The characters of Sisko, Kira, Odo, Quark, Dax, O'Brien, Bashir, Garak, Dukat, Kai Winn, Keiko, Molly, et al. belong to Paramount.  The Aelu are my creation.  Bajor also belongs to Paramount, but the daj'kani, the daj'zha and its legends, plus Kolan Naj, Vedeks Sori and Tansa, are my own creation.  The characters of Jareth, Hoggle, Sarah, and most of the other things relating to the movie "Labyrinth" are copyright to Jim Henson.  The title of this story comes from the Rolling Stones song of the same name.

This story contains adult situations-specifically, sexual relations between males (even if Bill Clinton doesn't know what "sexual relations" mean yet, you all do.)  If you were shocked by the Starr report, or you are offended by homosexual relations between consenting, fictional adults, you shouldn't be reading this.

PLOT SUMMARY: Bashir becomes involved in a dangerous romantic liaison with Jareth, the Goblin King, who comes to the station and accuses the Bajorans of attempting to destroy his world.  As the DS9  crew works to solve the mystery of a pair of ancient Bajoran artifacts-plus some bizarre Bajoran disappearances-and save Jareth's world, Garak confronts his feelings for Bashir, who Jareth offers to him as part of a sinister deal that could change the future of Bajor and Cardassia.  Garak later regrets refusing the offer and makes blatant overtures to Bashir, who now in turn must face his own feelings for the tailor, and his love for Jareth, as the dangerous love-triangle heads into danger deep in Cardassian territory.

This story takes place after the episode "The Wire" but before "The Way of the Warrior."  It also deals with a part of Bashir's background that isn't revealed until "Doctor Bashir, I Presume."

"Allow me to introduce myself,
I'm a man of wealth and taste."
-Rolling Stones, "Sympathy For the Devil"
 
 

He held the object in one black-gloved hand and contemplated just what it had wrought.

Outside the high castle window where he stood, the view was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.  A sprawling maze lay below,  gigantic in its proportions, deviously brilliant in its engineering, and deadly mysterious throughout its torturous pathways.

It had existed for millennia.  It had thwarted questers with traps that dwelled within their own psyches.  With its secrets, mysteries and fantastic creatures, it had tantalized the human imagination even after technology slowly killed mankind's yearning for and memory of the Other World.  It had survived humankind's forays into space.

Now, it was dying.

He spun the object in the air, twirling its slender golden chain and watching the crimson crystal wink slyly at him.  He winced and abruptly halted, staring at the far edges of his domain.  Crimson-and-silver energies flashed tauntingly at him from the outer walls.  He didn't have to see those great walls dissolving.  He could feel them.  His mismatched, hypnotic eyes were brilliant with undisguised anger and anguish.  Here, at least, alone within his study, he could show, even to himself, the utter desolation he felt.  And that was a separate problem.  He was alone.  No one to comfort him, no one to share his cares, no one to advise him.

"Your Majesty..."

The veneer slipped back into place.  He controlled his irritation and slowly spun around to face the small winged Spue goblin messenger who hovered not two feet away. "Well, what is it?"

The creature's eyes gleamed with a bit more intelligence than one usually saw in a goblin's face.  "Outer wall has completely disappeared.  Half the goblin army is out there trying to destroy whatever-it-is."

"Order them to retreat," the king said coolly, not even sparing a derisive thought about goblin stupidity. "No one is to approach the front line under any circumstances until I return."
"Yes, Your Majesty.  It'll be done."

"See that it is." The king conjured a crystal and made it orbit the strange artifact.  The flutter of wings interrupted his concentration and he turned his head sharply to fix the messenger with a withering gaze. "Was there something else?"

"Where will you be going, Your Majesty, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Wherever I have to go to find out how to stop the energies-and to find and punish whoever is doing this to our kingdom." The king returned to his task. "Dismissed."  He barely noticed as the Spue goblin flew out of the room.  All thought must be focused on finding where the threat came from...and who was causing it.   The object had not simply appeared by itself.

Three months ago, he had found the artifact quite by accident within one of the myriad oubliettes of his Labyrinth.  Immediately he felt the object had been waiting for him.  How long it had waited he could not tell.  Its purpose had been a mystery, and he ought not to have activated it immediately, but not too long ago-only fifteen years, a drop in the proverbial bucket in this land-he had suffered a major defeat (he preferred to think of it as a setback) at Sarah's hands that had triggered a deterioration of morale and order in his kingdom, and he'd been desperate.  He'd reorganized his kingdom, promoted the last person he ever thought he would, and change came, but with agonizing slowness, and he needed something to revitalize his empire.  Then he'd found the blasted talisman.  When he'd invoked it, he 'd had no inkling of what he was unleashing...he could blame the goblins all he wanted, but the responsibility was his alone, the sin of over-zealousness belonged to him...

He forced himself to concentrate, not sink into despair.  The crystal made one more pass around the object, then halted and spun like a whirlwind.  He willed it to show him all its secrets, and was rewarded when it stopped and revealed...

An odd fortress hanging in space.  There was a sinister beauty in its talon-like towers, and ships swarmed around it.   As he watched, the image changed, and he saw an impossibly serene-looking world.  He intuitively knew the world and that space fortress were connected.  The structure certainly looked like the product of a race bent on destruction.  How he had angered them he couldn't even begin to recall.  But he would pay any price they named to save his world-the only thing he had to cling to.

Then, he would teach whoever it was never to cross him again.

He shut his eyes and reached out...ah, yes.  It was not necessary to use  The Words with these beings.  Unlike humans, these creatures had lived so long and suffered so long with belief that their minds received him like gracious hosts.   They could bring him to their world...Good.  He could now make the leap into their realm.

He opened his eyes and set himself in motion.  It was time to begin preparing for his journey.  He smiled as he headed to his bedroom.  He must change into his finest clothes to meet his adversaries.  The right impression was always crucial.
 

"My dear Doctor, I seem to recall telling you once before-"

"The right impression is always crucial," Doctor Julian Bashir finished, hiding a smile within a grimace. "Garak, didn't your mother ever tell you, 'Don't judge a book by its cover'?"

The suave, skillful Cardassian finished hemming the suede sable-colored trousers and gracefully presented them to his customer and friend. "An overused human saying.  I much prefer 'Clothes make the man.'"

"I'm sure you do." Bashir scrutinized the trousers and the accompanying vest decorated with an intricate design of crimson thread and gemstones.  He really couldn't find fault with them.  Garak's tailoring and his taste in clothing were impeccable.   Over the past three years, he'd disliked almost every suit Garak had shown him.  But for some reason, he felt he had to have this suit...well, almost...could he really see himself in that?  And when had he become so preoccupied with his apparel? "I think..."

"You think too much," Garak scolded him playfully. "Really, Doctor, sometimes you simply have to seize an opportunity when it comes your way."

"You sound like Quark."

"I find the Ferengi philosophy to be...useful on occasion."

"I won't even ask why."

"Are you buying the suit or not?"

 Bashir charged the suit to his credits account. "You've swayed me, Garak.."

"Excellent. Dr. Zohar will be most delighted with the result."

"You think you know everything about me, don't you?"

Garak gave him a complacent smile. "You make it easy for me."

"And Dax's gossip doesn't hurt either.  But this time she's got it wrong.  Dr. Zohar won't be impressed because we're not seeing each other any more.  Except to go over the revisions of that paper on nanotechnology we're both writing.  And anyway, she's due to transfer to the Sutherland, which should be docking as we speak.  It will only be here for two days."

"How distressing." Garak clucked in sympathy.  His sapphire eyes were all concern. "What is it that makes you so unlucky in love?"

"Oh, the right one's out there, Garak.  You just have to keep looking.  What about you?  You don't seem to be attached."

"Was that an overture, Doctor?"

