Jareth didn't need to announce his arrival in her bedroom that evening. The strange pain that had been a constant in her life for nearly a month suddenly diminished, and she knew he was there.
The pain had started just a few short hours after she'd placed Jareth's ring on her finger and bound herself to him. They had gone back to his castle, and he'd locked her in a beautiful bedchamber, too angry to do much more than spit vitriol at her before leaving her alone. Of course, as soon as he left, she promptly returned to her shabby apartment - one didn't wander the Otherworlds for twenty years without picking up a few tricks. It was then that the pain began - slight at first, but growing with time. She'd tried different pain relievers without success. When he'd found her less than twenty-four hours after her escape, causing all of the wards in Sarah's apartment to begin shrieking when he appeared on the sidewalk across the street, the pain instantly lessened. She'd almost been glad to see him until she realized what that meant.
This time, Sarah refused to react to his presence, keeping her attention focused on the hamper of laundry she was sorting into piles by color.
His eyes were focused on her - she could feel it. Worse, she could feel his disapproval as if she were the one experiencing the emotion.
"Is this how it will be, Sarah?" he asked.
This time, she did look at him, radiating innocence, though she knew she could not fool him. "What? Laundry? I probably have some room for a few of your things, if you want to throw them in with mine."
"You made a commitment."
She sighed. "You know where to find me, Jareth. I haven't locked you out. I even adjusted the wards to allow you to enter."
"As if the wards would keep me out."
"They've kept out far worse than the likes of you. Anyway, I don't see how you're entitled to more."
"You are bound to me. You should be by my side, in my castle. Not in this…" Jareth sneered, "...hovel."
"The way I see it, you're bound to me. Why shouldn't you be at my side, in my castle." She tossed a bra into the pile of whites. "Remember, my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. Greater even. I don't have straw all over my floors."
Jareth made a wide gesture with his arm, transforming Sarah's small heaps of dirty clothes into neat piles of clean, folded laundry.
"Few would begrudge the staff the straw in the areas the goblins inhabit," Jareth said. "And I'm afraid the little monsters come with the territory - a fact of which you were aware when you put on that ring. And yet you would trade a lavish home and wardrobes full of beautiful gowns for this ramshackle flat and -" Jareth's lip twisted as he studied Sarah's lower half, "-whatever it is you're wearing."
She ignored his dig at her pajama pants. "Do you mean the bedroom and dresses designed for another woman?" She paused and gave Jareth a disapproving look. "Or girl, as the case may be.
"Thanks for these, by the way," she added absently, tucking the folded socks and panties into her top drawer.
"By the laws and customs of my people, she was a woman," Jareth argued, a bit petulantly, Sarah thought.
"Sure," she said with a shrug. "Any reasonable person would think so from the way she was crying for her mother."
"I redecorated the bedchamber."
Sarah raised an eyebrow and picked up another pile of clean clothes.
"And had new clothing commissioned."
"Cool," she said, sliding t-shirts into her dresser. "But I already have my own."
She changed subjects abruptly. "Have you really never worn pajama pants? You don't know what you're missing."
"I could transport you to my castle right now, Sarah."
"Yes, I know."
"I could break your spellstone."
"Only if you retrieved it from Odin's dungeon first."
"I could place you behind iron bars."
Sarah laughed lightly. "Yes, yes. You're very powerful. You'd sit behind those iron bars with me, but only for as long as strictly necessary, because we both know you can't stand being uncomfortable, and the moment you left, I'd be back here, living my life. It's been a month, Jareth. You know you can't cage me. Why do you keep trying?"
"It is for your safety."
"And if I were a housecat, that would be a perfectly reasonable argument, but I'm not, so…" she shrugged.
"You promised I wouldn't be alone!" Jareth shouted, causing the building to rumble and the lights to flicker.
Sarah narrowed her eyes and paused, letting Jareth feel her emotions, ensuring he knew just how deadly serious she was. "You want to have a tantrum? You go ahead. Feel those feelings. But let me tell you something: I'm not afraid of you. This building we're in? It's old. So old that maybe it won't survive the next hurricane that comes through. But I still sleep like a baby under its roof every night. I walk the streets and back alleys of this town knowing what might be lurking in the shadows. I've crossed the dark spaces of the Otherworlds not knowing what might be lurking in the shadows. I've seen too much to be afraid of the likes of you. So let me be real clear on this: I don't fear you, I don't love you, and I'm not going to do as you say. I am allowing you access to my life. So if you don't want to be alone, you're going to have to play nice, because I would rather have my skeleton vibrate right out of my skin than stick around for whatever that was."
She didn't need their weird mental connection to feel the waves of mixed emotions rolling off of him. Frustration was there, certainly. Also outrage the likes of which only the very privileged or very proud seem to feel. Disbelief was written across his features: both that she would reject his gifts and that she would ever dare speak to him in such a way. However, she did need their connection to notice the strange sense of hope he was feeling. She hadn't kicked him out, and when her words were interpreted the way an ancient fae creature or three year old human might interpret them, she'd even suggested he might stay.
She softened. "Are you hungry?" she asked, deciding to focus on that feeling of hope.
He nodded slowly.
"How do you feel about nachos?"
This program makes no sense.
Sarah looked at the television, licking salt and grease from her thumb, and nodded in agreement. "That island is full of secrets," she said and popped another chip into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed. "I think I missed an episode, because I have no idea what's happening, either. At least the guy who plays Sawyer is pretty."
Jareth, a plate of nachos balanced on his knees, turned to look at her.
