The Garden of Gethsemane, 1/2 (DS9)

[magstopia]

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.

"Peter declared to him, 'Though they all fall away because of you, I will never fall away.' [He] said to him, 'Truly, I say to you, this very night, before the cock crows, you will deny me three times.' Peter said to him, 'Even if I must die with you, I will not deny you.'" (Matthew 26:33-35)

"Mister Dukat, would you please rise."

Kira watched Dukat slowly uncoil himself from his seat before the judiciary panel, leaning his fingertips against the table for balance as he squared his shoulders. From her vantage point behind the prosecution team she could see his profile, composed and as unmoving as a granite slab, and his serenity angered her.

The chief justice banged her gavel against the bench as several of the spectators shifted in their seats. This was the moment Bajor and the Federation had been anticipating for eight years, the moment Kira had been living for her entire life. She kept her eyes focused on his face, watching for any hint of emotion when the sentence was read. "Without any further ado, Mister Dukat, having been accused of war crimes according to the statutes of the United Federation of Planets in pro tempore accordance with Bajoran law and, having publicly acknowledged said guilt in a Federation court of law, you are hereby sentenced to death. Because you have waived all rights to an appeal, your sentence will be carried out at 1600 hours tomorrow."

Kira held her breath, waiting for some small sign of remorse, of hesitance, of fear. But there was none. Instead, he ducked his head down and smiled, and said something... to himself? To his court-appointed attorney? She did not know. All she knew was that he had yet again found some victory in this ignominious defeat, and it infuriated her.

As the chief justice raised her gavel to close the proceedings and the most painful part of Kira's life, Dukat's head jerked up and he spoke to the panel. "Judges -- may I make a small request in regards to the manner of my execution?"

Now it was Kira's turn to smile as she exulted at the first hint that he was beginning to regret all the pain and suffering he had inflicted over the years. Her gaze shifted to the panel as the magistrates paused and looked uncomfortably at each other, uncertain of what he intended by his request. Then the chief justice took a deep breath and lowered her gavel. "We will hear your request."

Dukat bowed stiffly, his forward momentum halted by his hands as they lay shackled before his waist. "On Cardassia, a condemned man is allowed to choose the method of his execution. Would you grant me the honor of the same?"

There was an audible gasp from the courtroom, and the chief justice banged her gavel for silence. She looked to each member of the panel for their opinion; each gave a slight nod, and she redirected her attention to Dukat, who continued to show no emotion. "Very well, Mister Dukat, we will honor your request. How do you wish to die?"

"By firing squad." This time, Kira thought she detected a faint quaver in his voice. Something in the finality of his request affected her as well; she looked down to see that her hands were trembling violently as they rested against the arms of her chair. A large brown hand enfolded her small hand in its warm grasp, and she looked up into Captain Sisko's solemn eyes.

"So noted. Your request has been acknowledged and accepted." The gavel came down with a crash, and Kira felt faint as she covered her ears against the resounding echo of wood against wood. She was free. It was over. In less time than a Bajoran day, he would be dead. Waves of nausea swept over her, and Kira bent her head down between her knees, only vaguely aware of Captain Sisko's strong arm supporting her, his deep voice trying to soothe her as her entire body succumbed to the shaking and she slipped gracelessly to the floor.

* * * * *

When Kira awoke, she was in a hospital bed. The view through the window to her right told her she was still in San Francisco, and her state of dress told her she had not been unconscious long; she was still wearing her dress uniform. The same uniform she had worn every day for the past three months as Starfleet presented its case against Dukat. The same uniform she wore when she testified before the judiciary panel, reciting in mind-numbing detail the crimes he committed during his prefecture as her eyes burned with tears of pain and hatred while his face registered nothing but calm. The same uniform she wore when Dukat, acting in his own defense, acknowledged without hesitation every horror she had recounted. The same uniform she wore when Dukat refused to cross-examine any of the witnesses who testified against him, not even Captain Sisko, Odo or her. Tomorrow she would wear this same uniform one more time, to watch Dukat press his back against a wall, to hear the final order, and to see him die. When it was over, she would remove the uniform and never wear it again.

The door slid open and a young medic in Starfleet blues entered. "Colonel Kira," he asked, "are you feeling better?" He activated his tricorder and scanned her.

When he was finished, she sat up and straightened her uniform. "Yes, Doctor, I'm fine. I guess the stress got to me."

His smile made her think of Doctor Bashir, and she felt a pang of longing for the familiar comforts of Deep Space Nine, that Cardassian-designed monstrosity built by Bajoran slave laborers. "I'd say so. You've been asleep for four hours. You check out fine now, so I'm releasing you. Captain Sisko is waiting to escort you back to Starfleet Command." Kira followed the doctor into the corridor, where she found Captain Sisko.

"Colonel," Sisko said, his expression full of the strain and concern that seemed to have been a permanent part of his features the past several weeks, "how do you feel?"

"I'll be fine, Captain," she said brusquely, smoothing the creases of her uniform. "I'll just be glad when this is all over and we can return to the station."

He rested his hand against her shoulder and squeezed gently. "One more day, and then we can go home."

"One more day," she breathed. "One more day after a thirty-four-year-long nightmare." She felt the tears begin to well up in her eyes and clenched her fists in helpless fury, unable to will them away. She hated letting Captain Sisko see her like this; she hated admitting just how hard the past three months had been on her. Dukat's trial had exacted a far greater toll on her -- on all of them, but most especially on her -- than twenty-six years under Occupation rule had, than eight years of dodging Dukat's amorous advances had, than the brutal war with the Dominion had. Fortunately for her stubborn Bajoran pride, she was able to hide this new flood of tears against Sisko's broad chest as he swept her into a bear hug, rocking back and forth, his deep bass voice crooning in her
ear.

After several minutes Kira's racking sobs abated, and Sisko loosened his embrace to lead her to a row of chairs arrayed against a corridor wall. She pulled her well-worn handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped at her eyes and nose, making no effort to be dainty or unobtrusive. This sort of communion between her and Sisko had become an almost daily affair, as if words alone were not enough to convey the turmoil they were both experiencing. Giving one final, unfeminine honk into her handkerchief, Kira gave Sisko a wan smile.

