A.N.: First order of business, I do have a collaborator for my next Laby piece, so yay!

Second order of business: recently there was a bit of a kerfuffle on the "Labyrinth Nook" tumblr about Jareth's makeup and how it often does not come up in fics, along with some scoffing that when it is addressed it's as "fey markings." This never bothered me, and really, the whole thing is something of a non-issue to me, but for the sake of fairness, I thought I'd go with both in this chapter – some natural coloring enhanced with cosmetics. Cause it makes total sense to me (though if you asked me to choose between whether he's born with it or it's Maybelline, I'd personal go for the first option). But I'm always open for discussion, so I'd love to hear what you guys think.

Third order of business: I don't know if this even matters, but Ben Brantley is the chief theater critic for the New York Times, and he is to be respected and feared (though I think Sarah would be able to stand up to him better than most. He's not the Goblin King).

Final order of business: the goblin named Wog is meant as a nonsense name, not a racial slur. Because, come on, seriously?

Final final order of business: Yay, Chet is back to edit! This one actually had to go through a great deal of reorganization, thus the wait. Heap your thanks upon the mighty Chet!

Now, for the reviews!

Honoria Granger: Now that is not something I'd thought of, but would certainly be interesting, and/or hilarious. I'm pretty sure Jareth would win that fight by virtue of throwing goblins at that problem until it's no longer a problem. But damn, I almost want to see that now. I can picture Sarah wiggling in Hades' grasp and going, "Fine, I chose the Goblin King, he looks good compared to this, are you happy?"

Danni98: Not to worry, neither myself nor Jareth would ever allow that to be the end.

Whyndancer: Haha, fair enough, though perhaps I wasn't clear enough. And as a knitter, I love your comparison.

(The rest of you I either responded to privately, or otherwise just owe a "Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy it!")

…...

Later on, if it turns to chaos,

A hurricane coming all around us

See the crack, pull it back from the window

You stay low

Say when

"Say When," The Fray

…...

Sarah felt sure her bed had never been so comfortable. Everything felt plush and soft and be-feathered, the sheets were smooth and clean with the smell of spices, and it was so warm. Keeping her eyes closed, she stretched languorously beneath the blankets, frowning slightly at the pounding of her head. Why...? Oh, it was New Year's Day. She didn't remember drinking that much, but-

Eyes still closed, Sarah rolled gently to her side, her right arm pillowed beneath her, still sighing contentedly. She had an audition on Tuesday. Alright, she'd get up, eat a little toast, take a hot shower; she'd call her accompanist and start practicing "On the Steps of the Palace." She was good at playing Cinderella, it usually got her parts. As for the monologue, Antigone, or something more modern? She was supposed to have lunch with her agent, call her mother-

"I know you're awake."

Sarah's green eyes shot open: a voice, a man's voice, the man's voice – in her bedroom? With a gasp, she sat straight up, pulling the burgundy sheet up with her, and realized she was most definitely not in her bedroom, let alone her bed: where the white walls of her apartment bedroom were made of thin plaster, this palatial master suite was made from hewn stone. Instead of her drab, stained grey carpet, the ebony floor was covered in a rich tapestry of colors in woven rugs that outdid anything her mother had ever shown her at Sak's. There were no storm windows; there were no glass panes of any kind, instead the open half-circle cut into the fortress walls were covered by heavy silk panels that, surprisingly, kept out the winter cold. And it was cold, or would have been, had there not been a massive fire crackling merrily away in its hearth on the other side of the room – in height, the fireplace outdid Sarah by at least a foot, maybe more. She would have taken in the rich furnishings, the gauzy canopy of the four-poster bed she was sitting in, the tapestries on the wall that depicted scenes of battle and of glory, and most of all she would have taken in the Goblin King (who sat watching her with one leg thrown over the arm of an overstuffed lounge chair, affecting a pose of indolence, but his true feelings were betrayed by the intensity of the look in his eyes), but for the fact that nearly as soon as her emerald eyes were open, a massive pounding started in her skull. Sarah cried out weakly, closing her eyes tightly again and laying her cool fingers to her temple.

Jareth stood from his chair and crossed to her in the bed (his bed, she felt sure), leaning over her but not touching her. "I feel like I got hit by a truck," she mewled, still cradling her aching brain.

With a soft chuckle and smirk, he brought his gloved fingers to her temples, working in soothing motions. "Close enough," he murmured in reply, and Sarah could not restrain a sigh as a cool sort of magic dripped from his hands and seemed to make their way into her head, softening the pain until it was almost non-existent. "You were out for quite some time."

