Contracts and Obligations Part III, Conclusion

[dark_sinestra]

Julian

Private Quarters

 

Julian stirred slightly and kicked his feet, trying to stave off a tickling sensation that seemed determined to drag him out of sleep. It did no good. Mumbling under his breath, he reached for his blanket to tuck it under his chin. It evaded his grasp. He awoke on a sharp gasp to darkness. “Computer, lights,” he said. The system didn't respond. “Who's there? Garak, is that you?”

 

Silence greeted his question, and he felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle. The changeling threat was so much in the forefront of everyone's mind these days. Who knew how they managed their infiltration techniques? He fumbled on his night stand for his comm badge. It was gone! Before he could get his drawer open to reach for his phaser, something or someone slammed it shut again. In a flash, he found himself bent back uncomfortably and spun over his bed sideways with a forearm at his throat and a rough hand thrusting beneath the elastic band of his pajama bottoms. Slightly rough skinned fingers massaged and stroked his flaccid cock demandingly, possessively.

 

“Garak,” he breathed. It had to be. He didn't think that a changeling that intended to replace him would bother molesting him first, not with the way they seemed to view solids. With his mind shifted to less sinister scenarios, he realized that his nose could have told him what he wanted to know. The scent of Cardassian arousal was sharp in the air. He felt his body begin to respond. “You could have gotten yourself shot,” he admonished half-heartedly. He meant for the rebuke to come out more forcefully.

 

“You'd need your phaser for that,” came Garak's taunting voice.

 

He felt something cold and hard tap him at the side of the jaw, the forearm at his throat shifting only slightly to allow it. He knew without having to ask what it was. “I hope you deactivated that before deciding to hit me with it,” he said, fighting a writhe. The tailor's hand was devastating his concentration.

 

“I thought you liked danger,” Garak purred.

 

He groaned softly, as much for the tone of voice as for the particularly wicked twist of the man's grip. “Something has you in a mood,” he managed.

 

The Cardassian's only answer was to shove him back further so that his head was forced back at a sharp angle and tilted upside down. He spread his legs to ease the pressure on his lower back and felt Garak's weight settle partially atop him between them. Garak pulled his hand out of his waistband and ground against him, the thicker trouser fabric gliding easily over the silky pajamas. Seriously in a mood, Julian thought dizzily, lifting his legs to wrap them at Garak's waist. The sensation of blood rushing to his head warred with the pulsing of his cock. He had to focus to get enough air, and he was almost sure that Garak intended just that. Quick, deft fingers unbuttoned his pajama top. He felt the rasp of a flattened tongue over his left nipple and juddered involuntarily, his fingers tightening at Garak's shoulders.

 

He wanted more than this sinuous dry humping and contact through clothing; however, he knew that with Garak in such a mood, any request for more would be met with the frustration of just more of the same, probably for longer than the tailor originally intended. There was also the uncomfortable sensation of that phaser now resting alongside his jaw. It wasn't that he believed Garak would shoot him, either accidentally or on purpose. It was that his training kept him acutely aware of the weapon and made it impossible for him to relax fully into the pleasure, yet another thing he believed deliberate on his lover's part.

 

He tried to shift himself so that the cusps of his shoulder blades weren't digging into the unpadded side of the bed. Garak immediately stopped his suckling, tongue flicking torture of his nipple and pressed his free hand firmly over his sternum, hard enough to increase the discomfort to pain. He relented the moment Julian stopped squirming. “Damn you,” Julian panted, dropping his head fully back once more. He was starting to feel dizzier. He could feel Garak's smile against his chest just a second before his teeth on his already sensitized nipple sent pleasure burrowing straight to the center of his groin. He hated the sound he made. It broadcast neediness and want loud and clear.

 

Garak pulled up and back with his hips, sharply enough to break Julian's leg clasp at his waist. He slid lower over the doctor's body. Julian gasped loudly and took in several gulps of unrestricted air the moment he felt his throat free of the forearm pressure. Before he could sit up or make himself more comfortable, he felt Garak's tilted fist at the dead center of his chest. He didn't have to see to know the phaser was pointed where his head would be, if he dared to lift it. Did he dare? Was he so certain Garak wouldn't stun him? He let out a soft sound that was half laughter, half pure frustration. The truth was he truly didn't know, and he wasn't interested in finding out, particularly when he had lips and a tongue doing such amazing things to the stretched taut skin of his belly.

