dark_sinestra

The Promenade

 

The picket line outside Quark's that morning caused quite a stir. The entire area was abuzz with rumors and gossip. Julian saw Leeta prominently to the fore with Rom and gave her his most encouraging smile. He had to admire the workers for taking a stand, particularly the Ferengi for whom this could be an utter disaster. It quickly became apparent that getting any work done was going to be difficult, especially when Miles showed up, fired up and enthusiastic about the stir.

 

“C'n you believe it?” the Irishman asked. “A real, honest to goodness strike right here on Deep Space Nine, and it's all because of you.”

 

“Me?” Julian widened his eyes. “Hardly. You were there when he came in to talk about it. I didn't even remember saying anything to him about unions. I was probably just trying to make him feel better or get him to stop complaining. I was tired that night.”

 

“Whatever your intentions, it was the right fuel to throw on the right fire at the right time. Look at 'em. I bet we'd get a better look from the second level.”

 

Nodding, he followed the engineer up the stairs, the two of them positioning themselves with a good view of the striking workers below and the second level entrance. “I wonder why they didn't block this one off, too?” Miles said.

 

“I would imagine Captain Sisko had something to do with that,” Julian replied. “I don't think it would be legal to allow them to close the bar off entirely.”

 

“Probably not,” the engineer agreed. “I'm surprised he's allowing as much as he is.”

 

“It's a fine line to tread, not infringing on their rights or Quark's and not interfering with an alien society. Makes me glad I'm not a captain,” he said. “As upset as I've seen Leeta at Quark at times, I'd be tempted to run him off the station, the bar be damned.”

 

Miles snorted a chuckle. “So, you'd say you've started feelin' more protective of Leeta lately?”

 

Julian eyed him warily. “I said no such thing.” To get him off the subject, he pointed at a Tellarite walking past. “What do you think? In, our out?”

 

“Huh?” Miles asked.

 

The Tellarite walked into the bar from the upper level. “Oh, too late!” he said, grinning. Miles returned the grin, catching on. They made quite the entertaining game of it until Worf unexpectedly walked inside. Before he could even think to stop him, the engineer started off after him. “Where are you going?” he asked, hurrying to catch up and not liking where this was heading.

 

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the lower light in the bar. The scene was almost surreal, as what few customers there were all seemed to be served by identical clones of Quark. It distracted him to the point that he tuned out Miles' conversation with Worf to try to see what was actually going on. One of the Quarks rippled with static, a tray he was bearing crashing to the floor in a messy spill of drinks. Another Quark cried out, “Not again!” and hurried over to the site with a large rag.

 

Holograms, he realized. He's using holograms. He had to give it to the bar owner for ingenuity, however flawed. Worf's roar snapped him back to his true reason for entering the bar. He looked over just in time to see the Klingon lunge at Miles. “Hey!” he snapped, quickly trying to interpose himself between the two before things got ugly. He couldn't tell who did it in the confusion that followed, but the next he knew, he was flying over a table and falling to the floor head first. He managed to get his hands under him at the last minute, taking a grazing blow instead of a full on face plant.

 

“No fighting in the bar!” Quark bellowed from the first floor. “Security! Security!”

 

He didn't resist the Bajoran officer who hauled him to his feet, gruffly checked his forehead, and snapped him in holding cuffs. To his relief, neither did Worf or Miles. Odo marched the three of them out of the bar with such a look of disgust that he felt like a misbehaving teenager. It was completely humiliating. The security chief held his tongue until he had them in his office, only then whirling on them. “If I lock the three of you in one holding cell, will you beat one another senseless?” he asked.

 

“No,” came three muttered replies, not a one of them able to look Odo in the eyes.

 

“Pity,” Odo said. He shoved them into a cell and removed their cuffs, leaving them without another word.

 

He knew that if he looked at either one of them, he'd say something he'd regret. Setting his jaw, he stood at parade rest in front of the energy barrier. The other two joined him, and that was how the Captain found them not much later. “I don't believe what I'm seeing,” Sisko said.

 

Julian could hardly believe it himself, particularly when Miles tried to blame him for his injury. It wasn't serious. His pride was hurt far worse than his head, but it was the principle of the matter. He didn't allow the accusation that he got in the way to stand unchallenged. In the end he wasn't surprised to hear that all three of them would be cooling their heels in the cell together overnight. “I hope you're proud of yourselves,” he said coldly after the captain had left, and he staked his claim to the bunk. Those two idiots could sleep on the floor for all he cared. Miles looked at him and seemed to think better of trying to talk. That suited him just fine. It was going to be a long sixteen hours.

 

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

 

Garak had to admit that what was bad for Quark's business had turned quite profitable for him. Deprived of the bar, people were more inclined to shop and gossip. He had only to look outside his door to see the picket line. What he had missed but was told about by several different customers with great glee was the arrest of several Starfleeters by security earlier in the day. The figure varied from two to seven, for reasons that ranged from brawling to vandalism of the bar. He found the latter claim difficult to believe. In nearly every story Worf was implicated, with the other officers and personnel changing with each wild tale.

 

The only name that truly interested him was Julian's. He left his shop for a late lunch, only to see Leeta beckon quickly to him. He veered her way, greeted Rom cordially, and leaned in close to listen to her whisper. “I heard Julian got hurt,” she said. “Could you find out for me, please? I'm worried, but I can't leave the picket line.”

 

“I was trying to find that out, myself,” he assured her and squeezed her shoulder. “I'll return when I have news.”

