The next day dawned cloudy and dim; the air was hot and muggy. By the time Skurs and Jevah walked to the lodge to meet the boat tour operator, the clouds had dropped and a light rain was falling; by the time they finished discussing the trip, it had increased to a downpour. Skurs looked relieved; Jevah was grateful as well. Skurs used the front desk to message the Prefect and cancel the outing; they looked around aimlessly after that was accomplished. Other than a few shops and the restaurant, there was little to occupy their time in the lodge.

They plodded back to the cabin, Jevah enjoying the rain. "This air is like breathing soup," Skurs complained.

"It won't last long," Jevah pointed out; "this will blow through in a couple of hours. We could build a fire again, and sit on the deck."

"As much as I would prefer to avoid it, I should check in to the project files," Skurs suggested.

"Don't spend much time on it," Jevah told him. "You're supposed to be on vacation."

They returned to the cabin in the rain, in time to interrupt the staff member who cleaned the room on a daily basis. The woman was older, muscular and lean, and was finishing the room as they entered. "I am almost done," she apologized, and Skurs shrugged.

"It is of no importance," he said, and went out the back, closing the door.

"Casti Jevah, you have something for me?" the woman asked quietly from the kitchen area where she was putting away the dishes.

Jevah looked at her apprehensively. "For you?" she asked.

"Some files," the woman repeated. Jevah walked to stand beside her, fumbling with the dispenser as if to create a drink. "This is a safer contact method than on the station," the woman said. "Binna sends her greetings as well."

Jevah accepted her then; it was unlikely that anyone at this place would know Binna's name. "I have a data rod in my bag," she said quietly, and moved toward the 'fresher. She combed her hair, tied it back, and returned to the counter with the data rod hidden in her hand. "Would you hand me a couple of mugs?" she asked in a normal tone of voice as Skurs re-entered the room. The woman reached for the mugs, brought them over, and when Jevah took them, she made sure the data rod shifted from hand to hand, the movements disguised between them.

"I've made tea," Jevah told Skurs, turning away from the woman as if she was no longer there. "I got chilled on the walk back, and you must be even colder."

Skurs took a mug, drank deeply from it, and set it on a table near the comm console. "That is indeed welcome," he said. " I am going to check the project status."

"They will pull you back in," Jevah warned, "and you will spend your day working."

The woman opened the door, and turned back into the room. "Please call the desk if you have further needs for food or supplies," she said, and met Jevah's eyes. She nodded firmly and pulled the door closed behind her.

Jevah settled on the couch, looking through the list of available reading and viewing material. She was determined not to work; this could be the only opportunity for leisure she might ever have. She thought about the woman who had cleaned the room, wondered when the data might get to the Resistance, and how soon they would use it. She had, for a time, gotten involved in the project, but while she had never forgotten that it would use Bajoran workers as slave labor, she still drew the line at causing unnecessary deaths. She drifted into imagining the Resistance members discussing her data, marking targets, and wondered how they would use the information to cause havoc and delay schedules.

"—did you hear me?" Skurs was speaking, in the tone of someone who had repeated themselves several times.

"What? Sorry, no."

"The Prefect is having a social gathering tonight; we are invited."

"Oh. Is that good?"

"We can hardly refuse it; the invitation was personal. This is more than just something sent to the officers on-station." He paused. "Dress is casual."

Jevah smiled. "Perhaps he is bored with a day of rain and wants company."

The rain had mostly stopped by the time they walked toward the location of the party, but the wind was still blowing and spatters of cool drops startled them occasionally. Even so, Jevah thought, it's real, it's outside. I wouldn't trade it for the station.

The Prefect had chosen a larger accommodation for his time at the lake; it had an expansive covered porch with a fireplace, a wide, comfortable open room filled with padded chairs and couches, dramatic lighting, a large bar attended by one of the lodge staffers, a buffet maintained by several more workers, and an interior fireplace surrounded by more chairs and tables. The room was fuller than Jevah imagined; at least forty people had crowded into the space and were circulating, chatting, drinking, laughing. There was none of the wildness she had seen at parties on the station, but she realized that it was still early.

