Chapter Text
Stardate: 51550.2
“Captain,” T’Sorra said, handing Sisko a PADD over his desk. “My report on Starfleet security operations.”
“Ah.” Sisko took the PADD.
T’Sorra drew her hands behind her back.
Vulcans weren’t generally an easily readable people. But in the months since T’Sorra had begun her duties, Sisko had become accustomed to her small tells.
“Something else on your mind, Commander?”
“Yes, sir,” T’Sorra said. “Have you given any more thought to my suggestion when I first took charge of security?”
“About relieving Odo of duty,” Sisko said.
“Yes, sir.”
Sisko sighed. “Commander, do you have any evidence that Odo is not who he claims to be?”
“Not as yet.”
“Then I’m not removing an excellent officer from his post,” Sisko said. “I need Odo. He knows this station better than anyone else aboard. No one could do the job he does.”
“Sir, I don’t have evidence, but I have concerns,” T’Sorra said. “Shortly after the Dominion withdrawal, Odo exhibited certain…behavioral changes.”
Sisko frowned. “Behavioral changes?”
“First,” T’Sorra said, “as I previously observed, he was negligent in his duty. I can find no similar past incident in his record.”
“That concerned me, too,” Sisko said. “But it’s not enough to relieve someone of duty.”
“No, sir,” T’Sorra said. “However, he subsequently took three weeks’ leave—”
“On my suggestion,” Sisko said.
“Why, sir?”
“I thought he was due for a vacation.”
T’Sorra cocked a brow. “Immediately after retaking the most strategic base in the Alpha Quadrant?”
Sisko sighed.
It did look strange, he knew. But Odo hadn’t been in any state to perform his duties, at the time. The sight of the formerly dignified constable hunched and trembling wasn’t one that Sisko would soon forget.
T’Sorra seemed to take his silence as ceding her point. “There is more, sir. During his leave, Odo visited Bajor—”
“He holds citizenship there.”
“It is still a behavioral anomaly,” T’Sorra said. “He has never taken a purely recreational visit.”
Sisko rubbed his fingers into his eyes.
“Additionally,” T’Sorra said, “when he returned to Deep Space Nine, he was…different, in a way that is difficult to quantify. He began spending more time with the crew, especially Major Kira. He has even indulged in the holosuites several times.”
“Sounds to me like a man who’s loosening up,” Sisko said. “Getting more comfortable.”
“Or,” T’Sorra said, “a Founder is doing an imperfect job at imitating him.”
“Commander, this is purely circumstantial!”
“Yes, sir, it is,” T’Sorra said. “But I believe it warrants caution. I don’t have to remind you of Deep Space Nine’s strategic location, or of the threat the Founders pose.”
Sisko shook his head. “No Dominion ships have entered the wormhole since their fleet was wiped out.”
“But the number of Founders already in the Alpha Quadrant has never been quantified,” T’Sorra said. “If there were any point to a blood test for a Changeling, we could clear Odo of suspicion immediately. But there is no known way to distinguish him from a Founder.”
Sisko grimaced.
T’Sorra tilted her head. “Captain, permission to speak freely?”
“You may as well.”
“Sir,” T’Sorra said, “I believe you would be negligent in your duty if you failed to consider the possibility.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I would like permission to monitor Odo’s activities,” T’Sorra said.
Sisko frowned.
“Sir, I am a Starfleet officer,” she said. “I will perform my duties within regulations. He is innocent until proven guilty, and I will not invade his privacy. However, I believe it is prudent for his public activities and his performance of his duty to receive further scrutiny.”
Sisko squinted up at her.
He didn’t like this. Odo was a friend, and he liked doubting one of his officers even less. But the near-complete lack of emotion on T’Sorra’s face made it difficult to be irritated with her.
Instead, it drove home the logic of her request.
“Fine,” Sisko said. “Permission granted.”
As soon as T’Sorra left and his office doors closed behind her, Sisko tapped his combadge.
“Sisko to Bashir.”
“Bashir here.”
“Report to my office immediately.”
*
Odo handed his deputy a PADD. “And make sure to screen all arriving passengers at airlock five.”
