Disclaimer: I don't own 'the Labyrinth', because if I had Jareth would have appeared half-naked periodically throughout the movie, and Sarah would have been played by… Well… me. Oh well, that's what I have dreams for. Hehe

Once upon a stormy night a Fey King dragged his matted, soaked self up the steps of a mortal bed and breakfast, and found within the one that his heart most desired. But will the one that he remembered fondly share the same sentiments now that her memories are slowly returning? Sarah has seen the woman in the mirror, and she is a far-cry from the child she recalled.

Changes:

It was still pouring rain and cold beyond comprehension when Sarah woke the next morning, her dreams had been disturbing and vaguely familiar, and she hadn't been able to recall any of them when she had opened her eyes.

Looking around her cream-colored room she sighed, catching sight of her reflection. For the first time in five years she could meet her own eyes and not feel like the woman in the mirror was keeping secrets from her. Now Sarah knew some of those secrets. Whether those things she 'remembered' had actually happened was another matter entirely, one to ponder further on another day.

Sarah knew Jareth, the man downstairs. She had acted with him, or some other thing, because he was dressed in leather pants and heeled boots, and a white peasant shirt, open just so at the throat-- He had been a villain of sorts. The more she thought about it, the less sense it made. But there was something undeniably true about the thought, about the pictures and the words in her head.

She recalled also a small fox sitting upon a dog, one that looked suspiciously like her own dog Merlin back home. And then there was the large, fuzzy beast she had seen in the mirror, and the smaller goblin between the two, the one who was wearing her bracelet. Hoggle. Her mind was being rather forthcoming now, and rather than second-guessing it, Sarah content to just let it come to her.

Had it been seeing her reflection last night that had brought it all back? Or was it the sight of the man downstairs? The latter made her blush warmly, and was probably just as important as the first. They had both helped, she thought with a shrug as she moved to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. As she picked out her clothes she wondered--absurdly--what Jareth had thought when she had come downstairs in her nightgown…

He wasn't the same, she thought, dropping her clothes for the day to the seat of the toilet and adjusting the water temperature. She stripped slowly, doing what she hadn't done in years. She looked into the mirror. Well, she was different too.

She had been a lot sharper at sixteen, a lot more juts where there were now curves. Se was taller, so that helped to get rid of a lot of the baby fat she recalled. All in all it wasn't a bad change, just odd when put together in the big picture. She had, of course, seen herself in the shower, but seeing it full in front of her in the mirror was altogether different.

She turned and stepped into the steaming water, smiling at the feeling, and recalling all she could about the Jareth of then and now. His eyes were the same shape, almost almond, exotic and appealing. His eyebrows, however, were not as drastically shaped. While still tilted up at the outer edges, they no longer appeared to be something out of an 80's glam-rock video. Is hair, either. It was all on long length, she thought. It had been such a mess last night that she wasn't sure about that observation.

Reaching out for the bottle of shampoo she had brought, she smiled. Peaches. They had been her favorite fruit, but she hadn't eaten them in forever. It was probably another memory she had lost. Most things seemed connected when she focused on them. And all of them were connected to him.

Somehow she managed to get through the shower with only a hundred inappropriate thoughts about Miss O'Fallon's vagabond guest, and she was pleased. It could have easily been double that for all the times she stopped herself from going down a particular road. One that involved peach shampoo and soap bubbles, and his arrogantly quirked lips… they would taste amazing, she was sure, though how she didn't know. Had they ever kissed?

No, she doubted that she would forget that. He looked like the type of man to make a girl remember.

She toweled her long hair dry, biting her lower lip softly. Miss O'Fallon said Jareth had lost his memory too. Would it be wrong of her to talk to him, to try to jar him into remembering something? She tried to think it wasn't selfish, told herself again and again that it was for him as much as her that she would be asking. But the lie was just that, and she couldn't bring herself to do it if he didn't want to. She would just have to ask him what he remembered and go from there.

She tugged on a pair of black jeans and a blue sweater with black embroidery. It was one of her favorites. As she turned to go downstairs she caught a glimpse of her reflection and gasped in horror. Her favorite sweater made her look like an old woman with twelve cats!

Sometimes mirrors were more trouble than they are worth, she thought, tugging off the sweater and rummaging for something else to wear. If Jareth was indeed the man she remembered instead of a relation, an older or younger brother… well, she didn't want to look like she would be taking his measurements for a fuzzy sweater for Christmas.

No matter how much the idea of him standing shirtless in the middle of the room waiting for her to take said measurements appealed to her.

The woman was going to kill him.

"Och no, Jareth, yer hair was a far worse mess than this last night and she didn't run away from ye screamin'. What makes ye think that a haircut would make ye more appealin' te her?"

Jareth took a deep breath, and unclenched his fists. He was not used to being questioned. "My hair is a mass of tangles and snares and I fear that I will never remove them all. Plus, is it not the fashion in the Above-- in this place--" He amended quickly, "for men to wear their hair shorter?"

