Chapter 3: Harvest Home – Part Two

Sarah couldn't pinpoint how it had all gone so disastrously wrong. She'd made mistakes; yes. She shouldn't have assisted Toby with finishing his costume. She should have denied knowing the king on Halloween. And she definitely should not have entered into another bargain with him without understanding the parameters of how to win. But even now, it was hard to comprehend how all of that had brought her here, seated at the dining room table, heart pounding from Jareth's kiss, with three severely disappointed glances pinning her in place long after she'd cleaned her plate.

"He's coming back…right?" Toby asked hesitantly. "He didn't even tell us what lived in his bog."

"Yes," Sarah responded, bringing one hand to rest against a temple. Oh, he'd be back. Likely soon. With one day left in their bargain, there was no doubt of that. The question was: what was he up to now and what would he do when he returned? Her quips, while momentarily catching him off-guard, hadn't dissuaded him from continuing his charade as her boyfriend. In fact, they'd emboldened him to make a move. She hadn't exactly returned the kiss, but it had been so brief, and his parting smile against her lips made clear he'd recognized what it meant. And she had plainly not tried to push him away. His escalating things seemed inevitable.

Her pulse ticked up at the thought, though not from fear. Oh yes; she was screwed. Because of a single kiss.

The screech of chair legs broke the long silence and she looked up to see Karen moving fast towards the kitchen. She hadn't brought her plates. Sarah could only assume the situation called for more wine.

Wrong again, of course.

"What's his last name?" Karen shouted back. "And the name of his company?"

A chill ran through Sarah at what Karen had sought. Still, because she needed time to contemplate more lies, she asked, "what?"

Karen returned to the dining room carrying two large books in her arms. One yellow. One white. Both equally ruinous. Karen pushed aside Sarah's plate before plopping both down in front of her, pointing. "That is not how we treat guests in this house. We both know he didn't have a company emergency. Call him. Leave a message."

It was like she was fifteen all over again, being scolded for something Karen hadn't understood. Her father, so equally disapproving at this point that she doubted she'd gain his usual sympathy. Although - and here Sarah calmed slightly - with Jareth gone, there was no reason now that the story couldn't change. "It's not what you think. He's not my boyfrie-"

"I don't care what you call him," Karen interrupted. "Friend. Boyfriend. That's no excuse for rudeness." Her finger didn't budge.

"But-"

"Call him, Sarah," her father's voice joined the horrific chorus.

Call him. Call him? She only knew one way to call him and it was certain to be the most disastrous thing to happen all day. And leaving a message with someone random was impossible with Karen hovering over her shoulder; she knew of no "Jareth" she could point to in the phonebook. "It's not that simple. He's...not in the phonebook."

"Well, how do you reach him? You must have his number written down somewhere. His pager number at least."

It was clear Karen had no intention of dropping her inquisition. It was going to make her sound like even more of an ass, but..."I don't reach him," Sarah tried. "He contacts me." Mostly true. And the only other out Sarah could think of at the moment.

The pause that followed was even more severe than the prior judging glances. But something new had come over her father. Confusion? Concern? It was assuredly less judgmental than the look he'd worn when Jareth had departed. Perhaps he was realizing that Jareth was more of a stalker than a boyfriend? If so, she'd at least have him on her side. Because her brother sure wasn't.

"Oh! Wait!" Toby shouted, leaping from his chair and rushing towards the foyer. "I have something."

Sarah froze. She knew Jareth had already given him one gift, but the game cartridge was in no way helpful in contacting him. Which meant he'd left something else. Her mind raced unbidden to memories of proffered crystals. To snakes and scarves and perfectly ripe fruit. Nothing that she believed Toby would consider helpful, but her unease remained. Toby would have mentioned earlier if Jareth had given him something...unusual, wouldn't he? Surely, Jareth would have thought better than to leave him something with magic?

She ended up being one-for-two.

"Here," Toby offered, handing Sarah a small box once he'd bounded down the stairs. "He told me to give you this."

She didn't want to open it. She knew what it held. It was too obvious. The silver box was just the right size for her father's paperweight; the same one Toby had borrowed for his costume. But Jareth was mad to think she'd take his crystal now - in the company of her oblivious family - when she'd repeatedly refused his offers in private. She refused to even touch it. "You didn't open it, did you? Or touch it?" God knows what Jareth was up to, leaving something like that with Toby.

Toby just shook his head. "He said it was only for you."

Only for me. Sarah's heart thumped.

