Watershed (DS9)
Title: Watershed
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The journey from Dozaria back to DS9 provides opportunity for Dukat to reflect. Set after "Indiscretion".
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.
Long is the way
And hard, that out of hell leads up to light. (John Milton, "Paradise Lost")
After all was said and done, it was the major who escorted Ziyal and me back to Deep Space Nine.
Her offer -- her insistence, really -- to pilot a runabout just for the two of us once the Defiant had arrived at Dozaria and retrieved the other survivors of the Ravenok came as a surprise to me. For one thing, there was no longer any point in trying to conceal my identity; by the time the prisoners had overthrown their Breen captors and a subspace message had been sent to the station requesting assistance, everyone had learned that one of their rescuers was the former prefect of Bajor and the young mixed-race girl was his bastard daughter. For another, I knew the major was exhausted and saddened by the ordeal, and held few -- if any -- charitable feelings toward me after the secret of my indiscretion had been revealed.
I would not have thought any the less of her if she had chosen to let the Defiant tractor the runabout back to the station and leave Ziyal and me to bunk with the other Cardassians. Thus, when she came up to us in Sickbay as Ziyal underwent preliminary medical scans and said, "When you're finished here, meet me on the runabout and I'll take you back to the station myself," then walked away before I had a chance to respond, I was astonished.
What did she hope to gain by her generosity? The major has always been something of an enigma to me; she bears little resemblance to a Kira I knew many years ago, but that is not to her detriment. Did she hope to earn my trust and respect? Not likely. Although her belligerence toward my people has softened during the years since our withdrawal from Bajor, her antipathy toward me has not changed. In fact, I would say that, now that she has come to know me on a more personal level, she dislikes me even more than she did while I still governed Bajor. Perhaps she wanted me to understand that I did not have her trust. Perhaps she feared I might yet do harm to Ziyal, and that only by keeping me in close proximity could she ensure my daughter's safety.
As is so often the case in her unwavering attitude toward me, she could not be more wrong. The moment I embraced Ziyal, I knew that I could never allow any harm to come to her, no matter what. Not that Kira would ever do me the honor of accepting that I am a man of my word. Nevertheless, she did give me credit for actually owning up to my daughter, so there might still be hope. Perhaps that was why she insisted we make this journey together; perhaps she wanted to give me the opportunity to prove myself to her. If so, it was an opportunity I would have been a fool to pass up.
She did not even acknowledge us when we transported aboard the runabout, although the tell-tale set in her shoulders told me that she was acutely aware of our arrival. Her manner of greeting was to inform the Defiant to release the tractor beam and engage the runabout's thrusters; even as Ziyal and I remained standing behind her, watching through the forward viewscreen as the starship's smooth belly arced away from us and feeling the slight surge as the runabout's warp engines took us away from that barren wasteland and the remains of people we loved, she kept her gaze forward, not once turning back. I glanced down at my daughter to see her questioning look and shrugged my shoulders in reply. We still had a twenty-six-hour journey to the station, and the major would not be able to ignore us the entire time. So, in the meantime, I wrapped my arm around Ziyal's shoulders and led her out of the cockpit and to the sleeping bay.
* * * * *
The events of the past several days must have taken a greater toll on me than I realized; I fell asleep, Ziyal nestled against my unarmored chest, almost the instant my head hit the Starfleet-issue pallet, and remained that way for several hours before Ziyal's agitated stirring alerted me to a recurrence of her nightmares. My daughter's strength and resilience amazed me and evoked painful memories of her equally strong-willed mother, but she was still a child and the horrors she had endured for the past six years sought recognition when her emotional and mental barriers were at their weakest. I had maintained a constant vigil at her side the first night we spent together after the rescue and endured the heartbreaking sight and sound of her in the throes of what must have been agonizing nightmares on no less than eight occasions. In the end, the only thing that had brought her any peace was to lie down next to her and pull her tightly against me until her sobs became whimpers and her thrashing was reduced to twitches.
