dark_sinestra

( Part the second, cut number two! )

( The story concludes here. )

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! )

 

 

( Click here for the conclusion of "Ghosts". )

 

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.

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

 

He had no idea how late it was, and he didn't really care. The shipment of Deltan fabrics had arrived earlier that day. The colors and textures were so impressive that he had started to experiment with them right away and stayed through supper and beyond, peacefully ensconced in his stock room at his work table. His outer doors chimed, and he paused, scissors in hand. Who would approach him after hours? Glancing to the wall chronometer, he did a double take. Quark's would already be closed by now. Had he truly been so focused that he lost all track of time? It had been over two years since that had happened for a good reason. The door chimed again.

 

Frowning slightly to himself, he palmed the phaser he always kept close, tucked it against the back of his thigh, and approached the entrance. He relaxed when he saw Rom on the other side of the doors. “Computer, open shop doors,” he said. Rom hurried in, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. Not liking the look of that, Garak added, “Close and lock shop doors. Engage opaque mode.” The wide doors slid shut with a loud hiss, the lock clicked, and then the Promenade beyond was shut out completely behind a milky white sheen. “What is it?” he asked. “Is someone after you?”

 

“No,” Rom said, looking apologetic. “I didn't mean to make you nervous. I just wanted to be sure Brother wasn't watching.”

 

“It's very late,” he said, not in the mood for foolishness. “This couldn't wait until morning?”

 

“Uh, not really,” Rom said.

 

Sighing inwardly and reminding himself to be patient, he gestured Rom toward the back. “All right,” he said. “You may as well have some tea with me while you're here. How are you feeling, by the way? I heard about what happened to you.”

 

“I'm better,” he said. “Doctor Bashir fixed me up. Instead of tea, could you make it snail juice? Tea will make me jumpy.”

 

Garak privately thought Rom already looked jumpy. He wasn't sure what difference tea would make. “Of course,” he said and set aside his weapon. He replicated the vile smelling drink and his own preferred tea and passed Rom his mug. Once they were both seated on stools, he looked expectantly at his friend and waited to hear what all of this was about.

 

Rom took a couple of gulps of his snail juice first. “Have you ever done something you've always been told is wrong, but you know is right?” he asked anxiously.

 

A moral question? he thought with some surprise. He's asking me a moral question? He couldn't quite wrap his mind around that at first. “Are you quite certain you feel all right?” he asked.

 

“No. I feel terrible. My stomach is all in knots. I don't feel like I can get enough air, and it seems like the room might be spinning a little,” the waiter confessed.

 

Garak set his tea aside. “It sounds as though we ought to get you to the infirmary,” he said, concerned.

 

Rom shook his head. “No. I'm nervous. More nervous than I've been in my life. More nervous than I was when Nog was taking his pre-entrance exams for Starfleet.”

 

“That's pretty nervous,” the tailor said, eyes widening.

 

“You're telling me!” Rom exclaimed and took another gulp from his mug.

 

Actually, you're telling me, Garak thought, painfully slowly. He reached for his tea again and took a small sip.

 

“Brother has gone too far,” he said.

 

He should have known this had something to do with Quark. Garak held up a hand. “If you're about to let slip some dreadful arms deal or something that will get me questioned by Odo or Worf, please stop right there,” he said.

 

“No, much worse than that,” Rom continued in a rush. “He cut all our pay because of the Time of Cleansing, and he probably won't raise it again even when it's over.”

 

“I see,” Garak said neutrally. He had long thought that Quark deserved more than a little comeuppance for his treatment of his family and employees, but he had never felt it was his place to say much of anything, to Rom or anyone else about it.

 

“According to Ferengi law, I'm not supposed to do anything about it,” Rom added dejectedly.

 

“No,” Garak said agreeably, “I can see how workers' rights have the potential to eat into profits.”

 

“That's just it,” Rom said. “He's already making a ridiculous profit margin over the rest of us. He's...he's just being greedy.”

 

It took every ounce of self-control Garak had not to laugh aloud. The complete absurdity of the situation combined with the late hour and Rom's genuine outrage over Ferengi greed was almost too much for him. “What do you have in mind?” he asked, hoping he didn't sound too breathless. He knew Rom would pick up on it much easier than he would.

 

“Doctor Bashir mentioned...” the Ferengi paused and swallowed audibly. “He mentioned a union.”

 

Suddenly, it didn't seem so funny anymore. Frowning slightly, Garak leaned toward his friend. “Rom,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “far be it from me to...discourage anyone...from standing up for himself. We Cardassians are known for drawing lines in the sand and making those who cross them pay dearly. In the process, we understand that there's a good chance that we might be the ones to pay.”

 

Rom nodded slowly. “Go on,” he said.

 

Garak exhaled softly through his nostrils. “Once a line is drawn, you don't always have the option to erase it. If you're going to do something this drastic, think long and hard about what you have to gain versus what you have to lose. It's my understanding, limited though it may be, that you could lose everything doing something like this, not just now, but forever. Your people's...enforcers...could literally hound you to the far corners of the galaxy and make your life a living hell.” He knew more about what that was like than he cared to reveal.

 

“True,” Rom said with a thoughtful nod. “But...my life is a living hell now. I almost died because Brother wouldn't give me time to go see the doctor. This time, it's not just me who's suffering. Leeta could lose her quarters, and Frool's back hurts so much sometimes he can barely stand, much less walk. All my life, Brother has found ways to make me miserable. He almost ruined Nog's chance to get into Starfleet Academy. If I hadn't figured out what he did, he would've.”

 

“I remember that,” Garak said. “I'm not telling you not to do it. I'm telling you to be sure before you make the move. Drawing a line and holding it takes resolve. If you plan on bringing others into it with you, they'll be counting on you the same way your son has for most of his life.”

 

Rom's blue eyes glinted with a forcefulness Garak had only seen in them twice before, once on Nog's behalf and once on his when he was being kept from Julian by Lisane. “I failed my son too often,” Rom said quietly. “I made him ashamed of me. I don't want to be someone my own son is ashamed of anymore.”

 

“It sounds to me as though you've made up your mind,” Garak observed.

 

“I suppose I have,” he said, setting his mug aside and standing. “Thank you, Garak.”

 

“Don't thank me yet,” the Cardassian cautioned him and walked with him to the doors. He watched him leave with a purpose to his odd, shuffling gait. Smiling very slightly to himself, he decided that at that particular moment he wouldn't want to be in Quark's shoes.

 

Julian

Private Quarters

 

Pressing his lips together, Julian eyed the table setting. Was it too elaborate? Maybe the central pillar candle was a bit much. He plucked it out of the mixed greenery and flowers. Now the centerpiece looked a little flat and lopsided. “Damn,” he muttered, setting it back in place. Why couldn't it have been a little shorter? He decided to trim it down himself and was on his way to the back for his spare medkit when his door chimed. Garak was uncharacteristically a half hour early. “Damn,” he said again. He brushed his fingers quickly through his hair, tugged his navy tunic hem and called out, “Enter!”

 

Garak stepped into the quarters, an eye ridge rising at the sight of the decorated table. “Is this a special occasion?” he asked, offering Julian a small tin of Bolian krellfish, the delicacy wrapped neatly in decorative paper. “Am I under dressed?”

 

“No,” he said, taking the tin with a nod and smile of thanks. “And no, you look impeccable as always. I just...well, I realized that I've gotten a little lazy when I've invited you over. It doesn't have to be a special occasion for things to look nice.”

 

“I've often thought the same,” Garak said approvingly.

 

“You're early,” he said as he sat the gift aside and stepped toward the replicator.

 

“Am I?” the tailor asked innocently.

 

Julian glanced over his shoulder and snorted softly. “I can only assume that you wanted to catch me off guard.”

 

“That is one interpretation, isn't it?” he replied mildly as he moved to take a seat. “Don't mind me. I won't get in your way.”

 

Snorting another half laugh, he began replicating the meal and taking the dishes over to the table. “You'll never guess what happened today.”

 

“Rom started a union,” Garak said.

 

“You know, I am bound and determined one day to get my hands on a piece of news or gossip before you do,” he said with mock exasperation. “How did you hear about it?”

 

“I have my ways,” the tailor said smoothly. “I'm assuming Leeta told you?”

 

“Yes, well...and Rom. He came to ask me and the Chief for advice.”

 

“He came to the Chief as well?” Garak asked, glancing at him in surprise.

 

Ha! He thought triumphantly. At least one piece of the puzzle he doesn't have. “Not specifically, no. Miles was in the infirmary today, and apparently he knows a lot about the issue. One of his ancestors was in a famous labor dispute in the States.”

 

“I trust he's not ill?” Garak asked with just a little too much enthusiasm.

 

“You really don't like him, do you?” he asked, setting a final platter on the table and moving to light the candle.

 

“I'd be willing to say it's entirely mutual, wouldn't you?” Garak asked reasonably. “If you must know, I think he's a bigot.”

 

“Coming from a Cardassian, who thinks all other races are inferior,” Julian retorted. He was hard pressed to believe that Garak saw no irony in that.

 

“I never thought you were a bigot, too,” Garak said, standing and turning to face him. “What else are we Cardassians? Cruel, sly, underhanded, brutish, power mad. Am I missing anything?”

 

“I didn't mean it that way,” he said, frowning.

 

“Didn't you? There are very few races that I know of to be true hive minds, the Borg most readily coming to mind. Do you truly assume that after all the years I've spent living among others, not just here but across the galaxy, I have learned nothing? That my way of thinking has gone completely unchanged?”

 

“It's just the way you talk about my literature and culture in comparison to yours...”