She recognized some of the other guests they had seen during their walks or visits to the restaurant; most of the people, however, were strangers. Many were Bajorans, looking prosperous and content, mixed fairly evenly among the crowd of Cardassians. Jevah saw that not all the Cardassians were military; many appeared to be administrators or scientists. There were few of the women she identified as "comfort women," most of the Cardassians here were either alone or with Cardassian women. She was one of only a few Bajoran woman in the room accompanying a Cardassian.

They mixed easily into the crowd; this was not a status dance amongst those vying for power on the station. These people were comfortable in their positions, in their lives, and mostly appeared to be bored with the unexpected change in the weather.

After gathering drinks and loading plates with food, Skurs and Jevah settled in chairs near the fire; the conversation here was so general as to be almost boring. People discussed their activities at the lake, their experiences in other leisure settings, and told anecdotes they had heard about activities in Cardassian society. Jevah tried to pay attention, but found that she knew little of Cardassian politics and nothing of most of the activities being discussed. She made it a game to pretend to be absorbed in one conversation or another, nodding, laughing, agreeing on cue.

After an hour, Jevah was uncomfortable and distracted. Skurs had gotten involved in yet another technical conversation, and they might have been discussing their subject in an alien language. She leaned toward Skurs long enough to whisper "I'm going outside for a bit," saw his abrupt nod, and stood. She returned their dishes to the buffet area, and made her way through the crowd to the door. The air was cooler outside, and fresh, and the fire on the porch was burning hotly, in wonderful solitude. Jevah decided that it was probably uncomfortably chilly for a Cardassian out here, and she stood by the fire, looking toward the lake, and enjoyed the quiet, hearing only the hum of conversation behind her and the quiet night noises of the meadow.

A short time later, as she felt herself beginning to relax, the door opened again, and closed. Jevah did not turn, not wanting to invite attention or company, and hoped that her dark clothing would disguise her enough to allow her to go unnoticed. She felt more than heard someone standing behind her, and jumped only slightly when warm hands settled on her shoulders. Skurs must have reached his saturation point as well.

She leaned back against him, and felt his breath in her hair. After a few minutes of silence, he shifted, and Jevah felt his lips and teeth on her neck. His hands moved down to her waist, then stroked her belly and traveled down her sides, before moving back up under the tunic to cup her breasts. Hard thumbs pinched her lightly, rolling the tips of her nipples in warm fingers, while teeth nibbled her ear and down her neck. Her breath came faster, and she pressed back slightly, feeling his arousal against her backside. "Shall we leave, then?" she whispered. He turned her around and kissed her deeply, pressing and lifting her body into his. It was so dark that she could barely see his outline; the ridges on his forehead occasionally showed up as slightly lighter shapes against the glow from the building's windows.

Without disengaging, he moved to a wide, comfortable chair with a high back turned away from the windows and settled into it, pulling Jevah's trousers off before sitting her on his lap. They kissed again, and he lifted Jevah to straddle him, then unfastened his pants. Her tunic had migrated to around her neck, freeing her to his exploring hands, and when she was lifted and impaled on his erection, she gasped and shuddered. His hands on her hips were firm and strong, guiding her movement; his breath in her hair was harsh and flavored strongly with the kanar that had flowed freely. Jevah put her hands on his chest, fingers brushing the sensitive neck ridges, and held on, flowing with the moment, abandoning herself to the sensation of this unexpected encounter.

He seemed to go on forever, and Jevah moaned; she had not thought she could feel so much without bursting into a thousand pieces. He finally groaned low in his throat and spasmed inside her, his hands clutching her hips so strongly she thought he might leave bruises. She met his release with her own and for a time all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing and his, the sound of her own heartbeat. After several minutes, when she could breathe normally again, she kissed him, and leaned her head against his chest. His hands stroked her back, warm and soothing.

"I should go back," he whispered. "Wait a while before you return." He moved quickly to fasten and arrange his clothing, then kissed her from above and behind the chair, again cupping her breasts, and was gone.

