In the beginning there was nothing, which exploded.
Terry Pratchett

As soon as they were alone, Sarah swung away from the Goblin King, using a well-placed elbow jab to extricate her arm. He grunted softly, letting her go.

She rounded on him. "What exactly was all that about?"

"I don't know but apparently they make a little blue pill to fix it now."

It took a moment for the words to fully register and when they did, she smothered a laugh. "Did he?" she pointed at the station door.

Jareth nodded, eyes flashing in the bright moonlight. "For some reason he seems to be under the impression I need assistance. I can't imagine where he got that idea."

Sarah bit back another laugh, turning to hide her grin, and started walking towards her car as she fished for her keys.

When she unlocked her door the one opposite of hers opened.

"What are you doing?" she asked across the roof.

"Going home, I would imagine. Unless you had other plans for me." He didn't wait for her reply and instead folded himself into her small car. The passenger door shut expectantly.

Sarah blinked at the spot he'd stood. Then blinked again as the night continued its slow descent into madness. No, not slow… that was entirely the wrong word. A full-throttle Kamikaze nose dive.

Without getting in, she dipped her head through her open door. "No seriously. What are you doing?"

He shot her a sideways look of mock innocence. "Did you want me to drive?" He considered the controls, pushing a few buttons experimentally, which naturally did nothing as she hadn't turned it on yet. "I'm not familiar with this particular mode of conveyance, but how hard can it be when mortals do it."

Sarah pursed her lips. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I don't recall inviting you along."

"You didn't," he tsk'd pointedly. "But I do 'recall' you taking responsibility for me. I hardly think the detective would consider leaving me helpless on the side of the road responsible."

Sarah snorted indelicately. "No one believes for a second that you are helpless." She gestured towards the station. "No matter what all that was about." Blinds in one of the station's windows snapped shut. Sarah guessed that Briggs was watching. Probably making sure they left. She didn't blame him.

"And yet here I am. Entirely at your mercy." He made it sound like there was nowhere else he'd rather be. "As I said, I will drive but I was under the impression your world had laws about operating these contraptions while drunk."

Sarah snorted again. This time louder. "We both know you are not drunk." In fact once alone, he'd dropped all pretense altogether. She'd been suspicious in the station, but it was cemented now. Which made her all the more wary of his motives. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Because as much as she'd been ready to turn around and drive away, and as much as she didn't remotely trust him, she was admittedly curious. More so now.

"Is that your stern school teacher voice, Sarah?" He leaned over the centre console. "Because I would hate to be a teenaged boy presented with that kind of temptation. I'd be finding ways to get in trouble daily."

"Don't be perverted." She grimaced but then chewed her lip – her mind snapping to Kevin Thompson and how many times she'd had to ask the otherwise good senior to stay after class. Feeling his knowing eyes on her, she snapped. "Like you would need an excuse to cause trouble."

He pressed a hand to the bare skin of his chest. "You wound me, Sarah. Even the most hardened criminals deserve a chance to redeem themselves."

Her hand fell to the pocket of her coat, but she didn't slide it in, instead patting the outside uneasily to confirm the torque-shaped medallion was still within. The one he hadn't asked for back, despite clearly wanting it. Interesting.

"You have to actually be sorry to find redemption."

He flashed her a grin, the kind that spoke louder than a misspelled tattoo – 'No ragrets'.

"Are you going to get out of my car?" she asked resignedly.

"I hope this isn't the way you treat all your old friends, Sarah."

"My old friends generally don't call me from jail," she replied dryly. After 13 years of nothing. She still had so many questions on that score. His words fully registering, she canted her head. "And friend, really?"

"You seemed to object to Mr. Jareth Williams," he replied casually. "Though Jareth Müsnukkel does have a nice ring to it. In fact, I am not sure I would change no matter how much you ask." At her sound of impatience, he looked at her frankly. "Old enemies seemed an injustice to us both."

"Why are you here?" She returned the look, leaning further into the small car. "Why really?"

