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seikilosTitle: Addendum: 2x23 "Crossover," Part 2
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to sexual harrassment, alcohol, drugs)
Words: 3843 this part, approximately 8400 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian and Kira return from the Mirrorverse physically in one piece. Their mental and emotional recoveries, however, aren't so straightforward. This part: The Intendant in the other universe is a power-craving narcistic despot. The idea that she has the potential to be that woman haunts Kira long after she's returned to DS9.
Author's Notes: This is the second part of three based on Episode 2x23 "Crossover," which focuses on Kira's recovery during approximately the same amount of time as Julian's in the previous chapter. Unfortunately for her, however, she had things rather worse than him.
On a personal note, unfortunately, as my job resumes with the beginning of the school year, the rate at which I'll be posting fics will slow down dramatically. I still have plenty of them lined up, but making time for proofreading will be much more difficult from now on. /sigh
Once again, this segment of the fic brought to you by "Have You Ever" by The Offspring.
Have you ever been at someplace
Recognizing everybody's face
Until you realized that there was no one there you knew
(2)
Though Kira has been back from that "looking-glass" universe for an entire afternoon, she doesn't feel safe. She feels the opposite of safe, the complete opposite of safe, and she despises it. She despises that other woman, the Intendant, for making her feel this way.
Except she isn't another woman and she can't pretend otherwise. She's not in the habit of lying to herself. If she's some . . . some narcistic despot in another universe, that means she has the potential to be that person in this one. She only needs to look inside herself to find everything the Intendant is.
She wishes intensely that Commander Sisko hadn't ordered her off duty for the remainder of the day; she could have used the stress of too much work in not enough time. At least that's stress she's used to.
Instead, she spends her time walking the corridors of DS9, at least for a while. The promenade, she avoids. Within a single minute, she had learned she wasn't ready for a place with so many people yet. Not when it feels as though every passerby can see the Intendant coiled inside her, waiting for the right situation to emerge.
When even the most deserted places of the station feel too crowded, she retreats to her quarters and tries: tries to pray, tries to eat, tries to read, tries everything and succeeds at nothing.
By late evening, she's wound so tight, she knows she'll never sleep without help. Some of the people she knew during the Occupation used alcohol or other drugs on nights like these, but she's seen what happened to them. Their fates in the camps kept her clean and she's not about to change that now that she's warm and fed and sheltered. She's been in much worse situations than these, she tells herself. She's being ridiculous.
She could use a sleeping aid, a safe one. She could call down to the infirmary. Dr. Bashir isn't working tonight, for the same reason she isn't. She wouldn't need to see him.
She almost doesn't go, but in the end, she makes herself, just as she makes herself take the hypo once she's in bed. The medicine acts quickly and soon she's falling asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of guilt.
*
She wakes the next day feeling refreshed, and that, for some illogical reason, makes her angry. Everything does that morning. She cracks a glass at breakfast, and it doesn't matter that it came from the replicator and was only going to be reclaimed immediately afterwards—she can hear her father chiding her, telling her to be more careful, remember how hard it is to find good dishes in the camp. Her uniform won't button high enough; was it always this tight? Even the turbolifts are a source of frustration—they take too long to arrive and even longer to get her where she's going.
When she steps into ops and checks her schedule for the day, she actually grips a handful of her hair in disbelief. Someone must be playing a joke on her—a whole morning of dealing with ministers from the provisional government? Now?
It will be a Prophets-damned miracle if she has her job by the end of the day.
There's no sense in procrastinating, though. The only way out is through. She fixes a smile on her face, ignores the sympathetic looks Dax is sending her way, and opens a channel to the first government representative of the day.
By the end of that first transmission, she's lost her smile. By the end of the second, she loses a great deal more.
"I can't believe this!" Her hands spread in the air before her, her fingers tight and painful with her fury. Does he even know how he sounds? "I've been telling you—your experts have been telling you for months that Hill Province is in trouble and you're only asking me now to get the Federation's help?"
The grey-haired man onscreen is leaning backwards, away from his terminal, and good, he damn well should be scared! "Major Kira, please calm down. We had looked at the reports when we received them and had decided—"
Kira thrusts a finger forward. "No, don't you tell me to calm down! You shuffled your feet and you shuffled your papers and only now that you've run out of things to shuffle are you planning on doing anything! Let me tell you, Minister Emtar, there are going to be a lot of hungry children this winter even if the Federation agrees to help. I hope you can sleep with that on your conscience, because I sure as hell couldn't."
Minister Emtar gives her a concerned look and she's very grateful he's three hours away on Bajor right now, because if he were in front of her, she would have smashed that expression from his face. Then she really would lose her job.
