One of the more underrated dynamics on DS9 imo is the relationship between Sisko and Leeta.
Leeta first of all is extremely important to DS9 because she’s the most consistent representation of the Bajoran civilian population in the series. She’s not militia, a politician, or part of the Vedek assembly. Until she becomes First Clerk of the Ferengi Alliance, she is Just Some Girl. And I think that’s fantastic, the show needs that character.
But unlike a lot of the no name civilian Bajorans, Leeta doesn’t deify Sisko. Yes, he is her Emissary, and she even wants him to officiate her wedding because of that. But she doesn’t act super awe struck, she doesn’t treat him like a celebrity, she doesn’t act like talking to him is forgetting her place, she still more or less treats him like a person, and she isn’t even as close to Sisko as Kira.
But nonetheless, she gives Sisko his space and indulges his silly baseball shit excitedly and adorably and like, they seem to hang out at least a little bit? At least as part of The Gang. And if Sisko’s line about taking every Niners teammate to a game at least once is to be believed, Leeta has been allowed The Sisko’s Sacred Bonding Activity, for which betrayal demands hunting you down like Moby Dick.
This friendship, even if not a super tight knit one, also represents Sisko getting over his initial prejudice against dabo girls, something we can likely thank Mardah for (I like to imagine she stayed long distance friends with Jake after the breakup and Ben still shoots her a recipe over subspace every now and again)
I just think this dynamic is cute and I wanted to comment on it
Does anyone else remember s3 of DS9 where 16 year old Jake was getting groomed by a woman in her 20s and the show acted like it was completely normal. Like it was mentioned offhand like once an episode, there was even a b-plot about it. I don’t really have anything to say about it. It was just horrible and bizarre.
Why did ds9 frame Sisko's disapproval of Jake and Mardah's relationship as if it was solely about her career and not the fact that she was 20 and he was 16? Like, being a dabo girl didn't help Sisko's negative impression, but after she made a sharp remark about being judged for her career and revealed that Jake wrote poetry, Sisko got over his reservations, but nothing had changed??? He was still a teenage boy and she was a grown woman?
I was gonna leave it alone and stew over it in my brain alone but no, it’s too gross I need to express how gross it is.
WHY did they make the 16 year old Jake Sisko be dating a 20 year old. It’s creepy and weird and wrong and makes my skin crawl.
And the fact that Benjamin actually commented on it but then they had him withdraw those objections by the end of the episode just because Mardah was nice just makes it worse.
I know the show is more than 20 years old but... c’mon that would have still been considered illegal twenty years ago right?
PLEASE tell me this doesn’t get dragged out, I don’t think I can stomach it.
Bit of a wait between updates but I'm always working on something! This is my first attempt at like femslash ever so fingers crossed. This one's for you @eilupt
Previous parts are here:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Summary: AU (no Dominion and some characters who died in the series are alive like Vedek Bareil) Garak and his surrogate daughter Ziyal find themselves on Deep Space Nine for a month on a stopover to Bajor.
This chapter: Their first date may not have gone so well but Julian's definitely made an impression the second time around, both men taking it slow after ending dinner early. And Ziyal finds herself bowling and maybe a little out of her league (Eh? get it? :D)
Warnings: minor language, minor romance of the femslash variety, minor dominance/submission stuff, and daddy kink
Julian had imagined a bit of a different scenario when Garak had made the suggestion they take an early leave and have their entrees wrapped. Namely that there would be a messy dance from the Promenade to his quarters, full of torrid kisses, groping, and some stops along the way steamy enough to give cause for them to stop, clear his throat, and hurry them along with a stern lecture. That may have happened once or twice in the past if Julian’s being honest… maybe more than once or twice. He’d rather been looking forward to it as keyed up as he’d been through dinner. At first it was with an anxiety borne of nerves; he was so grateful to have had a second chance. But as their meal had gone on and he’d been teased and tormented with those smoldering looks and little butterfly touches he was about ready to go off.
