Chapter Text
Odo doesn’t remember that much of what happened the day he was exiled. He remembers vividly the Founder’s outrage and revulsion seconds before she tore his essence from his body, but after that, it all sort of fades into a blurry haze of hunger and pain.
There is a moment he remembers distinctly. After what felt like an eternity, there was a familiar voice, shouting in panic. Then, abruptly, the sensation of warmth. He managed to crack his eyes open and saw the mortal he now knows as Quark, kneeling by him, his expression horrified. His jacket was missing, having just removed it and draped it over the ex-fae, a small but nonetheless significant shield against the chill.
Some of the worry had left Ferengi’s features when he saw the other’s eyes open to look at him. “Oh, thank the blessed Exchequer, you’re not dead.” He’d muttered to himself. Then, addressing the other directly: “How did this happen?”
“Punishment” the no-longer-dryad had managed to get out, faintly.
Horror had returned anew to Quark’s face, this time tinged with a deep regret. “Because you spared me,” he had breathed.
And Odo had never corrected him.
Winter descends upon the town with almost alarming enthusiasm. Night patrols get longer. Odo learns the hard way about the importance of bundling up if he cares to have any sensation in his feet or hands the following day. It’s just another reminder of how fragile his human body truly is.
After a certain number of refusals, the other guards in his assigned squadron eventually get the hint and stop inviting him to the tavern after hours.
(No one asks him why—which is worse, somehow, because it makes him feel as though everyone knows already. The town isn’t exactly small, but Quark’s is one of its more popular venues. It wouldn’t surprise him if others knew that he and its proprietor weren’t on speaking terms anymore.)
Life goes on, strangely enough. He makes a few friendly acquaintances, largely by accident, some of which he’d go so far as to call friends. He works hard at his job, rising in the ranks until he is made head of the night watch. The new position requires that he spend more time sorting out reports and speaking with city officials than patrolling the city streets, which suits him just fine. Less risk of running into Quark that way.
Odo’s new lodgings came with a window box. When the snow begins to melt, he goes to visit the botanist and asks her for some seeds and fertilizer.
Tending to his plants, he feels far less bitterness than expected. There is an inescapable familiarity that comes with the feeling of the soil, the leaves, the petals beneath his fingertips, reminding him of the home he can never return to. And yet, their presence brings more contentment than they do pain, the scents of mint and sweet woodruff pleasant to the senses. As he waters them one morning, the droplets glittering in the spring sunshine, he thinks to himself that, perhaps, things might be okay.
“You know,” Garak, the town’s tailor and unofficial spymaster, remarks at one of their breakfasts one day, “they say the owner of Quark’s has been rather down as of late.”
Odo doesn’t respond. His companion takes that as an excuse to continue, “Yes, apparently he hasn’t been his chipper self all winter. I suppose it must be hard, what with his nephew off at the academy in the city and his brother getting married…”
He’d known about that. An invitation to the wedding had arrived at his apartment some weeks ago. He’d sent the newlyweds a gift, of course, paid for with a month’s worth of his wages; however, he had declined to attend the event itself.
He puts down his raktajino, the taste of it suddenly unappealing.
“The poor man must be rather lonely now,” the tailor muses. “I’m sure he could do with a bit of company.”
For a moment, Odo considers to himself what kind of reaction the other expects from him. Anger, for prying into his life? Defensiveness? Sorrow?
He stands. “I have to return to my duties.” He says, curtly. “Was there anything else you wished to tell me, Garak?”
The Cardassian looks at him for a moment, an unreadable look on his face, before his usual smile reappears. “Why, nothing at all, Constable.”
He doesn’t think about Quark.
