NOTE: So, did anybody see the rerun of Return to Grace today on Spike? This chapter is dedicated to Nana Visitor and Marc Alaimo for bringing us this amazingly complex relationship.
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THE AGREEMENT
By The Collaborators
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CHAPTER TEN
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Breathe slowly... in. Out. In. Out. In...
Kira stomped through Ops and entered the lift. Her body felt as if it was on fire.
How dare he! HOW DARE HE!!
This was her post... her assignment! How could he replace her with someone else!!
How COULD he?? How could they... the THREE of them… for Prophets' sakes... have kept this from her?!
A knot of renewed anger and resentment hardened deep inside her stomach, blurring her vision. Somehow, without bodily throwing people out of her path, she managed to make her way to the habitat ring, to the door to Dukat's quarters. Strange, how she did not think of them as Sisko's quarters anymore… had ceased doing so at some point very... very recently.
The thought made her stop short. Why? How?!
How had he, in these few weeks, ensconced himself so very comfortably in Sisko's office, in Sisko's quarters, in Deep Space Nine, in her heart…
Kira took in a violent, unsteady breath. And blew it out. She was NOT leaving. And, that was that. No Jem'Hadar guards in sight. Hmmm. She leant on the door chime. And leant on it for what seemed like minutes. Long, dragged out minutes. He was in there. The security sensors were on and she had made sure to check them before her headlong flight from Ops.
He WAS in there!
She leant the whole weight of her body on the chime. She had all of the next twenty-six hours, and by Prophets, she would have her answer! When the click came, not the voice command, she almost missed it… the remote unlocking mechanism.
Straightening, Kira strode in as the door swished open. Immediately, two facts registered. A discarded armour lay at her feet, and the room, lit even darker than usual, reeked of kanar.
Grimacing, her eyes adjusting gradually to the dimness around her, Kira approached the shadowy figure at the far corner -- and stopped abruptly as Dukat swiveled around from his stance at the porthole, watching her quietly, his silhouette bathed in darkness.
His silence unnerved her and, momentarily, stole the rush of angry words crowding her throat.
As Dukat watched the inborn self-assurance flee that familiar doe-eyed face, a strange sensation assaulted him.
He was back on Terok Nor… but… the Terok Nor of seven years ago: the waning days of the Occupation. These were his quarters -- and the Bajoran woman confronting him, dark eyes furious and fists clenched, was Naprem. Tora Naprem. Dukat felt the bitter bile of guilt mixed in with a host of other none-too-savory emotions flood his diaphragm as he stared, with unseeing eyes, at Kira.
Then as now, he had returned from Cardassia Prime, resolute in fulfilling an immediate task: one that must be fulfilled. Before leaving, he had left a message for Naprem to pack just a few things for herself and Ziyal. He was sending them, only for a short while, to Lessepia.
Naprem, as usual, did not believe a word he said. Eyes ablaze and lips trembling, she had barged into his quarters.
"I am not leaving!!" She had thrown at him. And what did he mean -- "for a short while"? Just who was he trying to fool? And what happens to him, in the meantime? What if he was killed? What if they were all killed? What if... what if they never saw each other again? He had shushed her in the only way he knew how. Prophets knew he could not stem her worries. Could not tell her the real reasons for his decision to send her and their daughter away to some remote planet they had never seen. Could not tell her how desperately he wanted to go with them; how he knew she could be more than right about his imminent death.
That morning there had been yet another attempt. On the ship. On his ship!
The thought had sickened him. He could not trust anyone. Anyone! He knew, that morning, that Ziyal and Naprem needed to be separated from him. Disassociated from Gul Dukat -- the last Prefect of Bajor, the harbinger of the fall of Cardassia, the failed heir to The Empire -- subject of derision, ridicule, and now, assassination attempts. He knew that if anybody survived this murderous, chaotic injustice of a time -- it had to be innocent, sweet Ziyal. He could not... would not... let her die. And, if that entailed severing the only light he had in this darkness of a life -- it would be a price he would gladly pay. Naprem had not understood. He had watched the harsh words fall from those full, tenderly shaped lips, and quietly waited. In the end, he had promised her many things. Whatever she made him swear, he had sworn. Yes, yes... Naprem, yes! I promise you! Then they had made fierce, violent, and ultimately tender, love. And, just before slipping into that heavy, deep sleep only the guileless can claim, she had looked at him -- the pain and betrayal in those dark Bajoran eyes tearing at his heart. He knew then, as he knew in the years to come, that he would not... could not... keep his promises.
