THE AGREEMENT
By The Collaborators
***
CHAPTER TWO
Kira chose to wear her uniform -- a fact that did not go unnoticed by the man sitting across from her at the table. They had decided to eat in the Supreme Commander's quarters. Aside from a mutually obvious reluctance to setting tongues wagging all the way from Bajor to Sector 001, Dukat had the feeling that Kira shared his desire to have this particular meal uninterrupted by Quark, or Rom. And, perhaps, Odo. Not that Dukat cared as to who saw the commander of Terok Nor sharing a quiet, working dinner with his Bajoran liaison officer. Although, he had to admit, work was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment.
As for quiet--- "Well, Major!"
That insufferable smirk was back on Dukat's face and something inside Kira withered. How had she ever thought that this was going to be easy? Or, at least, bearable? All you have to do, Nerys, is let him talk and keep your mouth shut. Don't respond. Eat. Say good night. And leave. Should be simple. Except for one little detail. Tonight, she would have to fulfil her part of a bargain made in haste.
"Here we are... having our long-awaited dinner together," Dukat said as he held up his glass of Bajoran spring wine.
Kira drained hers promptly... before he could come out with some ridiculous toast. Ignoring his knowing smile, she began to eat.
"Long-awaited by whom?" She just could not help herself. The man made her itch all over. She threw one of those especially-made-for-Dukat venomous glances in his general direction. "Certainly not by me!"
She continued to eat the hasperat. It really was very good. And she noticed that it was significantly different in its piquancy from the one she usually favoured at the replimat. Stealing a glance at him, she saw that he had chosen to ignore her comments and was attacking his plate with gusto.
He looked, simply, delighted.
"You know, Major, this is the best hasperat I have ever had outside of... well, outside of..." The inflection was slight, but she caught it. And that... something... in his eyes. A sudden desolation. She had seen it before. At a makeshift gravesite on a desert planet. Annoyed at her train of thought, she began to ask as to where he had gotten hold of the programming for the recipe when he interrupted her and, in typical Dukat style, forestalled her...
"Do you cook, Major?"
Unnerved, Kira sputtered and choked on her wine. Incensed at her dining companion's barely suppressed mirth, she dabbed irritably at the stain the spill had made on the front of her uniform jacket. She had no idea whether she was angry at his incessant teasing, her own clumsiness, or his juvenile reactions. *Why* had she allowed this to happen? Why did she *always* allow this to happen? And, come to think of it, she had put up with this... this man... for what seemed like eons. Had she ever let any other man burrow so deeply under her skin, maraude her most cherished dreams with impunity, deprive her of her dearest friends and family -- and get away with it? And, why did the Prophets continue to throw her at the mercy of this... this *monster*?? What kind of cruel -- and protracted -- test was this? Self- pity ill-fitted Kira Nerys. But, these days, it seemed as if that was all she had left.
That -- and the anger; the anger that had sustained her throughout her life; the anger that, knowingly or unknowingly, he fed. Anger spawned by moments such as one, not too long ago, in the deserted, darkened corridor of the fallen Deep Space Nine. The swaggering bounce in his step; that vexingly familiar scent of him -- heightened by those unavoidable Cardassian pheromones and laced with triumph; that moment would be with her... perhaps forever. Something in that darkened passage filled with Jem'Hadar soldiers had drawn her inexorably to him. And, like the proverbial Terran moth, she had found herself riveted to that unwavering, ominously intimate gaze; and had returned it in kind -- uncaring and unaware of any other. It was as if all of her past, his past, and whatever comprised their tortuous shared history -- congealed into that one, inevitable, moment. It had come. It *had* to. Ever since he had promised her so, she had known it would. Everything he had lost, he had regained. However fleeting the moment, however transient the power -- it was his. That moment was his... and the steel-blue eyes on hers could not have been more revealing; the hate in her eyes had barely left a scar. But, all said and done, that which disturbed her most was her own reaction. Because for one insane moment, when he had brushed past her... eyeing her with that teasingly feral smile... instead of stepping back to make way, she had wanted to press her body against his. Just to witness his reaction would have been worth all the cost -- she had reasoned with herself later on. But, would it? And, was it only to see his reaction? Or, was it an instinct based on an entirely different set of responses... responses she did not even dare to examine in the light of day?
