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“Constable Odo? Constable, is that you?”
Not Officer Ital. Constable Odo.
He doesn’t have to turn around to know whose voice that is. He does anyway. Her hair’s been chopped short. She’s better dressed, better fed. He’d still know her anywhere.
“Kira Nerys?”
“Yeah! Yeah, it’s me—” She’s laughing, waving at him from the door of the restaurant. “Hi! Hold on, don’t go—” Now she looks back into the shop, waves a hand at someone, turns and heads towards him across the parking lot. She moves exactly the same way she used to: with purpose, with intent. It had always been a very bad idea to get in her way.
“I haven’t seen you around here in a long time.” He smiles at her. It’s awkward. It doesn’t matter; her smile in return is a beam unlike anything he’s ever seen on the face of Kira Nerys.
“I’m back in the neighbourhood.”
“Huh. Is that good news or bad news?”
“You tell me.” Now she’s laughing at him, and Prophets, he hadn’t realized he missed her until she was right here in front of him.
“Where’ve you been, Kira?”
“Oh, here and there.” She looks down, away. “Figured it was about time I got out of the neighbourhood, so I spent some time in Bajor. Back in Dakhur province. Helping out, you know?” Her thumbs are twitching. Her posture’s stiff. “I just wanted to do something about the Occupation, something really hands-on—”
“Mmm-hmm.” She never could lie worth a damn. “And the fact that the ACPD were getting very interested in what you and your Bajor Heights associates were doing had nothing to do with your leaving, I suppose…?”
That makes her smile again. “Associates. Fancy name for a street gang.”
He shrugs. “Call it what you like. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“It doesn’t, huh?”
“All of those files were closed when the Cardassians moved on.”
That surprises her. She looks up at him, eyes wide. “What?”
“Mm.” He nods. It’s nice to be able to surprise her. Kira Nerys had always given off the impression of having seen it all. A little too much of it, in fact. “Funny. Once Dukat and his cronies left, they just couldn’t find anybody interested in pressing charges anymore.”
He smiles, and she actually laughs, and oh, Prophets, it’s still music. “Well, that’s… that’s good to hear.” She nods thoughtfully. “One less thing to worry about.”
“And what are you worrying about, these days?”
She looks up at him, grinning. “Don’t worry, Constable. I’m keeping my nose clean.” She wrinkles it at him, laughs when he rolls his eyes. “No, seriously. I’m reformed. Brand spanking new Kira Nerys. I’ve got a job now. I’m a manager. Can you believe it?”
No, he can’t. “A manager? You?”
“Yeah.” She turns, points back at the restaurant she came out of. “New pizza place opening up. Deep Dish 9. Maybe you’ve seen the flyers…?”
He has, actually. He’s been keeping an eye on the place for some time. An empty retail spot next to Quark’s is never a good thing; as far as Odo’s concerned, that man is never, ever allowed to expand his business beyond its current confines. “I’m glad to hear it. The neighbourhood could use a few new businesses.”
“Mmm.”
“Who’s opening it? Not you…?”
“Prophets, no. Me, running a business?” She snorts. “Can you imagine?”
“Not really.”
“No, it’s an out of town guy. He’s from New Orleans.”
“Oh—a Terran?”
“Yeah.”
He blinks at her for a moment. “Let me get this straight. I’m supposed to believe that Kira Nerys, defender of Bajoran freedom and spray-painter of misspelled graffiti, is working for a Federation-owned pizza joint?”
She looks almost embarrassed, and for a second he regrets having said anything.
“Same old Odo.” She laughs and looks up at him, and yes, her eyes are as lovely as he remembers them. “I’ve missed you, you know.”
Well, there goes that regret.
“Huh. I notice that you haven’t answered me.”
She nods, point, and looks at him levelly. “Gotta pay tuition.”
“Kira!” For a second he’s almost floored. “You’ve gone back to school?”
“Yeah.” No laughter in her face now. More of a challenge: wanna make something of it?
“That’s wonderful.” And it is wonderful, and it’s even more wonderful how the challenge in her face melts away, how suddenly she’s almost vulnerable, almost shy.
“Thanks. It’s… it’s hard.”
