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One evening as I rambled
Amongst the springing time,
I overheard a fair maiden
Converse with Reynardine.
-traditional English folk ballad, Roud 397
Jazz’s mother emerged through the set of double doors that opened perpendicular to the corridor. The echoes of her footsteps skipped across the surface of the grand stone floors of the old school building, which was as hollow as a tomb at the lateness of the hour. Mother was not quite running, but she was sure to be moving as fast as she could manage in her high heeled shoes. Mother seldom wore civilian clothes – at least, not during any of the time that Jazz had known her. What Mother had been like before her daughter had been born did not matter much to the state of things, being what they were. Jazz’s father filed into the corridor behind her mother. The sound of his footsteps was leisurely, slower than usual, each step landing with the curt precision of indifferent compliance.
“Jadzia?” her mother called down the length of the hall.
Jazz held her breath, hidden in the dark. Mother would never find her here, but Father might be able to hear her breathe, if she was careless. He might even hear her heartbeat, if he was standing close enough, or if she got too excited. She would have to remain calm.
“Did she mention anything to you?” said Mother. “She would have told you, if she was going to tell anyone.”
“She didn’t tell me anything except her usual line about not wanting to go,” said Father. “Why do you make her come to these things, anyway? We could have left her with my mother.”
“She needs to start getting more comfortable around other people,” said Mother. “We’ve been over this! It’s not good for her development to just keep indulging her.”
Jazz didn’t like what her mother was saying at all. It meant she would have to work harder at staying calm. She kept her breaths deep and slow, and counted each one.
“And how is it good for her development to force her to do something she doesn’t want to do?” said Father.
“It’s hardly an ordeal, Julian,” said Mother. “It’s only a party.”
“With a bunch of people she hardly knows,” said Father.
Jazz smiled to hear her father taking her side, but she didn’t dare lose focus. Counting breaths was always a dull game, but each breath could be counted as something else. One breath per cartridge, perhaps, until the magazine was full. And then, counting the magazines. It would take concentration, to keep track of all of them, and to imagine each one in perfect detail.
“I know she doesn’t know them very well now, but she could if she’d only give it a chance,” said Mother. “She still has difficulty with other children, but these are our friends. They’re people she can trust, who will be kind and understanding with her.”
“What difference does that make if she doesn’t want to do it?” said Father. “You know how she is, she’d spend the whole evening sulking in the corner, like she always does. It makes her feel like an old maid.”
“Like a what?” said Mother.
“Like an old maid,” said Father. “It’s what she told me. Her exact words.”
“She spends too much time playing with those holonovels,” said Mother.
“What’s wrong with a few holonovels here and there?” Father said.
“Oh, save it, Julian,” said Mother. Judging from the sound of her footsteps, she was finally leaving. “If you want to start twisting my words to pretend like I said something cruel, why don’t you wait until you have an audience?”
“Lighten up,” said Father. “It’s a party, remember?”
Jazz listened to their retreating footsteps. Her father kept pace with her mother, but only took half as many steps. The doors at the end of the corridor opened with a great oaken groan, then swung shut with the clang of interlocking metal. An echo lingered for a moment and then was gone. Jazz smiled. She had won.
Father had been right, of course, as he very often was. Jazz was hiding because she had no desire to speak to any of her parents’ friends. She was currently nestled snugly inside of an old wooden bench. She had discovered quite by accident that it had a fold-up seat that concealed a little trunk. The hinges had been cleverly and stylishly concealed beneath the polished wood, so that few would deign to guess its hidden secret. It was seldom that Jazz was at all grateful to her mother, but in times such as these, she spared a word of thanks to have inherited her small stature. The inside of the trunk was not terribly uncomfortable, and it was reasonably roomy. She had enough space to hold up her padd and finish her book, and that was more than good enough for her. There were some fascinating new archeological developments regarding the Australian Civil War that demanded her full attention.
It was notoriously difficult to estimate casualties with these mid 21st century conflicts. Most of the dead had succumbed to hunger, thirst, and disease, of course. That was somewhat disappointing. A catastrophic population crash made for some impressive sounding statistics, but all the real exciting sort of killing and dying had all been carried out by a few dozen war bands. Highly mobile, but lightly armed, each clash between the warlords was an eruption of the most intimate brutality. Father said sometimes that it was difficult to imagine humans doing such things to other humans. Jazz agreed with her father about many things, but she thought that he was a little naive, at times. He ought to know by now that humans tended overwhelmingly towards cruelty. Jazz wasn’t a little kid anymore – she was almost 11 – so she knew that much. But maybe that was because she was only half human.
