The BLTS Archive - The Serpent & The Hawk

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This story is a departure for me in many ways.  For
one thing, it features neither Q nor the crew of Voyager;  although
it's not my first DS9 story *per se*, it's the first to focus on the
people and storylines around DS9.  This is also my first foray into
the realm of TrekSmut.  For those of you who might be more accustomed
to my PG-13 style - or for those looking for graphic NC-17 material -
this story does feature several scenes of sexual intercourse between
two consenting adults, but you won't find any lurid descriptions of
Cardassian cocks and Bajoran clitorises (in fact, I've employed the
time-honored "fade to black" motif at several points in the story, but
I'm sure your imaginative minds can fill in the details;  there's no
doubt what's happening under the cover of darkness <G>)

No writer worth his/her salt would venture into an unknown realm
without doing some preliminary research.  When I started writing this
story, I had very little knowledge of DS9 canon or Bajoran or
Cardassian culture.  I found several useful web sites that provided
material used in creating this story:

Bajoran Central Archives DS9 Encyclopedia & Lexicon Cardassian
Encyclopedia Prophets' Path Home Page

I also owe a great debt of gratitude to The Collaborators, whose
magnificent story "The Agreement" (found, along with many other superb
stories, athttp://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/ariane) convinced
me to take a second look at Dukat and inspired me to write this story.
I am especially indebted to my beta-readers (you know who you are!
<G>), who politely corrected my canonical slips, pointed out
misspellings and grammatical goofs, and endured my frequent
impatience. Thank you!

This may be added to the ASC and ASCEM archives;  anyone else, *ask
first*!

DISCLAIMER:  Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it
encompasses.  This story is not intended to infringe on any
copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional
satisfaction.

---

It was over before she even knew it had begun.

Kira and Ziyal had been standing at one of the Ops stations with Gul
Dukat, discussing what appeared to be an illicit monitoring device
discovered in Ziyal's quarters, when suddenly Kira realized that Dukat
had stopped speaking and was instead staring at the Jem'Hadar soldiers
that now silently surrounded them, their weapons trained on Dukat's
body.

"What is the meaning of this?"  he hissed.

Kira gasped in alarm as Damar pushed through the phalanx to confront
his commanding officer.  She tried to edge Ziyal away from them, but
Damar grabbed the girl and held a disrupter to her temple.  Kira
seethed with fury and frustration, mentally cursing Dukat for refusing
to let her keep a sidearm on her at all times. Dukat's eye ridges
furrowed in anger and apprehension at Damar's implied threat as he
reached for his own sidearm.

"Your days as Supreme Dictator are over, Dukat," Damar spat. "You have
failed Cardassia for the last time."

"Damar --" Dukat warned, taking a step toward his first officer.

"Don't move," Damar said, "or I'll kill your precious daughter."

"What is the meaning of this, Damar?"

"For years I've watched you struggle and connive to get back your rank
and status, which you lost because of this girl.  And now that you've
won your rightful place as Cardassia's leader, you're willing to throw
it all away because you've blinded yourself to her treachery.  She's a
threat to you, and she's a threat to Cardassia."

Kira saw that Dukat's eyes never left Ziyal's face during Damar's
speech.  When he finished, however, Dukat glanced briefly at Kira and
said, "Damar, Ziyal is just a child.  She can't hurt me, and she
certainly isn't --"  He moved just a fraction of a centimeter towards
them.

Damar fired.

The last noise Kira heard before the roaring in her ears drowned out
all other sounds was the anguished groan wrenched from Dukat's
diaphragm as he caught his daughter's lifeless body and cradled her
against his chest.  Weapons discharges whizzed a hair's breadth from
Dukat's prostrate form, but he was oblivious to the danger as he
rocked back and forth on his knees, trying to stem the flow of blood
from Ziyal's shattered skull.  The Jem'Hadar, acting on Damar's
information and Weyoun's orders, systematically eliminated every
Cardassian likely to remain loyal to Dukat. Damar towered in arrogant
triumph over Dukat, his weapon nestled loosely in his hand, until a
stray bolt struck his shoulder, knocking him to the ground, stunned
but unharmed.

If Dukat was aware of any of this, he gave no indication Kira could
recognize.

Kira had instantly gone into full battle mode as the stimuli of the
bloody revolt assaulted her senses.  It was as if she were in the
Resistance again, her most primitive instinct - the determination to
survive - at the forefront of her consciousness.  She crouched low,
hiding behind the station, her heightened olfactory senses supplying
her rational mind with the necessary details.

The scent of blood was everywhere:  Ziyal's innocent blood,
splattering Dukat's uniform and pooling on the floor around his knees;
the briny smell of Cardassian blood as Dukat's remaining supporters
found themselves grossly outnumbered;  and the sticky-sweet aroma of
fallen Jem'Hadar too stupid or too drug-addicted to heed the survival
instinct.

There was also the bitter tang of fried circuitry exploding in a
shower of sparks, the smoky aroma of phaser-scorched flesh, and Kira's
own scent of fear, generated by primitive instincts filling the void
left vacant even after centuries of civilization.  She absorbed these
scents, and deduced from them that the battle had been won before it
even began, that the station would remain in Cardassian hands, but
that its commander would no longer be Gul Dukat.  The tide had turned,
and she would turn with it.

She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, prepared to spring
for safety, when she happened to glance at Dukat.

Her movement had distracted him from his grief, and for one
split-second, they looked into each other's eyes.  What Dukat saw in
her, she did not know, but his pale eyes revealed a flash
of...desolation. His eyes were haunted by a loss so profound even
Kira, who had herself lost everything in the Occupation, pitied him. 
With Ziyal's murder, Dukat had just lost his last link to a time when
he, who knew no joy, might have been happy.

In that split-second, Kira knew that he finally understood why she
continued to fight Cardassia, even after the Occupation had been over
for six years.

In that split-second, she had to decide where she stood, and to
broadcast her alliance.  Bajor had signed a non-aggression pact with
the Dominion, but she had not.  Dukat wanted to reclaim Bajor -
perhaps, she often wondered, as a gift for her - but he was no longer
a threat to Bajor. If Damar managed to take Dukat back to Cardassia
Prime, he would be summarily tried and executed, and Bajor would be
confronted with a new, unfamiliar enemy.  If she managed to get Dukat
to Sisko, he might turn on the Dominion and provide the Federation
with information it needed to turn the tide of this war.  Dukat was
the devil she knew.

In that split-second, instinct guiding her every decision, she made
her choice.

In the same instant she made her choice, she saw Dukat raise his
phaser and fire.

At her.

---

Dukat was lost.  Utterly, hopelessly, horribly lost.  Oh, he knew
where he was and where he was going, but for the first time in his
long life he had no place to go, no place that would welcome him, no
sanctuary to rest his battle-scarred soul.  He was completely and
totally alone, his last link to joy shattered by the betrayal of a
trusted officer who had stood by him during his ignominy and disgrace,
when the product of a love once shared with a Bajoran woman was more
important to him than the approval of Cardassian society.  Materially,
he lost more when he introduced Ziyal to Cardassia Prime, but the loss
of Ziyal herself far outweighed the loss of his rank, social standing,
and family.  He could recover material losses;  he could not regain
his soul.

Everything that he had regained, he had lost.

He was alone, in a galaxy in which his only ally might be a woman who
had been raised and trained to hate him with every fiber of her being.
The scourge of the Alpha Quadrant, the Prefect of Bajor, the commander
of Terok Nor, the Supreme Dictator of Cardassia, reduced to tenuous
dependency on a petite, barely-literate, fierce-tempered, unforgiving,
former Resistance fighter who made it clear in no uncertain terms that
his amorous advances were most unwelcome.  If the whole situation had
not been so painfully ridiculous as to be impossible, he might have
actually laughed at it.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

Dukat was no stranger to Death.  One could not ascend the ranks of the
Cardassian meritocracy without having more than a passing acquaintance
with Death, and he had personally killed enough enemies and survived
enough attempts on his own life to call Death an intimate companion. 
Where he went, Death was sure to follow.  Yet the memory of Ziyal's
shattered body fluttering to the ground, graceful even in death, was
more unsettling than any murder perpetrated by his own hands.

He remembered the day Ziyal was born as if it had happened yesterday.

Cardassian births were held strictly within the purview of the
expectant mother and her mother-in-law.  According to custom, all male
members of the household were banished from the first labor pang until
the census taker had completed the official birth record and the most
recent contribution to Cardassia's glory was declared a deserving
citizen.  As a result, Dukat had found sufficient cause to be away on
campaign when each of his seven Cardassian children were born, and, in
several cases, never saw them until they were nearly a year old.

With Ziyal it had been different.  Naprem had insisted - had demanded,
as only she could - that he be present at their daughter's birth.  He
was at first repulsed by the very idea of witnessing childbirth - he,
a Cardassian male, the Prefect of Bajor, no less! - but from the
moment the first tremor shook Naprem's belly, he was entranced, and
not even an implosion of the Bajoran sun could have torn his eyes from
her beautiful, serene face as the midwife guided her through the
painless labor.  Then when the time came, the midwife took him by the
hand and led him to Naprem's birth canal, and with his own hands he
caught his wet, wriggling, gray, newborn daughter as she slipped free
of her mother's body.  Ziyal announced her glorious arrival to
everyone present with a lusty cry that surprised him so much he almost
dropped her.  But the midwife helped him wrap Ziyal in a soft blanket
and as he gently placed her at her mother's breast, Naprem reached up
and wiped the tears from his eyes.

He who had called Death 'friend' was suddenly captivated by life.
Unfortunately, it was to be a short imprisonment.  And now his old
friend had claimed Ziyal, tearing his beautiful child from his grasp
right before his eyes.

He knew, with the certainty of a man driven by passion, that Kira
understood the depth of his grief, and it was there he sought succor
and reprieve.  She had loved Ziyal, and some small part of him clung
to the hope that in loving his child she had come to love him as well. 
A futile hope, he reminded himself bitterly, but a hope renewed by
that brief glance they shared over Ziyal's broken body, their faces
illuminated by the eerie flashes of weapons fire.  He had seen
something in Kira's eyes - understanding, perhaps, or maybe even
forgiveness - and in that instant he had known that she would not turn
on him, that she would not abandon him.

Of all people in the galaxy, Major Kira Nerys was his only ally.

Then Death once again reared its ugly head, in the form of a Jem'Hadar
soldier aiming a disrupter at Kira, and Dukat suddenly came to full
awareness of the dire situation threatening them.  Summoning all of
his carefully-honed speed and precision, he unholstered his phaser and
aimed, striking the soldier in the midriff just as a single disrupter
blast sizzled through Kira's torso and scorched the floor between
them.

Like Dukat, Kira was an experienced warrior, and she knew, unlike
Ziyal, the pointlessness in a graceful death.  The force of the blast
hurled her forward until she fell, sprawling, across Dukat's lap.  In
any other situation, he might have teased her about a clumsy attempt
to seduce him, but instead he wrapped one long arm around her chest,
the other around Ziyal's, and cautiously worked his way around the
fallen bodies and shattered consoles littering Ops.

As he reached the door to the corridor, Odo came rushing in, Jake
Sisko hot on his heels.  The boy nearly lost his lunch at the sight of
the gaping wounds in Ziyal and Kira, but Odo remained unperturbed as
usual.

"Just where do you think you're going?"  he rasped.

"I've got to get them to the Infirmary," Dukat insisted, mentally
challenging Odo to check for life signs.  He knew Ziyal was dead;  he
was determined to believe that Kira still lived.  He looked at Jake. 
"Help me," he ordered.

Jake blanched but obeyed, lifting Ziyal in his arms.  Dukat did the
same with Kira, and was gratified to hear air escape through her nose
as she settled in the crook of his elbows.  Dukat took off at a brisk
walk down the corridor, not bothering to look behind him to see if Odo
followed. He did not give a damn what Odo did.

"Gul Dukat," Jake asked breathlessly, "what happened in there?"

"Fate, my boy.  History repeating itself."

"Excuse me?"

Dukat ignored him as he hurried past the turbolift and headed straight
for the nearest airlock, hoping that Damar had not yet thought to
alter the command codes.

"Gul Dukat, I thought we were taking them to the infirmary," Jake
said, his long legs nearly breaking into a run as he struggled to
match Dukat's furious pace.

Turning into the airlock, Dukat gently placed Kira on the ground and
keyed in the command to open the gate.  As he did so, he addressed
Jake.  "Right now, Damar is regaining consciousness and realizing that
I have escaped.  It won't take him long to dispatch a squadron of
Jem'Hadar to hunt me down and kill me.  He's already killed my
daughter and may be responsible for Major Kira's death.  I can promise
you that, if I leave their bodies behind for him as trophies, you will
be sorry you ever set eyes on a Cardassian."  Dukat heard Jake's
strangled cough of fear and grinned at him.  "Don't worry.  Damar
won't kill you, although he may interrogate you.  You're too valuable
to him alive."  The airlock gate opened and Dukat pulled Kira's body
inside, then reached to take Ziyal in his arms.  "Remember me to your
father," he said to Jake as the gate closed between them.

---

Kira awoke to a myriad of contradictory sensations.  She was in utter
agony, but as she struggled to rise, she discovered that she had no
sensation in her legs, although the movement sent fresh paroxysms of
pain pulsing through her body.  Beneath her she felt a hard, flat
surface, but she was covered with a warm, soft blanket.  She could not
tell if her eyes were open or not;  all she could see were occasional
flashes of light penetrating the darkness surrounding her.  The oddest
sensation, however, came from a cool, damp object pressed against her
forehead.

She opened her mouth and croaked.

The object moved, and she felt a similar object gently slide under her
neck, lifting just enough to allow her lips to come into contact with
a container of water.  As the refreshing liquid dribbled over her
parched mouth and down her chin, her head was just as gently lowered
to the floor and her face wiped dry.

A familiar baritone voice broke through her haze of pain.  "I'm glad
to see that you're awake, Major.  I thought I had lost you, too."

Damn, damn, a thousand times damn.

She was being held prisoner by Gul Dukat.

He had her exactly where her wanted her:  beyond rescue and unable to
resist him.  She was utterly helpless, at the mercy of the man she
feared more than any other.

She had intended to help him escape, and he repaid her by shooting her
at point-blank range and taking her captive.

Only the Prophets knew what sort of sick and sadistic plans he had in
store for her.  Whatever they might be, she wished he would just get
started;  the waiting was much worse than the torture itself.  She
knew first-hand of typical Cardassian interrogation procedures,
including the cruel tendency to allow subjects to almost fully recover
before resuming torture.  She also knew what it was like to be raped
by a Cardassian, but quickly clamped her mind shut on those memories
before visions of her body entwined with Dukat's in a passionate
embrace filtered into her pain-weakened conscious mind from unwelcome
dreams.

She could endure rape.  Brutal sex was one thing;  making love was
something completely different.

Kira did *not* want to make love with Gul Dukat.

For the first time in many, many years, she was sorry that she was not
dead.  At least, if she were, she would not be in so much pain.  She
could not even take a deep breath, and her lower back felt as though
it was on fire, raging white-hot flames tearing away at her insides
with excruciating slowness.  She carefully lifted her hand from where
it pressed against her abdomen.  A wave of heat seared her body as the
unmistakable aroma of fecal matter enveloped her.  She sensed movement
from beyond the haze, and a gentle pressure returned her hand to its
previous location, stemming the tide of pain and internal organs
threatening to erupt from the gaping hole in her belly.

The cool, damp object returned to her forehead, gently stroking the
sweat and hair from her brow.  She realized it was Dukat's hand, and
tried to move away from his clammy touch.

"Lie still, Major," he ordered.  "You've been severely injured." He
adjusted her blanket, pulling it up to cover her throat and tucking it
under her shoulders.  "Not many people survive a disrupter blast at
such close range."

"I'll remember to step back next time," she whispered.  "Better yet,
why don't you just finish me off now and get it over with?"

"Major?"

"I don't know anything about the revolt.  Interrogating me won't get
you anywhere, and you'll kill me anyway, so why don't you go ahead and
get it out of the way?"  She paused to regain her breath.  "Or do you
have something *else* in mind for me?"

Then something occurred to her with startling clarity, and she opened
her eyes just enough to see Dukat's elaborately contoured face leaning
close - much too close - to hers.  She swallowed her apprehension and
disgust.  "Disrupter blast?  But you pulled a phaser on me.  I saw
it."

Amusement twisted his mouth.  "Major, it was the Jem'Hadar *behind*
you who shot you.  Not me."  He lowered his head, and Kira realized
that he was kneeling on the floor beside her, that she was lying on
the floor in an unfamiliar room.  "I may have plans for you, but
shooting you isn't one of them.  The galaxy is a much more interesting
place with you in it."

His voice was gentle, and soft, so unlike the crude, harsh Dukat she
knew only too well, and his demeanor confused her.  "I--What
happened?"

"Your Prophets must have been looking out for both of us.  When Damar
was stunned, all hell broke loose.  Those stupid Jem'Hadar have no
battle discipline!  They had no idea who they were shooting at, or
why, and in the frenzy they seemed to forget all about me.  I was able
to get you to a ship and away from Terok Nor.  I tried to land on
Bajor, but it's blockaded and there was no way I could get past
without being boarded, not even in one of their ships."

Kira studied his weathered face, her eyes taking in the weariness and
grief etched in his gray features like striations in a cliff.  As
realization of his effort dawned on her, Dukat seemed less repulsive
to her, more...sympathetic.  More Bajoran.  He could not be wholly
evil, she thought, if dear Ziyal embodied even a fraction of his true
nature. Perhaps Kira had misjudged him after all;  it would not be the
first time she was wrong about somebody, or even about him.  "You
saved my life," she said.

Dukat shook his head.  "Neither of us is out of the woods yet. That
disrupter blast went clean through you, severing your spinal cord in
the process.  I've done what I can for your injuries, but the
Jem'Hadar are more than a little backward in shipboard medical
technology.  If I don't get you to a doctor soon, none of this will
matter."

Her eyes left his face and wandered about the room, which she now
recognized as the bridge of a Jem'Hadar ship.  All of his loyalists
must have been killed or too severely injured to flee with him, she
thought, or else he would not have put her here, where he could
monitor her condition while piloting the ship in search of a safe
haven.  Or, it occurred to her, maybe he abandoned his surviving
loyalists to help her.  She tried not to let her thoughts wander down
that path;  to admit to that possibility would mean that the tenuous
balance of power that had always existed between them had shifted even
more in his favor than she was willing to accept.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a shrouded form, and knew
instantly who it must be.

Ziyal.

She wondered at the effort and risk Dukat took to bring both her and
his daughter off the station and onto a stolen ship.  She would never
understand what motivated him, but she was grateful enough not to
dwell, for the moment, upon the ramifications of such a debt to him.

His voice interrupted her reverie, and she realized his eyes had
followed hers to rest on Ziyal's body.  "I would have liked to bury
her on Bajor," he said.  "She - we - were happy there, once."

Kira's gaze returned to his face, wondering if her own expression
betrayed as much anguish as was evident in his eyes.  "Perhaps you
will get the chance someday," she murmured as her eyes closed, the
exertion of the past few minutes beginning to pull her back into
unconsciousness. "We'll find a way to get her there."

---

Dukat paced the bridge, his disciplined mind working through different
strategies with the precision and attention to detail that made his
species so ruthlessly efficient.  No matter how many options he
considered, he inevitably reached the conclusion that he had but one
choice:  to find Captain Sisko, and ask for asylum.  Cardassia was
lost to him forever;  he had lost her the minute he signed that damned
treaty with the Dominion.  Bajor was also out of the question, and he
certainly could not hide in the Gamma Quadrant, even with the
minefield disabled.  No other world in the Alpha and Beta quadrants
would welcome him.

There was only one choice.

Sisko was his only hope.

Convincing Sisko of his sincerity, Dukat knew, would not be easy. He
was, after all, responsible for the war that placed him in this
untenable position.  If Sisko did accept his application, he would
undoubtedly spend the rest of his days on a Federation penal colony.
That was much better than the alternative if he dared to return to
Cardassia Prime under the current conditions.  At least he would still
be alive, and, if he were still alive, perhaps Kira would come visit
him.  Even if she came only to gloat over his disgrace, it would be
worth the humiliation just to know he could see her again, to know
that she continued to live because of him.

If Sisko refused him, however...

Sisko would not refuse him.  Sisko *could* not refuse him, because
Dukat had an ace up his sleeve.

He had Kira.

Sisko would never refuse to shelter Kira, especially if he knew that
she had been injured.  And if he knew that she had been injured trying
to help Dukat, then perhaps he would accept Dukat's application for
sanctuary.

Dukat hoped it would not come to that, however;  although he would
willingly use any other means to manipulate Sisko, he was reluctant to
use Kira to purchase his life.  She was more to him than a passport to
safety. If he had to use Kira to manipulate Sisko, and if she ever
found out, he knew what she would think, and her good opinion of him
was almost as precious as life itself.  If she thought he had used her
to obtain sanctuary with the Federation, she would think that he had
kidnapped her for his own selfish purposes, that he had rescued her
from the station only because she was useful to him.  As usual, she
would misinterpret his motives and misunderstand his actions.  He did
not want to take that risk, after having finally earned her gratitude
and sympathy.

He had already lost too much to lose Kira as well.

The hard part would be finding Sisko before any of the countless ships
hunting for him found him.  Dukat knew from intelligence reports that
the Defiant was stationed at Federation Starbase 375, and hoped that
she had not been given a new crew, or that Sisko had not been assigned
elsewhere.  Once he had turned away from Bajor in frustration, he set
the ship on an indirect course for the base, the engines kept at the
minimum output to maintain shrouding without leaving too heavy a
spatial displacement to be easily tracked.  Even so, Dukat knew he was
on a suicide mission;  if Federation ships patrolling the sector
failed to locate the ship on their sensors, the cadre of assassins he
knew Weyoun and Damar had sent after him once they discovered his
escape would undoubtedly locate him.  In all probability, he would die
within sight of his destination.

Sighing, Dukat adjusted the navigational eyepiece and resumed his
desperate search for Sisko.

---

"Captain, I'm picking up traces of a Jem'Hadar ship in this sector,"
Nog reported.

Dax rose from the command chair to study his console.  "Just one? Are
you sure, Ensign?"  she asked.  "We're pretty far inside Federation
space to be finding a single Jem'Hadar ship."

Nog nodded.  "Aye, Captain, there's no doubt it's Jem'Hadar. It's
traveling just above warp two - it *seems* to be headed for the
starbase, but it's not on a direct course for...anywhere."

"Set an intercept course for that ship, Ensign.  Maximum warp."

"Aye, Captain."

Dax returned to the command chair as the Defiant's engines thrummed
with the increase in speed.  "Are we within communications range?"

"Aye, Captain," O'Brien reported.

"All stop.  Keep phasers locked on that ship."  She knew with quiet
certainty that her crew - Sisko's crew - obeyed her orders with
alacrity and accuracy.  "Open a channel."

"Captain, the Jem'Hadar are hailing us."

"Onscreen."

Dax' eyes widened with surprise as Gul Dukat's familiar features
filled the viewscreen.  "Commander Dax," he said, greeting her affably
as though he were not the Federation's most hated adversary, as though
they were not at war.  "I was expecting Captain Sisko.  I trust he has
not been made a casualty of this great unpleasantness?"

Dax ignored O'Brien's snort of derision as she rose to address Dukat. 
"The captain is quite well, I assure you," she said smoothly. "I'll be
sure to pass along your greeting.  In the meantime, perhaps you can
explain what you're doing in the middle of Federation space in a
Jem'Hadar ship?"

Dukat spread his arms.  "I presume you've heard there's been a change
in regime on Terok Nor?"

Dax looked startled, which in turn disturbed Dukat.  Perhaps something
had happened in his absence to once again change the situation.
Perhaps Federation intelligence sources were not as good as he
thought.  Or perhaps something unfortunate had happened to young Jake
Sisko.  It would be a pity if the boy had been harmed, not least
because the possibility might hinder his chance for asylum.

Dax quickly regained her composure.  "So you're a fugitive."

"In so many words."

"And you've come to *us* for protection."

"I've come to you with information."

"You sold out your people to the Dominion, and now you're going to
sell them out to us?"  O'Brien charged.

"Chief, I can handle this," Dax replied calmly, her eyes never leaving
Dukat's image.  "It's not like you to turn on Cardassia without some
ulterior motive, Dukat.  Why should we trust your motives?"

"You shouldn't.  But I know you're losing this war.  I know you know
that we've almost completed dismantling the minefield.  And I know
that Damar has every intention of invading Bajor once reinforcements
arrive at Terok Nor.  Is the Federation willing to risk losing Bajor
forever just because you don't want to trust me?"

"We could just hand him over to the Dominion in exchange for a truce,"
Nog interrupted.

Dax ignored him, and was just about to speak when a bolt of phaser
fire rocked the Defiant.

"Captain, six Jem'Hadar ships have just deshrouded off our port bow!" 
O'Brien yelped.

Dax sprung into action.  "Take evasive action, Ensign," she ordered
Nog.  "Chief, fire at will."

Dukat's voice, strained with irritation, crackled over the channel.
"Commander, before you leave me to my no doubt deserving fate, I have
a passenger you may want to take on board."

"Dukat, this is not the time for your games!"

"This is *no* game.  Major Kira was injured in the coup on Terok Nor. 
She's with me now."

"Nerys?"  Dax whispered, hesitant to believe him.

"She needs immediate medical attention, Commander.  I've done all for
her that I can."  His face grew larger in the viewscreen as he
silently tried to communicate his sincere desperation to Dax.

Dax recognized that look in his eyes and turned to O'Brien. "Chief,
are sensors picking up Bajoran lifesigns on that ship?"

"Aye, Captain, but they're very faint."

"Beam Major Kira directly to Sickbay," Dax ordered.  "Bridge to Doctor
Bashir.  Prepare for incoming wounded."

Dukat breathed a sigh of relief as he sensed the tingle of a
transporter beam take Kira to a place where she might have a chance of
survival.  He bowed to Dax.  "You have my thanks, Commander," he said,
and closed the link.

"Captain," O'Brien said, "Dukat's ship is showing a massive buildup in
the engines.  It looks like he's initiating a warp core breach."

Dax watched as the ship darted among the others like it, its weapons
array targeting their weak points with deadly precision, and it
occurred to her that Dukat could provide a definite tactical
advantage. The Defiant continued its own assault, eliminating two of
the Jem'Hadar ships in a heavy barrage of firepower as Nog plowed
through their ranks. She came to a decision, and hoped it was the
right one.  "Chief, can you lock on to Dukat?"

"There's heavy interference, but I think I can do it."  He manipulated
the transporter controls, to allow the sensors to break through the
interference caused by the imminent breach and the constant onslaught
of phaser fire.  "Got him!" he shouted triumphantly, just as Dukat's
ship exploded in a brilliant display of light, vaporizing the
remaining Jem'Hadar ships.  "Uhh --"

"Bridge to Security.  Did Gul Dukat make it on board?"

"Aye, Captain.  We've got him in a holding cell right now."

"Good work, Chief," she said to O'Brien.  "Ensign, take us back to
Starbase 375."

"Aye, Captain."

---

Sisko glowered at Dukat through the faint haze generated by the
forcefield in the base's brig.  Dukat's expression was as insouciant
as usual, and Sisko had to fight the urge to turn off the forcefield
and belt the arrogant Cardassian with a good right cross.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," he
rumbled in his deepest basso profundo.

"Because it goes against your precious Federation principles? Or
perhaps because I'm more useful to you alive?"

"I've heard from your former...colleagues.  Damar has offered an
exchange.  If I deliver you to them, alive, they'll release my son."

"You know that won't happen.  You know, and I know, that they expect
you to glean every ounce of tactical information from me before
releasing me to their death squads.  Releasing young Jake isn't worth
the strategic disadvantage.  If it's any consolation to you, I can
assure you that they won't kill him."

Sisko clenched his fists in barely-contained fury.  "Then what do you
propose I do with you?"

"I am at your mercy.  I will tell you everything I know, and then you
will deal with me as you choose."

"How can I be sure your information will be reliable or accurate? How
can I be sure that trusting you won't somehow come back to haunt me?
What makes you think I believe you really want to betray Cardassia in
a war that you started?"

Dukat lowered his head and pressed the heel of his hand against the
doorframe, clenching and releasing his fingers.  "Ziyal is dead, and
Cardassia is lost.  I've destroyed her," he whispered.  Then he looked
up at Sisko and the spark returned to his eyes as he began pacing back
and forth.  "I may be devious, Captain, but I'm no liar.  And we both
know Cardassia will suffer less at your hands than she has under the
Dominion's yoke.  That's what the Federation is known for, isn't it -
humanitarian aid, to help societies rebuild?  That's what you've done
for Bajor, so maybe it's time you did the same for Cardassia. 
Cardassia's lost to me forever, but the least I can for her is try to
save her from my own foolishness.  Neither of us can afford to pass up
this opportunity."   He stopped pacing and approached the forcefield. 
"I have one request, though."

Sisko crossed his arms over his chest, but his expression was neutral. 
"And what is that?"

"How is Major Kira?"

Sisko stared at Dukat in astonishment.  "She's under heavy sedation
until her nervous system regenerates, but she will survive."  Dukat
did attempt not hide his heavy sigh of relief.  Sisko tugged at his
beard. "Do you wish to see her when she regains consciousness?"

"If it can be arranged, Captain, and if the major agrees.  I do not
wish to abuse your...hospitality."

Sisko nodded.  "I'll see what I can do.  An interrogation team is en
route from Vulcan, and will arrive in the morning.  I suggest you rest
until then."  Then he turned on his heel and stalked out.

---

By Cardassian standards, the interrogation was quick and painless.
Dukat was almost disappointed the Vulcan interrogators did not use
torture to extract information from him, unless their endless
repetitive questions, posed in that typically dry Vulcan monotone,
qualified as torture.  He did not think boring a prisoner to death was
proscribed under the Federation charter, although it certainly should
be.  The interrogators had not even tried to mind-meld with him, which
he had been especially anticipating. Vulcans were about as
insufferable as humans sometimes, and no fun whatsoever.

His interrogation now complete, Dukat was en route to Sickbay, a
heavily armed contingent of Starfleet security officers shadowing him.
Because Dukat had saved Kira, and because of his cooperation with the
interrogators, Sisko had granted Dukat almost unrestricted visitation
rights with the major.  It was the only concession he made.

As Dukat neared Sickbay, the doors opened and he heard voices inside. 
Dax stepped out and nearly bumped into him as she turned.

"Gul Dukat," she said politely.  "Please excuse me."

"Commander."  He bowed slightly.  "How is the major?"

Her eyes twinkled with amusement.  "Her usual cranky self. Julian's
putting her through her paces right now."  She moved around him, but
he stopped her, ignoring the guards as they reached for their weapons.

"Commander, I wish to thank you for rescuing me."

Dax studied him.  "You saved Kira.  It was the least I could do."
Stepping around him, she continued down the corridor.

The Sickbay doors had remained open as he conversed with Dax, and now
he stood in the doorway, silently watching the occupants as they moved
about inside.  Doctor Bashir was supporting Kira as she slowly made
her way from one end of the room to the other, her slippered feet
shuffling along the floor as her nervous system re-learned what
muscles to control in order to enable her to walk.  Her face was
flushed with exertion, but her eyes glittered with determination and
pride.  The sight of her, alive and whole, swelled Dukat's wounded
heart with joy, and he longed to be at her side, filling her thoughts
with his presence just as she was never far from his thoughts.

