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Chapter Two
He was not sure if he could tell if he liked his new quarters or not; the appearance did not matter, but what it offered him. All Keevan needed was a replicator, a sonic shower, and a bed to sleep. He had no more friends to contact, marking him as a loner. He felt his stomach rumble, telling him that he needed something to eat, and that was all he could think of. He walked over to the replicator and asked for anything from the fruit selection. When asked to specify fruits, he asked for berries.
"Please specify."
He almost rolled his eyes. There was an assortment to choose from, and because of his lack of taste, he would have to settle on what was provided in the replicator. No taste was no enjoyment at all. "Red berries," was all he said, and the dish shimmered before him. This was all he could think of because of how his people fasted. There were two types of red berries, one strawberry and the other raspberry. He'd done research on them. The former was a form of triangular with little yellow spots, and a very bright red. The other was smaller and formed with balls, softer and said to be that much sweeter. In his mind, the latter seemed more delectable. Keevan took his plate over to the sofa and sat down, finally relaxing and enjoying his peace - but no peace in his own mind.
What would he be doing here, to keep himself stable and working? He'd imagine nothing at all; who would be willing to accept him? He was a field operative, spying and negotiating in his life, but here, no one would be willing to give him a sophisticated position. If he was lucky, he'd end up serving in a restaurant or at that Ferengi's bar - how could he forget Quark and his unlikely little team? - or maybe nothing at all. He'd be in his quarters all day, going insane. If not, and even if he were allowed to enjoy himself, then he would always get those spiteful comments and looks, although he'd avoided eye contact before. He never let anyone or anything bother him before.
He knew he could not interact well with Colonel Kira, much less engage in conversation with her again. If not her, then who? Damn the Ferengi who could remind him of the past for his own amusement. Dr. Bashir might be kind to his patients, but he could converse with Keevan with chilled civility, although the Vorta had no idea about the doctor's Trill fiancée, Dax. She always smiled, but who knew if it was forced for the other's sake.
It seemed there were few to none he could actually trust.
But how about his nosy neighbor across the hall he sensed watching him?
Whoever lived there, it made him angry that they had the gall to watch him and gloat to themselves. But he would not just go over there and order them at a random time. The being living there might as well be laughing about him to themselves right at this very moment. In that case, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with him or her.
Suicide was not an option on his watch, either. His predecessor was supposed to do so when he surrendered. Taking his own life meant he would never be given a third chance to live, but what would his life be worth now?
~o~
She wasn't working today, and it had been five days since she last saw the Vorta. She'd heard he was around, but not causing any trouble. If anything, he was aimlessly wandering around examining everything and everyone, not doing anything for himself exactly. He was described to be aloof and arrogant, keeping his nose raised and not bothering to smile at anyone, not even to those who called out a greeting. She could not ask her mother about this because Norah would snort and continue on with business. "What business is our own; his does not matter to us."
Vera had it in her to talk to Julian Bashir as it turned out he knew the Vorta. A few years ago, in the early months of the Dominion War, he and Captain Sisko along with the crew suffered a damaged warp core whilst under attack from Jem'Hadar and crashed on a planet behind a dark matter nebula - where it turned out another Jem'Hadar unit and their injured Vorta leader were also stranded.
"His name is Keevan," Julian had said grimly as he shared lunch with her and Ezri that day. "His men's supply of ketracel-white was low, and once it was gone, the Jem'Hadar would have turned against us all and then each other. He...set his own soldiers up to be killed so his own life was saved."
"But what about you, the captain and the others?" Vera asked over her Tarkalean tea. "Couldn't that have been a form of saving you, too?" The Vorta were manipulative and loyal to the enemy, marking them as so, but she tried to think of it as that way - and she didn't even know this one other than what the doctor explained to her. He'd even been disgusted at the dirty business of killing soldiers in a situation private from the eyes of the war outside that planet. That hadn't even been a real, legal fight.
What did she know about war, anyway, besides the fact she was a colonel's daughter?
He had been exiled from his people because he wasn't loyal enough, that was what Ezri also told her, having learned it from Kira. He was living a life without a direction now; all the Vorta were clones, practically immortal. On Earth, where she was from, cloning a person was illegal. But nowadays, anything could happen. Vera could not stop thinking about Keevan ever since laying her eyes on him, hearing his story, as well as seeing him alone and judged on this very station - surrounded by people who hated him. Nearly the same case as Elim Garak, the Cardassian spy turned tailor who had gone back to rebuild what was left of his home planet after the Dominion and the Breen did their works.
Another of Vera's skills was baking. It soothed her whenever she had a bad day, or to welcome someone else into the neighborhood, as it had been back on Earth. Some traditions were best not forgotten. Now was a pie made of peaches; peach was perfect because it was native in her home state. But what if Keevan did not like this simple kind gesture? She had no way of knowing until she brought it to him.
