Chapter Text
"Nurse Jabara!" The Doctor chirped, for lack of a better term to describe the way his voice just so happened to be infused with cheer despite the dreary, if not outright terrifying atmosphere. After all, just outside the infirmary the Cardassians were riotous with a mixture of manic joy and bitter anger.
The latter because it was their time to leave Terok Nor, as the Occupation officially ended. Of course they were angry, being forced from somewhere they considered to be rightfully theirs.
The former? Because they'd finally been given sanctioned permission to wreck absolute hell across Terok Nor. Having confiscated a few boxes of Kanar from Quark's and roaring drunk, the pseudo-reptilian folk tore through the promenade, eager to go home and all too happy to terrorize those who'd be left behind.
After all, if they couldn't have their station, they weren't intending to hand it over to the Federation in anything less than a sorry state.
Shopkeepers had locked up, gone home to hide in the habitation rings. More than a few who'd attempted to stay behind were now limping into the infirmary, solidly beaten. But also, there came the Doctor with them.
Nurse Jabara, drowning in a sea of reaction from outside and those injured, had never been so happy to see a Cardassian face. But then again, Doctor Julan Bassir wasn't your typical Cardassian. He'd even come in the Bajoran medical uniform, the striking combination of violet and orange making him stand out as someone to assist.
"Julan! You should be getting ready to leave with the others-" Jabara started, but Bassir smiled, looking fiercely determined, and shook his head.
"I'm not leaving."
"What?!"
"I'm not! I'm staying here, Cardassia be damned." She gaped at him, and he moved without prompt to assist an elderly Bajoran shopkeeper, guiding the man clutching his badly broken arm, to sit down. She was frozen for several moments more, before he called for her help, and they set to work.
It wasn't necessarily an easy day, and when the night-cycle came things only just barely quieted, more because the withdrawing Cardassians were either staggering intoxicated or in the process of packing into transports to leave. Bassir was subject to more than a slight amount of hostility from his fellow Cardassians, who decried him as a traitor. And the Bajorans on the station, well, not all of them were happy to have his presence remain in the infirmary even if he was treating their injuries without complaint.
And just like that, morning came, and the promenade was quiet. If in considerable disrepair. Bassir and Jabara were tired, quiet as people slept in the infirmary or milled around, starting to pick through wreckage of bulkheads and smashed doors. They looked at each other. Jabara noted the purplish hue to the skin around his eyes, the tiredness in them, and he looked at her own exhaustion, and he smiled his youthful, infectious smile. Then they started to go out through the promenade, emergency medical kits in hand.
As of that morning, Julan Bassir was the only Cardassian left on Terok Nor, as it changed to the title of Deep Space Nine.
Chapter Text
It was a hard decision to make, and Sisko knew that it was going to be. He was used to making the hard decisions. That didn't make them any easier, even when he was assured of his decision.
Starfleet was wary about letting the Cardassian doctor continue his work, understandably, and so was Sisko. Until he met the young man, that was. Benjamin had met but a few Cardassians, most of them stern, with sneers or scowls permanently on their grey lips, and a dismissive attitude that let everyone around them know that they could say, without hesitation, that they were the pinnacle of any species in pride.
Julan was certainly a bit of an egoist, but he was so enthusiastic to meet others that he couldn't seem to actually think himself above anybody else. He'd shaken Sisko's hand with a grin and wide eyes, his palm cool, and when Dax had extended her hand he'd swept down in a showy bow and kissed the back of it.
His fumbling, awkward flirtations with her only served to cement Sisko's realization that this was not a military Cardassian by any means, but he truly was a young man so eager to get his hands dirty and solve problems that even the famed Cardassian faith to the state was a secondary thought to him.
He left as the doctor was asking Dax (Sisko thought to himself, poor old man, with a chuckle) if the spots went all the way down and how he's be so FASCINATED to study Trill physiology, and she'd promptly told him he could download the information on it from the federation medical information that would be forthcoming.
Major Kira, stiff-backed and cold, regarded him as a non-threat. If something of an irritating flirt. He'd only worked on the station for a short time, replacing the last doctor, and Nurse Jabara vouched for his willingness to help, describing his frequent verbal battles with the other Cardassians, particularly the local Gul.
