Chapter Text
Stardate: 51714.2
Odo watched, his substance churning, as a young Starfleet lieutenant walked away from the casualty list in tears.
Another friend lost.
Another victim of this war—of his people’s war.
Was that what had his matrix tangled in knots?
The sense that he was somehow responsible for the atmosphere of grief and doom that hung over the wardroom like cobwebs?
That he was complicit in his people’s crimes?
He wouldn’t find a name he recognized on that list—and why? He was an outsider. A Changeling. His origins lay with the enemy.
But there was a name not on that list. A whole planet of names. All of Betazed wouldn’t fit on the screen.
Was he responsible for Lwaxana’s fate?
Had he let her down twice?
Suddenly, warm fingers slipped into his.
“Kira,” Odo whispered.
“You okay?”
A shaky breath quivered through Odo’s matrix. Kira peered at him in concern.
“Later,” he rasped. “I’ll tell you later.”
*
Stardate: 51714.3
Sisko’s office doors slid open to admit T’Sorra. She stood before his desk, hands drawn primly behind her back.
“Reporting as ordered, sir.”
“Commander,” Sisko said. “I have new orders for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sisko stood, paced to the front of his desk.
“At 1600 hours,” he said, “a Romulan shuttle will be arriving at Runabout Pad C. I want you to clear the surrounding sections of the habitat ring. Assign a security detail to the wardroom.”
T’Sorra nodded. “Understood, sir.”
“And one more thing, Commander.”
T’Sorra cocked a brow.
“This is a priority Starfleet operation,” Sisko said. “You are not to report to Odo on this matter. You will report directly to me. Use only Starfleet personnel.”
“That will not be a problem,” T’Sorra said.
Was it his imagination, or was the tiniest of smiles quirking the corner of her mouth?
“You have your orders, Commander,” Sisko said. “Dismissed.”
“Sir.”
She spun about-face and left his office.
Sisko sighed.
He knew he could count on T’Sorra to keep this matter confined to Starfleet personnel and off the record—a little too well. She would be all too eager to conceal her activities from Odo.
If a Vulcan ever could be eager.
*
Stardate: 51714.5
“Reporting as ordered,” T’Sorra stated.
Odo swiveled to face her. “Commander, do you mind explaining why there has been a security force assigned to sections 52 Baker through 62 Baker of the habitat ring?”
T’Sorra drew her hands behind her back. “No, sir. I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”
“Not at liberty?” Odo rose from his chair. “Why?”
T’Sorra said nothing.
Odo peered at her, but her face was as unreadable as ever. Rigid, stoic, emotionless.
“Last I checked,” Odo said, “you report to me.”
“Not in this matter,” T’Sorra said. “You may take it up with Captain Sisko, but I have my orders.”
Odo sighed.
So, this had something to do with the captain. It certainly wasn’t the first behavioral anomaly Odo had noticed in the last week. Sisko had been spending hours on end with Garak, had even bribed Quark not to press charges during that unfortunate incident with Grathon Tolar. And now he was overriding Odo’s authority on station security.
Sisko had mentioned a matter of Starfleet security. But Odo had never known Starfleet to work with characters like Garak or Tolar.
“Sir?” T’Sorra asked. “Is there anything else?”
“Dismissed, Commander.”
She spun and left his office, leaving Odo to sink back down into his seat, growling under his breath.
Maybe he just did his job so well that Sisko didn’t realize it, but it wasn’t easy to maintain security on such a busy port as Deep Space Nine—especially in the middle of a war.
Not being privy to operational details made his job that much harder.
*
Stardate: 51714.6
“Report,” Sisko ordered as he and Garak approached T’Sorra’s security contingent.
T’Sorra drew her back straight. “I have secured sections 52 Baker through 62 Baker. Armed guards are posted at every entry point, and I have scanned all compartments for signs of surveillance equipment.”
“Very good, Commander,” Sisko said.
It wasn’t that he expected to find surveillance equipment in the habitat ring. But he needed to control all access to these proceedings. Selling the Romulans a lie to bring them into the war was a very delicate business.
“Maintain current security measures until further notice,” he ordered. “No one is to enter this area except Mr. Garak and myself.”
“Understood, sir,” T’Sorra said.
*
Stardate: 51714.7
Were the circumstances any less dire, Sisko might have described himself as watching Senator Vreenak with bated breath.
But everything depended on selling this lie.
Acting—down to every vocal inflection, every mannerism, every breath—as if the holographic recording before them were the truth.
