Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story.
She didn't dare fall asleep that night, she was too embarrassed and worried about what he might have heard. It was stupid, stupid of her to have said that to her stepmother, and she'd now be expected to attend, not only with a date, but with a tall blonde one as well. Unfortunately, with one rather notable exception, she didn't know any tall, incredibly handsome, blonde men, let alone one that would be willing to be her date to a masquerade ball. Most guys wouldn't even be her date to McDonald's she thought wretchedly. She drank eight cups of strong coffee, and paced her apartment, fidgeting and agitated, most of the night, and when she became absolutely desperate to stay awake, she pulled everything out of the refrigerator and scrubbed it down mercilessly until it shone. The goblins watched her with amusement, and she finally snapped at them to leave her in peace, while she growled at the vegetable drawer.
The next day she was tired and cranky, and the dark shadows under her eyes didn't help, because everyone who saw them had to stop and ask her if she was okay. "I'm fine," she would say wearily, and sometimes not so wearily, if they pressed her. Her thoughts kept running in circles, chasing each other.
The way she saw it, she had three options, none of them good: she could not go (which would mean her stepmother would hound her for months about it afterward), she could go alone and lie (which still meant her stepmother would be hounding her), or she could get down on her knees and beg the King of the Goblins to take her to her father's company party, where he would be forced to make small talk with business men, while the businessmen's wives tried to pry every secret out of him they could get. There was a fourth option, she knew, but it was one that she refused to entertain. She could wish him to take her to the ball... but that smacked of entrapment or enslavement, and she refused to do such a thing. She'd rather have her stepmother after her.
Her classes passed in a daze, and by the end of the afternoon she found she'd bitten her nails down to the tips of her fingers, and she was walking wearily. Still, when she got home she made another pot of coffee, and then started hunting for Shove. She knew he was there, the little goblin had never been far from her since that afternoon in the library, and the fact that she was forever picking her pencils up off the floor was proof enough that he was still around. She found him sleeping behind the books on her bookshelf, and she nudged him awake.
"I need a favor," she said, and he opened one eye and stared at her. "I need you to go find out what the goblins are saying in the castle about me."
"No thanks," he said, and closed his eye again.
"Shove," she said and poked him again, "I mean it. Please go find out for me." He swore at her, but he disappeared the way goblins did, in a silent little poof that happened between one blink and the next. He returned sooner than she'd expected, and crawled up on her knee to sniff experimentally at her coffee mug. She'd put too much sugar in, so it tasted foul, but he grinned with delight and stuck his fingers in it, and then sucked them clean. "Well?" she asked.
"Goblins say. Say Lady make good pie," Shove told her and then began to laugh so hard that he fell off her knee and bounced on the floor. He rolled around for a bit, chortling and snickering, until Sarah gave up and went to the kitchen to empty her mug into the sink.
"No more coffee for you," she muttered under her breath.
She went and took a cold shower, and then, because she had nothing better to do, and she still wasn't sure if she could face him, even the dream of him, she sat in the armchair and stared at the clock as it ticked toward midnight. Every now and then she'd start to nod off, but, with a jerk, she'd wake herself back up. Would he think she was throwing herself at him? Or would he think she was just impertinent? Would he say she was desperate? Or would he merely mock her for lying? She didn't even know why she'd said it in the first place, except for being tired of her stepmother's prying, and the rumor mills talking about her, and those damned peaches.
"Get up, you stupid girl, and go to bed," he said, and she jerked awake to find him standing over her. Impatience was written on every plane of his expressive face, and he stood with his hands planted on his hips in a pose that brooked no argument. She stood up obediently, but swayed a little when she did, and with a sigh of exasperation, he bent down and swung her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a child. She stiffened, but she was too tired to argue, and she couldn't remember the last time someone had carried her. Her head was against his shoulder, and he felt surprisingly comfortable. She'd always thought his thinness was to the point of boniness, but a very feminine part of her was pleasantly surprised to feel hard muscle in his chest and shoulders. He strode to her bedroom, and the door swung open for him. Like magic, she thought tiredly. God, but he was warm. She snuggled closer to him, knowing he was about to deposit her unceremoniously in her bed but wanting to make this moment last. Only he didn't. Instead he stopped and stared down at her in frustration, and his hair brushed over her face like a curtain.
