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All of us who have been working on this story fully recognize 
Paramount's ownership to the Star Trek universe in general and the 
Deep Space Nine environment and characters in particular. This was 
written out of love for Star Trek and for the chance at play and 
companionship it gave us. No infringement intended. The story itself 
however, is our own, so please contact us at the address given below 
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                         The Agreement
                       = = = = = = = = =
                     by  The Collaborators
                      = = = = = = = = = =
	              Ariana
		      Eva Albertsdotter Enblom
		      Indrani DasGupta
		      Marlissa Campbell
		      Mary Kay Knasinski
              	      Terrie Drummonds

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Kira had felt a chill run through her when she heard the news -- that
poor boy, Captain Sisko's only son, imprisoned on the flimsiest of
pretexts. Jake was a journalist, not a spy, and even the Cardassians
should have known that. But he was human, and that was crime enough as
long as the Federation and the Dominion were locked in their deadly
stalemate. Despite its initial success in disabling part of the Jem'Hadar
fleet, the Federation "task force" had withdrawn and the two fleets were
engaged in a standoff at the edge of Cardassian space.

The Dominion/Cardassian alliance had stopped short of attacking any other
Federation outposts than Deep Space Nine and some former Cardassian
colonies in the DMZ, and that seemed to dampen the Federation's
enthusiasm for an all-out war. Perhaps the Federation didn't consider the
likelihood of a Cardassian invasion of Bajor reason enough to push the
war to a higher level.

Kira knew that even the imprisonment and probable execution of one
of their citizens would not necessarily prompt the Federation to attack.
They had been known to leave even Starfleet officers at the mercy of
their enemies if diplomatic issues were at stake. There could be little
doubt Sisko would go berserk, but the Defiant alone would be no match for
the station, and in any case, Jake would probably be long dead before the
Cardassians deigned to officially inform the Federation about his
capture.

The chill she felt was not only prompted by horror at the fate which
awaited Jake. It was a sign the Dominion-backed Cardassians were
returning to their old ways now that they had the power to do so.
Unwarranted arrests, perhaps random executions, Dukat's voice echoing in
the corridors of the fallen Deep Space Nine... So difficult to believe
she had ever considered that man with anything but hatred. And yet,
though she would never have admitted it, she had sincerely believed, for
a brief moment, that there was more to him than the bloodthirsty killer,
the Prefect of Bajor she had known of most of her life.

It was just as well that she had never admitted it. She was obviously
wrong. The man was just as heartless and self-centred as she had always
known him to be. And he was right -- the two of them didn't belong on the
same side.

She walked off the turbolift in Ops and was careful not to look at the
Cardassian technicians who ogled her as she passed. She noticed Damar was
giving her a friendly smile; for some reason that idiot believed she and
he were some sort of friends. He always greeted her cordially and
enquired after her health, as if she had any desire to talk to him. She
ignored him just as effectively as usual and walked up to the commander's
office.

Dukat was staring intently at his terminal when she entered, and for a
moment she was able to observe him without his knowledge. His grey
features were serious and she found herself hoping he had received news
of some reversal for his troops. But the concerned expression vanished
into a delighted smirk when he noticed her.

"Ah, Major, what can I do for you?" he asked obsequiously.

*Jump out of the nearest airlock,* she thought, but she decided to keep
her vocal comments to the point. "You could release Jake Sisko," she
suggested.

Dukat just smiled and leant forward on his desk, steepling his hands and
looking up at her with an amused look she knew all too well. "I see," he
said slowly. "I did wonder a little at you coming to see me of your own
accord. You usually only come here when I call for you."

Which was about four or five times a day, as if he had forgotten Damar
was supposed to be his first officer. He usually called her for the
weakest excuses, generally to ask some technical questions one of his
engineers would have been better suited to answer. Though he never
touched her, and was always careful to keep his remarks innocent and
vague, she knew exactly what his looks and behaviour signified, and the
very thought of that cruel man desiring her made her sick to her stomach.

"What have you done to him?" she asked, anxious to focus their
conversation on Jake's situation.

"Nothing... for the moment. We will be sending him back to Cardassia
Prime tonight, to be judged in a high court."

"He hasn't done anything," she protested.

"He tried to send a message to his father which very clearly revealed
some... details about the station. By Cardassian law, that makes him
guilty of espionage. And we do despise espionage, Major," he said
condescendingly. "He must be brought to justice."

She just sniffed at that idea. "Justice, indeed. We know how much your
people love *justice*."

"You can scoff all you like, Major, but like it or not -- and I am well
aware of your opinion on that subject," he pointed out, raising his hand
to stop her protest. "Like it or not, this station is once more under
Cardassian rule, which means Cardassian law is in effect here, and Jake
must be tried for his crime. Like every other state in the galaxy, we
must be careful to preserve our secrets from our enemies, and we just
can't let hostile spies get away with their illegal activities,
especially when they are caught red-handed. We are not unreasonable; if
it were not proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had tried to send
that message, we would of course have released him on the spot."

Realising he was quite serious in his intent, she exclaimed, "You can't
just execute him, Dukat! He's only nineteen."

"Younger men have died to protect the State," he said seriously.

"A pity you weren't one of them," she snapped.

There was a flicker of something like regret in his eyes for a moment,
but then he leant back in the chair and smiled smugly. "Anyway, there
isn't anything I can do, Major," he said in a tone which suggested there
was plenty he could do. "Justice must be done."

                                * * * *

Damage reports. Estimated repair times. Equipment requisitions.
Engineering schedules. Weyoun wailing about what went wrong and when
things were going to be done. Weyoun's insistence that the mine field be
Dukat's primary focus.

Frankly, it gave him a headache.

Dukat had to give Sisko and his Starfleet crew credit for such a thorough
sabotage of the station. Terok Nor was almost in the same condition as
Dukat had left it over five years ago: primary and secondary computer
systems damaged, defense systems off-line, and the reactor core unstable.
The only differences were the Promenade had not been ransacked nor had
any living quarters been demolished. No. Dukat had been left with the
barest of minimums to operate the station.

The tactician in him had been impressed as had the soldier in him.

The administrative side, however, was thoroughly and completely enraged.

Weyoun only made things worse. It was difficult to tell if something
upset the Vorta, but the cloaked mine field in front of the Wormhole had
certainly sent Weyoun into as near a panic attack as a Vorta could come.
Fretting and pacing, the Dominion's envoy was making a nuisance of
himself; Damar had made more than one comment about effective means of
silencing Weyoun.

And now... his latest dilemma: Jake Sisko.

Dukat had been willing to overlook young Sisko's presence on the station;
it was the perfect opportunity to take advantage of the young man's
journalism skills and have Jake Sisko, son of Captain Benjamin Sisko and
son of the Emissary, to be Terok Nor's "Herald of Propaganda." But, no.
Young Sisko had been too eager, too quick to send those messages to his
father before Dukat had had a chance to speak with him, before Dukat
could capitalize on the irony of the situation.

Dukat had hoped Kira or Odo would have brought the situation to his
attention. Then, he could have acted differently; he could have made
different arrangements by inventing some excuse about a joint
Cardassian-Bajoran inquiry on Jake's actions. Why else had Dukat
continually called Kira to his office for the oddest of reasons? He
was sincerely hoping she would bring Jake Sisko's actions to his
attention.

She hadn't; Weyoun had.

Weyoun had been the one to tell him. Not Damar or any of Dukat's
Cardassian's officers. It had been that damned Vorta. Weyoun had stalked
into his office and announced what Jake Sisko had done. Without
considering his words, Dukat had quickly replied that anyone committing
espionage in Cardassian territory would be sent to Prime for a trial.
Death always followed. There were never any who were "proven innocent."

The Vorta had immediately given his approval although delicately stating
he would allow Cardassia to handle the matter. An example, Weyoun had
said with a trace of smug disappointment, must be made of the young man.

Dukat had ordered Jake's arrest; he had known it was only a matter of
hours before Kira charged into his office. The good major had done as he
had predicted; she scorned Cardassian justice while citing that Sisko's
son was innocent. They had a brief exchange of words and her parting
comment about him not dying young had actually stung. She had left, but
he knew she would return with an even more passionate plea.

Perhaps she would persuade Odo to capitalize on his status as "god" to
Weyoun and the Jem'Hadar soldiers which would result in the release of
Sisko. If Odo refused to play the role of deity, Kira would more than
likely find some obscure Bajoran law which would somehow "force" Dukat to
keep Jake on the station.

Dukat smiled. He did wonder what kind of explanation she would come up
with. The major was certainly one of the most resourceful and creative
people he had ever met. How could he forget her words, "You have to use
what you have"? And she was certainly an expert at making do with
whatever resources she had available.

Turning away from the monitor filled with progress reports, he tapped his
finger to his chin. Just what *would* Kira strike back with? How would
she plead the case the next time, and he did know there would be a next
time. Maybe she would play upon his feelings as a father, spur that
paternal protectiveness inherent to Cardassians, Bajorans and Terrans.
That would certainly be a start.

As to what she would follow up with? He honestly didn't know.

                               * * * *

"I'll *kill* him," she burst out as soon as she got into the security
office.

Odo didn't quite roll his eyes, as there was a chance she might see him.
But he had heard Kira threaten to put an end to Dukat's existence before,
and the major rarely had an opportunity to act on her threats.

"I take it Dukat will not release Jake," he said.

"He wants to send him to Cardassia Prime to be tried for espionage!" she
exclaimed.

Odo drew some air into his throat and blew it out in a good imitation of
a humanoid sigh. "There must be something we can do."

"You have some influence on Weyoun. Perhaps you could persuade him to get
the Cardassians to release Jake."

"I can always try, but although Weyoun treats me with respect because of
my species, his loyalty lies with the Founders. Besides, it's Dukat we
need to persuade, and I don't think Weyoun has any particular influence
on him."

"There must be something we can do!" she lamented, unconsciously echoing
his earlier remark.

"We need something to bargain with, but unfortunately, I don't think we
have anything Dukat wants."

She thought about that for a moment, and her features relaxed as she came
up with a possible plan.

"Maybe we do," she said.

                                * * * *

She took a deep breath as the turbolift came up to Ops. This was going to
be hard, very hard, but all she had to do was close her eyes and think of
Bajor, of Captain Sisko, of Dax and the happy times she had had while
this station was under Federation rule. With so much on her mind, perhaps
this would be easy. Some small part of her hoped that she had not been
mistaken about the nobler aspects of Dukat's personality. Maybe the
experience would be bearable.

But as she watched him through the triangular panels of glass in the
office door, she began to have doubts about her plan. She had acted on
impulse, as usual, and without consulting Odo, but there was so little
time left, she felt this required immediate action. The thought that Jake
would be transferred to Cardassia Prime that evening quietened her
misgivings. What mattered now was to save Sisko's son, and she put aside
her own feelings as she walked in.

This time whatever Dukat was reading on the monitor had him grinning
widely and he greeted her with delight.

"Major. You couldn't keep away, I see," he joked. "But you might just as
well be the first to hear the good news. My wife has just informed me
that our eldest daughter is expecting a child!"

No wonder he looked so pleased with himself. In fact, he was positively
beaming with delight, and had to get up out of the chair to consume some
of his enthusiasm.

"Do you want something to drink?" he offered, sauntering over to the
replicator in the reception area. "We must celebrate this occasion."

She didn't feel the least bit like celebrating the imminent arrival into
the universe of another generation of Dukat's descendants.

"When is Jake being sent to Bajor?" she asked abruptly.

"I gather you don't think my grandson is cause for celebration," he
responded, his voice flat and unemotional. He turned to glare at her, and
she had a moment's regret at her rude behaviour. Even the little
education she had had as a child had taught her one should politely
congratulate a future grandfather. It was on the tip of her tongue to
apologise when an image of Jake Sisko suddenly came into her mind. This
grandfather to be was the one who would sign that boy's death warrant.

"Look, Dukat, Jake is all Sisko has. You can't just murder him for a
crime you know he didn't commit!"

"Sending information to the enemy is a crime, and we have proof he did
that," he said, coming back towards her empty-handed, his mood obviously
deflated. "There is nothing I can do about it."

"You could delay his transfer, or deliver him to the Federation," she
suggested.

He sighed and shook his head. He looked rather depressed for a moment,
but then smiled half-heartedly.

"We have no diplomatic relations with the Federation, Major. Jake will be
judged according to Cardassian law, as he should be. Now, if you don't
mind, I will go and find someone more inclined to celebrate with me," he
said as he made for the door.

"Wait," she pleaded. "If you free Jake... you can have me."

He stayed stock still for a moment, evidently astonished by what she had
said. She braced herself for the smug expression she was bound to see on
his face as he turned back towards her. But instead of a self-satisfied
smile, all she saw there was puzzlement.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

She wasn't prepared for this. He obviously hadn't understood what she
meant.

"Dukat..." she started, before deciding she might as well make things
clearer. "I will do whatever is necessary to save Jake Sisko's life."

"I told you I couldn't save him," he said slowly, as if testing her
reaction.

"I know you can. There are plenty of ways you can circumvent that law --
you're the head of the Cardassian state, after all. And if you spare his
life..." She drew in a deep breath, and lowering her eyes, murmured,
"I'll sleep with you."

When she glanced back up at him, Dukat looked as if she had hit him.
Under other circumstances, in fact, she would probably have been very
amused by the undisguisedly astonished look on his face. His pale eyes
were wide and his mouth had even fallen open in a stereotypical stance of
surprise. It took him a minute to recover from the shock.

"No..." he said, in a low voice that sent shivers down her spine.

Her heart was racing so fast it seemed to be beating at her eardrums as
she waited to hear what else he would say. She could hardly believe
circumstances were such that she had actually offered to sleep with Gul
Dukat. And the worst of it wasn't just that she was contemplating doing
such a thing, but that he was apparently unwilling to take her up on her
offer. Maybe she had been mistaken about the extent of his desire for her
after all. She presumed from his refusal that he was going to tell her he
would send Jake to his death anyway.

He stepped closer to her and the banging in her ears grew worse. This had
been mistake, a terrible mistake; she should never have made herself so
vulnerable to this man. She flinched as he gently stroked her cheek with
the back of his fingers.

"I... can't free Jake," he said slowly. "But I can keep him here on the
station."

She did feel some measure of relief. Sisko's son would be safe, at least.
She waited to hear what he would ask from her in return. Whatever it was,
it couldn't be worse than her own offer.

"That is, if..." he hesitated, letting his voice trail off, before
adding, "You could have dinner with me. I would appreciate some company
in the evening, and as long as you are willing to provide that, I will
make sure Jake is not harmed."

She was relieved enough to let it show on her face and he smiled more
confidently.

"You knew I wouldn't accept your offer, didn't you?" he said softly.

She knew nothing of the sort.

                                * * * *

Kira chose to wear her uniform -- a fact which did not go unnoticed by
the man sitting across from her at the table. They had decided to eat in
the Supreme Commander's quarters. Aside from a mutually obvious
reluctance to setting tongues wagging all the way from Bajor to Sector
001, Dukat had the feeling that Kira shared his desire to have this
particular meal uninterrupted by Quark, or Rom.

And, perhaps, Odo.

Not that Dukat cared as to who saw the commander of Terok Nor sharing a
quiet, working dinner with his Bajoran liaison officer. Although, he had
to admit, work was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. As for
quiet---

"Well, Major!" That insufferable smirk was back on Dukat's face and
something inside Kira withered. How had she ever thought that this was
going to be easy? Or, at least, bearable? All you have to do, Nerys, is
let him talk and keep your mouth shut. Don't respond. Eat. Say good
night. And leave. Should be simple.

Except for one little detail.

Tonight, she would have to fulfil her part of a bargain made in haste.

"Here we are... having our long-awaited dinner together," Dukat said as
he held up his glass of Bajoran spring wine. Kira drained hers
promptly... before he could come out with some ridiculous toast.
Ignoring his knowing smile, she began to eat.

"Long-awaited by whom?" She just could not help herself. The man made her
itch all over. She threw one of those especially-made-for-Dukat venomous
glances in his general direction. "Certainly not by me!"

She continued to eat the hasperat. It really was very good. And she
noticed that it was significantly different in its piquancy from the one
she usually favoured at the replimat. Stealing a glance at him, she saw
that he had chosen to ignore her comments and was attacking his plate
with gusto. He looked, simply, delighted.

"You know, Major, this is the best hasperat I have ever had outside
of... well, outside of..."

The inflection was slight, but she caught it. And that... something...
in his eyes. A sudden desolation. She had seen it before. At a makeshift
gravesite on a desert planet.

Annoyed at her train of thought, she began to ask as to where he had
gotten hold of the programming for the recipe when he interrupted her
and, in typical Dukat style, forestalled her...
"Do you cook, Major?"

Unnerved, Kira sputtered and choked on her wine. Incensed at her dining
companion's barely suppressed mirth, she dabbed irritably at the stain
the spill had made on the front of her uniform jacket. She had no idea
whether she was angry at his incessant teasing, her own clumsiness, or
his juvenile reactions. *Why* had she allowed this to happen? Why did she
*always* allow this to happen? And, come to think of it, she had put up
with this... this man... for what seemed like eons. Had she ever let any
other man burrow so deeply under her skin, maraude her most cherished
dreams with impunity, deprive her of her dearest friends and family --
and get away with it? And, why did the Prophets continue to throw her at
the mercy of this... this *monster*?? What kind of cruel -- and
protracted -- test was this?

Self-pity ill-fitted Kira Nerys. But, these days, it seemed as if that
was all she had left. That -- and the anger; the anger that had sustained
her throughout her life; the anger that, knowingly or unknowingly,
he fed.

Anger spawned by moments such as one, not too long ago, in the deserted,
darkened corridor of the fallen Deep Space Nine. The swaggering bounce in
his step; that vexingly familiar scent of him -- heightened by those
unavoidable Cardassian pheromones and laced with triumph; that moment
would be with her... perhaps forever.

Something in that darkened passage filled with Jem'Hadar soldiers had
drawn her inexorably to him. And, like the proverbial Terran moth, she
had found herself riveted to that unwavering, ominously intimate gaze;
and had returned it in kind -- uncaring and unaware of any other. It was
as if all of her past, his past, and whatever comprised their tortuous
shared history -- congealed into that one, inevitable, moment. It had
come. It *had* to. Ever since he had promised her so, she had known it
would.

Everything he had lost, he had regained.

However fleeting the moment, however transient the power -- it was his.
That moment was his... and the steel-blue eyes on hers could not have
been more revealing; the hate in her eyes had barely left a scar.

But, all said and done, that which disturbed her most was her own
reaction. Because for one insane moment, when he had brushed past her...
eyeing her with that teasingly feral smile... instead of stepping back
to make way, she had wanted to press her body against his. Just to
witness his reaction would have been worth all the cost -- she had
reasoned with herself later on. But, would it? And, was it only to see
his reaction? Or, was it an instinct based on an entirely different set
of responses... responses she did not even dare to examine in the light
of day? And, Sweet Prophets, what madness had possessed her to think up
the plan she had?? To not even consult Odo---

"You know, Major," Dukat intoned, seemingly unfazed by the look on her
face. "You *could* muster up a bit of an enthusiasm for the news I had
this morning. My first grandchild!" His eyes darkened as he warmed to
his subject. "My first grandchild, Major! A momentous occasion -- one I
have awaited a long time." A smile of genuine pleasure creased the sides
of his mouth. Amazing, the expressiveness of this man's face! A monster
shouldn't be an open book! To distract herself, Kira asked a question.

Any question would do...

"So does your daughter *do* anything besides having babies, Dukat?"

He threw her a reproving look but made no effort to hide that little
smile of paternal pride playing around his lips. His eyes glazed over
for a moment -- as if in memory of a certain image.

"She is chief engineer of the H'Gathha, Major. I thought you knew that."

Grudgingly, Kira conceded. She hadn't bothered to check his family's
recent accomplishments, though she did know that he was very fond of his
children... especially Mekor, his youngest son. Captain Sisko had told
her that once.

But... chief engineer of a Galor-class ship, hmm? Cardassians... trust
them to surprise you when you least expect it!

But she wasn't done yet.

"So... how old is she?"

He looked at her curiously, attempting to gauge the direction of her
thoughts. "Who, Galien?" His eyebrow ridges furrowed a bit. "Let's see,
she's our eldest... hmm... she's about thirty years, by your calendar.
Why?" His eyes had caught something in hers and sharpened.

Kira hoped her face was innocent enough. "Oh, she is just about my age,
then."

His eyes narrowed. "So she is. A little younger, perhaps, than you,
Major--- "

"---but... the same generation!" She retorted, unable to suppress the
wide grin as it spilt itself all over her face. She was having too good
a time... damn him!

Her fingers lazily twirled the thin stem of the wine glass.

Two could play those infernal games he so enjoyed. Games of power. And
control.

Playing with fire...

What would it be like? To see him lose that control?

"Come to think of it, Dukat," she felt her toes curl in sheer
anticipation, "my uncle, my father's *elder* brother, is probably just
about your age."

Oh, it felt SO good! This poking and prodding of that armour of his.

She could actually feel his surprise, and saw his eyes lower and his
fists clench loosely on each side of his plate. But that infernal smile
was still on his face.

"On Cardassia, women marry young. And a habitually large age difference
between a couple is a matter of course." His voice was curiously light.

Too late. She wasn't about to let him get away, now. "So, you're saying
it's *natural* for Ziyal to seek out Garak, by Cardassian custom?"

She almost shivered with the raw, delicious sense of satisfaction that
spread through her as she watched the indigo eyes harden and the fists
clench, knuckles gleaming a pale-gray. "What are you trying to imply,
Major?"

"Nothing." Kira picked up her glass and drained it. "Except that even
though I don't approve of Garak, I don't think you or I have any say in
the matter of them spending their time together." She sliced the air on
her right with her palm. "And if Cardassian tradition dictates that an
age difference is natural -- who are we to argue?"

She felt positively languorous at the pleasure it gave her to see his
stunned face.

Take *that*, my dear Gul!

The silence lengthened as Kira watched Dukat covertly. A pastime that,
it shamed her to admit, quite suited her of late. His face was closed,
the sudden inscrutability unsettling her a bit. His eyes were on her
wine glass -- on her fingers as they curled around the stem of it. The
steady regard unnerved her and she snatched her hand back to join the
one on her lap, out of his sight.

Damn, her hands were actually trembling!

Dukat raised his eyes to her face. "Are you saying then, Major, that
those twenty-odd years between *us* don't matter?" Something in his eyes
stilled her breath, and when she found her voice, it sounded subdued.

"I am talking about Ziyal and Garak."

Forgetting... forgiving... what did it matter? It was all the same.

And, beyond her power.

The half-smile was back on his face.

"Ahh... I see," he picked up a bottle standing at the corner of the table
and poured her a generous portion of the kanar. Watching the velvet
liquid fill her glass, Kira had a sudden vision of another Cardassian
face. This one fuller, gentler, limned in pain; atop a sweat-drenched
pillow, surrounded by feeding tubes.

No, not the kanar.

She drew a breath to stem the lancing pain in her chest. Dukat watched
her quietly.

"Try the pie instead, Major," he suggested, his voice a bit too gentle,
a bit too knowing, for her comfort. "It's quite good."

Kira looked blindly back at him.

"Where *is* Garak, anyway?" He asked, watching her over the rim of his
glass.

"How should I know? I don't keep tabs on him, Dukat!" She knew the edge
was back between them. Somehow, Prophets only knew why, he had *forced*
it back. And, where Gul Dukat was concerned, that edge was her lifeline.
She never... EVER... wanted it to go away.

"Do you, at least, keep tabs on my daughter, Major Kira?" He had stopped
smiling.

Kira shrugged. "I wasn't aware of being *appointed* by anyone to do so.
Besides, she is an adult."

"An adult who has never spent any significant length of time alone on
Bajor," his voice dripped that special icy disdain reserved for special
people. Garak, for instance. Only, now he had chosen to dispense it to
Kira.

"That is, I assume Ziyal *is* on Bajor," he took a sip of his kanar and
eyed Kira's studied nonchalance with that thinly veiled amusement which
never failed to irritate her. "In fact, my... operatives should be able
to find her soon enough."

Kira stared at him. "And then?" Her voice was hoarse with fear.

The pie sat unbroken between them.

"And then?" he repeated. "And then, Major, I will apologize to her. As
any deluded and egotistical father should."

Kira felt her jaw drop. "You... you're going to admit that you were
wrong?"

Dukat put the thumb and forefinger of his right hand on each side of his
lower lip and rested the elbow on the table, his eyes alight with
amusement. "On some counts... yes."

Kira closed her mouth.

"You don't approve, Major?" The creases deepened on each side of his
mouth.

"I... umm... well... I *would* like to see this happen... if, that is...
when it does."

He laughed out loud at her words. "Really, Major, you should know by now
that Ziyal *is* my weakness. And," he shook a finger at her teasingly,
"I really am not the monster you... and others... have made me out to
be."

He picked up a knife and cut her a piece of the pie. "If you'd give me
half a chance I'd prove it to---"

"---forget it, Dukat!" Kira was disgusted by the fact that she had
actually begun to eat, and was enjoying, the Larish pie. She usually
abhorred the stuff. What was *happening* to her?

And why the Prophets was meeting that keen blue gaze proving to be such
a battle? "You blew your chance *this time* when you joined the Dominion
and retook Deep Space Nine."

And, imprisoned Jake.

"Terok Nor... now," Dukat's smug expression was, if anything, testimony
to the utter failure of her outburst. Candor was only grist for this
man's mill. Kira resigned herself to finishing her pie and... and then
what? This was a mistake. A BIG mistake. She could not sleep with this
man... she WOULD not!

If not for Jake...

If not for...

The room was quiet, for once. Sensing something amiss, Kira looked up.
Dukat was sitting back, watching her -- indigo eyes hooded. And, for
some reason as yet unacknowledged, Kira could not hold that keen,
razor-sharp gaze as it met hers. At her frown, he sat forward and laced
his fingers together... resting a furrowed chin on them.

"Major..." his voice was soft, a bit bemused. But Kira, ever-familiar
with this man's proclivity for setting verbal traps, felt her breath
catch in her throat. "This *was* an informal invitation on your part,
wasn't it?"

Kira's pulse jerked and began to race as she stared grimly down at her
right hand -- gripping a knife.

It had come, then. That moment of reckoning. For her. For them both,
perhaps.

A curious mix of anticipation and doom licked at her nerve-endings as
she waited for the moment he would politely rescind his own offer while
accepting and enforcing hers. She felt her eyelids turn slowly to lead
and struggled in the effort to look at him. Funnily, a part of her mind
insisted on dwelling on why his hands, palms, and fingers weren't scaled.

What would it be like? To be held firmly in their strength, to be
touched... caressed... by those long fingers as they trailed fire down
her---

Must be the spring wine. You never did have a head for the stuff. That's
why you should stick to synthale, *Major*!!

Kira drew in a deep, steadying breath. And... decided. She had already
lost most everything precious to her -- to this man.

Tonight, she would lose all.

Her eyes caught the movement of his shoulders as he shrugged, a gesture
rendered almost indecipherable by the armour he wore.

"As always, Major, your company has been exhilarating as well as
educational," his blue eyes never left her face. "But I can see that you
are exhausted. As am I. And tomorrow *is* another day. Is it not?"

Kira felt numbed. Dukat smiled, a bit grimly it seemed to her, as he got
up, crossed the room, and keyed open the door to the corridor. Kira
stood, her knees feeling like the insides of the pie she had
half-consumed.

Dukat put a hand on the doorjamb, and bending slightly forward, took a
quick look around the deserted corridor beyond.

He turned back to her, an expression of undiluted conspiratorial delight
on his face. "All clear, I would surmise," he dramatically
stage-whispered to Kira.

Put one step *right* in front of the other, Nerys. That's it. And,
another. And, another. One more -- and all freedom was hers to hold. Or,
was it?

Indigo eyes met a stunned, doe-eyed gaze as Kira stepped, numbly, out
into the corridor.

"Major... next time we have dinner... could you... conceivably, make
yourself more comfortable and leave that uniform jacket off?" His bow
was barely noticeable but curiously courteous. "After all, it's only me.
And we both know that you aren't afraid of me, Major. Hmm?"

As she stared up into that familiar, sly grin, Kira felt the old simmer
surging back into her veins, fuelling a latent outrage. "NEXT time,
Dukat, armour or NO armour, TWENTY Jem'Hadar soldiers would not keep me
from giving you what you've been... ASKING for all these years!!"

"Major!!" Dukat's face was a study in triumphant, wicked delight. "I'll
be waiting."

He leant slightly toward her -- his breath, cool and curiously sweet,
fanning her cheeks. Kira trembled -- shock, relief, and a touch of plain,
old-fashioned nerves weakening her limbs for a paralyzing instant.

His grin was all-too knowing. All-too Dukat. "The soldiers can wait...
outside... perhaps?"

Swivelling around, she ignored that deep, throaty rumble of a laugh and
took off -- his lilting "pleasant dreams, Major..." trailing after her
like tendrils of cold flame.

                                * * * *

Kira walked rapidly along the corridor, not looking back to see if he had
remained in the doorway. Surely he would not be fool enough to do that?
Unless he particularly wanted to annoy her, and he always seemed keen on
that. In fact, she could picture him standing there, leaning casually
against the doorjamb - more the gamin than the commander - just to watch
her swing her hips. The thought stoked a new fury in her, fuelled by her
recent near-surrender to other feelings entirely. But she would not look
back...

If she had, she would have seen that the door was indeed closed. She
might also have seen an oddly contained, almost sinuous golden liquid
slide down the wall and congeal into a familiar form as it touched the
next horisontal surface outside Dukat's quarters.

Odo rippled into his best semblance of solidity and stood for a while,
musing, as Kira disappeared around the corner. He could not but think he
had done right in keeping an eye - or whatever - on her. She had seemed
so preoccupied of late, and he could always tell when something was
weighing on her. In most instances she would tell him about it, even ask
his advice, and then he would have no need to spy on her. But on those
occasions when she did not tell him...

He made no bones about spying, not really. It was his job to know things,
and he had worked his first long spell in Security under the Cardassians.
He was working for them again now. Besides, for all the posturing of
Starfleet officers, even Sisko had often thanked him for knowing what
would not have been - humanly - possible to know.

It was his job to know things, but also his nature. There were no secrets
among Foun... changelings. Granted that he had encountered others of his
species late - and did not particularly like them - but somehow he had
always known. The humanoid taste for secrecy was really alien to him.
Perhaps that was why he related so well to Betazoids. They were, after
all, the least secretive humanoids he knew - also for natural reasons.

He found himself still following Kira, walking along the route she had
taken, now and then catching a glimpse of her as if to confirm that he
was on the right track. He wasn't really thinking about it at first;
surveillance had become second nature to him, the human style as well as
his own.

When he caught on, he realized that he was not doing it just for her. He
was concerned for her yes, as always when she seemed troubled - and if
this particular trouble involved Dukat, then she might even have
difficulties extricating herself. But Odo knew that he was also looking
out for himself. It was always important that nothing happened to Kira,
but it had never been more important than now. Now that she knew... now
that she had agreed to explore - or at least discuss - the possibilities
with him, after all this was over...

She had, hadn't she? That was what it amounted to? A pale shade of a
promise to reevaluate their relationship? He berated himself for hoping
again - his hopes were always too quick to rise...

Resolutely, he lengthened his strides. If she was in some kind of trouble
with the Cardassian commander, her old friend might be able to help.
Dukat had seemed oddly pleased - that must mean things were going his
way, and that could never be good. Purposeful now, Odo followed Kira -
into Quark's of all places. Fortunately, the barkeep was busy calming a
loud customer and did not see him enter. In an instant, Odo was gone from
sight, and the furniture slightly augmented.

Kira walked up to the counter, catching Quark on the rebound from his
quarrelsome patron.

"Get me something I haven't had before", she said.

Quark spread his hands apologetically. "My supplies are sadly depleted
these days", he began. "My transports are being upheld for reasons beyond
my..."

Kira's hand smacked flat against the top of the counter, startling the
Ferengi. "You've got kanar, haven't you? Sure you must have." She threw a
carelessly disdainful glance over her shoulder at a group of Cardassian
soldiers on leave. "So pour me some, and be quick about it, you little
troll!"