"Was I?" If he'd told her she had been drinking too much on New Year's Eve, at that moment, Sarah would have believed him, for her mind felt like it walked in a fog and nothing made sense. "Why...I was..." Just then, Sarah gasped again, pulling her head (reluctantly) from his fingers and bolting out of the bed on unsteady legs. "Am I dead!"

"Sarah," his tone held a mild annoyance that was almost paternal. "Get back in bed."

"Oh shit," she began to shake further, her hands wringing around themselves. "This is hell, isn't it, I'm in-" The young woman paused and looked down at herself: she most certainly had not gone either to bed or gotten into her car dressed like this. It was a satin nightgown, white, ending just at the tops of her thighs and all hemmed in with soft, pink velvet. The bodice was square cut and showed off the swell of her breast in what she would have considered a very nice fashion if she weren't mortified. "Did you-" she started, holding down the gown with one hand and using the other to point an accusing finger at the Goblin King.

Jareth raised his lip in a none-too-pleased sneer. "Rest assured, Sarah," he drawled, turning his gaze from her into the crackling fire. "When I divest women of their clothing, I make sure they're conscious for it." With another of his trademark smirks, he turned to look at her again – and oh yes, he was definitely making a careful study of it, with her looking like that. He wiggled the fingers of one of his gloved hands at her and purred, "Magic, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Sarah muttered, sinking back to the edge of the massive bed (it put king sized beds to shame) and refusing to stop glaring at him. "I'll just bet you have undressing magic you whip out at the proper moments."

"Would you like a demonstration?"

"No! Jareth...w-what's going on?" she stammered a little now, eyes going tight with her nerves, the ghost of her headache returning. "I thought...that is, you said you would..."

"Ah, ah, ah, my love..." he sighed lightly, crossing to her at the bed and using his thumb and forefinger to tweak her chin. "Someone hasn't been reading their Coleridge."

Sarah paused, stretching her mind back to her college literature courses, pale brow furrowed. "Um...'In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/ a stately pleasure-dome decree?'"

The Goblin King paused, blinking his strange eyes for a moment. "Oh," he seemed to puzzle out. "It wasn't the passage I had in mind, but I do see how it would fit – at least in my bedroom."

Sarah wrinkled her nose at him and at last pulled her chin free of his grip. "Please talk sense."

Jareth waved a dismissive hand at her, turning away from the bed and crossing to one of his many shelves, lined with the spines of beautiful, ancient, multi-colored texts. He observed them for a moment, two fingers to his chin and humming lightly to himself before he at last softly cried, "Ah ha!" and plucked a book from its brothers. He seemed to open it quite at random, never even looking at the pages, and put it in Sarah's lap with little more than a, "Here."

Young Miss Williams looked down, utterly confused and sure she could feel her headache returning. "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?" Strange choice for Goblin reading, but she didn't even want to begin to think about why British poets were being read in the Underground. "Alright, I'm game," she muttered more to herself than to her host, perusing the page in front of her. Right, ghost ship, Death and Life-In-Death, playing dice over the life of the mariner... "I'm glad to hear you appreciate the classics, Jareth," Sarah sighed, looking up but not closing the book. "But this really isn't all that edifying."

"Isn't it?" She was not surprised to find he had begun to twist two crystals in his palm while she read, but she was a bit surprised when he rolled them gently toward her. As soon as the glittering globes touched the coverlet, they changed their shape in the blinking of an eye, taking on the form of...dice? Well, one was definitely the standard six-sided die she was used to seeing, the other seemed an impossible combination of shapes and numbers, but she picked them both up in her soft palm.

They were a bit...warm to the touch. It seemed Jareth was going to continue to spin riddles around her, until Sarah had the foresight to take up the regular die between her thumb and forefinger – where it swayed tellingly. "Jareth...this die is weighted."

"As smart as she is pretty," the Goblin King purred, pulling up a chair to sit across from where she was on his bed. "Unfortunately, Death is such a trusting fellow, he never does check when I bring the dice. You'd think he'd learn after so many millenia."

Sarah found herself still confused, but that quickly gave way to pure mortification, an angry blush coloring her cheeks. "You played dice for my immortal soul?"

"You don't need to look so betrayed. I won, didn't I?" And he snickered to himself, which was not something Sarah had ever seen him do before, but the gesture suited him in an intimate way. "'The game is done! I've won! I've won!' Not the prettiest of the lines, but it is appropriate, isn't it?"

Without hesitation, Sarah hurled the pair of dice straight at his sniggering head. Jareth caught them smoothly in his gloved hand, never taking his eyes from hers. "What if you lost, you great ass!"

