I let you crash here, crash being the operative word, after so much drink you couldn't find your own quarters, much less walk yourself there?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Julian sighed and reached for a bolt small enough to choke Molly, tossing it into a box with all the other junk. He was trying his best not to have a bad attitude. It wasn't about the cleaning, after all, but about the reason for it, the return of Keiko and Molly on a permanent basis, Keiko's botanical survey on Bajor over after its extension. Miles was the only person on the station who truly shared his sense of fun and interest in the history of the British Isles and the culture surrounding it. They both knew that their nights of spending hours in the holosuite fighting the Battle of Britain or Quark's playing darts were over. “You'll be glad to see them,” he offered. He realized he wasn't going to succeed in making himself happy about the situation. It didn't mean he couldn't make Miles feel better.

 

“Of course I will,” Miles said. “I'm tired of bein' shocked every time I see Molly at how much bigger she is and how many more words she knows. An' Keiko an' I have a lot of catching up to do. It'll be good for all of us.”

 

“Exactly,” Julian said, forcing a smile. “I suppose it means I'll be spending more time with Leeta, too, particularly now that she's not being worked half to death by Quark.”

 

Miles paused halfway in the act of tossing a part and pinned him with a keen look. “Y' don't sound too happy about that.”

 

“Nonsense,” Julian said, turning away from him and looking for something else to toss in the box.

 

The Irishman snorted. “Don't give me that. Julian, I know you too well. Every time I bring Leeta up lately, you act strange. Things not goin' well? The times I see th' two o' you out, you seem to be havin' a good time.”

 

There was no way he could tell him the truth about Garak and what he had been doing. Miles hated Garak too much ever to give him objective advice. Worse, rumors could spread. He didn't want Leeta hearing about his indiscretion from a third party. However, the temptation to say something, maybe something less specific, was strong. “We should lift the sofa,” he said, “and check under it. Molly could reach a hand under there and find something unsafe. Or Keiko might try to move it while cleaning and realize you weren't as tidy as she thought.”

 

“Uh huh,” he said, shaking his head. “Bein' cryptic won't let me help you. I have a successful relationship, even though we've had our share of problems. It's somethin' I do happen to know a little somethin' about.” The two of them lifted the sofa and set it back. The floor beneath seemed to be breeding its own special colony of dust tarantulas interspersed with random bits of circuitry, screws, and bolts. Both men made a face. “Hold that thought. I need to clean this up.”

 

While Miles went to fetch the cleaning tube, Julian picked out the bits of metal from the filth and tossed them. He mulled whether he wanted to say anything, and if so, what he wanted to say. He knew he'd have to take care. Miles read him better than he gave him credit for. Underestimating him had already once come back to bite him. He wasn't in the habit of making the same mistake twice, except when it came to Garak, apparently. As far as the Cardassian was concerned, he had long ago lost count of their myriad mistakes or how many times they repeated them with creative variations.

 

After the mess was clean and they had the couch back in place, he said, “I suppose I'm just a little confused. On one hand, I really care about her. On the other, I don't know that I want the same level of commitment she does.”

 

“You're not confused,” Miles said with a shrug. “It sounds like you're clear about what you want. Have you been that clear with her?”

 

He shook his head, his eyes sliding guiltily to the side.

 

“Well, that's the problem,” Miles continued. “You can't lead somebody on in a relationship like that. If y' don't feel what she feels, you owe it t' her t' tell her and let her make her own decision about whether t' stay or move on.”

 

“You're right,” he said, nodding. “It's not fair to keep her focused on me with a false premise. I just...how do you tell somebody that?”

 

“Th' same way you told me,” Miles answered. “Straightforward an' honest. An' don't sit there an' feed her that line about bein' confused. I have yet t' meet a woman that doesn't have a bullshit meter that'd put any one o' ours t' shame. Now, I appreciate all th' help.” He turned and walked over to his sideboard, opened the cabinet beneath, and pulled out an unopened bottle of single malt. Turning, he offered it to Julian with a smile. “Been savin' this one for a while. I want you t' have it.”

 

“Thank you, Chief,” he said, genuinely touched and taking the bottle.

 

“Be off wit' you, then,” O'Brien added humorously. “I need t' start gettin' ready. These clean quarters won't mean a thing if I show up at th' airlock lookin' like a wild heathen.”

 

“No, I imagine not,” the doctor said with a low laugh. “I'll catch up with you soon. Congratulations about their return.”

 

“Thanks,” Miles said.

 

If both of them were slightly forcing their smiles, Julian wasn't about to be the one to bring it up. He left in a hurry, the cool neck of the Scotch bottle a comfortable feel in his hand. He let the bottle swish against his leg as he walked for the turbolift, deep in thought. He contemplated what Garak would do and immediately set aside that line of thought. He already knew what Garak would do, the same thing he had been doing, carry on as though nothing was wrong or going on, a lie of omission. If asked, no doubt he'd come up with a very facile lie of commission, too. That wasn't the way to go, and he knew it.

 

He was almost to the turbolift when he realized he had left behind his bomber jacket. “Damn,” he said aloud. He decided he'd go back for it some other time. Miles was probably already in the shower. He didn't need to delay him any further than he already had by staying hours longer in the holosuite than they intended. He returned to his quarters to change into more appropriate clothing and put away his gift before going to Leeta's quarters for dinner. She always teased him about his costumes to the point that if he could avoid wearing them around her, he did so.

 

He dressed nicely and went through several speeches in his mind while he got ready. None of them sounded right. Was hurting her the right solution? Wasn't there some way to be somewhat truthful without blurting it all out? It wasn't as though Garak was a threat. He was perfectly fine with their arrangement, not pushing him to leave Leeta or make a decision. What if she pushes? He wondered. Would he be willing to give up what he was doing with Garak to stay with her? He didn't know, and he suspected that his uncertainty was a self created smoke screen to shield him from an uncomfortable truth.

 

By the time he reached her quarters, his palms were sweating. He hailed her and stepped inside to find the table set and food being put out. She smiled brightly. “You have perfect timing,” she said. “I didn't want to try to hail you since I knew that the chief's family is coming back tonight, but I was really hoping we could eat together before I had to go on shift. Did you have a good time?”

 

“We did,” he said. “We stayed too long and almost got Miles in a bind with cleaning up, but it was worth it. Do you want any help with anything?”

 

“Just eating the food,” she said. “Go ahead and have a seat.”

 

“You're in a good mood,” he observed, unsure if that was a good or a bad thing in light of what he wanted to say. She might receive things a little better being in a good mood, but he'd feel worse for having destroyed it.

 

“Things have been so much better at the bar lately. You have no idea how much stress that was off my shoulders. I'm even going to be able to start setting aside a little every month now. A few of us are talking about trying to start an investment pool. Just us Bajorans. I know better than to try to do business with any of the Ferengi. They'd rob us blind and smile at us while doing it.”

 

“Couldn't Rom give you some pointers?” he asked.

 

She shook her head. “Rom is a brilliant engineer. Money isn't his strong suit. If it was, he wouldn't have been stuck working for Quark all those years. Once we have enough saved up, we intend to contract with somebody from the Ministry of Finance to help us decide what parts of the economy would be the soundest investments. I've heard that exports stand a chance of becoming a large growth sector.”

 

She was so animated and enthusiastic, her dark eyes shining like twin gems. He struggled with himself to start the conversation he knew they needed to have. “I hate to change the subject abruptly,” he said, “but there's something that has been on my mind for a while now that I need to talk to you about.”

 

“I'm listening,” she said, her expression growing more wary at his tone of voice. “I hope this isn't about my not wanting to borrow money from you or not wanting to talk much about my past.”

 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Although...I wonder if my attitude hasn't contributed to that reluctance.”

 

“What attitude?” She tilted her head and took a bite of her food.

 

He supposed he had been too good at hiding his distance and keeping his secrets. She really hadn't noticed anything, which made it all much more difficult to discuss. He had two false starts before asking, “Do you ever get the feeling we may be taking things a little too quickly?”

