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.

Like an android, she turned and went into her bedroom. The bed was a little mussed, she noticed, and she was sure Karen had noticed, too. Some things never escape parents. In her closet, she stood, straining to hear the conversation going on in the living room, but Jareth's voice was too low, and all she heard from her stepmother was that odd, tinkling laugh. Ten minutes ago, she thought, I was in heaven, and now I'm in hell. She rummaged through the clothes that Karen had bought her, but she'd never worn. Her stepmother was one of those people who buy clothes that would look good only on them and give them to other people. She came up with a few pairs of slacks that were too big in the hips for her, and a couple of shirts, and two sweaters she never cared if she saw again. She laid it all out on the bed, there was no helping it, and then started back for the living room. Karen laughed again, and Sarah paused, then went into the bathroom, and shut the door. She quickly brushed out her hair, washed her face, and brushed her teeth and, after a moment's consideration, put on a hint of lip gloss. It was one thing to wake up in the arms of an incredibly handsome man, and another to walk into a room where he was entertaining her still lovely stepmother looking like, well, a goblin. She tried not to think about the fact that Karen was probably closer to Jareth's age than she was, for if the books she'd read for so long were definitely talking about him, then he was old enough to be her grandfather several dozen times over.

"Pie lady," said a goblin voice, and Sarah looked down to see a head peeking out from under the sink. "Icky lady," it said, making a face as though it had just eaten something gross. "King be takin' care of her."

"Karen?" she asked it.

"Karen," another voice mocked, and Sarah looked up to find another one perched on top of the medicine cabinet. Another glance showed two or three more poking their long noses out of various hiding places.

"What are you all doing here?"

"Watchin'," said Shove, climbing up onto the counter where he inspected the tube of lip gloss to see if it might be edible. "King not come back last night, so we come here," he actually had the audacity to wink at her. Sarah blushed. "Now pie lady here," he said. "Gonna be some fun?"

"I don't know what you mean," Sarah said, worriedly.

"King not like that woman. She hurt you, Lady," Shove said, rolling the lip gloss tube back and forth.

"When?" she said, confused.

"Before," he shrugged. "Always." Sarah was about to ask what he meant, when she caught her own eyes in the mirror. Before. Always. She thought about the last thirteen years, ever since Karen had come into her life. She thought of how much she'd disliked Karen, when she was younger, because she wasn't her mother, the mother that had abandoned her. She thought of everything she'd been through with Karen: the tough, horrible three years before Toby was born; the unpromising few months afterward; and the change their relationship had undergone after that fateful night nearly ten years ago. She thought of the teenagers she worked with, everyday, and how awful they could be. She thought of all the times she'd had to grit her teeth and keep on. She thought about the goblins, and how unmanageable they could be when they wanted to be, which was pretty much all the time. And she realized that, in spite of it all, Karen was not wicked. She was vain, and shallow, and selfish, yes. She was a horrible gossip, and awful at giving gifts. And Karen had never once really understood her--although that was not entirely Karen's fault. But she'd never really understood Karen, either.

She thought about Jareth--mercurial, capricious, cruel to be kind, spoiled rotten, Jareth--shut away, Underground, with no one but goblins for company. Goblins that probably came back and told him every time she'd cried because of some imagined wound Karen had given her, because they were bored and Goblins liked gossiping as much as Karen did.

When she burst out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, she wasn't sure what she was expecting. Karen, lying lifeless in a pool of blood, perhaps. Or Jareth at least dangling her over a pot of hot oil. What she hadn't expected was to find them both laughing, Karen cradling a steaming mug of coffee, and Jareth, lounging indolently (and still somehow regally) in his chair, an odd little smile tweaking his lips.

"Oh, she did, did she?" he said to Karen, glancing slyly at her. On his human face the expression looked teasing, but beneath the glamour, it looked predatory. She swallowed, hard, and tried on a smile.