Quark looked at her, noting the slightly slurred words, the wine on her
breath. "Are you quite sure, Major?"

An empty chair suddenly rose from its table, becoming something else in
the process. Odo concluded his materialization at Kira's elbow.

"No, she's not", he told Quark, who nodded understanding.

"I thought as much."

Kira spun around, her eyes hot peppers, threatening mayhem. "And who
appointed you my personal guardian? Weyoun?"

Odo closed his eyes briefly, an oddly humanoid expression of sharp pain.
*Still*, he thought, *still*, after what the Founders did to me, and
after all my time as a human... But he knew he was not being fair. She
never would have said such a thing, had she been sober and untroubled.
She did not mean it, she had only lashed out with something that could
not fail to sting. The pain was shuddered - rippled - off in an instant,
and only Quark noticed it.

"You've just proved my point, Major", Odo said firmly, his voice only a
little raspier than usual. "You don't want kanar. If you expect to be up
and on duty tomorrow, you'll allow me to see you safely to your quarters
now."

He could see she was about to refuse. Then her eyes came to rest on
Quark. The Ferengi was doing his best to melt into the background, but he
was no shapeshifter. His inquisitive eyes and overlarge ears were all too
much in evidence. Kira relented.

"As you wish, Constable", she said, suddenly as docile as she had been
belligerent before.

On his barstool, Morn turned slowly around to watch them go, his eyes
strangely sad - or perhaps just bleary.

                                * * * *

Odo walked her to her quarters in silence. Outside them, as she stopped
to thank him civilly enough, he finally brought it up:

"Major, if there's anything troubling you...", he began, his voice so low
as to rasp worse than ever.

"I'm fine, thanks", she clipped back, instantly back on her guard.

He did not know yet what had caused this sudden barrier between them, but
he was determined to find out.

"Major, please let me help. I'm your friend, remember? That's one thing
that hasn't changed with the new regime. Now, if you're somehow in
trouble with Dukat..." He got no further.

"I had dinner with him, that's all!" she yelled at him. "I didn't know
that constitutes a crime in your book - *Constable!*"

Odo leant back as if from a gale. The fierceness of her protest set off
alarm klaxons all through his deductive mind - loud enough for her to
hear, apparently...

"I'm sorry, Odo", she amended, a little too quickly for his taste. "It's
just - the burden of diplomacy, you might say. It gets a bit much
sometimes." She smiled suddenly. "It never was my strong point, you'll be
the first to agree."

He wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her. But it hurt him that
she was so obviously back to hiding things from him. In the end, he just
bowed stiffly.

"I think we have seen quite enough evidence of that tonight, Major."

                                * * * *

The next morning found Kira pacing angrily in her quarters, thinking
about Dukat and their first attempt at dinner together. He'd done it
again - he'd flustered her again, caused her to publicly lose her
composure, her sense of control. And the bastard had seen it all and had
savored it, every minute of it. No more would she meet him in his
territory, with a frightened look on her face and uncertainty in her
every movement. No, she would never let herself fall into that trap
again. The next round of this prey-predator game would be hers.

The image of Odo rose unbidden to her mind. She knew she had been harsh
with him again, and she regretted it, she had not meant to bite his head
off. Why was it that he always seemed to be around in her worst moments,
to catch the brunt of her wrath? Maybe because he was always around,
period. Funny how she was only now beginning to notice, now that she
knew... Prophets, what had she said to him? Above all, why? Why had she
suddenly felt she needed to defend her actions to him? Well, it wasn't
the first time. In a way, he had always acted as her guardian - her
conscience even. Small wonder, she thought, if he was in love with me
all this time... Somehow, that did not make his watchful gaze any more
bearable. The only thing that had, momentarily, alleviated matters was
finding out about the three innocent Bajorans, wrongfully executed during
Odo's former tenure under Cardassian rule. She had been appalled, yes,
but also relieved. Some part of her must have been convinced he really
was infallible...

He did not miss much, though. Had she aroused his suspicions last night?
There I go again, she thought, suspicions of what? I do have the right
to dine with whomever I please - or not - without clearing it with the
Constable first... Don't I?

                                * * * *

Kira spent half an hour planning, and then she sent Dukat an invitation
for dinner that very same evening. If it appeared as if she were eager
for his company, so be it. He should know better and probably did, not
that it would keep him from teasing her about it.

This time the meal was to be taken in Kira's quarters, on her ground as
it were. It wasn't until she heard his delighted acceptance over the
monitor that she realized that he hadn't really been in her quarters
before - not as a guest... The last time he had intruded upon her
privacy here - to discuss the then dying Ghemor - she had thrown him out
by sending a cup past his ear. Too bad it had missed. And the first
time... she remembered how he had unexpectedly shown up, as a mere
freighter captain, to pick up her bags. The first time ever that he had
been in here, it had been in the capacity of servant. Good.

The menu did not take much preparation. All was set by the time her door
chimed. As she went to answer it, she added the final touch by removing
her jacket and throwing it over a chair in passing.

"Ah, I see you took my advice, Major", he greeted her appreciatively as
she let him in. "Much more comfortable, isn't it?" His eyes travelled all
over her in a way that angered her immensely and made her all hot and
bothered at the same time. She was determined not to let him confuse her
again - and yet she did nothing to clear his path as he brushed past her.
This was becoming a habit. In his presence, her body was always betraying
her mind, and he seemed to count on it, curse him. But her gaze never
wavered from his as she said,

"I doubt you set much store by your own advice, Dukat. Considering that
you haven't followed it yourself." She eyed his habitual armour, in place
as always. "Or do you expect me to stab you in the back?"

"I make a point of never underestimating you, Major", he said lightly,
his eyes glittering. "Although in your case I could have hoped for a more
frontal attack. What I meant was, comfortable for *you*. After all, I
have no complaints about the temperature - not since we were able to
repair the environmental controls." Since she was already visibly
seething, he added, "Of course, if you insist, I shall gladly accommodate
you - next time. I'm sorry I did not bring a change of clothes..."

Well, that did it. She no longer felt slightly silly about what she was
going to do. The bowls were already on the table, rapidly cooling.

"Shall we?" she said by way of invitation. "I'm afraid it won't stay hot
very long..."

She sat down, and so did he - on opposite ends of the table, for she had
placed the bowls as far apart as possible. The two bowls and a coarse,
wooden spoon each were the only items laid out.

"Ahh - memories", Kira said, closing her eyes and pretending to relish
the watery contents of her bowl. "Don't you like it? It's standard
Cardassian fare on this station. At least it used to be - don't tell me
you have changed the tradition? Or didn't the Cardassians have this soup
themselves? Back in the good old days?"

She had thought he would flare at the insult. In fact, she was preparing
for a fight as she spoke. But the eruption did not come, and as she
looked up, he was calmly eating the soup, and she could have sworn he was
not even doing it to save face.

"Next, you're going to tell me you like it", she said, dropping her own
pretense to that effect.

He smiled a little - a strange smile, not his usual teasing one. "I've
had worse. Much worse - and considerably less."

She stared at him, unbelieving. What was he trying to pull now?

He finished the bowl, calmly if not enthusiastically. "Have you ever been
in a Cardassian prison, Major?" he asked conversationally. "A State
prison on Prime, I mean - not the labour camps."

She glared sullenly at her soup, then put her handcrafted spoon away, her
triumph spoiled. "Are you telling me you have?" she muttered.

"Is that so hard to believe, Major? Granted, it might seem unusual to a
Bajoran, but both Terran and Cardassian history is full of the grand
feats of leaders who went from the dungeons to the throne - usually on a
long and tortuous path. Does that disturb you? Did you really think
suffering was a Bajoran prerogative?"

It did disturb her. Oddly not so much because he had taken the edge off
her little scheme - again - but because she did not like the image of him
as a prisoner, starved, perhaps tortured by his own people. It was
acutely unpleasant, and she did not bother to analyze her reaction.
Whether it was that he had approved the treatment of Bajor, fully knowing
its meaning, or that she was so used to seeing him in a position of power
that she had come to expect, even *want* him to stay there, as someone to
do battle with, not to pity - or if it could be that she no longer wanted
to see him hurt.. she did not know, and right then she did not care. She
just wanted the image to go away.

And then something occurred to her. She did not think he was lying,
because she had found that he rarely told outright lies and never without
reason; he was much more fond of tripping others up on the
inconsistencies of their own statements - but she just had to ask:

"I thought death was the only punishment on Cardassia, and 'guilty' the
only verdict."

He folded his hands loosely in front of his chin, elbows on table. "I was
awaiting trial and execution of course."

"For what?" she asked, but her eagerness for some sort of hold on him was
a little too plain on her face, and he just smiled.

"Those were restless times. Let's say I was... too controversial for
comfort. Even then."

"How did you get out of it? You can't very well have talked your way
out... not on Cardassia."

He gave her a quick glance, full of mock reproval. "The rules changed.
There was a change of regime - a coup if you will, and as is usual on
such occasions, all political prisoners were set free."

Quickly, she added up the information in her head. "You mean, the
*civilian* government freed you?"

He smiled noncommittally. "There have been many coups on Cardassia Prime,
Major."

She stared absently at her spoon. To think that she could have been rid
of him all these years... but in such a way? Granted, she would not have
known, but now the image haunted her. She had often wanted to see him
dead - but not subdued, not demeaned, not...

Almost furiously, she stared at her spoon for so long that he found an
easy way both to break the silence and change the subject.

"Your people are good artisans", he said. "Those spoons are well carved
with simple means. How long have you had them?"

Suffering - a Bajoran prerogative... did he mean to imply *she* was the
arrogant one? "Too long", she said abruptly, flinging her spoon at the
recycler - and missing. Probably just as well. She would have regretted
it tomorrow.

He stood and came around to her side. For a moment she thought he was
about to take her hands in his, but he stopped just short of touching
her, as always.

"May I suggest we end this silly game", he said, but his voice was
gentle. "Why don't we consider this - traditional - dish a somewhat
sentimental precourse and follow it with a proper meal? Leave the past,
Major. If only for tonight, I beg you."

He sounded so sincere - but then he was always good at that. Suddenly
tired of looking for five hidden motives behind every word he spoke, she
nodded. "Just give me a minute, I'll coax something better out of the
replicator."

"No, Major", he said, remaining in her way as she tried to rise. "Let's
have it in my quarters. The lighting is more - romantic, shall we say?"
He smiled wickedly. "I promise to take off my armour..."

She did not really think the lighting in her quarters was bright enough
to hurt his eyes - it was slightly modified, but on the whole, she had to
live with Cardassian environmental controls too. Nor could he mean what
he seemed to be saying - he was, after all, Cardassian. No, she was
pretty sure he simply felt that the ambiance of her quarters had been
ruined. For her own part, she felt it keenly. She answered in kind,

"I'll hold you to that promise, Dukat."

Her attempt at double entendre was not lost on him - of course - and she
could see it delighted him.

"I'll give you your minute, Major", he said. "But only to let me return
to my quarters ahead of you. It might not be advisable to let certain
parties see us together."

After he left, she was wondering what he meant by 'certain parties'. His
men? The Jem'Hadar? Weyoun? Her door chimed, and she went distractedly to
answer it, thinking he had come back to warn her about something or
other. Perhaps their dinner was off...

She stared at Odo full ten seconds before realizing it was him.

"Anyone might think you had seen a ghost, Major", he rasped. "I assure
you, I am quite real. If not exactly - solid." He cursed himself inwardly
for the feeble joke. On the other hand, there was nothing unusual about
his shape at the moment, and she did look as if he were the last person
she had expected to see. It seemed reasonable to assume that she had
expected someone else. Someone he had just seen leaving, perhaps?

"Odo?" she said, finding her voice. "What did you want?"

His keen perceptions told him she was making an effort not to sound curt.
She had not really succeeded. He took in her state of undress, as he
thought of it. Much as he relished the rare occasions when she would
leave her jacket behind - especially since his spell as a human - he
found it a cause of worry now. Could Dukat have brought her to this?

Suddenly, it all fell into place. Her obvious concern for Jake, her
preoccupation after their discussion, her - 'dinner' with Dukat... it
stabbed Odo to the quick, and yet he knew she had done it for nothing but
sheer, stubborn, Bajoran altruism. Damn, why couldn't she have talked to
him about it first? Of all the silly plans - as if it would get her any
way at all with Dukat, as if it could buy Jake two minutes of freedom...

He had been planning to use some reports as a pretext, but pretexts no
longer mattered. "I wanted to see how you were, Nerys", he said
distinctly. "How are you?" He wished the question had sounded less
inquisitory.

"Fine", she said airily, with a vague wave of her hand. "Why shouldn't I
be?"

"You're out of uniform", he observed.

"So what?" She laughed - a little nervously, he thought. "What with the
Cardassian environmental controls..."

"Major", he interrupted before she could become embarrassing even to her
own ears, "if there is anything, anything at all troubling you, I want
you to tell me. Please."

And maybe she would have at that. At that moment, she quite possibly
might have. But his 'please' from habit sounded more like an order than a
plea, and the quiet 'Nerys' had changed into the formal 'Major'. She knew
he always fell back on his accustomed, authoritative manner when overcome
by shyness, but it did not help matters.

"Get out, Constable", she retaliated. "When I need you, you'll be the
first to know." She saw him stiffen and relented instantly. "Odo, I'm
sorry. What I mean is, I'm fine, really. But if I'm ever in trouble, I'll
call on you. Promise. Please trust me. If something comes up that I can't
handle..."

"Can you handle a Cardassian twice your size, Major?" Odo asked,
sufficiently beside himself to exaggerate.

The ice was back between them.

"It wouldn't be the first time", Kira said.

                                * * * *

She was unpredictable. Perhaps that was the biggest appeal of Major Kira
Nerys. Dukat never knew quite what to expect.

She needled him. From her broad smile and the triumphant glimmer in her
eyes, he suspected she rather enjoyed insulting him, twisting his words
to suit her case. He was, of course, usually one step ahead of her. He
supposed if she had a proper education, her wit would be deadlier than
his own. Still, despite the lack of education, she was able to score a
few points against him now and again.

Tonight's meal had been one of them. The soup... a sharp reminder of
times past where he did not have the option to refuse the food simply
because it was the only thing being offered to him. He had revealed a
part of himself this evening, an odd moment of his life he thought he had
overcome, and for whatever reason, the major relented in her campaign to
irritate him and had actually sounded... sympathetic. She had almost
become the same woman who fought by his side first on the freighter and
then on the Klingon Bird of Prey. The version of Kira Nerys which had
made him admit to himself just how smitten he was by her and why.

Dukat sat on the edge of the sofa, wondering just when Kira would deign
to arrive. She wasn't one to usually keep him waiting. These dinners...
he laughed to himself...

They had been another surprise.

"I'll sleep with you."

Her announcement had struck him cold. At first, he thought she mocked
him, taking a cruel twist on his words "Everything I have lost, I will
regain." He could never hope to have everything back as it had been
during the height of his career; Naprem was dead and Ziyal... he had
disowned Ziyal.

But as he stepped forward and touched her smooth skin with his fingers,
he saw the look in her eyes. She wasn't doing this as a way to ridicule
him. It had nothing to do with him at all.

Kira's loyalty was with Benjamin Sisko and had extended to Sisko's son.

No desire. No wanting. No passion. She was determined to do whatever it
took to save Sisko's offspring.

Dukat couldn't allow Jake Sisko to simply go free. He had had enough
knives in his back over the past year, all stemming from after he had
proudly presented Ziyal to the society on Prime. He could not afford to
simply snap his fingers and let a Terran who had committed espionage go
free. There were too many ties, too many ways for it to be misconstrued
and used against him in his moment of weakness. He did the only thing he
could do: keep Sisko on the station.

"I'll sleep with you."

How often had those particular words echoed in his mind? Enough so that
when Kira spoke them, they chilled him. She had said them for three
simple reasons:

Loyalty. Duty. Faith.

She was offering him the one thing he could not force her to do:
willingly be with him in that manner.

Loyalty. Duty. Faith.

He understood those concepts. They were ideals he himself lived by,
although his faith was not in the Prophets but in the strength of his
people. The Vorta. The Jem'Hadar. They were loyal to the Founders because
they were programmed to be so. They were dutiful to the Founders for the
same reasons. Faith? Those two peoples thought of the Founders as gods,
yet it was not a voluntary belief but one bred into them. They were a
soulless, passionless group of conquerers.

There was no thrill of victory when they took over control of the
station; Weyoun had coldly informed him of the costs of this offensive.
Weyoun didn't understand.

Kira did. She knew all too well.

"I'll sleep with you."

No. He had dealt with enough soulless beings in these past months. If he
had wanted to possess the body of Kira Nerys, he was sure Quark had an
appropriate program. It wouldn't be the same.

She knew that as well.

Loyalty. Duty. Faith.

Kira Nerys understood him.

And that, perhaps, was the greatest appeal of them all and perhaps the
sole reason he could not accept her offer.

He wanted her completely. It was that simple.

                                * * * *

Kira never went to Dukat's quarters that night. For all her resolve, Odo
had got to her. What was she really up to? Would it really help Jake, or
was Dukat simply toying with them both? She fully expected him to be back
for her, in which case she would not be able to refuse him, she was well
aware of that. Yet she did not leave her quarters. She needed time to
think, and she was not really up to facing other people right now. Least
of all Odo...

In his quarters, Dukat waited until he was certain Kira would not show up
tonight. She could have been delayed on station business, but somehow he
did not think so, and he did not bother to check. Something - someone? -
had changed her mind. Well, perhaps he could sway her again... there had
been something so - forlorn about her attempt at revenge earlier; perhaps
she needed reassurance. And well, he was still hungry...

                                * * * *

Jake Sisko scrambled to his feet as Gul Dukat approached the forcefield
securing the entrance to the cell. So. This was it. His transfer to
Cardassia Prime was shortly to become fact, not some threat for the
Dominion to hold over his father's head. Jake's heart began to pound, as
he bravely faced the man who would shortly be escorting him to the
docking bay and his execution. Interesting, that Dukat himself should
come to take him from Odo's custody. It didn't seem the sort of thing the
supreme ruler of Cardassia would do - Jake was certain some immovable
underling of Dukat's would be sent for him; he hardly even dared to hope
that Weyoun would be the one. But that thread of hope had kept him
plotting for days. Weyoun was no friend of Cardassia. Delivering the son
of a prominent Federation captain to his killers would do nothing to aid
the Dominion in its efforts to win the Alpha Quadrant - it would only
strengthen the resolve of their opponents. So if he could only talk to
Weyoun, reason with him, perhaps play on any suspicions of Dukat that the
Vorta would be almost *certain* to have... But it was not to be. Dukat
himself stood at the entrance to the cell, looking in.

"How are you this evening, Mr. Sisko?"

Jake gulped. He had been expecting a theatrical resignation in Dukat's
manner, or perhaps a hostile sneer, an 'I don't want to do this, but you
realize you've broken our laws' as he had been hearing over and over
again from Damar and the other officers assigned to his questioning. He
was not expecting Dukat's calm, almost friendly demeanor. He was
definitely not expecting his next question.

"Have you had dinner?"

"I - I -" He stopped. He was beginning to stammer, and had no wish to
communicate any of his nervousness to Dukat. No, he would confront his
fate as a man, not the boy he knew Dukat must feel he was. He began
again. "I'm not hungry. And I'm ready to go with you, sir."

"Go with me? Where?" Dukat smiled, neither a pleasant nor an unpleasant
smile; Jake had so little experience interpreting Cardassian moods in any
case. Garak was always so pleasant, so polite to him. Dukat was - what
*did* Dukat think of him? Jake involuntarily began twisting a corner of
his tunic in his fingers. It was unnerving, being stared at in this
manner. It was more than unnerving - it was frightening. How would he
feel when he was *surrounded* by Cardassians, perhaps even tortured by
them? What would it be like? He unconsciously took a step backward, and
Dukat smiled again.

"Ah. I see. You believe I'm here to see you escorted onto a Cardassian
ship. No, Mr. Sisko - Jake. You'll remain here, under my protection and
that of the Dominion. We feel that sending you to Cardassia Prime at this
time of hostility between our people would subject you to unnecessary
danger - your own father might fire upon your ship. But here, on Terok
Nor, you're safe as long as the Federation sees fit to let Cardassian
territory remain Cardassian."

Jake let out a breath that he hadn't even realized he was holding. He
forced his hands to remain motionless at his sides, and faced Dukat with
what he hoped was an expression of confidence. "No one is safe here,
sir."

"Please - you may call me Dukat. And you're right, Jake. No one is safe.
But here, as our 'guest,' shall we say, you're as safe as I am. Surely
that must mean something." He smiled again, an odd, reptilian sort of
grin as he beckoned to Odo. "I want Jake released and returned to his
quarters."

"And then what?" Odo's voice held the undercurrent of a sneer. "This
station is swarming with Cardassian soldiers who all believe Jake here is
guilty of transmitting your 'secrets' to the Federation. What do you
suppose they'll do to him?"

"They'll protect him, of course. They'll do whatever I command them to do
- you're back on Terok Nor, Odo, where an order is an order, to be
obeyed. Surely you can still recall those days."

"Hmph." Odo stepped forward and cancelled the forcefield; Jake hovered in
the doorway, uncertain. Dukat moved as if to take his arm, then stopped.

"Join me for dinner in my quarters, Jake. I wish to talk with you. Then
you'll be escorted back to your own quarters, where, for your safety, I
will assign guards to you. Oh, and I've had to disable all communications
devices in your room. Surely you understand my reasons."

Jake didn't answer, but woodenly moved forward and, after a backward
glance at Odo, walked down the corridor toward the habitat ring, Dukat at
his side. He noted with some surprise that the Cardassian was actually
shorter than he himself was now; he could recall the days, on the few
occasions he had been anywhere near him, when Dukat towered over him
in a truly intimidating way. Yet he was still intimidating, still
menacing, although his self-satisfied smile was undoubtedly supposed to
project an illusion of friendly concern. Jake hesitated at the door of
Dukat's - no, his father's - room.

"I'm - I'm really not very hungry. I had supper just before you arrived."

"Join me for a drink, then. I would like to talk with you. You're still
in a great deal of trouble, Jake, and I want to make sure you understand
that." The door slid open and he strode forward and pulled Jake inside. A
voice out of the shadows caused Dukat to drop his hold and stare in
furious amazement.

"I had heard you had the boy released to your custody. I had also heard
he is going to be kept here on the station."

"I didn't realize I had to clear all my decisions with you, Weyoun."

"Not with me. With the Dominion. The boy is a threat to station security;
his presence here will only undermine our attempts to regain control of
the wormhole."

"This *boy* is going to singlehandedly stop us from regaining the
wormhole?" Dukat laughed. "Weyoun, the station is practically destroyed,
Sisko's first officer *and* the chief of security have chosen to remain
behind, and yet you feel that Jake Sisko himself poses some kind of
special threat. Please, it's late, and I'm too tired for this nonsense."

"And I'm too tired for your games, Dukat. Sisko was to be sent to
Cardassia Prime. The mines were to be removed. And Cardassia was to honor
the wishes of the Dominion."

"The Dominion's wishes are being disobeyed, if I let a frightened young
boy sleep in his own bed? Really, Weyoun, young Sisko here poses no
threat to you. I, however -"

"Just see he's confined to his quarters at all times. Under guard."

Dukat bowed with mock gravity. "I will be waiting for him outside."
Weyoun rose and angrily left the room. Dukat smiled at Jake in an almost
conspiratorial manner as he led him to the table.

"Sit down, please, Jake. What would you like to drink?"

"I'm not thirsty -" At Dukat's impatient expression, he said, "A glass
of water, please."

Dukat brought the water, and his own kanar, to the table and sat down,
then steepled his fingers and stared at Jake through his slightly lowered
eyes. Jake shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of the loud swallowing
sounds he made as he sipped the water.

"Now, Jake. I have a favor to ask you first, something you can do for me.
Something I'd like to know. It's about your friend, Major Kira."

                                * * * *

Kira was still in her quarters, preparing to go to bed early. She had not
solved anything and was not really expecting to get much sleep. But she
was tired of worrying at her dilemma and fully prepared to write the day
off as a complete failure. The signal to the door of her quarters chimed.

"Yes? Who is it?" she barked, expecting to hear Dukat's smooth baritone
voice. So - he had come for her after all, just as she had known he
would.

"May I come in, Major?"

"Weyoun?" She was too puzzled to say anything else, as the door slid
open. The Vorta had never directly addressed her in his life.

"I have something important to discuss with you. It's about Jake Sisko,
your Emissary's son. Gul Dukat has decided to keep him on the station."
Kira offered a heartfelt prayer of thanks as she continued, nearly
expressionless, to face Weyoun. "The rumor seems to be that young Sisko
can be made to 'disappear' much more efficiently here, with no need for
formal Cardassian involvement." Kira felt herself collapse into her
chair, as Weyoun continued to smile at her ingratiatingly.

                               * * * *

Kira did not have a restful night. She was worried sick about Jake, and
had lain awake for hours trying to comprehend the game Dukat and Weyoun
were playing with the boy's life. Cardassians liked to make a big show
of 'justice', to make examples of perpetrators of meaningless 'crimes',
but what could Dukat possibly gain by having Jake Sisko quietly murdered?
As for Weyoun... she certainly didn't trust him, but what possible reason
could he have for lying to her? Weyoun was clearly the only thing keeping
Dukat from satisfying his lust for the re-conquest of Bajor - for as long
as it suited the Dominion's plans, at least - but what did any of that
have to do with Jake? Maybe Odo would understand. She'd have to find a
chance to have a private word with him - although frankly, speaking
privately with Odo wasn't something she found herself looking forward to
these days.

Dukat had sent word that he wanted to see her in his office first thing
in the morning. Ops, as was usual these days, was crawling with
Cardassian engineers desperately trying to repair the computer systems.
She had no idea what Chief O'Brien had done, but she was certain there
would be no fixing it - they'd have to rebuild the whole thing from
scratch. They could do that of course, but it would take time - and
time, she thought with grim satisfaction, was a commodity these
Cardassians simply didn't have much of.

She climbed the steps to what she would always think of as Captain
Sisko's office, and squared her shoulders as the doors opened. Dukat
sat at the station commander's desk with Weyoun standing behind him and
to one side. The tableau was completed by a Jem'Hadar guard on either
side, looking like a pair of gargoyle bookends. Dukat greeted Kira with
his usual mocking half-smile, "Major. How good of you to attend me. Do
come in."

She remained standing in the doorway. "What do you want, Dukat?"

His smile broadened, but his eyes narrowed. "That would be *Gul* Dukat
to you." Gone was the jovial familiarity of the evening before. Was he
showing off for Weyoun? Or was this change in attitude for her benefit -
because she'd stood him up for dinner?

Very well, she thought, two can play this game. She hesitated just long
enough for rudeness, dipped her head in acquiescence, and repeated
herself, "What do you want, *Gul* Dukat?"

"Come in Major, sit down, I was just hoping for a friendly little chat."

"In that case, what do you need the thugs for?" She glanced from side
to side at the Jem'Hadar.

Dukat dismissed the guards with a nod, and Kira stepped forward, making
room for them to exit behind her. Weyoun stayed, evidently not
considering himself encompassed by the term 'thug'. She sat down in the
chair opposite Dukat, trying to pretend she was relaxed and
comfortable.

As if he'd read her mind, Dukat said, "Relax Major, you look a bit warm.
Are you feeling unwell?"

"I'm fine, thank you for your concern." Bastard, she thought - he knew
very well that he'd adjusted the temperature for *his* comfort, which
was considerably too hot for hers.

"You're welcome. Would you like some tea? Or perhaps you'd prefer a
cool drink -  rocassa juice?"

"I'd *prefer* a raktajino."

He gave a brief snort of laughter in appreciation of her attempt at
humor. "This replicator is no longer programmed to dispense *Klingon*
beverages. I'm afraid tea will have to do." He got up and ordered her
a cup of red leaf tea, placing the cup carefully on the desk in front of
her. "Actually, it's the replicators - indirectly anyway - that I wanted
to speak to you about." She opened her mouth to remind him that she knew
nothing about replicators, but he put up a hand to silence her. "First, I
have some news for you - Jake Sisko has been released from his holding
cell in security, and placed under house arrest in his quarters. He'll be
far more comfortable there, I'm sure." His smile anticipated her
gratitude for this generous move, but with cold fear knotting her
stomach, she gaped at him instead. Seeing her reaction, his expression
changed to one of bafflement. "Really Major, I thought you'd be pleased!
I can hardly give him the run of the station, now can I? But at least
he'll have a bit of privacy and a few creature comforts."

"Yes, of course, thank you." She had to restrain herself from looking
at Weyoun. "May I see him?"

"No, I'm sorry - not at the moment anyway. Perhaps later we can arrange
something - it would have to be a *supervised* visit, you understand."
She nodded in response. "In any event," he got up and began to stroll
around the room as he spoke. "I asked you here to discuss a trip I am
planning to make to Bajor..." She started and her eyes went wide.
"...in order to arrange the purchase of certain... supplies."

"You think *Bajor* is going to provision your troops? We may have a
non-aggression pact, but supplying you..."

It was Weyoun who interrupted her, "...with food and medical supplies,
is perfectly appropriate under the terms of our agreement with your
government."

"Under the circumstances," she scoffed, "food and medical supplies might
as well be weapons - every scrap of energy you save in not having to
replicate them will be diverted into re-arming the station. It's obvious
what you're trying to do. First Minister Shakaar will *never* agree!"

As he paced, Dukat toyed with the baseball Sisko had left for him. "I
hate to break it to you, Major, but the First Minister has *already*
agreed - in principle anyway -  he was very impressed when we offered to
pay in pure gold-pressed latinum."

Weyoun broke in again, "The Bajoran economy is quite cash-poor, and with
the Federation out of the picture... Well, trade isn't exactly picking
up, is it?" The Vorta tilted his head and smiled, his eyes glittering
with feigned concern for Bajor's poverty, "Let's just say that your old
friend is a... practical man."

"I see."

"I thought you would," concluded Dukat. "Now, this will have to be a
quick trip, I'm very busy these days..." He glanced up at Weyoun,
who inclined his head and smiled indulgently. "Our people are arranging
the details. You, Major, will accompany me, as will Constable Odo..."

Surprised again, she interrupted him, "Why? What does this have to do
with Odo? Or me?"

"Security, Major. The First Minister requested that no other Cardassians
come to the surface, and a brace of Jem'Hadar would be no less ...
provocative, would they?" He grinned broadly at her, clearly appreciating
the irony of the situation. "So, we agreed that you and the constable
would act as my personal bodyguard - you'll protect me from zealots and
would-be assassins, won't you?"

Kira was too stunned to reply. What was Edon thinking of? Why the hell
had she been completely left out of the loop in this decision? Actually,
she knew the answer to the second question. He knew exactly what she
would think of this whole ill-conceived plan, so there'd been no need to
ask her - or to risk speaking to her over an undoubtedly monitored
commlink.

"I thought so," Dukat chuckled. "Quark will be coming along with us as
well."

"Quark?! What for?"

"He's brokering this deal - he's the one who's coming up with the
latinum - it's all a rather complicated trade arrangement."

Kira sat back in her chair, and threw up her hands in utter amazement.
"You and Shakaar have *both* lost your minds. But it seems I have no
choice but to come along. At least the temperature is more comfortable
on Bajor, and I can get a raktajino when I want one!"

"Yes," he grinned at her, "I knew you'd see reason. You'd best go pack up
your things, my shuttle will leave promptly at 1400, station time."

Then something occurred to her which pulled her up sharply. Oh Prophets,
she thought, what about Jake? Is this just an excuse to get us off the
station so that Jake can have a fatal "accident"? Dukat was capable of
being that crude - she'd never forget his plan to murder Tekeny Ghemor
with poisoned kanar. For the first time since coming into the room, she
let her gaze linger directly on Weyoun. The Vorta inclined his head and
winked at her, as if to say, "Not to worry, *I'll* look after him."

                                * * * *

Kira was busy packing what little she might need on this brisk trip to
Bajor, when she found herself on the receiving end of an unexpected
message.

