The Constable

     if there’s one species that takes a particularly … violent, stance on child abuse and mistreatment, it’s humans. something julian finds laughable, given not a single soul who saw him decided to do something, or say something. yet it remains true. even the most vile of humans won’t tolerate that among their species or others. any who harm a child within the range of a human; any who have even a history of it? 

     they won’t make it out of that area alive. 

     no doubt, word of julian’s augmentation reached earth long before his father did. no doubt, people looked into his work, discovered he was an exceptional doctor on the front lines, and one of the kindest souls the grace starfleet medical.

     a word that would’ve reached even those in richard’s penal colony. 

     a heart attack. right. julian snorts at that, head shaking. ❝  it wasn’t a heart attack, odo. it was murder. this is common when anyone who mistreats a child, no matter how long it’s been, lands in a human prison. to be honest with you, i’m shocked captain sisko and chief o’brien let him off this station without murdering him, or at least doing some physical harm.  ❞

     the padd is taken, but he doesn’t look at it. he doesn’t want to. he drums his fingers against it, the smooth and warm metal not registering to his body. nor does the single tear rolling down his cheek. he shakes his head more, offering odo the padd again, letting out a shaky sigh as he speaks.

      ❝  unless that’s a direct order from the captain or major, i’m not going to. i have too much to do here.  ❞  pausing, his lips pull tight briefly, before replying to the constable’s quiet words.  ❝  he wasn’t much of a father, odo. even without what he did to me. he was never around. it was only my mother and i, and us being dragged around the galaxy by him. and when he was there, he was angry, and violent, and i was the perfect outlet. i wasn’t his son. i was a legacy he built.  ❞

       ❝  there’s no good parts to miss. there’s nothing there to grieve … he’s still my father, and i still love — loved — him, but there’s nothing there. it’s — it’s just a bit of a shock. i’ll be alright. thank you.  ❞

     it’s a half-truth. julian’s positive he’ll recover from this with ease, but he’s far from alright. and given his recent history, he highly doubts odo will believe that. so, with a glance down, then back to the constable, julian adds. 

      ❝  i’ll be safe, odo. i promise.  ❞

Though his expression remains still, Odo shifts his weight between his feet at Julian’s suggestion that Richard Bashir’s death was other than what the report offered. He hates that he’s probably right. The idea that justice can be disrupted in the very seat where justice is supposed to be upheld is uncomfortable for him. It brings his own demons too close to bear. Though, he supposed, for the crime which Julian suggests, some might believe that justice was, indeed, served. Far more so than simply letting Richard rot in jail for a few decades would be. 

Odo’s discomfort is refocused on the man before him. Eyes are quick to search his face, his mannerisms, for the truth behind the stone wall he’s fronting. Humans are an emotional species. A tad less so than Bajorans. But he always finds it fascinating that, for an emotional species, when something like grief or despair grips them, they attempt to become as stony as a Vulcan. 

The human condition, he supposed. 

“There’s no direct order . . . yet,” he adds. “But you will be monitored. By myself, personally. I’ll try to be as un-intrusive as possible. It’s just . . . with your recent history,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “everyone just wants to make sure you can make it through.” When Julian hands the PADD back to him without so much as reading it, he takes it but taps it against his leg for a moment. 

Julian seems to understand Odo’s particular concern, too, when he attempts to reassure him that he’ll be safe. “I hope so, Doctor. There’s a great number of people here who depend on you.” Clearing his throat again, Odo’s posture stiffens and his hands move to clasp behind his back. “You may not take time off for yourself, but you may want to consider visiting your mother. I’m sure she’d be grateful for your company.” 

Naturally, if he did decide to go, Odo would go along with him. Ever since he’d found him in the cargo bay nearly lifeless, he’d taken the doctor’s well-being upon himself. There wasn’t a single hope he was going to let Julian out of his sight with this on his shoulders. 

“Happy to help, this isn’t my first rodeo.” She smiled a little wider at him, then remembered that’s a strictly Earth colloquialism and looked up at him with a little gesture with both hands. “I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve helped put someone in a cell.” Maybe she’d tell him a story about that one day. 