 

He had a hard time deciding where to put his hands, settling on twisting them in the fitted sheet. It gave him a tiny bit of leverage, just enough that his mid-back wasn't taking all of the strain of the unnatural position. Garak raked his teeth just above his waistband. He hissed and tensed, the bite more suggestive of pain than actually painful. He expected him to pull the pajamas down, but he didn't. He mouthed right over them. Soon the fabric clung wetly to every curve of his cock, a protective barrier against the rougher ravages of Garak's teeth, something he couldn't have stood on bare flesh but that was exquisite through the silk. Blood pounded in his ears, his face as swollen from passion as position. He wondered if he would pass out when he came.

 

His lover wasn't yet intent on letting him find out. He seemed to sense the growing tension in Julian and pulled back with a final, light rake of teeth over the smooth curve of head. Julian lay still across the bed with his toes barely brushing the floor. He still couldn't see a thing, and not even his sensitive hearing could pick Garak's tread out of the background rumble of the station. Where are you? he thought, straining in vain to sight a shadow or catch a rustle. He imagined he could still feel that phaser pointed at him.

 

His lover's scent closed on him, and he inhaled deeply. He felt heat on his face and then wetness on his exposed throat, a viscous drop that rolled languidly toward the underside of his jaw. Licking his lips, he felt his breath come faster, wanting nothing more than to reach back and pull Garak to him, knowing the Cardassian wouldn't allow it. He felt exposed and wondered what sort of picture he presented to the tailor's eyes. Could he see color in the starlight? Would he know that he was flushed from chest to the roots of his hair? Could he see the race of his pulse and the pound of it at his temples and forehead? What are you waiting for?

 

He knew. On some level, he knew that he was testing him, waiting to see if he'd be foolish enough to press his own case, possibly even hoping he'd give him an excuse to stun him. This mood was subtly different from most of Garak's attempts to dominate him. He couldn't say how he knew it, but he did. Although Garak hadn't been as rough with him as he could get at times, there was some taint of underlying menace. It lay coiled in the tension of his body. Julian believed that even without the phaser, he'd know this was different. He gave him no reason to unleash it despite being half maddened with interrupted desire.

 

He moaned and felt his eyes roll back when the thick weight of his lover's obscenely wet cock slapped against the side of his cheek and rode over his parted lips. The man teased him with it, forced him to strain and twist himself almost too far back. He teetered on the sharp edge of the bed, wondering if he was about to take a plunge feet over head. The fitted sheet let loose at one corner of the thin mattress with an ominous pop, and he listed to his right. Garak relented, pushing inward insistently past his parted lips, gliding easily into the depths of his throat. It may have been an awkward angle for his head, but it was a perfect angle for this. He was ready for it, had been dying for it, his mouth hungry and drawing noisily. The muzzle of his phaser tickled the hollow of his throat, raising his skin to goose flesh.

 

Adjusting himself to Garak's punishing rhythm, he worked out the timing of his inhales to quick, shallow gasps on each draw back of hips. Of course, Garak found a way to throw him off, plunging deep and holding until he felt his eyes begin to water and his chest begin to tighten. He gasped loudly as soon as he was able and eventually stopped trying to anticipate, almost regretting letting Garak know how much breath games shattered everything but a semblance of his composure and made him so hard it literally hurt. He seemed to take perverse delight in finding what Julian believed to be his limits and pushing just a little further.

 

Garak flicked casually at his nipples with the thumb of his free hand. He felt like a marionette, jerking helplessly with each scrape of nail and wave of pleasure. His own cock leaped and bounced against his belly, struggling against its wet silk shroud. It was just enough to torment him, not enough for any sort of satisfaction. He bit back a groan. How long are you going to torture me?

 

He didn't get an answer to the unspoken question until well after his jaw was aching, and his back was rubbed tender and raw where it scraped the bed. He felt the tell-tale swell of cock in his mouth and prepared for a flood that didn't come. Garak pulled away suddenly, throwing him into a confusion of hands tugging him and turning him, his spinning and pounding head getting sudden relief as he was pulled upright across the bed, and his pajama bottoms being yanked off unceremoniously. Bent forward over the bed instead of back, he felt slick fingers preparing him perfunctorily and then the pleasure/pain of being penetrated too quickly. Garak's hand reaching around him, tight, wet, and rough, made him forget all about any discomfort. He came hard embarrassingly fast and felt himself filled before he was fully spent. Only then did he hear the clack of his phaser being set decisively on his night stand.