“I can’t imagine.” Kira had come from nothing. From what he remembers, Kira’s mother left when she was a child, and her father died when she was in her teens. Any kid would’ve had a hard time with that. A poor Bajoran kid in a Cardassian neighbourhood… It’s amazing she’s still alive. A lot of them aren’t.
“I need to do it, you know? I need to—” Suddenly she’s passionate, staring past him at something only she can see. “Prophets, there’s so much that could be done with this neighbourhood. They could fix up the old businesses. They could restore the old homes, the temples… But nobody gives a shit, and it’s just such a waste, you know?”
She looks at him, needing him to understand, and he nods. “The Cardassians weren’t very good landlords.”
A harsh laugh. “That’s an understatement.” Now she rubs her eyes, shifts her weight. “And Bajor is…” Those eyes look up at him again, wide. “It’s like hell down there, Odo. They need help so badly.”
“So I’ve heard.” He’s seen the campaigns on television at night. The cracked buildings, the starving children. “So why aren’t you still there?”
Now her face is set. “Sometimes I think I should be. But…” Her fists clench. “They need me here. I saw Callum the other day. Remember him?”
“I’ve been here all along, Kira.”
“Right. Right, of course you have. So you know.”
He nods. The kid’s arms are a mess of track marks. Odo’s rousted him out of more alleyways than he can count. He’s another one who came from nothing. Pretty soon, he’s going to go back to it.
He doesn’t say any of this to Kira, of course. He doesn’t have to. She knows.
“He’s screwed, Odo. And I just can’t help but think that if I’d been here—if he’d had someone to talk to, someone older who knew their way around—”
“He could’ve become a criminal just like you…?”
That pisses her off. “I don’t know! Is that so bad? At least I’m alive!”
“So is he.”
“No, he’s not. You know it and I know it.” She looks at him with furious eyes. “And there are so many like him, Odo. So many kids here whose lives are shot to shit and they don’t even know it yet… but maybe I could help, you know?”
He doesn’t say anything, just listens. She frowns, shakes her head. “I don’t know. It sounds stupid. But I could… I mean, I’ve got my GED, I’m enrolled in college. I’m smart. I could learn. Maybe…” Now she’s looking down again. “Maybe I can learn enough to make a difference. To be a Bajoran who gets taken seriously in the Federation. Kick some asses, take some names, make someone start paying attention to what’s happening down here, to what life is like for these kids…”
Now she looks up at him again. “Someone’s got to, right? And it might as well be me.”
He’s never known anyone like Kira Nerys, anyone who can radiate both confidence and self-doubt at the same time. It’s so good to see her again, to look at her. He shouldn’t look too long; that wouldn’t be a good idea. But he lets himself look just a little, and he does his best to make himself appear as if he believes in her one hundred percent.
“Kira Nerys, I wouldn’t want to be the one who got in your way.”
Oh, and there it is again, that grin that twists him up inside and makes him feel as if he’s going to melt away to nothing. Ridiculous. But he can’t help but smile back.
The smile stretches for a long moment, and then suddenly it’s awkward and they’re both looking away.
“Um, look, I’ve… I should really get back to the restaurant.”
“Mmm. And I should get back to the beat.”
Normality is restored. They’re both back on solid ground now, and she nods. “Right.” Suddenly, though, there’s a flash of amusement. “Hey, I saw Quark’s still got his bar—”
“Don’t remind me.” He puts a little extra gravel in his voice, is quietly delighted by her reaction.
“Oh, Prophets. Are you two still at it?”
He doesn’t answer, just widens his eyes a little, and her grin gets just a little bit feral.
“Good.” She nods as if all’s right with the world, turns with a little wave as if to head back to the mall, then stops and looks at him.
“Hey, I… you know, most days I get here at about ten-thirty. We don’t open ‘til eleven. Are you always heading by around this time?”
He makes a bit of a show of checking his watch. “Every day between ten-thirty-two and ten-thirty-four, precisely.”
“Of course,” and they nod at each other. “Well… any time you want to drop in for a coffee, or even just to say hello… come on by, all right?”
No one has invited him for coffee in years. Nobody ever wants him to come by and say hello. He’s Officer Ital. Officer Ital isn’t anybody’s friend.
“I’d like that.”
“So would I, Constable.”
Perhaps Constable Odo could be.