The Garden of Gethsemane, 2/2 (DS9)
Title: The Garden of Gethsemane
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The night before he is to be executed, Dukat requests a private audience with Kira. Written prior to the events set forth in the finale arc.
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.
PART ONE
Taking three steps toward him, Kira wrapped both her hands around Dukat's neck. It was too wide for her to strangle him like this, but she knew that two sharp blows would put a final, irrevocable end to years of misery. One to the center of his neck ridge, where the interstices were spaced farther apart as long neck curved into broad shoulder, would incapacitate him. The second, delivered with an upward thrust with the heel of her hand to his nose, would propel blunt force trauma into the center of his cranium, killing him almost instantly.
Two blows, and she would be at peace. Two blows, and no one would have to know about the bloodstains on her hands. Two blows, and she would never have to seek, or give, absolution. She would not -- she could not -- repent, any more than she could accept his repentance.
"What are you waiting for, Nerys? This is what you've always wanted. Kill me. End it. End your pain. Bury your hatred with my body."
This was the moment she had been living for; this was a moment that demanded immediate, decisive action. Except....
"I... You... We killed them. Both of us, you and me. We killed my mother and Ziyal."
"Yes, we did. And together we will kill each other. Together we let our hatred for each other destroy us. Do it, Nerys. I know what you're thinking. Put your thoughts to action, as you have done all your life. You've hated me since you were a small child; now fulfill your lifelong wish to see me dead at your feet, my blood on your hands."
Her fingers flexed and stretched against his textured skin as the balls of her thumbs unwittingly caressed the prominent bulge in his throat, feeling it jump beneath her grip with each swallow he took. In this position, she was compelled to look into his pale eyes, and she was surprised to find no reproach in his gaze. Merely... resignation. Acceptance. Anticipation.
Vindication.
His hands reached up and clasped her wrists, bringing her hands closer about his neck. "Kill us, Nerys," he whispered.
He wanted her to kill him.
Two blows...
...and he would have won. He would be dead by her own hand, and part of her, that small part that was all she had left of living, would die with him.
His hands against her skin were so cold. Cold and dead. Dead like Gul Dukat, Bajor's cruel oppressor, her mother's lover, Ziyal's father, her bitter enemy. That man was dead, smothered to death by his guilt and his ambition. This man would join him -- but not now, not tonight, not by her hands. Not by her warm, living hands, covered in the blood of those who had died because of her hatred for this man. This man whose hands were likewise stained.
The last, crumbling barrier collapsed in a pile of rubble as she sank down onto him, releasing her hold on his neck and wrapping her arms around him to pull him to her, pressing her face into his chest, feeling his arms enfold her within his familiar presence.
"I can't do it," she cried. "Damn you, Dukat, why? Why can't I kill you? I hate you! I've never wanted anything more than to kill you, but I can't do it. Why? Prophets damn you, why?"
For once, Dukat said nothing. He just tightened his arms around her and held her. And for once, she did not resist or shrink back.
She had no idea how long they remained there, their arms around each other, neither of them speaking, neither of them moving. All she knew was that something between them had changed, that the years of animosity and hatred and revenge had somehow fallen away, leaving only Kira and Dukat, broken, bloodied, and scarred almost beyond recognition. All she knew was that, no matter how little sense it made to her, she could no more kill him than he could kill her.
Even as she turned her head to press her ear against his chest and listen to the steady pace of his heartbeat, she realized that killing him had never been her true objective. In all the times she had threatened violence against him, over all those years of unconsciously and deliberately hurting those close to him, she had been seeking to punish him, to make him pay for the wrongs he had committed against her. Yet only now, with the clarity of hindsight, could she also see that he had been doing the same thing to her. They had both been so blinded by their mutual hatred and need for revenge, that neither of them could see the suffering they had inflicted on others -- on Bajor and Cardassia, on Meru and Ziyal. Too many people had suffered and died in the name of a bitter feud between Kira and Dukat.
She felt a slight change in Dukat's breathing and pulled away to look up at his face, but he tightened his arms around her even more. "Don't," he murmured into her hair. "You're so warm."
"What?"
"I'm freezing, Nerys. Those idiots in Starfleet are so afraid of me, they've kept the temperature set too low, to dull my responses. Yours is the first warmth I've felt since I arrived here."
She relaxed the hand that had been clutching at his shirt front and reached up to touch his face, jerking away with a gasp when she realized he had spoken the truth. "Prophets! I can't believe they'd do this to you. That's... That's..."
"-- a Cardassian technique?"
"That's not what I was going to say."
"Maybe not, but the thought crossed your mind."
"Would you stop doing that?"
"Stop doing what?"
"Anticipating everything I'm going to say."
"Can I help it if I know you so well? I've watched you almost all your life, Nerys; wouldn't you think I'd have learned enough about you to read your mind?"
"Damn you."
"I think we've been down that path already."
He stirred again, this time releasing her and gently pushing her off his lap to the floor before rising to his feet with a groan. When she looked up at him in puzzlement, he smiled and extended a hand to assist her to her feet. "No offense, but you're not as light as you used to be and I'm not as young as I used to be," he said with a half-shrug, then guided her to sit beside him on the sofa in the antechamber. As she curled her legs beside her, he stretched his before him, crossing them at the ankles, and leaned his head back against the cushion to look up through the skylight above them. "So that's Terra's moon," he said. "Look like it's starting to set. I've never seen any more of it than what shines through the skylights at night until now."
"It looks pretty unimpressive to me, despite the size."
"Hm," he chuckled. "No, I suppose it can't hold a candle to any of Bajor's moons." His deep sigh caught her attention, and she watched him in profile, observing the rapid blinking of his eyes as he continued to study the cool, distant white orb.
"You... really loved Bajor, didn't you?" she asked, almost pleasantly surprised that the thought of his fondness for her world no longer disturbed her as it once did.
"I was never happier than when I was on Bajor," he replied, nodding. Then, turning his head to look at her, he continued, "But I also endured some of the worst tragedies of my life there as well."
