Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

White rimmed the tight line of Jareth's mouth. Bolts of pale yellow crackled through the turbulent grey-blue of his eyes. Sarah could feel the hot emotion rolling from him; it crashed against her, incensed waves battering against a shore, and nearly stole her breath with its intensity. Her fingers scrabbled over the cold, unyielding stone at her back, frantically searching—hoping, wishing—for any means of escape from the tiny dungeon before she drowned.

God, she'd never seen him so mad.

And yet, despite the apprehensive pounding of her heart, warning her that Here be danger! she allowed a small laugh to pass defiantly through her lips. "What's wrong, Goblin King?" she taunted. "Jealous?"

He drew in a breath, nostrils flaring. "You think too highly of yourself, little girl, to even suggest I'd care about your trysts with those pathetic mortals."

A knowing smile curved Sarah's lips. This wasn't the first time he'd become angry over the subject of other men—he'd become downright surly when she'd first started traveling with Grosvenor—and it only made her doubt his vehement declination. She leaned forward, ignoring the feel of Jareth's solid body brushing tantalizingly against hers as she concentrated on the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"I think," she whispered, licking her lips, "the Goblin King protests too much."

Jareth didn't seem to have a flippant response handy, which pleased Sarah as much as it disappointed her. Maybe a tiny part of her wanted him to admit the reason he was currently throwing a temper tantrum, but right now she was simply enjoying the blank look he was giving her.

Until he tilted his chin pretentiously. Whatever he saw on her face made a slow smirk, almost identical to the one she wore, tip one side of his mouth.

"Ah." It was a conclusive sound, breathed out with a soft, condescending chuckle. "I see. Have you presumed to think since you'll end up loving me, I'll reciprocate the feeling?"

Sarah's smile fell away. A terrible knot tangled in her chest at his words, worked its way up her throat even as her stomach dropped. Of course she thought he'd...reciprocate—why else would she ever fall in love with him? What had he ever really done other than antagonize her? The idea of feeling anything warmer than suspicious indifference for the Goblin King had been outlandish from the moment he'd mentioned it.

A part of her couldn't help remembering how he'd been in her dreams, though. The way he'd smiled, the way he'd laughed. His touches...his kiss, unsatisfactory as it had been, had still made her skin heat, her breath catch, brought every nerve painfully to life in a way she'd never experienced. Those flashes of what she'd thought were genuine emotions—those had made the thought of loving him seem almost plausible. So, somewhere in the back of her mind, she must have figured he'd prove more than the villain, truly turn into her hero, not by the things he did, but simply because he loved her in return.

She should have known better. Love winning over all only happened in fairy tales, and she'd seen first hand how those really turned out. And Jareth had already told her hadn't fallen in love with her when she'd run his labyrinth. Thirteen years obviously hadn't changed the sentiment.

"Why would I ever do something so foolish?" Jareth's mouth hovered over hers, the words coldly kissing her lips. "What makes you think you're so special?"

"I'm the one you love, but not the one you fall in love with."

It was a riddle, she knew; a riddle whose answer would resolve all this confusion he caused within her.

Because no matter how much of an arrogant prick he was, no matter how cruel his words were, Sarah was almost shamefully drawn to Jareth, like iron yanked toward a magnet. A part of her was always exceedingly aware of him, a familiarity that had nothing to do with their meeting when she was fifteen. It was a strange feeling, as though she had known him as an adult but had somehow forgotten, although she didn't believe in soul mates or past lives. Whatever the explanation, she found it difficult, sometimes, to resist pushing against him, molding every inch of herself to the long, tight line of his—

Sarah's still questing hand along the wall bumped into a smooth, cool protrusion...something round and surprisingly familiar. She gripped it tightly, muscles quivering as she tried to remain as still as possible—if she dared move, she thought it very likely she'd smack that snide grin off the Goblin King's face.

Or kiss him.

But this game wasn't a physical one. Yet. So, she said, "You." When Jareth arched a questioning eyebrow, she clarified. "You made me special. You sought me out for help, a pathetic mortal," she mocked his lofty tone, "put your life in my hands and trusted me to make it on time. Without me, you'd have rotted in that tower." She tilted her head in a clear imitation of him. "I always thought maybe my power over you was tenuous all those years ago, but I'm starting to think it's considerably stronger, now."

