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Chapter Text

The local animal shelter was on the edge of Little Bajor; go down the side street opposite the chemist with the bronze paint job on the hill road, turn down past the old Temple on the corner, go along round the quiet houses and the shelter is the small unassuming building at the end of the road. There is tall grass growing on the parkland but there is what looks like a fenced off paddock next door. There is currently a man standing on the steps looking up at the front door of the shelter. He looks around, sighs to himself and walks heavily up the stairs. He knocks.

* * * *

The door opened. A stocky woman, middle-aged and with her black hair tied back roughly in a ponytail, stood in the threshold glaring at the man. She had what looked like wet paw prints and soap bubbles smeared down the front of the smock that she was wearing over a green t-shirt and dark trousers.

“I am Odo,” he said. She continued to stare at him. “I was at the hostel on Bailus way and I saw a notice that said this shelter was looking for volunteers over the summer.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she answered. “How’d you find your way down here?”

“Chelik Jekaso on the front desk told me the way.”

“Right.” She looked him up and down. Light brown tunic over darker trousers, heavy boots, straight posture, a bland nondescript face. When she got to his eyes he looked straight back at her. “Folks call me Nakru. Are you any good at washing uncooperative dogs?”

“Some.”

“Well come in and help me with this one I’m in the middle of and then I can tell you about the place.” She gestured over her shoulder and bent down to pick up a towel and a brush off a chair just inside the door. She walked across the small room - filled with chairs set against the walls, newspapers on a table, a door in the wall to the right and one opposite the front door - and through the door opposite. Odo followed her; closing the front door behind him by lifting it when it scraped on the floor. Down a hallway and into what looked like a laundry room with tiles on the floor and partway up the wall.

“This is Shal,” Nakru indicated a dripping shaggy brown dog. Shal, currently tied by a leash to a hook on the wall, stood sheepishly next to a large metal tub. “He’s a friendly boy really, but he’s not so keen on getting the muck washed off him.”

“I see,” said Odo.

“How about you hold him in the tub and I’ll do the scrubbing?”

Eyeing the dog’s muzzle, Odo edged around to the side of Shal. He was quite large; Odo wouldn’t have been surprised if his ancestors had been used to hunt targs. But he didn’t resist violently when Odo undid his leash and put his arms around him and lifted him back into the tub. He wriggled and splashed water all over the floor but Odo and Nakru were able to scrub him down and rinse him. When they were done, his fur was wet and water was pooling on the floor but the dirt and grit was out of his coat. He stood shivering miserably, looking like the world had wronged him cruelly.

“I’m going to take him out the back and towel him down and give him a chance to warm up in the sun,” Nakru said. “Why don’t you go back and take a seat in the waiting room and I’ll be back in a tick.” She shot him a look. “The most valuable things we keep on the premises are the newspapers in there; you can catch up on what great scheme the Provincial Government has hit on recently.”

“Okay,” he said and walked back down the hallway.

* * * *

Nakru came into the waiting room, wiping her hands on a scraggly towel. Odo was standing at the window looking out onto the quiet road.

“How about a drink?” she asked.

Odo turned. He nodded and followed her back down the passage, further along to a small room where the windows faced out onto an empty field.

Nakru opened the small fridge and took out two bottles of soft drink and popped the lids. She offered one to Odo, took a swig of the other, and collapsed onto the chair on the fair side of the table. Odo took a sip and perched on the edge of the nearer seat.

“Cheers.”

“… cheers.”

The room was sparse but looked comfortable enough. Small table with two chairs. Odo’s rocked slightly when he shifted his weight. A small kitchen counter was under the windows. There were mugs on a shelf; one sat next to the sink. ‘Little Bajor for the Bajorans’ was inscribed on the side of it. There was a green two seater couch, leaking stuffing, slouching next to the wall. A couple of books and pamphlets were scattered on a small coffee table.

Nakru looked over at Odo. “We have a few volunteers currently helping out,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “We are mainly looking for someone to help out a couple of mornings a week: exercising the dogs in the paddock next door, socialising the cats, that sort of thing.”

Odo nodded.

“We can’t pay you of course,” she added. “Plus, I doubt we’d ever be able to take you on as a paid employee in the future either. We’re barely staying afloat here.”

“I understand. I’m just looking for somewhere that could use my spare time. Chelik was telling me it’s hard to give all the animals the attention they deserve when there isn’t enough manpower.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “We’re doing the best we can to get them all cleaned up, give them medical checks, a healthy diet, good exercise and plenty of socialisation. It’s a lot to do on limited external funding. We want a quick turn around so we can get them out and settled and happy in new homes. But we get a fair few animals through here and we’ve all got our own day jobs so it can be hard to keep up. But if you’re keen and ready to work hard, we could use another set of hands.”

“I’m ready to do what I can.”

“Then it’s great to have you on board Odo,” she said, beaming at him.

Chapter Text

As soon as Kira Nerys rolled over she knew it was going to be one of those days. Rain was hitting the windows, her head throbbed and her alarm was flashing the snooze screen at her. Smegging smeg. She moaned and threw her pillow across the room.

* * * *

Kira dragged a brush through her hair and tried to inhale a piece of toast at the same time. She was now running even more behind schedule because she’d had to waste time searching for her wallet. It wasn’t in any of the usual places. And it’s not like there were that many places in her one living room, one bedroom, one bathroom flat. Admittedly the flat was less an advertisement for Better Homes and Gardens and more one of those junk mail ads for selling bulk storage containers. It was a nice flat, really, just a tad untidy. Good location too. Being close to the pizza place, Deep Dish Nine, meant no long commutes to work. Which was especially handy this morning as she intended to beat Jadzia in to work.