Convincing the most ardently pro-Dominion voice in the Romulan Senate that the Dominion was planning to break its nonaggression pact with Romulus and attack.
He could not afford bated breath.
Romulans were masters at deception. Deceit, subterfuge, political intrigue—all those traits ran strong in Romulan society. Starfleet officers, on the other hand, were known for their honor. Their honesty. Their adherence to Federation values of peace and truth.
Perhaps that reputation was where Sisko’s hopes lay. Perhaps Vreenak would judge him to be an honorable man.
But those who were skilled at deception tended to seek it. It took one to know one, and in this case, Sisko feared that Senator Vreenak would know him too well.
“And with the Cardassian Fourth Order protecting their flank,” Weyoun’s holographic facsimile said, “the twenty-third Jem’Hadar division will begin its thrust across the Glintara Sector. They should begin the invasion of Romulus on the following day.”
Vreenak was watching the recording closely. Too closely.
“Once we’ve taken the homeworld,” Weyoun’s image continued, “organized resistance will crumble when outlying systems and colonies begin looking out for themselves. Consolidation of the entire empire will take three months at most.”
Damar’s image argued. Suggested that the Romulans would react quickly.
“I place my faith in the Founders,” Weyoun’s facsimile replied.
The line was easy. Rote. Almost generic—but then again, the Vorta could be predictable when it came to the Founders. It was better than putting a more complex line in Weyoun’s mouth.
“I serve the Founders,” was Damar’s ultimate, reluctant answer.
To Sisko, it seemed real enough.
He could only hope his fears didn’t show on his face.
As the “recording” ended and the holograms disappeared, Senator Vreenak looked at Sisko with narrowed eyes. “I’d like to examine…that data rod.”
So Sisko took the only course available to him.
He removed the data rod from the console, placed it in its box, and handed it to the senator.
The data rod was genuine. Secure, produced only as needed by the Cardassian government, and virtually unobtainable. Data could only be stored on it once, and after that, never altered. And Sisko had paid a heavy price to obtain it—costing him some of Dr. Bashir’s faith in him in the process.
The recording, however, was a lie. Hopefully a flawless one. A forgery created by a criminal among Garak’s associates.
As Senator Vreenak left, data rod in hand, all Sisko could do was wait…and worry.
*
Stardate: 51716.8
This time, it was Odo who found himself at Kira’s doors, one finger pressed anxiously to the door chime.
“Come in!” she called.
The door slid open, and Odo stepped across the threshold.
“Odo!” Her whole face lit up. “What brings you here?”
“Is this my fault?”
The words cracked from his throat—the only part of him that would move. The rest of him was frozen, rooted to the spot.
“What?” Immediately, Kira’s brows furrowed, and she moved toward him from across her quarters. “Is what your fault?”
“Everything,” Odo croaked. “This war. The casualty lists every week. Lwaxana—”
Kira seized his hands in hers. “Odo, listen to me. This is not your fault. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t start this war. You chose us, remember? Chose me. You turned your back on your people. You’re not—”
“But I still—feel for them,” Odo said. He wasn’t even sure where his words were coming from, why it was suddenly so easy to talk. “I still want—”
He stopped. Tensed.
The Link…the Link…
“…the Link?” Kira asked.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Kira—I know I shouldn’t—”
“And why shouldn’t you?” she said. “Want it, I mean?”
Odo blinked.
“It’s part of being a Changeling, isn’t it?” Kira said. “Of course it hurts to go without.”
“Kira,” Odo rasped.
“But wanting the Link doesn’t make this war your fault.” Kira squeezed his fingers, hard. “It doesn’t make you responsible. It just makes it hurt.”
Odo’s breath hitched. A shudder traveled through his matrix.
“Odo, listen to me,” Kira said. “This is not your fault.”
“Kira—”
“Come here.”
And then she was pulling him in, wrapping her arms around him, drawing his head to rest against her shoulder. Her hand cupped the back of his head, stroking gently through his facsimile hair.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “Alright? It’s not your fault.”
Odo shuddered in her arms.
*
Stardate: 51721.2
“No one for me today,” Julian said as he accompanied Dax across wardroom.
Benjamin had just settled on the couch in the corner, a dark look on his face. He’d seemed a bit off all week—as if he were bearing an extraordinary weight on his shoulders.
“I had one,” Dax admitted. “Maria Tatalia. Wounded in action.”
She wasn’t nearly as shaken as she’d been two weeks ago. She’d barely known Maria.