"Would you like a glass of water, Colonel?" She shook her head. "Do you feel up to talking? I have a... message I've been asked to pass along to you."

His hesitance caught her attention, and she immediately sobered. "What? Is something wrong?" She looked around and realized that Odo was nowhere to be seen. "Has something happened to Odo?"

"No, nothing like that. Odo is regenerating. No, the message I have is from... Dukat."

Kira's spine stiffened. "Dukat? What the hell does he want?"

"He has requested that you be given permission to visit him." His hand rested over hers, forcing her to acknowledge that her fists were clenched.

"You mean he wants me to visit him." She looked to Sisko for confirmation, and he nodded slowly. She hurtled out of her seat and started pacing, gesticulating wildly as she spoke, almost oblivious to Sisko in her fury. "What the hell does he want from me?" she cried. "Hasn't he taken enough from me -- my life, my home, my mother, my peace of mind? What more could he possibly want? Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Why won't he just leave me alone? Why can't he just die, for Prophets' sake?"

Sisko's strong hand on her arm stopped her outburst before it spun out of control. "Nerys, the man is scheduled to die tomorrow, and the only thing he has asked for is that he be allowed to speak with you one last time. I know --" His grip tightened as she opened her mouth to retort. "-- what he's done to you, I understand the pain and anger you must be feeling. But right now there's a lonely, condemned man in an isolated prison cell who may be looking to make amends in the only way he can. I know how much you want to turn your back on him, but, Nerys, that's the easy way out, and you are no coward. The only way you're going to be able to let go of your hatred is if you confront him one last time before he dies. This is your chance to tell him, face to face, without an audience of magistrates and attorneys, what you've wanted to tell him your entire life. Dukat may be looking for a way to go to his grave in peace; you owe it to yourself to do the same."

Kira yanked her arm free and glared at Sisko. "Are you saying that I'm a coward if I refuse to go see Dukat?"

"I'm saying that you will never be able to get beyond this fury if you don't confront him with it before tomorrow. He's in no position to atone for all that he's done, but he will be able to listen to what you have to say, and I have every reason to believe that he will listen. He has nothing to lose at this point; you, on the other hand, have everything to lose. Dukat's a smart man. He knows as well as you do how hard the past three months have been for you. Otherwise, I don't think he'd be giving you this chance to break free of this cycle of pain and anger that you have lived with your entire life. Go, Nerys. Go see him. In the long run, you'll regret not going."

"Prophets damn that man," she muttered through clenched teeth.

"They already have, Colonel."

"That's not funny."

"I wasn't joking."

She looked sharply at him, and saw the sincerity in his expression. He was, as usual, right; the Prophets had damned Dukat, and they would surely damn her, too, if she did not break free of the hold Dukat had on her before he died. Crossing her arms over her chest, she nodded curtly. "All right. I'll do it. But I need some time to meditate and prepare."

"Understood, Colonel. I'll escort you to the prison at 2100 hours. Will that give you sufficient time?"

"Yes, sir. And Captain?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Thank you for staying here with me." Sisko just smiled and patted her on the shoulder, then turned and walked away, leaving Kira alone with her thoughts and fears. She would need the strength of the entire company of Prophets to survive the coming hours.

"Then he said to them, 'My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me.' And going a little farther he fell on his face and prayed, 'My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not what I will but as thou wilt.' And he came to the disciples and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, 'So, you could not watch with me one hour?'" (Matthew 26:38-40)

It was quiet when Kira arrived at Dukat's cell. The Federation, fearing the threat of assassination more than any escape attempt, had taken extra security measures with his prison arrangements, placing him in an isolated wing separated from all the other prisoners by meters of corridors, multiple forcefields and ever-vigilant, well-armed guards. His cell itself consisted of two large rooms: his 'private' chamber, which was continuously monitored through audio and video feeds, and a large antechamber in which Dukat could receive approved visitors, if he so wished. Captain Sisko had told Kira that Dukat had received no visitors other than his legal advisor since his imprisonment three months previous. He also apparently preferred to spend most of his time in his chamber, with two level-five plasma forcefields between him and the outside world.

He was in his chamber when she arrived and the guard admitted her through the first forcefield into the antechamber. A panel on the wall next to the entrance to his private chamber gave her the option of bringing down the second forcefield, but she deliberately chose not to exercise that option. Facing him was enough of a concession; she did not want to give him the opportunity to invade her personal space as he was often inclined to do.

Twilight filtered through two skylights and a row of electric lamps illuminated one wall, filling the antechamber with a mixture of the darkening indigos of natural light and the harsh yellows of artificial light. An occasional flash of lightning from an approaching storm further enhanced the interplay of light and shadow.

The room was cool even for her, which probably meant that Dukat was uncomfortably chilled. There was a long table, two chairs and a sofa; otherwise, the room was bare. Beyond the second forcefield was nothing but darkness, but Kira knew he was in there, watching her, studying her, appraising her -- and probably mentally undressing her. She shivered at that last thought and banished it from her mind; it would do her no good to let him upset her before he had even said the first word. Glancing back at the outer forcefield to reassure herself that the guards were still there if she needed them, she took a few steps closer and peered into the darkness.

"Colonel."

The suddenness of his voice, echoed by a distant roll of thunder, startled her, and she flinched before she could regain control of her surprise. Indistinct movement in the darkness coalesced when a single light came on, spotlighting one side of his body so that he stood half in darkness, half in light. He looked as fragile as she felt, but she found no comfort in that.

"I hope that you are not unwell. I saw what happened to you, before the guards led me away."

It took her a moment to find her voice. "I'm fine. Just a little --" She was tempted to say what she was thinking, but held back for the moment. "-- tired, is all."

"Hm, yes, I can imagine. The past few months can't have been very easy for you." He moved to sit in the solitary chair he had positioned before the forcefield, "Fortunately for us both, this long ordeal is almost at an end." He sat very straight and erect, his hands resting on his knees, his serious expression made even more so by the dim light, and studied her through the haze generated by the forcefield. She was about to speak when he added, "Thank you... for granting my request. You didn't have to, but I am deeply gratified that you did."

She thought it would be best if he knew that truth, that she did not come voluntarily. "Captain Sisko felt it would be in my best interests to come."