Novahl gave a short nod. “Yes sir.”
Then, as his deputy departed, Dr. Bashir walked through his doors.
“Something I can do for you, Doctor?” Odo asked.
There was a strange expression on Bashir’s face—something like veiled concern. “You can come with me to the infirmary.”
Odo frowned. “What for?”
“Captain’s orders.”
Now that was more than a little odd. “Doctor—”
“Now, please,” Bashir added.
Odo peered at him. “Very well.”
He followed Bashir the short distance across the promenade. Once in the infirmary, Bashir quickly crossed to the medical supply alcove and came back carrying—
Odo’s gaze zeroed onto the object in his hand.
A sample tube, attached to a hypo.
He narrowed his eyes. “Doctor, what’s this about?”
Bashir approached. “I’m to take a sample from you. The captain wants me to study your cellular structure.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Doctor,” Odo said slowly, “I’ve no intention of subjecting myself to experimentation.”
“Then you can take it up with the captain.” Bashir sighed. “I did point out that you wouldn’t take this well. His orders stood. And he seemed quite serious, Constable. I’m sorry.”
Odo squinted.
“So,” Bashir said, “may I?”
Odo sighed.
Well, he may have to comply with this, but he would do it on his own terms. “You won’t need the hypo.”
Bashir frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“Just hold out the sample tube.”
After a moment’s confusion, Bashir detached the sample tube and held it out.
Holding his finger over the tube, Odo released a small drop of his substance from the tip.
Bashir winced. “A little more?”
Sighing again, Odo complied, until the sample filled about half the tube.
“That’ll do,” Bashir said.
“Good!”
Odo wasted no time in crossing to the nearest turbolift.
*
“Captain, may I have a word?”
Sisko sighed. He settled back in his desk chair and looked up to meet Odo’s eyes. He knew exactly what was on the constable’s mind.
“Of course.”
“Did you order Dr. Bashir to…study me?”
Sisko winced. “I did.”
“Why?”
“I can’t say, yet.”
“Can’t?” Odo asked. “Or won’t?”
There was a world of a difference, Sisko knew. It was his command decision. Can’t would imply it was orders from above, or a matter of protocol—neither of which were true. And even if they were, the notion of Sisko’s superiors interfering in this way was sure to set the constable off even further.
“Odo,” Sisko said, “I’m sorry, but I need you to let this go.”
“Let it go?” Odo peered at him. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He should have known Odo wouldn’t let it go voluntarily. But that left only one course available to him.
“That’s an order, Constable.”
He’d seen Odo upset before. But Sisko wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the constable quite so incensed, his eyes burning like the hot blue flames at the heart of a fire.
Odo drew back. “Very well, Captain.”
He turned on his heel and marched clear of Sisko’s office.
Sisko sighed, rubbing his fingers into his eyes. He didn’t like this any more than Odo did. But it was, ultimately, for Odo’s own good. If there were a way to definitively distinguish Odo from another one of his people, Sisko needed to find it.
The problem was, he had no way to compare a sample from Odo to a sample from one of the Founders, and in the meantime—if Odo were replaced—it would be a security risk to tip him off.
*
Stardate: 51556.4
Odo paced behind his desk. “She constantly questions my orders. Scrutinizes my reports. I feel like I’m under constant interrogation!”
“What do you mean?” Kira asked.
She was reclined in her chair, one heel hooked over the edge of his desk—just like she used to during their Tuesday morning meetings, seemingly a lifetime ago.
“It’s the questions she asks.” Odo braced his palms on his desk. “She grills me on the details of events. Sometimes on basic security procedure. Sometimes on the exact wording of my reports!” He caught Kira’s gaze. “And she seems inordinately curious about the Dominion.”
“Well, it’s a valid security concern,” Kira allowed. “She probably—”
“Commander T’Sorra does not investigate the Dominion,” Odo said. “She questions me about it. She asks me what I know. The day I relieved her as acting security chief, she even asked me about the Link.”
Kira frowned. “The Link?”
“She wanted to know how it functioned.” Odo scoffed. “She specifically asked what sort of information is exchanged.”
