This story takes place after “Things Past,” but sometime before “The Begotten.”
The view from the second level of Quark’s was often very pleasant. One could observe the various types of people as they sat and talked, played Dabo, or just had a good time. Other times, the same view could be just as daunting. And for Odo, this was one of those times.
Maybe it was the effect of dealing with his new found solidity that dazed him a little when faced with all the differences. Maybe it was the fact that Kira had yet to forgive him for the murders, for that’s what they were, not cleansing, or justice, as he had told himself then; murder. Or maybe, coupled with both of these, it was the near entire bottle of Ramadoni whiskey he had consumed.
Odo marveled at the effect real alcohol had on him. Oh, Quark had tried serving him that synthehale crap, and Odo had let him after a few real ones. That scheming Ferengi never seemed to give him enough of the real stuff for him to truly get hammered. That’s why he had brought his own bottle. The Terran celebration of Christmas was tomorrow, and Odo had taken the day off just for the joyous occasion.
Interesting. Another effect of the alcohol. It seemed to make him intensely cynical… Actually intensely everything. Intensely observant, intensely numb, and at the same time, intensely aroused. He downed another few gulps of the whiskey and concentrated further on the crowd, trying to dispel the last one. Damned thing; it seemed to have a life of its own.
After awhile, Odo forced himself to stand. One thing Quark did not believe in was comfortable chairs; keep the old customers moving out, and new ones moving in. He leaned against the railing, and noticed Quark talking to Dr. Bashir.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath as both men turned their eyes to exactly where he was standing. Bashir motioned to someone who had apparently come to Quark’s with him, and pointed Odo out to the slender, tall Trill. Great, now they’re ganging up on me. Quark went back to the bar, but Bashir and Jadzia headed up to the second level.
They came at him from opposite directions, each circling the second level. He turned to escape to the Promenade, only to be faced with Kira and the O’Briens chatting amiably . . . and heading directly for Quark’s themselves.
He turned and tried to focus eyes on the undulating scene before him. Bright lights, height, desperation . . . all these things seemed to make him forget, once again, that he was no longer a Changeling. The image of a Ramadoni helrekta came into his mind. It was the Terran equivalent of a falcon, and Odo knew that as one of these, he could easily soar down through Quark’s without facing anyone he didn’t want to.
“Odo!” came the simultaneous cries of Bashir and Jadzia as he leapt over the railing. Their outcries caused Odo to pause ever so slightly, and his foot caught on the railing. The Dabo tables swung out of view, and he found himself faced with a wall. A very hard wall…
His head seemed to snap back as it connected with the second level support, and Bashir was already skimming down the stairs to the ground level by the time Odo’s limp, unconscious body crashed into a table . . . still full of empty glasses.
“Bashir to Ops. Medical emergency. Two to transport.”
Jadzia watched as the amber light enveloped the two. She turned to Odo’s table, and easily spotted the empty bottle of Ramadoni whiskey. She sniffed, and almost dropped the bottle. Real. What the hell was Quark doing serving him real stuff? He had promised her…
“I do not drink that much raktajino!”
Jadzia immediately recognized the voice of her friend.
“Kira, you’ve got to come with me.”
“Jadzia,” greeted Kira Nerys with a relaxed air. The trio had not witnessed the fiasco of a moment earlier. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll explain when we get to the Infirmary.”
“Jadzia, what…”
“Just come on.” Jadzia grabbed her friend’s hand and virtually dragged her out of Quark’s. “It’s Odo,” she said, as soon as they were out of earshot of the O’Briens.
“What about him?”
“He drank this.” She showed Kira the empty bottle she still carried.
“So?” Kira wasn’t concerned; she’d drunken more than that in her day. “What’s so bad about that?”
“It wasn’t synthehale; this is . . . was the real stuff.”
Kira waited until they had the stepped into the lift, trying to abate her anger.
“That little Ferengi…”
“I don’t think he got it from Quark.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I made him promise never to give Odo anywhere near enough real liquor to get himself drunk.”
“Well, then where…”
“He must have brought it himself.”
The two stepped out onto the Promenade, and made their way the short distance to the Infirmary. They could hear the fast beat of medical procedures inside as they approached.
Kira’s step faltered in worry, but anger all too soon took over. How dare he! How, by the Prophets, could he have been so stupid! She stormed into the Infirmary only to be ordered into another room by Bashir. Jadzia kept her walking, and she only managed a slight glimpse of Odo, crumpled and broken, like a toy, on the biobed.
(-|-)
Hours passed.
