Chapter Text
Stardate: 51145.3 | Starbase 375
Admiral Ross was in his office, reading the report of Starfleet’s latest defeat, when his console chimed with an incoming transmission.
It was the Enterprise.
Ross sighed. “On screen.”
Captain Picard appeared, speaking from his ready room. Behind him stood Commander Riker.
“Captain,” Ross greeted.
“Admiral,” Picard said, “have you had a chance to reconsider—”
“Your orders stand.”
Picard frowned. “Admiral, you need more ships.”
“One ship won’t make a difference, Captain.”
“All due respect, Admiral,” Picard said, “we have had no engagements with the Dominion within twenty light-years of Earth. You could use a Sovereign-class starship on the front lines. We’ll still have the third and fifth fleets defending Sector 001.”
Ross raised a brow. “Is that really what you’re concerned about? Bringing a Sovereign-class to bear against the Dominion?”
“Admiral—” Picard started.
“Captain,” Ross said, “I’m well aware that during the Borg attack last year, Starfleet judged you unfit to face the collective, and instead ordered you to the Romulan Neutral Zone. Now you’re worried that you’re being shut out of the action again.”
“Well,” Picard admitted, “the thought had crossed my mind.”
“I’m also aware,” Ross said, “that you defied orders, took command of the fleet, destroyed the Borg cube, pursued and destroyed the sphere it launched, and—subsequently—the Enterprise singlehandedly saved the Earth.”
Picard frowned. “Admiral?”
“My point is, Jean-Luc, I need you on the home front,” Ross said. “I assure you, I have every confidence in the Enterprise, her crew, and her captain. You command the most advanced starship in the fleet, and if the Dominion breaks through our lines to Sector 001, there’s no one I trust more to save the Earth again.”
Picard nodded. “Understood.”
Behind him, Riker shifted on his feet, but said nothing. Well, Ross couldn’t blame him for getting a little antsy.
“What is the situation in the Sol system, gentlemen?” he asked.
“Still all quiet,” Riker said.
“No sign of infiltration?” Ross asked.
“Not since Admiral Leyton’s coup.”
Ross nodded. “When was your last round of blood screenings?”
“Last week,” Picard said.
“Better order another,” Ross said. “Make sure they’re randomized.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep me posted. Ross out.”
*
USS Enterprise-E
“Your turn, Captain,” Dr. Crusher said.
Captain Picard held still as she pressed the hypo to his upper arm. It seemed as if the air itself held its breath.
She detached the sample tube and held it up.
Data waited.
The blood remained blood.
Once again, the senior staff breathed a collective sigh of relief—including Data.
It was a…curious sensation. And, now that he was more accustomed to the effects of the emotion chip, an altogether pleasant one. Probably his favorite part, though, was that he could finally understand the nuances that surrounded him. The relieved smile that twitched on Dr. Crusher’s lips. The breath Geordi let out. The way Counselor Troi’s face relaxed minutely.
Data was no longer limited to simply observing the room, to noting his friends’ reactions as “intriguing.” He was part of it.
“Geordi?” Dr. Crusher asked.
Geordi nodded.
As the blood drew, Data’s breath hitched, and he found himself caught between anxiety and fascination.
Anxiety, because in the space of a second, thousands of permutations of events played out in his processors—Geordi being abducted, held in a Dominion prison, tortured by Jem’Hadar, while Data sat here, oblivious to his best friend’s replacement.
Fascination, because he was able to experience such anxiety at all.
Dr. Crusher held up the sample tube.
The blood remained blood.
Data sighed.
Then Dr. Crusher’s eyes turned on him.
“Now you, Data.”
Data sucked in a deep breath.
This was the one part of the blood screenings that he hated. Because, for him, it wasn’t a blood screening.
Geordi rose from his seat. “You ready?”
“Yes, Geordi.”
Geordi knelt at his side, grasped his forearm, and twisted.
There was nothing quite so unsettling as watching as his forearm was removed from his body, feeling all electrical impulses cut off at his elbow.
