TITLE:  The Serpent and the Hawk
AUTHOR:  Laura Taylor (drewry@roanoke.infi.net)
SECTION: 1/16
RATING:  R
CODES:  DS9, K/Du
SUMMARY:  Ziyal's brutal death brings Major Kira and Gul Dukat *much* 
closer

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This story is a departure for me in many ways.  For 
one thing, it features neither Q nor the crew of Voyager;  although 
it's not my first DS9 story *per se*, it's the first to focus on the 
people and storylines around DS9.  This is also my first foray into 
the realm of TrekSmut.  For those of you who might be more accustomed 
to my PG-13 style - or for those looking for graphic NC-17 material - 
this story does feature several scenes of sexual intercourse between 
two consenting adults, but you won't find any lurid descriptions of 
Cardassian cocks and Bajoran clitorises (in fact, I've employed the 
time-honored "fade to black" motif at several points in the story, but 
I'm sure your imaginative minds can fill in the details;  there's no 
doubt what's happening under the cover of darkness <G>)

No writer worth his/her salt would venture into an unknown realm 
without doing some preliminary research.  When I started writing this 
story, I had very little knowledge of DS9 canon or Bajoran or 
Cardassian culture.  I found several usefeul web sites that provided 
material used in creating this story:

Bajoran Central Archives		
http://www.shakaar.demon.co.uk/archive/index.html
DS9 Encyclopedia & Lexicon	
http://members.aol.com/DS9fanfic/DS9EncLexText.html
Cardassian Encyclopedia		
http://home.navisoft.com/cardassians/encyclopedia.html
Prophets' Path Home Page		
http://jhunix.hcf.jhu.edu/~sulik/bajorindex.htm

I also owe a great debt of gratitude to The Collaborators, whose 
magnificent story "The Agreement" (found, along with many other superb 
stories, at http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/ariane) convinced 
me to take a second look at Dukat and inspired me to write this story. 
I am especially indebted to my beta-readers (you know who you are! 
<G>), who politely corrected my canonical slips, pointed out 
misspellings and grammatical goofs, and endured my frequent 
impatience. Thank you!

DISCLAIMER:  Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it 
encompasses.  This story is not intended to infringe on any 
copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional 
satisfaction.

This story may be added to the ASC and ASCEM archives;  anyone else, 
ask first!

*All* comments welcome at drewry@roanoke.infi.net This means you!

Enjoy!
Laura Taylor
* * * * *

	It was over before she even knew it had begun.
	Kira and Ziyal had been standing at one of the Ops stations with Gul 
Dukat, discussing what appeared to be an illicit monitoring device 
discovered in Ziyal's quarters, when suddenly Kira realized that Dukat 
had stopped speaking and was instead staring at the Jem'Hadar soldiers 
that now silently surrounded them, their weapons trained on Dukat's 
body.
	"What is the meaning of this?"  he hissed.
	Kira gasped in alarm as Damar pushed through the phalanx to confront 
his commanding officer.  She tried to edge Ziyal away from them, but 
Damar grabbed the girl and held a disrupter to her temple.  Kira 
seethed with fury and frustration, mentally cursing Dukat for refusing 
to let her keep a sidearm on her at all times. Dukat's eye ridges 
furrowed in anger and apprehension at Damar's implied threat as he 
reached for his own sidearm.
	"Your days as Supreme Dictator are over, Dukat," Damar spat.  "You 
have failed Cardassia for the last time."
	"Damar --" Dukat warned, taking a step toward his first officer.
	"Don't move," Damar said, "or I'll kill your precious daughter."
	"What is the meaning of this, Damar?"
	"For years I've watched you struggle and connive to get back your 
rank and status, which you lost because of this girl.  And now that 
you've won your rightful place as Cardassia's leader, you're willing 
to throw it all away because you've blinded yourself to her treachery.  
She's a threat to you, and she's a threat to Cardassia."
	Kira saw that Dukat's eyes never left Ziyal's face during Damar's 
speech.  When he finished, however, Dukat glanced briefly at Kira and 
said, "Damar, Ziyal is just a child.  She can't hurt me, and she 
certainly isn't --"  He moved just a fraction of a centimeter towards 
them.
	Damar fired.
	The last noise Kira heard before the roaring in her ears drowned out 
all other sounds was the anguished groan wrenched from Dukat's 
diaphragm as he caught his daughter's lifeless body and cradled her 
against his chest.  Weapons discharges whizzed a hair's breadth from 
Dukat's prostrate form, but he was oblivious to the danger as he 
rocked back and forth on his knees, trying to stem the flow of blood 
from Ziyal's shattered skull.  The Jem'Hadar, acting on Damar's 
information and Weyoun's orders, systematically eliminated every 
Cardassian likely to remain loyal to Dukat.  Damar towered in arrogant 
triumph over Dukat, his weapon nestled loosely in his hand, until a 
stray bolt struck his shoulder, knocking him to the ground, stunned 
but unharmed.
	If Dukat was aware of any of this, he gave no indication Kira could 
recognize.
	Kira had instantly gone into full battle mode as the stimuli of the 
bloody revolt assaulted her senses.  It was as if she were in the 
Resistance again, her most primitive instinct - the determination to 
survive - at the forefront of her consciousness.  She crouched low, 
hiding behind the station, her heightened olfactory senses supplying 
her rational mind with the necessary details.
	The scent of blood was everywhere:  Ziyal's innocent blood, 
splattering Dukat's uniform and pooling on the floor around his knees;  
the briny smell of Cardassian blood as Dukat's remaining supporters 
found themselves grossly outnumbered;  and the sticky-sweet aroma of 
fallen Jem'Hadar too stupid or too drug-addicted to heed the survival 
instinct.
	There was also the bitter tang of fried circuitry exploding in a 
shower of sparks, the smoky aroma of phaser-scorched flesh, and Kira's 
own scent of fear, generated by primitive instincts filling the void 
left vacant even after centuries of civilization.  She absorbed these 
scents, and deduced from them that the battle had been won before it 
even began, that the station would remain in Cardassian hands, but 
that its commander would no longer be Gul Dukat.  The tide had turned, 
and she would turn with it.
	She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, prepared to spring 
for safety, when she happened to glance at Dukat.
	Her movement had distracted him from his grief, and for one 
split-second, they looked into each other's eyes.  What Dukat saw in 
her, she did not know, but his pale eyes revealed a flash 
of...desolation.  His eyes were haunted by a loss so profound even 
Kira, who had herself lost everything in the Occupation, pitied him.  
With Ziyal's murder, Dukat had just lost his last link to a time when 
he, who knew no joy, might have been happy.
	In that split-second, Kira knew that he finally understood why she 
continued to fight Cardassia, even after the Occupation had been over 
for six years.
	In that split-second, she had to decide where she stood, and to 
broadcast her alliance.  Bajor had signed a non-aggression pact with 
the Dominion, but she had not.  Dukat wanted to reclaim Bajor - 
perhaps, she often wondered, as a gift for her - but he was no longer 
a threat to Bajor.  If Damar managed to take Dukat back to Cardassia 
Prime, he would be summarily tried and executed, and Bajor would be 
confronted with a new, unfamiliar enemy.  If she managed to get Dukat 
to Sisko, he might turn on the Dominion and provide the Federation 
with information it needed to turn the tide of this war.  Dukat was 
the devil she knew.
	In that split-second, instinct guiding her every decision, she made 
her choice.
	In the same instant she made her choice, she saw Dukat raise his 
phaser and fire.
	At her.

* * * * * * * * * *

	Dukat was lost.  Utterly, hopelessly, horribly lost.  Oh, he knew 
where he was and where he was going, but for the first time in his 
long life he had no place to go, no place that would welcome him, no 
sanctuary to rest his battle-scarred soul.  He was completely and 
totally alone, his last link to joy shattered by the betrayal of a 
trusted officer who had stood by him during his ignominy and disgrace, 
when the product of a love once shared with a Bajoran woman was more 
important to him than the approval of Cardassian society.  Materially, 
he lost more when he introduced Ziyal to Cardassia Prime, but the loss 
of Ziyal herself far outweighed the loss of his rank, social standing, 
and family.  He could recover material losses;  he could not regain 
his soul.
	Everything that he had regained, he had lost.
	He was alone, in a galaxy in which his only ally might be a woman who 
had been raised and trained to hate him with every fiber of her being.  
The scourge of the Alpha Quadrant, the Prefect of Bajor, the commander 
of Terok Nor, the Supreme Dictator of Cardassia, reduced to tenuous 
dependency on a petite, barely-literate, fierce-tempered, unforgiving, 
former Resistance fighter who made it clear in no uncertain terms that 
his amorous advances were most unwelcome.  If the whole situation had 
not been so painfully ridiculous as to be impossible, he might have 
actually laughed at it.
	Oh, how the mighty have fallen!
	Dukat was no stranger to Death.  One could not ascend the ranks of 
the Cardassian meritocracy without having more than a passing 
acquaintance with Death, and he had personally killed enough enemies 
and survived enough attempts on his own life to call Death an intimate 
companion.  Where he went, Death was sure to follow.  Yet the memory 
of Ziyal's shattered body fluttering to the ground, graceful even in 
death, was more unsettling than any murder perpetrated by his own 
hands.
	He remembered the day Ziyal was born as if it had happened yesterday.
	Cardassian births were held strictly within the purview of the 
expectant mother and her mother-in-law.  According to custom, all male 
members of the household were banished from the first labor pang until 
the census taker had completed the official birth record and the most 
recent contribution to Cardassia's glory was declared a deserving 
citizen.  As a result, Dukat had found sufficient cause to be away on 
campaign when each of his seven Cardassian children were born, and, in 
several cases, never saw them until they were nearly a year old.
	With Ziyal it had been different.  Naprem had insisted - had 
demanded, as only she could - that he be present at their daughter's 
birth.  He was at first repulsed by the very idea of witnessing 
childbirth - he, a Cardassian male, the Prefect of Bajor, no less! - 
but from the moment the first tremor shook Naprem's belly, he was 
entranced, and not even an implosion of the Bajoran sun could have 
torn his eyes from her beautiful, serene face as the midwife guided 
her through the painless labor.  Then when the time came, the midwife 
took him by the hand and led him to Naprem's birth canal, and with his 
own hands he caught his wet, wriggling, gray, newborn daughter as she 
slipped free of her mother's body.  Ziyal announced her glorious 
arrival to everyone present with a lusty cry that surprised him so 
much he almost dropped her.  But the midwife helped him wrap Ziyal in 
a soft blanket and as he gently placed her at her mother's breast, 
Naprem reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes.
	He who had called Death 'friend' was suddenly captivated by life.  
Unfortunately, it was to be a short imprisonment.  And now his old 
friend had claimed Ziyal, tearing his beautiful child from his grasp 
right before his eyes.
	He knew, with the certainty of a man driven by passion, that Kira 
understood the depth of his grief, and it was there he sought succor 
and reprieve.  She had loved Ziyal, and some small part of him clung 
to the hope that in loving his child she had come to love him as well.  
A futile hope, he reminded himself bitterly, but a hope renewed by 
that brief glance they shared over Ziyal's broken body, their faces 
illuminated by the eerie flashes of weapons fire.  He had seen 
something in Kira's eyes - understanding, perhaps, or maybe even 
forgiveness - and in that instant he had known that she would not turn 
on him, that she would not abandon him.
	Of all people in the galaxy, Major Kira Nerys was his only ally.
	Then Death once again reared its ugly head, in the form of a 
Jem'Hadar soldier aiming a disrupter at Kira, and Dukat suddenly came 
to full awareness of the dire situation threatening them.  Summoning 
all of his carefully-honed speed and precision, he unholstered his 
phaser and aimed, striking the soldier in the midriff just as a single 
disrupter blast sizzled through Kira's torso and scorched the floor 
between them.
	Like Dukat, Kira was an experienced warrior, and she knew, unlike 
Ziyal, the pointlessness in a graceful death.  The force of the blast 
hurled her forward until she fell, sprawling, across Dukat's lap.  In 
any other situation, he might have teased her about a clumsy attempt 
to seduce him, but instead he wrapped one long arm around her chest, 
the other around Ziyal's, and cautiously worked his way around the 
fallen bodies and shattered consoles littering Ops.
	As he reached the door to the corridor, Odo came rushing in, Jake 
Sisko hot on his heels.  The boy nearly lost his lunch at the sight of 
the gaping wounds in Ziyal and Kira, but Odo remained unperturbed as 
usual.
	"Just where do you think you're going?"  he rasped.
	"I've got to get them to the Infirmary," Dukat insisted, mentally 
challenging Odo to check for life signs.  He knew Ziyal was dead;  he 
was determined to believe that Kira still lived.  He looked at Jake.  
"Help me," he ordered.
	Jake blanched but obeyed, lifting Ziyal in his arms.  Dukat did the 
same with Kira, and was gratified to hear air escape through her nose 
as she settled in the crook of his elbows.  Dukat took off at a brisk 
walk down the corridor, not bothering to look behind him to see if Odo 
followed.  He did not give a damn what Odo did.
	"Gul Dukat," Jake asked breathlessly, "what happened in there?"
	"Fate, my boy.  History repeating itself."
	"Excuse me?"
	Dukat ignored him as he hurried past the turbolift and headed 
straight for the nearest airlock, hoping that Damar had not yet 
thought to alter the command codes.
	"Gul Dukat, I thought we were taking them to the Infirmary," Jake 
said, his long legs nearly breaking into a run as he struggled to 
match Dukat's furious pace.
	Turning into the airlock, Dukat gently placed Kira on the ground and 
keyed in the command to open the gate.  As he did so, he addressed 
Jake.  "Right now, Damar is regaining consciousness and realizing that 
I have escaped.  It won't take him long to dispatch a squadron of 
Jem'Hadar to hunt me down and kill me.  He's already killed my 
daughter and may be responsible for Major Kira's death.  I can promise 
you that, if I leave their bodies behind for him as trophies, you will 
be sorry you ever set eyes on a Cardassian."  Dukat heard Jake's 
strangled cough of fear and grinned at him.  "Don't worry.  Damar 
won't kill you, although he may interrogate you.  You're too valuable 
to him alive."  The airlock gate opened and Dukat pulled Kira's body 
inside, then reached to take Ziyal in his arms.  "Remember me to your 
father," he said to Jake as the gate closed between them.

