Chapter Six: Playing With Fire.
His name didn't matter.
Imm and Laim had found the perfect candidate for the next step in their plan. He was a young mortal that was acquainted with Sarah, had made several unsuccessful overtures in the past, but had never given up trying. The simple fact that he continually tried to entice Sarah was a saving grace because it meant that the Twins' control would not seem particularly out of the ordinary.
His name was Leo Knight and unfortunately, in the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter one bit.
Dinner was awkward, at best.
That's not to say that the food wasn't delicious, because it was. Jareth had made a simple curry and rice dish that he served with roasted vegetables and fresh bread. Each bite was more delectable than the last, and it made her wonder where he had learned to cook. Sarah had known that he possessed the skill, having had one of his dinners in the past, but had never really wondered about the peculiarity of that ability. As a prince he would have been waited on hand and foot, and as a king he wouldn't have had the time to prepare his own meals, not to mention that it would have seemed downright indecent to his servants. But it was something that he seemed to enjoy, the subtle blend of magic and physical labor, the simple mixing of elements to create a balanced product at the end. If he hadn't been born destined to take over a throne, she could easily picture him frittering away his hours in a heated kitchen, ruling over his culinary domain with the same iron fist with which he ruled over his kingdom.
The awkward part was sitting down at her tiny table and trying to have a civil meal without the past intruding. As always, Jareth was an interesting dinner companion; he was light and animated and seemed to time shocking statements to precisely when she took a sip of her drink. He was a natural entertainer and appeared to delight in making her laugh, even when she didn't want to. His behavior was so at odds with what she had expected that she wasn't entirely sure what to think. Less than two hours ago he had been the master manipulator that she was all too familiar with, playing her co-workers like a well-tuned orchestra. Even when they had returned to the apartment, he had still been working the situation to his advantage, frustrating her with the declaration that she was the only one that didn't see him as her boyfriend.
And that was where the past came knocking, because it was the exact same battle that they had fought five years ago. He had masqueraded as her boyfriend until it had been the truth, gaining the trust of her family while insinuating himself so deeply into her life that Sarah hadn't been able to extricate herself until it was too late. They had had meals together like this before, with her family or his family, and the one meal alone; they had exchanged casual and easy banter over a lazy afternoon of card games; they had danced and held each other like lovers. And then everything had gone to hell.
That was the danger of Jareth. He was an irresistible magnet, a natural charmer, and as addictive as any narcotic. But, much like a drug, there always seemed to be some price to pay. For every happy moment that Sarah had had with this man, she had had to pay twofold for it with pain.
"Where have you wandered off to now?" Jareth asked quietly, sounding much closer than he should have been.
With a startled jump, Sarah realized that he was kneeling next her chair, one hand resting gently on her knee. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice slightly higher than usual. She wanted to think that her pinched tone was from shock, but the simple truth was that even through her skirt and his glove, she could still feel the heat of his hand burning into her flesh. "I'm right here."
"Physically, perhaps," he agreed, looking up at her, his head cocked to the side, "but mentally you're miles away. So, where have you gone?" His thumb began an unconscious stroking of the little hollows of her knee.
She swallowed roughly. His closeness was always disconcerting no matter how often she was exposed to his presence, and while his gesture was small, it made one thing clear: he knew women. Most men didn't notice when they lost a woman's attention; Jareth not only noticed, he cared. Deeply, if his thumb stroking was anything to go by. The lazy, trailing circles were comforting, not overtly sexual, as though by touching her he could somehow help anchor her thoughts.
A bad boy who cared? Damn, that was dangerous!
It was easy to be on guard against someone when their seductive tactics were blatant. She had mistakenly assumed that he would always be blunt about his sexuality merely because he had an attitude and a fondness for leather. Stupid, she berated herself; she should have known better. Every time she had thought she had the man pinned down he had shown her a new face; why should now be any different? Still, it was a little shocking to be receiving selfless gestures of concern; even five years ago, their relationship really hadn't worked that way.
"The past," she finally choked out an answer, gesturing vaguely between them. "I was thinking about the past."
He frowned. "You worry too much, Sarah. Life is what you make of it. Just be for a while; don't think about work, or what happened five or even ten years ago. Relax."
"I can't," she admitted on an explosive sigh. "Every gesture you make reminds of the first time I saw you do it; every conversation we have seems like a replay of one that we've already muddle our way through; everything we do together draws up the memory of what we did together last time. And then it all just leads back to how it ended." She sighed again. "I feel like I'm doing mental cartwheels and I can't stop."
"Did you do this last time?" Jareth asked quietly, a thoughtful look on his face. "Compare everything that was happening to what you already knew through the Labyrinth?"
Sarah snorted. "Yes, and it drove me crazy then, too."
"Well then, you see," he shook his head, a small smile curling his lips, "it's already been proven that it's simply not good for you to think so much. You, Miss Williams, live too much in the past."
That seemed like an odd statement coming from someone who was a projection of himself at a younger age. "I can't help it," she admitted, "you make me squirrelly."
He gave her a look of mock outrage. "I beg your pardon?"
"I never know what you're thinking," she explained, "so I always have to reference what I already know about you. And, generally speaking, what I already know about you tends to be a little on the multifaceted-somewhat-creepy side, so I end up analyzing both situations to figure out what makes one different from the other, and after that I take those differences and try to figure out how your going to act. Then you do act, and I'm almost always wrong, which makes me start analyzing things again, until it's a never-ending cycle and I'm out of my mind trying to figure out what the hell you're thinking." She took a deep breath, "See? You make me squirrelly."