The next morning, he had put them on the Ravinok; had hugged them both in an unguarded moment of desperation, uncaring of the now-familiar, carefully hidden disapproval from his supposed subordinates.
The Prefect and his "family".
But, when he kissed her quickly, fiercely -- Naprem did not meet his eyes. Even as the airlock doors rolled shut, she did not look at him. And he knew that, between the two of them, she had branded him forever the betrayer -- by that silent, searing action. And yet, all this time later, he remembered only her smile, her shining eyes, and her deep, satisfied breaths as Ziyal burst onto the world and into his waiting hands. Ziyal -- The Vindicator. Named after perhaps the most scorned, neglected, antiquated deity of Cardassian myth. A name they had both desired for a child they had yearned for. Together.
She had survived, after all.
Kira breathed slowly... in. Out.
Shouting was not the way. Not any more. Squinting at Dukat's face in the darkness, she realized with a jolt that, armourless, he seemed leaner, slighter, infinitely more vulnerable.
And uncharacteristically -- what seemed almost unnaturally, for him -- quiet.
She bit her lip. Should she leave? After all that had happened... could she leave?
But, more importantly, dare she stay?
His skin shone pale in the blunted light -- broken only by that ornate design so reminiscent of the fabled Kalasarap of her childhood fantasy-plays -- the narrow, dark straps of his uniform under-tunic cutting snugly into the expanse of...
Prophets, but he was beautiful! She knew that, though. Had always known that. Although, acknowledging it had been another matter altogether; even if only to herself. Yet, now... she found she did it with ease. Such amazing ease! Such consummate peace in knowing that, this much, she could admit; even if only to herself.
And this much, also, she could confirm, even if only to herself: she should leave.
Now! Leave now, and never come back.
But her feet padded, in muffled defiance, closer to the shadowed corner near the porthole.
"Stop!" His voice, when it pierced the darkness around them, jolted Kira to a halt.
Though, not soon enough.
He had not moved back; had not physically halted her progress toward him. Yet, his voice held a warning, an undue harshness -- as if he had, perforce, keyed the door behind her to swish open. And was now awaiting her exit.
She hesitated. Something about his speech pattern had caught and held her attention as never before. She frowned and, involuntarily, took a step closer. And heard his sharply indrawn breath.
"Don't come any nearer unless you really mean it, Major!" he whispered harshly.
Kira took one more, resolute, step.
"Mean what...?" She whispered back.
Softly.
Yelling, even at him, seemed a thing of the past.
She could see his face better now. The creases and the angles, deepened somehow; etched in sharply cast shadows…
What in the name of…?!
She reached out, like an automaton, and -- ignoring the sudden flinch he gave -- gently touched his face with her fingers.
Wetness hugged her fingertips, and she heard herself make a soft, startled sound.
Kira Nerys knew, at that moment, that what had etched those sharp valleys into that granite-carved face was grief of a kind she had not... had never... associated with this man; grief of a kind undiluted by time. A festering sore that, in all the years, had refused to heal.
Kira knew, at that moment, that what she had seen at that makeshift graveyard on Dozaria III was only the carelessly sutured face of that wound.
She knew, at that moment, that she could not leave.
She would not leave.
She took a breath. "Computer... raise light level."
Sensing his sudden restless irritation at her action, she raised a hand to stem his protests. He blinked once, twice, and then lowered his face, as if in sudden shame at his weakness. At least he did not turn his back to her, Kira thought, a part of her simply stunned at the surge of gratification -- of elation -- within her.
Nothing! Nothing she would ever do would surprise her anymore!
With a certain effort she lifted her eyes to his face. It was closed, inscrutable -- the tears dried into darkened streaks. Kira could feel the slight bitter-sweetness of his breath on her face... from the kanar. It was cool -- like the rest of his body. She'd felt the touch of his skin on hers, many a time, when they had accidentally, or otherwise, brushed against each other. Strange, how, at those times, she had actually cringed; had shied away quickly from his nearness and touch. His pheromones. She hadn't even cared how obvious her show of repulsion had been to him.
And… now? What was happening to her now? What had happened to her? What overpowering force had propelled her feet here?
She looked into his eyes. Those ice-blue eyes, normally so penetrating, were now cloudy and opaque as they studied her face with deliberation, and a sort of... disinterest.
Kira's breath caught in her throat. Disinterest??
