~*After reading some of your reviews, I'd like to reinstate that I had
wrote part of this story before, but never finished it. The chapters I'm
putting up now are the ones I'd completed before. I'm just making them
BETTER. PeAcE!*~
~
Jareth smiled thinly at Sarah's pale face. He wore the expression of a man that spoke a truth that pained him and was expecting a harsh backlash.
He got it, just not the way he was expecting it.
She was fast. Jareth had to give her that. He didn't even have time to react before her fist smashed into his nose.
A highly satisfying crunch--well, satisfying for ONE side of the said party- -sounded.
Jareth's eyes widened almost to the point of being comical. His leather- clad hands flew up to his nose, cradling it tenderly the way a mother holds a newborn lovingly to her chest. His body slowly bent over, as if deflating, and his wild blond hair fell down on either side of his face like a curtain, hiding it from his audience of one.
Sarah herself was horrified, satisfied, and very angry all at the same time. My god, she thought, her brain going so fast it seemed to be running without touching the ground. What the hell is he going to do? Sarah, you do not, repeat DO NOT break a high-strung Goblin King's nose! Still, it was pretty nice. Now her mind switched to another gear. Guess his dainty little features ain't gonna be dainty no more! Wiped that idiotic smile right off. Besides, the bastard deserved it. How dare he try to say Tessika was his! I can't believe the nerve of him. What a jackass. This is probably just another ploy to make me go into the Labyrinth again, to play his stupid little games. He probably has nothing better to do. Well, guess what, Jareth! I'm not fifteen anymore. Sarah took a deep breath, trying to control her own raging temper, rein in her frenzied mind, and steel herself for an onslaught that would almost surely rival El Niño in fury. Bog of Eternal Stench, here I come.
Instead, she heard muffledlaughter emitting from between Jareth's bloodstained gloves. She blinked.
"Well, Sarah," Jareth chuckled, his voice thick. "I see that life in the projects hasn't softened you up any. I knew that my drama queen would show herself sooner or later."
It took all of Sarah's will not to bring up a knee into his face. So she said nothing, digging her nails into her palms and listening to his irritating laughter.
"I don't see what's so funny," she ground out, after what seemed a ridiculous amount of time to let Jareth laugh and laugh--at *her*.
Jareth straightened. There was no sign that Sarah had hit him at all on his face, although there was still blood on his gloves. He peeled them off slowly, his magnetic stare never wavering from her eyes.
"There are other reasons why I brought you into my world, Sarah, aside from the point that you are the mother of my only daughter."
There was silence between them. She was trying to count to ten, but failed. How dare he say that her beautiful little girl was his? The idea that Sarah and Jareth could make another beautiful between them was beyond what Sarah was willing to allow. It went against everything that she had told herself, made herself believe. It went against the things that she told herself so she could live her life.
"Tessika is *not* yours!" Sarah suddenly shouted at him. "Tessika is the daughter of a dead man."
Distaste grimaced his fine features. "Oh, tell me you don't mean that Jagger fellow."
"Yes, I *do* mean him, and you know that she is his."
"I knew that you had a relationship with him, but I'm certain that she is mine."
"Well, you're wrong."
"Oh, come now, Sarah. You're smarter then this," he said, twitching his nose, taking it for a test-drive.
"I could say the same for you."
"If Tessika is--ah--"
"Jasen Jagger's." Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing him.
"Yes, his, then why would Tessika have different-colored blue eyes?"
Her stomach jumped anxiously. Jareth was blurting out what Sarah had been denying since Tessika was born. "Jasen had a blue eye."
"Yes, keyword here being 'a'."
Sarah swallowed. He couldn't be right. Sure, Tessie did look a little Faeish, but she was still a little girl, still growing. Sure, she had odd upswept eyebrows, and a petite structure, and those odd blue eyes. But, then again, Sarah was petite, and Tessika did have Sarah's dark hair and fair complexion. The mother and daughter only looked a little bit alike, and the *father* and daughter looked nothing alike. Wasn't that just a little bit odd? Didn't daughters carry at least a few of their father's characteristics? Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and ran a hand agitatedly across the back of her neck.
So, if Tessika didn't look like Jasen . . . and Sarah had only had two lovers in her life . . .
"Holy shit," Sarah murmured, raising her eyes to Jareth's dual-colored blue eyes, so much like Tessie's.
Her face spoke for her: she knew that he was openly, honestly telling the truth--no matter how unspeakable that truth may be.
~*5 years earlier*~
Sarah Williams, on the day of her twenty-first birthday, climbed wearily out of bed. Her bones groaned, her muscles moaned, her head ached-- all the signs of a heavy hangover.
But she hadn't been drinking the previous night.
She was so terribly alone and depressed that her body whined for no good reason anymore.
Her roommate, by the name of Claudia Turner, had went and got a football- playing-hunk-of-a- boyfriend. The two young women had gotten along gloriously, but now Sarah hardly saw Claudia. She didn't get along very well with the girls on her dorm floor. All the things they strived for and aspired to seemed . . . trivial, stupid, and weak. They disgusted Sarah. She was labeled "anti-social" because she only left her room to go to class or use the bathrooms. She had no boyfriend, her family had told her, "Don't call us, we'll call you," in exactly those terms, and worst of all, it was *winter*.