* * * * * * * * * *

	Kira awoke to a myriad of contradictory sensations.  She was in utter 
agony, but as she struggled to rise, she discovered that she had no 
sensation in her legs, although the movement sent fresh paroxysms of 
pain pulsing through her body.  Beneath her she felt a hard, flat 
surface, but she was covered with a warm, soft blanket.  She could not 
tell if her eyes were open or not;  all she could see were occasional 
flashes of light penetrating the darkness surrounding her.  The oddest 
sensation, however, came from a cool, damp object pressed against her 
forehead.
	She opened her mouth and croaked.
	The object moved, and she felt a similar object gently slide under 
her neck, lifting just enough to allow her lips to come into contact 
with a container of water.  As the refreshing liquid dribbled over her 
parched mouth and down her chin, her head was just as gently lowered 
to the floor and her face wiped dry.
	A familiar baritone voice broke through her haze of pain.  "I'm glad 
to see that you're awake, Major.  I thought I had lost you, too."
	Damn, damn, a thousand times damn.
	She was being held prisoner by Gul Dukat.
	He had her exactly where her wanted her:  beyond rescue and unable to 
resist him.  She was utterly helpless, at the mercy of the man she 
feared more than any other.
	She had intended to help him escape, and he repaid her by shooting 
her at point-blank range and taking her captive.
	Only the Prophets knew what sort of sick and sadistic plans he had in 
store for her.  Whatever they might be, she wished he would just get 
started;  the waiting was much worse than the torture itself.  She 
knew first-hand of typical Cardassian interrogation procedures, 
including the cruel tendency to allow subjects to almost fully recover 
before resuming torture.  She also knew what it was like to be raped 
by a Cardassian, but quickly clamped her mind shut on those memories 
before visions of her body entwined with Dukat's in a passionate 
embrace filtered into her pain-weakened conscious mind from unwelcome 
dreams.
	She could endure rape.  Brutal sex was one thing;  making love was 
something completely different.
	Kira did *not* want to make love with Gul Dukat.
	For the first time in many, many years, she was sorry that she was 
not dead.  At least, if she were, she would not be in so much pain.  
She could not even take a deep breath, and her lower back felt as 
though it was on fire, raging white-hot flames tearing away at her 
insides with excruciating slowness.  She carefully lifted her hand 
from where it pressed against her abdomen.  A wave of heat seared her 
body as the unmistakable aroma of fecal matter enveloped her.  She 
sensed movement from beyond the haze, and a gentle pressure returned 
her hand to its previous location, stemming the tide of pain and 
internal organs threatening to erupt from the gaping hole in her 
belly.
	The cool, damp object returned to her forehead, gently stroking the 
sweat and hair from her brow.  She realized it was Dukat's hand, and 
tried to move away from his clammy touch.
	"Lie still, Major," he ordered.  "You've been severely injured."  He 
adjusted her blanket, pulling it up to cover her throat and tucking it 
under her shoulders.  "Not many people survive a disrupter blast at 
such close range."
	"I'll remember to step back next time," she whispered.  "Better yet, 
why don't you just finish me off now and get it over with?"
	"Major?"
	"I don't know anything about the revolt.  Interrogating me won't get 
you anywhere, and you'll kill me anyway, so why don't you go ahead and 
get it out of the way?"  She paused to regain her breath.  "Or do you 
have something *else* in mind for me?"
	Then something occurred to her with startling clarity, and she opened 
her eyes just enough to see Dukat's elaborately contoured face leaning 
close - much too close - to hers.  She swallowed her apprehension and 
disgust.  "Disrupter blast?  But you pulled a phaser on me.  I saw 
it."
	Amusement twisted his mouth.  "Major, it was the Jem'Hadar *behind* 
you who shot you.  Not me."  He lowered his head, and Kira realized 
that he was kneeling on the floor beside her, that she was lying on 
the floor in an unfamiliar room.  "I may have plans for you, but 
shooting you isn't one of them.  The galaxy is a much more interesting 
place with you in it."
	His voice was gentle, and soft, so unlike the crude, harsh Dukat she 
knew only too well, and his demeanor confused her.  "I--What 
happened?"
	"Your Prophets must have been looking out for both of us.  When Damar 
was stunned, all hell broke loose.  Those stupid Jem'Hadar have no 
battle discipline!  They had no idea who they were shooting at, or 
why, and in the frenzy they seemed to forget all about me.  I was able 
to get you to a ship and away from Terok Nor.  I tried to land on 
Bajor, but it's blockaded and there was no way I could get past 
without being boarded, not even in one of their ships."
	Kira studied his weathered face, her eyes taking in the weariness and 
grief etched in his gray features like striations in a cliff.  As 
realization of his effort dawned on her, Dukat seemed less repulsive 
to her, more...sympathetic.  More Bajoran.  He could not be wholly 
evil, she thought, if dear Ziyal embodied even a fraction of his true 
nature.  Perhaps Kira had misjudged him after all;  it would not be 
the first time she was wrong about somebody, or even about him.  "You 
saved my life," she said.
	Dukat shook his head.  "Neither of us is out of the woods yet.  That 
disrupter blast went clean through you, severing your spinal cord in 
the process.  I've done what I can for your injuries, but the 
Jem'Hadar are more than a little backward in shipboard medical 
technology.  If I don't get you to a doctor soon, none of this will 
matter."
	Her eyes left his face and wandered about the room, which she now 
recognized as the bridge of a Jem'Hadar ship.  All of his loyalists 
must have been killed or too severely injured to flee with him, she 
thought, or else he would not have put her here, where he could 
monitor her condition while piloting the ship in search of a safe 
haven.  Or, it occurred to her, maybe he abandoned his surviving 
loyalists to help her.  She tried not to let her thoughts wander down 
that path;  to admit to that possibility would mean that the tenuous 
balance of power that had always existed between them had shifted even 
more in his favor than she was willing to accept.
	Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a shrouded form, and knew 
instantly who it must be.
	Ziyal.
	She wondered at the effort and risk Dukat took to bring both her and 
his daughter off the station and onto a stolen ship.  She would never 
understand what motivated him, but she was grateful enough not to 
dwell, for the moment, upon the ramifications of such a debt to him.
	His voice interrupted her reverie, and she realized his eyes had 
followed hers to rest on Ziyal's body.  "I would have liked to bury 
her on Bajor," he said.  "She - we - were happy there, once."
	Kira's gaze returned to his face, wondering if her own expression 
betrayed as much anguish as was evident in his eyes.  "Perhaps you 
will get the chance someday," she murmured as her eyes closed, the 
exertion of the past few minutes beginning to pull her back into 
unconsciousness.  "We'll find a way to get her there."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


	Dukat paced the bridge, his disciplined mind working through 
different strategies with the precision and attention to detail that 
made his species so ruthlessly efficient.  No matter how many options 
he considered, he inevitably reached the conclusion that he had but 
one choice:  to find Captain Sisko, and ask for asylum.  Cardassia was 
lost to him forever;  he had lost her the minute he signed that damned 
treaty with the Dominion.  Bajor was also out of the question, and he 
certainly could not hide in the Gamma Quadrant, even with the 
minefield disabled.  No other world in the Alpha and Beta quadrants 
would welcome him.
	There was only one choice.
	Sisko was his only hope.
	Convincing Sisko of his sincerity, Dukat knew, would not be easy.  He 
was, after all, responsible for the war that placed him in this 
untenable position.  If Sisko did accept his application, he would 
undoubtedly spend the rest of his days on a Federation penal colony.  
That was much better than the alternative if he dared to return to 
Cardassia Prime under the current conditions.  At least he would still 
be alive, and, if he were still alive, perhaps Kira would come visit 
him.  Even if she came only to gloat over his disgrace, it would be 
worth the humiliation just to know he could see her again, to know 
that she continued to live because of him.
	If Sisko refused him, however...
	Sisko would not refuse him.  Sisko *could* not refuse him, because 
Dukat had an ace up his sleeve.
	He had Kira.
	Sisko would never refuse to shelter Kira, especially if he knew that 
she had been injured.  And if he knew that she had been injured trying 
to help Dukat, then perhaps he would accept Dukat's application for 
sanctuary.
	Dukat hoped it would not come to that, however;  although he would 
willingly use any other means to manipulate Sisko, he was reluctant to 
use Kira to purchase his life.  She was more to him than a passport to 
safety.  If he had to use Kira to manipulate Sisko, and if she ever 
found out, he knew what she would think, and her good opinion of him 
was almost as precious as life itself.  If she thought he had used her 
to obtain sanctuary with the Federation, she would think that he had 
kidnapped her for his own selfish purposes, that he had rescued her 
from the station only because she was useful to him.  As usual, she 
would misinterpret his motives and misunderstand his actions.  He did 
not want to take that risk, after having finally earned her gratitude 
and sympathy.
	He had already lost too much to lose Kira as well. 
	The hard part would be finding Sisko before any of the countless 
ships hunting for him found him.  Dukat knew from intelligence reports 
that the Defiant was stationed at Federation Starbase 375, and hoped 
that she had not been given a new crew, or that Sisko had not been 
assigned elsewhere.  Once he had turned away from Bajor in 
frustration, he set the ship on an indirect course for the base, the 
engines kept at the minimum output to maintain shrouding without 
leaving too heavy a spatial displacement to be easily tracked.  Even 
so, Dukat knew he was on a suicide mission;  if Federation ships 
patrolling the sector failed to locate the ship on their sensors, the 
cadre of assassins he knew Weyoun and Damar had sent after him once 
they discovered his escape would undoubtedly locate him.  In all 
probability, he would die within sight of his destination.
	Sighing, Dukat adjusted the navigational eyepiece and resumed his 
desperate search for Sisko.

* * * * * * * * * *

	"Captain, I'm picking up traces of a Jem'Hadar ship in this sector," 
Nog reported.
	Dax rose from the command chair to study his console.  "Just one?  
Are you sure, Ensign?"  she asked.  "We're pretty far inside 
Federation space to be finding a single Jem'Hadar ship."
	Nog nodded.  "Aye, Captain, there's no doubt it's Jem'Hadar.  It's 
traveling just above warp two - it *seems* to be headed for the 
starbase, but it's not on a direct course for...anywhere."
	"Set an intercept course for that ship, Ensign.  Maximum warp."
	"Aye, Captain."
	Dax returned to the command chair as the Defiant's engines thrummed 
with the increase in speed.  "Are we within communications range?"
	"Aye, Captain," O'Brien reported.
	"All stop.  Keep phasers locked on that ship."  She knew with quiet 
certainty that her crew - Sisko's crew - obeyed her orders with 
alacrity and accuracy.  "Open a channel."
	"Captain, the Jem'Hadar are hailing us."
	"Onscreen."
	Dax' eyes widened with surprise as Gul Dukat's familiar features 
filled the viewscreen.  "Commander Dax," he said, greeting her affably 
as though he were not the Federation's most hated adversary, as though 
they were not at war.  "I was expecting Captain Sisko.  I trust he has 
not been made a casualty of this great unpleasantness?"
	Dax ignored O'Brien's snort of derision as she rose to address Dukat.  
"The captain is quite well, I assure you," she said smoothly.  "I'll 
be sure to pass along your greeting.  In the meantime, perhaps you can 
explain what you're doing in the middle of Federation space in a 
Jem'Hadar ship?"
	Dukat spread his arms.  "I presume you've heard there's been a change 
in regime on Terok Nor?"
	Dax looked startled, which in turn disturbed Dukat.  Perhaps 
something had happened in his absence to once again change the 
situation.  Perhaps Federation intelligence sources were not as good 
as he thought.  Or perhaps something unfortunate had happened to young 
Jake Sisko.  It would be a pity if the boy had been harmed, not least 
because the possibility might hinder his chance for asylum.
	Dax quickly regained her composure.  "So you're a fugitive."
	"In so many words."
	"And you've come to *us* for protection."
	"I've come to you with information."
	"You sold out your people to the Dominion, and now you're going to 
sell them out to us?"  O'Brien charged.
	"Chief, I can handle this," Dax replied calmly, her eyes never 
leaving Dukat's image.  "It's not like you to turn on Cardassia 
without some ulterior motive, Dukat.  Why should we trust your 
motives?"
	"You shouldn't.  But I know you're losing this war.  I know you know 
that we've almost completed dismantling the minefield.  And I know 
that Damar has every intention of invading Bajor once reinforcements 
arrive at Terok Nor.  Is the Federation willing to risk losing Bajor 
forever just because you don't want to trust me?"
	"We could just hand him over to the Dominion in exchange for a 
truce," Nog interrupted.
	Dax ignored him, and was just about to speak when a bolt of phaser 
fire rocked the Defiant.
	"Captain, six Jem'Hadar ships have just deshrouded off our port bow!"  
O'Brien yelped. 
	Dax sprung into action.  "Take evasive action, Ensign," she ordered 
Nog.  "Chief, fire at will."
	Dukat's voice, strained with irritation, crackled over the channel.  
"Commander, before you leave me to my no doubt deserving fate, I have 
a passenger you may want to take on board."
	"Dukat, this is not the time for your games!"
	"This is *no* game.  Major Kira was injured in the coup on Terok Nor.  
She's with me now."
	"Nerys?"  Dax whispered, hesitant to believe him.
	"She needs immediate medical attention, Commander.  I've done all for 
her that I can."  His face grew larger in the viewscreen as he 
silently tried to communicate his sincere desperation to Dax.
	Dax recognized that look in his eyes and turned to O'Brien.  "Chief, 
are sensors picking up Bajoran lifesigns on that ship?"
	"Aye, Captain, but they're very faint."
	"Beam Major Kira directly to Sickbay," Dax ordered.  "Bridge to 
Doctor Bashir.  Prepare for incoming wounded."
	Dukat breathed a sigh of relief as he sensed the tingle of a 
transporter beam take Kira to a place where she might have a chance of 
survival.  He bowed to Dax.  "You have my thanks, Commander," he said, 
and closed the link.
	"Captain," O'Brien said, "Dukat's ship is showing a massive buildup 
in the engines.  It looks like he's initiating a warp core breach."
	Dax watched as the ship darted among the others like it, its weapons 
array targeting their weak points with deadly precision, and it 
occurred to her that Dukat could provide a definite tactical 
advantage.  The Defiant continued its own assault, eliminating two of 
the Jem'Hadar ships in a heavy barrage of firepower as Nog plowed 
through their ranks.  She came to a decision, and hoped it was the 
right one.  "Chief, can you lock on to Dukat?"
	"There's heavy interference, but I think I can do it."  He 
manipulated the transporter controls, to allow the sensors to break 
through the interference caused by the imminent breach and the 
constant onslaught of phaser fire.  "Got him!" he shouted 
triumphantly, just as Dukat's ship exploded in a brilliant display of 
light, vaporizing the remaining Jem'Hadar ships.  "Uhh --"
	"Bridge to Security.  Did Gul Dukat make it on board?"
	"Aye, Captain.  We've got him in a holding cell right now."
	"Good work, Chief," she said to O'Brien.  "Ensign, take us back to 
Starbase 375."
	"Aye, Captain."

