Halfway - ST: DS9 - Kira/Dukat - 2/3
Title: Halfway
Rating: PG-13
Show: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Pairing: Kira/Dukat
Summary: Set during "Return to Grace". The former head of the Occupation and the Resistance fighter discover they may have more in common than they thought.
Author's Note: First published in May 1997; one of my very first fanfics. Reposted here due to theoretical interest on ontd_startrek . More to come (sorry Heroes f-listers *g*).
Continued from 1/2
He bowed slightly and complied. She obviously didn't know what she wanted herself, so how was he to work it out? However, he couldn't help lingering as he passed her in the doorway. The scent was unmistakable; whatever was going on in her mind, it wasn't enough to bring her body under control. Although he knew Cardassian pheromones could be quite compelling for Bajorans, it was equally a fact that a little discipline could bring those effects under control. If she really felt no attraction whatsoever for him, she would not be letting her body emit such a clear indication of the contrary. Still, perhaps he shouldn't be surprised at an uneducated former Resistance fighter giving him such mixed signals.
However, he knew he had to believe her words rather than her pheromones. She seemed pretty sure she shouldn't take him, even if she wanted to. He told himself he should be happy enough that she wanted him; goodness knows that was progress in itself. It had been a while since he had sensed anything so intense from a Bajoran woman, and he was flattered to think a man his age still had it in him to attract a handsome young woman. He had known that, of course, but it was nice to have tangible proof.
He told himself her refusal was clear enough and he should go back to his quarters, or take another brisk walk, but her scent was truly intoxicating. They were still standing in the doorway of her room, and he took an involuntary step towards her.
"You take one step closer and it will be very painful for you, Dukat," she menaced.
He had no doubt part of her meant that in earnest. But he was now too preoccupied with the part that didn't, the part that seemed to be calling out for him to take her in his arms. He was conscious of his own pheromones and noticed how her breasts were heaving with her uneven breath, how amazed she looked as he took the step closer, calling her bluff yet again.
He was now so close all he needed to do was lean towards her for his chest to touch hers. She shied away slightly, pressing her back against the side of the door and turning her head to one side as his mouth neared her smooth neck. But then she seemed to remember where she was and what he was doing, because her face suddenly turned back towards his, its expression less than welcoming.
She tried to slip back through the door, but he caught her arm as she moved, and pulled her back towards him.
"What do you want, Major?" he asked. A straight answer would have been most welcome, as he was thoroughly puzzled by her behaviour. But instead, all he got was the fulfilment of her earlier promise.
An elegant sweep of her arm freed it from his grasp as she swung about, throwing enough of her weight into a punch to his chest to make him groan with pain. He instinctively countered her next blow, seizing both her arms and trying to position his legs to trip her up. Under normal circumstances, he would probably have succeeded, but it occurred to him that in the present situation, knocking her to the ground might have some ramifications he could do without. At least, in a corridor.
She apparently had no such qualms. While he hesitated, she broke free from his hands, threw a hand chop to his neck cartilage that made him see stars, and used her left heel to hit his ankle and make him fall. He fell to the ground with a thud, but scrambled to his feet almost as quickly, just in time to counter her as she lunged at him once more. She pushed him against the wall on the other side of the corridor, though he couldn't work out exactly what her manoeuvre would achieve. In effect, all it did was give him an opportunity to take the advantage. He wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up.
Surprised by his move, she placed her hands on his shoulders to regain her balance as he lifted her off the floor. The feeling of his unfamiliar ridges under her fingers combined with his scent to make her forget any desire to hit him. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if it wasn't time to give up the unequal struggle. Thoughts of Bajor, Shakaar and Deep Space Nine were nothing compared to the feel of his alien body pressed against hers.
They stared at each other. Leaning against the wall, breathless and in considerable pain from the bruise on his chest, he looked up at her face. It bore such an expression of amazement he couldn't help but smile. She saw his delighted smile and found herself returning it. He hugged her body against his, conscious that she could feel the humidity in his groin, but too turned on by her radiating warmth to worry about embarrassment. They were both silent, breathing in the desire of the other, neither daring to move. As her body slid inside the material of her dress, she was gradually slipping down his front, and the sensation was exquisite for both of them.
But they let go of each other in a hurry when they heard the sound of a door swishing open across the corridor. He remained against the wall, but she took a quick leap away from him as soon as her feet touched the ground. They turned towards the sound and watched with embarrassment as Damar emerged from his room. He looked at them both, obviously puzzled to see them there.
"Is everything all right, sir? I heard a noise."
And you waited patiently until the noise had stopped, thought Dukat irritably. He looked up at the ceiling, willing himself to calm down before he did his second in command an injury. Once he had recovered a little from the shock of the interruption, he looked at Damar and said, in a quietly menacing voice, "Yes, everything is all right."
Damar looked them both over with slight distaste. He obviously didn't approve of his commanding officer groping Bajoran dignitaries in public places. Dukat knew the man was too far away to sense them, but there was the possibility that he had seen them before Kira moved away. And anyway, it wouldn't take much imagination to guess what they had been doing, if only based on the observation of their irregular breaths and the major's flushed face. Dukat noted the latter detail himself as Damar wisely went back into his quarters. Kira's face had actually turned a very attractive shade of pink, deepening the hue of the ambient lighting.
