Bashir signaled at Dax’s door promptly at 2120 hours, to walk with her to the welcoming party. Ezri was still trying to make her hair do something interesting. The sound of the door’s tone started her heart beating a little faster.
“Come in!”
The door opened and Bashir stepped inside, smiling when he saw her in front of the mirror. She frowned, running her fingers through her hair, brushing it forward and then pushing it back.
“It’s short, Ezri,” he said, moving to stand behind her, speaking to her reflection. He slid his arms around her waist, resting his chin on top of her head. It always amazed her, how well they fit together. “There’s just not that much you can do with it.”
Dax smiled, still fussing with her bangs, happy to be in his arms. “Says you. I’m going to dye it purple and green, and spike it like a prong flower.”
She turned around, leaning back to kiss him hello before stepping away. “Are you ready yet?” she asked, teasing.
“I’m always ready,” he said, his stock answer, but his smile was a little thin . . . and although she knew exactly why, she wasn’t prepared to get into it. She knew he was hurt by what had happened, but his response had hurt, too, and she wanted a little more time to figure out what she wanted to tell him.
I need time to figure out what I’m trying to tell me. Since commanding the Defiant, she had discovered new kinds of memories, feelings of confidence and possibility that she’d never felt before. She felt strong and excited and a little bit confused, and she knew that things where changing.
But that’s good, change is a good thing . . . and he loves me. He’d understand, he’d be patient and understanding—
—like he understood about Jadzia?
Dax ignored the vicious little thought, reminding herself that he’d been surprised into anger.
“Listen—about tonight . . .” Ezri smiled up at him, feeling strangely nervous. She trusted him, but was feeling a little uncertain about his mood. “Would it be okay with you if we moved dinner to tomorrow?”
Bashir’s smile faded. “Why?”
“I really need to do some serious prep work, for my next session with Kitana’klan. I’d been planning to do it after our dinner, but then Kira called about Jake, and I guess he’s only going to be here for a day. . . .”
At the tensing of his jaw, she gave up. “I do need the time for work, but I also want to be alone tonight. Not because of what happened yesterday, but because . . . I just do.”
Bahsir stared at her, and for a moment she thought he would be angry, a thought that both distressed her and opened the door to resentment. She loved him, but she was also unhappy about his reaction to what had occurred between them. She’d reached out for understanding, for empathy and support, and he’d turned away.
“I understand,” he said finally, obviously doing his best to mean it. “Tomorrow it is, then.”
“Hey, we’ve still got a party to go to tonight, right?” Ezri smiled encouragingly at him.
“Right.” His smile seemed a little forced, but she appreciated the effort.
“I love you,” she said, and his face brightened a little, the lines of tension around his mouth and eyes relaxing.
“And I love you,” he said, so warmly that she almost regretted changing their plans. Almost, but she had so much to think about, so much to consider. She’d known that a joined Trill had lifetimes of experience to draw upon, obviously, but except in specific instances, she hadn’t really felt it before, not as something that could define her. But since the Defiant . . .
All of them, and me; Dax.
“Shall we?” Ezri asked, taking his arm, and Julian nodded, leaning down to kiss her again.
They started for Quark’s, and although they walked touching and in love, their arms closely linked, smiling at one another, Ezri could feel the distance, and wondered if they’d be able to keep it from growing.
* * *
It was a beautiful thing, Quark decided, the kind of thing that made him believe in miracles.
Trays of hors d’oeuvres and sliced hasperat and stick sandwiches, enough to feed 600 with orders to replenish as needed. An open bar for two full hours, no maximum, and half price cost thereafter. And with shrine services ending, a wave of spiritually satisfied but certainly hungry and thirsty customers headed in his direction; all that worship could be rough on a body. It had been too short notice to get the hype up, but he was betting that at least 2,000 people would manage to drop in throughout the evening, at least for a drink. After days of drying profits, caused by those nasty Jem’Hadar driving away the last of his postwar revelers, Kira’s acquiescence to a catered event—at his bar, and one that was open to the entire station—was like a blessed rain.
