THE MASK AND THE MIRROR
by BGM

"Would you like my mask?
Would you like my mirror?
Cries the man in the shadowing hood
You can look at yourself
You can look at each other
Or you can look at the face of your God"

- Loreena McKennitt (Marrakesh Night Market)

"Damar is gone ..."

"Odo is gone ..."

"Cardassia is gone ..."

"Odo is gone ..."

"You've already said that."

"So shoot me.  I miss him."

"I know you do."

Colonel Kira Nerys looked up at the slivers of coppery clouds that barely covered the black smog perpetually darkening Cardassia.  She pursed her lips.  "Do you?"  The question was bitter and disbelieving.  She took the bottle of kanar from Garak's hands and took a swig of the thick, dark 
liquor.  "I have a hard time believing you ever cared enough for someone to miss them when they were gone."  She handed the bottle back to the Cardassian, wiping at her lips with her sleeve.

Garak's laughter was equally sour.  "I'm too old and too alone to even bother making you understand, Colonel."
 

"I'm sorry," she said after a while, kicking at the rocks below her.
 

"Don't be.  This war has managed to kill a little piece of everyone, my dear.  You and I are certainly not excluded."  Garak shook the bottle and discovered it was empty.  He tucked it away under the bundle of clothes he had to return to Dekara Province.  For the children.

He sighed.  "When will you be leaving?" he asked the Bajoran, not really interested in the answer, but knowing it was better than the stretch of unbearable silence that so often consumed the air between them.

"Tomorrow.  Maybe the day after.  Depends on how long Legate Rehensek wants to prolong these negotiations."  She didn't sound too thrilled about the prospect.  And Garak understood why.  Legate Rehensek was more interested in fame than he was about politic.  Yet another who had been pushed into office by those who stood to profit from his position.

"Negotiations," he mused aloud, shaking his head.  "That almost sounds plausible.  Look how hard my people have fallen, Colonel.  They are reduced to selling their property for enough credit to feed the populace."

"Cardassia XI and XII are inhabited, Garak.  I doubt the government is going to be needing those moons anytime soon.  And they're getting a good profit for them, too.  It's a start," she shrugged.

Garak bowed his head and clasped his hands together in a prayer of patience.  He could no longer watch the decay of his world.  His eyes stung, and he refused to believe he was crying.  He stood abruptly and gathered the clothes in his arms.  "I should be heading back."

Kira looked up, startled at the abrupt change of behavior.  "Garak, sit down."

The Cardassian looked down with a narrowed look.  "Why?"

"Because there's no way you can reach Dekara other than with a ground car, and we've had three bottles of kanar between the two of us.  Now sit down.  We'll stay here tonight.  The inn I'm staying at is just up the cliff."  When the Cardassian had settled down again, Kira exhaled slowly and asked, "So.  Did you bring any more of that kanar?"

"As a matter of fact ..."

Varsal Nuvek crinkled his nose as he watched the Bajoran and her Cardassian companion stumble into the inn, giggling like children.  He turned to his wife, clucking his tongue for her attention.  She turned to watch the couple wobble up the stairs.  "What is this world coming to?" she berated.  Her husband shrugged, shaking his head.

"To Hell, evidently.

Few sectors on Cardassia Prime still operated on power, and the Nevari area where Garak and Kira stayed at was low on the priority list.  To Garak's muffled laughter, Kira tried to light the candles that lined the wall of her room, the drunken breath of her chuckles snuffing out the flames before 
they could mature.  Finally she got a few of them lit, enough for comfortable light.  It felt good to laugh.  Even if such laughter was the result of drunken mirth.  "Oooh.  There's only one bed," Garak chuckled, pointing at the solitary cot.

"I must be drunk to be letting you sleep here," Kira snickered, shrugging out of her jacket.  "That or crazy.  I'll get you a pillow and sheets ..." she swallowed down another wave of laughter.

She stumbled into the storage area and took ten minutes to locate something that looked semi-comfortable.  When she entered the main room, she was greeted by a full-blown view of Garak's ass.  The man had evidently tripped over the bed and fallen asleep there, his knees tucked under him, his neck contorted.  She almost laughed aloud.

"Oh Garak," she whispered, slapping a hand over her mouth.  She tiptoed over to the chair and deposited the sheets and pillow there.  She returned to Garak's position and began the arduous task of untangling his limbs and bedding him properly.  He stirred lightly under her touch, only once 
voicing a moan as she brought her hands down to his waist to rid him of his pants.  She paused, waited for him to fall back asleep, then unclasped his trousers.