He was all seriousness now, an intensity in his blue-and-amber eyes that had not been there before, or leastwise had been carefully hidden. "I would not have lost."

"You don't know that-" She began to turn on the bed to get away from him, but before she could, Jareth had seized her chin; not hard, but holding, and she felt she could not look away from his intense stare.

"Sarah." Was it an order, a question, a comfort, the way he said her name? It was all, it was nothing, it was much more, and she found herself looking into his cut glass face and unable to turn away. "I would not have lost. Not you. Not ever. Not even Death would be able to stop me, I would turn back the hands of time and wrest you from his grip by force, but I would not have lost you."

"W-well..." Her voice shook, but Sarah felt gratified to know her hands were at least steady, the first time in an age, it seemed. "...isn't there a punishment for cheating Death? It doesn't seem like he'd take that too kindly."

"Oh, nonsense." Jareth easily broke the intensity of the moment, releasing her face from his hands and standing, letting the dice fall to the floor and disappear in a cloud of vapor. "People cheat Death all the time, Sarah, surely you've heard that turn of phrase."

"I didn't think it was generally used literally."

"Well, mortal beings are so terrified of him, they never think to try, do they? No, poor fellow is such a sport and a gentleman, it happens all the time and he just lets it. I suppose I ought to send him something as a peace offering...maybe a fruit basket." Sarah flopped back on the bed with an aggravated sigh; okay, so she wasn't dead – sorta – but that didn't mean she wasn't in hell. An insane version of hell populated by her fondest nightmares. In a quiet movement, the Goblin King leaned over her on the bed, so that his corn silk hair tickled her cheeks as he grinned down at her with pointed teeth. "Feel free to thank me effusively at any moment."

"Jareth," she asked, pushing his hair behind his pointed ears so it would stop tickling her. "What happens now? Can I ever die?"

"No. I've won your soul for the Goblin Kingdom, Death forfeitted his hold on you." Almost as if he was afraid of what she might ask him next, he pressed on, "And no going back to the mortal realm." It was almost a snarl, but it belied the quiet desperation in his voice.

"I expected that," Sarah sighed, sitting up, so that he stepped back to maintain a respectful – albeit small – distance. "Everyone in the Aboveground thinks I'm dead, I can't just show up and then make a living making bets in bars that I won't die..."

"...well, that's quite the reasonable answer, coming from you."

"You do know what to say to a lady in her darkest hour."

"I thank you."

"But...what am I going to do here?"

There was not a moment of hesitation on his part; with a quick movement, he conjured a crystal and held it to her, which became a small, black, velvet box in his palm. Sarah didn't need to open it, even though she'd never been offered such a thing in her (now painfully short) life, she knew exactly what it was. "You could always become my Queen."

A silence stretched on between them that was only lessened by the crackling of the fire in its hearth. At last, Sarah sighed, brushing her hair from her eyes. "It's nice of you to ask, but I am really in no kind of position to be getting engaged right now."

Jareth scowled, but he must have thought the answer a fair one, because he didn't seem terribly put out, dismissing the magic gift with a short wave of his hand. "Then in the meantime, I suggest you rest up. You were taxed mentally, emotionally and physically, and it may take you some time to recover."

He was crossing to the door to leave. "Wait, but where will I stay?"

"Here." He pointed to the floor of his bedroom and opened the heavy wooden door. "And don't leave the room. I will return later to check on you." It seemed he would leave right then, turning his back to her, but he paused, facing her with that usual twinkle in his strange eyes. "And Sarah?"

"...yeah?"

"Do have sweet dreams, my precious thing – preferably of me." And he left.

Sarah flopped back on the bed, her dark hair creating a fanned halo on the soft pillow. He could be mercurial and cold, playing dice for her very life one minute and quoting 19th century British poetry the next. She would have felt exhausted even without her body being pulled from the wreckage of a car.

…...

Most of the day – at least, she thought it was day – Sarah slept. Sometimes, she cried, thinking of her father and mother, thinking of Karen and Jeremy, thinking of all her friends in the theater. She thought about her agent, her manager, her accompanist, her high school math teacher who bumped her grade up to a B- when it was clear that she really was trying to understand algorithms. Most of all, she thought about Toby, the person who had started her on this grand adventure in the first place. Toby called her at least twice a week, sometimes just to talk, sometimes for advice. It was his first year in high school: he needed to complain about how much harder everything was, how unfair his teachers were (and while Sarah would scold anyone else for saying something was unfair, she never scolded Toby), or just ask for advice on girls. He needed a lot of advice for that particular teenage problem. She was going to miss her apartment that never had enough hot water, except in the middle of a New York summer; she was going to miss flipping through the Times to see if Ben Brantley had deigned to visit one of her shows, and if he'd mentioned her performance; but most of all, she was going to miss Toby. Birthday parties with Toby, getting through painfully boring family reunions with Toby, just sharing a quiet moment with Toby.

