Chapter Text
Damar meets Sisko at the docking bay with Kira, Rusot, and Weyoun. “Welcome to—Terok Nor,” he says. Kira doesn’t even flinch. She’s smiling at Sisko, who’s flanked by a Klingon, a Trill—Dax—and…Garak. He tries to stifle the reflexive lip curl at the sight of Garak, who gives him a serene smile.
“It’s good to be back,” Sisko says. “Will Gul Dukat be joining us?”
“No.” The one thing about this rebellion that Damar will probably regret forever. “He’s—in the security office.” He can’t bring himself to say “in a cell,” though he should probably start practicing. “We can use one of the conference rooms.”
They array themselves along different sides of the table. It hasn’t escaped Damar’s awareness that Kira belongs on the other side, with the Federation. He doesn’t know where Garak belongs anymore. “Thank you for the—assist,” Sisko begins.
“The rescue,” Garak says, and that’s interesting, to see Garak pulling toward their side. Damar has never liked or trusted him, largely based on Dukat’s opinion of him. But a member of the Obsidian Order—one of Dukat’s stories that he believes more and more—could be a very useful ally in the liberation of Cardassia. “Cardassian fleets across the quadrant have been rejecting our Dominion oppressors.” His eyes are thoughtful. “I have to admit, Damar, I never would have expected it of you. I’m impressed.”
“Well.” Damar isn’t made for this kind of thing, careful words across a negotiating table. “We assume that the Dominion will—retaliate.”
“They already have,” Garak says. “The entirety of the Second Order was executed.”
“But—that was Dukat’s former Order,” Damar says. There it is, the familiar taste of bile in the back of his throat.
“Apparently the Dominion believed that Gul Dukat was involved in the rebellion and chose to take particular revenge on him. The Eleventh Order is expected as the next target.”
Damar laughs in despair. “Of course.” The Dominion also apparently never would have expected him to betray Dukat. The Eleventh Order will be easily destroyed by the Dominion. Garak looks at him pityingly.
“Does the Cardassian Liberation Front represent the Cardassian Union?” Sisko isn’t interested in the particulars of Cardassian deaths.
“Not at the moment,” Damar admits. “When things are settled here, I intend to return to Cardassia Prime to—fix that.”
“What about you?” That’s Dax, fixing her eyes on Weyoun. “Aren’t you a Dominion representative? Do you have authority to negotiate?”
Weyoun shakes his head. “I am not. I do not.” His eyes flick to Damar. “I plan to go to Cardassia Prime with Damar to aid in gathering support for the Liberation Front.” Damar stiffens at that. They’ve never discussed it, and it’s a terrible plan.
“At the moment, we need to determine the—role of the Federation on Terok Nor. If any.” Gul Rusot’s words are precise and convey the depth of his dislike for the Federation in just the right amount. Maybe Damar should send him to Cardassia Prime instead of going himself.
“We recognize that the station is under Cardassian and Bajoran control,” Sisko says. “We also understand that—Terok Nor—is a crucial strategic outpost. The Federation would prefer to leave a small contingent of representatives to facilitate future cooperation.”
“Facilitate,” Rusot begins, and Damar is suddenly certain that Rusot will have to be the one to go to Cardassia Prime.
“This will require discussion, as I’m sure you understand,” Damar says. “You’re all welcome to go have a drink and something to eat at Quark’s while we talk.” He Dax smile broadly, and even Garak looks more than mildly happy at the idea.
It’s not an easy discussion. Rusot is happy to yell when out of earshot of the Federation representatives. He calms slightly when Damar says, “Gul Rusot, I’ve realized that you’re the best choice to lead the rebellion on Cardassia Prime. You have the—talent for rallying the people. I’ll stay here to manage the Federation.”
“He had better stay too,” Rusot says, nodding at Weyoun. “I have men that I trust to accompany me.”
“Of course. Old friend. Take as many from the station as you want. Contact me when you’ve arrived safely.”
Rusot nods shortly and leaves the room. Damar wishes that he could keep Rusot here too, but after seeing the beginning of negotiations, he understands the man well enough to know that keeping him here, with the Federation and with Bajorans, will only damage any alliance.
That leaves Damar with Kira and Weyoun. He looks wearily at Kira. “I suppose you think there should be a substantial Federation presence on the station.”
Her gaze is steady. “You weren’t here for the last years of the Occupation, Damar. Terok Nor can’t be that again, or anything like it. Bajorans have to be an equal presence here, and let’s be realistic, the Federation is the only entity interested in that.” She smiles just slightly. “And I’ve missed them.”