When she turned her back to him to take off his shoes, she froze.  Garak had stirred again, but now called out at her.  "Nerys ..."  His voice was low and raucous, reminding her of Odo's.  Pressing her lips firmly together, she continued taking off his clothes.  When she approached him to unbutton his shirt, she gasped when he reached up to take her wrist.  "Nerys."  Firmly this time.  His eyes open and watching her with profound interest.  Her lips parted slightly, barely able to bring herself to answer, "What?"

The time it took between that word and his ardent kiss vanished.  Suddenly he was there, filling her senses with his presence, his scent, his mouth ... she struggled weakly in his arms, making no real attempt to disengage from his embrace though refusing to reciprocate the kiss.

However, under any other circumstances, Kira would have bolted from there screaming blue murder.  But the liquor, the warmth of the candles, the heat of Garak's strong body beneath her ... it was too much to refuse.  It didn't take long for her to melt into his embrace.  Garak rolled her under 
him, pining her wrists to the hardness of the cot beneath them.  She fought him, kicking her legs up at him.  He glanced off her attempts and pressed his waist down against hers, his body covering hers.  She panted, her breath coming in hard and loud.  What was she doing?  This was madness.  At the same time she was taking off her clothes, frustrated when she couldn't get a sleeve out, or a pantleg from between their mingled bodies.

No words were spoken.  There was no need for them.  Just the voice of passion, the urgency of the moment.  There would be no other like these ever again.  Two solitary beings, their worlds shattered, striving to commiserate in the most basic of ways.

There was a sudden awkwardness to Garak's actions as he pulled away to look at her.  And then she understood.  Garak and Bashir.  Garak and Dukat.  Garak and Damar.  Such ease with them.  Garak and Ziyal.  Garak and Kira.  Such reservation.  Garak had never been with a woman.  Or if he had, it had been a long time in passing.  It was suddenly humbling to see him as he bent his head to kiss beneath her breasts, tracing his tongue gently down the slope of her belly, grazing his teeth at the swell of her hips.  Was she really doing this?  This wonderful moment, was she really sharing it with Garak?

She twisted on the bed, parting her legs.  Garak returned upward from where he'd began and ended the journey with a kiss to her swollen lips, murmuring incoherent, drunken endearments.  One of his hands disappeared between them and found its way between her legs.  Her eyes widened suddenly as skillful fingers penetrated her, startled to feel herself already prepared.  Her eyes closed again when he caressed her, the movements hardening with each stroke.  She grunted and swung her legs over his back, finding herself pushing down with each thrusts of his hand, wanting more.

He bit down at the junction between her neck and shoulder, and she knew he had drawn blood.  She hissed, shifting slightly under him to accommodate his body.

This wordless conversation continued long into the night.  Caresses and kisses, a gentleness she'd never expect from a Cardassian.  She knew, however, that this conversation would soon turn violently beautiful.

Indeed it did.  There came a point where caresses weren't enough.  The subdued stroking Kira had began on his own sex was irritatingly feather-light.  With both arms he took her, hoisted her up with him until he was sitting, and she fell hard upon his cock.  Her whole body tensed, her nails dug into his shoulders and her feet stabbed into the bed.  It was only Garak's urgent, "Move!" that encouraged her out of her shock.  Looking down at the crumpled, concentrated face of her unexpected lover, Kira thrust herself onto him over and over, her legs soon cramping up and 
becoming numb as she repeatedly impaled herself over him.

Then the passion carried her over, and she was no longer herself.  She clutched at Garak's flesh, groaning into the expanse of his neck.  She felt rolled over, thrust into time and time again, and it seemed nothing could ever satisfy the Cardassian.

But such pleasures must end, and Kira collapsed on the cot exhausted, hearing a sound akin to a despairing cry escape her throat.  But it was not hers.  It was not her who voiced such desperation.  Garak leaned down, buried his face in her neck, and wept for a Cardassia that was no longer home.

"Cardassia is gone ..."

"Odo is gone ..."

Garak paused the familiar litany, and looked at Kira.  He smiled, and she smiled back, both their features suffused with a sadness that no eloquence of words could ever express.  They embraced each other, never speaking of what had transpired the night before as they parted ways at the shuttle port.  "Good luck, Colonel."

"Visit Deep Space Nine when you can," she said, adjusting her satchel.  "Julian often asks about you."

Garak tilted his head, considering her words.  "Perhaps I'll write to him."

She smiled once more.  "Perhaps."

They never said good-bye.  Garak watched the shuttle lift from the ground, felt the powerful gust of wind as it rose into the darkened skies.  He walked away from the port, put his hands in his pockets, and playfully kicked the tattered remains of a Dominion insignia all the way home.

END