Chapter Thirteen

Jareth

Tell me this

Does any of this love exist

Or is it just a fire

Keeping out the cold

Fear of the unknown

Turning us to coal

- My Own, Whitaker

September 29th, 2002. Day 12 of quarantine.

Jareth made sure he rose before Sarah and that coffee was prepared by the time she emerged from her bedroom, looking soft and rumpled, smelling of almonds and jasmine. She squinted at him standing in the kitchen, then shrugged and came forward, reaching for the mug he offered her. "I believe I put in the correct portions," he murmured.

Sarah lifted an eyebrow and took a sip, saying nothing. She shuffled out of the kitchen and to one of the bar stools on the other side, plopping down with a sigh. Her gaze went to the bed they had shared, and her cheeks went pink. With a wave of his hand, Jareth made the room go back to normal and saw her shoulders visibly relax.

"Sarah—"

"Don't," she said, taking another sip of her coffee and staring at the windows on the far wall. "I don't want to hear apologies or excuses or anything. I just want to sit and have a cup of coffee and wake up a little, okay?"

Jareth moved into the living room and pulled a book from the shelves—Grendel by John Gardner—taking it to his favored chair and sitting down to read. If she wants to play this game, let her be the one to break the silence. He had time. He could be patient.

Sarah made a noise of disgust and got up, walking to her desk by the windows and settling down in the office chair. That put her behind Jareth's back, and he relaxed into the story, keeping his ears open for movement.

She booted up her computer, and he heard her typing for a while, occasionally muttering to herself about clients, deadlines, and the lack of work. She stomped past him and then back again with a refill on her drink.

Piano music from above drifted through the ceiling. Nuvole Bianche, by the sounds of it, and gorgeously executed. Jareth would give Mr. Palermo his due—he was an excellent pianist.

Sarah sighed as the song continued, and he heard the distinctive rumble of her chair wheels on the hardwood floor. She came into sight a moment later, hands on her hips. He did a swift assessment. She wore plaid pajama shorts and a black tank top and tapped her foot as he watched. "I have to tell you something, but you're going to have to promise not to get upset."

Jareth blinked. He had not been expecting this opening line. He closed the book on his finger, setting it in his lap. "What is it, precious?"

She let out a breath and shut her eyes for a moment before saying, "I made another deal with Aldric. I'm going to be spending five hours in the Underground each day from here on out."

Jareth swallowed back the urge to leap to his feet and grasp her shoulders, to shake her and demand why she had done such a thing. There was a snap sound, and he looked down to find his fist had closed around the pages of the book, shredding the paper. He let the destroyed book go before tapping the spine, fixing the damage.

Sarah took a step back. "Okay, that was—listen, it was for my father. For his heart. Aldric said—"

"Please," Jareth managed to say, his voice shaking. "Please do not say his name right now."

What had he told her the day before? He had tried to warn her that his brother would pull something like this. He had even admonished her to be smart. How had she let this happen?

Because it's her father.

If it had been within Jareth's power to do, he would have done the same without demand for payment, but healing had never been one of his strengths. And the forces of the Labyrinth were not slated toward the medicinal. He could have soothed Robert's dreams or created vast palaces for him to visit through illusion, but never this.

Jareth rose from his chair, careful to make his motions smooth and not intimidating. "I apologize for the book. I did not mean to scare you."

"Scare me? No, Jareth—"

"But you should never have taken that deal," he said, and there was a trace of a snarl, his lips curling in an involuntary motion. "I am a king, Sarah. Do you think I do not have healers at my disposal?"

"I—"

"No," he interrupted again, taking a step toward her. "No, I don't think you understand what you've done. It's not just another hour, Sarah. You've proven that you're still willing to walk straight into a deal. He will never give up trying to find other ways to keep you close to him. He will never relent. And he is worse than you can imagine—"

"How?" She demanded, stepping forward to meet him. "All that he's done so far is give me a book about people like me, tell me about your sisters—something you refuse to do—and heal my father's heart. You kidnapped my brother the first time we met."

