House of Healing. Ice Cream Binge. A Night Visitor

Sarah entered the office, peering out from under a hat that had been drenched in a quick spring rain. Her hair stuck, plastered to her shining face, and hung in dripping tendrils down her back- over the pea coat that, itself, had gained double its own weight from sheer water volume. Things silenced as she entered and, taking the hat off of her head, Sarah glared at the people who met her eyes.

"What?!" she demanded. Immediately they returned to their priorities. Sarah tapped her boots on the rug and then skidded past her interns to the seclusion of her office.

It had been a good month since Mr. Quintley had found himself jailed after the fiasco on the freeway. Now, brewing in another cell for violation of his bail terms, he was like a man on the brink of the inevitable. What jury would ignore the countless layers of facts that piled and piled as Sarah tried, hopelessly, to sort through them all. Unfortunately, she was unable to keep up.

And, as she entered her office, she realized that there was more than one unfortunate thing concerning that day. Mr. Peterson was sitting on her desk, winding a hand around her phone cord. His face was set, not a glimmer of anything in his blue eyes.

"Mr. Peterson.... I didn't expect...," she trailed off when he rose and began walking, slowly towards her.

"I didn't think we had a misunderstanding the last time. I'm certain you realized what was riding on this case, at least you seemed to assure me of as much," he paused, standing only a few feet in front of Sarah now. She dropped her briefcase on the ground beside her, and, stepping past her boss, draped her soaked coat on her leather chair.

"Of course, I have everything under control, Mr. Peterson. I just went by to visit Mr. Quintley and we discussed...." Again she was abruptly cut off.

"It doesn't appear to me or my associates that you have things under control Sarah. In fact, we think that you got yourself into this too deep. I'll be handling Mr. Quntley's case from here on in." The set of his mouth convinced her, before she uttered another word, that there would be no discussion on the mater. Her chest heaved once as she realized that opportunity had just brushed her by.

Now it was time to plead. "Mr. Peterson, I swear to you that I can do this. I might have been hasty in claiming that I had everything under control, but it is all in order. I already have the case made, arguments, witnesses," she offered, hope diminishing as was her voice. She felt her shoulders slump beneath her boss's calculated stare.

"As of today your on a two week leave. When I've sorted through your mess, we'll discuss further your future here," he said, and his mouth turned slowly into a cheap grin. Tobacco stained teeth were revealed between his plump lips. Sarah couldn't speak as she watched the man fade out through the doorway.

Desperation clung to her as she followed him out. What she planned on doing had not quite hit her, not until his door slammed right in her face. Sarah stopped, her nose inches from the wooden surface and blinked. Glancing to her right she noted the two paralegals exchanging nervous glances. Whispers were growing and fading around her, like a surging and ebbing of the tide.

She straightened her navy jacket and then quickly left the hallway. Sarah allowed the door to click into its frame. Only then, when she had drawn down the blinds over the wide glass walls, did she submit to the frustration that boiled inside her. The tears that spouted out were as unexpected as had been the sudden meeting with her boss, and the culmination of his discussion.

Sarah slipped to the ground, beside her large briefcase, and curled her legs against her chest. Her hand slipped against her mouth, grinding her knuckles against her teeth to stiffle the sounds of her hitched breaths and little plaintive moans.

It took a few more minutes to compose herself and wipe the mascara rings from beneath her red eyes. When she again left her office, carefully locking it behind herself- For the last time Sarah thought- there was a lull throughout the firm. Eyes were carefully downcast and voices very discreet.

She at least appreciated their attempts.

Sarah left quickly, glancing not once at the receptionist, her interns, the nervous paralegals in the corner... she just ran away. The elevator stood open for her, and Sarah leapt inside, grateful for the solitude. There were no stops on the long ride down from the high rise office complex.

"Short day?" the security guard, Merv was his name, said to her with a short smile. Sarah turned to him and nodded, her own face merely softened for his caring enough to notice. She raced into the rain, grateful for the feel of it on her flushed face, and then walked along the sidewalks towards her car.

She was chilled completely through, and shivering as she approached the little silver Honda. There was still several hours worth of time on the meter, but it didn't phase her a she pulled out into the busy downtown streets. There would be another hour commute home. Sarah didn't even notice, driving the streets and byways out of sheer instinct. Her mind was lingering elsewhere.

* * * * *

When the Goblin King opened his eyes again he was looking upon a warm interior of a simple cottage-like home. Above him thick boards of wood interlocked like a lattice, holding the structure of the peaked roof together. Jareth blinked, startled. His last memory had been plummeting to death, hitting a hard and unforgiving ground that was only briefly softened by the thick hedges which lined his castle.