Bashir's left arm was about her waist, his right hand gripped in hers,
and he kept his head bent as he watched her rehabilitating muscles
flex and relax with each cautious step.  Suddenly, exhaustion overcame
Kira and she collapsed, pulling Bashir down with her before he could
extricate himself.  Dukat strode across the room and lifted Kira in
his arms, chuckling to himself at her squawk of alarm.

"Gul - Gul Dukat," Bashir stammered as he pulled himself to his feet,
"I didn't hear you come in."

---

Kira was flustered and annoyed.  Doctor Bashir had been working with
her on her rehabilitation, but he was abruptly called away by an
emergency in the engineering department just as *he* walked through
the door.  The timing was too perfect for it to be anything but a
coincidence, and she was furious with Bashir for allowing Dukat to
simply pick up where he had left off.  The security contingent that
followed Dukat everywhere he went was nowhere to be seen.  Now here
she was, trapped, alone in Sickbay with that man - that *Cardassian*
man - and unable to escape.  His long arm was wrapped securely around
her waist, his unmistakable aroma filling her nostrils, his cool touch
against her hand sending chills down her spine, his overwhelming
presence making her lightheaded.

The worst part about it was not that she was uncomfortable with
Dukat's proximity.

The worst part was that she was enjoying it.

She struggled to focus her thoughts on the here and now, to ignore the
temptation to lean into him, to inhale his scent too deeply.
Unfortunately, his nearness was making her tongue-tied, and she could
think of nothing intelligent to say.

Dukat broke the silence for her.  "Your rehabilitation seems to be
progressing very well, Major," he said.

At least it was a comment she could answer, and she nodded vigorously. 
"Julian says he'll be able to release me to my quarters in three
days," she replied.  "He said you did something that kept my nerve
endings from destabilizing and stopping my heart.  He was very
impressed."

"I just used common triage procedure for treating point-blank
disrupter wounds.  Every Cardassian soldier is trained in basic
battlefield triage."

She wondered what his life had been like before he was posted to
Bajor.  She knew all about his career during the Occupation, but
except for the few tidbits of information he volunteered in casual
conversation, Dukat's early life was a cipher.  She hesitated to ask
him about it, for fear of seeming too interested, so she chose to veer
the conversation in another direction.

"Dax tells me you barely made it off that Jem'Hadar ship.   Were you
able to bring Ziyal as well?"  she asked.

Dukat stopped and loosened his grip around her waist.  "No," he said,
looking away from her, "there wasn't time."

Kira gently placed her hand on his arm, surprising herself as much as
him by the gesture.  "Do you - I mean, should I - that is, would you
like me to perform the death chant for her?"

He turned to face her, breaking off all contact with her body. Kira
exhaled softly at the loss, but then he placed a finger under her chin
and lifted it so that she was looking directly into his eyes.

"You would do that for me?"  he whispered.

His tone was sincere, but Kira reminded herself who she was addressing
as his pale eyes bored through her with uncanny precision. "I would do
it for *her*," she said, knowing it for the lie it was.   Death
rituals were performed for the survivors, not the dead.

His thumb was caressing her jawline, and she had to repress the
unexpected desire to lean into his hand and comfort him in his grief.
"Shouldn't you have an actual --" he paused and took a deep, ragged
breath "-- *body* to perform the chant over?"

Kira reluctantly pulled away from his touch.  This subject was too
close to both of them for it not to have her undivided attention.  
"Not really.  Don't you remember quoting Kai Moressa to me?  'What
remains after death is but a shell' --"

"-- 'a sign that the pagh has begun its final journey to the
Prophets,' yes, I remember.  What does that have to do with Ziyal?"

"She meant that the body need not be present for the ritual to be
effective."

"Well, that may work for you, but Ziyal *was* half-Cardassian, and we
Cardassians need our dead to be present during death rituals, even
Bajoran ones."

"If it's that important to you, I could always perform it over a
substitute."

"What kind of a substitute?"

She could tell he was intrigued, and gave him a soft smile.   "It
depends.  An empty grave, or perhaps a mound of sanctified earth.  The
chant can even be performed over a personal object of the deceased's."

He shook his head.  "None of which can be found here on the starbase."

"No, it would have to wait until I can get to Bajor."

Dukat sighed heavily as he looked down at the floor.  "I don't think
I'll ever be able to set foot on Bajor again."  His voice choked as he
added, "I would like very much to be present when you performed the
chant."

That surprised her, and she instinctively took a step back, having
forgotten her instability.  Her motor functions were still operating
several seconds behind her brain commands, however, and even though
her brain commanded her legs to regain their balance, they revolted
and collapsed beneath her.

With a speed and grace that threw her even more off-balance, Dukat
leaped forward and captured her in his arms, pressing her against his
armored chest as she attempted to align her traitorous legs beneath
her torso.  When she had at last regained her footing, Kira became
suddenly, painfully, blissfully aware that she was completely
enveloped in Dukat's embrace, and that her hands were dangerously
close to his neck ridges, her fingers just out of reach of pressing on
the rapidly beating pulse points. Her own heart was pounding so loud
she was certain he could feel it through his armor.  Her eyes became
transfixed on the diamond-shaped marking in his armor just below his
long, elegant throat, a spot she had stared at long and often back on
the station as he rambled on in one of his many interminable speeches. 
Before, it had just been a place to look other than his eyes, but now
it held an unexpected fascination for her.  All she would have to do
was lift her chin to place a soft kiss right there...

"Major?"  Dukat's voice was husky as it rumbled through her slight
frame, and she shivered in response to his arms tightening around her
waist.  Although she did not dare lift her eyes to his face, she could
sense that it was looming ever larger in her peripheral vision as the
world around her became increasingly gray, his scent igniting a
simmering fire deep within her belly, his thin Cardassian lips
beckoning her to submit to her unquenchable yearning...

"No!"  she cried, pushing herself away from him.  This time, he let
her fall to the floor.  They were both breathing heavily from the
near-miss, each adamantly refusing to look at the other.

Kira was the first to recover.  "Are you going to help me up, or am I
going to have to crawl back to my bed?"  she said, failing to inject
her words with the venom that filled her mind as she mentally cursed
her weakness and stupidity.

Dukat's skin was dark gray with arousal, and he leered at her as she
lay sprawled at his feet.  "I don't know, Major, I think I'd like to
see you crawl."

There was no mistaking the contempt in her expression as she twisted
away from him and began pulling herself along the floor.  She cowered
involuntarily when she heard the steady clomp of his boots approach
her from behind, and tried to wrench free of his grasp as he took hold
of her upper arms and pulled her to her feet.  "Let go of me, Dukat,"
she growled, trying to twist away from him, but his grip tightened and
he half-pushed, half-dragged her to her bed.

"What's the matter, Major?  Don't you trust me?"

"No."  He released her just as she reached the edge of her bed and she
collapsed, face-first, across it.  He made no move to help her, and
she had no intention of asking for his assistance as she pulled
herself far enough along the bed to be able to roll onto her back and
then maneuver herself into a sitting position.

"To be honest, Major, I think you don't trust yourself," Dukat said as
she glared at him - not at his face, but at his midriff, where she
knew his penetrating gaze could not return her flustered one.

"To be honest, Dukat, I don't give a damn what you think.  If you
think I have any desire for you, then you're more deluded than I
thought." She groaned inwardly at his lecherous grin, realizing too
late that she had fallen into yet another of his verbal traps.

"I never said I thought you desired me," he said, sitting at the foot
of her bed, leaning one arm over her crossed ankles with just a sliver
of light between his skin and hers.  "Do you?"

"Out," Kira whispered through clenched teeth.  "Just...please leave."

She trembled as his fingers grazed her bare calf.  "You haven't
answered my question, Major."  He inched his way up the bed, resting
his hand on her knee.  "Do you desire me?"

Kira took a deep breath and summoned every ounce of resolve she could
muster.  She lifted her chin, looked Dukat straight in the eye, and
said, "No."

There was a flash of hurt in his eyes, then the usual gleam returned
as he stood.  "Very well, Major," he said, bowing slightly.  "I will
take my leave of you."

It was only when the Sickbay doors closed behind him that Kira
remembered to exhale.

---

Dukat was profoundly disturbed by his confrontation with Kira in
Sickbay, and his mind dwelled heavily upon what was said, and done -
and almost done - as he prowled about his holding cell.  He had never
expected to see her so vulnerable, so...receptive to his own desires,
and though the vision of her dark eyes filled with passion and longing
exhilarated him to the core, it also terrified him.  He had almost
lost control, almost swept her up in his arms and ravished her on the
spot, almost succumbed to his desire.

He could not afford to lose control;  if he ever did, then her victory
over him would be complete.  If he could not have Kira of her own
volition, then he would not have her at all.

Kira's offer to perform the traditional Bajoran death chant for Ziyal
had caught him unawares.  His many years spent on Bajor, Naprem at his
side for nearly twenty of them, had instilled in him a grudging
understanding and appreciation for Bajoran spirituality, even though
it was superstitious and primitive by modern Cardassian standards.  He
had always been intrigued by the concept of the pagh, and the ancient
folk tales about pagh-wraiths haunting caves and dark woods fascinated
him.  He fondly recalled one summer many years ago when Ziyal had been
convinced a pagh-wraith had taken up residence under her bed, and
begged her parents to let her sleep with them.  After several
sleepless nights being kicked and punched by his daughter's
dream-induced thrashes, he had thrown up his hands in disgust and
decamped to Ziyal's room until she outgrew her fear. Even now, he had
to chuckle at the memory of his long frame stretched across Ziyal's
child-sized bed, his legs overshooting the mattress by half a meter,
her collection of toys competing with him for space.

And now Ziyal was herself a pagh-wraith, her spirit doomed to roam the
vacuum of space until someone laid her to rest.  Kira understood his
loss only too well.

On a whim, Dukat dropped to his knees and looked under his bunk. If
Ziyal was there, he could not see her.

"Did you lose something, Dukat?"  an unpleasantly familiar voice asked
from behind him.  "I don't think you'll find Cardassia hidden under
there."

Garak.

Dukat's head shot up, banging on the hard frame of the bunk.   He
cursed, rubbing the swelling knot as he turned to glare at his
longtime adversary.  "Come to gloat?"  he snapped.

Garak just smiled that ingratiating smile of his, the one that made
Dukat want to slap his silly mouth right off his ugly face.  "Oh, I
have an entire lifetime to do that," he simpered.  "Actually, I've
come with news." His smirk deepened.

Dukat rose to his feet and approached the forcefield.  "What kind of
news?"  he asked, almost afraid to find out.  Garak would never give
him good news.

"News about your family back on Prime."

Dukat froze.  "Has something ha --"

"Oh, no, no, nothing like that."

"Then *what*, you arrogant little bastard!"

Garak tsked at him.  "Temper, temper.  If you're going to behave like
that then maybe I won't tell you."

"I don't believe that for an instant.  If you weren't already eager to
tell me, you wouldn't even be here."

Garak sighed melodramatically.  "Well, if you insist.  It seems that a
certain Mekor Dukat has publicly denounced his recently-deposed father
as a traitor and a coward."  His smirk was now a full-fledged grin.

Dukat was devastated, although he would be damned if he would let
Garak see it.  "Indeed," he ground out through his teeth.

"Yes, I heard that the youngest son of ex-Supreme Dictator Dukat has
allied himself with Dukat's former first officer.  I hear he's even
changed his name - to Mekor Damar."

Dukat raised his arm, threatening to backhand Garak.  It was an empty
threat, he knew, but it felt so good to see the little opportunist
flinch involuntarily.  "If I ever get my hands around your leathery
throat, Elimshu," he hissed, using the feminine diminutive of Garak's
given name, "I'll pull out your chest scales one by one."

Garak seemed unperturbed by the insult to his manhood.  "Is that a
promise?"  Dukat bit back his reply.  It was not worth it to let Garak
goad him like this.  "I also hear that you're being shipped to Terra
within the week."

Dukat nodded;  one of the security officers guarding him had said the
same thing this morning.

"What a pity, to be spending the rest of your natural life in a Terran
prison so far away from Bajor."  Garak slithered closer.  "So far away
from Terok Nor.  So far away from...*Major Kira*."

Dukat turned his back, willing his ears not to listen.

"I suppose it's all for the best, though," Garak continued. "You're a
walking target, and your foolish obsession with Bajor and Bajoran
women has confused your mind.  Don't you realize that every Bajoran
woman who's gotten close to you has died rather violently and
unnecessarily? First Naprem, and now Ziyal --" his voice caught, but
he quickly recovered. "It would be such a shame for *her* to suffer
the same fate."

Garak danced away as Dukat turned with a roar and charged the
forcefield, oblivious to the plasma charges sizzling through his body
until a phaser set on heavy stun rendered him unconscious.

---

Kira was exceedingly grateful that Dukat did not return to Sickbay for
several days.  The distance gave her time to think and to study her
behavior during their last meeting, and she had come to the conclusion
that her weakened state, exacerbated by the guilt she felt over
Ziyal's death and the debt she owed to Dukat for saving her life, was
what had prompted her to succumb to his charm.  There was no danger of
that happening again, she was quite certain.

At least, that was what she told herself.

That was what she told herself when Dax gave her the news from
Cardassia Prime, about Damar adopting Dukat's son as his own.

That was what she told herself when Doctor Bashir said he had treated
Dukat for plasma burns and a phaser injury incurred in a confrontation
with Garak.

That was what she told herself when she heard from Sisko that Dukat
was to be imprisoned on Terra for the rest of his natural life.

That was what she told herself when, three days after her last visit
from Dukat, as she picked her uniform jacket off the bed and prepared
to leave for her new quarters, *he* strode through the Sickbay doors.

"Major!"  Dukat chortled, holding his arms wide as though he expected
her to rush into them.  "So good to see you up and about!"

Kira shrugged the jacket over her shoulders, leaving it unzipped for
the moment.  "Yes, Julian's just released me, and the captain already
has work for me to do," she said.  "What are you doing here?"

"Why, Major, I've come to escort you to your new home," he said,
holding out his arm for her to hold.  At her glare, he lowered his arm
and added, "You needn't worry, Major, my bodyguards are waiting just
outside to chaperone us.  I can assure you that I will be the perfect
gentleman."

"No, thank you, Dukat, but I can find my own way.  I don't need your
help."

Dukat's charming demeanor instantly evaporated, and he took a small
step closer to her.  "Major, I - I was hoping you would do me the
honor of allowing me to accompany you.  I know you don't need my help,
but I had hoped you would at least accept my company."

His voice was unusually hesitant, but Kira was still wary of his
motives.  "What do you want, Dukat?"  she sighed with exasperation.

He came even closer, and Kira ignored the instinct to step back. "You
know I'm being transferred to Terra tomorrow?"  She nodded, wondering
where he was going with this conversation.

"I'll probably never see my homeworld or Bajor again.  There are only
a few Cardassians in Federation prisons, but I'll still have to be
heavily protected from those who are there.  As a result, I don't
think I'll have many opportunities for stimulating conversation or
pleasant company.  With your permission, I'd like to make the most of
this opportunity, with you, while I still have the chance."  He bowed
deeply.

Kira felt a pang of sympathy for him, but quickly repressed it.
"Dukat, in case you forgot, there's a war going on right now.  A war
that *you* started.  Shooing away your fear of loneliness is not high
on my list of priorities at the moment.  So if you will excuse me, I
have work to do." She zipped up her jacket and turned to retrieve a
small clay lamp from the table beside her bed.

He pointed at the lamp as she carefully cradled it in her hand to
avoid extinguishing the flame.  "What is that?"  he asked.

She studied the flame as she spoke.  "It's an old Bajoran custom.
Those who are in mourning for a lost loved one light a special lamp
and say a prayer in their memory."

"The Duranya ritual," he said, sinking to the bed.  "For Ziyal?"

She nodded, not entirely surprised that he was familiar with it.
"Generally, we don't perform the Duranya until *after* the death chant
has been completed, but I didn't know when I would able to perform the
death chant, and I needed to do *something* for her.  This is the
least I could do."  She did not mention that the typical Duranya lamp
was much larger, and hung from the ceiling with several chains;  the
starbase's replicators were not equipped to produce Bajoran ritual
artifacts, and she knew the meaning of the gesture was more important
than its canonicity.

Dukat cupped his hands and reached them out.  "May I?"  he asked. Kira
gently placed the lamp in his hands, thrilling at the exotic coolness
of his skin as her fingers came into contact with his.  For a brief
moment, the flame seemed to grow brighter as they cradled the lamp
together, her small brown hands resting in his large gray ones.  Then
she pulled her hands away, and the moment was gone.  Dukat sat in
melancholy silence as he stared at the flame, and Kira felt the need
to say something to break the silence.

"You can have the lamp," she finally said.  It was the only neutral
thing she could think of to say.  "You're her father, you should keep
it."

He lifted his head to look at her, and Kira nearly gasped at the
profound sadness in his eyes.  "Thank you, Major," he said, and his
voice was raspy, like wind blowing through leaves on an autumn day.
She sat down on the bed next to him, and noticed as she did so that,
although her feet missed the floor by several centimeters, Dukat's
long legs were stretched out before him.  It occurred to her that he
did not seem to be quite so tall when they were both standing.

"I heard about Mekor," she said apropos of nothing.  "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be."  His gaze had returned to the flame as it flickered and
sputtered before his breath.  "He's right;  I *am* a traitor and a
coward."

"Can't say that I disagree with the traitor part, but I wouldn't call
you a coward."

"Then you're the only one."

"You could have left me behind on the station.  That's not the act of
a coward, what you did for me."

"I should have gone to Cardassia Prime to face up to my crimes."

"You mean face an execution squad?  Dukat, you gave the Federation
information that could be vital in turning the tide of this war.  If
you'd gone back to Prime, the Federation probably would have lost the
war in a few months.  If the Federation loses this war, then...Bajor
will never survive another invasion."

"You said it yourself, Major, I started this war.  I handed my people
on a platter to the Dominion, and now I've handed them to the
Federation.  No matter who wins this war, Cardassia will be the loser.
And I'm a coward for not accepting that responsibility on my head."

"You said it *yourself*, Dukat, you're going to spend the rest of your
life in a Terran prison under heavy guard with few or no visitors.  I
don't call that shirking responsibility."

"Will you come visit me, Major?"

The question took her by surprise, and she stammered, before she even
realized what she was saying, "Yes, of course I'll come visit you."
There would be ample opportunity for banging her head into the wall
later.

She knew he saw right through her, as usual.  "You don't have to lie
on my account, Major.  And I won't hold you to it.  That you cared
enough to lie is enough to make me happy."

Kira did not know how to respond, so she stood and lightly rested her
hand on his broad shoulder until he looked up at her.  "How about that
walk to my quarters?"

His face brightened, although his eyes remained dark with sadness.
"I'd like that very much, Major."  He stood, balancing the lamp in one
hand while he kept his arm bent at the elbow and held it out for her
grasp. Kira linked her hand through the crook, being careful not to
jostle his hand.  "Ready?"  he asked.

"Let's go."

Arm-in-arm they walked through the Sickbay doors and turned down the
corridor.  Dukat's guards fell in behind them, and Kira had the
strange feeling they really were acting as chaperones.  Together they
strolled through the corridor in companionable silence.  It reminded
Kira of stories she had heard as a child, of Bajoran lords and ladies
walking the Promenade in the capital city on sunny days, their family
wealth and finery on brilliant display, before the Occupation put an
end to such frivolities. Then the Promenade was filled with Cardassian
infantry units conducting parade drills.  She tried to put those
images out of her mind, to focus on what Bajor had once been and would
someday be again.

They reached her quarters all too quickly, Kira thought, and she
stifled a sigh as she keyed the door open.  Instead of returning to
his holding cell, however, Dukat followed her in, as the guards took
up position right outside.  He wasted no time in making himself at
home as he placed the lamp on a table and walked up to the replicator.

"One red leaf tea and one raktajino," he said.  Kira placed her hands
on her hips and frowned at him.

"Voiceprint not authorized," the computer replied, and Kira nearly
guffawed at Dukat's expression of shock and astonishment.

"Surely you didn't think Captain Sisko would grant you access to a
replicator?"  she asked.

Dukat shook his head.  "Just trying to catch him in an oversight," he
said.  "Major, would you do the honors?"

Kira repeated the order, and two cups shimmered into existence. She
handed the tea to Dukat and took her raktajino to the sofa, where she
sat down.  The short walk from Sickbay to her quarters had tired her
more than she expected, and she was suddenly grateful for Dukat's
support.

Not that she would ever admit it.

She wrapped her fingers around the cup, feeling the heat suffuse her
fingers, and inhaled the pungent steam as she studied a symmetrical
pattern of bubbles on the surface of the liquid.  Several minutes
elapsed before she realized that Dukat was being uncharacteristically
quiet. She shifted in her seat so she could watch him as he leaned
against the porthole sipping his tea, his thoughts light-years away. 
He must have either sensed her movement or her gaze, because he
glanced at her and gave her a sad smile.

"I was just thinking about Ziyal," he said, answering her unspoken
question.  "When I took her to Prime, Mekor was the only one of my
other children who would have anything to do with her.  Of course, he
was just a child, and obviously didn't know any better until his
mother straightened him out."

"Do you think he knows what Damar did?"

Dukat shrugged.  "Does it matter?"

"I don't know.  Does it?"

There was no immediate answer forthcoming.  After several more minutes
of silence, Dukat said, "I can't quite figure out what Damar hopes to
accomplish by adopting Mekor.  Cardassia is a meritocracy, so it's not
as though my son could inherit the dictatorship.  He's too young even
to be an effective Dominion puppet."  He grew silent again.  "He'll be
fif...no, *four*teen, this winter.  I had arranged an internship with
the Cultural Attache' to begin as soon as the school season was
complete, and his mother had just enrolled him in a dance class."

Kira was flabbergasted.  "A *dance* class?"

Dukat laughed.  "Bajorans aren't the only people with a taste for the
expressive arts, dear Major.  Every Cardassian of high standing is
expected to possess at least a functional familiarity with the basic
steps of the courtly dances.  They come in very handy at diplomatic
functions." He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin with
pride.  "I'll have you know, I was *quite* the dancer in my youth. 
Many a fine young lady was eager to have me escort her onto the floor. 
I even took home a few awards."

Kira's eyebrow went up as her voice took on a teasing tone.   "I can
just imagine."

His face registered mock offense.  "It's true.  You can ask Garak, if
you don't believe me."

"I'll take your word for it."

He placed his teacup on the windowsill and came toward her, holding
out his hands.  "I'll show you."

Kira's eyes grew wide.  "You're asking me to dance with you?   I don't
know any Cardassian 'courtly dances'!"

Dukat waved one hand dismissively.  "I'll teach you.  They're so easy
even a Klingon could learn one in a few minutes.  Come."

Kira shook her head.  "I don't think so, Dukat.  I'm not quite up to
the challenge right now."  The challenge she hoped to avoid was not
that of trying to dance Cardassian-style;  she wanted to avoid all
physical contact with him, lest it lead to other types of contact. 
His serpentine charm was beginning to affect her again.

His easy humor deflated somewhat as he sat down heavily next to her. 
"I don't think you'll get another opportunity to learn the Cardassian
Imperial Waltz from someone as skilled and graceful as me," he sighed.

"Maybe you can teach me when I come visit you on Terra," she said,
teasing him, but at the same time trying not to sound too mocking.

His eyes gleamed, and Kira held her breath.  She knew that look; it
meant trouble.  "Yes, maybe so.  Then...perhaps --" his voice grew
very low and he took hold of her hand in both of his "-- you could
teach me the Dance of Eternal Longing?"

Kira yanked her hand back as she moved as far away from him as quickly
as possible, spilling her drink in the process.  She was shaking with
fear and rage as she cried, "Do you have to spoil *everything*, Dukat?
Can't we have a decent conversation without you turning it into
a...a...*seduction*?  Do you have *any* idea what the Dance of Eternal
Longing is about?"

Dukat approached her carefully as she inched along the wall opposite
him.  "What have I said that upsets you so much, Major?"

She shook her head, refusing to speak, refusing to inhale his
encroaching scent.

"Does it bother you that I know enough about the dance to know what it
means?  Or...does it bother you that I suggested you perform it for
me?" His voice was as smooth as Jumja sap as he pressed one hand
against the wall over her head and leaned close to her ear.  "You
*did* promise to come visit me in prison."

She ground her teeth in fury.  "I lied."

Dukat inhaled deeply, and Kira closed her eyes against the reality of
her situation.  As usual, her pheromones were betraying her more
rational wishes.  "Major, you are in *quite* a state."

She pushed herself away from the wall and walked, shaky from
exhaustion and...other feelings...to the other side of the room.  She
was not the only person in the room producing pheromones, and Dukat's
heady aroma was beginning to make her eyes water.  With more control
than she knew she had, she said, "I think it's best that you leave. 
I'm...not up to full strength, and Sisko is expecting me to report for
duty in less than an hour.  I - I need to rest for a few minutes
before heading to his office." How stupid could she be, admitting her
weakness to him?  Dukat would be a fool not to exploit it.

The predatory gleam in Dukat's eyes vanished as concern knitted his
eye ridges, surprising her with his unexpected reaction.  "Major, I am
terribly sorry.  I've obviously overstayed my welcome."  He retrieved
his teacup from the windowsill and placed it in the recycler.  Kira
remained frozen in place, afraid to move lest she collapse in his
presence.   Kira noticed that he was taking care not to pass too
closely to her, and wondered at his uncharacteristic caution.

He had almost reached the door, when she would finally be able to
breathe freely, but he turned at the last moment.  "I'm not one for
long goodbyes, Major, so I'll just say that it has been an honor and a
privilege to know you these past few years.  I hope that someday we
may renew our acquaintance."

His farewell statement was so simple, so guileless, so unlike the
irascible Gul Dukat Kira thought she knew, that she could only swallow
noisily and nod in reply.  Apparently it was sufficient, because he
turned and strode through the door.

---

Kira collapsed on the sofa.  Quite a state, indeed!  What in the Name
of the Prophets had possessed him to mention the Dance of Eternal
Longing?  Did he know its importance in Bajoran folklore?  Did he
understand the role it played in adolescent girls' fantasies?  Knowing
Dukat, he probably knew more about it than she did;  there was little
about Bajoran culture and tradition with which he was *not* familiar.

The Dance of Eternal Longing, Kira had learned from her older friends
in the Shakaar, was an ancient fertility ritual so old as to almost be
an old wives' tale.  According to the legend that accompanied the
ritual, it commemorated the plight of a young girl sacrificed to save
her village from a plague that was killing all the young men, leaving
childless widows behind.  An oracle had told the village vedek that
only a girl pure in spirit and unblemished by love could seduce the
pagh-wraith that had inflicted the plague, so the vedek searched high
and low for the proper sacrifice, only to discover that it was his own
daughter.  He was heartbroken, but the villagers were desperate and
the girl insisted that she be allowed to go to the pagh-wraith.  The
next morning she walked into the woods with nothing but courage as her
guide.

She walked for several hours, until the trees grew so thickly together
no sunlight could break through the leaves.  Exhausted and hungry, she
fell asleep at the foot of a massive Jumja tree.  She awoke to find
the pagh-wraith, a hideous, smelly, loathsome creature, staring at her
as though he were about to devour her.  She was terrified, but
remained calm.

"What do you want?"  he growled at her.

"I've come to ask you to lift the curse from my village so our women
may have husbands and children."

"What about you?  Do you want a husband and children?"

The girl said, "All I want is to help my village and make my father
happy."

"You are a very selfless creature," the pagh-wraith said, "so I will
reward you by becoming your husband and filling you with children."
The girl could think of many other ways by which she would rather be
rewarded, but said nothing as the pagh-wraith threw her over his
shoulder and carried her to his cave.

When they reached the cave, the girl noticed that it was filled with
the paghs of all the children the pagh-wraith's curse had prevented
from being born, held captive by chains of pure gold.  "These will be
our children," the wraith said, "but if you want me to set them free
you must first dance for me."  The girl was puzzled by his request,
but obediently complied.

First she danced the story of her village, then the story of the
founding of the Celestial Temple, then the story of the first man and
the first woman in the Garden of Exquisite Splendor.  And when she had
danced every dance she knew, she danced her own dance, a dance formed
from within her pagh, expressing all her sorrow for the imprisoned
paghs and her longing to set her village free of the curse.  As he
watched her twirl and leap with a divinely-inspired grace, the
pagh-wraith felt himself begin to transform from within, his stone
heart filling with an eternal longing for light and beauty as his
hideous mask fell away, revealing his true self.

Her dance at last complete, the girl collapsed to the floor. When she
looked up to see the wraith's reaction, she was astonished to see a
handsome young prince standing before her, the dark cave that had held
the paghs captive transformed into a magnificent palace filled with
beautiful, happy children.  The dark woods surrounding the cave had
also changed into a fertile garden, filled with every kind of plant
and animal known to Bajor.

Her dance had broken the curse, and she remained with the prince as
they raised the children to love light and beauty and respect the
teachings of the Prophets, until the time came for the happy pair to
pass from this life, when the Prophets, in their infinite wisdom, set
their paghs permanently in the heavens for all to see as a sign of
their true love.


Kira remembered the cold winter nights the women in the Shakaar would
gather around a blazing fire and warm each other with bawdy tales
about virgins ravished by pagh-wraiths and the legendary effect the
Dance of Eternal Longing was supposed to have on Bajoran men.  Those
nights, she fondly recalled, embodied her earliest experiences with
Bajoran sexuality, and the stories she heard about the Dance of
Eternal Longing were a central part of those memories.  The women
would bundle themselves in enormous blankets, and the elders would
talk about the days, centuries past, when the dance was believed to
possess mystical powers that could induce fertility in a man.  The
girls - Kira among them - would giggle to each other as the older
women described in lascivious detail its effects on the male anatomy,
and the many astounding and pleasurable uses for that particular
appendage.  As the night wore on the tales grew more and more raunchy,
and sounds of shuffling and moans could be heard emanating from
beneath some of the blankets, and some of the women crept away to join
their male comrades, but still Kira's curiosity about the Dance of
Eternal Longing was unsatisfied.

One night, as the remains of a once-roaring fire lay smoldering, Kira
screwed up the courage to ask Chivas Panat, the oldest woman in the
cell, what the dance entailed.  Chivas slid down the log they were
perched on and wrapped one end of her blanket around Kira, tightening
her embrace until Kira's head rested against her shoulder.

"The basic steps are quite simple," she began, taking a stick and
sketching lines in the ashes as she described the movements.  "Anyone
can do them, but they signify nothing if not done in the proper
context or the right frame of mind.  What makes the Dance of Eternal
Longing such a powerful tool is what *you* put into it.  The gestures
remain the same, but the spirit and the style are unique to each
woman.  Unfortunately, women of the younger generations don't
understand that;  to them, it's just an easy and traditional way to
seduce men."  She jerked her head in the direction where some of the
women had gone to lie with the men.  "I'll wager Shakaar has seen it
done at least a dozen times.  These young women think it means they
can decorate themselves with jewels and bells and fine silks and with
a few wiggles of their hips and a shake of their breasts they'll have
a man grunting and squealing like a vole in heat."  Chivas took a
long, deep breath as she stared into the embers.  "If she performs the
Dance of Eternal Longing properly, a woman will only perform it once
in her life, for only one man."

