Kill the Envious Moon
By Jixie 2/2018
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine © Paramount Television
Note: "178 Different Words for Rain" is a prequel / takes place in the middle of chapter 1, and there are references to the events there, but it's not required reading. They both stand alone.
Chapter 1: Klingon Death March
"Sometimes the only thing more dangerous than a question is an answer." - Rules of Acquisition # 208
The cultural shift on Qo'noS was gradual.
It started years ago, with the rise of Emperor Kahless. Chancellor Martok would see it through. Worf had been right about him: Martok was the perfect leader to usher the Klingon Empire into a new era, strengthening and improving it along the way.
Once the dust from the Dominion War had settled, he started rooting out the corruption in the High Council. It was an arduous task, and it would take time before they saw any payoff. Where he could, he found ways to offer crooked Council members a way to restore their family honor and quietly step down. A few were able to keep their positions. A few had to be publicly discommendated.
The openings on the High Council meant a need for restructuring. It meant new blood. Lower government officials were promoted. Second-tier members of Great Houses, along with those in the lesser Great Houses, found themselves drawn into the world of Klingon politics.
Which was how Grilka found herself in the Great Hall, as an ancillary Council member.
They only brought her in for trivial cases: property disputes, child custody, minor infractions. She didn't mind; it was a starting point, one that would allow her to leverage into a better position down the road. More importantly, she enjoyed the work. She loved combat as much as any Klingon, but ever since her own legal battle with D'Ghor, she'd developed a fascination with Klingon law and politics.
Between cases she was approached by Ambassador Worf. He muddled along in polite conversation. It was entirely casual- he wasn't trying to pursue, but she could tell he was feeling things out.
"Come with me, Worf."
She linked her arm in his and walked briskly. He was surprised to find he had a little trouble keeping up.
"I appreciate what you're trying to do," she said, "and I'm flattered. You're an honorable man and a great warrior. I've seen that you put the needs of our people above your own personal honor. You're a member of a Chancellor Martok's House, a House which I've always respected, even before he became Chancellor." She paused, smiling slightly. "On top of that, you're from a good blood line, and... you're very handsome."
"But," he said dismally, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"But I am not looking for a husband. I feel that marriage no longer suits me. Besides, marrying another Klingon will void my special dispensation. I know this is not your objective, however, I'm just not interested in relinquishing the headship of my House."
He withdrew his arm and stopped, and after a few steps she stopped and turned to face him.
Worf's face pinched as he struggled with inner conflict. The indecision flashed in his eyes.
Grilka sighed. "I know: you feel you've already courted me by proxy."
He was taken aback. "You knew?"
"I'm not stupid."
"I didn't say that-"
She stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Of course I knew. I'd spent the day before in the holosuites with Quark, re-enacting Kahless and Lukara's battle in the Great Hall at Qam-Chee. He is a tragically inept fighter, there's no way he could've defeated Thopok." Her eyes lit up in amusement. "But that never stopped him! That little man has the tenacity of a rabid torg in rutting season. Worf, you didn't win me over. You guided him through the formalities, but he... he swung a bloody lingta leg that was half his size and missed the table. He had to try again. That wasn't you, that was Quark."
"You... like this foolishness."
"He makes me laugh," she agreed. "It's more than that, though." She paused, wondering how to explain it so Worf would understand. "When we were married, he risked his life to save my honor and my House. Ferengi don't value honor, it didn't mean anything to him, but he knew that it meant everything to me. That is a rare form of courage, even among Klingons. The kind of courage you had to accept discommendation rather than undermine the High Council."
Worf scowled, a little offended that she'd just compared him to Quark, and worse, meant it as a complement. Then his expression softened, and he paused, before reluctantly finding himself in agreement with her.
"After Jadzia died, I went into glorious battle in her honor, so that she could enter Sto-vo-kor. Along with our closest friends, that... that Ferengi bartender joined us. I do not think he even believes in the existence of Sto-vo-kor."
"You understand, then."
"I suppose. But that does not mean I approve."
Grilka smiled. "No, of course not."
A few days later, she found an excuse to shuttle over the Deep Space Nine.
It had been several months since her last visit, and they picked up right where they'd left off. That was one of the defining aspects of their relationship: Grilka could come and go as she pleased, and Quark was always available.
She normally dropped by when she was feeling especially lonely and frustrated- Grilka was not one to blow off steam in a holosimulation, and Qo'noS lacked an appreciable dating pool for commitment-phobic, short-term liaisons. The few that were available had too much to gain by marriage, and inevitably would try to pressure her into something more serious.