"Perhaps we should continue this discussion at another time. I can see you're under a great deal of strain."
"Fu—" She stops herself barely in time. "Fine. Call me back tomorrow. We can finish our discussion then."
She nearly shatters the console ending the transmission. It's only when she hears the doors to Commander Sisko's office hiss open that she realizes how very quiet it's become in ops.
"Major, may I see you in my office for a moment?" she hears Sisko ask.
"Yes, sir." She doesn't raise her head from where she's fixed her eyes on the empty screen in front of her until she's taken in and released a full breath.
She keeps her chin high and stands at her full height when she crosses ops. She knows she's being stared at and she knows she's being pitied. While there's nothing she can do about that, she can at least refuse them the satisfaction of acknowledgment.
She keeps her hands pressed at her sides once she stops before Sisko's desk. She finds it easier to keep her gaze on his forehead than to meet his eyes.
It had been simpler when she'd given her report yesterday with Bashir. She'd had a second person in the room, someone else she could focus on and help along when he'd stumbled. But now, she's alone with the commander of her station, the Emissary of the Prophets, and the exact double of the amoral pirate who had seemed to think it funny to sexually harass her.
Her lips tighten and she can feel the tension in her brow. The other Sisko had been the one to behave shamefully, and yet she feels unclean for being touched like that by the Emissary. Her own brain makes no sense and it's just one more part of her day that infuriates her.
Commander Sisko finishes looking her over, in a completely different way from the other Sisko. His voice is deep and calm when he speaks. "Major, are you certain you should be on duty right now?"
She feels herself flush. "I am, Commander. I'm sorry about what happened with Minister Emtar. It won't happen again."
"Good. See that it doesn't. I'd hate to add an interstellar incident to my list of problems to solve today." His voice softens with his next words and that makes her stiffen. "Major, you need to talk to someone about what happened in that other universe. It's going to eat you alive if you don't."
She raises her chin, blinking to keep her eyes dry. She doesn't feel any tears yet and she wants to keep it that way. "Thank you for your concern, sir, but I don't exactly feel like counselling right now."
"It doesn't have to be a counselor, but you should talk to someone." She hears him let out a breath. At this point, her eyes are fixed on the stars through the viewing pane behind him. "I'm not singling you out—I hope Dr. Bashir will do the same. Both of you have undergone some very difficult experiences. It helps to have an outside perspective to make sense of them."
She doesn't know what to say. She wants to forget, not talk. If anyone else were making this suggestion, she would put them in their place or put them off and then do what she had been planning on doing in the first place. But this is the Emissary—she can't lie to him.
So, after a pause, she says only, "Thank you for your concern, sir."
Sisko sighs again. He isn't fooled. "I can't make you look after yourself, but I can temporarily relieve you of duty if what you've experienced interferes with your ability to do your job. Keep that in mind."
Her eyes flick down to him, and the tiredness she sees makes her gaze slip off his features. "Understood."
She hears the shift of his body and the quiet sounds of his chair. "Dismissed."
It's a little harder to keep her head up after a reprimand like that, but Kira does it as she exits Sisko's office, right until her way is blocked by Dax. She has only enough time to glimpse the serenity of the other woman's features and begin the first syllables of her rank before, bizarrely, she's wrapped up in a hug.
Kira tenses, and when it doesn't end right away—when it isn't perfunctory but sincerely meant—she gingerly sets her palms on Dax's back. She doesn't know what else to do.
When Dax finally steps back and takes her warmth and her comforting, clean scent with her, Kira asks, "What was that for?"
"You looked like you needed a hug," Dax tells her.
Reflexively, she says, "I'm fine, Dax."
"Maybe so," she agrees, and she clearly believes her as much as the Commander had, "but I think everyone could do with a few more hugs around here. You seemed like a good place to start."
A smile tugs at her lips. Somehow, even on the very worst of days, Dax can always lift her mood. "Good luck with that—and let me know when you get to Odo, will you?"
Now there's a chuckle in Dax's voice. "I will. I bet it'll be quite the show."
"So do I," Kira agrees, and when she goes to contact the next minister on her list, for a while, her temper is a little easier to keep in check.
*
She eats her lunch quickly so she has time to go to the noonhour temple service. Dax's sympathy had lasted a while, but then it had been crowded out by the petty stupidities of politicians and the inevitable memories of a petulant tyrant with a talent for cruelty.