 

“Not really,” she said with a one shouldered shrug. “We haven't even talked about moving in together or anything that drastic. Until recently, my work schedule kept us from seeing more than a couple of hours of each other at a time. Have I done or said something that makes you think I have unusual expectations of you?”

 

“No,” he said carefully. He took a bite, too, and chewed it slowly, stalling as much as working up his courage. “We've never discussed...being exclusive, though.”

 

She set her fork down and wiped her mouth with a frown. “You're right. We haven't. Julian, my job puts me in contact with a lot of men, and there's a level of flirtatiousness that's required of me to do the job well. I haven't extended that flirtatiousness beyond the parameters of the job or accepted any invitations to dates, not to say that there haven't been plenty. I was under the impression you wouldn't be happy if I did, and quite frankly, since we've gotten a little more serious, I haven't been tempted. Have you?”

 

“I...” He took a deep breath and held it a moment before letting it out in a whoosh. “Actually, yes, I have,” he said.

 

She folded her arms. “How long have you felt this way?”

 

He wasn't sure how to answer that question. “For a while now,” he said. “I've wanted to bring it up before, but while you were going through everything with Quark, I didn't feel like it was the right time.”

 

She seemed to give that some thought, the direction of her focus turning more inward. “I suppose I should thank you for that,” she said. “I was under enough stress then. That's true. What do you want? Why are we having this conversation? Are you asking me for permission to see somebody else while you're seeing me, wanting to find out where I see us heading? I'm having a hard time understanding where you're going with this.”

 

“I wanted to be honest with you,” he said, barely able to hold her gaze.

 

“I got that. To what end? Julian, this vagueness isn't like you, and given the subject matter, that makes me uncomfortable. Are you trying to break up with me? If you are, just say so.”

 

“No, I'm not trying to break up with you. I don't want to. I like what we have, but...I just...I'm not sure I'm ready for it to be exclusive.” He knew he was bungling this badly, knew he was being a coward.

 

“Who is it?” she asked the question he had desperately hoped that she wouldn't. “Dax?” Her voice sharpened with the name.

 

“No, not Dax.” He had a sneaking suspicion she'd find that easier to swallow than the real culprit. “It's...Garak.”

 

She let out a little bark of a laugh that didn't sound even slightly amused. “Wow,” she said, staring at him. “You do realize that's a bit more than just not being exclusive, don't you? Wanting to go back to your ex?”

 

He shook his head. “I don't want to go back to him. I...I know that doesn't work.”

 

“You know what else doesn't work?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “How do you humans put it? Having your bread and eating it, too?”

 

“Cake,” he muttered.

 

“Right,” she said, her eyes flashing hotly. “Thank you for that. I'd hate for you to misunderstand me. Having your cake and eating it, too. You want to string me and Garak along until you can make up your mind what you want. That doesn't work for me. Not at all, Julian. Garak doesn't strike me as the sort who'd accept that, either. He deserves better.”

 

“He...has accepted it,” he said, wincing inwardly.

 

Her mouth dropped open with an utterly incredulous look. It took her a few moments to gather herself enough to speak. “You discussed this with him first?” she asked, her usually soft voice whip crack sharp.

 

“It wasn't exactly a discussion,” he breathed.

 

She stood abruptly. “What exactly was it? No, on second thought, don't you dare answer that. I don't need details.” She marched for the door.

 

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing also and stepping away from the table.

 

“None of your business, but I can tell you one thing. I want you gone by the time I get back, and take your things with you if you don't want them incinerated.”

 

Garak

Private Quarters

 

Garak hadn't been home five minutes when the door chime drew him from changing his tunic to something more comfortable. He finished tying the lounging robe before inquiring who was at the door and admitting her. “Ah, my dear, what a pleasant surprise. I was just...”

 

She didn't let him get more out than that, crossing to him swiftly and striking him open handed on the cheek. The sharp crack of it seemed to ricochet in the close quarters. Her fury was palpable. “How dare you?” she said through gritted teeth. “How dare you smile at me and pretend to be my friend while doing Prophets know what with Julian behind my back?”

 

Garak worked his jaw and surreptitiously tongued his lower molars to make sure none of them were loose. She packed quite a belt. He was glad it hadn't been a fist instead. “Do you want a facile justification,” he asked, “or would you simply like for me to allow you to vent your rage?”

 

“The sad thing is,” she said, drawing herself up ramrod straight, “that I really liked you. I truly believed you were my friend. And while it hurts me that you would do something with my boyfriend behind my back, what hurts the most is that you'd keep smiling at me to my face and acting like nothing had changed. I'd at least be able to respect you if you spited me openly. The thing that makes me sick? I've defended you. You have no idea how many times the other girls have said things to me about the time I've spent with you, how many times I've said, 'He's not like the other Cardassians. He's a truly decent man.' I guess the joke's on me, and I really am as stupid and naïve as they said I was for ever trusting you.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and left him there, the hiss of his door an anticlimactic punctuation to her departure.

 

He sighed and rubbed absently at his still stinging cheek. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, and if Julian had been able to keep his mouth shut, it wouldn't have happened. “Humans,” he growled under his breath. “Sentimental fools, every last one of them.”

 

Too annoyed to focus on reading, he set up his kotra board so that he could run through several advanced strategy exercises. He needed something interactive and challenging to keep him from stewing over the situation. He was certain that Julian would be along, if not that night, then some time soon, to bemoan what had happened. If he was to get through such a conversation without a completely venomous attitude, he knew he had to distance himself from his reaction. The sad thing is, he thought as he moved the first piece, I liked her, too. He had no expectation that she would ever understand or believe that he could view someone as a friend and do underhanded things to or around them. Few ever did understand such things about his people.

 

As he moved the pieces across the board, he envisioned warships in three dimensional space, strikes and counter-strikes, bold captures, unconventional maneuvers. How differently might his life have gone had he been in Central Command? Despite the fact that he loathed so many of the old money military leaders, there was a certain appeal to a well executed plan, simple on the surface and layered beneath. Such thoughts led to a memory of Tain's last moments aboard the bird of prey before Odo knocked Garak out and stole him away. “He overreached,” he murmured to himself, knocking one of the last pieces gently off the board with the one he held in hand. “Forgot what he was. Who he was. There were many reasons for the Order not to possess military equipment, not simply because it would've made us too powerful.”

 

That Cardassia was gone. Frustratingly, he didn't know enough of what had risen to take its place to know whether this was a reason to be glad or worried. He hadn't been impressed by what he had seen so far. They seemed too mired in internal power struggles to deal decisively with external threats. They had never been more weak or vulnerable in his lifetime, quite possibly. He realized he had lost taste for his exercise and set his piece aside. Going to the bar was out of the question. Leeta deserved her space without having him in her face. He'd have to give her some time to heal from that hurt before returning to Quark's during her work shift.

 

Luckily, he kept himself stocked with kanar, rising and crossing to pour himself a drink. He was on his third when Julian chimed his door. It crossed his mind to leave him out there. Such passivity, however, really wasn't his way. “Enter,” he said more sharply than was his wont.

 

Julian crossed his threshold and stopped just within, letting the door shut at his back. “I suppose she came to confront you,” he said after taking a quick look at his demeanor.

 

“Yes,” he said.

 

“What did she say?” he asked hesitantly.

 

“She thanked me for taking you off her hands, because she has secretly been wanting to date Rom for months,” he answered with cloying sarcasm. “What do you think she said, you idiot?”

 

Julian winced. “I deserved that,” he said.

 

“Oh, please,” Garak sighed, throwing up a hand. “If you came here to feel sorry for yourself or to use my anger as a way to flagellate, I'd just as soon you left. I'm not interested in coddling you or satisfying your masochistic urges to flay your conscience. You are quite possibly one of the most selfish people I have ever known.” He paused to let that sink in. “I would remind you that I am Cardassian as I say this. I would remind you further that this is coming from me.”

