laurelgirl
04-02-2008, 08:47 AM
Title: If You're Very Lucky
Author: M. V. Shaver
Email: mvs120@earthlink.net
Series: DS9
Rating: G
Part: 1/1
Codes: O/K
Summary: Post WYLB, Odo bids Kira a final farewell
Disclaimer: Paramount Pictures owns the rights to Star Trek, DS9,
these characters and situations, except for the ones I made up.
Date: Revised 04/01/08
Website: http://www.freewebs.com/laurelgirl120/
{~}
Odo stood, a lone and solitary figure in the small, secluded glen. The
close cropped grass around him was trampled and trodden, a testament
to the mourners who had assembled there earlier to pay their respects
to his wife, Kira Nerys. Given her advanced years, Odo had been
surprised by the number of people who were there. So many of her
contemporaries were already dead, and those who weren't were barely
ambulatory. Yet as many as could had come, along with succeeding
generations whose lives had intersected theirs over the years. Several
friends had offered to stay with him at the conclusion of the service,
but he'd politely refused. He wanted - needed - this time alone with
Kira.
He turned and scanned the intimate, private cemetery. Kira's father
had purchased this tiny plot of land as the final resting place for
his truncated family. The landscape was now dotted with numerous
markers - a graveyard of outcasts whom Kira had befriended. Estranged
from or without families of their own, she added them to her own, even
unto death. Odo had no doubt that, had he preceded her into whatever
came after this life, he too would have found himself a permanent
resident in this tranquil setting.
His attention returned to the freshly dug grave before him. Vedek
Stoler had asked him what sort of a service Kira would have wanted.
Odo considered that question for some time, before settling on a
single word reply - simple. He'd declined the Vedek's invitation to
speak over her grave, not so much because he feared losing his
composure, but rather because the only words meaningful enough to be
worth saying were too personal, too intimate. They were things that
were exclusively *theirs,* and he had no wish to share them, even with
their friends.
His hand came to rest on the rough stone marker. He'd carved it
himself. It was the only thing he found himself capable of doing in
the immediate aftermath of her death. It was an exact replica of the
marker Chief O'Brien had made for the Kira who'd died on Gaia. Odo
thought it a fitting tribute, a way to honor *both* Kiras.
Without removing his hand from the grave stone, Odo stepped off the
grass and onto the soft, dark Bajoran soil, and knelt at the head of
the grave. His feet and knees formed depressions in the freshly turned
dirt. Lowering his head he buried his face in the spray of Bajoran
lilacs that adorned the grave, and took a sharp, deep intake of
breath. Over the course of time, he'd managed to develop a rudimentary
sense of smell and taste. The fragrance of the lilacs hit his
olfactory senses like a phaser blast. He'd often heard that smell was
one of the most powerful of memory triggers. His mind was flooded with
a sudden rush of reminiscences, from the time Kira had burst gleefully
into their house to announce that the lilac bush she'd planted had not
only refused to die, but had against all odds, actually flowered; to
the numerous bouquets he'd brought her over the years, to mark special
occasions. Her repeated assertions that she didn't like flowers were
put to the lie by her obvious joy when she received them. His last
memory . . . no, he couldn't think about it. Pulling away from the
flowers, he dropped his forehead against the cold, unforgiving stone.
It began to drizzle, a gentle spring rain. Odo lifted his head from
the grave stone and turned to look skyward. The rain dampened his
face, obscuring the tears in his eyes. Whoever it was who said
Changelings couldn't cry didn't know Changelings. At least not this
Changeling.
"Nerys . . ." His voice was a barely audible whisper, even in the
peaceful silence of the glen. Grief, like the rain, washed over him.
He knew the emotion well. His counterpart on Gaia had suffered though
two hundred years worth of grief, the full measure of which had been
transferred to him via his Link with his other self. The knowledge of
how it felt to endure this sort of sorrow did nothing to soften the
blow.
So consumed was he in his own distress that he didn't hear the
footsteps that crunched on the gravel pathway that led up to the
secluded garden.
"You're still paying for the catering services, even if you insist on
being a curmudgeon and refusing to attend."
Odo lowered his head, but didn't turn. The irritating Ferengi voice
was all too familiar. "What are you doing here, Quark? Since I'm
paying for your services, you should be attending to the guests."