Now.... He rose to an elbow, cringing at the pain that tickled along his spine. There was a mattress beneath him, not as fine and elite as the one in the castle, but comfortable and clean. To his left was a basin of water, and a cloth draped over the ceramic lip.

Something seemed vaguely familiar about the place. Across the way was a dresser, on which were ointments and herbs. A few had been crushed and worked into a broth that steamed. Jareth inhaled deeply and could almost taste the sweetness of the aroma. It was both satisfying and invigorating.

The only entrance was a door, which was shut- leading Jareth to believe that this was simply a room to a larger house. He chanced rising to a sitting position. Bruised and wounded muscles screamed as he lifted himself up, and a fur pelt slipped off the foot of the bed and onto the ground.

"I'm glad to see you up," a voice stated. But it was so familiar that it tugged at Jareth's memories when he turned to look at the slim man standing in the now open doorway. He had dark hair, and more tan of a complexion than Jareth. In the slant of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw one could nearly see a raw regality hidden, only a few generations back. And blanketed beneath a curtain of thick black lashes were eyes so strange that they nearly seemed violet, particularly as Jareth now saw him.

"Gideon," the King said, raising the corners of his mouth into an easy smile. "I had no idea." He nearly continued, but Gideon seemed to understand. There was open concern in his eyes and he crossed quickly to the dresser, taking the broth in hand that had smelled so sweetly. The warm liquid tasted as good as it smelled, and Jareth quickly consumed the entire contents.

Gideon pulled a chair up beside the bed, sitting lightly as he watched Jareth. When the King had finished eating he turned to the man who had cared for him. There was cold steel in his gaze. "How long?" There was a moment of unease in the quiet of the cabin home. Gideon shuffled his feet from one side of the chair to the other.

"Five days," he sucked in air and fixed Jareth with his eyes. The Goblin King would have no softening of the details. Behind the harsh wounds outlining the man's face, Gideon could see the power and determination. "I don't know how long you were down there, but it was at least a day and a night before I dared chance sneaking into the castle grounds."

At this Jareth's surety seemed to wither. He remained poised, as if in thought, for minutes on end. "Damien," he whispered, at last. The name made the air thicken through the room, hanging like low and heavy mist- ready for the storm. Jareth felt it, perhaps, more intrinsically, than Gideon. But it bowed them both beneath an unseen but undeniable weight. "What has happened?!"

Gideon looked at the king. "I don't know. I've heard some stories about the armies and the dark sorcerer," he could not bear to speak the name again. It came out foul and tasted like poison on his lips. In response Gideon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A noise from outside sent both pairs of eyes flashing towards the window- past the wooden shutters. But all was quiet.

"Then there is little time if they've already left," Jareth concluded. He had wasted too much of the precious moments left to them (those who stood against the power of Damien) holed away in this place of healing. The Goblin King reached out and grasped Gideon's slim arm, the pressure making his friend and healer look directly into Jareth's flashing eyes. "I must go... do you know if my father still stands?"

The mention of the old man in his ivory kingdom made the corners of Jareth's mouth twitch. He hated the prospect of going there for help, but it seemed he had little choice. Gideon nodded, still too overwhelmed at the idea of the King leaving to say much else. But when Jareth did gather his strength and stand from the bed, the weakness was evident in the way he walked. Gideon rose beside him. "You won't make it, not like this. What use are you if you die on the way?"

"If I don't go now then more might die!"

"Jareth, your mortal!" The words hovered over them and Jareth lifted his head just slightly to deal with the sharp blow. It was true. He felt it like he sensed the injuries he had sustained. The fall would have hurt him when magic had once coursed through his body, but seven days.... "You won't last the night."

He twisted on his heels to face Gideon. The man was lean, and trembling as he looked at the king. But suddenly, he seemed strong and sure of what had to be done. "I'll go," he said at last. The tilt to Jareth's head betrayed emotion he had not yet been willing to reveal.

"No," he said simply, and laid a hand on the door knob. Gideon, however, was at his side, and pushed the Goblin King away. Much to his dismay, Jareth could not fend off the attack. He fixed his old friend with a cold glare, setting his mouth into a thin white line. "You do not want to do this, Gideon. I know the way. They'll find you and they'll kill you. Do you expect me to sit here, healing, while I watch the Underground falling to the hands of that bastard Damien?!"

