Disclaimer: If wishes were fishes, then no one would starve. I do my part, I could feed the entire population of North America with some of the things I dream… hehe… Once again, I don't own 'the Labyrinth.'

With memories coursing through her, Sarah goes to confront the man with the answers. However, Jareth isn't feeling too forthcoming. His answers do little to ease her curiosity, and his avid interest in her makes Sarah a little nervous, and more self-aware than she had been in years. The doorbell cuts short what had been a promising conversation, revealing a Fey bearing lavender roses. It seems the game is on.

Their Prize:

"Hello, if those are for Miss O'Fallon I think she is in the kitchen--" Sarah was stopped short by the young man's laughter. She narrowed her eyes, not liking the sensation of being laughed at for making the obvious connection.

"I'm sorry, a amháin, I didn't mean to insult you… Never that." He offered the roses with a soft smile, and there was sincerity in his eyes. Sharp, blue eyes. She knew that she had seen some that color recently, but she was also sure that she had never met this young man.

"She isn't your little anything." Jareth's growl was shocking to both Sarah and the newcomer. She shot him a discouraging look. He wasn't anything to her, what right did he have to object? He had no claim over her.

You have no power over me…

Seeing the expression on her face as she glared over her shoulder, Duncan pressed his luck. Instead of challenging his former King, he took the high road. "I'm sorry… Am I interrupting anything? My grandfather, Duncan the Old, was at the pub the other day and he was worried about you. You didn't look so well. I wanted to come over and make sure you were feeling better…" His voice trailed off and he looked away, pleased at the meek expression. He had never tried it before, and he crowed at his success silently.

"Oh, no, you weren't interrupting anything." Her emphasis on the last word made Duncan smile. Jareth may hold his claim on this mortal woman, but it was plain as day that she didn't champion his claims.

"These are for you, lass, from my grandfather. I only wish I had thought of them." As she took the roses, looking down at them in what seemed to be confused wonder, Duncan shot Jareth a clear wink. And Jareth understood then exactly the risk that he had taken.

He had counted on their previous association to make Sarah more receptive of him, more vulnerable to his charms, and eventually his persuits. It had never occurred to him that their past relationship, as challenger and King, would hinder rather than aid him. It was only too clear that Duncan, free of a dark past, and still with the knowledge she had obviously shared the night before in the pub, was ahead in the contest.

"I'll go put these in some water… be sure to thank your grandfather for me. Oh, come in, please."

"I'm Cain, Miss Sarah. The family named me Duncan, But I've been Cain since I could talk, and Cain I remain." With a show of charm he bowed, and Sarah laughed at the movement.

Jareth cursed fluently in Gaelic, Goblin, and several other languages. Those things were both threats and promises, all anatomically impossible and vastly blunt. Duncan simply laughed. It was going to be a long morning, and probably a long afternoon as well.

Sarah left the two men alone for only a few seconds, only long enough to go into the kitchen, find and fill a vase, and share with Miss O'Fallon that someone from the village had come for a short visit. She was still arranging the blooms when Miss O'Fallon left the kitchen… and began screaming loud enough to rouse the dead.

Duncan moved over to the table, and seated himself directly opposite Jareth. "So, how does it feel to be powerless, and losing? You never did take losing well, Jareth."

"I'm never powerless, Duncan, and I'm far from losing. You may have played the right card at the door, but you'll see where her affections lie. She recall what she feels for me. She is just too innocent to admit it." Jareth stretched, uncaring that his chest was bare where his borrowed shirt left a long strip from neck to navel open. "Offer her pretty words. They will not sway her."

"You offered her crystal dreams, you offered her a place as your Queen. You offered yourself, Jareth. Maybe you'll remember that when your back in the Underground, alone, and I'm up here, with your chosen Queen. While I'm lying in her bed, kissing every inch of that pale skin--"

Jareth stood, the palms of his hands slamming into the table with all of the force of his restrained temper. "You will not talk about her that way, do you understand me, bride-thief? Wasn't that what caused your exile in the first place? Elysia didn't want you, Sarah doesn't want you… no one wants you, because you're a worthless little trickster pretending to be a man."

Duncan shot to his feet as well, leaving but a foot between the men. The table between them was solid oak… and it would be easily tossed aside should one say another thing to slander the other.

