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“Foun-- Odo.” Weyoun bent and opened his arms in supplication as Odo just rolled his eyes.
“Against my very vocal objections, Captain Sisko has decided to confine you both to quarters.” Odo nodded to his guard who was prepared to drop the forcefield on Weyoun’s cell. “Come on.”
Weyoun hurried along to keep pace with Odo. “I am quite familiar with the habitat ring, and I’m sure someone as important as the head of Security for an entire space station has his agenda quite full. Yet here you are, personally escorting me to my destination to ensure I safely arrive.” Weyoun addressed the Bajoran guard to his right. “Isn’t Odo simply the most generous? You do realize how fortunate you are to work alongside Odo?” The guard merely shrugged a shoulder and rested his hand on the butt of his phaser.
Odo paused at a door identical to the dozen they’d passed in their short walk. “Hgn. It’s not your safety I’m concerned about. Give me your hand.” Weyoun’s entire posture jolted, his eyes growing even larger, when Odo wrapped his hand around the Vorta’s arm. In the next moment, Odo clamped a black security bracelet on Weyoun’s wrist. “It’s the safety of everyone else aboard this station.” Weyoun ghosted a touch over his sleeve where Odo’s hand had just been. “You and Legate Damar will wear these bracelets at all times. If you attempt to remove them, I’ll have you back in a cell before you can say, ‘dabo.’ Got that?”
Weyoun nodded. “Just ‘Damar’ I think. I imagine he was stripped of his title the moment our defection was discovered. Is he here already?”
“Doctor Bashir is still holding him for observation until he’s satisfied that there’s no permanent frostbite damage. His quarters are next door, of course.”
Weyoun focused his wide-eyed expression on Odo. “Next door? We aren’t being held together?”
“Why?”
“Oh… no reason, really. I defer to your perfect wisdom in all things. But… if it’s not too much trouble, perhaps…”
Odo flicked a glance down to Weyoun’s hands where he was picking nervously at the webbing between two fingers. “Do you want to room together?”
“I only wish to serve you, Founder.” Odo sighed as Weyoun made his open-armed supplicating bow again.
“Believe me, it’s much easier to guard one door instead of two. If you’re sure…”
“I would prefer to be together, actually!”
Just when Odo thought he had the hang of reading humanoid faces, another species would come along with their quirks and ticks. And in the moment, Weyoun’s expression was inscrutable. “You would prefer it? Ah…” Odo nodded. “I see. You want to room... together. Damar’s quarters are double occupancy, so you’ll both be held there.” He keyed the pad of the next door down and pushed Weyoun into the room. “You have everything you could possibly need here. All the creature comforts that a deserter could expect, not that you’ve earned it. There will be three guards stationed at your door at all times.”
Weyoun walked a small circle around the living space, noticing it was identical to the other rooms he had taken during the Dominion occupation of Terok Nor. “If there’s anything we need, I’ll contact them. Trust me.”
“Hng. You’re the last person in this galaxy I trust, Weyoun.”
Weyoun blew across the surface of his mug as he stared out the window of his new dwellings. Idly, he drew his finger through the fog of condensation, doodling and scrawling short words in Dominionese. Curiously, he couldn’t seem to concentrate or sit still for any length of time, even though the apartment was many times larger and unquestionably more comfortable than the jail cell where he’d been confined for three days.
But even in the tiny cell, there had always been someone nearby at all times, either fellow prisoners in adjacent cells or a Bajoran guard at the security station. The guards had all given up in keeping Weyoun silent, and, despite themselves, they all fell victim to Weyoun’s gift for conversation.
But his quarters were dreadfully lonely and suffocatingly silent (O’Brien had allowed Rom to oversee the improvements to the soundproofing during an overhaul of the habitat ring, much to the delight of the station’s more aurally sensitive species). He’d failed to draw his guards into discourse because of their “security concerns.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever been left so achingly alone and so unmercifully bored. Vorta were not solitary creatures; they thrived in social interaction, making them notably talented diplomats. Always there had been a detail of Jem’Hadar guards hovering within Weyoun’s reach or a never ending litany of tasks, video calls, or reports to keep him busy in the solitary hours. From the moment his first clone gasped air, there had been some preordained goal to achieve.
“Computer, music.”
“Please specify.”
Weyoun shrugged at the disembodied voice. “It doesn’t matter. Current Cardassian popular selection. Northern hemisphere.” The melody that started up tugged at Weyoun’s memory, but he couldn’t be certain he knew it.
At the sound of voices at his door, he spilled the dregs of his tea in a scramble to stand and receive company. The doors hissed open, and Damar glared at Odo as the changeling clamped a bracelet on his scaled wrist. “... faster than you can say, ‘dabo.’”
“Fine. It’s freezing out here, so if there’s nothing else…” Damar rotated his wrist to give the security bracelet a cursory examination.
“Hng. I won’t hesitate to separate you two if you start scheming things. For now, you can remain together, but it’s a privilege.” Ignoring Weyoun’s bow, Odo left the room. The closing doors prevented Weyoun from catching the changeling’s conversation with the guards.
Damar crossed the room to punch up a hot drink from the replicator’s menu. “Guess they finally believe that we’ve defected.”
“If they truly believed us, we’d be free to go about the station.” Weyoun drew near Damar and tipped the Cardassian’s mug to sniff at the beverage.
Damar tugged his hand free gently, far used to Weyoun’s inquisitive ticks by now. “If it were me, I’d still have us locked in cells. The Federation always was too trusting. They didn’t even have me strapped down in the infirmary.”
“How are you feeling, by the way? I see you’ve kept all your fingers at least.” Weyoun tapped a command into the environment controls to raise the temperature four degrees. “Your neck ridges look dreadful.”
Damar sighed and closed his eyes for a moment as warm air flowed from the nearest vent. “The scales will flake or some might fall off, but they’ll grow back. I think if we’d spent any longer in that ice field, I might have lost some fingers or toes.” Despite the warming temperature, a shiver wracked Damar’s frame under his flimsy medical tunic. With Weyoun close on his heels, he stepped into the bedroom to retrieve a blanket, and a hissed curse left his mouth.
“What?” Weyoun stood up on his toes to peer around Damar.
“There’s only one bed. Wait--” Damar leaned down into Weyoun’s personal space, but the Vorta didn’t back away. “Why did Odo put us together in one room?”
“I requested it.” Weyoun matched Damar’s stare with large purple eyes. “I’d prefer to keep an eye on you, frankly. You need to let me handle the talking.”