"You're the host. I think that's supposed to be *your* job."
Odo silently railed against the idiotic tradition of having a party
after a funeral. "Foolish humanoid custom," he muttered.
"They've been doing it for thousands of years. Must be working for
them. And it certainly doesn't hurt my pocketbook any. Now, are you
going to sit here and wallow in your own misery, or are you going to
do what Kira would have wanted you to do, and be gracious and civil to
the people who came here to pay her their respects?"
Odo stood, turned and took a predatory step toward the Ferengi, all in
one smooth Changeling movement. "Don't you *dare* play that card with
me, especially not today." His voice shook with anger.
It fazed Quark not one bit. "Now look what you've gone and done.
Messed up the dirt." He cast his eyes around in search of some tool to
smooth out the deep indentations in the soil. Finding nothing, he
settled for snapping a small leafy branch from a nearby tree. Kneeling
on the grass, he brushed the branch over the rain-moistened dirt. It
had little effect, but he continued to sweep across the soil for some
time. Odo studied him closely. Quark had aged in typical Ferengi
fashion. Every bit of exposed skin was a riotous eruption of fleshy
wrinkles. Seeing that his gardening efforts were in vain, Quark tossed
the branch aside, and silenced his movements for a moment. Then he
placed his hands together in the traditional Ferengi sign of respect,
and bowing his head, said "goodbye, my friend."
Despite himself, Odo found he was touched by Quark's gesture of
genuine affection. He wasn't, he had to admit, the only one mourning
Kira's loss.
Quark rose and returned to Odo's side. Reaching inside his coat, he
withdrew a large, old style paper envelope, the color of deep
goldenrod. "Here, this is for you."
Odo took it without thinking. The face of the envelope was blank.
Opening the flap, he looked inside to find a smaller white envelope,
which he removed. This envelope was addressed to him, written out in
longhand using an archaic ink writing instrument. He immediately
identified the hand that had penned his name. It was from Nerys.
"What is this, and what are you doing with it?" A hint of suspicion
crept into his voice.
"She gave it to me a couple of months ago. Told me to give it to you
when. . . you know. . ." he tilted his head in the direction of the
grave.
"Why on Bajor's moons would she give something like that to *you* of
all people?"
"Because I'm reliable and trustworthy, *that's* why."
"Hrumph. Those are the LAST words I'd use to describe you!"
"That just shows how much better she knew me. So, are you going to
read it?"
"Not here." He replaced the smaller envelope into the larger one,
pulled open his jacket and slid the envelope into his inside breast
pocket.
"Not your usual attire."
"No." As a final homage Odo had chosen to wear *real* clothing to
Kira's funeral. He selected a soft grey suit, to which he had added
the traditional wide black armband. He seldom wore real clothes, but
on those rare occasions when he did, Nerys had always taken lusty
delight in their removal. He closed his eyes and suppressed a shudder.
There would be no one to assist him tonight. . .
He felt a hand grasp his upper arm. "Come on. We both have
responsibilities at your house. We should go." Odo resisted, breaking
the Ferengi's hold.
"There's no point in staying here, Odo. She's already gone. She's up
there in the wormhole, along with Sisko and all the others, partying
with the Prophets. There's nothing of her here."
He relented, resigned to the truth of Quark's words. Slowly, they made
their way through the mist and back down the gravel path. They were an
unlikely pair - one tall and lean and with a face as smooth as
polished marble; the other short and rotund and with a face full of
wrinkles. The shorter one placed an affectionate hand on the shoulder
of the taller one and was surprised when, for the first time in living
memory, his gesture of friendship was not rebuffed.
{~}
Odo sat at his desk in the small study in the home he'd shared with
Kira for the last 50 years. The house was b******* with memories. Odo
noted absently that it was dark, both inside and out. Someone, he
didn't know who, had cleared away all vestiges of the gathering that
had taken place here earlier. All the guests had departed and silence,
like the night, descended over the house and over him.
He had found nothing cathartic about the party. It had been an ordeal,
being subjected to all manner of platitudes and words of condolence.
Not to mention the hugs and embraces. He had borne it with as much
dignity as he could muster, for Kira's sake.
