Summary: Sequel (or 'Part Two') of "Timelines" listed under ST:TNG, rating T. Probably necessary to read that story first. In "Amending Fate" we continue to follow Deidre O'Malley, Gul Mosel, and Captain Picard as they attempt to alter the timeline and subvert the Romulan plot (and we actually find out what that plot is! Squee!). Garak, Dr. Bashir, and a few off-kilter OC's make appearances, as well.
Disclaimer: Let me reiterate: Star Trek and its subsidiaries ain't mine, don't own em'. Any name you don't recognize from the series=all mine. All the rest are borrowed from their respective owners (Paramount & Co., etc.).
Rating: Again with the bloody ratings. M, ok, it's M. Down and dirty For the most part. Enjoy.
Amending Fate: Chapter One
The Replimat was crowded this particular noontide, Dr. Bashir thought, no doubt about that. Despite the close quarters, he nevertheless found a table tucked away along the edge of the Promenade. It must be his lucky day, he mused, carrying his plate to the table and claiming it. Now, if only Garak would be on time, then he would be able to eat relatively unhurried and still have time for dessert before returning to the Infirmary. His luck seemed to continue as he soon observed his friend making his way through the throng of pedestrians on the Promenade. Standing slightly, Bashir waved to the tailor, who nodded back in acknowledgement.
"My," Garak said, having finally meandered his way through (most people tended to step out of his way when they noticed his Cardassian ridges). "It certainly is crowded today." Setting his plate on the table, he took his seat with wearied ease.
"Yes, it is," Bashir replied, tucking eagerly into his Szechwan style noodles. He never started eating before Garak arrived and noticed that his friend always paid him the same courtesy. It was just manners, really. "The Enterprise docked this morning," Julian continued, spearing a piece of pork, "that must explain it. I have a meeting with their doctor this afternoon. She wants to update her medical files on the Bajoran immuno-deficiency response system. Apparently, I've become a bit of an expert."
"As well you should be," Garak complimented, picking at his plate. "I'm sure living on this station has been instructive. The Bajorans are such a…fragile race, wouldn't you say? Always coming down with some ailment or another." Garak feigned a sigh into his pudding, glancing surreptitiously at Bashir to see if he took the bait.
"Now Garak," the doctor began, and Garak had to suppress a pleased grin. He never tired of this game. "I can't believe you would take so callous and unreasonable a view," the doctor continued. "The Bajoran constitution is remarkably hearty, but with sixty years of poor health care and almost non-existent medical facilities, it's not surprising they are more susceptive to communicable diseases."
"I am aware of their circumstances, doctor," Garak continued, "but it really is no excuse. Take Cardassians, for example. How often have I come into your infirmary with a sniffle or a cough? Never, as you well know. And do I take any preventative medication? Not at all. Now, I see your skepticism, but I am a firm believer that healthy eating and brisk exercise several times a week wards off any ill-health."
Bashir rolled his eyes. He shoveled another bite into his mouth, a noodle hanging loosely down his chin. He slurped it between his lips, much to Garak's amusement, before continuing. "I completely agree," he said, having chomped and swallowed quickly. "With a balanced diet and exercise, the body can maintain a permanent level of good health, however…"and here his voice trailed off as his eye caught something on the Promenade.
Garak noticed that Bashir's mouth had dropped open slightly and that his eyes gleamed. He knew from repeated observation that it was a spark reserved only for particularly difficult medical cases and particularly beautiful women. Based on their locale, Garak assumed it could only be the latter, and was pleased to find he was correct as Bashir slowly regained his senses.
"Now that," Julian remarked, "is an extraordinarily beautiful woman." Not meaning to disregard Garak, Bashir nevertheless found that he could not tear his eyes away as the woman easily made her way through the crowd. She held herself well, Julian noted: her gait and her carriage were carried with self-reliant authority and poise. She bore a crown of dark hair pinned loosely back; and her light skin was remarkably offset by her dark ensemble. From this distance, Julian could not distinguish the material: perhaps it was silk, maybe leather, but it hardly mattered, as her jacket and pants encased her splendidly. In all, she was a stunning and thoroughly arousing sight. If Jadzia Dax was a handsome coquette, he marveled, this woman was a goddess. And suddenly, as if sensing the admiring eyes on her, she turned her head and glared at him.
Garak was well aware of his friend's thoughts as Bashir's eyes flickered and glistened in partially-veiled lust. He sighed. Well, if he must pretend to ogle some beautiful woman in order to continue their conversation, so be it. There were far worse fates. Garak twisted around and searched the Promenade. Almost immediately, despite the multitudes lingering about, he found the object of his friend's desire. She was difficult to overlook, that much was certain. As Garak ran his eyes over her figure, recognition and dread seeped into his stomach. And when she turned her head to stare at their table, he noted that her face also held the same recognition of him. His heart leapt into his throat and lodged itself there. Just as he thought life on the Bajoran station had settled into a comfortable routine, here was someone to disturb it. Nanette had arrived.
Bashir gasped suddenly. "Garak, did you see that?" he exclaimed. "She just nodded at us. And now she's coming over. Oh hell, what am I going to say?"
Garak murmured, "Say nothing at all, doctor. Believe me, say nothing." His eyes never dared to leave her face, which now held a rather sinister smirk. Against his will (Cardassian discipline be damned, he thought, there were some situations even he couldn't control), his heart thumped in anticipation.
Bashir glanced at him, puzzled. "Whatever do you mean, Garak? She's gorgeous. Do you think she arrived on the Enterprise?"
"I would find that highly unlikely," Garak said. Almost next to impossible, he added, silently. If he knew Nanette, and he did, intimately, her business here was not appropriate for Starfleet. He sensed then, in the depths of his intuition, that his life had departed its new-found normalcy, and subsequently, things were about to get very interesting. Either that, or very, very bad. Garak did not know, at the moment, which option he preferred. Still, he was secretly pleased to see Nanette after nearly a decade. Disturbed, aggravated, and shocked, that much was true as well, but it hardly mattered. The time for his comeuppance had arrived at last. He grinned just as sinisterly as she.
Nanette continued toward their table but as she came within a few yards, her way was blocked by Constable Odo. As Garak and Bashir watched, intrigued, the shapeshifter rose in front of her and crossed his arms, glaring imperiously. Though the lunch companions were too far away to hear their words above the din of the crowd, they could guess the sentiment. Odo apparently said something, and the woman, Nanette, nodded. Odo, his back to Garak and Bashir, suddenly grasped her arm. She smiled, as if mildly amused (though Garak knew by her posture, so familiar to him even after all these years, that she was anything but pleased at Odo's interruption). Still, she allowed Odo to lead her away, presumably to his security office, and as they disappeared into the crowd, Bashir sighed at his bad luck.
"Well, I wonder what that was all about," Julian said, picking up his fork again. "She was stunning. I wonder what Odo could be thinking."
Garak laughed suddenly, though it was not a benevolent one, and Bashir glared at him. "My dear doctor," Garak said, his laughter subsiding only somewhat, "your naïveté is refreshing, I'll give you that." The Cardassian laughed again and shook his head. His young friend eyed him with that disgruntled frown.
"Sometimes I really don't understand you, Garak," Bashir said. But, Julian supposed, as he observed Garak's eyes, which held a rather unsettling glint, sometimes that was for the best.