After a few final words to his staff—“keep it coming” prime among them—Quark stepped out from behind the bar and started encouraging the arriving patrons to eat, drink, be joyous, and then eat and drink more. He made a point of telling all who entered that everything was free, and that on such a lucky evening, they should consider trying a hand at dabo or dom-jot, perhaps even a late night game of tongo. As the 9th Rule promised, “Opportunity plus instinct equals profit.”
He was saying as much to an elderly Bajoran woman when he saw Colonel Kira arrive, looking much happier than he’d seen her in a while. She had that bounce in her step that had been missing lately, and she actually smiled and nodded at him after looking over the accommodations. He’d had Frool hang a few streamers around the main food table, left over from Rom’s going-away party. The decorations added that special festive touch, and since Rom had paid for them, it didn’t cost Quark a thing to appear the consummate host; what could be better?
The bar slowly filled, more and more people wandering in, helping themselves to food and drink. When Jake Sisko and Kasidy Yates walked in together, a small cheer went up. Quark was too busy to see to them personally—that damned replicator of his was still blinking out, requiring him to constantly stay on top of his employees, keeping them running to and from the kitchen—but he had Broik go over with a glass of synthale for Jake and ginger tea for Kasidy. It was the little touches, he knew, that made Quark’s the place to spend money on DS9.
Quark was fully occupied—keeping the dabo girls smiling, pushing his employees to hurry, advocating merriment—but not so engrossed that he couldn’t keep his eyes and ears open. Sensing and reacting to the emotional undercurrents of his customers’ interactions was the mark of any good entrepreneur. When he saw Shar come in alone, he mentioned to Morn that the new science officer probably knew all sorts of tricks for generating hair growth, and sent Morn over with a fresh pitcher of high-grade ale to share with the Andorian. When the adorable Ezri came in with her silly doctor, Quark noticed that there was definitely trouble in paradise, at least on Bashir’s part. The doctor was faking his laughter, no question; Quark specifically assigned Frool to keep the doctor’s whiskey glass full, as he had for so many troubled lovers through the years. Sometimes misery was even more lucrative than happiness.
Quark kept watch on the new vedek, and wasn’t particularly impressed with what he saw. The mostly forgettable Yevir Linjarin had always been a man of simple, inexpensive tastes, and it seemed that getting bit by the Prophet bug hadn’t changed anything. He ate a single slice of hasperat and drank only water, setting a bad example for his small flock of beaming followers. Kira seemed to like Yevir, though, making a point of introducing Jake and Kasidy to him soon after he walked in. Quark noticed with some interest that meeting Sisko’s family was the one thing that actually wiped the pious smile from Yevir’s face; nice to see a little humility in the religious, particularly those who didn’t know how to enjoy free food. Rumor had it that he’d only be staying a short time on the station, at least.
In all, the party was proving to be a success, the only sour note being that Ro Laren hadn’t put in an appearance. Yet, he reminded himself; it was still early. It was frustrating, particularly considering he had promised to buy her a drink the next time she dropped by. With Kira picking up the tab, he could have plied the lovely Laren with plenty of high quality liquor, saving himself a few slips of latinum.
Can’t win ’em all, he thought, feeling uncharacteristically easygoing, ducking behind the bar to scrounge up another pitcher of Andorian ale after noting that Shar and Morn were running dry. He was in a good mood; people were eating and drinking and betting, the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air, the bill steadily climbing. Besides, Ro wasn’t going anywhere; he had plenty of time to work his magic.
“Hi, Quark.”
Quark stood up, pitcher in hand, and saw Jake Sisko leaning across the bar. Quark plastered on a bright smile, a little surprised to find that he actually meant it. Not only was Jake’s presence responsible for Quark’s profitable night, he . . . well, Quark had a soft spot for the gangly young man. He was Nog’s best friend, after all, and unlike his nephew, Jake had shown the good sense not to go into Starfleet.
