Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth. It is the property of Jim Henson, George Lucas, Brian Froud, David Bowie, etc.
Author's Note: Just a quick note about this chapter. Derrick's last name has changed, it has been changed in previous chapters as well. Sorry if this causes any sort of confusion. I want to give a quick shout out to Honoria Granger and Kaytori. Thanks so much to both of you for reviewing every chapter so far! I always enjoy reading your thoughts, opinions, and concerns about the story. To all of those who reviewed, followed, or made a favorite of the last chapter, thank you for making me a very happy author!
"Awake"
Darkness. Sarah waded through the thick of it as if trapped beneath the surface of the sea. Each step was a struggle, each breath hurt her chest, but somewhere deep down she knew she needed to go on. She had to keep moving forward, to find a way out of this eternal night. Please Sarah, a whisper floated across her mind, hold on.
"I can't," she replied. Her voice echoed around her, deafening in the silence.
She continued to struggle forward, the air was as thick and sluggish as water. A pinpoint of light obscured her vision, floating in the distance, the only discernible object she could see. She needed to get to it. The light danced before her eyes, darting about in an enticing pattern.
"So pretty…" Sarah whispered at the diamond-bright sparkle in her vision. So beautiful. She leapt forward, laughing a little as the light darted out of reach. "Wait!"
She bounced forth as if she was a child again and her playful prey leapt away. Sarah could feel something emulating from the small orb, a sort of pull. Sarah, please. Now Sarah knew that she couldn't stop following. She trailed behind it in a dance, reaching and missing, almost brushing it with her fingertips only for it to dart away.
"Come back!" Sarah called, her voice causing a cacophony of echoes in the empty space. Come back, Sarah. She struggled to breathe and continued forth, moving slower each time. The air was trapping her, she struggled against it, but sticky tendrils of darkness clung to her and forced her to stay.
"No…" she whispered. Breathe for me, love. Breathe, Sarah.
There was something warm and wet in the corner of her mouth. Sarah struggled once again and tore from the hold of the darkness, leaping in long, dreamlike bounds after the twinkling light. With an almighty lunge, Sarah's fingers brushed the glimmer, but did not catch it. She began to fall back to earth smoothly, but something was wrong. Instead of hitting the buoyant surface that had been her ground, she fell.
"Please," she whispered, too weak to fight as the gluey tendrils of night wrapped around her once more, aiding her in her fall and pulling her forever downward. "Let me go."
Mine, a hoarse, hollow voice whispered harshly. Its sharp tone jutted through her thoughts like the sharpest glass. The light she had followed was gone, snuffed out, and Sarah was once again surrounded by darkness. Those snaking tendrils wrapped around her lovingly, caressing her as they ran across her body. Don't fight me, little girl, the voice scolded, its loathing undeniable, give in. Sarah struggled with all her might, only to be pulled deeper and deeper into the earth.
"Stop," she moaned. "Don't!"
"Ah, good, you're awake."
Sarah opened her eyes in a single blink and stared at the strange surroundings that swam before her. She was in some sort of cavern, three walls of it were rock and one was blackness leading up to the surface world. She lay on her back and was wrapped in warm blankets made from what felt like wool. The flickering light from a small fire set up just a few feet away illuminated the odd rock formations on the walls. Dull crystals, as if dirty on the inside, clung to the darker and even dimmer rock of the underground hideout on every surface.
"What's wrong with the rocks?" Sarah asked, her voice was hoarse, "They look dead. They're different than I…"
Different than she remembered. The memory of rocks that glimmered as if painted in glitter struck her cold. She was in the Underground and Derrick had—
Sarah felt hot tears sting her eyes as the events in the motel came rushing back to her. Her hands immediately flew from the confines of the blanket to cover her face as she struggled to sit up. Sarah gave up as dizziness overcame her. She felt faint, famished, and as exhausted as if she had run for miles. A fine sheen of sweat covered her forehead, her body shook, and she was sure she had a fever. A quick glance beneath the blankets told her she was still wearing the black Nirvana shirt and patterned shorts from the motel.
"Don't tax yourself."