He turned to look at Damar's closed door and debated whether he should try to explain the situation to his second in command tomorrow, or just leave it up to the man's discretion not to mention this incident. In the meantime, he was quite speechless with embarrassment. If only she had attacked him while they were still in her quarters.
She was quiet. As he looked towards the door, he could just see her out of the corner of his eye, a blurry image of pink and red. She appeared to be leaning against the wall now, and then he realised she was looking at him. He turned to return the look and was surprised to find she was now smiling. He smiled back, and her smile widened to a grin. He grinned as well. Then they both began to laugh. Her laughter was lower and softer than the first time he had heard it, when she had been in hysterics over him sitting on a sandspine. But it was a relief to have her laughing beside him.
"Interesting evening," he said gently.
That made her laugh again, and he felt confident enough to move closer to her and stroke her cheek with the back of his hand, just as he had done before. There was a certain purity in Bajoran features which had always charmed him. It was a delight to be able to run his hands over her unadorned face and watch it become more serious under his touch.
"So, how about continuing this somewhere else?" he suggested, using his most seductive voice.
His voice was seductive, all right, but she shook her head, placing her hand on his chest to push him away. He obediently stopped caressing her face and took a step back, though he did roll his eyes slightly. He obviously had her down as someone who didn't know what she wanted.
"I don't think that's a good idea," she said.
"Feels like a good idea to me," he protested.
She didn't answer. The truth was, she was afraid of having a bad conscience afterwards if she gave in. She would not be able to confide in any of her friends, and though there were plenty of things she had chosen to keep to herself over the past few years, she preferred to keep their number as low as possible. Anyway, it would be the worst possible betrayal of Shakaar. To sleep with another man would be bad enough, but to make that other man Gul Dukat would be unforgivable. Besides, she had said the truth when she said she didn't like him. And it didn't take much for her to convince herself someone as fond of bragging as he was was probably no good in bed. In the meantime, she was a little distracted by the current state of his shirt.
He noticed she was looking him over a bit curiously, and remembered with sudden embarrassment that he was wearing a Klingon shirt. He automatically looked down at his chest, and found the shirt was almost completely unwrapped. Great. Damar could be in no doubt about what had happened. He self-consciously tied it up again.
Having rearranged his person to his satisfaction, he straightened up and looked down his nose at her. She was uncomfortable in the knowledge that he could see a lot more of her than she could make out of him in the darkness of the corridor. He then looked away, as if to seek inspiration in the contemplation of their plain surroundings. He sighed and then looked at her again. For a moment, his expression seemed almost apologetic, and definitely embarrassed. But as his grey eyes ran over her face and body, she saw a little smile creep up on his lips.
"I must apologise, Major," he said. "I am normally a better host than this."
"I guess you don't make a habit of jumping on your guests in corridors," she said with a grin.
"Not really," he said, before adding, "I may be growing old and forgetful, Major, but as I recall, you were the one who jumped on me."
She just smiled and looked at the bumps and dips of his profile outlined against the reddish backdrop of the corridor. From what she had felt when he held her earlier, he was probably in a great deal of discomfort right now. Her mind brought up the recent memory of his arms firmly wrapped around her waist, every bulge and ridge of his body pressing against her through their thin clothes, the incredible expression of delight on his upturned face when he sensed her own desire. Her throat was dry at the very memory. It was lucky Damar had interrupted them.
She had to get away from him before she felt tempted to do it again. She dragged herself away from the wall and made her way slowly around him, praying to the Prophets he wouldn't touch her as she passed.
He didn't. He just leant against the wall and watched her walk towards her door. He was evidently more affected than she thought. Relieved, she took a few steps along the corridor, and was just about to reach for the controls again when she heard his husky voice behind her.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like something to drink, Major?"
He wrapped his arms confidently around her and this time, she did lean back against him. She did want something to drink -- the air on the ship was hot, and she was feeling a little dehydrated by her desire anyway -- but she really didn't think it would be wise to drink with him. This was Gul Dukat holding her in his arms, after all, not just some stranger. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen. She would never have allowed any stranger this close to her. Then why Dukat? She was as puzzled by her behaviour as he was.
"You never give up, do you?" she said, disengaging herself gently from his arms.
She turned around to face him and found her eyes were level with his nose. She was quite used to glaring up at people, so that was not what made her uncomfortable. But turning around placed her nose too near the glands in his neck for comfort, and the residue of his desire made her head spin. She had half intended to attack him again, to make up some excuse to be angry with him, to punish him for making her feel like this. But she knew where that would lead after what had just happened. She sighed. This had to be one of the worst jokes of Nature; why should Bajorans be so sensitive to Cardassian pheromones when the two species were designed to live their lives out on two separate planets light-years away from each other? She wasn't even on heat, for the Prophets' Sake!
A little nagging voice in her mind reminded her this wasn't simply a physical reaction to his pheromones. She ignored it.
"I can't do this, Dukat. I can't do this to myself, I can't do it to Shakaar, and... I don't think it would be very fair on you, either."
"Well, I'm glad you've considered it seriously enough to think up some good reasons not to. But I'm serious about having a drink. I can assure you I am perfectly capable of behaving myself. I would just appreciate your company. Let's say it would be a chance to practice my Bajoran."
"I don't think your Bajoran needs any practice," she said gently. "Naprem taught you well."
"She knew plenty about languages," he said gently, averting his eyes as the same sorrowful expression crossed his face.