* * * * * * * * * *

	Sisko glowered at Dukat through the faint haze generated by the 
forcefield in the base's brig.  Dukat's expression was as insouciant 
as usual, and Sisko had to fight the urge to turn off the forcefield 
and belt the arrogant Cardassian with a good right cross.
	"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," he 
rumbled in his deepest basso profundo.
	"Because it goes against your precious Federation principles?  Or 
perhaps because I'm more useful to you alive?"
	"I've heard from your former...colleagues.  Damar has offered an 
exchange.  If I deliver you to them, alive, they'll release my son."
	"You know that won't happen.  You know, and I know, that they expect 
you to glean every ounce of tactical information from me before 
releasing me to their death squads.  Releasing young Jake isn't worth 
the strategic disadvantage.  If it's any consolation to you, I can 
assure you that they won't kill him."
	Sisko clenched his fists in barely-contained fury.  "Then what do you 
propose I do with you?"
	"I am at your mercy.  I will tell you everything I know, and then you 
will deal with me as you choose."
	"How can I be sure your information will be reliable or accurate?  
How can I be sure that trusting you won't somehow come back to haunt 
me?  What makes you think I believe you really want to betray 
Cardassia in a war that you started?"
	Dukat lowered his head and pressed the heel of his hand against the 
doorframe, clenching and releasing his fingers.  "Ziyal is dead, and 
Cardassia is lost.  I've destroyed her," he whispered.  Then he looked 
up at Sisko and the spark returned to his eyes as he began pacing back 
and forth.  "I may be devious, Captain, but I'm no liar.  And we both 
know Cardassia will suffer less at your hands than she has under the 
Dominion's yoke.  That's what the Federation is known for, isn't it - 
humanitarian aid, to help societies rebuild?  That's what you've done 
for Bajor, so maybe it's time you did the same for Cardassia.  
Cardassia's lost to me forever, but the least I can for her is try to 
save her from my own foolishness.  Neither of us can afford to pass up 
this opportunity."  He stopped pacing and approached the forcefield.  
"I have one request, though."
	Sisko crossed his arms over his chest, but his expression was 
neutral.  "And what is that?"
	"How is Major Kira?"
	Sisko stared at Dukat in astonishment.  "She's under heavy sedation 
until her nervous system regenerates, but she will survive."  Dukat 
did attempt not hide his heavy sigh of relief.  Sisko tugged at his 
beard.  "Do you wish to see her when she regains consciousness?"
	"If it can be arranged, Captain, and if the major agrees.  I do not 
wish to abuse your...hospitality."
	Sisko nodded.  "I'll see what I can do.  An interrogation team is en 
route from Vulcan, and will arrive in the morning.  I suggest you rest 
until then."  Then he turned on his heel and stalked out.

* * * * * * * * * *

	By Cardassian standards, the interrogation was quick and painless.  
Dukat was almost disappointed the Vulcan interrogators did not use 
torture to extract information from him, unless their endless 
repetitive questions, posed in that typically dry Vulcan monotone, 
qualified as torture.  He did not think boring a prisoner to death was 
proscribed under the Federation charter, although it certainly should 
be.  The interrogators had not even tried to mind-meld with him, which 
he had been especially anticipating.  Vulcans were about as 
insufferable as humans sometimes, and no fun whatsoever.
	His interrogation now complete, Dukat was en route to Sickbay, a 
heavily armed contingent of Starfleet security officers shadowing him.  
Because Dukat had saved Kira, and because of his cooperation with the 
interrogators, Sisko had granted Dukat almost unrestricted visitation 
rights with the major.  It was the only concession he made.
	As Dukat neared Sickbay, the doors opened and he heard voices inside.  
Dax stepped out and nearly bumped into him as she turned.
	"Gul Dukat," she said politely.  "Please excuse me."
	"Commander."  He bowed slightly.  "How is the major?"
	Her eyes twinkled with amusement.  "Her usual cranky self.  Julian's 
putting her through her paces right now."  She moved around him, but 
he stopped her, ignoring the guards as they reached for their weapons.
	"Commander, I wish to thank you for rescuing me."
	Dax studied him.  "You saved Kira.  It was the least I could do."  
Stepping around him, she continued down the corridor.
	The Sickbay doors had remained open as he conversed with Dax, and now 
he stood in the doorway, silently watching the occupants as they moved 
about inside.  Doctor Bashir was supporting Kira as she slowly made 
her way from one end of the room to the other, her slippered feet 
shuffling along the floor as her nervous system re-learned what 
muscles to control in order to enable her to walk.  Her face was 
flushed with exertion, but her eyes glittered with determination and 
pride.  The sight of her, alive and whole, swelled Dukat's wounded 
heart with joy, and he longed to be at her side, filling her thoughts 
with his presence just as she was never far from his thoughts.
	Bashir's left arm was about her waist, his right hand gripped in 
hers, and he kept his head bent as he watched her rehabilitating 
muscles flex and relax with each cautious step.  Suddenly, exhaustion 
overcame Kira and she collapsed, pulling Bashir down with her before 
he could extricate himself.  Dukat strode across the room and lifted 
Kira in his arms, chuckling to himself at her squawk of alarm.
	"Gul - Gul Dukat," Bashir stammered as he pulled himself to his feet, 
"I didn't hear you come in."
	"My apologies if I startled you, Doctor.  I only just arrived.  Where 
do you want her?"  he asked, turning around as Bashir pointed him to a 
bed in the far corner.  Dukat quickly deposited Kira on the bed, then 
pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable as Kira fussed about 
the blankets.  Bashir had apparently disappeared into his office.
	At last Kira became still and Dukat was able to examine her closely.  
He had rarely seen her without her uniform - or her self-imposed armor 
- and he indulged himself in this opportunity to study her while her 
guard was down.  He could see that she was wearing a dark blue robe, 
cinched about her small waist, and underneath that a nightdress of 
some sort, the pale color remarkably similar to his natural skin tone.  
Her normal complexion, which through his eyes appeared to be a light 
brown, was pale and drawn, making her large brown eyes seem even more 
so.  Her short chestnut hair was unstyled, and one side appeared 
disheveled as though she had recently been sleeping on that side.  The 
effect was charming, and Dukat wondered if he would have to sit on his 
hands to keep his fingers from straying up to comb through the 
tangles.
	"What are you doing here, Dukat?"  she snapped at him, and he 
realized that he had been staring at her in silence for several 
minutes.  Not that staring at her was anything new;  he watched her 
every chance he got.
	He smiled with feigned innocence.  "Am I unwelcome, Major?  Captain 
Sisko assured me that my presence would not disturb you."  He knew 
that was a bold lie, and wondered if she would call his bluff.
	As usual, she did not disappoint him.  "Your presence *always* 
disturbs me, Dukat," she said.
	"You could have refused my request to see you," he responded mildly, 
aware of the faint flush that suffused her cheeks.
	"I would have, but...but..."
	"But, Major?"
	"But I owe you my life!"  Her fingers knotted the blanket about her 
waist.
	He could not help himself.  "There, Major, now that wasn't so hard to 
admit, was it?"
	Her eyes grew wide with fear and revulsion.  "If you think I'm going 
to let you hold this over my head, then you --"  She left the threat 
hanging.
	"I what, Major?  I'm a fool?  I'm mistaken?  I'm wasting my time?  I 
assure you, Major, no time spent in your pleasant company is wasted."
	"Get out, Dukat!"  she snarled, thrusting her finger toward the door.  
"Visiting hours are over!"
	"As you wish, Major," he said, rising to take her outstretched hand 
in his.  He was tempted to bend over and brush his mouth across it, 
but instead caressed her knuckles with his thumb, happily aware that 
she did not immediately jerk her hand away from his touch.  He decided 
to take advantage of her hesitance.  "But there's still the matter of 
a score to settle between us."
	That caught her attention, and she yanked her hand free of his.  "You 
have my gratitude, Dukat, and that's all you'll ever have from me!  
Now *get out*!"
	Dukat bowed slightly and left, his mind filled with the memory of the 
sensations of her small, warm, soft hand in his large, cool, rough one 
as her luminous eyes looked up into his face.  He had seen the spark 
of passion ignite, however briefly, in her gaze, and that wondrous 
sight would occupy his dreams for many nights to come.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

	Kira was flustered and annoyed.  Doctor Bashir had been working with 
her on her rehabilitation, but he was abruptly called away by an 
emergency in the engineering department just as *he* walked through 
the door.  The timing was too perfect for it to be anything but a 
coincidence, and she was furious with Bashir for allowing Dukat to 
simply pick up where he had left off.  The security contingent that 
followed Dukat everywhere he went was nowhere to be seen.  Now here 
she was, trapped, alone in Sickbay with that man - that *Cardassian* 
man - and unable to escape.  His long arm was wrapped securely around 
her waist, his unmistakable aroma filling her nostrils, his cool touch 
against her hand sending chills down her spine, his overwhelming 
presence making her lightheaded.
	The worst part about it was not that she was uncomfortable with 
Dukat's proximity.
	The worst part was that she was enjoying it.
	She struggled to focus her thoughts on the here and now, to ignore 
the temptation to lean into him, to inhale his scent too deeply.  
Unfortunately, his nearness was making her tongue-tied, and she could 
think of nothing intelligent to say.
	Dukat broke the silence for her.  "Your rehabilitation seems to be 
progressing very well, Major," he said.
	At least it was a comment she could answer, and she nodded 
vigorously.  "Julian says he'll be able to release me to my quarters 
in three days," she replied.  "He said you did something that kept my 
nerve endings from destabilizing and stopping my heart.  He was very 
impressed."
	"I just used common triage procedure for treating point-blank 
disrupter wounds.  Every Cardassian soldier is trained in basic 
battlefield triage."
	She wondered what his life had been like before he was posted to 
Bajor.  She knew all about his career during the Occupation, but 
except for the few tidbits of information he volunteered in casual 
conversation, Dukat's early life was a cipher.  She hesitated to ask 
him about it, for fear of seeming too interested, so she chose to veer 
the conversation in another direction.
	"Dax tells me you barely made it off that Jem'Hadar ship.  Were you 
able to bring Ziyal as well?"  she asked.
	Dukat stopped and loosened his grip around her waist.  "No," he said, 
looking away from her, "there wasn't time."
	Kira gently placed her hand on his arm, surprising herself as much as 
him by the gesture.  "Do you - I mean, should I - that is, would you 
like me to perform the death chant for her?"
	He turned to face her, breaking off all contact with her body.  Kira 
exhaled softly at the loss, but then he placed a finger under her chin 
and lifted it so that she was looking directly into his eyes.
	"You would do that for me?"  he whispered.
	His tone was sincere, but Kira reminded herself who she was 
addressing as his pale eyes bored through her with uncanny precision.  
"I would do it for *her*," she said, knowing it for the lie it was.  
Death rituals were performed for the survivors, not the dead.
	His thumb was caressing her jawline, and she had to repress the 
unexpected desire to lean into his hand and comfort him in his grief.  
"Shouldn't you have an actual --" he paused and took a deep, ragged 
breath "-- *body* to perform the chant over?"
	Kira reluctantly pulled away from his touch.  This subject was too 
close to both of them for it not to have her undivided attention.  
"Not really.  Don't you remember quoting Kai Moressa to me?  'What 
remains after death is but a shell' --"
	"-- 'a sign that the pagh has begun its final journey to the 
Prophets,' yes, I remember.  What does that have to do with Ziyal?"
	"She meant that the body need not be present for the ritual to be 
effective."
	"Well, that may work for you, but Ziyal *was* half-Cardassian, and we 
Cardassians need our dead to be present during death rituals, even 
Bajoran ones."
	"If it's that important to you, I could always perform it over a 
substitute."
	"What kind of a substitute?"
	She could tell he was intrigued, and gave him a soft smile.  "It 
depends.  An empty grave, or perhaps a mound of sanctified earth.  The 
chant can even be performed over a personal object of the deceased's."
	He shook his head.  "None of which can be found here on the 
starbase."
	"No, it would have to wait until I can get to Bajor."
	Dukat sighed heavily as he looked down at the floor.  "I don't think 
I'll ever be able to set foot on Bajor again."  His voice choked as he 
added, "I would like very much to be present when you performed the 
chant."
	That surprised her, and she instinctively took a step back, having 
forgotten her instability.  Her motor functions were still operating 
several seconds behind her brain commands, however, and even though 
her brain commanded her legs to regain their balance, they revolted 
and collapsed beneath her.
	With a speed and grace that threw her even more off-balance, Dukat 
leaped forward and captured her in his arms, pressing her against his 
armored chest as she attempted to align her traitorous legs beneath 
her torso.  When she had at last regained her footing, Kira became 
suddenly, painfully, blissfully aware that she was completely 
enveloped in Dukat's embrace, and that her hands were dangerously 
close to his neck ridges, her fingers just out of reach of pressing on 
the rapidly beating pulse points.  Her own heart was pounding so loud 
she was certain he could feel it through his armor.  Her eyes became 
transfixed on the diamond-shaped marking in his armor just below his 
long, elegant throat, a spot she had stared at long and often back on 
the station as he rambled on in one of his many interminable speeches.  
Before, it had just been a place to look other than his eyes, but now 
it held an unexpected fascination for her.  All she would have to do 
was lift her chin to place a soft kiss right there...
	"Major?"  Dukat's voice was husky as it rumbled through her slight 
frame, and she shivered in response to his arms tightening around her 
waist.  Although she did not dare lift her eyes to his face, she could 
sense that it was looming ever larger in her peripheral vision as the 
world around her became increasingly gray, his scent igniting a 
simmering fire deep within her belly, his thin Cardassian lips 
beckoning her to submit to her unquenchable yearning...
	"No!"  she cried, pushing herself away from him.  This time, he let 
her fall to the floor.  They were both breathing heavily from the 
near-miss, each adamantly refusing to look at the other.
	Kira was the first to recover.  "Are you going to help me up, or am I 
going to have to crawl back to my bed?"  she said, failing to inject 
her words with the venom that filled her mind as she mentally cursed 
her weakness and stupidity.
	Dukat's skin was dark gray with arousal, and he leered at her as she 
lay sprawled at his feet.  "I don't know, Major, I think I'd like to 
see you crawl." 
	There was no mistaking the contempt in her expression as she twisted 
away from him and began pulling herself along the floor.  She cowered 
involuntarily when she heard the steady clomp of his boots approach 
her from behind, and tried to wrench free of his grasp as he took hold 
of her upper arms and pulled her to her feet.  "Let go of me, Dukat," 
she growled, trying to twist away from him, but his grip tightened and 
he half-pushed, half-dragged her to her bed.
	"What's the matter, Major?  Don't you trust me?"
	"No."  He released her just as she reached the edge of her bed and 
she collapsed, face-first, across it.  He made no move to help her, 
and she had no intention of asking for his assistance as she pulled 
herself far enough along the bed to be able to roll onto her back and 
then maneuver herself into a sitting position.
	"To be honest, Major, I think you don't trust yourself," Dukat said 
as she glared at him - not at his face, but at his midriff, where she 
knew his penetrating gaze could not return her flustered one.
	"To be honest, Dukat, I don't give a damn what you think.  If you 
think I have any desire for you, then you're more deluded than I 
thought."  She groaned inwardly at his lecherous grin, realizing too 
late that she had fallen into yet another of his verbal traps.
	"I never said I thought you desired me," he said, sitting at the foot 
of her bed, leaning one arm over her crossed ankles with just a sliver 
of light between his skin and hers.  "Do you?"
	"Out," Kira whispered through clenched teeth.  "Just...please leave."
	She trembled as his fingers grazed her bare calf.  "You haven't 
answered my question, Major."  He inched his way up the bed, resting 
his hand on her knee.  "Do you desire me?"
	Kira took a deep breath and summoned every ounce of resolve she could 
muster.  She lifted her chin, looked Dukat straight in the eye, and 
said, "No."
	There was a flash of hurt in his eyes, then the usual gleam returned 
as he stood.  "Very well, Major," he said, bowing slightly.  "I will 
take my leave of you."
	It was only when the Sickbay doors closed behind him that Kira 
remembered to exhale.