"Have you ever danced?"  Kira asked.

Chivas smiled, and there was a softness to her features Kira had not
seen before.  "Yes," she said.  "I danced for the man I married, the
first night we made love."

"Is it true, what they say about it making men fertile?"

"I had thirteen children.  What does that tell you?"

Kira gasped in shock and envy.  "He - your husband - must have been
very pleasing to you."

"*Very* pleasing," Chivas said, chuckling as Kira gasped again. She
patted the girl on the head as they rocked back and forth on the log.
"Don't worry, my child, when your time comes you will understand. 
Just promise me one thing:  if you ever dance the Dance of Eternal
Longing for any man, be sure in your heart that he is the man for you. 
If there is love in your heart, he will see it in your movements, and
he will be yours forever.  Do you promise?"  She stared fiercely at
Kira, and the young girl who had not yet experienced her first kiss
made a solemn oath, calling upon the Prophets to witness her pledge,
to do as Chivas said.


Chivas Panat was killed less than a month later, but Kira never forgot
the promise she made that night before the dying embers, the old woman
looking back on many years of love and passion and the young girl
looking for guidance in the fine art of love.  She never forgot her
promise when she fell in love with Bareil, nor later when she thought
she was in love with Shakaar.  Neither of them had even thought to
mention it, and she wondered if what Chivas had said, if some of
Shakaar's former lovers had danced for him, was true.

She did not, and after they had gone their separate ways she wondered
if she would ever dance the Dance of Eternal Longing.

Her thoughts returning to Starbase 375 and the latest crisis of the
Dominion War, Kira leaned her head back against the sofa cushions and
cursed her fate.  Why, oh why, did Dukat have to even mention it?

---


Kira was startled from her reverie by the doorchime.  "Come in," she
called, hoping it was not Dukat, back for more of whatever it was
Dukat wanted from her.

It was not Dukat.  The doors slid open to reveal the other Cardassian
currently in residence.  "Ah, Major Kira, I hope I'm not disturbing
you?"  Garak asked.

She pulled her feet off the table but made no effort to rise and greet
him.  "No, Garak.  Is there something you need?"  she prompted as he
stood in the doorway.

He pointed to the chair opposite her.  "May I?"

"Have a seat."

Garak settled into the chair, all the while assessing her with that
calculating stare that never failed to send a chill down her spine.
"Have you, ah, recovered from your injuries, Major?"

"Pretty much."

"Doctor Bashir informs me that you suffered a point-blank disrupter
wound."

"Yes, that's right."

"Serious stuff, all this.  It must have been quite an ordeal for you
on the station."

"I survived."  She was beginning to get irritated.  "Is there a reason
for your visit, or are we going to talk at cross-purposes until you
get bored and leave?"

"Major!  I could never get bored by your company."  Kira snorted. "You
are just too fascinating to a simple man like myself."

"All right, Garak, out with it."

"Out with what, Major?"

"I'm not in the mood for one of your mind games, so just tell me why
you're here and let's get it over with."

It was not until Garak placed his hand on her knee that Kira realized
he had been stealthily moving closer to her throughout the entire
conversation.  Cardassians may not be the most subtle race in the
galaxy, but they were certainly the sneakiest.

"Major, why do you think you're here?"

"Excuse me?"

"Here on this starbase.  Why are you here?"

"*Why*?"

"Yes."

"Because Gul Dukat brought me here?"  She did not know what else to
say.  Any conversation with Garak was a puzzle, and she often found it
best to choose the most direct response to anything he said.  Yet even
her simple statements were often thrown back at her, twisted into a
mockery of what she had been thinking when she spoke.  Trying to
outwit Garak was like trying to outdrink Morn:  fruitless, and she
usually ended up with a terrible headache afterwards.

"Yes, yes, of course.  Gul Dukat brought you here.  He *rescued* you. 
He took personal responsibility for saving your life."

"Yes, he did.  And for that I'm grateful."

"Of course you are!"

"Are you suggesting I shouldn't be?"

"Well...if you think about it, if it hadn't been for his pact with the
Dominion, you would have never been put in a position where you might
get shot by a disrupter at close range."

"Garak, that is so utterly ludicrous I can't believe I'm hearing it
from you.  You're saying that Dukat allied himself with the Dominion,
took control of Cardassia, took back the station, all so he could save
my life? I'm not buying it."

"I said nothing of the kind, Major.  You did."

"Oh, I see.  This is one of your
let's-see-what-Kira-is-*really*-thinking games.  No thanks, Garak; 
I'm in no mood for riddles right now.  Least of all yours."

"Major, let's be honest with each other --"

"*Honest*?  You?"  Kira laughed humorlessly.

"Humor me.  You and I both know about Dukat's, ah, *interest* in you." 
Kira crossed her arms over her chest in an self-conscious protective
gesture.  "Does his attraction disturb you?  Does it make you
nervous?"

Kira had to think about it.  There had been one exchange in Dukat's
office on the station, about three months after Sisko left, when she
had been afraid.  Dukat, however, had been more insinuating than
threatening; she had feared the repercussions of her vehement
response, rather than anything he had actually said.  She certainly
did not like the idea that Dukat had this...obsession...with her, but
she did not especially care for Odo's crush on her, either.  She hated
being placed on anybody's pedestal.

"Not...especially, no.  It doesn't make sense, but it's never gone
beyond innuendo."

"'Never gone beyond innuendo'," he quoted.  "Would you like it to?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"You *do* know how Cardassians court each other, don't you, Major?"

She sighed.  "Yes, Garak, I know Cardassians flirt by insulting each
other."

"Has Dukat ever insulted you?"

She had to think again.  "I don't...think so.  Nothing specific comes
to mind.  Just his usual self-glorification."

"Aha!"

Kira was beyond confusion.  "Aha?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps he's courting you
Bajoran-style?  That perhaps he's trying to *earn* your affection,
rather than intimidate it out of you?"

"Why would he want to do that?  It's against his nature."

"Exactly."  Garak leaned forward and looked her straight in the eye. 
She refused to blink.  "Look, Major, Dukat can't change who he is, or
what he was.  He's in love with you, whether either of you wants to
admit it or not.  But something in him is telling him not to attempt
to win your heart the Cardassian way, because it will dredge up too
many memories of the past.  If he starts insulting you, all you will
recognize is racial prejudice and the horrors of the Occupation.  If,
on the other hand, he shows you that there is a warm heart beating
underneath all that armor and flesh, he just might have a chance.  If
he can convince you to see that he is capable of just that slight
change, that he can be compassionate and tender and generous, then how
much more would it take for you to love him in return?"

"Garak, why are you telling me all this?  The enmity between you and
Dukat is well-known."

His reply was filled with melancholy.  "Ah, my dear Major, I'm not
doing this for Dukat.  I'm doing it for Ziyal.  She often told me how
much she wished you and her father could put the past behind you and
admit to what you both feel."

"Dukat's feelings for me are *not* reciprocated."

"Aren't they?  Are you so sure, Major?"

"Of course I'm sure.  I may recognize that there's more to him - that
he's more complex - than what I knew of him during the Occupation, but
--"

"Ah, but you see, Major, that's just the first step.  And you've
already admitted to feeling gratitude, which means that he has a hold
on you he didn't have before."

"That's nonsense, Garak."

"He's a handsome man, isn't he?  And not just by Cardassian
standards."

Kira felt the heat rise in her cheeks, which only served to heighten
her discomfort.  "He - He - He's not unpleasant to look at."

"Give yourself some credit, Major.  I've seen you watching him when
you thought nobody else was looking."

"Spying on me, Garak?"  She could not bring herself to feel as
violated as she knew she should.

He gave her a mysterious, but not unfriendly, smile.  "You know me.  
I like to watch people interact.  It entertains me."

"I'm thrilled I was able to provide you with a few minutes'
diversion."

"You are too modest, my dear.  I've been watching your interactions
with Dukat for many years.  Even before there was anything worth
watching, I had my eye on you two.  Ziyal saw it, too."

Kira felt a pang at the mention of Ziyal as she remembered a
conversation, not too long ago, when Ziyal had confided in Kira her
suspicions that Dukat carried a torch for Kira.  "You remind me of my
mother," she had said at the time.  Kira pushed the memory to the back
of her mind.  "Garak," she sighed, "Dukat may have feelings for me. 
He may even believe he's in love with me.  But it's all one-sided.  I
don't return his feelings."

Garak stood.  "Perhaps not now, dear Major.  But you've already come
too far to go back to the way things once were.  You may not believe
you can ever love him, but neither can you hate him like you used to."
He approached the doors, and they slid open in anticipation of his
departure. "Think about what I said."

---

Dukat did not expect to see Kira waiting by the airlock to give him a
last goodbye as Security escorted him to a waiting shuttle, although
part of him almost wished she had been there.  In fact, Alpha shift
had not even started as he was led, manacled, through the nearly empty
corridors of Starbase 375, and he recognized none of the faces that
passed by him. Sisko had visited him the previous evening to ask some
final questions about Damar, and Garak had flaunted his freedom in his
face one more time, but for the most part the people Dukat knew from
Terok Nor were occupied with the ongoing war effort.  Still, it would
have been nice to see the major one more time, he thought.  He had
obviously pushed the right - or wrong, depending on one's perspective
- button during their last meeting, and he would have liked the chance
to push it again, just to see her reaction.

Another time, perhaps, he thought as the guards strapped him in to a
seat in the shuttle's passenger bay.

The war was beginning to escalate, according to the information he
overheard in his holding cell.  Damar had almost completed dismantling
the minefield, and Starfleet was supposedly amassing a huge armada to
retake Terok Nor.  Dukat would have liked to be there, to defend the
station against his current guardians.  Even if it meant death, it
would have been a less ignominious defeat than his current prospects.

If circumstances had been different, he wondered, would Kira have
mourned him?  He would have to remember to ask her when next they met.

If they ever met again.

The shuttle pushed free of the docking pylon and turned its bow
towards Terra.  Dukat had never visited Terra before, and he
concentrated his thoughts on all that he had learned of it.  He would
have to learn to like Terran food, he supposed;  he was not likely to
find boiled taspar eggs in the prison kitchen.  What did the air on
Terra smell like?   What would the climate be like?  Would he be warm
enough, or would he be banished to a prison near one of the poles? 
Would he be fitted with a translation device, or would he have to
speak Federation Standard? Would he have access to other Cardassians? 
Would he be placed at the mercy of vengeful Bajorans and Maquis?

Would Kira come visit him?

What was it about Kira Nerys that fascinated him so?  She was not
beautiful, not even by generous Bajoran standards, and her formal
education was so far behind his own the disparity was laughable.  She
had little or no sense of humor, as far as he could tell, and she was
quick - too quick, in his opinion, to anger and too slow to forgive. 
So what was the hold she had on him?

The truth, he had to admit, was that she challenged him.   Every
exchange between them was rife with tension, intrigue and innuendo.  
She kept him on his toes, his wits sharp, and his blood pressure near
the boiling point.  She was not afraid of him - or, if she was, she
did a very good job of hiding it - and her courage impressed him.

Time was, not so long ago, he could have had any Bajoran woman he
wanted.  A look and a gesture to one of his men, and he would find the
woman of his choice waiting in his bed a few hours later.  Some of
them came willingly, most not, but in the end none of them refused the
demands of the Prefect of Bajor.

Naprem, on the other hand, had been different.  *She* laughed at him. 
She *laughed* at him!  She had knelt on his bed, completely and
unashamedly naked, and tossed back her head and laughed uproariously
when he entered the room and began removing his armor.  When he had
asked her what was so funny, she replied, "Is the Prefect so insecure
with his manliness that he has to kidnap his own property to satisfy
his needs?"

He raised his hand to strike her but she did not flinch, and her
defiant stare made him lower his hand in wonder.  "Why did you come,
then?" he asked.  "You could have said no."

Her answer provoked him as no other woman had.  "I heard that
generations of sex with Cardassian women made Cardassian men terrible
lovers.  I wanted to find out for myself if it was true."

He spent the next eighteen years proving her wrong.

Throughout their long courtship, Dukat had other dalliances, but
Naprem never seemed to mind;  she even facilitated a few affairs.  She
once told him that it was good for them both that he take other lovers
on occasion, that it made him appreciate her all the more.  When she
found out about Mekor, however, she had been furious.  He could
remember the shrillness in her voice as she cried, "How could you? 
How could you make love with your *Cardassian* wife and give her
another child, when you have a child with your *Bajoran* lover?" 
Naprem left him that night, taking Ziyal with her, and went into
seclusion in the apartment he had given her in the capital city.

It took him six months to win her back, and in the end it was the
pledge bracelet that broke her resistance.  He never returned to his
wife again.

Naprem was fearless, and that was why he loved her.  In her own way,
Kira reminded him of Naprem:  haughty, courageous, provocative,
challenging.  If circumstances had been different, he told himself, he
knew that Kira would have come to appreciate and love him as Naprem
once had.

At least, that was what he chose to believe.

Dukat's attention was diverted by an exchange between the pilot and
co-pilot.  Apparently they had picked up a ship on their long-range
sensors, and it was not responding to their orders to maintain a clear
corridor.  Starfleet was taking no chances with Dukat;  not only was
he, personally, under heavily armed guard at all times, but his
shuttle had also been equipped with the latest in sensor and weapons
technology, and the pilot had been ordered to follow a specific flight
path between the starbase and Terra.  Sisko had told Dukat that only
he and the pilot knew all the details - time of departure, flight
plan, shuttle specifications, and so forth.  Yet Dukat knew that spies
- perhaps even former Obsidian Order spies - could have accessed that
information without anyone being the wiser.  He was too valuable a
target for some opportunistic assassin not to try to take a potshot at
him.

Dukat leaned forward in his seat as much as the restraints would
allow, and tried to hear as much of the exchange as his limited
hearing made possible.  The guard seated next to him noticed his
movement and stood in the doorway between the cockpit and the
passenger bay as he spoke to the flight crew, thus effectively
blocking the conversation from Dukat.

He had nevertheless overheard enough to sense that something was
wrong, and it was not just the mysterious ship headed directly for
them. Although he could not be certain, Terran voices being modulated
differently than Cardassian voices, Dukat thought he heard an
unwarranted degree of confidence in the pilot's voice as he repeated
his hails to the oncoming ship.  Terrans, if he remembered correctly,
tended to raise the pitch of their voices as they neared the end of a
question, or when they were uncertain or afraid.  The pilot's voice,
in contrast, was smooth and uneven.  Unfortunately, Dukat's brute of a
guard was standing between him and the pilot, and he could no longer
hear what was being said.  He hated not knowing everything that was
happening, especially when it pertained - however obliquely - to him.

Dukat's irritation and impatience increased.  Humans could be so
inconsiderate sometimes.  He began to try to free himself from the
restraints, twisting about in his seat to loosen them enough to allow
him to apply greater pressure to the links.  The guard must have heard
him shuffling around, because he turned away from the cockpit.  "What
do you think you're doing?"  he asked, bending down to adjust the
restraints.

The phaser blast coming from behind caught the guard completely
unprepared, and he toppled over onto Dukat, pinning the Cardassian
under his dead weight.  Rocking his shoulders to shift the guard's
head out of his way, Dukat saw a similar blast eliminate the co-pilot. 
He then found himself looking up into the cold eyes of the pilot
leering down at him with a malicious expression that betrayed his
single-minded purpose.

"Let me guess," Dukat said, unflappable despite the danger or the
rather compromising position in which he found himself, "former
Maquis?"

The pilot pistol-whipped him.  Dukat tasted blood and his vision grew
blurry.  "Shut up, you arrogant spoonhead," the pilot said.

Dukat rolled his eyes.  He had been in far worse situations than this,
and the pilot was obviously no match for his superior intellect and
experience.  "Oh, how clever," he slurred through the blood filling
his mouth.  "Judging from your original choice of vernacular, I'd say
you didn't plan this mission."  He did not flinch when the pilot
struck him again, but instead spat blood at him, laughing as the man
grimaced in disgust.  "What's the matter, does your own barbarism
sicken you?  Was your mother a Klingon, or are you a throwback to the
Terran Dark Ages?"

The pilot raised the phaser, this time to fire at Dukat, but he must
have thought better of it because he lowered it as he smirked at him.
"I'm under orders to shoot your scaly hide, but I've got a better
idea."

"Please enlighten me.  I'd be thrilled to know what qualifies as a
'better idea' in your pathetic excuse for a brain."

The man should have shot him when he had the chance, although Dukat
was not about to tell him that.  He had outwitted far superior enemies
driven by overconfidence to make foolish mistakes, and this man would
have lost if he had tried to match wits with a Bolian.  Yet Dukat was
somewhat disturbed by the pilot's obsession with pointless brutality
and mayhem. Unrestrained savagery was a dangerous trait, especially in
a race as uncivilized as humans.  There is no obstacle that a properly
disciplined mind cannot overcome, Dukat reminded himself as the pilot
destroyed the helm controls, shield emitters, life support and the
transporter controls with his phaser.

"That was brilliant.  How are you going to escape?"  Dukat asked.

"Just like this."  He took a hand-held communicator from beneath his
tunic and engaged it.  "Juarez to Ticonderoga.  Mission accomplished."

A female voice replied, "Is he dead?"

"He will be soon enough."  Dukat just glowered at him.  "I'm ready to
beam over."

"You were supposed to kill him, Juarez."

"I decided to have a little fun with him first.  Give him time to
think about all the pain he's inflicted on others.  Then let him
suffocate while the hull collapses around him.  There's no way he can
escape."

"And what if somebody comes to rescue him?"

"They won't.  This corridor is off limits for another sixteen hours. 
It'll be too late then."

There was a deep sigh on the other end of the link, and Dukat thought
he heard the woman mutter "idiot" under her breath.  Then,
"Acknowledged.  Stand by for transport."

Juarez took the opportunity to beat Dukat one last time before the
transporter beam took him away.  Dukat heard the crack of shattered
bones as pain radiated through his jaw and down into his neck ridges.

It brought Dukat some small degree of satisfaction a few seconds later
when Juarez' atoms rematerialized just beyond the forward viewscreen,
his face frozen by the frigid vacuum of space into a hideous mask of
triumph and surprise.

A blast of phaser fire rocked the shuttle, throwing the dead guard
covering Dukat's body to the floor, as Juarez' compatriots destroyed
the port nacelle.  Flames exploded from the consoles and alarms
sounded from all directions.

The impact loosened Dukat's restraints enough that he was able to
wrestle his hands free, and he quickly pulled the restraining straps
out of the buckles and made his way into the smoking cockpit.  Juarez
had blasted his way through every instrument that Dukat could have
used to defend himself against another attack or flee for safety. 
Through the haze of smoke and fire Dukat saw the Ticonderoga circling
around for another attack and he cursed himself for ever having
trusted Sisko.  Without shields, propulsion, or life support, he was
as good as a praying Bajoran.  His only hope was the upgraded weapons
system, but he was unfamiliar with Starfleet firing protocols, and
there was no time for mistakes.  The Ticonderoga would soon be in
firing range.

Dukat was not prepared to surrender, not yet.  He still had a few
tricks up his sleeve.  He had not crawled his way up through the ranks
of the Cardassian military on charm alone.

He made a few quick calculations in his head, then programmed the
coordinates into the targeting computer.  Just as the phaser banks on
the other ship began to glow, he fired.

It *almost* worked.

He had succeeded in targeting the phasers to slice through the
Ticonderoga, but as it sheared apart a large piece of the hull struck
the side of his shuttle, sending it careening out of control towards a
large planet that swerved into view as gravity began to pull the
shuttle to its surface.

There was little that Dukat could do to stop the shuttle's inexorable
plunge into the planet's atmosphere.  He knew that if the shuttle
entered the atmosphere at too steep an angle, the resulting friction
would burn the hull to a crisp.  If it entered at too shallow an
angle, it would skip across the atmosphere until the keel broke apart.

His only chance was Chance itself.

Fortunately, Chance was on his side, at least for the moment. The
shuttle entered the atmosphere at about a 25 degree angle, just enough
to heat the outer hull without igniting it.  The temperature inside
the shuttle became stifling, however, and the raging inferno was
feeding on the remaining oxygen.  Dukat felt the world around him grow
fuzzy and indistinct as he braced himself for the inevitable impact. 
He was oblivious to the searing heat and flames, oblivious to the
blinding light reflected from the planet's barren surface, oblivious
to the encroaching darkness that lapped at the edges of his mind, as
he trained his thoughts on the first pleasant image that crept into
view.  If he was going to die, then he would die with a smile on his
face.

When the impact hit, throwing Dukat simultaneously backwards and
forwards as the shuttle disintegrated around him, the last thought on
Dukat's mind was of Kira.

Then oblivion fell, enshrouding Dukat with its comforting presence.

---

Kira arrived at Sisko's office as quickly as possible.  His call had
sounded urgent, and with the planned attack on the station less than a
day away, she was taking no chances.  His response to her requested
entry was almost concurrent with the request itself.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"  Kira asked, standing before his
desk.

"Have a seat, Major."

Sisko leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his
chin.  Kira recognized the gesture;  it was not a good sign.  She took
the chair to her left and draped her arms over the rests.

"I've just heard from Starfleet Command headquarters on Earth." Kira
gave him a look that urged him to continue.  "Gul Dukat's shuttle
never arrived."

Kira did not know what to think.  This was not what she had been
expecting to hear.  "When was he due?"  she asked.

"Yesterday.  The last transmission we received, approximately
thirty-eight hours ago, was a report of an unauthorized ship
trespassing in the flight corridor we established for the shuttle."

"And you haven't heard anything since then?"

Sisko shook his head.  "I suspect foul play was somehow involved."
Something in his manner caught Kira's attention, and she stiffened as
anger flooded her veins.  Sisko's hand went up, halting her retort. 
"I didn't mean for that to come out sounding like an accusation,
Major.  If you had intended to do away with Dukat, you would have done
so long ago, and in full view."

Her mind raced as she considered various possibilities.  "Do you think
Garak might have been involved?"

Sisko shrugged.  "I doubt it, but it's certainly within the realm of
possibility.  At the moment, however, Starfleet doesn't have the time
or resources to investigate Dukat's disappearance."

Kira's eyes widened with comprehension.  "Which is why you called me
in here."

"Exactly."

"Captain, you can't --"

Sisko leaned forward.  "Major, I can't risk involving you in this war. 
You are *still* the Bajoran Liaison Officer, and as such your primary
responsibility is to Bajor.  You're here only because Dukat brought
you here, because you were wounded on the station.  If...*When* we
retake Deep Space Nine, I want you back as my first officer.  But I
don't want you fighting in this war, not unless it becomes absolutely
necessary.   This is *not* Bajor's war to fight.  I won't be
responsible for the loss of any Bajoran lives if I can help it.  Do
you understand?"

Kira, who had risen from her seat to protest his speech, sank back
down.  "Yes, sir."

Sisko leaned back again.  "Good."  He pushed a padd across the desk,
and Kira took it.  "Everything you need to know is right there: the
shuttle's identification, engineering schematics, crew manifest,
flight plan and schedule.  I want you to find anything that will tell
us what happened - wreckage, weapons signatures, casualties.  I've set
aside a runabout for your use."

Kira nodded as she scanned the information.  "Should I take Doctor
Bashir?  In case there are survivors?"

Sisko considered her request.  "I could use him on the Defiant, but
I'll allow it.  I want you to leave as soon as possible.  If this is
Dukat's doing, it could severely jeopardize our battle plan."

"I'll get right on it, sir."

---

Kira was quiet as she and Bashir conducted sector-by-sector sensor
sweeps of the flight path designated for Dukat's shuttle.  After
several hours their search had revealed nothing, and she was beginning
to doubt there would be anything for them to find.

She could not decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing, if she
should be overjoyed or saddened at Dukat's inexplicable disappearance.
He had certainly made her life miserable, not to mention the
atrocities he had committed during the Occupation, but in the past
couple of years he had come to grow on her.  She was still wary of him
- a wise thing, considering how dangerously unpredictable he could be
- but at times she almost liked him, almost enjoyed his infuriating
arrogance.

At times, in his absence, she almost missed him.

At times, when he returned, she was almost glad to see him.

Almost.

It was Ziyal that had persuaded her to see Dukat in this new light.
Years spent in the Resistance had convinced Kira that all Cardassians
were alike.  Arrogant, cruel, vicious, heartless, and utterly beyond
redemption. The Occupation had taught her never to look beyond the
ridges and scales, and Kira had learned her lesson well.  Almost *too*
well.  Then she and Dukat found the remains of the Ravenok, which had
borne passengers dear to them both, and Kira began to see that there
was much more to the former Prefect than the monster her racial
prejudice had led her to expect. The look on his face at the makeshift
gravesite opened her eyes to the possibility that perhaps - just
perhaps - he, and his species, were not just the cold-blooded,
ruthless killers her experience had taught her to believe.  It was a
startling revelation for her.

Once Kira opened her mind to the possibility that Dukat might not be
beyond redemption, she clung to it in the same way she had clung to
her faith during the dark days of the Occupation.  She had found a
fragment of decency in him, and she was determined to expose that
decency to the light. Thus, when they located his daughter in the
Breen mining camp, his announcement that he intended to kill the girl
came as quite a shock. Kira knew that if she allowed Dukat to carry
out his plans, there would be no hope for him.  She pleaded with him
not just to preserve Ziyal's life; she begged him to preserve his own.

Fortunately for them all, he listened.

Kira's eyes and heart opened a little wider.

On the Groumall, Kira's nascent capacity to pardon came into its own
when she offered to take Ziyal back to the station and assume
responsibility for her.  Kira had no family, having lost hers in the
Occupation.  In effect, Ziyal became her surrogate family.  Thus she
who had despised Cardassians her entire life, she who had once killed
them without a second thought, found herself acting as mother to a
half-Cardassian girl.  And in letting Ziyal into her heart, Kira
managed to find room for Dukat in there as well.  He was still
arrogant and ruthless, but he was Ziyal's father.

Through Ziyal, Dukat had been redeemed.

And so, it seemed, had Kira.

Ziyal was no stranger to her father's past brutality.  That was what
astounded Kira the most;  that this girl could love the man who had
been responsible for the deaths of ten million of her mother's people.
Ziyal's capacity for forgiveness taught Kira about her own need to let
go of the past and look ahead to the future.  But whose future?  Her
future? Bajor's future?

Kira had spent most of her life living only in the present, her sole
purpose in life the liberation of Bajor.  Then, one day, she had it.  
Her lifelong dream achieved, Kira felt adrift.  She began looking
back, living in the past, while all around her thousands of Bajorans
turned their eyes to a future filled with hope and promise.  By the
time Kira realized her mistake, she had been left behind.  In Ziyal,
she found the chance to reclaim her future.

Her future, she realized one day, included Gul Dukat.  She could never
completely let go of the past until she learned to accept the olive
branch he offered merely with the way he hovered around her whenever
they were in the same room.  Even as he reclaimed the station in the
name of the Cardassian-Dominion alliance, Bajor kept its eyes firmly
fixed on the future.  Even as the ominous shadow of Cardassia fell
over Bajor, Ziyal remained steadfast in her faith that her father
would not repeat his mistakes of the past.  Even as he kept the Alpha
Quadrant teetering on the brink of collapse, Dukat honored Bajor's
sovereignty.  Bajor, Ziyal, Dukat...they had all turned their backs on
the past.  It was time Kira did the same.

Her future was Bajor's future.

Her future was Dukat's future.

Their future together had been sealed over Ziyal's shattered body, her
innocent blood binding them in a way that the past and the future
combined could never have done.  The blood that Ziyal shed was shed
for Bajor, so that no Bajoran blood would be spilled.  Ziyal's death
had somehow ensured, Kira knew, that Dukat would not invade Bajor, not
even when the minefield came down and the Dominion overran the Alpha
Quadrant. Kira had seen that look of desolation in his eyes, that look
that was so full of passion and promise her pulse quickened at the
memory of it.

Kira and Dukat, each of them stained with blood, were Ziyal's legacy,
her gift to Bajor.  Cardassian blood.  Bajoran blood.  Ziyal's blood.

With her blood, Ziyal had cleansed them.  With her life, she set them
free.  Free of hatred, free of prejudice, free of the past, free of
the taint of blood.

In Ziyal, Kira and Dukat had been redeemed, and her death had fixed
their future.  Their future *together*.

Kira loved Dukat.

No.

Did she?

--


"Nerys?  Nerys, are you all right?"

Bashir's concerned voice broke into Kira's thoughts, and she had to
shake her head a few times to regain her composure and rid her mind of
unexpectedly pleasant memories of Dukat and his ongoing effort to win
her affection.  "Yes, I'm fine, I was just a little...distracted." 
She grinned to allay his concern.

"A *little* distracted?  I've been calling your name for the past five
minutes."

"It won't happen again.  What did you need me for?"

"I was trying to tell you that there are residual traces of phaser
fire mixed with an unknown weapons signature showing up on our
sensors."

All business, Kira directed her attention to the sensor readings. "Any
sign of debris?"

"Just a few fragments, nothing...oh."  Bashir grew very pale and
still.

"What?  What is it?"

Bashir activated the viewscreen.  "See for yourself."

Kira was sickened by the sight.  Three bodies, floating in the cold
vacuum of space.  Two of them, both women, were severely mangled, as
if they had endured massive physical trauma.  The third, a man, was
intact. Kira was no stranger to death but the sight of bodies in space
always appalled her.  She swallowed several times before she could
speak.

"There are some larger hull fragments nearby.  Maybe we should check
them out.  The man is wearing a Starfleet uniform, but he doesn't
match any of our identifications."

"He could have been a saboteur."

"My thoughts exactly."

Kira carefully navigated the runabout around the bodies toward a large
hull fragment.  As it moved into view, she could read 'Ticond'
emblazoned in large green letters across it.

"There was a ship called the Ticonderoga stolen from the Utopia
Planitia junkyards last year," Bashir said.  "This could be what's
left of her."

"I don't see any signs of the shuttle.  What do the sensors show?"

"There's a plasma trail leading toward that Class-L planet. It's a
pretty distinct trail;  there may have been a leak of some kind."

"A leak that might have been caused by weapons fire?"  Bashir nodded,
and Kira sent the runabout on a smooth arc toward the planet's
surface.

As the runabout broke through the planet's lower atmosphere, Kira
could easily see the vast destruction caused by the shuttle.  The
planet appeared to be a virtual desert, with no greenery or landmarks
save a few craggy mountaintops visible on the northern horizon.  There
were no signs of civilization or indigenous lifeforms.  Just dull,
lifeless, barren landscape as far as the eye could see.  Disrupting
the monotony in the scenery was a brutal black scar, pockmarked with
scattered fragments of what had once been the shuttle's hull,
extending for several kilometers to the southeast.  Bashir whistled at
the sight.

"I don't think we'll find any survivors here," he said.

Kira ignored his pessimism and turned the runabout to follow the path
of destruction.  As they neared the shuttle's final resting place, the
hull fragments grew noticeably larger and the gorge deepened.

"There!  I see it!"  Bashir said, pointing his finger to the smoking
heap of remains that had once been the shuttle.  Kira had also seen it
and carefully lowered the runabout to the ground a few meters from the
crash site.

