53.
Shit. I thought I was over this.
Commander William Riker took in a sharp breath, then another, then he sank to his knees beside what had once been Kira Nerys. He knew it was her because he recognised the form of her body, her uniform, her ritual ear ornament. Her face was gone, beaten away, and he had seen enough violence in his life to know that someone had kept beating her for quite a while after she was dead.
Dukat.
There was no sign of him, no indication that he had even been in the room. Riker had never met him, knew nothing about him but what he had read in reports, what he had been told, rumours, whispers… It was nothing but a wild, unsubstantiated, really ridiculous guess. And yet he was certain beyond the shadow of a doubt. It was Dukat who had done this. It could only have been him.
Will it never end? Will it never fucking stop?
Will put his hand on the major's body, as if feeling for a last breath where none would ever pass again. There were broken ribs, most probably massive internal injuries. He knew men like this. Men who enjoyed inflicting pain, delighted in it as if it were fine handiwork, a craft slowly acquired over years and years of practice. He could see it clearly, although he didn't want to: there was Dukat punching into Kira's slight frame with all his might, again and again, sitting on top of her, ramming his knees into her stomach, punching her again. And then the scene changed and it was his father he saw, sitting on top of Kira, punching her face meticulously, dispassionately, looking at Will with something like pity in his eyes, as if to say: didn't you know it was like this? Didn't I teach you anything?
Stop. Stop it. This is not helpful. You've got to focus now.
He tried to recall his doctor's tone of voice. The doctor would tell him to breathe, to go to that place in his mind where none of this mattered, where it was warm, and he was safe, and loved. But he could not find it. There was no safe place, there had never been a safe place and there never would be, would there? People like Dukat, like his father, they would always win in the end.
I cannot do this. Now now. There are people counting on me. Please, please not now…
Who was he pleading with? He didn't know. He saw faces pass before his eyes, friends, family: his auntie Tasya; the captain; Deanna; Data; his cousin Dmitri; Worf. But they all slipped past him, blank-eyed, into the darkness. They could not help him. No one could. This was where it would end for him, curled up beside the broken body of a woman he hardly knew, on a space station he had no business on, pretending to fight a war he cared nothing about, with people who didn't want him there - for what?
"You were nice to me once."
Ziyal.
That's what she had written in her letter. Will remembered reading it, it seemed like years ago, and he had felt so bad that he had run to his captain and begged him to let him go to her. The captain had said no, because it wasn't safe. He didn't want anything to happen to his Number One. But then how, how was it possible that he was here now, stumbling over dead bodies, crawling around in Jefferies tubes, fearing guards who might shoot on sight around every corner? Was this safe? Why would his captain send him here?
You said you needed to go.
Now he could here his captain's voice, and his face didn't float by, it stayed. Yes. He had said that. Will remembered sitting on the floor with the girl, leaning against a bulkhead, her poor young face covered in tears and snot, and she had said, I wish I was a stone, and Will, Will had felt his whole life unraveling, as if his heart were a spool of yarn and someone was tugging at the thread with the evil pleasure of destruction. He knew they were connected then, he knew he had to help her, or at least try.
That's why he was here. Not because of the space station, or the people on it, or the war that had nothing to do with him. He was here for the girl.
Story of my life.
He grinned to himself, picturing his captain staring at him and shaking his head in disapproval. Now that Kira was dead, Ziyal could not be his priority. His mission was more than an alibi now. He was needed. That's what Picard would say, and he would be right.
So, instead of curling up in a ball beside the dead woman's body again, Will sat up straight. He closed Kira's eyes and arranged her body in a more dignified manner. He hadn't known her well, but somehow he knew she was a proud and dignified woman in her own way, and he hoped she would have appreciated it. He sat there in silence for a minute. Then he got up. He knew what he had to do.