And, Sweet Prophets, what madness had possessed her to think up the plan she had?? To not even consult Odo---
"---You know, Major," Dukat intoned, seemingly unfazed by the look on her face. "You *could* muster up a bit of an enthusiasm for the news I had this morning. My first grandchild!" His eyes darkened as he warmed to his subject. "My first grandchild, Major! A momentous occasion -- one I have awaited a long time." A smile of genuine pleasure creased the sides of his mouth.
Amazing, the expressiveness of this man's face! A monster shouldn't be an open book!
To distract herself, Kira asked a question. Any question would do...
"So does your daughter *do* anything besides having babies, Dukat?"
He threw her a reproving look but made no effort to hide that little smile of paternal pride playing around his lips. His eyes glazed over for a moment -- as if in memory of a certain image.
"She is chief engineer of the H'Gathha, Major. I thought you knew that."
Grudgingly, Kira conceded. She hadn't bothered to check his family's recent accomplishments, though she did know that he was very fond of his children... especially Mekor, his youngest son. Captain Sisko had told her that once. But... chief engineer of a Galor-class ship, hmm? Cardassians... trust them to surprise you when you least expect it! But she wasn't done yet.
"So... how old is she?" He looked at her curiously, attempting to gauge the direction of her thoughts.
"Who, Galien?" His eyebrow ridges furrowed a bit. "Let's see, she's our eldest... hmm... she's about thirty years, by your calendar. Why?"
His eyes had caught something in hers and sharpened. Kira hoped her face was innocent enough.
"Oh, she is just about my age, then." His eyes narrowed. "So she is. A little younger, perhaps, than you, Major--- "
"---but... the same generation!" She retorted, unable to suppress the wide grin as it spilt itself all over her face. She was having too good a time... damn him! Her fingers lazily twirled the thin stem of the wine glass. Two could play those infernal games he so enjoyed. Games of power. And control. Playing with fire... What would it be like? To see him lose that control?
"Come to think of it, Dukat," she felt her toes curl in sheer anticipation, "my uncle, my father's *elder* brother, is probably just about your age."
Oh, it felt SO good! This poking and prodding of that armour of his. She could actually feel his surprise, and saw his eyes lower and his fists clench loosely on each side of his plate. But that infernal smile was still on his face.
"On Cardassia, women marry young. And a habitually large age difference between a couple is a matter of course." His voice was curiously light. Too late. She wasn't about to let him get away, now.
"So, you're saying it's *natural* for Ziyal to seek out Garak, by Cardassian custom?" She almost shivered with the raw, delicious sense of satisfaction that spread through her as she watched the indigo eyes harden and the fists clench, knuckles gleaming a pale-gray.
"What are you trying to imply, Major?"
"Nothing." Kira picked up her glass and drained it. "Except that even though I don't approve of Garak, I don't think you or I have any say in the matter of them spending their time together."
She sliced the air on her right with her palm. "And if Cardassian tradition dictates that an age difference is natural -- who are we to argue?"
She felt positively languorous at the pleasure it gave her to see his stunned face. Take *that*, my dear Gul! The silence lengthened as Kira watched Dukat covertly. A pastime that, it shamed her to admit, quite suited her of late. His face was closed, the sudden inscrutability unsettling her a bit. His eyes were on her wine glass -- on her fingers as they curled around the stem of it. The steady regard unnerved her and she snatched her hand back to join the one on her lap, out of his sight. Damn, her hands were actually trembling!
Dukat raised his eyes to her face.
"Are you saying then, Major, that those twenty-odd years between *us* don't matter?"
Something in his eyes stilled her breath, and when she found her voice, it sounded subdued. "I am talking about Ziyal and Garak." Forgetting... forgiving... what did it matter? It was all the same. And, beyond her power.
The half-smile was back on his face.
"Ahh... I see," he picked up a bottle standing at the corner of the table and poured her a generous portion of the kanar. Watching the velvet liquid fill her glass, Kira had a sudden vision of another Cardassian face. This one fuller, gentler, limned in pain; atop a sweat-drenched pillow, surrounded by feeding tubes. No, not the kanar. She drew a breath to stem the lancing pain in her chest.
