Chapter Text
Today’s ruling council meeting is a farce. “The Dominion fleet will arrive shortly, in time to see the wormhole opened again,” Weyoun says. “The Founders are eager to end this war.”
“Damar?” Dukat looks at him expectantly, and for a minute, all Damar can think is how devastated—how angry—Dukat will be. “Will it be ready?”
“It had better be,” Weyoun snaps, in a decent imitation of his predecessor. “All of these delays—don’t think I don’t know what happened to Weyoun Five—”
“A tragic accident,” Dukat says, and his voice oozes insincerity. “Damar?”
“Yes. It’ll be ready.”
“The Founder will be here within twelve hours.” Weyoun looks meaningfully from Damar to Odo to Kira. “This station must be prepared for her arrival. She expects everything to be operating perfectly.”
“Yes, yes.” Dukat is getting impatient. “You’ve said that many times, Weyoun. I notice you’ve sent the Jem’Hadar away?”
Weyoun exchanges a glance with Damar. They’ve rehearsed this. “I was…persuaded,” Weyoun says, “that the Founder should have the opportunity to see that Cardassians can manage the station adequately.” He gives Damar a slightly lascivious smile.
It’s not lost on Dukat. He sits up a little straighter. “Terok Nor was always meant to be run by Cardassians,” he says. “I’m glad you found the argument persuasive.”
“I have noticed, however, a marked increase in conflict between the Cardassian and Bajoran security patrols since the Jem’Hadar departed.” Weyoun frowns at Dukat. “I will remind you that the Dominion has a non-aggression pact with Bajor. The Founders expect all Bajorans on this station to be treated with respect.”
Damar sneers at Kira. “As if they deserve it,” he says.
Dukat responds exactly as expected. “Damar!” He smiles at Kira, who glares back. She doesn’t have to play a role in this little farce, only be herself. “Of course, Weyoun,” he says. “I’ll have a—talk with the Cardassian security forces. I assume Major Kira will do the same with the Bajorans.”
Odo puts a hand on Kira’s arm before she can snap. “I’ll see to it,” he says.
Weyoun pastes on that old obsequious smile and bows a little. “The Founder is wise.”
“Hmph.” Odo doesn’t bother with the usual argument about whether he’s a Founder.
“Are we done here? I have work to do,” Kira says. She barely waits for Dukat’s nod to leave. Odo follows with a frown.
Weyoun leans close to Damar and whispers, “Come see me when you’re finished,” loud enough for Dukat to hear, and then smiles vacantly and wanders out of Dukat’s office.
As soon as the doors have closed, Dukat slaps his desk. “Hah! Damar, if I’d known you had such talents—” He smiles. “Well, I suppose I knew, but you’ve put them to ideal use here.” Dukat grips Damar’s chin and turns his head to the side to inspect his neck.
Damar jerks out of his grasp. “He’s—emotional,” he warns. “Volatile. We don’t want him getting jealous.”
“Of course, of course.” Dukat leans back in his chair. “Terok Nor for Cardassians again, as it should be.” Any hope Damar feels about persuading Dukat to the cause of a free Cardassia dies when he says, “Truly, the Dominion is fulfilling all its promises to us. This treaty…I know you were against it at the beginning, Damar, but I hope you’ve come to see how it benefits us both.”
“Yes,” Damar says, and the word tastes like bile in his mouth. “I should go. I have work to do—”
Dukat waves his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, go to your Vorta. Just don’t forget to have everything ready to disarm the minefield when the fleet arrives. I understand that there is a Federation attack planned to try to stop us, so it all has to be ready.”
“Of course.” Damar waits a second more and then walks away. Every nerve in his body is tingling, the anticipation of battle sweeping through him. Roughly two-thirds of the Cardassians on the station have pledged themselves to the Cardassian Liberation Front, but he doesn’t want a single Cardassian on the station to die because they haven’t been persuaded to join by the time the attack begins. It would be so much easier if Dukat were with them, if it was clear that the man who had signed the treaty was repudiating it. But it's clearer than ever that Dukat is perfectly content with the state of things. Damar is still holding out hope that Dukat will be persuaded to go along with the liberation when it's already in progress, but he’s not going to be the rallying force that Damar wishes he could be.
Entry into Engineering is tightly controlled. Everyone here is a supporter and has been quietly working to prepare the station for the attack. The initial strike, when they still have the element of surprise, is crucial. It needs to disable or destroy as many Dominion ships as possible. And it has to be carefully coordinated with the attacks on the Jem’Hadar hatcheries that Damar and Rusot have arranged. The timing has to be precise, the strike powerful, the shields ready for when the Dominion turns on them—they run through simulations, through plans, until Damar’s head is swimming.
Five hours now, until the Dominion arrives.