 

“Please!” Garak scoffed. “You act as though you're handing me something rare on a gold pressed latinum platter and become offended the moment I don't value it the way you think I ought to. Have you ever once, even once, made serious effort to appreciate my people or my culture in their own context without painting it in broad strokes of judgment from your values?”

 

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't know you saw it that way. If I have done that, it hasn't been intentional.”

 

“Lack of intent is a flimsy excuse. The effects are the same.”

 

Julian nodded slowly. “Will you please come sit? If we're going to fight, we may as well do it properly, over food.” He saw some of the tension drain from the Cardassian's posture and inwardly smiled. He had learned a few things about Cardassians over the years, too, at least his Cardassian. Once they were both seated, he continued the conversation. “Are you saying you truly don't see Cardassians as a superior race?”

 

“I'm saying I'm capable of judging individuals based upon their own merits,” Garak retorted, tucking his napkin carefully into place to protect his rust and silver tunic. “Whenever your Chief O'Brien looks at me, it's painfully obvious that he is seeing an archetypal Cardassian, and not just any archetypal Cardassian, but a Cardassian during war time. He has never made the slightest effort to get to know me as anything else. Would you please pass the salt?”

 

Julian complied. “To be fair, Garak, you've never made any effort to get to know him, either.”

 

“What incentive do I have for that?” he asked, liberally salting his food. “He glares at me with those beady little eyes and gets red blotches on his cheeks.”

 

Trying not to laugh, the doctor said, “His cheeks are always red.”

 

“Never redder than when glaring at me,” Garak asserted and fixed Julian with a mockery of the expression he was referencing.

 

He couldn't help himself. That tipped him over the edge. Tossing his head back, he gave a hearty laugh. “That was actually quite good, which is disturbing given how little the two of you resemble one another.”

 

“It's all in the eyes,” Garak said primly.

 

Happily, he seemed content to move on to other subjects. Both were in agreement that while forming the union was the right thing to do, it seemed a risky venture. Julian was surprised to discover how much Garak actually liked Rom. Although he knew the two of them were on friendly terms, he had always assumed that Garak was simply being charitable, or perhaps accepting company he wouldn't otherwise if he wasn't so lonely. More than ever, he realized that he had allowed his sense of rejection to color the way he saw the waiter and wondered if it was too late to try to mend that fence.

 

“I've been meaning to ask you something, and I keep forgetting,” Julian said during a natural lull. Both of them were almost fully done with their meal, just picking lightly at the plates.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. Dukat's daughter, Ziyal, has been asking me questions about you. What do you want me to say?”

 

“The same thing I always say, Doctor,” Garak said lightly. “Tell her I'm a simple tailor and really not all that interesting.”

 

“That's what I've been saying,” he said. “I don't think she believes me.”

 

“Then be more convincing,” the Cardassian said with a pointed smile.

 

“I'll try. So, did you save room for dessert?”

 

“I'm afraid not,” he said and pushed back from the table. “Shall we clear it off?”

 

“Yes, let's,” he agreed. The two of them made quick work of the dishes, and Julian blew out the candle, the scent of soot briefly filling the air. He glanced at Garak who was now heading over to take a seat on his sofa and felt a small twinge of misgiving. Short of trying to pick another fight or actually making a move again, he could think of no other way to pique his interest. Was it possible that Garak didn't want him much but was being accommodating just because it was better than always being alone? Did he think he was doing Julian a favor? It was a disturbing thought. He gave the table a quick wipe down and set the rag aside, moving to take up the other end of the sofa. “We haven't read together in a while,” he said.

 

“Did you have something specific in mind?” the tailor asked, perking with interest.

 

“Not really, but it's something we've both enjoyed in the past. I know you like poetry,” he offered.

 

“Some poetry,” Garak clarified dryly.

 

“We can stay away from Shakespeare,” Julian said. “There are plenty of poets to choose from. How about...I'll search the archive first, read one to you, then you can pick one you like and read it to me? You can read Cardassian poetry to me if you prefer.”

 

“You never seem to understand it,” Garak said. “We'll stick to Terran poets. Go ahead.”

 

“All right,” he said. He reached to his side table and picked up a PADD, hoping that Garak wouldn't be able to tell he already had something specific in mind. He couldn't comfortably express his unease with the one sidedness of their arrangement, but perhaps he could send him a message this way. “Here's one by Edna St. Vincent Millay called 'Ebb'.

 

'I know what my heart is like

Since your love died;

It is like a hollow ledge

Holding a little pool

Left there by the tide,

A little tepid pool,

Drying inward from the edge.'”

 

“How very dreary,” Garak said with a shake of his head, leaning over to take the PADD. “Why are so many Terran poems so pitiful and full of woe?”

 

“I don't know,” he said a little shortly.

 

“Oh, right. You liked that one,” the Cardassian said with a shake of his head. “What I meant to say, of course, is what a lovely expression of the destitution of broken love.”

 

“You don't have to be sarcastic. If you don't like it, you don't like it,” he said impatiently. “Will you please choose one now?”

 

It took Garak much longer, not surprisingly, for he was unfamiliar with most of the poets and poetry from which he was asked to select. To Julian's surprise, he chose Robert Frost. “Lodged,” he said.

 

“The rain to the wind said,

'You push and I'll pelt.'

They so smote the garden bed

That the flowers actually knelt,

And lay lodged—though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt.”

 

He offered the PADD back without further comment. Julian took it but couldn't help but to glance at him. Was he sending him a message the same way he had chosen to do? Without looking back to the PADD, he said, “Emily Dickinson. 'My River'.

 

'My river runs to thee.

Blue sea, wilt thou welcome me?

My river awaits reply.

Oh! Sea, look graciously.

I'll fetch thee brooks

from spotted nooks.

Say, sea,

Take me!'”

 

“What are you doing?” Garak asked.

 

He frowned and set the PADD aside. “I was looking for a way not to be completely humiliated, but it looks as though that plan is a wash. Do you not want this? Would you rather I not...come to you?”

 

“Have I given any indication of that?” he asked.

 

“Aside from the fact that you haven't once made a move since our arrangement, despite numerous opportunities? No, you've given no indication of that. You were perfectly agreeable and cooperative several nights ago,” he said, disliking the sarcastic edge in his own voice.

 

Garak stood and crossed to the star port. “Your problem is you don't know what you want. Whatever you get isn't enough, until suddenly it's too much. The line is never in the same place. In fact I never see it until I've already crossed it. Don't speak to me about humiliation.”

 

I do know what I want. I simply can't have it, Julian thought. He knew Garak had a valid point. He stood, too, and moved to stand beside him, their reflections ghostly images against the dark star field, as though neither of them was truly there at all. “Did I humiliate you in the dressing room?” he asked softly. “Do you wish you had told me no?” When Garak didn't answer, he stepped behind him and slid his hands over his shoulders, clasping them loosely and drawing the Cardassian back against him. He breathed lightly over his right neck ridge and caressed his cheek to the side of his head. “You can tell me no now,” he murmured close to his ear.

 

He met Garak's gaze in the faded reflection, lowered his lids, and lightly lipped the shell of his ear. This was how he wanted it? The only way it would happen? So be it. If Garak could swallow his pride, Julian could, too. He caressed down his arms and tucked his hands beneath them to embrace him across his chest, hands spread flat and warm. He smiled to himself when Garak lifted his hands and caressed his palms over the backs of them, lightly twining fingers and holding him there. He continued to rub his cheek against the side of his head, feeling the ridges of lower ear and jaw and then the very outer edge of an eye ridge against his temple. His light growth of whiskers rasped scale so softly he wondered if he imagined the sound.

 

Garak turned his face into his slightly, and when he glanced back at the port, he could see the man had his eyes closed. He kissed the long dimple of his cheek, reached up to turn Garak's head more so that he could kiss the corner of his mouth. He tightened his embrace when Garak tried to turn. Not yet, he thought. His fingertips traced lightly down the long line of throat, from beneath his chin to the hollow. It struck him how much trust that took to allow without so much as a flinch or cracking an eye. He realized that Garak told him these sorts of things all the time, only he was too busy focusing on his many rejections to see where he was accepted.

 

All right, he thought, turning him. Talk to me... He pressed parted lips to parted lips, fit himself against his lover like a puzzle piece, and gave a languid twine of tongue. As their breath mingled and they fell in closer upon one another, he felt the slower rhythm of Garak's heart thrumming powerfully enough for the beat to penetrate both layers of tunics. Nothing about that rhythm spoke of apathy or humoring him. Nothing in the fingers digging deeply into the muscle of his back said that Garak didn't want. Didn't need.

 

This was the only way he could ever set aside the inconveniences of his genesis. Was Garak listening as closely? He carefully opened the throat of Garak's tunic, just enough to slide his tongue into the teardrop indentation of scale over sternum, his lips finding a perfect fit to their curves at its apex. Garak's breath stirred his hair, harsher now, and a broad hand cupped the back of his head, encouragement and affection both. He felt it as surely as he felt the fingers sifting the curls at his nape.

 

Taking the tunic open further, he slipped his hands into the warm air between cloth and flesh before it had the chance to dissipate, offered his greater warmth in its place. He knew every ridge and scale as well as he knew himself, but he relished these reintroductions and treated this one as though it were the first. Lightly scraping his thumb nails beneath the lower edges of each pectoral ridge, he gave Garak his mouth again. He could feel the wall of passive acceptance starting to crumble in the way the Cardassian devoured his offering. It wasn't his goal, but he had no intention of rejecting whatever was given, regardless of what he might be asked to pay for it afterward.