 

“Thank you, Garak,” she said, smiling and offering him a slip of latinum, “and thanks for not patronizing Quark's Bar.”

 

He held up a hand palm out, refusing the money. “You don't have to pay me for that.” Several strides down the Promenade had him at the infirmary. Not surprisingly, the nurses were completely mum about the rumored incident. They wouldn't confirm that Julian was injured or that he had been involved in anything, only saying that he wasn't there. Undaunted, he continued on to security. Odo stopped him at the office. “If I were you, I'd stay out of it,” he grated the moment he saw him.

 

“I have no wish to be involved in anything, I assure you, Constable,” Garak said smoothly. “Leeta is worried about Doctor Bashir. Someone told her that he had been injured. Can you at least tell me if he is all right?”

 

Odo nodded grudgingly. “He's fine. Anything else, you'll have to ask him in the morning.”

 

Both of Garak's brow ridges lifted in surprise. He was to be incarcerated for the entire night? That was something he never thought he'd see. He inclined his head respectfully and stepped back out onto the Promenade. Who would have suspected that this strike of Rom's would have such far reaching effects? He was dying to know who started it and how Julian got involved. That would have to wait. He returned to Leeta and told her what little he knew. She didn't seem to take the news that Julian would be held overnight well, her eyes flashing, but she thanked him nonetheless. He took his late lunch and cut it short so that he could be sure to be present for the heavier traffic of customers. He left for his quarters long before the picket line was due to dissipate, his curiosity not enough to override his hunger and fatigue.

 

Private Quarters

 

He was already in his pajamas when his door chime rang. Throwing on a robe, he asked the computer who was at his door and reluctantly answered when he discovered it was Rom. The waiter seemed more agitated than usual. Garak couldn't be quite sure if the agitation was for a good or bad reason. Ferengi grimaces could sometimes be difficult to read. He didn't let him in far. “I hope you don't intend to make a habit of this,” he said irritably.

 

“No, but Doctor Bashir and Chief O'Brien are locked up, and Odo won't let me talk to them,” Rom said.

 

So the rumor about O'Brien was true. It couldn't have happened to a better man, Garak decided, although he still wondered how Julian got tangled up in that mess. “What do you need?”

 

“Brother tried to bribe me,” he blurted excitedly. “That's good, right?”

 

“It could be,” Garak conceded. “However, consider your brother. If he's down to offering you money, it also means he's getting desperate. Desperate people sometimes do dangerous things.”

 

“I'm not afraid,” Rom said staunchly. “I think we're really making progress. I need to call a meeting. Sorry for barging in like this. I just wanted a little advice from someone I trusted. You may not know a lot about strikes like the chief and the doctor, but you've never led me wrong.”

 

Some of Garak's irritation receded. “Well,” he said a little less crossly, “allow me to offer you cautious congratulations on your progress, then. Remember what I said. Don't get over-confident.”

 

“Garak,” Rom said, “I don't think I'll ever have that problem. Good night!”

 

He couldn't argue with him there. “Good night,” he said, smiling faintly at the door for a couple of seconds after the man retreated. Interesting times, he thought. Interesting times indeed.

 

Julian

Private Quarters

 

The door chimed just as Julian finished zipping his new turtleneck. He took a deep breath and let it out. He had done a lot of thinking during his night of incarceration, and he knew he had a lot of things to explain to Leeta. “Enter,” he said, emerging from his bedroom and facing the door with resolve.

 

Leeta skip walked over to him and hugged him tightly then stepped back to look at him, both hands to his shoulders. “I'm glad you're all right,” she said. “I was worried about you. I wanted to come see you today in the infirmary, but Rom says it's really important we keep our united front.”

 

“I'm fine,” he said. “You didn't need to worry. I...there's something I need to talk to you about.”

 

To his surprise, she kissed him fully on the lips. “You don't have to explain, silly. I know why you were in the bar. I think it's really sweet that you and Miles were trying to keep Worf from crossing the strike line. I'm proud of you for standing up for what you believe in, even though it cost you. You're not in too much trouble, are you?”

 

He gave a weak smile. “No. No, I'm not.” There was no way he could approach her about Garak when she was looking at him that way. It would just have to wait. “So, are you hungry? And do you want to eat in, or go out?”

 

She smiled slowly and guided him back toward his sofa with her hands sliding down to his chest. “I'd say...” she said, pushing him down and straddling his lap with a grin, “let's eat...in.”

 

It wasn't until hours later that they got around to replicating food. By that time, he was ravenous but feeling no urge to complain. Her energy and enthusiasm had been very infectious. Smiling to himself, he loaded up a tray of finger foods and started toward the bedroom with it, still naked and feeling deliciously sated.

 

“Infirmary to Doctor Bashir,” Nurse Frendel's voice came over the comm.

 

“Bashir here,” he said. “Go ahead.” Leeta appeared in the bedroom door with a look of concern.

 

“We need you right away, Doctor. It's Quark. He's dying.”

 

Leeta hurried forward and took the tray out of his hands, staying out of his way while he rushed into the bedroom to dress in his uniform. “I'm on my way,” he said, hopping on one foot while thrusting a leg through the trousers. He was still zipping up as he said, “Bashir to Ops. I need a direct beam to the infirmary, now.”

 

The moment he arrived, he got straight to work. “Status report,” he said, moving to run his hands under the disinfecting beam. “What happened?”

