My Fine Feathered Friend

Story: My Fine Feathered Friend

Storylink: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4076198/1/
Category: Labyrinth
Genre: Humor/Romance
Author: Lixxle
Authorlink: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1494434/
Last updated: 05/10/2008
Words: 86205
Rating: T
Status: Complete
Content: Chapter 1 to 14 of 14 chapters
Source: FanFiction.net

Summary: A tale about a gender-confused, fashion-conscious goblin, a chicken of destiny, and leather pants. Oh and a
good dash of ol' fashioned romance and some adult-type touching thrown in for good measure. JS. Not a crackfic, just a
really caffeinated author...
*Chapter 1*: Chapter 1
My Fine Feathered Friend.

Disclaimer: (looking through my handbag) I own two sticks of gum, three used tissues, a protein bar, a red leather
wallet, an iPod that serves as a mobile David Bowie shrine, and an old ticket to an Elvis impersonator show that I went to
in Vegas. Unless it fell into the lining of my bag, I don't seem to own the Labyrinth. I did own a chicken once. It was an
over-rated experience.

Prologue: The Chicken of Destiny.

When Sarah looked back on events, she realised that everything that had happened, everything that took place, was in
fact all because of a chicken. A particularly persistent, bloodthirsty, chicken. But a chicken, no more, no less. It was kind
of humbling to have one's destiny decided by a piece of poultry

Chapter 1: Sometimes, the noise in your closet is just a chicken-loving cross-dresser.

Sarah was an imaginative young woman. She could spin bedtime stories about knights questing through enchanted
lands, cursed monsters that terrorized great cities, and beautiful princesses who were brilliant and brave and true. Her
stories were so vivid that they could make her little brother shriek with laughter one moment or cower fearfully under the
bedcovers the next (always with one eye peeking out, watching his sister until she vanquished the monsters and made it
safe for him to come out again).

But one night, when Sarah heard a thump thump thump and a muffled squawk coming from her closet, she immediately
knew that there was actually something inside her closet (a thumping, squawking something), rather than just the
workings of her rather splendid imagination. She pulled her old blue dressing gown over her pajamas and looked
around for a weapon. Armed with a feather duster, Sarah crept over to the closet, and after mentally counting to three,
she threw open the doors.

"Ah ha!!" she yelled, brandishing her feather duster in a menacing fashion.

"AAAAHHHHHH!!!" yelled four small goblins, one of whom was wearing her pair of hot pink stilettos.

Sarah looked at the cowering goblins in shock. "GOBLINS? There are GOBLINS in my closet?" Sarah cried, bewildered.
Then she saw an indignant bundle of black feathers huddled in the corner. "And a chicken."

One goblin wearing a rusty sieve on his head piped up. "Please Lady, we were only chasing our chicken, Rosalinda!
Please Lady, do not hurt us with the fluffy killing stick!" he cried out, pointing to the duster. The others nodded in terror.

Sarah lowered the feather duster. "This won't hurt you. Look," she said moving it closer, "it's soft!"

The goblin wearing the sieve moved hesitantly toward the duster. With his eyes scrunched closed, he stretched out his
hand to the duster until his grubby fingers just made contact with the blue feathers.

"Oooohh," he said blissfully. "Soft!"

Sarah raised the duster and tickled his face with it. "Tickle tickle," she said teasingly. The goblin giggled with delight and
fell on his back so she could tickle his stomach. Seeing his weakened position, two of the other goblins promptly
jumped on him, followed by the chicken. As they gleefully squabbled for the privilege of holding the feather duster, Sarah
turned her attention to the goblin wearing her stilettos.

"So what are you doing in my closet wearing my shoes?" she said, kneeling down in front of him.

The little goblin reached down and stroked the pink leather in the same way that a child strokes a fluffy dog.

"Pretty," he said, stroking happily.

Sarah shook her head ruefully. The poor thing seemed to be going through some kind of gender identity crisis. Given the
way that their king dressed, it was fairly understandable.

By now, the other goblins had finished their squabble, and the one with the sieve hat had taken control of the duster.
"More tickle?" he said, holding out the duster to Sarah hopefully. Sarah took it from his hand.

"Ok, but only for a little while. I have work tomorrow." The goblins nodded solemnly.
Sarah proceeded to tickle them one at a time until they were crying with laughter and rolling around so violently that they
were in danger of falling out of the closet. After about an hour, Sarah brushed her long dark hair from her eyes and stood
up. "That's it guys, time's up! I've got to get to bed. Here," she said, handing the duster to the goblin wearing the sieve,
"you can take it with you."

Eyes shining, the goblin bowed "Thank you Lady! Thank you!"

"Goodnight guys!" she said, closing the closet door.

"Goodnight Lady!" she heard their muffled reply.

Suddenly she remembered. "Hey!" she called out opening the door. But they were already gone.

So were her pink stilettos.

Jareth sprawled on the throne, one leg hitched over the arm rest, one hand rubbing his eyes. He felt a headache coming
on. A giant, goblin kingdom-sized headache. He had to get away.

"Is it too much to ask that someone, anyone at all, wishes something away to me?" he said testily. He looked up at the
small beaked goblin polishing the back of the throne. "Is that too much to ask, Squeak? Is it?"

Squeak wisely shook his head. "No majesty," he said, spitting on the throne and rubbing at it with a dirty red rag.

Jareth sighed. "Frankly, I don't even care what they wish away. I'll take anything right now. Baby. Kitten. A fully grown
accountant…"

"Accountant?" said Squeak.

"Accountant," said Jareth, his face in his hands.

Wallowing in his misery, it took Jareth a moment to notice the chanting (followed by uproarious laughter) that was
starting to get louder and louder in his throne room.

"Tickle tickle tickle YEAHHHYY!!!"

"Tickle tickle tickle YEAHHHYY!!!"

"Tickle tickle tickle YEAHHHYY!!!"

"What the blasted..." said Jareth, looking up.

There he saw the goblin Ignor, in his rusty sieve hat, brandishing a blue feather duster and tickling one of the younger
goblins.

"Tickle tickle tickle YEAHHHYY!!!" all the goblins chanted, as the young goblin fell to the floor in giggles. The young goblin
then picked himself off the floor, dusted himself off, and ran to the back of the queue as the next goblin in line walked up
to Ignor ready to be tickled.

"Tickle tickle tickle YEAHHHYY!!!" they all chanted as that goblin too fell to the floor in laughter, picked himself off and ran
to the back of the queue.

Jareth looked on in shock. It was the most organized and civilized display from his subjects that he had ever witnessed.
Sure, there was a small altercation when one goblin tried to have his pet chicken tickled, but that too was quickly dealt
with and the game continued. Jareth was almost reluctant to stop them, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Stop!" he said, coming down from his throne. He walked up to Ignor and bent down so that they were at eye level.

"Ignor," he said curiously, "what is it that you are doing?"

Ignor smiled happily, and straightened the sieve on his head. "It's the tickle game, Majesty!" Ignor reached out the feather
duster and began to rub it on Jareth's leather vest.

"Tickle tickle tickle…." the goblins chanted.

Jareth's hand shot out and took the duster.

"….ohhhhhhhhhh," the goblins said, glumly.

Jareth reached out and grabbed Ignor's shirt. "Ignor," he said, his voice deathly calm, "where did you get this?"

Ignor swallowed. "It's the Lady's fluffy killing stick! She showed us the tickle game but she couldn't play for long because
of the work so she gave us the stick. It's soft," he said, sighing happily.

Jareth shut his eyes a moment and thought. How many 'ladies' could his goblins possibly know? "Ignor, when you say
'the Lady' do you mean Sarah? Did Sarah give you the…" he paused, raising his eyebrow, "fluffy killing stick?"

Ignor nodded "Yes, Sarah, the Lady!"

Jareth sighed. His goblins were visiting Sarah again and apparently stealing her cleaning products. He noticed Ignor
eyeing the feather duster longingly. Jareth was about to question Ignor about what he had been doing in Sarah's house
to begin with when a sudden scraping noise caught his attention. Looking up, he saw a small goblin, shuffling
unsteadily toward him in a pair of bright pink stilettos. Jareth took a long look at the little goblin, eyeing him from the tips
of his oversized pink shoes to the long black chicken feather sticking up from behind his ear at a rather jaunty angle.
Jareth smirked "You're looking quite dashing today, Skeep, even though pink is not quite your color. I hope for your sake
that Sarah doesn't notice that you've run off with her shoes."

Skeep bent down and stroked the shoes. "Pretty," he said happily.
*Chapter 2*: Chapter 2
Chapter 2: It's a present.

The next time the goblins appeared in Sarah's closet (just around bedtime on a Friday night), they brought a long gray
box with them.

"Here Lady," said Ignor, holding the box out to Sarah. "From the King."

Sarah looked at the large package rather dubiously. Part of her was somewhat…excited…that the Goblin King had sent
her a package. The other part was vaguely terrified about what it would contain. She touched the velvety soft gray
wrapping cautiously, and tried to ignore the dirty handprints all over the box.

"It's a present Lady!" said the goblin wearing stripy blue socks.

Sarah snorted. "It's not a crystal, is it?"

Ignor shook his head till his sieve hat fell over his eyes. "It's better!" The goblins nodded.

Sarah took a deep breath. Her presents from the Goblin King to date had included a trick snake and hallucinogenic fruit.
He wasn't exactly Santa Claus. Though a wistful little inner voice said there was that white b allgown…. Sarah shook her
head. She had half a mind to ignore the package completely…until she looked down into the excited, expectant eyes of
the goblins before her. Sighing, she rolled up the sleeves of her oversized blue pajama top, and cautiously opened the
lid, half expecting the Goblin King himself to come springing out in all his tight-pant, glittery glory. When nothing
happened, she looked into the box and blinked in surprise. Inside, she found a shiny black feather duster. She picked it
up and peered at it closely.

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully, "these look a lot like chicken feathers. I hope no-one lost a pet to make this."

Ignor shook his head. "They came from Rosalinda's tail."

Sarah looked at the duster a little dubiously. "Well thank Rosalinda for me."

As Sarah was putting the duster back into the box she noticed a card written in a strong black scrawl. She picked it up
and began to read as the goblins jumped out of the closet and begun to enact merry mayhem in her bedroom.

"Dear Sarah,

Forgive my gob lins for stealing your "fluffy killing stick". In most circumstances, I would have demanded that they return it
to you immediately, b ut regrettab ly it has b een used to fondle most of the gob lin population during that infernal tickle
game you taught them, so I suspect that it is no longer sufficiently hygienic to function as a cleaning tool. Instead, please
accept this sub stitute that the gob lins made for you. Apparently the feathers came from the current chicken-toss
champion so it is quite an honorab le duster."

Sarah looked up at Ignor. "Rosalinda is the current chicken-toss champion?"

Ignor nodded. "Four seasons running," he said proudly. The rest of the goblins nodded happily.

"Well then thank you for the gift." Sarah thought for a moment. "Though what about the shoes that you scamps stole?"

Sarah turned the card over.

"Regrettab ly, I was unab le to separate Skeep from your fine pair of shoes. Unfortunately, he considers himself
something of a fashion trendsetter. Thankfully, he almost fell headfirst into the b og while wearing your footwear so I
b elieve that stilettos will b e one trend that my sheep-like sub jects will b e reluctant to follow. Skeep has quite the eye for
b eauty so I think it b est that you keep him well away from your shoe collection and any other more 'personal' items".

Sarah paused. What does he mean b y personal items? Sarah looked up to see Skeep eyeing her underwear draw
longingly. "Oh no you don't!" She quickly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shut the drawer. She put him on the
floor and watched him pat the rug quite contentedly. Sarah turned her attention back to the card.

"To compensate for the loss of your shoes, please accept these in exchange. They are far more functional than the ones
you lost, and you'll find that they b arely ever scuff, even when kicking the heftiest of gob lins. Fond regards, Jareth, the
Gob lin King."
Sarah looked at the bottom of the box and pulled out a pair of black, knee-length, leather boots very similar to those worn
by the Goblin King. Quickly stepping out of her fluffy pink slippers, she pulled on the boots. She had to admit, they were
exceptionally fine. Soft, supple, and (dare she say it), just the littlest bit sexy. Now she knew why the Goblin King strutted.