"Well, what is it?" Karen questioned eagerly as she leaned in to inspect the shining box.

For Sarah, Karen's eagerness was far more concerning than ire. Eagerness meant nosiness and knowing Karen, there was little chance Sarah would be able to keep the box's contents private. So, she lifted the lid carefully and dumped the shimmering object onto the napkin beside the phonebooks. But it was visibly different from the crystals he'd offered her in the past. More like a snowglobe, with objects - or in this case, a small parchment with numbers - placed inside. It was so suspiciously convenient that Sarah knew he was watching them, somehow. He'd manipulated the crystal from afar.

"Oh! He did leave his number. Perfect." Karen picked up the crystal before Sarah could yelp a warning and gestured for Sarah to follow her into the kitchen. Sarah glanced at her father briefly, but whatever concern he'd shown had now faded into resignation. Karen's orders, as she long knew, reigned in the house. There was nothing to do but comply.

The phone was pressed into Sarah's hand seconds later. "Go on. Apologize."

This was mortifying. She knew he'd answer. There was no reason he'd magic her his "phone number" just so she could leave a voicemail. She'd punched in the numbers floating in the crystal with a scowl, turning away from Karen. It only "rang" once.

She heard his chuckle first, gloating. But then, "I did warn you that your attempts wouldn't work, Sarah-mine. Although I admire your tenacity."

Tenacity. The cocky bastard. "Jareth," she started tightly, "I am calling to apologize if anything I said offended you."

"I believe I made clear you did not," he responded lowly, and Sarah's grip on the phone slipped just slightly. More subtle laughter, as if he saw. "Tell me, Sarah, do you wish to forfeit?"

Sarah glanced over at Karen quickly but she was still paying too much attention to the call for her to issue a denial. At least Karen couldn't hear him. "Do you accept my apology?"

"Or do you mean to return the favor first? You always were determined to best me. I can be generous, you know."

"What'd he say, dear?" Karen responded when Sarah's mouth parted, throat again dry.

"Or perhaps you'd prefer to cocoon yourself in denial for another day. Does it thrill you? Fighting against me? Is that why your pulse races at my touch? Why your breath hitches just so?"

"No," she pressed, although how she'd formed the word, she couldn't say. Her throat itched. Her lungs burned when she drew air. Why was he doing this? What did he want?

Karen took the response as for her, frowning. "No?" But Sarah didn't hear her stepmother, too focused on the slow click of the king's tongue and his one last arrogant chuckle.

"Try again."

Sarah slammed the phone back into the holster.

Karen eyed the phone with concern, then tilted her head towards Sarah, hands on her hips. "Well?"

"He's...not offended," she replied shakily. "He'll be back." Despite her abysmal track record, of that she was sure. He'd already escalated things.

Sarah debated with herself for a good thirty minutes on whether calling them was a good idea. Karen was undoubtedly wide awake, just waiting for the doorbell to ring. Even if he'd already drifted off, Toby wasn't nearly as sound a sleeper as he used to be. But by ten-fifteen, the anxiety of not asking outweighed those risks. She'd lock her door. If anyone knocked, she'd pretend she'd phoned a friend. A very loud friend.

To her relief, she'd learned when she moved to Vermont that her ability to call her Underground friends wasn't limited to her vanity mirror; any mirror would do. Still, the nostalgia she felt from calling them here - in the house where it'd all begun - was almost overpowering.

"Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus," she started, falling into her vanity chair. "I need you."

The glass rippled white. Then silver-gray, twisting. It settled seconds later on a sole reddish-brown figure who let out an unexpected sigh. "'Spected you'd call."

Her anxiety had clearly not been misplaced. "What do you know, Hoggle?"

Another sigh. "Nuthin' helpful, missy. He hasn't spoken to me in ages. He left Didymus in charge. Ludo's helpin'. 'S why they's not here."

"Ages?" She frowned when Hoggle nodded in response. She'd assumed Jareth had been furious with her three friends for assisting in her victory, but..."Since when?" Even though a part of her already knew.

"Since you's been here."

She gaped at him. Ten years. He'd held a grudge against Hoggle for ten years? She didn't know how old Hoggle was - or any of them, really - but that seemed unreasonably long. Wasn't Hoggle in his employ? "Is that...unusual?"

Another nod. She watched him open his mouth as if to elaborate but he shut it just as quickly, wincing. Which raised Sarah's concern. There was something he knew that he wasn't telling her. Something significant. "What?"

