Twenty Tales by jamiekinosian and tinsnip

Jamiekinosian and tinsnip are doing a twenty-prompt meme together! On some, tinsnip writes the prompt and Jamie draws from her fic; on others, Jamie draws the prompt and tinsnip writes from the picture. Everything is guaranteed Garak/Bashir goodness! This blog updates as life permits. Want more? Flatter us shamelessly--it'll help! <3

[twentytales]

This is all so very wonderful! I love both the beautiful art and the wonderful details in the chapters! Is there more?

Sadly, no; life called us both away. I’m so very glad you’ve enjoyed it. :3

[twentytales]

I am currently reading through the entirety of this... just finished Bath tub adventures with bubbles and oil. The line: “What? The bath? I do hope you’re not being literal—” and it's follow-up made me giggle far too much (and have to quickly check that I was muted on my conference call).

Heee, how lovely! I’m so glad you’re enjoying it! :D

[twentytales]

Bath tub adventures with bubbles and oil. (supplied by Anon)

“There we are. Mmm, that’s better already, isn’t it? Don’t lie. I can tell.”

 “You’re flattering yourself, Doctor…” Oh, snippy words, but the voice that went with them was lazily happy, and Julian smiled to himself.

Keep reading

[twentytales]

Coffee or tea. -- Anon

“Now, tell me, Doctor: when does the phrase ‘coffee, tea, or me’ enter into things?”

Keep reading

[twentytales]

Coffee or tea. -- Anon

"Now, tell me, Doctor: when does the phrase 'coffee, tea, or me' enter into things?"

He paused in the act of pouring, staring at Garak, whose expression was innocent. That didn't, of course, mean anything.

"It doesn't. It never enters into anything to do with high tea." He frowned. "Where on earth did you run across that expression, anyway?"

"In your holosuite program." Garak eyed the little pastries thoughtfully. "The young woman on the airplane said it to you. While bending over in a very determined way, I thought. Is that green one mint?"

"What? Yes, it's mint, but it's for later. Garak, don't pay much attention to what happens in that program. It's not at all representative of the time period."

"Dear me. And here I thought you strove for historical authenticity."

"Well… I mean, I do, but… it's not really that—"

"—kind of program, yes, so I have been told. Tell me, do you also get propositioned when you're adventuring with the Chief?"

"I declare this line of enquiry terminated."

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that you've only brought this up to embarrass me in the first place. Now, do you want tea or not?"

Garak blinked at him. "Why else would I be here?"

"All right. Then pay attention."

Garak steepled his hands and watched with fascination as Julian tipped the boiling water into the teapot and swirled it. He couldn't help but add a bit of showmanship to it—a little flair, why not—once, twice, and there they were. Now to pour it back out into the pitcher… without spilling a drop, very good, and back into the replicator it went, there to be engulfed in gold sparkles and replaced by a fresh pitcher. He placed it on the table and bowed.

Garak didn’t seem impressed. "What was the point of all that?"

"It warms the pot. Here: feel." The pot was indeed lovely and warm, and Garak took it in both hands at first tentatively, then with a smile.

"How pleasant."

"I've always thought so."

"Is that the only purpose it serves?"

"Well, it cleans the pot, of course. I don't really need to do that; I clean this pot before I put it away. Still, it just doesn't feel proper unless I do it, do you know what I mean?"

Garak was nodding. "I understand completely. What now?"

"Now we add the tea."

"I thought you were making the tea."

"Sorry, that's—I suppose that's confusing, isn't it. One can also call the dried leaves 'tea.' So I'll add the tea leaves to the pot—here, take a moment, smell them." He held the handful of leaves out for Garak's inspection.

Garak's nostrils flared, and his mouth opened for just a moment to pull the scent in over his so'c. Julian smiled at that. The Cardassians had come out rather lucky there. The idea of a whole new dimension to tea was intriguing… well, one couldn't have everything, and Julian got a lot more out of music than Garak did, so all in all it probably worked out.

"It smells very good." Garak blinked appreciatively.

"Mmm. It's a lovely blend, isn't it?"

"Certainly much more pleasant than that Earl Grey business."

"Pfft, that's not hard to manage. All right, in they go. Now some nice fresh boiling water…" He poured carefully, and Garak peered into the tea pot as the water level rose.

"And now we wait?"

"And now we wait. And no, you may not have a cookie yet."