Dreary, gray, cold, muddy, brown, lifeless, slippery, scary, colorless, long, dead, and shitty were the words that sprung immediately to Sarah's mind when winter rolled around. No wonder the birds flew south for more summer! Sarah would, without hesitation, if she had wings to fly with. In winter, everything is dead. That thought alone is enough to depress anybody, let alone if that body is lonely or not.
My twenty-first birthday, Sarah thought dejectedly, staring at her pale reflection in the mirror. And nobody around that is even glad I was born. God, I don't want to be alone! Scrubbed her hands over her face. Who loves me? Who is always there when I need them?
*Call us, Sarah.*
The smooth voice, familiar, slid across her ears like velvet.
Goosebumps broke out across her body as she slowly straightened. Those words seemed to be spoken from inside her mind. Carefully she scanned the small room for any sign of life, but there was none.
*If you should need us . . .*
"I'll call," she whispered aloud.
Yes, she would call the beings that had cared about her, that had been there for her during rocky high school years. It was then that she had lost touch with them. Going to parties, studying for tests, trying the dating thing-it left no time for those wonderful characters. She had lost touch with them, with the magic, with the Labyrinth. But they had been true friends, and true friends would forgive and forget.
Wouldn't they?
Standing in the center of the room, her breath hitched in her throat. Tried to speak, but nothing came out. Not even a raspy squeak. Nervous much? Cleared her throat and tried again.
She was more successful this time, except the words seemed to come out all wrong.
"Jareth, I need-I wish you were here."
But wasn't that the way she planned to say them anyway? It didn't matter now. What's said is said.
Sarah looked expectantly around the room. Nothing was happening. Not so much as a speck of glitter or an owl feather.
"Well, Goblin King?" A defiant tone had crept into her voice. A challenge- some bait, if you will.
Nothing. Silence answered her plea.
She suddenly, unexpectedly burst into tears and threw herself onto her unmade bed. Not even *that* bastard cared enough to even reply. You know you're truly alone when the male that once moved the stars for her, that once offered to be her slave, refuses to hear you.
"Am I that worthless?" she whispered out loud, pressing her hot, sweaty face against her pillow. "That insignificant?"
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
The female peeked an eye out from underneath said pillow. She was now blushing. There sat the King in all his leather splendor, perched elegantly on her computer table. He wore an expression that Sarah hadn't seen on his face before. Was it sympathy? Or just characteristic pity?
"It's true," she murmured, trying to wipe the moisture off her face. "I'm surprised that you came."
"What wouldn't I come?" Jareth whispered, his voice suddenly hot and ticklish right next to her ear.
"I think that speaks about my feelings for you, Sarah."
Sarah turned slowly onto her back. He kneeled beside her bed, looking at her intently.
"What kind of feelings, Jareth?"
And he kissed her.
The kiss was gentle, at first, a kiss between two old friends reunited. Sarah deepened it with her desperation for simple human companionship. Begged for a little more, a little faster.
Sarah cried out happily as she felt Jareth's willingness answer her in the rougher kiss. She pulled him onto the bed.
Total chaos ensued.
So unimaginable were the dynamics of the sex that I can't even begin to describe it. I seriously doubt Sarah or Jareth could either. There was scratching, biting, blood, and sweat. It was violent-more mindless, rough mating then what it should've been.
When the feasting was over, he collapsed on top of her. They lay tangled in a mass of flesh, sheets, blood, and sweat, breathing hard, hearts pounding, minds whirring.
This is when the fatal mistake was made. They didn't cuddle, or even talk. Just laid and thought. Not good.
They were both thinking, What the hell have I done?
How could I? Sarah thought. What's going to happen now? What did we just do? I was a virgin, for Christ's sake! And I can't very well blame him, can I? I practically begged him for it. No, cut "practically;" I *did* beg him. I needed him, and he was simply giving me what I wanted. "Everything you wanted, I gave you," he said before.
She turned her head slightly to the side. 10:30 am. And she had gotten up at 10:15. The whole encounter, from her calling to this aftermath, had taken roughly 10-15 minutes. You easy nasty little slut, she accused herself, and squeezed her eyes shut.
Jareth, on the other hand, was torturing himself for very different reasons. Dear gods. What have I done? I have just taken a pure, innocent young woman, is what I've done! And a Human at that. The only creature ever to beat my Labyrinth. What will happen now? Faes are *not* supposed to mix with mortals! What will happen to my magic? What will happen to Sarah? Don't let anything happen to Sarah, just because of my ignorant lack of control. And the fact that he didn't hold back was embarrassing the hell out of him, even though you couldn't really blame him. He saw her peek at the clock. Must be laughing at me now, he thought grimly, and rolled off her. Please don't let her regret it.
She rolled onto her side as well, and pulled the blankets up over her body, which nearly screamed at every move she made. Noticed that she could still taste his blood in her mouth. His body was tense and hard beside hers. He regrets it. Somehow, that thought was worse then the rest of them. He regrets being with me. I really am worthless, a cheap thrill that he will never again give a second thought.
She used me! Jareth was now thinking. That bitch used me for a little romp, and is now regretting it. She will probably push me out of her thoughts after this, and never think of me again. Just like she did last time.
With a low growl, he pushed himself up and quickly dressed, not attempting to use magic. No need for parlor tricks for the mussed girl silently watching him with wide eyes. She pushed herself up on her elbows.