He took her hand in his and turned it so that the palm was facing upwards. He then traced a line from her wrist to her middle finger. His fingers tickled her and her hand closed automatically on them. It was a Cardassian gesture, a farewell of some sort, as she vaguely recalled. After a moment, he disengaged his fingers from hers and let go of her hand.
"You're right, Major. It's late and you should be going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."
More than a little surprised at his sudden change of mind, she opened her door. Once she had walked in, she turned and just caught sight of him framed in the doorway, looking strange and dishevelled in his outlandish costume. The expression on his face was... rather wistful.
The door closed and she sat down on the bed. She pulled up the dress she was wearing and buried her nose in it. As she had expected, she would have to take it off -- its smell alone would be enough to give her a sleepless night. Accordingly, she took it off and lay back on the bed with a sigh. The first thought in her mind was naturally for Dukat.
She had hated that man ever since the first time she had heard of him -- it was strange to think things had changed to the point where she had actually let him hold her in his arms without so much as a protest. It was true that her attitude towards his people was different now. The Prophets had not taught her to be completely unforgiving. It was against their orders to kill and hate as she had done for so many years, and she had often wondered if she should try to make amends for what she had done. The fighter in her argued that Cardassians like Dukat had made no atonement for their crimes, but as a faithful follower of the Prophets, she felt she should strive to be a good girl from now on, forgiving her enemies as the Prophets commanded. Which should also include forgiving Gul Dukat.
For brief moments in recent months, she had seen past his carefully erected facade. She knew she would never forget the sight of Dukat, kneeling in the sand of the barren planet, weeping on the grave of his lost lover. Much as she hated the idea, she had wondered if the Prophets hadn't thrown him in with her twice in such a short time precisely so that she would learn more about him, and perhaps even forgive him for all the harm he had done. They had waited until her wounds had heeled, until she was sufficiently happy with her own life and Bajor's political situation to view her defeated enemies in a more favourable light. Maybe there was some reason why they wanted her to be closer to Dukat in particular. But if there was, it surely wasn't simply for her to go to bed with him.
She dismissed the thought of sex with Dukat as too dangerous to consider in her present state and decided to focus on the way he had left her. She guessed his abrupt decision was due to the fact that she had mentioned Naprem and she couldn't help wondering about this woman who had meant so much to Gul Dukat that he could hardly bring himself to mention her name. It seemed logical enough that he wouldn't want to discuss Naprem with her, not when he was making such misguided efforts to seduce her. But she couldn't help thinking that this woman, whoever she had been aside from Dukat's evidently beloved mistress, had also been Ziyal's mother. It was all very well him warning her about Ziyal's physical particularities, but she felt she could perhaps have done with a little detail on the girl's mother, too.
She tried to imagine what sort of woman would suit Dukat. Whatever Tora Naprem had, it was obviously enough to keep Dukat's affection for at least fourteen years, judging from Ziyal's age when he arranged to send them to Lessepia. Admittedly, Ziyal's existence alone could suffice to explain that, if Dukat had simply felt duty- bound to the mother of his illegitimate child. That was Shakaar's opinion, of course, but then Shakaar was not prepared to put anything past Dukat as far as scheming went. He even went so far as to argue that Dukat's tears on Naprem's grave were purely intended to get Kira's sympathy. That was something she could not accept; Dukat had been crying well before she came out of the Ravenok, and there was the added matter of his 'intention' to kill Ziyal. Now that she knew exactly what Dukat had suffered on account of the girl, she could see how a mind as unscrupulous as his had come to such a cruel decision. He knew bringing her back with him would ruin his already faltering career, so eliminating her would have eliminated the problem. But there was obviously some glimmer of a conscience in his tortuous Cardassian mind, or he would never have been so stupid as to tell her, of all people, his intention. And she could not forget how pleased he had looked when he finally embraced his daughter.
Those were all things she had tried to explain to her lover, but the First Minister was still not convinced. And, of course, she could well see his point. As far as he was concerned, Dukat was a machiavellian killer with the devious mind characteristic of his race. But Shakaar didn't know even the little she knew about Dukat. He hadn't seen him mourning his lover or embracing his daughter, he hadn't laughed with him and fought with him, or felt his arms around... She decided to abandon that particular train of thought again, but her body struggled to remind her exactly how good the Cardassian's arms had felt. She knew they had only felt that way because of her susceptibility to his pheromones, of course.
She turned on her communicator to make it translate and ordered various ingredients to be made into a beverage. As could be expected, the replicator did not have all the right products programmed in it, but it came up with the bright suggestion that those particular items would be available from the sickbay. It didn't explain where that was, but a little painstaking research on the terminal revealed the route to follow. She sighed and berated herself for not bringing her bag off the Groumall -- but how should she have known that idiot Dukat was going to blow the bloody ship up? She decided the trip to sickbay was worth it. The thought of her being so open to Dukat's physical attraction irritated her, and she wanted to make quite certain her body had quietened down before she even attempted to go to sleep. A good old Bajoran recipe would sort that out for her.
