Halfway - ST:DS9 - Kira/Dukat - 3/3
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 part 2/3
He sighed, picked up the goblet as if to drink from it, and then seemed to change his mind. Instead, he put his hand up to his forehead and his middle finger traced the contour of the drop-shaped growth above his brow. This covered his face enough to protect him from her inquisitive eyes, which had risen up to look at him again. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and fingers in a weary gesture, wishing he had never brought up that subject. His mind suddenly reminded him of the smooth Bajoran forehead wrinkled with sorrow as she told him what her own people had done to her. What they had done did not touch him in itself -- such an unfortunate experience so long ago in her past was of no consequence to her honour or his own love for her -- but it pained him because it was something that had really hurt her.
"It doesn't matter," he said, trying to express some of the frustration he had felt back then. "It... There is no excuse for living in the past. Bitterness, revenge, regrets, they're all a waste of energy, because you can't change what is done. But when I met Naprem nearly fifteen years later, a part of her was still living in that moment, still so bitter about what had happened, so unforgiving..." It was too hard to talk about Naprem like this, bringing the conversation too near to his real feelings for comfort. If he continued like this, he would bare his pagh to her, and he shuddered to think what she would do with it then.
"It was one of the things that irritated me most about your people," he continued, changing topic slightly to divert his monologue from himself, "this constant reference to the wrongs and rights of the past. As if you go through your lives walking backwards, never prepared to forgive, or forget, or contemplate doing anything new... I'm not speaking for you personally, Major. You are definitely open to new ideas and resolutely turned to the future."
She smiled a little to indicate no offence was taken.
"It wasn't easy at first," he said without any indication as to what he was talking about. "She and I were so different. There was the business of her being Bajoran, of course, which was trouble enough. By the time I met her, she was pretty pro-Cardassian, but there were still innumerable little Bajoran traditions she had to respect, from wearing her earring to throwing salt on the ground before guests came in."
He was about to drink some more of the wine when it occurred to him he was beginning to feel a little light-headed. It had been a while since he had been drunk, but the sensation was unmistakable. He wasn't sure he wanted Major Kira to see him in that state. On the other hand, he doubted she would be staying very long. He looked at the dark red liquid and decided one more sip wasn't going to have him rolling on the floor. It made him feel a lot better about the situation, so he took another one.
"I imagine that's a Netapka custom," she said, never having heard of sprinkling the floor with salt before. She knew she would learn something interesting if she came in with him tonight, though it had not occurred to her it would be an obscure custom from her own planet.
"Oh yes, they have some pretty strange customs down there. She also used to sew a pinch of salt into the hems of Ziyal's garments for good luck. I never saw such a people for worshipping food. Mind you, my mother used to slosh water on my..." there was no word in Bajoran for it so he pointed to the drop shaped protuberance on his forehead, "my this thing, when I had an important event of some sort."
She smiled. "For good luck, too, I presume."
"Either that or she was trying to drown me," he answered jovially. "Anyway, Naprem and I would have these pointless arguments about all sorts of things. She usually won, of course. One of my aides once joked that if she had been religious, I would probably have let her build a shrine in my living-room." He shrugged with a tender smile. "Maybe I would have, too."
"You must miss her a lot," she said.
"Oh, yes, I do," he said with feeling. "I am not one for mulling over things past, but you can't be that close to someone for seventeen years and then forget them overnight." Seventeen years? she thought. It had not occurred to her they had been together that long, though the simple arithmetic she had used earlier made it pretty obvious they had. She regarded Dukat with a slightly heightened respect. When he had first told her about Naprem, she had put it down as an affair, just a good reason to despise Dukat for being unfaithful to his wife, as well as being a war criminal. But he was right, he was a lot more complicated a man than she had thought. And she was right, she did prefer simpler men. They were easier to understand.
But she had to admit as his voice continued that this new side he was baring to her tonight was quite intriguing.