"'S nuthin'."

From his pallor, however, she knew it wasn't nothing. But he seemed set on not explaining why it was unusual. So she tried another approach. "How come you've never mentioned this before?"

"You never asked about 'im," he said, flinching just slightly at the sharp edge in her question.

It was true; she hadn't. She had very purposefully avoided all topics that might even hint towards a mention of Jareth. So had they. But now, because of it, she was at a loss of how to reconcile the sudden news of Jareth's avoidance of Hoggle with him leaving Sir Didymus and Ludo in charge. What had Hoggle done that had been so different? Help her out of the oubliette? Over the wall? If anything, he'd been the one who'd most tried to prevent her from winning, what with the tainted peach. She shook her head to clear it, bringing a hand to rub at her eyes. More mysteries. "How about Sir Didymus? Did he tell you what the Goblin King said when he left him in charge?"

"Jus' that he'd be here ah...Above." He appeared to look around the room once. "Is he...there?"

"At the moment; no," she said, dropping her hand. "But he's coming back. I was stupid enough to make another bargain with him."

She saw him flinch again and knew he also thought her to be a fool. But, after a second, his curiosity won out. "What sorta bargain?"

"One I'm going to lose." That was all he needed to know. Unless..."How much do you know about making deals with him? About loopholes? He definitely skirted the rules when I was in the Labyrinth. I didn't get the thirteen hours he'd promised."

"Oh, he's good with loopholes. All them Fae are. Nuthin's ever straight with 'im."

Fae. She'd suspected as much. She'd done her research, obscure as it was. Masters of trickery and deception. Which meant he was certain to bend their bargain in the way it was most advantageous to him. She didn't need to be Fae to do the same. The wording was key; what exactly had she promised? She furrowed her brow, thinking. Two days. Never bothering her or Toby again. Telling him...Sarah's eyes bulged. That was it: the loophole. He'd been surprisingly careless in his wording, actually. Oh, he was sure to be furious but she didn't care.

One day. She'd just need to keep up the façade of disinterest for one day. She had no idea what he'd been plotting in his hours away but in the end, whether or not she wished to "know him" after it all would be irrelevant.

It was. Mostly.

She saw him through the front windows around eleven and opened the door before he rang the doorbell. She'd been waiting. Lines ready. She wasn't willing to risk Karen being charmed again and offering the king something other than the guest room.

Like her bedroom, for instance.

It had taken some effort, but Sarah had assured her stepmother - who had been wide awake - that she'd "make him comfortable" for the night when he'd returned, though she knew their understandings of that phrase differed. Comfort was a relative term. He should be damn pleased she wasn't relegating him to her own oubliette: the basement.

"I won't be returning the favor," she offered crisply once he'd made it to the door. "And I don't appreciate being spied on."

As was now familiar, his lips twitched. He seemed endlessly amused by her. "So you say."

She frowned at him, noticing the small black bag he now carried but decided against asking. It didn't matter what he'd planned. She had the edge. She just needed to play it cool so he wouldn't suspect as much. She stepped back and jerked her head for him to enter. "If you're intent on staying here, get in. It's damn cold." She turned on her heels, knowing he would follow. She also expected him to tail her all the way to her bedroom. Which he did.

"Nice try," she said with a snort, pointing as she spun to face him. "Guest room is down the hall to the left. Don't break anything."

"Oh, Sarah," he leaned in, purring her name against her ear. "I haven't even begun to try."

Sarah had to grab hold of one side of the doorframe, every nerve suddenly on end. She heard the implicit promise. Jesus; he'd wasted no time. She didn't doubt him, either. He'd toyed with her before, but he wasn't playing now; the heat had resurfaced in his eyes, beckoning, and it was only the sudden hand at her hip that kept her from tilting completely. Another smirk, this one more victorious than amused. Without blinking, his other hand came around her back, and she jumped just slightly when his fingertips traced the skin just above her waistband. Testing.

"Would you like me to?"

Yes. "No," she hissed instead. Win or lose, he was going to ruin her for other men. He probably already had.

"You're back!"

Sarah jumped again when the hand at her back slid an inch higher, pulling her against his side and out into the hall. Toby. Their conversation had drawn him from his bedroom. His relief was evident, though why Toby was so enamored with the king continued to baffle her. He'd met other "boyfriends" before. He'd never shown a lick of interest. Jareth was an entirely different situation, obviously, but she had no reason to suspect Toby knew anything about that. Damn costume. Damn bribery. Damn bog. "I told you he would be," she said after he'd rushed down the hall to meet them.

