Fic: Alone (ST: Deep Space Nine, Weyoun VI/Eris)
Title: Alone
Author Sharpeslass
Pairing: Weyoun VI/Eris
Rating: R
Summary: The early experiences of a "defective" clone.
Disclaimer: Not mine, making no money, etc., etc.
Notes: Much, much thanks to Etha, without whom this story truly would never have been written (and for some very valuable assistance on the revisions). And thanks, as always to jedishampoo, the best beta reader evar.
From Childhood's Hour
The first thing a Vorta sees when it opens its eyes is the face of a God. This should have been the case with Weyoun VI, who swam blearily toward consciousness through a sea of confusion and pain (birth is always painful). He woke to life and to startling blue eyes, to a pointed pixie chin and long dark lashes. He woke to a face and he found it beautiful.
"Founder?" he asked. His first words.
"No." The woman standing over him smiled. It was a gentle smile, smooth and polished. It did not reach her eyes. She put a finger to his lips as he began to form a question. It was a "w" question: a 'what', a 'why' or a 'who', but beyond that, even he didn't have a clue as to what he had meant to ask. One had to have an information baseline before beginning any inquiry, and he didn't even have that.
"I'm Eris," she said. "Rest for a few moments. I know you're confused, but everything will make sense soon. You'll see." He nodded mutely and pulled the thin sheet covering him up to his nose. He was cold and his head hurt. He did not feel reassured.
Eris glanced nervously over her shoulder and Weyoun became aware of another presence in the room.
"Is it complete?"
"Yes, Founder." Eris backed away from the bed, bowing slightly to the figure as it moved into his obscured line of vision. This face, while new, was also familiar to him.
"Founder?" he tried again.
"Yes. It is I." The tone was cool and aloof. Weyoun waited expectantly for his heart to swell at the sound of her voice. When it did not, he still knew the words.
"I serve the Founders in all things." He wished he were standing, so that he could bow or kneel. Instead, he lowered his eyes. But the Founder was no longer looking at him.
"How long has he been awake?" The question was directed at Eris.
"Only a few moments."
"Mine should have been the first face he looked upon."
"A miscalculation. Shall we terminate?" Weyoun didn't even glance up. He was too busy in remembering and then in finding his pants, which he discovered with the rest of his familiar clothing at the foot of the bed. Eris didn't spare him a glance. All her attention was focused on the Founder.
"No. We don't have time. I need a Weyoun on Cardassia now. I'm afraid I don't completely trust our allies."
"The Founder is wise," Eris bowed slightly. "But might a period of observation be circumspect?"
"What ever for?" the Founder was dismissive, and Eris' subtle bow instinctively deepened at what she correctly read as impatience. "We've never had a problem with the Weyouns before."
Eris thought quickly. The activation request had come in just a day ago. She had done fast work to get this clone ready in time. She hadn't slept. She hadn't eaten. She hadn't bathed. What she had done was cut corners. She was usually confident in her work, but she still wasn't sure she wanted this particular Weyoun wandering amongst the Gods until she was certain he was worthy of the task. She could hardly voice these concerns to the being before her, though.
"Of course not," she said instead. "I'm sure he will meet your expectations."
"He will," said the Founder, looking at Weyoun again as he came, fully clothed now, to stand behind Eris, his eyes still downcast and head slightly inclined toward the founder, wearing an expression of extreme and intense deference. "Or you will be held responsible."
Eris' discipline was such that her smile hardly faltered. But she knew that the God would have registered the flicker of fear.
"I want him on a transport within the hour." The Founder continued. "You will accompany him and monitor him for any abnormalities in behavior, since you seem so concerned."
"I serve the Founders in all things," Eris spoke to the being's retreating back. She stared at the now-vacant doorway for several long moments. Straightening, she turned to examine her charge. He was making a strange sound. His lips were pursed. She regarded him warily.
He was trying to whistle.
