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Niska knew she shouldn’t have listened to her brother, that it would only bring trouble, And yet, Keshin had made a good point: when would they ever have another opportunity to try such a thing? However, Father had been very clear when he’d told them to stay out of the station’s computers and he was not going to be pleased when he found out what they’d done. But wasn’t the story going to be worth a little punishment in the end? And technically they hadn’t touched the computers; the ensign they’d talked into it had.
Her doubts wrestled up until the point the shimmery transporter beams swept up her particles from the habitat ring and placed her gently on the promenade, just outside the flashy Ferengi bar they’d seen earlier. Nerves and excitement bubbled up as a giggle and Niska couldn’t keep it contained, despite the wary looks from the people passing by.
Some part of her mind realized that it seemed like a lot fewer people than it had from the upper ring.
“Can I help you?” a gruff voice asked from behind her, and Niska gasped as she turned. Before she could answer, the man—maybe? he didn’t look like any race Niska had ever seen—touched his Bajoran combadge. “Odo to Ops. We’ve had an unauthorized transport onto the promenade.” He peered at her with bright eyes set in an unnaturally smooth face, even smoother than a human’s. “It’s a little Cardassian girl.”
Niska couldn’t help but bristle at that. “I’m not a little girl! I’m almost twelve.”
That gave him pause and she could’ve sworn a small smile touched his lips, but it was hard to tell when his face didn’t move. “Of course,” he said. “Did you just arrive with your parents? They shouldn’t have been able to transport you from outside the station.”
Taking a deep breath, she gave him her best innocent face, the one Dad called “butter wouldn’t melt”, and remembered Father’s advice: stick as close to the truth as possible in any interrogation. “No, we arrived yesterday.”
“I see. And you’ve been docked this entire time?”
“We stayed in guest quarters last night.”
The man—Odo—looked down at her with an impression of a frown. “Hmmpf. Forgive me, but I think I would’ve noticed a Cardassian family arriving on the station. Unless… are you… from Bajor?”
Niska cocked her head, now just as confused as him. “No,” she said slowly, “we’re from Cardassia Prime. If you work here, you must know my parents! They used to work here, too. There was a party after we docked last night and we had fancy sandwiches and took a tour.”
“A party?” He folded his arms. “Young lady, you will have to forgive me, but I find it beyond the realm of belief that not only did a Cardassian family arrive upon the station without my notice, but that it was an occasion that warranted a party, no less. Let’s walk down to the Security office. You can use the time to consider the trouble you’ll be in if you don’t—”
“My, my, Constable,” a familiar voice cut in, and Niska breathed a sigh of relief. “What have we here?”
She spun around and threw herself forward, knowing without a doubt she’d be caught. “Father!”
Garak had been on alert from the moment the transporter beam had shimmered out of the corner of his eye, especially when he’d seen a lone Cardassian standing there afterwards. He’d had the errant, somewhat frivolous thought as he’d closed in on her and Odo that the station was starting to be positively overrun by young Cardassian girls. Of course, he hadn’t even thought twice about inserting himself into the situation.
But now, after her outburst, he would have been hard-pressed to say who was more surprised between him and Odo. Since he also ended up with an armful of child, he considered himself the victor by a very wide margin. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I believe you must be mistaken.”
The girl pulled back with a laugh, dark eyes sparkling. “Oh, Father, you’re so silly.” Rendered mute by the verdict, Garak could do nothing more than stare as the girl raised a supplicant gaze his way. “But you have to know, it wasn’t my fault! I know you told us not to touch the computers, but Keshin knew Ensign Wilby could do it, and we’ve never transported anywhere! And at least while we’re on the station, we wouldn’t end up floating out in space. And I know that’s not a good excuse, but he talked me into it and you know how persuasive he can be when he sets his mind on something, and—and he pulled the big brother card! I told him that just because he’s four minutes older, it doesn’t mean anything, but really if he’s going to say he’s my big brother, he should act like it, right? And take responsibility?”
The ramble apparently quelled for the moment, Garak took the opportunity to survey the hopeful face before him and felt something melt at the hint of mischief he saw lurking behind the innocent façade.