 

Garak's clothed chest pressed to his back. So he had only undressed himself as far as needed, Julian realized. He felt the man's firm lips brush lightly over the knob of spine at the base of his neck. Cold air hit the sweat drying on his back as the Cardassian pulled away. Now he could hear him in the darkness, pulling up his trousers. “Elim?” he asked, thrown into sudden uncertainty. He expected the tailor to spend the rest of the night with him, what little must have been left of it.

 

Garak's sigh came heavy in the darkness. “Indulge me, my dear,” he said, sounding drained. “I'll be wretched company if you persuade me to stay.”

 

He mulled this, lifting himself the rest of the way onto the bed and lying carefully on his side. “Is...something wrong?”

 

“No,” came the reply. “I was just...reminded of something tonight. I suppose I needed to get it out of my system.”

 

He smiled faintly and relaxed. He had learned that if Garak had a personal problem with him, he rarely skipped the chance to air it when confronted with the opportunity. “Did you?” he asked.

 

He felt lips brush his temple and the warm press of a hand over the curve of his shoulder. “Mostly.” The soft reply cooled the wet curls of hair at his forehead.

 

He chuffed a low laugh, hardly believing his own audacity—or was it stupidity—when he said, “Well, if you find it's still a problem later, you know how to crack my door code, but next time, bring your own phaser.” He was gratified when Garak snorted a dry, amused chuckle. He never laughed that way if something was truly wrong. “See you at lunch?”

 

“Yes,” he said, the weight on his hand increasing briefly against Julian's shoulder as he leveraged himself fully upright and released him.

 

Try as he might, he couldn't hear him departing. He heard nothing more until his door hissed open and shut. One of these days, I'm going to figure out how you do that, and when I do, I'm going to give you the shock of your life, he thought, amused in his exhaustion.

 

Garak

The Promenade

 

It had been such a simple thing to plant the almost microscopic tracer on his target, Flaxian technology, not Cardassian, a clumsy bump in the habitat ring with a sincere sounding but not obsequious apology. He doubted Brunt even remembered the encounter or would pay particular attention if he saw Garak again. He was that sort of man, self-important and self-absorbed enough only to note and mark that which he felt had the power to affect him, either positively or negatively. What was a simple Cardassian businessman too distracted to pay attention to where he was going to a Ferengi liquidator?

 

Brunt had been in the bar for hours now, likely doing his best to intimidate the unfortunate owner. Garak idly wondered if the obviously wealthy agent of commerce had set the entire thing up. He had taken the liberty of doing a little checking in the afterglow of his unannounced visit to the doctor the night before. Orpax wasn't the sort of doctor who routinely made mistakes, particularly ones that could cost him as much as a malpractice suit for an erroneous fatal diagnosis. He could have dug deeper, taken a look at financial records and transactions corresponding with the dates just before and during Quark's trip home, except that the circumstances of how the situation came to be didn't matter as much as the particulars of what was happening now. He was aware he had a tail. Rom hadn't been far away since their confrontation the day before, even when he should have been working. For a people with such acute hearing, he wondered how it was that Rom could make so much noise when trying to be stealthy. It was possible he wanted Garak to know he was there but unlikely.

 

Garak sank deeper into shadow. Something was happening in the bar. He heard raised voices. To his surprise, a mass exodus followed. He broke the contract, he realized. I don't believe it. He expected Quark to come up with a clever way to deal with the contract, not to bankrupt himself. It was worse than that. Now there was no way he could target Brunt, not without getting Quark implicated in the death. Of course, the moment Quark was implicated, he knew that the little weasel would turn eyes his way. With that much attention on the liquidator, it would only be a short matter of time before everything came to light.

 

Annoyed, he stepped out of his observation spot, looking for all the world as though he had simply been taking a stroll, and began to walk toward the turbolift. He had no desire to stay behind and watch his former target empty the bar and gloat. He felt deeply disappointed in Quark. He expected more from him. Rom jumped onto the turbolift behind him just as he turned to face outward.

 

“I suppose you have no reason to kill Brother now,” he said, his words clipped and angry. Garak didn't reply, simply lacing his hands loosely in front of him and waiting for his stop. “If it's about money, tell me what he owed you. It may take me a while to pay it off, but I will.”

 

Garak cut his eyes sideways in irritation. “That's what you think it was about? Money? You were never righter when you said you don't know me,” he said tightly.

 

Rom studied him closely for the remainder of the ride and stepped off with him on his H-ring. “I know you don't like Brother. None of the Cardassians ever did, but to agree to kill him?” He shook his head. “It doesn't make sense. You've worked too hard to stay here, not to call attention to yourself, except when you blew up your shop, but that was different.”

