A/N: I sort of didn't bother with adhering to canon here :/, but Dukat did seem to not be too much of a bad father, so I gave it a go.

Fatherhood

Dukat stared in horror at his daughter. His only daughter. He approached her gingerly. "Ziyal," he said sternly, the voice of a father. "You are not going out in that." He cast a gesture in the direction of her, pointing to her dress.

Ziyal took a step away from him. "Why not?" she asked him, her dark eyes challenging him to say otherwise. He knew teenage girls were known for being handfuls, but he was not expecting that level of backchat.

Gul Dukat stood squarely in front of her. He shook his head in solid, unmoving disapproval. "I will not tell you again, Ziyal," he declared sternly. He had been expecting her to come up with some witty remark, and had indeed been bracing himself for it. However, it soon became more than apparent to him that his metaphorical action would probably not be needed.

Ziyal stood before him – stoically, not moving. She looked down at her dress and sighed. "Father, why not?" she argued with him.

He took her aside, and shook his head. "Because…" he began, as his voice grew quieter and quieter. "I am your father."

Ziyal scoffed and stepped away from him. "My father?" she repeated, her usually serene, beautiful features creased in a mixture of amusement and confused alarm.

Dukat kept quiet, wondering what exactly she would come up with to say next.

"You're only my father when it suits you," she quipped, staring him down.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dukat asked her, confused, raising an eye-ridge in perplexity.

Shaking her head, Ziyal stepped further away from him. "You left me and my mother for dead," she reminded him, darkness suddenly covering her face.

Dukat frowned heavily and shook his heaod. "No, Ziyal," he started quickly, in an effort to put things right. For once. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh, really?" Ziyal said, almost sneering. "Well, she's dead now," she explained, sniffing when she found herself forming images of her late mother in her mind. The coldness of her own tone almost shocked her.

Dukat nodded firmly, but the movement was not without loss of conviction. "I had no choice, Ziyal," he informed her firmly. "How many times do I have to tell you?" He instantly regretted his choice of words, but was thankful for the fact that his daughter didn't decide to answer his unfortunate, rhetorical question. Dukat sighed. "If I let you and… your mother stay with me, the Resistance Cells would've found you," he explained dutifully. "I had to leave you. I had to be sure you were safe."

Ziyal, however, was not entirely convinced with her father's words. She could hear the conviction in his voice; the feelings of sadness and longing when he mentioned her mother. She noticed how his eyes darkened and lost their spark; they were on the verge of showing actual tears, something which she had never witnessed before on her father.

"I love you, Ziyal," Dukat said softly, holding her at arms' length. He looked down into her eyes.

Reluctantly, Ziyal cast her gaze up to her father's face and she studied his expression. "Father…" she started. "I love you, too." She shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I'm sorry."

Dukat pulled her into his arms. "I am sorry, too." He was silent, and then spoke again. "But, you must understand that you mean everything to me, Ziyal. I couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to you."

"Father, I am not a child anymore," she reminded him as she pulled away. "There is little you can do to stop me from leaving."

Dukat nodded. "I know, I know," he said quickly, hushing her.

She stepped back and went over to the door, where it slid open with a slight hiss. "I have to go, now," she told her father.

Dukat bid her farewell. "Make sure you're back by eleven," he ordered.

She smiled at him and nodded, where she was met by another figure. He held out his hand and she took it. Dukat, however, was not entirely content to simply let the fiasco carry on without his complete presence. He hurried out onto the porch and approached the as yet unknown man who was stood beside his beloved daughter.

"Who are you?" Dukat demanded, glaring at the slightly shorter man.

The other Cardassian looked a little taken aback, but he held his grip on Ziyal's hand and studied Dukat curiously. "My name is Elim," he revealed. "Surely your daughter has told you about me?" His gaze flickered up at Dukat, and then down to Ziyal as she stood beside him.

Dukat frowned and pursed his lips, casting his gaze over to Ziyal. "No…" he said meditatively. "She has not."

Ziyal let go of the hand of the man called Elim, and pulled her father aside. "I couldn't tell you," she told him. "I knew you'd go off on one, like you are now."

Duakt raised an eyeridge. "I am not 'going off on one'," he iterated bluntly, feeling both embarrassed and frustrated.

Quickly, she looked over at Elim, who was stood awkwardly by in his suit, looking around the yard. "You are," she countered his point. "You'll soon be blowing things out of proportion." Her face softened. "Father, you'll be all right if I go. Everyone's going. I can't just stay at home."

Dukat nodded slowly, taking that newfound information in. "Go on then. You have fun."

"Its prom, father. All my class are going," she elaborated further. "I promise I'll be back by eleven."

"Wait," Dukat continued. "What did you say his second name was?"

Ziyal blinked. "I didn't," she replied. "But, it's Garak."

She kissed his cheek and then proceeded to return to her date. As they left, Dukat could do nothing except hover on the porch, shivering as a cold spell drenched body, staring wide-eyed, and his mouth hanging open stupidly. Garak. Where had he heard that name before?