A/N: This is the chapter where the sensitive content warnings come into play. Please be aware of that.

Here's to a great 2023!

It was a small pizzeria one block shy of the edge of campus. On the weekends, it was packed with rowdy freshmen, just coherent enough in their alcoholic haze to know they were hungry. That was why Sarah only ever went during the middle of the week. That hadn't been her scene even when she was a freshman, and she didn't like to judge, but she also didn't like drunk kids slobbering all over her thinking she was their hot teacher.

Tonight, there were only two other people in the restaurant beside the staff. Both of them looked perfectly normal and didn't immediately attack when they walked in. The guy behind the counter was the same guy who always took Sarah's order. He smiled at her and Jareth, now a frizzy-haired punk rocker in the mirror, as he brought them their pepperoni and mushroom slices.

"Careful, it's greasy," Sarah said as Jareth picked a piece up between two fingers. "You kind of fold it in half like this. Keeps all the toppings from falling out."

"It smells… salty."

"Probably the pepperoni. Just try it, it's good."

"I don't like to doubt you, Sarah, but..."

He did bite into it eventually, just a tiny nibble on the tip like a rabbit eating greens. The look on his face as the taste hit him said it all, and half the slice was gone in the next few seconds. Grease dribbled down his neck to his shirt, vanishing before it hit the fabric, and she couldn't help laughing.

"I knew you'd like it," she said.

"It is not repulsive," he said, polishing off the rest of the slice. "I have had little time to eat lately, so I appreciate the sustenance."

"Oh, you appreciate the sustenance, huh?" She lowered her voice playfully, giggling harder when he scowled.

"Now, Sarah, you know better than to mock me."

"Uh-oh, is this the Goblin King I remember?"

"Only if you want me to be."

Sarah paused. The banter could continue indefinitely, and that would've made tonight so much easier. Hell, he wasn't even nervous or depressed for once. Were they finally at the point of trusting each other enough to joke like this? It seemed unreal.

"Well, you know, if you don't like it, there's other stuff we could try. Chinese, Mexican. I can always go for some nachos."

"This is fine," he said, tapping his fingers on the table. "Though I wouldn't put it past you to feed me something unsavory given our history."

"So you slipped me a drugged peach once. Big deal?" she shrugged. "What kind of ambassador of the Aboveground would I be if I didn't give you the best?"

He glanced around the cramped dining area. The cakey stains on the floor that no mop in either world could remove. The dirty windows turned the outside world into a formless blob. The years-old flyers on the corkboard advertised bands that had long since disbanded playing at defunct clubs. It smelled like grease. Her skin felt greasy. He smiled. "You're right. This is the best."

Why did he sound so sincere?

For the next few minutes, they ate quietly. Sarah hummed along to the radio, the endless stream of top 40 hits she'd mostly never heard before. She hummed along to Luther Vandross, thinking for a moment that this could be an awkward first date in any other scenario. If only…

Well, no, not if only. Just in the sense that if they met under better circumstances maybe…

No, not maybe. Not maybe at all.

Right?

"You look troubled," Jareth said.

"Sorry," she mumbled, rubbing her head.

"Why apologize?"

"I don't know," Sarah said. "Just seemed like the thing to do."

How does one start a conversation like this? Obliquely apologizing wasn't enough. Not even close. Not starting it at all was an option and an increasingly attractive one. They could just go to the bar and drink their sorrows away, assuming human alcohol could get him drunk. Then maybe they could do this tomorrow. Twenty-four hours had to be enough time to think of a reason to push this talk back.

She must have looked awful tearing herself apart over this. "Now you look unwell."

"I'm fine," Sarah said, rubbing her eyes. Come on. Now or never. "What were the others like?"

Jareth blinked. "The other…"

"Runners," Sarah said. "The other people who beat the labyrinth. What were they like?"

It was such a random non-sequitur and he didn't seem to know what to do with it. Of course, neither did Sarah. He frowned, thoughtful rather than sad, sitting almost regally in the plastic booth with a bit of sauce on his lip.

