"Hey, dad."

Harold blinked at the apparition in front of him. It had been a lifetime but... was this really his Toby? "Toby? Son, is... who are you?"

"It's me," Toby sighed, raking a hand through his hair, "Look, I know you never wanted to see me again, but I just wanted to tell you..." he searched for what it was he wanted to say, "... I didn't mean that to happen; you know the deal with Jareth and stuff. I really didn't know! Dad, I- I just wanted you to be proud."

Harold gaped. Toby was really standing in front of him on his doorstep! And having a major epiphany from the sound of things.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone," the boy whispered, wrapping velvet draped arms around himself, "But things happened and I thought... I wanted to say sorry. You and Mom never deserved that; Sarah didn't, either. I'll probably be staying in that motel down near the petrol station if you ever decide... I know you won't, but maybe if there was something you wanted, or- or something I could do. I, um, just wanted to say hi."

He just wanted to say hi? His son was standing on his doorstep looking ten years too old for his age and dressed in black velvet, appeared from nowhere after having been stolen away by some guy who thought he was a Goblin King or some such, and all he wanted was to say hi?

"I think you should come in," the man said quietly, stepping back and holding the door open, "Your mother will want to meet you."

Toby hesitated, surprise flaring in his eyes at the invitation. He'd walked from the park where Jareth had left him to the house, thinking too many thoughts to feel quite sane. And he had talked himself into believing that his dad would never want to see his face, let alone invite him into the house. But now Harold was staring at him with some strange emotion flickering in the blue-grey eyes that had scolded him sternly over some childish error and Toby wanted so desperately so see the place where life had been... simple.

"Karen! Karen, come here a sec!"

The sound of high heels- how well Toby remembered that sound- and then a small blonde woman with bright blue eyes so like his own was walking out only to stop dead at the sight of him.

"Toby!"

The boy staggered back and almost fell off the porch as Karen flung her arms around him and held on for dear life. God, but it felt so good! Even with the usual sting and nettle of being touched, it felt like he had just returned to some kind of safe haven where nothing could hurt him ever again. For this was the Aboveground and such things as dark shadows did not exist here!

"Hey Mom," he choked out, willing himself not to cry in front of his father, "I just came to say hi."

"To say hi? You ridiculous, sorry excuse for a son," Karen scolded, automatically slipping back into the old ways of playing the stern parent, "Don't you dare turn up on my doorstep and not come in ever again! I won't stand it! I won't!"

"Mom, mom, I'm sorry! I swear," Toby laughed, unable to help it because his mother was scolding and crying and hugging all at the same time and who else but her would ever have done that just at the sight of him, "I'll come in! I promise, I promise!"

"Good," Karen smiled, sniffing lightly as she ran a hand over her son's face, "You look tired, dear. Come in and sit down."

Toby looked uncertainly back to his father, who only held the door wider and said nothing. But those eyes, Toby was sure, were not telling him to get lost. So he nodded and stepped in.

Whatever he had been expecting from entering his home ever again, it didn't happen. There was no warm rush of feeling, no sense of upliftment. All there was, was a quiet melancholy at the loss of something that tickled and scritched down his spine like the whisper of a finger. A long finger, pale white and delicate, caressing skin and soul in equal measures.

But as the door closed, Toby afforded his cynically sorrowful realizations a small inner smile of knowing. He'd been right after all- going home would take him back to the way things had been before the Goblin King. And if he concentrated hard enough, even this Dream would pass and he would wake up and find everything was just as it should be.

-------------------------------------------------------

And in the Underground, the Goblin King was not really sure what he wanted to do. He was standing on the flat ramparts of his Castle, enjoying the feel of the wind and the rain as they crashed and danced around him in the dark of the night.

"Pure chaos," he whispered, "How truly wonderful."

But he had work to do and putting it off for another day would only create more headaches. So he sat down cross-legged, bowed his head and summoned his magic to the fore. There were no crystals this time, no bound limits for his powers, and the glowing tendrils of light arched from the tips of his fingers to the curve of his palms. He pushed harder, calling in his very soul to the being he needed to see.

A burst of lightening and the storm lashed heavier, plastering his hair to his skull and his clothes to his body. And then a hand was laid gently in his and it tugged.

"Spirit," he sighed, getting up and shaking droplets from his lashes.

"You summoned me, Goblin King?" the being asked.

Had anyone looked up, it would have been the strangest sight imaginable- the arrogant King of the Goblins smiling mildly at a tall pixie-like creature with over-large pointed ears and skin the warm brown of an autumn leaf. Chestnut hair flecked with silver and gold fell tumbling in a wild mane down the lean flanks. There was no comfort in such a body and yet, in its hard litheness it was a safe haven in the storm.

Jareth reached out and captured a lock of its hair in his fingers, feeling the strands curl around the digit with a sensual slither.

The Spirit of the Labyrinth smiled- a warm, soothing smile- and leaned forward to encourage the touch. Many Goblin Kings had it allianced itself with, but none had garnered its respect so much as this one. And none had the potential to inspire it with such very human feelings of tenderness.

"You miss him." It was a statement, not a question, and Jareth treated it as such.

"I do. But it was safer for him in the Aboveground."

"You blame yourself far too much, Goblin King." The being tilted its head as if to physically regard him from another angle. "That is most unlike you."

Jareth smiled and shrugged. "There's a first time for everything. You look better than I remember, Spirit. What have you been doing to yourself?"