"The hardest thing about the disappearance of the Ravenok was that I had no idea what had happened to it," he continued. "I couldn't even be sure whether she and Ziyal were dead or alive. All I knew was that they were gone and I was totally helpless. I couldn't order further investigations when the mandatory search party came up with nothing, because officially, I had no particular interest in the ship. I couldn't grieve for them in public because no one was supposed to know how much I had lost. I could not share my hopes and fears with anyone because the person I had always shared my innermost thoughts with was Naprem. We made a great couple," he added a little more lightly, as if to tone down the melancholy of his speech.
"It can't have been easy for her all those years," she said, trying to imagine how anyone could have put up with the life Naprem must have led.
He nodded. "It wasn't. I was a high ranking official in the Cardassian military, I was married with seven... no, there were just six back then, so six little Cardassians waiting for me on Prime." He sighed an uncharacteristically melodramatic sigh. "Everything I did, my whole life was built in such a way that there was no place for her. I couldn't introduce her to the people who meant most to me. I couldn't tell anyone about her..."
His eyes fell on the display unit on the table, and he pointed to it.
"If you're really interested, there are some old pictures of her in that unit."
She picked it up and switched it on. It contained a lot more than simply pictures; the main screen indicated she could consult communications archives, as well as personal logs and a testament. The display was in Cardassian and Bajoran, and the different scripts, aligned in different places on the screen, created a strange pattern.
Noticing that she was staring a little blankly at the unit, he got up and leant over her, taking it from her hands to bring up the images he wanted her to see.
The first image was a typical posed Cardassian family picture. Ziyal was about ten years old, her black hair worn long and loose, as her little grey face stared in earnest at the imager. She was standing beside Dukat, who was sitting in full uniform, hands leaning on his knees as if he were about to get up, his head held high, the very image of Cardassian assurance. And then there was Naprem. Conspicuously pink and plump with the onset of middle age, she stood out on the picture, her expression nearly as arrogant as his, her hands neatly folded on the expanse of her bright green robe.
He sighed and switched to the next picture, returning to sit on the other couch before she had time to look at the face which smiled up at her. There could be no doubt who was holding the imager when this picture was taken. Tora Naprem smiled out of the unit, happy and confident on a Summer's day on Bajor. There were hints of a brown and green countryside bathed in sunshine behind her, but most of the picture was focused on her face. It didn't take long for Kira to realise where she had seen that face before. It was round and smooth, with widely spaced, almond-shaped eyes, and thick, sensual lips. Her dark brown hair was down, curling over her family earring and her bare shoulder.
"Ziyal is very like her," she said.
Dukat just nodded.
"I always thought she was like me, for obvious reasons. But the truth is, she is the image of Naprem. I nearly fell over when I first saw Ziyal, when we rescued her."
Her memory of that occasion was that he didn't seem exactly ready to fall over at all. The image of him standing with his rifle pointed at his daughter came to mind.
"I thought I had lost them both," he continued pensively. "And then it turned out I had found Ziyal again, but she was no longer a child, she was a young woman, with Naprem's voice, her eyes, her face... My skin. A very strange combination. I would never have imagined she would turn out so beautiful."
"Yes, she's very pretty," she agreed, wondering how that had come to pass. Certainly the woman on the pictures was no raving beauty, while Ziyal was very attractive.
"It just goes to show that I was wrong. I thought she would be an abomination. I had seen other half-castes before, of course, but the thought of fathering one myself was eminently repugnant. I'm glad to find I was so mistaken."
"Why did you have Ziyal if the thought was so repugnant to you?" she asked.
"I didn't 'have' her," he said with dignity. "Naprem did. Oh, you know what Bajoran women are like -- in fact, you are one, so perhaps you don't fully realise how stubborn you can be," he added with a smile.
She knew that was the general consensus among non-Bajorans.
