Chapter Text
Every morning is like the one before
And everybody needs someone to adore
I’m counting on you
Oh oh baby say you will
Oh oh baby be my thrill
Be my thrill
My little white pill
My unpaid bill
The one who will
Kira stalked down the hall, shoulders tingling, acutely aware of the Cardassian behind her. Every sense in her body cried out threat, threat, threat, and it was an ongoing effort to shut the warnings off and just walk, normally, without waiting for an opening to attack. At least my hands are empty. The son of a bitch is carrying my bags.
It was not quite the escort she’d expected. Her trip to Korma, the back-end of nowhere (Cardassian nowhere, too, damn my luck) was not something she was looking forward to. Shakaar had been awfully wily to get her to agree. Then again, she’d known all along she could say no. He was just so… kind, sometimes. It made her feel guilty. If she could do this thing for him, then she would. Prophets knew she would probably disappoint him in the future. He expects me to be a diplomat…? Whoo, is he going to be surprised.
And to be travelling with Dukat… well, that wasn’t really adding to the positive aspects of the situation. She could hear him breathing behind her, his heavy steps matching hers, and it made her want to pull her head down and stiffen her neck, like a pemmel trying to hide itself from a predator. It didn’t help that he’d told her of his loss of status, of his demotion from Legate to Gul, of his family disowning him. The son of a bitch. Everything that had happened to him, he’d brought on himself. It was no concern of hers. In fact, it was good news. Keep telling yourself that, Nerys. Maybe it’ll stick.
His voice rang through the corridor, echoing slightly. “Major, I admit I was surprised to hear that you’d be attending this conference.”
Oh, good, we’re going to chat. “Do tell.”
“Well, this is a military conference, yes?”
“You tell me.”
“I understand you’ll be pooling information about the Klingons with my people’s finest intelligence agents.”
“Something like that.”
She heard him breathe out; somehow, she could tell he was smiling. His voice carried wry amusement. “I confess, I was surprised that the current Cardassian government thought that the Bajorans would have any secrets worth sharing. No offense, Major. But we both know that your people have never been known for their… subtlety. I simply cannot imagine a Bajoran spy having anything worthwhile to offer a Cardassian agent.”
Motherfucker. Back at you. “Well, I think the details of our information are a little above your clearance level, Gul Dukat, so I suppose you’re just going to have to go on… imagining.”
She strode on, enjoying the sound of the slight falter of his military footsteps. Gotcha. After a few more steps, she realized that he wasn’t following. She stopped and turned, looking back at him, a few metres down the hall.
He was smiling.
“Oh, Major, it is going to be a delight to spend time with you again, I can already tell.”
Her head pulled back; she raised her brows. “Really. I’m not feeling that same delight.”
Dukat’s eyes widened a little; he was really enjoying himself. “Truly, Major? What a pity. And here I was hoping you’d be pleased to spend a little more time with me. We got along so well last time we travelled together.”
“Yeah, it was a regular camping trip. I have trouble imagining how the two of us… spending time together… is going to be enjoyable in any way.”
Dukat’s smile faded slightly; he tilted his head, and studied her for a moment. “Major, this may come as a surprise to you, but captaining a cargo freighter is not quite as rewarding a pastime as defending Cardassia against her enemies. Every day is very much like the one before. I am relying on you to inject a little excitement into my life here, Major. Don’t let me down.”
“Ahhh, I see. My mission in life is now to entertain a defrocked Gul.” She felt disdain welling into her voice, dripping from her lips like venom. “Truly, I walk the path the Prophets have chosen.”
His lids dropped, hooding his eyes. With mounting anger, she noticed his slight smile had now turned into a definite smirk. “Yes, Major. Just like that. Do you know, I think you might be even more exciting than combat could ever hope to be.” His posture said challenge, his hands said lust.
The urge to snap back, to say something that would make him shut up was almost overwhelming. I want to hurt you. Oh, let me hurt you.
Instead, she paused for a moment. She forced herself to relax, shoulders down, hands open, lessons of childhood coming back to her, oh, almost painlessly. It barely hurt at all to turn away and continue down the corridor, swallowing her words and her anger. He’s watching you. No challenge. No challenge. Prophets, keep me strong.
There were a few things Kira knew about Cardassians.
They were merciless bastards.
They thought everything they did was right, because it made Cardassia strong, and trying to argue them out of that mindset was like trying to mine ore with your forehead.
They loved ritual, and formality, and manners. If you were a Cardassian, speaking to another Cardassian, your words might be saying one thing, but a whole second conversation could easily be taking place with set of arms and angle of head. They called it kotok temell, “second tongue.” It was like a layer on top of each conversation, changing words, shading phrases; it was powerful enough that what a Cardassian was saying and what he meant could be two terribly different things. She’d learned enough of their rigmarole to make her a useful spy, back on Bajor; she retained it still.
And they loved to fight. This did seem to go against their love for manners, but they’d found a way to work it in. They turned it into sex, instead. They read hostility as lust, and acted accordingly. It had been hellish sometimes, in the internment camp. Bajorans weren’t good at hiding their emotions. Bajorans liked to argue. And when a Bajoran woman argued with a Cardassian man, well, things got very complicated very quickly. Experience had been a quick, harsh teacher, and her lesson had been that the best way to deal with a Cardassian was to look away, to hide her feelings, to scrub all emotion from her voice and simply acquiesce. No challenge meant no interest. It had eaten at her – to bend, to comply, so that she could live another day. When she’d joined the resistance, she’d taken fierce joy in howling out her rage as she finally fought back, letting years of suppressed emotions boil over and take her with them.
Now, as a diplomatic liaison – my true calling, at last, what joy – she had to suppress her emotions once again, eat her anger, talk peace with a people she’d once sworn to kill without mercy. It had been horrible, at first. She’d had to fight her own instincts every day. Some nights after her shift, she’d needed to scream herself hoarse in her quarters, just to calm herself down enough to be able to pray. She’d thought – I’d hoped – that it was starting to come more naturally. She’d even found it in herself to pity one Cardassian, to care for another almost like a father. Every day, they looked a little less like targets, and a little more like people.
But seeing Dukat… every time, it was like she was back in the resistance, blood thrumming, predatory, waiting for her moment to strike with all the anger she could bring to bear.
One day, Dukat. Not today. But one day, you and I will settle all our unpaid dues. Until then, she wove her anger into her bones, praying that it would make her stronger.