"What?" Caught off guard, Bashir looked delightfully flustered in Garak's eyes.  His sensuous, full mouth quivered, and his golden-green eyes flared in shock. "It was just a question, Garak!"

"Idle curiosity?"

"Er-yes."

"Well then, to answer your question, I'm afraid I don't have a vast pool of potential partners." He saw the young man blanch as he realized he'd made a thoughtless mistake.  As an exile, and a Cardassian one at that, Garak was generally distrusted.  He knew, however, that the young man had meant no malice.  Garak continued reassuringly. "But fear not, dear Doctor, I am by no means lonely.  Take this evening.   Are you interested in dinner?"

"I seem to be free."

"Splendid.  Around 2030 at Quark's?  Oh, and wear your new suit, or anything other than that unsightly thing Starfleet calls a uniform."

Bashir's comm badge chimed, and Captain Benjamin Sisko's velvet baritone poured forth. "Dr. Bashir, report to my office.."

"On my way, Captain." Halfway out the door, Bashir smiled at Garak. "Until this evening."

"And you will wear the suit," Garak said complacently.

Bashir tried for a mysterious smile. "You'll just have to be surprised."

As Bashir disappeared, Garak murmured, "I can hardly wait, my dear Doctor."

Bashir arrived in the station commander's office and smiled genially at Major Kira Nerys, Sisko's first officer and the Bajoran liaison to the Federation.  He avoided her gaze, afraid that those eyes would shrivel him with their contempt.  Even worse, he couldn't stand to see her look upon him with the growing respect he had glimpsed in those wide doe-brown eyes.  Battle-haunted eyes.   Bareil-haunted eyes...

Regal Captain Benjamin Sisko regarded them both with his cool chocolate gaze. "Major Kira, what do you know about a being called the daj'kan?"

"Superstition, mostly," Kira answered. "The daj'kan is supposed to be a malevolent, squat, ugly little creature.  Like Quark, except even more slimy-looking.  Stories about them used to frighten children-of course, with the Cardassians around, who needed ghost stories?"

Sisko nodded, smoothly finessing the moment, getting past that moment of darkness in Kira's face. "Anything else you can tell me about the daj'kan?"

Kira sighed her this-is-a-waste-of-time sigh. "Supposedly, daj'kani have the power to transform small children into other daj'kani.  A hundred years ago, infant deaths were blamed on the daj'kani.  Also children vanishing, and in some cases, adults."

"Infant deaths?" Bashir frowned. "Just this week, we had an outbreak of Tarkalean Death Flu-one Bajoran infant died." He forced the words out.  He dreaded losing patients, and seeing helpless children was an all-too poignant reminder of his own limitations, of the little boy he'd once been...no, he wouldn't think of that. "The mother and father were chanting something-and they did mention daj'kani.  And something called a daj'zha."

Kira nodded, her face troubled. "Depending on who you believe, the daj'zhas were either a talisman meant to protect a child against daj'kani...or the only things protecting Bajor from a massive plague that would destroy the planet."

"Protect against a plague?" Open disbelief warred with demure respect in Bashir's voice.

Kira's own voice was surprisingly mild. "I know you don't think much of faith healing, Doctor, but believe me, the daj'zhas are almost as revered in some circles as the Orbs.  Who knows-the stories might be true.  After the daj'zhas vanished decades ago, the Cardassians came and plagued Bajor for fifty years.  There are one or two Vedeks who have dedicated their lives to searching for the daj'zhas."

"Where did they go?" Bashir's curiosity was piqued.

Kira shrugged. "Some say the Cardassians stole them.  Of course, all Bajoran property was supposed to be returned after the peace treaty became official.  But I wouldn't have put it past some Gul to keep them as trophies."

"We might need the daj'zhas," Sisko said in his most serious voice. "Today I received reports of no less than six Bajorans vanishing from the station-mostly children, but one adult from Odo's security force has gone missing."

Kira was incensed. "Why wasn't I told about this?"

"I only received the reports from Constable Odo today," Sisko said gently. "He's searching all ships that have docked here within the last week.   I've got Dax  and O'Brien working to detect any spatial or temporal anomalies."

"Where do I fit into all this?" Bashir interrupted, anxious to help.

Sisko handed them a datapadd.    Bashir and Kira both gasped at the image on the screen.  The setting was a dark, morbid, brooding station corridor.  Frozen in the midst of an apparently casual amble down the corridor was...a misshapen, big-eared, grubby goblin-like creature.

A creature with a Bajoran earring and a corrugated nose.

"Sweet Prophets," Kira gasped. "That's...a daj'kan."

"A goblin," Bashir said simultaneously.

"A what?" Kira continued to stare at the datapadd.

"It's close cousin to a troll," explained Bashir. "Earth once believed in goblins.  But they're only make-believe, an old legend.  How could one be here?  Someone has got to be playing a joke."

"That's where you come in, Doctor," Sisko said. "This picture came from one of Odo's recording devices, and he thought it was urgent that I take a look." He paused to let that sink in.  It had a sobering effect on both Kira and Bashir, who realized the implications.  Constable Odo, head of station security, was an expert at determining what was and was not a potential threat to Deep Space Nine and its denizens.  "I want you to analyze the images of that...thing, frame-by-frame.  It may be a joke.  But coupled with these sudden disappearances...I'm inclined to be cautious.  It could be a Founder, or a Dominion ruse."

"I'm on it," Bashir said instantly. "A goblin.  Good God."

"Don't knock what you don't believe, Doctor," Kira said with that same softness he'd heard earlier.  It reminded him discomfortingly of an adult trying to help a child understand a difficult reality.

<Jules...you've always been special...>

"There are always possibilities, Major.  It's my job to find out what they are."

"And mine too," Kira said resolutely. "I'm going to work with Odo on this one.  Talk to the families on the station, talk to some Vedeks..."

"Keep me informed, both of you," Sisko said, surrendering the investigation to the zeal of these two. "Dismissed."

As she exited his office, Kira muttered, "Second cousin to a troll, huh?  I wouldn't be surprised if Quark knew something about all this..."
 

"Who is he, brother?" the over-eager Ferengi Rom asked breathlessly, watching the black-cloaked, black-gloved stranger sitting alone in the far corner.

"I don't know.  But he stinks of power and influence," the cool, confident Ferengi tavern-keeper Quark said, pouring a glass of his best Saurian brandy. "And I'm going to get some to rub off on me before long."
Rarely had Quark laid eyes on a new customer who could make his nerves scream and his lobes tingle with the sound of tantalizingly close gold-pressed latinum in the same moment.  The Rules of Acquisition said it was always good business to know about new customers before they walked in the door, and as of now he knew nothing about the man who sat watching everyone with a surreptitious gaze.  On the other hand, the Ninth Rule said...

"Opportunity combined with instinct equals profit," Quark murmured, picking up the tray and striding purposefully toward his opportunity.  He smiled toothily as he reached the stranger's table and set down the brandy snifter with a bow.  Hu-man, at least in appearance, but the eyes-one brown, one gold-were definitely alien.  And Quark didn't know any hu-man with such a flamboyant, spiky mane of blond hair.  The triple-horned pendant he wore around his neck was unlike anything Quark had ever seen.  Probably rare and expensive.  "Compliments of the house, good sir.   I know a man of distinction when he graces my bar."

"Thank you, my dear chap."

The man's voice was lyrical, alien, but Quark thought the accent was the same smarmy one Doctor Bashir had.

"Do take care not to hit your head when you've stopped licking my boots."

Quark laughed as if this were highly amusing. "Is there anything else I can get for you today?  Perhaps a turn at one of my Dabo wheels?  Freshly imported Vulcan mollusk?  A visit to one of my state-of-the-art holosuites?"

The man produced a curious object, seemingly out of thin air. "Information," he said simply. "About this."

Quark reached out a hand for the golden object.  The man pulled back his hand.  Quark did his best to keep a servile smile. "May I?"