He drank some wine and looked thoughtful for a moment. "We had been together for three years when Naprem suddenly decided she wanted a child. She was about your age when we first met, so I suppose she felt it was the best time to become a mother. That wasn't a problem in itself -- all she needed was a doctor, a little magic, and she would have the child of her choice. But no, she wanted it to be *my* child." He paused, and then continued, "As I said, I didn't want us to have a child. A bastard half-caste who would belong nowhere and cause nothing but trouble for both of us? Much as I adored Naprem, I knew what we would be letting ourselves in for. Both our species despised us enough as it was for being lovers, but to actually parent a hybrid child was to invite more disdain and hatred... well, you know what happened to me when my people did find out about Ziyal, and most of it was due to her Bajoran blood. Her existence wouldn't have been half as troublesome if she had been a full-blooded Cardassian... But when it came to an argument, Naprem usually had the upper hand," he continued. "She finally convinced me the reward would be worth the risk. And you know, Major, she was quite right. I was telling the truth when I said I didn't regret anything to do with Ziyal. From the moment I made the decision for us to have the child, I knew I was right. Even if it did mean Naprem spent months sneezing and complaining about her ankles."
Kira grinned at his description of a typical Bajoran pregnancy.
"I know Ziyal was worth it," she said.
"Oh, yes. She was a sweet child. In fact, she's a sweet young woman, too. I don't know where she got that from. Naprem thought it was either something she inherited from her maternal grandmother, or maybe it was just that she was subdued by having the two of us around." He had a drink and then went on with a fond look in his eye. "When you think about it, her mere existence is pretty amazing. One half of her Bajoran, the other half Cardassian. One would have thought it would be like trying to mate a vole and a wompat, but no, no technology was needed... and there she was. It was the strangest experience. This plump Bajoran woman, so pink and, and smooth and... Bajoran, holding a baby that looked exactly like all my other children. A little, grey baby with..." still no word for them in Bajoran "...curlicues all over. We noticed the nose ridges later," he added. "That was weird. But she was really beautiful."
And you're really drunk, thought Kira, noticing how disjointed and emotional his speech was becoming. She leant forward with an earnest expression.
"You should be careful with that drink," she said.
"I've only had half a mug," he protested, looking into the goblet.
"Well, I still think you're getting a bit drunk. Maybe that's because blood wine is designed for Klingons, not Cardassians," she said. "You're probably not as resistant as they are," she couldn't help adding.
He gave her his most reasonable look. "I never said I was. Considering their lack of intelligence, I would presume Klingons are probably extremely sturdy. Such things often run in inverse proportions."
"Well, that explains a few things about Cardassians, then," she said gently.
"I believe Cardassians have achieved a fair balance between the two," he said in a lecturing tone.
"Of course, you would. You're Cardassian."
"Oh, and you wouldn't argue that Bajorans are in some way superior to Cardassians?"
"Well, you put a Cardassian and a Bajoran in cold weather conditions, and see who the fragile one is. Your people didn't do too well during the Long Winter." She was rather enjoying this silly argument.
"Those were freak weather conditions," he said, anxious to get on with the anecdote that brought to mind. "Do you know I spent half that winter arguing with Naprem's sister-in-law that it had nothing to do with Prophet intervention, and the other half fighting off Naprem who wanted me to wear these ridiculous warm vests all the time," he told her, waving his finger at her as if to get her attention. "I told her I could handle a little cold. So my feet turned white, well, that's what regenerators are for."
She remembered that winter and the white frostbite on the soldier's fingers as his blood left the surface of his body to try and warm his vital organs. Her own hand was blue, but her blood was warm enough for her body to be kept at a comfortable temperature by the thick clothing she wore. His blood didn't have enough warmth of its own to keep his body temperature up, any exposure to such cold could be fatal. Dukat was already with Naprem in that winter, when she was so young her own hand trembled as she held the disrupter. She had killed people before, but this soldier had made a feeble attempt at chatting her up, and had shown her holograms of his mother and his brothers and sisters, and when she asked, he told her where the arms depot was, all he wanted was for her to warm his hands with hers. But you can't leave witnesses when you're at war.
"That was a long time ago," she said, still lost in the memory. "Just before you became the commander of the Dakhur province."