Bashir jumped up and grabbed his medkit and was opening the hatch
before she had completed the landing procedure.  She understood his
haste; he was eager to return to the starbase, to join Sisko's armada. 
She would have also liked to go with them, but first she had to know
for sure what Dukat's fate had been.  If he were dead, then she would
give him a proper Cardassian burial.  It was the least she could do.

If he were alive...

Prophets only knew what she would do if he were alive.  She would have
to pray for their guidance.

A wave of dry, stifling heat burst through the hatch as Bashir opened
it and lowered the ramp.  He stood in the doorway, shielding his eyes
from the blinding light, and scanned the site with his tricorder for
lifesigns.  Kira activated her tricorder and joined him, taking the
lead down the ramp.

She spotted the first body, a pair of scorched legs extending from
beneath the remains of what had once been a seat, and ran towards it.

"These are plasma burns," she said, reading the data on her tricorder. 
"It looks like there was a fire on the shuttle."  She clipped the
tricorder to her utility belt and began moving some of the lighter
pieces of twisted metal.

Bashir kneeled beside her and activated his medical tricorder.
"According to his DNA, he's human."  He compared the readings with the
crew manifest.  "This was Lieutenant Jones, from Security.  Dukat's
guard."

Kira was trying to tug the chair from off the guard's body when Bashir
called for her attention.  "Look at this, Major," he said, pointing to
the blackened spot in the center of his back.  "That's a phaser burn."

"Who would have shot him in the back like that?"  Kira wondered aloud.

Bashir looked up at her.  "Dukat would have."

She resisted the urge to glare at him.  "He was supposed to be in
heavy restraints and under constant supervision.  How could he have
escaped the restraining devices, gotten hold of a phaser, and overcome
the guard in such small quarters without anybody noticing?"

"This is Gul Dukat we're talking about.  He's gotten himself out of
stickier situations.  This man also has dried Cardassian blood on his
face. How do you suppose that happened?"

"We don't have all the facts yet, so let's not jump to conclusions." 
She was not prepared to think that Dukat had been responsible for
this.  Although he was treacherous, it was not his style to resort to
murder and mayhem.  When she last saw him, he had been too resolved to
accept his punishment on Terra to kill at least five people and
destroy two ships.  If Dukat was anything, he was a man of his word.

Bashir continued his examination.  "The phaser blast is what killed
him," he said.  "He was dead by the time the shuttle crashed."  He
looked up to find that Kira had finished uncovering the guard and was
again scanning the site, moving in rapid succession from one heap of
twisted, scorched, smoking metal to another as her scans turned up
negative. Bashir trotted to catch up with her.

Her sharp cry of alarm urged him into a run.  She had disappeared
behind a large pile of debris, and he could not see what had happened
to her, or what had caught her attention.  As he rounded the shuttle's
nose cone, he spotted Kira on her belly in the dust, scrabbling her
fingers under a heap of metal.  Draped lightly over the scrap was a
blood- caked Cardassian hand.

"Julian, hurry!"  Kira cried.  She had found Dukat, but she could not
get enough of a fix on him to determine if he was alive or not.   His
mangled body was buried under several hundred kilograms of debris, and
she could not free him without endangering him further.  Judging from
the indistinct tricorder readings, the incredible heat that destroyed
the shuttle had also melted the metal casing on his uniform until it
fused with the hull, blurring the distinction between man and ship. 
His hand was all that she could see of his flesh.  She grabbed it and
prayed to the Prophets that he still lived, as she entwined her warm
fingers with his cool ones.

Bashir fell to his knees in the dust beside her, panting from the
sprint, and activated his medical tricorder.  "It doesn't look good,"
he said.  "He's got to have been here at least three days.  I don't
think even Cardassian physiology can withstand this much abuse."

Kira shot him a look that silenced him.  After several seconds, she
snapped, "Well?"

Bashir turned off the tricorder and placed it in his medkit.   "I
don't believe it," he said.

"*What*?"

He gave her a puzzled look.  "He's still alive, but just barely, and
not for long."

Kira closed her eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief.   "Thank the
Prophets."  She released Dukat's hand and got to her feet.  "Help me,"
she ordered.

Bashir dared not refuse.  Together they managed to lift the uppermost
layers of scrap, their silence broken only by occasional grunts of
exertion.  They had to move with extreme caution as they removed each
layer, to prevent a possible collapse of the remaining fragments that
would surely crush Dukat beneath their weight.  The heat was
oppressing, and soon they had both stripped off their outer jackets. 
After twenty minutes, Bashir ordered a break as he returned to the
runabout to retrieve a canteen.

Kira took the opportunity to again grasp Dukat's hand in her own.
"Don't *do* this to me," she said.  "Not now, not like this."  She
lowered her head, allowing her nose ridges to brush across his
fingertips, trying to communicate her presence to him in the only way
she knew how.  She was so relieved to find him still alive she
momentarily forgot the countless times she had wished him dead.

When Bashir returned, Kira took several deep draughts of water, then
they returned to work.  Removing the uppermost layers had been
painstakingly slow at first, because of the imminent danger of
collapse, but as Kira and Bashir worked their way down their speed
increased. After two hours of backbreaking work, they had removed as
much debris as they could without pulling away some of Dukat's skin as
well.  Kira studied him as Bashir retrieved his medical tricorder.

She had never seen anything like what lay before her.  She had seen
the worst that Cardassian brutality could inflict on Bajorans, and she
had once, with her own hands, eviscerated a Cardassian soldier who had
made the fatal mistake of making a pass at her, but she had never seen
anything this horrible.  Bile rose in her throat and an inexplicable
fear chilled her blood.

Dukat looked as though he had been burned to a crisp.  It was almost
impossible to tell where the uniform began and the man ended, his skin
was so blackened and charred.  Deep gashes across his face and neck
revealed raw sinew and muscle beneath, but there was no blood.  His
right hand, which had alerted her to his presence, was the only part
of him recognizable as belonging to Dukat, and it was attached to an
arm twisted at an impossibly severe angle.  His left femur poked
through the layers of muscle, flesh and bodysuit just below his groin. 
Still no blood.  His eyes remained open, the nictitating membranes
extended only halfway;  as a result, the intense light had seared a
milky white film onto the surface of his sensitive eyes.  His uniform
would have to be removed to determine the complete extent of the
damage to the rest of his body.

Bashir kneeled beside Dukat and scanned him.  "He's dangerously
dehydrated," he said.  "If we try to move him now, his skin will peel
right off, and until I know just how deep the burns go, we can't run
that risk. I can't even begin to treat his broken bones until we get
him rehydrated enough to move him."

"What about the transporters?"

"Have you ever seen a Terran onion?"

"What has that got to do with anything?"  she said impatiently.

"If we try to move Dukat with the transporters, it'll be just like
peeling an onion.  He'll rematerialize without a couple of outer
layers."

Kira tried not to dwell too much on that particular image.  "How can
we rehydrate him?"

"We'll have to camp here.  I can set up an intravenous drip to fill
his veins with an electrolyte solution, and we'll have to take turns
dousing him with water until his skin is pliable enough to withstand
movement.  Once we're on the runabout, I can treat his injuries.  Then
we'll have to treat his epidermis with a combination of sponge baths
and a hydrating emollient."

Kira nodded, focusing her thoughts on setting up camp, so she would
not have to consider Bashir's implication that she would have to take
part in caring for Dukat's damaged flesh.  She needed to concentrate
on helping Bashir, not indulging in puerile fantasies.  "I'll get the
shelter ready," she said.  "Where do you think it should go?"

"It'll have to go here, to protect him from the sun."

Kira nodded her agreement and headed for the runabout.

---

Eight hours had passed before Bashir felt Dukat was stable enough to
attempt removing his uniform.  Kira was relieved.  While Bashir had
remained seated on the ground, simultaneously monitoring the
intravenous drip and Dukat's condition, she had erected the shelter,
set up camp, and kept Dukat's skin moistened with a jury-rigged
sprinkler system circulating through the runabout's environmental
control system.  Despite her exhaustion, she took comfort in the
realization that, as time wore on and Dukat's outermost scales fell
away, the underlying skin appeared to be improving in health and
elasticity.  She remembered how thin-skinned - both physically and
psychologically - Cardassians were, and Bashir had mentioned that if
the burns extended beyond Dukat's third epidermal layer he would have
to be placed in stasis until new skin could be regenerated - a
difficult task, considering the complex network of scales and ridges
on the Cardassian body.

The sun had gone down several hours ago, but the arid surface
continued to radiate enough heat to keep them warm without a fire.  It
was a good thing, Kira thought as she decreased the water pressure to
a fine mist at Bashir's request.  The Cardassian resistance to extreme
heat may turn out to be Dukat's only hope.  Any sudden chill would
surely kill him.

Kneeling in the mud on Dukat's right, she gently lifted his arm and
unbuckled the fasteners between his underarm and rib cage, holding her
breath as she peeled the still-warm plate away.  Bashir did the same
on the left side.  The bodysuit covering Dukat's arms remained intact,
a good sign that the skin beneath was at least healthy, if not
undamaged.  Kira took a moment to offer a prayer of thanks.

Removing the breast plate would require a joint effort to lift it over
Dukat's head and pull it out from under his back.  "If we're lucky,"
Bashir said, "his back was protected from the heat.  If not, the mud
should provide a cushion."         Kira nodded as she unbuckled the
fasteners on her side.  A chunk of melted hull fused to the plate made
it difficult for Bashir to unbuckle his side, so Kira leaned over
Dukat's chest, being careful not to touch him, and tugged at the
fasteners until they disintegrated, weakened by the intense heat.  She
then kneeled beside Dukat's head and lifted it from the ground,
cradling it in her hands as Bashir attempted to tug the uniform above
Dukat's shoulders.  The silky softness of Dukat's hair surprised her;
she had always presumed Cardassian hair to be coarse, like their skin.
She was tempted to run her fingers through his scalp.

A grating noise made them both stop, and Bashir quickly scanned Dukat
for signs of distress or additional injury.

Kira exhaled a sigh of relief when Bashir said, "His uniform's caught
on a piece of metal.  I don't think we'll be able to pull it off
without causing significant damage."

"Do you have a laser scalpel in your medkit?"  Kira asked. Bashir
nodded.  "Maybe we could cut through the uniform at the shoulders and
just remove the chest portion."

Bashir thought for a moment, then said, "That'll work."

As he turned to his medkit to retrieve the scalpel, Kira took the
opportunity to brush her fingers around Dukat's eye ridges.  She
inhaled sharply when the nictitating membranes snapped shut as several
dead scales sloughed free and fell into his eyes.  He showed no other
signs of life - or death - so Kira continued her delicate exploration
of his contours, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the
surface of his skin.  Down the ridge just above his left temple, then
around the eye until it met the nose ridge, then following the long
line of his nose until the ridge stopped just above his upper lip. 
Beginning at the lobe of his left ear, following his strong jawline,
across his chin, and back up to his right ear.   The same course with
the ridges on the right side of his face as with the left. The hollow
in the center of his forehead, just above his nose, she saved for
last.  How many times had she wondered at its evolutionary purpose?
She shifted slightly, just enough to allow her to bend over and blow
across the slight depression, marveling at the tiny water droplets as
they skittered across its gently sloping surface.

How strange it was, to see her greatest adversary so frail and
weakened, his life literally in her hands.  For the first time since
she met Dukat, Kira felt like she was in complete control.  It was
exhilarating and unsettling at the same time.

"Don't give up on me," she whispered.  "We're doing all we can.  
*Please*." She thought back on their last confrontation.  With Dukat,
*every* meeting, no matter how polite and innocuous, was a
confrontation. Subtlety was not the Cardassian way.  It was not Kira's
way either, and she wondered if that was what had attracted Dukat to
her in the first place.  She may have been afraid of him, or of the
legacy he left on Bajor, but she was not impressed or awestruck by
him, and she made no effort to hide her disdain. As the years
progressed, however, and as time slowly erased the effects of his
brutal reign, Kira's disdain of what he had been began to evolve into
a grudging respect for what he had become.  She could never forgive
his past, but she had learned, against every rational instinct, to
accept that he was capable of change.  As long as the balance of power
between them remained relatively equal, Dukat's gradual transformation
rang true.  When he tried to shift the scales in his favor, however,
her old animosity resurfaced with a vengeance.

Realization dawned on Kira.  She *was* in control.  Complete control. 
She always had been, even when she seemed to be at Dukat's mercy. Even
when he seemed to try to usurp power from her, he always pulled back
at just the last minute, and let her resume control.  In all these
years, he could have easily overpowered her.  But he never did.  And
he never would, not without her permission.

He respected her.

Had Dukat ever respected anyone in his life?  Had he ever admired
anyone?  Kira could think of no one, yet all the evidence seemed to
point to the fact that he respected *her*.  A Bajoran woman.  His
former property.  His enemy.

Bashir turned back toward them, and he must have seen something in
Kira's face, because he placed his hand on her shoulder.  "Nerys?"  he
asked.  Kira lifted her unseeing eyes to his.  "Is something wrong?"

A soft smile appeared.  "No, Doctor," she said.

He gave her a quizzical look, and her eyes quickly snapped back into
focus.  "If he's survived this long, he'll recover.  Cardassians have
a remarkable will to live, although I doubt I need to tell you that."

"Yes, Doctor.  They do.  Did you find that laser scalpel?"   The old
Kira was back in full force. Bashir activated the tool and began
cutting through the uniform at the shoulder seams.  Kira knew from
experience that the armor was made of a tough alloy fairly impervious
to most extremes of temperature and pressure, but the stress Dukat's
uniform had endured protecting him from the crash had weakened it
enough that the laser sliced through the seams with minimal output. 
In a matter of minutes Bashir had completely separated the chest plate
from the back plate, and he deactivated the laser and returned it to
its case.

"Ready, Major?"  Bashir asked.  Kira gently placed Dukat's head back
on the ground and moved around to his right side.  Sliding her fingers
between the chest and back plates next to his rib cage, she began to
lift the plate free of Dukat's torso.

"Wait a minute, I'm caught."  The hull fragment that had hampered
Bashir's effort to unbuckle the armor before had snagged the inside of
Dukat's left elbow, tearing through the bodysuit and leaving a deep
gash in the tender skin beneath.  Kira noticed with mixed relief that
blood spurted from the wound;  it meant that the electrolyte solution
had rehydrated him enough to get his blood flowing again.  She waited
for Bashir to extract a shard from the wound, then quickly close it
with a dermal regenerator. "Okay."

As she continued to lift the armor away from Dukat's body, the weight
began to press on her fingers and she had to slide first one hand,
then the other, fully under the plate.  Although his bodysuit remained
as a barrier between her skin and his, it was the first time she had
come into contact with his unarmored chest.  The underside of the
armor was still warm, but his heat-retardant bodysuit where her
knuckles brushed against it was cool to the touch.  She suppressed a
hiss of delight.

It took Kira and Bashir nearly half an hour to separate the plate from
Dukat's chest and lift it away.  On the one hand, Bashir wanted to
take no chances with inadvertently removing any of Dukat's skin with
his armor;  on the other, the plate was quite heavy.

"How do they *sleep* with all this weight pressing on them?" Bashir
muttered through clenched teeth as he tried to draw his long legs
under him.  "I'd be breathless in less than a minute if I tried to lie
down on my back with a hundred kilos sitting on my chest."

"You're forgetting their ribcages are almost one solid piece of bone,"
Kira reminded him.  "They can withstand much more pressure than humans
and Bajorans.  Besides, Dukat's worn his armor for so long he probably
can't sleep *without* it."  She tried to grin but the exertion of
lifting the plate made it appear as a grimace.  "Call it a Cardassian
security blanket."

Bashir's laughter came out as a grunt.  "Somehow I can't imagine Gul
Dukat being insecure about *anything*."

Her response was noncommittal.  "Even Cardassians have their
weaknesses."  Bashir gave her a strange look, but said nothing.

At last Bashir maneuvered himself into a position that enabled him to
rise to a standing position.  Kira braced her hands under the plate,
then at his command they slowly rose, bearing the brunt of the weight
in their legs, until they were both erect.  Then Bashir directed her
to edge towards Dukat's feet, and, after a few shuffling steps, the
plate was completely clear of his body.  With a grunt and a heave,
they tossed it on a heap of scrap.  Bashir wiped his hands on his
pants and retrieved his medical tricorder as Kira kneeled by Dukat's
side.

Bashir provided a running commentary while he examined Dukat, but he
might as well have been talking to himself.  Kira had never before
seen Dukat quite so exposed, quite so...naked...and she was mesmerized
by the sight, oblivious to the talking man right next to her.  Dukat
was much more slender than she had expected;  his uniform made him
seem almost larger than life.  Except for a few tears in his bodysuit,
he was still modestly covered, but she could easily see the contoured
ridges decorating his torso, and she knew that between those ridges
lay overlapping layers of tiny silvery-white scales.  She had seen
Cardassians unclothed before, so the patterns were not unfamiliar. 
The man who lay before her was no ordinary Cardassian, however, and
she was tempted to reach out a hand and trace her fingers along the
cloth-covered contours.  She resolved to wait until she would have the
opportunity to do so at her leisure, without the risk of causing him
further injury.

"Have you heard a word I've said?"  Bashir's voice once again
interrupted Kira's musings.

"Hm?  Did you say something, Doctor?"

"I *asked* if you thought it would be better to remove his bodysuit
now, or wait until we can get him to the runabout.  The armor seems to
have done a good job of protecting his vital organs from the heat and
flames. He's in no immediate danger."

Kira chewed her lip, trying to control the impulse to urge Bashir to
remove his bodysuit now, so she could examine Dukat in his natural
state.  She felt a sudden wave of irritation at Cardassian
prudishness, a stark contrast to Bajoran aesthetics.  "It might be
better to leave it on for now," she finally said.  "It'll protect him
from the elements, until we can get him out of this heat."

Bashir nodded his agreement, but looked at her sternly.   "Nerys, you
need a rest," he said, taking her hand in his when she demurred.
"You've been through a hell of a lot in the past few weeks.  I *know*
the stress is getting to you, because I can see it in your eyes.  Go
back to the runabout and lie down.  I'll stay here with him."

Kira wanted to protest, but she was exhausted, and she reluctantly
acquiesced.  "You'll let me know if there's any change?"  she asked.

"I will.  He should be all right, but I'll tell you if anything
happens."

"Thank you, Doctor."  She slowly rose to her feet and stretched,
taking one final, lingering look at Dukat's unconscious form as she
did so. It was the last image on her mind when she fell into a deep
slumber.

---

After another twelve hours, Bashir agreed that Dukat could be moved,
by transporter, to a stasis unit he had set up in the runabout. They
had now been on the barren planet for twenty-five hours, away from all
contact with Starfleet for two days, and they were both eager to
return to Starbase 375.

Kira's newfound confidence had awakened in her previously undiscovered
feelings of compassion and tenderness.  She had always known that she
had a bit of a maternal streak, which manifested itself in her
decisions to look after Ziyal and to carry the O'Briens' baby to term,
but until recently she never believed that she possessed the ability
or the desire to actually nurture another being, especially a
Cardassian.  For years, she had believed the facade she presented: 
that she was an angry, fierce, unforgiving fighter, that the only
genuine tenderness she felt was for Bajorans.  True, a part of her
loved Sisko, and Dax, and Bashir, and especially Odo, but it was a
love engendered from respect and loyalty, rather than compassion.

Did she love Dukat?  It was too soon to say.  She would willingly die
fighting to protect Bajor from his rapacious desire to reclaim it in
the name of Cardassian expansionism, but she understood, finally, that
Dukat wanted her more than he wanted Bajor, that it was her, not
Bajor, he had lusted after all these years.  For the first time, it
occurred to her that she might not have to die, that she might not
even have to fight. Dukat would accept her in Bajor's stead.

And she was willing to offer herself, not just to save Bajor, but
because she wanted to.  Dukat had been right after all;  she did
desire him.  He empowered her.

All these thoughts ran through Kira's mind as she set up the signal
enhancers to transport Dukat to the runabout.  She had suggested using
the enhancers rather than just one of their commbadges, to improve the
likelihood of an error-free transport.  She did not want to run the
risk of incurring further damage to Dukat's ravaged body.  Bashir
agreed with her, and as she activated the enhancement beam he
programmed the transport coordinates into the runabout's computer.

Kira tapped her commbadge.  "Kira to Bashir."

"Bashir here."

"He's ready for transport."

"Acknowledged.  Stand by."

Kira gently attached her commbadge to Dukat's bodysuit and offered up
a silent prayer of supplication, pleading with the Prophets to protect
him.  The transporter beam shimmered around his body, enveloping him
in its eerie glow, then he effervesced out of sight.  She began
packing up the equipment, confident that Bashir would promptly inform
her if the unthinkable had occurred.

---


"Major Kira and Doctor Bashir reporting in to Starbase 375."

An unfamiliar female voice replied, "It's about time we heard from
you, Major, Doctor.  Captain Sisko's been about to send out a search
party."

"We were a little delayed.  Requesting permission to approach the
starbase."

"Would you mind taking a slight detour?"

Kira sighed and Bashir rolled his eyes.  "What kind of a detour?"

"To Deep Space Nine."

Kira could hear the triumphant grin over the link, and responded with
one of her own.  "Acknowledged.  Plotting new course heading for Deep
Space Nine.  Kira out."

"Have a safe trip, Major."

---


"You want to do *what*?"  Bashir's voice was incredulous.

"Don't play dumb with me, Julian.  You heard exactly what I said."

"You want to take Gul Dukat down to Bajor, hide him with friends of
yours, and you expect me to *lie* to Captain Sisko about it?"

"Dukat trusted Sisko with his life, and look what happened. I ca --"

"Nerys, this is *Gul Dukat* we're talking about here, not just some
random troublemaker!"

"I know --"

"I just can't believe you're even considering this.  *You* are
protecting Gul Dukat.  You are *protecting* Gul Dukat!"  He stared at
her long and hard.  "What's gotten in to you?  Six months ago, you
would have never even attempted this.  Hell, six months ago you would
have been the first to celebrate his death!"

"That's not fair, Julian.  Dukat and I may have had our differences,
but --"

"Your *differences*?"  he sputtered.  "I shouldn't have to remind you
that he nearly destroyed your homeworld, that he was responsible for
the deaths of ten million Bajorans, that he ordered his men to poison
the land in your province....I'd hardly call that a difference of
opinion!"

Kira gritted her teeth.  "Do you intend to let me finish a single
sentence?"  she barked.

"Not if you're not going to say anything that makes sense."  He
slammed his hand against the helm control panel.  "Dammit, Nerys, what
is with you?  You've been distracted, moody, and unpredictable, even
for you!"

She was seething with fury.  "I didn't realize I was supposed to be
following a script!"

Bashir's chagrin was evident in his face as he took Kira's clenched
fist.  "You're right," he said, lowering his voice in regret.  "I'm
sorry. I was over the line.  But, please, Nerys...I don't understand
why you want to do this.  It just - it doesn't make sense.  Why are
you helping Dukat?"

Kira took a deep breath, and the hard, angry lines in her face
softened.  "I don't know if I *can* explain it.  Dukat saved my life
when Damar took control of the station, and I --"

"You feel like you owe it to him to return the favor?"

"It's not just that, although it's certainly part of it."  She turned
to face Bashir.  "He's lost *everything*, Julian.  Not just the
station, and not just Ziyal.  *Everything*.  And I - I - I know what
that's like, to lose your family, your home, everything that you
cherished. I've been there."  There were tears in her eyes and her
voice grew very quiet. "If it weren't for the Shakaar, I would have
lost my mind during the Occupation.  They couldn't replace everything
I had lost, but they filled the empty spaces in me.  When we liberated
Gallitep, I saw the looks in the eyes of those prisoners, the ones who
had given up hope.  It was...as though they weren't even alive
anymore, just going through the motions. I'll never forget --"  She
studied her hand in Bashir's.  "Dukat had that same look in his eyes,
holding Ziyal in his arms.  It was terrifying, to see such empty eyes
in his face, as if he died with her."

"He certainly seemed back to his old self on the starbase."

"Except that he wasn't.  He didn't even harass me the way he used to."

Bashir snorted.  "You're complaining about that?"

"No - Yes - I don't know."  She sighed.  "I *told* you I didn't think
I could explain my reasons.  It doesn't even make sense to me. It's
just something I have to do.  *Please* trust me."

"Let me state for the record that I think you're making a big mistake,
Nerys.  Once he's back on his feet, I guarantee you Dukat will be up
to his usual tricks."

Kira nodded.  "You're probably right.  But something tells me that
this latest setback will have a much greater impact on him than
others."

"We've all said that before."

"*Please*, Julian.  Do this for me, until he recovers?"

Bashir shook his head in disbelief.  "All right.  I'll take the
runabout back to the station and tell Sisko we found no survivors and
you decided to take an extended personal leave on Bajor.  If he finds
out otherwise, though...I won't cover for you."

"Thank you," Kira exhaled in relief.

"I just hope we don't both live to regret this."

So did she.

---

<giggle>

//i must be dreaming//

<Hush, you'll wake him.>

//yes thats it ...im back home on bajor and naprem has sent ziyal in
to wake me up...i love it when she does that...it usually means she's
making sem'hal stew and yamok sauce for breakfast//  He felt his
stomach growl in response.

<Look at his skin, Gerish.>

//what the?...that was a boys voice...i must be on prime then...which
means ive already slept through breakfast...just as well...i have work
to do//

<He's a Cardassian, you twit.>

//of course im a cardassian...what else would i be?//

<giggle> <Can I touch him?>

//somethings not right here...these are not my children...who are
they?...where am i?//

<Mina, don't!  Or else I'll tell.>

Dukat slowly opened his eyes, to a chorus of startled gasps
surrounding him.  Through the milky haze of his blurred vision he
found himself looking into a row of simultaneously curious and
terrified faces. Bajoran faces.

<Potr!  He's opened his eyes!>

He lifted one arm, only vaguely aware that it was bare from wrist to
shoulder, and reached out a finger to touch the nose ridges on a
little girl standing next to him.  Her eyes grew wide, then her mouth
opened and she let loose the most hideous screech he had ever heard in
his life. His hand jerked back as though burned.

"Auntie Nerys!"  one of the older children, a boy, called.

//auntie nerys?...this makes no sense...maybe im trapped in one of
garaks enigma tales...maybe im still asleep and dreaming im
awake...ill have to share this one with the major//

Then the object of his dreams walked into the room.  "Shoo now," Kira
said to the children.  "Go outside and play."  They reluctantly
obeyed.

His vision was still blurry, but he could see her pour a glass of
water from the pitcher on the table next to his bed.  She sat down on
the bed, right next to his hip, and lifted his head so he could drink,
supporting his neck with her free hand.  The water felt so cool and
refreshing as it gurgled down his throat;  he had not noticed his
extreme thirst until then.

"Major?"  he managed to croak after draining the glass of its
contents.  "What are you doing here?  Or perhaps I should ask, what am
*I* doing here?"

There was a smile that lit up her entire face and sent a rush of heat
to his groin as she returned the glass to the table.  "You're on
Bajor."

Dukat had to suppress a smile.  This was an unexpected but not
unwelcome development.  "So, Major, am I then your prisoner?"  he
asked.

"In your dreams, Dukat."

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her back to the bed
as she attempted to rise.  She looked at his hand, but made no attempt
to free herself.  Dukat took that as a promising sign.  "In my dreams,
Major, I've been your prisoner for a very long time.  But this is no
dream, is it?"

She gently tugged her hand free of his grip and leaned it against the
mattress, on the other side of his waist.  "No, it isn't.  Do you
remember anything about the crash?"

"Of course I do."

"Captain Sisko sent Doctor Bashir and me to find whatever we could
after you failed to arrive on Terra.  We found the ship that attacked
you, as well as the remains of your shuttle.  You were --"  she
paused, biting her lip to block out the memory of that horrible
vision.  "-- it was a miracle you survived."

"It seems that your Prophets have been looking out for both of us
recently."

She laughed humorlessly.  "Anyway, once we were able to get you to the
runabout, I - Doctor Bashir and I, that is - decided it would be best
to keep you in hiding until you had completely recovered."

"So you brought me here."

"It seemed like the best thing to do, at the time.  Chivas Jormal and
Regnold are old friends of mine.  This is where Ziyal stayed when she
was on Bajor."

The milky film covering Dukat's eyes obscured the flash of pain at the
mention of Ziyal's name, but there was a faint tremor in his voice as
he spoke.  "How were you able to get past the Dominion blockade?"

The triumphant note in her voice was unmistakable.  "Starfleet has
retaken Deep Space Nine, and the Dominion lost many ships in the
fight. The blockade is still in place, but it's full of holes."

"Ah.  The war is almost over, then?"

"No.  Weyoun and Damar and their forces retreated to Cardassian space. 
Most of the war is being fought there.  It doesn't look good for them. 
All those Dominion ships waiting on the other side of the wormhole
were destroyed, even after the minefield came down."

"I see.  And soon Cardassia will be nothing but ruins."  Dukat tried
to turn away from Kira, but she stopped him with a hand to his
shoulder.  Only then, when he felt the warmth of her skin radiating
through his flesh, did he realize that his omnipresent armor was
missing, and he soon realized that his bodysuit was gone as well.  In
fact, there was nothing more substantial protecting him from her
prying eyes than a thin sheet covering him from torso to foot.  Even
through the haze he could discern his chest ridges beneath the sheet; 
he could only imagine what she must be able to see with her undamaged
vision.  He hissed in embarrassment.

What surprised him even more was that Kira seemed remarkably
unperturbed, either by the rough texture of his scales as her hand
remained on his shoulder, or by his unclothed state.  Part of his
subconscious mind was screaming at him to take advantage of this
wonderful opportunity and exploit that strange, far-off look on her
face.  His rational mind, in contrast, was demanding that he back away
immediately because he was dangerously vulnerable to an unforgiving
foe, because he had to quickly regain control of this situation before
it was too late.

He exhaled in relief when she lifted her hand and turned away. Had her
skin remained in contact with his much longer, his more primitive
instincts would have surely taken control, and then he would have been
in imminent danger of embarrassing himself.  As it was, he had to
struggle to prevent his body from releasing too many pheromones into
the air, and the lingering moistness in his groin could be felt in
every aching limb.

Kira turned back to him, an open jar filled with a blue creamy
substance in her hand.  She scooped out a dollop of the cream with her
fingers, then lifted his bare arm and began methodically rubbing the
cream into his skin.

Dukat nearly fainted.

The torture was exquisite, beyond anything even his passion-addled
mind could imagine.  She had to be enjoying tormenting him this way; 
he could see the creases on either side of her mouth deepening in a
barely-perceptible smile as she massaged the lotion in between his
scales, her fingers brushing the smooth, sensitive skin on the inside
of his elbow, then trailing lightly up his arm to the tip of his neck
ridge.  Right there, at that moment, he would have confessed to
anything she accused, answered any question she asked, acquiesced to
any demand she made, just to make her stop.  And he would have walked
across a glacier just to get her to continue.  The damp heat radiating
from his groin was now a torrent, flooding his body from head to toe
until he thought he would actually break out in a sweat.  Unable to
control himself, he moaned.

She stopped.

He moaned again, this time in frustrated agony, and clenched his
fists.  She *had* to know what this was doing to him!  She had to see
his scales darkening just in anticipation of her touch.  She had to
recognize his overpowering scent.  She had to see the lust glazing
over his eyes, the tremble in his lower lip as he fought to keep from
moaning again.