Kira confirms that the Federation fleet will arrive at roughly the same time, and that the antigraviton beam has been reprogrammed to emit a bright light if triggered, but is now incapable of setting off the minefield. Damar verifies it himself—his greatest horror is that he would still be responsible for allowing the Dominion fleet through. If Cardassia rebels and the Dominion has the fleet that Weyoun claims—if it comes through the wormhole—he has no doubt that the Dominion will destroy Cardassia. And he, Damar, will be the Cardassian hero who brought about the end of his race.
“Calm down,” Kira tells him. “You’re making me tense.”
“I would call it a tense situation,” he says. “You’re not tense?”
Kira doesn’t quite smile at him. “You’re not used to playing this role in war. You’ll get used to it.” He stares at her. “Oh, never mind. You’ve confirmed that the beam won’t work, so please go somewhere else. Everything is ready.” She grimaces. “I don’t suppose you’ve convinced Dukat.”
“No.” It’s painful every time he says it.
“Well, I certainly won’t mind getting to deliver him as a prisoner of war,” Kira says, and he forces himself not to react to that. “I assume you’re going to try again.”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “When everything is ready. He should understand, then—”
Kira shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
“No.” For a moment, the only sound is the slight background hiss of space. “I never wanted to be in command,” he admits.
“Neither did I,” Kira says. “Want you to be in command.”
That surprises a laugh out of him. “As long as we’re agreed.”
“At least I believe you’ll be—honest.” She grimaces. “You’ll be an improvement over Dukat, if you can keep control over the Cardassian forces.” Yes. That’s the if. “Go somewhere else, Damar. I need to talk to the Bajoran security officers and your presence won’t be helpful.”
Four hours.
He wants to try to talk to Dukat now, but he can’t risk it, not until the fleets are here. If Dukat is angry—and he will be—they can’t risk him contacting the Dominion himself to warn them. The plan hinges on the Dominion keeping its attention facing outward, trying to protect the station as it supposedly begins the destruction of the minefield. He wants a glass of kanar—a bottle of kanar—something to calm the burning sensation in his chest. Instead, he goes to find Weyoun.
“I wondered when I would see you,” Weyoun says, and Damar can hear the anxiety in his voice.
“Are you—staying safe? I don’t want someone—”
Weyoun pulls him into an almost frantic kiss. “Am I—”
What must it be like, caring about someone for the first time? In the middle of wartime? At least Damar has always known what it means to care for someone, since he was a child. Weyoun is—however old he is, and as far as Damar can tell, has never felt more than mild interest in anything but the Founders until now. “We’re going to free Cardassia and we’re going to survive,” Damar says, and kisses him back, pushing him against the wall to feel the warm weight of his body.
“Before they try to kill us,” Weyoun says, tugging at Damar’s armor. “Once more, just—in case.” He takes Damar’s wrist and pulls his hand down, beneath his waist.
Damar has a countdown until fleet arrival running in his head, but he can’t stifle a hiss when he feels how wet Weyoun is. “Have you just been—walking around like this—” He half-drags them both into the nearest room, blessedly empty, and allows Weyoun to remove his chest plate one-handed. Weyoun holds Damar’s other hand between his legs, sliding two of Damar’s fingers inside himself. Damar swears hotly into his ear and braces him against the wall. He works Weyoun’s pants down enough to watch his fingers disappearing into Weyoun and adds a third finger just to hear Weyoun choke a little and clench even tighter around him. Weyoun fumbles at Damar’s pants until his cock is free and tries to get it inside himself—Damar withdraws his finger and his brain short-circuits a little at the brief moment when his fingertips and the head of his cock are both inside Weyoun. He’s so desperately tight again, so tight that Damar would go slower if Weyoun hadn’t grabbed his hips and pulled him all the way inside in a single thrust.
Damar gets a hand beneath Weyoun’s ass to lift him up a little, gets a clumsy thumb on his clit and sucks at the notched edge of his ear. It’s hard to focus on anything other than the feeling of Weyoun all around him, clutching him tight—the slick friction—the way they’re pressed so tightly together that he can feel it in his chest every time Weyoun inhales. It takes him a moment to realizes that the noise he’s hearing is Weyoun saying “Damar, Damar,” over and over again against his neck. He remembers that first time with this Weyoun, the way he’d made Weyoun come on his cock and then kept him at that high the rest of the time, and he wants to feel that again.