The man gracefully deposited the thing in Quark's outstretched, grasping palm.  Quark gasped at the size and brilliance of the crimson stone.  "Have you had this appraised?  It could be worth a fortune.  I'd be willing to arrange an exclusive auction...of course, there would be the matter of my finder's fee..."
"I don't want to sell it.  I want to find out who it belongs to."

Quark's nerves jangled again, blotting out the sound of clinking latinum. "And...just return it?"

The man smiled for the first time.  It was pleasant...and predatory. "Not without several, shall we say, conditions."

"Ah." Quark nodded in gleeful understanding. "A reward.  I suppose I could be encouraged to make a few inquiries." He hefted the thing in his palm, and for the first time, saw past the gleam to the writing etched in the gold.  Bajoran writing.  Quark swallowed nervously.  The object looked like a Bajoran artifact, and thanks to the religious zeal of the Bajorans, could be more trouble than it was worth.  "I'll just put this away for safekeeping while I contact some of my business associates.  Don't go away."

The Ferengi spun around and knocked right into his downfall, in the shape of an enormously ferocious-looking Kira Nerys.

"Quark," she demanded sweetly, snatching the object out of his sweaty palm, "where in the Prophets' name did you get that?"

The stranger behind Quark mercifully decided to spare Quark from being reduced to Odo-esque goo. "It belongs to me.  M'sieur Quark was simply appraising it for me."

Kira brushed past Quark.  Her targeting scanner was locked on the enemy, and Quark scurried out of the line of fire back toward the bar. "You?" The word was a mix of sweetness and snarl. "For your information, this is a sacred artifact that belongs to Bajor.  Who the hell are you and how did you come by it?"

"Jareth, ruler of the Labyrinth." He palmed the object faster than a Cardassian vole could chew its way through a tent. "You know, I can't decide if your charming indignation is genuine...or a clever disguise.  Because if this cursed object does belong to you, you would recall how I came by it with whatever brain you possess behind that vixenish veneer."

"I don't remember," Kira snapped. "Why don't you enlighten me."

Jareth moved forward in the elegant pounce of a panther and put his face close to hers.  Unfazed, she glared back at him. "Allow me to explain in the simplest terms possible.   Your people sent this beautiful, sacred, deadly artifact to destroy my world.  And I will not rest until you and your world kneel in abject disgrace at my feet and beg my forgiveness.  Who knows..." He smiled. "Perhaps I'll even let you live."

Kira's eyes narrowed. "Say that again."

Quark, having heard, ducked behind the bar in anticipation of Hurricane Kira's wrath.  He mentally tried to calculate how much would be left of the man after Kira was finished with him.  "A pity," he muttered as he cowered near barfly Morn's feet. "I kinda liked him."
 

"Let me make one thing clear, Your Majesty," Sisko said in a tone a phaser blast couldn't dent. "This station is an ally of the Bajoran people-and so am I.  Whatever you believe they have done, you will make no more threats to them on my watch."

Jareth, miraculously intact, smiled coldly as he idly stroked the baseball on Sisko's desk.  A cool, sharp but over-sentimental man, this Sisko, who ruled this cold, sterile place where Jareth had been obliged to spend one miserable night before he'd dared to venture into Quark's bar. "You can't watch them forever, Captain."

"I can," dour-faced Odo told him.  The shapeshifting head of station security had his arms in their perpetually crossed position.  His scrutiny should have cracked Jareth's armor, but the two stood warring with their eyes. "I can lock you in a holding cell and stop you from spiriting any more of them off the station."

"And possibly turning them into those awful misshapen things," Kira added. "What did Julian call them?  Goblins?"

Jareth laughed uproariously and glanced at her condescendingly. "Even they don't deserve *that*.   No, my dear Kira-"

"That's Major to you." Prophets, Kira thought, but the man was more arrogant, insufferable and pompous than even Gul Dukat!  It was a horrible notion. "You have the daj'zha.  The daj'zha keeps away plagues of daj'kani-or what you seem to know as goblins-and stops little children from being turned into them-"
"We don't know that that's what is happening, Major," Sisko said in mild warning. "Doctor Bashir hasn't finished his investigation yet-"

The office doors swooshed open, and the man who breezed through them made Jareth upgrade his opinion of this place from 'accursed galactic eyesore' to 'wouldn't want to live there, but would definitely like to visit a while.'

He was exquisite-not merely classically and exotically exquisite, but innocently, guilelessly, totally exquisite.  Not since Sarah-elusive, enchanting, damnable, disappointing Sarah-had Jareth felt such immediate need to possess another being utterly.  He wanted to claim this luscious man for his own.  He reminded Jareth of a young Bedouin sheik.  Everything about him was enthralling.  The concern stamped on those golden, expressive features...those wide, intelligent, incisive hazel eyes, liquid with innocence and enthusiasm...the slightly tousled thick black hair that crowned his head...the slim, supple, well-proportioned body that the shapeless, smothering uniform he was garbed in couldn't distort...the sensuous way he walked, with that quick, energetic roll of the hips...

Jareth noticed the new arrival regarding him with an abundance of curiosity, and, if he wasn't mistaken, a spark of attraction.  He smiled genially, but within the curve nestled promises of glorious intimacy.  The man blinked, then smiled with an adorably anxious quiver to his beautiful, full mouth.

"Doctor," Sisko addressed him. "We were just talking about your investigation.  I assume you have something to report."

"*We* certainly do," Kira muttered, with a sidelong glare at Jareth.

Ignoring her-and Jareth-for the moment, the doctor rushed ahead. "Captain-it's incredible.  Odo managed to capture that one daj'kan from the security scans."  The voice, Jareth decided, was one more selling point, deep, dark, and sinfully rich like fine chocolate, and with the same British accent that colored his own voice. "I performed some tests.  I'm not sure how, but that creature used to be Bajoran-not only that, but the same infant who died of Tarkalean Death Flu last week.  It's been resurrected somehow!"

"Go on, Doctor," Kira said with great enthusiasm. "Tell His Majesty, King of the Cesspools, everything else you've discovered."

Finessing as usual, Sisko quickly dispensed with the introductions. "Jareth, ruler of the Labyrinth, this is the station's chief medical officer, Doctor Julian Bashir."

The beguiling doctor smiled at Jareth once again. "Should I bow?"

"No need for that, Doctor." Jareth reined in his eagerness. "Please, do tell me what you've discovered.  Major Kira seems to be under the misguided impression that I am responsible for this bizarre transformation.  I assure you, I am not attempting to turn *anyone* into goblins, or daj'kan, as she calls them.  As for the dead child...goblins are capable of mischief and I have no doubt they somehow spirited the real child away-without my knowledge, I might add-leaving a supposedly dead child in its place."

Bashir cleared his throat. "You know these goblins?"

"My realm is overrun with them," Jareth answered, smiling indulgently at the man's obvious skepticism. <Just wait until I spirit you away to the Labyrinth...> "They form the majority of the population, and I can tell you now that I have no wish to increase that majority."

"But you have done it before." The doctor said it so ingenuously that Jareth was caught off guard. "That's why Terrans, and Bajorans too, have continued to believe in...goblins."

"Earth has long since ceased to believe," Jareth corrected. "I hadn't even heard of the Bajorans before today-"

"Liar," Kira almost shouted at him.

"But to answer your question, Doctor, I admit that when hapless parents offered their children to me-"

"You monster," Kira yelled, no 'almost' about it. "Innocent children-"

"Innocent, suffering children, Major." Jareth's voice sharpened. "Centuries ago, war, slavery, serfdom and plagues were optimal methods of population control-and medical care was not considered a priority.  Not for peasants' children, not for infants sold into slavery.  Hope was even less of a priority.  In desperate times, people will grasp at any solution.  Obviously, Major, you've never known what it is to not want to live another day, let alone force your child to live in hunger and pain."

