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At precisely 0600 hours, Odo takes a seat in his office, preparing to review any messages left for him during the night shift.
He makes it precisely one minute before a knock at his door disturbs him, in the unmistakable, brutal rhythm the Cardassians favour. Odo stands and strides forward to open it, well aware of the dangers of allowing whoever’s on the other side to become impatient, only to be greeted by a familiar, unwelcome face.
“Zayet.”
Zayet isn’t alone, Odo realizes nearly immediately as the man jerks someone into the office after him.
“Kira,” Odo realizes.
She looked better the last time he saw her. Her hair has been tugged out of place, scraggly pieces sticking to her bruised face. One hand is cradled in front of her awkwardly, obviously injured. The stubborn jut of her chin is the same, however, as is the way her eyes burn with rage in her pale face.
“Caught this one stealing from one of the storage units,” Zayet says roughly, shaking her for emphasis.
“I wasn’t — ” Kira starts hotly, but a sharp jerk to her wrist and she falls silent. The look on her face has turned positively murderous.
Odo clears his throat.
“You’ll have to inform me about the missing items, of course,” he says, avoiding eye contact with Kira as he walks back towards his desk to find the requisite data padds. “May I ask what was stolen?”
There’s a long pause, and then —
“That’s classified,” Zayet blusters, making Kira scoff. Odo watches as Zayet’s arm tightens again. Knowing what he does of humanoid physiology, it must be incredibly painful. Kira doesn’t make a sound, but her jaw is clenched so tightly Odo can see the muscle fluttering. The control is impressive.
“It’s required for an investigation,” Odo says flatly, tearing his gaze back to meet Zayet’s beady eyes. “Unless you need me to put in a formal request to your superiors for authorization on the matter…?”
Zayet’s jaw tightens.
“You will do no such thing,” he snaps, voice raising, but just as he takes a breath to launch into a real tirade there’s a sudden jolt, and the room goes abruptly dark. “What was that?” Zayet barks as red lights illuminate Odo’s office, the sound of the stationwide alarm audible from the hallway. Odo tenses, waiting, and from the corner of his eye he sees Kira do the same.
Zayet narrows his eyes, hesitating for a moment, then he straightens.
“You take care of this,” he says decisively, shoving Kira roughly in Odo’s direction. “Don’t let her go anywhere. That’s an order.”
Odo does his best to catch her on her good side, hand resting awkwardly in a loose grip on her upper arm, and when she doesn’t try to fight it he drops his hand completely. She’s hardly a threat, he reasons: half his size and not at full strength, and far less likely to be motivated by rage now that a Cardassian isn’t actively touching her.
Odo nods at Zayet, knowing the blankness of his face will give nothing away. Zayet doesn’t actually have the authority to give him orders, but station policy is to hold those directly accused of a crime until further action can be taken.
‘Further action’ meaning punishment, usually. Or worse.
Zayet hesitates again, eyes narrowed, until the station rocks precariously, a jolt that nearly sends all three of them off-balance. Zayet straightens, glaring threateningly at Kira one more time before pivoting and leaving the room, the doors sliding open to let in a burst of noise from the corridor, only to shut immediately and cast the two of them into abrupt silence.
“I presume if I ask you about whatever Zayet’s missing, you’ll claim ignorance.”
Kira glares at Odo and says nothing. He’s closer to her than he realized; it must have been when the room shook. He takes a belated step back, to give them both space.
The red emergency lighting casts them in shadow. Odo listens as officers run back and forth outside the door, the sound of them shouting filtering in from the corridor.
“You should probably check that out,” Kira says, a taunt at the edge of her voice. “You’re a security officer, aren’t you?”
“Not that type of security,” Odo responds gruffly. “And I can’t leave a suspect unattended while the power’s out.”
“Maybe the suspect overpowered you,” Kira offers. She’s smirking, a little, as she pushes a strand of hair back with her good hand. Under the red lights Odo can’t make out the colour of the bruising on her face, only its dark, mottled spread. “Maybe she escaped in the confusion.”
