55.
When they arrived, he was waiting.
Although she was aware that for most people it was the complete opposite, the security office was a place Ziyal had always associated with actually feeling safe and secure, probably because she could not imagine *not* feeling safe and secure in any place Odo was. Even when Odo was not there, it had always felt like Odo's place. Nothing could happen to her there.
But it wasn't Odo's place anymore. Now it was empty and dark, and Odo was probably dripping off some wall, ripped apart by some grenade. It was no one's place now. A few flickering lights here and there, imploded consoles, smoke curling up from them; a low buzzing noise from exposed circuits. Their feet crunched on shattered glass as they walked in.
They saw him right away - how could they not. He was sitting cross-legged on the main desk. Someone had shot a hole in it and there was smoke coming out of it too, which gave Riker a vaguely spiritual air, as if he'd just descended from somewhere, or was about to ascend somewhere else. He looked not quite there, and yet so present. He sat there like someone completely in possession of himself. Completely at peace.
Ziyal felt a shiver run through her, and then she felt her heart slowing in her chest, slowing, slowing, and only then she realised how fast it had been beating for who knew how long. She took a deep breath, and part of her, and no small part, rejoiced at that simple fact. For some people, taking a deep breath was just something they did, not worth of notice. For people like her and Garak, and Will Riker too, it would always be a miracle.
"Will?"
He opened his eyes.
"Hello. I've been waiting for you."
"Yes. I - are you all right?"
"I'm fine. You?"
"Fine."
Strangely enough, he looked like he meant it. Even more strange, she didn't think she was lying, either.
"Lieutenant, how are you holding up?"
She felt Garak's grip on her hand harden for a second, his breathing stop and then resume.
"I assume… I assume I will be required to write a report."
Riker smiled.
"Absolutely. Several reports, actually."
"Well, they are going to be most interesting."
"I foresee a brilliant career for you, Mr. Garak."
"I think the rank of Admiral would suit me splendidly."
"You know what? I wouldn't bet against that."
Riker jumped off the desk and landed on his feet lightly. It always surprised Ziyal how such a big man could be so - lithe, almost feline in his movement. It comes from always being ready to jump, to run, to duck, to disappear. Garak has it, I have it. And Kira had it.
"Is he there?"
She gestured towards the door that opened to the holding cells behind the office.
"Yes."
Ziyal let go of Garak's hand, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Has he ever done that?, she wondered. As she stepped through the door, she felt his touch reverberating through her body. Is it going to be like this every time? Something strange fluttered in her stomach, or around her heart, she wasn't sure which, and the instant the doors closed behind her she realised it was hope.
It was hard to make him out. The room was dark, no smoking consoles in here, just the emergency lights. He was sitting in the back of his cell, where the shadows were deepest, cross legged, mimicking the position they had found Will in, but how could he be mimicking it if he couldn't see him? His eyes were open, and he was looking directly at her. He too seemed calm, in possession of himself, but there was a fleeting quality around him, a wavering, like he was about to shift into something completely different the next minute, the next second. Hadn't he always been like that?
"My darling", Dukat said, his expression unchanged. He also sounded like he meant it. Was it her, was whatever Garak had given her still coursing through her veins making her susceptible, weak, gullible? She tried to harden herself. Darling or no darling, father or no father, that was a murderer sitting in front of her.
There's a murderer standing in front of him. And there are two murderers out there, waiting for you.
"Why did you do it? Why did you have to do it?"
If he asks "did what", I could kill him here and now, she thought. Wouldn't that be easy.
"I don't know, my darling. I know that I regret it, though."
"Oh, sure. Sure you do."
Dukat stood up and came closer. He raised his hand and the force-field crackled briefly. For it to do that when his hand wasn't even that close to it, Riker would have to have regulated it to the absolute maximum. If Dukat tried to touch it, it wouldn't just burn a little, it would seriously hurt him. Depending on how long he had gone without food and water, and how bad Kira had injured him (and Kira had injured him), it might even kill him.
"I… I was not quite myself."
"I think you were. I think you were exactly yourself."
"Perhaps you are right."
Did he really sound tired, or was he pretending to sound tired, to manipulate her, to elicit her pity? That was what he did, didn't he? It was what they all did - Garak, Will, Bashir, Kira, and most of all, Tora Ziyal - : evaluate, measure, calculate, position people here and there, so they would act and react the way they should when the moment came.
Ziyal knew how she was being positioned, she knew what her father wanted, she could hear it as clearly as if he was shouting it at the top of his voice. It was what they wanted too, Garak and Will, the men waiting for her on the other side of the door. It was what she wanted too. It was the logical solution, the easiest one; it was the right thing to do.