“Did you say you wanted to be together or together?” From the shape of Damar’s mouth, Weyoun understood that he was saying two different words.
“I don’t understand.” Weyoun tapped at his ear, the universal sign for translator trouble.
Damar groaned and collapsed to the bed. A headache had been lurking since they arrived on Terok Nor ( no, “Deep Space Nine” now ), and the leathery quality of his abused scales itched to the point of distraction. “Damn Bajoran UT. He thinks you meant that we’re together together. He misunderstood.”
Weyoun gasped and glared. “Gods don’t make mistakes.”
“Well, seems like he did.”
“I would sooner endure the lash of twenty whips that correct him. If Odo thinks we are together then we will live up to that. Ah ah--” Damar glared but did not pull away when Weyoun snapped the Cardassian’s mouth closed with a single finger under his scaly jaw. “Think about it, Damar. This lends credence to our story! You bonding species are so swayed by tragic stories of lovers in peril.” Weyoun wore an exaggerated expression of woe.
Damar jerked away from Weyoun’s touch and flexed his jaw as he considered. Strategically, the idea was sound: bunking up would allow them to align their story and discuss what information they were willing to leak to their captors in exchange for sanctuary. Plus, he wanted to monitor Weyoun to ensure the Vorta’s extraordinary talent for mischief wouldn’t jeopardize their tenuous situation.
“Fine. But I get the bed. You’re on the couch.”
Weyoun crossed his arms and levelled his best glare at Damar. “We’ll see.”
Eight days after their arrival on the station in Odo’s shuttle, Damar was exhausted. The ridiculously trying days of hours long briefings in frigid conference rooms, answering questions (often the same ones over and over) for a veritable parade of captains, admirals, and commodores had him questioning his rash decision to follow Weyoun out of Cardassian space and into the enemy’s arms. The evenings were nothing beyond a quick replicated meal and falling into bed as his body worked to recover from their perilous escape.
Despite the warm mug of mulled spiced rosaka juice steaming in his hands, Damar shivered in the conference room’s chill. Weyoun paused in his monologue detailing Dominion battle theory and glanced askance at his fellow defector. “If I may speak freely, Captain Sisko?” Weyoun wore his bland diplomat smile, but he tapped his finger against the tabletop. The Vorta was fully recovered from the shuttle ride, but Damar recognized that the grueling days were wearing at Weyoun’s discipline. He was fidgeting.
Sisko peered up from his PADD. “Go ahead.”
“I think you will all agree that Damar and I have been extraordinarily forthcoming in our intelligence.”
“That remains to be proven,” Worf growled. Damar had to restrain himself from bristling. It was well known among Cardassians that Klingons biologically lacked an ability for diplomacy.
“Of course ,” Weyoun simpered.
Sisko jumped in. “The information you provided about the Breen cavalry was immediately utilized to prevent a slaughter on the sector 114 front line. What is it you’re asking for in return?”
“As if room and board isn’t enough?” Kira muttered to no one. Damar didn’t bother suppressing a sneer, but Weyoun tilted his head to her in a nod.
“Has our cooperation bought enough trust for Damar and I to access the promenade?”
“Hng,” Odo grumbled. “What’s wrong? Bored already?”
“Oh, no no certainly not,” Weyoun’s expression was the image of a woundedness. “It’s just--” he looked to Damar for support but received no help there as the Cardassian stared into his mug.
“Cabin fever. It can be hard even in the best partnership,” O’Brien guessed. “I’d know.”
Ezri stared at Damar. “And can contribute to depression.”
Damar’s chair screeched as he shot up to pace against the back wall of the conference room, grumbling in the sibilant tones of Kardassi. “Damar!” Weyoun scolded.
“Just drop it, Weyoun,” Damar tossed his half full mug into a reclamator, splashing the walls and shattering the mug before it was atomized. “Let’s finish this so we can go back to our very cushy prison cell. I won’t be insulted like this.”
“Please, excuse his unacceptable outburst. Cardassians ,” Weyoun rolled his eyes knowingly at Kira, but she remained stoic.
“Don’t fuckin’ apologize for me,” Damar growled and crossed his arms. He was itching to get out of this room and stretch his legs. In truth, Weyoun was an acceptable roommate, but between the Vorta’s erratic sleep schedule, grating laugh, and sloppy housekeeping tendencies, Damar was ready to crawl the walls. If only he could get around the synthehol lock on his replicator...
“Okay, gentlepeople” Siskso broke into the argument before it turned into a full fight. “Let me discuss this with Odo--”
“Sir, I cannot recommend--” Odo was silenced by a single hand from Sisko.
“And we’ll see what we’ve come up with. So far, nothing you’ve said has led us into disaster, but a week is hardly any time to prove your loyalties. I think we’re done for today, though. Everyone’s falling asleep in their seats.”
Kira stood and stretched tall. “Wow, early day? Feels indulgent to throw in the towel at…” she peered at a chronometer, “2025 hours.”
Odo approached Damar but refrained from touching him, trusting that he would behave during the escort. “Come along. Back to your quarters.”
Ezri finished a whispered conversation with Julian. “Actually, Odo, if I could keep Weyoun a moment, I’d like a word. I can escort him back.”
“I’ll have a guard accompany you.” Weyoun’s curious expression, fixed on Ezri, fell. “Don’t turn your back on that one, Dax. He seems harmless, but it’s all show. If I were building a clone, I certainly wouldn’t make it defenseless.”
Weyoun reflexively bowed as Odo left with Damar. He sensed that Ezri was waiting for the room to empty. “How may I help you?”
“Let’s walk and talk. We’ll take the scenic route.” Ezri offered a half smile, and Weyoun gave a single nod. He paid no mind to the guard that ghosted their steps, accustomed to being shadowed by security his entire life. Instead, he focused on the leisurely pace in the company of a somewhat kindred spirit. In addition to Ezri Dax’s skill at diplomacy thanks to her training, he empathized with her struggle of trying to carry on with life in a new body as everyone else struggled to reconcile the concept.
“So, how are things with you and Damar?” Weyoun recognized Dax’s forced casualness but was too distracted by the novelty of his surroundings to parse out her motives.
“Hmm, Damar is Damar. He’s a rather straightforward creature, you know? When I asked him to join me, I never expected that he would. It was a tactical error on my part, really, to underestimate him.”
“Are you happy that he defected with you?” Ezri paused to allow Weyoun to examine the wares at the ceramics vendor.
“In some sense his presence has been a hindrance. It’s much more difficult to sneak two people across the line, especially when one is the highly recognizable head of the Cardassian Union. But it has been… comforting to have him near.”