Commander Sisko wants her to talk to someone, but there's a real problem with that: she doesn't want anyone else to know about the Intendant. It's bad enough she had to submit a report to the Emissary of the Prophets; it's bad enough Dr. Bashir went to that universe with her. There's nothing she can do about them, but she can at least stop the information from going any farther. No one else should know what she's capable of, and so no one else will.
As she leaves the replimat for the temple, she avoids the table where Dr. Bashir and Garak sit, their heads bent together. They're both completely absorbed in their conversation with each other, as always, and even if feeling bitter about Dr. Bashir's quick recovery is beneath her, it's impossible to help.
The moment she smells the incense of the temple drifting from its entrance, however, her body eases slightly. That scent is a direct the pathway to one of the few comforting parts of her childhood, bypassing everything that happened between then and now. She quickens her pace and enters without looking at the priests that stand outside the temple to welcome the faithful. The prayers, the call and response, even the eventual ache in her knees as she kneels during the service, all of it is something she can fall into and in doing so forget everything but her devotion to the Prophets.
The service comes to an end, of course, and the mundane needs to replace the spiritual. She knows her duty, but as the other worshippers quietly rise and depart, Kira can't bring herself to join them. She stays, not quite praying and not quite meditating, as she listens to the head priest move about the room and extinguish the candles. More than anything else, she's simply being in this place of safety until she needs to step back into the world.
Before she can bring herself to stand, the head priest kneels in front of her instead.
"Nerys," he says softly in his old and compassionate voice. She blinks open her eyes. "You look deeply troubled."
She breathes out a laugh, because that is the biggest understatement she's heard all day. "Oh, Father, you have no idea."
He shifts his weight forward, and for the first time since yesterday, she doesn't need to quell the urge to lean away from the intrusion into her space. "Have you laid your cares before the Prophets, my dear?"
"I have, but—" She compresses her lips, looks down. Raises her head. "I don't know, I feel as if . . . as if I'm in one of those dreams. When you're shouting as loud as you can, but the only thing that comes out is a whisper. Or nothing. I'm trying, but. . . ."
She swallows and says nothing more.
He reaches out and gives a gentle squeeze to her upper arm with a swollen-knuckled hand. "Perhaps you need an intermediary."
"Maybe I do," she agrees, "but I wouldn't know where to start talking."
He smiles a bit. "At the risk of being trite, the beginning is often the best place."
"I have no idea where that is." She makes herself stand and the priest rises with her. "I need to go back on duty, but—thank you, Father. I'll keep your offer in mind."
His hand drops from her. "Please do. I'm ready to listen at any time of day or night."
"I'll remember that." She gives him a smile and very nearly feels it.
It's difficult, leaving this shelter, but it isn't impossible now. Maybe she will survive today, after all.
*
Her time at the temple carries her through the rest of her shift and lets her function almost normally. She's frustrated by the provisional government and occasionally her coworkers when they look at her too long, but she doesn't cause any more problems for Commander Sisko and the threat of being relieved of duty ceases to be a danger. Tomorrow will be better and so will the day after that. She'll have backsliding days, she knows from experience, but the more distance she puts between herself and her time in the looking-glass universe, the better she'll be.
There's a terrible moment when the doors of her quarters slide shut behind her and the silence shouts just how alone she is, but she pushes through it by going to the washroom and starting the sonic shower. Yesterday, solitude had been solace. Today, it presses on her ears and would be an amphitheatre for her thoughts if she allowed it.
She turns the shower to its highest setting, at the far end of the comfortable range. She's had hot baths in water before, once or twice, and she thinks something like that would be perfect. She could soak out the filth of the other place, along with the slime trails left by all those insolently sexual looks she'd received for being the Intendant's double. DS9 doesn't have the facilities for water baths, though, and like hell is she going to the holosuites to pretend. If she had to deal with Quark and his leers today, she'd probably send him through a wall.
The thought is pleasant enough to actually make her smile as she steps out of the shower, dresses in loose and comfortable off-duty clothes, and goes to get supper.
She replicates ratamba stew and a piece of tuwaly pie for dessert, even if she doesn't eat much of either. Lately, she's been branching out and trying Federation and Trill foods at Commander Sisko and Dax's encouragement, but not tonight. She'd rather something she knows she can count on.
She's just finishing reclaiming the dishes when the computer alerts her to a transmission, from Bareil. She hesitates for a very long moment—then sits down at the terminal and answers it. As long as she keeps the call short and the conversation trivial, she'll be fine. She will.
Bareil is already smiling as the connection is established. "Nerys—"
That's as far as he gets, because the moment his image appears onscreen, every last pent-up emotion explodes from her in the form of ugly, ragged sobbing.