"Like --" She felt the need to look away from his direct gaze before she could continue. "-- my mother."
"And Ziyal. Between Meru's death and Ziyal's conception, I think that has to count as the worst day of my entire life -- even worse than the day I lost Ziyal forever."
Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Crossing one leg over the other, he shifted away, then cleared his throat. "I mean that Ziyal was conceived the night your mother died."
"You... I... Ziyal --" She gave up, and started again. "I don't understand."
"I didn't think you would." Her grunt of irritation went unnoticed.
"What happened that day?" she prompted, curious in spite of herself.
He propped his far elbow on the back of the sofa and leaned his chin against his fist, keeping his face turned away from her. "I was despondent and enraged, as though reason had abandoned me. I should have just gone back to the station and let the investigation team take care of the rest, but I didn't want to go back to that bed I knew we would never share again. So, against my better judgment, I went to Naprem's apartment."
Kira fidgeted, hesitant to ask what was on her mind. Finally, when his silence continued, she asked, "Did you rape her?"
His eyes were wide and his pale face drawn when he turned to stare at her. "No, I didn't rape her! I didn't even intend to have sex with her when I went -- I just needed someone to talk to, someone who would listen, someone who might sympathize.... It was Naprem who initiated the sex, and I was so deranged I never even realized what I was doing until it was all over. And when we were finished, I was so... ashamed... for losing control, that I left and never returned."
"You never went back?" She was even more confused than before. "What about Ziyal?"
"It was Ziyal that brought me back. You see," he said, glancing at Kira, "we kept detailed records of every birth, even among the Bajorans, and especially of Bajoran women giving birth to half-caste children. That's how I found out about Ziyal -- I saw Naprem's name on a list of new mothers of children with unknown Cardassian fathers, and deduced what must have happened. I tracked her down, and after she admitted that I was Ziyal's father, I convinced her to move into my apartment on Bajor. She refused to live on the station," he added, almost as an afterthought, "and only ever set foot on it once, when she and Ziyal boarded the Ravenok".
"And this is why you blame me for Ziyal's birth -- because, if my mother had not died in that shuttle explosion, you would not have turned to Naprem for comfort?"
"You couldn't have planned a better revenge," he muttered, shaking his head. "With just one act of spite, you took away someone I loved, then bound me to the woman who would eventually become the greatest love of my life by giving me my most precious child."
"So you blame me for Naprem as well."
He did not respond at first, and she was tempted to repeat her statement. Then he abruptly sat up, lacing his hands before his knees, and craned his neck around to peer at her. "The day I learned about Ziyal's birth was the day I swore vengeance against you. It wasn't enough that you had to drive your mother to her death, but that in doing so you had to give me that beautiful child whom no one, Bajoran or Cardassian, loved more than me. Ever since the first time I held her, I've wanted nothing more than to punish you for what you made me suffer." He sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "How ironic that you seem to have had the same purpose in mind."
A tiny voice nagged at Kira, berating her for not becoming angry with him, but for the first time in as long as she could remember she had the strength to ignore that voice and actually listen to Dukat. It was not lost on her that, while he bemoaned the irony that had driven their mutual hatred for thirty years, she discovered another twist of fate that had finally brought them to this middle ground. For thirty years she had believed that her hatred for Cardassians in general, and Dukat in particular, was what gave her strength; whenever her courage wavered, all she had to do was to remind herself of what they had done to Bajor and what he had done to her. For the first time tonight, however, she had learned that there was a different, quieter type of strength to be found in shunning that animosity. It was the sort of strength that drew power from letting go of, not clinging to, the past. It was the sort of strength that refused to be bullied or bludgeoned into cowardice and spite, but instead found nourishment in the unlikeliest of places. Such as listening to Dukat with an open mind, for example.
She inched closer until she was right next to him, and rested her hand on his arm, holding her breath as she waited for him to look first at her hand, then at her. Once she knew she had his full attention, she said, "Why do you consider Ziyal to have been a punishment? You said yourself that you loved her more than anyone. I would think that would have made her a great blessing."
He rolled his eyes and snorted. "A gift from the Prophets, perhaps? Then you should know better than me that a gift from the Prophets is more than likely to be a mixed blessing. Even more so a gift to me." Gently lifting her hand from his arm, he pressed his palm against hers until their fingers interlocked, squeezing so tightly she grimaced with discomfort but said nothing. "The first time I held Ziyal, she clutched my hand like this," he reminisced, a far-off look in his eyes, "and for the first time I actually felt myself to be part of Bajor. Before she was born, I was nothing more than an administrator, responsible for keeping the Bajorans in line, implementing Central Command's directives, and making sure my men behaved themselves. As much as I loved your mother, I had little affection for Bajor or your people. Then Ziyal was born --" He lifted his face to the ceiling and sighed unevenly. "-- and everything changed. Suddenly everything I had depended on my entire life -- my family, Cardassia, my career, Terok Nor -- was pulled out from under my feet, and I was left holding this tiny, squalling baby with Cardassian and Bajoran ridges decorating her face. And yet... and yet... and yet I knew, that no matter how much my daughter bound me to Bajor, I would always be unwelcome. It was as though Bajor had opened up and swallowed me whole -- then spit me out."
His hand relaxed, but she did not draw away; instead, she tightened her small hand around his larger one. "That still doesn't tell me how you used Ziyal's birth to punish me."
He turned toward her and cocked his head to one side, a humorless smile twitching at the corners of his expressive mouth. "You forget who you're dealing with, Nerys," he said, and the tone of his voice made her shiver at the memory of who and what he had once been. "You forget that my people have perfected the art of inflicting suffering on others without so much as lifting a finger." He turned more fully toward her, pulling their entwined hands to rest against his chest. "Do you remember when you led a raid on the Shoreth training facility?" She nodded, not sure why he asked. "Have you ever wondered why, after you discovered that your plans had been found out, you managed to escape unharmed, even though all your compatriots were killed or arrested?"