He's so beautiful, she thought, looking at him the way a child might look at a sugarplum. And she had been with him, this beautiful creature. Yeah, and he's obviously gotten his thrill, his tally, Sarah. Snap outta it.
She slowly sat up, with the grace of a feline, holding the blankets to her body. Goddamn him if he didn't want her again!
He turned his back to her and pulled on his boots.
"Are--are you leaving?" Uncertainty filled her voice.
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"I don't know! I just-do you have to leave so soon?"
"What would you rather me do?" Jareth's concern for what might happen to her, his hatred of the untasteful mating that they had just done, and his wallowing in his thoughts left him edgy, rough, and impatient.
"I don't know," she repeated, getting surer and surer by the moment that her thoughts had been correct. "Talk, maybe. Who cares, if you're going to be a jackass about it."
"'Jackbass' now," he drawled. "What a nice term for someone you just slept with."
"'Slept with?!' Is *that* the term *you* use for what we just did?"
Jareth took this as a direct insult to himself, and snarled something inaudible.
"What!?" she demanded angrily. Her fury was fully awake and ready for action.
"Nothing!" he shouted back. Trying to ignore how lovely she looked, her eyes snapping fire, anger raising color in her cheeks, the rumpled silk of her hair tumbling over creamy shoulder onto the snowy white of the pillow.
"You know, if it bothers you so bad to be with me, you can just leave!"
"I have always done as you've asked me, Sarah." He blinked out of sight.
She fell back against the pillows, both relieved and disappointed. His name was on her lips, but she didn't say it.
He stormed through his castle, kicking goblins out of the way. I shouldn't have gone! She hasn't changed.
~*Back to "present" time*~
"Ah, I seem your memory has improved a little." Jareth smiled, but there was no humor in his face.
Sarah shivered. "I thought that you--" she stopped, and tried again. "So Tessika's yours."
"Yes. I know it with all of my Fae blood."
"So what now?"
"Well, I don't know about you, but I need some water or something," Sarah finally said, rubbing her forehead.
"As you wish."
A cool glass of water appeared in her hand. A grateful smile spread across her face as she sipped.
They stood in silence some more as Sarah drank. Truth be told, she was rather uncomfortable. Jareth wouldn't take his eyes off her.
"Jesus, do you *blink*!?" she cried, turning on her heel quickly so he was drilling holes into her back instead of her face.
"Don't you think we should talk?"
Sarah tossed her hair, not so much in defiance then in hopelessness. "About what?"
"About what we've been speaking of since I brought you here!"
"My, my, aren't you the cynic?"
"Look who's talking!"
She burst out laughing, turning slowly to face him. "Jareth, just how old are you?"
He straightened his back proudly. "One thousand and one years."
"And for all those one thousand years, you couldn't come up with a better come-back then 'Look who's talking'?"
To her immense surprise, Jareth's face contorted and he proceeded to what sounded like *cursing* in Gaelic.
Okay . . .
Well, he's not the only one that can curse in a different language, she thought, and reached deep in her mind . . . Come on, high school, don't fail me now.
And began to--rather poorly--curse in Spanish.
"Oh, fine, you win!" she said, trying not to smile at their childish games.
He stopped, shocked. Did my Sarah just admit defeat? Realized their foolishness. And then he did something Sarah had never seen or anticipated him to do.
Jareth--King of the Goblins, Master of the Underground Realm, Attendee of the Table of Overlords, most powerful fae in the Five Realms--laughed splendidly. Good and hard.
Sarah, to say the least, gaped.
And then jumped five seconds later when a female materialized between the two.
"What the hell?" the female asked. "Jareth, you're in trouble."
The mortal, Sarah, felt minor and insignificant next to her. The other female was obviously a Fae, with curly silky blond hair that flowed to her waist and deep blue eyes so large you could drown in them. She was wrapped into a golden satin robe. The air around her seemed to sparkle with vivacity, magic, and good humor.
She was lovely. Are they . . . together? Sarah wondered, observing the perfect spectacle they made together. That thought felt like a bullet, and she flinched as pain spread from her stomach and chest. Calm down, there, Sarah, before you give yourself a heart attack, or acid indigestion in the very least. Did you expect him to wait around for you? Oh, no, you didn't expect anything of him, right? Did you misinterpret his words to begin with? Her mind had turned traitor to her, taunting her with sarcastic and hurtful thoughts. She felt like curling up in a ball, away from the lovely woman and that perfectly handsome, dumbass Jareth and her alien thoughts. Because her mutinous brain was right. The other two times Sarah had been in Jareth's company--when she was fifteen and twenty-one--he'd never mentioned having a wife, or mate, and he'd never mentioned *not* having one. Sure, he wasn't wearing a ring, but what the hell did that matter in a place like this? She rubbed her forehead, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed from too much thinking (and yes, there is such a thing, despite what parents and teachers may say) and stress.
Meanwhile, Kit and her brother Jareth continued their conversation while Sarah wrestled with her emotions, unnoticed.
"What do you mean, what the hell?"
"Are you going funny, Jareth? How come you didn't tell me that you were bringing a Human into the Underground?" she asked, feeling his head playfully. "Do you need to take some firewort to clear your mind?"
"I don't know, dear Kit," he chuckled a little. "This mortal has knocked me back about to the age of ten."
