NOTE: This is a sequel to Turnabout.
He wasn’t in love with her. He wasn’t in love with her. He had never been in love and most likely never would be; he was above relationships. And everyone knew it. He had made a point of making sure everyone knew it.
And yet, everyone was wrong, and they had been for quite some time now. To be certain there had been a time when they had been right, when all that had been true, but years of observing humanoids and how they lived had taken its toll. He was tired of being the odd man out, the one always left behind, condemned to wander from group to group, never staying long enough to be shut out, but never staying long enough to be drawn in.
So, it was a matter of simple fact that he could not let anyone know he had changed; he couldn’t cage himself into the population that allowed their hearts to guide them, that allowed what they felt to govern their actions, that wore their hearts seemingly on their sleeves. He could not enter that realm, could not step out of the crystal cage he had created himself. They would scoff him and tease him, railing against his carefully manicured facade as he peeked out from behind it, causing it to crumble and leave him facing a new world naked, with no protection.
But wasn’t that what he wanted: someone to destroy the wall for him because they wanted to know what was behind it? How long had he sat, waiting, for someone in search of him and not just some intriguing personae? He needed someone who would see him for who he was without him having to show that part willingly. He needed it pried from his heart and soul by someone he felt safe giving it up to. He had maintained his control for so long . . . he needed someone who could take control, who knew what they were doing and wouldn’t mind if he didn’t.
She only existed in his dreams, always in his dreams. She controlled them easily, stirring him from a resting state into an agitated one. He could always see her face, the one he saw so often while awake, the one that followed him and haunted him while he rested. He couldn’t get her out of his head. Nothing worked; he could not forget, could not push her aside, could not reconcile himself with the inevitable solitary existence that was so threadbare and lived in, and, at the same time, he could not love her. He could not allow himself to venture into the realm of the unknown without knowing that there would be something waiting for him.
And yet, at the same time, he could feel himself almost jumping at the chance of a relationship, any relationship. He had focused so much on her, on the possibilities, that soft seedlings of other possibilities with someone else seemed to constantly invade his mind. But, they never measured up to her, because reality rarely measures up to one’s dreams. He would never make the first move without some tell-tale sign . . . but could he be sure to recognize one? He had become so closed in on himself, created his own small but controlled world where everything conformed to his conceptions. But wasn’t that what he wanted? Hadn’t he searched each day for the haven in which he could retreat to safety? He had, by time, become a man tempered with patience; could he not wait a time more until someone entered his circle? forced their way in?
“Hmph.” He stood in his place, a sense of the mundane possessing him. He had been over this again and again each night even before he had been changed back from a humanoid. They haunted him each night, the dreams, frozen in their nature, always the same, never-changing. No progress could be made, not in that realm at least.
So, he did his best to make progress during the day, with his work. Order and efficiency were paramount; they ensured that the most progress could be made in the least amount of time. But then what did he care about time? He had all the time in the universe, didn’t he? To be sure he had no clue as to how long his people actually lived, but if they hadn’t been expecting him for another three hundred years . . .
But that was in the past now. He could do nothing to change it; he must live with that decision just as he had every other one. It would be easier to move on, forget about her. He had been playing that game for many years now, trying to act like he felt nothing, for her especially, just as he had pretended to fit in here and there, but knowing all along that he never really did. And then, he had started making friends, and slowly the disguise disappeared bit by bit, to be replaced by emotions and thoughts and love. He had fallen in love and become vulnerable, exposed to the unknown. There was no possible way in which his mask had shown him how to love effectively, and here he was in love. Eventually another disguise slid its way over, covering up who he was, what he didn’t know, and, so, what he feared.
At least, that was what he would have thought a mere week ago, but Arissa had managed to see through all that, as if it had been so flimsy and ineffective. She had shattered his distorted mirror and loved what she found: the naked soul of an unknown sample, Changeling, once-human, finally Changeling again. And then she had left. Had it only been a week?
He was alone again.
Or was he? He had been asking himself that question a lot lately, ever since his battle with reality, the encounter with the Major . . . Had he really turned her down? After all the time he had waited and pined and dreamed . . . but it had been too soon. The memories had been all too fresh.
But memories don’t love you back, no matter how much you may cherish them. They won’t smile brightly at you in the morning or listen intently to your speculations or even your problems. Memories are only false comfort for the time you spend in the dark, the time you spend in the shadows. If there was one thing he had come to know intimately over the years, it was the darkness, the shadows; they hid you well. From his first days in the Denorios Belt to now as he paced his quarters, the darkness was like a cloak that wrapped itself around you. But the cloak had a serious flaw: it could not keep him warm.
So why are you still standing here? Go to her! You spent half the time you knew Arissa suspecting her instead of . . . Go and relish every moment! Don’t waste any more time! Go! Odo ordered himself out the door. He would leap in before he had time to think or act or look or doubt.
