Saavik found herself pacing the halls of the vast station. She was unable to sleep, and meditation had brought with it only an uneasy fidgeting that did not settle her thoughts. A Vulcan's discipline only went so far, and what could not be solved with deep thought could be solved with exercise. An even, steady strut of course, nothing so strenuous as actual exercise. That was saved as a last resort, given that Vulcans had preternatural strength as it was.

Deep Space Nine was an interesting world in and of itself.

The architecture was alien, but familiar enough. Draconic as the humans would say. The floors were bisected every five feet exactly by the section connectors. Little more than a raised hump of metal in the floor that connected all the way around to complete the decorative framing of the hall, but Saavik could easily deduce its purpose. Trained soldiers would know to leap as they marched, whereas rebels, rioters, or other malcontents would be more likely to trip on them- especially if the defenders had them on the run. It spoke to a certain egotistical confidence in the Cardassians themselves; that they would always be the ones attacking, never having to watch their step.

There were not many windows. Those were saved for the operations hub in the center of the station, the Promenade proper, or the quarters for high-ranking officers. There were several security cameras though, and Saavik had counted no less than five hundred and thirty-eight hidden compartments in the walls or ceiling. These hidden compartments contained miniaturized disruptors or quarantine force field projectors. Disruptors for rebelling slaves, quarantine fields for… Well, Saavik wasn't quite sure. The Cardassians didn't make it a habit of taking prisoners.

They didn't believe in lighting or accessibility either. There wasn't a single ramp on the entire station, and turbolifts were placed few and far between- and even then, outside of two levels on the Promenade and habitat ring, they were restricted to officers. Starfleet had worked to change much of that, but the identification readers were still present if inactive. The lighting was another issue that Starfleet had clearly gone to great lengths to improve, but there were plenty of sections that barely had illumination at all.

Saavik stopped. And sighed. Contemplated banging her head against the nearby wall, then dismissed the thought. An overly emotional kick of her boot on the floor perhaps. Nevermind, equally dismissed. This was getting her nowhere.

She was… Frustrated was too powerful a word, but annoyed was not an apt descriptor either. Saavik was not one for overstatement, but she had fought hard to get to her current position and it served her no good to diminish her feelings and intuitions. The truth was…

Saavik puzzled over the thought and sighed again. A needless waste of exhaustion but the only pertinent way to display her emotions. There was no other descriptor for her feelings, nor could she adequately express them or puzzle through them in the acceptable forms.

"Loitering was considered an executable crime among the Cardassians," A very gruff, very unexpected, voice said from beside her.

It took all of her Vulcan training to not leap away at the sudden intruder, and she forced the emotional reaction away from her face and back into the box it belonged in. She mentally kicked the lid shut for good measure. Composure was key in all hostage situations, and the appearance of an unknown alien in the midst of her emotional introspection in the middle of this hallway could certainly not be mistaken for anything but a hostage situation.

The Suliban eyed her with a surprisingly dog-like curiosity. He did not view her as a threat, unlike the way she was clearly looking at him, but he appeared very curious about her indeed. The Bajoran security officer's uniform seemed rather out of place on the moss-like alien, whose skin was stippled green and yellow, and whose reddish eyes burned with accusation. He was half hunched over, hands clasped behind his back. Half an arm's length away, but that should have been impossible; Saavik's Vulcan hearing was second to none. For him to have gotten so close he must have been very good at remaining inconspicuous indeed, which was quite a feat given his appearance.

"I did not mean to disturb you," He added, "But we typically do not have lurkers in the corridor at this hour. At least," He added with a wry smile, "Not those who are still capable of standing on their own."

Saavik looked him up and down, "Constable Silas."

He gave a jerking nod, as if the movement was as alien to him as he was to her, and a low grunt in his throat of acknowledgement.

"And you're Ensign Saavik, of the Vulcan's Fury."

"I am."

The conversation appeared to be mercifully short, but Silas merely stood there. He stood up straighter, but his eyes never left her. Watchful, cautious eyes. Saavik recognized them in an instant. The eyes of the abused, of the fearful, channeled into suspicion and purpose.

"I knew eyes such as yours, once," Saavik stated, "They were common on Hellguard."

The Suliban was taken aback by the directness of her comment. He considered his response carefully.

"Is that so?"

A choice of words that feign interest while saying nothing; they invite further explanation from the conversational partner without effort from the questioner. The words of a guarded man attempting to discern the facts about the stranger, limiting the reciprocation of knowledge. If Saavik were to ask a question, he would likely dodge around it.

"Indeed. Traumatizing adolescence so often attracts the use of obfuscation in conversation, as you are doing now," Saavik stated plainly. Her own response was closed to further probing, but entirely redirected the focus of the investigation on her partner. There is little room to maneuver without expertise.

The Suliban, however, did not disappoint. They matched each other move for move instead, another new roadblock with each non-answer.

"May I ask what you're doing out this late?"

"I was not aware Deep Space Nine had a curfew."

"It does not, but it's a strange coincidence to find a Vulcan roaming so restlessly at such an hour."

"Coincidences happen every day."

"They do, but I don't trust coincidences."

The wry smile had disappeared into a scowl that looked quite at home on Silas' face. There was no proper way out of this short of ending the conversation and returning to her quarters to toss and turn without rest. Saavik could not adequately meet the requirements of her duties on such little sleep.