The goblins looked at her pace the floor in her new boots and applauded enthusiastically. Ignor smiled. "Now you look
like the King!" The rest of the goblins nodded.

Sarah smiled mischievously and grabbed a snowglobe from the top of her shelf. She held it up and struck her best
Goblin King pose. She looked down at Ignor. "I bought you a gift," she said in a clipped English accent.

Ignor took the snowglobe, looking at it in awe. "What is it?"

Sarah raised one eyebrow and made her tone indifferent. "It's a crystal, nothing more. Do you want it?"

The goblins started rolling around the floor in laughter. Skeep teetered in his stilettos. "Lady's like King, but she's a girl!"
he laughed, falling backward, pink heels wiggling in the air.

Ignor struck a kingly pose with the snowglobe. "Nothing nothing tra la la," he boomed. The goblins and Sarah started
shrieking with glee.

Sarah wiped a tear from her eye and ushered them all out to the kitchen. "Let me introduce you fine fellows to chocolate
cookies."

Rosalinda the chicken stared mesmerized at her reflection in Jareth's highly polished boots. She was curious—was the
particularly fine-looking chicken staring back at her a friend or foe? Foe, she decided (after all, you don't become chicken-
toss champion four seasons running without developing a vicious competitive streak). Just as Rosalinda decided to give
this strange chicken a good strong warning peck, a hand shot out and closed around her throat. Soon she was staring
into the mismatched eyes of the Goblin king.

"I think not, my pet," Jareth purred at the rather stunned Rosalinda. "Not unless you want me to toss you into the bog well
before the next competition."

Rosalinda uttered a muted squawk. Jareth tilted his head, looking at the rather unrepentant chicken. Even as he held her
in a throat lock, Rosalinda looked as though she would happily try to peck out Jareth's eyes.

"Such disrespect to your sovereign, Rosalinda. I expected better from you." Flicking his wrist, he tossed her across the
room. "Think of it as training for the next contest."

Sitting on the back of the throne, Squeak watched Rosalinda make a graceful arc through the air as she flew across the
room. "She has nice form."

Jareth looked at Rosalinda critically as she hit the ground in a flurry of feathers. "Her landing needs work."

Rosalinda threw Jareth a black look. Jareth pursed his lips thoughtfully. "She doesn't like me." He raised his voice. "The
feeling is quite mutual, Rosalinda, I assure you," he said, addressing the retreating chicken. Jareth laughed
uproariously. He stopped and looked at Squeak. "Well?"

Squeak dutifully started laughing so hard that he fell backwards off the throne. Jareth peered over the back of the throne
to watch Squeak scrape himself off the floor. Mid smirk, his attention was caught by a tug on his trousers. He looked
down at Skeep, who was holding out a package.

"From Lady," said Skeep, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.

Jareth noticed that in addition to the pink stilettos, Skeep was wearing a bright red tea cosy on his small pointed head.
Jareth tried to suppress his smile beneath a stern look. "Really Skeep! Pink shoes, red hat—it clashes terribly."

Skeep looked mortally offended. His dirty little hand reached up and stroked the tea cosy on his head till his smile
returned.

Jareth just shook his head and took the package from Skeep's outstretched hand. Frankly, Jareth was quite surprised to
receive a package from Sarah. As he began to open the wrapping, he noticed that his heart rate quickened. He paused.
Odd. He felt…excited. How long had it been since he had felt excited? You know the answer to that old b oy, he thought
ruefully.

Just as he began to open the package, he noticed that most of his goblins were huddled, heads down, in a circle and
positively cooing in wonder. He carefully put the package on his throne, stood up, and walked up behind the transfixed
group. Although his footsteps were rather loud on the dirty stone floor, the goblins remained oblivious to the Goblin king
as he stalked up behind them, so entranced were they with the object in Ignor's hand.

Jareth waited till he was directly behind them and boomed pleasantly, "Last one to bow down to me gets thrown into the
bog."

"AHHH!!!" screamed the goblin hordes, desperately crashing into each other as they attempted to throw themselves onto
the ground.

Jareth laughed heartily and noticed that Ignor was still clutching the object of interest in his hand. Jareth strode over to
him, bent down, and took the object. "Ignor, what do you have this time?" he said, peering at the snowglobe.

Ignor and the rest of the goblins got up from the ground and surrounded Jareth.

"It's from the Lady," Ignor said reverently. "It's magic!"

Jareth looked at him crossly. "This isn't magic, this is plastic."

Ignor shook his head and took the globe back from Jareth. "Look, majesty. Now it is sunny," he said pointing to the little
beach scene inside the globe, with its sandy beach and sunbathing tourists. "But now," he said, shaking the globe, "it is
snowing."

Sure enough, snow swirled around the people sunbathing on the beach.

"OOOOoooooooooowwww magic!" said the surrounding goblins.

Jareth snatched the globe back from Ignor. "This," he said, speaking slowly, just as you would to a child, "is not magic.
You can't make it snow in," he peered inside the globe, "Tijuana by shaking this plastic toy. This is a cheap souvenir.
Now this," he said, turning his wrist till a crystal appeared in the palm of his hand, "this is real magic." Jareth threw the
crystal high into the air. As it hit the roof of the throne room, small flakes of snow began to fall.

"Yeahhhhyy!!! Snow!!" cheered the goblins.

"Just like Tijuana!" yelled Skeep.

Jareth retreated back to his throne to watch the joyous chaos. He couldn't help but smile as goblins ran around the
room, trying to catch snowflakes on their tongue. Mostly they failed and ended up tripping over each other and the
chickens. Jareth turned his attention back to the parcel Sarah had given him. The wrapping was white with small
embossed white shells. He ran a black-gloved finger over the raised design and then pulled off the paper. He first
noticed the blue envelope nestled on the white tissue paper. Opening it, he pulled out a letter in Sarah's careful
handwriting.

"Dear Gob lin King,

Thank you for the remarkab le replacement duster. I'm sure that my furniture will feel rather privileged to b e dusted with a
four-time chicken-toss champion. The b oots are lovely too. They have given me some surprising insights into your
personality."

What does she mean b y that? he thought.

"And they are so comfortab le—I find myself not wanting to take them off, even to go to b ed"

At this point, Jareth was struck with a rather pleasant image of Sarah wearing only her black boots and a smile. He
shivered a little but blamed it on the snow.

"You really didn't have to replace the shoes—I actually think that Skeep looks far b etter in them than I do. I guess you
were right—you can b e generous." Jareth smirked at that.

A mighty crash caused Jareth look up from the letter. The hastily arranged chicken sled races were not going well.
Several of the contenders were dizzily trying to regain their balance after a particularly nasty collision. "Careful now," he
said peering at the wreckage. The goblins all stopped and stared at him, open-mouthed at his concern. He sighed. "Fine
then, loser gets kicked into the bog." The goblins cheered and went back to tethering the wandering chickens to the
sleds.
Jareth went back to his letter. "So, to say thanks, please find enclosed a b ox of doub le chocolate cookies. They're for the
gob lins."

"The GOBLINS!" he fumed. "I give her the finest pair of custom-made leather boots in the Underground and she gives
gifts to the GOBLINS?! You can be so cruel, Sarah!" He threw the letter away, dejected. After a minute, he looked down at
the letter on the floor. He tapped the bridge of his nose for a moment, then reached down for it, picked it up, and
continued reading.

"If you ever find that you need a moment of peace and quiet, just hold up the b ox and ask who wants a cookie. Trust me,
it's like magic. Give it a try."

Jareth snorted. The cookies would have to be drugged to get the cretins to shut up and give him a moment of peace.

"The gob lins are welcome to visit anytime, b ut please ask them to leave Rosalinda at home—it took me ages to clean
the feathers out of the couch. Kind regards, Sarah. P.S. The b ook of puzzles is for you."

Jareth smiled broadly. He pulled out the puzzle book and flicked through the pages. There were word puzzles, and
crosswords, and best of all, mazes. Deliciously twisted mazes. Jareth rubbed his hands in glee. Just then, there was a
ridiculously loud crash and Jareth was forced to duck as goblins were thrown through the air.

"That's it," Jareth yelled, reaching into Sarah's package. "Who wants a cookie?"

The effect was immediate. Suddenly, the goblins scrambled to sit cross-legged on the floor, perfectly silent, and held out
their hands. Jareth looked at them in shock. Sarah was a genius. He quickly handed out the cookies and went back to
his book of puzzles.

"Now you precious thing," he said, turning to a particularly difficult maze, "prepare to be conquered."
*Chapter 3*: Chapter 3
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many many thanks for the reviews! This is my first fanfic so I am exceedingly gratified that someone
has read it, particularly when I warned you that it contained cross-dressing goblins and chickens (heaven knows I
wouldn't have read it). Please let me know what you think—whether I should stop, keep going, or just stand very very still
and pretend that none of this happened to begin with.

Wolfish Oro you clever little reviewer! How did you guess what would happen next? I'm sending you a box of cookies
(then again, being psychic, you probably already knew that).

Disclaimer: All I own is Skeep. But I'd probably swap him for a box of bananas.

Chapter 3: How to get your goblins their whitest and brightest

Sarah was in the middle of sorting her laundry when the goblins next paid her a visit.

"Hello Lady!" they called out, scrambling down from the closet.

Sarah smiled at them. "Hi guys, how've you been?"

"King made it snow," said the goblin with the blue horns.

Sarah looked up from folding a pair of socks. "Snow?"

Ignor nodded. "In the throne room."

"Like Tijuana," said Skeep, as he tried to pull a lacy pink bra from the laundry basket. Sarah quickly pried it from his dirty
little fingers and put him down onto the rug.

"Well," said Sarah, "I guess that was nice of the King."

Oddly nice, really. Sarah found it a little puzzling that Jareth would try so hard to amuse his subjects. She sighed. The
man was an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, wrapped in…well, tight pants, really. Sarah tried not to dwell on that mental
image. It made her a little warm. "Did you have fun?"

They all nodded. "We had chicken sled races…until the chickens started to freeze," said Ignor.

"And we made snow goblins!" said a small goblin who was licking Sarah's potted plant.

"By throwing goblins in the snow," said Ignor. They all started laughing uproariously.

Except Skeep. "T'was cold," he said angrily.

Sarah reached down and picked him up. "You shouldn't pick on poor Skeep. He's…" Sarah looked at Skeep in his red
tea cosy and (now distressingly grubby) pink stilettos, "…ah, special." Skeep looked up at her as if she were the moon
and the stars.

"And then we got cookies!" said Ignor.

Ah ha! thought Sarah. So the mighty Goblin King followed her advice, hey? Sarah felt strangely happy to hear that. She
turned to the goblins. "Did you sit very quietly and eat your cookie just as I showed you?"

They all nodded. "Yes Lady!"

Sarah smiled and started to fold her towels. "Very good goblins."

Ignor nodded. "We were very good. So good that the King gave us more cookies."

Sarah stopped folding. "How many more?"

"The whole box!" said the little goblin who was cautiously trying to bite the potted plant.

Sarah stared at them in horror. "Then what happened?"

"We got happy!" Skeep said merrily.

This doesn't sound good, thought Sarah. "What happens when you get happy?" she said, almost too afraid to ask.

"Spinning and singing!" they shouted.

That doesn't sound too b ad, thought Sarah. "Show me," she ordered.

It was bad. Very bad. Colossally bad. The goblins started spinning around as fast as they could, arms outstretched,
singing loud enough to drown out an air-raid siren and extremely off key—so off key, in fact, that in some parallel
universe it would probably be in key. Sarah's eyes began to water just listening to the sound. As the goblins grew dizzy
from spinning, they began to crash into one another and the 'singing' became mingled with screams of pain as one-by-
one they fell into the path of Skeep's flailing stilettos. Sarah looked at the catastrophe sprawled on her bedroom floor,
multiplied it by a box of cookies, and suddenly had a good idea of the kind of horror that the Goblin King had witnessed.

"Oh no," groaned Sarah, covering her face with her hands.