Jareth threw his hands up. "Kidnapped? I did what was bid of me by you."

She scoffed. "I was fifteen."

"Old enough to know to be careful what you wish for, and we had this argument before. When I first came to you. The first several times I came for you." He folded his arms over his chest. "I thought we had settled this. I am not your enemy."

She tilted her head, expression severe. "Settled this? When did we settle this? When you had your tongue down my throat?" She flushed a deep crimson as she said this. "You broke into my brother's dreams, told him god knows what and convinced him to tell me to forgive you."

Jareth took a step back, arms dropping to his sides. His stomach plummeted. "Is that what you think?"

"I think that you know what effect you have on me, and you exploit it. You use it to distract me from getting to understand you, understand Faerie, understand all this," she gestured around her. "And then you get upset with me when I find answers somewhere else."

Jareth chewed his words, unsure of how to respond.

"I'm tired of this, Jareth. I want you to explain things to me. I want to hear your side of things, but you shut me out every time I try. Why?"

The weight of their compact came with that last question, and Jareth gritted his teeth, half wanting to refuse the answer. But he had been counting rice in his dreams last night because of her. "Why would I tell you anything, Sarah precious?" He said instead, taking a slow step toward her, glowering. "It is an exercise in futility to attempt to get you to understand anything, evidently."

"That's not fair," she whispered.

His lip curled. "And you would be an expert in that, wouldn't you?" He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at her. The spellwork still stretched between them, demanding an answer. He sighed. "I don't shut you out all the time, Sarah. I've told you more about my life than I've told anyone else since—" he let out a growl and threw up his hands. "Do you know what Aldric has done? How he has terrorized me over the centuries? If you wish to blame someone, blame him."

Sarah stared at him, stubbornness evident in the set of her mouth and the gleam in her eyes.

Jareth knew that he had to give her more information, more to work off, but it went against years of training. His body was shaking as he clenched his fists at his sides. The air felt hot and pressurized, and he wished that he could create an aisling and run. Flee this moment and what it would mean.

He took a deep, steadying breath. "I was only fifty years old when I became Goblin King or the king in the Labyrinth. Most of my kind do not marry until well into their second century if that's any indication of scale. It is unheard of for someone to acquire the power and position I did at that age. I had not spent centuries growing ties, alliances, or friendships. I had cradle-mates, childhood friends of roughly the same age, and some family who were kind to me, but other than that, I was ill-equipped to have a kingdom.

"My father helped me, at first, until he began to fade. Because of him, I have treaties with the Seelie and Unseelie court, and I have facilitated trade between goblin-kind and those of the rest of Faerie." His lips curled in a slight smile. "I fear the goblins have made more a nuisance of themselves and often prize items that put them at a disadvantage. Nevertheless, my kingdom began to take shape, to find its place in Faerie society, until my father fully faded when I was eighty. And that's when Aldric struck."

She tilted her head, saying nothing.

Jareth sighed. "All my friends, all my allies, Aldric found some way to them through the years. He managed to disembowel Elias, my closest friend, in a duel over some imagined slight. He beheaded our cousin when she refused to denounce me." Sarah sucked in a breath, and her eyes widened a little. Jareth could not help the sharp smile that flashed across his face. "Not what you expected to hear about your new confidant? Aldric will have a reason for every one of those deaths. Some tale either real or imaginary, but he will fill your head with stories of all my devious allies until you're almost thanking him for what he did." Jareth spat the last.

"But what has this to do with my original question?" She asked, a dark look in her eye.

Jareth raised a hand, silent in his request for more time. "The answer is not simple. I needed you to understand what I went through, how those years were. My very last friend and ally—aside from those I managed to bring into my court—died ten years ago. Killed by Aldric. And one of those I have close to me, one of the half dozen fae I still consider to be companions, betrayed me with that map you found. I am alone, Sarah," he said the last on a whisper. "Almost everyone I have ever cared for confided in is dead. Dead or potential traitor."

Her expression softened. "Oh."

