Title: Impulsion
Author: Hollow Novelist
Rating: PG
Characters: Odo & Weyoun 4
Summary: Weyoun's POV on the corridor scene.
Timeframe: To the Death
Length: ~600 words
Beta: none
Disclaimer: CBS/Paramount owns Star Trek; I don't. No money changes hands here, and no damage to copyright is intended.
Note: Written for fanfic50. Contains implied spoilers for Broken Link.
"It is not for us to accuse a god of betraying heaven," Omet'iklan had said to the Founder Odo. "The gods themselves will sit in judgement over you." Wisdom — from the mouth of a Jem'Hadar.
Weyoun agreed in sentiment, and wished he could agree in practice. But the Founders had embroiled him in Odo's fate. They had made him an agent of their judgement.
He straightened his stiff jacket and prepared to confront a god with the gods' will.
The door hissed open.
"Odo! May I speak to you for a moment?"
Odo turned slowly. "A moment." The words seemed to have been dragged from him against his will. That was a start.
Weyoun approached Odo, studying the Founder's impassive face. "You . . . know I've been watching you."
"I've noticed."
"I . . . have to admit, I find it somewhat disturbing. Seeing you working for these" — he inhaled sharply, pretending to hide his distaste — "Federation people. Letting them order you around. You are a Founder. You should be the one giving the orders. To them, to the Jem'Hadar. Or even" — he allowed himself a small laugh — "me."
"So. If I — order you to leave me alone, you will?"
The Founder would not be flattered.
"Of course. But before you do, please hear what I have to say."
Odo stared him down. There was no encouragement in that gaze, and Weyoun withered inside.
But wasn't that the perfect state of mind? Humility, vulnerability, might be the best way to persuade the Founder. And persuasion would be better than . . .
He banished the thought and pressed on, filling his words with liquid tenderness. "Your people want you to come home, Odo. No matter what differences you may have with them, no matter what mistakes you may have made . . . they still love you."
Odo was clearly touched. But still he held back. "Maybe they do. But I don't love them."
The Founder would not be cajoled.
Weyoun switched tactics again.
"You're lying," he said. "And you're not very good at it. I, on the other hand, am an expert at lies — both in telling them and in spotting them. So you may as well admit the truth." He paused, tried to judge the Founder's reaction. There wasn't one. Time to plunge in the stinger. "More than anything in your life, you want to return to your people. And I can make that possible."
"How?"
It was a sarcastic question, but Weyoun knew that the best counter to sarcasm was sincerity. "Let me worry about the how. All I need to know is . . . are you ready to go home?"
In the instant before the Founder answered, Weyoun knew he had failed. Odo could not be brought back, not without force, not without harm.
"No," said Odo. "But I am ready to end this conversation."
Weyoun smiled and touched the Founder gently on the arm, careful not to press too hard. The patch that was stuck to the pad of his middle finger — strong adhesive on one side, a cluster of tiny, poisoned pricks on the other — did not need pressure or prolonged contact to work. Infection was already inevitable.
"Then it's over," he said, not referring to the conversation. The rebellious Founder had been brought back, as surely as if he were in the Link at that moment. He would soon have no choice but to return to his right place.
"After all, you are a Founder. I live to serve you."