A/N: ahhhh it's been so long! But here we have it: chapter 12! :)

The corridor was dark and long. As the engines hummed - and occasionally floundered - the stars were simple tiny pinpricks in the sky.

Daphne sighed, wondered how much had changed. She even began to wonder how long she'd been gone for.

Belen had been good enough, or perhaps patient enough, to let her change into proper clothes for the journey to her new quarters. It wasn't as if she had much luggage to take with her anyway. And Daphne knew that prolonging the inevitable was good for no one, least of all her.

"No small talk today then?" she eventually asked, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell of ore.

Belen adjusted his grip on his rifle, and he said nothing."

Daphne smacked her lips. "Suit yourself."

"I have nothing to say to you, and you should think likewise."

"How long have you been on Terok Nor?" she - despite everything - asked. "You look young."

He was young. He was younger than Turak, younger than Damar, and serving on Terok Nor under Gul Dukat was his greatest achievement to date. He wouldn't achieve much else, and he was apparently content with that.

"Longer than you."

Daphne sighed, and they rounded another corner in silence.

"Here."

They stopped.

"Uh, Gil Damar," Belen called out expectantly; his voice shook slightly. "She's here."

There was a silence, a clatter, a crash, and then a grunt, and the door eventually slid open. The security field buzzed and flashed and then it disappeared.

"Thank you, Belen," Damar said gruffly, waving him away. "You can go now."

"If you're sure-"

"Yes," Damar said swiftly, cutting him off, and Daphne was bundled inside.

And now they were alone.

"I hope Belen wasn't too-"

She looked away. "He was fine." She felt silly now, almost awkward. She felt like a teenager, standing vacantly opposite him, and she wasn't entirely sure what to do. She gestured halfheartedly to her luggage. "I, uh, haven't really got much. But I could unpack." That'll kill all of five minutes, she thought ruefully.

Damar hesitated, nodded. "The sleeping quarters are through there."

She disappeared, plonked the suitcase on the bed, and then she realised. Once she unpacked, she would be at home, and then she would have no reason to leave. It could be a hotel room, or one of those spa resorts on Risa. She couldn't hear the groaning and cursing of the Bajorans as they sweated to death in the ore processing sector, and she couldn't hear the Cardassian officers barking orders.

She cleared her throat, and soon she had unpacked. There really wasn't much.

When she emerged, she saw that Damar was already halfway down the corridor.

"If you're hungry, you know where the replicator is." He paused, turned on his heel. "I've made a note of the security codes on the padd by the door but don't be surprised if you still need me to authorise it."

So I can't leave?

She frowned. "Where are you going? You're not seriously on duty again?" Maybe he was. Who was she to pick apart Cardassian shift patterns?

He opened his mouth to reply, closed it. "I, uh, need to speak to Gul Dukat." A brief, tight smile. "Make yourself at home."

Make yourself at home.

She tried her best. She really did. She sat for a while on the uncomfortable couch, and then she was on her feet again, pacing about the room. The quarters were large - bigger than the the ones she'd shared with Miri for barely a week - but they were largely empty. Most of the furniture was minimal, Spartan, and Daphne realised that Cardassians must not think too much of interior design.

She caught sight of the occasional uniform piece, as well as the odd bottle of kanar, and she sighed. Some bottles were full, some empty, some half-finished.

And then curiosity took over her, and she went up to the replicator. "Kanar, please."

A moment passed as the ancient computer translated her order, and then the glass shimmered into existence. She picked it up, held it up, sniffed it, sipped at it, made a face.

It wasn't horrible. It certainly wasn't unbearable.

But it was sweet and sticky and cloying, and drinking it made the room seem even hotter than it already was.

Daphne took another sip. And then another. Soon enough, the glass was empty. She shrugged, put it back in the replicator, and it disappeared.

Then she went into the sleeping quarters - and saw a chest of drawers, a desk with a few padds strewn on it, and, she noticed, one bed.

She went over to the desk, picked up a padd, felt its weight. She had hardly touched it before a passcode flashed onto the screen, and she was forced to set it back down.

Damar had been right - her access would be restricted. She laughed quietly to herself as she wondered why she'd ever doubted him - and then she found herself wondering what his game was.

Another hour or so passed, and while Daphne was looking out of the vast window desperately looking for her home star and its planet, the door slid open.

Damar came grumbling in, stripping off his uniform plate. He nearly jumped when Daphne appeared from around the corner.

"Ah-" He cleared his throat. "I'd forgotten you were here."

It's not like I had anywhere else to go, she could have retorted. She simply smiled.

"Well-" he began, nervous hand seeking the nape of his neck. "I'm only off duty for an hour or so. I've got some work to do."

Daphne came forwards slowly. They were still a few metres apart. "Is there anything I can do?"

