Notes: For anyone choosing to read only the R rated version of the story, the omitted chapter covered an incident that occurred at Janeway's six month anniversary of being a prisoner. And thank you to everyone still reading!

The operative's eyes were open, he sat respectfully upright in his chair, but the speaker he was allegedly watching could've been discussing the proper movements of a waltz for all that he was listening. Instead, he was reciting Klingon language lessons in his head. He'd only recently begun the lessons and found the language to be rather coarse. It strained his vocal chords. For a person like him who relied so much on being able to speak, anything that affected his voice was mildly disturbing.

The audience broke into polite applause and he joined in, noting how everyone in attendance applauded in the most noncommittal way. They were being forced to sit through a speech regarding the facility's capabilities and offerings, but they had no intention of publicly showing their support. That would only occur if and when it would benefit their intentions to do so. And nothing Gul Camet had presented so far had hooked his audience into believing he was their best hope of achieving greatness.

The Obsidian Order operative frowned as Camet stood before the assembled audience prattling on about his favorite subjects. The operative was neither impressed nor interested. He visited the facility often enough; it was a great training ground for interrogation methods, and he'd met with Camet on several of those occasions. He'd found the meetings to be boring and unimaginative.

Despite his brilliance, Camet had no head for politics, hence his current uninterested audience. He didn't care what anyone else was working on or was interested in. He only concerned himself with his own projects and immersed himself wholly within them, usually surfacing months later to find to his utter surprise that the world had moved on without him. The fact that he was the one conducting the presentation about the facility's continued usefulness to the Empire was quite telling.

Funds were either in dire straits or the brilliant scientist had some new project that he wanted to show off. A quick scan of the apathetic audience indicated the former, but something about Camet's energy made the operative consider that it was actually the latter. If only Camet would have the good grace to arrive at his point…

"And now, I present to you Prisoner 1392."

It was well documented that there were several Terrans being held prisoner on Cardassia Prime at any given time. It was less well known that there were more than a few undocumented Terran prisoners being held in the facility. But even the operative was surprised to see a female Terran enter the room.

"I call her 'Twenty-five,'" Camet boasted, grinning at his now attentive audience.

She didn't seem phased by the sudden scrutiny of over a dozen Cardassians, but the operative saw that her gaze wasn't on them. She seemed fixed on some distant point on the back wall, as she stood resolutely beside Camet. She wore the simple shoes and pants of a prisoner, but her shirt was sleeveless and showed off pale, smooth arms that were not restrained. The lack of restraints explained the guard's continued presence behind her and Camet.

"Twenty-five, if you would, please, go ahead and lie down on the biobed." Camet gestured towards the biobed.

She obeyed his command, sliding into a seated position on the bed before swinging her legs up onto its surface. The operative noticed the slightest hesitation as she took a deep breath before lying down so that she was staring up at the ceiling. She shifted once against the bed and then lay still.

"We're going to give you a demonstration today of the latest and greatest modifications we've made to the neural adapter." Camet gestured the guard forward, and he began engaging force fields over the prisoner's ankles and wrists. "With Twenty-five's help, I will show you just how devastating a small device can be." He grinned, pleased he had the audience's attention and tilted the bed to a slightly upright position. "But first, I'd like to include you all in a short ceremony. You see, it is Twenty-five's one year anniversary as a guest of Cardassia."

Camet's statement drew the first real reaction the operative had seen from the prisoner. She turned her head to stare at Camet, clearly surprised. Camet patted her on the shoulder as if they were old friends. "That's right, Twenty-five. You've earned your first mark." He reached for an instrument on his cart and even without moving, it was clear she was straining to watch him. "For every year of your service to the Empire, we give you a mark, or a symbol, really, that shows how resilient you are." He flicked on the laser scalpel and adjusted a setting on the force field, twisting her left arm so that it was lying palm up. He glanced towards her face as he lowered the scalpel almost into place. "Try not to scream."

