The BLTS Archive - The Light My Candle Trilogy Story #1: Glimmer by KyRoka (kyroka@aol.com) --- A strong comforting hand gripped his shoulder, but he remained stoic staring out at space from Upper Pylon 2. The black space seemed to beckon him -- as he had always thought her dark eyes had. "I never got the chance to tell her how . . ." He stopped, knowing she already understood, and indeed she did, by his rigid stance, the haunted vacancy in his eyes, the added roughness to his voice. Both knew he would not -- could not cry, but it only eliminated one means of grief. There were plenty. "I didn't get a chance to say good-bye." "It would have been harder," the figure said, moving to lean against the sill of the portal, the dim light showcasing her spots, starkly grim, "To *let* her leave *would* have been harder." "Harder than having her ripped from my hands?" The memory surfaced again. How they had been on a routine run to Bajor. He had accompanied her per her request and had learned to rue the entire trip. They had attacked unseen, two Jem'Hadar warships barreling in on them from Prophets-only- knew where. The Jem'Hadar had erected a quantum stasis field using the runabout's own shielding matrix. Then they had ripped her from his grasp as he tried to help her, tried to save her, even as she herself struggled. The next thing he knew, a bolt of energy slammed him to the floor and he knew only blackness, edged with her screaming his name. "If only I'd held on a little tighter, if only I had been stronger . . ." "You still would have lost her," Jadzia stated plainly, hoping to scare away the madness quickly forming in his mind. "It may not seem like it now, Odo, but, hard as it is to accept, the Prophets were calling her." *Just as she calls me at night.* He had told no one of the dreams. They were the only thing that mattered and they could not be shared, could not be risked. They had started almost immediately, waking him in the Infirmary, the image fresh in his mind, his name fresh on her lips . . . the blackness all too consuming, all too comforting. It had been evident right away that they had not been able to save her from the moment he had awoken in the Infirmary, and by the time the funeral had come around, he had retreated into the blackness every chance he got. It had been the first time had had seen her since . . . She had been lying there, pristine in her statuesque state, hair softly framing her face. He had wanted nothing more than to touch her face, but a stasis field had stopped him. "We're still trying to determine the exact cause of death, Constable. Everyone decided it would be best to have the funeral as soon as possible though, to start the mourning." He had acknowledged Bashir with a resigned air, knowing she was gone. Since then he had done nothing, taking a leave of absence and wandering the station. His Bajoran uniform had been replaced almost subconsciously by a black jumpsuit, and he learned quickly to ignore the whispers directed at him. But the dreams still came as he regenerated. With no form to hold, nothing to concentrate on, the memories took over and the nightmares came. "I know, Jadzia, but it doesn't help anything. She's still dead." He turned away from an opening wormhole in disgust, both at himself and the universe, walking off before Jadzia could say another word. --- He walked into the Infirmary, his second home these days. Bashir entered a few comments into a log before turning to address him. "I was just about to contact you, Constable. I've determined the cause of death -- if you want to know." "It's not a matter of *want*, Doctor. I *need* to know, to put at least one of these demons to rest." There were too many ways she could have died and each night brought one more horrific, more terrifying. His years in security had done nothing if not opened his eyes to the numerous ways of killing someone. "Apparently," Bashir started, taking a deep breath before slipping into a professional isolation, "the first thing they did was stimulate her brain. She relived every memory she had, virtually every moment of her life." He paused, but when there was no response, he continued. "Then they deadened her nervous system, cut her mind off from her senses. As far as I can tell, they must have been waiting for her to go insane. After eight hours, she still hadn't, so they simply drained all her bodily fluids. She died shortly after that." "Then she felt no pain." Bashir shook his head. "I doubt she even knew what was happening." "May I see her?" "She's being prepared for her resting place." Odo raised a questioning glance. "Where?" "She wanted to be shot into the wormhole, into the Celestial Temple to rest with the Prophets." He nodded to Bashir and went in search of her -- to finally say good-bye. He found several vedeks preparing her body, crowding around her almost like vultures, and he fought a need to protect her. "Could you leave us?" he barely managed after a moment. The vedeks quietly exited, either used to people needing to say good-bye or -- could they have sensed his agony? The room was silent, the normal beeps and chirps characteristically present in a place for the sick noticeably absent. Had he still been human, his heartbeat would have seemed to echo off the walls. "Hello, Major." The words died quickly on his lips. All the things he had wanted to say, the things he had wanted to share suddenly had no place. It was almost as if she had taken a part of him with her, but there was