The Vorta was isolated, might as well choose to hide himself from the rest of the world. But being in one place too long could drive you mad. All Vera Coleman wanted to do was make him feel welcome, because that was her heart was made for - with the exception of falling in love again. She just stood there before his quarters' door for a moment, her heart beating fast with anxiety. Now that she thought of it, she had no idea what to say once she made eye contact with him like the first night. She might as well have given him a bad first impression by spying on him by accident.
Her hand made its own decision and pressed the buzzer beside the door, holding the pie in one hand before returning it to both hands. The door opened and allowed her to go inside after its owner called for her to come in. When she did, she looked around, not spotting anyone right away until she saw him standing in front of her. He looked over her with that same aloof, disinterested expression, one eyebrow raised as he looked her over.
"May I help you?"
A part of Vera wanted to shy away, but she forced herself to remain as she was. Here she was in a turquoise-colored dress hugging some parts of her body and stopping a little past her knees, with little flower details over the front with no exaggeration, the sleeves as long as three quarters, and her hair was wild, both her hands holding her grandmother's peach pie as she stood before him - and now she was at a loss for words. How could she be so stupid? But it was too late to turn back now.
Keevan cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side as he impatiently waited. He seemed to despise everyone. "I-I'm sorry," Vera said quickly, taking a step back. "I live across the hall and saw you arrive, f-f-five days ago. I know nothing was...easy for you." She gulped, feeling like a stupid idiot; his amethyst eyes hardened and narrowed, wanting her to get to the point. "I wanted to be the first to welcome you warmly to Deep Space 9." With that, Vera held out the pie she personally made without her mother's help, finally taking a couple steps forward until she stood three feet's length from him. Her arms quivered, threatening to drop two hours' hard work in front of him.
Keevan's eyes darted between her face and the pastry, face unchanged. The longer the silence went, the harder the tension increased. Vera decided she had enough.
"Y-you know, I'll just leave it here and be on my way. I'm sorry I even bothered you." She set it down on the glass table quickly and turned for the door - but then he stopped her.
"Don't go."
Vera froze, her back still facing him that she could feel his eyes burning into her. She considered going ahead on out because she felt embarrassed enough as it was, but she doubted the Vorta would like that. She was a human, and she was an easy target for him. He must secretly be enjoying that, making her madder. "Turn around and look at me, please," he ordered, though his tone was softer. She turned around finally, looking at his face. His scowl had faded, but he was still looking her over with those alluring eyes of his. His face possessed a calm, collected sense of strange physical attractiveness that you would not find every day. His skin shimmered like a pearl as his eyes were like the rarest shade of purple gems. His ridged ears stretched upwards, vanishing into his wildly blooming dark curly hair, gracefully curving as the rest of his body appeared to be so underneath all of those clothes...
She stopped herself right away. She had not had these thoughts in a long while, but that was so wrong because she had just met this man! But the thought was already imprinted into her mind.
"What is your name?" he asked her. His voice was an irresistible purr, velvety to the senses.
"Vera," she answered softly. "Vera Coleman. I'm the tailor's daughter."
"Tailor's daughter?" He chuckled and shook his head, putting his hands on his hips, now walking to stand before her. "Why would the tailor's daughter be interested in me, hm? A former servant of the enemy."
He was accusing her of coming here out of a simple sense of naïve curiosity. Her anger bubble was threatening to burst at the accusation. She glared up at him, lifting her nose. "Why shouldn't I be, Keevan? You think I have another agenda? Why not the fact that everyone else hates you and that I might as well be the only one who welcomes you here? I saw how everything has been for you that it sickened me. I know what it's like to not be appreciated, and making someone happy is what makes me happy."
"Pleasing others is bad for the health," Keevan said coolly, a small smile tugging a corner of his mouth. "I've been there and done that."
By serving monsters and people he was forced to trade his life for over and over, disregard his own personal feelings altogether. She could see it all, and how grateful he should be for finally getting away from them. Vera stiffened when he leaned over and inhaled through his nostrils, the sound audible. "You smell very..." He leaned closer, his nose grazing against her neck, and she gasped softly at the unexpected contact. His skin, even if it was just the tip of his nose, felt silky smooth that she wanted more of it on her own. This was all going against her vow to not get with another man again. "...mmmm, refined."
Vera could not help but laugh nervously. Refined? That was the best word he could say? "You want to know what I smell?" Keevan asked huskily. How had he gone from hard and hostile to curious and insatiable so quickly? She nodded. "Lush greenery, amber, and white flowers. Very nice." He pulled his head back and looked down at her in the eyes. His purple irises glowed pleasantly. "You're not afraid of me, are you, Vera?"
"No."
"Good. Would you be afraid if I asked you to stay a little longer? It appears I now find your presence comforting."
