Chapter Text
“Brother! BROTHER!” Rom tore into the back room, a stupider, pointier grin than usual splitting his face.
Quark hastily swiped his PADD. A photo of Nog as an infant, chubby, naked, lying on his belly and chewing a tubegrub shell, filled the screen.
“What, Rom? It had better be important. I told you I was doing the accounts and wasn’t to be disturbed.”
“S-s-sorry, Brother.” Nog frowned. “But it is important! Morn says that Pomika says that Wurn walked in on Garak and Doctor Bashir kissing in Garak’s shop. Each other. On the lips. Yesterday, Brother!” Self-satisfaction and confidence squared Rom’s shoulders. “My day. That means I’ve won the pool!”
“What? That’s impossible.” Quark tapped and swiped annoyedly at the PADD, bringing up a spreadsheet on which the names of various station residents were displayed. Taxes and tariffs! Rom was right. Yesterday had been his day. Well, there was no way he was letting this go any further. “Where’s your proof, Rom? I need more than idle gossip.”
“Gossip’s enough, isn’t it, Brother? Rule of Acquisition Number 63: ‘A good rumour can change your fortunes’. A-a-ask Morn. It’s a good rumour.”
“Rule of Acquisition Number 64: ‘A bad rumour can change your life’. And I don’t trust Morn when it comes to gossip. Last month he said the doctor was giving Garak oo-mox in the infirmary.” Who knew what the source of that rumour had been, but it was clearly untrue. Only Ferengi had the lobes to appreciate oo-mox. Cardassians didn’t have lobes at all, just unmanly little ridges.
“The Rules are o-o-open to interpretation, Brother. Gint doesn’t say if either change is good or bad.”
Quark clamped his hand over his brother’s mouth.
“Rom! Not another word! I can’t believe the blasphemy I’m hearing, and from the lips of my own brother!”
A muffled exclamation ventilated Quark’s fingers.
“I can’t tell what you’re saying. If I remove my hand do you promise to stop taking the Rules of Acquisition in vain?”
Rom nodded and Quark withdrew his hand.
“Good. I hope you’re ashamed of yourself.”
“Y-y-yes, Brother, I am.” Rom looked at his feet. “Buuuut...it’s a credible rumour. Not like the one about oo-mox. Hew-mons are like Bajorans. They kiss their lovers on the lips.”
“If it’s a credible rumour then you’ll have no trouble finding proof.” Quark dismissed his brother by turning back to his PADD. “Until then the pool is still open. Now go back to the bar. Morn’ll have helped himself to who knows how much springwine by now.”
“Yes, Brother,” said Rom dejectedly, exiting the room.
“It’s probably why he sent you back here in the first place, you pathetic naif,” Quark muttered to himself.
In truth, Quark was not worried about the rumour. There was no way it was true. It wasn’t that Garak wasn’t interested. Strangely, for a man as private as Garak, he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was utterly infatuated with Doctor Bashir. It was blatantly obvious to anyone familiar with Cardassian body language - the touching, the leaning, the self-satisfied grins, pursed lips, and quirked eye ridges - meaning that at least two thirds of the station knew. Quark had no idea what kind of game Garak was playing, or if it even was a game, but the Cardassian was shameless, acting for all the world as if he and the doctor were long-term partners. In fact the genesis of the betting pool had been when Natima Lang had asked Quark how long the doctor had been sleeping with the spy, expressing surprise that Starfleet would allow the station’s Chief Medical Officer to engage in such a dalliance. Quark had realised that if even someone as clever as Natima could be taken in, anyone could, and as Rule of Acquisition Number 100 said, ‘a romantic fool and his money are soon parted’.
And while the station may be full of them, Quark was certainly no romantic fool. He hadn’t got this far in the bar trade without knowing how to get the measure of people, thank you very much. Garak was handsome and charming and, for a Cardassian on a Bajoran station, seemed to have a fairly healthy sex life. Quark had seen him leaving the bar many a night with his hand light on the hip of some man or other, gently ushering him in the direction of the lift to the habitat ring. No, clearly Garak had no trouble with men who were into men.
It was just that the doctor had a clear type, and that type was about as far from Garak as it was possible to be and still be into bipeds. If there was one thing Quark and Doctor Bashir could agree on, it was what made an attractive mate. She was young, slim, beautiful, and female. Actually, the doctor’s tastes were even narrower than Quark’s own, as Quark had never seen the doctor pursue a female who wasn’t also human or very similar in appearance to one; Bajoran, Trill, Elaysian. They all had smooth skin, even teeth, and small, hairy heads. Quark snorted and shook his own bulbous head in satisfied amusement at the thought. As if the doctor would ever have his head turned by a stocky middle-aged Cardassian man, no matter how captivating others seemed to find him. He may as well have been asking people to bet on when the doctor would set up house with a Jem’Hadar.
Sure as snuffbeetles and safe as snotworms, Quark was never going to have to pay out on that wager.