Her vision is soon far too smeared with tears to make out his expression, but the alarm in his voice gives her a pretty good guess what it might be. "Nerys, what's wrong? What happened?"
"Nothing," she chokes out as she grinds her fingers against her eyes. "I'm fine."
"Nerys," he says again, her name a soft endearment. "Are you lying to your vedek?"
"M-Maybe," she manages and the absurdity is almost enough to make her laugh, until more tears gush from her eyes. Shame soon follows. "This is so humiliating."
"Bajoran," he corrects. "If you can find me one person who hasn't cried after a very difficult time, I'll show you an android." Somehow, his tone gentles further. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"I can't." She can bear a lot of things—and has throughout the course of her life—but she couldn't stand to see disappointment or disapproval or, worst of all, distance on Bareil's face.
"Why not?" he presses gently. "I promise you whatever it is, you can't shock me."
She laughs, the sound uglier than her sobs. "Want to bet?"
"I do, actually. I lived through the Occupation, too, you know. I'm hard to shock." Her vision is clear enough now to see him shift forward in whatever his seat is. "What shall we bet? A bottle of springwine? I have a particularly nice one I was saving for a special occasion."
"You're b-being ridiculous."
"Mm . . . I am." The coaxing smile fades from his lips. He's as serious as she's ever seen him when he goes on. "I want to help, Nerys. Whatever it is, whatever's happened, I promise: I won't judge."
"Because you're my vedek, and that's what vedeks are supposed to do, right?"
She breathes in a long breath, steadying herself. Her voice is still thick, but she thinks she might have cried herself out.
Until he goes on: "That's a piece of it, yes. But the biggest piece is—you're my partner, and I want to be there for you."
She crushes a hand across her eyes, which does absolutely nothing to stop the new tears from leaking out and into the cracks of her fingers.
It could be the reference he made to the fact that, despite his air of patient wisdom, he's known suffering, too. Maybe it's his reminder of the love they share, or maybe she's just too tired.
She doesn't care. She doesn't think, but only says in a thread of a voice, "All right."
*
Bareil insists on taking the last shuttle from Bajor to the station and there's not one thing she can say to change his mind. When she tries reminding him of his duties as a vedek, he only smiles and says, "The Prophets teach us that patience is one of the great virtues. It's one that many in the assembly could do to cultivate."
When she protests further, he tells her that there is nothing he needs to do that could not wait a day or two, and at that, she gives in. Her pride is out of excuses to keep him away. Her need to be close to him has won.
She spends the three hours of his trip doing a lot of nothing; her focus is long gone. Eventually, she goes down to the docking area well in advance of his arrival and stands there at uncomfortable attention until the shuttle has arrived.
Even if the shuttle had been full, Bareil would have stood out, as handsome (and as orange) as he is. With so few people arriving, she picks him out instantly, just before he sees her in turn. He holds out his arms, and tonight, she doesn't hesitate, but goes right to him.
When he brings her against him, for the first time since her noonday temple visit, she feels safe. She breathes in and her relaxation is so sudden, she half loses her balance. She can't say it out loud just yet, but . . . it's good he came.
Bareil doesn't push her to talk right away. They spend most of the evening sitting quietly together, her head on his shoulder, having some of that bottle of springwine he had mentioned. ("I can think of no occasion more special than spending time with you," he says, and were she a teenager, she would have blushed to her toes.)
He makes no romantic gestures as they drift to bed, for which she's painfully grateful. He simply changes into his nightclothes in the next room, then curls around her in bed, his nose in her hair and a protective hand on her belly. Tonight, she doesn't need any artificial help to fall asleep.
It's hard, but, the next morning, she actually makes herself take a personal day. They spend it wandering the more isolated parts of the station hand in hand (to avoid the crowd Bareil would attract), playing springball in the holosuites, and sometimes just watching ships pass in and out the wormhole.
They also, in small moments here and there, talk at last. Doing so is not quite impossible for her, but it's close. Intendant Kira Nerys is to the Humans of that universe what Gul Dukat had been to the Bajorans. To not only admit to someone she cares about deeply that she has the potential to become that person but to make herself so vulnerable. . . .
And yet, no matter how much she hates that part of herself, no matter how many ways she expresses that hatred, Bareil counters it. Each self-loathing word is met with calm rationality until at the end, she's empty and weak and she might, just possibly, be able to find peace after all.
They don't make love—she isn't ready just yet and won't be for some time—but the kiss she gives him in private before he departs is much longer and fuller than she would have been capable of even the previous day.