Her eyes crinkled slightly, then she scooped out another dollop of
lotion and went to work on the other arm.  "This is an emollient
Doctor Bashir prescribed, to help your skin heal," she said.  "You
lost about thirty percent of the outer layer of scales in the fire and
heat, as well as a significant amount of fluid."

How can she be so clinical and detached, was all he could think. He
was beyond articulating a response.  If he managed to survive this
torture, he would make her pay.

"I apologize if this makes you uncomfortable," she continued, "but
it's the first time I've had to do it while you were conscious."  She
finished with his arm and moved down toward the end of the bed.

Just as she began to lift the sheet from his legs, Dukat decided he
had endured enough torment.  Taking care to trap the sheet between his
arms and torso, he managed to rise to a semi-sitting position and put
an immediate halt to her progress.  "That's *enough*, Major," he
growled. "I can take over from here."  He could not control what she
had done while he was unconscious, and he resolved not to dwell on
events out of his control. He could, however, control what she did to
him while he was conscious, and he had reached the limit of his
self-restraint.  A little bit further, and he could not be held
responsible for his actions.

Kira would be made to pay, but not like that.

"I'm sorry," she said, handing him the jar, but he could tell by the
twitching of the muscles at the corners of her mouth that she was not
in the least bit sorry.  She *did* know the effects of her
ministrations, damn her!

"Major," he warned, "you are treading in very dangerous waters. Take
care that you don't get in over your head."

Her reply was flippant, contradicting the look on her face. "What's
the matter, Dukat?  Don't you trust me?"

He knew she was baiting him, testing his resolve.  It was the Kira he
knew and admired, but with a confident edge he had not seen before. He
loved it.

"No.  And I trust myself even less."

She pursed her lips and gave him another one of those heart-rending
smiles.  When did she start smiling like that?  "Good.  Just wanted to
make sure we agreed on that one point."

Dukat reclined against the pillows.  "Dear Major --"

"Kira."

He chuckled.  He was enjoying this game she was playing with him. "All
right, *Kira*, trust, or the lack thereof, has *never* been an issue
between us.  Yet it seems that lately we keep finding ourselves in a
position where we each have to trust the other.  Am I correct?"  She
dipped her head in agreement.  "Before, you trusted me not to take
advantage of your weakened state, and I honored that trust, did I
not?"

She looked at him askance.  "You made me squirm a few times - and
enjoyed every minute of it."

"You didn't seem to be complaining too much."

"Complaining would have gotten me nowhere.  Knowing you, it would have
only made the situation worse."

His eyes widened in amusement and mock anger.  "Kira!  I am offended. 
I would never push you any farther than you could go."  She did not
reply, but he could tell from the look on her face that it was a
struggle to refrain from speaking.  "My question, Kira, is this:  did
*you* take advantage of *me* when I was unable to resist?"

Kira opened and closed her mouth, unable to formulate a suitably tart
reply, and Dukat used her momentary distraction to prop himself up on
his elbow, taking care to keep his chest covered.  At last she said,
"You're delusional, as always."

"Hm.  I wonder.  You did give me the impression that you've been
rubbing that lotion into my skin for several days, while I was unable
to do it for myself."  His fingers idly traced designs on the sheet as
he studied her expression.

"Would you have preferred I didn't?"

"Not at all, Kira, not at all.  But I have to ask...did you enjoy
yourself?  Did you enjoy making *me* squirm?"

She was quiet for a moment, and Dukat thought he caught a glimpse of
uncertainty, but it was quickly replaced with an almost feral smirk
that thrilled him to his core.  Whatever transformation Kira had
undergone since he last spoke with her on the starbase, he was
definitely going to make the most of it, and he suspected that she
would as well.  She leaned very close to him, closer than she had ever
willingly come, so close he could feel her warm breath tickling his
eye ridges.  "If you think I made you squirm before, Dukat," she
purred, "then you have *no* idea what's in store."

Oh, yes.  This was the Kira he had lusted after for so long. She was
so close he could almost taste her.  But he was not yet prepared to
surrender.  There was no question he could match her every maneuver. 
He leaned fractionally closer, tilting his head so she could detect
the pheromones being released from his neck glands.

"I'll hold you to that, Major."

---


Kira was in the kitchen, nursing a raktajino and enjoying a new
holovideo, when she heard a low moan coming from Dukat's bedroom.  It
was the middle of the night and everyone else was fast asleep, so she
tiptoed to the door and carefully pushed it open to check on him.

Judging from the disarray of the sheets, he was dreaming.  It was not
the first time she had seen him like this, and as she had done before,
she slipped into his room and pulled the sheet back over him.  As she
did so, she noticed that his chest scales were dry and flaking.  He
obviously had not been applying the emollient, despite his assurances
that he would. She sighed with exasperation and retrieved the jar.

The last moon had set several hours ago, and the only light in the
room came from the Duranya lamp hanging from the ceiling.  The small
clay lamp Kira had given Dukat was destroyed in the shuttle crash, so
once they were settled on Bajor she procured a proper lamp as a
replacement.  The soft golden light of the flame cast shadows on the
walls and across Dukat's body, enhancing the contours formed by the
ridges on his face, neck and chest.  The few scales visible above the
edge of the sheet glittered with cool iridescence.

Kira's eyes hungrily absorbed these details as her hands, rebelling
against her tenuous self-control, began to slowly pull the sheet back,
revealing more and more of Dukat's chest in torturous increments.  For
the past five nights she had undergone the ritual of soothing his raw,
tender flesh with the emollient, her mind determinedly focused on the
task at hand as her curious gaze remained distant and unseeing.  She
would not violate his modesty when he was incapable of defending
himself.

Tonight, however, was different.  Tonight he was asleep, not
unconscious.  Tonight he could respond, if he so desired.

When Potr called Kira into the room that morning, she had not known
whether to laugh or cry, she was so overjoyed to see Dukat awake.  He
had looked so funny lying in the bed with a delightfully befuddled
expression while the six Chivas children stared at him as if he were
the latest exhibit at the zoo.  And dear little Mina with that
ear-splitting screech! If she were not already inclined to shriek at
every strange new thing, Kira would have thought Dukat had tried to
harm the poor girl.  Her older brothers and sisters had teased her all
day, poking at her nose ridges and crying "Boo!" at every available
opportunity.  They spent most of the day outside, leaving Dukat alone
in peace, but after supper they all trooped back in to his room, some
of them even daring to clamber up on his bed. Ziyal had been a
favorite of theirs, and they were eager to hear stories about her
childhood.  Kira could see that at first Dukat was reluctant to talk
about Ziyal, the memory of her death was still so fresh in his mind,
but when Mina stared up at him with her soulful eyes and batted her
lashes, his resistance broke and he was soon filling their heads with
fanciful Cardassian legends.

It was a strange sight to behold, Jormal had remarked as she and Kira
put the children to bed, one of the most reviled men in Bajoran
history surrounded by a captive audience, all of them too young to
remember the Occupation.  The healing touch of innocence, Kira had
replied.   That evening, as she brought his supper to him, he looked
as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and there
was a gentleness in his features she had not seen before.  His broken
spirit and body were beginning to heal.

But just as she needed his assistance in her healing process, his
healing would also not be complete without her there to help him.  
They had each been brought to the brink of death and despair, and each
sacrificed everything in the name of survival.  They were at last on
an equal footing, bereft of home, family and hope.  All they had was
each other.

Dukat had saved Kira's life.  She had done the same for him.

Their lives had been pulled back from the precipice.  Now it was time
to reclaim their paghs.  This, Kira knew, was the path ordained by the
Prophets:  to reach out and embrace the enemy.

The healing must begin.

As her mind wandered, her traitorous fingers had pulled the sheet down
to his waist, revealing his bare chest to her.  She willed her fingers
to release the edge of the sheet;  she would go no further without his
permission.  Like a beggar enjoying his first meal in days, her eyes
devoured the elaborate contours decorating his torso.  She sucked in
her breath, biting her lip in the process.

Who would have imagined Cardassians could be so breathtakingly
beautiful?

Ridges curved down either side of Dukat's sternum like an elaborate
filigree, defining what would have been the pectoral muscles on a
Bajoran and uniting just above his groin in the Cardassian equivalent
of a navel. Enclosed within the ridges was a complex network of
scales, increasing in size closer to his waist.  His long sternum was
slightly more prominent than usual, because of the ravages of his
recent ordeal, but the smooth expanse of his ribcage promoted an even
pattern of scale growth across his entire torso.

Without her even realizing it, Kira's fingers had strayed up and were
now resting on the ridge at the lower end of his abdomen.  Her
breathing was uneven as she fought to control the racing of her heart,
but the incessant roaring of blood in her ears drove her to even
greater distraction.  A sudden popping of the flame in the lamp made
her start, but her fingers quickly returned to their original
location.

Her rational mind sought refuge in the momentary hesitance.   Was this
a step she was prepared to take?  What would she do if Dukat caught
her crouching over his body like a hungry predator?  Was this the
moment the past six years had been leading up to?  Was this the course
the Prophets had chosen for her?  She knew that once she took the
first step down this path, there would be no turning back.  Was it
what she wanted?

Dukat had once remarked to her that she had a tendency to hide behind
a constant stream of denials whenever in his presence. "Somewhere in
you there's a yes," he had said, his voice filled with urgent
pleading.   "You need to listen to that yes."

Did she want this?  Did she want him?

Her response was an unequivocal yes. A yes filled with passion and
longing, a yes promising hope and forgiveness.

"Yes," she whispered, leaning over him to breathe it across his flesh. 
"Yes, yes, yes."

Up until this point, only the tips of her fingers had been in contact
with his skin, lightly brushing across the ridges as she debated her
future.  In the instant she chose her path, however, they began
pressing down with excruciating slowness, spreading out across the
large scales of his lower abdomen, until all of her fingers were
splayed across his flesh.  Only then did she allow her palms to come
to rest against him as her fingers curled and straightened in a gentle
kneading motion, her nails lightly scraping the dry scales.  She
exerted just enough pressure to direct her fingers up toward his chest
and out toward the ridges.

The sensation of his irregular skin beneath her fingers sent jolts of
electricity sizzling to her belly, and she felt a moist rush of
responding heat that closed her eyes in pleasurable delight.  His skin
radiated a refreshing coolness that heightened her own rapidly soaring
temperature, and she longed to wrap herself in that exotic alien
coolness, to ward off the aching warmth that left her shaking with
need.  Gritting her teeth in determination, Kira willed her eyes open
again.

The time for denial was past.  Now was the time for affirmation.

She was rapidly losing control, but she was not afraid.  She
reluctantly lifted her left hand from his chest and pressed it against
the mattress next to his shoulder, leaning her weight on it as her
right hand began tracing his neck ridges.  Unlike the rest of him,
they were warm, the pulsing arteries they protected so close to the
surface she could almost see the blood flowing through them.

Throwing caution to the wind, Kira bent close to his neck, so that her
nose was mere centimeters from the deep hollow at the base of his
throat, and inhaled deeply.  His scent was strange and enticing,
almost like the rich, musty aroma of a swamp after a thunderstorm. 
She had noticed before that his pheromones produced a tangy, salty
odor that now, when he was asleep, was just barely discernible.  She
was tempted to taste his skin, to see if it too was salty, but
refrained for the moment.

She pulled away from him and let her fingers brush down the length of
his neck ridge, tracing the edges of each large scale, then back
across his collarbone until they reached the hollow.  She
absent-mindedly circled the rim of the hollow with the tip of her
index finger, closing her eyes as she imagined his irregular features
in her mind.

She was so engrossed in her exploration that she never noticed the
subtle shift in his breathing, or the gradual movement of his hand
toward her thigh.  By the time she realized he was watching her
through narrowed eyes, it was too late.

The forgotten jar of emollient rolled off her lap and onto the floor,
spilling its contents as Dukat seized her wrist and pulled her towards
him.

---

Dukat was dreaming of Paradise.

In his mind's eye, it was summer on Bajor, and he was with Naprem and
Ziyal at the villa in the Eastern Province.  Ziyal had gone outside to
play while he and Naprem returned to bed for another round of
lovemaking. Even as his memory resurrected the tantalizing feel of
Naprem's skin against his, he imagined he could hear Ziyal's high,
clear voice laughing with delight.  Then her voice was joined with
another, a familiar and despised tenor whispering intimacies and
promises, yet Naprem continued to massage his flesh, her breath
sending chills throughout his receptive body. But he was concerned
about Ziyal, he feared for her safety, and he urged Naprem to stop,
but she was no longer Naprem, her form had been replaced with Kira's,
and then it was no longer Garak seducing Ziyal but Damar who
threatened her, who threatened them all, yet Kira was unmindful of the
danger as she stroked his neck ridges and then a chilling wind blew
across him and Ziyal was gone, taking Paradise with her.

The dream was shattered.

Yet beyond the dark veil of grief and broken dreams joy persisted, and
Dukat turned toward it.  He was not alone.  Somewhere, beyond the
darkness, someone was waiting for him, calling to him, filling him
with need and longing and desire and hope.  His only choice was to
respond.

His eyelids fluttered open, and he was rewarded with the unforgettable
sight and touch of Kira Nerys running her hand across his collarbone
and down to the base of his throat, tickling at the small hollow where
his chest ridges diverged to outline his abdomen.  The expression on
her face, her eyes closed, her nostrils flaring and her mouth slightly
parted, was a joy to behold, and he felt a slight gasp escape his
lungs. She was seemingly unaware of his observation, so he indulged
himself in a brief moment of pleasure at the sight of her unguarded
state.  Her other arm was pressed into the mattress next to his head,
and the desire- laden aroma emanating from the glands beneath her arm
was intoxicating.  She was sitting next to his hip, leaning into him
just enough for him to feel the friction between her nightdress and
the sheet covering his lower extremities.  Then she shifted her
weight, and the dress shifted with her, revealing an expanse of bare
thigh that left his mind reeling with desire. The shadows cast by the
lamp against her pale brown skin called to him, urging him to explore
her smooth, curvy flesh just as she was exploring him.  As much as his
rational mind demanded control over his primitive impulses, he could
not refuse the temptation, and his hand slowly moved toward her.

Then she shifted again and bent low over him, alternately blowing warm
breath against his sensitive scales and inhaling his growing scent.

Dukat had had enough.

Like striking cobras, his hands seized her wrists and held her in
place.  Startled, she yelped in alarm and her eyes flew open.  His
hands traveled up to just below her shoulders, his fingers digging
into her skin, as he forced her to look him in the face.

"I warned you, Kira," he rumbled, his voice slurred by passion and
frustration, "don't tempt me unless you're prepared to accept the
consequences.  I won't - I *can't* - be held responsible for what
happens if you continue."

For a split second, as fear and anger sparked in her eyes, he
regretted his action.  Then fear and anger were replaced with
something else, a reaction far more primitive, and her large eyes grew
ever more so as she came closer and closer.

It was agony for him, to have her so close but just out of reach.

"Yes," she whispered.  "Yes."

He could not bear this fusion of heat and cold, this tantalizing
mixture of agony and ecstasy.

He tried to turn his face away, but this time she held him fast, her
hands reaching out to stroke his eye ridges.  Her mouth brushed across
his once, twice...then she was kissing him, her soft lips caressing
his with such tender urgency he had to stifle a cry of bliss.  His
eyes remained open as fear, apprehension, dread washed over him,
followed by need...longing...desire....

Passion, that most exquisite torment, filled his veins with turbulent
fury.

His eyelids drifted shut, and instinct took control.  He shifted
beneath her and slid his hands down her arms to wrap around her waist
and pull her against him.  She sighed against his mouth, her breath
filling his lungs as his lips parted in response.  He matched her
kiss.

"Yes," he responded.

---


The moment Dukat seized her wrists, Kira flashed back to a time many
years ago, a time she had fought hard to forget, when she had been
arrested and taken to a detention center.  As his strong fingers
prevented her escape, she remembered a time when a Cardassian soldier
had held her the same way, cruelly bending her backward over a table
as he forced himself upon her, trapping her cries of pain with his
hard mouth as he thrust into her again and again, grinding his hips
against her mercilessly.

Kira was determined not to wallow in the memories of her miserable
past, however, and she willed her eyes to look upon the cherished face
before her, his damaged eyes staring at her with profound need.  This
was Dukat, who infuriated and teased and challenged and respected and
desired and needed her, not some faceless, nameless soldier fulfilling
a random desire to hurt and humiliate her.  This was where she wanted
to be, this was the man she wanted, this was as it should be.

There was no looking back.  The future, her future, was now.

"Yes," she whispered.  Did he hear her?  He did not acknowledge her
affirmation of this moment, this event.  She looked directly into his
eyes, the strength of her desire willing him to see her, and repeated
her promise.  "Yes."

He tried to turn away, to refuse her, but she would have none of it. 
The Prophets were watching;  they were not to be contradicted. Kira
grasped his head between her hands, running her thumbs along the outer
rims of his eye ridges, and moved closer.  With infinite gentleness
she brushed her lips across his.  Again.  The third time, her mouth
remained in place.

Cardassian lips were generally not designed for kissing, being
somewhat thin and hard.  Dukat's lips were no exception, but it made
no difference to Kira as her mouth continued to move against his.  All
that mattered to her was the man who lay whimpering beneath her, his
hands now slowly relaxing their grip to encircle her waist and pull
her even closer until the friction of her nightdress rubbing against
her breasts drove her into a near-frenzy.

Then he opened his mouth against hers, and the gush of cool air
exhaled from his lungs seared her from head to toe.

It was the end and the beginning.  Birth and death, united in a single
moment of eternity.  It was a moment that would remain with her
forever.

Even as her passion drove her inexorably toward an inevitable union,
her rational mind was urging her to slow down, to back away. This was
not right, he was still injured, he needed more time to heal.  His
body needed to be made whole before she could regenerate his spirit. 
This moment could not be complete unless he could enjoy it with the
fullness of his flesh.  It was too soon.  The spirit was willing, but
the flesh was not ready.

Desire quickly silenced reason, banishing it to a dark corner of her
mind, as Kira felt Dukat's hands moving against her back.  One slipped
softly down, cradling the gentle swelling of her bottom, and the other
trailed up to tangle its fingers in her hair.  She acknowledged the
cue and moved under his hands, shifting her body until she was draped
across his chest, the weight of her upper body now supported on her
elbows as they rested on either side of his head, her right hip bone
pressing between the bottom tip of his chest ridges and his groin.

Then Dukat rolled slightly to the right, taking her with him, until
her pubic bone was pressed squarely against his groin.  Even through
the dual layers of cloth between them, she could feel the heat and
moisture radiating from him.  There was no stopping the shiver that
racked her body as he groaned into her open mouth.

---


All Dukat could think was how wonderful Kira's body felt against his. 
Her sweet mouth kissing him, her warm soft hands caressing him with an
expertise that could only come from instinct, her smooth flesh inside
the nightdress rubbing against him...and the small throaty gasps he
elicited as his hands massaged her neck and bottom, coupled with that
intoxicating sweet aroma of Bajoran pheromones.  It was enough to
drive him insane.

What had he done to deserve such joy?  Dukat was not a religious man
by inclination, but he had to wonder if perhaps the Bajoran Prophets
had specifically chosen him, of all people, to be here, at this
moment, with this woman, making her writhe and sigh against him like
this.   And if the Prophets had chosen him, then who was he to deny
their divine command?

She had said yes.

She had given him the affirmation he needed, the promise he had longed
to hear for years.  She had given herself - voluntarily, with no
restrictions - to him.

It was time to claim what was his.

He tightened his grip against her and, using his greater body weight
and strength as leverage, rolled to his left, pulling her bottom until
her pubic bone rested against his groin.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong thing to do.

Doctor Bashir had done an excellent job knitting Dukat's broken bones,
but Cardassians had evolved a highly dense skeletal structure that
required time and patience to heal properly.  Thus, when Dukat and
Kira rolled, their combined weight placed an agonizing pressure
against his left thigh.  The pain was so great all thoughts of
pleasure were instantly eradicated from Dukat's mind, and he grunted
in discomfort.

Unfortunately, Kira mistook his grunt for a groan of pleasure, and
ground her hips against him.

As unbearable as the passion had been a few moments before, the pain
was even more so.

"Aargh," he ground out through clenched teeth.   "No...don't...stop."

Unfortunately, Kira misunderstood his halting pleas, and pressed even
closer.

He had no choice but to push her away from him, to roll on to his back
and relieve the weight pressing on his leg.  She fell to the floor
with a thump and a cry of alarm.

"What the hell did you do that for?"  she snapped.  Her face was
flushed with anger and residual passion and her chest was heaving.

Dukat threw his arms over his eyes, afraid to look, afraid even to
respond.  "I - I'm sorry, Major," he said softly, his voice ragged.
"It's not you.  I want to, but I can't.  My leg.  It hurts."  He
chewed his lower lip, disgusted with himself and his miserable timing. 
He would surely never get another opportunity like this again.

There was silence for a few minutes, but he did not dare to look; he
could imagine the glare she must be giving him, the curses she was
formulating in her mind.  Then he felt her hand gently touch his leg
where the splintered bone had broken through his skin.  The sheet was
still covering him from the waist down, but he felt the soft pressure
of her lips through the cloth.  Then her hands smoothed along his
hips, up the sides of his torso and along his arms until they clasped
his wrists and tugged his arms away from his face.  There was nothing
but compassion and concern in her eyes as she studied him.

"I'm the one who should be sorry, Dukat," she said.  "I shouldn't have
pushed you like I did."

He could not resist the opening she had just given him.  "I tend to
have that effect on women."  Judging from the look on her face, she
did not know whether to be amused or offended.  He smiled tentatively
at her and wrapped his arms around her waist.  "I'm not complaining
about the rest of it.  And I'd like to pick up where we left off as
soon as I'm able."

She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, lingering just long enough
for him to return the kiss, then pulled away and stood.

"I'll hold you to that, Dukat."

---


When Dukat awoke the next morning, the sun was near its zenith and
warm light was streaming in through the window next to his bed.  He
allowed himself a few minutes to bask in the warmth, wondering how
long it had been since he had last been able to do so.  Too long, he
realized.  The sounds of children at play outside filtered through the
glass and his stomach growled a noisy reply, reminding him that it had
been several hours since his last meal.  He was still rather weak and
his leg hurt from the previous night's adventure, but he was
determined to leave the bed today.  As enjoyable as it was to lounge
around all day, he was a man of action, and after spending nearly a
week on his back he was eager to be on the move again.

Someone - Kira, probably - had had the foresight to acquire a suitable
outfit for him to wear, and with minimal difficulty he got dressed. 
The trousers were a bit long in the leg, but whoever had selected the
outfit had chosen well;  the cut was modest without being restrictive
and the coloring was appropriate to Cardassian tastes.  By some
miracle his boots had survived the shuttle crash, but he decided to
forego footwear for the present, hoping no one would be shocked or
offended.

He was just completing his morning toilette when there was a knock at
the bedroom door.  "Come in," he said, expecting to see Kira enter.

Potr, the oldest Chivas child, peered in at him.  "Sir?   Mother and
Aunt Nerys asked me to find out if you will be joining us for lunch."

Dukat could not help smiling at the boy's serious, earnest expression. 
He reminded him of Mekor in many ways.  "Yes, I'll be right there. 
Wait a minute --" he added as Potr turned to go.  "I could use your
assistance," he said, lightly slapping his still-sore leg.  "I can't
put all my weight on it just yet."

The boy nodded and came forward, offering his shoulders for Dukat to
lean on.  "Of course, sir.  Aunt Nerys said Cardassians don't heal as
quickly from broken bones as Bajorans do."

"She should know.  She's dealt with Cardassians all her life," Dukat
said as they made their way to the other end of the house. Something
occurred to him, and he stopped.  Potr looked up at him expectantly.
"Did the major tell you all about me?  About who I used to be?"

The boy looked confused for a minute, but then he must have realized
what Dukat meant.  "Are you talking about the Occupation?   Yes, sir,
I know you were the last Prefect."

Dukat felt a mixture of surprise and amusement at Potr's simple,
non-judgmental statement.  "And you don't...despise me?  You're not
afraid of me?"

"I was only six when Bajor was liberated.  I don't remember what it
was like during the Occupation.  But I have studied it in school, and
Aunt Nerys told me what it was like serving with my grandmother in the
Shakaar."

"But I...your people believe I did many terrible things during the
Occupation.  They claim I tried to destroy your world.
Your...aunt...has hated me for a very long time."

"As I said, sir, I'm too young to remember what it was like when
Cardassia ruled Bajor, and my parents have taught me to put the past
behind me and look to the future.  And Aunt Nerys doesn't seem to hate
you too much now.  She did bring you here to take care of you."

Dukat had no response, and they continued toward the kitchen.

When they arrived, the remaining children were gathered around the
table as Jormal and Kira covered it with huge platters overflowing
with traditional Bajoran dishes.  Dukat recognized most of them -
there were at least three varieties of hasperat, a bowl of moba fruit,
ratamba stew and an enormous Tuwalli pie.  Next to each place setting
was a bundle of Jumja sticks tied with a brightly colored ribbon.

Little Mina bounced in her seat as Dukat entered.  "Sit next to me,
please," she lisped, rattling the empty chair next to her.

Dukat bowed to her.  "How can I possibly refuse such a gracious
hostess?"  he said.  Potr guided him to the chair and he carefully
eased himself down.  "And what sort of mischief have you been up to
today?" he asked, chucking his finger under her chin.

She giggled.  "Gerish took me fishing, and I fell in."

"Oh, my.  I hope you didn't scare away all the fish."  He glanced up
as Kira placed a steaming cup of red leaf tea in front of him.  She
gave him a teasing smile, and he felt himself respond.  Apparently the
previous night's near-disaster had not turned her against him again. 
Today would be a good day.

Gerish interrupted their silent communion.  "Mina couldn't scare away
a water bug if she tried, but she sure did kill the fish with her
stinky feet."

"I did not!  Mama!"

"Not at the table, Mina," Jormal replied.  "Gerish, apologize to your
sister."

"Yes, ma'am.  Sorry, Mina."  Then he muttered under his breath,
"Stinky feet, stinky feet, Mina has stinky feet."

Kira smacked him on the top of his head.  "Behave yourself." She sat
down, across the table from Dukat.  "Is Regnold joining us?"  she
asked Jormal.

"He's received a communique' from the capital city.  He'll be here
when he's finished his business."

Dukat leaned forward, about to grab the closest platter, when he
realized the room had become suddenly silent.  He looked around the
table.   Everyone else had their eyes closed, their hands held up with
the palms facing out.  With some embarrassment he leaned back.  He had
forgotten about the ritual prayer before meals.  He was not inclined
to join them, so he took the opportunity to let his gaze wander around
the table.  It felt so strange, to be seated at a dining table on
Bajor, surrounded by traditional Bajoran dishes and young Bajoran
faces.  If he imagined those faces to be gray and covered with ridges
and scales, it was almost like being back on Cardassia, with several
generations of his family seated at the long heirloom table, his
mother in all her stately grandeur at one end and himself at the
other.  That had been many years ago, however, and there had never
been the level of informality and intimacy he felt in the midst of the
Chivas household, his beloved Kira seated just a few feet away,
watching him through one half-opened eye.  He felt a momentary pang at
the thought of the family life he had left behind on Cardassia, and
lowered his head to shield his sudden melancholy from her sharp eyes.

The prayer complete, the family dove in.  Dukat helped himself to two
hasperat wraps from the platter in front of him, rolling them on to
his plate with his fork, then served one to Mina before passing the
platter over her head to Potr.

"Gul Dukat," Jormal said, "have you ever had Nerys' hasperat?" She
indicated the two cylinders on his plate.

"I don't believe so," he said, taking a piece of moba fruit.   "Have
I, Major?"  Kira shook her head.

Jormal pointed her finger at Panat, the oldest girl.  "Go get a
pitcher of water and a glass for our guest," she ordered.  Dukat was
puzzled.  "Nerys likes her hasperat a little...spicy."

"Ah, I see."  Panat placed the glass next to his plate and filled it
to the brim with water, then placed the pitcher next to it.  "Well, we
Cardassians are a sturdy lot," he said, spearing one of the wraps with
his fork and taking a large bite from the end.

Hot.

*Very* hot.  Hot, hot, hot.

His mouth was on fire, his tongue scorched.  Water streamed from his
eyes and nose as he opened his mouth and frantically fanned his hand
in front of it, trying to put out the flames searing his throat.  He
lunged for the water glass and emptied it in a single gulp.  He could
feel the hasperat burning all the way down to his stomach.  With
shaking hands, he refilled the glass and swallowed its contents. 
After two more glasses of water he felt composed enough to choke and
sputter in surprise.   Except for Gerish's hysterical laughter,
everyone at the table was staring at him with a mixture of horrified
and amused silence.  Kira's hand was over her mouth and she appeared
to be fighting a losing battle to control her mirth.

There was laughter in Jormal's eyes as she addressed him.   "Are you
all right?"  she asked.

Dukat rubbed his throat self-consciously.  "I think I've just
destroyed all the nerve endings in my mouth, but I'll survive," he
croaked.   In the interim, Panat had refilled the pitcher, and Dukat
drained yet another glass of water.  He then gave Kira a half-menacing
glare and said, "If you ever need a good way to kill me, Major, that's
it."  He laughed to take the sting out of his comment, and Mina
giggled next to him.

Jormal smiled.  "Nerys has nearly killed several unsuspecting Bajorans
and humans with her hasperat, so you're in good company."   She bent
down and looked under the table, where Gerish had collapsed in
helpless laughter.  "Get back in your seat," she ordered.

Chivas Regnold entered the room.  It was the first time Dukat had seen
him, but he could tell from the look on his face that his business
with the capital city had involved some very disturbing news.  The
residual smiles on Jormal's and Kira's faces faded quickly as they
looked up at him. "Nerys," he said to Kira, "the First Minister wishes
to speak with you."

Kira rose quickly and left the room.  "What is it?"  Jormal asked her
husband as he took Kira's place at the table.

He shook his head sadly.  "The Dominion have tightened their blockade
around Bajor.  They're threatening an invasion unless the Emissary
opens the wormhole to shipments of Ketracel white."

The jovial mood of just a few minutes before was completely broken.
Even little Mina, who had no understanding of war or death, grew very
still, and Dukat wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her
everything would be all right.  Unfortunately, he could not; 
unfortunately, the threat of Jem'Hadar invading Bajor was a direct
result of his arrogant and foolhardy treaty with the Dominion.  These
people, who had welcomed him into their home despite his past, could
die for their hospitality because of his blind ambition.  Was it not
enough that he was responsible for Ziyal's death and the probable
collapse of Cardassian society? Apparently not;  apparently his full
penance had not yet been exacted.

"Excuse me," he said, rising to his feet and limping from the room.

---

It was very late when Kira returned to the house the next night, and
she was bone-tired.  Edon had been adamant that she come to the
capital city, to join with him and the Council of Ministers to try to
talk sense into Sisko.  She knew their arguments were pointless, that
Sisko was gambling on the shortage of white killing the Jem'Hadar, or
at least rendering them incapable of fighting, before the Dominion
could make good on its threat to invade Bajor.  It was good to see
Sisko again and assure him that she was well, albeit trapped on Bajor,
but the sight of the abandoned streets and apartments in the capital
city had been heartbreaking.  People were leaving the city in droves,
and she had found it necessary to pull rank just to get a seat on a
transport back to Dahkur. Prophets willing, they would be safe in the
country;  the Dominion had little interest in anything other than
industry and technology, and the Jem'Hadar had no need for food.

