As the afternoon drew to a close, Morn and his newfound friend had moved on to the Dabo table where Morn was busy teaching the stranger the game. Quark still hadn't told Morn about his cancelled holosuite reservation, and now would be a worse time than ever. After all, the newcomer looked as if he could afford considerable sums at Quark's, and judging by the way he and Morn were busy chatting up the Dabo girls, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. It would be a shame to interrupt that with evidence that the finest bar in the quadrant sometimes disappointed its loyal customers.
Quark had just ordered some tooth grubs from the replimat when the computer told him there was a call from Ferenginar waiting. It turned out to be Moogie, dressed in even more ridiculous clothes than the last time, glaring at him, so that fitted in fine with the rest of his day.
"Where is Rom?" she said angrily.
"Oh, hello, Mother," Quark replied sourly. "It is good to see you, too. So nice of you to call and ask how I am."
"Quark," Ishka said impatiently, "first you nearly worry us to death by telling Zek Rom is scheduled for execution and that Zek has to petition the Dominion for mercy at once, and then, when we are all set to come to that dreadful station of yours to rescue him, there is just one sorry little note from you saying that it's not necessary anymore because the Federation is back.. And no more explanations, or a call from Rom. This is not like him. The poor boy must still be in a terrible state of shock, and you should be at his side, taking care of him. Not that I'm surprised you are not. I bet it's your fault that he got into this situation to begin with. Rom is the most peaceful soul imaginable, but you..."
"Rom is busy repairing things, or getting oomox from his wife," Quark interrupted her, teeth gritted. He was not going to get into another shouting match with her. "Why didn't you have your call directed to his quarters when you wanted to talk to him?"
"Because I thought that for once in your life, you'd behave like a responsible older brother," Ishka returned sharply. Something in Quark snapped, and he cancelled the connection. Then he turned around and exclaimed, loud enough for everyone to hear: "I wish I was an orphan!"
Most of the guests ignored him; only a few looked up, startled, and shrugged. The waiters went on with their business, since they knew what was good for them. Only Dr. Bashir, who had just arrived, commented, brows knit together.
"Believe me, I know the feeling," he said. "Is it anything you want to talk about, Quark?"
"No," Quark said morosely. Bashir looked relieved. It was odd to see him on his own, without O'Brien, or Garak, or Dax. Bashir was one of these humans who seemed to have an invisible sign tattoed on their forehead that said "Desperately Seeking Company; Will Provide Any Service To Get It". He wasn't quite the same youthful chatterbox who had arrived on the station years ago, but his incapability of remaining on his own for more than five minutes was still there. Since sociable people were what his establishment thrived on, Quark wasn't about to complain. He just wished Bashir had brought someone along and wouldn't direct that sociability at him when he clearly wasn't in the mood. But those were the members of the Federation for you. They thrived on "sharing feelings".
With a pang, Quark recalled that the Cardassians were completely without that pesky habit.
"I wanted to thank you for calling me earlier today," the Doctor said, brown eyes all earnest eagerness. "It must have been being back with all this chaos here - I really had forgotten."
Because the day had been wearing at him, because he was unusually tired when the night hadn't even started, and because he was pretty sure Moogie would find an awful way to make him apologize for cancelling the connection, with or without involving the Grand Nagus, Quark muttered: "Figures. We all forget stuff we've already traded in."
Bashir first looked confused, then outraged.
"What," he asked slowly, every word as precise as a knife, "do you mean by that?"
Very well. Bashir had just volunteered to be the recipient of Quark's bad mood.
"Oh, Doctor, we all understand," Quark said, gathering steam as he went on. "Why still continue to hang out with the lowlives if you've found more exalted company? Nobody keeps bothering with damaged goods when he's found shiny new ones, that's how it goes, everyone knows that. And hey, if some of them break while you play darts or link or marry, who cares?"
He was expecting Bashir to jump up or at the very least respond with a heated burst of indignation. Instead, the Doctor went suddenly still. He, too, had lines in his face which hadn't previously been there. He had lost even more weight during the recent months, and he had been skinny to begin with. Suddenly Quark could see what Bashir would look like as an old man, when the Doctor with his foolhardy derring-do would have been his own personal bet for first station crew member to die in the past.
"We're not talking about me at all, are we?" Bashir asked softly. There was an unbelievable and most insulting undertone of pity in his voice.
"Well, I certainly was," Quark said, irritated beyond endurance.
Bashir opened his mouth, but whatever words of wisdom the Doctor doubtlessly imagined Quark needed to hear remained unspoken when Kira entered the bar in her usual, brisk fashion, making her way directly to the object of her destination, which turned out to be none other than Quark himself. Quark had never been so glad to see the Major.
"Look," Kira said, "I still owe you. But if you've got anything of Ziyal's and intend to fleece it to the next slimy customer of yours, that won't stop me from going after your wretched Ferengi hide. Are we clear?"
"I haven't got anything of Ziyal's," Quark said, which happened to be the truth. For one thing, he had known better, being very sure that Kira would have any item belonging to the dead girl memorized, and for another, he was fairly certain that Dukat would tear him to pieces if in some hypothetic future when the Gul was free once more he offered to trade something belonging to his dead daughter.