There was something niggling at the back of his mind, like a memory he couldn’t quite reach, but for a Cardassion, such a thing was unheard of. Had this girl really mistaken him for her father? Could it even possibly be true? His first instinct was to deny it again, but… Stranger things had happened, especially since the Federation had arrived, and hadn’t he himself been through enough to know it wasn’t outside the realm of belief? Could this be a glimpse of his future? He did feel some unknown connection to the child, but him? A father? He’d never dreamt of such a possibility.
Beyond the normal Cardassian features, he didn’t see himself in her sweet face at all. But luckily that meant he didn’t see Tain either. If she was telling the truth—about her parentage, that was, and not whatever nonsense she’d just spewed about transporters—either she took very strongly after the other contributant towards her DNA or wasn’t his biological child at all.
Willing to play along for the moment, if for no other reason than to see how this played out, he smiled genially. “Now tell me, my dear, what is the current stardate?” he asked, ignoring Odo’s glare from behind the girl.
Eye ridges drawn, she gave him a curious look. “60733.3.”
Odo came to attention. “That’s nearly thirteen years in the future.”
The girl clung to Garak’s side. “Father?” she asked, fear creeping in at the edges of her voice, her clenched fist making a wrinkled mess of his tunic. “It’s not true, is it? Tell him it’s not true.”
Garak couldn’t help but run a hand down the fall of dark hair, that damn niggling rising up again. “Hush, child. In fact,” he said with a wry smile, “the less you say now, the better. You don’t want to accidentally change your present by altering the past.”
Eyes wide, she burrowed in further, but wisely, said nothing.
Niska wasn’t sure what to make of this version of Father. He didn’t look that much younger, although she’d never seen him dress in such fine fabrics before, not even in the holos of his enjoining ceremony. Although Cardassia had come a long way since she was a very little girl, some things were still hard to come by, even for people as important as her parents.
Still there was something in his eyes that proved he wasn’t quite the Father she knew. He looked… sad. Lonely. Maybe even a little bit mean. Oh, Keshin was never going to believe her when she told him about this! If she even could, that was.
Since the day they’d been adopted, she and her brother had loved to hear their parents’ stories of life on Deep Space Nine. And Father loved to tell them, embellishing with glee even while Dad corrected him, until it became a big game. She and Keshin knew about the war, of course, and how their parents played a role in winning it, so Niska was aware it wasn’t all one big adventure.
But Father had never said he’d been sad.
She wanted to ask—the well-intentioned habit to pry, Father always said, one she’d learned from Dad—but he’d had a point. Anything she said or did now could cause problems in the future. Dad always got way too involved in explaining temporal mechanics whenever they asked questions about their time travel adventures, but he’d explained the Starfleet temporal prime directive clearly. How much damage had she already done by talking to Father? By revealing that she was from the future?
And to make matters worse, now they were on their way to the infirmary—the infirmary! How was she supposed to keep any secrets from Dad, even if he wasn’t quite the Dad she knew? Oh, Father may know when she and Keshin were lying or causing trouble, but it was Dad who always sat them down and required the rationalization behind their actions and used the “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed” face on them until they felt like lowly regnars squirming in the dirt.
As the infirmary doors swished shut behind her and Father, she shrank back and thought it might not be an issue after all.
“Hello, Garak. And who have we here?” Dad said, turning a smile towards her, and it was all she could do not to cringe.
He didn’t even look like Dad! Not really, anyway. The passage of time was much more visible on him than Father: the hair a touch longer, thicker, and darker; skin much smoother—not as many crinkly lines by his eyes and mouth when he smiled; and no beard! She’d never seen Dad without his stubbly beard, not even when she and Keshin had first met them in the orphanage. It had been a curiosity at the time; they’d never seen anyone with as much hair on their face before then. On their second meeting with their prospective parents, Keshin had even gone so far as to touch it without permission, which had made Dad laugh and laugh, and Niska had known they were going to be so happy.
But Dad didn’t look happy now. He didn’t laugh and his eyes didn’t twinkle. He looked right through her.
Niska blinked hard and tried to bite back her emotions. This wasn’t her dad, not really. Not yet. Dad would never look at her like that, like a… a stranger.
