Standard Fanfiction Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations created and dramatized by Terry Jones, Brian Froud, Jim Henson, David Bowie, et al. I do not own Labyrinth, nor am I making any money from it.
He opened the door to the bedroom and entered as quietly as he could. He had no desire to awaken his wife. Feeling his way gingerly across the darkened room, he cried out when he stubbed his toe on an unseen piece of furniture.
Sarah stirred in their bed. "Jareth? Is that you?"
He cursed silently. "Yes, love, it's me."
There was a rustling of sheets as she sat up and tried to peer at him through the darkness. "Why didn't you light a candle?"
"I didn't want to wake you."
"Too late now."
He sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her.
"Is everything all right?
He didn't answer.
"Jareth?"
"Everything is fine," he replied in a tight voice. "Just fine."
Something in his tone make her suspicious. "I'm lighting a candle."
"No, Sarah, that really isn't necessary –"
"It'll be good practice."
"No. Sarah –"
Ignoring his protests, she turned to her bedside table and concentrated on the unlit candle sitting there. After a brief moment, a small flame sprang out of the darkness. She took a moment to admire her handiwork – she was still struggling to grasp the concept of using magic – before turning to her husband. "I don't see what the big deal is –"
She stopped short as her eyes fell on him. "Jareth! What happened to your hair?!" His long, blonde locks, of which he was so inordinately proud, had been shorn close to his head, with only a broad, scrub brush-shaped tuft remaining on top.
He slumped and mumbled something incoherent.
"What?"
"I lost a bet!" he snapped.
"A bet? With whom?"
More mumbling.
"What?"
"Hogbreath!"
"Hoggle," she corrected automatically. "I've never known you to lose at baccarat before. I didn't even know Hoggle knew how to play that game."
"That's because we weren't playing baccarat," he growled.
"Blackjack?"
"No."
"Poker?"
Silence.
"Jareth, just what game were you playing?"
He mumbled something under his breath.
"What?"
More mumbling.
"I still didn't hear you."
"I said, 'conkers'!"
"Conkers? Isn't that a kids' game?"
Jareth just sighed and tilted his head back, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
"Why, in heaven's name, were you playing conkers with Hoggle?"
"Because the little scab challenged me!"
"Oh, and, being the 'mighty fae king,' you couldn't possibly let a challenge go unanswered."
Jareth lowered his head and turned his face away.
"Even an absurd challenge to a children's game given by a dwarf."
With a frustrated sigh, Jareth stood from the bed and paced to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. He tilted his head this way and that, trying to see his new hairstyle from all angles. The disgusted look he gave his reflection clearly said what he thought of it.
Sarah came and stood behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder as she regarded this bizarre new image.
"It'll grow back," she said soothingly.
"Not any time soon, it won't."
"What do you mean?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "The parameters of the bet stipulated that the loser could not alter his new hairstyle for a fortnight."
"Two weeks? Jareth, you're stuck like this for two whole weeks?"
He nodded.
"But, you have a meeting with the delegation from the troll kingdom tomorrow."
"I know," he replied in exasperation.
"What are you going to do?"
"What can I do? I allowed myself to be tricked by Hogshead into letting him cut my hair into this, this," he gestured to the mirror, "monstrosity. I ought to bog him for his insolence."
"You can't blame Hoggle for you own stupidity," Sarah pointed out. "Everyone knows he's the Labyrinth's reigning conkers champion."
Jareth sighed again and looked chagrined.
"Besides," his wife added, "it's not that bad."
"Oh, isn't it?"
"Well, okay," she amended, "it is bad. But, it could be worse."
"How?"
"He could have shaved your head entirely."
Jareth shuddered. "Perish the thought."
"Besides, it kind of makes you look like David Bowie."
"The Aboveground singer?"
"Yeah, you know. When he had the Bowhawk back in '97."
"That? That was the worst hairstyle he could possibly have had. And it looked as god-awful on him as it does on me." He contemplated his reflection again. "Perhaps Mr. Bowie lost a bet, as well," he mused.
"I wouldn't be surprised. It was pretty bad," Sarah conceded. She let out a sigh. "Well, Bowhawk, or no Bowhawk, you need to get some sleep before you meet with the trolls in the morning," she reminded him.
Casting one final, irritated glance at the mirror, Jareth turned away with a shake of his head. "What should I do if they comment on my hair?"
She shrugged. "Don't be so insecure. Just tell them it's the latest fashion."
"Should I turn to the left, or turn to the right?" he quipped, striking first one pose, then the other.
"Very funny, Mr. Bowie," she teased, taking his hand and leading him towards the bed. "Remind me to have a word with Hoggle in the morning."
Jareth smiled at his wife's back. It was worth the ignominy of a bad haircut if it meant that the insufferable dwarf would finally be getting his comeuppance.
"And you," she added, turning to face him and wagging a finger under his nose, "no more rash bets."
"Yes, my lady," he said, raising a taunting eyebrow.
Sarah knew what that look meant. It was going to be a long night.
A/N:
The first rule of Bowie club is "We do not discuss the Bowhawk."
The second rule of Bowie club is "We do not discuss the Bowhawk."
Oh, well. They're more like guidelines, anyway, right?
This little plot bunny has been nagging at me for a while, so I finally decided to just write the damn thing and be done with it. I hope you've enjoyed this little bit of insanity.
To my loyal readers, my sincere apologies for my prolonged absence. I've been dealing with some very unexpected, life-changing, and continuing health and personal issues over the past 6 months. Please know that I have not abandoned "The Best Policy," and that I DO fully intend to finish it at some point. Stay tuned.