She tried to stay awake, but her eyelids were so heavy, she couldn't keep them open. "I didn't mean anything by it," she said, turning her face so that it rested in the hollow between his throat and his shoulder.
"What's said is said, now go to sleep. You've wasted half the night already, princess," he growled in her ear, holding her tightly for a moment before laying her on the bed and tucking the blankets around her.
"Don't go," she murmured, turning her face to the pillow. He said nothing, but she felt him sit down on the bed beside her, and stroke a gloved hand over her hair, and then she was asleep.
The dream was waiting for her. They were dancing, again. One of his hands was wrapped around her waist, and the other was holding hers firmly. He led, and she followed, step for step, turn for turn. Her dress swirled around her. Together, they spun across the floor, to the stairs, and then somehow they were dancing up the stairs, but her feet didn't trip, she simply allowed him to lead, and she followed. When they reached the top they spun together, and his hand tightened at her waist. His eyes were focused intently on her, but there was a hint of a smile playing around his lips, as though he were up to something. Her eyes never left his, and so she didn't falter at all, when suddenly they were dancing through the Endless Corridor.
The walls here were brick, and the Corridor seemed to stretch ahead of them until forever, but she knew it was only an illusion. Together they danced down the Corridor, and although the weeds were choking the ground here, she never once tripped as he led her carefully around the obstacles, without ever loosing the beat of the music. He suddenly spun her toward what looked to be a solid brick wall, but she didn't flinch away from it, and then they were through it to the other side.
The walls here were made of stone blocks, and laid out in an elaborate maze. Dizzy, she followed him down one path, then another, not caring where they led, for his hands were steady, and his feet sure, and she knew all she had to do was let him show her the way.
Then they were past the stone maze and in the hedge maze, and she stepped closer, breathing in the scent of him, his steps slowed a little, but he did not let go of her, and she gave herself up to the dance. The hedges flew past, becoming the dark forest where she'd met the Wild Gang, and she could sense them, off in the trees, following alongside of them. He held her tighter, and spun her again, quickly, and her nose wrinkled as she realized he was dancing her over Didymus's bridge, and the Bog was beneath them.
The smell was almost overwhelming, and the footing on the bridge was treacherous, but he never once slipped, so neither did she. Her gaze was locked with his, and his beautiful mismatched eyes held something like awe, as her feet trusted him to lead them. When they were across, he spun her into the Place of Lost Things, and all around her were piles and piles of things she'd once loved. Her teddy bears, and toys, her costumes crumpled and tossed negligently among everything else, her first bike, her father's jacket, her mother's jewelry, music boxes and movie posters, books and board games, her first car, her scrapbooks, everything mixed together, tossed aside like so much junk. She paid no attention to it, because that's all it was, was junk, and she had more important things to do, like feeling the press of his hips against hers as he pulled her closer still, and watching his lips part slightly, to reveal his sharp white teeth.
With a low growl, he spun her again, out of the Place of Lost Things and into the Goblin City, where goblins and chickens scattered before them, and the streets were narrow and crooked. All she could feel was his hands on her, all she could see was his blue, blue eyes, and the way his fine blonde hair played in the wind. Her feet belonged to him, her arms to him, her whole being belonged to him, and so when they were suddenly dancing up the stairs, into the castle, through the throne room, and into the heart of the Labyrinth, she didn't let go when the world was abruptly turned upside down. There was no ceiling, no floor, only endless tangles of stairs and doorways; no up or down, just where their feet landed, and if he felt like dancing over the edge of the floor to to the floor on the other side, she was willing to let him take her there.
Up stairs and down stairs, over edges, through doors, they danced as if there were no obstacles in their way. And the obstacles fell away until there was nothing but the small floor they were standing on, floating in the void, and the world had gone soft around the edges. He pulled her to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder again, listening to his heart race. Slower and slower came the steps, until there was no music left to play, and no more steps to be taken.
They stayed like that for an eternity, but even an eternity seemed too short, because it ended with the light growing brighter around her, until daylight was streaming through the window, and she was back in her bed with the alarm going off beside her.
Her head was still on his shoulder.