 

“I know cheating on her was selfish,” Julian snapped.

 

“Cheating on her? Yes, that was selfish, but I'm talking about telling her. Why would you do such a thing? You hurt her for no good reason except to assuage your own guilt.”

 

“That's not true. I...I wanted to give her the choice,” he said.

 

“What choice?”

 

“I didn't want her being with me on false pretenses. If she wanted to be exclusive, and I didn't, it wasn't fair of me to trick her into staying in an arrangement that wasn't what she thought it was.”

 

“I see,” Garak said, shaking his head in disgust. “Much preferable for her to be miserable and know this truth of yours than happy. So, what brought this on? Did she ask you to move in with her? To marry you? No, wait, I know. She wanted you to move to Bajor with her.”

 

“I don't appreciate your sarcasm. She didn't do anything. This was my decision. Miles said...”

 

“Ah, Miles. It all makes such perfect sense now. Did you tell him about us, too? Should I put a call to Dax so that the entire station can get in on this?” So much for kotra taming his fires. He just had to get contemplative about Cardassia before the doctor arrived.

 

“No, I didn't tell him about us. I just told him I didn't think I wanted to be exclusive to Leeta. Look, I don't understand why you're acting like this. If anything, I thought you'd probably be relieved,” he said, his brows low over narrowed eyes.

 

“Relieved that you hurt an innocent woman who never did anything to either of us? If that's your view of my habitual emotional state, I'm shocked you want to be in the same room with me alone,” he said, setting his empty kanar glass down on his table. “I realize this may be difficult for you to understand, but try. You and I have both said on numerous occasions that when we step into the confines of a relationship, it doesn't work. Did it ever occur to you part of the reason I allowed what I allowed in the dressing room was because you were in another relationship, not in spite of it?

 

“I can tell by your expression that it did not,” he continued. “I have no intention of flaunting a connection to you in front of Leeta, or anybody else on this station. The only thing this changes is that I'm now concerned that I made a mistake in allowing what I did, both because of its consequences for Leeta and your appalling lapse in discretion. I trusted that you'd be able to handle yourself. I couldn't have been more wrong.”

 

“I can't believe you! How dare you stand there and get self-righteous with me? You're as guilty as I am.”

 

“No, Doctor, I'm not. I would never have told her just so that I could make myself feel better about deceiving her, and that's where you and I differ tremendously.”

 

“Don't 'Doctor' me, not right now,” Julian snapped, his eyes flashing.

 

“Fine, Julian,” he said, already tired of this and wanting him to leave. “I can only surmise that you came here either hoping that I'd be glad to hear the news and therefore amenable to offering you...comfort,” he laced the word with a subtle hint of contempt and innuendo both, “or to attempt damage control. Either way, I have no interest in being cooperative tonight.”

 

“You're not the only one thinking I made a mistake,” Julian said spitefully.

 

Garak's smile was more of a sneer. “Now it's my turn to get some honesty?” he asked. “You're wanting to take a little kilo of flesh on your way out the door?” He spread his arms. “Do your best. Take a parting shot.”

 

“You'd have to have a heart for me to hurt it,” he said. “I'm done with this. Sorry I bothered to try to give you the courtesy of being informed.”

 

The tailor laughed harshly. “That's rich. The day I need to get my intelligence from you is the day I'll make sure somebody puts me out of my misery for being useless, ineffectual, and blind. If I wanted to spy on your people, do you honestly think I'd have ever approached a mere doctor? You didn't even have the foresight to understand your own girlfriend well enough to know she'd come straight to me after your pathetic confession. Why don't you run along while you still have a few tatters of dignity to trail behind you, or is it already too late for that?”

 

Julian stalked from the quarters without another word, his face stiff and pale. Garak snorted another soft, derisive laugh at his back just as the door was closing. Not six hours after Julian's breach with Leeta, and already the two of them were back in familiar territory. He hoped the little idiot had it in him to patch things up with her. It was the only way he saw himself being able to abide his company at all after this.

 

Julian

The Infirmary

 

Julian watched Major Kira and Captain Sisko escort his most recent patient out of the infirmary, the three still deep in conversation. “Akorem Laan,” he murmured. He had read the man's poetry when he was working to familiarize himself more with Bajoran culture. He was quite good, but more remarkably, he was a tremendously important literary figure in their history. Having seen Kira's reaction to meeting the man, he likened it to getting to meet Sir Francis Bacon, or perhaps Lord Byron.

 

“Do you think it's true?” one of the Bajoran day nurse's questions cut into his thoughts.

 

“What?” he asked, glancing away from the door and over to her.

 

“That he's the Emissary,” she said a bit breathlessly, her hazel eyes wide.

 

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. To the best of his ability, he had avoided talk of the captain's role in Bajor's spiritual life. As an officer and a member of Starfleet, the entire thing made him somewhat uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine how much worse it had been for the captain for these past few years. If Akorem's story was true, perhaps the wormhole aliens had decided that a Bajoran would make a better Emissary after all. “What I do know,” he said, offering her a slight smile, “is that whether he's the Emissary or not, we still have work to do today.” Taking the hint, she smiled and nodded, getting back to her duties.

 

The rest of his work day was relatively uneventful, although he believed he'd be hard pressed to encounter anything else quite as remarkable as having a patient beamed into his infirmary not just from a solar ship like the captain and Jake had piloted to Cardassian space but from over two hundred years in the past. It was events such as this which reminded him of one of the main reasons he chose Deep Space Nine as his post. For a little while that day, he felt as he did the first time he set foot on the station, excited about all of the possibilities.

 

As the end of his shift drew to a close, Nurse Frendel arrived. Julian told him of their unusual patient and stressed the need for discretion. Frendel seemed quite excited by the news, but there was something else in his dark eyes, a sort of mirth Julian had rarely seen. “What is it?” he asked the man. “You look like someone with exciting news of your own.”

 

“Well,” the Bajoran said with an easy smile, “you didn't hear it from me, but I have it on very good authority that Mrs. O'Brien is pregnant.”

 

“Really?” Julian's eyes widened. “That's wonderful news! Thanks for telling me, and mum's the word. I don't know where the rumor came from.” Grinning, he signed out and left for the evening, heading down to Quark's. He knew that Miles would be getting off soon, too, and likely passing by there. He wanted to have the opportunity to congratulate him. As soon as he saw him, he snagged him and dragged him into the bar for a drink.

 

As was so often the case when pregnancies were announced, it seemed practically everyone had an experience or opinion, from Quark reminiscing about Nog's childhood to Worf's incredible discomfort with memories of delivering Molly, something that surprised Julian to no end. Yet, it was Miles' attitude that surprised him the most. Instead of the excitement he expected, the man seemed more apprehensive, possibly even disappointed. He understood his reasoning, having wanted more time with Keiko for going out and doing adult things. At the same time, he recalled his own lonely childhood and how often he wished for a sibling. Molly would be happier in the long run. He suspected the chief would, too, once he became used to the idea.

 

He watched him leave and turned back toward the bar. Quark made his way back down and leaned closer. “For a man about to become a father for a second time, you'd think he'd show a little more enthusiasm,” he said, “instead of crying and moaning about not having enough time to spend with his fe-male. Don't get me wrong. Mrs. O'Brien is...delectable...”

 

“Quark!” Julian said, scowling.

 

“Oh, don't start,” Quark snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Just because I hit on her that one time. I wasn't myself, mind you. Would you like for me to start reminding you of what they said about you and Major Kira after that little incident?”

 

“No, I wouldn't,” he said firmly. “Besides, I wasn't talking about that. You don't go talking about another man's wife that way. It's disrespectful.”

 

“Almost as disrespectful as cheating on your girlfriend with your ex,” Quark whispered, widening his eyes for emphasis. “Oh, yes, word gets around quickly on this station, Doctor. I don't think I need a lecture on morals from you, thank you very much. Hurting one of my best workers. If her productivity drops, I should find a way to charge you for it. I've been looking into the possibility.”