Toby nodded towards the bag, then, still holding his smile. "Is it in there? All of it?"

...What the hell? The rumble of Jareth's chest flared her unease. Laughter. Confirming laughter. Something had been planned, and it was something Toby was psyched about. The level of badness was off the charts.

Dear God. Jareth better not be planning an impromptu magic show...

"The reason for my sudden departure," he crooned. "I had intended on showing you tomorrow, but perhaps you'd wish a previe-"

Panic made her do it. Panic and rapid risk-assessment. Because Toby learning the truth about Jareth was something she couldn't undo, and he was certain to be furious with her - and more enamored with the magical king - if he did. She wasn't wearing shoes. She only knew one surefire way to cut him off. So, she twisted, grasped the back of his neck, and pulled.

The twitch of fingers at her back told her he was surprised by the ferocity of her kiss, and she used his imbalance to pull him back into her room, one hand still holding the nape of his neck. She vaguely heard her brother oooh, but the sound was muffled, distorted by the soft moan (his? hers?) as that surprise morphed into triumph. His pressure increased, caressing. And the familiar smile - all heat and electricity - as his lips fought for control was almost enough to let him keep pushing her back towards the bed and abandon her hasty plan.

Almost.

In an even swifter turn, still preying off the guise of his victory, she shifted him behind her and grabbed for the open door. The shock of the ensuing slam separated his lips from hers. "Don't. You. Dare," she demanded, breathing heavily as she glared. "Toby can't know."

His mouth had been slightly parted but at her command, it closed briefly, twitching. "I've already told you he recognized it."

"Not that," she retorted, growling. "He can't know who you really are. Stay away from him."

"In here, perhaps?"

"If it keeps you away from him? Yes." The gleam in his eyes was just as distracting as the flash of teeth, but she pushed through. "But only if you swear to me that you won't tell him, or show him, that you're the Goblin King."

"So sworn."

She stumbled at the speed at which he'd responded, the grin never leaving his face, and some of her panic resurfaced. That was far too quick. Too eager. Meaning, there was little chance that had been what he'd been about to reveal in the hallway. As she tried to figure out what he could possibly be planning, she watched him move around the room, absently tracing his fingers atop her dresser. Then the bookshelf - books, baubles, and trinkets - until he finally settled near the vanity. The mirror reflected his delight as he picked up his likeness.

"I assume this is where your brother found his inspiration on Samhain?"

"...Yes," she offered slowly, caught off guard by the sudden softness in his tone. "My first mistake."

He snorted, setting the statute down. "That wasn't your first mistake."

Sarah's brow furrowed, but she said nothing. She already knew he'd been watching her. Mistakes were also relative. God knows what else he thought she'd screwed up. Wishing Toby away, undoubtedly. "You can have the bed. I've got a sleeping bag in the closet." It was old and threadbare, but it would have to do. That way, she could place herself by the door and avert his sneaking out to greet her family alone in the morning. She wouldn't be making that mistake again.

She heard him chuckle, but he didn't protest, so she strode to the closet to grab the sleeping bag, spare pillow, and a sweatshirt to pull over her nightwear. As a corporate attorney, her father was hardly hurting for money, but that didn't stop him from turning down the thermostat nightly. She found one she'd worn in high school but first, she looked quickly back at Jareth when she heard him whip back her heavy comforter. He'd shrugged off his sweater alone, revealing a plain black tee-shirt beneath. After she pulled on the sweatshirt and pushed her hair out from the collar, she looked a second time.

And the second time, she saw too much.

As before, there was just a hint of a shadow. An expected glint of metal and sharp teeth and wisps of wild, pale hair that he'd magicked to return. But shapeless black had been replaced by dark form-fitting pants and a long, pale expanse of lithe muscle. Fine lines that were almost magnetic. She imagined herself reaching out, memorizing through fingertips, and cursed when those fingers visibly twitched. He knew he was beautiful. He'd known how she'd react. The glint of his smirk was suddenly amplified by unrepentant confidence in his mismatched eyes. And as she stared, she realized the hint of a shadow was the weight of her plan, wavering.

She knew he was waiting for her to comment. Perhaps forfeit the bargain then and there, and admit what she suspected he already knew. Beautiful. Seductive. Disastrous. "You're going to be freezing," she said after forcing her eyes shut.

"I doubt that."