The next night showed some improvement, perhaps because I refused to leave Ziyal's side throughout the day and she came to realize that I had no intention of ever letting her out of my sight again. Was the major aware of this? She seemed preoccupied with the Bajoran prisoners -- former prisoners -- and bringing them up to speed on events since the Ravenok's departure. I did the same for the surviving Cardassians, although I was not as... flamboyant... in my editorializing of the withdrawal from Bajor, the Maquis insurgency and the Klingon-Cardassian war as she was. The bare facts would suffice for my men, and if they wanted to hear the former revolutionary's romantic over-exaggeration, then they could get it from the source. For my part, I was more concerned with re-acquainting myself with my daughter, trying to glean from her the events of her mother's death, and helping her overcome the outrages and abuse she suffered during her long captivity.
For the present, the most I could do was to provide comfort to her as the nightmares worked through her mind and then hold her close until her agitated trembling ceased and her muscles relaxed as dreamless slumber again overtook her. When the clenching in her jaw disappeared and she sank back against the pallet with an exhausted murmur, I decided she would be content for the time being and exited the sleeping chamber.
Kira was dozing in the pilot's chair when I crossed the threshold into the darkened cockpit, her features illuminated by the blinking lights from the helm control panels. I was careful not to disturb her as I sank into the adjacent seat. The autopilot had been engaged as soon as we went to warp and, out of habit, I ran a diagnostic on the sensors and engines to be sure that nothing was amiss. According to the ship's chronometer we had been traveling for about four hours.
As my awareness of the passage of time increased, I became aware of another sensation and sought the necessary remedy in the replicator. When I turned away from it, split-katterpod bean soup in one hand and red leaf tea in the other, I saw that Kira was awake and watching me warily.
"Good evening, Major. I trust you slept well?" My greeting was met with a quiet snarl and a shift in her position, presumably to ease stiff joints, a subtle reminder that we were both getting older. "May I get you something from the replicator?" I placed my meal on the panel before the co-pilot's seat and half-turned to the replicator in readiness.
"A raktajino, please," she grumbled, her voice still husky from sleep. "And another soup, if you don't mind."
"Not at all." I made the request and added a loaf of Vulcan black bread at the last moment. Then, placing the loaf between us for sharing, I handed Kira's meal to her and made myself comfortable next to her.
For the next several minutes the only sounds that could be heard were those of two meals being relished in hungry silence, then harmonious sighs of appeasement and the creak of leather and joints as two old soldiers leaned back to sip at their respective hot beverages. It was perhaps the closest we had ever come to genuine camaraderie, and I could not help but study Kira out of the corner of my eye and wonder what was going through her mind.
I did not have to wonder long. Blowing steam from her raktajino as she spoke, Kira said, "How is Ziyal doing?"
I ducked my head down at first, both amused and perplexed at her persistent fascination with this... memento... of our shared past, then looked directly at her profile as she sipped at her drink. "Better. Her resilience is quite remarkable. But she has a long, hard road ahead of her. It will be a long time -- if ever -- before she fully recovers from her ordeal."
Kira nodded in what I knew was genuine understanding. Perhaps that was the foundation of her interest in my daughter: that they, too, had something in common, that they had both been subjugated against their will. Or perhaps she liked the idea that I had suffered during the Occupation.
"And you? How will this affect you?"
Her question flustered me. "What do you mean?"
"What will happen to you when you return to Cardassia?"
That was not a subject I wanted to think about too much at present, although I knew I would have to face the ramifications of my indiscretion soon enough. My future in Cardassia's changing sociopolitical structure was already tenuous, thanks to my alliance with the Detapa Council, but I could not even begin to fathom what lay ahead. In the old days, I would have likely been stripped of rank and holdings, barred from the military, and exiled to some remote colony, bastard daughter -- and perhaps legitimate family -- in tow, sharing in my disgrace. The chairman of the Detapa Council, however, was a social reformer, and I was his chief military advisor and head of Central Command; it was possible I could escape punishment. On the other hand, I could be thrown in prison and ordered to stand trial for crimes against nature...but that was a possible future I preferred to ignore.
"I... don't know," I finally admitted to her. Then, on a whim, I added, "We may not go back to Cardassia after all. If anything happens to me because of Ziyal, it would not be in her best interest to be left alone. She would be even more of an outcast than full-blooded orphans. I should take her to Lessepia, where she was originally headed six years ago; there are people there who will take care of her."
"After all she's been through, you'd abandon her so casually?"
I immediately regretted confiding in her. "There's nothing casual about it, Major! I only want to do what's best for her."