“Jake! Welcome home. Enjoying your party, I hope? You should try the stick sandwiches, the fruit ones are especially crisp.” They also weren’t going as fast as everything else, and leftovers didn’t keep.
“Thanks, but I’m not planning on—” Jake started.
“Say, where’s that nephew of mine?” Quark interrupted, his grin fading. Jake Sisko was important to the people of Bajor; it would be just like Nog to destroy his only good contact.
“Ensign Chavez said he had a few more repairs to oversee in one of the defense sails, but he should be here any minute,” Jake said. “Anyway, like I was saying, I wasn’t planning to stay on the station—”
“Oh? Where are you going?” Quark asked eagerly. If he could talk Kira into a going-away party . . .
“Earth,” Jake said, apparently frustrated about something. “And I’d actually like to travel alone for a change. So I need a ship that’ll get me there. Do you have one?”
Quark stared at him for a moment, then laughed. He had more of a sense of humor than his father had, Quark had to give him that much. “Very funny.”
“It’s not a joke,” Jake said. “And I know you had a couple of unregistered shuttles stashed in one of your cargo bays before I left for B’hala. Nog told me you picked them up cheap at an auction, after the war. Do you still have one?”
Nog had a big mouth. Quark sighed, lowering his voice slightly. There were a lot of people around. “Maybe I do. But I don’t run a rental agency.”
“Oh, I want to buy it. How much?”
As he spoke, Jake unfastened a small pouch from his belt and dug into it. Quark could hear the dully musical, telltale clink of latinum slips, the slightly deeper sound of a strip or two.
Right. Sell a shuttle for strips. Being the Emissary’s kid apparently caused hallucinations.
“Forget it, Jake. Even if you’ve got a bar in there, there’s no way you could afford it. Now if you don’t mind, I see some empty glasses out there—”
“Wait,” Jake said, and finally rummaged out a personal account card. He thumbprinted the access key and handed it over.
Quark took it from him, trying to decide if he should bother letting the kid down gently—and then he saw the number on the tiny display. Frowning, that can’t possibly be right, he expertly tapped a few keys, has to be in Cardassian leks, or Tarkalean notch-rocks . . .
Gold-pressed latinum. Not just bars, but bricks of it, enough to buy ten shuttles. Twenty.
“Give me a couple of hours,” Quark said, a little breathlessly. “You can take possession at airlock 12, 2500.”
Jake plucked the card from Quark’s numb fingers and slipped in back into his bag. “I’ll want to see the merchandise before we agree on a price—though I’m sure it’ll be fine. Nog said he checked them out, and you got a good deal.”
Jake turned to walk away. Still stunned, Quark found his voice again; he had to know.
“How? How did you end up with that kind of latinum?”
Jake looked back at him and shrugged. “It was my dad’s.”
Quark shook his head. “Jake, your father worked for the Federation.”
Jake grinned, a bright and sunny smile. “Remember how Jadzia used to win at tongo?”
Quark nodded, suppressing a shudder. The woman’s luck had been uncanny. Six years of it, too.
Still smiling, Jake delivered the punch. “She lost most of it to Dad, wrestling him on the weekends.”
Jake returned to his party, and for a moment, Quark could only stare after him, trying to think of an applicable Rule. Something about irony. He kept coming up blank, and those glasses out there weren’t filling themselves.
Well, at least he’d be getting some of it back; he’d be sure to charge as much as he could get away with for the shuttle. Sisko’s kid or not, he can afford a little gouging. . . .
Shaking his head, Quark spotted Frool and Broik loitering by the bar and went to yell at them.
* * *
Nog didn’t get to Quark’s until almost 2300. He’d been working with a crew of the new techs, slogging through the last bit of repair work on the weapons arrays, and had been afraid he’d missed everything; he was relieved to see that there were still plenty of people milling around.
