A.N.: Well, writing this next part is going to be a little trickier than I initially anticipated: I woke up at 5:30 on Monday going, "Freaking OW." Turns out I have an infection, hooray. Luckily it's a minor one and I have four days off anyway. The silver lining is I thought it was the perfect excuse to sit in bed and watch the "making of" on my copy of "Labyrinth" on DVD and nerd right the hell out. David Bowie talks about kicking babies, Jennifer Connelly sounds more mature at 16 than I manage at 25, and hot diggity but Jim Henson put a hell of a lot of work into this film. In whatever fantasy afterlife you continue on in, Mr. Henson, I hope the rabid adulation of your fans reaches you (or Jareth at least played dice for your immortal soul, or something).
Also, love a duck, I am bowled over by the massive positive response you guys churned out for chapter three! My inbox just about exploded, and I am not complaining! Honestly, though, I think all the credit should go to Chet, since he helped me rearrange the chapter, I didn't think it was that good before (though I am quite pleased you all enjoyed Wog. I'm certain he has a friend that will appear at some point later on, and Wog will make some appearances as well). You guys are awesome, Chet is awesome, Jim Henson will always be awesome, and I will try to be somewhat awesome, while my bladder decides to be less awesome and infected and gross.
This chapter goes out to Mztlynne, happy birthday!
Now, to respond to all your yummy, yummy reviews:
Honoria Granger: Curses, the difference between "lay" and "lie" shall ever be my cross to bear (or the albatross around my neck, if we're to be thematic)! The other one was purely a missed typo, though, thanks! And wow, thank you for saying it's your fav!
MarieVance: Ugh, I know, right? The generally poor quality of fanfiction is one of the reasons I dropped out of doing it for so long. But good fanfiction really got me into the Laby fandom: after wading through a lot of bad or mediocre stuff, I found some absolute gems that just blow me away and out of the water in terms of quality. Keep going, you great fandom, you.
CanaceErinn: You certainly can say it, and I thank you kindly for it! I hadn't thought of Wog as being like Dobby, but I do see the resemblance. I was also super surprised to see one of my old Scarlet Pimpernel fics on your favorites list, so thank you for that as well (hot damn, that thing is ten years old and I feel old now)!
Lylabeth 1: I've been not in the world until June, so the fact that I'm already making a hit is extremely gratifying! I am so glad you're enjoying it as much as you are, and thanks also for the great reviews you left on "The Riddle," was totally blown away by some of your comments.
And a hearty thank you to the rest of the reviewers and followers, as always!
Come in close
And then even closer
We bring it in
But we go no further
We're separate
Two ghosts in one mirror
No nearer
"Say When," The Fray
Sarah made it difficult for the King to keep his hands off of her. She had always made it difficult. It wasn't that she was a particular flirt, it wasn't really anything she did or said, it was the subtle grace about her, something so intrinsically Sarah that made the skin of his hands itch with the yearning to touch her – oh, just once, very quickly, and he'd be satisfied.
His lips quirked in a self-deprecating smirk at the thought. No, he would not be satisfied by one palm on the smooth skin of her arm. Even were he to throw her to this plush bed and have his wicked way with her, it would never be enough. Jareth was a clever man, well experienced in the world Above and Under. He knew himself, he knew his longings, and he knew this girl. One taste would make him all the hungrier, and he knew it would never stop.
Even at fifteen, Sarah Williams had been a tempting little child: this was not because of some perverse desire for youth or innocence that mortals of her ilk recently had found distasteful (though that in itself was odd to the fey, since they'd had no problem with girls of fifteen even three centuries before this one was born). It was something writ large across her soul, something that ghosted across her lips with her breath, or sparkled in her jeweled eyes. It had been difficult for the Goblin King to see at first, because she was really such a naive, spoiled little thing. Oh, pretty, to be sure, and with a capacity for dreams the likes of which he had not seen in a long time, but it did not seem as though Sarah was much more than that. He'd have been glad to take her, but it would have been a brief affair at best, and he'd have tossed the barely-woman to the side as soon as she became uninteresting.
But Sarah...surprised him. Which shouldn't have been surprising itself in the first place, for if he had not been blinded by an unfortunate moment of hubris, he'd have seen that that was the very mark she carried like a guiding star: look out for this one. She'll turn everything.
So at first she had been alluring by the sparkle in her green eyes; the promise of truly glorious womanhood in the curve of her breast and her waist and her hip; by the soft pout of unusually red lips; the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the rounding of her cheeks and chin. It was almost endearing in a simpering way how she'd mope and declare everything "unfair," adorably innocent yet just grown up enough to understand what was so seductive about the man she was playing this fraught game with. That had been enough for a passing interest.
Watching her win had set off an inferno within him.
For days – weeks! – that followed, the Goblin King found himself watching her outside her window as a tawny barn owl, just studying the only girl who had ever beaten him. He would start his days with the best of intentions, fingers to his beak-like nose muttering how he must now set everything right this child had kicked apart like blocks on the nursery room floor. Yet somewhere between his inspections and his directions for the rebuilding to start, poor, stricken Jareth would find himself sitting in the great oak tree that stood as sentinel on the side of the Williams house, looking for Sarah. Not even Toby, not even the little child he'd wanted so much, who gave a hang about bloody little Toby? No, it was Sarah, always Sarah: eating dinner – Sarah. Kicking goblins – Sarah. Laying awake in a bed that now seemed incredibly empty – Sarah, damn it, Sarah!