 

Julian dropped his voice low, too. “Don't stand there and pretend you give a damn about Leeta, or anyone else in this bar,” he hissed. “You were more than happy to let her get evicted before your entire work force rebelled. I wonder what the FCA would think about your real solution?” He glared daggers.

 

Quark put a hand up to his chest. “No need to get riled,” he said. “Nobody else will hear about what you did to Leeta from me. I was just making a point.”

 

Julian glared a moment longer. “So was I,” he said tightly, slapping payment to the bar top and walking away. He needed to get out of there before Leeta came on shift anyway. He didn't want to upset her worse than he already had.

 

Just as he exited, Nurse Frendel hailed him over his comm. “I'm sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but I need to speak with you in the infirmary.”

 

“On my way,” he said, actually glad of the distraction. He found the man waiting for him in his office. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, having the door shut behind him so that they could have some privacy.

 

“It's not a problem, Sir, but we've just been informed that the new Emissary is scheduled to make his first public speech tomorrow morning on the Promenade in front of the temple. I know that usually at least twenty-six hours are expected for non-emergency rescheduling of personnel, but I thought, well...I hoped that we could make an exception for the Bajoran nurses and medics scheduled for tomorrow.”

 

Julian nodded. “Yes, in this case, I don't see why not. Call Nurses Walzcek and Dubois and Medic Tarsen, and see if they can come in and cover for Jondell, Rankar, and Pol for the morning. If not, we can probably get away with being understaffed for an hour or two, unless there's an emergency.”

 

“Thank you, Sir,” Frendel beamed.

 

He turned for the door and paused. “This really means a lot to you, doesn't it? I don't think I've ever seen you so enthusiastic about anything.”

 

“Permission to speak freely?” the man asked.

 

“Of course,” Julian nodded. “You know I prefer my staff to speak their minds.”

 

“Yes,” he said, “but I also know you're not entirely comfortable with our belief system, particularly as it pertains to your captain. I've always tried to respect that.”

 

“I appreciate the consideration,” he said, “but it's not necessary. If I've given the impression that I don't want to hear your opinions regarding the captain, then I apologize. You're a damned good nurse. I wouldn't be able to keep this place running the way it does without you, which means I respect your opinions, even those that don't pertain directly to the infirmary.”

 

The Bajoran relaxed somewhat and smiled again, this time with more warmth. “Thank you, Sir. That really means a lot to me. I respect you, too. Like most of my people, I've been pleased with the fulfillment of some of our prophecies of late. Your captain is important to us, but not without some controversy. I'm...relieved...that it seems perhaps the Prophets have sensed our confusion and division and sent us someone that all of Bajor can rally behind. No offense, Sir.”

 

“None taken,” Julian said. “I confess the concept has caused me some personal discomfort and is also controversial with Starfleet. If Akorem is the new Emissary, there's a good possibility that many of these problems and conflicts will be solved.”

 

“That's what I'm hoping,” the nurse said fervently.

 

Julian smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “On that we're in full agreement. Make the schedule shifts, and contact me if there's any major hitch or an emergency. Otherwise, good night for real this time.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” the man said, following him out of the office much more relaxed than when he entered.

Author Notes: The story begins during Starship Down and ends shortly after Crossfire. While time-wise, I know that's a huge span, much of what happens is between or behind the scenes. I made the decision not to directly include anything from the episode Our Man Bashir largely because that episode was so tautly paced that there wasn't much room for writing in the margins. It does, however, have a large impact on the story itself.

Summary: A brush with death has Julian considering his life and the stresses of the job, but a trip into escapism doesn't go quite as planned, threatening the very foundations of his friendship with Garak. As the two try to find a way to negotiate the new pitfalls, Odo faces some challenges of his own, and nothing goes as planned.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: March/April 2010

Category: Slash, Het

Rating: R for strong sexual content, adult situations, and mild adult language.

Disclaimer: If there's still anybody out there who thinks that fanfic authors profit from fanfic or that DS9 characters could ever belong to a fanfic author, point me to them. I'll give them a little smack with a wet fish.

Word Count: 17,542

 

Julian

USS Defiant

 

Cold. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so cold. It wasn't quite the cold of the vacuum of space, but that was only by a matter of a few degrees. The upper level of a gas giant's atmosphere was nowhere to stay for any length of time without things like environmental controls and recycling breathable atmosphere. Both he and Dax were shivering constantly now, not the small, intermittent shivers that helped regulate body temperature on a nippy day but the deep body shivers that heralded the beginning of the second stage of hypothermia.

 

They had stopped talking to one another some time ago. The chattering of their teeth and muscle spasms of their jaws made it difficult. Besides, both of them knew that talking used more oxygen. Freeze or suffocate, he thought, idly wondering which would be worse. He knew the cold was beginning to affect his brain function. Otherwise, he didn't think he'd be nearly as detached about their impending deaths. He thought perhaps he gripped her more tightly to himself, but he could no longer be sure. He had little control of his limbs.

 

How ironic it was that it came to this. It took being locked in a room together without life support for them finally to finish clearing the air between them after years of association in a dysfunctional pattern of pursuer and pursued, to behave as the rational adults they were and come clean. Why? Why did it take something like this? He tried to slow his breathing, but it was no use. His diaphragm was beginning to spasm. It wouldn't be much longer before heart arrhythmia set in. If he still had the control for it, he would've laughed. He had something he had dreamed of nearly steadily for two years straight, and now all he wanted was to see Leeta. Liar, a deeper part of his psyche whispered. You want to want to see her. You know who you want to see.

 

“J-J-Julian,” Dax stuttered, “y-you're muh-moaning. A-are you a-all right?” She shifted her head and looked up at him.

 

She was so pale, even her delicate markings starting to fade. He nodded convulsively and tried to lift her so that they could rest cheek to cheek and provide one another just a little more warmth. He gave up after a few moments of futility. It seemed as though she was stuck to him like a limpet to a rock, her arms so cramped in their hold that he couldn't budge her. “S-s-sorry,” he managed.

 

She didn't answer, her head lowering again so that all he could see was the dark curve of her hair. Who did she long to see? In whose arms would she rather be dying? Lenara's? The captain's? Someone else's? Was there even anyone else alive or capable of reaching them, or were they all off in various parts of the ship dead and dying in different ways? Blunt force trauma, fire, electrical shock, suffocation. Each thought brought with it a clinical list of symptoms, internal bleeding and organ damage, burns, cellular death from oxygen deprivation. Stop it, he told himself. You actually want to die cataloging ways to go?

 

I'd just as soon not die, if it's all the same, he retorted to himself feeling inappropriately amused. I'd rather have tea, Tarkalean. Double sweet.

 

“Ju-Jul-Jul...” Dax gasped. He felt her fingers digging into his back as a distant sensation. She struggled to lift herself again.

 

Save your strength, he thought, or perhaps he said it. He couldn't be sure. Confusion was starting to set in. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? If anyone had told him how bloody painful hypothermia was, he might have gone ahead and let the both of them suck down the fluorine gas in the flooded corridor.

 

How morbid of you, a thought came in a voice that wasn't his.

 

He knew that voice. He tried to smile. Garak, he thought. I should've known you wouldn't miss the party.

 

If this is a party, I'd rather be at work, the voice came again, something strangely comforting and reassuring about its familiar sarcasm. You need to pay attention and look at the light.

 

He felt a vague stirring of irritation. When had Garak become a mystic, and why was he trying to encourage him to die? He then realized that the light he saw was quite real. He blinked and squinted against it right along with Dax and felt someone pulling them up. His mind gladly released the reins then, and for quite some time, he knew no more.

 

When he came to, he found himself on one of the sickbay beds of the Defiant. “Dax,” he croaked, trying to look around.

 

“Is fine, Doctor,” one of his hand picked medics assured him. “You need to rest.”

 

He thought he saw the captain lying in the next bed over. “Is he...” he started to ask.