He doesn’t allow himself an emotional reaction. “Cardassians—Cardassians and Bajorans must be the majority on the station.” It’s not lost on him that he’s not even negotiating with the Federation at this point.
“What about Garak?” Kira’s mouth is twisted like she doesn’t like the taste of what she’s just said. “I don’t like him, but he’s—useful.”
“Yes.” A member of the Obsidian Order—never tell Damar that there’s such a thing as a former member of the Obsidian Order—may be what he needs to balance his own lack of subtlety.
“And what about Dukat?”
He’s aware that Weyoun is standing slightly to the side, watching them not-quite-argue. “He’s—” Damar can’t bring himself to tell Kira that Dukat isn’t a war criminal. Damar is confident that Dukat doesn’t meet the Federation’s legal definition of a war criminal, but to the Bajorans, Dukat will always be a monster. “You want to turn him over to the Federation. As a prisoner of war. For interrogation.”
Kira’s eyes are burning. “The Federation doesn’t execute people.” Bajorans and Cardassians do is unspoken. “Unless you’re planning for him to live in a holding cell until the war is over and gradually try to persuade him that you’re right.”
There’s a very small part of Damar that does indeed want that, but he’s not stupid enough to listen to it. “No. We’ll give him to Sisko.” Dukat won’t survive in a holding cell until the war ends—either some Bajoran will get a lucky shot in, or Dukat will lose his mind. “Is there anything else?”
Weyoun speaks for the first time. “What about me?”
“You’re not going to Cardassia,” Damar tells him.
“Yes, I assumed that after you sent Gul Rusot there. I wouldn’t have gone with him.”
Damar closes his eyes briefly and wishes that this Weyoun had a little more subtlety sometimes. “You’ll stay here.”
“Not a prisoner of war?”
“Absolutely not,” Damar says, and maybe his voice is too aggressive, because even Kira looks startled. “As an—advisor.”
“You know the Federation will want to debrief him,” Kira points out.
“And they can do that. In a well-lit conference room here on Terok Nor.” He thinks better of it and adds, “Not Garak.”
Kira rolls her eyes. “Enough already. Let’s find the Federation delegation at Quark’s and work out the details.”
The mood in Quark’s is strangely jubilant, even with four outsiders present. Rusot has taken many of the hard-liners to Cardassia Prime and now it’s mostly young gils and glinns left here, the ones who get drunk off Quark’s root-beer cocktails (“Half price!” Quark declares, and Damar is pretty sure either he or Sisko will be paying the other half of the price). Damar would be surprised if a single one of them ever set foot on Bajor during the Occupation—if a single one of them even met a Bajoran before coming here. They don’t flinch at the sight of Weyoun, because Weyoun sixth of his line is the only one who’s spent much time in Quark’s.
Sisko has a root beer in front of him and is grimacing at it—apparently not a favorite among all humans. Dax is flirting with a table of gils barely out of the Cardassian Military Academy, and Damar has to stifle a laugh at that, the way none of them are quite sure what to do with her. Garak is deep in conversation with the ever-present Morn, a small glass of Damar’s favorite vintage of kanar in front of him. The Klingon…looms in the background.
“We’re prepared to resume discussions,” Damar says to Garak.
Garak waves his hand. “I find that all discussions run more smoothly when lubricated with a few drinks,” he says. “Let’s find a table, Legate Damar, Weyoun.”
Damar has been aware of Weyoun’s warmth at his elbow ever since the Federation delegation first arrived, and he can’t bring himself to tell Weyoun to stay at the bar while he talks to Garak. Quark pushes a glass of whiskey into Weyoun’s hand, tells him “On the house!”—another patent falsehood—and they all make their way to an out-of-the-way table.
“A toast,” Garak says. He places a glass of kanar in front of Damar—Damar isn’t sure where it came from—and lifts his own. Weyoun follows suit, and Damar feels obligated to do the same. “To Legate Damar and the Cardassian Liberation Front.”
Weyoun drinks enthusiastically as Damar narrows his eyes at Garak and takes a single pointed sip. “I’m hardly a legate,” he says. Even the small amount of kanar sends warmth down his spine. Garak is dangerous.
“They will call you one.” Garak inspects Weyoun. “What a curious creature you must be, to have rejected your gods.”
“They were never gods,” Weyoun says.
“No, of course.” Garak fixes his gaze back on Damar. “You’ve taken on quite the task.”
“You know I’ll ask for your help.”
