(DS9) [NC-17] Fingers and Thumbs (Dukat/Damar)
by Christine Collins <ADL4Zero@aol.com>

Summary: Set after 'Tears Of The Prophets'. When Dukat
fails to return to Cardassia, Damar embarks on a lonely mission to
find him. The two men meet again, and things take a sinister turn. A
sequel to 'Nightwatch'.
Notes: 1st person Damar. Please note that this is a story
about an intense emotional and sexual relationship between two
males. NC-17 for n/c sex, violence, bad language. Don't read if
that's not your thing. Thank you.
Archiving: A.S.C., Ariana, D.W.S.C.; everyone else please
ask first.
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Paramount Pictures; this
story is copyright 1998 by Christine Collins

*-*-*-*-*-*

Fingers and Thumbs


He wasn't all that difficult to find. While all the honourable
government officials, guls and legates where still discussing where
he might have gone, I already knew. He had gone home. Where
else? He'd run away again, abandoned me again, abandoned
_everything_, and had gone to that wretched place that he
considered home.
Bajor.
Of course I didn't tell anyone. I probably should have, yet as
the head of the Cardassian government I can afford to take certain
liberties. Few enough, as the case may be. Weyoun's eyes are on me
all the time, and for a creature with notoriously bad eyesight, the
despicable little Vorta is remarkably perceptive. I have learned to
work with him. Fortunately for both of us, _liking_ him is not a
requirement for that. I have become used to the contemptuous looks
that he still gives me from time to time, trying to upset me; he's
wasting them, though, as they no longer bother me. Looks from
those deep blue eyes that make you think he can see into your soul
with them... Well, it's all a lie, a charade, like everything about him!
The truth is that he's nearly blind. Defective. A reject. _Made_
imperfectly by the gods that he worships. And that bothers him.
And it bothers him that I know. Which pleases me, of course. He, in
turn knows that I am doing another man's job. The job of a man
who abandoned his duties - and me along with them, as I must sadly
confess. The job of a traitor.
We know each other's secrets, Weyoun and I. And every
morning, as we set about doing our work - I, the perfect leader; he,
my faithful Dominion friend and adviser - we get ready to play our
little games for another day, deceiving Cardassia, hoping to deceive
our enemies and trying to deceive one another. For how much
longer? I don't know. It depends on Dukat.
Every evening, before I return to my home and family, I go
and pay Dukat a little visit. He is always pleased to see me. After
all, he is my mentor, and I am his friend. No matter what he does,
no matter what I do, our fates remain intertwined. One day - and I
hope it will be soon - he will be well enough to return to his rightful
position. When that day comes, I shall gladly step back. For now, all
I can do to show him my appreciation and undying loyalty, is visit
him every evening and listen to his endless stories about the
occupation, Terok Nor, Naprem, Ziyal and Bajor. Always Bajor.
Where else would he have gone after he had killed the Trill
if not to Bajor?
The whole affair was quite unbelievable: Dukat showing up
one day in the middle of a meeting, walking into the room as if he'd
only been gone for a day or two... _Nobody_ but Dukat could have
accomplished that!
My heart nearly stopped when I saw him. Almost everyone
had resigned themselves to accepting that he had been killed, or
worse than that, had killed himself - but not me, no: I'd never had a
moment of doubt that he was going to come back. 
And then, suddenly, there he was: tall, self-confident - and
yet, it was plain to see that he was not himself. He barely spoke to
me. I had, of course, expected rejection and bitter words in regard
to Ziyal's execution, but, although his anger was there, it wasn't
directed at me, nor at the Bajorans as he had once claimed, but at
the Federation in general, and Captain Benjamin Sisko in particular.
Very soon it became evident that Dukat was still a very ill man.
Destroying the aliens that inhabited the wormhole seemed such an
absurd idea, so utterly unworthy of the man I once knew! I was
trying to laugh - but on the inside, I was hurting. It wasn't until
everything was over and the Trill was dead that I began to
comprehend.
Soon rumour had it that some people laughingly believed
that Dukat had been possessed by a Bajoran 'spirit' of some kind and
driven by it to do the things he did. I did not join the mocking, but
silently considered this: Had Dukat, in an odd way, not been
possessed by Bajor all his adult life? 
And so, while everyone else theorised and speculated as to
Dukat's whereabouts, I already knew:
He had gone to Bajor. Not to Bajor Prime, obviously, but to
some place in the Bajoran system. I contemplated launching a full-
scale official rescue mission, but after brief consideration decided
against it. I did not trust Weyoun in any way. How easily could one
of his Jem'Hadar have killed Dukat and then insisted that he had
shot the mentally disturbed ex-leader in self defence! I wasn't going
to take the risk. And so I waited. I was certain that Dukat would
find a way to contact me somehow. Yet the hours became days, and
still no message from Dukat. Waiting became a little harder each
hour, and at one point I decided I couldn't wait any longer. I was
going to find him myself, and bring him home to Cardassia, where
he belonged.
It is three days from here to Bajor Prime, and three days
back again. I reckoned I should be back within a week, but even a
week is a long time for the Cardassian leader to be gone, especially
in view of the precarious situation that we and our Federation
neighbours are in at present. Time was an important factor. I knew
that whatever I was going to do, it would have to be done quickly;
searching an entire star system for Dukat was not an option.
In an attempt to pinpoint Dukat's exact whereabouts, I called
up a chart of the Bajoran system on the terminal in my office and
began to study it. I continued staring at the screen until the planets
and their multiple moons became little roundabouts before my eyes
and my head began to hurt. I have always found that pleasant
memories of better times help me to relax and focus more clearly
on a particularly difficult task, so I closed my eyes for a moment
and allowed myself to remember the brief time that Dukat and I had
had together. It had been a time of bitter war, yet inside of me there
had been a profound feeling of peace that I had to admit I'd never
since quite managed to recover. I dearly missed his company, his
voice... In short, I missed him the way one misses a lover who has
left and gone away. 
Suddenly I understood. I opened my eyes, got up out of my
chair and began to prepare my departure. I knew where to find
Dukat, and I was going to bring him home. 

