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seikilosTitle: Held
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Action/Pre-slash
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to torture; panic attack; innuendo)
Betas: tinsnip and Yosie
Words: This part 1406, approximately 16 000 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: "...[T]he dictator is merely the tip of the whole festering boil of social pus from which dictators emerge; shoot one, and there’ll be another one along in a minute." - Terry Pratchett. Approximately six weeks after The Circle's fall from power, a fragment of the organisation returns to lash out against the only Cardassian living on Deep Space Nine. What the terrorists didn't anticipate, however, was being interrupted mid-abduction.
Author's Notes: This fic is what I've mentally termed my Bajoran baby. I've been working on it for approximately half a year now--so actually, I suppose it counts as a long Bajoran pregnancy.
I had several goals in writing this fic, some of which won't become clear until later on. The primary one was to challenge myself to write an episode of DS9, using its format, plot structure, and some of its tropes. (Some of said tropes, however, I played around with a little.) It was a fun exercise that took me well outside my usual style, and someday, I may very well try it again.
Another reason for writing this was to tie up a few loose ends from the three-part Season 2 opening: "The Homecoming," "The Circle," and "The Siege." There were several things about those episodes that make sense from a series production point of view, such as why The Circle was never heard from again even if it's very difficult to completely wipe out a terrorist cell all in one go--especially one with that level of support. And, well, why they attacked Quark as opposed to Garak, since, you know, budgets and hiring actors, and so forth. But these weren't very satisfying to me from a storytelling point of view, and so I decided to play around with the situation.
A huge thank you goes to tinsnip, who gave me an extremely thorough beta involving just about everything and who suggested the title for the story (you don't want to know what it would have been called if I were left my own devices), and to Yosie, who's been reading my writing for thirteen years now (!) and knows where I make my mistakes. This is a hell of a lot better story thanks to them. <3
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy my Bajoran baby, haha.
(1)
"Thanks again for eating this late. I promise everything will be sorted at the infirmary soon." Julian leaned in, attempting to convey just how serious he was about his promise. Unfortunately, he had to step aside to let a security officer exit the turbolift next to him immediately afterward, so his action probably didn't have the effect he had intended.
Garak smiled anyway and set a hand on his upper arm. "There's no need to concern yourself on my account. When it comes to you, my dear doctor, my schedule is always free and clear."
Some of the tension unknitted in him, and for the moment, he was able to return the smile without preoccupation. "Thanks, Garak."
It had all been a bit of a mess in the infirmary over the past few days. One of their senior Bajoran medics had needed to go into premature labour; while her replacement had been on standby, a death in the family had understandably delayed his assumption of his temporary post. In the meantime, they'd all divided up the work as best they could. Juggling his usual unpredictable duties on top of a share of another's had forced Julian to cancel his weekly lunch with Garak two days in a row. When he'd managed to snag a full hour for a late supper, though, he'd immediately headed to Garak's shop, and, well, that had been that.
Now, regrettably, it was time to go back into the fray.
"I'll see you next week at the usual time, then," Julian went on, and that was regretable, too. Not for the first time, it occurred to him to suggest that they share a meal more often—the days he ate with Garak were always his clear favourites. But if he was going to do so, it would be after things were back to normal (or what passed for it). Any potential changes to their routine were going to have to wait.
"Are you certain that's a promise you can keep?" Garak teased. He let his hand drop, and with the loss of contact came the return of stress. Oh hell, he still had twenty-seven more sets of sample data to write up before morning, didn't he?
He sighed. "Not in the slightest. Have a good evening, Garak."
"You as well, Doctor."
"If only," he muttered as Garak entered the turbolift.
He hadn't even got halfway back to the infirmary when, in the midst of planning out that damned write-up, his memory belatedly started functioning again. Next week—that was when he'd agreed to work a double shift to cover Solan's vacation day. Of course.
The sigh that followed that unfortunate recollection was much more forceful as he stopped, turned, and retraced his steps to the turbolift to follow his friend. At least Garak was likely to get some amusement out of the continuing disaster that was his schedule. He was lucky his friend never seemed to truly mind anything—better to have only one of them frustrated than both.