She put on her uniform trousers and undershirt and ventured out into the corridor again. She was hoping against hope that Dukat had gone to bed and wasn't roaming the ship as before, and actually believed her hopes had been fulfilled, until she reached sickbay and found him there. The Prophets definitely had a hand in this. He was stripped to the waist, standing in the middle of the floor with his back to her. The light was as dim there as it was in the rest of the ship -- Klingons obviously shared with Cardassians their dislike of bright lights. But she could see the lean muscles tense and ripple under the thick grey skin, the ridges rising and falling with the movement of his right arm, the shine on his straight black hair as it fell in lifeless locks on his bowed head. She stood in the doorway, staring at the sight of so much of his body bared before her. This evening was really becoming stranger and stranger. His nakedness, the alien sickbay, the late hour, the things that had happened earlier all combined to create a feeling of unreality in her mind, as if she were in a dream. But she knew it was no dream when he turned around and stared at her.
He had the same expression of delighted amazement as before. It was quite sweet, she found herself thinking, before reminding herself that she had no right to be finding Dukat sweet in any way. Once he had turned around completely and was staring at her, she saw that he was holding a regenerator. There was still a black bruise on his chest, where she had hit him earlier, and he had obviously been in the process of repairing the damage.
After they had stared at each other for a moment, he suddenly became aware of his state of undress, and reached for his shirt, discarded on the operating table.
"Are you following me around, Major?" he said in his maddeningly suave voice, holding the shirt self-consciously in front of his chest.
"Yes, of course. I have nothing better to do." She didn't often resort to sarcasm, but the repartee was too good to miss.
"Well, of course," he said without any reaction beyond a smile. "I'm irresistible."
"Ha," she guffawed, rolling her eyes.
He put on his shirt, turning his back to do so, as if she hadn't already got a good view of his chest ridges.
"I just came down to repair the damage you did to my person. I must admit, you're not a woman who does things by half. That bruise is quite painful."
She noticed he hadn't finished treating it, and wondered if that was just because he was embarrassed to remain bare-chested in front of her.
"Well, I'll leave you to your occupation," he concluded, taking the regenerator with him as he walked past her into the corridor. She watched him walk by, and waited to see if he would really leave things at that. Of course he didn't. He was no sooner in the corridor than he turned back.
"The invitation for a drink and talk still stands, you know."
"You have got to be the most stubborn man I've ever met! The answer is still no, Dukat," she exclaimed, more amused than irritated. She wondered if she would ever have the same respect for Dukat as an adversary after what she had seen tonight, or if, every time she met him, she would remember how he looked half-naked. Not as bad as she had imagined based on her earlier observation. His body looked far better under his bare grey skin than a thin maroon shirt.
"I have a weakness for pursuing lost causes," he said gracefully.
That made her smile. "Obviously," she said.
His grey eyes remained fixed on her for a while, and he was silent. For a man who talked so much, he was remarkably good at using silence in a conversation. Then he nodded gently.
"Well, you know where to find me if you do want to talk."
"...Or rather, listen to you," she couldn't help pointing out.
"Oh, I could tell you some fascinating things, you know, Major. You shouldn't dismiss everything I say based simply on the fact that I say so much. I know you and your Terran friends believe that I am over talkative and find that a sign of weakness. But language is far too precious a gift to be used simply as a tool for communication. It is an art form in itself, and to be able to craft a simple conversation into a brilliant masterpiece of rhetoric is one of the most admired accomplishments of Cardassian society. I do realise that, as a Bajoran, you have no interest in the accomplishments of Cardassian society, and that speech is nothing more for you than a string of words, a means to the end of communication, but I was raised to see every exchange as an opportunity to exercise my mind, to gauge the culture and erudition of the person I am talking to, while revealing my own knowledge and craft. So you see, Major, it is quite unfair of you to dismiss my discourse as empty words. Every one of those words has been carefully selected, and a lot of thought has gone into the form chosen to express the meaning I want to impart."
If he hadn't been such an awful person, she might nearly have admired his long-winded speeches. Given a good subject, and an audience he wanted to impress, such as herself, he could go on for ages, aligning perfectly constructed sentences one after the other, each one adding a little more of the information he wanted to impart, while not quite making the point, until all the sentences were completed and added up to express the full meaning of his speech. His rhetoric was impeccable -- the sentiments expressed often less so.
He had given plenty of speeches when he was the Prefect of Bajor. His automatically translated addresses to the Bajoran population, eloquent expressions of the latest propaganda from the Central Command, were broadcast on a far too regular basis on the official information services and at every street corner in every village. The sound of that voice droning on had been the backdrop for most of her adult life.
But his speeches sounded quite different in Bajoran, where his Cardassian accent and occasional Netapka vowels combined to attenuate the supercilious tone he seemed to use in Kardasi. Still, she rather regretted getting him started. He could go on as much as he liked about Cardassian customs, but as far as she was concerned, Dukat simply liked the sound of his own voice. She knew he could go on for ages if she didn't interrupt him. Fortunately, he did pause to see what effect his speech was having on her, and she took the opportunity to turn the monologue back into a conversation.
"Well, I'm glad there's an actual reason why you talk so much, other than the fact that you like listening to yourself talking. But as you said, I don't have the same view of language, so I fail to see why you bother. You could just get to the point, and save us all some trouble."
He shrugged his shoulders and, to her dismay, took a step towards her.
"I'm afraid I just can't. It has been bred into me ever since I first learned to speak Kardasi."
"You're speaking Bajoran now, so you could just conform to Bajoran traditions."
"Ah, but the added advantage of making long speeches in Bajoran is that I can impress you with my knowledge of your language." She wasn't sure if he was teasing her or if it was just part of his usual bragging.