On the other hand, perhaps Jazz was being too hard on him. His own War had been very different. He wasn’t like Jazz, and could be very picky about these things. Even her father wasn’t perfect. After all, he was still a grownup.
Still, Jazz felt that something must have been troubling him lately. She wasn’t so good at guessing how people were feeling, but she knew her father very well. In the past few days, every time he spoke to her mother, he had been agitated – argumentative, even. Her mother had pestered her about this, of course. She had told Jazz that it was alright for a child to be upset or confused, after witnessing an outbreak of domestic strife. What a fool her mother was. She didn’t know anything at all. Jazz had been thrilled to see her parents trading barbs and digging at wounds. It was just like an old melodrama, only it was all real. She wondered if there was a terrible secret that was due to be revealed in the final act.
The creak of the door broke her from her reverie.
“Could she have come through here?” said an unfamiliar voice.
“She may have,” said Father. “All we know for certain is that she hasn’t left the campus.”
“She’s lucky we’re on Earth,” said the voice. On second thought, it wasn’t so unfamiliar at all. Jazz thought that she might recognize the voice, if she heard it again.
“What’s so lucky about Earth?” said Father.
“Oh, you know,” said the voice. “Back on the station, I could never hide from my parents like this. Security protocols, you know?”
“That’s right,” said her father. “If only we could ask the computer where she was.”
“I used to hate it when my mam tracked me down that way,” said the familiar voice. Jazz knew her now. It was the O’Briens’ daughter. Molly O’Brien was very pretty and grownup, and she was old enough now to live in the dormitories by herself, here at the school. The Academy, as it was actually called, not the school. Jazz envied her.
“You always were a free spirit,” said Father. “I discovered that it’s true of all little girls, now that I’m a father.”
“I’m still a free spirit,” said Molly. “But I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“That’s for certain,” said Father. “You're all grown up.”
Molly laughed. “You better be careful,” she said. “Don't let my father catch you talking like that.” This was shocking. How could this girl think that she could boss Jazz's father around, telling him not to speak to Mr. O’Brien? It didn’t make any sense at all. Mr. O’Brien was her father’s friend.
“I beg your pardon?” Father said.
“You're a seasoned man of the galaxy, aren't you?” said Molly. “I know what comes next, after a line like that. ‘What a beautiful young woman you've become.’ Something about blossoms in spring. You know, that old routine?”
“I didn’t mean it that way!” said Father. He was definitely nervous. Jazz could tell by the way that he was speaking just a little too loud. “When I said you’re all grown up, I only meant that you’re studying here, at the Academy.”
“I know that’s what you meant,” said Molly. “I’m fucking with you, Doctor.”
“Oh, thank god,” said Father.
“Don’t tell me that you thought I was serious?” said Molly.
“I did, actually,” said Father. He sounded amused. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. I was just thinking that this is the last thing I need right now.”
Molly was laughing again. “I can't believe it,” she said. “All these years later, and you haven’t changed a bit.” Jazz decided that she didn't like this girl at all. She counted breaths again, to keep calm.
“You make it sound as if I’m an old man,” said Father.
“You’re not so old,” said Molly. “You certainly don’t look it. I’m sure the best years of your life are still ahead of you.”
“I appreciate you saying so,” said Father, “but to tell you the truth, I’m exhausted. I’ve been on my feet all day.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” said Molly. “Here, there’s a bench.”
Jazz held her breath.
“Thank you,” said Father. They were sitting on the other bench, the one in the opposite alcove.
Jazz relaxed. What beautiful luck.
“I'm sorry for putting you on edge,” said Molly. “I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I'm just sick of my parents’ friends treating me like I'm a little girl. It's not easy, you know. Having them both here.”
Jazz knew that the O’Briens were professors here at the school. Her mother had told her this morning.
“I hope I haven’t spoiled things,” said Molly. “I want to be taken seriously, and here I am, acting like an unruly child.”
“I’ve nothing against unruly children,” said Father. “Perhaps you’ve heard about my daughter?”
Jazz was starting to get angry. She didn’t want Father talking about her, not with this girl who acted like a bully. Jazz tried counting cartridges again, but she couldn’t keep track of them. She had to keep listening.
“I've heard a little bit about her,” said Molly.