"You can't. I won't allow it." Weyoun was visibly annoyed.
His deep blue eyes were flashing angrily as we stood face to face at
the airlock. I laughed. His tendency to mistake my lack of rhetorical
skill for weakness amused me. Dukat had been my mentor for over
two years. Did Weyoun really think I'd learnt nothing from the man
whom he feared and whom I loved?
"What do you mean by that?" I drew myself up to my full
height so that I could physically look down on the little Vorta. "You
can't tell me what to do, Weyoun. I am the leader of the Cardassian
Empire-"
Weyoun nodded emphatically. "That's exactly my point.
You have responsibilities. You seem to be forgetting that you're no
longer the first mate on some ridiculous little freighter!" 
I frowned. Those were times I no longer wished to think
about. Equally unwelcome was the knowledge that Weyoun, in this
instance, was perfectly right.
"Listen, Weyoun! One week, that's all I need."
The Vorta shook his head. "That's exactly one week too
long. Do I really have to remind you of the fact that we're at war
with the Federation?"
I clenched my fists in frustration. Weyoun tilted his head to
one side.
"I know how you must feel, Damar," he began in that
annoyingly soft, soothing tone of voice that he reserved for difficult
cases, "but you must realise..."
"_Don't_ tell me you know how I feel!" 
Weyoun took two steps back as I slammed a fist against the
wall. He looked at me intently, as if weighing up his chances of
winning the argument, and apparently arriving at the conclusion
that it wasn't going to be worth his while.
"Fine," he said pleasantly, holding up his hands like a peace
offering, so that I could see his empty palms. "Fine. If you want to
risk everything we have worked for in the past four months, go and
find Dukat. It's your choice. But please, don't go alone." With his
most amiable smile, he snapped his fingers, and the two blank-
faced Jem'Hadar, who had been standing some distance away, took
several automaton-like steps forward until one of them came to
stand on each side of their master. Weyoun made a sweeping
gesture that included both creatures. "Take them with you. There is
a war out there," he said. I shook my head - and heard Weyoun sigh
silently in response.
"I'm not going to need them," I declared proudly, hitting the
switch behind me. The airlock slid open and I swung my bag over
my shoulder and stepped through.
"One week," I said again. It sounded better than 'goodbye'.
"One week!" he purred. "And remember that the Cardassian
people have lost one leader in this conflict already -"
"I'll be careful," I mumbled.
"Good. But that's not what I meant. What I meant was that
no-one is irreplaceable. Don't forget that, Legate Damar..."
I spun around and shot the Vorta a sharp glare; but he only
shrugged and smiled.

