Chapter 10

The following morning Sarah was late for work. When she did arrive she looked as if she hadn't slept and her hair was falling out of its tie. Jareth watched her from the corner of his eye: she laid out her work and supplies methodically, but with a lethargy that implied a great of concentration for something that should be routine.

None of my business, he argued with himself, you're getting involved with a Welch.

Sarah stared at her easel and began to absently chew her fingernails. Not understanding the reasons himself Jareth left the work area and found him self in the small break room pouring a cup of coffee. He grabbed two creamers and went back to Sarah. All right, it was a touchy situation, perhaps even a foolish situation, but he couldn't stand to see a woman cry. Even when he broke their hearts cruelly and deftly, he always had a handkerchief at the ready for their tears. It may have been morbid, but tears made him anxious. And Sarah Williams looked fit for a break down.

He nudged her shoulder with the styrofoam cup. "Most people only get birthdays once a year," he said. "Don't tell me you're stuck with two?"

She smiled thinly. "Thanks," she mumbled taking the cup.

Jareth returned to his chair and his work. Twice Sarah Williams had confided in him without invitation; when she was ready, she would again. Faintly he heard the scuffling of her shoes as she kicked them off and the rustling of paper as she began to work.

Around noon she told him that she would be taking a long lunch, and then she never returned. Jareth was weighing in his mind what her absence could be and why it mattered to him when the phone rang. "Jareth, it's Sarah. Ghads, I was afraid you wouldn't pick up. You always seem to be awkward with the phone."

"I am here. Sarah what is it?"

"Nothing, actually and everything. I just need some help. All my life I've been doing this alone, but I don't want to any more." She went on to explain that this year's curse recipient had survived and was being released from the hospital that afternoon. "She's in a wheel chair though and her apartment has only a stair well. Care to take to task three flights of stairs?"

"It's just your luck that I worked out this morning. Tell me where to meet you."

He left word with the guilt ridden cookie hoarding receptionist that he would be out the remainder of the afternoon. The city of Chandler's cooling season was more spring like than winter. The oppressive heat had eased up, and even with the threat of possible over night freezes some plants were attempting bloom. The only difference in season that made any common sense was the marked change in the sky- the blue tint of fall had deepened to a lovely azure. That and the absurd holiday decorations.

After a twenty minute taxi ride he found himself at an apartment complex similar to his own. Sarah had told him to meet her at the covered parking at the south end. By far Sarah looked more collected than she had that morning: her hair was smoothed and her eyes were bright. She waited with a woman seated comfortably in a wheel chair. Comfortable as could be expected as the woman had a wrist brace on and her left leg was raised in support as well. Both women smiled at him as he approached.

"Thank you so much Jareth," said Sarah genuinely. "This is Maria Ostango. Maria, Jareth Choblyn."

Despite all of her apparent injuries Maria Ostango radiated a positive light; an older woman who hid the marks of time well with coiffed hair and highlighting makeup. "Pleasure," she said extending her free hand.

To Jareth' amusement he saw freshly coated nail polish shine on her finger tips. He bowed politely. "Ms Ostango, I hear you need to conquer three flights of stairs."

"And I hear that you're just the man for the job. I know it'll be a beast of a task, but simply put I am ready to be among my own things again," said Maria with a dramatic wave of her hand.

"Very well my lady," replied Jareth taking hold of the chair's handles.

Had Jareth been an Arizona native he probably would have been thankful for the high eighties degree weather. Sweating never had appealed to him, especially in front of the fairer sex. With Sarah guiding the way he maneuvered Ms Ostango to her third story apartment just before he found himself embarrassingly sweating through his shirt. He looked disheveled and sincerely hoped that Sarah took no notice of his undignified state.

Ms Ostango took the bumps of the stairs with quiet determination only occasionally issuing some curse at the elevator gods and their lack of mercy. Jareth was quite certain there were no such beings nor ever had been, but if he ever learned otherwise he would sure to send his best goblin to pay them a visit.

"Refreshments are in order," declared Ms Ostango as Sarah unlocked her door. "Though I'm not sure what I have."

Sarah held the door while Jareth wheeled her friend in. "I went grocery shopping for you, Maria. I figured until your physical therapist says otherwise you and the stairs shall see very little of each other."

"You are a dear Sarah. My therapist wants to start right away, and while I admire the woman's gusto a little empathy wouldn't hurt her. Mr. Choblyn,"

"Please my lady, call me Jareth."

"Jareth steer me to the couch then. Thank you. I don't know what you've been about Sarah," she then said as Jareth helped elevate her leg. "He's polite, kind, and gentle and not to bad at physical excursion. A man like that needs to be about all the time."