Kira looked uncertain, which might or might not have to do with the fact she believed him and must be finding this to be a new and unpleasant sensation. Half out of spite and half out of an odd sense of sympathy, Quark decided to rub it in.
"Except for one thing," he continued, "which she gave to me."
Upon Kira's sceptical expression, he produced the small sketch Ziyal had handed him one evening when he had made her laugh in the middle of her brooding about her father and Kira and the division of loyalties those two caused in her. It showed the bar, not as it had been at the time, full of Cardassians and Jem'Hadar, but as it had been in the past, including a fairly good likeness of Quark himself, busy pouring in something for Morn, though Quark always thought that Ziyal had underestimated the size of his lobes. In the right corner of the sketch, she had written, in Bajoran letters but using Cardassian words "To Quark - with thanks".
Kira's expression softened when she saw this. She swallowed and sighed.
"She was so talented," she said, sounding so lost that Quark almost felt sorry. Almost. He had hoped it would take Kira some more days to start bullying him again in her usual fashion.
Bashir tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, and Kira remained still for a while. Which was probably the reason why Quark heard, despite all the other usual noise of the bar, that slightly swishy sound Odo made when transforming. He whipped his head around, just in time to notice that the Aldovian Bear-hunter who had hung around near the entrance of the bar wasn't there anymore and had been replaced by the Constable, who stared in their direction with the usual uncomfortable expression which would have indicated a sick stomach with most other people but for Odo passed for a lovelorn look, since Kira was the one to evoke it.
If Kira noticed his presence, she didn't show.
"Well," she said to Quark, going for a business-like tone again, "of course you can keep this."
I'm dazzled by your generosity, he thought, but said out loud: "And who gets to keep her other stuff? You or Dukat?"
Kira pressed her lips together. "Dukat isn't in a position to keep anything anymore," she said curtly, nodded at Bashir and turned to leave. Discovering Odo made her falter in her steps for exactly a second. Then she passed him withhout as much as another glimpse. Odo's sick stomach expression deepened.
"Some people are just the soul of forgiveness," Quark said, and didn't know himself whether he meant that in a gloating or disapproving manner. One of Bashir's eyebrows climbed upwards.
"Aren't they, just," he confirmed, looking rather pointedly from Odo to Quark and back.
Quark decided it was just as well that Bashir didn't spend so much time with Garak anymore. The Doctor had picked up enough sarcasm as it was.
"Dabo!" shouted the deep, strongly accented voice from Morn's new friend, and with a sigh of relief, Quark turned towards the gambling area to check on the state of his business.
Deciding whether new gamblers were the cheating kind was so easy compared with other things, after all.
Quark had just ordered some tooth grubs from the replimat when the computer told him there was a call from Ferenginar waiting. It turned out to be Moogie, dressed in even more ridiculous clothes than the last time, glaring at him, so that fitted in fine with the rest of his day.
"Where is Rom?" she said angrily.
"Oh, hello, Mother," Quark replied sourly. "It is good to see you, too. So nice of you to call and ask how I am."
"Quark," Ishka said impatiently, "first you nearly worry us to death by telling Zek Rom is scheduled for execution and that Zek has to petition the Dominion for mercy at once, and then, when we are all set to come to that dreadful station of yours to rescue him, there is just one sorry little note from you saying that it's not necessary anymore because the Federation is back.. And no more explanations, or a call from Rom. This is not like him. The poor boy must still be in a terrible state of shock, and you should be at his side, taking care of him. Not that I'm surprised you are not. I bet it's your fault that he got into this situation to begin with. Rom is the most peaceful soul imaginable, but you..."
"Rom is busy repairing things, or getting oomox from his wife," Quark interrupted her, teeth gritted. He was not going to get into another shouting match with her. "Why didn't you have your call directed to his quarters when you wanted to talk to him?"
"Because I thought that for once in your life, you'd behave like a responsible older brother," Ishka returned sharply. Something in Quark snapped, and he cancelled the connection. Then he turned around and exclaimed, loud enough for everyone to hear: "I wish I was an orphan!"
Most of the guests ignored him; only a few looked up, startled, and shrugged. The waiters went on with their business, since they knew what was good for them. Only Dr. Bashir, who had just arrived, commented, brows knit together.
"Believe me, I know the feeling," he said. "Is it anything you want to talk about, Quark?"
"No," Quark said morosely. Bashir looked relieved. It was odd to see him on his own, without O'Brien, or Garak, or Dax. Bashir was one of these humans who seemed to have an invisible sign tattoed on their forehead that said "Desperately Seeking Company; Will Provide Any Service To Get It". He wasn't quite the same youthful chatterbox who had arrived on the station years ago, but his incapability of remaining on his own for more than five minutes was still there. Since sociable people were what his establishment thrived on, Quark wasn't about to complain. He just wished Bashir had brought someone along and wouldn't direct that sociability at him when he clearly wasn't in the mood. But those were the members of the Federation for you. They thrived on "sharing feelings".
