Garak looked at every detail as he let the Starfleet officers guide him, gapping slightly and not even realizing he did so. The ship was so familiar to him… He tried to spot the differences with the Defiant, but there were few. Once in the bridge, only the plaque that identified the Numancia struck him as different, and the crew.
And it was not enough.
For months, during the last war, he had lived in a vessel just like that one, he had been part of her crew. He remembered very deeply his doubts, even his borderline self-loathing as he fought his own people, even if he tried hard to convince himself that it was all for his loved Cardassia.
Finally, history had decided to prove him right, but he was lately conceding to himself that actually, only his egoistical sense of opportunity and self-preservation had made him serve the Federation. And he had been granted his prize.
He had gone back to his country, to his home, even if the few he had called family were already dead, and the Cardassia he had known… his Cardassia had also been killed and around his long lost streets only walked ghosts.
Garak had come to realize he was one of them. A ghost. A shadow. As a spy, and one who had been forced into exile, he should be used to it. He was not.
He had never thought of coming back to the Federation either, he had never thought he would put a step in a Defiant-class ship again. And there he was. He could say that destiny liked mocking him, but he did not believe in destiny. He made his own choices, even if the consequences were not the ones he desired.
The weirdest part of being back in the Starfleet ship was the sensations he was feeling. Oddly enough, he found himself missing the place, longing to be part of the crew again.
The young Human commander had took the command chair with the confidence only experience could give. Ba'el had taken the Science post.
Garak had contemplated his options and, finding Tactical 2 unmanned, had went directly for it. He had not yet sat, his fingers had not yet touched the controls, when Song's icy voice had halted him, "Until your position is clarified by the admiral, you will stay in this ship strictly as an observant," she had pointed out.
An "oh" had formed absently in his lips, he had doubted for an instant, and finally conceded, "As you wish; it's your ship."
He had taken two steps back from the station and had remained there, watching her, his eyes impenetrable. Song had turned her own gaze to stone. Garak knew there was no real hostility in that look. He had studied the commander and all her people before boarding the Numancia. Somewhat, he pitied them, so young and so much used to war; even if he realized it was a contradiction that he did not felt the same for himself; he could not regret any of the crimes he had been part of; they were just his choice of life, and remorse was only a hinder to him.
"Sit down," she finally accepted, her voice as hard as ever, "but don't dare to touch anything."
He bowed slightly and did as she commanded. It was easy to dance to others' tunes while in his head his own still played and ruled. The only problem was that he was not sure of what his play was this time, and his own unexpected conflicted emotions only confused him more.
Why did he feel more comfortable in that alien ship than he had ever felt in his own rebuilt house? He could not understand yet.