The idea distressed him as well, and that was part of the reason he was so mad at the woman for questioning him. It was not her place, and it was giving him second thoughts.

"Aye, it is, but lads don't grow their hair to your lengths te begin with. And it looks like it would come out right enough if ye'd just take more care when ye brushed it. 'Tisn't goin' te fix itself, now is it?"

Jareth held his tongue again, checking his temper. Yes, he wanted to snarl, it should fix itself. But I gave up my powers to come here and court your tenant, the one who can't even recall who I am. It was all most frustrating.

"If you will not do it then hand me the scissors and I shall do it myself!" The hair would grow back, and he really couldn't get all of the tangles out. It was enough to make him wish that he had taken more care to memorize the particular Goblin guardians he would have to murder at the end of this escapade. It would be such a shame, him having to eliminate the entire race in his pursuit to punish the three that had quite literally dropped him into this world.

"If ye are sure that it's what ye want, I'll do it for ye. A shame it is, though…" As the hefty woman approached, Jareth stared at the apron pocket growing nearer and nearer by the second. When the first cut came, Jareth winced. Fey were very sensitive creatures, from fingers and toes to the very hair on their heads. If he had not been incapacitated by the loss of his powers, he was not sure he could have refrained from lashing out. As it was it took all of his strength to ignore the sharp, biting sensation the scissors caused as they clipped a length of hair from his head. It felt like a paper cut might, except tripled. It was as painful as-- suddenly he understood why. There was iron in the scissors.

The thought sobered him, and he stopped shifting, stopped all movement. If she so much as nicked him with the edge he could be in serious jeopardy. Iron poisoning was one of the only ways to kill a Fey, the most painfully slow way, but the most assured to do the deed.

"There now, the tangles shouldna' be such a problem for ye te overcome." Maeve stepped back and surveyed her work, pleased. It was still longer than was the fashion, but it fell around his face, just so over the ears, and it had a wonderful wave to it. Every so often a stray lock would wander across his forehead, and it made Maeve O'Fallon wish she was twenty years younger, and almost a hundred pounds slimmer. This vagabond was appealing to all the senses now that he was bathed, dressed, and groomed.

"Thank you, Miss O'Fallon, I do appreciate this. And the clothes." He gestured to the flannel shirt he wore and the tan cargo pants. When he had first been introduced to the zipper, he had turned green. But having bested the hungry thing without losing anything precious, he was placed in a far better mood than he might have been.

He tugged the antique comb through his hair, wishing that he had dragged Sarah into the Underground rather than coming up here himself. It was strange, stopping one's brush-stroke just above the shoulders. Miss O'Fallon excused herself from the downstairs washroom, where the haircut had taken place, and Jareth took one bold, assessing look in the mirror.

His pointed features were softened slightly by the cut. It flattered his jaw line, making it appear firmer, more masculine. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the stray lock of hair on his forehead. Oh, it looked appealing enough, but it was damnably irritating. Well, at least the woman hadn't lied when she had said she could dress hair. He would have been rather put out to resemble a shorn sheep. Though some part of him insisted he looked the part whether he thought it or not. It was only a temporary loss, he soothed his bruised ego. As soon as he was home in the Underground he would use a spell to return it to it's normal length. Unless Sarah preferred it this way.

But hadn't she imagined him differently all those years ago? He was now devoid of the glittering clothes, the makeup, the oddly cultivated eyebrows… He looked like a mortal man, almost. If one disregarded the pointed ears and slightly sharper teeth. He desperately hoped that they would, and was grateful that the High Council had given him at least some semblance of humanity.

Barefoot, Jareth padded silently out of the washroom and into the kitchen. He would start on the stairs today, hopefully using it as an excuse to keeps his hands busy as he talked to Sarah. It was a palpable urge within him, every time that he saw her, to hold her close and whisper thanks to the Gods that she was still alive. Last time she had reached for him she had been dying, and he was almost sure he would lose her.

He glanced towards the dining room, shocked and pleased to see her enter the room, as though conjured by his thoughts. Though he knew he was without magic, the idea that she might have been directed his way made him smile.

Her hair was tied back away from her face today flowing around her as she leaned forward to inspect the day's newspaper. She was wearing black pants, similar to his own, but worn tighter to her skin. Her shirt was soft teal, long sleeved, and it looked like it would shift like silk under his fingers. His hand itched to test the theory, so he balled it in a fist. He realized that he was gaping at her like a fool and narrowed his eyes. Well, time to begin the courtship.

"Sarah? I--"

"Oh." She looked up at him, and then looked quickly away. "You… you cut your hair."

"Yes, it was so snared and knotted that I couldn't manage to brush through it alone. Our hostess aided me in the trimming, of course, as I couldn't see to do it myself." The last was rather haughty, as though she was expected to know that he wouldn't perform such a task himself.