I Have Not Been As Others Were-- I Have Not Seen
As Others Saw
"How are you feeling?" Eris had seen no evidence of abnormal behavior in Weyoun VI during the long shuttlecraft voyage from the cloning facility to Cardassia.
"Fine. Thank you," Weyoun replied and turned to gaze out the transport's solitary window. He had been very quiet, but Vorta seldom felt the need to make polite small-talk amongst themselves. Though they excelled at it, they saved this special skill for their alien allies and adversaries.
"Is there nothing you wish to ask me?" she probed further.
He seemed to consider the question for a moment. "I doubt you could tell me much that I don't already know," he answered finally. He then sat back, palms resting lightly on his knees, and shut his eyes.
Eris had feared he was going to have a slew of questions for her, but the memories of his predecessors had clearly taken hold. He had demonstrated no gaps in the knowledge of who he was, where he was going, or what his purpose was in the Founders' great plan. When, earlier, in the cloning facility, Eris had pointed out that he was making an odd attempt to whistle a tune, he had simply smiled and said, "Was I? I hadn't noticed." She'd left it at that.
Since then, she'd caught him staring at her a few times but, then, he doubtless questioned her continued presence. The Weyouns were a confident bunch and this one probably resented having an imposed baby-sitter. It was also somewhat unusual to come across an Eris clone in the sciences. They were generally field operatives. This Eris had been one, once, and if all continued to go well, would be again. But at this point, most of the Alpha Quadrant knew a Vorta when they saw one, and the Dominion's cloning facilities were severely undermanned. The Founders, in their wisdom, would use Eris' skills where they were needed most.
In fact, Weyoun did know all of this. There was little about the workings of the Dominion that he did not know. He was in the upper tier of its operations and had a higher security clearance than any other Dominion subject alive. Nor did he resent Eris' presence (though this mildly surprised him). In fact, he found it comforting (and this mildly disturbed him). And he was full of unasked questions-- not about himself or his function, but about a whole pile of things which, up until now, he-- or rather, his predecessors-- had taken completely for granted (and this caused him deep concern). He was questioning long-held beliefs.
His love for the Founders was unshaken, but he felt that somewhere along the long course of Dominion history, they may have taken a slight wrong turn, and he had the nagging thought that he, as their loyal subject, should be doing something to help set them back on the right path. Presumptuous and dangerous thinking indeed.
Weyoun was also feeling the aching and entirely unfamiliar tug of loneliness, although it is doubtful that he would have been able to name the emotion. This loneliness manifested itself in a strong need to reach out to another being-- to not be the only one thinking these thoughts. So now and then, when he thought she wasn't looking, he watched Eris and speculated. He nearly met her last question with one of his own. Instead he closed his eyes. He tried to sleep. And he hoped to wake into a universe that made a little more sense.
I Could Not Bring My Passions from a Common Spring
"Our first priority is to get the Monac Shipyard up to full production and to re-take the Chin'toka system."
"Really, Damar." Weyoun handed the padd back to Damar and brushed past him to stand in front of the control panel. "You forget. I have every memory my predecessor had. Except," he returned his gaze to the tall Cardassian. "Of those few hours leading up to the death of Weyoun V." He narrowed his eyes. Damar hid his features behind the increasingly present glass of kanar in his fist.
"Tragic accident," came the muffled reply, but Weyoun knew that Damar was trying to hide his inappropriate amusement.
"I'll be following up on the investigation myself."
"Your predecessor would have been touched," Damar wasn't even trying now. His eyes were filled with barely-suppressed, self-congratulatory laughter.
Disliking Damar was coming back as naturally as everything else had. But just as Weyoun was rallying himself for a full-scale verbal assault, he drooped. It all seemed rather pointless.
"Damar," he sighed. "I know you and I haven't always seen eye to eye." Damar stopped drinking out of sheer curiosity.
"I serve the Founders," he began warily, somehow managing to pack a gallon of Cardassian swagger into a statement of submission.
