Note: Well it's Sunday in Nova Scotia so here's an early Renegades update! A brief note obnoxiously in caps... IF THIS CHAPTER FEELS LIKE SOMETHING'S MISSING YOU MIGHT HAVE MISSED CHAPTER 26... cause last week was a double chapter post :D Anyway, I can't help my love for Jadzia and am excited about some of the things we'll be finding out shortly. Stay tuned, 'cause nothing's ever what it seems. Thank you everyone for reading and commenting! You all make this ride a lot more fun. And as always, C&C is always welcome!
Emony Dax was a gymnast. That's the first thing Garak thinks as he watches her close in on the ship, a sudden lurch his cue that they are in fact taking off. What could he possibly be thinking? There is no way that she'll be able to jump even were we still on the ground. Garak watches her as she shifts on the horse, the anchors not raised but actually released into the sandy ground to likely be recovered over until the next landing. Ah, so this is an actual designated landing site after all. Garak hears a yelp from behind, imagining the former Valiant crew clinging desperately to the rails, likely more fearful in their ignorance than he. At least, Garak thinks, he has some rudimentary understanding of the craft. An understanding, which in a way likely makes him more uneasy, however Julian had assured him that the materials employed since the inception of the zeppelin design in pre warp Earth history have come quite a long way over the centuries and further honed by native Westworld metals.
Still, none of that begins to touch on the madness possessing Jadzia as Garak watches, almost horrified, as she shifts on the back of the chestnut horse, coming to her knees on the saddle. He hadn't noticed that before but Jadzia is close enough to make out in detail now; his left eye should hardly be strained in such a way with his right covered but he's certain Julian will heal him just as he scolds him later. The Klingon behind Jadzia appears to scream something likely lost in the wind, his mouth open, and it makes Garak wonder where her usual Klingon associates are in the midst of this chaos. He watches as the head of the running Klingon ducks down as if he might make a sprint for the beast. It makes him wonder if such a feat is physiologically possible.
Garak has never paid much mind to intergalactic athletic competitions, particularly the runners; Cardassians have never excelled in that area and as a matter of pride he's never seen fit to endure the raucous taunts of drunken barflies watching the Quadrennial Olympic whatever it's called featuring the traditionally poorly faring Cardassian track team. Humans and their athletics. Leave it to the Federation, to the humans, to bring such a garish circus display drawing in even the most stalwart to watch such an obscenity. The embarrassment that was the ill-fated Cardassian bobsled team had been bad enough to keep him from ever deciding to watch that misery ever again. Really, whoever heard of a Cardassian bobsled team? Talak Paras was never the same after the Gul's damn thing flew off the track and didn't that cost you an entire week's paltry earnings on Romulus?
Flashbacks aside, Jadzia is performing admirably, both feet planted now, barefoot, he can see as she reaches down for that length of rope. This clearly wasn't planned. She's still wearing her stockings and a dress that clearly had to be hiked up to ride that horse. Doubtless the shoes were long abandoned but how she's going to do anything in that impractical garment will surely be a sight. What catches his eye spectacularly though at that moment, aside from the green ruffled skirt which he now realizes has been torn mid thigh, is the glint of silver that he sees at the end of the rope. Jadzia's face is grim as she stands, shaky, slow, and he nearly stupidly holds a hand out. But no, Garak keeps his hand steady as she rides closer, almost next to the ascending airship. He can tell by the shadow and her shape that there is still considerable distance and no way that she could even so much as touch the bottom. The Klingon seems to sense it as well, redoubling his effort, no more than several meters between them now.
And that is when she does the most spectacular thing that he's ever witnessed in person- no mean feat given her showcase that night a few months ago. Jadzia takes the rope, and he watches her carefully measuring a length, holding tight, the silver end in fact a four pronged hook that she begins to twirl furiously. His eye attempts to measure the distance, and even accounting for weight, for wind, he cannot imagine in any universe that she truly means to attempt what he knows she's about to. The rate of climb, the distance, there cannot possibly be any way for her to- And Garak jumps back instinctively, mid thought as the hook sails neatly over the railing. He realizes that the ship is not ascending as quickly as it should given the information Julian provided but of course that would be the intent. The hook pulls back carefully, and Garak nearly throws himself over the rail as he watches with horrified fascination, Jadzia Dax swinging wildly from the end of that rope that he guesses is already a few meters off the ground.
