More DS9 fic
May. 2nd, 2004 11:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
selenakDespite severe RL obstacles, the next installment of Quark's Day demanded to be written, fueled by the kind feedback.
Being called to Ops for an early chat with Sisko usually meant trouble, but now and then profit as well. Quark could see repairs were still on-going when he arrived; Jadzia, who was busy using some fine-tuning device on her station, winked at him, so he knew it couldn’t be too bad. On the other hand, the shape next to Sisko’s was Odo’s, not Kira’s, which meant some of the leverage Quark had wouldn’t be useable.
The Captain looked carefully neutral when Quark entered his office. He was sitting behind his desk, fingering his baseball, and not for the first time, Quark wondered what Sisko would have left for Dukat if he had been a tongo player at heart. He couldn’t quite see Dukat keeping a tongo wheel around.
There was an aura of constant exhaustion around Sisko these days that hadn’t been there before the war started. He moved differently, too, and his public pronouncements tended to sound as if he were taking too many lessons from Kai Winn. Inside his office, though, he was still sharp and to the point.
“Quark,” he said, “we are preparing to transfer Dukat to Starfleet Medical.”
Quark waited. Sisko looked at Odo, who stood next to the desk, back ram-rod straight as always.
“Several items from his personal property appear to be missing,” Odo said tersely.
“Did Dukat complain?” Quark asked, all amazement. “You people are even more generous than I thought with your beaten enemies.”
“Major Kira noticed it when she searched his quarters for Ziyal’s belongings,” Sisko replied, and Quark nearly nodded before catching himself. Of course, he had known that Dukat was in no state to complain about anything right now.
“Damar’s quarters look somewhat empty, too,” Sisko continued, “at least according to this security report.” He pointed towards his desk.
Originally, Quark had planned to make an appropriate noise about the dangers of vandalism and Bajorans expressing their feelings. It wasn’t as if anyone could prove anything, and he was pretty sure neither Sisko nor Odo guessed his motive. Which was simple. None of the Cardassians had had time to pack, exactly. But even during the first occupation, when they had had all the time of the world for their withdrawal and had taken what they considered valuable, there had still been leftovers some of them later turned out to be looking for. Quark recognised a market when he saw one, and an opportunity for maintaining contacts. He didn’t intend to sell any of those pictures, cloths or cups on the black market, which was probably what Odo suspected. No, he’d keep them in storage, and return them to their rightful, grateful owners for a reasonable finder’s fee, unharmed by any damage either angry Bajorans or nosy Federation officials might inflict. The fact he was glad the second occupation was over didn’t mean he wanted to be on bad terms with the departed forces. If the last years had proven anything, it was that you never could be sure when they would return.
The plan had been to do the usual thing and go through the old routine of protestations of innocence and stern “if we catch you” warnings with Sisko and Odo, but standing here, Quark suddenly felt sick of it. He had skipped his own breakfeast because he wanted to be at the bar in time and because he hadn’t felt that hungry, and now his growling stomach was punishing him for it.
“Well,” he said, ostensibly to Sisko but looking straight at Odo, “security has been lacking these last months, hasn’t it?”
“Not any longer,” Odo bit back, and the gravelly voice was coated in the anger Quark felt himself.
The small, clicking noise that came from the Captain’s fingers drumming on the table kept him from his next retort.
“Gentlemen,” Sisko said. “If you feel the need for a private conversations, then by all means, be my guests. It’s not like we have a war going on.”
“I never feel the need for private conversations with Quark,” Odo said stiffly.
“Guess you’re in luck then,” Quark returned. “I never felt less like talking to you, either, Constable.”
“As I said,” Sisko repeated, glaring at both of them, “we have all the time in the world. Now. Quark, the last thing the Federation needs is being accused of pilfering Cardassian goods. We’re trying to look different from our enemies.”
Quark said nothing. He wasn’t about to cave in front of Odo now, and Sisko couldn’t prove anything. Besides, he suspected the Captain was going through the motions anyway. So he looked back and passed the time by wondering which of his waiters would try to keep the tips today. Give them three months away from Ferenginar, and they thought they would actually get through with this. The inevitable corruption of life with the Federation.