 

“Constable Odo found him being beaten by two Nausicaans. One of his lungs is filling with fluid, and we haven't been able to stop it from collapsing.”

 

He nodded, barking orders left and right and taking a quick look at the biobed feed. “We're going to need to vent it. I want him fitted with a neural caliper right now. Let's induce a coma before shock finishes him off.”

 

As he donned his surgeon's uniform, he considered how fortunate it was that Odo found the bar owner when he did. Ferengi weren't the most hearty of species to begin with, and a beating from a Nausicaan was nothing to sneer at. It took close to three hours of careful, painstaking work to extract the rib and bone fragments that had been driven deeply into the lower lobe of his left lung. Only then did he feel comfortable trying to address the damage to his eye socket. Just a little more force, and Quark would've been blinded in one eye and possibly suffered brain damage.

 

He finished up and straightened his aching back. “All right,” he said, looking at his surgical team. “I feel it's safe to say he's going to make it, but let's not get cocky. Good work, all of you.”

 

They nodded and dispersed to their various stations, and he retreated to the back to strip back down to his uniform and clean up. Nurse Frendel joined him. “I've had word sent to his brother,” he said. “Is there anyone else we should notify?”

 

“No,” Julian said. “Let Rom handle that, and needless to say, no visitors right now. If Quark remains stable when we remove the caliper, I'll consider letting Rom see him. Make sure you let me talk to him first if he comes when I'm not in the front. I won't have him upsetting our patient.”

 

The nurse nodded and left him to finish cleaning up. He felt a twinge of guilt, considering he was the one who put the whole union idea into Rom's head in the first place, but he didn't actually blame himself. Quark had brought this on his own head with his behavior.

 

Julian checked back in on Quark before retreating to his office to work up his report. A couple of hours later, he believed his patient was stable enough to be awakened. They removed the caliper and monitored him closely. After another twenty minutes or so, Quark's eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes. “How are you feeling?” Julian asked.

 

“Like I've been trampled by Morn on his way to a two for one drink special,” Quark rasped.

 

Julian smiled wryly. “Well, it's good to see your humor is intact.”

 

“I'm not joking, Doctor,” Quark said.

 

“No, I imagine not.” He explained to him all of the damage he had suffered and told him of what he knew of the situation from Odo's end of things. “All in all, you're very lucky to be alive.”

 

“When can I get out of here?” the Ferengi asked.

 

Julian stared at him and shook his head. “When I say so, and not a moment before. No visitors, either. What you need to do right now is to rest. I'll check back in on you later to see how you're doing.”

 

He left the recovery room and heard Rom's raised voice from the entrance lobby. Hurrying down the short hallway, he shooed his people back to their stations. Rom drew himself up to his full height and met Julian's gaze squarely. “Brother and I have unfinished business,” he said.

 

Julian sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, beckoning Rom back with him to his office. He turned to face him once they had some privacy. “I'll let you see him,” he said, “on one condition. Don't get him agitated. Those Nausicaans nearly killed him. I won't stand by and let you finish the job with stress after operating on him for over three hours. Understood?”

 

Rom nodded. “I never wanted any of this to happen,” he said flatly, “but I'm not sorry for it.”

 

Julian nodded slowly. “I understand. Rom, I...admire...what you've done with this. I know it has been difficult, particularly with the Liquidator aboard the station making threats. As a Starfleet officer, I can't officially take sides or weigh in, but off the record...well, I think you should be proud of taking a stand, regardless of how it all turns out.”

 

The Ferengi eyed him a bit strangely before nodding. “Thank you, Doctor. I never expected to hear that coming from you.”

 

“I suppose we're all allowed to surprise each other now and then,” he said with a crooked half smile.

 

“I suppose so,” Rom said. “I'd like to see Brother now.”

 

“Of course,” Julian said, showing him the way.

 

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

 

Garak hummed to himself as he hung some of the newest wares in his window displays. The new fabrics were not only a joy to work with but were proving very popular. He hadn't been so busy with orders since the trouble started with the Dominion. It was past closing time. He should have left over an hour before, but it didn't hurt to put in extra hours now and then. He felt eyes on him from behind and turned to find Rom standing in his doorway, dressed in Bajoran maintenance worker's overalls. He finished arranging the dress he had in hand and stepped away from the display. “I wish you had told me you intended to do this,” he said smiling. “I could've given you a much better fit with that uniform.”

 

Rom grinned. “I'll get an alteration with my first paycheck,” he said.

 

“So tell me,” Garak said, beckoning him toward the back for some tea and privacy, “are the rumors true? The strike is settled, the Liquidator sent off with some...creative bookkeeping, and the workers' demands met under the table?”

 

“One of these days, I'm going to figure out your sources,” Rom said. “Yes, it's true. The union is dissolved, but they don't need it anymore.”

 

“They. So you've cut all ties to the bar?” Garak asked. “Two red leaf teas,” he ordered from the replicator and turned to hand Rom one.

 

“Yes,” Rom nodded. “I should've done it a long time ago.” He sipped his tea thoughtfully and took the stool Garak pulled out for him. “I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I just always held onto the idea that one day I'd be what's expected of a good Ferengi.”

 

“And now?” Garak asked, also taking a sip of tea.

 

“Now I just want to be paid for what I'm good at,” he said. “I'm a very good engineer. My methods may be unorthodox compared to what the Starfleeters or Bajorans are used to, but I can make do with a lot less than what they provide and do a lot more than what they expect.”

 

“I always did have faith in you,” he said, genuinely happy for the man and privately proud of his progress. It was a long time in coming.