* * * * * * * * * *

	Dukat was profoundly disturbed by his confrontation with Kira in 
Sickbay, and his mind dwelled heavily upon what was said, and done - 
and almost done - as he prowled about his holding cell.  He had never 
expected to see her so vulnerable, so...receptive to his own desires, 
and though the vision of her dark eyes filled with passion and longing 
exhilarated him to the core, it also terrified him.  He had almost 
lost control, almost swept her up in his arms and ravished her on the 
spot, almost succumbed to his desire.
	He could not afford to lose control;  if he ever did, then her 
victory over him would be complete.  If he could not have Kira of her 
own volition, then he would not have her at all.
	Kira's offer to perform the traditional Bajoran death chant for Ziyal 
had caught him unawares.  His many years spent on Bajor, Naprem at his 
side for nearly twenty of them, had instilled in him a grudging 
understanding and appreciation for Bajoran spirituality, even though 
it was superstitious and primitive by modern Cardassian standards.  He 
had always been intrigued by the concept of the pagh, and the ancient 
folk tales about pagh-wraiths haunting caves and dark woods fascinated 
him.  He fondly recalled one summer many years ago when Ziyal had been 
convinced a pagh-wraith had taken up residence under her bed, and 
begged her parents to let her sleep with them.  After several 
sleepless nights of being kicked and punched by his daughter's 
dream-induced thrashes, he had thrown up his hands in disgust and 
decamped to Ziyal's room until she outgrew her fear.  Even now, he had 
to chuckle at the memory of his long frame stretched across Ziyal's 
child-sized bed, his legs overshooting the mattress by half a meter, 
her collection of toys competing with him for space.
	And now Ziyal was herself a pagh-wraith, her spirit doomed to roam 
the vacuum of space until someone laid her to rest.  Kira understood 
his loss only too well.
	On a whim, Dukat dropped to his knees and looked under his bunk.  If 
Ziyal was there, he could not see her.
	"Did you lose something, Dukat?"  an unpleasantly familiar voice 
asked from behind him.  "I don't think you'll find Cardassia hidden 
under there."
	Garak.
	Dukat's head shot up, banging on the hard frame of the bunk.  He 
cursed, rubbing the swelling knot as he turned to glare at his 
longtime adversary.  "Come to gloat?"  he snapped.
	Garak just smiled that ingratiating smile of his, the one that made 
Dukat want to slap his silly mouth right off his ugly face.  "Oh, I 
have an entire lifetime to do that," he simpered.  "Actually, I've 
come with news."  His smirk deepened.
	Dukat rose to his feet and approached the forcefield.  "What kind of 
news?"  he asked, almost afraid to find out.  Garak would never give 
him good news.
	"News about your family back on Prime."
	Dukat froze.  "Has something ha --"
	"Oh, no, no, nothing like that."
	"Then *what*, you arrogant little bastard!"
	Garak tsked at him.  "Temper, temper.  If you're going to behave like 
that then maybe I won't tell you."
	"I don't believe that for an instant.  If you weren't already eager 
to tell me, you wouldn't even be here."
	Garak sighed melodramatically.  "Well, if you insist.  It seems that 
a certain Mekor Dukat has publicly denounced his recently-deposed 
father as a traitor and a coward."  His smirk was now a full-fledged 
grin.
	Dukat was devastated, although he would be damned if he would let 
Garak see it.  "Indeed," he ground out through his teeth.
	"Yes, I heard that the youngest son of ex-Supreme Dictator Dukat has 
allied himself with Dukat's former first officer.  I hear he's even 
changed his name - to Mekor Damar."
	Dukat raised his arm, threatening to backhand Garak.  It was an empty 
threat, he knew, but it felt so good to see the little opportunist 
flinch involuntarily.  "If I ever get my hands around your leathery 
throat, Elimshu," he hissed, using the feminine diminutive of Garak's 
given name, "I'll pull out your chest scales one by one."
	Garak seemed unperturbed by the insult to his manhood.  "Is that a 
promise?"  Dukat bit back his reply.  It was not worth it to let Garak 
goad him like this.  "I also hear that you're being shipped to Terra 
within the week."
	Dukat nodded;  one of the security officers guarding him had said the 
same thing this morning. 
	"What a pity, to be spending the rest of your natural life in a 
Terran prison so far away from Bajor."  Garak slithered closer.  "So 
far away from Terok Nor.  So far away from...*Major Kira*."
	Dukat turned his back, willing his ears not to listen.
	"I suppose it's all for the best, though," Garak continued.  "You're 
a walking target, and your foolish obsession with Bajor and Bajoran 
women has confused your mind.  Don't you realize that every Bajoran 
woman who's gotten close to you has died rather violently and 
unnecessarily?  First Naprem, and now Ziyal --" his voice caught, but 
he quickly recovered.  "It would be such a shame for *her* to suffer 
the same fate." 
	Garak danced away as Dukat turned with a roar and charged the 
forcefield, oblivious to the plasma charges sizzling through his body 
until a phaser set on heavy stun rendered him unconscious. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

	Kira was exceedingly grateful that Dukat did not return to Sickbay 
for several days.  The distance gave her time to think and to study 
her behavior during their last meeting, and she had come to the 
conclusion that her weakened state, exacerbated by the guilt she felt 
over Ziyal's death and the debt she owed to Dukat for saving her life, 
was what had prompted her to succumb to his charm.  There was no 
danger of that happening again, she was quite certain.
	At least, that was what she told herself.
	That was what she told herself when Dax gave her the news from 
Cardassia Prime, about Damar adopting Dukat's son as his own.
	That was what she told herself when Doctor Bashir said he had treated 
Dukat for plasma burns and a phaser injury incurred in a confrontation 
with Garak.
	That was what she told herself when she heard from Sisko that Dukat 
was to be imprisoned on Terra for the rest of his natural life.
	That was what she told herself when, three days after her last visit 
from Dukat, as she picked her uniform jacket off the bed and prepared 
to leave for her new quarters, *he* strode through the Sickbay doors.
	"Major!"  Dukat chortled, holding his arms wide as though he expected 
her to rush into them.  "So good to see you up and about!"
	Kira shrugged the jacket over her shoulders, leaving it unzipped for 
the moment.  "Yes, Julian's just released me, and the captain already 
has work for me to do," she said.  "What are you doing here?"
	"Why, Major, I've come to escort you to your new home," he said, 
holding out his arm for her to hold.  At her glare, he lowered his arm 
and added, "You needn't worry, Major, my bodyguards are waiting just 
outside to chaperone us.  I can assure you that I will be the perfect 
gentleman."
	"No, thank you, Dukat, but I can find my own way.  I don't need your 
help."
	Dukat's charming demeanor instantly evaporated, and he took a small 
step closer to her.  "Major, I - I was hoping you would do me the 
honor of allowing me to accompany you.  I know you don't need my help, 
but I had hoped you would at least accept my company."
	His voice was unusually hesitant, but Kira was still wary of his 
motives.  "What do you want, Dukat?"  she sighed with exasperation.
	He came even closer, and Kira ignored the instinct to step back.  
"You know I'm being transferred to Terra tomorrow?"  She nodded, 
wondering where he was going with this conversation.
	"I'll probably never see my homeworld or Bajor again.  There are only 
a few Cardassians in Federation prisons, but I'll still have to be 
heavily protected from those who are there.  As a result, I don't 
think I'll have many opportunities for stimulating conversation or 
pleasant company.  With your permission, I'd like to make the most of 
this opportunity, with you, while I still have the chance."  He bowed 
deeply.
	Kira felt a pang of sympathy for him, but quickly repressed it.  
"Dukat, in case you forgot, there's a war going on right now.  A war 
that *you* started.  Shooing away your fear of loneliness is not high 
on my list of priorities at the moment.  So if you will excuse me, I 
have work to do."  She zipped up her jacket and turned to retrieve a 
small clay lamp from the table beside her bed.
	He pointed at the lamp as she carefully cradled it in her hand to 
avoid extinguishing the flame.  "What is that?"  he asked.
	She studied the flame as she spoke.  "It's an old Bajoran custom.  
Those who are in mourning for a lost loved one light a special lamp 
and say a prayer in their memory."
	"The Duranya ritual," he said, sinking to the bed.  "For Ziyal?"
	She nodded, not entirely surprised that he was familiar with it.  
"Generally, we don't perform the Duranya until *after* the death chant 
has been completed, but I didn't know when I would able to perform the 
death chant, and I needed to do *something* for her.  This is the 
least I could do."  She did not mention that the typical Duranya lamp 
was much larger, and hung from the ceiling with several chains;  the 
starbase's replicators were not equipped to produce Bajoran ritual 
artifacts, and she knew the meaning of the gesture was more important 
than its canonicity.
	Dukat cupped his hands and reached them out.  "May I?"  he asked.  
Kira gently placed the lamp in his hands, thrilling at the exotic 
coolness of his skin as her fingers came into contact with his.  For a 
brief moment, the flame seemed to grow brighter as they cradled the 
lamp together, her small brown hands resting in his large gray ones.  
Then she pulled her hands away, and the moment was gone.  Dukat sat in 
melancholy silence as he stared at the flame, and Kira felt the need 
to say something to break the silence.
	"You can have the lamp," she finally said.  It was the only neutral 
thing she could think of to say.  "You're her father, you should keep 
it."
	He lifted his head to look at her, and Kira nearly gasped at the 
profound sadness in his eyes.  "Thank you, Major," he said, and his 
voice was raspy, like wind blowing through leaves on an autumn day.
	She sat down on the bed next to him, and noticed as she did so that, 
although her feet missed the floor by several centimeters, Dukat's 
long legs were stretched out before him.  It occurred to her that he 
did not seem to be quite so tall when they were both standing.
	"I heard about Mekor," she said apropos of nothing.  "I'm so sorry."
	"Don't be."  His gaze had returned to the flame as it flickered and 
sputtered before his breath.  "He's right;  I *am* a traitor and a 
coward."
	"Can't say that I disagree with the traitor part, but I wouldn't call 
you a coward."
	"Then you're the only one."
	"You could have left me behind on the station.  That's not the act of 
a coward, what you did for me."
	"I should have gone to Cardassia Prime to face up to my crimes."
	"You mean face an execution squad?  Dukat, you gave the Federation 
information that could be vital in turning the tide of this war.  If 
you'd gone back to Prime, the Federation probably would have lost the 
war in a few months.  If the Federation loses this war, then...Bajor 
will never survive another invasion."
	"You said it yourself, Major, I started this war.  I handed my people 
on a platter to the Dominion, and now I've handed them to the 
Federation.  No matter who wins this war, Cardassia will be the loser.  
And I'm a coward for not accepting that responsibility on my head."
	"You said it *yourself*, Dukat, you're going to spend the rest of 
your life in a Terran prison under heavy guard with few or no 
visitors.  I don't call that shirking responsibility."
	"Will you come visit me, Major?"
	The question took her by surprise, and she stammered, before she even 
realized what she was saying, "Yes, of course I'll come visit you."  
There would be ample opportunity for banging her head into the wall 
later.
	She knew he saw right through her, as usual.  "You don't have to lie 
on my account, Major.  And I won't hold you to it.  That you cared 
enough to lie is enough to make me happy."
	Kira did not know how to respond, so she stood and lightly rested her 
hand on his broad shoulder until he looked up at her.  "How about that 
walk to my quarters?"
	His face brightened, although his eyes remained dark with sadness.  
"I'd like that very much, Major."  He stood, balancing the lamp in one 
hand while he kept his arm bent at the elbow and held it out for her 
grasp.  Kira linked her hand through the crook, being careful not to 
jostle his hand.  "Ready?"  he asked.
	"Let's go."
	Arm-in-arm they walked through the Sickbay doors and turned down the 
corridor.  Dukat's guards fell in behind them, and Kira had the 
strange feeling they really were acting as chaperones.  Together they 
strolled through the corridor in companionable silence.  It reminded 
Kira of stories she had heard as a child, of Bajoran lords and ladies 
walking the Promenade in the capital city on sunny days, their family 
wealth and finery on brilliant display, before the Occupation put an 
end to such frivolities.  Then the Promenade was filled with 
Cardassian infantry units conducting parade drills.  She tried to put 
those images out of her mind, to focus on what Bajor had once been and 
would someday be again.
	They reached her quarters all too quickly, Kira thought, and she 
stifled a sigh as she keyed the door open.  Instead of returning to 
his holding cell, however, Dukat followed her in, as the guards took 
up position right outside.  He wasted no time in making himself at 
home as he placed the lamp on a table and walked up to the replicator.
	"One red leaf tea and one raktajino," he said.  Kira placed her hands 
on her hips and frowned at him. 
	"Voiceprint not authorized," the computer replied, and Kira nearly 
guffawed at Dukat's expression of shock and astonishment.
	"Surely you didn't think Captain Sisko would grant you access to a 
replicator?"  she asked.
	Dukat shook his head.  "Just trying to catch him in an oversight," he 
said.  "Major, would you do the honors?"
	Kira repeated the order, and two cups shimmered into existence.  She 
handed the tea to Dukat and took her raktajino to the sofa, where she 
sat down.  The short walk from Sickbay to her quarters had tired her 
more than she expected, and she was suddenly grateful for Dukat's 
support.
	Not that she would ever admit it.
	She wrapped her fingers around the cup, feeling the heat suffuse her 
fingers, and inhaled the pungent steam as she studied a symmetrical 
pattern of bubbles on the surface of the liquid.  Several minutes 
elapsed before she realized that Dukat was being uncharacteristically 
quiet.  She shifted in her seat so she could watch him as he leaned 
against the porthole sipping his tea, his thoughts light-years away.  
He must have either sensed her movement or her gaze, because he 
glanced at her and gave her a sad smile.
	"I was just thinking about Ziyal," he said, answering her unspoken 
question.  "When I took her to Prime, Mekor was the only one of my 
other children who would have anything to do with her.  Of course, he 
was just a child, and obviously didn't know any better until his 
mother straightened him out."
	"Do you think he knows what Damar did?"
	Dukat shrugged.  "Does it matter?"
	"I don't know.  Does it?"
	There was no immediate answer forthcoming.  After several more 
minutes of silence, Dukat said, "I can't quite figure out what Damar 
hopes to accomplish by adopting Mekor.  Cardassia is a meritocracy, so 
it's not as though my son could inherit the dictatorship.  He's too 
young even to be an effective Dominion puppet."  He grew silent again.  
"He'll be fif...no, *four*teen, this winter.  I had arranged an 
internship with the Cultural Attache' to begin as soon as the school 
season was complete, and his mother had just enrolled him in a dance 
class."
	Kira was flabbergasted.  "A *dance* class?"
	Dukat laughed.  "Bajorans aren't the only people with a taste for the 
expressive arts, dear Major.  Every Cardassian of high standing is 
expected to possess at least a functional familiarity with the basic 
steps of the courtly dances.  They come in very handy at diplomatic 
functions."  He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin with 
pride.  "I'll have you know, I was *quite* the dancer in my youth.  
Many a fine young lady was eager to have me escort her onto the floor.  
I even took home a few awards."
	Kira's eyebrow went up as her voice took on a teasing tone.  "I can 
just imagine."
	His face registered mock offense.  "It's true.  You can ask Garak, if 
you don't believe me."
	"I'll take your word for it."
	He placed his teacup on the windowsill and came toward her, holding 
out his hands.  "I'll show you."
	Kira's eyes grew wide.  "You're asking me to dance with you?  I don't 
know any Cardassian 'courtly dances'!"
	Dukat waved one hand dismissively.  "I'll teach you.  They're so easy 
even a Klingon could learn one in a few minutes.  Come."
	Kira shook her head.  "I don't think so, Dukat.  I'm not quite up to 
the challenge right now."  The challenge she hoped to avoid was not 
that of trying to dance Cardassian-style;  she wanted to avoid all 
physical contact with him, lest it lead to other types of contact.  
His serpentine charm was beginning to affect her again.
	His easy humor deflated somewhat as he sat down heavily next to her.  
"I don't think you'll get another opportunity to learn the Cardassian 
Imperial Waltz from someone as skilled and graceful as me," he sighed.
	"Maybe you can teach me when I come visit you on Terra," she said, 
teasing him, but at the same time trying not to sound too mocking.
	His eyes gleamed, and Kira held her breath.  She knew that look;  it 
meant trouble.  "Yes, maybe so.  Then...perhaps --" his voice grew 
very low and he took hold of her hand in both of his "-- you could 
teach me the Dance of Eternal Longing?"
	Kira yanked her hand back as she moved as far away from him as 
quickly as possible, spilling her drink in the process.  She was 
shaking with fear and rage as she cried, "Do you have to spoil 
*everything*, Dukat?  Can't we have a decent conversation without you 
turning it into a...a...*seduction*?  Do you have *any* idea what the 
Dance of Eternal Longing is about?"
	Dukat approached her carefully as she inched along the wall opposite 
him.  "What have I said that upsets you so much, Major?"
	She shook her head, refusing to speak, refusing to inhale his 
encroaching scent.
	"Does it bother you that I know enough about the dance to know what 
it means?  Or...does it bother you that I suggested you perform it for 
me?"  His voice was as smooth as Jumja sap as he pressed one hand 
against the wall over her head and leaned close to her ear.  "You 
*did* promise to come visit me in prison."
	She ground her teeth in fury.  "I lied."
	Dukat inhaled deeply, and Kira closed her eyes against the reality of 
her situation.  As usual, her pheromones were betraying her more 
rational wishes.  "Major, you are in *quite* a state."
	She pushed herself away from the wall and walked, shaky from 
exhaustion and...other feelings...to the other side of the room.  She 
was not the only person in the room producing pheromones, and Dukat's 
heady aroma was beginning to make her eyes water.  With more control 
than she knew she had, she said, "I think it's best that you leave.  
I'm...not up to full strength, and Sisko is expecting me to report for 
duty in less than an hour.  I - I need to rest for a few minutes 
before heading to his office."  How stupid could she be, admitting her 
weakness to him?  Dukat would be a fool not to exploit it.
	The predatory gleam in Dukat's eyes vanished as concern knitted his 
eye ridges, surprising her with his unexpected reaction.  "Major, I am 
terribly sorry.  I've obviously overstayed my welcome."  He retrieved 
his teacup from the windowsill and placed it in the recycler.  Kira 
remained frozen in place, afraid to move lest she collapse in his 
presence.  Kira noticed that he was taking care not to pass too 
closely to her, and wondered at his uncharacteristic caution.
	He had almost reached the door, when she would finally be able to 
breathe freely, but he turned at the last moment.  "I'm not one for 
long goodbyes, Major, so I'll just say that it has been an honor and a 
privilege to know you these past few years.  I hope that someday we 
may renew our acquaintance."
	His farewell statement was so simple, so guileless, so unlike the 
irascible Gul Dukat Kira thought she knew, that she could only swallow 
noisily and nod in reply.  Apparently it was sufficient, because he 
turned and strode through the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