These days Kira and a few of her colleagues and friends all lived in the same set of flats. Decent rent, close to work – it’s not surprising it worked out that way. Higher up the block lived her fun-loving friend Jadzia Dax and near the top lived the more sensible but possibly more snarky Keiko O’Brien. Kira was certain that every time Keiko came to her place she sighed at the slightly-wilting state of her pot plants. Kira spared a quick glance to the fern in the corner, the one Keiko gave her for the midwinter festival. It looked okay. Sure, the ends were browning a little but that was natural right; a part of nature’s cycle. Probably. Keiko had promised that it was hardy and that her lack of green thumbs would be unlikely to kill it. Kira frowned at it. Hmm. Better give it some water soon.

Her flat was a little smaller than Keiko’s and Jadzia’s; they, after all, respectively, had Miles and the kids and Ezri to share with. Kira’s included the living room and kitchen combo, the bedroom and a bathroom. It was big enough for all her gear, had a solid door and a good lock. There was a space for a car and a small lockup for any bikes. The Prophets were smiling on her when she got this place and her gig as manager at the nearby pizza place.

Kira picked up her jumper off one of the chairs – nope, not under there – and pushed it in under the table. She threw her jumper through the door in to her bedroom. Gratitude was not the primary emotion in her mind this morning. Jadzia and Keiko had come over last night to have a drink and do some crafts together. It was always nice to catch up over a ‘bitch and stitch’ evening. Plus, Kira had been trying to knit a new woollen vest for ages. She only ever seemed to manage to sit down and work on it when they organised to make the time. Keiko had been planning a new garden design and Jadzia had been catching up on a cross-stitch. The pattern she was putting on it seemed like it would look pretty at a distance but, knowing Jadzia, at close quarters the motto would probably be something that aunts would find offensive. That had certainly been the case in the past.

Kira rinsed her plate and put it on the bench. Thanks to Jadzia explaining the last one to Lupaza’s sister Kira hadn’t been invited back since. Not that Kira particularly wanted to see Lupaza’s sister – Sesma, a tall sharp-faced woman, was hard to stand for more than ten minutes. Her conversation generally came back to her moaning about how you couldn’t buy quality goods produced locally anymore since all these non-Bajorans started taking over the neighbourhood. Kira never figured out how you could believe that people groups you disliked – migrants from the Border colonies, the ‘disrespectable’ poor or whomever it was that you decided to scapegoat this week – could be both degenerate slackers and the fiends stealing jobs from the more deserving. It was a shame that her and her ilk had learned the ability to hold two conflicting ideas in their head at the same time but not any appreciation for the structures of privilege and power imbalances or, failing that, basic common sense and compassion.

Nonetheless, to her credit Sesma was the owner of two lovely fluffy cats who, unlike their owner, would lavish affection and love on any visitor who smiled at them. Going round regularly with Lupaza to eat cheap supermarket biscuits and drink watery tea was a pleasure when you had one cat purring happily on your lap and the other head-butting you as you pet it. Kira smiled at the thought. Playing sports where you get to whack heavy balls at your opponents is all very well but you can’t beat the stress-relieving capabilities of two feline companions. But no, Jadzia had opened her big mouth and Lupaza had to sheepishly explain that, no, Kira probably wouldn’t be invited back. Smeg.

Kira stuck a foot up on the coffee table and tied up the shoe laces. She noticed her still unfinished red vest hanging over the armrest of the lounge. Last night hadn’t been a particularly productive evening in the knitting department. Kira had got the needles out and knitted some lines but then she ended up getting too caught up in the conversations. Jadzia had shared her ideas for the next poker game night; Keiko had them in stitches regaling them with the tales of her run-ins with that self-important jerk at the plant nursery. They’d enjoy her recounting the next instalment of the saga of the guy who always wears all green to her politics lectures. Consequently, there was more drinking and shooting the breeze than crafting. Then they’d all got to bed quite late and the vest still sat there forlornly. Even though she was going to be late to work Kira had to admit she had enjoyed the evening with her friends.

Nonetheless, Ben was relying on her to be punctual. But more importantly, Kira and Jadzia had a challenge going. Which Kira was going to win; Trill optimism be damned. The deal is whenever the work schedules line up so that Kira and Jadzia start work at the same time then whoever gets there first is the winner. Jadzia is keeping the record on her phone. Kira keeps a written copy at DD9. There’ll be a prize at the end of the year; they haven’t decided what yet. Kira went in to her bedroom. She kneeled and peered under the bed. The wallet wasn’t there either. Jadzia argued that Kira should be able to win this competition easily since Kira usually started work shifts earlier than her. Which would make sense except that they often organised hangouts for the nights before and Jadzia – self proclaimed prettiest night owl in Little Bajor – Dax never listened to the vibe that some people might want to get a decent night’s sleep. Yet again Kira was grateful she only had to basically cross the lawn and the car park to get to work.

Hah. So you’re meant to manage a whole pizza business, Manager Kira Nerys, and you can’t even keep track of your personal belongings. Where the smeg is that wallet?

She flung the pillows off the couch and pushed the detritus off the coffee table, just in case it had magically appeared there in the last five minutes. She eyed off the rest of the living room and paused to take a gulp of coffee from the mug on the table. Which is when her eye caught the time on the microwave and she groaned. At this rate Jadzia might just get to DD9 first. It then occurred to Kira that she didn’t actually need her wallet for anything this morning – provided some cop didn’t stop her and ask for her identification – so she could just come back and keep looking after her shift. She poured the rest of the coffee down the sink, picked up her bag and grabbed her badge off the counter. She grabbed her umbrella and she headed for the door. As she did so she spared a glance for the shelves above the television as she passed by – and noticed her wallet down behind the television.

No prizes for guessing how it got there. Jadzia ‘reigning prankster of the flats’ Dax strikes again. Picking up the wallet and locking the door behind her she took the steps two at a time. With any luck she would make it to work both on time and, Prophets willing, before Jadzia.

* * * *

Kira shook the water off her umbrella and pushed open the door. A quick glance round showed the tables were tidy and the floor was clear. The red and chrome colour scheme looked welcoming in the warm sunshine that streamed through the window. She took a moment to gather her breath. Of medium height, with pale skin and reddish hair cut short, she looked neat and ordered in her Deep Dish Nine red shirt, long pants and dark shoes. She straightened her badge on her shirt. Heading behind the counter she continued out the back to the staff area.