He stopped at the bar for a root beer, eagerly looking around for Jake. Uncle was in fine form, ordering the servers around and table-hopping with a vengeance, and as Nog searched for Jake, he saw that most of his friends were still in the bar. Shar, Morn, and Ezri sat together, laughing about something, and at the table next to theirs, Kas and Kira were chatting away. Dr. Bashir was playing darts with Ensign Tenmei. A table of engineers saw Nog and waved, raising cups and glasses, and Nog held his root beer up in turn, thinking that he felt really good for the first time all day.
Hard to relax, when you know there’s a murdering monster on board, an unhappy voice whispered in his mind, helpfully reminding him. It had even been hard to concentrate on work, and for the first time in months, he’d had twinges of pain in his leg.
“Hey! You made it!”
Nog turned, and saw that Jake had managed to sneak up behind him. Grinning, Nog set his drink down and impulsively hugged Jake, heartily slapping him on the back before letting go. Nog already missed him; Colonel Kira had already told him Jake was probably leaving in a day or so, off to see his grandfather.
“Sorry it took me so long,” Nog said. “You wouldn’t believe how much stuff there is to do around here. How’s the party going? Do you want to sit down somewhere?”
Smiling, Jake jerked his head back toward the Promenade. “What do you say we go to our spot? For old times’ sake?”
Nog hesitated for just a second, wondering if it was appropriate for a Starfleet lieutenant—then nodded, unable to resist. He was off duty. “That sounds great.”
Jake glanced around the bar and then raised a finger to his lips. The old let’s-keep-it-quiet sign reminded Nog of earlier times, days when his only responsibilities were going to Mrs. O’Brien’s school and helping out in the bar, when his biggest worry was that Odo would catch them exploring the station’s old service ducts. It was a fond, wistful feeling so sudden that it made his throat ache.
The two of them slipped quietly out of the bar, taking the long way around to the small lift that went to the second floor balcony. They headed for “their” bridge, the one that crossed between the viewport and the upstairs level of Quark’s bar. Without ceremony, they flopped to the floor, sitting with their legs dangling over the edge. Although there was some noise from the bar, the Promenade itself was mostly deserted and quiet, the low, eternal hum of the station audible in the near silence.
For a moment, neither spoke, Jake gazing out the windows, Nog thinking about all the hours they had spent sitting there, talking about their plans for the future as they watched people walk the Promenade below. Jake seemed distant, and Nog supposed he was thinking about his father. It had to be hard for Jake, missing his dad. Nog missed his father, too, but Rom was on Ferenginar; he could always call him, collect, even. Rom had changed the law first thing, just so Nog would be sure to stay in touch.
“So that’s what’s left of the Aldebaran,” Jake said quietly, surprising Nog. There was a wide field of scattered debris far beyond the window, glittering in the light of Bajor’s distant sun. Jake had apparently been looking at the floating wreckage, not thinking about Captain Sisko.
Nog nodded. “It’s been a problem, too. Some of the bigger pieces have been triggering the wormhole, and they’re putting out enough radiation to confuse the sensors. The only way we can tell a ship isn’t coming through is to scan for incoming neutrino bleeds, and that takes a few seconds.” A few terrifying seconds, not knowing if the first wave of another Dominion aggression had just come through.
“Why don’t you just blast them?” Jake asked.
“The Defiant is still under repair. I suppose we could use runabouts, but they aren’t an immediate threat, and Starfleet will want to examine the remains once the task force gets here.”
“When are they supposed to show up?”
Nog sighed. “Sometime in the next day or two, I guess. Not soon enough for me.”
“Why?” Jake asked. “I thought Kira didn’t want them to come at all.”
“Because they’ll probably take that Jem’Hadar with them when they leave,” Nog said, hearing the bitterness in his voice. He couldn’t help it, but wasn’t sorry, either. Just because the Federation said they weren’t official enemies anymore, that didn’t mean they were friends . . . or that Nog had to accept one of them.