"Major", said Dukat's voice over her commlink, "I'm sorry there will be
no time for a more relaxed dinner tonight, but I'm told we can expect a
lavish meal on Bajor. However, as we still have a couple of hours, I'd
like to invite you to lunch. There are a few things I want to discuss
with you."

Kira seethed. The commlink was hardly a closed channel. Or was she being
too sensitive? Apart from what might be taken for his usual banter when
addressing her, he had said nothing that indicated a - private
understanding. For all she knew, this was strictly work-related.

"Very well, Gul Dukat", she sighed. "Where and when did you have in
mind?"

"My quarters, in about fifteen minutes", he told her curtly, sounding for
all the world like the commander of the station and nothing else. "Be
there", he added significantly and closed the channel.

Be there - this time. She had wondered when he would bring that up...

She pressed the door chime, hoping that Odo was not hanging around
somewhere. She had never been paranoid concerning his abilities before,
but then, she had not had a reason before. The only question was, did she
have one now?

She heard Dukat call for her to enter, and did so as the door reacted to
his voice and let her in.

He was standing with his back to her, busying himself with some padds
as far as she could see - probably reports of some kind. "You're a little
early, Major", he greeted her without turning around. "Please excuse my
inhospitality, I'll be with you in a moment."

She acknowledged this and began to stroll around his quarters while
waiting. Suddenly she stopped dead. On a small corner table was his
disruptor. Just lying there, almost innocuously, the drawer open
underneath it, as if he had just removed it when he was interrupted,
perhaps by someone bringing those reports. Well, they must be important,
if he had forgotten all about his weapon... A military man? *This*
military man? With the Cardassian attention to details? This had to be a
setup. Taking care not to touch the weapon, she leant over it to examine
its power indicator. Its pack was low but not empty. She could not
understand it.

She straightened again and nearly jumped as she saw him looking at her, a
smile playing around his lips. He had put the padds aside and turned
around, but he had not moved from the spot. "A little obvious, I admit,
but I was short on time", he said. "Pardon me, Major, but I had to be
sure."

She nodded. "I see. You couldn't take me along for protection against
Bajoran zealots if you suspected I might take the first available
opportunity to shoot you. But this proves nothing..."

"No", he admitted. "You passed the first test. You didn't simply think
this was too good an opportunity to pass up, and hang the consequences.
At least I can rely on you to think first. The question is now, would you
have shot me if you hadn't suspected a trap?"

"You know me better than that!" she spat before considering that keeping
him in the dark might have been to her advantage. Too late.

"Do I, Major?" he asked lightly. "Haven't you ever shot anyone in the
back?"

She did not deign to answer him. He was drawing her out again, and she
would not fall for it this time. He nodded slightly, as if to himself.
"Perhaps I do know you, Major", he said, approaching her. "I certainly
hope so - though I wouldn't mind getting to know you even better."

He came to stand within her personal space as usual, and she had to steel
herself not to move away - or press close to him. He always did that,
damn him. Stood too close, without touching. She suspected it was really
an interrogation technique put to a different use. As if enticing her to
touch him first... She also suspected that if she ever succumbed to
temptation, it would take only that one touch, and this predator would
swallow her whole. She chided herself for finding the idea intriguing.

"But I would still like to hear your reasons", he added, pretending to be
unaware of what his proximity was doing to her, although he knew
precisely. "Over lunch." He finally moved away and crossed over to the
replicator. "You'll excuse me if we keep this simple? As I mentioned,
we will dine extravagantly on Bajor tonight. I should have a decent
bottle of Bajoran table wine somewhere though... Not too strong...
suitable for lunch..."

He set the table himself. Obviously, he didn't want anyone else present.
It made her wonder about his guards - the ones she had expected to come
crawling out of the bulkheads as soon as she approached that disruptor.

The table was much smaller than her own. He was sitting so close as to
tower over her. If he reached out, he could touch her easily - but of
course, he never would, would he?

"First", he said, pouring wine for them both, "Why didn't you come to my
quarters last night?"

"I was held up."

"Oh? Hardly on station business, or I would have known. What then?"

"I had another visitor after you left." She knew he would never content
himself with so vague an explanation. "Odo came to see me", she gave in
to his inquisitive gaze.

"Odo?" he said, momentarily surprised. He had not quite expected this.
"Well, what did you tell him?"

"It wasn't necessary to tell him anything. He had seen you leave. He
thinks you have put some pressure on me. Which, you must admit, is not
far from the truth", she added sarcastically.

"Oh, I don't know about that..." he said, "After all, you volunteered,
Major. And for rather more than I've held you to - so far", he couldn't
refrain from adding. "Odo is a good man", he mused, not bothering to make
distinctions according to species, "very perceptive. But he doesn't know
me very well. Perhaps because he has never done his fly-on-the-wall trick
in my quarters."

"Odo is a gentleman", Kira said wryly. "But how can you be so sure?"

He leant forward a little, as if imparting a secret. "Simple, Major", he
almost whispered. "I made sure he was always seen somewhere else before I
undertook anything important.."

"He's the most upright man in two quadrants!" Kira flared on behalf of
her friend. "You recognized that, you employed him - but you don't trust
him?"

"I don't trust upright men, Major", Dukat said. "They get ideas. I prefer
beings whose motives I can see plainly. Not that I trust them either.
Which brings us back to the question of whether I can trust *you*. Would
you really have shot me, if you had been convinced you could succeed?"

"Trust is a fragile thing", she said. "Before I answer that, I'd like to
know why you decided to keep Jake on the station."

He was genuinely surprised. "I thought that's what you wanted. At least
it's better than sending him off to trial on Prime, you'll admit?"

"That depends. On your plans for him here, for instance."

He was utterly baffled. "Really, Major, your suspicions are totally
unwarranted. Why this sudden hostility? After all I've done for..."

"I had yet another visitor late last night", she cut him off before he
could begin extolling his own virtues again. "Weyoun."

"Weyoun", Dukat repeated with sudden understanding. Trust that poisonous
little *luargh* to... but he could not voice those feelings to Kira. Not
yet... "I wouldn't pay too much attention to Weyoun", was all he said.
"He's not in charge here - I am. And I assure you Jake will be quite safe
as long as he remains on my station." He made no qualifications, no
references to their - agreement. He just stressed the word 'my' ever so
slightly, knowing it would annoy her.

"So", he said, pouring her more wine, "I have answered your question -
now you will answer mine. Would you have tried to kill me?"

This time she looked down at her hands before answering. Good sign. He
had had just about enough of her pathos-filled proclamations. Her least
likable side, he always thought.

"No", she said quietly. "No, I wouldn't have."

"Why?" he prompted, slightly incredulous.

"Something in what you told me last night... awaiting execution..." her
voice trailed off. What had she been about to say? That she had suddenly
pictured a universe without him, and... this table wine could not be all
that light after all. "Oh, I don't know", she copped out.

He nodded understanding, choosing not to make fun of her near-revelation.
"A soldier's life is traditionally short, Major", he said, apparently
without connection. "As well you know. We may not always be around - to
take our meals together..." It didn't come out as light as he had meant
it to. He could see that she noticed.

"What I don't understand", she changed the subject, "is how you had
planned to survive. If I had made the attempt, I mean. All right, the
charge was low, possibly low enough not to kill outright, but at the very
least you would have been critically injured. I'm a good shot, I trust
you never doubted that. Where was your protection?"

He smiled at her. "Protection? I had none. Save perhaps in your heart,
Major."

                                * * * *

The party from Terok Nor was the first to arrive at the negotiation site,
a monastery located in the Bestri Woods of Dahkur Province, and Kira had
suggested a walk to stretch their legs. He agreed, not because he had any
particular fondness for flowers, trees, or 'fresh air', but because it
might well be his only chance on this trip to spend some time alone with
her. The breeze was decidedly too cool for his comfort, but the low
intensity of the sunlight, filtered as it was through the overhanging
foliage, suited him just fine.

He regarded his companion with some satisfaction, things had gone rather
well the other evening... Although her initial reaction to the news
concerning Jake Sisko had puzzled him, surely his reassurances had
convinced her of his benevolent intentions. He'd left Damar with strict
instructions to keep the boy well guarded - he didn't want Jake meeting
with any untoward 'accidents', and he didn't trust Weyoun to leave well
enough alone.

She kept a steady patter going, concerning the history of the place, its
significance to the Bajoran religion, and the identity of the various
plant forms surrounding them. Pretending to pay at least minimal
attention to her words gave him an excuse to study her profile. Bajoran
women! How lovely she was - all that warm, soft, scale-free skin, every
millimeter lined with sensitive nerve endings... a veritable walking
erogenous zone from head to toe! ...in the hands of someone who knew
what they were doing, that is, he thought with satisfaction. He allowed
himself the luxury of imaging what she would look and feel like...
desire, rather than loathing, filling those passionate brown eyes... Her
naked breasts crushed up against his bare chest... He had always sensed
she was far more interested than she cared to admit - her challenging
manner subconsciously intended to tempt... and, oh, how tempting
it was...

"Gul Dukat," she shattered his reverie, "have you been listening to
anything I've said? You've always claimed to be interested in Bajoran
culture. This is one of the most famous monasteries on the planet! But if
you don't want to know, I certainly won't bother ..."

"Please Kira, we are alone now. Can't we drop the titles?"

"You were quite insistent on being a gul this morning."

"That was for Weyoun's benefit - I think it best that he remain unaware
of the more 'intimate' aspect of our relations. I assumed you'd agree..."

She snapped at him, "Yes, I certainly do not want anyone else to know of
our agreement."

"No, of course not." He chuckled softly to himself. Perhaps a little
Cardassian-style banter would liven up their conversation. He swatted
some insect away from his face, and gestured around at the forest
surrounding them, "I never saw any point to all this uncultivated
greenery you Bajorans are so fond of. It serves no purpose: you can't eat
it, make weapons, clothes, or buildings from it - in short, it is
useless."

"The intent is not 'material', Dukat. We visit the forest so we can be
soothed by its beauty and meditate on our place in the natural world."

"That's what's wrong with you Bajorans - you're far too *passive*. It is
self-indulgent, as well as complete waste of time, to sit and wait for
enlightenment and a sense of purpose to come to you - you have to get out
there and *take* it for yourself!" He grabbed a fistful of air to
illustrate his point. "I, on the other hand," he was only partly
exaggerating in order to tease her, "never questioned my place in the
'natural world' - I knew exactly where *I* belonged the first time I set
foot on the bridge of a Galor-class warship!"

"I should have been an artist." She spoke petulantly, as if she really
believed that she had missed out on something. "I was never meant to be
a soldier."

"Tell me, Major," he made the effort not to sneer, as he really wanted
her honest answer, "do you have any artistic talent?"

"I don't know. I never had the chance to find out."

"Well, you have plenty of talent as a soldier. I can think of no one
who has more flair for guerrilla actions than you... That's a sincere
compliment, Major, and frankly I can't imagine why you seem to think
that a lifetime spent manufacturing clay statuettes for the tourist
trade would have been an improvement over the very real accomplishments
of your military career."

"No, you *don't* get it do you, Dukat?" She burst out angrily, "It's
*my* life, and you stole it! So maybe I wouldn't have been a very good
artist. So what?"

He had no answer to that, it was too absurd even to contemplate, and they
fell into silence as they walked more briskly along the trail. He tried
to amuse himself by recapturing his earlier fantasy of her, but it was no
use pretending. She would never permit herself to care for him, or desire
him in any way. Oh, she would keep to her part of the bargain and submit
if he insisted... and then lie under him like some dead thing, or else
fake it a bit - as if he could be fooled like that - while her mind
roamed far away... No thank you, Kira Nerys.

Rounding a turn brought a ruined building into view; signs of its
destruction by fire were unmistakable. It appeared that the stone walls
had once been roofed with timber, and a few charred remnants of the once
massive supporting beams were still in their original places. The fire
had been hot enough to crack the stone blocks, and whole sections of wall
had caved outwards into the surrounding meadow. He guessed it must have
been an ancient structure when it was destroyed - stylistically it was
far more primitive than even the Bajoran architecture of the much-vaunted
First Republic. He guessed also that his companion had some point to
make, as she had stopped walking and was regarding him expectantly. Not
to disappoint, he asked her, "What was it?"

"The original monastery," she informed him coolly. "It was burned to the
ground during the Occupation."

"Of course." He gave her his flintiest smile, which, as he knew it would
not, did not stop her.

"All thirty of the monks and their vedek were inside at the time. The
gul in charge of Dahkur Province claimed that the monks were hiding
Resistance members - although he must have known that would have been
against their beliefs. More likely, he simply considered their religion
to be... distasteful." Dukat considered interrupting her diatribe, but
decided against providing her with that satisfaction. She continued as if
giving a tour to school children, "The new monastery was built in another
part of the grounds, and the ruins were left as a monument to the dead.
As they become overgrown and gradually disintegrate, they provide a
symbolic lesson in the healing effects of time and natural processes."

Could this tale be intended as an olive branch? If a Cardassian had told
it, it would have been. But considering the source... It seemed he had
grossly underestimated the depth of her need to demonize him. She
stubbornly persisted in her campaign to accuse him personally of every
atrocity which had occurred during the Occupation. Not only did she blame
him for *every* act of brutality committed by *any* Cardassian, her
twisted logic held him responsible for all the heinous crimes of
terrorism committed by the Bajoran Resistance as well. As far as he was
concerned, they had both done what was necessary to best serve the
interests of their respective peoples, and that was all there was to it.
But she would never let it go at that. "Is this why you brought me here,
Major?" he asked her peevishly. "Some childish attempt to make me feel
guilty?"

"Do you feel guilty, Dukat? I didn't think you capable... But no, that
is not why I brought you here." He followed her gaze to a figure which
had just stepped out of a half-demolished doorway.

"Ziyal!"

"Hello father."

"I'll be over there." Kira inclined her head in the direction of a felled
log where she could sit discreetly out of earshot.

He took his daughter's hands in his and searched her face. She looked
calm, pleased to see him, and... resolute. It was amazing how her face,
which held so much of *his* heritage in its features, was, nonetheless, a
living image of Naprem. Ziyal's smile, the expression in her eyes, her
overall bearing, were so reminiscent of her mother's that dormant grief
stirred within him like a living thing. Awoken, that thing caused so much
pain in trying to claw its way out, he wondered idly if it might actually
stop his heart. Long practice had made controlling the agony second
nature, and it did not distract him inordinately now. "I have missed you
so. Are you well?"

"I am fine. And you?"

"Yes, yes." Over the initial shock of seeing her, he was impatient to
know everything all at once. "Where are you living? What are you doing?
Who is looking after you? Are the Bajorans treating you well?" It must
have amused Kira no end that his agents had not succeeded in finding
Ziyal - when Kira must have known exactly where she was all along.

She laughed, and put up her hands to slow him down. "I'm living near the
capital, staying with some friends of Major Kira's. No, I haven't had any
problems, people in the capital are fairly sophisticated and used to
alien faces. I do avoid venturing out into the countryside on my own -
rural Bajorans can be a bit bellicose - you know: 'the only good
spoonhead is a dead spoonhead'." He grimaced, but she shrugged her lack
of concern. "First Minister Shakaar has been most kind - he persuaded
the University to allow me to attend some classes, even though I didn't
have the usual prerequisites."

"Ziyal, please." He pleaded with her, desperately, "You must return home
to Cardassia. It simply isn't safe here. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you
why before, but surely now you understand ..."

"No, father, I can't live on Cardassia - remember how it was before? I
will *never* be accepted there."

Every protective paternal instinct in him aroused, he flared with
indignation in memory of the scornful treatment she'd had at the hands of
Cardassian society. "Things *are* different now. Believe me, you *will*
be accepted."

"Oh, they would *tolerate* me, they might speak to me in public, or they
might even invite me to their homes - but they will never accept me.
They would pretend to do so only because they fear you."

"And so they should..." He scowled, remembering how it had been when he
had taken her home before. "Is that not enough?"

"No, it is not. Cardassia is not my home, neither is Bajor. I belong
on Deep Space Nine."

This time, the frown was for his daughter's benefit. "Terok Nor." He
paused before continuing, but she did not reply. "In any event, the
station is no place for you at the moment..."

"If it isn't safe, here or there, it's because of *you* - only you can
change things." She gave him a weary smile by way of softening her
rebuke.

"I *have* to do what I believe is best for Cardassia. You don't know how
bad things had gotten at home - between the Maquis and those Klingon
vandals ..." He gestured passionately with a chop of his hand through
the air. "I seek to restore the preeminence which is rightfully ours. The
Empire must expand, or we risk its complete collapse. Please try to
understand, I must put the needs of our people before our personal
comfort."

"I understand that you *believe* what you say, but I do not agree - and
I will never approve. Even if it's true that the Empire would otherwise
crumble, what gives Cardassia - or the Dominion for that matter - the
right to expand at the expense of other civilizations? Since I've been
living on Bajor I've seen far more than I cared to of the consequences
of Cardassian 'preeminence'. The landscape... the infrastructure...
the people of this planet - *my mother's* people - will never fully
recover from what was done here - done in the name of Cardassia."

"So." Bitterly, he resigned himself to losing her, "You too prefer to see
me as a monster. It pains me deeply, Ziyal, to know how much you must
hate me."

"Hate you? Oh no, I could *never* hate you." This time it was she who
reached out her hands to take his. "Do you remember the time...
let's see, I must have been about ten... you actually took two full
days off working and brought us down for a visit to Lake Hedrikspool?"

"A horrible place," he shivered at the memory, "much like this one -
trees and flowers, birds, and the constant, chilling, breeze ..."

"It was beautiful!  We were so happy, just to have you all to ourselves
... even if you did sneeze the entire time ..."

"I was happy too, Ziyal."

"I know. And it wasn't just that time either. You were busy, but you were
always there for me, and I knew it. When I was in that Breen labor
camp ..."

"Ziyal!" It was a warning, torn out of him, that this might be too
painful a place for either of them to go.

"No." That resoluteness he had seen on her face now expressed itself in
her voice. "It needs to be said. I know it was difficult for you, but you
came for me, and you gave up everything to keep me with you. You are my
father and, no matter what happens, I will always love you."

He put a hand up to her face, and traced the faint ridge encircling one
eye to where it met the folds embellishing the bridge of her nose. "You
are so beautiful... so like your mother..."

"I need for you to try and understand something about me... about Garak."

He dropped his hand and sighed, but he refused to lose his temper. At
least that dreadful man wasn't here with her - his agents had learned
that much, anyway. With luck she would soon forget about him.

"Listen to me. This is important. When you look at me, you see your
daughter - and you remember the love you shared with my mother. When most
people look at me - Cardassians or Bajorans, it doesn't matter who they
are - they don't see *me*. They see only the ill-fated product of a few
moments' unnatural passion..."

All his indignation on her behalf came flooding back, "Who dares?"

She shook her head. "No one *says* anything, they might not even exactly
*think* it - but they are uncomfortable. Most do get over it, and soon
learn to see me as an individual. But of everyone I have ever met, only
two people have looked right at me, Tora Ziyal, and accepted me from the
very first glance."

"Garak." Dukat glowered, comprehending, but not pleased.

"Yes, Garak, and - oddly enough - First Minister Shakaar."

"Shakaar!" Dukat exploded in fury, "That lecher!  If he's touched you, or
approached you in any way! I swear, 'non-aggression pact' or no, I'll..."

Ziyal laughed at him, "Calm down!  He has treated me with nothing but the
utmost respect. Yes, he flirts with me a bit, but only enough for
flattery's sake. Besides, don't you know? Women always prefer men who
remind them of their fathers... I could only ever love a Cardassian man
- I need someone who is..." She coyly raised one eye-ridge and smiled
up at him, "...*complicated*."

Pleased by her compliment, he still had to wince at its corollary, "But
Garak..."

"No," she held up her hand, "let's not fight about it. Do you understand
what I've been trying to tell you?"

"Yes, I suppose I do." Reluctantly conceding, he echoed her earlier words
to him, "I understand, but I do not agree, and I will *never* approve."

"So, we will both have to settle for understanding then..."

He put his hands on her shoulders, and looked at her closely, recording
every detail of her appearance with his eidetic memory. "I am sorry
Ziyal, but I will have to be getting back soon. There's never enough
time, is there?"

"It's okay. It was *good* to see you."

"And you." He hugged her gently to one side of the mid-line crest of his
armor. For a moment he closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of
her head. Releasing her, he asked, "I will see you again?"

"I hope so, but it's really up to you."

"I love you."

"And I you, father."

As he turned back towards the path, Kira stood up but did not move to
meet him. She watched him approach, but had the courtesy, or perhaps the
common sense, to say nothing. In silence, they retraced their steps to
the new monastery. He found himself deeply grateful for her company, and
even more grateful for her willingness to leave him to his own thoughts.

Even when they reached their rooms and needed to go their separate ways,
she did not speak right away. She looked at him with - what was it in her
eyes? Understanding? Respect? Sympathy? *Not*, at any rate, her usual
contempt and defiance. He dropped his own guard in response, "Thank you,
Major."

She briefly lowered her eyes and dipped her head in acknowledgment. The
spell of the afternoon broken, she got down to business, "I'll see you in
a bit. I spoke with the First Minister's staff when we first arrived. He
is expected at 1800 - there will be an hour for drinks and casual
discussion, then dinner. First Minister Shakaar hopes that the two of you
can reach an agreement quickly, under informal circumstances - if
negotiations bog down, your proposal will have to go before the entire
Council of Ministers - the debate alone could take months." Dukat screwed
up his face in distaste at that thought. "Exactly," Kira nodded in
emphatic agreement. "You'll want to avoid that, I'm sure..."

Astonishing, he thought, that she should be so helpful when she doesn't
approve of this deal at all...

                              * * * *

She hadn't seen Edon since they'd broken off their relationship, and
she'd been anxious about how things would be between them now. She
needn't have worried. Enveloped in his bear hug, Kira felt safe,
comfortable, and *pleasantly* warm for the first time in far too long.
The special warmth radiating from his hand on the small of her back, the
look in his eyes, were a silent invitation to spend the night together
'for old-times sake'. It was tempting. She would have to give the idea
some serious consideration - if it could be managed circumspectly...

Before she had the chance to give Edon an answer, his administrative
assistant grabbed her arm excitedly and pulled her off to one side. She
had to struggle a bit to remember the man's name - Chaserat Joram, that
was it - Chaserat, like hasperat. He was visibly unnerved by the
collection of aliens she had arrived with. "Major, I need a word with
you about the menu and the seating arrangements for dinner..." Kira
shrugged, she found this sort of detail nothing but an annoyance. "We
didn't know exactly who would be with your party, and we were told
nothing about what *they* eat. This whole thing will be a complete
fiasco if they expect special meals." He pulled out a handkerchief, and
began dabbing the nervous sweat off his forehead and balding crown.
"That changeling for a start... what does it eat?"

"*Constable Odo*," Kira bristled at the insult to her friend, despite
recognizing it as the product of ignorance rather than malice, "does not
require either food or drink. *He* will probably prefer, however, to go
through the motions of eating with us - a concession to courtesy on his
part."

Chaserat tucked his handkerchief into a sleeve and made a note on a PADD.
"Very well, thank you Major. Now, what about the Ferengi?"

"Quark?" She smiled, "He likes bugs."

"Bugs?"

"Yes, that's right. Worms, beetles, slugs, grubs... that sort of thing.
It's easy: all you need to do is go out to the arboretum and see what you
can find under a few rotting logs. Just be sure to serve them alive and
wriggling." Chaserat muttered under his breath as he made another note on
his PADD.

He looked at the group of aliens again, and had the misfortune to make
eye contact with Dukat. The poor little man withered right in front of
her, and he stuttered as he tried to ask her his last question, "What
about the gu... guu... g..." He swallowed, hard, and tried again,
"The gul?"

"Dukat likes Bajoran food." She frowned as a thought occurred to her,
"One suggestion though: request that the meal be served family style -
on platters for us to help ourselves at the table."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Major. It's rather informal
for a diplomatic occasion." The man might not know much about the dietary
requirements of alien life forms, but he *was* familiar with protocol.

"I realize that, but I think he'll feel more... *comfortable* if we're
all eating from the same dishes."

Chaserat was shocked, "He thinks we'd try to poison him?"

She shrugged, "Think about it. If you were *him*, on your own here on
Bajor, wouldn't you be just a little bit paranoid? Besides, if we were
Cardassians, we probably *would* try to poison him."

He thanked her for her help and excused himself to go and see about
Quark's dinner. She remained where she was, observing from a distance as
Shakaar and Dukat approached each other. Both were smiling and mouthing
pleasantries, but they still looked for all the world like a pair of
Toskanar dogs meeting at a territorial boundary. Shakaar, who was both
the taller and the heavier of the two, was trying to use his sheer size
to intimidate Dukat. It wasn't working. The Cardassian was no doubt at
least as deadly, and next to his leaner, duranium-wire build, Shakaar
seemed almost... ungainly.

>From out of nowhere, Quark appeared by her side. "Care to place a wager?
I'd say they're pretty evenly matched, myself, but I think I'll give odds
on Dukat for sheer ruthlessness..."

"Then kiss your latinum good-bye, Quark. Don't forget who 'persuaded'
the Cardassians to leave Bajor." Publicly, she would stand by her own
kind. Privately, alarmed as she was by the barely-suppressed threat of
violence between the two men, there was nonetheless a dark and secret
place in her which found it deeply arousing.

"And don't *you* forget who brought the Cardassians back here again ..."
He raised a hand to ward off her irate response, "Just an observation,
Major." She did not reply, but he wisely retired in haste to the bar for
one last drink before dinner.

Formal greetings between the two leaders having concluded, Dukat
sauntered over to where Kira was standing. "What did that sweaty little
creature want?"

"Quark?"

"No, the other one. The one who kept staring at me like he'd just been
impaled, and then was making notes about it."

"Oh, you must mean Chaserat. He's harmless. He was just sorting out the
menu and was afraid you'd be demanding Bajoran babies for your dinner."

He shot her a quizzical look, and then laughed out loud, "No, not for
dinner. But if he'd like to know what I want for breakfast ..."

"I told him you like Bajoran food, and to hold off on the voraxna - to
poison you here might undermine the agreement between our governments."

He laughed again, "There you go, looking out for my best interests. I
knew I'd be safe in your capable hands."

"Yeah. I'm saving you to shoot myself, when the time comes."

"Ah, I thought we'd gotten past that, Major - didn't you tell me earlier
that you wouldn't shoot me?"

As usual, he'd succeeded in flustering her. "I meant I wouldn't shoot you
in cold blood, Dukat. If and when the time comes that it should be
necessary... I won't hesitate. I thought you understood that."

Chaserat opened the doors to the dining room, and the group began
assembling to go in. Dukat gripped her arm and held her back to speak
softly in her ear. "Very well, Major, consider it understood... but in
the meantime, please allow me to remind you that, at this moment, you
are here as my attache and my bodyguard and, as such, I expect you to
place your duties ahead of any... *assignations*."

She felt herself flush with embarrassment. So he'd noticed what she
thought had been a discreet exchange with Edon. Prophets! Did the man
miss nothing? Just to make things even worse, she looked up and saw
Edon watching them from where he waited in the doorway. He looked...
pleased... as if he'd accomplished his goal, which, all along, had been
to needle Dukat. ...and you're a son of a bitch too, she thought,
glowering at him. How dare you use me like that! Well, a date for later
was out of the question now, that much was certain.

Dukat took her arm, like a perfect gentleman, and escorted her to the
dining room. When they reached the doorway where Edon still waited, nods
were exchanged, and Dukat left her while he went on in to find his seat.

"You look tired Nerys, is everything all right?"

"I'm fine Edon, except for your little games. Don't *ever* pull a stunt
like that again!" She tried to whisper, but it came out more as a hiss.

"You're overwrought. I can understand that, working with *him*. Don't
worry, you don't have to go back. I'll take care of it - I'll get
someone else to take your place."

She jerked away from the hand he'd put on her arm, "That won't be
necessary. I rather like it up there - as far away from *you* as
possible." She glanced up at the table to find that Dukat, yet again,
had closely observed the entire interaction, and was having a good
chuckle to himself at her expense. Prophets! And the evening was just
beginning ...

Kira took her seat at the circular table with Dukat on her right and Odo
to her left. Shakaar sat on Dukat's right, and Quark completed the
circle. Odo had been even more taciturn than usual all evening; he was
visibly uncomfortable with the company. She'd been able to get a few
minutes alone with him before the reception started - just long enough
to pass on Weyoun's comments about Jake. He'd surprised her by being
inclined to trust Dukat over Weyoun - but perhaps his own prejudices
were getting in the way of an objective assessment. He detested Weyoun's
habit of deferring to him as a god. His normally gruff voice approached a
growl when he spoke of the Founders, "We are not gods, we are merely
living, mortal creatures, and I am appalled that my people have continued
to allow - indeed *encourage* - the Vorta and the Jem'Hadar to believe
otherwise." Was his hatred clouding his judgment? On the other hand, how
could she expect him to draw accurate conclusions when she hadn't exactly
told him *all* the facts...

Looking around the table at her companions did not decrease her anxiety.
On either side of her sat a prospective lover, her former lover next to
one of them, and as for Quark - well, she didn't want to imagine what
roles she might have unwittingly played in some of his more unspeakable
fantasies...

If only Dax were here... she would know how to handle this situation
with aplomb. Hell, *Dax* had probably been in similar situations
*hundreds* of times - and had no doubt savored every moment! ...but Dax
was on the Defiant with Captain Sisko and most of her other friends -
preparing to fight, and quite possibly to die, in the war that one man
had brought to all of them... Prophets please keep them safe, she
begged in a quick and silent prayer.

Chaserat had reached a clever compromise concerning the style of service.
Waiters entered the room carrying huge platters of retamba stew and
veklivar, from which they served the plates already placed in front of
each diner - excepting Quark, whose meal was brought in separately.
Quark smiled at the sight of the writhing mess he was given, but he
seemed far more interested in the figures on the PADD he held in one
hand. Odo pushed his food around his plate with a fork, but did not
take a single bite. Kira found she had no appetite either; only Shakaar
and Dukat appeared to be enjoying their meals.

Dukat attacked his dinner with gusto, "My compliments to your chef,
First Minister - this is absolutely delicious! I developed quite a
taste for Bajoran cuisine while I lived here. I even have a
Bajoran-trained cook on Cardassia Prime, but nothing can quite compare
with the genuine article, can it?"

Shakaar smiled at him, "I'm glad you're enjoying it, and I will
certainly pass along your compliments. The chef will be honored - you
must have been accustomed to only the very best Bajor had to offer."

"It was a wonderful place..."

"Yes, it *was*, and it is becoming so again."

Quark coughed uncomfortably in the silence which followed Shakaar's
remark. Kira stared at her food, wondering just how far the two of them
would go. She could not avoid sensing the ever-increasing levels of
male hormones being emitted around her - and the sensation had gone well
beyond the disquieting but erotic, and into the realm of downright
unpleasant.

Shakaar speared a bite of veklivar with his fork, and lifted it up for a
closer inspection before putting it into his mouth. "You know though,
Gul Dukat, as good as this is, sometime you should be introduced to the
delights of ordinary Bajoran dishes."

"Sounds interesting."

"Umm," he paused to sample the morsel of veklivar. "It might not seem
credible, but few things are as tasty as a well-prepared Paluckoo spider
stew. Nerys used to be a dab hand at such things, back in the old days
... The toughest part, as I recall, was catching those pesky spiders!
Meaty little things they were though, I'll bet *you'd* enjoy them,
Quark."

"No doubt - I'm not so sure about the 'stew' part though, I generally
prefer my food *living* - one knows it's nice and fresh that way - but
I'm always willing to try something new. Anyway, gentlemen," Quark
plastered on his most obsequious smile, and tried to change the subject.
"Speaking of *food*, perhaps we could turn our attention to several
hundred tons of Bajoran moba fruit, mazo stalks, and the other
commodities which are..."

Dukat ignored him and focused his attentions on Kira instead, "So you
*can* cook, Major. Shame on you for not telling me! I always suspected
there was more to you than the 'woman of action' I've come to know so
well."