Starting at her wrist, he sliced open a six-centimeter-long line towards her elbow. Her hand tightened into a fist and her head visibly pressed back against the biobed, but she didn't make a sound. Camet turned off the scalpel and dabbed at the red blood seeping out of her pale flesh. The guard handed him a dark vial which he uncapped and held theatrically over the open wound before pouring its contents into the full length of the cut he'd made.

This time it was easy to see the prisoner jerk against the restraints, all of her muscles straining as her back arched off the table. She groaned in the back of her throat, teeth clenched tightly together as the faint scent of burned flesh began to fill the air.

"Standard marking acid," Camet said and capped the bottle, resting his hand once again on her shoulder. He looked at his crowd. "She took that well, don't you think?"

There were a few grunts of approval and a smattering of applause as the prisoner's body finally began to relax again, sinking back onto the bed. She took a few open-mouthed, shuddering breaths as her body calmed and Camet nodded in apparent approval.

"I did that today so that you could see for yourselves just what kind of pain our prisoner can tolerate. Not bad, right?" Camet received a few nods and he held up a boxy looking controller. "Now we'll move on to the part of the demonstration that I know you've all been waiting to see."

Within minutes the woman's screams began to echo through the room.

Several hours later, during the middle of what passed for the night shift, the operative finally found himself standing outside the woman's cell. He watched her for several minutes, sprawled seemingly unconscious on the cell's small bunk, likely in the same position in which she'd been dumped after Camet's public session with her. He was impressed the guards had put her on the bed and not simply left her on the floor. It showed they had perhaps some grain of respect for her.

Camet's presentation of the neural adapter had gone on for another hour after the marking ceremony. It seems they'd installed new settings on the device, all of which he'd demonstrated for his audience. All of the settings, including the lowest intensity, had made his subject scream. Although to her credit, she had withstood the lowest setting for several awkward minutes much to Camet's discomfort and everyone else's delight, before succumbing. By the end of the hour, she'd barely been able to produce a sound.

At the conclusion of the presentation, the majority of the audience had been suitably impressed and while the support would still never be shown publicly, the operative was quite sure the facility and Camet's programs were in no danger of being shut down.

He cocked his head to the side and cleared his throat. "I once stared at a man for six hours and waited for him to speak, so I do hope that you aren't feigning unconsciousness on my behalf."

He wasn't surprised that he had to wait another few minutes for her to decide he wasn't leaving before she finally moved. She planted one unsteady hand on the bunk and pushed herself over onto her back. She eyed the ceiling for a few minutes before turning her head to see him. She frowned and eventually sat up.

"I was quite impressed with your control today," he offered. "You didn't beg."

Slowly, she got to her feet and shuffled closer to the force field, half-cradling her injured arm. She swallowed and he could tell it pained her to do so. "W-who…?"

He held up a finger to her and produced a packet of two lozenges from his pocket. He entered a command on the control panel and opened a small, fist-sized hole in the force field. He offered her the packet. "They'll make your throat feel better," he said, dropping them to the floor of her cell when she didn't move to take them from his hand. "And as for who I am, my name is Garak."

Only once he had closed the hole in the force field did she slowly bend over to retrieve the packet. She eyed the two candies speculatively and cocked an eyebrow at him as she held them up.

"No charge," he said. When she didn't move, he tried again. "Or you could consider them payment for a spectacular showing earlier today."

She didn't seem to believe him, but she sighed and began tearing open the packet with still-trembling fingers.

"As I was saying before," he said as she worked the package open, "I've seen men twice your size from all different species cry and squall like infants over less than what you endured today."

She pried one of the lozenges loose and put it in her mouth, grimacing for a second at the taste before relaxing as she swallowed a mouthful of cool juice. "Wouldn't have mattered," she said finally, speaking around the lozenge. "And I've begged before."

"And you'll beg again I'm sure."

She held his gaze for a minute before nodding in agreement. "I've been here a year," she said then held up her wrist, showing off the line burned indelibly into her skin. "You're my first visitor."

"To be fair, I never knew you were down here before, or I may have visited sooner."

"It's not just anyone… that can walk into this place," she said, her voice catching painfully. "Who are you?"

