But now it was utterly empty, and utterly quiet. He glanced at the chrono and frowned. It was still early, by the Ferengi's standard. Pushed by curiosity, the tailor curbed his course and silently entered his passe-partout code. The door clicked, and released. As soon as he entered, a hand fell on his shoulder and drew a very unruly gasp from the usually placid Cardassian. Swiveling on his heel, he came face to face with the Ferengi.

"Mr. Quark!" he enthused, studying the bar owner's face for any indication of what was going on.

"How did you get in?" he asked wearily, no trace of his usual slyness or mischief present. Just a general sense of exhaustion.

"I let myself in," replied the Cardassian cheerfully. "I was concerned; when I saw that you're bar was closed I was wondering at the reason."

Nodding at the Cardassian's vague excuse, Quark turned away and closed the door before walking to the bar. No, not walking ... dragging. Garak frowned, and for the first time let his genuine concern shine through. "Is something wrong Mr. Quark?"

"Oh didn't you hear?" he clipped. "Knowing you I'd think you'd be the first to know. I'm dying."

The words shocked Garak. While accustomed to Quark's dry humor, Garak recognized the honesty carried in his words. He approached the bar, his pallid cerulean eyes suddenly alive with disbelief. "Dying? Dying of what?"

"Some sort of cellular disease," he shrugged, not particularly interested in discussing biology with the Cardassian. "They say I'm good for another day or so. I didn't see the point in keeping the bar opened."

Garak was speechless. All at once came the memories of Quark conniving and merchandising for the Cardassian's benefit. Acquiring goods under the Federation's nose for the tailor, doing everything to increase Garak's business as long as the profit in return was reasonable. They had come to a sort of understanding; not really a friendship since both remained always wary of the other. And with this wariness came respect. A respect Garak never knew he had until now.

He circled the bar and placed a sympathetic hand on the Ferengi's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Quark slumped forward, his expression utterly distressed. "But you know the really worst part of this is? Not that I'm going to lose my profits over to Rom; not that half of Ferenginar will be sharing a good laugh at my demise; but that I won't get to have that second chance with Natima anymore. I loved her you know; I really did. And now it's too late to show her how truly in love I was of her.

Garak's eyes saddened at the owner's misfortune, the utter tragedy of his love life. Garak could sympathize. Gul he could sympathize. Which is why he held no reservation as he stepped behind the Ferengi and touched the slighter man's most sensitive spots, caressing the ears. Quark's eyes flew opened, a mixture of pleasure and fear reflected within. "Garak, what are you--"

"No talk," the tailor said. "Close your eyes and enjoy ..." Pretend I'm Natima was left unspoken, but quite understood. Closing his eyes, Quark turned in Garak's embrace and opened himself one last time to pleasure, one last time to acceptance and love. Mutely, not a single word spoken from then on, Garak stayed with the Ferengi all night.

The End