This was a sickness. No Fey Lord, no King, in ten thousand years sat outside the window of a little mortal girl and pined over her! He watched her when she walked to school in the morning, he watched when she played with her baby brother in the yard. He watched how in one mortal night she had grown up, and how she didn't fight with her stepmother, and how she finally understood that maybe Karen Williams was really trying her hardest. He watched her when she went to the park and read – other books now, not the thin red tome that had been with her every waking moment. No, now it was other fairy stories and collections of mythology to try to understand the new world that was opening up to her. Because that was the real sting, wasn't it? Jareth watched when a mushroom sprite poked its little head out of its loamy bed and carried on a conversation with Sarah – and he found himself burning with jealousy.
He wanted to hate her. Gods, but he really did! And yet, somehow, the fervently wished for emotion just would not come. He couldn't even be decently angry at her. She had beaten him, when no mortal or fey had ever done so before. Him, the mighty Goblin King, the creature that made mothers clutch their infants to their breasts and made grown men tremble. But Sarah Williams did not tremble, and he found himself admiring her fiercely for it. He replayed the scene of their final meeting in his inner most sanctum over and over again in his mind – and when that was not enough, he spun it through his crystals and watched it from every angle. Where it ought to have inspired revulsion or rage or at least shame in him, it instead only increased his desire for her to an almost physical ache. He would have been laughed out of the High Court for this nonsense, and what was worse, this nonsense aroused him like nothing had in a millennium.
And now, here she was, in his grasp! In his debt, with big, green eyes looking up at him, red lips parted, tears of desperation coating milky cheeks: Please, Jareth, I'll do anything. Was it not everything he'd been longing for, every feverish dream he had woken from in the night that left him gasping her name and desperately hardened for the light touch of her little hands? Here she was, in his own damn bed at last, and all the promises her body had made at fifteen were well paid off in delicious womanhood.
And yet he did not touch her.
It was enough to make a lesser Goblin King scream!
But, there was method to his madness: Jareth was no fool, even if he had been beaten once before (and realistically, anyone would have lost to Sarah...well, just look at her!). He was playing this game long term. The girl was in mourning, she was vulnerable. Nothing could have been easier than to force his attentions upon her, give her comfort with his body and make her need him in her weakness. This might even have been a gratifying option, for a time, but even brought low, Sarah was neither weak nor stupid. She'd hate, or at least disrespect, him for taking advantage of her, and then the whole bloody affair would have been useless. Oh no, let her get comfortable with him first. Taming a woman like Sarah was not unlike the keeping of a small pet; let them get their bearings in one room, let them trust the master, then widen the circle as they gained confidence. She'd come to understand the Underground, since she'd spent this much time with its inhabitants, he felt sure. More than that, she would come to understand her natural place in it – with him. The King would brook no other possibility.
However...
It was Sarah's second evening in the Castle beyond the Goblin City, and when Jareth came to her this night, she was in a new dress (the goblins must have found it for her, gods knew he had had enough made to her measurements for when the time came to claim his Queen); this one was a dark, midnight blue, as tightly fitting as the other, flaring around her waist in the most delightful of ways. The rich color complimented her smooth, white complexion, made her soft hair seem even darker as it framed her face. She was staring into the fire when he walked in, a look in her dreaming eyes like she could be contemplating anything, and any man would have wished it to be him.
Oh, bog and sod the entire Goblin City, there was only so much a hot-blooded man could take.
Sarah barely had time to lift her head to look at him when Jareth crossed the room, seized her by her delicate wrist, and spun her into his arms (the skirt of the dress flared flirtatiously at the whirling movement). Before she could speak or in any way ruin the moment, the Goblin King pressed his mouth firmly onto hers, molded her soft body against the hard line of his own, and kissed her for all the breath she contained.
For her part, Sarah kissed him back. It seemed natural and right to do so. The moment was almost dizzying, far more intense than that one kiss they had shared in her dark apartment on New Year's Eve. Jareth's passion was almost obliterating, it muddled her senses and left her knees feeling weak as he held her fast against him. It was well he did so, for she might have fallen to the ground otherwise. Dear God, she, Sarah Williams, was kissing the Goblin King! Well, stranger things between heaven and earth and all that...
Jareth broke the kiss off after a very long moment, the gloved finger and thumb of his right hand just barely holding her chin. He noticed with deep seated pleasure how her lips were all the redder and swollen for the press of his mouth upon hers, the way she had to blink the hazy clouds from her eyes. Had he been looking into a mirror, perhaps he would have been less pleased to note how his breath was being drawn in a soft, shallow gasp and his own eyes were half closed for how he longed for more. He wet his lips a little and, at long last, asked her, "...did you miss me today, precious thing?"
After a moment, the corner of Sarah's mouth quirked in a little smile and one of her small hands wiggled from where it had been crushed against the sturdy muscle of his chest to squeeze at his upper arm. "Well, what do you think, Goblin King?"
The next night when he returned to her, the King paused in the hallway to his chambers. One of his many goblins was struggling under the weight of a silver platter, tottering along on unsteady, matchstick legs. Which one was this? "Wig," he hazard a guess, yet spoke with an authority of certainty.
"Majesty," the little thing blinked, beginning to bow, but righting himself quickly when he realized it would send the plates on the tray clattering to the floor.
Jareth lifted one of the shining covers that kept the plates warm and took a casual sniff. "Is this food for the Lady Sarah?"