~o~
For the next three weeks, Keevan found that the company of the tailor's daughter wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. He had consciously tried to push her away because he felt he didn't need her companionship. To know she lived across the hall from him - and the fact it was she who stuck her nose into his space the first night was burning irritation to his nerves - annoyed him to no end. She had the nerve to come see him a few days later, presenting nothing but a piece of pastry with the foolish thought he'd be the least bit interested...until she put her foot down in front of him and called him back for shoving her away, stating she knew what he was feeling.
At first, Keevan had considered snapping back that she knew nothing about being exiled, until he had stood so close to her, her scent catching him off altogether. Vorta had excellent sense of smell as hearing, so most aromas turned him off, but with Vera Coleman...it was enticing, to say the least. Somehow, he had been inclined to accept she was only giving him, as she put it, a "warm, southern welcome". It was a saying on Earth, in the deep south, where she was born and grew up. Her very presence soothed the rough edges he carried about himself. He knew that he might not ever get another opportunity like this again, so he might as well seize it now.
He had been surprised that she'd baked him what her people called a pie. It was made of peaches, a native fruit of her homeland. He hadn't tasted it, but he enjoyed the feel of it in his mouth. "This is...filling," was all he could say as soon as they both cleared the platter off, their time in his quarters having lasted a long time that he lost track of, and so did she. She'd laughed when she picked the dish up and brought it over to the sink.
"Filling? Is that all? What about the flavor?"
He'd shrugged as he watched her behind. "I'm afraid to disappoint you, Vera," he'd said, skipping the formalities altogether. "My people lack taste as well as a sense of beauty. It's how the Founders made us to be."
She had turned her head halfway around, but it was enough for Keevan to see the shock on her face. "So you can't enjoy anything tasteful or eye it as well as savor it that way?"
He'd nodded. "Nothing aesthetic. Service overrode everything else. It's hell, now that my time here beyond the Gamma Quadrant has proven that. It's why I'm not a favorite amongst my people; I want more than any Vorta ever wanted, as well as what was best for them. Ever since the war ended, I saw this as an opportunity for the beginning of a new era, as Odo - one of the long-lost so-called gods - returned to the Great Link, the home of the shape-shifters, to usher a new Dominion. So we were told. But my voice apparently was not important; I was still a lowly Vorta, even remembered for the fiasco with Benjamin Sisko and my Jem'Hadar unit. As a final resort, as well as my refusal to give my life over and over, I was exiled here to Deep Space 9. I might as well not deserve happiness, but I have no choice in the matter." He had leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, exhaling. He didn't care about her response at the moment until she finally spoke.
"The way I see it, no one deserves punishment no matter what they do - but murder would be an exception. But it's not like you had your own hand in it."
Keevan had snorted. "No, but I ordered it done."
"But from what I heard," Vera had returned, "you and the Federation team were in a do or die situation. What could you have done if the white had run out, and you all were left for slaughter by crazy Jem'Hadar?"
Those were his words exactly, and he began to feel his discomfort fade away at that point. She might not be experienced as he was, but at least she was slowly beginning to understand him more than anyone else ever did.
He began to see her after that day for the next three weeks, coming to her mother's tailor shop to watch her work or to learn about the art of various exotic clothing techniques. The sad fact was he could not mend or stitch a fabric, much to her mother's disapproval. He knew that Norah Coleman loathed him on the spot, but that did not stop him from wanting to be around her daughter. Vera was a woman who did not live with her any longer, could come and go as she pleased. Keevan would gladly take her mother's place any day if he had to.
However, during that time as well as when it came to the arrival of Dr. Bashir and Lt. Dax's wedding which took place on Earth, in a country called Ireland which was overlapped with green and hills - and on a cliff overlooking the sea where it was a picturesque environment for the attending guests, himself and Vera included - he found himself suddenly fascinated with the marriage rituals and the binding of two people for eternity, something his own culture lacked because of the Founders. He could not remember ever being drawn to someone the way Bashir and Dax were to each other. He could never forget the look in their eyes or the kiss they had when they became husband and wife.
He remembered days ago when he had first learned Vera had been married once before, when she was younger than she was now. "We got divorced a year ago," she'd said, eyes glazing over. "He wasn't...faithful, and I remember being nothing but a good wife to him. We'd known each other since we were teenagers, but I still don't know what happened. My father did not approve of the separation because a good southern wife is supposed to stay with her husband through thick and thin. He never supported me my entire life." She'd leaned into him then, wanting some form of bodily contact, and Keevan had gulped when he wrapped his arms around her, given he had no words to console her.
But when she did, Keevan's body thrummed as if being turned on like machinery. His system enjoyed the heat, but he didn't. It scared him, the memory of physical and emotional contact called weaknesses. He had forced himself away from Vera then, not looking at her when he apologized - "I'm sorry," he'd stammered, backing for the door, "but I can't. I can't do this!" - and ran when she tried to call after him. He had hurt her feelings, hurt her when she needed him the most. All humans relied on the need for emotional and physical comfort, but not a Vorta...
But his body and memory could never forget the delicious but forbidden sizzle in his flesh and blood.
