Had Keiko and the kids been home Miles would've most likely made his way there using the most direct route possible. The opportunity to get home before the kid's bed time was one never to pass up.
Instead he meandered through the grounds of the Academy, still neatly kept by Boothby, mulling over the days events. "Anyone else would've probably given up on the kid by now," he said to himself looking at his feet instead of the exquisite topiary of his surroundings.
It was bigger now, Miles knew, than when he'd simply set out to talk to Doyle about his future in Starfleet. Now he had two unknown assailants committing what amounted to kidnap, and a Chief of Security who wasn't interesting in hearing about it. He could tell the police he supposed, but what little actual police force existed on Earth tended not to get involved in any matters even remotely related to Starfleet; so it would be of little use.
"What could they have wanted with Doyle?" he was talking out loud to himself again, fortunately his mumblings didn't reach the ears of the few passersby; instead drowned out by the crunching of his loafers on the gravel.
"Then again maybe Doyle had committed some offense, and Barrett was simply trying to keep a personal matter hushed."
Miles stopped in his tracks; (So Barrett was being dishonest) he suddenly decided. He'd been on the fence about the man's frosty response, chalking it up to a long day and the deployment of a common tactic: the grumpy deflector. An age old method that saw those in authority be dismissive, unresponsive, and generally grumpy to the complainant in the hopes they won't pursue the issue further. Now Miles was convinced that Barrett was definitely being dishonest and, if there ever was a right reason, was definitely doing it for the wrong reasons.
Miles contemplated bothering Julian again with this, but shook his head as he went along; he was back inside the Academy building now headed for the transporter pads. (He's probably on that date with Ezri right now) he conjectured, (and even if not then what the heck time is it there?!)
He was still considering his next steps when he reached and stepped onto the public transporter pad.
He rematerialized just outside his home in a soon-gone yellowish haze. He reached for the control panel beside the entrance and let his hand hover there for a moment index finger out stretched. "Fine!" he said, talking to himself seemed to be becoming a habit. He returned the protruding index finger to his now clenched fist and let his arm go limp in a "I give up" motion. He wasn't hungry anyway. He'd head back to Doyle's student residence and see if he could talk to one of his roommates. (Yeah that's it, and I'll call Keiko on the way so she isn't worried).
No instant beam outs here, he'd have to walk the block to reach the nearest communal transporter; so he set out. He reached into his top pocket and retrieved a small visual communicator and was about dial up Keiko when his foot caught something.
The neighbourhood where the O'Brien's made their home was pleasant, as most of Earth was if you could forgive the over-population. They'd chosen this part of San Jose to get Molly into a school they liked and the house itself for perfect for them. It was the ground floor to a small block of four apartments, and because it was the ground floor it had a slightly bigger square footage and it was the only residence with a yard; which they'd decided was an essential part of terrestrial living. It had it's own separate entrance that opened out onto the quiet cul-de-sac style street and the nearest public transporter was only a block away. The only thing Miles would've wanted was a yard big enough for a shed. Where he could tinker with his little side projects, instead of having to keep them in his office at work. (Keiko had veto'd the idea as she thought the yard too small).
This WAS Earth and to be honest anywhere on this once wartorn planet you would never expect to encounter anything remotely undesirable, but this neighbourhood in particular you'd never expect it.
O'Brien's foot had caught the leg of a man laid prone on the sidewalk, his torso invisible behind a box-like hydrant. With the day he was having Miles immediately thought the worst: (Is he dead?) But this was quickly dismissed when his inadvertent kick produced a gruff sigh from the foot's owner.
"Are you okay?" O'Brien asked coming around the chrome hydrant to identify the man.
"I… I was trying to find my house," the man said. He was laid on his back, staring wide eyed into the darkening sky. When O'Brien stood over him he noticed the man was unable, not unwilling but actually unable, to make eye contact. The man's eyes flittered back and forth, not focusing on any one thing.
"Your house?" O'Brien said, part question, but majority an expression of disbelief.
"Err, yeah," the man hiccup'd. (He's like a drunk in a cartoon) O'Brien thought, then caught himself: "You're drunk," he proclaimed. He'd not seen a drunk person since he'd left DS9, Earth was big into the synthehol scene: infact most of the Federation was.
"Maybe," the man said, hiccupping again. He rolled over onto his side, then onto his back and he tried to push himself up. His arms bent, then buckled under his own weight.
"Here," O'Brien said leaning down and grasping him by the shoulders. He used that hidden inner-strength that all Starfleet Officers had, it usually manifested itself when somehow managing to fight off a Klingon, or Nausicaan using only a Double Axe Handle punch. He managed to get the man to his feet.
"Woah," O'Brien had to steady him. (Yup, definitely drunk)
"Where do you live? Why are you so drunk?" It was the first two of many questions O'Brien had. But he was destined never to get any answers because he was distracted by the telltale beam in noise of a transporter.
O'Brien perched the drunk against the hydrant and turned around to face whomever had beamed in.