A light was on in Dukat's room, and she wondered if he had waited up
for her;  she had contacted Regnold to inform him of her return that
night.  As she entered the house and headed down the corridor toward
her room, she saw that the door to Dukat's room was ajar, and poked
her head inside to check on him.  He was sitting up in bed, reading.

He lifted his head when she stepped into the room.  "Ah, Kira, I see
you made it back," he said, putting down the padd.  His gentle smile
faded as he took in her expression, and he patted the mattress beside
him, scooting over to make room for her.  She sat down next to him
with a weary sigh and folded her hands in her lap.  "And how is the
First Minister these days?"  he asked.

Kira knew what Dukat was doing, but she was too tired to humor his
efforts to ease her concern.  "The capital city is a virtual ghost
town," she said, not venturing to look at him.  "Just about the only
people left are the vedeks and the Council of Ministers and a few
security units."   It suddenly struck her as odd to be discussing
matters of Bajoran national security with this man.  She wondered if
the day would come when she would regret her momentary lapse of
distrust.  The Dukat she had known for years would not hesitate to
take advantage of her report.  But was the man who sat next to her,
listening to her fears, nodding his head in agreement with her,
comforting her by wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling
her to his chest the same Gul Dukat?

Was she the same Kira Nerys, to accept what he offered without
hesitation?

She moved a little bit closer to him, angling her neck just enough to
allow her cheek to rest against a smooth area of his chest, and draped
her arm over his waist.  His other hand came up and tucked a stray
lock of hair behind her ear.  She noticed that, sometime during her
absence, he had procured a pair of pajamas, and she smiled to herself
at his persistent modesty.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, and she closed her eyes to let the
low, soothing drone envelop her.  "I wish...there was something I
could do," he said.  "I can't stop reminding myself that if it weren't
for me you wouldn't be in this mess."

"You're Gul Dukat," she mumbled in reply.  She was so tired, and it
felt so good to be lying in his arms like this.  She could not deny
the irony of her situation;  outside, massive armies stood at bay,
ready to engage in a furious and bloody battle, but here, in the arms
of perhaps the single most dangerous man in the Alpha Quadrant, she
felt perfectly safe. "You wouldn't have done what you did any
differently."

"Well, I would have done one thing differently.  I wouldn't have
allied Cardassia with the Dominion."

"But you still would have taken the station from Sisko?"  She turned
her head to look up at him.

"If I could have done it without losing too many men or ships, yes."

"And then you would have retaken Bajor."

"Hm, perhaps.  But I much prefer having you."  He bent his long neck
forward to kiss her.

Kira lost herself in the touch of his lips against hers, but fatigue
quickly regained control and she broke off the kiss to lay her head
back against his chest and close her eyes.  "I'm so tired," she said,
to herself as much as to him.

Dukat stirred, disturbing her enough to irritate her, but she soon
realized that he was moving his body so he could lie next to her.  He
pulled the sheet out from beneath her legs and draped it over her,
ignoring the fact that she still had her boots on.  Once he was
settled, he pulled her head back to his chest.  "Stay with me tonight,
Kira.  Just sleep."

She was asleep before he finished speaking.

---


Kira awoke a couple of hours later to discover that she was alone in
the bed.  Dukat had apparently not been gone long;  she could still
see the depression in the pillow where his head had rested.  Yet she
had no recollection of his departure having disturbed her sleep, and
there was no light coming from beneath the bathroom door.  The sun was
just beginning to peek above the horizon, which meant Regnold was
probably already up and working in his office.  He would want to hear
the news from the capital city.  Since she was awake and fairly
rested, she decided to get up.

Twenty minutes, a hot shower and a change of clothes later, Kira fixed
herself a double-strength raktajino and went into Regnold's office.
His desk was covered with padds, most of them pertaining to the
administration of the vast Chivas farm.  Kira helped herself to the
cold remains of a forgotten hasperat omelet and flopped down in an
empty chair. Regnold gave her a cursory glance and returned to his
work, but she knew she had his full attention.

"So what did the First Minister have to say to the Emissary?"  he
asked.

"Shakaar wants the Federation to lay siege to Cardassia.  Since the
Dominion violated their own non-aggression treaty with Bajor, he
thinks retaliation is in order."

"But the Dominion hasn't taken any overtly aggressive steps against
Bajor yet."

"That's just what Captain Sisko said.  Sisko thinks we'd be better off
coordinating a blockade-running tactic, trading grain shipments for
armaments."

Regnold shook his head.  "We can't afford to export any food staples. 
If this turns out to be a lengthy blockade, we'll need every kerripate
we can harvest."

"But we need weapons to protect ourselves."

"We improvised before.  We can improvise again.  From what I hear,
weapons won't do much good against the Jem'Hadar anyway."  He leaned
back in his seat and folded his hands under his chin.  "What about
Dukat?"

"What about him?"  She had known this was coming.

"Do you think it's a risk, keeping him here?"

"Where else can he go?  The Federation couldn't even keep him safe."

"You know he's been tried and condemned in absentia on Cardassia
Prime?  You may have convinced Sisko he's dead, but the Dominion isn't
buying it.  If they find out he's on Bajor --"  The implied threat
hung low and ominous in the air.  "And who's to say he won't find his
way back to power if there's another change in regime?  He's done it
before.  Then what happens to Bajor?  What happens to you?"

"I'll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it."

Regnold snapped forward.  "Nerys, don't be stupid.  You of all people
should know just how dangerous and unpredictable Dukat is.   He's a
snake, and like any snake he'll turn on you in an instant."  Regnold
jabbed a finger at her.  "The *only* reason I agreed to let you bring
him here is because he was Ziyal's father.  But let me tell you now,
if his presence here jeopardizes my family in any way, if he harms
even a hair on any of my children's heads, he has to go.  I'll kill
him myself, if it comes to that. Understood?"

Chastened, Kira nodded.  Regnold had invested an enormous amount of
faith in her, to allow her to bring Dukat here.  She only hoped he
would not come to regret it.  "Where is Dukat this morning?  He wasn't
in his...room...when I got up."

Regnold jerked his head toward the window.  "He's down by the
footbridge across the creek.  Mina took him there yesterday, to show
him the tree house Ziyal helped the children build last summer."

Kira knew the spot he meant;  she remembered Ziyal telling her about
the tree house just a few days before her death.  "Thanks, Regnold.  
For everything."

He returned his attention to his work.  "Only for you, Nerys."

---


Kira found Dukat sitting at the base of the tree supporting the tree
house.  A few meters away a crudely built footbridge crossed the creek
at a wide bend that formed a swimming hole during the spring and a mud
flat in late summer.  A long rope, frayed from use, dangled from a
branch stretching out over the pool.  Kira sat down next to Dukat and
balanced her raktajino on her knee.

"Regnold told me I'd find you here," she said when Dukat did not
acknowledge her presence.

His head jerked up at the sound of her voice.  "Hm?  Oh, yes, one of
the children brought me here yesterday while you were gone.  The
little girl, I think.  She said Ziyal liked to come here and practice
sketching."

Kira remembered something Ziyal had told her once, and scrambled to
her feet.  Boards nailed to the tree trunk enabled her to climb to the
shanty precariously balanced on three large limbs that spread out from
the main trunk.  If Kira remembered correctly, Ziyal had left a
sketchbook tucked into a niche between the rear wall and the uneven
roof.  She sighed in triumph when her fingers brushed against the edge
of the pad and, with a slight tug, she managed to pull it free.  She
then dusted it off and tossed it to the ground next to Dukat before
climbing back down.

Dukat was brushing his fingers across the metallic cover as Kira
jumped the last two meters and collapsed next to him with a grunt.  
"She told me she kept a sketchbook hidden in many of her favorite
places, in case she ever got inspired," Kira said.

He just nodded in reply and absent-mindedly flipped the book open.
Kira leaned close to see what Ziyal had thought to capture in pencil.

They gasped in unison as the book fell open to an unusual portrait of
the two of them.  Although Kira had seen many of Ziyal's portraits,
she could tell that Ziyal had put a lot of time and thought into this
particular rendering.  She had somehow envisioned their two faces as
one image, overlapping their disparate features so that it was
difficult to tell where Dukat ended and Kira began.  Yet even in the
blending of his Cardassian ridges with her Bajoran ones, Kira knew
instinctively who the models had been.

Dukat traced his finger around the hollow in the center of the
amalgam's forehead and across the nose ridges.  "It almost looks like
her," he said sadly.  "Only the features are sharper."  He turned the
page as Kira nodded in silent agreement.

The next drawing was of one of the Chivas children - Gerish, Kira
thought - at the exact moment when he released the rope swing and
launched himself into orbit, before gravity yanked him into the cool
clear depths of the pool.  The expression on his face was a treasure: 
eyes squeezed shut in delicious anticipation, mouth wide open, arms
and legs akimbo, wild hair flying.  Ziyal had captured the essence of
his exuberant nature so well Kira could almost hear the primal yell
erupting from his throat as he soared through the air.

There were several nature sketches - trees, wildlife, flowers that
grew along the banks of the creek - and two charming portraits of
Mina. One of them was a cameo profile, and Kira could imagine Ziyal
urging the girl to sit still "just a little longer" as she tried to
align her nose with her forehead.  The other was of Mina and Potr, her
little arms wrapped snugly around his neck from behind, her lips
planted against his cheek, as he gazed serenely at the artist.

The last sketch was a portrait of a Bajoran woman Kira had never seen
before, but judging from Dukat's reaction she knew who it must be.

Tora Naprem.

At first, Kira thought Dukat was choking;  he had his hand over his
mouth, his eyes were shut tight, his shoulders were shaking, and he
kept taking deep, shuddering breaths through his nose.  Then she saw
the tears streaming down his darkened face and realized he was
sobbing.

"Oh Naprem," he moaned.  "You were right, you were so right.  Look
what I've done to our beautiful daughter.  You were right, you always
said my ambition would get us all killed, you were right, I killed
her, I killed you and I killed Ziyal, you were right --" he gasped,
unable to continue. He ripped the drawing from the book and crumpled
it in his fist as his head bent over his knees and he began rocking
back and forth, his anguished cries of grief racking his body.

Kira was at a loss for words.  She understood his grief - she had been
in his place often enough in her life - but she doubted there was
anything she could - or should - do to comfort him.  He needed to
confront his demons on his own, to accept responsibility for his
actions, to admit that at last the years of pain and suffering he had
inflicted on Bajor had come to bear on his pagh.  Until he
acknowledged that he had been broken, he could not be made whole
again.

Dukat needed to be allowed - to be given the opportunity - to grieve.

Kira took the sketchbook, opened it to a small self-portrait of the
artist, and placed it on the ground in front of her.   She then
assumed the traditional position and began to recite the ancient
healing words of the death chant:  "Ahkay ah, aya vah suu, koh vanha,
eh kayha."

Over and over she repeated the mantra, opening her pagh to the power
of the Prophets, beseeching them to take pity on Ziyal, to take pity
on Dukat, to take pity on Kira.

"Ahkay ah..."         Over and over she called upon the company of
paghs to accept the stranger into their midst, to shelter the
half-breed girl who could find no peace in corporeal existence.

"...aya vah suu..."

Over and over she cried out to Bajor, to fill her with life- giving
strength and renewal, to show her the path to forgiveness.

"...koh vanha..."

Over and over she prayed to the Prophets to heal Dukat, to cleanse his
pagh of the blood of ten million Bajorans, to restore his fractured
soul.

"...eh kayha."

Over and over.

And then there was another voice united with hers, a familiar baritone
still ragged with sorrow, his Cardassian larynx struggling to mimic
the strange syllables as Kira felt her own hot tears of anger and
sadness and loss and, finally, joy, joining with his.  With one voice,
they honored the dead;  with one voice, they embraced the living; 
with one voice, they acknowledged the past;  with one voice, they
looked to the future.

Two hearts, one voice, united in grief.

---

Dukat spent the rest of the day alone, most of it walking around the
Chivas estate and strengthening his atrophied muscles.  He was not
intentionally avoiding Kira, but after the naked intimacy they had
shared that morning, he needed time and distance to recover his
equilibrium.  He suspected Kira needed the same;  she had neither
objected nor followed him when he walked away from her upon the
completion of the death chant.

He had concealed his sorrow at Ziyal's death for nearly two weeks.
Cardassians were generally not inclined to grieve publicly, but he had
cherished Ziyal, and she deserved more than he had been able to give.
Unfortunately, circumstances had prevented him from giving her the
mourning she deserved, until he saw the portrait of her mother in that
sketchbook. The sight of Naprem's lovely face rendered almost
flawlessly had opened the floodgates, and his grief had poured out of
him in a torrent.  He was not embarrassed by his emotional outburst,
but he needed to bring his emotions back into check before he could
face Kira again.

He knew she would understand.  He knew, because it was she who enabled
him to give voice to his grief.  He knew, because she had grieved with
him.

It was time to start over.  Time for renewal.

He turned up the path that led back to the house, shielding his
sensitive eyes against the glare of the setting sun.  There were no
children outside to greet him, which probably meant they had already
eaten and were dressed for bed.  If he knew Kira, she had admonished
the children to stay away from him until he returned.  He was grateful
for the solitude, but now he was ready to rejoin the fold, to embrace
them as they had embraced him.

They were all gathered in the family room listening to Jormal read a
story when he entered, but the clomp of his boots against the kitchen
floor sent them scurrying toward him.  Little Mina led the pack,
throwing her arms around his knees and squeezing so hard he thought he
might lose his balance.  Potr and Panat looked up at him in anxious
silence, expressing their concern for him with their eyes, while
Gerish did a jig on the sofa until Kira urged him to sit.  The twins -
whose names he could never remember - returned to stand behind their
mother's chair when they realized who the newcomer was.  He bent and
picked up Mina.

"And how is my little water sprite today?" he asked, tickling her nose
ridges.

Mina giggled and nestled her head against his neck ridge.  "I missed
you," she sighed.

He closed his eyes as he imagined the same words spoken with his
daughter's voice many years ago.  Kira must have seen his reaction,
because he heard her approach and try to take Mina out of his arms. 
"Come on, Mina," she said gently.  "It's time for bed."

"No!  Wait!"  the girl cried.  Then she leaned forward and gave Dukat
a sloppy kiss on the cheek.  "'Night," she said as she turned to Kira,
who then handed her into her mother's arms.

"Good night, Mina," Dukat said, as Jormal led the children back to
their rooms.  He turned and looked at Kira, who was studying him
expectantly.  "Major?"  he prompted.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, but her smile was genuine, if
not a bit melancholy.  "Are you all right?"  she asked.  "Have you
eaten at all today?"

He patted his stomach.  "I found a grove of moba trees a couple of
hours ago and stuffed myself.  As for the rest --"  his gaze faltered
"-- time will tell."

She unfolded her arms and took one of his hands in hers.  "I was
worried about you."

He rested his other hand against her cheek, and she leaned into it,
closing her eyes.  "Thank you for...letting me have some time to
myself." He took a step closer.  Her eyes opened and widened.  "But
now, the last thing I want to be is alone."  Another step.  He could
feel her hands trembling.  Or was that *his* hand?  "Now,
Major...*Kira*...we have --"  he bent his neck until her face filled
his vision "-- some unfinished business --"

---

Their kiss was as gentle as a summer shower.

What followed burned hotter than a furnace, driving them to a blazing,
torrid finish.

As his lips pressed against hers, Dukat felt Kira release his hand and
encircle his waist, pulling him closer.  Now both his hands were
cradling her face, the heels exerting a gentle pressure just below her
ears to lift her face as his fingers entwined themselves in her hair.

In her Bajoran military-issue boots, she was several centimeters
shorter than him, but in her bare feet, with him in his boots, she was
so tiny he feared hurting her, yet he had to bend his neck so far it
was beginning to ache.  She must have somehow sensed his discomfort,
because she suddenly stood on the tips of her toes, digging her
fingers into the flesh at his hips for support, and kissed him with
greater fervor.   His hands slid down her neck, across her shoulders
and down her arms to her waist, where they circled around until they
rested against her bottom. Then he felt the pressure of her lips
against his slacken, and she dropped back down to her normal height as
she leaned against his embrace.

Disturbed, Dukat opened his eyes.  Much to his delight, the large
brown eyes staring back at him were filled with desire and longing.  
One of her hands snaked up his chest and she fingered the hollow at
the base of his throat.  He swallowed reflexively as she licked her
lips.

Kira gave him a come-hither smile as she indicated with a slight
movement of her head that they should probably take this to another
room. His eyes widened in agreement;  it would not be a good thing if
someone caught them *in flagrante*.  He let her lead him by the hand
to her bedroom, where she closed the door behind him and leaned
against it, a passionate and predatory gleam in her eyes.

Nothing needed to be said.

He took just long enough to remove his boots - without the shin
guards, it was only a matter of stepping out of them - before leaping
to possess her.  His lips, her lips, his hands, her hands, were all a
blur as they struggled to bring their bodies into complete contact.

Her hands were kneading his neck ridges while she nibbled his lower
lip, sending little tremors of pleasure down his jawline and up to the
tips of his ears.  He arched his back and pressed his now-damp groin
against hers, rotating his hips slightly to give her the full benefit
of his arousal, while one hand stroked her breasts and the other
played with her earring.  Her deep sigh evoked a similar reply from
him and he pressed even closer, pinning her against the door.  Her
throaty chuckle was accompanied by her hips grinding against his own.

A low rumble of laughter shook his chest at her shamelessness.   How
unlike a Cardassian woman.  It was one of the things he loved most
about her.

While one of her hands continued to explore his neck ridges, the other
brushed down between them and across his chest, rubbing against the
pattern of his scale growth until he could no longer bear the
alternating sensations of pleasure and pain.  He captured both her
hands in his and held them above her head against the door, his
fingers entwined with hers, as he tried to regain a modicum of
control.

In retaliation, she began undulating against him, arching her back to
push her breasts against his chest ridges.  He pulled his mouth free
of her teeth and nuzzled her neck, growling and nipping and kissing
with abandon as tiny sobs of pleasure escaped from her half-open
mouth.

In this position, with her arms raised above her head and his nose
buried in her neck, the aroma of her pheromones was potent, and his
grip on her hands slackened in response.  Then one of her hands broke
free and slipped around his waist to tug his shirt out of his
trousers.  She turned her head and nipped at his ear ridge as those
warm fingers found his dorsal ridge and began tracing each knobbed
scale.  He groaned, loudly, and released her other hand to bring both
of his hands down to her ribcage.

His mouth moved to her unadorned ear, his tongue exploring all its
contours, and as her free hand massaged his scalp she --

What the --?

She was *humming*.  His attention to her ear required him to crane his
neck at an odd angle, and she had used that to her advantage by
tilting her chin just enough to brush her lips across the hollow at
the base of his throat and then start humming and murmuring tunelessly
against his flesh. He could feel the vibrations of her mouth against
his throat echoing through his gullet, evoking an exquisitely placed
responding reverberation in his groin.  He turned his head away from
her ear to touch his lips to her nose ridges.  Her lips were now
pressed against the slight bulge in his throat his people called the
Hebitian heart, and the delicate tug of her teeth along the taut skin
could be felt all the way to his toes.

With his fingers splayed against her back, he could feel her ribs
moving as she shifted in his grasp, silently urging his thumbs to
caress her breasts.  He complied, and she moaned hot breath against
him, eliciting a shiver in response.

Her upper hand moved slightly downward, to begin caressing the scales
at the back of his neck, while the other hand slipped inside his
trousers to knead the tip of his dorsal ridge, a spot so sensitive to
Cardassian males that most wore a thick corset underneath their
clothing to protect it from unexpected contact.  He lacked the
customary corset in his present wardrobe, and his entire body
shuddered with agonized passion as his mouth returned to hers, his
tongue sliding in through her open lips. Now his hands were working
feverishly to unhook the fasteners on her blouse, revealing just
enough of her smooth skin for his fingers to find their way to her
bared breasts.

He felt her lift one of her legs and wrap it around his until her foot
rubbed against the back of his knee.  Even through the thick cloth of
his trousers the touch was electrifying, and he responded by moving
his hands down to her bottom and lifting her until both of her legs
were entwined around his, her arms around his neck, her mouth latched
on to his neck ridge.  Moving slowly, so as not to lose his precarious
balance, he turned around and walked cautiously forward until he felt
the edge of her bed against his legs, then released his grasp and let
her back down to the floor.  He took a step back, compelling her to
pull her arms away from his neck.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.  Flushed with passion and need -
for *him* - she was beautiful.  In the name of whatever spirits
governed his life, he loved her.  He wanted her.

And now, he would have her.

Her hands reached up to her half-opened blouse and completed the work
he had begun.  Then she took one of his hands and brought it up to the
downy crevice between her breasts, using her fingers to spread his
across her sternum.  The dual sensations of her smooth skin against
his palm and the edges of her blouse brushing against the back of his
hand were exquisite, and a hiss escaped his lips.  The steady beating
of her heart beneath his hand held his fascination until he realized
that she had pulled his shirt completely free of his trousers and was
now working to release the catch on his waistband.  His other hand
came up beside the other and they slowly spread up and out toward her
shoulders, his fingers lifting the blouse away from her skin and down
her arms until gravity pulled it to the floor.

His eyes were riveted to her breasts.  So smooth, completely unadorned
except for the brown tips, so soft and fleshy as they yielded to the
firm pressure of his hands, and so pale next to his darkened gray
skin. So different from Cardassian women, Bajoran men had no idea how
fortunate they were.

But he knew;  oh, yes, he *knew*.

She had at last managed to open his trousers and was exploring the
contents, stroking him to a near-frenzy as she examined his contours
with wicked determination.  He grasped her wrist and pulled her hand
free, guiding it to his shirt.  She smiled, understanding his wish,
and began opening it, working from the bottom up as he did the same
from the top down.  Their hands met in the middle and he took both her
hands in his and lifted them to his lips, placing a soft kiss on each
delicate fingertip until she pulled one hand free and drew the index
finger into her own mouth, deliberately tasting the residue of his
natural lubricant.  He abruptly released her other hand and removed
his shirt, oblivious to the tearing sound as it caught on one of his
ridges.

As she came into his embrace and skin caressed skin, they both let out
a cry of pleasure.

In unison their fingers traced delicate lines up each other's back,
hers weaving in and out among the knobs of his dorsal ridge, his
following the neat, even valley formed by her spinal column.

His mouth instinctively returned to hers, and he groaned into her as
her warm breath filled his lungs.  He felt her hands come up his back
and grasp his neck ridges from behind;  in response, he wiggled his
hand down the back of her trousers until his palm was flush against
the smooth expanse of her bottom.  The other hand returned to the
front and stroked her breasts.  Then her hands returned to his
waistband and began working his trousers free of his hips.  His mouth
never lost contact with hers as he did the same for her.

In no time they were free of the last physical barrier to their union.

Kira disengaged her mouth from his and climbed on to the bed, rising
up on her knees before him.  Then she did something no woman had ever
done for him before, indelibly marking him with the memory of her
unique wicked perversity.

She grasped his hips and placed her warm soft mouth against the knot
at the bottom tip of his chest ridges, where he had once received
nourishment from his mother's womb, and began kissing and licking and
sucking at that spot until his knees were so wobbly he thought he
would lose consciousness.  As it was, he had his hands wound so
tightly in her hair he had to be hurting her, but she did not
complain, nor did she stop what she was doing.

Not that he wanted her to stop, especially when he looked down to see
her raise an eyebrow up at him just as she nipped at him.

Dukat released his grip on her hair and gently pushed her down on the
bed, lowering himself next to her.  They now lay side by side, their
eyes devouring each other with unquenchable hunger.  The blending of
their pheromones perfumed the air with their shared desire as once
again their hands reached out in need and exploration.

His hand brushed across her round hip, thrilling at the slight spasms
of her muscles as his fingers skimmed the surface.

He *loved* Bajoran hips.  Cardassian women were not voluptuous, and
not even the whores he had frequented as a young man had the wonderful
curved hips that all Bajoran women seemed to have.  Kira's hips had
been the first thing he noticed about her, the way they blossomed out
from her narrow waist and then curved back in to her slender legs. 
Those first few months after she had given birth to the O'Briens' baby
had been the worst, when not even his autoerotic fantasies satisfied
his desire, but although her figure was back to its usual trim shape
she still had the most beautiful figure he had ever seen.  He leaned
toward her and caressed the curve of her hip with his mouth as his
hand began stroking her bottom and the backs of her thighs.

He felt her muscles clench beneath him as she rolled on to her back
and arched up against his mouth.  He nibbled and kissed his way across
her hip bone, enjoying the sensual motion of her rocking in
anticipation as he neared the upper edge of her pubic bone.  Her sweet
scent was particularly strong here, and he momentarily luxuriated in
it, turning his head to rest his cheek against her as his hands
smoothed up her hips and rib cage to caress her breasts.

She groaned loudly, arching her back again and grasping his hair with
one hand and a neck ridge with the other, urging him on.  He smiled
and began slowly kissing and licking his way up her abdomen, leaning
in to her so she could feel the friction of his chest ridges against
her groin. She moaned and pressed into him, rotating her hips against
his scaled belly.

His responding moan was muffled by her breast in his mouth.

He released the breast, gave a brief kiss to its mate, and resumed his
journey upward.  Soon his entire body blanketed hers, and the contact
between his rough, scaled flesh and her warm, smooth flesh had him
shaking from head to toe with longing.  He raised himself up on his
hands and looked down on her lovely face.

This was the moment he had been anticipating for years.  Once he took
this step, there would be no turning back.

He desired her.  He needed her.  He loved her.

Her eyes opened and looked at him.  He saw nothing but desire and
longing in them.  No fear, no hatred, no disgust.

She smiled at him.

"Yes," she said.

---


Kira dreamed of flying, her naked body skimming across the surface  of
Bajor on a warm summer air current. It was a dream she knew well;  it
had come to her many times during her adolescence as her
still-childlike mind discovered the womanly body she had mysteriously
acquired.  The dream was often accompanied by strange and exotic
sensations in her breasts and groin that left her feeling achy and
unfulfilled.  Yet even as an adult, when the woman had left the girl
far behind, the dream would return to her after a long night of
lovemaking with Bareil and, later, Shakaar.  But it had been many
months - almost a year - since the dream last came to her, and she
sighed with contentment as the warm air enveloped her body.

A different sensation, one of a cool breeze brushing against her bare
skin, began to draw her out of her dream state, but she did not fight
it.  The coolness was refreshing as it filled her veins with renewed
vigor. Gradually she came fully awake, opening her eyes to find
herself lying on her stomach with Dukat on his side next to her, his
fingers tracing elaborate designs on her back.  She gave him a sleepy
smile and stretched, extending her arms past her head as far as they
could go, then folding them under her chin.

Dukat returned her smile but said nothing as he continued his delicate
examination of her unadorned skin.

"Hmmm," she purred, "that feels good."

She realized that he was observing her reactions as he caressed or
tickled or kneaded each part of her, memorizing what brought her
pleasure and what did not.  She thought about telling him that just
the sensation of his alien skin against hers was enough, but she was
enjoying his exploration of her too much.  Instead she watched him
through half- closed lids, wondering if he found as much pleasure in
watching her as she did in him.

There was a peculiar expression on his face as he gazed at her that
she found both endearing and puzzling.  His dilated pupils and
darkened scales betrayed his insatiable desire, and there was
expectancy evident in his deep-set eyes as he waited for her reaction
to his ministrations, but there was something else - in the set of his
jaw, perhaps, or his labored breathing - that she could not quite
define.  She turned her head to get a better look at him, but it was
not enough, so she rolled on to her side until she was facing him,
resting her head on the crook of her folded arm. He had his head
propped up against one hand while the other, which never lost contact
with her skin as she moved, now rested on her hip before beginning a
new exploration of her  curves.

She reached out her free hand to trace the edges of the ridges on his
upper chest, and heard his breath catch in his throat as his chest
scales grew noticeably darker.

Hesitance.

That was it;  Dukat was tentative.  As much as his longing for her
obviously threatened to overwhelm his control, he was holding back.  
But from what?

He had certainly not been hesitant with her for the past couple of
hours.  Timidity was not in his nature.  Although he had not been
rough, Dukat had made love to her with all the virile vehemence and
vigor she might have expected from Cardassians in general, and Dukat
in particular. Yet as violently passionate as it had been, making love
with Dukat had been more tender and responsive than anything she could
have imagined.  His unexpectedly affectionate and sensitive side had
given her almost as much pleasure as the fervency of the act itself.

Why was he being hesitant now?

Was this sort of gentle touching not common among Cardassian couples?

Had Garak been right?  Was Dukat courting her as a Bajoran man might?

Was Dukat truly in love with her?

Garak had been right about one thing;  Dukat had found the way to her
heart.  Time would tell if she could bring herself to forgive him for
what he did to Bajor, but in the interim she had come to realize that
she did love him.

She loved him.  It was that simple.

Kira loved Dukat.

There was only one thing left to be done.  It was time to affirm her
love for him, to stand before him and, using the steps handed down
from generation to generation, to call upon the Prophets and the
company of paghs and the elemental spirit of Bajor to bear witness to
her affirmation.

It was time to dance the Dance of Eternal Longing.

Kira leaned toward Dukat and wrapped her arm around his ridged neck,
pulling him toward her.  Gently, tenderly, lovingly she kissed him;
first his mouth, then the tip of his nose ridge, then each closed eye,
then the hollow in the center of his forehead, then back to his mouth. 
As her attention focused on his lips he draped an arm and a leg over
her, squeezing her as he tried to bring her closer to him.  For a
moment she acquiesced, and the thrilling sensation of his increasingly
damp groin against hers and the inebriating effect of his growing
scent in her nose were almost irresistible, but with monumental effort
she was able to break off the kiss and move away from him.

His baffled and forlorn expression almost made her laugh as she
climbed off the bed, taking the sheet with her and wrapping it around
her shoulders.  Tonight she would not honor his innate modesty;  she
wanted to see all of him as she gave him this most precious of gifts. 
Tonight there would be nothing hidden between them.

And so, with the light of three moons guiding her steps, Major Kira
Nerys began to dance for Gul Dukat.

---

One step at a time.

Kira was unaccustomed to expressing herself in such a stylized and
symbolic manner, and her first movements were clumsy and tentative.  
As she focused her thoughts on the traditional meaning of the dance,
however, her limbs became imbued with what could only be defined as a
prophetically-inspired grace, and she was soon aware only of Dukat's
rapt attention.

The basic steps, as Chivas Panat had described them twenty years ago,
were quite simple, but highly symbolic:  one foot in contact with the
ground at all times, to represent the dancer's fidelity to Bajor; 
eyes open, indicating her willingness to receive inspiration and
guidance from the Prophets;  one arm extended toward the Celestial
Temple, the palm bent up with the fingers slightly cupped, prepared to
receive the Orb of Eternal Life; the other arm pointed toward her
audience, with two fingers pointed directly at him and the others
turned in to point back at her.

The movement of the feet was entirely up to the dancer, for it was in
the steps she chose that she imbued the Dance of Eternal Longing with
her unique personality.  Kira had done some research on her trip to
the capital city and found an old file describing the Cardassian
Imperial Waltz.  It was a modest but elegant quadrille box-step moving
through a series of trapezoidal patterns, and Kira was easily able to
memorize the basic pattern.  She had not originally intended to put
her information to use in this manner, but now it seemed the most
appropriate thing to do.