 

Garak unfastened his tunic, and he allowed it, helping him shrug it free, but when it seemed as though the tailor might pause to fold it neatly, he stilled his hands with a firm grip and smiled his approval against his lips when he tossed it aside instead. Those hands knew him, too, so intimately, exactly where and how to touch. He pressed into the palms shamelessly, arching and shifting. The slightly rough skinned touch was electric enough that at times he wondered if it was more than imagination, if there wasn't a physical difference that accounted for it.

 

He unfastened Garak's belt and held both loose ends, playfully pulling the tailor against him at the waist, went for a third dizzying round of deep kissing. Garak moaned and suddenly wrapped him so tightly in both arms that he could hardly breathe. He knew he had breached another barrier, but he felt no triumph. He dropped the belt and returned the embrace. Was Garak listening? Did he know he strove to meet him there, wherever he was?

 

“What are you doing to me?” the tailor whispered harshly against his lips.

 

Julian saw the same fierce eyes he had seen in the mirror that day and stilled in his arms. “Do you want to stop?” he whispered back.

 

“I ought to,” he murmured more loudly.

 

“That's not what I asked,” Julian said gently.

 

“No, I don't want to stop, damn you.”

 

Julian accepted the harsh kiss that followed, but instead of rising to it and meeting heat with heat, he did as Garak had several nights before, received until he felt the anger ebb. He unfastened the thick tunic the rest of the way and pulled the edges around his sides, once more trapping heat. He loved the slightly convex curve of broad belly scales against his skin and sidled in as closely as he could, tucking his face into the natural indentation formed by a neck ridge and nuzzling until he felt Garak shiver. “You smell good,” he murmured. “You always smell good.”

 

“Regular baths do wonders,” Garak said a bit breathlessly.

 

He smiled against his throat and nipped him lightly. It was good to see his humor returning. Whatever crisis point the tailor had just reached seemed to be on the retreat, or he was coming to terms with it. “I'm about to give you an excuse to take another one,” he said, taking the man by the hands and leading him into his bedroom. Somehow they always made do with the narrow bed and made it a big enough world to contain them.

 

Julian continued to listen, more attentively than ever before. He found care in Garak's control, ardor in the exploration of his pleasure, and as he kissed the closed eyes and allowed him to take him in the most intimate way, chest to chest and with his legs wrapped about the tailor's waist, he believed he understood why this was up to him. The secret lay in the closed eyes. Garak was vulnerable. He held him tighter in the realization. I'll take care, he thought silently. I will, even if you never know.

 

He gave himself over to the intimacy of the moment, and when it crested, he allowed it to fill and then empty him. He held to Garak when he tried to roll to the side, only relaxing after he was sure his lover would remain atop him. In long strokes, he trailed his fingers to either side of the dorsal ridge, each caress downward with the pattern of scale growth.

 

“I'm crushing you,” Garak protested quietly.

 

“Luxuriously,” he affirmed with a lazy smile.

 

“I should go soon.”

 

“Soon, yes,” he said agreeably, “but soon isn't now. Just relax.” Perhaps that was easier said than done. This time he allowed his partner to roll to the side, but he kept his hands on him, dropping one down for a languid caress of outer thigh, the strong leg draped over him as much by necessity as convenience. “You make me wish I was a poet. Then I wouldn't have to borrow others' words to bridge the gap that opens between us the times we forget ourselves.” He glanced over, relieved to see that Garak's eyes were open, not shut, and he was singularly focused upon him with almost unnerving intensity. It was better than the alternative.

 

“Being a poet doesn't help,” Garak said wryly. “Trust me. You'd just find other ways for inadequate appeal.”

 

He stopped himself on the cusp of taking the statement personally. “Believe me, my dear tailor,” he said, squeezing his thigh lightly, “there is nothing inadequate in your appeal.”

 

“And still you manage to surprise me at times,” he said, reaching to brush a damp curl from Julian's forehead. A moment later, he rolled to his other side and sat up.

 

Julian did nothing to prevent him. He watched him walk to the wash room and waited patiently for him to take his shower. Shifting to his back, he propped his head in a hand and considered what he had discovered just by letting go of his agenda for once. Garak was right. He never did consider his cultural concerns divorced from his own judgment. He spent so much time and energy being on guard against the constant barrage of barbs that he never realized that they could only pierce him if he gave them something to hit. This new approach of his had yielded some surprising results. He hoped that he could remember this in more heated moments of rancor.

 

When Garak returned to the bedroom, he sat up and reached out to him. “Come kiss me good-bye,” he said.

 

Agreeably, Garak did as he was asked, leaning over to do just that. “Not good-bye,” he corrected him, “but good night.”

 

He found the correction very encouraging and wisely chose to keep the fact to himself. He was sleepy enough that he was gone to the world by the time his door hissed for Garak to exit. He slept undisturbed until morning.

Author Notes: This story takes place before and during Rejoined. Very little dialogue from the episode made it into the story, just one exchange between Julian and a nurse regarding a patient with a broken leg. When watching the show, I always found myself wondering what plans Julian had that Dax strong armed him away from to chaperon her and Lenara for dinner. In some ways, this is my answer to that question.

Summary: In the wake of a tumultuous reunion between two symbionts with new hosts, Dax and Khan, Julian is forced to confront some harsh truths about relationships and what it takes to make them successful. Garak delves deeper into the mystery of what makes the doctor tick and discovers some surprising things about himself and his friendships along the way.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: March 2010

Category: Slash, Het, angst. Dear gods, lots of angst.

Rating: PG for adult situations and mild adult language.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns. Paramount profits. I write, pilfer, and poke, and all I get is an imaginary t-shirt that I think makes me look a little Cardassian.

Word Count: 18,008

 

Garak

Private Quarters

 

Running his comb through his hair one final time, Garak checked his reflection in his full length mirror. He had rejected the tunic that he knew was Julian's favorite. Being obvious had never been his style. Besides, he wasn't going to dinner in order to throw himself at his former lover in front of the man's current love interest. To say that would be poor form would be more than understatement. No, he agreed to this dinner date out of curiosity more than anything else. What did the dabo girl really want, and what did she expect to come of this? He didn't know her well enough to be able to take such a gesture at face value.

 

He sighed at his reflection, supposing it was unrealistic to expect entire satisfaction with face or figure at his age. The reality was that he was past his prime by at least a decade, more if he was being honest. He looked well put together and respectable in the rich brown tunic with gold accents, a newer piece that he had worn only twice before. He checked the chronometer, picked up the small gift basket sitting on his dining table by its handle, and headed out the door. Barring any distraction along the way, he knew he would arrive at Leeta's quarters about five minutes early, not early enough to be an imposition.

 

He inclined his head pleasantly to those he passed in the H-ring corridors, some returning the gesture, most not. After years on the station, he was so used to this treatment he hardly noticed it any more. It seemed natural. When he reached the Bajoran woman's door, he gave his tunic a final tug at the hem, shrugged his shoulders so that his sleeve cuffs fell just so, and rang the chime.

 

“Enter,” came a somewhat tremulous voice.

 

The door opened, and Garak stepped into a colorful room. Before he could stop himself, he curled his lip. The sharp, acrid stench of burnt food lay thick in the air in a haze of smoke. Leeta, dressed very modestly and looking quite nice, took one look at him and burst into tears. Julian was nowhere to be seen.

 

For a moment, he felt rooted to the spot. Tears were something he never handled well. It was different in an interrogation, when he knew the reason for them, fear or pain, and had been the one to induce them. However, coming across strong emotional displays unexpectedly threw him off balance, particularly with women. He hoped that she would pull herself together. Instead, she covered her face, sobbing for all the world as though she had just lost everything.

 

Oh, dear, Garak thought in dismay. Where was Julian? He looked for a place to set the gift basket and settled for a chair against the wall near the door, then closed the distance between them, reluctant to touch her. “Leeta?” he said tentatively.

 

“I'm sorry,” she choked out between sobs. “I...everything is just...Julian is late, and...oh, Prophets, what a...what a mess!”

 

Carefully, he reached out a hand and touched her shoulder. “Come now,” he said. “Let's...let's sit down for a moment, shall we?”

 

She allowed him to guide her to the sofa, sitting turned away from him and starting to wipe her face. “I...really am sorry,” she said in a shaky voice, trying to bring herself under control. “You probably think...I'm an idiot.”

 

“Of course not,” he said, although he wasn't sure how true that was. “Why don't you tell me what has happened? Perhaps I can be of help?”

 

“Just great,” she said miserably. “My house guest has to help me.”

 

“Or not,” he added quickly, terrified she was about to launch into a fresh batch of sobbing. “I...” He struggled for something to say that wouldn't sound inane, staying quiet for too long in the process.

 

She looked at him finally and swallowed hard. “This is really awkward,” she said, her lips trembling. However, she seemed to be pulling herself back together, no longer outright crying. She sniffed a few times and dabbed at her eyes with her fingers.

 

“Yes,” he agreed. “I'll find you a napkin.”

 

She stopped him with a hand to his sleeve. “No,” she said. “I'll do it. You just...sit.”

 

He did as she said, locking his hands around his knees in a tighter grip than it appeared. Of all of the things that had run through his mind in the past three days, this scenario wasn't one of them. At least she hadn't grabbed him or expected him to hold her. He wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't have outright fled had she done such a thing. He watched her warily as she blew her nose and wiped at her face with her back to him. “I should have just had Julian invite you out to eat with us,” she said, still not facing him. “I'm not a good cook. I never have been.” She blew her nose again.

 

“I...would have been fine with replicated food,” he ventured.

 

She turned to face him, tucking her napkin into a balled fist, and shaking her head. “No,” she said. “I mean, maybe you would've, but that's not the point.” She sighed heavily. “Two of the most important people in my life think so highly of you,” she said.

 

Two? He dipped his brow ridges downward in confusion. “Who?” he asked.