"Computer, lights." The room brightened into a warm ivory glow. He
looked to his left, to Nerys' desk. It was as she'd last left it,
basically neat, but with a few dataPADDS and a couple of isolinear
rods scattered about. He remembered the last time she'd sat there. It
was a pleasing memory, and prompted a retreat into the past. Absently,
he fingered his earring. Kira didn't believe he would actually wear it
when she'd presented it to him on their wedding day. "I know you
aren't much for adornments," she'd said with a forced levity in her
voice. "I'll wear the earring," he'd groused, "Just don't try and
convert me." Secretly, he was overjoyed. Pulling the earring off, he
studied it, though it was as familiar to him as his own substance. He
touched the clan detonation. She'd given him his name that day. He was
now a member of her tribe, her family. He was no longer an orphan. He
continued to finger the earring, recalling how she'd done much the
same thing, years before, when she was grieving over the murder of her
Resistance friends Lupaza and Furel. He'd stood behind her and just
listened, as she'd poured out her sorrow. How he'd longed then to wrap
her in a protective embrace, and shield her from her pain. How he
longed now to feel her arms around him. Balling his fist around the
earring, he banged it on the desk and struggled against the gnawing
emptiness that ate away at him.
Replacing the earring, he pulled the envelope out of his breast pocket
and set it gingerly on the desk. He'd felt the weight of that envelope
all day, tugging at him. He didn't want to read the letter it
contained. Reading it would bring a finality he wasn't prepared to
face. It would be like performing the last scene in a tragic play.
Once read, the curtain would fall on her life, separating them
forever.
"Don't be so melodramatic," he chided himself. Slipping a finger under
the flap, he unsealed the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of
folded paper. He concentrated for a moment on softening the sharp
creases in the paper, so it would lay flat on the desk. At first, he
focused, not on the individual words, but on the document as a whole.
It reminded him of her desk. Most of the writing was neat and
straight, but dotted among the words were several strike-throughs, and
a few extra words wedged between the lines. It was a reflection of her
life, he thought fondly. Essentially well ordered, but with just
enough messiness to add an element of delightful unpredictability. He
blinked once, twice, and then focused on the writing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well Odo, the time we have both dreaded, but never discussed, has
come. Neither of us has much use for platitudes, so I'll offer none
here.
I don't suppose anyone looks forward to dying. I know I certainly
don't. But I've counted myself dead so many times, I've long since
ceased to fear it. Prophets, when I was 10 years old, I never thought
I'd make it to 20. You get the idea.
I've also been on the other side of death more times than I care to
think about, so I have a fair idea of what you're going through. And
I've grieved for you, when I thought I lost you - how many times now?
So I'll spare you having to make promises we both know you won't keep.
I'll not make you pledge to get on with your life, forget me and find
someone else, or any other such nonsense. It doesn't work, believe me.
If you want to crawl under a rock after I'm gone - hell, if you want
to *be* the rock - you go right ahead. It's your grief. You play it
out in whatever ways work for you.
So now that's out of the way.
We've had over 50 years together, Odo. It's 49 more than I thought
we'd have. When I left you on your homeworld, I truly never thought
I'd see you again. When you came back to me, I thought it was a
miracle, like I'd been reborn. Every day we've had together has been
such a gift. Thank you. Thank you for loving me, for being patient
with me, for your generosity of spirit, for opening up and showing me
the amazing man inside. I have been loved, thoroughly and completely.
I am humbled, and grateful.
Do you realize how remarkable it is that I can say, after 50 years, I
love you more today than ever? We've been blessed, Odo, with something
wonderful. I remember you're telling me once what Laas said to you.
"If you're very lucky, you can watch her grow old, and die." I fancy I
can hear the haughty, condescending tone in Laas' voice. But I choose
to take his words as face value. I know *I've* been lucky. I hope you
feel the same.
Try not to be too sad.
And remember how very much I loved you.
Nerys
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He reread the letter four or five times, enough to memorize every
word.
His hands shook as he carefully refolded the letter. Standing, he
moved into the adjoining room that housed Kira's prayer mandala and
altar. He lit one of the candles and touched the corner of the paper
to the flame. Within a few seconds the crisp white paper was consumed
by the fire until all that remained were black ashes that crumpled in
Odo's hand. He stared at them for some time before returning his gaze
to the mandala. He'd never been religious, but living with Kira for
all those years, he occasionally wondered if some of her beliefs
hadn't rubbed off on him. He wasn't entirely certain that the Prophets
had anything to do with the years of happiness he'd had with Nerys,
but he was wiling to acknowledge it as a possibility. "Thank you," he
said simply.