"You mean you."
"Sometimes what's best for me is what's best for her. She knows that; she learned that lesson when we were still on Bajor."
That, thankfully, silenced her, but I knew it would not be for long. I contemplated returning to the sleeping bay; I was not interested in listening to Kira's constant accusations against, and condemnation of, me and my race for the next twenty-odd hours. Before I had a chance to depart, however, Kira spoke again. "She must have had a lonely childhood."
I studied her face, noting the creases at the corners of her eyes and mouth and the dark circles beneath her eyes. Had her childhood been any different -- any easier -- she might have been beautiful. As it was, however, she had aged beyond her years and, though her features were attractive in themselves, they lacked distinction.
"I gave her everything a child could possibly want."
Her eyes, which had been focused on some distant spot on the horizon, turned on me, bright with... curiosity, I think. "She couldn't have had many friends. The Cardassian children probably looked down on her, and the Bajoran children were --"
"-- beneath her station."
She swallowed rapidly and nodded. "Were there other half-castes among your officers?"
"A few. But... they lived apart from the officers."
"You were the only one who lived with your --" I heard her breath catch as she struggled to formulate a neutral term for what Naprem had been to me. "-- mistress?"
Now it was my turn to hesitate. I really did not want to discuss my relationship with Naprem, least of all with Kira; if she could ever bring herself to see me as anything other than a monster, then perhaps I might be convinced to give her a glimpse into this part of my life, but until then revealing even the smallest part of my love for Naprem to this woman would only demean it. I tried to divert Kira's attention. "The manner in which my officers chose to arrange their households was their business, as long as it did not disrupt the smooth operation of my command. Some of them had families -- legitimate, Cardassian families -- on Bajor, and could not risk flaunting their affairs."
"But you held no such compunction."
I clenched my fists to hold my temper in check. "Not that my private affairs are any of your concern, but I did not go about flaunting my relationship with Naprem!"
She had to have seen how quickly my anger was rising, but she pressed on, either out of willful ignorance or Bajoran perversity. "So you were so ashamed of her that you kept her hidden away for at least thirteen years? Sounds like true love to me."
"Yes, Major, that's right! For more than thirteen years I sheltered Naprem from the less... pleasant aspects of the Occupation, protecting her not only from the stares and whispers of my officers and their families, but also from the bigotry of your own people, who would not have hesitated to inflict pain on such a gentle, tender, giving..." I felt my voice begin to break and cursed my weakness.
"What do you know of love? Can you possibly imagine what it's like to risk a twenty-year career to be with someone you can never publicly acknowledge? Have you ever watched your own child being born, and realized that that child means more to you than all your other children combined? Do you know what it's like to be driven mad with grief when your beloved and the child you shared disappeared without a trace and there was nothing you could do to find them?"
I stared at her, tears burning the corners of my eyes, until I had her full attention. "I would gladly have died to bring them back after the Ravenok disappeared. The Occupation was nearing an end, my command was falling apart at the seams, assassination attempts against me were growing more plentiful -- and violent -- and the only person who had ever brought any joy into my life was gone forever. Is that sufficient, Major? Do you believe me now when I say I loved Naprem?"
Kira's face had grown increasingly pale as my voice rose in anger against her, and I saw the trembling in her lower lip and hands as she fought to contain herself. I wondered what she thought of me now. Was my outburst what she had hoped to accomplish on this journey? Was she looking for cracks in my armor? The cracks were always there, if she had only been willing to look for them. Would my love for Naprem finally be the watershed necessary to bring Kira to forgive me? For my part, I only hoped she would do me the respect of acknowledging that my grief -- and my joy at finding Ziyal -- was genuine.
The major remained uncharacteristically quiet for a long time, looking everywhere in the cockpit but at me, ignoring her raktajino and soup as they grew cold. Then, after several minutes of what must have been for her uncomfortable silence, she said, so low I had to strain to hear her, "If you loved Naprem as much as you say you did, then you won't take Ziyal to Lessepia."
I sucked in my breath, about to formulate a reply, when a sleepy voice came from the back of the cockpit. "Father?"