Kira felt her breath catch in her throat, but Dukat continued, "Did you ever wonder how it was so easy for your friends to break you out of that interrogation center? Why you were only ever arrested once? How you managed to get to Terok Nor so easily? Why I let you leave Odo's office after he questioned you about Vaatrick's murder? Why you were listed in my security files as nothing more than a 'minor operative'?" His eyes focused on her face. "Did it ever occur to you that you led an unusually charmed life for a Resistance fighter?"
She swallowed several times in rapid succession, struggling to contain the surging wave of nausea that swept through her at Dukat's admission. "You... You were protecting me?" she gasped.
Looking away from her, he laughed softly. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it. But, in truth, I wasn't deliberately trying to keep you from harm. I wanted you to live, while all the people you loved were either taken away or killed, just as Meru was taken away from me and I was forced to go on without her. I wanted you to feel ostracized by your guilt at surviving, just as I felt ostracized by a world I wanted first to conquer, then to be embraced by."
He raised his free hand to her cheek, resting his thumb beside her nose and causing her earring to tinkle as his fingers brushed against it. When her other hand came to rest on top of his, his eyes widened, then closed and he leaned forward until the inverted drop in the center of his brow pressed just above her nose ridges. "Oh, Nerys," he whispered hoarsely, "how could I -- how could we have known? How could I have imagined that, every time I tried to punish you, that punishment would come back to haunt me?"
Kira did not even realize she had started crying until Dukat's thumb caressed the rim of her cheekbone just below her eye and she felt the wetness smear beneath his touch. A month ago -- Prophets, a day ago -- she would have been angry and embarrassed at this display of weakness in his presence, but if there was any lesson she had learned over the course of the past several hours, it was that her unrepentant anger and hatred had made her far weaker in the eyes of the Prophets than any act of compassion and forgiveness ever could. Dukat had said that their legacy to each other had been 30 years of prejudice and bitter recriminations but, although neither of them could erase what three decades of shared hatred had done, the future had not yet been written -- and there was still time to start a new chapter.
By forcing her to confront her hatred, Dukat had enabled Kira to admit that their lives had become so deeply intertwined that the thought of his imminent death had opened a chasm within her pagh. From somewhere deep inside her, a small voice echoed, jump. And so she obeyed, taking the greatest leap of faith she had ever dared, releasing his hands and pulling him to her until she felt the shudders that racked his body reverberating against her tiny frame, until she could no longer distinguish whose heartbeat thudded in her chest, until not even the first light of dawn could shine between them.
* * * * *
When she awoke, the sun was near its zenith and she was alone on the sofa. Rubbing her eyes and rolling onto her side, she sought to remember what had happened before she and Dukat fell into a brief but exhausted slumber. As recollections filtered into her increasing awareness, she remembered that they had held each other for a very long time, until the morning light banished the darkness and shadows that had enshrouded them all night. Then one of them yawned, and in silent but mutual accord -- probably the first time they had ever agreed on anything -- they had stretched out along the sofa, Kira on her back, Dukat's head resting on her chest with his ear pressed against her heart, their arms wrapped around each other, their legs in a tangle. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the sound of his deep, even breathing as he finally relaxed by her side.
As the haze of sleep and emotional exhaustion dissipated, she spotted an array of foods on the table and heard water rushing in the background. Curious and hungry, she pushed herself off the sofa and went to see what there was to eat.
She was not surprised to find that Dukat had requested Bajoran food, although there were some Cardassian dishes as well. He had apparently served himself already; a plate of half-eaten ratamba stew sat before a chair that seemed to have been shoved away from the table. Kira took a wedge of fruit from one of the platters and ventured into Dukat's private chamber.
She found him at the back, stripped to the waist and bent over his sink, retching. Fearful that her intrusion might disturb him, she started to turn away, but inadvertently cracked her shin against his cot, dropping the fruit in the process. Whether it was the sound of bone striking steel or her muffled curse that alerted him to her presence she did not know, but he looked over his shoulder at her as she bent down to rub at the swelling bruise, then pulled a towel from the rack and wiped his face before coming toward her.
"Are you all right?" he rasped.
"Yes, fine, it's nothing," she muttered, giving him a half-smile. "I was coming to ask you the same thing."
"Why? Oh, that?" He waved his hand as though shooing a pesky fly. "That's nothing, just nerves. It's not every day I get to attend my own execution, you know."
She immediately straightened and glared at him. "Stop it!"
Eyes wide in what could only be mock innocence, he asked, "Stop what?"
"Stop joking about this! Even if I... it's not a laughing matter!"
She knew he had caught her interrupted thought and hoped he might let it pass, but she knew her hope was in vain. Too much had already been laid bare between them for her to expect to be able to conceal this final admission from him. "Even if you what, Nerys?" he asked, lifting her chin until her eyes locked with his.
"Even if I... don't think it's right that you should have to die this way." She struggled to break free, but his hand clamped around her chin, holding her in place as he studied her intently.
His gaze at first was cool and direct, very much like the harsh, cruel dictator she had known - -or thought she had known -- all her life, but as she continued to hold his stare his expression softened until he looked more like the loving father she had inadvertently discovered four years ago. Then he released her chin and clasped her shoulders. "Nerys," he said, continuing to look directly at her, "there's nothing left for me. Cardassia, my family, Ziyal -- they're all gone. You are all that I have left. You are my legacy to Bajor -- you embody both the best and the worst of what I am and have been." He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped around her. "There's something I'd like you to do for me."
"What?"
"I still have some accounts on Bajor. They're registered under assumed names and heavily password-protected, which is why the Council of Ministers hasn't been able to access them, although I'm sure they are aware of their existence. In any case," he continued, beginning to pace, "I'll provide you with all the information you need to access the funds, if you would do one small favor for me." He looked at Kira and waited for her consent; when she nodded, he said, "I'd like for you to use some of the funds to establish a scholarship in Ziyal's name at the university, with the stipulation that the scholarship be set aside for half-caste children."
"Consider it done." She could not resist returning his smile of relief. "Is there anything else I can do? What do you -- what's going to happen to you -- to your body?"
"That's already been taken care of. Just see to it that the money in my accounts is put to good use on Bajor, and doesn't end up in the Federation treasury."