Something was very wrong. He... felt different.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth -- that cruel, pearl-gray instrument of her torture. It was set in a thin line... ...and, Blessed Prophets, remained closed! A rare occurrence, indeed! In spite of the circumstances, she found an unwilling quirk lifting the corners of her own. Yet, once a certainty in his ever-ready responsiveness to her moods, his lips did not curve in answer.
Sobering, Kira drew a sharp breath at the sudden, slight slur in his speech, when he spoke.
"What do you want of me, Major?" Dukat whispered, and she had to strain to hear him.
Dazed at the bitterness in his voice and a sudden intensity in that steel-blue gaze, she lowered her eyes... and that distracting little bulge at the heart of a gracefully curved throat swam into view.
Kira swallowed. Did he know how fascinating she had always found that provocative little protuberance? Did he notice how she would always, covertly, watch its little dance -- as he laughed? What did he -- the Cardassians -- call it? She had often found herself wondering if it had the same significance in Cardassian cultural lore as it had in her own... was he aware that it symbolized the promise of overpowering masculine sexuality to the average Bajoran? Of course he was! Was there anything of which he was not aware -- especially that of his own effect on others... on her?
A sudden, tiny explosion of heat deep within her belly radiated through her body, blooming into a lazy shiver -- and she cursed herself for having, because of the warmer environmental settings, taken off her uniform jacket. All of a sudden, she felt naked, exposed.
Earlier, on arrival at the station, she had been surprised, even astonished, to find her quarters unassigned, undisturbed. All of her items were in their rightful places -- including the chameleon roses, in all their pristine white glory, in the stasis box. Had he visited her quarters while she had been gone? Had he seen the box?
Self-deception was a damning trait, Kira recognized -- a sudden trembling assailing her limbs, not unlike moments past she had spent in his presence. This... this bewildering flutter in the depths of her belly -- much as she had made a success of hiding it from the others, maybe even from him, Kira could never delude herself into believing its non-existence.
Instead, channeled into hostility and sheer, cussed aggression, it allowed one Kira Nerys, freedom fighter and carefully cultivated gadfly, to cope with one Gul Dukat.
So... what was it? Fear? Of what? But, this was a Dukat unlike any other she had ever had the opportunity to observe. This was a defeated man!
In the hours before leaving for Prime, he had studiously avoided her. When she had reluctantly relinquished her dignity by intruding into his last moments with Damar -- the distant, shuttered look on his extraordinarily mobile face had almost frozen her in her tracks.
And this after that glance they had shared on the transport back to the station -- a look so open in its surety of knowledge, its shocking, quiet intimacy. It was as if there had been no one else around -- not even Odo. And for that millisecond of not being able to look away from the discernment in those eyes -- she had re-discovered the meaning of fear.
Fear of having let go of her deepest self for the eternity of that moment.
Fear of flying too close to a burning, spinning, fireball of a star.
Fear of discovery.
Spending the rest of the trip pretending to be lost in thought was of scarce help. Even Odo had been of little assistance. Dukat had not tried to engage her attention any further, ignoring her just as easily and, it seemed, effectively, as she ignored him. Yet, knowing him as she did, she wondered if he realized her sudden weakness -- the sheer extent of this new-found vulnerability of hers; she had found herself re-living -- for the thousandth time -- that fragrant, moonlit night... the sweet, drugging heat of his mouth on hers... the gentleness with which he had held the back of her head in his hand... his fingers moving so very softly in her hair; and she had felt herself trembling -- in trepidation, in anticipation -- of what she knew not.
But Kira Nerys had been, for the first time in her life, petrified.
So, she had filed away what little courage she thought remained and had decided to avoid Dukat as much as she could. Enough! No more dinners and lunches. No more flirting. No more temptation. And she had nearly succeeded -- for a few short hours. But, the thought of Jake had driven her into his office, and she had felt like a helpless, caged bird as Dukat totally, masterfully, shut her out. As usual, he gave no real answers to her questions. He merely planted a thought: "If I don't return... "
And the fear renewed itself. Leaving him at the airlock with Damar, Kira had found the effort of convincing herself of her own inculpability -- in the situation between them, in the situation with Jake -- almost paralyzing in its futility. Then, a few hours ago, in rapid-fire succession, she had been informed of Jake's deportation and Dukat's request for a new liaison officer by Ziyal -- and she had felt the familiar, latent simmer re-ignite as angry questions tumbled through her mind. When had he decided this? Why had he not told her of this before he left for Prime? And he had the nerve to tell Ziyal of their agreement! What if she had figured it all out? And, Prophets! -- had he not even the courtesy to tell her that in person? If evasion was his revenge on her, she fumed, then he had succeeded. But, until that chance encounter with Ziyal, she had not realized just how deliberate that evasion had been on Dukat's part. Then, on realization, she had not believed it.