Ignor looked up at her. "That's what the King said! And then he put us in a net…"

"…and hung us over the bog," said the goblin who was now chewing a mouthful of potted plant.

"…till we weren't as happy anymore," sighed Ignor.

Skeep raised his dirty sleeve to Sarah's face. "Smelly."

Sarah bent toward him, inhaled sharply, and tried to discretely move away. "Well," she said stoically, "that can all be fixed
with a trip to the washing machine and a lot of fabric softener. Here," she said, putting an empty laundry basket on the
floor. "Put your dirty clothes in here, and put on one of these towels. Then go and sit on the couch and you can watch
game shows on TV till your clothes are ready."

The goblins happily began to follow her orders. When Ignor threw his clothes in the basket, he handed her a package.
"Let me guess," said Sarah, "it's from the King?" Ignor nodded and ran off to the couch where the goblins were
discovering the delights of game show television.

Given that Sarah had unwittingly unleashed a herd of sugar-high goblins in His Majesty's throne room, she felt very
reluctant to open the package. In fact, she was worried that it contained the Underground equivalent of anthrax. She took
a deep breath and opened the lid of the small white box. A card was on top. She quickly opened it and began to read.

"Dearest Sarah,

Many…thanks…for your gifts.

Sarah could almost see him smirking.

Though, why is it that giving one cookie to the gob lins granted me approximately forty minutes of peace and quiet,
whereas giving a b ox of cookies to the gob lins granted me approximately four hours of mayhem and terror?

Sarah shuddered.

Surely, increasing the numb er of cookies should have increased the quiet time? But no. Rather, the gob lins b egan
singing after their multiple cookie consumption. Let me inform you, dear Sarah, that gob lin singing is b lood-curdlingly
b ad. So b ad that most people who have the misfortune to b e in the vicinity of singing gob lins usually attempt to remove
their eardrums with a b lunt stick. Even I (who have heard it many times b efore) felt a sudden urge to pound my head
against the throne room floor until I b ecame mercifully unconscious. It seems as though your cookies were intriguingly
potent—even after suspending the gob lins over the b og, it took hours for the noxious fumes to shut them up.

Sarah remembered quite vividly the fragrance of the bog. She then pictured a net full of goblins singing above it. It was
enough to give a girl nightmares.

Despite these events, I am very aware that forty minutes of peace and quiet is approximately thirty-nine minutes and fifty-
eight seconds more than I usually get. In fact, it's a new Underground record. Moreover, thirty-nine minutes and fifty-eight
seconds of quiet time allowed me to complete several of the mazes erroneously lab eled as 'difficult' in that otherwise
splendid b ook of yours. I only hope the ones lab eled 'expert' put up more resistance.

"Show off," said Sarah. But she smiled thinking of Jareth, King of Goblins, Master of the Labyrinth, poring over the mazes
in the puzzle book and yelling "don't defy me!" wherever he came to a particularly tricky turn.
So, to show my gratitude, please accept these. Winter is coming and I'd hate you to catch cold, precious. Plus they match
the b oots—one should have the full set. Fondly, Jareth, King of the Gob lins.

Fondly? Precious? Sarah was aware of the slight…tingle…she felt when reading those words, though she stubbornly
decided to put it down to standing too close to a vibrating washing machine. She shook her head, reached into the box,
and pulled out a pair of buttery-soft, skin-tight, black leather gloves. She pursed her lips. Apparently Jareth was sending
her a few of his favorite things. Smiling, she slipped them on and was surprised by how the soft leather molded to the
contours of her hand. She ran her gloved hand over the washing machine and the leather seemed almost to caress her
skin in a surprisingly pleasurable manner. She was shocked.

"So that's why you wear them! Jareth, you deviant you!" she laughed, flexing her fingers.

Still, she did not take them off. She was still wearing them (and absentmindedly stroking the washing machine) long
after the clothes were done and the goblins were calling for her to watch the 'spinning' game show with them.

Jareth's face was positively scrunched in concentration. "Alright, now all we need is a four letter word for 'portable music
carrier'."

The goblins sitting around the throne pretended to be deep in thought. One piped up. "What does 'portable' mean?"

Jareth did not look up from the crossword. "It means that it can move around."

"Ohhh," said the goblin.

"And what does 'music carrier' mean?" asked another goblin.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. I'm in hell, he thought. "It means something that holds or plays or performs
music."

"So something that moves around and makes music?" asked Squeak.

Jareth nodded distractedly, staring at the crossword.

"A chicken!" yelled one goblin.

"A baby!" yelled another

"A chicken!"

"A fairy!"

"A chicken!"

Jareth looked up. "The next one who says 'a chicken' will be doing laps in the bog."

"A goblin!" said one. Jareth snorted. "The sound you fellows make is barely civilized enough to be called 'noise', let alone
'music'."

"A saucepan!"

"A chicken! Ahhhgggg!!" the goblin said, putting his hands over his mouth.

There was complete and utter silence in the throne room. "Oops," the offending goblin said, looking at Jareth.

Jareth smiled at him pleasantly. "Goodbye, Beep," he said.

Everyone looked at the space where Beep used to be.

"A king!" said Skeep. Jareth looked down at the little goblin. "A king?" said Jareth, puzzled.

Skeep lifted his chin. "King sing, King moves. King port-a-ble."

Jareth looked at the puzzle. "So I am," he said. "And I am four letters long. But," he showed Skeep the almost completed
puzzle, "it doesn't fit with what we already have. But it was a jolly good try," he said brightly.
Suddenly, Jareth's attention was caught by a strange smell. A rather pleasant smell and hence wholly out of place in the
Goblin King's throne room. Jareth noticed that the smell was coming from Skeep. In fact, taking a good look at Skeep, he
noticed that Skeep looked surprisingly…fresh. His clothes seemed cleaner, brighter, from the tip of his red tea cosy to
the…Jareth decided not to comment on the lacey white socks that now peeked out from the pink stilettos.

"Skeep," he said quietly, "why do you smell like green apples?"

Skeep smiled and ran a hand lovingly down his clothes. He then leaned forward and whispered in the King's ear. "Fabric
softener." Skeep took an envelope from behind his back and handed it to Jareth. "From the Lady."

Jareth took the envelope from Skeep in a nonchalant manner. At least he hoped it looked nonchalant. "Oh?" he said
indifferently. His fingers however, began to stroke the envelope, almost lovingly. He stopped abruptly. "That will be all,
Skeep." Skeep ran, heels clattering, to a particularly noisy corner of the throne room where the goblins were chatting
about the 'spinning' game show.

Jareth turned the envelope around in his hand and felt a slight…tingle. There it was again…excitement. He shook his
head, bemused. When did getting a letter from Sarah become the best part of his day? He snorted, looking around the
chaos of the throne room. Like there's a b asis for comparison, he thought ironically.

As he began to open the envelope, his attention was caught by a strange scraping sound. Looking up, he noticed that a
small goblin with blue tusks had been strapped on his back to a large round barrel lid that lay flat on the floor. Several of
the larger goblins began to spin the lid around as the crowd of onlookers began to chant.

"WHEEL-OF-FORTUNE!"

"Oh lord no," said Jareth, horrified.

He watched in amazement as the barrel (and goblin) stopped spinning, and the rest of the crowd started yelling out
letters to Skeep. With great aplomb, Skeep shuffled in his stilettos across a makeshift stage, and began to turn around a
series of dirty tiles, each with a chalk letter scrawled on the back. Jareth stared hard at the letters. Apparently the winning
word was "XHBITREP." According to Skeep, however, the winning word was actually "CHICKEN." He had a terrible
feeling that the winning word was always going to be chicken.

Jareth shook his head. "Squeak," he said, turning to the goblin sitting on the back of his throne, "remind me to institute a
goblin literacy program."

Squeak nodded. "Yes, Majesty."

Jareth was about to turn back to Sarah's letter when Ignor and three other goblins came waddling up to the throne
carrying a large cardboard box with a shiny red ribbon on top. "From the Lady," said Ignor, panting as they put the box on
the ground near the throne.

Jareth smiled widely. He took a close look the little group carrying the box. They all looked….clean. He inhaled sharply
and the smell of green apples came wafting from the little group.

"Let me guess," said Jareth. "Fabric softener?"

They all nodded happily. Jareth waved them away and they ran off to play Wheel of Fortune with the rest of the goblins.
Jareth carefully opened the envelope and began to read Sarah's note.

"Dear Jareth,

Jareth? Not Goblin King? Jareth smiled and settled back into his throne.

I can not tell you how sorry I am ab out the cookies. I should have warned you ab out the side effects of giving the gob lins
more than one. At a picnic, Tob y once ate half a pack of chocolate cookies without our knowledge. He then ran around in
a circle for 15 minutes, terrorized a family of ducks, and was sick in another family's picnic b asket."

"That's my boy!" Jareth said fondly.

"Having spent time with the gob lins, I am very aware of how…demanding…they can b e…"

"AHHHHH!!" screamed the goblin tied to the barrel lid as he was spun too vigorously and the lid flew out of the spinner's
hands. Jareth looked up to see the barrel lid and its goblin passenger roll like a giant wheel right out of the throne room
door. He cocked his ear, listening as the wheel rolled down the corridor, and then down a staircase, and then down
another staircase, with the goblin squealing all the way.

"Squeak," said Jareth mildly, "go and make sure that he doesn't roll into the Escher room." Squeak nodded, and he and
the rest of the goblins ran out of the room.

" Demanding, Sarah?" Jareth muttered, "whatever gave you that idea?" He turned back to the letter.

"…and I know how important a little quiet time is. So please accept these b oxes of cookies. I calculate that they should
give you approximately five hours and twenty-six minutes of quiet time in total. Although you should still only give them
out one at a time, these cookies should have less side-effects."

Jareth pulled the ribbon off the box and opened it up. Inside were many large boxes of cookies. Jareth pulled out a box
and peered at the label. "Sugar free," he mused. He also pulled out a small parcel containing two oddly shaped pieces
of soft foam. Intrigued, he turned back to the letter.

"The gob lins were kind enough to sing for me... I feel your pain, Jareth. Really I do. Please accept these earplugs just in
case they do it again. Fond regards, Sarah."

Jareth noticed that Sarah had not mentioned the gloves. He smirked knowingly. He turned back to the packet of earplugs
and read the instructions on the back. Squeak and the rest of his goblins came into the room, dragging what was left of
the barrel lid and the groaning goblin who was still strapped to it. Jareth put the earplugs into his ears and the roaring
noise of the throne room became a muted hum. He looked around in wonder. Experimentally, he pulled the earplugs out
again. Roar. He put them back in. Hum. He closed his eyes blissfully. A small goblin tugged on his leg.

"Not now," said Jareth dreamily, eyes still closed. "I'm wearing earplugs."

Rosalinda looked down from her perch high in the rafters of the throne room and tried to find a suitable target to land on.
There! A red woolen hat stood out temptingly from the drab surroundings. Clucking in anticipation, Rosalinda leapt into
the air and landed with pinpoint accuracy onto her red wool target.

Skeep screamed and fell face-first onto the floor, with Rosalinda clutching at the tea cosy on his head, and his pink
heels kicking futilely in the air. From his uncomfortable position on the floor, Skeep heard the king's droll voice.

"Would someone please liberate Skeep from that feathered menace?"

(Little did Rosalinda know that she had begun a chain of events that would change her destiny and that of the
Underground forever).
*Chapter 4*: Chapter 4
Authors Note: My, oh my, I didn't realize the addictive properties of reviews. Thank you so much to all those who have
given me a fix! Please, more!

Wolfish Oro: I'm not telling (but of course, you're right. As usual).

Natsuko37: I'm going to resist your command and not touch Jareth's leather pants. As a red-blooded woman, it almost
hurt me to type that….