 

“I know,” Rom said with a nod. “You're one of the first who ever did, and I won't forget that, Garak. I want to tell you something else. Leeta kissed me.”

 

He was thankful not to have been taking a sip of tea in just that moment. Rom might have wound up wearing it. “She did?”

 

“Not on the lips. Just on the forehead, but it's a start. She respects me now. You gave me good advice on that, too. If there's ever anything I can do in return, I want you to let me know. I mean it. You've been a good friend. I want to return the favor.”

 

“My dear man,” Garak said, “you already have, many times over. Now, please don't embarrass me any further with this...startling honesty. It's almost more than I can stomach.”

 

Rom snickered and stood, offering him the mug back. “All right,” he said. “It's time for me to go gloat a little to Brother, anyway, and let him serve me for a change.”

 

“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” the tailor said. “When I finish up here, I may even come watch the fireworks.” There were worse ways to spend an evening, he decided as he put the mugs in the recycler. If someone as tradition bound as a Ferengi could become a radical and throw off the shackles of his societal expectations to follow his dreams, who was to say that Garak couldn't practice being radical in his own way and seize contentment when it presented itself, even if only for an evening? A marvelous idea, indeed, he thought and hurried to finish his displays so that he could do just that.

 

The end.

Author Notes: This story spans Hippocratic Oath and Indiscretion. It's not very stand-alone friendly, at least in context of what has happened with Julian and Garak. As with one of the previous stories, this time I decided to delve into Major Kira's viewpoint, too, and I included some of the dialogue from Indiscretion just because it would have been almost impossible to shape the narrative without it.

Summary: Julian struggles with his duties of command and the strain it can place on friendships while trying to solidify his relationship with Leeta and learns that he's not the only one on the station experiencing such difficulties. When Legate Dukat arrives unexpectedly on the station, Major Kira is forced to confront old prejudices and new worries as she joins forces with him to find a missing Bajoran prison transport ship, leaving an opening for Garak to start to settle an old score.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: February-March 2010

Category: Gen with some slashy elements

Rating: PG-13 for adult situations, mild violence, and mild adult language.

Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my settings. All Paramount's. I don't profit. I just play.

Word Count: 13,501

 

Garak

Replimat Café

 

“As you can imagine, it has been rather frustrating,” Garak said with a sigh. He was used to carrying the lion's share of conversation on the days he breakfasted with Odo. He wasn't used to the changeling hardly hearing a word he said. Narrowing his eyes a bit crossly he added, “After all, how can anyone on Cardassia be expected to care about a few missing ships when there's a slipper shortage?”

 

“True,” Odo said absently, lifting his illusory mug to have a sip of his illusory coffee. Garak still hadn't gotten used to Odo's way of trying to make others comfortable when eating with him but hadn't had the heart to tell him it was more than a little creepy.

 

“You haven't been listening to a word I've said for over twenty minutes,” Garak accused, setting his fork down with a definitive gesture of pique.

 

Odo blinked, truly focusing on him for the first time that morning. It was his turn to sigh. “I'm sorry, Garak,” he said. “You're right.”

 

Garak studied him for a few moments. “These breakfasts aren't just for my benefit,” he said. “If you need to get something off your chest, I'm actually a decent listener.”

 

Odo nodded thoughtfully. He reshaped his hand so that the illusory mug disappeared altogether. “I'm not...used to talking to others in this capacity,” he said. Garak remained encouragingly silent, offering him an attentive look. “It's Lieutenant Commander Worf,” he added, almost growling the Klingon's name.

 

“A rather dour fellow,” Garak offered, the sort of noncommittal comment that usually kept the other speaker talking.

 

“Yes,” the changeling agreed, “and very annoying. He ruined an investigation of mine last night.”

 

“What did he do?”

 

Odo briefly explained how he had worked it out with Quark to set up a basic nobody so that Odo could infiltrate the large and lucrative Markalian smuggling ring and how Worf bungled the entire operation by showing up in the middle of the sting. “It was bad enough that he continually butted into my investigation from the beginning, but he made me look like an idiot in front of Quark. It was hard enough to get Quark to cooperate in the first place. How am I supposed to do my job with some ham fisted Starfleet goon breathing down my back at my every turn?”

 

“I have every confidence that you'll manage,” Garak said, amused and trying not to show it. He genuinely liked Odo, but he felt he often got a little too tightly wrapped in his whole truth and justice for everyone shtick. “This isn't the first time you've had trouble with the Fleeters interfering with your job, right? What did you do about it this time?”

 

Odo frowned and looked away. “Nothing,” he said. “I told him what he had done, but I left it out of my report.”

 

That surprised the tailor. “Why?” he asked.

 

Odo pressed his lips together. “He's new,” he said uncomfortably. “He doesn't know how things work around here.”

 

“What better incentive than a dressing down from a superior officer?” Garak asked. He didn't say it, but he thought Odo's decision was a very Fleeter way of handling things.

 

“He was embarrassed about what happened,” Odo said a bit defensively.

 

“As he should have been,” he said with a nod. “Do you believe that embarrassment will be enough to keep him out of your affairs in the future? If there is one thing I have noticed about Starfleet officers over the years, Constable, it is that they are insufferably stubborn and persistent, even when they are clearly in the wrong.”

 

“That trait isn't limited to Starfleet,” Odo said a little pointedly. “I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt this once. It just rankles. Did you still wish to speak about what you were saying earlier?”