"Yes, that was the year I was promoted, before Naprem learned to keep her... her... whatever the adjective for clothes is --"
"Sartorial?" she offered.
"Right. Before she learned to keep her sartorial requirements to herself. You're right, that was a long time ago. Even Meridna was only eight!" He shook his head in amazement. "The idea of her ever having been a child... You should see her now - she's the image of *her* mother, too."
She presumed that was one of his daughters. It reminded her of his seven other children, the ones she had never met.
"What do your children make of all this? I mean, your other children."
He nodded to indicate he knew who she meant anyway. He shrugged his shoulders. "My daughters think what my wife and mother think -- they're all righteous outrage and hurt pride about Ziyal. My sons aren't so interested in the moral aspect of it all, but the disgrace will hamper their careers." He ran his hand through his hair and swore rather viciously under his breath. "I can't believe I could have been so stupid... I have spent my life trying to build a future for them. But my mother was right, I turned out just like my father, bringing them nothing but dishonour. The only difference is that I have no intention of giving in like he did. My time will come again, and believe me, no matter what the cost, I will make sure my children can hold their heads up high once more."
She was a little worried by his current train of thought.
"You care a lot about them," she said, more to prompt him to return to the subject of his children than to say anything important.
"You have never borne a child, have you, Major?" he asked, before rolling his eyes. "Neither have I, obviously... sorry, that was the wrong verb," he said, rubbing his forehead ridge. "Anyway, yes, I do care. My children are very precious to me... all of them. When I am dead, they will be my most important contribution to my species. With Ziyal as a little extra, a contribution to scientific curiosity or something... Families are essential because they mean the continuation of the Cardassian people. For generations, the next generation was all my people had to fight for... in fact, my people did a bit more fighting than the others, because they were a minority... but that's a long story. We're all equal Cardassians nowadays, and what matters is the continuation of the State." He finished his wine, and sighed. "I have made a fine mess of things after all. There was a time, when I was the governor of the Dakhur-Recantha region, when everything in my life seemed to be coming into focus. I had Naprem and a comfortable life on Bajor, my career was going well and it seemed I had a promising future. Then everything seemed to break down. I was assigned to Terok Nor, and though that was a promotion, it was not a pleasant one. Who would want to live on a horrible mining station when you could be living on Bajor? And then, of course, they made me Prefect, so that I would have the happy task of overseeing the evacuation." He looked over at her. "Well, you didn't think much of me before... You must downright despise me now. I'm not even the successful war criminal I'm cracked up to be."
She could have said something kind to him, to respond to the genuine distress in his eyes, but she found she could think of nothing to say.
He looked at the empty goblet in his hand. "And you're right," he added, "I am getting a little drunk."
He got up to walk to the replicator but somehow managed, in his inebriated state, to trip on the foot of the sofa. He cursed nicely in Kardasi, and sat on the arm of the sofa to lean down and rub his foot rather inefficiently through his boot.
"Are you all right?" she asked, a little concerned.
"Yes, fine. Just a little drunker than I like to be. I think I'll pass out in a moment," he said in a matter of fact voice which belied his wince.
"Where's that regenerator?" she asked.
"I don't know, I probably left it in the bedroom."
She hesitated and then got up, making for the adjoining room.
"Major," he said before she reached the door. "I can get the regenerator. You can get me a raktajino to sober me up."
He stood up and limped over to her. "Now, what were the chances of that happening?" he whined. "So much for my efforts to impress you, Major."
She laughed gently. "I told you you couldn't impress me."
He smiled at her as he looked into her upturned face. He dared to raise his hand to stroke her cheek; she had allowed it before, maybe she would allow it again. She was surprised by his gesture, and incomprehension furrowed her brow.
"I'll be right back," he said, hobbling in to regenerate his stubbed toe. He chose to perform the process in the bedroom, as he was sure he didn't want to show her his feet. She had seen quite enough of his body for one night -- that is, if she wasn't actually planning to show him hers. He smiled at the idea and wondered if she would really wait for him.
When he came out, he found she was standing by the replicator getting a raktajino as promised.