Kira sipped her raktajino. “That does seem odd.”
“I don’t understand it,” Odo said. “You know the most frustrating thing? She stays completely within the bounds of protocol. And she’s virtually impossible to read!” He growled under his breath. “It’s that smug, superior attitude. She’s worse than Eddington ever was!”
Kira peered over the rim of her mug. “Wasn’t your problem with Eddington that you were being replaced as chief of security? Not Eddington himself?”
Odo sighed. He sank into his chair. “True.”
“You’re not being replaced now,” Kira said. “T’Sorra reports to you, doesn’t she?”
“A mere technicality.” Odo shook his head. “She takes every opportunity to resist my authority. For a Vulcan, she’s remarkably…defiant.”
Kira snorted. “I’ve noticed that too.”
“She doesn’t give you trouble, does she?”
“No, it’s…it’s odd.” Kira frowned thoughtfully. “She does seem defiant. Pretentious, too. But she knows where to draw the line, and she doesn’t cross it. She’s not insubordinate. She speaks her mind, but she’s a straight-laced Starfleet officer—the kind I would have found infuriating five years ago.”
The corner of Kira’s mouth curled up in a sly smile, and Odo huffed a tiny laugh.
Just like that, his frustrations eased.
How did Kira do that? Give him the space to vent, without judgment? Light up his life, ease his doubts, bring his anxieties to rest?
It was moments like this, when he knew without a doubt—she was worth everything.
Stardate: 51579.2
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Kira said, “so I’ll get right to it.”
Dax and Worf faced her across Sisko’s desk.
“The last two months,” Kira said, “Starfleet has been receiving military intelligence from a Cardassian operative. That operative has now sent an emergency signal indicating he needs to speak to someone in a face-to-face conversation. In thirteen hours, he’ll beam an encrypted subspace transmission to these coordinates in the Badlands.”
She handed Dax a PADD.
“Who is the operative?” Dax asked.
“Intelligence told me that his name is Lasaran,” Kira said. “But that’s all they’ll say about him.”
Dax’s brows pinched in thought.
“They did emphasize several times,” Kira added, “that he is very important to them and that we should send someone to the Badlands as soon as possible.”
Kira sucked in a sharp breath.
“So,” she said, “with the Defiant gone and most of the runabouts off on exercises with the Ninth Fleet…”
Dax nodded. “We just volunteered for a trip to the Badlands.”
“Afraid so,” Kira said. “The Shenandoah’s prepped and ready to go on landing pad A. Good luck.”
She didn’t envy them their assignment. Tangling with an operative working under the Dominion’s thumb was bound to be a delicate operation. But Dax and Worf were skilled officers.
They could handle it.
*
Stardate: 51601.8
Odo was seated at the console in his quarters when his combadge chirped. “Kira to Odo.”
He tapped it. “Here.”
“Mind if I come by?”
Odo smiled to himself. Didn’t she know what his answer would be—what it would always be?
“Of course, Kira.”
In the time it took her to arrive at his quarters, he shut down the security trace he’d been working on. It wasn’t anything urgent—just an anomalous request for system data. But it never hurt to be diligent.
His door chimed.
“Come in,” he called.
Somehow, he was unprepared for the tiny rush he got as she stepped over the threshold. There was something about her presence in his quarters, something that set his matrix alight.
Then her eyes took in the rest of the room—and landed on the new object in the corner.
Her eyes widened. “You brought in a couch?”
Odo smiled. “It seemed prudent.”
Her smile lit up her face.
It honestly hadn’t been that hard to shift aside the few rocks and tree branches that previously occupied that corner. And it was worth it to make her feel welcome in his space.
Kira gestured ahead. “May I?”
“Please.”
She crossed to the couch, trailing a finger absently over the arched structure as she went, and sank down into the cushions. Her head tipped back against the crest.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
She lifted her head, smiling. “It’ll be better if you join me.”
How could he refuse?
He settled next to her, enjoying the way she relaxed. He knew how tense she always got after a long day, could see it in the way she carried her shoulders. This was just about as satisfying as watching her sigh after her first sip of raktajino in the morning.