“Does he often raise his voice like in today’s meeting? Especially at you?” Ezri pretended to examine a small urn.
Weyoun froze, but recovered and placed a ceramic Andordian fertility figurine back on its little pedestal. “Ah, you worry about his temper.” Weyoun moved them along the promenade.
“A temper isn’t always a concern, as long as it’s not turned against people we care about. Our partners.” Ezri noticed an expression flickered across Weyoun’s features but wasn’t familiar enough with Vorta body language to interpret it.
Weyoun mentally scrambled to find the right words. He’d failed to consider how Damar’s outbursts at him and general sullen attitude could be interpreted by an outsider, especially one who believed they were romantically involved. “I do not fear Damar. I have everything under control, trust me.” He needed to end this line of questioning.
Ezri lips twisted in doubt. “Julian tells me that Cardassian courting rituals include ongoing arguments.”
“Exactly!” Weyoun grinned. He’d spotted his exit already. “Speaking of the Doctor: when are you two going to stop dancing around each other?” With that, he had Ezri distracted with conversation for the entirety of the stroll back to Weyoun’s quarters.
“Damar!” Weyoun screeched the moment the doors closed.
“Why are you screaming?” Damar called from the bedroom.
Weyoun rushed into the room and launched himself onto the bed next to Damar’s legs. Damar grunted as the mattress bounced, but he shifted over slightly. “I can’t trust your miserable ears to hear anything at a civil volume. We need to argue more.”
Damar’s was leaned against the headboard with a PADD in hand. “The last thing I want is to hear your voice anymore than I have to.”
Weyoun plucked the PADD from Damar’s hand and crawled up the bed to perch next to his side. “We’re supposed to be together. ”
“You’re back on that?” Damar sighed and tipped his head backwards.
“Not back on it, still on it. They certainly haven’t forgotten. Damar.” With a gentle touch, Weyoun took Damar’s head between his hands to force eye contact. “If they see through this, we will lose them. Eventually, the Dominion will find us. We need the Federation’s protection.”
“Yeah, fine.” Damar tugged out of Weyoun’s touch before a blue blush reached his face.
“Great!” Weyoun clapped his hands. “Just follow my lead.”
“Yeah, but you’re still sleeping on the couch.” Damar shifted his legs, knocking Weyoun to the floor. The Vorta’s indignant squeak made Damar laugh for the first time since he could remember.
Almost a week later, Damar leaned backwards to peer into the single bedroom. ““Are we leaving any time soon or are you just going to let me starve? What are you even doing there? Come on!”
Weyoun hurried from the bedroom, small hands buried in his poofy hair and a comb clamped in his teeth. After a few more fluffs with his fingers and comb, he dropped the tool to the dining table. “I’ve slept on the dirt, been shot at, frozen near to death, locked in a cell, and interrogated. This is our first outing in weeks and I want to look my best.”
Damar rolled his eyes, but Weyoun caught him finger combing his hair as they passed reflective wall panels on their walk to the promenade.
Odo met them at the hallway opening up on the promenade for the handoff. “Founder!” Weyoun chirped. “Odo,” he corrected, swallowing his urge to bow. “You’re monitoring us this evening?”
“You think I’d trust you to wander this station alone?”
Damar couldn’t suppress a teasing grin as the bustle of the evening crowd infected him. “Come on, Odo. Lighten up!” On impulse, he pulled Weyoun to his side, tucking him up under his arm. The Vorta’s laughter was effervescent.
Odo growled. “I’m watching you. Don’t even think of slipping away.”
Damar let the comment slide off his back and tugged Weyoun along. “Hey, you ever try that Bajoran-Betazoid fusion place around the way? Come on.”
As the dinner progressed, Damar melted into his chair, his long legs open, head buzzing pleasantly, and synthehol warming his bones. He was content to let Weyoun chatter endlessly to the staff and fellow patrons that flowed in and out of their bubble like tides.
At some point, Damar looked up from the ice in his glass to find Weyoun had left the table. He was peering into the aquarium tanks separating the restaurant from the vendor stall next door. Fish and other aquatic species floated, flittered, and darted around in the floor to ceiling tanks in a dizzying display of color and patterns. A pair of aquatic aliens that Damar wasn’t familiar with were beckoning for Weyoun to join them in a swim. With his hands flat and nose squished to the silicalumium wall, the Vorta was radiant, face glowing and eyes sparkling in a way Damar hadn’t seen in months, maybe a year.
Until Weyoun spotted Odo lurking on the other side of the tank. Damar could see the moment that Weyoun recognized the changeling: his body recoiled and his face flickered with panic, shame, and settled on a blandly pleasant arrangement. He didn’t need to hear the exchange to guess at the subservient dreck Weyoun was spouting.
“Drink not quite up to your taste? It must be so difficult to return to the subpar Kanar after your reign at the top.” Garak’s voice of dripping oil made Damar frown even deeper into his glass.
“What do you want, traitor?” Damar growled as Garak slid into the chair across the table.
“As the human saying goes: ‘takes one to know one.’ Or are you blowing your cover mere weeks into your operation?” Garak’s wide, joyless grin prompted Damar to throw back the rest of his drink.
“No self respecting Cardassian goes into the spy business. But what would an Obsidian child know about self respect?”
“Hmm. Of course an undereducated farmhand would believe the ridiculous myth of child camps operated by the Obsidian Order.”
“What do you want, Garak? I’m not in the mood for games.” Damar dropped his glass to the table harder than he meant to.
“Speaking of games, how is your little dalliance with the Vorta going?”
Damar sat forward, shoulder hunched. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Garak fluttered his lashes, “it’s a good thing you’re such a self respecting Cardassian, because you’d make a dreadful spy. Whatever is going on between you two, it’s clearly not what you’ve led the Federaji to believe.”
Damar lunged across the table to fist his hand in Garak’s tunic, and the clatter of silverware and glasses sent the entire restaurant into silence. “Listen close, tailor--”
Weyoun appeared at the table in a flash. “Damar, I walk away for two minutes, and you start brawling like a bar vole.” He wrapped his hand around Damar’s wrist encouraging him to release Garak. “Please excuse his most uncivilized behavior, Mr. Garak,” Weyoun crooned.