Garak nods once, decisively. “Which I will provide, of course. I have never wished to see Cardassians die.” Damar does believe that. He feels Weyoun’s leg pressed firmly against his own. “And what about you, Vorta? What role will you play in this—liberation?” Garak is so good at that, saying each word like he’s chosen it carefully.
“Whatever Damar wants me to do.” Weyoun says it guilelessly. Damar winces internally and sees a spark of satisfaction in Garak’s eyes.
“…I see.” Garak sips his kanar. Damar can’t help doing the same. He’s missed the taste, the syrupy texture of it. “Well, that sounds very—sweet.” Damar wonders if there’s a single vulnerable point anywhere on Garak—if a person could even pin him down long enough to test it. He finishes the kanar and signals one of the beleaguered waitresses to bring him another.
“You know,” Weyoun says, “this whiskey is very nice. I’ll have another one too.”
The waitress looks at Garak, who hesitates momentarily before nodding. “Quite the array of people living on the station at the moment,” Garak says, after she’s out of earshot. “Not only Cardassians and Bajorans.”
“No.” Damar wishes Kira were here with him. It was a mistake to bring Weyoun—a liability—to speak with Garak. “It’s still a waystation, even with the wormhole blocked.”
Garak quiets as the waitress delivers their drinks, and then says, “I take it the wormhole’s status is—unlikely to change.”
“Not anytime soon.” One of the few things Damar can take unadulterated pride in.
“Good. In that case, to—Terok Nor,” Garak says, and they all toast again. Damar reminds himself to drink the kanar slowly, but it’s such a comfort after the past—he doesn’t even know how many hours of tension. “I suppose you should speak with Captain Sisko about the particulars.”
“Now that I’m thoroughly—” No, he refuses to describe himself as thoroughly lubricated. “I agree,” he says instead.
In the end, Garak’s carefully arranged toasts don’t make a difference to the negotiations. The Federation will be allowed to leave a complement of fifty personnel and use Terok Nor as a launching point for further attacks on the Dominion. They will provide material support to the Cardassian Liberation Front as requested, and will share intelligence on mutual targets. Damar is all too aware that, despite Cardassia’s control over this particular station, they’re in a substantially worse negotiating position than the Federation, and he does his best to reduce the number of concessions that they have to make. Garak will count as one of the Federation’s personnel, not as a Cardassian. He had hoped to count Kira toward the Federation personnel as well, but couldn’t really argue that she was in fact a member of the Federation.
“There will be no Federation authority over Cardassian personnel,” he emphasizes.
“Of course not.” Sisko is so smooth when he wants to be. “I understand that there was a—ruling station council, while the Dominion controlled the station? Perhaps we could re-institute that model.”
“What, you, me, and Kira? That’s not exactly an even distribution.”
“No, we can expand it.” The rest of the meeting devolves into negotiations about exactly how many people from each group will be on the ruling council, how many of them with votes and how many in an advisory capacity, and Damar’s headache isn’t because of the kanar.
When they agree to resume negotiations the next day, Garak tells him softly, “Your Vorta is waiting,” and Damar sees Weyoun watching with a slight smile.
“What?” He asks it as they walk home to Weyoun’s quarters, and he’s accepted that he probably isn’t going back to his assigned quarters anytime soon.
“You’re—good at this,” Weyoun says.
Damar laughs. “No, I’m very much not.” He allows himself to knock his shoulder gently against Weyoun’s. “But I’m glad you think so.”
“I do,” and Weyoun’s voice is so earnest that Damar doesn’t mind how easily he revealed the nature of their relationship to Garak. “You’re definitely not going to Cardassia Prime?”
“Not anytime soon. Habitat ring.” The turbolift begins its journey. “Not until I’m needed there.”
“Good.” Weyoun kisses him in the turbolift and it’s—sweet, unhurried. Damar is sure he’s blushing, which is not exactly the image he wants to present to the men who’ve turned traitor on their former gul. But he puts his hand on Weyoun’s cheek as he pulls away and touches his thumb to Weyoun’s bottom lip.
In his quarters, Weyoun replicates what he seems to believe is a celebratory feast, including some dishes whose patterns Damar seriously doubts are in the replicator. They pass dishes back and forth, warning each other off some and feeding each other bites of others. “You know,” Damar says, “this next part won’t be easy. The war against the Dominion.”
Weyoun tilts his head and says, “I have every confidence in you.”
“You do, don’t you.” What a strange thought. “I lo—.” The words start to escape Damar’s mouth before he stops them, and Weyoun’s eyes are bright violet.
“I know,” he says, and leans across the table to kiss Damar.