Then she tensed again, her eyes fixing on the middle distance overhead.
“Kira?” he asked tentatively.
“The Defiant just got back,” she said. “The Chief was eager to head straight for the rapids.” She turned to look at him. “It reminded me of what you said, a little over a month ago. Back in the holosuite, about the time the Founder impersonated me?”
“Ah,” Odo said.
Why would she bring that up?
“And that reminded me,” Kira said, “of what you told me years ago, after it happened. About what tipped you off that it wasn’t me.”
Tension shot though Odo’s matrix.
He’d never expected her to prod him about that.
“I just…accepted your explanation at face value at the time,” she said. “A slip of the tongue?”
“Mm,” Odo hummed, unwillingly.
His answer only seemed to encourage her. “But since then, I’ve learned that you were holding back a lot—that incident included. And I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me.”
Odo’s eyes flicked briefly to hers.
“Was it really just a slip of the tongue?” Kira asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Odo?”
Prophets—why was her voice so soft? She wouldn’t be so sympathetic after she knew the truth.
And then her fingers curled around his.
It was his undoing.
His head tipped back on a sigh. “You really want to know, Kira?”
She frowned. “Of course I do.”
He shut his eyes. “I told you that her plan was to let me think you’d died. That she had me watch as you were enveloped in crystal, unable to move as the cavern shook apart around us.”
“Yes…?”
“The tremors kept getting worse,” Odo recalled. “And at one point, she told me to leave. That there was nothing more I could do for—you.”
Kira was silent, listening.
“I refused,” he whispered. “I couldn’t just leave you, Kira. I never could.”
“And…?”
“And…” He sucked in a trembling breath. “She ordered me to go. She pulled rank, and I—I still couldn’t. I told her she could order me all she wanted—I was resigning my commission. She begged me, demanded to know why, and I—” His breath hitched. “I told her.”
Kira held her breath.
“I told her,” Odo said, lifting his head to look her in the eye, “that I was in love with you.”
Kira flinched.
He didn’t know why it hurt. He knew how she felt. Knew that she could hardly be expected to love someone—something—like him.
And yet, it struck deep.
Odo’s matrix coiled. “Are my feelings for you really so repulsive?”
Kira blinked.
“Repulsive?” she repeated. “Why the hell would you think they’re repulsive?”
Odo shifted upright. “Maybe because of the way you’ve reacted, ever since you learned the truth? The way you avoided me for weeks, after Gaia? The way you acted in my office, just before the Dominion attacked—like the prospect of a dinner invitation was equal to facing a court-martial?”
Kira’s gaze hardened to a glare. “Odo, I’m not repulsed! I’m—”
She stopped.
“What?” Odo demanded. “Why can’t you stand the fact that I’m in love with you?”
“Because you let eight thousand people die!”
Then her mouth snapped shut, her eyes wide, as if she hadn’t meant to say it.
But it was too late.
Her words hung between them, and Odo was only vaguely aware of her presence beside him. His matrix was twisting into knots, his substance churning, memories pressing to the surface as if it were yesterday.
—this isn’t about me, this is about the eight thousand people down on that planet—
—so that you wouldn’t have to die—
—that makes it right?—
—his knees pressed into the soil—
Odo sucked a ragged breath through his facsimile lungs. He couldn’t do this. Not now.
Kira, though, was gaining momentum. “And it’s not just that. I told you what I wanted. I begged you not to make it any harder than it already was.”
“You were going to die,” Odo hissed.
“I don’t care!” Kira cried. “You disregarded my wishes! Disregarded my faith! You knew what I wanted, and you snatched that choice out of my hands!”
“It wasn’t me, Kira,” he whispered hoarsely. “It wasn’t me.”
“Wasn’t it?” Kira said. “Tell me you wouldn’t make the same choice.”
His gaze whipped to hers. “That’s not fair!”
“Isn’t it?” she said. “How am I supposed to know? You’ve always been a skeptic! If it meant saving my life—”
“Kira,” Odo gritted out, “I love you. You mean more to me than anything—more than my own people, or don’t you know that? You have no idea what it’s like for me to be sorry for saving your life!”