That got him a mild blink, but Garak chose not to pursue the issue. Instead he examined his cup with curiosity, running one finger along the gilt rim.

"This is very delicate."

"Tell me about it. When I was a child, I wasn't allowed to touch the fine china. I was much too clumsy."

"Dear, dear. Did many cups meet their end at your hands?"

"Not too many." Three wasn't many, not really.

"Hmph." One corner of Garak's mouth lifted, and he held the cup up to the light. "Goodness, I can almost see through it."

"Very fancy, right? Now, look, there's a proper way to hold it."

"Ah?"

"Don't put your fingers through the loop. That's gauche."

"I'm not supposed to use the handle?"

"Oh, no, go ahead and use it, but do it like this. See, you pinch it between thumb and fingers. That's right."

Garak frowned. "I'm concerned I'll spill. If there is ever actually tea, that is." He let the cup wobble, as if to illustrate, and Julian lifted a hand to steady it.

"You can hold your little finger out if you like. That'll help you balance. Just don't stick it straight up. That's—"

"—gauche?"

"You're so quick."

Garak turned the cup around in his hands, expression meditative. "Where did you come by these pretty things?"

"Gift from my Aunt Fatima. She gave them to me when I left for my first assignment."

"Was she worried there wouldn't be any cups on the frontier?"

"Oh, you're a laugh riot."

"I try."

"No, I think it was actually her way of saying, 'Congratulations, Julian, you've grown up.'"

"How wrong she was…"

"Not too late to deny you tea."

"I retract my statement. You are aged and wise."

"I think I'm just going to stop listening to you all together. All right, I think we have tea. I don't like mine particularly strong. How do you like yours?"

"All I know is that I do not like what comes out of the replicator."

"Yes, that's very strong. Very well, then, we'll keep it light. Here, put the strainer on your cup, please."

"So I don't end up with leaves in my cup. How clever."

"I suppose it is… I've never really thought about it…" He poured carefully, not wanting to splash, enjoying how the amber liquid trickled into the cup with a happy sort of sound. "Doesn't that smell lovely?"

"Mmm. Yes, it does." Garak had closed his eyes and was inhaling with every evidence of enjoyment, pausing to sip the air now and then. "It fills the room."

"Makes one feel as if one isn't in a metal box in space for a little while, right?"

"What an interesting way of putting things." Garak's eyes opened, and he blinked at his cup. "Do I drink now?"

"Wait for me." He poured out the remainder of the tea for himself, then set the teapot on its rest between them where they could admire it. It was a pretty thing, all pale porcelain and gold rimming. Very old-fashioned. Then again, so was Aunt Fatima, sometimes.

Garak was eyeing his cup dubiously. "Not much tea for all that effort."

"It's not effort, not really. It's… it's a ritual. One savours all the little steps."

Garak pursed his lips, nodding. "I can understand that. Now, may I drink?"

"Not yet." At the roll of the eyes this provoked, Julian grinned and held up a hand. "Now, now, none of that. I need to know if you want milk."

"Now how would I know?"

"Let's try a little…"

"Is this the cow secretion?"

"This is it, yes. It makes things a bit milder. And you have a sweet tooth, so I think I'll add… mmm, yes, one lump of sugar." It was a bit of a delicate maneuver, but he managed a successful plunk.

"What tiny tongs."

"They're something, aren't they?"

"I have a similar pair for removing stray threads."

"And I for removing foreign bodies from wounds."

"Dear me, I hope you don't mix them up with these."

"I try not to."

"Don't you want any cow secretion?"

"I take my tea black, thanks."

"That's not black. It's amber."

"It's just an expression. All right, now, if you like you can stir—no, not all fast like that, really, Garak, I'm starting to despair of you a bit." Garak shot him a look, and he grinned. "Shall I teach you the proper way to do it?"

"By all means." Sarcasm dripped from every word. "Although I'm having some trouble believing there's actually a proper way to stir."

"Cross my heart." He matched phrase to gesture. "Apparently it has something to do with not disturbing the flavour of the tea. Look, this is how: one doesn't stir, one simply… folds." Around and around, don't clink, Julian, said Aunt Fatima in his head. There's no rush. Take your time.

Garak watched, frowning. "This is very complex."

"You're telling me. Took me years to get it all down pat." There, that would do it. Aunt Fatima would be proud. He set the spoon down across the top of Garak's saucer.

"No wonder you don't do it often."

"Almost never. Only for special company."

