DISCLAIMER: Alas, I STILL do not own anything related to Labyrinth, David Bowie or Jim Henson and Co.

CHAPTER TWO

A crystal dances across nimble fingers.
Thousands of hands pinch and grapple.
The ballroom is spinning.

The shop had closed. The late afternoon sun streamed through darkened clouds, warming the damp streets as she made her way home. The scent of rain, still heavy in the air, hinted at another autumn storm. Sarah liked the rain, so long as she wasn't caught in the midst of a torrential downpour. She often preferred the solitude of dampened paths to the bustle of warm crowded streets.

Rain promised seclusion— privacy from gossiping tongues and curious eyes that had nothing better than to wag and spit judgment as she passed. Puddle lined streets were a reprieve from pity and disapproving stares. They might watch from their windows as she made her way but that was an easy thing to ignore.

Sarah opened the large wooden doors to the brick gate of her home, her worn kid boots clicked softly against the flagstone path. Eyes sliding up to the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of her father. She saw nothing as she searched the face of her vine ridden home.

The house was magnificent once upon a time, when her parents were dumbfoundedly happy and her father infinitely more successful. For years he had been the most renowned architect and stone mason in the entire province, having made or renovated many of the finest homes of the wealthiest patrons. He had built this house for his young bride and the many children they had once hoped would terrorize its halls.

Restless commotion flooded from the kitchen as she swung the door open, her father's voice rising above it all. "Where is it! Where did she put it!" Her fingers dug into the frame as she readied herself to face him. Setting her jaw, Sarah entered the house, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Papa, what are you doing?" His head shot up with impossible speed, all trace of color gone from his face. His hands jerked behind his back as he tried to hide something from her, Sarah's brow pinched. She watched the myriad of emotions flash across his eyes before settling into a baffled expression.

"Sarah!" He blurted, his voice several octaves higher than usual. "You are home early— I wasn't expecting you so soon." A guilty smile spread across his sweating face as he took a clumsy step back. Every line in his blotchy cheeks and wrinkled brow accentuated ten-fold as he stared worryingly back at her, waiting.

"I'm two hours late, Papa." Her neck craned to see the dark edge of the box Robert's pathetic attempt at hiding couldn't conceal. "Why do you have mother's— my— jewelry box?" Her mouth set in a hard line— she knew the answer before he could fathom a feeble excuse to dilute her anger.

There were very few things Sarah had left of her mother. A small faded portrait in a broken locket, a scratched wedding band, a few bobbles and notes all locked away in the small mahogany box clutched between fat, clammy fingers. Years before, when the crippling sting of loss was merely weeks old, there had been two boxes— one far larger and more ornate, lovingly carved with filigree inlays, and a delicate stained glass motif. It was enormous and filled with precious stones and jewelry fit for a queen. It remained untouched for years, save for the awkward fingers of a curious child— until, one by one, the items were pawned and sold, needed instead to pay the debts her father quickly amassed at the dark crowded tables and the bottom of a bottle.

Linda Williams had been dead six years, but she left her daughter's life almost nine years ago in a selfish pursuit of fame and a rather ostentatious affair. Sarah held little sentiment for the woman who abandoned her as a child, leaving her to navigate the treacherous waters of adolescence alone. It was Sarah who had insisted they sell every last adornment and rid themselves of her presence. And so they did. The few trinkets that had remained were worthless, and though she wanted nothing more than to toss them into the sea, she could never bring herself to part with them. It seemed she was sentimental after all.

Sarah stepped forward, her hand raised begging him to remain still. "Put it down, there's nothing left of hers to sell. Please, Papa, just hand me the box." She turned her palm up waiting for him to place it in her grasp. "Papa." She whispered tersely, her eyes wide as she took another cautious step forcing his retreat.

Robert stood motionless for another moment before placing the box in his daughter's ink-marred hands, an angry sigh pushing from his lips. "It seems I need a key." He bit through clenched teeth, his nostrils twitched.

"I locked it for a reason." She stood tall and stepped away, pressing the box into the boning at her stomach. "Wash up," her voice curt, "I have soup in the kettle— you can help yourself to that." Before he could respond she turned and fled into the hall and up the stairs to her room, locking the door behind her.

Any reprieve her walk home had provided was gone now, and she felt the heavy burden that so often came from her father settle heavily on her shoulders. Gambling and drinking had been his way of filling the hole left in his heart by not only first wife, but his second as well. He managed, despite his wounds, to provide for his children and maintain his restraint. Though one would never accuse Robert of sobriety, he was always mindful of his responsibilities.

Until that too changed.

She would not give her father another opportunity to steal what few coins she had stashed away for an emergency. It was that meager amount she saved that had, on more than one occasion, kept them from going hungry when her father had gambled away nearly everything else.

On her knees she dug her fingers into the floor directly under the large honey oak bed that seemed to overtake the west corner of her room. With little effort, she pried a board up revealing the long-forgotten hiding place of her once precious and forbidden childhood memories. The coins would be safe, tucked away under the dented and faded hat box laden with cobwebs and layer of dust. Smiling, she pulled the battered keepsake from its tomb, tucking the jewelry box into the floor.