It had been his own suggestion—one year, ten months, and four days ago, when the blood screenings had begun. When the question had first been posed as to how to test the identity of an android.
“Captain,” he’d said, “if a part of a Changeling is separated from the whole, it reverts to a gelatinous state. Is that not the logic behind the blood screenings?”
Picard had leaned one elbow on his desk with interest. “Yes…?”
Data’s brows had twitched up. “A part can be separated from my whole.”
Presently, Geordi held up the detached arm.
Of course, it remained an arm.
Data’s eyes flicked across the room—from Captain Picard’s thinly veiled relief, to Riker’s sigh, to the way Counselor Troi sagged in her seat.
Geordi reattached the arm with a click.
Data’s eyes fell shut.
“Alright,” Dr. Crusher said with forced levity. “Done.”
Everyone filed out of the observation lounge. Everyone except Geordi—and Counselor Troi.
“You alright, Data?” Geordi asked.
Data glanced up at him. “I will be fine.”
Nodding, Geordi followed the others.
Then, as usual, Data felt the counselor’s hand on his shoulder. “Data?”
“Counselor.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“There is nothing to talk about,” Data replied. “The Dominion threat necessitates the procedure. I am not offended.”
“Data,” she said, “I don’t think that’s the issue.”
Data sighed.
“If you want to talk,” she said, “you know where to find me.”
Then she, too, left the room.
Data, however, remained in his seat. He spread and flexed his fingers. Wrapped his other hand around his newly attached wrist.
This was human, was it not? The range of emotions, no matter how unpleasant?
Then why didn’t this sensation fascinate him?
*
Terok Nor
Odo paced behind his desk, his matrix coiled tight as his substance churned.
—again and again, his shovel struck the ground—
Growling, he shook his head hard.
What had Kira been thinking, starting a brawl like that?
He’d warned her. He’d told her it was a bad idea. He could stomach some resistance; he had little choice. But pitting the Cardassians and the Jem’Hadar against one another? Seeding utter chaos on the station?
How was he supposed to do his duty? How was he supposed to protect Bajor under Dukat’s watchful eye? Protect her?
He had buried her once. He’d laid her body in the ground. He’d pressed his fingers to her cold skin, looked into her pale face. He could not do that again.
Did she have any respect for the narrow line he was walking?
Dare he hope he was wrong—that she had more sense than that, that she had his back, that she hadn’t been responsible for that brawl after all?
His office doors slid open, heralding her arrival.
He straightened, waiting.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked.
“Well?” he said. “Don’t you have something to say to me?”
“About what happened at Quark’s?”
He nodded.
“It worked better than I expected,” she said.
And oh, if that guiltless satisfaction on her face didn’t drive his frustration to a boil.
He huffed. “I knew you were behind it!”
“Of course you did,” Kira said. “We discussed it at our last resistance meeting.”
“And I said it was a bad idea!”
“Yes, you did,” she said. “And then you walked out of the room like there was nothing left to say. But Rom and Jake stayed and we discussed it, and you know what? I decided it was a good idea.”
He stared at her. “So you went ahead and did it behind my back?”
Kira peered at him. “Why are you taking this so personally?”
“How do you expect me to take it?” he cried. “I spend my days sitting on the council with Dukat and Weyoun, doing whatever I can to make sure that Bajor survives this war intact. The last thing I need is to have you running around causing mayhem! Do you have any idea what Dukat would do if he found out you were behind it? It’s all the excuse he would need to throw every Bajoran off this station!”
“The Federation is losing this war,” Kira said. “We can’t sit by and do nothing!”
“There are limits to what we can do.”
“I’m beginning to think you shouldn’t have agreed to sit on that council,” she said. He reeled back, incensed, but the fire in her eyes blazed ever hotter. “It’s as if you’re so invested in making sure the station runs smoothly, you’ve forgotten there’s a war going on!”
Cold fury trickled through his matrix.
How could she?
“Are you questioning my loyalties, Major?”
“I need you, Odo!” she said. “The resistance needs you!”