Garak's gaze flicked up at that, and Julian smiled at him.

"Well? Aren't you going to drink? Don't want it to get cold."

"Oh? Am I finally permitted to do so?"

"Not sure what you're waiting for, honestly."

With raised brow ridges, Garak lifted the cup as instructed and sipped, and smiled, eyes closing.

Julian leaned forward, grinning. "Lovely, isn't it? It is, isn't it!" He half-wanted to bounce in his chair, but that would be very much at odds with the image he wanted to portray. Grown-ups don't bounce. Too bad for the grown-ups, honestly.

"It's delicious." Garak opened his eyes and smiled. "Thank you, Doctor."

He brimmed with satisfaction. "You're welcome, Garak. Now, can I tempt you with a scone? Lots of clotted cream to go around."

"I think I shall restrain myself to one helping of cow secretion today, thank you. That mint cookie might be more to my taste."

"If you're sure. Here you go."

"Thank you." Garak lifted it to his mouth, then stopped halfway and flicked a glance at Julian. "Is there a ritual to go with this, as well?"

Julian rested his chin on his hands. "Do you want there to be?"

"Not particularly."

"You're in luck, then."

"How nice." Garak bit into the cookie, smiled, then cast a look at Julian's cup. "Aren't you going to have any tea?"

"Oh!" How silly—it was going to get cold—but he'd been having so much fun watching Garak he'd nearly forgotten. "I believe I shall. I've earned it, after all."

"Have you? How so?"

He held up a hand as he sipped, enjoying both the flavour of the tea and the irritation on Garak's face, then smacked his lips appreciatively. "Oh, that's lovely."

"Smacking one's lips is not refined, my dear doctor."

"I won't tell Aunt Fatima if you won't."

"You were going to tell me how you've earned your tea."

"Oh, that. Well, it's a lot of work, teaching someone about how to properly make tea. I feel I deserve a reward." He sipped again, shook his head. "Really, I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever catch on." He blinked innocently. Garak frowned at him. "Is that so."

"It is."

"Mmm." Another meditative steepling of grey fingers. "Tell me, Doctor, have you ever learned the proper way to eat kalic roe?"

"Can't say it rings a bell."

"Then it will be my pleasure to teach you." Garak nodded firmly. "Next week."

"By all means." And my goose will be cooked, no doubt. Oh, well, it had been worth it—and continued to be, as Garak delicately raised the cup to his lips and sipped.

"What do you think? An experience worth repeating?"

Now a demure blink. "Perhaps you wouldn't care to repeat your invitation to someone so slow to catch on."

"For you, I'll make an exception."

"Then it would be my pleasure, Doctor Bashir."

"Thank you, Mister Garak."

(1.  The so'c, pronounced "sohsh", is a sense organ on the underside of the tongue. In Human terms, it enhances both scent and taste. A Cardassian would tell you this is a facile and inaccurate explanation, but being Human, it's the best I can do. Sorry!) (2. Aunt Fatima is on loan from KanarandTarkaleanTea's marvellous and thoroughly enjoyable A Handful of Dates. Thank you, my dear!)

[twentytales]

Bath tub adventures with bubbles and oil. (supplied by Anon)

“There we are. Mmm, that’s better already, isn’t it? Don’t lie. I can tell.”

 “You’re flattering yourself, Doctor…” Oh, snippy words, but the voice that went with them was lazily happy, and Julian smiled to himself.

“You think so, do you? Here, lean over, I’ll get your point.” He wrung out the little sponge, squeezing water from its ropy netting, and dipped it again into the pot of soap before scrubbing with vigour at the scales tapering down Garak’s spine.

Garak, for his part, made a very happy sound and wriggled himself into a better position, so that Julian could really attack the little fellows at the very bottom of the pointed sheath of scales on Garak’s back… didn’t want to shed, did they… ah ha. “Got them. Nasty little things.”

“They’re always so stubborn. I do appreciate your careful attention.”

“My pleasure, believe me. It’s worth the effort to ensure I don’t get little bits of Garak in all my things… hey, don’t splash!”

He rubbed water from his eyes, laughing, and as his vision cleared, the blur in front of him resolved into an irascible Cardassian face, frowning at him from atop a twisted Cardassian torso.

“’Little bits of Garak’ indeed. I’ll have you know that I am meticulous about my scaling.”

“Oh, no doubt, no doubt.” He waved the little sponge in a mollifying sort of way. “Is that a comfortable way to sit? I mean, really?”