His gaze flickered toward the pendant she wore and his mouth twitched briefly into an irked line. "Like a noose round my neck," he muttered. "That you pull ever tighter." He sniffed disdainfully. "Make no mistake, princess, you're no more than a pawn being wielded in a game too complicated for you to understand."

Sarah's eyes narrowed dangerously at the implication she was not only worthless, but unintelligent as well.

Jareth blithely ignored her expression, an insolent smile spreading over his face. "A weak, helpless piece sent out into the fray to be slaughtered," he continued in a whisper. "I only tell you this so you don't start getting any ideas about your worth. Mortals tend to dream of being greater. You, especially, have always managed to fool yourself into thinking you're somehow more important than you really are."

A flush of indignant anger seared over Sarah's cheeks. She knew—knew—the only reason he was saying these things was because she had tread closer to some truth than he was comfortable; he'd twisted conversations like this before. But since the minute she'd woken up, he'd been nothing but a pain in her ass. She'd tried to brush it off, told herself he was just irritated with their situation and, maybe, sharing her fear that they wouldn't make it out alive.

Between one breath and the next, though, he'd crossed from a tolerable, sulking child to being downright insufferable, and Sarah was loathe to spend another minute in his presence. She squeezed the round object she'd found a little more tightly, gave a sharp twist of her wrist, and pushed into the cold stone at her back as hard as she could.

The doorknob she'd drawn worked beautifully. The section of wall she'd enclosed with the charcoal line swung outward as though on well-oiled hinges. Sarah followed the movement smoothly.

Jareth, caught off-guard and off-balance, stumbled forward. He managed to catch himself before he fell face-first into the ground on the other side, much to Sarah's dismay, and shot her a glare. Then he smoothed the expression away as easily as the wrinkle he smoothed out of his dirty shirt.

"I wondered how far I'd have to go before you figured out how to do that." He smiled when Sarah stared at him. "Really, Sarah, you're a wonderful manipulator of your environment. The only thing hindering you is your refusal to believe." When she remained mute, he sighed and made a short gesture. "Gather your things so we can leave this dreadful place."

Sarah moved automatically, responding to the thread of command in Jareth's voice. Her brain thawed somewhere between folding her blanket and zipping up her backpack. "I'm manipulative?" she muttered as she hooked her arms through the straps of her bag. "I'm manipulative?" Unsure if she was annoyed or impressed he knew the precise buttons to push to get them out of that damn cell, she stomped back out to Jareth—

—and into a forest.

"Another forest?" she groused. "By the time this is all over, I'm never going to want to see anything green again."

"How fortunate my labyrinth has very little of the color, then," Jareth commented absently while he looked around.

Sarah was left staring at him all over again. "I'm...I'm not going back there." His eyes jerked in her direction, a confused crease marring his brow. "You said unless things went very wrong, I didn't have to go back."

Jareth's expression cleared suddenly and he looked a bit disgruntled, as though agitated with himself. Understanding swept through Sarah when he refused to look at her.

"Oh," she breathed as he scowled and turned away. "Did you think...?" Had he thought she'd be going back...with him? "Why?" Why would he assume that? Especially when he'd taken every recent opportunity to make it clear he felt nothing for her at all? Sarah cleared her throat. "I mean...I thought you'd send me home as soon as we were done."

"I only ever do what you wish, Sarah," he muttered.

He was silent for hours afterward, and Sarah ground her teeth around the urge to scream in frustration. Within the span of a sentence, she was left uncertain as to whether he hated her, liked her, or merely suffered her presence. She concentrated on not shooting daggers into his back, cut short an idle wish to be in the jovial company of Grosvenor again. At least the hunter had talked; the Goblin King seemed intent on ignoring her.

And to drag her along the most overgrown, bramble-infested path he could find.

"Jareth, I need to rest," Sarah finally huffed.

She didn't wait for him to reply, simply plopped down on the first fallen, moss-covered tree she came across. Jareth wandered back toward her, his face devoid of expression. As he silently peered into the thick wood, Sarah's weary gaze traveled the length of him. And she was annoyed to find that, despite being dirty and disheveled, he still looked...well, good. The small rents in his clothing, the smear of dirt along one high cheekbone, the wild mess of his hair, made him look rakish, not bedraggled. Sleek and long, smooth skin stretched tightly over compact muscle, he had a body built for quickness and endurance. Like a dancer or a runner. Like...a hunter.

"Like what you see, princess?"

The query was soft but, strangely, held none of the biting sarcasm she'd come to expect. A hot flush climbed her throat, though, as she raised her eyes to meet his.