“Hey Boss,” she greeted Sisko, the owner of Deep Dish Nine. She glanced over at Worf, one of her colleagues. “How’s it going Worf?”

“Morning Kira.” Sisko was standing behind a workbench. Surrounded by containers, he had obviously been working hard on the morning prep but he still beamed sunnily at Kira. He was tall with dark skin and kind eyes. He loved cooking and eating good food and had put a lot of that sunny energy into making Deep Dish Nine a welcoming pizza place.

Worf only nodded. He was at work at another bench. Klingon opera could be faintly heard coming from his large headphones. He was tall and wide at the shoulders, with dark skin and strong hands. He seemed in a good humour too – as far as Kira could tell with the often stone-faced Worf. Jadzia had bragged once that from ten paces she could distinguish twenty-three different emotions on Worf’s face; Kira was thinking about taking her up on a bet about it. But only once she’d worked out how to actually test the theory. And when she had some cash she didn’t mind losing because, seriously, you never know with Dax.

Kira dumped her bag under the bench and stowed her umbrella in the milk crate at the back door. She looked around the employee section.

“I thought Jadzia was coming in this morning. Is she around?” Kira asked.

“She was going to stop by Quark’s on the way,” Worf rumbled.

“Right,” Kira allowed herself a small smile. “Anything pressing Ben?”

“Two things,” said Sisko. He paused to wipe his hands on a wash-cloth. “Firstly, Jackson, the produce supplier, rang up a little while ago. He wanted to talk to you: something about next Thursday’s delivery.”

“Ah. I’ve been waiting for him to get back to me. I’ll get onto it.”

“The other thing, though, when I met the delivery van this morning I noticed that the bins out the back had been knocked over. It was probably just kids having a laugh but perhaps we better keep an eye out all the same.”

“Huh. I don’t think any of the staff has pissed anyone off recently. It might’ve been stress-relief pranks – when you can’t tell your teacher or lecturer he’s a monotone relic who missed the brilliance of your essay then breaking some stuff does become a little more appealing.”

“So calling Dukat a toss-pot canker blossom doesn’t count?” asked Sisko, with the merest smile playing about his lips.

“No.” replied Kira and Worf simultaneously. Kira grinned at Worf and he looked back seriously.

“Sure, sure,” said Sisko, spreading his hands wide. “Let’s just keep an eye out for a few days all the same.”

* * * *

The rest of the morning passed quickly as Kira alternated between manning the cashier and dealing with the usual small business concerns that it was her responsibility to keep on top of. Sorting out the issues with the suppliers. Checking the accounts from last month. Making sure the wages would be ready to go out next pay-day. But before she got too far she made sure to go through and ask Sisko about the schedule for the next health inspection. When she did so just coincidentally happened to be right after she heard Jadzia came in the back door.

“Ben! You wouldn’t believe what Quark said about the canapés that you made for the party on the weekend,” Jadzia started. “He was making compar–“

“Oh, you’re here!” Kira interrupted, looking sternly at Jadzia.

“Y-es,” Jadzia looked across at Kira.

“I have my wallet here too if you need that fiver back,” Kira continued, grinning.

“Ah!” Jadzia grinned back at Kira. She reached round her shoulders with one arm and gave her a hug.

“Yes, but what did he say about my canapés Dax?” Sisko butted in. “He’s got a big mouth that Quark.”

“But it’s such a lovely mouth,” Jadzia replied. Kira made vomiting motions with her free arm. Worf chuckled as he kept methodically doing the cutting prep. Jadzia glanced up at the order screen. “Is that an order for Reko Drive? I better take that one out. Look, I’ll tell you absolutely everything he said when I get back Ben.”

* * * *

It was the usual hectic lunch rush with most customers coming in and wanting a quick slice. A few wanted to sit and talk over the meals, trying to wait out the rain. Which was fine by Kira. It meant that the place looked busy and appealing to anyone passing by. They were getting more traffic now as people, both locals and out-of-towners, got more accustomed to using the new interstate that passed close by. But more customers are always welcome. As Deep Dish Nine Manager it was Kira’s job to keep this place running day to day and more paying customers would certainly help their bottom line. Having good staff – hardworking and friendly – did help though.

Today Ben and Worf were in charge of pizza prep and the ovens and Jadzia of the deliveries. Kira manned the cashier and kept an eye out the front and Julian had come in to wait tables. They were busy but everything went fairly smoothly. Except when Julian came back from a late afternoon delivery.

“Why can’t people drive properly when it rains?” demanded Julian to Ben. Younger and lanky, his dark skin was lighter than Ben’s but he looked every inch of Ben’s height as he pulled himself up righteously to shake off his raincoat and glare at the room.

“What happened?” asked Jadzia. It had slowed down out the front so Kira was keeping an eye on the tables from the doorway to the back: Jadzia and Kira had been chatting about the new CD the Jalanda Forum was releasing soon. Then Julian had shoved the door open and come clomping in looking disgruntled.

“It’s stopped raining heavily out there but as everyone knows it can still be dangerous on the roads either side of the actual downpour.” Julian hung his coat on the rack and threw his work bag on the desk. Worf ignored him as he flicked through some paperwork at the dry desk. “Initially when it just starts spitting, that rain is mixing with the oils on the road, making the road surface slippery. Plus, the reckless fools actually start speeding up because they want to get home before the rain arrives. But afterwards–“

“Yes Julian,” Kira interrupted. “We know that there are idiots on the road.”

“Sorry Manager. But if you’ve seen some of the accident victims in Emergency then you realise the sense in slowing down out there.” Julian shrugged and let out one last huff and then walked past back out to the dining section. Jadzia and Kira followed him.

“I don’t mind driving to the conditions,” Julian continued as turned to lean on his back on the cashier counter, “but I don’t like when people take one look at me and think, just because I’m young and male, that I must be a irresponsible driver.”