“Not at all. And if I’m sore later on, I’ll have you to blame.” Garak’s tone was irritable, but he turned himself around again, presenting Julian with a very trusting expanse of scaly back.

“Ready for the oil?”

“Mm.” Garak rolled his shoulders back. “Yes, please.”

“All right. Hold steady, now.” He daubed the little sponge with the fragrant goop, braced himself against Garak’s torso with one arm, and began to scrub his scales in earnest.

“Oh, yes. Just like that.” Garak’s voice was rapturous, and Julian grinned.

“Feels nice?”

“Beyond description. Harder, please.”

“Your wish is my command.” The scales were starting to glisten nicely now.

“Oh. Oh. I will be tender later. A bit more on the edge, please.”

He obliged. “How did you manage this on your own?”

“Poorly. Mmm. That is very, very nice.”

“Feeling relaxed, are we?”

“Mmm.”

“All kinds of pleasant?”

His only answer was a happy sigh.

“Good. I’m glad. Now own up. Why’d you break into Odo’s records?”

There was just enough of a pause to tell him he’d been right. “I… forgive me, Doctor, but I think I’ve lost the thread of this conversation…”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” There was a little scale that needed a good rub right there, yes, that was it. “You know just what I mean.” And another recalcitrant scale here—good, got that too. “Two nights ago. Intrusion at oh-four-hundred. From my console, interestingly, which took a bit of finding out. Now, I know I was sleeping at that time.” Now, to deal with the shoulder ridges. “Which leaves you.”

He rubbed fiercely, and Garak jerked under the sponge.

“Ah! Ah-ha-ha! Carefully—lightly—”

“Nope. Won’t stop ‘til you ‘fess up.”

“Oh—that’s so—Doctor, that tickles—”

“That’s rather the point, isn’t it—”

“All right! All right, you merciless interrogator, I throw myself on the mercy of the State,” and Garak tugged his shoulders out of Julian’s grasp, twisted himself around and sat at the other end of the tub, facing him. His expression was a lovely mixture of amusement and irritation. “I may have some knowledge of that data breach.”

“’Some knowledge,’ he says.” Julian flicked water at him.

“But no harm was done, correct?”

“Oh, correct. In fact, Odo was happy about the outcome. Well, as happy as Odo ever gets.” He shrugged, and Garak pursed his lips. “But breaking in to supply evidence is just as bad as breaking in to remove evidence, don’t you think?”

Garak tilted his head, considering. “Don’t you think the ends justify the means in this case, my dear? You caught your thief, after all.”

“Mmm, and it is nice to know that the cloned organs won’t be dashing away on little legs anymore…”

They both stopped for a moment, considering that image. Julian shook his head.

“Never mind. Anyway. Organ smuggler in Odo’s cells, net plus. Unwanted access to security records, net minus. So you have a date with a very irritated Changeling this afternoon.”

“Oh, no.” Garak was suddenly all apologetic dismay. “But I simply can’t make it this afternoon—I’ve scheduled a fitting for a most demanding Bolian merchant, and he’ll only be here for a day—”

“Make it work, Garak.” Julian fixed him with his very best irritated glare. “Or else Odo will come along and drag you to a holding cell by the ear, and trust me, you won’t enjoy that. I had to talk him into this.”

“What? The bath? I do hope you’re not being literal—”

“Dear God, no. Can you imagine?” For a moment he was distracted. “What would he be, do you think? The soap?”

“The sponge.”

“Or the water…” He looked at it, thought about it, dismissed it. “So. Odo’s office, or Odo’s cell. Which would you rather?”

Garak tilted his head back and rested it on the edge of the tub, closing his eyes as he did so. “I’d rather stay here with you.”

“Mmm. Likewise. Perhaps you should’ve thought of that before you hopped out of bed and went poking around my console. Which, by the way, you will never do again. Are we clear?”

Blue eyes opened and blinked at him charmingly. “Oh, absolutely—”

“Because I’ve set up a field around it, you see, and if it’s touched by Cardassian hands, it will zap them most unpleasantly.”

Suddenly those eyes were a bit less charming. “’Zap’ them?”

“Mmm. Technical term. You’ll need a mild dermal regen, let’s put it that way. And I won’t be at all in the mood. So don’t touch. All right?”

A long-suffering sigh. “You do demand a lot of me, Doctor.”