Kira’s jaw stuttered. “I—”
“No.” He put up a hand. “You don’t know what I went through. You don’t know what I’m still going through. You don’t know what I see every time I close my eyes. You have no idea!”
“Then tell me!”
Odo’s breath stuttered.
“Tell me, Odo.” Her eyes blazed. “Tell me, or Prophets help me, I will walk out of here right now.”
A tiny gasp escaped him.
He couldn’t lose her.
“You,” he croaked. “In your grave.”
Kira blinked.
“In my what?”
“Your grave,” Odo hissed, with new vehemence. “I buried you, Kira. I held your body in my arms. I looked into your pale face, felt your cold skin. And that image is burned into my memory!”
“You…buried me,” Kira said.
Odo shuddered.
“That’s what you meant,” she said. “The other week.”
Odo’s eyes slammed shut. “Yes, that’s what I meant. You see now why I couldn’t talk about it?”
“Odo—” she started. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything? After Gaia—why didn’t you tell me you were hurting?”
“When?” Odo scoffed. “The week you never came into my office? The month you avoided me like the plague?”
Kira flinched.
“I waited in my office for you,” he said. “It was fresh, then. We were both reeling. It didn’t feel as—as impossible to touch, then. I thought we could build forward together. Find comfort together. Stop both our heads from spinning.”
“You would’ve opened up to me?” Kira said. “Way back then—before the war?”
He huffed humorlessly. “I might’ve. I wanted to.”
Kira was silent.
Cautiously, he cracked open his eyes.
She seemed…distant. Thoughtful. There was a hazy look in her eyes.
“Afterward,” she said, “on the Defiant…you seemed to defend his choice.”
Odo sighed. “I know.”
“Why?”
“Because—” He shuddered. “Kira, nothing made sense. He Linked with me—remember?”
She nodded.
“I’ve told you before,” he said, miserably. “Linking is a merging of thought and form…idea and sensation.”
Kira waited.
Odo shut his eyes. “What he did, what he felt, what he said—it all feels like me. I remember it as if it were me. I remember feeling it all as if it were me. He buried you, and it destroyed him—and it destroyed me. And in the immediate aftermath, it was even worse. Even more muddled. I could barely disentangle his thoughts from mine. But I could remember you, so clearly, in the grave he’d dug himself—the feel of the dirt on my hands and knees, of every one of the shovel’s impacts with the ground—”
He was reeled back, and suddenly, his quarters were gone—replaced with an all-too-serene vista of rolling hills, its beauty mocking him as he laid the body of the woman he loved in the ground.
Warm fingers squeezed his.
He jolted. His eyes flew open—found her face, her sharp eyes.
She was alive.
Odo shuddered hard. “When I saw you, afterward—alive—all I could feel was relief. And that killed me. On some level, I knew that relief was wrong. But I—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “You were alive.”
“Odo,” she whispered.
Her voice magnetized him, pulled him into her orbit.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “Breathe. I’m alive. It’s okay.”
He clutched at her fingers.
“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like,” she said. “I just…”
“I know,” Odo said. “I know it was wrong. That started to become clear to me, with time. His thoughts disentangled from mine. He loved you, but he was desperate—practically driven mad. It twisted him. He disrespected you, spat in the face of your faith. And I’ve had to live with that ever since. The shame of saving your life.”
She squeezed his hand. “Odo, tell me now—if you were faced with the same choice again—”
“I wouldn’t,” he said, rocking his head vehemently against the crest of the couch. “I have to believe I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t sound certain.”
Odo sighed. “Nerys…you mean everything to me. As I am now, as the timeline currently stands, I can’t imagine disrespecting you. In any case, living with saving you as a source of shame is awful enough—I can’t do it twice.” He sucked in a deep breath. “But in another life, I was capable. And that scares me.”
She didn’t answer.
Odo met her eyes. “But I am sorry, Kira. For whatever it’s worth, if it means anything to hear it from me instead of him…I’m sorry.”
Kira’s chin trembled. She squeezed her eyes shut.
