She leaned against the railing of the Promenade's upper deck. As she looked down at the milling peoples she felt someone put their hands on the railing beside her. She looked over and saw his familiar face.
"I find it strange how things happen n life," he said. "You are still as beautiful as ever."
"You haven't changed much yourself."
"Ah, but there you are mistaken, because I am a very changed man. Wars have a way of doing that to people."
"Elim Garak, I refuse to believe that you are so changed that I wouldn't know you. After all, I know you better than anyone besides yourself."
"That is very true my dear," Garak said. "The crowds are different from the ones that were here when we first met Ara."
"I know, but during the occupation many things were different."
Twenty years earlier…
Serin Ara leaned against the railing on the upper level of the Promenade. She hated the station, and she hated watching her people suffer at the Cardassian's hands. A man put his hands on the rail beside her. She looked up at him, and he looked down at her.
"What are you doing here," he asked. "Shouldn't you be with the rest of your people?"
"I'm permitted here."
"On whose authority?"
"The Prefect. You must not be a regular officer here, or you would have known that."
"You're right, I'm not. I was just stationed here temporarily; they're going to transfer me to Bajor soon. My name is Garak; I am a Legate."
"My name is Serin Ara, I am a singer for the officers here. The Prefect took me in when I was eight, so I've been living with him for the past seven years."
"Ah, you must be the one they call 'The Siren'."
Here eyes narrowed, "I don't like that nickname."
"Why?"
"I just don't."
"You've been raised with far too many freedoms, your caretaker should be more careful with you. You speak your mind as if it mattered and you think that you have authority when you have none. You are a very undisciplined girl."
"I don not disrespect authority, but I don't like being interrogated by an officer who is unaware of special directions concerning a slave."
"You should mind your words, they can cause you trouble. I must go now, goodbye."
"Goodbye," Ara said back. Then they separated, and she walked to Quark's for a drink. She entered the bar and took a seat. Quark turned to her and gave her a smile.
"Well hello Ara, what should I get you, your usual?"
"No, I'm not in the mood for spring wine today, do you have anything that's sweet but bitter?"
"Sweet but bitter," he pondered. "That's an odd request, but I do have a drink like that, though it is rather expensive…"
"Would you deny anything to one of the Prefect's favorites?"
"No, I'm not stupid. Your credit is good, I'll even give it to you for a substantial discount."
She laughed. "That's just because I live with the man who could kill you."
"Of course, but he better only be living with you."
Their voices became low as they spoke. "Thankfully he hasn't tried anything yet, but I fear he may soon. I pray that he won't touch me, but the prophets have never smiled upon me." Quark nodded, and then in a louder voice she asked, "So, what is this drink called?"
"Andanian Mist."
"Sounds good to me."
Present Day
Ara and Garak walked side by side into Quark's, where they sat behind the bar. Quark looked at hem. He gazed in distrust at Garak, and then he stared for some time at Ara, but he was unable to place her face.
"What'll you be having," he asked.
"An Andanian Mist," she answered with a smile.
Quark's eyes widened, and he came around the front of the bar to look at her. She stood up, and he took her hands.
"Ara," he asked; she nodded. "I haven't seen you in ten years, you left when the occupation ended, you and your daughter. She doesn't know who her father is does she"
Ara's eyes brightened even more. "Oh, I told her, but her father isn't Dukat."
"He isn't?" Quark asked.
"No, but you do know him," she said as she nestled beside Garak.
Quark's jaw dropped. "Garak, he's the father of Meliyen?"
"Yes, I am," Garak replied.
TBC...
I hope you like it, please review so that I know what you think: )