Even if she wasn't dead, she felt rather dead, laying in Jareth's bed, sprawled out because she didn't know how else to be. The fire had grown low, and the room was mainly dark, and it was then that the heavy, ornate wooden door creaked open, and a tray with a bowl seemed to levitate about three feet in the air in her direction.

For this, Sarah rolled over, and quickly realized that much less than magic was at work here; it wasn't levitating, it was being carried on the head of a small, scruffy goblin. A silver platter with a bowl of some sort of liquid steaming away, a lump of what she assumed to be brown bread, and a small pot of something on the side. "Lady?" the goblin whispered in its thin, raspy voice, and Sarah sat up a little, intrigued; she'd never spent much time with the goblins, she'd never wanted to before.

"I'm awake," she said, beating the pillows into a form suitable as a chair, smoothing out the sheets on the bed.

"You eat soup now?" It was somewhere between a statement and a question, and the little thing struggled to push the tray onto the bed without spilling a drop of the precious broth. Sarah helped obligingly, setting the platter on her lap and watching the little goblin watch her. It was a thin, broth-y soup, with some sort of green herbs floating away on the pale golden surface. It steamed with heat and smelled wonderful. She had been right about the brown bread, and the small, earthenware pot turned out to be grainy mustard. She wasn't entirely sure what to do with that, so she just left it be, bending to the soup. Its heat seemed to seep into her very bones, and she gave a relieved, sighing purr. The goblin perked up his long ears. "Soup good?"

"It is. Did you make this?"

He wrinkled his long nose and shook his head. "No, Wog no allowed make soup."

"Wog? Is that your name?" He nodded vigorously, his wispy hairs and long ears bobbing up and down with the motion. After a moment, Sarah patted a place beside her in the huge bed. "Do you want to sit with me?"

Its yellowy eyes widened in the dark of the bedroom, clearly tempted, but the little creature known as Wog looked about furtively. "King no like goblins on bed."

"Okay, but the King's not here."

"He find out."

"I'll tell him I asked you to sit with me. How mad can he possibly be?"

"...Lady no let King bog Wog?"

Sarah smiled a little, her pale lips pulling slightly at the corners. "No, King no bog Wog." With a squeaking sort of glee, Wog seized the fine, woven cover with his long, knobby fingers and hauled himself up onto the King's bed, settling very close to Sarah and seeming as content as an otherworldly cat. He was cute in an ugly sort of way, a little like a bulldog, and he smelled vaguely of chickens – which wasn't a pleasant odor, but Wog wore it well, and he watched every single sip of soup that Sarah took; not out of hunger, but out of a clear desire to see her fed and ensure his task was completed. "So, Wog," she asked him as she ripped off a hunk of the dark bread. "Why aren't you allowed to make soup?"

"Wog no allowed in kitchens."

"Why not?"

Small, scrawny Wog sighed, turning his yellow eyes on Sarah with a look that said, "You poor, simple child, you really don't know anything, do you?" "Two kinds of goblins," Wog ever so patiently explained, ticking off the different races on his long, thin fingers. "Smart goblins, dumb goblins. Smart kind work in kitchen, so no one get sick on bad food. Wog dumb." His chest puffed with pride even as Sarah's brow furrowed.

"Wog, don't say that about yourself."

His very big eyes became a little softer now, seeming quite upset at this order. "But Wog is dumb..."

"Do you like calling yourself that?" Wog shook his head enthusiastically. Sarah sighed. "Okay, whatever..." When it was clear she was done eating, Wog wiggled himself off the bed, taking hold of the tray and re-balancing it on his bumpy little head. "Um, Wog?" Sarah asked him, and the small, fairytale creature paused, turning to look up at the woman. "Where's Jare- I mean, the Goblin King."

"King in throne room."

"What's he doing?"

"...sitting!" Wog seemed very pleased with this answer, but he did not nod his head lest he drop the items on the tray.

"Is he coming back? I'd hate to kick him out of his room..."

"King come back when time go sleepy." The little creature's eyes darted this way and that, and he leaned in toward Sarah, who leaned down to hear him as he whispered conspiratorially. "King no make music, smart goblin say he worried."