Until now.
No, it could not be fear that had made her feel so numbingly, blissfully delirious the moment Ziyal had informed her of his arrival on the station; that, in this bleakest moment of her world, her deadened heart could be brought to such swift life by that one piece of news -- he was safe!
He was safe!
And that extra little gleam in Ziyal's deep-blue eyes -- eyes so like her father's -- had ruthlessly mirrored Kira's furious, tongue-tied, helpless, undoing.
Like a pointed finger at her face.
No, it could not be fear that had propelled her, fists balled and eyes ablaze, into his quarters. Not fear that lent her the foolishness to be standing so very close to him now.
Kira breathed slowly, deliberately.
Not fear.
This man... this hated, reviled, nemesis of her entire adult life, was standing as stiff as a tome, as silent now as he had ever been verbose, as incomprehensible to her now as he had ever been an open book.
Not fear.
Her knees felt weak and her throat felt parched. But, that drum-beat in her ears pounded a new, unaccustomed rhythm into her veins... a rhythm she would have once died to deny.
She realized that she was holding her breath while he gazed at her quizzically, still silent.
Not fear.
Kira lifted her eyes, fevered with intent, to his and saw them widen in instant comprehension, the gray-blue deepening to a darker hue.
No, he never was dense, she thought in sudden, quiet amusement.
"Major-- " Dukat inhaled sharply on the word, the timbre of his normally deep voice roughening, as if with effort.
"--shhh..." Kira whispered as one finger inched up to touch, lightly, the sharply defined, triangular hollow at the base of his throat.
"Major!!" Dukat gasped, his entire body stiffening in response to her touch.
"Nerys... " Kira whispered, plaintively. And placed her lips where her finger had been.
Dukat gasped again, and his fists clenched against his side.
In a moment of brief, tortured acquiescence, he closed his eyes. Then he reached up and grasped Kira's bare arms in an oddly convulsive gesture, pushing her away from him with a fraction of his strength -- feeling a shiver of unease as he found her no match for him.
As she looked up at him, her dark-brown, Bajoran eyes wide and uncomprehending, he fought desperately for control -- of the situation, of her actions, of himself. He knew, with helpless certainty, that his body had, as always, betrayed him to her. His pheromones were already working their ancient, treasonable magic -- a fact that had been forever inescapable to them both. Only now he wished for a reprieve as he had never dreamt he would. He wanted to swear lustily at all the Bajoran deities he knew and scoffed at.
No... not now!
Not when he had finally decided to deal with this in his own way!
A sharp, humourless sound echoed in his throat as Dukat tightened his grasp on Kira's arms, uncaring as to whether he bruised the tender flesh. The white, sleeveless top of her uniform had always held a certain fascination for him, and she knew it.
Just as she knew everything else about him.
She was relentless -- this... this Bajoran temptress -- he knew that from long, and bitter, experience. And, suddenly, the thought of her finding out, of discovering his fragile, closely guarded secret filled him with an unprecedented sense of dread.
"What do you want, Major? For Prophets' sakes -- what do you want of me?"
Kira's eyes darkened to an opaque black. As always, the rage gathered itself quickly as she realized that he would do anything... anything -- to rebuff her. As always, it would be too easy. As always, she would play, thoroughly, into his hands. As always, she would do what he expected her to do: become theatrically, uncontrollably angry.
And leave.
And then what? She found herself asking.
So Kira Nerys, almost disbelieving of herself, took that unexpected, critical, final step. And she took it quietly, almost too quietly.
"I am not leaving."
Her voice, despite herself, shook a bit. As if burned, he let go of her arms and stepped back.
The look in his eyes was suddenly -- impossibly -- haunted.
Ever so much more than before. Kira gazed up at him steadily. Did he even hear her?
"I am not leaving."
He did it, then. He turned his back to her. Kira gasped. The pain, unfamiliar and almost unbearable, lanced through her, and she felt, keenly, that sudden craving -- to walk backwards. To retreat. To hide.
And, then what? -- she asked herself.
She walked around him. In front of him. His eyes were closed.
In fact, she decided after scrutinizing him for a moment longer, they were shut tight.
"I AM NOT LEAVING!"
She hadn't really meant to shout.
Dukat's eyes had opened, and Kira drew a sudden breath. Something! There was that... something... in his eyes.