"You're wrong," Kira said in a tone so quiet it made Sisko and Bashir flinch.  They knew that tone well.  It usually preceded an all-out offensive. "My world was oppressed for fifty years, stripped of hope, almost destroyed-"

"And now you become the destroyers." Jareth flashed the daj'zha at her. "Using *this* to achieve your ends, to wreak pain and suffering on my world."

"We didn't do anything to your world," Kira said hotly.

"But the daj'zha was found on his world," Bashir interjected, and got a look from her that should have melted his face away. "There's got to be some reasonable explanation-"

"And we are going to find it," Benjamin Sisko said firmly. "Together.  Your Majesty, I want two things from you in exchange for our help.  One: no more threats.  Two: can you reverse these transformations?"
Jareth hesitated. "Bajorans seem to be different from humans.  Perhaps I will be able to."

"I'd like to help," Bashir offered.

Jareth smiled appreciatively but shook his head. "My methods are...unusual, and only I have this particular skill.  But you are welcome to observe."

"If anyone's going to observe, it's me," Kira insisted.

"Very well, Major." Jareth was all civility. "Perhaps that will convince you I am not your enemy."

"And we're not yours," Sisko said. "We seem to be reaching a compromise.  Perhaps, as a show of good faith, you would relinquish the daj'zha to the Bajoran people?"

"And give back the other daj'zha-the twin to this one?" Kira added.

"First, I have no intention of putting this weapon in your hands again." Jareth was cool but firm. "Second, I do not have this other daj'zha."

"Well then, where is it?" Kira demanded.  "And how are we supposed to find out what the daj'zha is doing to your world, and prove our innocence, if you don't let us study it?"

"Oh, you'll be able to study it-under my personal supervision.  Second, *you* may not know where the other daj'zha is, but someone on your world might."

Kira nodded tightly. "I'll check with Vedek Sori and Vedek Tansa.  They've been studying the daj'zha and its legends for over twenty years."

"Kai Winn will no doubt wish to participate as well," Sisko said.

Kira's mouth matched her nod. "I'll get right on it." She stared pointedly at Jareth. "When are you going to do *your* part?"

"Now, if you like," Jareth answered, turning to Odo with a smile. "M'sieur Odo, I assume you have the changeling in custody?"

Odo did a double take. "There's no Changeling on the station...is there, Doctor?"

"Don't worry, Odo.  The blood sample I took was ordinary red," Bashir assured him. "I believe His Majesty refers to an ancient Earth myth, not to your people.  Fairies were known to spirit infants away and leave one of their own in its place.  The fairy infant would die, while the human infant lived in...the Other World.  Changelings often had eyes of different colors...like yours, Your Majesty."

Odo nodded brusquely. "Thank you for clearing that up.  Your Majesty, Major, if you'd care to come with me?  You're welcome to observe too, Doctor."

"The more the merrier," Jareth said lightly, masking his pleasure and his apprehension.  He still did not trust these people in the least...but for some reason, he wanted nothing more than to restore that child to its original state of being.  It was simply good strategy...and, he thought, casting a glance at Doctor Bashir, he did have an extra incentive.

Sisko quickly dismissed them, and the party exited his office.

Ops was a hive of activity, but the lovely, efficient Trill Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax, as usual, could pay attention to docking assignments, sensor scans, scientific surveys, and the intriguing Jareth simultaneously.  She flirted with him, expressed her approval of his attempt to help the Bajorans, and called out teasingly to Julian, "I hope Garak doesn't mind you being late for your date!"

Killing the brief flare of jealousy, Jareth smiled winningly at Dax.  He recognized another schemer on sight. "And who is Garak?"

"No one, just my tailor, and a friend," Julian said easily.

"Thank God for that," Chief Miles O'Brien called out from beneath the console he was repairing with his usual wizardry. "Bad enough you spend all that time with a Cardie, now we've got Dax trying to fix you up with him!"

"Why not?" Dax shot back. "It didn't work when I sent Doctor Zohar after him."

"Can we please get on with business?" Kira stormed toward the turbolift, and a grateful Bashir hurried after her.  Jareth followed under Odo's watchful eye.  He too was anxious to get on with business.  Once that nuisance was out of the way, he could work on strategy, accomplish his goal, and, he thought as his eyes traced Bashir's lithe form, take his reward.  Not necessarily in that order...
 

Elim Garak circled the bolts of cloth and racks of clothing, rearranging the racks and the bolts.  Order was everything.  A well-ordered mind was crucial.  Without one, he might become as lost in foolish emotions as these humans...and right now, he was gradually wallowing in disappointment.

His dinner with Julian Bashir last night had not gone as he'd planned.

Oh, to be fair, the doctor contacted Garak with the news he would be a half-hour late.  That was no hitch.  Eating around 2100, or later, was something Garak preferred anyway-most Cardassians did.  Besides, when he arrived, the young man did provide such intriguing information about the new arrival on the station-royalty, if Bashir was to be believed-and the daj'zhas, and the secret of the Bajoran disappearances.  In that, at last, the doctor did not disappoint him.  In everything else, however...

It irked Garak that the doctor showed up in that straitjacket Starfleet called a uniform.  It gnawed at him that Bashir hadn't even bothered to wear the outfit Garak had crafted especially for him.  It annoyed him that, as usual, Bashir rushed through his food and went to monitor the mutated Bajoran infant.  And most of all, it annoyed him that these insignificant details troubled him.  After all, he'd long since surrendered his idle fantasy of calling Bashir his own, of introducing the young man to untold intellectual and sensual delights, of immersing the young man in carnal bliss as he'd been tempted to do the moment he'd approached a flustered and lonely Bashir in Quark's bar three years ago.  But he couldn't deny that he still wanted the doctor...

<You're a foolish old exile, Elim.  Why not dream of being crowned Emperor of Cardassia and sticking Gul Dukat's head-not to mention Tain's-on a pike?>

A soft whisper of material at the door to his shop made the alert Garak banish his self-pitying thoughts.  He swiveled his massive muscular form around and smiled his most engaging smile at the customer who entered.   This must be the new arrival...and what an arrival.  Garak critically surveyed him with a craftsman's eye and could find little fault with the man's ensemble.  A billowing white silk shirt  with a plunging neckline was only slightly restrained by a midnight-blue vest that matched a pair of extremely tight leggings and boots that glowed with silver thread.  His gloves were midnight-blue-and-silver as well.  The eyes-one brown, one gold, both mesmerizing-were elaborately made up.   The hair-as far as Garak could tell-was natural blond and gave the impression of having been deliberately coaxed into a wild mass.   The features were sharp, even cruel, but by no means unattractive.  Quite aristocratic, and oddly appealing.

All in all, a daunting package.

"Stunning, Your Majesty," Garak said appreciatively. "You don't seem to be in need of a tailor." He slyly noted the overly tight pants waist and crotch.  They did make a certain...bulge...that could either be embarrassing or provocative. "Although I might suggest loosening the waistband of your trousers.  Constriction in certain places can cut off the blood to vital areas of the body."

"Your concern is appreciated, M'sieur Garak," the man replied. "But I haven't come to you for your tailoring expertise."

Garak let his face subtly show he was intrigued. "Do tell me more."

Jareth wasted no time in producing the daj'zha and depositing it in Garak's hands. "Perhaps you've heard of this-the daj'zha?  Its twin was taken by your people, secretly...and rumors abound that you were privy to many secrets in your former life on Cardassia."

"I know of many things," Garak said smoothly, concealing his consternation-and his admiration for his potential customer (or opponent's) savoir-faire. "Some useful, some not, depending on your perspective.  Fortunately for you, I do know of the daj'zha.  I was in fact fortunate enough to glimpse the twin of yours somewhere on Cardassia.  At the time, it was in one of our most secure laboratories.  Unfortunately the artifact disappeared after we relinquished control of Bajor.  Its whereabouts are quite unknown.  That may be for the best."