"Worried?" Sarah quirked one of her eyebrows. It was not an emotion she would have ascribed to the Goblin King. "What's he got to be worried about?"

Wog blinked at her. "Lady!"

"Me?"

"Lady get mad again, break castle?"

"No," she huffed, pulling herself back up a little. "And it wasn't intentional the first time. Is that what he's worried about?"

Wog shook his head. "No. What Wog worried about."

"Well, no castle breaking."

"What about Goblin City?"

Sarah pretended to consider that, and smiled a little when Wog's eyes went wider. "Alright, no breaking the Goblin City either."

"Lady promise?"

"Lady promise."

Wog sighed in relief, letting his shoulders sag a little. Thus assured, he seemed willing to divulge more secrets. "Smart goblin say King worried Lady no like him. Why you no like King, Lady? He good King, sing good songs, let us drink lots of ale-"

"Woah, back up, what now?"

"...you hate King?"

She would have been willing to go back to the topic of Jareth singing to a mess of rowdy goblins, but the other subject seemed just as important. "Does he think I hate him?" Wog nodded. "...I don't." It was as much a surprise to Sarah as it would have been to the King, she felt sure, and she flopped back on the bed with a sigh. "No more questions right now, Wog, my head's hurting again." Wog nodded at her and did not speak another word, slipping so quietly out the bedroom door she almost didn't hear him.

...huh. She didn't hate Jareth. There was a time she had, she was sure, or did, and it was all well deserved, but this time he'd...well, he'd played remarkably fair with her, which was a bit of a shocker. She asked him to reorder time, he had. She asked to take her family's place in Death's clutches, he'd arranged it. He even had cheated Death to save her, or at least sort of save her. Okay, that meant she was more or less in his debt (in his power, she glumly noted), but it was far past worth being angry about such things. Really, would she rather have just been dead than in Jareth's bedroom? Sarah shuddered; definitely not. She'd grown up in thirteen years, she wasn't as stubborn and prideful as all that. Now, there was going to be a price for all this, ahem, "generosity," on his part, but Sarah had said she'd do anything, and she'd meant it. And he wasn't been lubricious or pushy: he left her alone, in his own bedroom, and sent her soup. If his behavior wasn't perfect earlier, it was still remarkably genteel for a Goblin King. There were way worse ways this thing could have gone, she thought to herself, staring up at the darkly colored canopy that hung over the bed. This time, at the very least, Jareth really had only done what she'd asked him to do.

There was, of course, the question of why, but Sarah was twenty eight, she'd lived as an adult in the world for some time now. If he continued to be as non-forceful as he had so far, well, she wouldn't really lose anything by catering to his whims, at least for a little while. Not that she liked paying people off in sex, and she certainly wasn't about to start making a habit out of it, but-

"Oh, to hell with it." Sarah sighed, dropping one of her arms over her tired eyes. She was a woman, she knew she found Jareth entirely far too sexy. She was big enough to admit it. She was in no kind of mood to just roll into bed with him (well, more than she already had, in his bed as she was), but she'd have been lying to everyone – including herself – if she claimed the idea filled her with revulsion. It did not.

But having said that, nor did it light her insides on fire and make her ache and squirm for a demon lover. Sarah could not have been aroused in her current state if the Goblin King had begun a strip tease next to a chocolate fountain, with roses in his teeth and "Stairway to Heaven," playing in the background. She was emotionally deadened, and her body followed suit. In a way, Sarah was still mourning her family, since it felt too strange to mourn herself. Besides, they might as well have been dead, for all she could reach out to them. The knowledge that they weren't, that she had saved them, was some comfort, but it was bitter and cold at best. The soup seemed to have given her a little energy, for she pulled herself from the bed. She also found she was far too alert to simply fall back asleep, no matter how dead inside she was.

"Come on, Williams," she sighed to herself, slipping out of the massive bed to the smooth, dark wood of the floor, which she was surprised to find was warm under her bare feet. "You're in a fairytale castle and the guest of a king, even if that king is Jareth. Things could be better, but you might as well make the most of it." Allowing the spirit of adventure to distract her even that much from her fully understandable malaise, she began to pad softly about the master suite.

