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“Do you remember what you said to me when I first woke you up?” Odo asked.
At the navport, Weyoun’s fingers stilled, his brow furrowed. “This morning?” he said, puzzled. “You knocked on my door and said ‘Get up.’” He shot Odo a sideways look. “I must say, Founder, I am forever impressed by the grace and dignity you impart into even the simplest of sayings–”
“Not this morning,” said Odo flatly. “Eight months ago, when I woke you up in the cloning chamber. Do you remember what you said?”
Weyoun went still, a flush crawling over his cheeks. Odo had never been sure how much the Vorta remembered. That first day post-cloning had been full of confused mumbling and language lapses, unfocused eyes and trembling muscles. Weyoun assured him that the cloning process always did this – that new bodies were by definition weak – but Odo sometimes suspected that he had fumbled the programming, pushed the reconstruction of tissue and nerves too fast. If he had messed up, he knew for certain that a Vorta would never tell him so. Weyoun would re-frame every mistake as a blessing from God.
“Perhaps you don’t remember,” Odo said. “The first day was…” He cleared his throat. At his side, Weyoun’s eyes were shuttered, his face a mask. “When I woke you up … you said ‘Let me die.’”
“All Vorta say nonsensical, borderline-delusional things when they’re first awakened,” said Weyoun so briskly it could almost be called a snap. His flush deepened as he busied himself with the controls. “Consider it a type of temporary brain fever, Odo. I would never presume to dictate etiquette to a Founder, but…”
“But?”
“It’s common practice that what a newborn Vorta says in the cloning chamber must never be held against him,” said Weyoun with a subservient bow of the head.
“Your ears are turning purple,” said Odo drily. Weyoun’s hands snapped up to hide his ears. In a softer tone, more casual, Odo said, “Have your predecessors ever said anything like that? When they were … activated?”
Weyoun hesitated. It was a long time before he uncovered his ears, his blush under control. He checked the com panel with one finger and said, “I don’t remember,” in a miserable tone.
Odo’s eyes lit up. “You’re lying,” he said, and Weyoun’s face crumpled in shame. “No,” said Odo quickly. “Consider it a good thing. The previous Weyouns could never lie to a Founder.”
“Weyoun Seven…”
“Over something so small?” said Odo. “Directly to a Founder’s face? The very fact that you could lie to me indicates—“
Weyoun covered his ears again. “Please,” he said softly, his eyes squeezed shut. “Stop, Founder. Odo. I beg of you.”
Odo fell silent. Perhaps he had rushed it. But he really was proud of Weyoun for that lie — for asserting himself, refusing to talk about something that embarrassed him. Even when it was a Founder who asked.