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Chapter Text

 Stanley Pines wandered around the Promenade of Deep Space Nine for about a half hour before he figured it all out.  

It was the Wild West, all over again.  

There was the saloon in the center of town.  Over there was the little church, the post office, the sheriff’s office, the blacksmith, the clothier, the country doctor, and so on.  

And as much as he hated to admit it, the saloon was the shiniest object on the station for a guy like him.  

But he made a promise to a friend.  There was something he had to do first.

The infirmary had no door, so all Stan had to do was to walk in.  The man he assumed to be a doctor (He was wearing the same blue-shouldered jumpsuit as Fíli did, after all) was hard at work at a computer console in a corner.  He was utterly absorbed in his work.

“Doc?” he croaked.  

The man, a human (Though Stan decided he couldn’t take that for granted—lots of folks looked human but were in fact from other worlds) looked up.  He was dark-skinned in complexion and had sharp eyes.  

“Oh, I’m very sorry,” he said, in a British accent, to Stan and stood straight up. “I was immersed in a research project—Is there an emergency?”

“Not exactly.  My doctor—Doctor Fili—when he heard I was coming to the station he made a referral.  You’re Bashir, right?”

Dr. Julian Bashir nodded.  “Yes, of course.  Dr. Fili—He’d contacted me directly…Mr. Pines?”

Stanley put on his smile.  “That’s me!”  

“He wanted to make sure that your cortical therapy was taking hold, and to follow up on some issues he’d noted when you were initially examined,” Bashir murmured, looking up Stan’s chart on his PADD.  As Bashir looked through that, Stan turned back to the bar.  He noticed a man in a suit—a hell of a suit, Stan thought—taking care of some glasses. The man—obviously an alien—had the nose of a bat and ears—well, Stan thought he had a pair of ears.  Talk about having the ears for business, Stan thought, remembering a phrase his Pops used.  Noticing Stan’s staring, the bartender made eye contact with him, and Stan smiled, gestured to his own ears, and pointed at him.  The bartender rolled his eyes and continued with his work.  

“—And of course, there’s the matter of your serotonin imbalance, and subsequent counseling sessions with an onboard therapist.  Mr. Pines?”

“Call me Stan,” Stan told Bashir automatically.  

“Dr. Fili indicates that you’ve had bouts of depression.  Now, while psychiatric medicine has made leaps and bounds in the past three centuries, speaking with a counselor is still part of the treatment.”

“Oh.”  Stan suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.  Fíli had told him he wanted him to seek counseling, but he’d assumed it was simply for the shock of finding himself in the 24th Century.  He’d also talked about anti-depressant therapy being different from taking daily meds as well, but didn’t count on this.  “What about my memory?” He asked, changing the subject fast.

“Cognitive therapy…He finds that your neural pathways are undamaged, as well as your cranial vascular system.  However, if there are memories that are to be uncovered, that may require counseling as well.”

Damn.  “There’s no getting out of this, is there, doc?”

Bashir smiled kindly and shook his head.  “Not if you want to get better.”

***

The USS Mediterranean wasn’t due to depart for Limbo (By way of Eminiar VII, because of reasons) for another 6 hours, allowing Captain Adam Reid to visit the commander of the station for a little bit.  In Ben Sisko’s administrative office, Adam noted the aerospace models throughout the space.  

“So he doesn’t yet know the circumstances of having been placed in stasis?” Sisko asked Adam.

“No.  He believes that he was purged of that specific memory before he went under,” Adam explained.  He turned to Sisko’s desk terminal and tapped a few keys.  The display revealed the portrait of a man who looked very similar to Stanley.  “This is his twin brother, Dr. Stanford Pines,” Adam explained.  He tapped another key, splitting the screen and revealing another picture of Dr. Pines.  In it, he wore a white lab coat over a sweater vest.  “This is how Dr. Pines appeared in 1981.”

“But you said that Stanley went into stasis in 2018,” Sisko said, frowning.

“Right.  Somehow, he was able to reverse their aging by about thirty years before putting Stanley into stasis and getting himself into this era,” Adam explained.  

“Again, for what purpose?” Sisko asked.

“Unfortunately, only Ford Pines knows why at this point,” Adam sighed.  “I’m telling you this, because Stan is staying on the station.  He wasn’t happy on Earth.”

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t be.  Did he have a profession?”

Adam smiled.  “He held down a tourist trap called the ‘Mystery Shack’.  He cobbled together exhibits of outlandish creatures from taxidermist animals and overcharged rubes for the  privilege.”

“Did he bring his…menagerie with him?” Sisko asked.  

“No.  All that junk is still in my sister’s newfound basement,” Adam replied.  

“That’s good.  Because I have a Ferengi on the Promenade that would leap at the chance to partner with that kind of showmanship.”

Adam chuckled at that.  “Josh missed you at his reception,” Adam said, casually.  

“Can’t help it,” Ben sighed.  “I’ve got all this to run.  Still, though.  Did he say why he was reassigned from the Tomcat?”

Adam shook his head.  “It’s higher up the food chain than the two of us,” he said.  “He didn’t even get a crap reason like I got for the Medi getting decommissioned.”

“Well at least you have another five months before you have to tell her good-bye,” Sisko offered.  “What’s Josh going to do?”

“He didn’t tell me.  Oh, but we did get him to do the pinball trick at the reception!”

“Ha ha!” Ben laughed.  “Now I’m really sorry I missed it.”

“He told me the part he hates the most is that his senior staff are all dispersing.  Carr, Lopar, Argyle, even that McGucket kid I just met.”

Sisko walked Adam to the turbo lift out of Ops.  A statuesque Trill officer was working at a console nearby.  “Captain, have you met Lieutenant Dax?”

Adam’s face brightened.  “I’ve met Curzon Dax,” Adam admitted.  “He was a dignitary at Rivendell just before the pre-admission of Arda.”