 

“Also fine,” the man said. He felt the cool nozzle of a hypospray against his neck and a rush of warm comfort. He knew he had just been given a sedative and was powerless to resist the pull back into welcoming blackness.

 

The next time he awoke, he realized that he was in the infirmary back on the station. Unused to being an occupant of one of the biobeds, he tried to look around, only to realize that he was in one of the private rooms. Two blurry shapes at the side of his bed resolved into the figures of Leeta and Garak. The dabo girl had her head resting on the Cardassian's shoulder, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open in sleep. He met Garak's gaze, only to have the tailor put a finger to his own lips and then smile at him warmly. He returned the smile and settled back. He was so tired, sore, and drained he felt that he could sleep another week.

 

Garak carefully awoke Leeta, his gentleness touching Julian in a way he couldn't begin to explain. The Cardassian was such a conundrum. He thought he could study him a hundred years and still not understand who he really was. “Someone would like to see you, dear,” Garak murmured as she sat up, blinking at him sleepily. He gestured at Julian.

 

Her attention snapped over to him, her smile like sunshine emerging from cloud cover. “Sweetie,” she said, immediately leaning forward and taking his hand between both of hers, lifting it, and lightly kissing the backs of his fingers. “You had us so worried.”

 

Smiling benevolently at both of them, Garak stood. “I'll come see you later,” he said, inclining his head to Julian and stepping out of the room.

 

Julian followed him with his eyes, wanting to call him back. Reluctantly, he looked back to Leeta and offered her the best smile he could muster. “I'm OK,” he said. “How long have I been here? Did we...who didn't make it?”

 

“I'm not allowed to talk to you about any of that,” she said, patting him lightly and standing. “Let me go get Nurse Frendel.”

 

He nodded and watched her go, too, anxious and wanting more than anything to get up and out of that bed. There were bound to be other people who were hurt, people who should have been his patients. His head nurse came back into the room with Leeta in tow and offered him a reassuring smile. “Welcome back,” he said. “You've been here a few hours now. I'm keeping you overnight for observation. I don't need to tell you that's standard procedure for hypothermia patients, Doctor.”

 

He shook his head, resigned to the overnight stay. He knew arguing would just be obnoxious and get him nowhere. “The crew?” he asked anxiously.

 

“There were some losses,” the nurse said. “No one from the command staff. Once you've been released, you'll have full access to the list. For now, I would suggest you rest. Once you're up and about tomorrow, you're going to be busy dealing with a full facility.”

 

He nodded again, saddened to hear of the losses. The Gamma Quadrant seemed more dangerous by the day. It was very rare they managed any incursions that didn't involve an encounter with Jem'Hadar attack ships. I need a break, he thought. We all do. “Thank you, Nurse Frendel. I know the infirmary is in good hands,” he said. It didn't stop him from wanting to be the one already treating the wounded.

 

The Bajoran nodded and left him with Leeta and the final instructions to call him if he needed anything. “I'm so glad you're OK,” she said. “Do you need anything?”

 

He didn't dare ask for what he most wanted right at that moment. “Water would be nice,” he said instead. “How long have you been here?”

 

She poured him a glass from a nearby pitcher and helped him adjust the bed so that he could sit up and drink. “Ever since they brought you in. Quark was just so happy to be alive, he didn't even question me when I demanded the time. I would've quit had he said no.”

 

She was such a good woman. He felt a pang of guilt. “I'm glad it didn't come to that,” he said quietly, sipping his water. “Are you tired? You look tired.”

 

“I'm fine,” she brushed the question off. “I don't think I would've been calm enough to catch a few winks if Garak hadn't been here. I think Nurse Frendel let him stay for my sake more than yours,” she said sheepishly. “I was a little emotional.”

 

Now that he looked at her more closely, he could see the puffiness of her lids and the reddish tint to the whites of her eyes. “I'm harder to kill than that,” he said, attempting humor. He didn't know if he had ever been closer to death, a fact he thrust away as soon as he thought it.

 

“Every time you go away on that ship, I know something like this can happen,” she said softly. “I'm just glad it usually doesn't. Rom was beside himself worrying about Quark.” She lapsed silent with a guilty expression.

 

“What?” he asked, curious.

 

She looked over her shoulder, even though there was no chance of their being overheard and leaned in closer. “It wouldn't be so bad if Quark died,” she said with a low ferocity he hadn't expected from her. She sighed. “That sounded so horrible, but he's horrible. Horrible to Rom. Horrible to all of us.”

 

“You know,” he said, “if you're so stressed out you wish your boss was dead...”

 

She cut him off. “I don't really. I just hate how he treats Rom. He makes me so mad!” She made a fuss of smoothing his blanket and getting him more comfortable, taking the empty water glass and lowering the bed, despite his protests that he'd rather sit up. “You've been ordered to rest, Doctor,” she said pertly.

 

“You're so cute when you get stern,” he said, smiling in spite of himself.

 

“You haven't seen stern,” she said, “but if you keep talking, you're going to.” She ran her fingers gently through his tangled hair, teasing out the snarls. “Would it be easier for you if I let you sleep?” she asked.

 

He nodded. “I hate to say it, but yes. If you're here, I'll want to talk. If I want to talk...”

 

“You won't sleep,” she finished for him. Leaning down, she kissed his forehead. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?”

 

He hesitated. “No,” he said at last. There was no way for him to ask her to send Garak in without upsetting or insulting her, not after her just told her he wanted to sleep.

 

“I'll be by in the morning,” she said, giving him a final kiss and leaving.

 

He closed his eyes and sighed softly. Why did things have to be so confusing? He couldn't argue with his psyche's desires when they came from a moment of finality, could he? He had been convinced that they were going to die, and his supposed last thoughts were of Garak. What did that say about him?

 

He felt a cool touch on his hand and almost jumped out of the hospital bed, his eyes flying open. “I'm sorry,” Garak said. “I thought for certain you heard me come in.”

 

“No,” he said, twisting his hand so he could clasp Garak's. “I didn't think you'd come back tonight.”

 

“After the look you gave me when I was leaving? Julian, please, give me a little credit,” he said, reaching behind himself and pulling a chair close enough to sit next to the bed. After he resettled, he gave him his hand again.

 

Julian, not “doctor”, he thought. It was rare that Garak called him Julian these days. He wanted to tell him of his last thoughts before they were found, all of it. The words wouldn't come. “Thank you,” he said instead.

 

“I recall a time when a frightened, bitter man believed that he was dying, and a dashing, yet strangely irritating, young man came to his rescue,” Garak said with an undercurrent of warm amusement in his rich voice. “All the man really needed was someone to hold his hand.”

 

“Strangely irritating, eh?” Julian asked, his face creasing a smile.

 

Garak made a soft tsking noise. “In all that blatant flattery, you seize upon the one criticism? Am I the only one who sees a problem with this?”

 

He suddenly felt hot tears slide from the corners of his eyes into the hair at his temples, relief to be alive, release of all the previous pent tension and fear, gratitude that for once in his life, the one thing he wanted most in the world was at hand at the time he needed it most. He would have tried to speak had Garak not laid the index finger of his free hand against his lips and shaken his head subtly. Taking a convulsive breath, he let it out audibly and turned his cheek into the cool hand now against it, both eyes squeezed shut.

 

“You're all right now,” Garak told him quietly. “As I've told you before, you're strong. Whatever happened on that ship is behind you, and you're in control of much of what lies before you.”

 

He followed the cadence of his voice and felt himself slip past the momentary loss of control. He exhaled most of the tension from his body and lay passive while Garak lightly stroked his cheek with his thumb. When he opened his eyes again, he felt calmer. “You are such a damnable contradiction,” he said softly. “And you know it, don't you?”

 

The tailor smiled faintly. “I've been under the impression for quite some time that you wouldn't have me any other way.”

 

“I haven't had you in quite some time,” he said. Perhaps his brush with death had made him bold, or perhaps it was the residual effect of the sedatives. He didn't care. He had said his piece earlier with Dax. Now it was Garak's turn.

