Chapter Text
Lenara feels much better after pulling all the pins out of her hair and taking a long, high-pressure sonic shower. Then she realizes she doesn't have any clothes to put on except for the dress and underthings she dropped on the floor outside the refresher cubicle without thinking, so she has to stand awkwardly wrapped in a gray bedsheet for three minutes while she runs everything through the laundry sonic. She's half-expecting Jadzia to have rounded up some kind of ad-hoc station welcome committee that's going to ring her door chime at any moment.
But it doesn't happen, and Lenara manages to get dressed without disaster. She's really going to need more than one outfit, she thinks, shaking out the sheet and letting it float slowly back down onto the mattress. She wonders if she'd be able to wear any of Jadzia's clothes. The thought makes her inhale sharply. It's a day for discovering new tastes. New thoughts.
Leaving her hair unpinned and loose, Lenara lies down on the couch, almost too tired to think.
Almost.
Eventually her door does chime, after a long, meditative time, and Lenara props herself up on one arm. "Come?"
It's Major Kira, hands clasped behind her back. "Doctor Kahn. Hello. Do you have a moment?"
Lenara rises to greet the Major, flipping her hand in an expressive gesture to indicate her empty room. "My schedule has never been more clear."
"Good." the Major says as she comes in and sits down on the low gray couch in the seating area. "Well, not good." She winces, coughs, and starts over. "Oh, you know what I mean. Welcome to Deep Space Nine."
Lenara sits down across from her in the matching armchair. "Thank you."
"I had a meeting with Odo this morning. He mentioned you're planning to stay on the station, indefinitely." Kira raises an eyebrow, and Lenara nods. "Okay. So, tell me if this sounds crazy, and keep in mind, it's all theoretical— but I wanted to ask. Would you be interested in taking a position with the Bajoran Science Institute? Based here on the station, of course," she adds quickly.
Lenara blinks, then glances over Kira's shoulder at the window, and the starfield outside. There's really only one obvious reason for a scientist to need to work from this station. "We're talking about studying the wormhole, I assume? Theoretically."
"Honestly, it's long past time." Kira leans back in her chair, propping her ankle on her knee and interlacing her fingers. "A lot of people have come to study the wormhole over the years, and we've collected a lot of data, but when you try to find time to do something with it... Something always seems to come up," she says with heavy understatement. "The Bajoran government has its own priorities, like making sure we don't all starve or freeze to death, and on the station it seems like there's some new disaster to deal with every other week."
"Yes, Dax has told me a few stories. It sounds... bracing, but it doesn't seem like it would leave much time in her schedule for independent scientific study."
"No. And with the Klingons leaving the Khitomer Accords, and the Dominion at our doorstep, non-essential science projects are less of a priority than ever. But if you'd be interested?" She shrugs, smiling crookedly. "Bajor could hardly ask for someone more qualified."
Lenara presses her lips together, then leans forward. "Is it possible that I might have the opportunity to study a Bajoran Orb?"
Major Kira looks up sharply, then sighs. "That's not likely, I'm afraid. The political considerations..."
"Religious ones too, I gather."
"Oh, there's not much difference on Bajor these days," Kira says, glancing out Lenara's window at the stars. Something grim creeps into her tone. "The Vedek Assembly was originally created to provide spiritual advice to the Kai... but some of the more active factions carry a lot of power in the government." She takes a deep breath and sighs. "Don't get me wrong, the opposition wouldn't be monolithic. We're Bajorans, we don't all agree on anything. Some Vedeks believe very strongly that the Prophets gave the Orbs to Bajor for exactly that purpose, to help us understand them more fully. They would argue that it's our obligation to the Prophets to study them, and to share what we learn."
"But others would say—?"
"Well, some factions still aren't happy that we haven't kicked every non-Bajoran off our planet and out of this system already, to say nothing of giving them unfettered access to our most sacred relics. No offense."
"None taken," Lenara says. "I understand the Orbs are only now in the process of being repatriated from Cardassia."
"Yes, it's one of the stipulations in the peace treaty; they have to return them. And we actually have reclaimed four of them. But all of them? I'll believe it when I see it." Kira says. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair, rolling her shoulder as if it's stiff. "We're just getting them back. Maybe if they didn't leave Bajor... Maybe."
"Trust can be difficult when you've been betrayed."
"Difficult, yes," Kira muses, then looks back at Lenara, startling her with the intensity of her gaze. "But the difference between difficult and impossible is why there's a free, independent Bajor. And a treaty with the Cardassians. We have to move forward in that spirit. I believe that."
Lenara nods, hoping she looks thoughtful. "The best way to predict the future is to invent it."
"Is that a Human saying?" Kira tilts her head.
"Yes! You know, I love Human sayings," Lenara confesses. Kira breaks into a grin, her eyes narrowing, dark and delighted. "There's really nothing better for when you can't think of what to say, but you want to say something. I know, I know," she says apologetically, "it sounds a little patronizing, but—"
"Oh no," Kira says, snorting, "I've spent four years listening to Humans say the most random— You're absolutely right! I mean, 'You have to laugh or you'll cry,' what does that even mean? That's just what life is! You don't need a saying for that!"
"How about, 'Every pot has a lid.' Yes?" Lenara says, throwing her hands in the air. "Of course it does? Why would anyone make a pot without a lid?"
"'No matter how early you get up, it doesn't make the sun rise any earlier.' That's a good one, actually," Kira admits, "I like that one."
"Oh, that is a good one," Lenara says appreciatively. "To be fair, though, no Trill likes to get up in the morning. It's a whole marsupial thing. Evolutionary," she explains. "Not our fault."