still something left, something that caused his nightmares, caused his dark attire, caused the pain to sting sharply every minute of every day. He localized almost everything he knew about her: every memory, every sensation, every touch, every word spoken, every thought begged to be spoken, every feeling, every moment he had loved her. He compressed it all into his right hand, the one that always served her raktajino, the one that . . . but he had to stop. He took that part of himself and formed it into a ball. He lifted her body gently and forced the ball into her mouth. He watched it slide down her throat and felt incomplete, but, then again, he had felt incomplete since they had taken her from him. He set her back down on the table and tried to ignore the pull of that piece of himself. It wanted to rejoin with him but that would cause more pain. It would be better to forget, and now he only had the vaguest memory of their friendship and who she was. The pull for reunion was strong, and he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before fleeing the room. And the silence was broken by the slightest movement of substance against material. --- He had stopped, slightly crazed, just outside the room, the residue of a great loss and sense of disorder overwhelming him. Unable to go any further, not knowing where he could go, where he could escape to, he was there when the alarmed cry was issued. "Alert Security!" Odo rushed back into the room and found himself face to face with the rather debilitated form of the Major. Had it all been a rouse, a replacement that they had rescued from the Jem'Hadar? And yet, something wasn't right. There was no learned grace in this form, no smug posture. Instead, the Changeling was questioning her surroundings, almost as if she were unsure of where she was, what was going on. The vedeks had exited the room swiftly, and Odo told the security detail that had just arrived to remain outside. Then he locked the door to the room. "Who are you and what have you done with Major Kira?" he demanded, anger seeping in his voice. "Constable, what's . . . what's going on?" "That's what I'd like to know." She clung to the edge of the bed for all of her support. "One thing I know we're being attacked and then I wake up to the startled cries of a bunch of vedeks." She took a step before feeling oddly un-solid. Then she noticed his black garb. "Why are you wearing black?" The word fell from her lips as more memories surfaced. "By the Prophets, the blackness. There was no escape; I tried, but I couldn't do anything. There was nothing, and yet there was everything. I . . ." She fell to her knees hard, desperate to resist the memories, but the impact didn't hurt. "Who are you?" he demanded again, even as something pulled him to her. It couldn't be, but he swore he felt the pull, the plea for reunion. He went to help her up, taking her hand cautiously. They melted together. "Bloody hell!" she yelled in surprise, but this was soon replaced by a calm as she felt the presence of his mind with hers. He sought to explain, but he could no more explain it than she could. The pull was intensified by the link, and their bodies edged closer until only the fabric of her clothes remained. And soon, that was nothing more than a pile on the floor. The picture they presented would have been a strange one to anyone entering the room: one shimmering column, half golden, half distinctly ruby, topped with the heads of two friends. The piece he had given her was returned and all was understood. He had given her life through sacrifice in repayment for her gift of life through friendship. She searched his eyes and knew, relived every moment through his eyes, saw things as he had seen them, felt everything he had ever felt, and *knew*. To be sure she had lost a great deal, her life, her heritage, her solidity, but the gain had been so much greater. As they joined completely, only one thing broke the silence. She had to speak his name, to be certain it was real, to *make* it all real. "Odo." Their lips met and completed the union. She had never known such contentment, like being embraced everywhere at once, like wrapping yourself in friendship, bathing yourself in pure feeling, pure emotion, pure love. And she understood -- everything. Why he was as he was, how that small piece of himself had multiplied and flourished, bringing new life to her, knowing what shape to hold through all the memories he had of her, making her live through his love. *You realize that if you don't tell your security guards that everything's all right soon, neither of us may be alive much longer,* Kira communicated. Odo laughed at the concept of vulnerability. Maybe it was the actual ability to dodge many weapons, including phaser shots, or maybe it was the gift the Prophets had bestowed on him, but he did feel invincible. *I suppose you're right.* Reluctantly, they reformed into their respective shapes and approached the door. He looked to her, and she nodded assuredly, trying to ignore the fear assailing her. He released the lock and the door slid open. "It's all right," he said immediately, holding up one hand to stop any inclinations to shoot. He turned his gaze to Bashir who was having a hard time deciding whether to stare at the living form of the Major or at the melded hands between the pair. "It's just going to take some explaining." He smiled feebly, trying to excuse the occurrence, and trying desperately not to grin like an idiot. --- The End