"I don't see why you bother. Garak was right, you know, I'm not impressed by your constant posturing," she told him, placing her hands on her hips and moving a little closer to him.
"I am not posturing," he protested a little crossly. She couldn't help but smile at his petulant tone. "Besides," he added, "Garak is certainly not the right person to give advice on that subject. He knows nothing about women."
"I am not 'women', Dukat, and he seems to know more about me than you do," she argued.
"Well, I am glad to know our friend the tailor is so well informed."
She just cast him a deadly look which had served her well with suitors in the past. Then his words sank in.
"What do you mean, he knows nothing about women?"
He smiled egregiously and spread his hands to indicate his innocence.
"Or so I've heard."
She hadn't expected that. "Garak? It never occurred to me."
"I hope it has occurred to your friend the doctor."
She guffawed. "Now that is definitely an image I don't need to have rolling around my head..." He laughed with her, and she took a step nearer to see him better. She became more serious as she thought about the long-standing enmity between the two men. "Speaking of Garak," she added, "I presume you won't want Ziyal to associate with him too much."
He looked surprised, as if the thought had not occurred to him. "I fail to see what she would have in common with an old man like him anyway. He is my age, for the Prophets' sakes!"
She was not sure she would agree with his description of the pair of them as 'old men'. But she decided not to say anything, as Dukat's ego probably didn't need that sort of bolstering.
"Well, they will be the only two Cardassians on the station. I'll introduce her to Bajorans and Terrans, of course, but she might find she misses her own people."
"My people," he corrected, coming nearer to emphasise his speech. "You introduce her to some nice Bajorans and keep her away from Garak. I'd rather she made friends with Terrans than with him. How about that child, Sisko's son, what's his name?"
"Jake?"
"Yes, at least he's the same age."
"Actually, Jake's a bit younger than Ziyal. But I'm sure she won't have any trouble making friends. Though you said you wanted her to explore both sides of her heritage. She may find she wants to see some Cardassians as well."
"I'd rather she didn't explore anything with Garak," he said, in a tone which brooked no contradiction.
"All right. She won't," she said seriously. "I promise."
She found herself looking up into his grey face, and it reminded her how close she had been to that face only a while earlier. He moved closer to her, but she held her ground, staring right back at him.
"Go to bed, Dukat," she said reasonably.
"Now you sound like my mother," he said ruefully.
"And your mother sounds like a sensible woman."
She caught a mild look of surprise on his face, before he smiled and turned away, muttering in Kardasi, "[Bajoran women]".
"What about them?" she snapped.
"I couldn't live without them," he said turning to blow her a kiss.
The sight of a Cardassian blowing anyone a kiss was not incongruous enough to distract her from the meaning of the gesture.
"Do you want another one of those?" she exclaimed, pointing to his chest. His teasing was getting on her nerves.
His eyes followed her indication and he grinned.
"Only if you insist. I had no idea you took such an interest in Klingon mating rituals, Major. I hope Shakaar has a good regenerator."
"That's not funny, Dukat."
"I never said it was meant to be. I'm sincerely worried about the health of the First Minister of Bajor being entrusted to your delicate hands." He rubbed the bruise as if to remind her exactly how hard she had hit him. "Unless, of course, you need to take out your unused *energy* on someone else." The word he used for energy was used almost exclusively in sexual situations, and she felt her temper flare up the minute he said it.
Once upon a time, she would have attacked him again for making such insinuations about her lover. But she found she could stand a lot more of his teasing than she used to. She had gained a great deal of patience since the likes of him had ceased to rule her planet, and her relationship with Shakaar being secure as it was, she didn't feel too threatened by Dukat's jibes in general. But her slightly guilty conscience about letting him hug her so easily earlier made her uncomfortable with his sexual reference.
"You _dobarsida_," she hissed, using a word that cast enough doubt on his own sexual prowess to revenge the slight on Shakaar's. It wasn't a very vicious insult, in fact, it was rather amusing, but it meant what it meant.
He smiled, of course.
"It's been a while since someone called me that."
"Well, she must have been a sensible woman, too," she said a little pettishly. Men didn't usually use that insult.
His smile became gentler, and he looked away thoughtfully.
"Not always," he said, his voice rumbling barely above a half- whisper, as if he were remembering something. Or was it someone? "But she did know some pretty nasty insults," he added, apparently pulling himself back to the present. "Well, I see I have no choice but to comply to your desires, so I'll take my leave."
Her temper died down as rapidly as it had flared up. There was something about his reluctance that intrigued her.
"Is that what all this is about?" she asked gently as he turned his back on her. "Do I remind you of her?"
"Not really," he said without turning back. Then he looked at her over his shoulder. "She was in love with me, after all," he said in his most charming voice.
"All right, you can stop right there," she laughed, raising her hands in a slightly exaggerated gesture.
He nodded, and after a moment's hesitation, walked away.
"Dukat," she called after him. "It's unlike you not to want to talk about something."
With all the body language of irritation he stopped and turned back towards her.
"Major, is this some Bajoran custom I don't know about? Do you always conduct extensive personal conversations in corridors?"
"Dukat," she pleaded, ignoring his remark. "She was Ziyal's mother, don't you think I might do with knowing a bit more about her?"
He sighed and looked down, fiddling with the regenerator in his hands.
"I don't want to talk about her," he admitted a little weakly.