Her gin'tak Tumek had, on occasion, offered to help fulfill her most base physical needs. But she knew Tumek was not attracted her and only volunteered out of a sense of duty: she wouldn't dare to take advantage of him like that.
This visit was a little different, and Quark picked up on it. He stopped and sat up in the middle of their tryst to demand answers. "Why are you really here, Grilka?"
"Don't taunt me," she scolded, pulling him back to her. "You won't win." Then she smiled. "Worf told me about your little adventure helping him destroy that Jem'Hadar shipyard, to restore Jadzia Dax's honor."
He choked, then laughed. "Figures. Tales of stupid heroics would be a Klingon aphrodisiac. Well, let me tell you about-"
"Tales of heroics, yes. Bragging, no."
Quark looked up at her, grinning mischievously. "In that case, make sure you talk to Captain Kira before you leave. Ask her about the time I rescued Rom and the rest of the resistance... from a Dominion prison... when they were on death row."
"I will see to it." Grilka leaned back, absently stroking his ear, then gasped and swatted him. "No teeth," she growled.
To Worf's horror, Martok was delighted to hear about Grilka's bizarre love affair with Quark. Apparently, the idea tickled the older Klingon, who found it both hilarious and charmingly romantic.
Discovering she had slipped off to Deep Space Nine after rebuffing Worf's advances only sealed the deal. Martok quickly set about convincing Sirella to arrange a formal dinner with the House of Grilka.
This could only end one way: terribly for Worf.
Amidst the laughter and bloodwine, Martok found a way corner Tumek, pulling the adviser aside for a more private conversation. Worf stood at Martok's side, failing to hide his distress and trying not to think about what was unfolding.
"I want to make it clear that Gowron's dispensation allowed her to stay with the Feregni without losing control of her House..."
Worf fantasized about a pack of wild torg breaking into the dinner hall and mauling the party, and the bloody fight of Klingon-versus-Nature that would follow.
"...after the incident with Thopok, I've been careful to vet crew-members and hired men, to make sure they're... open minded when it comes to inter-species relationships..."
"Good, good. In fact, I've worked alongside many fine warriors who were stationed on Deep Space Nine, and can give you references for those who were... amicable... towards the Ferengi there. Or at least, tolerant of them."
"That is very generous of you."
Worf imagined a viscous earthquake cleaving the building in half, the ground opening up to swallow everyone.
"-But I just don't see how he could stay on Qo'noS without dying in a challenge."
"Come now, he could always be represented by a champion," Martok glanced pointedly at Worf, a mischievous and calculating look in his eye.
"I am a delegate of the Federation," Worf said sternly. "It would be unbecoming for me to get involved."
"On the contrary- that gives you an obligation to protect the interests of the delicate alliances between Klingon, Federation, and Ferengi."
Worfs scowl deepened. "I will do whatever you order me to," he replied. "But as a friend, please do not ask this of me."
Martok roared with laughter.
"That's what I love about you, Worf, your brutal honesty..."
The night went on, and hours later, a much drunker Martok finally started chatting up the equally blitzed Grilka.
"... I have many fond memories of the station. Speaking of," he awkwardly segued the conversation. "How was your trip to Deep Space Nine?"
"Very enjoyable. My visits there have always been... invigorating."
"Hmm. One would think that a station like Deep Space Nine would have little to offer a Klingon woman such as yourself."
"Why, Chancellor, whatever do you mean?" She asked, followed by a short, barking laugh.
"Well it's very different from Klingon stations. It's quite... small, and one might find the quarters to be cramped. If you're accustomed to higher standards, it wouldn't be very satisfying."
"The quarters aren't that cramped," she replied dryly. Then she smirked. "Besides, it makes up for its flaws in other ways. It's very innovative and enthusiastic." She paused, thinking. "I've been on different Klingon stations, human stations, a Romulan station once. And none of them are as... delightfully filthy."
"Enough. Enough." Sirella interrupted. "We all know you're talking about your disgusting sexual congress with that horrible little Ferengi. You should stop."
"Stop talking?" Grilka asked, leering. "Or stop the disgusting sexual congress?"
"Both."
The next time Grilka and Sirella met, it was in a Federation hospital.
"Martok sends his regards," Sirella said, casually snatching the padd from an intimidated human doctor. She scrolled through the padd as she approached Grilka's bed.