"Yes!" he squeaked with excitement, his thin boar's tail swinging side to side.
"I will take it, Wag." The little creature actually looked disappointed for a moment. "Is that a problem?"
"No, Majesty!" he was squeaking again, hopping from one tiny foot to the other, incredibly anxious. "No, no, you take plate, Wog go way now!" As soon as he had been relieved of his burden, the tiny goblin skittered down the hall as though the Beast of the Bog might be after him. Jareth snorted lightly with amusement before he crossed the rest of the way to his chamber door, nudging it open with his booted foot.
Sarah was pacing anxiously, back and forth, like a caged animal, sighing all the while. "Such distress for one so lovely is quite a shame."
She stopped her pacing, turning her face to look at him and she almost seemed...pleased. "I was expecting Wog."
Wog, that was it... "So sorry to disappoint."
"Yeah, well." She smiled a very little bit. "I guess you'll just have to do." He crossed the room then, laying the platter on a waiting side table, and Sarah curiously lifted one of the warming lids. "I thought I was getting better at this, but I'm not even sure what this is."
Jareth peered over her white hand. "Ah, that's krorrorarn." Sarah stared at the King and his perfectly accented Goblin; he sighed a little. "It's a local specialty. A little like a, what's it called...ratatouille? Vegetables stewed with fish heads."
Sarah's pretty red mouth hung open, like she was purposefully tempting him. "Uh, ew?"
"They take out the fish heads before they serve it."
"And yet I am not comforted."
"You might as well eat it," he huffed at her, sprawling on the chaise lounge in regal indolence. "It would be a nice gesture on your part, since you're the future Goblin Queen."
Sarah settled herself beside him, pulling the end table closer so she might eat without spilling, quirking a narrow eyebrow at him. "No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"You live an elaborate fantasy life, you know that?" Sarah picked up the tiny clay pot next to the dish of various, steaming, savory vegetables; if she was being honest, it did smell rather good. "Let me guess," she sighed. "Mustard?"
"It is the...condiment of choice, yes." He seemed to have been searching for the proper word, though his mismatched eyes were entirely dispassionate.
"Mustard..." Sarah huffed, taking out the small wooden spoon and spreading some of the grainy mustard over the vegetables. "They even brought me mustard with my eggs this morning, you know."
"I am hardly surprised."
"Well, if it's a goblin dish, I guess I should eat it the goblin way." Thus saying, she scooped up what she hoped was a piece of green squash and popped it delicately into her mouth.
Sarah began a fit of coughing so immense that her face became maroon in hue and tears sprang to her eyes. Jareth was actually concerned for her safety for a moment, sitting up and quickly laying the flat of his hand upon her spasming back. "Sarah!"
"What is that!" she managed to wheeze through a rain of tears.
Jareth touched the tip of his finger to the yellow-brown mustard concoction and just barely lay that upon his tongue. "Ah. I might have guessed."
"Guessed what, poison!"
"No. It's the kind they make with Goblin Ale."
He was unclear at what point her tears ceased and her laughter began, but quite to the King's surprise, when one did give way to the other, Sarah had collapsed against him, clutching her sides and almost letting her head spill into his lap. It was a...good thing to see. "Ohmygawd," she wheezed, still convulsing with giggles. "I don't think I'm going to eat dinner tonight..."
"It might be just as well," he agreed, studying the shaking form of her back as she continued to lean against him. At great length, her sniggering subsided and she straightened herself, still tantalizingly close to him. He could have reached out and brushed the stray, silken hairs from her face – and he very much wanted to, and yet how could he dare? She was looking into his eyes, as if for a moment there was a world of understanding between them. He couldn't take having her so near and so unavailable, and broke the silence. "What were you ruminating on before I arrived."
"Oh." Sarah's countenance fell slightly, her brow furrowed. "I was thinking that I've been cooped up a lot lately. That maybe some fresh air would do me some good?"
Jareth could not stop himself; he lay his palm across her smooth cheek, and she did not blink nor pull away. "You mean to say you actually want to move forward with your life?"
"Well...yes?" Sarah looked just as confused. "I can't sit around and mope forever – which isn't to say, tada, I'm all better and happy as a clam, but...I mean, you don't want me like that, do you?" When he didn't respond, she clarified, "Miserable?"
There was another long silence. The corners of his lips tugged in the barest of smiles. "You know, it just might."
Sarah blinked at him, completely missing his train of thought. "Uh, what?"
"Do you good. Fresh air. Come." Without another word, he rose from his languid position on the chaise and pulled her up with him by the elbow. Sarah did not protest, perhaps too off-put to fight on this issue. With a gentle motion of his hand, he parted one of the heavy damask curtains, and pulled her out onto the great stone balcony.
"Oh, wow!" Sarah's breath was caught and she found herself rooted on the snowy terrace, staring out. The whole world of the Underground seemed to stretch out from the Goblin King's bedroom outcropping, glittering white in the wintery world. There was the slight, sharp scent of ozone as snowflakes fell in great whirligig fashion. The heavy flakes coated her long hair, stuck to her full lashes until she blinked them off. The Labyrinth, all of it, leading away almost as far as the eye could see. Its twists and turns stood out even more clearly, blanketed as it was in a layer of snow. Jareth stood not a foot from her, watching her watching the world. "I didn't realize it was beautiful..."
