~~J~~

For the first time this evening, I manage to withhold every hint of the reaction he was hoping for.

Now I know who he reminds me of. And I know why I've stayed here as long as I have, listening to the smug son of a Cardassian– listening to Garak weave his little web of lies. As sick as portions of this exchange has made me, there's an element to lingual battle that I've always secretly enjoyed. I find his methods distasteful at best, but as soon as I make the connection, I come to understand more about his motives.

The sparring itself is what excites him. The manipulation: the prevarication, the vying for verbal and psychological supremacy. Most of the anger he inspires gives way to something like dark amusement as he finishes his touching little story.

"Interestingly, I'd heard a much different version of that tale," I assure him as he waits smugly for my shocked response. "One that has Enabri Evek living to the age of sixty-five – and perishing in the Dominion War at the hands of the Founders."

I'm no longer so idealistic that I pretend to have shed a single tear for his passing, either.

My companion looks crestfallen at my not falling for the entire elaborate lie, but he rallies with an almost endearing chagrin. "In my defense, Admiral, that one usually works on you people."

"'We people' also talk to each other, Garak. And we don't tend to fall for the same tricks twice."

"A credit to your pristine organization," he effuses, and my head is shaking in disgust.

"You've been lying from the moment you stepped out on this terrace," I accuse.

"As have you, Admiral."

"I haven't lied about anything important," I dismiss.

"And neither have I." He absorbs my huff of disbelief with remarkable energy, if anything excited by my response. "What I said about the report was true, Admiral. It does exist. You asked what it meant to me, and the real answer is…nothing."

"Then why?" I can't get over it. "Why make up a story like that? It serves absolutely no purpose."

"Oh but it does!" he exclaims. "One can't fault a Cardassian in my line of work for wanting to hone certain essential skills."

"Lying?" I ask incredulously.

"A skill as necessary as any other," he affirms too passionately. "As I'm sure you would agree."

In point of fact, I do agree – but I'll never admit that to him. I'm certainly past the point of being shocked by his capacity for practicing the art, and we won't be left out here alone forever. "Then if you've finished practicing, I'll warn you that if all this has been some kind of elaborate threat to use information you can't even verify–"

"On the contrary!" His widening eyes begin to show whites all around the edges. "It's nothing of the sort, Admiral," he assures indignantly. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I only brought up these indelicate subjects in the first place to assure you that there are only a handful of individuals who could ever find those records. No one present tonight is among them."

"And you would never dream of using the information you think you have against me, of course," I state wryly.

His smile is exceedingly pleased. "Of course. We both know that you can trust me implicitly." The urge to roll my eyes isn't something I bother to repress. "Otherwise, there are three people left alive in the galaxy able to access those records. I can promise you that report will never find its way into any hands that would use them for ill purposes."

Straightening is more habit than any sign of remaining patience. "Your…honorable assurances aside, how could it? It doesn't exist."

I've been convinced of that for some moments now.

"Because it never happened," he plays along.

I nod approvingly, almost have the urge to pat him on the shoulder. "Now you're catching on."

"I see. And yet shortly after this incident – which did not occur – Starfleet effected an abrupt turnaround in policy. As I understand it, your father, who had been instrumental at initiating opening talks with my reluctant government, was the man who catalyzed this shift."

I guess I spoke too soon about the fading irritation part.

"In fact, the intelligence suggests that Edward Janeway began to counsel the Federation leadership to regard us with open suspicion instead of the usual naïve charity he'd been so dutifully spouting before."

Pointing out that I wasn't the first Starfleet officer to be captured by the Cardassian military is something I can't do without acknowledging it happened at all. He knows it. I settle for folding my arms across my chest, for the tangible security of the smooth uniform sleeve against my fingertips. "Your intelligence is false. My father believed in peace above all else."

"Do you think so, Admiral?" Garak taunts.

"I don't think it. I know it." I do.

"I confess, I could understand his change in perspective. If I were a father, I would have torn the limbs from the man who had harmed my daughter in such a fashion."

This again.

"You have a one-track mind, Mister Garak. I'm afraid I really don't know what you're talking about. And I'm beginning to suspect you don't either."

"It makes perfect sense that you wouldn't be aware of his change of heart," he insists. "It's all highly classified material, and at the time you were a mere ensign, I believe. It's not as if he could share these classified materials with you. Yet it's no wonder, given that report." He pretends empathy in a softer voice, "You and he must have been very close to have made him abandon those idealistic notions about alliances and peace you Federations hold so dear. I'm sure it hurt terribly to lose him so prematurely."

It's been a while since anyone has managed to push my buttons so relentlessly – and to be so infuriatingly good at it. In any case, the moment he brought my father into this, he sealed his own fate.

"We were close," I admit candidly. "Very." My head tilts by a few calculated degrees as I study him intently. "It's a shame we can't say the same for you and your father."

Direct hit. His reptilian expression flattens immediately, the glinting eyes going dull. "We aren't discussing my father."