Sarah mumbled something unintelligible and went to the kitchen to see about drinks. After situating Ms Ostango with another pillow, a pink thing with gaudy lace, and having given her the remote to the television Jareth followed Sarah's path. He glanced around as he moved away: there was an unhealthy amount of floral print and lace, and an odd assortment of sun catchers visible in every window. It felt as if Maria Ostango had tried to build a faux garden in the middle of the desert.

In the kitchen Sarah was taking out drinking glasses from a cupboard. He watched her for a moment and said, "It's never your fault."

Startled she looked over at him. "What?"

"These things that happen. Your friend in there. It's not your fault."

Silent she moved from the counter to the fridge, retrieved a jug of lemon aid, and returned to the counter. "She was on vacation in California. On my birthday she calls me, says she's going out on a boat and that she will see me when she gets back. A bizarre accident lands her in two different hospitals, a surgery to fix her knee, and now weeks of therapy. Yeah, how dare I feel any guilt," she said dryly.

Jareth took the jug away from her. "Listen, princess you have got to stop beating yourself up for things that are out of your control."

That and if you have a Welch, he thought anxiously, this negative attitude will only feed it.

"I doubt very much that Maria Ostango blames you," he added.

"No, I know she doesn't."

From the other room came the sound of a game show: applause and the reading of scores.

"After so many years though," said Sarah. "After it being so consistent, Jareth I don't know who else to blame. I'm cursed."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Ever hear of self-fulfilling prophecies?"

She asked him to get the ice trays from the freezer. "Right because I made the boat tip over hundreds of miles away."

"It's not you princess," he insisted.

It was Sarah's turn to roll her eyes. The ice clanked as she dropped cubes into the glasses. She said, "Would you stop with the strange nickname already. For someone who claims I'm not their type, it's a bit odd."

"What- 'princess'?"

"Yeah." She poured the lemon aid.

Jareth smiled. "It's what your name means."

Until this moment it hadn't even registered with Jareth that he had been calling her that: princess. Apparently his subconscious was trying to define Sarah Williams.

Despite her objections Sarah actually smiled at him in return. Then she shook her head. "Well I've got to be one of the sorriest excuses for a princess there ever was. Maybe I'm one of those lost princesses, you know, kidnapped at birth."

The walls of protection were back up and she was doing something ridiculous from the battlements to cause a distraction. Jareth hummed thoughtfully. "We would need to do some experiments." He took two glasses of lemon aid. "Perhaps changing your hair a bit might lend you a more royal air."

"Would that make me more your type?"

He shrugged feigning indifference. "I've always had a thing for curls."

Moving past him she said, "Noted."

They stayed with Maria another good hour. Maria played a surrogate role with Sarah, teetering between aunt and mother. He watched as Sarah let her in easily to her personal space, dropping her defenses once more. When Maria once more pointed out that a man such as Jareth needed to around more often Sarah scowled and made excuses about her work keeping her busy enough.

"She was ever that way Jareth," said Maria. "I started telling her ten years ago: find a good looking man to distract your thoughts and you will find life a whole lot more agreeable. Tell me, are you any good at distraction?"

Jareth bit the inside of his cheek at Sarah's taken aback expression, but failed to completely hide his smile. "Personally I believe I am quite good at distraction," he replied. "But Miss Williams will have none of it."

Maria shook your head. "That's her false front."

"Indeed. Are a few thorns worth the rose?"

Maria's hand moved out to gracefully show case Sarah. "You tell me," she replied.

Sarah sighed exasperated. "So is this flirting or goading?"

"Curl your hair of an evening princess, and you will know new meanings of both words," said Jareth.

Maria clapped her hands and gave a shout of approval.

"Trouble," stated Sarah giving Maria a pointed look. She collected their glasses. "Home no more than an hour and you are causing trouble. And that would be our cue to return to work." She smiled as she turned away towards the kitchen.

Outside Sarah offered to drive them both back to the office. In the car between pondering Maria Ostango and the notion of being chauffeured by a woman, Jareth took the time to study Sarah Williams. He had to admit that her hair was a lovely shade of dark brown, near black in certain lights. And if it were curled it would frame her cheeks and chin nicely. He cocked his head forward to see her face better- she had hazel eyes. Leaning back in the seat he thought about her wearing an emerald top that would intensify her eye color and the soft cascade of curls falling on her shoulder. Sarah Williams had the potential to be remarkably stunning. Marcus would be scowling at me right now, he thought amused.