 

“Are you prepared to break Leeta's heart?” Garak asked, a world of complexity in the look with which he favored Julian.

 

Why? Why did he always do that, say the one thing that would keep him from throwing caution to the wind and just acting on his own desires? He dropped his gaze, chagrined and shamed both.

 

“I didn't think so,” he continued in the same gentle tone of voice.

 

“What about your heart?” Julian asked.

 

“Have I ever given you the impression that it's fragile?” the tailor asked, amusement in the depth of blue eyes. Thankfully, it wasn't his usual cruel or caustic humor. That had yet to rear its head that night. He smoothed Julian's hair back from his forehead.

 

“I don't know why you put up with me,” the doctor said, largely feeling he deserved none of this care. He was no closer to divesting himself of the biggest wedge between them, and he knew that no amount of tenderness on Garak's part would change that.

 

“I often ask myself the same thing,” Garak said. “I decided it's because of all of the officers on the station, you're the only one with any hope of saving me should an assassin come along and succeed where others have failed. Personal motivation can be quite strong for taking decisive, life saving action.”

 

Julian stared at him for about two seconds before finding himself shaking with suppressed laugher. He didn't want the nurse hearing him and coming to find if anything was wrong. “You're dreadful. You are a horrible, horrible man. Half of me thinks I should take that at face value.”

 

“Half of you is right,” he said, beaming.

 

“The tragedy of it is that I'll probably never know which half,” he said, still amused. He grew more serious as he allowed himself to look into the lovely alien eyes, inscrutable as ever. “You were there,” he blurted.

 

“I beg pardon?” Garak asked, arching an eye ridge.

 

“Not literally, of course,” he said, reaching up and taking the hand in his hair between both of his and settling it against his chest. “But toward the end, when I was starting to lose consciousness, you're the one my oxygen deprived mind conjured.”

 

“I have never felt sorrier for you,” Garak said, wide eyed.

 

He chuffed a soft laugh and shook his head. “Oh, I give up. You're not going to take the compliment, are you?”

 

“Was it a compliment?” he asked innocently. “After all, you didn't say what I was doing. For all I know, I was the one sucking the air and heat out of the room in your elaborate delusion.”

 

“Every time I think I might just once like a peek into your mind, you go and say something like that,” he said, both exasperated and amused in equal parts. “You were telling me to pay attention to the light.”

 

“Oh, lovely,” Garak said, rolling his eyes. “Isn't going into the light some insipid euphemism you humans have for dying?”

 

“As a matter of fact, it is. I was quite irritated with you, until I realized the light was real, and you were basically telling me to get my head out of my arse and hang on just a little longer.”

 

“What a relief to know that at least one part of your mind has a sound grasp of my mannerisms,” he said. “Now, wrap that wonderfully sensible part of that mind of yours around this. You need to sleep, and, therefore, I need to go.”

 

He wanted to clutch his hand like a child in the dark, but he knew better. Garak had made up his mind. He pressed his palm against his sternum with both his hands and then released him. “Thank you,” he said again, “for coming back.”

 

“I could say the same thing to you, Doctor,” he said, pressing a moment more than Julian held and standing. “This place simply wouldn't be the same without you.”

 

He felt that pressure long after the man was gone, a weight on his heart in more ways than one. He wasn't ready to break Leeta's heart. It was true. He couldn't walk away from her and back to Garak with open arms and a clean slate. He couldn't force him to endure his self-imposed barriers of “this close and no closer”. He couldn't bear it if love finally turned irrevocably to hatred. Leeta wasn't as quick to pick up on his distance since he had gotten more careful. Garak still felt it just then when his barriers were down lower than they had been in years. For the first time, he believed he understood exactly what the Cardassian had done in letting him go and the depth of love it took to have such grace. He understood, because now he was having to do the same. Were it not for the steady sound of his heart monitor, he might have believed he was in trouble. The pain in his chest was nearly unbearable.

 

Garak

The Infirmary

 

Garak stepped into the corridor outside Julian's room and rubbed at his eye ridges. It had been a long night of worry, and it was very late. On his way out, he noticed Major Kira still seated in the waiting area, looking a little lost and out of place. “Major?” he asked, pausing near the front entrance.

 

She frowned slightly, stood, and headed over to him. “I probably should leave for a while,” she admitted. “They said I'm not in the way, but I'm not doing much good here, am I?”

 

“I'm not sure,” he said. “Who are you here for?”

 

“You wouldn't understand,” she said, gesturing for him to start walking again. She fell into step beside him. “How's Julian?”

 

“He seems OK,” he said. “Tired.”

 

“He saved Jadzia, and she saved the rest of us,” she said. “He has really...come a long way, hasn't he?”

 

“That he has,” he said fondly. He wondered where she intended to go. Surely she didn't intend to follow him all the way back to his quarters?

 

She answered his unasked question by stopping in front of the temple. “I think I'm going to pray for a while,” she said. “Good night, Garak.”

 

“Good night, Major,” he replied, inclining his head. He had no patience for mysticism. It seemed like a waste of time, petitioning something or someone to fix one's life or offer guidance, time better spent doing the hard work oneself. He climbed the stairs to the second level of the Promenade and looked out one of the star ports into the deep black of space.

 

Death could come for any one of them at any time. It was a reality he accepted. It had been part of his life for as long as he was of school age and beyond. He thought back to a long ago school team member, partially blinded by a honge during one of the exercise raids. One minute, he was near the top of the class, a heavyset bully that few dared to cross. The moment the predatory bird took his eye, all of that was over. He was a cripple, pitied by a few, simply forgotten and discarded by the rest. Without his full vision, he could never hope to be useful in the Order or Central Command. Better off dead, many said, and there had been a time Garak was in full agreement.

 

He never let himself care, not for the longest time. Even when Tolan had died, it was more of an inconvenience having to go home and see him, weak in the bed, a skeletal parody of his former strength, and listen to him go on and on about the Oralian Way. He still had the recitation mask. Why had he kept it? Then to find out the truth that Tain was his father, not Tolan after all, Tolan his mother's brother. So much of a family puzzle fell into place then and left him feeling empty and hollowed out, part of him ashamed for the relief he felt that he wasn't the son of a mere gardener, part of him appalled at the depth of the deception, part of him angry at the things they had allowed Tain to do. All of those parts were there and yet distant, almost as though he had watched someone else feel them. That detachment had been so carefully cultivated in him by every influence around him and served him so very well for decades. It wasn't until later in his adulthood that it started to erode.

 

Where was it now? He hugged himself against the perpetual chill of the station and the deeper chill that came from the knowledge that Julian had escaped death by a narrow margin. He had come so close to giving up on pride and simply accepting what the doctor was willing to give, letting him have his distance and his inconsistency and saying it was enough for him. How much of himself could he give away before there was nothing left? With detachment gone, he needed his pride more than ever. Otherwise, what did it mean to be Cardassian? He refused to reduce that to a label or a title. No, it had to mean something. Flesh, blood, and DNA was not enough. If it were, that war “orphan” Rugal that Dukat tried to use would be Cardassian. Even the boy had sense enough to know that it was not so.

 

He ached for home. Often it was background pain, a constant presence that could be ignored and put off for its very consistency. At the moment, it was nearly crippling. He knew that if he could go home, he could put every hellish day on this station behind him. Oh, it would be with him in the way that all experiences he had ever had always were, but the emphasis would make all the difference. He believed—he had to believe—that he could reclaim himself, that he could become who and what he had been raised to be. Perhaps there would be some small differences, yes, but he could be a Cardassian again, not this strange creature that looked and talked like one but was hollow inside. It was that hollowness that was the problem, he realized. Nature abhorred a vacuum and had conspired to fill his with pain.

 

Go back to your quarters, he told himself and instantly moved to obey. The only thing worse than feeling like an empty shell was putting himself on display. No one needed to see that.