(Just an aside, Jareth and Sarah are taking a time-out from their letter exchange in this chapter. I didn't expect this to
happen. It was all Rosalinda's fault. What do you expect from a chicken of destiny…?)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Sarah, not Jareth, definitely not Tijuana. I did once own a chicken named Rosalia. She
was completely evil. One night, I awoke to a crazy squawking sound. A wild dog had grabbed Rosalia and ran off with
her. Three days later, she came back. I hate to think what she did to that dog…

When we last left our story:

Rosalinda looked down from her perch high in the rafters of the throne room and tried to find a suitable target to land on.
There! A red woolen hat stood out temptingly from the drab surroundings. Clucking in anticipation, Rosalinda leapt into
the air and landed with pinpoint accuracy onto her red wool target.

Skeep screamed and fell face-first onto the floor, with Rosalinda clutching at the tea cosy on his head, and his pink
heels kicking futilely in the air. From his uncomfortable position on the floor, Skeep heard the king's droll voice.

"Would someone please liberate Skeep from that feathered menace?"

(Little did Rosalinda know that she had begun a chain of events that would change her destiny and that of the
Underground forever).

Chapter 4: Sometimes, vengeance comes in small, cross-dressing packages.

Sarah threw herself on her bed. Smiling mischievously, she rolled onto her back and began to move her arms back and
forth, making a snow angel on the bedcover. That's so juvenile, she said to herself sternly. Bite me, said her inner child,
poking out its tongue.

She smiled up at the ceiling and turned to her bedside table, reaching for her new gloves. She delicately ran a finger over
the leather—it was feather-soft and strangely warm to the touch. She marveled at the fact that, unlike her other pairs of
gloves, these had no seams. Then again, my other gloves weren't a gift from a Gob lin King, she thought, ruefully.
Slipping them on, she moved her hands gracefully back and forth, almost as if she were juggling.

"If I were a Goblin King," she mused, "what would I be doing right now?" She smiled slyly. Probably something fiendish.
Like pitching goblins into the bog, or dismembering fireys, or setting the cleaners on poor Hoggle.

Or, said a little inner voice, writing you a letter.

Sarah closed her eyes, thinking of the last letter he had written her. She wondered if he had induced a sugar-rush in the
goblins again. She wondered if he had mastered the expert mazes. She wondered if the earplugs she had sent him
were mighty enough to withstand goblin singing. She wondered why she was wondering about him in the first place.

Sarah sighed and pushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over her face. As soon as her leather-clad hands
swept over her scalp, a sudden surge of pleasure shot through her body. Her scalp positively tingled. She looked down
at her gloved hands, completely aghast.

"Agh!!" she yelled, pulling them off and throwing them onto the floor. "That's enough of that, you pervert gloves!"

She lay back on the bed, breathing heavily. She could not believe that she had forgotten the first rule: 'Beware of Goblin
Kings bearing gifts.' Particularly when the gift is a pair of aphrodisiac gloves,' she thought, scowling. Sarah's body
ignored her thoughts and tingled away quite merrily. Disgusted with herself, she made a mental note to refuse any more
leather clothing from the Goblin King.
Her inner voice just laughed and whispered, oh b ut just imagine if he gave you …

Sarah stopped that thought dead in its tracks. She mentally grabbed her inner voice, put it in a headlock, and pushed it
into a disused mine shaft in some unused corner of her mind. Dusting off her hands, she sternly told her body to get a
hold of itself or it would be next.

Suddenly, Sarah's attention was caught by a noise. A muffled, wailing kind of noise. Cautiously, she slid off her bed and
walked around the room, trying to find where it was coming from. As she walked toward the closet, the wailing appeared
to be getting louder. Putting her ear to the closet door, the noise got louder still. It was obviously coming from inside.
Grabbing the door handles, Sarah quickly yanked the closet doors open. There, huddled in a tight ball of misery,
clutching the sleeve of her fluffy white sweater, was Skeep. He was wailing so hard that his pink heels were shaking. In
his hands, he held his red tea cosy hat, just as gently as you would hold an injured bird.

"Skeep!" exclaimed Sarah, kneeling in front of the closet. "What is it? What happened?!"

Skeep was filthy. His hair and clothes were covered in dirty straw and black chicken feathers. His sleeve was ripped and
there was a nasty scratch on his arm. His dirty little face was tear-stained and his big brown eyes were filled with such
misery that Sarah could almost see his little shattered heart in their depths.

Skeep tried to stop crying, valiantly gulping in great mouthfuls of air. "Rosalinda!" he said, venomously. He took another
shaking breath. "Rosalinda…fell from sky," he said, weeping. He brought his hands up high above his head, and then
dramatically dropped them to the floor in order to simulate the fall of the vengeful chicken. "Rosalinda… fell… on hat," he
said, looking down at the tea cosy, protectively held in his grasp. "Pretty hat….broken!" he cried, gently handing the hat to
Sarah.

Sarah looked at the hat. There were two large holes where Rosalinda's claws had ripped through the red wool. She put
her finger through the hole and Skeep turned away, shuddering, unable to watch. "Skeep," said Sarah, "it's not as bad as
it looks …" she said, consolingly.

"Hat BROKEN!" he wailed.

Sarah shook her head. "No, Skeep, really, it's…"

"GONE!" he cried, throwing back his head and howling. Sarah noted that the sound was a strange cross between a fire
siren and a combine harvester at full throttle. Her ear drums began to burn. Sarah put her hands over her ears. "Skeep,
please, it's alright…"

"DEAD!" Skeep screamed, throwing his hands over his face and falling backward, pink heels wiggling in the air.

Sarah reached out and clamped her hand over Skeep's mouth. "Skeep, stop crying. I can fix it."

Skeep abruptly stopped wailing. He took a few shuddering breaths. Sarah cautiously removed her hand from his mouth.
"Fix?" he said hopefully, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Sarah smiled and nodded. "Fix. Just like new." She picked Skeep up and put him on her bedside table. "I'm just going to
get a few things to fix your hat, you stay here, ok?" She put the tea cosy on his lap. "Don't you worry about a thing, Skeep,
everything is going to be ok, I promise. Just stay here. Ok?"

Skeep nodded. "Ok, Lady."

Sarah ran off to the bathroom to gather some supplies. Skeep pulled a few of the black feathers from his shirt, his heels
swinging back and forth off the edge of the table. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and sniffed. "Fix," he said,
patting the tea cosy consolingly. Looking around the table, he suddenly noticed Sarah's makeup. "Pretty," he said
dreamily, stroking a pot of eye-shadow.

Jareth was sprawled on his throne, absolutely and thoroughly disgusted with himself. The disgust had started just after
he had spent two hours and fourteen minutes deciding on the right color paper to use for his next letter to Sarah. The
disgust had then increased after he had spent a further forty-six minutes choosing just the right shade of ink to use with
the writing paper. The disgust had then kicked into overdrive when he had changed his mind about the paper and the
ink, and he found himself seriously contemplating the idea of reordering time, just so that he could start all over again.
He shook his head. What was he becoming? Was this any way for the Goblin King to act? Furious with himself, he
picked up his riding crop and threw it across the throne room.
"Agh!" he yelled in frustration.

"Agh!" yelled a goblin in surprise as the riding crop hit him right between the eyes, causing him to crash to the floor.

The goblins were on the floor, rolling with laughter.

Jareth peered at the injured goblin on the floor. "Is that you, Beep?" he asked solicitously.

The injured goblin nodded miserably. Jareth smiled at the goblin whom he had sent to the bog only a few days earlier.

"Welcome back, Beep," he said pleasantly. Jareth sniffed the air and grimaced. "Though, do be sure to stay as far away
from the throne as possible."

Beep nodded again, and shuffled off to a far corner of the room.

Jareth threw one leg over the throne and went back to thinking about how disgusted he was with himself. What was
happening to him? How could he have spent three hours just preparing to write a letter? He could have spent the time
much more fruitfully; throwing a few goblins into the bog, perhaps. Or dismembering those pesky fireys and tossing their
assorted body parts to the Helping Hands. Or setting the cleaners on Higgle. Or, said an inner voice, re-reading Sarah's
letters over and over again, particularly the part where she called you "Jareth," and said "fond regards."

"Enough!" he shouted, jumping up from the throne. "Stupid thoughts, tra la la!"

Jareth started to pace. He had to get out of the castle. He was not himself lately and he knew that he was about a minute
away from doing something completely irrational just to get his mind off Sarah and his next letter. To get my mind off
Sarah, I'd prob ab ly have to eat a whole b ox of her lethal cookies and then start dancing around the throne room, singing
sea shanties, he thought ruefully. He shuddered at the thought. No matter how desperate he felt, he refused to prance
around like a demented sailor in front of his subjects just to get his mind off a girl. Even if that girl was Sarah. He had to
regain control over the situation. He squared his shoulders. First things first, he would go and change his clothes.
Perhaps he'd put on something black. Maybe something with a bit of glitter. And a touch of menace.

Feeling better now that he had a plan, he stopped pacing. Walking down from the throne, he noticed Skeep shuffle into
the room in his high heels. Jareth noticed that there was a bright pink band-aid on Skeep's arm. "Skeep!" he called out.

Skeep looked up and smiled. "Hey King!" he said, waving to Jareth happily.

Jareth closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. His subjects were waving at him. He opened his eyes and surveyed the
room. "Would it kill you all to cower before me once in a while?" he said wearily. "Is that really too much to ask?"

Squeak looked up from his perch on the back of the throne. "Majesty, you said that you were in the mood for groveling
this week. Cowering is not scheduled till next week," he said helpfully.

Jareth paused. And smiled. "So I did Squeak, you're quite right," he said, feeling much better. "Though I want waving at
me to be completely outlawed."

Squeak nodded. "Of course, your Majesty."

Jareth turned back to Skeep. Who was still happily waving to him. Jareth turned back to Squeak. "In fact, I want waving at
me to be punished by death."

Squeak's eyebrows rose. "Death?"

Jareth smiled grimly. "Certain death."

Squeak looked at Skeep waving. "I'll get right on it."

Jareth looked back at Skeep. "Come here," he commanded.

Skeep shuffled up to Jareth. "Yes, King?" he said. Jareth bent down and peered at the pink band-aid on Skeep's skinny
little arm. "Skeep, do I even want to know what happened to you?" he asked.

Skeep nodded happily.

Jareth sighed. "Well?" he said, irritated. "Begin!"

Skeep took a big breath, puffing out his little chest. "Rosalinda fell from sky. Fell on hat."
Jareth waved his hand impatiently. "Yes, yes I remember," he said. "Then what?"

Skeep sniffed sadly. "Hat broken! Hat GONE! " he wailed, momentarily overcome by the memory of the catastrophe.

Jareth peered at Skeep's hat. "But your hat looks fine, Skeep." Jareth paused, looking at the red tea cosy. "Ridiculous, but
fine."

Skeep nodded, wiping his nose with the back of his arm. "Lady fixed it. With the crunching machine," he said, happily
stroking the hat on his head.

Jareth looked puzzled. "The crunching machine?"

Skeep only nodded.

Jareth took a closer look at Skeep's hat and noticed a row of staples on either side of the hat, holding the torn woolen
material together. Jareth grinned. Apparently Sarah was handy with office supplies. He wondered briefly if Sarah had
stapled the hat to Skeep's head. He moved closer to check and caught a whiff of green apples.

"I take it that Sarah fixed you up as well?" Jareth asked, noting that Skeep looked rather fresh and clean for a goblin who
had been attacked by a feral chicken.

Skeep nodded. "The Lady fixed here," he said, pointing to his knee, "and here," he said, pointing to is head, "and here,"
he said, pointing to his band-aid. "Pretty," he said, stroking his Band-Aid dreamily.

Jareth tapped his nose with his gloved finger. "Rosalinda hurt you in all of those places?" he asked. Skeep nodded, not
looking up from his band-aid.

Jareth looked around the throne room, trying to locate Rosalinda. He found her in a corner, happily pecking away at the
leg of a sleeping goblin. Jareth flicked his wrist gracefully and a peach appeared in his palm. "Rosalinda," he purred, "I
have a present for you."

He bent down and rolled the peach toward Rosalinda. The peach skillfully avoided the tankards of ale and drunken
goblins in its path and stopped just in front of Rosalinda. A hush fell over the throne room as the goblins watched the
chicken peer at the delectable piece of fruit. Rosalinda looked suspiciously at Jareth for a moment, then bent down and
started to peck at the fruit greedily. After about a minute, the silence was broken by the sound of a chicken hitting the
throne room floor.