“Friend?” Julian asked.
“Friend of a friend,” Dax said. “Actually, I only met her once. I don’t think she’d remember me.”
“Friend of a friend between the two of us,” Julian muttered. “Well, I know it sounds a bit strange, but I’d say we’re off to a pretty good start today.”
Then Worf approached, brisk.
“Captain,” he said. “We just received word from Starfleet Intelligence that a Romulan shuttlecraft carrying a high-ranking senator has just been destroyed.”
Benjamin’s brow tightened. “Which senator?”
“Senator Vreenak,” Worf said. “He was returning to Romulus from a diplomatic mission to Soukara when his shuttle exploded. The Tal Shiar are investigating, but preliminary reports point to sabotage. They believe that the Dominion is responsible.”
A new light entered Dax’s eyes. “The Dominion assassinated a Romulan senator.”
“On a diplomatic mission,” Julian added.
“That changes everything,” Worf said. “It could even bring the Romulans into the war.”
But Benjamin didn’t look nearly as relieved as Dax would’ve thought. If anything, he was more tense than before—his shoulders tight, his brow furrowed, his gaze dark.
He pushed to his feet. “Excuse me.”
Without another word, he walked out of the wardroom.
Dax watched him go, her brows furrowed.
She knew that, as captain, he bore certain burdens that weren’t for her to know. She could remember teaching him that, as Curzon. She knew when not to follow her captain.
Still, she wondered.
*
Sisko strode from the wardroom to the nearest turbolift, then across the promenade, his anger simmering beneath his skin.
“So, while you’re entertaining the senator in the wardroom,” Garak had said as they walked, “I’ll take the opportunity to make a quick search of his ship’s database.”
“For what?”
“Well, for any intelligence information he may have picked up on the Dominion in Soukara.”
Why Sisko had believed him—how he’d forgotten the kind of man Garak was for even a moment, when that dark skill was the entire point of the last two weeks—he’d never know.
He stormed into Garak’s shop—and cracked his fist across Garak’s jaw.
It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it should have been to see Garak fly backwards, clattering over his sewing table and to the floor.
“Get up!” Sisko ordered.
Garak got to his feet, one hand cupping his jaw even as a dark glint burned in his eyes.
“You killed him!” Sisko said.
“That’s right!”
“That’s what you planned to do all along, isn’t it?” Sisko said. “You knew the data rod wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny! You just wanted to get him on the station so that you could plant a bomb on his shuttle!”
“It wasn’t quite that simple!” Garak returned. “I did have hopes that the rod would somehow pass inspection, but I suspected that Tolar may not have been up to the task.”
“And what about Tolar?” Sisko shouted. “Did you kill him, too?”
“Think of them both as tragic victims of war.”
Sisko swung, but Garak blocked—only for Sisko to catch him with his other fist. Garak stumbled back.
A maniacal glint awoke in his eyes as he thrust out a hand. “If you can allow your anger to subside for a moment, you’ll see that they did not die in vain! The Romulans will enter the war!”
“There’s no guarantee of that!”
“Oh, but I think there is,” Garak said. “You see—”
Sisko paced to the side, fuming.
“—when the Tal Shiar finishes examining the wreckage of Vreenak’s shuttle,” Garak said, “they’ll find the burnt remnants of a Cardassian optolythic data rod which somehow miraculously survived the explosion. After painstaking forensic examination, they’ll discover that the rod contains a recording of a high-level Dominion meeting at which the invasion of Romulus was being planned—”
Sisko whipped to face him. “And then they’ll discover that it is a fraud!”
“Oh, I don’t think they will!” Garak said. “Because any imperfections in the forgery will appear to be a result of the explosion.”
Sisko paced again.
“So,” Garak said, gesturing with each hand, “with a seemingly legitimate rod in one hand, and a dead senator in the other…” He stepped toward Sisko. “…I ask you, Captain, what conclusion would you draw?”
Sisko glowered. “That Vreenak obtained the rod on Soukara and that the Dominion killed him to prevent him from returning to Romulus with it.”
“Precisely!” Garak said. “And the more the Dominion protests its innocence, the more the Romulans will believe they’re guilty—because it’s exactly what the Romulans would have done in their place.”
He took another step closer, satisfaction glinting in his eyes.
