Chapter Text
When they emerge from Damar’s quarters and enter the turbolift, Damar says, “Engineering.”
“No, Quark’s,” Weyoun corrects. At Damar’s expression, he adds, “Promenade.”
“I thought you wanted me to drink less.”
Weyoun presses his lips together for a moment and then says, “I do. But right now I want you to eat food and I want Quark to see in person that I’m back.”
Quark has a glass of kanar ready for Damar when he walks in, but Weyoun snatches it before Damar can and drains it. Damar, Quark, and the rest of the bar stare at him. Weyoun Five tried food extensively, but he didn’t drink alcohol. “This is not good,” Weyoun announces.
“I would be happy to make something more to your taste if you’d like! Saurian brandy? Scotch whiskey? Root beer? Romulan ale?”
Weyoun tilts his head and inspects his empty glass, then holds it out. “Some of each.”
Quark laughs nervously. “Let me get you fresh glasses for those.” He turns to the liquor shelf.
“Why?”
“They each taste different,” Damar tells him. This Weyoun is a little alarming. “If you have them mixed together, you won’t be able to tell.” He lowers his voice. “I thought you couldn’t taste very well.”
“It appears that is—not missing from my genetic composition. The taste of that kanar was much stronger than anything in my predecessor’s memory.”
Quark pours a small measure of each beverage into a glass and pushes all four toward Weyoun. He refills the glass of kanar that Weyoun consumed and passes it to Damar, and it’s a mark of his distraction that he doesn’t bother to give Damar a clean glass.
Weyoun picks up the first glass—brandy—and tilts it just enough that he can dart his tongue out and taste it, and then drinks the rest of it. He does exactly the same thing with the other three, spluttering at the root beer. Damar is so hypnotized by the sight of it that he forgets to drink his kanar until Weyoun has finished. “Well?” he asks, and damn the catch in his voice. He drinks the kanar to cover it.
“I like the whiskey,” Weyoun declares. “It tastes like smoke.”
Quark laughs nervously and pours a full glass of the whiskey. “On the house,” he says, slanting his eyes at Damar, who realizes that he will be paying for it himself later.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Mr. Quark,” Weyoun says. “Now, food.” He rattles off a lengthy food order for himself and is about to order some for Damar when there’s a scream on the promenade.
They run out onto the promenade just as the vedek steps off the second-level railing, noose around her neck. In an instant, she falls and her neck snaps. She hangs only a few feet in front of them, eyes empty. The force of the fall has flung her earring to the floor. Weyoun bends over, his movements jerky, to pick up the earring. He stares at it dumbly for a moment, then turns to offer it in his open palm to Kira, a foot away. As Kira takes it, he says, “I’m sorry.” Kira gapes at him before accepting it.
Damar closes his hand around Weyoun’s arm and pushes him away, out of the circle of people that have gathered around. Then he takes a deep breath and goes back to the dead woman. He draws his knife and gives it, handle first, to Kira; when she’s taken it, Damar lifts the woman in his arms so that Kira can cut the rope easily. Her body is warm and the kanar in his stomach is burning its way back up his throat. Two Bajoran men lift the woman’s body from him, and Damar takes two steps back almost reflexively. The crowd is silent.
“Damar.” Kira’s voice is sharp. He can’t imagine that she’s going to thank him, and she doesn’t; she tosses his knife so that it clatters to the floor at his feet. “What, you’ve never seen a woman hanged before?” There’s the slightest hitch in her voice.
Damar has witnessed formal executions, too many of them. Death is no stranger. But the taboo against suicide runs deep in Cardassian culture, reserved only for the direst of circumstances, and it’s never happened in front of him. He crouches, slowly, to pick up the knife. “I’m,” he says, and the kanar is in the back of his throat. “Sorry.” He swallows against it and backs away until he finds Weyoun. “We need to get out of here,” he hisses, and drags Weyoun back further.
Weyoun is staring at him with eerie wide eyes. “That’s—the Weyoun line has seen a lot of death, but I never felt it like this.”
“Well, you’re defective,” Damar says, and then realizes he’s spoken to Weyoun like he’s the previous Weyoun. “You have to—control the Jem’Hadar. There could be a riot. They’ll kill anyone in their path unless you tell them not to.”
“Yes,” Weyoun says, and his voice sounds very distant. “Yes, I’ll order them. Can you stop the Cardassian security?”
“You know I can’t. Go.” Damar feels strangely protective of this new naïve Weyoun, who feels things.
He does go to Dukat, even though he knows it won’t do any good. “A vedek killed herself,” he says. Dukat barely looks up from his padd. “Weyoun is dealing with the Jem’Hadar, but it might be a good idea to withdraw the Cardassian security patrols until the Bajorans have—worked their emotions out.”
Dukat stares at him with cold eyes. “What’s this, Damar? I’ve never heard you worry about the Bajorans before.”
“I was simply—concerned—that Major Kira might be injured. I know she plays an important role in—maintaining control.”
Dukat waves a dismissive hand. “The major has a gift for survival. I’m sure she’ll be well out of the way of any disorder.” He sits forward in his chair. “How is the new Weyoun? He seems—different.”
Any interest from Dukat is dangerous. “Like the Weyoun before him, as far as I can tell. Though he was trying out different alcohols in Quark’s, so maybe he’ll be a little more fun.” He tries to adopt the right tone of casual unconcern even as he thinks of Weyoun dealing with Jem’Hadar. They’re programmed to obey him, but—
“I take it he’s still—amenable to your attention?”
He hates it when Dukat talks about this, but he tries to grin lasciviously. “He certainly was earlier. I hear I’m not scheduled for execution anymore. Thank you for that.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Dukat says. “The transporter accident was a tragic…accident. Merely a happy coincidence that it has also resulted in your being about to continue your work.” He lowers his voice to an almost conspiratorial level. “I’m saving a very good bottle of kanar to toast your success, Damar.” As though he’s a dumb pet who’ll be motivated by a treat. He must be a laughingstock on this station, lured here and there with kanar.
“I look forward to it.” Damar is impressed by how strong his voice is. “I should return to Engineering, in that case.” Dukat waves him away.
Damar ventures back out; the unrest is spreading, up to the second level of the promenade now. He sees a Cardassian security officer about to strike Liana and catches his arm. “You don’t want to hurt this one,” he says, voice low, and glances toward Dukat’s office. The officer understands and goes to find another victim.
“Thank you.” Liana’s voice is soft. He never heard her talk much.
“You should get out of sight,” Damar warns. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Liana straightens up. “What, until someone gets hurt?”
“I’m sorry.” He says that a lot lately to people who won’t care. “Just—be careful.” He can’t hold Liana’s gaze. He can see the Jem’Hadar bottled up behind the security office doors, restless. Weyoun looks very fragile in front of them and Damar wants to pull him out of there, but he’s the only thing keeping the unrest from turning deadly. Cardassian guards will inflict broken bones, concussions, bruises; Jem’Hadar will kill.
Down in Engineering, everyone is tense. It feels as though everyone is listening to see if they can hear the sounds of a riot, never mind that the sounds of the promenade never penetrated this far down. “Let’s get back to work,” he says. These engineers are nominally soldiers, but they’re not soldiers like he is, or like Dukat is. They’re just scientists who saw the way the wind was blowing and joined the military before the civilian government fell.