"Garak?" he called out as the turbolift doors opened on Habitat Level H-3. When he didn't receive a response, he picked up his pace. "Garak, you won't believe this, but I'm going to have to ask you to reschedule our lunch a—"
He turned a corner.
And directly in front of him were three masked humanoids in burgundy robes. One lay still on the ground. One was bent in two, arms wrapped tight around an injured midsection. The last supported with difficulty an unconscious Cardassian man.
Julian's hand struck for his combadge, but hard fingers snapped around his wrist. There was no time to yell or drive an elbow backwards—a hypo hissed against his neck. All he did have time for was a single thought:
Not three of them, after all.
*
"Jabara, have you seen Dr. Bashir?" Dr. Solan asked, looking up from the case file she'd been studying.
"No, but he'll probably be back soon." Jabara's eyebrows drew together slightly. "He was having supper with the Cardassian."
Solan grimaced. She liked Dr. Bashir—while he was clueless and Federation, he was a brilliant doctor and nothing but kind to all of them. But she really wished he would stop associating with the Cardassian, especially since he always rushed in a little late after seeing him, full of apologies and as giddy as a schoolboy. She never could meet his eyes until work had settled him down again.
"I hope he turns up soon—someone has to finish up his sample data and I don't want it to be me," she said and turned back to her file. She only realized she, too, was frowning when she reached up later to rub her forehead.
*
As far as Odo was concerned, there were bad days on Deep Space 9, and there were days. (No day could be termed "good" as long as Quark walked free.)
This was shaping up to be one of the bad ones. He'd barely reached his office before he'd had to arrest two people for being drunk and disorderly (at 0900 hours?), and that had set the tone for the rest of the day. Things had culminated with fully a third of the station's security cameras going offline.
He'd been on high alert ever since. Chief O'Brien had suggested it was probably a glitch with the Cardassian computers—even a year after the handover, the Federation was still having trouble with them—but he doubted it. He doubted it very much. And even if he were wrong, he didn't think for a second that DS9's criminal element would ignore his temporary disadvantage.
So while the cameras were offline, Odo made sure to patrol the affected areas very closely—and to periodically check in with O'Brien. The man was beginning to sound testy, but that wasn't Odo's problem. If anything, it would likely motivate him to fix the cameras faster.
"Infirmary to security."
"Odo here."
"Sir, this is Dr. Solan." A hesitation. "Dr. Bashir hasn't shown up for the last few hours of his shift."
He stopped walking and frowned. "Are you sure he hasn't just been detained?"
"We thought so at first, but . . . the computer says he isn't on the station. Was there an emergency we weren't notified about?"
"If there was, then no one told me." He paused. "Where was he last seen?"
"With the Cardassian, sir. They were having supper together."
He was liking this situation less by the moment. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll keep you informed. Odo out."
He wasted no time; as soon as his link with the infirmary ended, he demanded, "Computer, what is the location of Dr. Bashir?"
The response was prompt: "Dr. Bashir is not on this station."
Odo growled out a breath. Time for the next step. Garak was a civilian and therefore didn't wear a combadge, but finding his location was almost as easy as if he did.
"Computer, run a scan for Cardassian lifeforms."
. . . Or in theory it was.
"There are no Cardassians on this station."
So. On the same day a large number of security cameras mysteriously stopped working, a high-ranking member of Starfleet went missing along with one of the least trustworthy Cardassians Odo had ever met.
He had no proof that Garak was other than what he said he was—yet. But there had to be a very good reason the man had decided to open shop on a Bajoran station, and the only Cardassian Odo had met who smiled half as much was Gul Dukat. There wasn't a much better definition of "poor company" than that.
It was still possible, of course, that all these happenings were lining up by coincidence. Possible, but not at all likely.
He reached up to hit his combadge, but before he could, it activated.
"Dax to Odo."
"Odo here." Now what?
He could almost hear Dax frowning as she said, "Constable, did you give permission to the Kressari freighter docked at Secondary Docking Port Nine to depart?"
"Of course not, Lieutenant. That's hardly my job."
"Well, someone must have, because it's gone."
Disabled security cameras, a missing Federation officer and Cardassian civilian, and now a ship that had left the station without permission. He'd have to be a fool not to see the connections here.
"Tell Commander Sisko I need to see him in his office immediately. If I'm right, we have a much bigger problem on our hands than a missing freighter."