Dax smiled serenely.  “Curzon thought you handled yourself expertly considering,” she told Adam.

“Why thank you,” Adam said.  “How long have you been joined, If you don’t mind my asking?”

“A little over a year,” Dax admitted.  “But the joining process makes it feel much longer.”

“Well, I’ll wish you both the best of luck, Lieutenant,” Adam said, and stepped onto the turbo.  “Promenade.”

***

Stan decided that it was breakfast time somewhere and tried out the Replimat.  No one paid him any mind—after all, he looked like any human they’d seen, wearing a tan jacket with a fur trim and a white t-shirt underneath.  He wore his maroon cap.  The station’s temperature wasn’t quite as nice as it was on the Mediterranean—it was a little colder.  He supposed that if there were aliens in this common space, they had to keep the thermostat to a common temperature.  He hoped he could warm it up in his own space, though.  

“Pancakes,” he told the replicator station. “Buttermilk.”  It was a different design from the Medi’s, or even Joy and Mike’s back on Earth.  It made a strange electronic squawking noise, as it asked,  [Short stack or full?] 

“Ah, what the hell.  Make it a short stack with a side of scrambled eggs and bacon,” He told it.

It warbled in compliance and with a shimmering effect slightly different than the other stations, it produced.  Stan took his tray and looked for a table.  

It had seemed that Bashir was on his lunch break too. He and a friend were sitting at a table with drinks in front of them, having some kind of discussion.  Stan hated to eavesdrop—

—Who was he kidding?  He LOVED to eavesdrop!

“Really, Doctor, your naiveté is simply astounding, sometimes,” The alien was telling Bashir.  “You really have no interest in his previous life from three centuries ago?”

Stan flushed and attempted to hide inside his jacket.  He also attempted to keep the shit-eating grin off his face.  He loved it when he caught people talking about him!

“Of course not!” Bashir exclaimed.  “He’s a patient!  Unless it’s relevant to treating him, it’s absolutely not my concern!”

First of all, Stan thought.  How did this spoon-foreheaded guy find out I came from the 21st Century?  Second, what’s his story?  He sat at his own table, and placed his tray down.  He attempted to eat his breakfast meal as inconspicuously as possible.

“And further, Garak, how did you even find out about St—About my patient’s back history?” Bashir continued, almost blurting out Stan’s name.  Stan kept peeking and shoveling his pancakes into his mouth.

“Ah!  you almost revealed his name!” Garak crowed.  “Very sloppy of you!”

Ah, Stan realized.  This had nothing to do with him.  Not really.  This was all Garak’s game to spin Bashir around.  He knew this game too well.

“Can we change the subject?” Bashir asked.

Garak genuflected, and the subject changed to subjects that weren’t nearly as interesting to Stan as himself.  Things like the cost of Tarkalean tea imports, new bolts of fabric that Garak had gotten in (Apparently he was the clothier of the shop that he’d seen earlier) And the general state of Federation/Cardassian (Not Kardashian, he’d realized with a low chuckle) relations.  

“I trust you’ll join me for lunch tomorrow?” Garak asked Bashir.  

“…Of course,” Bashir sighed.  

Garak smiled and watched as Bashir hurried back to the Infirmary.

Stan couldn’t help himself.  He softly walked over to Garak’s table, the Cardassian obliviously looking in Bashir’s direction.

“Ya know,” Stan said, a little louder than necessary, causing Garak to momentarily jump, “You could just ask me.”

Stan could only guess Garak’s initial expression, but it became clear that he recovered quickly.  “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister…Mister…?”

“Come on, buddy,” Stan said, “We both know you know my name.”

“A proper introduction works wonders for social arrangements,” Garak smoothly countered.  

“Oh.  Well.”  Stan circled the table and stuck his hand out at the alien.  “Stanley Pines.”

Garak took Stan’s hand and shook it, looking at his hand with curiosity.  “Strange human custom.”

“My brother told me once that handshakes were invented so guys could tell that the other didn’t have a weapon on them,” Stan explained.  

“Ah, but it doesn’t account for the other hand,” Garak replied.

“I didn’t say it was a smart custom,” Stan said.  “You make suits?” 

“I’m the tailor,” Garak affirmed.  “Are you in need of a suit?”

“Am I ever!” Stan said.  “With all the stuff I’ve been through—And you don’t know the half of it—I got a suit that needs alteration.”

“You can make an appointment.” Garak said.

“Then again…” Stan said, spying that bartender…what Bashir said was a Ferengi…walking past the Replimat, again eyeing Stanley.  He flashed another grin at him.  “That guy knows how to wear a suit.  If I bring in mine, can you do the alteration and maybe get me one like that that matches the old one’s colors?”

“Of course!” Garak replied.  “All you have to do is come in during business hours and it can all be arranged.  And now,” Garak said, arching his bony eyebrows.  “I hate to be the cause of your breakfast getting cold.”

“Yeah.  Nice to meet ya,” Stan said in parting.  

He finished his breakfast, a little more slowly, just enough to notice just that the taste of the pancakes were slightly…off.  As if they were made by someone who had only heard how to make them…once.  He was going to see if Joy could send him a better… recipe?  File?  Pattern?  Old terms didn’t seem to fit anymore.  

“Stan!” 

He turned to where someone was calling his name.  

It was Adam.

He put his tray in back in the slot where it promptly disappeared, and wandered over to where Adam was standing.  He had to excuse himself where people were walking.  

“Stan,” Adam said again.  “Your suite is all set up.”  

“How much is this costing me?” Stan asked.

“Consider this a gift from me and Joy to you,” Adam said, waving his hands.  “Long enough for you to get on your feet, and—hey.”  Adam clapped a hand on Stan’s shoulder.  “Joy will let you stay with her in a heartbeat.  You know that, right?”