His understanding, and subsequent approval, was immediately evident.

Kira had feared that Dukat would fail to recognize what she was trying
to express, that he would see her movements only as a seduction, and
not as an effort to put into movement what she was not yet prepared to
put into words.  The Dance of Eternal Longing was neither about sex
nor love; it was a revelation of the purest, most simple intimacy that
can exist between a man and a woman and an expression of the need that
masquerades as both love and hatred, driving one to hurt and heal in
the same moment, scorching hatred and love onto the pagh in a single,
eternally infinite point of darkness and light.

The Dance of Eternal Longing was intended to reduce both the dancer
and her audience to their most primitive, instinctual selves.  By
dancing for him, Kira was inviting Dukat to shed his Cardassian skin
just as she would shed her Bajoran skin, so that nothing but the most
basic bond would unite them.

But would Dukat understand?  Was there hope for his stony Cardassian
heart?

Kira took a quick glance at Dukat's face, which beheld her with such
an expression of awe and longing it was almost unrecognizable as the
same reptilian face that had haunted her dreams for years.  She could
almost see his dampness from where she stood, and his scales were hued
such a dark charcoal gray that she inhaled sharply through her nose,
nearly choking on her own breath as the powerful scent of his
pheromones filled her lungs.  The blood pounded in her ears.

She saw Dukat's scales grow even darker, and the sheen that permeated
his groin began to spread across his abdomen and thighs.  She longed
to go to him, to taste that delightfully salty moisture, to press her
hands against it and rub it across her skin, but the tradition of the
dance demanded that he come to her, driven to such frenzied agony that
he shed all inhibitions and opened himself up to the most primitive
instinct in all creation.   Encouraged by Dukat's unwavering gaze,
Kira began to modify the waltz with a few steps from Bajoran folk
dances.  She moved to a faster tempo as she twirled along an imaginary
elliptic, then stopped, stamped her feet eight times, and took several
long strides forward until she was just beyond his grasp, undulating
her hips in a circular motion as she stepped away from him.

His long pink tongue snaked out of that wondrous and cruel mouth,
licking his lips.  Kira almost froze in her tracks.  She had to turn
her back on him before she lost control, but his anguished groan only
made her already ragged breathing even more so.  He was torturously
close, she knew, and she was desperate to end the waiting and possess
his body as he had possessed hers.  Only her fierce determination
enabled her to keep her eyes open.

Her arms ached mercilessly, but she fought to keep them in position. 
Holding her arms away from her body served to promote the production
of adrenaline, thus severing rational inhibition from primitive need,
and to enhance the flow of blood around her groin and abdomen.  She
could feel it working:  her belly felt as though it was on fire, and
she was growing increasingly light-headed.

She sensed movement just beyond her range of vision and turned to see
Dukat moving toward her.  When she had first begun to dance, he had
arranged himself in a sitting position, his back resting against the
wall, one long leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the
knee, his arms pulling it toward his chest.  Now he had shifted to his
hands and knees and was crawling towards her, his deep-set eyes
piercing her with a look that a month ago would have terrified her,
but now had her trembling so violently she could no longer move.

With heat in her belly and ice in her veins, Kira watched Dukat
approach her, his long scaled limbs coiled beneath him, his neck
ridges standing out like the hood on a cobra.

Dukat was *crawling*.

Kira felt giddy with power.  Power over Dukat.  Power to control her
destiny.  Power to confront her fears.

From the moment they met, Kira's relationship with Dukat had revolved
around power and who wielded it.  For years, Dukat has seemingly held
the upper hand, flaunting his former role as Prefect of Bajor in the
face of her lifelong hatred of Cardassians to keep her off-balance.  
Then Chance - or prophetic design - had revealed to her a side of
Dukat she had never imagined possible, a side that was vulnerable,
needy and bereaved.>From the moment Kira saw him in mourning at the
gravesite of his former

mistress, she assumed control, because in revealing so much of himself
to her, Dukat relinquished his claim to power.

Although she did not realize it at the time, that was the moment he
fell in love with her.

The sight of him on his hands and knees, submitting himself to her,
however, opened her eyes to the startling, undeniable reality that he
loved her.  He loved her because she represented his only hope for
forgiveness and redemption.

The dance had served its purpose;  it had eliminated all of their
layers of subterfuge and hatred and doubt and pain, leaving them
wholly naked before each other, Dukat begging forgiveness, Kira
yearning to bestow it.

Kira's fingers grasped the Orb as Dukat rose from the bed and took her
in his arms.

---

//damn bajoran sensuality//

That was the only rational thought running through Dukat's mind as he
watched Kira dance for him.  The innate aesthetic sensibility of
Bajorans, coupled with their willingness to embrace physical
sensations with the same respect they accorded their ancient
superstition, had been both his and Cardassia's undoing.

//damn them damn their eroticism damn kiras beauty damn me for
enjoying it//

Cardassia had once been as spiritual as Bajor, and her people had been
as openly sensual as the Bajorans, devoting their lives to the welcome
pleasures of the physical universe.  Then Cardassia's guiding spirits
abandoned her, leaving her people to die wretched and starving
wherever they fell, too weak even to beg for food.  In retaliation,
the Cardassians had turned their hearts away from spiritual and
sensual matters, focusing only on whatever was necessary to stay
alive.  It was not long before the new military leaders realized that
Bajor was the key to Cardassia's survival.

//damn bajor damn the prophets damn cardassia//

How ironic, Dukat had often thought in more sensible moments, that
Cardassia had sought salvation in a world as freely spiritual and
sensual as she had once been.  At times he even wondered if perhaps
the Prophets had lured Cardassia to Bajor, either to entice her to
return to her old ways, or to destroy her for her infidelity.

//damn kira damn me//

If the goal of the Prophets was to destroy him, by luring him to
imminent defeat with this beautiful, sensual woman, then so be it.  It
was a defeat - a death, perhaps - he would readily accept.

//damn the dance of eternal longing//

Dukat knew what the Dance of Eternal Longing signified, and although
several of his mistresses had danced for him, Kira was the first,
after Naprem, to adhere to the ritual movements.  Not so long ago he
thought he would never forget the night Naprem had danced for him; it
was the night of Ziyal's conception.  Now that precious memory was
slowly being eradicated from his subconscious by a new dancer, a
dancer who had sacrificed and lost everything to him - to his people's
need to avenge the loss of their spirituality - and yet was willing to
give him this priceless gift.  He had lost and regained and lost far
more than she ever had.

She still had her Prophets.  All he had was her.

Kira loved him.

More importantly, she had forgiven him.  Someday, he would have to ask
her why.  Today, however, he would revel in this wondrous moment, when
all that had transpired between them had been washed away.

His chest was filled with a strange aching sensation, as if he were
being simultaneously filled and emptied with a peculiar mixture of
burning and freezing that left his scales bristling and his groin
throbbing.   Pain and pleasure struggled to dominate his rational
mind, demanding that he surrender to the abyss of his longing.

Kira turned to look at him, and the fire he saw burning in her eyes
quenched any discipline that might have remained.  The sweet aroma of
her pheromones filled the room, and he licked his lips, trying to
catch that tantalizing taste on his tongue.  The color drained from
her face and she faltered before turning away from him.  He cried out
in agony as the muscles around his groin spasmed in anticipation and
desire.  After six years of lusting after her, only to be tortured so
exquisitely.  He wanted Kira. He *needed* Kira.  She *belonged* to
him.

He belonged to *her*.  She had conquered him, taken possession of
him...and then set him free.

Every fiber of his being longed to be with her.  His arms ached to
hold her to his chest...to feel her smooth breasts rubbing against his
scales as his hands caressed her torso, her curved bottom, her
shoulders, her dainty throat, the sensitive area between her thighs
where her intoxicating scent was its most potent...to touch his lips
to hers and feel her warm breath in his mouth as her teeth nibbled the
tip of his tongue...to taste her hair...to trace his tongue across her
nose ridges...to nip at her ear as she pressed her nose against his
throat...to taste her flesh as he ran his tongue over her shoulder,
across her collarbone and down to her breasts, where he would suckle
like a hungry infant, and then kiss each delicate rib in turn...to
hear her respond to him with cries and gasps of pleasure...to see the
beads of perspiration appear on the surface of her skin and draw their
sweet moisture into his mouth...to feel her fingers caress his most
sensitive spots as she blew that luxuriously hot breath of hers across
his scales...to massage his groin against her until she was bathed in
his lubricant...to writhe...and groan...and twist...and sigh...and
shudder...and cry out in unison....

To become one with her.  To forget Ziyal, and Naprem, and Cardassia,
and begin anew with Kira.

Dukat moved to the end of the bed and drew his legs beneath him,
waiting for the right moment.  She stopped dancing and watched him,
her fiery brown eyes boring into him.  Neither of them moved, except
for the heaving of her chest that he matched with his own deep, uneven
breaths.  He felt like ice and fire, his skin chilled by the night air
but his veins flooded with molten lava.  Every muscle strained for
release.  His scales were fairly crackling with electricity.

He saw the flash in her eyes that only a month ago would have meant
danger.  Tonight it was his invitation.  As he stood to pull her to
him, his lips parted and a guttural hiss silenced anything she might
have had to say.  There would be ample opportunity for words later.

---

Following a series of events so fevered she could not piece them back
together in sequential order, Kira found herself leaning against a
pillow at the opposite end of the bed from where Dukat reclined.  His
lean frame was stretched full-length so that one of his feet brushed
casually against her shoulder as his strong fingers expertly massaged
her calf muscles.

She had never before had the opportunity - or wish - to study
Cardassian feet, and she noted with no small amount of surprise and
amusement that Dukat's toes were webbed.  Large gray plates, the
patterns uninterrupted by the ridges that decorated his upper body,
covered his legs.  His broad, fleet feet, however, were covered with
tiny opalescent scales growing so closely together their surface was
almost as smooth as her own skin.  Kira brushed the edge of her finger
across the sole. Dukat's leg jerked reflexively, and a strangled laugh
sent him into a fit of choking and sputtering.  She looked at him with
concern and curiosity as he continued to cough and gasp.

At last the fit passed.  He looked at her with a sheepish grin.
"Please don't do that again.  I'm - My feet are rather *sensitive*."

Now it was Kira's turn to grin.  "Ticklish, hm?"  she teased, wrapping
her fingers as far around his foot as she could.  "I'll have to
remember that for future reference.  Information like that could come
in handy someday."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Maybe next time you'll think twice before causing trouble for Bajor
or the station, otherwise I might just have to strap you to an
interrogation bench and...."  She let her voice trail off.

"Next time, I'll just have to be sure I don't get caught."

She arched her eyebrows at him.  "Oh, I think I might be able to lure
you into a trap."

Dukat's eyes darkened, and for a moment Kira regretted her teasing.
Even as the heat of their lovemaking still filled her veins, she could
not forget just how dangerous and mercurial Dukat could be.  She
watched him purse his lips in thought, then he exclaimed, "Nerys, what
am I going to do with you?"

That was not what she had been expecting to hear, and she was not
quite sure how to respond.  What did he mean by that?  She decided to
interpret it as more of his teasing;  even at the height of his ardor,
he had refrained from using her given name.  "Kill me?  It's the only
way to keep your secret safe."

Her small smile faded as he twisted his body around until he was lying
on his stomach next to her, his chin resting in his hands as he gazed
up into her face.  "Believe me, I've thought about it many times over
the years.  I should have had you executed for the Vaatrick murder.  A
lot of secrets would have died with you then, and I'd have been saved
years of humiliation and heartbreak."

At first, the mention of her role in the collaborator's murder sent a
chill through Kira's body, but then the underlying meaning of Dukat's
words hit her.  She rolled onto her side, facing him, and gently
traced her fingers along his dorsal ridge.  He closed his eyes, sighed
heavily, and bent his head so his brow rested against the heels of his
hands.

"You might never have found Ziyal if you had executed me," she said
softly.

"No," he said.  His voice was muffled.  "I could have spent the rest
of my life in the ignorant belief that she had died when the Ravenok
disappeared.  I wouldn't have lost my rank and my wife, I wouldn't
have turned pirate during the war with the Klingons, and I probably
wouldn't have signed an alliance with the Dominion.  Face it, Major,
you've managed to accomplish your one goal in life:  you've destroyed
Cardassia."

Her voice was gentle.  "So you're saying that this is all *my* fault?"

He shook his head.  "Oh, Nerys, why couldn't you have just died, like
everyone else I've ever loved?"

Although Dukat's oblique confession that he loved her deeply affected
Kira, his narcissistically morbid mood was beginning to irk her. "Your
wife is still alive, isn't she?"

There was a short bark of laughter, and he tossed up his head to roll
his eyes at her.  "My wife and I never loved each other.  The only
things we had in common were my career and our children."  Kira gave
him a puzzled frown, and he grinned back at her before rolling on to
his back and lacing his fingers across his chest.  "It was an arranged
marriage.   My mother comes from an ancient and honorable family, with
bloodlines that claim to go back to the Hebitian emperors.  When my
father was executed for...treason...the political and social fallout
was pretty severe, and I probably would have spent my life as a petty
bureaucrat in some government office on Cardassia IV if Mother
couldn't find a suitably prominent family to marry me into.  She
pulled so many strings to get my future mother-in-law to consent to
the match it's a wonder she didn't incite a class rebellion.  On our
wedding night, my wife made it very clear that she thought I was
beneath her notice, and that she had agreed to marry me only to
absolve my mother's family name of the shame my father had brought
upon it.  She stayed with me as long as she did because my career
seemed to be on the fast track for a ranking position at Central
Command and, well, you know why she finally left me."

One hand went up to trace the distinctive mark above his nose, and his
chest filled and deflated with a heavy sigh.  Kira was mesmerized by
the moonlight reflecting off his scales as he breathed.  She placed
her palm flat against his abdomen, thrilling at the vague rasping
sensation of the edges of his scales brushing against her hand.  His
other hand slid down his chest to clasp hers, his thumb tickling at
her palm as his finger traced the same design that stood out from his
brow on the top of her hand. Then his hand moved up her arm, tugging
slightly until she moved closer to him and rested her head on his
chest, their linked hands held against her cheek, the fingers of his
other hand running through her hair.

"I had forgotten about the stamina and...enthusiasm...of Bajoran
women," Dukat murmured.

Kira let a breathy laugh out through her nose and felt Dukat's
diaphragm expand and contract beneath her as he responded in kind.  
"Is your age finally catching up with you?"  she asked.

"I'm not *that* old, Kira."  His hand moved from her hair to caress
her bare shoulder.  "I was merely going to comment on the fact that we
have been at...this...all night, and that it is nearly dawn.  It's
been a *very* long time since I spent an entire night in such a
pleasant manner."

"You mean, having a Bajoran woman begging for mercy?"  She had not
meant her remark to come out sounding as bitter and acrimonious as it
did to her, and she immediately regretted saying it.

"I believe, Major, that your memory of recent events is confused.  If
I recall correctly, it was *I* who was begging *you* for  mercy, not
the other way around."  He was silent for a moment, and Kira hoped
that he had let her unintentionally caustic tone pass.  Then he said,
"Kira, why must you continue to make everything that passes between us
into a battle?   Why can't you just let bygones be bygones?  I thought
- I had hoped - that after learning what a good lover I can be you
would finally accept that I'm not the monster you insist I am. 
Apparently you've proved me wrong yet again."

His voice revealed no sense of blame or resentment, but Kira knew it
simmered just beneath the surface of his scales.  Unfortunately, she
could not think of anything to say to take away the sting of her
remark.  She knew that she had finally forgiven him for the horrors of 
the Occupation, but she was not yet able to admit that to him.  She
doubted she ever would tell him.  She loved him, but love was not
enough.  It was the Dukat who had been betrayed by a trusted officer,
broken in spirit, bereaved of his beloved daughter, nearly killed in a
shuttle crash, and forced to depend on her for survival that she
loved;  not the Dukat who had once ruled Bajor with an iron fist, who
had harassed and leered at and propositioned her for years, who had
invited the Dominion into the Alpha Quadrant.  The gentle Dukat she
loved.  Could she also love the cruel Dukat?

"Ah, well," he said, mirroring her own dark thoughts, "I should have
known this wouldn't work."   His arm tightened around her shoulders,
pulling her closer to him.  "Oh Nerys, why couldn't you have just died
like everyone else I've loved?"

---

His heart was breaking.

He had given so much of himself to this woman;  why did she refuse to
see that?  He was a sentimental old fool to think that she could ever
truly love him as he loved her.  She had probably only danced for him
because she knew he was familiar with the tradition.  Her heart had
not been in it.  He had only imagined her forgiveness.  It was
settled, then; now matter what he did or said, they would always
remain enemies, because that was what she wanted.

It was *not* what he wanted.  He wanted to take her back with him to
Cardassia.  He wanted to recruit her expertise in a plan he was
formulating to incite civil war and overthrow the Dominion yoke.  He
wanted her fighting at his side as he reclaimed Cardassia for
Cardassians.   He wanted to make love to her every night for the rest
of his life.

Disappointment was a bitter pill to swallow.

He stretched beneath her, releasing her hand as it lay against his
chest, and yawned.  "The sun will be up soon, Major," he said as
nonchalantly as possible.  "I'd better get dressed and leave before
any of our hosts find me here."  He extracted himself from her embrace
and swung his legs down to the floor.  Their clothes were jumbled
beside the bed, and it took him several minutes to separate his
clothing from hers.

As he eased one arm into his shirt, noting the large rip where it had
caught on one of his ridges, he felt Kira move behind him.  He closed
his eyes when a bare arm slipped around his neck and her sweet breath
warmed his cheek.  "Don't go," she pleaded.  "Stay here...with
me...just a  little while longer."

If she had begged him to forgive her for doubting his love, if she had
proclaimed her own love and forgiveness, he might have acquiesced.  
But she did not, and instead he said, "No.  We shouldn't be seen like
this. It's not...right."

Her voice betrayed controlled fury.  "Denying what happened between us
isn't going to make it go away."

He clenched his fists.  "I'm *not* denying it, Major, you are!" His
head swiveled so he could stare into her dark eyes.  "I would climb to
the top of the highest mountain and tell all of Bajor that I spent the
entire night making love to the most...amazing...woman in the Alpha
Quadrant, and when I came down I would sweep you up in my arms and
make love to you all over again.  *You*, on the other hand, will find
a way to pass this off as a momentary weakness or as proof that I care
only about controlling you and Bajor!"  He turned his attention back
to his clothes.

She was silent for a moment, but Dukat did not dare to look at her.
When her response finally came, it was so cold he shivered at the
sound of her voice.  "So that's how it's going to be.  I didn't say
all the right things, I didn't *tell* you how wonderful you were in
bed, or how much you made me forget the past, or how much I love you,
so then it obviously must not be true.  Since I didn't dedicate myself
to soothing your fragile ego, then what passed between us last night
must have been nothing more than two people satisfying their craven
lusts!"  She climbed off the bed and stalked to her closet to grab a
robe from the hook.  Her voice softened a bit as she turned to address
him.  "I'm sorry for what I said earlier.  It didn't come out quite
the way I meant it to.  But if you can be so quick to judge me, then
maybe you're right.  Maybe this could never work.  Maybe, no matter
how hard we both try, we just can't let go of the past."

Dukat stood and held out his arms.  "Nerys --" he pleaded.

She wavered, but held firm.  "No, Dukat."  She looked as though she
were about to say something else, but her mouth remained firmly shut
as she stalked out of the room.

---

Kira stormed into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards,
oblivious to the noise she made as she searched for a canister of
ginger tea.  At last she found it, hidden at the back of a high shelf. 
As she stood on her toes to reach as far as she could to grab the
canister, she accidentally knocked a stack of dishes onto the floor.

"Damn!"  she muttered as she bent down to gather the shards as they
lay scattered across the floor.  She was still so wrapped up in her
own anger and pain that she did not hear Regnold enter the kitchen,
nor was she aware of his first quiet attempts to catch her attention.

"Nerys!"  Kira jumped, dropping several pieces back to the floor.

She looked at Regnold sheepishly.  "I'm making a lot of noise,

"Come with me."  He turned on his heel and strode toward his office. 
Kira obediently followed.  "Close the door," he ordered when she
entered his office.  She did as he said and stood before his desk.

Regnold activated his communications monitor and swiveled it on its
stand so Kira could view the display.  Her hand went immediately to
her mouth, stifling the cry of outrage that issued from her throat,
and she sunk heavily into a seat.

The images scrolling past were of the capital city in ruins. Mutilated
bodies littered the streets.  Buildings burned.  Sirens wailed. Ground
transports lay scattered about.  The only signs of life evident were
of the Jem'Hadar looting and plundering.  Not even the Cardassians at
the height of the Occupation had wreaked such havoc.

When she finally found her voice, she asked, "When --?  How --?"

"The 'message' was here when I activated the terminal this morning. It
had been sent on a secured channel."

Kira immediately knew who had sent the images.  "Shakaar.  He probably
needs me to come in and help protect the Council of Ministers, or
coordinate an evacuation to Deep Space Nine."  She looked up at
Regnold.   "What will you do while I'm gone?"

"We still have the bunker stocked with supplies.  If necessary, we'll
go there."

"What about Dukat?  Do you feel safe with him here?"

"No, but as long as the Dominion doesn't find out he's here, we should
be out of harm's way.  I don't recommend you take him with you."

Kira shook her head in agreement.  "The Jem'Hadar will kill him on
sight.  He'll have to stay here until I can arrange safe transport for
him   off of Bajor.  And, if the Dominion comes here, you'll need his
help protecting yourselves."

"If he provides it."

"He will.  He always rewards those who help him."

She stood to leave, but Regnold stopped her with a hand on her wrist. 
"Be careful, Nerys.  Without the white to keep them under control,
those Jem'Hadar will kill anything that moves.  May the Prophets keep
you safe."

---


Kira was finalizing her arrangements to travel to the capital city
when there was a knock at her door.  "Come in," she said.  She looked
up to find Dukat standing next to her, a serious expression on his
face.  She sighed with exasperation.  "Save your speech, Dukat, I
don't have time for it."

"Major, I wasn't going to give you any speech.  I only wanted to ask
you to reconsider your decision to go into that war zone."

She grabbed a spare change of clothes from her closet and stuffed it
into her backpack.  "That 'war zone' is my capital city, and I have an
obligation to protect the few people still alive there."  She added a
few packets of field rations, a canteen and a portable light before
zipping the pack closed.

"You'll never make it past the Jem'Hadar," Dukat said, resting a hand
on her shoulder.  She shrugged him away, and his voice rose slightly
in response.  "They've probably already found and executed the Council
of Ministers as well as any vedeks that haven't fled for the
monasteries."

Furious and afraid, Kira turned on her heel to face Dukat.  "The
Jem'Hadar wouldn't even be there if it weren't for you."

She retrieved her phaser from its case on a closet shelf, but Dukat
took it from her, inspecting it as he spoke.  "Then take me with you.  
Let me help."

Kira's arms were a blur as she gesticulated while pacing back and
forth.  "Why don't I just wear a sign that says, 'Shoot me'?  You'll
never make it past the first sentry, and I'll be shot just for being
seen with you."  She stopped pacing when she saw Dukat remove the
power cell from her phaser and pocket it.  "What are you doing?"  she
asked, trying to take it from him.

He twisted away from her, holding the phaser just out of her reach.
"Your power cell is low;  it needs to be replaced."  He reached into
the drawer and pulled out a fresh cell, inserting it in the
compartment before he handed the weapon back to her.  He lifted his
eyes to her face and she returned his gaze;  this time she let his
hands remain on her shoulders as he stepped closer to her.  "Don't
leave me here with nothing to do, Kira. I can't sit by and watch Bajor
be destroyed without doing whatever I can to prevent it."

She sighed as her gaze dropped to the floor.  "I *need* you here,  to
help Regnold protect Jormal and the children.  Potr can show you where
they keep their weapons stored;  they'll need to be inspected and
charged. Make sure there are enough supplies in the bunker."  She
lifted her eyes to Dukat's face again and let her own hand rest
lightly against his chest. "Please...keep them safe...for me."

"Kira, I *belong* --"

"Just do it, Dukat."  Kira stepped back.  "These people are the
closest I have to a family.  If you want to fight with me, then fight
for me.  Help me by helping them."

Dukat closed his eyes and nodded slowly.  "All right, Major.
Just...one more thing before you leave."

"What is it, Dukat?"

He reached out a hand and gently stroked her cheek, then lifted her
chin to look deeply into her eyes.  The depth of the passion she saw
in his pale eyes reminded her of the joy his touch had brought her
just a few hours ago. If she were not still hurt and angered by their
earlier argument, she might have wrapped her arms around his ridged
torso and kissed him until they were both breathless.  But she did
not, and instead he said "Come back to me.  Preferably in one piece."

---


"Potr, have you ever fired a disrupter before?"  Dukat asked the boy
as he replaced the newly-charged power cell in the weapon he had just
inspected.

Potr lifted another disrupter rifle from the storage locker,
staggering under its weight, and handed it to Dukat.  "Yes, sir.  Aunt
Nerys taught me and Panat how to handle disrupters last time she was
here."

Dukat swore under his breath.  "You're just a child," he muttered.

Regnold responded from the other side of the room, "So was Nerys when
she joined the Resistance.  So was Ziyal when she was with you on that
freighter.  As a father, you should understand that we have to do
whatever is necessary to protect our children, even if it means
teaching them to protect themselves."

"I understand the importance of teaching self-defense to a child," 
Dukat retorted, "but is it necessary they learn how to fire a
disrupter?  A phaser will suffice under most circumstances.  No child
should have to experience the total vaporization of an enemy."

"No child should have to experience the invasion of his homeworld by
an alien species, and the Jem'Hadar are a far more formidable invasion
force than the Cardassians ever were."

Dukat's jaw muscles clenched, but he said nothing.  He was not about
to debate history or politics with Chivas Regnold, at least not in the
presence of the children.  He finished inspecting the remaining
weapons in silence, laying each one on the table in turn.  When he was
done, he slung the strap of one rifle over his head and balanced the
remaining rifles in his arms.  Potr followed Dukat's lead and
collected the few phasers that lay on the table, leaving one behind
for his father.   They then left the house and walked the several
meters to the bunker's entrance.

"Don't mind Father," Potr said as he trotted to keep pace with Dukat's
long-legged stride.  "He's always like that."

"Like what?  Concerned about your safety?  I should hope so."   At the
bunker door he shifted the rifles in his arms to free his hand so he
could knock.  Sounds of locks being opened manually filtered through
the reinforced material of the door.  "If I were in his shoes, I would
have done exactly the same thing, and I would have reacted just as he
did if anyone questioned my precaution.  I just don't like the idea of
you and your sister handling weapons as destructive as disrupters. 
Although, your father is right:  a typical phaser would be ineffective
against the Jem'Hadar, and if anything happens to him or me you need
to be able to protect your mother and siblings as best as you can." 
Dukat looked down at  the boy, whose serious expression belied his
youth.  He may not have suffered much during the waning years of the
Occupation, Dukat thought, but he has aged far beyond his years.

The door creaked open to reveal Jormal's worried face, and she
hurriedly waved Dukat and Potr inside.  "Where's your father?"  she
asked the boy.

"He's finishing up securing the house.  Where are the others?"

"Panat is putting them to bed, in the back room."  She pushed the door
shut behind them and secured several of the locks.  "Go put the
weapons on the table.  I just heard from the ground transport
station," she said to Dukat.  "There's a band of Jem'Hadar on their
way here."

Dukat handed one of the rifles to Jormal, observing that she handled
it as deftly as she did one of her children;  she obviously knew her
way around a disrupter.  "How long before they get here?"  he asked.

"According to the station manager, they were spotted about an hour ago
in a hijacked transport vehicle approximately seventy kilometers from
the provincial border.  With power out in most of Dahkur, they should
be here in less than an hour."

Dukat offered up a silent plea to the Prophets to keep Kira safe. 
"I'm sure the major made it safely to the capital city," he said,
hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt.  Kira was probably the
only person on the entire planet to have needed a transport vehicle
today.

The look Jormal gave him suggested she was shocked at his implication
that Kira might not have succeeded in her mission.  "Of course she
did.  Nerys can do anything she sets her mind to."

Dukat chuckled.  "You'll get no argument from me.  I just hope that 
she'll stay with the Council of Ministers once she finds them, and
doesn't try to --"

His words were cut off by a loud explosion just outside the bunker, 
quickly echoed by shouts and cries coming from the occupants within.
Instinctively, Dukat threw his arms over Jormal, shielding her from
the debris that rained down on them from the ceiling, and pulled her
under the table.  Behind him he heard Potr's frantic shout, "What
happened?"

"I don't know yet!"  he yelled.  "Get back there with the others! Turn
the cots over on their sides and hide yourselves between them and the
walls of the bunker."

When Potr did not immediately reply, Dukat turned to glare at him  as
he stood, frozen with fear, in the doorway.  He felt a momentary pang
as he remembered the boy's youth and innocence, but he needed Potr's
help;  he could not protect all of the children alone.  He crept over
to the boy and  grabbed his arm roughly, shaking Potr out of his
frightened reverie.   "Potr - you need to take care of your brothers
and sisters,"  Dukat said.   "Your father...may already be dead.  You
have to be the man of the house now."

Jormal appeared beside him and wrapped her arms around her son.  "Come
on, Potr," she said gently.  "I'll stay with you until your father
gets here."  She turned and gave Dukat a baleful stare.  "He *will*
get here."

Dukat nodded and patted Potr on the shoulder to reassure him. "You'll
be all right," he said.  "Your mother and I will protect you."   He
closed the inner door behind Jormal and Potr and barricaded it with a
heavy chest, smiling in grim satisfaction when he heard the tell-tale
sounds of a similar action being taken on the other side.  He then set
about shifting the rest of the furniture - a table, several chairs,
and another chest - and numerous boxes and crates around the room, to
give him places to hide and keep an eye on the door should the
Jem'Hadar attempt to enter.  He wanted to look outside and see if
anything remained of the house, but there were no windows in the
bunker, and he did not dare open the door.

He wedged himself behind a stack of crates with one disrupter held at
the ready and another on the floor beside him and waited.  He did not
have to wait long.  Another explosion shook the bunker.  The emergency
lights dimmed, bathing the room in an eerie blue glow, and two support
beams came crashing to the floor - one of them less than a meter from
Dukat's head.  He could hear the muffled sounds of Jem'Hadar troops
searching the area around the bunker, probably looking for the well-
hidden entrance, and another, lesser, explosion.

Then from the relative safety of his position he heard shouts - not
from the children, but from *outside* the bunker, and not from the
Jem'Hadar either.  His hearing was too poor to be certain, but he
thought  at least one of the voices sounded...human.

In fact, it sounded like Captain Sisko.

There was a barrage of weapons fire, and he knew for sure that whoever
had engaged the Jem'Hadar was using Federation ordnance.  Then he
heard several more shouts, another round of weapons being fired, and
then silence.

Someone banged on the door and shouted, "Kira!  It's safe!   You can
come out now!"

That, Dukat thought, sounded like Odo.

He rose to his feet and walked to the door, keeping his rifle ready
just in case.  It took him several minutes to disengage the locks,
even though Jormal had only been able to engage half of them before
the attack.   At last he got the door open, and found himself looking
into the puzzled and astonished faces of Captain Sisko, Commanders Dax
and Worf, and Odo.

