The BLTS Archive - Deliverance by Tyrael --- Archiving: Please ask first Summary: A bit of "Odo introspection" after the events established in Crossfire Thanks to Giorgia for her help. My debt towards her increases day by day... This story has been influenced by the Bard. I just hope he won't come to get my head on a plate... Disclaimer: Paramount is a God and created the Trek Universe. Who'd want to mess with TPTB? --- "Odi et amo: quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior." Catullus, Carmina --- Silence. Darkness. Nothing is moving in the room, not even its lone inhabitant, as he's resting in his natural state. But everything is fake. The truth is he would like to scream his agony to the universe, he'd like to bathe in the sunlight instead of being incarcerated in the gloomy realm of his pain. His surface, spread on the pavement, is still, belying the turmoil that wrenches him inside. And through his desperation he can envision just two things clearly: her face and the void that separates her from him. A void that will never fill up and that he'll never be able to cross. Both are torture for his troubled soul. Sounds are haunting him inside: *her* voice, her laughs. But it's one sentence that keeps coming back to his mind, though it has not been spoken by the woman he loves. It states a truth that he has made his own, although it cuts him like a knife, deep in his substance, straight to his core. "She will never love you. How could she? You're a changeling!" A violent ripple shakes him, just like every time he thinks of those words. An entire race thinks his shapeshifting abilities are a blessing and a distinction from lower life-forms. Solids. He thinks his nature is also his curse and his condemnation: Fate destined him to be a different being, an outsider that can't be loved because of what he is. Darkness is telling him to abandon himself to oblivion. It promises him a refuge where nobody and nothing can touch him or hurt him: a place where he can be safe. No more visages, no more laughs, no more hands touching his hand, no more hugs from a woman who's happy because she's found a new love. Promises of deliverance from the pain. Noises outside his door tear him away from that world of self-inflicted destruction and suddenly make him aware of his surroundings. Steps of people walking in the corridor. Rocks placed precisely around his quarters, draw a geometrical figure that strives to perfection. The spider-like structure in the middle of the room looms over him. *This* is his world. He struggles to recall what he was thinking about as he reforms his humanoid shape and calls for the light. A sudden blindness due to the rapid appearance of colours around him makes him close his eyes while remembrance strikes him violently. Darkness is back. He shivers. He has no god, has no religious belief, but if he had, he would ask for this nightmare to stop. He prays to nobody just to be able to find some peace of mind. He looks around, trying to get some comfort from the things that crowd his room and almost rejoices at the order he has created here. Yes, order will save him from the messy feelings she forced upon him -- but the satisfaction for this newly-conquered freedom from her persecution quickly and inexorably fades. His memory, precious and invaluable instrument for his work as station Chief of Security, damns him with every word, every touch, every moment they shared during the day. The more he tries to forget them, the more they keep coming back. He surrenders to another truth. He'll never be free from her, nor does he wish to: smiling ironically to himself, he thinks he's the best embodiment of the old saying "Sweet torture". For his life keeps spinning around her. Every day he wakes up waiting to see her face, her smile, her eyes, her sinuous body. Those are small rewards he can enjoy. But above all, deep down inside, in the most inner part of his desperate soul, he knows she deeply cares about him. On his console he finds the PADD that Julian Bashir has given him the day before. The doctor had just stepped out of the Replimat after a long dinner with Garak, spent discussing the merits of some ancient English writer, whose works weren't particularly appealing for the Cardassian. As he recalled, the good doctor had thought maybe he would have better appreciated the wonderful exposition of human feelings' intricacy described by the bard. He accesses the data randomly and words flicker into life on the small screen. "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf Heaven with my boothless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featur'd like him, like him with friend possess'd, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, - and then my state (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings'." He feels the ripple inside assailing him again. But this time words don't hurt him. They give him comfort. He knows she loves him like a friend. He knows it isn't everything he wants, but she *can* love him. His logical mind sets into motion and processes a new truth. A truth of his own, not suggested, not imposed. Friendship is still there and hope, too. Hope is the safe heaven he was looking for, the mean to keep loving her and, somehow, soothing the torture which comes from it. For a moment he can feel the distance between them vanishing - he can see the darkness slowly being swallowed by an ever deepening light reaching out to envelop him. Maybe one day the friendship she has decided to bestow on him will be stronger than his fears and then he'll be free. Free to love and be loved. --- The End