Finally, Odo was moved to a separate room, where he could better recuperate.
Bashir was exhausted, but he knew he had to talk to Jadzia and Kira.
“How is he, Doctor?”
Bashir ran a hand through his hair.
“Well, not as bad as he may have looked. He had a few broken bones, some very slight internal bleeding from impact, and a lot of embedded glass. That’s what took the longest; he’s just lucky he didn’t seriously impale himself on any of it. Other than that, he’s all right except for a concussion and a bump on the head. The unconsciousness and drunken stupor saved him from any serious injury.” Bashir was frustrated, but too tired to do anything about it.
“Exactly what happened?” asked Kira. Jadzia had refused to tell her anything until they knew how Odo was. Bashir started to recount the story, but after numerous yawns, Jadzia took over. By the time she was finished, Kira was furious again.
“How long till I can talk to him?”
Bashir glanced at Jadzia. “Kira, I don’t know if that’d be such a good idea, at least, not until you calm down a little.”
Kira was about to protest when Jadzia stopped her.
“He’s right, Nerys. You can’t help him any by yelling at him.”
Kira paused in consideration. “All right,” she said finally. “How long till I can see him?”
“Well, he’s going to be spending at least three days here, mainly for observation. You should be able to talk to him the day after tomorrow. By then he should be sober enough to realize what he’s done.”
“What do you mean by then?”
“I’ve decided to let Odo deal with his hangover in the old-fashioned way; no medication. It won’t pose any danger to him physically, but hopefully, it will have a lasting impact.”
“I’d like to be there when he wakes up.”
“I don’t know if he’ll like that.”
“To hell with him.” Kira seemed to take a calming breath. “I’ll sit in a corner, out of sight, until you say it’s okay.”
Bashir glanced once again at Jadzia and then gave Kira the go-ahead.
(-|-)
He tried to stop the pounding in his head. It made it hard to concentrate. Finally his eyes opened to a dimly lit room. He looked around trying to gauge exactly where he was.
Bashir walked in, strangely adamant in his stance.
“I would suggest that you not try to make any unnecessary movement, Constable.”
“I assure you, Doctor, that I am perfectly…” Odo tried to sit up and screamed out in pain before he could suppress it. Still sore wounds burned against even the slightest movement, and he thanked the Prophets that Julian was the only one in the room.
“I hope that means you’ll listen to me from now on,” Bashir said as he applied a hypospray of pain reliever.
“Yes, I think I will,” came the raspy reply.
“Good. Now, you’re going to be here under observation for at least two more days. If you behave, and follow orders, I’ll let you out on good behavior.” Bashir allowed a slight smile. “I’m sure that’s something you can understand, Constable.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Good. Now get some more rest. You need it.” Bashir left, and Odo tried to readjust himself into a more comfortable position.
Every moment drew a grunt of pain from him, but he was not helpless. He was going to sit up by himself. When he was finally satisfied, he fell back against the support of the bed. It had only been a few centimeters, but it made all the difference.
“He said you needed your rest, Odo.”
The voice seemed to come from nowhere, and Odo’s eyes tried to sort out the shadows, both in the room and his mind. In fact, had it not been for the hangover, he would have all too quickly recognized Kira’s voice.
“Excuse me, but whoever you are, I would ask you leave me to my privacy.”
“All right, Odo, as long as you get some sleep.” A shadow moved along the far wall. A soft murmur, apparently directed at him before the figure left, barely registered as Odo was already drifting off to sleep from his exertion. “I never thought I’d be so disappointed in you, Odo.”
(-|-)
Many people stopped by to see him after Bashir had given the okay, as they just happened to be passing by. It was nice to have friends, but at times like this, it could be damned annoying. Especially when he was in the middle of trying to keep his mind from wandering; especially when the things he was thinking about were not exactly good topics for conversation. It seemed that with a resting body came a restless mind and a large amount of hormones to boot. Perfectly good daydreams kept getting interrupted, and Odo was getting frustrated, in more ways than one.
Bashir knew what was going on; he had to. It was the only explanation for the Cheshire cat smiles and sympathetic chuckles he kept having to put up with.
“Really, Doctor; is this normal?”
“Oh, I’ll say it is, Constable. Quite normal.”
“Well . . . isn’t there something you can do about it?”
“Short of changing you back into a Changeling, no; and since I couldn’t do that anyways.” Bashir shrugged his shoulders apologetically, well, somewhat apologetically.
“Well, how long does it last?”
“Well, let’s see. I’m working on almost twenty years.”
Odo was silent. “Well, does it at least get less . . . intense?”