Yet somehow Garak is still calm and serene as he handles the arrangements for the food and meal, daring nothing but a hand to the small of Julian’s back as they leave. His back - just his back - not even a playful grope or squeeze lower. Julian wonders if maybe that doesn’t say something about… well his character that it’s one of the things he’s been expecting and looking forward to. Oh that’s not to say that he’s not excited. If anything, Julian is more excited than he’s ever been in his life, letting that energy channel itself into an endless string of chatter during the walk back. Garak walks close to him, a little closer than the conventional standards of personal space would allow for. Julian dares a few discreet brushes to his leg as a hint. Garak smiles politely but gives a chastising tap to the back each time as he keeps walking.
Julian would be lying if he said it wasn’t starting to make him flustered as they reach the dark of the Turbolift. He damn sure doesn’t want to screw this up, and he isn’t sure what rules they’re still following. There’s an anxious shift from him as the lift door shuts, giving that illusion of privacy, Julian finding himself at an odd loss for words this entire time as he looks to Garak’s mouth - or rather tries not to, wondering if there isn’t some signal he might give that he’d very much like to kiss Garak again. Really, Julian? You can’t wait? You don’t even have the discipline to keep your cool for a few more minutes? Isn’t this the sort of thing that turned him off before? Oh think, Julian, you know Cardassians, or rather you should. And at the heart of it, Garak isn’t behaving uncharacteristically human or anything. You can talk. God knows, everyone knows you can talk.
Well there’s talk and there’s conversation as one of his dates once said to him. He was younger (alright not terribly much younger but like is a journey, a million miles walked and he’s sure he’s grown a lot since then) then and he’s sure he knows how to converse rather than just talk at someone. He’s learned that after alienating nearly all the station those first few months, certain that he was going to get drummed unceremoniously back to Earth citing “irreconcilable differences” like a bad marriage: his aunt Millicent and her rabbits could tell him all about that. But he learned, and he’s a bloody augment, so learning isn’t the issue it’s just- Oh God, say something Julian! You’ve gone from companionable silence to awkward and he’s looking at you so surely you ought to regale him with something! Ah, think think.
So naturally he asks,
“Would you like to give Cindy a kiss?” and sort of wants to die on the spot when Garak gives a curious expression.
“Cindy?”
“She’s ah…” Good one, Julian. Might as well seal the deal and offer to show him while you’re at it. Well, there’s no walking it back, so Julian pastes on a smile he hope looks more seductive than sick. “She’s a friend of mine that I only introduce to someone I really fancy.” Was that terrible? Judging by the raise of a brow ridge that he receives in return, it absolutely is so Julian just drops it. “It’s a tattoo I got in college,” Julian explains before thinking of a game that Garak might find amusing. “The story of how I got her is a funny one but. But… I bet that you can’t guess which one’s the truth,” he challenges, crossing his arms.
He can see Garak is intrigued, excited again, and Julian feels that heat between them resurge, greater than it had with just those touches and looks. So Julian clears his throat, remembering what he’s read in his beloved spy novels of perfect lies and physical tells, cheating a bit, to lock his face to the exact same expression, every muscle moving precisely the same as he begins with the stories, leaned back against the wall of the turbolift, eye contact steady. He thinks that Garak has such lovely eyes for the umpteenth time as the lift doors open and he finishes the final story with a little flourish, soaring again when Garak guides him off the lift with another hand to the small of his back.
“So,” Julian says, stopping them both in the dimly lit empty hall. He may bounce a little on the balls of his feet expectantly. He can’t help the smile as Garak pauses, eyes studying Julian’s throat thoughtfully. I’ve got you, Mr. Garak. They’re all true, or none of them are true because I don’t remember a moment of that night so for all we both know they’re all lies. So whichever one you pick, it’s wrong. Julian thinks he’ll ask Garak to kiss him again. Longer, deeper this time, Julian pinned up against the wall. He has to blink a few times, hoping he hadn’t missed anything while daydreaming. But no, Garak’s only now speaking, a tilt of his head as his eyes drag back up with a look that seems both amused and… proud?