"What are we talking about?" she asked, eyeing Karen's mug of coffee suspiciously. Jareth caught her eye again and raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"Oh, nothing," said Karen, in her flirty little girl voice. Sarah tried not to choke. It just figured that Karen would fall all over any guy Sarah might find. Not that Jareth was a "guy" or her guy, specifically. He was... was... she wasn't sure what he was. In her dreams he was attentive, and generous, kind and caring. He was the kind of man that she could, maybe, love. But that was in her dreams. In reality he was cruel and manipulative, seductive and scary, dangerous and absolutely delicious. He was exactly the kind of man that every book, every Lifetime Made for TV Movie staring Sally Fields, every advice columnist in every language, warned against. Besides, they were just friends, although that tiny voice was calling her liar again, and pointing out that friends did not do the sorts of things that Sarah had been contemplating doing half an hour ago when Jareth had been pinning her to her bed. Firmly, she pushed that thought away and went into the kitchen, hoping that some coffee would clear her head, only to find that the coffee pot was empty, and had apparently not been used since the night before since it wasn't even warm to the touch.

"I'll make you a cup as well, if you wish," he said, standing so close behind her that she jumped a little. "I suspect, however, that you would not accept it."

"Not if you put worms in your coffee, too," she said, stiffening. "Where's my stepmother?"

"Changing," he said, his voice low and his head bent a little so that she could feel his breath fluttering over the sensitive skin of her throat. "Sarah," he said, "I'm beginning to think that you don't trust me."

"Should I?" she said, acutely aware of his body so close to hers. With one gloved hand he reached out and brushed her dark hair away from her face, exposing her throat. "What have you done to earn my trust?

"Everything," he said, archly, and she remembered his words from before, when Toby's future had been at stake, and she'd been only a girl struggling to understand the enormity of the choice before her. "I've done it all for you. I'm exhausted from living up to your expectations of me." She bit her lip, feeling lost, tangled in a web that was so very much bigger than she was, and so enormously complicated she could only comprehend it in bits. He had been the answer to her dreams, before: handsome, dangerous, alluring. He'd swept into her life, and done exactly what she'd wanted him to do. He'd been cruel, but she'd expected it. He'd been manipulative, but she'd wanted that. Then there were the books, the history, what she'd spent so much time learning of him. He was beautiful, powerful, dangerous. She turned to face him, studying not the glamour, but the truth beneath it, knowing that it was truth that she saw because her eyes knew the difference. His strange, mismatched eyes bore into hers, his expression carefully neutral. She could feel the heat from his body, feel his breath where it fanned over her cheek, smell the heady scent of him--he was fantasy come to life, and he was real. So very real.

She reached up a hand and touched his smooth cheek, electricity shooting through her fingertips when they came into contact with his bare skin. He flinched away, his gaze dark. "Don't toy with me, little girl," he said.

"I'm not a little girl anymore," she said, and brushed her fingers over his lips, thrilling at the velvet texture of them. He made a sound then, a growl, or a purr, she wasn't sure which, but it shivered through her to her toes.

"No," he said, the pupil in his right eye swelling until it was as large and dark as the left. He captured her wrist, and pressed his lips against her fingertips, and she knew that even if she never understood him, her body did, because it came alive at his touch. "No, you're not." He said, his lips against her fingers.

"Well, I'll just be off then," Karen's too bright voice interrupted. "As I can see that I'm only in the way here. Jareth, it was a pleasure meeting you." She pulled on a coat that Sarah hadn't remembered laying out for her, and adjusted her purse. "Sarah, you should wear that dress in your closet to the ball. The white one. It's perfect." At the look on her face, she quickly held up a hand, I needed a coat, I didn't mean to snoop, but I didn't think you'd mind if I just took a peek. Anyway," she continued blithely on, apparently not noticing that her stepdaughter was attempting to kill her with her eyes, "I must be off. Rachel's expecting me and I've already taken up too much of your time."

In a daze, Sarah walked her to the door, and let her hug her.

"Jareth, I expect to see you at the party. You should wear something fantasy-ish. Sarah's always loved handsome princes," she waved at them, and then disappeared out the door and into the impossible snow.

As if in a dream, she closed the door and leaned her forehead against it, letting the coolness of it seep into her.