“Benjamin,” said Jadzia’s voice from the entrance, “could I borrow Quark for a moment?”
Sisko frowned.
“It’s about the wedding,” she added, and a reluctant smile tugged at Sisko’s mouth. He waved his hand and sighed.
“Off you go,” he told Quark. “But let’s be clear on this – one complaint in the media, and I’ll have Odo search your storage facilities.”
Quark forebore mentioning that it was Sisko who was connected to the media, and with great effort, he even surpressed a gloating smile as he passed Odo on his way out. He beamed at Dax as she entered the turbolift with him.
“You’ll never end up in the vault of eternal destitution now. Thank you.”
“Good for me,” she said drily. “Bankruptcy is a bad basic for marriage. But I really wanted to talk to you about the catering.”
He couldn’t stop his face from falling just the tiniest bit.
“Doesn’t the… Worf want one of these Klingon weddings where everyone drinks so much blood wine that they don’t care about the food anyway?”
“Actually, I had my bachelor party in mind,” Jadzia said and smiled at him. He could see tiny wrinkles crinkling the skin around her eyes, and one or two grey hairs in her dark hair which had not been there before the war. For some reason, probably because of her symbiotic nature, he had always assumed her flawless beauty would be eternal. The discovery that this wasn’t true made his throat feel constricted. Impulsively, as they walked towards the bar side by side, he took her hand, which was cool and dry as always, so very different from a Ferengi and, and yet so capable of aquiring and never letting go.
“Jadzia,” Quark said impulsively, “don’t marry him. Let’s run away together.”
She didn’t laugh or remove her hand, but she continued to smile.
“But I could never come between you and your bar, Quark,” she said in that fond, teasing tone she always used with him. “You know you’d never leave it. You two even remained together through another occupation.”
“But one day I’ll have my own moon,” Quark replied, driven by an urgency he barely understood himself. “Why not start searching for one now? This war is so… stupid, Jadzia. It will get the bar destroyed. It will get… people killed,” he ended, because at the last moment, he found he couldn’t say what he meant.
It almost got Rom killed. It might get Nog killed. It can get you killed. It made me kill. It’s eating at all of us, Jadzia, and there is no profit in handing out parts of yourself until nothing is left.
But he couldn’t say that, not even to her. So instead, he repeated:
“Let’s run away together,” and even while he spoke, he knew she would never agree. Her smile had vanished, but she still held his hand.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Benjamin just got his miracle from the Prophets, but he’s not the only one those wormhole aliens talk to, is he? You did tell me you managed to persuade them to change the Nagus back for you. Quark, if you can persuade them to find a universe where I never met Worf and where the Dominion has no hold in the Alpha Quadrant, I’ll go with you there.”
Then, she gently removed her fingers, one by one, from his hold. He suddenly realized he had a choice there: he could take her words seriously, which was undoubtedly what The Walking Frown would do, or he could pretend they had been jesting all the time, just like they always did. But if he took her seriously, where would that leave him? Not talking with the Prophets again. He had disliked every second of his encounter with them the last time, and that had been before he had known they could wipe out an entire fleet with a thought. Besides, even if by some miracle he could persuade them to find such a universe, what would be stopping them from changing him the way they had devolved the Nagus, so he would fit in there better? He didn’t want to be another Quark, one who might equal Rom in idiotic philantropy. Much as he disliked having bad dreams and watching Jadzia with that stupid Klingon she was wasting herself on, and worrying about who could die next when he should just worry about whether whoever it would be had made any will, he was the only Quark he wanted to be.
“So,” he said, “how many people at your party are we talking about?”
“Loads,” Jadzia replied, and the familiar sparkle in her gaze almost denied the sadness he had seen there earlier. But he never could forget that for a moment, it had been there.
Coming up next: Lunch, featuring, naturally, Garak.
Being called to Ops for an early chat with Sisko usually meant trouble, but now and then profit as well. Quark could see repairs were still on-going when he arrived; Jadzia, who was busy using some fine-tuning device on her station, winked at him, so he knew it couldn’t be too bad. On the other hand, the shape next to Sisko’s was Odo’s, not Kira’s, which meant some of the leverage Quark had wouldn’t be useable.