"Of course you do," Weyoun smiled and waved a dismissive hand. "But I want us to get along. We are allies, after all." It was a familiar speech and he'd given it before, but Weyoun was surprised to note that he actually meant what he was saying. Not, he supposed, that there would be any way for a listener to tell the difference. Now that was a depressing thought. He changed tacks. "I want you to come to me with your concerns regarding Cardassian interests, Damar," he said with conviction. "I promise I'll make a real effort to respond to those concerns, and-- " he fought the urge to glance over his shoulder. "To make sure the Founders are truly aware of them."
Damar was again regarding Weyoun, bottle raised halfway to his glass. "Kanar?" he offered.
"Of course," Weyoun smiled. "What better way to cement a new friendship? And while we drink," he continued, "perhaps we can discuss some of your Cardassian interrogation techniques. I know they are effective, but I find them somewhat troubling nonetheless." And so they drank, Weyoun happily, Damar warily. And in the corridor, unseen, Eris listened.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow-- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone--
"You handled Damar well," said Eris as she entered Weyoun's quarters without announcement. Weyoun turned from a monitor displaying the interior of Damar's quarters. There, the Cardassian was busy handling something (or rather, someone) himself.
"I meant what I said," Weyoun answered simply, wondering off-handedly why he wasn't upset that Eris had been listening to a private conversation.
"Surely you don't think the Founders aren't aware of Damar's long list of Cardassian complaints?"
"I don't think they take them very seriously," he shrugged.
Eris smiled. "Then they aren't worth serious concern."
"I wonder." Weyoun turned back to his study of the monitor before him, squinting slightly to make sense of the tangled images. Eris came up beside him.
"What are they doing?" she asked.
"Mating."
"What for?"
"Recreation, I suppose. Damar has a wife and a child," he considered for a moment. "I think he must miss her sometimes."
Eris put a hand on Weyoun's shoulder and leaned over his seated form to get a better view of the monitor.
"That's really disgusting."
"Do you think so?" Weyoun never had. He'd always been slightly fascinated by the process that seemed to drive so many other species. That hadn't changed. His reaction to observing had. While Weyoun V had watched with a clinical detachment, Weyoun VI was /ifeeling/i something. It wasn't unpleasant but it was alarming-- like a slurry of little tingles in the pit of his stomach-- right between his navel and his spine. Oddly, he'd gotten another jolt of them when Eris' hand had touched his shoulder. He glanced at the well-manicured hand for a moment and then looked away.
"Utterly," she replied. "Does this have sound?"
"On a different channel," he waved at the control panel. "But I doubt he's exchanging Dominion secrets. That woman, Siana, I believe, doesn't have the sense of a Pakled."
"No, of course not," Eris said, straightening. "I was just..."
"Curious?"
"Well, it is different."
"I suppose. The Vorta reproduced in the same fashion at one time."
"Before the Founders," her face glowed with reverential pride as she thought of how high the Vorta had been raised above other, lesser beings.
"Yes. Before the Founders."
He stood then, and turned to face her. He steeled himself to voice an idea that had been suggesting itself to him in an increasingly persistent voice. And he poured all of his concentration into creating an inflection light enough to lessen the potential weight of his words.
"We could try it."
"What?"
"You are beautiful."
"The Founders are beautiful," she corrected, distinctly uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her. He looked, she thought, hungry.
Weyoun noticed her discomfort and made a (perhaps misguided) effort to alleviate it.
"And so is their creation." He moved closer and attempted a kiss. She turned away and his lips grazed the tip of her nose.
"What are you doing?" She sounded panicked and that made Weyoun unaccountably sad.
"Just an experiment," he suggested, trying to sound casual.
"But male Vorta aren't capable of..."
He kept his tone mild and his expression neutral. "I think I might be." In fact, he knew he was. The evidence in support of the argument (evidence he'd been fighting a losing battle with for the past quarter of an hour) was pressing painfully against the cloth of his trousers.