"I suppose they were like you. Tenacious, unwilling to cede to challenge. There were six before you. Or seven. I haven't been good about counting. The last one was a girl seventy years ago, after that there were no more attempts until you came along."

"What was her name?"

His eyes glazed over. "Her name, I know… I must have known it once…"

Sarah sighed. "It's okay. I can't expect you to remember every one of them."

"Shouldn't you?"

"Well, maybe if things were different," she said, playing with the soggy plastic plate for lack of anything else to do. "I know you're immortal, at least compared to me. You don't have to tell me how old you are, but I imagine you've been around for a while."

Jareth pursed his lips. "When I came to the throne there was trouble in your realm. A king had created a rift in his country over his desire to leave his wife."

"That would be Henry VIII," Sarah snorted. "So yeah, that about sums it up."

"You're worried that I'll forget you, too," Jareth said.

She started to answer, but it wasn't a question. He was certain about it, and it hurt that Sarah knew he wasn't wrong. "I mean… I've read that your perception of time speeds up as you get older. I don't know how much that applies to you, but ten, fifty, a hundred years, it's not a long time."

"I will never forget you, Sarah," he said.

"You don't have to make me any promises," she said.

"Then let me make it to myself," he said. He reached out, then stopped. Sarah closed her fist. "Do not believe that just because you weren't the first to run the labyrinth, you weren't worthy of it. You deserved your victory more than anyone else I've ever known."

"All I did was dance with you and remember a line," Sarah said.

"You refused your greatest dream and you returned to the life you thought you hated," he said. "For such a young child, that is commendable."

"I was fifteen. That's almost an adult," Sarah shivered at the memory of her teenage dramatics. "The problem with fifteen-year-olds is that they're always forgetting the almost part, and I know I did before I finally got out of my ass and grew up. At least, I thought I did."

"You haven't changed as much as you think," Jareth said.

"You sure have," Sarah smiled.

"You saw what you wanted to see," Jareth said. "To guard the Labyrinth I must play many roles. The king, the guardian, the hero, the villain, the lover, the warrior. It all depends on the runner's desires. You wanted a fairy tale, romance, and adventure. You wanted to be swept off your feet and promised the world, so that's what I gave you."

The more he spoke, the more Sarah's head started to spin. That terrible, incredible night so long ago, the one she'd only just accepted was real, played back to her for the hundredth time in a whole new light.

"So in the Escher room," she said, "when you gave me that whole 'we can rule together speech.' If I had said yes…"

"You would have woken up back in your room, your brother safely in his crib, and it would've been like nothing happened while I sought out a new candidate."

She nodded. "Wow… when you said you were exhausted, you meant it, didn't you?"

"I hope this doesn't upset you."

"No, it's okay," she said, "honestly, it's probably for the best that you weren't really lusting after teenaged me. There are some implications there."

Whether he knew what she was talking about or not, Jareth didn't say. He drank the rest of his coke like it was hard liquor and threw his head back. "I'm only sorry you didn't have a better foe to defeat."

Sarah stifled a laugh. "Are you seriously fishing for compliments on your villainy right now?"

"I only mean that you deserved a grander setting for your hero's journey," Jareth said. "Being that the Labyrinth is so far removed."

"It can't be that bad," Sarah said. "And you must get visitors."

"I haven't seen anyone of my kind since I was crowned."

He picked up the cup, grunting when he found it empty. He crumbled it into a ball and left it on his plate. Then he folded his arms and glanced to the side, reading a random flier for someone's dog-walking business like he hadn't just dropped a bomb on the table.

Sarah swallowed. 'Don't push,' she told herself in Professor Twill's voice. 'Don't push.'

"I… I mean, well then, you must go to see your friends, right?"

"Oh, Sarah," Jareth sighed, "but you couldn't possibly know. No self-respecting Fae would ever consider me a friend."