"I have received replenishment from you, my Goblin King," the being pointed out, curling its fingers trustingly into the soaking white shirt on the other's body, "there have been a wealth of strong emotions released from you lately. Some of which have surprised even me."

"That would indeed say much," Jareth agreed, "I was certain nothing ever could."

"Just as I was certain that you would not love such a one as he."

"I have not spoken of love..."

"It is in your blood and your blood is in me. Perhaps not yet, but it is there. We share blood and essence. I feel what you would feel; I think as you would think. "

"Does that mean you feel everything I do?" Jareth chuckled. He leaned closer, leaning towards a pointed ear, "What about desires? Were I to send my elf running through your stone hallways, would you seduce him as I would?"

"You forget yourself to ask such questions," the spirit rebuked, pulling away to show its disapproval. Walking to the edge, it hopped up onto the waist- high barriers and proceeded to dance its anger to the call of the wind. Wild, wet hair whirled and whipped in a stormy cloud and nimble feet made light of the supreme balance needed.

Jareth watched as familiar mismatched eyes turned to gleam at him. He felt his own heart soar at such antics, just as he felt his soul soothed by the grace and his strength revitalized. There was a flash of regret when the dance was done.

"You are a fool," the spirit announced, shouting the words out even in nothing more than a sweet whisper, "Your soul mate is brought to your arms and you let him go. He is human and his hold on life is shorter than yours; yet you waste time with these silly games? Bring him back, for your unhappiness displeases me."

"It is not your place to feel displeased." Jareth had business and he did not want to think of what he had done just an hour before.

"That is not the issue. When will the mortal return?"

"Spirit, you do not control my love-life," the Goblin King growled, "I have been very patient with you, and yes, even generous. You have crossed the boundaries time and again for what it acceptable behaviour and I have said nothing! But interfere with me now and I will not tolerate it."

"Oh?" the extraordinary lack of eyebrows was strange enough but the ever- changing tattoos inked into the skin of the spirit's face lit it with an ethereal, otherworldly glow. The colours and shapes began to blaze with ill-temper and over its shoulder Jareth saw the stones of the actual Labyrinth itself begin to groan and cry out in anger. "Do you imagine you could best me in a fight, Goblin King?"

"I do not imagine anything, Spirit. I'm not crying war; you are. But you have no business with my soul mates or bond mates and I will thank you to remember that!"

The Labyrinth had expected such a reaction. It had come prepared for such words and was not unduly hurt. But even expectations cannot stifle disappointment and the Spirit was very disappointed. For as long as Jareth had ruled as King, the Labyrinth had enjoyed the finesse of a quick, cunning mind that delighted in the complexities in the simple things, the twists in the tales so to speak, and now that Jareth was depressed... well, the quick mind was not thinking of anything so much as romance and heartbreak.

The Spirit simply could not understand it! These emotions were all very well but if being without someone made you unhappy, then the obvious remedy was to bring the someone back.

"I called to re-order your passageways."

The spirit stepped back in alarm. With the careless vibes that the Goblin King was sending out, the Labyrinth did not really want to be re-ordered just then. "I do not think now is a good time," it said hurriedly, holding up a hand as if to physically stop anything happening.

Jareth frowned and folded his arms across his chest, a frosty look creeping over his sharp features. His mismatched eyes plainly demanded an explanation.

The Spirit of the Labyrinth lowered those identical mismatched eyes and stood demurely before him. "You are preoccupied," it admitted, "That is not a good time in which to perform these magicks. I thought you knew that, Goblin King."

"By which you mean you cannot trust me to carry out my duties." Jareth felt that just another blow to his pride. First unable to capture Toby's tormentor, then unable to protect his bond mate from facing torture again, and now his skills as the Lord of Labyrinth were called into question too? What the devil was going on! Were the Gods of the Old Ones mocking him for something? Was this some kind of cosmic practical joke?

"It is not that I do not trust you," the Spirit said gently, reaching out a hand to touch his arm, "It is simply not advisable. So much control is needed, Goblin King, for what we must do that it would not be prudent to do it when that control is impaired. It is not your fault for you have suffered a great trauma."

"I have suffered nothing," Jareth snapped, grasping the wrist and hauling the being closer to him as his anger overcame him.

And then the Labyrinth played its trump card- it transformed into Toby right before his very eyes.

Jareth dropped the slender wrist with a gasp of shock and stood blinking in the wet for a few minutes. The storm had blown itself out for the most part and now there was only rain streaming in gentle rivulets to the earth. And in the rain, Toby looked drenched and golden and just as small as he always had, the defiant strength in his shoulders and fingers clearly evident as Jareth fought to keep back a hysterical laugh.

He stiffened in wonder as golden fingers trailed down the sodden linen of his shirt, ghosting over the back of his hand just as the original human had done. And the soft lips pressed in hurriedly for a quick kiss, receding before the half-goblin could react with a blush and a slight cough.

"Stop." Jareth was in no mood for mind games. At one time he might have welcomed them, but not now... not so soon. Not while he was still so raw.

The Spirit stood once more before him, sympathy in its mismatched eyes. "You have no control," it confirmed quietly, "Though you make an admirable attempt. Do not summon me again until this is sorted, for you will not yet have control until your wounds are dressed once and for all. I will wait until then."

Jareth found himself staring with hard eyes at empty space, the wilderness around him crying out in a raging torment that seemed, ridiculously enough, to be echoed somewhere in the direction of where his heart should be. But then again, how many had told him that he had no heart?

Archer... he turned on his heel and apparated away. His cousin's arms were the only place he would find some measure of peace within.