"You're a little thin," she told him, grateful her mouth knew what to do because the rest of her had regressed into a blushing teenager. She paused to regroup, then wrinkled her nose playfully. "And you could use a bath."

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "You have foliage sprouting from your hair," he said, turning away from her.

Sarah glowered at him and resisted the urge to blurt out, Yeah, well, you have no power over me, so nanny nanny boo boo.

As she pulled the elastic band from her hair and worked on removing bits of leaves from her sable locks, she noticed Jareth surreptitiously wipe a hand over the dirt streaking one glittery cheek. When he looked at her again, it was Sarah's turn to glance away, hiding the grin teasing the corners of her lips.

"Are you rested?"

With a sigh, Sarah stood and, taking the lead, began fighting her way through the wood. She shoved prickly branches aside, half-hoping they'd snap back to whip Jareth in the face or stomach—That'll teach him to pick the path of most resistance, she thought, smugly—and daydreamed about pouring concrete over her backyard garden when she returned home.

When she came to an abrupt halt, Jareth made a disapproving noise in his throat. "A little warning, next time," he muttered. "I nearly trampled you. What are you looking at?"

A large tree cut across the path. Its roots, gnarled and ugly, cradled a small pool of black water. Among the dark, clawing branches, pieces of material fluttered in a non-existent breeze like multicolored ghosts. The space around it was dim, threads of darkness eschewing the sunlight and spicing the air with a sinister tang. A shiver touched the back of Sarah's neck and crawled down her spine.

"What is that?"

She felt Jareth tense, like someone pulling a string taut over her skin. "A Clootie Well," he said, softly. Without further explanation, he wrapped a hand around her upper arm and tugged her backward. "Let's find another way, Sarah."

She frowned and dug her heels in. "What are you talking about? The path clearly goes this way and it's the only one we've seen." Jareth's fingers tightened and she fought to keep a squeak of pain from her voice. "Let me go."

"We'll find another route," he said as he began dragging her back the way they'd come.

"Are you listening? There aren't any other paths."

"Then we'll go around."

"That will take forever!" Sarah jerked in his grasp again. "Let. Me. Go, Jareth."

No protest, no hesitation; Jareth released her with almost robot-like immediacy. Sarah rubbed her arm, lifting the sleeve of her shirt to check for bruises, and scowled at him. The Goblin King's nostrils flared and he stared stonily into the distance.

"This...feels familiar," she finally said.

"Much of this country is covered in woods," Jareth began, forced indifference in his voice.

"No, not that. You doing something I've asked."

A muscle in his cheek jumped. "I don't recall you asking," he sneered. And was that a touch of bitterness she heard?

"Okay, telling you, then," Sarah amended with a shrug. She contemplated the clean line of his profile. "Is that it?" she asked. "Do I have to...command you to do something?"

Jareth snorted. "No, Sarah."

Her fingers stilled their absent movement along her arm and she stared at him. He'd never said her name like that...softly, drawing it out on his tongue as though savoring the taste. In fact, he never said her name—he used whatever nickname or epithet he deemed appropriate at the time—or, at least, he rarely did and then it was usually because he was trying to tell her something important, trying to get her to pay attention.

Trying to get her to do something.

"Your name," she murmured. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

Something that may have been approval touched Jareth's mouth and Sarah wondered what he was thinking when he looked at her that way. It was as though he found her to be infinitely clever and was proud when she proved him right.

"Names are very powerful things to know here. You know mine and so..." He flicked his fingers in a vague gesture.

"I have power over you." Jareth's smile morphed into a derisive line. "But Hoggle was the one who told me," Sarah said. "He knows it."

"He's my subject, a creature of the Labyrinth," Jareth replied. He paused, seemed to consider his words, then shrugged. "Or nearly, anyway. Regardless, I'm his sovereign, so of course he knows my name."

"What's to stop him from just telling everyone?"

Jareth shrugged. "He can't, just as he can't use my name to compel me." His gaze was filled with irony when he added, "But I have no such...authority...over you, remember?"

The way he spat the words out made Sarah wince slightly. Not for the first time since defeating him and his labyrinth, she felt a pang of guilt. She wondered if she should apologize, but quickly dismissed the idea. He wouldn't believe her because she wasn't sure she'd really mean it. She had played her part as well as he and had no regrets.

At least, she hadn't. Now, though...