"It can be," he replied, arms crossed against his chest, but not in a defensive or irritated posture. He did not blink nor took his gaze from her. "The Labyrinth is many things, it suits the viewer."
Sarah shook her head a little, breaking away from her examination to look at him. "What does that mean?"
"It means that it changes – it adjusts. To the viewer, to the Runner. It fits ones expectations to the utmost."
"You're saying..." she struggled, head bowed and looking at the snow that swirled around their feet. "I imagined everything that happened?"
He smirked a little. "Not exactly. More that the course of your life meant you could understand what was happening in a certain way. The Labyrinth merely accommodated you in that."
Sarah seemed deeply lost in thought, and Jareth wondered what might be crossing her mind. Was this startling knowledge, upsetting? She said nothing for a moment, but surprised him a little by suddenly looking up and meeting his eye. "It's getting kind of cold."
"Of course," he nodded, sweeping the curtain aside again and ushering her back in. Not a trace of snow dared follow their path back into the delectable warmth of the bedroom, which Sarah found somewhat interesting.
She paused before the hearth and realized after a moment that Jareth wasn't speaking. Sarah raised her face to him, brow furrowed, cocking her head to the side. "Jareth?" He was watching her from by the curtain, as if staring straight into her soul. Sarah laughed nervously. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
It was as if those were the trigger words to open the floodgates. Without a moment of warning, his strong hands wrapped around her upper arms and dragged her to him, crushing her mouth in a merciless kiss. A younger or different Sarah might have been shocked or angered. This one welcomed the action, something to do other than twirl around this little room and focus on her misery every moment. As soon as the Goblin King's grip loosed, she wound her arms around his neck and gave for every kiss she got, returned his passion to the utmost. What was so sinful about it? He seemed designed to attract her, always had, from the moment he appeared in her parents' bedroom that night thirteen years ago. Fearsome, yes, but also with that arousing tingle of something that clawed at her stomach. When she was foolish and fifteen, a part of her had wished he had kissed her in the ballroom, though if he had, she wasn't sure it wouldn't have meant she'd stay there – maybe forever. No danger of that now: she was a woman, not an impressionable girl, and she could handle Jareth now in ways she could not then.
Many ways she could not then.
The fey king gasped for breath against her mouth, while she still pressed to his jaw, or would drag her teeth along the sensitive skin of his throat. He shuddered: this was so much better than he could have anticipated...He held the black fabric of Sarah's skirt back for her as she hooked one leg expertly around his hips and shoved him back, keeping her grip on his shirt all the while. They fell back onto his massive bed as one unit, bouncing slightly against the plush and springs, and he twinged with pleasure. Sarah, at last, leaning over him, straddling his hips and grazing her nails across the thin skin of his chest. Jareth hissed and arched himself into the motion, while Sarah set her lips and teeth back against his Adam's apple, their pulses beating wildly and yet in unison. Were the painful pleasure not so palpable, he might have thought he was dreaming again.
So feisty, this little girl grown to womanhood – and yet so achingly submissive and mewling when he rolled her over, his pelvis fitting tortuously well in the cradle of her hips. Carefully done, carefully done, he must hold himself back or he would gleefully tear into her and consume her and ruin all his fine plans. The little minx made it difficult, engaging his mouth the way she did, twirling his tongue with her own, twining her fingers into his fine hair and pulling his head closer for greater access.
They were kisses for their own purpose, leading up to nothing greater or hotter or fiercer. Pleasure for its own sake. The trading of caresses and sucking and licking and nipping continued at a fevered pitch until Jareth was sure he could feel himself throbbing against the heat of her thigh, but Sarah fell back at the last moment, gasping for breath and cheeks thoroughly flushed. Her lips (those horribly delicious lips) were red and swollen from where he'd claimed them and gently bitten and indulged. He loved the way her breast rose and fell with each labored movement for air, each attempt to cool her racing body. "Maybe," she panted, one hand lying across her chest in order to feel the beating of her heart. "Maybe we shouldn't."
Jareth breathed over her, simultaneously relieved and outraged. How he wanted her. And yet, how wonderful...she played this game wisely too, it seemed, which really ought not surprise him by now. Careful not to make any moves of desperation she might later regret, hm? The Goblin King wove his magic about himself and tightened it like a straight jacket, demanding his body calm itself. With the greatest of will and forbearance, he agreed. "Maybe we shouldn't," and lowered himself beside her.
It gratified and mollified him somewhat to note, however, that she did not bashfully pull away from him on the bed, or otherwise act coquettish or coy. Rather, Sarah drew her body close to his, laying her head at the crook of his arm, chest and shoulder. Absentmindedly, the King ran her silky hair between his fingertips and breathed in quiet motions. "Jareth?" she was whispering in the dark, and his eyes closed. Someday soon, she would not whisper that name in his bed, he'd have her scream it.
"Hm?" was all he managed instead, trying to remain focused, with eyes on the prize, as it were.
"What happens when we die?"
The Goblin King gave a soft sigh, fluttering a stray lock of her hair with the movement of his breath. Trust Sarah to ask the hard questions. "I don't know, precious thing, I've never died."
Sarah wiggled against his chest slightly, laying one delicate hand across his abdomen to use as leverage so she could twist to see the edge of his face. "You hang out with Death. You guys have...jovial games of chance."
"Mm, yes," he agreed, not looking down at her and continuing his soft pets and ministrations. "But we do try to stay off the topic of work, professional courtesy, you know."