He paused, as if wavering on the brink of a decision, and then in a
purposeful movement returned to the office, pulled a dataPADD from his
desk and tapped at it for several moments. His task completed, he set
the PADD in a prominent place on his desk.
"Ready?"
He swung around to see Quark standing in the doorway.
"What are you still doing here?" Odo asked, his voice laced with
suspicion.
"I didn't pilfer anything!" Odo thought the indignation in Quark's
voice was more due to his belief that there wasn't anything worth his
stealing, rather than outrage that he might.
"Ready for what?"
"To leave."
"Leave?"
Odo had only just decided that this was the right time to return to
his people. There was a certain symmetry to it. His people had
jettisoned him out all those years before, with nothing, and so he
would return the same way. With nothing. No, that wasn't true. He
would be returning with the memories of his life among the solids.
Some of those memories his people already knew, when he'd returned to
heal them, end the Dominion war and begin to teach them about living
in harmony with the Solids. Now he would return to finish the work
he'd started, armed with a half century's worth of memories of
enduring love, fulfillment and happiness; the living proof of the
ideas he'd lodged in their collective consciousness. He recalled how
his people had scoffed at the notion that Changelings and Solids could
live together in such a way - at their assertions that his
relationship with Nerys wouldn't last. His return would germinate the
seed he'd planted all those years ago.
There'd been an unspoken understanding between him and Kira that he
would eventually return to the Link. But they'd never discussed any
specifics. Trust Kira to know his mind even before he did. "Did she
arrange this as well?"
"She thought maybe you might go. If you did, she thought you could use
the company."
A sad smile crossed his face as he shook his head. He'd seldom
underestimated her, but there were times she could still surprise him.
That she'd managed it one last time, and from beyond the grave, was
just the sort of thing she would do.
"Give me a minute." As Quark retreated to the other room, Odo faced
her desk and spoke as if to her specter. "Yes, my love, I *have* been
very lucky. The luckiest man in the world." He reached out his hand as
if to touch her, to caress her cheek one last time. "Goodbye, Nerys."
Author: M. V. Shaver
Email: mvs120@earthlink.net
Series: DS9
Rating: G
Part: 1/1
Codes: O/K
Summary: Post WYLB, Odo bids Kira a final farewell
Disclaimer: Paramount Pictures owns the rights to Star Trek, DS9,
these characters and situations, except for the ones I made up.
Date: Revised 04/01/08
Website: http://www.freewebs.com/laurelgirl120/
{~}
Odo stood, a lone and solitary figure in the small, secluded glen. The
close cropped grass around him was trampled and trodden, a testament
to the mourners who had assembled there earlier to pay their respects
to his wife, Kira Nerys. Given her advanced years, Odo had been
surprised by the number of people who were there. So many of her
contemporaries were already dead, and those who weren't were barely
ambulatory. Yet as many as could had come, along with succeeding
generations whose lives had intersected theirs over the years. Several
friends had offered to stay with him at the conclusion of the service,
but he'd politely refused. He wanted - needed - this time alone with
Kira.
He turned and scanned the intimate, private cemetery. Kira's father
had purchased this tiny plot of land as the final resting place for
his truncated family. The landscape was now dotted with numerous
markers - a graveyard of outcasts whom Kira had befriended. Estranged
from or without families of their own, she added them to her own, even
unto death. Odo had no doubt that, had he preceded her into whatever
came after this life, he too would have found himself a permanent
resident in this tranquil setting.
His attention returned to the freshly dug grave before him. Vedek
Stoler had asked him what sort of a service Kira would have wanted.
Odo considered that question for some time, before settling on a
single word reply - simple. He'd declined the Vedek's invitation to
speak over her grave, not so much because he feared losing his
composure, but rather because the only words meaningful enough to be
worth saying were too personal, too intimate. They were things that
were exclusively *theirs,* and he had no wish to share them, even with
their friends.
His hand came to rest on the rough stone marker. He'd carved it
himself. It was the only thing he found himself capable of doing in
the immediate aftermath of her death. It was an exact replica of the
marker Chief O'Brien had made for the Kira who'd died on Gaia. Odo
thought it a fitting tribute, a way to honor *both* Kiras.