He grinned. "Just Garak. Plain, simple Garak."

She rolled her eyes, clearly not believing him, and shifted her weight grimacing as she did. "What can I do for you, Mister Garak?"

"Nothing, I suspect. After all, you are a prisoner and I am not. I doubt there's anything you could possibly do for me."

"Then why are you here?"

"I was interested in you. I thought perhaps we could converse. I'm sure your insights regarding Cardassians alone would be fascinating and worth several hours of conversation."

She stared at him blankly for several minutes. "You just want to talk?"

He made a point of looking behind her in the cell. "Unless, of course, you have more pressing engagements you need to attend."

"My dance card is usually booked solid," she said. "You may have to ask my dance partner if you can cut in."

"I'm not entirely sure I know what that means," he admitted, "but I can assure you I have no need to ask anyone's permission, except yours of course."

She shook her head. "I'm a prisoner, Garak. If you want to come and talk to me, I have no say in it." She started coughing. "D-don't pretend… like I do."

"Oh, but I'm not. If talking at you was all I wanted to do, then I know you'd be made available to me anytime I wanted regardless of your preference. But conversing is a different matter entirely," he said. "It takes two to dance, or so I've been told."

"Tango," she said tiredly. "It takes two to tango."

"Ah, but the tango is a dance, isn't it?"

She nodded. The second lozenge slipped from her loose fingers, and she wearily bent over to retrieve it. He saw her glance toward her bunk. "You're exhausted," he said knowingly, "and I'm keeping you up. Not the most auspicious of beginnings, but shall I come again?"

The beginning had really been him watching her be tortured, but he felt that was probably the wrong thing to point out.

"What about Gul Camet?" she asked tiredly.

"Let me worry about Camet."

"That's easy for you to say."

He was amused by her comment but waited silently for her answer. He imagined anything approaching normalcy was outside her current life expectancies and more than a bit surreal to process.

Finally, she shrugged. "Our conversation has been pleasant."

"I would agree, and one must accept pleasant things when one can find them," he said and inclined his head towards her. "Until next time then."

He started to leave but she blurted out his name. "Garak, wait. Please."

He paused at the edge of her cell, curious.

"H-how long will I be here?"

He frowned, slowly turning back to face her. He'd thought her to possess mild intelligence. Surely, she knew she would never leave this place. No one ever did.

"I mean," she looked more uncomfortable than she had the entire time they'd been speaking. "I know I'll be here until I die, but…how long will that be?"

"You'll be here until you are no longer useful," he answered truthfully. It was likely more of a straight answer than she'd ever get from Camet.

"Useful," she repeated, studying the floor of her cell. She nodded. "Thank you, Garak."

He retraced his steps until he was standing in front of her. "For whatever value it may be to you, it is rare to see someone with the mark of even one year of service. Most simply do not survive."

She studied the mark on her arm, flinching when she ran a fingertip over the abused skin. "A badge of honor," she said bitterly.

"For some," Garak allowed. "How many of those lines would you like to achieve?"

She shook her head. "Some days I would've given a lot to have never reached this one." She looked up at him. "What's the most you've seen?"

He considered his answer, curious as to how she would use the information. Would she consider the number to be a goal to beat or an approaching deadline? He couldn't be sure yet. "I've never seen anyone with more than four marks." He saw her eyes widen but didn't know yet if it was in surprise or fear. "However, there is a legend that tells of a man who bears so many marks they wrap around his entire arm."

He watched her pale and look as though she was about to be ill. She surprised him when she drew herself up to her full height and cocked one eyebrow upwards. "How many marks did this legend have on his other arm?"

Garak's eyes lit up in amusement. "I don't believe anyone ever thought to look."

She nodded, held up the lozenge. "Thanks for this. I think I'll keep it for the morning."

He inclined his head again. "Good night, Twenty-five."

He watched her turn back towards her bunk before he left to head down the corridor. He would file a report on her to Enabran Tain. She was one the Order would want to keep an eye on; she could be useful to them in more ways than Camet could ever conceive.

.