Jareth felt the tightness in his chest ease a little. "You ask me why I push you away, and that is why. Aldric has trained me over the last two and a half centuries to keep people away for their own safety." He took a step closer, reaching for her, unable to help himself. His fingertips brushed her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. "And now he has you in his sights," Jareth murmured. "Perhaps I was too blasé the other night when you came back from the initial negotiations. He's already got you for another hour. I know that he won't stop there, not if he can help it."

Fear, a familiar companion when dealing with his brother, wrapped its cold, sharp talons around his throat. He wanted to pull her close, to hold her—to assure himself that she would remain. By all the gods that are or ever were or ever will be, please do not let him take her.

Sarah's hand was warm on his, and then she was pulling off his gloves and pressing a kiss into his palm. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have said yes to the deal." Her fingers traced the mating bond, the magic that tattooed it there more than skin deep. It was seared into his very bones. "I," she stammered, her face flushing as he gazed at her. "I still want to know everything. I want to know one day you'll tell me because it's me, Jareth." She swallowed. "I care about you."

"Do you, Sarah?" He asked before he could think the better of it.

"Yes," she said, and the truth of her words were a balm to his battered spirit. He closed his eyes as she continued. "I care about you a great deal. I don't want to see you hurt, and I don't want to see you alone. At the very least, you should know that you have me."

You have me.

The words were like little sips of cold, clear water after a day in the sun. He opened his eyes. "I swear on my heart's blood," he said, reaching for her. "I will tell you everything one day."

The small spell snapped into place, and Sarah gasped just as he grasped her by the waist, his other hand threading through her hair. Her hands slipped up his chest as he bent his head down to her, the kiss met with an echo of his own sharp need.

The brand pulsed. He pushed power into her flesh and was rewarded with a low moan. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders, and she began to tremble as the moment drew on.

He was lost. All was Sarah, her mouth hot and wet and tasting of silver shadows and moonlight. Every sound that came from her came with a caress, a promise. And gods do I want more of her. He wanted to claim her, to mark her. To know that she would always be there, just as she said. You have me.

"Jareth," Sarah moaned. "Touch me, please."

He did, making a swift motion with his hand to bring back the facsimile of his chambers in the castle. Lifting her top off, he gently lowered her to the massive bed. As she slid into the center, he hooked his fingers in the bands of her plaid shorts, pulling them down her long legs.

And there she was. Resplendent among the piles of cushions and layers of furs and silks, the very picture the goddess welcoming her lover. He kissed his way up her body, reverent. Worshipful. "You are a marvel, my precious Sarah." He said against her skin. His hair slithered along her chest, just as he found her peaked nipple and gave it a soft swirl. She arched under him, eyes fluttering closed, and he lay a kiss on her throat before catching her lips once more. Her breast was heavy in his hand until he began to lower it to the downy curls between her thighs, finding her slick and hot.

Jareth took his time teasing her, drinking up the delicious sound of her whimpers with his tongue. Then he plunged his fingers into her, his hips spasming forward as he did, pressing against his own hand and driving him deeper into her.

Sarah broke the kiss with a gasp, legs coming up to wrap themselves around him. "Jareth, you—oh, god." Her head fell back again as he began to move, fingers moving into her while he teased her clit with his thumb. On occasion, he would grind against her, eliciting moans and pleading whispers for more.

He wanted to give it. He wanted to be rid of these clothes so that he could take her, utterly, but he knew she was not ready for that yet. There was still hesitancy in her, and he would be having none of that. Not now, after he had tasted the proof of her desire for him. He would have it all, or nothing.

Jareth dragged his lips across the column of her throat, then lifted his head so that he could watch her as her breath hitched, and she bucked against his hand. "Come for me, Sarah," he whispered, voice low and commanding. She shuddered in his arms, eyes flying open as she clutched him, her whimpers turning into cries as her muscles seized around him.

Sarah called his name, back bowed, so her breasts pressed into his chest, nails scrabbling at his shoulder blades. He bit her neck as she crested—not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough that her grip tightened on his fingers.