Without removing his hand from the grave stone, Odo stepped off the
grass and onto the soft, dark Bajoran soil, and knelt at the head of
the grave. His feet and knees formed depressions in the freshly turned
dirt. Lowering his head he buried his face in the spray of Bajoran
lilacs that adorned the grave, and took a sharp, deep intake of
breath. Over the course of time, he'd managed to develop a rudimentary
sense of smell and taste. The fragrance of the lilacs hit his
olfactory senses like a phaser blast. He'd often heard that smell was
one of the most powerful of memory triggers. His mind was flooded with
a sudden rush of reminiscences, from the time Kira had burst gleefully
into their house to announce that the lilac bush she'd planted had not
only refused to die, but had against all odds, actually flowered; to
the numerous bouquets he'd brought her over the years, to mark special
occasions. Her repeated assertions that she didn't like flowers were
put to the lie by her obvious joy when she received them. His last
memory . . . no, he couldn't think about it. Pulling away from the
flowers, he dropped his forehead against the cold, unforgiving stone.
It began to drizzle, a gentle spring rain. Odo lifted his head from
the grave stone and turned to look skyward. The rain dampened his
face, obscuring the tears in his eyes. Whoever it was who said
Changelings couldn't cry didn't know Changelings. At least not this
Changeling.
"Nerys . . ." His voice was a barely audible whisper, even in the
peaceful silence of the glen. Grief, like the rain, washed over him.
He knew the emotion well. His counterpart on Gaia had suffered though
two hundred years worth of grief, the full measure of which had been
transferred to him via his Link with his other self. The knowledge of
how it felt to endure this sort of sorrow did nothing to soften the
blow.
So consumed was he in his own distress that he didn't hear the
footsteps that crunched on the gravel pathway that led up to the
secluded garden.
"You're still paying for the catering services, even if you insist on
being a curmudgeon and refusing to attend."
Odo lowered his head, but didn't turn. The irritating Ferengi voice
was all too familiar. "What are you doing here, Quark? Since I'm
paying for your services, you should be attending to the guests."
"You're the host. I think that's supposed to be *your* job."
Odo silently railed against the idiotic tradition of having a party
after a funeral. "Foolish humanoid custom," he muttered.
"They've been doing it for thousands of years. Must be working for
them. And it certainly doesn't hurt my pocketbook any. Now, are you
going to sit here and wallow in your own misery, or are you going to
do what Kira would have wanted you to do, and be gracious and civil to
the people who came here to pay her their respects?"
Odo stood, turned and took a predatory step toward the Ferengi, all in
one smooth Changeling movement. "Don't you *dare* play that card with
me, especially not today." His voice shook with anger.
It fazed Quark not one bit. "Now look what you've gone and done.
Messed up the dirt." He cast his eyes around in search of some tool to
smooth out the deep indentations in the soil. Finding nothing, he
settled for snapping a small leafy branch from a nearby tree. Kneeling
on the grass, he brushed the branch over the rain-moistened dirt. It
had little effect, but he continued to sweep across the soil for some
time. Odo studied him closely. Quark had aged in typical Ferengi
fashion. Every bit of exposed skin was a riotous eruption of fleshy
wrinkles. Seeing that his gardening efforts were in vain, Quark tossed
the branch aside, and silenced his movements for a moment. Then he
placed his hands together in the traditional Ferengi sign of respect,
and bowing his head, said "goodbye, my friend."
Despite himself, Odo found he was touched by Quark's gesture of
genuine affection. He wasn't, he had to admit, the only one mourning
Kira's loss.
Quark rose and returned to Odo's side. Reaching inside his coat, he
withdrew a large, old style paper envelope, the color of deep
goldenrod. "Here, this is for you."
Odo took it without thinking. The face of the envelope was blank.
Opening the flap, he looked inside to find a smaller white envelope,
which he removed. This envelope was addressed to him, written out in
longhand using an archaic ink writing instrument. He immediately
identified the hand that had penned his name. It was from Nerys.
"What is this, and what are you doing with it?" A hint of suspicion
crept into his voice.
"She gave it to me a couple of months ago. Told me to give it to you
when. . . you know. . ." he tilted his head in the direction of the
grave.
"Why on Bajor's moons would she give something like that to *you* of
all people?"