 

Julian

Private Quarters

 

Julian could hardly wait. He tore into the small package that had arrived for him on a freighter earlier that day and all but crowed his delight. His long awaited holoprogram had arrived. He grinned wide and set it aside on his table, hurrying to change out of his uniform and into a tuxedo he had ordered from Garak some time ago with no explanation as to the style beyond a vague, “It's a type of Earth formal wear.”

 

Yes, he could have had the program clothe him, but there was something magical about a good fitting tux, something that transformed the mundane to the extraordinary. At first he hadn't intended to keep it all a secret, but Leeta's disdain for most of his favorite programs had him feeling a little self-conscious. There was more to it than that, as he well knew. It had been a very long time since he kept anything just for himself. In his job and in his personal life, he was expected to give and be far more selfless than most of his peers. Although he didn't begrudge his co-workers or his loved ones time and energy spent on them, more and more these days he was feeling he had less of a reserve from which to give. He viewed this as a way to recharge his energy cells with some harmless fun that most of his friends simply wouldn't appreciate or understand.

 

The program was everything it promised to be and then some. He was entranced with the sleek, gleaming world of the mid-1960's, replete with wonderfully impractical spy devices disguised as everything from shoe heels to boutonnières, campy names, lovely ladies, and no one expecting him to be anything other than charming, debonair, and clever. There was just enough challenge within the built in plots and scenarios that he didn't feel bored, but everything retained a lighthearted humor that was the perfect antidote to the deadly serious conflicts they continued to face in the Gamma Quadrant and closer to home. His most recent brush with death brought home to him his need for some immersive escapism.

 

He didn't give much thought to how much time he was spending in the holosuite over the next few weeks. Leeta seemed grateful that he was pressuring her less for together time with her punishing work schedule. Miles had some of his own programs that weren't of as much interest to Julian, and Dax was either working extra hours or spending quite a bit of off time with Kira in their historical fantasies. He knew better than to try to spend more time with Garak. The temptation to act on his personal revelations would be too strong and ultimately selfish. He might not be able to do much for the Cardassian, but he could do that. In the latter, he made a mistake. No one enjoyed ferreting out a juicy secret quite as much as the tailor, and no one excelled at it more.

 

Garak

Quark's Bar

 

His mother told him years ago that his curiosity would lead him to ruin. At some point in early life, he stopped listening to Mila. After all, what was she but a housekeeper and occasional secretary to Tain, when he had larger goals and nearly bottomless ambition? The older he got, the smarter Mila seemed to be. Garak emerged into uncharacteristic quiet in Quark's bar. Due to the power requirements of storing the crew's personal patterns in Deep Space Nine's computer system, Quark had been forced to close down and evacuate the patrons for safety reasons. Cables that resembled shadowy, tentacled leviathans coiled and stretched away from the holosuite as far as Garak could see. He slightly arched a brow ridge.

 

Quark approached him and the doctor, looking decidedly put out. “This is bad for business,” he said flatly. “Not only that, I figured it out. I realized where they were, but did I get any thanks? No, of course not.” He squinted at both of them. “You're welcome.” He squinted harder, this time focusing on Garak. “And you're bleeding,” he said. “I hope you didn't bleed everywhere in there. It's unsanitary.”

 

“I'm fine,” Garak said rather pointedly. “Thank you for asking.”

 

Julian glanced back at Garak, his large, dark eyes unreadable for a change. “Do you need me to treat that?” he asked a little awkwardly.

 

Garak lifted a hand and shrugged off the concern. “No,” he said, “it's little more than a nick.”

 

“Nick or not, you're bleeding in my bar,” Quark said, ushering both of them ahead of him. “As you can see, I'm closed. I just hope this doesn't damage my holosuite rentals. People have expectations that those things are safe. They'll take one look at you two and change their minds.”

 

“We're leaving, Quark,” Julian said irritably. “You don't have to be a nag about it.” He shot a look at Garak, shook his head, and the two of them headed quickly out of the bar. More cable sprawled across the Promenade, leading down a side corridor. “I suppose I should go report to Captain Sisko,” Julian offered, hesitant in a way that lent hidden weight to the seemingly innocuous words.

 

This is a form of good-bye, Garak thought as he watched the younger man. Everything now paid lie to what they said to one another in the holosuite a few minutes before. Would they still lunch tomorrow? Garak didn't believe it. Would he be the one to cancel to spare his friend the discomfort? No, he rather thought that he would not. In all their dealings, he had never truly attempted to hide his nature from Julian. In fact, he had warned him on more than one occasion that he was ruthless and not to be trusted. For a time, he believed that the doctor truly understood that. Now he knew that he had not. He inclined his head and put on his most pleasant, professional smile, waiting for Julian to turn to go before resuming his own progress toward his quarters.

 

He wondered if he should have pushed the man the rest of the way, forced him to make a decision. Would he have killed Garak on the spot in order to save his friends and co-workers? Well, that was the real question, wasn't it? The truth was that Garak didn't know, but the possibility had been strong enough that he hadn't wanted to risk it. The stakes had been high enough as they were. You know what I am! He wasn't surprised at the vehemence of the thought, just the bitterness. He knew for certain that any glamor he held, any residual charm, had dropped away in Julian's regard that night. The doctor had his first glimpse of Garak's core unmasked and had, not at all surprisingly, found him lacking. Again, he felt a small frisson of anger.

 

Once back in his own quarters, he thoroughly cleaned the small scratch on his face and the deeper wound at his neck ridge. It throbbed and burned, but he could see that it was neat and clean. There would be a scar if he chose not to get it tended. Let there be a scar, he thought. It would be a good reminder of the cost of too much trust.

 

Julian

Private Quarters

 

It took three stiff drinks to take the edge off of his adrenaline rush. Even so as he sat on his sofa, the entire scene seemed to be limned by an aura of unreality, jagged at the seams. How had things gotten so horribly out of hand, and how could he ever look at Garak the same way again? He wished he had never even heard of that stupid holosuite program. How fitting that for once it was his secrecy with Garak that led to disaster, rather than the other way around. Hadn't the two of them been switching places in their painful dance back and forth all along?

 

He had pretended that everything was the same when they parted ways, that they would continue to meet for lunch, that they would further indulge in the silly escapism of the campy spy holoprogram. It was a lie. At the time he said it, he knew it to be a lie. He simply couldn't articulate the truth beneath it, that before this day, he had never seen Garak's true face, and he wasn't certain he could accept him for who he was. It wasn't that Garak had ever lied to him about that, perhaps most ironically of all. The Cardassian always insisted he was exactly what he proved himself to be when he nearly ended the program, risking the deaths of most of the command crew in the process, Julian's closest friends in that roster. It was Julian who glossed that over, who decided that all of that was in the past for Garak and didn't apply to him now.

 

Recent memories flashed across his mind's eye in a dreadful sort of collage, Garak looking better in a tuxedo than anyone had a right to look, the jolt of Kira on the bed in place of Ana, the photo of Dax as Honey, the cut on Garak's face when they both realized that the safety protocol was no longer functioning, the flash of his gun barrel, Garak's blood, his wound, his expression. Julian ran a slow hand down his face. I shot him, he thought. He wasn't sure what gave him more dismay, the fact itself or the fact that given the same choice, he'd do it again. He would always choose the life of his friends and co-workers over Garak's instinct for self-preservation. He would have shot him dead had he forced the issue. He tried to ignore the light tremor in his hands. Why did you make me choose? The thought contained anger and sorrow both. He knew without articulating it that something inside him died the moment he pulled that trigger, but what?

Standing Oration
by Dark Sinestra
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Pairing: Jadzia Dax/Worf
Rating: G
Category: Gen
Disclaimer:None of the characters are mine. They belong to Paramount, the Great and Terrible! Kneel before Paramount!! And please tell them I'm not profiting by writing my puny little fics using their awesome characters. KTHXBAI!

Author's Note: This was written for the talented Idanianspice who responded to my response to this challenge http://lady-drace.livejournal.com/304817.html I hope you like it! :-D

 

Dax saw Kira in the corridor ahead of her and lengthened her stride to catch up with the shorter woman. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, offering her a mischievous, closed lipped smile.