"Now that is a story for old friends." He patted the driver's seat.

Feeling like she was about to inexplicably hammer down on the big red button again, despite all warnings and signs not to, she dropped into the car – pausing only to toss her purse into the back seat. Once inside with her door closed and interior light dimming, she wondered how it was possible for him to take up so much space. Granted her car was a compact model, but he wasn't particularly large. In fact aside from the extra volume of his cape, he was built more like a soccer player or a long distance runner, not a line backer. And though he definitely had a few inches on her, his presence in the close quarters was so much more somehow.

He'd apparently figured out how to adjust his seat, and had set it back as far as it could go – allowing him to stretch his long legs restively. He'd also reclined the seat slightly – the picture of indolence - as though the sight of an armour-wearing Goblin King tucked in the passenger side of her geriatric Volkswagen wasn't patently absurd.

Sarah exhaled noisily and jammed the key in the ignition. The engine made a sort of strangled gargling sound, to which Sarah could immediately relate, then sputtered weakly, failed to turn over and died. She turned the key again, glaring at her passenger like it was all his fault, and then hummed appreciatively when it reluctantly started on the second try.

"It has character no doubt," Jareth offered, folding his arms on his chest.

"If this is isn't up to majesty's standards, feel free to walk," she glared at him again, "into oncoming traffic. Put your seat belt on."

When he didn't move, she shot him an even sterner look. The kind she reserved for the kids who copied Cole's Notes into their essays. "I'm not going until you do."

He still made no effort to comply and affected a rather blank look. "I've no idea what you mean."

Muttering under her breath, she leaned over him and snagged the belt's shoulder strap, tugging it down into position across his waist and clicked it closed. The manoeuvre required her to stretch across his chest, hers brushing his ever so slightly… just enough to bring her body in unsettling awareness. It also brought their faces so closely together that his breath fanned warmly across her cheek and made the small hairs on her nape prickle into awareness. She tilted hers slightly and their eyes met in the dim light of the car; their lips were no more than a scant inch apart.

When she retreated to the relative safety of her seat, he tracked her movement from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. She rubbed a hand across the back of her neck self-consciously.

Then he unclicked his buckle with a snick and the belt shot back to the holster at his head.

She stared at him incredulously.

"Could you demonstrate that again?" he invited, his low-pitched voice the kind she imagined the spider used on the fly. "I find myself requiring extra lessons. You'll do mine then I'll do yours until I get it right."

She pulled a face at him and threw the car into reverse; grinding her foot into the accelerator. The peal of tires filled the vacant parking lot. Had Sarah looked out of her window she would have seen both Briggs and O'Brien watching in concern from the station's window. Early the next morning, in the bright light of day, Briggs would find the accompanying tire marks on the pavement. To his consternation it would make it all the harder for him to scrub the previous evening from his mind.

By the time they sped through the next intersection, Jareth was rethinking the merits of the ridiculous safety apparatus. "Sarah, the last sign we passed seemed to indicate the top limit for speed is 50 miles per hour."

She shot him an irritated look. "And?"

"And that glowing dial in front of you suggests we are going 70."

"And?" she snapped with even more venom, though she released her stranglehold on the gas. The last thing she needed was to be pulled over for speeding with him in her car.

"No reason but it bears mentioning that there are far more efficient ways to attempt regicide."

"You haven't said where to drop you?" She changed the subject pointedly.

"No, I didn't. What does this do?" Without waiting for her answer he pushed a button. The car was immediately filled with music about ten decibels more than was pleasant to the human ear.

Sarah jerked. Jareth swore. The car lurched, engine sputtering.

"Don't touCH THAT?" she ordered over the music, the latter half coming out all the louder as she slammed the dial off again.

"Evidently," he frowned at the dash like it has personally offended him. "But I am more troubled that you would call that music."

She adjusted the volume proactively but kept the radio off, glancing sideways at him. "Sorry. Toby must have been playing around with it." Then she slammed on the brakes despite the fact that there was no stop sign or traffic light within sight.

