In the early afternoon, all the Starfleet people had usually gone back to their work stations; the clientele mostly consisted of the incoming travelers, Bajorans, and Morn. It was either the time for some profitable calls, or some quick oomox before the serious gambling started. Today, Quark went for the calls. The Federation retaking Terok Nor had changed things on the market, after all; people were actually interested in Federation-related shares again, and Quark never had sold all of his. Moreover, now that Jadzia had entrusted him with the catering for her bachelor party, there were a lot of orders to place. No matter how undeserving he thought Commander Crunchhead was of her, there was no way this party would be anything but perfect.

His establishment's reputation was at stake, after all.

Quark was going through the list of friends of all species she had given him when looking up information about their respective eating habits when Chief O'Brien showed up. In Quark's experience, engineers tended to go in two varieties; gratingly cheerful and babbling stuff that no-one could understand, or surly and with a distinct why-are-you-bothering-me-again air. He had no problems assigning those roles to his brother and O'Brien, in their respective professional capacities. Now O'Brien, off-duty, was perfectly willing to babble, only it was about darts, his kids or whatever new game he and Dr. Bashir had come up with, and Rom, when not busy with some engineering problem, for the longest time rather cringed than spoke up at all, though that had changed in the last year or so. Still, you could usually tell why they were around by their demeanor.

Consequently, when O'Brien marched in briskly and then suddenly started to look unsure and shuffle his feet, Quark got confused. And impatient, since he wanted to continue with the party-planning.

"Anything I can do for you, Chief?" he asked less than graciously.

"It's about my holosuite reservation on Friday," O'Brien said.

"If you want to cancel, it, go ahead," Quark muttered. "There are about a thousand requests waiting in line." Which was true. You'd think that with the Galaxy Class Starfleet vessels and their holodecks, nobody would have missed Quark's holosuites that much, but apparently Starfleet frowned on the use of entertainment programs on ships that were flying battle missions. Not to mention their rather puritanical restrictions on the kind of programs you could run even in peace times. Since all of this meant very busy holosuites and more profit, however, Quark wasn't about to complain.

"Err," O'Brien said, and a faint blush crept up on his cheeks. Uncharitably, Quark thought that redheads needed to have pale skin like Major Kira to carry off that one in a flattering manner. Not that Kira was the blushing type. "I was actually hoping... Quark, I need to book another hour."

Automatically, Quark went into negotiating mode, then told himself in this case it wasn't necessary. He was overbooked as it was for Friday.

"You and Dr. Bashir want to continue fighting the tula berries on Saturday, that's fine by me, though there would be weekend rates," he replied. "But Friday is full."

"Jerries, Quark," O'Brien corrected. "And I don't need the other hour for that. I need another program as well. It's not for Julian, it's for Keiko. She's coming back late on Thursday, and I was planning, you know, on a nice evening. Something special. To show her how I've missed her."

"Well, then use the booking you already have," Quark said, and wondered, not for the first time, why humans still felt the need to wine and dine their females if they were already married. Admittedly he himself had been known to give in to the odd urge and do this for Grilka after their divorce. And while Natima had never married him, they had been a couple for quite some time, during which he still would pay for holoprogramms and flowers. But then, those exceptions only proved the rule. A contract was a contract was a contract. Marriage was a contract. One only needed to look at Rom and Nog's mother Primadora to see how it ended if one allowed the female to constantly renegotiate the contract clauses.

"But that's the Battle of Britain!" O'Brien protested. "Julian and I need to be there."

O'Brien was whipped. On two fronts. And that was putting it charitably.

However, a man whipped was a man ready to be exploited.

"I don't know, Chief," Quark said slowly. "What with all the stress Rom has been under lately, I'm not even sure the holosuites will be able to run smoothly. They really could do with a complete overhaul."

One thing O'Brien decidedly was not, however, was slow or stupid. He caught on immediately.

"I might get there with my team," he said warily. "But we're working double shifts as it is, what with the mess the station is in right now. Next week..."

Quark inspected Jadzia's preliminary guest list again.

"Next week you can book an entire evening for yourself and Mrs. O'Brien," he said absent-mindedly. "I'm sure she'll love it."

"Fine," O'Brien hissed. "Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow."

Quark gave him a toothy grin. "What a coincidence," he said. "I've just remembered that Nog and Jake cancelled their hour on Friday."

If O'Brien felt guilty for costing Nog and Jake their booking, it wasn't enough to make him pull out. He muttered something about Quark not having changed at all during the Occupation, and left. Quark changed the reservations, then called Nog to tell him. Five minutes later, his nephew stormed into the bar.