 

Garak shook his head. “It's not as though you or anyone else can do anything about it. My government is understandably preoccupied with the Klingon occupation of several of our outlying colonies. They aren't going to be in any hurry to investigate the disappearance of a few Obsidian Order ships. I doubt they would be even without the difficulties with the Klingons. Everyone seems quite satisfied with their 'accomplishments' in establishing a toothless civilian government. Why, perhaps in a few decades, a few powers in this quadrant will deign to call us civilized.” He couldn't keep the bitter sarcasm from his voice.

 

“You suspect that Tain might still be alive,” Odo said, not asking.

 

Damn him and his perceptiveness! “Anything is possible,” he said much more casually than he felt and shrugged. “At the least, I believe it possible there were survivors from the offensive. It bears investigation. Many of the people who were lost would provide useful skills and intelligence to the current government.”

 

“If I hear anything, I'll let you know,” he offered. “Unfortunately, it seems that my contacts on Cardassia have gone dry for now.”

 

Garak nodded, unsurprised. “If you like, I'm sure I can stir up the Klingon's suspicions sufficiently that he'll stop paying attention to you altogether and keep an eye on me,” he said cheerfully.

 

The constable snorted. “One Klingon beating wasn't enough for you? No, Garak, you had best not. Even though neither of you have official ties to your home governments right now, I wouldn't put it past either the Cardassian Union or the Klingon Empire to seize upon rumors of a broiling feud here on this station and use it as an excuse to do something unwise.”

 

The tailor tilted his head and graced Odo with one of his most disconcerting smiles. “Constable,” he said, “you actually believe those four thugs could've laid a finger on me had I not allowed it?” Still smiling, he stood and lifted his tray, his plate not cleaned but his appetite sated. “As always, our time together has been delightful and informative. I had best get to work.” He enjoyed Odo's speculative look as he walked away. Keep them guessing was one of his favorite games. It was even more fun with Odo, because he was actually quite good at it. He wondered if he would piece together the fact that he was the one who had provided the Klingons with their false intelligence that led to their overconfidence during the raid on the station. Not that it mattered much if he did. His own satisfaction with the outcome was plenty for him.

 

Julian

Docking Ring

 

Julian couldn't wait to get away from Miles. He was so angry with the man he could hardly see straight. Why had he felt the urge to be even slightly conciliatory? He knew that he should be writing him up for his gross insubordination that likely resulted in the death of every single Jem'Hadar on that planet on which they had crash landed, but he couldn't entirely bring himself to ignore Miles' reasoning for it. Damn him! Who did he think he was treating him like a wet behind the ears cadet? He couldn't know anymore than Julian could that the Jem'Hadar would have killed them. What if he had actually been successful? What if he had managed to free them from their addiction, and they in turn had managed to free others of their kind? Revolutions had started with far humbler beginnings than that.

 

He didn't want to go back to his quarters. He was too wound up to be alone, but he knew that Leeta would be working late. Dax wasn't an option. She would either insist that he write Miles up for insubordination or more likely side with Miles and praise him for saving him from himself. That would only serve to make him angrier. There was a time when he would have readily gone to Garak with such a thing. He no longer felt as though he had that right. Their lunches were one thing. Problems after dark? He wasn't so certain he'd be welcome.

 

He hesitated a fraction too long outside Quark's. Leeta spotted him in the doorway and beckoned him inside. He knew not to approach her at the dabo wheel unless he intended to play. Quark and Rom both had made that abundantly clear to him on several occasions. Instead, he smiled and nodded to her and took a seat at the bar. “What'll it be, Doctor?” Quark asked as he made his way down to him.

 

“Pint of Guinness,” he said, resting his elbow on the bar top and his cheek on his fist.

 

“Woman problems?” Quark asked, turning to the tap.

 

“What?” he asked, sitting up straighter. “No, nothing like that.”

 

“Man problems,” the bartender said pragmatically. When the glass was about three quarters full he let it rest for a bit and folded his arms across his chest.

 

“No,” Julian said, feeling needled. “It's neither, besides which, it's none of your business, Quark.”

 

“I'm a bartender,” the Ferengi said, “which means when a customer comes in wearing a long face, like yours, I'm expected to make it my business. Do you think Morn would spend the time in here that he does without my sympathetic ear and sturdy shoulders?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, watching him top off the pint. “Morn comes here to get drunk and chase women.”

 

Quark tutted and offered Julian his pint. “In all the vast space of the Alpha Quadrant, there are countless places to get drunk and chase women,” he said, “but there's only one me.”

 

“I suppose we should all thank God for small favors, hmm?” Julian asked sourly and turned his back to the bar. He didn't want cloying fake pity, and he didn't want to spread things that would get back to Miles, no matter how angry with him he might be. He watched the crowd at the dabo wheel enjoying themselves and Leeta doing her part to ensure that they stayed focused on her and not the game. She was good at it, a favorite among several of the customers. Instead of feeling any jealousy, in moments like that he was proud of her. He knew she kept a professional attitude toward her work.

 

After his second pint, he felt some of his knots start to unwind. By his third, he was physically relaxed and tired from his ordeal on the planet. He started to wonder if he'd even make it until the end of Leeta's shift. With eyelids drooping, he finally caught her attention and gave her the signal they had worked out to request that she meet him in his quarters later.