Dukat watched her quietly.
"Try the pie instead, Major," he suggested, his voice a bit too gentle, a bit too knowing, for her comfort. "It's quite good."
Kira looked blindly back at him.
"Where *is* Garak, anyway?" He asked, watching her over the rim of his glass.
"How should I know? I don't keep tabs on him, Dukat!" She knew the edge was back between them. Somehow, Prophets only knew why, he had *forced* it back. And, where Gul Dukat was concerned, that edge was her lifeline. She never... EVER... wanted it to go away.
"Do you, at least, keep tabs on my daughter, Major Kira?" He had stopped smiling.
Kira shrugged. "I wasn't aware of being *appointed* by anyone to do so. Besides, she is an adult."
"An adult who has never spent any significant length of time alone on Bajor," his voice dripped that special icy disdain reserved for special people. Garak, for instance. Only, now he had chosen to dispense it to Kira. "That is, I assume Ziyal *is* on Bajor," he took a sip of his kanar and eyed Kira's studied nonchalance with that thinly veiled amusement which never failed to irritate her. "In fact, my... operatives should be able to find her soon enough."
Kira stared at him. "And then?" Her voice was hoarse with fear.
The pie sat unbroken between them.
"And then?" he repeated. "And then, Major, I will apologize to her. As any deluded and egotistical father should."
Kira felt her jaw drop. "You... you're going to admit that you were wrong?"
Dukat put the thumb and forefinger of his right hand on each side of his lower lip and rested the elbow on the table -- his eyes alight with amusement.
"On some counts... yes."
Kira closed her mouth.
"You don't approve, Major?" The creases deepened on each side of his mouth.
"I... umm... well... I *would* like to see this happen... if, that is... when it does."
He laughed out loud at her words. "Really, Major, you should know by now that Ziyal *is* my weakness. And," he shook a finger at her teasingly, "I really am not the monster you... and others... have made me out to be."
He picked up a knife and cut her a piece of the pie. "If you'd give me half a chance I'd prove it to---"
"---forget it, Dukat!" Kira was disgusted by the fact that she had actually begun to eat, and was enjoying, the Larish pie. She usually abhorred the stuff. What was *happening* to her? And why the Prophets was meeting that keen blue gaze proving to be such a battle?
"You blew your chance *this time* when you joined the Dominion and retook Deep Space Nine."
And, imprisoned Jake.
"Terok Nor... now," Dukat's smug expression was, if anything, testimony to the utter failure of her outburst.
Candor was only grist for this man's mill. Kira resigned herself to finishing her pie and... and then what? This was a mistake. A BIG mistake. She could not sleep with this man... she WOULD not! If not for Jake... If not for... The room was quiet, for once. Sensing something amiss, Kira looked up. Dukat was sitting back, watching her -- indigo eyes hooded. And, for some reason as yet unacknowledged, Kira could not hold that keen, razor- sharp gaze as it met hers.
At her frown, he sat forward and laced his fingers together... resting a furrowed chin on them.
"Major..." his voice was soft, a bit bemused. But Kira, ever-familiar with this man's proclivity for setting verbal traps, felt her breath catch in her throat. "This *was* an informal invitation on your part, wasn't it?"
Kira's pulse jerked and began to race as she stared grimly down at her right hand -- gripping a knife.
It had come, then. That moment of reckoning. For her. For them both, perhaps.
A curious mix of anticipation and doom licked at her nerve-endings as she waited for the moment he would politely rescind his own offer while accepting and enforcing hers. She felt her eyelids turn slowly to lead and struggled in the effort to look at him.
Funnily, a part of her mind insisted on dwelling on why his hands, palms, and fingers weren't scaled. What would it be like? To be held firmly in their strength, to be touched... caressed... by those long fingers as they trailed fire down her--- Must be the spring wine. You never did have a head for the stuff. That's why you should stick to synthale, *Major*!
Kira drew in a deep, steadying breath. And decided. She had already lost most everything precious to her -- to this man. Tonight, she would lose all.
