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Subject: NEW DS9: Metamorphosis 2/4 (O/K) [NC-17]
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Date: Mon, 30 Aug 2004 16:55:11 GMT
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Title: Metamorphosis
Author: C. Zdroj
Series: DS9
Part: 2/4
Rating: NC-17
See part 1 for Disclaimer, Codes, Warnings

Part 2

****

"Nerys..."

Someone was shaking her. She struggled out of the haze of her sleep. It
was like wading through the marshes of Jer'aat Province in the winter,
as she had done countless years ago with a Cardassian phaser rifle
strapped to her back. Her body was cold and damp with sweat that had
soaked through the fabric of her clothing.

"Nerys--wake up ..."

Kira rolled onto her back, somehow managed to sit up. A youthful face
with troubled gray-blue eyes gazed down at her. It was a face that
combined both Cardassian and Bajoran features. Ziyal.

Kira blinked dazedly. The younger woman took firm hold of her arm and
pushed at her shoulder. "It's me, Nerys."

Kira gasped softly, as a rush of images flooded her brain. She reached
forward past Ziyal, groping half-blindly until her fingers found Odo's
cool, smooth skin. He was stretched on the floor beside her in the
transport chamber of what looked like a Klingon ship--as naked as she
remembered. She herself was dressed little better, still wearing the
nightgown she'd been wearing when the Founders had taken her. She was
aware of several heavy-booted figures nearby, but ignored them as she
leaned over her unmoving friend. "Odo..." She turned his still face
toward her, pressing her fingertips against the base of his neck. She
exhaled with relief as she found his pulse, letting the tension drain
out of her, letting her head droop until her forehead touched his. For
seconds that stretched into infinity, the universe consisted of nothing
but the sound of her breath and his. Her thoughts were full of nothing
but the reassurance that they were both still alive.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat. "Major ...." The dark voice
wakened her as if from sleep. She looked up into a gray-skinned,
bony-ridged face with piercing blue eyes. Dukat.

Eerily reminded of the dream that had just fled her, Kira moved to
shield Odo's body. She ignored the other two Cardassians who stood just
behind Dukat, and fixed her glare on him alone. "What are you doing
here?" she demanded quietly.

The former Cardassian prefect of Bajor regarded her blandly. "I, Major
was ... escorted here, not very politely, I might add, by the Jem'Hadar,
who inform me that I'm to take you back to your miserable space station.
Frankly I would appreciate an explanation."

Kira ran a hand through her dark hair in utter frustration. None of it
made sense. Maybe she was still trapped in some nightmare. She shook her
head distractedly. "I'm afraid I can't tell you much," she said. "I went
to sleep on the station and woke up next to the Great Link. That's all I
know right now."

She did not hear Dukat's reply because Ziyal was suddenly beside her
again. Kira started back in surprise. Ziyal's careful hands moved to
spread out a blanket of some soft, thick, white fabric and to tuck it
around Odo's trembling body. "Father," she said chidingly. "You can ask
your questions later. The constable needs a place to sleep--and probably
medical attention as well."

Kira and Dukat both stared at her. Kira flushed with shame and then
nodded. "You're right."

Dukat turned to one of his officers. "Send Dr. Hakar to meet us on
B-Deck," he said quietly. With a brief nod, the young Cardassian turned
away. That done, Dukat ventured a step or two closer to Odo and Kira.
Odo was still shivering, still seemingly unconscious, but as Dukat
leaned forward over him, a choked little whimper of fear escaped his
throat and he tried to jerk away from Kira's touch, curling him in on
himself as though he wanted to disappear into the floor.

Dukat's face twisted in concern and disbelief, and he backed off
slightly. Kira placed a hand on Odo's forehead. "Shhh ... It's all
right," she soothed. "No one's going to hurt you ."

Odo stirred fitfully and then subsided. Dukat dared to move forward
again, casting an inquiring look at Kira. She could have sworn that the
Cardassian actually looked--afraid. She saw however, that he wanted to
help, and she nodded to him, straightening to allow Dukat room to crouch
down and gather Odo into his muscular arms. Odo was quiet, though she
couldn't tell whether he was resting or just insensate.

Without any preamble, Dukat strode from the transporter room, carrying
Odo's limp body in his arms as easily as though the constable were a
sack of flour.

