Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You just need to take several seats and then try to restore the peace
And control your urges to scream about all the people you hate
'Cause shade never made anybody less gay"
- Taylor Swift, "You Need To Calm Down"

/

Garak was somewhat taken aback by the sight of a Ferengi woman in his shop.

He had known the Grand Nagus was on the station to negotiate with the Bajoran government, but he hadn’t expected any females to be part of the delegation. This one was middle-aged going on elderly, judging by her wrinkled ears. She wore a long, shapeless black dress, a leather purse slung over one arm, and earrings connected by a thick latinum chain that dangled under her chin. She surveyed the shop with beady little eyes that lit up at glimmers of gold thread and shining rolls of Triaxian silk. She paused appreciatively to eye up a mannequin in a dashing open shirt and tight trousers, caught sight of Garak standing behind the counter, and grinned.

“My, my. Aren’t you a tall drink of snail juice?” she squeaked. “Sit down before I strain my neck.”

Charmed, amused, and only a tiny bit piqued to be given orders by this small creature, Garak sat. “How may I help you, madam?”

“You’re Garak, right? I’ve heard about you.”

“Nothing too terrible, I hope.” He gave her his most innocent-looking smile.

“Don’t worry. I’ve heard you make good clothes, which is all I’m interested in right now.”

“In that case, welcome to my shop.” He inclined his head. “But you have the advantage of me, Ms. … ?”

“Ishka. First Clerk to the Grand Nagus. And a little bit more, if you take my meaning.”

Ignoring her cackle, which contained a world of innuendo, he saluted her with Ferengi begging-bowl hands as if she were the Nagus herself. “First Clerk Ishka, I am honored.”

She smiled from one bejeweled ear to the other. “Say what you like about Cardassians, you’ve sure got style. Now, then - ” She rapped imperiously on the countertop with one heavily ringed fist. “I want glitz. I want glamor. I want to stroll into my son’s bar and make all the dabo girls jealous. What have you got?”

Garak didn’t bat an eye. That was a tall order, but he’d heard worse. Filing the fact that she was Quark’s mother away for further consideration, he bent all his creative powers to the task of making this little old prune look glamorous. It shouldn’t be too difficult, actually. Confidence was half the battle, and she seemed to have that in spades.

“Before we start, let’s take your measurements first, shall we? Step this way, if you please … ”

He got up from behind the counter and ushered her over to the scanning platform. Before he could activate it, however, a squeak rang out from the direction of the door that sounded so much like his customer’s, Garak might have known before that they were related.

“Moogie?” Quark yelped. “What in the Vault are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Ishka flung up her hands to gesture at their surroundings. “I want to look my best when Zekkie takes me out to dinner.”

“Takes you out to - ” Quark sputtered, as if the mere concept was outrageous. He scowled up at Garak, grabbed Ishka’s arm, and all but dragged her towards the door with a hurried “Excuse us for a minute!” over his shoulder. The bartender must have had a very low opinion of a non-Ferengi’s hearing range, however. His scolding hiss was all too clear in Garak’s ears.

“Must you always embarrass me like this?”

“Embarrass you? I’m not the one throwing a tantrum - ”

“Wearing clothes is one thing, but shopping for them in public? Have you lost all decency?”

“Just because you’re too broke to afford this place doesn’t mean I can’t - ”

“What did you call me? All right, that’s it, we’re going home!”

The mother and son’s tug-of-war resulted in Ishka finally yanking her arm out of Quark’s grip. She staggered back a few steps, cradling her arm, her shoulders hunched in that baggy black dress and a look on her face that struck Garak as horribly familiar. It was the same look Mila had worn when he’d joined the Order: resignation. As if being hurt by her loved ones was nothing new.

Garak was between them before he knew it, looming over Quark with the sort of expression that had once made prisoners spill their guts before he even reached for the tools.

“Mr. Quark, I really must protest,” he said icily. “If the lady,” he gestured to Ishka while keeping his arm out to shield her, “Wishes to make a purchase, that is her prerogative and no one else’s.”