The Captain looked carefully neutral when Quark entered his office. He was sitting behind his desk, fingering his baseball, and not for the first time, Quark wondered what Sisko would have left for Dukat if he had been a tongo player at heart. He couldn’t quite see Dukat keeping a tongo wheel around.
There was an aura of constant exhaustion around Sisko these days that hadn’t been there before the war started. He moved differently, too, and his public pronouncements tended to sound as if he were taking too many lessons from Kai Winn. Inside his office, though, he was still sharp and to the point.
“Quark,” he said, “we are preparing to transfer Dukat to Starfleet Medical.”
Quark waited. Sisko looked at Odo, who stood next to the desk, back ram-rod straight as always.
“Several items from his personal property appear to be missing,” Odo said tersely.
“Did Dukat complain?” Quark asked, all amazement. “You people are even more generous than I thought with your beaten enemies.”
“Major Kira noticed it when she searched his quarters for Ziyal’s belongings,” Sisko replied, and Quark nearly nodded before catching himself. Of course, he had known that Dukat was in no state to complain about anything right now.
“Damar’s quarters look somewhat empty, too,” Sisko continued, “at least according to this security report.” He pointed towards his desk.
Originally, Quark had planned to make an appropriate noise about the dangers of vandalism and Bajorans expressing their feelings. It wasn’t as if anyone could prove anything, and he was pretty sure neither Sisko nor Odo guessed his motive. Which was simple. None of the Cardassians had had time to pack, exactly. But even during the first occupation, when they had had all the time of the world for their withdrawal and had taken what they considered valuable, there had still been leftovers some of them later turned out to be looking for. Quark recognised a market when he saw one, and an opportunity for maintaining contacts. He didn’t intend to sell any of those pictures, cloths or cups on the black market, which was probably what Odo suspected. No, he’d keep them in storage, and return them to their rightful, grateful owners for a reasonable finder’s fee, unharmed by any damage either angry Bajorans or nosy Federation officials might inflict. The fact he was glad the second occupation was over didn’t mean he wanted to be on bad terms with the departed forces. If the last years had proven anything, it was that you never could be sure when they would return.
The plan had been to do the usual thing and go through the old routine of protestations of innocence and stern “if we catch you” warnings with Sisko and Odo, but standing here, Quark suddenly felt sick of it. He had skipped his own breakfeast because he wanted to be at the bar in time and because he hadn’t felt that hungry, and now his growling stomach was punishing him for it.
“Well,” he said, ostensibly to Sisko but looking straight at Odo, “security has been lacking these last months, hasn’t it?”
“Not any longer,” Odo bit back, and the gravelly voice was coated in the anger Quark felt himself.
The small, clicking noise that came from the Captain’s fingers drumming on the table kept him from his next retort.
“Gentlemen,” Sisko said. “If you feel the need for a private conversations, then by all means, be my guests. It’s not like we have a war going on.”
“I never feel the need for private conversations with Quark,” Odo said stiffly.
“Guess you’re in luck then,” Quark returned. “I never felt less like talking to you, either, Constable.”
“As I said,” Sisko repeated, glaring at both of them, “we have all the time in the world. Now. Quark, the last thing the Federation needs is being accused of pilfering Cardassian goods. We’re trying to look different from our enemies.”
Quark said nothing. He wasn’t about to cave in front of Odo now, and Sisko couldn’t prove anything. Besides, he suspected the Captain was going through the motions anyway. So he looked back and passed the time by wondering which of his waiters would try to keep the tips today. Give them three months away from Ferenginar, and they thought they would actually get through with this. The inevitable corruption of life with the Federation.
“Benjamin,” said Jadzia’s voice from the entrance, “could I borrow Quark for a moment?”
Sisko frowned.
“It’s about the wedding,” she added, and a reluctant smile tugged at Sisko’s mouth. He waved his hand and sighed.
“Off you go,” he told Quark. “But let’s be clear on this – one complaint in the media, and I’ll have Odo search your storage facilities.”
Quark forebore mentioning that it was Sisko who was connected to the media, and with great effort, he even surpressed a gloating smile as he passed Odo on his way out. He beamed at Dax as she entered the turbolift with him.
