Heads are funny things.

They're the first places that we, as tiny humans, learn where to live, when everything outside them is still new and a little fuzzy at the edges. Even as adults, only our true selves can fully exist inside the warm comfort of our minds – the one place we can take the time to take a step back from everything, and process what the colder, real 'outside' world has thrown at us.

When she awoke early that morning, Sarah's outside word was all busted, screeching violin strings, and the rough, stinging grit of broken glass that had nestled behind both eyelids.

She had some vague recollection of waking in the night, shivering with cold. The wind had most definitely picked up, and the cool night air had taken unfair advantage to nip at her cheeks and nose, and the arm that dangled out from beneath the covers. It had warmed enough for her to return to sleep, though, and now she saw why. Her balcony doors now lay closed and locked, though she could not for the life of her recall getting up to do it. The delicate act of crossing the room, then shambling back to her bed, all without breaking anything, felt beyond her, the way the room was spinning now.

Her sleep had been mercifully dreamless, at least, the booze that was still stinking up her shirt and pounding against her eyeballs apparently strong enough to blot out all thoughts of His most infuriating Highness. It was a useful titbit to know, though unless she intended a life battered by alcoholism, it was probably not a good long-term solution. Moaning, she punched at her pillows, and turned her head away from the light, to try and escape her hangover for just a few hours more.

No chance of that in this household.

Her little brother came hurtling into her room like a boy-shaped whirlwind, herding her from the dark comfort of her sleep, and downstairs into the brightly-lit kitchen. Sarah bit back a groan as a truly massive 'special birthday breakfast' was set on the table before her. She saw bacon and scrambled eggs, hash-browns; coffee and juice. Chocolate-chip pancakes, made from scratch, with syrup, to follow. Toby had helped with these last, he declared, proud and just a little too adorable for her to resist, with his tousled hair and flour-dusted cheeks, and his favourite spaceman pyjamas bunched up at the sleeves. Tell-tale dark smears around his mouth told her that more of the chocolate chips had made it into him than into the pancakes. In spite of her aching head, she swept him into a hug and a kiss, and grinned at the sweet smell of chocolate that scented the kiss he gave in return.

Almost losing him to the labyrinth had done more to improve their relationship than she would ever allow herself to give him – It, she quickly chided herself, Always it, never him – credit for. Ah, more unhappy thoughts to taint her birthday with.

There was some satisfaction in knowing she'd managed to escape her usual dreams, and deny the Goblin King his fun in the process, particularly in that her birthdays were always when his cruellest gifts to her came. Still, as one who's been conditioned to accept and expect a certain reoccurring experience, she found herself feeling strangely bereft to have missed out completely on what would have been certain to have been an … adventurous night. Another sign of his control. She had an unpleasant remembrance of Pavlov and his dogs – and Jareth certainly had the skill to have her panting and drooling enough.

Whatever had happened to her power being just as great?

Certainly, any power she might have had of her own had dwindled to nothing, to be this desperate. Even her wacky night-time mockery of a summoning had failed to get a rise out of him – and, oh, how she wanted to see him rise …

Pure thoughts. Eat your damned bacon.

It was insulting, though. Six years of absolute radio silence in the real world, outside of six years of the goddamn dreams – 3 years of which were of an incredibly lewd nature. He was more of a headache than the one she was suffering from now. She needed to get him out of her mind, once and for all. She needed protection from his nightmares. She needed him gone.

When she came back from her thoughts, she saw that she had surrounded the picked-over food on her plate with a perfectly symmetrical, perfectly white circle of salt. At least her breakfast would be safe from ghouls and spirits, and, who knew, maybe even him, if he came calling.

She had to laugh, ignoring even the sharp splinters of her headache. Pushing the plate aside, she waved away her little outburst and made polite excuses for avoiding the rest of the food.

She ate every last scrap of her pancakes, though.

After breakfast came gifts, and though the Midol her father had laid beside her juice with a knowing wink was probably the one she favoured most right then, the stunning nightgown Irene had bought her came a close second. It was a dark, fern-green satin that would gently hug her curves, its sweeping neckline embellished with dozens of pale flowers. It fell to just beneath her knees, the tips of its long, flowing sleeves almost long enough to graze the hem.

"I saw it and I just couldn't resist," her stepmother explained. "I know how much you used to love this kind of old-fashioned, budding romantic thing as a kid, but I thought the design had just enough woman in it to work for you. What do you think?"