He doesn’t think about Quark when he wakes up alone in his lodgings (“Ugh, you’re up early”), he doesn’t think about Quark when he cooks his meals (“Careful with that, you’ll burn it!”), he doesn’t think about Quark when he dresses for the day (“I get that you used to be a tree-man— dryad, whatever— but that doesn’t mean everything in your closet has to be some shade of brown”), he doesn’t think about Quark when he assigns nightly patrols (“Oh, if you’re going to that part of town anyways, you can pick up my suits from the washhouse”), and he doesn’t think about Quark as he lies in bed (“Spare sheets and blankets are in the storage closet if those are too rough. If you need anything in the middle of the night, just wake up Rom or something.”).
He doesn’t think about Quark at all.
His absolute state of not-thinking-about-Quark is rudely broken one night when Rom bursts into the guardhouse, panting, and without so much as a preamble, exclaims “Have you seen my brother?”
“Good evening, Rom.” Odo straightens the stack of papers atop his desk before looking calmly up at the distressed Ferengi. “To answer your question, no, I have not seen your brother today.”
“Well, has anyone else?” the clearly-distressed man babbles, wringing his hands. “I haven’t seen him all day, he didn’t show up at the bar, he didn’t say he was taking a day off or anything, and when I went to check on him the door to his rooms was unlocked and he wasn’t there and—”
“Calm down, Rom.” The head of the guard says, a tad sharply. The Ferengi promptly shuts up.
“Are you sure he’s not just… out fraternizing, or something?”
Rom shakes his head, “Nooo, he couldn’t be. Even when Professor Lang was visiting and he was out a lot, he always made sure to leave someone in charge and give them instructions. He wouldn’t just leave his tavern behind for someone. Something has to be wrong!”
Odo heaves a deep sigh, one of deep resignation.
“Very well.” He says, in a clipped tone. “I’ll send a few people out looking for him. Where did you last see him?”
The night of the vernal equinox, the faerie woods are still and serene. The trees are growing well into their new crowns of verdant green, their wide, outstretched boughs heavy with flora just beginning to blossom. A soft breeze rustles the leaves, playfully, the sweetness of the first few petals carrying on the wind.
This calm atmosphere is somewhat offset by the sound of branches snapping, followed by the sounds of fabric being caught and torn on the briars and loud cursing. Leaves crunch beneath a pair of footsteps, stamping impudently and determinedly across the forest floor, coming to a halt directly before the thin line of tiny white mushrooms. A voice rings out,
“I’m here to make a deal!”
The wind picks up a little, sending a flurry of hissed whispers through the trees. Other than that, there is no response.
The footsteps shuffle a bit uncertainly, but the voice continues to speak, determined. “It concerns the fate of one of your own. Under those conditions, I’m entitled to an audience.”
A beat. Then, one by one, the bone-white mushrooms before the visitor begin to disappear, forming a gap in the border the perfect size for a single person to pass through. Beyond the gap, there appear two long lines of valerian, forming a path that leads deeper into the woods.
The guards have found nothing so far. An hour of searching the town has revealed that no one has seen Quark at all since the previous day, and there are no indications in his apartment that he had decided to take an unannounced trip, nor that he was taken someplace against his will.
Odo paces back and forth across his office, his brow furrowed as he racks his brain for any idea as to where the tavern keeper might have gone. Kidnapping was still a real possibility— although, anyone skilled enough to have taken Quark from his lodgings without the Ferengi making a huge racket or anyone downstairs noticing would have to be incredibly well-trained and competent, traits which did not fit the usual cohort of thugs Quark chose to do business with. Which led him to another possibility— could it be that the bartender had gone to participate in some shady deal or scheme and found himself on the wrong side of a blade? Could he be bleeding slowly to death in some alley at this very moment, too weak to call for help? No, the guards would have found him by now, and besides, Quark would have been screeching before the blade even touched him. It was impossible that no one would have heard. Or perhaps…
He stops his pacing momentarily to pinch the bridge of his nose and exhale. He can’t afford to start spiraling, not now—even if he is beginning to feel a little more panic with each passing minute. What he needs is to focus.
“Not going well, I take it.”