"Yeahhy!!" cried Skeep, throwing his skinny arms into the air. "Chicken dead?"

Jareth shrugged. "One can only hope."

Jareth and the goblins surrounded Rosalinda. The four-time chicken-toss champion was lying on her back, her legs
sticking stiffly in the air. Ignor cautiously poked her with a stick. Rosalinda let out a sleepy cluck. "Nope," he said. "She's
just sleeping."

Jareth bent over Rosalinda. "Such a pity," he said dryly. He looked up at the goblins. "What do you say, fellows? Shall I
give her the ballroom dream?"

The goblins started to laugh and cheer uproariously. Skeep doubled over with laughter. "Chicken in a dress!" he chortled.

Jareth looked down at Rosalinda. "What do you say, Rosalinda? Fancy a twirl?" he asked jovially. He poked her, just to
make sure she was sleeping soundly. Skeep went to poke her too, but lost his balance while trying to bend down in
stilettos, and fell forward onto the floor.

Jareth reached over and picked him up. "Try again, Skeep. Be sure to poke nice and hard," he said, pleasantly.

Skeep looked up at Jareth adoringly. It was then that Jareth noticed that Skeep was wearing green glitter eye-shadow.
Jareth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Skeep, old chap," he said wearily, "if you ever come back from Sarah's wearing a dress, you and I are going to have to
have a long talk."

Authors Note 2: I promise that Sarah and Jareth will get together soon. As in the next chapter. I think. I need Rosalinda's
help to get them together, and right now she is too busy wandering around a ballroom, laying eggs in the pillow pit, dive-
bombing off the chandeliers, and terrorizing the dancers by pecking them in the calves when they least expect it. Not
surprisingly, Jareth hasn't asked her to dance, yet.
*Chapter 5*: Chapter 5
Author Note: Thank you for the amazing reviews! I am so ridiculously gleeful! And grateful! Shucks, you guys are
awesome!

Wolfish Oro: That's it, get out of my head! (Lixxle changes the plot of the story, removing the whole bit about Skeep's new
shirt just to thwart her psychic reviewer). Oh and I'm still not telling you which word. Till next chapter.

Natsuko37 and Starlight Disaster: Look, as I stated earlier, I am a huge fan of Jareth and his pants—the kind of fan that
has been known to write the odd sonnet and even a haiku or two in praise of them in her spare time. But I have to be
honest, my secret fear is that if I start writing about them, I just won't stop. Ever. However, I hear your call for more tingly
leather pant action. So your wish is my command. In the next chapter, Sarah and Jareth will finally be meeting up (yes, I
said it would be in this chapter but I lied. Rosalinda's fault, it took her a while to wake up) and there will be leather pant
references galore. Frankly, I'm glad that Jareth will have a chance to flex his testosterone with Sarah because he is
getting a little edgy, poor pet.

Starlight Disaster: Let's keep Rosalinda, chicken of destiny away from Reginald, chicken of doom. Our luck, they'd mate.
Can you imagine the carnage that would ensue? shudders

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even leather pants and certainly not Nantucket. I can barely even spell 'Nantucket.'

Chapter 5: The chapter with too much poultry.

There was something about wearing custom-made, Goblin King boots that just made you want to strut. Even when
doing the breakfast dishes. Sarah turned up the volume on the radio, added extra dishwashing soap to the water, and
began to dance away at the sink, singing like a banshee. She dipped her plate into the water, shimmied a little while she
rinsed it, and then, spinning deftly on one heel, placed it on the dish-rack to dry. Oh how I love to strut, she thought
happily.

Suddenly, Sarah heard a commotion coming from the next room. Still wearing her bright yellow dish washing gloves,
she ran into her bedroom, just in time to see a group of goblins explode through the closet doors and fall onto a heap on
the floor. A large gray box fell through the closet and landed on top of them. Sarah tried not to laugh as the goblins
floundered around the floor, trying to get up.

"Ahhh!" yelled Ignor, as Skeep stepped on his ear with his stiletto.

"Sorry," Skeep muttered and moved his foot.

Only to do it again.

"Ahhhh!!" yelled Ignor, grabbing his ear. Sarah shook her head and started pulling the goblins upright.

"Hi Lady," they cried, crowding around her knees.

"Hi guys," said Sarah, bending down to give them a hug. Skeep started to wave to her, then quickly stopped and put his
hands behind his back.

Sarah looked at him puzzled. "What's up, Skeep?"

Skeep kicked the ground angrily. "Certain death," he muttered.

Sarah didn't quite know what to make of that so she just patted his hand. He looked up at her rubber gloves. "Spongy,"
he said, poking them in delight.

Sarah shook her head. "Oh no you don't! I need these. You can just hold them for now," she said, taking them off and
letting Skeep play with them. Skeep sighed happily and rubbed his cheek against the soapy rubber.

"So," Sarah said, looking at the goblins, "what's been going on?"

"The King is teaching us to read and write," said the goblin with the blue horns.

Sarah sat down on the bed in shock. "Really?"

The goblins nodded. "Goblin Literacy Program," explained Ignor, rubbing his sore earlobe.

"Hang on," said Sarah, shaking her head in disbelief, "let me get this straight. The King is teaching you all how to read
and write?" This did not sound like the Goblin King she remembered.

They all nodded. "Yep," said the goblin with the blue stripy socks. "The King teaches us a new word everyday."

Sarah was intrigued. "So what's the word of the day?" she said, tucking her legs up on to the bed and getting
comfortable.

"BOG," they chorused.

Sarah chuckled. "Well, I guess that's a useful word for you guys."

The goblin with the blue horns nodded. "We also learn a sentence so we know how to use the word properly," he said,
puffing out his chest proudly.

Sarah quirked her eyebrow. "Really? So what's the sentence of the day?"

The goblins took a big breath. "If-any-of-you-cretins-annoy-me-again-while-I-am-taking-a-b ath-I-will-throw-you-in-the-

BOG," the goblins recited in a sing-song manner.

Sarah tried hard to suppress a smile. "That's a pretty good sentence."

"It's big," said Skeep. The goblins nodded happily in agreement. Sarah reached over to her bedside table and pulled out
a piece of paper and a pencil. "Skeep," she said to the little goblin who was now hugging her rubber gloves. "Show me
how you spell 'bog'."

Skeep put down the gloves and took the pencil. Laboriously, he moved the pencil across the paper, his little brow
furrowed in concentration. After about a minute, he gave the paper to Sarah triumphantly. Sarah glanced at the paper and
sighed. A jauntily lettered 'GOB' stared back at her.

Sarah looked down at Skeep's happily little face. "Did the King watch you spell 'bog', Skeep?" she asked, cautiously.

Skeep nodded.

"And what did he say?" asked Sarah.

"King said 'aghhhhhh!!' and then he kicked a chicken," said Skeep merrily. The goblins roared with laughter,
remembering the scene. "He sure did," chortled Ignor.

Sarah patted Skeep on the back. "Don't worry, we'll work on it," she said consolingly.

Skeep nodded happily. Sarah noticed that Skeep was still wearing his band-aid, though it was now more brown in color
than pink. "Has Rosalinda attacked you again, Skeep?" Sarah asked the little goblin.

The goblins started laughing, slapping their thighs in glee. Skeep smiled happily. "Nope!" he said, clutching the yellow
rubber gloves to his chest in delight.

The blue horned goblin rubbed the tears from his eyes. "She's been pretty quiet lately," he said solemnly. That started
the goblins laughing again.

Sarah looked at the goblins rolling around her floor. "What's so funny? Why has Rosalinda been quiet lately?"

"Rosalinda's been asleep," Ignor laughed.

"Since Thursday," added Skeep.

Sarah's eyes widened. "Rosalinda has been asleep for four days!? Is she ok?"

Ignor nodded. "Oh she's having a b all," he said, smirking.

The goblins were in tears. "BALL!" screeched Skeep, falling facedown on the floor with laughter, pounding the floor with
his grubby little fist.

"Well," Sarah said dubiously, "as long as she is ok. How did she get that way to begin with?" Sarah asked curiously.
"King did it," said Skeep with satisfaction. He jumped up on to the bed and whispered in her ear. "For me!" he said, in
awe.

Sarah looked down at Skeep, his little eyes shining with adoration for his king, and shook her head in disbelief. The
Goblin King was instituting literacy programs and dispensing justice to chickens? It all seemed a little…well, nice. And
hence totally out of character. Then again, she rationalized, he did put Rosalinda in a coma and sent me deviant gloves.
Maybe everything balanced out in the end.

Ignor suddenly jumped up and adjusted the sieve on his head. "We forgot the Lady's present!"

He and the rest of the goblins scrambled over to the box and, after considerable grunting and squabbling, hefted the
large box onto Sarah's lap.

Sarah took one look at the long, flat gray box and felt a sudden flutter of alarm in the pit of her stomach.

That's not alarm, said her inner voice gleefully. That's…

Sarah threw the inner voice back down the unused mineshaft from where it had temporarily escaped. "Oh no," she said
to the goblins, shaking her head. "If there is anything leather in there, I'm going to give guys a map that will show the King
exactly where he can shove that…"

"It's not leather, Lady," Ignor interrupted.

Sarah's inner voice pouted.

"The King said that it's something special," Ignor said, reverently.

"And that we had to be very careful with it, otherwise he would throw us into the bog before we could blink," said the
goblin with the blue stripy socks, eyes wide in fear.

"Bog. G-O-B," recited Skeep, patting the box.

Sarah looked down at the large gray box on her lap. The box was embossed with silver gray owls. When she leaned
forward to take a better look, the owls seemed almost to flap their wigs in flight.

"What a lovely box!" she said, watching the owls' wings flicker back and forth.

The goblins nodded proudly.

Tucked into the pale gray ribbon that surrounded the box was a silver envelope. Sarah carefully opened the envelope,
and pulled out a letter written in dark gray ink on thick silver paper. The Gob lin King may b e a leather-clad pervert, b ut he
has impeccab le taste in stationery, she thought slyly, gently rubbing the velvety soft paper between her thumb and
forefinger. She opened up the letter and began to read.

"Dearest Sarah,

As the Gob lin King, I have the dub ious pleasure of ruling over a population of imb eciles. I reign over a kingdom where
the national mascot is the chicken, the national drink is a type of ale that tastes as though it were b rewed in the moldy
armpit of a troll, and the national pastime involves tossing the national mascot while the imb ecilic sub jects consume the
national drink—typically, until they start fighting, or wrestling chickens, or (give me strength) start singing. Singing, Sarah.
Singing. So is it really any wonder, that over the course of my long, long reign, I have often wistfully thought of how
wonderful it would b e to b e rendered totally deaf? (Or unconscious—I'm not particularly fussy, just as long as it involves
sensory deprivation). I would have struck the gob lins mute long ago, except for the fact that, on very rare occasions, they
have something useful to say, such as 'we're under attack' or 'the castle is on fire'."

"When I received your earplugs, I felt as though you had granted me one of my dreams. You have no idea how much
easier it is to tolerate a kingdom full of gob lins when you don't have to actually listen to them."

Sarah could imagine. It would be like watching a TV show about natural disasters with the volume down.

"So, to thank you, I have enclosed a special gift. This isn't a gift for an ordinary girl."

I've heard that one b efore, Jareth, Sarah snorted inelegantly.

"I know I've said it b efore, b ut this time I actually mean it"
Sarah couldn't help laughing at that.

"It would give me great pleasure, dear Sarah, if you would accept this. I can picture you in it. Yours fondly, Jareth."

Great pleasure? Picture you in it? Yours? Sarah shivered. She was suddenly very nervous about what that package
contained. The goblins jumped up onto the bed and gathered around her and the box.

"Open it, Lady!" said Ignor, excitedly. The rest nodded eagerly.

Jareth, this package had b etter contain something suitab le for impressionab le gob lin eyes b ecause Skeep has enough
prob lems as it is, she thought grimly. Taking a deep breath, she gently pulled the pale gray ribbon from the box and
opened the lid. Pulling back the delicate tissue paper, she stared dumbstruck at what lay inside.