"It's beautiful," Sarah said, in all honesty. "Really, truly beautiful."

She found herself tracing the edge of each flower with one finger. Irene seemed delighted with her reaction, and started to talk more about fashion, but Sarah just nodded and hardly heard her. She looked at the gown for a long time, tilting the box that held it back and forth, and admiring the way the satin softly caught the light. It was a gown she knew that would have longed for, but ultimately been too young for as a teenager – a girl who, even in her childish fantasies wants to play the grown up – and it touched her conscious now, with a pleasurable, ticklish something that she couldn't quite understand. By the time she had opened the rest of her gifts, she had realised just what that something was.

It was a gown he would approve of.

As promised, the storm reared and moaned into action as the day grew darker. A harsh wind rattled the outside of the house, reaching creeping fingers at windowpanes and doorways as it searched for a way in. The rain came a little later, light at first, and then in heavy sheets that turned the street to a glistening, inky-black ribbon. The thunder only began when the rest of her family were safely tucked up in bed. Her head had long since cleared by then, and she could appreciate the full force of its majesty, its booming voice seeming to rattle the entire house, down to its very foundation.

Sarah shivered, despite the relative warmth of her bedroom. She had slipped into her new nightgown as soon as she had been alone, finding it fit perfectly, but now she felt her arms and thighs prickle with goose-flesh beneath it. It was all too easy, with each blinding flash of lighting, and with that slight dress that spoke of fairy-tales and romance but hinted at something more, to imagine herself an olden-day sacrifice – a virgin, tied and bound and offered up to the storm to appease whatever gods had been so displeased as to send it. Her nipples drew tightly erect within her bra, every tiny hair on the nape of her neck upturned; every breath that passed her lips was filled with energy.

The hallway clock began to strike midnight, but the chimes of different bells invaded her ears, surrounding her with some strangely sweet cacophony that was high and shrill enough to set her teeth on edge. It grew louder and louder, demanding so much of her attention that she could not seem to move. She barely noticed as the overhead light gave one last swell of brightness, before popping out entirely. She stood, in darkness, as the doors before her burst open, though she had been certain that they had been locked. They let in a torrent of wind and lashings of a cold, foul rain, but the chill that circled her bare legs wasn't the most pressing of her concerns.

No.

That was standing right there on the balcony.

"Hello, Sarah," the Goblin King said.

He was magnificent in silks and leather, high boots encasing long, lean legs that made him tower over her. The shirt he wore bared the smooth, pale line of his throat and the amulet that adorned it, as well as a generous swatch of his chest. The bitter wind howled around him, and tore at his dark cape and golden wisps of his hair, but he paid it no mind. His eyes were bright chips of ice, one light and one dark, surrounded by their strange, almost-ethereal markings. They focused only on her.

Sarah felt a tremor deep within her chest, as though her very heart had been turned on its head. Six years. Six years since she had last looked upon the splendour of his face; six years since the rich baritone of his voice had last caressed her ears. She had seen and heard and felt him in the dreams, yes, but even those vivid visions now seemed pale and poor imitations, to have him here, now, in the exquisite flesh. Six years of longing and hating, both at once, dreading and fantasising about this very moment, and in the end, all it had taken was a single request she hadn't even been wholly serious about, to actually bring him here. She hadn't simply tempted fate; had, rather, screamed for it to heed her call. Frozen with her shock, she couldn't quite decide whether she had been wise or foolish never to have called him sooner.

He was smiling.

"What, no welcome? No joy, or lamentations, or demands? Oh, Sarah, how you have changed." His eyes swept over her body as he said this last, bold and slow; possessive, as if they had every right to caress her that way.

The balcony doors closed of their own accord behind him, shutting out the weather that she had all but forgotten – the storm that raged within his eyes was danger enough. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to run far, far from him. She could bring herself to do neither.

"You heard me last night," she said, relieved to find her voice had not deserted her, and sounded, given her inner turmoil, quite normal.

"I believe that, my dear, is obvious. I am bound by your mortal realm, so as not to be able to call upon those who have not first called upon me." If she thought he would let her off easily, she was proved wrong when he actually winked at her. "Although both of us know, this is not the first time you've called out for me – merely the first time you've dared speak the words outside of your most delightful dreams." The full, intimate knowledge of those dreams lay within his knowing smirk, and Sarah felt her cheeks burn with shame.