 

The Bajoran officer rolled her dark eyes. “Not before I've had a raktajino it isn't,” she said. “What has you so chipper before oh-seven-hundred, anyway?”

 

“Oh, nothing,” Dax replied, shifting her PADD to her other arm and still smiling.

 

“Uh huh,” Kira said skeptically. “Riiight. I'm sure it has nothing at all to do with a certain tall, dark brand new strategic operations officer who will be in the meeting this morning.”

 

“Nerys!” she said, her blue eyes dancing.

 

“Thought so,” the woman nodded. “What is it with you and Klingons, anyway?”

 

“I admire their culture and values,” Dax said, drawing herself up a little taller.

 

“You like the way he looks in that uniform,” Kira retorted, her dark eyes twinkling.

 

“OK, fine, that too,” Dax agreed with a smirk. “You have to admit, he wears it well.”

 

“I have one word for you,” Kira said as they stepped into the wardroom. “Hopeless.”

 

“What's hopeless?” Chief O'Brien asked with a worried look at the two of them. He was already seated at the table and going over a PADD.

 

“Nothing,” Dax said, favoring Kira with a pointed though playful glare.

 

“Uh huh, nothing,” Kira said, shaking her head and taking a seat. She eyed O'Brien. “Is it just a thing with you that you have to get here before everybody else?”

 

“What?” he asked, his brows lifting in surprise. “No. I just like to get here a little early, settle in, be prepared.”

 

“It's public speaking,” Dax said sotto voice, leaning close to Kira. “He has to work up to it.”

 

“I heard that!” O'Brien said.

 

Worf strode into the room next, his dark eyes sweeping the gathered automatically. He gave a terse nod seemingly meant for all of them and headed to take a seat near the Chief. He sat ramrod straight, both hands clasped on the tabletop in front of him.

 

“What about you?” Dax asked, looking directly at Worf.

 

“What about me?” he retorted with a frown.

 

She loved that little flare of his nostrils and the way the hair of his mustache bristled slightly when he made that face. “How do you feel about public speaking?”

 

O'Brien rolled his eyes and shook his head. Kira lifted her PADD high enough in front of her face to hide her smile of amusement. Worf eyed the lot of them before answering. “I do not feel any particular way about it,” he said with particular emphasis on the word “feel”. “When it is necessary, I do it. Why?”

 

She loved that he was so suspicious, too. It made it entirely too fun to poke at him. “No reason really. I was just trying to figure out why the Chief is so averse.”

 

“I'm not bloody averse to it,” O'Brien sputtered. “It's just not my favorite thing, all right?”

 

“What isn't your favorite thing?” Julian asked, walking into the room and fixing O'Brien with an amused smile.

 

“Public speaking,” chimed three voices, O'Brien's, Dax's, and Kira's. Dax shot Kira a quick grin, and O'Brien shot both women a sour look.

 

“It is a useful skill,” Worf said gravely, turning to look at Miles. “If it truly gives you problems, I would be willing to work with you on it.”

 

“Bloody hell,” O'Brien said, his cheeks growing red, “it's not a problem for me! What is this? Pick on the engineer day?”

 

“And no one told me,” Julian said saucily, grinning and taking a seat on the other side of O'Brien.

 

Dax couldn't have been more pleased. It was fun to stir a little trouble now and then, even more fun now that she had a new target whose red uniform just happened to complement his skin tone perfectly. She leaned back comfortably in her seat and winked at Kira.

 

“No one was 'picking on you', as you say,” Worf said stiffly.

 

“I was,” Dax chimed up. She met Worf's glare with a playful little grin.

 

“I would've had I been here,” Julian said, more than happy to rib his friend.

 

“You'll get used to this bunch,” Kira tried to reassure Worf, whose disapproval of the entire environment seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds.

 

“No doubt,” Worf said, although he looked doubtful.

 

“MaH yImev chop,” Dax said, paused and added, “hard.”

 

“WejpuH,” Worf retorted with a hard stare.

 

Kira leaned in close. “You've got to stop doing that,” she whispered to Dax. “It's very annoying. What did you say to him?”

 

Still looking at Worf, Dax whispered back, “I said we don't bite hard.”

 

“And what did he say?” Kira asked.

 

Smirking, Dax raised her voice so that Worf would hear it, too. “He said I was charming, but somehow, I don't think he meant it.”

 

Further banter died down when Captain Sisko entered the room. Worf immediately stood at attention. “As you were, Lieutenant Commander,” Sisko said. “We conduct most of our staff meetings fairly informally.”

 

“So I gathered,” Worf said, shooting a glance at Dax.

 

She smiled very innocently at Benjamin's questioning look, the smile widening at the skepticism that met her innocence. Still eying her and shaking his head very slightly, he started the meeting. “Let's go ahead and get the status reports out of the way, so we can focus on our plans for the drills this next month.”

 

“Shouldn't Odo be here?” Kira asked.

 

“He's tied up in security at the moment,” Sisko said. “I'll be certain he receives any pertinent information.”

 

She nodded, and for a little while in the meeting, it was very much business as usual, each officer in turn standing to deliver a report on his or her area of responsibility. Dax noted that Worf really was very good at speaking, obviously trained and comfortable. His voice carried well—such a voice! He didn't use any place holders such as, “uh” or “um”, and even though he paced some while he spoke, he didn't do it in a distracting way. He simply commanded the eye to follow him. Kira elbowed her, and she realized that perhaps she had been staring, just a tad.

 

When it was Chief O'Brien's turn, he clutched his PADD in both hands, glanced around nervously, and eventually fixed his eyes on a point on the wall somewhere to the left of Sisko's shoulder. Dax felt a little guilty, for he stumbled all over his words, growing redder by the minute. Finally he stopped altogether and looked at the captain. “Sir,” he said, “I'm sorry. I came prepared. I don't know what's come over me.”

 

“It's all right, Chief,” Sisko said with an understanding look. “Just take a deep breath, and take your time. There's no rush.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” he said. “Thank you, Sir.” He shot Dax another sour look and tried again, doing a little better this time. When he finished giving his report, he sat down heavily in his seat and wiped his hands on his trousers. Dax decided that she'd buy him a round of drinks next time she saw him in Quark's. She truly hadn't intended to throw his concentration off so completely, and she wondered if it had to do with the fact that Worf was there. They had served together on the Enterprise. Maybe he felt a vested interest in impressing his former co-worker.

 

The drill planning went very quickly and efficiently. Kira and Worf both had very similar ideas of how to carry them out, and everyone agreed to follow their proposed schedule. “Unless anyone has anything else?” Sisko asked and waited a few moments. When no one spoke up, he said, “Then meeting adjourned. Everybody to your stations.”

 

She took her time gathering her PADD and standing, lingering to hear the conversation between Worf and O'Brien. Although he was trying to speak quietly, the Klingon's voice carried with ridiculous ease. “There is no shame in acknowledging an area of weakness,” he said. “The only shame comes from not attempting to improve. Oration is a skill like any other. It can be learned, and I can teach you.”

 

Smiling, she stepped closer and leaned a hip against the back of a now empty chair. “Would you be willing to teach me...oration?” she asked, lifting a brow.

 

O'Brien smirked and used the opening to beat a hasty retreat. “I need to get to work,” he said, glancing back at Worf. “I'll think about your offer, but I'm usually not this bad. Somebody,” and here he shot a significant look at Dax, “distracted me today.” With that he left before either of them had a chance to respond.

 

His lips pursing slightly, Worf folded his arms and eyed her. “Why do I get the feeling that's one of your better talents, distraction?”

 

Dax widened her eyes as wide as they would go. “I have no idea,” she said very innocently, “but I think you might have fun finding out for sure.” She turned away from his flummoxed look and caught up with Benjamin on his way out. Yes, she thought, things around here are about to get a lot more fun. She could hardly wait.

 

The End