A/N: A million thank-you's to those who've commented. You all make my day.

Disclaimer: Labyrinth is not mine.

Chapter 5: Hidden Talents

After the plan was decided, Toby—and Grog, surprisingly—didn't stay long. Sarah had assumed she'd be hosting the goblin on her living room couch given Toby's roommates, but Grog had wailed when Toby attempted to leave her apartment without him, and after getting Grog to promise he'd behave as a man-goblin, Toby had caved. He and his roommates would just have to deal with his "cousin Greg" stretching out his sleeping bag and whatever obnoxious habits bled through his disguise. Served him right for getting her into this mess.

With Toby and Grog gone, and the Goblin King sequestered in her office, Sarah slipped back into bed. But this time, worries and wishes kept sleep from falling.

The government wanted to talk to her. Interrogate her. Probably accuse her of snatching away a baby boy. And the Goblin King had a plan to save her.

The irony was almost too much.

Sarah buried her head under the pillow, desperate to drown out all thoughts of stolen boys and the king who stole them. It was a laughable effort. She'd known after he'd surprised her in the hallway that she'd entered dangerous territory. She'd had a fascination with him when she was younger, but despite that pull, she'd been able to focus on his faults and craft a response to dismiss it. He was cruel. He was the villain. It was all a game to distract her from Toby. Yet there he was, armed only with silken pants and a knowing smirk, and her mettle had fractured. He hadn't even suggested anything, but if he had…

She wasn't sure she knew the right words to dispel him. Or that she could even say them if she did. Not when dismissing him wasn't the key to saving Toby.

She groaned into the sheets. Damn her for even considering this plan. Damn Toby and the Goblin King, too. She needed sleep if this scheme was to work. She'd undoubtedly raise suspicions if she arrived at the station bearing bloodshot eyes and a persistent yawn. Any sign of a sleepless night would be a dead give away that she was concerned about their questioning. But, lying in bed just allowed those thoughts to run rampant and while the chamomile had calmed her headache, it was no match for Toby's carelessness.

A book. She needed a book. It was a tried and true method to soothe racing thoughts into submission. She could focus on the prose instead of what she might possibly say to the government to stall for time and allow the Goblin King to work his magic. She could focus on imaginary worlds instead of the not-so-imaginary king sleeping across the hall. She could focus on extricating herself from this fantastical kidnapping instead of what might have happened if she'd chosen not to extricate herself from an offer even more fantastical some twenty years ago; something she had not, until recently, even contemplated. This whole disaster was obviously chipping away at her good sense.

She groaned again. The problem was, of course, that the not-so-imaginary king had claimed her office and thus, her several large bookshelves. He had somehow seamlessly inserted himself into her apartment, Toby's investigation, her own interrogation, and between her and her favorite escape with barely more than a twist of a wrist and a few clever words. Despite her frustration, she still saw his maneuvering as impressive. She just didn't know why he made the effort in the first place. Surely, there were an infinite number of more important things he should be focused on; like answering wishes and managing mazes. At least attempting to manage his goblins. Why bother with her?

She sighed, realizing she again was focused solely on the Goblin King instead of sleep. She threw back the coverlet, deciding she'd read a damn cookbook if she had to.

The second bedroom door was slightly ajar as Sarah padded down the hall briskly, making sure to keep her footsteps soft to avoid waking him. She couldn't handle seeing him again so soon; not if she was to sleep. Jasper had emerged from whatever hiding spot he'd found upon being wished away and was crunching on what was left of his dinner in the kitchen. He skittered away quickly when Sarah leaned down to pet him, obviously agitated from being thrown across worlds.

Sarah understood completely.

She grabbed the largest cookbook off the shelf: a food stained but trusted tome that Karen had sworn by and given her many years prior. The book had done little to improve her cooking, but it seemed likely to put her to sleep. As she turned back to the door, she spotted the little red book she'd tossed onto her kitchen table earlier. She placed it on top of the cookbook, frowning. She obviously couldn't read that, but there was no way she could leave it out in the open for the Goblin King to stumble across. She could imagine the superior look he'd give her when he realized she'd kept it all these years, despite the trouble it'd wrought. She had enough trouble with him already. No, she absolutely could not let him know of its unexplainable importance to her.

Sarah returned the little red book to the depths of her closet and climbed back into bed, cookbook in hand. Measurements and mixing, basting and broiling, cassoulet and coq au vin. Elaborate meals that called for ingredients she couldn't afford and dinner partners she had recently lacked. Still, as she made her way past eclairs, thoughts of whisking eggs and airy pastry replaced those of an enigmatic king. The book slipped from her hands, thudding softly into the bed, and surrounded only by the sound of deep, even breathing.

She'd set her alarm for eight, but the creak of hinges woke her instead.