Sarah let her backpack slide to the ground, giving her shoulders some relief. "How could he have told me, then?"

"Because you've already been to the Labyrinth." Jareth's tone suggested she should have figured this out. He sighed when she shook her head in confusion. "Hoggle already knew who you were—we already knew you, you just hadn't met us yet."

"You're not making any sense, Goblin King."

"Time is relative in the Labyrinth—"

"It doesn't move in a straight line."

Jareth nodded and another one of those genuinely proud smiles touched his lips. "Exactly," he said. "So, your first meeting with Hoggle was the second for him."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh! Excuse me! Oh. It's you..."

"...You're horrible!"

"Huh? No, I ain't. I'm Hoggle. Who're you?"

"Sarah."

"That's what I thought."

"Are they okay?" Sarah asked, suddenly. She'd never inquired about the well-being of the Labyrinth's inhabitants in her dreams—she'd been too focused on the task at hand. "Hoggle and Sir Didymus and Ludo? Has anything happened to them in your...absence?"

"I haven't exactly been in the right state of mind to check on them," Jareth said dryly. "But they were fine when I left."

There was a thread of uncertainty in his voice. Sarah's immediate reaction was to push—"What does that mean? You don't know if any of them are okay? What happened after I left?"—but Jareth's expression tightened and she pressed her lips together to stem the deluge of questions. If her friends were in danger, he'd tell her...right? Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"You don't like this place, do you?"

When she looked at him, Jareth had shifted his gaze from her again. "It's a little creepy," she admitted.

Jareth frowned slightly and shook his head. He made a vague gesture, encompassing the trees and everything else around them. "No, I'm talking about here," he said. "This world. The Underground." He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "You don't like it."

Sarah gazed at the dark, looming trees, dropped her eyes to the thick mossy forest floor, the chalk-dust path. How strange it was, she thought, that it was like her own world and yet...not. She tilted her chin up to peer through the dense canopy overhead. Daubs of sunlight briefly painted her face. She thought about the crystal palace she'd first come across, Kira and Jen, the nosy Podlings, the castle Talia visited searching for a long-lost love. She thought about the little hut that had provided her with shelter, the forest she'd traveled through with Grosvenor, which had seemed far less ominous in the company of someone willing to laugh and joke with her.

"It's...strange." She thought Jareth may have slumped a little, but when she looked at him, he just stood there, regal as ever. She wondered if her answer was truly important to him or if he was steering the conversation again. "Not necessarily in a bad way," she added. "It's sort of like being caught in a surreal dream that belongs to someone else." She paused. "It's growing on me, though. I love how the air tingles with anticipation, like it's Christmas Eve and I'm a kid again. Or how the moonlight feels like a splash of cool water against my skin at night."

He was staring at her, hard, his eyes narrowed. But not, she realized, with anger or malice. The silence stretched and Sarah shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like she'd said something silly. She gave a soft laugh and waved her hand, as though to wipe away her words.

"And you caught me," she chuckled. "The closet romantic finally came out."

Jareth stared at her a moment longer before smiling faintly. "When you speak like that about this place..." He trailed off and seemed to contemplate his next words. "It's interesting to see my world through someone else's eyes."

A touch of melancholy colored his tone. Sarah felt something tighten in her chest and she took a step forward.

"Are you very alone in you castle?" she asked, softly.

Jareth tilted his head to the side and watched as she advanced another step. "Of course not, silly girl," he said. But there was less bite in his tone than usual. "I have a horde of goblins to keep me company."

Sarah nodded. Swallowed as she took another step. She didn't know what she was doing, but she felt the very human urge to...what? To comfort him? Ridiculous. The Goblin King was formidable and stalwart, he certainly didn't need compassion from some silly girl.

"Oh," she said. "They must be very interesting creatures to hold your attention."

"Are you kidding? Most of them are dumb as bricks and the ones that aren't are more interested in causing trouble than anything else. At least with you, I get something that resembles stimulating conversation."

Jareth paused for a breath. Then, his eyes jerked away from hers, his entire body stiffened. Sarah bit her bottom lip to prevent it from pulling into a smile—it was almost...charming...the way he sometimes admitted more than he meant to when she got him talking. Another step, close enough now that all she had to do was lift her arm if she wanted to touch him.

"Is that why you harass me? Because you...like to talk to me?"