"Because I'm reliable and trustworthy, *that's* why."
"Hrumph. Those are the LAST words I'd use to describe you!"
"That just shows how much better she knew me. So, are you going to
read it?"
"Not here." He replaced the smaller envelope into the larger one,
pulled open his jacket and slid the envelope into his inside breast
pocket.
"Not your usual attire."
"No." As a final homage Odo had chosen to wear *real* clothing to
Kira's funeral. He selected a soft grey suit, to which he had added
the traditional wide black armband. He seldom wore real clothes, but
on those rare occasions when he did, Nerys had always taken lusty
delight in their removal. He closed his eyes and suppressed a shudder.
There would be no one to assist him tonight. . .
He felt a hand grasp his upper arm. "Come on. We both have
responsibilities at your house. We should go." Odo resisted, breaking
the Ferengi's hold.
"There's no point in staying here, Odo. She's already gone. She's up
there in the wormhole, along with Sisko and all the others, partying
with the Prophets. There's nothing of her here."
He relented, resigned to the truth of Quark's words. Slowly, they made
their way through the mist and back down the gravel path. They were an
unlikely pair - one tall and lean and with a face as smooth as
polished marble; the other short and rotund and with a face full of
wrinkles. The shorter one placed an affectionate hand on the shoulder
of the taller one and was surprised when, for the first time in living
memory, his gesture of friendship was not rebuffed.
{~}
Odo sat at his desk in the small study in the home he'd shared with
Kira for the last 50 years. The house was b******* with memories. Odo
noted absently that it was dark, both inside and out. Someone, he
didn't know who, had cleared away all vestiges of the gathering that
had taken place here earlier. All the guests had departed and silence,
like the night, descended over the house and over him.
He had found nothing cathartic about the party. It had been an ordeal,
being subjected to all manner of platitudes and words of condolence.
Not to mention the hugs and embraces. He had borne it with as much
dignity as he could muster, for Kira's sake.
"Computer, lights." The room brightened into a warm ivory glow. He
looked to his left, to Nerys' desk. It was as she'd last left it,
basically neat, but with a few dataPADDS and a couple of isolinear
rods scattered about. He remembered the last time she'd sat there. It
was a pleasing memory, and prompted a retreat into the past. Absently,
he fingered his earring. Kira didn't believe he would actually wear it
when she'd presented it to him on their wedding day. "I know you
aren't much for adornments," she'd said with a forced levity in her
voice. "I'll wear the earring," he'd groused, "Just don't try and
convert me." Secretly, he was overjoyed. Pulling the earring off, he
studied it, though it was as familiar to him as his own substance. He
touched the clan detonation. She'd given him his name that day. He was
now a member of her tribe, her family. He was no longer an orphan. He
continued to finger the earring, recalling how she'd done much the
same thing, years before, when she was grieving over the murder of her
Resistance friends Lupaza and Furel. He'd stood behind her and just
listened, as she'd poured out her sorrow. How he'd longed then to wrap
her in a protective embrace, and shield her from her pain. How he
longed now to feel her arms around him. Balling his fist around the
earring, he banged it on the desk and struggled against the gnawing
emptiness that ate away at him.
Replacing the earring, he pulled the envelope out of his breast pocket
and set it gingerly on the desk. He'd felt the weight of that envelope
all day, tugging at him. He didn't want to read the letter it
contained. Reading it would bring a finality he wasn't prepared to
face. It would be like performing the last scene in a tragic play.
Once read, the curtain would fall on her life, separating them
forever.
"Don't be so melodramatic," he chided himself. Slipping a finger under
the flap, he unsealed the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of
folded paper. He concentrated for a moment on softening the sharp
creases in the paper, so it would lay flat on the desk. At first, he
focused, not on the individual words, but on the document as a whole.
It reminded him of her desk. Most of the writing was neat and
straight, but dotted among the words were several strike-throughs, and
a few extra words wedged between the lines. It was a reflection of her
life, he thought fondly. Essentially well ordered, but with just
enough messiness to add an element of delightful unpredictability. He
blinked once, twice, and then focused on the writing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well Odo, the time we have both dreaded, but never discussed, has
come. Neither of us has much use for platitudes, so I'll offer none
here.