 

“Julian and Rom,” she said in a tone of voice that made it sound as though she thought he was silly for even having to ask. “They speak of you often, how intelligent you are, how much you know, how much you can do. I...I wanted to do something special.” She looked dangerously close to tears again, reaching up to dab at her eyes. “Nothing went right. I...I didn't even get off shift until almost seven this morning because the latinum tallies didn't work out right, so Quark wouldn't let anyone leave.

 

“The...the stall was out of katterpods altogether. Well, I couldn't make hasperat without katterpods as a side, so I...I stupidly tried for a soufflé instead. You can smell how well that went. Collapsed and burned, both. Julian called me about ten minutes ago to tell me he'd be tied up at least another hour because somebody came in with plasma burns, and he warned me you wouldn't be late. I thought about calling you, but I didn't want to be rude and cancel at the last minute. I should have.”

 

He realized that she was actually crying again, just much more quietly and in a more controlled way. He stood and approached her. “Do you know,” he said conversationally, “I've never been able to keep a soufflé from collapsing?”

 

“Have you ever even tried to make one?” she asked, her warm brown eyes narrowed in a shrewd squint.

 

He smiled. “Not even once,” he said.

 

Her smile began tremulously but quickly blossomed into full blown amusement. “You're...awful,” she said, her amusement then shifting to concern. “If you want to leave, I wouldn't blame you.”

 

“And if I want to stay?” he asked, once more carefully touching her shoulder.

 

“It would be beyond gracious of you,” she said. “The whole place reeks of burned food. I'm a mess, and who knows when Julian will get here? It's not like we can open a window.”

 

“We can open the door,” he said. “I can try to fan the worst of it out of here while you freshen up. We can either replicate something or pick up some take out from wherever you like. Besides, I brought wine, and, selfishly, I'd like to have at least one glass of it.”

 

She took his hand between both of hers and pressed it warmly, offering him another smile, this one more relaxed. “OK,” she said, some strength returning to her voice. “The corkscrew is on the table over there,” she gestured. “Why don't you go ahead and open the wine so it can breathe. I'll open the door so we can breathe, and I'll take your suggestion.”

 

He saw no guile in her open expression, just simple gratitude and underlying exhaustion that had to be more long term than just one night of lost sleep. He nodded and returned the squeeze, then disentangled himself so that he could do as she said. With the door open, the worst of the smoke dissipated, and his nose adjusted to the smell enough that it didn't phase him much. He took one of the large, colorful napkins and fanned around vigorously, airing out the place to the best of his ability.

 

So she's close to Rom, he thought. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, letting out a startled laugh, a realization hitting him hard. He played me, he thought. He actually played me! It made sense, Rom's inexplicable animosity toward Julian, how quickly he had come to Garak to tell him about his flirtation with Leeta, his subsequent siding with him and resentment of Julian. He felt no resentment at the fact, himself. It was his own fault for not looking harder at the Ferengi or truly questioning his motives. His respect for Rom notched higher. He was still chuckling quietly to himself when Leeta came out again, looking much more in control of herself and cleaned up.

 

“What's so funny?” she asked.

 

“I just imagined someone walking past your door and spotting me waving this napkin about,” he lied smoothly.

 

“You've done a wonderful job of clearing the air,” she said, instructing the computer to close the door once more. She hesitated and added, “In more ways than one. Thank you, Garak.”

 

“What kind of guest would I be if I left you in such straights?” he asked, uncomfortable with her gratitude. He didn't want to like her. She was making that difficult.

 

She curved a half smile and approached the table, pouring both of them a glass of wine. “Julian mentioned that about you,” she said, turning to hand him his.

 

“What?” he asked, feeling a little wary and at a disadvantage as he accepted the glass. She was bound to have heard much more about him than he her, at least some of it true.

 

“That you have a hard time taking credit for the good things that you do,” she said. Before he could think of a response to that, she changed the subject. “So, what will it be, replicator, or take out?”

 

Julian

The Infirmary

 

Julian double checked the readings on his patient before finally deciding to turn his care over to the night duty nurse. He had managed to patch the worst of the external damage, but it would be some time before the engineer's lung tissue and sinus cavities fully healed from the terrible burns they had sustained. He had the man heavily sedated and on the best pain medication he could obtain. There truly was nothing else he could do for him at the moment. “If there's any significant change in his condition, call me,” he instructed the nurse.

 

Of all the nights for something major to go wrong, it just had to be the night that Garak was due for dinner with him and Leeta. He winced to himself as he thought of what she must be going through at the moment. She had sounded on the edge of hysterics when he called her to let her know he'd be late, but he hadn't had time to find out what had happened, if anything. He knew that she was a ball of nerves about the dinner. He couldn't exactly blame her. Garak could be intimidating even to those who knew him well.

 

He hurried away from the infirmary on his way to the turbolift. He was already an hour and a half late. He hoped that they had decided to eat without him. Otherwise, the soufflé would have already collapsed, and everything would be cold. He had intended to stop by his quarters first so that he could change into something nice. He felt that if he did so now, Leeta might be angry with him for the further delay, and Garak would probably think it was rude. He wondered if Garak was utterly miserable. Leeta wasn't exactly the sort he usually chose to associate with, and if he had any lingering feelings of resentment or jealousy toward her, he would not be enjoying himself. He could also be incredibly snarky.

 

That thought made him hurry all the more once he stepped off on the correct level. He was jogging by the time he reached her door and keyed in the entry code. He walked in on the sound of mutual laughter and a faint, lingering scent of burnt food. “There you are,” Leeta said, unfurling from her seat at the table to greet him properly.

 

Garak stood and inclined his head pleasantly. “Good evening, Doctor,” he said.

 

Leeta gave him a quick hug and kissed his cheek then guided him over to the table with an arm around his waist. “Garak was just telling me about some of his adventures when he was a gardener,” she said. “Did you know he even spent some time on Romulus?”

 

“Did he now?” he asked, eying Garak a little warily. There was no telling what wild yarns he had been spinning for Leeta's benefit. As he took a seat at the table, he noticed that the food was all in take out boxes. “What happened to the soufflé?” he asked.

 

Garak shot him a warning look, but it was too late. A little bit of Leeta's good mood deflated. “I ruined it,” she said. “Just like I always ruin anything I try to cook that's harder than mashed katterpods.”

 

“Soufflés are very overrated,” Garak said. “Think about it. All that effort for what amounts mostly to air. I think it's the effort that makes people assume they're worth eating.”

 

She smiled warmly at him. “I'm almost one hundred percent sure you're just saying that for my benefit,” she said. “But I'm going to go ahead and believe you, because it's entirely too sweet of you.”

 

He watched the Cardassian, searching for tell-tale signs of dislike or sarcasm underneath the facade. So far, he could see none, but he didn't entirely trust his observation skills when it came to Garak. He could be extremely convincing when he wished to be. The two seemed comfortable together. Julian helped himself to what remained of the food and the wine. “Did you bring this?” he asked Garak as he poured.

 

“Indeed,” Garak replied. “I also brought some chocolates, but I'm afraid I ate so much dinner I couldn't possibly have any.”

 

“This is Leeta's favorite brand of spring wine,” Julian said.

 

“He asked Quark,” she said, smiling at Garak. “I'm not sure which surprised me more, the fact that he did that, or the fact that Quark knew.”

 

“He can be very thoughtful,” he said, also smiling at Garak and wondering somewhere in the back of his mind what the catch was.

 

“He really can,” she said. “It makes me sorry I waited this long to do this.”

 

“Well,” Garak said, “there's nothing to stop us from doing it again. We almost have to, given the fact that the doctor was held over at work so late.”

 

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, turning her attention back to Julian. “How is your patient? Did everything go OK?”

 

“He's stabilized,” he said, the entire moment strangely surreal. He expected tension and discomfort, perhaps false joviality from both of them, not this. How much of that wine had they drunk? Had Garak brought just one bottle? “I think he'll pull through. I have to say, the two of you are making me feel sorry I had to be late. It seems as though you've been having a good time.”

 

“The evening has been delightful,” Garak said pleasantly, “marred only by your absence. Wouldn't you say, my dear?” he asked Leeta.

 

“Yes,” she said. “I've been pleasantly surprised.” She turned her attention to Julian. “You know, I really understand now why you have lunch with him as often as you do. He's a marvelous conversationalist.”

 

“You're entirely too kind,” Garak said.

 

Julian laughed a little uncomfortably. “Forgive me for saying this, but the two of you are going to make me sick if you keep up this...”

 

“This what?” Garak asked, blinking at him innocently.

 

“Yes, what?” Leeta echoed, looking slightly cross.

 

“Nothing,” he said quickly, shoving in a bite of food so he wouldn't be expected to say more. He gestured for them to continue talking while he ate, actually quite hungry and realizing that if he said anything more along that line, he was going to find himself outnumbered. He also realized that he had been so worried that they wouldn't get along that he hadn't let himself consider how it would be if they did.

 

After all this time, he still couldn't tell when Garak was spinning tales and when he was telling the truth. While Julian ate, Garak continued telling Leeta of some of his exploits before he ever came to the station. Julian tried to read between the lines, suspecting that many of the mundane and amusing scenarios he described had buried within them clues of what really happened and what he had really been about. He noticed that Garak played to Leeta's interest in sociology. He could hardly be upset with him for being such a good guest, but he couldn't help but to wonder if the amiability hid an ulterior motive.

 

“Excuse me for just a moment,” she said at a natural lull in the conversation. She stood and wagged a playful finger at both of them. “No talking about me while I'm gone.” She then headed into the washroom.

 

Julian watched her go and then turned his attention back to Garak. “So,” he said, “enjoying yourself?”