Kira scrambled to keep pace with him as the Cardassian's long strides
took him down the hall. "I think it would be advisable to get our friend
to another part of the ship."

"Who's Dr. Hakar?" asked Kira, letting a touch of suspicion creep into
her voice.

"One of Cardassia's more brilliant surgeons, as it happens," said Dukat,
"though I suppose that on this ship, she's little more than a field
medic. Still, I was extremely lucky to get her."

Kira said nothing, withholding judgement for the moment, but a wave of
instant hostility filled her. Her own memories of Cardassian doctors
were less than reassuring. Dukat seemed to sense her anger as though it
had been carried on the air. "He needs medical attention, Major. You
said so yourself," came the silky, utterly reasonable voice--a voice
Kira didn't trust for a minute.

"That was Ziyal--not me," she muttered grudgingly, "But you're right. He
does."

Dr. Hakar herself joined them around the next bend, saying nothing,
falling into step easily beside Dukat. She cast a brief, curious glance
at Odo, but otherwise gave no indication of her mood. Like most of the
Cardassians Kira had met, she appeared coldly and thoroughly
professional. She was tall and had a severe-looking, nearly
expressionless countenance. Her faintly graying hair was pulled back
sharply from her bony-ridged face, gathered into a bun at the back of
her head. She wore a rather nondescript dark green coverall.

Eventually Dukat located some empty quarters, and the Cardassian carried
Odo inside and laid him down on one of the spartan-looking bunks. Odo
lay unmoving, looking  almost drained of life. Only the shallow rise and
fall of his chest beneath the blanket indicated otherwise. His lips
moved silently, forming unintelligible words. His face was tight with
pain--or the memory of it. Kira sat beside him on the edge of the bed
and lightly moved her hands over his face, smoothing back his disarrayed
hair, quieting him. Oblivious to the stares around her, she made her
voice low and soothing. "Shhhhh ... It's okay, sweetheart. It's over
now." Her fingertips traced his cheekbones, his forehead. "They're gone.
Just rest now. You're safe. Shhh...."

Kira remained where she was, hovering like a watchful ta'arhawk as Dr.
Hakar also seated herself on the bed. Seeing that Kira was determined to
stay, Hakar nodded at her briefly and then pushed the blanket partway
off Odo's body.

"This is the shapeshifter, isn't it?" she queried.

"He was," said Kira, immediately on her guard. She gazed down at Odo's
face and kept seeing the terrified creature that had emerged from the
Great Link. He stirred slightly on the narrow bunk, his fingers clawing
briefly at the mattress. The doctor straightened and regarded her
patient with evident interest, while Kira's jaw tightened and she moved
to sit at the head of the bed. The Cardassian woman ran her tricorder
over Odo's body, making no immediate comment. Her features became tense
and almost worried-looking as she watched the readouts. Odo moaned
softly. Kira, continuing to soothe him, felt his skin, once so chill,
becoming flushed and hot. "I think he's starting to run a fever," she
told the doctor, striving to keep the impatience and panic out of her tone.

"Yes," said Hakar evenly, continuing to make her scans. "His body
temperature appears to be abnormally high for a human."

"Human?" Kira glanced up. "You're sure?"

"Quite sure." Hakar paused. "I work better without nervous relatives
hovering over my shoulder, Major."

"Too bad," grumbled Kira, both unmoved and unmoving. She knew she looked
ridiculous in her soiled and flimsy nightgown, but damned if she was
going to let any Cardassian stare her down, even now. Her patience had
already been strained well past its normal limits, but her hand remained
exactly where it was, stroking the damp, fine strands of loose hair off
Odo's forehead. She wasn't even certain that he was aware of her presence.

"You're sure that this *is* your friend?" Dr. Hakar asked, looking up
from her readings.

Kira nodded. "Yes," she said with quiet certainty. She knew this was
Odo, though she could never have explained *how* she knew. It was
entirely possible, theoretically, that the Founders had not given back
the changeling they had taken into the Link. Yet the deepest part of her
own pagh recognized the man now lying helpless before her--and some
other part of her knew that his ordeal was still far from over. His
fevered murmurings and wakeful agitation were already reminding Kira of
her Resistance days, of comrades taken ill with fever dreams after
countless bloody raids. Odo was still experiencing whatever horrors had
been inflicted on him while in the Link.