She walked up the corridor to him, and placed her hand on his arm as he turned away again.
"Why not?" she asked.
He was visibly surprised by her concern, though it was difficult to imagine he could be more surprised than she was.
"Dukat, you can't bottle it up inside like this. You need to talk to someone."
"Oh? I thought you said you didn't want to listen to me talk. Anyway, I wasn't aware that you were considering a new career as a Federation counsellor, Major," he remarked sarcastically.
She ignored the jibe and stared up at him, slightly conscious that he must be quite pleased to have her whole attention all to himself, while also a little concerned that he didn't seem to be enjoying it.
"Maybe you do need counselling, Dukat. I know how much you loved Naprem, and I find it just a little strange that you refuse to talk about her at all. You keep mentioning her, and then the next thing I know, you're walking away."
"There's nothing to say." He hesitated and then added more passionately, "Why do you want to know about her anyway? I fail to see what business it is of yours."
"I'm just interested to know more about Ziyal's mother. If I'm going to be taking care of her daughter, your daughter" -- she used the plural -- "you could at least tell me something about Naprem."
"I'm sure you are interested, Major," he said, visibly agitated. "Curious, more likely, to know what sort of woman could have loved me. I was the head of the Occupation, the Prefect of Bajor, for the Prophets' sakes. You know exactly who I was and what I did in those days. And so did Naprem. And yet she loved me, she lived with me and she bore me a daughter who is the most precious of my eight children. I don't want to talk to you about her because to talk about her to you of all people is to defile her memory. To you, she will be nothing more than a despicable traitor, someone to despise and hate. And I can do without your moral self-righteousness."
She shook her head. "If you think I am not capable of rising above my personal experience of that time, to learn about Naprem with an open mind, then you really don't know me all that well. I have changed."
"You don't seem very keen on rising above your personal experience to learn about me. Or accept that I might have changed, too."
"That's because I'm not so interested in you," she said with a faint smile. "But I am interested in Ziyal, and you are her father. I can't make abstraction of that. Now, I know plenty about you and what you did. But I know nothing about Naprem -- who she was, what she did, how much of her is in Ziyal today."
"A lot," he said simply. He breathed in deeply and raised his face to the ceiling, as he sometimes did when he was irritated. "Now, Major, I think I will go back to my quarters. If you want me to tell you about Naprem, feel free to follow me," he added, the very image of patience.
"You wish," she said, giving him an annoyed look.
He chuckled and walked away.
She watched him go and wondered if that was the end of it. She was still curious, but not enough to fall into the trap of going to his quarters. Whatever the good reasons for his refusal to discuss Naprem, he had seen an opportunity to get her where he wanted her, and she just wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Though she was rather curious to know what would happen if she did accept the invitation. Wouldn't he be surprised!
He was nearing the bend that led back to their quarters when, as she had expected, he stopped and looked back at her. He leant nonchalantly against the wall, striking an attractive pose in the red light, and she could just make out that his eyes were running appreciatively over her tightly clad body. Annoyed by his sudden and rude appraisal of her person, she decided to fight him with the same weapon. A few years ago, she wouldn't have known where to start. But she now had enough confidence in her sexual attractiveness to know she could pull off this kind of intimidation, especially with someone as susceptible to her charm as Dukat. The thought she might gain the upper hand by flirting with him ever so innocently gave her some measure of satisfaction, and she set to it immediately.
She let her eyes start at his boots and then move slowly up his dark trousers, lingering deliberately on his crotch before rising up to observe the crumpled folds of the shirt, the long bare neck with its leathery throat, the narrow face and its elaborate pattern of lines and curlicues, fashioned by some freak fancy of Nature into a semblance of her own species' features. He had said he was handsome in his youth, and she could just about imagine it as she looked at him. She had never admired Cardassian looks, for obvious reasons, but Dukat's face was becoming all too familiar these days, and she was beginning to see its good sides. She became aware of his slightly untrue eyes fixed upon hers and smiled when she saw the confusion in them.
He had probably been preparing to make some fascinating speech to encourage her to come with him, but her efforts had paid off, and he was quite speechless. Maybe she didn't need to be so afraid of him after all. She walked up to him confidently, her calm gaze perhaps just a little menacing.
He didn't look so self-confident now.
"Careful, Major. I might be tempted to think you actually mean it," he said.
"Don't get your hopes up too high," she warned him.
He nodded and indicated the way down the corridor, inviting her by the gesture to go with him. They walked along to his quarters and stopped outside the door. Without even looking at her, he just opened the door and walked in, leaving her free to follow or not. She hesitated, staying in the doorway to hold the door open, but not quite sure if she really wanted to go in. She looked around the room. This being the captain's quarters, the first room was a sitting room with large leather sofas and various items of Klingon decoration -- a bat'leth, a sculpture of Kahless, the insignia of a Klingon captain hung up on the wall. But she also took in Dukat's anthracite armour discarded on a sofa and a Cardassian portable display unit on the table.
He turned the light on.
"Do you want it any brighter than this?" he asked, standing with his hand on the controls. He increased the luminosity slightly. The light took on an orange tinge, veering gradually to yellow as he pressed the controls.
"That's all right," she said, raising her hand and blinking as the room came into proper focus.