It killed him inside.
Not only to see her in pain, see her fighting back tears—but to know that he was the cause.
Then, against all odds, she opened her eyes. “Odo?”
“Yes?”
“What was it, the Founder said?” she asked. “I realize you never actually told me.”
Odo’s breath hitched.
“She…said it back,” he whispered. “That she—you—loved me.”
“That’s how you knew it was a lie?”
“You wouldn’t say that to me,” Odo said. “You wouldn’t lie to me.”
Kira stared at him.
Odo looked away, thoroughly wrung out—and sorely tempted to ask her to leave. But he didn’t have it within him to turn her away. Not if it would hurt her.
Kira, thankfully, seemed to see through him. Giving his hand one last squeeze, she stood.
“I’d better go,” she said. “It’s late.”
Odo nodded. “Goodnight…Kira.”
*
Stardate: 51603.7
Sisko entered the infirmary to find Worf sitting at the console.
“What’s the word?” Sisko asked.
Worf stood.
“She is still in surgery,” he said of his wife, “but Dr. Bashir is hopeful she will make a full recovery.”
Sisko acknowledged that with the smallest of nods.
“Lasaran’s dead,” he said. “Starfleet Intelligence intercepted a transmission saying that he’d been killed trying to reenter the base at Soukara.”
He found himself caught between very real relief…and frustration.
Dax was alive, and that was a reality Sisko could not regret. Nor could he, of all people, blame a married man for saving his wife’s life. But he was a Starfleet captain. His first duty was to safeguard the lives of millions of Federation citizens currently threatened by this war, not to sentiment.
Beyond that, Worf had spared no detail in his report—including Lasaran’s offer of intelligence concerning the current locations of Founders in the Alpha Quadrant.
With that intelligence, Sisko could’ve nipped T’Sorra’s investigation right in the bud.
“Could you have made the rendezvous?” he asked Worf.
“Yes,” Worf stated.
“But yet you turned back to save Jadzia.”
“Yes.”
“Were you aware that the information that man had could have saved millions of lives?”
“Yes.”
“So what happened?”
Worf hesitated. “You may not understand.”
“Try me, sir!”
“You were at my wedding,” Worf said. “You heard the story of the first two Klingon hearts and how nothing could stand against them, and how they even destroyed the gods that had created them.”
He sucked in a deep breath.
“I have heard that story since I was a boy,” Worf continued, “but I never understood it—I mean, really understood it—until I was standing in the jungle with my heart pounding in my chest, and I found that even I could not stand against my own heart. I had to go back, and it did not matter what Starfleet thought or what the consequences were.”
Internally, Sisko grimaced.
Regardless of his personal sympathy for his officer’s dilemma, that was the wrong answer from a Starfleet officer.
“She was my wife,” Worf finished, “and I could not leave her.”
“As your captain,” Sisko replied, “it is my duty to inform you that you made the wrong choice.”
Worf nodded.
“I don’t think Starfleet will file any formal charges,” Sisko added. “Even a secret court-martial would run the risk of revealing too much about their intelligence operations. But this will go into your service record. And to be completely honest, you probably won’t be offered a command on your own after this.”
Not if Worf was bound to his heart above his duty—not in times of war.
“I understand,” Worf said.
“I’ve also issued new orders,” Sisko said. “You and Jadzia are not to be assigned to a mission on your own ever again.”
He turned to leave, only to stop.
“And one last thing,” he said. “As a man who had a wife…if Jennifer had been lying in that clearing…I wouldn’t have left her, either.”
He didn’t have to imagine. He’d nearly died on the Saratoga with her—a moment that had haunted him for three years.
*
Stardate: 51604.5
“Major,” Odo said, handing her a PADD. “The report you asked for.”
Kira accepted it. “Thanks, Constable.”
His glance lingered for only a moment before he retreated to the Ops turbolift, leaving Kira to stare down at the data on the situation table.
They’d barely spoken since that night in his quarters. And it wasn’t exactly that they were avoiding each other—it had been a busy week, and duty had gotten in the way. But Kira also knew that there had been times when she could’ve squeezed him in, and she hadn’t.