Kira said nothing, recalling with some embarrassment the thin soup she'd
replicated for him. He'd carefully chosen his words to keep their mutual
secret, while simultaneously delivering a private reminder of her faux
pas.

Shakaar replied in her place, "Major Kira is a woman of *many* talents,
Gul Dukat."

"So I am beginning to appreciate..."

Infuriated by the implications of Shakaar's comment as well as by
Dukat's, Kira spoke up for herself this time, "In the Resistance, we all
pitched in, and did whatever was most needed at any particular time."

"I'm sure it was not an easy life." Dukat raised his glass to her in a
casual toast and smiled, almost apologetically, at her. "At least, I
did *my* best to make sure it wasn't... You were good though - 'The
Shakaar'. As hard as I did try, I never quite succeeded in catching up
with you." He paused long enough to take a drink. "I must admit it now
strikes me as rather a good thing that I did not - for if I had, we could
not be sitting here in such amiable fellowship as we find ourselves
tonight!"

Once again, an uncomfortable silence fell over the group, and once again,
Quark tried to turn the topic to the deal at hand. For a short while, it
actually worked, and prices and quantities of foodstuffs and other basic
supplies remained the subject of conversation. Both Shakaar and Dukat
seemed impatient, and both were prepared to give away much on the deal,
because each of them knew that far more was at stake than a simple
financial advantage.

Quark was visibly mystified by their cavalier attitude towards
bargaining. Odo, who hadn't said two words throughout the entire meal,
obviously wished he were *anywhere* else, and Kira sincerely wished she
were there with him. She was beginning to wonder what she'd ever seen
in Edon - had he always been such a user? As for Dukat... she could
not fathom him at all. He'd been very subdued after his reunion with
Ziyal, although from what Kira could see, it appeared to have gone well.
She wished Ziyal had not insisted on making the rendezvous at the
burned-out monastery. She feared Dukat had been insulted by its story,
although she'd told him nothing but the truth - and she had hoped the
last part would soften the rest. Most of all, she'd hoped that
reconciling with his daughter would increase his sympathy for Captain
Sisko, and hence for Jake...

Her attention was captured again by Shakaar, when she heard him make a
remark of such foolishness, she could hardly believe her ears. "I must
say, Dukat, it's been a great pleasure getting to know Tora Ziyal.
She's a truly lovely young woman, intelligent, kind, and witty - as well
as beautiful." Kira felt Odo tense beside her, as he too anticipated a
violent reaction on Dukat's part to this expression of familiarity with
his daughter. Although she had no telepathic ability whatsoever, and
neither did Edon, she did her level best to send him a mental message to
shut his mouth before his stupidity resulted in bloodshed. She remembered
all too well hearing how Dukat had nearly killed Garak - merely for
holding Ziyal's hand. As for Edon, Dukat certainly knew of his reputation
with women... If he even suspected...

Once again she thought her ears were deceiving her, when she heard
Dukat's friendly laugh in reply. "She spoke highly of you as well, and I
am very grateful for the interest you have taken in her." When had *this*
happened? At some point between the first course and the I'danian spice
pudding, among the talk of Kava root and bars of latinum - directly under
her nose, while she'd been sitting right there in constant dread of them
murdering one another - these two lifelong enemies had taken each other's
measure, passed each other's tests, and become... well, "friends" might
be taking it too far, but they had formed some kind of bond which was
completely beyond her comprehension.

"Well, Edon," Dukat continued,  "I think we've worked out all the
necessary details. Quark will have your latinum for you tomorrow morning.
We'll be expecting your first shipment by transport in return, and we can
both look forward to a long and mutually agreeable arrangement." Shakaar
and Dukat both stood, clasped hands and slapped each other on the back.

Quark, grinning ear-to-ear in obvious delight at the fat commission he
had earned, pushed back his chair and stood, still clutching his PADD,
"Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure doing business with you." Odo grunted,
shook his head, and muttered something under his breath about "solids".
Kira, the last to leave the table, silently promised herself that, if
she survived this crisis, she would investigate the possibility of
joining the nunnery at Klanidar.

                              * * * *

"So - I'll see you in the morning, then," Shakaar announced brightly to
the Terok Nor delegation. Kira noticed with some surprise that his gaze
even encompassed her. "I will be meeting with several of my aides tonight
to come up with a - shall we say - 'diplomatic' way of informing the
Council of Ministers of the details of our agreement."

"Surely you don't expect any difficulties in that area," Dukat scoffed.
"First Minister, you only moments ago assured me that -"

"And I'll keep my word, Dukat." Shakaar's gaze was unwavering. "However,
Bajor is governed by elected officials," he paused imperceptibly, "who
are responsible to their constituents for any decisions they make. We
don't want this mutually advantageous exchange to to be misunderstood by
those ministers who may not be as, ah, 'enlightened' as we are." He bowed
to the group, cutting off Dukat's further protests as he swept past him
and out of the dining hall.

Dukat, irritated, turned to face Kira. "Major, your First Minister -"

"I know, Dukat, I know." She sighed. "Listen, Shakaar is not about to go
back on his word, not any part of it. But what he tells you is the truth
- he *can't* simply ram a decision like this down the Council's throat.
Can you imagine what people are going to say when they hear that Gul
Dukat is supplying Cardassian troops with Bajoran -"

"Major," he interrupted her, "I believe we've covered all that ground
*already.* We are not supplying Cardassian 'troops' with anything - we're
requesting food and medical supplies to aid our starving population. It's
a credit to your people that they are willing to help us."

"Du- " Kira stopped. His last words had taken her off guard. "Ah - thank
you, Dukat."

"Thank *you,* Major." He favored her with a slight but nonetheless
courtly bow, never taking his eyes off her face. "And now - I was hoping
you'd do me the honor of joining me for another walk, so I can see the
grounds of this beautiful place by moonlight, and perhaps work off a
little of the delicious meal we've just been served." Kira couldn't
prevent her eyes from wandering to Dukat's very well-muscled but slim
abdomen; the man probably never had to 'work off' a gram of food in his
life.

"Well... " She hesitated. The grounds *would* be lovely in the moonlight,
the tehsa birds would be calling to each other with their distinctively
mournful cries, and she would be alone, completely alone this time, with
the man who was beginning to fascinate her beyond all reasonable
explanation. Ziyal would never be expecting them to go walking at that
hour; the girl had undoubtedly already gone to bed. Quark and Shakaar and
the First Minister's delegation were sorting out terms of trade in a room
somewhere, and Odo - What about Odo? He chose that moment to clear his
throat and sidle up to her.

"Major, if I could have a word with you."

"Certainly, Odo." She glanced at Dukat, who nodded and pretended to be
interested in a tapestry hanging on the far wall. Odo stood with his back
to Dukat, while Kira's eyes seldom left the Cardassian.

"Major, I hope you'll pardon me, but I really don't think it would be a
good idea for you to go walking alone after dark here without an escort."

"What do you mean, alone? I'll be with Dukat."

"Precisely." He continued to watch her, waiting for his words to sink in.

"Odo," she began again, exasperated, "Dukat and the Bajoran government
have just agreed to cooperate in a major exchange of food and medicine -
do you really think he's going to throw all that away by staging some
kind of attack on me in the woods?" She couldn't read the emotion that
flashed across the changeling's face, but within a fraction of a second,
the emotion was gone, replaced by Odo's usual, passive features. Kira
smiled, in an attempt to take some of the seriousness out of her rebuke.
"Please, Odo. I think I'd like a chance to talk with Dukat alone, away
from all these 'delegations,' for a few minutes. I don't know exactly
what he's up to, but I could almost swear there's some kind of, well,
'softening' going on in his position toward Bajor. Some kind of new
acceptance." Odo snorted in disbelief, but didn't seem inclined to argue
the matter further. Dukat was already approaching with a purposeful
stride. Watching him, watching that self-assured swagger, Kira felt again
an almost irrational urge to be alone with him for a few minutes - just a
few minutes without Shakaar's pompous self-importance, Quark's obsequious
bowing and scraping, and Odo's - Odo's what? She smiled at Dukat and
placed her hand on his arm. Odo retreated through the doorway.

"Ready, Major?"

"Yes - let's go. It's been a long time since I've seen this area in the
moonlight."

"And I don't believe I've *ever* seen it in the moonlight." He smiled
down at her, and she stared straight ahead and released her light hold on
him. Prophets, why *was* she doing this, anyway? Maybe Odo was right. But
the night was cool, the sky was clear, and, just as she had expected, the
birds were calling to each other in the distance. Dukat walked
companionably next to her, his heavy boots crunching the fallen leaves
underfoot, his hands clasped behind his back. Kira, occupied with
stealing sidelong glances at him, nearly tripped over a branch and Dukat
smoothly and effortlessly reached out to steady her. When he didn't
completely release his hold on her shoulder, she playfully pulled away.

"I'm all right now, Dukat."

"I never said you weren't - Kira."

Surprised, she stopped walking and turned to face him. 'Kira'? Granted,
the level of informality was still very low; she herself almost always
called him 'Dukat,' after all, not his title of 'gul.' And yet, there was
something in his tone of voice, in the emphasis he gave the name, that
startled her. She knew, in the back of her mind, that he could at almost
any moment choose to enjoy her company in any way he desired. Yet his
civility, the impression she had recently come to entertain of his innate
sense of honor, had lulled her into a false sense of - security - with
him. If anything more personal, more intimate, were to take place between
them, she had always felt that she would be the one to initiate it, the
one in control, the one to decide whether or not such a relationship was
to exist. But now... with that softly spoken "Kira"... Could it be that
Dukat was trying to sway *her?* To woo *her?* She decided she needed a
moment to think, and leaned back against the stone fence that separated
the monastery gardens from the fields beyond. The moonlight filtered down
through the trees and cast intriguing grayish shadows on Dukat's face, as
he remained standing, silently watching her.

Then, before she even knew what was happening, Kira felt herself being
enveloped in his arms, held tightly against his chest and the metal
plating of his uniform. Acting purely by reflex, she reached out to push
him away, but he drew his face close to hers and, as she stared wide-eyed
at him, he kissed her. Not a demanding kiss, not a passionate kiss, but
rather, a - satisfying kiss, one that Kira found impossible to stop.

She felt her arms, again acting as if by reflex alone, wind around his
neck, above the uniform, and pull him into a more comfortable position
against her body. Whoever had designed Cardassian uniforms had certainly
never entertained the thought that the wearer might wish to engage in a
little tender kissing... Kira closed her eyes and leaned into the
embrace, Dukat supporting her, his hand coming up to gently caress the
back of her head, the other arm remaining firmly around her waist. She
knew, with every second that passed, that she had to put an end to this,
and tell that insufferable, egomaniacal Cardassian to keep his hands off
of -  Dukat opened his mouth against hers and she nearly gasped with
surprise and satisfaction. What a warm, sweet mouth he had - she had
always been so fascinated while watching him speaking, never realizing
that perhaps she was harboring a desire to explore that mouth more fully
at her leisure... Suddenly, Dukat broke away from her with a curse. Kira
opened her eyes, startled, to see Odo walking up to them, making his way
uncertainly among the trees. "Oh, damn," she sighed.

                              * * * *

He had meant only to keep an eye on her, the way he always did. To make
sure that Dukat did not take advantage... they may have a deal, but that
was no reason to let Dukat hurt Kira more than absolutely necessary. He
knew they had this deal for young Sisko's sake, and if he knew Dukat, the
boy would be safe for as long as their understanding held. But if he,
Odo, was here for security reasons, then security he would provide.
Security for Kira..

And then he saw them. They must still be hoping he had seen less than he
had, because humanoids always discounted his keen perceptive powers. He
was really eyes and ears all over, and concentrating his senses to
specific points of his being only enhanced their acuity. All he was
lacking was the sense of smell, but his other senses more than made up
for it. He had no trouble at all seeing their two forms, hearing the
small sounds, and for all the difference it made, Kira's body language
might as well have been in broad daylight. The only thing Odo could not
be sure of was how much was acting, dictated by Dukat on some earlier
occasion. He was willing to grant her the benefit of the doubt, but his
willingness was wearing thin.

He could have slipped away unnoticed, but it hurt too much to leave them
like that. He took another step forward, and the Cardassian's ever
watchful eyes picked him up. He walked on, finding some small, strange
satisfaction in interrupting them, but he said only what he had come to
say in the first place:

"Gul, Major - I have just had an urgent message from Weyoun. We have to
return at once to Terok Nor."

                               * * * *

Dukat was silent and grave as the ship left Bajor. Kira and Odo were
returning to the station with him, but Quark had opted to stay on the
planet, ostensibly because he had some "unfinished business". The Ferengi
was probably organising some other profitable deal for himself; Dukat
doubted he had stayed on purely to finalise the Bajoran/Cardassian trade
agreement. In the meantime, Dukat had had time to convince the little
troll to do something useful -- time would tell if this had been a wise
decision or not.

It would take a couple of hours for the Jem'Hadar ship to reach Terok
Nor, and Dukat settled in a corner of the command centre to read the
reports from Gul Kerritza and his Jem'Hadar fleet. Preliminary
information suggested a small Starfleet task force had attacked from
Minos Korva. Kerritza reported his fleet had contained the attack, but
Dukat was concerned about the situation. He had known, of course, that
the Federation/Klingon alliance was planning to attack, but he was
surprised they had concentrated such a small force on a relatively
unimportant area of the Cardassian border.

On the face of it, there wasn't much to worry about. But Dukat understood
Weyoun's concern. Part of their work during the past few months had been
to try and move arms depots and other military targets back towards the
galactic core, away from Cardassia's border with the Federation. This
meant Starfleet would have to strike far into Cardassian space to take
out key targets, something they had only managed to do once so far. The
area around Minos Korva was no longer as strategically important as it
once had been. So why was the Federation attacking there?

This was probably a ploy designed to distract Dukat's attention from some
other, more important target. He mentally evaluated the key installations
of his empire to determine which ones the Federation/Klingon fleet were
most likely to want to attack. He dismissed the idea they might want to
strike at Terok Nor; as long as the minefield was in place, the station
was of no strategic use to the Federation. They had only put up a fight
for it in order to have time to set up the minefield.

He thought about that for a moment. On the other hand, perhaps the
Federation did have plans for Terok Nor. After all, Starfleet couldn't be
sure the Cardassians wouldn't dismantle the minefield eventually, and the
safest way for the Federation to control the Dominion's access to the
wormhole would be to occupy the station again. If that was their plan,
then the attack from Minos Korva was probably designed to lure Dukat away
from the station.

He read through the latest report from Kerritza again and pondered what
to do next. Much as he enjoyed being back on Terok Nor, he knew he would
have to return to Prime in order to coordinate his defences. If Starfleet
did choose this moment to launch a full-scale attack on Cardassia, he
needed to be at the heart of the action, where he could, if need be, take
counsel from the Empire's senior strategists. He did not doubt that he
could successfully organise Cardassia's defences on his own, but he had
never been interested in conducting defensive warfare, and was hoping to
leave some of the more boring details to his advisors.

If the Federation's plan was to attack the station, on the other hand,
his presence on Prime might facilitate their task. But he could not take
any chances; his main priority had to be the protection of his homeland,
and right now, his people needed him on Prime. In any case, he was pretty
confident the Jem'Hadar would defend Terok Nor efficiently without him.
Weyoun had a vested interest in reopening the wormhole, so Dukat decided
to put the Vorta in charge of dismantling the minefield. If he left Damar
in charge of the station and Weyoun in charge of the mines, then Dukat
was pretty confident Terok Nor would come to no harm in his absence.

That matter being settled in his mind, Dukat decided he would need to
give a few heartfelt speeches to bolster public confidence in his
government. Something about the Federation's dastardly and unprovoked
attack on Cardassian soil... yes... perhaps he could work in the Klingons
somehow, or make some reference to the Bajoran aid to prove what a
generous and peace-loving government he was running...

His speech was taking shape quite nicely in his mind when he noticed
Major Kira was looking at him. Her expression was less than amicable; it
was difficult to believe this woman had been kissing him so passionately
barely a couple of hours earlier. In fact, her lovely features bore
exactly the same expression of contempt and hatred they usually took on
when looking at him.

But he didn't believe that expression anymore. When he looked at her now,
he remembered how willingly she had leant into his kiss, without so much
as a protest, wrapping her arms around him, returning passion for
passion. The very thought of their moonlit encounter wracked his body
with a bolt of desire as searing as a phaser shot.

She must have known what he was thinking about -- how could she not? His
thoughts were so intense he was certain even the Jem'Hadar, who had no
sense of smell and knew no desire, could feel his passion for her.

She lowered her eyes, and he wondered if she felt the same desire as he
did in this moment, as they observed each other across the couple of
meters which separated his chair from hers. He smiled at the thought that
she probably did, that she was probably longing for their kiss to resume,
to fulfil the passion they had both felt in the light of the Bajoran
moons.

"What's so funny?" she asked him defensively, her sharp voice cutting
into his erotic musings, as if daring him to reveal what had gone between
them.

He was about to make some flirtatious remark when he noticed Odo's cold
blue eyes on him. He wondered how much the shapeshifter had seen of their
encounter in the woods. Evidently not enough for him to think ill of
Kira, since Odo was standing protectively near to the major and directing
an unmistakably hostile glare at Dukat. Perhaps the constable was under
the impression Dukat had kissed Kira by force. Whereas nothing could be
further from the truth.

"There's nothing funny, Major," said Dukat with a gentle grin.

For one insane moment, he felt like telling Kira what had happened at
Minos Korva, and asking for her opinion as to what he should do next. She
was a skilled tactician whose advice would probably have proved most
useful to him. But he dismissed the impulse almost immediately; though he
now knew that she desired him, that didn't mean she would collaborate
with him. However, he still wanted to get her away from Odo and beckoned
for her to approach.

It was obvious she was reluctant to simply obey his gesture, especially
when Odo was there. Dukat wondered just what kind of hold Odo had over
her that she was so terrified of his opinion. It was clear she hadn't
consulted the shapeshifter about her plan to seduce Dukat in the first
place, for instance, and she had been positively mortified when the
constable came across them in the woods. The gul let his mind linger on
that moment again. He wondered what would have happened if Odo hadn't
interrupted them.

In the meantime, Kira made no move to come over to him, and he shrugged
his shoulders as best he could in his carapace.

"Ah well, if you don't come over here, you won't find out," he said
simply, though he was conscious that was a rather childish thing to say.

There was a slight spark of mischief in her eye as she responded, "If you
really want to tell me, you can always come over here."

"It would be better if you came here; I could show you something on the
computer screen."

"You'd have to show me something really interesting to make it worth my
while," she responded.

He leant his head on his hand, resting his chin on his thumb and his
cheek against his finger. "I don't think you'd be disappointed," he said
in his most seductive voice.

Her face became serious and she looked away from him. There was nothing
to look at in the Jem'Hadar command centre, but she stubbornly spent the
rest of the trip avoiding his gaze.

This gave him an excellent opportunity to observe her. While his mind
constructed the speech he would give to his people when he arrived on
Prime, he let his eyes run over her lovely features and the attractive
curves of her body. He admired the small depressions the ridges on her
nose formed in the smooth slope of her profile, and the sensual shape of
her red lips. His gaze ran down her white throat, and he allowed himself
a brazen observation of her chest. She must be wearing some kind of
uplifting underwear -- he had noticed the wiring when she had her jacket
off on previous occasions -- and he found that particularly appealing.
She had a lovely slim waist, as well, and though he could not see that
part of her body from where he was sitting, the thought of the sumptuous
curves of her hips sent a renewed rush of warmth through his body. The
memory of her lips on his accentuated his arousal, and he took a deep
breath to calm himself down.

Kira had stopped her stony-faced observation of nothingness, and was now
discussing something with Odo. Dukat couldn't hear what they were saying,
but Kira smiled at the shapeshifter and he felt a terrible pang of...
something in his heart. He recognised the emotion and was disturbed to
find himself experiencing it with regard to Kira. She wasn't his lover,
or even a close friend; she was just the Bajoran liaison officer to Terok
Nor. He desired her, yes, but that was just a physical attraction. There
was certainly no reason for him to be *jealous*.

He hadn't felt like that when he saw her embracing Shakaar earlier that
evening, so maybe this was nothing to be worried about. He couldn't
possibly be getting emotionally involved. Not with Major Kira. A mere
kiss in the moonlight was not enough to warrant such emotions. He
dismissed the pang he had felt, blaming it on the stress of his empire's
military situation.

As she continued to talk with Odo, Kira shuffled in her seat to get more
comfortable, and crossed her legs with a graceful movement. The emotion
Dukat felt now was far more reassuring, though he was angry at himself
for focusing so much attention on a woman who did not deserve it. He had
completely lost track of what he was supposed to be thinking about. His
Empire was at risk, and here he was daydreaming about some Bajoran woman
who wasn't even interested in him... and even if she was, this was hardly
the time to be indulging in erotic fantasies.

As a result of these thoughts, he was unusually abrupt to Kira when they
reached Terok Nor. After consulting with Weyoun and contacting Kerritza
and some of the other senior officers in the Cardassian military, Dukat
broadcast a speech to the Empire. He announced that the Federation had
attacked Cardassia and he had to leave for Prime immediately. After this,
he sent out a brief message to the senior staff on the station, as well
as Kira. He informed them he was leaving Damar and Weyoun in charge of
the station in his absence, and asked Kira to officially inform the
Bajoran government that the finalisation of their trade agreement would
have to be done with Weyoun.

Much to Dukat's irritation, Kira appeared at the door of his office just
as he was about to leave for his ship. He had no desire to talk to her,
particularly as there were still a couple of details he wanted to sort
out with Damar.

"Yes, what can I do for you, Major," he snapped as he walked past her on
his way to the airlock. Damar was accompanying him, and Dukat hoped to
get rid of Kira so he could talk to his first officer. "If you have any
administrative questions, I suggest you ask Weyoun. I have to leave for
Prime."

"What about Jake?" she asked, following them into the turbolift.

"What *about* Jake?" he retorted. "The boy will stay in custody on this
station, as agreed."

"Do you really think Jake will be safe under the protection of your
soldiers, now that the Federation has attacked Cardassia?" she insisted,
as they stepped off the lift and made their way down the corridor to the
airlock.

He stopped still, turning towards her as he exclaimed, "You really have a
low opinion of me, don't you, Major? Please credit me with *some* control
over my men! And perhaps I don't need to remind you that Odo is the
security officer on board this station. Jake will be perfectly safe as
long as I am giving the orders. If I don't return... that's another
matter."

She looked suitably shocked by that idea. Dukat presumed she was
horrified at the thought of Jake being executed.

"If you don't return..." she echoed slowly.

"I am touched by your solicitude, Major," he sneered, pretending to
interpret her reaction as concern for his welfare. "But I doubt you would
be very sorry if Starfleet shot me down."

Strangely enough -- and Kira was the first to be surprised by this --
Dukat was wrong. The thought he might be killed by Starfleet had not
occurred to her before, and she found it most disturbing. Though she had
never had any affection for Dukat in the past, she had to admit that
kissing him a few hours earlier had somewhat changed her perception. She
could not deny that she had wanted him in that instant  -- though she
promised herself she would try her very best to forget her moment of
weakness.

A sudden flush of warmth coursed through her veins as his pale eyes
looked her over. She quite forgot what she had been planning to say. She
had wanted to argue with him, to tell him he was wrong and that she
*would* be sorry if Starfleet shot him down. She wouldn't tell him the
truth, of course -- that she yearned to wrap her arms around his wide
neck and resume their interrupted kiss.

She could have given political reasons for her to want him alive. His
death might cause even worse chaos in the Quadrant than there already
was. As her father used to say "the tiger from the valley may slaughter
your cattle, but the tiger from the hills will eat your children". Dukat
was someone the Federation and Bajorans knew well. Every security service
in the Quadrant knew what there was to know about his family and friends.
Who knew what unknown person would replace him if he died?

In the end, she didn't say anything. She couldn't trust herself to speak
when she wanted him so much. He would know the minute she opened her
mouth, and she could not bear to let this Cardassian pagh-wraith know how
deeply he had touched her with his damned kiss.

Unable to talk to him, she just turned around, leaving him to continue on
to the airlock with Damar, while she returned to Ops. Kira watched with
the Cardassians and Jem'Hadar as Dukat's ship flew away on the repaired
viewscreen. She wondered when he would come back. If he came back. She
felt a pang of regret at this thought, and though she tried to dismiss
it, the feeling persisted. She didn't like Dukat... She was sure she
didn't like Dukat, but she didn't want him to die. She wanted him to come
back, to kiss her, and run his hands over her body, stroking... She shook
herself out of her reverie as she felt her body begin to respond to her
fantasy.

Once the ship was gone, she decided there was nothing left for her to do
in Ops, and she might just as well return to her quarters and spend some
time sorting out all that had happened that day. It had certainly been a
strange day; Dukat's apparent reconciliation with Ziyal, Dukat and
Shakaar getting on so well, Dukat strolling with her in the moonlight...
and that kiss... She nearly bumped into Damar as she walked back towards
her quarters.

"Major," he said by way of greeting, flashing a bright smile at her as he
stopped to talk. She was strongly tempted to just walk past him, but it
looked as though he wanted to speak to her, and she decided she didn't
have any reason to be rude to him.

"So, you're in charge of the station now," she said neutrally, wondering
what it was that he wanted to talk about. "I'm surprised Dukat didn't
take you with him."

Damar nodded and his grin widened.

"I was surprised, too," he answered. "But he had his reasons."

He was obviously dying to tell her Dukat's reasons, so she prompted him
with a disinterested, "Really?"

"You don't think he would trust Weyoun to run this station, do you?" he
said in a low voice. "Besides, he wants to have someone he knows here, in
case he doesn't come back."

Kira was annoyed at this last statement. Why did everyone seem to think
Dukat wouldn't come back, all of a sudden? More to the point, why did it
bother her so much? If the Federation did launch a full-scale attack on
Cardassia, and if Dukat died in that attack, it would be no more than
Dukat and the Cardassians deserved. A simple kiss didn't make Dukat a
better person. She resolved to curb her desire for him with some
carefully selected memories from the Occupation. That should calm her
enthusiasm.

"It's getting late," said Damar when she didn't answer. "Would you care
for a drink?"

This was something new -- Damar asking her out for a drink. It wasn't as
if she was on heat at this time of year! She shot him a murderous glance
which sent him into a satisfying state of confusion.

"I... I meant... Well, we're... just going over to Quark's for dinner,
all the Cardassian staff, that is," he stammered. "I was... wondering if
you would care to join us. I know you've already eaten, but I... well, I
wanted to know how things went on Bajor... Gul Dukat said you saw Ziyal
there... I wanted to know how it went..."

He was so put out by her reaction that she felt genuinely sorry for him.
The thought of a drink in Quark's with a load of Cardassian soldiers did
not appeal, however.

"I'm quite tired," she explained. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

He didn't press her, and continued on his way to Quark's. Kira wondered
for a moment what she could do to distract herself for the rest of the
evening, but finally decided to continue with her original plan and
returned to her quarters. She did feel quite tired -- the few hours they
had spent on Bajor had been strenuous to say the least. Lying down on her
bed, she let her mind wander over the events of the day. Pictures of
Shakaar and Quark, Ziyal, the egregious Chaserat, the fleeting expression
of satisfaction on Odo's smooth features when he had interrupted their
kiss... and Dukat, Dukat laughing with Shakaar, Dukat's arms around her,
Dukat's cold glare as he left.

She felt anger rise in her throat as she remembered how cold he had been
since they came back from Bajor. Did he think he could just kiss her and
then ignore her as if nothing had happened? She mulled over all the
wrongs -- true or imagined -- which he had done her in the past. Her mind
remained thankfully free of erotic fantasies until she fell asleep. Her
dreams, however, brought up quite a different view of Dukat.

                              * * * *

Heart pounding, her body readied for fight-or-flight, Kira was awakened
by an autonomic surge of adrenaline in response to her door chime. Damn,
she thought looking at her chronometer, she'd badly overslept her normal
wake-up call. No, she remembered as her brain slowly came to, she'd
canceled it deliberately. She'd been so tired, but thought she'd never
get to sleep after the events of yesterday. Besides, it wasn't as if she
had anything important to do today...

"Just a minute," she addressed, rather pointlessly, to the door -
whoever was outside couldn't possibly have heard. She threw a robe on
over her nightgown and took a flying look in the mirror. However
irrational, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was Dukat - come to
say goodbye properly. She knew it was ridiculous. Not only was he gone,
but she was the last thing on his mind at the moment - he'd made *that*
perfectly clear. Nonetheless, while mentally kicking herself for even
caring, she superstitiously ran a comb through her hair and checked her
face before giving the instruction, "Come."

"Major," said Quark cheerfully, looking her up and down in her state of
semi-undress. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, I was certain you would be up
by now - I mean, it's quite late really. I'm not interrupting anything,
am I?" He peered around the room, clearly looking for material evidence
of her postulated over-night visitor.

"I was up very late and I'm tired. I overslept. What do you want?"

"Why, just to deliver this," he beamed as he handed her a large, white,
rectangular box, "it should brighten your day considerably."

The box was tied with a red ribbon and had a hand-written card attached.
"What the hell is this Quark? And who is it from?" She really wasn't in
the mood for any of his nonsense - not that she *ever* was.

He followed her to her dining table - evidently having satisfied himself
that she was, in fact, alone. "If you want to know, you'll just have to
read the card and open the box, Major." Quark was near to dancing in
eager anticipation of her reaction. He hovered so close to her arm that
she was sorely tempted to elbow him in the face.

She set the box on the table, and removed the card, putting it to one
side. She didn't need to read it - she *knew* who it was from, just like
she knew that this nosy hobgoblin had already read it for himself. A
gentle pull on a free end of the ribbon untied the slip-knot which held
the box closed. It fell open to reveal a dozen long-stemmed, pure white
roses.

"Go on, pick one up," Quark cajoled her.

Fascinated by their beauty, she did so. Carefully placing her fingers so
as to avoid the thorns studding its stem, she held the rose and watched
as the edges of the milky petals changed color. At first it looked as if
the flower had been dipped part-way into a glass of red wine, then,
gradually, the stain spread and deepened to crimson.

"Mmm" Quark grinned lasciviously, "Red, for passion... Ah, but is it
love or hate which ignites your touch?" He paused thoughtfully, "Now,
let's see, if I remember correctly... they'll turn pink in response to
a humorous frame of mind, and yellow..."

"I know what they are, and I know what they do," Kira snapped at him.
Betazoid chameleon roses - they changed color in response to the mood of
whoever held or touched them. She'd only ever seen one once before. Dax
had brought it to a dinner party in Captain Sisko's quarters - some
besotted Xepolite trader had given it to her. They'd passed it around
the table, marveling at its delicate beauty and its uncanny ability to
read the emotions of each and every one of them.

What had made Dukat think that she would like such a gift? Was it his
standard offering to women he was hoping to seduce? Or was it just some
lucky guess on his part? No, of course not. It was neither. It could
only have been Jake - Jake was at that party and had witnessed Kira's
simple delight as the flower turned a purplish-pink in her hands. She
had been both embarrassed and amused - and had taking some heavy kidding
for her uncharacteristic reaction to such a frivolous item. So, Dukat
and Jake had had some casual conversation about her taste in... flowers.
Friendly with Shakaar, friendly with Jake... Nonetheless, keeping Jake a
prisoner and rushing off to fight the Federation... Rushing off to fight
Jake's father... Rushing off to fight for the causes of oppression and
brutalization. As long as she lived, she would never understand.

Quark interrupted her thoughts, "The box provides a stasis field - if
you keep them in it at night, and put them in fresh water every morning,
they should last for weeks. I imagine you'll want to take care of them
properly - your admirer could have bought a small luxury shuttle-craft
with what he paid for them..."

She turned on him and demanded, "What are you doing here anyway? I
thought you were still on Bajor."