As a rule, objects in motion remain in motion unless an external force imposes change. Goblin kings, as it would turn out, are no exception.

Jareth jerked forward, the angle of his partially reclined seat and his preternatural strength and speed the only things keeping him from smacking into the dashboard. "Woman!" he roared; his hand bracing himself against the leather-clad PVC of the console enough to crack it. "I begin to think you really are trying to kill me!"

"It's about him, isn't it?" she ignored him. "This is what it's all about. Toby."

The only other car in sight screeched to a halt behind her and then laid on the horn. She ignored that too.

"You can't have him."

The car gave up on the horn when she didn't budge and sped around her noisily.

"I wasn't trying to 'have him'," Jareth replied sardonically. Then he craned his head to look up at the sky out of his closed window. "That fellow was trying to get your attention I think. He seemed to be pointing at something above us."

At Sarah's look of confusion, he repeated the hand motion.

Her lips thinned. "Ah. He was telling me off."

Jareth lowered his middle finger thoughtfully. "Fascinating customs you mortals have. Hard to blame him though."

"Why now?" she pressed on in a rush. "It's been so long. He's thirteen. Almost fourteen."

"All the more reason I don't want him then," Jareth replied. "Teenagers are insufferable at the best of times."

Sarah let slip a wry laugh. "Try teaching a class of them."

"If I recall you were a particularly insufferable example of one. Take the child. Give me the child. It's a piece of cake. No wait, please don't take anymore hours away," he mimicked.

She sniffed. "I never said 'please'."

"Insufferable and rude," he agreed. "Add it to the extensive list of why I have no interest in teenagers."

She chewed her lip doubtfully. "So maybe you don't want Toby then." She checked her mirrors and accelerated, allowing a smug smile when Jareth slid his seatbelt on without further demonstration.

"You know I am actually a very safe driver." Usually, she didn't qualify.

"Undoubtedly." A sideways glance. "Despite all odds you are still alive."

She shrugged defensively. "I don't often chauffeur goblin kings around."

"I should hope not; I would be terribly jealous."

It was hard to tell if he was joking or flirting, or something else entirely and she turned to study his expression suspiciously.

A gloved hand gently cupped her chin and tilted it forward. "Eyes on the road, Sarah."

It was hard to say what was more baffling – the peculiar spark of something every time he touched her or the fact the Goblin King was giving her driving tips.

"Would this kill you?" she asked after a moment.

"Jealousy? Difficult to say. I had no idea you thought so highly of yourself."

"No," Sarah replied with a huff. "Driving I mean."

"From yours? It feels like a marked possibility."

"Be serious," she snapped, but it was hard not to laugh at the increasingly absurd turn of conversation. And the greater absurdity of with whom she was having it.

"Ah, but I thought you wanted me to be jealous," he volleyed, his tone clearly teasing now. "It's a pity you haven't learned to make up your mind in all these years."

"What are you doing?" She was torn between amused and annoyed.

"Charming you, with any luck. At least enough that you'd rethink launching me out of this vehicle."

"A-ha, but that's what I meant." She ignored the bait. "If you were in an accident, would you die?"

"This seems like a roundabout way of asking if I'm mortal, Sarah," he countered pensively. "You can naturally appreciate my concern over your interest. Especially as you've made it so clear we aren't friends."

"I'm not sure what we are," she replied honestly. To her consternation they didn't feel quite like enemies. That would have been easy with carefully defined roles. But no, not friends either. And the circumstances were surreal to say the least, which didn't help.

"I'll take it." He disarmed her all over again with his enigmatic tone.

Sarah shook it off. "So answer the question then."

"I shudder for your students," he sighed. "To answer your question – yes. It is possible for me to die." At her look of piqued interest, he added. "No, I will not tell you how. Suffice it to say it is doubtful this car would do the trick, no matter your recent attempts. Though I wouldn't enjoy it."

"You still haven't told me where to drop you." Or why you're here. "Or how you ended up in this situation in the first place."