An idea suddenly came across her neural pathways. A reasonable one, at that. The logical combination of knowledge and hypothesis.

"You have served on Deep Space Nine for thirty years, Constable Silas?"

Silas' head twitched to the side, a reaction to her question. An inquiry unrelated to the conversation, one that phrased itself as less of a question and more of a confirming statement. The natural response was to confirm or deny her statement.

"I have, under the Cardassians and now under your Federation," Silas volunteered the information. It was already known, so there was little harm in releasing it, and it allowed them both to expedite the conversation.

"How would you describe Admiral Kirk?"

Silas contemplated the question for all of half a second.

"There are polite and impolite things I could say about him, none of which I will share with you, Ensign."

Saavik was not so easily deterred, "I have asked Captain Spock a similar question, he could not answer it to a degree I would accept."

Silas leaned against the wall and crossed his arms with, "And what would you accept?"

The Vulcan studied the floor a moment to put the words together and then answered, "I would accept a fair, blunt description in simple terms."

"No need for multisyllabic words then?"

Saavik shook her head.

"And why do you want an assessment of Admiral Kirk?" Back to the probing, back to the questions to questions. Silas gave off the appearance of a man who wished to know nothing about you, nor you about him, and he spoke in similarly brusque terms. Saavik had to admire his off-putting nature, it must have come in handy as the chief of security.

Still, she was not interested in playing another round of verbal chess.

"I do not understand Admiral Kirk. I am told," She corrected herself, "I believed he was a great man, one who could overcome any challenge. Yet, upon meeting him, I see little more than a drunkard who shirks his duties and who is unbecoming of the office he holds. Captain Spock makes excuses and waxes poetic about friendship, but that does not satisfy me."

"So you want me to denigrate the Admiral, is that correct? To confirm your suspicions and tell you he's some sort of fraud?"

The question appeared triangulated to corner her into the besmirchment of a superior officer, but Silas' tone told her it was not. He was genuinely attempting to gauge what kind of answer she wanted. His demeanor was still calm and relaxed even as she continued to work herself up in a very un-Vulcan demeanor.

"No," Saavik responded, "No but I cannot reconcile the reports with the man. This is the man who is supposed to have once said he never believed in a no-win scenario, a situation in which there was no option but failure. However, the officer I saw clearly succumbed to the idea that failure is not only an option, but that there is no other recourse once you have failed."

Silas was silent for a long moment. Saavik fidgeted slightly, but remained otherwise impassive and patient. The Suliban was in deep contemplation on how to answer her question. When he did, he did so slowly, simultaneously considering his words as he spoke them.

"Admiral Kirk, from what I have observed, is a complicated man. He has ridden the peaks of triumph and adulation for nearly a decade, and yet never seems to take pride in those events. He views the world through countless shades of grey, which then, in turn, prevents him from seeing even the better aspects of life. I am not familiar with the humans he has lost, this Chekov or Sam, but I will tell you that I do understand, Ensign," Silas, who had been looking away, now locked eyes with her. His hooded eyelids shadowed his pupils, but she felt them burning into her all the same, "I know what it is like to lose a child. Kirk lost both child and brother in less than a year, and their killers still stalk the stars. Have you lost a loved one before, Ensign Saavik?"

Saavik could remember several losses, but that was the price of life on Hellguard.

"I have… Lost people I was close to, several while I was a child," She admitted somewhat callously. The deaths were hardly deep cuts to her now, so wrapped behind layers of logic and the distance of time.

"It is something to handle death as a child," Silas said, "Whether you grow up under the bootheel of Cardassian genocide or the distant Federation worlds, you view it through a lens of distance. You either are taking things for granted or as pure, cold, facts of life. Yet, as an adult?"

Silas pushed himself off the wall and uncrossed his arms, uncomfortably close to Saavik now.

"As an adult you view it through the lens of all too clear mortality. It could have been you. When you brush death, you rationalize it, thank whatever magic you believe in, and move on. But when you lose that child, that sibling, that dearly departed, you are left wondering where you went wrong, what miniscule thing could have made their deaths hurt less, or even if it was your fault. That is an all-consuming grief that you cannot move on from alone, and now he's facing the same men who were with him the day he first experienced that grief. That is the man you see before you, Ensign. A drowning man, so busy trying to float he cannot even remove the weights that drag him under."

His words were not meant to hurt, nor were they delivered with aggression, but Saavik somehow felt hurt by them nonetheless. Clearly, despite his exterior, even Silas had grown to care for the Admiral if he could describe him in such detail.

"A vivid description of a man who, by your own admission, does not let others close to him."

Silas gave her an approving nod in return, "Indeed it is, but my job is to study people, sometimes at great distances, and Admiral Kirk keeps a very great distance."

With that, the Suliban security chief turned and walked away down the hall, the conversation concluded as far as he was concerned. Saavik considered it must have been as well, she wasn't sure how to respond to a statement like that. It did little to settle her own frustrations though, still simmering beneath the surface. Silas' description of Admiral Kirk could have been incredibly accurate, but Saavik did not have enough data to confirm whether or not it was flawed. She would endeavor to gain more, and, for now, consider his words a base upon which she could form her investigation into the human that was James Kirk. If she was to be a captain one day, then Saavik needed to learn from the best- even if it meant learning how the best could fall so far.