Sarah discovered when she got home that a porter had been there to drop off her bags. It irritated her that Jareth had seen to that. Irene and her father were waiting with anxious questions when she arrived; Toby had told them someone had tried to jump her in the parking lot, and that she'd been detained while she made a report with the police. Irene was horrified that something like that could happen here. She made vague allusions to Jareth driving up the crime rate, winning her a few brownie points with Sarah.

Toby waited for an opportunity to speak to Sarah privately. "I'm placing guards at every known entrance to the Underground," he assured her.

"There's no point; spreading the goblin army that thin will make it too vulnerable, as you know perfectly well," Sarah reproached. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

"Fine; but I'm keeping the guards I've posted at the mirror." Sarah glanced at it and found four very big, tough-looking goblins holding mops and buckets menacingly. They bowed their heads to her respectfully. "And I'm keeping a guard contingent on you at all times –no argument!" A number of small goblins flicked in the periphery of Sarah's field of vision as they saluted Toby, and then quickly returned to their hiding places.

Sarah pressed her lips together, considering what Jareth had told her. She carefully withdrew the dagger. Her escort gasped as one.

"An iron dagger, is she crazy?!"

"She'll kill us all!"

She exposed half an inch of the blade and offered it to Toby. "Touch the middle, not the edges. Be very careful not to cut yourself."

Toby frowned. He reached out for the knife but didn't get more than a few inches from it when he withdrew his hand as if he had gotten too close to something very hot. "I can't; just getting close to it gives me the creeps. Are you sure it's iron and not, like, uranium?"

Sarah sheathed the dagger once again. "It might as well be, for a magical creature. Even fae, who are otherwise immortal, can be killed with an iron weapon." She pressed her lips in a grim line again. "And you, too, by the look of things."

"That's crazy! There's iron in my body, as mom keeps worrying about how much I'm eating," Toby countered.

"This is Cold Iron, and it's a little different. It's not chemically bonded to another element, and I think that makes a difference. See, most weapons are made of steel, since it's much stronger and doesn't rust as quickly, but even the best-made Japanese katana wouldn't be much of a threat against someone like the Queen of Cups. She wouldn't get to close to this, though" Sarah patted her dagger. "It will keep her and her minions at bay, but the downside is that it's just as much of a danger to you and the goblins."

"Put it away!"

"Throw it away!"

"No, don't do that, what if it ends up in the Labyrinth?"

"Feed it to a dog!"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "No, I'm keeping it. I promise to only use it against my enemies, and only as a last resort, but I won't give up my best defence against the creatures of Morraine."

The goblins whispered amongst themselves in agitated voices, but didn't argue further.

"So no goblin should get within twenty paces of me."

"Deal!" every goblin in earshot agreed without hesitation.

"And no goblins allowed in my room or the bathroom."

This caused some confused murmurs, but Sarah reached for the blade again and the Goblins all squealed "DEAL!!" again.

"Good. Now, I'll see you in the morning; this has been a very, very long day."

* * *

James, or Switchblade Jimmy, as he was usually known, was king of his particular hill. That hill being the Illinois State Penitentiary. He ruled the inmates there without question. Right now, he was enjoying one of the many perks that came with his position: privacy. Or at least, he should be. He looked up from the book he had been reading when someone cleared their throat. He flashed the intruder a look to tell them they would be dead before they could run, but his expression changed to alarm when he saw the man standing in front of him.

"What the fuck, Jareth? I thought you got out!" Jimmy waved out the bodyguards who had been guarding the door. They retreated hastily when they recognized Jareth.

"I did; hence my lack of prison chic orange." Jareth indicated his outfit, a sleek business suit.

"You look Wall Street."

Jareth cringed. "I've been trying to stay away from criminal elements since my release. You couldn't catch me near the place."

"Funny you would say that, seeing who you're talking to," Jimmy countered irritably.

"A matter of necessity; I've come to collect your debt."

