Oh, Lamia

"Don't you have to go?"

"Go?" Odo protested wearily, for all the world appearing as if it were simply experiencing human sleepiness and not a centre-deep need to coalesce and reallocate all of its make or else risk somewhat dire physical pain.

"Yes, go," was Nerys's fond response; while she enjoyed running her fingers through Odo's all-too-real-feeling hair (and with no want of keeping combed, for it'd all be reset soon enough), she didn't exactly want an unwieldy lap of Changeling as recompense.

Odo reached up to lay a wobbling finger along Nerys's nosebridge creases, doubly scrunched with rue.

"Eventually."