"You have my word on that."
Dukat chuckled and reached out to take her hands in his and hold them against his chest. "Thank you for spending this last night with me, Nerys. As unpleasant as it was at times, it would have been far worse to spend it alone or even, Prophets forbid, with Captain Sisko." His forced smile did not hide the anguish that was all too evident in his eyes. "I wish, more than anything right now, that I could undo all the pain and suffering I've caused you. I wish we could have found our way to this understanding years ago. I wish we could go back to the beginning and start over."
Kira took a step closer to him, feeling the chill that radiated off his bare chest. "No," she said with determination. "We can't go back to the beginning, and even if we could it wouldn't solve anything. No, it's time we both let go of the past and how much we've hated each other." She took a deep breath, then plunged in, "As Kai Pirisht once said, 'Anyone can forgive a friend, but only' --"
"'-- 'but only a child of the Prophets can forgive an enemy'," Dukat finished the citation, tilting his head to one side and smiling down at her.
And with that, Kira knew that there was only one thing more to say. In inflicting pain on the other, they had each only inflicted it on themselves; but in seeking to free her from that ongoing cycle of anger and revenge, Dukat had opened the door leading out of the hell that awaited him. Now it was her turn to lead him through that door. She reached up and grasped his left ear between her thumb and forefinger, holding his gaze. "May the Prophets walk with you on your final journey."
He closed his eyes and released her, and she turned to leave. One of the guards on the day shift stood and lowered the forcefield to let her out. "Nerys!" Dukat called just as she reached the outer forcefield. She turned to see him leaning casually against the portal to his chamber, although her sharp eyes took note of the way his fingers clutched at the towel he held. "I expect you to be there this afternoon. I hear there's going to be quite a celebration in Golden Gate Park once my death is made public."
Kira shook her head, but said nothing. She would not -- could not -- attend Dukat's execution. Despite his demand that she be present to witness his final moments alive, she had to rebel against him this one last time, to remind him of who she was, of who she had been. And, she knew, he would appreciate her final symbolic gesture of disobedience. She also knew, somehow, that he anticipated her intransigence, and that he was not able to bring himself to order her to stay away. Thus, in denying his order, she would be fulfilling his unspoken wish.
Turning away from him for the last time, she crossed the threshold. As the forcefield crackled back into place behind her, she heard a once-detested baritone proclaim, "Walk with the Prophets, Kira Nerys."
EPILOGUE
The door chimed, disturbing Kira's prayers. "Come in," she called, sitting back on her heels. From behind her, heavy footfalls approached and Captain Sisko came around to stand within her field of view, looking grave and somber. "Am I needed in Ops, Captain?"
Sisko cleared his throat. "No," he said with uncharacteristic hesitance. His hands, which he had been holding behind his back, came around in front of him, and she noticed that he held a box in one hand. He acknowledged her attention by extending the box toward her. "This appeared on my desk this morning. It's from Earth."
Kira, still kneeling, looked up at him quizzically. "And?"
"And... it's addressed to you. From... Dukat."
She nodded, not certain how to react. Six months had passed since Dukat's death, and during those six months she felt as if the entire universe walked on eggshells around her, waiting for... what? For her to burst into hysterics? For her to pronounce the judgment she knew they all expected from her? Or were they trying to muster up the courage to ask why, as soon as she returned to the station, she had gone to the Bajoran shrine and lit a Duranya lamp? Did they want to hear that, as the hour of Dukat's execution approached, she had fastened her eyes on an antique time-telling device, watching the hands move precariously closer to that fateful moment until a tinny bell pealed four times, when she hurled the clock against a wall? Did they want to know that after all had been said and done, she mourned him?
Sisko was among the worst, and this was the first time she had heard him mention Dukat's name in her presence since that fateful day. He bent down to place the box on the floor in front of her. He wavered for a moment, as if he had thought to say something, then thought better of it. Without another word, he left.
As soon as the door slid shut, she stretched her arm out and lifted the box. Pulling her legs out from under her, she sat on the floor and studied the box from several angles. Then she lifted it to her ear and shook it gently. Whatever was inside rattled against the sides, and a faint floral scent wafted through. Her curiosity overcoming her indecision, she unwrapped the packaging and opened the lid.
Inside was a padd, a Cardassian military insignia, a yellow recording chip and a single Bajoran lilac, dried and pressed. She reached inside the box and took out the padd. It contained a list of accounts, all on Bajor and all containing vast sums of money; she had forgotten about her promise but was not surprised to discover that he had not. She returned the padd to the box and retrieved the insignia and the chip. Rising and going to her computer console, she activated the monitor and inserted the chip. As she waited for the recording to begin playing, she rubbed her thumb across the raised Kardasi symbols on the insignia, absently wondering what they all meant.
She jumped when Dukat's voice, seemingly from beyond the grave, resounded throughout the room.
"Colonel... Nerys," he began somewhat hesitantly, and the anxiety that was so plain on his face told her that he must have recorded this just before Starfleet Security escorted him from his cell for the last time, "I hope you won't think ill of me for doing so, but I took the liberty of recording our conversation last night. You see, I know you, and I know that, even if you won't admit it to yourself now, subconsciously there's a part of you trying to figure out how to forget that what took place between us ever happened. If I were still around, of course --" He spread his hands and grinned. "-- then I would do everything in my power to make you remember. But this is the best that I could do, given the... circumstances. Watch this, Nerys, watch it again and again until you've memorized it. Remember what we said to each other, for your sake and for Ziyal's and Meru's memories, if not --" His gaze wavered and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "-- if not for my own. Please... don't forget."
He leaned forward, as if he were about to stop the recording, then paused and looked directly at the screen with an expression of such naked regard, bordering almost on genuine love, that Kira felt tears -- the first tears she had wept in six months -- stinging at her eyes, and said, "Thank you, Nerys... for everything." Then the screen went momentarily black, until Kira saw herself enter Dukat's dimly-lit cell and heard him say to that earlier incarnation, "Colonel..."
Pulling up a chair, she settled herself before the monitor.
