Reconciled
Authors Note: Okay, I know every JS shipper out there will be flaming me for this, but I had to write this. Blame too much Faith Hill, Labyrinth, and the sheer undeniableness of David Bowie. I am helpless before them.
Disclaimer: OK, if you haven't figured this out by now, you are watching too much bad TV. I don't own them, despite asking for them politely (and not so politely) for every holiday imaginable. I merely borrow them, and return them (relatively) undamaged before they are missed. Chantel, however, is mine, and you are welcome to her if you want, but email me first.
My address is misunderstoodemonhotmail .com Just take out the space and put the 'at' symbol before hotmail.
Chantel usually loved her job, she really did. However, today had been one of those days where you couldn't help but wish you had run off with the circus when you had had the chance.
As she slammed her car door in the parking lot below her condo complex, she found that she was muttering to herself.
"Blasted life, blasted job, stupid woman... though lovers be lost... dangers untold, hardships unnumbered, though I'm sure you could have numbered them if you had tried..." Stepping into the elevator and jabbing the third floor button, she rested her forehead on the cool metal walls inside until the doors opened again and she had to fumble for her key.
Once inside her condo, she tossed briefcase, coat and shoes into a corner and collapsed onto her bed, but she missed and slid down from the bed onto the floor instead.
"Stupid," she whispered one last time for good measure before starting to cry. Once the tears started, there was no stopping them, so she curled up wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed.
When the tears had stopped, she sniffled and got up, morosely changing from her suit to jeans and a t-shirt that read 'My anger management class pisses me off', and got out the tub of rolo ice cream and caramel sauce. Still sniffling, she got out a DVD and put it in, barely noticing what it was. Even if she had, it wouldn't have cheered her up that it was her former favorite. As the opening credits of Labyrinth began to roll, she squirted the caramel sauce into the ice cream tub and started eating.
Five minutes in, she had started to cry again, and, without even meaning to, spoke again, barely above a whisper.
"I wish I could see him, just one more time. One more time." by the time the tears had stopped a second time, a part of her misery-fogged brain had registered that she was no longer sitting on her couch, instead there was what felt like stone floor beneath her, and a wall behind her. Hesitantly opening her eyes, she let out a small squeak and squeezed them shut again. After a minute, she had almost convinced herself that it was a dream induced by too much ice cream and caramel at once, and dared to open her eyes again.
"Shit," was her opinion on the still-present sight of the Ecsher room when her eyes were open again. She had never liked that room- it gave her a headache every time. Realizing that she had to get out of that room if she wanted to keep her meager lunch, she slowly got to her feet, noticing for the first time that Jareth was nowhere to be seen. Slowly walking along the walls, one hand always on the cool stone, she walked around a corner and found a door. Opening it, She walked gratefully through and shut it behind her, shutting out the sight of the many stairs, making sure it was well closed before turning to continue.
She should have expected that he'd choose that moment to appear, because that was just what he had done, and was now leaning against the wall, to all appearances quite comfortable with the whole situation. Chantel drew in a shaky breath and let herself fall against the wall and slide to the floor, much as she had done in her condo, only much more gracefully.
"I'll admit I was not expecting your summons."
"Neither was I." She didn't even bother to glance up. "And I didn't summon you. You of all people should know I talk to myself."
"To be quite honest, I thought that you had ceased that particular habit."
"I did." This time she did glance up, though not directly at him. "But I guess I started again."
"Apparently."
"Jareth, why did you have to answer me now of all times? Grace'd kill me if she knew I was talking to you."
"Is she well?"
"I guess. I haven't seen her in a while. Don't dodge the question."
He sighed. "My anger prevented me from answering you at the beginning, and by the time I could have, you had stopped calling."
"You know, these past few months, I wondered if it was all a dream. Sometimes I almost had myself convinced. But now that I'm back here, I wonder how I could have doubted it all." There was silence for a long moment before she continued. "You've changed."
"Have I?"
"Yes. You're back to being who you were before I really knew you. You're back to being the Goblin King, instead of the Jareth I know." She glanced over to him for the first time since she had first seen him, and was saddened. He was idly staring into one of his crystals as he moved it across his gloved hands, and he didn't look like he had heard her. He looked... lost. Like he didn't even know why he bothered. She knew that feeling. There was something about him that said that this hurt him more than it did her, that he felt worse about it all than she did, that he felt... responsible.
Responsible.
That was the look in his eyes when he offered a hand to her, holding a peach instead of a crystal. Like this was a duty, nothing more. In all the time she had known him, she had never seen that look in his eyes. Even when he had been dealing with some trivial matters involving the goblins, he had never looked responsible. Bored, amused, and impatient, but never responsible.
"Tradition demands that I offer this to you." His lips were parted a second too long, like he had wanted to say her name, but couldn't. His mask was in place, the mask that said 'I am the Goblin King, I am above mere mortals, so you must do as I command.' Chantel had always hated that mask, hated what it meant. It meant that he was shutting her out, that he didn't want her to know what was behind it.
Standing up, she took a step towards him, looking at the peach in his hand. It didn't tremble, didn't waver in the slightest, nothing to indicate that he was feeling anything other than resolute responsibility. As she took a second step, she looked not at the peach, but into his eyes. She had always thought that it was his eyes, more than anything else, that set him apart from the rest of the world. They were such a part of him, and no matter how strong the mask on his features was, she had learned that his eyes told the truth, if you dug deep enough.
There was more than responsibility in his eyes, there was pain, the same pain that had been in her eyes the first while after he hadn't answered her calls, and there was... love. There was still love in his eyes, no matter what the rest of his face might say, but it was only barely there, it was the same love one might have for a friend, for someone else's child as you watch him take his first steps.
She reached him with her third step, ignoring his outstretched hand, still holding the peach, she touched his cheek so he would look at her. He didn't. He stubbornly stared just to the side of her face, not quite looking at her, but not quite looking away either.
Using both her hands, she turned his head so he didn't have a choice but to look at her. He could have
resisted, but he didn't, looking at her as she looked at him, searching for the truth behind the mask. She found what she had been looking for- the love that had been well buried behind everything else. It was still there, though. That in itself was a miracle.
"I don't want the peach."
"What do you want?" he said softly, as if he was afraid of the answer.
"Honesty. Truth. Someone who will take me as I am." He looked confused, and a small smile graced her lips as she explained.
"Roses wither away. Passion fades. Honesty won't."
There was a moment of tense expectation before she stepped the slightest bit closer and he leaned down, and their lips met for the first time in too long.
"Are you going to be honest?" Chantel whispered, her breath stirring locks of his hair.
"Yes."
"Good." Neither of them noticed a small goblin sneaking away to spread the message of relief to the many goblins that had recently been on the receiving end of the Kings kicks.
July 2, 2007
Do we have to go through this again?
plot bunny whaps me
fine.
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