In unison we spun to see Ziyal standing just inside the doorway, her hair matted against her head, the dark shadows on her face made even more so in the dim lighting, her calloused hands clutching at the sides of her shift. She looked so vulnerable, so fragile, so helpless, that my heart broke yet again at the sight of her. I had done everything in my power to keep her and her mother safe, never hesitating to give them whatever they needed to ensure their happiness, and yet I had failed them both miserably. I had promised them the world and given them loneliness, fear and pain. No wonder Kira hated me so much.
I held my arms out to my daughter, inviting her to climb into my lap as she had so often loved to do during happier times. Much to my consternation, she hesitated, glancing sideways at Kira, then back at me before taking a half-step backward through the doorway. "Come, my precious, it's all right," I urged, trying not to sound too desperate.
Her head shook slightly. "I don't mean to interrupt. I heard... voices."
Much to my surprise, Kira came to my rescue. "You're not interrupting. Your... father and I have never seen eye-to-eye on anything."
"Except you, perhaps," I interjected hopefully, ignoring Kira's sharp look and smiling encouragement to Ziyal and again inviting her to join us by patting my thighs. To my relief, she accepted the invitation, bounded into my lap and wrapped her arms around me. "Did you have another nightmare?"
I felt her head move against my scales as she nestled it between neck, shoulder and ridge. "Uh-huh."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
A sigh, then, "No." I was not surprised; she had not yet wanted to discuss the particulars of her memories with me, although I knew that, for her own health and well-being, she would have to soon.
Movement within the field of my peripheral vision diverted my attention from Ziyal, and I turned to see Kira lean forward and rest her hand on Ziyal's knee. "I have some... experience with what you've been through," she began. "If you want to talk, I'll be there for you."
Even after twenty years on Bajor and an additional four years of an uneasy diplomatic truce between our two worlds, I still did not understand what motivated Bajoran women, and Kira was one of the most maddeningly unpredictable of that species. What could she possibly hope to gain from my daughter's trust? Nevertheless, there were distinct... advantages to encouraging a friendship between Ziyal and the major. If anyone offered the hope of genuine peace between our two worlds -- and the two of us -- it was Ziyal. Was Kira aware of this? Was this why she offered herself to my daughter? Did she think that Ziyal could be beneficial to us both, the bridge that spanned the chasm between us?
I felt a resurgence of hope. My future on Cardassia looked bleak at best, but if I could somehow find a way to tear down the walls of hatred Kira had entombed herself within, then I would gladly sacrifice my career. It was a high price to pay for such a seemingly insignificant personal victory, but I had long ago learned that personal victories were worth their weight in gold-pressed latinum. Naprem's love had been one example. Kira's forgiveness could be another.
Ziyal repositioned herself on my lap, dangling her long, bony legs off my knees and leaning her head back against my chest as I enfolded her in my arms. Kira remained stationary, her expression open and expectant. "If you wish to talk to someone, then I think the major can help," I said, assuring both my daughter and myself that Kira would not take advantage of our trust. "You two have much in common," I added, smiling at Kira despite her disapproving scowl.
Ziyal's breathing slowed as, I knew, she considered the offer. Once she had made her decision, she sat up, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and said, "I'd like that very much, thank you, Major."
"Dukat?" Kira looked to me for permission as she rose from her seat.
I waved them both away. "Go. You both need rest anyway. I'll man the helm from here on out."
Kira glared at me as she held out her hand to assist Ziyal to her feet. "You'll take us back to Deep Space Nine?"
"Yes, Major, I'll be sure we all arrive safely back at the station. You two just go and talk." Before I could swivel my seat toward the helm control panel, Ziyal bent down and kissed me again. Her eyes were shining with apprehension and gratitude, and I felt a responding twinge of sadness that she did not yet feel she could share this part of her life with me. I hoped she would find her way to confide in me soon. "You know you can talk to me about this, if you need to," I reminded her, giving her work-scarred fingers one final kiss.
"Yes, Father, I know." She exited the cockpit, and Kira and I were alone once again.
"Do you want to know what she tells me?" she asked, standing at the threshold.
"No. If she wants me to know, then she will tell me herself... one day." I looked back at her one last time. "Promise me one thing, though?"
"What?"
"Promise me you'll remember that I did love her mother."
Her eyes held a curious expression that, I must confess, I had seen before, many years ago, but never from this Kira until now. It was a look that filled me with hope and anticipation for a better future. "I promise," she said.