"That's it," Nog yelled. "Uncle, I'm not your wage slave anymore. I'm a paying customer. You can't do this to me."

In between quoting the appropriate rules to Nog, Quark felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered that Nog had been in combat, too, these last months, without any chance to relax around these Starfleet types. In truth, the boy looked older, and not in a good way. When Nog had first returned to the Station from the Academy, his obsession with soldierly rules had bewildered and mystified Rom, but Quark had been reminded of his own first year on a Marauder, of the overeagerness to prove oneself. It had passed. Now, though, there was a grimness in Nog's expression that hadn't to do with playing soldier at all. He didn't want to imagine what the boy had seen.

You should have stayed here, Quark thought, and not for the first time. I'll get my own moon one of these days, and then Rom can have the bar, and you would inherit it from him. Nobody ever expects a barkeeper to play hero. Provided he does what's right and serves his customers well, nobody ever wants to kill a barkeeper. Nobody expects him to kill.

Unless the world has gone mad, and so have the heroes, another voice in his head, sounding not at all like himself, reminded him. With an effort, he shoved it back and tried to concentrate on the angry young man in front of him. Nog was just in the middle of a rant that would have done his grandmother proud.

"...and I have the same rights as everyone else! And don't think I won't complain to Captain Sisko, because I will, and he will listen to me. He cares about his people."

Sisko undoubtedly would be thrilled to see him again today. He might even allow Odo to do whatever law enforcer harassment Odo had in mind to polish up his tarnished image. Still, it wouldn't do to give in to a younger relative's demands too easily.

"As long as they do what he wants," Quark said, playing for time. "I didn't see him do anything to rescue Jake these last months."

"That's low, Uncle," Nog returned, obviously even more indignant on his idol's behalf. "Jake made his own decision to stay here. The Captain couldn't risk endangering everyone's lives to retrieve one civilian."

All of which was quite true, and Quark wouldn't have brought it up if he hadn't needed to save face by some more conversation before telling Nog he'd get his holosuite hour after all, but now that the words were spoken, he felt compelled to follow them up. Jake had spent most of his time at the bar during the second occupation, interviewing people, hanging out with Kira, or helping out as a waiter, and that had given Quark more than enough opportunity to observe him. Most of the time, Jake had been lonely and scared, and not that good at hiding it behind what youthful bravado he could muster.

"Maybe," Quark said tersely. "But I can tell you this, nephew – there is no way I'd leave a member of my family in the hands of the Dominion."

"Not if you could sell us to them for a profit first," Nog said heatedly, and the bitterness and conviction in his words stunned Quark. For the first time today, he felt at a complete loss of words, and not as a means of playing for time, or outbluffing an opponent. Surely Nog couldn't really believe that?

They looked at each other, and Quark could see the resentment of a lifetime burning in Nog's gaze. He couldn't understand it. Yes, he had been a good Ferengi and exploited both Rom and Nog, but that hadn't been just about profit. It had been to take care of them, the way his father Keldar had never managed to take care of Quark and Rom. Nobody was ever going to taunt his family about their head being a philanthropic failure, oh no.

"You and Jake can use the holosuite on Friday," Quark said, suddenly feeling very tired. "Just two hours later."

He'd have to cancel Morn's booking for this, which was always his last resort, but one he had been planning to use anyway. After some negotiating, as a Ferengi should. Obviously, Nog didn't remember any longer what Ferengi did in such situations. Or if he did, he had brought out a negotiation ploy that he never should have used.

Nog looked at him, silently, obviously still waiting for something else. If it was for some ridiculous human-style declaration of sentiment, he was waiting in vain. If Nog didn't understand by now how Quark felt about his family, he never would.

"Don't you have work to do?" Quark said finally.

Nog nodded, still silent, and left. With a grimace, Quark poured himself a Somerian Sun Spot, but the drink failed to work its magic, or maybe there was something wrong with his taste buds. He couldn't taste anything at all. He decided to get all disagreeable things over with at once, and readied himself to tell Morn about the change of plans for Friday night. As it turned out, Morn was in the middle of a vivid conversation with a richly dressed stranger. Or rather, the stranger was talking, with wide, expansive gestures, but judging by Morn's fascinated expression, Morn didn't want to miss a word.

Maybe the bad news could wait, after all. Quark shrugged, and went back to ordering items for Jadzia's bachelor party.