"Oh, I see. Is that why Dax drinks three raktajinos before lunch?"
"Does she?" Lenara asks, shocked, and Kira raises her eyebrows. "Well. Maybe I will too." She catches herself repeatedly smoothing her hands over the fabric of her skirt and makes herself stop. "You were saying, about this theoretical plan for a wormhole research group..."
"Right. Like I said, it's just an idea right now. There'll be opposition, I want to prepare you for that. But I'll be on your side, and so will Dax, of course. And if there's any real trouble, you can talk to Captain Sisko. People listen to him on Bajor. He means a lot to us," Kira says firmly, and stands. "So... Think about it."
"I will," Lenara says, and rises to see Kira out.
Kira takes a step towards the door, then stops. "We didn't really get a chance to talk very much, before," she says straightforwardly. "I guess I wasn't sure how. Are you Dax's wife? Her ex-wife? A stranger? A friend?"
"A little of everything? I was confused too. I still am," she adds lightly, "but I'm starting to figure it out."
"Yeah. Well. I wanted to say. There was..." Kira looks down, gathering herself, then meets Lenara's eyes steadily. "There was someone I loved, and I lost him. Not too long ago. It feels like yesterday, you know? Every morning you wake up—"
"Every morning you wake up and you remember." Lenara says softly. "Yes. I know."
"He was the chief negotiator for the peace treaty with Cardassia. I've been trying to think of something I could do to honor his life, and with you deciding to stay... This feels right."
"I hope so."
"And I wanted to say, too. If I had a chance to... If I could have him back, even if it was... I can't know how it works for Trills. How it feels for you and Dax. But even if he was different, if he came back as a different person…"
"It's not quite the same," Lenara says. "But I do know how precious it is. This chance I have, now."
Kira nods silently, lips pressed together. "He would've loved the idea of Bajorans finally having the opportunity to really study the wormhole. He was fearless, you know? The Prophets' greatest gift—" And suddenly her expression brightens. "Hey, this is some good timing." She takes a quick step back into the room, taking Lenara's arm and turning her, pulling her towards the window. "Look, there, the Boslic freighter."
Blame it on a stressful day on top of a stressful month, but Lenara's first stupid thought is: why is she showing me this? Does she think I haven't seen a freighter—?
And then space splits, blooms, grows into something larger and greater than Lenara could ever have imagined. Radiation lenses outward, shading blue to indigo, cradling its golden internal glow. She's studied this phenomenon in dry, dissected abstraction; probe telemetry, comparative energy matrix ratings, estimated uncertainties of neutrino fluxes. But: "I didn't know it looked—" she says, hoarse, breathless in the light of it. And then the wormhole folds in, composes itself sweetly, and becomes the long, empty path to the stars again. "I didn't know it looked like that!"
She feels the euphoria of the new, sweeping over her again. A lifetime devoted to studying this?
"I see why you call it the Celestial Temple," she says, perhaps undiplomatically.
It doesn't seem like she's offended Kira, though. "Yeah," she says. "And we called it that before we knew what it looked like."
"So you did," Lenara says, still trembling. She clears her throat, turning to face Kira again. "Thank you… Thank you for telling me about…"
"His name was Bareil. Bareil Antos."
"I'd like to hear more about him," Lenara says. "If you'd like to talk, sometime."
Kira studies Lenara's face. Whatever she finds there seems to reassure her. "So you are really staying."
"Yes. I am."
"Good. There's plenty of work to be done here." Major Kira laughs, short and rough. The laugh of a person who's chosen to laugh, rather than cry. Because that's just what life is. "And this station is actually a pretty good place to start building a new life. Trust me on that."
"I will."
"Well. Let me know if there's anything that I can do for you, Doctor." Kira nods in farewell as she turns once again to go.
"There is, actually," Lenara says, her hands shaking slightly, and Kira turns back in surprise. "I don't suppose you have a pair of scissors I could borrow?"
Major Kira fetches a pair of gold-handled, remarkably dangerous-looking scissors from her quarters and puts them into Lenara's hands. Half-amused curiosity lurks in her eyes, but she doesn't ask any questions, just nods and leaves again. Lenara truly appreciates her discretion. She considers, turning the scissors over and over, but eventually just puts them down on the coffee table. Moving back towards the window, she presses her hand against the cool material separating her from the emptiness outside. She waits for a moment, hoping. Nothing happens. But the waiting isn't empty any more, it's euphoric. Exhilarating.
Years ago, she'd read Jadzia's initial report on the Orb that she'd briefly had the opportunity to study, with permission of the Kai Opaka. It had been just one more paper among many submitted to Starfleet's speculative spacetime physics journal, so subtly intriguing in its premise that Lenara almost missed the name of the author, and then—! Well, it only made sense that it was Dax. Her darling, daring Dax.
Lenara never told anyone, but the final groundbreaking steps that led her artificial wormhole project to its ultimate success were more than a little inspired by pondering the unique energies of the Bajoran Orbs.
She'll get to tell Jadzia that, now. She'll have the chance. They have the time.
Pulling in a deep, deep breath, she holds it for a long moment, then lets go, letting the intense relaxation rush through her body. At some point, she'll have to turn away from this window, and if another ship passes through the wormhole, she'll miss it. At some point she'll need to go to the Replimat and get something to eat, before she falls over. At some point she'll need to buy clothes.
And at some point she'll have to come back into this bland and mostly empty room, and log into the communications console and read… well, whatever messages are there. From Trill. From Bejal and Father and her superiors at the Ministry. From her former life, from anyone who’s already heard about what she and Dax have done.
But not yet.
Not yet.