 

Garak stopped walking. “If you have a point to make, I suggest you make it. I'm not in the mood for this right now.”

 

Rom licked his lips, looking less certain of himself. “You...weren't after Brother,” he said quietly.

 

“Don't be ridiculous. A contract...”

 

“Is a contract, is a contract, yes,” Rom said, “but only among Ferengi. You know that, which also means you wouldn't feel bound by whatever you signed with Brother. I was here for a while before the occupation ended. I know a little about Cardassians, too. A...a little about you.”

 

“Then you know I'm not a sentimental man,” Garak said dangerously.

 

Rom nodded. “I know, which makes me appreciate what you were going to do all the more. If you had told me, I could've made sure Brother didn't cave to Brunt before you had the chance to make your move,” he said with a touch of accusation in his voice.

 

Garak frowned sharply. “How about we don't have this conversation in the corridor?” he asked pointedly, guiding Rom by the arm with a firm hand the rest of the way to his quarters and pulling him inside after him. He let him go when the door closed and turned on him. “If you hadn't been so quick to assume I was going to kill Quark, I might have told you,” Garak retorted. “As it stood, I couldn't risk saying anything to you for fear you'd react emotionally, or worse tell Quark, who might have been foolish enough to warn the liquidator.”

 

Rom sighed unhappily. “It doesn't matter now. Brother is ruined, and Brunt is going to be on his ship headed back to Ferenginar first thing in the morning, most likely. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I doubted you.”

 

“Don't be,” Garak said harshly. “If you know Cardassians, if you know me, then you ought to know...”

 

“I do know,” Rom cut him off. “But this time, I was wrong.”

 

Garak inclined his head, uncomfortable with the conversation and wanting it to come to an end. “You should go to him. I imagine he could use a friendly face right now.”

 

He nodded. “Actually, I need to go talk to Chief O'Brien first. I...wasn't exactly authorized to take the time off to keep an eye on you. If I'm lucky, he'll let me make it up a little tonight. Besides, Brother wouldn't want me there to see them cleaning the place out. It would humiliate him too much.”

 

“As much as he has humiliated you...” Garak couldn't stop himself from saying.

 

Again, Rom cut him off. “I don't expect you to understand it. Sometimes I'm not even sure I understand it. I love my brother. I don't enjoy seeing him brought down, not when it's not his fault. He may have done a lot of questionable things over the years, but he didn't deserve this, not any of it, and I'm going to do whatever I need to do to make sure he gets through it.”

 

He doesn't deserve you, either, Garak thought. He knew there was no use arguing, nor was it his place. He was surprised he had said as much as he had. “I'm sure you will,” he said instead. “Now, if you don't mind, I've had a rather dull, unproductive day. I'm ready to unwind, and it's impossible for me to do that properly with uninvited house guests.” Rom smiled oddly as he turned toward the door. “Did I say something amusing?” Garak asked, one brow ridge lifting.

 

The door hissed open, and the Ferengi paused on the threshold. “No, but...you're only rude to people you like. With everybody else, you're overly polite.” He left before Garak could think of a sufficient retort.

 

He knows me better than I thought, he thought. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. In his current state of mind, he thought it best to drop the subject altogether and take a long, hot bath.

 

Julian

Ward Room

 

Looking around at the puzzled faces of the senior staff, Julian didn't feel quite so bad about being clueless as to why they had been summoned so suddenly and so late in the evening. Not even Dax, who usually had her finger on the pulse of various happenings around the station, seemed to have any idea why they were there. He took a seat next to her and mostly succeeded in not wincing when he sat back too quickly against his chair back.

 

Captain Sisko strode in shortly later, putting an instant stop to Kira's and Miles' subdued murmuring to one another. “People,” he said without preamble, “it has come to my attention that we are facing a crisis.”

 

“Is there an impending attack?” Worf asked, sitting up straighter, if that was possible.

 

“No,” Sisko said. “Make no mistake, what I am talking about could still have devastating consequences if we don't jump on this and get a handle on the problem. The FCA just closed Quark's Bar, seized all of his assets, and forbade Quark from doing further commerce with other Ferengi. I don't need to tell you what effect this is going to have on morale on this station. The question is what are we going to do about it?”

 

“They're taking everything?” Dax asked. At Sisko's grim nod, she said, “Well, we could provide him with new things. There's a lot of spare furniture sitting around the station. It may not be as attractive as what he had, but who's going to complain about that in the face of the alternative?”

 

“I have a case of brandy I just bought,” Julian said. “I know it's not much. I imagine if we ask around, I'm not the only one with a little liquor to spare.”