Sarah looked about frantically for the source of the voice, her eyes wild in the half-light. There he was, lounging against the wall of the cave, his eyes far away as if engaged in strangely burdensome daydream. Her eyes danced up and down his lean frame, taking in the leather of his dark jacket, the black shirt, grey pants, and the supple looking material of his boots. He was dressed for hiding, running, and fighting. Sarah shivered beneath the layers of blankets and cloak.
"Evening, Sarah," Jareth said, his gaze finally falling on her. The expression he granted her was distant, empty. "You've looked better."
Sarah closed her eyes and felt a few lone, hot tears escape, trailing down her skin. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, her heartbeat loud in her ears as even that simple motion took effort. Though her headache was something close to agony, the pain that had plagued her body after her blood mixed with the changelings had faded to a dim throbbing.
"You came back for me," Sarah whispered, her mind still reeling. It was not a tearful statement, nor a particularly grateful sounding one, merely an observation that was more conversational than she had intended. "Why?"
Jareth walked to the opposite end of the cave to begin rummaging through a worn leather bag. He pulled out a small corked flagon and a single hunk of bread wrapped in cloth. Both he dropped unceremoniously in her lap.
"You need to eat," he said and retreated back to the wall of the cave, leaning against it as he watched her.
Sarah sat up as best she could, wrapping the blanket firmly around her shoulders as she did so, and took a drink from the cask. She felt her hands trembling with the effort. Water, plain, sweet, and necessary, flowed down her throat. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was until she was drinking it down. She tore off a chunk of the bread next, chewing slowly. Sarah finished and swayed slightly. Jareth walked over, as if completely in his element, and helped her to lie back down.
"Thank you," she said, speaking easier now that her throat was not dry.
Jareth nodded, his eye contact with her was fleeting. He only remained a moment before retrieving the empty cask and crumb filled cloth and tucked them back in the bag for safekeeping.
"How long have I been here?" Sarah asked, rubbing her eyes and settling back down in the warmth of the blankets.
"It's been almost a day since we arrived," he replied. "You're still very weak."
Sarah touched the corner of her mouth, only a fine line met her fingertips. She didn't think it would scar. "Jareth, where are we, exactly? I mean, what's—"
"Go back to sleep, Sarah, you'll need it," he said quietly, his eyes glued to the fire.
She started and studied him for a moment. He was unreadable, his expression reflecting nothing, betraying no thought or emotion.
"Jareth," Sarah said softly, her resolve fading as sleep beckoned. "Talk to me. Please, tell me where I am."
Jareth didn't answer. He didn't even look at her.
"You require your rest," he said, this time his eyes met hers and she took in what she saw there. Pain, undeniable and fresh, burned within him. That kind of raw emotion, within Jareth of all people, was a sobering thing. There would be time for questions later.
Sarah turned on her side to face the flames. She could see him through the blaze, his image distorted by the heat.
"Jareth?"
He sighed and turned toward her. "Yes?"
"I just wanted to know…" she said, exhaustion overtaking her. "How did you know where to find me?"
Her voice was just the shadow of a whisper, fading quickly as sleep found her.
"All in good time, Sarah," he whispered as her eyes closed once more.
Blinding bright sunlight bore down on Sarah as she made her way through the crowd. She squinted against the glare and tried to appear casual as possible, shouldering the duffel bag containing the last of her belongings that hadn't made it in on moving day. Her first day of college, the taste of freedom she'd dreamed of for so long, had finally arrived.
"Sarah!"
A small, short girl with wildly curling auburn hair sprinted over, her backpack bouncing a foot with every step. Homemade bracelets of braids and beads jingled at her wrists.
"Hey!" Sarah shouted and met the girl in a hug. "Iris! Oh, I haven't seen you since graduation! How have you been?"
"Absolutely fantastic, peaches," Iris said with a wink, applying chap-stick as she spoke. "I got the work-study with Professor Burns in the theater department as a techie. He's like a thousand years old and you can get away with anything, this college thing is going to be a snap."
"I wish I felt as confident as you," Sarah said, readjusting her heavy bag once more and walking with Iris in the direction of the dorm rooms. "I'm completely terrified."