	Kira collapsed on the sofa.  Quite a state, indeed!  What in the Name 
of the Prophets had possessed him to mention the Dance of Eternal 
Longing?  Did he know its importance in Bajoran folklore?  Did he 
understand the role it played in adolescent girls' fantasies?  Knowing 
Dukat, he probably knew more about it than she did;  there was little 
about Bajoran culture and tradition with which he was *not* familiar.

	The Dance of Eternal Longing, Kira had learned from her older friends 
in the Shakaar, was an ancient fertility ritual so old as to almost be 
an old wives' tale.  According to the legend that accompanied the 
ritual, it commemorated the plight of a young girl sacrificed to save 
her village from a plague that was killing all the young men, leaving 
childless widows behind.  An oracle had told the village vedek that 
only a girl pure in spirit and unblemished by love could seduce the 
pagh-wraith that had inflicted the plague, so the vedek searched high 
and low for the proper sacrifice, only to discover that it was his own 
daughter.  He was heartbroken, but the villagers were desperate and 
the girl insisted that she be allowed to go to the pagh-wraith.  The 
next morning she walked into the woods with nothing but courage as her 
guide.
	She walked for several hours, until the trees grew so thickly 
together no sunlight could break through the leaves.  Exhausted and 
hungry, she fell asleep at the foot of a massive Jumja tree.  She 
awoke to find the pagh-wraith, a hideous, smelly, loathsome creature, 
staring at her as though he were about to devour her.  She was 
terrified, but remained calm.
	"What do you want?"  he growled at her.
	"I've come to ask you to lift the curse from my village so our women 
may have husbands and children."
	"What about you?  Do you want a husband and children?"
	The girl said, "All I want is to help my village and make my father 
happy."
	"You are a very selfless creature," the pagh-wraith said, "so I will 
reward you by becoming your husband and filling you with children."  
The girl could think of many other ways by which she would rather be 
rewarded, but said nothing as the pagh-wraith threw her over his 
shoulder and carried her to his cave.
	When they reached the cave, the girl noticed that it was filled with 
the paghs of all the children the pagh-wraith's curse had prevented 
from being born, held captive by chains of pure gold.  "These will be 
our children," the wraith said, "but if you want me to set them free 
you must first dance for me."  The girl was puzzled by his request, 
but obediently complied.
	First she danced the story of her village, then the story of the 
founding of the Celestial Temple, then the story of the first man and 
the first woman in the Garden of Exquisite Splendor.  And when she had 
danced every dance she knew, she danced her own dance, a dance formed 
from within her pagh, expressing all her sorrow for the imprisoned 
paghs and her longing to set her village free of the curse.  As he 
watched her twirl and leap with a divinely-inspired grace, the 
pagh-wraith felt himself begin to transform from within, his stone 
heart filling with an eternal longing for light and beauty as his 
hideous mask fell away, revealing his true self.
	Her dance at last complete, the girl collapsed to the floor.  When 
she looked up to see the wraith's reaction, she was astonished to see 
a handsome young prince standing before her, the dark cave that had 
held the paghs captive transformed into a magnificent palace filled 
with beautiful, happy children.  The dark woods surrounding the cave 
had also changed into a fertile garden, filled with every kind of 
plant and animal known to Bajor.
	Her dance had broken the curse, and she remained with the prince as 
they raised the children to love light and beauty and respect the 
teachings of the Prophets, until the time came for the happy pair to 
pass from this life, when the Prophets, in their infinite wisdom, set 
their paghs permanently in the heavens for all to see as a sign of 
their true love.

	Kira remembered the cold winter nights the women in the Shakaar would 
gather around a blazing fire and warm each other with bawdy tales 
about virgins ravished by pagh-wraiths and the legendary effect the 
Dance of Eternal Longing was supposed to have on Bajoran men.  Those 
nights, she fondly recalled, embodied her earliest experiences with 
Bajoran sexuality, and the stories she heard about the Dance of 
Eternal Longing were a central part of those memories.  The women 
would bundle themselves in enormous blankets, and the elders would 
talk about the days, centuries past, when the dance was believed to 
possess mystical powers that could induce fertility in a man.  The 
girls - Kira among them - would giggle to each other as the older 
women described in lascivious detail its effects on the male anatomy, 
and the many astounding and pleasurable uses for that particular 
appendage.  As the night wore on the tales grew more and more raunchy, 
and sounds of shuffling and moans could be heard emanating from 
beneath some of the blankets, and some of the women crept away to join 
their male comrades, but still Kira's curiosity about the Dance of 
Eternal Longing was unsatisfied. 
	One night, as the remains of a once-roaring fire lay smoldering, Kira 
screwed up the courage to ask Chivas Panat, the oldest woman in the 
cell, what the dance entailed.  Chivas slid down the log they were 
perched on and wrapped one end of her blanket around Kira, tightening 
her embrace until Kira's head rested against her shoulder.
	"The basic steps are quite simple," she began, taking a stick and 
sketching lines in the ashes as she described the movements.  "Anyone 
can do them, but they signify nothing if not done in the proper 
context or the right frame of mind.  What makes the Dance of Eternal 
Longing such a powerful tool is what *you* put into it.  The gestures 
remain the same, but the spirit and the style are unique to each 
woman.  Unfortunately, women of the younger generations don't 
understand that;  to them, it's just an easy and traditional way to 
seduce men."  She jerked her head in the direction where some of the 
women had gone to lie with the men.  "I'll wager Shakaar has seen it 
done at least a dozen times.  These young women think it means they 
can decorate themselves with jewels and bells and fine silks and with 
a few wiggles of their hips and a shake of their breasts they'll have 
a man grunting and squealing like a vole in heat."  Chivas took a 
long, deep breath as she stared into the embers.  "If she performs the 
Dance of Eternal Longing properly, a woman will only perform it once 
in her life, for only one man."
	"Have you ever danced?"  Kira asked.
	Chivas smiled, and there was a softness to her features Kira had not 
seen before.  "Yes," she said.  "I danced for the man I married, the 
first night we made love."
	"Is it true, what they say about it making men fertile?"
	"I had thirteen children.  What does that tell you?"
	Kira gasped in shock and envy.  "He - your husband - must have been 
very pleasing to you."
	"*Very* pleasing," Chivas said, chuckling as Kira gasped again.  She 
patted the girl on the head as they rocked back and forth on the log.  
"Don't worry, my child, when your time comes you will understand.  
Just promise me one thing:  if you ever dance the Dance of Eternal 
Longing for any man, be sure in your heart that he is the man for you.  
If there is love in your heart, he will see it in your movements, and 
he will be yours forever.  Do you promise?"  She stared fiercely at 
Kira, and the young girl who had not yet experienced her first kiss 
made a solemn oath, calling upon the Prophets to witness her pledge, 
to do as Chivas said.

	Chivas Panat was killed less than a month later, but Kira never 
forgot the promise she made that night before the dying embers, the 
old woman looking back on many years of love and passion and the young 
girl looking for guidance in the fine art of love.  She never forgot 
her promise when she fell in love with Bareil, nor later when she 
thought she was in love with Shakaar.  Neither of them had even 
thought to mention it, and she wondered if what Chivas had said, if 
some of Shakaar's former lovers had danced for him, was true. 
	She did not, and after they had gone their separate ways she wondered 
if she would ever dance the Dance of Eternal Longing.
	Her thoughts returning to Starbase 375 and the latest crisis of the 
Dominion War, Kira leaned her head back against the sofa cushions and 
cursed her fate.  Why, oh why, did Dukat have to even mention it?