Panting, she grasped his face and dragged him up for another kiss, her tongue forceful as it swept into his mouth. He let out a growl, and she pulled back, lust darkening her luminous green eyes. "I want to, but—"

"It means more than just sex," he said. "I know." The little power that had leaked out of her and into him during this interlude was enough to make him heady. Reluctant, he brought his hand away from her, though he slipped those two fingers into his mouth, Sarah watching him with wide eyes. He hummed. "You taste divine."

She shivered. "I didn't know that it could be—I mean, no one ever wanted to, so I just assumed it was unpleasant."

"Not you, my Sarah. Never you." He lay a gentle kiss against her lips. "Shall I give you another demonstration of my enthusiasm for your delectability?"

She giggled, and then the sound cut off with an abruptness that had him raising his head. She scowled. "Aldric is doing the damned tapping thing again."

Jareth grimaced. "Sarah, promise me—"

"I promise I won't make another deal unless it's a life or death situation." She held up three fingers. "Scouts honor."

He tilted his head. "Are you a scout?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, but the sentiment is the same. I will do my very best, Jareth, as I always do."

"Just—sometimes things may appear to be dire, but there really is another way out. I don't want you to make decisions in a blind panic. Remember to breathe, to think."

Now she was scowling at him. She pushed him off her, and he rolled away, sitting on the edge of the bed. She wrapped a shaggy white fur around herself, looking with her mussed hair and sparking, angry eyes, like some kind of arctic warrior maiden. "You're saying I wasn't thinking?"

Jareth resisted the impulse to roll his own eyes. Here we go again. What a merry dance they were locked in. "I am merely stressing the importance that you do so moving forward," he said. "I believe he got under your skin. He told you shocking things about me, and in that moment of vulnerability, he struck."

Sarah clutched the fur about her tighter, her head jerking to the side a moment later. No doubt, the summoning was growing more insistent. She said nothing more as she slid from the bed and padded around the corner into her bedroom. Jareth dismissed his room, sitting on the couch's arm. "I gave you my promise," he heard from her room. "That's going to have to be good enough."

Jareth's chest tightened again, and he wanted to go to her to clutch her to him and promise her that he would keep her safe. But until the quarantine lifted and he could traverse the worlds once more, that would not be true. If she had only accepted him before all this, he could have shielded her within the Labyrinth's walls, safe from Aldric.

Or perhaps not.

While Aldric had taken certain advantage of Jareth's absence to launch his attack now, the fact he had been able to get the campaign together so quickly spoke to his preparation. This was always going to happen. Even if Sarah had accepted her position as queen and consort, he might have only painted a larger target on her back.

No, he thought. The best way to keep her safe would have been to leave her alone altogether.

But he could not. Not when she rounded the corner, looking defiant and radiant in her jeans and emerald-green blouse. Jareth rose, feeling the familiar tug that made him want to be closer to her. Ever closer. She frowned at him, hands on her hips, backpack strapped to her back. "Why are you looking at me like that, you—"

He stopped her words with a kiss, pulling her flush against him. He nipped her bottom lip until she parted them, sweeping his tongue down to taste her. She gripped his biceps, nails pressing down through the linen of his shirt. "Be safe," he murmured against her lips a moment later. "Please, just be safe."

"I will," she said on a gasp, arms wrapping around him. She embraced him, her pack making it awkward for him to return the motion. She pulled back. "I'll be home before you know it."

He watched her as she went to the portal mirror in the hallway. She glanced back as she started to step through and shot him a slight smile. He returned it.

And then she was gone.

Jareth stared at the spot on the wall where the portal mirror had been hanging up until a moment ago. Oppressive silence bore down around him, and as he shifted on his feet, the floorboards creaked beneath him, loud in the stillness.

As he had the last two times Sarah had gone into the Underground, Jareth summoned up his own mirror, spying on the camp that was still entrenched a half-mile from the Labyrinth's walls. He began counting the soldiers he could see—a mixture of human and fae—coming to the same general conclusion. Two thousand. Two thousand soldiers in open war against his kingdom, armed with the map showing the Labyrinth's shifting corridors.