The strange, stern Odo had similarly shrugged and admitted that he seemed to be harmless enough, according to security. Even if he'd been a little too interested in the shapeshifter's abilities upon arriving, but it had been such an honest, academic curiosity that Odo was willing to forgive his eagerness.
Jadzia Dax, the next life of the old man, seemed satisfied when Sisko admitted that public opinion inclined him to trust the Cardassian doctor.
"Well, old man? What do you think."
She paced for a moment, picking up the baseball he'd set on his desk, and smirked. "I think he's an excitable young man...and a very, very good doctor."
She tossed the ball to him, and he caught it, mind set. He'd let Starfleet know of his decision to keep the Cardassian operating on Deep Space Nine. When he told Julan, that evening, he found himself whisked into an overexcited conversation by the celebrating doctor, and knew he'd chosen correctly.
After that, it was no time at all before Doctor Bassir became an indispensable part of his core staff.
Chapter Text
It was only two days later when Mr. Garret moved to the station, well-prepared, and had his shop set up and settled in before anybody really realized that he was there. Save for Odo, who stalked into the shop on opening day, past racks of garments clearly ready for a Bajoran clientele, and was greeted with a wide grin and slicked-back hair, clad in green.
"Hello! How may I help you, mister...?" He inclined his head, but his blue eyes were knowing and Odo could feel that the human was fully aware of who he was. And much more.
"Security Chief Odo." The shapeshifter introduced himself, gruffly, ignoring the hand extended in his direction and keeping his arms folded behind his back. "I take it you're Mr. Garret?"
"The one and only."
"You've certainly set up shop quickly." Glancing around. It looked like a Tailor's, all well-made clothes at the ready ready and hanging cloth to be used.
"Well, you know how it is. If one doesn't move into business quickly one can hardly afford to stay in business." The man's cheery smile and the way he gestured with his hands was quickly growing to unnerve Odo. "Now, then, what could I do for you?"
"I'd like to know, what does a Tailor do that a security check on him brings up being 'barred' from permanent residence in Federation space?"
To his credit, the human's smile didn't falter for a moment, and he shrugged, laughing it off with careful ease.
"Well, it's not like I've been exiled or anything like that. I simply made some poor choices in my younger years-"
"Of which there are no records. As a matter of fact, from what I can find, you don't seem to exist at all, up until a few years ago."
Mr. Garret's eyes narrowed in the slightest.
"Should I be concerned?" Odo's voice dropped into a sort of growl, his deep-set eyes meeting the man's intense bluegrey ones.
"Not in the slightest, Constable."
Odo left before he realized that he had never mentioned his previous title of constable to the man.
~
But a bare week later, Doctor Bassir was enjoying a lunch at his lonely little table in the replimat, munching his way through a plate of hasperat and a mug of redleaf tea, when a low voice, pleasant in all inclinations, asked if the seat across from his was empty.
To be fair, Julan didn't mean to stare when the tailor sat down. It wasn’t that he was human, no, working with the Federation staff and the similarity to Bajorans ensured that they didn't make him bat an eye, but there had been rumors swirling around him en masse ever since he'd moved in.
To a Cardassian, the word spy meant the danger, of the Obsidian Order. Of incalculably dark places where people disappeared for saying the wrong things or supporting the wrong politicians.
It meant danger. And intelligence.
Their brief, strange conversation was unsatisfying implicative yet nothing was stated, and as the man left he places his hands on Julan's shoulders, and the Cardassian was glad he'd done that before he'd taken a long sip of his tea to calm down, or else he would've either choked or spattered it across the table.
As was, he almost choked on his own tongue instead, when warm hands rested on his shoulders, thumbs brushing against his neck ridges in the process, calloused flesh against smooth scales.
"I'm so glad to have made such an interesting friend today."
Julan forced himself to stare straight ahead, eyes wide, to stop himself from launching out of his seat, when Garret squeezed his shoulders, the soft appearance of his hands hiding the strength of them.
The moment Garret had left the replimat the doctor tossed what was left of his food in the reclamation unit and took off like a shot into Ops to pester Jadzia.
Nobody else seemed as thrilled about his conversation with a supposed spy, as he was.
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