* * * * * * * * * * 

	Kira was startled from her reverie by the doorchime.  "Come in," she 
called, hoping it was not Dukat, back for more of whatever it was 
Dukat wanted from her.
	It was not Dukat.  The doors slid open to reveal the other Cardassian 
currently in residence.  "Ah, Major Kira, I hope I'm not disturbing 
you?"  Garak asked.
	She pulled her feet off the table but made no effort to rise and 
greet him.  "No, Garak.  Is there something you need?"  she prompted 
as he stood in the doorway.
	He pointed to the chair opposite her.  "May I?"
	"Have a seat."
	Garak settled into the chair, all the while assessing her with that 
calculating stare that never failed to send a chill down her spine.  
"Have you, ah, recovered from your injuries, Major?"
	"Pretty much."
	"Doctor Bashir informs me that you suffered a point-blank disrupter 
wound."
	"Yes, that's right."
	"Serious stuff, all this.  It must have been quite an ordeal for you 
on the station."
	"I survived."  She was beginning to get irritated.  "Is there a 
reason for your visit, or are we going to talk at cross-purposes until 
you get bored and leave?"
	"Major!  I could never get bored by your company."  Kira snorted.  
"You are just too fascinating to a simple man like myself."
	"All right, Garak, out with it."
	"Out with what, Major?"
	"I'm not in the mood for one of your mind games, so just tell me why 
you're here and let's get it over with."
	It was not until Garak placed his hand on her knee that Kira realized 
he had been stealthily moving closer to her throughout the entire 
conversation.  Cardassians may not be the most subtle race in the 
galaxy, but they were certainly the sneakiest.
	"Major, why do you think you're here?"
	"Excuse me?"
	"Here on this starbase.  Why are you here?"
	"*Why*?"
	"Yes."
	"Because Gul Dukat brought me here?"  She did not know what else to 
say.  Any conversation with Garak was a puzzle, and she often found it 
best to choose the most direct response to anything he said.  Yet even 
her simple statements were often thrown back at her, twisted into a 
mockery of what she had been thinking when she spoke.  Trying to 
outwit Garak was like trying to outdrink Morn:  fruitless, and she 
usually ended up with a terrible headache afterwards.
	"Yes, yes, of course.  Gul Dukat brought you here.  He *rescued* you.  
He took personal responsibility for saving your life."
	"Yes, he did.  And for that I'm grateful."
	"Of course you are!"
	"Are you suggesting I shouldn't be?"
	"Well...if you think about it, if it hadn't been for his pact with 
the Dominion, you would have never been put in a position where you 
might get shot by a disrupter at close range."
	"Garak, that is so utterly ludicrous I can't believe I'm hearing it 
from you.  You're saying that Dukat allied himself with the Dominion, 
took control of Cardassia, took back the station, all so he could save 
my life?  I'm not buying it."
	"I said nothing of the kind, Major.  You did."
	"Oh, I see.  This is one of your 
let's-see-what-Kira-is-*really*-thinking games.  No thanks, Garak;  
I'm in no mood for riddles right now.  Least of all yours."
	"Major, let's be honest with each other --"
	"*Honest*?  You?"  Kira laughed humorlessly.
	"Humor me.  You and I both know about Dukat's, ah, *interest* in 
you."  Kira crossed her arms over her chest in an self-conscious 
protective gesture.  "Does his attraction disturb you?  Does it make 
you nervous?"
	Kira had to think about it.  There had been one exchange in Dukat's 
office on the station, about three months after Sisko left, when she 
had been afraid.  Dukat, however, had been more insinuating than 
threatening;  she had feared the repercussions of her vehement 
response, rather than anything he had actually said.  She certainly 
did not like the idea that Dukat had this...obsession...with her, but 
she did not especially care for Odo's crush on her, either.  She hated 
being placed on anybody's pedestal.
	"Not...especially, no.  It doesn't make sense, but it's never gone 
beyond innuendo."
	"'Never gone beyond innuendo'," he quoted.  "Would you like it to?"
	"What kind of a question is that?"
	"You *do* know how Cardassians court each other, don't you, Major?"
	She sighed.  "Yes, Garak, I know Cardassians flirt by insulting each 
other."
	"Has Dukat ever insulted you?"
	She had to think again.  "I don't...think so.  Nothing specific comes 
to mind.  Just his usual self-glorification."
	"Aha!"
	Kira was beyond confusion.  "Aha?"
	"Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps he's courting you 
Bajoran-style?  That perhaps he's trying to *earn* your affection, 
rather than intimidate it out of you?"
	"Why would he want to do that?  It's against his nature."
	"Exactly."  Garak leaned forward and looked her straight in the eye.  
She refused to blink.  "Look, Major, Dukat can't change who he is, or 
what he was.  He's in love with you, whether either of you wants to 
admit it or not.  But something in him is telling him not to attempt 
to win your heart the Cardassian way, because it will dredge up too 
many memories of the past.  If he starts insulting you, all you will 
recognize is racial prejudice and the horrors of the Occupation.  If, 
on the other hand, he shows you that there is a warm heart beating 
underneath all that armor and flesh, he just might have a chance.  If 
he can convince you to see that he is capable of just that slight 
change, that he can be compassionate and tender and generous, then how 
much more would it take for you to love him in return?"
	"Garak, why are you telling me all this?  The enmity between you and 
Dukat is well-known."
	His reply was filled with melancholy.  "Ah, my dear Major, I'm not 
doing this for Dukat.  I'm doing it for Ziyal.  She often told me how 
much she wished you and her father could put the past behind you and 
admit to what you both feel."
	"Dukat's feelings for me are *not* reciprocated."
	"Aren't they?  Are you so sure, Major?"
	"Of course I'm sure.  I may recognize that there's more to him - that 
he's more complex - than what I knew of him during the Occupation, but 
--"
	"Ah, but you see, Major, that's just the first step.  And you've 
already admitted to feeling gratitude, which means that he has a hold 
on you he didn't have before."
	"That's nonsense, Garak."
	"He's a handsome man, isn't he?  And not just by Cardassian 
standards."
	Kira felt the heat rise in her cheeks, which only served to heighten 
her discomfort.  "He - He - He's not unpleasant to look at."
	"Give yourself some credit, Major.  I've seen you watching him when 
you thought nobody else was looking."
	"Spying on me, Garak?"  She could not bring herself to feel as 
violated as she knew she should.
	He gave her a mysterious, but not unfriendly, smile.  "You know me.  
I like to watch people interact.  It entertains me."
	"I'm thrilled I was able to provide you with a few minutes' 
diversion."
	"You are too modest, my dear.  I've been watching your interactions 
with Dukat for many years.  Even before there was anything worth 
watching, I had my eye on you two.  Ziyal saw it, too."
	Kira felt a pang at the mention of Ziyal as she remembered a 
conversation, not too long ago, when Ziyal had confided in Kira her 
suspicions that Dukat carried a torch for Kira.  "You remind me of my 
mother," she had said at the time.  Kira pushed the memory to the back 
of her mind.  "Garak," she sighed, "Dukat may have feelings for me.  
He may even believe he's in love with me.  But it's all one-sided.  I 
don't return his feelings."
	Garak stood.  "Perhaps not now, dear Major.  But you've already come 
too far to go back to the way things once were.  You may not believe 
you can ever love him, but neither can you hate him like you used to."  
He approached the doors, and they slid open in anticipation of his 
departure.  "Think about what I said."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

	Dukat did not expect to see Kira waiting by the airlock to give him a 
last goodbye as Security escorted him to a waiting shuttle, although 
part of him almost wished she had been there.  In fact, Alpha shift 
had not even started as he was led, manacled, through the nearly empty 
corridors of Starbase 375, and he recognized none of the faces that 
passed by him.  Sisko had visited him the previous evening to ask some 
final questions about Damar, and Garak had flaunted his freedom in his 
face one more time, but for the most part the people Dukat knew from 
Terok Nor were occupied with the ongoing war effort.  Still, it would 
have been nice to see the major one more time, he thought.  He had 
obviously pushed the right - or wrong, depending on one's perspective 
- button during their last meeting, and he would have liked the chance 
to push it again, just to see her reaction.
	Another time, perhaps, he thought as the guards strapped him in to a 
seat in the shuttle's passenger bay.
	The war was beginning to escalate, according to the information he 
overheard in his holding cell.  Damar had almost completed dismantling 
the minefield, and Starfleet was supposedly amassing a huge armada to 
retake Terok Nor.  Dukat would have liked to be there, to defend the 
station against his current guardians.  Even if it meant death, it 
would have been a less ignominious defeat than his current prospects.
	If circumstances had been different, he wondered, would Kira have 
mourned him?  He would have to remember to ask her when next they met.
	If they ever met again.
	The shuttle pushed free of the docking pylon and turned its bow 
towards Terra.  Dukat had never visited Terra before, and he 
concentrated his thoughts on all that he had learned of it.  He would 
have to learn to like Terran food, he supposed;  he was not likely to 
find boiled taspar eggs in the prison kitchen.  What did the air on 
Terra smell like?  What would the climate be like?  Would he be warm 
enough, or would he be banished to a prison near one of the poles?  
Would he be fitted with a translation device, or would he have to 
speak Federation Standard?  Would he have access to other Cardassians?  
Would he be placed at the mercy of vengeful Bajorans and Maquis?
	Would Kira come visit him?
	What was it about Kira Nerys that fascinated him so?  She was not 
beautiful, not even by generous Bajoran standards, and her formal 
education was so far behind his own the disparity was laughable.  She 
had little or no sense of humor, as far as he could tell, and she was 
quick - too quick, in his opinion, to anger and too slow to forgive.  
So what was the hold she had on him?
	The truth, he had to admit, was that she challenged him.  Every 
exchange between them was rife with tension, intrigue and innuendo.  
She kept him on his toes, his wits sharp, and his blood pressure near 
the boiling point.  She was not afraid of him - or, if she was, she 
did a very good job of hiding it - and her courage impressed him.
	Time was, not so long ago, he could have had any Bajoran woman he 
wanted.  A look and a gesture to one of his men, and he would find the 
woman of his choice waiting in his bed a few hours later.  Some of 
them came willingly, most not, but in the end none of them refused the 
demands of the Prefect of Bajor.
	Naprem, on the other hand, had been different.  *She* laughed at him.  
She *laughed* at him!  She had knelt on his bed, completely and 
unashamedly naked, and tossed back her head and laughed uproariously 
when he entered the room and began removing his armor.  When he had 
asked her what was so funny, she replied, "Is the Prefect so insecure 
with his manliness that he has to kidnap his own property to satisfy 
his needs?"
	He raised his hand to strike her but she did not flinch, and her 
defiant stare made him lower his hand in wonder.  "Why did you come, 
then?"  he asked.  "You could have said no."
	Her answer provoked him as no other woman had.  "I heard that 
generations of sex with Cardassian women made Cardassian men terrible 
lovers.  I wanted to find out for myself if it was true."
	He spent the next eighteen years proving her wrong.
	Throughout their long courtship, Dukat had other dalliances, but 
Naprem never seemed to mind;  she even facilitated a few affairs.  She 
once told him that it was good for them both that he take other lovers 
on occasion, that it made him appreciate her all the more.  When she 
found out about Mekor, however, she had been furious.  He could 
remember the shrillness in her voice as she cried, "How could you?  
How could you make love with your *Cardassian* wife and give her 
another child, when you have a child with your *Bajoran* lover?"  
Naprem left him that night, taking Ziyal with her, and went into 
seclusion in the apartment he had given her in the capital city.
	It took him six months to win her back, and in the end it was the 
pledge bracelet that broke her resistance.  He never returned to his 
wife again.
	Naprem was fearless, and that was why he loved her.  In her own way, 
Kira reminded him of Naprem:  haughty, courageous, provocative, 
challenging.  If circumstances had been different, he told himself, he 
knew that Kira would have come to appreciate and love him as Naprem 
once had.
	At least, that was what he chose to believe. 
	Dukat's attention was diverted by an exchange between the pilot and 
co-pilot.  Apparently they had picked up a ship on their long-range 
sensors, and it was not responding to their orders to maintain a clear 
corridor.  Starfleet was taking no chances with Dukat;  not only was 
he, personally, under heavily armed guard at all times, but his 
shuttle had also been equipped with the latest in sensor and weapons 
technology, and the pilot had been ordered to follow a specific flight 
path between the starbase and Terra.  Sisko had told Dukat that only 
he and the pilot knew all the details - time of departure, flight 
plan, shuttle specifications, and so forth.  Yet Dukat knew that spies 
- perhaps even former Obsidian Order spies - could have accessed that 
information without anyone being the wiser.  He was too valuable a 
target for some opportunistic assassin not to try to take a potshot at 
him.
	Dukat leaned forward in his seat as much as the restraints would 
allow, and tried to hear as much of the exchange as his limited 
hearing made possible.  The guard seated next to him noticed his 
movement and stood in the doorway between the cockpit and the 
passenger bay as he spoke to the flight crew, thus effectively 
blocking the conversation from Dukat.
	He had nevertheless overheard enough to sense that something was 
wrong, and it was not just the mysterious ship headed directly for 
them.  Although he could not be certain, Terran voices being modulated 
differently than Cardassian voices, Dukat thought he heard an 
unwarranted degree of confidence in the pilot's voice as he repeated 
his hails to the oncoming ship.  Terrans, if he remembered correctly, 
tended to raise the pitch of their voices as they neared the end of a 
question, or when they were uncertain or afraid.  The pilot's voice, 
in contrast, was smooth and uneven.  Unfortunately, Dukat's brute of a 
guard was standing between him and the pilot, and he could no longer 
hear what was being said.  He hated not knowing everything that was 
happening, especially when it pertained - however obliquely - to him.
	Dukat's irritation and impatience increased.  Humans could be so 
inconsiderate sometimes.  He began to try to free himself from the 
restraints, twisting about in his seat to loosen them enough to allow 
him to apply greater pressure to the links.  The guard must have heard 
him shuffling around, because he turned away from the cockpit.  "What 
do you think you're doing?"  he asked, bending down to adjust the 
restraints.
	The phaser blast coming from behind caught the guard completely 
unprepared, and he toppled over onto Dukat, pinning the Cardassian 
under his dead weight.  Rocking his shoulders to shift the guard's 
head out of his way, Dukat saw a similar blast eliminate the co-pilot.  
He then found himself looking up into the cold eyes of the pilot 
leering down at him with a malicious expression that betrayed his 
single-minded purpose.
	"Let me guess," Dukat said, unflappable despite the danger or the 
rather compromising position in which he found himself, "former 
Maquis?"
	The pilot pistol-whipped him.  Dukat tasted blood and his vision grew 
blurry.  "Shut up, you arrogant spoonhead," the pilot said.
	Dukat rolled his eyes.  He had been in far worse situations than 
this, and the pilot was obviously no match for his superior intellect 
and experience.  "Oh, how clever," he slurred through the blood 
filling his mouth.  "Judging from your original choice of vernacular, 
I'd say you didn't plan this mission."  He did not flinch when the 
pilot struck him again, but instead spat blood at him, laughing as the 
man grimaced in disgust.  "What's the matter, does your own barbarism 
sicken you?  Was your mother a Klingon, or are you a throwback to the 
Terran Dark Ages?"
	The pilot raised the phaser, this time to fire at Dukat, but he must 
have thought better of it because he lowered it as he smirked at him.  
"I'm under orders to shoot your scaly hide, but I've got a better 
idea."
	"Please enlighten me.  I'd be thrilled to know what qualifies as a 
'better idea' in your pathetic excuse for a brain."
	The man should have shot him when he had the chance, although Dukat 
was not about to tell him that.  He had outwitted far superior enemies 
driven by overconfidence to make foolish mistakes, and this man would 
have lost if he had tried to match wits with a Bolian.  Yet Dukat was 
somewhat disturbed by the pilot's obsession with pointless brutality 
and mayhem.  Unrestrained savagery was a dangerous trait, especially 
in a race as uncivilized as humans.  There is no obstacle that a 
properly disciplined mind cannot overcome, Dukat reminded himself as 
the pilot destroyed the helm controls, shield emitters, life support 
and the transporter controls with his phaser.
	"That was brilliant.  How are you going to escape?"  Dukat asked.
	"Just like this."  He took a hand-held communicator from beneath his 
tunic and engaged it.  "Juarez to Ticonderoga.  Mission accomplished."
	A female voice replied, "Is he dead?"
	"He will be soon enough."  Dukat just glowered at him.  "I'm ready to 
beam over."
	"You were supposed to kill him, Juarez."
	"I decided to have a little fun with him first.  Give him time to 
think about all the pain he's inflicted on others.  Then let him 
suffocate while the hull collapses around him.  There's no way he can 
escape."
	"And what if somebody comes to rescue him?"
	"They won't.  This corridor is off limits for another sixteen hours.  
It'll be too late then."
	There was a deep sigh on the other end of the link, and Dukat thought 
he heard the woman mutter "idiot" under her breath.  Then, 
"Acknowledged.  Stand by for transport."
	Juarez took the opportunity to beat Dukat one last time before the 
transporter beam took him away.  Dukat heard the crack of shattered 
bones as pain radiated through his jaw and down into his neck ridges.
	It brought Dukat some small degree of satisfaction a few seconds 
later when Juarez' atoms rematerialized just beyond the forward 
viewscreen, his face frozen by the frigid vacuum of space into a 
hideous mask of triumph and surprise.
	A blast of phaser fire rocked the shuttle, throwing the dead guard 
covering Dukat's body to the floor, as Juarez' compatriots destroyed 
the port nacelle.  Flames exploded from the consoles and alarms 
sounded from all directions.
	The impact loosened Dukat's restraints enough that he was able to 
wrestle his hands free, and he quickly pulled the restraining straps 
out of the buckles and made his way into the smoking cockpit.  Juarez 
had blasted his way through every instrument that Dukat could have 
used to defend himself against another attack or flee for safety.  
Through the haze of smoke and fire Dukat saw the Ticonderoga circling 
around for another attack and he cursed himself for ever having 
trusted Sisko.  Without shields, propulsion, or life support, he was 
as good as a praying Bajoran.  His only hope was the upgraded weapons 
system, but he was unfamiliar with Starfleet firing protocols, and 
there was no time for mistakes.  The Ticonderoga would soon be in 
firing range.
	Dukat was not prepared to surrender, not yet.  He still had a few 
tricks up his sleeve.  He had not crawled his way up through the ranks 
of the Cardassian military on charm alone.
	He made a few quick calculations in his head, then programmed the 
coordinates into the targeting computer.  Just as the phaser banks on 
the other ship began to glow, he fired.
	It *almost* worked.
	He had succeeded in targeting the phasers to slice through the 
Ticonderoga, but as it sheared apart a large piece of the hull struck 
the side of his shuttle, sending it careening out of control towards a 
large planet that swerved into view as gravity began to pull the 
shuttle to its surface.
	There was little that Dukat could do to stop the shuttle's inexorable 
plunge into the planet's atmosphere.  He knew that if the shuttle 
entered the atmosphere at too steep an angle, the resulting friction 
would burn the hull to a crisp.  If it entered at too shallow an 
angle, it would skip across the atmosphere until the keel broke apart.
	His only chance was Chance itself.
	Fortunately, Chance was on his side, at least for the moment.  The 
shuttle entered the atmosphere at about a 25 degree angle, just enough 
to heat the outer hull without igniting it.  The temperature inside 
the shuttle became stifling, however, and the raging inferno was 
feeding on the remaining oxygen.  Dukat felt the world around him grow 
fuzzy and indistinct as he braced himself for the inevitable impact.  
He was oblivious to the searing heat and flames, oblivious to the 
blinding light reflected from the planet's barren surface, oblivious 
to the encroaching darkness that lapped at the edges of his mind, as 
he trained his thoughts on the first pleasant image that crept into 
view.  If he was going to die, then he would die with a smile on his 
face.
	When the impact hit, throwing Dukat simultaneously backwards and 
forwards as the shuttle disintegrated around him, the last thought on 
Dukat's mind was of Kira.
	Then oblivion fell, enshrouding Dukat with its comforting presence.