“Answer me!” He rounded his desk. “Are you questioning my loyalties?”
“Oh, of course not,” Kira said. “That’s not what this is about—”
His doors opened again, cutting her off—and in walked the last person he’d ever expected, or wanted, to see.
The Founder.
His one-time mentor. His judge and jury. The entity who had stripped him of everything he was and flung him into the Solid world without a care for what happened to him.
“Hello, Odo,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”
*
“Leave us,” the Founder told Kira, without so much as looking in her direction. “I need to speak with Odo.”
To her credit, Kira didn’t move. “Do you?”
Odo glanced her way. Took in the square of her shoulders, the hard set of her features.
She was defending him.
Maybe she still had his back, after all.
“It’s alright, Nerys.” He could think of no other way to extend his own olive branch, not while in the Founder’s company. “I may as well hear what she has to say.”
“Are you sure?” Kira asked.
He gave her a short nod. But as she left his office, he was already beginning to regret his decision.
Are you questioning my loyalties?
His matrix churned.
Her absence ached—made all the worse by the way they had left things. His anger with her was fading like slipping through quicksand; all he wanted was to have her back by his side.
But instead, the Founder stood before him, and Kira was gone.
“You called her ‘Nerys,’” the Founder said.
“What of it?”
“Well, you used to call her ‘Major,’” the Founder said. “Using the name of a Solid denotes intimacy.”
Not very likely.
Unwilling to linger the subject, Odo moved behind his desk to put some distance between them. “You’re a long way from home. Here to keep an eye on the war effort?”
“I’m content to leave the details of the war to the Vorta,” she replied.
He folded his arms. “Then…what brings you to Deep Space Nine?”
“You.”
He couldn’t believe it—she actually looked eager.
He dared not look too closely at the way something deep within him jumped in response.
“I was trapped in the Alpha Quadrant when Captain Sisko mined the entrance to the wormhole,” she said. “I have spent too much time with Solids. I came because I felt the need to be with one of my own.”
And just like that, all his resentment came flooding back.
“Well, that’s ironic,” he said. “Considering what happened the last time we crossed paths.”
“You caused the death of a fellow Changeling, Odo,” the Founder said. “Turning you into a Solid was the only punishment severe enough for your crime.”
He peered at her. “And now that I’m a Changeling again, you come here as though nothing ever happened?”
She spread her hands to her sides. “We have forgiven you.”
“Well, I haven’t forgiven you!”
“It is time to put the past behind us, Odo.”
So she got to decide when it was time to move on? When to offer forgiveness, when to withhold it? Did she enjoy the power she held over him—the power to alter his very nature, strip him of everything he was, force him to come crawling back to her for salvation?
“And what about the present?” he said. “You’re waging a war against my home!”
“This is not your home!” the Founder said. “You belong with your own kind, as part of the Great Link!”
Odo glared at her. “I’m quite content here, thank you.”
“You say that because you don’t know what you’re capable of becoming!”
Despite himself, he glanced at her tentatively.
Whether he liked it or not, she did hold the key to understanding his origins. A key he hadn’t had access to since he’d first discovered his homeworld.
“Perhaps if we spent some time together,” she said, “you might begin to understand.”
Without another word, she turned and left his office.
*
Odo’s matrix seemed to be in a permanent state of tension.
He hadn’t resolved things with Kira. He still dreaded what she would get herself into. And now Dukat and Weyoun were tripping over themselves trying to impress the Founder.
Even after they both left the wardroom, Odo couldn’t relax.
The Founder was still there.
“Do they always compete with one another like that?” she asked.
He sighed. “As a matter of fact, they do.”
“You have to interact with them often,” she said. “It must be trying for you.”
“It hasn’t been easy,” he admitted. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do in my quarters.”
He had just stepped toward the door when she spoke up.
“May I walk with you?”
He hesitated.
Turned.
Took in those unfinished features that mirrored his, her identical hair. The features that branded him as a Changeling in this Solid world.
She was like him. And no one else was.
He dipped his head in a nod and gestured ahead.