"Don't worry about it, Sarah-bear," Iris replied with a nudge. "You'll be fine. Just give it a week and I bet you'll fit right in."
"I don't know..."
"You will, now relax," Iris scolded. Her face brightened as she realized they were headed for the same building. "Hey, are you in Henley Hall?"
"Yeah," Sarah said, her anxiety ebbing away. "You?"
"Hell yes I am. Oh, thank God you're going to be there. I thought I was all alone with no one I knew," Iris said, her excitement obvious. Her gaze danced over to a group of boys standing beneath an arch by the library. "Speaking of people we know, check it out. Is that Tyler?"
Momentarily, Sarah thought it might be someone else, anyone else, standing in that small group of freshmen in ratty band shirts and torn jeans. No, there was no mistaking that wispy blond hair, spiked and treated to emulate the glory days of British punk. Sarah groaned and began to turn away, but Iris stopped her.
"Come on, face your fears," her friend urged, trying to push Sarah in the direction of her ex-boyfriend.
"No, Iris, I can't!" Sarah said, wrestling free. "Please."
"Why not? Show him how stupid he is," Iris prompted, trying to push again, but Sarah wriggled free.
"No, Iris," Sarah said.
Iris stopped, looking put out. She pulled a Dum-Dum lollipop from her pocket, sticky from the midday heat, and unwrapped it. "Come on, Sarah, he's moved on. Show him how you don't need him anymore."
Sarah shot a quick glare at Tyler and his friends, particularly the waif-like girl with candy apple red hair who sauntered over and gave him a quick kiss.
"But I haven't moved on," Sarah whispered. "I wish I could, you know what he did, but..."
Iris released her candy from her mouth with an audible pop. She pointed it in time with her words as she said, "You know what you need, Sarah? A new honey, a rebound guy. How about him?"
Sarah whipped around to see a dark-haired boy on a bench beneath the shade of a willow. He was the archetypal brooding college misfit, hair hanging in his eyes, writing in a notebook with leisure that indicated he took pleasure in whatever he penned.
"I don't know if he's my type, Iris," Sarah said. "I mean he's-"
"Not a bleach blond rock star wannabe who plays crappy covers of the Crüe?" Iris prompted.
"No-"
"Or a Johnny Rotten worshipper who cheats on you after you guys finally, well you know...?"
"Yes, Iris, I know," Sarah said, her stomach twisting in familiar pain. She wanted Tyler to see her happy, to see how little he meant in the scheme of things, even if he had been her first. Vengeance dating was looking more and more appealing as she watched him laughing beneath that arch with Vivian. "I don't even know that guy's name."
"Derrick Grant," Iris responded automatically. Sarah gave her an incredulous look.
"What?" Iris said with a grin. "I did some research on moving day. You gotta know who's who around here, ducky."
"I'll take your word for it," Sarah responded with a smile. "Okay, I'll go talk to him, but just to see Tyler squirm."
"Yes!" Iris said, dancing a little jig in delight. "I just love this."
"How's my hair?" Sarah asked.
"It's a little..." Iris said, tilting her head to study her flyaway strands.
"Fix it, fix it!" Sarah said.
"Stand still," Iris said, holding her candy between her teeth and expertly tousling Sarah's travel-worn hair, deflating the mess with careful fingers. "There, now, go get him, baby. Make that weasel pay."
Sarah could feel Tyler's dark eyes watching her as she ventured beneath the willow tree. She almost glanced back, but held her ground.
"Hi, what are you writing?" she asked, approaching the boy before her.
"Poem," he answered, not looking up until he finished whatever he had been scribbling. When he was done, he stood and extended his hand. "Derrick Grant."
"Sarah Williams," Sarah replied.
Derrick paused to fumble in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and lighter. He lit up, took a drag, and offered her the pack. "Want one?"
"No thanks. I don't smoke," Sarah said. There was an awkward pause as he tucked the pack back in his jacket. "So, you write poetry. Are you an English major, creative writing, maybe?"