Ziva took the ends of the chain and latched them behind her neck and under her thick braids, black eyes searching his for a moment. Nope, still couldn’t get a read on him. Sure, she got a feeling or two from the Ferengi unlike full blooded Betazoids. But she still got nothing from him. It was kinda nice. “Thank you, I’ve had it since I was a girl.” 

She held the charm in the center of her hand and shuffled a little closer to him so he could get a better look. It took a moment, but the opaque symbol of the Star of David appeared and she looked back up at him with that little smile like she was sharing a secret. “My Rabbi back on Earth gave me this at my Bat Mitzvah. I wear it everyday.” She’s more than happy to answer Odo’s questions about it. 

Eyebrows rise ever so slightly when she states that this wasn’t her first . . . rodeo. The term means nothing to him, though her clarification certainly helps. Rodeo. Is that what he’s doing when he arrests someone? Rodeo-ing? He’d have to look up the term fully later. Odo preferred to remain hip to the new language. The last thing he wanted was to be unable to understand a group of aliens plotting tomfoolery because they were using slang. 

Blue eyes curiously take in the pendant when she shows it to him. There’s a star there, though not like any star he’s seen before. A nod is given when she explains where she had received it, but the words again don’t mean anything to him. Rabbi? Bat Mitzvah? Gesturing for her to sit down politely if she wished to do so, he leaned his form against a table. He found that humanoids were more at ease when he attempted to look more . . . lax. 

“Is a Rabbi a . . . mentor?” he inquired. Odo was greatly uninformed about the groups and organizations on Earth outside of those that were the most popular and made their presence known all the way out here near Bajor. What little he did understand about the culture came from the humans on the station. And even then it was a biased education since they all primarily hailed from Starfleet. 

       HE WATCHES, IN AWE, AS THE CONSTABLE’S legs grow, leaning forward on the metal bar of his… archer’s roost. now that he is at eye level, it’s possible for odo to see the bowl of water balloons that sits beside him.

       “tempting.” it is; someone like odo must be very strong, and to be carried by him would no doubt feel secure. he could probably swaddle garak up like a small baby, if he wanted to. however… “there’s one, one… a-herm, variable, you have NOT taken into account.”

       with reflexes far too quick for someone in his state, he snatches a balloon and tosses it at odo, giggling. he then (to the horror of those below) kicks the bowl over the side, using the distraction to leap to another fixture.                                      the obsidian order would be proud.

       “the fact of the matter is, you can’t catch me ! ”

While Odo had expected something up Garak’s sleeve, it had not been a wet splosh to the face as a water balloon collided with his rather prominent nose. “Blegh!” he complains, wiping an arm across his face even as his cells naturally absorb it like a sponge. There’s alarmed cries below, and Odo glances down to see those gathered below either sopping wet or running for cover. 

Just another day on Deep Space 9. 

“Garak,” he growled, head turning back in the direction of the Cardassian. The former spy is leaping from fixture to fixture with a grace that surprises Odo. Then, upon reflection, it shouldn’t. No doubt the Order had trained him to be so sprightly. 

“Garak, if you fall, that would be a very unfortunate ending to your adventurous tale, wouldn’t it?” he called over to him, trying--at least once more--to reach Garak’s reason. “You are quite right in that I can’t catch you if you insist upon leaping from beam to beam like some daredevil ballerina, and that isn’t something you should be pleased about. Now, hold still and let me take you down.” Long legs carefully step below, not wanting to step on anyone as he slightly clumsily makes his way to Garak once more. 

       TIME ALWAYS SEEMS TO SLOW, BEFORE DISASTER STRIKES. it is a sensation one never grows accustomed to. before his eyes, garak has watched countless atrocities unfold: the death of the innocent, the freedom of the guilty, and the TORTURE of those in between.

       nothing, however, compares to this. garak is completely unprepared as he watches odo take the cup of dressing and lift it to his mouth. to smell it, he had assumed (smell, though weak in humans, must be an exciting new sensation)… and when he realized what was happening, it was MUCH too late. a short, warning “odo” barely makes it past his lips before his friend is spluttering and coughing in front of him.

       and garak does what any good friend does.                    he hesitates, momentarily… and then breaks out into obscene laughter.