"Oh, I had a business meeting early this morning," his reply was
typically evasive. "It was very successful, thank you for asking. *And*,
as an added bonus, I was able to pick these up."  He smiled, and
continued in a conspiratorial tone, "I told him it would probably take
*weeks* to fill the order - there *is* a war on, you know. We got very
lucky - I met a Kressari trader who happened to be carrying them in
stasis. His original customer, was, for some reason... no longer willing
to bear the expense of the purchase... Ah well," the little man shrugged,
"some other lady's loss is your gain. Aren't you going to open the card,
Major?" His enthusiasm visibly squashed by Kira's cold glare, he asked,
"Where is Gul Dukat anyway? I tried to contact him from the ship on my
way back to the station, but my transmission was rudely cut off..."

"He's gone Quark," she said flatly, "Didn't you know?"

"Gone? Where?"

"Cardassia Prime." She sneered at him, "There is a *war* on, you know."

Only when Quark had left did she open the card. It was not signed, but a
signature was hardly necessary. "Major, I hope you will not consider this
gift too presumptuous. My wish is merely to foster a new era of
understanding and - dare I hope? - forgiveness between us. I look forward
to seeing you at dinner..."

                              * * * *

What was it about Gul Dukat and Bajoran women? Damar kept his grin
strictly in his mind, and off his face, as Major Kira's door opened to
admit him. He knew that concerning women, as with all things, Gul Dukat
was both *particular* in his tastes, and *determined* in pursuit of what
he wanted. Major Kira might not be beautiful, but she *was* appealing -
something in the way she burned like a runaway plasma-fire... A pity for
his gul that she hadn't yet figured out just exactly what is was she
burned *for*.

She seemed to be busy with something at her table, as her uniformed back
was to him. "Excuse me, Major. I have just received a communique from
Gul Dukat which includes some instructions for you." When she whirled
around at the sound of his voice, he thought for a moment she was going
to shoot. Luckily for him what she held was not a phaser rifle, but a
bunch of long-stemmed Betazoid chameleon roses - blood red at the moment,
in evidence of her passionate mood. Even in peace time, a single *one* of
those roses would have cost Damar more than a month's salary. He had to
keep himself from whistling as he mentally totaled up what Gul Dukat must
have paid for all of them - including what that rapacious Ferengi
probably overcharged him. "Lovely flowers, Major. Hadn't you better get
them into some water? I believe they'll last longer if you care for them
properly..."

"You like them?" She snarled at him, "Then here, *you* take them." She
thrust the entire bunch into his arms, where they immediately blushed
pink in reflection of his amusement.

"Why, thank you, Major!" he simply couldn't suppress a smirk at her
action. As for the flowers, they *would* be safer if he held onto them
for the moment - considering her present frame of mind was unlikely to
be improved by what he had to tell her.

With the roses off her hands, she seemed to come to her senses a bit.
"What was it that you wanted, anyway?" she asked him with something less
than her previous rudeness.

Still cradling the pink roses, he told her, "I have orders from Gul Dukat
that you are to return to Bajor where you will oversee arrangements for
transporting the supplies covered under the trade agreement between our
governments."

"But I can do that just as easily, if not more effectively, from *here*!"
she protested.

"I'm afraid Gul Dukat's orders were very specific on that point, Major.
You are to leave Terok Nor for Bajor by 1600 hours, or you will be
escorted off the station under armed guard." The edges of the pink rose
petals began to show a purplish tinge - indicative of Damar's
embarrassment at having Gul Dukat's orders questioned.

"You're telling me that he doesn't trust me! He's afraid I might cause
trouble in his absence!"

"That is not for me to say," he replied coldly, the roses now a deep
bluish-purple. He was astonished by the stubborn stupidity of this woman
- how could she expect Gul Dukat to trust her? It wasn't as if they were
on the same side! Even when she finally settled down and became his gul's
mistress - as Damar knew she eventually would - she would always bear
close watching. She should be flattered by that! It showed respect for
her capabilities, and understanding of her commitment to her own people.

"Very well," she acquiesced, "I will go quietly. But *really*, if that
was how he felt, he might have saved me the trip back here last night!
Besides which," she looked at him pointedly, "this station is still
technically *Bajoran* territory, and he has no authority to order me off
it."

"*Technically*...," he echoed her word, adding his own contempt. Surely
she was not foolish enough to challenge Gul Dukat's absolute command of
Terok Nor. In any event, Damar was glad it wouldn't be necessary to
subdue her physically. If she were injured... well, he didn't want to be
the one to have to explain it to Gul Dukat. Before he left, he paused to
carefully lay the roses on her dining table. In the absence of contact
with a sentient, emoting, life-form the flowers returned to their neutral
color of pure white.

                              * * * *

A shower of roses hit the inside of the door as it closed behind Damar.
Petals which had gone scarlet at Kira's angry touch, blanched to white
as they detached and fluttered individually to the floor. She dropped to
a sitting position on the carpet, right where she had been standing,
tears of rage and desperation filling her eyes. "What does he want from
me?" she wailed out loud, but that was as far as she would give in to
the excess of mingled emotions besieging her. She sat where she was,
taking a few deep breaths to regain control, and then calmly began to
pick up what was left of the roses and their scattered petals. As she
gathered them to her, they turned yellow in her hands - yellow, she knew,
was their manifestation of sorrow and regret.

                              * * * *

"Your security chief insisted I have a blood test before letting me in
here to see you... When did this start, Edon? Has there been any
evidence of Founders here?"

He waved away her concern, "Just a formality Nerys - the Council of
Ministers voted to insist on blood tests for all personnel and visitors
to government and military installations. I'm sorry for the nuisance."
He motioned for her to be seated, but did not hold out his arms for a
more affectionate greeting. She felt the omission keenly - even though
they were no longer lovers. She had known Shakaar since she was a shy
young girl begging to join his resistance cell. In those days, his
comforting hugs had been enough to calm all her worst fears. As an adult
woman, his embraces had taken on a different connotation, and, even now
that their affair was over, she had no regrets about the intimacy they
had shared. Now, once again, she longed for his arms as nothing other
than a safe haven - a haven he was denying her. He offered her a
raktajino instead.

She sat down and thanked him for the drink. "So Edon, what's going on?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise, "You mean *you* don't know?"

"No, I don't. Dukat barely spoke to me after we left here to return to
the station. It was obvious that *something* was going on, but he
certainly didn't bother sharing it with *me*. All I know is what he said
in his little propaganda announcement... It was Damar who 'informed' me
that Dukat had ordered me the hell off *his* station, with some lame
instruction to come down here and coordinate grain shipments."

"Hmm," Shakaar smiled at her, "One *might* get the idea he doesn't
entirely trust you. ...Well, according to my sources, there was a
Federation attack on the Cardassian outpost at Minos Korva - just a bit
of a dust-up really, nothing serious."

"There must be more to it than that - Dukat wouldn't go tearing off in
the middle of the night because of some remote outpost..."

"Of course there's *more* to it," Shakaar snorted in disgust, "but
neither the Feds nor the Spoonheads are going to tell *us* anything, are
they? We're 'neutral' in this conflict, remember?"

"Do you think the Federation fleet is going to attack Cardassia Prime?"

"I would, if I were them... and had the muscle they've got. The question
is, what's Dukat going to do about it?" Not expecting an answer to that,
he began to debrief her in earnest, "Who's running the station?"

"He's left Damar in charge, and Weyoun's there as well. Odo's heading
security."

"What's happened about Jake Sisko? I know you were worried about him."

She flushed before remembering that Shakaar did not know the reason for
her embarrassment at his question. "Odo arranged for me to have a brief
visit with Jake before I left to come down here. Damnedest thing - he
doesn't *want* to leave! He says he's a reporter, and he needs to be
where the *stories* are! As if he was in any position to file stories
with some news service..." She shook her head at the thought of Jake's
intransigence. He was convinced that Dukat wouldn't harm him - despite
Kira's protestation that a friendly chat about Betazoid roses didn't mean
there was no danger. "At least he seems to be safe enough for the
moment... I'd still like to get him out of there though. I'm afraid all
hell is going to break loose before this is over."

Shakaar leaned back in his chair, every inch the concerned politician.
"I can't hold out much hope, but I'll see if there's anything I can
do." For the first time, Kira noticed that his hairline was beginning
to recede. It didn't bother her, really - they were *all* getting older
and these things were part of life. Somehow, though, it made him not
quite the same person as the Shakaar Edon she thought she knew so well.
Oblivious to her scrutiny, he went on with the debriefing. "What kind of
shape is the station in?"

"Repair crews have been working day and night on the computer systems.
It's difficult to say how much progress they've made - the first thing
Dukat did was have all the security codes changed. Odo and I are allowed
only the lowest level clearance. It seems likely that disabling the
minefield is their top priority - they'll get no reinforcements as long
as the wormhole is blocked."

"What about relations between Cardassia and the Dominion? I wouldn't
have thought that Dukat would make a very cooperative 'puppet' - he's
always been a little too independent for a string-puller's taste."

"Dukat and Weyoun don't trust each other. That's for certain. Sooner or
later, their alliance will fall apart at the seams - but I don't think
there's much *we* can do to help that along..."

"I'll keep the vedeks busy praying!" He smiled at her encouragingly, but
Shakaar had never been one to place much confidence in prayer. His
expression becoming pensive, he got up and wandered over to gaze out of
the window behind his desk. After a long moment of silence, he mused out
loud, "So, the Feds set a trap for Dukat... elsewhere... and, frankly,
it suits me just fine if the worst of the fighting is *elsewhere*...
I've no wish for a major engagement to take place in the Bajoran system -
the 'collateral damage' could wipe us out."

Kira paled as his comment. He was so matter-of-fact about the possible
destruction of their entire civilization - a civilization which had just
barely been pasted back together again in the wake of the Occupation. It
was the price of leadership, she supposed. He had to consider the
situation dispassionately, or risk some potentially fatal oversight.

"But I must confess I'm a little disappointed, Nerys," he continued
without looking in her direction. "I had hoped your situation would lead
to rather more useful military intelligence..."

"What the HELL is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on Nerys, it's pretty obvious that *something* is going on between
you and Dukat. I'd think you'd have enough sense to press the
advantage..."

His observation hit the target, and all her pent-up frustration exploded.
"Are you telling me to sell myself? I can't believe I'm hearing this
Edon... All those years we fought the Cardassians... you never ordered
- never even *hinted* - that any of us should do anything like that!"
She knew her reaction was absurd. Prostitution was *exactly* what she had
proposed to Dukat - all on her own initiative. Somehow though, she'd
convinced herself that her offer on Jake's behalf was 'noble', while what
Edon was suggesting was sleazy.

"No, I didn't, and I'm not doing so now. I'm not ordering, or even
asking, you to become a prostitute... I'm *begging* you to be a
*Bajoran*." He looked at her searchingly, obviously wondering why she
was so offended. Both of them knew very well that she *had* used sexual
allure to advantage against Cardassians before - she had done so, not at
Edon's instigation, but because she would have done *anything* to free
Bajor... "I know he's gone at the moment and there isn't much you can do
until he returns. ...but when he does... Distract him Nerys, waste his
time...  Do whatever you can to slow their efforts to deactivate the
minefield... Try to encourage the breach between him and Weyoun..."

"And if he doesn't return?" she asked bitterly, "Shall I throw myself at
Damar for you? or Weyoun, perhaps?"

"Damn it, Nerys." Shakaar came back to the desk and stood, resting his
weight on his arms, and leaning over her as she sat opposite him. She
looked up at him boldly, unimpressed by his display of aggressive body
language. "Get the picture: our situation here is *desperate*. Dukat
wants Bajor back so badly he salivates at the mere thought... If he
succeeds in disarming the minefield and getting reinforcements from the
Gamma Quadrant before the Federation can stop him, our 'non-aggression
pact' will be *worthless*. The Dominion has every intention of devouring
this entire *quadrant* just as soon as they feel strong enough - and if
you thought life under Cardassian rule was unpleasant, just imagine what
it would be like under the Jem'Hadar!"

He was right of course. She'd been in the company of evil incarnate -
sharing meals and flirting with Dukat, kissing him... even longing for
him... To make it even worse, while she certainly hadn't been converted
to sharing his goals, she was finding it increasingly difficult to regard
him as her 'enemy' either... She sat back to listen to her people's
leader, and to remember who and what she was.

Shakaar continued, "The only thing I can do for Bajor, is grasp hard at
the few straws I have available - you're one, Nerys, and I can think of
only two others."

Chastened, she asked quietly, "What are you planning?"

"I have a little cold, hard cash - courtesy of a bumper crop here and a
Cardassian famine... I've been stockpiling weapons as fast as I can.
There's an irony for you -  I'm using Cardassian latinum to buy arms
just in case - no, make that for *when* we have to fight them."

"Quark! ...and a certain Kressari trader..." Kira blurted out. Shakaar
nodded that her surmise was accurate. "Dukat hasn't tried to stop you? -
Surely he's aware of any weapons dealers coming into this sector?"

"Watching me scuttle about probably amuses him no end." For the first
time in all the years she had know him, Kira saw defeat and despair
written across Shakaar's face. "He knows full well that my attempts to
arm Bajor are an exercise in futility. If the Federation is defeated,
Bajor has no chance on its own. So, no, he hasn't bothered trying to
interfere in my puny little deals."

"What about that third straw?"

"I have Ziyal," he said quietly.

Kira's shock pushed her right up out of her chair and into the same
posture that Shakaar held. "Edon, I don't believe you! Ziyal's no spy,
she's done nothing! You wouldn't harm her! You haven't had her detained
have you?"

"NO!" he reacted strongly to her accusation, but then, more calmly,
attempted to explain his position. "No, of course not. But she is
watched closely, and she won't be leaving Bajor without my permission. I
like the girl too, but I'll use her if I have to - to buy whatever I can.
...Time. ...Bajoran lives. Surely you can see that it may become
necessary..."

She shook her head, and gave a short laugh at the irony. "What I can
*see* is that, in many ways, you're really no better than he is, are
you?" With that, she turned and walked out of the room.

                              * * * *

The next few weeks on Bajor were quiet, if anxious. Kira busied herself
with the minutiae of arranging food shipments to Cardassia, mentally
counting up the phasers and photon torpedoes which could be bought with
the latinum she was taking in. She watched, trying not to despair, as
everyone who could scrape the fare together emigrated. Vast numbers were
leaving Bajor for somewhere... anywhere that might be safer. This
diaspora of the Bajora made her sick at heart. Her people were only just
beginning to recover their lives and rebuild their culture after more
than a generation of Cardassian occupation. The present threat was, if
anything, even more dire. If the people abandoned their homes again now,
would they *ever* return?

On Bajor, they heard little news of the war - just rumors. There was
fighting along the border between Cardassian and Federation-held space.
Few colonists, few Federation colonists anyway, were left in those areas
- most having been driven out by the Jem'Hadar in the months preceding
the outright declaration of war. Those who had remained were now
refugees. But the refugees certainly did not come to Bajor - why leave
the frying pan for the fire? Sometimes the rumors claimed that the
Federation had won decisive victories, sometimes they said it was the
Cardassians.

She'd heard nothing from, or of, her friends in Starfleet - she prayed
for them daily and at length. She prayed for their safety, and for their
swift victory over the forces of evil...

She heard nothing from Dukat, either, of course - why should she? She
presumed that she would learn about it if he were dead - Damar might
tell her, just to watch her reaction. Or Weyoun. Or maybe Odo, who was
still on the station, would be allowed to contact her with such news.
Would the Prophets even listen if she prayed for Dukat's life to be
spared? How he would laugh if he knew she had even considered it...

She permitted herself to pray that Dukat would come to accept the
Prophets' guidance, lay down his arms, and seek peace. It was a cynical
prayer though, one she knew would never be answered. Only in a place
beyond her rational control, a rebellious corner of her heart which
declined to ask permission, did she pray for his life too.

As had become her habit, after completing the morning's quota of
schedules and manifests, she entered the temple for her customary vigil.
This day, she was surprised by the sight of Ziyal, eyes closed, wrists
bent, deep in meditation before a Bajoran prayer mandala. Not wishing to
disturb her, Kira sat quietly and turned her mind to her own devotions.

It was some time before both women completed their worship and greeted
each other. "Major Kira!" Ziyal regarded Kira with unshielded delight,
"I'm so glad to see you! I was afraid I would have to leave without
saying goodbye!" Ziyal's smile was warm and artless - so unlike her
father's mischievous smirk. Nonetheless, something about the daughter so
resembled the father... it made Kira's heart race just to look at her.

"What's going on? What's this about you saying goodbye? Has something
happened?"

"I'm leaving for Deep Space Nine - or Terok Nor," she gave an
embarrassed shrug, "this afternoon. It's all been arranged."

"Arranged? Arranged by who? Ziyal, I really don't think it's safe for
you to be there - we don't know where your father is, or what is going
to happen before this was is over..."

Ziyal looked surprised by Kira's words. "You haven't heard?  My father
has been back on the station for three days now."

"He is safe then?" Kira blurted out before she could successfully cover
her relief. Relief was quickly chased by surprise that no one had
bothered to inform her. Surprise was, in turn, supplanted by annoyance
at having been kept in the dark.

"He is fine. I'm afraid though, that you and I are probably the only two
individuals on this entire planet who regard that as good news!" This
time, her dancing eyes gave Ziyal's smile a more obvious resemblance to
one of her father's. "He doesn't know how lucky he is to have a friend
like you."

"I am *not* his friend!" Kira objected.

"No, of course not," Ziyal agreed, clearly just to humor her, "but he is
lucky anyway..."

"When did you say your transport was leaving? Do you think there'll be
room for one more?" Kira began mentally ticking off what she needed to
do in preparation for her return to the station. "I can be ready to
leave in an hour."

Ziyal's amusement faded to concern. "You haven't been told any of it,
have you?"

"What? What haven't I been told? If your father's back, I'd better get up
to the station as soon as possible. There must have been some
administrative slip-up..."

"No, Nerys, sit down. Please." Ziyal pulled Kira bodily over to the
nearest bench. "I'm so sorry. I thought you knew all of this, or I'd
have told you myself sooner. I'm going back to the station because First
Minister Shakaar and my father have arranged a sort of trade..."

Impatiently, Kira interrupted her, "I *know* that,  Ziyal. Bajor is
selling food to Cardassia. I've been tending to *all* of the boring
details myself..."

"No Nerys, not *that* trade. An exchange of 'prisoners' - me for Jake
Sisko."

"WHAT?!! But you're not a prisoner!"

"No, but it looks better to pretend that I am. I know it doesn't seem to
make sense at first, but think about it. Everybody saves face... and
Jake goes home. Officially he's being 'deported' by Bajor back to the
Federation as an 'undesirable'..." She giggled at the notion, but then
turned serious, "Besides, at the moment, it's probably best if I don't
stay here - tensions are running pretty high."

"Well, I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that Jake is going home,
but I still think you'd be safer here on Bajor. I can't help it, I worry
about you!"

"I'll be all right, but thank you, anyway." She put a hand on Kira's
shoulder.

Kira slapped her hands on her thighs, and started to rise. "I'd better
go though, I do have a few things to throw together before we leave."

Ziyal's gentle, but firm, hand prevented Kira's attempt to get up.
"That's not all," she said with regret plain to hear. "You've been
replaced as the Bajoran liaison to Terok Nor. I'm so sorry Nerys, you
shouldn't have had to hear this from me..."

"WHAT?" Kira burst out once again. "There must be some mistake! I'll go
have a word with Edon and get this straightened out. Some stupid
bureaucrat must have overstepped their authority..."

"No, Nerys," Ziyal sighed, "It was at my father's insistence - when I
heard about it, I called him myself to find out what was going on. He
said he didn't want to work with you anymore - that your overall
performance had been satisfactory, but he preferred to deal with someone
who hadn't been so closely linked to Starfleet. I'm sorry, but it seems
he's quite serious."

"SATISFACTORY!" Kira exploded with rage. "Is *that* what he called me!
How DARE he! No one else would have anything to do with him! Oh, I'm
coming with you all right, Ziyal. I'm going to give your father a piece
of my mind! When I'm through with him, he'll wish he'd stayed away -
he'll wish he was facing the entire combined Klingon and Federation
fleets instead!"

Ziyal looked unsure of whether to be horrified or amused at Kira's
threats against her father. "Okay. You can come with me and try to sort
it out with him in person." Evidently opting for amused, she smiled
again, the expression a dead ringer for one of her father's sardonic
grins, "Poor man, he really doesn't have a chance, does he?"

"Sorry Ziyal, and thank you." Kira had cooled enough to be a little
embarrassed at her outburst, but she hadn't changed her mind. "I'll meet
you at the shuttle-port. What time do I need to be there?"

"My transport leaves in two hours. So, meet me about 15 minutes before
take-off?"

"I'll see you then." Kira got up and turned to leave.

"Ah, Nerys, one last thing  - I almost forgot. My father asked me to give
you a message. He said to tell you that you needn't concern yourself any
longer about your 'agreement' with him. He said that you should consider
it null and void. He wouldn't explain what he was talking about, but he
said you'd understand."

                              * * * *

Dukat was nervous. The battle had not gone well -- and, the war was not
yet over. Things at Prime were more desperate than they had ever been.
Resources were at an all-time low, and he was not thinking of merely
fuelling the war-machine. Cardassia had never been self-sufficient, at
least not in the last five-hundred years; children, if not dead,
remained destitute. The truth was everywhere, in his war-ravaged land,
to see -- how could he deny to himself the evidence of his own eyes?
Cardassia was rotting -- a little bit, everyday. And the cold fear
lodged deep in his heart told him that he was about to fail her again.

Only, this time, there would be no recovery. No second chance. Cardassia
was beyond help. Oh, the government provided enough propaganda to boost
its image and that of the state: Empower the State; Empower the People.
And Dukat -- now the supreme dispatcher of that lie -- understood the
absolute necessity of it all too well. But that did not mean he could
lie to himself in the deepest, darkest, hour of the night. Empower the
state -- that little voice so resembling his own mocked him, over and
over again -- abandon the people. Had he, unwittingly, abandoned his
people? If self-doubt was a damning offense in Cardassian politics, then
he knew he was damned already. He had made the ultimate sacrifice: his
beloved daughter -- his brave, beautiful Galien -- was dead, the fragile
new life stirring within her lost forever in the ashes of the H'Gathha.
Blinded with rage and driven almost mad with desperation, he had
searched, millimeter by millimeter -- but had not found even a shred of
her in the remaining debris of the ship. In the end he had given his
wife the news, though he dreaded her reaction, dreaded her inevitable
damnation of him and his accurst crusade, but he had shirked the duties
of a father-in-law. Coward that he was...

Dukat drew in a faint, unsteady breath.

Cardassia had been infiltrated -- her last defenses straining at their
tether. The Federation had struck, low and mean, at the very core of his
dilemma -- as he knew only Sisko could -- and over half his ship's
complement had been sacrificed to protect Prime's defenses, not to
mention almost an entire fleet of Cardassian warships. The Dominion
seemed helpless. White was at a premium. The Jem'Hadar barely needed the

Federation's help to decimate themselves.

Having been forced to leave Terok Nor at a crucial moment, Dukat had had
to leave the job of disabling the minefield to Weyoun and Damar.
Needless to say -- they had not succeeded, and the thought of having to
face Weyoun's smug, simpering condescension was daunting, to say the
least.

Nonetheless, he was back; all that remained was to regroup, re-think,
and renew the struggle.

No, the war was by no means over. And, if Naprem's precious Prophets
willed it so -- he was prepared to go down with the last of it. He would
*not* give up. For him, this was the only way -- the Cardassian way. His
land, his people, expected no less.

But this incipient, stubborn nervousness -- was it just because of the
war? Dukat knew Damar had followed his orders and informed Kira of his
decision -- that he wanted her *off* Terok Nor; and that he had also
contacted Shakaar asking for Kira's replacement. He knew Kira had
willingly left the station and was now on Bajor. He knew he had a new
liaison officer waiting to greet him in Ops. He knew Shakaar would have,
at least, given him someone competent. But he knew nothing of the *real*
result; of the effect his hasty, arbitrary decisions had had on Kira
Nerys.

That faint flutter in Dukat's nether regions grew to a rumble.

Why -- after all that had happened between them, after she had made it
incessantly, publicly, humiliatingly clear that she could not care less
for him -- did he still concern himself with her reactions? Why did he,
foolishly and repeatedly, prostrate himself in the path of her
irritating, maddening, self-righteous zeal? Why, in the Prophets' names,
did he need her sanction so? He had a family -- and how that word mocked
him in all its travesty -- back on Prime. Why, then, did he grovel so?
What power, like thieves in the dark of night, had these women --
Naprem, Ziyal, and now, Kira Nerys -- wrested from him? Why did he,
despite himself, long to see her --just one more time? Why *her*?

And why had the Prophets -- *her* Prophets -- chosen *him* to be the
lamb for this slaughter?

Kira Nerys -- all he had wanted was to never see her again. And his
behaviour in those last moments before he had left for Prime, with Damar
looking on, had made sure of that fact. But, if only those few moments
by the airlock hadn't felt as if they would be their last. If only he
had realized *then* how her troubled, astonishingly forlorn face -- as
she mutely left the two of them at the airlock -- would begin to haunt
him so. Damar had had the grace to look away as he realized that his
commander had failed to hear a single word he had uttered. Then he had
patiently repeated himself.

Yes, Dukat had known fully that it could well have been the last time he
would look at Kira -- speak to her, tease her. But, despite that, all he
had wanted to do was leave. And, leave soon. All he had wanted to do was
forget that smile she had shared with Odo, so open and trusting and
tender -- a smile that could not be erased by a few harsh words or the
passing of time. She had never -- would never smile at *him* like that.
Yes, all he wanted, at that moment, on that transport back from Bajor,
was to never, ever, see her again.

Much later -- after learning of Galien's death, after he had finally
accepted grief, violence, and betrayal to be his lot in life -- after
all of that -- he could think only of that quietly shared smile. And,
then he had contacted Damar; had asked him to contact Shakaar with the
request for a new liaison officer for Terok Nor. Never again would she
barge into his office with meaningless docking assignment reports. Never
again would she pass careless, cruel judgement on his past and present
actions. Never again would she kiss him... touch his heart... in the
silvery shadows of the Bajoran night.

But he couldn't stop the memory of that kiss, of that troubled and
forlorn face, from haunting his dreams. Fool that he was.

Over the years, he had asked himself, repeatedly, obsessively -- why
Kira Nerys?

And now, after time spent away from her, from that intoxicating,
irresistible nearness of her -- he knew, all too well, the whys and the
wherefores. In these few weeks away from the station, his life had been
an amalgam of hope, despair, chaos... and emptiness. And, try as he
might, he had not been able to disabuse himself of the notion that
she... that the very existence of her... lay entwined amidst the most
fragile, the most neglected, and yet, the most precious of his needs. 
Was that why he kept coming, through all these years, back to this 
station... to Bajor... to her?? Why... after all that he had lost, all 
that he had endured, did he find himself drawn irrevocably back to this 
place? Like a scorned, hapless pilgrim grown stale at the door of his 
temple! But the irony of all ironies lay in a single, inevitable 
realization. That all these years of deriving immense pleasure and 
satisfaction in teasing, poking and prodding that irrepressible persona
-- his inimitable Major -- had scant prepared him to be in the grip of 
such absolute dread, such crippling terror, at the unraveling of this most 
basic truth in their enigmatic, protracted duel: Kira Nerys had finally, 
indisputably, single-handedly won the war. And she didn't even know the 
extent of the damage she had wrought on the enemy---

"Sir, we are being hailed from the station!"

The voice of Gyikett, his science officer, sliced through Dukat's
reverie and, in sheer anticipation of seeing his first officer, of
catching anew, a glimpse of the jeweled delicacy that was Terok Nor, he
pushed up out of his command seat. Strange, how -- every time he saw
this wonder of Cardassian artistry -- he felt humbled; and, despite
himself, happy. After all -- it was, and had once been, his home.

As the station segued to a view of Ops, his second-in-command's
expressionless face seemed to be an answer in itself and Dukat felt his
stomach tighten as his eyes narrowed onto Damar's. However, his
apprehension dwindled somewhat as Damar suddenly slanted his trademark
grin at his leader. Dukat sighed inwardly. Damar was getting entirely
too imitative of himself, and that too with such avid insouciance. But,
what would he have done without this man? Who could he trust more than
this young, earnest, implicitly loyal soldier who had stayed with him
through thick and thin -- ever since those pirate days spent on that
Bird of Prey?

Ahh... those pirate days...

Damar had stayed steadfastly at his side in those grimmest, most
hopeless hours. And, together, they *had* triumphed. Even if only for a
time---

"Helm, we have control. You are cleared to dock on docking ring one,"
Damar's face reverted back to a controlled, anticipatory look as he
focused his attention solely on Dukat. "Welcome back, sir!"

Dukat gave Damar a mocking, but grateful, look -- and gave the order for
docking procedures to begin.

                              * * * *

The Commander of Terok Nor realized he was staring through the entrance
into Ops and caught himself. In spite of everything, he felt a rumble of
laughter pooling deep in his stomach. Shakaar *would* do this to him.
That man *never* gave up. No matter. He was sure that this liaison
officer, stunning as she was in her looks, was every bit as competent as
Shakaar promised. Her credentials *were* impeccable: in the service of
the Bajoran Central Government for the last four years, she was fluent
in Kardasi, Klinzhai, and Standard. And already, it seemed to him, she
had won Weyoun over. Thank the Prophets for that -- because he seemed to
be paying Dukat much less attention than before; good or bad, or both --
that, he did not know. Or care. Even Damar seemed to like her. Although
Dukat had noticed that Damar didn't seem to ogle her quite so much as
the other Cardassian officers and soldiers did. Good. He'd leave the LO
in Damar's capable hands. Hmm... or, maybe the Cardassian Ops
engineering team would be more interested in that particular job. It seemed
Major Eynara had struck up a good rapport with them right from the start.
Women seemed to stick together no matter what species they were! Hmph...

Dukat frowned. She seemed a bit cowed by himself, though; it felt
strange -- to have the Bajoran Liaison Officer of Terok Nor timidly
saying -- "yes, sir!" to him. Well, maybe not timidly. But, at least,
in a civil manner.

Not like... not like...

He sighed noisily. These reports needed to be finished soon. The station
was now on almost constant battle alert and he had not had a full
night's sleep in the last fifty-two hours. Tonight he would have a quiet
dinner in his quarters and finish the rest of the reports. And contact Ziyal.
Ziyal... yesterday they had talked, *really* talked -- as a father and
daughter should -- about things... important to them both. A warmth
seeped into the coldness in his bones. How he had needed that! Ziyal...
so much... she reminded him of so much! In a strange way, Galien and
Ziyal had been much alike in their looks and attitudes... the eldest
and the youngest of his daughters... in fact, they had been very much
like himself... almost as if they had both taken over directly where
he'd left off. And, in that same, strange way -- they had both been
particularly close to their father. When Ziyal was a child -- here -- on
Terok Nor, Dukat had enjoyed a sweet, indulgent relationship with her;
one traditionally shared, and prized, by most Cardassian fathers and
daughters... and he knew he would give *anything* to have that back. And
to think he had almost lost her -- first to the Breen, then to his own
stupidity and hotheadedness, and then to that... that...

But he *had* lost Galien --  to this faceless, heartless war... and to
know that he would never again feel those delicate arms around his neck,
hear that high, sweet voice call to him, that pealing laugh... to know
that *he* was responsible for that fate... for the violent stifling of
the life that had been within her...

The choking, clamoring darkness in his heart threatened inevitable,
final justice---

No matter. No matter! She was gone forever. More than a pound of his
flesh. More than a chunk of his soul. But Ziyal was alive! And she loved
him still; was coming back to him. Tomorrow, by this time, she would be
here... Ziyal... the one thing he had done right in his life... the only
thing he gave a damn about anymore...

Wearily, he stretched in his chair... Sisko's chair. Sisko's office.
Sisko's baseball---

The Ops door slid open suddenly and he gasped. Angry, dark-brown Bajoran
eyes under a thatch of silky, chestnut hair. Eyes that seemed to berate
him in their familiar, age-old manner.

He blinked.

Damar stood, at attention, in front of his desk.

"Sir, Major Eynara and the off-shift Ops crew are going to the Promenade
to have dinner."

Damar paused, expectantly, it seemed.

Dukat looked down at his own hands -- were they shaking a little?

