Chapter Text
The first thing she did when she stepped onto her father’s ship was not done to hide away from the stares of his subordinates. Although, that was a small benefit; it had been years since she’d received such scathing looks from other Cardassians. The first thing she did was step into the nearest washroom and bathe in the large water basin of her father’s quarters.
The water was cool and clear, a strange sight. This was the first time in many years that she could clearly see her own reflection. The watering holes on Dozaria were far too murky and dark to make out much, flooded with years of grime from bathing and cleaning clothes.
Ziyal ran a light touch over her features, finally able to see what her fingers had traced so many times.
She stepped out of the water and dried her peeling scales, before dressing and returning to the bed of the quarters. She laid on the lush fabrics, stretching out and enjoying the warm humidity of the bedroom before nodding off the sleep.
Ziyal did not often dream, she did not often sleep enough to do so, but tonight her mind was filled with vivid colors. She dreamed of the barren sands of Dozaria, of the dry heat that made her scales chip and fracture. But most of all, she dreamed of the cool caves in the mines, and of the feel of her father’s phase rifle against her chest. She tossed and turned, swaddling herself in fabric, but for all her vivid dreaming she could not see her father’s face in her sleep.
When she woke, she wrapped herself in one of the blankets and ventured out towards the ship’s bridge. She needed to see him, she needed to see his face. It had been so many years, she had almost forgotten. She would not lose that sight again.
When she stepped onto the bridge, she did not meet the stares of the soldiers at every station. All she could see was the face of her beloved father, it was all she needed.
“Father!”
His face was surprisingly tight, a smile only tacked on as a fleeting thought.
“Ziyal-”
He grabbed her by the arm, gentle but firm, as he rushed her off the bridge. Away from the incredulous stares of his subordinates.
“What are you doing? ”
Ziyal rushed into his arms, nearly losing the blanket around her shoulders if not for her father wrapping it around her all the tighter.
“I needed to see you, father,” her voice shook as she spoke, “I needed to see your face again.”
He sighed but did not force her out of his embrace. Instead, he gathered her up into his arms, carrying her back to his quarters. He laid her on the silk mattress, only gently pulling away from her grasp as he moved towards the replicator on the far wall and speaking something in Kardasi that she only vaguely recognized.
He returned to her side with a long fabric shawl, and pulled the blanket away from her as he drew the shawl over her shoulders.
“My dear, you know I love you.” He looked at her for confirmation and she nodded slowly. “So you must understand when I ask you not to be the feral child I found in those caves on my bridge.” He wrapped the shawl up to her neck as she stared at him blankly.
“Father?”
He sighed, adjusting her shawl with a satisfied and tired look.
“My dear, you are a beautiful girl, and beautiful girls cannot walk onto my bridge half naked wrapped only in a blanket.” He gave her a pointed look as she stared down at her shawl.
Ziyal did not understand, but she nodded mutely. She stared down at her clothes, a loose hanging rag that reached her thighs. She had worn this dress since her imprisonment on Dozaria, and had never received such a scolding for it. Although, she conceded that it had grown somewhat shorter after six years of wear and tear in the mines.
She adjusted the shawl a bit, letting her ridges breathe a little more, only for her father’s hands to return and fix it to the constricting position it had been at before.
Were her ridges… improper?
She didn’t understand, the Cardassian men who had served with her in the mines had never spoken of her this way. After so many months in those caves and under the beating sun of Dozaria they had shed their own shirts in relief, brilliant scales shining for all to see.
Ziyal sat on the bed, feeling constricted and embarrassed at her ignorance. She did not understand, but she would learn. For her father, her savior.
“My dear…”
At her silence, her father held up an open palm to her with a gentle smile. This was something she knew, and she pressed her palm to his in relief. At least some part of her was still Cardassian enough.
“When we return home, things will be… difficult.” He spoke slowly, as if he didn’t expect her to understand. “But I want you to understand, I am doing this for you. Cardassia just isn’t ready to acknowledge the intricacies of the Occupation, but perhaps this can be one of the first steps.”
It was for her, everything was for her. She felt her chest swell with love and adoration for her father. His bravery, the difficulties he would endure, it was all for her. She knew that he could have killed her in those caves, but he spared her. She would do everything to make sure it was deserved. She owed him everything.
The trip home was long, but Ziyal spent much of it asleep. It may have been cowardly, but she couldn’t build the strength to face her father’s men again. Their stares were unnerving, and embarrassing to say the least.
Her father didn’t push, and brought her meals in his quarters. They ate together, and she had the first Cardassian food she’d had since she’d crashed on Dozaria. After her first meal, she spent the next hour vomiting it back up. Her father told her it was natural, a response to having such a large shift between sparse meals to heavier foods. He had to return to the bridge for a drill, but she was grateful for the moments he spent cleaning her up.