Stan shuffled his feet.  “Yeah.”

Adam pulled in even closer.  “Personally, she’s hoping you’ll stay with her so she has a permanent babysitter.”

“Me.  A man-nanny?” Stan guffawed.  “Well, that’s one profession I haven’t considered yet!”

“Oh!  I’m sorry, Major,” Adam said referring to the woman in uniform next to Adam.  She looked slightly impatient, but managed to stay polite.  “This is Major Kira Nerys, she is second in charge, after the Starfleet commander on the station.”

Stan considered the Major.  She wore a red-and-salmon uniform with quilted shoulders and a badge on the opposite side than the Starfleet folk.  She looked mostly human, aside from a little bit of buildup on the bridge of her nose.  She also wore a earring with a cuff.  A redhead, Stan noted.  

“Welcome to Deep Space Nine, Mr. Pines.  Captain Reid tells me you’re a businessman?”

“I was.  Technically retired.  Not too bad a fisherman, too.”

Major Kira smiled.  “Retirement?  Really, at your age?”

Stan frowned.  Oh yeah.  He kept forgetting that he looked like a man half his age now.  “Oh…this,” He stammered, indicating his face.  “It’s a long story.  I’m actually…How old am I, Adam?”

Adam side-eyed Stan for a moment.  “What number you want?”

“How many years have I been alive, you knucklehead!” Stan exclaimed.  

“According to the documents, you are objectively 73,” Adam told him.  “Historically, however, you are 424.”

“See?  Are all the Starfleet Captains all so dorky?” Stan teased.  Kira was grinning now.  Stan still knew how to get a girl to smile.

“Any. Way.” Adam said through slightly gritted teeth.  “Major Kira has offered to escort you to the Habitat ring, and your suite.  I have to get back to the ship to get ready to launch.”

“You’re leaving?” Stan said, suddenly anxious.  “I thought the Medi was gonna stay docked for another day!”

“Stan,” Adam said gently.  “They gave me two weeks off.  It’s time to put me to work again.  And believe me, we’ve got a lot of work to do now,” He added, giving Kira a look.  Stan decided to file that away.  

“Don’t worry, Mr. Pines,” Kira began.

“—Call me Stan,” Stan said, almost automatically.

Adam smiled and rolled his eyes.  “Just one last thing?”

“Yeah, kid?” Stan said.

“Just remember what we talked about on the ship, and…”

“Ahh.  Bring it in.”  Stan hugged his newfound relative and gave him two requisite pats on the back.  “Yeah, I’ll, uh, think about what we talked about.”

“That’s all I ask.  Major.” Adam said in parting.

“Captain.”

Adam walked toward the turbolift, leaving Stan feeling as alone as he’d ever been for…

He wished he knew.

“So you’ve been in the 24th Century for less than a week, and you decided to come here?” Kira said incredulously to Stan as they walked down the corridors of the Habitat Ring.  

Stan shrugged.  “Earth is too different from what it was when I grew up,” Stan said.  “It’s too…nice was the word he used, but it’s too civilized.  Mostly.  And I’m too scrappy a guy to be happy there for very long.  So when Mister Starship Captain offered to drop me off here, I said yes.”

“So you’re just making your way in the galaxy with none of the backstory?” Kira pressed.  

“Well, Adam said that there was an occupation, and a resistance, and you guys got your freedom, and now there’s that wormhole…did I leave anything out?”

“That’s…the basic gist of it, yeah,” Kira said, nodding.  

“And you were a resistance fighter?” Stan fished.

“That’s right,” Kira said, with a tight-lipped smile.

“I was just guessing.  You’re pretty scrappy yourself.  You remind me of a girl who used to work for me.”  

“Well, the only thing scrappy I do nowadays is play springball,” Kira said, self-consciously.  

“Springball?” Stan repeated.  “One of those new sports that Adam was telling me about.   like Paris’s Squares.”

“I think you mean parisses squares,” Kira corrected him.  “And it’s not quite that difficult.  I could have someone teach you to play if you’re interested, or just watch the station tournament when it starts back up?”

“I miss baseball,” Stan grumped.  “Me and F—my brother were in T-ball when we were kids.  And we both liked watching the local minor-leaguers play.”

“You like baseball?” Kira said, stopping in her tracks.  “Maybe you could discuss it with the commander—he knows all about baseball.”

Stan pursed his lips.  “Are we almost there?”

Kira looked down the hallway.  “It’s just down the hall.”

They walked a but further and she pressed a long button on the side, opening the door.  “This is it.  You’ve got your passcode, and your computer access, and all civilian access is marked on the station directory.”

“All right.  Thanks for the walk, Major”

“You’re welcome, and welcome aboard again, just…stay out of trouble.  There’s such a thing as being too scrappy.”

As the door closed behind him, Stan looked at what was going to be his home for the foreseeable future.  

Everything seemed to be monochrome, with dark colors, with the occasional plant.  In the decorating department, he had a bit of work to do.  

He put his luggage down.  He walked up to one of the windows.  He could see the Mediterranean docked up above.  He sighed.  And to think, he thought.  Adam’s gonna have to say goodbye to his ship at the end of the year.  Six years.

Six years.  Wasn't that how long he’d had on the Stan-o-War II with Sixer?  He sighed again.  

“Computer?” he said into the room.  The computer replied with it’s electronic twittering.  “Play some music from the planet Earth.”

{Please specify,} the computer prodded.  The station’s computer wasn’t quite as pleasant-sounding as the Medi’s.

“Hmm…1970’s…easy listening,” Stan suggested, wondering how extensive a music collection an alien space station should have.

To answer him, the room filled with woodwinds and sax in short succession.

“Of course,” Stan sighed, and sunk into the chair next to the window.  “Baker Street.”

As the song went on, and Stan slowly began to doze off, an electronic-sounding tone went off in the room.  He didn’t immediately recognize it at first, it took a few more tones, and then a knock at the door for him to realize.