“You do recall, don’t you,” Kira commented, “that I was in the car that time you and Jadzia were dancing to that terrible party-in-the-summer hit song: complete with waving arms and belting the lyrics with your eyes closed.” They did look young and happy though. Nerds.

“It’s disrespectful not to dance with abandon when that song comes on,” protested Jadzia whilst Julian had the grace to look sheepish.

“Not when you’re in charge of a ton of moving metal it isn’t,” retaliated Kira.

“Puh-lease. I’ve seen people doing a lot worse whilst driving. We at least were on a highway with clear lines of sight and no cars close by.”

“The point is,” Julian interceded, “what happened when this clown on the road misjudged the stopping distance of his car.”

“Why, what happened?” asked Jadzia.

“So you know I had to take a delivery out to one of the houses on the temple hill because you were out the other direction, right? I’d done the drop and was on my way back and had made it as far as that chemist – you know the one that looks like a Greek hoplite shield – when this car coming down to the intersection I was approaching failed to brake. I don’t know whether his tyres were slipping on the water or what but he starts coming out into my lane – right in front of me!”

“Oh!” gasped Jadzia.

“Whoa!” agreed Kira.

“Exactly! So I had to swerve across into the other lane to avoid him. There were no cars coming that way fortunately. I did check. But I did give this guy crossing the road a bit of a scare, I think, as I went by him pretty close. Naturally I stopped to check I hadn’t clipped him or that he hadn’t fallen and hurt himself.”

“You’re such a Samaritan,” teased Jadzia.

“Now I kind of wish I wasn’t!” Julian said. “He was fine, fortunately, but I had to stand there for five minutes – in the rain! – as he berated me about the dangers of inattentive drivers. He reckoned I should have anticipated the possibility of the car not stopping and been going slower. Like c’mon!”

“That was a bit unfair.” Kira straightened the menu pile. “But you probably did scare him. You know some of the old folks, they think society is crumbling now that not everyone goes to services. Most likely he thought he better talk some sense into you lest you continue to terrorise the quiet streets of Little Bajor.” Or, if not quiet, then at least a little cleaner and safer than they once were.

“No, he wasn’t Bajoran, you see. I apologised, like, a billion times and I even said I was studying medicine and I know the carnage that texting whilst driving or drink driving can do. But he insisted on telling me all the laws I had broken and the damage I could’ve caused. Anyway, he finished haranguing me eventually and marched off down the street. I was trying to get the Shuttle started – that starter motor is still playing up by the way – and this guy comes out of the shop next door. He must’ve watched the whole thing through his front window. Didn’t come out and back me up though.”

“You know some people don’t like to get involved in other people’s business,” said Kira.

“All he needed to do was back up Julian’s story though.” Jadzia leaned back on the wall. “That’s hardly getting involved.”

“But you never know when it’s going to stop do you? His lads could come round the corner or he might have some cold-blooded friends,” Kira pressed.

Jadzia sighed and raised her hands with her wrists together, hands apart and fingers curled inward.

“But what he said,” Julian continued, “was that I was lucky. Apparently he knew the guy with the stick up his whatsit. This Odo bloke turned up during the Takeover era and ended up with some sort of mediator role – but he still had the authority to charge someone like me with reckless driving. I don’t know if he still does but at least today I only had to endure a talk about ‘community safety and the responsibilities of the road user’.”

“Hah! Fancy that. That was lucky,” Jadzia looked over at Kira.

“Yes,” said Kira as she looked out at the tables. “But, for future reference Julian, actually clipping anyone whilst on the scooter would be bad press for Deep Dish Nine so try and avoid that in the future. Now why don’t you give them a hand out the back. It’ll take your mind of it all.”

“Yes Manager,” Julian said as stretched and headed out the back. Jadzia slapped him on the back as he passed.

Kira picked up her pad and pen from next to the cash register. She felt Jadzia put her arms on the counter and lean her weight forward next to her.

“So what do you thi–“ she started.

“Look, Dax,” Kira interrupted, “do we have enough petrol in the Defiant for tonight’s run? It’s just we don’t need Worf only barely making it back to the station again. I do not need another lecture from him about ‘maintaining operational standards of battle readiness’.

“Sure. I’ll head on down to the petrol station now,” Jadzia answered. She pushed off the counter and clapped Kira’s shoulder as she passed. Kira glanced up as she reached the front door. Dax glanced across as she pulled the door open; she smiled and walked through. Fortunately, a pair of customers came in before the door had swung fully shut.

Kira put on her Manager smile. “Welcome to Deep Dish Nine.”

Chapter Text

As the afternoon wore into evening Kira was reminded that she much preferred to be busy than not. As in not idly watching the minutes tick by in the big arched metal clock at the other end of the room. Tick. Tick. Tick. The lull before the evening dinner rush seemed especially tedious and Kira hoped that every punter that walked past outside might change their mind and come in. Whenever a person did happen to glance at the front window – with its collection of stickers clustered by the door it allowed for a clear view in and out – Kira smiled heartily at them. Even though she’d much rather just rush out there and drag them in to a table by the scruff of their neck. It occurred to Kira, who, like most managers, could reliably predict how her boss would react in most circumstances, that Ben would quickly add another line to his DD9 Rules prohibiting press-ganging patrons.

Kira sighed. The tide of customers had definitely slowed. The couple had eaten their prosciutto and rocket pizza and left. A few others had been in for a takeaway. Three teenagers had come in and shared a Klingon meat fest and a side of garlic bread. Their conversation had occasionally floated over to Kira; it seemed to consist primarily of discussions of who was going to bring the gear to the party on Friday and cries of “that’s so vulky!” periodically. Kira desperately hoped that Julian would spill their drinks all over them; typically, he didn’t oblige her.