Light was barely flickering in through her window and the room was more shadows than defined shapes. It looked well before eight, and a glance at her clock confirmed it. She groaned at the glowing six thirty and turned away from the light, intent on stuffing her head under the pillow to get at least another hour of sleep, but before she could, she spotted an immaculate figure leaning against her open door, staring at her with a tilted grin. As she'd feared, the locks were useless.

"What do you want, Goblin King?" She asked tiredly, closing her eyes again. "It's early."

"For you, perhaps," he chuckled softly, but Sarah heard the tail end of it clearly as his voice moved closer. "I am certain you remember time moves differently Underground. I am accustomed to rising at this hour."

It figured he'd be a morning person. It was too much to hope that he'd run out of traits that would drive her crazy. She could think of no reason, however, that his routine required him to intrude on her rest. She groaned again, not bothering to look at him lest it encourage him to continue his early morning harassment. "I've already told you I'm not here to entertain you. We don't need to be there until ten. Find something to do to pass the time."

"You seem to be forgetting, Sarah," he drawled near her ear, and her eyes snapped open; the kiss of his breath hot against skin. "The bargain also entailed that you'd host for as long as the goblin is needed."

Sarah rolled away and sat up, suddenly breathing hard, and tried to wrench her thoughts away from fatigue. Just what was he expecting her to do at this hour? Toby hadn't promised she'd provide anything but the room. At this ungodly hour, she didn't have the patience for polite words. "What the hell are you talking about?" She demanded, pressing her hands in the bed to steady herself. "I'm hosting; you have a room."

"Come now, Sarah. Even I don't believe you think tea alone serves as acceptable fare for a guest." He held up a thick battered book and raised an eyebrow.

Understanding dawned quickly and she sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "You want breakfast." Of course he expected hosting to require all the niceties of a quaint bed and breakfast. But then again, otherworldly or not, he was a king. He'd likely never had to prepare his own meals and wouldn't have assumed she'd provide anything less. She repeated a silent mantra that she would not. lose. Toby. and pulled herself off the far end of the bed. Chef Sarah it was, then. "Fine. Give me ten minutes to shower and dress. But you're going to be disappointed."

"There are few things you could do to disappoint me that you have not already done, Sarah," he said lowly, the words hinting at offers rebuked.

Sarah's hand clenched around the blouse she'd reached for, but she was able to resist turning. He was disappointed. With her. As if he honestly thought she should have known better than to scorn his offer? Her accepting would have been nonsensical; entrancing faerie king or not, she'd been fifteen. He knew she had to have Toby back. But that was a conversation for a time when she wasn't panicked about the government hiding her away because of what she knew. It would only rile her up more.

Focus on the food, not the past.

"The cookbook was a gift from my stepmother," Sarah offered finally, turning back with a deep green blouse and dark slacks tossed over an arm. "Her attempt at turning me into a suitable housewife. As you've likely realized: that attempt failed. You'll have to make do with scrambled eggs and toast." She didn't know why she was bothering to explain her recent history to him, but she felt obligated to warn him he wouldn't be receiving fresh croissants or similar patisseries.

She was almost out the door when she heard his reply. "Do you want to be a housewife?"

"No," she said sharply. "I never did." His expression only intensified at her words, so she sighed and jutted her head down the hall towards the kitchen. "Just wait in the kitchen. I won't take long."

As tempting as it was to avoid the king, Sarah abided by her promise to shower quickly. She pinned her shoulder length hair up with an elegant clip instead of taking the time to blow-dry it, and pushed open the kitchen door to find the Goblin King hovering over her stove.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a suitable breakfast," he said dryly, not turning. "Since you made it clear you lacked this particular skill."

She saw him flip a piece of toast in the pan, and her mouth dropped. She had to be dreaming. Or, her stress and addled hormones had brought her around the bend. There was no way the Goblin King was preparing french toast in her kitchen. Nonchalantly. Like it was the obvious thing to do in response to her warning. She instinctively pinched herself and grimaced when it stung. The image of the king didn't falter. She'd lost her mind, then. The enticing smells of cinnamon and vanilla had to be the byproduct of insanity. Surely, she was imagining the sizzle of battered toast? But, as she watched him tip the pan onto a plate already stacked with several pieces and set the platter on the kitchen table, she couldn't help but think that the more logical response was that she'd been wrong to presume he'd never prepared a meal. The Goblin King cooked. And from what she could tell so far, he was no amateur. She inhaled deeply, losing herself in warm, buttery spice. It smelled absolutely incredible. Maddening king or not, there were few things better than a man preparing a hot breakfast.