"That can't be," Sarah said, a little too louder. She dialed it back. "All because of your mother? You're not her."

"It's not about her," Jareth said, wringing his hands together. The leather squeaked under his fingers. He was liable to rub it off. "It's my father."

Sarah sucked in a breath. She silenced it far too late.

Jareth's posture grew even tighter. "Higgle told you, didn't he?"

"No," Sarah said, forgetting for the moment to correct him. "I mean, kind of. Not really… he said it wasn't for him to say."

"Hmm… perhaps I won't bog him after all."

She should've been angry. Or she should've laughed. She should've been telling him right now that he doesn't owe her any kind of explanation and he doesn't have to tell her anything if he didn't want to. She could go the rest of her life not knowing the whole story as long as she had a life to live. She shouldn't sit there staring at him like some drooling idiot in front of a TV screen.

All she could get out was, "Jareth…"

He took that exactly how she knew he would. "My… my mother's invasion was unprecedented. Nothing like her had ever been seen before, and so the people of the Underground weren't prepared for such a threat. That left the High King and his sons as the only ones powerful enough to fight her. He had many sons. Handsome, powerful men devoted to their people.

"The youngest, though, he was never the warring type. He was gentle. A child of nature. Everyone loved him, all the kingdoms and their subjects. They say he was his mother's clear favorite and his brothers couldn't even be angry about it. And they weren't the only ones who wanted him."

Jareth paused and took a breath. Sarah squeezed his hand, freezing midway. When had she taken it?

"Go on," she whispered.

He nodded. "My mother… decided she no longer wanted to rule alone. Perhaps she was worried about her legacy, though I can't say why when she was obviously some kind of immortal being. She went to the High King's youngest son and tried to seduce him. Promised him power and riches. She played on his insecurities and jealousy of his older brothers. Come to find he had neither. He loved his family and would never betray them. His will and his heart were too strong for her words to corrupt… so she used magic."

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked, though as her stomach turned to stone, she had a horrible, sinking feeling that she already knew.

"I'm told she snuck into his rooms one night, whisked him away, and kept him for days under a spell. Made him believe that he wanted her. When he awoke and realized what had happened, he was devastated. Broken. He had always been fragile." Jareth closed his eyes. They were dry but had never looked more ancient. "He couldn't live with what had been done to him, so he stole one of his father's daggers and… ended it. They say the High King never smiled again. It almost killed his mother. Nine months later, I was born, an exile before I'd ever drawn a breath. I lived under my mother's thumb, trained to be her successor until I finally had the power to defeat her. Then I returned to what I thought were my people."

"What happened?" Sarah asked, numb.

He gave the most empty chuckle. "Well, how would you react if the cause of your son's death walked through your door and expected a welcome? I was almost killed on the spot. It was only through the High Queen's single drop of sympathy that I survived and was given command of the Labyrinth. 'If you want to redeem yourself of your mother's crimes, keep the gate between our world and the next,' they said. 'Only then will you be welcome among us.' For a while, I believed them, but even when I realized that they would never accept me, I did my duty. Both to honor my father and spite my mother. I would keep her locked up, and bear the brunt of their scorn, eternally alone. A true king of nowhere."

He finished with a long, low sigh that dragged over Sarah's skin like burning coal. Behind him, the chef had just put a sausage pizza in the oven and started working on a vegetable pie. Sarah stared at him, eyes aimless as her mind raced. Taking it all in. Making sense of it.

Trying not to cry.

"Jareth," she whispered, her voice barely a hiss. "I… I'm so sorry."

He rolled his eyes. "Pity. It's worse than a blade to the neck."

"I'm not trying to-" She was, though, wasn't she? "I mean… I'm sorry. For what I did. Letting her out and everything…"

"Oh, don't make me miss the pity," Jareth said. "You did nothing beyond what you were meant to do. You bested me and you won your prize. Anything after that is incidental."