 

“I am,” he said. “I was sorry you weren't able to have dinner with us, but I've...actually had a good time tonight.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the washroom and back to him. “She's a genuinely nice person,” he said.

 

“You thought I'd date someone who wasn't?” the doctor asked, amused.

 

“You did date me,” the tailor retorted with a gratified “gotcha” smile.

 

Julian shook his head and chuckled. “In the name of diplomacy, no comment.”

 

“Well, that's no fun at all,” Garak said, still smiling.

 

He thought of a couple of things he could say to that in return and said neither, surprised that after all this time, there were still moments that Garak could look at him in a certain way and make his breath catch. He was almost positive the Cardassian was aware of it and did it on purpose. By the time he realized they had held eye contact in silence far longer than was appropriate to the circumstances, Leeta returned and broke the moment. “Who wants chocolate?” she asked brightly.

 

Garak

Leeta's Quarters

 

He stayed later than he had originally intended. Leeta's second yawn in less than two minutes cued him that it was time to go. “Where has the time gone?” he asked, moving to stand from his seat on the sofa.

 

“I have no idea,” Leeta said sleepily. She stood at the same time Julian did. “I hate to be the one to ruin the party, but I'm so tired I can hardly see straight. Julian, would you be a dear and walk Garak home?”

 

“Of course,” the doctor said, hiding his disappointment at being kicked out fairly well. Garak doubted that she saw it.

 

She leaned up and kissed him good night then closed the distance to Garak and hugged him warmly, whispering in his ear, “Thank you so much for earlier.” He returned the embrace awkwardly and stepped back as soon as she allowed him, unused to such effusiveness. She walked both of them to her door. “Good night, you two. Thanks for a wonderful evening.”

 

“Thank you,” Garak said graciously. When the door closed, he looked at Julian. “You hardly have to walk me home,” he said. “It's not even on your way.”

 

“I don't mind,” the doctor said, falling into step beside him. “Besides, it gives me the chance to hear what you really think.”

 

“As disappointing as this must be for you to learn, in this case, I told you the truth,” he said, amused. “I like her. She's a good woman. You could certainly do much worse.”

 

“I worried that things wouldn't go well,” Julian confessed. “I know how you can be.” He glanced at Garak.

 

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me or flirt?” the tailor asked casually without looking at him. “Sometimes, it's difficult for me to tell.” Julian opened his mouth and shut it again, coloring faintly. Garak smirked inwardly. Some things never changed, it seemed. He could still flummox the younger human without much effort. “Either way it doesn't matter,” he continued. “I have no intention of poaching you from that lovely young woman.”

 

Julian cleared his throat. “You know, I'd actually have a say in the matter,” he said.

 

They stepped into the turbolift and Garak directed it to his level. “Of course you would,” he said reasonably, still not looking at the doctor. He changed the subject. “I have to admit that I was expecting that you'd stay the night.”

 

“Sometimes when she's really tired, she has a hard time sharing the bed,” he said.

 

“Why not seek quarters with a larger bed?” Garak asked.

 

Julian snorted a laugh. “You and I were together for years and never made such a move. Why do you think I'd be so quick to do it with someone else?”

 

Why not? Garak thought, finally looking over at him searchingly. Why such distance, even when you're close? It was something he had thought about before, of course, when they were still together. Seeing it from the outside, it seemed stranger than it had in the context of their own relationship, perhaps because he wasn't distracted by his own intimacy issues.

 

“What's with you and Dax trying to rush me into something?” he asked, looking irritated.

 

Why are you so desperate to put me off of this? Garak wondered. “Dax is Leeta's friend, is she not?” he asked instead.

 

“Yes,” Julian said warily.

 

“Then perhaps it's natural that she'd like to see two of her friends happy together,” he said.

 

“That doesn't explain you,” the doctor retorted.

 

“Is it so odd to you that I'd like to see you happy, as well?” he asked, cocking his head slightly.

 

The turbolift came to a gliding stop, and they stepped off of it, walking side by side at a leisurely pace. Julian looked chastened. “No, I suppose not,” he muttered. “I just don't want to rush things.”

 

Garak grunted a non comment. He didn't buy that for an instant, not coming from a man he knew usually made romantic decisions with the speed of a sand fly.

 

Julian stopped walking. “What was that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

 

“I don't know why you ask me about things you don't want to hear,” Garak said a bit crossly. “I tell you, and then you become angry with me. I've had a pleasant evening. I'd just as soon not end it on that sort of note.” He knew very well from hard experience that if he expressed his observation, Julian would simply find a way to provoke him to genuine anger or find another equally effective way to shut him out. He was tired of that dance, had tired of it well before they broke things off. It was no more attractive from a greater distance. He turned and kept walking.

 

“I know you mean well,” Julian said, trying to be conciliatory and hurrying to catch up.

 

“At least there's that,” Garak replied. “As you see, we're now at my door. This is where I should take my leave. Good night, Doctor.”

 

“Garak, wait,” he said, stopping him with a hand to his forearm. “I don't want you going to bed upset with me.”

 

Garak looked at his hand until he removed it. He raised his gaze, meeting the concerned umber eyes squarely. “What do you want?” he asked.

 

“That's...not fair,” Julian said hesitantly.

 

Garak snorted. “Neither is indecisiveness. When...if...you ever think you're ready to answer that question, I'd like to know. I'm sure Leeta would, too. Why do you think she was so keen to get to know me better? It's not the size of the bed that's the problem, and you know it. Good night, Doctor,” he said more firmly and this time stepped into his quarters and shut the door behind him before Julian could stop him.

 

He may not know what he wants, Garak thought, but I know what I don't want. I don't want any part of that same old pattern. He had wondered before the dinner if the time had possibly come for them to re-evaluate their friendship and take some steps toward the attraction that had never fully given way. Now he was quite certain that they should not, not while Julian still insisted on holding the entire world at arms' length. If he couldn't let someone as open and guileless as Leeta in, there was no hope of Julian's letting himself be close to him. He was positive of that.

 

He couldn't deny that he was disappointed, but he wasn't particularly angry. More than anything, he was curious. Perhaps he had never looked at the issue properly, he reflected. He had been so busy trying to find a way around it and feeling hurt and rejected when he couldn't, mostly on a subconscious level, that he never directly questioned why it was, or even what it was. Emotion never solved a problem, he thought. It only serves to cloud the mind. He decided that he'd be spending more time with Leeta in the future. Perhaps she could either directly offer some insight or indirectly give him something to observe. Now that he realized he was onto something, he wasn't going to be quick to let it go. As strange as it was, he recognized that in Leeta he had an ally in this situation. It was going to be interesting to see where it led.

 

Julian

Habitat Ring

 

Julian stood outside the closed door, so taken aback by what Garak had just said that at first he could hardly think of what to do. Since when had everyone decided that they knew more about his relationship with Leeta than he did? First Dax, now Garak, what right did they have to lecture him or take him to task, particularly Garak of all people? Indecisive? How was he being indecisive? So what if they had exchanged a few weighted looks over the past few months? They had always done that, even before he was consciously aware there was a mutual attraction. If Garak was under the impression he was trying to lead him on or get something started, well, he was going to have to set him straight about that.

 

He started walking before consciously deciding where he would wind up. It was a colossally bad idea, a stupid idea of epic proportions, yet he couldn't stop himself. The one person who always managed to make him feel better in situations like this was Miles. Besides, he still owed him a real apology and clearing of the air. This was as good of a time as any to do that. Miles was almost always still awake this time of night.

 

He hailed him and waited for him to answer. The answer was a little slow in coming. When the door opened, it revealed a somewhat disheveled engineer rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Julian?” he asked. “What're you doin' here? 'S after midnight. Is everythin' OK? Is it Tommy?”

 

“Tommy?” he asked, frowning. “Oh, you mean Ensign Powers. No, no, it's nothing like that. His condition is stable.” He felt selfish now, peering into the bleary hazel eyes and realizing he had managed to drive all thoughts of sleep away from the man who took any accidents under his watch very seriously and personally.

 

Miles stepped back from the door and gestured him in absently, heading over to the replicator to order himself a cup of coffee. “Y' want somethin'?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

 

Julian shook his head, smiling slightly as he stepped inside and took a seat in one of the deep leather chairs in the living room. “I suppose I thought you'd still be awake,” he said by way of apology. “You often are at this time.”

 

“I know,” he said, turning and bringing his coffee with him to the sofa. “Just crashed and burned tonight after cleaning up that plasma leak. I still don't know how it happened,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand through his tangled curls. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I haven't enjoyed...being at odds,” he said hesitantly, glancing at him uncertainly.

 

“You 'n me, both,” Miles said, looking understandably wary.

 

“I know why you did what you did,” he pressed on past his discomfort. He felt that he owed it to the friendship.

 

“You do?” the engineer asked, looking even warier.

 

Oh, God, he thought, suddenly alarmed. Stop right there, Jules. You're heading into dangerous territory. He was glad he had only had two glasses of spring wine before arriving. “Yes,” he said a little too quickly. “You saw it for the dangerous situation it was and saved me from my tendency to think like a doctor, even in tactical situations.”

 

O'Brien grunted softly. “Well,” he said, “it's not like I enjoyed doin' that to you.”

 

“I know,” he said, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he smiled. “So, we're OK again? On for darts and all that?”

 

“If you like,” Miles said, returning the smile and seeming to relax. “It's been a little borin' tryin' t' play on my own. Hasn't caught on like I hoped it would at Quark's.”

