Labyrinth's setting and characters don't belong to me. I'm just taking them out for a walk, helping them get some exercise, you know... the usual.

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Chapter 10: Let's Dance

He was waiting for her in the ballroom the next day.

"Sloppy."

"What?"

"You. Your dancing is sloppy."

"What?!"

"There's no other word for it. It might pass for entertaining ignorant goblins, but you're going to have to do better than that to represent this kingdom, Sarah."

Sarah struggled to keep a tight rein on her temper. She had barely slept the night before, despite being exhausted by the combined physical and magical effort of her performance, and the last thing she needed was a confrontation in the heart of her personal sanctuary. Sand's song had forced Sarah to acknowledge how much she had wanted her peach-induced dream to be true, for the Goblin King to be in love with her, for the pain in his eyes to be for her, not some woman he'd known years before she'd arrived. Jareth's departure before the end of her performance had hurt more than she cared to admit. More than once through the long night she'd wondered if it was some form of revenge. She'd once left him in the middle of a dance, after all. But nothing he'd done since her return had suggested he felt anything other than disdain for her, certainly not that he cared enough to enact revenge. She had come to the conclusion that he had left because he was bored, or worse. She chided herself repeatedly for confusing fantasy and reality, but it eased neither the ache nor the fear that trailed in the wake of her thoughts of the Goblin King.

Having spent much of the night running a mental treadmill of self-pity and anxiety, she had then faced an emotionally demanding morning fielding enthusiastic compliments with false cheer during her shift in the kitchen. Everyone had loved the evening, wanted to know when the next one would be, wanted to know when the King might perform for them, and it had taken every ounce of control not to scream or burst into tears. She'd desperately needed to retreat; to then be confronted with an arrogant, scathing dismissal of her efforts from the very man who had been tormenting her thoughts.... On second thought, Sarah realized she wasn't keeping a rein on her temper at all. She could feel her nails biting into her palms and her limbs tremble. She forced herself to take a deep breath and relax, promising herself she would deal with her anger later. If he hadn't liked the performance, she was going to find out why. It was the only way she'd be able to do improve. She was going to be an adult, a professional, not a little girl lamenting fruitless daydreams.

"Perhaps if your majesty could be more specific? It's very difficult for me to see myself while I'm dancing. That is why I wanted an audience to practice in front of, after all."

Jareth was surprised. He was baiting her intentionally – the snarling anger in her eyes made his blood race, and he could hear her repressed annoyance in her clipped and careful speech – but both her determination to resist that anger and her request for specifics caught him off guard. He hadn't really thought beyond the excuse for a confrontation that had been plaguing his thoughts throughout the restless night. Her reaction to the song the previous evening had initially puzzled him: while she had clearly not known about the song in advance, Sarah had just as clearly feared his reaction to it. Watching her dance, he had realized that she believed he would see the song as encouragement, that he would assume she had chosen it as a message for him, a message that she would welcome the renewal of his affections. Her distress, then, indicated the opposite; she could not have proclaimed her rejection more clearly if she had repeated that hateful phrase again. He had retreated to his rooms to nurse his newly re-fractured heart, to rage again against her cruelty. By morning, he was determined to prove to her that she meant nothing to him. He had expected she would take the bait, rail at him so that he could punish her, perhaps strip her of her post or leave her in an oubliette for a week, anything to make her hurt as much as he did. He wasn't prepared for her to refuse to play the game.

Thinking quickly, he summoned a crystal and threw it into the open space before them. It spun mid-air, growing till it depicted a life size replica of Sarah dancing as she had the previous evening. Moments into the dance, he froze the image.

"See? There. What is that thing you're doing with your hands?" The image resumed, froze. "There. Your leg should be straight, not hang like snot from a goblin's nose."

Her breath hissing in annoyance, Sarah resolutely quashed her flaring anger. He was trying to goad her, but he was also right. A hundred little details stood out, now that she could see it from a distance. She forced herself to listen carefully to Jareth's critique, striving to see the dance and not herself in it. While his snide comparisons stung, they were balanced by the realization that he had been watching, and closely, given the detail of his critique. Inwardly, she berated her racing pulse. 'Professional, Sarah. Don't be an idiot.'