Hakar set her tricorder aside and began to run her hands along Odo's
chest and arms. Her examination was abrupt and cursory, conducted in the
manner of a chev'ka breeder evaluating livestock. Hakar pushed the rest
of the blanket aside to feel her patient's legs, and Kira shuddered
inwardly at the sense of ... violation that crept over her. Heat washed
over her face as her eyes were drawn, curiously, appreciatively, to the
most delicate portions of Odo's new anatomy--and she recalled her dream
of the two of them ... together. Despite his weakness and the pallor of
his skin, Odo's new human body was, in fact, exquisitely beautiful.
There was a tenderness and delicacy to the smooth skin of his chest and
belly, the thinness and apparent frailty of his limbs, and yes, even the
soft-looking bulk of his genitals--which Hakar glanced over with scant
interest before moving on with the rest of her examination.

****

The dark was close around him as the probe penetrated his body, searing
his flesh, and Odo screamed mutely in pain. His substance quivered,
every nerve ending raw. He could not see his tormentors. He only heard
their voices vibrating about him.

"Mora thinks it might be sentient."

"Yeah, he's got all kinds of funny ideas, doesn't he?"

"If it is, we might be hurting it, you know."

"Leave it to you and Mora to ascribe feelings to a puddle of slime.
That's hardly a professional attitude, Lai'ka--not the kind the
Cardassians want, anyway. You'd better remind our beloved mentor of that."

"But the way it reacts, T'vdan--it's not just reflex. It's too . . .
irregular for that. Turn the probe off . . . now."

"Suit yourself. The spoonheads want results from this center, though, or
we'll all be back in the mines bruising our delicate hands."

"I said leave it."

****

A low, muted whimpering sound emerged from Odo's throat. His body
trembled violently for a moment, and then lay eerily still. Kira watched
as the Cardassian doctor leaned forward to open one of his eyelids with
a thumb, shining a small light into the exposed eye with her free hand.

That was when Odo screamed, a terrible sound in the small, close
silence. His body twisted away from the light and then curled into a
tight little ball on the edge of the pallet. Dr. Hakar leaned forward as
though to grasp his shoulder, but Kira intercepted her wrist.

"That's enough."

The Cardassian's eyes hardened. "You think perhaps that your Federation
doctors would treat him more gently?"

"They'd better," she growled. Kira drew a deep breath. "I think you've
done enough, doctor. I'll call if we need you." For a moment there was
tense silence, filled only by the rasp of Odo's harsh breathing. He lay
curled on the bed like a baby in the womb, shivering wretchedly. Kira,
breaking eye-contact with Hakar, edged her way across the bed to her
unconscious friend, her movements cautious. She set one hand between
Odo's shoulder blades and began rubbing his back with a slow,
up-and-down motion. His breathing became easier in response to her touch.

****

He gathered himself into being, rising to full height to stand on
trembling legs, staring in fear and sudden self-consciousness at the
hard faces around him. Cardassian faces wearing reptilian leers. The
soldiers applauded in their carapaces of heavy black armor. He cringed
away, wanting to hide. There was nowhere to go. He turned to find
Bajoran faces, three of them, gazing at him with accusing eyes. Three
men, lined up against the wall, their chests scorched and blackened with
disruptor fire. "No," he whispered softly. "Please..." but they remained
standing as they were, unmoving, their lifeless eyes focused on his
face. Panicked, he tried to shift, to hide himself. To become part of
the floor. He couldn't. Someone gave his shoulder a rough shove and he
collapsed to his knees, looking up at the looming figure of the
Cardassian guard.

"Go on shifter," he laughed. "Let's see some of those fabled talents of
yours. Amuse me."

Odo closed his eyes and huddled on the ground, unable to move ...

Someone took hold of his hand. He heard a woman's voice, soft and
pleading. "It's all right, Odo. Just do what they ask and it will be all
right."

He shook his head. "Can't. Please. I want to stop."

"It will be over soon. Then we can go home. I promise. Please, Odo. Just
this one more thing ...."

****

His fingers interlaced with Kira's out of seeming blind instinct, and
after a moment, his lips moved slowly. "... won't go back ... I won't,"
he mumbled, stumbling over the words. "No more. You can't make me ... I
won't ... go ..." His speech became gradually more slurred as the effort
spent what was left of his strength.