"I seem to have finally got it sorted out," she said. "Here's your raktajino."
He came over to get it from her and they smiled at each other almost amicably.
"Thank you, Major." He tried to get his mind to clear, and said, "I don't suppose I could call you something else?"
"What do you have in mind?" she asked a little teasingly.
"Nerys?"
She shook her head. "I see. You call me Nerys and I get to call you Dukat?"
"Well, maybe you could call me by my first name."
"I don't even know your first name."
He grinned and went back to his sofa. "All right, how about calling me šeršjin?"
He patted the sofa beside him invitingly as she came towards him, but she declined his invitation, choosing to sit on the couch opposite instead.
"That is one thing I will never call you," she promised. It would be a cold day on Cardassia before she was using any terms of endearment for him. "What is your first name, anyway?"
"Something rude in Bajoran," he said, as he wondered why she had ordered the raktajino so hot.
"Like what? Elme, maratz, kesharel, kantau?" She had to admit the idea of his bearing any of those names was pretty amusing.
"Yes, well, something like that," he said, realising by her expression that he was better off not telling her. "We Cardassians don't go in for publicising our given names."
"Right, so that's 'Major' to you, Dukat."
He nodded. "So much for that bright idea... I must say, I'm surprised you know so little about me, Major. I would have imagined that the Resistance would be better informed about my private life. But you didn't have any idea about Naprem, did you?"
"I didn't," she admitted. "Shakaar said he had heard rumours about a woman from the Southern Islands, though he was as surprised as I was when I told him about Ziyal."
"You mean Shakaar knew something about me that gave him a quick and efficient way of getting at me, and he didn't try to learn more?"
"The rumour wasn't all that near the mark. The Southern Islands aren't exactly Netapka."
He smiled as he remembered who the girl from the Southern Islands probably was.
"Yes, and Perdra wasn't exactly Naprem... she was her sister-in-law, the one who kept teasing me about the Prophets," he explained hastily, before she had time to get the wrong idea. "Still, I'm glad to know the First Minister takes as personal an interest in my private life as I do in his. Could this be something to do with you?"
She smiled mildly, but obviously couldn't think what to say.
"I'm very flattered a woman such as yourself takes such an interest in me," he said, smiling at the thought. She wanted him, she was interested in him, she talked about him with her lover, what more would he want from life? Well, perhaps a chance to get her to act on those emotions. The raktajino was clearing his mind wonderfully, and he was in the mood for some more bantering.
"I told you I'm not interested in you," she said.
"You also told me you didn't want me. I'm beginning to believe you're quite a good liar, Major."
She caught his eye and lowered her gaze, annoyed that she didn't have anything clever to say to that. If he really used conversation to gauge a person's education and intelligence, he must be getting a pretty picture of her erudition. The right picture, of course, as her years of formal education were long forgotten.
"I think I should be going," was the best thing she could think to say, and she made as if to rise.
With unusual alacrity, he sprang out of his seat and over to hers. She was so surprised she sat back on her couch immediately with him beside her. He stayed beside her, staring intently at her, until she wondered if there was some truth in the superstition that Cardassians had a natural talent for hypnotism. But she wasn't actually hypnotised -- just mesmerised, captivated, fascinated... well maybe just a little hypnotised.
"Don't go," he murmured after a while, running his hand gently through her hair.
"I told you I can't do this," she pleaded, though the sensation of him ruffling her hair seemed to be impairing her judgement. So much so, she quite forgot she had it in her power to make him stop.
"Forget Shakaar, Bajor and Deep Space Nine for now, Major. Just concentrate on what you want. I think we both know what that is right now," he said, his hand straying down her neck. She flinched at the touch, turning away from him as he continued, his husky, rumbling voice penetrating her mind even as it tried to shut him out and ignore his suggestion. "I am a good lover... at least I used to be back in the Hebitian period sometime," he added with a little wry smile. "It's been a while... but I know what caresses would please you, what kisses and touches you would like, how to relieve that desire you feel. I know --"
"Cut the speech, Dukat," she snapped, though her voice was barely above a whisper.
