NOTE: This story isn’t that great; I mean come on, when I wrote it in two hours at work while answering phones, there were no illusions of grandeur. But I don’t have the gumption to rewrite it nor the courage/spunk to trash it. So, enjoy or don’t. I won’t blame you. 😉 [Oh, and I couldn’t remember the exact name of the award they give to Sisko, so let it slide.]
This takes place after “Tears of the Prophets.”
Captain Benjamin Sisko, commander of the outpost Deep Space Nine, coordinator of the successful invasion of Dominion/Cardassian territory, recipient of the Christopher Pike Medal of Valor, father, son, widow and lover, sat with fixed determination in back of Sisko’s on Earth scrubbing oysters. He had tried to go home to his father’s place on Earth, trying to forget the station light-years away, the life he had built up there — and the friend he had all too recently lost.
One oyster, two oysters.
He didn’t try to imagine the oysters as something else: Jem’Hadar soldier, Founder, Vorta; he forgot them all. In a perfect world, none of them would even have been a threat.
Three oysters, four.
Jake had already told him that the restaurant was getting closed up for the night. He had lost count of the oysters then, and he couldn’t stop, not until all the oysters in front of him were clean.
(-|-)
It was the middle of the night when Ben finally finished his oysters. Just Ben now, not captain or anything else; at this time of night, he was just Ben. Leaving the oysters inside the kitchen door for Nathan, Ben retired to bed, knowing he would not dream. Knowing he had not dreamed since whatever it was had closed the wormhole.
Knowing that he preferred it that way.
(-|-)
Benjamin Sisko awoke at dawn after only three hours sleep. His hands ached from endless scrubbing. No matter; the calluses would build all too quickly. He would feel no pain, just like a good Starfleet captain.
There it was again. It kept intruding on him instead of waiting for him to come to it. He had other things on his mind, other issues to deal with first.
Such as Jadzia’s death.
She had been found unconscious in the temple, but Julian had been unable to decipher what exactly had caused it. And Sisko had a suspicion that it had something to do with the Orbs turning dark, but he didn’t know what …
“Pop, you got anything for me to do?” Ben asked as he stepped inside the restaurant.
“Stir up the soufflé,” Joseph Sisko said, hastily thrusting a bowl and whisk at his son.
Sisko started to stir up the batter, remembering the time Odo had asked about cooking technique. Odo — the thought brought him back into space, back to DS9, back to the wormhole. The way it turned in on itself, swirling around, just as the batter beneath his hand was. The memory was too much for him, and he dropped the bowl.
Joseph turned at the sound of the bowl clattering to the floor. “All right, Ben, go on. You’re no use to me here, get out.”
Ben knew his father wasn’t joking around and he left to take a walk through the old quarter of New Orleans. Little had changed since he had walked these streets as a teenager. Everything was the same — but Sisko knew that many things had changed.
Ben Sisko found a secluded corner of the park to sit, knowing that the time had come to deal with it. Running away to Earth, leaving his home, had been the wrong decision — just as it had been the wrong decision after the Saratoga had been destroyed by the Borg.
So many people he had lost.
And he had survived.
But he had the help of the Prophets to help him after the Saratoga and Jennifer …
Now there was nothing to help him — and nothing to help the Bajoran people. They would be just as lost if not more so. What did it say to them that the Emissary had fled Bajor? Without the Prophets, was there any need for an Emissary?
The Admiral had told him to choose between Starfleet and the Prophets — wormhole aliens. And he had chosen Starfleet because … because it was something concrete that he could point to and explain, something accepted and recognized. There was sense in it.
But he was of Bajor; that much he knew, even if he did not know why or how.
And then he had turned his back on Bajor, moving instead to invade Cardassian space.
And Jadzia had died as a result.
Who would be next?
(-|-)
Sisko tossed in bed, restive to leave. He had to get back, return home. He had already packed and told Jake and his dad. All that was left was to jump in a ship and go. But he hesitated. And stalled.
He spent his time reading the latest reports on the invasion, keeping tabs on DS9, and scrubbing more oysters.