*
“To become a thing is to know a thing,” Odo said.
The Founder ran her hand along the bark of a gnarled tree branch in his quarters.
“To assume its form,” she finished, “is to begin to understand its existence.”
“You tried to teach me that when I visited our homeworld.”
She hummed in reply. “I remember.”
He wasn’t getting his work done. But, he found as she drifted toward the arched structure and passed her hand along its curved edge, he didn’t entirely mind.
She knew far more about how to be a Changeling than he did.
He wanted her to be proud of how he’d arranged his quarters, of his solitary attempt to take her lessons to heart.
“I didn’t understand what you meant by it at first,” Odo said. “So when I returned to the station, I requested quarters for the first time, and filled them with these objects.”
Absently, he ran his own hand along the nearest arch of the central structure.
“I’ve assumed every shape in this room,” he said. “I suppose if it weren’t for you, I never would’ve known the simple pleasure of spending time existing as a stone or a branch.”
The Founder had made a circuit of the structure, and now stood behind him. “I’m glad you learned something from your visit.”
At her approval, some of his tension eased.
“Your arrival was a time of great joy for the Link,” she said. She wandered past him. “And your departure, a time of great sadness. If only you had stayed with us, Odo.”
He stiffened. “I couldn’t.”
“You chose the Solids.”
He drew his hands behind his back. “And I haven’t regretted it.”
“Not even a little?”
“I do…think about the Link from time to time,” he admitted.
“It’s there for you,” she said.
Odo shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Why?” she asked. “Because of Kira?”
He looked away.
“You still have feelings for her, don’t you?” the Founder said. “But she doesn’t share them.”
There was no sense denying it. But he couldn’t meet her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” the Founder said.
Odo looked at her, surprised. “Aren’t you going to tell me I shouldn’t waste my time with a Solid?”
“You love her!”
She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Which, to him, it was.
Her words loosened something deep inside him, something that had been coiled tight for longer than he had been aware. Perhaps ever since Kira had learned of his feelings for her—and subsequently proved just how right he had been to keep them a secret.
But it hurt.
He had tried to deny it—but his love for her was part of what he was, as much a part of him as his Changeling abilities.
A part of himself he had to constantly restrain.
A source of shame.
Of pain.
“I wish I didn’t,” he whispered. “I’m so vulnerable to her. All she has to do is smile at me and I’m happy beyond reason. A minor disagreement between us and I’m devastated…it’s absurd!” His breath shook. “Sometimes I wish I could reach inside myself and tear out my feelings for her. But I can’t.”
“Poor Odo,” the Founder said, behind him.
“I don’t want your pity,” he snapped.
“I’m not offering pity.”
He sucked in a breath that shuddered through his form. “What I need is some peace.”
“What you need,” the Founder said, “is clarity.”
Her words caught his attention. Slowly, he turned, tentative hope taking root in his matrix.
“I can give you that,” she said.
And she offered her hand.
The Link.
His gaze fixed on her hand, powerless to tear his eyes away as his own hand moved without his conscious permission. He could feel its pull—memories reawakening, shifting gently through his substance, reminding him of the last time he had felt that perfect, pure connection.
It was more than any Solid—than Kira—could offer him.
He placed his hand in hers. Her fingers turned liquid against his palm, and his instinctively followed suit, his eyes slipping shut as utter contentment washed over him.
Distantly, he registered her voice. “Do you want me to stop?”
No. No, he didn’t. How could he ever want her to stop? How could anything compare to the pleasure that tingled through his substance, washing through him and over him like waves, drawing him to bask in her gentle sea?
The Link deepened, and he reached for her other hand; he could feel her matching him, feel the peace of her being, the utter smoothness and order of her mind, her clarity of purpose, her calm.
He’d missed this.
Yearned for it.
Needed it, like Solids needed to breathe.
He’d suffocated himself for three years, gasped on land like a fish out of water for all his existence before that, and only now, as her substance mingled with his and quested through his being and joined with him in such perfect synchrony, could he draw breath.
How could he ever want this to end?