"OOOooooooooo," crooned the goblins.

Sarah slowly reached into the box and gently stroked the snow white cloak that lay nestled inside.

"It's so beautiful," she said in awe.

The goblins also reached forward to touch it.

"Oh no you don't," she cried, pulling the box away. "Go wash your hands first and then you can touch it." The goblins
scrambled off the bed and ran off to the bathroom. "And make sure you wipe your hands on the towel!" she called after
them.

Sarah gently pulled the cloak from the box and laid it out on her bed. It looked like a fallen star against her dark blue
bedcovers. Running her fingers along the feathery white fabric, Sarah was struck with a memory. A falling room...a clock
about to strike...a king clothed in white. She had seen this cloak before. Her thoughts were interrupted by a scream.

"AHHH!! AHHH!! AHHH!!" yelled a goblin.

Sarah quickly jumped up and ran to the bathroom. The goblin with the stripy socks was running around the bathroom
with his tongue sticking out, waving his arms up and down. The others were laughing at him.

"What happened?" she asked as she tried to catch the running goblin.

Ignor snickered. "He ate that," he said, pointing to the bar of raspberry-scented soap. A large bite had been taken out of
the corner.

Sarah grabbed a glass near the sink, filled it with water, and handed it to the goblin as he ran past her. "Rinse your
mouth out!" she called.

The goblin took a big mouthful of water and spat it into the bath in a stream of bubbles.

Skeep, perched on the edge of the sink, looked disapprovingly at the goblin who was still spitting bubbles into the
bathtub. "Stupid," he said, shaking his head.

Sarah noticed that Skeep had finished washing his hands and was now carefully washing the rubber gloves. When he
finished, he delicately took the hand towel from the rack and patted the gloves dry. Sarah put her hands on hips and
looked at him sternly.

"Skeep, you can't keep those, I need them."

Skeep looked mortified. "Noooo!" he cried, clutching the moist rubber gloves to his chest.

Sarah looked around the bathroom and pulled a rubber duck from the top of a shelf.

"Here," she said, handing it to Skeep, "have this instead."

Skeep looked at Sarah as if she had given him the sun. He dropped the gloves and gently took the duck from her hands.
He patted it lovingly on the head, and bent down to whisper its ear.

Sarah smiled as Skeep chattered to the toy duck. She looked over at goblin spitting into the bathtub. "Feel better?" she
asked. The goblin nodded wearily.

Satisfied that everyone was about as clean as they were ever going to get, Sarah herded the goblins out of the bathroom
and back to her bedroom. The goblins sat on the bed and gently patted the feathered cloak.

"Pretty!" said Skeep. He let his duck touch it too.

"This is the king's cloak," said Ignor, stroking the cloak.

So she had been right! She knew she had seen it before! "Why do you think that the King gave me his cloak?" Sarah
asked the goblins.

They looked puzzled for a moment. "'Cause it's special," said Ignor.

"And fluffy," said Skeep.

"Fluffy is good," said the goblin with the stripy socks. The goblins nodded in agreement.

"Try it on, Lady!" cried the goblin with the blue horns.

Sarah smiled mischievously. "I think I will!"

She gently took the cloak off her bed and, draping it around her shoulders, turned toward the mirror. It was like wearing a
cloud. It should have been too big but it fit her perfectly. The weight of the cloak settled around her shoulders and body,
making her feel as though she was being wrapped in an embrace. So strong was the feeling of being held, of being
enfolded in a pair of strong arms, that she turned around just to make sure no-one was behind her. Sarah shook her
head and turned back to her reflection. Even though all the windows in the apartment were shut, the cloak fluttered as if
there were a breeze.

The goblins surveyed Sarah in the king's cloak and clapped. "Do I look like the King?" she asked, raising her eyebrow
imperiously.

"Prettier," said Ignor.

The blue horned goblin looked thoughtful. "The King's very pretty though," he said worriedly.

Isn't he just? said Sarah's inner voice wistfully. Sarah frowned at it.

"Lady prettier," said Skeep confidently. Everyone nodded. The blue horned goblin looked relieved.

Ignor straightened his sieve hat. "We have to go, Lady. The King wanted us to come straight back."

"Wait!" said Sarah. "I want to give you something to give to the King." She ran out of the room, her cloak billowing around
her.

The goblins waited for Sarah, idly wandering around the room. Ignor looked over at Skeep, who was carefully applying
Sarah's lipstick to his rubber duck's beak.

"What are you going to call him?" asked Ignor.

Skeep looked at the duck thoughtfully. "Don't know," he said.

"How about duck?" said Ignor.

"Or chicken?" said the goblin with the blue stripy socks.

"Or Rosalinda?" said the goblin with the blue horns.

"Not Rosalinda," muttered Skeep darkly. "NEVER Rosalinda!" he said, shaking his little fist. He looked at the duck in his
hand. "Cretin!" he said triumphantly.

Sarah came running into the room with a blue gift bag and an envelope. "Here," she said, handing them both to the
goblin with the blue horns, "give this to the King."

"Ok!" he said, and the goblins began to climb into the closet.

Sarah helped Skeep inside. "And guys, feel free to come back later to watch TV."

"Ok Lady," they called. And then they were gone, leaving Sarah alone in front of her mirror, still wrapped in the cloak of a
king, and more than prepared to slap down that inner voice of hers if it even mentioned the fact that she was smiling like
an idiot.

Jareth had been somewhat…impatient…since he had sent the goblins off to Sarah's home with his gift. He had tried all
of the usual activities that typically alleviated his tension—flying, pacing, strutting, dancing, kicking, smirking. Nothing
helped this time. He threw himself into his throne, only to jump back up again as if the seat were covered in red hot
spikes. Blast it all! What was happening to him? Since Sarah had re-entered his life two weeks ago, he had been
neglecting his duties. In that time, he had only thrown a single goblin into the bog and hadn't thrown any at all from the
throne room window. And aside from giving a chicken a coma, he hadn't really performed a random act of menace in
ages. It was bad for morale. No wonder his subjects were waving to him.

Jareth knew why he was impatient. He wanted to know what Sarah thought of his present. Given the nature of his last
gift, he knew just what Sarah would be expecting next. He smiled wolfishly. It would have amused him immensely to live
up to her expectations. But he thought that it would be even more fun to thwart them. To give her something entirely
unexpected. Just to keep her guessing. Sure, smirked his inner voice, you can tell yourself that giving her that cloak was
all part of your master plan. But really, old chap, you just couldn't resist giving her a part of you, so that when she touched
it, it would b e as if she were touch- Jareth sternly took a hold of that voice before it could finish the sentence and booted it
gracefully into a nearby mental oubliette.

Disturbed by the insight, Jareth walked through the throne room, absentmindedly picking up one of the smaller goblins,
and throwing him over his shoulder.

"I can fly!" the goblin yelled happily as he sailed through the air.

Only to crash-land into the throne.

Squeak looked at the dazed goblin critically. "That wasn't too bad for your first go," he said, encouragingly.

The goblin straightened up his hat. "Thanks! But really, the King has a great arm," he said modestly.

Jareth heard the commotion in the doorway as the little group of goblins returned from Sarah's apartment. He strode
quickly over to his throne, sat down, and threw his leg over the arm rest, trying to appear nonchalant. He was suddenly
so excited that he almost felt embarrassed for himself. He tried to school his features into a cold mask of indifference.

"Well?" he called out to the group imperiously.

The group came rushing up toward him, Skeep shuffling in the rear in his heels, clutching his rubber duck protectively
under his arm.

"Did you give it to her?" Jareth asked, pretending to be more interested in his boots than the answer.

"Yep, King!" said Skeep.

Jareth waited for the goblins to elaborate. They said nothing. He tapped his boots with his riding crop. "And what did she
say when she opened it?" he said, indifferently.

"Wash your hands," said Skeep brightly.

Jareth slapped the riding crop hard on the throne. The goblins jumped. "Not what she said to you! What did she say
about the gift?"

"She liked the box," piped up the goblin with the blue stripy socks.

Jareth closed his eyes and tried to resist the impulse to throw everyone in the room into an oubliette. One that was
slowly filling with water. Boiling water. And maybe a few piranhas for color. He opened his eyes and looked at the fearful
faces of the goblins. This was getting him nowhere. Suddenly, he smiled. A sly smile that showed off the sharp points of
his teeth. He composed his features into a bored expression, stood up gracefully, and walked over to the window.

"I bet Sarah didn't even open the present," he said, keeping his voice as bland as possible.

The goblins shook their heads. "Oh no, Majesty, she opened the box alright!" said the goblin with the blue horns.

"Oh really?" Jareth said indifferently, looking out at the view. He drummed his fingers on the window ledge. "Well, I
suppose when she did open it, she probably took one look at the cloak and said how hideous it was."
The goblins shook their heads again. "The Lady said it was beautiful!" said the goblin with the blue horns.

Jareth felt that tingle again. Excitement. And something more. Something he did not want to think about just yet. He
turned back toward the group, tapping his riding crop against his boot.

"Oh," he said, disinterestedly. "Well, knowing Sarah, she probably just threw the cloak onto the floor and walked all over
it," he said, walking back to the throne and sitting down.

They shook their heads. "No, no, the Lady put it gently on the bed," said Ignor.

"Hmm," Jareth said, not even looking at the goblins. He made a great show of adjusting his gloves. "I bet she didn't even
try it on," he said, smoothing the leather over his fingers.

"Yes she did, your Majesty," said Ignor. "She put it on right away and went to look at herself in the mirror."

Jareth paused, imagining Sarah looking at herself in the mirror, her long dark hair flowing over his white feathered cloak.
The tingle of excitement grew stronger. The 'something more' that he didn't want to think about just yet became an
electric current that positively flooded his body.

"She probably looked terrible in it," he said dryly.

Skeep looked at Jareth as if he were an imbecile. "Lady beautiful!" he said indignantly.

The rest of the goblins nodded. "She looked like a princess," said Ignor.

"A feathery one," said the goblin with the blue horns.

Skeep walked over to the King and beckoned him to come closer. Jareth bend down next to him and valiantly tried to
ignore the fact that Skeep's rubber duck was wearing lipstick.

"Lady went like this," Skeep said, lovingly stroking his sleeve.

"Sarah stroked the cloak?" Jareth asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Skeep nodded. "A lot," Skeep whispered, conspiratorially.

Jareth could not keep the triumphant smile off his face as he stood up and turned away from the goblins. He closed his
eyes and, for one blessed moment, allowed himself the pleasure of picturing Sarah, standing in front of the mirror,
running her hands through the feathers of the cloak. Your cloak, said his inner voice. Your feathers, it purred. You! it said
triumphantly. Jareth grinned his canine smile. It was a start. Jareth's musings were interrupted by a tap on his leg.

"Majesty," said the goblin with the blue horns, holding out a blue bag and a letter. "From the Lady."

Surprised, Jareth opened the letter.

"Dear Jareth,

It was silly but he still felt a surge of triumph over the fact that she was using his name.

I intend to write to you properly to thank you for the magnificent cloak, b ut for now, please accept this as a contrib ution
toward the gob lin literacy program. Mortals read stories ab out fairytale creatures, so it only seems fair that fairytale
creatures should read stories ab out mortals. Hope you enjoy it, Sarah."

Jareth reached into the bag and pulled out a book. "Amazing True Life Stories," he said, reading the cover. He grinned
delightedly.

Skeep pulled on Jareth's trousers. "Story?" he asked, hopefully.

Jareth flicked through the book. "Very well," he said jovially. "I'm feeling rather generous today." The goblins cheered and
sat around the throne. Jareth settled back on the throne, opened to the first story, and began to read in his melodious
voice. "Timothy Bridges was a handsome young man who had everything going for him. A successful career, a beautiful
home, and a loving wife and child." Jareth paused. "I don't know about you chaps, but I don't particularly care for Timothy
Bridges," he said darkly.

The goblins muttered their agreement. "Maybe he gets a disease," Squeak said hopefully.
"With puss-filled boils," said a small goblin, wearing a frypan helmet.

"Pox," said Skeep, nodding in agreement.