The doctor looked up at Father with a frown. “Odo told me a little of what happened,” he murmured, and even his voice sounded wrong!
With her own frown, Niska ignored their quiet conversation and listened to the faint hum that accompanied her dad’s accented voice before she realized: he wasn’t speaking Kardasi. He was speaking in Standard and the difference in tone was caused by the Universal Translator.
Although he’d taught her and Keshin some Standard, neither of them were fluent, and at home they stuck to Kardasi, even though sometimes Dad messed up the pronunciation. Then Father would correct him and playfully chastise him, and Dad would huff but his eyes would spark like they always do when Father flirts. Keshin found it embarrassing but Niska loved those moments, each a link in a chain of cherished memories.
None of that playful bickering was present in the infirmary, though. Dad scowled at Father, his eyes cold and hard, his second tongue carelessly dismissive.
Niska pressed tighter to Father, drawing their attention, and she was relieved to see the tension leave Dad’s face. “Well, young lady, why don’t we get you up on a biobed and we’ll make sure your little temporal trip had no ill effect on your health.”
She followed him across the room, making sure every few steps that Father was coming, too, and clambered up on the bed Dad indicated.
“Now,” Dad said, a PADD in his hand, “let’s start with some questions.”
Niska tried not to panic.
The Cardassian girl’s pupils constricted into pinpoints and there was an uptick in her respiration before Julian even managed to ask the first question.
“It’s okay,” he said, half-tempted to smooth back the hair from her temple, but first, it was unprofessional and, second, Cardassians placed a far greater emphasis on touch than humans and he didn’t want to scare her further. “If there’s anything you feel you can’t answer, just tell me so, and we’ll skip that one. Okay?” He waited until she nodded. “Okay. Name?”
“Niska Garak.”
Julian grinned at her. “Hello, Niska. I’m Dr. Bashir, but,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think you may already know of me, since I’m a friend of your father’s. Am I right?”
After a hesitant glance at Garak, she gave a little nod and the shadow of a mischievous smile crossed her face, making Julian chuckle.
“Good! This is confusing enough. I’d hate for you to have to learn a bunch of new names, too. Age?”
“Eleven and three quarters.”
“Thank you for being specific. I appreciate it.” And Julian continued through the normal patient intake questions, then grabbed a tricorder, which caught her interest. “Have you ever seen one like this? An older model than the one you’re used to, I suppose.”
She gave him an inscrutable look and didn’t answer but paid close attention as he walked her through the different readings. Her questions betrayed a far deeper understanding of medicine and medical technology than he’d expect in someone her age, and quite impressed him.
He threw a glance at Garak, who had his own, different unreadable look on his face as he watched the two of them. “I think you may have a future doctor on your hands, Garak.”
At this, Niska brightened visibly. “Yep! I want to be a Starfleet doctor. Maybe I’ll even be the first Cardassian in Starfleet.”
Julian let out a startled laugh while Garak groaned.
“And just who, my dear, put that patently absurd notion into your head?”
“Dad,” the girl said, then froze and cast a stricken glance at Julian and back to Garak, but Julian was delighted with this news and hardly noticed.
“Oh-ho! Did you hear that, Garak? You old sentimental fool,” he said with a grin, the first in a long time that didn’t feel forced. “You talk big about the dangers of the Federation but then you encourage your daughter—what is it?” He glanced between the two as he realized they were locked into some kind of stand-off. Garak’s face was set in the blandly interrogative expression that always made Julian want to start babbling, while Niska was looking anywhere but at either of them. “What did I miss?”
After a long moment, Garak stirred. “I believe I’ve mentioned before how dreadfully inefficient I find the Standard language and we’ve just stumbled upon one of the many reasons why. You see, in Kardasi, we don’t have all the extraneous terms of familial address that you do in Standard. To address your father, you say ‘Father’, and the Universal Translator is well aware of that.”
“But Niska said ‘Dad’...” Julian mused, looking at the girl in question who seemed fascinated by her own shoes. “So she must’ve said it in Standard since it didn’t translate.”
“Exactly, Doctor.”