Sarah tested the door she'd seen both Jareth and Wog leave through, and was relieved to note it was unlocked. If Jareth meant to keep her here, at least he wasn't stupid enough to rile her by leaving her no choice. With this in mind, she opened the heavy cedar door, and peered into a dark hallway, save for the sputtering of a few torches on the wall and populated only by the occasional, silvery cobweb. There was no one that would stop her if she chose to leave. However...Sarah shut the door again. There were a lot of reasons not to leave the bedroom right now. For one thing, it was taking all her mental fortitude to keep herself together in this room, its quiet luxuriance becoming slowly comforting. Given too much stimulation to roam the castle, she knew herself well enough to know she'd be exhausted and back to focusing on Toby and her family and being miserable. Healing should be done in little steps, if it was to be done at all. For another thing, she was still wearing the mysterious white night slip from before, and if she was going to go marching around a bunch of goblins (and their King), she'd prefer to do so...more fully dressed.

Rather than going over the laundry lists of pros versus cons vis a vis leaving the bedroom, Sarah bent her attention to investigating the rest of the master suite; after all, there were other doors she had yet to open. The first she tried was situated on the far wall opposite the bedroom door, the one she'd seen Jareth go into last night to change. It yielded easily to her tug, and a small, dark room greeted her. After fumbling with one of the candles on a side table, she carefully stepped inside.

A closet. A giant, walk-in closet. For heaven's sakes, Jareth's closet was as big as her entire apartment bedroom. It stood to reason, she mused to herself with an audible sigh, blowing away a lock of her dark hair – the man's vanity was enormous. For one thing, it was obscene for a man to own that many pairs of shoes; mostly they were boots, but the very occasional dress shoe could be found among them. Riding boots, rubber boots, military boots, more boots than she even knew how to describe. They came in a dark rainbow of colors, from deepest black to pale and creamy white, lingering mainly on the shady end of the spectrum with smokey greys and rich browns. Another wall was devoted to his silk shirts, almost all deeply cut in the front with lace cuffs, and again, mostly black through white with the standard shade variations. She was pleased to note, however, that occasional striking colors would pop out among them; a crimson red or a cerulean blue. Sometimes a turquoise, sometimes a royal purple. Sarah found herself lingering on some shirts and thinking how they might bring out the color of his strange eyes before she was able to awaken herself from such stupidity. The man preened worse than a peacock...time to investigate the pants. She was not at all surprised to find they were mainly those incredibly tight, form fitting breeches, cut so snug that he didn't seem to require any belt for any of his trousers. Very rarely, something a little less...revealing would be found, something closer to a slack, but mainly it was all excessively tight breeches. Set into one wall was a tiny cupboard all its own, and this was revealed to contain a wide variety of mainly white, lacy cravats and ties and jabots, though sometimes a tie she might have been able to find at a fifth avenue boutique made an appearance. She was strangely gratified to see there was really no jewelry in these velvet-lined drawers, not even very many tie-tacks or cufflinks. It was an odd thing to take comfort in, given how Jareth fed his passion for fashion in so many other ways, but she always thought it was a good study of character to see what a man denied himself as well as what he indulged in. In fact, the shiniest things she could find there were a few golden pocket watches – one had the face of a goblin, like his armor from the other night, another had the wide, peering eyes of an owl that were inlaid with precious gems that matched his own eyes. Flipping the watches open, she snorted with no trace of surprise to see the hours went to thirteen.

Sarah stumbled out of the closet and took a deep breath; she felt a little like she'd just come back from a trip to a perverse Narnia. Enough prying into her host's personal affects anyway – she spied another door kitty-corner to this one, and made straight for it, an odd kind of energy flowing through to her fingers, if only because she was an another adventure, albeit a small one.

This door opened to...an antechamber of sorts? A boudoir? Mirrors lined almost every wall, and one stood on hinges with three sides so one could get a good view of anything that needed to be studied. A vanity was lined with subtly glowing crystals, and on the smooth surface sat an array of different tools and props: Sarah caught sight of a palette of cosmetics, and recognized the shades as those she'd seen round Jareth's eyes and nose in the brief occasions they had clashed in the past. The didn't seem well used, though, and the brushes nearby were all well-maintained and clean. Next to them on the startlingly organized vanity were an array of small, crystal vials, and Sarah carefully removed the droppers of each one and took a curious whiff: every bottle but the last were colognes of strange, masculine scents, yet the vials were all very nearly full. Like the makeup, it seemed a little-used enhancement to Jareth's already present, preternatural beauty and seductive power. That last mentioned bottle, however, was different. It smelled of wild violets and fresh, spring rain, and Sarah had the oddest feeling that it had been placed there...for her.