“Unlikely,” Odo says shortly. “And it will be worse for you, if you’re charged with evading custody.”
“That’s assuming I get caught.”
“You will.” Kira doesn’t look convinced. Odo huffs out a sigh, trying to make her understand. “If you run, that’s a declaration of guilt.”
“This is a Cardassian station,” Kira reminds him, as though Odo wasn’t acutely aware of his own employment status. “Run by Cardassians. I’m guilty no matter what I do, you know that.”
“I’m not a Cardassian,” Odo reminds her. “Zayet had no business on that deck this morning, and there have been several complaints about his tardiness as of late. There are certain … rumours … circulating. If I escalate the issue to his supervisor, Zayet’s claims against you will be forgotten.”
Kira doesn’t look convinced.
“What business did you have on that deck this morning?” Odo asks, ignoring her pointedly raised eyebrows. “An alibi would be helpful for my report.”
“I was returning from a night shift,” Kira says evenly.
“A night shift where, exactly?”
Odo wasn’t aware of any Bajorans working on that deck. Surely Kira could come up with a better cover story, assuming that’s what she’s doing.
“It was a personal request.”
Odo stills.
“Are you suggesting — ?”
Surely not. She said as much the first time he met her, did she not? Not for money, not for food. She made herself very clear. Odo can’t quite finish the question — it feels too ridiculous. Kira doesn’t finish it for him, nor does she answer it, although he’s pretty sure his implication was also very clear. Odo clears his throat.
“A name would be helpful.”
“Discretion was requested.”
“You’re lying,” Odo breathes, frustrated. Kira’s eyebrows raise again.
“Am I?”
“You were, before,” Odo points out. “With Quark. You can’t use the same lie twice.”
“I can if it’s not a lie this time.”
Suspects lie to Odo all the time: it seems to be the natural inclination of humanoids, particularly when put under duress. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much when it’s her. She told him the truth once, didn’t she? He kept her secret, even if it went against everything he stands for.
He sighs, turning back towards his desk, trying to figure out what to do next. It’s a strange sensation; unpleasant. When it comes to his job, Odo does not usually falter.
“Would you do something for me?”
Odo stills, taken aback: it’s very odd timing for a request. When he turns back towards her Kira’s got her hand held out towards him, a wry smile on her face. Odo stares at it — fingers at an odd angle, extended too far — for too long, not sure how she wants him to respond. Kira doesn’t seem the type to look for sympathy, not even within her own kind.
“I need someone to reset it,” Kira says impatiently, her dark eyes steady on him. “Would you do that for me? Before he gets back.”
Odo is not immune to pain. Like any living creature, his first instinct is to flinch from it. He has been made aware of the many ways his body can be manipulated and caused harm. But he cannot experience this: the harshness of the crack of bone, the way it gives way under force. He doesn’t think he wants to. Not even secondhand.
“I think you should wait for medical attention,” he says stiffly, but Kira only barks out a sharp laugh.
“Medical attention from who?” she asks. Odo can see sweat forming on her hairline, the only sign she’s in any distress; her eyes are merciless, refusing to look away. “For all we know, I’ll be locked up soon.”
“You won’t be,” Odo says shortly. “Zayet was lying about the stolen items.”
“So?” Kira snorts. “His word against mine, who do you think’s gonna win?”
“His word against mine,” Odo corrects. “And I haven’t seen any evidence.”
Kira shakes her head.
“It doesn’t matter,” she insists. “You know how they draw these things out. Reset it now so it can heal.”
“I don’t have any medical training,” Odo insists. “Surely I’ll only make it worse.”
“They’re just fingers.”
Odo stares at her, bemused, but the tense line of her jaw doesn’t ease any. She’s still staring right into his eyes, determined.
“Odo,” she says lowly. “It hurts like hell.”
Odo takes her outstretched hand slowly, careful around the swollen fingers. She doesn’t flinch.