“No,” he says, not bothering to ask why and how Garak is in his office. “Anything on your end?”
“I’m afraid not.” The Cardassian pushes himself lightly off the wall he’d been leaning against and walks around the office, pausing to casually peruse through some of the reports on Odo’s desk. “Some friends of mine in the neighboring towns have been kind enough to inform me that they haven’t seen anyone matching his description in the last day or so.”
“How kind of them to let you know.” Odo says, dryly.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Garak smiles brightly. Then the smile fades slightly. “And how are you faring, if I may be so bold?”
Odo, who seemed to be once again lost in thought, startled at the question. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”
With a vague, harsh gesture directed at nothing in particular, he continues, “Just watch. He’ll turn out to be perfectly fine and this entire affair will have been a waste of valuable time and resources. Typical. When I see him, I’ll…”
He trails off, suddenly.
“You’ll…?” Garak says, inquiringly.
For a moment, Odo just stands frozen. A small, choked noise of pain escapes him, his hand coming up to clutch at his chest.
“Odo? Can you hear me?”
This isn’t the first time he’s felt this kind of phantom sensation since becoming human; the weight of branches he no longer has, the feeling of vines beneath his skin. This one is different, yet familiar— a strange unfurling in his heart.
His eyes widen in realization.
“You understand, of course, that forming any new contracts between Us and those who reside in the Kingdom of Bajor are forbidden.”
“I’m not a resident of Bajor. Or, at least,” Quark waves the scroll in his hand, “I stopped being one the moment I signed this document.”
“Explain.”
The being in the clearing is vaguely humanoid, though there is something distinctly off about its construction, something that screams ‘wrong’. Focusing on any part of her for too long makes Quark feel deeply uneasy in a way he can’t describe.
“This form exists so that your mind remains unbroken for the duration of this audience. Were you to witness my true form, you would be reduced to ash.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t read my mind.”
“I did not. My being is one with the Great Link. Its roots run through this entire domain, revealing that which lies in the hearts of even the basest creatures.”
“Are you making fun of— okay, forget it.” He takes a deep breath, before reciting: “I, Quark, son of Keldar, wish to make a bargain. I have in my hands a contract. If you agree to the terms, we can discuss them here and now before coming to a final decision.”
He holds the scroll in both hands and offers it to the Founder. “I promise you that this document holds no subterfuge or trickery. I’m just… trying to repay a debt.”
The Founder does not move from her spot several meters away—but in the blink of an eye, one moment the contract is in Quark’s hands, and the next, it’s in hers. She opens it and begins to read. Quark looks on, fighting the urge to fidget anxiously.
After what seems an eternity, the Founder speaks again, still looking at the scroll. “I see. So you wish to give your life in exchange for the banished one?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why?” The Ferengi sputters, incredulously. “I—” He flails his arms as though his body is struggling to contain the sheer amount of frustration he feels. “He lost everything because of me! He lost his home, his body, his name— do you know what that does to a person? I mean, obviously you do, which is why you used it as punishment, but he didn’t deserve that!”
He manages to reign himself in a little before he continues, “What I’m asking of you is to realize that he shouldn’t have been punished just for being an honorable person who saved someone he didn’t have to save. And if what it takes for him to be forgiven is me handing myself over to pay for my deeds, so be it. This whole thing is my fault anyways. If I had done a better job at warning those kids to keep away from the woods, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”
He chuckles bitterly. “You know, I don’t even blame him for not being able to stand being around me? If I had my entire life ruined because of one person, I’d hate them too.”
“I see.” The Founder intones. The scroll snaps shut.
Then, before his eyes, the scroll erupts into flame in her hands, disintegrating in a matter of seconds. “This contract is null.”
Quark looks utterly shell-shocked. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.
“What?” he eventually manages, in a profoundly bewildered tone of voice.