He was everything she had hoped he would be. She almost felt as if she were dreaming back in those mining caves. The other Cardassian men had told her of what would happen if they were ever rescued, that he would eventually track her down and kill her.
In the first days after the crash they had said it with malice. Tensions between the Cardassian and Bajoran survivors were high, and a hybrid child between them didn’t make matters any better. Especially when the child was now orphaned, something which she learned later was a great disgrace in Cardassian society. In those early weeks, she spent the most of her time with the Bajoran resistance fighters while the survivors searched for shelter. They were kind to her, but even then she knew why she had never been allowed to live around other families.
Bajoran or Cardassian, they all looked at her and saw something different from themselves. To either side, she was never a true hybrid, a bridge as her mother and father had once put it many years previous. She was always the other, too much of the other side to be considered one with either.
As the years passed after the Breen arrived, the idea had set in that they may never leave those desert hills. Things strangely got better after that, it was the first time in her life where she wasn’t Cardassian or Bajoran. She was only less than the Breen.
It was freeing, as much as slavery can be.
So when the Cardassian men, of which there were only a few left after so many years of forced labor, continued this mantra she knew it was not out of malice. She saw in every one of their eyes that they cared for her, she knew it was a warning.
But they had been wrong, everything she had endured had been worth it. She wouldn’t be hidden away anymore, she would be with her father again.
So when she stood before the entrance to her father’s home, she knew she would endure everything that would come. Because it had to be worth it. She had to be worth it.
“Skrain, my dear you’re-” The tall Cardassian woman stopped short as she stared down at Ziyal by her husband’s side.
She would be worth it.
Ziyal stood with her back straight, her hair pulled pristinely behind her pointed Bajoran ears, she did not look her step-mother in the eye, with one hand tucked politely behind her back and the other in her father’s grasp. She would be perfect, she would be worth it.
Her step-mother looked right through her, before turning to her husband and smacking him across the face. Ziyal jumped, and felt her father’s hand tighten around her own in warning. She did not look her step-mother in the eye.
“Ziyal,” her father’s voice strained as he spoke, he was holding back something but she couldn’t tell what, “Perhaps it would be best if you waited in the gardens, I’ll come for you in a moment.”
As she looked up at her father, never her step-mother, she saw what colored his voice. He was resigned, and a cold weight settled on her chest as she stepped politely out of the house and into the gardens.
She sat gently on a bed of grass, settled between an array of various budding flora and wished desperately that she had the poor Cardassian hearing of her father’s heritage. Her Bajoran ears picked up every scream, every sob, and that tight resigned voice that spoke with the knowledge that this conversation was not going to end any other way than with loss. Ziyal buried her face into the suffocating aroma of the flora around her.
A small crunch behind her dragged her back from the bed of flowers. A short Cardassian boy, barely half her height stood behind her, and she dried her tears indiscreetly as he stared.
“You’re the reason mother is screaming.” His Kardasi was soft, and not accusatory as he watched her curiously.
“Yes, I suppose I am.” She attempted Kardasi, but she wasn’t the most practiced. Her accent had been muddled between Cardassian and Bajoran over the years, and after the group's UTs had broken down they had reverted to speaking Standard.
Ziyal didn’t know what else to say. So she was silent, as the boy stared at her briefly before she lost his attention to a small animal that passed through the gardens. She had the smallest thought that he was staring at her as if she were some wild animal.
“I’m Ziyal.” She weakly held out her hand to him, as he continued to stare off away from her.
“I heard.” She flushed at that, lowering her hand as he turned back to look at her again with a tilted head. “You look weird.”
Ziyal bit her lip, she didn’t know what to say to that either. She’d never spoken to another young child when she was his age. She settled for watching the animal that had piqued his interest, a small bird with brown feathers.
“It’s a utoxa.” She nodded mutely as he spoke. He turned to her now, giving her another once-over before speaking.
“I’m Mekor.”
She didn’t attempt to hold out her hand again, but she gave him a polite nod of her head.
“When we leave you can have Sekal’s room. She’s always mean to me.” He spoke frankly, but his words chilled Ziyal.
“Where are you going?” She asked.
“I don’t know, but mother won’t stay here with you and father.” He spoke casually, before looking after another animal that entered the gardens. “Father always liked to invite weird ladies over when I visited Terok Nor.”
Ziyal stared down at this child, her half-brother, still shocked by his casual attitude. He kicked at a stone, flipping it into a small water feature a couple feet away.
“Father probably should have killed you.” He looked back at her dismissively, but she could only stare.
“Why didn’t he?”
Ziyal stared at him, she only had one answer.
“I don’t know.”
He looked at her, almost disappointed but the expression left as quickly as it came. He let out a non-committal sound, before walking out of the gardens back inside.