Dr. Hakar had not moved from her position beside the bed, but when she
spoke next the hostility seemed to have faded out of her voice.
"Whatever they did to him must have been traumatic."

*No kidding.* Kira bit back the snappish reply that immediately popped
into her mind. "Do you know what's wrong with him?" she asked.

"At a guess ... he's experiencing some kind of delayed shock from the
transformation. It seems to have put stress on all his vital systems."

Kira took this in silently as she held Odo's hand. He murmured something
into the pillow. Kira looked up at Hakar again. "So basically there's
nothing you can do for him?"

"I could give him a sedative, if I had any," was the grim reply. "But
his reactions would be ... hard to predict. He reads as human on the
tricorder, but considering what's happened, there may be ... some
anomalies." She paused. "Does he eat in this form?"

Kira shook her head. "I ... don't know. He never did before."

"Well ... for a humanoid, I'd normally  recommend sleep, and then food.
At this point there's not much else I can suggest--except that you
monitor his fever to make sure it doesn't get too high. But that's
fairly standard advice."

Kira nodded silently. A moment later she was pulled out of her thoughts
by the blinking lights on Hakar's tricorder. "He seems a little
dehydrated--a fever will make him more so," the Cardassian told her. You
might want to see if he'll take something to drink when he regains
consciousness." There was an uncomfortable pause. "I'd like to take a
blood sample--to double-check my scans."

Kira nodded. "Go ahead."

She watched mutely as Hakar drew out a hypo with practiced hands, as the
device was pressed into Odo's arm, as his blood--bright red
blood--filled the syringe and then stayed red inside the confines of the
glass tube.

The doctor began to pack up her med-kit. "It would probably be best
simply to let him sleep for now."

"Thanks," said Kira softly. She wasn't sure whether Hakar even heard
her. The door hissed open and then closed again behind the Cardassian
woman as she left, and then Kira was alone with the semi-conscious Odo.
For some moments she simply watched him, holding his hand, studying his
face, listening to the uneven rhythm of his exhausted breathing. After a
few moments she tried to extricate her hand from his grip, but Odo made
soft sounds of protest and held on even more tightly. Kira smiled
despite herself. "You always were stubborn as hell," she muttered
softly. She reached out with her free hand to stroke his temple. "It's
okay. You can let go. I won't run away. I promise."

Odo's grip loosened the merest fraction, and then relaxed completely.
Kira flexed her fingers cautiously and then gently freed herself. She
straightened, hesitated, and then leaned in almost shyly to kiss his
cheek. "See ... I'm still here." She gathered up the loose blanket and
drew it over him. Her hand came to rest against the side of his face.
The smooth planes and angles of his features were just as they had
always been, but she shivered at the stirring of the warm blood that she
felt pulsing beneath his pale skin.

Worried stillness settled over the tiny room, making Kira feel slightly
claustrophobic. The air seemed damp and heavy. She suddenly wanted to
flee the cramped accommodations on this wretched ship with its dismal
Klingon architecture and Cardassian crew.

A soft voice fell into her awareness even as her own panic crowded
around her.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?"

Kira drew air into her lungs and allowed herself to breathe. "Hello, Ziyal."

The young woman sat down on the bed beside her. Kira didn't even look
up. "Did your father send you?"

"I came to see how *you* were, Nerys." Ziyal studied Kira wordlessly for
a moment, then rose and went to the replicator, where she quietly
ordered something. She came back and pushed a mug of steaming liquid
into Kira's hands. Kira simply inhaled the smell for a moment, feeling
her own hunger for the first time in hours, feeling the child within her
stir irritably. She recognized the drink instantly--chi'ya--a tea made
from the roots and bark of certain trees--a dietary staple in poor
Bajoran families, especially in the camps. It was often used to quell
hunger when more solid nourishment was not available. Kira took a sip of
the hot liquid and closed her eyes as its warmth pervaded her body,
nudging her dulled senses awake. She turned her gaze to the anxious,
too-earnest eyes that watched her.

She took another swallow of the chi'ya and managed a smile. "I'm
surprised a Klingon replicator can make a half-decent cup of this," she
offered wryly.

"He's going to be all right, isn't he?"

"I wish I knew," Kira whispered, too much the pragmatist to offer false
hope--to herself or anyone else.