Derrick took another long drag and shook his head. "Art major, you should've seen my dad when I told him. I swear he was this close to exploding."
"Why was he so mad?"
"Oh, he wanted me to go into business, that's what he did, that's what my grandfather did, but I don't give a shit, I want to create something more than money in a rich guy's pocket," he explained.
"Wow, that's deep," Sarah mused.
"Thanks," Derrick said, flicking a bit of ash into the grass.
"Sarah!" Iris called in excitement, gesturing to the vacated section of lawn where Tyler had been a moment before.
"See you around?" Sarah asked tentatively.
"See you."
Inky tendrils of shadow wrapped the world in a tentacle grip. The willow swirled away into night-like blackness. Sarah needed to run, she had a purpose to fulfill, something important and vital. Without her, the world would come crashing down. She burst forward, legs working furiously as she ran through the darkness. Her run slowed into a walk as she entered her college library, arms full of heavy tomes.
"Sarah!" someone called from behind her as she struggled with her pile of books. "Hey, Sarah, wait up!"
She stopped mid step on her way out of the library and turned. A dark-haired boy ran forward to catch up with her and waved.
"Need some help?" he asked, flashing her a white smile.
"Sure, thanks," Sarah said, handing over a few of the books in her arms.
The boy took them and continued walking with her out into the daylight. He took a cautious step forward into sunlight and grinned at her again.
"You probably don't remember me from last year," he said. "I'm Derrick, Derrick Grant."
Sarah thought for a moment and remembered the solitary student who could often be found sitting beneath the willows near Henley Hall, lost in his thoughts.
"Oh yeah, I remember you. I didn't recognize you at first," she said, noting his newly cut hair and fashionable clothing. "You seem to remember me, though."
"Well, yeah," he admitted with a smile that hinted he more than simply remembered her, he wanted to know her.
Sarah returned the smile but hoped this wasn't going where she thought it was. Derrick continued to walk with her and they approached a cluster of tables where her boyfriend Nick and friends Iris, Val, and Michael sat.
"I've seen you around," he said, breaking the momentary silence. "You're studying Theater, right?"
"Nope," she said. "I switched my major."
"How come?" he asked.
"We studied a lot of plays in one of my classes. Shakespeare, Ibsen, Williams, Miller, Wilde…" she explained. "I went from wanting to act out the words to wanting to write them and enrolled in a course. After I took that, I decided to try writing short stories and fell in love with it. So I've swapped out Theater for Creative Writing."
"I know what you mean. I've changed mine this year too," he said.
"Really?" Sarah felt stunned that the boy who had spoken with such conviction about art could have possibly chosen anything else. "What to?"
"Business," he said.
Sarah awoke with a gasp and curled into a ball beneath the blankets. He was so different that first day, she thought, how could I have missed the changes he went through? Shame overcame her for falling for the changelings lies, for not leaving with Jareth when she should have, for flirting with Derrick that first day to hurt her cheating ex-boyfriend. Maybe if she hadn't expressed interest, the real Derrick Grant would never have died.
Oh God, his parents, Sarah thought, remembering John and Maggie Grant. They had never wanted the rebellious son they'd had and the changeling went out of his way to make their dream come true. She had always thought they were poking fun at perfect, businessman Derrick, exaggerating his juvenile delinquency when they spoke of how proud they were of what he had made of himself. Without him around influencing her, Sarah could see the truth.
Sarah shook beneath the wool, her eyes tightly shut against the guilt. Her father had been right. She had been blind to the way Derrick treated her, the changeling trying to emulate the son that a jilted father had always wanted. But why me? Sarah thought through the feverish haze. Why invade my life? Why trick me into loving you?
Someone knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He thinks I'm still asleep, Sarah thought. Jareth had barely looked at her in the few moments of wakefulness she had between dreams. He had saved her, but clearly he hadn't forgiven her. Sarah kept her eyes clenched shut, hoping that would be enough to make him stay. She needed comfort.
Her wish was granted as he pulled her hair from her face and over her shoulder, gently stroking the hollow of her temple, down her cheek to touch hot tears. Sarah caught his gloved hand when it rested once more on her shoulder and held it. He stiffened and started to pull away. Sarah shook her head and held tighter.