Jevah looked out at the lake, listened to the sound of the party behind her, and watched the fire for a while before going back to the door in search of the 'fresher. The room inside was hotter and noisier than before, and struggling through the crowd slowed her down before she finally found it. She found Skurs, again seated by the fire, with a sheaf of papers spread before him. He was again deep into a technical discussion with one of the other Cardassians; the notes he was scribbling on the paper were full of formulae and sketches. She sipped her drink, watching, and was suddenly caught by suspicion. How long would it take to have written all those notes, to have drawn all those sketches? She looked at him again; he did not have the look of a man who had recently had a sexual release, a look she had seen on him often enough.

Oh, Prophets. If that wasn't Skurs, who in oblivion was it? Jevah felt herself blushing; she sipped her drink and tried to control herself. She started looking around the room, but she could see little over the shoulders of the people who surrounded the fire and threw words and ideas into the discussion. There were no stairs; this lodge was all on a single level, and she was not sure she wanted to meet the eyes of whoever had been outside with her. Would they have seen her? Known her? Or could it simply be an anonymous encounter, a case of mistaken identity on both sides?

Jevah spent the rest of the evening near Skurs; she was afraid to be out of his sight. She spoke with only a few people, hesitant to meet the eyes of any males; the few other women in the room did not approach her. She did nothing more than drink: kanar, wine, brandy, whatever else came to hand. Her mind was whirling, trying to avoid thinking about the encounter by the fire, refusing to compare it with her experience of the night before, refusing to think that someone in this room had taken her so casually and anonymously, and that she had not known the difference.

It had been good, she could not deny that, but she was both desperate and afraid to know who had been with her on the porch. Would he do more or approach her again? Would she be taken like a game piece, moved to another unknown and dangerous position? Or would she be disposed of, taken out of the game permanently? She had gotten comfortable with Skurs, comfortable with her work, comfortable with the station, even mostly forgetting about the attack from Pinha. Now her place was teetering again, her status variable, her danger looming. Her entire existence suddenly felt precarious.

She thought about Skurs. He had not reacted badly after Pinha had taken her; he had been careful of her, as if she were ill, but had not treated her any differently. She knew men among the Bajorans who had not been able to accept when their wives or lovers or daughters were used sexually by Cardassians; they had become jealous, possessive, or abusive, denigrating the women more than the soldiers had. Others had accepted, understood that it was a part of life that could not be controlled, and endeavored to heal the spiritual wounds that followed, or simply pretended that nothing had happened.

She trembled, suddenly nauseated, and rushed to the 'fresher again, relieved to find there was no line of people waiting. She threw up the alcohol she'd been swilling down, then heaved for a while longer before her empty stomach stopped trying to turn her inside out. After she was sure she was finished, she cleaned her face and mouth, and moved back into the room, collecting a few bland crackers and a cup of tea from the buffet before heading back to the fire. Turning, she bumped into a Cardassian, who caught her arm and steadied her. "Jevah. Are you well?"

Jevah was barely surprised to realize it was the Prefect; she understood there was nothing more this evening that could startle her. She looked up at him, shook her head. "I am well enough," she said, "although perhaps I've had too much to drink."

"Let's get you back to the fire," he suggested, and escorted her to the seat she'd had before, near the fire and Skurs, but out of the way.

"I can arrange to have you taken back to your cabin, if you need to leave," he said, but Jevah shook her head, then regretted that movement.

"I will be fine in a while," she said, "I just—have a lot to think about."

"Very well," he replied, and Jevah glanced up, catching an odd look on his face. "If you change your mind, don't hesitate to let me know."

He took her hand, squeezed it, and Jevah felt oddly comforted. "Thank you, Prefect," she replied, her voice shaking.

The party finally ended; Jevah had spent the remaining hours in her corner, ignoring the few attempts made by others to start a conversation. She nibbled her crackers, sipped on tea, and watched the fire, tuning out voices and noises and people, feeling only the warmth of the fire failing to soothe the cold inside her. She and Skurs walked back to their cabin, Skurs talking about the ideas the conversation had generated, about filtration improvements to life support systems that could reduce the size and increase the efficiency of the systems planned for the mining colony. They reached the cabin and Skurs went directly to the console, sending off messages to the project team members; Jevah showered and crawled under the heavy blankets on the bed, shivering in spite of the heat.