"I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." (Matthew 16:19 )
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The night before he is to be executed, Dukat requests a private audience with Kira. Written prior to the events set forth in the finale arc.
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.
PART ONE
Taking three steps toward him, Kira wrapped both her hands around Dukat's neck. It was too wide for her to strangle him like this, but she knew that two sharp blows would put a final, irrevocable end to years of misery. One to the center of his neck ridge, where the interstices were spaced farther apart as long neck curved into broad shoulder, would incapacitate him. The second, delivered with an upward thrust with the heel of her hand to his nose, would propel blunt force trauma into the center of his cranium, killing him almost instantly.
Two blows, and she would be at peace. Two blows, and no one would have to know about the bloodstains on her hands. Two blows, and she would never have to seek, or give, absolution. She would not -- she could not -- repent, any more than she could accept his repentance.
"What are you waiting for, Nerys? This is what you've always wanted. Kill me. End it. End your pain. Bury your hatred with my body."
This was the moment she had been living for; this was a moment that demanded immediate, decisive action. Except....
"I... You... We killed them. Both of us, you and me. We killed my mother and Ziyal."
"Yes, we did. And together we will kill each other. Together we let our hatred for each other destroy us. Do it, Nerys. I know what you're thinking. Put your thoughts to action, as you have done all your life. You've hated me since you were a small child; now fulfill your lifelong wish to see me dead at your feet, my blood on your hands."
Her fingers flexed and stretched against his textured skin as the balls of her thumbs unwittingly caressed the prominent bulge in his throat, feeling it jump beneath her grip with each swallow he took. In this position, she was compelled to look into his pale eyes, and she was surprised to find no reproach in his gaze. Merely... resignation. Acceptance. Anticipation.
Vindication.
His hands reached up and clasped her wrists, bringing her hands closer about his neck. "Kill us, Nerys," he whispered.
He wanted her to kill him.
Two blows...
...and he would have won. He would be dead by her own hand, and part of her, that small part that was all she had left of living, would die with him.
His hands against her skin were so cold. Cold and dead. Dead like Gul Dukat, Bajor's cruel oppressor, her mother's lover, Ziyal's father, her bitter enemy. That man was dead, smothered to death by his guilt and his ambition. This man would join him -- but not now, not tonight, not by her hands. Not by her warm, living hands, covered in the blood of those who had died because of her hatred for this man. This man whose hands were likewise stained.
The last, crumbling barrier collapsed in a pile of rubble as she sank down onto him, releasing her hold on his neck and wrapping her arms around him to pull him to her, pressing her face into his chest, feeling his arms enfold her within his familiar presence.
"I can't do it," she cried. "Damn you, Dukat, why? Why can't I kill you? I hate you! I've never wanted anything more than to kill you, but I can't do it. Why? Prophets damn you, why?"
For once, Dukat said nothing. He just tightened his arms around her and held her. And for once, she did not resist or shrink back.
She had no idea how long they remained there, their arms around each other, neither of them speaking, neither of them moving. All she knew was that something between them had changed, that the years of animosity and hatred and revenge had somehow fallen away, leaving only Kira and Dukat, broken, bloodied, and scarred almost beyond recognition. All she knew was that, no matter how little sense it made to her, she could no more kill him than he could kill her.
Even as she turned her head to press her ear against his chest and listen to the steady pace of his heartbeat, she realized that killing him had never been her true objective. In all the times she had threatened violence against him, over all those years of unconsciously and deliberately hurting those close to him, she had been seeking to punish him, to make him pay for the wrongs he had committed against her. Yet only now, with the clarity of hindsight, could she also see that he had been doing the same thing to her. They had both been so blinded by their mutual hatred and need for revenge, that neither of them could see the suffering they had inflicted on others -- on Bajor and Cardassia, on Meru and Ziyal. Too many people had suffered and died in the name of a bitter feud between Kira and Dukat.
She felt a slight change in Dukat's breathing and pulled away to look up at his face, but he tightened his arms around her even more. "Don't," he murmured into her hair. "You're so warm."
"What?"
"I'm freezing, Nerys. Those idiots in Starfleet are so afraid of me, they've kept the temperature set too low, to dull my responses. Yours is the first warmth I've felt since I arrived here."
She relaxed the hand that had been clutching at his shirt front and reached up to touch his face, jerking away with a gasp when she realized he had spoken the truth. "Prophets! I can't believe they'd do this to you. That's... That's..."
"-- a Cardassian technique?"
"That's not what I was going to say."
"Maybe not, but the thought crossed your mind."
"Would you stop doing that?"
"Stop doing what?"
"Anticipating everything I'm going to say."
"Can I help it if I know you so well? I've watched you almost all your life, Nerys; wouldn't you think I'd have learned enough about you to read your mind?"
"Damn you."
"I think we've been down that path already."
He stirred again, this time releasing her and gently pushing her off his lap to the floor before rising to his feet with a groan. When she looked up at him in puzzlement, he smiled and extended a hand to assist her to her feet. "No offense, but you're not as light as you used to be and I'm not as young as I used to be," he said with a half-shrug, then guided her to sit beside him on the sofa in the antechamber. As she curled her legs beside her, he stretched his before him, crossing them at the ankles, and leaned his head back against the cushion to look up through the skylight above them. "So that's Terra's moon," he said. "Look like it's starting to set. I've never seen any more of it than what shines through the skylights at night until now."
"It looks pretty unimpressive to me, despite the size."
"Hm," he chuckled. "No, I suppose it can't hold a candle to any of Bajor's moons." His deep sigh caught her attention, and she watched him in profile, observing the rapid blinking of his eyes as he continued to study the cool, distant white orb.
"You... really loved Bajor, didn't you?" she asked, almost pleasantly surprised that the thought of his fondness for her world no longer disturbed her as it once did.
"I was never happier than when I was on Bajor," he replied, nodding. Then, turning his head to look at her, he continued, "But I also endured some of the worst tragedies of my life there as well."
"Like --" She felt the need to look away from his direct gaze before she could continue. "-- my mother."