She returns to her quarters after saying goodbye to him at the docking area, and she sighs a little this time when the doors close. Today, her quarters are not a sanctuary and they're not a terrible echoing space. They're her home.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to sexual harrassment, alcohol, drugs)
Words: 3843 this part, approximately 8400 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian and Kira return from the Mirrorverse physically in one piece. Their mental and emotional recoveries, however, aren't so straightforward. This part: The Intendant in the other universe is a power-craving narcistic despot. The idea that she has the potential to be that woman haunts Kira long after she's returned to DS9.
Author's Notes: This is the second part of three based on Episode 2x23 "Crossover," which focuses on Kira's recovery during approximately the same amount of time as Julian's in the previous chapter. Unfortunately for her, however, she had things rather worse than him.
On a personal note, unfortunately, as my job resumes with the beginning of the school year, the rate at which I'll be posting fics will slow down dramatically. I still have plenty of them lined up, but making time for proofreading will be much more difficult from now on. /sigh
Once again, this segment of the fic brought to you by "Have You Ever" by The Offspring.
Have you ever been at someplace
Recognizing everybody's face
Until you realized that there was no one there you knew
Though Kira has been back from that "looking-glass" universe for an entire afternoon, she doesn't feel safe. She feels the opposite of safe, the complete opposite of safe, and she despises it. She despises that other woman, the Intendant, for making her feel this way.
Except she isn't another woman and she can't pretend otherwise. She's not in the habit of lying to herself. If she's some . . . some narcistic despot in another universe, that means she has the potential to be that person in this one. She only needs to look inside herself to find everything the Intendant is.
She wishes intensely that Commander Sisko hadn't ordered her off duty for the remainder of the day; she could have used the stress of too much work in not enough time. At least that's stress she's used to.
Instead, she spends her time walking the corridors of DS9, at least for a while. The promenade, she avoids. Within a single minute, she had learned she wasn't ready for a place with so many people yet. Not when it feels as though every passerby can see the Intendant coiled inside her, waiting for the right situation to emerge.
When even the most deserted places of the station feel too crowded, she retreats to her quarters and tries: tries to pray, tries to eat, tries to read, tries everything and succeeds at nothing.
By late evening, she's wound so tight, she knows she'll never sleep without help. Some of the people she knew during the Occupation used alcohol or other drugs on nights like these, but she's seen what happened to them. Their fates in the camps kept her clean and she's not about to change that now that she's warm and fed and sheltered. She's been in much worse situations than these, she tells herself. She's being ridiculous.
She could use a sleeping aid, a safe one. She could call down to the infirmary. Dr. Bashir isn't working tonight, for the same reason she isn't. She wouldn't need to see him.
She almost doesn't go, but in the end, she makes herself, just as she makes herself take the hypo once she's in bed. The medicine acts quickly and soon she's falling asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of guilt.
She wakes the next day feeling refreshed, and that, for some illogical reason, makes her angry. Everything does that morning. She cracks a glass at breakfast, and it doesn't matter that it came from the replicator and was only going to be reclaimed immediately afterwards—she can hear her father chiding her, telling her to be more careful, remember how hard it is to find good dishes in the camp. Her uniform won't button high enough; was it always this tight? Even the turbolifts are a source of frustration—they take too long to arrive and even longer to get her where she's going.
When she steps into ops and checks her schedule for the day, she actually grips a handful of her hair in disbelief. Someone must be playing a joke on her—a whole morning of dealing with ministers from the provisional government? Now?
It will be a Prophets-damned miracle if she has her job by the end of the day.
There's no sense in procrastinating, though. The only way out is through. She fixes a smile on her face, ignores the sympathetic looks Dax is sending her way, and opens a channel to the first government representative of the day.
By the end of that first transmission, she's lost her smile. By the end of the second, she loses a great deal more.
"I can't believe this!" Her hands spread in the air before her, her fingers tight and painful with her fury. Does he even know how he sounds? "I've been telling you—your experts have been telling you for months that Hill Province is in trouble and you're only asking me now to get the Federation's help?"
The grey-haired man onscreen is leaning backwards, away from his terminal, and good, he damn well should be scared! "Major Kira, please calm down. We had looked at the reports when we received them and had decided—"
Kira thrusts a finger forward. "No, don't you tell me to calm down! You shuffled your feet and you shuffled your papers and only now that you've run out of things to shuffle are you planning on doing anything! Let me tell you, Minister Emtar, there are going to be a lot of hungry children this winter even if the Federation agrees to help. I hope you can sleep with that on your conscience, because I sure as hell couldn't."
Minister Emtar gives her a concerned look and she's very grateful he's three hours away on Bajor right now, because if he were in front of her, she would have smashed that expression from his face. Then she really would lose her job.
