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Quark was not normally the type to kick out paying customers, but he was beginning to consider making an exception. Garak and Bashir had been at the same table for nearly two hours, bickering the entire time, though it was only in the past few minutes that they had become a problem. Their friendly disagreement had graduated to a full-on shouting match, and it was putting the other patrons off their drinks.
For all that their words were harsh, though, Garak’s posture said affection and desire. So did Bashir’s, actually. Quark wondered whether it was something he’d been taught, or if he’d picked up on it subconsciously. For a moment Quark thought of Natima’s hands on his shoulders, molding his posture into something that said subservient and nonthreatening.
He was familiar with the Human term ‘body language’, but it didn’t even come close to capturing how important such things were to Cardassians. The way they held their shoulders or tilted their heads could radically change the meaning of the words they had spoken. Knowing how to interpret that was an important aspect of doing business with them. I wonder how much Sisko would pay for lessons.
Odo had apparently noticed the commotion, as he was pushing his way through the bar toward Garak and Bashir. The lines of his body spelled out authority. “Doctor Bashir, Mister Garak,” he ground out. Bashir jumped and nearly spilled his drink. For a brief moment, Garak’s posture presented challenge, before falling seamlessly into the more familiar compliant.
“Is there a problem, Constable?” Garak smiled his most charming smile.
Odo glowered at them. “There is. The two of you are disturbing the peace, so I suggest you take your…disagreement someplace more private, before I have to take you to a holding cell.”
“Of course, of course.” Garak stood, and Bashir hastily followed suit. “Perhaps this is a disagreement more suited to private discussion.” The angle of his head said teasing, and Odo harrumphed.
Bashir looked absolutely mortified. “I’m terribly sorry, Odo—we didn’t mean to cause such a fuss.” Bashir did seem genuinely contrite, but the way Garak was holding his hands meant amusement. “We’ll, ah, we’ll just go, then.” He glanced at Garak, who gave him a bland smile in return.
Quark returned his attention to the rambling, largely incoherent sob story one of his drunker customers was attempting to tell him, satisfied with how the situation had resolved itself. Not only had they taken their conflict elsewhere, but he hadn’t even had to get involved. It was an all-around success.
O’Brien sat heavily, watching Bashir and Garak as they made their way out of the bar. “They don’t usually fight like that,” he mused aloud. He laughed suddenly. “Maybe this means Julian’s finally come to his senses and is going to start leaving him alone.”
Handing O’Brien his usual synthale, Quark shook his head. “Not likely, not with the way they’ve been flirting.” O’Brien choked on his drink.
"Trying to kill your customers, Quark? That can’t be good for business.” Odo raised a brow, and Quark thought, When did he get over here?
"Flirting?” O’Brien spluttered, red-faced.
Odo's body language signaled tolerant, even though when he spoke his tone was exasperated. “I take it you aren’t very familiar with Cardassians.”
"Damn right I’m not.” O’Brien scowled at the world at large. “There’s no way in hell they were flirting. They looked like they were going to tear each other’s throats out!”
Quark and Odo shared a look. Quark held his hands to say amused; Odo responded with resigned.
“Cardassians,” Odo said carefully, “think that conflict is an important part of healthy relationships.”
“It certainly keeps things interesting,” Quark agreed, leering. Odo’s posture shifted to disapproval, with disgust added in the way he held his hands.
O’Brien shuddered. “That is not a mental image I ever wanted to have, Quark,” he growled.
“Which one? Me and Natima, or Garak and Bashir?”
“Christ, either!” O’Brien pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Quark laughed. He was surprised to see that the combination of the set of Odo’s shoulders and the position of his hands read reluctant amusement, even though the expression on his face was resolutely disapproving.
“I’m going to try very hard to pretend that this conversation never happened,” O’Brien muttered, head in hands.
“Don’t you humanoids usually congratulate one another after the consummation of a long pursuit?” Odo’s voice was matter-of-fact, but his hands still said amused, and the tilt of his head added teasing. Quark fought a grin.
O’Brien made a low, miserable sound. “There hasn’t been any pursuit, and there certainly hasn’t been any consummating!” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
“As a tireless observer of all that goes on around me,” Odo said, “I can say with certainty that all the signs point to—”
“Friendship!” O’Brien interjected. “Ill-advised and poorly thought-out friendship.”
Quark guffawed. “Your definition of friendship must be a lot more open than mine is, Chief.”