 

“Quark won't accept it,” Odo spoke up. “He's too proud for that. He'll look on this as charity.”

 

“Then we're just going to have to make sure that it doesn't come across that way,” Sisko said with a determined smile. “Get moving, people. We need to canvass the station for furniture, supplies, alcohol, and condiments, not to mention volunteers. The longer this situation drags, the bigger chance we have that people are going to start leaving this station in droves.”

 

Julian smiled despite himself. Quark wasn't his favorite person, true. It didn't mean he deserved to have everything taken from him, and the captain was right. The bar was important to station morale, to his own morale. He stood at the same time Dax did. She turned to him with a mischievous grin. “I just bought the most hideous glasses as a practical joke for my sister. I can't wait to see Quark's expression when he sees them!”

 

He wondered how the liquidator would feel had he stayed behind just a little longer to see the ant nest he had stirred. He doubted he would even understand the impulse behind it. He rather hoped that at some point he returned, only to find Quark not only afloat but prospering. It reminded him of childhood scavenger hunts. The excitement built as civilians chipped in, people emerging from their quarters to offer an oddly shaped vase, more pickle forks than any one individual had any business possessing, large jars of candied fruits, salted tidbits, and more strange odds and ends than Julian had ever seen. The bar wouldn't be the same place it had been. It promised to be much more interesting, at least to look at.

 

Within less than three hours, they had what they needed. It was time for the show to start. Captain Sisko approached Julian and said low enough that no one else could overhear, “Doctor, you do the honors. You've had a rough few months. You deserve a little fun.” He raised his voice and turned to look at Dax. “Wait a few minutes, and follow him in, Old Man. The rest of you, look sharp, and remember, this isn't charity.”

 

Fighting the beaming grin that kept trying to erupt, Julian squared his shoulders and hefted his case of brandy. He strode confidently through the double doors. He had his lie ready on his lips and no intention of backing down from it. When he saw Rom seated on the steps with Quark, he felt even better. Maybe this would be the start of better relations with Garak's friend.

 

Garak

Private Quarters

 

Bathed, sated from dinner, and comfortable in his robe on his sofa, Garak frowned slightly when his wall comm chirped. Who was calling him at such a late hour? He doubted it was Julian. These days he was much more likely just to come by if he wanted something. He didn't want to deal with Rom again that night. Reluctantly, he set aside his PADD and rose, circling behind the sofa and completing the connection. He saw quarters that looked like Major Kira's with no one standing in the frame. “Hello?” he called.

 

He thought he heard Ziyal's voice coming through the speaker faintly, as though she was a large distance from the console or perhaps turned away. She seemed to be talking to someone else. He couldn't quite make out the words. “Ziyal?” he called more loudly. “Ziyal, are you aware you activated a comm link?” He wondered if she had done so by accident. It wasn't likely, but it was possible to do if one had a number programmed in automatically.

 

He saw her pass quickly in front of the camera, her long, black hair down and in some disarray, her hands moving choppily, fingers spread and tense. “Ziyal!” he said. “Where is Major Kira?”

 

“Who said that?” her voice came from just off screen, odd and thrumming with fear.

 

“Damn it,” Garak murmured under his breath, cutting the transmission and hurrying to his bedroom to strip from his robe and pajamas and pull some clothes on. He didn't bother fully fastening the tunic until he was out in the corridor and on his way to Major Kira's. He covered the distance at a swift jog, keeping the phaser in his hand close to his thigh in case he ran across anyone on the way. When he reached her door, he rang the hail, neither expecting nor receiving an answer. Tucking his phaser into his belt, he quickly cracked the entrance code and re-palmed his weapon before the door could finish opening. He rolled in low and leaped back to his feet.

 

Ziyal was huddled against the far wall to the right of the bedroom door, her knees to her chest beneath her long white nightgown. She didn't seem to see him, her wide eyes upturned as though someone stood in front of her. Just to be sure, Garak hurriedly swept the bedroom and refresher. Satisfied that they were alone, he set the phaser on Kira's dresser and slowly emerged from the bedroom. “Ziyal,” he said gently, “you called me. Do you remember?”

 

She glanced away from her fixed point and toward him, a look of confusion passing over her features. “Garak?” she asked. “I...” She whirled her head back to the front. “I said no! Don't touch me!”

 

The waking dream, he thought, or nightmare, rather. “Dearheart,” he said soothingly, “you need to listen to me. You're having a waking dream. You came to me about this before. We talked about it. Have you been doing the exercises I gave you?”