“You rub my scales, I’ll rub yours.”

“Mmm… speaking of which…”

“So you’ll be at the security office at fourteen-hundred, then?”

Another sigh, irritated this time. “I’ll be at the security office.”

“And you’ll be helpful. Because I told him you would be.”

“I will be the soul of patient aid. Now are you going to finish my back or not?”

He smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Turn around.”

[twentytales]

I’m afraid jamiekinosian will no longer be able to draw for this prompt list, which is a shame, because she is fucking amazing. That said, I have a couple more stories to post, and I shall do so imminently!

[twentytales]

please keep living this dream, these have warmed the cockles of my heart sooo muuuchhh

jamiekinosian  ;)

[twentytales]

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

WE ARE SO GLAD

[twentytales]

For the prompt fingerpainting together, submitted by anon.

Kardasi awaits below! If you don't speak it quite as fluently as Julian and Garak do, hover over the text for a translation.

* * *

He held as still as he could as Garak’s cool fingers daubed the pigment on to his skin, posture perfect, head tilted. There was a very clear way to do this. And by God, he was going to get it right.

He’d done his research. He’d read the pamphlet, and then a book, and then another book. He’d watched a vid, for God’s sake, with Garak laughing quietly to himself in the background, teasing as he walked past: "tasvisf gup aʂeheTh payCh katreb ga’I’o, s’h’iosr’ha?"

"lam ter’or ga’I,” he’d said, and backed the vid up a few seconds to catch the bit he’d missed. There were all these swoops, and one had to hold one’s shoulders a certain way…

Now he was careful to keep the angle of his shoulders, the crook of his left hand just so as Garak pressed with his thumb, with his knuckles, as he ran his fingertips down and across. When he stepped back, his fingertips were blue, and he was blinking.

Julian smiled at him, mouthed "uChat’net’a," and Garak’s smile flashed for just a moment.

"chU’lian ba’cir. ka niraduxt cerd’Unt’I’o? ka raUnt sepsi eri’at’U’o?"

"diTh’net!" He grinned, netting himself a shoulder-frown from the officiant. A bit overly exuberant, he supposed. Too bad. This was an exuberant kind of day.

She held the pot out to him. Its pungent, earthy scent drifted up. Rain. He dipped his fingers in it, touched each knuckle to it, rolled his thumb against the clay.

Now it was his turn, and oh, he was careful as he pressed his thumb to Garak’s Chufa, leaving it bright blue. Next the knuckles against the hollow of Garak’s throat, and Garak swallowed and blinked as he pressed in. Finally the fingers, resting lightly for a moment on the ridge that ran along neck and shoulder before he raked them down, leaving streaks of vibrant blue that marked Garak very clearly as claimed.

"kaprisik nopt ga’I. kaoCh'a'I'o?" he whispered.

"sefUm'pey cufkaol'lo, rapey ka taskreʂ'I," Garak whispered back, and the two of them grinned like idiots while the officiant rolled her eyes.

"nusi rasi cotas’a. nusijayatik Chopris‘vUk ga’I. nusi vinrasi h’ssti darm’I. tef’Chaj vinka, tef’Chaj vinsi: nopt ga’I. nusi hezem ga’U! nusi zefnes’er’U! he’ kardasia fUmlUft mUjen’U!"

Garak’s eyes were laughing. He supposed his own were as well. Fruitful indeed.

"niyut’mer heTh’U, hi kajayatik bhev’U."

One last dab of clay on both of their hands, and his left hand met Garak’s right, fingers intertwining and gripping tight.

That was that, then. Perfectly executed. No one on Cardassia could tut about his imperfect Human understanding of cultural custom, no one could intimate that Garak was really a bit strange to take such an odd creature into his home. Not after this. You’re mine, Elim Garak. Marked and claimed. And as the clay cooled on his own forehead, as Garak’s eyes widened and his shoulders shouted joy, he was smug with the knowledge of a job well done.

So well done, in fact, that he was willing to bet nobody would say a goddamned thing about what he did now. Not to his face, anyway. Behind his back didn’t matter. He was only a Human, after all, and if that didn’t entitle him to be a bit disruptive, what did?

Accompanied by a chorus of slightly scandalized gasps (and a few delighted chortles), he leaned forward and kissed his enjoined, a hand sliding up into his hair, painting the dark strands blue.

"fUmterp’vel’er," Garak murmured against his mouth, and he grinned.