"Yes, you're going psycho alright," she concluded.
"If anyone needs to take firewort around here, it's you."
Their loving conversation stopped abruptly when Sarah hit the floor in a dead faint.
"Ah, dear brother, I think you spoke too soon," Kit replied, eyeing the heap.
"You get her head and I'll get her feet," Jareth said, sighing with resign.
"What? You're not going to transport her?" Kit asked, dutifully following her brother's demand.
"No, that will just exhaust the poor woman more."
"Since when do you care about exhausting mortal women?"
"On three," Jareth commanded. "One . . . two . . . three."
The two hoisted up the dead weight of Sarah, Kit's efforts vocalized with a little grunt.
"Since they have my child," Jareth finally replied, as the duet shuffled out of the throne room.
"Oh, this is *her*?" Kit looked down into the troubled face of the female that had innocently, unknowingly tortured her older brother for the past (what was it? Ten? Eleven? Eh, whatever) years. "Well, now I see what all the trouble's about."
"Yes, she is rather pleasant to look at, isn't she?" Jareth asked, with a touch of fondness.
Kit's head shot up. Dear god, no. We don't need a lovesick king trying to run a whole realm, she thought. And just wait until the Table of Overlords gets a whiff of this: a Fae possibly in love with a Human and most definitely having a child with her. One of the traits Kit loved most about her brother was his coldness. To everyone, it appeared that he had an inability to feel, but Kit and all of their brothers knew that Jareth had extreme self-control. The adoration he'd shown a moment ago toward this Sarah was the first real emotion Kit had ever seen him feel, other then faint anger and faint amusement, for a very long time. And it scared the hell out of her.
They dumped Sarah on the bed, devoid of fanfare, and left the room equally unexcitingly, leaving the girl to her dreams.
And dream Sarah did--for about an hour, of course. The poor woman was so overcome with worry that she found it difficult to relax. So what did she think about?
Why, the incident between her and Jareth when she was twenty-one, of course!
Even the mere thought of it made her want to disappear in disgust--of herself. What had happened had been so uncharacteristic of her! And she could hardly blame it on Jareth; she'd thrown herself at him when she needed someone there for her.
Isn't that generous? she thought bitterly. Everything I wanted, he gave me. And then, when I wanted him, he was happy to oblige.
STOP! she ordered herself angrily, twisting the sheets between white- knuckled hands. It. Was. Your. Goddamned. Fault. End of story.
Except it wasn't. After it had happened and her King had left her-again-- she felt even worse then than before she'd called. There was blood all over her bed, from her broken virginity, her bit lips, and the numerous scratches they had left on each other. She could still taste his blood. Sarah had felt too awful to even look at herself. She could hardly bear to look at her bruised body. What they had done together--it wasn't sex, it wasn't making love, it was plain ole *fucking*, if you'll pardon the term. There hadn't been any feeling in it except lust.
Something so awful can't be forgotten, but it can be repressed, which Sarah skillfully did. After a week, she found she was able to smile again. Of course, Sarah can't have *all* the credit; Jasen Jagger helped.
After Jareth left, she had lain there all day, and all night, quietly weeping, wanting to call him, wanting to kill him. When morning came, she got up, went to class, and on the way, bumped into the guy who would soon be the father of her baby. He'd seen something in her, something other then self-pity and loathing. He'd seen the spark that Jareth had seen in her, and had wanted her for it. Jasen Jagger got her six nights later. He made her the belle of the parties he took her to, treated her like a princess. She fell for him; he was the first person to be kind to her in months.
So she'd lost herself in Jasen, so totally and blindly that the memory of what she and Jareth had done, a little shocked by all this, had retreated into a secret room deep in Sarah's mind and locked the door. Every now and then, it would rattle and cause her stomach to jump, reminding her--just a little, just enough-- and she'd pile more furniture in front of the door.
Sarah lay there in the darkness, worrying, tossing, turning, thinking. Mainly about that *Incident* and Tessika.
Finally, around 1:30 (in Underground time, naturally) there came a bold knock on the door.
"Sarah?"
The voice was female.
"Um, come in." She sat up.
The female that had materialized in the throne room earlier walked through the door.
Sarah felt immediate dislike for Jareth's wife.
"I won't be too long, Sarah," the Fae said in a sweet, lilting voice.
No wonder Jareth loves her, Sarah thought bitterly.
"But I felt you having trouble sleeping, so I've brought you a gift."
Gee. Thanks. Better not be a peach or a crystal, bitch.
But when the woman stepped aside, the little form standing timidly behind her was not neither the former nor the latter.
It was Tessika.
Yes, the woman--Kit--was right. Once Tessika, her darling girl, her whole world, was cuddled beside her, Sarah fell almost instantly asleep.
When Sarah Williams awoke the next morning, she felt absolutely wonderful. It was the first good night's rest she'd gotten in weeks. Which seemed odd. Where were the barking dogs? Where was the alarm clock? Where were the pounding of feet and the talking of voices and the honking of horns? And where was Tessika?
Oh, jesus, *TESSIKA*!
She sat straight up in the bed (which, even in her panicked state, she noted to be deep and soft, but that's not the point) only to find it surrounded by--count 'em: eight, nine--*ten* men, one of who she recognized as Jareth.
And then she remembered where she was, what had happened, what had been discovered.