 

She turned her head toward him again, blinking rapidly. She glanced back to the spot before her, back to him, and sagged at the shoulders. “I...” She took a deep breath. “I called you. The exercises help a little. It's like drowning, though. I break the surface, and I go under again. I'm so sorry for calling you.” She wiped her cheeks with her palms. “Nerys...left earlier tonight. I told her I'd be fine.” Her lips twisted in her effort not to cry. “How pathetic is this? I suppose it's a good thing I haven't sold many paintings yet. I wouldn't be able to stay alone in any quarters I rented.”

 

“Alone?” He frowned and approached her, squatting to her side so as not to crowd her or intimidate her in case she had lingering anxiety from her hallucination. “What do you mean alone? Where has Major Kira gone?”

 

She looked down at her sock clad toes peeking from beneath her nightgown hem. “She's going to be living with Chief O'Brien and his family until the baby is born. She said I could stay here and keep some life in the place while she was gone. I didn't want her to go. I knew it would be selfish to say anything, though. It was obvious she was having enough trouble with the idea without my making it harder by being a baby about it.”

 

She expects to be an afterthought, he realized. Why shouldn't she? What experience has she had in her short life to tell her any differently? He went down to his knees from his squat and edged closer, reaching for her. She stiffened in surprise before curling into his embrace as trustingly as a small child. “You can call me any time you need to,” he said, pressing her head to his chest. It was so strange, this impulse toward protectiveness. Was it because of everyone he had met in his life she was the first person he had ever found that was a true twin to him in isolation, or was it because somehow being there for her in her need made all the times no one had been there for him more bearable?

 

“But...” she started a weak protest.

 

“I know what I said before. Major Kira wasn't pregnant then.” Silence descended on them for a time. He felt her pulse at her temple slow beneath his fingertips. “I'm going to give you some new exercises to try. I'm afraid your brain is just too developed already for the others to work properly.”

 

She chuffed a small laugh. “That's the first time I've ever heard that brain development could be a bad thing.”

 

He smiled, amused despite the situation. “It's not a bad thing, just bad timing. Would you like for me to stay here tonight? I'll be perfectly fine on the couch when you're ready to go to sleep.”

 

She hesitated and nodded against his chest. “I...could show you some of my work.”

 

His smile deepened. “What? You've finally decided I'm worthy of seeing it?”

 

She slapped his arm lightly and pulled back with a rueful smile. “You know that's not it! I've been...self-conscious. Your opinion matters to me, and you're not somebody who'll tell me I'm good if I'm really not, not like Nerys or Father.”

 

“Well, let's see then,” he said, climbing to his feet and pulling her up by the hands.

 

She guided him to the sofa and gestured for him to sit. “Stay there. I've got most of it stored in the closet so Nerys wouldn't feel like I was crowding her out of her own quarters. I've got paintings and sketches. Are you sure you want to do this? You're probably tired.”

 

“I may be older than you, young lady, but I don't have one foot in the grave yet. I can stay up past my bedtime occasionally without ill effect,” he said, lightly teasing her.

 

She grinned and flitted into the bedroom. He didn't know what he had been expecting to see. It wasn't what she brought. Her paintings were mostly abstracts, strange, uncomfortable juxtapositions, hybrids. Her use of color was subtle and restrained, mature well beyond her years. He realized with no small sense of irony that were she not what she was, she could have easily achieved success either on Cardassia or Bajor, and yet, were she not what she was, her art wouldn't be what it was, a true expression of her condition. The undisguised yearning in it broke his heart a little; her anxious expression as she awaited his judgment broke it a little more. He was very glad not to have to find fault or lie, and that in and of itself was a novel thing. “You're an artist,” he said after she brought the last. There were about a dozen in all. “I would be proud to have any one of these on my wall.”

 

“I've seen your collection,” she said, eyes wide. “Don't patronize me, Garak. Please. I know I have a lot of work to go before I'm anywhere near great. Father used some of his money and influence on Cardassia to get me a gallery showing. Hardly anybody came, and most of those who did said...unkind things.”

 

“Unkind things are not always honest things, and honesty isn't always unkind,” he said. He could see she was on the verge of tears again. “Please, believe me.”

 

“I do,” she said, and he realized she wasn't sad after all. “Which one do you want?”

 

“You pick one for me,” he said. “I trust your judgment.”