The teenagers had just paid and Kira handed the boy their receipt. Without a lecture or a clip round the ear. Ben does not appreciate the diplomatic skill required in front of house. Or, on second thoughts, he does and that’s why he makes sure someone else has to do it. Kira’s eyes flicked over to Julian; perhaps he should be put in charge of the next health inspection. Hmm. No, whilst the image of him attempting to placate a couple of clipboard toting world-class sneerers was a cheerful thought, they couldn’t afford not to pass the next bureaucratic hurdle.

Julian was heading past to clear away the dishes off their table and wipe down the last few tables used. He had his ear buds in with the cord going down the inside of his shirt and connecting to his mp3 player in his trouser pocket. He was humming along to the song that must’ve been currently playing. It was a tune he’d been humming a lot lately; some incessant melody that Kira hadn’t heard of. Jadzia had said she didn’t know it either and since she was more up to date with the latest pop hits Kira assumed he’d picked it up at some culture vulture event with Garak.

“See you next time!” Kira said to the customers. The boy who had paid smiled cockily at her and all three headed towards the door, the girl still pulling on her jacket. As they approached it Kira could see Garak through the glass as he approached from the outside. He got to the door first, pulling it open and holding it for them.

Kira wasn’t sure about Garak. She’d heard the stories. Dark past, shady connections. It seemed he had enemies in Cardassia Heights and will most likely be staying in Little Bajor even though he sticks out like a barrister in a wharfie pub. Even Dukat had dropped enough hints about how, if Kira would just come out for a drink, he could tell her all the tantalising tales that were whispered about Garak at Cardassian Heights cocktail parties. It was slightly appealing for five minutes but then he invariably would say something so ignorant and offensive that she’d snap out it. Being reminded of his past – and his continual cesspit personality – she would instead start daydreaming about texting Worf that Dukat had said that Klingon opera sounds worse than throwing a chainsaw in a cement-mixer. If Worf then came out the front to ‘discuss’ the matter, well what could she be expected to do to stop a man three times her size? She’d plead innocent: Ben mightn’t believe her but he wouldn’t be able to prove anything.

At least Garak isn’t so smarmy, rude and confrontational as Dukat can be. He could even be pleasant and charming when he turned up for lunch. In that slightly patronising way, yes, but she didn’t want to hit him over the head with a pizza box whenever he opened his mouth. Kira suspected that’s why Sisko had moved all the spare pizza boxes out the back. Ben had gone on a bit about Managerial responsibilities and setting an example to the staff but it had been worth it. Also, Dukat had been asking for it that day. One might choose the colour of their lipstick for a man but the only time Kira would do it for Dukat was if, say, the Vedek Assembly asked her to be his Judas in the Garden. The trees they replanted in the Trelar Gardens are growing taller; that would be a good spot for it. Or maybe he could be that Roman and she could be the guy with the sword. Sometimes those Terrans have good stories.

Kira shook her head to clear it of her day-dreaming. No point getting lost in fantasies at work. Surely, sooner or later, the Prophets would ensure that Dukat’s past life would result in him getting his comeuppance. She would laugh heartily come that day. She and every other Bajoran affected by the cruel money-grabbing policies he introduced with the gentrification project of Little Bajor during the Takeover era. Heck, the Vedeks like a joke as much as the next person; they’d probably throw a festival to mark the day.

Garak smiled politely to the woman as she exited last and entered and shut the door behind him. Kira found herself thinking about Julian again. He always prattled on about how he enjoyed the gallery or the seminar or wherever they’d been recently so he seemed to be enjoying spending time with Garak. But how could you when you can never relax, Kira wondered. You can’t trust him nor turn your back on him. Not that he’d do anything so uncouth or boorish as to assault the kid. For one, he’s getting on a bit and Julian’s actually pretty strong with that leanly muscled frame. And two, Garak’s never seemed to be outright cruel to him. Kira wasn’t sure how much life Julian had actually seen but from one or two observations, and Dax’s gossip, he wasn’t as naïve or clueless as his boyish enthusiasm seemed to suggest. She was pretty sure Julian would bail quickly if the situation seemed dodgy. She hoped he trusted that he could ask her or any of the DD9 crew for help if he needed it. Quark would probably even organise someone to throw a rock throw his shop window if he got Jadzia to negotiate for him.

But just because he’s not a thug or a pervert doesn’t mean Garak can be trusted. He’s probably playing some long game; using Julian as some sort of cover or as a source of information. Nonetheless, Julian keeps insisting that Garak just wants someone to hang out with. Well, he’s got plenty of kanar sipping socialites back in Cardassia Heights that he could hang out with. At least Miles agrees, thought Kira. Though they’d made the mistake of discussing the issue in front of Keiko once and she’d made some very cutting remarks about prejudice and how people caught in the past are doomed to repeat the same mistakes. It was a very uncomfortable experience: especially since Kira knew that she was basically right.

Plus, it’s not like Kira wasn’t aware that not all Cardassians are untrustworthy. She likes the compassionate and industrious ones down at the uni who are making waves in the social science tutes and in the science labs. They’re the ones arguing that Cardassia Heights has a responsibility to help Little Bajor rebuild. They agree that the Cardassian Heights Takeover was a fiasco that left many Bajorans worse off. Struggling on unfair wages or out of work, unable to cope with rising rents and let down by a hobbled infrastructure – too many cracks in the pavements and in the provision of basic services. With the aim of trying to capitalise on the lower property values in Little Bajor the better-resourced Cardassians redirected public and private funding and, as that Mortak guy put it, they contributed to the ongoing ramifications of the spatial expression of economic and political inequality. Kira thought she really must try and go to Quark’s the next time he’s there. But most of these conscientious Cardassians argue that since the Takeover directly and indirectly affected the culture and character of the Bajoran section of Alpha City then all Cardassians have a responsibility to help the Bajorans revitalise their streets.