His low rumble of laughter irked her. He dare he laugh under these circumstances? "Ah, good old Benjamin, always looking out for the Bajoran people. I wonder if my life would have turned out any differently if he had taken me under his wing after Ziyal's death instead of telling the entire Alpha Quadrant that I was an evil man? Hm, Colonel? Do you think the Emissary of the Prophets could have saved me, if he had wanted to?"

"Even if he had tried, you would never have accepted his help. You wanted him dead!"

She watched his head tilt to one side as he considered this. "Hm. Perhaps at first I did. In the end, I think, I would have been glad to accept any salvation he offered me. But... by the time I was in a position to accept his help, it was too late, and now... here we are." He spread his arms wide and grinned at her.

"You seem to be rather light-hearted about... what's going to happen to you."

He laced his hands before his knees and leaned so close to the forcefield that it crackled in warning, and she heard the guards behind her stir. "You mean my --" His voice dropped to a stage whisper. "-- impending execution?"

She turned away from him to conceal her rising anger and walked over to the sofa, where she sat down. She could not see him from this angle and in the dim light, but she knew he could still see her. He was the one who wanted to see her anyway. "Dukat, why did you ask me to come here? Is this another one of your games?"

There was a loud sigh from the chamber. "No, Colonel, I'm not interested in games any more. I'm too old, too tired, and this is my last night alive. If you don't object too much, I'd like to spend it in a more pleasant manner."

"I'm sure you could have arranged for a more 'pleasant' companion than me. Not to mention one who would be more willing to be here."

He laughed at her jibe. "Perhaps so, but I've always preferred your company to that of, say, a professional companion."

"Don't expect me to be flattered," she snapped. Outside the prison the wind picked up speed, scraping against the forbidding walls with a high-pitched whine.

He ignored her remark. "And if you're so reluctant to be here, then why don't you just leave? I'm the prisoner, not you. You can leave any time you wish. I could just as easily ask one of my guards to witness my shrital, although I wouldn't trust them to fulfill my last wishes properly."

A sharp clap of thunder startled her, and she sat up to stare at Dukat's shadowy form. "That's why you brought me here? To hear your shrital?"

Another sigh. "Colonel, I did not bring you here; I asked you to come, and you did, on your own two feet. There is a difference. And, yes, that is why I asked you to come. That... and to spend some time with you before I die."

A shiver ran through her at the stark simplicity of his statement, and she crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the chill. "Why me? Why not Captain Sisko, or Odo, or anyone else?"

"Most importantly, because you and I have unfinished business between us. I also don't want an agent of the Federation handling my few remaining assets. Everything I have that hasn't already been confiscated by the Dominion or the Federation is on Bajor."

She rose and stepped closer to the forcefield, squinting her eyes as she peered into the encroaching darkness. "What makes you think I won't just hand everything over to the Federation anyway?" She voiced it as a challenge, but part of her wanted to know why Dukat, who was infamous for his hidden motives, especially where she was concerned, was trusting her with this responsibility.

He snorted. "Because I know you better than you know yourself."

"Hah!" she barked, her fists clenched. "You don't know me at all! You know absolutely nothing about me!"

A bright flash of lightning reflected in his eyes until they glittered, but his expression was serious. "I know you well enough to say that you're not all that dissimilar from your mother. In fact, you're more like her than I realized until recently. You both like to be pampered --"

"Don't you ever mention my mother again!" Only her extreme stubbornness of will and a level five forcefield kept her from launching herself at his gray, scaled throat. As much as she hated admitting it, he did know her all too well, perhaps better than anybody else; he always knew how to get under her skin, how to irritate her, how to drive her to distraction. And if that were not enough, she had never, in all the years she had known him, learned how to control her temper in his presence or how to incite him to the same fury.

Even now, incarcerated and hours from death, he asserted his superiority over her, leaving her unable to fight back the tears that burned at the corners of her eyes. She hated him for his arrogance and controlled smugness and for the way he had insinuated his way into her life until she could not escape him even in her dreams. Above all else, she hated him for his very existence, for the painful and unpleasant memories that his presence evoked.

Striding toward the forcefield protecting him from her hatred, she punched a fist in the air, wishing it could make contact with his face, and cried, "Don't you ever mention my mother again!" It was a feeble protest, despite the vehemence behind it, but what else could she say without losing total control over her emotions?

He remained unmoved in the presence of her rage. "-- and a powerful streak of self-righteous pride that constantly puts you in uncomfortable situations because you absolutely refuse to admit to the truth of what you're feeling." He leaned back in his seat. Despite the anger that still filled her veins, she found his steady, controlled breathing soothing. For several moments they remained in silence, each studying the other, his hands folded on his lap, hers relaxing by her sides. When he spoke again, the thunder in her head had faded away and she was able to listen. "I know you came here only because you're hoping to see some sign of fear or regret, because, whether you want to admit it or not, you enjoy seeing me like this, helpless and looking death right in the face. I know how much you hate me, how you've longed to slit my throat from the day we first met. I also know you won't leave because something in you, something you have never acknowledged to yourself, is keeping you here."

She tossed her head in mock amusement. "You always did believe the galaxy revolved around you."

He rose and stepped closer to the forcefield, his arms crossed over his chest. "Then why are you here, Colonel? I find it difficult to believe that you agreed to come only because Captain Sisko urged you to. You must have some personal motivation for being here, with me, tonight." The wind grew to an eerie howl, moaning and wailing as it battered at the prison's impenetrable barriers.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I do want to see you afraid to die." She half-turned away from him and laced her hands behind her back. "Maybe I want to see you face the same terror you inflicted on all your victims."

He took a long breath in through his nose, held it, then slowly exhaled through his mouth. For a brief moment she thought she detected a catch in his breath, but, if there was one, it vanished as quickly as it appeared. "And if I do face this terror, Colonel, if I let you see that I am afraid to die... will that satisfy you? Will that atone for all that has passed between us? Or will you continue to make demands on me until the last drop of my blood has been spilled? Even then, will that be enough? What will become of you once I am dead? What will you have to live for if the embodiment of everything you hate about my world and my people is dead?" He turned his back on her and walked toward the back of his chamber, into the darkness where she could not see him.

