A sharp intake of breath chilled the edges of Varen’s teeth as he sucked in the warm air of Bajor involuntarily, the bitter tang of Ouzo buzzing with cold fire against his insides as it slipped down his throat. Tikva seemed to knock back the shot effortlessly, and a sudden jealousy rolled in Varen’s stomach. At least he hoped it was simply jealousy and not some internal protestation at the liquor.

“I might have to rescind my earlier statement about trusting Greek gifts,” he slapped his slightly numb lips together, attempting to call forth some salvia to dilute the anise flavour. “This is stronger than I remember.”

“Family blend,” Tikva answered as she settled into a lounger, jacket discarded over the back of it. “My uncle runs a boutique distillery. Hobby with pretensions of glory.” She sipped at her own some more, luxuriating in the taste and burn. “Downright dangerous stuff this.”

“I’m glad you came Tikva. For a minute, I didn’t think you were going to accept the invite.” Varen raised an eyebrow playfully. “Life of a commodore and all that.”

He flicked his head back towards the kitchen, where the noisy bustle of cooking had begun. Or more accurately, where Meadow had begun to instruct Aryanna on how not to mess everything up.

“Though dinner might yet be as deadly a challange as any we’ve faced.”

“I think we’re safe. The most dangerous dinners are either behind us or ahead of us.” Tikva saluted the open skies with her drink. “To lower deck bashes and admiralty knife fights. May they always make captains dinners look tame and normal.”

Then she turned to face Varen, a gentle smile on her face. “How’s the big task force office suiting you?”

“If you mean, have I managed to find a way to close those blasted doors and shut out the noise of the galleria yet?” He smiled, the memories of days spent working across the table from Tikva a sweet salve to the bitter drink. So much had changed in less than a year; the memory seemed an age away. “No. Though the sound of chatter and coffee grinders that go all day long is growing on me.”

Varen fiddled with the glasses’ rim idly, running one pudgey finger around its circumference whilst he chewed his lip, causing an extra crease to form over his nose.

“I’d be lying if I said it was all good. You know the gig, frontier town, frontier problems.” He poured a little more of the bitter liquid into his own cup and tilted the slender neck towards Tikva, where a glass was already waiting for refreshment. “On a positive note, Zampatti is getting successful enough to consider a second branch, though. Says he already has a name and everything.”

“Got a location in mind? Because I can think of one if he needs it.” A salute, a sip, a sigh. “Just need to convince someone to open a decent coffee place on Canopus and I’ll be set.”

Silence lingered just a second, verging on awkward when Tikva continued. “I think the Fleet needed this. Hell, Starfleet needs this.” She waved a hand to indicate the clear skies and semi-pastorial landscape before them. “A breather and reset does wonders for the soul.”

Varen lifted the half-filled drink to his lips once more but a sudden clutching in his chest stopped the glass in its tracks. Whether it was the liquer of the sudden memory of the last year was anyones guess, but if anyone would understand it would be his predecessor and mentor. Finding a confidant out in deep space is a challenge at the best of times.

“Do you think we’ll find our way back? First, it was the Borg, again. Festering their way into our very cells. Then the Syndicate, proving that we know even less about what’s happening in the galaxy than we thought. A Blackout that stopped us all in our tracks. Then the Vaadwaur, who might have hurt us the worst of all.”

He pointed over towards the horizon, where a distant low building was surrounded by cranes, standing in stoic silence after a day’s hard work.

“They’d only just finished rebuilding that distribution centre a few days before it all kicked off. The Cardassians knocked down the first one and then made them rebuild it to make a point. The Vaadwaur blew it up because they could, how do people fight without food? So version number three it is. At what point do you think, Just stop building the barn?”

“The day you give up,” Tikva answered, then offered a brief salute to the barn in the distance. “It’s hope, determination and sheer unbridled stubbornness in the face of adversity that keeps you moving. And, I’ll bet you another bottle,” she waved at the ouzo, “that barn has gotten bigger and better this time around because, hey, while it got knocked down, might as well rebuild it for the future.”

She smiled, offering positivity to counter the maudlin musings. “It’s how we handle the setbacks, and importantly the path forward, that defines us. If we ever let the setbacks define us, instead of just being a moment in our history, then we might as well just pack it in. And I’m far, far to keen to keep us exploring to allow that to happen.”

A crash, a bang, a flurry of shouts and exclamations from the kitchen had Tikva chuckling. “Should we perhaps go and mediate before knives come out?”

“I could always issue an alert about a Breen invasion force?” Varen offered a knowing look.

“As tempting as that would be, we’re all here now, so we might as well get on with this dinner. Besides, you promised me keftedes, and I just have to know what the Bajoran take on them is going to be like.”

“Fair warning, i’ve been told i’m a little heavy-handed on the garlic, you may not need a starship to keep the Breen away.” He chuckled.

Varen tipped back the last of his glass, feeling the fiery liquid slip across his lips with a satisfying burn before lifting the empty glass to the horizon, where the sun was beginning to brush the top of the newest incarnation of the farm’s barn.

Bigger and better, he liked the sound of that.