Note: Getting to one of the plots I've been dying to get to since the beginning. We finally get to see Jake, and Nog in a fashion. But don't think it'll be as simple as all that. No warnings here except for mention of offscreen minor character death. Thanks to everyone reading! C&C always welcome- I try to keep track of all plot points carefully but you never know.


"Noh-Jay Consortium," Garak reads the words etched into the dark metal on the sign above the counter out loud. "Was this the main branch of the..." he searches for the word uncertain of which would be proper in this context. The man next to him takes a step forward, a wistful sigh interrupting that mental index of his current Federation Standard vocabulary. The man, Jake Sisko, he recalls during their brief introduction is tall- taller than he in any case- yet the smile that appears on his face is so childlike in its innocent recall it somehow erodes that difference in their heights. He appears to be caught up in some fond remembrance as he reads those words to himself and, given the circumstances of their current acquaintance, Garak allows him whatever time he needs before speaking. Jake has arms crossed, a fond shake of his head appearing before he offers an explanation.

"If Nog had his way then maybe... You know, I don't know. That's what Ferengi are supposed to do, he'd say. Profit, y'know? But, we never made it out of this building. It's probably for the best that we went our separate ways. He was mad... that I wanted out, that I didn't want to keep going when we were doing so well but when you look back you realize things happen the way they're supposed to. That's what dad says, anyway. He's always been a lot more grounded than me."

"Of course," Garak offers cautiously as he takes a few steps surveying the counter and the space behind. There is definitely ample space for his purposes. The sign will have to come down but as he shoots another discreet glance to Jake, still looking at it half misty he supposes that it can wait until he's ready to open the shop.

The building came a few days ago, a boon from the State one might say in its affordability and utility. He has not let himself dwell overly long on the circumstances surrounding his rental of the property though those circumstances have seemed to find a way to shove themselves intrusively under his nose at every turn. Unpleasant business, disputed space. That's one reason of many that he's always been thankful to have his feet firmly planted on a station or a planet for his assignments. There are far too many variables when dealing with travel. He'd started to say so to Leeta when it became readily apparent that his pragmatism was not particularly welcome in this time of grieving. Or rather it would be grieving if it weren't for her stubborn insistence that the man in question, Nog, was alive and going to be quite cross with all of them upon his return. He chose to remain silent on his particular view of misplaced optimism. Especially in light of their relationship hinging entirely on her willful blindness to his true identity.

Ah, but now this shop, whether by ill gotten gains or not will be the perfect location to begin. Quark had insisted that in spite of his newfound status as landlord that the building could not possibly be shown without prior purchase and the location and price left Garak desperate enough to agree to that completely obscene demand. But looking around at the shelves lining the walls and the carefully polished wooden display tables in the center of the main shop room, he cannot help but feel that luck has uncharacteristically been with him in this endeavor. By his recall of the floor plan he was shown there should be a good work room in the back previously used for storage, and a secondary store room off there. That is also not counting the basement and upstairs which could be used to generate extra rental revenue- per Quark's suggestion, no doubt with the thought that he might be able to raise the rent should that occur- or however else he saw fit.

In fact, Garak is quite eager to view the remainder of the building, but he is patient enough to allow his unusually insistent tour guide another moment to collect his bearings.

"I do hope you'll forgive my presumptuousness but if this is too difficult for you, Mr. Sisko then I can-"

"Jake," he cuts in with a quick turn of his head. It almost seems as if he's afraid Garak will go wandering off without him. "It's fine I mean. Just call me Jake. I don't even think Dad goes by Mr. Sisko yet and he's a lot older than I am." Jake forces a smile as he turns from that sign to the door leading to the back. "Grandpa's the only one that gets a "Mr." in the Siscko family." He motions for Garak to follow him, taking out a small ring of metal keys. "These aren't the new locks. Nog swore these old lever locks were the best. I don't think Quark will mind you changing them though. Extra security raises the value of the building, right?" The key turns easily, the door swinging open without a hint of sound, the hinges clearly being freshly oiled. It makes him wonder who's been maintaining the property so well though he has a rather strong hunch.

"Will your uncle be okay?" Garak inquires politely as they step through the doorway to another large empty space. He notes again the floor is freshly waxed and the windows polishes without a speck of dust.

"He's only "uncle" Quark when he thinks it'll get him something. But he'll be fine. Dr. Bashir says there isn't any lasting damage."