It was the doorbell.

“Coming!” he croaked. As he walked to the door, he pushed another oblong button next to it to reveal…

…The bartender with the ears.

“Took you long enough,” he said, impatiently.  “This tray was getting heavy!”

“You the welcoming committee?” Stan asked, putting his smile back on. 

“Not many people move onto the station who aren’t Starfleet or Bajoran militia,” The Ferengi said.  “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stan said.  “Stanley Pines.”

“I know,” the Ferengi said, shooting Stan a look.  “I’m Quark.  The guy you flicked your lobes at this morning.”

“No offense or nothing,” Stan explained.  “It’s just my Pops had an expression about some folks having the ears for business, and you…well…”

Quark frowned.  “Well, that’s a first,” he said.  “A hew-mon telling a Ferengi he has the lobes for business.”

“What can I say?” Stan said, grinning even wider.  “So what’s in the bottle?”

“A complimentary bottle of kanar,” Quark explained. “A distinct Cardassian vintage.”

“Can’t give the stuff away, eh?” Stan murmured as he examined the bottle.  

“I didn’t say that,” Quark replied indignantly.

“You didn’t have to,” Stan said.  “Product doesn’t move, you offer it as a premium.  You gonna drink this with me?”

A look of outright disgust crossed Quark’s features.  “That’s all right.”

By this point, the computer had moved on to something by Jefferson Starship, and Quark was practically cringing.  So much for first impressions.  Stan attempted to turn it around.  “I was telling that tailor guy how much I liked your suit.  Where do you get your duds?”

“I try to stay abreast of the fashion trends back on Ferenginar,” Quark said with a shrug.    He eyed a figurine sticking out of Stan’s duffel bag.  “May I?” 

Stan shrugged.  “Knock yourself out.”

Quark examined the Mr. Mystery bobblehead.  He took a finger and flicked it, sending the head going all over the place.  He squinted at it, then looked at Stan.  “This supposed to be your father or something?”

It was a good thing Stan hadn’t attempted the kanar, because he would have spat it out.  “Oh gawd, no!”  With that, he pulled out the fez, popped it on his head, and struck the same pose as the bobblehead.  

“Your doctor does good work,” Quark remarked.  

“Thanks,” Stan replied.  “At any rate, I’m going for a do-over.  Figured this place was a good as any to sniff out any new opportunities.”

Quark suddenly looked sly.  “What did you have in mind?”

Stan shrugged.  “Figured I’d start at the bottom and work my way up.”  Stan now looked just as sly.  “Whaddaya got?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Quark began.  “The bar’s hosting an auction within the next day or so, and It’s a little short notice and all—“

“You need a bouncer,” Stan finished.  

“Pretty much.  And since I can’t seem to manage to get a Naussican or two—“

“What are ya offering?” Stan cut to the chase.  Part of him remembered this part. Missed this part.  The hustle.  The haggling.

“Three bars of gold-pressed latinum,” Quark offered, “one up front, the rest when the job’s over.”

Stan glared at Quark for a moment.  “And?”

“It’s a perfectly sound offer,” Quark said, sounding hurt.

“What, no contract, no retainer?” Stan countered.  “Come on.  I gotta shitty bottle of booze to open and you’re wasting my time.”

“Five bars, plus a per-job contact with the possibility of a retainer,” Quark offered.

“Six bars, a year on retainer with the per-job contract,” Stan said with a curt nod.  

Quark licked his lips.  He was clearly enjoying this!  “Five bars, full access to the gaming tables between shifts, year on retainer, and the per-job contract.  And that’s my final offer.”

 “Deal!” Stan exclaimed, and stuck out his hand.  

Quark grabbed it and shook once.  

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an auction to plan.”

As Quark moved toward the door, Stan stuck his hand out again.  “Wait a minute.  You mean you haven’t actually gotten this thing started yet?”

“It’s a win-win,” Quark said, licking his lips again.  “If the lady turns me down, I’ve still got a bouncer on retainer for a year.”

“That’s pretty good,” Stan said.  “It’s those ears!”

Quark pointed at his considerable lobes and back at Stan, still smiling as he left.

Stan smiled to himself.  “Evergreen” was playing in the back ground.  “Like buttah,” he sighed and sat back down in his chair.  

The next day, Stan decided to case his new place of employment.   It was a strange morning.  Three times, the lights had dimmed.  At one point, Stan had stubbed his toe coming out of the sonic shower.  That was a strange concept, he’d thought.  So while he watched the Dabo table, and began to pick up on the rules, he’d also noticed the lady.  The lady Quark clearly was negotiating with for the auction.  Stan hated to butt in—

Well, that was a lie.  he LOVED butting in!

She was munching on some sort of appetizer when he wandered over.  Stan was still dressed like a longshoreman while Garak worked on his suits.  he figured to take a shot.

“Ya know,” he began, “Eating celery alone—not a good sign.”

She smiled faintly and said nothing.  

“Hey,” he said, “If that was a line, it wasn’t a good one.”

“I’m waiting for a friend,” She said.

“I bet it’s that cute doctor,” Stan said with a wink.  “Don’t blame you one bit.”

Still nothing.

“So I hear there’s gonna be an auction,” he tried again.  That got her attention.

“And I don’t suppose you’re going to do any bidding,” She said, archly.

“Lady, I’ve got twenty US dollars in my pocket that won’t buy me jack around here,” Stan said.  “I’m the bouncer.”

“Oh.  Oh?” She stopped for a moment.  “US dollars?  From the old United States?”

“Nyeah.”  Stan pulled the bill out of his jeans and showed it to her.  They were crumpled, but the time it spent in the stasis field under the Shack left it intact.

She looked at the issue year.  “Series 2005?” She gasped.  “Do you know how rare this is?”

