Work Text:
As a rule, Ben doesn't drink directly from his officers. The chain of command makes it a murky proposition, because he can't be sure that they'll feel able to refuse him.
The gravity of the problem varies.
The point is moot when it comes to either his Head of Security or CMO; even if they wished to help, they have no blood to give.
Dax is Dax. The old Trill, as Curzon, has already wriggled a promise that he wouldn't shy away from feeding after Ben had one too many embarrassing fainting incidents as a young lieutenant.
The Chief is… both harder and easier. The kelpie is a consummate professional and one of the most practical people he has ever known. If he does ever offer, it will either be an unavoidable need or a gift to be cherished.
Major Kira, however. His brave, headstrong second who believes in the Prophets and respects him as a religious leader for her people, while resenting his rank and the Federation's presence above her home.
She would offer in an instant, if she knew how hard it is sometimes to resort to chilled blood bags, to sustain himself on the weak life-force of volunteers who care little for the recipient of their blood except for a distant thrum of pity, duty or faint kindness.
She would offer, and her faith in the Emissary would make her blood strong and heady and…
That thought fills him with shame. It's why he must be careful around her. He will not betray the Bajorans' faith; not even for this. Especially not for this.
He knows she notices his hesitation. He regrets that his nature will have to become another obstacle in their path to trust.
He can't compromise here; so they'll have to find another way.