“I know very well you’d never ask her to do that, so she couldn’t have been referring to you. Which means… Oh.” Julian stopped, poleaxed, and all but gaped at Garak. Garak had a male partner in the future? Granted, Julian had always wondered a little about Garak’s proclivities, especially at the beginning of their acquaintance when their interactions had always felt, well, flirty, so it wasn’t a total surprise after the initial few seconds.
But, oh, not just male; someone from the Federation, likely a Terran if Niska was using the word “dad”—Vulcans, Andorians, and the rest had their own words for “father”.
And it was someone who’d not only encouraged Niska to join Starfleet but to specifically join Starfleet Medical.
Oh.
Garak made a show of the journey down the promenade once they’d left the infirmary, Niska’s arm linked with his. Julian followed, a tense shadow looming behind them.
With flourishing gestures, Garak spoke of Quark’s, of his shop, the security office—all while his mind boggled. It couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Dare he even hope that not only would he survive this war, not only would he return to Cardassia Prime and somehow adopt this delightful girl, but he would do it all with Julian Bashir? He could never be so fortunate. He never had been before.
But it was a lovely thought, he admitted as he watched Niska bound around his shop with limitless energy, examining all the clothes with reverence. She chattered at Julian, whose mind finally seemed to catch up with their present circumstances and engaged with her, cautiously at first and then with increasing enthusiasm, and something hot and thick welled in Garak’s throat. He could see it in Niska’s mannerisms, in her unguarded excitement, her immediate and generous affection—she may look all Cardassian, but she was Julian’s, too.
He forced it down and waited a beat so his voice wouldn’t betray him. “Between the two of you, it’s a wonder my future self can ever get a word in.” The identical eye rolls he received in return incited a new wave of emotion, but he gritted his teeth through it and smiled placidly instead. “Am I to guess, my darling girl, that we don’t have access to such fabrics in the future? No, don’t answer,” he said, forestalling her uneasy admission with a flick of his hand. “I can tell by the state of your dress that’s the case. Very well, why don’t you pick out your favorite bolt?”
Niska’s fingers lingered over a particularly fine—and expensive—bolt of dark green Andorian silk. “But Father, I can’t bring it into the future with me, can I?”
“Definitely not,” Julian interrupted firmly, shooting an annoyed frown Garak’s way. “We don’t know what impact that would have on the timeline.”
Dropping her hand back to her side, Niska struggled to put on a brave face and nearly succeeded, except for the wobbly sadness in her chin ridges. “I understand.” She blinked rapidly up at Julian. “What if I accidentally already changed things? What if—what if you never come to Cardassia now and you never adopt u—me? What if I don’t even get born now?”
“Oh, well, I, er… I suppose the fact that you haven’t winked out of existence should provide some measure of relief, hmm?” Julian raised a hesitant hand to Niska’s temple and smoothed her hair back, and she visibly calmed at the touch. He continued to soothe her, the motion growing in confidence with each stroke. “At the very worst, you may have created some kind of alternate timeline, so you’ll still exist in your future—or rather, present—but maybe not in ours.” When met with the face of two outraged Cardassians, he fell back a step. “What?”
“Doctor, really.”
“Dad!”
“It’s a possibility we should take into consideration! Temporal mechanics are tricky.”
Garak sighed and swooped in to save Julian from himself. “Why don’t we take this lovely fabric and I’ll wrap it up very well and hide it here in the shop? That way you still get to keep it if you can find it in the future and you’ll know for sure that you’re not an alternate timeline. Does that sound agreeable?” he asked Niska.
Her face brightened. “Really? Oh, but what about Kesh—I mean, it wouldn’t be fair if only I—that is… Hmm.” She pressed her mouth into a thin line, obviously to keep from saying anything too revealing, and Garak decided to take pity.
“Why don’t you pick as many bolts as you want and I’ll wrap them up?”
“Thank you, Father!” she cried, throwing her arms around him and squeezing tight before whirling on her heel and examining all the fabrics anew.
Julian sighed. “I missed something again, didn’t I?”
With a hum, Garak moved to his work table to begin protectively wrapping the silk. “I have a feeling,” he said, voice low, as Julian leaned in, “she may not be an only child.”
“You think?” Julian turned to watch their daughter as she debated between two different types of fleece. “That’s probably for the best. I hated it. Do you have siblings?”