Jimmy paled. "You appear like magic, wearin' sleek clothes and talkin' deals. You sure you ain't the devil?"

Jareth gave a short laugh. "It would make life much easier if I were. And I doubt Lucifer would waste time making deals with people he already owns." He shook his head. "You Americans are so dichotomized; things are either good or evil, be they gods, politicians or brands of soap! In reality, things are rarely so straightforward." This clinical analysis lent itself to Jimmy's impression that Jareth wasn't quite human. He repressed a shiver.

"What you want?"

"I want you to get every inmate in the state tested."

"For what, their GED?" they both burst out laughing.

"No; the sort of test you can't fail: a blood test. I'll have all the details sent to the warden: you need only ensure the inmates' cooperation."

"That sounds too easy."

"It isn't; when I say I want you to get every inmate tested, I mean all of them. Minimum-security, maxiumum-security, mental patient, black, white, latino, aboriginal: everyone. Should even one refuse, I will consider this deal forfeit and your debt unpaid. On the other hand, if you manage to get inmates from out-of-state, in addition to everyone here, I will be very pleased, and in a very generous mood. So, what do you say; do we have a deal?" Jareth extended a hand tipped with long, claw-like fingernails.

Some guys were like wolves or sharks, but Jareth was a leopard: he hid his fangs and claws under a beautiful, soft coat. Jimmy had an uncharacteristic moment, when he remembered a poem by Christopher Okibo that someone had shown them all for Black History month one year;

Gentle hunter.

His tail plays on the ground,

while he crushes the skull.

Beautiful death,

who puts on a spotted robe

when he goes to his victim.

Playful killer,

whose loving embrace

splits the antelope's heart.

No one knew what Jareth was capable of, though there had been rumours. If Jareth had done anything nasty while he was in prison, he was very careful to leave no trace of it behind; even getting out on good behaviour. But the few guys who had tried to jump him had been so terrified by their experiences that they didn't breathe a word of what had happened, and still woke up screaming, begging him for mercy as he haunted their nightmares. It hadn't taken much to figure out that Jareth was a guy you wanted on your side. Being at the top meant you could also get your underling to test out the new guy, while keeping your hands clean. But like anything in the pen, that 'friendship' had come at a price. Now Jareth had come to collect. If Jimmy backed out, he'd be branded a coward for the rest of his life, and that was a very bad reputation to have when you've been sentenced to life in prison.

Jimmy took the offered hand as if he were saying hello to his best buddy after being away for a very long time. He ignored the chills that raced down his spine. "Deal."

"I'll hold you to that," Jareth shook a translucent finger at him before fading to nothing. "Oh, and you have three weeks," his disembodied voice informed him.

Jimmy howled at the place Jareth had been, letting out a sting of invectives that nearly landed him in solitary pending a psychological assessment.

* * *

They say that if you throw a frog into a pot of boiling water, it will jump right back out, but if you put it in a pot of cool water, and slowly turn up the heat, it will happily sit there until it is boiled alive. Sarah was pretty sure Jareth knew that old adage. She hadn't noticed at first; he was around a lot. Understandable, since the Queen of Cups was making every attempt to kill Sarah. Then he was around more, as Toby acknowledged he needed Jareth's help in controlling and using the Goblin King's magic, and Sarah insisted this be done under her supervision. He would pass by her just close enough that their clothes would brush against each other. Then, he would place a hand on her shoulder, lightly. But Sarah wasn't a frog, and the day he placed both hands on her shoulders, she finally realized what his game was. She whirled around to confront him, only to see unabashed bedroom eyes gazing back at her. Determined to keep things PG around her brother (even if he was 19), she didn't call him on it, but simply banished him to the other side of the room.

But Jareth had gotten his foot in the door, and the both knew it. When Toby was around, Jareth dropped salacious hints that most people who had never read a bodice-ripper would not quite understand (including, thankfully, Toby).

