"Worth at least ten thousand."
"Nope, it's junk."
"Bet?"
"Sure, loser does the dishes, like always. You do love getting your hands soapy."
Miguel chuckled and took another sip of wine. In the soft, carefully chosen lighting of his well-decorated condo she could see faint spots of grey in his dark buzzcut. He'd had them since they were in college—"My father was 90% grey by 25"— but there were more of them now.
She finished her own glass of wine as the garish-looking cuckoo clock on the TV screen was revealed, indeed, to be worth next to nothing. "Foiled again," he muttered.
"Seriously, have we ever caught an episode where something was revealed to be worth money? I'm not even sure those exist."
"They do." He started to pour her more wine, but she waved him off. "I've seen them on YouTube."
"Yeah, well, I hope we never catch one. Somehow I think it'll ruin the magic for me."
"Speaking of magic…"
Sarah rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. "Hey look, this next one's a WATCH!"
"Come on. It's been like two months—mostly my fault, I know, been kinda busy—but you promised me a dish and an update."
Sarah was about to come up with more excuses not to talk about the things that she and Jareth certainly hadn't talked about —things Miguel would get out of her eventually, with enough wine, which might explain why she wasn't drinking as much—when they both heard a faint moan from the bedroom.
Miguel's expression tensed momentarily, but a smile quickly covered the moment. "Hold that thought," he said. "You're not off the hook here."
She watched him go into the bedroom and shut the door behind him, heard the sound of his usual, gently soothing voiced mixed with Nick's whispery rasp. Feeling like she was eavesdropping, she got up and began rinsing off plates and silverware in a kitchen that still smelled pleasantly of garlic and fresh herbs. She did it as quietly as possible, though experience told her that very little could wake Sammy and Mari once they'd gone to bed.
When Miguel emerged from the bedroom he looked tired. Sarah glanced around the kitchen at various jars of tea and a basket of fresh fruit.
"Does he need anything?"
"Nah." Miguel's smile was more forced than usual. "The meds don't always work. Sometimes he wakes up in pain. I give him a little more, I know I'm not supposed to, but I just can't watch him suffer."
Miguel's voice seemed to crack a little at those last words, and Sarah reached out and hugged him fiercely. He hugged her back, then groaned and pushed her away.
"Fuck, will you please tell me the gory details of your actual date?"
She smiled. "Glad to be of service. Though there's not much to dish about." She helped him put spice jars away in cabinets. "I invited him to the play, he came through the mirror, we came back to my place—"
"Your place?!" Miguel lowered his voice, glancing toward the room where the kids were sleeping. "You went to your place? You've definitely never done that before."
Sarah blushed, remembering quite specifically the things they'd done that night that they hadn't done before. "No, we hadn't. Now we've done it a few times."
He smirked. "I thought I noticed a few hickeys on your neck, you might want to—"
Sarah looked up from the dish she was drying to see that Miguel was staring at her neck. He moved closer to her, and her hands instinctively covered her throat.
"Sarah, what the fuck?"
"It's not what it looks like—"
"Did he do that to you?"
"Yes, but—"
"Sarah, what in the—"
"I asked him to."
Miguel's mouth fell open, closed, and then he emitted a series of nervous laughs. "Well. Shit. Color me—did not think you would go for—"
"Why not?"
She was surprised at the defensiveness in her own voice. Miguel smiled.
"Not saying I thought you were a square, sweetie—okay, maybe a little bit of a square—" Sarah swatted at him with a dish towel and he dodged, "but hey, if that's your thing, go for it. Hell, I've been there, it was hot, not really Nick's thing but he indulged me occasionally…anyway, didn't mean to sound so shocked, just…be careful, okay? There's a bit of a real-life power imbalance here."
She sighed. "Tell me about it."
"Anyway, back to the dish—did he make breakfast? Like, magic rainbow waffles with enchanted syrup?"
"No, he was gone in the morning when I woke up." She frowned. "He can't always be here, there's…stuff he has to do over there."