*-*-*-*-*-*

The gradual addition of Dominion technology to our own in
the last year and a half has undeniably been a blessing which has
helped our world recover from the horrors of the Klingon invasion
and is, as we hope, going to provide a solid base for our forces in
further confrontations with the Federation. Dukat's decision that
Cardassia should join the Dominion, controversial as it had been at
the time, has proved beneficial for all of us.
It was a small Dominion fighter that took me into the
Bajoran system.
Usually piloted by Jem'Hadar, the ship lacked any comfort;
it didn't even have a name because it wasn't meant for battle and
glory, but for destruction and death; consequently its weapons
systems had been designed for attack, and not for defence. In
battle, the real strength of these fighters usually lay in their
numbers; for me, the decisive factor for choosing one had been the
cloaking device: once cloaked, the small vessel would be virtually
untraceable by both Federation and Bajoran technology.

I arrived at my destination feeling tired and worn, but
without any incident. The place looked so much like I'd pictured it
in my mind that I was stunned. The grass, the trees, the range of
mountains in the distance - everything looked exactly the way
Dukat had described it to me that night, except that in his story, it
had been spring. Now a sharp autumn wind was rustling through the
branches overhead, and making brittle leaves dance as I walked
through the countryside.
I walked with a brisk step, mechanically, without paying
very much attention to either my surroundings nor to the tricorder in
my hand. I knew where to go.
When I first saw the house, I thought for a moment that I'd
been mistaken after all; yet a look at the tricorder confirmed the
lifesign readings of one Cardassian inside.
The house was barely more than a hut. Made from wood as 
has been common practice on many Bajoran worlds until fairly
recently, it looked as if it had been deserted a long time ago, and
left to rot away and eventually become one with the earth that
surrounded it. The sound of the wind and my own heartbeat was all
I heard as I walked up to the door. 
Where once a lock had been, there was now only a small
hole where the wood had crumbled away. I gave the door a slight
push and it opened with a creaking noise. Dukat hadn't even
bothered to barricade himself inside.
The single room was dark and stuffy and smelled of dust.
The heating system was evidently working and had been switched
on full power. Ragged curtains of a colour that once might have
been crimson were drawn across the small window, shutting out the
bright Bajoran sun. The room was sparsely furnished and bare;anything of even only personal value had evidently been taken
away, although there were some dirty old clothes, paper and what
looked like the remnants of a broken cup all over the wooden floor.
There were a wooden table, two chairs (one of them broken), and
there was a bed. The bedclothes were old, faded and torn, but the
bed was meticulously made. Dukat was lying on some kind of rug
on the floor in front of it.
He was fully dressed and armoured. His legs were drawn
against his body, and his eyes were shut. The pain I felt at seeing
him like that almost broke my heart.
"Dukat," I said quietly, looking for solace in the sound of his
name. "Dukat. Wake up."
His eyes flew open.
"Damar."
I watched as he pulled himself up into a sitting position,
then cumbersomely struggled to his feet. His uniform was filthy,
and I could tell that he'd lost weight since the last time I'd seen him
by the way his trousers were hanging off his skinny hips. Evidently,
he hadn't eaten properly for many days. But then, neither had I.
He staggered toward me even while brushing back his
dishevelled hair with both hands.
"Good," he said and nodded a couple of times in succession.
"I am glad you are here." He reached out and put a hand on my arm.
"Come. Have a seat. We must talk."
'Have a seat'? I had crossed two star systems for him, just to
be asked to 'have a seat'...?
He beckoned me toward the table; then stopped in mid-
motion as he became aware that there was really only one chair for
the two of us. An expression of confusion flew over his face for one
heart-wrenching moment, then his lips curved in a forced smile.
"Sit," he insisted, pushing down on my shoulders and
making the invitation feel like a command. Somewhat awkwardly, I
complied, sitting down on the edge of the chair and letting my bag
slip from my shoulder onto the floor.
As he stood and looked at me I saw that the sparkle of
energy that had ignited his eyes the last time we'd met, had gone;
his eyes were dull, and his face, despite the automatic smile, was
blank. He put one hand on the tabletop as if by coincidence, yet it
was fairly obvious that he was having difficulties standing upright
and needed to steady himself. I suddenly realised that the pain I
was feeling wasn't solely pity; no, there was a deep bitterness also
as I thought that he _still_ hadn't asked me how I had managed to
find him, and apparently wasn't going to, either. I cast my eyes
across the room, to where Dukat had slept on some filthy old rug on
the floor while the bed had remained untouched.
"That's where she was born," he said quietly, following my
glance with his eyes. "Over there, in that bed."
Not even now, more than six months after his daughter's
execution, could he bring himself to speak her name.
"I'm aware of that," I said coldly. "You told me the story."
"I did? Oh yes, I suppose I would have..." He nodded again,
forlorn in his thoughts. He shouldn't be forgetting such things, it
shot through my head; in fact he shouldn't be forgetting _anything_.
How could a man as proud as Dukat let himself go so completely?
"Yes, you did." 
I didn't want to hear it again, not from his lips again; I didn't
want that feeling of jealousy again - a jealousy that I knew would
linger for days.
The story was basically that, about 21 years ago, Dukat's
lover, the Bajoran Tora Naprem, had left him after she'd fallen
pregnant. Fearing that Dukat might kill her and the unborn child,
she'd run away; how she'd ever managed to get past the guards with
whom Dukat - then the Prefect of Bajor - had surrounded his
beloved treasure, had never become clear. (Of course I had my own
theories about that matter, but strongly doubted that Dukat wanted
to hear them.) At any rate, she'd run away and had left Dukat
heartbroken, not knowing where she had gone and where to look for
her. Several months went by; then a Bajoran labourer came forward
and offered information on the woman's whereabouts in exchange
for generous payment. Dukat paid the price and eventually found
his lover in the very house where I had now found him. By then she
had given birth to a female child. Both mother and child were