It was exactly the kind of answer she could expect from Jareth, she knew that. It was not a satisfying one, but it held its own kind of perverse logic – Underground logic, she mused. For this reason, she spoke not a word the rest of the night, just lay against the heat of his body, and Jareth let her. He did not move a muscle when he realized the quietness of her breathing had changed into something a little more easy, a little softer: asleep, then. Well...he could lie there beside her a little while. Better not to wake her when she was comfortable.
He made sure to intercept her next dinner as well, snatching it from a startled Wog without a word of warning. The King examined the meal carefully before handing the pot of ever-present mustard over to the very confused little goblin, waving him away with a dismissive gesture of his black gloved hand. Jareth was quite bold striding into the chamber door this time, head high, chest out. And why shouldn't he be? It was his bedroom, after all – not that he wasn't enjoying sharing it.
The pleasure was somewhat diminished on this occasion, however: Sarah was not pacing around this time, she was staring deeply into the fire in its grate. She did not even look up at him when he entered the room, though the Goblin King felt sure he had not been silent. She did not move, did not smile, it was rather disappointing. He cleared his throat.
The girl jumped, apparently startled; so she must not have noticed him at all, very queer. Blinking wide, green eyes, she said, "Oh!...I'm sorry, I was..." She didn't finish the thought, which was equally disturbing, but Jareth was too smart to push.
Instead, he held the platter out to her, an offering. "Your dinner," he said in clipped, controlled tones.
Sarah seemed listless. She could not have been very hungry, because her eyes did not light up this time with the promise of a meal. Perhaps last night's krorrorarn had had a worse effect on her appetite than anticipated...Still, she gracefully took the platter from him, settling on the divan. "Where's the mustard?" she asked, at last looking up at him.
Jareth sprawled in his favorite lounge chair, one leg thrown over the arm in his classic, relaxed pose. "You don't like it, I took it away."
"You didn't tell them that, did you?"
"'Them?'"
"The goblins." He stared at her and she huffed slightly, pale cheeks barely coloring. "If they gave it to me, I ought to accept it graciously, not be rude and throw it out."
Jareth blinked, jaw working open a bit. "But you don't even eat it."
"So?" She watched him pinch the bridge of his nose and sighed. She didn't feel up to arguing, she hadn't the energy. Maybe the food would help her a bit. She lifted one of the silver lids and blinked. "Oh, it's chicken."
The King smirked for his position, apparently amused and lazily dancing a crystal across his fingertips. "Well, that explains that, then."
"Explains what?"
"This morning's goblin chicken memorial service." Instantly, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say: Sarah visibly flinched, a spoon on the platter fell to the floor with an impossibly loud, tinkling sound. He sat up straight in his chair, for once his alien eyes serious and sincere. "I apologize, that was thoughtless of me." She didn't seem to hear him, her breathing going shallow and labored. "Sarah."
"I-I know..." her voice was trembling, and she held her right hand in her left, as if to steady it. That did little good, for the left began to shake as well. "I know I said I understood I couldn't say goodbye, but I..." She moved the tray off her lap and fixed a serious gaze on the wall to her left, refusing to look at him. It seemed she may cry at any moment and did not wish to share that with him. "If I were dead, I wouldn't have to wonder what they were doing, if they were okay, if they were missing me."
"You doubt that?"
"I don't. That's almost worse." Sarah's pale face dropped into her pale, shaking hands and Jareth sat forward in the chair. "I wanted to save them, but what if I've caused them more pain?"
"Sarah." Jareth's voice was very serious, even a little cold. "Let's be clear: you wanted to save yourself pain, you didn't want to have to deal with the grief of losing your family. It's not that you acted selfishly, but you did have your own well-being in mind."
She made a sound into her hands, a laugh or a sob, it was hard to tell. "I guess you're right...damn, who knew being a martyr could be so self-centered, huh?"
The Goblin King approached her very slowly, a centimeter at a time, his fingers reaching out to her trembling hands. With the greatest of care, he touched her; she flinched, but he didn't think it was at him, more a response to stimulus than anything else. Carefully, he peeled and pulled her hands away from her and tilted her chin to look at him. Damn it, he somehow hadn't planned for this – for her lovely face to be swollen and red, eyes straining with unshed tears. Damn that damn, stupid mortal girl for making him weak – because at that moment, anything she would have asked for, he would have given her, anything to make her not look like that. The moon from out of the heavens, his heart ripped out of his chest, damn it, damn it, damn it.
It was only with the greatest of fortitude that Sarah could look him in the face. She wanted a trap door to open up and drop her in an oubliette, so she could feel good and miserable and awful privately. Jareth could see into her like this, see how frightened and weak she was, even after all this time. So she'd beaten the Labyrinth, so what? It hadn't stopped this. Still, there was a painful tugging at her heart – it would be a concession, but she had to ask. Maybe he'd demand too high a price of her, but it really couldn't matter right now. "Jareth," she pleaded, biting her lip to keep from crying. I really don't want to cry in front of him, I really don't. "Isn't there any way-"
He stopped her, planting a finger against her chapped lips. Sarah said and did nothing at all. "If you ask me to send you back, you'd be a monster, you'd be nothing like you were or are."
"Not back..." she hesitated. What, she'd be a zombie? A vampire or something? Sarah knew the score. There was no going back once you've gone forward. "Just...see them again. Just once, I'd..."
