The look on his face made her feel cold all over in spite of the blazing fire. She did not say anything. She hardly dared breath. Something hung in the air that felt very, very dangerous, and the only thing that was more terrifying than the thought of the anger a refusal might provoke in him was the prospect of what her life would become if she said yes.

Finally she cleared her throat; her answer came out in a quiet croak. "That's not happening."

To her relief, he did not rage. Instead, he smirked, his eyes glittering, as if to say we'll see. Then he brought his hands together and his expression became more businesslike. "So," he said briskly, like he was explaining something the should have been obvious to a child. "We have established that neither party can have what they want most. Now we compromise."

"Compromise?" What compromise could she possibly make with a man—a creature—who was capable of the things that he did? Why was she even talking to him? But Sarah found that she was at least as curious as she was angry. Something was stirring in the back of her mind, some baser instinct that did not rely on conscious thought, and it urged her to swallow her fear and pride and to pay attention.

"Yes." He folded his hands in a formal gesture. "Here are my terms: I am content to continue merely to have you in your dreams for now. All I ask that when I do you no longer act…" he waved a hand carelessly and finished derisively. "…how you did earlier."

"And how was that?" she inquired acidly.

"You must stop cringing away when I get near you," he said, face darkening for a moment as though even the thought angered him. "No more backing away when I approach, and no more tears or hysterics."

"That doesn't just happen," she said angrily. "I can't just say, 'Sure, no problem,' and switch it off!"

"What could I offer in exchange?" he asked smoothly, as though it was that easy. What was he, some kind of alien? She almost lost her head completely and told him off—seriously, why was she participating in this? Everything about this conversation was wrong; sitting here and making deals with him, playing along with whatever part he had scripted for her in this sick little game he was playing. It was obscene.

And yet, that other part of her whispered. And yet. She clearly had something he wanted—something that he couldn't just take, or he would have done it already. This might be the first opportunity she'd had to gain some control over this situation, the first chance at regaining some kind of power over him—and so, squaring her shoulders, she pressed on.

"You could start by not being an asshole for a very long time until I learn to trust you."

"How long will that take?"

She threw up her hands. "I don't know!"

His frowned deepened. "That is ridiculous."

"Too bad! That's how it is!"

He glared at her. She thought he would protest, but he after considering a moment he only said, "And what do you consider 'not being an asshole'?"

Say your right words. She was getting a feel for this now—they weren't just having a conversation. They were outlining the terms of a contract. "Not hitting me," she replied readily. "Not yelling and stomping around when something happens that you don't like. Not touching me unless I say it's ok."

He didn't like that. "I cannot possibly stop and ask every time."

"Fine. But you have to stop if I say so. And no kissing or anything like that without asking."

He considered. "Agreed. I will agree to "not be an asshole" until you learn to trust me, and in exchange, when you are here, you will be..." he waved a hand airily. "Pleasant."

Pleasant? "What the hell does that mean?"

"You will speak and act courteously, you will do what I ask, and you will be agreeable."

"I'm not going to act like someone I'm not, and I'm not going to do anything I'm not comfortable doing."

He glowered. "Your offer is to say and do whatever you please?"

"I guess."

"Those are not acceptable terms."

"Tough shit! I'm not agreeing to do anything you ask me to do!"

He glared at her. "You know I do not have to do this. I do not have to ask."

The bottom dropped out of her stomach, but she tried desperately to keep her fear from showing on her face. He was bluffing—he had to be. She narrowed her eyes and let her anger show. "Trust me—you made that more than clear last time."

His eyes flashed, and he turned abruptly away from her towards the fire.

"But you know what I think?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "I think that if that's how you really wanted it, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Would we?"

He turned to face her, features rigid with anger. She glared back at him, trying to stare him down and brazen out the silence. He stared at her, his eyes boring hers. Sarah swallowed thickly; she had no idea what he was thinking, but she was pretty sure he saw straight through her bravado.

She blinked first.

"But I guess I could…try," she said.

"Try?"

"To be…polite, and do the things you ask. I'll think about what you ask me to do and do it if I feel like l can." She saw his frown and said quickly, "That's the best I can do. Please Jareth—I can't live with anything less than that." She hoped addressing him by name would count for something.

He considered her for a long time; when he finally nodded, Sarah let out a long breath that she did not realize she had been holding.

"Very well." It was clear that he thought he was being very generous. "Is there anything else?"

God, what else could she get him to agree to?

"No lying," she said, "If I ask you a question, tell me the truth."

"You as well," he said, and seemed pleased at the prospect.

"And no twisting your words around to try to trick me."

He almost squirmed at that. "Perhaps," he agreed reluctantly. "But we can refrain from mentioning things."

"Ok." Another thought occurred to her. "And I don't want you dragging me down here every single night. I have my own life Aboveground, and you just made it a lot more complicated."

"Very well," he said, irritated—probably this was the last concession she would get out of him. "I will only claim…five nights out of every seven."

"One," she countered.

"Four."

"Two."

"Three."

"Two." She quickly followed up with: "I don't think I sleep properly when you take me down here. I need more time in between…" she searched for a polite term, "…visits to catch up."

"Fine. Two days out of every seven, but I also get an additional two every month to use whenever I please."

Reluctantly, Sarah agreed. "Fine."

He set down his goblet. "Very well," he said. "If there is nothing else, let us seal the bargain."

She didn't like the sound of that. "What do we do, sign something?"

"Nothing so crass," he said dismissively. "We have already spoken the terms of the bargain—all that remains is for both parties to acknowledge their acceptance."