reclaimed by Dukat and taken back to Terok Nor where they lived
until just before the end of the occupation. The mother allegedly
died in a crash; the child, Ziyal, died at my hands no more than half
a year ago, on the same day that the Federation took Terok Nor
from us for the second time. She was executed for treason, having
betrayed both her father and Cardassia. This was tragic for two
reasons:
First, I deeply regretted having to shoot the girl. I'd never
wished her any harm and even today I am not sure how far she was
actually responsible for her crimes. Her biggest crime may have
been being half-Bajoran. It is a sad fact that Bajorans are
notoriously false and treacherous by nature and make poor mates
for Cardassians, or indeed any race other than their own, because
their character faults are inevitably passed on to their children. I
actually believe that I simply terminated the existence of a deeply 
tragic, pitiful creature that should never have been born in the first
place.
Second, Ziyal's death had ultimately caused Dukat's
breakdown. 
Again, I looked over to the bed. Had they made love in this
bed, Dukat and the woman? As a number of times before, the
thought left me with an unsettling image of Dukat and his mistress,
loving and caressing one another; she offering her oddly smooth,
sweaty body to him... his hips grinding against hers...his lips
pressing against hers...
He should have killed her there and then, and the poor,
unfortunate child with her! If he had done his duty then, I wouldn't
have had to do it for him 21 years later.
"I didn't want her to die," Dukat's voice came to my ear.
Now I was the one who had to stop and gather his thoughts.
The Trill. He meant the Trill.
"You made things worse for all of us," I replied. It felt good
to finally be able to put my thoughts into words. 
"It wasn't her I wanted to suffer. It was Sisko." The name
came out as a malicious hiss.
"The Trill was Sisko's friend," I said. "It seems you were
successful in that respect. We heard that he has left his position on
Terok Nor to indulge his grief. It seems to me that you two have a
lot in common, after all." I paused to let this sink in, but continued
before Dukat had time to protest. "However, with the wormhole
shut down and unable to receive Dominion reinforcements,
Cardassia is in a highly precarious position. Weyoun is furious." I
gave him a meaningful look. He shook his head.
"You don't understand, Damar," he declared. "Things will
get better now. Trust me. You see, I _had_ to destroy the
Prophets -"
"The _what_?" I raised my voice despite myself.
Dukat, caught, cast his eyes to the ground for a moment, as
if looking for something to say. I didn't let him speak.
"You really think that's what they are, don't you? Gods, to be
worshipped and adored? You've started to believe in them, haven't
you?"
Suffocated by my questions, which really were accusations,
he took a defensive stance.
"That is just ridiculous, Damar. What I meant was-"
I jumped up, slammed both hands on the table which shook
in response, and leaned forward so that my face was only about 30
centimeters or so from Dukat's, and I could feel his stale breath.
"Honestly, I don't think you know what you meant yourself, Dukat."
I was careful not to raise my voice again. "I think you're
confused.You're a very ill man, Dukat, and I'm starting to believe
that you have been ill for a very long time. I'm truly sorry I didn't
see it sooner, but you hid it so well. At any rate, it will soon be
over."
He bristled. "And what, if I may ask, do you mean by that?"
I gestured toward the door. "We're going home, Dukat. Now.
It's time for you to come home for good." As an answer, Dukat
threw back his head and laughed his familiar, arrogant laugh.
"Absolutely not!" he declared categorically, dismissing my
idea with a wave of his hand. "I have no intention of placing myself
in the hands of some high-and-mighty yet incompetent doctor -"
"Oh, then I'll just have to make sure to choose a doctor who
is competent and whose bedside manner is more to your liking,
won't I?" I was becoming more and more irritated. "Why don't you
leave it up to me, just like you left _everything_ up to me when you
ran away?"
Dukat did what I had done a little earlier and slammed his
hands on the table. "I did _not_ run away!"
"You went and left..." I stopped myself in mid-sentence and
started over, "and abandoned your duties. You can call it whatever
you like - I call it running away."
I could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to strike
me. I suddenly found myself wishing that he would do it, just so
that I could strike back. In his present state he would be no match
for me, but I didn't really want a fight anyhow. I simply wanted to
hurt him. Beat him, make him bleed. Pay him back for making such
a mess of everything. Ashamed, I took a step backward as soon as I
became aware of my thoughts. "Come on," I said quietly. "Let's not
argue about this. Let's just go home now, okay?"
He didn't move. I hadn't really expected him to. "Didn't you
listen to what I just told you, Damar?" he said. "I'm _not_ coming
with you. I don't want -"
That word pushed me over the edge.
"That's exactly the problem with you, isn't it?" I yelled with
sudden rage. "It's always about you, you, you, isn't it? Well, I'm
terribly sorry, Dukat, but what you want and do not want is
irrelevant in this matter. You're no longer in command here, lest
you've forgotten. _I_ am, and this time, we're going to play by _my_
rules. And I say that we're going home."
He attacked me from across the table, threw himself at me
with all his weight and strength, but I was a good deal heavier than
he was, and there wasn't much strength left inside of him. The table
was knocked over, the chair sent flying against the nearest wall,
together with my bag. For a short time our bodies were grinding
together like they'd been a hundred times before when making love.
Then I managed to free one of my hands and reached for my belt.
I don't think he saw it coming.
"I'm sorry," I said as I pushed the hypospray against the left
side of his neck, maybe two centimeters from his swollen and
pulsating neckridge. "But you see, Dukat, one day you're going to
thank me for this..."
A shudder went through Dukat's body as the drugs took
effect. A wounded, accusing look hit my eyes, then his head fell
forward, against my shoulder. I hugged him close and took a deep
breath, inhaling the all too familiar smell of his hair. 
"What I'm going to have to do now is for your own good," I
whispered. "Some day you'll understand."
Then I dragged Dukat's lifeless body over to the bed that had
become a shrine to a Bajoran slut and a bastard child, laid him
down across the sheets and blankets and began to undress him. My
mind was made up, but my fingers trembled. Was he ever going to
forgive me?