  NOTES:

1. Knuckles-to-throat courtesy of ladyyatexel. Look, ‘verse crossover!

2. Vocabulary courtesy of tinsnip and feltelures. Vocab file available for review on request.

[twentytales]

This is fantastic and amazing and I love you and more please. :)

If you like G/B art (and I know you do!), please check out jamiekinosian's back catalogue! I'm not sure what her tag is but she's drawn some splendorrific stuff!

[twentytales]

hatepig reblogged your post For the prompt “Outsider POV on their... and added:

This was a gift <3 So in tone~ So hilarious! So much great Garak and Bashir and Quark and Odo and aaaaa

Thaaaanks~~

( jamiekinosian!)

[twentytales]

For the prompt "Outsider POV on their relationship".

***

Well, wasn't that just about the prettiest thing since a fourth-quarter profit.

“Constable.” He leaned over the bar, lowering his voice, and Odo pulled back with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“You ever seen latinum on legs?”

“What are you babbling about?”

“Look up. Top of the stairs. No, don’t look look, just be subtle— I shouldn’t have to tell you this, you’re a security officer.”

Odo was exasperated. Three seconds: that was a new record. “Quark—”

“Just act natural. Pretend we’re just talking, nothing special—”

“We are talking.”

“Talking like actual people, instead of an honest businessman being harried to death one day at a time by a shapeshifter with an overactive sense of justice. Try to blend in. If you can manage it."

“You’re telling me to blend in?”

“I know. It’s a stretch.”

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“Them.”

“What, Garak and Ba—”

“Shhh.” For profit’s sake, it was like training sleb. “Yes. Them.”

Now Odo looked over, trying to seem inconspicuous, and Quark wanted to roll his eyes. The man’s body language—such as it was, couldn’t even call it a body, really—was the least subtle thing he’d ever seen. Not fair. The only reason he ever catches me out is because he can be all kinds of things he’s not supposed to be.

“I don’t understand.”

“Look at them.”

“I am looking.”

“Well, then.” Quark shrugged.

Odo did roll his eyes, showing none of the admirable restraint Quark prided himself on possessing. “Quark, what are you getting at?”

“Twenty strips of latinum per person in the pool. That’s what I’m getting at.”

“What pool?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? Hmm.” He made a show of polishing the bar. “Slipping, Odo.”

“Spit it out.”

Quark looked up at him and grinned. “They’re, uh…” Mmm, he didn’t want to be crude. Instead, he tugged a lobe and Nodded Significantly, and watched the reference sail right over Odo’s head.

“They’re ‘uh’ what?”

Oh, for the love of latinum. “They’re ‘uh’ every night, that’s what they’re ‘uh.’”

Odo was completely lost. Quark was kind of tempted to leave him that way. Wasn’t very fair, though: the man really had no idea when it came to love or sex or any of the things that made life worth living. It explained a lot, when you thought about it, not that he ever did.

“Let me break it down for you. This station is small. Rumours fly. People like to bet. I make it all come together.”

“You’re running a… ‘pool’… regarding Garak and Bashir?”

“Mmm.” He smiled proudly. “The ‘how long till they’re fu—’… ah, ‘sleeping together’ pool.”

“Let me get this straight. You are taking bets on the personal lives of the people of this station.”

“I happen to know that there's no law against it.”

Odo frowned and made an irritated noise, drumming his fingers on the bar. “Unfortunately, you’re right.”

“And they’re not the only ones, either. Let’s see, there’s Sisko and Dax…”

“Dax? I doubt it.”

“Morn and Dax…”

“Not in a million years.”

“Me and Dax…”

Odo actually barked a laugh at that, and Quark sketched a little bow. “I live in hope, what can I say?”

“Keep dreaming…” Now Odo looked back over at the two men just starting down the staircase. “So you think you’re going to make some money, eh?”

“The money’s made. The pool closes tonight. They’re involved.”

Odo snorted. “I hope you’ve got proof, because I’ve heard that rumour before.”

“No rumour. Truth.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Odo, you’re seeing it now.”

Now Odo looked again, and this time he actually managed to make it look half-decent. Bored, his face said, looking for something to do, and arresting you would be a good start. It wasn't a face you wanted to look at. Or to have look at you, for that matter.

Quark nodded approvingly. “Better. Almost subtle. Keep trying.”