Garak mirrored Weyoun’s disingenuous smile as he attempted to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt. “You can take the boy out of the swamp…”
As Damar’s muscles coiled, Weyoun pressed his hand into his chest. “Shh, my dearest.” The affection had the intended effect: Damar was stunned long enough for Weyoun to keep him from attacking Garak again. With the natural grace of a tree-dwelling species, he climbed into Damar’s lap. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Garak stared, blinking in disbelief, but recovered before Damar was able to. “Hmm, well, I merely stopped by to return Marixel’s trimmers.” Damar recognized the wire cutters but wasn’t about to ask what on Prime a tailor would need them for. The sooner the spy left his orbit, the better.
Damar glared at the Vorta as Garak departed. “‘Dearest’?”
Weyoun chuckled and leaned in to give the appearance of a lover whispering into his partner’s ear. “What would you prefer? Sugarglass? Sweet cheeks?” Weyoun dropped his voice almost an octave and spoke a word in Kardassi: “ Papa ?”
Damar shoved Weyoun off his lap and covered his face with one hand. “You’re ridiculous!”
But Weyoun, even with his weak eyes, didn’t miss the blue blush climbing up Damar’s neck.
Though they gained Sisko’s trust slowly, Damar and Weyoun had yet to earn the privilege of unsupervised time outside of their quarters. Their security escort was as much for their protection as the station’s: a handful of visitors and residents alike had not hesitated to express their hatred of the Cardassian and Vorta, and battery arrests were a periodic entry in Odo’s daily security briefings.
Strangely, Quark’s Bar seemed to be their safest haunt (though after a few dangerous situations, they remained on high alert even while trying to enjoy their limited recreational time). Tonight, Damar was nursing a synthetic Kanar as Morn’s continuous drone faded into white noise. Weyoun chittering, grating laughter from the Dabo tables punctuated the din and let Damar know that the Vorta was still nearby and safe.
A rare silence from Morn told Damar that he was expected to provide some insight or answer. “I dunno, Morn, sounds wild. What do you think?” And the Lurian was off again like a racing hound.
“You know, Morn,” Quark interrupted from behind the bar, “that is just fascinating, but if you don’t mind, I have a question for our scaled friend here.”
Damar fidgeted and drew his glass closer without thought. “What is it?”
Quark opened his mouth, but shut it immediately and held up a finger. “Hang on.” A quick dip below the bar, and Quark popped up with a signature twirly bottle in hand. “Here,” the pop of the glass cork and the thick glug of genuine Kanar filling his glass was music to Damar.
“Hang on, you know I can’t pay you for this,” Damar insisted, but Quark waved his hand.
“I’ve been wondering all these months why you insist on sitting at my very fine bar on this very fine space station with your very fine,” Quark’s tongue darted out to wet his lip, “boyfriend, just to chug down replicated Kanar. I’ve known you for over a decade, Damar. You nearly tore my neck off the first time I served you the fake stuff.”
“Heh, yeah, I remember. You tried to cut the Kanar with replicated trash. As if I wouldn’t notice.”
“Well let me tell you, you were the first Cardassian to ever notice as long as I kept the synthetic stuff below 30%. Even had a name for it: Quanar. I knew I couldn’t pull that with the Guls, but the grunts? Tchkt.”
“Why are you telling me all this? I already know you’re as crooked as a traitor’s tail.” Damar peered suspiciously into his full glass of glossy, viscous Kanar.
“You have a discerning palate, my friend. Always have. So!” Quark leaned in, and Damar found himself mirroring. “Why would you suddenly subsist on subquality slop?”
Damar shrugged. “Hn, in case you haven’t realized, the regnar and I are broke. Not exactly a lot of profit in the political refugee business. You think I’d let him gamble on play money if I had real latium to spend?” Damar jerked his head back at Weyoun who had, in fact, started the night with an arm full of counterfeit chips. Weyoun, ever the diplomat, had struck a deal with the Ferengi during his first visit to the bar as a dependent of the Federation: Quark would start Weyoun with a stack of fake chips, Weyoun could play to his heart’s content (all the while filling the air with the raucous of a gambler on a winning streak), and Weyoun would hand over the entirety of his winnings at the end of the night, minus a tip to the Dabo Bunnies. It gave Damar a chance to stretch his legs and kept the Vorta from falling into a depressive malaise of boredom.
Quark mumbled through his teeth, “He keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. Nearly wiped me out when the changelings had control of the station. But now you’re so broke you don’t have two thin slips to rub together. Except, where are your replicator credits coming from, hmm? How do you fund your weekly date at Marixel’s?”
“She charges back to the station, I think.”
“Uh huh,” Quark hummed. “Yep, you were right, Morn!”
“About what?” Damar didn’t care to be discussed when he wasn’t around, but he also didn’t want the Lurian to launch into a monologue.
“Odo didn’t tell you. Never trust a shape shifter, Damar.” When Quark could see that Damar was lost, he continued. “Federation refugees get a monthly stipend as good as any Starfleet or Imperial Guard credit.” Quark pushed at Damar’s glass. “Drink up, Legate.”
Without hesitation, Damar tossed his drink back. “How much? How big’s the stipend? Wait, why are you telling me this?”
“Because all this time Marixel has been doing chargebacks while you’ve spent exactly zip, nada at Quark’s. No more free synthohol. And since your stipend doesn’t roll over and tomorrow’s the end of the month, you got some spending to do.” Quark reached below the bar for a box of glittering data rods. “And I’ve got a holosuite open alllll night. Why don’t you treat that sweet little Vorta to a fun time, hnn?”
Damar plucked one rod out of the box at random to read the label, and he choked on air. “This is…”
Quark exchanged a leering glance with Morn. “Yep!”
“How did you even… I thought this was banned in Federation space!”
Quark patted the box and shoved it at Damar. “It’s all about who you know. Now, the import fees on these were, let’s just say, extravagant. But, hey, it’s all charged back to your stipend. And--” Quark held up a hand to silence Damar’s protest. “I promise the bill is completely discreet. You take this whole box, and even I won’t know exactly which of these you used. Have fun!”
Ultimately, Damar had picked through the stack of data rods until he found a holonovel set on Cardassia Prime. A holosuite could never replicate the exact smell, sound, gravity, or overall atmosphere of a place, but Damar was homesick enough to take what he could get.
The chosen title was raunchy enough to maintain their pretense, but Damar preloaded the program and adjusted the settings to delete the characters and prevent the plot subroutine from running. Only then did he fetch Weyoun from the dabo table.
They spent the evening sipping overly sweet iced drinks and swimming in clear salty lakes until their underused muscles ached. For just a few hours, the stress and tedium of war melted away until their security detail contacted them on the comm and demanded they return to their quarters.