“Ben,” Joseph Sisko started one day. “You’ve scrubbed more oysters these past three months than you ever did when you were a boy, and frankly I’m running out of recipes. Now you’ve had your bags packed for at least ten weeks, you’ve stalled enough. And no Sisko, especially a captain in Starfleet, is going to run from his problems.” Ben started to protest. “No, not a word. Now I may be an old man, but I also know when someone’s bad for business — and you are, constantly moping around. People are beginning to think that the food here is no good. Now you’ve got to ask yourself why you first joined Starfleet.” Joseph Sisko paused, but there was no reply. “I’m waiting.”
“What?” Ben asked. “Oh, why I joined Starfleet …” He paused in thought. “Many people join because they want to be captain of a starship, or because they love being out in space. And then there are those who just want to know, or on some inner level, there is a cosmic connection and need for missing pieces to the puzzle.” Ben’s eyes came alive, the dulled glean that had been present for so long disappearing. “That’s what I want; not to be constantly worried about the Dominion or the Cardassians or diplomacy. I just want to know what’s out there. There’s so much we don’t know and yet we’re fighting over this little corner. I just … I just want to know what’s out there,” he said, lifting a hand towards the stars.
“So what are you doing here? Unless you think cleaning oysters is a great mystery.” He saw the recognition dawning. “Go back, son. You’ve got one of the greatest mysteries waiting for you. Find out what happened to that wormhole of yours.”
“Thanks, dad. And I’ll be sure to make you proud of me,” Ben joked.
“You better or I won’t have anything to talk to my customers about.” Joseph hugged his son with a few slaps to the back. “Now go on. Jake should be out clearing tables.”
“There’s one thing I have to do first,” Benjamin said, raising a finger.
(-|-)
Kira Nerys sat uncomfortably in the chair behind the large desk in the once-Prefect’s, once-Captain’s office.
Still-Captain’s office, she reminded herself.
The past three months had been hell, pure and simple. Bajor was in turmoil despite the assurances of both the Kai and all the Vedeks. Without the Prophets, without the Emissary, the people of Bajor were lost. And she was no different.
The invasion created endless amounts of paperwork and bureaucracy, not one of her favorite pastimes. The station was busier than usual with the increased traffic of Starfleet, Klingons and Romulan ships. And then there was dealing — or rather trying to deal — with Jadzia’s death. She had tried chanting every night for her friend, but the day usually took its toll on her and she would wind up falling asleep. So instead she kept a candle lit.
Any free time was spent with Odo as they tried to console Worf. Despondent was a far from adequate word to describe the way he looked, but he had chosen to keep their quarters. Nobody was very happy on the station.
And yet somehow in the midst of it all, Kira found herself feeling happy. Despite the war and the death of a close friend, there was still Odo. He was always there just when she needed him the most. She valued him more than anything; he had filled in her faith when the Prophets had disappeared, and every time she saw Worf or thought of Jadzia, she knew just how important Odo was to her and how important it was to her not to lose him.
The doors opened before her, and Lieutenant Jossen stepped in, a small package in his hands. “This just arrived for you, Major.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Kira took the package and set it down in front of her. It was marked with a Federation seal, oddly pristine on the darkened blue container. It was spherical in shape, and Kira carefully unclasped the lock. It opened simply, cracking into halves, to reveal a smaller package, this one wrapped in a somewhat worn and tired strip of cloth.
Kira put the lump in one hand, grabbing the end of the strip with the other. Slowly she unraveled it and just when it was little bigger than the size of her hand, the cloth neared its end to reveal its sacred cargo.
And Kira smiled. “Kira to Odo, can you meet me in the Captain’s office?”
“Acknowledged.”
(-|-)
Odo marveled at Kira’s determination and refusal to take over completely for the Captain. And while he doubted that the Captain would not return, it had been three months.
Ops seemed no different from his last visit, but each time he was inexorably drawn to look over at the science station. After all, the Chief was till there; Worf was still there; why shouldn’t Jadzia Dax?
“Good afternoon, Constable.”
He nodded at Lieutenant Jossen who had been given the highly unenviable task of taking over for Dax. But he could not think about that right now, Kira needed to see him about something.
As Odo stepped through the doors from Ops, he noted the open package. Kira had the chair facing away as she stared into the stars, but it turned once the doors closed behind the Constable.
“Catch,” Kira said suddenly, tossing something at him.
Odo reached out instinctively, catching the small projectile. He looked closer and found in his hand a very hallowed object: a well-worn, scuffed and dirty baseball. He looked from the small object to Kira as she spoke.
“He’s coming home.”
(-|-)