Gideon tarried at the door. He was yet terrified, seeing the powerful Goblin King reduced to what now stood before him. But there was a mounting determination within him. "Then we'll go together... but not yet. Tomorrow night," Gideon opened the door and a shock of brilliant sun poured across the wood-planked floor. Jareth lifted an eyebrow in question and almost interjected, but instead allowed his mouth to tug itself into a short smile.

"Alright. It is another day for darkness to take the Underground, but Damien is far from having the thirteen...," Jareth laid an arm over Gideon's shoulder, partly in comradary and partly for support as he walked on weakened legs. His muscles quivered, and one knee buckled under his weight as, slowly, they made their way into a long hall, lined with plush mattresses and dressers. Another long line of shelves were stacked along walls, piled with any number of herbs and flora of all kinds.

"Do you mean the crystals?" Damien inquired, careful to breech the subject. Jareth nodded, but he had spent his energy and was walking on sheer power of will. With a sigh he dropped his arm from around Gideon and slipped down to sit, plaintively, on the nearest bed.

"He took mine... hence the mortality. I don't have my magic anymore. The Labyrinth has a new master," he stated, half-musing to himself. Then, as if suddenly brought back to attention, Jareth fixed Gideon in his sight. "For once I am relieved that you chose to leave the Goblin City--- and the borders of my kingdom."

Gideon twisted at the comment, and quickly retired himself to other errands in the place of healing. Jareth, exhausted from the short expenditure of energy, laid back and rested his head on one full pillow. Scents of soothing chamomile filled the air, and Jareth let his eyes slip closed. Gideon had at least been right about one thing, he wasn't ready for the journey to his Father's kingdom. He wouldn't make it past the borders of the Goblin City, much less through the labyrinth.

For a while he enjoyed the feeling of the clean sunshine on his face, until he heard Gideon return with a brief clearing of his throat. Jareth opened his eyes slowly, adjusting them again to the light. Gideon had fresh bandaging in his arms, white linen and a bowl with a white salve that smelled vaguely like… vegetables? Jareth lifted his head and eyed the substance.

"Not sure if I should trust that," he directed the shrug of his shoulders towards the medicine.

"I don't think you have that option… unless you'd rather suffer blood infection and the loss of your leg," Gideon lifted one raven eyebrow and set his face seriously. There was a pinching in the corner of his eye as he waited. Jareth, unable to hold off, faded into laughter as he quickly disrobed.

The body beneath his simple, but warm and dry clothes (some Gideon had obviously changed the Goblin King into after his rescue), was badly bruised. The linen that had dressed his leg wound- which he finally recalled had been inflicted by Damien himself just prior to the perilous fall- was soaked in blood and a patch of inflamed skin circled it a few inches on all sides. His chest was bound as well, and packed against his left side, below his arm.

"It was a long fall, your lucky nothing was broken," Gideon reasoned as he snipped loose the cloth and bandaging material with sharpened scissors. Jareth watched, quietly, as the dressing revealed an angry wound, but with fresh and clean edges that had started to granulate together. Whatever necrotic tissue had once infected the area, was gone. Probably removed by the skillful hand of the healer. "If I had been much later all this tissue," Gideon pointed out the reddened area, "Would have been lost. You'd still be many weeks in bed as it healed. None of my salves can work those sorts of miracles… not anymore."

His eyes tarried on the King at this last statement, and Jareth noted some of the old resentment, and a touch of used jealousy. But it had been so long ago- Jareth ignored the sight and turned, instead, to watch the outside through the open window. "I think it was more than luck. I should be dead, or worse wounded than this. I think Damien knows," Jareth mused. Gideon's hand slipped and the roll of linen he had been, gently, wrapping around Jareth's leg fell on the ground and slid across the room.

"Great," he murmured, under his breath, and retrieved the bandaging quickly, so as to maintain its sterility. Jareth didn't need a chance at new infections. He returned and, snipping part off, looked again at the king. "Lift your arms."

Jareth did as he was told, but his body cried out for the pain that such a movement caused. Gideon just continued to bandage. When the job was done and Jareth redressed, they both sat together and drank warm tea, made with a flower (which Gideon would not name) that brought energy and vitality to those who ingested it. At length Gideon removed both empty cups, letting them sit on the nearest dresser.

"Why is it empty?" Jareth inquired, thinking of the many injured who laid in dirt and petulance found in the Goblin City. He had had an army there, of people (yes, people, not Goblins) who rallied to defend their King. With the threat of darkness many were willing to raise arms. But they had failed, and the causalities sustained were immense. The image of the blood and death filled the Goblin King's mind as he looked at Gideon, waiting an answer.