I don't suppose anyone looks forward to dying. I know I certainly
don't. But I've counted myself dead so many times, I've long since
ceased to fear it. Prophets, when I was 10 years old, I never thought
I'd make it to 20. You get the idea.
I've also been on the other side of death more times than I care to
think about, so I have a fair idea of what you're going through. And
I've grieved for you, when I thought I lost you - how many times now?
So I'll spare you having to make promises we both know you won't keep.
I'll not make you pledge to get on with your life, forget me and find
someone else, or any other such nonsense. It doesn't work, believe me.
If you want to crawl under a rock after I'm gone - hell, if you want
to *be* the rock - you go right ahead. It's your grief. You play it
out in whatever ways work for you.
So now that's out of the way.
We've had over 50 years together, Odo. It's 49 more than I thought
we'd have. When I left you on your homeworld, I truly never thought
I'd see you again. When you came back to me, I thought it was a
miracle, like I'd been reborn. Every day we've had together has been
such a gift. Thank you. Thank you for loving me, for being patient
with me, for your generosity of spirit, for opening up and showing me
the amazing man inside. I have been loved, thoroughly and completely.
I am humbled, and grateful.
Do you realize how remarkable it is that I can say, after 50 years, I
love you more today than ever? We've been blessed, Odo, with something
wonderful. I remember you're telling me once what Laas said to you.
"If you're very lucky, you can watch her grow old, and die." I fancy I
can hear the haughty, condescending tone in Laas' voice. But I choose
to take his words as face value. I know *I've* been lucky. I hope you
feel the same.
Try not to be too sad.
And remember how very much I loved you.
Nerys
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He reread the letter four or five times, enough to memorize every
word.
His hands shook as he carefully refolded the letter. Standing, he
moved into the adjoining room that housed Kira's prayer mandala and
altar. He lit one of the candles and touched the corner of the paper
to the flame. Within a few seconds the crisp white paper was consumed
by the fire until all that remained were black ashes that crumpled in
Odo's hand. He stared at them for some time before returning his gaze
to the mandala. He'd never been religious, but living with Kira for
all those years, he occasionally wondered if some of her beliefs
hadn't rubbed off on him. He wasn't entirely certain that the Prophets
had anything to do with the years of happiness he'd had with Nerys,
but he was wiling to acknowledge it as a possibility. "Thank you," he
said simply.
He paused, as if wavering on the brink of a decision, and then in a
purposeful movement returned to the office, pulled a dataPADD from his
desk and tapped at it for several moments. His task completed, he set
the PADD in a prominent place on his desk.
"Ready?"
He swung around to see Quark standing in the doorway.
"What are you still doing here?" Odo asked, his voice laced with
suspicion.
"I didn't pilfer anything!" Odo thought the indignation in Quark's
voice was more due to his belief that there wasn't anything worth his
stealing, rather than outrage that he might.
"Ready for what?"
"To leave."
"Leave?"
Odo had only just decided that this was the right time to return to
his people. There was a certain symmetry to it. His people had
jettisoned him out all those years before, with nothing, and so he
would return the same way. With nothing. No, that wasn't true. He
would be returning with the memories of his life among the solids.
Some of those memories his people already knew, when he'd returned to
heal them, end the Dominion war and begin to teach them about living
in harmony with the Solids. Now he would return to finish the work
he'd started, armed with a half century's worth of memories of
enduring love, fulfillment and happiness; the living proof of the
ideas he'd lodged in their collective consciousness. He recalled how
his people had scoffed at the notion that Changelings and Solids could
live together in such a way - at their assertions that his
relationship with Nerys wouldn't last. His return would germinate the
seed he'd planted all those years ago.
There'd been an unspoken understanding between him and Kira that he
would eventually return to the Link. But they'd never discussed any
specifics. Trust Kira to know his mind even before he did. "Did she
arrange this as well?"
"She thought maybe you might go. If you did, she thought you could use
the company."
A sad smile crossed his face as he shook his head. He'd seldom
underestimated her, but there were times she could still surprise him.
That she'd managed it one last time, and from beyond the grave, was
just the sort of thing she would do.
"Give me a minute." As Quark retreated to the other room, Odo faced
her desk and spoke as if to her specter. "Yes, my love, I *have* been
very lucky. The luckiest man in the world." He reached out his hand as
if to touch her, to caress her cheek one last time. "Goodbye, Nerys."