"But if I hadn't, then-"

"Then someone else would have." Even with his eyes so aged, he managed a playful smile. "Thinking rather highly of ourselves, are we?"

Sarah started to speak but didn't let the words out. It would just be more of the same. Empty platitudes he'd already rejected that did nothing but make her throat burn. That left her with nothing to do. Just stare straight ahead or at the table. Maybe fiddle with her fingers a bit. Just look as stupid and useless as possible like she was still fifteen and getting through the biggest adventure of her life on a combination of persistence and dumb luck.

"You are a good king," she said.

"Good, maybe, but not worthwhile," Jareth said. "Not to them."

"Then fuck them!" The pizza maker turned his head and Sarah lowered her voice just a tad. "Fuck what those assholes think. You were a child who needed help and they threw you out like trash. And you love your subjects. You love them so much you're hurting yourself to protect them. You're so much more than they'll ever be, and maybe they don't talk to you because they know that."

He looked… strange. Funny, if she were being honest. Nobody had ever spoken of the Fae court like that, at least not to him. It left him at a crossroads between being scandalized and wanting to laugh himself silly. He swallowed the smile. "Such insults would get you flogged where I'm from."

"That's fine," Sarah said, "I'll just keep saying it. And I'll flip them off while I do it."

"Flip what?"

"Let's just say it's not very nice."

Jareth nodded, sliding back down to his seat now that he has nothing left to prove. "You know, you weren't the first to want a love story. I've done that dance many times. I've had runners throw themselves at my feet, and I've had some push me aside without a thought, but none of them were ever as frustrating as you."

Sarah blinked. "Uh… thanks."

"It's not a complaint. Please don't take it as such. I would never take back that night." He paused like he was afraid to finish. "It's only that… I don't think any runner has ever connected with the Labyrinth as you did."

"It sure didn't feel that way at the time," Sarah chuckled. "If we're so connected, why didn't she help me?"

"That would have undermined your victory."

"I don't think I would've minded."

"Regardless, you didn't just defeat me fair and square, you also befriended my subjects. You earned their respect, their loyalty. After all this time they remember your name. They care about you."

Sarah smiled. "Well, I did throw them that party. I even snuck them some cookies from downstairs... I think I convinced myself that Merlin ate them. I don't know, I'm sure I found some kind of logical explanation. I'm always finding logical explanations these days."

"Because you're smart," Jareth said.

"Because I stopped believing," Sarah replied, sucking back tears. "I barely believed you before she attacked me, and even then, all I could focus on was whether or not I was safe. If I was in danger. I never stopped to think…" She pushed back a shudder, hands wrapped around her knees hard enough to crack them. "I don't think I'm that girl from Escher Room anymore. I don't even remember how to be her."

"You haven't changed as much as you think," Jareth said. "If you had, I… they wouldn't love you so much."

His words stuck with her, sitting in the back of her mind like a rock. Nothing could budge it, and it would linger for the rest of the night into tomorrow, if not the rest of her life.

"That's quite a compliment," she said, swallowing a knot. "Seeing as you never wanted to see me again."

Jareth squeezed her hand. His arm moved more fluidly today. Maybe that wound had finally healed. Before she could ask, his fingers moved up her arm, making her heart stop beating. "I think I was wrong."

This was… not the first time she'd held someone's hand. The first time was probably some random day in preschool. The last time was with her old boyfriend. It had never been more than basic physical contact and she had never experienced the whole 'electricity in my skin, heart pounding' thing all the romance novels insisted hand-holding should evoke. She had assumed it wasn't real.

Just like she assumed he wasn't real.

God, she was insufferable. How had she never noticed?

Jareth's eyes flickered, bluer than she remembered them being, high over her head on the street outside. "Do you hear that?"

She heard a car driving by and the pizza makers chatting while they rolled the dough. Not much else.

"What is it?" she asked.