"I'm sure your aunt is beside herself with guilt," Garak offers as Jake reads off the measurements of the room. There is a hint of a smile- a far more genuine one- at that statement. Garak was quite impressed in retrospect at the rather effective method Leeta had employed in what she called "boxing the greedy s.o.b.'s ear" for profiting off of Nog's seeming death. The shrill scream that followed was far less so but the spectacle was at least a welcome break in the monotony of the transaction up until that point. Several pages of Westworld legalese painstakingly explained by Jadzia had explained what should have been summarized with a few short sentences. Nog was dead, and Quark was left the main shareholder in the Noh-Jay Consortium having bought Jake's shares some years prior.

That had then left him with several questions still to be answered and hardly touched upon in the lease. Such as why this property has sat meticulously upkept yet never rented when it is clear neither party has any inclination to make use of the space. That is then followed by this tour which given the lack of furnishings or other exotic architecture has no real purpose other than a nostalgic jaunt down memory lane, as it were, and finally, the low starting lease which Mr. Nog's final wishes clearly laid out much to his uncle chagrin. Really, Elim, it seems that you cannot help but find yourself embroiled in one strange bout of intrigue after another in this seemingly innocuous town. Certainly Tain could not have planned this better if he tried and I'm beginning to wonder if this finally mercy as he calls it isn't far more clearly planned out than he let on. But then again this final gauntlet to regain the man's favor would hardly be the iron will test he was promised if it were as deceptively easy as-

"I need to show you a few things upstairs." Jake's voice interrupts his automatic, overly interested glance into the secondary store room which he decides will be perfect for keeping his supplies. Garak shuts the door with a nod as he sees Jake turn towards a straight narrow staircase. He sees eyes linger on him a moment longer than they ought to, searching, a swallow aborting speech as if there is more to be said before Jake practically jogs up the steps, long legs leaving Garak no inclination to try and match his pace. He isn't sure the reason for the hurried step but he does on second thought almost decide to match it as he feels those dark paneled walls start to close in on him. His grip on the rail is perhaps tighter than it ought to be when he reaches the top. "Do you have a supplier?" Jake asks suddenly, looking down the hall to a closed door at the end. Garak notes two doors on the left and two on the right.

"I have a several places I was able to locate in the directory that I've written to though I must confess I'm uncertain as to the fair market value of a lot of the textiles that will need to be imported. From what I can tell, your planet has quite a thriving home grown textile industry and while I've been assured that anything too exotic won't move well here I can't help but think that it's just a matter of... marketing." He sees Jake still surveying the doors before opening the first one on the left.

"I have a few contacts I can put you in touch with," Jake says as he reveals another large yet predictable empty room. "When we were younger we tried out hand at trading. Importing, exporting, you name it we bought it and sold it." He trails off leaning against a wall, daylight streaming in nicely making a warm spot that Garak moves to. "I remember one time we were trying to unload all these self sealing stem bolts. No one knew what they were for, what they were worth, or anything. We just got them from a trade that Nog made on a hunch." Jake laughs. "Even Mr. O'Brien didn't know what they were used for. But in the end we got ten bars of latinum for them. Nog said that was double hie entire life savings."

"And he... also left the business?" Garak asks wondering why a Ferengi would leave such a clearly lucrative enterprise behind. Jake nods as he shows him a small closet and bathroom.

"He wanted to be in Starfleet."

"Starfleet? A Ferengi?" he asks somewhat incredulously as he eyes the bathtub and dreams of a hot soak without a care for other patrons. His room has a toilet and a sink and just enough space to turn around. Yes, by all means, Elim leave the relative security of your current quarters so you can take a bath. Perhaps you should be retiring after all. Of course he is well aware given who he is that retiring for him take the same form as sending a well loved ship to the nearest sun to burn in a grand conflagration honoring its service except he imagines it will somehow manage to be far more painful that that. no, with the current situation.

With the current situation perhaps you ought to spend more time asking question, observing, planning, and less time daydreaming of baths and doctors and dalliances with exotic aliens. He redirects his attention, thankful that in spite of his reverie he recalls every word spoken about the young Ferengi and his desire to serve in Starfleet. That narrative firmly in play he follows Jake to the next room, finding it to much the same as the last.

"You said the mayor... your father I mean was a Captain in Starfleet?" That is the part in all the cloying sentimentality that catches his attention. He now counts three former Starfleet officers amongst the permanent residents in Indigo and he has a sneaking suspicion there are still more to come. Jake tempts him with a glimpse of a second bathtub as he nods.

