Disclaimer: In the interest of avoiding redundancy, I will simply say SEE CHAPTER ONE. (claps hands together) That oughtta do it.

Domino

Chapter Four – Taxi

"John," Sarah said. "John get off."

Still on top of her, he breathed a heavy sigh, but finally acquiesced, moving to leadenly collapse on the leather next to her.

"Sarah, we're a couple. This is what couples do." He ran a hand through his slicked brown hair. "And it's our anniversary. Sixth months! Can't we at least have some fun?"

"I am having fun," she said tiredly. "Some of us aren't primitive beasts all the time. Why do you have to be a pig?"

Sarah swore that the taxi driver, beneath the lid of his checkered hat, was chuckling to himself.

Rude.

"Stop the cab," said John.

Immediately, the driver pulled over to the curb, so swiftly that the wheels banked up onto it. Sarah gripped the seat from being jostled.

John opened the door, reaching into his jacket and pulling out two tickets to the Metropolitan Opera's production of Madame Butterfly before doing so. He slammed them down on the black seat and got out.

"Have fun," he said. "The tickets cost me a fortune. One for you and one for that stick up your ass."

"John…" Sarah started, beginning to exit the limousine. One of her stiletto heels was placed on the pavement. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Goblin kings. Books. Poofy dresses. Dreams. Platinum bed hair.

The list was too long to calculate really.

"I'm just in a bad mood. I didn't mean to ruin our anniversary." She pouted, hooking one of her teeth on her crimson lower lip as she did so. "Do you want your present now?"

"God, I swear Sarah. I always feel like you're far away from me. I feel like you're bound to fly away any minute."

Again, she heard the taxi driver laugh.

"Do you have a problem?" John snapped at him.

"No hablo Ingles," the driver responded.

Sarah rolled her eyes. John turned back to his girlfriend. "I just don't want to lose you."

Sarah felt a strange emotion writhe in the pit of her stomach. It wrapped itself around her stomach and squeezed like a boa constricter.

Guilt.

"I'm sorry John," she said again. "I've just… been out of it lately I guess. I keep having déjà vu moments and these really weird dreams."

Sarah saw the taxi cab driver cough into his gloved hand.

Gloves are stupid.

"Do you think those make you look intimidating or something?" she demanded of him.

"Eh?"

"Sarah honey," John reminded. "He doesn't speak English, remember?"

She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. "See? It's like I'm crazy."

Losing my marbles.

"You're not crazy."

"I'm having trouble remembering things sometimes," she said. "Like today. I knew it was our anniversary. Just knew it. I've been debating over what to get you for ages, before finally deciding on that wristwatch you're wearing."

John was silent a moment. "What watch?"

"The brand name one on your wrist. You've been eyeing it in the storefront window for months. Don't trick me right now."

"Sweetheart…" John started. "I'm not wearing a watch."

"Yes you are," she sat up and yanked on his wrist, wrenching his coat cuffs up to point out to him that there was…

No watch…

"I swear to God I gave it to you."

"No," he said. "No you didn't. Sarah are you okay?"

He put a palm to her forehead, checking for a fever. Sarah briefly wondered why people always did that when they thought something was wrong.

She swatted his hand away. "Just fine."

"You sure?" he asked. "You feel a little warm."

"I'm just… flustered is all."

Goodbye marbles.

She could practically feel them trickling out of her head. It was disconcerting to say the least.

"You could give it to me now?" John suggested.

Sarah shook her head, trying to shake the distinct memory she had of giving John the watch earlier when he'd come to pick her up. Instead of reminding him of that again, she reached for her purse. Sure enough, to her bewilderment, a small red box rested in the bottom, tucked between her mascara and cell phone.

She pulled it out and handed it to him, her brows pulled together in frustrated confusion.

"I swear…" she mumbled.

John opened the lid and looked in, eyes alighting on the Armani leather band and shining silver faceplate immediately. "I love it!" he exclaimed. "It's exactly what I wanted. Thanks, honey."

Another moment of déjà vu caught Sarah. She'd seen him putting the watch on his wrist before, precisely as he just did. He'd even flicked the glass screen one time before thanking her, just as he did now. It reminded Sarah of that odd sensation where you think there's one more step and there isn't.

John reached for her, and pulled her to him. She let him kiss her for a moment, before she was prodded in the shoulder.

"Deseo a la duendes que vienen me fuera ahora mismo?" asked the driver. His face was still shrouded in the shadow of his hat.

He must have been trying to ask a where they were going.

"Oh, um… 64th street," John said, before glancing at his new watch. "And step on it."

"No, no, no."

Sarah thought the driver's voice sounded strange.

"Deseo a la duendes que vienen me fuera ahora mismo?"

"Didn't you take Spanish in college?" John asked her.

"A little bit."

"Can you understand what he's saying?"

"Um…" Sarah glanced back at the mysterious driver. "Repeat? Repita?"

The driver sighed. Sarah's lips puckered. His accent sounded entirely un-Spanish. "Deseo a la duendes que…"

"Deseo a la duendes que," Sarah repeated. She thought she detected the word desire in there.

"Vienen me fuera ahora mismo." The driver began tapping his fingers on the headrest.

"Vienen me fuera ahora mismo…" She searched through her mind, trying to figure out what the words meant. Spanish class had been so long ago, and she'd spent it as she'd spent most classes. That is to say, daydreaming.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what you're saying."

She could see a thin slit of a mouth cock sideways in a familiar smirk. "Good."The voice rang clear and strong, filling the car to the brim with its rich and heavily accented tone.

Jareth tore the cap off of his head and shook his tussled mane of blonde hair. "You know, Sarah, you really shouldn't say things if you don't know what they mean."

Sarah's mouth hung open. Jareth took the liberty of closing it for her with a fingertip. "It's not polite to stare," he quirked an eyebrow, before adding, "Though I don't blame you."

"Um… Sarah…" John stuttered. "Who… is this?"

"Ah," Jareth said. "The unworthy, inadequate suitor. Shall I call you Gaspar or Paris or Mr. Collins? "

"John actually," he said.

"Perfect. It suits your mediocrity. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll take my Belle and be gone."

Jareth reached forward and gripped Sarah around the shoulders. "I'd offer my hand dear, but seeing as you take offense to generosity in any form…"

"Son of a bitch."

"Don't worry," said Jareth, grinning. "You'll get over it. I promise. You always do."

John watched, aghast, as they vanished in a puff of glitter.

a/n: erm… this was supposed to be longer, and it is in my head. It's just… I'm long on ideas, short on time if you know what I'm saying. I'll try to get the other part out tonight, or tomorrow, or… Thursday? How's Thursday sound? Eesh. But, anyway, thanks to my delightful, delicious, delovely reviewers. And, oh, one more note. The reason I made Jareth a twin. Ahem… well, I was reading an article in a magazine about strange quirks in twins. One of them is two-toned eyes! Guess who immediately invaded my thoughts? Jareth the Goblin King. And presto!