She'd what? Do anything? He thought he might like to hear that again, yet somehow the thought gave him little satisfaction. He'd wanted Sarah back, but it just wasn't as nice when she was like this. He didn't want to care about her, he wanted to use her. But it was impossible. She was too strong for him still, it seemed, because without having to do anything at all, she took away his power to manipulate her. "It won't help," he told her, voice very firm and pitiless, because he was not going to stoop to petting and cooing, no matter how tearful those sage green eyes became. "You wouldn't be able to touch them, they wouldn't hear you. Why do this?"
"...what else can I do?" she replied, barely shrugging, her soft eyes roaming over the stark lines of his face. Double damn all over again, this woman was vicious!
Without another word, the Goblin King caved to her, back straight so she would not see it in him. He did not take his eyes from her face as he held up a brand new crystal, this one dull and opaque, like smoke swirled inside of it. Sarah glanced at it, startled. "Look inside," he instructed, and without a moment's hesitation or lack of trust, she did as told. Sarah almost looked away when she realized he'd laced the fingers of his free hand with her own, but he corrected, "Look." He was looking too, she realized, and was about to thank him, when she felt her gaze pulled back to the softly glowing bubble, and the world around her swam...
Toby's palms were sweating all over the papers he was clutching to himself, sitting in the worn oak pew of the great church hall. He didn't remember ever seeing Sarah go to church, but where else would they have the service? This place was enormous: a vaulted ceiling that stretched into shadows, a ten-foot tall cross attached to the wall behind the altar. The windows were stained glass, pictures of martyrs bleeding and dying. It was gross, who would want to come and sit in this oppressive atmosphere every weekend? It must be a Catholic thing. Were they Catholic? Toby wasn't really sure.
The steps to the altar were blocked in the center by a giant table, covered in Sarah. A long, black table cloth dripped to the floor, and it carried her. Pictures of every sort: her most recent head shot, where her long dark hair cascaded down one shoulder, and her smile was so wide and inviting, it seemed to beckon the entire world to come and see her; her high school graduation photo, where her face still had the roundness of youth, and she beamed with such pleasure; one from when she was fourteen or fifteen, dancing with her mother's boyfriend, and she looked so pleased and embarrassed; one where she was twelve, with her arms wrapped tightly around the old dog Merlin's neck and she smiled fit to break; one with Dad and a tiny Sarah and Linda; and the worst one of all – one where Sarah was sixteen, with toddler Toby on her lap, and they looked at one another like the world had never been witness to such love before.
Toby's hands tightened around his papers. There were more than photos, of course. A small mountain of flowers was piled up on every side – white lilies mostly, which were gross to him and redolent of death. But there were roses, too, that her actor friends brought, like they were simply applauding her grandest performance of all. Toby Williams decided he hated flowers, and he never wanted to look at another one as long as he lived. Someone had placed a few of her scripts upon the table, highlighting passages that were her greatest triumphs. Toby had discretely put the tattered old bear Launcelot on the table before anyone else had arrived, and hadn't seen his mother watch him do it.
"You'll Never Walk Alone," was being played rather masterfully by her accompanist up front. Toby recognized it because he remembered Sarah practicing it when she'd been home from school. It soured his stomach now, and he wished his mom hadn't forced him to eat that danish this morning. The memory of it tasted foul on his tongue. His mind had drifted off for a moment, swearing a bloody vengeance on all pastries, when he felt something nudge his elbow, and he looked up. It was Robert Williams, looking down at him with tears in his eyes. Stop crying, Dad. He wanted to shout it, but he didn't say a word. "Toby," his father mouthed to him. "You're on."
What? Oh. The eulogy, his eulogy. On shaky, lanky legs, Toby stood, dragging his feet slowly up the sanctuary steps to the microphone. His black tie felt like it was strangling him all of a sudden, and he wanted to shrug off his sports coat. It was too hot. The teenage boy pulled the microphone closer to him when he reached it, not wincing at the scream and hiss of feedback through the audio system. Looking across the pews was like looking at an ocean of dark faces – so many people, all here for Sarah. He could hear some murmur, even from way up there. "Who's that?" "Must be her brother." "They don't look alike." "Look how sweet and cute he is. Oh, he is adorable." That one pissed him off a bit. "She talked about him all the time." "She'd be so proud." Toby clenched his cue cards tighter again, and raised them up to read. He knew his mouth was moving, he could feel the words across his tongue, but he didn't hear a sound, not a single sound in the whole packed cathedral.
It was because he realized something: he hated them. He hated all of them. Who were all these jerks that thought they knew Sarah, thought they knew something about his sister? They cried about her? They were sad? Fuck them, they didn't even know the beginning of what sad was, what he was going through for Sarah. He thought about teachers patting him awkwardly on the back and saying how hard it must be to lose a sister. Meaningless crap, all of it, designed to make them feel like they'd discharged their duty, not to make him feel better. What in the fuck did any of them know? Sarah wasn't just a sister, she wasn't some person you happened to be related to and hung in the periphery of your vision. She was half a mother, a confidant, more than the greatest friend he'd ever had. When Karen grounded him, it was Sarah Toby ran to. He could cry his eyes out in her lap and she would comfort him and understand. She had the capacity to comprehend like no one else in the world ever had. And when monsters were under his bed, his parents would insist it was his imagination, but not Sarah. She grabbed a bat and braced herself, assuring him, "Don't worry, Toby. I'll protect you." And she'd tear under the bed or in his closet shouting, "You can't have him, you creeping little jerks!" Sarah was a knight in shining armor, the greatest storyteller, the perfect nurse for his scraped knees. She gave advice on girls, she gave advice on homework, and she gave no advice at all and just listened when no one else would.