"Damar, can you do one thing for me before you go?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Can you contact Ziyal for me and route it to my quarters at a half-hour
delay? I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir! Right away."

Dukat nodded, and as Damar left, took a deep breath and began to sift
earnestly through the reports. It was time to bring Ziyal back to Terok
Nor, where she belonged -- and Shakaar had been surprisingly
co-operative at Dukat's suggestion of an "exchange of prisoners". That 
man was nothing if not practical. He would go far. Well, if allowed to, 
that is. Dukat shook his head. He would always remember the exact 
expression on Shakaar's face at his words. Let Jake go free? How?? But to 
Dukat, a promise, even if half-a-one, was a promise; even if the one he 
had made it to had no recollection of it. Sisko may not have believed it 
at the time, and may not remember it now, but Dukat had once told Sisko 
that he could never harm Jake.

And, he had kept that promise.

His stomach growled menacingly. He *was* hungry, and in a minute he
would leave and have that quiet dinner. Alone. In his quarters.

                              * * * *

Quark was morosely counting the last of his latinum when he felt that
familiar frisson of unease. Uh-oh! He knew that feeling. His lobes knew
that approaching aura very, *very* well.

Odo.

Looming over him.

"Odo! Can I get you something?" Quark had no idea whatsoever why he even
bothered to be his usual, obsequious self with Odo. Not that it had ever
had any effect. Oh, well! It was just... in his lobes. To be
ingratiating to people, that is. Except for Rom. And Nog. Well, family 
was different.

"Made any profit today, Quark?" Odo's voice was mild. But, oh how
deceptive that mildness could be, only Quark knew. Well, maybe not
*only* Quark.

"What do you think?" Quark sighed, and stopped counting. The Jem'Hadar
were absolutely no fun. And, contrary to his earlier expectation, Weyoun
was a teetotaler. He had, however, been holed up for three whole hours
in holosuite 2 the other day---

Hmm... maybe Ziyal *had* been on the mark, after all. Clever girl, that
one.

Odo's face was unusually bland. More so than usual. In fact, ever since
Major Kira had left, his face seemed to have lost some of its, Quark was
sure -- painstakingly crafted, definition. Despite himself, and despite
Odo, Quark softened.

"Odo... how's it going?"

Odo turned his head slightly, looking at Quark with those keen,
suspicious eyes. Quark could swear he saw a smile in there. Somewhere.

"It? *It* is going fine, Quark."

Quark leaned in closer. Odo leaned away. Quark grinned.

"You know, Odo... these Jem'Hadar may not *ever* take to drink, and
Weyoun seems to only want to name other people's poison. But..." Quark
grinned wider. "Those Cardassians can still... "

He stopped. Odo seemed to have grown larger, kind of... meaner.

"Well," Quark started to remove the glasses from the counter, wishing he
could, at least once, disappear with them. "I am not complaining, that's
all," he finished lamely.

Odo had reduced himself somewhat.

Quark smiled his most ingratiating smile and fluttered his eyes at Odo.

"And Gul Dukat seems to be leading the pack."

He took another quick peek at the silent shapeshifter. Odo was, blandly
and steadfastly, inspecting the counter-top. Ah, well.

"The problem is, he does *all* of his drinking in his quarters! Not that
he ever used my holosuites, or played Tongo. But... you know... if he
came here more often, I'd be able to get him to *do* something about...
about..."

Odo sighed. He knew one thing. The station had become incredibly,
unbearably, boring. And, he could not believe that the high point in his
day was going to be this "conversation" with Quark.

"About *what*, Quark??"

Quark's voice was mournful.

"Nothing! It's nothing." He began to grumble under his breath. "You
know,
I am almost out of my stash of kanar."

Odo sighed again. Heavily. Not again. Quark could be so *human* at
times. He must have picked it up from Jake---

And the others. The others...

He pushed off the counter and turned to leave.

"What?? Leaving so soon, Odo? Why... is it time to hit the bucket
already?" Quark seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his idiotic humour. Odo
left him to it. Gladly.

Walking in his usual head-bent, shoulders-hunched manner, Odo failed to
sense the figure, equally large, but leaner in frame, and would have
barreled into him had the person not halted and allowed him to pass. As
the sheen of metallic fabric caught his eye, Odo looked up from his
reverie straight into a pair of indigo eyes.

"Gul Dukat," Odo inclined his head slightly. And stopped walking.

The eyes blinked, then cleared, as if dragged back from some other time,
some other place. The lean body in the heavy Cardassian armour stiffened
slightly, and the face, tired and drawn, assumed a curiously ironic
expression.

"Odo," Dukat nodded. "Good night."

And walked on.

Odo stood rooted to the spot, watching the lone figure stride--- no...
*trudge* down the corridor. A curious, uncomfortable emotion flooded his
being and, involuntarily, he shook his entire frame to flush it out of
his system. Then, just as he turned and began to walk in the opposite
direction, toward his own quarters, Odo recognized the feeling for what
it was.

Pity.

                              * * * *

The door chime seemed to have developed a personality all its own.
Impatient, erratic, even somewhat imperious. Answer me... now! -- it
insisted. His pulse racing in alarm, Dukat switched off the sonic shower
with a thwack of his palm and wrapped a thick robe around himself --
brutally squashing the temptation to not answer at all. He shook his
head in mortification. Did self-pity and cowardice suit the leader of
Cardassia? Did skulking in quarters for the greater part of the day
befit a Supreme Legate? And, for that matter, did near-inebriation?

But then, kanar did so make the world recede... if only for a few
blissful, fleeting moments---

The door chime really did have a mind of its own. He sighed heavily as
he stepped out into the living area.

"Come."

The first thing he felt as the door slid open was the collision. Of mass
against mass. Body against body. One larger, leaner, powered with sinew
-- the other smaller, slender, infinitely fragile. Ziyal's deep-blue
eyes, so like his own in shape and coloring -- but so like Naprem's in
essence, sparkled up at him. Dukat held tightly onto the delicate frame.

This was everything to him now. This was always the way she had greeted
him when she was a child. Here -- on Terok Nor. Always a mad rush, then
a headlong dive. Did she really remember those days? He felt the cold
emptiness in his heart abate a little as her wide, jaunty grin gave him
his answer.

"Father!"

"Ziyal! You are late! I was getting worried... when did you arrive?"
Dukat looked up over her shiny, sable mane into the face of his first
officer. Standing just outside the door, Damar looked a bit awkward at
the proceedings. A bit shame-faced.

"---arrived just a few minutes ago..." for a long moment Ziyal inspected
her father a bit too closely for his comfort but, thankfully, did not
ask any questions. Dukat found himself unable to look away from her face; 
it seemed as if she had quite grown up in these last few months, but that
little girl of his still peeked out from underneath... that cheeky grin,
those discerning eyes, the words tumbling frantically over each other in
that obvious state of excitement... he suddenly found himself breathing
heavily -- in sheer relief.

"---Father... Damar brought us back to the station!" Ziyal finished as
she rocked back on her heels to peer up at Damar.

So Damar had escorted Ziyal to the station, hmm? Well...

Damar cleared his throat and had the temerity to glare at Ziyal. Dukat
watched, fascinated, as his first officer then quickly lowered his eyes,
his face flushing as Ziyal smirked saucily back at him. What *had*
happened on the transport?

Hmm...

"Sir, I have reports for you from---"

Dukat would have none of it. No matter how the war was going.

"Damar, can you give Ziyal and me time to have a quick dinner together?"

Dukat could not tear his eyes away from the glow in Ziyal's face. She
*was* glowing. And he had to know why, and soon.

"Ziyal, do you have time for a meal -- you haven't already eaten, have
you?" He faltered. Something in Ziyal's face -- a hesitation, an
uncertainty -- froze him.

Then, awareness of the single, hitherto-ignored word hit him with the
power of a phaser set to kill.

<...Damar brought us back to the station...>

Tensing, Dukat looked at his daughter's radiant face. At her delighted,
unreserved smile. He felt the floor rise as fear, raw and elemental,
punched through his gut.

"...us?"

                              * * * *

Kira sauntered into Odo's office as if she owned it - her way of
concealing her uneasiness over the upcoming confrontation, as well as her
fury. She couldn't very well blame Odo for Dukat's decision to replace
her as liaison officer - but why the abyss hadn't he *told* her? During
her most recent stint on Bajor, she had had absolutely no contact with
him. Not that she had initiated any herself - rather, she had been
relieved - but he should have told her something like this. Ziyal too had
wondered that nobody had. However, Kira was determined this time to hear
him out before flying off the handle again. She felt she owed it to him.
But it was hard to curb her anger. Perhaps she overdid her swaggering -
the constable looked a little surprised as he put away the crime report
padd to give her his full attention. "Major", he greeted her formally.

"You wanted to see me, Odo?" Tense, yet determined to hear his side of
things.

He nodded. "I'd like to know where I stand." She closed her eyes briefly.
This was not what she had expected, but she had a feeling she knew what
was coming... "There is nothing personal about it, Major", he reassured
her, as if he had guessed her thought. "But I can see that you are
becoming far too involved with Gul Dukat - I know not in what manner yet,
but for security reasons, I must ask - whose side are you on?"

She could tell the pain behind his sandpaper voice, but somehow she
managed to feign indignation at his implied distrust. "How can you ask me
that? You of all people should know me by now!"

But he only shook his head sadly. "I can't say that I know you at all
anymore, Major. You don't tell me anything. And for my own sake, I must
know: are we both still working for the same ideals we started out with
when we decided to stay on Terok Nor - or am I on my own?"

"My position as a liaison officer demanded..." she began, then realized
that the language of diplomacy would not get her anywhere with Odo.
Especially as she had never been able to speak it very well. "Odo", she
said instead, leaning across his desk towards him as if demanding an
answer. "What is it? I know I've been keeping things from you, and I'm
sorry, but - those were personal things. Things I needed to straighten
out for myself. Things I couldn't tell *anyone*."

He looked as if her every word were a poisoned dagger to him, and she had
to admit he was right. She was shutting him out. She, who had always told
him everything. Why, even when she and Shakaar had first become a couple,
she had seen to it that Odo was the first to know. She had told him
herself, radiantly, the morning after... How she must have hurt him
then... But how could she have known? He, who detested secrets, wasn't
exactly the most open person she had ever met. Nevertheless, she hated
herself for having hurt him, for hurting him now, and her guilt fuelled
the anger she had come in with. Odo had always been like a brother to her
- yes, a brother, that was it, perfectly uncomplicated! - what had got
into him that he should suddenly make these senseless accusations? And
for that matter, who was *he* to complain about not being told
everything?

Her resolve shattered, and her fist landed on his desk. "Why the blazing
tendrils of a thousand anomalies didn't you TELL me I'd been replaced?"

He knew perfectly well what she was talking about. That was plain enough
to see - and wasn't that the tiniest fraction of a smile? She nearly
exploded again, but a sudden thought occurred to her. "Did Dukat order
you not to?"

This time the smile was unmistakable. "Outside of my work, the gul pretty
much ignores me. He gives me no unnecessary orders."

"And what's that supposed to mean? *You* arbitrarily chose to keep me in
the dark?"

"I saw no reason to inform you", he said calmly.

"You Saw No Reason...??" she sputtered. Pity there was no way of socking
it to a changeling and not come out looking like a fool for trying...

"I naturally assumed Gul Dukat would keep you informed", Odo explained,
but that persistent little smile gave him away. He was enjoying this,
damn him!

"You're not really worried about my loyalties, are you?" she flung at
him. "It's something else."

Finally, the smile subsided. He looked down at his hands, resting
half-folded on his desk. "I wanted to keep you away, Nerys", he
confessed. "As far away from - him - as possible."

She gaped at him. 'Nothing personal' indeed! Of all the over-protective
meddling... or was he - jealous? Had she been that obvious? She did not
think so, it had certainly taken her long enough to begin to understand
her own feelings. And did he really have to bring this up *now* that she
was already plagued by Dukat's sudden, inexplicable indifference... "And
just how did you come to consider that your business?" she asked
dangerously.

Odo let out one of his well-emulated sighs. He had not expected this
confrontation to be easy. If only he knew her reasons for seeking out
Dukat... What motivated her these days? Revenge? Or - something else
entirely...? He dearly wished he could have trusted her. But it was
his curse - and perhaps his blessing - that he found trust easier to let
go of than to build.

"I've asked you time and time again, Nerys", he said quietly, "what is
really going on between you and Dukat? I know he has put pressure on you.
I knew already before we went to Bajor, and we both know what I saw
there. Nerys", he said pleadingly, for once putting his hand on hers
though he had sworn never to touch her again, "if it has gone as far as
that, if he even has you playing up to his every whim, then you can't
hope to handle this alone. It all started with Jake Sisko, didn't it?"

She gave him a startled look. How long had he known about that?

"Well, whatever hold he has on you now", Odo resumed, "you must break
free from his influence. He is a hypnotic man, I know. I have often seen
him use that talent to good effect on..." he broke off.

She pulled her hand away from his. "On other Bajoran women?" she
completed his sentence for him. "Odo - it isn't like that. You don't
know him. He..." It was her turn to leave a sentence hanging.

"If 'it isn't like that'", Odo said, some of his usual sarcasm creeping
back into his voice, "then how is it? Or is that still one of those
things you can't tell me?"

Suddenly, she knew what to say. His tone had helped her - distanced her,
like so many times before. "It's not what you think, Odo", she snapped.
"But for what you saw, he never touched me. Never - except where it
counts the most. He *did* touch my heart."

Taking care not to meet the shapeshifter's eyes, she spun around and left
his office, a renewed purpose to her stride.

Odo sat where she had left him. Devastated again. Brokenhearted again.
But oddly, less and less surprised each time. Kira had always had a
deplorable weakness for powerful men. Yet his own special brand of power
had always gone unnoticed. 'She can never love you, you're a changeling.'
The cool verdict from the spokeswoman of his people whispered through his
mind. Perhaps she had been right. After all, she had lived for a long
time. And there was really no understanding humanoids... solids.

He stood, about to lean against his desk out of habit because it was one
of his postures to put the - solids at ease. Realizing that he did not
have to accommodate anyone, he simply stood, erect, unsupported. Alone.

Then he began slowly to change.

                              * * * *

Breathe slowly... in. Out. In. Out. In... Kira stomped through Ops and
entered the lift. Her body felt as if it were on fire. How dare he! HOW
DARE HE!! This was *her* post... *her* assignment! How could he replace
her with someone else!! How COULD he?? How could they... the THREE of
them, for Prophets' sakes!!... have kept this from her?? A knot of
renewed anger and resentment hardened deep inside her stomach, blurring
her vision. Somehow, without bodily throwing people out of her path, she
managed to make her way to the habitat ring, to the door to Dukat's
quarters. Strange, how she did not think of them as Sisko's quarters
anymore. Had ceased doing so at some point very... *very* recently. The
thought made her stop short.

Why? How?? How had he, in these few weeks, ensconced himself so very
comfortably in Sisko's office, in Sisko's quarters, in Deep Space Nine,
in her heart---

Kira took in a violent, unsteady breath. And blew it out. She was NOT
leaving. And, that was that.

No Jem'Hadar guards in sight. Hmmm.

She leant on the door chime.

And leant on it for what seemed like minutes. Long, dragged out minutes.
He *was* in there. The security sensors were on and she had made sure to
check them before her headlong flight from Ops. He WAS in there!

She leant the whole weight of her body on the chime. She had all of the
next twenty-six hours, and by Prophets, she would have her answer!

When the click came, not the voice command, she almost missed it. The
remote unlocking mechanism. Straightening, Kira strode in as the door
swished open.

Immediately, two facts registered. A discarded armour lay at her feet,
and the room, lit even darker than usual, reeked of kanar. Grimacing,
her eyes adjusting gradually to the dimness around her, Kira approached
the shadowy figure at the far corner -- and stopped abruptly as Dukat
swiveled around from his stance at the porthole, watching her quietly,
his profile bathed in darkness. His silence unnerved her and,
momentarily, stole the rush of angry words crowding her throat.

As Dukat watched the inborn self-assurance flee that familiar doe-eyed
face, a strange sensation assaulted him. He was back on Terok Nor...
but, the Terok Nor of seven years ago: the waning days of the Occupation.
These were his quarters -- and the Bajoran woman confronting him, dark
eyes furious and fists clenched, was Naprem. Tora Naprem. Dukat felt the
bitter bile of guilt mixed in with a host of other none-too-savory
emotions flood his diaphragm as he stared, with unseeing eyes, at Kira.
Then as now, he had returned from Cardassia Prime, resolute in fulfilling
an immediate task: one that *must* be fulfilled. Before leaving, he had
left a message for Naprem to pack just a few things for herself and
Ziyal. He was sending them, only for a short while, to Lessepia. Naprem,
as usual, did not believe a word he said. Eyes ablaze and lips trembling,
she had barged into his quarters.

I am *not* leaving!!... she had thrown at him. And what did he mean --
"for a short while"? Just who was he trying to fool? And what happens to
him, in the meantime? What if he was killed? What if they were all
killed? What if... what if they never saw each other again?

He had shushed her in the only way he knew how. Prophets knew he could
not stem her worries. Could not tell her the *real* reasons for his
decision to send her and their daughter away to some remote planet they
had never seen. Could not tell her how desperately he wanted to go with
them; how he knew she could be more than right about his imminent death.
That morning there had been yet another attempt. On the ship. On *his
ship*! The thought sickened him. He could not trust anyone. Anyone! He
knew, that morning, that Ziyal and Naprem needed to be separated from
him. Disassociated from Gul Dukat -- the last Prefect of Bajor, the
harbinger of the fall of Cardassia, the failed heir to The Empire --
subject of derision, ridicule, and now, assassination attempts. He knew
that if anybody survived this murderous, chaotic injustice of a time --
it had to be innocent, sweet Ziyal. He could not... would not... let her
die. And, if that entailed severing the only light he had in this
darkness of a life -- it would be a price he would gladly pay.

Naprem had not understood. He had watched the harsh words fall from
those full, tenderly shaped lips, and quietly waited. In the end, he had
promised her many things. Whatever she made him swear, he had sworn.
Yes, yes... Naprem, yes! I promise you! Then they had made fierce,
violent, and ultimately tender, love. And, just before slipping into
that heavy, deep sleep only the guileless can claim, she had looked at
him -- the pain and betrayal in those dark Bajoran eyes tearing at his
heart. He knew then, as he knew in the years to come, that he would
not... could not... keep his promises.

The next morning, he had put them on the Ravinok; had hugged them both
in an unguarded moment of desperation, uncaring of the now-familiar,
carefully hidden disapproval from his supposed subordinates.

The Prefect and his "family".

But, when he kissed her quickly, fiercely -- Naprem did not meet his
eyes. Even as the airlock doors rolled shut, she did not look at him.
And he knew that, between the two of them, she had branded him forever
the betrayer -- by that silent, searing action. And yet, all this time
later, he remembered only her smile, her shining eyes, and her deep,
satisfied breaths as Ziyal burst onto the world and into his waiting
hands.

Ziyal -- The Vindicator. Named after perhaps the most scorned, neglected,
antiquated deity of Cardassian myth. A name they had *both* desired for a
child they had yearned for. Together.

She *had* survived, after all.

Kira breathed slowly... in. Out. Shouting was not the way. Not any more.
Squinting at Dukat's face in the darkness, she realized with a jolt that,
armourless, he seemed leaner, slighter, infinitely more vulnerable. And
uncharacteristically -- what seemed almost unnaturally, for him -- quiet.
She bit her lip.

Should she leave?

After all that had happened... *could* she leave?

But, more importantly, dare she stay?

His skin shone pale in the blunted light -- broken only by that ornate
design so reminiscent of the fabled Kalasarap of her childhood
fantasy-plays -- the narrow, dark straps of his uniform under-tunic
cutting snugly into the expanse of...  Prophets, but he was beautiful!
She knew that, though. Had always known that. Although, acknowledging it
had been another matter altogether; even if only to herself. Yet, now...
she found she did it with ease. Such amazing ease! Such consummate peace
in knowing that, this much, she could admit; even if only to herself.

And this much, also, she could confirm, even if only to herself: she
*should* leave.

Now! Leave now, and never come back.

But feet padded, in muffled defiance, closer to the shadowed corner near
the porthole.

"Stop!" His voice, when it pierced the darkness around them, jolted Kira
to a halt. Though, not soon enough. He had not moved back; had not
physically halted her progress toward him. Yet, his voice held a warning,
an undue harshness -- as if he had, perforce, keyed the door behind her
to swish open. And was now awaiting her exit. She hesitated. Something
about his speech pattern had caught and held her attention as never
before.

She frowned and, involuntarily, took a step closer. And heard his
sharply indrawn breath.

"Don't come any nearer unless you really mean it, Major!" he whispered
harshly.

Kira took one more, resolute, step.

"Mean what...?" She whispered back. Softly. Yelling, even at him, seemed
a thing of the past.

She could see his face better now. The creases and the angles, deepened
somehow; etched in sharply cast shadows---

---what in the name of...?? She reached out, like an automaton, and --
ignoring the sudden flinch he gave -- gently touched his face with her
fingers.

Wetness hugged her fingertips, and she heard herself make a soft,
startled sound.

Kira Nerys knew, at that moment, that what had etched those sharp valleys
into that granite-carved face was grief of a kind she had not... had
never... associated with this man; grief of a kind undiluted by time. A
festering sore that, in all the years, had refused to heal. Kira knew, at
that moment, that what she had seen at that makeshift graveyard on
Dozaria III was only the carelessly sutured face of that wound.

She knew, at that moment, that she could not leave.

She would not leave.

She took a breath. "Computer... raise light level."

Sensing his sudden restless irritation at her action, she raised a hand
to stem his protests. He blinked once, twice, and then lowered his face,
as if in sudden shame at his weakness.

At least he did not turn his back to her, Kira thought, a part of her
simply stunned at the surge of gratification -- of elation -- within her.

Nothing! Nothing she would *ever* do would surprise her anymore!

With a certain effort she lifted her eyes to his face. It was closed,
inscrutable -- the tears dried into darkened streaks. Kira could feel the
slight bitter-sweetness of his breath on her face... from the kanar.
It was cool -- like the rest of his body. She'd felt the touch of his
skin on hers, many a time, when they had accidentally, or otherwise,
brushed against each other. Strange, how, at those times, she had
actually cringed; had shied away quickly from his nearness and touch.
His pheromones. She hadn't even cared how obvious her show of repulsion
had been to him.

And, now? What was happening to her now? What *had* happened to her?
What overpowering force had propelled her feet here?

She looked into his eyes. Those ice-blue eyes, normally so penetrating,
were now cloudy and opaque as they studied her face with deliberation,
and a sort of... disinterest. Kira's breath caught in her throat.
Disinterest?? Something was very wrong. He... *felt* different. Her
eyes dropped to his mouth -- that cruel, pearl-gray instrument of her
torture. It was set in a thin line...

...and, Blessed Prophets, remained closed! A rare occurrence, indeed!

In spite of the circumstances, she found an unwilling quirk lifting the
corners of her own. Yet, once a certainty in his ever-ready
responsiveness to her moods, his lips did not curve in answer.

Sobering, Kira drew a sharp breath at the sudden, slight slur in his
speech, when he spoke.

"What do you want of me, Major?" Dukat whispered, and she had to strain
to hear him. Dazed at the bitterness in his voice and a sudden intensity
in that steel-blue gaze, she lowered her eyes...  and that distracting
little bulge at the heart of a gracefully curved throat swam into view.

Kira swallowed. Did he know how fascinating she had always found that
provocative little protuberance? Did he notice how she would always,
covertly, watch its little dance -- as he laughed? What did he -- the
Cardassians -- call it? She had often found herself wondering if it had
the same significance in Cardassian cultural lore as it had in her own...
was he aware that it symbolized the promise of overpowering masculine
sexuality to the average Bajoran? Of course he was! Was there anything of
which he was *not* aware -- especially that of his own effect on others?
...On her?

A sudden, tiny explosion of heat deep within her belly radiated through
her body, blooming into a lazy shiver -- and she cursed herself for
having, because of the warmer environmental settings, taken off her
uniform jacket. All of a sudden, she felt naked, exposed. Earlier, on
arrival at the station, she had been surprised, even astonished, to find
her quarters unassigned, undisturbed. All of her items were in their
rightful places -- including the chameleon roses, in all their pristine
white glory, in the stasis box. Had he visited her quarters while she
had been gone? Had he seen the box?

Self-deception was a damning trait, Kira recognized -- a sudden trembling
assailing her limbs, not unlike moments past she had spent in his
presence. This... this bewildering flutter in the depths of her belly --
much as she had made a success of hiding it from the others, maybe even
from him, Kira could never delude herself into believing its
non-existence. Instead, channeled into hostility and sheer, cussed
aggression, it allowed one Kira Nerys, freedom fighter and carefully
cultivated gadfly, to cope with one Gul Dukat.

So... what was it? Fear? Of what? But, this was a Dukat unlike any other
she had ever had the opportunity to observe. This was a defeated man!

In the hours before leaving for Prime, he had studiously avoided her.
When she had reluctantly relinquished her dignity by intruding into his
last moments with Damar -- the distant, shuttered look on his
extraordinarily mobile face had almost frozen her in her tracks. And this
after that glance they had shared on the transport back to the station --
a look so open in its surety of knowledge, its shocking, quiet intimacy.
It was as if there had been no one else around -- not even Odo. And for
that millisecond of not being able to look away from the discernment in
those indigo eyes -- she had re-discovered the meaning of fear. Fear of
having let go of her deepest self for the eternity of that moment. Fear
of flying too close to a burning, spinning, fireball of a star. Fear of
discovery.

Spending the rest of the trip pretending to be lost in thought was of
scarce help. Even Odo had been of little assistance. Dukat had not tried
to engage her attention any further, ignoring her just as easily and, it
seemed, effectively, as she ignored him. Yet, knowing him as she did,
she wondered if he realized her sudden weakness -- the sheer extent of
this new-found vulnerability of hers; she had found herself re-living --
for the thousandth time -- that fragrant, moonlit night... the sweet,
drugging heat of his mouth on hers... the gentleness with which he had
held the back of her head in his hand... his fingers moving so very
softly in her hair; and she had felt herself trembling -- in trepidation,
in anticipation -- of what she knew not. But Kira Nerys had been, for the
first time in her life, petrified. So, she had filed away what little
courage she thought remained and had decided to avoid Dukat as much as
she could. Enough! No more dinners and lunches. No more flirting. No more
temptation. And she had nearly succeeded -- for a few short hours. But,
the thought of Jake had driven her into his office, and she had felt like
a helpless, caged bird as Dukat totally, masterfully, shut her out.

As usual, he gave no real answers to her questions.

He merely planted a thought: "If I don't return... "

And the fear renewed itself.

Leaving him at the airlock with Damar, Kira had found the effort of
convincing herself of her own inculpability -- in the situation between
them, in the situation with Jake -- almost paralyzing in its futility.

Then, a few hours ago, in rapid-fire succession, she had been informed of
Jake's deportation and Dukat's request for a new liaison officer by Ziyal
-- and she had felt the familiar, latent simmer re-ignite as angry
questions tumbled through her mind. When had he decided this? Why had he
not told her of this before he left for Prime? And he had the nerve to
tell Ziyal of their agreement! What if she had figured it all out? And,
Prophets! -- had he not even the courtesy to tell her *that* in person?
If evasion was his revenge on her, she fumed, then he had succeeded. But,
until that chance encounter with Ziyal, she had not realized just how
deliberate that evasion had been on Dukat's part. Then, on realization,
she had not believed it.

Until now.

No, it could not be fear that had made her feel so numbingly, blissfully
delirious the moment Ziyal had informed her of his arrival on the
station; that, in this bleakest moment of her world, her deadened heart
could be brought to such swift life by that one piece of news -- he was
safe!

He was safe! ...and that extra little gleam in Ziyal's deep-blue eyes
-- eyes so like her father's, had ruthlessly mirrored Kira's furious,
tongue-tied, helpless, undoing.

Like a pointed finger at her face.

No, it could not be fear that had propelled her, fists balled and eyes
ablaze, into his quarters. Not fear that lent her the foolishness to be
standing so very close to him now.

Kira breathed slowly, deliberately. Not fear. This man... this hated,
reviled, nemesis of her entire adult life, was standing as stiff as a
tome, as silent now as he had ever been verbose, as incomprehensible to
her now as he had ever been an open book.

Not fear.

Her knees felt weak and her throat felt parched. But, that drum-beat in
her ears pounded a new, unaccustomed rhythm into her veins... a rhythm
she would have once died to deny.

She realized that she was holding her breath while he gazed at her
quizzically, still silent.

Not fear.

Kira lifted her eyes, fevered with intent, to his and saw them widen in
instant comprehension, the gray-blue deepening to a darker hue.

No, he *never* was dense, she thought in sudden, quiet amusement.

"Major--- " Dukat inhaled, sharply, on the word; the timbre of his
normally deep voice roughening, as if with effort.

"---shhh..." Kira whispered as one finger inched up to touch, lightly,
the sharply defined, triangular hollow at the base of his throat.

"Major!!" Dukat gasped, his entire body stiffening in response to her
touch.

"Nerys... " Kira whispered, plaintively. And placed her lips where her
finger had been.

Dukat gasped again, and his fists clenched against his side. In a moment
of brief, tortured acquiescence, he closed his eyes. Then he reached up
and grasped Kira's bare arms in an oddly convulsive gesture, pushing her
away from him with a fraction of his strength -- feeling a shiver of
unease as he found her no match for him. As she looked up at him, her
dark-brown, Bajoran eyes wide and uncomprehending, he fought desperately
for control -- of the situation, of her actions, of himself.

He knew, with helpless certainty, that his body had, as always, betrayed
him to her. His pheromones were already working their ancient,
treasonable magic -- a fact that had been forever inescapable to them
both. Only now, he wished for a reprieve as he had never dreamt he
would. He wanted to swear lustily at all the Bajoran deities he knew and
scoffed at.

No... not *now*!  Not when he had finally decided to deal with this in
his own way!

A sharp, humourless sound echoed in his throat as Dukat tightened his
grasp on Kira's arms, uncaring as to whether he bruised the tender flesh.
The white, sleeveless top of her uniform had always held a certain
fascination for him, and she knew it. Just as she knew everything else
about him. She was relentless -- this... this Bajoran temptress -- he
knew that from long, and bitter, experience. And, suddenly, the thought
of her finding out, of discovering his fragile, closely guarded secret
filled him with an unprecedented sense of dread.

"What do you want, Major? For Prophets' sakes -- what do you want of me?"

Kira's eyes darkened to an opaque black. As always, the rage gathered
itself quickly as she realized that he would do anything... *anything*
-- to rebuff her. As always, it would be too easy. As always, she would
play, thoroughly, into his hands. As always, she would do what he
expected her to do: become theatrically, uncontrollably angry. And,
leave.

And, then what? -- she found herself asking.

So Kira Nerys, almost disbelieving of herself, took that unexpected,
critical, final step. And she took it quietly, almost too quietly.

"I am not leaving."

Her voice, despite herself, shook a bit.

As if burned, he let go of her arms and stepped back. The look in his
eyes was suddenly -- impossibly -- haunted. Ever so much more than
before.

Kira gazed up at him steadily. Did he even hear her?

"I am *not* leaving."

He did it, then. He turned his back to her.

Kira gasped. The pain, unfamiliar and almost unbearable, lanced through
her, and she felt, keenly, that sudden craving -- to walk backwards. To
retreat. To hide.

And, then what? -- she asked herself.

She walked around him. In front of him. His eyes were closed. In fact,
she decided after scrutinizing him for a moment longer, they were shut
tight.

"I AM NOT LEAVING!"

She hadn't really meant to shout.

Dukat's eyes had opened, and Kira drew a sudden breath.

Something! There was that... something... in his eyes. A fleeting touch
of astonishment, of amusement, and that particular brand of indulgence
he always directed at her. That indulgence she had come to expect from
him without conscious thought as to what it really meant.

And there was more. Much, *much* more. A touch of hope, of *life* -- in
the blue depths.

Faith re-asserted itself.

"I am *not* leaving."

His gaze was level. And his voice mild. "You have already left."

