The BLTS Archive - In Captivity by Mary K. (mkk2@csd.uwm.edu) --- DISCLAIMER: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and the characters created within are property of Paramount. Those parts not used by Paramount are Copyright 1997 by Mary Knasinski. This story takes place immediately following the episode "Call to Arms." --- "Sit. Please." Weyoun sat. "Have a drink." The Vorta poured himself a drink, then gazed fixedly at Dukat through his deep blue eyes - blue met blue; neither man looked away. "I don't think I need to tell you I was rather - displeased - with your behavior today." "I was rather displeased with *yours*." Weyoun's eyes never drifted from Dukat's face. Dukat began again. "Undermining my authority in that way, correcting my statements in front of my crew -" "Our crew." Weyoun continued to stare, barely blinking. "Correcting my statements in front of *our* crew, displaying open irritation with me -" "I was not irritated with you." At last, he was on familiar ground - Weyoun knew how to do this, how to reconcile two opposing points of view and bring the other person around to his way of thinking. "On the contrary, I was irritated with the situation itself. I was irritated with the Federation, with Sisko, with the intransigence of our opponents." "It didn't sound that way." "Didn't it? I'm sorry." Weyoun continued to stare; Dukat looked away and went to pour himself another drink. "Well, it doesn't matter. We're here now, we've retaken Terok Nor, and in a few weeks, a Cardassian presence will be firmly re-established here. A Cardassian presence that cannot fail to intimidate the most zealous Bajoran patriots in the Council of Ministers. We've won." He raised his glass in a sort of toast and smiled; Weyoun allowed the corners of his lips to curve upward in an acknowledging smile, but his eyes remained cold and hostile. "Do you know," he said, "that general station rumor has it you're a Founder?" Dukat laughed, full and hearty and at length. Weyoun did not join in. "Founder, eh? If they only knew the trials through which you put me, the statements you make to me - statements you'd never even dare to *imply* to one of your - what do you call them? - gods." He laughed again. "Too bad I couldn't convince *you* of my more - god-like qualities." "Yes, it is." Weyoun could forgive this good-natured mockery of the Founders; he had, after all, introduced the subject himself. What he had a more difficult time forgiving, even after months of working with the new ruler of Cardassia, was that ruler's unshakeable belief in the superiority of his own race, his own people. This irrational conviction he held was evident everywhere, in government meetings, in military consultations, at dinner, in bed... Weyoun cleared his throat. "Nevertheless, I think the rumor is insidious enough that we're going to have to begin addressing it. The Founders made a freely-chosen and freely-bestowed pact with Cardassia, with *Cardassians*, not some counterparts of themselves sent to infiltrate your society." He began to talk more loudly with the force of his argument; Dukat sat back, sipped his drink, and watched him indulgently. "I see. You feel, then, that this 'rumor' is somehow dangerous." "Not dangerous, just - annoying. Highly annoying, to the Founders and to me personally." "Then how do we dispel it? How do we address the Federation's concerns, and Bajor's concerns? I assure you, Weyoun, I'm not going to drip blood on command for every skeptic who -" "No, no, of course not." Weyoun set his drink down on the table and spread his hands placatingly. "I simply brought up the issue as a matter of interest - it HAS no obvious solution." "No, it does not." Dukat took another long swallow of kanar and got tiredly to his feet. "Especially not at this hour. And especially not today - I want to remember this moment forever." He stretched, yawned, gazed happily around the room - his room, although the furnishings were unfamiliar. Dukat sighed contentedly; the kanar was beginning to take the edge off his irritated mood, leaving him pleasantly drowsy, pleasantly aroused - Weyoun, after all, was an adequate companion for his bed, submissive, quiet, totally unlike his daytime, more challenging, persona. Dukat glanced meaningfully at Weyoun and stepped into the decadent Federation bathroom, where he quickly stripped and splashed some cold water on his face and neck, patting his skin dry as he emerged. Weyoun was already in the bed, lying on his side, his face turned away. Dukat slid underneath the covers and called for the lights to be extinguished, then lay for a while in the darkness and silence, staring up at the ceiling. His room - not his bed, but at last his room, on Terok Nor - and a Dominion overseer lying next to him, two Jem'Hadar soldiers standing outside the door. He sighed. Weyoun moved closer and clasped him around the neck - he seldom spoke, once in bed, but this time began to murmur something soothing and quiet in the Vorta language. "What are you saying?" Dukat asked tiredly, letting his long fingers play with Weyoun's thick black hair. "Nothing. Rest." In answer, Dukat raised himself up on one elbow and pulled the Vorta against him. "Your people have a very beautiful language." "Thank you." --- Two hours later, while Dukat snored softly next to him, Weyoun lay facing the window, watching the stars. He found his time with Dukat surprisingly - pleasant. A kind man - an annoying man, an intolerable bully at times, a conceited boor - but a man Weyoun could follow, a man he could serve as he served the Founders. Dukat would never know this, however - Weyoun barely acknowledged it to himself. He closed his eyes and listened to the Cardassian's breathing. Tomorrow he would confront Dukat about disabling the mines. Tonight he would rest. --- The End --- "It is in captivity - ringed, haltered, chained to a drag the bull is godlike." William Carlos Williams, "The Bull," 1934