 

“I know. I wonder why that is,” he speculated. “I suppose it doesn't matter.” He found himself lapsing quiet. Perhaps this truly hadn't been the best of ideas in his current mood. He felt restless, irritated, and more than a little put out, not just by Garak but by how often Leeta sent him packing instead of letting him stay. Garak was wrong; he was sure of it. Leeta wasn't worried about him as competition. If she felt any strange distance between herself and Julian, it was something else, something worse. He sighed.

 

Miles sipped his coffee and tilted his head. “What's got a bee in your bonnet tonight?”

 

“Leeta wanted to have Garak to dinner. I wound up being late,” he said glumly.

 

Miles winced. “How bad was it? He had her in tears by the time you got there, didn't he?”

 

“No,” he said. “They got along famously. It was...disturbing,” he added, widening his eyes.

 

“You'd better watch that,” the engineer advised, shaking a thick finger at him. “Nothin' worse than an ex an' a current gettin' all cozy. That's trouble. When that ex is Garak, I shouldn't have to tell you how much worse that can be.”

 

“Dax seems to think I'm still carrying a torch for him,” he said, testing the waters.

 

“Bollocks,” Miles snorted.

 

He knew that was meant to make him feel better, yet it didn't. He believed that the only reason Miles said or believed such was because of how much he disliked Garak and simply didn't want Julian to be with him. He scowled without realizing it.

 

“What?” Miles asked, sitting forward and setting his coffee mug on the coffee table. “Y' mean she's right?”

 

“What? No, of course not!” he protested.

 

“Then why the sour face?” he demanded.

 

“I know you don't like him. I wish...I just wish things weren't always so complicated,” he said, exasperated. “Dax and Garak should just mind their own business.”

 

“What'd Garak do?” he asked.

 

“Forget I said anything. I'm just making things worse. I came here to patch things up with you, not to dump my relationship woes in your lap.”

 

“Are you kiddin'? As much as you listen t' me belly achin' about Keiko, I feel like I owe you,” Miles said, chuffing a laugh.

 

“You love her,” he said a bit wistfully.

 

“Of course I do. She's my wife,” he said, sounding almost defensive for a moment, as though he was invested in convincing either Julian or himself of the fact.

 

“I wish...I wish I loved someone like that,” Julian said with a sigh. I wish that I could. It was a perpetual conundrum, his craving for intimacy at war with his inability to maintain it. Secrets such as his didn't allow room for the sort of commitment Miles exhibited toward Keiko, even with his divided loyalties.

 

“When you're ready for it, it'll come to you,” Miles reassured him. “You're a good man. You just have other priorities right now. There's nothin' wrong with that.”

 

“I suppose,” he said. He decided that he had imposed enough on his friend for one night. Spreading misery wasn't something he ever wanted to develop as a habit. “I think I'm heading to bed. It has been a long day in more ways than one.”

 

Miles nodded and stood with him, draping a casual arm across his shoulders, or was it so casual? Julian couldn't be sure. He walked with him toward the door. “I think you'll feel better in th' mornin' with some sleep under your belt,” he said. “Don't let Dax get t' you. She's too nosy for her own good. Ultimately, you're th' one who decides what's goin' on in your life, not people on th' outside lookin' in. If you knew how many people constantly predicted that me 'n Keiko were on the verge of divorce, you'd see how ridiculous that sort of gossip really is.”

 

Julian decided not to tell him that sometimes he was one of those people who felt that way. The only difference was that he respected Miles enough to keep his mouth shut about it. He gave him a closed lipped smile and clapped him on the back. “You're right,” he said. “Sorry for awakening you.”

 

The Irishman smiled and clapped him back. “Door's always open t' you. You know that. Night, Julian.”

 

“Good night,” he said, stepping out and not feeling any better whatsoever. He was being selfish using Miles like that, taking advantage of how he felt so that he could dump his problems on him any time he was out of sorts and no one else was available. It didn't matter that the engineer was sincere when he said it wasn't an imposition. He knew in his heart of hearts that someone who was just a friend and nothing more wouldn't put up with that behavior from him, not to the frequency and extent that Miles did. “You're a lousy friend,” he muttered to himself, heading back to his empty quarters at last. He had nowhere else to go.

 

Over the next several days, he tried to put some of the concerns raised by the dinner behind him without too much success. It didn't help matters at all that suddenly Garak and Leeta were seeing quite a bit of each other. True, it usually involved Rom, too, the three of them taking lunch or simply spending a little time in the Replimat before Leeta and Rom had to go to work. Rom's presence made him feel as though he couldn't join them, even when he had time to spare. It was no secret that the Ferengi didn't like him. He tolerated Rom's thinly veiled hostility only because he was Leeta's friend, and he knew that the two of them openly at odds would stress her more than she already was from her work environment. What was Garak about? He couldn't accept the situation at face value. There was no way that Garak had just suddenly decided that someone he always claimed to find a little vapid was stimulating company after all. Leeta's attitude toward him hadn't changed, though. She wasn't behaving strangely or secretively. No, whatever Garak was doing, it wasn't direct sabotage. Probably.

 

At least Dax had let up on nagging him about his relationship. Perhaps she truly did feel bad about making him angry, or perhaps she was simply gathering more ammunition before trying to come at him from a different angle. With her it was always so difficult to tell. Sometimes she could be doggedly focused to the point it bordered on obsession. She would then be just as quick to drop something never to mention it again. He had come to chalk these tendencies up to the mystery that was Jadzia Dax.

 

Her magic tricks in Quark's bar one night took him by delighted surprise. He never knew when he'd get to see yet another facet of past hosts surfacing in her mercurial nature. He rightly guessed the influence to be that of Tobin, the quiet, socially awkward host Miles had briefly hosted during the ritual. Unfortunately, Sisko called her away before he could see more sleights of hand, the results of which left Quark confused and irritated, always a plus.

 

He watched the Ferengi bartender pick at his ear for nearly a half hour, likely in the hopes of finding another strip of latinum. He would never tell Jadzia that he could follow what she had done with her hands or how he had seen it all. That would reveal his own brand of prestidigitation. No good magician ever reveals his tricks, he thought, some of his good mood slipping.

 

Dax returned to the bar, looking much more subdued than when she left. She seemed to debate with herself before coming over to join him again. All thoughts of his own issues fled at the sight of the expression on her face. He leaned his head close to hers when she arrived, murmuring, “What is it?” She shot a quick glance at Quark. He seemed distracted. That was no guarantee that he actually was. Julian understood instantly. She didn't want him overhearing. Settling a hand lightly to the small of her back, he led her away from the bar and walked her over to an empty table. They sat so close together, their knees touched.

 

She glanced around again before speaking. “There's a science mission coming here from Trill,” she said softly, a distant look in her pale blue eyes and her fingers laced loosely on the table top, twisting and fidgeting. She glanced at Julian. “One of the team members used to be my wife. Torias' wife,” she corrected herself quickly. “Khan was the symbiont of Torias' wife.”

 

He thought of what he knew of Trill society and the strict laws guiding associations formed in the past. “Oh,” he said, concerned. He covered both of her hands with one of his own. “Are you going to be all right? Do you think you should...I don't know, take some time off while they're here?”

 

She smiled slightly, twisting one of her hands beneath his so that it was palm up and she could give him a light squeeze. “Benjamin gave the same offer,” she said. “I'll be OK. The news just took me by surprise.”

 

“Are you sure?” he asked. He didn't know how much attachments carried from life to life, but he had to imagine it could be problematic if they had developed an entire codex of laws to govern the situation. “What...happens if the two of you...you know. Get close again?”

 

“We'd be exiled from Trill,” she said simply, meeting his gaze.

 

He jerked slightly, taken aback. “But if that happened...”

 

“Yes,” she said. “Both symbionts would die when we died.” She paused and gave him a softer smile. “Which is why you don't have to worry. I'm not stupid. I have no intention of throwing my life, Dax's life, away over this. It may be awkward and a little painful, but I'll handle it.”

 

He gave her a searching look. “Well,” he said finally, “if you need someone to talk to, you know I'll be here for you.”

 

“Yes, I do,” she said, standing suddenly and leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I have a little research to do before calling it a night. Thank you, Julian. I'll see you in the morning.”

 

He watched her walk away, his stomach slightly tight with vague anxiety. He hoped that she was right about her ability to handle the situation. After seeing how quickly she could fall in love when the conditions were right, he was far from certain, himself. Fall in love with anyone but you, he thought a little glumly. He wondered if he would ever fully get over his attraction to her any more than he would his attraction to Garak. Always drawn to the people most likely to see right through you, he thought. Where's the logic in that? He shook his head and stood, tired of the bar noise and ready for bed. It would be much better to sleep than to stew. Stewing just got him into trouble.

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

Julian had been surprised when Captain Sisko approached him and Dax at their table, asking to join them. It wasn't as though the three of them never socialized, but the captain usually liked for such things to be planned and not spontaneous. It quickly became obvious that he was after more than just company when he spoke of his recent, somewhat disastrous exchange with Kasidy Yates, a woman he had been seeing with more frequency of late.

 

Although he tried to be diplomatic, Julian privately felt the captain truly had bungled the conversation. When a woman announced that she would be moving somewhere her romantic partner lived, “It's a big step,” wasn't exactly an encouraging response. In his experience with such situations, complete and abject apology was usually the best route to take, unless of course, one wanted the woman in question to go away.

 

He and Dax both did their best to help. In the end, they were left wondering what Sisko intended to do. Dax looked at him after the captain was out of earshot. “So, just between you and me,” he asked her, “what do you really think about Kasidy moving onto the station?”

 

She mulled it over for a bit. “It's a big step,” she said finally.

 

“A very big step,” he agreed. He wondered if Sisko truly was ready to take it. He knew that he still had lingering issues over his wife's death, something natural in such circumstances, and there was the added complication of Jake.