Miss O'Fallon entered the room with a smile, which quickly faded into a glare of chastisement, and then terror. Her scream was full-bodied and it gave both men shivers. It was only later that Jareth would note the source of her discomfort. He let instinct take him as he moved around to stand in front of the larger woman. Duncan jumped up into a chair.

"Mouse! Mouse! Lord in heavens there's a mouse!"

Jareth could have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He moved forward to the pantry, grabbed the broom he had used to sweep up his hair, and shooed the mouse toward the door. Sarah, also a quick thinker, was already at the front door, holding it open against the wind and rain. Seeing the storm outside Jareth almost felt bad, sending the mouse out into it.

Oddly, he felt no qualms about shooing Duncan into it. The sooner the better, in fact.

Sarah shut the door and hurried to comfort Miss O'Fallon. The older, larger woman was sitting now and fanning herself out of a state of hysterics. She was talking in a mixture of Gaelic and English so tangled and convoluted that Jareth, who spoke both languages fluently, was a little lost. Sarah managed, with only soothing words and gestures.

No one seemed to notice as Duncan climbed out of the chair and stood, his eyes continually darting to the place where the mouse had been spotted.

When Maeve O'Fallon was returned to her normal, composed self, she had the good grace to blush and stammer an apology. She was terrified of mice, she explained, because one of her sisters had been bitten by one and she had been privy to the entire thing. It was a traumatizing event, it seemed.

Jareth took up the materials he would need to attend to the staircase, and started to ascend when Miss O'Fallon stopped him.

"Och, lad, the stairs are a mess, bit I canna ignore the holes in the roof any longer. I hate te ask, with the weather what it is, but could ye start there?"

They wanted him to go up in the rain and in the storm, soak himself through again, stand on slippery shingles that could at any moment crumble beneath him or shift wetly sending him to fall to his death? Were they mad? He looked to Sarah only a second, and it gave him pause. There was laughter in her eyes. It was clear that she was amused, and that she didn't think he could do it. Did she think that one was born the King of the Labyrinth, with no trade to claim and no life experiences before it?

"I can do that, Miss, if you can promise something warm for dinner."

Miss O'Fallon began her string of promises about warm food of all different varieties, and her continual thanks. But Jareth was staring at Sarah, leaving no question between them what he would prefer to have for dinner that night in payment. She narrowed her eyes, and somehow the storm and the blasted slippery roof no longer seemed like such a trial.

He gathered the bucket of nails, the old hammer, and the new shingles. By the door he buttoned the borrowed flannel and threw on the jacket Miss O'Fallon had given him to keep as his own. With princely confidence he strode out into the battering storm, shutting the door behind him.

She could have cheerfully strangled him.

The looks he kept giving her were driving Sarah to distraction, and for he life of her she didn't know what she was supposed to do about it. Oh, she had been admired before, even gone out on a few dates. But she had never been looked at the way that Jareth looked at her. If it had just been those lustful looks, she could have brushed him aside, asked her questions about their past and been done with him. It was the other looks that were so distracting.

He looked at her like she was the sun in the sky, bright and wonderful, something he needed. He looked at her like she was precious, something he had cherished. Somehow the thought in conjunction to Jareth made Sarah shake her head. She recalled him as an arrogant creature, amazingly beautiful, terrifying in his power, and his ruthlessness. He would do anything to get what he desired.

Was it true, then? You cowered before me, I was terrifying. Was he only terrifying because she had expected him to be? Everything I've done I've done for you…

She tried to dispel the idea, but once in her head it wouldn't leave. It took root. She was hardly involved in the conversation Cain and Miss O'Fallon were having. They both lived here in this small Irish town, an she was just a visitor, an authoress off on vacation. She was here as a success, having finished three best-selling books before twenty-two. Most young women her age were getting drunk with freinds or losing their innocence at frat parties.

She shook her head, and tried to pay attention to the conversation that was happening at the table. But every clap of thunder drew her eyes to the windows, and her mind back to the man on the roof.

Damnation… She was taken with the King after all. Why? Jareth was overbearing and arrogant and cruel… yes, very cruel. And still she was staring out the window, clearly lost in thought and memory. Duncan tried, many times, to draw her into a conversation and keep her attention, but she was so distant… it was not fair, not in the slightest. He would simply have to twist things again, when next her was in the village. Jareth living here was unacceptable.