"I am afraid, Kira, though I doubt you believe me. I don't want to die, especially not in such a pristine, sterile manner, formally executed by people who bear no personal grudge against me. I don't think you want me to die like this, either." A flash of lightning bathed Dukat in its ethereal glare. "I don't think you want me to die at all."

"That is preposterous!" she ground out through clenched teeth, her anger gathering strength again. "I've been waiting for this day my entire life!"

He laughed softly. "Haven't we all. Spent our entire lives waiting for the last day of our life, that is. But, Kira my dear, I have to wonder. You're a soldier, a fighter. You don't wait for things to happen to you, or for other people to take up your causes. Why have you spent your entire life waiting for me to die, then? Why didn't you kill me long ago, when you had the chance to do it yourself?"

"Don't think the thought hasn't crossed my mind," she snarled. She could not begin to count the number of times she had wished him dead. She had even vowed in the presence of Captain Sisko, after Dukat had aligned Cardassia with the Dominion, to kill Dukat the next time she saw him. When that time came, however, she had done nothing more than throw a teacup at his head, then stood toe-to-toe with him and uttered yet another vague and empty threat. "Perhaps," he had said with infuriating calmness, "but not today." Yet even when he had strutted triumphantly onto the abandoned station, or when he had come dangerously close to forcing himself on her, or even when she had found him crouched over Ziyal's body, his mind shattered with grief, she had not been able to bring her single greatest hope to completion. As much as she wanted to see him dead, she had never quite found the courage to kill him herself. Why? By the Prophets, why did her courage fail her so miserably?

He stepped back into the circle of light formed by his lamp and shook his head. "I don't, not a for a moment. But thinking about something and acting on it are two separate things. You're not a thinker, Kira, you never have been. Thought and action are virtually identical in you; as soon as a thought occurs to you, you're putting it to action. Except... when it comes to me. Why is that? What is it about me that goes so completely against everything you believe in you can't even act on your lifelong desire to see me dead at your feet?"

She stood in place for a moment, rocking on her heels, all retorts and denials beyond her grasp, then turned her back on him and stalked to the outer forcefield. One of the guards on the other side stood to lower it for her escape when Dukat called out to her.

"Kira, wait! We're not finished yet!" His entreaty was almost drowned out by a long roll of thunder and the patter of raindrops against the skylights, but she heard and stopped to listen.

"I don't have to stand here and take this from you," she tossed over her shoulder, not daring to face the pleading she knew was as plain on his face as it was in his voice. It hurt too much.

"Colonel... Kira... please. Don't go. I'm... sorry."

She leaned one hand against the frame supporting the outer forcefield, feeling the vibrations coursing across her palm and through her arm up to her shoulder, and hung her head. How did he do this to her? How did he manage to take her to the brink of hysterical rage one minute and fill her with tender concern the next? By the Prophets, she hated him! He would never set her free, not now, and certainly not after he was gone. He had made her a prisoner as effectively as he had imprisoned her mother, as surely as he had held Naprem and Ziyal captive to his will.

Her mother. She had struggled not to think of her mother in the two years since Dukat had revealed his long-ago relationship with her, but now memories of Kira Meru sprang to life in her mind, once again bringing tears to her eyes as she envisioned that gentle kiss exchanged between Meru and Dukat as she looked on in horror.

"I loved her very much." His voice was low and quiet and she turned toward the sound like a moth to a flame. She refused to approach him, however, instead keeping her back pressed against the opposite wall and her face turned upward to watch the driving rain form rivulets down the skylights as the storm increased in intensity. Had he read her mind? The possibility was frightening to say the least; but, then, he had always seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, even before she could put a name to her thoughts. He had always known her better than she had known herself. "I know you don't -- I know you refuse to believe me, but it's the truth. Losing Meru was... devastating to me."

She could not look at him as she retorted, "Her death can't have been that hard on you. You certainly didn't waste any time finding a replacement -- or in getting Naprem pregnant."

"Is it that difficult for you to accept that I could love more than one person at a time?"

"I find it impossible to accept that you could ever --" She spat with indignation. "-- love at all!" Then her mind registered what he had just said. "'More than one person at a time'?" she repeated, surprise and curiosity urging her to move closer. "You were with my mother and Naprem at the same time?"

Lightning filled the room with livid brilliance, and she saw that her words had stung; his thin gray lips were pressed into a severe line, and his eyes were bitterly cold. "After all I endured because of you -- after all I sacrificed for Ziyal -- do you truly believe that I am incapable of love?" She stared at him in angry silence; after a moment, he hung his head and sighed heavily. "Ah. I see. Then I was mistaken in my hope that you came here because some small part of you might actually care about me. I apologize for wasting your time in such a foolish manner." He waved his hand toward the outer forcefield. "Lieutenant! Release the Colonel; we have nothing more to say to each other." Then, to her, "You may go now. You'll be happy to know that I will never bother you again." He turned away and trudged back into the darkness.

Kira remained rooted to the ground in amazement. What just happened? How dare he accuse her of being cold-hearted; how dare he presume that she had no compassion? She took a small step forward, about to tell him what she thought of his presumption, when a large hand clamped over her shoulder from behind. She whirled, prepared to fight, and found herself face-to-face with one of Dukat's guards.

"Are you coming, Colonel?" he asked, his other arm extended toward the exit.

She paused, inclined to protest, then nodded in acquiescence. Dukat was right as usual--they had nothing more to say to each other. Anything that had not already been said would be too little, too late. She allowed the guard to guide her to the exit, leaning on him for support. But just as freedom was within her grasp, she heard that detested baritone from behind her.

"I knew you'd abandon me when I needed you most. You've never failed to disappoint me in that regard. You never could bring yourself to feel compassion wherever I was concerned. You can find a way to forgive other Cardassians, but you have sworn to your infernal Prophets that you will never forgive me. You would rather die than show me an ounce of caring. Well, you can damn me all you want, Colonel, but you're only damning yourself." The wind outside grew to a shriek, keening against the parasteel panes of the skylights as the downpour became a torrent.

She stiffened, her fingers clutching at the guard's arm, her tongue throbbing from where she had bit at it in frustration. "I should have known you'd never let me go. If you can't dominate Bajor from your prison cell, then you'll try to dominate me from your grave. But I'm not like the others, like my mother or Naprem or Ziyal. I refuse to let myself be another one of your helpless victims."