"Let's find out," said Jareth, flicking to toward end of the chapter. He read silently for a moment, skimming the pages.
"Well, unfortunately, he remains disease-free," he said, annoyed.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh," the goblins said, glumly.

Jareth skimmed through a few more pages. His face brightened. "Though, on page forty-six, he gets attacked by an
escaped circus lion while walking down a street in Nantucket."

"Yeahhy circus lion!" cheered the goblins.

"Yeahhy Nantucket!" cheered Skeep.

Jareth tapped his chin with a gloved finger. "Well, I really didn't see that coming." He flicked back to the beginning of the
story. "I don't know about you fellows, but I like Timothy Bridges a whole lot more now that I know that he's about to get
mauled by a lion." The goblins laughed gleefully. "So, let's begin again, shall we?"

Rosalinda had been having the most wonderful dream. There had been a beautiful ballroom with candles, and singing,
and dancing, and unsuspecting victims with juicy calves to peck at, and soft heads to land on, and…well, it was a dream
come true, really. Until the people started screaming "no, not that demonic chicken again!" and running, and beating at
the walls of the ballroom with chairs. Before she knew it, Rosalinda was floating through the air, light as a feather, away
from the broken ballroom. And then she had woken up. On the throne room floor. Feeling groggy. And vengeful. Oh so
vengeful! She pulled herself up with an angry cluck. What she needed now was a nice soft nest to sit in. Oh and revenge.
A nest and revenge. And then she'd be her old self again. Looking around the room, she suddenly realized a way that
she could have both. Flexing her claws, she stealthily walked towards her prey…

Authors Note #2: Rosalinda, chicken of destiny, is back on duty so Jareth and Sarah will finally get together in the next
chapter.

Please review!! Otherwise I'll make Skeep Sarah's love interest.

('Sarah embraced Skeep passionately. "Skeep, you are the love of my life! Why didn't I see it sooner?" she cried. Skeep
patted Sarah's hair, just as you would pat the mane of a horse. "Pretty," he says, lovingly. Meanwhile, in a goblin ale
house, Jareth sat with Cretin, drowning his sorrow in troll-armpit ale, and singing sea shanties and Village People
tracks with Ignor.')
*Chapter 6*: Chapter 6
AUTHOR'S NOTE: My eternal gratitude to all those who reviewed! (and such entertaining reviews they were!). A free
chicken of destiny is in the mail to all of you. Though no-one wanted the Sarah/Skeep storyline, hey? You guys are just
sooo traditional…

[Ahhh, you know how I promised tingly leather pant action in this chapter? Well, it turns out that I lied. Chicken attacks are
a serious problem people, and I know that you wouldn't have focused on this topic of world-wide importance if I had
repeatedly inserted references to Jareth's thigh-caressing leather pants. Thigh-caressing leather pants. See, now I'm
distracted. I have no such qualms about the next chapter, however, so they WILL be in there. I really mean it this time

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. No feathered capes, no alligators. I have, however, been to Florida. Don't own that either. I
did know a guy named Timothy Bridges. He did not get mauled by an escaped circus lion. That was wishful thinking on
my part. The stunts in this story were performed by professionals. Do not try this at home.

Chapter 6: Rosalinda, Chicken of Destiny, strikes again.

Sarah had a problem. And that problem, in all its feathered glory, was fluttering delicately in a non-existent breeze on a
clothes hanger outside her closet. Ever since the moment that Sarah had placed the King's cloak over her shoulders,
she had not wanted to take it off. At first, she was not really all that concerned. It seemed perfectly natural to wear a
fairytale cloak to do the vacuuming, or to read the newspaper, or take out the trash. Wearing it when she went through the
drive thru to get lunch, however, gave her a moment's pause. But it was only when she found herself contemplating
whether or not she could wear it in the shower, that she realized she had a problem. She was clearly a cloak addict.
Unfortunately, she knew what she had to do to fix that problem. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and
pulled the cloak off as quickly as possible—similar to the way that you would rip off a band-aid—and hung it on her
nicest hanger on the closet door. But as soon as she removed it, she instantly regretted it. With a shock, she realized
that she felt strangely…bereft…without the warm embrace of the King's cloak.

"Damn him and his seductive fluffy apparel!" she shouted. She turned her back determinedly on the cloak, stalked into
the bathroom, and threw herself into a nice hot shower. But even as she frantically lathered her hair, she realized that
she was already suffering withdrawal symptoms, desperately missing the feeling of being held, of being gathered in
strong warm arms, that the cloak provided. Sarah shook her head angrily. She could not believe that she had
succumbed againto one of his presents. Mentally, she made a cataloge of the Goblin King's gifts to date. Strut b oots, sex
gloves, love cloak. Ha! she thought, rubbing herself briskly with a towel. If he ever wants to give up stealing b ab ies and
terrorizing gob lins, he could start his own clothing line for sexually deprived women.

Wrapped in a large white bathrobe, Sarah found herself standing in front of the feathered cloak, trying to fight the impulse
to put it back on again.

"I will not try it on, I will not try it on," she said aloud.

Come on, what's the harm? cajoled Sarah's inner voice.

"It's addictive! It's like crack in cloak form!" Sarah fumed.

You say that like it's a b ad thing, the voice said dismissively.

"It is a bad thing," Sarah insisted. She hesitated. "I don't get the game that he's playing."

Mayb e he isn't playing a game.

At that thought, a warm glow tentatively began to unfurl in the vicinity of Sarah's heart. Technically, the glow was probably
closer to her spleen, but it was a start.

Ah ha!! cried the inner voice triumphantly. I felt that! You like him, the voice purred

"Shut up!" yelled Sarah. She paused. "There are a lot of obstacles to liking the Goblin King," she half-heartedly conceded.

Name three.

"Well for one, he can be cruel."

True, b ut not always. He is teaching the gob lins to read…

"He also throws the goblins into the bog!" Sarah said indignantly.

In the time you've known the gob lins, they've eaten your pot-plant, b itten your soap, and stolen your clothing. Can you
b lame him?

"He rendered a chicken unconscious," Sarah insisted.

To avenge Skeep. Come on, that's almost chivalrous.

"He took Toby," Sarah said stubbornly.

Only b ecause you asked and he gave you the adventure of a lifetime.

"He set the cleaners on me."

But not lately.

"He drugged me and put me in a bubble!" she said desperately.

An experience so horrific that it has featured in most of your sex fantasies ever since, the voice said dryly

"He gave me sleazy gloves," Sarah said, ignoring the prior comment.

He gave you strut b oots

"He is arrogant."

He looks marvelous in tight pants.

"He threw me in an oubliette!"

He looks marvelous in tight pants.

"You can't say that twice!"

Honey, you can't say that enough...

Sarah threw herself face down on her bed. "He can't be trusted," she whispered. Her inner voice sighed and patted her
on the head. Rememb er—he is a King, not a man. A fairytale b eing, not a mortal. So he is b ound to screw up.
Repeatedly. But, there's more to him than meets the eye. The voice paused a moment. Even if there isn't, he is very easy
on the eye…

Sarah wondered if killing your inner voice counted as murder.

"It's a bunny!"

"It's an eggplant!"

"It's a chicken!"

"It's a goblin!"

"It's a circus lion!"

Jareth looked up from his book to where the goblins were arguing and staring intently at the throne room ceiling. Wearily,
he put down the book, unwrapped himself from the throne, and walked toward them. "What are you imbeciles doing
now?" he asked, impatiently. The goblins all simultaneously pointed up. Jareth looked up and noticed a large black stain
on the ceiling. It was the sort of stain that you would get if you stuck a whole roast chicken on a spear and smeared it
repeatedly onto the ceiling.

Which, coincidently enough, is exactly how the stain got there.

"The stain is in the shape of a bunny," said the blue horned goblin.

"No, no, it's definitely a chicken!" said Beep.

"No! It's a yak!" said Ignor.

"It's a dwarf!" said a small goblin.

"It's a goblin!" said the goblin with the stripy socks.

"It's a fairy!" said the large goblin with the spear.

Jareth rolled his eyes and glanced back at the stain. Then looked at it harder. "Actually," he said thoughtfully, "it does look
like a bunny."

"Ha!" yelled the blue horned goblin triumphantly. "Told you so!"

"But…" said the other goblins plaintively.

"It's a bunny," Jareth said firmly.

"But…" said the goblin in the blue stripy socks.

"And anyone who cannot see that it is a bunny will be ordered to clean the stain off the ceiling with their tongue," Jareth
said, pleasantly.

Ignor took the goblin with the stripy socks' arm. "King says it's a bunny, so it's a bunny," he said, leading the goblin away.
"Even if it does look like a yak," he grumbled quietly.

The other goblins muttered and followed Ignor, the blue horned goblin strutting triumphantly to join them. Jareth walked
back to the throne and picked up Amazing True Life Stories again. First, he re-read the passages where Timothy
Bridges was mauled by the circus lion. Ah, life can b e cruel, can't it Timothy Bridges? he thought gleefully. He then
began to read the fascinating tale of Maury Esposito, a shoe salesman from Florida who had been attacked by an
alligator in the frozen food section of a grocery store. In the odd chance that he should ever find himself in a grocery store
in Florida, Jareth made a mental note to learn from Maury's mistakes by checking that the freezers were wildlife-free
before he stuck his arms in them to pull out frozen fish sticks. Jareth wondered where he could get a few of these
freezer-dwelling alligators. The bog needed brightening up.

Jareth's musings were interrupted by a blood-curdling scream. Looking up, he noticed that Skeep was pointing at him,
his little eyes wide with terror. "NOOOOOOO!!!!" Skeep screamed.

Jareth sighed. "Skeep, no arguments. It definitely looked like a bunny," he said wearily. Suddenly Jareth heard a mad,
vindictive screeching coming from just behind him. Before he could turn, Rosalinda launched herself, claws
outstretched, into the silky, nest-like mass of Jareth's hair.

"Ahh!! AHH!!! AHHHHH!!!" yelled Skeep, running around in circles in sheer horror. "Not again!!!!" he screamed, and ran
out of the throne room, heels skidding on the floor, rubber duck waving in the air.

Sarah was still lying face-down on the bed in her bathrobe. She had found that this was the best position to be in to
resist the lure of the addictive cloak. Now, if only she could figure out a way of staying there for the next few months.
Suddenly she heard a bang! bang! bang! coming from the closet. With a spectacular crash, the doors were kicked open
by a pair of pink stilettos. "LADY!" Skeep cried, tumbling out of the closet and onto the floor.

Sarah stood up and ran over to the closet. "Skeep, what is it? Are you ok?" she asked, concerned.

Skeep waved his rubber duck in the air. "HELP! The King!" he cried.

Sarah's breath caught in her throat. "What about the King? Is he ok?"

"King attacked!" he cried. "King hurt!! King…DYING!" he wailed, dropping onto his knees and sobbing, his little face in his
hands.

King dying? Sarah's heart felt as though it had been ruthlessly squeezed. She could not breathe. King dying?
Impossible! He can't die, she thought fervently. She paused. At least not until I yell at him for giving me those perverted
gloves, she amended. Rather unexpectedly, she started to get very very mad.

"He's being attacked? Right now?" she asked, green eyes flashing.

Skeep nodded. "Yes!" he wailed. "King BROKEN!"

"Right," said Sarah, determinedly. She looked around the room. Grabbing a chair, she dragged it over to the closet, stood
up on it, and rummaged around until she found an old baseball bat of Toby's that he had left behind the last time he had
visited. She swung the bat violently in the air a few times. It felt good. So, someone's trying to attack my Gob lin King,
hey? she thought viciously. Not likely. Jumping down from the chair, she ran into the kitchen, flung open one of the
draws, and pulled out an iron skillet, to be used just in case Jareth was being attacked by some fae nut job. She
swished the skillet in the air experimentally. It felt nice and solid and would definitely induce a fiendish concussion. The
only person who b eats the Gob lin King is me, she thought ruthlessly.

Brandishing her weapons, she slipped on some sandals and pulled Skeep up onto his feet. "Lead the way," she said
forcefully. It was time to bang some heads.