It was a promise I could build my life on.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The journey from Dozaria back to DS9 provides opportunity for Dukat to reflect. Set after "Indiscretion".
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.
Long is the way
And hard, that out of hell leads up to light. (John Milton, "Paradise Lost")
After all was said and done, it was the major who escorted Ziyal and me back to Deep Space Nine.
Her offer -- her insistence, really -- to pilot a runabout just for the two of us once the Defiant had arrived at Dozaria and retrieved the other survivors of the Ravenok came as a surprise to me. For one thing, there was no longer any point in trying to conceal my identity; by the time the prisoners had overthrown their Breen captors and a subspace message had been sent to the station requesting assistance, everyone had learned that one of their rescuers was the former prefect of Bajor and the young mixed-race girl was his bastard daughter. For another, I knew the major was exhausted and saddened by the ordeal, and held few -- if any -- charitable feelings toward me after the secret of my indiscretion had been revealed.
I would not have thought any the less of her if she had chosen to let the Defiant tractor the runabout back to the station and leave Ziyal and me to bunk with the other Cardassians. Thus, when she came up to us in Sickbay as Ziyal underwent preliminary medical scans and said, "When you're finished here, meet me on the runabout and I'll take you back to the station myself," then walked away before I had a chance to respond, I was astonished.
What did she hope to gain by her generosity? The major has always been something of an enigma to me; she bears little resemblance to a Kira I knew many years ago, but that is not to her detriment. Did she hope to earn my trust and respect? Not likely. Although her belligerence toward my people has softened during the years since our withdrawal from Bajor, her antipathy toward me has not changed. In fact, I would say that, now that she has come to know me on a more personal level, she dislikes me even more than she did while I still governed Bajor. Perhaps she wanted me to understand that I did not have her trust. Perhaps she feared I might yet do harm to Ziyal, and that only by keeping me in close proximity could she ensure my daughter's safety.
As is so often the case in her unwavering attitude toward me, she could not be more wrong. The moment I embraced Ziyal, I knew that I could never allow any harm to come to her, no matter what. Not that Kira would ever do me the honor of accepting that I am a man of my word. Nevertheless, she did give me credit for actually owning up to my daughter, so there might still be hope. Perhaps that was why she insisted we make this journey together; perhaps she wanted to give me the opportunity to prove myself to her. If so, it was an opportunity I would have been a fool to pass up.
She did not even acknowledge us when we transported aboard the runabout, although the tell-tale set in her shoulders told me that she was acutely aware of our arrival. Her manner of greeting was to inform the Defiant to release the tractor beam and engage the runabout's thrusters; even as Ziyal and I remained standing behind her, watching through the forward viewscreen as the starship's smooth belly arced away from us and feeling the slight surge as the runabout's warp engines took us away from that barren wasteland and the remains of people we loved, she kept her gaze forward, not once turning back. I glanced down at my daughter to see her questioning look and shrugged my shoulders in reply. We still had a twenty-six-hour journey to the station, and the major would not be able to ignore us the entire time. So, in the meantime, I wrapped my arm around Ziyal's shoulders and led her out of the cockpit and to the sleeping bay.
* * * * *
The events of the past several days must have taken a greater toll on me than I realized; I fell asleep, Ziyal nestled against my unarmored chest, almost the instant my head hit the Starfleet-issue pallet, and remained that way for several hours before Ziyal's agitated stirring alerted me to a recurrence of her nightmares. My daughter's strength and resilience amazed me and evoked painful memories of her equally strong-willed mother, but she was still a child and the horrors she had endured for the past six years sought recognition when her emotional and mental barriers were at their weakest. I had maintained a constant vigil at her side the first night we spent together after the rescue and endured the heartbreaking sight and sound of her in the throes of what must have been agonizing nightmares on no less than eight occasions. In the end, the only thing that had brought her any peace was to lie down next to her and pull her tightly against me until her sobs became whimpers and her thrashing was reduced to twitches.