There is a near comical moment when at last, the Klingon in pursuit throws himself at the dangling legs before falling face down in the dirt with a loud curse. Garak would almost laugh if he weren't half panicked at the thought of this entire mad scheme going horribly awry. He looks quickly, moving to see if there's any sight of Julian down deck through that small window in the door but he sees nothing. He does, however see the rather strapping Mr. Watters staring open mouthed at the sight of the woman on the end of the rope.
"Come on, man, are you just going to stand there or are you going to give a hand?" Garak certainly hopes that he obeys that barking order because as soon as he reaches down and grabs the rope fibers, he realizes that the weight at the end is definitely beyond his ability to confidently pull in rapid succession. He also realizes that his head is starting to swim from watching the one eyed motion and he may very well have to do this with the eye closed.
But Garak sees a blink, a moment's hesitation in a glance exchanged with Farris, but thankfully, Watters is there next to him large hands secured easily, the rope moving much smoother with that extra muscle. Garak is relieved; he knows he's already going to be sore in the morning and likely nursing a headache, but as the slowly raising rope pulls Jadzia rather inelegantly up the side of the ship he is assured by her smile. He doesn't see any worry, any sign of strain, and though he'd been impressed initially at her physical condition before, there is a bit of mystery added to that which he files away for a later time. He is careful, of course, to control the pull, to let it go easily as much as he wants nothing more than to have her on deck as quickly as possible. A few times he has to keep the pace for Watters, the rush of adrenaline obvious, but it isn't long before there's a rather impressive coil of rope behind them, and a beaming Jadzia skillfully vaulting over the rail, nearly giving him a heart attack in the process. He is pleased to note that Watters' reaction is no less wide eyed and he steps back as she brushes herself off with a bit of bounce in her step.
"Well," she says with a mischievous grin, dress covered in dust, a tatters that while terribly inviting makes the tailor in him despair, "that was certainly invigorating!"
"Always a pleasure to see you, Jadzia," Garak replies with a slight bow as if it's the most natural thing in the world for a woman on horseback to scale the side of a moving airship. Farris is the first forward, mouth tight in that way Garak's learned precedes some dressing down or caustic remark.
"You know each other," she accuses.
"A most astute observation," Garak praises exuberantly unable to help that instinct to bait, a failing of character, he'd been told more than once.
"We've already made an allowance for the pilot's mother, Cardassian, whatever game you're playing, the Federation-"
"Yes, the Federation tolerates no chicanery, tomfoolery, skullduggery, any of those charming euphemisms you have for good old fashioned double crosses, but I assure you this was certainly not part of my… nefarious plan." He waggles his fingers taunting.
"Am I intruding on a nefarious plan, Garak?" Jadzia says looking far too excited as she gives him a slight elbow poke. He shakes his head, disinclined to further the game with Farris, far more interested in this new twist in the plan. Jadzia is already unhooking the rope, beginning a steady roll and re-coiling.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, we're not taking on any more civilians for this trip. If you need us to drop you somewhere we might be able-"
"Well then, Captain, You're in luck," Jadzia interrupts Watters with an impossibly bright smile as she quickly and efficiently rolls around one arm. "Lieutenant Commander, Jadzia Dax at your service." She holds the coil of rope, one arm through securing it in place for the moment. "I don't believe you have a science officer for this expedition, now do you?" She stands firm, wearing every bit of her station even in half a dress. "Of course as a fellow Starfleet Officer, I'd be honored to offer my services." Drawn up, Garak notes that she easily looks Watters in the eye and he clearly has no idea how to answer that sudden surprise.
Garak himself realizes, that in all her long wonderful tales of Curzon, or Emony, Torias, all of her lives and memories, the past of Jadzia Dax herself somehow managed to remain glossed over and neatly kept secret except for a few vague childhood anectdotes. In fact, Garak reasons, there's likely a great deal about the current circumstance now that would be easily explained if he had more information. And now you face that conundrum, Elim. Put yourself in the middle of yet another tangent on this trip or keep your focus on the mission at hand. The mission being the West Continent and finally getting off this ridiculous backwards planet, but more than that, the careful bond building between himself and Julian. Yes, you've more allies now and perhaps it might not be necessary but then again, just where do Julian's loyalties lie where the Federation and Section 31 are concerned? You've no idea what he whispered to them, for all you know this is in fact nothing but a ruse to murder you for the keys. For all you know Jadzia's presence here might be a carefully calculated manipulation.