“Hold onto me,” he tells Weyoun, and brings both of his hands to Weyoun’s head—one to stroke his ear, the other to slide two fingers slowly in and out of Weyoun’s mouth. Weyoun sucks at them, curls his clever tongue around them, and Damar has to pull his fingers out so that he can kiss Weyoun again, just for an instant. “You’re perfect,” he finds himself saying, as he ghosts his fingers over every ridge of Weyoun’s ear and thrusts in especially hard at the same time. Weyoun cries out and there, there it is, the start of it—clenching over and over again on Damar’s cock, gasping in breaths as he shudders. Damar doesn’t stop any of it, speeds up and presses his fingers more firmly along Weyoun’s ears, and Weyoun is shaking harder now, eyes wide and fixed on Damar as Damar leans the sensitive part of his forehead against Weyoun’s.
“Damar.” He clutches Damar harder.
“I lo—” Damar tries, and can’t quite say it, but Weyoun groans anyway and Damar feels the rumble of it in his chest. He comes almost blindingly, losing all awareness for a moment. When his senses return, he releases Weyoun, but he doesn’t lift his forehead from Weyoun’s.
“I think I know,” Weyoun says softly.
The outside world intrudes in the form of Damar’s mental countdown. “That was—don’t disappear. I have to go—”
“I know.”
Three hours.
He goes to Quark’s to eat something and make sure that the troops are maintaining the necessary discipline. The glinns who are old enough to understand the significance of what they’re about to do are nervous, sitting with meals and untouched glasses of kanar in front of them. Rebellion—open overthrow—is a capital offense, punishable without a trial. The gils and younger glinns gather around the dabo tables and shoot dom-jot and drink root beer and kanar, because they’re barely into their careers and they don’t understand that the fate of Cardassia is at stake. Damar keeps his voice hearty and a broad smile on his face, drinks two cups of root beer and fails to choke down a single bite of food. Quark is his usual particular brand of cheerfully sleazy, but Damar sees the sharp awareness in his eyes. “At this rate, I’ll be out of root beer by the time the Dominion arrives,” he complains.
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to supply you with more.”
“Yes, it’ll be right beneath Vorta and ketracel white on their priority list.”
“If there’s a man in the galaxy who can get something where it shouldn’t go, it’s you, Quark.” He beckons Quark closer with one finger and then claps him on the shoulder. “To Quark!” he bellows.
The others echo, “To Quark!” They toast with their root beers and kanars, and the older glinns return their kanar glasses to their tables untouched.
Two hours.
Odo confirms that the Bajoran security forces are prepared if the worst happens and Jem’Hadar begin landing on the station. “If there are—internal difficulties with Cardassians, I expect that the Cardassian patrols will handle them?”
“Yes.” Damar damn well hopes so. Any interaction between Bajorans and Cardassians that isn’t pre-arranged will probably end in violence, and they can’t afford that. He doesn’t want that. “I’ll—deal with anything that comes up.” He dreads the idea of having to injure one of the Cardassians not pledged to the Liberation Front yet, let alone kill one, but he’s also very well of the crisis will ensue if a Cardassian kills a Bajoran now.
One hour.
Another check-in with Engineering, a walk through Ops to make sure that every post is manned by one of their Cardassians. Verifying that all communications have been properly calibrated. Kira, to his surprise, doesn’t even look annoyed at his continued re-checking anymore. “For want of a nail,” she murmurs. At his expression, she says, “I learned it from one of the human engineers on Deep Space Nine. ‘For want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe, the horse was lost; for want of a rider, the message was lost; for want of a message, the battle was lost.’”
“What’s a horse?”
“Some kind of—riding beast, I assume,” Kira says. “Used in battle.” She sounds a little annoyed. “It means that the smallest detail can be crucial.”
“Yes,” Damar says shortly. “I think most engineers would agree.” There are still many more stations to check.
Kira frowns. “On second thought, go away.” She seems to say that to him a lot.
Zero hour.
The Dominion fleet arrives, looming. Kira reports that the Federation fleet is only a few minutes behind. Damar waits until Dukat has hailed the Founder and declared, “We’re prepared to disable the minefield. It should be completely destroyed in—” He looks to Damar, who mouths fifteen minutes. “Fifteen minutes.”
“We will hold the line until then,” the Founder says. “When the Federation fleet arrives, continue to focus on the minefield and let us take care of them.”
“Of course.” Dukat ends the transmission. “Damar, begin—”
Damar swallows hard. “No.”
“Don’t tell me there’s another delay.”
“No. No delay.” He takes a breath. Over the comms, the tactical officer reports that the Federation fleet is arriving. “Cardassia doesn’t need the Dominion,” he begins. “In fact—”
“Damar?” Dukat stares at him. “What are you saying?”
“You can repudiate the treaty. You can—free Cardassia.”
“Have you—betrayed me, Damar?” Dukat looks sincerely stunned. “You think we’re going to turn on the Dominion?”
“I haven’t betrayed you,” Damar says. He wishes that felt true. “The Dominion has conquered Cardassia. It’s time to liberate our people, and we need you to lead us.”
Dukat sneers. “I see. You’re presenting this opportunity to me, is that right?”