Oh, but he was arrogant, too. Did he really think that his state of undress would be enough to undo her? To lure her to bed? The curl of his tongue pricked at her obstinance. "Unless the fae are impervious to cold; I do," she said, eyes focused on everything but his chest. She unfurled her sleeping bag, whipping it once dramatically by the door before laying it flat.

"Your confidence is inspiring," he offered drolly. And then, "I'd wondered if you knew."

The change in tone threw her off again, and it took her a moment to match what he was referencing. Fae. "Hoggle confirmed my suspicions."

"Then you should know very few things can harm me." He paused, tilting his head with a slight grin. "But if my attire concerns you, I would be more than happy to dress in whatever would please you."

She frowned at him. He was toying with her again. One moment all heat and allure; the next, arrogance and barely veiled amusement. All for one, twisted purpose. She bent down to unzip the sleeping bag. "Wear what you want. I don't care."

He chuckled softly. "I think you care a great deal."

She snapped her eyes to his, still frowning. He had shifted on the bed, watching her pensively with one hand propping up his head and his long legs crossed out in front of him. Even there, sprawled on her own sort of throne, he held an easy grace that rankled her. She ignored his comment. "What is the point of this, Jareth?"

"Beg pardon?"

"This is the most ridiculous revenge plot imaginable."

Jareth uncrossed his legs but kept his pensive stare, tilting his head just slightly. "Is that what you think?"

She had. Still did, mostly. She rolled her eyes and slid into the sleeping bag. "It was ten years ago. I'm stubborn, but even I don't hold a grudge that long."

"It would appear otherwise."

"Excuse me?"

But he ignored her, lifting his legs over the side of the bed briefly so he could fold the coverlet over himself. When he looked back, there was an unreadable expression on his face. His arrogance had faded. He opened his mouth slightly, then hesitated, and the strangeness of his indecision caused her to sit up with a jolt. She'd finally startled him into silence. A part of her hoped it lasted through Thanksgiving. A bigger part of her wished to know what he was holding back. But she watched him frown and twist away from her probing look, and the only answers she heard were the sounds of his deep, even breathing.

And damn him; that rankled the most.

She had expected a rough night's sleep - what with the thin sleeping bag and cold, hard floor - so she'd prepared. Her sweatshirt was faded, but warm. Her pillow was filled with plump, down feathers. Neither of those things helped the chill, however, that clung to Sarah as she ruminated on his last words. They irritated her. Caused her stomach to roil and her jaw to clench. The chill was because she knew why they did so, and that bothered her more than anything he'd left unsaid.

He was right. Again.

She must have eventually fallen asleep because the soft, steady knocking pierced through the edge of her dream. She'd expected that too: the dreams. After all that had happened, there was no way she would have dreamed of anything but him.

"Sarah? Are you up?"

Karen. Sarah sat up quickly, looking towards the clock by her bedside and wincing. She'd meant to wake before her stepmother. Jareth, too. He was sitting up, fully dressed (thankfully), and rolling a crystal across palms. She scowled at it, and then up at him, holding a finger to her mouth meaningfully. His lips just twitched. But, he vanished the crystal and leaned back against the headboard, crossing his hands behind his head and appearing to cede to her wordless demands. She threw back the top layer of her sleeping bag. "Yeah, I'm just getting ready." She sent a silent prayer the next question wouldn't come.

"Did Jareth come back? The guest room is empty."

Someone somewhere despised her. She heard Jareth chuckle but he said nothing, likely amused by thoughts of how she was going to twist her way out of this predicament. "Boyfriend" in her bedroom. Guest room unused. She was just keeping an eye on him? She winced again. Still problematic. Toby had already seen her drag him into her room last night by his lips. It was, frankly, untwistable. "Yes, he's here," she sighed. And now Karen would just croon...

"Oh! Wonderful. Tell him I'm making waffles."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Williams," he replied, still grinning at Sarah. She sent a quickly pleading glance in return. Because she knew what was likely to come next; the double entendre about being starving aligned with just about every move he'd tried so far. He snorted but settled quietly against the headboard again.

Karen's footsteps faded down the hallway and Sarah groaned as she plucked a red, mock neck sweater and dark blue jeans from her closet. Her stepmother was certain to be insufferable now. Between her hints and Jareth's scheming - not to mention, her brother's - this had all the makings of a Thanksgiving catastrophe. She yearned for the days when an extra crispy bird was the holiday's biggest complication. Although...he'd acquiesced to her finger and pleading glance. Would he do it if she asked? "I would really appreciate it if you didn't make more of this than it was. I promised you two days; not a lifetime of judgment from my family."