"We are now," I inform him. This time, I take the forward step. This time, he's the one who shifts back. "Did it hurt to lose Tain, Garak? The man who could never be bothered to so much as acknowledge you as his son? Did he even acknowledge you on his deathbed, or was that too much to hope from him?"

The smile he'd been trying to effect thins against my assault. The dig penetrates, finds fleshier target than it should as he crows, "Very good, Admiral. Very good! Not only to have secured the information but to unleash it so ruthlessly…you do your Cardassian interrogators proud!"

Ouch.

"But tell me, do you think your father regrets how stupid acknowledging you proved, in the long run? According to the report, Evek was very much aware of who your father was, and of his position as one of the key Starfleet intelligence officers assigned to mapping the Cardassian border while pretending to entertain peace talks. It played a large part in the treatment you received."

That flexing muscle in my jaw is all the encouragement he needs.

"So you see, you have only your doting father to thank for being so eager to see you follow in his footsteps that he gave no thought to the kind of danger it might have placed you in."

"The only danger I was ever placed in wasn't my father's doing," I snap back. "And I've already told you that that report is false. If it exists at all – and I very much doubt that."

He feigns surprised offense. "Are you calling me a liar, Admiral?"

He's calling me one. "Are you willing to produce the report and prove that you're not?"

"But what would that accomplish?" he entreats. "If I were a man willing to invent so bold a lie, surely I wouldn't flinch from fabricating the physical evidence to support it?"

Not in a million years would he flinch from either, and I've officially tired of playing this game with him.

"If you were to show me this supposed original report, I could take it back to my ship and examine its authenticity."

"And conveniently lose it before you could return it, leaving me with only inauthentic copies instead – an excellent try, Admiral," he allows at my acknowledging smile, "but I don't think so."

It's not as if I really believed he'd go for it.

His chuckle is warm, maybe even genuine this time, but I'm not letting go of this so easily. That report doesn't exist. That report cannot exist.

"If you aren't even willing to verify your outrageous claims, then what is the point to this line of conversation? I'm afraid I fail to see one." My tone would warn a humanoid of lesser stamina. I've reached my limit. Pushing me further with vague threats and innuendo of reports that don't exist will yield explosive results, and he'd better be ready to handle them.

"Only an old man's curiosity," he defers, wisely sensing my depleted tolerance.

I can't help grating out, "Curiosity killed the cat."

His eyes gleam. "The toskitar, you mean."

Damn him.

This time the intake of breath is just barely audible. The temperature of the room drops several noticeable degrees when my eyes slowly lift from the railing to his expectant face. "Enough, Garak. What is it you really want to know?"

He studies me through slanted eyes. "Perhaps I've recently been wondering just how long old scars take to heal."

Then again, maybe he sensed nothing at all about fading tolerance. Through gritted teeth, I warn, "I told you, I'm not interested in discussing–"

"For instance…you're unattached, I assume?"

It never ends. I can feel my jaw tightening, the growing headache beginning to pound in my temples from the constant pressure. "I can't see how that's any of your business, either."

"Your former first officer, then? The ex-Maquis?"

"No," I lie firmly.

"That's reassuring," he drawls. "You can imagine how disappointed I would be to find the contradiction of the great Kathryn Janeway is nothing more than mirror and holoimage."

I take a breath that is very much meant for him to see – a long-suffering one. "Do you always speak in riddles, Mister Garak?" I ask, giving up.

"Only in the presence of such inspiring enigmas as yourself, Admiral," he claims, bowing as deeply from the waist as a full stomach will permit.

He has a certain charm, a wit unquestionable when he chooses to employ it. Try as I'd like, I can't deny him that. The faint smile tugging upward along one side of my mouth concedes it. "There's no enigma, I assure you. Just a Starfleet officer–"

"Following orders, yes," he interrupts. "Inconvenient orders which steal her away from adoring fans in the heart of the Federation and banish her to the broken fringes of an enemy's territory–"

"Our people aren't enemies. At least I hope not."

A wave of his bored hand hastens my dutiful interjection. "Orders she would rather not follow, for personal reasons she would rather not discuss. Yes, I do believe we've covered that."

"Then we can move on," I declare, dropping my shoulders back to relieve some of the tension being held in them.

"I prefer to step back. You avoided my question."

Blowing air through my lips is something I haven't had the urge to do since last encountering Q. "Which one?" I ask flatly.

I've avoided them all. Most all. He allows another small smile for it.

"The question I'm referring to was a hypothetical one. I had begun to ask you if you were unattached. My reasons for doing so were less salacious than they may have appeared."

God, I hope so.

"I simply wondered whether any moderately attractive Cardassian, genuinely interested in your person, would stand a chance in any hell of gaining your genuine consideration. Hypothetically speaking, of course. And assuming you were otherwise unattached."

"I–"

Have no idea, is the rest of that statement.

The question stumps me. I find I can't even give him an immediate answer, because I have no idea what that answer is.