"No, I have not!"

"Damar's report was wrong, then? You were hiding in... where? Waste
extraction?"

She knew where he was going. She knew *all* his ploys. She would not be
budged.

"Well... you ordered me off the station. I had to leave. For a while."

"I ordered you off Terok Nor. You are no longer my liaison officer,
Major Kira." His voice was impossibly quiet. Impossibly gentle.

Off the track, again! No matter. She soldiered on. "I was here *before*
you. This is MY posting, according to the Bajoran Central Government!"

"You forget that I, Major, was here before *you*!"

She soldiered on. "I am *not* leaving."

His face was carved in stone. "I really have nothing to say to you,
Major. I have a new liaison officer---"

"---and she is MORE than 'satisfactory', I take it?---"

"---if you have a problem, please take it up with your First Minister---"

"---to HELL with the First Minister!"

His eyes widened, fractionally.

Aha! Bull's-eye!!

She drew a tiny breath. And drew, fractionally, closer to him. Good! His
ego would not allow him to step back now. She never thought she would do
this -- thank the Prophets for this man's pride!

"To hell with everybody else," her voice trembled, then steadied. She
took another step.

Despite himself, he closed his eyes. Held his breath. Prayed. To *her*
Prophets. Let it be over. Let this be over. Soon. Let her leave. Soon.

"How DARE you do this to me... to *us*?" She stood, toe to toe, shoulder
to shoulder, with him.

He stopped breathing. Too close, she was too close! Last defense...

"How could you DO this to me? How could you tell Ziyal about our...
agreement?"

His words were strained, his voice low. "I did *not* tell her about our
agreement. I merely told her to tell you that it was off. Jake has gone
home to his grandfather."

"And she didn't ask you *at all* what it was all about?" Bajoran eyes
blazed in fury.

He felt her anger begin to stoke his and his lips thinned. "No, she did
not! My daughter respects other's -- her father's... privacy."

Control... he *must* have control! This was careening totally,
irrevocably, out of his hands. He drew a shaky breath.

"Major, I---"

"---you expect me to believe that!!---"

"---believe WHAT you want, Major!"

They glared at each other. It came so easily. Like so many other times.
Through so many years. So many wrongs -- real and imagined.

It would be so easy, so effortless, to let it... all of it... take over.
Yet again.

And, then what?---

Kira felt the fight seep slowly out of her. No more... no more...

She took a deep breath.

"I believe... I believe... that you really don't want me to leave. I
believe... that you need me. I... need you---"

She stopped. The look on his face frightened her no end. She had seen
him angry many times before, but never like this.

He had closed his eyes, and she could hear him trying to control his
erratic breathing. His voice was quiet. Deadly. Menacing. "Did the First
Minister put you up to this, Major? Did he tell you to" -- how would
Captain Sisko put it? -- "sweeten me up"?

Her eyes blazed. But only for a second.

Fear was a thing of the past. She had once thought that she had lost
most everything she called precious -- to this man. And now she realized
just how precious, how dear, was that which she had lost. And how she
would, willingly, lose it again. And again. To this man.

It was time to own up.

She stepped closer, but did not touch him. Her voice was a whisper. A
prayer.

"I am not leaving... you."

He opened his eyes, the pupils sable-dark. It was proving to be a
stunning defeat.

She met his incredulity head-on, and smiled, very faintly. Almost
ironically. And repeated herself. Short sentences. Maybe *then* it would
penetrate that thick skull?

"It's simple. I am not leaving you. Me... Kira Nerys. Not Major Kira.
Not your liaison officer. Me, just... me," She drew a deep, freeing
breath and shrugged slightly.

"I *can't* go. My place is -- " she leant slightly backwards to look up,
fully, into his eyes -- "here."

She reached out and took his hands between hers. They were strong,
smooth, cool to the touch. And they were shaking -- ever so slightly.

She brought them -- palms up and open, to her face; placing her lips in
their unexpected softness, she heard his low hiss as they cupped
convulsively around her.

She smiled into them, then raised her face. "My place is *here*."

From the latticed fabric covering her breasts, she picked a single,
drowsy, saffron rosebud and placed it, gently, in his cupped palms --
wrapping her own fingers around his.

Together, they watched its golden splendor change color and radiate into
an iridescent, prismatic hue -- the color of love given.

It was time to begin anew.

                              * * * *

The moment their lips touched, he knew it was a mistake.

The dynamic had changed.

The balance had shifted.

But... he didn't care.

For this moment, he had regained *everything* he had lost: his title,
his station, his office, his quarters... most importantly, his soul.

His earlier effort to push her away, to ignite her blazing fury, tap
into those old arguments, and dredge up every animosity between them
which would irrevocably separate them, had utterly failed.

He shouldn't have been surprised. He was losing every battle he fought
lately.

Yet this defeat did not sting as harshly as the others. It did not mock
him for his failures and short-sightedness. Oh, it burned... but it was
a different type of fire. A different type of flame. It was one he had
forgotten. One he cherished. One he missed. One he desired. One he now
had.

He would never admit how badly he needed this to anyone; weakness such as
this was not part of the Cardassian mindset. For this moment, he was
alive. For this moment, he was living. For this moment, he was whole.
Matters of the state were inconsequential. Matters of the quadrant were
minuscule. Matters of his soul, however, were paramount.

They were Bajoran and Cardassian. Major and Gul. Kira and Dukat.
They could not escape that reality. Most importantly, they *were.*

The kiss... it was different than before, more assured, more determined.
A reminder of everything which made her *her.*

Her hands moved to his chest, the delicate rosebud still cupped in the
palm of her hand as she touched him. His fingers came to rest gently on
her back; the tips of her impossibly high-heeled boots touched the tips
of his regulation, duranium-toed boots.

Her scent seared his senses.

Her lips parted, caressing his gently. He held back; he could not devour
her as much as his body demanded he do so. His experiences with Bajorans
in this manner had been pleasant; hers with Cardassians... he was unsure.
He had to let her direct the pace. She had to feel comfortable with him.
One wrong move and a torrent of memories could overwhelm her, make her
withdraw, curse him for every sin imaginable, and damn him to every known
incarnation of Hell in the Alpha Quadrant.

He wanted to live. Here. Now. Not in the past, not in the future, but
*now.* In the past, his soul was tarnished, damaged, pummeled,
wounded.... In the future, it would be trampled, tortured, shredded,
lifeless.... In the present, however, his soul shone and thrived like the
rosebud she held against his chest.

She was his redemption.

She became more insistent, demanding that he respond to her. She would
not settle for his languid movements. She knew him far too well; she
understood the smiles and the gazes and the lilt of his tone over these
years did not culminate in such a meek response.

Intensity matched intensity.

The rosebud fell to the floor.

Her hands slid up his chest, thumbs following the center ridge to the
hollow just below his throat, where the ridges of his shoulders and his
chest met, and her fingernails somehow scraping his scales through his
undertunic.

Electrifying.

He had no idea of her dalliances with Cardassians, whether this movement
was instinctual or from experience. He didn't care. She was with him,
sharing this with him, *being* with him....

She flattened her palms against his neck ridges, starting at his arms and
slowly sliding her hands up to his jaw, again raking her nails along his
bare skin. He groaned. He felt her smile.

Such a tease.

He forced himself to be patient no matter how badly he ached.

She pulled away, staring at him with wide, luminescent eyes. She searched
his features, lifting her right hand and brushing her fingers gently
against his cheek, echoing his gesture from that fateful meeting in which
she propositioned him. Her lips parted, her breathing was labored, but he
refused to make any sudden movement, such as to crush her to him and kiss
her.

She wanted to say something, to call to him perhaps. With all the
intelligence reports, he was sure she knew his given name yet she
hesitated to use it.

He reached up, brushing her cheek as she had his. Did she know what this
meant? Did she understand? Her eyes widened at his touch. He placed his
thumb on her lips. He could not call her Nerys. It would only jolt her,
make her recall the circumstances which had led to this moment, bring
forth reality in a place and time where such things were not welcome.

"*Narailari*," he whispered. <Lover of my dreams.>

Her hand dropped from his face to encircle his wrist. She almost smiled.
She did not have a formal education; her Kardasi vocabulary probably did
not include the more romantic endearments of his language. Curses, yes.
Affectionate names, no.

She hesitated. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she understood
what he was doing, offering a semi-neutral term for them to address each
other by. He wondered how she would respond.

Spoonhead? Not in the least bit romantic, but he supposed he could live
with it. Cardie? A Terran slur, but it wasn't too bad. He'd heard worse,
all in her native tongue.

"Narailari," she repeated, right before she kissed his thumb, gently
biting the tip.

He automatically closed his eyes, the moan trapped in his vocal chords.
Tempting woman! Sensual. Tantalizing. Her lips were warm, teeth nibbling
in an odd rhythm as if hinting her plans for other parts of his anatomy.

She released her hold on his wrist; her teeth played along the pad of his
thumb. Then, fingers latched onto the waistband of his trousers. His eyes
snapped open and he stared in disbelief. Her eyes shone with passion and
amusement as she stopped the assault on his finger and a roguish grin
touched her lips. His hand settled gently on her shoulder. She pulled him
closer, teasing the waistband and tugging his tunic. He offered no
resistance, both hands now on her shoulders to facilitate the removal of
his clothing.

She touched the bared scales of his lower back. It took every ounce of
control not to tighten his grip, capture those lips of hers in a forceful
kiss he hoped would leave her breathless. He thought he let out a hiss,
but he wasn't sure. All he heard was the slight chuckle from her as she
began massaging his back.

So intimate. How long had it been since this had been so... intense?

Alive. They were gloriously alive. It was as if she were waging war
against his dour emotions, using every bit of cunning she could muster to
drive back the darkness, to repel the force of depression, to make him
*live* with the passion she knew he had.

She edged his shirt up as she worked her way up his back, digging nails
into his spinal ridge, and she watched him closely for his reaction. If
she couldn't tell by the damp heat radiating from his groin, surely she
could recognize the lust in his eyes. She pushed the tunic up, clearly
wanting him to help her remove it. He pulled it over his head and flung
it away, not caring where it landed.

The gasp was unexpected as her eyes dropped down to his bared chest; his
confidence was shaken. Her approval became everything to him... to be
accepted... to be loved for this little time... before their paths
diverged... before they had to admit that Bajoran and Cardassian, Major
and Gul, Kira and Dukat would never coexist as they were doing right now.

"Narai...." she breathed, her hands now touching his chest scales.

Did she know what it meant? Did she realize narai meant "beloved"? Was
she laying claim to a term considered too sentimental by modern
Cardassian romantic standards? Or did she simply truncate the word,
making it her own to use specifically with him?

She traced the ridges and outlined the scales with a touch which was
driving him mad. His skin was now flushed the deepest gray, broadcasting
his arousal.

Her arms wrapped around his back; she pushed forward, settling her lips
on the hollow at the base of his throat. His hands dropped to her waist,
fingers dancing along the base of her spine. Her tongue flicked out,
teasing the scales on his throat, as her fingers dug into his shoulder
blades.

He could stand no more.

He pressed her hard against him, making her feel the extent of his
arousal. She did not protest. It was her turn to moan, her breath blazing
against his neck.

Her earlier words echoed: "I am not leaving you. My place is here."

She had spoken them in that determined way of hers, with such confidence
and conviction that it was impossible to dispute.

Wanted. Needed. Desired. Loved. The weariness of his soul was retreating.
Exhaustion fled his system, replaced by coursing heat, intoxicating
touches, and intensely dizzying scents. She wasn't asking for his
surrender. She was simply demanding a truce, simply offering a time and a
place for him to *love* her unconditionally. Oh, he was still worried
about frightening her away with the depths of his Cardassian passion, but
with that stubborn resolve which had kept her alive during the bleakest
of days, she conveyed she could easily match him, easily overwhelm him
with her own desire.

"Narailari," he whispered. She lifted her head and met his kiss.

Permission had been granted.

His fingers slid along her waist, mimicking her movements before. She was
impatient. She pulled her tunic up and over her head and shoulders,
throwing it backward before wrapping her hands around his neck and
pulling him in for another assault upon his lips.

Insatiable. Determined. Conveying that she wanted to erase every last
morbid, brooding trace he had projected when she first came into the
room.

His hands roved across her back, sliding under the edge of the material
covering her breasts. He recalled how he had admired her on the shuttle
back from Bajor, his musings on her preferences for undergarments. It
seemed now he had his answer. Again, she broke their kiss and reached to
remove the offending article of clothing.

His hands covered hers; she was far too impatient. He had been waiting
for too many years, dreamt too many dreams, envisioned too many fantasies
for her to simply tear off her clothing. No. This was not something he
was going to give in on.

Amazingly, she understood. She simply gazed at him reassuringly. Gently,
he flattened his palms against her back and slid them forward to her
belly, angling his fingers to touch her rib cage and glide upwards. She
closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

Such a display of passion.

Such a display of trust.

He could feel her heartbeat and the shuddering breaths she took. Slowly,
he pushed the material up, covering her breasts with his palms, his
thumbs touching, and allowing her to adjust to the feel of him. She bit
her lower lip as she raised her arms. He was reluctant to move his hands;
for now, he was content to feel warm, smooth skin beneath his palms and
his fingers splayed intimately against her. He was mesmerized.

She made a small noise, one he thought could be from frustration since
her arms started to bend slightly, ready to reach down again and pull the
garment off. He continued with his upward movement, pushing the material
until it was over his knuckles before he finally slipped it off her,
trailing his fingertips along her arms. Her eyes were now open, her head
tilted as if waiting for his reaction and her arms still raised above her
head as his were; he gently cupped her wrists and then slid his hands
down all the while meeting her gaze. His hands settled to her sides,
thumbs gently stroke the curve of her breasts. She dropped her arms until
her hands were resting on his shoulders and she pressed against him.

Smooth, unadorned skin against his.

This time, there was no mistaking his hiss.

Oh, she was enjoying herself. He could tell by the glimmer shimmering in
her eyes... that odd combination of lust and confidence he had only
dreamed about. She was going to drive him insane; he was sure of it. Was
this what she did to the others? Bareil? Shakaar? Was this the reason
those men, after only a few months of association with her, seemed to
become withered husks of their former selves? Only after she and Shakaar
had broken off their relationship had the First Minister suddenly became
more energetic, more authoritative than before.

Teeth nibbled his center chest ridge; hands slid around his waist, around
his back and then down.

He growled. It was the only sound he could make now. He couldn't pick her
up, take her to the bed, strip off the rest of her clothing, and taste
every inch of her until she writhed beneath him, wanting and needing him
completely. If he did... if he gave into his instincts, she would panic.
He knew she would. He would have to be at her mercy.

Then again, he had always been at her mercy.

He moved his hands over her breasts again, teasing and brushing his
fingertips against her until she moaned and lifted her head, arching
toward him for a kiss. He bent his head, lips touching hers. Her tongue
darted out just as he parted his lips to caress hers; it was a Bajoran
custom, a Terran one as well if he recalled correctly, and implied a
certain level of intimacy and trust between partners. He simply
responded.

That was, until her fingers went from massaging and tracing the ridges
along his hips through his trousers to actually wriggling her fingers
past the waistband and then cupping and pulling his hips hard against
hers.

His hands... he couldn't recall quite what he was doing with his hands
when she brazenly ground herself into him, but once she did that, he did
the same to her, right down to burying his hands inside those tight rust
colored trousers, inside her underwear. Their kisses grew more insistent,
combining nibbles, nips and moaning, until he knew that any moment, he'd
drop to the carpeted floor of this room next to that discarded rosebud,
taking her with him.

She pushed against him, this time moving her feet between his legs and
nudging him backward.

The bedroom.

<Thank the Great Gul and the Prophets!>

They didn't break their kiss or the tenacious and intimate hold they had
on one another. They simply scooted backward until he felt the edge of
the bed press against the back of his legs. Her fingers now latched onto
his hip ridges, moving from behind forward, and her thumb rested on the
fastening of his trousers.

He moved from kissing her lips down to her neck and shoulder; she
unfastened his trousers. His breathing became more labored as he
struggled to maintain some sort of control. She was deliberately doing
this to him. He knew it. He allowed it. It was simply becoming
exquisitely unbearable.

She was feeling him through the fabric of his underwear, as if gauging
and weighing him, before her hands dived back into the garment. This
time, she gently yanked the cloth down and exposed him. The cool air hit
his slick, bared skin. He gasped, almost toppling backward.

She began to explore him. Gently. Curiously. With a sort of fascination
he had admittedly missed.

Her hands were so *warm.*

He didn't want to have to say it. The teasing was almost becoming too
much. She had won. He surrendered to her, standing unashamedly half-naked
before her. She had succeeded. She had lured him to her side, convinced
him of the futility of his darkest thoughts, brought him out of the
dungeon of self-hatred to this place and time.

He straightened to his full height, even as the sensations demanded he
drop to his knees and devour her right there. "Narailari."

She only nodded as she slid his trousers and underwear down, hands
running along his legs. He had to sit; there was no other way to
gracefully remove his boots. He was about to stand again when she reached
forward, placed her finger on his lips, and then moved back. He was naked
before her, noting how her gaze slowly traveled over him. He stretched
out slightly, affording a better view of his person, and indulged himself
in a certain amount of pride about his physique. He had nothing to be
embarrassed about.

He waited. She chewed her lower lip. She met his stare again. "Narai."

He reached for her, gently hooking fingers into the waistband of her
trousers and realized this style had no clasps. She moved forward so she
was standing between his parted legs, her knees touching the edge of the
bed. He slowly peeled down the two layers of fabric, bent forward, and
began placing kisses first on her belly, then her hip as he slid the
clothing to her feet. She wound her fingers in his hair almost as an
encouragement; occasionally her hand would stray to the back of his neck
or his neck ridges and tease the scales.

The pheromones were overwhelming. He tasted her skin as his hands roamed
her thighs and firm...

She pinched a neck ridge.

It was too much.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her down until his back was
flush against the hard mattress and her bodyweight pressed her breasts...
her everything to him.... Their knees to their feet, hers still tangled
in pants, underwear and boots and his completely naked, were the only
parts of their body not on the bed.

His lips captured hers urgently, his hands roaming restlessly over her
back down to her hips. He wondered if she was aching as much as he. Given
her scent... she had to be.

She shuffled against him; he grasped her arms as she did simply because
the movement was near torture for him. He then realized she was divesting
herself of the rest of her clothes. Did she know what that particular
movement was doing to him? She had to. There was a bit of mischief in her
eyes.

She rolled to the side; he made a surprising sound of disappointment. He
had quite enjoyed having her pressed against him like that. Her hands
were back on his chest; her eyes focused on his scales. She met his gaze;
an admission that they, Bajoran and Cardassian, Major and Gul, Kira and
Dukat, were together. She was exploring again.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the softness of her touch, such a contrast
to their usual exchanges. He threatened her; she threatened him. It was
the way they were. He reached up, brushing her shoulder with the back of
his fingers.

She pinched a cluster of chest scales, the twelfth and thirteenth down
from the triangle at his throat, and he gasped as his eyes snapped open.
She had moved closer to him to stare at him, but she didn't smile at his
response.

Ah. He understood. She wanted him to know exactly who he was with, to
watch her, to see her, to acknowledge it was she and not anyone else but
*her.* No ghosts, no past lovers... just *her.* She gave him life. She
gave him hope. She wanted him to remember this always.

As if he could possibly forget.

He propped himself up on one elbow, turning so he lay on one side facing
her. She moved closer. Her hands caressed him delicately and he could
detect the hesitancy in her movements. Was his bold and daring major
worried she was not "tending to" him properly?

She was teasing the ridge along his hip, casually stroking and rubbing,
and observing him intently for his reaction. He was curious as to just
what shade of gray his chest scales were now. The color of that Terran
gemstone hematite...? Or where they black? It had been too long since
someone had done this thorough an examination of his person.

Her lips brushed his forehead, placing dainty kisses on his eye ridges.
His hand settled on her hip and then slowly slid to her ribcage; he
waited for any sign of distress. There was none. He delighted in the
soft, smooth feel of her skin... such a contrast to his own. He ducked
his head down, nuzzling her neck as he edged toward her, angling himself
so that more of them would be on the bed than hanging over. Her hands now
played along his back, gliding along his scales as if she were trailing
her fingers in the waters of a fountain.

He pulled her closer, forcing her to shift with him as he repositioned
them so that they were on the bed completely and she could rest her head
on one pillow. She gave him encouragement to continue, to become a bit
more aggressive, to trail kisses from her collarbone down, to ease her
completely onto her back as he began teasing her the same way she had
teased him.

The only sounds she made, aside from speaking the endearment, were sharp
intakes of breath, soft chuckles, a few hisses and an occasional growl.
He nibbled. There. Her back arched as one hand grabbed a handful of the
sheet and the other latched onto his hair. It was pleasing to know his
memory of Bajoran erogenous zones had not failed him.

As she had assaulted him with her hands, he returned the affection with
his lips and tongue. After all, it was only fair. He reached her hip. She
became still. He looked up. Dark eyes glittered. There was uncertainty...
she had no clue what he would do next. There was passion... she knew
whatever it was it would be pleasurable. There was curiosity.... the fact
he paused the moment she froze seemed to baffle her until he saw the
glimmer of realization.

"Narai..." she breathed, dragging out the last sound as it turned into
a quiet moan.

He returned his attention to her. Hands caressing and massaging her
thighs while his lips nibbled her hip bone. His hand strayed to her inner
thigh, coaxing her to relax and succeeding. Her breathing was becoming
more rapid, more desperate. He idly wondered if she would yell at him in
frustration or if they would stick to the two word means of communication
they had established between them.

A kiss here. A caress there. A taste....

The next thing he knew, her fingers had gone from pulling at his hair to
clawing his neck ridge. If he had been Bajoran or Terran, she would have
drawn blood. Being Cardassian, a surge pounded through his system. It
only encouraged him to continue, to see how far he could drive her, to
see if he was still as good as he once had been or if he were simply a
Legend in his Own Mind when it came to that department.

"*Narai,*" she growled. She didn't have the strength to move him to where
she wanted him to be no matter how hard she dug her fingers into his
neck ridge. Just a few more moments... She twisted, hips arching, knees
bent, nails almost tearing into his flesh. He reached up with one hand,
capturing her breast and using his thumb to tease. He could feel the
tremors running through her body as he continued tasting, exploring,
calling upon every bit of his skill to elicit her responses. She gasped
and writhed then suddenly became still.

"Narai." It wasn't the word; it was how she spoke it. Almost tearful.
Almost frightened. The sense of security he had endured to create was
rapidly fading. She didn't understand. As much as he was unused to having
someone explore him... she must have been as well. Pride again bathed his
soul, knowing that no other had ever driven her to that particular peak.
He obeyed her request, but kissed his way back to her shoulders, to her
neck, to her cheek, to her lips, to her temple while his hand gently
caressed her side. The fact she allowed him meant she had not been angry
but just unsure.

Her hands were upon him again, this time wrapping around him and
stroking, nails dragging against those scales.

As if he need even more encouragement.

He sought permission, gazing into her eyes... had he ever seen them so
lustfully dazed? He noted the near smile of tenderness. She appreciated
him. She trusted him. She healed him. She loved him.

The moment their lips touched, he knew it was a mistake.

The moment they joined... he knew he was damned to every Hell in the
universe.

She moved with him, arching her back while hands pinched and rubbed
scales and ridges on his chest and back. He'd forgotten just how athletic
she was, how she could effortlessly shift her weight and match his
rhythm. Her responses beforehand were only a hint of her true passion.
She understood this, enjoyed this, needed this as much as he. Together
they were vanquishing his enemies. Together they were soaring....

This was to be their first.

A series of events, the cascade of emotions, had lead them here. Oh, a
moment like this would convert any non-believer to the way of the
Prophets.

It was one hell of a baptism.

Their movements were frenzied... thrust... arch... moan... as if they
were wringing every last micron of energy from this act.

This was to be their last.

Why else would she declare, "I am not leaving you. My place is here." For
these moments... this shared passion... his one last blessing before his
universe collapsed, he was whole again. His spirit danced with hers,
their voices mingled in cries of passion, their lips met hungrily, their
bodies sung together....

Their mutual teasing had brought them closer to the edge than they had
realized.

"Narailari."

"Narai."

This was to be the only time.

She would deny this moment forever. They were Bajoran and Cardassian.
Major and Gul. Kira and Dukat. They were enemies, after all. He was a
soldier. He understood. There was no reason for him to believe at all
this moment would ever be repeated.

Yet she gave him life. She renewed his soul. She healed him. They were
one.

<Great Gul!>

<Sweet Prophets!>

They were Bajoran and Cardassian. Major and Gul. Kira and Dukat.
They *were.*

They spoke the same words, the same language. They *were.*

The moment their lips touched, he knew it was a mistake.

She had given him his life back. He had given her his soul.

They would never be again.

                               * * * *

She let out a long sigh. The gentle sensation coursing through her veins
at this moment was exquisite, and she relaxed to enjoy it. As always, she
felt a little regret that the moment was fading fast; all too soon her
body would return to normal and the delightful sensations would vanish.
She found some comfort in the thought that the feeling might be renewed
in the near future. He was usually quite energetic once he had had a
rest.

The thought made her smile and she finally opened her eyes. The ceiling
came into focus high above her, a surprisingly ornate pattern of metallic
triangles which had become as familiar to her in the past six years as
her bedroom on Bajor had been in her childhood.

She felt the bed shift slightly beside her. Not for the first time, she
wondered about his need to distance himself from her when they were
finished. Maybe he didn't like her to see him so vulnerable, perhaps it
was some Cardassian pride that drove him away. Or was it simply that he
didn't want her to see the sadness he felt in the moment they separated?

Whatever the reason, she did not know it, and it pained her to think he
was holding something back. Surely she had proved by now that she loved
him, that he could trust her with his emotions, even if she could not
share his convictions.

Of course, she hadn't told him outright. Yet. Somehow, she could not
quite bring herself to look Gul Dukat in the eye and say "I love you".
Not until she was certain of his reaction. But Dukat must know. He would
know her well enough to realise she wouldn't have done this without some
strong emotions to back it up.

After a moment, she turned her head and looked at him. He was beautiful,
she thought, enjoying a chance to observe him when he was at his most
relaxed, his face unguarded and happy. He was smiling right now, though
his eyes were closed. As she watched, his lids fluttered open. He
apparently became aware of her scrutiny, because his pale eyes swivelled
round to look at her.

They looked at each other in silence for a while.

His smile widened and he suddenly rolled up close to her, placing his
head on her chest, one hand cupping her breast in a silent plea for
affection. He had never done this before, and she was tempted to ask him
why, but she couldn't think of any way to ask without sounding silly. She
decided silence was preferable to denigrating the moment and simply
wrapped her arms around him.

Who would have thought six years ago that Gul Dukat would turn to her for
comfort? But then she was such a different person six years ago that even
she found it difficult to believe there had once been a Kira Nerys so
full of anger and hatred.

She rested one hand gently on his shoulder while she ran her fingers
through his heavy black hair. His warm breath tickled the skin between
her breasts and she could feel the bony protuberances of his face resting
on the thin muscle across her sternum. He moved to bring more of his body
into contact with hers, and she responded in kind, letting her legs
intertwine with his as he lay half on top of her. She felt the residual
humidity in his groin and wondered if she should be feeling revulsion.
But she didn't.

While his face was still concealed against her chest, she let her right
hand roam down his back, safe in the knowledge that she could, for a
moment at least, explore his body without being treated to the display on
his grey face of every single emotion he was experiencing. She found an
interesting band of scales to investigate just above the small of his
back, as far down as she could reach in her current position.

Her hand had been aiming to go further, but short of changing the
position of her body completely, and thus breaking the spell, its
original goal was unattainable, and she had to be content with letting
her fingers run along his spine. She had noticed these scales before, of
course; in fact, by now there was very little on his alien body which she
hadn't noticed. But she had never felt compelled to touch this particular
area, and she wondered if it was sensitive at all.

She was so intent on the touch of the scales under her fingertips that
his muffled voice took her by surprise. "What are you thinking about?" he
asked, his tone drowsy and relaxed, like a child asking its sleeping
companion if they are asleep yet.

"I was wondering what you feel when I touch you here," she murmured,
matching his tone.

"Oh." That was evidently not the answer he had expected.

"Well, you did ask," she said, unable to repress a grin.

To her disappointment, he lifted his head off her chest and turned as if
to look at the place she was caressing. "If you really want to know, I
can't say it's the most sensitive part of my body," he started, though he
became quiet again as she gently placed her hand on his head to guide it
back onto her breast.

He kissed the nipple nearest to his mouth and then laid his cheek flat
against it for a moment. Then, as if he remembered something, he moved so
that his head was on the top of her chest again. She was thankful that
someone somewhere must have explained to him once that Bajoran breasts do
not take kindly to having bony Cardassian heads resting their full weight
on them.

She could just about stand having his eyeridge pressing against her
sternum, but that wasn't particularly comfortable either. She shifted
involuntarily to relieve the pressure on her chest; he took the hint and
both of them readjusted their positions in silence.

He was now higher than her on the bed, the top of his head resting
against the headboard while her face remained level with his chin. She
had to lift her eyes to look at him now, and his smile became more
confident, his earlier vulnerability apparently forgotten. It was easier
to remember he was Gul Dukat when he was looking down at her, nearly as
arrogant and supercilious as when he was wearing his armour.

Under different circumstances, perhaps, his smile would have been
intimidating. But she knew this man and his weaknesses; she wasn't going
to let him have the upper hand.

"What are you doing up there?" she teased gently. "Come back down here
where I can see you."

He seemed surprised for a moment, but then complied, shuffling his long
body further down the bed so that their faces were level.

"Is this a better view?" he asked, leaning up on his elbow. "I wouldn't
want you to miss a chance to admire me."

"I said nothing about admiring. I prefer to see people when I'm talking
to them."

"So now you can see me, what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. You're the one who's always talking. I didn't say I wanted
a conversation."

"You *did* say you needed to see me to talk to me, so I presumed you had
something to say to me."

"I don't."

"I see. You just wanted to admire me, then," he said with a grin. "Well,
by all means, go ahead." He swept his free hand over his body to
encompass the view she was to admire.

She was reluctant to take him up on his invitation. He would probably
make fun of her for being so transparent in her desires. But there was
something fascinating in the complex pattern of tiny scales interspersed
with smooth grey skin; she could not help trailing her eyes up and down
his person. Her mind brought up the memory of the pleasure this alien
body could give her and she shivered involuntarily.

Her face must have betrayed her emotions as usual, because he cupped her
cheek with his hand and leant forward to kiss her lips. She could feel
the narrow ridge which ran down his nose press against her cheek as she
kissed him. Once their mouths had parted, she placed her lips on either
side of the thin line of cartilage.

He let out a barely perceptible moan of pleasure as she moved her lips up
to the bridge of his nose and then onto the meshavar on his forehead. His
arms wrapped around her slim body as she manoeuvred him onto his back; it
was soon her turn to moan as his hands brushed lightly down to her hips.

They kissed again. She wondered how long it would be before she got used
to this, to needing him so much, and knowing he needed her. Or would she
always be amazed by the intensity of her feelings whenever they touched?

Either way, there probably wouldn't be much time to find out. These last
few days had been an unusual respite, a calm before the storm. The
Federation would soon be coming. Dukat would be defeated.

But all that mattered now was the taste of his mouth, the feeling of his
scales and ridges against her naked skin. Lifting herself up for a
moment, she straddled his midriff and then resumed the kiss. He groaned
as the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest.

His hands on her hips tried to push her backwards; it didn't take much to
figure out what he wanted. But she was enjoying this, having Gul Dukat at
her mercy, and she wondered just how far he would let her go. She
straightened up, sitting heavily on his lower stomach, and ran her hands
flat on his ornate chest. Sweet Prophets, he was beautiful. She slid her
hands down his arms to his smooth-skinned wrists, pulling them off her
hips to place them flat against the bed.

She was surprised at how passive he was. He had only been like this the
very first time, and had proved far more forceful on subsequent
occasions. That suited her fine most of the time, she enjoyed the chance
for a struggle, but right now she was in the mood for some variety.