"How do we do that?"

"There are many ways," he said, "But the simplest would be to shake hands." He held his hand out to her.

She hesitated for just a moment. She had no idea what she was getting into, not really. It sounded like he was taking this arrangment seriously, but she had no idea whether or not he was going to stick to the terms—or what he might do to her if he didn't think she was holding up her end. But what was the alternative? She remembered the flat, hard look in his eyes when he had threatened her; she remembered what he had already done. If that was the alternative…

Tentatively, she reached her hand out towards his. He snatched it, startling her, and held it firmly, as though to prevent her from yanking it back. It was the first time they had touched since that first night, and the touch of his skin on hers, the strength of his grip, gave her a belly-deep feeling of nausea and wrongness, like bad food poisoning. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and cold sweat chilled her skin. Sarah quickly jerked their hands up and down, then tried to pull her hand away.

"Ok," she said testily, "We shook on it, now—" She stopped, startled, when she realized that she couldn't pull her hand away. It wasn't just his grip—it felt like her skin was somehow adhered to his. Something tingled across the surface of her skin like electricity, and a faint glow began to emanate from their clasped hands. The Goblin King was smiling, firelight dancing over his pale angles of his face.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, pulling harder on her hand, the pitch of her voice rising in panic. But the glow was already fading. She yanked her hand away as soon as she was able. "What the fuck was that?"

"The bargain," he said simply, still smiling that satisfied smile. "It's sealed." Seeing the look on her face, he continued, "The bargain will keep both of us to our word."

"What the hell does that mean?" she demanded, rubbing her hand. A cold sense of dread was building in the pit of her stomach, making her nausea worse.

He treated her to a look of disdain like the one she imagined the Spanish Conquistadors must have given the Native Americans who walked around half naked and worshipped idols.

"The bargain ensures fairness on both sides; neither of will be able to break it."

"You're talking about it like it's...I don't know. Like it's a person or something."

He shrugged lazily, smiling. "That is not an entirely incorrect characterization." The smile widened into an evil grin. "You were not planning on violating any of the terms, were you Sarah?"

Oh shit, she thought. Shit shit shit, what did I do? "What would happen if one of us did try to break it?"

"It will punish any attempt to go against the terms agreed on."

"How?"

He smiled a grim smile. "Unpleasantly."

Her head was swimming. "You didn't mention any of that before."

He smirked. "You did not ask."

Oh, she was dizzy. It suddenly seemed like she could not get enough air. She tried desperately to remember the exact words she had spoken, but her stomach was cramping so painfully she couldn't think straight. "I think I'm going to throw up," she announced weakly.

He launched to his feet as she rolled onto her hands and knees, trying to get more air. A second later he was shoving something into her hands-some kind of basin. She grabbed at it feebly, turned away from him, and was sick as quietly as she could manage.

When the spasms passed she sat back on her heels with closed eyes, breathing carefully against a wave of dizziness. She felt empty, hollowed out, like a light breeze could blow her away. What's said is said. There was nothing she could do now.

He took the basin from her and pressed the goblet full of wine into her hand. She looked up at him, too exhausted to form the question.

"It is safe," he said flatly. "As I told you before."

Well, he couldn't be lying; unless he was bullshitting about the bargain, which she doubted. She had felt something happen—and anyway, it was exactly the kind of thing he would do. She looked at the goblet and thought recklessly, what does it matter anyway? She took a careful sip. The wine burned pleasantly all the way down her throat. It glowed warmly at the bottom of her empty stomach and sent tendrils of warmth uncurling throughout her body. She took another sip.

"This is good," she said hoarsely.

"It is rich; drink it slowly," he said from across the room. He had opened the door and was placing the basin outside. When he walked back he saw her taking another greedy sip. "Slowly," he warned. "I have no more washbasins. If you are sick again, you will have to use the chamber pot."

She choked a little at that, and put the goblet down.

He settled back down across from her and eyed her. "You look a bit better," he said approvingly. "You have some color back in your cheeks."

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"You should eat something," he said, motioning to the table.

She only just managed to keep from wincing; she was so tired, she couldn't take any more of his solicitude. "I don't think I can right now," she said lightly, "I think I should go home and sleep."

"I suppose," he said, looking disappointed. "It is getting late. The spell will not hold much longer anyway." He shrugged. "I shall call on you again tomorrow night."

That was way too soon. She took another gulp of the wine for courage. "Look," she said. "I need a few weeks," she said. "Let me try to pull my life back together before you…before we do this again."

He frowned. "That was not part of the bargain."

"No," she agreed patiently. "It was not. I am asking for it—as a favor." When this seemed to have no effect, she tried another tack. "Think of it as part of 'not being an asshole.'"

He narrowed his eyes. "One week."

"Fine," she said tiredly. She was too exhausted to try to bargain him up.

"Very well. One week from today I will call on you again," he said stiffly. He stood up, and held her a hand. Hesitating, she took it.

"Thank you," she said, catching his eyes as he helped her to her feet. He raised his eyebrows.

"For giving me the week," she said. He studied her for a moment, as though he could think of nothing to say, then abruptly waved his hand as if in dismissal. As it fell, she heard the sound of the distant chimes—one, two, three, four… She looked down. Her skin was glowing faintly with the same white light as her hand had glowed when the bargain was sealed. As she watched in wonder, her body slowly became more and more transparent.

"Only one," he said. Although he was still standing right in front of her, his voice sounded far away. "When it is over, I will come for you." She closed her eyes, sighing in relief as she finally vanished completely.