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the view portal. There was a temptation, as always, to use it to spy on Aldric and Sarah, but Aldric would be aware the moment Jareth put eyes on him. That was one of his brother's many gifts.

Jareth pulled a book from Sarah's shelves. It was the romance she had been trying to hide from him several days ago when she had sang for him. He climbed out on the fire escape with it, sitting with his back to the window frame and getting lost in stories of flying pirate ships and luckless lovers.

Hector slid out of the window a story above him sometime later, silent as he lit a cigarette, the sounds of raucous laughter and running footsteps indicative of the chaotic family life within the apartment behind him. Jareth peered up at the man—an aging Italian with more gray than black in his short hair—and called out a greeting. "Good afternoon, Hector."

The man looked down with black eyes, a wide smile splitting his face. "Jareth, my friend. Buon pomeriggio. How are you doing? How is the lovely Sarah?"

"She's well. Asleep," he said to excuse her absence. "How is the family?"

Hector snorted and flicked ash off the tip of his cigarette. "We need to pay teachers more. Maria is trying to keep them in line, but—" an enormous crash sounded from the apartment, and he whipped his head around, then relaxed. "It was only Dario. He has been obsessed with the Batman. Do you know the Batman, Jareth?"

"Vaguely," he said.

"A spoiled billionaire who fights crimes instead of talking about his problem," Hector laughed and took another deep drag of his cigarette. "Dario is practicing his moves, jumping off furniture, and scaring his sisters."

Jareth grinned. He wished he could climb the staircase to pop in on the family, maybe show young Dario or his sisters some real magic when their parents weren't looking. He had always enjoyed the time he spent with the wished-away children. Before he had effectively banished himself from the Seelie court a century ago, he had even visited some of them after they settled into life with their new fae families.

Some of them, or their children, are probably a part of Aldric's army. He would not pretend it did not sting. Faerie's human population had exploded since he had taken hold of the Labyrinth, numbering in the tens of thousands now. They even had their own small town on the borders of the Seelie court.

If Jareth met with the Palermo family, it would have to be after the quarantine was lifted. If I survive.

"You look troubled, my friend. Is it our Sarah?"

Jareth shook his head. "Family. My brother."

"Ah," Hector looked smug. "I have brothers as well. They can be difficult." He flicked the butt of his cigarette off the fire escape before reaching for another. "Do you want one?"

"No, thank you. I am afraid I never acquired the taste."

Hector shrugged his broad shoulders. The man was probably a good five inches taller than Jareth, with long musician's hands. "I should never have started. But enough about me, what is the matter with this brother of yours?"

Jareth chewed his response. There was a kind of freedom in talking to Hector, who had zero ties to the Underground or the world of Faerie. "My brother is also my competition," he said at last. "He would woo Sarah away from me."

"Ha! It is not he who is stuck with her until the end of quarantine. What can he do? You are here. He is not." He took a long drag, looking smug. "I believe in you, Jareth. You will win our Sarah's heart."

There was a tug on his stomach at those words. I can only hope. But he could not tell Hector that Sarah was with Aldric even now, that—

His thoughts were interrupted by a series of loud bangs on the front door. Even the neighbor turned his head, frowning. "Excuse me, my friend," Jareth said, sliding through the window and back into Sarah's living room.

The knocking started again, six strikes against the wooden surface. Jareth shifted his clothes into something a little more casual—gray trousers and a white button-down, the first few buttons open to expose his throat. He glamoured his appearance, taking on the subtly different look of a mortal man. Then he peered through the little window on Sarah's door and realized he needn't have bothered with any of that.

Oh, well, he thought and swung the door open just as Robert raised his fist to begin pounding yet again. The man scowled and pushed his way into the apartment, head turning as he looked for Sarah.

"Where is she?" he snarled as Jareth locked up behind him. "Sarah? Sarah!"

"She isn't here, I'm afraid." He moved into the living room, waving a hand so that a small wet bar sprung up along one wall, flush with bottles of varying sizes and colors. "Drink?"