Of course he would feel the need to mention those. This was a man who thrived in seeing her squirm – and he had seen her squirm, all right. Outraged denials bubbled up to her lips, but she knew it would be a waste of time to pretend what he already knew was a lie. That left her with two choices: shrivel and crumble with her embarrassment before him, or accept it, and move on enough to try and regain some sense of control. Bravely, or perhaps foolishly, she chose the latter.

"You're late, Goblin King," she said, raising what she hoped was an adequately bored eyebrow. "I called for you last night, and you only come to me now? I'm afraid your standards are slipping."

The sound of his laughter was surprisingly warm, if not a little unsettling. "And what makes you think I didn't come when you first called me? You fell asleep so quickly after."

"You were here last night?" Her mind was racing, remembering that sudden chill she had felt, along with the doors that had seemingly closed themselves.

"Only in spirit, precious. I was quite surprised, and flattered to have been so thought of, but when I called for a clear vision of you, it became quite clear you were in no fit state to receive me." He chuckled softly. "You were all but falling down when you spoke my title and bid me to come. I'm glad to find you much more … presentable tonight."

Sarah bristled at that, suddenly all too aware of how undressed she felt in her slip of evening wear, compared to him in all his regal drapery. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze as it swept over her exposed throat and low neckline; her bare legs and feet. She drew herself taller under that gaze, meeting his eyes with some heat of her own. "So, what, you creep at me with one of your crystals while I'm half-naked, sneaking a peek for your own twisted pleasure? Why not stop around and take full advantage? It's the only chance you would have ever gotten with me."

Whilst she had expected that to anger him, he simply shook his head. "Oh, Sarah, how you do disappoint me. Do you really think I would stoop so low as to prey upon you while you were drunk? What an unappealing thought. I simply shielded my gaze until you were more suitably covered, and then closed your doors to any other who would take advantage of such an invitation. I require my women to be aware, receptive, and most willing," he said, his lips beginning to curve up at the corners. "Particularly when, so very often, I've found you to be so – hmm, how to say this without seeming ungentlemanly – shall we say … spirited … in your dreams, whilst completely sober."

Sarah shot him a glare. "How am I to know what you're capable of, when you've been … been torturing me with these dreams, all this time?"

The Goblin King's mouth hardened just as quickly. "I have tortured you? Oh, Sarah, I think not. Silly girl, always so willing to cast me as the villain, when all I do is what you ask of me – surely, you aren't so ignorant as to think you've played no part in this?" When she did not answer, he took a step towards her, causing her to step back immediately.

"'But what no one knew, was that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the girl, and he had given her certain powers,'" he intoned, in a singsong voice, though the look in his eyes was far from playful. "As you can see, your own wants have held me hostage all this time, as much as they have you, and while I cannot deny I may have revealed to you certain fantasies of my own, the blame lies as much upon you as it does I."

Sarah shook her head. "That's not true."

"What cause have I to lie to you?" He seemed to stretch and draw himself taller as he spoke, sending her eyes on an unwilling, but mercifully brief sweep of his body. "I have no shame in my desires. I have never claimed to keep myself pure – if anything, I find the thought of abstinence quite distasteful. I find no such need to shy from my needs, as you yourself do. For what reason would I deny such enticing, erotic visions, if they were indeed my own?"

He had a point, as much as she hated to admit it, though it riled her beyond belief that he spoke of abstinence so dismissively. Had he been indulging himself, while she suffered, then? Screwing half, if not all of the ladies in his realm, all the while keeping her for his own, marking her as untouchable to any other, in readiness only for him? It was a selfish, bastard's trick, but one she thought he would be all too capable of. Worse, to let him hold her responsible for all her years of torment …

"How do I know you haven't used your magic to make me wan- … to make me see you in that way?"

Jareth gave a low chuckle. "Precious one, as flattering as it is that you would compare my own sheer magnetism to the pull of an enchantment, I'm afraid once again, I cannot take responsibility." His lips quirked at the corners as he continued. "Besides, I am not a patient man. Do you really think I could have – in good conscience – allowed any spell that would have me wait quite this long to feel your delicious thighs wrapped around me in the flesh?"

Sarah almost choked on her outrage, feeling her cheeks flame with her embarrassment. "What-! You … you're a … a-"

"I believe a 'fuck' is what you referred to me as, precious, and, not to be crude-"

"You know damn well that is not how I meant it!"

His eyes seemed to glitter, then, with amusement or anger, she could not quite tell. "Oh? Well, then by all means, Sarah, enlighten me."