“To the best of my knowledge, no, Doctor. But with the father I had, it was likely a blessing.” He paused and considered Niska again.
How had he, the son of Enabran Tain, raised a girl so… happy and well-adjusted? This girl had no fear of him, only affection. Even in that first moment when she thought she’d been caught breaking the rules, her faith in him had not wavered. If it had, she wouldn’t have turned to him, but rather away. She had never known harsh punishment or humiliation or pain; not from his hands, at any rate. Had he really been able to break the cycle, to learn from Tain’s mistakes?
Julian’s mind must have been on a similar train of thought as he admitted, “I never wanted to be a dad. With a father like mine, why would I? I’d hated him for nearly two decades after I found out what they’d done to me and yet somehow I couldn’t shake the fear that I’d have to make the same decision. And I didn’t trust myself enough to believe I wouldn’t do it, too: replace my child with a better model. Play God.” He snorted derisively and looked away, folding in on himself for a brief moment before he shook it off and shot a small smirk at Garak. “Looks like we didn’t do too terrible a job, eh?”
Garak inclined his head in agreement even as he raised a dubious eye ridge. “Then you believe she’s really from our future? Our shared future?”
Julian straightened and looked away. “I’m not sure what I believe. It’s not too terrible a thought, is it? A lot more optimistic fate than I’ve hoped for in at least a year.”
“Yes, far more than that for me,” Garak said, no small concession, and continued wrapping even as he eyed Julian covertly. Was that it? Julian had nothing else to say on the matter? Nearly a year of strained friendship, growing more tenuous all the time, only to find out that they were married in the future, and his only thought was that it was a better fate than what he’d hoped for? Marriage to him—Garak, the spy, the interrogator—satisfied Julian’s treacly Terran ideal of a happy ending?
Before he could say as much, a bolt of dark gray fleece landed on the counter and Niska beamed up at him. “This one is perfect!” she said and then proceeded to ask a hundred questions while Garak wrapped them up and found the perfect hiding space behind a false panel in the storeroom walls.
After Miles and Jadzia explained their theories behind Niska’s arrival and their plan to get her back, Julian did his best to explain it to Niska, ignoring her sad little frown and the corresponding tug in his chest. “Hey,” he said, gathering her as close as possible at one of the Replimat tables, “it’ll be okay. Don’t you want to see your real parents again—the future us, I mean?”
She nodded and pressed her face into his chest, and Julian had a sudden vision of doing this with a much smaller version of her, after some bad dream during a dust storm, the lights low, Kukalaka watching over them from atop a bookshelf. It was so clear in his mind that he could almost feel the oppressive heat of the room and hear the murmur of Garak and a different, higher voice nearby.
Back in the Replimat, he pressed his cheek to her sleek hair and sighed. No, that future wasn’t a terrible thought at all, even if it was hardly anything he’d expected. Closing his eyes, he pressed a kiss to Niska’s temple and wondered if it was still a possibility, and if it was what he really wanted.
“Here we are!” Garak said, setting a tray down in the middle of the table. “Red leaf tea for the doctor and myself, and one root beer from Quark’s for the young miss.” As he handed the glass bottle to Niska, he tutted. “I do hope this isn’t a frequent indulgence.”
Niska shook her head, a very human gesture that pulled at Julian’s heartstrings. “No, Father. I’ve never had it before but Dad told me all about it.” She stared at the bottle like it was forbidden treasure, mesmerized by the bubbles floating along the sides up to the top. When she looked up at Julian, as if asking permission, he gave her a nod and got a brilliant smile in return. At her first taste, her face screwed up, but she laughed, too. “It’s so fizzy!”
Julian chuckled. “That it is. But do you like it?”
She took a longer drink and seemed to hold it on her tongue for a few seconds before swallowing and shaking her head sadly. “No, I’m sorry, Dad. Father was right: it’s too sweet.”
Garak smiled broadly and tapped his hands on the table’s edge. “Ah! There may just be hope for you yet, my dear.”
Niska’s response was a roll of her eyes that made Julian smile as he struggled not to do the same. “You always say that.”