“Then I’m sure you can accept that I’m something of an authority on the subject,” said Father. “I won’t treat you like a child. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” said Molly.
“I’d expect no less,” said Father. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I certainly don’t envy you. When I first came to the Academy, I was thrilled to finally get away from my parents. It was my chance to finally… Well. You’re at that age.”
“Am I?” said Molly. “What exactly is ‘that age,’ Doctor?”
“That age would be 19 years, 127 days, 6 hours, and let’s see… 22 seconds,” said Father. Jazz smiled.
“Alright,” said Molly. “I get the point. You don’t need to show off.”
“You can’t pull the same trick twice,” said Father. “Not on a man with a perfect memory.”
“You’re the one with the tricks,” said Molly. “I’m sure that kills at parties.”
“It probably would,” said Father, “if things had gone according to plan.”
“It’s alright,” said Molly. “I think my dad didn’t even want a birthday party. He’d much rather have stayed in and worked on his model trains.”
“Good old Miles,” said Father. “He must be very proud of you.”
“He is and he isn't,” said Molly.
“That sounds like trouble,” said Father.
“Nothing that serious,” said Molly. “Well… can I trust you?”
“Of course you can trust me,” said Father. “Miles is my best friend, you know that.”
“That's the problem,” said Molly. “You can't mention this to him.”
“I see,” said Father. “Well, I don't tell him everything.”
“Nevermind,” said Molly. “I shouldn't have said anything.”
“No, please,” said Father. “If there's something troubling you, you shouldn’t have to bottle it up.”
“It's not that important,” said Molly. “I don't want to put you in an awkward position.”
“I can get myself into awkward positions without your help,” said Father.
Molly giggled. Jazz grimaced.
“I can sort it out for myself,” he continued. “I always muddle through somehow. I can keep a secret from Miles. I’ve done it before. Not to mention – I mean, the two of us will be colleagues someday. I'd like for us to be friends.”
“Now I feel silly,” said Molly. “I told you, it's not anything that serious. You should forget I said anything.”
“Now I've got to know,” said Father. Jazz was intrigued as well. She hoped that Father's charm would loosen Molly's tongue. Jazz knew that her father had a talent for… for whatever it was, that he was doing. It was hard to put into words. Women really liked her father. Men did, too. Sometimes. Less often.
“It's too embarrassing,” said Molly. “I can't say.”
“Alright,” said Father. “What if I offer you a trade?”
“What do you mean?” said Molly.
“I'll tell you one of my secrets, and then you tell me yours,” said Father.
Jazz knew this game. She had invented it.
“I can't ask that of you,” said Molly. “For one thing, I doubt you'd be getting your money's worth.”
“That's up to me,” said Father. “Besides… to tell you the truth, there's something I need to get off my chest.”
“Why tell me?” said Molly. “Why not tell my dad, or your wife?”
“I can't tell your dad because it would make things more complicated,” said Father, “and I can't tell Ezri because she already knows. Well… she knows the root of it, anyway.”
“Alright,” said Molly. Her voice was quieter now. It was difficult to hear. “What’s your secret, Doctor?”
Jazz heard her father’s voice exhaling softly. Sometimes, he made that noise instead of laughing, when he was amused but unhappy. “I'll tell you,” he said, “if you promise me something first.”
“Anything,” said Molly. Jazz frowned. It was a foolish thing to make so blind a promise, especially to a grownup. But Molly was a grownup – sort of – so maybe she could afford to take less caution.
“I want you to call me Julian,” said Father, “not ‘Doctor.’ I haven't been your pediatrician in over a decade.”
“Alright, Julian,” said Molly. “And I promise, if I ever become a commander, you can keep calling me Molly.”
“I'll hold you to that,” said Father. “Don’t think I won't.”
This elicited a mercifully short peal of giggling from Molly. “My dad will still have to call me ‘sir,’ though,” she said.
“Oh, you can’t do that to him,” said Father. He was laughing, too. “He’d hate that.”
Jazz was irritated. She was impatient to hear their secrets.
Molly seemed to share Jazz's impatience. “Well, enough about that!” she said. “What's the big secret?”
“Well, see, it's… well.” Her father tried to laugh again, but it revealed his nerves. Even a stranger could have heard it. He continued. “Now that I have someone to talk to, I don't quite know how to say it.”
“You're not in any trouble, are you?” said Molly. “If you want, we could–”
“Ezri is having an affair,” said Father.