"Why?"

"We Cardassians are ambitious, but not foolhardy.  Joining the two artifacts in an attempt to enhance their power could be catastrophic.  At least...that's what the Bajorans seem to think."

"And what do you think, M'sieur Garak?"

The tailor grinned. "I strive to keep an open mind, Your Majesty.  Bajoran prophecies are rarely reliable and often unnecessarily cryptic." He cradled the daj'zha in his big hand and long fingers.  The fingers of a craftsman, but the hands of a killer. "I'm really not the best one to debate them.  You should ask a Vedek-"
"I'm not here to trifle about prophecies," Jareth interrupted. "I wish to locate the second daj'zha, and the station's commander has gotten nowhere by asking your government for it.  Nor is he willing to consider a covert mission to search for it."

Garak nodded. "And you believe I am, as the saying goes, 'ready, willing, and able' to undertake the task.  To be frank, I'm bored with scheming against the Central Command."

"And what would it take to revive your interest?"

"You assume I can be bribed, Your Majesty.  That is a dangerous presumption."

Jareth glanced around the shop, reducing it to what it truly was.  Not a haven.  A trap. "Charming little boutique you have here.  Dealing in clothes instead of secrets...reigning with a tape measure instead of a scepter...You could be ruling Cardassia, you know."

"And I suppose you have the ways and means?"

The light in Jareth's eyes shone with the purity of madness...or true certainty. "I do."

Tempting, tempting...not to be Tain's puppet, but his overlord, to have Dukat kneeling before him.  Garak's armor slowly dissolved.  He dangled the daj'zha before Jareth's face. "If you could allow me to borrow this?"

"That I cannot do." Jareth grimaced. "The Vedeks have prior claim.  Starfleet was after me to give it to them too, but they couldn't even penetrate its defenses with their...what was the word...oh, yes, sensors." He concentrated and fashioned an exact replica from thin air.  Garak was convinced the effect was accomplished by transporter.  Jareth exchanged the real daj'zha for the convincing replica. "Will that do?"

"One works with what is available," Garak said. "I'll talk to some of my contacts within Cardassia and report to you by tonight."

"Excellent.  You do know where my guest quarters are?"

"Habitat Ring, Section 12.  I shall be there," Garak promised, pocketing the replica as Jareth slipped the original into a velvet bag. "I'm curious.  About these 'ways and means'-"

Doctor Julian Bashir chose that moment to stroll into the shop with a pair of sable-colored suede trousers slung over his arm.  "Am I interrupting anything?"

Both Jareth and Garak focused all their attention on him, vying to become the sole recipient of his charms. "And here I thought you didn't want to wear my creation because you actually liked being confined by your uniform every waking moment," Garak said. "What was wrong with the pants this time?"

"A little too baggy in the waist," Bashir said. "Really, Garak, I got over my baby fat years ago.  Unless this is a hint that I'm suffering from malnutrition-"

"Your physique is superlative, Doctor," Jareth said smoothly. "It no doubt inspires confidence in your patients...not to mention envy in everyone else."

Garak narrowed his eyes imperceptibly.  The idea of this intruder making overtures to *his* doctor was not to be borne! "Perhaps you and the doctor should trade trousers, Your Majesty."

"Honestly, Garak!" Bashir laughed, recovering from Jareth's outrageous compliments. "I could never wear those!"

"On you, dear doctor, they would be absolutely lethal," Garak purred. "Don't you agree, Your Majesty?"

"Utterly devastating, and the name is Jareth." Jareth's face was genial but inscrutable. "Anytime you like, my closet is open to you."

Bashir flashed him a grin. "First things first.  I'd better see about getting Garak to repair these trousers in a timely fashion!"

Garak relieved him of the garment with easy efficiency. "If you'll wait a bit, I'll take care of that right now."

"Allow me to add to your burden." Jareth produced a pair of skintight black leggings and tossed them at Garak. "Drop them by my quarters this evening, won't you?  2100 hours?"

"I'll be there," Garak promised.

Jareth bestowed a smile on both of them. "Adieu, Garak..." His voice took on an intimate inflection.
"Doctor."  He slowly pivoted and strolled out of the shop.

"Not exactly shy and retiring, is he?" Bashir said.

"Be kind, Doctor.  He is a customer." Garak grimaced slightly. "Although I must admit that he does remind me too much of Dukat.  Or that omnipotent being, Q, who Captain Sisko once delivered a resounding punch to."

"Odd," Bashir said. "He rather reminds me of you."

Garak's smile returned, but it never reached his eyes. "Then there is hope for you yet, Doctor.  That should be a warning sign to you.  Watch your back."  And I intend to put a knife in his at the most convenient opportunity, he added silently.
 

Jareth kept from smirking as he greeted the orange-robed Vedeks.

His plans were shaping up better than he'd envisioned.  Meeting Garak had been a crucial step.  The Cardassian must be played carefully, however.  Discovering Garak's weakness where the doctor was concerned-an Achilles heel Jareth shared-had been leverage he could use.  He intended to tempt Garak by appealing to his lust for both power and the young man.  Considering Jareth's own intentions toward the doctor, it was a gamble, but one he was positive he could win.  The old crafty Cardassian was all talk and no action when it came to pursuing Bashir.  He clung to the pleasant camaraderie, afraid of losing even that bland comfort and sinking further into isolation.  Faint heart ne'er won fair physician...

Plump, robust Vedek Sori gave Jareth a prompting gaze and interrupted his thoughts. "It's your turn.  Repeat the ancient phrase."

Sluffing off the reverie, Jareth began to intone the Bajoran phrase.  The two Vedeks joined him.  Halfway through, Jareth's voice rose to new heights, singing out the words in a rapture that bordered on pain.

<Damn you, damn you, I can't even escape you now, my own creation, I am trying to save you, just let me go...>

"Are you all right, child?" Diminutive Vedek Tansa looked at him with concern.

Jareth waved a dismissive hand. "Couldn't be better." <Damn you, let me go, I am sacrificing everything for you...>  He started to chant again, and the Vedeks joined in.  Jareth continued chanting, loudly.  <I will resist, I will resist, I will save you...>

"Child!" Vedek Tansa shouted, seeing Jareth swaying, watching the bloodless face and the glazed-over eyes. "We must stop this.  You are not well."

"You're not going to stop me that easily.  I am fine."

Jareth started chanting again...and on a strangled note, pitched forward onto the floor.
 

"Whatever is happening inside his realm is affecting him," Bashir told a grave-faced Sisko and a concerned Major Kira in the Infirmary half an hour later.  "He is definitely a telepath, and somehow in psychic contact with the forces inside his world.  I've given him a hypospray of a chemical that will inhibit the telepathic impulses in his brain.  What he needs now is rest before he attempts anything again with the daj'zha...and I need to discover how to keep it from affecting him this way again."

"While he's resting, how many more Bajorans are going to disappear?" demanded Kira.

"None," Jareth murmured from the biobed behind Bashir. "I give you my word...I'm sorry I couldn't restore that child..."

He looked pale, wan, haggard, and genuinely remorseful lying on the bed.  Surprisingly, Kira dredged up some sympathy for him-more than she would for, say, Gul Dukat, who had never apologized for anything. "Then I guess you should rest."

The comm channel chimed in with O'Brien's voice. "Ops to Captain Sisko.  Kai Winn has just arrived on a Bajoran transport ship.  She's demanding to meet with you, and our visitor."

"She doesn't waste any time, does she?" Kira muttered. "Where's she docking?"

"Upper Pylon C," O'Brien answered.

"Tell her I'm on my way." Kira was out of the Infirmary with Sisko on her heels.

"Will do, Major.  Good luck," O'Brien said.

"She already left," Bashir told him. "But I'm sure she'll appreciate the sentiment."

"How's our visitor?" O'Brien asked.