"This will be a scandal," Grilka acknowledged, cutting right to the chase. "The one and only matriarch of a Great House, having a failed pregnancy, out of wedlock, with a non-Klingon..."
"Worse, a Ferengi. A human or Vulcan bastard child would be less of an embarrassment, frankly." Sirella sat down on the edge of the bed. "And there's no way of saving your little half-breed?"
"They've done everything they can."
"For what it's worth, I would not wish this tragedy on anyone. No one should have to lose a child. With modern medicine- Federation medicine- being what it is, it's horrifying that this can happen." She paused to place her hand over Grilka's. "I myself have brought three warriors into the world, but I also lost two to miscarriage."
Grilka looked away and exhaled slowly. "Sirella, I've dishonored my House."
"Nonsense. I may loath your choice in men, but I know you have a warriors spirit. You're a very non-traditional woman, and yet you've never been disrespectful to those traditions."
"No... I let fear lead my actions. I kept this secret from Quark, and fled Qo'noS to keep it hidden from my people."
"It is a Klingon mother's prerogative to decide how to raise her child."
"I wanted him to..." She paused, and Sirella lifted her hand, gesturing for silence.
"Then you will need to restore your honor. I would suggest allowing the father to do his culture's traditional deathrites."
"They vacuum-desiccate the body and pulverize it to keep as a memento."
Sirella pulled a face, not even attempting to hide her disgust, but then spread her arms out in indifference. "They probably find our keening equally as distasteful, like the humans do." She then gave Grilka a questioning look. "If you want, I can fetch him for you...?"
"No."
"Would you like me to stay?"
She was surprised, and then smiled. "Yes, I would be most grateful..."
Sirella nodded and resumed browsing the padd.
"This is not a scandal, yet. Only your household knows. It is up to you decide if you should reveal the details to the other Great Houses, or not."
For the first time in a long time, Grilka looked relieved.
"Officer Riker. What can I get for you?"
Tom swung his leg over the barstool like a Rigelian spider-bear. "Saurian Brandy."
Quark went to fetch the bottle, shaking his head. "Do you ever sit down like a normal humanoid?"
"Nope," he replied with a chuckle.
As far as Chief Security Officers went, W. Thomas Riker was 'okay'. He was no Odo, but then, no one was. Still, he was less of a push-over than some of the other Security Chiefs they'd had the last couple years. Theoretically, Quark should've been doing pretty well for himself. In reality, too many years of Federation life had domesticated him. As much as he insisted his bar was a testament to the traditional Ferengi culture, the truth was, each passing year found him reflecting a gentler, more liberal human ideology.
"How's Nerys?"
"Captain Kira," Tom corrected him, his voice gentle but firm. "Ask her yourself."
Quark gave him a knowing glance before starting to pour. "You've got this one in the bag, Riker. She loves 'em big, dumb, handsome, and bland. Usually she only gets two or three out of four... but you sir, check all the boxes."
"Bland?" He pulled a face of mock-offense.
"Oh right, the trombone. That really sets you apart from the crowd." Quark smirked.
Then froze.
Grilka's posse had entered the bar, two guards taking stand at the door, before Grilka herself appeared, with Tumek in step behind her.
"Excuse me," he said absently, as he slipped out from behind the bar and, somewhat nervously, approached the Klingons.
They greeted each other and embraced, but there was a veneer of discomfort between them. Quark led Grilka over to the bar, instead of her usual table.
"This is our new Chief of Security, Thomas Riker. Tom, Grilka daughter of Hakor, of the House of Grilka," he paused, "a dear friend."
"A pleasure to meet you."
"Now, if you can wait here a minute, I realize I haven't restocked the Maparian ale and need to, uh, hop into the back for just a- I'll be right back..."
"So, a friend of Quark's, huh?" Unable to help himself, Tom flashed her a winning smile.
"Ex-wife, actually." She relished his look of surprise. "Occasional lover."
"It's complicated, then."
"Indeed."
"I take it this is an 'occasion'?"
She laughed, then shot him a stern look. "It's not really your business."
Quark finally emerged from the stock room, ale in hand. He started fixing her drink.
"Tom, why don't you tell her about your escape from Cardassian prison?"
"It wasn't an escape. After the near-genocide on Cardassia, the Bajorans stepped up to help, and it really did a lot to heal both..." he started.