Despite the fact that she still had her suit on from what she assumed as yesterday, she pulled the bedclothes slowly up to her chin.
"Um, hello gentlemen."
~
Jareth smiled thinly at Sarah's pale face. He wore the expression of a man that spoke a truth that pained him and was expecting a harsh backlash.
He got it, just not the way he was expecting it.
She was fast. Jareth had to give her that. He didn't even have time to react before her fist smashed into his nose.
A highly satisfying crunch--well, satisfying for ONE side of the said party- -sounded.
Jareth's eyes widened almost to the point of being comical. His leather- clad hands flew up to his nose, cradling it tenderly the way a mother holds a newborn lovingly to her chest. His body slowly bent over, as if deflating, and his wild blond hair fell down on either side of his face like a curtain, hiding it from his audience of one.
Sarah herself was horrified, satisfied, and very angry all at the same time. My god, she thought, her brain going so fast it seemed to be running without touching the ground. What the hell is he going to do? Sarah, you do not, repeat DO NOT break a high-strung Goblin King's nose! Still, it was pretty nice. Now her mind switched to another gear. Guess his dainty little features ain't gonna be dainty no more! Wiped that idiotic smile right off. Besides, the bastard deserved it. How dare he try to say Tessika was his! I can't believe the nerve of him. What a jackass. This is probably just another ploy to make me go into the Labyrinth again, to play his stupid little games. He probably has nothing better to do. Well, guess what, Jareth! I'm not fifteen anymore. Sarah took a deep breath, trying to control her own raging temper, rein in her frenzied mind, and steel herself for an onslaught that would almost surely rival El Niño in fury. Bog of Eternal Stench, here I come.
Instead, she heard muffledlaughter emitting from between Jareth's bloodstained gloves. She blinked.
"Well, Sarah," Jareth chuckled, his voice thick. "I see that life in the projects hasn't softened you up any. I knew that my drama queen would show herself sooner or later."
It took all of Sarah's will not to bring up a knee into his face. So she said nothing, digging her nails into her palms and listening to his irritating laughter.
"I don't see what's so funny," she ground out, after what seemed a ridiculous amount of time to let Jareth laugh and laugh--at *her*.
Jareth straightened. There was no sign that Sarah had hit him at all on his face, although there was still blood on his gloves. He peeled them off slowly, his magnetic stare never wavering from her eyes.
"There are other reasons why I brought you into my world, Sarah, aside from the point that you are the mother of my only daughter."
There was silence between them. She was trying to count to ten, but failed. How dare he say that her beautiful little girl was his? The idea that Sarah and Jareth could make another beautiful between them was beyond what Sarah was willing to allow. It went against everything that she had told herself, made herself believe. It went against the things that she told herself so she could live her life.
"Tessika is *not* yours!" Sarah suddenly shouted at him. "Tessika is the daughter of a dead man."
Distaste grimaced his fine features. "Oh, tell me you don't mean that Jagger fellow."
"Yes, I *do* mean him, and you know that she is his."
"I knew that you had a relationship with him, but I'm certain that she is mine."
"Well, you're wrong."
"Oh, come now, Sarah. You're smarter then this," he said, twitching his nose, taking it for a test-drive.
"I could say the same for you."
"If Tessika is--ah--"
"Jasen Jagger's." Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing him.
"Yes, his, then why would Tessika have different-colored blue eyes?"
Her stomach jumped anxiously. Jareth was blurting out what Sarah had been denying since Tessika was born. "Jasen had a blue eye."
"Yes, keyword here being 'a'."
Sarah swallowed. He couldn't be right. Sure, Tessie did look a little Faeish, but she was still a little girl, still growing. Sure, she had odd upswept eyebrows, and a petite structure, and those odd blue eyes. But, then again, Sarah was petite, and Tessika did have Sarah's dark hair and fair complexion. The mother and daughter only looked a little bit alike, and the *father* and daughter looked nothing alike. Wasn't that just a little bit odd? Didn't daughters carry at least a few of their father's characteristics? Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and ran a hand agitatedly across the back of her neck.
So, if Tessika didn't look like Jasen . . . and Sarah had only had two lovers in her life . . .
"Holy shit," Sarah murmured, raising her eyes to Jareth's dual-colored blue eyes, so much like Tessie's.
Her face spoke for her: she knew that he was openly, honestly telling the truth--no matter how unspeakable that truth may be.
~*5 years earlier*~
Sarah Williams, on the day of her twenty-first birthday, climbed wearily out of bed. Her bones groaned, her muscles moaned, her head ached-- all the signs of a heavy hangover.
But she hadn't been drinking the previous night.
She was so terribly alone and depressed that her body whined for no good reason anymore.
Her roommate, by the name of Claudia Turner, had went and got a football- playing-hunk-of-a- boyfriend. The two young women had gotten along gloriously, but now Sarah hardly saw Claudia. She didn't get along very well with the girls on her dorm floor. All the things they strived for and aspired to seemed . . . trivial, stupid, and weak. They disgusted Sarah. She was labeled "anti-social" because she only left her room to go to class or use the bathrooms. She had no boyfriend, her family had told her, "Don't call us, we'll call you," in exactly those terms, and worst of all, it was *winter*.