Her eyes caught the movement of his shoulders as he shrugged, a gesture rendered almost indecipherable by the armour he wore.
"As always, Major, your company has been exhilarating as well as educational," his blue eyes never left her face. "But I can see that you are exhausted. As am I. And tomorrow *is* another day. Is it not?"
Kira felt numbed.
Dukat smiled, a bit grimly it seemed to her, as he got up, crossed the room, and keyed open the door to the corridor. Kira stood, her knees feeling like the insides of the pie she had half-consumed. Dukat put a hand on the doorjamb, and bending slightly forward, took a quick look around the deserted corridor beyond. He turned back to her, an expression of undiluted conspiratorial delight on his face.
"All clear, I would surmise," he dramatically stage-whispered to Kira.
Put one step *right* in front of the other, Nerys. That's it. And, another. And, another. One more -- and all freedom was hers to hold. Or, was it?
Indigo eyes met a stunned, doe-eyed gaze as Kira stepped, numbly, out into the corridor.
"Major... next time we have dinner... could you... conceivably, make yourself more comfortable and leave that uniform jacket off?" His bow was barely noticeable but curiously courteous. "After all, it's only me. And we both know that you aren't afraid of me, Major. Hmm?"
As she stared up into that familiar, sly grin, Kira felt the old simmer surging back into her veins, fuelling a latent outrage.
"NEXT time, Dukat, armour or NO armour, TWENTY Jem'Hadar soldiers would not keep me from giving you what you've been... ASKING for all these years!!"
"Major!!" Dukat's face was a study in triumphant, wicked delight. "I'll be waiting."
He leant slightly toward her -- his breath, cool and curiously sweet, fanning her cheeks. Kira trembled -- shock, relief, and a touch of plain, old-fashioned nerves weakening her limbs for a paralyzing instant. His grin was all-too knowing. All-too Dukat. "The soldiers can wait... outside... perhaps?"
Swivelling around, she ignored that deep, throaty rumble of a laugh and took off -- his lilting "pleasant dreams, Major..." trailing after her like tendrils of cold flame.
* * * *
By The Collaborators
***
CHAPTER TWO
Kira chose to wear her uniform -- a fact that did not go unnoticed by the man sitting across from her at the table. They had decided to eat in the Supreme Commander's quarters. Aside from a mutually obvious reluctance to setting tongues wagging all the way from Bajor to Sector 001, Dukat had the feeling that Kira shared his desire to have this particular meal uninterrupted by Quark, or Rom. And, perhaps, Odo. Not that Dukat cared as to who saw the commander of Terok Nor sharing a quiet, working dinner with his Bajoran liaison officer. Although, he had to admit, work was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment.
As for quiet--- "Well, Major!"
That insufferable smirk was back on Dukat's face and something inside Kira withered. How had she ever thought that this was going to be easy? Or, at least, bearable? All you have to do, Nerys, is let him talk and keep your mouth shut. Don't respond. Eat. Say good night. And leave. Should be simple. Except for one little detail. Tonight, she would have to fulfil her part of a bargain made in haste.
"Here we are... having our long-awaited dinner together," Dukat said as he held up his glass of Bajoran spring wine.
Kira drained hers promptly... before he could come out with some ridiculous toast. Ignoring his knowing smile, she began to eat.
"Long-awaited by whom?" She just could not help herself. The man made her itch all over. She threw one of those especially-made-for-Dukat venomous glances in his general direction. "Certainly not by me!"
She continued to eat the hasperat. It really was very good. And she noticed that it was significantly different in its piquancy from the one she usually favoured at the replimat. Stealing a glance at him, she saw that he had chosen to ignore her comments and was attacking his plate with gusto.
He looked, simply, delighted.
"You know, Major, this is the best hasperat I have ever had outside of... well, outside of..." The inflection was slight, but she caught it. And that... something... in his eyes. A sudden desolation. She had seen it before. At a makeshift gravesite on a desert planet. Annoyed at her train of thought, she began to ask as to where he had gotten hold of the programming for the recipe when he interrupted her and, in typical Dukat style, forestalled her...
"Do you cook, Major?"