“I’m trying—”
“You’ve got quite the opinion of yourself now, don’t you? Strutting around as my second-in-command, reeking of kanar—and him, I suppose you won him over because you’re so good at sucking cock?” Some dispassionate part of Damar sees the way that Dukat is lashing out frantically as he sees that the situation is out of his control. It doesn’t make what he’s saying less painful, though. “You would have been no one without me, and even when I gave you every opportunity, you threw it away—”
“You sent me away!” Damar still remains the sting of it, nearly thirty years later. “I did everything you asked for two years, and the moment I needed—a few days—you got rid of me!” He remembers the frustrations of twelve years spent patrolling on the Federation border—the tedium of twelve more years on a freighter. The glorious moment when Dukat was made captain of the freighter and took them on their one-ship mission against the Klingons, and he thought that perhaps things would be right again.
“Cardassia will never accept you as a—as a Legate, no matter how many Cardassians you get killed in your pointless rebellion. The Dominion keeps us strong.”
Bone-deep sorrow is spreading through Damar. Dukat won’t join them. He’ll never admit he was wrong about the alliance with the Dominion, even implicitly. “Odo,” he says. He’s having trouble with his voice. “I think it would be best if you took Gul Dukat to the holding cell by transporter.”
“You don’t have the strength to do it yourself, Damar?” Dukat’s taunts still hurt, but he knows that he can’t be the one to step away from the fight now. He has to trust Odo and his Cardassian security forces to do it.
He walks outside of Dukat’s office, looking out over Ops. “Are we ready?” After all the final-final-final checks, there’s only one answer.
“Jem’Hadar attack ships are fully crewed. Station weapons fully charged. Broadcast ready when needed.”
Damar takes a deep breath and watches the battle approach. “Tell our smaller ships to focus on the small Jem’Hadar craft—I don’t want them taking down our shields. Focus primary station fire on the Dominion battle cruisers and secondary fire on the attack craft. Our own battle cruisers are to hold the line against the Dominion ships.” He looks to Rusot. “Gul Rusot, I leave the coordination to you.” Rusot nods. “Begin the attack!”
He goes to the comm unit. “It’ll broadcast on all frequencies,” the tech assures him. “Should even override the Dominion inter-ship comms. Go ahead.”
This is the moment.
“My fellow Cardassians. Two years ago, our government signed a treaty with the Dominion. In it, the Dominion promised to extend Cardassia's influence throughout the Alpha Quadrant. In exchange, we pledged ourselves to join the war against the Federation and its allies.” The blood is pumping hard through his body, the adrenaline flowing faster. The torpedo fire outside the station is blinding.
“Cardassians have never been afraid of war, a fact we've proven time and again over these past two years. Millions of our brave soldiers have given their lives to fulfill our part of the agreement. What has the Dominion done in return? Nothing. We've gained no new territories. In fact, our influence throughout the quadrant has diminished. And to make matters worse we are no longer masters in our own home. Travel anywhere on Cardassia and what do you find? Jem'Hadar. Vorta.” He doesn’t let himself look at Weyoun for fear of revealing too much. “Instead of the invaders we have become the invaded. Our ‘allies’ have conquered us without firing a single shot. Well, no longer.”
A Dominion torpedo strikes their shields. “Shields holding,” comes the report.
The words come easily now. “Today, we retake Terok Nor from the Dominion. Today, we destroy Jem’Hadar hatcheries on four worlds. This assault marks the first step towards the liberation of our homeland from the true oppressors of the Alpha Quadrant. I call upon Cardassians everywhere: Resist. Resist today. Resist tomorrow. Resist until the last Dominion soldier has been driven from our soil!”
He's breathing hard, as though he’s just emerged from battle. There are cheers from Ops, more flashes of weapons fire outside. When he focuses his eyes on the battle outside, he sees the carnage of Dominion and Jem’Hadar ships floating in space, the Klingons and Federation limping but intact. Weyoun is on the comm now, speaking softly, urgently, to the other Vorta—he begs them to realize that the Founders are not gods, only a stronger race, and that the Vorta need not serve them. Damar’s speech is re-broadcasting to the rest of the quadrant. The flares of the ships exploding outside leave bright afterimages in his eyes.
When the explosions quiet—when the only fires in space outside are the ones taking place—Ops is suddenly silent. “Hail the Defiant,” Damar says. It feels as though everyone in the room has stopped breathing. “Power down weapons.”
Captain Sisko appears on the screen. “Gul Damar. Thank you for your assistance.”
“On behalf of the Cardassian Liberation Front, I’m prepared to discuss—terms of a new alliance,” Damar says. “The Defiant may dock. We will lower our shields long enough to allow a single ship.”
“I appreciate that,” Sisko says. “We’ll be there shortly.”