Jareth shrugged a shoulder and raised his gaze to the dense leaves overhead. "You have more in your head than chicken feathers," he said, voice heavy with nonchalance. Sarah smiled faintly. He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. "Although, sometimes I wonder."

She laughed softly, reached out and let the tips of her fingers brush against a tear in his shirt sleeve. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but didn't look at him. "Yeah, me too," she murmured.

Silence. Then, "You're unhappy."

Unhappy? She didn't think so. She was sore and tired, and knew she could definitely use a bath herself. And the forest, as the day began to wan, was starting to give her a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. But...unhappy?

"You're different than I remember," Jareth continued.

Sarah looked up—became caught a gaze shimmering like quicksilver in the fading amber light. Became rooted to the spot as Jareth slowly reached up and brushed her hair from her face, careful not to touch her anywhere else.

"I grew up."

But Jareth shook his head. "It's more than that." He contemplated the lock of hair winding around his fingers. "Your eyes hold a deep sorrow."

"Jake," she murmured. The gaping wound in her chest had healed. Maybe not completely, but over the past few weeks the throb of loss that had once threatened to double her over had become less...intense. "I miss him," she admitted.

"You loved him deeply."

"He was my best friend. I counted on him to be there when I needed a shoulder to lean on or someone to talk to. He was a good person." Sarah smiled softly and shook her head. "It sounds silly to say, but Jake was just one of those people who didn't have any flaws."

"Except he was mortal."

"That's not really considered a flaw in most circles," Sarah pointed out.

A faint smile. "Maybe not in your circles. But it's not just your husband, I think." The pad of Jareth's thumb swept lightly over her cheek. "You lost your belief in the magic when he died, didn't you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Faint golden light sparkled in the corner of Sarah's vision. She turned her head to examine it; found the side of her face cupped against Jareth's bare palm. Something electric shivered over her skin.

"Such a pity," Jareth murmured. But not unkindly.

He leaned forward, the color of his eyes lost to shadows. His fingers slipped into her hair, curled through the locks and held her firmly in place. The steady rhythm of Sarah's heart faltered. Her lips parted, a futile attempt to get more air into her lungs. Jareth's smooth scent melted on the back of her tongue like rich chocolate. She kept her eyes open until she felt his breath against her cheek, resisted the urge to lick her lips. To close the millimeters between them and crush her mouth against his. The air between them thickened, quivered with expectancy. Liquid heat curled through Sarah, her body tightened in anticipation—

Cool air invaded the space between them, washed over Sarah's flushed face and neck. Her eyes snapped open as she felt Jareth's hand slip from her hair. He stepped back farther, his gaze flickering quickly away from her.

"We should get moving," he said, his voice lower and huskier than usual.

Everything inside of her screamed at his retreat and Sarah barely managed to keep it stuffed behind her teeth. She considered throwing herself at him, but quickly rejected the idea. She had her pride, after all. She took a moment to resolidify her brain, which had nearly melted into grey sludge, then took a deep breath.

"So...what's the deal with the...whatchamacallit?"

"Clootie Well," Jareth said, tightly. "It's a place where people have made offerings to heal their ailments."

"Then why are you acting like it's dangerous?"

"Because in your world, it's a benign shrine. Here, it's a very different thing."

Sarah glanced over her shoulder, but the Clootie Well had been swallowed by the forest. "What does that mean?"

Jareth spun on her so quickly she took a startled step away. "Must you ask so many infernal questions?" he snarled. "Can't you just shut up and do as you're told?"

Sarah's eyes widened briefly in shock before narrowing. "Can't you just tell me what the hell is going on?" she snarled back. "Can't you for once drop the enigmatic prick mask and just be...be..." She groped for a word. "...nice?" The air crackled balefully around them, the promise of an impending storm. "And, no, I will not shut up and do as I'm told. I'm here to help you," she snapped. "I can leave anytime I please, and don't you forget it."

Jareth drew back slightly, as though her words had smacked him in the face. I wish, Sarah thought angrily. He looked stunned for the amount of time it took her to pull in another breath.

"Why don't you, then?" he asked.

Sarah drew up short, her snide comment dying on her tongue. "Why don't I what?"

"Leave," he said. "If you find the task of helping me so arduous, why don't you just leave?"

His tone was neutral, as though he didn't care one way or another what she did. But Sarah thought she caught a hint of emotion flashing through his eyes, twisting at his mouth, and she shook her head.