He rang the chime again. No answer. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. If he just went back to his quarters, worked on a few reports, this would all settle down in his mind.
“Just a minute!” came the faint reply from within. It froze him to where he stood. He couldn’t leave now and have her find no one waiting. “Dammit!” came the cry from within. Odo was about to ask if she needed assistance or override the doors when they slid open before him. “Odo.” The name came as a sigh of relief from her lips. “Come in, come in,” she motioned.
“I’m sorry if I came at a bad time, Major.”
“No, no, not at all. I was just, ah, just taking a bath. Water can be real soothing to sore muscles.” She rubbed a towel at her wet hair, flopping wearily into a nearby chair but with a large smile. “Sit down, sit down. You make me nervous when you’re always standing around.”
“Good,” Odo responded, infected by Kira’s joviality. “That means I’m doing my job.”
Kira laughed heartily. “I must admit, Odo, I was hoping you’d drop by.” The smile disappeared as she started to fumble with the towel in her hands. “I was, ah, wondering if you’d thought about the other day, what I said.”
“I’ve been trying not to,” Odo stated plainly. Kira looked up, hurt at the apparent flat-out rejection. “What I mean is that I have a tendency to over analyze a situation. If I had been thinking about it, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“I’ve always thought thinking was overrated,” she mumbled. Why was she so nervous? so timid? Maybe because you gave him your heart, and you’re wondering now if he’s going to give it back or make an exchange.
“You know, Nerys,” Odo started, taking on an almost fatherly tone (almost), “I’m glad you didn’t get to know Arissa. I think you two probably would have killed each other within an hour of meeting.”
“An hour?” Kira questioned jokingly.
“Yes, I know, it does seem a tad on the long side, but both of you would have been determined not to make the first move.” He smiled a sad smile of remembrance. “I’m glad you hated her,” he said after a moment.
“What?” Kira asked incredulously.
“Now you know the kind of hell I’ve gone through all these years. First, Bareil and then, Shakaar . . .” Odo let his sentence dangle, putting all his meaning into those two names.
“Odo, what — what are you saying?” She wouldn’t dare interpret this lest she be wrong. She had started seeing Bareil almost three years ago.
“I’m in love with you, Nerys. I always have been, ever since that day I first saw you eating alone in the Replimat.”
“That was eight years ago! By the Prophets, Odo! Have I really been that blind?”
“No,” he answered with a smile. “I’m just good at keeping secrets — but I’m tired of keeping things away from you, Nerys. I’m tired of keeping myself away from you, separated by some inexplicable need to be independent and solitary.” He knelt before her and took up both her hands, but he could not look at her yet. He stared at the carpet for a moment, seeming to gain strength from it. Finally he looked into her eyes, and it was with a resolve she had never seen before in him . . . because it was unhindered. “I never really considered being in a relationship with someone; it would just be another disturbance in my life, wreaking havoc with my order. Plus, there were too many emotional strings attached that could tie me down or trip me up. It kept me away from you. But then, with Arissa, I learned that it wasn’t so bad. My precious order was still intact, it even started to improve. Everything had a reason behind it. Now my life is out of order, incomplete. I need you with me, Nerys. I always have in a way, I guess I was just too stubborn to admit it. So,” he said, pulling her up as he stood. “What do you think about all of this aimless rambling?” He smiled nervously as she seemed to search his eyes.
She twined her fingers more tightly in his as she closed the gap between them. They leaned into each other, lips meeting in fervent yearning. Slowly they pulled apart.
“I think they’re wonderful, almost as much as the orator.”
Odo ran his fingers through her still wet hair, trying to convince himself that this was all real, that she was finally his. “I’m sorry, Nerys.”
The smile on Kira’s face lessened, slightly perplexed. “Sorry? Whatever for, Odo?”
“For wasting so much time. I — I’m sorry.”
“Odo, that’s not your fault. No one would blame you for hesitating. I probably would have done the same thing.” A moment of silence invaded the room. “I guess we just both got sent on a small detour by the Prophets. Now we need to start making up for lost time. Eight years worth, I believe?” A rascality crept into Kira’s eyes.
“Eight, eighty or eight hundred, there’s no difference. I didn’t know who I was till I met you, I had no reason to. Don’t ever leave me, Nerys.”
“Only if you promise me one thing,” she said seriously.
“What?” Odo almost cursed the desperate tone to his voice.
“That you won’t ever leave me.”
“Major,” he said joshingly, “I think that will be the easiest promise I’ve ever had to keep.”
And as they sealed their pact with a kiss, the wormhole flared open, a silent reminder that things are not always as they seem and that something as simple as a wish of hope can change everything.
(-|-)
I will never know
‘Cuz you will never show
Come on and love me now.
-The Cardigans
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