“The contract contained a falsehood.” She explains calmly. “The banished one of whom you speak was not cast out for the crime of sparing your life against Our wishes. Therefore you cannot reverse his sentence by giving your life to Us.”
“Then why did you banish him?!"
“Though his actions could have endangered Us, the accord between our peoples remains unbroken. He would have been forgiven, had he not allowed a moment of weakness to seal his fate. No, the true reason for his exile is for refusing to relinquish his attachment to a mortal.”
------
Not too far away, Odo searches the woods frantically, calling Quark’s name, until the sound of a familiar voice stops him dead in his tracks.
------
The world seems to slow down for the Ferengi. In the distance, he thinks he can hear someone calling his name, but it seems faint and far away.
His attachment to a mortal…
He hears his name again, louder this time. He turns and sees Odo, standing on the far edge of the clearing. He looks about as shocked as Quark feels.
“You were not invited to attend this audience.”
Odo doesn’t even look at her. Instead, he walks towards the Ferengi, eyes filled with some undiscernible emotion, and reaches for his hand.
He then seizes Quark by the wrist and drags him bodily from the clearing.
What small amount of tranquility had returned to the woods since its last incursion is once again shattered the figures of Odo and Quark as the former hauls the latter behind him. The trampling of foliage and vegetation is almost as loud as the taller man’s furious admonishments, which only grow in strength and anger as they go along: “You miserable ingrate—what were you thinking— just when it seemed your idiocy had reached its limit— trying to start another war at this point— you complete and utter—”
They’re nearly at the border when Quark, having fully regained his senses, starts attempting to wriggle free. “Odo— hey, Odo, stop!” When the other doesn’t respond, he digs his heels in the dirt and tries once again to yank himself free, this time succeeding. Odo whirls around to glare daggers at him.
“Do you have any idea what could have happened?” he shouts.
“I had it handled!” Quark shoots back, defensively.
Odo barks out a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Don’t kid yourself. No mortal has ever managed to get the better of a Founder. They would have taken everything you had.”
“THAT WAS THE POINT!”
The guardsman looks taken aback for a fraction of a second. Then his face twists into a scowl, “All the better that I intervened, then. Come on, we’re going.”
He makes to grab for Quark’s arm again, but the Ferengi jumps back and out of reach. He glowers at the former fae, and snaps, “Why did you lie about the reason you were exiled?”
“That— that has nothing to do with this!”
The tavern keeper’s voice is steely. “Oh, it has everything to do with this. It’s the whole reason why I’m out here.” He jabs an accusatory digit at the other man, “For you!”
In response, the guardsman draws himself up, eyes flashing, and snarls, “What entitles you to the belief that you have ANY right to make deals on my behalf?”
“Because I’m the one who ruined your life!”
“You never ruined my life! How could you? You were the one thing that made it worth living!”
A shocked silence falls over the two, each staring at the other, wide-eyed.
Quark regains his ability to speak first, “Listen, Odo, I—”
But Odo cuts him off. “No, stop talking. You’ve done more than enough of it for one night.” Seeing the other’s uncharacteristic determination to speak his mind, Quark does just that.
“Quark, when I was staying with you, I was happy. And even when I wasn’t, even on the days when I was utterly, totally miserable, I— I never blamed you. For any of it. I liked being with you.”
“Then why did you leave?”
A pause, and then, falteringly: “I was afraid. I could feel that this…” he grimaces, ““attachment” was growing too strong to be ignored. I thought that, perhaps, if I wasn’t around you so much, it would eventually go away.”
Quark leans in very, very close. “And did it?” he asks, softly.
“No.” Odo whispers.
He seems to be bracing himself after baring his soul in such a manner, expecting the worst— mockery, judgement, revulsion.
Instead, Quark takes his face in his hands.
“Good,” he says, simply. “Neither did mine.”
Near the border between the Kingdom of Bajor and the Dominion of Faerie— where two individuals once stood and argued for hours— the same two now hold one another close, two hearts blossoming together as one.