"Judgment?"

"Yes," she affirmed, and because he actually seemed confused, she continued, rolling her eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed how you've charmed them. It's going to be painful enough to deal with them as it is."

"Ah," and he chuckled, "you're still convinced you're going to win."

She was certain of it. Well, she was certain she knew how to win. She walked towards the bed, keeping her eyes locked on his as she asserted, "yes." He said nothing, just watching her, so she tried again. "Can you do me that one favor?"

He cocked his head, expressionless. Then shifted it back again. She knew she'd offered him the opportunity to demand his own favor in return, so it was just a matter of waiting for the proverbial axe to drop. Another kiss? Another day? Another visit? She wasn't sure which was more dangerous. But, to her surprise, he kicked his legs off the bed and stood, walking around her and towards the door.

Sarah watched him nervously. His earlier silence had already wrought enough trouble. Was he plotting again? "Well?"

He turned, hand on the doorknob, and quirked a corner of lips. "You should get dressed, Sarah. I'm sure you're also starving." And he left her gaping.

Catastrophe. Definitely.

Thanksgiving day went about as spectacularly as Sarah predicted.

Brunch consisted of coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice, bacon, eggs, waffles, and swooning. Karen's plate was the one piled with the swooning, of course. But for Sarah, a dash of Karen's inappropriate questions here and a pinch of Jareth's less-than-subtle amusement there turned what should have been a pleasant meal into an hour-long battle. She'd done her best to parry any of Jareth's comments that piqued Karen's interest (namely, everything), but Jareth had learned from yesterday's sabotage: he sat across the table and he waited for her to take a bite before he drank. At the very best, she came out even.

And then there were Toby's knowing glances. Those bothered her the most. Particularly since they appeared to heighten into a maelstrom as the day progressed.

But we'll get to that in a bit.

After brunch, Karen had retreated to the kitchen to baste, broil, and bake an inordinate amount of food. Turkey. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Green bean casserole. Honey glazed carrots. Stuffing. Two pies. A feast meant for a gathering of at least twelve, rather than five. Jareth - the obvious reason for the exorbitance - had again offered to assist, so Sarah was gifted with several more hours of charming (crafty) conversation and protective (distracting) touches and glances. She'd at least expected them this time. Her fingers remained intact as she peeled and sliced, although they itched. She hated that she knew why. But, she kept her tongue in check. Figuratively and literally.

Throughout this all, Sarah was a tangled mess of nerves. The matter of their shared accommodations had yet to be raised, despite Jareth dancing around the point several times. Sarah was convinced he'd decided to fell her with anxiety alongside his usual persuasions. Karen, predictably, hadn't needed that confirmation of seriousness to continue her plotting: she'd rattled off a list of favorite vacation spots (all suitably secluded and "romantic," of course) before Sarah had even taken a sip of coffee. He'd chuckled. Agreeably, of course. Always so damned agreeably.

While the turkey was broiling and the potatoes were boiling, and there was nothing to do but wait, Sarah had accepted her father's invitation to help cheer on the Bills. The team needed far more help than cheering, but the game would at least serve as a distraction. Plus, she doubted Jareth would make any additional moves in the company of her father who - thank God - hadn't yet devolved into swooning. She didn't understand the appeal of large, helmeted men flinging a ball through the air and trying to break the members of the opposing team in the process, but her father seemed to think it was an art form. Art that, unfortunately, spurred dangerous ideas.

"Does this game have to be played with that leather ball?"

Sarah side-eyed the king on the couch nervously. There was a glint in his eyes that she didn't at all trust. Her father shared none of her concern.

"Aerodynamically, the oblong shape is best. But no, I don't think you'd need it to be made of leather. Why?"

"Curiosity. This particular game hasn't made it to where I'm from. I know several acquaintances who would excel in a game of tossed objects."

If Sarah had been eating, she would have choked. Tossed...objects? Like heads and limbs?

Her father, obviously, heard none of Sarah's horrified inner monologue and nodded. "It's a shame you don't have football in England. Best game in the world."

"Indeed," Jareth hummed. "Although, I would argue we have something better."

Now her glance was panicked. She knew of only one "game" he played, but he wouldn't...would he? He'd promised. Although - and she paled - she'd only made him promise not to tell Toby about the Labyrinth.

"CRICKET," she shouted.