"Tumek!" Quark ducked away to get the older Klingons attention. "Let me guess: bloodwine?" While Tom continued to share the post-Dominion politics of Cardassia and Bajor, Quark tried to grill Tumek. "So, what... what brings you here this time?"
Tumek shrugged. "Oh, the usual... 'Financial advice'."
Quark narrowed his eyes, carefully studying the Klingon.
"There better not be any personal tragedy or heartbreak this time. If it's anything but carefree smutting, I'm blaming you."
He chuckled in response, before taking a sip of the bloodwine.
Satisfied, the Ferengi turned his attention back to Tom and Grilka.
"Enough boring politics. Let's hear something with a little excitement! Tom, tell her about the time I saved the little Sisko girl from Orion pirates."
For a moment Tom was irritated, but Quark gave him a quick pleading 'help-a-player-out?' look, and he felt obliged. He knocked back the rest of his brandy and smiled. "Well, you have to understand, it was Quark's fault that the Orions were on the station in the first place..."
There were times when life takes a path and the destination is clear. Quark had always felt sure of his path, regardless of the twists and turns: he would cultivate his business on Deep Space Nine, eventually building a franchise, some day catching a windfall, and buying a moon. Then a second moon, because cousin Gaila could go kick rocks.
But he found himself stumbling onto a different path: the Klingon death march. And the more time he spent with Grilka, the clearer he could see the destination.
That hardly stopped him from leading her up to the holosuites and firing up one of the 'romantic' Klingon programs. A bird in the hand, and all that.
But it did weigh heavily on his mind, distracting him from their activities.
In the fallout from the failed pregnancy, Grilka admitted that it had exposed her feelings about their relationship... and that had terrified her. From there, they'd had a meeting of the minds: on some level, they both wanted the same thing, but if they were being realistic, knew it was impossible.
They were just two very different people, from very different worlds... and you couldn't get much more different than Klingon and Ferengi.
Still, he couldn't help but feel like she was trying to gently maneuver him- it wasn't exactly manipulation, because Grilka wasn't the manipulative sort, she was very much a 'take-by-force' kind of girl- but she was nudging him onto this new path nonetheless. A part of him was panicking, but another part of him was willing.
"Are you okay?"
"Sure, sure. I'm good."
"You seem distracted."
He looked at her, studying her face: her gently sweeping cranial ridges, her unruly eyebrows, her spirited blue eyes.
She leaned forward, planting delicate kisses along his jaw, until she'd reached his lobes and started to nibble. "What's wrong, runwI'?"
He sat up, pulling away from her. "runwI'?"
"Mmm." She laughed and went back to his ear. He let her, but felt an inexplicable growing anxiety.
Ezri Dax was a little surprised- but not that surprised- to get a call from Quark. She could tell from his expression that this was not going to be a short, or casual, conversation.
"Hello Ezri. How are things on your big fancy spaceship?"
"Excellent." She couldn't help but grin. "The Enterprise is everything I hoped it would be. We're doing so much important work here, and the crew is so nice. Starfleet really made sure everyone and everything was top-grade, it's just, a real honor to be here, you know? And as much as I loved serving under Sisko and Kira, Captain Picard has this certain... je ne sais quoi..."
"I don't speak Betazine, sorry. Speaking of the crew, how are things going with you and...?"
"Lieutenant Gomez."
"Right, right, the ditz."
She frowned. "Sonya is not a ditz. And I'll have you know, things are going great. But you didn't call to chat about my personal life." He looked sheepish. "Come on, spit it out."
"Grilka showed up, and, well. You remember the thing. With our, with the baby." He held is palms up pleadingly. "What can I say? I'm not... exactly... handling this very well."
She sighed. It had taken her two years- two years!- to get Quark to finally relent and start opening up to her as a counselor. Progress was slow... but he was trying and hadn't given up. She could see where he'd naturally improved in his treatment of others, just from the Federation's cultural influence. But internally, he was still holding himself to standards that were both awful and impossible, and cultivating the self-loathing from that sense of failure. When she'd taken the re-assignment to serve on the Enterprise, she'd urged him to continue getting therapy from an on-board counselor- there were two others on Deep Space Nine by the time she left- but in her heart she'd known he wouldn't.
"It's probably because you never really allowed yourself to grieve."
"I grieved! I wept! You don't know what you're talking about. I don't know why I bother..."
"Okay, so you had a good cry and then you went and stuffed it all away in a deep dark hole and pretended like nothing happened."
He glared. "It was not a hole, it was a floor vault."