"Perhaps we should continue this discussion at another time. I can see you're under a great deal of strain."
"Fu—" She stops herself barely in time. "Fine. Call me back tomorrow. We can finish our discussion then."
She nearly shatters the console ending the transmission. It's only when she hears the doors to Commander Sisko's office hiss open that she realizes how very quiet it's become in ops.
"Major, may I see you in my office for a moment?" she hears Sisko ask.
"Yes, sir." She doesn't raise her head from where she's fixed her eyes on the empty screen in front of her until she's taken in and released a full breath.
She keeps her chin high and stands at her full height when she crosses ops. She knows she's being stared at and she knows she's being pitied. While there's nothing she can do about that, she can at least refuse them the satisfaction of acknowledgment.
She keeps her hands pressed at her sides once she stops before Sisko's desk. She finds it easier to keep her gaze on his forehead than to meet his eyes.
It had been simpler when she'd given her report yesterday with Bashir. She'd had a second person in the room, someone else she could focus on and help along when he'd stumbled. But now, she's alone with the commander of her station, the Emissary of the Prophets, and the exact double of the amoral pirate who had seemed to think it funny to sexually harass her.
Her lips tighten and she can feel the tension in her brow. The other Sisko had been the one to behave shamefully, and yet she feels unclean for being touched like that by the Emissary. Her own brain makes no sense and it's just one more part of her day that infuriates her.
Commander Sisko finishes looking her over, in a completely different way from the other Sisko. His voice is deep and calm when he speaks. "Major, are you certain you should be on duty right now?"
She feels herself flush. "I am, Commander. I'm sorry about what happened with Minister Emtar. It won't happen again."
"Good. See that it doesn't. I'd hate to add an interstellar incident to my list of problems to solve today." His voice softens with his next words and that makes her stiffen. "Major, you need to talk to someone about what happened in that other universe. It's going to eat you alive if you don't."
She raises her chin, blinking to keep her eyes dry. She doesn't feel any tears yet and she wants to keep it that way. "Thank you for your concern, sir, but I don't exactly feel like counselling right now."
"It doesn't have to be a counselor, but you should talk to someone." She hears him let out a breath. At this point, her eyes are fixed on the stars through the viewing pane behind him. "I'm not singling you out—I hope Dr. Bashir will do the same. Both of you have undergone some very difficult experiences. It helps to have an outside perspective to make sense of them."
She doesn't know what to say. She wants to forget, not talk. If anyone else were making this suggestion, she would put them in their place or put them off and then do what she had been planning on doing in the first place. But this is the Emissary—she can't lie to him.
So, after a pause, she says only, "Thank you for your concern, sir."
Sisko sighs again. He isn't fooled. "I can't make you look after yourself, but I can temporarily relieve you of duty if what you've experienced interferes with your ability to do your job. Keep that in mind."
Her eyes flick down to him, and the tiredness she sees makes her gaze slip off his features. "Understood."
She hears the shift of his body and the quiet sounds of his chair. "Dismissed."
It's a little harder to keep her head up after a reprimand like that, but Kira does it as she exits Sisko's office, right until her way is blocked by Dax. She has only enough time to glimpse the serenity of the other woman's features and begin the first syllables of her rank before, bizarrely, she's wrapped up in a hug.
Kira tenses, and when it doesn't end right away—when it isn't perfunctory but sincerely meant—she gingerly sets her palms on Dax's back. She doesn't know what else to do.
When Dax finally steps back and takes her warmth and her comforting, clean scent with her, Kira asks, "What was that for?"
"You looked like you needed a hug," Dax tells her.
Reflexively, she says, "I'm fine, Dax."
"Maybe so," she agrees, and she clearly believes her as much as the Commander had, "but I think everyone could do with a few more hugs around here. You seemed like a good place to start."
A smile tugs at her lips. Somehow, even on the very worst of days, Dax can always lift her mood. "Good luck with that—and let me know when you get to Odo, will you?"
Now there's a chuckle in Dax's voice. "I will. I bet it'll be quite the show."
"So do I," Kira agrees, and when she goes to contact the next minister on her list, for a while, her temper is a little easier to keep in check.
She eats her lunch quickly so she has time to go to the noonhour temple service. Dax's sympathy had lasted a while, but then it had been crowded out by the petty stupidities of politicians and the inevitable memories of a petulant tyrant with a talent for cruelty.
Commander Sisko wants her to talk to someone, but there's a real problem with that: she doesn't want anyone else to know about the Intendant. It's bad enough she had to submit a report to the Emissary of the Prophets; it's bad enough Dr. Bashir went to that universe with her. There's nothing she can do about them, but she can at least stop the information from going any farther. No one else should know what she's capable of, and so no one else will.