She tried to dismiss the feeling, but found it would not leave her. It wasn't particularly a bothersome thought, but it was a little unsettling, and so if she couldn't banish it, she would simply ignore it, and she focused her attention on the rest of the boudoir. Yet another door stood before her, and this, she was unsurprised to note, led into a glorious, marble-lined bathroom. It was all white but for the smokey veins that wove through the marble, and Sarah found herself staring at the floor and walls, looking for seams in the cut stone and finding none, as if this room had been hollowed out from a house-sized piece of marble. White, thick and fluffy towels sat in piles on stones that were warm to the touch, a small dish of heated coals sat in one corner, waiting for water to create a sudden sauna. In one corner, a miniature waterfall poured in a gentle rain into a small basin, the water always cycling fresh. But what dominated this room was what lay waiting in its center, a perfectly round, impossibly wide and deep tub.

Sarah walked around it, mesmerized. It was as wide across as she was tall, and it seemed that at its deepest point it would have been able to reach her sternum. She thought about what it might look like filled with shimmering, warm water, and the corners of her lips tugged in a smile: like a crystal, of course, like a great floating bubble all its own. The edges of the tub were lined with yet more crystal vials, and she smelled them experimentally. These ones were masculine as well; a bath wash that smelled like cedar, a shampoo that smelled of coffee. One creamy concoction she determined was a kind of conditioner smelled like smoke, and a viscous liquid she couldn't even begin to guess at was a mix of fig and chocolate. She perused the bottles further and found one the color and scent of lavender...and smiled

"Oh, to hell with it. I'm taking a bath." No sooner had the words left her lips, but the taps of the tub turned on of their own accord and began rapidly filling the massive tub. Sarah squeaked and almost fell backwards, but she was able to steady herself, reminding in a quiet way, "Nothing too freaky, just disembodied magic. It probably can't hurt me." Cautiously, she ran her cold fingers under the water, and winced a little. "Um...just a tiny bit cooler, please?" The water obliged, and she licked her dry mouth, instantly fascinated. "Stop – please." The water stopped, the tub seeming to wait for further orders. Sarah paused, studied the tub, and shrugged again. "Please continue." It did so until the water just reached within an inch of the rim. Sarah did not hesitate to wiggle out of the satin slip. It was true she had nothing else to wear, but at this point, it could hardly matter. It didn't cover her so well that a towel would make a poor replacement, and besides...it might put Jareth in a good enough mood when he returned she could begin negotiating for some clothes that were more than a tiny step up from lingerie.

Sarah slipped into the tub with a sigh, letting the water coast over stiffened, tired muscles. It wasn't that she felt tremendously better, but hell, she was at least enjoying the fact she was alive right now. She had never wanted to die, and that hadn't changed. She continued to enjoy her almost Schrodinger's Cat-like state of life-in-death as she sank fully beneath the water, letting the warmth wash over her and thoroughly wetting her hair. Above the glossy surface, she noticed the water had a perfume to it as well, something light, but strong, akin to incense. She may never get to heaven, if it did exist, if she was as immortal as Jareth seemed to think, but a bath like this might be a close second. Sarah scrubbed vigorously at her hair and skin when she at last felt ready; she wasn't sure what it was she wanted to rub off herself, but it seemed important. Maybe her her mortal coil, maybe the scent of the soap and laundry detergent she used in her old apartment. Miss Sarah Williams was not a weak girl: if she was going to move forward in her life, it was going to be boldly done, even if the first few steps were small.

An hour might have gone by before she felt like she should pull herself from the tub, wrapping a fluffy towel around her body as she went. She felt as though she were in a deeply trance-like state, so relaxed was she, and the Goblin King could have burst through the bathing chamber door and she would not have flinched at him. Even so, she was just as glad he didn't, but given how he liked to make appearance at less-than-opportune moments, Sarah was a little surprised he wasn't waiting in the bedroom when she returned. What waited for her instead, however, was a beautiful, form-fitting dress: so very soft, and cut surprisingly modestly, a brown and olive color. Instinctively, she felt within her gut that Jareth had not laid this out for her. Any gift he gave her would have come with much teasing and insisting she show more cleavage, she knew him well enough to gather that much. Quickly pulling it over her head and smoothing out the long sleeves and the flat stomach, she went back to the boudoir to twirl in front of the mirror like she was in one of her theater costumes. "Beautiful..." Even with her wet hair dripping down her back, it was, she was. It was a strange thought, but if a goblin or lesser fey of some description had poked its head from around one of the mirrors and informed her it was the Labyrinth itself bestowing gifts upon her...she actually would have believed it.