"Go to hell," Robert spat.

Jareth raised an eyebrow and poured himself several fingers of a fine fae spirit made from honeysuckle. It was sweet and intensely strong. He knocked back the glass and poured another, letting the fire of the alcohol hit his belly and spread through his bloodstream as he turned to regard Sarah's father.

Robert looked much better than he had in the dream. His face was flushed with anger, no longer pallid. His eyes, a deep brown that made Jareth wonder at Sarah's own crystalline green, sparked with fury. "Where is she?" He repeated, taking a menacing step forward, hands clenched into fists.

Jareth tilted his head, considering. He could try and extract a bargain from the man, he knew. The desperation was palpable even over the bluster and bravado. Sarah would not be pleased. "She's in the Underground with my brother, Aldric." His gaze flicked to the clock on Sarah's wall. "It's been an hour and a half; she should be back soon."

"What," Robert stammered. "What is she doing there? And with your brother? Is he like you?"

"Yes and no," Jareth growled, hating even the hint of a comparison. "We are both fae, but he is—Sarah is safe enough. She knows how to handle herself. Have faith." He took another swallow of the liquor. The burn was less now, and he could feel that he was growing mildly tipsy. "Are you sure you don't want a drink?" He lifted his gold-rimmed glass. "This is a rarity in your world."

Robert's lips curled. "I don't care if it's from the Queen of England; I'm not taking anything from you."

Smart man. "Suit yourself." He collapsed into his favorite chair, throwing an ankle over one knee as he slouched down. "Shall we glower at each other until Sarah returns?"

Robert turned away, stalking into Sarah's bedroom. There was rustling and a few loud thumps from that direction, and Jareth sighed, draining his second glass before hauling himself up and going to Sarah's doorway, leaning against the frame. He was a pleasant, light drunk. Just enough to make his lips curl up in a smile, although the man was packing his daughter a suitcase.

"What are you doing?" He asked, despite the obvious.

Robert bared his teeth. "Making sure that when she gets back, we can leave right away. She shouldn't spend another moment with you. You're dangerous."

Jareth laughed. "Dangerous? You know nothing."

"Would Sarah be in the Underground now if not for you?" He challenged.

Silent, Jareth narrowed his eyes.

"That's what I thought. She knows how to handle herself, you say, which indicates that she's in some kind of danger. Safe enough isn't safe." Robert threw down the bundle of t-shirts he had grabbed out of Sarah's dresser, scattering them haphazardly across her open suitcase. He turned on Jareth, finger raised. "Stay away from my daughter."

"I can't," he said, his voice soft. "And she doesn't want me to."

"She doesn't know what she wants."

"Oh, I don't? That's great to hear, dad, thanks." Jareth whirled, finding Sarah just behind him, holding the straps of her backpack in one hand and frowning at her father. "Just what do you think you're doing? You were just in the hospital. We're in the middle of a pandemic!"

Robert's voice was gruff but quieter now. "You're coming home with me, sweetheart. If this creature," he jerked his chin at Jareth, "is stuck here for the full thirty days of quarantine, then let him stay here. But we should go." He went for her dresser again.

Sarah let out a squawk of protest, pushing past Jareth and throwing her backpack to the floor. "Boundaries, dad! Hands off." He tried for her dresser drawer anyway and she threw herself in front of the piece of furniture. "Stop it," she snapped. "What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Robert gestured at Jareth. "What's wrong with this picture, hm? You have an honest-to-god fairy in your house—"

"Fae," Jareth corrected. "Fairies bite." He grinned.

Sarah shot him a glare. "Not helping."

Robert took a deep breath, looking between the two of them. "This is unnatural. This cannot stand. You're two different species for god's sake."

"Humans and fae have long mixed their blood," Jareth said. "I have human blood in my lineage. A great-great-grandmother."

Sarah looked over to him, expression startled. "You're part human?"