"And Ziyal. Between Meru's death and Ziyal's conception, I think that has to count as the worst day of my entire life -- even worse than the day I lost Ziyal forever."
Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Crossing one leg over the other, he shifted away, then cleared his throat. "I mean that Ziyal was conceived the night your mother died."
"You... I... Ziyal --" She gave up, and started again. "I don't understand."
"I didn't think you would." Her grunt of irritation went unnoticed.
"What happened that day?" she prompted, curious in spite of herself.
He propped his far elbow on the back of the sofa and leaned his chin against his fist, keeping his face turned away from her. "I was despondent and enraged, as though reason had abandoned me. I should have just gone back to the station and let the investigation team take care of the rest, but I didn't want to go back to that bed I knew we would never share again. So, against my better judgment, I went to Naprem's apartment."
Kira fidgeted, hesitant to ask what was on her mind. Finally, when his silence continued, she asked, "Did you rape her?"
His eyes were wide and his pale face drawn when he turned to stare at her. "No, I didn't rape her! I didn't even intend to have sex with her when I went -- I just needed someone to talk to, someone who would listen, someone who might sympathize.... It was Naprem who initiated the sex, and I was so deranged I never even realized what I was doing until it was all over. And when we were finished, I was so... ashamed... for losing control, that I left and never returned."
"You never went back?" She was even more confused than before. "What about Ziyal?"
"It was Ziyal that brought me back. You see," he said, glancing at Kira, "we kept detailed records of every birth, even among the Bajorans, and especially of Bajoran women giving birth to half-caste children. That's how I found out about Ziyal -- I saw Naprem's name on a list of new mothers of children with unknown Cardassian fathers, and deduced what must have happened. I tracked her down, and after she admitted that I was Ziyal's father, I convinced her to move into my apartment on Bajor. She refused to live on the station," he added, almost as an afterthought, "and only ever set foot on it once, when she and Ziyal boarded the Ravenok".
"And this is why you blame me for Ziyal's birth -- because, if my mother had not died in that shuttle explosion, you would not have turned to Naprem for comfort?"
"You couldn't have planned a better revenge," he muttered, shaking his head. "With just one act of spite, you took away someone I loved, then bound me to the woman who would eventually become the greatest love of my life by giving me my most precious child."
"So you blame me for Naprem as well."
He did not respond at first, and she was tempted to repeat her statement. Then he abruptly sat up, lacing his hands before his knees, and craned his neck around to peer at her. "The day I learned about Ziyal's birth was the day I swore vengeance against you. It wasn't enough that you had to drive your mother to her death, but that in doing so you had to give me that beautiful child whom no one, Bajoran or Cardassian, loved more than me. Ever since the first time I held her, I've wanted nothing more than to punish you for what you made me suffer." He sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "How ironic that you seem to have had the same purpose in mind."
A tiny voice nagged at Kira, berating her for not becoming angry with him, but for the first time in as long as she could remember she had the strength to ignore that voice and actually listen to Dukat. It was not lost on her that, while he bemoaned the irony that had driven their mutual hatred for thirty years, she discovered another twist of fate that had finally brought them to this middle ground. For thirty years she had believed that her hatred for Cardassians in general, and Dukat in particular, was what gave her strength; whenever her courage wavered, all she had to do was to remind herself of what they had done to Bajor and what he had done to her. For the first time tonight, however, she had learned that there was a different, quieter type of strength to be found in shunning that animosity. It was the sort of strength that drew power from letting go of, not clinging to, the past. It was the sort of strength that refused to be bullied or bludgeoned into cowardice and spite, but instead found nourishment in the unlikeliest of places. Such as listening to Dukat with an open mind, for example.
She inched closer until she was right next to him, and rested her hand on his arm, holding her breath as she waited for him to look first at her hand, then at her. Once she knew she had his full attention, she said, "Why do you consider Ziyal to have been a punishment? You said yourself that you loved her more than anyone. I would think that would have made her a great blessing."
He rolled his eyes and snorted. "A gift from the Prophets, perhaps? Then you should know better than me that a gift from the Prophets is more than likely to be a mixed blessing. Even more so a gift to me." Gently lifting her hand from his arm, he pressed his palm against hers until their fingers interlocked, squeezing so tightly she grimaced with discomfort but said nothing. "The first time I held Ziyal, she clutched my hand like this," he reminisced, a far-off look in his eyes, "and for the first time I actually felt myself to be part of Bajor. Before she was born, I was nothing more than an administrator, responsible for keeping the Bajorans in line, implementing Central Command's directives, and making sure my men behaved themselves. As much as I loved your mother, I had little affection for Bajor or your people. Then Ziyal was born --" He lifted his face to the ceiling and sighed unevenly. "-- and everything changed. Suddenly everything I had depended on my entire life -- my family, Cardassia, my career, Terok Nor -- was pulled out from under my feet, and I was left holding this tiny, squalling baby with Cardassian and Bajoran ridges decorating her face. And yet... and yet... and yet I knew, that no matter how much my daughter bound me to Bajor, I would always be unwelcome. It was as though Bajor had opened up and swallowed me whole -- then spit me out."
His hand relaxed, but she did not draw away; instead, she tightened her small hand around his larger one. "That still doesn't tell me how you used Ziyal's birth to punish me."
He turned toward her and cocked his head to one side, a humorless smile twitching at the corners of his expressive mouth. "You forget who you're dealing with, Nerys," he said, and the tone of his voice made her shiver at the memory of who and what he had once been. "You forget that my people have perfected the art of inflicting suffering on others without so much as lifting a finger." He turned more fully toward her, pulling their entwined hands to rest against his chest. "Do you remember when you led a raid on the Shoreth training facility?" She nodded, not sure why he asked. "Have you ever wondered why, after you discovered that your plans had been found out, you managed to escape unharmed, even though all your compatriots were killed or arrested?"