Jazz bit down hard on her lip to keep from gasping. Now this was a proper secret! Jazz couldn't believe the run of good luck she was having today. If this held out, her parents might even get a divorce. That was almost too much to hope for.
“Oh,” said Molly. “I don't know what I was expecting you to say, but it wasn’t that.”
“It's a bombshell, that's for sure,” said Father. “It caught me completely by surprise.”
“I'm so sorry, Julian,” said Molly. “I… I don't know what to say. Does she know that you’re on to her?”
“Oh, yes,” said Father. “She's the one who told me.”
“Why would she do that?” said Molly.
“Guilt, I suppose,” said Father. “Stupid thing to do. Telling me, I mean. Not having the affair. But that was pretty stupid too, anyway. I mean, there’s Jazz to think of.”
“It's selfish,” said Molly. “Thinking only of herself, and not her family.”
“Well, I mean,” said Father, “that was my initial reaction as well. But she's not a monster. She's just impulsive. I knew that when I married her. It’s probably why she married me in the first place. She's going to end it, the next time she sees him. She really regrets it. She feels terrible, I know she does. To be perfectly honest, I even understand why she did it. Really, I do! I mean, she came to me afterwards, when she told me, talking all about how alone she was, and how overwhelmed she was by everything, and how… Well, the usual things. But what I said to her was–”
“Why not just tell you that first!” said Molly. “Before going off behind your back!”
“I asked her the same question,” said her father. “Do you want to know what she said?”
“I can't imagine,” said Molly.
“She said that the two of us have too much difficulty communicating,” said Father.
“So she did something wrong,” said Molly, “and then tried to blame you?”
“That's the short of it,” said Father. “But please… please, you mustn't let on. I don’t want you to think less of her for it. It’s a complex issue. Don’t judge her too harshly. She’s a good woman, and a good mother. We share the blame for what happened.”
“That’s hard to believe,” said Molly. “She’s the one who cheated, and you’ve been faithful.”
“No, it’s…” Father took a deep breath. “It’s what I have to tell myself, you see.”
“To keep from hurting?” said Molly.
“Oh, nothing stops the hurting,” said Father. "It’s what I tell myself to stop myself from getting angry.”
“Why shouldn’t you be angry?” said Molly. “You’ve got every right to be.”
“I do!” said Father. “But you wouldn’t know that, from the way she carries on about it!” He caught himself raising his voice, and then lowered it again. “Sometimes, she gets these… well, I’m understanding about it, anyway.”
“Understanding?” said Molly. “About what?”
“Understanding about…” said Father. “Well, it comes and goes, and her lack of interest can be… Well, it takes a bit of understanding, you know, from a husband. I'd never want to make her do anything. I understand, I couldn’t be more patient with her. I understand about the depression, the moodiness, the distance, but then, this? For christ’s sake, we’d been sleeping separately for almost a year, and this whole time, she was… I get sick to my stomach just thinking about it. It's so much worse than how I felt when Jadzia married Worf. It's like I'm not even a man anymore. I suppose it's difficult to understand, for a girl.”
“A woman,” said Molly.
“Excuse me?” said Father.
“I’m not a girl anymore, remember?” said Molly. “You said you’d treat me like a woman.”
“Oh, right,” said Father. “Do forgive me. Not for a girl. For a woman.” A hitch of his breath betrayed a nervous hesitation. “A lovely young woman,” he said.
“How kind of you to notice,” said Molly.
They were silent again for a while. Jazz felt a stiff pain in her leg where it was pressed up against the wood inside the trunk. She dared not move.
Jazz’s father cleared his throat. “Yes, well, in any case,” he said. “I may have said too much. You’d best put it out of your mind. Ezri is suffering, too. All those angry thoughts I have inside, that’s not how I really feel. She’s not a monster, or a witch, or a pantomime villain. I know all that, it’s just difficult. We're working through it. I'm trying to see it from her perspective, and to forgive her, I really want to.”
“You're too nice for your own good,” Molly said.
“Don't I know it,” said Father. “That's always been my problem.”
“And I've always admired you for it,” said Molly.
“That makes one of us,” said Father.
“Oh, Julian…” said Molly. “Don't be so hard on yourself. I was looking forward to seeing you today, at the party.”
“Were you really?” he said.