Ziyal hesitated before speaking again. "Nerys--how could the Founders
just ... do that to Odo? How could they change him that way?"

"I don't know. Even the Federation scientists don't understand all their
abilities. Dr. Mora studied Odo on Bajor for a long time, and even he
doesn't know everything about changelings."

"I didn't mean their abilities. I mean ... he's one of their ...
children. How could they ... do that?"

A harsh, familiar voice invaded the quiet intimacy of the moment before
Kira could find the words to respond. "I have found," said Gul Dukat,
leaning in the doorway, "that children often require discipline. Even
when they have the most loving of parents."

Kira raised her head, felt more than saw the heavily-built shadow that
hovered on the edge of her awareness. "If you don't mind, daughter,"
Dukat went on, "I'd like to speak to Major Kira alone for a moment."

Ziyal nodded, placed her hand on Kira's knee in a consoling gesture, and
then took her leave.

For a long moment, Dukat remained where he was, arms folded, studying
her. All of Kira's old hatred for the man seeped slowly back into her
mind and her body tensed. Irrational or not, some memories never died.
She was still Bajoran--and he was still the man who had run the Occupation.

Dukat moved slowly forward, the door hissing closed behind him, and Kira
tried to quell the feeling of being trapped with a dangerous animal.
Odo's presence, even unconscious, was a comfort and somehow strengthened
her resolve. She let her fingers curl possessively around his hand. The
Cardassian stood at Kira's elbow, gazing over her shoulder at the former
changeling. "He was certainly the best security chief Terok Nor ever
had," Dukat remarked, almost casually. "You know he was never afraid of
anything--not even me. I always admired that."

Kira was not in the mood for games. "What do you want, Dukat?"

"I'd like to know exactly what's going on, Major. All that I can get out
of Dr. Hakar is that the Founders have taken our friend here and made
him human. Quite a feat, wouldn't you say?"

"Obviously they wanted to punish him."

"Obviously--but I wonder if you might elaborate on that."

Kira sighed heavily. "Odo was responsible for the death of another
changeling. It wasn't an intentional killing. He was protecting the rest
of us--but apparently the Founders aren't very forgiving."

"So they took him. And why did they take you?"

Kira gave a soft snort of irritation. "Maybe they wanted a witness."

Dukat seemed content to let the silence linger for a moment before
speaking again. "Ironic isn't it, seeing Odo as a human. I always
suspected that he fancied himself a Bajoran. I warned him about those
sympathies on more than one occasion."

Kira ran one finger along the smooth bridge of Odo's nose, determinedly
ignoring the cobra eyes that watched her. "He *is* Bajoran." Her voice
was firm.

"I never realized that the two of you were so ... close."

The fascination evident in his tone made Kira's flesh crawl. "I need to
get some sleep," she grated.

"And you're sure that you know nothing more about the Founders or their
plans?"

"I'm sure."

"Very well." The Cardassian turned away. He paused just at the door.
"But if you--or Odo--do happen to recall anything, I trust you will let
me know of it."

"Of course," she returned. "But I wouldn't sit up waiting for that
information if I were you."

He frowned and then turned to leave without another word. Kira's eyes
lingered warily on the door long after he was gone.

****

"And now, Constable, you will share with me your insights concerning the
Founders..."

The heavy fluid that roiled and swelled all around him was dragging his
body into the darkness. Nothingness. He felt his substance separated and
reformed. A heartbeat where there was none before. His substance was
twisted and reshaped, becoming ... alien to him. He was blind and
couldn't breathe. He was drowning. Thick fluid covered his face and
mouth with a suffocating film. His chest was going to explode. His
fingers clutched at handfuls of nothing. His limbs flailed weakly
against the Link, strength evaporated. He was nothing--a piece of
hollowed out driftwood washed unresisting onto the shore.

He was lying naked on his back, staring up at the sky. At the stars. At
endless space. Hot tears ran down his face and he was powerless to stop
them.

He was trembling, falling to pieces, coughing up bits of himself as his
body shriveled and blackened. As the fire ate away at his insides.