"She's right, you know," he said, and she turned her head toward the sound of his voice to find him lounging in her armchair again, the glamour gone, the King returned. "You should wear the white costume. It would be perfect." He smiled again, that secret little predatory smile that set her pulse to pounding. Looking at him there, at the way he sat so regally, yet so indolently, there was so much she wanted to say. But the air between them felt charged and electric. Words between them had always been tricky things, she thought. You thought you were going down one path, but all too often you found that they led somewhere else, somewhere more dangerous. He was watching her carefully, and his smile slipped away slowly, to be replaced with a frown. He stood up and came to her, laying one gloved hand flat on the wall beside her and looming over her. He was so tall, she thought.

"Sarah," he said softly, "what is it that you want from me?"

"The truth," she said, simply. "All I know of you comes from books filled with half truths and outright lies, and from dreams. And dreams, no matter how much we might want otherwise, are seldom true."

"Actually," he said, "dreams are more than true. Especially our dreams. Although I confess, our dreams have become so hopelessly entangled that I know longer know which of us is dreaming them." She blinked, startled, and his mouth twisted wryly. Then he reached out, took her hand and turned it over in his. He traced a thumb over her wrist, and then brought her palm to his lips. Her eyes slipped closed at the touch, and she made a soft sound that caused him to smile into her palm, and then the tip of his tongue touched the hollow of her hand and her knees went weak. She leaned back against the wall for support and stared up at him hopelessly. She realized that she didn't know what she wanted, not exactly, except that she wanted him--cruel, kind, generous, manipulative, mercurial, seductive, royal pain in the arse, Jareth.

She didn't realize that she'd said his name aloud until he was pressing her back against the wall, and his mouth was hovering over hers, his breathing ragged. "Yes, princess?" he said. She only shook her head, mutely, and he moved until his lips were against her ear, and she was breathing in the scent of his hair, his skin, and the high collar of his leather coat. "Do you know the power of a name?" he said. "All names have power, some more than others. I should have dipped the dwarf headfirst in the Bog for telling you mine, but I find now that I'm glad I did not. Have you any idea of the power you wield over me, simply by calling my name?" Again, she shook her head. "Shall I show you, then? Hmmm, Sarah?" his lips were so close to her skin, and the way he said her name made her shiver. He turned his head a little, never once touching her, but so close she could sense the distance between them. "Sarah," he murmured against her cheekbone. "Sarah," his lips drifting over her temple. She closed her eyes, and he said her name again, his lips just brushing the tips of her eyelashes. Heat pooled in her belly, and her knees trembled. "Sarah," he said, so softly she couldn't hear it, only feel the way her name was shaped by his warm breath as it drifted over her lips. His games, she felt, were unbearable.

She leaned forward, closed the distance between them, and touched her lips to his. He growled then, and pulled her hard against him, pressing her against the wall, his tongue parting her lips to taste hers. She was drowning in him again and she wanted it. His arms were like steel around her, bruising her a little, and she didn't care. His mouth was hot and punishing, and she reveled in it. She slid her fingers into his wild hair, feeling the exquisite softness of it, and he groaned against her mouth, devouring her. He wanted her. She could feel it with every sense she had. This incredible creature, this impossible man, wanted her. She did not understand it, and at the moment she didn't care to. It was enough to know that he wanted her and that this wasn't a dream. She pressed against him, feeling the hard wall of his chest against her much softer one. One of his hands slipped down to her waist, and dragged her hips against his. She made a surprised sound, and he laughed roughly, feathering kisses over her cheekbones, and eyelids.

"Jareth," she said, and he kissed her again, nearly crushing her against the wall this time. His hands skimmed over her body, until he cupped her breast in his palm, and she gasped against his mouth.

"So beautiful," he murmured, "so innocent..." He suddenly trembled a little, and then pulled away enough that he could look at her. His eyes were very, very dark, and there was some emotion written on his beautiful face that she couldn't quite read. He then glanced to her left and frowned. She followed his gaze.

They were less than a few inches from her coat-rack, which held Karen's thin dripping coat that she'd been wearing when she came in. Perched atop it, eyes wide, mouth grinning, was Shove. He waggled his fingers at her, in a wave, winked and scampered out of Jareth's arms reach just in time. Then she looked around again. The room was positively crammed full of goblins. Big goblins, little goblins, ugly goblins, cute goblins. They were sitting on her couch, lying in her chair, perched on every available surface. Their beady little eyes were round, most of them were smiling mischievous little smiles, and some of them had popcorn.

Author's note: insert evil laugh here