The next night showed some improvement, perhaps because I refused to leave Ziyal's side throughout the day and she came to realize that I had no intention of ever letting her out of my sight again. Was the major aware of this? She seemed preoccupied with the Bajoran prisoners -- former prisoners -- and bringing them up to speed on events since the Ravenok's departure. I did the same for the surviving Cardassians, although I was not as... flamboyant... in my editorializing of the withdrawal from Bajor, the Maquis insurgency and the Klingon-Cardassian war as she was. The bare facts would suffice for my men, and if they wanted to hear the former revolutionary's romantic over-exaggeration, then they could get it from the source. For my part, I was more concerned with re-acquainting myself with my daughter, trying to glean from her the events of her mother's death, and helping her overcome the outrages and abuse she suffered during her long captivity.
For the present, the most I could do was to provide comfort to her as the nightmares worked through her mind and then hold her close until her agitated trembling ceased and her muscles relaxed as dreamless slumber again overtook her. When the clenching in her jaw disappeared and she sank back against the pallet with an exhausted murmur, I decided she would be content for the time being and exited the sleeping chamber.
Kira was dozing in the pilot's chair when I crossed the threshold into the darkened cockpit, her features illuminated by the blinking lights from the helm control panels. I was careful not to disturb her as I sank into the adjacent seat. The autopilot had been engaged as soon as we went to warp and, out of habit, I ran a diagnostic on the sensors and engines to be sure that nothing was amiss. According to the ship's chronometer we had been traveling for about four hours.
As my awareness of the passage of time increased, I became aware of another sensation and sought the necessary remedy in the replicator. When I turned away from it, split-katterpod bean soup in one hand and red leaf tea in the other, I saw that Kira was awake and watching me warily.
"Good evening, Major. I trust you slept well?" My greeting was met with a quiet snarl and a shift in her position, presumably to ease stiff joints, a subtle reminder that we were both getting older. "May I get you something from the replicator?" I placed my meal on the panel before the co-pilot's seat and half-turned to the replicator in readiness.
"A raktajino, please," she grumbled, her voice still husky from sleep. "And another soup, if you don't mind."
"Not at all." I made the request and added a loaf of Vulcan black bread at the last moment. Then, placing the loaf between us for sharing, I handed Kira's meal to her and made myself comfortable next to her.
For the next several minutes the only sounds that could be heard were those of two meals being relished in hungry silence, then harmonious sighs of appeasement and the creak of leather and joints as two old soldiers leaned back to sip at their respective hot beverages. It was perhaps the closest we had ever come to genuine camaraderie, and I could not help but study Kira out of the corner of my eye and wonder what was going through her mind.
I did not have to wonder long. Blowing steam from her raktajino as she spoke, Kira said, "How is Ziyal doing?"
I ducked my head down at first, both amused and perplexed at her persistent fascination with this... memento... of our shared past, then looked directly at her profile as she sipped at her drink. "Better. Her resilience is quite remarkable. But she has a long, hard road ahead of her. It will be a long time -- if ever -- before she fully recovers from her ordeal."
Kira nodded in what I knew was genuine understanding. Perhaps that was the foundation of her interest in my daughter: that they, too, had something in common, that they had both been subjugated against their will. Or perhaps she liked the idea that I had suffered during the Occupation.
"And you? How will this affect you?"
Her question flustered me. "What do you mean?"
"What will happen to you when you return to Cardassia?"
That was not a subject I wanted to think about too much at present, although I knew I would have to face the ramifications of my indiscretion soon enough. My future in Cardassia's changing sociopolitical structure was already tenuous, thanks to my alliance with the Detapa Council, but I could not even begin to fathom what lay ahead. In the old days, I would have likely been stripped of rank and holdings, barred from the military, and exiled to some remote colony, bastard daughter -- and perhaps legitimate family -- in tow, sharing in my disgrace. The chairman of the Detapa Council, however, was a social reformer, and I was his chief military advisor and head of Central Command; it was possible I could escape punishment. On the other hand, I could be thrown in prison and ordered to stand trial for crimes against nature...but that was a possible future I preferred to ignore.
"I... don't know," I finally admitted to her. Then, on a whim, I added, "We may not go back to Cardassia after all. If anything happens to me because of Ziyal, it would not be in her best interest to be left alone. She would be even more of an outcast than full-blooded orphans. I should take her to Lessepia, where she was originally headed six years ago; there are people there who will take care of her."
"After all she's been through, you'd abandon her so casually?"
I immediately regretted confiding in her. "There's nothing casual about it, Major! I only want to do what's best for her."
"You mean you."