“Does he?” Julian laughed as he swapped her bottle of root beer for his tea, basking in her grateful smile. “Well, I’ll have you know that he’s been using that line almost as long as I’ve known him. I’m surprised you don’t have more original material in the future, Garak.”
“Why mess with a classic, my dear Doctor? Besides, it should gratify your infernal Federation optimism. Hope springs eternal, and all that.” Garak gave him an arch look from above the rim of his mug, and Julian’s breath caught.
For a moment, it felt like it did before—before Zimmerman, before the internment camp, before the Founders’ homeworld, before the crashed spy program in the holosuite or Tain’s ill-fated trip to the Gamma Quadrant. It was him and Garak, sitting in the Replimat, tossing barbs back and forth without all that damnable distance and disappointment and pain between them.
And for a moment, he almost believed it could be true: that he and Garak would get out of this alive and together, and they’d go on to have their family, and everything would turn out… well. Happily, even, if Niska was any proof.
The click of Niska’s mug against the tabletop brought Julian back to himself with a start just in time to see Miles giving him the wave from the entryway. It was time for her to go back.
They made a sad procession from the Replimat into Ops, Miles chatting with Niska on the way. Her easy familiarity with him made Julian smile—at least that was one relationship he’d retained in the future he could make sense of.
On the pad of the transporter, Niska gave Miles a brave smile and held out her hand, palm faced forward. “I can’t wait to tell Yoshi all about this!” she said.
“Oh?” Miles hesitantly pressed his palm to hers briefly and grinned as they broke contact. “Talk to him much, do you?”
“No, he says I’m a pest,” she answered with a bit of a pout before her face cleared. “But now I have a reason to call him!”
“Well, you tell him his dad says to be nice, especially to brave young ladies.” Miles gave her a little nod and stepped back to allow him and Garak to say their goodbyes privately.
Not sure where to begin, Julian gave Garak a helpless look, which he took as his cue to step forward and embrace Niska. Pulling back a bit, he said, “You remember where to look to find the fabric, right? Third panel on the back wall.”
“Yes, Father.” She pressed her face to his chest, shoulders shaking, and Julian had to look away to quell his own wave of emotions.
Garak tucked her close again. “Oh, Niska, my darling. You’ll see me again in just a moment—the me from your time. It will all be well.”
“But you’ll still be here, and you’ll be sad again!” she cried. “I don’t want you to be sad.”
“And how could I, knowing I have a kind and thoughtful child to look forward to, hmm? Now,” Garak said, falling back on his heels and pressing his forehead to hers, “you be good for your fathers, yes?” At her nod, he bussed her temple and stepped back.
Julian all but lifted her from her feet with his hug and pressed his face to her temple. “I’m so glad you came,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to meet you and bring you home, and learn about all the things you couldn’t tell me.”
He felt her smile against his shoulder. “I can’t wait until you grow a beard!” she said with a laugh, patting at his cheeks.
Surprised, Julian laughed, too. “A beard, huh? Now what’ll you do if you show up and your dad’s face is bare?”
She flipped her hand in that distinctive Cardassian equivalent to a shrug. “Father likes it better, so he’ll talk him into growing it.”
“Well, then, I guess I should know when I’m beat.” Julian pressed their foreheads together as Garak had, and dropped a kiss against her hair as well. “Alright. I think it’s time.” He stepped back with a shaky smile. “You’ll see us again soon.”
And within a few seconds, in a shimmer of light, she was gone.
Exhaling, Julian walked down the steps to lean against the railing next to Garak. “All of that and the day’s hardly even half gone.”
With an agreeable hum, Garak straightened and offered a thin smile. “Quite the entertaining morning, I must say. Far better than taking up the hems on the dabo girls’ uniforms again at Quark’s behest. Well, Doctor, would you care for a bit of lunch?”
And Julian was tempted—unbelievably so—to fall back into their old pattern, regular lunches with a side of banter. But even knowing that a refusal could put that perfect storybook future out of reach, he couldn’t accept. Too much had happened and not enough time had passed.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to get back to the infirmary,” he said and tried not to notice the grim resignation in Garak’s expression. The sadness, just as Niska had pointed out. But hell, wasn’t it affecting them all anymore? “Maybe another time… soon, if we can manage.”