"I'm retired," Gideon said, shortly, and rose to his feet.

But this was an answer Jareth couldn't accept. He managed to stand, but the pain in his leg and chest burned so that his mind swum. He reached blindly and grabbed hold of the lip of the dresser. One of the two empty cups hit the ground, exploding into thin slices of porcelain. "How can you say that?! Do you know the death that covers the Underground now? Now of all times, you decide to… quit?"

Gideon's anger reared and he came upon the Goblin King so quickly that Jareth, himself, backed down. The bed caught him just behind his knees, and he sat quickly into the mattress. The healer's violet eyes flashed once as he pulled his face tight in his rage. "I served you, Jareth! I was there, or do you forget? Power corrupts, Goblin King, and I saw every last moment of its destruction. But it didn't destroy you, only people I loved--- and those you loved too."

His voice sunk as did his infuriation, and Gideon turned his bowed back to the King. Jareth could find nothing to say. His mouth, slack with shock, hung agape as Gideon went to leave the main hall. "Wait!" The healer paused and turned to look at his once king. Jareth pulled himself up, strode to the middle of the room, and stood in a bank of sun that streamed through the window. "I had no idea."

"Maybe it's time you start paying attention, Jareth. You need to see what's really happening here. I know what needs to be done, as does your father. He'll say the same thing," Gideon remarked, but he was tired, and his voice came out monotone. Jareth's face had blanched. He also knew what was to be suggested.

"No."

"You have to bring her here. Soon he'll find her and then he will have completed what you never could. And the world will fall under darkness and death forever."

Jareth returned to the bed, now queasy with pain and fear and that which had been proposed by Gideon. Somehow it seemed that he had, conveniently, forgotten her and the time she had been in his Labyrinth. His only victor, the only one who ever returned to her home and dull life. Jareth was aghast at the suggestion, but somehow, he had always known that it would come to this. Now, however, he had no way to take her… perhaps that had been a blessing.

"I cannot bring Sarah back," he finally whispered. But it was loud enough for Gideon to hear.

"Then we are all doomed."

* * * * *

Sarah laid on her bed, burying her face into her down comforter as she tossed what remained of the quart of cookie dough ice cream into the nearby garbage. The large soup spoon was still in her hand, dripping melted ice cream on to the aforementioned comforter. It was the answer to every disappointment, ice cream, TV, and plenty of tissues. Now all she needed was Jake, and everything would be absolutely perfect.

"Except for the 'I have no job' part of it," she moaned, lifting her head to rub her red and raw eyes. She reached out, searched briefly for the remote control and, finding it, clicked it to another channel. Casablanca was on American Movie Classics and, sighing, Sarah resigned herself to watch whatever remained of it. She rested her chin in her hands and, using her elbows to prop herself up, started to watch it.

Her intercom buzzed and Sarah drug herself away from the sweet self indulgences and her personal yuckiness. She slipped over the carpet in blue bunny slippers and clicked the button. "Yes?" There was a static hiss, though no comment. She was already frustrated and so her voice raised on the second time addressing her visitors. "Is anyone there?" Nothing. FINE Sarah turned to leave again.

Another buzz. Sarah stomped over. "What?!" Silence, save the static. She contemplated tearing the intercom off the wall, but decided that her insurance company might not understand the details behind her claim. But she wasn't about to play the games anymore. She crossed quickly to the other side of the room and, pulling open her drape, peered down to the locked entrance to their complex.

A shape cloaked in black stood at the steps, obscured mostly by the fact that it was night and the only light offered was by way of a dim street lamp casting orange on the sidewalk and against the building wall. Sarah narrowed her eyes, ignoring the buzzing from behind her. The thing was all in shadows, millions of shades of black and gray converging into uniformity. She shook her head, trying to pick out her visitor amidst the black surroundings.

"What is this?" she asked herself, nerves tightening to near a snapping point. Then it turned, and she sensed more than saw the being stare at her. But more than that it seemed to look into her. Sarah felt it probing in her mind, searching her for something. Something it wanted. She cringed, feeling poisoned from the sensation of such an act- like a mental rape. Sarah fell back with a little cry, letting the drape cover the window again, and landed swiftly on her tailbone.

She rushed to secure the deadbolt and slide her chain into place across the door. Then, still sensing the beast's glare, ran into her room and locked that door as well. Not until she was well hidden under her comforter with every light off, save one, did she dare to breath.

Sarah stayed like that until Jake called. And didn't open her door until she heard his voice.