He caught her eye. "To help me?"

She shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I guess? Or is there something girls like me are... expected to do? While you're, uh, working?"

Damar pursed his lips, coming to sit at the computer terminal. "No, not as such." A pause. "Look, Daphne, I know this is weird-"

She raised an eyebrow, looked over at the replicator where the kanar had appeared earlier. Then she met his gaze. "You don't need to tell me that, Damar," she said, perhaps more forcefully than she'd meant to. "I've been pacing about her for hours, watching and waiting and wondering. I know it'll be pointless me going up to Dukat and demanding that he sends me on the next shuttle to Federation space."

Damar frowned. "Then what are you asking?"

The directness of the question annoyed her. "I'm asking what can be done? I'm asking how long will this go on for? I'm asking when can I go home?"

He looked down at his hands. "I don't know."

"Then what shall I do? Make you dinner? Hang off your arm like some sycophant?"

"No."

"Or shall I wash and change and lie in bed, waiting?"

He sighed, came over to her. "You didn't believe me, did you?"

"What?"

"I did not ask Dukat to give you to me."

"I did believe you, Damar," she said flatly, though her face softened. "But I need to know what I'll get out of this. I know we kissed, and I know we - well, I don't know anymore. I need to know-"

Another pause.

"You met the Changeling?"

Daphne blinked, thought back to that taut-faced man apprehending the downtrodden Bajoran thief, and how how the same man had then escorted her to the holding cells. "Yes."

"He patrols the station - he's in charge is security here. He's not exactly sympathetic to the Bajoran cause but he's good at his job. He'll make sure nothing goes awry."

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"There's a bar on the Promenade. That snaggletoothed conman of a Ferengi runs it."

"Damar, I don't get what you're saying. I don't want a guided tour."

"I'm saying that the Ferengi may be able to help you."

That night, Daphne lay out in the bed, on top of the covers, and yet she hardly slept. She had the feeling that Damar was avoiding her; he had not returned to his quarters since his last break. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Yes, the situation would be awkward. But what was the point in prolonging it? They could be friends, she supposed. They did not have to be close. No one would know, and Daphne doubted Damar would report everything to Dukat.

Maybe he would.

There was never any indication of time in space. The sky was perpetually dark, black even, and there was no ticking of a clock.

Daphne glanced at the padd beside the bed, and she squinted. It always seemed that she would fall asleep right before she needed to get up.

And so she propped herself up on her elbows, yawned, and rolled out of the bed. After short visit to the refresher, a change of clothes and tying her hair up, she went to the door.

She pressed the control panel, and it buzzed.

It did not open.

She frowned.

Then she pressed it again. And again.

It still didn't open.

She went back to the sleeping quarters, retrieved the padd, and then she read what was on it - an authorisation from Damar allowing her to visit the Promenade.

She keyed in the authorisation code, and then there was a shudder, and the door mechanism slid open.

Daphne was relieved - and yet disgusted. She needed permission to go to the Promenade. She needed to ask for permission.

But she held her breath, stepped into the dark corridor. It was quiet.

As she got closer and closer to the middle section of the station, the stench of ore became overpowering, and she pressed a hand to her nose. Blinking in the smog, she saw the bright lights of the Promenade, with it gaudy shop displays, and she made a beeline for the bar.

The owner certainly looked Ferengi.

"If you're not buying, go away."

And he certainly sounded Ferengi too.

"Uh, well—" she started, determined not to be put off by his rudeness. She'd met Ferengi before, and she knew it came with the territory. "I was actually going to ask you if you had any jobs going."

He stared at her, simply stared. And then he burst out laughing. "Jobs?"

Daphne nodded. "Yes. Jobs."

"For you?"

She nodded.

The Ferengi seemed to be looking her over, inspecting her. "And you are—?"

"My name's Daphne." She came closer, took a seat at the bar, leant her elbows on the sticky bartop. "I'm a — well — one of the, uh, comfort women." It didn't sicken her to say it, she found. She hadn't yet lived up to that title, and she felt no shame. She caught his eye. "And you must be Quark."

A wicked grin formed on his lips. "You'd better be careful there. The Cardassians aren't too keen on their comfort women showing intelligence."

"So is there a vacancy or not?"

"For you?" That wicked grin of his returned — and became darker, lascivious. "Of course."

"And I'll get paid?"

"One quick question," Quark said, beady eyes still on her. "Whose comfort woman are you?"

Daphne knew why he'd asked. The higher ranking the officer, the more important the comfort woman, and the more she'd get paid. She she held Quark's gaze, and smiled triumphantly. "Damar's. Dukat's second-in-command."

The Ferengi nodded. "Then you can start today." And with that, he waved a stubby hand over at a dirty table around which a crowd of Dabo players had gathered.

Daphne sighed, went to work.