"Quark."
"I know." He threw his hands up, exasperated. "I know! I'm avoiding my feelings and I'm terrified of responsibilities and commitments and most of all, change. My philandering isn't about sex, it's about obsession with masculinity, feelings of inadequacy, and fear of the power women have over me. That I'm only hurting myself trying to live up to the ideas of a 'good Ferengi male'. Something about thrill-seeking and risk-taking. Oh, and who can forget, anxiety over Keldar's early death. Does that cover it!?"
Ezri face-palmed. Boy, was he wound up. "Why are you yelling?"
He sulked and didn't respond. She wished she was there, in person, and not talking to a projection. As a counselor, she knew to avoid too much physical contact with a patient, but as a friend, she knew how badly the poor bastard just needed a hug.
She wove her fingers together and let the uncomfortable pause happen.
"This isn't really about the baby, is it? I think you're freaking out because Grilka told you she wants to settle down with you."
"No... that's... no," he sputtered. "It doesn't matter anyway, it would never work out."
"Why wouldn't it work out?"
"For one: she lives on Qo'noS," he held a finger and started to count off. "Two: I would die on Qo'noS." Two fingers. "Three: She can't run her House from Deep Space Nine." Three fingers, then four. "Four: Or from Ferenginar. Also, I'm pretty sure if I unleashed Klingons on Ferenginar, everyone would end up getting murdered."
"Those are pretty compelling reasons," Ezri agreed. "But there are plenty of Klingon Houses who's head spend all their time in space-"
"Fighting battles!"
"Are you sure about that? Because I seem to recall that House Mogh did just fine all those years Worf spent on Earth and then in Starfleet. And House Martok stood while he was trapped in the Dominion prison."
He scowled.
"I doubt you'd die on Qo'noS, either. You've always managed to find away to weasel your way out of the most dire situations."
"Listen to yourself. I can see my desiccant-disk now: 'Decapitated by a bat'leth as an innocent bystander in a bar-fight at his wretched Klingon bar.' I'm telling you, Ezri."
"That's pretty specific, Quark. I think you're blowing this out of proportion. Except the part where Grilka would murder every last person on the entire planet of Ferenginar: that part sounds about right."
"Ha. Ha."
"Have you asked Grilka if she'd be willing to move to Deep Space Nine? More importantly: have you asked yourself why you're so terrified of leaving?"
A few days after the lecture from Ezri, Quark reluctantly called Worf.
Worf was clearly resentful, and fixed the Ferengi with a tired, put-upon glare.
"What do you want?"
"I need some advice with Grilka."
He grunted. "Of course you do. Don't you know any other Klingons whose time you can waste?"
"You helped me before..." and suddenly Quark had an epiphany. "You like Grilka. You- you were only helping so you could live vicariously through me, you ugly son of a-!?" He was swept up a rush of righteous anger. "Oh no. No. You got Jadzia, you don't get Jadzia and Grilka, not if I have anything to say about it." Truth be told, he wouldn't have dared go on a rant if Worf had been there in person.
Worf's frustrated expression turned into one of murder, but his voice was restrained. He knew Quark was incapable of backing up any threats, but he had to respect the attempt.
"You do not deserve Grilka. She is a glorious and powerful Klingon warrior. But she has been plagued with insanity, and has chosen to fetter herself to you. She's made it clear she is not interested in my advances. We are not rivals in this matter."
Quark fidgeted, his face still flushed, but the rage was easing up.
"Now. What is it you want?" Worf pressed.
"She- she's got it into her head that we, we should... that..." He paused. "Look, once we started dating, I didn't exactly keep up the whole Klingon courtship ritual. What, uh, what comes next?"
"You've already completed ritual courting, the next step is the legal bond of marriage. I believe you're familiar with traditional Klingon weddings, both formal and the brek'tal ritual." He waved his hand dismissively. "Consider your affair to be an extended part of the courting, if you must, but there is nothing more required of you."
"Oh."
Worf sighed, being very much done with this conversation. "What else is it?"
"She called me 'Shortie'?"
For the first time in his life, Quark witnessed a Klingon blush. He hadn't believed it was physically possible.
"That... is a very private matter." He explained uncomfortably. "Pet names between a couple are... are very intimate in Klingon culture. You should share this with no one."
"Oh. ...oh. Sorry."
"If that is all..."
"Wait!" He hesitated for a moment. "Uh, how do you say 'eyebrows' in Klingon?"