The appalled look in Eris' eyes went a long way toward lessening the tension in his groin. And, with the easing of desire, came a mounting sense of fear and panic. Weyouns did not panic, he thought abjectly. They talked. They convinced. They coerced. They won.
And now there was more at stake than his own curiosity or this newfound lust. He'd revealed himself as a very different type of Vorta and he needed badly to get Eris back on his side. It was literally a matter of life or death: his life, his death.
"Gods don't make mistakes," he said calmly.
"They didn't," Eris agreed. "I did." Weyoun shook his head.
"I'm not a mistake. And I'm not talking about myself."
Eris had no idea where this was headed. She didn't want to know. She wanted to leave. She needed to think. But Weyoun threw her a curve.
"I'm speaking of Odo."
"Odo?" she asked blankly. She knew the name, of course, but she'd never met the renegade Founder herself. She knew Weyoun had. Weyoun V had, at any rate. Now she was curious. "What about him?"
"He disagrees with the other Founders about the war."
"I know."
"So, is he wrong? Has he made a mistake?"
Eris held up a hand. This was worse than the fumbling advances had been. "It is not our place to question Gods. You know that." She looked around frantically. Damar's quarters were obviously under surveillance. Might not Weyoun's be as well?
But Weyoun's intense gaze was unfaltering. "They can't both be right," he spoke deliberately, thinking things out as he went, caught up, by surprise, in his own argument. "And now there is an illness in the Great Link."
"Stop."
"What if Odo is the one Founder who truly deserves our loyalty?"
"Stop talking."
"What if... mphf."
Suddenly Weyoun's arms were full of Eris. His mouth was full of Eris. He felt Eris' slippery smooth tongue sliding against his own. Theology and heresy alike went out the window, banished by instantly rekindled alien drives. His mind went blank to everything except the blood pounding in his temples, his throat and his groin. He pressed himself into her with a muffled sob of relief and desire.
"I want you," he whispered.
"No," she said desperately. "This is just an experiment."
"Of course," he acquiesced. Whatever she said was fine with him. She pulled away from his roaming hands and hastily disrobed. He followed her lead, quickly divesting himself of his own clothing.
"Don't look at me like that," she said when they both stood, naked and awkward in the middle of his quarters-- she, trying to look at anything other than the rampant evidence of her failure and he, unable to look away from her unclothed form.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm a... a Founder or something."
"Was I?" There was wonder in his voice and his eyes never left her body. He moved toward her and she took an instinctive step back.
"I won't hurt you," he promised, not entirely certain it was true.
You may have already killed me, she thought. But she opened her arms for him just the same. Warm, smooth skin met warm, smooth skin and Weyoun thought he would lose consciousness at the contact. He felt as if every nerve ending in his body had been individually activated and hot-wired into his brain.
"Should we be lying down?" Eris tried to make out the viewscreen on the desk behind Weyoun, striving for a point of reference. But the subjects of their earlier scrutiny lay still and slumbering. She hoped Weyoun had seen enough to know what he was doing. She hoped it would be over quickly. She hoped, when all was said and done, she would be able to shift the blame squarely onto his shoulders where it belonged.
Then they were lying down, and he was on top of her, his slight weight pushing her down onto the bed. And she could feel that part of him, that aberrant part, that miscalculation, that cut corner pressing into her hip as he rubbed himself against her, kissing her with a hungry desperation.
"Weyoun," she protested.
"Eris," he groaned back. His normally clear blue eyes were fogged and she knew he was a lost cause. Then, because she felt a little sorry and because it was probably her fault, she kissed him again. She wrapped her arms around him and felt his entire body shudder. She trailed her nails lightly along his spine and heard him moan in frustrated pleasure. His expression was rapt and perhaps there was something to being worshipped after all, she thought. Even if she felt nothing physically, this power she had over him was an interesting experience. She smiled up at him and he returned the smile. He was far beyond noticing that her smile didn't ever quite reach her eyes.