She could not stay with a coherent train of thought; her mind was whirling with reactions and emotions, replaying the scene by the fire, examining it from many angles, mostly shaded with self-loathing. How could she have not known it was not Skurs? The scent of the man had been Cardassian, of that she was sure. She had seen his forehead ridges in the reflected light of the fire and from the windows, seen the light reflected from glossy black hair, but she could not recall any further detail that might prove identity. And what would it matter if she could? There was nothing he had done that would be considered wrong in the Cardassian Occupation. Skurs had apparently noticed nothing, and Jevah wasn't sure it would matter so much if he had. She was a convenience for him, and she was not sure if she was anything else, or if her removal would be anything more than a minor disadvantage.

She finally drifted into sleep, tossing and turning during the night, waking in starts, forgetting for moments where she was. Skurs woke with her after repeated interruptions, and pulled her to lie next to him. "What is wrong?"

"Bad dreams," Jevah said, grasping for an explanation. "Again and again—" It was not necessarily an untruth.

He rubbed warm hands over her shoulders, then dug deeper, feeling the tension of her muscles. "Relax," he murmured, massaging her neck and shoulders. "Tomorrow is always different from today."

Jevah shuddered, then turned as Skurs moved above her to press his fingers deeply into her tense muscles. She groaned, felt herself relax, felt her breathing slow and the whirl of her thoughts subside. He continued to work her arms and back, and Jevah sighed. "That has helped," she told him when he showed signs of slowing. "But you need sleep as well."

Skurs dropped beside her, leaving one hand on her shoulder. "Sleep—if you still feel disturbed in the morning, we will talk."

Jevah woke early, and moved quietly out of the bed. Skurs still slept; she thought he had been up late working on the ideas he'd garnered about the project. She sat on the deck staring into the forest, a mug of hot tea disregarded in her hands. The urge to disappear now was stronger than ever; she felt that if she could run into the forest she could wipe out all her memories, her mistakes, even the slight imprint she might have left on others. Her rational mind knew better; by running away, she would simply avoid facing what had happened, burying it deeper within herself until it became a festering wound that would eventually turn toxic and destroy her. She must come to terms with this, come to understand herself, and not let this—or any of the other events of the past years—change her into someone she would despise.

She surprised herself then by bursting into tears. It had been some time since she'd cried; she had managed to suppress most of her shame and humiliation for a long time, but now it seemed that the feelings of worthlessness would never stop. After a while, she wound down, running out of energy. Emotions were exhausting, and she was chilled in the early morning coolness. She pulled a forgotten blanket around herself and watched the trees for a time, not thinking about anything but the life there, the cycle of life and death that endured in the forests. There were so many things there besides trees, all of which depended on each other for sustenance and co-existence. She wondered idly if she could find a place where she was needed, depended upon, and where others sustained her, or if she might just be an accessory, a decoration, for this part of her life.

The front door closed, and Jevah turned around. The sun had risen in the sky, the morning mist had burned off, and the day was clear and bright. Her stomach growled, and although last night she'd thought she would never eat again, she was hungry.

Skurs had brought breakfast: fruit juice, sweetbreads and fruit preserves, cheese, meats, and cooked grain; by the time she got inside he had set everything out on a small table by the window. She joined him, and they ate quietly, Jevah staring out the window. She could see that Skurs watched her while appearing to concentrate on his food, and felt herself tensing.

After they finished, Skurs sat her down on the couch and sat beside her. "Now you must tell me what is bothering you," he said. Jevah looked around, feeling suddenly trapped by the walls.

"Not here," she said. "Let's walk."

"I have a better idea," he said. "I would like to spend another day at the hot springs before we leave. I will get the aircar and bring food; pack the things we need to spend the afternoon there."

In fairly short order they were walking up the path to a different set of springs; Jevah noticed that these were closer together, one pool running into another, fed by streams, surrounded by luxuriant growth that provided an illusion of privacy. Skurs led her to a particular pool; he dropped the bundle nearby. "This pool, I have been told, has the luxury of a stream that divides the temperature. It is hotter on one side than the other; comfortable for both a Cardassian and a Bajoran."