His eyes narrowed, as if he realised what she was doing. In typical
Cardassian manner, he was waiting to see how things would unfold before
taking any decisive action, letting her clarify what she wanted to do
before he joined in or put an end to it. Considering how flushed his skin
was, she could appreciate his self-control.

Still holding his wrists, she lowered her mouth onto his right neck
ridge. Knowing how sensitive this area was, she started off by carefully
licking the interstices of each narrow bone. His body shuddered
convulsively under her, sending a corresponding shock wave through her
slim frame. Encouraged, she changed her method, alternatively nibbling
and licking her way back up from his shoulder to his jaw line. He let out
a groan, more like a whimper of frustration as she bit down a little
harder.

This was evidently more than he could stand; his right arm struggled to
release her hold on it. He soon managed to get his hand off the bed, but
she still didn't let go of his wrist. "Shecheval," he swore between
clenched teeth, swivelling his arm around to break her grasp and then
seizing her own hand in his.

She tried to use her weight to push his hand back, but this meant she was
now exerting less pressure on his other wrist and he was soon able to
straighten up and topple her over. She immediately rolled over to face
him, ready if necessary for a wrestling match. There was no reason for
her to put up a fight; after all, she wanted him just as much as he
wanted her. But she just wasn't going to give in so easily.

He knelt on the bed, glaring at her angrily as he visibly fought to
control his irregular breathing. She could see how aroused he was and
felt a thrill at the sight of his darkened skin. She remembered vaguely
one of her aunts telling her there could be nothing less appealing than
an aroused Cardassian. The old biddy must have been lying; Kira had
rarely seen such an exciting sight.

"What are you doing?" he growled, though his expression softened into a
half-smile when he realised what she was looking at. This seemed to
excite him even further; he took in a deep breath as he waited to see
what she would do.

"I thought Cardassians liked playing games," she said flirtatiously.

"It depends on the game," he answered, his voice surprisingly controlled.
He seemed determined to let her call the shots again; in spite of his
obvious desire, he remained in the same place, watching her as if he had
all the time in the world, nearly as calm and collected as when he was
ensconced in his carapace.

She decided to see what it would take to make him lose that control.
Kneeling on the hard mattress, she straightened her back, arching it
slightly as she lifted her arms to place her hands at the nape of her
neck. The position was blatantly wanton, designed to display her breasts
and smooth slim stomach to their best advantage. She had rarely had such
a desire to display her nakedness, but at least her chosen audience was
appreciative. Dukat's smile had vanished and his lips were parted as he
followed every movement with the avidity of a child watching its mother
bake a cake.

She knew that if she beckoned for him to approach, he would be with her
in a moment. But she chose not to ask; Dukat was adamant about being a
gentleman and letting her initiate their encounters, but she was curious
to see how long he would wait. The thought of making him lose his
carefully constructed Cardassian control made her shiver with
anticipation.

Fixing her eyes on his attentive face, she slid her hands slowly out from
behind her neck onto her shoulders and then her chest, before bringing
them down to cup her breasts. She saw Dukat swallow hard and couldn't
repress a little smile of satisfaction. He noticed it, and anger
momentarily flashed across his features. She knew he understood exactly
what she was doing and that he was determined not to let her win.

She was pretty sure she would win, though. Her right hand moved down onto
her stomach, and she immediately *knew* she would win. His features were
an open book of emotions: bewilderment, surprise, perhaps, but most of
all a silent anticipation of her next move.

Some remnant of her moral education complained that this was how
prostitutes behaved, and that a good Bajoran woman would not demean
herself like this. But Kira had never been a good Bajoran woman anyway.
Her hand slid in between her thighs.

"You damn Shecheval!"

He wasn't the only one who lost control. She had wanted to see him, to
savour her strange victory, but all she could think of in the moment he
touched her was how much she wanted him. Sweet Prophets, but this
pagh-wraith was good for her. All she could see was a blur, all she heard
were the moans he seemed to tear from her throat, all she could think of
was him, Dukat, her Narai. And then even he didn't matter anymore as her
whole world was reduced to sensations.

"You're going to drive me mad," he murmured finally. He tried to draw
away as usual, but this time she held him close, tightening the grip of
her legs around his hips. He didn't struggle to break away, instead
resting his body against hers.

They remained silent for a long while. She relaxed her hold on him and he
rolled on his side, still close to her. She rested her head against his
shoulder.

"Narai, what is a 'shecheval'?" she asked drowsily.

"That's a long story," he said with a sigh.

She shook her head gently against his shoulder. "Tell me. The translator
doesn't pick it up, but I know it's an insult. I want to know what it
means and why you called me that."

"Starfleet has very polite translators. But it doesn't translate because
Shecheval is a name, not a noun... Has a Cardassian ever called you that
before?"

"Yes. Once." She remembered the Cardassian soldier hissing the insult as
Shakaar and Furel dragged him away. It wasn't the word for 'bitch', or
'whore', or any of the other insults she had had hurled at her by the
Cardassians her cell executed. In fact, this was only the second time she
had heard it.

He was silent for a moment, then, when he spoke again, his voice was low
and grave. "I see."

"What do you see?" she asked a little defensively. She was surprised at
his serious tone.

"Who called you that?"

Why was he so bothered, she wondered. "A soldier, a Cardassian," she
specified, though that much should have been obvious.

"You seduced him."

"More or less," she replied evasively, unwilling to give all the gory
details. Now she *really* wanted to know who this Shecheval was. She
lifted her head off his shoulder and leant up on one elbow to look at his
face. "Is that who Shecheval is, a woman who seduces men?"

He was looking up at the ceiling, avoiding her inquisitive gaze. "What
was the 'less'?"

"Are you jealous?" she exclaimed incredulously.

Again he responded with a question. "Did he rape you?"

"No." The soldier had barely had time to touch her, to take her hands in
his, his round grey face bright and hopeful. That was not an incident she
wanted to remember, and she felt herself grow angry at Dukat for
reminding her.

He lowered his eyes, his face set in an apologetic expression which
immediately calmed her temper. "I'm sorry," he said. "I worry about
you... about the past." His pale round eyes rose to look at her leaning
over him.

She let her gaze explore the folds and curlicues of his weathered
features. She had hated Cardassians all her life, and yet there was now
so much tenderness in her heart as she looked into Dukat's familiar eyes,
it was difficult to believe she could once have loathed the entire race.
"Forget the past, Narai," she murmured. "What matters is the present --
you and me."

He nodded, and she kissed his cheek before placing her head on his wide
shoulder again. They remained silent for a while, both on the verge of
dozing after the night's efforts. But there was still a question which
remained unanswered.

"Who was Shecheval?" she asked in a half-whisper.

He guffawed. "You are so *stubborn*!" he exclaimed.

"And you're not answering my question. I'm beginning to think this is
some hideous insult that you don't want to tell me about. Tell me what it
means," she ordered.

"All right. It's an old legend... I hope I can remember it properly."

"A legend? I didn't think Cardassians had legends."

"We used to. We even had religions that went with them in some cases.
Though most of the legends were like enigma tales, stories people would
make up and tell on the marketplaces, things like that."

"So what about Shecheval?"

"I'm getting there, don't be so impatient. Shecheval... Can I put my
armour on before I tell you this?"

"No, but you'll definitely need it if you don't get on with the story!"

"Right. A long time ago, when the stars were young and Cardassia was
whole --"

"What does *that* mean?" she snapped. It sounded like something out of
his propaganda.

"That's how most stories start," he said irritably. "There's another
legend that star people came later on and broke the planet into smaller
pieces, stranding people all over the solar system. This was supposed to
explain how people ended up on different planets like Cardassia IV and so
on --"

She leant up on her arm again and smiled brightly. "The 'star people'
weren't the ancient Bajorans with their solar ships, by any chance?"

He shot her an annoyed look. "Don't be silly," he said shortly. "Now, do
you want me to tell you about Shecheval, or are we going to analyse every
Cardassian legend instead?"

"Go ahead."

His voice took on a different inflection, the soft tone of a storyteller,
and she wondered if storytelling was a Cardassian tradition, or perhaps
something they had to learn in school. Either way, Dukat's voice was
remarkably suited to the task, though she didn't like what he was saying
any better for it. The universal translator insisted on making the
protagonists into 'demons' and 'angels', which reminded her of the pagan
deities of non-Prophetic Bajoran cults. Fortunately, as Dukat told it, it
was a short story.

"A long time ago, when the stars were young and Cardassia was whole, the
mountain tops were populated with evil demons, and the clouds with
beautiful angels. Both would help the mortals who invoked them, but the
power of the demons was in killing and the power of the angels in
healing. It came to pass that an angel and a demon mated, and their
daughter was Shecheval. She had the beauty of a cloud angel, but the
deadly powers of a snow demon. Being neither demon nor angel, she could
not find a husband in the Heights, and so came down into the valleys to
assuage her demon passions with mortals. She would find a handsome,
unmarried warrior and use her angel beauty to seduce him, but every man
she slept with would be sure to die in the very next battle he fought.
She gradually deprived them of their strength when she made love to them.
So now you know who Shecheval was."

He paused and then added, "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

The thought that she could easily murder him had occurred as he told the
story, but she decided she had rather give him an earful instead.

"That's what you think of me? That I'm some kind of demon... that I...
I'm depriving you of your strength?" she spluttered, sitting up angrily.

He looked rather amused by her outburst. "Don't worry, I'm not planning
on dying in my next battle," he said with a grin. "As to me calling you
Shecheval, that's just an idiomatic expression. No one pays any attention
to those old legends anymore; they make us sound like a bunch of
Klingons. I just said that because your teasing was a little more than I
could stand."

"Hmm." She couldn't quite make up her mind whether she should sulk or lie
down beside him again.

Perhaps understanding that she was too proud to back down, he sat up and
took her in his arms. "I always preferred the demons in those old
legends," he said gently.

That made her smile. Most people in the Quadrant considered that he was
the demon, not her. The touch of his skin against hers calmed her anger
again and she hugged him back. He pulled her gently down onto her side,
so that they were lying in each other's arms again. She buried her face
against his relaxed neck ridge, her forehead resting on his neck, and
gave out a little contented sigh. It was remarkable how someone as
irritating as Dukat managed to soothe her so easily.

"I wouldn't have fallen in love with you if you were an angel."

She felt the words vibrate through her forehead and the vibrations seemed
to shiver through her entire being. He loved her. He had just told her he
loved her. She had guessed that, of course, but had not known for sure;
who could tell with a damn Cardassian? But now she knew.

"I love you too," she answered, her voice muffled against his scales.

He didn't say anything; for a moment, she thought he might have fallen
asleep. Cardassians had a remarkable ability to fall dead asleep within a
couple of minutes, regardless of the circumstances. But after a moment,
she heard his voice.

"Computer, lights off," he ordered. The room was immediately plunged into
darkness.

They lay in the same position for a while longer, and then she felt his
arm slide off her back. He sought out the hand she had rested on his
chest, gently lifting it up to his lips. He then shifted into his usual
sleeping position, pulling his left arm out from under her to lay it
straight by his side. But this time, he kept a hold of her hand as they
both fell asleep.

                               * * * *

Dukat poured Kira some more spring wine. The last bottle of the season,
perhaps the last one they'd ever share. "I'm glad we have resumed our
dinner engagements", he said. "They meant much to me. More than I
realized at the time I made the suggestion."

"And yet you called them off?", she said, raising her glass slightly to
facilitate his pouring. In the old days she would never have cooperated
with him even to this small extent. "I never would have thought it back
then, but I missed them. I missed - you."

His glance at her was open, very warm, very blue. "I never wanted to end
them", he said. "It's just that for a while there I thought I would have
to. I couldn't hold you to anything I had pushed you into. You've had
enough of Cardassian oppression - and frankly, so have I. I wanted you
with me - but not like that. Not like... just another captive..."

She smiled a little, stroking his hand resting loosely around the stem of
his glass. "And am I not your captive now?"

A quick flash of blue - annoyance? Yes, he did not like to be reminded of
the early beginnings of their long acquaintance. But the irritation
subsided as quickly as it had flared. "Perhaps I was fearing captivity
too..." he reluctantly admitted. "I never dreamed you could..."

"'If you love something, set it free'", she quoted. "'If it leaves, it
was never yours in the first place. If it comes back, it's yours
forever.'"

He looked up with interest. Eager to learn, as always. "Where is that
from?"

She shrugged regretfully. "I wish I could remember. It's something
Terran. I think it's out of one of O'Brien's never-ending supply of
stories..."

He did not want to talk about O'Brien. Or any of her Starfleet
associates. He wanted her all to himself. For however short a time they
might have...

"We should make the most of our dinners now..." he mused aloud.

"What do you mean?" she almost whispered, fearful of any implications
that she could lose him again.

"Haven't you heard? No, I suppose you haven't. Someone must have
considered you a security risk, under the circumstances. The Defiant is
on her way, Major. Accompanied by enough Starfleet vessels to try and
take the station."

Much as she deplored the suddenly formal 'Major' she was too professional
to disregard the signal. Also, her first reaction to the news was
undiluted joy. Her second was - confused, and she did her best to mask
her first delight, although she could see from the fleeting pain in those
dark blue eyes that he had missed none of it. "Coming from Cardassia?"
she asked neutrally. "Does that mean you have lost the war?"

"Not at all", he snapped. "And I have every intention of winning the
battle. This is just a small force that the fleet commander no doubt felt
could be spared for as long as it would take to reclaim an insignificant
space station." His voice dripped sarcasm, the way it used to do
before... before their relation changed. And Kira felt her old antagonism
rising. He had been right, after all. Their relationship might have
changed, but they had not - nor would they ever do so. "Maybe it was done
as a favour to Captain Sisko", he went on. "To grant a request, to humour
him..." his adaptable voice was now a study in indifference. "I have left
word with Damar to call me when they approach firing distance. I don't
foresee any problems." A quick glance at her, and his next words were
spoken low, still arrogant but with genuine consideration. "I presume you
would not wish to see your friends shot down, Major. For your sake, I'll
do my best to capture them alive, but you must understand that..."

The door chimed. Kira closed her eyes briefly, thanking the Prophets that
she had been spared the outburst she had felt coming. The nerve of him!
How could she ever have... but the agony of it was that she knew
perfectly well how she could have. In the midst of his condescending
arrogance she still loved him - though she was wondering if she would yet
come to hate herself for it.

On Dukat's brief command, the door glided open to reveal Damar himself,
not a meer messenger. Dukat shot him a quick glance, taking in the
significance of that. "I take it Starfleet is now with us?"

"Not quite yet, Gul", Damar responded briskly. Then, with some
difficulty, he added, "the Vorta has left."

Dukat nodded. "I know that. Weyoun was going on another expedition to
attempt dismantling the mines in the Wormhole."

"Yes, sir", said his first officer, "we thought so too, at first. But he
took rather too many ships with him - and then we discovered that there
was not a single Jem'Hadar left on the station..." He briefly considered
adding that it was hard to put a tractor beam on what amounted to a small
fleet - but he thought better of it. Excuses would serve no purpose.

Kira found herself admiring the swiftness with which Dukat's eyes changed
from bafflement to decisiveness. So fast, she thought. That's why we
never *really* defeated them. Whatever we keep telling ourselves...

Dukat rose, throwing his napkin on the table. "Well, good riddance", he
said, as if he had waited a long time for an opportunity to say it.
"Battle stations", he added calmly, without either shouting or barking.
"Red alert." Damar saluted without comment and spun around to follow
orders.

"Dukat!" Kira called out, rushing to stand in his way. For a moment she
thought he'd walk right over her, but he stopped. Much too close, as was
his wont.

"Don't try to stop me, Major", he said calmly, without resentment. He
clearly did not believe she could.

"You can't fight a well-trained Starfleet force with the men you have
left!" she argued. "With the Jem'Hadar too you might have stood a chance,
but now..."

"I assure you, Major, my all-Cardassian force is quite well disciplined
also", he said, actually sounding amused. "We're more than a match for
Sisko's troops."

"You can't seriously hope to win!" she argued. "You're outmanned to begin
with, and your people are still working to get all the weapons systems up
- which means you're outgunned too. Even with all of them up, it's more
than likely you'd come up short. Dukat please - if you won't think of me,
then think of Ziyal!"

"Ziyal?" he said. "She'll understand. If the worst comes to the worst -
and I must say I'm quite confident that it won't - then at least I know
that much. She herself said that we must settle for understanding. It may
be all we have these days, but we do have that. She'll understand, you
can be sure of that, Major."

Kira sighed in frustration. "Don't you think you'd be better off leading
the Cardassian troops around Prime?" she tried. "You may not think you're
losing the war, but if the Federation feels it can spare ships to retake
a space station - however strategically placed - in the midst of battle,
then it can only mean one thing. That battle is going their way. It must
be."

"Don't try to make up my strategy for me, Major", he said coldly. "I have
every confidence in my generals." Then his gaze softened, ice to
aquamarine. He put his hands on her shoulders, and for the life of her
she could not move away. "Nerys", he said softly, looking deeply into her
eyes. "I won't give up Terok Nor. Not to anyone, ever again. You know
that."

She did know, and she knew the implications. Even if it were to cost him
his life. Well, she had tried. Now war tactics and Resistance guile
was all that remained...

"Well, I won't be here to share your glory", she said lightly. "Prophets
know I'd do almost anything at your side, but I can't fight on it. So -
will you let me leave the station, or am I a prisoner of war?"

Smiling, he stroked her cheek with a single finger. "Contrary to what you
may have heard, Major, I've never held a lady against her will. Do what
you must. Join your friends if you have to. I'm happy enough to have
had your love. I never counted on your loyalty."

She surprised herself by saying, "It's hard not to love such an
insightful enemy" - and he laughed, delightedly.

"We'll make a Cardassian of you yet, Major." He sobered at once, seeing
her expression. "I have to go, Nerys", he said regretfully. "There's a
battle waiting..."

She nodded. "I'll call you when I'm ready to leave. If you can spare the
time, please come and see me at the airlock. I - would like to say
goodbye properly."

He inclined his head slightly. "It's a promise, Major." But just in case,
he did not pass up the opportunity to kiss her thoroughly before he left.

                               * * * *

Dukat lifted a hand and lightly brushed his fingertips against his lips
as he left her quarters. They came away smudged with that patented
crimson of her lip-color. Bending his head as he strode into the
turbolift that would take him to Ops, he shared a secret smile with
himself. There you go, Major. The last time, perhaps. That, for whatever
it was worth, may have been the last time I would feel the touch of your
lips against mine. The last time, perhaps, that I would feel the touch
of that yearning -- that burning soulfire those old Kardasi legends sang
of so very eloquently. The last time, perhaps, and for the shortest of
whiles, that you and I would be on the same side.

Of exactly what -- he did not know. Or care. But it had felt *so* right,
so good -- that it had made him a bit dizzy. A bit afraid. A bit
forgetful.

In her arms, with the feel of her warm body against his own, her
softened, impossibly tender, voice in his ear -- he had forgotten too
many things he needed, desperately, to remember. He had forgotten his
place in this beast of a war he had helped unleash; he had forgotten his
duty to his war-ravaged homeland; not the least, he had forgotten his own
avenging soul. And he had almost, *almost*, forgotten that moment -- just
before Terok Nor had assumed its rightful name  -- seconds before his
triumph; Cardassia's triumph.

It had all come together for him -- in that moment of utter, terrifying,
clarity.

Yes, he had almost forgotten that moment, only weeks ago, on that
Jem'Hadar ship... when, prompted by Damar's youthful arrogance, he had
contradicted Weyoun's plans for the Bajoran-Dominion Non-Aggression
Pact... the manner in which the subtle warning in those pale eyes and
whispery voice were reinforced a thousandfold by that single Jem'Hadar
soldier circling in to wait at attention -- with such quiet, chilling
menace -- behind the Vorta. It was only after Dukat had deferred quietly,
and sullenly, to Weyoun -- "where the Dominion leads, I will follow" --
that the soldier had finally, deliberately, turned on his heels and left.

At that moment, Dukat had known -- his fate, along with Cardassia's, had
been sealed. Oh, he had no intention of going down without a fight. One
does not leave the Dominion. But, one could try. Or die trying, perhaps.

Today, after he had finally begun to acknowledge the possibility -- the
irrevocability -- of that moment... one thought had crept, entirely
unbidden, into his mind: if she knew -- when she knew -- would she weep?
Would she, despite all her continued, and justified, hatred for his
cause, resolve to avenge his death? Or, would she accept it as her
Prophets' Will?

He smiled. Or would she do something unbelievably drastic, delightfully
unexpected, totally implausible? Something he would, or anyone else for
that matter, never expect her to do? Would she be the Kira Nerys that he
had always respected, parried with, even feared a little? These past few
days had yielded a maelstrom of unbridled emotions for them both.
Emotions long suppressed -- something he had lived long enough to
realize -- on both sides. He also knew better than to second-guess her
ability to act as she damned well pleased. That, quintessentially, was
*her*. She was, he knew, as unpredictable, emotional, impulsive a
creature as he had ever encountered. His narailari. His *Major*. His
smile turned mocking. Even in this, they were alike; and however much
she hated this obvious, undeniable fact -- it was a truth, he suspected,
even her precious Prophets would confirm. If she ever had the courage to
ask them.

As he walked into the controlled mayhem that was now Ops, Dukat had one
last, ironic, immensely comforting, thought: in the coming danger of the
war and its fallout -- his Major did have someone who would protect her,
defend her, and yes -- love her -- to the best of his abilities. And the
best of *his* abilities far exceeded that of his own -- that of *any*
humanoid.

Yes -- Kira had Odo.

Dukat entered his office, perhaps for the last time. No, she would not
avenge him. And yes... she would, perhaps, weep a little. But, in the
end, *she* would be loved. Perhaps, forever.

And that thought, Dukat knew, would sustain him through whatever fate
those Sweet Prophets of hers had in store for him.

                               * * * *

"Kira to Gul Dukat - preparing to depart from shuttle bay 6." She knew
she was not fooling anyone, least of all Damar, but neither did she have
to flaunt her relationship with the current station commander over an
open commlink.

"Stay right where you are, Major", he answered in kind. "There's a
message I'd like you to take to Captain Sisko. I'll be down in a moment
to brief you." It sounded thin, but at least he had given an official
explanation for letting Kira go - and the official explanation was after
all, all that mattered.

Down at the airlock, Kira prepared. Checking the setting of the phaser
she had brought from her quarters. In honour of a rule the Chief of
Security was no longer in a position to enforce, she did not often go
armed on the station. Except when circumstances dictated otherwise...

She heard him coming. There was no mistaking those long, confident
strides. And that's why *they* never defeated *us*, she thought. No real
talent for skulking and sneaking. Devious Cardassians might be, but as
for understanding guerrilla warfare...

He came into view - and she could not do it. Could not deprive him of one
last chance to control his own fate. She knew she had to act fast, but
she had not done it, and the moment of surprise was lost. He stopped
short, looking at her phaser which was aimed straight at him.

"So it has finally come to this?" he said, as if he had always known it
would. "Are you really going to use that?"

"Only if I have to", she said. "Please leave the station - now. The
shuttle is waiting. It's over, Dukat. You can't hope to win this one.
Tell your men to stand down, to surrender. Federation captivity isn't so
bad, but I'm giving you a chance to escape nonetheless..." Because I
don't want to see you defeated, she added in her thoughts though she did
not say it. "Please go, narai", she pleaded. "Live - to fight another
day, if you must, but *live*!"

He smiled a little, ruefully. "The great Kira Nerys, singlehandedly
retaking the station?" He shook his head. "I love you, Nerys, but I never
took your orders, and I never will. I dare you to use that thing, because
it's the only way you can ever keep me out of this battle."

Well, he had said so himself. Reluctantly, she took a better aim with her
phaser. Why did he have to make this so hard...

"I thought you said you would never shoot me in cold blood", he said
sadly. "Well, perhaps it's a good thing that I only half believed you..."
Like a Dahkur blood viper he moved, whipping out his own phaser and
dropping low, before finishing his sentence, before the slightly steeled
tone of his last words could alert her to his intention.

But he never fired, and she would always wonder if it was by choice - or
if her own Resistance-honed reflexes were still that good. Her beam
caught him before she knew she had fired, let alone changed her aim to
catch up with his new position. The instant before oblivion, he looked
straight at her, and she realized he had not really expected her to fire
after all. Those indigo eyes of his held an unmistakable gleam of -
admiration? For an insane moment, she nearly laughed. Cardassians...
well, it was good to know she hadn't let him down, she thought wryly.

He was lying rather gracelessly, his long limbs sprawled over the deck.
She ran up to him and checked his pulse. She had checked her heavy stun
setting five times, and yet she could not avoid a deep sigh of relief.
But now she'd have to be quick. As she put her arms under his and started
to drag him over the deck, she wished she could have risked saying a
proper goodbye before holding a phaser on him. One last hold, one last
kiss... But long experience had taught her never to take any risks with
Cardassians. Not even to save their lives...

Damn, but he was heavy. Those long legs... she looked wildly about her
for something to put him on, wishing for an antigrav sled although she
knew they did not work on the station, but what the abyss, wishing was
free. Perhaps because of her fervent wishes, she did not think it odd to
find a trolley standing around nearby, like a forgotten afterthought. The
Prophets moved in mysterious ways...

With grunting effort, she managed to load the unconscious Dukat on to the
trolley, which she then rapidly pushed through the airlock and over the
ramp to the waiting shuttle. She considered strapping him into the
pilot's chair for dignity's sake, then decided she did not have the time.
Better be practical than courteous - after all, he wasn't a Klingon, to
stand upon ceremony to the exclusion of all else. Gently, she laid him
down on the deck, and kissed him. "Sorry, narai...", she said. "But
there's no way you could win this battle, and I just couldn't let you die
trying." She stood, with the sobering thought that he might well consider
her deed treason after all, when he woke up. Well, then it would make no
difference if she did a little more... After a few precious minutes spent
with the plasma core, she was finished. With a last, lingering look at
the prone form on the deck, she pushed the trolley ahead of her down the
ramp, and then left, closing the shuttle's airlock. The trolley crashed
into the rounded edge of the stationside lock, tipped over, and fell out
into the corridor beyond. Kira followed it, closing the inner lock. She
turned - and jumped, as she saw the discarded trolley begin to float
upwards like molasses reversed, to change from steel grey to gold, to
become... the Station Chief of Security.

"Ouch", he admonished. "Your regard for station property leaves much to
be desired, Major."

She gaped at him. "Odo! What are *you*... never mind, we'll talk about it
later." She tapped her commbadge, turning half away as to sound at least
distant if not sufficiently obscured by intership connections. "Kira to
Ops - permission to depart station."

The pause was longer than she had expected. Then, Damar's voice: "I'm
sorry, Major, but I cannot grant your request without the Gul's
confirmation."

Odo smiled slightly, as Kira flipped her channel closed. "Loyal *and*
intelligent", he said. "A rare combination, except in Cardassians. The
worst kind, wouldn't you say, Major?"

There was an edge to his voice she did not recognize, but he *had* helped
her get Dukat on board the shuttle, hadn't he? Presumably, he was still
her friend. "Odo", she said, "Can you imitate Dukat's voice?"

"I think so", he said. "It should be mainly a matter of configuring a
larynx to match his closely enough."

She closed her eyes, trying not to think of Dukat's prominent larynx
right now. "Then do so - quick! The shuttle is set to start within five
minutes, docking clamps or no. Besides, he won't stay out cold for
long..."

Odo folded his arms, waiting.

"Odo! Didn't you hear me? What's the matter with you?"

He did not answer.

"Odo! Please!"

He nodded. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it? Yes, I'll do it. But
you'd better give the First Officer some reason for the delay first."

Kira breathed a silent 'whew!' and tapped her commbadge. "Kira to Ops -
Damar, could you repeat that? I seem to have lost you for a moment..."

"I said I need the Gul's confirmation of your request."

And Dukat's well-modulated tones broke in on their conversation. "It's
all right, Damar. The Major has received my message for Captain Sisko and
now has my permission to leave." The imitation was almost too good. Even
the slight derisiveness was the same. Kira couldn't very well blame her
changeling friend for doing too good a job of it - but she wished she
could have. This time, the pause was very brief. Then, "Docking clamps
released. A good trip to you, Major." None too soon, for the minute the
clamps were retracted, the shuttle took off in an impatient flare of
light.

The timing had been perfect.

"I disabled the warp core", Kira said thoughtfully, as she watched the
spark that was the shuttle vanish in the black distance. "It'll get him
out of range of tractor beams, and far enough out to make it a long
journey back on impulse - then it'll die. After that, he only has
sublight until he can repair it."

"That should keep him safe", Odo agreed to her unspoken concern. "Where
is he headed?"

"Well, I wanted him out of Starfleet's way, so I couldn't send him home.
Besides, he might not have been too popular there, after what I'd done to
him. Nor did I want him on Bajor - too close. So - I headed him in the
general direction of the Gamma Quadrant."

"The Wormhole is still mined", Odo reminded her.

"Oh, I didn't aim him towards the Wormhole. I don't think anybody knows
where Weyoun went, but I didn't really want the Jem'Hadar to be the ones
to pick him up. I sent him - the long way."

Odo nodded understanding. "Ah. Space is a big place, as they say."

"Big enough. He'll never get anywhere unless someone picks him up. Until
he repairs the warp core, of course. Even so, I doubt the Gamma Quadrant
would be his first choice."

"Not the long way around", Odo agreed.

She looked at him thoughtfully for a while. He was standing very erect,
staring out into space. She wondered briefly if he was homesick, but for
once, she felt too shut out to ask. "How did you know about Dukat's
excuse for meeting me here? The alleged message for Sisko?"

That odd, changeling smile. Fleeting across his features. "You could say
I was a fly on the wall."

"Still keeping an eye on me?"

"An eye - or whatever it takes."

She had one more question. "Odo", she said slowly, almost reluctantly,
"why did you help me?"

"Before I answer that, Major", he said, "perhaps you'll tell me why you
chose to do what you did. Was it to help Dukat - or the Federation?"

She stared at him briefly - then she gave in. "Both, I guess", she
admitted. "I couldn't join him, but I couldn't just leave. I couldn't
stand by and just watch, but above all I couldn't let him waste his life
in a meaningless battle he was bound to lose."

"Above all?"

"Above all. I didn't want him to die."

"It didn't occur to you that you may have played right in the hands of
his enemies on Prime? With Dukat gone, they may well seize the
opportunity to stage a coup."

"I believe they already have", she said. "The Federation is winning, or
they wouldn't be here. Dukat must have realized it too, though he tried
to deny it. But I think that was the main reason he wanted to stay. He
hoped he could hold the station against Sisko's forces, for there was
every possibility he would soon have to hold it against his own people.
He wanted to consider this battle a drill - but it isn't. It won't be. At
least this way he's still alive, and still free. He may never speak to me
again, but I gave him the chance to come back."

"Why?"

She glared at the shapeshifter. "What do you mean, why? I told you I
didn't want him dead. I told you I - that he means an awful lot to me."

"You're trying to say you did it for love?"

"YES, I did it for love!" she snapped, almost crossly. "What of it?"

"Nothing", Odo said, still standing very erect, arms folded, keeping his
distance from her - but also still smiling that odd little smile. "But
there you have my answer."

"Your answer?" She gave him a bewildered look. "I'm afraid you've lost
me."

His lips quirked a little. "I know I have, Major. I've always been
your best friend. It's just my luck that you prefer your worst enemy. But
you did want to know why I helped you."

"Oh, Odo", she groaned. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."

"No", he said quietly. "You rarely do, Major. That's one of your most
redeeming traits."

This aloof judgment. Often passed on others, never on her - until now.
He *is* a Founder, she thought - and berated herself for it instantly.
Well, at least he's alien... Strange, how she had never thought of him as
alien before. Despite knowing what he was capable of. Like wiping out a
civilization - all for the love of her...

"Shouldn't you throw me in jail for what I've done?"

"For love? I don't think so. I may not approve, Major, but I *do*
understand..."

And then he smiled - as mischievously benign as ever. "Shall we go,
Major? I think we'd better talk to Damar before he finds out who was on
that shuttle. Who knows - perhaps I can convince him not to fight this
battle without his commander..."

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