Maybe it was the look in his eyes, just before she’d left—exhausted, shuttered, drained. The way he’d looked like he was one second away from shutting her out, if she didn’t leave herself.
Or…no.
She knew exactly why she hadn’t sought him out.
“I wouldn’t,” he’d croaked. “I have to believe I wouldn’t.”
But he wasn’t certain.
In another life, he’d been capable of disregarding her choices and her faith. And he couldn’t reassure her that it would never happen again. No, he was brutally honest, admitting that it scared him.
And still, he wasn’t retreating from her.
He’d used her name, when he’d said goodnight. She didn’t need him to tell her the significance. She’d heard the hesitation in his voice. The split second when he’d almost called her Major.
What was she supposed to think? How was she supposed to handle this? How was she supposed to go to bed every night remembering the feeling of his hand in hers, and yet worry that he was too much of a skeptic to ever meet her on her wavelength?
He didn’t believe in the Prophets, and that had never bothered Kira before—because she had never had cause to doubt his fundamental respect for her.
Until Gaia.
Now, she couldn’t help but worry that his skepticism and his bottomless devotion to her made for an ironically terrible combination. A mix of beliefs and feelings that would drive him to disregard her choices and her faith, even erase eight thousand lives, if it meant saving hers.
And yet…
“I could remember you, so clearly…”
“I buried you, Kira. I held your body in my arms…”
“You have no idea what it’s like for me to be sorry for saving your life!”
He’d said the sight of her lying in her grave was burned into his memory.
His words—the utter torment in his voice—were burned into hers.
He’d suffered, on Gaia and afterward. And she hadn’t realized it.
What did that say about her?
What kind of friend was she?
How could he always go on loving her, professing his utter devotion? Choosing her over his own people, over the Link? Beaming a damned couch into his quarters that he definitely didn’t need and wouldn’t be using with anyone else, introvert that he was—just to make her happy?
She couldn’t blame him for a damn thing. She just couldn’t—
“Major?”
Kira startled.
Sisko was standing atop the stairs to his office, frowning.
“Yes, Captain?”
“I need that personnel report,” Sisko reminded.
“Oh. Right.” Kira nearly sagged against the situation table. “I’m sorry, Captain—I guess I was distracted.”
“I can see that.” Sisko quirked a brow. “Everything alright?”
“Oh, it’s—” Kira stuttered, unsure what words would even leave her mouth. “It’s…it’s alright.”
It was always a strange feeling, lying to her captain. Her Emissary.
But what was she supposed to do?
Her thoughts were far too muddled to come up with anything coherent. Not on the emotional front, at least.
Best to focus on that personnel report.
Stardate: 51608.8
Odo was working on the console behind his desk, his back to his office doors, when they slid open.
Just as he turned, Kira breezed in.
“Odo,” she said, “I’ve just been informed of the increased criminal activity on the promenade?”
He took in the furrow of her brow, the fire in her eyes.
This wasn’t about increased criminal activity.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds, Major,” he replied, turning back to his rear console. “We’re talking about a few incidents of petty theft. I’ve already assigned two deputies.”
“I’d prefer that you handle the matter yourself.”
Odo looked back up at her. “If you think it’s necessary.”
“I do,” Kira said. “And make sure that you keep me informed of your progress.”
“Of course,” Odo nodded.
He’d seen that look in her eyes before. The look that said she was reeling inside, and needed to be in control.
Odo had weathered times like this before. And honestly, if it made her feel better to seek refuge within duty and responsibility, issuing orders faster than her emotions could drown her, it was a small price for him to pay.
But…maybe it was the tightness of her brow, or the tension in her shoulders, but something told him that this wasn’t helping her, right now. Or at least, that it wouldn’t work for long.
Kira hesitated at his desk, her eyes flicking to his for the briefest of moments before heading for his doors.
“Is there something else on your mind?” Odo asked.
She stopped, turned. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning,” he said, “I talked with Dr. Bashir. He told me that you seemed irritable. I see he’s not exaggerating.”
Kira gusted a sigh.