He shouldn’t, he knows. He’s reasonably sure, if it were anyone else, he would be saying no.
“What should I do,” he croaks gruffly instead. Her skin is hot, pulsing slightly; it feels nothing like his own cool, simulated flesh. If he squeezed, he could hurt her badly. He tries very hard not to exert any pressure at all.
“Pull until it resets,” Kira says tightly. “Don’t stop if I scream.”
Odo stares. She laughs humourlessly, like she’s trying to make him feel better.
“It’ll feel better after,” she says. “I promise.”
“Perhaps we should sit,” Odo croaks uncomfortably, casting a helpless glance around his office. There are exactly two chairs: one behind the desk and one in front of it. He deposits Kira into the one closest to them before dragging the other one around to sit next to her.
“Better?” she asks. She sounds almost amused, as though she isn’t the one in pain.
“Yes,” Odo says flatly, holding out his hand for hers once more.
“Just pull,” she says again, jaw clenching as he touches her swollen fingers. Odo watches as she swallows hard, breathing shallowly through her nose. He can hear each breath. “I’ll try not to scream too loud.”
“I appreciate it,” he says dryly.
She doesn’t, though, when Odo finally gathers his wits and yanks. The bones shift with a sickening sound and Kira shoves her face into his shoulder, muffling her low sound of pain against the rough simulated fabric of his vest, but she doesn’t scream. He can feel the hot press of skin, her open mouth.
No one on the station has ever touched him that way before: thoughtlessly, instinctively. As though seeking some sort of comfort.
It is a strange sensation.
Her hand is much smaller than his, Odo notices as he cradles it gingerly. Her other hand is grasping at her own knee, fingertips digging in tight. He watches, fascinated, as she relaxes them slowly, grip going looser as her body slumps more fully against his.
“Was that correct,” he says hesitantly, after a long few moments have passed and neither of them have moved. Kira draws back from his shoulder in a slow, painful movement. The look on her face is different, now. A little shaken. She’s still taking shallow breaths, visibly fighting to maintain equilibrium.
She offers him a ghost of a smile.
“Yes,” she says, probing at the knuckles with her good hand, wincing at the sensation. “Thank you.”
Odo shifts uncomfortably, unsure how to respond.
“Let’s not make a habit of it,” is what he settles for, finally.
Kira breathes out a weak laugh, slowly leaning away from him to sit upright. Odo hesitates, strangely unsure of himself.
“I ought to take your statement now.”
“That’s what Zayet wanted you to do,” Kira agrees, eyes boring steadily into him. It feels as though her mere presence is a challenge in itself; a constant, silent question in the way she looks him.
Are you going to help me or not?
“The suspect’s injuries were quite severe,” Odo says. Kira glances down at her hand, as though she’d somehow already forgotten. Maybe she had. The fingers are no longer distended, but the swelling has yet to go down; the skin must still be burning. Odo is sure, without needing to be told, that she’s experienced much worse. “Cardassians often speak of Bajorans’ … inferior physiology.” Kira’s lip curls, but Odo forces himself to continue. “Perhaps the suspect lost consciousness due to the pain. If that were to happen, I would of course be required to find assistance. Perhaps due to the current situation, I lost track of the suspect in the ensuing chaos.”
Kira’s eyes remain on his, steady, as he speaks. If Odo had a heart, he thinks it would be racing. He can almost feel it; his cells seem to nearly vibrate. Kira’s eyes never leave his as he walks purposefully towards his door and activates it.
“There have been rumours about Zayet’s drinking habits for weeks now,” Odo says evenly. “I’ve heard it has been affecting his work. Perhaps, after a complaint has been lodged with his supervisor, other, smaller, matters will be forgotten.”
The door slides open.
Odo waits.
“Thank you,” Kira murmurs on her way out.
Odo feels the words like a cool breeze. He has no nerves to set alight, no hairs to stand on end.
Still, he shivers.