For once in his life, he actually did what she asked him to do. He remained quite silent as his hands stroked the back of her neck and then gently massaged her shoulders. Her breath quickened as she felt the tip of his nose tickle the nape of her neck and his hands went further down to caress her arms. His mouth moved around to where her jugular drew an irregular line under her otherwise smooth skin. She saw his grey face come into view in the corner of her eye and tilted her head slightly to see more of him. She shifted her body towards his and moved her arm to put it around his neck. He slipped his arms around her and placed a kiss on the lattice cutaway across the front of her shirt.
She let her lips brush his dark hair as she held him against her breast. His arms tightened around her frame, and she could feel his warm humid breath through the thin material of her shirt. Her chest heaved under his cheek and he lost himself in the moment, in the incredible radiating warmth of her Bajoran body. This was luck beyond anything he had expected from Major Kira.
He felt his body slipping on the smooth leather of the couch and moved to readjust his position. He leant against the back of the seat, pulling her so that she was leaning in the crook of his arm. She looked at him through half-closed eyes, part of her still puzzled by what she was doing there, while the rest just wanted more. She drew her face closer to his and smiled when his free hand traced the contour of her face. He was delighted at the look in her eyes. She was so relaxed just then, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her.
He pulled her even closer and she wrapped both arms around his neck. She hesitantly ran her hand along the ridge on his neck and he gasped. She was surprised, and he placed his fingers on her temple, brushing her skin lightly until her dark eyes were screwed up in delight. He let the hand on her shoulder slide up until he could kneed the sensitive nape of her neck. She sighed and then, as if she suddenly remembered what she had started doing earlier, her hand grasped his neck ridge again. He leant forward until he could breathe on her neck. She seemed enthusiastic enough about that, so he moved his hand from her face to her body, placing it gently on her breast.
Her hand left his neck and she removed his hand from her bosom. She looked down at her pink fingers intertwined with his grey ones, surprised that she could be feeling so turned on by a creature whose very skin was so different from hers. His face was still close to hers and he nuzzled her cheek. She closed her eyes, wondering what to do next. It wasn't just a question of pheromones, she really wanted him. But tomorrow, she had to go back to Deep Space Nine, and she would have to face Odo, and Dax, and Shakaar, and not tell them anything about this. But that was tomorrow. In the meantime, she let go of his hand and it returned to her breast.
The sound of the main door opening behind them interrupted her thoughts, but by the time she had looked around, the door was closing again.
"What was that?" he murmured.
"The door," was all she could think to say.
She felt his nose tickle her ear. His hand was still caressing her and she leant against him and breathed in sensually as the tips of his fingers ran back up her throat. But then the touch stopped and he pulled his head off her shoulder.
"I... It might be Ziyal," he said hesitantly, his voice still husky, but his eyes on the closed door. He drew away from her and pulled his arm out from behind her back to run his fingers lightly through her tousled hair. She turned to look at him and smiled. He looked very, very pleased. But he was obviously thinking about his daughter. "I should go and see," he said, dragging himself away from her.
She let him go, surprised at the regret she felt, but somewhat grateful that the moment was broken. It was Shakaar she was in love with, she shouldn't even be contemplating sleeping with Dukat. Oh, Sweet Prophets, not to sleep with him, just have his grey hands run over her body, to feel that slim frame under her, to see those impertinent eyes closed with pleasure.
He had gone out into the corridor, and she stood up to regain her composure, stretching and pacing to relieve the tension still in her body. Driven by curiosity, she stepped towards the door and let it open for her. She didn't step out, but she could hear the voices further down the corridor, probably near Ziyal's quarters, just beyond Damar's.
They were speaking Kardasi, and she was vaguely surprised. For some reason, she had got used to hearing his voice in Bajoran tonight, and he sounded so different now. His voice had the same velvety tones, but the sound of his native language brought back such painful memories. She couldn't make out everything they were saying, but Ziyal's husky voice occasionally interrupted his and she heard her own name pronounced.