His laughter was loud and false. "Such brave words from such a cowardly woman. It's a shame that the thoughts behind those words are so petty and spiteful. You will never learn, will you?"

A sudden and violent bolt of lightning shattered the calm façade she had fought to maintain as the lights flickered out, smothering her in oppressive darkness until the lurid red emergency lights beyond the outer forcefield came on. Even while the sky outside was glowing with fury, storm clouds that had been gathering for thirty-four years blinded Kira as the hurricane inside her finally overran the bulwarks she had erected and fortified against her restrained rage, inundating her with a deluge of repressed emotions. Pain crashed against her crumbling barriers with relentless strength, lashing her cheeks with its stinging spray of sand and salt and sea-foam. Rage howled within her, tearing the landmarks of security and happiness from their flimsy moorings with unrepentant fury. Inexpressible grief for those who had died, sorrow at the torture Bajor endured in the name of Cardassian colonialism, regret at the loss of childhood innocence, all engulfed her in the violent maelstrom of unleashed hatred. Panicking in the face of the tempest, she opened her mouth to gasp for help, but the storm erupted from her throat, shocking her in its vehemence.

"Prophets damn you to every hell in the universe!" she exploded, clawing at the guard's burly arms as he fought to contain her. "I hate you, Dukat! I hate everything about you! I hate your ugly, scaled skin, I hate your self-righteous superiority, I hate you for what you did to my home, I hate you for taking my mother away from me, and above all I hate you for what you made me become! You destroyed my life, you vile, heartless bastard, and now it's time I returned the favor! I have been waiting for this day for thirty-four years, and there will be no one happier than me to see your dead body hit the ground!" She was hysterical now, beyond restraint, her eyes swollen shut with tears, her head pounding, her chest heaving as she struggled to bring air into her throat made raw from screaming. She was scarcely aware of the guard's arms holding her up. "And when I see you die, I'll be the first to walk up and spit on your body. May the Prophets forgive me, but I hate you!"

"At last you've acknowledged the truth. Thank you, Nerys."

The storm clouds dissolved, leaving her shivering in the tempest's wake as the howling of the wind stopped and the thunderclaps grew increasingly dull and distant. Had she heard him right? Did Dukat just thank her? Did he just admit that he was grateful she wanted him dead?

She could no longer hold herself upright, but the guard anticipated her imminent collapse and assisted her to the sofa, where she fell on her side and curled her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. With effort, she concentrated on calming herself, trying to time her breathing with the fading thunder. As her breathing slowed, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and stuttered, "W-Why d-did you s-say that?"

His first response was to the guard, who continued to hover over her prostrate form. "Lieutenant, you can leave us alone now. I think Colonel Kira has decided to stay for just a while longer. I'll let you know when we need your services again."

The guard brushed his hand against her shoulder, and she looked blearily up at him and nodded in agreement. Once the outer forcefield again insulated them from the outside world, Dukat gently ordered, "Come here, Nerys."

She shook her head, further aggravating her headache. "No," she whispered.

"Kira, I can't see you."

"Good."

There was an unexpected rattle to his sigh that caught her attention, and she lifted her head from the sofa cushion. "Please. There's something I want to tell you, and I need to be able to see your face."

With great effort she was able to roll off the sofa and make her way to the portal separating his private haven from the outer room. Now that night had fallen her vision was obscured -- even more so by the remaining tears rimming the edges of her eyes -- and she could barely discern Dukat's outline even with the faint illumination provided by a nearly full moon breaking through the wispy cloud cover left behind by the storm. He was there, though, standing stoop-shouldered before the forcefield, all the swaggering bluster that had held his head high, his spine erect and his shoulders squared for as long as she had known him no longer in evidence.

The man who stood before her now was frail, slight and defeated, an embittered, lonely old man with one foot in the grave and his gaze firmly focused on the past. She could scarcely even recognize him as the demon pagh-wraith of her living nightmares. What had happened to Gul Dukat? Had she finally exorcised him? Had the storm swept him away, leaving this flimsy shell washed up on some distant shore? Or was this all there ever was to him, waiting for the clouds to clear from her vision so she could see that he was an ordinary, imperfect man, no different from any other?

She came to stand before him, wondering what elusive mystery had finally brought them to this breakthrough. As she studied him, feeling, perhaps for the first time, pity for what he had become, his pale eyes, reflecting the moonlight, lifted to her face and a gentle smile creased his deeply-lined and pockmarked cheeks. "Oh, Nerys," he breathed, "what have I done to you? What have we done to each other?"

She was so tired in both body and spirit she let her knees give way and sank to the floor. He took her cue and joined her, bending his long legs before him and resting his chin on one knee. The uncharacteristic lack of affectation in his countenance brought a smile to her face, a smile that he returned before stretching his hand before him, palm facing toward her. She hesitated at first, then imitated his gesture, holding her palm as close to his as she could without activating the forcefield's sensor alarms. They sat in silent communion for several minutes until she quietly asked, "Why did you just thank me?"

He withdrew his hand and wrapped it around his legs, hugging them to his chest as he lifted his face to study the ceiling. "I've known... all along... how much you hated me," he murmured, swallowing rapidly with each pause. "How could I not know? I was the prefect of Bajor... I was responsible for the deaths of five million Bajorans... I poisoned the land... I enslaved your people and worked them to death... I took your mother as my mistress... I invited the Dominion into the Alpha Quadrant, signing the death warrants of billions more. Only a fool would not realize how justified you are in your hatred of me." He redirected his gaze to her face and somehow she found the strength to return it. "But, in all the years we've known each other, you've never once told me so. To be sure, you have threatened to kill me on numerous occasions, and you've made your... dislike... of me plainly evident, but you've never fully expressed the depth of your hatred for me. Until now. And for that, I thank you."

"You... thank me? I don't understand."

He nodded vigorously. "I needed to hear those words just as much as you needed to say them. Don't you see, Nerys? Just as I embody the Occupation for you, so do you embody the Resistance for me. If I am Cardassia, then you are Bajor -- and whether we like it or not, our fates are tied together.

