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thelonelylakeno mirror to correct my destiny. star trek: deep space 9, kimara/nerys. eight conversations they never had in eight worlds that never existed. 869w, rated t. for Betazoa in the
trek-rarepair-swap.
kill me with silence revamp; leave everything behind amaranthe; shine and shade beyond the black; wings of steel collide; at first light kamelot; vakaren katatonia; rainboy phideaux; the monarch delain
(i'm just a game to play, i lost) || Betrayals are routine in politics. Cretak collects them all in neatly ordered mental index cards, files them away to be remembered and used when necessary.
Kira's betrayal settles differently, in her chest instead. It hurts, the loss of a kindred spirit and almost-friend over and beyond the political and military defeat inflicted at the same time.
Was it about politics? she wants to write.
Was it about me?
Perhaps it is best she never sends them; never has to find out whether Kira would respond to her.
(Later, when Kira writes, I'm sorry, Cretak is not there to read it.)
(liberation was my only way) || "The Cardassians are gone."
The young woman in front of Cretak does not blink, but she smiles with a mouthful of sharp broken teeth. Feral-chaotic, and Cretak smiles back because this, yes, this can be a future.
"We're not interested in killing you, you know. It's a waste, and a tedious one at that."
The woman flinches. So. Better phrasing, then.
"Bajor has a future. We bring only a map."
"And knives?"
She speaks: a victory. "Your vengeance, too, is your own."
For the first time in many long years, when Kira Nerys holds out her hands they are unbound.
(and trust the bittersweet) || "A test for Starfleet." Nerys leans back in her chair and does not think, Ben would know what to do.
The station is Bajoran now, the Emissary transformed and gone. Senator Cretak is her problem alone.
(Senator Cretak feels far closer than the desk allows her to be.)
"Of course." She arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "We have stories of you, experience of Starfleet."
"And you trust the stories."
Cretak shrugs. "As much as the storytellers." Her smile is thin. "So, Major. Join me?"
What else can a Federation that has already given the Emissary have left to give? "Yes."
(in the river of darkness there's a light) || The wormhole itself feels restless these days, freed from its minefield. Nerys takes Cretak to watch it; whether for distraction or comfort or a reminder of what they're fighting for, she isn't sure.
Cretak leans against the viewport while Nerys slides to the floor. "Is it not a terrible burden, having gods?"
Nerys twirls the jumja stick between her fingers and does not meet her eyes. "No. It's a comfort."
Cretak hums in understanding. "Comfort in horror. That, we know."
"In incomprehensibility," Nerys corrects.
"An agreement to disagree." Cretak's smile is edged with mischief.
"For our ... friendship?"
"And the future."
(if we only had a minute more) || Nerys has not spent much time thinking how she would like to spend her last night alive. When every night has an equal chance of being your last, she holds, such thoughts are frivolous.
Now, though, as the tired resistance of the Federation secessionists and the last independent planets prepare for their final stand against the massed Federation-Cardassian-Dominion forces, she knows what she wants.
"Kimara." She grabs the senator's hands as they leave the war room, stops her in the hallway and kisses her.
"Wondering if this was worth it?"
"No." Her smile almost isn't sad. "I know it was."
(ta det som ett löfte genom åren) || All the worlds are grey now. Nerys isn't sure if it's her age, or maybe just the hazy-static clouds of a galaxy that rebuilt into pieces after a war it never knew what to do with.
Still sometimes there is this: a bar, and ale, and a woman with a plan.
"Do you think we're too late?" Nerys asks. Years on, her hand still fits easily over Cretak's.
"For us, maybe." Cretak shrugs, and there is still some comfort in her pragmatism. "Not too late for a better world."
Outside, the snow falls unseasonably cold, and Nerys still believes her.
(the flare it is rising) || "A cloaking device." The Major — Kira, Cretak remembers from her files — shifts restlessly on the viewscreen, exposing too many of the flickering Cardassian lights behind her. "Why us? Why not Starfleet?"
Cretak sighs. Of all the possible objections to her plan, the Bajorans willingly turning to Starfleet was far at the bottom of the list. "Officially or unofficially, Major?" With your record, I shouldn't have to ask.
"Oh." Kira smiles, leans forward. "In that case, do tell me more."
Better, Cretak thinks. Much, much better. She and the Major are going to be excellent friends by the end of this.
(transform, i said, and show them how you've grown) || Nerys has never associated the Romulans with lavish diplomatic functions. Kimara has changed this, like she has changed so much else.
"Congratulations, Senator," she grins, slipping up beside the woman and handing her another glass as casually as if they won't be having a much more private celebration together in their quarters later. "You're going to achieve some great things, I think."
"With the help of some very clever friends from the Bajoran government, I think," she says, and her eyes are twinkling. "Come." She drops a chaste kiss on Nerys' cheek. "I have some people to introduce you to."