As she leaves the replimat for the temple, she avoids the table where Dr. Bashir and Garak sit, their heads bent together. They're both completely absorbed in their conversation with each other, as always, and even if feeling bitter about Dr. Bashir's quick recovery is beneath her, it's impossible to help.
The moment she smells the incense of the temple drifting from its entrance, however, her body eases slightly. That scent is a direct the pathway to one of the few comforting parts of her childhood, bypassing everything that happened between then and now. She quickens her pace and enters without looking at the priests that stand outside the temple to welcome the faithful. The prayers, the call and response, even the eventual ache in her knees as she kneels during the service, all of it is something she can fall into and in doing so forget everything but her devotion to the Prophets.
The service comes to an end, of course, and the mundane needs to replace the spiritual. She knows her duty, but as the other worshippers quietly rise and depart, Kira can't bring herself to join them. She stays, not quite praying and not quite meditating, as she listens to the head priest move about the room and extinguish the candles. More than anything else, she's simply being in this place of safety until she needs to step back into the world.
Before she can bring herself to stand, the head priest kneels in front of her instead.
"Nerys," he says softly in his old and compassionate voice. She blinks open her eyes. "You look deeply troubled."
She breathes out a laugh, because that is the biggest understatement she's heard all day. "Oh, Father, you have no idea."
He shifts his weight forward, and for the first time since yesterday, she doesn't need to quell the urge to lean away from the intrusion into her space. "Have you laid your cares before the Prophets, my dear?"
"I have, but—" She compresses her lips, looks down. Raises her head. "I don't know, I feel as if . . . as if I'm in one of those dreams. When you're shouting as loud as you can, but the only thing that comes out is a whisper. Or nothing. I'm trying, but. . . ."
She swallows and says nothing more.
He reaches out and gives a gentle squeeze to her upper arm with a swollen-knuckled hand. "Perhaps you need an intermediary."
"Maybe I do," she agrees, "but I wouldn't know where to start talking."
He smiles a bit. "At the risk of being trite, the beginning is often the best place."
"I have no idea where that is." She makes herself stand and the priest rises with her. "I need to go back on duty, but—thank you, Father. I'll keep your offer in mind."
His hand drops from her. "Please do. I'm ready to listen at any time of day or night."
"I'll remember that." She gives him a smile and very nearly feels it.
It's difficult, leaving this shelter, but it isn't impossible now. Maybe she will survive today, after all.
Her time at the temple carries her through the rest of her shift and lets her function almost normally. She's frustrated by the provisional government and occasionally her coworkers when they look at her too long, but she doesn't cause any more problems for Commander Sisko and the threat of being relieved of duty ceases to be a danger. Tomorrow will be better and so will the day after that. She'll have backsliding days, she knows from experience, but the more distance she puts between herself and her time in the looking-glass universe, the better she'll be.
There's a terrible moment when the doors of her quarters slide shut behind her and the silence shouts just how alone she is, but she pushes through it by going to the washroom and starting the sonic shower. Yesterday, solitude had been solace. Today, it presses on her ears and would be an amphitheatre for her thoughts if she allowed it.
She turns the shower to its highest setting, at the far end of the comfortable range. She's had hot baths in water before, once or twice, and she thinks something like that would be perfect. She could soak out the filth of the other place, along with the slime trails left by all those insolently sexual looks she'd received for being the Intendant's double. DS9 doesn't have the facilities for water baths, though, and like hell is she going to the holosuites to pretend. If she had to deal with Quark and his leers today, she'd probably send him through a wall.
The thought is pleasant enough to actually make her smile as she steps out of the shower, dresses in loose and comfortable off-duty clothes, and goes to get supper.
She replicates ratamba stew and a piece of tuwaly pie for dessert, even if she doesn't eat much of either. Lately, she's been branching out and trying Federation and Trill foods at Commander Sisko and Dax's encouragement, but not tonight. She'd rather something she knows she can count on.
She's just finishing reclaiming the dishes when the computer alerts her to a transmission, from Bareil. She hesitates for a very long moment—then sits down at the terminal and answers it. As long as she keeps the call short and the conversation trivial, she'll be fine. She will.
Bareil is already smiling as the connection is established. "Nerys—"
That's as far as he gets, because the moment his image appears onscreen, every last pent-up emotion explodes from her in the form of ugly, ragged sobbing.
Her vision is soon far too smeared with tears to make out his expression, but the alarm in his voice gives her a pretty good guess what it might be. "Nerys, what's wrong? What happened?"