"Before coming here he was... yeah. He ah... you know, I like to tell stories, I mean I am a writer but that one... that's really his story to tell." Which leaves Garak with a polite pasted on smile as he nods- what else is there to say to that, after all- and continues the same routine for the next two rooms.

It comes to him then as they near that final door at the end, the master suite if he had to venture a guess, where he's heard the name Jake Sisko before.

"You're a writer," Garak says suddenly, brilliantly.

"I like to think so," Jake quips stopping to look at him. There's a blooming look on his face, the daring to hope face of the starving artist meeting one who might in fact know his name for the work he's done. And indeed, Garak realizes he had. "Have you... read any of my books?" The question is asked so hopefully, it makes Garak annoyed with himself to be so pleased about telling the truth. But it is in fact the truth and quite an unusual one at that.

"I've read Come On, Danger, as a matter of fact. It's a quite popular book on Cardassia Prime amongst fans of the old Parmalat novels. I can't say I'm familiar with your other work. I don't know that the rest have been translated. I must say it's quite unusual for a human to be so familiar with Cardassian culture and history. There are those critics who claim that the, I don't believe it's necessary to repeats such clearly ignorant epithets, fans of the old novels are merely seeking to find commonality in the most banal of things but the parallels and the intent are unmistakable."

"Yes!" Jakes bobs his head excitedly. "Yes that's it! I had no idea it would be so well received in Cardassian Space. Nog told me the response in the Federation was lukewarm at best but I'd received royalties from my publisher from somewhere but oh man that's fantastic! What was your favorite part? Was it the scene where Roxanne puts on the red light? I thought of the symbolism of the emblem when I wrote that, you know."

"Ah, yes, that's such a human scene. The humanity shows in so many parts it's almost a disappointment to the genius of the narrative as a whole. You clearly have such a deep understanding of Cardassian society in Parmalat's time I really think chapter three especially would have benefitted from a different editor. No, I rather enjoyed Matthew's discovery of the tin box behind the bleeding portrait. There were some references that escaped me at the time. The entire world seemed so fanciful, such speculative fiction but coming here I can see it's a quite clever mash up of the two worlds. I can't imagine you see many Cardassians here to be able to write such a provocative tale."

"It was actually Mr. O'Brien who got me interested in Cardassian culture. I mean in a weird way, yeah. It's no secret he doesn't like Cardassians but when he told me about the massacre on Setlik Two and the battle he was in, I wanted to get to know, to understand who these people were that he kept calling the enemy."

"You mean Setlik Three," Garak corrects him pointedly supposing that the bodies in space much seem much in the same to those born on this planet. Jake shakes his head.

"No, Setlik Two. I've heard the story a few times. It's definitely Setlik Two." To that Garak almost tells him that he's probably not remembering it correctly but there's something about that insistence that gives him pause. That makes no sense, of course. Setlik Two was never the site of any major battles and being in Starfleet O'Brien would have no cause to conflate the two even if he were making the entire story of his involvement up. He files that information away carefully, not under urgent but of things of interest to ask Doctor Bashir about when they next meet.

Garak isn't quite sure when that will be as the casualties and injuries from the accident have kept him quite busy but given the circumstances of their last meeting he's decided to make good use of this time move head with his own plans. He doesn't like leaving such a loose end untied, especially a loose end that confessed to spying on him for the last few months, but that matter has been neatly resolved with a block over the lens behind the mirror. No, he's sure when there is time the doctor will be back to collect on his prize and he considers this time it will be under Garak's terms.

"Yes, forgive me, that system had been such a hotbed of military action during the war I must have confused them myself. And we seem to have fallen off the path in our tour." Garak indicates the final door which they stand in front of unopened. Jake's expression takes on a far more serious cast as looks at Garak, not sparing it a glance.

"I'm sorry that 'uncle Quark' didn't tell you, Mr. Garak, but this door can't be opened under any circumstance."

He hands Garak the ring of keys, an air of finality passing between them. Garak chooses wisely not to contest that assertion, his memory bringing to mind vividly Quark's seeming offhanded remark about Cardassians being pleasantly lacking in natural curiosity. Knowing as he takes the ring the key to that door won't be on them, Garak nods with equal solemnity as he turns, showing that he doesn't consider it worth a second thought.

"You have my word."