Two Starfleet Officers, or at least dressed as Starfleet Officers, had appeared. One O'Brien had never seen before, but the second looked very familiar. In fact O'Brien could've sworn it was the same man he'd seen dressed in Starfleet Security earlier in the day.
"Step aside sir," said the first of the Officers. Both were approaching in a far more menacing way than you'd imagine Teal-Coated medical or science personnel would.
"Sir," the second one said, more force in his voice.
O'Brien had unconsciously stood between the drunk and the officers. A natural instinct to defend the vulnerable. "What? Do I know you? What do you want with this man?"
He had so many questions. He had no control over what order they came tumbling out.
"Sir, please step aside."
The two men were upon him now, their medical tricorders now slung over their backs like a satchel. They grabbed him by the arms and, as gracefully as they could man handled him aside.
"Hey, whatcha think you're doing!" O'Brien struggled against the inevitable. Once he realised he was beaten O'Brien gave in and was duly released with a slight push away. Meanwhile the drunk man, over whom this struggle had ensued, lent against the hydrant idly watching the proceedings with passive interest.
With O'Brien now to one side, still protesting, but having given up the physical effort of battling. He was too tired, too confused, and not sure fighting these guys was the right thing to do. (Maybe they were really Officers looking out for this guy's interest?)
Whilst the one O'Brien recognised used his own body to create a physical barrier between Miles and the drunk, the other drew a weapon. A Type 1 Phaser to be exact.
"Hey… take it easy," the drunk said, his passive interest now replaced with alarm. "I…" he hiccupped again. "I ain't hurtin' nobody."
Whilst true, it didn't seem to weigh in on the verdict nor execution. The weapon brandishing officer fired. Out shot a dart, identical the one O'Brien had seen earlier in the day. It hit the drunk square in the chest.
Gone was the drunken metaphorical mist now, he was scared sober almost instantly. "Wha…" was all that could escape his lips as he disappeared.
"Sorry sir," the weapon wielding Officer said, addressing O'Brien.
"I should think so too," O'Brien said, "Just what do you think you're doing?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that I'm afraid Sir."
It was that same neutral response.
"You keep calling me Sir. How can you know I'm in Starfleet? Yet not know I wasn't an Officer?"
O'Brien had taken a step toward them, his spider sense wasn't sensing untoward aggression or anger from the men he was confronting and it made him feel confident in addressing them.
He got no response and now the men were looking back at what appeared to be their medical tricorders.
"Hey!" O'Brien said, he'd taken another step forward.
He opened his mouth to ask again but in the time it took the words to travel from brain to mouth the two had beamed away. O'Brien stood alone now in the street outside his home.
::::::::::
He'd been suspicious before, but still on the verge of maybe just accepting that sometimes he wasn't privy to everything and maybe… just maybe Doyle's departure had been a hazing of somekind undertaken by his peers. Or maybe Barrett knew and thought "Boys will be boys". But now – now things were different.
Two apparent kidnappings in two days. On Earth. In the 24th Century. It was unheard of. Some dark things happened during the war, on all sides, but nothing seemingly so pointless, and… unnerving.
He wasn't really what to do and it was late. He walked back over to the entrance to the home Keiko and he shared and entered. In his mind he pictured himself now in a Dixon Hill novel: he half expected the apartment to have been turned over. He stood in the dark for a moment, all of a sudden nervous that his errant thoughts would be his new reality and he really would have to go to the police.
"Lights."
He breathed a sigh of relief when all was as he left it. He used his new found enthusiasm to allow himself a distraction from the current situation and made a quick call to Keiko and the kids. He told them about his day and what he was thought they wanted to hear he was doing that evening. He omitted the part where a man was kidnapped right outside his house. Just before the call ended Keiko asked how it went with Doyle. O'Brien frozen, he didn't want to lie to his wife, but at the same time he didn't want to worry her. After a beat to think, bought with the clearing of the throat he settled on: "I didn't get a chance to talk with him." It was the truth, but he still didn't like feeling dishonest.
When he'd told them all he loved them and they said the same the link was disconnected and the house fell silent again.
"Computer, call the residence of Zachary Doyle: student Starfleet Academy."
The house's computer acknowledged with an LCARS sounded short sequence of bleeps and the word "Connecting" appeared on the viewscreen O'Brien had been using for his video call with Keiko. The main living space of the apartment was open plan, mainly, with the kitchen and dining sections separated from the comfortable seating area by a half height wall. The comfy room had one main large viewscreen in it's centre and a smaller, communications screen, in the far corner. It was the latter that O'Brien was using.
He wasn't quite sure who he was expecting to talk to. Or even what he was going to say or ask. But he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep with all these unanswered questions.
He was ringing house full of students, he had prepared himself for: half naked, half asleep, pepped to the nines on 24th Century Code Red Mountain Dew, but not what did greet him when the "Connecting" message was replaced with crystal clear video.
"Mister O'Brien," said Zachery Doyle.