"Stable so far," Bashir answered. "He just needs sleep.  After a thorough examination, that is."

"Try not to annoy him too much, eh, Julian?  He just had a seizure and now he's got to face Kai Winn.  Go easy on him."

"I'll try, Miles.  Over and out."

Julian grinned and turned back to find Jareth watching him with a disquieting intensity.  Not for the first time, he noticed the unusual beauty and intelligence inside those mismatched eyes that spoke of his otherworldly blood.  But the scans showed he was humanoid.  Who or what was this mysterious creature?

"You're in fairly good shape for a man of your years."

Jareth grinned. "Just how old do you think I am, Doctor?"

"According to the computer, forty-one."

"Yes, that would be when I stopped aging."

"Stopped aging?" Julian echoed, suspicious. "Er...your world doesn't have some sort of fountain of youth, does it?"

The man laughed softly, almost bitterly. "If it is, it's a fount of bitterness.  Humans living in the Labyrinth cease to age after a decade or two...in my case it was after I'd become human again.  You see, I happen to have firsthand knowledge of being transformed into a goblin.  You were right about my eyes.  I *am* a changeling, of a sort.  I was taken from Earth in the time of William Shakespeare.  The Renaissance didn't benefit everyone, least of all my mother, a destitute tavern drudge and whore, who gave me up to the then-Goblin King as soon as she'd given birth.  She was given the option of going after me, but she instead accepted his offer to make her dreams come true.  She wanted to be a great lady, and he made her a duchess...unfortunately, she crossed the Cromwellians and ended up dying in Newgate Prison."

Julian, spellbound, kept performing scans on his patient. "And you...became a goblin?"

"An unusually intelligent one.  I absorbed some of the then-King's talents...illusion, dimension-travel, conjuring, weather control...in a word, magic.  But you don't believe in magic, do you, Julian Bashir?"
"Let's just say I'm highly skeptical that it exists.  But then, until yesterday, I didn't believe goblins existed either.  So nothing is impossible."

"Ah, an open mind.  The essence of intellect."

Julian nodded. "Garak is fond of saying that."

"Ah yes, M'sieur Garak.  An intriguing man, that one," Jareth said, changing subjects rapidly. "Have you known him long?"

"I met him when I first came to this station three years ago.  I was new, I didn't know anyone, and I had a habit of putting my foot in my mouth.  Everyone just tolerated me...except for Garak.  When he first approached me, I thought he was trying to spy on me...he was a Cardassian intelligence agent, you see, before he came to the station."

"Yes, I've heard the rumors.  You were right to be cautious."

"Well, as it turned out, I was wrong about him wanting to steal my Starfleet secrets, as if I'd had any to steal at that time.  He ended up helping us, and the two of us ended up having lunch on a regular basis.  He was an exile-well, he still is-and I was anxious for someone to talk to.   Even after he helped us, nobody but me trusted him-he was highly placed in the Cardassian government before he fell out of favor.  But I've always found him to be a thoughtful, complex man.  We've become close friends."

"Friends, hmmm?"

Guardedly, Julian said, "Yes.  Friends."

"Do you know he'd pounce on you in a second and take you straight to bed if you gave him the slightest encouragement?"

"What?" The young man laughed, trying to banish this ridiculous notion...and the dark temptations that surged within. "Garak's just aggressive.  He likes to toy with people's minds.  It's a big part of the Cardassian psyche, and his in particular.  Anyway, we were talking about you."

Jareth gave in gracefully, with the hint of a knowing smile. "Where was I?  Ah yes...magic.  Mastery of the invisible forces.  I was an adept pupil, and when I was twenty my power was already greater than my intellect.  It wasn't until I regained some of my human form during a particular bout of experimentation that I learned what had been done to me.  I immediately went to the King and demanded he restore me fully." Jareth winced. "He reduced me to a crippled wretch.  I fought back and drained him of his power." He smiled wanly. "He descended into madness and went to wander aimlessly about his own kingdom.  I regained my human form...at a price.   I was forever marked, and I'm not just talking about the eyes.  In a stroke, I lost the ability to father children, just as he had before me.  Sex for procreation was out...but I didn't forfeit my manhood entirely, in case you were wondering."

The doctor wasn't certain how to take this last comment. "Uh, thank you for volunteering that.  I'll make a note in the medical log.  It's always relevant for a doctor to know these things." He was still stunned by the tale of Jareth's past, which somehow struck a sympathetic chord within.  Garak had never revealed this much in three years...He brushed the thought away and focused on his patient. "I assume when the King fled, you ascended to the throne?"

"I was the only suitable candidate and the empire was crumbling.  I suppose I must be doing something right.  Seven hundred years later, the realm is still intact...or at least, it was." Those compelling eyes fixed on Julian with a look that was haughty, but simultaneously pleading. "My kingdom is all I have, Doctor.  I cannot allow it to be destroyed."

Julian felt the man's poignant desperation slip underneath his skin and prick at his heart.  <Careful, Jules, remember what Garak said...he has admitted to turning children into goblins.  You know nothing about this man, only what he's chosen to share with you.  God only knows what he could be capable of...> "First you've got to take care of yourself," he said, suddenly self-conscious and ill at ease. "Sorry, it's the standard medical platitude."

Jareth's eyes gleamed with some inner sunlight. "Don't apologize, love.  I may not be worth your concern, but I do appreciate it.  You are a rare soul."

"I'm only doing my job," Julian said automatically, sinking deeper into the platitude pool. "And don't ever say you aren't worthy of concern, Your Majesty."

"Jareth." The soft word made Julian's skin shudder with a disturbing but not unpleasant sensation, as if it had just been sensually caressed.  He made the mistake of turning fully to look his patient in the face.  The curve of Jareth's lips...the way his eyes kept following every small gesture the doctor made...the inclination of the head that said, 'You are the most fascinating being in this quadrant'...the proud vulnerability that slowly unfolded on his face, making Julian Bashir feel as if he had just opened the best present in the world...all of these gently assaulted him with the overwhelming impression that he was in over his head.  But he didn't care as he perilously, sinfully relished every second of staring into the depths of Jareth's eyes. "I want no kowtowing while I am privileged to be under your care."

The last words snapped Julian out of the deadly reverie.  <Get a grip, Jules, he is a patient, and you are a professional!> "I don't kowtow, Jareth." An unusual name that fit this man beautifully, he thought irrelevantly. "I'm the doctor here, and I expect you to follow my instructions to the letter."

His patient laughed softly. "For a moment I thought I intimidated you."

"Never," Julian said with more conviction than he actually possessed.

"I'm pleased to hear it." His voice said more than the meaningless words ever could.

Bashir continued to monitor his patient's vital signs. "The inhibitors seem to be doing the job.  How much does your success with the daj'zha depend on your telepathic abilities?"

"Alas, more than you'd consider safe," Jareth answered. "The Vedeks possess some abilities, but not enough to carry the entire endeavor.  Their knowledge is the crucial factor.  If I could have stopped the daj'zha on my own, I would have.  I need them, and they need my power."

"Can you still tap into your power?"

"Yes, but it's like drinking water from an extremely narrow straw instead of from a bucket."

Bashir considered this problem. "Perhaps we can widen the straw.  I can experiment with the intensity of the inhibitors, but I'm going to need your full cooperation."

"You have it, Doctor."

The doctor suddenly realized he was grinning a bit too broadly. "All right.  The first thing we do is-"

Tall and stately, Kai Winn entered grandly, breaking into whatever plans Bashir had intended to outline.  She greeted Bashir with a paucity of warmth. "Doctor, I do hope your patient is recovering from his unfortunate episode.  The Vedeks were quite distraught after his collapse."

With all the cordiality he could muster, Bashir nodded at the woman he still considered largely responsible for Vedek Bareil's death nearly a year ago.  True, she hadn't actually caused his accident, but she'd displayed all the concern of a sehlat over a wounded bird. "He's in stable condition, Your Eminence."