"Right. Drain the moat, keep the gnomes in line."
"Goblins, actually."
"Goblins. My bad." Miguel shook his head as he continued to dry pots and dishes. "I would really, really love to see that place someday. I'm sure Mari and Sammy would too, maybe if I just casually wished them—"
"NO!"
Miguel dropped the fork he'd been scrubbing and stared at Sarah, alarmed. She imagined that the expression on her face must have been shocking.
She reached out and gripped his arm, a bit tighter than she'd intended. "Miguel, promise me that you will never, ever say those words, even as a joke. Ever."
He stared at her, glancing down at her hand gripping his arm, and she saw a strange look come into his eyes. "I promise," he said finally.
She let go of him, letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, and went back to organizing small things in the kitchen that didn't really need organizing. Silence stretched between them.
When Miguel broke the silence his voice was quiet. "Sarah…do you trust him?"
She flinched. "Trust him how?"
"You know what I mean."
She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Do I trust him not to kill me or people I care about? Sure. Do I trust him not to follow through on careless wishes and steal small children?" She shook her head. "Not really, no."
"Does he still do that?"
"These days I think it's mostly pets and inanimate objects. I kind of haven't asked about the details, though."
"Why not?"
She sighed. "Because we've never had those kinds of conversations. Until recently we argued and we fucked and we cuddled afterwards and we didn't stay long enough in each other's worlds for things to get messy, and that's been great, let me tell you, but now I've gone and mucked the whole thing up by wanting more, and now we're collaborating on a goddamn SCRIPT and saying nice things to each other on the regular, and I find myself thinking about breakfasts and futures and I am so, so stupid."
She punctuated her last words by tossing a fork into a bowl full of soapy water, which splashed her in the face. Her heart was racing, and she wasn't sure if she felt like laughing or crying.
Sarah buried her face in her hands. "I am really, really good at fucking up a great situation."
"How so?"
"You said it yourself a long time ago—dream men are perfect. No consequences, no commitments, no sheets to wash. That's what it's been like the last few years, and it's been perfect."
Miguel regarded her skeptically. "If it were perfect I don't think you'd have asked him to come to the play."
Sarah groaned. "Maybe. Where does that leave us? He is not relationship material."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" She threw up her hands. "Jesus, Miguel, do you want the long list or the short? Besides being arrogant as anything, he can't live in this world permanently, and I don't want to live in his, not all the time. He is also a literal BOOGEYMAN, which is hot in bed but would make for some very difficult conversations if we ever decided to be serious."
She swallowed hard. "My God, he could steal Marisol and Samuel away if he wanted to, just to get back at me if he ever got pissed off at me for some reason, which happens a lot, I shouldn't even be near them!"
She realized that she was pacing back and forth. Miguel reached out a hand.
"Sweetie, sit down."
"Thanks, I'll keep standing and pacing, it helps me think."
Miguel sighed. "All right, here's a question. Is it just HIM you don't want to get serious with, or are you averse to seriousness in general?"
Sarah stopped for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe both?"
"Because, like, I get it if you're not the settling-down type. It's not for everyone. Hell, I thought it wasn't for me for a long time, remember?"
She laughed, thankful for the momentary distraction that vivid memories of Miguel's boyfriend-a-week college years gave her. "Yeah. At first I was convinced Nick must be some kind of cult leader, the change that came over you."
He shrugged. "It happens." His eyes wandered over to where Mari and Sammy's drawings hung on the refrigerator, colorful figures of people and animals with large heads and tiny bodies. "I guess all I'm saying is…if you're resisting this because you're not up for marriage and babies, or even exclusivity, fine. That's a totally acceptable position. But if you're resisting it just because it's HIM, well…"
"That's also a totally acceptable position," Sarah interjected. "Again, very long list of reasons why that would be a bad idea, starting with steals children as a job."
Miguel shrugged again. "Only when people ask that they be taken."
Sarah's mouth fell open. "Dear God, Miguel, when did you become Jareth's lawyer?"