“That’s why you came to me,” he said, circling behind Sisko. “Isn’t it, Captain? Because you knew I could do those things that you weren’t capable of doing. Well, it worked. And you’ll get what you want—a war between the Romulans and the Dominion. And if your conscience is bothering you, you should soothe it with the knowledge that you may have just saved the entire Alpha Quadrant—and all it cost was the life of one Romulan senator, one criminal…and the self-respect of one Starfleet officer.”
Sisko’s gaze shifted, reluctantly, to his.
“I don’t know about you,” Garak said, “but I’d call that a bargain.”
*
Stardate: 51721.8
That night, Odo found himself back in the wardroom—but not to guilt himself over casualty reports.
The tide was turning.
The Romulans had officially declared war on the Dominion. They had already attacked several bases along the Cardassian border. And now, the Federation flagship was docked at Deep Space Nine—along with a pair of Romulan senators—to welcome Romulus to the fight.
It was enough to lift Odo’s spirits a bit. Enough that the war didn’t seem so dismal, so hopeless. He could swallow down the vestiges of shame that even Kira couldn’t soothe.
Not that he wasn’t still watching the room like a hawk.
Kira sidled up to him. “Alright?”
Odo nodded. “I’m fine.”
“You seem tense.”
Odo harrumphed lightly, folding his arms. “I’m only doing my job.”
Kira laughed. “The Romulans aren’t even here yet. You don’t need to glare at the Enterprise crew.”
Odo allowed her a tiny smile.
Grinning, Kira squeezed his shoulder briefly before pulling back. “I’d better go greet the others.” She shot him a private smile. “You’re lucky you can get away with just standing in the corner, watching everyone.”
“Hmph,” Odo said, but there was no edge to it.
She headed across the room, where Worf was speaking with Captain Picard.
Suddenly, the wardroom doors slid open to admit Dr. Bashir and Chief O’Brien. Bashir’s eyes landed immediately on Lt. Commander Data, who was standing with the Enterprise’s chief engineer, one Geordi La Forge.
“Commander Data!” Bashir called. “Good to see you again.”
Data’s brows twitched up. “Likewise, Doctor.”
“Hey, Chief!” La Forge said. “Come on over.”
Odo watched with mild amusement as the two pairs of friends merged into a group of four. He’d never been a social being, but being an outsider wasn’t always so bad—it afforded some excellent opportunities for people-watching.
“You ever run out of things to fix around here?” La Forge was asking the Chief.
“Oh, he never does,” Bashir answered, clapping O’Brien on the back. “That’s the way he likes it.”
O’Brien coughed a sheepish laugh.
“Chief,” Data cut in, “I have been meaning to ask—”
Next to Odo, a throat cleared.
He turned, to find another one of the Enterprise crew standing before him, a polite distance away. Science uniform, three pips on her collar, dark hair—and completely black eyes.
Betazoid.
Ship’s counselor, Deanna Troi.
Lwaxana’s daughter.
Standing at her side was a tall, broad-shouldered man that Odo identified as Commander William Riker, first officer of the Enterprise.
“You’re Odo?” Troi asked. “Chief of station security?”
Odo knew formal pretense when he heard it, but he didn’t know her well enough to call her on it. “That’s right.”
“You knew my mother?”
Odo’s gaze flashed to hers in surprise. “Yes.”
“She talked about you,” Troi said. She choked up; Riker’s hand moved to the small of her back. “She loved you.”
Odo shifted his hands behind his back, suddenly out of his depth. How much had Lwaxana shared? Did her daughter know he hadn’t reciprocated? Her loss was greater than his—how was he supposed to navigate this? Would she expect commiseration? Sympathy? Kind words? Condolences?
“I…cared for her, too,” he said. Then, on impulse, “She spoke of you as well.”
Troi drew a deep breath, seemed to collect herself. “I…wanted to thank you for what you did. How you helped her leave Jeyal. She told me how generous you were.”
Odo’s eyes widened.
Generous?
That’s what Lwaxana had thought?
“Then…she really didn’t blame me,” he heard himself say. “For not returning her feelings…the way she wanted.”
Troi smiled, then. “Not according to her letters.”
“Oh, that’s—” Odo faltered. “That’s good to know.”
Troi nodded. She was quiet for a beat. Odo shifted awkwardly, unsure if he should try to fill the silence.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “Truly.”
Odo managed a stiff nod. Troi, thankfully, seemed to notice his discomfort—despite the fact that he knew he was as unreadable to her as he had been to her mother—and retreated across the room.
It took Odo far longer than he would admit to focus back on his surroundings.