And she knew, just as clearly, that it was the one thing she couldn't do.
Still, he didn't need to know. No one did. Not just yet.
"Father… what is it that you want?"
"I want you to be safe, I want you to be happy. It's all I've ever…
"Father?"
"All right, no, it's not all I've ever wanted. I'd quite like to be the ruler of Cardassia, bring it to it's former glory and be remembered for many centuries as a leader among leaders, a ruler among rulers. I also want to be rich, lead an easy life surrounded by beauty and harmony and love. Nothing unreasonable, you see. But right now that doesn't seem… quite as important as it once was.
"I see."
"That could change though."
"I know."
He smiled. Ziyal smiled back. They were going to play this game, it seemed. One last time.
"You do know the easiest way to achieve all that would be if you were dead. I would be safe and happy, and you would certainly be remembered. You've already had a pretty sweet life, haven't you? And the leader among leaders thing could be… well, edited in later on. A hundred years or so makes all the difference. Who will know who any of us were, a hundred years from now?"
"Yes, that thought has occurred to me. But that is not the question, though, is it?"
"Isn't it? So what is the question then?"
"It's not about the fact of my death, but who will propitiate it."
"You mean will I kill you, or will I have someone else do it for me."
"In a nutshell."
"Well, I've given that a great deal of thought lately, as you might have imagined."
"Naturally."
"Yes, naturally. And I've come to the conclusion that it would be best for everyone if I was to do it myself.
"Indeed."
"Right now."
"Yes, I've come to the same conclusion."
Still he was smiling, still she was smiling back. It *would* be the best. If she didn't, things would get - complicated. And hadn't things been too complicated for too long? Didn't they all deserve a rest? Wasn't he standing there, looking at her calmly, telling her to do it, telling her it was ok? Wouldn't it be a perfect closure, a fresh start, a new world?
It would also be murder.
"All you have to do is disconnect the force-field. I promise I won't run."
"Promises from you aren't worth very much, father."
"They are when I make them to you."
There was much to reflect on here. Was this true? Had her father kept her promises to her? Had he even made promises to keep? And even if he had, did it mean anything? Did it make him worth saving?
Step back, think. You don't have to decide anything right now.
Even as she was thinking it, she saw herself step forward, approach the terminal right beside the entrance to the cell; punch the keys, kill the forcefield. It shimmered and crackled for a second, then her father was free. For a moment, he just stood there, then he raised his hand, like he had before, as if to touch her, and let it sink again. Ziyal also raised her hand, mirroring his movement. They never touched, as if the force field was still between them.
Ziyal moved to the side, signalling her father to step out of the cell. He did.
He's waiting for you to kill him. He really is.
"Leave."
He didn't move, his expression didn't change.
"I said 'leave'. Get out of here. Now, before I change my mind."
"That's not… what you said."
"I know."
"Are you sure?"
"No, I'm not."
"What I did… to Kira…"
"Just. Go."
This is why you kill people. Why your father kills people. They stand before you, they exist; you don't want them to exist, to be there, standing before you; thus, you make them not exist. Permanently. Because you can, because you have the skills. You decide. You are important. You are god.
"What about them?"
Dukat lifted his chin, pointing to the exit.
"I am not responsible for them. I am your daughter, my allegiance is to no one. I hate what you are, and what you did, and I am letting you go. They are Starfleet officers. They will do what they have to do."
Dukat turned to the exit; she could see he was evaluating possible outcomes, routes of escape, body parts he might damage, words he might use to talk himself through different scenarios. His business with her was finished: he had loved her, just now, he had been willing to leave his life at her hands. He had been ready to die. Now that was over, and he turned his attention elsewhere. If it should ever become necessary, he would turn it again to her, and he would hate or love her then, as was convenient.
I am not like him, Ziyal thought, and for the first time, she believed it. The thought filled her with wonder, and with a lightness she couldn't remember ever experiencing. As if she was about to float away into the Universe right then and there, and it was perfectly all right.
You are free. This is what it feels like to be free.
Dukat turned to her, possibly for a last goodbye, or more probably to ask for something: a ship, an access code, a word that would get him passage. He thought she had that kind of knowledge and power, and that pleased her. But before he could say anything, a noise outside made him turn towards the exit again. There was a crash, muffled exclamations: a fight. Ziyal felt her sleeves for her little trusty knives, but of course they were long lost - in Damar's quarters, in another life. She looked around for shattered pieces of glass, scraps of metal, anything she could use. There was nothing. When she looked up, she half expected her father to have disappeared already. Instead, she found herself staring into the face of the life she thought she had left behind.