"Now that is a long story that begins with an insufferable and rude teenager who always had to stay home with the baby." He narrowly avoided her open-handed swat. "As to where you can drop me, as I said, wherever you are headed."

Sarah felt an inclination to slam on the brakes again. "You can't possible expect me to take you home with me!"

"You did agree to take responsibility for me," he reminded with no small amount of enjoyment. "Lying to the police is no doubt frowned up even amongst you feral, free-run mortals."

"Feral!" Sarah parroted, thinking of his goblins. "Responsibility doesn't mean brining you home like some lost puppy." But in the back of her mind, she did begin to regret making the terribly nebulous promise. She knew better than most that words matter. In fact that was the reason she'd not once verbally accepted the lie he was her husband. She also knew he was far more dangerous than any puppy. He wanted something… even if that something wasn't Toby.

The reality was that she'd been driving in a rather circuitous route to avoid going anywhere near where she lived, but she couldn't drive all night if her gas light was anything to go by. And more importantly she was still starving. A cold casserole was waiting for her on her stove. And on her wall…

At some point in her reverie, she made the turn onto her street and pulled into her apartment complex. She glanced at Jareth, half expecting a crow of triumph. He was instead surveying the art deco façade of the five storey walk up. That had been one of the selling features to her. He turned and looked at her, his brows rising and something approaching surprise tinging his voice. "You have a remarkably large home."

"It's an apartment building, your majesty," she rolled her hand in a mock bow. "Packed with peasants. Of which I'm only one of the ones on the top floor." Her rent wasn't cheap by any means, and the building housed spacious flats with interesting architecture. But a teacher's salary, even one with four years under her belt, was never going to fund a mansion. It did have high ceilings and a well-tended communal pool, not to mention nice gardens she didn't need to worry about killing and the location wasn't far from work.

"Sarah." He must have caught the current of defensiveness in her voice because he sounded far too serious. "My castle is packed with goblins. And chickens." His voice dropped jadedly. "So many chickens. I'm sure it's lovely."

She pulled the key out of the ignition. "Are you going to tell me what is really going on?"

"Eventually."

She hesitated before opening her door. "I could still leave you outside, you know. Walk away right now."

"You could," he agreed, infuriatingly not sounding in the least worried, "but I suspect you'd be concerned about what I could do in your world unsupervised. I could pay a visit to your brother. See if he's learned not to dribble on himself. In fact," he continued, somehow managing to say exactly what she'd been thinking. "I suspect that's the reason you came to the station when you were under no obligation to... And why you've come this far despite all of your misgivings."

Sarah drew level with him, her eyes glittering in the moonlight filtering through the windshield. With the engine off, it was suddenly so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. The steadiness of his breathing. "Perhaps. We could certainly infer that – infer is a word that means guess, in case your knowledge of English is as woefully lacking as your knowledge of seatbelts – but all we know to be true is that you needed my help." She let the word hang between them for a moment, filling the silence. "And you apparently still need my help. So maybe consider that I am a far better ally than an enemy."

Her father always said, leave on a high note. She fished her purse out of the back with one arm and shut the car door behind her, not once looking back as she made her way to the front doors. She unlocked those too and only when they didn't swing shut behind her, caught by a gloved hand, did she acknowledge he'd silently followed her.

To Sarah's relief they passed no one, many of the residents on the older side, on the way up her to her floor. Most people were winded by the time they made it to her door, but not Jareth, who kept pace with her the entire way.

She paused again at her apartment door. Her mind was once again telling her not to do the very bad, no good, terrible thing you know you shouldn't do. Pressing a hand against the solid wood, she looked at him soberly. "This is not an invitation into my life in any way, Jareth. This is temporary. This is the lesser of two evils." She hoped.

His lips twitched at her phrasing, but he inclined his head.

Unlocking the door, she stepped inside and waited for him to follow. He didn't.

She raised a brow.

"You have to invite me." He didn't sound pleased by it, which meant he likely wasn't joking.

"Are you a vampire?" she jeered.