She had not looked inside in nearly six years, having almost forgotten its existence. With a breath she blew the thick layer of grey into a swirling cloud around her head. Careful fingers removed the lid, and she peered at the contents hidden within. A tangle of color caught her eye, and her smile grew. Sarah lifted a handful of white and pink ribbon long knotted into a messy web of cloth. Her first ball had hardly been memorable, but she had tucked the ribbons from her hair away as though they were a lover's secret gift.

Sarah put them in her lap and inspected the rest of her supposed keepsakes. The nearly empty bottle of her mother's perfume was the only item worth secrecy, but the small hand mirror with her initials carved into the frame, a long white tawny feather, and a locket— identical to her mother's were hardly worth hiding. Even the small red leather book laying at the bottom needn't be kept from prying eyes. There was nothing remarkable about the things she had once deemed worthy of saving, and looking at the array of mismatched totems she couldn't help but laugh at herself.

Her secret box held no secrets.

Muttering ricocheted off the stone walls, creeping around the dozens of staircases leading too many directions. His boots clicked as he stormed up one flight, turning on the abrupt edge to walk underneath another. He had been pacing for hours, climbing the stairs in a fury of restless anxiety. The girl was dreaming.

With a growl a crystal appeared in his fingers, and in the same moment he sent it flying through the air, exploding into a pool of glinting shards. Racing, he dashed up another flight, crushing a different bit of crystal dust under foot.. His agitation mounted with each step and improbable direction as he ran and paced in hopes of soothing his ire, but it only seemed to intensify his annoyance. Another crystal barreled into stone.

He couldn't fathom how she managed to dream of the Labyrinth— or him. She won her prize, and like all the others before and since, she left. Although, he paused hating the admission, I offered her far more than any other. But she refused, and became nothing more than a champion to him and his Labyrinth.

Liar.

He snarled at the thought, bracing to throw another sphere to its death. She was nothing. She had always been nothing, but he had been too curious about the strong-willed girl desperate to save her brother, to see how foolish he was being. I offered the world to an undeserving child. His mind spat as he stared at the orb clutched in his gloved hand, trying again to pull her image into view. It was useless, he knew— the Labyrinth blocked champions from him as a reward for valiance. It has to be a mistake. That wasn't my Sarah— it couldn't be. The dreamer might have looked like her, but it's impossible.

But if it weren't—

He had to be certain. If she was dreaming of him, she couldn't have done it alone. The Labyrinth's magic was far too ancient and powerful to be manipulated by a single human girl. "No, it can't be her alone." A smile too wide to be cheerful spread his lips, "Whoever is helping her cannot hide from me— not for long. So help me, Gods, I will find out who's behind this!" He ground the crystal to dust between is fingers. A darkness bled into his is inhuman eyes as a single idea crept into existence. "I will find you."

Green eyes peered into the confides of the small field behind her home; the wet plants glistened in the fading hues of gold and bruised pink. She looked out over the array of vegetables and herbs, her mind wandering aimlessly. The air still sang of a promised storm as the sun continued to demand an appearance before the clouds ruled the sky once more. Her fingers curled and uncurled around the cold edge of the marble bench, her mind lost to no thought in particular.

"Have you heard anything I've said, Sarah?"

She turned then, her head shook slightly as her cheeks flamed. "I'm sorry, Richard my mind was—" she looked back to the field and sighed heavily, "elsewhere." With a sidelong glance she smiled, "I truly hadn't meant to ignore you. I'm sorry."

He returned her smile, "Eventful day?" The slight wrinkles around his dark eyes deepened as his brow rose with his words. Richard leaned closer to her, probing her to answer as he stared, his nearly black hair taking on a russet glow. He appeared almost handsome as the dying sunlight kissed along his cheeks and brow, heightening his plain features.

She had no idea how long they had been sitting there, but the damp and chill of evening began to creep up her spine making her shiver. "Hardly," she huffed a quiet, sarcastic laugh, her eyes smiling apologetically as she squeezed the bench again. "Please, tell me again?"

"I wanted to talk to you." Though his voice remained light, Sarah could sense a severity dancing along the edges, waiting to take center stage. His eyes, even in the best of light, were a dull mud caught on the precipice of genuine and feigned interest. His sincerest attentions paled to the fascination and ardor of the mismatched pair of her dreams. She shook the thought away, and focused instead on the man next to her.

"If you remember, next week I leave for the hunt my cousin arranged. I received word this morning that my uncle has decided to join the lot of us." The lines around his lips creased with the smile that pulled the corners of his mouth. "I want him to have the company of more than just my cousins and friends. So I have decided to bring your father."

Before she could have enough sense to contain it, her face twisted to bewildered disbelief. "You want my father to go hunting? You— you would trust him with a weapon?" The muscles in her hands began to hurt with the force of her grip on the seat, her voice matching the expression plastered to her face. "Are you mad?"