He stood, gliding around the table like it wasn't there. He left a pile of bills on the table. At least a hundred dollars if not more. Sarah gawked. When exactly did he get all that money? Hopefully, the exchange rate between their realms was just especially good.

"Buonanotte!" the manager called as they headed for the door.

Jareth was halfway down the street by the time Sarah made it outside. The doorbell tinkled and another car whipped by, this one driven by howling frat boys who honked at her and laughed as they sped down the road. They almost cut Jareth off. He kept walking and turned right on the next street. Sarah ran after him, nearly tripping on the curb and almost losing him down an alleyway.

They walked another two blocks to a part of town she didn't know. It looked expensive, with more clubs and fewer mom n' pops. Girls with Freshman energy walked back and forth between bars like they'd been doing it for years and hadn't bought their nice clothes with their parent's money. A few of them eyed Jareth, sashaying a bit to get his attention and pouting when he walked by without so much as a look.

Wait, was his disguise wearing off? He shouldn't look that amazing to their eyes, no matter what Sarah saw herself. Maybe it was just his energy.

"What is it?" she asked once again.

"Don't you hear that music?"

She did, but she hadn't thought about it. There were five different clubs blasting synth beats in her face. It was impossible to know what was coming from where. Blaze, the dance club with the 'happy hour' sign, was playing Dead or Alive. Wyld Syde had Motley Crue going. Jareth bypassed both of them for the club at the end of the street, the only one that wasn't about to burst at the seams. It was called Dave's, a fitting name considering the music.

"Oh wait, I know this one," Sarah said as the dance-pop and hair metal melted away and fuzzy guitars and synthesizers took their place.

"It's rather good," Jareth said, rather casually for someone who had run two blocks just to hear it.

Sarah giggled. "You wanna dance?"

The people inside were dancing as if to a pulsing club anthem. Not the best read of this song, but they were having fun. They didn't have a care in the world, and it would be nice to pretend to be one of them for a few minutes. So she took Jareth's hand, not letting him answer and simply trusting him to follow her lead.

They entered the club and stepped on the dance floor, staying close to the door as Jareth led her in a circle. Compared to the gyrating dancers, they probably looked ridiculous. Someone bumped into Sarah from behind and hiccupped a mushy 'sorry.' Sarah nodded, as much as she could with her head on Jareth's chest.

He held her tight, his body warm and strong against hers. The last time they danced it had been cold and detached, a simple waltz like teachers in the middle of a demonstration. This was… different. Sloppier. Jareth grazed her foot several times and couldn't seem to keep the rhythm. Sarah slipped on something and he had to hold her up. Both times, no one said anything. He squeezed her waist or she brushed his shoulder. It was stilted, awkward, and all they needed.

"I, I will be king," Sarah whispers along with the song, "and you, you will be queen."

"Isn't that my line?" Jareth asked.

"Funny," Sarah giggled.

"Very," he said, and had she dreamed the touch of sadness in his voice?

"You know," she said, looking up at him, "I think David Bowie may have stolen your look."

"Who?"

"Nevermind." They kept dancing, staying in the corner away from everyone else, until long after the song had ended. Sarah still heard it in her head over whatever was playing now, humming the lyrics under her breath. "We can be heroes, just for one day…"

They should probably go. No telling when one of those shadows would turn vicious. Sarah thought about saying so several times. She had to think about how to phrase it first, but then another song she loved came on and she decided it wouldn't hurt to wait.

Eventually, she ran out of excuses. They'd wasted far too much time and the song she liked had changed to one she didn't. She lifted her head to tell Jareth it was time to go, and her lips just barely missed his.

She froze, which was strange when her feet were still moving. They spun in slow, tight motions. Eyes everywhere but hands firmly in place. Sarah grew dizzy. Not enough to faint, but the idea sent shockwaves of excitement through her. If she fainted, he'd have to carry her. Just like that night at her apartment. It would be like something out of a fairy tale, but better. Because it was real.

It was better than the ballroom.