"Small part," he said, holding his fingers about an inch apart. "Very small." He wanted to laugh again but sensed now was not the time. He also wanted to go back and get more of the honeysuckle wine but had the feeling Sarah would not take kindly to his getting rip-roaring drunk in response to her father's ongoing presence. Though it was tempting.

"Just because your people have been with humans in the past doesn't mean you get to have Sarah," Robert said. "She's never going back to the Underground."

"She is standing right here, and she is getting super pissed. Tone it down and knock it off, dad; you're embarrassing yourself." She took his arm and marched him out of her bedroom, Jareth backing up before they knocked into him. She dragged her father to the living room and pointed to the couch. "Sit down."

Robert sat, looking irate, red suffusing his skin. Jareth noted that his clothes were rumpled, as though he had slept in them, and there was a yellow mustard stain on the lapel of his suit jacket. "I don't see what the problem is, Sarah. He's been following you. He always knows where you live. That's not normal."

"My life hasn't been normal since I wished away Toby. Hell, it hasn't been normal since mom left." Robert flinched, and Sarah sat down on the couch next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Dad, this is normal for me. It's been normal for years, and ever since the pandemic, it's just—many things are going on. I can't ignore it. I can't run away."

Her father glared daggers at Jareth.

To hell with it. Another drink is in order, after all. He made his way over to the bar, swiping the whole bottle and taking a swig. First, my brother gets under her skin, and now I have to deal with this.

And he found that he was growing beyond caring. He crossed the room and climbed out onto the fire escape, looking up to see Hector reading a newspaper. The apartment above was surprisingly silent. "What did you do to Dario?" Jareth asked, taking a swig of the clear spirits.

"Bribed him," Hector said, still reading his paper. "Twenty dollars to watch a movie with his sisters. Maria is taking a nap."

"That's good," Jareth slurred, slumping against the brick façade of the apartment building. "Do you have a father in law?"

"Sì." He folded his paper and set it aside regarding Jareth through the staircase's metal slats. "You look even more troubled now, my friend. What's that you're drinking?"

"I would offer some to you, but—"

"Ah," Hector lifted his paper, tapping the headline, which read: 10,000 DEAD. "Not while this is ongoing. Best to be safe."

"Indeed. I wish that everyone held to your good sense. I am afraid that Sarah's father has made a nuisance of himself."

"I heard that," a voice called from inside the apartment.

Jareth ignored him.

"Her father broke quarantine?" Hector clicked his tongue. "That is not good."

"No," he took another deep pull of the liquor. "It is not." He gave the abbreviated version of events, bringing the neighbor up to speed. His friend whistled.

The back of Jareth's head thumped against the wall, and he stared up at the sky streaked with clouds turning vermillion and copper and gold by the setting sun.

Nothing with you is simple, Sarah had said to him the other day. And he could not help but feel the same with her. He had found her quite on accident, and nothing had been the same since then. His broken-hearted girl. She had transformed into a woman who burned in his mind like a white-hot brand.

If Sarah did choose to go back with her father, she would still fulfill the compact with Aldric. His portals would find her wherever she was. But nothing was tying her here, to him. A part of him was furious that he had not taken advantage of one of those moments of weakness to extract another compact from her.

But that was not what he wanted in his heart of hearts. He wanted her to stay because she wanted to be here.

"You are in love with her," Hector intoned, his voice soft. "Go back in there, Jareth. Fight for her."

Jareth did not argue, and he did not respond. The word was not exact, not as it would have been in his language. It did not encapsulate his feelings toward her, but—it was similar enough.

He stumbled more than a king ought to, clambering back through the window into Sarah's living room. She and her father were talking in low voices, but both looked up when he crashed in. "Jareth—" she started.

He held up a hand while the room righted itself. "First of all, I am rather drunk. I apologize. But secondly, I do not think you should go, Sarah. There is too much that could happen with Aldric, and you need magic on your side."

"Jareth," Sarah began again, exasperation clear across her features. "I'm not going anywhere. But dad has some questions."