Toby, meanwhile, had developed a state of neutrality in the whole affair that probably made him eligible for some Swiss award of valour. He tried to deafen himself to Jareth's advances, trusting his sister to handle herself, and constraining his comments to polite reminders that Jareth was supposed to be teaching him to use the magic he had inherited, not macking on Sarah.

When they were alone (or, more often had no one but her goblin guard around), Jareth made graphic suggestions of what they might do. Her refusals were firm and immediate, but Jareth was relentless. It didn't help that it had been a while since the last time Sarah had gotten any…male attention.

The London theatre dating scene was quite inbred, and "branching out" usually meant dating someone from the food service industry; chefs and servers being some of the few people who had time off when actors did. Tattoos, chain-smoking and salty language were common among the London food-service folk, three of Sarah's biggest turn-offs, so she avoided them.

And so, Sarah had been single for over a year. Compounding this was the fact that Sarah had a very vivid imagination, and no one knew that better than Jareth. His whispered promises filled her head with erotic fantasies that overflowed into her dreams almost every night. That…frustration seriously weakened Sarah's position in the game of chicken Jareth had engaged her in.

Sarah wasn't sure whether she should be ashamed or proud that she held out for five whole weeks against his relentless attentions. The tension in the air was palpable, and even the Queen of Cups seemed to know that time was almost up: she sent every minion she could spare against Sarah in one final, desperate attack. It was a furious battle, and Sarah and Jareth ended up fighting back-to-back while her little goblin bodyguards harassed their ranks from the outside. When the beasts finally stopped coming, Sarah leaned on her knees and gasped for breath, too tired to care that she was drenched and bleeding.

"You're hurt," Jareth told her with more concern than she liked.

Still gasping for air, she slowly looked up at him, and then down at the arm he was looking at. There was a long gash in it. "Jus' a scratch," she puffed. Bastard wasn't even winded. Aside for the fact that he was just as soaked as she, you'd never know he'd just killed several dozen water creatures. He didn't even look ruffled, let alone injured!

"I beg to differ," he countered as he came to her good side and gently lifted her uninjured arm over his shoulders. He bent down so that she wasn't too strained while he supported her. "I insist you let me tend to it." Sarah was too tired to argue, but alarm bells immediately went off, as she discovered they were now inside MacLellan Manor. With what appeared to be a single movement, he lowered her into an easy chair while placing his jacket under her injured arm to protect the expensive upholstery. For the life of her, Sarah could not figure out how he'd managed to remove his jacket during all of this, but it was definitely a bad sign that he could.

He left her and returned shortly with a first-aid kit Sarah recognized from several childhood misadventures while playing with Jennie. He carefully cleaned the wound and bandaged it so gently Sarah actually shivered once or twice. When he was done, Jareth checked her over for more injuries. His eyes stopper right at her chest. It was only then Sarah realized her white shirt and nude bra were both completely soaked through, leaving little to the imagination. Her face was suddenly hot.

She grabbed a handful of his hair, which was still wild despite being as wet as the rest of them, and his eyes snapped up to look into hers. Before she had time to think, she had pulled him into a rough kiss. Jareth slipped a hand behind her, under her shirt, into the small of her back and lifted her to her feet, pressing her body to his.

They had changed locales again, and were now in a bedroom. If there were an Olympic sport for undressing, Jareth would be the gold medallist for the last ten years, and probably just set a new world record while stripping them both.

He then proceeded to do items 1 through 37 on the list of lascivious suggestions he had accrued over the last several weeks, starting with laying her down on the bed, kneeling down and doing things with his tongue that made her eyes roll back while she lost the ability to form words.

Sarah quickly discovered he hadn't lied about a damn thing. Not. A. thing. Jareth didn't stop until Sarah waved in surrender. Now, at least, he was breathless. He collected her up in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the head as the exhaustion of their battle and post-battle victory celebration caught up with her. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, she thought she heard him say, "I love you…"