Weyoun kissed and stroked Eris for a time and she responded to his attentions. He kept hoping that she would touch him more intimately, take some initiative, but she didn't seem inclined to do so. So he gently urged her legs apart and, supporting his weight on one elbow, positioned himself for what was to come next. He was aching desperately but enjoying the pain.
"This might hurt a little," he warned. It did. Eris gasped as Weyoun pressed into her without ceremony. With a single thrust they were joined-- and became physically closer than any two Vorta had been for countless centuries.
She felt invaded. He felt whole. For a small second Weyoun felt thought and sensation in negotiation with one another. Then thought was banished and sensation carried the day.
In his wildest imaginings he couldn't have realized it would feel like this. He felt on fire with need and every movement fueled the next. He could dimly hear his own uneven breathing and her small whimpers. He couldn't stop himself from crying out when he climaxed in a blaze of fierce physical feeling. He called a name, but whether it was her name or a plea to the Founders he couldn't afterwards have said. Eventually, his breathing calmed and his wits returned to him.
He looked down at his partner and smiled. "I think that went well," he murmured into her ear.
Eris nodded, her expression impossible for even Weyoun to read.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No," Eris smiled up at him placing a small hand against his cheek. He shut his eyes at the tender intimacy and turned to place a kiss on her palm. He knew he had probably been too eager and that he'd rushed her. He was convinced it was just a matter of practice. If Damar and Dukat could do this properly, certainly he could. Next time, he promised himself.
Meanwhile, he was almost convinced that if Eris had felt at least a fraction of the pleasure she had given him, she would be a step closer to understanding him and to becoming a true ally. But he needed reassurance of this.
"Do you think you might be able to... love me?" he kept his tone light, but the word sounded strange on his tongue.
"I think I already do," and at her lie, Weyoun felt his heart swell for the first time.
Eris understood only one thing at that moment. This wasn't what the Vorta were here for. Perhaps it was natural for Cardassians and humans, but it wasn't right for Vorta and it had no place in her universe. Was it possible to breed sexual reproduction out of a single pre-existing species? Probably not. It was more likely an instinct that had been somehow blocked or suppressed.
And, Eris thought, blocked for good reason. At best it was an unnecessary diversion, at worst-- she remembered the look in Weyoun's eyes-- something that could divide and sublimate the very loyalty for which the Founders so prized their Vorta subjects. If there could be no lovers, no children, no fathers, no mothers, then, and only then, were the Vorta free to give all of their intense adoration to the Gods themselves. For Eris, that was as it should be.
After leaving Weyoun's quarters she placed a call to her team at the cloning facility. Then she requested an audience with the Founder.
And All I Lov'd—I Lov'd Alone
Weyoun knew something was wrong the moment he entered Ops. There was expectancy in the air, a sense of waiting. The only pressing business on the day's agenda was finalizing the last shipment of troops and supplies for the new ketracel white storage facility in the Pelosa system. If there had been a successful enemy assault, Damar would not have been sitting.
Every eye had turned to Weyoun when he entered and he found himself judging the distance between himself and the door through which he had just entered. He took a step backward and bumped against one of the two Jem'Hadar who served as Weyoun's personal bodyguard. He wheeled on the pair indignantly, but before he could speak the door whooshed open and the Founder entered, flanked by two more Jem'Hadar.
Weyoun's arms went wide, palms out, and he bowed. The behavior was reflexive. He could no more stop this genetically-coded genuflection than he could stop his own breathing -- actually, the latter would have been considerably easier.
"Founder," he said. "You honor us with your presence."
"Enough," she said. "Arrest this man." The Founder's Jem'Hadar closed with his own and advanced upon him.
"I... I don't understand," Weyoun stammered. "What have I done to displease you?"