       he feels guilty for doing it ——– he REALLY does, but it’s not enough to stop him from leaning over and resting his hands on his knees with mirth. through it, he struggles out, “you– you don’t— odo, you can’t…”

       in an attempt to get his bearings, he squats down and puts his hands over his face, giggling until there are tears in his eyes as well. “you’re meant… to pour it— hhh, OVER the salad, in small amounts—–”

       then, with a final, and rather obnoxious fit:                                    “ ——– i- it’s not a shot of alcohol, odo ! ”

Hearing sharp and surprisingly open laughter beside him, Odo finds Garak practically on the floor in mirth. The fact that he has made a faux pas dawns on him. Despite the annoyance and embarrassment with himself, he’s also relieved. Thank god that wasn’t actually a drink. As Garak, albeit while struggling, explains to him what it was he had just drank, Odo looks down at the tiny dish. 

When he speaks, he’s pleased to find that the dressing hadn’t entirely burned through his vocal chords. “It might as well have been!” he huffs, voice a tad rough. “Alcohol burns just as much.” Perhaps on his next attempt with salad, he will pour the dressing over it, but today? He’s had quite enough. Odo takes another large helping of water to remove the lingering acid on his tongue. 

“We speak of this to no one,” he grumbles to Garak, grabbing his fork tightly in his hand. “Everyone already thought I was a freak before. Well, now I am in truth.” He hadn’t felt like a freak before--just different--but now? He was so damned . . . awkward and uneducated. Glaring at the pieces of lettuce before him, he sits upright and stabs it with his fork.

There’s a pleasant crinkling sound as the fork pierces through it. Lifting the piece of lettuce to his mouth, Odo finds it . . . pleasant. It mostly tastes like water. “Mm,” he nodded in approval, and then continued the rest of the colorful items in his bowl. Croutons, tomatoes, and other varying vegetables. By the end of it, he is left with happy taste buds.

“Caesar Salad,” he commits to memory. “Very refreshing. You said this was named after a play?” he inquired. 

@moonreflected​

the offer’s surprising.  a life so filled with trauma,  of people leaving,  dying  —  it’s left nerys unsure she’d ever have this sort of bond with anyone.  but odo’s different.  he makes her feel less afraid of connection.  of commitment.  she looks at him,  instead,  with adoration  —  and that makes her afraid,  but not in the same ways as it might have previously.

“well,  at least we’re both together in figuring it out,”   she notes,  a grin on her lips.   “the mysteries of the link,  ours to explore together,  huh?”   the way he rants about his maybe parents is kind of adorable,  and helps further to put her at ease about the whole thing.

the gentle way he takes her hands in his makes her heart flutter,  just a little,  and makes it even more difficult to push a smile from her face  —  not that she really wants to.   “i’d love that,  odo.  i really would.  i’ve been in the middle of danger before.  i’m not afraid of danger,  or risky.  and i trust you.  so a trip to the gamma quadrant?  it sounds wonderful,”  

The mysteries of the Link, indeed. Even despite his few experiences with it, Odo was no better at describing what it was than he was at mimicking human faces. “Together is wise,” he agrees, a soft look entering his gaze. Lightly, he brings their clasped hands to his lips and presses a gentle kiss against her closed fingers. “You’re my anchor, Nerys. No matter where I am in the Link, I can always find my way to you.” 

A smile spreads wide on his lips when she agrees, and he rises quickly to his feet. “Excellent! I’ll speak to the Captain about slotting us R&R.” It just so happened that Odo had plenty of time off built up. Except for the required two days rest in a typical week, he had never taken a day off from work. There was little point when his life was his job. Granted, that was before he and Nerys had gotten together.

Nowadays, he looked as much forward to the end of his shift as he did the beginning of it. “I think we should leave as soon as we can. Before this war gets even worse,” he grunted. “Perhaps pack a  . . . week’s worth of clothes?” If she had that much. Nerys was notorious for wearing her uniform everywhere. Granted, so was he. 

It’s clear he’s excited about the prospect of taking this humanoid gesture forward in their relationship. He isn’t sure if it will translate well to his own people, but . . . if he doesn’t try to form a bridge, then who will? Before he leaves to find Sisko, however, Odo lowers his head and presses a warm kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”