*-*-*-*-*-*


[Fingers and Thumbs, part 2/2]

*-*-*-*-*-*

I folded all his clothes meticulously, as he would have done
himself in better days, and put them into a neat heap on top of the
table, next to his armour. Evidently he hadn't changed his clothing
for days, and he hadn't had a bath or sonic shower, either. The smell
wasn't unpleasant in any way, quite the reverse, in fact - I found it
extremely arousing: Before I knew what I was doing I pressed his
underwear against my face and inhaled deeply, savouring the smell
of his sex. I closed my eyes for a moment in despair. Nothing had
changed. Nothing ever would. I was always going to love him.
Was that really so difficult to understand?
I breathed out slowly; then I folded the garment and put it
with the rest. My hands, I noticed, were still a little shaky. I was
nervous; understandably so, as the situation _was_ rather peculiar.
Nevertheless, this time I would _make_ him understand. I couldn't
let him wander about any longer, totally oblivious to the havoc he
was wreaking. He had to learn, and I was going to be the one to
teach him. It was my duty as a friend, no more. It would be the first
step toward his rehabilitation.
Dukat was lying on top of the bed, exactly how I had
positioned him, on his side, to prevent medical problems in case the
tranquillisers made him sick. I had tied his hands together behind
his back, and I had tied his legs together in two places as well, using
strips of material which I had obtained by cutting up an old rag that
I'd found underneath the bed, as bonds. I found myself wishing I
had brought shackles and chains - those would have been far more
appropriate for the occasion, and would have looked more
dignified. But then, how could I have known that this would
become necessary? I was not to blame.
He looked beautiful, all the same - one would have thought
he was asleep, not sedated. His beautiful cock was hanging limp
now, softly touching the sheet. The swelling and darkening of his
neckridges had disappeared. All the signs of arousal, which are
quite common in Cardassians during and immediately after a fight,
had gone. Some of his thick, black hair had fallen forward across
his face. He looked so pure and chaste that for a moment I was
tempted to untie him and let him go, but of course that would have
made no sense. So I simply sat there and continued looking at him
until his eyelids began to twitch and he began to show the first signs
of regaining consciousness. Then, suddenly, his eyes flew wide
open. I observed with satisfaction that it took him only a second or
two to re-assess the situation.
He was furious. 
"Release me at once!" he roared, tearing at his bonds, but
achieving nothing. "Don't you hear what I'm saying? Release me!
Now!"
I simply shook my head. 
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that." I got up out of the chair and
slowly walked over to the bed. He'd managed to sit up and drew his
legs against his body in an attempt to shield himself from my view,
which seemed no less than ridiculous and rather irritating
considering the fact that I was almost as familiar with his body as I
was with my own.
"You will untie me _now_, Damar!" he demanded again,
and again I shook my head.
"No. And if you don't stop shouting, I shall have to gag you."
Dukat's mouth hung open when I pointed to the leftover
strips of material on the table. For a moment he was too stunned to
speak. At that juncture he must have understood that raising his
voice was getting him nowhere and tried lowering it instead. "What
is the meaning of this?" he asked, and then, somewhat sardonically,
"Have you, too, lost your mind?"
I turned around and walked back to the table. "No, I'm very
well as far as I know. You said that we need to talk - well, I partly
agree with you. I really think that it is me who should do the
talking. You are the one who needs to listen, and I'm going to make
sure that this is going to happen." I bent down to open my bag and
took out a water flask; then I flipped open the top.
"Well, but surely there is no need for-"
His voice made me flinch and spill some of the water over
my uniform. I was nervous and awkward - all fingers and thumbs.
Apart from that, I was angry.
"Silence!" I yelled, fussing over the water stains on my
trousers. Dukat had the sense to stop talking. I crossed the room to
the bed. "Here. Drink." I held the flask to his lips, but he pulled
away. "No," he declared. Then, louder still, "I refuse to play your
sick, ridiculous game, Damar!"
I struck him so hard across the face that he fell back onto the
bed. For about half a second he just lay there, clearly unable to