WIth his stomach full of (genuine) Kanar, Damar was feeling pleasantly floaty and playfully deviant. “Just a few minutes, we’re, ah, not decent,” Damar replied through the communications system, his voice laced with mirth. In reality, they were fully dressed and engrossed in cheesy games on the boardwalk, but there was endless fun in making their guards uncomfortable with the implications.
After letting Weyoun go a few more rounds at the game, Damar pulled him back by the collar of his jacket. “Come on, before they drag us out.”
“Let them,” Weyoun insisted. “I’m having fun .” Taking advantage of Damar’s inebriation, he twisted nimbly out of the grip and darted between the tall Cardassian’s legs to pop up behind him.
“C’mere, jackal!”
“Catch me!” Weyoun darted away, quick as lightning. Their chase took them through the boardwalk stalls, dodging and weaving around holographic tourists and vendors. When the illusion was broken by a set of Cardassian-style doors cracking open in thin air, Weyoun dug his heels into the ground, skidding on the sandy wood underfoot. Damar was not so graceful, and his momentum sent him barrelling into Weyoun so that they stumbled out of the holosuite into the hallway.
They ended up in a pile on the floor, limbs tangled and chests heaving from the chase. Weyoun looked past Damar, hunched over him, to see the three guards. Beyond them stood Garak with the station’s doctor clinging to the Cardassian’s arm.
Weyoun flashed them a toothy smile and moved without thinking lest he lose the effervescent bravado zinging through his body. He pressed his forehead to Damar’s, nuzzling slightly to get full contact with the spoon shaped divot on the Cardassian’s face. For a moment it was like everyone was stuck in a temporal anomaly, frozen still except for the purring hum from Weyoun’s throat.
Liquid coolant and blazing acid zipped through Damar’s veins, and to his humiliation, his hips canted forward, pressing Weyoun into the floor in an unmitigably filthy maneuver.
“Ok, break it up!” Arial barked. The guard looked like she was seconds away from finding a hose to spray them with.
Damar stood in a hunched position, and when he pulled Weyoun up from the floor, he threaded their fingers together. He needed to get the Vorta behind closed doors, now . As they stumbled away, Weyoun still giggling, Damar barely caught Bashir’s whispered comment to the tailor: “I told you so!” Good, let someone else attempt what Damar couldn’t hope to achieve: convince a collector of information that he’s misinformed.
By the time Damar and Weyoun were tucked safely in their quarters, away from the uncomfortable glances of their security detail, the urgency had lessened. The feeling like a thick blanket had descended over Damar’s body. He both envied and pitied Weyoun’s biology: what was the point of all those drinks if he metabolized the effects in moments? The Vorta darted towards their bedroom with focused energy while Damar stumbled slightly as he pulled his thermal layers off. At the threshold, Damar stilled in shock for the second time that night, with his thermal shirt still hanging off one arm. Weyoun was leaning against Damar’s headboard, the blankets tucked up to his waist but his chest bare.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Hmm? Oh, my whole body aches from the activity today.” Weyoun stretched, and the covers slipped to reveal the sharp curve of his bare hip, glistening pearlescent in the heat of their quarters. “I’m taking the bed tonight.” Damar felt like prey in the face of Weyoun’s toothy grin and sparkling eyes.
“If you think I’m taking the couch, you’re mistaken.” With forced casualness, Damar stepped into the room and discarded his shirt. “Computer, lights out.” Boots and trousers came off in the protective darkness, but he couldn’t shed his sudden shyness so easily as he slid under the covers. He left a hand’s distance between them, and Weyoun made no move to bridge the gap.
Twenty minutes into the dark silence, Damar felt the ghost of a touch against his palm. He didn’t hesitate; he grasped Weyoun’s soft, blazing hot hand in his. With slow, unhurried movements, he rubbed his calloused thumb across well defined knuckles before moving his touch up to trace blunt claws against tissue-delicate skin. How did Weyoun live with this body? So squishy and unshielded, free of scales or protective ridges… though as his touch grew bolder, Damar could feel tight cords of muscle under that deceptively soft skin. His thumb dipped into the fold inside Weyoun’s elbow, up over the curve of an unmarred shoulder, down along one sharp collar bone and up along the other then back down again to trace the smooth skin where a Cardassian’s chest divot would hide. The Vorta lacked nipples where Damar expected to find them, having seen his share of naked images and holos of similarly built species. But when he traced his finger through a diamond shaped area of ripples in the hollow of Weyoun’s throat, Weyoun hissed through his teeth as a spasm rippled through his body.
As if Weyoun couldn’t hold back any longer, he pressed his hands flat against the expanse of Damar’s chest before sliding them up and over, tracing the fractal pattern of interlocking scales and following raised ridges. As Weyoun’s hands trailed down, Damar’s went up, and he threaded his fingers into the strangely frizzy mass of hair on Weyoun’s head.
In the dark and silent warmth, they explored with firm, slow touches, chaste but teetering on the edge of something more. When Weyoun’s hands ventured even further down, his fingertips just tickling beneath sharply defined ridges that outlined a treasure trail below, Damar breathed out a strained wordless cry. It was point of no return if Damar let him continue, but with his control in tatters and the air thick with suspense, Damar knew the fun would be over before it barely began.
In a burst, Damar flipped Weyoun and wrapped his arms around him from behind, crushing the Vorta close so he could nuzzle the warm space behind one long ear. And Weyoun didn’t complain, didn’t push. He buried his face in the crook of Damar’s inner elbow and curled his arms up and around the crossed arms holding him close. The Vorta’s natural tendency for mischief breached through his control, and he pressed his hips backward to mould his body tightly to Damar’s
They stayed locked in the position, just breathing into the quiet night, basking in each other’s heat. Damar could feel every infinitesimal movement of Weyoun’s body, and when he felt the Vorta finally twitch and go slack, he followed closely behind him into sleep.
Weyoun swirled the straw around in his glass, mesmerized by the way the ice cubes glittered in the pink liquid. Say what you would about Quark, but the man was dedicated to customer service. When the Ferengi had discovered that Weyoun could taste very little, he’d put feelers out through his network to learn about rare and unique ingredients that would give a drink a visually striking appeal. The glittered ice cubes turned out to be a very inexpensive way to make an impact, and they were finding their way into almost all the glasses at the bar.
“Weyoun, did you hear me?”
“Hmm?” Weyoun looked up from his drink to see Ezri and Julian staring at him with expectant expression. “Oh, I am dreadfully sorry. Where are my manners?”