"For thirty years I let myself believe that everything I did was for Bajor's benefit, refusing to admit that my blindness --" He tossed his head back and laughed. "-- my short-sightedness, as Garak once said, would be my undoing. For 30 years I ignored the evidence that I was destroying myself the same way I tried to destroy Bajor--the same way I tried to destroy you. Benjamin once tried to make me see how wrong -- how misguided -- I was to deny the horrors I inflicted on your world, but he's not Bajoran. He
never witnessed first-hand -- he never endured -- those same crimes he accused and judged me guilty of. Not even the Emissary of the Prophets could open my eyes.

"But you could. You lived through the Occupation. You suffered and survived, despite everything I tried to do to destroy Bajor. You were born from the ashes Cardassia left behind. I needed to hear from a Bajoran -- from you -- the truth of what I had done. You are Bajor to me, Nerys, and only you could make me acknowledge and accept what I did as the worst evil one person can inflict on another. Knowing what I have done... looking at you and seeing the impact my crimes has had on you... I can now admit that I was wrong."

"Then... you regret what you did?" She was having difficulty believing him, despite his passion and persuasiveness. Where was the man who vowed to destroy Bajor? What had happened to his endless justifications for brutalizing her world? What was he trying to accomplish?

"Of course I regret it! I regret all of it!" His voice had that exasperated quality that he often assumed in her presence, as though he were a father disciplining a recalcitrant child. He looked away from her. "But I can't undo what I have done. I can't repair the damage. I can't bring back..." She thought she heard him choke back a sob. "I can only tell you I'm sorry, and ask for your forgiveness."

Now it was her turn to look away and swallow her own raw emotions before they escaped. As much as she felt compelled to grant his wish, she could not forgive him. Not yet. There were still too many unanswered questions. Taking several deep breaths, she managed to say, "No. I can't."

"What is it now, Colonel? What more do you want from me?" She started at his sudden reversion to her title although she understood what it signified, and appreciated the subtle distancing it provided.

"First... I want to know... I want you to tell me... about my mother. I want to hear you say how you met her, how you kidnapped her from her family and forced her into your bed." She inched closer to the forcefield, peering into the shadows as she scrutinized his stony face, trying to mine the emotions his memories of her mother evoked. She knew what the orb experience had told her about her mother's relationship with Dukat, but she wanted his confirmation that it was true, that her mother had been taken against her will and then seduced with pretensions of kindness and luxury. A part of her still hoped that the Prophets had misled her, that her mother had not accepted her place as Dukat's mistress, that she had not actually fallen in love with him, that she had not been a collaborator. She wanted to hear Dukat admit that his self-proclaimed love had not been returned.

His voice was back to full strength when he spoke. "Why do you want to dredge up those old ghosts, Colonel? You'll only succeed in causing unnecessary pain for both of us."

"If that's what it takes to learn the truth, then so be it."

"You won't like what I have to say."

"I'll live with it. I don't see how you can hurt me any more than you already have."

"I do. But, if you insist --"

"I do."

He stretched his legs before him and leaned his back against the far wall. "Your mother and I watched you grow up from afar, did you know? She so much wanted to bring you to Terok Nor, but I urged her against it. Oh, how she longed to hold a child in her arms! That, I think, was the most painful part of her life with me, that she had been forced to leave her children behind. I tried to make up for it by giving her as many opportunities as possible to see you and your brothers without alarming your father or revealing her true identity to you." He seemed to close his eyes as he reminisced, although with his face half-hidden by darkness it was hard to be sure. "Your mother thought you had such promise as a child. She was so proud of you."

"Dukat?" She knew what she was about to say would anger him, but now it was her turn to rebuild the barriers between them to shield herself from the pain his memories brought forth.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Don't refer to her as my mother. Just... call her by her name."

There was an irritated cough from his side of the forcefield. "Don't--? Dammit, Colonel, when are you ever going to learn? I... I... here I had thought we'd finally made a breakthrough, that we were finally beginning to understand each other, and now you're reverting back to the old animosities." He moved again, shifting his body so that the darkness and door frame served to obscure her view of him. "I've been rightfully accused of being blind to the crimes I perpetrated on Bajor, but you're just as blind as I am. You expect me to tell you the truth, insisting that I hold nothing back, but as soon as I open my mouth you start censoring me. I've accepted the truth about myself, Kira. Don't you think it's about time you did the same? Don't you think it's time you accepted that, for good or bad, our lives have been --" She saw his hands emerge into the moonlight and move with fluid gestures as he demonstrated his thoughts. "-- intricately interwoven, like a tapestry, almost from the day you were born?"

"How can you say that?"

"I can say it because it's true!" he snorted. "Your mother and I were lovers for seven years, and during those seven years I put clothes on your back, a roof over your head and food on your table. Every aspect of your life, from the administration of your planet to the color of your stockings, was decided by me. And when Meru died, it was because of a bomb planted by your beloved Shakaar -- the same Shakaar whose cause you took up two years after your mother's death, the same Shakaar whose bed you were more than eager to share twenty years later!"

She shook her head, afraid to betray any more reaction for fear of losing control again. "That's just another one of your convenient lies."

"It's the truth," he hissed. "Exactly what you asked for. All you have to do is open your eyes and see for yourself. If you would only open your eyes, you'd have learned the truth about your mother and me years ago. If you would only open your eyes, you'd see that the Resistance you spent nearly fifteen years fighting for was also responsible for your own mother's death. If you would only open your eyes, you'd see that the only constant in your life is... me. Not Bajor, not Shakaar, not the Resistance, not even your family, but me.

"The last time your mother and I went to Bajor together was when you were about ten years old. I was scheduled to conduct a review of the garrison posted in Dahkur City, and Meru wanted to see her home again. So I allowed her to accompany me and arranged an inspection of the school in the village where you lived. She spotted you in the hallway, and I could tell how much she wanted to embrace you and kiss your dirty cheeks. But her position as my... consort... forbade such displays. Instead, she knelt down in front of you, and with the edge of her own dress she tried to wipe the smudges from your face." He paused until Kira raised her eyes to his face. "That's when you spit on her."