Dreary, gray, cold, muddy, brown, lifeless, slippery, scary, colorless, long, dead, and shitty were the words that sprung immediately to Sarah's mind when winter rolled around. No wonder the birds flew south for more summer! Sarah would, without hesitation, if she had wings to fly with. In winter, everything is dead. That thought alone is enough to depress anybody, let alone if that body is lonely or not.
My twenty-first birthday, Sarah thought dejectedly, staring at her pale reflection in the mirror. And nobody around that is even glad I was born. God, I don't want to be alone! Scrubbed her hands over her face. Who loves me? Who is always there when I need them?
*Call us, Sarah.*
The smooth voice, familiar, slid across her ears like velvet.
Goosebumps broke out across her body as she slowly straightened. Those words seemed to be spoken from inside her mind. Carefully she scanned the small room for any sign of life, but there was none.
*If you should need us . . .*
"I'll call," she whispered aloud.
Yes, she would call the beings that had cared about her, that had been there for her during rocky high school years. It was then that she had lost touch with them. Going to parties, studying for tests, trying the dating thing-it left no time for those wonderful characters. She had lost touch with them, with the magic, with the Labyrinth. But they had been true friends, and true friends would forgive and forget.
Wouldn't they?
Standing in the center of the room, her breath hitched in her throat. Tried to speak, but nothing came out. Not even a raspy squeak. Nervous much? Cleared her throat and tried again.
She was more successful this time, except the words seemed to come out all wrong.
"Jareth, I need-I wish you were here."
But wasn't that the way she planned to say them anyway? It didn't matter now. What's said is said.
Sarah looked expectantly around the room. Nothing was happening. Not so much as a speck of glitter or an owl feather.
"Well, Goblin King?" A defiant tone had crept into her voice. A challenge- some bait, if you will.
Nothing. Silence answered her plea.
She suddenly, unexpectedly burst into tears and threw herself onto her unmade bed. Not even *that* bastard cared enough to even reply. You know you're truly alone when the male that once moved the stars for her, that once offered to be her slave, refuses to hear you.
"Am I that worthless?" she whispered out loud, pressing her hot, sweaty face against her pillow. "That insignificant?"
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
The female peeked an eye out from underneath said pillow. She was now blushing. There sat the King in all his leather splendor, perched elegantly on her computer table. He wore an expression that Sarah hadn't seen on his face before. Was it sympathy? Or just characteristic pity?
"It's true," she murmured, trying to wipe the moisture off her face. "I'm surprised that you came."
"What wouldn't I come?" Jareth whispered, his voice suddenly hot and ticklish right next to her ear.
"I think that speaks about my feelings for you, Sarah."
Sarah turned slowly onto her back. He kneeled beside her bed, looking at her intently.
"What kind of feelings, Jareth?"
And he kissed her.
The kiss was gentle, at first, a kiss between two old friends reunited. Sarah deepened it with her desperation for simple human companionship. Begged for a little more, a little faster.
Sarah cried out happily as she felt Jareth's willingness answer her in the rougher kiss. She pulled him onto the bed.
Total chaos ensued.
So unimaginable were the dynamics of the sex that I can't even begin to describe it. I seriously doubt Sarah or Jareth could either. There was scratching, biting, blood, and sweat. It was violent-more mindless, rough mating then what it should've been.
When the feasting was over, he collapsed on top of her. They lay tangled in a mass of flesh, sheets, blood, and sweat, breathing hard, hearts pounding, minds whirring.
This is when the fatal mistake was made. They didn't cuddle, or even talk. Just laid and thought. Not good.
They were both thinking, What the hell have I done?
How could I? Sarah thought. What's going to happen now? What did we just do? I was a virgin, for Christ's sake! And I can't very well blame him, can I? I practically begged him for it. No, cut "practically;" I *did* beg him. I needed him, and he was simply giving me what I wanted. "Everything you wanted, I gave you," he said before.
She turned her head slightly to the side. 10:30 am. And she had gotten up at 10:15. The whole encounter, from her calling to this aftermath, had taken roughly 10-15 minutes. You easy nasty little slut, she accused herself, and squeezed her eyes shut.
Jareth, on the other hand, was torturing himself for very different reasons. Dear gods. What have I done? I have just taken a pure, innocent young woman, is what I've done! And a Human at that. The only creature ever to beat my Labyrinth. What will happen now? Faes are *not* supposed to mix with mortals! What will happen to my magic? What will happen to Sarah? Don't let anything happen to Sarah, just because of my ignorant lack of control. And the fact that he didn't hold back was embarrassing the hell out of him, even though you couldn't really blame him. He saw her peek at the clock. Must be laughing at me now, he thought grimly, and rolled off her. Please don't let her regret it.
She rolled onto her side as well, and pulled the blankets up over her body, which nearly screamed at every move she made. Noticed that she could still taste his blood in her mouth. His body was tense and hard beside hers. He regrets it. Somehow, that thought was worse then the rest of them. He regrets being with me. I really am worthless, a cheap thrill that he will never again give a second thought.
She used me! Jareth was now thinking. That bitch used me for a little romp, and is now regretting it. She will probably push me out of her thoughts after this, and never think of me again. Just like she did last time.
With a low growl, he pushed himself up and quickly dressed, not attempting to use magic. No need for parlor tricks for the mussed girl silently watching him with wide eyes. She pushed herself up on her elbows.