He sank into his favorite chair, relief sweeping through him, but replaced a moment later with a wave of irritation as Robert set his belligerent gaze on him. "What did your brother do to my heart? The doctors are baffled. No one understands how there could be the damage from an attack there one moment and then be gone the next day. It makes no sense. I feel like I'm twenty years old again."

Jareth shrugged. "Put an enchantment on it, perhaps? I am not a healer. I do not know the intricacies and subtleties of what magic form is used to cure a human heart. I know that whatever he did will be permanent, as was dictated in the terms Sarah laid out. You need not fear a relapse."

Robert let out a long breath. "So that's not how I'll die. But do I—is there anything owed? Am I also in this creature's debt?"

"No," Jareth said. "You need not worry about anything like that. The exchange was equitable."

Robert had more questions, and a lot of it was a rehash of many of Sarah's own inquiries over the last twelve days. Some Jareth was more than happy to answer, but others, he was more hesitant. Robert wanted to know more about the mating brand, and Jareth showed it to him, explained the basics, but refused to answer the rest.

"That is for Sarah and I to discuss," he said. "What she chooses to tell you is up to her."

Eventually, Sarah had Robert up and moving toward the front door, pushing him along with admonitions to stay home the rest of quarantine. When the door shut behind him, she slumped against it, closing her eyes, and Jareth noticed just how tired she seemed.

This is taking a greater toll on her than I expected.

When she came toward him, her smile brightened her expression, though there was still a shadow of fatigue at the edges of her eyes. She snagged the half-empty bottle of honeysuckle wine and took several long pulls. Jareth jumped up, taking the spirit from her. "This is fae wine," he scolded, the effect somewhat dampened by his own swaying. "You'll be quite drunk from that, I assure you."

"Good," Sarah said. "I need it after tonight. Why did you let him in?"

"Would you have preferred I kept your father locked in the outer hall? What would the neighbors think?"

Sarah snorted and collapsed on the couch. Jareth followed, and her fingers laced with his, her head falling to his shoulder as soon as he was seated. She sighed. "I definitely wasn't expecting him when I got home."

Jareth squeezed her hand. "What happened today with Aldric?"

She shook her head. "Not much. We went for another walk, talked a bit. He wanted to know more about my run through the Labyrinth. I told him some of it, leaving out a few details."

"Your friends?"

"Yeah. You're right; I think if he knew about them, he'd—Woah." She put a hand to her head. "Holy shit, you're right. That's some strong stuff." A giggle slipped from her lips, and she pressed herself harder against his side, her free hand running along his chest and teasing the tips of his hair. "What did you do while I was gone?"

"I read your saucy little romance novel," Jareth said, his words slurring more than was proper for a monarch. "Learned all about Harlan's throbbing member."

Sarah erupted in a peel of pure, sweet laughter that had him embracing her before he could question the movement. She fell into that embrace, still laughing but also clutching him close. Sliding on his lap as sure as a key into its lock, she soon turned the hug into a kiss.

She tasted of honeysuckle and the shadowed sweetness that was all her. Jareth kissed her until he was dizzy, the room seeming to spin. He made a motion with his hand, and the living room shifted into his bedroom. However, he did not account for the sudden lack of couch and so plummeted a few feet to the floor with Sarah atop him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered as she began laughing again, hands raised to cover her mouth. "One mustn't do magic when drunk."

Sarah clambered off him and helped him stand. "I don't know," she said, mirth still tinting her words. "I thought it was funny."

They tumbled into bed. Kissing turned to light petting, but they were both far too into their cups for anything beyond that. Jareth fell asleep, cradling Sarah to him, the only illumination the overhead from the stove casting a faint orange glow into the room. His last few thoughts before being dragged into unconsciousness were that despite the day, despite everything, it ended exactly where it was supposed to: with Sarah in his arms.

Hi folks,

First thing, I implore you to listen to Nuvole Bianche by Ludovico Einaudi (the piano piece mentioned in this chapter). I know, I know, the song came out in 2004, so I'm out of timeline, but I just find this melody perfectly encapsulated the mood of the first third of this chapter at least.

As always I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading :)

Xoxo,

CrimsonSympathy