With a pang, Quark recalled that the Cardassians were completely without that pesky habit.
"I wanted to thank you for calling me earlier today," the Doctor said, brown eyes all earnest eagerness. "It must have been being back with all this chaos here - I really had forgotten."
Because the day had been wearing at him, because he was unusually tired when the night hadn't even started, and because he was pretty sure Moogie would find an awful way to make him apologize for cancelling the connection, with or without involving the Grand Nagus, Quark muttered: "Figures. We all forget stuff we've already traded in."
Bashir first looked confused, then outraged.
"What," he asked slowly, every word as precise as a knife, "do you mean by that?"
Very well. Bashir had just volunteered to be the recipient of Quark's bad mood.
"Oh, Doctor, we all understand," Quark said, gathering steam as he went on. "Why still continue to hang out with the lowlives if you've found more exalted company? Nobody keeps bothering with damaged goods when he's found shiny new ones, that's how it goes, everyone knows that. And hey, if some of them break while you play darts or link or marry, who cares?"
He was expecting Bashir to jump up or at the very least respond with a heated burst of indignation. Instead, the Doctor went suddenly still. He, too, had lines in his face which hadn't previously been there. He had lost even more weight during the recent months, and he had been skinny to begin with. Suddenly Quark could see what Bashir would look like as an old man, when the Doctor with his foolhardy derring-do would have been his own personal bet for first station crew member to die in the past.
"We're not talking about me at all, are we?" Bashir asked softly. There was an unbelievable and most insulting undertone of pity in his voice.
"Well, I certainly was," Quark said, irritated beyond endurance.
Bashir opened his mouth, but whatever words of wisdom the Doctor doubtlessly imagined Quark needed to hear remained unspoken when Kira entered the bar in her usual, brisk fashion, making her way directly to the object of her destination, which turned out to be none other than Quark himself. Quark had never been so glad to see the Major.
"Look," Kira said, "I still owe you. But if you've got anything of Ziyal's and intend to fleece it to the next slimy customer of yours, that won't stop me from going after your wretched Ferengi hide. Are we clear?"
"I haven't got anything of Ziyal's," Quark said, which happened to be the truth. For one thing, he had known better, being very sure that Kira would have any item belonging to the dead girl memorized, and for another, he was fairly certain that Dukat would tear him to pieces if in some hypothetic future when the Gul was free once more he offered to trade something belonging to his dead daughter.
Kira looked uncertain, which might or might not have to do with the fact she believed him and must be finding this to be a new and unpleasant sensation. Half out of spite and half out of an odd sense of sympathy, Quark decided to rub it in.
"Except for one thing," he continued, "which she gave to me."
Upon Kira's sceptical expression, he produced the small sketch Ziyal had handed him one evening when he had made her laugh in the middle of her brooding about her father and Kira and the division of loyalties those two caused in her. It showed the bar, not as it had been at the time, full of Cardassians and Jem'Hadar, but as it had been in the past, including a fairly good likeness of Quark himself, busy pouring in something for Morn, though Quark always thought that Ziyal had underestimated the size of his lobes. In the right corner of the sketch, she had written, in Bajoran letters but using Cardassian words "To Quark - with thanks".
Kira's expression softened when she saw this. She swallowed and sighed.
"She was so talented," she said, sounding so lost that Quark almost felt sorry. Almost. He had hoped it would take Kira some more days to start bullying him again in her usual fashion.
Bashir tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, and Kira remained still for a while. Which was probably the reason why Quark heard, despite all the other usual noise of the bar, that slightly swishy sound Odo made when transforming. He whipped his head around, just in time to notice that the Aldovian Bear-hunter who had hung around near the entrance of the bar wasn't there anymore and had been replaced by the Constable, who stared in their direction with the usual uncomfortable expression which would have indicated a sick stomach with most other people but for Odo passed for a lovelorn look, since Kira was the one to evoke it.
If Kira noticed his presence, she didn't show.
"Well," she said to Quark, going for a business-like tone again, "of course you can keep this."
I'm dazzled by your generosity, he thought, but said out loud: "And who gets to keep her other stuff? You or Dukat?"
Kira pressed her lips together. "Dukat isn't in a position to keep anything anymore," she said curtly, nodded at Bashir and turned to leave. Discovering Odo made her falter in her steps for exactly a second. Then she passed him withhout as much as another glimpse. Odo's sick stomach expression deepened.
"Some people are just the soul of forgiveness," Quark said, and didn't know himself whether he meant that in a gloating or disapproving manner. One of Bashir's eyebrows climbed upwards.
"Aren't they, just," he confirmed, looking rather pointedly from Odo to Quark and back.
Quark decided it was just as well that Bashir didn't spend so much time with Garak anymore. The Doctor had picked up enough sarcasm as it was.
"Dabo!" shouted the deep, strongly accented voice from Morn's new friend, and with a sigh of relief, Quark turned towards the gambling area to check on the state of his business.
Deciding whether new gamblers were the cheating kind was so easy compared with other things, after all.