"Please," she whispered, ashamed that she had resorted to begging and unable to look at him. "Don't leave me alone."
Jareth sighed and sat. He was making a show with his noise of protest, telling her nonverbally how little he wanted to be with her. At the moment, Sarah didn't care how much it hurt.
She rolled to face him, still holding tight to his hand. She released him the moment she was sure he wouldn't leave. His palm rested against her cheek, soft leather against skin. Sarah reached up and held it there, entwining her fingers with his. With his free hand, he gently caressed her forehead.
"Your fever's breaking," he whispered. Was that relief in his voice?
Sarah rolled back, fingers still interlaced with his. She caught his hand between both of hers and held tight. Sarah pressed his gloved palm to her chest and held it there as if it were a comfort object, her thumbs gently caressing the exposed skin of his wrist. Jareth inhaled sharply and drew back. Sarah cringed when he did so and felt dizziness overcome her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, finally opening her eyes to meet his.
She had expected disgust, annoyance, and perhaps a pinch of condescending sarcasm. The face that Sarah met with held only shock. Jareth cradled the wrist of the hand she had held as if he had been burned, studying her with wide eyes. He shook it off a moment later, that mask sliding back into place.
"Maybe I was wrong," he said and stood. "You need more rest."
"Jareth," Sarah protested, her head aching terribly. "Don't go."
"Please, Sarah," he began and shook his head. "I'm going to bring you more food."
Sarah cursed herself for being so bold when he clearly wanted her to leave him be. She could hear him rummaging through that pack of his, but food was the last thing on her mind. He returned in a moment with an apple in hand and more water.
"Here, eat this," he said, crouching beside her and offering the fruit.
Sarah closed her eyes and shook her head once. "No."
"Sarah," he said, clearly exasperated, "eat."
"No," Sarah repeated, biting her lower lip. Her arms formed a protective cage around her body. Jareth ignored this and wrapped an arm beneath her to pull her into a sitting position, resting against his chest. Sarah's muscles ached from the unexpected motion and she stiffened in his arms.
"What are you doing?"
Jareth had her in his lap, an arm around her back, holding her there and holding the apple. With his free arm, he pulled a small knife from a pocket within his leather jacket. Without releasing his hold, he sliced into the fruit and cut out a chunk.
"Sarah, please," he whispered, holding the apple slice to her lips.
She met his eyes and sighed, opening her mouth to receive it. Once she had finished the small piece, Jareth cut another. He moved to feed her once more, but Sarah stopped him with a gentle touch.
"I'll do it," Sarah said and took the apple from him.
Jareth nodded but made no motion to remove her from his lap. "Wait," he said.
His arm snaked from around her back to pull off the opposite glove. Sarah was mesmerized by the sight of his long pale hand in the firelight. Gently, he caressed her forehead, the curve of her cheek, and rested his fingers beneath her ear. Sarah felt her skin erupt in a pleasant shiver at his touch. Every place that his fingertips rested felt rejuvenated, warm and wonderful. A sharp, sweet ache rose in Sarah's chest involuntarily at the feel of his bare skin on hers. Jareth slid her from his lap, back onto her pile of blankets, and replaced the glove.
"Your fever's gone," he said as Sarah bit into the apple.
"Really?" she asked once she'd swallowed. "I feel terrible."
"Ah, yes, terrible. But not feverish," he replied.
"Jareth…" she began. "Where are we?"
"We're just outside a mining town that used to be occupied by the hobs," Jareth said. He noticed her confused glance and said, "Hobgoblins, they used to mine the crystals here, at the very edge of the Goblin Kingdom. The gems they mined were beautiful once, though you wouldn't know it now. That was before the changelings."
Sarah stared at the dusty looking gems that clung to the walls of the cavern and noticed an abandoned set of miniature tracks with a lone cart still attached. A small pickaxe, which could have been for a child, leaned against the opposite wall. Sarah took another bite of the apple and was silent for a moment.
"How did you know I was at the motel?" she asked point-blank.