Stan shrugged.  “Lady, I came out of deep freeze last month.  And this is your auction, not mine.”

“If you have any more items this rare, you might be next!” She exclaimed.  “My name’s Vash, and you are?”

“Stan Pines,” Stan introduced himself.  “And, uh…how rare?”

“I could turn twenty dollars into a stack of latinum…for both of us,” she amended.

“Uh-huh,” Stan said, snatching his bill back.  “So you’re some sort of curator?”

“I’m an archeologist,” Vash explained.  “Rare objects.”

Stan sighed.  “So I guess you sail around the galaxy on the adventure of a lifetime, huh.”

Vash sighed.  “I used to.  I think I’m adventured out.  After I cash in here, I’m going back to Earth.”

“Yeah, well.  I just came from Earth.  It’s…nice.”

Vash picked up on how Stan said nice.  “Yeah well, I could use a little nice after the last few years.”

Stan picked up a stalk of celery and held it up.  “Here’s to nice.”

Vash picked up hers and they tapped their celery stalks together.  

“Well, like I said, I’m the bouncer,” Stan told her.  “Keeping the riffraff out.”

“It was nice to meet you, Stan,” Vash said.

“Eh?  EH???” He said, finger-gunning both his hands at her.  She laughed.  

“Ahh, still got it,” he sighed, moving back to a table.

But not before someone whispered behind him.  “So you think you’ve got something.”

Stan turned around to find an amused looking man before him.  He was dressed as Adam was, in a  Starfleet captain’s uniform.  “Trust me, Stanley, She’s not worth the effort.”

“How do you know my name?” Stan exclaimed.  One day in and already there’s trouble.

“Oh, I’m well informed on a variety of subjects,” the strange man said.  “A variety of subjects.”

Stanley felt the blood drain right out of his face.  

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” the man said.  

“B-B-b-B…” Stan could only stammer.

The man sighed and shook his head.  “No.  Don’t you remember, Stan?  You punched him to death in your mindscape and ended up a blank slate for, what?  An hour?  Maybe two?  Hey, ever wonder about that?  The Powers That Be must like you…”

“I need to sit down.  L-lie down, sleep now…” Stan stammered.

“Fragile human minds.  It’s a wonder killing Bill Cipher didn’t make your head explode,” the man was now saying, pulling out a chair for Stan.  “Have a seat.”

Stan complied.  

“If it eases your mind, many of us in the Q Continuum were rather glad you destroyed him,” Q explained.  “So you have nothing to worry about from me.”

Stan nodded.  

“Of course, there’s no guarantee that you’ll survive the next day or so on the station, so good luck with that.”  With that, Q snapped his fingers and vanished in a flash of light.

Stan sat at the table for a moment, before someone came up to him.  “Are you all right?” the man asked.  Stan looked and it was a human, Starfleet, wearing the coveralls with the gold shoulders.  

Stan nodded his head.  “I’ll…I’ll be okay…?”

“Miles O’Brien, Chief of Operations,” the man introduced himself.  “How d’you know Q?”

Stan shook his head.  “I don’t.  I guess we got a mutual acquaintance.”

“I think you better get off your feet,” Miles suggested.

Stan nodded.  

“And maybe talk to Dr. Bashir.  A run-in with Q would make anyone need a tranquilizer.”

Stan wasn’t listening at this point.  He wandered through the Promenade to the nearest turbo lift and made his way back to the Habitat Ring.

He looked out the window in his room.  The Mediterranean had disembarked yesterday.  He had a chance to see it detach from the station and jump into hyperspace or whatever those starships did.  In its place was some random freighter, not nearly as elegant as Adam’s ship was.  God, he wanted to call him up and tell him about all of it.  About Bill Cipher, about Wierdmageddon, about Q.  He’d barely told him anything about his life, but Adam and Joy accepted him like a long-lost uncle.  

He felt like a fraud.  Not the first time.

Except.

Across the room was that PADD.  The one with Ford’s symbol on it.

Journal 4.

Adam gave it to him.  He was the one to come clean, of all people. About Ford.  About basically given a mission by Ford to keep him safe and sound.  Adam and Stan both decided to reject that.  Ford clearly didn’t count on folks in the 24th Century having a make-it-on-your-own philosophy.  So here he was, to find his own way.  And Ford could catch up if he wanted.  

And now, Stan thought with a little chuckle, he’s a bouncer on a bizarre space station in the middle of nowhere in the universe.

Right back where he started, in a way.

There was that doorbell tone again.  Stan wondered if he could change it.  Do they even have ringtones in the 24th century?

He got up and opened the door.  It was a Bajoran uniform, tan in color…

Not sure if the person in the uniform was a Bajoran, however.

“Stanley Pines?” A deep, gruff voice asked.  No introductions were necessary.  Stan knew a cop when he saw one.

“That’s me, officer!” he replied, putting on the smile.  The smile that got him out of endless speeding tickets.

“I’m Odo, head of security,” the man with the vaguely blank features said.  “Captain Reid provided the staff with your basic biography…”

“Okay?” Stan said, squinting.  “Is this another courtesy call, because the last one was the Ferengi…”

Odo hurrumphed, a sound that seemed to come all the way from the bottom of his shoes.  “I realize that you recently found yourself in this era, but I prefer to be thorough.  I ran a security check and what little records that survive in the 21st century…”

Stan stopped smiling.  Whatever this guy was, he was no Sheriff Blubs.  

“…Paint you as having a very colorful life.  I’ll spare you the details.”

Stan’s shoulders slumped.  He didn’t have the strength today.  “It’s probably all true.  And it’s probably not the half of it.”

Odo looked at him curiously.  “You realize that I’ll have to post this in the security office.”

“It’s probably better that way,” Stan sighed.  “I don’t have a Starfleet captain to vouch for me here, so guess what?  You get to be my guardian angel.  Keep me out of trouble, would ya?”