Jake frowned. “I thought—Kira told me that Odo may have sent him. And that he could end up staying, if that turns out to be true—”
“I’ll quit,” Nog spat. “I’ll quit before I work on a station with one of those things aboard. And Odo didn’t send him. There’s no way he would have sent a Jem’Hadar soldier here without some kind of, of credentials.”
He shook his head, the anger a sharp, hot needle in his gut. “And even if he did, he wouldn’t have sent that Jem’Hadar. If you saw him, you’d understand. He’s just like the rest of them, he’s a murderer, you can see it in his eyes—”
Jake put a hand on his arm. “Hey, you don’t have to convince me.”
Nog saw that he was sincere, and exhaled heavily, nodding. “Right. I’m sorry, I just—I’ve been thinking about it a lot, you know?”
“I understand. Maybe . . . well, I probably won’t be around, but maybe you should talk about it to Ezri, or Vic—”
“What’s to talk about?” Nog snapped. “They’re all killers, nobody disputes that. I don’t need to talk about it, I need for that thing to be off the station, and the sooner the better.”
Jake nodded, his expression mild. “Yeah, okay.”
They were quiet for another minute, Nog feeling somehow like he hadn’t made his case properly. He was upset, maybe more than he should be, but he was also right, and didn’t want his anger to confuse the issue. On the other hand, he hadn’t seen Jake for a while, and probably wouldn’t again for at least another few weeks. It would be a waste to spend their time together talking about the prisoner in the holding cell—
“I’m probably going to leave tonight,” Jake said quietly, looking out again at the debris field hovering beyond the windows.
“Why? It’s pretty late . . . why don’t you stay for a couple of days?” Nog was a little hurt by the news, immediately wondering if Jake’s decision had to do with his tirade against the Jem’Hadar.
Don’t be ridiculous. He just needs some convincing.
Nog forced a grin, revealing as many teeth as possible to promote enthusiasm. “If you’re here when the Federation ships arrive, I bet we can get a dom-jot game going with some of their crew. Maybe even a tournament.” Just about everyone on the station knew better than to play against them; Nog was good, but Jake was practically a master. “We make a great team.”
Jake smiled, but even that seemed far away. “That’s true. But there are things I need to do . . . and I’d kind of like to get away without making a big deal out of it. I mean, I’ve seen everyone I wanted to see. They’ll understand, if I just kinda sneak out of the party early.”
Jake grinned. “And I will be back, you know. Maybe even in time for part of that dom-jot tourney.”
“I thought you were going to Earth for a couple of weeks, at least,” Nog said.
Jake shrugged. “Plans change.”
For just a second, Nog had the idea that Jake was concealing something, his childhood friend’s expression too innocent to be genuine . . . but he dismissed the thought, deciding he was being paranoid. They weren’t children anymore, trying to get away with some minor indiscretion without Odo or their fathers finding out. Besides which, he and Jake were partners; Jake wouldn’t hide anything from him.
“Well, I hope they do,” Nog said sincerely. “I miss you, Jake.”
Jake nodded somberly. “I miss you, too.”
After another second, Jake smiled, and batted his eyelids. “So, you want to kiss now, or what?”
Nog laughed, and punched Jake on the arm. “You should be so lucky, hew-mon.”
He thought Jake would punch him back, and for a second, he had a strong flash of nostalgia for it. Even a couple of years ago, an exchange of punches would inevitably have them rolling on the floor, giggling like children as they struggled to pin each other down.
Jake suddenly looked a little down, and Nog thought he knew why. Things had changed, they’d been changing for a long time, and the reminder of how things had once been was both sweet and sad. It seemed like they’d both just figured out that they couldn’t go back.
Jake started talking about B’hala, and the moment was gone. Nog wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, and finally decided that it didn’t matter. It was good to see his best friend again.