Jareth's eyes widened, the difference in their pupils illuminated by the firelight.
"I did not return to the Underground immediately," he said. "I needed to prepare in order to take back my kingdom."
Sarah raised an eyebrow as she ate as if to say, go on.
Jareth retrieved the leather bag from where it sat against the opposite cavern wall. It was leather, worn and old, the kind of bag that a theologian at Oxford might carry in a fuzzy black and white photo from the glory days of intellectualism. Jareth reached within and pulled out a small compact mirror, a box of matches, a pocketknife and a number of other things that seemed to range from useful and useless, including a magnifying glass and a child's jump-rope, along with several of his crystals.
"Went shoplifting?" Sarah asked, twirling the apple-core between her hands.
Jareth snorted and replaced the items. "Hardly, I left those clerks a king's ransom in gold on the shelf."
"Not sure you brought the right currency," Sarah mused. "Why do you have so many crystals here, can't you just make them appear?"
"It's not that simple, Sarah," Jareth said. "The changelings feed off of magical energy in particular. They can sense it as well as you can feel the warmth of that fire before you. I must not leave a trail or they will be on my scent immediately."
"So you gathered supplies to prepare," Sarah said, tossing the core into the fire. "What else did you do?"
"I…" he trailed off and said stiffly, "I observed."
"What do you mean?" Sarah asked, remembering the owl in the rainstorm. "Jareth, were you watching me?"
"No," he replied automatically. "I checked in on you on one occasion. You were in a car, looking less than enthused to be there, and I watched you pull into that horrid little hovel."
"But you knew that I needed help," Sarah said, furrowing her brow.
"I heard you screaming," he whispered. Firelight made the sharp angles of Jareth's face feral. Sarah shivered as she realized that he was. She was seeing Jareth, the untamed and powerful creature, the Goblin King, not Jareth, the man who practically force-fed her apples because he wanted her to be well again. The stark difference was almost chilling.
"Do you know what happened to Der—," Sarah stopped herself and let out a shaky breath. "Do you know what happened to the changeling?"
Jareth shook his head. "No, I was too late to see what became of him. However, I think that it's safe to assume that he is no more."
Sarah frowned. As she opened her mouth to speak, the cut on her lip stretched painfully. Her fingers flew to her lips and touched it gingerly.
"I was poisoned," she said.
"Yes," Jareth replied. "The blood of the changelings is deadly when mixed with another's."
"You saved me," Sarah breathed.
"As best I could," Jareth answered.
"How?" she asked. "I was dying, I could feel it."
"You know, you really do ask far too many questions," Jareth replied.
She ignored his comment and stared him down. "Did you use magic?"
"I used a single crystal to keep your heartbeat going and to purge your body of the rest of the creature's blood after I'd sucked most of the poison from that cut. It attracted a single changeling and I destroyed it," he said, casual as discussing the weather.
"Thank you," she said, but her mind was still wrapped in his words. She touched the healing cut once again. "Did you say that you sucked…?"
Jareth seemed oblivious to why she was so flustered. "Yes, Sarah. Well, twice I suppose, seeing as the crystal expunged it from your body through the open wound."
"Yuck," Sarah said and smiled at him, earning a rare glimpse of his own pointed grin. "I only have one more question."
"Somehow I don't believe you," Jareth said, but settled down near her beside the fire.
"What happened in that motel was…confusing, and not just the 'my fiancé's a monster' part of it either," she said and took in a shaky breath. "Something appeared there, a white light. Do you know what that was?"
"No," Jareth answered without hesitation.
"Do you know what it might have been?" Sarah asked.
"I thought there was only one more question, Sarah," he said and stood.
"Jareth, I just want to know—"
"Sarah," he interrupted and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have my suspicions, let's leave it at that."
Sarah sighed and lay back. "Why won't you talk to me?"
"Because I have very little to say," Jareth replied. Sarah thought that would be the end of it and felt her face fall. He glanced at her and sighed. "I have a contact, someone who has not been taken. He lives very near. Rest now, Sarah. When you wake, we're going to pay a visit to Bard."