A fleeting touch of astonishment, of amusement, and that particular brand of indulgence he always directed at her. That indulgence she had come to expect from him without conscious thought as to what it really meant.
And there was more. Much, much more. A touch of hope, of life -- in the blue depths.
Faith re-asserted itself.
"I am not leaving."
His gaze was level. And his voice mild.
"You have already left."
"No, I have not!"
"Damar's report was wrong, then? You were hiding… where? Waste extraction?"
She knew where he was going. She knew all his ploys. She would not be budged.
"Well... you ordered me off the station. I had to leave. For a while."
"I ordered you off Terok Nor. You are no longer my liaison officer, Major Kira."
His voice was impossibly quiet. Impossibly gentle.
Off the track, again! No matter. She soldiered on.
"I was here before you. This is MY posting, according to the Bajoran Central Government!"
"You forget that I, Major, was here before you!"
She soldiered on. "I am not leaving."
His face was carved in stone. "I really have nothing to say to you, Major. I have a new liaison officer--"
"--and she is MORE than 'satisfactory', I take it?--"
"--if you have a problem, please take it up with your First Minister--"
"--to HELL with the First Minister!"
His eyes widened, fractionally.
Aha! Bull's-eye!!
She drew a tiny breath. And drew, fractionally, closer to him. Good! His ego would not allow him to step back now. She never thought she would do this -- thank the Prophets for this man's pride!
"To hell with everybody else," her voice trembled, then steadied.
She took another step. Closer.
Despite himself, he closed his eyes. Held his breath. Prayed. To her Prophets. Let it be over. Let this be over. Soon. Let her leave. Soon.
"How DARE you do this to me... to us?" She stood, toe to toe, shoulder to shoulder, with him.
He stopped breathing. Too close, she was too close! Last defense...
"How could you DO this to me? How could you tell Ziyal about our... agreement?"
His words were strained, his voice low. "I did not tell her about our agreement. I merely told her to tell you that it was off. Jake has gone home to his grandfather."
"And she didn't ask you at all what it was all about?" Bajoran eyes blazed in fury.
He felt her anger begin to stoke his and his lips thinned. "No, she did not! My daughter respects other's… her father's… privacy."
Control... he must have control! This was careening totally, irrevocably, out of his hands.
He drew a shaky breath. "Major, I--"
"--you expect me to believe that!!--"
"--believe WHAT you want, Major!"
They glared at each other. It came so easily. Like so many other times. Through so many years. So many wrongs -- real and imagined. It would be so easy, so effortless, to let it... all of it... take over. Yet again.
And, then what? The voice, deep inside, whispered.
Kira felt the fight seep slowly out of her. No more... no more...
She took a deep breath. "I believe... I believe... that you really don't want me to leave. I believe... that you need me. I... need you--" She stopped.
The look on his face frightened her no end. She had seen him angry many times before, but never like this. He had closed his eyes, and she could hear him trying to control his erratic breathing. His voice was quiet. Deadly. Menacing.
"Did the First Minister put you up to this, Major? Did he tell you to -- how would Captain Sisko put it? – 'sweeten me up'"?
Her eyes blazed. But only for a second.
Fear was a thing of the past. She had once thought that she had lost most of everything she called precious -- to this man. And now she realized just how precious, how dear, was that which she had lost. And how she would, willingly, lose it again. And again.
To this man.
It was time to own up.
She stepped closer, but did not touch him. Her voice was a whisper. A prayer.
"I am not leaving... you."
He opened his eyes, the pupils sable-dark. It was proving to be a stunning defeat.
She met his incredulity head-on, and smiled, very faintly. Almost ironically.
And repeated herself. Short sentences. Maybe then it would penetrate that thick skull?
"It's simple. I am not leaving you. Me… Kira Nerys. Not Major Kira. Not your liaison officer. Me, just… me,"
She drew a deep, freeing breath and shrugged slightly.
"I can't go. My place is-- " she leant slightly backwards to look up, fully, into his eyes, "--here."
She reached out and took his hands between hers. They were strong, smooth, cool to the touch. And they were shaking -- ever so slightly. She brought them -- palms up and open, to her face; placing her lips in their unexpected softness, she heard his low hiss as they cupped convulsively around her.
She smiled into them, then raised her face. "My place is here."
From within the latticed fabric covering her breasts, she picked a single, drowsy, saffron rosebud and placed it, gently, in his cupped palms -- wrapping her own fingers around his. Together, they watched its golden splendor change color and radiate into an iridescent, prismatic hue -- the color of love given.
It was time to begin anew.
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TBC