 

He shuffled from the bar and took the seemingly longer than usual walk to his quarters, took a long shower, and dressed himself in the green pajamas Garak had given him a few years before. They were the most comfortable thing he owned, as much for the memories they evoked as for the luxurious fabric and perfect fit. Yawning widely, he instructed the computer to let Leeta in when she hailed, even if he was already asleep by the time she got there.

 

He awoke to the soft, warm weight of her settling in with him and started to turn. “Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie,” she said softly. “I was hoping not to wake you up. You looked so tired in the bar.”

 

“It's all right,” he said muzzily. “I wanted to talk, anyway.” He did his best to shake the cobwebs from his brain and pulled her close.

 

She rested her cheek against his chest and trailed her fingers soothingly down his neck. “OK,” she said. “Did something happen on the away mission? You were gone longer than I expected.”

 

“You could say that,” he said with a sigh. “It's Miles. He completely disregarded a direct order, and I'm afraid it led to the death of several Jem'Hadar.”

 

She was quiet for a bit longer than he expected after that, finally saying, “Umm, I'm not sure I understand how that's a bad thing.”

 

He snorted a soft laugh. “Well, no, I didn't exactly put that in context, did I?” He briefly outlined everything that happened, from the crash landing on the planet to the strange Jem'Hadar leader who had managed to free himself of his addiction to ketracel white and who wanted Julian to do the same for the rest of his people. He spoke of his research and how close he felt he was to a breakthrough, when Miles had destroyed all the samples and his equipment, giving him no choice but to accompany him back to the runabout and to go back on his word.

 

“I know you're angry at him,” she said carefully, “but I don't think he was wrong. He did what he had to in order to save both of you.”

 

“You don't know that,” he said testily. He had expected her to be understanding, not to side with Miles! “You weren't there. You didn't talk to their leader.”

 

“I don't have to be there to know that Miles isn't prone to disobeying orders, Julian. He's one of the most by the book men I've ever met. If he made the decision to sabotage your research, he must have believed that the threat was too great. You're mad at him because it hurt your pride, when you should be grateful he saved your life,” she said reasonably.

 

“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” he said, tense all over again. “Let's just go to sleep.”

 

She pulled away and turned her back to him. “I'm sorry,” she said, “I was under the impression you wanted my honest opinion, not blind agreement.”

 

He frowned. They didn't fight often, but when they did, it could get heated. He wanted to cut that off at the pass if he could, or he'd be in for a very frosty awakening the next morning. “Of course I wanted your honest opinion. It's just...I'm a doctor. I feel responsible for those deaths. Not only that, but I was on the verge of a significant breakthrough, research that could have helped us break the back of the Dominion's supply of shock troops. I felt the risk was worth it.”

 

“What good would it have done if you and Miles were killed? That research wouldn't have gotten off that planet. It would've been one small group of Jem'Hadar living in hiding until they died,” she said.

 

“You don't know that. They might have spread the word, given more Jem'Hadar the opportunity to be free. They might have even turned against the Founders.”

 

“How likely do you really think that is?” she asked, twisting to address him over her shoulder. “Is the remote possibility of that worth Miles' life? I'm not going to ask you about yours. I know you well enough to know you're willing to make that sacrifice. What about Keiko and Molly? Would you be willing to look them in the eye and tell them you sacrificed their husband and father for a slim chance that the Jem'Hadar might someday rebel against the Founders?”

 

As much as he hated it, she had a point. He had been so caught up in the idea that Miles knew what he was signing up for when he became a Starfleet engineer that he hadn't thought much beyond that. It could've been just as likely that things would've happened as Leeta said, one small group of Jem'Hadar living without addiction and dying there, Keiko widowed, and Molly growing up without a father just for that. “I suppose you're right,” he said grudgingly. “After I've cooled off, I'll have a talk with Miles.”

 

“He's a good man, and he's your friend,” she said. “I doubt it was easy for him to disobey a direct order, particularly coming from someone he cares about.”

 

More than you realize, he thought glumly, the conversation in the shuttle craft before their crash coming back to him now. Miles had come so very close to saying how he wished that Keiko were more like Julian. He had hoped that the engineer's infatuation with him had faded, but that didn't seem to be the case. He knew that sooner or later, he'd probably have to address it. As things stood, he envisioned that to be later. Much, much later. He put his arm around Leeta and pulled her in close, settling his nose at the fragrant nape of her neck. “You're right,” he said without reserve. “Thank you. I'm sorry I was such an ass.”

 

“We're all entitled to our moments,” she said and covered his hand with hers, tangling fingers. “Now, I hope you're ready for some sleeping moments. I'm beat.”

 

Quark's tendency to overwork her was another sore point, one he was wise enough to leave alone for that night. One near fight as exhausted as he felt was plenty. “Absolutely,” he said, and the two drifted off to sleep.

 

Garak

Private Quarters

 

Garak had just finished eating his modest supper alone when his door chimed. “Computer,” he said, “who is at the door?”

 

“Major Kira Nerys,” came the response.

 

Somewhat surprised, he set his napkin aside and stood. “Enter,” he called pleasantly.

 

The door hissed open, and Kira stepped inside. She glanced at the table. “Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting your dinner, Garak,” she said, sounding a little tense, “but I'm pressed for time. Do you have a minute?”

 

“Actually, Major, your timing is impeccable,” he said. “I had just finished.” He gestured for her to have a seat on his sofa while he cleaned his table. “What can I do for you?”

 

She perched herself on the edge of the couch and waited until he could join her. “I'm not entirely sure you can do anything, but...I need some advice.”