“Honest,” she said. “I used to adore you, when I was a child. You were always so kind to me, and you wanted to help anyone that you could, no matter what it cost you. You were almost like a knight in a fairy story. I know I’ve changed since I grew up, maybe for the worse, but you're still just like you were back then.”
“You're serious this time, aren't you?” he said.
“Of course,” she said.
“I never would have guessed,” he said.
“You're not the only one with secrets,” she said.
“That reminds me,” he said. “You have to tell me yours, now.”
Molly groaned. “It seems so silly now,” she said. “But I can't break my word.”
“You'd better not!” Father said. “Not after I just treated you to that sorry little display.”
“Alright,” said Molly. “You see, when I was getting ready for the party today, my dad, well…” Molly took a deep breath. “My dad told me that he didn't want me to wear my new dress, and that I should change into something else.”
“Go on,” Father said.
“That's all,” said Molly. “Sorry.”
Jazz's father laughed. “That's all?” he said.
“I did warn you that you wouldn't get your money's worth,” said Molly. “I'm just glad that you're not angry.”
“Of course I'm not angry,” he said. “If there's anyone to be angry at, it's Miles. What could possibly be the matter with this dress?”
“No idea,” said Molly. “He probably thinks it makes me look too good.”
“You'd think a college professor would be more in touch with the new generation,” said Father. “Everywhere I go, I see young women dressed that way. There’s nothing shocking about it.”
“That’s what I said!” said Molly. “Tell me, honestly, what do you think about this dress?”
“It's perfectly fine,” said Father.
“Julian,” said Molly, “a girl doesn't like to hear that she looks ‘perfectly fine.’”
“A woman, you mean?” said Father. “Or are you back to being just a girl?”
“I suppose I deserved that one,” said Molly. She put on an imitation of his posh accent, and said, “A well behaved young lady ought not to go fishing for compliments.”
“Oh, you want a compliment?” Father said. “Why didn't you just say so?”
“Enough teasing,” said Molly. “You'll make me blush.”
“Well, go ahead and blush,” said Father. “I think you look lovely in that dress, and your father is mad to say anything otherwise.”
“Thank you,” said Molly. “He said it makes me look like I should be working a dabo wheel.”
“That’s absurd,” said Father. “Miles said that? It’s not like him to be such a prude.”
“Men can be strange, sometimes,” said Molly, “when it comes to their daughters.”
“I can’t imagine ever saying something like that to Jazz,” said Father. “But then again, I can’t refuse her anything. Ezri reckons that I’m spoiling her.”
“I wish my parents had spoiled me,” said Molly. “It doesn’t sound so bad.”
“I don’t know,” said Father. “I do worry about her.” He sighed.
Both of them were silent for a while.
“To tell you the truth,” said Father, “I have another secret. There's a reason why I brought you here, to this building. Ezri and I already searched this whole place from top to bottom, about three quarters of an hour ago. There's no chance she's in here. I just didn't want to run into Ezri again, just in case I couldn't resist picking another fight with her. I’m not myself, I’m still angry, and I’ve already said plenty of things that I regret. And more than that, I want Jazz to have the chance to be alone.”
Jazz felt heat welling up behind her eyes. She knew that they would be shining, if anyone could have seen her, there where she was huddled alone in the dark.
Her father continued to speak.
“She prefers living in her own little world,” he said. “I don't even think this whole thing between Ezri and I is bothering her at all. She's certainly noticed, but things don't get to her the way they do with other children. She's wise beyond her years. Not immature at all. Well, perhaps she is, in some ways. But she's tough as nails. Not at all like how I was, at her age. I was terribly sensitive. A real crybaby. I don't much like thinking about my childhood. It was what you might call unhappy.”
“I’m sorry, Julian,” said Molly.
“Don't be,” said Father. “It was all over long before you were even thought of.”
“I know that,” said Molly. “But it's not as if it has nothing to do with me.”
“How could it possibly?” said Father.
“Because it hurts me, to think of you as an unhappy child,” said Molly.
“That's very kind,” said Father. “That's the trouble, isn’t it? No one is supposed to be unhappy when they're a child, but children don't always do what they're supposed to do. Jazz certainly never does.”
“No one’s supposed to be unhappy,” said Molly.
“I wouldn't go that far,” said Father.
Molly was silent.
“I'm sorry,” said Father. “That was rather a poor attempt at humor.”
“Julian,” said Molly. “What about the trade?”
“What about it?” said Father.
“Well, you've told me two secrets now, haven't you?” said Molly. “In order to keep the game fair, I have to tell you another secret, too.”