“Nope,” and then, adding only further confusion to Odo’s swirling mind, Bashir grinned even broader. “It gets worse.”
Odo rested on his bed, and tried to concentrate on something . . . anything else.
“Looks like you have another visitor, Constable,” Bashir said, peeking around the corner.
Odo breathed deeply to try and dispel some of the impatience building in him. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?!
“Hello, Odo.” Kira stood in the doorway. “Am I . . . am I bothering you?”
“No, no. Not at all, Major. Please, come in.”
Every step she took was slow, controlled . . . angry. She walking, pacing in the room. Odo took this all in.
I somehow doubt she’s come with words to cheer me up.
“How can I help you, Major?”
Kira stopped her pacing, and turned to Odo, ready to scream her lungs out, ready to tell him all about how stupid he had been, hammer into his head just what could have happened to him…
“What happened?”
“What do you mean, Major?” The elusive words were out of his mouth before he realized just exactly who he was talking to.
“You know perfectly damn well what I mean, Constable! What the hell were you thinking? You can’t go jumping off second levels just because you don’t want to own up to your own evil deeds . . . I…” Kira managed to stop herself. She held her head in hand as she paced off some of the anger. “Just . . . just tell me why.”
Odo sat in contemplation a moment. Obviously, this was the one person to whom he would have to give answers; at least, so far.
“I can’t answer that, Major, because I honestly don’t remember. Ramadoni whiskey tends to do that.”
“Dammit, Odo, this is no time for cynicism.”
“I know.” Kira stopped her pacing, and the last of her anger abated as concern for her friend took over.
“Well, then how about before that? Why were you drinking anyways?”
“What’s wrong with having a few drinks?”
“Nothing, if it’s just a few and it’s synthehale. If I’m right, neither applies to you. Besides, Odo, you’re not the type of person who would intentionally get drunk.”
“Oh, I’m not?”
There was a look of hunted desperation in his eyes that halted Kira’s otherwise stalwart reply, that made her doubt for an instance that this was still the person she knew.
“No, you’re not. You don’t need to. Things don’t affect you; you don’t need an escape, not like most of the people in Quark’s.”
“Hmph. I think, Major, that you, too, are under the false impression that I am still a Changeling. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m Human now; and I have needs just like everyone else. I need food, drink, something to occupy my time with, friends …” Cynicism started to seep into his tone. He couldn’t help it. He had to defend his reputation . . . but why? “…and whether you believe it or not, sometimes one of the things I need the most is an escape.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know that my life isn’t for nothing; I need to know that I’m not trapped here in security for the remainder of my days. I need to know that there’s more to me than what everybody else sees.” As quickly as it had appeared, the emotions, the humanity from Odo’s face vanished. “I’m sorry to detain you here with mindless dribble. I’m sure you have more important things to do than listen to my endless small talk. I won’t keep you here any longer.”
“Odo, I…” Kira searched for something to say. She knew Odo was embarrassed, uncomfortable, and was trying to get her to leave. But why? Why did he feel that way? She was his best friend, wasn’t she? But is he your best friend? The conversation she had had with him after the truth about those three innocent Bajorans had come out . . . By the Prophets, no wonder he was distant! And it’s all your fault, Nerys. Nobody came out of the Occupation innocently or without blood on their hands. You’re not really mad at Odo; you’re mad at the Cardassians for what they turned him into: a killer. “I’ll see you later.” Kira made a hasty exit, trying to sort through the last remnants of her anger and her growing guilt at blaming solely Odo for the executions.
(-|-)
By the time Bashir released him, Odo nearly fled from the Infirmary. He was so sick of everyone pestering him, hiding their true aims of telling him what an idiot he had been behind friendly concern. Especially Kira. He hadn’t expected her to be completely sympathetic by any means, but he had expected some degree of cordiality. He had only spoken to her once, but it had been enough. Enough to know she was as angry with him as she had ever been, if not more. And it frightened him.
Kira was the one who didn’t judge him; not to say that the others did, but, with Kira, there was an added measure: complete trust. He could guard against her temper, her rash impulsive actions, even her relationship with Shakaar, but he could not protect himself against her absence. She was the only thing, the only true support, that kept the dam from breaking, kept the torrents of emotions, of memories, of regrets from drowning him.
He was back on duty almost immediately, trying to make up for lost, useless days spent staring at the ceiling. There was the report to Starfleet on the basic measures they were taking to deter smuggling to the Maquis, the shift rotations, the security drills, the new officers that had to be integrated, the standard check-up on Quark’s illegal actions. There was so much to do. Well, if he just dug into it all, had no interruptions, he would be perfectly . . .