Whatever confrontation Odo was hoping for, he wasn’t getting it.  His expression on his smooth features were confusion, but not unpleasant confusion.  “I’ll do my best.  Have a nice day.”  

With that, Odo was gone.

So much for first impressions.

Chapter Text

Stan still had a bit of a spare tire around his middle.  Well, he thought.  Guess it’s part of the package deal after all.  The problem was, that he no longer had anything to bind that spare tire to wear his Pops’ old suit.  But Garak took care of all that.  And the best part was, he was able to get the right shape after all.  Stan looked himself over.  Dark hair again.  Real teeth again.  No more acne scars on his nose.  His hair was getting long in the back, though.  He grabbed a rubber band from his little shaving kit and walked out the door.  And don’t forget the shades.

It was his first day as a bouncer.  

The bar was closed to the public, with the apparent exception of the one alien at the end.  He kind of kept to himself, nursing some kind of drink.  Gray-skinned, with a chin for days.  

“I wouldn’t strike up a conversation with Morn right now, if I were you,” Quark said.  “You don’t have that kind of time.”

“Gotcha,” Stan said.  On the outside of the bar, several of the Dabo girls stood, their arms folded.  Apparently Quark forgot to tell the staff of the change of venue.  Stan felt a twinge, thinking of Wendy and Soos.  One of the girls, an alien without any discernible nose and an outfit with quite a bit of underboob, just stared daggers at him.  Clearly didn’t know who she was glaring at.  Of course, the shades helped.  It made Stan wonder if he should change it up, wear the eyepatch once in a while.  

“Um, Mi-ister Pines?” A low voice asked from the other side of the entrance.  “My brother wants to you to tell the staff to…um…”

“Buzz off?” Stan suggested.

“I-If that’s all right with you,” The Ferengi that Quark dismissively identified as his brother said.  Stan found his snaggletoothed appearance endearing, and again thought back fondly of Soos. 

He pursed his lips.  “If they have any questions, I’ll let them know.  Didn’t catch your name…”

“Oh.  I’m Rom.  Quark’s my brother.  D-id you happen to see what they’re auctioning off today?”

Not my $20 bill, that’s for sure, Stan thought.  “Some bits and pieces and some kind of rock.  Why would anyone want to spend 200 bars on a rock?”

“When it’s from the Gamma Quadrant and interest boosts up speculation pricing?” Rom suggested.  “It doesn’t have to be any more than that.”

And then, the lights dimmed again.

From around the corner, Stan could hear Odo groan, “Not again!”

“What the hell is causing that?” Stan asked out loud.

“Well,” Rom began.  “According to the station’s sensors, The power drains are accompanied by some kind of graviton disturbance.”

Stan frowned.  He knew that word.  It kept coming up in his desperate attempts back in the day when he was trying to—

“How do you know about all that?” Stan asked.

“We-e-ell,” Rom said, not quite meeting Stan’s gaze, “My brother has ways of gaining station access without…really…being allowed to?”

“Yeah?  And how do you know about gravitons and all that?”  

Rom shrugged.  “Just picked it up, I guess.”  Rom then gave him a sideways glance and asked him.  “Wait a second.  You’re from Earth’s 21st Century.  How do you know about graviton fields?”

“Well for one, I lived in a town called Gravity Falls for thirty years,” Stan replied, which made Rom frown.  Stan could practically see Rom trying to work out the logic.  “And once upon a time, I had to become an expert on the fly on graviton fields.”

“Rom!” Quark’s voice squawked behind them.  “Let the man do his job.”

“S-sorry, brother!” Rom replied.  “I-if you want, I can tell you anything I know about it.  When we’re off the clock, that is!”

Stan smiled at Rom, then paused.  “I’m winking at you from behind my shades,” he told Rom.

“Oh.  Okay,” Rom said, as he wandered off.

Well, Stan thought.  It had to be that Q thing.  Anyone who was on a first-name basis with Bill Cipher was capable of causing that kind of trouble.  Right?  And Chief O’Brien seemed to know who Q was.  People in the 24th Century just seemed that much more knowledgable than his time.  Or maybe there was a lot less self-delusion about what was going on around them.

Stan thought about what Q was able to cause at the bar the other night.  Before he could get his carcass home, he swore he witnessed the station commander get in a boxing match with the creature.  Marquis of Queensberry rules? Q had suggested, wearing a getup that looked like it came from the wall from the gym his father took him and Ford to practice boxing.  Stan had gone along with it.  Fight!  Fight!  Give him the right cross!  He’d shouted, as Vash and Quark bet between them who’d win.  It all seemed so surreal, but within minutes, Q was on the ground, and he was back on his way to his quarters.  

Q could do that, he could do anything he wanted.

The shadow of a tall man before him brought him back into the here and now.

“Name,” Stan said, producing a PADD.  He was getting the hang of the technology faster than he expected.  Maybe his brain was on the mend after all.

“Kolos,” an annoyed voice replied.  Stan glanced up at him.  His face looked like something he’d been forced to look at in High School health class once.  But yes indeed, Kolos was on the list.  By this point, Rom had went ahead to let the Dabo girls know they were doing duty as servers, including No-nose Underboob girl.  Kolos stalked past Stan as he let him through.  

And there was Vash, looking none the worse for wear, seeming to struggle under the weight of her huge duffel bag.  Looks like she’s as good as her word, Stan thought. 

“You need a hand with that?” Stan asked her.  

“No,” Vash said.  She looked as distracted as he did.  

“Hey,” Stan prodded.  “Seriously.  You okay?”

Vash frowned, and then asked him.  “Had you ever known someone who just would not take no for an answer?”

“Had a sawed-off little brat try to steal my house a couple times,” Stan recalled.  God, he thought.  Whatever happened to Li’l Gideon?  Considering his father, did he turn into Big Gideon?  “But enough about me.  Go, sell your wares.  Go on home to Earth.”

