Lunch went as expected. Which is to say, it was fucking insane in the quietest way possible.

One thing that Sarah had never had the chance to get used to were giant family gatherings. Her own amounted to six people, maybe ten if you really wanted to push it. This? This was something else entirely.

"How many people would you say there are here?" asked Jareth cheerfully, spooning mashed potatoes onto first Sarah's plate, then his.

"I don't know."

"Give it a guess."

"At least five."

"Well, you're not wrong."

Of course, Sarah wasn't wrong. There were at least five people at the reunion, much in the same way that there's at least one bird in a gaggle of migrating geese.

The tables for lunch were set up in the back yard. Which was less of a yard and more of a pasture, but nobody cared to make that distinction. And yes, tables in the multiple. There were five. Five tables. Which took a while for Sarah to properly process. Jareth's family was big enough to require five rather large tables, and yet she'd only seen five since her arrival. That impression had only lasted until someone screeched "LUNCH!"

As if by magic, people started flooding into the pasture and settling down, pushing and yelling and talking. Among them were the four who had greeted them on the driveway, as well as the asshole who had accidentally left with Jareth's shit back when they first got acquainted.

"So do we just sit anywhere?" asked Sarah suspiciously, keeping close to Jareth's right side.

"In theory."

"And in practice?"

"Well..."

xxx

"Jareth, please explain to me what we're doing under the table."

"This is the only way to stay clear."

"Stay clear of what?"

"Shut up and eat your potatoes."

xxx

"Mum! I found Uncle Jareth! He's under the snack tables!"

"Caleb, I will PAY you to go away."

"Mum's already paying me to find you."

"How much?"

"Ten bucks."

Jareth sighed.

"Sarah," he said carefully, "Do you have a fiver?"

Sarah didn't.

xxx

"...and then I said to Dane, 'Stop pissing on the petunias!'"

The adults at the table tittered and giggled. The teenagers looked like they were ready to commit seppuku with a butter knife. Jareth looked much the same. Sarah just wanted to make someone stop piling potatoes onto her plate.

"Well, love, it's your turn now," someone said, gently patting Sarah's arm.

The actress was forced to look up and straight into the eyes of another blond, blue eyed, wrinkled, trophy wife.

"What?"

"I told an embarrassing story about my boyfriend. Gaia, Pansy, and Dana have all spilled about theirs, so now it's your turn!"

Sarah gave the faces around her a long, hard, look. There was no getting out of this.

"Well, what sort of story would you like to hear?" she asked, resigned.

The crowd went 'ooh' and 'ah!'

"Well," said the woman who had first spoken, "You pull a word out of this hat here, and that's your keyword!"

The gaggle watched with wide eyes and flashing teeth as Sarah nonchalantly dug around in the hat and picked out a slip.

"Dancing," she read aloud.

A series of mutters.

"Well, do all of you know how we met?" Sarah asked brightly.

This piqued the crowd's interest considerably.

"Well, it was a lonely evening, and..."

Jareth moaned and slid further down his chair, hoping to disappear entirely under the tablecloth.

xxx

"Jareth," whispered Sarah, "I just saw someone pull a giant flask from under her dress, pour its contents into a teacup, stick it back, and then continue on with her conversation with your grandmother."

"So?" asked Jareth, picking up yet another wine bottle, reading the label, and putting it down, "A good two thirds of everyone here is at least a little bit drunk."

"She looked thirteen."

"Did she have glasses? Round face? White dress?"

"Yes."

"That's Fae. She's well over the drinking age, I assure you."

"Damn. What is it with your family and your genetics?!"

"Oh, don't feel too bad, the girl's eighteen."

Sarah slapped him upside the head.

"What was that for?!"

"For your family forgetting which side of the pond they're on! The legal age here is twenty one!"

Jareth sighed and looped an arm around Sarah's waist, "Precious, how old were you when you started drinking?"

"That's irrelevant."

"Come on."

"Twenty one."

"You're lying."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am- Fine. Seventeen."

"See?"

"In my defense, I am not a good role model!"

"Oh, please. What did you do? Stay out past your curfew?"

Sarah kept silent.

"...I'm getting the feeling I'd rather not know."

xxx

About halfway through lunch (which lasted about least three hours), Jareth had slipped away to somewhere else and Sarah was left to the mercy of the Kings. Figuring that the only way to get away from this was to quietly sit in a corner and pretend to eat, she decided to do just that. Unfortunately, every corner was occupied by someone with a similar idea. She looked around for what seemed like the lesser of the evils and settled on a passive looking man tucking away into a chicken leg. Even hunched over, he looked incredibly tall, with silvering dark hair and sleepy, gray, eyes.

Sarah quietly skulked over to him, pointed to the chair closest, and said, "Is this seat taken?"

The man shook his head.

"May I sit there?"

He nodded.

And Sarah sat. Well, they both sat in a friendly sort of silence until the man finished his chicken.

"I'm Ron," the man said in a mellow voice with a stereotypically European sort of accent.

"Sarah."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

They sat in silence for a while longer.

"The chicken's good."

"Yeah? I've mostly been stuck with potatoes."

"Do you want some chicken?"

"I'm good, thanks."

A pause.

"Sorry. I'm sure the chicken's great and all..."

"It's fine. Let's pretend we're talking so no one else tries to join in."

"That's a solid plan."

"I like you."

"Likewise. Do you know how to play Cat's Cradle?"

"No."

"Do you want to learn?"

"Sure."

It was a short while longer before Jareth returned and stood there for a while, looking horrified.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"What?" asked Sarah, looking up from the string tied around her fingers.

"Hello Jareth," said Ron pleasantly, "Haven't seen you in a while."

"I'm just here for Sarah..." Jareth said, looking a bit awkward.

"Never time for the old man, eh?" Ron asked.

"You're..." stuttered Sarah, "You're Jareth's dad?"

"So say the paternity tests," Ron said mildly.

If not for the clamor of other relatives, it would have been dead silent.

"I'm joking," said Ron, "Jareth, your mother's wearing off on me."

"That's too bad."

"Really?"

"Really. Mother's insane."

"Even I know that," muttered Sarah, trying to move the string from one finger to another.

"Sit down, Jareth," said Ron, "We're playing Cat's Cradle."

"Ok," said Jareth, obediently sitting down between Sarah and his father, "What form are you on?"

"I'll start you off on the easiest," said Sarah.

Jareth snorted, "I've been playing this since before you were born!"

"Oh, the memories you must have from when you were three! I've been playing this for ten minutes. Five bucks says I'm still better than you."

"You're on."

Ron smiled serenely and sat back, watching the two bicker as lunch came to an end.

Author's Note:
Jareth's dad seems to be the one sane person in this whole place.
Up next, babysitting!

By the way, if anyone is hoping for some sort of update schedule, there isn't one. Reviews are a really great motivation for finishing chapters, though, because there's physical evidence of people liking this shit. So, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, liked, followed this story. You guys are, for better or for worse, what keeps it going! Pat yourselves on the back. No, really. Do it. You're great. I love you.