Kira and Sisko entered to hear Kai Winn say, "Do you think it might be possible to speak to him?"  Kira recognized the tone that said, 'you will make it possible by any means.'

"Of course, Eminence," Bashir said. "But if he tires, I'll have to ask that you continue your interview at another time."

"Of course, my child.  Who am I to question your learned judgment?"

Kira choked back a laugh and stepped forward. "Kai Winn, may I introduce Jareth, ruler of the Labyrinth and temporary keeper of the daj'zha.  Your Majesty, Her Eminence Kai Winn is the spiritual leader of Bajor."

"Your Eminence," Jareth greeted her with a regal nod.  He had sensed the air slowly chill between Bashir and Kai Winn.  Kira was hotheaded and volatile-she could easily be irritated.  But whatever had this woman done to inspire dislike in the utterly genial doctor?  He stared into her serene eyes and saw a would-be martyr, a Lady Macbeth, and himself all rolled into one.  Not to be trifled with. "You honor me with your visit."

"And you honor us by returning the daj'zha to its rightful owners," Kai Winn said. "Not to mention its
twin-"

"Which I do not have," Jareth said. "And I believe Vedek Sori when she tells me she does not know of its presence on Bajor...but on a world that is only now beginning to recover from a most brutal oppression, would it not be possible for the second daj'zha to become lost?  It is not as sacred or as powerful as your Orbs, and perhaps its recovery was considered a trivial matter."

"Anything is possible," Kai Winn said. "If this is true, it would be a serious error."

"Especially if it was deliberate.  One makes so many decisions for the good of one's people.  A little deception goes a long way toward keeping order."

"What reasons would the Bajoran government have to conceal the daj'zha?" Kai Winn's congeniality never faltered.

"Or the clergy," Jareth said silkily.

For the first time, irritation briefly wrinkled Kai Winn's brow. "And why would the clergy-"

"An intriguing question, Eminence." Jareth punctuated every word with the ever-increasing sharpness of his gaze. "And why would the other daj'zha suddenly turn up in my realm?  Vedek Tansa thinks the artifacts can form a kind of link, a transference link, if you will.  Tell me, Eminence, is it true that land laid waste by the Cardassians has miraculously become fertile again?  The Kontesha Hills were declared an environmental hazard and should have lain desolate for a century.  I have been familiarizing myself with your world's history, as well as its present state, and I find it improbable that such environmental recovery should take place within three years...even with the assistance of the Federation."

Kai Winn's eyes turned condescending, and she brushed off the implied accusation easily. "Perhaps a cursory examination of our history might lead the ignorant observer to such an erroneous conclusion.  Were you not aware that the object disappeared during the Cardassian plunder of our temples?  Of course, they deny any knowledge of it, as you do."

"And as you do, Eminence.  Fortunately, one Cardassian does not share *our* reluctance.  I trust you have heard of Garak the tailor?"

Winn laughed softly. "A Cardassian--particularly a former spy and oppressor--has no compunction about lying.  The exile is a wretched, desperate man futilely grasping for the glory he once possessed."

"He's been useful at times," Kira said quietly.  It was well-known that Kira had no liking for Garak, but it was even more well-known that she and Winn were at odds. "What did he tell you?"

"That if he chanced to learn anything, he would pass it along to me," Jareth answered.

"Why would he do that?" Winn demanded.

"To even a score with Cardassia, I would assume," Bashir said helpfully. "And I'm sure he'll be willing to share whatever he learns with Captain Sisko."

"Why don't you jog his memory the next time you see him, Doctor?" Sisko's suggestion had the quiet force of an order.

"And I of course expect to be enlightened by whatever information Mr. Garak can provide," Winn said, her ridged nose slightly out of joint.

"Enlightenment is a thing to be pursued, not given," Jareth said. "And it is not without its costs.  Are you prepared to pay the price, Eminence?"

"I might well ask the same of you." Kai Winn walked past Bashir and stood imposingly over Jareth's biobed. "You say we are responsible for destroying your world.  But you do not know what it is to have your freedom stripped away, your people massacred, your lands raped-"

"But I know what it means to act the martyr," Jareth interrupted. "To force others to believe that *your* suffering is greater than theirs, that it entitles you to power at their expense-"

"Return the daj'zha at once!" Kai Winn commanded, furious at his accusations. "Stop preying on our world!"

"Stop murdering mine!" Jareth's shout became an agonized scream of complete pain.  His body was consumed by a mass of convulsions, and his face twisted in unspeakable agony that he was trying desperately to control.

Kira was poignantly reminded of Cardassian torture victims, and she whirled on Winn. "He obviously is in no condition to talk to you, Eminence-"

"He squirms because the truth has him in its grasp," Winn said smugly.

"Pain has him in its grasp," Bashir said forcefully, pressing a hypospray to Jareth's neck.  The man slowly relaxed his limbs as the sedative began to take effect. "He must have rest now.  This conversation will have to be continued at another time."

"And when will that be, Doctor?" Winn moved away from Jareth's bedside to cast her shadow on the defiant physician.

"Whenever he's recovered sufficiently." Bashir paused meaningfully. "We wouldn't want to risk his health just for our convenience."

Winn stormed toward the door. "Emissary, Major Kira, I wish a word with you.  Doctor, I expect to be informed about when your patient is able to face his responsibility."  She left without so much as a nod from Bashir.

"How is he?" Sisko interrupted the brooding silence and the sympathetic looks between Bashir and Kira.

"I've given him a sedative and 100 ccs of the inhibitor," Bashir answered, keeping his attention on Jareth. "He should have no more excitement for at least twelve hours.  The earliest I could release him is the day after tomorrow.  We plan to experiment with the inhibitor dosage so he'll be able to complete his task.  He's quite determined to get on with it."

"Keep him calm," Sisko said. "And keep me informed."

"We'll bar Kai Winn from the Infirmary," Kira added.

"Your gesture is appreciated, Major." Jareth's voice was faint, but somehow still resonant, making everyone do a double take.  "However, that woman will not hesitate to make your life,  the captain's, and the good doctor's a living hell until I am available. What would you say to a meeting at ten o'clock, or ten hundred hours, the morning after tomorrow?"

"That depends on Doctor Bashir." Sisko raised a questioning brow at the doctor.

Jareth turned a look of appeal on Bashir. "I shan't let my annoyance affect my health so drastically again.  I've always had a volatile disposition, but I am capable of self-control."

"All right," Bashir consented cautiously. "But only if you promise to rest now."

"I surrender myself to your care, Doctor." Jareth sighed and closed his eyes.   He was absurdly touched by Bashir's passionate defense.   He was accustomed to being cruel, forceful, in control, not helpless and in need of defending, but he was fast discovering that vulnerability was not such a bad state after all, and he had needed a new approach anyway.  Being intimidating and powerful could only get you so far.  He had made Sarah cower before him as she asked for Toby back, begged him for the brother she had impetuously wished away.   And she'd been attracted to his dangerous side...until she'd found Hoggle, the once-spineless dwarf, and chosen to bestow her affections on the underdog...Jareth had never wanted to be dependent on another, weak, but he was finding it oddly seductive...He drifted into a deep sleep.

Kira and Sisko silently watched him for a moment before leaving Sickbay in search of Kai Winn.  Julian ordered up a raktajino and accessed all information in the medical database about telepathy-inhibiting substances.  The strange episode that had transpired between himself and Jareth was forgotten.  He's just a patient, Julian told himself.  Just a patient...Right, and so was Melora.  You ended up doing her a favor all right...He lost himself in his reading.
 

