What I Did for Love
By DebbieB
Series: DS9
Character: Lwaxana Troi
Authors Note: This story is in response to one of the biggest problems I
ever had with Deep Space 9. Betazed falls to the Dominion, and it merits
only a throwaway line in a single episode. What happened to those who
stayed behind, living in the shadow of occupation, on a planet known mainly
for beauty and light?
Kiss today goodbye The sweetness and the sorrow Wish me luck, the same to you
But I can't regret What I did for love, what I did for love
Look my eyes are dry The gift was ours to borrow It's as if we always knew
And I won't forget What I did for love, what I did for love
Gone, love is never gone As we travel on Love's what we'll remember
Kiss today goodbye And point me toward tomorrow We did what we had to do
Won't forget, can't regret What I did for love, what I did for love
M. Hamlisch/E. Kleban, 1975
The letter has gone. It's dangerous, even now that things have settled a bit. I'm watched. All of us in the government, especially the House members, are scrutinized. My letters to Deanna, no matter how sporadic, no matter how carefully smuggled under the Dominion line, could get me killed.
It's a small risk.
My hands hurt. I tell myself it's the writing, although I know it's not. I'm feeling my age.
I thank my grandmother and mother for insisting I learn the ancient script, and I thank myself for insisting Deanna learn it too. If the letters should be intercepted, there's a tiny chance our invaders won't recognize it as writing. To the untrained eye, I'm simply sending pictures to my daughter. To the handful of Betazoids who still know the ancient written language of the Houses, I'm sending status reports.
Dangerous. I know it's dangerous.
I wander about the house, feeling the emptiness. My toe hits a wooden horse. I wince in pain, and pick up the toy.
I don't tell Deanna the truth. No one, not Homm, not Deanna, not even my family, knows the truth. I wear black every day. I mourn and grieve. They see my grief and share it.
My son is dead. My beloved miracle is dead.
For all the world to know. For the Dominion and their monstrous goons, my son is dead. I've seen what the Dominion does. How they use love against you, use the innocent as a weapon.
In the first few days of the invasion, some of us tried to fight. Betazoids are not bred for insurrection. Our greatest weapons are our minds, and the Dominion made very public examples of those Betazoids who tried to fight on a mental plane. The bones still hang in front of the opera in the capital city.
Mind talk in public has been banned. Anyone suspected of communicating in a non-verbal way is condemned, on site, without a trial.
The streets have never been so noisy.
My son is dead.
In the current situation, I might be glad of the silence, but it mocks me. I want noise in this house, crying and laughter and howls of delight.
My son is dead.
The tiny body, the tiny casket, lowered into the ground with our ancestors, the circle turned and my ceremonial robe, blood crimson and gold, smeared in dirt as I sobbed into the ground.
Nobody knows the truth. I can't let them know. My grief is as real for my son as it is for that dead little boy in the ground.
I don't dare write to my friends. I don't dare ask about his health. I don't dare, because I've seen what the Dominion does. They use love against you. They use the innocent as a weapon.
My son is dead. He walks and laughs and plays on Earth with people he will come to see as family. He will forget me. He will lose my scent and my softness as he grows without me.
But I cannot leave.
Betazed has fallen. I have to stay. I cannot abandon my home. My son is dead.
Forgive me.
End
Kiss today goodbye The sweetness and the sorrow Wish me luck, the same to you
But I can't regret What I did for love, what I did for love
Look my eyes are dry The gift was ours to borrow It's as if we always knew
And I won't forget What I did for love, what I did for love
Gone, love is never gone As we travel on Love's what we'll remember
Kiss today goodbye And point me toward tomorrow We did what we had to do
Won't forget, can't regret What I did for love, what I did for love
M. Hamlisch/E. Kleban, 1975
The letter has gone. It's dangerous, even now that things have settled a bit. I'm watched. All of us in the government, especially the House members, are scrutinized. My letters to Deanna, no matter how sporadic, no matter how carefully smuggled under the Dominion line, could get me killed.
It's a small risk.
My hands hurt. I tell myself it's the writing, although I know it's not. I'm feeling my age.
I thank my grandmother and mother for insisting I learn the ancient script, and I thank myself for insisting Deanna learn it too. If the letters should be intercepted, there's a tiny chance our invaders won't recognize it as writing. To the untrained eye, I'm simply sending pictures to my daughter. To the handful of Betazoids who still know the ancient written language of the Houses, I'm sending status reports.
Dangerous. I know it's dangerous.
I wander about the house, feeling the emptiness. My toe hits a wooden horse. I wince in pain, and pick up the toy.
I don't tell Deanna the truth. No one, not Homm, not Deanna, not even my family, knows the truth. I wear black every day. I mourn and grieve. They see my grief and share it.
My son is dead. My beloved miracle is dead.
For all the world to know. For the Dominion and their monstrous goons, my son is dead. I've seen what the Dominion does. How they use love against you, use the innocent as a weapon.
In the first few days of the invasion, some of us tried to fight. Betazoids are not bred for insurrection. Our greatest weapons are our minds, and the Dominion made very public examples of those Betazoids who tried to fight on a mental plane. The bones still hang in front of the opera in the capital city.
Mind talk in public has been banned. Anyone suspected of communicating in a non-verbal way is condemned, on site, without a trial.
The streets have never been so noisy.
My son is dead.
In the current situation, I might be glad of the silence, but it mocks me. I want noise in this house, crying and laughter and howls of delight.
My son is dead.
The tiny body, the tiny casket, lowered into the ground with our ancestors, the circle turned and my ceremonial robe, blood crimson and gold, smeared in dirt as I sobbed into the ground.
Nobody knows the truth. I can't let them know. My grief is as real for my son as it is for that dead little boy in the ground.
I don't dare write to my friends. I don't dare ask about his health. I don't dare, because I've seen what the Dominion does. They use love against you. They use the innocent as a weapon.
My son is dead. He walks and laughs and plays on Earth with people he will come to see as family. He will forget me. He will lose my scent and my softness as he grows without me.
But I cannot leave.
Betazed has fallen. I have to stay. I cannot abandon my home. My son is dead.
Forgive me.
End