Her father and Jareth looked at her sharply. Her father surprised; Jareth positively gleeful at her outburst. "Yes," Jareth crooned, hanging on the word, "although I am most partial to shin-kicking. A martial art, of sorts."

This time, she did choke. Violently. The bastard was openly trying to give her a heart attack. Shin-kicking? She doubted his goblins even had shins. "That sounds like a terrible game," she said, after catching her breath. "I'd stick to football." Bizarre as it was, that seemed likely to cause the least harm; the fireys enjoyed the limb tossing, at least. "Less violent."

"Sounds neat to me. Do you win by kicking the hardest?"

Sarah groaned. Toby. She'd missed him sneaking into the armchair in the corner. Of course, he'd be psyched about any sport that required foot-to-shin combat. One more mark against her and towards Jareth.

Jareth chuckled. "Essentially. I could show you sometime."

"No."

Three sharp glances this time. Jareth's was impossibly more gleeful. But he wasn't at all caught off guard. "Yes, it is quite the trip, and we just became reacquainted. But perhaps Sarah will show you one day."

She wanted to tell him when hell freezes over. Instead, because she didn't think a third outburst would fly, she gritted her teeth and shrugged.

The rest of the game was spent in blissful silence. Her father was glued to the Bills (they were losing), and he lost interest in violent, fantastical sports. Toby, however, spent the fourth quarter bouncing in his seat, his gaze darting between her and Jareth. Jareth held his smirk while the Bills were ultimately clobbered, but the gestures only set off level one alarm bells as opposed to full-blown panic.

She really should have panicked.

The food at Thanksgiving dinner was spectacular, Sarah admitted. At four-thirty, Karen had emerged from the kitchen, holding a steaming turkey that was just the right shade of crispy on their nicest serving platter. Stuffing with sweet, fennel sausage and potatoes that looked more like clouds than a root vegetable. A china gravy boat filled with hearty mushroom gravy, spicy-sweet carrots, and a casserole dish piled with green beans that were smothered in fried onions completed the first course. Even Jareth had seemed impressed. Karen - unlike him, she was sure - hadn't used a lick of magic. Sarah served herself to a bit of everything and savored the richness of it all. It was absolutely glorious.

But, of course, after her first plate, everything had gone to hell. It seemed fitting that after all of the madness, something as simple as pie would be her downfall.

"Who wants pie?" Karen asked, standing to place her napkin on the table. "Apple or pumpkin?"

"I'll have pumpkin," Sarah said. "Thanks, Karen."

Karen and Toby twitched. Noticeably. "You should really try the apple, Sarah," Karen replied, slowly, "since you helped so much with the filling."

"Uh...okay. Sure. Apple." Weird. But she'd probably have a piece of both, anyway. It didn't matter in what order.

You, by now, should know that it most assuredly did. But the pie was brought. The glances of her stepmother and brother just a little too eager as Karen slid a thick slice of apple pie in front of Sarah. But Sarah was oblivious. It was pie; not a lottery ticket or scratch-off. There was no prize to be won.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

She realized after one bite that she'd screwed up the spices on the pie filling and winced. Too sweet. Not enough cinnamon and barely a clove to be found. And a hint of something that pricked at a dream.

Oh, God...

Her fork clattered against the plate. She'd been so careful. So attentive to his moves. She hadn't accounted for her family's. She could taste it now: the persuasion in his glance and the temptation laced through a seemingly simple ask. The bag that hid a different sort of magic than crystals, snakes, or scarves that he must have slipped to Karen. The smile that now, seated across, was as cloyingly sweet as the peaches on her tongue.

Her family might have said something, but the words were as incomprehensible as her newest mistake, and even those fell short of the ploy that glinted at the edge of pie filling.

"What did you do?" she whispered harshly, staring. She knew she'd swallowed what must have been tainted fruit, but what that meant was unclear. She quickly glanced at the bronze, engraved offense amidst the peaches. "What is this?"

"A key!"

Jareth's eyes said everything, though Toby had shouted the obvious. Glinting. Intense. Victorious. The easy grace he carried in her bedroom settled in the seat as he leaned back in his chair. "It's an offer," he said simply, still focused solely on Sarah's lost expression, "presented in a memory of when we first met." He smiled then, though this one lacked the usual amusement. "It's also a fitting metaphor."

A metaphor? She stared. While only she would understand the reference to his kingdom, she knew her family understood what keys - unlike crystals - tended to signify. And he had blindsided her, trapped between his knowing look and an eager stepmother and enthralled brother who could never know what he was offering and why it was so unacceptable. He owned far more than an apartment. It was incomprehensible. She swallowed hard, but carefully pinched the key with a napkin and stood. "A word. Outside."