Unnerved, Kira sputtered and choked on her wine. Incensed at her dining companion's barely suppressed mirth, she dabbed irritably at the stain the spill had made on the front of her uniform jacket. She had no idea whether she was angry at his incessant teasing, her own clumsiness, or his juvenile reactions. *Why* had she allowed this to happen? Why did she *always* allow this to happen? And, come to think of it, she had put up with this... this man... for what seemed like eons. Had she ever let any other man burrow so deeply under her skin, maraude her most cherished dreams with impunity, deprive her of her dearest friends and family -- and get away with it? And, why did the Prophets continue to throw her at the mercy of this... this *monster*?? What kind of cruel -- and protracted -- test was this? Self- pity ill-fitted Kira Nerys. But, these days, it seemed as if that was all she had left.
That -- and the anger; the anger that had sustained her throughout her life; the anger that, knowingly or unknowingly, he fed. Anger spawned by moments such as one, not too long ago, in the deserted, darkened corridor of the fallen Deep Space Nine. The swaggering bounce in his step; that vexingly familiar scent of him -- heightened by those unavoidable Cardassian pheromones and laced with triumph; that moment would be with her... perhaps forever. Something in that darkened passage filled with Jem'Hadar soldiers had drawn her inexorably to him. And, like the proverbial Terran moth, she had found herself riveted to that unwavering, ominously intimate gaze; and had returned it in kind -- uncaring and unaware of any other. It was as if all of her past, his past, and whatever comprised their tortuous shared history -- congealed into that one, inevitable, moment. It had come. It *had* to. Ever since he had promised her so, she had known it would. Everything he had lost, he had regained. However fleeting the moment, however transient the power -- it was his. That moment was his... and the steel-blue eyes on hers could not have been more revealing; the hate in her eyes had barely left a scar. But, all said and done, that which disturbed her most was her own reaction. Because for one insane moment, when he had brushed past her... eyeing her with that teasingly feral smile... instead of stepping back to make way, she had wanted to press her body against his. Just to witness his reaction would have been worth all the cost -- she had reasoned with herself later on. But, would it? And, was it only to see his reaction? Or, was it an instinct based on an entirely different set of responses... responses she did not even dare to examine in the light of day?
And, Sweet Prophets, what madness had possessed her to think up the plan she had?? To not even consult Odo---
"---You know, Major," Dukat intoned, seemingly unfazed by the look on her face. "You *could* muster up a bit of an enthusiasm for the news I had this morning. My first grandchild!" His eyes darkened as he warmed to his subject. "My first grandchild, Major! A momentous occasion -- one I have awaited a long time." A smile of genuine pleasure creased the sides of his mouth.
Amazing, the expressiveness of this man's face! A monster shouldn't be an open book!
To distract herself, Kira asked a question. Any question would do...
"So does your daughter *do* anything besides having babies, Dukat?"
He threw her a reproving look but made no effort to hide that little smile of paternal pride playing around his lips. His eyes glazed over for a moment -- as if in memory of a certain image.
"She is chief engineer of the H'Gathha, Major. I thought you knew that."
Grudgingly, Kira conceded. She hadn't bothered to check his family's recent accomplishments, though she did know that he was very fond of his children... especially Mekor, his youngest son. Captain Sisko had told her that once. But... chief engineer of a Galor-class ship, hmm? Cardassians... trust them to surprise you when you least expect it! But she wasn't done yet.
"So... how old is she?" He looked at her curiously, attempting to gauge the direction of her thoughts.
"Who, Galien?" His eyebrow ridges furrowed a bit. "Let's see, she's our eldest... hmm... she's about thirty years, by your calendar. Why?"
His eyes had caught something in hers and sharpened. Kira hoped her face was innocent enough.
"Oh, she is just about my age, then." His eyes narrowed. "So she is. A little younger, perhaps, than you, Major--- "
"---but... the same generation!" She retorted, unable to suppress the wide grin as it spilt itself all over her face. She was having too good a time... damn him! Her fingers lazily twirled the thin stem of the wine glass. Two could play those infernal games he so enjoyed. Games of power. And control. Playing with fire... What would it be like? To see him lose that control?