He's so beautiful, she thought, looking at him the way a child might look at a sugarplum. And she had been with him, this beautiful creature. Yeah, and he's obviously gotten his thrill, his tally, Sarah. Snap outta it.
She slowly sat up, with the grace of a feline, holding the blankets to her body. Goddamn him if he didn't want her again!
He turned his back to her and pulled on his boots.
"Are--are you leaving?" Uncertainty filled her voice.
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"I don't know! I just-do you have to leave so soon?"
"What would you rather me do?" Jareth's concern for what might happen to her, his hatred of the untasteful mating that they had just done, and his wallowing in his thoughts left him edgy, rough, and impatient.
"I don't know," she repeated, getting surer and surer by the moment that her thoughts had been correct. "Talk, maybe. Who cares, if you're going to be a jackass about it."
"'Jackbass' now," he drawled. "What a nice term for someone you just slept with."
"'Slept with?!' Is *that* the term *you* use for what we just did?"
Jareth took this as a direct insult to himself, and snarled something inaudible.
"What!?" she demanded angrily. Her fury was fully awake and ready for action.
"Nothing!" he shouted back. Trying to ignore how lovely she looked, her eyes snapping fire, anger raising color in her cheeks, the rumpled silk of her hair tumbling over creamy shoulder onto the snowy white of the pillow.
"You know, if it bothers you so bad to be with me, you can just leave!"
"I have always done as you've asked me, Sarah." He blinked out of sight.
She fell back against the pillows, both relieved and disappointed. His name was on her lips, but she didn't say it.
He stormed through his castle, kicking goblins out of the way. I shouldn't have gone! She hasn't changed.
~*Back to "present" time*~
"Ah, I seem your memory has improved a little." Jareth smiled, but there was no humor in his face.
Sarah shivered. "I thought that you--" she stopped, and tried again. "So Tessika's yours."
"Yes. I know it with all of my Fae blood."
"So what now?"
"Well, I don't know about you, but I need some water or something," Sarah finally said, rubbing her forehead.
"As you wish."
A cool glass of water appeared in her hand. A grateful smile spread across her face as she sipped.
They stood in silence some more as Sarah drank. Truth be told, she was rather uncomfortable. Jareth wouldn't take his eyes off her.
"Jesus, do you *blink*!?" she cried, turning on her heel quickly so he was drilling holes into her back instead of her face.
"Don't you think we should talk?"
Sarah tossed her hair, not so much in defiance then in hopelessness. "About what?"
"About what we've been speaking of since I brought you here!"
"My, my, aren't you the cynic?"
"Look who's talking!"
She burst out laughing, turning slowly to face him. "Jareth, just how old are you?"
He straightened his back proudly. "One thousand and one years."
"And for all those one thousand years, you couldn't come up with a better come-back then 'Look who's talking'?"
To her immense surprise, Jareth's face contorted and he proceeded to what sounded like *cursing* in Gaelic.
Okay . . .
Well, he's not the only one that can curse in a different language, she thought, and reached deep in her mind . . . Come on, high school, don't fail me now.
And began to--rather poorly--curse in Spanish.
"Oh, fine, you win!" she said, trying not to smile at their childish games.
He stopped, shocked. Did my Sarah just admit defeat? Realized their foolishness. And then he did something Sarah had never seen or anticipated him to do.
Jareth--King of the Goblins, Master of the Underground Realm, Attendee of the Table of Overlords, most powerful fae in the Five Realms--laughed splendidly. Good and hard.
Sarah, to say the least, gaped.
And then jumped five seconds later when a female materialized between the two.
"What the hell?" the female asked. "Jareth, you're in trouble."
The mortal, Sarah, felt minor and insignificant next to her. The other female was obviously a Fae, with curly silky blond hair that flowed to her waist and deep blue eyes so large you could drown in them. She was wrapped into a golden satin robe. The air around her seemed to sparkle with vivacity, magic, and good humor.
She was lovely. Are they . . . together? Sarah wondered, observing the perfect spectacle they made together. That thought felt like a bullet, and she flinched as pain spread from her stomach and chest. Calm down, there, Sarah, before you give yourself a heart attack, or acid indigestion in the very least. Did you expect him to wait around for you? Oh, no, you didn't expect anything of him, right? Did you misinterpret his words to begin with? Her mind had turned traitor to her, taunting her with sarcastic and hurtful thoughts. She felt like curling up in a ball, away from the lovely woman and that perfectly handsome, dumbass Jareth and her alien thoughts. Because her mutinous brain was right. The other two times Sarah had been in Jareth's company--when she was fifteen and twenty-one--he'd never mentioned having a wife, or mate, and he'd never mentioned *not* having one. Sure, he wasn't wearing a ring, but what the hell did that matter in a place like this? She rubbed her forehead, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed from too much thinking (and yes, there is such a thing, despite what parents and teachers may say) and stress.
Meanwhile, Kit and her brother Jareth continued their conversation while Sarah wrestled with her emotions, unnoticed.
"What do you mean, what the hell?"
"Are you going funny, Jareth? How come you didn't tell me that you were bringing a Human into the Underground?" she asked, feeling his head playfully. "Do you need to take some firewort to clear your mind?"
"I don't know, dear Kit," he chuckled a little. "This mortal has knocked me back about to the age of ten."
"Yes, you're going psycho alright," she concluded.
"If anyone needs to take firewort around here, it's you."