He took another step towards her, and Sarah responded with a step backwards. She sensed the bed wasn't far behind her legs now – and what a twisted path that should lead them on – and soon there would be no way to retreat. She was, by far, out of her depths, and drowning in those dark, dangerous pupils. "I … I don't know," she whispered.

"I can assure you, Sarah, that you most certainly do know. You have finally seen fit to summon me here, I have been beckoned by your command, and yours alone, and I will hear the reason why."

The intensity of his gaze had all but stolen her breath, but somehow she made herself speak. "I don't want this any more. I'm … I'm tired of not being able to sleep without …"

"Thinking of me?" The mischief was back, sparks and embers deep within his pupils. "And here I thought I made such a pleasant and welcoming companion."

The nerve of him! "You wish."

"No, no, you did that, Sarah, as I believe we have already covered." He gave her hardly a moment to move aside – and somehow she knew he would have happily taken her down with him, if she had not – flouncing past her, seemingly without a care, to deposit himself neatly onto the edge of her bed. He smiled, and spread his hands, looking for all the world as if he belonged there. "And so, here we are – all this way we've come, only to end up back where we started it all. We're tied to one another, you and I, and so we always shall be. Why bother to fight it?"

He let his hands slip behind him, spreading and sliding so invitingly across the covers. He gave the space beside him a deliberate, sidelong stare, before turning those suggestive eyes back on her. "I'm game, if you are."

Injecting indifference into her words, ignoring his offer: "It was the peach, wasn't it?"

"Of course, dear one. You were hungry, and I provided for you, but at a cost. Although, I'll admit, my original intent was merely to distract you. I never would have considered that the depths that your … hunger … would take us to be so very sweet."

He was getting to her, and both of them knew it. She could feel her lips pulling into a tight little line, and fought for that air of calm she needed. "Take it back," she said, holding back some of the venom that her words demanded. "I told you, you have no power over me. You have no right to keep me trapped this way."

He shook his head, wisps of pale, silken hair tumbling about his face. "All the enchanted fruit in my kingdom could not trap you so, unless a part of you wished for it to. It merely keeps open the connection between you, my delightful little minx, and I, the generous benefactor who made a gift of the fruit. If, through that connection, your own subconscious shows us both that which you most deeply desire from me – your … lusts and longings – then I don't believe I can be held responsible."

How could just hearing certain words from him make her want to melt and bow before him? It wasn't fair. If she didn't play this carefully, she would find herself inside his realm for real, bound and chained to his bed before the clock struck one … or thirteen, as the case might be.

"Well," she said, reaching for something that at least resembled control. "Well, then is there anything that can be done to sever our … connection?"

Jareth grinned. "I suppose so, yes. But, before you get your hopes up, I must tell you that it would require both of our consent, and-" He paused briefly, letting his eyes drop in another slow, deliberate dance across her body, "Given the choice between continuing our … nocturnal activities, and losing access to them completely, I can safely say that you won't gain mine easily. However-"

Sarah rolled her eyes, and turned away in disgust. "Great! I'm being thrown to the wolves just for some dreams that aren't even real!"

"However," Jareth continued, "I could be persuaded by some other means."

"If you mean you want me to … to do that with you, just so you'll leave me alone …"

"Not at all, Sarah," he said, and the sincerity in his voice was enough to draw her gaze again. "For, once I've had you, I won't ever want to let you go again."

Oh. Oh. "How romantic," Sarah made herself scoff.

"Quite." He nodded, nonplussed. "No, if you wish to come to me of your own will, then you have only to say so, but I had something far less intimate in mind. I must warn you, though, that the stakes may be much higher than you may be willing to accept."

"I'm listening."

Jareth smiled. "My Sarah, always so brave." He raised one gloved hand, passed it left and right and left again, and plucked a shining crystal ball out of the air.

If you turn it this way, and look into it, it will show you your dreams.

"I told you already, I don't want your dreams."

"Patience, Sarah. Look." Sure enough, as he spoke, she could see something shift and move within the depths of the crystal. "Look, and you will see what it is that I want from you."

Wary, Sarah looked from the crystal, to him. Jareth stared back at her evenly, simply holding out the orb for her inspection. With no other choice, Sarah bent her head to stare inside.

And back into the labyrinth.

There was no mistaking the massive, winding stone structure, nor the towering castle that loomed beyond it. She drew her head back at once, and stared at its keeper, uncomprehending.

"A second chance, sweet one," he said. "For me, and for my labyrinth."