“Could it be possible,” Garak says more thinking out loud as his eyes slip sideways, “that none of them are true?” he asks, eyes boring into Julian’s with an intensity that nearly makes Julian shiver.
“Why would you ask that?” Julian answers that rhetorical question as Garak’s eyes are once more to his neck. “That… that wouldn’t be very sporting of me.”
“It wouldn’t. But it’s exactly as I would expect from a naughty boy, Julian. I expect these little games that require discipline.” Garak straightens Julian’s collar carefully, his knuckles brushing Julian’s skin. He feels feverish. He feels so hot in the hallway knowing that anyone could walk by.
“Isn’t that right, my dear?” Garak practically purrs. It’s ridiculous. Julian’s been caught out so many times in this hallway with another body covering his covetously, half fucking him against the wall. He shouldn’t feel to fluttery, so nervous when Garak’s left hand falls back to his side, the right following idly. Garak is standing so close to him, Julian swearing he can feel the rise and fall of Garak’s belly against his own, so close to touching but not quite, not quite. God he’s hard. Right here, it has to be obvious, he can feel his cock semi aroused, starting to press out against his boxers as he nods, agrees softly, shutting his eyes, thinking that he feels Garak’s fingers on his face, trace his lips, and he swallows or inhales or does both at the same time as he breathes out “yes yes”.
“Clever boy. You have such potential, Julian. I should think to test your potential a little more. Here’s your reward then. You may kiss me this time. Let your mouth convince me that I should let you do it again.” Garak’s voice is low, his ridges dark even in that light and Julian digs his nails into his palm to steady himself. His first impulse is to throw himself against Garak rubbing, whining, tongue bathing him, climbing him like a sturdy old oak. But he thinks better of it thinking of all these little steps, these lessons, knowing that Garak wants more from him than that. He also considers this like a riddle of some ancient guardian, wondering if he shouldn’t press his palm to Garak’s in an artfully perfected Cardassian meeting of palms. He dismisses that to but then thinks why shouldn’t it be the best of both?
His mouth and Garak’s palm.
That in mind, Julian holds up his left palm, seeing the flicker of disappointment over Garak’s face for the contrived gesture. But that’s when Julian curls his hand and brings the back of Garak’s hand to his mouth. He knows that Cardassians have certain sensitive spots, certain erogenous zones on the back of the hand if pressed properly. He also know the areas between the fingers are especially sensitive. Julian starts with the bank of Garak’s hand, a small, soft glide of his lips over the scales, knowing Cardassian skin lacks the small human hairs, loving the smoothness of the small infinitesimal scales to his lips, the tip of his nose brushing the bones, the faints scales around Garak’s wrist. Julian hears the hitch of breath and he can feel Garak’s eyes on him as his tongue carefully pokes between each spread finger, pinky to index until he ends with the bit of skin connecting the thumb, a flick of tongue, a press of his head and a little nip.
Julian hears another stifled groan and god he’s so pleased with himself, so turned on, looking up to meet Garak’s heated look.
“Might I show you the way to my room now, daddy?” Julian asks, surprised at how unsteady his voice sounds when he speaks, his hand shaking as he releases Garak’s. He doesn’t know why he feels so light headed, so hot, so floating this entire time, but he loves it. He adores it. He never wants it to end as Garak nods, another cup of his jaw as if he might kiss him kiss him. Garak’s thumb flicks over his mouth and he nearly cries, nearly faints as his perfect vision blurs.
“By all means, my dear, show daddy your room.”