"Nothing," she chokes out as she grinds her fingers against her eyes. "I'm fine."
"Nerys," he says again, her name a soft endearment. "Are you lying to your vedek?"
"M-Maybe," she manages and the absurdity is almost enough to make her laugh, until more tears gush from her eyes. Shame soon follows. "This is so humiliating."
"Bajoran," he corrects. "If you can find me one person who hasn't cried after a very difficult time, I'll show you an android." Somehow, his tone gentles further. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"I can't." She can bear a lot of things—and has throughout the course of her life—but she couldn't stand to see disappointment or disapproval or, worst of all, distance on Bareil's face.
"Why not?" he presses gently. "I promise you whatever it is, you can't shock me."
She laughs, the sound uglier than her sobs. "Want to bet?"
"I do, actually. I lived through the Occupation, too, you know. I'm hard to shock." Her vision is clear enough now to see him shift forward in whatever his seat is. "What shall we bet? A bottle of springwine? I have a particularly nice one I was saving for a special occasion."
"You're b-being ridiculous."
"Mm . . . I am." The coaxing smile fades from his lips. He's as serious as she's ever seen him when he goes on. "I want to help, Nerys. Whatever it is, whatever's happened, I promise: I won't judge."
"Because you're my vedek, and that's what vedeks are supposed to do, right?"
She breathes in a long breath, steadying herself. Her voice is still thick, but she thinks she might have cried herself out.
Until he goes on: "That's a piece of it, yes. But the biggest piece is—you're my partner, and I want to be there for you."
She crushes a hand across her eyes, which does absolutely nothing to stop the new tears from leaking out and into the cracks of her fingers.
It could be the reference he made to the fact that, despite his air of patient wisdom, he's known suffering, too. Maybe it's his reminder of the love they share, or maybe she's just too tired.
She doesn't care. She doesn't think, but only says in a thread of a voice, "All right."
Bareil insists on taking the last shuttle from Bajor to the station and there's not one thing she can say to change his mind. When she tries reminding him of his duties as a vedek, he only smiles and says, "The Prophets teach us that patience is one of the great virtues. It's one that many in the assembly could do to cultivate."
When she protests further, he tells her that there is nothing he needs to do that could not wait a day or two, and at that, she gives in. Her pride is out of excuses to keep him away. Her need to be close to him has won.
She spends the three hours of his trip doing a lot of nothing; her focus is long gone. Eventually, she goes down to the docking area well in advance of his arrival and stands there at uncomfortable attention until the shuttle has arrived.
Even if the shuttle had been full, Bareil would have stood out, as handsome (and as orange) as he is. With so few people arriving, she picks him out instantly, just before he sees her in turn. He holds out his arms, and tonight, she doesn't hesitate, but goes right to him.
When he brings her against him, for the first time since her noonday temple visit, she feels safe. She breathes in and her relaxation is so sudden, she half loses her balance. She can't say it out loud just yet, but . . . it's good he came.
Bareil doesn't push her to talk right away. They spend most of the evening sitting quietly together, her head on his shoulder, having some of that bottle of springwine he had mentioned. ("I can think of no occasion more special than spending time with you," he says, and were she a teenager, she would have blushed to her toes.)
He makes no romantic gestures as they drift to bed, for which she's painfully grateful. He simply changes into his nightclothes in the next room, then curls around her in bed, his nose in her hair and a protective hand on her belly. Tonight, she doesn't need any artificial help to fall asleep.
It's hard, but, the next morning, she actually makes herself take a personal day. They spend it wandering the more isolated parts of the station hand in hand (to avoid the crowd Bareil would attract), playing springball in the holosuites, and sometimes just watching ships pass in and out the wormhole.
They also, in small moments here and there, talk at last. Doing so is not quite impossible for her, but it's close. Intendant Kira Nerys is to the Humans of that universe what Gul Dukat had been to the Bajorans. To not only admit to someone she cares about deeply that she has the potential to become that person but to make herself so vulnerable. . . .
And yet, no matter how much she hates that part of herself, no matter how many ways she expresses that hatred, Bareil counters it. Each self-loathing word is met with calm rationality until at the end, she's empty and weak and she might, just possibly, be able to find peace after all.
They don't make love—she isn't ready just yet and won't be for some time—but the kiss she gives him in private before he departs is much longer and fuller than she would have been capable of even the previous day.
She returns to her quarters after saying goodbye to him at the docking area, and she sighs a little this time when the doors close. Today, her quarters are not a sanctuary and they're not a terrible echoing space. They're her home.