"What did you say?!" Sarah's eyes widened as she realized that she'd muttered the last part of her self recrimination under her breath. Her heart seized at the cold fury that lurked behind incredulity in the Goblin King's eyes. She backtracked hastily.

"Not you, majesty. Me. I mean–" Sarah stopped herself before she revealed the real reason for her comment, furious at the way her fear had loosened her tongue. Closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose, Sarah forced herself to take a calming breath. Tension ached along her jaw and between her shoulder blades, and a headache throbbed behind her eyes, but she focused on the air in her lungs, striving to regain equilibrium before opening her eyes again. Jareth stood with his arms crossed, his gaze cold and expectant, his belligerent attitude drawing a frustrated sigh from Sarah's lips.

"I apologize, your majesty. My comment was directed at myself. I am frustrated that I did not meet your expectations." Her words appeared to surprise him. With a blink of his eyes and a curious tilt of his head, his entire demeanour shifted, loosened, the anger slipping away so fast Sarah felt her head spin. He seemed to see her fully for the first time since she entered the room.

"You look tired."

"Yes, majesty."

"Did you not sleep?"

"No, majesty." He frowned at her intentionally closed-mouthed responses.

"Why not?" Sarah wanted to laugh, only she feared it might come out as a sob. For the briefest instant, she entertained telling him the truth, amused by the thought that it would at least get him to leave her in peace. Well, she'd already confessed her sense of inadequacy; adding to that confession couldn't hurt. She dropped her gaze to the floor as she spoke, anxious that he not see the full truth in her eyes.

"I feared your majesty was displeased with the event." Gazing at the floor, she missed the flash of surprise that skittered over his face. He began to pace a leisurely circle around her, studying the puzzle she presented to him.

"What gave you the impression I was displeased?" She gave him an exasperated glare over her shoulder.

"You just made it abundantly clear, in minute detail." He waved a dismissive hand.

"That does not explain why you reached that conclusion last night." Her eyes shuttered an instant before she glanced away.

"You left before the end, majesty." He examined her thoughtfully through narrowed eyes, aware that there was something she was not telling him. He would not condone being lied to, even by omission.

"Really, Sarah, you think too much of yourself. You should be honoured that I graced your little soiree for as long as I did." Sarah's spin stiffened and she whirled to face him. Her tone dripped acid.

"Of course, your majesty. How foolish of me. And then to be so generous with your time this afternoon. I'm sure you have more important things to attend to. Please don't let me keep you." Jareth smirked, raising an eyebrow at her tone. Feigning nonchalance, he ignored her veiled dismissal, and asked in a bored tone,

"You will hold another of these events?" He barely kept from laughing as Sarah visibly struggled to keep up with his shifting tactics.

"If your majesty wishes it." She shifted uncomfortably under his cold, unreadable stare. The silence built into a solid substance as he pinned her with that gaze. She only realized she was holding her breath when the air started to sparkle with imminent unconsciousness. Her ragged intake of breath broke the impasse.

"The first dance you performed in this room. I would see it."

"Now?!" Irritation flickered along his brow.

"Yes, now." Sarah struggled again to find her equilibrium. She was tired, confused, and in no shape to keep up with his arbitrary, mercurial moods, But what choice did she have? An insidious little voice whispered that at least it was better than being ignored. With a curt nod, she took her position and forced herself to focus, calling the music forth as she unfurled her body. As she danced, she tried to incorporate Jareth's critique. Hand straight, there, full extension... She was concentrating so hard that when she felt hands seize her waist at the start of a leap, she screamed and stumbled, only his warm hold on her hips keeping her upright. As soon as she had regained her balance she twisted out of his grip, all of the anger she'd repressed finally boiling out of her.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He looked at her mildly, his expression just on this side of smug.