 

She bit her lower lip and turned to look at all the canvases arrayed against the wall and a side table. “This one,” she said, lifting a rather large one, an ellipse in dusk blue and moody grays and blacks with a small reddish sphere off center and one thin, vivid slash of yellow rising toward the upper right like a swift bird in flight. It struck him as a sweetly hopeful gesture anchored in sober reality. “Unless you want another?”

 

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “It's perfect. Now, come show me these sketches of yours, and then let's try to get a little sleep, shall we?”

 

The Promenade

 

Garak passed completely by Quark's before realizing that it wasn't the empty husk he expected to see, and the doors were open despite the early hour. He stopped in his tracks and doubled back, looking inside. The place was fully furnished. Some of the furnishings were mismatched. Some of the glasses on the back shelf were unbelievably tasteless. Quark had his back to the entrance, arranging a few things behind the bar.

 

Garak felt a sudden, unreasonable frisson of anger. It was clear what had happened. The station residents had chipped in during the night to keep the bar afloat, to come to Quark's rescue. No one, not even Julian, had tried to tell him about it or get his help. The fact that he was unlikely to give it was beside the point.

 

No one had lifted a finger to help him when he blew up his shop. Most people had been kept unaware of the circumstances, believing it an accident or assassination attempt. It wasn't even that he had wanted or expected help at the time. He didn't know what it was, other than he was furious. He slipped into the dim interior and began his stalk toward the bar. We have some unfinished business, after all, he thought coldly. He took care to avoid throwing reflections in the bar mirror and waited for Quark to head into his back office to follow, unseen and unheard. Quark gave a satisfying squawk when Garak grabbed him from behind, an arm at his throat. “Surprise,” Garak whispered at his ear.

 

“Garak! Garak, it's off! It's off; do you hear me? I broke the contract! I broke it; oh, please, don't kill me. I'm not surprised! I know it's coming! That was the agreement; you'd surprise me!” The words tumbled from him in a high pitched rush. “I don't want to hear my vertebrae snapping! It's the most awful sound. You have no idea. No idea, please!”

 

He released him with a wave of contempt, his hand feeling soiled where it had cupped the slightly greasy orange neck. “You and I had an agreement, too,” he said, his blue eyes hard and icy. “No cancellation clause.”

 

Quark swallowed audibly and rubbed at his throat. Garak realized he was wearing an outfit he had made for Rom a few years before. It didn't quite fit the Ferengi properly. “I don't have any money right now,” he said. “I...I can make some in time. Even if you were to kill me right now, you wouldn't get anything. All of the furniture in here belongs to Starfleet. They're renting storage space for it from me. That's all!”

 

Garak advanced on him, forcing him to retreat. “I know you're not that stupid,” he hissed. “Do you really think I am?”

 

“I'll get your money to you,” Quark panted. “I swear! It's just going to take a little time. I'll pay you off before I do anybody else. What do you want from me? It's the best I can do!”

 

“I expect interest at the same rate you'd charge for such a favor,” he told him. “You're not the only businessman on this station, Quark, and I take my business very, very seriously. Do we understand one another?”

 

Quark nodded, clearly frightened. “Perfectly,” he said. “Can I...get you a drink? On the house.”

 

“I don't drink this early,” he said, turning on his heel. The anger left him as quickly as it had seized him. He frowned to himself as he walked out and headed toward his shop. Why should he care if anyone had helped Quark? Why should it matter that no one bothered to ask him a question that he would've answered in the negative? It shouldn't, he thought, but it does. He knew he wouldn't be able to put the issue to rest until he could figure out why, and he sensed that knowledge might be some time in coming.

 

The End



Comments

[blossommorphine.livejournal.com]

So. I was suppose to be in bed over an hour ago. XD

I like how you made it likely that Brunt arranged the misdiagnosis, making sense as he seems to hold Quark and Rom up as everything that corrupts pure Ferengi values, but Quark being the true threat, since he own a business. It seems like such a comical episode on the outside, but you can definitely see how it affected Quark and Rom's outlook on what it means to hold to doctrine at the expense of your self.

Garak getting frisky because he was reminded of the old days was pretty delicious to read, though with a level of... unease. I had a feeling he was role-playing Julian being a prisoner he was interrogating, which was a little disturbing (though I don't get the impression that he was getting off on the idea of force, but of mastering [dubcon, rather than noncon]). I wonder if Julian fully realized that. My unease comes with Julian not knowing, because in reality, all parties involved in a role-play should be fully informed before starting, not with the fantasy itself.

Finally, Garak's continuing feeling of being always being on the outside, while people he holds in contempt (like Quark) are considered in, are so raw to read. "It's not that I wanted to, but that they didn't ask", of not being included or thought of, can hurt more than being outright excluded because at least then you were a factor in their thoughts. Ouch.