"[It's all right,]" she heard him say. "[We're just talking.]"
Ziyal's soft voice said something, and he responded, "[No, you can come, of course you can come, my jewel... She won't mind.]"
Her throat tightened as she realised Ziyal must have seen them. This was just not turning out to be her night. Now there were three witness to her weakness -- not only that, but she was bringing Ziyal back to the station with her. She hoped she could convince the girl that nothing had happened between her father and her. Which was true enough, if one adhered to a strict interpretation of "nothing".
"[No, she doesn't like me that much... I know, I know,]" continued his voice from the end of the corridor. "[But you'll like it there, and she'll take good care of you... Well, I know that, but you're still *my* little girl...]"
Kira smiled and went back into his quarters. She looked around and hesitated, before deciding there was no point staying there. She would be better off going to her quarters before she let herself in for any more stupid things with Dukat. She wondered how she would ever face Shakaar after this.
She took a deep breath and turned towards the door. As if on cue, it opened and she found herself nose to nose with the source of her problem.
"She's had another nightmare," he explained as he came in, "I usually let her sleep with me when that happens but she..." He stopped as he noticed where she was standing. His disappointment was so obvious, she nearly felt sorry for him. In fact, she did feel sorry for him. She felt pretty sorry for herself, too, because in that moment, she was feeling quite fond of him. Once she was back on Deep Space Nine, she would be able to forget about all this. The Cardassian architecture, the disaffected mining chutes, the presence of so many Bajorans on the station would remind her exactly who he was and what he had represented, and give her ample reason not to regret refusing him now.
"Well, I'm leaving anyway," she said.
He shook his head. "Actually, she's gone back to bed... She didn't want to disturb us," he explained with a wry smile.
She smiled too, and then her eyes caught his movement and she tensed up. If she let him touch her, she was not sure she would be able to make him stop. But his hands were resting on the bare skin of her upper arms. They moved up onto her shoulders and then to her throat, until they held her face in a slightly uplifted position. His thin lips touched hers and she was as surprised by their softness as she was by his gesture. Cardassians didn't do this. But he did, and she felt herself relax as his hands no longer supported her head, but ran down her neck and her back, pulling her body against his.
His mouth tasted of raktajino as she became bold enough to explore it. The gestures were familiar, just the same as she had learnt from her Bajoran lovers. Far too few lovers for a woman as sensual as she was, who so enjoyed the feeling of skin against hers, the warm touch of another person fulfilling her need for physical contact. But this man whose embrace she was accepting was an alien, a Cardassian, the member of a species so unlike hers, and yet sufficiently similar to make her body respond to his. His chest ridges were pressed against her breasts as his kiss continued, relentlessly seeming to rob her of her reason and her balance. She put her arms around his wide neck, only vaguely conscious of how strong her scent must be now that she was fully aroused again. How could she let Gul Dukat get her into such a state?
His head was spinning with the scent of her desire. The kiss in itself was as pleasant as he had ever dreamed, and he could hardly believe this was really her he was holding in his arms. He wondered if she would let him continue. That she should have reservations was logical; as far as she and her colleagues on DS9 were concerned, he was still the enemy. But he had no such qualms, of course. Damar and the rest of his crew were hardly going to pass judgement on his private life, and he wouldn't have to worry about any consequences. He tentatively fumbled with the buttons at the back of her top, gradually baring her smooth skin as the small disks slipped out of their holes. He had always hated buttons; he was sure the Bajorans had invented them purely to annoy him.
He had to let go of her to concentrate on what he was doing. He was strongly tempted to say something amusing to fill in the moment, but then decided it might bring her back to her senses, and that was the last thing he wanted right then. She leant against him as he reached around her, her hands still around his neck as she placed a kiss on the drop shaped ridge below his throat. He shuddered at the touch; he was really looking forward to getting some more of that. Shaken from her unusual passivity by his incapacity to get the buttons undone, she pulled away from his embrace and turned around.
"It will be easier like this," she murmured.