Garak though, thought Kira, is not living down in Little Bajor to protest an unjust system or to form a hipster farmers’ co-op. Nor does he seem to have a cultural affinity with living pay-day to pay-day and getting a loaf of bread on credit from your local shop. If the rumours are true – never a good bet – then Garak doesn’t live down here in Little Bajor because he wants to. His style seems incongruous to hard-working everyday folk, unreliable bus services, peeling paint and regular drug busts. The vibe Kira gets off Garak – and she’s learnt to trust it after many years with her mates in their no-officer-we’re-just-waiting-here-for-my-granny street gang – is more like something lying in wait. Something predatory, like a tiger. A tiger could kill their keeper easily, a single paw swipe would do it, but they will put up with you if you are providing regular food and entertainment. Hopefully Julian is more entertainment than food being toyed with.

Kira ran a hand through her hair. Growing up in Little Bajor had given Kira a great love and pride for the place that her people had built for themselves here. The colourful spread of people who would flock to the markets in the mornings, the luscious gardens overflowing with the flowers of their native flora, the raucous sounds of the fruit bats flying home to roost at sunrise. The sounds of friends laughing together on feast days, the way a breeze through the fountains in the square is refreshing at sunset, the streets where every front door is painted a different bright hue. She was grateful for all that she had enjoyed in this corner of Alpha City and she’d done her bit to protect it during the bad times. All this meant that she felt a sense of belonging and protectiveness for those who lived here. That now included all the people that she had come to know through being a part of the DD9 world.

Kira knew that Julian wasn’t stupid. Naïve sometimes but he is intelligent. He wouldn’t put himself in immediate harm’s way. But he does have that arrogance you sometimes see with doctors and medical staff – they must teach it in one of the classes. It comes across as that self-assurance that one has made the right decision and so they stubbornly commit to follow it until the evidence proves conclusively otherwise. Which is fine if you’re in a hospital and your patient starts reacting: then you can swiftly respond appropriately. But with whatever Garak’s up to there mightn’t be enough time to help Julian. The clot. Because whatever Garak’s up to it’s sure to prioritise backing his own self-interest.

Something heavy clanged out the back and Kira was startled back into the present. Garak hadn’t got far. He had taken off his coat and folded it over his arm. Taking his scarf off, he folded it and slipped it into a pocket. He glanced over at Julian, who was half dancing to his music with the back of his head bobbing as he hummed and stacked dishes onto his tray. He smiled. Keiko would frown at her saying that it looked wolfish but, eh, Kira shrugged mentally, that’s what it looked like.

It’s Shakaar’s fault, really. It wasn’t long after Garak had started coming to DD9 that Shakaar texted her about meeting up for tacos and drinks. They’d found a table on the balcony and had a few of the spicier ones before he asked if she knew about Julian being seen going into Garak’s shop. Edon can be diplomatic sometimes, she’d give him that. She appreciated that he was pretending that they both didn’t know that he must know that Garak had talked to Julian at Sisko’s too. They must be keeping tabs on Garak. Kira thought they might be but she hadn’t mentioned Garak being around because she had hoped that it was just a passing whim of Garak’s. That he noticed this lanky dolt – tripping over his feet and getting into discussions about the Vulcan-Romulan Dialogues when he should’ve been clearing tables – and was intrigued. He certainly wasn’t going to stay around for the pizzas. But no, the pair had to progress to books and cultural evenings and dance clubs. Well, Jadzia swore that a mate of hers saw Garak at that club Risa but that seemed unlikely. Nonetheless, Garak hadn’t grown bored and retreated to his little tailor shop so instead he keeps coming to DD9 to spread joy and confusion and fear in his wake. And so tacos and drinks have to come with a side of concern and disappointment.

Kira wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the concern that Shakaar was showing for her and her colleagues wasn’t tinged with a recrimination for not passing this useful info on to her friends. His lanky frame was stretched out in his chair, his elbow leaning on the railing. His hair had gotten shaggy again but his sunnies covered his tired eyes. Kira guessed he was working too hard. He always did commit one hundred per cent: and was always quietly affronted when others wouldn’t dedicate that much to his causes too. But Kira was trying to put some space between her and that life: she already had too much going on with work and uni. Plus, getting arrested would disrupt her plans to get her degree and move on to positions in which she could actually effect real change. But her cellmates – Jadzia and Keiko had come up with that nickname once they heard that the different gangs were called cells – kept asking her to help out with their latest graffiti rush or to picket a political meeting. They accepted her excuses and reasons but they always expected her to participate the next time.

Fortunately Shakaar was aware of Kira’s stubbornness – he had certainly come up against it enough over the years – so he didn’t push that angle. But coming to warn her about Garak and advising against Julian spending time with Garak wasn’t a particularly productive conversation. As Julian is a grown man he can spend time with whomever he likes and, besides, whenever Kira tried to give a subtle warning – What does Julian really know about the man? Why does he live down here where he doesn’t belong and not up in Cardassia Heights? – Julian just told her to chill out and stop worrying. Jadzia sided with Julian; in one off the cuff remark she reckoned that since they made each other smile then therefore Kira shouldn’t interfere. It’s not like smiles can mean many different things or hide many different things. At least whenever Miles was around at the same time that Julian was chatting to Garak – if he had to come in to fix the temperamental oven or they were all at one of Ezri and Jadzia’s parties – he and Kira could exchange ‘oh he’s a young idiot what can you do’ looks. They made her feel a little better about it all.

Kira glanced at her watch. This was likely the last of the lull before the dinner rush. There was only a young Terran wolfing down his meal at the table between Julian and Kira. Garak, unfortunately, it turned out was coming towards Kira. Why he was here so much later than usual anyway?

“Manager, good evening,” said Garak, tilting his head in the slightest of bows. He looked impeccably well-dressed, Kira noticed, in that stylised sort of way that wouldn’t cope well with a roll in the gutter.

“Evening Garak. Can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m not staying. I don’t want to take Julian away from his work after all.”

“Of course not.” Kira only just resisted rolling her eyes. Sisko should really be on the front desk more often. See what she has to put up with. Garak will insist on saying everything but what he means.

“However, would you be able to tell me, please, if he has left an Adams book for me below the counter?”

Kira glanced down, and up again, quickly. “Sorry Garak. There’s no book here. Was that all?”