He cleared the armour off the couch and went to put it in the adjoining room, which she presumed was the bedroom. He had taken the regenerator with him, probably to finish off the work on his bruise. She wondered if he would change while he was in there; he was apparently quite as embarrassed by his costume as she had been by hers. Certainly, with her in her uniform, he must feel at a disadvantage wearing that shirt. He might even want to put his own uniform on.
While she was curious to see how he was going to handle the situation, the temptation was strong to leave and go back to her own room. That had, after all, been her original intention. But running away was hardly the brave thing to do, and if she really wanted to prove to herself that she could handle Dukat, she was better off staying right where she was. Anyway, she might learn something in the process.
He came back while she was still procrastinating and she was delighted to find he hadn't changed after all, though he had combed his hair a little. No, not delighted, of course - why would anything about his appearance delight her?
"Do come in, Major" he offered gracefully, noticing she was still standing in the doorway.
She came in a little hesitantly, and settled on one of the couches. It creaked unfamiliarly as her body sank into the shiny leather, and she self-consciously squirmed into a more comfortable position.
"What would you like to drink?" he asked, peering at the replicator to discover if it would work without a translator.
"A glass of water would do."
"Vambîk ûngašvîh/om h/înob," he ordered in what was obviously Klingon with a thick Cardassian accent.
The replicator thought about that for a moment, and then a small container appeared in the slot. Dukat took it out and brought it up to his nose to smell its contents. He was apparently satisfied that it was water, because he handed it to her.
"Thank you," she said, just a little too late to be polite. She tasted the beverage and found it was similar to stale Bajoran water. Presumably Qo'nos water was a little different from the water on Bajor.
While she was puzzling over the strange taste of the water, he helped himself to a goblet of blood wine from the vat near the replicator and came to settle on the couch opposite hers. She found this rather a relief, having feared for a moment that he really would take advantage of the occasion and come and sit beside her. Not that she wouldn't be able to cope if he did, but it would be a terrible bore to have to fight him off, and it would mean she would never learn any more about the mother of his daughter.
"So, do you want to talk about her?" she asked.
"No, I don't," he snapped. "What's this sudden fascination with my private life, anyway?"
"Dukat, do I have to explain everything five times? I've already told you --"
"Yes, you want to know more about Ziyal's mother. I do wonder, though, if your desire to hear about Naprem isn't prompted by something else than concern about her daughter." She steeled herself, waiting to hear him out before throttling him. "I believe you are less interested in her influence on Ziyal than the fact that she was my... that she was so close to me." She noticed the correction and wondered what he was about to say. Mistress? He had rejected that title for Naprem once before.
"That must really bother you, Major," he continued. "You would probably prefer to think that I was feared, hated or despised by everyone around me, rather than that someone actually loved me. But don't worry, Major, I got plenty of disdain from my wife and mother. In fact, it is a great consolation to me that you will probably never meet either of them. The three of you would have far too much in common. This Quadrant would not be safe if you got together." She wondered if he was trying to distract her from Naprem with this train of thought. "And it is true that none of my collaborators have been particularly close. You can't have friends when you're courting power. But I have not been so unlucky as to meet only people who disliked me. Naprem was different."
She had expected him to elaborate, to continue his monologue following his usual habit. But he just stopped speaking and stared into his mug of wine. His hand went up to his temple in the typical Cardassian gesture of self-consolation. She watched as his fingers ran along the ridge above his left brow and then moved down to caress the half circle around his eye. The movement of his thin fingers over his grey skin reminded her of something. Her mind struggled to retrieve the memory, and then fought equally hard to repress it as it became clearer.
She remembered standing in the sparse undergrowth of the Averos forest. The winter breeze was chilling her face and the bare hand with which she held the disrupter was blue with cold. It had been the coldest winter in living memory, a time when the Cardassians, driven indoors by the chill, had loosened their grip on the land. The soldier was kneeling in the mud, his eyes fixed on her boots, his hands, freed by the over-confidence of his captors, automatically stroking his eye ridges as his whole body shuddered with cold and fear. 'Kill him,' said Shakaar.
She dragged her thoughts back to the present, and this other Cardassian sitting opposite her.
"I'm sorry," she said. "You don't have to talk about her if you don't want to."
He continued to observe the red liquid in his goblet for a moment, before seeming to become aware of what he was doing. He put the mug down and placed his hands on his knees. The nervous tension was too much, though, and he brought his hands together, his fingers intertwining and separating as he became lost in his thoughts again. She sipped her foul water and wondered how to leave him to his thoughts without being totally impolite.
"She was from the Kishahel valley in the Netapka province." His voice was a low growl and she looked up in surprise. "She used the funniest expressions sometimes," he added.
Kira waited for him to say more, and when no more was forthcoming, she prompted him. "How did you meet her?"
He hesitated, but then decided he did want to discuss this with her after all. Perhaps it would make her realise that he didn't have such a heart of stone.
"A friend of mine was the head of the Linguistics department at the Bajoran Centre for Science. Naprem was one of his assistants back in those days."
A little Bajoran woman with hair dyed jet black, her mouth twitching in amusement as he discussed something totally inane with Inquisitor Gareid. The crop failures? The perspective of the cold winter ahead? It didn't matter, all he could think about was this woman with her braided hair, the twinkle of sympathy in her eye as the Inquisitor pontificated on about matters nobody cared about. Finally, Gareid sent her to get them some drink or other, and he pretended to have seen someone of his acquaintance in the crowd, and accosted her as she poured out the kanaar. "Anyway, don't you know Bajorans don't like Cardassians?" she told him as she pushed past him with the drinks. But she did turn to smile at him as she disappeared in the crowd.