“You’ll never end up in the vault of eternal destitution now. Thank you.”
“Good for me,” she said drily. “Bankruptcy is a bad basic for marriage. But I really wanted to talk to you about the catering.”
He couldn’t stop his face from falling just the tiniest bit.
“Doesn’t the… Worf want one of these Klingon weddings where everyone drinks so much blood wine that they don’t care about the food anyway?”
“Actually, I had my bachelor party in mind,” Jadzia said and smiled at him. He could see tiny wrinkles crinkling the skin around her eyes, and one or two grey hairs in her dark hair which had not been there before the war. For some reason, probably because of her symbiotic nature, he had always assumed her flawless beauty would be eternal. The discovery that this wasn’t true made his throat feel constricted. Impulsively, as they walked towards the bar side by side, he took her hand, which was cool and dry as always, so very different from a Ferengi and, and yet so capable of aquiring and never letting go.
“Jadzia,” Quark said impulsively, “don’t marry him. Let’s run away together.”
She didn’t laugh or remove her hand, but she continued to smile.
“But I could never come between you and your bar, Quark,” she said in that fond, teasing tone she always used with him. “You know you’d never leave it. You two even remained together through another occupation.”
“But one day I’ll have my own moon,” Quark replied, driven by an urgency he barely understood himself. “Why not start searching for one now? This war is so… stupid, Jadzia. It will get the bar destroyed. It will get… people killed,” he ended, because at the last moment, he found he couldn’t say what he meant.
It almost got Rom killed. It might get Nog killed. It can get you killed. It made me kill. It’s eating at all of us, Jadzia, and there is no profit in handing out parts of yourself until nothing is left.
But he couldn’t say that, not even to her. So instead, he repeated:
“Let’s run away together,” and even while he spoke, he knew she would never agree. Her smile had vanished, but she still held his hand.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Benjamin just got his miracle from the Prophets, but he’s not the only one those wormhole aliens talk to, is he? You did tell me you managed to persuade them to change the Nagus back for you. Quark, if you can persuade them to find a universe where I never met Worf and where the Dominion has no hold in the Alpha Quadrant, I’ll go with you there.”
Then, she gently removed her fingers, one by one, from his hold. He suddenly realized he had a choice there: he could take her words seriously, which was undoubtedly what The Walking Frown would do, or he could pretend they had been jesting all the time, just like they always did. But if he took her seriously, where would that leave him? Not talking with the Prophets again. He had disliked every second of his encounter with them the last time, and that had been before he had known they could wipe out an entire fleet with a thought. Besides, even if by some miracle he could persuade them to find such a universe, what would be stopping them from changing him the way they had devolved the Nagus, so he would fit in there better? He didn’t want to be another Quark, one who might equal Rom in idiotic philantropy. Much as he disliked having bad dreams and watching Jadzia with that stupid Klingon she was wasting herself on, and worrying about who could die next when he should just worry about whether whoever it would be had made any will, he was the only Quark he wanted to be.
“So,” he said, “how many people at your party are we talking about?”
“Loads,” Jadzia replied, and the familiar sparkle in her gaze almost denied the sadness he had seen there earlier. But he never could forget that for a moment, it had been there.
Coming up next: Lunch, featuring, naturally, Garak.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-02 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-02 09:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-02 03:23 am (UTC)Garak next! :0) I always thought Garak and Quark should have more scenes together. The ones they did have were great.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-02 09:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-02 05:40 am (UTC)Can't wait for Garak!
no subject
Date: 2004-05-02 10:01 am (UTC)I always loved the Quark/Dax relationship, so I'm glad the scene worked.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-02 10:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-02 09:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-02 10:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-03 06:07 am (UTC)I'm curious to find out just how broken Quark is.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 02:50 pm (UTC)btw - as far as some other books go - I haven't had much luck, with neither the German nor the Dutch version. I will get them in the end, though, and read them and tell you what the Dutch version is like (compared to the German).
:)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 12:38 pm (UTC)But in the good way.
I am such your fangirl.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 12:46 pm (UTC)Thank you.