“Jadzia!” Bashir was calling. “I want you to meet someone…”
Bashir’s social mingling was inconsequential. Odo turned his attention to the wardroom doors, awaiting the Romulans’ entry.
It would be any minute now.
*
“This is Lt. Commander Data,” Julian said, smiling. “We met…god, how long ago was it?”
“Five years, one month, twenty-four days, and—” Data cut himself off.
Bashir waved him off. “Oh, go on.”
“—seventeen hours ago,” Data finished.
Dax smiled. She knew of Data, of course. It was difficult not to know of the only android serving in Starfleet, especially when he also served as second officer on the Federation flagship. But she’d never met him personally.
“Jadzia Dax,” she said, offering her hand.
“Ah.” Data shook it. “You are the science officer on Deep Space Nine.”
“That’s right,” Dax said.
Data’s brows twitched up. “Were you not also involved in the discovery of the Bajoran wormhole?”
Her brows lifted slightly, her eyes lighting up. “Yes.”
“I am curious,” Data said. “How did—”
He was cut off as the wardroom doors slid open and Benjamin entered, closely followed by two Romulan senators and their aides.
All conversation in the room ground to a halt.
“May I introduce senators Lekain and Tamik,” Benjamin said, gesturing to the two in front, a man and a woman. To them, he finished, “May I present my senior staff, and the senior staff of the Enterprise.”
Picard crossed to greet the Romulans. “I’m Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Enterprise.”
“Ah, Captain,” Lekain said, peering down his nose. “Your reputation precedes you. Captain of the Federation flagship. Formerly captain of the Stargazer. Once known as Locutus of Borg…and the Arbiter of Succession for the Klingons.”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Indeed,” Picard said. Even from her angle behind his back, Dax could hear the forced, diplomatic smile in his voice. “Well—on behalf of Starfleet and the Federation, I’d like to thank the Romulan Empire for joining the fight against the Dominion.”
“Yes,” Tamik said, “I’m sure. It’s quite fortunate for you that the Dominion broke their pact when they did.”
Picard straightened his uniform. “I hope that this cooperation between our peoples will usher in a new era of friendship.”
Lekain smirked. “Time will tell.”
*
Soon enough, the atmosphere in the wardroom settled down, and Kira could breathe again.
She made her way to the replicator for a glass of spring wine. As it materialized, she glanced over her shoulder to survey the room.
The captains were conversing with the Romulans over glasses of Romulan ale. Dr. Crusher and Dr. Bashir were swapping medical anecdotes. Dax was chatting up a storm with Commander Riker, while Worf and Counselor Troi stood a bit stiffly at their partners’ sides. O’Brien, Data, and Commander La Forge were catching up—or, at least, Kira thought they were. She’d lost track of their engineering shorthand about ten minutes ago.
Which left…Odo.
He stood on the other side of the room, arms still crossed over his chest as he affected an air of stern suspicion.
That crusty exterior of his had fooled her, once. She hadn’t seen the deeply sensitive man that lay beneath. She had trusted him completely, sure—considered him her best friend, confided in him when her head was spinning—but it wasn’t until recently that she had noticed the way his entire being lit up in her presence. The way his rigid contours softened when she sat close to him or pulled him into her arms.
The way he always, always, let her in—whether that was just his quarters, or his heart.
“Can I ask you something?” she’d asked, mere weeks ago.
“Of course.”
That was always his answer.
How had she not seen him before? Seen how generous he was with her, how warm, how devoted?
She’d never known anyone quite like him. His unique blend of honesty and loyalty, of dry wit and sarcasm, of warmth and softness so expertly concealed. A man of dignity and responsibility, yet capable of such tenderness and love.
A man who loved her so deeply he had given up the impossible.
She would never need to consider turning her back on her own people. Bajor was on the right side of this fight. She could be loyal to her people without guilt or shame, without giving anything up.
Odo didn’t have that luxury.
Then, as his gaze panned across the room, their eyes met.
His brightened, and Kira found herself drawn to those sparkling blue depths. She wanted to go to him, to feel his hands in hers, to—
Prophets.
In a single, heart-stopping moment, it was as if the truth reached up and grabbed her by the throat.
She was falling in love with him.
*
Stardate: 51722.3
Kira sat in the chair in Odo’s office—the one she had come to think of as hers—one heel hooked loosely over the edge of his desk, her raktajino forgotten.
She loved him.
That truth was inescapable, now. And yet, it was terrifying in its certainty.
