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The Intendant can think what she wants, but kissing her isn’t giving in.
Oh no, Major Kira does not give in. Not on this.
She’ll never think that what she does is right: treating the Terrans the same way that the Cardassians enslaved and plundered Bajorans in her universe. She’ll never be her ally, her advisor, her confidant. She’ll never not be appalled that a version of her—as distant as this one might be—could be like this, could crush people who’ve been crushed their whole lives so easily beneath her sharp bootheels.
She’ll never be her friend.
But it’s not doing that—any of that—to admit that there’s something intoxicating about having her own face stare back at her that way. With admiration, excitement, but most of all, lust. Even if she knows that it’s just the Intendant’s own vanity that’s so very taken with her form. And even if she knows that the Intendant thinks this is a victory—that it proves that she can win Kira to her in more ways than this.
The Major knows better. She’s survived stronger stuff. She won a war, for the Prophets’ sake.
She never gave into the Cardassians who tried to pull her toward their beds. But perhaps there’s something she’s learned in the years since—that a seduction isn’t a supplication.
After all, who’s to say it won’t be the Intendant surrendering when Kira’s got her on her knees and screaming her name?