So they loved Sarah? They had no idea about Sarah. She was Toby's sister, she wasn't anyone else's, they belonged to each other and had from the first moment he drew breath on this earth.
And now she was gone. And they had the nerve to be sad about it. And that was all. Just sad, when he felt like he could crawl into a hole and never get up again, because if he did, Sarah wouldn't be there.
He almost dropped the microphone when he was finished, rather than replacing it in its stand. He shook with his outrage when he descended the steps, barely felt his father's strong hand on his back. "It was beautiful, Toby," he was saying, but Toby wasn't really hearing. "She would have been so proud." He already knew that.
Somewhere in this cacophony of silence and whispers, Sarah opened her eyes, her fingers still entwined with the Goblin King's. The edges of her vision were hazy, smokey, like in the crystal. Everything shimmered with an unreality she remembered from biting into the peach. At least it's not spinning... she thought ruefully to herself, and tried to orient her mind to where she was standing.
It wasn't a place she recognized, but she could clearly see it was some massive church hall. And so many people...Dear God, there was her father and Karen, dressed in black and sitting at the front. Next to them...her mother, and Jeremy. Sarah's jaw dropped: they had come, they had come for her. "Mom!" Linda Williams was crying.
"She won't hear you, I told you." Jareth's voice was quite cold next to her ear, and it startled her. But for the warmth of his hand in hers, she would have forgotten he was there entirely. So many people, and she...she knew them all, it seemed. Co-stars from productions way back into college, friends she'd made in high school and hadn't spoken with in years; even her apartment supervisor was crying, that giant, hairy Italian that would have as soon snarled at her as shaken her hand. Music swirled around her head, but she couldn't really hear it, and it made her brain throb just a little. Her vision became murkier. Jareth took her elbows and pulled her back against him, and Sarah let him. It was odd, but he was like her anchor in all of this.
"Is this my..." she gasped, unable to finish the thought.
It didn't matter, he knew what she would have said. "It is."
She thought she was standing by one of the worn pews, but no, she wasn't. It was a communion hall now, all white, chairs and tables spread in cautious circles. On the far wall, a table piled high with funereal foods: cold turkey sandwiches, sad looking red grapes, bowls of fruit punch with out-of-season strawberries floating on the surface. It didn't look anything like her vision at all, though, it all looked...so planned, so carefully laid. A last gift to her and the people grieving all around her. Oh God. She hadn't expected this...
And the vision...was it her imagination, or did she see that little boy again? It had to be him, it had to be. He was sitting in a folding chair with an uneaten cookie on his lap, and he was crying his little eyes out. Sarah was drawn to him, like she was a mother gone to hush her crying babe. But who was that woman next to him? She hadn't seen her before. Was that his true mother? Sarah looked up at Jareth, who had followed her across the room.
He must have understood the question in her eyes, for he lowly intoned, "The driver is recovering in the hospital still, but when he is well, he's going to be arrested. For vehicular manslaughter, among other things, I suppose."
"What about them?" she asked, pointing a shaking finger at the little boy that was just a few inches from her hand and yet so very, very far away.
Jareth sighed through his nose, looking rather irritable. "He feels guilt for his father's actions. They're there because he cannot be – and he would not be, even if he could. Are you finished?"
No. No, she wasn't finished, because as she rose from her bent position by the child, her eyes fixed across the hall to the doorway, where a young man stood stock still, all black, all quiet. "Toby..." He strode in with a strength he was only gaining through pubescence, his unruly blond curls viciously pulled back against his head. It seemed like he had gotten taller since she'd...been away. His chest was thinner, his arms more spindly. Was it another growth spurt? She watched him cross the distance toward the refreshment table, and saw how his eyes fixed on the crying child. He knew who it was, then! Sarah's heart leaped into her throat, her hands tightening around themselves with a grip of desperation. "Yes!" she cried, watching her baby brother draw closer. This could make things right, it could! "Understand, Toby!" Sarah was bouncing on her feet a little as the young man approached. "Comfort him, go on!"
Toby Williams stopped before the table, observed the child, who looked at him with wet and reddened eyes. The little round face was swollen with tears – and the young man curled his lip in the coldest sneer he'd ever given, and walked away. It was an expression she would have expected from Jareth, not her brother. Not the boy who would not kill spiders, he was so innocent.
"Oh, Toby..." Sarah was gasping for breath, watching his back as he walked away. Before she could watch more, she felt Jareth's hands at her elbows again, dragging her away, watching the room melt around her again in mind-numbing slowness, like paint dripping down a window. "No!" she shouted, writhing against his grip, but his fingers became almost bruising at the crooks her elbows. She reached out, for the little boy, for her brother, for anything solid at all. "Stop it, I'm not ready yet!"
He must have listened, for they were not back in the Underground, at least, not to her eye. It was a long, dark hallway, and she could hear the murmur of voices back in the communion hall. Jareth stood before her, and she could have sworn there was a cloak about his shoulders that had not been there when they were in the bedroom. "There's nothing left to see, Sarah," he hissed her name like it angered him, eyes narrowed and burning hotly. "I refuse to sit here and watch this...self-flagellation."
