Disclaimer: I attempted to enlist Jennifer's Connelly's help in purchasing the rights. She replied that I had no power over her and that I should get a life. (Pouty face) Still don't own it.
"I lie to myself all the time, but I never believe me."
- S.E. Hinton
A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews! I love to hear your reactions or suggestions for how the story plays out. I had a rough story map, but Jareth's already bogged it and decided to do his own thing (sigh…so melodramatic).
Honoria Granger: I see why you say the comment about the betting was confusing in the last chapter. I've revised the wording slightly, and hopefully brought some clarity. Appreciate the input.
kellyn1604: Jareth was pretty snarky and egotistical in the movie. I wanted to explore that side of him a little more. Stay tuned…
Sunday…and snowing. Sarah lay dozing on the couch, one hand tucked under a couch pillow, the other hanging off the couch, just touching the book she'd been reading, which now lay spine side up on the floor. Saturday had been enjoyable, though tiring. She'd taken the train out to her old home to see her family and to support Toby's football team in the playoffs. It never ceased to amaze her how the curly-headed blond cherub had morphed into a tall, muscular guy. It was amazing to see him launching himself over other football players to tackle an opponent, or darting down the field, ball tucked securely under his arm.
It had been so cold that Sarah had kept her gloved hands shoved inside her coat, and she hadn't been warm since. She'd stayed for dinner, spent the night, and taken the train back that morning. After arriving home, she'd changed into track pants and a t-shirt, flopped on the couch with a book and a glass of wine, and promptly fell asleep.
Consequently, she was oblivious to the pensive monarch who was lounging in her club chair, one leg thrown lazily over the chair's arm, chin resting on his hand. Jareth was staring at the sleeping Sarah, his brow furrowed, lost in his thoughts. This had not been his intention….. What had been his intention was to magic the dress for the patron's evening onto her sleeping person, and startle her awake with a sarcastic comment, his pelvis inches from her face. He always found a great deal of amusement in her discomfort with his proximity, especially when that proximity involved any kind of sexual overtone.
And yet….he'd found himself lounging in Sarah's chair observing her…..sleeping. What the devil was wrong with him? It wasn't befitting his station, his superiority as a being. He tilted his head, considering the effect of her raven hair that had fallen in waves against the white skin of her face and neck. It was a striking contrast. He imagined that both the skin and the hair felt like silk to the touch. Cursing under his breath, he looked away from the sleeping woman, resting his forehead on his hand, angry at his reaction to the sleeping Sarah. At least her eyes could not haunt him with the memory of the human girl who'd defeated his labyrinth…and rejected him.
He found that his all-consuming anger burned at more of a simmer than a boil when confronted with this Sarah. "Tch," Jareth silently admonished himself. There was a vendetta to settle, a price that must be paid for her impertinence. He did not regret what he'd caused to happen to her over the past twelve years. The more practiced dimensionals understood that one rarely reclaimed one's dignity after being completely captivated by a human. Dalliances were acceptable. After all, human were emotional, responsive, somewhat fascinating, and short-lived.
Sarah shifted in her sleep, flinging one arm against the back of the sofa, nearly missing her wine glass. Jareth waved a hand, and the glass moved silently to the far edge of the table, away from the couch. She did have a terrible tendency to slosh wine about. He rose from the chair quickly and silently, scowling at his show of weakness. Weakness had been the cause of his humiliating defeat twelve years ago at the thoughtless words of a human girl, reciting lines from a silly play….about him. He smirked mirthlessly at the irony, strolling lazily to stand behind the couch, his boots silent on the wooden floors. He rested his leather-clad elbows on the couch and leaned just over her head, the longer strands of his hair lightly brushing her shoulder. He inhaled deeply just over her hair, as he'd wanted to do in the Escher room when they had begun discussions about their new agreement.
He breathed in the clean scent of her shampoo, detecting a hint of something that reminded him of warm, exotic nights in the forests of this realm. Jareth rose, closing his eyes in exasperation. "What in the name of the ancient mother is wrong with you?" he mentally chided himself. He wondered if he could bog himself, if he would be able to dissolve the stench when he'd drowned the weakness. This was madness, and unproductive. He flicked his wrist without thinking, causing the dress to appear on her bed, as none of her gowns were acceptable to be seen with him. Surveying the small apartment with glaring, mismatched eyes, his gaze rested on her wine glass. He waved his hand towards the glass, which became a golden goblet. The foul liquid had been replaced with one of his best vintages. Sarah should come to understand the superiority of his realm and everything in it. Jareth flicked his wrist and disappeared.
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Sara woke by degrees, eyes fluttering open and closed at intervals, relishing every minute of sleep she could get. Finally, she stretched languidly, and propped herself up on her elbows. Catching sight of the window, she realized it was evening. "Super, Williams. You slept the day away." She groaned as she sat up, groggily pulling her hair back and securing it with the clip that had fallen out while she was sleeping. She rubbed her hands over her face and glanced back at the time on the microwave. Perfect. She had to be at work in less than twelve hours, and she hadn't even unpacked her overnight bag.
"Crap!" she moaned, remembering that she'd agreed to be the unfortunate victim of Val and Antonio's dinner tomorrow evening. She hadn't even picked an outfit, and she definitely didn't want to come back to her apartment and have to trek back into the city. Why had she agreed to it? She hated blind dates, and it was a blind date, no matter how much Val danced around it and sprinkled it with sunshine. Sarah sat for a moment, being generally cranky and irritated, until she finally woke up completely…..and sensed that something just wasn't right.
She glared at the coffee table. How had her wine glass moved to the far edge? When she'd begun reading, she'd left it just within reach. She also realized that it wasn't her wine glass. The chalice-like cup was a golden hue, with ornate carvings of vines and gargoyle faces adorning the stem. No, not gargoyle faces…goblin faces! Sarah stood suddenly, her blanket falling to the floor and approached the goblet tentatively. There was a liquid in it, though it looked to be darker than the reds she usually drank. She carefully grasped the goblet with both hands and held it under her nose. "Oh my god," she whispered hoarsely. She'd never experienced such an intoxicating oaky aroma (were there oak trees Underground?), and something spicy she couldn't quite place – but it worked. Oh, it worked. She began to bring the goblet to her lips, when she had a sudden, unsettling thought.
Had he been here? While she was sleeping? Had she drooled? Oh, god, had he seen her in her track pants and t-shirt? That would be an excellent way to begin their…game? Challenge? She could see him smirking over her now, watching her drool on her pillow, encouraging his goblins to laugh at her track suit. "Egotistical jerk," she thought. Her head snapped towards the small hallway, as she thought she saw a shadow dart past. Slowly, she set the goblet on the table and tentatively crept towards the short hallway. Hearing squeaky giggling and a pouncing sound coming from her bedroom, she moved against the wall and peeked around the door frame. On her bed was a small green goblin with yellow eyes, jumping joyfully on her bed…..wearing her beige chenille sweater that covered most of its body, looking like a bouncing sack. Then, she saw the dress.
Sarah jerked her head back into the hall, furrowing her brow in frustration, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Things were definitely out of control, and she didn't think they would get better anytime soon. Hello, happy pills.