"I would think that would be obvious, Sarah. It was you, after all, who insisted that what people did in a ballroom was dance."

"No. It is not obvious." Each word was clipped with fury. She'd had enough of his random behaviour today. He sighed, his expression making it clear that he felt she was being deliberately obtuse.

"I am well aware, Sarah, that my subjects hope I will grace them with a performance of my own, and if you plan to continue these fetes, they will expect me to participate. As I do not particularly feel like singing, I have chosen instead to dance, and, rather generously, I might add, to dance with you. Your technique needs work, but you are not as unskilled as others I have worked with in the past. Although, they did," he smirked, "have less trouble jumping than you seem to. Still, I had thought it would be easiest for you if we simply adapted one of your existing pieces." His expression told her plainly that he thought she was being irrational.

Sarah was flabbergasted. He could have warned her! And dance with her? Why couldn't he do his own thing? Minutes ago, he acted like her performance was nearly unsalvageable, and now she was good enough to dance with? Not unskilled? The arrogance! And who had he been dancing with before, anyway? The sudden stab of jealousy made her acutely aware of the shivers that his hands on her waist had sent through her. There was no way she'd be able to make it through a whole dance with him... touching her... moving with her.

"It's a solo piece. It can't be adapted." She hoped he didn't hear the slight breathiness in her tone.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, then, show me a dance that you feel can be adapted." He folded his arms and looked at her expectantly.

Sarah felt herself go pale and found she couldn't meet his eyes. She mumbled a response.

"Speak up Sarah. I haven't got all day." She grimaced.

"I said I don't have any. I... I've never danced with a partner before." She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her.

"Surely you've done some such dancing?" She shook her head in the negative. "Ballroom dancing at least?" She shook again, sneaking a glance at his face. He was appalled. For some reason, this annoyed her more than the derision she'd expected.

"What?"

"Sarah, you are mistress of revels. How do expect to coordinate a formal ball if you don't know how to dance?"

"I can dance."

"You can perform; that is not all there is to dancing." Sarah blinked at the conviction with which he attested her ability, but refused to let the implications distract her.

"I don't see why it matters."

"It is your responsibility to ensure the guests are enjoying themselves, Sarah, which includes dancing with any young men who may not find partners for the evening." Sarah sputtered.

"I'm supposed to, what, to pass myself around the room like some free escort service?"

"It is expected, Sarah. You need not make it sound like something unsavoury."

"And you expect me to believe the last master of revels danced with any unattached women."

"Of course." Sarah rocked back on her heels, surprised.

"Oh." They regarded each other for a long moment, Sarah not at all amused by the Goblin King's annoyed contemplation of her. His next words fuelled her unease.

"I suppose there is no hope for it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Sarah, darling," he ground out in annoyance, "that I am going to have to teach you how to dance."

Sarah gaped at him in shock, but he didn't give her time to object. With barely concealed impatience, he demonstrated a series of intricate steps to her, glaring at her until she followed suit. Once she had the basic form down, he stepped close, wrapping one hand around her waist while the other cradled her palm. Her chest tightened at his proximity; her shallow breaths thick with his scent, spicy maleness and magic. She resisted the urge to wipe her sweaty palm on her dress, grateful for the gloves he wore that, she hoped, hid her nervousness. Annoyance and desire competed to disrupt her focus as Jareth walked her through the dance at half speed, and she kept stumbling, pulling back and resisting the turns he attempted to lead her through.

"Stop fighting me," he snapped. "You must trust your partner for this dance to work." She muttered something snidely under her breath. "What was that?" Her eyes snapped fire at him.

"I said it would be easier if I had a had a partner I could trust, your majesty." Her sneering tone lashed out with all the barely controlled anger he could feel trembling under her skin. He glared back at her, struggling not to lose himself in those dark, green pools.

"Tough luck, princess," he snarled, assigning the honorific with the same disdain she'd given his. "You'll just have to learn to make do." Angrily he summoned music and prepared to manhandle her through the steps at speed. Her expression stopped him. She'd gone white, her face a distressed mask, before she tore herself from his hands and put the dance floor between them, her back a rigid recrimination.