* * * * * * * * * *

	Kira arrived at Sisko's office as quickly as possible.  His call had 
sounded urgent, and with the planned attack on the station less than a 
day away, she was taking no chances.  His response to her requested 
entry was almost concurrent with the request itself.
	"You wanted to see me, Captain?"  Kira asked, standing before his 
desk.
	"Have a seat, Major."
	Sisko leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his 
chin.  Kira recognized the gesture;  it was not a good sign.  She took 
the chair to her left and draped her arms over the rests.
	"I've just heard from Starfleet Command headquarters on Earth."  Kira 
gave him a look that urged him to continue.  "Gul Dukat's shuttle 
never arrived."
	Kira did not know what to think.  This was not what she had been 
expecting to hear.  "When was he due?"  she asked.
	"Yesterday.  The last transmission we received, approximately 
thirty-eight hours ago, was a report of an unauthorized ship 
trespassing in the flight corridor we established for the shuttle."
	"And you haven't heard anything since then?"
	Sisko shook his head.  "I suspect foul play was somehow involved."  
Something in his manner caught Kira's attention, and she stiffened as 
anger flooded her veins.  Sisko's hand went up, halting her retort.  
"I didn't mean for that to come out sounding like an accusation, 
Major.  If you had intended to do away with Dukat, you would have done 
so long ago, and in full view."
	Her mind raced as she considered various possibilities.  "Do you 
think Garak might have been involved?"
	Sisko shrugged.  "I doubt it, but it's certainly within the realm of 
possibility.  At the moment, however, Starfleet doesn't have the time 
or resources to investigate Dukat's disappearance."
	Kira's eyes widened with comprehension.  "Which is why you called me 
in here."
	"Exactly."
	"Captain, you can't --"
	Sisko leaned forward.  "Major, I can't risk involving you in this 
war.  You are *still* the Bajoran Liaison Officer, and as such your 
primary responsibility is to Bajor.  You're here only because Dukat 
brought you here, because you were wounded on the station.  
If...*When* we retake Deep Space Nine, I want you back as my first 
officer.  But I don't want you fighting in this war, not unless it 
becomes absolutely necessary.  This is *not* Bajor's war to fight.  I 
won't be responsible for the loss of any Bajoran lives if I can help 
it.  Do you understand?"
	Kira, who had risen from her seat to protest his speech, sank back 
down.  "Yes, sir."
	Sisko leaned back again.  "Good."  He pushed a padd across the desk, 
and Kira took it.  "Everything you need to know is right there:  the 
shuttle's identification, engineering schematics, crew manifest, 
flight plan and schedule.  I want you to find anything that will tell 
us what happened - wreckage, weapons signatures, casualties.  I've set 
aside a runabout for your use."
	Kira nodded as she scanned the information.  "Should I take Doctor 
Bashir?  In case there are survivors?"
	Sisko considered her request.  "I could use him on the Defiant, but 
I'll allow it.  I want you to leave as soon as possible.  If this is 
Dukat's doing, it could severely jeopardize our battle plan."
	"I'll get right on it, sir."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

	Eight hours had passed before Bashir felt Dukat was stable enough to 
attempt removing his uniform.  Kira was relieved.  While Bashir had 
remained seated on the ground, simultaneously monitoring the 
intravenous drip and Dukat's condition, she had erected the shelter, 
set up camp, and kept Dukat's skin moistened with a jury-rigged 
sprinkler system circulating through the runabout's environmental 
control system.  Despite her exhaustion, she took comfort in the 
realization that, as time wore on and Dukat's outermost scales fell 
away, the underlying skin appeared to be improving in health and 
elasticity.  She remembered how thin-skinned - both physically and 
psychologically - Cardassians were, and Bashir had mentioned that if 
the burns extended beyond Dukat's third epidermal layer he would have 
to be placed in stasis until new skin could be regenerated - a 
difficult task, considering the complex network of scales and ridges 
on the Cardassian body.
	The sun had gone down several hours ago, but the arid surface 
continued to radiate enough heat to keep them warm without a fire.  It 
was a good thing, Kira thought as she decreased the water pressure to 
a fine mist at Bashir's request.  The Cardassian resistance to extreme 
heat may turn out to be Dukat's only hope.  Any sudden chill would 
surely kill him.
	Kneeling in the mud on Dukat's right, she gently lifted his arm and 
unbuckled the fasteners between his underarm and rib cage, holding her 
breath as she peeled the still-warm plate away.  Bashir did the same 
on the left side.  The bodysuit covering Dukat's arms remained intact, 
a good sign that the skin beneath was at least healthy, if not 
undamaged.  Kira took a moment to offer a prayer of thanks.
	Removing the breast plate would require a joint effort to lift it 
over Dukat's head and pull it out from under his back.  "If we're 
lucky," Bashir said, "his back was protected from the heat.  If not, 
the mud should provide a cushion."
	Kira nodded as she unbuckled the fasteners on her side.  A chunk of 
melted hull fused to the plate made it difficult for Bashir to 
unbuckle his side, so Kira leaned over Dukat's chest, being careful 
not to touch him, and tugged at the fasteners until they 
disintegrated, weakened by the intense heat.  She then kneeled beside 
Dukat's head and lifted it from the ground, cradling it in her hands 
as Bashir attempted to tug the uniform above Dukat's shoulders.  The 
silky softness of Dukat's hair surprised her;  she had always presumed 
Cardassian hair to be coarse, like their skin.  She was tempted to run 
her fingers through his scalp.
	A grating noise made them both stop, and Bashir quickly scanned Dukat 
for signs of distress or additional injury.
	Kira exhaled a sigh of relief when Bashir said, "His uniform's caught 
on a piece of metal.  I don't think we'll be able to pull it off 
without causing significant damage."
	"Do you have a laser scalpel in your medkit?"  Kira asked.  Bashir 
nodded.  "Maybe we could cut through the uniform at the shoulders and 
just remove the chest portion."
	Bashir thought for a moment, then said, "That'll work."
	As he turned to his medkit to retrieve the scalpel, Kira took the 
opportunity to brush her fingers around Dukat's eye ridges.  She 
inhaled sharply when the nictitating membranes snapped shut as several 
dead scales sloughed free and fell into his eyes.  He showed no other 
signs of life - or death - so Kira continued her delicate exploration 
of his contours, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the 
surface of his skin.  Down the ridge just above his left temple, then 
around the eye until it met the nose ridge, then following the long 
line of his nose until the ridge stopped just above his upper lip.  
Beginning at the lobe of his left ear, following his strong jawline, 
across his chin, and back up to his right ear.  The same course with 
the ridges on the right side of his face as with the left.  The hollow 
in the center of his forehead, just above his nose, she saved for 
last.  How many times had she wondered at its evolutionary purpose?  
She shifted slightly, just enough to allow her to bend over and blow 
across the slight depression, marveling at the tiny water droplets as 
they skittered across its gently sloping surface.
	How strange it was, to see her greatest adversary so frail and 
weakened, his life literally in her hands.  For the first time since 
she met Dukat, Kira felt like she was in complete control.  It was 
exhilarating and unsettling at the same time.
	"Don't give up on me," she whispered.  "We're doing all we can.  
*Please*."
	She thought back on their last confrontation.  With Dukat, *every* 
meeting, no matter how polite and innocuous, was a confrontation.  
Subtlety was not the Cardassian way.  It was not Kira's way either, 
and she wondered if that was what had attracted Dukat to her in the 
first place.  She may have been afraid of him, or of the legacy he 
left on Bajor, but she was not impressed or awestruck by him, and she 
made no effort to hide her disdain.  As the years progressed, however, 
and as time slowly erased the effects of his brutal reign, Kira's 
disdain of what he had been began to evolve into a grudging respect 
for what he had become.  She could never forgive his past, but she had 
learned, against every rational instinct, to accept that he was 
capable of change.  As long as the balance of power between them 
remained relatively equal, Dukat's gradual transformation rang true.  
When he tried to shift the scales in his favor, however, her old 
animosity resurfaced with a vengeance.
	Realization dawned on Kira.  She *was* in control.  Complete control.  
She always had been, even when she seemed to be at Dukat's mercy.  
Even when he seemed to try to usurp power from her, he always pulled 
back at just the last minute, and let her resume control.  In all 
these years, he could have easily overpowered her.  But he never did.  
And he never would, not without her permission.
	He respected her.
	Had Dukat ever respected anyone in his life?  Had he ever admired 
anyone?  Kira could think of no one, yet all the evidence seemed to 
point to the fact that he respected *her*.  A Bajoran woman.  His 
former property.  His enemy.
	Bashir turned back toward them, and he must have seen something in 
Kira's face, because he placed his hand on her shoulder.  "Nerys?"  he 
asked.  Kira lifted her unseeing eyes to his.  "Is something wrong?"
	A soft smile appeared.  "No, Doctor," she said.
	He gave her a quizzical look, and her eyes quickly snapped back into 
focus.  "If he's survived this long, he'll recover.  Cardassians have 
a remarkable will to live, although I doubt I need to tell you that."
	"Yes, Doctor.  They do.  Did you find that laser scalpel?"  The old 
Kira was back in full force.
	Bashir activated the tool and began cutting through the uniform at 
the shoulder seams.  Kira knew from experience that the armor was made 
of a tough alloy fairly impervious to most extremes of temperature and 
pressure, but the stress Dukat's uniform had endured protecting him 
from the crash had weakened it enough that the laser sliced through 
the seams with minimal output.  In a matter of minutes Bashir had 
completely separated the chest plate from the back plate, and he 
deactivated the laser and returned it to its case.
	"Ready, Major?"  Bashir asked.  Kira gently placed Dukat's head back 
on the ground and moved around to his right side.  Sliding her fingers 
between the chest and back plates next to his rib cage, she began to 
lift the plate free of Dukat's torso.
	"Wait a minute, I'm caught."  The hull fragment that had hampered 
Bashir's effort to unbuckle the armor before had snagged the inside of 
Dukat's left elbow, tearing through the bodysuit and leaving a deep 
gash in the tender skin beneath.  Kira noticed with mixed relief that 
blood spurted from the wound;  it meant that the electrolyte solution 
had rehydrated him enough to get his blood flowing again.  She waited 
for Bashir to extract a shard from the wound, then quickly close it 
with a dermal regenerator.  "Okay."
	As she continued to lift the armor away from Dukat's body, the weight 
began to press on her fingers and she had to slide first one hand, 
then the other, fully under the plate.  Although his bodysuit remained 
as a barrier between her skin and his, it was the first time she had 
come into contact with his unarmored chest.  The underside of the 
armor was still warm, but his heat-retardant bodysuit where her 
knuckles brushed against it was cool to the touch.  She suppressed a 
hiss of delight.
	It took Kira and Bashir nearly half an hour to separate the plate 
from Dukat's chest and lift it away.  On the one hand, Bashir wanted 
to take no chances with  inadvertently removing any of Dukat's skin 
with his armor;  on the other, the plate was quite heavy.
	"How do they *sleep* with all this weight pressing on them?"  Bashir 
muttered through clenched teeth as he tried to draw his long legs 
under him.  "I'd be breathless in less than a minute if I tried to lie 
down on my back with a hundred kilos sitting on my chest."
	"You're forgetting their ribcages are almost one solid piece of 
bone," Kira reminded him.  "They can withstand much more pressure than 
humans and Bajorans.  Besides, Dukat's worn his armor for so long he 
probably can't sleep *without* it."  She tried to grin but the 
exertion of lifting the plate made it appear as a grimace.  "Call it a 
Cardassian security blanket."
	Bashir's laughter came out as a grunt.  "Somehow I can't imagine Gul 
Dukat being insecure about *anything*."
	Her response was noncommittal.  "Even Cardassians have their 
weaknesses."  Bashir gave her a strange look, but said nothing.
	At last Bashir maneuvered himself into a position that enabled him to 
rise to a standing position.  Kira braced her hands under the plate, 
then at his command they slowly rose, bearing the brunt of the weight 
in their legs, until they were both erect.  Then Bashir directed her 
to edge towards Dukat's feet, and, after a few shuffling steps, the 
plate was completely clear of his body.  With a grunt and a heave, 
they tossed it on a heap of scrap.  Bashir wiped his hands on his 
pants and retrieved his medical tricorder as Kira kneeled by Dukat's 
side.
	Bashir provided a running commentary while he examined Dukat, but he 
might as well have been talking to himself.  Kira had never before 
seen Dukat quite so exposed, quite so...naked...and she was mesmerized 
by the sight, oblivious to the talking man right next to her.  Dukat 
was much more slender than she had expected;  his uniform made him 
seem almost larger than life.  Except for a few tears in his bodysuit, 
he was still modestly covered, but she could easily see the contoured 
ridges decorating his torso, and she knew that between those ridges 
lay overlapping layers of tiny silvery-white scales.  She had seen 
Cardassians unclothed before, so the patterns were not unfamiliar.  
The man who lay before her was no ordinary Cardassian, however, and 
she was tempted to reach out a hand and trace her fingers along the 
cloth-covered contours.  She resolved to wait until she would have the 
opportunity to do so at her leisure, without the risk of causing him 
further injury.
	"Have you heard a word I've said?"  Bashir's voice once again 
interrupted Kira's musings.
	"Hm?  Did you say something, Doctor?"
	"I *asked* if you thought it would be better to remove his bodysuit 
now, or wait until we can get him to the runabout.  The armor seems to 
have done a good job of protecting his vital organs from the heat and 
flames.  He's in no immediate danger."
	Kira chewed her lip, trying to control the impulse to urge Bashir to 
remove his bodysuit now, so she could examine Dukat in his natural 
state.  She felt a sudden wave of irritation at Cardassian 
prudishness, a stark contrast to Bajoran aesthetics.  "It might be 
better to leave it on for now," she finally said.  "It'll protect him 
from the elements, until we can get him out of this heat."
	Bashir nodded his agreement, but looked at her sternly.  "Nerys, you 
need a rest," he said, taking her hand in his when she demurred.  
"You've been through a hell of a lot in the past few weeks.  I *know* 
the stress is getting to you, because I can see it in your eyes.  Go 
back to the runabout and lie down.  I'll stay here with him."
	Kira wanted to protest, but she was exhausted, and she reluctantly 
acquiesced.  "You'll let me know if there's any change?"  she asked.
	"I will.  He should be all right, but I'll tell you if anything 
happens."
	"Thank you, Doctor."  She slowly rose to her feet and stretched, 
taking one final, lingering look at Dukat's unconscious form as she 
did so.  It was the last image on her mind when she fell into a deep 
slumber.