The thought came to her like any other. There was nothing earth-shattering about it, it was just a simple fact she knew to be true just like she knew water was wet. In this dirty bar surrounded by drunk teenagers with fake IDs, Sarah was happier than any dream or peach could ever make her. She could do this forever. It wouldn't be bad at all.

Too bad things were never so simple. Shadows danced on the walls no matter how hard Sarah tried to ignore them. Jareth had slowed to a stop, and Sarah moved two extra steps like that would make him carry on. She didn't want to beg, but she didn't want to leave even more.

Why couldn't this be real? She'd given up everything when she grew up. She stopped talking to Mr. Winkers. She put away her little red book. Why couldn't she have this one perfect moment without having to worry about tomorrow? Why couldn't she be happy that magic was real? It wasn't right. Dare she say it, it wasn't fair!

But nothing in life is ever fair. Jareth would know that well.

He'd asked her once what her basis for comparison was. She finally had one, and she'd never hated her younger self more.

"We should go," Jareth said.

Sarah nodded. If she tried to speak, she'd cry. They left the bar hand in hand and no one saw them go. It was as if they'd never been there at all.

"I had a nice time," Sarah said.

That was the kind of thing you said at the end of a date. Sarah had known that when she said it, but it still felt right.

"I did as well," Jareth said, walking her to the front porch. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Thank you for coming."

The front yard was brighter than usual, the lamps glowing pure white, snuffing out all traces of darkness. Perhaps she should thank him, or beg him not to expend his energy on something so frivolous. Even if his arm was better, he should take it easy for a while. What if he irritated the wound?

"I will be standing guard tonight," he said as if reading her mind and wanting to shoot her concerns down as fast as possible. "I hope you don't mind."

"What, like marching outside my door?"

"I was going to perch in that tree. It looks rather nice."

"Oh yeah," Sarah said. "That makes sense."

The tree in question overlooked her bedroom. He'd have no trouble spotting it if anything happened. Not to mention the other things he'd see if she didn't close the curtains. Her ears heated up. This wasn't something to think about right now, but she couldn't help it.

"I'll need to get ready for bed," she said, "but after that, I can leave the window open. And if you get tired of that tree… I mean, my couch is pretty comfortable. I've had people sleep on it before."

"Thank you. I'm sure I'll be fine," he said.

Sarah nodded. They were at the front door now. Time to say goodnight.

She wanted to say so much more. It was close to eleven but how could that be? They hadn't been out that long. Her watch was just fast. Or the moon was fast.

God, but if they lingered too long she'd have the landlady on her ass. The squeaky little woman would stick her entire upper half out the window of her first-floor suite and start shouting at them until even the crickets shut up.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything. I… I'd probably be dead without you."

Jareth laughed. "Without me, dearest, you'd be living a happy, normal life right now, but I appreciate that I've been of some service."

Sarah squeezed the handle. She didn't realize how hard until it hit her that she was fantasizing about the High King. Slapping him hard across the face, knocking the whiskers she presumed he had right off his cheeks. And once she was done with him, she'd go find The Demoness.

"It's not your fault," she said.

He went still. "Well, no, I didn't tell you to make that wish, but-"

"Not that," Sarah said. She stepped away from the door and took his hand. "Your mo- The Demoness, everything she did to you, you didn't deserve that. You don't deserve to be punished for her crimes. It's not your fault, Jareth. It has never been your fault."

Every word brought her closer to tears. She could barely get the last sentence out before her throat closed up. Jareth, meanwhile, remained as stoic as ever, like she'd been doing little more than describing the weather. It took her a moment to realize that his fists were balled and his entire body was shaking as if the temperature had just dropped twenty degrees.

"Go inside now," he whispered and turned away.

Sarah obliged, ignoring every part of her body screaming for her to stay. "Good night, Jareth."

He didn't answer.

As Sarah walked inside and the door closed behind her, she could've sworn she heard a hitching breath in the trees.

She left the window open that night with the curtains drawn.