Kira trembled, surprised that she could so easily remember the incident in her own mind, but the images were as fresh and clear as if it had happened only yesterday. She saw the tall, thin woman with long, reddish-blond hair and sad eyes caressing her cheek, then turning to look at the soldier who stood to one side, discussing Kira's studies with the frightened teacher while scrutinizing the belligerent girl with knuckles bloodied in a recent scuffle. She saw the tears shining in the woman's eyes as she moistened the edge of her dress with her tongue, then scrubbed at the dirt and filth on Kira's cheeks. And she saw the look of shock and horror as a glob of spittle hung on the woman's cheek, the teacher's profuse apologies and pleas for forgiveness, the bitterness in the Cardassian's eyes as his companion... her mother... fled. This was no lie or orb-induced phantasm; this was the truth, and it stung.

"She was heartbroken," Dukat continued. "She cried the entire trip back to the shuttle port. We had planned on spending a few quiet days together on Bajor, but she was inconsolable, so I let her return to the station. The shuttle exploded as it was taking off, killing her, her escort, and the pilot. An investigation revealed the bomb to have been planted by Shakaar."

Covering her ears with her hands, she cried, "No! You're lying, Dukat! Just as you've always lied!"

"No! You are the one who's lying, Kira, you're lying to yourself!" He crept close to the forcefield and the look on his face was as horrible -- if not more so -- than anything she had envisioned in her worst nightmares. Those frigid blue eyes of his stared at her in unblinking hatred, his jaw set so firmly she imagined she could see the muscles in his cheeks twitching, his brow and neck ridges appearing dark and swollen with the twin forces of his fury and the shimmering moonlight. Nevertheless, she could not tear herself away from his glare.

"I've listened to your incessant posturing about the glorious Resistance," he snarled, "and about how all you wanted was for Cardassia to leave Bajor in peace, and about how much more content you are with yourself since the Emissary appeared and discovered the Celestial Temple. And I've put up with Captain Sisko's self-righteous homilies about the guiding moral principles of the Federation and his species' dedication to this idiotic idea that 'all men are created equal'. Yet both of you have made no effort to conceal your misguided belief that what we Cardassians call justice and morality is nothing but an excuse to engage in cruelty and violence. The hypocrisy that thrives in both of you is enough to shock even the most hardened of Obsidian Order assassins!"

His spread his arms and turned at the waist, encompassing the entirety of his enclosed space in the gesture. "Six months ago I surrendered to Bajoran security forces, tired of living the life of a fugitive. What am I doing here? Why am I in a prison cell on Terra, awaiting my imminent execution? Hm, Colonel? The Federation doesn't practice capital punishment! Do you know why I'm here?" He leaned forward and leered at her.

"I'm here because the Federation threatened to reject Bajor's petition for admittance unless I was extradited to Terra. Bajor, on the other hand, threatened to withdraw from all treaties pertaining to the wormhole and the station's command post unless the Federation acceded to their demands that my trial focus on my prefecture. So the Federation and Bajor signed an ad hoc contract that allowed for my extradition to Terra to face criminal charges according to Bajoran law... which practices capital punishment for crimes as heinous as mine. Isn't that a cozy agreement? Everybody gets what they want: Bajor gets to join the Federation, the Federation gets to keep control of the wormhole and the station... and I get to die."

Kira opened her mouth to protest, but he jerked up a hand. "Silence, Colonel! You will listen to every word I have to say, or else I will give those guards a very good reason to hasten my execution." Despite her resurgent anger, she chose to remain silent; she was not certain the forcefield could withstand a sudden onslaught of their mutual murderous intent.

"I have watched you grow and change from an innocent girl to a young woman dedicated to the ideal of a free Bajor to a full-grown, fully mature woman who serves both Bajor and the Federation with equanimity, who will take whatever steps are necessary to preserve and protect the people she calls friends, who will even, against her own better judgment, shelter the child of her worst enemy --" He stopped to cough, and as he raised his hand to his mouth she saw blood trickling from where his nails had pierced the thick skin of his palms. "-- but who will not, no matter what the cost to herself, Bajor, or to others, open her eyes to the ugliness and the brutality that she has encouraged and championed her entire life!"

"Where do you get the right to accuse me of brutality?" she demanded to know. "I never tried to exterminate an entire race!"

"Are you so sure about that? Tell me, Colonel, did you raise your voice in protest when the Federation stood idly by as the Dominion destroyed Cardassia's sun, effectively massacring everyone living on Cardassia Prime? Did you object when the Federation denied Cardassia IV's pleas for food and medical supplies in the wake of a terrible plague? Did you accuse Captain Sisko of cold-blooded murder when the transports filled with refugees from Cardassia's outlying colonies were denied docking privileges at the station and asylum in Federation space because it was feared that Founders might be on board? Or did you nod your head in agreement and say to yourself, 'They got what they deserved'? Cardassia is nothing but a lump of charred rock, her few remaining people scattered in every direction. What did you do to prevent that from happening, I ask? Nothing."

"That's not the same," she protested. "You deliberately tried to bend Bajor to your will, and murdered anyone who defied you."

"And when Cardassia refused to bend to the Federation's will, you let her self-destruct. You... obeyed orders." He held his palms up on either side, shifting them up and down like scales. "Five million Bajorans died because I wanted to make Bajor into a better, more industrialized world. Twelve billion Cardassians died because you hate me so much you couldn't see beyond your prejudice. Where's the justice in that? Which of us is the murderer?"

He lifted his hand between them and opened his fingers, cupping them around an imaginary object. Her eyes were transfixed by the sight of his thick, dark blood covering his callused palm, and watched, mesmerized, as he rotated his wrist, letting the moonlight glint off the stains on his fingers. Then his hand clamped shut and he again clenched his fist before her eyes. "I am damned, Kira," he growled. "I've know that for years, since the day we found Ziyal and I realized I would never be able to let go of the past. But I won't be alone in my condemnation. Oh, no. You're coming with me. I swear by everything you hold sacred that you and I will be damned together!"

Not knowing how or where she found the strength to respond so calmly, she whispered, "You have no power to damn me, Dukat. Only the Prophets know who is and is not damned, and they will not consign me to the same hell they made just for you!"