Kira felt her breath catch in her throat, but Dukat continued, "Did you ever wonder how it was so easy for your friends to break you out of that interrogation center? Why you were only ever arrested once? How you managed to get to Terok Nor so easily? Why I let you leave Odo's office after he questioned you about Vaatrick's murder? Why you were listed in my security files as nothing more than a 'minor operative'?" His eyes focused on her face. "Did it ever occur to you that you led an unusually charmed life for a Resistance fighter?"
She swallowed several times in rapid succession, struggling to contain the surging wave of nausea that swept through her at Dukat's admission. "You... You were protecting me?" she gasped.
Looking away from her, he laughed softly. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it. But, in truth, I wasn't deliberately trying to keep you from harm. I wanted you to live, while all the people you loved were either taken away or killed, just as Meru was taken away from me and I was forced to go on without her. I wanted you to feel ostracized by your guilt at surviving, just as I felt ostracized by a world I wanted first to conquer, then to be embraced by."
He raised his free hand to her cheek, resting his thumb beside her nose and causing her earring to tinkle as his fingers brushed against it. When her other hand came to rest on top of his, his eyes widened, then closed and he leaned forward until the inverted drop in the center of his brow pressed just above her nose ridges. "Oh, Nerys," he whispered hoarsely, "how could I -- how could we have known? How could I have imagined that, every time I tried to punish you, that punishment would come back to haunt me?"
Kira did not even realize she had started crying until Dukat's thumb caressed the rim of her cheekbone just below her eye and she felt the wetness smear beneath his touch. A month ago -- Prophets, a day ago -- she would have been angry and embarrassed at this display of weakness in his presence, but if there was any lesson she had learned over the course of the past several hours, it was that her unrepentant anger and hatred had made her far weaker in the eyes of the Prophets than any act of compassion and forgiveness ever could. Dukat had said that their legacy to each other had been 30 years of prejudice and bitter recriminations but, although neither of them could erase what three decades of shared hatred had done, the future had not yet been written -- and there was still time to start a new chapter.
By forcing her to confront her hatred, Dukat had enabled Kira to admit that their lives had become so deeply intertwined that the thought of his imminent death had opened a chasm within her pagh. From somewhere deep inside her, a small voice echoed, jump. And so she obeyed, taking the greatest leap of faith she had ever dared, releasing his hands and pulling him to her until she felt the shudders that racked his body reverberating against her tiny frame, until she could no longer distinguish whose heartbeat thudded in her chest, until not even the first light of dawn could shine between them.
* * * * *
When she awoke, the sun was near its zenith and she was alone on the sofa. Rubbing her eyes and rolling onto her side, she sought to remember what had happened before she and Dukat fell into a brief but exhausted slumber. As recollections filtered into her increasing awareness, she remembered that they had held each other for a very long time, until the morning light banished the darkness and shadows that had enshrouded them all night. Then one of them yawned, and in silent but mutual accord -- probably the first time they had ever agreed on anything -- they had stretched out along the sofa, Kira on her back, Dukat's head resting on her chest with his ear pressed against her heart, their arms wrapped around each other, their legs in a tangle. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the sound of his deep, even breathing as he finally relaxed by her side.
As the haze of sleep and emotional exhaustion dissipated, she spotted an array of foods on the table and heard water rushing in the background. Curious and hungry, she pushed herself off the sofa and went to see what there was to eat.
She was not surprised to find that Dukat had requested Bajoran food, although there were some Cardassian dishes as well. He had apparently served himself already; a plate of half-eaten ratamba stew sat before a chair that seemed to have been shoved away from the table. Kira took a wedge of fruit from one of the platters and ventured into Dukat's private chamber.
She found him at the back, stripped to the waist and bent over his sink, retching. Fearful that her intrusion might disturb him, she started to turn away, but inadvertently cracked her shin against his cot, dropping the fruit in the process. Whether it was the sound of bone striking steel or her muffled curse that alerted him to her presence she did not know, but he looked over his shoulder at her as she bent down to rub at the swelling bruise, then pulled a towel from the rack and wiped his face before coming toward her.
"Are you all right?" he rasped.
"Yes, fine, it's nothing," she muttered, giving him a half-smile. "I was coming to ask you the same thing."
"Why? Oh, that?" He waved his hand as though shooing a pesky fly. "That's nothing, just nerves. It's not every day I get to attend my own execution, you know."
She immediately straightened and glared at him. "Stop it!"
Eyes wide in what could only be mock innocence, he asked, "Stop what?"
"Stop joking about this! Even if I... it's not a laughing matter!"
She knew he had caught her interrupted thought and hoped he might let it pass, but she knew her hope was in vain. Too much had already been laid bare between them for her to expect to be able to conceal this final admission from him. "Even if you what, Nerys?" he asked, lifting her chin until her eyes locked with his.
"Even if I... don't think it's right that you should have to die this way." She struggled to break free, but his hand clamped around her chin, holding her in place as he studied her intently.
His gaze at first was cool and direct, very much like the harsh, cruel dictator she had known - -or thought she had known -- all her life, but as she continued to hold his stare his expression softened until he looked more like the loving father she had inadvertently discovered four years ago. Then he released her chin and clasped her shoulders. "Nerys," he said, continuing to look directly at her, "there's nothing left for me. Cardassia, my family, Ziyal -- they're all gone. You are all that I have left. You are my legacy to Bajor -- you embody both the best and the worst of what I am and have been." He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped around her. "There's something I'd like you to do for me."
"What?"
"I still have some accounts on Bajor. They're registered under assumed names and heavily password-protected, which is why the Council of Ministers hasn't been able to access them, although I'm sure they are aware of their existence. In any case," he continued, beginning to pace, "I'll provide you with all the information you need to access the funds, if you would do one small favor for me." He looked at Kira and waited for her consent; when she nodded, he said, "I'd like for you to use some of the funds to establish a scholarship in Ziyal's name at the university, with the stipulation that the scholarship be set aside for half-caste children."
"Consider it done." She could not resist returning his smile of relief. "Is there anything else I can do? What do you -- what's going to happen to you -- to your body?"
"That's already been taken care of. Just see to it that the money in my accounts is put to good use on Bajor, and doesn't end up in the Federation treasury."
"You have my word on that."