 

“Speaking of big steps,” she said, giving him a nudge, “how are things going with you and Leeta? You seem to be spending an awful lot of time together.”

 

He took a swig of his drink. “Not when you consider how much she works,” he said.

 

Dax sat back in her seat, folding her arms and favoring him with a raised eyebrow. “And you don't?” she asked, smirking. “Please, don't say 'that's different', because you know it isn't.”

 

“It is when you consider I actually receive fair compensation for the work I do and adequate recognition,” he said somewhat defensively.

 

“So if she was doing something that paid better and people appreciated more, you'd be fine with how much she's working?” she asked, clearly skeptical.

 

“I'd feel better about it,” he said. “Look, it's about more than just how many hours she works or how much time we have for one another. She's constantly stressed out. Over half the time she has to badger Quark just to give her what he actually owes her. I care about her. I don't like to see her treated that way.”

 

“Hmm,” she said, eying him curiously.

 

“Hmm?” he asked. He never liked her “hmm's”. They usually came with a laser judgment that while more often than not accurate was something he rarely wanted to hear.

 

“I just find it telling that you say you care about her, but you don't say you love her.”

 

“When you think about it, it's not as though we've been dating for a long time, just a few months now,” he said, feeling defensive. What did it matter if he didn't love Leeta yet? He had stayed with her longer than he had with most people. After what he went through with Garak, he thought it nothing short of miraculous that he was willing to try a relationship with anyone at all. Who was Dax to lecture him when she was single? He decided it was high time to go on the offensive. “What about you? When are you going to act on your obvious attraction to a certain Lieutenant Commander?”

 

“We aren't talking about me. We're talking about you,” she deflected. “Do you really want to talk about obvious attractions?”

 

“You lost me,” he said, blinking at her in confusion.

 

“Did I?” she asked with such a significant look that it hit him suddenly. She was talking about Garak.

 

“Jadzia,” he cautioned.

 

“Julian,” she retorted, an impish light in her blue eyes.

 

He sighed in defeat. He should have known better than even to try to play this game with her. She was far too good at it. “I'm not going to sit here and try to pretend that there's no longer an attraction. As far as I'm concerned, that's natural. We were together a long time. We have a lot of history. Something like that doesn't just go away overnight. It doesn't mean I intend to revisit old territory. We've both moved past that.”

 

She looked utterly unconvinced. “Uh huh,” she said.

 

He made an impatient noise. “Be as skeptical as you like. It doesn't mean you're right,” he said crossly. “I'm with Leeta now, and that's the end of the discussion as far as I'm concerned.”

 

“Fine,” she said, holding up a conciliatory hand. “I didn't mean to make you angry. Speaking of that, have you patched things up with Miles yet?”

 

“How did you know about that?” he asked, startled.

 

She smiled serenely. “You ought to know by now that precious little happens on this station without my awareness.”

 

“You're as bad as a Betazoid,” he said sourly.

 

“I'm going to take that as a compliment,” she said, her smile inching wider.

 

“Well,” he said sweetly, “if you know so much, you should already know about me and Miles.” He smiled as her expression soured. It was so rare that he actually got one over on her, he was determined to savor the moment to the fullest, which included ordering a fresh drink.

 

Kira

Dozaria

 

It quickly became clear to both Kira and Dukat that the Ravinok didn't just crash but quite possibly was shot down, judging from phaser fire scarring of the hull. After just a little bit of arguing, they determined that Kira would handle trying to wrangle information from the sand choked computer systems and consoles of the Ravinok while Dukat handled the twelve graves they discovered in the sand and grit. Although she didn't understand Cardassian obsession with privacy for their dead, she did understand the importance of ritual. She decided that the least that she could do was to be respectful of Dukat's beliefs. It wasn't as though she was particularly eager to dig into graves, at any rate.

 

The ship was a total mess. She doubted that she'd be able to get much of anything out of it, or even if she'd be able to reactivate most of the systems, but she had to try. More than ever, she wanted to know the fate of her friend Lorit and all the other Bajoran prisoners carried on this ship. She got down to the dirty, gritty work of prying open access panels and trying to clean away enough debris to get decent connections.

 

The wind continued its incessant howl, scouring the half buried hull with hissing grit. Kira continuously blinked stinging sand from her watering eyes, sweat soaking through her thick uniform and making it cling to her uncomfortably. Ignoring her own discomfort as much as she could, she worked doggedly at the various control systems, hoping for a little luck more than anything else. She spared little thought for Dukat at the grave site. She would be able to examine any earrings he found and compare them to a list. To the possible dead Cardassians, she gave no thought at all.

 

After some time, she managed to clean a coupling well enough to attach one of the main cables. To her satisfaction, lights came up and the system hummed to life. “Hello, Ravinok,” she muttered to herself, standing and dusting her pants off, then approaching the console to see what she could access. As information streamed across the console, she hooked a PADD to one of the ports she had cleaned and downloaded what she needed.

 

She took it in hand and left the ship. “Dukat, I was able to reactivate the—” She cut off mid-sentence as she saw him, slumped on the ground with something in his hand, his shoulders shaking. Was he? He couldn't be crying. “Dukat...” She stepped closer, her brow furrowing.

 

“It's nothing,” he said quickly, “nothing at all,” but he couldn't hide the tears in his eyes, and he couldn't wipe them away fast enough.

 

Kira took what he held in his hand and recognized it for what it was, a Bajoran pledge bracelet. She was too taken aback to give him anything other than her natural reaction, sympathy at his plight. Garak had been right after all. Dukat had an ulterior motive for coming all this way, although it was probably far more benign than Garak would have expected. “Who was she?” she asked gently.

 

He tried to put her off, but she'd have none of it. She finally got the story out of him, that he was in love with this woman, Tora Naprem. She might have had a harder time accepting that at face value were it not for the fact that she found him initially overcome with his grief. Even now, he was very reluctant to discuss the issue, deflecting her attention from it by handing her seven Bajoran earrings. Much to her relief, none of them belonged to her friend. Wherever he was, alive or dead, he had not met his fate in this spot.

 

She shared her findings with him from the ship, that it had been attacked by two unknown warships, and they tried to decide what to do next. Scanning from orbit was no good. The same ionic field that made it impossible for them to beam down would interfere with any scans and render the data meaningless. She didn't like having to reveal any secrets to him from the occupation, but she had no choice. She told him of the implants resistance fighters had and activated when captured, and she then scanned to see if she could pick up any readings on her tricorder. Much to her satisfaction, she did. “I think I've got something,” she said. “That way.” She pointed.

 

Dukat carefully tucked the bracelet into his pack and stood, shouldering it. “Let's go,” he said, immediately beginning to walk.

 

He set a rapid pace. Kira found his doggedness strange in the face of their discoveries. If anything, she would expect someone so grief stricken to be less determined, possibly even difficult to motivate. Maybe he's different, she thought as she followed, noting that he no longer seemed to care if she was at his back or not. She was still having a hard time adjusting to the thought of him actually loving a Bajoran at all, much less grieving her loss.

 

When night fell, darkness descended rapidly. The temperature dropped several degrees, and the night sky was pitch black. Just because they hadn't yet discovered major terrain issues didn't mean that they wouldn't or couldn't. Despite being eager to see who might have survived, Kira decided that it was a good time to stop and set up camp. “Hey, Dukat,” she said, “come back and help me. It's time to set up camp for the night.”

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” his voice came from the darkness. “I'm fine, and so are you. It's cooler now. I'd think that would make it easier on you.”

 

He sounded strangely testy. “Be that as it may,” she said, trying to be patient in light of what had happened earlier, “I think it's time to stop. This is my mission, remember?”

 

She heard him hiss and the crunch of his boots over the sand as he approached her. At least he wasn't directly disobeying her and forcing her to play catch up in the darkness. She took out a portable light and set it up. Instead of helping her, he just paced restlessly back and forth. “I don't understand why we have to stop,” he said, sounding almost petulant.

 

He was worse than dealing with a child, she thought. Still trying to be patient, she explained her reasoning and managed to convince him to sit down near the heater, only to have him cry out in pain and writhe around on the ground with both hands clutching his buttocks. She didn't want to laugh. She truly didn't. Clamping down hard with her lips, she managed to get him to let her see what was wrong. An enormous spine protruded, buried well in his posterior. Wincing in sympathy, she warned him that removing it was going to hurt then gave a good twist and a yank. “Ow,” she said ruefully.

 

She found her dermal regenerator and handed it to him then watched him try to treat himself. Her pinched look gave way to a smile, her smile to laughter. She just couldn't help it. He looked so ridiculous!

 

“It's not funny!” he said crossly.

 

“It is from this angle,” she said, laughing harder.

 

To her surprise, he started to laugh as well. “You know what's even funnier?” he asked. “It's not working!”

 

Almost in tears, she realized he hadn't turned it on. “You have to activate it first,” she managed to choke out.

 

When he began to heal himself, she finally got hold of herself. The whole trip had been so odd so far, but now that things had taken such an unexpected turn at the grave site, she was finding it harder to heed Garak's advice. She could no longer see Dukat as the symbol of the occupation and everything that had been so wrong with it, at least no longer just as that. She was starting to see him as more, as a person, and it was disconcerting. His attitude toward her had changed, too. When had that happened? She couldn't even say. She dug in her pack for field rations and tossed him one. As the two began to eat, she brought up something that had been bothering her ever since she found him weeping over the bracelet, and he told her who the woman it belonged to had been. “Tell me something. Who's Tora Ziyal?”

 

He stopped chewing mid-bite and simply looked at her. She pressed on, explaining that she found the name in the manifest, along with the crew and prisoners two civilians, Tora Naprem and Tora Ziyal, a thirteen year old girl.