---

Kira had little difficulty finding space on a transport to the edge of
the capital city's home province, but she almost had to empty her
pockets and draw her weapon to convince the operator to take her that
far. No one was going into the city now that the Jem'Hadar had made
good on their threat to invade Bajor, and even the transports leaving
the city held only those stalwart few who had refused to evacuate
until the last minute. No amount of currency or threats would persuade
the transport operator to take her beyond the provincial border,
however, and Kira was forced to finish her journey on foot.  It was
nearly dusk when she finally arrived at the outskirts of the capital
city, and she was tired, filthy and hungry.

The streets were dark and deserted, although the distant sounds of
weapons discharges and rampaging Jem'Hadar echoed hollowly through the
still night air.  It was eerie to see the city so empty;  when the
Cardassians had invaded Bajor, the people were ignorant of the threat
until it was too late, and the Cardassians were too efficient and
organized to destroy everything in sight.  They were interested in
exploiting Bajor, not demolishing it;  that very fact had played a
significant role in Bajor's recovery after the withdrawal.

Kira's senses were on full alert as she crept through the shadows, her
fully-charged phaser nestled comfortably in her hand.  One of the
first lessons she had learned in the Shakaar was that physical
exhaustion dulled the mind but sharpened the senses, and her
autonomous nervous system instinctively catalogued the various sensory
stimuli that filtered into her brain, saving the information for when
it might be needed.

She heard a crunch of heavy boots on broken glass and ducked into an
alley, the muzzle of her weapon held beside her nose as her watchful
eyes waited for the danger to pass.  Fortunately for her, the
Jem'Hadar have no sense of smell, or else the three white-deficient
soldiers that stumbled past less than two meters from her hiding place
would have detected her aroma of fear.  Once their inarticulate voices
were beyond her range of hearing, she peered out of the alley and
resumed her course.

One of Shakaar's first actions as First Minister had been to establish
an underground bunker for the Council to retreat to should the
Cardassians attempt to invade Bajor again.  Kira, with Sisko's
blessing and the use of Deep Space Nine's engineering staff, had
helped him design and equip the six-room complex to keep the Council
alive and safe for at least three years.  Neither Kira nor Shakaar had
thought at the time that the bunker would first be used during an
undisciplined Dominion attack on the capital city.

On her last visit to the city, nevertheless, she had escorted several
ministers and a few of Kai Winn's loyal vedeks to the bunker during
the night.  Shakaar had insisted that he remain above ground as long
as possible, to assist Bajorans evacuating the city and to maintain a
communications link with Deep Space Nine.  Once Shakaar retreated to
the bunker, she knew, the Council would be unable to communicate with
the station;  the forcefield enhancers Chief O'Brien had installed
around the complex would shield the complex's inhabitants from all
outside interference.  Once the danger had passed, Shakaar, working
from the inside, and someone on the outside with the necessary command
codes, would be able to bring down the field.  Kira, Sisko and a vedek
whose identity was known only to Shakaar were the only people outside
the bunker who knew the codes.

Kira made her way cautiously to the above-ground entrance to the
bunker, taking care to follow an indirect route in the event she was
being followed.  It was probably an unnecessary precaution, as the
Jem'Hadar who had landed on Bajor were attacking at random, without
their usual systematic methods, but she had been a Resistance fighter
far too long to set aside her own habits.  She stole down several side
streets, trying not to look upon the ruined husks of buildings,
vehicles and bodies that surrounded her, backtracking several times
and skirting any groups of Jem'Hadar she saw or heard careening
through the streets.

She reached an intersection and pressed her back against a high wall,
collecting her thoughts and judging the remaining distance to the
bunker.  For just a moment her guard slipped as her thoughts turned to
the Chivas estate and its inhabitants, and particularly their
Cardassian guest. Would she come to regret trusting him?  Would he
help protect them if the Jem'Hadar attacked, as she had promised
Regnold, or would his own safety be his only concern?  She shook her
head to clear her mind of such distracting thoughts.  This was not the
time to be worrying about Dukat.  One false move, and she would be
another Dominion casualty.

Unfortunately, she was too late.

A hand slipped forth from the shadows surrounding her and clapped over
her mouth, pulling her backward into the abyss.  Kira tried to scream,
but the hand's owner apparently possessed greater brute strength than
she could overcome, and who would come to her rescue if she could
scream? Instead she fought to throw off her attacker, but a second arm
quickly disarmed her and twisted her hands behind her back.  She
kicked back with one leg, seeking an instep, but her assailant was
light on his feet and dodged her attempt, throwing her off-balance. 
In a final desperate attempt to break free she bit down on his hand as
hard as she could, taking vicious pleasure in the grunt of pain that
came from her attacker.

"Kira!  Stop!"  a familiar voice whispered.

Kira blinked her eyes rapidly to clear her battle-fogged vision. The
voice had come from her left, not behind her, and she turned in that
direction.  From beneath the brown cowl of a vedek's robe Dax' bright
eyes looked back at her.  Kira's eyes widened in confusion as the
strong hands that held her fast loosened their grip.  She turned to
face the pained scowl of Commander Worf, similarly disguised and now
clenching his fist to stem the trickle of blood from his wounded
finger.  Emerging from the shadows behind him were Odo and Captain
Sisko, both of them glowering at her from beneath their hoods.  Kira
gaped in surprise, but she had enough common sense remaining to keep
her voice lowered.

"What are you doing here?  How did you find me?"

"Shakaar sent us a distress call just as the Jem'Hadar landed on
Bajor, and we were able to use the Defiant to evacuate the Council to
the station," Dax said.  "Then we went looking for you."

Kira's mind raced furiously.  "How did you know I'd be here?"

A fifth robed figure, which she had not seen before, stepped into her
range of vision, and the hood was pulled back to reveal Dukat's craggy
gray features.  "They came to the estate looking for you, but they
found me instead," he said with a trace of sly humor.  "I was the one
who told them where you'd gone."

Kira swallowed and looked nervously at Sisko.  She knew that look on
his face.  There would be hell to pay once she got back to the
station, but first she had to be sure of one thing.  "How are --?"

Dukat anticipated her question.  "They're safe, Major, although the
house has been destroyed.  I was able to get them into the bunker
before the Jem'Hadar arrived.  Regnold was wounded in the leg, but he
will recover.  Thanks to my effort and quick thinking, none of the
children were harmed."

Sisko interrupted him.  "We can discuss this back on the station. For
now, we need to get out of here before any of those soldiers find us."  
He took Kira by the elbow and half-led, half-dragged her away.

---


Dukat did not think he had ever seen Captain Sisko so angry in all the
years he had known him - and he had certainly seen many facets to the
complex human.  If fury like that could be harnessed, he thought,
there would be enough energy to supply Terok Nor's power needs for a
full month. Sisko stood behind his desk - *their* desk - and banged
his fist on it so hard he sent his prized baseball flying from its
perch.  It bounced off the desk and rolled across the office floor
until it came to a stop between Odo's feet as he stood in a corner
just to Dukat's right.  The shapeshifter ignored the object, choosing
instead to bestow his disapproving glare on Kira, Dukat and Doctor
Bashir.

"Dammit, Major, what the *hell* did you think you were doing?" Sisko
thundered.  "And *you*, Doctor, you are a Starfleet officer with
enough sense to know not to harbor a known enemy of the Federation in
the middle of a war!"

Dukat was amused that Bashir at least had enough common sense left not
to try to respond to Sisko, but that Kira did not.  Her replies were
quickly and thoroughly quelled.

"QUIET!"

Sisko came around to the front of his desk to stand nose-to- nose with
Kira.  To her credit, she did not flinch, nor did she look away in
shame.  Her courage and defiance never failed to amaze Dukat.

When he spoke again, Sisko's voice was back to its normal register,
but the anger remained.  "Major, I am deeply disappointed in you.  Not
only did you disobey my orders, but you lied to me, put the lives of
everyone on this station and on Bajor at great risk, convinced Doctor
Bashir to go along with your scheme, and left the potential fate of
the entire Alpha Quadrant in your own hands.  I have half a mind to
send you to Earth to stand trial for the same charges as Dukat.  Then
you'll really get to spend time getting to know each other."

Dukat recognized the set in Kira's jaw and began to grow concerned
that Sisko was taking this too far.  He thought the captain knew him
well enough to trust him not to go back on his word - and the
information he had provided Starfleet while still on Starbase 375 had,
after all, enabled them to retake the station - but it was becoming
increasingly apparent that Sisko intended to exact a harsh penalty for
Kira's betrayal, no matter how well-meaning her actions might have
been.  He did not want to risk the repercussions Kira's resentment and
anger would have on his relationship with her, whatever that
relationship might be.

"Captain Sisko," Dukat said, "I wonder if I might have a word with you
in private?"

Sisko's eyes never left Kira's face as he responded, "You'll get your
chance to defend yourself, Dukat."  He stepped away from Kira, walked
behind his desk and sat down.  Odo went to stand behind him.  "Doctor
Bashir, I'm placing you on report for one year.  Another incident like
this, and you'll be demoted to ensign.  Understood?"  Bashir nodded.
"Dismissed."  Sisko then turned his attention back to Kira.  "Major, I
am filing a complete report of your actions with the Council of
Ministers. What they decide to do about it is their concern.  In the
meantime, you are confined to quarters except when on duty, and you
are *not* to have *any* contact with Gul Dukat before he leaves Deep
Space Nine.  Have I made myself clear?"

Kira opened her mouth, about to retort, but Dukat watched in amazement
as she reined in her fury and nodded meekly.  "Yes, Captain."

"Good.  Dismissed."

Dukat turned to watch Kira go, giving her a little smile as she
glanced briefly at him, then admiring her figure before the doors to
Sisko's office closed between them.  When he turned back to face
Sisko, he could not help but notice the hurt look that flashed across
Odo's face, only to be replaced with his usual stoic scowl.  You had
your chance, shapeshifter, but you chose to waste it on that Founder,
Dukat thought.

"So, Captain, here we are again," Dukat said nonchalantly.

Sisko ignored him as he addressed Odo.  "Constable, show Dukat the
transmission we intercepted two nights ago."

Sisko's cryptic response intrigued Dukat, and he watched with rapt
fascination as Odo activated the vidscreen beside the desk.  As the
fuzzy images came into focus however, Dukat's easy humor was quickly
replaced with horror.

The scenes were of Cardassia Prime in chaos - on the brink of civil
war even.  Dukat knew with absolute certainty that they were a
deliberate message, not an accidentally intercepted transmission, and
who the messenger was.  He knew because, interspersed with scenes of
rioting, looting, and general mayhem, the most prominent image was of
Damar and Mekor hanging from a scaffold in the center of the Imperial
Plaza.   His former adjutant and his own son, executed.  Whether they
died at the hands of the angry mob that surrounded the scaffold or of
Jem'Hadar acting on the orders of a superior, Dukat knew without
question who had arranged to send this message to the station.

Weyoun.

Dukat's blood was boiling, and it took far more strength than he knew
he possessed to keep from exploding in uncontrollable fury.  He had
his fists clenched so tightly blood streamed from his palms, but he
was unaware of any pain.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he jumped in surprise, nearly
lashing out with his fists.  Sisko took a step back, raising his hands
in supplication.  "I didn't mean to startle you," he said gently.  "I
--"  he glanced at Odo, who nodded in reply "-- Starfleet doesn't know
you're back in our custody, and they're not going to find out. 
Against my better judgment, I'm setting you free."

Dukat turned on his heel to confront Sisko.  "Setting me free?   To do
what?  To go where?"

Sisko straightened his shoulders.  "I know that you care more about
Cardassia than anything else, and that you will do whatever you can to
save her.  I'll never forgive you for the treaty you signed with the
Dominion, but I am giving you another chance.  Go home, to Cardassia. 
Help your people fight off the Dominion.  Right now, without the hope
of any new troops coming through that wormhole, the Dominion has its
hands full trying to hold power on Cardassia.  If you go back there
and lead a full- fledged rebellion --"

"I'll be dead in less than a week --"

"-- I'll see to it that you get supplies and...information...to help
you eliminate the Dominion presence."

"And Cardassia."

Sisko sighed, and Odo said, "You should have thought of that *before*
you welcomed the Dominion with open arms."

"I've discussed the matter with Garak and Quark," Sisko said, "and
they've agreed to help you - provided that you use the supplies and
information they provide to overthrow the Dominion.  If you use it for
your own ambition...."

"Why, Captain?  What do you hope to gain from...helping Cardassia -
helping *me* - like this?"

"I want the Dominion out of the Alpha Quadrant for good.  As long as
they maintain a presence here, they're still a threat."

Dukat's eyes narrowed.  "Why do you need my help?  Why not
just...invade Cardassia?"

A fleeting smile crossed Sisko's face.  "Because someday, I hope,
Cardassia will join the Federation of its own accord, and not as
a...territory...of Bajor.  An unstable Cardassia will be an invitation
to anyone who wants a foothold in the Alpha Quadrant - the Dominion,
the Borg, perhaps even a world we've never even encountered.  A strong
Cardassia, on the other hand, will benefit your people, as well as
mine, as well as the Bajorans.  Give Cardassia the chance she
deserves.  Take back your world for your people.  Don't make the same
mistake twice:  do it for Cardassia, not yourself."  He took a step
toward Dukat.  "Do it for Ziyal."

Dukat threw back his head, about to laugh, but nothing came out. Then
he looked back at Sisko and said, "You know, Captain, you'd make a
very good dictator."  He turned to leave the office, but the doors did
not open for him, and he twisted around in irritation.  "Am I
dismissed, Captain?  I do have a revolution to plan, you know. 
Mercenaries to hire, arms merchants to swindle, strategies to plan..." 
His eyes widened in understanding as Odo approached him.  "Ah, I see. 
You still don't trust me when I'm on this station."

"Dukat, I would be a fool to trust you anywhere within Federation or
Bajoran territory.  Odo will escort you to your quarters, where you
are to remain until you're ready to leave.  I'll send Quark your way
in a few hours."

Dukat bowed slightly.  "Very good, Captain.  And thank you...I think."

---

Dukat and Odo strode through the corridors of Terok Nor - Deep Space
Nine, Dukat reminded himself - in silence.  Dukat was mentally
tabulating a list of items he would need to purchase through Quark,
and trying to determine what he had to offer in exchange.  Then he
happened to glance sideways at Odo, and something occurred to him with
startling clarity.

"He doesn't know, does he?"  Dukat asked.

Odo stopped.  "Who doesn't know what?"  Something in his tone told
Dukat all he needed to know.

"Captain Sisko.  He doesn't know about you and that Founder.   Quark
wouldn't have told him unless he could make a profit from it, and
Major Kira has been...otherwise occupied.  That's why he still trusts
you;  he doesn't know about your little...*affair*."

Odo's eyes shifted back and forth.  Dukat was enjoying his discomfort
immensely.  "There's no reason why he should need to know. Starfleet
was able to retake Deep Space Nine, with or without my help."

"Ah, yes, but your change of heart did endanger his own son.
And...what Kira and Doctor Bashir did on my behalf had no effect on
Starfleet's success in retaking this station."  He resumed walking,
and smiled to himself when he heard Odo's steady pace behind him.

"Just what are you getting at, Dukat?"

"Imagine how...*disappointed*...Captain Sisko would be if he learned
his trusted security chief possessed such wavering loyalty."

Odo was quiet for a moment, then said "Go on."

Dukat stopped and turned on his heel to face Odo.  "Major Kira.  I
want to see her before I leave.  *Alone*."

"What if she doesn't want to see you?"

 Dukat smiled and leaned close as he whispered conspiratorially, "She
will.  I'm sure of it."  He could have sworn the shapeshifter wilted a
little as the insinuation hit home.

---

Kira was glad to be back on the station, surrounded by people she
considered friends - and not the Cardassians and Jem'Hadar that had
occupied Deep Space Nine for the past four months - but something in
her had changed in the interim, and she was unable to make herself
relax even in the privacy of her own quarters.  She could not sit
still for more than a few minutes at a time, and had in fact spent the
last hour pacing from one end of her quarters to the other.  When she
was not pacing, she occupied her off-duty time by staring listlessly
out the window, her thoughts turning often toward Bajor and the
continued threat posed by the now-weakening Jem'Hadar blockade.  When
she was on duty, she found her duties as the station's First Officer
tedious and aggravating, her uniform ill-fitting, her co-workers too
slow to respond to her commands, and the Starfleet officers too given
to idle chatter while on duty.  And her nose itched.  She thought she
was going to lose her mind, waiting for the Council of Ministers to
determine her fate.

Her door chimed, and Kira automatically acknowledged the summons.
"Come in."

Dax stepped cautiously over the door frame.  "Have I come at a bad
time?"  she asked politely.

Kira gave her a rather unenthusiastic smile.  "No, not at all, please
come in."  Dax walked over to the sofa and sat down, but Kira turned
her attention back to the window.

After several minutes of silence, Dax said, "It must have been quite a
challenge for you, to spend so much time on Bajor alone with Gul
Dukat."

Kira sighed heavily as she turned around.  "Jadzia, I'd really rather
not talk about Bajor, or Dukat, right now."

"I didn't realize there was anything to talk about."

"What do you mean?  What are you talking about?"

Dax rose and went to stand beside Kira.  "It's just that you have been
on edge ever since you returned to the station.  You didn't say a
single word to Dukat on the trip here, and in fact you made such an
obvious effort to avoid even looking at him that no one could miss
what you were doing.  And as for Odo - you haven't said a kind word to
him all day. Something must have happened between you and Dukat when
you were on Bajor."

Kira stiffened.  "Nothing happened.  He had been injured, and I helped
take care of him.  That's all."

"Sometimes that's all it has to be."

"Are you suggesting that Dukat and I - that we - that there was some
sort of *relationship* between us on Bajor?"

"You and Dukat have always had a rather unusual bond between you that
went beyond your mutual love for Ziyal."  Kira rolled her eyes and
snorted, but Dax pressed on.  "Did you develop a relationship with
him?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Kira huffed.

Dax withdrew.  "If you insist.  But I think you should at least go and
talk to Dukat before he leaves Deep Space Nine."

"Leaves?  He's still here?  I thought he had already been sent to
Earth."

Dax shook her head.  "Ben decided to let Dukat go, on the condition
that he return to Cardassia and work to overthrow the Dominion.  He's
scheduled to leave tomorrow."

Kira's shoulders sagged as she turned back to the window.  "I couldn't
go see him even if I wanted to.  Captain Sisko has me confined to
quarters except when I'm on duty, and he expressly forbade me to have
any contact with Dukat."

Dax smiled gently as she walked towards the door.  "You'll think of
something, Nerys.  You always have."  Before she had a chance to
leave, the door slid open to reveal Odo.  "Constable," she said, then
turned back to Kira.  "We can talk more about this later."

Odo waited for the doors to close behind him.  "What did she want?"

Kira shrugged.  "She was just keeping me company.  What can I do for
you, Constable?"

Odo looked down at the floor.  "I'm here to escort you to
meet...someone.  I can't give you the details right now, Major, you'll
just have to trust me," he added gruffly when she looked at him with
puzzlement.

"What about Sisko's orders?"

"You let me worry about that."

Kira gave Odo a strange look, but obediently followed him into the
corridor.

---

Odo led Kira deep into the innermost corridors of the habitat ring, to
the area of the station where they usually housed guests requiring
extra security.  At last he stopped before a door guarded by two of
his security officers and keyed in the security override command.  The
door opened and Kira followed Odo inside.  At first, his bulk blocked
her view of who they had come to see.  Then he stepped aside and her
eyes fell on Quark, Garak...and Dukat, looking as imposing as usual in
a new uniform.  Kira was so confused she did not know who to turn to
first.

Quark was the only one to respond to her intrusion, by sidling up to
her and leering at her.  "Major, so good to see you back on the
station," he purred.  "I hope that you'll make use of my holosuites
once Captain Sisko lifts your restriction."

Kira nodded in reply, but she was too busy looking back and forth
between Garak and Dukat, bent over a star chart, their heads almost
touching as they discussed various systems, to answer Quark.  "What
are *you* doing here, Garak?"  she asked once she had found her voice.

Garak and Dukat were apparently unaware of her presence, because their
heads shot up and both looked at her with startled eyes.  Garak said,
"Major.  I might ask the same of you.  I, on the other hand, am
helping Dukat plan his little rebellion."  Kira glanced at Dukat, who
was studying her intently, his expression inscrutable.  "War does make
for strange bedfellows, wouldn't you agree, Major?"  She sensed Odo
stiffen beside her, but ignored its implication.  "The Obsidian Order
may have been abolished, but I still have several contacts in
Cardassia who would be useful to this venture.  Dukat knows that, and
he would be a fool not to make use of them."

Garak, Dukat and Quark returned their attention to the star chart as
Kira turned to Odo in confusion.  "I don't understand," she said. 
"Why did you bring me here?"

I owed someone a favor," he said, looking over her shoulder.  "Be
careful, Nerys.  Don't do anything you might regret later.  Contact me
when you're ready to return to your quarters."  He did not give her a
chance to answer as he turned his back on her and left.

Behind her, Kira heard the sounds of equipment being shut down and put
away as the three conspirators concluded their discussion.  Garak
brushed past her as he left, then Quark tapped her on the shoulder. 
"Here, Major," he said, handing her a holosuite program cylinder.  "On
the house, to use when you have the chance."

Then he was gone, and Kira was alone with Dukat.

Dukat's eyes were shining as he walked over to Kira and took both her
hands in his.  "Please, Major, sit down," he said.  Kira was too numb
to resist and she obediently sank down on the sofa beside him.  "Kira,
are you unwell?  You look pale."

She shook herself out of her reverie, pulling her hands free of his
and folding them in her lap.  "Dukat, what is the meaning of
all...this?" she asked, sweeping her arm toward the piles of equipment
that lay scattered about the room.

"*This* is the ticket to Cardassia's freedom...and, perhaps, my
redemption," he said, trying and failing to reclaim Kira's hands.

She jumped to her feet to put some distance between them.   "Don't be
a fool.  This is your suicide you're planning, not some half-baked
rebellion against the Dominion.  You know nothing about organizing a
rebellion;  if you did, then you'd know you *can't* organize one!"

Dukat nodded, a slow grin spreading across his face as he sprawled
back against the sofa.  "You're right as always, Major;  I *don't*
know anything about organizing a rebellion, about working with the
underground to overthrow an occupying force, about thinking on my
feet.  You, on the other hand, do."

Kira crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.   "Don't even
think about it, Dukat.  We've had this discussion before."

"This isn't like it was two years ago, Kira.  I'm not asking you to
join me in my own 'private little war' with the Dominion," he said,
rising to stand before her.  "This is a completely different
situation.  Cardassia is now in much the same position Bajor was sixty
years ago - you of all people should see the similarities.  And I know
you don't want Cardassia to suffer the same miseries Bajor did, no
matter how much you may claim to still hate Cardassia...or me."

Kira glanced at him briefly, then her eyes darted away.  "I don't hate
you," she whispered, turning away from him.  "I hate what you did to
Bajor - I may even hate that part of you that imprisoned and murdered
my people - but I don't hate *you*."

Dukat grasped Kira's arms and turned her around to face him.   "Then
help me, Nerys, *please*," he pleaded.  "Help Cardassia.  For Ziyal's
sake, if not for mine."  He forced her to look at him, searching her
face for any sign of acquiescence.  She knew he would be disappointed,
but not surprised, by her answer.

"I - I can't," she finally said.  "I can't live that kind of life
again.  I can't leave behind this station, and Bajor, to fight a fight
that isn't mine."  She rested her palms against Dukat's armored chest,
and he took a deep breath.  "Overthrowing the Dominion is *your*
responsibility, Dukat.  I'll do what I can to get tactical information
to you through Garak, but I can't bring myself to join you in a fight
that is sure to be doomed from the start."

Dukat inclined his head.  "Ah.  So you say you don't hate me, but
you're more than willing to send me off to my certain death."

Her temper flared.  "That's not fair!"  she cried, thumping a clenched
fist against his chest.  "I don't *want* you to go - but I know you
have to, and we both know you can't stay he --"

Any further protests were silenced by his lips against hers.

At first, she tried to resist, and squirmed in vain against the
confines of his tightening embrace.  But despite her anger, despite
her pain, despite her fear, she needed this - she needed *him*.  How
had she managed to resist him for so many years?

When he broke away from her to regain his breath, she realized, much
to her astonishment, that she was fumbling with the buckles holding
his armor together.  He removed his arms from around her waist and
assisted her, years of practice - and present urgency - giving speed
to his movements.  Soon his armor fell to the floor and he reclaimed
Kira, pressing her against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck
and returned his kiss with passion and fervor, oblivious to the tears
that streamed down her face.  She would regret this in a few hours,
she knew, but for the moment she was going to make the most of what
would certainly be the last time she could feel his arms around her,
his scaled skin rubbing against hers, his cool breath filling her
lungs.

---


Dukat draped his arm over Kira's waist, leaning in to her so his chest
rubbed against her back, and nuzzled the nape of her neck.  She had
been asleep, but the contact interrupted the rhythmic pattern of her
breathing and she sighed and stretched against him before reaching one
arm back to caress his thigh.  He groaned in response and nipped at
her ear as his fingers traced idly up her abdomen to her breasts. 
When she rolled on to her back to look up at him with sleepy delight,
he bent his neck to kiss her, his hand now sliding back down her waist
to stroke her hip as hers caressed his dorsal ridge.

He growled in frustration when she pulled away from him, and was
tempted to push her back down on the bed to finish what they started,
but he reluctantly restrained himself.  "Is something wrong, Kira?" 
he asked.

She pulled herself to a sitting position against the pillows and
wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her chin on top.  "No,
nothing's wrong.  At least, nothing that either of us can fix."  Dukat
sighed and rested his hand across her foot.  "I should be going soon. 
Odo's probably about to explode, and if Captain Sisko finds out about
this --"

"Your secret's safe with me," Dukat joked.  He sat on the edge of the
bed and began pulling his bodysuit back on.  "I need to get back to
work myself.  Garak and I still have a few last-minute details to go
over before I leave."  At the sound of Kira's chuckle, he turned. 
"What's so funny?"

She shook her head.  "I just never thought I'd live to see the day
when you and Garak would cooperate with each other."

His laugh echoed hers.  "Neither did I, but this doesn't exactly mean
that we've become *friends*.  We just happen to have one very
important thing in common, and right now, that's all that counts."

"Cardassia?"

"Exactly.  And Garak is as eager to take revenge for Ziyal's death as
I am."  He felt Kira's breath against the back of his neck, and bent
his head to expose more of his scales to her.  Instead, she wrapped
her arms around him and rested her cheek against his neck ridge as he
entwined his hands with hers.

"Don't go into this thinking only of revenge," she said softly.
"Revenge is all about hate, and hate clouds your judgment.  If you
start this war thinking of Ziyal, then do it because you loved her and
she loved you."

Dukat turned his head so he could see Kira.  "And what about you,
Nerys?  How shall I think of you when I go into battle?"  He knew what
he wanted to hear her say;  he wondered if she had yet found the
courage to say it.  He watched her eyes flutter closed and felt her
take a deep, ragged breath as she leaned against him, but she said
nothing.  He should have suspected as much, and released her hands so
he could bend down to put on his boots.

When her answer came, although it was not exactly what he had been
hoping to hear, it shook him more profoundly than he would have
imagined possible.  "Remember me," she whispered, "as the woman who
tried to fill the void left when you lost Naprem and Bajor."  He
gulped with astonishment.  "Remember me as a lover and as a...home. 
Remember me as someone who loved Ziyal as much as you did."

Dukat thought he wanted to hear Kira say that she loved him;  what she
did say meant so much more, and all he could do for several moments
was to stare at her in shock and incredulity - and, perhaps,
adoration.

When he at last recovered his wits, he bent down and said, "Kira, I
could never, *ever*, forget you, or what you did for me.  Thank you." 
He kissed her gently, exulting one last time in the feel of her soft
lips against his own, then straightened to his full height, gave her a
brief nod, and left. He was aware of her departure several minutes
later as he and Garak finalized the plans for his mission, but he
forced himself to remain focused and did not look up to see her go.

---

Kira watched through one of the large windows lining the Promenade as
Dukat's ship - a Jem'Hadar battle cruiser 'acquired' from an Orionese
black marketeer at a rigged Dabo table - departed the station.  Just
as it went into warp, her commbadge beeped.

"Sisko to Major Kira."

She tapped it to reply.  "Kira here."

"May I see you in my office please?"

"I'll be right there, Captain.  Kira out."

As Kira strode through the Promenade to the turbolift that would take
her to Ops, her hand strayed up to rub at the ridges across her nose.
Her head had felt clogged all day, and now whatever it was that had
dulled her wits seemed to be gathering strength in a spot just above
the bridge of her nose, right between her eyes.  She would go see
Doctor Bashir when the captain was finished with her, she thought as
she entered the turbolift.

Would she ever see Dukat again?  She was no longer sure what to hope
for, so much had changed between them in the past few weeks.   Would
there come a time when she and Dukat could resume what they had
started on Bajor - and if so, did she want to?  If Dukat succeeded in
overthrowing the Dominion, what would that mean for Bajor?  For her? 
Was there some way she could get news of his progress without arousing
suspicion?  Garak would surely keep her apprised of events in
Cardassia, if she asked - but at what price?

Had her dance been in vain?

Kira took a deep breath and stepped off the turbolift as it arrived at
Ops and walked directly to Sisko's office.  It felt good to be
thinking of it as *Sisko's* office again, just as it felt good to see
Bajoran and Starfleet engineers manning the various Ops stations.

Her head was so congested she could barely see beyond the milky haze
before her eyes, and she stopped a moment to try to clear her head.
The wave passed, and she signaled her arrival to Sisko.

"Come in," he said.

She stood before his desk, hands clasped behind her back.   "You
wished to see me, Captain?"

"Yes, Major.  Thank you for coming so promptly.  "I've heard from
First Minister Shakaar regarding your actions concerning Gul Dukat."

"And what did he have to say?  Has the Council decided my punishment?"

Sisko leaned back in his chair, rolling his baseball around in his
hands.  "No.  He decided that it was not necessary to put the matter
before the Council, and as long as the Jem'Hadar continue to conduct
raids on Bajor, we can't afford an administrative shakeup.  After a
lengthy discussion, the First Minister and I agreed that no further
action should be taken against you at this time."

Kira was overjoyed, but restrained herself.  If she knew Sisko, there
was a "but" on the horizon.

"However, Major," he continued, rising to his feet, "you will remain
on report for one year, like Doctor Bashir.  And, like Doctor Bashir,
if there is another incident like this --"

"-- I'll be sent back to Bajor for good."

"Exactly."

The throbbing had started again, and Kira closed her eyes and pressed
her fingers against the spot, praying to the Prophets to take it away. 
She heard Sisko come around his desk and felt his hand against her
shoulder.  "Major, are you all right?"

She shook her head slightly, afraid it might explode.  "I'm fine. It's
just a - a --"  The pressure had increased to an unbearable level, and
something had to give. With a deep intake of breath and a mighty,
shuddering heave, she expelled the irritant through her nose and mouth
with violent force, splattering moisture on her hands as she
reflexively cupped them over her face.

When she recovered enough to open her eyes, Sisko was staring at her
with a mixture of concern, curiosity and amusement.  "Gesundheit,
Major," he said.

---

The End