As usual, brilliant. Well done!

♥

[dark-sinestra.livejournal.com]

I can't tell you how often I've been sleep deprived by reading fanfic. hehe Fun stuff!

I think that was true of so many of the Ferengi comedic episodes. On the surface, they were all for the lolz, but scratch beneath, and there was a lot more going on. I got suspicious of Brunt in this episode when he wasn't even slightly surprised that Orpax mis-diagnosed, and thus Garak's suspicion for this tale was born.

Yay! I'm thrilled the sex scene was a little...uncomfortable. That was exactly what I intended. Things were going on there that weren't above board or healthy, for either of them.

Even though Garak has a few more friends in my story than he did in the series, he's still very much the outsider. I think had he been a true series regular, they would've developed more associations for him, too. That is a really unpleasant place to be, not even an afterthought, just...not thought of at all. Quark always seemed to get too much credit for the things he did, and Garak never got enough, IMO, so naturally, that gets reflected in my fic. Thanks for the review! I really appreciate it. :-D

[jgalt44.livejournal.com]

So, Garak is pissy people didn't offer to help him clean up the shop he blew up? *pets Garak* I wouldn't have helped that weasel Quark, sweetie, but you blew up your own shop. I like the outsider feelings, because he has that in common with Julian, he just doesn’t know it. I'm going to ditto that the sex was creepy, but compelling to read. Asphyxiation kinks always make nervous and I found myself needing to pause to take a few deep breaths.

[dark-sinestra.livejournal.com]

Yes, yes, when jealousy rears its ugly head... :D I think even he knew he wasn't being exactly reasonable. He was just too angry and resentful to care.

He and Julian have so much in common, if they'd just *talk* about it. Any bets on when or if that'll happen? Dysfunction junction strikes again.

I'm so happy about that sex scene. It's really gratifying when you go for a mood, and people feel it. Thank you for letting me know!

[meteorprime.livejournal.com]

Poor Garak, I'm surprised that even Jule's and Leeta didn't,think to ask him- though I suppose theyre still quite young hearted and would have been so swept up by the excitement that any thought of hurting Garak wouldn't have even come into their minds. In fact they probably didnt go to Garak cause they knew he wouldn't want to help. Though i'm sure Garak doesn't see it that way. I know what it feels like to be the outsider Garak- I've been there. *Offers consoling hug* Thoughs he's a rigth little *grumbels rude words under breathe* i'm gald Brunt isn't dead. He was an unednning source of amusement for me, and in a strange way I did kinda like him. Though I really loved Mirro Mirror verse Brunt- He was sooo sweet and nice! poor him- they always kill the ones I like! >:'
I see what you mean about the Ferengi episodes. Theyre strange those episodes- like marmite- you either love them or hate them.

Another great chappie! Ohh creepy Garak....

M

[dark-sinestra.livejournal.com]

That was pretty much it, swept up in the moment. Even if Julian had given thought to Garak, he would've come to the conclusion that he wouldn't want to help and would take it as an opportunity to get snarky. Thus are misunderstandings born.

I couldn't have him kill Brunt! Every story needs its weasels. I personally love marmite, and Ferengi episodes. :-D So glad you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for letting me know!

[lady-drace.livejournal.com]

Hehe, this was fun. You sneakily made it feel like not too far off canon and yet had so much going on behind the scenes. A very nice read! And the G/B nookie was surprisingly hot, despite being on the wrong side of rough for me.

Another thing I really admire is how you seem to catch all those little bits of info that we usually don't notice and connect them to a bigger issue. How Ziyal would be living alone with Kira at the O'Briens', how the rest of Garak and Quark's 'arrangement' turned out when it wasn't actually needed anymore and how Brunt was totally on the spot too quickly to be coincidence.

Very good work! And can I just wedge in a little squee here at the increased G/B goodness?? *tiny squee*

[dark-sinestra.livejournal.com]

I had a lot of fun writing this one. My favorite episodes to write around are the ones with lots of wiggle room for back story. I usually pick things that I wondered about when watching the show and run with it. I jokingly call my series DS9 Sub-prime, because it mostly covers the secondary characters and little plot gaps that would've made terrible TV but work better in vignette short story form.

Thank you so much for the feedback. I always wonder if other people wondered about the behind the scenes goings-on as much as I did and enjoy seeing them fleshed out. I love the G/B, too, and squees are too adorable. :-D Thanks again!