“It’s okay,” Dax assured him with a gentle touch on his arm. When she’d learned that Vorta were a highly social species, she’d taken to laying small touches on his arm and shoulder to tether him. “You seem distracted tonight.”
Weyoun’s discipline was slipping today. He’d slept very little in an empty bed while Damar was out on a risky mission to the front line. Now that O’Brien had discovered Damar’s engineering acuity, he was depending on the Cardassian’s skills more and more while Weyoun was left with decoding transmissions and briefing the Federation. The night before was the first night they’d been apart since Weyoun had tempted Damar into bed weeks ago. Every night they slept curled into each other, but their touches remained chaste, never venturing past the invisible line they’d silently drawn. The “kiss” they shared, pressing their foreheads together, before Damar set out on his mission was the most intimate touch they’d shared so far.
And now Damar was safely back on Deep Space Nine, but he’d barely had time to greet Weyoun before Quark had begged and bribed him for assistance with the drink replicator. Weyoun stared wistfully at Damar’s lower half sticking out from underneath the equipment, his upper body buried deep in an open cubby.
“Ah,” Julian croaked. “The life of an Engineer’s lover. Leeta and Keiko complain about the same: they can barely pull these guys away from a project long enough for a kiss.”
Weyoun sighed and stirred his drink again. “It’s understandable, of course it is. And I’m happy he’s happy. He’s a practical fellow, much more suited to fixing machines than governing. I placed him at the head of the Cardassian Union because I knew he’d be easy to control, but his passion is that, right there. What he’s doing now. He’s good with his hands.”
Dax’s pirate smile was Curzon shining through Ezri’s soft features. “Good with his hands, huh?” she joked. Julian snorted into his glass.
Weyoun tilted his head in confusion before catching on. “Ah, you’re referring to sex of course.” The sex they weren’t having. Because they were only a pretend couple... that shared a bed and explored each other’s bodies nightly. “I… wouldn’t know.”
Julian and Ezri exchanged glances. “You haven’t…” Ezri trailed off, and Weyoun felt a twinge of irritation. She was a counselor for Founders’ sake. Did she really have to dance around the issue?
“No, we haven’t had sex. When I steer in that direction, he pulls back.”
“Is it a matter of…?” Julian did some awkward movements with his hands until his doctor brain caught up. “Could it be that he thinks you might not… fit together? I don’t know your sexual history, but you should know there’s so much more to intimacy than genital penetration.”
Ezri buried her face in her hands as the patrons at the next table glanced over. “Maybe he’s just nervous,” she offered. “Even with the proliferation of space travel, many people find sex with an alien intimidating. Has he ever been with a non-Cardassian?”
“I wouldn’t have the faintest clue,” Weyoun pouted. His attention had strayed to Damar again. One grease stained hand reached out from the cubby in search of the tool O’Brien was offering from his place outside the equipment.
“Oh, Weyoun,” Ezri cooed. “If you want to be intimate, you’re going to have to work through these things. Have you tried being direct?”
Julian pursed his lips. “With a Cardassian? Trust me, just coming out and saying it probably isn’t a good plan.”
“Not every Cardassian wants to have a conversation couched in three layers of metaphor and duplicity, Julian. Weyoun, just tell him. Talk about it.”
Julian snapped his fingers as a thought occurred to him. “ This is probably why Garak finds your relationship unusual, Weyoun. You aren’t doing things the Cardassian way,” Bashir tossed back his drink. “He seems to think you two are just acting this out, but he can’t figure out why. You two actually are in a partnership, right?”
Time for damage control. Besides, Weyoun was a natural born diplomat with the God-given gift to solve interpersonal problems, and he’d allowed this one to stall too long. When charm, subtlety, and hints failed, sometimes negotiations needed a bold move by one party.
Weyoun stood from the table and approached Damar, walking slowly with one foot in front of the other and with an exaggerated sway in his hips. He had a point to prove and a lie to perpetuate, so he needed as many witnesses as possible. When he reached Damar’s side, he waved O’Brien aside, ignoring the human’s questioning glance.
“O’Brien, hand me that phase coil inducer again!” Damar called. The opening underneath the equipment was loud with the echo of mechanical noise.
Weyoun was careful not to touch Damar’s knees as he swung one leg over to straddle the Cardassian. Slowly and deliberately, he dropped down. Just as he sat directly on Damar’s pelvis, he crooned, “Damar.”
But the call was drowned by a loud “thunk” and a curse so filthy the UT didn’t translate.
“Damar?” When all Weyoun received in reply was a pained groan, he scrambled off Damar’s hips to kneel by his side. “Damar.”
“Come on out man, let’s take a look at ye,” O’Brien called into the cubby. Damar shuffled and scooted his upper half out of the replicator until he could sit up, and Weyoun felt his stomach sink at the sight. Brown blood was pouring from a large cut over the Cardassian’s brow ridge. “Julian!” O’Brien called, but the Doctor was already halfway there with a scanner in hand.
Weyoun backed away as Julian waved him off, and he ended up in Ezri’s embrace. “Aw, it’s ok. These things happen.” Weyoun just buried his face in her shoulder.
“Let’s get you to the infirmary, Damar. Let’s see if you can stand…” Julian gave Weyoun a sympathetic look as he stumbled past with Damar draped over his shoulder.
Weyoun wasn’t a quitter, but he also knew when to fight his battles. They did not talk about the incident, even when Weyoun rubbed moisturizer over the flaking scales surrounding the healed cut.
Weeks later, they were exiting their quarters on the way to a dinner at Sisko’s invitation. Odo was standing there with his hand hovering over the door chime. “Gentlemen,” he grumbled.
“Odo, you coming to dinner?” Damar asked, his tone upbeat.
“I’ve sent my regrets already, but I have business to attend. One item involves the two of you.”
Weyoun perked up. Though he no longer reflexively bowed in Odo’s presence, he could not completely rid himself of the desire for the changeling’s praise and approval. “How may we be of service?”
“I’m removing your security devices. As of today, you’re been granted full asylum by both the Bajoran government and the Federation.” When the black security bracelets were off, Weyoun scratched frantically at his wrist while Damar was a bit more restrained in rubbing at the dull scales freshly exposed to the air for the first time in months. “Congratulations.” Odo growled.
“You don’t seem too happy,” Damar noticed.
“Just because they trust you doesn’t mean I do. You’re up to something. I know it. Garak knows it.”
Weyoun looked wounded. “You are wise in all things, but you must admit the tailor’s view cannot be taken as impartial fact.”
“Hng,” was all Odo replied. “Have a good dinner. And remember I can be watching any time, any place.”