Vash smiled kindly at Stanley.  “Thanks.”

Next up was a couple of Ferengi who didn’t pay Stan much notice as he checked them in.  Then there were a couple of ornately dressed aliens whose faces were obscured in blue shrouds. 

Then there was Miles.

“So what’s goin’ on in there,” He asked in a mild Irish accent.

Stan shrugged.  “Bunch of aliens with too much money,” he said, and sighed.  “Just ripe for the picking.”

“No offense, but Quark’ll bollix it up.  He’s always getting in over his head,” Miles said with a grin.

“I get paid no matter what,” Stan said again, then asked, “Is five bars a lot?”

“I think it’s about a week’s salary,” Miles guessed.

“Excuse me,” an impatient, low voice growled behind O’Brien.

“Oh!  Sorry.  Didn’t know I was holding up the line,” Miles said.  Anyway…”. And with a wave, he was off.

“J’Hessel, from the Shard system,” the alien said.  He hesitated for a second, then checked the PADD.  Stan checked him off.  Three more, and then the power went out again.  Five seconds later it was back up.  Stan smacked the back of his PADD.

“I-Is that everyone?” Rom asked, getting back over to Stan.  

“Couple of stragglers,” Stan replied.  “Maybe they’re no-shows?”

“I-I can see if they’re on the station,” Rom offered.

“With your brother’s special access?” Stan suggested, his mouth turning up.  

“A-actually, anyone can track a person’s location on the station,” Rom told Stan.  

“Really?”

“Yah, see, the transponder that they give guests instead of comm badges let the station know where you are so that the internal communication net can route the call,” Rom explained.  

“Oh.”  

“A-and, I mean, what if you fell and hurt yourself, you know, how would Dr. Bashir know where to look for you—Oh, have you seen Dr. Bashir anywhere?”

Stan frowned.  “Not really, not since his lunch date with the tailor.”

Rom made a face that looked like he was repressing a laugh.  “He doesn’t like it when people call them dates.”

“Well, the tailor guy should let him know,” Stan said, peering over his glasses at Rom.  

An annoyed voice broke their conversation.  “We both know you know my name,” Garak huffed at Stan.

“Are you on my list?” Stan asked, his grin widening, and gesturing with his PADD.  “I can’t seem to find you anywhere.”

“Do either of you know where Dr. Bashir has been in the last twenty six hours?” Garak asked.

“He’s not on my list either,” Stan replied.  “Sorry.”

Garak glared at Stan, and held his gaze for almost a minute.  

Stan heaved a sigh and groaned, “All RIGHT!  I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

“Thank you, Mister Pines,” Garak said as he turned and left for his shop.

“Jesus,” Stan cursed.  

“You know,” Rom said, even meeker from the encounter, “They say he used to be a spy.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Stan said.  “That guy can give you the creeps.”

As Stan said this, the whole Promenade seemed to lurch.  Everyone inside Quarks cried out.

“Oh geez,” Stan breathed, and held on to the side of the doorway.

Odo stalked around the Promenade to Stan.  “Mister Pines, if these disturbances get any worse, I’m going to need you to get those people to a shelter area,” he told Stan.  “Do you know where that is?”

Stan nodded.  “Quark told me.  Hey, what should I tell people?” 

“Tell them that station personnel are doing everything in their power to contain the problem.  Anything else is empty platitudes,” Odo replied.  With that, he continued on.

Rom popped out.  “You’re not gonna believe this!” He exclaimed.  “The graviton field is pulling the station out of position!”

“What?” Stan said.  He took his shades off.  Then he looked above at the Promenade portholes.  The stars were shifting.

“Where is it taking us?” Stan asked.  

“Um,” Rom hesitated for a second.  “Toward the wormhole?”

Stan’s eyes turned glassy for a second.  “Um…station personnel are doing everything in their power to contain the problem…”

Inside, Vash and Quark were starting the bidding on a little statue.  With all the bidders inside, there was nothing much Stan could do but stand in the doorway looking out at an emptying Promenade.  He glanced behind him.  

There was Q.

He walked over to him.  Q glanced at him for a moment before ignoring him again.

“You’re not doing this,” Stan said.

Q eyed him.  “No,” he said.

“You’re not stopping it either,” Stan noted.  It wasn’t an accusation.

“If I went around stopping every single anomaly that you all seem to stumble into—why, I wouldn’t have any kind of social life,” Q sniffed.

“So you don’t have any answers,” Stan said with a nod.  “Everything you can do, and you’re just along for the ride like the rest of us.  Okay, good to know,” and with that, he turned his back on Q and went back to the bar entrance.

“You see,” Q called after Stan.  “I’ve found that once you lot start looking for answers instead of asking for them, you’re quite formidible.”

Stan glanced over his shoulder back to Q for a moment, and continued on his way.

The stars in the window continued to wheel around, and Stan began to wonder if Q was right about his short-lived stay.  There wasn’t even any time to evacuate the station at this rate. 

Would the station survive going through this thing?  

Stan, for a brief moment, wondered what it would be like to cross the threshold into that wormhole.  

But before he cold think any further, three figures sped past him.  One of them was Major Kira, the other two in Starfleet uniforms.  “It’s by the podium,” Kira said, pointing a tricorder toward Quark and Vash.

“This auction’s over,” the black male officer announced.  Q may or may not have bid a million bars of latinum on the rock.  Quark looked awash in greed-slash-ecstasy as he whispered, “Sold.”  

The male officer now tapped his comm badge and said, “Chief, shut down the reactors.  We’ve found it.”

Stan’s jaw dropped.  It was behind him all along!

“And it’s about time, too,” Q drawled in the back.

Quark was trying to maintain order of the situation; the other bidders were getting skittish, getting out of their seats.  “Sorry, all transactions are final.  That item now belongs to the …gentleman over there.”