She knew he wasn’t the rigid, crusty constable she’d once thought he was. She knew those glimpses of tenderness she’d caught over the years—when she’d come to him, and he’d steadied her, anchored her—were glimpses of his true self, the kindness and vulnerability he hid. She knew that he was devoted to her, wholly, completely, irrevocably.
And that was the problem.
In another life, he’d been so devoted to her that he’d erased eight thousand lives to save hers.
He’d disregarded her wishes.
Disrespected her faith.
She had forgiven him for that. She didn’t hold him accountable for his other self’s actions—that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that even the Odo she knew—the one from this life—was a skeptic.
If push came to shove, could he respect her faith?
Could he fit into her life, as a partner?
Were they compatible?
She loved him—but could that love be enough?
“Kira?”
She jolted—and nearly kicked her raktajino off the edge of his desk. With infinite grace, Odo leaned over and caught it just in time.
Kira’s heart was still pounding. “Thanks.”
He favored her with a look. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, um…”
His eyes caught hers, and her I’m fine died on her lips.
She couldn’t lie to him.
But she couldn’t move forward, either.
So she found herself in a stalemate, her eyes locked with his, his question unanswered, until he seemed to accept her silence and return his attention to his PADD.
Seemed to.
Odo was far too observant, and too attuned to her, not to be ready to act on the slightest cue from her.
He knew she was troubled. He could read her like a book. But he was also the single most patient man she’d ever known. Never pushing, never pressing—just waiting.
She couldn’t take it.
Kira jolted to her feet. As he tracked her movement—Prophets, she’d known he was still focused on her—she scrambled for a suitable explanation. Not a lie—but some kind of half truth that could excuse her from his office without hurting him.
Except, she didn’t have one.
No destination in mind, no plan.
Just a burning need to—
“Kira?”
“Odo.” Her voice cracked. “I, uh…something came up. I’ll see you later, okay?”
His gaze held hers, endlessly patient, and she just knew he’d seen through her.
Something had come up—but she could only have meant emotionally, because she hadn’t been reading a PADD or gotten a transmission or anything that would allow something external to have happened.
But Odo’s only answer was a soft, “Of course, Kira.”
She dashed clear of his office.
*
“Jadzia?”
Kira stood by her friend’s table in the replimat, tray in hand. Jadzia looked up, smiled.
“Can I join you?”
Jadzia nodded to the chair opposite her. “Please.”
But as soon as Kira was seated, she very nearly lost her nerve.
How did one even broach this conversation?
“Something wrong?” Jadzia asked.
Kira sighed. “You could say that.”
“Is it Odo?”
Kira blinked, thrown. “Why would you say that?”
“Oh, come on, Nerys. You two have been getting closer ever since he came back from his leave,” Jadzia said. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed?”
Kira’s face burned.
“So,” Jadzia said, “what is it? Trouble in paradise?”
“Trouble in—what?”
“Oops. Sorry.” Jadzia restrained a smile, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a human expression. For strain in relationships.”
“Strain in—” Kira spluttered. “Jadzia! We’re not even—”
“Ahh,” Jadzia nodded. “You haven’t taken the leap.”
Kira squinted at her. “Are you sure you’re not part Betazoid?”
“Nope,” Jadzia grinned. “So…what’s bothering you?”
Kira braced her elbows on the table, biting her lip.
Jadzia looked up, suddenly serious. “Nerys? What’s wrong?”
“How do you and Worf do it?”
Jadzia blinked a few times.
“I just mean,” Kira said, “he’s a Klingon, you’re a Trill. He has Klingon beliefs…you don’t.”
Jadzia studied her. Kira tried not to squirm.
“This is about faith?” Jadzia finally asked.
Kira slumped. “Yes.”
“You’re worried he’s too much of a skeptic?”
“Partly,” Kira said.
The rest, she wouldn’t bring up. That was between her and Odo alone.
Jadzia eyed her, but didn’t push it. “If you’re so worried about that…why hasn’t it held you back from getting so close to him, all these months?”
“Well, because—” Then Kira’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t know.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Completely,” Kira said.
“Do you love him?”
Kira sighed. “Yes.”
Jadzia’s eyes brightened. “Then there’s only one question that really matters.”
“What’s that?”
Jadzia looked her in the eye. “What do you want out of a relationship?”
Kira’s pulse stuttered. Her jaw worked.
She wanted comfort and security. Love and devotion. Friendship. Trust. The kind of deep, unshakable loyalty that came from years of understanding. Patience. Humor. Tenderness. Passion. She wanted—
“Him.”