Sarah

10

Sarah was absolutely certain she was hung over. There was no doubt in her mind that the sticky residue in her mouth, the bad taste on her tongue, and the pounding in her head were all symptoms of having consumed far too much wine. She had never in her life drank so much. Yet despite her inexperience it was as if one just innately knew when one was hung over.

There were several other things though that she was most certainly not sure of.

Where had she fallen asleep? Had she fallen asleep alone? And third, by everything pure and holy, had she done what she thought she might have done with a certain fae king?

She half hoped she could just lie still long enough that she'd fall back into a deep slumber. Forgetfulness would take over and she would awake refreshed and assured that it had all been something of a dream. But her bladder was full. Cautiously she opened her eyes: she was on the couch. So she had not made it to bed. Tentatively she shifted her legs- she was on the couch alone. There was the heavy scent of coffee in the air. Slow as to not further aggravate her skull, Sarah rolled to her side.

Sitting in her arm chair, half dressed, and hair apparently damp, sat Jareth reading a book. He looked refreshed and relaxed, as if he had showered and helped himself to breakfast. Through slit lids she watched as he drank from a mug, turned a page, and continue to be unaware of her. Sarah felt a groan rise up in her throat. She swallowed it down.

"Good morning," he said, eyes still on the book. "A little under the weather this morning, my dear?"

She threw an arm over her eyes. "My head," she managed to say.

There was a rustling of fabric and soft foot falls. When she peeked out from under her arm she saw him place a tall glass of water on the side table. "Drink that." He returned the chair, stretched his legs out and resumed reading.

Sarah noticed his boots were off. His toes struck her as funny. The Goblin King has toes, the thought was wildly new and interesting, rather long, bony toes. Of course he has toes, he has feet. Hadn't she taken care of him on this very couch only a hand full of days ago? Still, they amused her. The small laugh that followed rattled her head and the suppressed groan escaped.

Slowly she sat up. If they had done anything last night, it was lost. She had a hazy memory of dancing with him and a possible confession of not having been to third base- no, had she really said that? The water was cool. Her brain seemed to relax with each mouth full. The first time was supposed to be special, memorable; perhaps not ripped bodices or broken mattress springs, but at least something one could recall with fondness. She glanced at his shirt, unbuttoned and loose, and felt a twinge of regret at not being able to recall if she had done any sort of undressing last night.

Keeping her eyes down she said, "About last night,"

He hummed.

"Did anything…I mean, is there a reason that you're…You and I," she waved her hand vaguely in the air.

"Never fear, my dear, my virtue is still intact."

"Your virtue?"

His eyes were still on the book. "I refused your advances. Though I must admit your womanly wiles were most tempting."

If there had been a pillow, she would have thrown it at his contemptible face. Instead she laid back against the cushions. "Jerk," she bit out.

He chuckled. "Oh Sarah I am indeed. But not without scruples."

"You and your bony toes are nothing, but trouble."

He put the book down. She saw his eye brow rise up and his lips part. He said, "Nothing happened."

"Just a few embarrassing confessions."

"I prefer charming confessions. Now," he stood up and turned towards the kitchen. "another glass of water and a light breakfast are in order. Then maybe we can have some actual talk."

From her seat on the couch Sarah watched as he passed behind the half wall that divided the living room from the kitchen. A moment later as if on an invisible conveyor belt plates, cups, and utensils floated out and made their way to the table. Bread appeared, toasting itself as it moved. Mugs that were empty, touched the table, and gathered steam as coffee filled them. Even with all her belief and her brief encounters with it, magic still filled her with wonder.

At the table she nibbled on the toast. Jareth sat with another cup of coffee. He said, "I've been thinking this morning about our current situation. I think you and I need to compare notes on our wished away children."

"Well, I can say with certainty that no one has ever tried to burn me alive before."

He nodded in agreement. "What about those symbols you found- the triangles. Have you ever seen them before?"

"No. Really, Jareth, I've never had any negative backlash. The whole thing is very odd. Have you ever heard of someone targeting people like us; people who take care of wished away?"

"No, I have not. But that doesn't mean there couldn't ever be. I've seen many a runner filled with rage at not winning back a child."

She took a long drink of water. "Hoggle told me that you give all wishers the chance. Am I the only one that ever succeeded?"

Jareth studied his coffee. "The Labyrinth has made allowances before. It is generally at her discretion who is worthy or not."