The female officer with the blue shoulders told the one in red, “I'm reading a massive graviton build up inside this container. It's increasing exponentially. We have got to get it off the station now.”

“Holy shit,” Stan breathed, and abandoned his post.  Who cares at this point, the auction was over, and besides, if this didn’t work, he wasn’t getting his five bars anyway.  He ran up the spiral staircase to the oval portholes on the second floor of the promenade and watched a pinpoint of light shine outside the station, still being drawn toward the wormhole.  The pinpoint of light seemed to blossom like a rose into a…

What was it?

It almost looked like some kind of manta, with fin/wings that gracefully moved up as it flew into—

Directly in front of Stan, space opened up, like the iris of a camera lens.  With luminescent blues and greens, it shone in front of the station.  

And the creature that had—that had just hatched from the 200-bar rock flew right in, and as it went through, the wormhole closed just as it had opened, with a flash of light.

Stan stood there, his mouth still open, trying to process what he had just seen.  

It was then that he wished more than ever that Ford was there with him.  He would have put three pages of notes onto paper, and give what he’d just seen some kind of dorky name, like  the…like the Graviton Ray of the Gamma Quadrant; notes such as: Do not put on auction, this creature causes property damage during birth!  With other scribbles and encoded markings; it was Ford he was thinking of.  

But above all that, the sheer beauty of it left Stan speechless.  Fíli was right.  It was wild and strange and beautiful out here.  

“But it’s not for the squeamish,” Q finished Stan’s thought.  Like that, he was standing next to Stan by the window.  “So what do you say, Stanley?  I’m no substitute for ol’ Sixer, but I bet I can get you to see things that’ll knock your socks off.”

Stan scoffed, still looking out into the vastness of the space in front of him.  The stars still seemed to list, as the station worked to right its position.  “You?  You’re chaos, an’ anarchy.  And you don’t get to call my brother that.”

Q frowned, and glanced at his hand.  “Just thought I’d throw it out there.  But for someone who’s seen the entirety of the cosmos, it’s refreshing to see someone glance upon it with…wonder.  We sometimes forget that.”  

With a flash, Q was gone.  To Stan’s right, however, was Kira, the Starfleet officers, and Vash, who looked just as gobsmacked as he did.

“Mister Pines,” the male officer deadpanned, “I don’t believe I’ve been able to welcome you to the station.”

“Oh, I feel welcomed!” Stan exclaimed.

***

The next day, Vash was packed for real.  Q had reluctantly come to terms with her wanting to go on alone.  And passage to Earth had been arranged by Commander Sisko.  

Still though, Quark kept whispering to Vash about opportunities to excavate on some planet called Tartaras V.  And Stan kept thinking of Fíli back in the home solar system, and all of his collection.  He’d said something in passing about some of his arsenal being a bit redundant.

So, at the Replimat, when Quark wasn’t looking, he took Vash by the elbow.  “You know, those ruins sound really exciting for an archeologist,” he began.

“Now Stan, I’ve just ended a long-standing partnership,” Vash teased.  “If you’ve got a hankering to follow me to Tartaras V, you might be in for some disappointment.”

“But maybe before you go, I know a guy…on Earth…who might be willing to give up some of his junk.”

Vash smiled.  “And who would that guy be?”

Stan popped his fez on his head and grabbed the lapels of his new, Quark-inspired suit.  Vash now noticed that he was carrying a cane, with a billiard 8-ball on top.  “Me.”

Her eyebrows went up.  “Go on.”

Stan told her the abridged version of his days running the Mystery Shack.  He explained that a relative of his lived there now and that she was keeping his exhibits in storage.  He gave her a list of items from his and Joy’s initial inventory that he was willing to part ways with.  No dummy, he also had a contractual agreement written up (Joy was very keen on adding more space for her robots, it turned out) Which would split the profits from any sales of the objects at a pretty fair percentage.

“And,” Stan added, pulling out a wad of paper from his lapel pocket, “I’ll let you have this one on me.”

It was his twenty-dollar bill.  If there such things as dollar signs in the 24th Century, they would be in Vash’s eyes.  

“Oh, I couldn’t—“ Vash began.

“Oh, yes you could,” Stan said.  “I did a little research on you.  Seems we got a little bit more in common than you’d think.”

“But this…” Vash continued.

“This is a good way for you to give yourself a fresh start,” Stan interrupted again.  “Or at least a decent backup plan.”

Vash wrapped her arms around Stan’s shoulders.  “Thank you!” she said.  

Stan ambled back to his quarters.  

Quark was waiting by his door.

“Not a bad counter-proposal,” he said. 

“She’s not exclusive,” Stan said with a shrug.  “And there’s no reason that her going to Earth couldn’t make a buck for both of us.”

“Still,” Quark said, pointing a finger at Stan.  “I underestimated you.  You’re not just muscle.  I guess you got the lo—the ears for business too.”

“You’re givin’ me too much credit.  It’s a three hundred year garage sale—Vash just happened to find a collectible amongst the junk.”

“I happened to look at Odo’s file on you in the security office,” Quark said, licking his lips. “If half of what it says is true…”

“That’s all behind me,” Stan said, holding up his hands.  “New century, new Stan.  I’ve gone legit.”

“But you gotta tell me,” Quark said, unblocking Stan’s door.  

“Come on, Quark,” Stan sighed.  “It’s been a long day…”

“What is a pug, and why were you smuggling them?”

A smile crept along Stan’s face.  “Oh, well, that.  You see, I had this breeder from Spokane who loved the Shack so much…well, are you comin’ in or not?”

Quark rubbed his hands together, and as Stan popped the bottle of kanar, he told Quark about the Pug pit, and the Sas-Crotch and the Uni-Kitty and countless other tawdry roadside exhibits of the Mystery Shack.