He was angry? Fine, she could be angry, too, and she put her hands on her soft hips and met him glare for glare. "What did you do to Toby!" she demanded of him, and watched his face twitch a little in...confusion? She wasn't sure.
"What did I do to Toby?" he repeated, his tapered fingers just barely resting along his broad chest.
"He'd never have acted that coldly," Sarah continued, temper set. "Never, ever. You're manipulating him somehow, I know it."
Jareth curled a cold, thin lip at her, which was a little unsettling. "You greatly overestimate my interest in your baby brother, love."
"Then explain that! Explain why he looked like...like that." Not the most articulate she'd ever been, but hell, it was a bit of an upsetting situation.
Jareth seized her by the elbows again, pulled and twirled her so that she landed with her back against his chest. She could feel the heat of him, and his strong left arm wrapped around her waist in a tight vice. "I already told you, Sarah," he hissed her name again, and she pulled away with a wince. "Millions of people would not have hesitated to put the driver in your position instead – and your little Toby is one of those millions."
"You shut up about Toby!" she shouted back at him, somehow able to yank herself from his grip and spinning away, just out of reach. "You shut your goddamn mouth about him! You don't know anything about him! He's upset, that's it! He's a boy, he doesn't understand!"
"And neither do I, is that it?" The King took one step toward her, a confident one, the stride of a man who knows he will win – eventually. Sarah retreated a little down the hall. "I am not saying I do not 'get it,' my dear. On the contrary, I very much do – better than you, I think, which is a bit of an irony. He's an angry, selfish boy, who hasn't truly learned compassion, is that it?" Sarah stammered and stuttered a little. He was up to something, what was it? "Who does that remind you of, I wonder?"
Sarah spit a little at him, trying to regain her composure. "He'll grow out of it, it's just immaturity. He'll grow up and learn, lots of people do."
"Correction." He raised on gloved finger, and Sarah watched it. "Lots of people never grow out of being selfish and self-centered and cold. Some do. What made you, I wonder?"
She bristled – mainly because he was right. Toby made her, though, she wasn't going to give Jareth any satisfaction by saying it was somehow thanks to him. "You're not going to throw this back at me, Goblin King."
"I don't have to." He stood tall and thin and regal and so very elegant. She felt blinded, just looking at him being so frustratingly confident. "You do these things to yourself, Sarah. You wanted to be a martyr and you're enjoying making me the villain once again."
"Not everything is about you."
"And not everything is about you, either. A little gratitude wouldn't go unnoticed."
"Please, spare me how put upon and abused you are!"
"Am I not?" He grabbed her wrist and twisted, so that she had to come closer with a yelp in order to avoid more pain. "Have I chained you up in an oubliette? Have I tied you to my bed and devoured you? Have I not done everything you have asked of me – as I always have, you little girl."
"And I'm indebted to you for it," she hissed, wanting to pull her wrist free from him, but not daring more shooting pain. "But you know that already. Why do you want me to say it?"
A palpable moment passed between them; slowly, one finger at a time, Jareth released his hold on her wrist, and Sarah felt compelled to look up into his face. He looked so...drawn, so pale, so utterly weary. As if in response to her searching gaze, he softly said, "I would have spared you all this."
What a declaration. It said everything and nothing in as many words. Not quite knowing why, Sarah lay her injured hand on his arm and respond, "I know-" but she was interrupted in her reverie.
"Sarah?"
Both their heads turned to look down the long, dim hallway. Toby stood at the end, his paper cup dropped to the floor without his notice. Was he losing his mind? Just a shimmer, just a moment, but he could swear in that endless second, he could see...
"Hmmph," the Goblin King harrumphed. "It seems your baby brother is more the Seer than either of us knew."
Sarah wasn't listening, her breath hitching on her pale lips. On the instinct of love, her arms reached out to him, spread wide, and she cried, "Toby!" like she had in the Escher Room, like she did whenever she came to save him from his nightmares.
Toby did not hesitate for a moment. His feet did not need to be told what to do, he bolted down the hallway. Sarah, Sarah, it had to be Sarah. It had to be her, he was going to wake up and she'd be there, and everything would be alright, and yes, if he could just reach her-!
His shaking fingers stretched out to touch her, and as soon as it seemed they might meet-
Sarah stumbled forward, knocking her knee painfully against the King's preferred lounge chair.
Toby slammed awkwardly into a wall, and later told his father he must have broken his finger playing basketball.
A.N.: Another bonus author's note. I figured out what happened with my line breaks, so I will go back to chapter one and clean that up, so now things will start looking better on the site, hopefully.
For those who are interested in how my process sometimes works, when I get stuck on an idea, I tend to interpret all music as fitting within that storyline, or at least most music. Obviously "Say When," is one such song, but I recently heard "What Sarah Said," by Death Cab for Cutie and it went a long way to helping me write this chapter, thinking on Toby's perspective. First of all, That Title. Second of all, it just really fit inside my head. I couldn't include it in the fic as it would have been anachronistic to the timeline I've set up, but I did want to make some mention of it. So, there you go, something to enjoy, a bit of how my brain works!
This was betad by Mztlynne this time, so please give your warm thanks to her!
Thanks also for all those who enjoyed "Signed," the positive response was encouraging, and you may want a light-hearted break after how serious this chapter got.
And finally, this chapter goes to my dad, even though I know he's not going to read this: when he was Toby's age, he lost a sister not unlike Sarah, so this one's for you, Papa.