“One would hope at least within the next thirteen years,” Garak agreed and took his leave without another word.
Julian watched him go, cursing himself, but still not quite able to change his own mind.
The transporter beams had barely dissipated before Niska was pulled into warm, familiar arms.
“You’re safe!” Dad said, his voice scratchy, hugging her tight. “Thank God. You’re back and you’re safe. Are you out of your mind?” He held her at arms’ length, his face all red beneath the beard, his eyes wet. “What were you thinking, Niska? Anything could have happened! We didn’t know where you’d got to, only that you’d disappeared and Keshin was crying and the computer couldn’t find you.” He cupped her face between his hands. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
She immediately started crying and threw herself against him again. “I’m sorry, Dad! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go anywhere! Just down to the promenade.”
“Oh, my love, it’s okay. You’re okay now. She’s alright,” he said to someone behind her, and then suddenly she was pressed between Dad and Father, while Keshin took her hand.
After a few minutes, when her tears turned to sniffles, Father cleared his throat and took a step back. “Well, I think we’ve created quite enough of a spectacle, don’t you? Why don’t we go up to our guest quarters and we can talk about what happened and, more importantly, how much of an apology you owe Ensign Wilby?”
Niska started to agree before she remembered with a gasp. “Oh, but wait! We need to go to your old shop, Father! There’s something hidden in the walls.”
“In the walls? Don’t be absurd, my darling. What could possibly be hidden there?”
A Starfleet officer with a Bajoran earring and sleek dark hair stepped forward. Niska knew they’d been introduced but the name escaped her. “It’s not currently occupied,” she said with a shrug. “It couldn’t hurt to take a look.”
Dad raised his brows, his eyes dancing. “That’s quite generous of you, Ro, but we wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“No, Dad, you don’t understand!” Niska pulled at his hand. “We have to go look. It’s important, I promise.”
Dad looked at Father, who sighed and turned back to her. “Very well. Lead us on your merry chase for waterfowl.”
“It’s ‘goose chase’, Elim, and you know that very well,” Dad corrected with a smirk and then waved Niska toward the shop. “After you, my love.”
After a few minutes of Father reminiscing about the shop, a brief pause for Dad to bicker with Father about his paranoid hidey-holes, and a small struggle with the false panel, Niska finally got her glimpse of the package. Instead of the wrapped parcels she’d seen only hours earlier, there was an airtight metal case. “It’s here, but it looks different,” she said, hesitant to touch it, wondering what it could mean. Had she accidentally changed the timeline after all?
“Ah, yes, I vaguely remember now. I believe we had an infestation of voles shortly after I hid the original package,” Father explained, “and I became concerned that they’d chew through something flimsier and ruin that fabric.” He smiled, the little one that Niska knew meant he had a secret. “I couldn’t have you thinking you’d affected things after all.”
Niska grinned and gleefully tugged the box loose.
Back in their guest quarters, as the kids examined the new fabric as well as the other things Garak had added to the case over his last few years on Deep Space Nine, Julian sighed and leaned into his husband on the sofa.
“Is it strange that I’m relieved?” he asked with a small laugh. “After all this time, even after I chose to come to Cardassia, even after we found the twins and adopted them, I couldn’t quite be sure that we’d find it. The path I took, the choices I’d made...” He shook his head. “It would’ve been so easy to lose it all.”
Garak took his hand and tangled their fingers together. “I must admit, I too had my doubts. Too many variables, too many avenues at each crossroad.” He paused. “When I left you behind to return home, I cursed myself nightly, certain I had ruined it all. I have always been prepared to sacrifice whatever necessary for Cardassia, but to sacrifice this future… many times I wondered if Cardassia was truly worth it.”
“Elim.” Julian closed his eyes against the crest of emotion and pressed his cheek to Garak’s shoulder. “You old romantic.”
With a huff, Garak tightened his grip. “Well, if you’re going to get insulting about it…”
“Oh no, you don’t. Remember,” Julian said, turning his head to nip at where his cheek had just lain, reveling in the jump in Garak’s pulse and the stutter in his breath, “we’re still sharing these quarters with the kids.”