A Mother's Tale
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the original characters!
Not a J/S! An exploration of a bizarre alternative explanation for the events of Labyrinth.
Summary: Ever wonder where Sarah's mother disappeared to? Why she never calls or visits, or maybe why Jareth is so interested in Sarah? Well, it's sort of a sticky situation. When did the Underground become a family affair?
A Coming Out Party
1
Sarah was blowing out the candles, more for Toby's enjoyment then her own, on the modest birthday cake that marked her entrance to adulthood.
Irene, Sarah's stepmother, quickly plucked the eighteen cooling wax sticks from the cake and plunged a knife into the fluffy dessert enthusiastically. Sarah's father, Robert, had Toby slung on his hip, partly so the four year old could see the table top dessert, and partly to keep him from snatching at the cake with his eager fingers prematurely.
"Happy birthday Sarah!" Toby squealed as he wriggled down from his father's arms and bounced into Sarah's warm embrace.
She hoisted him into the air, wiggling him playfully as she lowered him down to cradle on her hip. "Can you guess what flavor it is?" she quizzed, rubbing her nose against his in an Eskimo kiss as she stealthily shifted so that the little scoundrel was facing away from the dissected cake as he tried to steal a peek.
He turned back to her guiltily and giggled, twirling a strand of her hair in his tiny sausage fingers, trying to distract her from his failed attempt to cheat. "Chocolate?"
"Chocolate?! That's your favorite not mine!" she teased.
"So?" he mumbled, not seeing how that could affect the decision.
Sarah laughed and bounced him over to his chair, ruffling his shiny, straw colored hair as he cried out in joy upon seeing that the cake was indeed a rich chocolate brown under the white frosting cloak.
Robert smiled at his children's exchange and pulled Sarah's chair out for her, leaning over and whispering in her ear as she sat. "You don't always have to get the cake that he'll like best you know. It's your birthday."
She nodded and smiled up at him ruefully. "I know, but I like doing it this way. I want him to always be happy to be my baby brother."
He raised an eyebrows at the odd statement as he moved around to his own seat. "I'm sure he always will be."
She smiled and watched her family enjoy themselves. She absentmindedly fingered a gift she'd been given earlier that day, a silver necklace with a delicate wire twined into a sphere encasing a dangling crystal. She'd done everything she could to needle it out of them, but her parents wouldn't say which one of them had given it to her.
-
Sarah lay back on her bed that evening trying to digest the rich cake, worried about upsetting her full stomach and not wanting to aggravate her head's sensitive state. She'd started her birthday with a bizarre killer headache and had almost canceled the family's trip to the fair, but luckily it had eased quickly and they'd been able to go.
The pain had surprised her since it had been a long time since she'd gotten any sort of headache. She ate well and her life wasn't particularly stressful, but now that she thought about it she'd felt a little off all day. Like she had an itch she couldn't scratch, and it was in her mind.
She sighed and got up. It was late now and everyone else was asleep so she couldn't go to them to distract her. She wandered around the dark house until she was spooked by a soft, tickling touch stroking her cheek. Tumbling back she stifled a shriek, thinking she'd walked into a spider web and not wanting to wake the house. Groping the wall until she found the light switch, she flicked it on and sighed as she saw the drawstring hanging from the ceiling. The house had an old fashioned pull down staircase that led to the attic. It was unusual for the string to dangle like that since her father usually had it taped out of the way. She was about to disregard it and continue her walk when she impulsively changed her mind and decided to yank the string and bring the stairs down. They lowered with a soft groan of straining wood and Sarah carefully stood on the first step to test her weight, she'd been a lot smaller the last time she'd used these. Finding the stairs to be as sturdy as always, she crept up them into the musty attic. Finding the flashlight her father kept near the entrance, she clicked it on and swept the yellow beam around the dusty room until it landed on the only source of permanent light the room had, an antique lamp.
Moving towards it and turning it on, she gazed around at the few boxes and baby paraphernalia left over from Toby's diaper years scattered around the room. Most of the boxes had uninteresting labels like 'clothes' or 'dishes' but one caught her eye. Running a finger over the dusty tape, she saw that it was labeled 'Linda'.
Mom had a box up here? Hastily she carried it over to the coffee table in the corner and dragged them both to sit under the lamp's glow. Pressing the flaps of cardboard out of the way, she found it to be filled with an odd assortment of knickknacks, playbills and letters. Grabbing the topmost letter she looked for a name but the envelope was blank, taking the letter out, she read the tiny slip of paper so small it was hardly worth the envelope.
Robert, I just know you'll like him! He's wonderful and he treats me so well. He reminds me so much of the man from my youth. Be a dear and come visit me in the city this week and see what you think! I'm sure you will be delighted.