“Go on, then,” said Father. His voice was very quiet.
For some reason, those words landed like a thunderclap on the little girl cowering inside of the old wooden bench, tucked away in the alcove opposite of the pair who were speaking soft secrets to each other in the corridor. After a moment, Jazz realized that she had expected to hear her father feign an attempt at refusal before accepting the lovely young woman’s offer.
Molly may have felt it, too. She did not begin speaking right away.
“There's a reason I offered to come with you,” said Molly, “to help you look for Jadzia.”
“I know,” said Father. “You wanted to be alone with me.”
The air inside of the old trunk was starting to taste very stale.
“You knew?” said Molly.
“No, I didn't,” said Father. “Not until you told me that I reminded you of a knight from a fairy story. No, that's not quite the truth. I suspected it then, but I didn't know. I suppose I only really knew for certain when you asked me what I thought of the dress. You'll have to forgive me. I'm rather slow on the uptake, when it comes to these things.”
Jazz felt a cold prickle of unease at the back of her neck. It couldn't be. Her imagination was getting the better of her. It wasn't what it seemed. It was a pile of clothes on the floor of the closet, taking on the shape of a creature in the dark.
Her father broke the silence first. He didn't speak. He laughed, very quietly. “Molly,” he said at last. “We can't.”
“Why not?” said Molly.
“Well, for one thing, I'm…” he said. “I don't even know where to begin.”
“I already know every reason why not,” said Molly. “You promised that you wouldn't treat me like a child.”
“I’m not treating you like a child,” said Father. “You’re old enough to understand these things, Molly. No matter how old you get, it will always be wrong.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Molly. “Who says?”
“I do!” said Father. “And so would anyone else, if you asked them.”
“Then don’t ask,” said Molly. “There’s more than one way to share a secret. You can tell it to someone else, or two people can create a new one, together. Who would ever have to know?”
“I would know,” said Father. “How would I live with myself?”
“You call this living with yourself?” said Molly. “You're pathetic. You're being kept by that woman like a neutered dog, and you just rolled over and let it happen without a fight.”
“Now you're just trying to provoke me,” said Father. “You don't mean that.”
“Yes, I do!” said Molly. “I thought that you were different. I really thought I could make you understand, but I can't. If you can't treat me like a woman, then maybe you're not a real man.”
“That's enough,” said Father. “You stop that right now, or I'll...”
“Or you'll what?” said Molly. “What are you gonna do to me, Julian?”
Jazz heard the wet muffled sound of Molly's soft wordless voice and the rustling of her dress against human skin.
“... Or, I'll do that,” said Father.
“Do it again,” said Molly.
“Alright,” said Father. He sounded different. His voice was brighter, and his breath carried an edge out into the air. “If you say so,” he said.
Jazz heard the bench creak beneath them from across the alcove. She covered her ears. “Stop it,” she whispered in the dark. “Stop it, stop it!”
“Did you hear that?” said Father.
“Don’t tell me,” said Molly. “You felt the earth move. I know, I’ve heard that one.”
“No, I’m serious,” said Father. “I think I… Molly, let go.”
“I don’t wanna,” said Molly. “We were just getting to the good part!”
“There isn’t going to be a good part,” said Father. “I’ve come to my senses, alright?”
“Are you serious?” said Molly. “You traitor.”
“Oh, don’t be a drama queen,” said Father. “You had your fun.”
“No, I didn’t!” said Molly. “You got to cop a feel, all I got was a taste of that scotch you had for dinner.”
“I hate to disappoint you,” said Father, “but that’s all you’re going to get out of me.”
“What a rip off,” said Molly. “Whatever. At least Minami is gonna totally flip when I tell her about this.”
“Who’s– that’s– what happened to all that talk about, about, secrets?”
“Julian, relax!” said Molly. “She’s my friend, I can trust her.”
“No, you can’t,” said Father. “Not with my life.”
“Oh, please,” said Molly. “Now who’s being a drama queen?”
“I’m not – I can’t believe that, you, after all that nonsense you were spouting, are–”
“I’m out of here,” said Molly. “Call me back when you’re not such a limp dick.”
“Molly, wait!” said Father. “Don’t run off!”
“What the hell?” said Molly. “Let go of me!”
“I’ll let go when you stop acting like a child,” said Father.
“You’re one to talk,” said Molly. “Getting all wound up because I called you my white knight. Who still believes in that horseshit?”