“Constable, may I speak with you a moment?”
“Of course, Major.” He pushed aside the demanding PADDs.
“If this is a bad time, I . . .” she said, hesitating just inside the threshold.
“No, not at all, Major. There’s nothing here really that important.” At least, not in comparison to hearing what you have to say.
Kira moved to sit, but opted to clench the back of the chair instead. She paused, searching for the right words, trying to ignore the expectant face before her.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking?!”
Odo blinked, and Kira realized what she had said. She sighed and slumped into the chair wearily.
“I’m sorry, Odo; I guess I’ve been spending too much time around Miles.”
Odo nodded in comprehension, but he had no idea how to answer the question.
“We’ve gone over this already, Major. I was drunk; believe me, nobody understands that fact better than I.” A few pangs still struck him if he moved too fast. One of these days, he would have to thank the good doctor.
“But why? You have to know from all your experience over the years that drink doesn’t solve any problems, doesn’t create any escapes.”
“Ah,” he said, raising his hand to make a point, “but it does. You see, all these years I’ve been under the false impression that drunkards were that way because they didn’t want to face their actions, or the repercussions of those actions, that they didn’t want to own up to what they had done. But I was wrong.”
“How so?”
“The effect of alcohol is for those of non-action, those who’ve never done anything worthwhile. They’re the only ones afforded an escape, an escape from what they haven’t done. An escape from regrets.” His eyes focused on a distant point not really inhabiting any particular space or time . . . and, there was an almost crazed look to them.
“Odo, sometimes, I . . . I don’t know. Sometimes you scare me.” She forced the words out before regret or caution could secure them safe in the back corner of her mind again.
It was enough. Odo immediately focused on her, driving an intense stare of curiosity and worry straight into her pagh.
“How so?”
“The things you do, the way you act. You don’t seem to realize that you’re not as immortal as you once were; you’re just as fallible as the rest of us. I wouldn’t want . . . I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” She stopped, not trusting herself quite yet to go any further.
“Trust me, Major; nothing will. I’ve learned my lesson.” He settled back in his chair, brushing off the memory of coming face to face with that wall . . .
“But, Odo, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I can’t go around tying myself up in possibilities . . .” She stopped short again. What was she doing? She had already failed in a friendship-to-lover relationship; was she willing to try again? Or is he willing? Kira found herself debating between which was better: the Odo she knew, or the Odo she found herself wanting to know.
“Kira, I, ah . . . I have some work I need to get done here. Perhaps we could finish this another time.”
Kira looked up from her internal battle to find Odo blushing . . . but, from what?
“Odo, what’s running through your mind right now?” She asked it with an off-handed air and before Odo knew what he was doing, the word escaped from his lips.
“Sex.” Then something Kira hardly thought possibly happened, Odo turned an even deeper shade of red. He wanted desperately to look away, to break the hold she had on him, for anyone, even Quark to walk through those doors, to break the spell . . .
“With anyone particular?” She had to know.
“Um . . .” Odo paused, fumbling for an excuse, a way out, an escape. He found his mouth oddly dry, oddly numb, oddly aching for . . . “You.”
The pieces all started falling in place, ever since she had found out about the murders, ever since she had started going out with Shakaar, ever since he had been in love with her ever since they had met.
“The drinking, the escape you were looking for . . .”
” . . . was from you.” Odo knew he was rambling and tried desperately to stop the flow of words, but it was too late; the dam had been broken; his wings, melted. ” I tried everything I could think of to forget, forget the way you look, the way you sounded, the way you smelled, but nothing worked. You were always there, always lingering like a dream you can’t quite remember. It’s just on the edge, forever just out of reach.” Odo paused and a smile crossed his lips. “You don’t know the hell you’ve put me through, Nerys.”
She stood and circled around to his side of the desk, taking up both his hands.
“Well,” she said, swallowing deeply, “I’m not out of reach anymore, Odo. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then, you’re not disappointed in me any longer?” He wasn’t sure just when the realization had hit him that it had indeed been her in the Infirmary that day, the one he had had the short conversation with through the stupor of his hangover.
“The only thing I was ever disappointed about was that the man I loved couldn’t come to me with his problems.”
Her eyes liberated him like no alcohol, no drug ever could, and he felt the support and exhilaration of his happiness as he soared from his cage, no longer looking for an escape. No longer looking back at his regrets.
Only looking forward, into the eyes of his love and their future together.
(-|-)