There are innumerable decisions to be made, and not a lot of time to make them. Of course he knows the trip to the West Continent itself will be a good five days, weather permitting. Garak does not relish the thought of hovering two hundred meters above the ground should a storm rock them, but Julian assured him that Molly was experienced enough to navigate even the most volatile of weather patterns. Ignoring the weather for the moment, you might have five days to work but not five days to decide. The sooner you get to Julian, the sooner you cement his loyalty, awaken that protective instinct, do whatever it takes to make Gul's damned sure he's willing to die for you if not kill for you, the better. But this could be a wrench in that… or is it truly? Jadzia has already demonstrated a willingness to kill for him- to kill for anyone she considers a friend. No, don't think of it as a wrench, Elim, you remember that much from your training. Obstacles are nothing but weapons to add to your arsenal. And if you can turn them both to your favor…
Garak makes that determination just as Watters decides that he needs to consult with Farris- and strangely enough, Collins, Garak notes- before turning back around. He'd forgotten the quiet woman entirely finding it curious that she isn't with Nog. Jadzia watches that tactical retreat with a grin as she looks at him that twinkle still in her eye.
"Well now you might not be scandalized seeing me like this but I'd better throw something a little more modest on. Can't have a Starfleet Officer on duty parading around like this now, can we?" She dances on past, doubtless familiar with the layout of the ship, and he sees no reason not to follow. After all, he needs to see to his own belongings and room, and figure out just exactly how this voyage is to proceed. Jadzia moves purposefully, but not quickly enough to discourage company, and Garak falls into step beside her down the stairs and through the large door to the main cabin.
"Perhaps I might accompany you," Garak offers as they walk down the long hall and through the large great room he'd first entered, "although Julian might wonder where the two of us have run off to… Lieutenant."
"I thought we'd dropped the formalities, Mister Garak." Jadzia takes a slight lead down the adjacent corridor that's lined with closed doors.
"Ah, but that was before I learned that I was in the company of a commanding officer." Jadzia gives him a sly grin in response, turning right down another hallway stopping in front of a closed door to the right. She enters familiarly, the room brightly streaming in sun from the round window. It's small, but Garak can definitely see her touch in the stack of records next to the victrola- Klingon Opera, no doubt- on the desk in front of the window, the full size bed a mass of multi colored pillows and colors, another small bookshelf bracing several different volumes of fiction. He follows her inside and she closes the door leaving it unlocked behind her. He can feel the curious twitch of his face as she laughs softly.
"Ex commanding officer," Jadzia informs him cheerfully with a saucy wink as she lets the remainder of the dusty, tattered dress slip from her shoulders. "And don't worry about Julian. He'll know where to find us." Garak takes a deep breath and makes a study of the books on the shelf as she presumably disrobes the rest of the way.
"Is it prudent then for him to encounter us in such a position?"
"And what position might that be?" she teases in a tone that dares him to turn around and look, and maybe do more than that. Garak dismisses it initially and that is when another step towards that bookshelf with his back to her leads him to the sight of the mirror bolted to the wall next to it. One subtle glance towards it with his uncovered eye and she meets that little shift in expression dead on, not the least bit shy about her state of undress. "Or was that an invitation?" she practically purrs, a faint flush to her skin, likely still riding that adrenaline high. Garak continues to look even as he takes a treatise on the history of the early Federation years from the shelf, opening to a random page.
Jadzia is stripped down, nude, looking Gul's damned tempting as she removes an odd segmented belt of fabric from low on her hips, the last garment that remains after her other clothes have been tossed careless onto the bed. His gaze lingers above that open page, on her long fingers unvelcroing the piece, sliding slowly, just a bit naughtily over her sex to further emphasize that proposition.
"I must admit you've piqued my... curiosity," Garak says as he watches her examining each square of that length carefully. Among other things as well, but whatever erotic scene this might lead to, you know that I won't forget the questions that all of this has brought to the forefront. Especially in light of the lie you seem determined to weave for the enemy outside. He wonders what it is she's observing, hair messily spilling from its previous updo over her shoulder. She worries her lower lip looking at two squares in particular, and his eyes fall from that absent sensual afterthought down further into danger when he sees just the tops of her nipples above her arms and the fabric. Her eyes meet his once more in that looking glass.
"You know that Julian is hardly the jealous type," she says again with that offer as he turns a page to Jonathan Archer's first encounter with the Andorrians.
He takes a slow deep breath as she seems to decide on one square in particular and tries not to recall those hips in particular.
"And what type might you be then, my dear Jadzia?" he asks, the question far deeper than mere fliration. Jadzia laughs softly with a shake of her head.
