A/N: I kind of decided I'd never do the same genre fan fic twice. But here I am doing another Labyrinth one. I got some decent reviews for the last one and a couple of favorite authors out of it so I thought I might try another. This one is a lot rougher and shorter than the last. And it's an attempt at bringing Sarah up to Jareth's level, even though she's in the gutter. I think I didn't do a great job on this one but what the hell, though I'd give y'all a chance to flame me. I could use the criticism.
I don't, of course, own the Labyrinth, Jareth or Sarah. Nor do I advocate EST or the over-medication of psychiatric medication. It's just an unfortunate fact of life, really.
Just In CaseI heard your words in my head again.
I wish you'd just leave.
Every time I-…
It's your dream. Not mine. I've forgotten what it's like to dream on my own. Surely that isn't right; isn't the way it should be?
Sarah reached for the bottle she kept beside her bed. Her JIC, she called it, when anyone asked. Just In Case. Which was nearly all the time now. There was something wrong with her. She was less in the world than ever before, more out of life. She couldn't sleep properly. She was never really awake. The doctors called it insomnia. Pretty labels didn't make it any easier. In fact, it made it harder. It wasn't insomnia. Sarah knew that. It was something far more incurable and far less diagnosable.
At first, the medical diagnosis was Post-Traumatic Stress. No one could say about what, except Sarah, and she wasn't about to. Severe hallucinations give out some pretty colored drugs, but that wasn't her speed. But there was no event, and the symptoms kept getting worse… Borderline Personality Disorder got pulled out. A little electrode therapy when that didn't work. All that did was hurt and further cement what she knew to be the truth. It went on and on. Straight jackets, drugs and machinery. Hourly bed checks, more drugs and dumb questions. She just wanted to go home, but she had no idea where that was anymore.
Every time she closed her eyes she saw him. Every time silence echoed she heard him. Every time she drifted off to sleep she had his dream. She wanted her imagination back. She needed it. She was going insane; dying through the lack of it. When she spoke, it was not her anymore, not like she used to be. It was someone more worldly, smarter and more cruel. When she made friends, it was because they feared her, not because she entertained them. She was beautiful in a way that made men unable to speak and women fascinated. Sarah carried herself with more poise than befitted her status. She was becoming like him, because he was all she thought about.
Love was such a loose word, bandied about by fools. Men used it to get sex and women used sex to get it. People who barely knew each other used it. Love was not like they thought it was. It was deadly, lethal and consuming. It was respite and safe haven. Love destroyed you once you denied it. Sarah knew better than anyone. She was on the brink of destruction and she had turned away before she knew it was love. She wanted to be like him, and couldn't control her continuing likeness anyway. She wanted to be worthy of him. She wanted not to be so damn weak now. He was killing her.
Sarah took another swig from the bottle. She wanted him out of her head if not out of her heart. Or she wanted him to be there physically. She knew the rules. They were simple. Never say a wish out loud. Never say his name out loud. Never wish for what you don't want. It was all the same thing to her. His name was her wish, her deepest desire and his wrath was what she feared. She knew that she could not escape it untainted, if this incapacity was not wrath enough. Forgiveness was not one of his virtues.
But the question remained and danced through her head unbidden. How much longer do you think you can go on like this, Sarah? It was his voice. Foolish girl. Just give in. Do not defy me, Sarah. She struggled against the urge to give him what he asked for. She remembered her words in the Escher Room. You have no power over me. She never said them aloud again. She knew they were false. Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave, he said. And she did. She feared him and loved him. She knew that saying it aloud was nothing, it was in fact that it mattered. She knew that all she had to do was say one word. One wish. One name. One hope. I can be cruel. He said that. How cruel was cruel? Cruel enough, Sarah decided, taking another swig from her JIC.
She remembered dancing in the crystal ballroom. His voice crooning in her ear, his arms around her. She remembered how everything had faded from importance. Except him; except Jareth.
"You called?" he stood before Sarah as she lay sprawled out on her bed, entangled in the bed sheet and hand clasping the bottle. She blinked twice.
"I merely thought of you, and here you are," she said bitterly. You can be cruel, she said to him silently. He smiled slowly.