He stripped quickly and stepped into the water, then moved around the pool, checking the temperature. "This area," he said as he seated himself on a shelf, "is the warmest. The area there is significantly cooler, because of the incoming stream." Jevah dipped in a toe where he pointed, and found it hot but not painfully so; she dropped her clothes and slipped into the water. The heat did its work, and she found her tension melting away.

"Now," Skurs said, "tell me."

Jevah looked away. "Tell you what?"

"What happened last night. Do you think I did not notice? You went outside to get some air; you were bored but calm. When you returned, you became agitated and upset, and drank a great deal. Then you were sick, and quiet until we returned; you had bad dreams all the night. Clearly something happened."

Jevah shuddered. "I don't know if I can say it."

"You must."

Jevah nodded. This was not a request by someone who held power over her, but a direction for her own well-being. "When I went outside, it was quiet… then someone came out. I thought it was you. He—touched me, he—had me. In a chair, on the porch. It was dark, I couldn't see. I never thought that anyone would—" She closed her eyes. "He told me to wait, and went inside, and then I came back in. When I found you, I saw that you were still working on the filtration system. I realized you could not have been outside with me."

"You are correct; it was not me."

"I don't know who it was. I know he was Cardassian. But—I couldn't see—" She turned away, afraid to look at him.

"Jevah." His voice was like an order; it turned her around. "You thought I had joined you on the porch."

"Yes."

"And you shared yourself with the person you thought was me."

"Yes."

"You were mistaken."

"Yes."

"Why are you upset now?"

"Because I thought you—might be angry, or despise me." Because I despise myself for being so willing, so unquestioning.

"Why would I?"

"Because I—he—"

"You felt it was betrayal?"

"Yes—at the least. Skurs, you protect me. You keep me safe; you treat me well. If you were to tire of me, if you found someone you preferred, or wanted to be alone, what would happen to me? You said I would join the comfort women—" Her voice spiraled higher, into panic.

"Jevah. Stop."

She sputtered into silence.

"I do not know or understand the mores of Bajor. I do not know what is appropriate for you, or for your people. I can only speak for myself." He shook his head. "Perhaps we should have had this discussion some time ago. But we did not."

"I cannot hold you responsible for actions made under a mistaken belief. I have not in the past, and I do not now. You were sexual with someone you thought was me. It might well have been me, had I not gotten into the filtration system discussion. Someone at that party came to you, was intimate with you. Perhaps they thought you were someone else as well. Until I know who it was and what they were thinking, how can anyone be blamed?"

He paused. "In Cardassian culture, marriage and family are paramount, but before marriage, we are not restricted in our sexual contacts. There was no intended deception on your part, therefore no fault. Nor would there be any if you were Cardassian. We are not betrothed; neither of us are promised to anyone else. You are Bajoran, and a member of a ruled people. In no way, from any perspective, do I find fault with you in this event.

"If you feel harmed by what happened last night, I cannot help that. But if you feel that you have harmed or slighted me, be assured that you have not."

Jevah sighed, then shivered. Tension drained from her, like water sheeting from glass. "I felt—I owe you my loyalty."

Skurs regarded her steadily. "In what way was last night a breach of that loyalty?"

"I was—with someone—not you."

"You did not know. There was no intention on your part to deceive or to harm."

Jevah nodded. "I see that. But I feel—that I have failed, that I am—somehow less. That you might wish me gone."

"That is my determination to make, not yours." He sighed deeply. "Jevah, you are so quiet that I have mostly your actions on which to know you. This had led to misunderstanding. I believed that you were confident enough in yourself that you did not need to talk incessantly, to be surrounded by people. I did not see that your silence comes as much from self-doubt as from enjoyment of solitude."

He moved across the pool to stand directly before her, then knelt to look into her eyes. "You are with me because I wish it," he told her. "I am satisfied with the current situation. If you have needs to be addressed, you must tell me." He shrugged slightly. "Admittedly, you are not in a position to make demands or to walk away, but believe that I will not intentionally harm you."

Jevah stared at him. He was sincere; she read that on his face as if she was feeling his thoughts. Tears welled up in her eyes; she blinked them away. "Thank you," she whispered. She tried to put more words to her thoughts but came up empty. She felt shaky, tremulous—but safe.