 

“I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I told you she was Naprem's sister?” he said reluctantly.

 

“Ziyal is a Cardassian name,” she pressed. “The way I see it, there's only one explanation. Ziyal was Naprem's daughter, and...”

 

“And I was her father,” he said.

 

“Now I know why you're in such a hurry to find the survivors,” she said, feeling relieved at finally having discovered the motivation behind his strange behavior ever since they located the Ravinok. “You're hoping she's still alive so you can rescue her.”

 

“Not quite,” he said, his blue-gray eyes catching the camp light and glittering. “You see, if my daughter is still alive, I'll have no choice but to kill her.” Without another word, he set the remainder of his rations aside and rolled over with his back to her, effectively ending the conversation for the night.

 

Kira felt gut punched. That was the last thing she expected him to say. Stupid, she said to herself. You were stupid for letting your guard down. Garak warned you. Not that in the bigger scheme of things that meant all that much to her, but the fact remained. Dukat was the former Prefect of Bajor. He was responsible for countless deaths and atrocities. In light of that, why should she be surprised to discover he had murderous intent toward a family member, particularly one who was half Bajoran?

 

She was reluctant to sleep around him, yet she knew she needed the rest. Always a very light sleeper, she decided to trust to her instincts and abilities to see her through this, lying down and settling in. It was difficult to find sleep, though. She kept thinking of the unknown girl, Ziyal. One thing was certain. She'd kill Dukat before she'd let him touch a hair on that girl's head. If he thought otherwise, he was sadly mistaken.

 

Garak

Private Quarters

 

It had been a long time since Garak had poked so deeply into the station computer system. He was almost certain he had tripped one or two of Odo's security protocols. It didn't matter much. Odo could hardly fault him or be too irritated with him for trying to dig into Dukat's background and activities there. The system purge when the Cardassians left had been fairly thorough, but not complete. The Fleeters had done more to dump and eradicate the rest of the files, particularly after the self-destruct scare. There wasn't much to go on.

 

Undeterred, Garak had next contacted one of the few people he had left on Cardassia with possible relevant information and almost as much reason to dislike Dukat as he had. He had been told that the man would look into it and had been waiting for a little over a day to hear back. He had almost given up hope of having his request actually taken seriously when he received an encrypted and cryptic message. “Possible family ties,” was all it said. Well, that could mean almost anything, couldn't it?

 

After giving it more thought, he decided that perhaps he wasn't completely out of resources. He got dressed to go out, despite the late hour, and made his way to the Security office. Odo glanced up at him from his desk. “I should thank you for saving me the trouble of bringing you in to question,” Odo said, gesturing for Garak to sit down. “Give me one reason I shouldn't lock you up for your recent excavations into our system.”

 

“I was doing it for Major Kira,” Garak said simply. He smiled in satisfaction at Odo's expression. He knew he had him.

 

The shape shifter wasn't going to let up quite so easily, however. “You expect me to believe that the major came to you and asked you to poke around in the computer?” he demanded.

 

“Constable, I said no such thing,” he said, adopting a wounded manner. Odo folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. He knew that his patience was already wearing thin. Garak tried a slightly different tack. “She came to me before she left on her mission with Dukat. She was...concerned...about his attitude toward her.”

 

Odo unfolded his arms and leaned toward Garak. “I'm concerned about that, as well,” he admitted, looking wary.

 

“As you should be,” Garak said, nodding and widening his eyes slightly.

 

“All right, Garak,” Odo relented. “I'm assuming you didn't come here to confess to me something you had to be aware I already knew, so why are you here?”

 

“Dukat was fairly thorough in erasing records involving him and his activities here,” Garak said. “However, I find his interest in the Ravinok strange. I'm not the only one. You knew Dukat during the occupation. Is there something in particular about that ship that would spark his interest above and beyond the fact that he was the commanding officer when it went missing?” Odo's expression grew more guarded. Garak watched him sharply. He knew something. He was almost certain of it. “I don't need to tell you how dangerous he can be,” he said reasonably.

 

“I...can't help you, Garak,” Odo said reluctantly.

 

“As I said, this isn't for me,” Garak retorted. So what if it was a lie, or at least not the entire truth? He actually was somewhat concerned about the major's safety in regard to this.

 

“There's nothing you can do to help Major Kira,” Odo said in such a way that Garak knew he'd get nowhere with him.

 

Garak stood abruptly, irritated. “I hope for her sake and yours that you're right about that,” he said. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were actually protecting Dukat.”

 

Odo shot him an icy glare. “Then I'd say it's a good thing you do know better. I have work to do, Garak. Don't make me change my mind about my decision to let your computer indiscretion slide.”

 

Garak inclined his head slightly and left. That went nowhere. Still, he wasn't completely without any recourse. Smiling grimly to himself, he headed further down the Promenade and dove into the madness of the night crowd at Quark's, something that he would usually avoid like the Rigellian flu if he could help it. If anyone knew about personal details he shouldn't know, it was Quark. The only question was how to motivate him to tell what he knew without winding up in his debt. Devious gears turned in his mind as he approached the bar, allowing his irritation to show.

 

“Garak,” Quark said when he saw him, moving closer, “what brings you to my humble establishment tonight? I don't usually see you at this time.”

 

“I don't usually need a drink so close to bedtime,” Garak said, making sure he sounded put out. “Kanar, please, and keep them coming until I say otherwise.”

 

Quark looked a little concerned. “You feeling OK? You're not going to get...agitated on me, are you?”

 

“No,” he said. “Honestly, it hurts me that you'd even bring that time up. As often as Morn gets raucous and fights, I'd think you'd be far more concerned over his drinking than mine.”

 

Quark shook his head and handed Garak his kanar. “When Morn gets out of sorts, people get black eyes or smashed fingers. When you get out of sorts, it's just as likely somebody will die, and it's just as likely that someone will be me,” he said.

 

“I'd never kill you unless I had to,” Garak assured him, downing his kanar and gesturing for another.

 

“How...comforting,” Quark said dryly. “So what is it that has you so out of sorts, anyway? Pining over the handsome doctor?”

 

“I don't pine,” Garak said primly. “No, I'm afraid this is much more serious,” he said gravely. He paused, glanced to either side, and lowered his voice. “Possibly a matter of life and death. Really, I shouldn't be talking to you about it. If Odo wouldn't take it seriously, why would you?”

 

Quark snorted. “Odo isn't nearly as good as he thinks he is. Who's in danger?”

 

Garak shook his head and took a long swallow of his kanar. “Forget I said anything,” he said. “I insist. It's bad enough I almost got myself arrested over this. You don't need to be in trouble, too. You have thirsty customers. Be a good man, and just leave me that bottle of kanar. I'll tend to myself well enough.”

 

He could tell that Quark was about to burst with curiosity, as well as a desire to one up Odo, the Ferengi's blue eyes darting between him and the customers with torn intent. Grumbling to himself, Quark walked away from Garak to tend to a Bajoran couple who had started to look impatient. Garak drank steadily and deliberately. His alcohol tolerance was still abnormally high, likely a lingering side effect of his permanently changed brain chemistry thanks to the wire. Quark didn't know that, nor did he ever intend for him to find out. He adopted a troubled, brooding look as he watched the rest of the bar activity.

 

Over time, the crowd began to thin. Garak swayed very slightly in his seat and gave a bleary blink into his almost empty kanar glass. Quark reached across the bar and plucked it deftly from his hand. “Let me get that for you,” he said, pouring the last of the kanar from the bottle into it and handing it back to Garak. “Now, Garak,” he said reasonably, “it's clear whatever is going on is really troubling you. You said Odo wouldn't take it seriously. Why not?”

 

Garak blinked owlishly at him and said overly loudly, “I don't know. It doesn't make sense given how he feels.”

 

“How he feels about what?” the Ferengi asked, leaning closer.

 

“Don't we have breakfast together almost every day?” Garak asked plaintively.

 

“You do,” Quark nodded. “I don't understand it, but you do. What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“Everything,” Garak said. “I'm...trying to be a friend. That's what friends do, right? Look out for each other and each other's...friends?”

 

Quark sighed. “I'm really not following you. I think you've had too much kanar. You should probably go sleep it off.”

 

Garak grasped his forearm. “I bet you know,” he said gravely. “You were here during the occupation. You heard things about Dukat.”

 

“Who didn't?” Quark asked offhandedly. He suddenly seemed to get it. “This is about Major Kira, isn't it? Isn't she on some sort of joint mission with him?”

 

“She is,” Garak said, nodding too vigorously. “Now you see. Think about it.” He let Quark's arm go, only to tap his index finger on the bar top emphatically and narrow his eyes. “Why would a Legate come all the way from Cardassia to investigate the disappearance of a Bajoran prison transport, unless someone important to him was on that transport? Someone he didn't want anyone else to know about? Someone he wouldn't want Kira to know about?”

 

“You know,” Quark said thoughtfully, “there were rumors of a comfort woman he got...a little too close to. Some of the guards would talk about it sometimes when they didn't think I could hear them. No offense, Garak, but you Cardassians can't really whisper to save your lives. There were even rumors of a child. I didn't give it much credence at the time. Dukat hardly seemed the type, but...”

 

Garak was no longer listening. He had already stood and strode halfway across the bar before Quark called out to him, “Hey! You didn't pay!”

 

“Make me a tab,” Garak retorted, not slowing for one moment. He needed to make another contact on Cardassia. If what Quark said had even a remote possibility of being true, he needed to get some balls rolling before Dukat had a chance to get back and cover anything up. Of course, this also meant that Major Kira was in much more danger than he initially realized. However, as Odo had said, there was nothing he could do about that now except to hope that she took his sincere warnings to heart.

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