"Here I am. You know, Sarah, you are a very boring master. Not one wish before now. Not once have you even thought my name," he commented, walking in a half circle around her bed. He paused and studied her drawn face. "The years have aged you harshly, Sarah. But why now?" Sarah scowled at him, allowing her eyes to rake over his body. The years hadn't aged him at all.
"My apologies for being a dull task-master. And technically, I did have one wish. Not seeing you. It was working so well for me too," she replied scathingly. Jareth's eyes hardened.
"I see that I am not the only one who can be cruel," he commented. Sarah's eyes flashed a victory.
"I had a good teacher," she allowed. Jareth smiled smugly.
"You dared to defy me, Sarah, this has consequences," Jareth announced. Sarah raised her eyebrows.
"Of course it does, or you wouldn't be king. But it's been a long time since we last met, and a few things have changed," Sarah replied. Jareth looked mildly interested. Sarah took this as encouragement to continue.
"I'm not merely a petulant child anymore, and I will not be treated like one. I will not pander to your ego by demanding of you and I will not play your games anymore," she declared. Jareth gave a devious half smile.
"I can see you are no longer a child. You've always had a choice when it comes to me Sarah. It's always been your choice. I have been transparent where you have been opaque. Tell me, what were you thinking of me when you finally said my name?" he asked. Sarah's mouth contorted as though something bitter was there. She loathed the admission she was about to make.
"The crystal ball room," she said. Jareth smiled at the memory.
"My favorite dream," he said. Sarah scowled.
"I've noticed," she said.
"What about it?" Jareth asked.
"How it felt to be in your arms," she replied brazenly. Jareth stared at her intensely.
"How did it feel to be in my arms, Sarah?" he demanded. She tossed her head at him and sat up in bed. She looked up at him through lidded eyes.
"I don't have to answer your questions. It's not your Labyrinth," Sarah replied snidely.
"I can make it my Labyrinth and you know it well. Answer the question Sarah. Do as I say," he reminded her. She narrowed her eyes at him, unable to avoid the clause in his edict.
"How everything faded from importance. Except you," Sarah managed, staring at him defiantly. She waited for a response, for her heart to break all over again. Her hand tightened around the JIC as she waited.
Jareth waited a moment before responding. He tilted his head to the left, as though trying to figure out something particularly complicated.
"I should wonder that you would think that. You've been in that ballroom every night since that one, haven't you?" he asked, as though it was a genuine question.
"Of course I have. You kept sending it, didn't you? And when I don't sleep, it comes to me awake," Sarah bit at him, annoyed. Jareth smiled slightly, unable to hide his pleasure at his success.
"And you still feel that way, every single night?" Jareth asked her.
"You know the edict as well as I, Jareth, you spoke it. Clause one, love you. It's not something I can help anymore," Sarah admitted arrogantly. Jareth paused again, considering this.
"You mean to say that you love me?" he enquired, as though he were an ordinary man asking the price of milk. Sarah challenged him with her eyes.
"I love you," she said with feeling. The tingling sensation that usually stayed in her palms raced throughout her body at the audacity of her statement. She took a swig of the JIC. If there ever was a time…
Jareth reached out and knocked the bottle to the floor, letting the bottle break and the amber liquid seep into the carpet. Sarah glared up at him.
"My queen will have none of that," Jareth stabbed at her with his words. She was about to argue when she caught the words 'my queen.'
"Excuse me?" she asked him. "Do I get a say in this?" Jareth looked at her in disbelief.
"You love me?" he asked.
"Do not make me say it again," she groaned.
"And yet you dare to refuse me?" he growled. Sarah narrowed her eyes at him.
"I did not refuse you, Jareth. I just asked if I had a choice," she replied.
"Say that again," he said.
"I asked if I had a choice," Sarah replied, slightly confused, but still irritated.
"You foolish girl! My name, say my name again," he ordered her. She narrowed her eyes but complied. Jareth sighed contentedly.
"Come, my queen, we have much to do," he said, reaching for her hand. Sarah looked at his outstretched hand and realized this was her choice. To continue was she was and stare him down. Or to try for her argumentatively but happily ever after.
Sarah reached for his hand. Complacency never suited her anyway.