"Sometimes what's best for me is what's best for her. She knows that; she learned that lesson when we were still on Bajor."
That, thankfully, silenced her, but I knew it would not be for long. I contemplated returning to the sleeping bay; I was not interested in listening to Kira's constant accusations against, and condemnation of, me and my race for the next twenty-odd hours. Before I had a chance to depart, however, Kira spoke again. "She must have had a lonely childhood."
I studied her face, noting the creases at the corners of her eyes and mouth and the dark circles beneath her eyes. Had her childhood been any different -- any easier -- she might have been beautiful. As it was, however, she had aged beyond her years and, though her features were attractive in themselves, they lacked distinction.
"I gave her everything a child could possibly want."
Her eyes, which had been focused on some distant spot on the horizon, turned on me, bright with... curiosity, I think. "She couldn't have had many friends. The Cardassian children probably looked down on her, and the Bajoran children were --"
"-- beneath her station."
She swallowed rapidly and nodded. "Were there other half-castes among your officers?"
"A few. But... they lived apart from the officers."
"You were the only one who lived with your --" I heard her breath catch as she struggled to formulate a neutral term for what Naprem had been to me. "-- mistress?"
Now it was my turn to hesitate. I really did not want to discuss my relationship with Naprem, least of all with Kira; if she could ever bring herself to see me as anything other than a monster, then perhaps I might be convinced to give her a glimpse into this part of my life, but until then revealing even the smallest part of my love for Naprem to this woman would only demean it. I tried to divert Kira's attention. "The manner in which my officers chose to arrange their households was their business, as long as it did not disrupt the smooth operation of my command. Some of them had families -- legitimate, Cardassian families -- on Bajor, and could not risk flaunting their affairs."
"But you held no such compunction."
I clenched my fists to hold my temper in check. "Not that my private affairs are any of your concern, but I did not go about flaunting my relationship with Naprem!"
She had to have seen how quickly my anger was rising, but she pressed on, either out of willful ignorance or Bajoran perversity. "So you were so ashamed of her that you kept her hidden away for at least thirteen years? Sounds like true love to me."
"Yes, Major, that's right! For more than thirteen years I sheltered Naprem from the less... pleasant aspects of the Occupation, protecting her not only from the stares and whispers of my officers and their families, but also from the bigotry of your own people, who would not have hesitated to inflict pain on such a gentle, tender, giving..." I felt my voice begin to break and cursed my weakness.
"What do you know of love? Can you possibly imagine what it's like to risk a twenty-year career to be with someone you can never publicly acknowledge? Have you ever watched your own child being born, and realized that that child means more to you than all your other children combined? Do you know what it's like to be driven mad with grief when your beloved and the child you shared disappeared without a trace and there was nothing you could do to find them?"
I stared at her, tears burning the corners of my eyes, until I had her full attention. "I would gladly have died to bring them back after the Ravenok disappeared. The Occupation was nearing an end, my command was falling apart at the seams, assassination attempts against me were growing more plentiful -- and violent -- and the only person who had ever brought any joy into my life was gone forever. Is that sufficient, Major? Do you believe me now when I say I loved Naprem?"
Kira's face had grown increasingly pale as my voice rose in anger against her, and I saw the trembling in her lower lip and hands as she fought to contain herself. I wondered what she thought of me now. Was my outburst what she had hoped to accomplish on this journey? Was she looking for cracks in my armor? The cracks were always there, if she had only been willing to look for them. Would my love for Naprem finally be the watershed necessary to bring Kira to forgive me? For my part, I only hoped she would do me the respect of acknowledging that my grief -- and my joy at finding Ziyal -- was genuine.
The major remained uncharacteristically quiet for a long time, looking everywhere in the cockpit but at me, ignoring her raktajino and soup as they grew cold. Then, after several minutes of what must have been for her uncomfortable silence, she said, so low I had to strain to hear her, "If you loved Naprem as much as you say you did, then you won't take Ziyal to Lessepia."
I sucked in my breath, about to formulate a reply, when a sleepy voice came from the back of the cockpit. "Father?"
