#romleeta

Since he was a lobeling, Rom had been called an idiot. 

It was nothing he could not tolerate: he knew he possessed certain unique capabilities, but lacked the self-confidence to convince his accusers otherwise. Yet he wished that people would stop hurling the insult at him, as if it were somehow news. He had gotten the message far earlier – years, in fact, back when he first found out what the word “idiot” meant. It was on a characteristically rainy day, back before he and Quark were old enough to understand the meaning of opportunity cost, and he had inadvertently splashed mud all over his brother’s favorite Marauder Mo action figure.

“Wwwwhat’s that mean, brother?” he had inquired, somewhat brightly, thinking it a new and exciting curse word that neither he nor Quark would be allowed to use at home.

“It’s your new nickname,” muttered Quark in response, finding a nearby puddle and sticking Mo in head first. Sudden, dawning, alarmed realization blossomed on Rom’s features: panicking, he tried to foist the doll from his brother’s grasp. Quark shot him a furious glance as his grip tightened all the harder. Rom despaired at the futility of his effort – he was too late.

Pathetic little fizzles and whirs escaped the action figure as its various electronic parts came to an utter standstill, never to power back up again.

Needless to say, Keldar and Ishka saw fit to ground Rom for rather a long time after that.  

It was from that moment on that the meaning of the word “idiot” really started to stick with Rom. Obviously, it meant someone who was not helpful enough.

From then on, Rom tried valiantly to help others as much as possible. He helped his father with the family business; he helped Quark out when he opened his bar; he helped expose the machinations of a disguised fe-male business impostor…the list could go on and on. Yet, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he would admit that his motives for sticking around at the bar were not entirely altruistic in nature.

One of the dabo girls Quark had hired after the Federation took over had the intriguing habit of being nice to him.

It made him giddy. So did she.

He would never approach her directly about his feelings for her, of course. How could that possibly be helpful to anyone? Someone like her deserved a Daimon or even the Nagus himself…not an idiot.

Such thoughts often invaded his mind whenever he did not have a thorny enough engineering problem with which to contend. When sweeping up after closing time, for instance.

On this particular evening, Quark had stuck around to review the accounts for that month. Immersed in miserable conjecture, Rom did not notice that he had been sweeping the same tiny area under the dabo table for four solid minutes. His brother, however, certainly did.

“Rom, you idiot, what’s wrong with you? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a whole lot more bar to clean. Do you want to be here all night?”

“Maaaaybe.”

The dejection in Rom’s tone would have been plain even to a non-Ferengi. Quark softened.

“Rom?”

“Yes, brother?”

“What’s wrong?”

“….Nothing.” Rom resumed sweeping, visibly embarrassed.

“Come on. You know that kind of swamp sludge doesn’t work on me. I’ll bet it’s nothing a black hole can’t fix. Want me to make you one? I’ll even give you a family discount.”

“Nnnnnno thanks, brother. I rrrefuse to avoid confrontation of difficulties through excessive alcoholic consumption.”

Quark blinked in bewilderment.

“Now I know something’s really wrong,” said Quark, abandoning the accounts and sliding out from behind the counter. “What’s going on? Please say it’s got nothing to do with our mother.”

“It’s got nnnothing to do with Moogie,” obliged Rom.

“That’s a welcome change.”

Almost lovingly, Rom grasped the broom with both hands and studied his work boots. “…In fact, I’d prrrrefer that Mooogie didn’t find out,” he admitted, barely loud enough for Quark to hear.

Realization dawned on Quark, fierce and sudden. He drew himself up to his full, if unimposing, height and glared at his wayward brother.

“It’s about a fe-male, isn’t it? Exchequer’s remittances, Rom, didn’t you learn your lesson…!”

“She’s nnnothing like Prinadora!” Rom insisted. It was true: she wore clothes, earned profit, had a beautiful singing voice, gave hugs like sunshine, and did not seem to hold him in utter contempt.

Quark regrouped, realizing that his earlier tactic would not work at any price. “Is she at least from a wealthy family?” he inquired – not unreasonably, he thought.

“I don’t know…aaaand I don’t care, brother!”

Demoralized, out of ideas, and sympathizing more than he cared to admit, Quark wandered back over to the counter with bowed head.

“…You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you,” he observed, glancing up just enough to hold his brother’s gaze. Just to confirm what he thought he saw in there – what he feared he saw in there. Rom was an idiot, sure, but he was an idiot that did not deserve to be heartbroken and bankrupt yet again.

“Shut up,” replied Rom tersely. He went back to sweeping, much more vigorously this time, and turned his back on his brother. Quark was not having any of it.

“No, you shut up, Rom,” he countered emphatically, clapping Rom on the shoulders and looking him square in the eyes. “If you’ve got it so bad, why are you in here sweeping the bar instead of going and finding out how she feels?”

“Welll…you asked me to sweep the bar,” Rom ventured. “Aaaaand she deserves better.” He averted Quark’s resolute gaze as much as he could without clamping his hands over his eyes.

“Rom. Let me tell you something. I never considered you an idiot. Not really.”

“Whaaat?” blustered Rom, dropping the broom with a crash that made them both wince.

“At least, not until now,” clarified Quark. “Go and talk to this fe-male or you forfeit two months’ wages. I mean it.”

It seemed to take an age, but Rom smiled. He was not an idiot if he could be helpful enough to himself. Maybe that was all that had ever mattered.

With a toothy grin, he thanked his brother…and this time, he truly meant it.