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It's closing time, and Odo doesn't quite know what to do with himself. His conversation with Dax — Jadzia Dax — had lasted for longer than he'd intended it to. Longer than he thought he was capable of holding up a conversation with a humanoid. He's late for his own duties...
But there had just been so much to talk about. Their brief switch of memories and bodies had been so unexpected, and had gone just as quickly as it came. Now that Curzon was back in her head where he belonged, she had essentially been able to tell him about his thoughts on the matter, from an outside perspective once again. Seeing as Odo himself had been one of the things causing her so much trouble, he had felt that the least he could do was apologise to her face. But being Dax, she hadn't minded. Instead, she'd told him that the sharing of experiences and biology had been one of the most interesting cultural exchanges she'd ever had the pleasure of participating in. And even Odo has to admit that to learn what it was like to see life from the perspective of a creature so different to oneself is in itself an arguement for why the search for new life and new civilizations is worth it to begin with. If things like that are possible; instances where life forms simply meet and merge and share, coming away with trace memories of seeing the world in such a different way... Well. Really, he thinks, that should make it all worthwhile.
Pleasantly lost in thought, and knowing distantly that nobody has the authority to kick him out at closing time, he strays over to one of the barstools and sits down. He focuses on his own appendage; the hand. And scoffs to himself. It's funny; he never got the hang of fingernails, but now if he just concentrates faint flower-like spots start to run up his skin like warm brown stars. He can't remember where exactly the Trill have theirs, where the patterns end and begin, but... The memory must've stuck.
He always thought fingernails seemed quite disgusting as physical features on humanoids go, anyway. The markings are harmless and decorative. He's not going to go changing his own appearance anytime soon... But he's going to keep this little memory of Curzon. A learned souvenir.
Someone walks into his personal bubble, and he senses it. He looks up, as without a word and while making a very serious effort at dead-on eye contact Quark sets down one Tronya on the bar, and turns to leave.
Odo looks after him. He experimentally picks up the drink and swirls the contents around, as Quark hovers over to do whatever it is he does with all the various mugs and glasses at the end of the day. The glass is half full — or half empty, he recalls that idiom — and the liquid seems to glitter in the low light.
Of course, Odo can't drink, and neither could Curzon while he had been with him. But two ice cold Tronyas was what he had ordered for Jadzia and Sisko while they were here...
He checks the temperature of the glass. It's lukewarm.
"Quark."
Quark very pointedly does not answer. He buffs a stain out of one of the glasses and holds it up to the light as if checking a fine jewel. There's a definite air of... Oh, whatever it is. Some kind of reproachfulness, he supposes. Accusation, maybe. No doubt the little idiot is going to start complaining any second; who knows what it'll be about. Although, he has to admit, with the bar so quiet, the prospect of that is a lot less stressful than usual.
Besides, he's stayed quiet for an awful long time. Maybe he's got something honest to say for once.
His grip tightens on the glass a little. Maybe that's not something to hope for, he remembers, and can't help but roll his eyes. Oh, that is so embarrassing.
"Quark," he repeats, "if you're going to say something about my behaviour yesterday I want to remind you that was Curzon doing the talking."
Quark casts him a sharp look over his shoulder and gives him the most sarcastic shrug he's capable of. He waves another glass, as if to indicate vaguely the width and weight of Odo's sins against him.
"Last I heard you'd be fully capable of regaining control over yourself anytime," he says.
"It was different for us," Odo growls. He puts his arms over the bar. "Besides you're used to your customers throwing you about. They always seem to have one reason or another."
Coming back around to him, Quark sneers at him as he talks, hissing between his teeth.
"Whaddya know about that, anyway. Besides, if it was different for you, you should've been able to act right when Curzon was with you!"
Odo sighs. Yes, okay, he thinks, the kiss on the forehead might've been all together too much. The part of him that was Curzon at the time had found it hilarious. It's mostly embarrassing in hindsight. Quark had reacted much stronger than he had thought he would, anyway; the poor man had walked right into a doorframe. He doesn't suppose the ear thing could've been much of a problem; they can't just be sexual organs. He's seen Rom grab his little runt by the ear once or twice when he's been in trouble. Anyway he really isn't sure just what Quark is so upset about. As if he ever is, hah.
"What did you even want to stay like that for, anyway?" Quark asks before he can say something, rounding the bar to pick the last of the cutlery off the tables.
"I don't have to explain anything to you," Odo sneers.
"Oh yes you do, I was tasked to portray Audrid. And that was not a pleasant experience, I can tell ya that!"
