Chapter Text
Ro turned her head on her pillow, unsurprised to find the man sharing her bed already awake and regarding her in turn. His brown eyes, shortly-cropped dark hair, and the smile that he seemed to delight in offering her sent a kind of warmth through her chest.
"I do delight in smiling at you," he said. "You inspire them."
She took a breath, reaching out and placing a hand on his smooth chest, enjoying the feel of him beneath her palm and the surety of his presence in a way she’d rarely allowed herself to enjoy before.
"Because…?" Nitt said, with a small smile.
"Are you really going to keep explaining me to myself?" Ro said, sitting up on one elbow and tapping the centre of his forehead, just between the ends of the V-shaped ridges that rose above his Brenari nose.
"Are you really not going to listen?" Nitt reached out and took her wrist, then kissed her palm.
"Because I only allow myself pleasures when I know they will end, or ones I can hide my real self from," Ro said. "Which is a common trait among those who’ve experienced the kinds of losses we’ve faced."
He slid his hand up her arm, behind her back, and then pulled her against his chest.
"Someday, Ro Laren," Nitt said, stroking her hair. "There will be happiness you don’t need to hide from."
*
The yellow alert jolted Commander Ro Laren from the pleasant memory, and she took her seat beside Captain Aaron Cavit as he turned to Lieutenant Scott Rollins and said, "Scott?"
"Two Devore warships have pulled into position," Rollins said. "Tactical formation."
"Cavit to Cing’ta," Cavit said. "Status?"
"All set, Captain." The Bolian’s voice was calm.
"Bridge to Main Engineering," Cavit said. "How are we doing, Alex?"
"We’re ready, Captain."
Ro exchanged a glance with him as Rollins said, "They’ve powered up their weapons."
"Right on cue," Ro said, doing her best to control her anger. "Everything by their book."
"They’re hailing," Lieutenant Sahreen Lan said from Ops.
Cavit didn’t have to tell her to put them through—the Devore didn’t allow outsiders in their territory without outsiders granting them full access to their communications systems—and the face Ro expected appeared on the screen. Short-shaved white hair, light brown eyes, occipital ridges as well as a singular ridge that rose toward the centre of his forehead—both far less pronounced than a Cardassian, but similar enough she was reminded of them regardless—and, after a beat, a grim twist of his lips.
"Gaharay vessel, prepare to be inspected," the familiar Devore inspector—Prax, this one was called—said. "Crew members are instructed to step away from their stations."
"We’re aware of your protocols," Cavit said, with an air of amiability Ro admired.
But Prax didn’t so much as pause in his list of rules. "Sidearms and scanning equipment are to be set aside. Deviation from this or any other inspection protocols will not be tolerated."
Cavit nodded at her.
She tapped her comm panel. "All decks, all hands; Prepare to be boarded by Devore inspection teams. Give them your full cooperation." Her voice—despite doing her best—definitely didn’t land on "amiable."
"Transporter readings on decks fifteen, eleven, four and one," Lan said, from where she’t taken a step back from Ops. She’d had to lean to make it out, Ro saw.
Music—a tivara playing alone at first, beginning a song Ro knew was a Bajoran serena—began to play throughout the ship.
Cavit met her gaze, and she took a breath.
"Captain Cavit, Commander Ro." A voice came over the channel as well. "Please report to the Ready Room."
*
The younger black-haired Devore man was—by all standards—far more handsome than Prax, who loomed by the replicator like a burly, silver-haired thug alongside a younger, broader soldier, and his smile as Ro and Cavit stepped through the doors certainly didn’t suffer for any lack of charm.
"Good morning, Captain, Commander." Inspector Kashyk leaned back in Cavit’s desk chair, his black uniform as perfectly groomed and tailored as ever, right down to the high collar and black gloves. "I took the liberty of playing this music throughout your ship. I thought it might help your crew relax—and it’s one of your people’s compositions." He eyed Ro. "Sometimes these inspections can be stressful."
"They can," she said.
"I’ve replicated some tea. Earl Grey, as usual?"
"Thank you," Cavit said, speaking for both of them as Kashyk poured tea from a teapot she knew belonged to Doctor Jeff Fitzgerald, into cups that—like the teapot—were normally kept in the counselor’s office.
"Prax here still refuses to try it but then, he's a man of few pleasures," Kashyk said, nodding to Prax, who took the other soldier and left.
"Please, Captain, Commander," Kashyk said, with a broad, open smile. "Make yourself at home."
Ro wanted to stab him.
Instead, she sat and accepted a cup of tea.