Love Linda
Sarah wasn't sure what to think about what she'd just read. It sounded rather like her mother was writing to her father about some man she had feelings for, but that couldn't be right. She tucked the note away and took another letter out, this one marked with a later date than the first.
Robert, my dear, I know this is an awful thing to ask so soon after the joyous miracle of life, but ask it I must. You are my dearest and only friend. Please take my precious child and care for her since I cannot. I want her to live comfortably with a stable life, which is not an assured thing where I must return to. I grow sicker with every day I stay here so I must go as soon as is possible.
Care for her, love her, do not tell her.
Your friend,
Linda
Sarah's eyes were wide as she read the note over again. Is this about me? No it couldn't be. It was nothing like the story her father had told her over the years when ever she'd missed her mother and had asked about her. She'd been told that Linda had gotten anxious to travel after a tedious labor and long recovery spent in a hospital after Sarah's birth. She'd followed her dream of acting, moving to London to pursue a career in theater. Details had always been shaky past that point. Why didn't she write, or call, or visit? They were all questions that were only ever answered with a sad shake of her father's head, and a tight hug.
She looked back to one line in particular. I grow sicker every day. Sarah's heart throbbed, could her mother possibly be dead? Had she been lied to so as to avoid the pain of that loss? No, her mother was not dead. Then could she be out there somewhere fighting a horrific illness to this day?
Her finger tips felt cold so she lay the paper down and rubbed them together, eyes closed tight, imagining all the horrible things that might be the reason for these lies.
"Sarah?"
Her body went rigid for a moment in surprise, but it was just her father. "Dad."
"What are you doing up here? I thought you were a burglar." He scolded as he came to crouch beside her, noticing her pallid face. "What's wrong?"
"I -" she sighed and picked up the note. "Is mom dead?" she blurted.
Her father's eyes widened and he took the note, forehead creasing as he read.
He sighed. "She's not dead Sarah, she's just… gone."
Sarah huffed, "I know she's gone, but it's not London is it? She's not off acting with some theater company; it says she was sick when she left. You're hiding the truth from me, it even says so!" She took the note and waved it around.
Her father shook his head slowly and cleared the clutter from the coffee table, sitting to face her. He took her free hand in his and squeezed. "Your mother was sick, she had to leave, she didn't have a choice."
"I know dad, you're just repeating what's written in the letter."
His hands patted her's unconsciously. "I know, I just don't know how to tell you. It's a very strange, probably unbelievable story."
"Just tell me," she pleaded softly.
He smiled finally and cupped her cheek. "You are a sweet and caring daughter and I will always be here if you need me, but the truth is I'm not your biological father."
Sarah froze, staring at the man she had idolized as her father, her human teddy bear, for her entire existence. He looked so sad now. His face usually held an older version of Toby's bubbly expression.
"I was just a good friend of your mother's, I'd know her for years but suddenly she disappeared. Then one day out of the blue she was back again and pregnant. Then, soon after you were born she grew sick and had to live in a place… a place where they had the proper ability to treat her, so she went to live there with your biological father."
"Who is he?!"
His eyes darted around in a panic, then suddenly focused decisively on a spot on the wall. "I only met him once, he's a handsome man, though you don't look anything like him." He mused, "He was some sort of big wig in a company that made high end crystal or leather wear, I'm not sure which."
Sarah struggled to picture the man but all she saw was her father- um… Robert, her mother's close friend.
"You have a picture of him you know."
Her head jerked up.
"On your vanity, Linda told me not to let you see, but I thought you should know his face, even if you didn't know what he is to you."
Sarah gasped and dashed from the room, intent on the picture she knew must be the one he was talking about.
"Careful!" The man who was not her father called worriedly after her.
She slowed at the shaky attic steps but sped up once on the solid hallway floor. When she reached her room she almost broke a fingernail trying to claw the picture from the mirror's frame. She brought it close to her eyes, examining the man's face.
She heard someone at the door and saw Robert, the man who was not her father, but who she loved like one, smile apprehensively at her. She turned back to the old photo, her stomach feeling queasy.
The stranger was handsome and tall, but so was her mother, they stood with their faces close, strong affection for each other evident from their expressions. She'd been told he was a co-star in one of her mother's plays. Sarah had been told a lot of things.
Now she really looked at him, not through eyes clouded by imagination and admiration, but with cold analytical scrutiny.
His face suddenly changed in her eyes, as if beginning to clear. It was a face she'd gazed on her entire life, but now it was becoming something else, a face that was familiar for a different reason. Her heart thumped as it swelled in her throat. There must be some mistake. Jareth's face was what looked back up at her. The Goblin King was her father?
She dropped the photo like it burned, after a moment's hesitation she ran to embrace Robert, the man who was not her father, but the only man she could accept as her father, the man she desperately wished was her father, and cried.
A/N: So what do you think? Totally bizarre right!? This isn't going to be a long story, nor a J/S, but please read anyway~
R/R!