 

His curiosity piqued, he sat forward, leaning toward her. “Sartorial in nature?” he asked. “I've rarely seen you out of uniform, but I doubt you'd like my opinion of Bajoran fashion.”

 

“What?” she asked, blinking. “No, nothing like that. It's about Dukat.”

 

That was even more surprising. Warily, he asked, “What about Dukat?”

 

“He's here on the station. It's a long story, but I heard some reliable information that a ship I've been looking for may have been found, at least a part of it. Somehow, the Cardassian government got its hands on the information and requested to send a representative.” She stopped abruptly and narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?”

 

Garak snorted a laugh. “My dear Major, I fear you give me far more credit than I deserve when it comes to contact with my government.”

 

“You got word to them awfully fast about the Klingon invasion,” she pointed out.

 

He arched an eye ridge. “I would hazard a guess that news of impending invasion ranks a bit higher than the fact that a ship may or may not have been found, wouldn't you say? They would have listened to Morn when it came to that. No, for something of this nature, I have very little sway. They sent Gul Dukat, you say?”

 

“Legate,” she said tightly with a roll of her eyes. “He's prancing around in the uniform like a glorified harp bird.”

 

So Dukat scored himself a promotion to Legate thanks to my efforts, Garak thought sourly.

 

“You really didn't know about any of this, did you?” she asked, reading his expression accurately.

 

“I'm afraid not,” he said. “What is it, exactly, that you think I can do for you?”

 

“I was thinking about when the self-destruct sequence got triggered and we were all trapped in Ops together. You said that Dukat was trying to flirt with me,” she said uncomfortably.

 

“It was rather more blatant than just flirting, but yes,” he said.

 

“I don't want him getting ideas,” she gestured helplessly.

 

Garak shook his head impatiently. “He already has ideas. If you want my advice on how to handle Dukat, it's fairly simple. Don't turn your back on him for a single moment. Don't trust a word he says, and don't take anything he does at face value. Don't rely on his better nature to keep him from behaving inappropriately. He doesn't have one. Lastly, if I were you, I'd do my best to discover why a Legate has taken such a personal interest in this ship of yours. It is highly unusual for a Cardassian of that rank to set foot off planet for anything less than a diplomatic mission or an invasion. Can you tell me what the ship was carrying? That may help narrow it down.”

 

“Bajoran prisoners,” she said.

 

“So this was a Cardassian ship?” he asked.

 

“Yes, the Ravinok. Does that mean anything to you?”

 

He shook his head. “No, I've never heard of it, not that that means much. When are you scheduled to leave?” he asked, thinking he might have some time to look it up.

 

“Within the hour,” she said, sounding as though she'd rather be doing almost anything else.

 

That was no good. He frowned thoughtfully, eying her. “All I can tell you with any certainty is that the ship was either carrying something more than prisoners, or Dukat has a personal stake in this. Either possibility mandates that you take particular care if you hope to return in one piece. You wouldn't be the first to have an...unfortunate accident...alone with Dukat, otherwise.”

 

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said grimly. “Thank you, Garak. I'd best go. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get back and have him out of my hair.”

 

He stood when she did and escorted her to the door. “I'm always happy to be of assistance,” he said pleasantly. As soon as she was gone, he turned and took a seat at his computer terminal. She had piqued his curiosity about the ship. Perhaps he could find something incriminating on Dukat. He certainly hoped so. Legate Dukat, indeed, he thought. We'll see about that.

 

Kira Nerys

USS Rio Grande

 

Finally some peace and quiet, Kira thought, leaning back in her seat and shutting her eyes. She could no more meditate in Dukat's presence than she could actually relax, but at least the excuse and the threat of ordering him silent did the trick. Cardassians, she thought in exasperation. Her life would be so much simpler without them. Then again, her life wouldn't be what it was; she wouldn't be what she was without their influence, without the occupation. Would that be such a bad thing? She wondered.

 

She had always been more of a doer than a thinker. Before her posting to Deep Space Nine, her life had been shaped by the very real threat of death always around the corner. Such conditions were hardly fertile ground for deep thinking or philosophizing. That was for those with the luxury of a certain meal, a safe place to sleep, and no need to have eyes in the back of their head. Everything was different now, including relations between Bajor and Cardassia, as Dukat himself had pointed out. The fact that he was making a blatant parallel between their respective worlds and each other hadn't been lost on her, and she found it offensive. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

 

He was out of his mind if he thought that Bajor benefited from Cardassia's rule. Was it possible he truly believed that, or was he saying it to needle her? It was impossible to tell. She recalled Garak's words. Don't trust a word he says, and don't take anything he does at face value. Hadn't Tekeny said something similar about Garak? In some ways, Garak had proven the man wrong since then. She still didn't trust him completely, probably never would, but she couldn't take the position that he was malicious and hell bent on the destruction of every Starfleeter and Bajoran on the station, either. Garak seemed to exist in a confusing world of shades of gray, a world in which she had never been comfortable, but one in which she found herself increasingly in her role on the station.

 

Now she was on a joint search and possible rescue mission with Gul, no, Legate Dukat. He claimed that he was sent because the crew of the Ravinok had been under his command. Even had Garak not warned her to look for other motivations, she would have found that one hard to believe. How many Cardassian ships from the occupation had gone missing through the years? Of those that had, how many would attract the interest of any Cardassian Legate unless they had been carrying important Cardassian crew? There was something she was missing here. For the life of her, she couldn't begin to piece together what. Maybe she had been hasty in insisting they get underway before Garak could have a chance to look into things. The man was nothing if not good at digging up dirt. Still, if there was even a chance that her friend could be alive and suffering somewhere, she owed it to him and everyone with him to act quickly to find them and bring them home.