---
“You bowl like Kai Winn!” Mardah howls as Ziyal watches the bowling ball slowly rolling down the alley hitting two pins down on the left. She smiles, proud that she was able to actually get two this time. The boxes next to her name are a pretty sad array of 0s to Mardah’s strikes and spares. She’s been trying to roll the weighted ball the way Mardah keeps telling her but she’s terrified that her fingers are going to get stuck in the holes. That may have happened the first time nearly sending her down the alley with it when she had her first go. Since then she’s been using a rather embarrassing two handed roll that hasn’t exactly been working either. Ziyal ducks her head a bit embarrassed as a Bajoran couple turns at the teasing, look at each other, then start laughing. Ziyal has no idea who or what a “Kai Winn” is but she seems to have developed a rather large reputation around the station.
Mardah has regaled her with any number of riotous anecdotes involving this woman since they met up at the entrance to the bowling alley. She usually ends with a conspiratorial look around following and usually other younger Bajorans will join in with a story of their own. So far tonight, Ziyal has heard the story of how Kai Winn was caught “betting on underground vole fights” or was overheard “humming some old bawdy Tellerite songs during silent meditation at service”, and numerous other strange transgressions that hardly seem capable to all be performed by one singular individual. Ziyal had finally whispered to Mardah as that this Kai Winn must be some incredible and fascinating figure to have so many stories attributed to her. That was when Mardah sheepishly told her that it had become customary over the years amongst the station’s youth to try and one up each other with odd exaggerated tales of Kai Winn’s imaginary exploits.
Ziyal supposed she would never understand Bajoran humor but then again, her yad’ would likely find a game amusing as well. She wasn’t sure that she believed all of the stories that he’d told her over the years about Skrain Dukat when the two of them had been acquainted. Ziyal had even overheard her yad’s friend Parmak telling him over kanar that Skrain Dukat was once taken to the emergency room to have a regnar pulled out of his ajan. She’d asked about it later and it was one of the few times she’d seen her yad’ almost choke on a drink.
“Alright then, why don’t you show me what I’m doing wrong already?” she asks with a little huff. It’s her second chance to hit more than two pins and Mardah takes pity on her as she gets out of her seat with a beautiful smile.
“Okay, okay, you look so cute though throwing it like that with both hands maybe I couldn’t help myself.” Ziyah thinks that Mardah really has a nice smile as she stands next to her in a stunning dark purple tunic. Her hair is pulled back and she has such fascinating tanned Bajoran skin.
Ziyal thought she was going to jump up in the air when she met Mardah at the entrance and tentatively allowed a brief warm hug.
“So I know you’re worried about the ball catching your fingernails but it won’t. But they have a few balls up there with handles designed for claws that we can get.” It’s a nice thought, and surely Ziyal can see where it would be useful but that prideful part of her is mortified at the thought. A special accommodation? Oh no... no she’s perfectly capable of handling the ball herself and she promises silently right there no matter how foolish she may look she’s using the same ball the Bajorans are.
“Thank you, I think it’s just nerves. Am I holding it right?” She asks carefully putting her fingers back in the holes, telling herself not to panic at the tight suction.
“Right, got it. Maybe a little like is it okay if I make a few adjustments on you?” Mardah asks getting closer. Mardah smells really sweet and Ziyal scents the air just a little tasting honey and wow, Mardah’s hands are over hers, showing her how to adjust the position of her arm and maybe her heart picks up just a little at that touch while she chastises herself for being completely ridiculous.
They’d exchanged blows, throws, they even worked on basic grappling under Major Kira’s instruction and she hadn’t felt anything like this. Well, alright, that was a different environment and Mardah wasn’t wearing that nice perfume, and wasn’t holding her hands like this, and Ziyal is sure she isn’t hearing anything that’s being said right now as Mardah guides her hands to throw the ball. She really does almost hurl the thing too, overcorrecting, feeling electric current on her arms as Mardah runs fingers lightly over the tattoo that she has of the delicate Edossian orchids.
“I didn’t really get a chance to look up close earlier, but I love this. It looks so real,” Mardah says and Ziyal thinks there’s some loud pin knocking noise in the background but she’s kind of dumbly just looking at Mardah’s face really closely. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Cardassian with a…”
“Tattoo?”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“I… I think it’s a borrowed standard word actually. We call it something different but it’s similar it’s um…”
“Hey, you got a spare!” Mardah says, attention diverted as the two girls turn to see the pins and the next frame setting up. It may be undignified, but Ziyal jumps in the air excited.