Not letting herself follow into Goblin King levels of vanity, Sarah turned away from the many mirrors and bent to wrap the fluffy towel around her wet hair. Maybe she'd dig through one of Jareth's bookshelves now, and contemplate what her next move might be in her current situation. She picked up the book that had been discarded before, the one that surprisingly held Coleridge poetry, and settled herself before the great armchair by the fire. Sarah began reading in earnest, even going through the density of the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner." After all, maybe it could give her some perspective on this whole life-in-death thing? But whether it was the soup or the bath or her own exhaustion, she found her eyes growing heavy as she sat before the fire, her head swaying forward, and had no idea at all when she'd fallen asleep.

…...

When Sarah awoke for the second time, the room was brighter, but she gathered night had fallen: the fire had been stoked back to a full roar, and dozens of candles gleamed and glittered in sconces throughout the stone bedroom. And Jareth was there as well. Her green eyes widened briefly as she watched him divest himself of his open-necked shirt, displaying a smooth chest thinly corded with sleek muscle. Sarah blushed like a school girl and tried to pretend she was still asleep.

It did no good, for somehow the Goblin King knew it was a falsehood (damn him, he always knew), and gave her a smirking glance. "Well, Sleeping Beauty?"

"What are you doing?" Sarah hemmed and hawed, just barely able to ask the question. She said nothing else for a moment, but gave a little squeak as Jareth seized her small hand and pulled her from the chair, twirling her experimentally as though they were still dancing in the crystal ball.

"How pretty you look in that dress," he mused, standing back to look at her appreciatively, naked fingers to his chin, which gave her pause. It was strangely intimate to see his hands without gloves, never mind the fact that he was shirtless. "However, I must say I'd prefer you without it. Ah-" he raised his hand to stop her speaking as an angry blush colored her cheeks. "Your nightgown is laid out for you, all clean and pressed. Sleeping in a bed is far better than a chair." With that, he turned from her and walked across to the other corner of the room, opening the closet door and disappearing inside. From what she could see of the doorway, it was dark, Sarah wondered what he could be doing, and said as much. "Getting ready for bed," he called to her out of the darkness. "What do you think?"

Oh! With a sense of urgency to change while she still had half a moment of privacy, Sarah pulled the olivine dress from off herself and wiggled into the slip, sliding under the sheets before he could rake his eyes over her again. Still, Sarah's curiosity was peaked, and she sat up a little in the bed, calling to him in the closet. "Where will you sleep?"

He returned, wearing soft, grey pants that were less form-fitting than his usual apparel, though not by much. Sarah had to admit she doubted he often slept in night clothes, knowing his proclivities, and wondered if this was done for her benefit. "In bed, I should think that obvious."

"B-but-"

Jareth did not hesitate as she did, crossing the room in a few long strides, gently and teasingly shoving at her hips. "Move over, my sweet."

"Jareth, I can't sleep in your bed with you!" A pause. "And there's more than room for two without making me move over."

"Not the way I see it. Go on." He rolled her gently, and she squeaked, nearly even laughed as she was turned on her side and down onto her stomach, her face muffled by a pillow. With an elegant motion, he slipped into the warm indentation where her body had been, but did not press himself upon her. There was not much space between them, it was true, but it was definitely there. The Goblin King lay his golden head upon a down pillow, lazily waving one wrist so that all the candles winked out and only the soft glow of the fire illuminated the room. Sarah found herself watching him in the dark, watching the way his white skin gleamed in the low light; how his stark features softened slightly when his eyes were closed, but the thin mouth was still in a severe sort of scowl; how his hair turned alabaster, especially when a stray moonbeam struggled its way through the heavy, damask curtains and fell upon his face. He was the most beautiful, unreal man she'd ever seen. Handsome, yes, but different from how she'd have wanted a mortal man to look. Not more feminine, simply more...himself. A category all his own. Sleek, not muscle bound, yet still quite obviously strong and quick as...well, as an owl, perhaps. Without opening his eyes, he spoke to her in a low, soothing voice. "See something you like?"

Sarah turned so that her head rested along her outstretched arm, still very close to him in the dark, warm bed. "Why did you leave me here all day?"

"Where else would you have gone?"

"I don't know. In the castle?"

"You're not ready yet." Jareth turned, but not to face her; instead, his broad shoulders and smooth back greeted her, and she had the strange compulsion to want to stroke his unreal skin. She resisted the urge. "You'll stay in here until I deem you are."

"Oh really?" Sarah snorted, green eyes flashing in the low light. "And when is that going to be?"

"I'm an immortal and all powerful near-god-like creature, Sarah, but even I require beauty sleep. Surely the pillow talk can wait."

Sarah snorted again, but fell silent, watching until she noticed his breathing go soft and even, and that the fire began to burn low.

When she fell asleep again, it was dreamless, and she was grateful for that.