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Action/Pre-slash
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to torture; panic attack; innuendo)
Betas: tinsnip and Yosie
Words: This part 1406, approximately 16 000 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: "...[T]he dictator is merely the tip of the whole festering boil of social pus from which dictators emerge; shoot one, and there’ll be another one along in a minute." - Terry Pratchett. Approximately six weeks after The Circle's fall from power, a fragment of the organisation returns to lash out against the only Cardassian living on Deep Space Nine. What the terrorists didn't anticipate, however, was being interrupted mid-abduction.
Author's Notes: This fic is what I've mentally termed my Bajoran baby. I've been working on it for approximately half a year now--so actually, I suppose it counts as a long Bajoran pregnancy.
I had several goals in writing this fic, some of which won't become clear until later on. The primary one was to challenge myself to write an episode of DS9, using its format, plot structure, and some of its tropes. (Some of said tropes, however, I played around with a little.) It was a fun exercise that took me well outside my usual style, and someday, I may very well try it again.
Another reason for writing this was to tie up a few loose ends from the three-part Season 2 opening: "The Homecoming," "The Circle," and "The Siege." There were several things about those episodes that make sense from a series production point of view, such as why The Circle was never heard from again even if it's very difficult to completely wipe out a terrorist cell all in one go--especially one with that level of support. And, well, why they attacked Quark as opposed to Garak, since, you know, budgets and hiring actors, and so forth. But these weren't very satisfying to me from a storytelling point of view, and so I decided to play around with the situation.
A huge thank you goes to tinsnip, who gave me an extremely thorough beta involving just about everything and who suggested the title for the story (you don't want to know what it would have been called if I were left my own devices), and to Yosie, who's been reading my writing for thirteen years now (!) and knows where I make my mistakes. This is a hell of a lot better story thanks to them. <3
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy my Bajoran baby, haha.
"Thanks again for eating this late. I promise everything will be sorted at the infirmary soon." Julian leaned in, attempting to convey just how serious he was about his promise. Unfortunately, he had to step aside to let a security officer exit the turbolift next to him immediately afterward, so his action probably didn't have the effect he had intended.
Garak smiled anyway and set a hand on his upper arm. "There's no need to concern yourself on my account. When it comes to you, my dear doctor, my schedule is always free and clear."
Some of the tension unknitted in him, and for the moment, he was able to return the smile without preoccupation. "Thanks, Garak."
It had all been a bit of a mess in the infirmary over the past few days. One of their senior Bajoran medics had needed to go into premature labour; while her replacement had been on standby, a death in the family had understandably delayed his assumption of his temporary post. In the meantime, they'd all divided up the work as best they could. Juggling his usual unpredictable duties on top of a share of another's had forced Julian to cancel his weekly lunch with Garak two days in a row. When he'd managed to snag a full hour for a late supper, though, he'd immediately headed to Garak's shop, and, well, that had been that.
Now, regrettably, it was time to go back into the fray.
"I'll see you next week at the usual time, then," Julian went on, and that was regretable, too. Not for the first time, it occurred to him to suggest that they share a meal more often—the days he ate with Garak were always his clear favourites. But if he was going to do so, it would be after things were back to normal (or what passed for it). Any potential changes to their routine were going to have to wait.
"Are you certain that's a promise you can keep?" Garak teased. He let his hand drop, and with the loss of contact came the return of stress. Oh hell, he still had twenty-seven more sets of sample data to write up before morning, didn't he?
He sighed. "Not in the slightest. Have a good evening, Garak."
"You as well, Doctor."
"If only," he muttered as Garak entered the turbolift.
He hadn't even got halfway back to the infirmary when, in the midst of planning out that damned write-up, his memory belatedly started functioning again. Next week—that was when he'd agreed to work a double shift to cover Solan's vacation day. Of course.
The sigh that followed that unfortunate recollection was much more forceful as he stopped, turned, and retraced his steps to the turbolift to follow his friend. At least Garak was likely to get some amusement out of the continuing disaster that was his schedule. He was lucky his friend never seemed to truly mind anything—better to have only one of them frustrated than both.
"Garak?" he called out as the turbolift doors opened on Habitat Level H-3. When he didn't receive a response, he picked up his pace. "Garak, you won't believe this, but I'm going to have to ask you to reschedule our lunch a—"
He turned a corner.