"Come to think of it, Dukat," she felt her toes curl in sheer anticipation, "my uncle, my father's *elder* brother, is probably just about your age."
Oh, it felt SO good! This poking and prodding of that armour of his. She could actually feel his surprise, and saw his eyes lower and his fists clench loosely on each side of his plate. But that infernal smile was still on his face.
"On Cardassia, women marry young. And a habitually large age difference between a couple is a matter of course." His voice was curiously light. Too late. She wasn't about to let him get away, now.
"So, you're saying it's *natural* for Ziyal to seek out Garak, by Cardassian custom?" She almost shivered with the raw, delicious sense of satisfaction that spread through her as she watched the indigo eyes harden and the fists clench, knuckles gleaming a pale-gray.
"What are you trying to imply, Major?"
"Nothing." Kira picked up her glass and drained it. "Except that even though I don't approve of Garak, I don't think you or I have any say in the matter of them spending their time together."
She sliced the air on her right with her palm. "And if Cardassian tradition dictates that an age difference is natural -- who are we to argue?"
She felt positively languorous at the pleasure it gave her to see his stunned face. Take *that*, my dear Gul! The silence lengthened as Kira watched Dukat covertly. A pastime that, it shamed her to admit, quite suited her of late. His face was closed, the sudden inscrutability unsettling her a bit. His eyes were on her wine glass -- on her fingers as they curled around the stem of it. The steady regard unnerved her and she snatched her hand back to join the one on her lap, out of his sight. Damn, her hands were actually trembling!
Dukat raised his eyes to her face.
"Are you saying then, Major, that those twenty-odd years between *us* don't matter?"
Something in his eyes stilled her breath, and when she found her voice, it sounded subdued. "I am talking about Ziyal and Garak." Forgetting... forgiving... what did it matter? It was all the same. And, beyond her power.
The half-smile was back on his face.
"Ahh... I see," he picked up a bottle standing at the corner of the table and poured her a generous portion of the kanar. Watching the velvet liquid fill her glass, Kira had a sudden vision of another Cardassian face. This one fuller, gentler, limned in pain; atop a sweat-drenched pillow, surrounded by feeding tubes. No, not the kanar. She drew a breath to stem the lancing pain in her chest.
Dukat watched her quietly.
"Try the pie instead, Major," he suggested, his voice a bit too gentle, a bit too knowing, for her comfort. "It's quite good."
Kira looked blindly back at him.
"Where *is* Garak, anyway?" He asked, watching her over the rim of his glass.
"How should I know? I don't keep tabs on him, Dukat!" She knew the edge was back between them. Somehow, Prophets only knew why, he had *forced* it back. And, where Gul Dukat was concerned, that edge was her lifeline. She never... EVER... wanted it to go away.
"Do you, at least, keep tabs on my daughter, Major Kira?" He had stopped smiling.
Kira shrugged. "I wasn't aware of being *appointed* by anyone to do so. Besides, she is an adult."
"An adult who has never spent any significant length of time alone on Bajor," his voice dripped that special icy disdain reserved for special people. Garak, for instance. Only, now he had chosen to dispense it to Kira. "That is, I assume Ziyal *is* on Bajor," he took a sip of his kanar and eyed Kira's studied nonchalance with that thinly veiled amusement which never failed to irritate her. "In fact, my... operatives should be able to find her soon enough."
Kira stared at him. "And then?" Her voice was hoarse with fear.
The pie sat unbroken between them.
"And then?" he repeated. "And then, Major, I will apologize to her. As any deluded and egotistical father should."
Kira felt her jaw drop. "You... you're going to admit that you were wrong?"
Dukat put the thumb and forefinger of his right hand on each side of his lower lip and rested the elbow on the table -- his eyes alight with amusement.
"On some counts... yes."
Kira closed her mouth.
"You don't approve, Major?" The creases deepened on each side of his mouth.
"I... umm... well... I *would* like to see this happen... if, that is... when it does."
He laughed out loud at her words. "Really, Major, you should know by now that Ziyal *is* my weakness. And," he shook a finger at her teasingly, "I really am not the monster you... and others... have made me out to be."