“I did!” she exclaims, taking Mardah’s hands in hers, only to realize a moment later exactly what she’s doing. She lets go, only to find that Mardah’s grip lingers. “I’m sorry I’d gotten carried with myself, I really didn’t mean to be so vulgar.”
“Vulgar?” Mardah asks looking confused. “I don’t even think Kai Winn would complain about a little hand holding.”
“Oh, oh right or course,” Ziyal agrees, feeling foolish, taking a few steps back as she grabs a self conscious drink. “I really should know better, that Bajorans do things differently and not think that Cardassian culture is the center of the universe. Yad’s’ friend Doctor Parmak is always saying things like that and I’d do well to listen.
“That’s really interesting though,” Mardah says, standing next to her, definitely very- oh very close, stealing a friend potato stick from the table around her. “It’s like how the Tube grubs will wiggle like this to attract a mate,” she demonstrates a comical back and forth motion like a plant leaning towards sunlight, “but you know a gree worm would consider that threatening.” Ziyal laughs, feeling relaxed. Mardah had told her a few stories of some of the insects she’d collected as a child and named, fascinated by the creatures. Ziyal had opened her mouth a few times to contribute her own knowledge, each time having to remind herself that yad’ was nothing more than a tailor, and he certainly wouldn’t know that Elaran weaver venom could be useful in a pinch to feign a comatose state.
“So, am I a gree worm, or a tube grub?” Ziyal asks bravely, finding confidence when she realizes that Mardah still isn’t moving away. Mardah smiles wider, grabbing another stick- a french fry, Ziyal reminds herself. Ziyal found the savory and crunchy sticks to be addictive, eating them until the corners of her mouth started stinging from the salt. Mardah looks thoughtful, both of them ignoring the balls resting lazily next to each other from the return. Ziyal is determined not to look away maybe spending a moment too long on Mardah’s chewing mouth. She wonders if it’s weird that she wants to lick the little salt crystals from those pretty pink lips. Daydreaming, she’s nearly caught out when Mardah finally answers her thoughtfully.
“You’re definitely a peak moth.”
“I’m… a what?” Ziyal asks confused, that moment broken just a bit. A moth? Are those considered a good or a bad omen on Bajor? Mardah quickly continues.
“The peak moth starts out as a caterpillar, but they’re called peak moths because they spend days climbing to the highest part of the tree to build their cocoons, avoiding the birds and other animals that try to eat them. So they’re determined, they’re brightly colored and very friendly if you give them something salty sweet.” Ziyal feels her ridges flushing pleased, also a little embarrassed when Mardah takes her hand and gives a squeeze that definitely starts sending her heart rocketing to the top of the highest tree. “And they’re brilliant navigators. They’re one of the few moth species on bajor that aren’t confused by our artificial lights. You’ll never see one circling around a street lamp like the rest, they’ll go right by, only for the moon, only for heir goal.”
“Oh,” Ziyal breathes, knowing that Mardah won’t quite understand the significant of the gesture, but nonetheless turning her hand to that their palms press together just a little. Mardah’s fingers, sweaty and greasy they are, tease at hers feeling like the best thing ever.
She isn’t sure what she’s trying to say, not having the mastery of flattery and verbosity that her yad’ does.
“I… like your hand,” she says, continuing almost foolishly, she thinks, “I… I bet you get a lot of moths coming to your hand. I mean, you’re like the moon. You’re bright but not too bright and you have a nice hand that I think a moth would really like to rest on if it was tired. And… and you’d be so kind to a little moth ah…” Ziyal trails off knowing she’s babbling, knowing that the man called “father” would say that Cardassians are forceful, they don’t duck their heads for Bajorans, that they’re a proud people. But Ziyal isn’t so proud that Mardah’s threading their fingers doesn’t make her sing inside.