"Must you taint everything?" Her accusation contained the hint of a sob. Jareth was at a loss. As much as she infuriated him, he had revelled in her closeness. They had been back in territory he understood, but suddenly the rules had changed. Again.

"What...?"

"Choose different music," she snarled. Yes, there were definitely tears on her face. And then it struck him. He had unconsciously chosen the music from her dream dance during her run, the music to which he had sung his love to her. He hastily silenced it, the empty air aching with its loss. An unfamiliar regret tugged at his chest.

"I..." What could he say? That he hadn't thought? That he had unconsciously chosen the music because it reminded him of her? The first answer would only dismiss her reaction, which he found himself strangely reluctant to do, while the latter... revealed too much. What did she think he was tainting? Surely not the present moment. She'd been furious with him from the instant he'd opened his mouth.

She must, then, have been referring to the dream dance. A memory tugged, and he realized that she had called forth the same tune the first time she'd awoken the ballroom's magic. Jareth's breath caught against the swell of hope and longing that blossomed with the realization that she thought of that dance fondly, that it meant something to her, something she didn't want spoiled. If that was so, perhaps he had misread her anxiety the previous evening. Perhaps she feared not that he would read too much into Sandrelia's song, but that it would reveal too much to him.

He sighed. Regardless, he still had to deal with the consequences. Quietly he freed a handkerchief from his sleeve and handed it to her.

"It's one of my favourite pieces. I had not realized it would affect you so." There. Let her process that. To his surprise, she had already calmed significantly, although she accepted the handkerchief for the peace offering it was, drying her eyes gently before returning it.

"No, I apologize. I'm just overtired. I'm not usually so fractious." Inwardly, Sarah was appalled that she'd let the Goblin King push her so far off balance. As infuriating as he could be, he was actually teaching her things she wanted to know. He was probably the only person in the kingdom who could teach her, and here she was acting like a diva. She blushed when she caught sight of his smirk and raised eyebrow.

"Really? I should say that's an apt description of our previous encounters." Sarah snorted and rolled her eyes, not missing the mild surprise on the Goblin King's face.

"We've barely spoken four times in the last six months Not exactly a sufficient basis for comparison." She shook her head, her lips quirking wryly. "And I suppose you've always managed to bring the worst out in me." He gazed on her in admiration. Still she managed to fascinate him, an unsolvable, ever-shifting puzzle.

"The same might be said of your effect on me," he confessed. "Perhaps," he added thoughtfully, "we might rectify the situation."

Sarah's eyes widened as she realized that his statement was, in a way, a measure of apology. Blinking rapidly, she grappled with the shifting perspective implied by his offer. If she were being honest, she would have to admit she was still nursing her image of him as a villain. Her experiences of the Labyrinth as a well-run kingdom and the general high regard in which Jareth was held had laid siege to her prejudice, but she had clung to it because it was ... easier. Familiar. It gave her something to define herself against, a thing, not a person and that ... wasn't fair. Guiltily, she realized that the infatuation she'd been forced to acknowledge was the flip side of the same imagined character. Yes, he was painfully handsome, and yes, his nearness made her blood race, but really, she knew nothing about him, and she was old enough to resist the impulses of her hormones. Sighing, she wondered idly how many times she'd have to learn to stop taking things for granted before she finally got it right.

"I'd like that, your majesty."

"Well then, princess," and this time the appellation was playful, "shall we dance?"

She smiled, curtseyed, and held out her hand as new and unfamiliar music began to play.

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My apologies, dear readers, for the long hiatus. If you like the chapter, thank AmericanWoman – without her tug on my proverbial sleeve, I wouldn't have gotten back to this so soon (I'm still up to my eyeballs in research for a work project, so updates will continue to be slow). If you don't like it, blame me, and please, please, please tell me what's not working for you. I feel I've lost my way a bit with these two, not least because I can't figure out how to see inside both characters' heads at the same time.