comprehend betrayal of this scale. Then he began to helplessly pull
at his bonds again, hissing and calling me names.
"I'm sorry, but I did warn you," I said, forcing myself to
speak calmly as put back the flask and fetched another strip of
material. "I said, listen, don't talk. I said, don't shout at me..."
Back at the bed, I knelt on the mattress behind him and
without further ado set to putting the gag in place. Dukat's struggle
was quite a show - he growled, swore, resisted in every way
possible, and even resorted to biting - but ultimately futile. I
continued talking:
"Is that really too much to ask of you? To be quiet for once?
To consider _my_ wishes for a change? Or don't you understand
what I'm saying?" 
The material was starting to get a little bloodied where my
fist had broken Dukat's skin, and some more blood was trickling
down his chin and neck. I wiped it off with the sleeve of my tunic.
Dukat used this opportunity to aim a kick me, which I had been
expecting and managed to dodge without effort. As a punishment I
hit him again, so hard that the sound of the impact made me flinch
and my hand started hurting.
"Will you please stop being such a fucking idiot?" I yelled.
"Did it occur to you at all that I could kill you now if I wanted to?" I
was angry like I'd never been before. 
I got off the bed, resisting the urge to strike him for a third
time, and started pacing. He followed me with eyes that beautifully
conveyed his anger and rage. His chest was heaving up and down.
His neckridges now were dark and enlarged again, and his cock,
too, showed signs of arousal. I had to remind myself that this was
merely a physical response to the situation - it wasn't about me at
all, no: I was _nothing_ to him, he'd made that quite clear by his
actions.
"You didn't expect that from me, did you, Dukat?" I
challenged him, lacing my fingers behind my back as I continued
walking. "You still expect me to be the same man you took a liking
to aboard the Groumall. Well, let me tell you that I've come a long
way since then! You were a good mentor. The leader of the
Cardassian Empire... who'd have thought it possible only six months
ago? By the way, did you know that I am now a legate? Hm? Oh
well, I suppose it doesn't really matter to either me or you, but the
people like it. They like _me_, believe it or not! To them, I'm the
embodiment of the progress we've been making since, thanks to
you, we have joined the Dominion. All around us, things are
changing fast, for the _better_, as I want to point out. Our economy
has never been so stable, science and medicine have never been so
productive - everything is moving on, so why should society stand
still? Why shouldn't a common man, like myself, through hard work
and loyalty become the leader of Cardassia? There is no reason why
not. And so I, Legate Damar, give all those millions of common
people out there motivation to work hard and be loyal also. If I
could do it, they believe, so can they. It's all an illusion, of course,
but Weyoun and I think it is most helpful, especially now that, again
thanks to you, things have taken a turn for the worse in the war
against the Federation..." I paused briefly. "Besides, I must admit
that it feels nice to be appreciated for once. Even Weyoun is
beginning to show me some respect. Grudgingly, true - but you
know what he's like. We'll never enjoy each other's company, but
we have learned to work together. For the time being, at least. - No!
Don't move, Dukat. If you move, I will hit you again."
To my satisfaction, Dukat was smart enough to give in and
stop struggling. He was finally listening to me.
"Good. We're communicating," I said, coming to stand in the
middle of the room. Then, following an impulse, I walked over to
the bed and sat down on its very edge, letting out an involuntary
sigh. I hadn't realised just how tired and worn I was until that
moment. I was half expecting Dukat to try another attack, but he
didn't. A black eye and a split lip apparently had taught him his
lesson. Again my eyes strayed down to his half-erect cock - a sight
which fuelled my own arousal: Of course, the physical violence that
I'd been forced to use on Dukat had had certain consequences for
me also.
"I was petrified at first," I admitted. "I really didn't think I
could do it. Me? A leader? It just didn't seem to fit. But you left me
no choice, did you? All that time I used to think you were strong...!
What a fool I was! You used to be my hero, an idol to look up to
and draw strength from. Turned out I was wrong again: You're not
strong at all. You spent all your life looking to others for guidance