And directly in front of him were three masked humanoids in burgundy robes. One lay still on the ground. One was bent in two, arms wrapped tight around an injured midsection. The last supported with difficulty an unconscious Cardassian man.
Julian's hand struck for his combadge, but hard fingers snapped around his wrist. There was no time to yell or drive an elbow backwards—a hypo hissed against his neck. All he did have time for was a single thought:
Not three of them, after all.
"Jabara, have you seen Dr. Bashir?" Dr. Solan asked, looking up from the case file she'd been studying.
"No, but he'll probably be back soon." Jabara's eyebrows drew together slightly. "He was having supper with the Cardassian."
Solan grimaced. She liked Dr. Bashir—while he was clueless and Federation, he was a brilliant doctor and nothing but kind to all of them. But she really wished he would stop associating with the Cardassian, especially since he always rushed in a little late after seeing him, full of apologies and as giddy as a schoolboy. She never could meet his eyes until work had settled him down again.
"I hope he turns up soon—someone has to finish up his sample data and I don't want it to be me," she said and turned back to her file. She only realized she, too, was frowning when she reached up later to rub her forehead.
As far as Odo was concerned, there were bad days on Deep Space 9, and there were days. (No day could be termed "good" as long as Quark walked free.)
This was shaping up to be one of the bad ones. He'd barely reached his office before he'd had to arrest two people for being drunk and disorderly (at 0900 hours?), and that had set the tone for the rest of the day. Things had culminated with fully a third of the station's security cameras going offline.
He'd been on high alert ever since. Chief O'Brien had suggested it was probably a glitch with the Cardassian computers—even a year after the handover, the Federation was still having trouble with them—but he doubted it. He doubted it very much. And even if he were wrong, he didn't think for a second that DS9's criminal element would ignore his temporary disadvantage.
So while the cameras were offline, Odo made sure to patrol the affected areas very closely—and to periodically check in with O'Brien. The man was beginning to sound testy, but that wasn't Odo's problem. If anything, it would likely motivate him to fix the cameras faster.
"Infirmary to security."
"Odo here."
"Sir, this is Dr. Solan." A hesitation. "Dr. Bashir hasn't shown up for the last few hours of his shift."
He stopped walking and frowned. "Are you sure he hasn't just been detained?"
"We thought so at first, but . . . the computer says he isn't on the station. Was there an emergency we weren't notified about?"
"If there was, then no one told me." He paused. "Where was he last seen?"
"With the Cardassian, sir. They were having supper together."
He was liking this situation less by the moment. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll keep you informed. Odo out."
He wasted no time; as soon as his link with the infirmary ended, he demanded, "Computer, what is the location of Dr. Bashir?"
The response was prompt: "Dr. Bashir is not on this station."
Odo growled out a breath. Time for the next step. Garak was a civilian and therefore didn't wear a combadge, but finding his location was almost as easy as if he did.
"Computer, run a scan for Cardassian lifeforms."
. . . Or in theory it was.
"There are no Cardassians on this station."
So. On the same day a large number of security cameras mysteriously stopped working, a high-ranking member of Starfleet went missing along with one of the least trustworthy Cardassians Odo had ever met.
He had no proof that Garak was other than what he said he was—yet. But there had to be a very good reason the man had decided to open shop on a Bajoran station, and the only Cardassian Odo had met who smiled half as much was Gul Dukat. There wasn't a much better definition of "poor company" than that.
It was still possible, of course, that all these happenings were lining up by coincidence. Possible, but not at all likely.
He reached up to hit his combadge, but before he could, it activated.
"Dax to Odo."
"Odo here." Now what?
He could almost hear Dax frowning as she said, "Constable, did you give permission to the Kressari freighter docked at Secondary Docking Port Nine to depart?"
"Of course not, Lieutenant. That's hardly my job."
"Well, someone must have, because it's gone."
Disabled security cameras, a missing Federation officer and Cardassian civilian, and now a ship that had left the station without permission. He'd have to be a fool not to see the connections here.
"Tell Commander Sisko I need to see him in his office immediately. If I'm right, we have a much bigger problem on our hands than a missing freighter."