Dukat chuckled and reached out to take her hands in his and hold them against his chest. "Thank you for spending this last night with me, Nerys. As unpleasant as it was at times, it would have been far worse to spend it alone or even, Prophets forbid, with Captain Sisko." His forced smile did not hide the anguish that was all too evident in his eyes. "I wish, more than anything right now, that I could undo all the pain and suffering I've caused you. I wish we could have found our way to this understanding years ago. I wish we could go back to the beginning and start over."
Kira took a step closer to him, feeling the chill that radiated off his bare chest. "No," she said with determination. "We can't go back to the beginning, and even if we could it wouldn't solve anything. No, it's time we both let go of the past and how much we've hated each other." She took a deep breath, then plunged in, "As Kai Pirisht once said, 'Anyone can forgive a friend, but only' --"
"'-- 'but only a child of the Prophets can forgive an enemy'," Dukat finished the citation, tilting his head to one side and smiling down at her.
And with that, Kira knew that there was only one thing more to say. In inflicting pain on the other, they had each only inflicted it on themselves; but in seeking to free her from that ongoing cycle of anger and revenge, Dukat had opened the door leading out of the hell that awaited him. Now it was her turn to lead him through that door. She reached up and grasped his left ear between her thumb and forefinger, holding his gaze. "May the Prophets walk with you on your final journey."
He closed his eyes and released her, and she turned to leave. One of the guards on the day shift stood and lowered the forcefield to let her out. "Nerys!" Dukat called just as she reached the outer forcefield. She turned to see him leaning casually against the portal to his chamber, although her sharp eyes took note of the way his fingers clutched at the towel he held. "I expect you to be there this afternoon. I hear there's going to be quite a celebration in Golden Gate Park once my death is made public."
Kira shook her head, but said nothing. She would not -- could not -- attend Dukat's execution. Despite his demand that she be present to witness his final moments alive, she had to rebel against him this one last time, to remind him of who she was, of who she had been. And, she knew, he would appreciate her final symbolic gesture of disobedience. She also knew, somehow, that he anticipated her intransigence, and that he was not able to bring himself to order her to stay away. Thus, in denying his order, she would be fulfilling his unspoken wish.
Turning away from him for the last time, she crossed the threshold. As the forcefield crackled back into place behind her, she heard a once-detested baritone proclaim, "Walk with the Prophets, Kira Nerys."
EPILOGUE
The door chimed, disturbing Kira's prayers. "Come in," she called, sitting back on her heels. From behind her, heavy footfalls approached and Captain Sisko came around to stand within her field of view, looking grave and somber. "Am I needed in Ops, Captain?"
Sisko cleared his throat. "No," he said with uncharacteristic hesitance. His hands, which he had been holding behind his back, came around in front of him, and she noticed that he held a box in one hand. He acknowledged her attention by extending the box toward her. "This appeared on my desk this morning. It's from Earth."
Kira, still kneeling, looked up at him quizzically. "And?"
"And... it's addressed to you. From... Dukat."
She nodded, not certain how to react. Six months had passed since Dukat's death, and during those six months she felt as if the entire universe walked on eggshells around her, waiting for... what? For her to burst into hysterics? For her to pronounce the judgment she knew they all expected from her? Or were they trying to muster up the courage to ask why, as soon as she returned to the station, she had gone to the Bajoran shrine and lit a Duranya lamp? Did they want to hear that, as the hour of Dukat's execution approached, she had fastened her eyes on an antique time-telling device, watching the hands move precariously closer to that fateful moment until a tinny bell pealed four times, when she hurled the clock against a wall? Did they want to know that after all had been said and done, she mourned him?
Sisko was among the worst, and this was the first time she had heard him mention Dukat's name in her presence since that fateful day. He bent down to place the box on the floor in front of her. He wavered for a moment, as if he had thought to say something, then thought better of it. Without another word, he left.
As soon as the door slid shut, she stretched her arm out and lifted the box. Pulling her legs out from under her, she sat on the floor and studied the box from several angles. Then she lifted it to her ear and shook it gently. Whatever was inside rattled against the sides, and a faint floral scent wafted through. Her curiosity overcoming her indecision, she unwrapped the packaging and opened the lid.
Inside was a padd, a Cardassian military insignia, a yellow recording chip and a single Bajoran lilac, dried and pressed. She reached inside the box and took out the padd. It contained a list of accounts, all on Bajor and all containing vast sums of money; she had forgotten about her promise but was not surprised to discover that he had not. She returned the padd to the box and retrieved the insignia and the chip. Rising and going to her computer console, she activated the monitor and inserted the chip. As she waited for the recording to begin playing, she rubbed her thumb across the raised Kardasi symbols on the insignia, absently wondering what they all meant.
She jumped when Dukat's voice, seemingly from beyond the grave, resounded throughout the room.
"Colonel... Nerys," he began somewhat hesitantly, and the anxiety that was so plain on his face told her that he must have recorded this just before Starfleet Security escorted him from his cell for the last time, "I hope you won't think ill of me for doing so, but I took the liberty of recording our conversation last night. You see, I know you, and I know that, even if you won't admit it to yourself now, subconsciously there's a part of you trying to figure out how to forget that what took place between us ever happened. If I were still around, of course --" He spread his hands and grinned. "-- then I would do everything in my power to make you remember. But this is the best that I could do, given the... circumstances. Watch this, Nerys, watch it again and again until you've memorized it. Remember what we said to each other, for your sake and for Ziyal's and Meru's memories, if not --" His gaze wavered and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "-- if not for my own. Please... don't forget."
He leaned forward, as if he were about to stop the recording, then paused and looked directly at the screen with an expression of such naked regard, bordering almost on genuine love, that Kira felt tears -- the first tears she had wept in six months -- stinging at her eyes, and said, "Thank you, Nerys... for everything." Then the screen went momentarily black, until Kira saw herself enter Dukat's dimly-lit cell and heard him say to that earlier incarnation, "Colonel..."
Pulling up a chair, she settled herself before the monitor.
"I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." (Matthew 16:19 )