Their loving conversation stopped abruptly when Sarah hit the floor in a dead faint.
"Ah, dear brother, I think you spoke too soon," Kit replied, eyeing the heap.
"You get her head and I'll get her feet," Jareth said, sighing with resign.
"What? You're not going to transport her?" Kit asked, dutifully following her brother's demand.
"No, that will just exhaust the poor woman more."
"Since when do you care about exhausting mortal women?"
"On three," Jareth commanded. "One . . . two . . . three."
The two hoisted up the dead weight of Sarah, Kit's efforts vocalized with a little grunt.
"Since they have my child," Jareth finally replied, as the duet shuffled out of the throne room.
"Oh, this is *her*?" Kit looked down into the troubled face of the female that had innocently, unknowingly tortured her older brother for the past (what was it? Ten? Eleven? Eh, whatever) years. "Well, now I see what all the trouble's about."
"Yes, she is rather pleasant to look at, isn't she?" Jareth asked, with a touch of fondness.
Kit's head shot up. Dear god, no. We don't need a lovesick king trying to run a whole realm, she thought. And just wait until the Table of Overlords gets a whiff of this: a Fae possibly in love with a Human and most definitely having a child with her. One of the traits Kit loved most about her brother was his coldness. To everyone, it appeared that he had an inability to feel, but Kit and all of their brothers knew that Jareth had extreme self-control. The adoration he'd shown a moment ago toward this Sarah was the first real emotion Kit had ever seen him feel, other then faint anger and faint amusement, for a very long time. And it scared the hell out of her.
They dumped Sarah on the bed, devoid of fanfare, and left the room equally unexcitingly, leaving the girl to her dreams.
And dream Sarah did--for about an hour, of course. The poor woman was so overcome with worry that she found it difficult to relax. So what did she think about?
Why, the incident between her and Jareth when she was twenty-one, of course!
Even the mere thought of it made her want to disappear in disgust--of herself. What had happened had been so uncharacteristic of her! And she could hardly blame it on Jareth; she'd thrown herself at him when she needed someone there for her.
Isn't that generous? she thought bitterly. Everything I wanted, he gave me. And then, when I wanted him, he was happy to oblige.
STOP! she ordered herself angrily, twisting the sheets between white- knuckled hands. It. Was. Your. Goddamned. Fault. End of story.
Except it wasn't. After it had happened and her King had left her-again-- she felt even worse then than before she'd called. There was blood all over her bed, from her broken virginity, her bit lips, and the numerous scratches they had left on each other. She could still taste his blood. Sarah had felt too awful to even look at herself. She could hardly bear to look at her bruised body. What they had done together--it wasn't sex, it wasn't making love, it was plain ole *fucking*, if you'll pardon the term. There hadn't been any feeling in it except lust.
Something so awful can't be forgotten, but it can be repressed, which Sarah skillfully did. After a week, she found she was able to smile again. Of course, Sarah can't have *all* the credit; Jasen Jagger helped.
After Jareth left, she had lain there all day, and all night, quietly weeping, wanting to call him, wanting to kill him. When morning came, she got up, went to class, and on the way, bumped into the guy who would soon be the father of her baby. He'd seen something in her, something other then self-pity and loathing. He'd seen the spark that Jareth had seen in her, and had wanted her for it. Jasen Jagger got her six nights later. He made her the belle of the parties he took her to, treated her like a princess. She fell for him; he was the first person to be kind to her in months.
So she'd lost herself in Jasen, so totally and blindly that the memory of what she and Jareth had done, a little shocked by all this, had retreated into a secret room deep in Sarah's mind and locked the door. Every now and then, it would rattle and cause her stomach to jump, reminding her--just a little, just enough-- and she'd pile more furniture in front of the door.
Sarah lay there in the darkness, worrying, tossing, turning, thinking. Mainly about that *Incident* and Tessika.
Finally, around 1:30 (in Underground time, naturally) there came a bold knock on the door.
"Sarah?"
The voice was female.
"Um, come in." She sat up.
The female that had materialized in the throne room earlier walked through the door.
Sarah felt immediate dislike for Jareth's wife.
"I won't be too long, Sarah," the Fae said in a sweet, lilting voice.
No wonder Jareth loves her, Sarah thought bitterly.
"But I felt you having trouble sleeping, so I've brought you a gift."
Gee. Thanks. Better not be a peach or a crystal, bitch.
But when the woman stepped aside, the little form standing timidly behind her was not neither the former nor the latter.
It was Tessika.
Yes, the woman--Kit--was right. Once Tessika, her darling girl, her whole world, was cuddled beside her, Sarah fell almost instantly asleep.
When Sarah Williams awoke the next morning, she felt absolutely wonderful. It was the first good night's rest she'd gotten in weeks. Which seemed odd. Where were the barking dogs? Where was the alarm clock? Where were the pounding of feet and the talking of voices and the honking of horns? And where was Tessika?
Oh, jesus, *TESSIKA*!
She sat straight up in the bed (which, even in her panicked state, she noted to be deep and soft, but that's not the point) only to find it surrounded by--count 'em: eight, nine--*ten* men, one of who she recognized as Jareth.
And then she remembered where she was, what had happened, what had been discovered.
Despite the fact that she still had her suit on from what she assumed as yesterday, she pulled the bedclothes slowly up to her chin.
"Um, hello gentlemen."