DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek: Deep Space Nine characters are the
property of Paramount
Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the creation and
property of C. Zdroj and are copyright (c) 1998 by C. Zdroj. This story
is Rated R.
Broken and Forged
by C. Zdroj
Chronology Notes: This is a companion
piece to my story "Shapes in the Dark," and is set after the
ST:DS9 episode "His Way"--or, if you prefer, after "What You Leave
She is eternal.
I have always loved her. It seems to me that I must have been dreaming
of her even in the endless silence before I knew what I was. When I
hold her now, in the darkness, with the whole of myself curled around
her, it seems to me that I have always been meant for the warmth of
this embrace. It is the most impossible, most blissful connection I can
imagine--to be fitted precisely to the curves of her soft flesh, to
feel, through my every cell and nerve and fiber, the soft exhalation of
her breathing, the beating of her heart, the subtler, deeper rhythms of
her body--a complex, delicate web of sensation. It is a connection that
soothes and nourishes at the same time, and suffuses me with a joy so
great that I would probably weep if I were in humanoid form.
She stirs sometimes with the dreams that haunt her, even cries in her
sleep. I move over her, gently, trying to comfort, trying to give her
some shade of the peace that she has given me. Sometimes I resume a
humanoid shape, so that she can clutch something familiar, but of late
I have noticed that she clings to me even in my natural shape, she
draws her body around mine instinctively--partly to protect me,
perhaps--partly seeking reassurance from my presence. We are
We are linked.
She asks me sometimes, anxiety shining deep in her dark eyes, if I miss
the connection with my people.
"Sometimes," I say.
Actually, I recall the Link quite often. I seem to have left some part
of myself behind in that strange mingling of form, thought, and
feeling. It is a unique bliss, the loss of which still haunts me. But
when I look into her face, the fine lines of worry around her eyes, the
pressing of her lips into an expression of doubt, I know that I would
endure any loss to erase the anxiety from those features. How do I
explain what she is to me? How do I tell her that before she came, I
believed myself to be nothing? My heart--not a physical organ, but that
non-existent place from which feeling is said to flow, what Bajorans
would call a pagh, a soul, a
spirit, has been languishing in wait for
her my entire life. Words fail me so often. I hold her. I hold her
fiercely and hope and pray to gods I do not believe in that she will
feel how much she means to me.
When I touch her, I realize that I am complete in a way that the Link
will never make me. I have trouble explaining this, even to myself. For
Nerys and I cannot exchange feelings or thoughts directly when we make
love. The instantaneous comprehension that comes in the Link, the all
encompassing feeling of limitless possibility, is not there.
And yet ...
It is more miraculous, somehow, this tenuous and fierce connection that
I have to a being that is so unlike myself. I marvel at her body, not
only its beauty and complexity--but at its strength. Such a delicate
thing to be so strong. She opens herself to me with such absolute
trust, I am awed whenever I enter that cathedral.
She is my place of
Feeling her hips rise up in joy to meet my own, feeling myself
held securely so close to her womb--the place that housed her child,
watching her face contort into a look of bliss as sharp as pain, her
lips rounding into a circle, her neck flashing white as it arches back.
Vulnerable. And yet all her muscles tighten as she cries out and it is
her strength I feel. It washes over me in waves. I am stunned, even as
I kiss her in the wake of her passion. She reaches into me. Her fingers
comb through my flesh as it quivers on the edge of becoming liquid. Her
hunger for me is real and warm, not the soothing coolness of the Link.
There is a joining here that is somehow on a level that transcends
linking. This is what I have
been waiting for my whole life. It is in
this moment that I am completed. This is why I felt so empty when the
Founderess told me that this "solid" way of intimacy was a mere shadow
of the Link. I felt it untrue then. I know it untrue now. I am not sure
that my people would ever understand. They have no gods, but they
surely have religion.
Their religion is the Link. Therefore I am worse than a traitor.
I am an idolater.
I worry that she will be the one to suffer for this. That they will
punish me by harming her. She will not hear this argument. "It makes no
difference," she says, in that casual way that she has with all matters
of life and death. "I have never lived a safe life, Odo. I never will."
I have never known anyone braver. I love her not just for her courage,
but for her anger. It burns so fiercely within her, the expression of
things I have not been able to say. Anger at being abandoned, at being
judged and punished and used and deceived by those who call themselves
my people. She carries all of that for me, in her way. She is an
avenging angel in her fierceness and her willingness to fight and die.
These are the things that I love in her and also fear. For one day, her
courage may yet take her from me. And she would die for me, with no
hesitation, as I would die for her.
She loves me. It is unbelievable.
She holds me against her body in my liquid form, her fingers softly
trailing over the sensitive, shapeless amber fluid that is spilled over
her body. She says again and again how beautiful I am, as her hands
make aimless patterns on my surface. Can it be so, this perfect content
that I feel right now?
I will hold it for as long as I--as long as we--can ... until the day
death separates us.
Author's Notes: This story, like its companion, "Shapes in the Dark,"
was published in the fanzine Love
and Justice III in 1998. Unlike
"Shapes," which I
allowed to sit on my hard-drive until I'd almost forgotten it, "Links,"
was written in a very short time, and was consciously created as a kind
of "mirror-image" or "reply" to the earlier story, using the same
tense, style, and subject matter, but related from Odo's POV. The
time-frame for this piece is after "His Way," though it was
written before that episode aired. Interestingly, it almost reads
like a post-finale O/K reunion in some ways. (And I have no objection
to anyone reading it that way.) This was one of my first
attempts to stay in Odo's POV for the length of an entire story.