He laughs, shortly.
"I bet it wasn't."
"Seriously."
He comes back to him, stopping in front of him and setting his eyes on him, firmly. He looks just a little disheveled. One of the fastenings on his jacket has come undone, and Odo is plagued by the pedantic urge to reach over and fix it.
"What was that all about?" Quark insists. "You know I don't like being grabbed. And you lied to me!"
That first part is true. Quark can't go five minutes without a tangent on how his customers keep picking him off the floor by his collar. On one hand, Odo thinks he deserves it, on account of being a crook and a thief and a scammer. On the other... He can't help but wonder if they would still be throwing him around if he was their height.
Odo doesn't much like that kind of injustice.
On a third hand, he thinks Quark is overreacting. It wasn't like he'd hurt him or anything. He's got to be able to touch people at least, right? And Curzon had certainly been eager to do just that, even as Odo usually tends to avoid it. A very touchy person in general, Curzon.
As for the lie... What had he called him? A magnificent scoundrel. Well, he's certainly a scoundrel, alright...
Maybe Quark just thinks the forehead kiss was emasculating.
"Look," he tells him, as he walks off again, "when Curzon's memories were moved into me, we... Became one another. I suppose much in the same way that Jadzia and Dax are no longer separate entities."
He thinks for a moment, as that sinks in. His eyes fall to the floor as he wonders if that's how it feels for her... In his excitement, he'd forgotten to ask.
"Since I didn't feel as though I had lost control of myself, I wasn't alarmed. We simply were — both — different." He leans back on the bar. "Curzon Dax had a very straightforward sense of humour. I wanted to do something; he always made sure we did it, and made it a laugh while we were at it."
Quark straightens out a rag with a flick, and hangs it over the sink to dry. He seems to consider all this for a moment, as Odo realizes with a slight sinking feeling that he'd said it all out loud. Forgetting, maybe, that not all humanoids are as easy to talk to as Jadzia Dax.
"You know Odo," he says, "I bet that's why you wanted to keep him."
Odo narrows his eyes.
"What."
"You deny yourself!" Quark makes a gesture, as if this is obvious. "You can't eat or drink, you never have any fun, your luck with the ladies is, and I'm sorry to say this but-"
"Quark."
"-but Curzon. Wow!" He shakes his head. "That man must've really known how to have a good time if he got you to lighten up."
Odo grumbles something under his breath (not technically his actual breath, but regardless) and then thinks about it, and admits internally that he's probably actually right, in his own way. Quark, being who he is, can't conceptualise needs beyond eating, drinking and what commander Sisko diplomatically calls intercourse, but Odo is a changeling, and requires none of that to live.
Still... There are, he has to admit, equivalents to a drink or a bad decision, or even the humanoid way of loving, that he isn't getting. Even now that he's gotten more liberal with his own shapeshifting, in the privacy of his own quarters, he knows that. Being with Curzon had felt almost like having what he was missing, in that sense. After all, for every moment where Odo would have restrained himself or remained silent, Curzon acted and said whatever the hell he wanted to. Curzon had probably never denied himself anything he'd wanted in his life, frankly.
Well... Aside from one thing.
He remembers he exists again. Quark is giving him an unusually long look. He narrows his eyes.
"So if you and Curzon were the same person you did have control over your-"
"Quark, what is your problem?"
He points an accusatory finger at him.
"You are toying with my feelings," he insists.
"Oh, really."
"I consider us to be friends," he goes on.
"Right!"
"But the only time you ever acknowledge it is when you're possessed by the ghost of your co-worker's former self. Is that fair?"
Odo groans and considers resting his face on the bar. He never manages to guess where this specific kind of emotional manipulation is going when it's Quark's. He always has something to complain about, and he always acts like he's personally wounded even though what he's really after always turns out to be money in the end. After all, if they were really friends, the little worm would've stopped making his job harder by now. Infinitely harder. In fact he's quite sure that if Quark wasn't around to fuck things up on DS9 Odo would have nothing to do except sit still and answer messages.
His job might as well be pointless.
Quark stops his pacing to come to rest behind the bar again, just opposite him. When he next speaks, he's calmed down enough to sound reasonable.
"Besides, you don't grab a ferengi by the ears," he mutters.
"And why not."
"It has connotations."
Odo scoffs.
Then he thinks for a moment. His eyes unfocus as he stares at the floor. Quark polishes another glass, with a slight squeak.
"I don't think it was a lie," he says into nothing.
Quark looks up.
"What?"
"Nevermind."