Somewhere on the edge of his awareness was a soft voice and something
cool being pressed to his forehead, his chest. He struggled, with what
little strength he possessed, to move toward her voice--toward her
touch. He remembered that touch from a dream ... a dark corridor and her
hands slipping beneath his shirt to touch bare skin. A gasp of pleasure
in the semi-darkness.... It was so dark. Too dark to see anything. He
whimpered softly and pulled away from the memory. She soothed him back
into normal breathing, away from dreams and old fears. Her hands were a
rhythm that washed over his body like water, cleansing, like the
Link--and yet not like. There were no accusing voices here--only one
voice, low and soothing, that seemed to emerge from some deeper silence.
He welcomed the quiet, entered into it, became one with it, until her
words were only a distant, comforting murmur. To feel nothing again.
Yes. To be nothing. That was what he wanted. He let awareness slip away
from him and let his body float away. There was no more struggle, as
there was nothing to struggle for....

****

It was dark when he opened his eyes. He stared for a moment into the
black, aware of nothing but the pain that pulsed through his body. His
head hurt, his mouth was dry, and his whole body shook with strange,
alien rhythms. He sat up slowly, his body leaden and resistant, put his
face into his hands as his vision became a momentary haze of
bluish-black. He was only peripherally conscious of the dozing figure of
the pregnant woman on the chair beside his bed. Some strange urgency
seemed to grip his body and he half rolled, half-stumbled from the
pallet to stand on unsteady legs. He took two steps, shivered and
half-collapsed against the wall that suddenly materialized in the dark.
He almost cried out, and for a moment he imagined that he could actually
feel some small part of himself--not physical, but no less real for
that--being broken from him like a limb snapped from a tree. He was
reminded of a separation that he could not now name, not in words. But
he trembled at the shadow of the memory, suddenly feeling weak all over,
then grimaced and pushed himself away from the wall, groping his way
through the dark. Blind.

A wave of dizziness, accompanied by sharp abdominal pain, swept through
him suddenly and his legs folded beneath him.

His head struck some cold and unforgiving bit of architecture as he
fell, and pain exploded above his left eye. Shivering on the cold floor,
he brought his fingers to his temple and felt some hot, sticky substance
pooling into his hand. It was dripping, spattering to the cold floor
from his injured face. He touched his brow lightly and located the cut.
His stomach heaved in revulsion, but since he had eaten nothing--nothing
came up. His shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. He drew deep
breaths at the sense of being trapped inside the body he now inhabited.
The once-fogged recollection became clear now. *No. They couldn't... I'm
not ... I'm still a changeling.* His breath came in ragged gasps that he
strove in vain to control. He had never known what it was like to have
lungs that craved air. The solid body seemed to tighten around him as
his fear mounted.

After a moment he was able to draw his hands away from his face. He shut
his eyes, willed those hands to shift, but the cells of his body
remained inert and unresponsive. The hands remained hands. He clenched
them into fists. "No Garak," he growled softly. "Not this time..." He
remembered the slow burn that had started somewhere in the tips of his
fingers and spread throughout his body until he'd become a trembling,
disintegrating heap on the floor. The pain ... was not so very different
now. Perhaps this was still a dream .... He slammed one fist into the
wall. It hurt. He closed his eyes and tried to hide against the smooth
surface, as he had done before. He'd retreated into himself so often in
the lab. Nothing. *Odo'ital.* A quivering gelatinous mass. A stone or a
tile to hide himself from the Cardassians. He stared at his hands in the
dark, seeing nothing but red. Blood on the faces, the limbs, the
lacerated chests and broken bodies piled in heaps. He felt sick, tried
to press further into the wall as the images began to cloud his memory.
"Go away," he whispered, and the whisper emerged from his throat as sob.
He cowered in the dark as the memories consumed him ....

****
	
"Where is the shapeshifter?" the harsh voices grated over his nerves as
he huddled in the darkness, unseen.

"I don't know." A woman's voice. Proud, defiant. There was a harsh
noise, a slap. He heard a gasp, but no outcry. The woman's voice was
more subdued now, almost pleading. "I told you, I don't know. He could
be anywhere here--or he may have slipped away. We don't keep him in a cage."

Another slap. Followed by a crash as something fell onto the floor and
shattered into  a thousand useless fragments. Odo quivered as part of
the floor, unmoving, terrified. The woman crumpled to her knees on the
cold tile, inches away from his hiding place. He might have reached out
and touched her. She was crying. One of her tears actually splashed
against him as he cowered there.

"Gul Hadar doesn't appreciate carelessness ...."


He spent the next hour trying to shut out the sound of her screams.