He'd also somehow already learned the layout of her kitchen. The ceramic pan he'd been using had been sitting in her oven alongside most of her cookware, too large for her cabinets. Without a false move, she watched as he pulled cutlery and a smaller plate out from those cabinets, and deposited them alongside the platter. He slid into one of the chairs without even looking at her, stabbed a piece of toast off the platter, and cut into it neatly. Sarah could only gape.

"You were not mincing words when you claimed not to be a housewife," he said after swallowing, flicking his eyes up. A corner of his mouth raised when she remained frozen in the doorway. "Your stock of edible food is wanting."

She bristled, and whatever crack in her defenses his unexpected breakfast brought was replaced with steel. She was well-aware that her fridge wasn't stocked for a king. Or even two average people. She'd likely have to make a trip to the store today. But that, of course, depended on whether the Goblin King's spell actually caused the government to forget about her involvement and they left her in peace. She finally found words when his focus returned to his toast. "I wasn't exactly expecting a guest."

"That was abundantly clear." When she just crossed her arms, he raised an eyebrow to match his grin. "Do you intend to eat? Or have you somehow gotten your fill just by staring?"

"I…what?" He was enjoying her shock far too much, she decided, when he only gestured to the platter with his fork, still piled with toast. He'd cooked her a portion, she realized. Without her even asking. She frowned, but moved to grab her own plate from the cabinet and sat down across from him. There was no doubt about it; he was an enigma wrapped in a mystery. Still, the toast smelled divine and as she found it unlikely he'd spell—or poison—his own food, she helped herself to a piece. A rush of spicy, rich goodness met her tongue and damn it she unconsciously moaned as she chewed. She reached for another bite before she had even swallowed, not caring what he thought. Even with her pitiful selection of ingredients, it was clear he was a far better cook.

The Goblin King's ensuing snort made no secret of his amusement, but he said nothing as he finished his own slice and took another. For some minutes, the scraping of forks and knives was their only conversation.

When Sarah swallowed the last of her piece, she looked up to find him just staring, head cocked as if awaiting praise. "You cook," she said simply, still not able to fully wrap her head around the madness of the morning.

The eyebrow raised again. "Surely you didn't assume the goblins prepared my meals? Or that I summoned food from nothing?"

She had wondered about the second. "No," she shook her head. She could imagine the disaster. "Not goblins, but the others like you. Castle staff."

A shadow passed across the king's face, but it settled quickly. "My kind live outside the Goblin Kingdom," he said without expression, standing to take his plate to the sink.

"But, they were there in my run. I saw them. Danced with them."

"Well-crafted illusions." He turned, leaning back against the counter gracefully. "A masquerade without dancers would have hardly been a masquerade, Sarah." He saw her unspoken question as her forehead pinched, and grinned. "Not everyone was an illusion, of course."

She squirmed a bit in her chair. The peach-dream masquerade had been the most embarrassing part of her run, and not because she'd shattered walls and forgot about Toby. She had sought him with inexplicable haste, as if his dance was the puzzle piece that made her whole. Then there was the singing. If the clock hadn't chimed…she exhaled deeply. She still couldn't explain it fully, but chalked it up to girlish fantasies and her younger self's obsession with royalty. If he hadn't been an illusion, he would have known his temptation succeeded, if only briefly. It was no wonder he kept a self-assured air despite her win.

His grin hadn't eased, and she couldn't stop herself. "I was fifteen," she attempted to reason. "Most girls my age would have jumped at the chance to dance with a king. Any king."

"Assuredly," he replied, but his face lacked any hint of agreement. The temperature in the room ticked up a notch as his gaze sharpened.

She could. not. discuss this right now. His hidden talent had already added to her unease. Sarah pushed back her chair with a force amplified by pent-up frustration. "I'm not having this conversation with you now, Goblin King." She dumped her plate on top of his in the sink and did her best to ignore his nearness as she rinsed their two dishes. She sighed as he wordlessly handed her the pan and his mixing bowl, and they followed both plates into the dishwasher a minute later. With a soft 'thanks', she turned briskly on her heels towards the door.

"Jareth."

She caught herself on the doorframe, snapping her head back. "What?"

"You cannot refer to me as 'Goblin King' around your authorities. My name is Jareth. I would suggest you get accustomed to using it."

Jareth. Hoggle had mentioned it several times, but she couldn't recall ever using his name. It would have made him all the more real and not just a title. He was right, however. She couldn't slip up and call him 'Goblin King' while she attempted to dissuade the government's attention. She eyes him coolly. "I know your name, Jareth. I'll be fine."

"Of that, Sarah," he almost purred, and Sarah gripped the edge of the frame tighter as her name echoed dangerously, "I am certain."

A/N: I toyed with adding in Sarah's interrogation at the end, but there is a reason for the break here. Hopefully, y'all trust me on it.