He threw back his head and laughed, but there was no joy or humor in his mirth. "I don't have to ask permission of your infernal Prophets! You've damned yourself, despite everything I've done to try to save you. What a wonderful irony that Kira Nerys, a self-proclaimed child of the Prophets, has refused to accept the saving grace that only one person in the entire universe can offer her because she is incapable of seeing that she is as guilty of brutality as her intended savior. In a few hours I will die, and your only hope of salvation will die with me because you won't acknowledge the cruelty within you that fuels your unforgiving hatred. You are damned."

"You... You... How dare you!"

He held up his hand, palm out toward her. "We can both see the blood on my hand, Colonel. What about you, hm? Do you wake up some nights drenched in sweat, your heart pounding, your mind filled with images of dying Cardassians begging for mercy? Do you ever find yourself wishing you had killed your mother and Ziyal with your own hands? Are you sorry you won't be part of the firing squad assigned to execute me tomorrow? Tell me, Kira, how do you enjoy being a murderer? Do you see the blood on your hands?"

"Ziyal?" She was astonished at his insinuation that she had had any part to play in Ziyal's death. "You don't want my forgiveness! You want to pin all your guilt on me, so when you die tomorrow you can do it with a clean conscience! Well, it's not going to work, Dukat. My conscience is clean!"

"Who are you trying to convince? Me, or yourself? I'm going to die tomorrow whether my conscience is clean or not. But what about you? You could die tomorrow, or decades from now. Your last chance to clear your conscience, to admit your guilt, is tonight, right here, with me."

"What gives you the right to blame me for Ziyal's death?"

Harsh laughter brayed from the other side of the forcefield. "Oh, Kira, it's not that simple. You see, I don't just blame you for her death. I blame you for her... birth."

"Her - Her - Her birth?" Kira ran trembling fingers through her hair, shaking her head back and forth as she tried to stifle her laughter. "Prophets, you really fooled them, didn't you, Dukat? How did you manage to convince all those Starfleet psychologists that you were back in your right mind?" Then she slapped her palms against her thighs, threw her head back and laughed raucously. "Oh, you really had me going for a minute there! You almost had me convinced that you were sane! But this... blaming me for --" Her laughter started to overtake her sense. "-- blaming me for -- for Ziyal -- for Ziyal's birth -- oh, it's just too much! I s-suppose n-next you'll b-be accusing me of being h-her mother!"

Frigid silence collided with overheated mirth. Then, with a sharp crack like thunder, "Go ahead and laugh all you want. Feel free to mock me as you always have, to take everything I've tried to tell you and throw it back in my face. I don't care! Why should I give an ounce of caring to what you think of me when this is what I get for my pains? Just go, Colonel, go and lock yourself in that cozy little self-indulgent universe of yours where right is right and wrong is wrong and anyone who dares question that is condemned to a hell of your own choosing!"

She leaped to her feet, bristling with rage. "You Prophetforsaken --"

Whatever fury she felt, he matched with his expression of white-hot hatred. "Spare me your sanctimonious piety, save it for someone who cares!" He stood, pointed his finger toward the outer forcefield, and roared, "GET OUT!"

"NO!" she yelled back at him. "I swear on the paghs of my mother and Ziyal, I will not let you order me away like some cowering slave!"

The finger joined its mates in a fist that he positioned just below where her chin would be if a forcefield did not stand between them. "Don't you ever blaspheme my daughter's name in that way again!"

"Your daughter? Your daughter? The same daughter I had to convince you not to kill, the same daughter I brought to live with me on Deep Space Nine, the same daughter you banished to almost certain death because she chose to associate with Garak, the same daughter I had to protect from that thug Damar --"

"The same daughter who might never have been born had you not driven your mother to her untimely death. The same daughter you coerced to turn against me and betray me." He stood right up against the edge of the forcefield and his glare was as filled with hate as she had ever seen, his chest heaving as violently as hers. She had at last succeeded in rousing him to the same fury as her own, but it was an empty victory; the price she had paid to bring him to this point was too high. This was what the past thirty years between them had been boiled down to: which of them hated the other the most. An hour ago, she would have known with absolute certainty who was more justified in their hatred. Now, she could not be so sure. And without her hatred to give her strength, she had nothing to stand on.

"The same daughter who died in my arms because of your petty need for revenge." Then his voice became soft and sibilant as his breathing slowed, and he lifted his blood-encrusted hand for Kira to see. "Look at your hands, Nerys. Do you see her blood on them? Do you hear her death-rattle just before you go to sleep each night?"

She looked at his hand, mottled gray and black, then pulled her arms away from where they had been wrapped around her waist, turning her wrists until the palms faced up. Startled by what she saw there, she let out a sharp cry and collapsed to her knees. Blood covered her hands, dripping from her wrists and pooling on the carpet. Crimson stains welling up from an unknown source, the tide ebbing and flowing to the rhythms of an imagined heartbeat. Blood that she knew was not real in any physical sense, but that had soiled her pagh so thoroughly it was now manifesting itself before her disbelieving eyes.

As she bent low over her knees, pressing her shaking hands against her chest to hide the stains from Dukat, a wail rose up from deep within her, beneath the layers of accumulated denials, half-truths and justifications, giving voice to her entombed grief. "Yes!" she moaned. "Oh, Prophets, yes, she begged me not to make her choose between us but I had to, I couldn't turn my back on Rom and let him die, Odo abandoned me and I had to stop you and I knew she would do whatever I asked, even if it meant betraying you, I didn't want to hurt her but I couldn't make her understand how much I hated you, how much I wanted to see you suffer, how much I wanted to make you pay for what you did... yes, yes I did it, I led Ziyal to her death, just as I let my hatred kill my own mother, just as... just as..."

She looked up from where her brow was pressed against the floor and stared blankly at Dukat, for the first time not seeing the monster that had haunted her for years. For the first time, she saw what she had made him become, and that sight was far worse. She could not let anyone else see the truth, that what he had done to her, she had repaid in full. Slowly unfolding herself from her semi-prone position, she used the wall to pull herself upright. "Just as I'm about to kill you right now," she whispered, slamming her fist into the control panel and bringing down the forcefield.

He dropped to his knees and gazed up at her, waiting for her. Nothing stood between them. Nothing could stop her from doing what she had wanted to do for so long.

PART TWO