Odo ignored him, ungrateful as always. Now he was frowning. “How do you know they’re involved? They haven’t said so to anyone. I’d know if they had. And Garak might manage to keep it quiet, but Bashir’s got a mouth like a conduit breach.”

“How do I…” Quark spread his hands, made a face. “How do I know I’m breathing air? Because I’m not dead. How do I know I ate today? Because I’m not hungry. How do I know the doctor and the tailor are together? Because I have eyes.”

“They’re acting the same way they always do. I don’t see any difference.” Odo’s frown looked a little bit confused, now. Quark savoured it. When Odo was like this, it was almost cute. You kind of wanted to help the guy out a little.

“Don’t you fret, Constable. Uncle Quark will explain the facts of life.” He smiled benignly at Odo, enjoying the snarl he elicited. “See how Bashir is gazing lovingly into Garak’s eyes?”

“He’s looking at him. He always looks at him.”

“Odo, nobody looks at somebody like that unless they’re picturing them naked.”

“That’s circumstantial. And disgusting.”

“Fine. All right: look at how Bashir’s just put his arm around Garak’s shoulder.”

“I’ve seen him do that before.”

“Yeah, fine, but have you seen Garak let him leave it there?”

“Pretty flimsy, Quark…”

“You want more? I’ll give you more: look at how close they’re standing.”

“They always stand that close. They practically hang off each other. They always have.”

That… was a good point, actually. “Well, how about the way they’re laughing? Heads together, sharing a secret joke—”

“They always have secret jokes. They walk around the Promenade giggling at everything. The entire station is a source of quiet amusement to Mister Garak and Doctor Bashir. Can’t you do any better than that, Quark?” Now Odo was smiling, that creepy little kind-of-smile that made Quark’s skin crawl. “Or are you ready to admit you don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“It’s true.”

Odo narrowed his eyes. “Prove it.”

“I don’t have to. They’ll do it for me. Here they come—good evening, gentlemen!”

“Hello, Quark.” Bashir was affable as always. Maybe a little more so than usual, given that he’d apparently been nipping from the bottle of kanar Garak was toting. “We’re all through in the holosuite.”

“Are you sure? You still have twenty minutes left.” He oozed friendliness. Charm was free, after all.

“Thank you, but I believe we’ve defeated the forces of evil rather soundly. I doubt they could muster the energy for a comeback tonight.” Garak’s voice was pleasant. If he was tipsy, he was hiding it well: his little bow wasn't wobbly at all. “An excellent program.”

“Thank the doctor, not me. I just provide the facilities.”

“But what facilities they are! Truly, I could not ask for a better host.”

That was effusive even for Garak, and Quark mentally ratcheted up the tipsiness meter by a few points as he grinned. Keep watching, Odo. “I’m just glad the two of you managed to get some time together. You know. To enjoy each other’s company.”

“Ah, ha, well…” Bashir blinked, smiled, practically blushed. It was almost embarrassing. “It’s… you know, it’s a great program, and Garak’s really becoming very good at this whole spy thing.” He looked over at Garak, eyes narrowing, and his smile widened to a grin. “Honestly, you’ve taken to it like a fish to water. I’m very nearly surprised!”

Garak slid Bashir a sideways glance, and Bashir smiled like an idiot—so no difference, really—and oh, yes, the two of them thought they were being very clever and very funny. That was fine. Quark could put up with a lot of clever and funny if it rubbed his point in Odo’s face. “Well, gentlemen, I’m glad you had a good time.” And maybe, because Bashir was drunk enough… “Why not stay for dinner? We've got a Motho’tep sandworm tonight that would melt in your—"

“Oh, no… no, we’ve got to get going, haven’t we, Garak?” And the man batted his lashes like a stunned female.

“Indeed, my dear doctor. If you’ll excuse us.” Garak bowed politely, exuding smug, and shepherded the lanky Human out the door with a hand on the small of his back. Odo saw it. Couldn’t miss it. Quark delighted in it.

“So…?” He drew it out, smiling.

Odo rapped his fingers on the bar, once, twice, then grunted to himself. “You’re going to make a lot of money.”

Quark smiled, all teeth.

Odo harrumphed and folded his arms, suddenly very uninterested in Quark, and so Quark immediately pricked up his ears, because he wasn’t an idiot.

“So… do any of these little pools of yours involve me?”

Heh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I could make you tell me. As a matter of station security.”

“How did you put it? It was so eloquent… ah, yes, that was it. 'Keep dreaming.'”