"You could just ask, you know," he said bemusedly.
"Oh please," she snorted, "your brand of truth is more twisted than a corkscrew."
Jareth gave her a very blank stare, then replied in a bland tone, "Yes, well, no one ever said I had to honest; I merely suggested that you ask instead of doing mental acrobats. I mean, if you're going to be wrong anyway, you might as well settle for the almost-but-not-quite truth that I'd be likely to give you."
"No," she said, giving him a blank stare in return. "Maybe you should try it sometime," Sarah recommended snidely, "because then you'd remember that I'm stubborn. I might not like my mental stumblings, but that's my system and I'm sticking to it."
He squeezed her knee, as though finally realizing where his hand was. "You, Miss Sarah, are in desperate need of sex."
Oran kept a careful eye on the land. The Underground was a dynamic oasis that catered to the magically inclined. It was nature at her most splendorous and yet, at the same time, it was manufactured. The Underground only existed because Jareth had willed it to be so, a fact that still chilled many people and made then understandably wary of their king. Some of the land upon which they had resided in the mortal realm had come with them, but the vast majority of it his son had created. Now, with Jareth ill as he was, some of the land was starting to waiver. The ties that kept their world away from the mortals were unwinding, and once they were gone the Underground would be no more.
Could they go back to living in the realm of the humans? After such a long absence was it possible to once again coexist with their mortal brethren?
He had a feeling that the answer was no.
The alliance between themselves and man had always been tenuous, at best, and in the absence of Oran's kind man had developed their own magic through science and reasoning. If the magic lands suddenly found themselves back to where they had once been, along with all the creatures that inhabited them, then the humans would stop at nothing to find some scientifically viable explanation. The greatest horror of all was the paradoxical reasoning of humans; to understand how something lived, they always had to see it die first.
Jareth had avoided a full out war between the two races, those many centuries ago. Oran would never be able to approve of the Labyrinth or it's utilization, but he could not fault the younger monarch with his decision to slip away from the mortal realm. Despite the awesome and terrifying power it had proven his son to possess, that drastic action had saved countless lives and, indeed, made him one of the greatest ruling kings ever.
That wondrous achievement was coming undone and no one had the power to stop it, save for Jareth himself. What was a father to do when he was faced with losing both his child and his home? The Twins had suggested preemptive diplomacy but…
The Twins.
Oran wracked his brain, trying to remember the last time he had seen his dubious duo. The past few month were a hazy blur of grief and helplessness, one in which the Twins' faces were markedly absent. They had always made themselves scarce during moments of grief, leaving Oran to believe that their natural levity didn't allow them to handle the situation well so they preferred to be alone in such moments, but Jareth meant the world to those boys. It didn't make sense that they would stay away when the older brother that they idolized in so many ways was in need of all the help he could get. Unless…
Unless they were helping.
Oran knew each son as well as they would let him. With Jareth he had always shared a close bond, even during their darkest days; he had known, from the moment his tempestuous child of winter was born, that this son would be very much like his father. He had tried to form the same deep relationship with Laim, but Imm had come so close on his heels and they had kept each other's counsel from the first. Of course, some things he instinctively knew about them simply because he was their father and had done his best to help raise them but, when it really came right down to it, he only knew what they let him know.
His Autumn and Spring were fun loving, but there were two sides to every coin. They had learned many tricks at their older brother's hands, and not all of those tricks had been pleasant ones. For as much as they loved to make others laugh they, too, knew when and how to be brutal and calculating.
Oran sighed heavily, knowing he would have to find his wayward sons before they made the situation any worse or somehow managed to violate Jareth's ridiculously complex contract. Why was it that the only person in the family not scheming was his dear, sweet wife?
As a matter of fact, his dear, sweet wife was scheming.
Five years of watching one of her babies deteriorate until he was hardly there anymore was more than any mother could take. And, she knew, there was another mother out there just as worried about her own babies.
Leshia strolled serenely through the country neighborhood, her sights set on the aging Victorian at the end of the lane. She had decided that it was just about time that she met Karen Williams and the infamous Toby.
Sarah snorted, desperately trying to hold in a laugh. "Why is it that men think sex can cure everything?"
Jareth stood up and leaned against the edge of the table, his legs nearly brushing her own. "Because it can," he stated resolutely.
This time she did laugh, focusing on their banter rather than how close he was. "Yeah, I can see it now: you'll slowly be stripping off my clothes and I'll start analyzing your preferences based upon the clothing that you've dressed me in over the years, then you'll start kissing and groping and I'll just be sitting there wondering how and why it's different from the times we've made out in the past."
"You ought to be careful, little Sarah," he said lowly, his eyes smoldering as his posture became, if possible, even lazier. "That sounds a lot like a challenge from where I'm standing."
"Really?" she asked sarcastically. "Because it sounds an awful lot like criticism from over here."
He was on her in an instant, pulling her to her feet as he hungrily slanted his lips over her own.
A/N: The good news is my schedule is pretty straightforward this semester, leaving me ample time to write. The bad news is I really want to get the first story of The Never Series done before I write the next chapter. But, honestly, we'll just have to wait and see because this first installment has been running away from me ever since I began writing it. Anyway, I'll be sure to get something done to get my weekly updates rolling again.
A big 'thank you' to everyone who has sent in their reviews and encouragements! It never ceases to amaze me how wonderful and supportive you guys are.
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Disclaimer: Jareth, Sarah, and all other characters of Labyrinth belong to Henson Productions and Industrial Light and Illusions. Oran, the Twins, Leshia, and all miscellaneous characters are my own.