"Oh… I've been AWOL for oh... about twenty years now, I think," she throws out offhanded. Garak aklmost chooses that moment to look away but becomes interested when she releases something and begins to pull what is absolutely a Starfleet science officer's uniform neatly from that pouch. "I've never faced a court martial, you know. They'd have to catch me for that. But I think at this point I know what the verdict would be." He realizes then that the other squares must contain similar changes of clothes, at least a dozen in all then. Clever, beautifully clever. "But those two didn't need to know that, did they?" she asks conspiratorially, releasing more modern undergarments from another adjacent square. Garak keeps the laughter from his voice.
"It would seem an extraneous detail," he agrees as she considers the change of clothes.
"I really should wash up first," Jadzia says with a sigh as she looks down at the dirt covering her arms and legs. "Two rooms on this side share a bathroom." She motions towards the door next to the bed. "I hate to waste the water so early on but..." She shrugs. "We can desalinate plenty on the trip. We are going to the West Continent, after all, right?" He doesn't answer her, that information highly confidential, after all, and merely settles for a smile as he closes the book and decides that he might as well hunt for Julian after all while she bathes and changes.
"I believe I'll see myself out, then," he says with a nod to the mirror and a turn in the opposite direction. What he finds- he would say unexpectedly but really it's not terribly so- that opposite direction turns back to her as well, and in that short span of time she'd neatly outmaneuvered him in the large room.
Garak notes, absently that the room is rather warm- pleasantly so in fact- and he can feel a faint hot breeze blowing and he catches sight of a small metallic grate on the lower wall near the his very next thought he curses himself for such an old man's consideration. Jadzia raises an inviting brow, as if sensing that internal struggle.
"Of course I wouldn't want to needlessly wash if I were expecting to get dirty again right away. Especially no in the presence of such a disreputable rogue." She takes a step into his personal space, though she does not go so far as to touch him, looking at his eyepatch pointedly with that statement.
"Now whatever would give you cause for such a concern?" he asks with a flick of his tongue tasting the dirt, the sweat in the air just a few inches from her face, that responsible agent in him now cursing the fool being led by his-
"Let's get dirty, Garak."
She doesn't hesitate to touch him then, her fingers nimbly undoing the top button of his shirt, collar carefully starched giving way to that assault. Garak allows her to take the lead, deciding that a shift in perception is needed from their earlier games. Yes, if she, if Julian think you too capable as a fighter, then they'll be that less likely to step forward where it may be needed. Not that it's terribly difficult when she's so determined. Garak shivers at her mouth, the room nearly starting to spin and he thinks maybe that he's pushed too far with his vision already. Julian had warned him that was possible, that he wasn't fully recovered from the use of his more exotic alien ocular abilities, as Julian so eloquently phrased it while sticking him with that vile needle. Except Julian is not here so that leaves the entire issue rather-
Julian is here. Garak realizes brilliantly just as he feels steadying arms around him from behind and Julian's presence suddenly there at his back warm, hard, catching him annoyingly off guard. It doesn't make the spinning stop but it lessens the need to worry about a sudden fall, the strength behind him solid and steady, just as the heavy breathing on the same side as Jadzia.
"I thought I told you to take it easy," Julia teases to his ear and he sucks in a breath, sandwiched neatly between the top of them not sure if opening that eye would improve the situation in the slightest. He settles for keeping it closed, breathing deep, letting his focus remain tactile, olfactory, auditory.
"I'll be gentle with him, Julian," Jadzia whispers back and he feels another button come undone.
He becomes aware that it might in fact be Julian's fingers that work, neatly slipped under his arms, four sets of hands kneading, unfastening, exploring. Ah, but he can easily tell Julian's from Jadzia's, that wash of breath stealing a fraction of his focus as the two of them talk.
"Surely you can't mean to keep him all to yourself," Julian protests, and he can feel their alternate mouths to his ear, behind, to his neck, heating him up with impressive quickness.
"I wouldn't dream of it," she swears and he almost thinks he feels rather than hears their mouths meeting briefly, almost oddly chaste.
"You know you're still going to have to deal with Worf once we're back."
"Worf?" The name means nothing to Garak though he suspects it likely has to do with the Klingon left face down in the dirt outside of Indigo. He has no idea that he's even spoken the words out loud until the two insatiable humans cease their rather pleasant assault all of a sudden at the query. Julian is the first to speak, voice light, though still containing that thread of uncertainty as he speaks. There is an unspoken but heavily implied "didn't she tell you?" when Julian begins, though it hardly needs to be said as Garak opens his eyes at last, the brightness almost unbearable to that one uncovered eye, Jadzia looking unrepentantly repentant as the words come out, an unpleasant splash of cold water.
"Worf, is Jadzia's husband."