"Self-pity doesn't look good on you, Goblin King," she said, a little less surly than she'd intended. "Quit treating me like I'm one of your subjects." She almost added, You aren't the boss of me, but thought that sounded rather childish. "You take me for granted, you know," she said, instead.

"How so, princess?"

"Well, for one, you order me around like I'm at your beck and call," she said. "Stop it. If I'm going to help you, you're going to let me help. We're going to be equals in this or I'm going to haul your sorry glittery ass to the nearest oubliette."

Jareth smirked. "I'd like to see you—"

"Secondly," she interrupted, giving him a warning look. "You act like I'm supposed to know what's going on. Well, I don't, okay? I don't know a damn thing about this place, who the hell is coming after us, or what's going to happen. I'm human, Jareth, don't forget."

"It's one of the very few things I don't forget about you, princess." She glared at him and he tilted his head to the side. "Anything else you'd like to add to your list of demands?"

Sarah resisted the urge to throttle him. "I'd demand you act more like a gentleman and less like an ungrateful bastard," she said. "But that may be going too far." When his expression didn't change, Sarah snatched her backpack from the ground in frustration and began to storm away.

"Is that what you really think of me?"

The question wove through the air, tenuously thin and vulnerable, as though the merest thought would squash it flat. Sarah turned around, her eyes searching his face. What she found didn't surprise her. He had a weird knack for not wearing the tone of his voice, as though his expression was divorced from what he was saying. And because of that, Sarah was never sure what to believe—what he said or how he looked.

With a heavy sigh, she took a step toward him. She was tired and dirty, and the last thing she felt like doing was standing in the middle of a creepy twilight forest arguing. She wanted a soft bed, warm food, and maybe a hint of safety. "Sometimes," she admitted. "Sometimes I want to strangle you. Or hit you."

A smile flirted with Jareth's mouth—not a smirk. An actual smile. Sarah braced herself for the full thing, blew out a breath when it didn't make an appearance. Those genuine expressions could be devastating, she knew, and most certainly would be responsible for her losing the battle against feeling anything for him. Instead, the smile resolved itself into something more thoughtful.

"Perhaps, we should—"

A loud crack! echoed through the woods, drowning out the Goblin King's words. Before Sarah could do more than choke on a strangled yelp of surprise, Jareth grabbed her wrist and jerked her into the tangled vegetation lining the path. She briefly considered fighting him (leaving the path had been Rule Number One, and she'd learned the hard way what happened when the rules were broken) but his fingers tightened around her like bands of steel. She wasn't afraid of him, really, or what he was doing—in fact, she realized to her utter astonishment, she might actually trust him. What she didn't understand, though, was how he'd crossed the six feet of distance between them so damn fast.

Dark green blurred on either side of Sarah as they ran—as Jareth dragged her at a speed she would never keep. Cold dread pulsed from him; she felt it in the way his hand gripped hers, saw it in the twisted expression on his face. The feeling of suddenly being in mortal peril made Sarah's heart leap up her throat. She stumbled, started to gasp "I'm okay, keep going!" But Jareth swept her off her feet before she could recover, continued crashing through the thick undergrowth. Sarah instinctively curled into him, trying to keep the reed-thin branches from slicing her arms and whipping against her face.

When the world felt like it had stopped flinging itself past them, Sarah tentatively opened one eye.

"Wha—?"

Her question was suffocated against Jareth's cool palm. He ignored her glare. "Don't move," he breathed into her ear. "Don't make any noise."

Talking was completely out of the question. With his back to a tree, he held Sarah tightly, her arms trapped between them. His breathes came short and shallow, lightly stirring her hair and curling down her neck. Even the feeling of imminent danger gathering thickly in the air couldn't entirely distract her from how they were pressed together from chest to knee.

"Can you see them?" Jareth whispered.

Sarah tentatively peered over his shoulder, through the tangled strands of his wild blond hair, ignoring the delicious way it shifted her against him—forgot about all that lean, hard muscle and was glad of his hand over her mouth when she involuntarily gasped.

They were short, stocky creatures, all sporting scraggly beards that fell to their knees. Their tunics may have once been a motley of colors, but now were a uniform grey-brown, spattered with dirt and dark stains. They moved silently through the trees, like shadows oozing between the foliage.

It was their eyes, though, that made Sarah's skin crawl. Set deep beneath prominent brows, the small men's eyes glowed an eerie yellowish orange, lit up every place their gazes fell.

"How many?"

