-Begin Audio Recording-

Lonnie, I don't know when this message is going to reach you. Don't be offended, but I don't even know where the Sugihara is these days, operational security being what it is. I hope this message finds you safe and well.

I just missed you and needed to talk. Even if you won't hear this for weeks. Ever thus goes the war.

You know that Starbase 371 is handling more than its share of casualties. What you don't know is that, on top of the usual victims of skirmishes and sneak attacks and general nonspecific bloodshed, we're also getting the bulk of ships returning from the Chin'toka system. We're already sending more and more people back to the core systems, and we're still overloaded with the critical cases.

If I'm lucky, I'll have some time to spend with our longer term residents - the officers who aren't critical enough to be at risk, but aren't really well enough for transport. So they're stuck here. Since they're not in danger any longer, they don't get our focus - not like they deserve. We're just too busy.

These people burned their hands off and blinded themselves fighting their ships, so that their fellow officers could see home again, and we stash them in an infirmary on deck 32 and leave them there to nap and heal and read lists of the dead.

(A pause, then the sound of glassware)

I'm on shift in 8 hours, I have no business drinking. And this is no fucking synthehol. But I'm getting there.

There was a bad fight last week. We captured some sort of communications array or network or whatever, and had to hold it while the big brains tried to tap into it. One team of a few dozen of starfleet's finest versus legions of disposable Jem'Hadar.

Another ship came in to resupply them, and left their command team on the surface when the Dominion came to chase them off. 8 days, they stood their ground.

(The glass is set down heavily, after another drink)

They held.

(Sounds of another drink being poured)

7 officers and one diplomat were transferred here on the Veracruz. Yes, they had a diplomat during a ground engagement. Idiots.

5 of the officers, we treated for wounds and burns and exhaustion. In other words, Tuesday. The 6th, we couldn't save him. He was stabbed in the back with a nasty looking Jem'Hadar knife. It was long odds, but he made it into stasis and we had to try. There was too much damage. Vargas, his name was.

(Another drink)

Did you know that we have a Ferengi cadet now? I didn't. He grew up on DS9, of all places, and put in an application and got Captain Sisko himself to approve it and off he went. Hell of a kid. Small even for a Ferengi.

This planet they were on had some EM field on it, kept the tricorders from working. So this teenager marches toward the Jem'Hadar camp with nothing but his Ferengi ears and a phaser rifle, and two officers who needed Intel.

The surviving officer carried him back, still burning. Their chief never came back.

The field doctor did what he could - stopped the bleeding, stabilized metabolism, all the usual steps - but the leg was almost incinerated. Dominion blasters are fucking nasty.

And he couldn't do much else, because the Jem'Hadar picked that moment to march on the array. So the doctor gets to pick up a phaser and go to war.

(Another drink, then another pour)

They held.

(The glass is set down.)

So Cadet Nog is wheeled into my bay, sedated and unconscious. I can't even begin to look at the leg before I hear a commotion. An older Ferengi, dressed like... well, like a Ferengi. What had to be a business suit, that sort of thing. The sort of outfit you wear to impress people.

Our Diplomat, there on orders from the Grand Nagus, was Cadet Nog's uncle. And he insisted that I accept a slip of Latinum, so that he could enter his nephew's personal space.

Not wanting to argue, I waved him in. Security eyeballed me, and I had to nod twice before they left.

He started in on me. How much to save the leg, can we keep him asleep until it's done, and so on. I have seen so many shell shocked soldiers and officers, but I never saw a diplomat lose it like that.

I sat him down. "Mr Quark," I said, "I'm going to do my best to make your nephew as whole as I can. If that means he gets a new leg, then we get him a new leg. If the doctors and I can save the one he's got, then Mazel Tov - we'll do that."

"But we're not going to charge you to take better care of Nog. He gets our best because when Starfleet called he said yes. He wears the uniform. That's it."

Quark couldn't understand it. I think he was wrecked with grief and worry and exhaustion. Finally I got to him.

"Look, if there are extra costs, will you let me bill you later? I can't give you an estimate until I know what we need." That worked.

(Another drink)

Like we'd bill him for medical care. But it was a language he understood, and it calmed him down. I had him wait in the next room while we got our look at Nog.

The cadet was awake, and had heard the last part of my talk with his uncle. Lonnie, this kid is on my table with a fried leg, apologizing for his uncle and my inconvenience.

I told him to relax, it was no problem, and so on. I made sure the neural blockers were still working to keep the pain down, then told him we were going to put him back to sleep.

As he zoned out, he told me to tell Captain Sisko and Chief Larkin that it was worth it. That this was all worth it.

(Another drink, then an empty glass on the desk)

Chief Nadia Larkin was shot in the back by Jem'Hadar soldiers. She was shot in the back because Nog heard them coming and warned her of an ambush. Killed in the line of duty, Stardate thus and so. She left behind a husband and a dog. No children - I learned later that they decided to wait until after the war. Husband works at the Palais de Concorde, in the press office.

So I'm putting a new leg on this kid. I think it will work, even though I've never done this with a Ferengi before. Every day, for the rest of his life, he will see this leg and remember why he has it. He'll remember others who died, of course, but he will think of Nadia Larkin every day. Every fucking day.

Graahhh!

(Sound of glass smashing against a bulkhead)

Lonnie, I love you. I pray that you are safe. I'm safe and busy. But even out here, I haven't escaped the war unscathed.

When this is over, I'm done. I'm going to go home and wait for you. Don't let me drag you out of the stars, Lonnie - but for me, I'm out.

It's not worth it anymore.

A/N: This was the first fic I ever felt brave enough to post online for public viewing. Even now, thousands of words later, I'm still proud of it.

Originally posted at Ao3.