“Oh what a pity. I had hoped to reread it tonight. All of a sudden I’m in the mood for it.” He was smiling a small smile. Kira wasn’t sure why but she was pretty sure it didn’t bode well for her. Not that she thought he’d try anything – there’d have to be some good reason to make it worthwhile and merely antagonising her with his half-truths was, she assumed, appealing enough for the present. She preferred it to Dukat’s smarmy flirting or brash rudeness; but only marginally when it was actually occurring.

Ben had said once that he liked that she was a straight-talker; that he never has to worry that she would leave out something important to spare his feelings or because she thought he couldn’t hack it. Kira also appreciated that she could rely on Ben to be straightforward. With Garak it always seemed like you were actually having two conversations at once. The one made up of the words and gestures on the surface and the second floats ephemerally in the pauses and the looks that can only be deciphered with prior knowledge. Kira enjoyed squaring up to a challenge but it did put her on edge. At least she could respond bluntly to Dukat. Though Ben had made a rule against outright physical assault. He’s such a spoilsport.

“No doubt Julian will get it to you as soon as he can.” Where is he? Usually he is fairly prompt about knowing when Garak has sidled in. So he can drop a plate or burn a pizza to announce it. No, that’s not true. Kira took a breath. Julian works hard and has a good heart. If he is pleased when his friend arrives and wants to chat with him, that’s fine. Just wish it were someone else. One of those friendly Bajoran girls he hangs out with, say. Even Damar can carry on a civil conversation without giving out the sort of vibes that give you an insatiable need to check no one has snuck up behind you with a blackjack.

“You see, I was reminded recently of a character within it.”

“Oh is that so?” Seriously, is he licking that table clean? If he doesn’t get over here and get Garak out of my face – I so do not have the energy to deal with him this week – I am going to seriously think about putting him on deliveries on that scooter every time it storms.

“Yes, this particular character, he is concerned with solving mysteries. He wants to ensure that justice is both seen to be done as well as being, in actuality, done. We both know these two arms of justice are not especially consanguineous. Particularly in certain, shall we say, neighbourhoods at certain times. This upright man however, he walks the mean streets but remains untainted by them.”

Ah, Kira thought. Smeg.

“But you see, the reason I want the book back is because I can’t quite recall what causes this character to leave the area at the end of one book. Nor why he returns to it in the next. They are intriguing questions, don’t you think?”

He looked at Kira. Smiling serenely. He already knows. Just a simple tailor, I don’t fu–

“Garak!” Julian had turned back towards the kitchen with his tray of glasses and plates.

“Julian, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“I’ve got that book out the back,” Julian said, pulling one ear bud out. “I’ll get it for you.” He turned to Kira. “Mind if I take my break now?”

Kira waved a hand.

“I’ll grab it then and I’ll walk you back to your shop if you’d like, Garak?”

“That would be acceptable. That is to say, if you have a jacket to put on?”

“Of course, won’t be a tick. Wait til you hear about this mysterious guy I met today.” Julian rushed out the back.

“Good day, Kira.” Garak smiled and nodded and headed towards the door. Kira watched him go stonily.

Oh, Julian. Garak already knows all about your mystery man.

* * * *

The Terran had finished his meal, paid in cash and practically dashed out the door. With no customers to perform emotion work for Kira let herself react to Garak’s words. She banged her fist on the counter. Smeg. She thumped it again. Shakaar is always saying that the Prophets have a warped sense of humour. Well she hoped they were enjoying the show.

Ben must’ve heard her. He came out from the back and came up next to her. He put one hand out on the cashier counter and lent his hip against the edge of the bench.

“You alright there Kira?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine really. We just had Garak in here.”

“I thought so. Bashir just grabbed a book out of his bag and went charging out the back door. I don’t think he even noticed that he nearly tripped over the boxes there.”

“He was due his break. If he wants to spend it walking Garak home in the drizzle then he can.”

“You don’t need to worry about him y’know,” Ben gave her a soft smile. “Garak and Julian are enjoying each other’s company. Julian’s exploring his cultural side and it gets him to take a break from all that studying he does.”

“Can you honestly tell me you aren’t concerned for Julian?” Kira asked. “What if this was Jake hanging out with Garak?”

“That’s a good question.” Sisko paused, sliding his free hand into his pocket. “I think we both realise that we feel some sense of responsibility for our DD9 crew. We want them to be fit and able to work but also, as friends to some extent with them all, we want them to be happy, to be living fulfilled lives. Would that be true?”

“Of course.”

“We’ve talked in the past about me being worried about bringing Jake here and whether he would fit in and feel comfortable. Makes friends, do well at school, that sort of thing. He’s a smart and friendly boy. I’m proud of him and the man he is becoming. But I’m also aware that he is curious and compassionate; he talks to all manner of people simply because he’s interested in them and their stories. If we go, say, to a show together he invariably starts talking to all the people around us.”

“Only because you do the same thing Ben. We were the last ones out of that council meeting that time, simply because you were too busy chatting to notice that they’d started stacking away the chairs.”

“Ah, but I was networking. It’s a different sort of interaction. Yes, I was gregarious and, yes, I made a few friends that day. But I was initially interested in those people because those connections are necessary if we’re going to make this work. But Jake talks to those people because he initially finds them interesting in itself.”

“Sure,” Kira stretched her arms out with her palms open, “but he wants to know about them so he can write about them. In one of his articles or his short stories. He’s all keen to be a reporter for the school paper.”

“Certainly but there is a foundation of interest and trust there. He is focused completely on the person as they speak; even if later he jots it down and thinks about how to work it into his writing.”

“Okay, what are you saying here then?”

“That Jake-o is still young and oblivious sometimes. That I know this. You know this too.” Kira nodded. “And Garak knows this. So Garak continues to refuse Jake’s requests for an interview and he is always polite and somewhat distant when dealing with Jake or Nog.”

“Even Ezri to an extent.”