If this was to end in hi favor, Duncan must appeal to those within town. Propriety was everything in a sleepy Irish town, and surely it was not proper for a young woman to live with a drifter, one who claimed to have lost most of his memories.

That little revelation had opened a great number of doors to Duncan. The people of this town knew of him a Fey, a powerful being with powers that he didn't hesitate to use. It would be a great incentive to aid him, fear for their lives and the lives of their loved ones.

He stole a look at Sarah as she stared blankly out into the storm, wondering if she was worth the struggle. Her hair was rich, thick, and the color of a raven's wing. Her eyes were deep green, like the trees in the forest just before dawn. Her skin was smooth and pale, adding to the contrast between her hair and eyes. Yes, she was fair. But was she worth this struggle? Was she worth competing against the one that had earned the right to be the King of the Labyrinth?

She looked up and caught him staring, and she smiled, shyly. She brushed her hair over her shoulder, and continued to talk with Miss O'Fallon about the garden in the back of the house and how she was sure it would soon be flooded…

The sound of her voice washed over him, an he recalled the glint in those eyes, the passion in them when he had told his tale the other day.

Yes, she was worth it. And then some. He doubted that he had even begun to see the real Sarah, the Sarah that had so captured the King of the Fey. She must be something indeed to hold Jareth's attention. It wasn't as though she was his only option, no, Jareth could have chosen any Fey maiden as his own, and they would have been glad at his attentions.

It was going to make this victory all the more worthwhile. Jareth could have any woman he wanted in the Underground, and he only wanted this one. Duncan had been denied the woman he loved in the Underground, at Jareth's command. Now he would have the only woman Jareth seemed to want.

When Miss O'Fallon rose to begin the roast she had planned for dinner, Duncan stood as well.

"Well, Miss Sarah, I am glad to see you are feeling better. I can tell grandfather without a hint of falsehood. He will be gad to hear it. He told me that I'd agree with his sentiments where you're concerned. I find that I do."

"Really? And what were his sentiments?" His tone was light, so she mirrored it.

"That you were smart, beautiful, and if he was my age he'd set his cap for you." Duncan lightly took her hand, giving her plenty of time to pull away. He raised it to his lips, kissing it chastely. It was meant to make her swoon. She blushed prettily, and he accepted it. "I must tell you, Miss Sarah from America, I am my age."

"Well… thank you, but I'm only going to be in Ireland for a week, and it really wouldn't be fair to you--"

"Please, let me decide what is fair for me. I ask only one thing… be careful, Sarah. It wouldn't do to have your reputation rent to shreds. With that hired hand living under the same roof as you, with only Miss O'Fallon to chaperone… I've done a bit to quell the rumors, but I don't know how well my words will stick, if he is to remain here."

"Jareth is a good man, Cain, and if anyone wants to make insinuations they will do it, regardless." Her tone lost it's force, and she made herself smile. Duncan wanted to curse. "Thank you again for the flowers, they're lovely."

"You're welcome, Sarah. You deserve more than that, but I'm afraid it is all I have to give at the moment. If you can find the time I'd like for you to accompany me to the pub sometime." Seeing the protest upon her lips, he added, "As a friend, if that is your wish. As a friend and nothing more."

After a moment she smiled and nodded. "I think I'd like that. Be careful on your way home, Cain, the storm out there is pretty bad…" Again she looked out and up, and Duncan had no question of whom she was thinking.

"I should make it home well enough, Miss Sarah, thank you again for the hospitality. Extend that to our hostess too, if you will."

"Thank you, I'm sure she would like that." He had just scored a few points there, and he knew it. Well, that was one thing he could manage that Jareth would not even attempt. Common courtesy with those he considered beneath him.

As he left, Duncan shot a hate-filled glare up toward the roof. If Jareth was struck by lightening then and there Duncan would have danced a happy jig. Unfortunately the elements refused to comply, and his walk home was no different than his walk over had been.

Author's Note:

Sorry about the delay, got a little bit of writer's block. I know this chapter isn't on par with some of my other ones and for that I apologize. It was an intermediate, and because it was a little short of my normal work I'll have some more out tomorrow or the next day. Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews, it's for you I keep writing.

Jareth is soaking wet again. You can only imagine what that's going to do for his temper…hehe-- wait, I didn't mean it! Come on Jareth, you have to come down sooner or later….

-Chaotic Reverie