She looked up at him, blushed, and then stared at the paper again. Was he so displeasing to look upon, then? Did she prefer the glittering, mortal-esque creature she had made him for her run in the Labyrinth? Surely there had to be a reason she looked upon him as though he was being indecent. Or at least vulgar in some way.

"Why do you blush that way? Am I mistaking something?" His voice was sharp, and she shook her head quickly.

His words made her shake away her thoughts. He was amazing in the light from the kitchen. The dining room was lit by candles as the kitchen was lit with LED bulbs. The blend of new and old allowed the kitchen to function better and gave the dining room a modicum of intimacy. Jareth in any light, she realized, was stunning.

He was wearing cargo pants that were just a hare too large for his trim waist. Gravity had tugged them down just a bit lower than they were meant, and she was given a very interesting picture. His flannel was unbuttoned despite the cold, and his golden and silver hair was falling recklessly around his face. The front was doing an amazingly appealing Clark Kent-Superman thing, and she bit her lip. She really shouldn't have been thinking dirty thoughts about a man she didn't really remember. For all she knew she hated him. But surely if she had hated him she wouldn't be standing five feet away now wondering at the golden trail of hair chasing downward like an arrow until it met the waistband of his pants.

That was not permitted, even for close acquaintances. Though, if Sarah was to be honest with herself, she'd admit that she had no close acquaintances, and that this man who may or may not have known her in her youth was one of the closest things she had to a friend. She dreamed of him, after all, almost every night.

"Usually men don't walk around shirtless." Sarah preferred to be on the offense to being on the defensive, and so she tipped up her chin in challenge. The gesture made him smile.

"What, does it bother you?" He stretched negligently, and Sarah's mouth watered at the play of muscle the telltale motion displayed. Snap out of it Sarah! He is not here to oogle! Talk to him!

"N-No." The stammered denial was enough to make her want to curl up somewhere and die. And then he gave her one long, assessing look, from her toes to the top of her head, and then down again.

"Well, I don't usually tolerate being lied to. But when it comes out of such an appealing little package I feel more inclined to ignore it. So I shall, this time." He sat down in the chair at the head of the table, one leg going over the arm of the chair in a pose that screamed in her mind.

Sarah was more sure than ever that she knew him, that at least something she had recalled was real.

"Do you know me?" She tilted her head to the side, slowly, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulder. She met his eyes directly, noticing that they were shifting colors, like light on water. The effect was dizzying.

"Yes."

"Did we meet when I was sixteen, in that place I dream about?"

"Right again, Sarah." His lips quirked, anticipating the next question.

"How did I know you?"

Jareth laughed, his voice making Sarah shiver not in fear, but in pure female pleasure. His laughter brought to mind dark things, things that mothers warn their daughters against loudly and often. "Oh, how to answer that question… I was your villain, your Prince… I was the darkness in the oubliette and the sunlight in the gardens. You bested me, you scorned me, and still I offered you the world." There was no bitterness in his voice. It was curiously accepting, as though this had happened an eternity ago for him. Well, for Sarah it was newly born. She had no recollection beyond glimpses that he was telling the truth. But his words felt true, so she nodded.

The words came to her lips, and she was almost unwilling to say them. Were they lines from a play, or were they something else entirely? "Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be…" The change in him was instant, the very air around them seemed to grow heavy.

"Do not finish that phrase, Sarah. Do not make an offer you cannot possibly mean." She leaned forward, now sharing her space. Seated his head came to about her chest, and the foot or so between their faces was no longer safe enough. He was something more than other men. The knowledge was in her blood, heating it more than anything else ever had.

"You scare me when you look at me that way, Jareth." The admission stung, some part of her resented saying it.

"You've changed, Precious, you never would have admitted it before. I'm pleased to see that it isn't only your body that's matured these last few years." He punctuated the statement with another glance, and Sarah recoiled, crossing her arms. He laughed at her discomfort, an she wanted to lash out. She would have, but for the ringing of the doorbell.

"After I get that I'm going to tell you what I think about leering old men." Her scathing reply hit it's target, and Jareth raised a single brow at the venom in it. So she hadn't changed so drastically. It was a welcome similarity. He was beginning to wonder if it was his Sarah still after all, or if another sweet-tempered woman had simply stolen away in Sarah's familiar eyes.

Jareth's pleasant mood, however, died as the door was opened to reveal a smiling man on the other side bearing lavender roses. Duncan.

Author's Note:

Rather than posting a second chapter today, I am going to go out and have some fun with some old friends. While this doesn't help you any, it will no doubt give me a better disposition next chapter, which will surely be better than me being grumpy.

Speaking of grumpy, Jareth is slightly put-out with me at having cut his hair. Oh well Sarah likes it, so he'll live. Spoiled Fey King… Now he's going to be in a bad mood all day. Oh well…

Remember, please review! I read all of them and take them into consideration. For all of you who have reviewed, I just wanted to say that you're amazing. Thank you to: Trixie09, ChilaliSnowbird, Rahpsody, hazlgrnLizzy, and the rest of you wonderful people!

-Chaotic Reverie