He pressed on. “Would you…care to tell me what’s bothering you?”
Kira stared at him. “After that night a week ago, after the days since—you still want me to confide in you?”
Odo softened. That answer, at least, was obvious.
“Of course, Kira.”
Her eyes found his, some nameless emotion swimming in those brown depths. “I…Odo…”
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he added softly. “Not if you don’t want to.”
She tossed up her hands. “I just don’t understand how you do this! How you’re still my rock, even after all these years! After everything—”
She stopped, searching his eyes, and he let her see.
He would not utter those words while on duty. But he needed her to see all the same.
“I…” Her jaw worked. “Odo, I…”
He waited.
She sighed. “I…you’re right, there is something bothering me. But I don’t think talking about it is gonna help.” Her shoulders drooped. “To tell you the truth…I wouldn’t know how.”
“Sounds serious,” Odo said.
“It is.”
Odo nodded. “Well, if you won’t talk about it…perhaps you should consider doing something about it.”
Kira’s eyes held his, pained, fathomless.
“You’re right,” she finally whispered. “Thanks, Odo.”
*
“I’ve always hated collaborators,” Kira said.
She leaned with one hip against Sisko’s office window, her arms folded.
She’d taken Odo’s advice. Asked Sisko, as the Emissary, to allow her access to the Orb of Time. With the Prophets’ blessing, she’d traveled back to learn the truth.
But it was difficult to make sense of what the Prophets had shown her. Even more difficult to accept it.
Her mother had been Gul Dukat’s lover. She’d slept in a soft bed, accepted flowers and kisses from the Prefect of Bajor, while thousands of Bajorans died in mines and labor camps.
While Kira herself poisoned her own pagh committing acts of violence that were seared onto her memory—all in the name of reclaiming her home, fighting for freedom, fighting for Bajoran independence.
She’d grown up believing her mother had died when she was three, in the Sing’ha refugee camp.
But that was just a lie her father had told.
Her mother was a collaborator.
“During the occupation,” she murmured, “if I ever had any doubt about what their fate should be, I would think of my mother, how she gave her life for Bajor. She was a hero. They were traitors. It was that simple.” She set a hand on her hip. “Or so I thought.”
Sisko was quiet for a moment.
“She did what she had to do to save her family,” he said. “To save you.”
“It doesn’t make it right.”
“Maybe not,” Sisko said, “but it was her decision to make.”
Kira’s shoulders slumped. She sagged onto the bench seat beneath the window, staring into the middle distance.
“I did some checking,” she said. “She died in a Cardassian hospital seven years after she met Dukat. Seven years.” She faced Sisko. “Do you know how many Bajorans died in the labor camps during that time? Died! While my mother sat sipping kanar with Dukat?”
Kira had been there, when her mother was taken from her family. And not as a child, with the hazy memory of a three-year-old—she’d been there, through the Orb. She’d seen her mother fight to stay with them. Heard her cry out for her husband, her children.
On the newly-built Terok Nor, Kira had seen Dukat woo her mother with false, gentle words and slithering smiles. She’d watched her mother give in to his carefully crafted charm.
But she’d also seen her mother cry, when she got a recorded message from her husband back on Bajor. She’d seen her mother caress her father’s face through the console screen, as he told his wife that he hoped she could find some silver lining in her life, some joy.
Was that joy from sleeping in the same bed with Dukat? Letting him court her?
Kira and her siblings had been well-fed during those years, and now she knew why. Knew the true sacrifice—or was it evil?—behind that benevolence.
Had her mother sacrificed for her?
Or had Kira enjoyed the fruits of Dukat’s evil?
“Tell me something, Nerys,” Sisko said, drawing her from her thoughts. “If you hate her that much, why did you save her life?”
“Believe me…” Kira swallowed hard. “There’s a part of me that wishes that I hadn’t.”
Her words stuck in her throat.
“But the fact is,” she managed, “no matter what she did…she was still my mother.”
For the first time, Kira thought she understood—really understood—how Odo felt about his people. What he had given up for her.
They were waging a brutal and bloody war. But they were still his people.
What must it be like for him, to know that that was where he came from?