"Sarah," he warned, giving her a pointed look. "I think it would be good for him to have a change in scenery. We would leave Tuesday morning and return within the fortnight, as planned." He raised a hand as her mouth opened in protest, effectively silencing her. "There will be at least six other men with me, I think we can manage the likes of your father, my little pet." He tapped her nose lightly with his endearment. The gesture far more appropriate for a small child than his bride.

Sarah pulled away, her nose wrinkled instinctively. She hated the moniker he too often used, she was to be his wife after all, not his pet. Though she could hardly believe he would use the term to describe any of his animals. "True, there would be more of you, but Richard, this is my father. We both know how he gets, and having others around would do little to spur his actions. I doubt he would think twice before embarrassing you both." A small v pinched her brow at the thought.

"It's hardly embarrassment when surrounded by friends. No one would think to judge him." The seriousness finally took the spotlight, his eyes hard as he continued. "Sarah, he is going to be my father-in-law, my family. Is it so wrong that I wish to be close to you both?" His tone flattened revealing the lie at the base of his words. "An invitation like this might make him more agreeable in the near future."

Sighing, she stood, "Perhaps, but— but if he drinks you won't be able to control him." Her arms wrapped protectively around herself, shielding her from whatever cold remark might leave Richard's thin lips. "He will want nothing more than to spend his evenings at the tables and I haven't a coin to spare on such things!" Her voice rose and echoed around them as she stared into the sun until she was forced to look away. Hot tears burning a path down her chill-tinged cheeks, as she waited for his rebuff.

His muffled groan was her only warning before Richard settled his hands on her shoulders, his fingers circling the sensitive skin of her neck. She shivered but didn't turn to him. "If you weren't so beautiful you might be able to listen better." His mouth brushed against her ear, the sharpness of his grip matched his timbre. "I am to be your husband, or have your forgotten?"

How could she forget?

She could hear the smile on his lips, but also the annoyance rumbling under the surface. "I am a very wealthy man, your father's habits are hardly of any consequence. If he choses to indulge his whims, who am I to stop him." Richard's hands slid away as he moved around to face her, the light haloing his muscled frame in the waning sun.

"An addiction is hardly a whim!" Sarah practically screeched, her chest puffed up in protestation as their eyes met. "Shame on you for not seeing that. You could have a hundred men— but if there is a bottle to drink from, a whore to ravage or something to gamble nothing would stop him." Bitterness bled from her words but they were no more than a pathetic whisper. "I have starved because of those whims, as you so foolishly call them." Drained, Sarah's eyes fell to her hands, her voice even and austere. "He's not going, I won't allow it. I can't." Her shoulders fell with her almost silent admission.

His fingers grasped the delicate point of her chin with bruising force, pulling her gaze to his. "I wasn't asking your permission, Sarah— nor do I need it." Richard stepped closer to her, their bodies almost flush, his eyes almost black as his voice quieted. She gaped at the abrupt change, unease clutching at her breast. "Don't be mistaken pet— I was merely extending a courtesy. I have no wish to repeat myself again."

He was right, of course. Without his impressive wealth, her father would rot in debtors prison and she would be fortunate if she could live out her days in the poorhouse, not rutting strangers in darkened alleyways. She was grateful Richard wanted her despite her father's ruined name and impressive debts. Her beauty and her virtue were the only things keeping them from utter ruin, and she would not let the small matter of her pride interfere. Richard might encourage her father's crass behavior, it was his money that funded such frivolity. A term she had readily agreed to upon sealing her fate.

Sarah liked him, or at least some very small part of her did. That in itself was as much a luxury as any— most brides in her position were not so fortunate. But it was his wealth and reputation that had made it nearly impossible for her to refuse his advances. Richard Lefroy would always get what he wanted, and she was very fortunate to be one of those things.

He straightened, the rancor vanishing from his voice in an instant, as he moved to caress her cheek. "I will shield you from debtors prison and the poorhouse, as I promised. You are far too beautiful to survive such a place." He hummed absently to himself, "the things that would happen to you—" The pad of his thumb traced her bottom lip and he wet his in return, a low growl caught in his throat. "I will not withdraw my offer because your father cannot hold his liquor or his purse. Such depravity is beyond me."

Richard lowered his head and hovered, "I do intend to collect a different payment, however." The whisper caught between their skin just before his mouth crashed against hers. His kiss was rough, all power and demands, only taking, but she responded, all too aware of how close they stood and how easy it would be to draw even closer. She didn't love him, but with each stolen kiss and dangerous flutter in her core, she believed she could.

When Richard released her, she sighed, her lips begging for more, as his eyes fell to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. His face flushed with the desire radiating off him in waves of heat and promise. "Worth every cent." His nose danced along her frantic pulse, the fire in his belly growing as he caught the scent of her— peaches.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has put this in their favorites or on alert. It was really exciting to see people were interested. Thank you to the three reviewers I had for chapter one, it really helped me feel confident enough to write this chapter. Please feel free to leave more reviews, they are very helpful!