In unison we spun to see Ziyal standing just inside the doorway, her hair matted against her head, the dark shadows on her face made even more so in the dim lighting, her calloused hands clutching at the sides of her shift. She looked so vulnerable, so fragile, so helpless, that my heart broke yet again at the sight of her. I had done everything in my power to keep her and her mother safe, never hesitating to give them whatever they needed to ensure their happiness, and yet I had failed them both miserably. I had promised them the world and given them loneliness, fear and pain. No wonder Kira hated me so much.
I held my arms out to my daughter, inviting her to climb into my lap as she had so often loved to do during happier times. Much to my consternation, she hesitated, glancing sideways at Kira, then back at me before taking a half-step backward through the doorway. "Come, my precious, it's all right," I urged, trying not to sound too desperate.
Her head shook slightly. "I don't mean to interrupt. I heard... voices."
Much to my surprise, Kira came to my rescue. "You're not interrupting. Your... father and I have never seen eye-to-eye on anything."
"Except you, perhaps," I interjected hopefully, ignoring Kira's sharp look and smiling encouragement to Ziyal and again inviting her to join us by patting my thighs. To my relief, she accepted the invitation, bounded into my lap and wrapped her arms around me. "Did you have another nightmare?"
I felt her head move against my scales as she nestled it between neck, shoulder and ridge. "Uh-huh."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
A sigh, then, "No." I was not surprised; she had not yet wanted to discuss the particulars of her memories with me, although I knew that, for her own health and well-being, she would have to soon.
Movement within the field of my peripheral vision diverted my attention from Ziyal, and I turned to see Kira lean forward and rest her hand on Ziyal's knee. "I have some... experience with what you've been through," she began. "If you want to talk, I'll be there for you."
Even after twenty years on Bajor and an additional four years of an uneasy diplomatic truce between our two worlds, I still did not understand what motivated Bajoran women, and Kira was one of the most maddeningly unpredictable of that species. What could she possibly hope to gain from my daughter's trust? Nevertheless, there were distinct... advantages to encouraging a friendship between Ziyal and the major. If anyone offered the hope of genuine peace between our two worlds -- and the two of us -- it was Ziyal. Was Kira aware of this? Was this why she offered herself to my daughter? Did she think that Ziyal could be beneficial to us both, the bridge that spanned the chasm between us?
I felt a resurgence of hope. My future on Cardassia looked bleak at best, but if I could somehow find a way to tear down the walls of hatred Kira had entombed herself within, then I would gladly sacrifice my career. It was a high price to pay for such a seemingly insignificant personal victory, but I had long ago learned that personal victories were worth their weight in gold-pressed latinum. Naprem's love had been one example. Kira's forgiveness could be another.
Ziyal repositioned herself on my lap, dangling her long, bony legs off my knees and leaning her head back against my chest as I enfolded her in my arms. Kira remained stationary, her expression open and expectant. "If you wish to talk to someone, then I think the major can help," I said, assuring both my daughter and myself that Kira would not take advantage of our trust. "You two have much in common," I added, smiling at Kira despite her disapproving scowl.
Ziyal's breathing slowed as, I knew, she considered the offer. Once she had made her decision, she sat up, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and said, "I'd like that very much, thank you, Major."
"Dukat?" Kira looked to me for permission as she rose from her seat.
I waved them both away. "Go. You both need rest anyway. I'll man the helm from here on out."
Kira glared at me as she held out her hand to assist Ziyal to her feet. "You'll take us back to Deep Space Nine?"
"Yes, Major, I'll be sure we all arrive safely back at the station. You two just go and talk." Before I could swivel my seat toward the helm control panel, Ziyal bent down and kissed me again. Her eyes were shining with apprehension and gratitude, and I felt a responding twinge of sadness that she did not yet feel she could share this part of her life with me. I hoped she would find her way to confide in me soon. "You know you can talk to me about this, if you need to," I reminded her, giving her work-scarred fingers one final kiss.
"Yes, Father, I know." She exited the cockpit, and Kira and I were alone once again.
"Do you want to know what she tells me?" she asked, standing at the threshold.
"No. If she wants me to know, then she will tell me herself... one day." I looked back at her one last time. "Promise me one thing, though?"
"What?"
"Promise me you'll remember that I did love her mother."
Her eyes held a curious expression that, I must confess, I had seen before, many years ago, but never from this Kira until now. It was a look that filled me with hope and anticipation for a better future. "I promise," she said.
It was a promise I could build my life on.