When Odo was far enough away, Damar snorted. “Pervert.”
“ Damar ,” Weyoun chastised. “He didn’t mean it in that way.” Weyoun dropped his voice to a mumble that Damar couldn’t decipher, “not that there’s anything to watch.”
At the dinner in Sisko’s quarters, the drinks flowed in liberal doses. Somehow, Damar found himself cornered by Major Kira. He’d avoided extraneous conversation with her for months, only speaking to her in meetings or on a need-to-know basis. Ziyal would forever bear the scars of the blast from his very hand, and the loss of nerve function in her dominant arm and hand had set her art career back. Her survival was a very close thing, and Damar was too cowardly to face Kira’s wrath.
Yet here she stood before him, a head shorter but somehow looming . This woman… she was beauty and power and strength that would not be broken. Dukat’s obsession with her was understandable even if it had caused him to make grave, stupid errors in an effort to impress her.
“Major Kira,” Damar greeted, somehow successful in keeping the waver out of his voice. “Nice party.”
“Yeah. Yeah it is.” They fell into an awkward silence.
“So--”
“I heard--” they stumbled over each other verbally.
“You go,” Damar insisted.
“Look,” Kira huffed. “I’m just here because the Captain insists that I make nice with you. So let’s have a little conversation, and maybe that will make him happy. Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t like you.”
“Pity. I like you.” Damar’s tone was somewhere between teasing irony and sanctimonious.
“Yeah, well,” Kira trailed off. She grasped for a topic. If she could just hold on a little while longer, maybe someone would come rescue her. She followed Damar’s line of sight to see he was watching Weyoun whose bubbling laughter floated above the noise of the party. “You two, huh?”
“Yup,” Damar said. He was refusing to look at her.
“That’s still going okay then? Oh, I heard about the, you know?” Kira couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. To her disgust, the Bajoran provisional government had actually granted this Cardassian, former head of the Union and war criminal, asylum. “The jewelry, you two...” she finished lamely. When she pointed at his wrist, he understood that she was referring to the removal of the security bracelets. “Congratulations are in order, I guess.”
The Prophets themselves sent the Emissary to her rescue. Sisko approached. “What’s this I hear about jewelry?”
“It’s really nothing,” Damar insisted. With one last longing glance at Weyoun, he dove into conversation with the Captain. “I understand the station is hosting the Bajoran Fertility celebration in a few weeks?”
“ Shantimal ,” Kira offered. “You coming?”
“You sure you’re comfortable with a Cardassian crashing the party?” Damar challenged.
“Well, ask the Emissary himself. It’s his station.”
Sisko smiled. “Of course. We can use a celebration right now. We need this, all of us. Why don’t you and Mister Weyoun come enjoy the festivities?”
Damar swallowed a large mouthful of his drink. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Weyoun as the Vorta laid a hand on Quark’s arm, seemingly weak with laughter. “You can’t keep that one out of a party. We’ll see you there.”
Damar was not a well travelled man, but once, on a Dominion scouting expedition only months ago, he was fortunate to witness the renown light shows of the Daregon Swamps. The swamp was home to over two hundred species of phosphorescent bugs. For their two week mating season, millions of the bugs would coalesce in a pulsing, dancing mass of color and light. The entire swamp would glow and twinkle.
Damar was taken back to that memory now as he and Weyoun strolled the promenade. Dense strings of twinkling lights circled the entire seventh level, so dazzling that only the brightest stars could be seen out the port holes. And Weyoun’s expression of delight and wonder was just like that night they spent in the glow of amorous bugs. “The Cardassian architecture is almost invisible under these decorations! Is it beautiful?” Weyoun asked.
“I happen to think Cardassian design is beautiful. But this is… okay.” Damar just shrugged at Weyoun’s knowing smile. “They put a lot of work into this.”
“It’s a major holiday observed every seven years. A lot of plans and decoration can be built in that time. Oh!” Weyoun grinned widely as they approached the window of Quark’s bar. The frames around the entrances and windows of Quark’s shimmered in a dizzying display of fine glitter. “May you sow your seeds in the riverside, Mr. Quark,” Weyoun greeted.
“And may the prophets bless your bounty,” Quark returned the traditional reply. “Then again, can you two make bounty? Oh, well, it’s really about the sowing, not the reaping, yeah?” Quark’s lecherous grin prompted Damar to grumble and walk away. It was bad enough for his sex life to be the topic of rumor around the bar, but this whole festival threw a stark, depressing light on the fact that he had no sex life.
So many nights his resolve almost crumbled until he was tempted to give in and let the Vorta’s hands wander where they would. It was enough that Weyoun humoured him in companionship to drive away the chill of an empty bed and lonely nights. He wouldn’t infringe on the Vorta’s genetic drive to stop at nothing, go to any lengths, to please whomever he was “gifted” to by the Founders. The week after evacuating Terok Nor, when he’d shot Ziyal nearly dead and caused Dukat’s defection, Damar had soaked himself in Kanar until he could barely function. The memories were fuzzy, but he could barely recall the pomp and ceremony around his promotion and the renewal of allyship with the Dominion. Gifts had been exchanged: the Dominion received hundreds of square kilometers of embassorial land on Cardassia Prime, and among Cardassia’s brotus was the bestowal of a Vorta, Weyoun of course, to the Legate as a gift.
Damar had figured that once they defected, Weyoun would no longer see himself as diplomatic property, but he’d never adjusted his ways. He continued to work to please Damar, though there was still an undercurrent of derision and duplicity in Weyoun’s way. To take Weyoun to bed under that contexture? It made something heavy and oily sit in the pit of Damar’s craw. If he took a partner to bed, he needed to know they wanted it.
He turned this over in his mind as he wandered the stalls and displays near Quark’s. He didn’t want to think about it, but the whole pageant was the Bajorans’ parabolic encouragement to have boundless sex. (As their population dipped, Cardassia had revived a similar celebration from the days of old, dusted off and reframed as service to the State.) There was nothing lewd or even unequivocal in the symbols, decoration, and performances of the promenade. But it was there, a subtle encouragement everywhere you looked: go forth and multiply.
When he approached a small crowd of people gathered around a raised dias where four Andorians were gathered in a pre-bonding ceremony, he had to admit that there was something hopeful about the entire thing. The air was thick with some indescribable, a cloying, soft kind of feeling. Perhaps they were pumping some drug through the vents.