****

It was moments or perhaps hours later, when his knees were aching and he
could no longer recall what it was like not to be huddled in the dark,
when a soft hand touched the side of his face, making him look up,
brushing away the tears that streamed silently down his cheeks. Until
that moment, he had been still as stone, but now, that touch brought him
back to himself, back to feeling and awareness. At first he thought he
was dreaming, but in the dimness he could, just, make out the shape of a
face, the dark pools of a familiar pair of eyes. His tongue felt as
though it were made of clay. "Ner--"

"It's me," she hushed him. Something wet and cool was pressed to the
gash above his brow. "Just take it easy, okay? Shhh ..."

She gathered him close. He let his head droop against her shoulder. His
voice sounded thick and unfamiliar to him, each word was a struggle. "I
saw ..."

"It's all right now. Don't try to talk. You're safe." Her warmth
gathered around him in the dark, seeping into muscles that were stiff
and sore and bones that felt as though they were made of lead. Her lips
pressed briefly against his temple. A slow, rocking motion took his
body, and his hands came up to clutch at the wiry, slender frame of the
woman holding him. She was murmuring some soft nonsense in Bajoran that
calmed him even though he was too tired to fashion meaning out of the
words. The sounds were like stones worn smooth in memory, their shapes
comforting. "Etana, ashani ... het'ya tanu oshe'ia."

Her fingertips brushed the hair out of his eyes. "It's gone," he
whispered hoarsely, feeling a loss that was like cold emptiness inside him.

"I know." Her words were soft against his cheek. "You hurt yourself,"
she observed quietly.

"I fell," he whispered, both too ashamed and too weak to attempt a
fuller explanation. Fragments of unfinished thoughts slid away from him.
Dimly, he realized that his blood must be all over her, smeared on his
hands, still oozing from the cut on his head. It didn't seem to matter.
She didn't let go. He exhaled and allowed himself to feel the slow
movement of her hands along his back, over his face. He almost started
as her fingers lightly traced the outer contour of his right ear, a
peculiarly Bajoran gesture of endearment, used with family or between
bond-mates. He closed his eyes, feeling the throb of his wound quieting
slowly.

For a while there was no sound but that of his breathing and her soft
words. Odo shut his eyes and held still. Vague memories of shared warmth
and physical closeness stirred inside him. Memories he could not place.
The movement of Kira's hands over his body seemed to answer some ancient
and unspoken physical craving. He felt his body loosen the merest
fraction, as if he had still been liquid, and suddenly he became so
sharply aware of her touch that a low moan of pleasure escaped him.

Kira drew a little back. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," he whispered, pressing against her. An unfamiliar tightness
constricted his throat and he pressed his mouth into her shoulder to
muffle the fearful emotions that gripped him. Her heartbeat and rhythmic
breathing became his own. He grew quiet, the pain ebbing away like water
as her hands ... as her words ... flowed over him. She ran her fingers
along his cheek and through the fine strands of his hair, then her lips
brushed across his other cheekbone in a light, cautious kiss. Her touch
seemed to ease the painful tightness in his chest.

Her hand moved to her own body, slim fingers skillfully unbuttoning the
loose gown that she still wore. He was only faintly surprised when she
let it fall open to reveal her softly rounded breasts. Her hand moved
tentatively in the dark. Eventually he felt her wet thumb against his
lips, brushing them with something warm and wet. He opened to her touch,
hesitantly, reaching for  the moisture on her fingertips. Her hands drew
him closer, guiding his mouth to her nipple. He didn't resist. Her skin
was soft against his lips and tongue. He shut his eyes and surrendered
to the needs, the instincts, of his new form. The first swallow seemed a
great effort. There was no taste, as if his brain was weary of
processing any such detailed information. But there was ... sensation.
Warmth, slipping down his throat, flowing down through the rest of his
body. "It's all right, ashani," she soothed, and he recalled, for no
reason, the meaning of the old Bajoran endearment, a word that meant
both "child" and "beloved." Her voice became a soft chant in the
darkness. "... it's all right."

His lips found the words to answer her. Words so long buried that they
were part of him, ancient and therefore easy to speak. "I love you,
Nerys ..." he whispered against her skin. The silence became a soft
cocoon around the two of them as they held to each other in the dark.

****

(to be continued in Part 3)


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