“Moths are my favorite creature to study,” Mardah whispers, a sentence that shouldn’t require such clandestine action but, Ziyal follows suit.
“Would you let a moth draw you?” she asks. That wasn’t what she wanted to ask but it’s what comes out and her stupid hand is sweating because of course Cardassians don’t sweat but Ziyal is something in between and ah… Mardah doesn’t seem bothered when she nods, her nose giving a little wrinkle.
“Absolutely.” Both of them are ignoring the d
in of conversation around them from the other bowlers until they both hear a yell from the back that they should at least have the good manners to finish their set before making eyes at each other.
“You know I’m going to lose,” Ziyal offers lamely, with a reluctant lowering of her hand. She also doesn’t think that she can return back to her quarters if her yad’ and Doctor Bashir are there. Of course he left an hour before she did so surely they’d be finished… by now? Or they may have returned to Doctor Bashir’s quarters? That would make more sense but if he thought he’d have time. Guls, if only there was some way to find out! “I’m just, not sure where else we might go if my yad’ and Doctor Bashir are...” Ziyal trails off, catching a wicked grin on Mardah’s face. “What? Is there something on my face?” She reaches up, patting and rubbing at her mouth. Mardah shakes her head, that gleam still there, making Ziyal feel a rush of anticipation.
“I’ve got something in my room,” she says, holding up a hand just as Ziyal feels her eyes getting bigger- is she's suggesting? “Chief O’Brien one year, thought he’d help Mrs. O’Brien with the school, so he showed one of her classes how to design bots, like these little drones that could perform simple tasks. Well, it didn't go very well when some of them designed these little spy bots that looked like insects and started spying on people." Mardah looks around like someone might be listening, her expression reminding Ziyal a moment of her yad' which is both kind of weird but familiar at the same time. "Odo confiscated them but... Sela kept one and gave it to me for my birthday so I have a little fly in my room."
"Oh! So-"
"You want to take him for a spin? That's Federation slang which is to drive something. Jake taught me that one."
"He seems nice," Ziyal offers diplomatically, hoping all of this wasn’t just in her head.
“He’s a good guy, a good friend,” Mardah agrees, and is she emphasizing “friend”? Maybe? Possibly? Mardah grabs another french fry already in motions before pausing. “Have you ever had a milkshake?” she asks, Ziyal shaking her head no. Her yad’ has some strong opinions on the matter of drinking certain mammalian secretions as he says with a shudder but he’s not here to commentate, and everything else has been wonderful so-
“To go?” Ziyal asks hopefully. “My treat?” Mardah nods, a warm clasp to her shoulder, Ziyal just inwardly singing.
“Oh you know the way to a girl’s heart, Zi.” Really? Oh oh she’ll take that absolutely. “C’mon, I’ll show you the way!”
You know what I appreciate a lot about Deep Space Nine? That as ‘advanced’ as the humans and other species have gotten, they still fall prey to stereotypes. But they eventually try to learn from their ignorance in that way and not use those.
For example, the Dabo girls. Most of the station sees them as you know, a certain type of girl works there. Floozies, probably, girls with no brain and no interests outside of cheating a customer out of their latinum. No morals to speak of, useful only because they are beautiful. That is the image the station paints of Dabo girls.
But throughout the series we are reminded that being a Dabo girl is just a job, like any other. People like Leeta and Mardah remind us that they have aspirations outside of their occupation, and they have just as much right to those goals as anyone else. While they can take pride in their work (or not, to some it’s just a job) they also take pride in who they are, and in their relationships.
Like the alien woman (Sarda) we meet in episode 5 of the first season (Captive Pursuit). It’s just a job to her. She is there to do her time and make her money, but not to be sexually harassed by Quark. She stands for what she wants and immediately gives us, the audience, a peak at what it’s like.
Anyway, I really love that the crew are forced to come to terms with their prejudices against Dabo girls and learn to treat them with respect and not instant suspicion/distrust.