He didn't shift an inch. "You wouldn't do me the one favor of an answer?"

Sarah immediately recognized the call back to her morning ask and pursed her lips. He was crafty; she'd give him that. And she owed him nothing. But then again, he had refrained from capitalizing on their shared accommodations. She could answer him here.

It wouldn't be the answer he was expecting, of course.

It had to be subtle. Almost meaningless. She sat again and focused on his eyes. This required no deception except to herself, but he had brought it on himself by using her family against her. It made it easier. "The same."

As she'd expected, his brow furrowed. "Beg pardon?"

"You asked me yesterday to tell you the same. I am."

The change was almost jarring. Widened eyed. Rod-still posture. But, with the briskness of a breeze, the shock was swept away by something as equally jarring: satisfaction. As if her finding the loophole had been the answer he'd wanted. He quirked one corner of his lips. "You're a few hours short."

She expected that, at least, despite his unnerving ease. "...Just like when we met." She heard him snort in response, obviously understanding the reference. But she knew her family had to be terribly confused. Just like her. There was no anger, no sense of disappointment. No flash of anguish at her once again besting him. Had he wanted to lose?

Had she even won?

"Indeed," he said after a long second, and he presented his open palm across the table. "Perhaps it was too sudden. After all, you still don't understand. And I have nothing but time."

Nothing but time? She eyed his palm, then the key in her napkin, and then his eyes again. Of course, she didn't understand; he'd never explained any of what he was doing, and why he was doing it. After what she said, though, he shouldn't have time. He should be thwarted. He should be furious. Her family was still staring, enraptured, and she knew it might raise questions she couldn't answer, but she asked anyway. "What don't I understand?"

He considered her with strange intensity for a moment. Then, he pulled back his hand and the expression turned wistful when she still grasped the key in her napkin. "That I couldn't tell you the same." When Sarah just stared, he nodded at the key. "Keep it. You know where to find me."

Sarah watched then as he stood, offering pleasantries to her father, brother, and stepmother. She vaguely heard an acceptance. She knew her brother had asked him to stay. But she saw him shake his head and check his watch, and then glance her way with his unique confidence and she knew she hadn't seen the last of him. But how and why those things were true, she couldn't say. She'd missed another loophole. Something else, too.

You know where to find me. He expected her to come. Wanted her to come?

She heard the door just as clearly as the night before, but now, the glances of her family were more confused than judging. She sighed, knowing she had to say something to make sense of the strange back-and-forth they'd seen. Metaphors and missed hours weren't easily explained. "I know a lot of that didn't make sense..."

"He seemed pretty clear to me."

Sarah frowned slightly at her stepmother but continued. "It wasn't just a key to his apartment."

"Oh," Karen sighed, "you did understand the metaphor then."

"...uh. Yes?" She did. Karen couldn't. Unless he'd told her he was a king? It had been foolish to not work Karen and her father into last night's bargain. But Karen just shook her head, and there was something secreted in her smile that told Sarah she knew more than she'd told.

"It's alright, dear," Karen said, leaning over and patting her on the shoulder. "He told me you might not understand at first. He's assured me he wouldn't be offended."

Wouldn't be offended? Obviously not, given his parting glance and words. She, however, was slightly so. He'd explained something to Karen instead of her, and her stepmother didn't seem anxious to fill her in. She glanced at the key, tracing the small stamped insignia with her thumb.

"You'll figure it out. If not, there's always Christmas."

Sarah snapped her eyes up. "...Christmas?"

Karen nodded. "He seemed concerned he'd be a bother, but I assured him he was welcome."

He seemed concerned he'd be a bother. And there it was: the reason he'd shown no fury. Because Hoggle had told her he was good with loopholes. She should have expected that if she'd found one, he'd found one to cancel it out.

Because if he wasn't a bother, it didn't matter if he'd promised to "never bother her again."

Oh, he was good. Impressively so. And despite her loss, that didn't bother her as much as it should. She'd see him again. He'd done her family no obvious harm. She'd figure him out.

And even he knew she wanted to.

A/N: Much love to all readers and reviewers! I hope this holiday met every expectation, and that all my US readers had a Happy Thanksgiving. I can't tell you how pleased I was to discover that shin-kicking is an actual sport, created in England. It was too perfect not to use.