She was sure he meant Labyrinth, capitol L, a pronoun. Some where in her gradually recovering brain she found a memory of him saying, "my labyrinth….How are you enjoying my Labyrinth?" His small admission though seemed to suggest that he did not fully own it. The maze had moved and changed seemingly at random one moment and then deliberately the next. The idea that it was an actual magical creature, studying the hearts and minds of those who ran its, no, her paths was unnerving.

"It's alive," she murmured.

"Very much so."

"I think I can manage some coffee. Thank you." The warm caffeine worked its way through her, helping to chase off the grogginess. A theory occurred to Sarah that could help explain things. If not who meant them harm, then at least to shed some light on why she could feel these children. "Could the Labyrinth have anything to do with this?" she asked.

"You think she means me harm?"

"I meant with me. During my time with in it could it, sorry, I mean she, could she have altered me?"

Jareth considered the question. "Anything is possible. We are digressing though. We were speaking about the wished away."

Something was tickling the deep recesses of her memory. Sarah couldn't let it go. "Now hold on a minute. I made a wish. I ran through the Labyrinth. Was I an allowance? Could Toby have brought something back with him?"

"I never bequeathed any gifts to your brother. Only to you."

Her brow furrowed. "Are you talking about the words? The 'right words' were a gift?"

Jareth tucked hair behind his ears and shifted in his chair. "Anyone can use the rights words. I'm referring to the peach."

Sarah remembered vividly the feel of the sun as it crested the hills outside the gates; the damp that lined the first walls; she could hear the hallow tap of her shoes against the stone paths and the distant cry of her brother; the memory of the bog was just as pungent; the feathers that brushed against her skin as the Firies had macabrely danced; all of these and more were just as if she been there yesterday.

She could even remember Jareth in extreme detail. The fear that had twisted in her gut when he had first appeared in her parents' room had been both alluring and repelling. He had arrived like a god of night, an owl swooping in on its skittish prey. The power he had emitted. The authority he possessed. The near mocking confidence that had begged her to all at once cower and challenge. Her every bookish teenage fantasy bought to life: blonde as an elf, clad in the night, and royalty to boot. Every hormone in her body had come to attention when he had arrived. She could recall curves of his body and leers from those two toned pupils in ways that made her blush crimson.

"Jareth," she began slowly. There was something in the way he had spoken that made her tread easy. "I don't remember any peach."

"The one Hoggle gave you." He smiled, wary.

Sarah knew that she had been through a lot in less than a week. She was operating under a lot of stress, and her current head ache made her thoughts a bit sluggish, but on this she was confident: there had not been any peach.

"Sarah," he said. "We danced last night. We," he paused as if searching for the right words. "were being reminiscent."

"About things we used to do, sure. I have no memories, fond or otherwise about a peach."

This seemed to trouble him. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes on her face. After a very long moment all he said was, "Well." Followed with a deep breath and, "Well then."

There had been once and only once when she had seen his confidence shaken. It had not been a pretty moment. The world literally falling about them in bits and pieces she had taken control, forced him to relinquish his hold on her brother and then refuse him. But this was the first time she had ever witnessed him at a loss for words. His eyes moved from her, to the table, and back. He straightened in his chair as if he were going to stand, to leave. There had been enough that lately. Sarah reached out and touched his arm, "Stay. Please, if you're thinking about leaving because this is too awkward or you need time to think or whatever, don't. Stay. I…I want you to."

He relaxed back in his seat. When he spoke it was quiet and weary, "I don't understand any of this."

"Neither do I. We've been so focused on the wished away, maybe we're missing another key element. Maybe it isn't about them. Maybe it's about us."

Jareth's lips puckered. "I don't know. There is one option we haven't considered yet: the triangles. I know, you said you have never seen them before, but that doesn't mean they weren't there."

"I have some contacts in the local precincts that might be able to tell us if there were any. I'll have to come up with some pretext for asking after other cases."

"Leave that part to me."

"And what about this peach business: is there a way to retrieve this supposed memory?"

"Yes. But it would require a good deal of trust. I would need full access to your subconscious. Nothing painful. Just." He reached out and ran two fingers along her forehead.

Sarah felt all the tension leave her face. The tightness around her skull eased into nothing. She saw a brief flash of her livingroom in lamp light and the two of them slowly dancing. Jareth was resting his head against hers, smiling looking for all the world like the most content man alive. She felt his fingers reach her temple and stop. Her eyes focused on his face.

She swallowed. "We'll investigate the triangles first."

Jareth smiled over his coffee mug.

Author's Notes: cue sub-plot development! Chapter 11 is in the works. It's summer vacation around these parts and I have three offspring under foot 24/7.