She looked back and then realized what she'd done. "Oh, sorry… this telepathy thing is new to me. Is it bad form to answer a thought?"
He shrugged and tugged a nacho out from under its blanket of cheese. It's new to me, too. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly before he put the chip into his mouth.
Sarah turned back to the TV, a similar smile playing at her own lips. His emotions told her that he felt off-kilter and out-of-place eating a modest dinner off his own lap, but there was also a sense of contentment at having her close. She wondered briefly if he'd feel the same if it were anyone else sitting next to him, then she blushed, remembering he could sense her thoughts and emotions just as easily as she could feel his. She tried to focus on the show, but the pain that infused her body hadn't entirely left her. Despite Jareth's proximity, it still buzzed through her bones uncomfortably, and her attention kept sliding away from the plane crash survivors on the screen to settle on the man seated next to her. She itched to touch him and wondered if he felt the same.
"Yes," he said.
She startled. "Huh?"
"I feel it, too." He turned his strange gaze on her and she felt pinned in place.
"When will it stop?" The… you know…" She held her hands out in front of her, expecting to see them tremble, though they were both steady as rocks.
He set his plate on the coffee table. "May I…?"
Sarah sensed Jareth's intentions and nodded cautiously.
Slowly, he began peeling the gloves from his hands.
"Wait," Sarah said.
He paused.
Tentatively, Sarah reached out and took hold of Jareth's still-gloved hand. She closed her eyes and concentrated. It was still there - the buzzing, itching, restless sensation that had haunted her since that day in Odin's Hall. It was mild, comparatively, though she wasn't sure if it was because Jareth was close or because she'd gotten so used to it. She changed her focus and could sense Jareth feeling it as well.
"Had to try," she said with a shrug as she pulled her hands away. She watched as he pulled his gloves off then reached for her.
His touch was a cool ocean breeze. A cold drink on a hot day. A springtime shower.
She closed her eyes involuntarily, just drinking him in, the bone-deep buzzing gone, replaced by cool, misty calm.
The program was over when she regained her senses. She opened her eyes, and found Jareth facing her, his forehead pressed to her own, eyes closed, his emotions calm and content. The unexpected intimacy startled her, and she pulled away, rising from the couch to clear their plates and wash up.
She could sense him leaning against the wall of the kitchen as she put the plates in the sink.
"How do you feel now?" he asked.
Still flustered, Sarah hadn't stopped to consider that the pain was still gone, despite no longer being in contact with Jareth. She looked at her hands in surprise.
"How long do you suppose that will last?"
"Time will tell."
She rinsed the plates and put them into the dishwasher.
"I'm tired," she said. "I'm going to bed."
Jareth mentally acknowledged her, then followed closely behind as Sarah went to her bedroom. When she finally turned to look at him, he was wearing nothing but pajama pants slung low over his hips. Sarah wondered how he was keeping them up.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, not quite able to meet his eyes as they were too busy following the two lines of his abdominal muscles as they narrowed and disappeared under his new pajamas.
"Going to bed," he answered. "I thought I'd give these a try," he added, brushing non-existent fuzz off his bottoms.
"Not in this bed, you're not."
"Sarah," he drawled. "You had no qualms sleeping by my side in Odin's dungeon. And now that we know skin to skin contact eases the pain of separation, why do you insist on remaining apart?"
He had a point, and it irritated her that he knew she agreed.
"The floor is close enough."
Relief washed over her as Jareth sighed and acquiesced. With a small gesture, a fluffy pallet appeared on the floor next to Sarah's full-size bed. She looked at the sumptuous pillows and blankets and tried to tamp down the jealousy she felt. Despite being a pallet, it was easily more luxurious than anything she'd ever slept in. She bit her cheek in annoyance and pulled her scratchy comforter over herself, turning away from him, and turning off the lamp.
She laid like that for a long time, focusing on her thoughts to allow Jareth privacy in his own. Slowly, his thoughts calmed until they were smooth as glass, and only then did her thoughts turn toward Odin's Hall and Uthor's knife.
Rubbing the skin where the scar should have been, she thought about how Uthor had wrapped her own hand around the knife and slowly forced it into her chest. Though the memory was as clear as the moment it had happened, there was no scar, no soreness, nor any indication that she'd ever been stabbed. Her skin was as smooth and unblemished as the day she was born. She thought about the feeling of it piercing her skin, that brief moment of resistance before her skin broke and the knife cut deeply into her. The shortness of breath. The taste of blood.
She shuddered and wondered if the nightmares would haunt her again tonight. She folded her hands next to her face, rubbing her lip against the warm gold of her ring and breathing in the familiar and calming scent of dreams and wishes - the scent of Jareth.
Her body began to ache for him. Apparently, touch relief didn't last very long.
Eventually, she could stand it no longer, the short respite she'd enjoyed after holding Jareth's hands making her more desperate to end the discomfort as soon as she could. She quietly pushed back her covers and lowered herself onto his pallet. The soft fabrics and furs caressed her skin, but nothing calmed her until she pressed herself against his bare back and put her arm around him. The tension seemed to drain from her and she sighed, reveling in the sensation as if she could absorb it. Only then was she able to close her eyes and fall asleep.
The original story, The Binding by Gevurah can be found right here on ff dot net. The tone of this story is going to be far different, but so will the conflict. Do you have to read The Binding to understand this one? Probably not, but it's a great story and I highly recommend it!
Thank you to Exulansist for beta-reading for me!