He picked up a knife and cut her a piece of the pie. "If you'd give me half a chance I'd prove it to---"
"---forget it, Dukat!" Kira was disgusted by the fact that she had actually begun to eat, and was enjoying, the Larish pie. She usually abhorred the stuff. What was *happening* to her? And why the Prophets was meeting that keen blue gaze proving to be such a battle?
"You blew your chance *this time* when you joined the Dominion and retook Deep Space Nine."
And, imprisoned Jake.
"Terok Nor... now," Dukat's smug expression was, if anything, testimony to the utter failure of her outburst.
Candor was only grist for this man's mill. Kira resigned herself to finishing her pie and... and then what? This was a mistake. A BIG mistake. She could not sleep with this man... she WOULD not! If not for Jake... If not for... The room was quiet, for once. Sensing something amiss, Kira looked up. Dukat was sitting back, watching her -- indigo eyes hooded. And, for some reason as yet unacknowledged, Kira could not hold that keen, razor- sharp gaze as it met hers.
At her frown, he sat forward and laced his fingers together... resting a furrowed chin on them.
"Major..." his voice was soft, a bit bemused. But Kira, ever-familiar with this man's proclivity for setting verbal traps, felt her breath catch in her throat. "This *was* an informal invitation on your part, wasn't it?"
Kira's pulse jerked and began to race as she stared grimly down at her right hand -- gripping a knife.
It had come, then. That moment of reckoning. For her. For them both, perhaps.
A curious mix of anticipation and doom licked at her nerve-endings as she waited for the moment he would politely rescind his own offer while accepting and enforcing hers. She felt her eyelids turn slowly to lead and struggled in the effort to look at him.
Funnily, a part of her mind insisted on dwelling on why his hands, palms, and fingers weren't scaled. What would it be like? To be held firmly in their strength, to be touched... caressed... by those long fingers as they trailed fire down her--- Must be the spring wine. You never did have a head for the stuff. That's why you should stick to synthale, *Major*!
Kira drew in a deep, steadying breath. And decided. She had already lost most everything precious to her -- to this man. Tonight, she would lose all.
Her eyes caught the movement of his shoulders as he shrugged, a gesture rendered almost indecipherable by the armour he wore.
"As always, Major, your company has been exhilarating as well as educational," his blue eyes never left her face. "But I can see that you are exhausted. As am I. And tomorrow *is* another day. Is it not?"
Kira felt numbed.
Dukat smiled, a bit grimly it seemed to her, as he got up, crossed the room, and keyed open the door to the corridor. Kira stood, her knees feeling like the insides of the pie she had half-consumed. Dukat put a hand on the doorjamb, and bending slightly forward, took a quick look around the deserted corridor beyond. He turned back to her, an expression of undiluted conspiratorial delight on his face.
"All clear, I would surmise," he dramatically stage-whispered to Kira.
Put one step *right* in front of the other, Nerys. That's it. And, another. And, another. One more -- and all freedom was hers to hold. Or, was it?
Indigo eyes met a stunned, doe-eyed gaze as Kira stepped, numbly, out into the corridor.
"Major... next time we have dinner... could you... conceivably, make yourself more comfortable and leave that uniform jacket off?" His bow was barely noticeable but curiously courteous. "After all, it's only me. And we both know that you aren't afraid of me, Major. Hmm?"
As she stared up into that familiar, sly grin, Kira felt the old simmer surging back into her veins, fuelling a latent outrage.
"NEXT time, Dukat, armour or NO armour, TWENTY Jem'Hadar soldiers would not keep me from giving you what you've been... ASKING for all these years!!"
"Major!!" Dukat's face was a study in triumphant, wicked delight. "I'll be waiting."
He leant slightly toward her -- his breath, cool and curiously sweet, fanning her cheeks. Kira trembled -- shock, relief, and a touch of plain, old-fashioned nerves weakening her limbs for a paralyzing instant. His grin was all-too knowing. All-too Dukat. "The soldiers can wait... outside... perhaps?"
Swivelling around, she ignored that deep, throaty rumble of a laugh and took off -- his lilting "pleasant dreams, Major..." trailing after her like tendrils of cold flame.
* * * *