"A collaborator." Kira's sharp voice sliced through his memories like a knife. A collaborator. The Centre for Science was a Cardassian creation that played a key role in the propaganda from the Central Command. Of course anyone associated with it would be a traitor in her eyes. How could he have expected this woman to understand? She probably had the whole Occupation figured out, everyone categorised into little boxes -- the Resistance here, the Oppressors there, the collaborators in a pit in the middle. And there was a label all cut out for her -- Tora Naprem, collaborator.
He could make her realise exactly how stupid her commentary really was. "Well, of course, Major. She was sleeping with me... one could say she had a personal interest in keeping the Cardassians on Bajor."
She looked annoyed; his comment had hit the mark.
"I told you -- you wouldn't have liked her at all," he said smoothly, taking advantage of the situation to indulge in a little 'told you so'. "She hated the Resistance. Really hated them, a lot more than I ever did."
No, that was a lie, there had been one time in his life when he had hated the Resistance. He decided he might as well let her know about that, while he was at it. "At least, until someone took a pot shot at Ziyal when she was about six years old. That changed my views a bit, though I never considered that I should take the Resistance attacks personally. I thought they were simply..." He caught her eye and decided there was no point telling her what he had thought of her sort back then. Fleas attacking a rhinoceros. But fleas with a powerful will to succeed.
"Never mind what I thought. I was just a misguided Cardassian officer following orders," he said sarcastically, putting on an excessively contrite expression. He knew the tune well enough, having heard it from quite a few of his former colleagues. Being associated in any way with the Bajoran Occupation was no longer fashionable -- better to have fought the Federation like a 'hero'. He was pleased to see that brought a smile to her lips, and even more pleased to find she was waiting for him to continue.
"Anyway, Naprem took the Resistance very personally," he continued thoughtfully. "She had calmed down quite a lot by the time I met her, but she never forgave them..." He paused; there were still some things he didn't feel like telling her about. He pursued his reminiscing in a lighter tone. "She used to have a fit when I was hurt by Resistance attacks. That was mostly later, when I was on Terok Nor. I was always grateful that the propaganda services systematically covered up or minimised the extent of the attacks. I knew I was in for an earful if she got wind of what had happened to me. Of course, she always blamed me -- I wasn't careful, I was too overconfident, my guards were incompetent. Anyway, she made a lot of fuss over nothing."
His description of domestic bliss made her smile, but she wasn't too pleased at his depiction of Resistance attacks. Dukat had been notorious for his condescending attitude towards the Resistance. No matter how hard they worked to kill him -- and some of their attempts had come pretty near the mark, she recalled -- they never seemed to convince him to take them as a serious threat. It could be argued, and from what she had heard, frequently was on Cardassia, that this disdainful attitude had played a part in the Cardassian defeat. But at the time, it had proved extremely frustrating for the Bajorans. Apparently, it was not only impossible to kill Dukat, but it was equally impossible to get his attention.
"Is that why she hated them so much?" she said, feeling a sharp edge creep into her voice.
"Oh no, that had nothing to do with me," he said dismissively. His grey eyes met hers and his face became very serious. He was silent for a moment, and then started, "she... When she was fifteen, the local Resistance cell teamed up with some other opportunists in her village and attacked the house her family lived in with her maternal uncle. They beat up every single member of both families, ransacked the house, burned down their crops and slaughtered their cattle. Naprem's mother died a few weeks later, and she always believed it was due to the shock of the attack."
"The Resistance was never kind to collaborators," she said calmly. She had never taken part in these punitive raids herself -- Shakaar considered quite rightly that the Cardassians should be their main targets -- but she knew how common they had been, especially in remote areas where Cardassia didn't maintain such a strong presence. Not that the Cardassians were very keen on protecting collaborators anyway.
"The funny thing is, Major, they weren't really collaborators at all. Oh, they weren't in the Resistance by any means. Like about ninety-five percent of the Bajoran population, they were doing the best they could under the circumstances. Their real problem was that they were landowners doing just a bit better than everyone else. But they did commit one crime -- they let this fifteen-year-old girl fall in love with a Cardassian soldier."
He sipped his blood wine as he let that information sink in. She looked suitably impressed -- so much for the idea he couldn't impress her. He wondered how much he should tell about the life Naprem had led. 'I'm a woman with a past,' she had warned him, when he contacted her after the reception. It had taken her a long time to tell him everything, and at that, it was quite possible there were some things she had still kept to herself. She was as good as any Cardassian when it came to lying. But he remembered how upset he had been when she had told him about this particular incident. Not just an incident, in fact, more like one of the main events that shaped her life.
"Needless to say, there wasn't much of him left when the Bajorans had finished with him," he informed Kira. He stared down at the floor and after a moment's hesitation, added, "I probably don't need to tell you what they did to Naprem." He lifted his gaze once more to hers to see her reaction. He wasn't sure if she would think the punishment was deserved, or if she would feel sorry for Naprem.
Her throat tightened at the look in his eyes. She knew exactly what they had done to Naprem, what they did to any woman who slept with the enemy. It was the price to pay for the ultimate betrayal of their people. She lowered her eyes as she realised she had been wrong. The Resistance had hurt him after all.
Continued in part 3/3