and approval. Take Kira, that miserable bitch! You don't really love
her, do you? Of course not. How could you love someone as
primitive as her? I can see how you might want her in bed, but that's
not all, is it? You want her to approve of you and forgive you even
while you're fucking her. Isn't that right? Or, take Sisko. You had
your chance to kill him, but no, you had to go and explain to him
the whys and hows of the occupation so that he might think more
favourably of you! And now that he has made what he really thinks
of you so clear that even _you_ can see it, you've decided you hate
him and want to destroy him because he rejected you!"
Dukat's breathing was accelerating, and he threw himself
around as I put my head close to his and whispered, "It hurts,
doesn't it, to be rejected."
Dukat was trembling with anger as he looked up at me; I
could see his skin vibrating; a deep growl came from his chest. But
I wasn't finished yet.
"And Naprem! Was the reason you loved her so that she
gave you the approval you wanted so badly? What did she tell you
when you were fucking her, here, in this bed? Did she forgive you?"
I hit him again. The mental image of him and her together was too
much to take. "Did she really? Or did she lie to you? Well, I guess
we'll never know. You've always been good at ignoring the
facts...Didn't see that your little mongrel was betraying you...and
when I shot her, you just couldn't handle it. And now look at
yourself!"
I slapped him across the face and he tried to turn away.
"Look at yourself! You're fucking pathetic! What did I ever
see in you?"
He lay heavily panting next to me, the smell of his
unwashed body mingling with the odours of sex and fresh blood.
Despite myself I began to touch him.
"What did I ever see in you.... what..." I mumbled to myself
as I ran my hands over his body. Oh, how I had missed touching
him!
Once I had started, I was unable to stop. My fingers no
longer obeyed me - they kept dancing over Dukat's chest, drawing
invisible circles around his purple nipples; then they trailed further
down his body. Of course, he stiffened at my touch; his muscles
tightened and he held his breath, but it was no good. He couldn't
help himself. 
As for myself, I was hurting, body and soul. I was aching for
him. It was no good. I was always going to love him. I grabbed his
shoulders and pushed him over onto his front. Of course he put up a
fight and kicked me just as I lowered myself onto him. Furious, I hit
him over the head.
"Don't you dare kick me away! I risked my life coming here
for you, so don't you dare kick me away, you bastard!" I grabbed his
hair and pushed him down into the mattress. "This is _not_ about
you, don't you understand? You selfish, egotistical bastard! I
worked day and night for you so that we could bring down that
minefield and win the war, but of course you had to go and mess it
all up in your arrogance by putting your trust in yet another Bajoran
bitch, and that precious daughter of yours. I killed her _for_ you,
you know, because I wanted to spare you the pain of having to do it
yourself. In fact, I'm starting to think I should have shot you, too.
You betrayed all of us the moment you stayed behind..." My voice
trailed as I had to concentrate on holding him down with one arm
only as I used my other hand to unfasten my trousers.
I'm not sure if Dukat fully understood what I was about to
do until it was actually happening. He'd told me on several
occasions that he had never forced himself upon a lover. I knew
why. His arrogant pride demanded that they come to him to be
loved, driven by desire or fascination. Then, and only then, would
he love them and satisfy their needs. I, on the other hand, had never
been able to afford the luxury of such sentiments. Forcing his
thighs apart without ceremony, I placed a single hard kiss in the
small of his back.
Of course he tried to deny himself to me, clenching every
muscle in his body, but that didn't help him one bit. Deciding that
my natural lubrication should suffice to prevent serious injuries, I
was inside him with one angry swoop, making him tremble with
pain and the indignity of it all.
"That's what it's like, to feel betrayed," I hissed, thrusting
into him again and again. He hadn't wanted to listen; now he had to
learn the hard way. But was he ever going to forgive me?
It wasn't what I had craved. "Don't you ever forget it," I
mumbled even while I climaxed, my words directed just as much at
myself as at Dukat. "Don't you ever treat me like that again," I
breathed, collapsing on top of him in sudden exhaustion and
burying my face in his hair to hide my pain. "You hear me? Don't
_ever_ leave me again..."