“S-stay out of this, Garak,” Quark blustered, even as he raised his hands and backed away until he bumped into the wall. “It’s a family matter.”

“It’s a business matter as I see it. You of all people should know not to interfere with a fellow tradesman. Have I ever walked into your bar and tried to stop your customers from drinking? Hmm?”

With a derisive laugh that, though very forced, still grated on Garak’s nerves, the smaller man retorted: “Well, no - but only because Bashir does that for you. Remember that time you got so drunk, your darling Doctor had to order you to bed? I’m not surprised that you’d support unnatural females. Which of you wears the clothes when you’re alone?”

As a general rule, Garak did not approve of violence. He considered it the last resort of people who lacked imagination. He was therefore as surprised as anyone else to find that he had caught Quark by the neck, lifted him off his feet and pinned him to the wall.

Quark’s eyes bulged hideously in terror. He had no right, no right, to talk about Julian in that tone. Garak would squeeze the crude jokes right out of his throat -

“ENOUGH!”

Ishka’s purse, filled to the brim with gold-pressed latinum, struck both men’s heads in turn.

Garak let go. Quark slumped against the wall.

“You need to calm down,” she said. “Both of you. Quark, I know you’re worried about our family’s reputation, but let me and Zek be responsible for that. And don’t go telling me what’s unnatural, as if clothes grew ready-made on trees. As for you, Garak, I know my son can be an idiot - ” Quark opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again. “But he’s still my son. Hurt him again and I’ll ruin you. Is that clear?”

She lifted her wrinkled, bejeweled head to look up at them with an authority that would have given Tain a run for his money.

“Yes, Moogie,” Quark croaked, rubbing his throat.

“Yes, madam,” said Garak, bowing his head.

“Excellent!” She clasped her hands together. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. I believe this fine tailor here was about to make something pretty for me.”

“Fine, fine.” Quark sighed. “Mind you, I'm not paying for this outfit. Let the Nagus pay, he can afford it. And we don't want the FCA sniffing round again.”

“Aww, that’s my boy!” Ishka grabbed her son by the ears and kissed him on the forehead. “Now run along back to the bar, alright? I’ll see you later.”

“Enjoy your date,” said Quark, with a halfhearted wave over his shoulder as he shuffled out the door. “Ugh … Blessed Exchequer, how is this my life?”

/

Several fittings, alterations, and lively debates later, Ishka drew back the dressing-room curtain with a flourish. “How do I look?”

She wore a white silk shirt with a turned collar and long sleeves, and a gold vest almost like Quark’s, only more formfitting. Thanks to some discreet shapewear, no one could miss the fact that she was female. A long black skirt shot through with swirls of gold thread, filled out by a petticoat underneath, rustled delightfully with every step. Cufflinks shaped like the Ferengi crest glittered on her sleeves.

“Magnificent.”

“That’s about right.” She struck a pose in front of the dressing-room mirror, hand on hip. “That lobeless excuse for an FCA auditor would have a stroke if he saw me like this.”

“I may not know to whom you’re referring,” said Garak, “But I’m sure he deserves that.”

Her earring chain swung with the force of her laughter.

“Is it true, by the way? About you and the Hew-mon doctor? I met him, you know, when I went with Zek for his check-up. That boy is adorable.”

Garak kept his face neutral as he waited warily for what she might say next.

“Not that it’s any of my business.” She grinned disarmingly up at him. “I do love a good love story, that’s all.”

Garak made it a policy of giving away as little about his private life as possible, a policy which had kept him alive against all odds. That didn’t mean he couldn’t give out the occasional hint.

“Dear lady,” he said in his smoothest voice, tipping her an exaggerated wink. “A gentleman never tells.”

“Hah! I know what you mean.” She patted his arm. “Rule of Acquisition 287: Keep your friends close and your account book closer.”

Garak’s Ferengi salute held real sincerity this time as he bowed her out of his shop.