"Nothing so benign." It didn't sound like he was joking in that either.

She stared at him. Once again wondering if that was her final chance not to do the very stupid thing. "Come in. I guess," just to make it clear it was under partial duress, "but I reserve the right to kick you out at any time," she finished in a rush.

He offered her a bland look.

Once inside she shut the door behind him and locked it by rote. Usually one shut the big bad monster out, not in, she thought ironically. He stood framed in her narrow entryway, the light of the art deco wall sconce casting the planes of his face in both shadow and relief.

For some reason she felt far less confident facing him as an adult as she had a rather green girl. Perhaps he realized it too, because he leaned into her space, imperceptibly but palpably. His eyes were too bright and his smile too wide.

She shook the feeling off, shoulders hitching slightly, and dropped her purse on the console table laden with her partially opened mail. Shrugging off her light coat she hung it on a hook. She didn't offer to take his cape because frankly the evening had been ridiculous enough.

"I'll be right back." It was part manners, part warning.

He held his hands up in mock innocence.

She escaped into the bathroom, slouching against the door when she'd closed it to collect herself. Then stared accusingly at her reflection in the mirror opposite, as if to say, this is all your fault. Not mine.

Dimly she heard the phone ring. She ignored it. The answering machine could get it. That was a lesson she'd learned unfortunately late.

The ringing stopped after the third, but the telltale click of her machine didn't follow. Brow furrowing in belated panic, she threw open the door and hurried back down the hall. No….

"Hello?"

Oh yes…

The Goblin Kind cradled the receiver. "I'm afraid she's not available at the moment. I suspect she's currently second guessing her recent life choices. Or perhaps just hiding from me and pretending she isn't."

Eyes widening, she closed the distance and lunged. But not nearly fast enough.

The Goblin King deftly avoided her grab. "Who am I? Jareth Williams né Müsnukkel. Her husband."

Sarah froze in place, a look of disbelief sweeping across her face. Her shocked hesitation, albeit entirely understandable, would only cost her further.

"Oh, I'm quite serious. But you wouldn't have met me, no. Sarah just bailed me out of jail this very evening."

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife… and that bad things can always get worse. Infinitely worse.

"Yes, drunken disorderly," he continued glibly. "Possibly assaulting an officer too. I certainly tried." The Goblin King paused and then held the phone out towards her like her world wasn't imploding. "Your father wants to talk to you."

AN: Dun, dun, dun…

Thrilled you guys are still enjoying this weird little fic. Thank you for the love. Your reviews are like sour candy without the calories. Delicious with no 'ragrets'. I recently received a cold brew coffee maker thingy (thanks mum!) and my life is forever changed. Fresh iced-coffee at my finger tips. Starbucks will think I died. Oh and my long awaited copy of Weekend at Bernie's arrived too. You can't convince me that movie isn't the single greatest cinematic masterpiece ever made. Citizen Kane who? You can shove that up your rosebud. My kids didn't see the appeal alas. I don't think they're mine.

Poor Sarah. I say that a lot… I have a reputation for cock blocking the GK (in which I take tremendous pride) but I feel like I owe Sarah an infinite amount of booze in apology.

Belated credit to my fellow author and LFFL family member, BowieQueen for slaying me with her uproarious 'Jareth Hazahoojcöck' in her must-read story, The Beck and Call King (actually a trilogy, but you get the drift). Müsnukkel as a name was definitely sparked in some fashion by that stroke of literary genius. Go forth and read.

A reader asked if the setting was due to Bowie's infamous mug shot in Rochester, NY. Yes! (at symbbol)Smollot's piece, the one that inspired this fic, was inspired by that famous mug shot - or smug shot (he knew how hot he looked and it shows). So this fic begins to feel very meta or at least very fan-ish. A fanfic of a fanart of a photograph…

I'm going to milk this writing spree for as long as it lasts. The last time this happened, I managed to get The Christmas Caper out in less than a month. I'll say no more lest I jinx myself. Off to sacrifice a green goat, but not a real green goat, that's cruel.