*-*-*-*-*-*

Our return to Cardassia Prime was a low key event, simply
because no-one except Weyoun, my wife and very few selected
officers in high positions had been informed of my absence and the
rescue mission. The look on Weyoun's face as he welcomed us was
no less than uplifting - apart from a hint of disappointment that
Dukat was still alive, there was a kind of grudging respect,
something that he has since done a good job of hiding. 
My first duty was to personally take Dukat to the place
where he is going to stay until his recovery. Dr. Reekor is a highly
accomplished psychiatrist and keeps reassuring me that Dukat
_will_ fully recover. I find this knowledge highly gratifying; after
all, Dukat has been my friend and mentor for such a long time that I
cannot imagine my life without him. Fortunately, there is no need
to. He is here. He has come home to Cardassia, and one day he will
return to the position of power that is rightfully his.
And so, as the end of yet another day is coming close, I am
on my way to visit him and keep him company for a little while. 

I am walking down the long, white corridor, listening to my
own footfalls resounding on the smooth floor, while holding my
head up high and acknowledging the respectful greetings offered to
me by the staff of the hospital.
Two soldiers are standing at full formal attention in front of
the door that leads to Dukat's apartment. 
"Legate Damar."
"Sir."
I give each of them a little nod; they step aside, and I enter.
Dukat is sitting in an armchair at the window, watching the sunset.
"Hello, Damar," he says without turning around. He knows
that it is me because no-one else ever visits him. 
"Dukat." I walk up to the place at the window and sit down
in the chair just opposite Dukat's.
We talk. He asks me about my wife and children. I tell him
that they're doing fine. Then I ask him what he's been doing with
himself all day. He says that he's been reading a lot. Then he gets up
out of his armchair and rummages through his things until he finds
what he's been looking for: a pretty drawing of flowers and trees,
faded and dog-eared. He presents it to me with a smile.
"My daughter did that."
"I see," I say, regarding the picture with faked interest. "It is
very nice."
He nods in silent confirmation, sits down in his chair again,
places the picture in his lap and looks at me, forlorn, as if trying to
remember something.
"Did I ever tell you the story of how she was born?"
I draw in a deep breath, trying hard not to show my pain and
hoping that he hadn't seen me flinch. Dr. Reekor said not to worry.
Dukats treatment is being aided by a combination of tranquillising
drugs and anti-depressives which are known for causing temporary
memory loss in the patient. A harmless side effect, as I have
repeatedly been told. I shake my head.
"No," I say, settling back into my own chair, "no, you never
did. But I'd love to hear it."

~~ end ~~