"When I saw that he made you happy. And I saw that a long time ago, way before I knew he existed. I'd been really worried about you before then."
Sarah frowned. "I would have gotten out of that funk eventually."
"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm glad you did, though, and I'm grateful to him for helping."
She groaned. "Please never say that to him, he doesn't need more of an ego boost."
Miguel wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You're adorable when you're in love, you know."
Sarah cringed. "I am not in love."
"Whatever. Your hair's longer than it's been in years."
That caught her up short for a second. "What?"
Miguel smirked. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Anyway, just don't rule anything out, okay? Nick and I never would have worked on paper."
"Nick isn't an immortal with potentially dangerous powers and a very flimsy moral compass."
"No. But he does own more than one Christmas sweater."
Miguel was still talking, but Sarah only half-heard him as her hand drifted to her hair, currently knotted and wrapped messily in a couple of rubber bands. Sure, she hadn't cut it in a few months, but that wasn't because…
"…games we should play at Lori's baby shower."
Sarah blinked. "Sorry?"
"I was saying that you need to help me figure out what kinds of games we should play at Lori's baby shower. Normally I'd go for full humiliation, but she's kind of, you know, a god, so I'm a little wary of pissing her off, especially if I ever want her to cast me in something."
"Christ, when did everyone around me start having babies?"
"Join the club, share the misery."
"No thanks, happy to be a cool aunt. I'm teaching a workshop on Thursday morning, maybe we can do coffee and discuss embarrassing games after that?"
"Sure, I don't need to pick up the kids till three."
Sarah smiled and glanced around at the mostly-clean kitchen, searching for more menial tasks to do but coming up short. Miguel smiled awkwardly.
"It's late, you should—"
"I can stay a while more—"
"No, no, I'm okay, really."
She reached out and squeezed his hand. "You know you don't have to pretend to be okay with me."
He winced. "Yeah, but I do for Mari and Sammy."
Sarah hugged him tightly and slipped a couple of folded bills into his hand. "Take them to Coney Island when the respite care guy comes next week."
Miguel frowned as he looked at the money. "Sarah, I told you I don't want—"
"Miguel, how much did you and Nick spend on me when I was broke and just out of college?"
Miguel's expression was halfway between a wince and a smile. "You did have an appetite for expensive food back then."
"Exactly. And odds are I'll be broke again someday and you'll need to prop me up."
He sighed and put the money in his pocket. "Right. Hurry up with that, though, I'm not used to being the freeloader."
She kissed his cheek and picked up her bag. As she opened the door he squeezed her arm.
"Not trying to be your dad, Sarah, but…tell him to stay away from your neck, okay? That's, like, varsity-level shit." He cleared his throat. "More like 100% no-no shit, for most people."
Sarah nodded. "Yeah. Thank you."
It was close to midnight by the time Sarah got back to her own apartment, where a new sofa was the only indication that the last several months had been decent ones, financially speaking. She tossed her bag onto the small table by the door, noticing the thick pages of Jareth's script sticking out of it. She ran her fingers over the edges and made a mental note to set up a meeting with Lori.
As she stripped out of her clothes she caught a glimpse of another bruise on her back that she hadn't noticed before. She glanced at the bruises on her neck, which looked a bit more dramatic than what had caused them.
You should wear a scarf. Otherwise people will get the wrong idea.
And what would the RIGHT idea be, exactly?
She sighed and undid the rubber bands holding her hair up. It WAS long. She told herself it was because she'd been too busy to cut it.
She rolled her eyes, jumped into bed, and pulled the sheet over her head. I. Am. Not. In. Love.
As if in response, the crystal ball that she kept under her pillow seemed to hum slightly. Like she often did, she reached underneath and gripped it until she fell asleep.
Author's note: Bogeyman? Boogeyman? Apparently both are used. I went with the latter but now worry that it makes him sound like a guy who likes to boogey. Which he is.
Fear not, the boogie-man will be back in chapter 4!