Jareth slowly returned to consciousness.  He felt weak but thoroughly rested.  He levered himself up slightly and noticed that the Infirmary lights had dimmed, most likely to simulate night and allow him to sleep.  Julian was unfailingly thoughtful...where was the young man, anyway?  Having dinner?  Sleeping too, as Jareth hoped?  Showering?  He groaned as he imagined the water (did these people of this Federation use water?) stroking that beautiful body...

The Infirmary doors swooshed open, and Garak entered silently.  Jareth jarringly remembered their appointment.  What was the time?  Garak didn't seem to be perturbed.  He smiled as he crossed to Jareth's bedside.

"I heard of your infirmity," the Cardassian said, all solicitude. "I came by to see how you were faring, particularly after your quarrel with Kai Winn.  I do hope I'm not disturbing you."

"You have a knack for keeping abreast of my movements," Jareth said. "I'm grateful for your graciousness.  I've just finished a restful sleep, and under the good doctor's excellent ministrations, I'm sure I shall recover fully.  And unlike the Kai, I assume you will not risk his wrath, so no, you are not disturbing me."

"I know Doctor Bashir's protectiveness all too well," Garak said. "I have no desire to be ejected from this room with the force of a phaser blast."

"I suspect you would receive gentler treatment.  The doctor likes you.   Such an amiable soul.  Whatever did Winn do to get on his bad side?"

"You ought to ask him that," Garak said evasively. "Now, about the information you requested..."

"Captain Sisko wishes to share in the information, as does Her Eminence.  I trust that won't be a problem?"

"I shall acquaint him with it," Garak said. "He will be most interested to learn that the other daj'zha is in the possession of a Bajoran expatriate living on Vedanta Four, a Cardassian colony, and supposedly collaborating with the Central Command.  What grudge my people bear against you, and what they hope to gain, is open to speculation."

"I never encountered Cardassians before," Jareth answered sharply. "Perhaps Bajorans have visited my realm but I do not recall seeing them, let alone offending them."

"Then it is a mystery," Garak mused. "One we will eventually find the answer to.  So you do approve my sharing this information with Captain Sisko.  It's hardly damaging...or worth the compensation you offered."

"No...but helping me to secretly spirit away both daj'zhas is."

Garak shook his head. "Unlike Quark's, my ears are often not acute.  I don't believe I heard you correctly."

"Yes, you did.  A man of your talents can easily feign the destruction of these objects.  They are not so powerful as the sacred Orbs, and an explosion would not be catastrophic."

"Starfleet has ways of detecting-"

"You and I can circumvent whatever they do.  Besides, they can't even scan the object."

"And why do you need the daj'zhas?"

"Power," Jareth said bluntly. "And security for my realm."

"You have an answer for everything except the eternal question: What's in it for me?" Garak circled the bed. "In case you failed to notice, my position here is by no means unassailable.  I make myself useful to an extent, but Captain Sisko, most of his crew, and the Bajorans distrust me.   What could you offer me that would cause me to accept such a fool's mission?"

"Mind-control is possible when both daj'zhas are united.  Once inside Cardassia, you could sway the Central Command into electing you leader."

Garak snorted loudly. "I am not a fool to believe such stories."

"Try this, then.  Renegade Bajorans and Cardassians violate treaty by secretly causing friction, dragging in an innocent third party.  Exile and former Gul thwarts conspiracy to destroy Bajor and Cardassia.  Cardassian government rewards him by restoring him to his erstwhile prominence and power."

"That could work," Garak agreed, wondering why it sounded so reasonable.  Was the man somehow brainwashing him?  But then, if he were brainwashed, he wouldn't be asking himself a question like that, would he?  No, the offer was simply too good to resist.  And this time, the offer wouldn't come with Tain's strings-make that his noose-attached. "Yes, I'd say that's not only possible, but also tempting."

"And I can offer you an added incentive.  Sweetening the deal, as it were."

"What would that be?"

"Julian Bashir."

"What?" The simple, enticing words caught Garak utterly off guard.

"You want him, don't you?  I can procure him for you."

"You have got to be joking-or deluded.  Let me fill you in on some facts you may have missed.  First, humans frown on slavery or ownership.  Second, the doctor means nothing to-"

Jareth silenced him with a look. "I have eyes. Garak.  I know the sight of unfulfilled desire, the subtle innuendo, the veiled glances.  You couch your attraction behind cryptic words because you know he finds your mysterious ways tantalizing, but that won't keep him enraptured forever.  He may flirt with you, he may be your bosom companion and care about you, but he won't risk being rejected any more than you will, and he's counting on you to make the first move.  But you can't, can you, without knowing whether or not he'd welcome your attentions..." Jareth produced a talisman and dangled it before Garak. "This can help you."

"A love-spell?" Garak scoffed, quashing his temptation with cynicism. "I find your arrogance annoying, and your talisman pathetic."

Jareth's smile was bitter and sad. "Love-spells only work for a time.  They are no more than a trap, albeit a pretty one." <Just ask Sarah...> "The talisman merely relaxes inhibitions.  He will be emboldened enough to make his interest in you clear."

"You'll forgive me if I don't prove gullible enough to take your ill-crafted bait.  Doctor Bashir is charming, yes, but we are only friends."

The talisman disappeared. "Very well.  Then I trust I have your blessing to pursue him?"

Garak choked, dropping his guard for one instant. "If I couldn't get anywhere with him, do you honestly think your blatant overtures could capture his fancy?  I saw no evidence that he was remotely interested."
"Oh, but he is, and this afternoon he made it quite clear.  The dear boy couldn't take his eyes off me...and it was not merely bedside manner.  He restrains himself out of a deep sense of professionalism and integrity, but the day after tomorrow, I will no longer be his patient."

"Really." The tailor bit out the word. "It would be distressing if you were to suffer another grand mal seizure and thus prolong your stay."

"I'm immune to poison...and I presume you wouldn't want your position further imperiled with an attempted murder charge.  Now, do you accept my offer or not?"

"The offer of regaining my position on Cardassia, yes," Garak said. "And I'll let you live for that reason alone."

The other man's laughter was silky. "The day after tomorrow, M'sieur Garak.  That is precisely how long you have to reconsider, because once I leave this infirmary, Julian Bashir will be mine."

"Don't flatter yourself," Garak said, sounding as huffy as Constable Odo. "I won't disturb your rest any longer.  Do take your time convalescing."

"Good night, M'sieur Garak," Jareth said lazily.  It was an ease born of absolute certainty.

Garak turned and walked out of the infirmary.  Or almost.  Julian Bashir, coming in from dinner, nearly knocked into the tailor. "Oh!  Excuse me, Garak."

"Good evening, Doctor.  I came to see how your patient was faring.  He seems to be in poor shape.  I hope you don't discharge him prematurely."

"Now you should know better than that," Bashir scolded him. "Did he tell you that Captain Sisko expects-"

"Me to share whatever knowledge I discover about the whereabouts of the second daj'zha," Garak finished. "That I most certainly will do, tomorrow."

"Very generous of you," commented Bashir.

"I'm pleased you approve, dear Doctor.  Good night." The tailor smiled and departed.

Bashir turned to Jareth. "He could at least have brought your trousers back."

"My...Oh, yes.  That was just a ruse to add a little intrigue to our dealings.  I've grown fond of my trousers as they are."

"Yes, well, I'd be careful.  You don't want to hinder your blood circulation."

"You'll revive me, won't you?"

"Of course." The innuendoes made Bashir feel as awkward as a teenage boy. "You should be resting."

"So should you.  Physician, heal thyself..."

"I've got some paperwork to catch up on right now.  If you need me, I'll be in my office, and I'll check on you later."

"I shall probably be asleep again before you know it."

"In that case, I'll see you in the morning." The doctor performed a quick scan, then, apparently satisfied, turned and strolled into his office.

Jareth stared at the office door long after Julian had closeted himself inside.  "Indeed you will, darling Julian...and many mornings after that." Contenting himself with delightful and highly erotic imaginings, he slowly drifted back to sleep.
 
 

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