Maybe there was an artist inside of her. Kira arranged the teas and the bread and the jams on the floor of Kasidy's cell, like some kind of perverse tableau. She had set up the lunch by hand, forgoing the replicator. It was an old habit, turning the turmoil inside of her into work, into something. But there was only so far you could stretch arranging the contents of a lunch tray.
Kas smiles, and Prophets, Kasidy still looks radiant. Some part of her thinks, that even with this little betrayal, Ben is so lucky to have a partner as vibrant as Kas. Some part of her, the part that spent all evening reading through legal, academic, and personal texts on Federation prisons, wonders if that light will be snuffed out. Federation prisons operate on a rehabilitation principle and inadequately rehabilitated prisoners may be subjected to increased sentencing and Kasidy did nothing wrong –
Kira sits, cross-legged on the floor like a child. Kasidy stays on her uncomfortable bench. She transfers out tomorrow and they've both said all there is to say.
("This is wrong. You've done no more than I have. Less, actually. You've never killed anyone. Can the Federation say that? Can I?"). Those words were shouted.
("Ben and I…he's not sure how to compartmentalize this. Maybe we get back together, maybe we don't.")
Kasidy breaks the silence. "Nerys. The first time I saw Bajor, I was spellbound. It bound Benjamin and me together, even more than baseball or love. We both understood this planet, its beauty. I've seen a lot of planets." She pauses, because she can.
"And?"
"And they are not Bajor. But no one else deserves what happened to Bajor." Kasidy reaches over, clasping Kira's hands.
Kira looks into her eyes, edging closer. "What I'm going to tell you isn't fair."
"Not a lot of things are fair, lately."
"Kasidy…Kas," she paused, "I think I love you."
Kas fell silent, but gripped her hands tighter. She gazed at Kira's jaw-line, the mouth that spoke those impossible words. She turned away.
"Maybe the good things aren't fair."