 

Maybe when they learned more, Dukat would reveal more. She'd have to watch him carefully. She wished that she was better at reading people or perhaps more imaginative. Others seemed to grasp nuances that completely slipped her awareness all the time. Shakaar claimed he loved her for her bluntness. It was a quality Bareil had admired as well. She had a hard time seeing what was so great about it. More often than not, it meant she was having to apologize to someone for hurting their feelings or overstepping her bounds. It was something she wanted to change about herself, but she had no idea how to go about doing that.

 

Sighing slightly, she opened her eyes again, only to shoot Dukat a warning look when she saw him open his mouth out of the corners of her vision. That sigh was not an invitation for him to comment or question. Maybe there was something positive to be said for not being subtle after all, because at her look, he shut his mouth and settled back again, seemingly determined to uphold his end of the agreement that the mission was hers. She wondered how long such cooperation would last and caught herself reflexively touching her phaser. Hopefully, it won't come to that, she thought grimly.

 

To her amazement, the Cardassian managed the full six hours to the meeting point with the smuggler Razka without saying another word. She wondered if that was a record for him. As they neared Razka's ship in the Badlands, she said, “Let me do most of the talking. Razka has no love for you or any Cardassian. He's going to be plenty ticked off that I have you with me to begin with.”

 

“Without me, you'll have a hard time determining whether this scrap of his is a piece of the Ravinok or not,” Dukat said reasonably.

 

“I know that,” she snapped, not enjoying being reminded that she needed him for anything. She tried to smooth her tone over a bit when she added, “I doubt he'll be as understanding. Just keep quiet, OK?”

 

“As you wish,” he said smoothly, inclining his head with what he probably thought was a charming half smile.

 

She snorted softly and hailed Razka's ship. The two of them made their way to the runabout's transporter pad and beamed over. As she suspected, Razka wasn't at all pleased to see who she had with her and chided her for not warning him. He relaxed somewhat when she explained that she hadn't known she'd have company at the time she talked to him. However, he immediately began needling Dukat, who of course couldn't resist rising to the bait. She privately wished that she could smack both of them. Nothing was so bad that couldn't be made worse by two males in a pissing contest.

 

Happily, the mission bore fruit. The scrap was definitely from the Ravinok. Unfortunately, it came from a system light years from where it was supposed to be, which meant even more time spent in the unwelcome company of Dukat. She was glad to get away from Razka and the Badlands. The flight to the Dozaria system was uneventful, the two speaking only because they were trying to figure out how or why the ship got so far off course. She found that speaking to him was less unpleasant when there was a purpose for it and when he was too occupied with thinking to continue with his flirting.

 

Razka had been right when he described the planet there as barely M-class. There was far too much ionic interference in the atmosphere for a safe beam down, so Kira was forced to take the runabout in for a rough and difficult landing. If she could be said to have looked forward to anything less than spending a long time alone with Dukat in a runabout, it was to having to trek an unknown planet with him on foot. She said nothing of her unease or misgiving, feeling that it would provide him with perverse satisfaction, instead simply gathering together a supply pack and tossing him one so that he could do the same.

 

When they exited the bay of the runabout, Dukat instantly squinted and shielded his eyes with a hand. Kira pulled at the throat of her uniform and decided to remove her jacket. It was far too hot to travel covered from neck to wrists in thick fabric. She felt Dukat's eyes on her as she removed the garment and frowned to herself, tucking it away in her pack in case she needed it later. Who knew what the temperature would be like at night, assuming they were there that long?

 

“Are you ready?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she said, exiting the runabout and signaling to close the bay doors so that sand wouldn't blow inside and possibly foul up some of the equipment. She looked around the mostly featureless, barren landscape and pointed her phaser rifle at a rise in the distance. “Let's start over there,” she said. “We'll get a better view of the surroundings from there.”

 

“As you wish,” he said, gesturing her ahead of him.

 

“Nuh uh,” she said, shaking her head. “You're crazy if you think I'm going to have you at my back with a rifle.”

 

“Major, you wound me,” he said, bringing his free hand to his chest.

 

“I notice you're in no hurry to have me at your back,” she said dryly.

 

He smiled in a way she didn't quite like. “Together, then?” he proposed.

 

She rolled her eyes, and they got underway. It was tough going, brutally hot with a wind that constantly whipped them and scoured them with stinging grit. Dukat stayed quiet all the way until they reached the rise. He finally couldn't resist making small talk. “Invigorating, isn't it? A bit sunny, perhaps, but this heat feels wonderful,” he said.

 

“Only a Cardassian could call this hellhole invigorating,” she retorted, in no mood for his posturing.

 

“Oh, that's right. I forgot,” he said. “Compared to us, you Bajorans are a bit...fragile, physiologically speaking, of course.”

 

“Don't worry about me,” she said, pushing past him toward the near crest of the rise. She temporarily forgot her unease at having him at her back in her desire to get a better look. Even that was quelled by the sight that greeted both of them at the top of what they had mistaken for a hill. It was actually the outer edge of an impact crater. All that remained of the Ravinok sat at the center, looking small and broken. Her heart sank. Was this Lorit's final resting place? If so, it was a sorry end for such a good friend. Glancing at Dukat, she immediately started down the other side. There was only one way to find out.