“Exactly. He is aware of the social boundaries that he should respect. I kept an eye on Julian and it seemed like from what I observed and from what Julian has said that at all times Julian has been free to walk away and not associate with Garak if he so desires. He’s probably had some friends who have frowned on the friendship based on Garak’s age, his background or the fact that no one seems to know anything concrete about his background.”

Kira crossed her arms.

“But at the same time he probably has some friends who are less connected to past conflicts and have seen no reason to disparage the meeting of similar minds between the two. So, for the time being at least, it appears that Julian likes having a friend with different life experiences to his own and I expect that Garak must appreciate having a friend in what seems otherwise to be a rather lonely life.”

“I hear what you’re saying Ben.” The boss has a silver tongue sometimes. “You want me to give Garak a chance.”

“You don’t have to exchange friendship bracelets. But perhaps you don’t need to worry about it so much. We’ll keep an eye out and we’re always here for support.”

“Yes, you’re right. But, y’know, I haven’t been majorly stressing out about it or anything.”

“No, of course not,” he said, and he sniffed the air. The smell of cooked pizza was wafting out of the kitchen. “It’s just that I know you’ve had a lot on and we’ve got the big inspection business coming up soon. I didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed.”

“No, no. I’m fine really Ben. You know I’ll let you know if it’s all getting too much and we need to make some adjustments.” Like muzzle Jadzia so she couldn’t go blabbing to Sisko; sometimes them being old friends is a trifle annoying.
“Great. Right, I better get back there and pack up that lot for Worf to take out.”

Kira nodded and Ben nudged her shoulder with the back of his hand before heading back out to the kitchen. Kira frowned. She had meant what she said. She was keeping on top of her commitments across work and uni. But, as Ben had noticed, her stress levels were rising. Work takes a good chuck of the week, the uni course load is demanding, scheduling time to socialise with her various groups of friends is tricky and her old cellmates are keeping the pressure on.

Not to mention the fact that she didn’t have the luxury of looking forward to petting any cats any time soon anymore. A few of the other families that she knew well who had cats had had to move further out when they couldn’t cope with the steep rent increases. A couple of others had been in rent-controlled blocks but she’d heard one of the cats had died and the other owner had been a stooge and Kira wasn’t sure she could go see him without getting into an ugly argument. That wouldn’t achieve anything and would just stress out Bronson, the cat, and that wouldn’t be fair to him. She didn’t care about the stooge. Some cats can’t choose who they get to live with.

All this had started to pile up a bit because there were only a couple of months left of the academic term and that meant that all the lecturers were piling on the readings. Also, every single tutor talked about the priority of their tute prep work and assessments like they’re the only class that anyone is taking. There just aren’t enough hours in the week to read Marx and understand him. Plus, to work enough hours to pay rent and pay off uni fees, and be able to eat a balanced nutritious diet. Or to have enough grog in the flat for when both Jadzia and Worf come over for dinner. Whilst getting regular exercise and social time. All that stuff gets harder to keep up with when the stressful parts of the semester hit.

Kira glanced at the papers next to her. She needed to make some calls before she left tonight. She stretched her arms behind her back and then stretched her back. The long shifts are good for the bank account but Kira hoped she had time to get some reading done before her tutes tomorrow.

Shakaar had stuffed up her schedule for the week when he’d texted her the other night and asked if she wanted to go out for tea. She’d already started cooking a stir-fry so instead she invited him over. When she buzzed him in he’d come up quickly so he mustn’t have spent much time loitering in the stairwell trying to see if he could run into anyone interesting. It turned out that was because he did want to talk. About how Dominion Pizza and their Jem’Hadar cronies with their illicit activities were harming Little Bajor. He argued that since she is in a good position at Sisko’s pizza place that she should use it to keep an eye on Dukat when he comes round to be despicable and to listen to what he says about Damar. It seems that Damar is the one who actually gets stuff done at their dive.

Kira had served up the rice and the cooked meat and veggies. She still met up every now and then with the cellmates to go out for dinner or to see a match. That was fun, when they were in the mood to relax and enjoy themselves. When they were like this, in a radical mood, it was best to just let them tell her whatever they needed to. Get it out of their system as they were. Lupaza and Furel could be just as bad. Kira recognised that they felt like they were briefing her and keeping her in the loop. She may keep saying she doesn’t want to be an involved member of the street gang anymore but they remain hopeful that she’ll get all this Manager and uni stuff out of her system and change her mind. Kira figured it didn’t hurt to listen to them. But she wasn’t going to change her mind.

Over some canned peaches and ice cream Shakaar told her how some Jem’Hadar thugs had roughed up a few of the local boys outside one of the pubs the night before. Apparently Furel was planning for a few of them to go up to the Heights and cause some havoc on the night of the blossom festival in retaliation. With so many people on the streets they mightn’t even get caught. Kira had heard similar stories before.

This is why Kira wanted to get her degree; so she could get in higher up and get some real change happening. Causing trouble for people on the streets was effective to a certain extent but it wasn’t going to change policing priorities or get more urban planning policies in place to protect lower income families. Shakaar was trying at local council level but he wasn’t getting far. Kira felt he was too reactive; he’d never wrest enough power away from that consummate politician Winn. He was popular but he doesn’t think big enough whereas she knows how to play the system and will take whatever means necessary to have power go her way. That was the trouble but it was hard to tell him that. However, to be fair, someone should be trying to change the status quo at the local government level and Shakaar was just determined enough to do it, given enough time.

In the meantime, he and her old mates kept trying to get her to help them out with their latest street-level schemes. But getting caught up – or caught – would interfere with her plans so Kira was resisting. But it was wearying. She did want to help her neighbourhood and she could see that some of their ideas were good and should be implemented. But she couldn’t get stuck in the small details and miss the possible big picture. She wanted to help Little Bajor shake off it’s past and have a brighter future. Starting with making a new future for herself was the way to do it.

At least no one on the local grapevine had heard about Odo at that point or there would’ve been a whole other conversation that night.