* * * * * * * * * *

	After another twelve hours, Bashir agreed that Dukat could be moved, 
by transporter, to a stasis unit he had set up in the runabout.  They 
had now been on the barren planet for twenty-five hours, away from all 
contact with Starfleet for two days, and they were both eager to 
return to Starbase 375.
	Kira's newfound confidence had awakened in her previously 
undiscovered feelings of compassion and tenderness.  She had always 
known that she had a bit of a maternal streak, which manifested itself 
in her decisions to look after Ziyal and to carry the O'Briens' baby 
to term, but until recently she never believed that she possessed the 
ability or the desire to actually nurture another being, especially a 
Cardassian.  For years, she had believed the facade she presented:  
that she was an angry, fierce, unforgiving fighter, that the only 
genuine tenderness she felt was for Bajorans.  True, a part of her 
loved Sisko, and Dax, and Bashir, and especially Odo, but it was a 
love engendered from respect and loyalty, rather than compassion.
	Did she love Dukat?  It was too soon to say.  She would willingly die 
fighting to protect Bajor from his rapacious desire to reclaim it in 
the name of Cardassian expansionism, but she understood, finally, that 
Dukat wanted her more than he wanted Bajor, that it was her, not 
Bajor, he had lusted after all these years.  For the first time, it 
occurred to her that she might not have to die, that she might not 
even have to fight.  Dukat would accept her in Bajor's stead.
	And she was willing to offer herself, not just to save Bajor, but 
because she wanted to.  Dukat had been right after all;  she did 
desire him.  He empowered her.
	All these thoughts ran through Kira's mind as she set up the signal 
enhancers to transport Dukat to the runabout.  She had suggested using 
the enhancers rather than just one of their commbadges, to improve the 
likelihood of an error-free transport.  She did not want to run the 
risk of incurring further damage to Dukat's ravaged body.  Bashir 
agreed with her, and as she activated the enhancement beam he 
programmed the transport coordinates into the runabout's computer. 
	Kira tapped her commbadge.  "Kira to Bashir."
	"Bashir here."
	"He's ready for transport."
	"Acknowledged.  Stand by."
	Kira gently attached her commbadge to Dukat's bodysuit and offered up 
a silent prayer of supplication, pleading with the Prophets to protect 
him.  The transporter beam shimmered around his body, enveloping him 
in its eerie glow, then he effervesced out of sight.  She began 
packing up the equipment, confident that Bashir would promptly inform 
her if the unthinkable had occurred.

* * * * * * * * * *

	"Major Kira and Doctor Bashir reporting in to Starbase 375."
	An unfamiliar female voice replied, "It's about time we heard from 
you, Major, Doctor.  Captain Sisko's been about to send out a search 
party."
	"We were a little delayed.  Requesting permission to approach the 
starbase."
	"Would you mind taking a slight detour?"
	Kira sighed and Bashir rolled his eyes.  "What kind of a detour?"
	"To Deep Space Nine."
	Kira could hear the triumphant grin over the link, and responded with 
one of her own.  "Acknowledged.  Plotting new course heading for Deep 
Space Nine.  Kira out."
	"Have a safe trip, Major."

* * * * * * * * * *

	"You want to do *what*?"  Bashir's voice was incredulous.
	"Don't play dumb with me, Julian.  You heard exactly what I said."
	"You want to take Gul Dukat down to Bajor, hide him with friends of 
yours, and you expect me to *lie* to Captain Sisko about it?"
	"Dukat trusted Sisko with his life, and look what happened. I ca --"
	"Nerys, this is *Gul Dukat* we're talking about here, not just some 
random troublemaker!"
	"I know --"
	"I just can't believe you're even considering this.  *You* are 
protecting Gul Dukat.  You are *protecting* Gul Dukat!"  He stared at 
her long and hard.  "What's gotten in to you?  Six months ago, you 
would have never even attempted this.  Hell, six months ago you would 
have been the first to celebrate his death!"
	"That's not fair, Julian.  Dukat and I may have had our differences, 
but --"
	"Your *differences*?"  he sputtered.  "I shouldn't have to remind you 
that he nearly destroyed your homeworld, that he was responsible for 
the deaths of ten million Bajorans, that he ordered his men to poison 
the land in your province....I'd hardly call that a difference of 
opinion!"
	Kira gritted her teeth.  "Do you intend to let me finish a single 
sentence?"  she barked.
	"Not if you're not going to say anything that makes sense."  He 
slammed his hand against the helm control panel.  "Dammit, Nerys, what 
is with you?  You've been distracted, moody, and unpredictable, even 
for you!"
	She was seething with fury.  "I didn't realize I was supposed to be 
following a script!"
	Bashir's chagrin was evident in his face as he took Kira's clenched 
fist.  "You're right," he said, lowering his voice in regret.  "I'm 
sorry.  I was over the line.  But, please, Nerys...I don't understand 
why you want to do this.  It just - it doesn't make sense.  Why are 
you helping Dukat?"
	Kira took a deep breath, and the hard, angry lines in her face 
softened.  "I don't know if I *can* explain it.  Dukat saved my life 
when Damar took control of the station, and I --"
	"You feel like you owe it to him to return the favor?"
	"It's not just that, although it's certainly part of it."  She turned 
to face Bashir.  "He's lost *everything*, Julian.  Not just the 
station, and not just Ziyal.  *Everything*.  And I - I - I know what 
that's like, to lose your family, your home, everything that you 
cherished.  I've been there."  There were tears in her eyes and her 
voice grew very quiet.  "If it weren't for the Shakaar, I would have 
lost my mind during the Occupation.  They couldn't replace everything 
I had lost, but they filled the empty spaces in me.  When we liberated 
Gallitep, I saw the looks in the eyes of those prisoners, the ones who 
had given up hope.  It was...as though they weren't even alive 
anymore, just going through the motions.  I'll never forget --"  She 
studied her hand in Bashir's.  "Dukat had that same look in his eyes, 
holding Ziyal in his arms.  It was terrifying, to see such empty eyes 
in his face, as if he died with her."
	"He certainly seemed back to his old self on the starbase."
	"Except that he wasn't.  He didn't even harass me the way he used 
to."
	Bashir snorted.  "You're complaining about that?"
	"No - Yes - I don't know."  She sighed.  "I *told* you I didn't think 
I could explain my reasons.  It doesn't even make sense to me.  It's 
just something I have to do.  *Please* trust me."
	"Let me state for the record that I think you're making a big 
mistake, Nerys.  Once he's back on his feet, I guarantee you Dukat 
will be up to his usual tricks."
	Kira nodded.  "You're probably right.  But something tells me that 
this latest setback will have a much greater impact on him than 
others."
	"We've all said that before."
	"*Please*, Julian.  Do this for me, until he recovers?"
	Bashir shook his head in disbelief.  "All right.  I'll take the 
runabout back to the station and tell Sisko we found no survivors and 
you decided to take an extended personal leave on Bajor.  If he finds 
out otherwise, though...I won't cover for you."
	"Thank you," Kira exhaled in relief.
	"I just hope we don't both live to regret this."
	So did she.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

	<giggle>
	//i must be dreaming//
	<Hush, you'll wake him.>
	//yes thats it ...im back home on bajor and naprem has sent ziyal in 
to wake me up...i love it when she does that...it usually means she's 
making sem'hal stew and yamok sauce for breakfast//  He felt his 
stomach growl in response.
	<Look at his skin, Gerish.>
	//what the?...that was a boys voice...i must be on prime then...which 
means ive already slept through breakfast...just as well...i have work 
to do//
	<He's a Cardassian, you twit.>
	//of course im a cardassian...what else would i be?//
	<giggle> <Can I touch him?>
	//somethings not right here...these are not my children...who are 
they?...where am i?//
	<Mina, don't!  Or else I'll tell.>
	Dukat slowly opened his eyes, to a chorus of startled gasps 
surrounding him.  Through the milky haze of his blurred vision he 
found himself looking into a row of simultaneously curious and 
terrified faces.  Bajoran faces.
	<Potr!  He's opened his eyes!>
	He lifted one arm, only vaguely aware that it was bare from wrist to 
shoulder, and reached out a finger to touch the nose ridges on a 
little girl standing next to him.  Her eyes grew wide, then her mouth 
opened and she let loose the most hideous screech he had ever heard in 
his life.  His hand jerked back as though burned.
	"Auntie Nerys!"  one of the older children, a boy, called.
	//auntie nerys?...this makes no sense...maybe im trapped in one of 
garaks enigma tales...maybe im still asleep and dreaming im 
awake...ill have to share this one with the major//
	Then the object of his dreams walked into the room.  "Shoo now," Kira 
said to the children.  "Go outside and play."  They reluctantly 
obeyed.
	His vision was still blurry, but he could see her pour a glass of 
water from the pitcher on the table next to his bed.  She sat down on 
the bed, right next to his hip, and lifted his head so he could drink, 
supporting his neck with her free hand.  The water felt so cool and 
refreshing as it gurgled down his throat;  he had not noticed his 
extreme thirst until then.
	"Major?"  he managed to croak after draining the glass of its 
contents.  "What are you doing here?