Ziyal sat there for a long while in the heat. It was a different warmth than that of Dozaria or Bajor, it was peaceful. Dozaria’s sun beat down on you, scalding year round and so terribly dry. Ziyal recalled the agonizing of her fellow Cardassian prisoners after the summers on Dozaria, where scales would chip and bleed during the hottest months. She took pride in cleaning their scales for them, when she was deemed too weak to work after only a half day of labor. Her scales chipped awfully too, especially around her shoulders and elbows, but they all took care of each other on Dozaria. And Bajor, although it had its pleasant moments, was always a touch too cold for her liking in the later months.
Ziyal had spent all her life never knowing the warmth of Cardassia, but in this moment it was overwhelming. She struggled to stay present under the heat, her vision blurring slightly but never returning inside. Her father would come for her, as he promised, and she didn’t deserve to stand in this home. It wasn’t hers.
When her father finally returned, his face was grim and tired, and he took no note of her absent gaze. He took her hand and they left the home, walking towards the riverside and entering a small restaurant.
Her father strode over to a counter and ordered, before returning to the corner table Ziyal had chosen. When the food arrived Ziyal picked at her plate, trying to ignore the stares from the tables beside them. She felt unreasonably pressured to present herself properly to these strangers. She leaned in to her father, who picked at a plate of something she didn’t recognize.
“Father, what is that dish called?” She tried in Kardasi, her accent still a bit off.
Her father looked up at her with a placating smile, before replying in Standard.
“These are Taspar eggs, my dear.”
Ziyal frowned only slightly, continuing in Kardasi.
“Not Regova? I thought they were similar.”
Her father, frustratingly, continued in Standard.
“No, my dear, they are both often served fresh, but their similarities end there.” He smiled.
“And my dish?” Ziyal continued.
“Rokat.”
Ziyal repeated the word, not missing the way her father hid his cringing at her mispronunciation.
“You’re not rolling your r’s enough, Ziyal.” He said, still speaking to her in Standard. Ziyal took a frustrated bite of her Rokat. It was dry in her mouth, and far too salty, but she ate. The flavor was overwhelming.
“Then say it to me in Kardasi.” She challenged, swallowing despite the dryness in her throat.
“Ziyal…” He sighed, but it still lacked any accent of the natural Kardasi. He spoke her name with the Standard tongue.
“Rokat.” She said again, rolling her tongue as she spoke but still not hitting quite the right tone. Her father looked at her tiredly, and she flushed in embarrassment.
“Ziyal, you don’t have to try and speak in my tongue. I know you’re not familiar with it, you’re part Bajoran, it’s alright.” His voice was resigned, and Ziyal blinked back tears as he spoke.
It had only taken an afternoon and he was regretting her already.
“I want to speak it, father.” She paused, and for good measure, “It’s my tongue too.”
But her father was too smart for her. She had never had cause to lie, even if it was partially true. She wanted to speak their tongue with him, she wanted him to see that even if he lost his family he still had her. She could be enough for him, she had to be.
“You don’t have to pretend, it’s alright Ziyal.” He spoke softly but it wasn’t in Kardasi, or even Standard, it was Bajoran. Ziyal clenched her fist as he spoke, before he pressed a palm over her hand.
“I’m not pretending!” She held her ground, spitting out wobbly Kardasi while her father returned with a sigh of her name in Bajoran. What a sight the two of them must be, she thought bitterly. “I’m your daughter, I need to know how to speak it. I’m Cardassian too, father, please.”
He looked about to speak, before she cut him off quickly. If a lie wouldn’t do, honesty was her next best bet.
“Father…You knew she would leave you,” Ziyal swallowed her anxiety, pushing on before she could be interrupted. “You still took me home when you knew she would leave you and take everything with her.”
Her Kardasi wobbled, but she continued on and held a palm out to him.
“Please… the least I can do is speak with the tongue you gave me.”
Her father looked at her for a long while, surprise dancing behind his eyes, before he pressed his palm to hers. She smiled in relief.
This was her father, her family. They pressed palms gently, and she tried so desperately to think only of him. He was her family now. Everything she had now, was because of him, because of what he sacrificed for her. So she tried desperately to be his family, the one he’d left behind for her. The family who took one look at her and left. The family of her seven half-brothers and sisters, the family who- disregarding her little brother- she would never get the chance to meet.
Ziyal tried so desperately to know that her father was her family. But she couldn’t forget them. How could she forget the step-mother who didn’t want her? Her half-brothers and sisters who would never meet her? A family who didn’t care about her.
On Bajor, after the Occupation, family was by choice.
But Ziyal was not on Bajor.
On Cardassia, family is blood, even family who doesn’t want you.
But Ziyal was a child of contradictions.
So she would live in contradiction. She would be her father’s family, and he would be hers. She would be whatever he needed, because she was all he had left and the reason for his loss. She would be his perfect girl, his child made of flaws.
Contradiction was an exhausting existence, but she would survive.