It certainly was. He was grateful she had thought of that, as a soft sweep of his hands across her back pushed the garment down over her arms. She pulled it off and sighed as she felt his slightly humid hands run along the sensitive skin of her waist. They slid onto her belly, slipping inquisitive fingers under the top of her trousers, and then up to caress her bared breasts. She enjoyed the sensation for a moment, leaning back against him, breathing in his smell and listening to his uneven breath as she voluntarily emptied her mind of all its worries.
He pulled her around gently so that he could see her face and really believe that it was her. He cast an appreciative look over her naked front and smiled at the expression on her familiar face.
"I must be dreaming," he murmured softly.
She lowered her eyes and pensively ran her fingers along the opening of his shirt.
"Yeah," was all she could say.
He unfastened the shirt rapidly -- it seemed to have a propensity for slipping off anyway -- and let it fall to the floor. A hesitant finger traced the contours of his patterned skin, followed by her soft lips. He hissed with pleasure and had to take a deep breath to recover some of his composure. The thought that this was actually Major Kira Nerys kissing him was amazing. He just hoped he would be able to rise to the occasion despite the mixture of blood wine and raktajino coursing through his veins. So far, so good.
She seemed reluctant to look him in the eye, but he didn't let that bother him to much. It did occur to him briefly that she was going to have a hard time going back to the station and facing all her friends and colleagues, knowing that she had slept with him of all people. He did at present harbour some tenderness for her, but it nonetheless gave him some satisfaction to imagine that in a few hours, she would be forced to lie to Shakaar. In the meantime, though, he had much more pressing matters on his mind.
She lay back as they sank down, the carpeted surface of the Klingon floor pressing against her naked skin. She let her eyes drift up to his grey face, expecting to see victory in his eyes, and steeling herself for his arrogant pleasure at her defeat. But all she saw there was an unaccustomed tenderness, the reflection of his momentary gratefulness at her surrender. Her relief was such that, when he smiled at her, she reached up to pull his smile onto her lips and his body close to hers.
She opened her eyes and sighed, running her fingers through the curly fuzz on her lover's chest. He was snoring just slightly, as he often did when he was lying on his back. She cast a tender look on his large body, so pink and smooth in the soft morning light of Bajor. How long had she loved him? Oh, for years when she was a young girl. She had forgotten him, and then remembered him again, and now she loved him almost as much as she had loved any man in her life. But as she looked at him, her mind reluctantly pulled her back a few hours, to the orange light of the captured Klingon ship, and the grey face she had caressed then.
She could still remember her own moans as she made love to him. Sweet Prophets, as she made love to Gul Dukat! How could she have done such a thing, she wondered now. But she knew how, and in that moment, she had had no regrets. She had wanted him and had enjoyed every single moment of the experience. Now she knew what it felt like to make love to a creature from another species, a creature she did not even like, that only had one thing in common with her -- passion.
They had rested against each other, lying on the floor, spent and, for a moment, even happy. He had stroked her cheek tenderly and whispered some endearments in Kardasi, something about her skin being beautiful. She had just smiled at him for want of something to say. After a moment, she had got up and put her uniform back on. He asked her to stay the night, mentioning that his bed was a little more comfortable than the floor, though on a Klingon ship, she knew that probably wasn't true. He had reluctantly let her go back to her room, and she had stayed there until the bird of prey reached Deep Space Nine.
She had taken leave of him in the presence of Ziyal. He was looking very pleased with himself, of course. In fact, he was positively beaming with joy. Considering what Damar and Ziyal knew, she had to be careful not to display any unusual behaviour. So she had said goodbye to him rapidly, though she could not resist the temptation to draw attention to his obvious satisfaction at her taking in Ziyal.
"This really pleases you, doesn't it?" she challenged, conscious of Ziyal's eyes on them both.
"Major, it gives me reason to live," he exclaimed, leaning towards her.
She feared for a moment he might kiss her.
He didn't. And much as it shamed her when she thought about it later, she had almost wished he had.