Fear made even simple arithmetic impossible. Jareth stirred uneasily, moved his hand so his fingertips lightly touched Sarah's cheek. Golden warmth soaked into her, momentarily chased away the fog of horror.

"Six," she rasped. "There are six...And they're coming this way."

"They'll find us," Jareth murmured, his lips moving against her ear. "Out here in the open. Can you run again?"

No. "Yes."

There was nothing but the sound of her and Jareth scrambling through the forest when they broke away from the tree. She'd found some amount of comfort in the baying of the huge wolves that had chased her and Grosvenor. The silence from the dwarves only made them more frightening.

Maybe they're not following us...maybe Jareth was wrong...maybe they don't want anything to do with us...

Sarah risked a glance over her shoulder. The dwarves formed a wavy line behind them, one coming to a halt and raising something to his shoulder.

It took the span of one gasping breath to see the weapon held firmly between the dwarf's fingers before his face. When the bowstring released, it sang through the forest so loudly Sarah felt it snap against her skin. She tried to pull Jareth to the ground, out of the way. But she was too late. Too slow.

The arrow punched into Jareth with a sickeningly wet thunk.

And Sarah was sure it was just her overactive imagination, but for a breath time stopped and everything muted around her. Jareth arched, his eyes widened in surprised confusion. His lips parted in a silent scream of agony. Darkness blossomed over his shirt, a lurid stain spreading over his back.

The arrow hit him so hard it ripped him from Sarah and shoved him forward. When he crumpled to the ground, the sounds of the forest exploded back into focus and a screamed "No!" roared in her ears.

Sarah skidded to a halt, ripped a hole in her jeans as she fell to her knees next to Jareth. She rolled him onto his side, swallowed a cry of alarm and the sharp tang of bile in the back of her throat when she saw the point of the arrow gleaming wetly from his chest.

"What do I do?" she rasped, her voice tight with anger and fear because she felt suddenly helpless.

"Prepare yourself," Jareth whispered. He winced as he awkwardly pushed up onto his knees. "They will take you. The Clootie Well...a gateway giving the dark dwellers passage." He sucked in a rattling breath. "They hunt mortals here in the Underground...they will torture you, then force you into slavery if..."

"If what?" Sarah prompted urgently when he trailed off. When he shook his head, she forced him to look at her. "If what, Jareth?"

"If they don't kill you, first."

Sarah glanced over her shoulder. The dwarves were close enough she could see the sharp points of their yellowed teeth, bared in wide, vicious grins. Sarah ignored the cold knot of fear in her stomach, looped an arm under Jareth's and tried to haul him to his feet. The Goblin King hissed in pain, pitched forward and dragged them both back to the ground.

"They will take you," Jareth gasped again. "And there's nothing I can do without my magic. Sarah, you have to—"

They grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her away. Sarah screamed. Kicked her legs wildly. Tried to twist out of their grip. Razor-sharp leaves sliced her limbs and face. The mixture of pain and fear made her redouble her efforts. Somehow, she managed to roll onto her stomach. Small rocks and crushed plants scraped over her skin. Her nails bent, broke, the pain excruciating as she clawed the moist dirt. The terror shoving from her raw throat became broken sobs. Warm stickiness spread over the tips of her fingers. Thin lines of fire erupted over every inch of exposed skin, but she didn't stop fighting.

If they were going to kill her, they were going to have to work for it.

She caught a glimpse of Jareth, still on his knees, hand covering the wound in his chest. So close, Sarah thought. It had been so close to his heart. Just like Jake...

The agony on Jareth's face mirrored her own...except for the strange, golden gleam in his eyes. When he realized she was looking at him, he smiled. And, though his ashen features were drawn tight with pain, she recognized that smile.

She didn't know how to wish her way out of this one, though. If it had been that easy, the dwarves would have already been reduced to piles of slag. Obviously, magic was the answer because there was no way either Sarah or Jareth were going to beat the sturdy men physically. But what—?

"...I was simply acting as a channel for your own desires...Without you, I am simply a man who will live a very long time..."

In a flash, she saw Jareth hunched in the corner of a sterile room, surrounded by writhing words, and the feral gleam in his painfully normal gaze.

"Her power over his powers..."

She took a risk, knowing she would certainly die if she was wrong. Almost hoped she was because being right would be infinitely worse.

"Save me! Right now, Jareth!"

Chapter Title: So now you could spend the morning walking with me, quite amazed / As I'm unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed. "Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed," David Bowie