“But you...” said Father. “My god, it was all a lie.”
“So what?” said Molly. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“You mean,” said Father, “that talk about fairy stories, and even – did Miles even tell you not to wear that dress? Was anything you said the truth?”
“What do you care?” said Molly. “Didn’t it make you feel good? Didn’t I make you happy?”
“Why, you…” said Father. “You little… I can’t even say it. I don’t believe this. How could I have been so stupid?”
“Let me go!” said Molly. Jazz could hear her struggling. “I’ll scream!”
“No one will hear it,” said Father. “These walls are stone.”
Molly went still.
“That was…” said Father. “That sounded like a threat. I didn’t intend… I mean, it was not my intention to–”
“I’m sorry,” said Molly. “It was wrong of me to deceive you. I won’t tell anyone. Now please let me go, Doctor Bashir.”
“Molly…” said Father. His voice was quiet. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” said Molly. “We all make mistakes.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” said Father. “I’m not a violent person.”
“I know,” said Molly.
“I’m not feeling particularly proud of myself, at the moment,” said Father. “I want you to know that none of this is your fault. But you have to listen to me. This never should have happened, it was a terrible mistake, and for both of our sakes, and for Ezri’s sake, and for your father’s sake, and for my daughter's sake – especially for my daughter’s sake – this is a secret that will follow each of us to the grave. Do you understand me, Molly?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Molly, “I understand you perfectly.”
“Good,” said Father. “That’s… that’s good. In that case, perhaps you had better get out of here. Why don’t you run back to your mother and tell her that I’ve found my daughter? We’ll be along shortly.”
“But we haven’t found her,” said Molly.
“It’s alright,” said Father. “I think I know where she is.”
Molly scoffed. “I knew it,” she said.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” said Father, “you’re wrong.”
“Sure,” said Molly. Her footsteps were already echoing down the empty corridor. “I’m wrong and you’re right,” she said. The footsteps continued until the creak and the slam of the great oak door made its way back to the little alcove.
Jazz knew what would happen next.
Her father walked across the empty hall to the alcove where she was hiding in her dark little trunk. He found the hinges in the back, and lifted up the seat. Jazz squinted her eyes when the light flooded her dilated pupils.
“I’m impressed,” said Father. “This is a very good hiding place.”
“Thank you,” said Jazz.
“You must be getting stiff, in there,” said Father.
“I am,” said Jazz. She allowed her father to pull her out of the trunk.
“Now,” said Father. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you having missed that charming little scene.”
“No,” said Jazz. “Not any chance.”
Her father took a deep breath. “This must be dreadfully confusing,” he said.
“It’s gross,” said Jazz. “It’s gross grownup stuff, and I don’t like it.”
“That’s a natural reaction,” said Father. “I’m sorry that you had to… Well, I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK,” said Jazz. “I forgive you.” That was the nice thing to say to someone, after they said that they’re sorry.
“I’m glad,” he said. “Thank you.” Her father embraced her. Jazz remembered the sound of Molly’s dress moving against her skin. There was a cold and sickly feeling creeping down the back of her neck. Jazz hugged her father back, as tight as she could. The cold escaped out of the surface of her spine, beneath her father’s hands.
“Now, Jazz,” said Father. He held her at arm’s length, with his hands on her shoulders. “I hate to ask this of you. But I need you to make me a promise.”
“I promise,” said Jazz.
“Don’t be so hasty,” said Father. “Give me a chance to speak!”
“I’ll still promise,” said Jazz. “I can tell that this will be important.”
“You’re right,” said Father. “This is very important.”
Jazz nodded.
“Do you know those games that we play in the holosuite?” said Father. “The ones that your mum doesn’t like, because they’re too violent?”
Jazz nodded again. “You need me to keep your secret,” said Jazz.
“That’s my girl,” said Father. “My god, you’re whip smart, aren’t you? I’ve never been one for intuition, myself.”
Jazz didn’t like it. Not at all. “I promise,” she said. The cold sickly feeling covered her forehead, and prickled the skin down the line of her spots. “I promise.”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Father.
“I don’t want to go in there,” she said.
“We’re not going in there,” said Father. “We’re leaving the campus, and we’re taking the trolley to the pier to look at the shipyard.”
Jazz smiled. “Mother will be mad at us,” she said.
“I’m counting on it,” said Father. He took her by the hand and led her out into the night.