“Damar, over here!” He turned to see O’Brien waving him over. Hopefully something needed fixing. “Walk with me.” Damar glanced back to see Weyoun deep in conversation with Nurse Jabara. “He’s fine, come on.” O’Brien led them in a leisurely stroll in silence.
After a sufficiently awkward silence, Damar broke. “Chief--”
“So! Er. How’s asylum going?” Damar looked askance at the human. “Yeah, ok, look. I was just assigned to bring you here. And now that we are, my job’s done.”
Damar glanced up to see they’d joined a larger crowd gathered at the foot of an elaborately decorated stage in front of the Bajoran temple. Captain Sisko was mounting the stage to the crowd’s applause. O’Brien leaned near. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“On what?!” But Damar was shushed by a grumpy Bajoran audience member before O’Brien could explain.
“Gentlepeople!” Sisko’s powerful voice carried even to the back of the crowd without amplification. “Welcome. May you plant your seeds in the riverside.” The crowd murmured the traditional response. “I won’t deny that we live in dark days of peril. But to honor the lives of those who have fallen, our comrades, our siblings, parents, children… our loved ones, in their memory we celebrate. Because what are we fighting for if not love? By the end of this week, we will have witnessed six weddings, a pre-bonding ceremony, first kisses, birth announcements, and engagements.” Damar scales flared when Sisko locked eyes with him.
But the moment passed. Sisko continued his speech. “Congratulations are in order.” He nodded towards the knot of Andorians that had joined the crowd, “To Lieutenant Thak’s polycule...” Sisko gestured at a Bajoran couple twinned together. “To Karlin and Shepin’s first child arriving in four months.” As if on cue, Shepin was struck by a sneezing fit, prompting chuckles through the crowd. As Sisko continued, a cold feeling crawled up Damar’s scales. “To the newly weds, Sopa Kuje and Fole…”
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
“Mister Weyoun!”
Weyoun turned to find Nurse Jabara and Dax at his back, both with a drink in hand. Dax offered him a full glass of red liquid. “Cranberry juice,” she explained.
“Just Weyoun, please,” he told Jabara after sipping the drink. “How are you enjoying the festivities?”
Dax wrapped her hand around his arm and hurried him through the bar. “Oh, yeah, it’s great. Hey, Captain Sisko is about to give the opening speech. Let’s make sure we get a good spot.”
Weyoun let himself be dragged along through a side entrance of the bar but planted his feet to stop at a display of glass jewelry. “Oh my! Excuse me,” he called out to the Gallamite vendor. “Is this Lorik glass?”
“Yes! Genuine Kardassi. I believe this would compliment your coloring.” The Gallamite draped a bracelet of magenta beads across Weyoun’s wrist.
Weyoun’s wide eyes glittered. “Yes, but I was looking for something for someone else.”
Jabara and Dax exchanged a glance. “Weyoun, can we come back later?” Jabara slipped the bracelet off his wrist and poured it into the vendor’s hand then tugged Weyoun along. “Come on, you can shop for your fiance after the opening ceremony.”
Weyoun let himself be dragged again, but stumbled to a halt at Jabara’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”
Dax barely suppressed a frustrated groan. “Podra will still have his stall open after the ceremony. Damar’s gift can wait.”
Weyoun stepped away from the women, jostling a Bajoran in front of him who was applauding Sisko’s arrival. “You said fiance?” he raised his voice to be heard over the applause.
“Yeah. The word got around!” Dax grinned and leaned close to be heard over Sisko’s speech. “Congratulations!”
“We aren’t engaged! We’re not even really dating!” Dax’s horrified expression was a foil to Jabara’s hysterical laugh.
“Oh,” Jabara put her hand to her forehead. “I really wish you’d said something before.”
Weyoun looked up to the stage just as Sisko levelled an intense look at someone in the crowd. He followed the Captain’s line of sight to Damar at the back of the crowd, towering over the Bajorans around him. The pieces clicked together just for the ground to crumble under Weyoun’s feet.
“Excuse me!” He pushed his way through the crowd, fighting to get to Damar’s side.
“... six weddings, a pre-bonding ceremony, first kisses, birth announcements…”
“What did you do!?” Weyoun hissed when he and Damar met in the middle.
“Me? This has your sticky handprints all over it!”
“... newly weds, Sopa Kuje and Fole…”
Damar placed his hands on Weyoun’s shoulders and leaned close to murmur into Weyoun’s ear. “What do we do now?”
Weyoun dropped his head forward to Damar’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, Damar. Together, we’ll figure it out.”
“...and the engagement of our very own Damar and Weyoun!” Sisko’s voice boomed out.
Silence.
Damar felt like all eyes were on them. He raised his hand to give a little wave, but Weyoun drew the crowd’s attention with a dazzling smile and a flourishing bow.
Ben, a born public speaker, moved the speech along. “A round of applause for all our happy couples and networks!”
Damar grabbed Weyoun’s hand and set off in a near sprint away the moment that Sisko had the crowd’s attention. “Damar! Slow down!” Weyoun directed them into an unlit hallway. For a moment, they leaned against the wall and panted into the darkness.
Damar snorted and dissolved into laughter prompting Weyoun to go weak with giggles. “Did you see their faces?”
Weyoun gulped. “I’m sure ours were equally comical!”
A nasal voice crooned from deeper into the dark hallways. “Nyes, very funny for you both.”
“Garak!” Damar growled. He flung out an arm across Weyoun’s chest by reflex when Garak stepped close.
“Don’t you think you’ve carried this far enough? What do you have to gain from this charade?”
“What charade would that be?” Weyoun asked.
From the entrance of the hall, Odo chimed in. “You know exactly what Garak’s referring to. You haven’t fooled the spy and you haven’t fooled me. You’re not… dating.”
Weyoun shrank closer to Damar, shame flooding him in the face of a Founder’s accusation.
Damar raised his chin. “No, you’re both right. We’re not dating.” Damar turned and bracketed Weyoun with his arms, palms flat against the wall. “In fact, we’re engaged.”
The stunned silence helped Damar immediately forget about the two spectators as he leaned in and kissed Weyoun.
The kiss lasted long enough that Weyoun’s knees wobbled and Damar’s scale lit up in the most lovely shade of blue. In silent agreement, Odo and Garak slunk away, unwilling to stick around as the kiss deepened into something filthier.
Weyoun pulled away, gasping. “You really want to marry a defective Vorta?” he whispered.
Damar pressed his forehead to Weyoun’s. “Only if you’ll take this ousted Legate.”
They kissed and kissed and skipped the entire rest of the opening ceremonies and most of the celebrations in the following days.