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The last time Kira Nerys had seen Kimara Cretak was during a board meeting back when she had been Major and Cretak had been Senator. They had been discussing ship repairs. No, not discussing: arguing. Nerys could still remember her with the sharp clarify that came with the harsh regret of foresight. The unkind words had blurred with the unforgiving flow of time, but the image of the Senator- her back straight: elegant and proud-lips curled in a half smile, black hair gleaming in the artificial light- had remained crystal clear in Nerys's memories. The honey warm tilt of Cretak's voice persisted as a treasured memory, as well as a sinking regret. She could not remember what the woman's last words had been to her before she had departed for Romulus, and for that Nerys could not help but feel an aching wound of guilt. She had probably said something polite, but distant, determined to stay stupidly untrusting till the end.
Now, with the war months over, the Cretak of Nerys's memories was gone, replaced by a woman she could hardly recognize. Senator Cretak had been all smooth edges and cunning curves, an embodiment of everything neat and orderly. The Kimara Cretak that entered the promenade had long uneven hair, scars where there was once smooth skin, and the dead weight of trauma heavy in her eyes. Nerys almost cried with relief at the sight of her.
“Cretak.” Nerys breathed. She all but pushed through the other shuttle passengers to get to the other woman.
“Colonel Kira.” Cretak said with a tired smile. “Or is it Commander now?” She asked, glancing down at Nerys’s Starfleet uniform. Blood rushed into Nerys’s cheeks.
“Commander.” Nerys shifted her feet. What was one supposed to say in a situation like this? “Just until Commander Sisko returns.”
They were silent for a moment, a stillness in a sea of bustling people. Nerys couldn’t help but stare at her old friend-enemy-colleague. Cretak looked so tired, so...defeated. It was the most unnerving thing Nerys had ever seen.
Nerys broke the silence. “Would you like me to walk you to your quarters?”
Nerys desperately hoped the quirking of Cretak’s lips was not a trick of the light. “Yes.” She said. “That would be…” She trailed off. Any momentary joy seemed to bleed away. “Apologies Commander. My time away seems to have robbed me of that politician's tongue you seemed so fond of.”
“No,” Nerys blurted it out. “I mean, you’re still…” Prophets, don’t say something patronizing. “You don’t have to call me Commander.”
Cretak raised an eyebrow. “Whatever should I call you then?”
“Nerys.” She said it without stuttering and prayed to every Prophet in the Celestial Temple that Kimara Cretak had slacked off just this once and had not researched the significance of names in Bajoran culture.
“Nerys.” Cretak repeated, as if to taste the name in her mouth. It sent shivers down Neyrs’s spine. “I suppose it is only appropriate then that you call me Kimara.”
“Kimara.” The name sat warmly in the pit of her stomach. “Kimara, it is so good to see you again.”
Kimara’s fingers twitched, as if wishing to reach out. Her dark eyes were bold and mesmerizing. “I must say Nerys, the feeling is very much mutual.”
They finished their walk to Kimara’s quarters in comfortable silence.
…
Sitting in medbay rekindled a discomforting bonfire of rage doused in a ridiculous amount of mind numbing relief. Kimara had asked her earlier to pick her up after a meeting with the doctor and Nerys had arrived just a little too early.
Nerys was intimately familiar with the sort of scars littering Kimara’s body. Thousands of Bajorans shared similar damage from years of hard labor in Cardassian camps. And yet… Nerys knew it could have been so much worse. It should have been so much worse. Kimara’s wealth of favors owed by high ranking official was the only thing that had saved her from a death sentence. The very thought of Kimara dead sent Nerys’s heart into a frenzied drumming. A year in a Romulan prison camp and banishment from Romulus was a staggeringly small price to pay for Kimara’s life.
Having someone life Julian on her case also provided a certain level of relief. The man had twice the energy as usual dedicated to Kimara’s every need, the guilt of his involvement in Kimara’s condition evident in every tap tap tap of his pacing matching with a constant stream of medical terms. At least Julian’s overbearing remorse over Cretak’s condition provided the man with an ample distraction from attempting to discreetly pine over his growing collection of Cardassian correspondents.
After Julian wrapped things up with Kimara, they proceeded as planned to get lunch in Kimara’s newly set up quarters. The meal was composed largely of soup, with Kimara’s body still fighting off a year’s worth of malnutrition. Dessert was a surprise.
“I had your little bartender find a replicator code for them before I left for Romulus. I suppose it’s better late than never.” Kimara brushed away a strand of shoulder length hair, tucking it neatly behind one of her long ears.
The plate of osol twists sat between then like a peace offering. Back during the war, they probably were meant to be just that. But now, with no more battles to wage, the dessert was a bittersweet connection to different time. The osol twists were tart and just a little bit sweet and Nerys was in love. And not just with the Romulan pastry. It was something that she had not wished to admit back during Kimara’s days as a Senator, but Kira Nerys was nerve rackingly in love with Kimara Cretak.
…
As days drifted into weeks and months, lunch stayed a regular thing for them. Other things joined lunch of course, things like fingers brushed over the passing of a padd, long walks under the glittering light of the stars, and eventually the meeting of lips in the early hours of the morning. Life with Kimara just seemed to build itself.
As recovery came for Kimara, so did an overflowing well of words. They spent hours arguing over politics and tactical techniques, an endeavor that almost always ended in Kimara’s silver tongue whispering Romulan poetry into the crook of Nerys’s neck.
Smiles, something that used to always surprise Nerys with how often they crossed the lips of someone who was a Romulan, returned gradually to Kimara’s lips.
Kimara’s hair kept growing- “It’s a symbol of my banishment. To have long hair is to be untrusted even with the dullest of blades.”- and Nerys kept cropping her own short.
Nerys and Kimara abandoned their individual apartments in order to share a larger one together. Nerys continued to command DS9, waiting for the day of Captain Sisko’s return. Kimara got a job teaching Romulan at the Bajor University of Science and Art.
It was a life a younger Kira Nerys would not have been able to imagine living. It was settling down and mutually learning to stop tucking a knife or a phasor pistol under the bedroom pillows. It was quiet lunches tucked away, eating a strange mixture of Bajoran and Romulan cuisine.
It was a life, Kira Nerys thought as her fingers intertwined with Kimara’s over morning tea, that she would not give up for anything in the entire universe. It was a life worth living.