Chapter Text
Ziyal starts with the people in her life that she knows will be observing the rites themselves -- Nerys, the Emissary, Constable Odo (if only because Nerys and all of his Bajoran deputies are doing it, too). They require no explanation. They know what the trinkets mean as soon as she hands them over. They have offerings of their own to give her. She suspects at first that the Emissary simply carries a stash of them to give to anyone who gives him one, but the look in his eyes as he recites the traditional appeal for forgiveness is sincere. Perhaps she has wronged him by making assumptions; she vows to do better.
That is, after all, what the Days of Atonement are for.
She proceeds on to her non-Bajoran friends, who are larger in number. Even after months living on the station, many of the Bajorans are still wary of her. She stays vigilant against any bitterness in her heart about that fact.
Jake takes his trinket with a complicated smile, and she adds, after the usual recitation of atonement, "and I apologize for making you take part in a Bajoran religious tradition," which gets a laugh out of him.
"Hey, at least I get a Tora Ziyal original." He flicks the disk up into the air with his thumb and catches it, like she's seen him and Nog do with poker chips in Vic's casino. The trinkets she made this year are not much bigger than a poker chip, replicated wood and wholly unremarkable save that she had carved simple patterns on each of them. Jake's has the script of an old Earth alphabet known as Greek running around its circumference.
Gifts given during the Days of Atonement are meant to be small and cheap. Which is just as well, since most Bajorans couldn't afford anything else during the Occupation. And in the Breen labor camp there had been nothing to afford: the prisoners had swapped small rocks and bits of scrap cloth and reminders that at least they were alive to atone at all.
Garak's chip is finely carved to match the pattern of one of his favorite imported silk cloths. Ziyal doesn't elaborate beyond the basic words of the rite, "I offer this to you as an expression of my sorrow that I have wronged you and my intention to do better." She can't bring herself to say, I am sorry I thought I was in love with you, but then, figuring out what people mean when they say something else is a specialty of his.
"Ah, Bajoran sentimentality." Garak shakes his head, exactly as she had expected. "I must say, I far prefer the Gratitude Festival to the Days of Atonement. All this bowing and scraping. Really, my dear, what do you possibly have to apologize for?"
"We all wrong the people around us, Garak," she says. "And some of us would like to do better."
"If you start from the premise that everyone always wrongs others, than what is the point of trying to improve? No, don't," he interrupts her, holding up a hand. "I can't stand to argue ethics with you, your earnestness is quite off-putting."
She stands up straight, because she is earnest and sentimental and she isn't ashamed of any of it. "Some people," she says, "would feel the need to apologize for a comment like that."
"Then I suppose it's handy that I just happen to have this." Garak reaches behind the counter of his shop and pulls out a tiny rag doll, half the length of Ziyal's index finger. "I trust you'll forgive me if I skip the bowing and the scraping?"
"Oh, Garak, of course." Ziyal takes the doll and stands on her toes to kiss Garak on the cheek. She wonders if maybe he isn't trying to say sorry I played along with the idea you were in love with me to piss off your father and hide my own loneliness. It's a special kind of friendship that grows on such a foundation. She's long over her infatuation with him, but she still enjoys his presence; for one thing, he's the only person on the station who doesn't read as too cold when she touches him. "See, you're improving already. Will I see you at services?"
Garak shudders. "No, my dear, I think that is entirely too much. Now, if you'll excuse me..." and he hurries off to help dissuade a customer from trying on a truly ill-suited gown.
Once she's through her non-Bajoran friends, that leaves the most difficult group of people: the ones that she's wronged that she doesn't know well. Here are hostile faces, and confused ones, silence and frowns and one Starfleet officer who refuses to take her offering, walks off and leaves it on the table in front of him. Quark hurries over to clear the table, to babble reassurance at her, and Ziyal breathes until she's able to summon a smile for him.
"No, thank you, you don't need to clear that. I'll take it with me." She leaves the disk as an offering in the temple.
It's been a long day by the time she reaches the end of her list, and she's regretting how she ordered her task. Next year she is going to start with the hardest apologies first, and leave herself Nerys and Jake and Garak to look forward to at the end of it.
She decides this very firmly and chimes the door to Ezri Dax's quarters.
Lieutenant Dax looks utterly surprised to see her, but it's a pleasant kind of surprise, without even a hint of irritation or expectation on her face.
"Oh. Ziyal. It's Ziyal, right? Of course it's Ziyal," Lieutenant Dax answers her own question, before Ziyal can speak. "Hello?"
"Hello, Lieutenant Dax." Ziyal doesn't smile, because her errand is a solemn one, but she tries to look cordial. "I'm sorry for the late hour."
Lieutenant Dax waves a hand. "Please, don't worry about it, my sleep patterns are." She makes a face. "Not great. Can I help you with something?"
Ziyal breathes deeply and holds out her last offering. "I offer this to you as an expression of my sorrow that I have wronged you and my intention to do better."
Lieutenant Dax blinks at her, pure confusion, and says, clearly by rote, "I accept your offering with grace and humility," and then blinks down again at the token in her hand. "But, um, why? I mean, Kira's explained to me -- well to Jadzia -- well, kind of also to me the other day but -- anyway, that's an unnecessary distinction." She looks up at Ziyal again, smiling a rueful little smile. Her hand is moving, passing the coin from finger to finger; another trick Ziyal's seen in Vic's casino. Lieutenant Dax doesn't seem to realize that she's doing it. "I know that sometimes it's just a compulsory thing, like, you give one to everyone you know. But I didn't really think we knew each other? Oh, that was rude."
The lieutenant is so flustered by the end of this speech that Ziyal cannot help but be charmed. She finds suddenly that she doesn't want to disrupt her own good humor, or place any heavy weight on Lieutenant Dax's mind. She doesn't want to say I'm sorry my father murdered you; and if that's shirking her responsibility, well.
If anyone would understand feeling responsible for someone else's choices, it would be Lieutenant Dax, wouldn't it?
Ziyal summons up her bravery. "I -- spilled a drink on you at Quark's the other day, and I completely ruined your blouse."
"Oh, please, don't worry about it." The lieutenant laughs. "I'm so clumsy myself, my mother always used to say I needed a good accident to teach me better."
Ziyal frowns. "But that's a terrible thing to say."
"Oh, it is, it's not funny at all, I'm trying to use humor to cope with discomfort but I'm not much of a comedian either." Her hand closes around Ziyal's token, and she starts, like she's just remembered she's holding it. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to give you -- I made up a couple for Ben and whatnot -- but I gave them out already."
"Please, you've already given me more than I expected." A sudden impulse pushes her to ask: "Are you going to the fast breaking at the Emissary's?"
"Yes! Benjamin invited me. I understand there's going to be a lot of oration, but then again, I could listen to Benjamin talk for hours. Curzon always thought he could have become a very successful politician if he had a slightly tweaked moral compass. But then Curzon thought everyone should have a twisted moral compasses, I mean, he never did understand Benjamin's decision to have a monogamous marriage. And, wow, this is an inappropriate thing to be saying about my superior officer to a strange -- um. New acquaintance."
Ziyal laughs. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Perhaps we'll get to know each other well enough that I won't surprise you so much when we see each other."
"That'd be nice!" Lieutenant Dax says, and raises a hand to wave at her, for all that Ziyal is only standing a few feet away.
Ziyal waves back as she leaves, and when she looks over her shoulder one last time from the end of the hall she sees Lieutenant Dax covering her face with her hand.