"You are clearly defective," she said, and raised a hand before he could protest. "Damar has told me about your sudden squeamishness when it comes to the handling of Federation prisoners." Weyoun glanced at Damar, who would not meet his eyes.
"Founder, I assure you, Damar and I were simply discussing viable options, to ensure..."
"You let one of them go," she cut in sharply. Oh, yes. He had, hadn't he? Why had he done that?
"Surely one miscalculation..."
"I've spoken to Eris."
Eris! "Is she all right?"
"Your concern is touching. She is a loyal subject of the Dominion and I assure you, she is quite well. I might have considered replacing her, but she did the right thing in coming to me with her concerns. You might have done the same."
"She came to..." his mind reeled. "Let me see her." He had dropped his hands to his side and now they clenched into fists as he fought everything he was and made this demand of his God.
"She has no desire to see you. You've caused her and everyone else quite enough trouble. Prepare a memory file and self-terminate. Immediately."
"I will not!" A part of Weyoun watched this display of bravado with disapproval, another with a small amount of pride at what he had become.
"Put him under guard. Execution to take place within the hour." She turned back to Weyoun. "When did you last download your memories?"
"Last night," he answered hollowly. He'd wanted to preserve last night, wanted to make sure future Weyouns had access to that experience even if they couldn't repeat it. Apparently, that was not to be. Weyoun heard the Founder speaking to the Jem'Hadar as he was led numbly from the room.
"Go to his quarters. Retrieve his memory files. They will have to be altered, but there may be something we can save."
So Weyoun waited for death and he worried over his fate. More, he found, he worried over the fate of the Founders, over the fate of the Dominion, and over Eris. What had they done to her to make her betray him? At least he knew she was safe.
When the door slid open, he rose to his feet. Eris stood before him, pointed chin raised, expression as inscrutable as ever. Weyoun rushed toward her and felt himself struck hard, and propelled backward, sent sprawling onto the cell's only bunk. Telekinesis. He'd forgotten that the Erises had that power. Even now, he thought, what an ally she would make. Two Vorta and one Founder against the universe. He struggled into a sitting position.
"What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?" Her eyes flashed angrily at him.
"They did nothing," she replied. "It is you who almost destroyed me... who contaminated me. You are thoroughly twisted. I'm just lucky they let me live. I despise you!"
Weyoun felt her words more keenly than he'd felt her telekinetic punch. He looked for the truth in her words, found it, and mentally backed away from it, his mind frantically kicking up sand to obscure its unpleasant new clarity.
"It wasn't like that," he protested. "You said you loved me."
"I lied."
"Eris," he tried, resorting to old tricks in his desperation. "Let's escape. It's still possible. Not every Jem'Hadar in the building will know what has happened. Your name is still clear." His voice was low and urgent and, as he spoke, Eris noted the power of persuasion that was the Weyoun's hallmark and found herself immune. "We can go to the Federation, to Odo. He can help us. We can pledge our loyalty to him and be the first in a new line of Vorta..." his words trailed off and he wilted visibly as he took in her look of horror.
"You are deranged," she said, knowing that if he was, she was, to a large degree, to blame.
"Eris..."
She turned quickly and left the room, her well-ordered mind in turmoil. Guilt was not a feeling with which the Vorta had any long acquaintance and it did not sit easily with Eris. As the door closed behind her, she straightened and turned to the Jem'Hadar guarding the brig.
"The Founder requests your presence in Ops," she said smoothly. The Jem'Hadar nodded and moved unquestioningly toward the turbo lifts.
Eris took a deep breath and, before she ran, she opened the cell door. Find Odo, she thought. And he did.
The last thing most Vorta see before they die largely varies from individual to individual: a transporter beam, dissolving into molecules of brief intense pain; a once loyal soldier turning its phaser on the hand that feeds it; another enemy, yet unnamed; another trap, yet unsprung.
The last thing Weyoun VI-- defective, renegade, enlightened, Weyoun VI-- saw before he died was the face of his God.
Fin
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