Work Text:
As a boy, Garak lied to get himself out of trouble. As an adolescent, he lied to set himself apart. As an operative, he lied because his life depended on it. Now, he lied as a matter of course. For practice. To do something with the words for which he had no other use.
And as a go-to when asked for the truth.
“To tell you the truth,” he began - he always began - it lent conviction to the words, whatever they needed to be. He he would have made a wonderful actor.
“To tell you the truth, doctor,” he was saying tersely, “no - I don’t think there is hope for 'us,’ as you so naively put it, nor do I believe we should have ever allowed ourselves our... indiscretions, let alone continue them. And if you really care to know, I have found our lunchtime discussions to be tedious and unrefined."
It surprised and amused him that others were silenced by the things he said. Still shocked even after years of knowing him. He always had the upper hand.
“Then I will spare you a lie," Bashir said levelly, "and won’t say that it was fun while it lasted.”
Garak smiled to himself, shaking his head as the doctor walked away.
No one was there to see his smile disappear when the truth struck him: There was only one person he was lying to.