Rosalinda grabbed handfuls of Jareth's hair and scalp and cackled with manic glee. "What the hell…" he yelled. Jareth
reached around to try and wretch Rosalinda from his head, but every time his hands came up to grab her, she pecked at
them viciously. The goblins stood frozen, mouths wide open, watching as their four-time chicken toss champion and
national hero ruthlessly beat-up their king. As he struggled with the vengeful chicken, Jareth vaguely noticed that the only
goblin moving was Skeep, who, it must be said, was running around and around in a circle in a completely useless
fashion, screaming at the top of his lungs, before running out of the room.

"Well?" Jareth yelled to the goblins. "Do something!"

"Save the King!" Ignor cried, grabbing a spear. He and the rest of the goblins ran toward Jareth. Squeak, sitting on the
back of the throne, launched himself into the air, intending to land on Rosalinda…only to miss and land on Ignor's sieve
hat. "Aghh!!" yelled Ignor, the sieve falling over his eyes. Unable to see, Ignor waved his spear around wildly, hitting
Jareth in the back of the knees and forcing him to the ground. The rest of the goblins jumped on Jareth as though he
was a trampoline, trying to grab at Rosalinda who was pecking everyone in her path.

"Aghh!!" screamed Beep, as Rosalinda pecked him on the eyelid.

"Aghh!!" screamed a small goblin when the fork Beep had been holding stabbed him in the arm.

"Aggh!!" yelled Jareth, as both goblins fell heavily on his back. "Don't make me bog you all!" he hollered. The blue horned
goblin managed to grab a hold of Rosalinda, but she only tightened her grasp on Jareth's scalp. "Stun her!" yelled the
blue horned goblin. A little goblin pulled off his frypan hat and, aiming for Rosalinda, swung it wildly, smacking the blue
horned goblin in the face and sending him flying across the room. "Sorry!" he yelled, as the blue horned goblin got
groggily to his feet and began to weave drunkenly around the throne room. With grim determination, the little goblin
swung again…only to hit Jareth in the back of the head.

"That's it!" Jareth roared. He forced himself to stand up, flinging the goblins who were still clinging to his body across the
room. Reaching up, he grabbed Rosalinda by the throat and squeezed until she loosened her grip. "I've had enough of
you, you glorified feather duster, you treasonous piece of poultry!" he yelled. Yanking her off his head, he tossed her as
hard as he could. Straight out the tower window.

The goblins gasped in shock and ran over to the window. "Rosalinda!!!" yelled the goblin with the blue stripy socks. The
goblins crowded around the window ledge, the smaller ones jumping up and down so that they could see what was
happening to their beloved chicken-toss champion. Rosalinda, squawking indignantly, spun over and over again as she
plummeted down the long, long drop. "Is she going to make it?" asked the goblin with the blue stripy socks, his hands
over his eyes. The goblins watched in horror as Rosalinda seemed to pick up speed, hurtling further and faster than any
chicken before her. "It's not the drop, it's the landing that's a killer," remarked Squeak, speaking from experience. Just as
Rosalinda was falling the last few feet, and the goblins were bracing themselves for the wet sound of a chicken hitting
the stone pavement below, the wind suddenly picked up and Rosalinda was knocked out of her death spiral. She
stretched out her wings and catching the current, floated gracefully to the ground.

"YEAHHHYY!!!!" the goblins cheered.

"Damn," muttered Jareth, looking over the window ledge. Rosalinda looked up at the window and Jareth could have
sworn that she was making an obscene gesture to him with her claw.

The goblins were ecstatic. "Yeahhhyy Rosalinda—five-time chicken-toss champion!!!" they yelled.

"That has to be a new record," said Ignor admiringly. The others nodded in agreement.

"Let's get drunk!" a large goblin called. "And sing!" yelled another.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose and thought longingly about jumping out the window himself. Until he
remembered he could fly. How typical that I can't even kill myself to escape their b loody singing, he thought
despondently. Stupid owl form.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the throne room door. "Ok," yelled a female voice. "Unhand the King right now or I
swear I will slap you senseless."

Everyone turned toward the voice. At first, Jareth thought that the woman standing in the doorway of the throne room was
actually a hallucination brought on by having endured a chicken to the scalp, a spear to the kneecaps, and a frypan to the
back of the head, all in quick succession. He shut his eyes, shook his aching head, and then looked again. The woman
was still standing there, like an avenging angel, dressed in a white bathrobe, her damp dark hair flowing around her
shoulders, and her green eyes flashing wildly. She was armed and apparently as mad as hell.

"Sarah?" Jareth asked in shock.

The vision nodded. "You're alive!" Sarah said, bewildered.

"Apparently," he said in some surprise.

They were both silent.

As his head started to clear, Jareth began to realize the enormity of the situation. No! No! No! he thought wildly. We are
not supposed to meet like this! Ever since they had started corresponding, Jareth had been visualizing his next meeting
with Sarah. He had it all planned. He would appear to her one night in her apartment in a shower of glitter, or a sudden
gust of wind, or a combination of both—he still was working on the small details—and he would be wearing something
suitably imposing, yet also a little bit sultry. The midnight blue jacket with the sparkly sleeves, perhaps. Possibly paired
with a silver cloak, though he did not want it to look as though he had tried too hard. Then he would tell her that he had
one last gift to give her—himself. The gift that keeps on giving, so to speak. She, of course, would be delighted, and
would throw herself into his arms in an excessive display of feminine affection. After this point, the details of the fantasy
tended to vary according to Jareth's mood and the time of day, but typically there would be a lot of candlelight, a
saxophone soundtrack, a fair amount of adult-type touching, and Sarah's constant murmurs of surprise and awe when it
came to Jareth's prowess at the aforementioned adult-type touching. But as he stood there before Sarah, with his dirty
clothes and poultry-ravaged hair, Jareth felt his fantasy crumble around him. He suddenly felt a strong urge to visit
Florida. Or Nantucket. He wasn't fussy, just as long as it involved being put of his misery by renegade wildlife.

Jareth would have been more than a little relieved to know that Sarah was just as horrified as he was. At first, she was
just bewilderingly happy to see that he was alive. Sure, he looked disheveled, and he was covered with feathers, and his
hair looked as though it had been attacked by a blender. But he was alive and she just wanted to hug him. Then, when
she realized that he was alive and in control of the situation, and that she had run into his throne room and made a fool
of herself over absolutely nothing, she suddenly felt so angry that she wanted to beat him around the head with the
skillet. No! No! No! she thought wildly. We are not supposed to meet like this! Although Sarah had not created an
elaborate next-meeting fantasy, she had vague thoughts about how she wanted to appear when she next met her
childhood nemesis. She would be wearing something elegant and sophisticated. And maybe just a little bit sultry. And
her manner would be cool and regal and designed to show him that she was not a little girl anymore, thank you very
much. But instead, she had barged into his throne room, armed with a cooking utensil and dressed in a bathrobe. It was
not quite the entrance she had been hoping for.

The goblins, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil of the adults in the room, broke the tense silence. "LADY!" they
yelled, running up to her joyfully. She hugged them absentmindedly, not taking her eyes off the Goblin King.

Jareth cleared his throat. "What are you doing here, Sarah?" he asked with feigned indifference.

Sarah lifted her chin. "Skeep said that you were being attacked," she said with feigned bravado.

"He was attacked," said Ignor.

"By Rosalinda!" said Beep, holding his injured eye.

"Rosalinda!?" Sarah said in surprise. She looked at Jareth. "You were attacked by the four-time chicken-toss champion?"

"Five-time now," said the goblin with the stripy socks, proudly.

Jareth closed his eyes. Bested by a chicken. In front of Sarah. His humiliation was complete.That's it, he thought, I'm
reordering time. Just as he began to gather his magic, Sarah interrupted him.

"You're bleeding," she said softly, pointing toward his forehead. Jareth touched the wound with his gloved hand and
looked dispassionately at the blood on his fingers. "So it would seem," he said mildly.

Sarah looked at the group of goblins, most of whom were hobbling or bleeding or, in the case of the blue horned goblin,
walking dizzily into the wall. "Ok, all of you who were injured in the skirmish, back to my house for treatment," she said
briskly. A line of wounded goblins began to shuffle out of the room. Except for the blue horned goblin who was walking
around in a circle. Sarah gently guided him out of the throne room. "That means you too," she said, calling to Jareth over
her shoulder.

Without thinking, Jareth began to walk toward her. Noticing just what he was doing, he clenched his jaw and forcibly
made himself stop. Skeep, who had been walking behind the King, walked straight into him. Skeep reached up and
grabbed Jareth's sleeve.

"Come on King," he said, pulling Jareth toward the door. "Lady fix."

"I think not, Skeep," he said angrily, pulling his arm away from Skeep's grasp.

"Come on," said Skeep, grabbing him again. "Lady fix head with crunching machine. Just like hat," he said happily.

Jareth snorted. "As comforting as the thought of Sarah armed with a stapler in the vicinity of my head is, Skeep, I feel
sufficiently demoralized for one day. All I need now is the added humiliation of Sarah…" He paused. Fussing over you?
his inner voice said, silkily.Tending your wounds? Stroking your hair?…Kissing you b etter?

"I'll be at Sarah's," Jareth said to the remaining goblins as he walked briskly out of the throne room.

AUTHOR'S NOTE #2. Please review! Or else I'll make Rosalinda Jareth's new love interest.

("Ahh Rosalinda," crooned Jareth seductively. "Sometimes it takes throwing someone out of a tower window before you
realize just how much you love them."

Rosalinda leans toward him lovingly…and pecks him viciously on the ear.

"Oh how I love it when you're cruel!" Jareth purrs. Meanwhile, Sarah lurks behind a pillar, armed with her skillet).

Jareth/poultry slash. Really, I think it's going to be the next big thing in fanfic …
*Chapter 7*: Chapter 7
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A million thanks to all those who reviewed! And such humorous and creative reviews they were! I am
so very very grateful. A free commemorative rubber duck to you all.

I must say that I was surprised by the lack of support for a Jareth/Rosalinda pairing—they are both a little villainous and
misunderstood, I thought it was a match made in heaven. Though I guess fanfic isn't quite ready for poultriality (thank you
for the term, LDeetz), even if it is heterosexual poultriality (thank you for clearing that up, o00bubbles00o).

And to all those who told me about their evil chicken/rooster experiences, I feel your pain, really I do. I'll be starting a
support group very soon.

Well, as promised, this chapter contains leather pants. It's practically an ode to Jareth's leather pants. In fact, I sacrificed
plot, character development, and humor just so that I could squeeze in as many references to Jareth's leather pants as
possible. Never say that I don't try to please you people (particularly you, Natsuko37…)

DISCLAIMER: Labyrinth—not mine. Leather pants—not mine. I did own a Hula Honey Barb ie doll but she met an
untimely end under the blades of my father's lawnmower. I was picking bits of plastic out of the lawn for weeks. I don't
want to talk about it, the memory still chokes me up.

Chapter 7: The chapter with the gratuitous leather pant references

Rosalinda's vengeful dive into the nest-like mane of the Goblin King was an act destined for greatness. She became the
first piece of poultry to be entered into the Goblin Kingdom history books in a short passage marked: 'Goblin King
Assassination Attempt #15: Chicken 0, King 1.' Although she had technically been bested by the King, she had still
emerged as the people's hero. Immediately after her dramatic decent from the tower, the goblins had started to write
songs in her praise, the most popular of which was a jaunty little country-&-western style number entitled: 'Chicken fell
out of the tower and straight into my heart.' To Jareth's horror, the song had fifteen verses, including the notorious Verse
12 where the goblins were forced to rhyme 'chicken-toss' with 'dental-floss.' After hearing the song for the first time,
Jareth willfully consumed his body weight in goblin ale in an attempt to render himself completely unconscious. When
he awoke on the throne room floor two days later, completely covered in inebriated goblins, he banned the song from
even being whistled and decreed that anyone singing it would be hung by their tongue above the bog. Forever. Although
the goblins had heard it said that forever was not long at all, they were careful to only sing the song in their closets with
the doors shut, and even then only when their notoriously ill-humored King was busy Aboveground.

Rosalinda's exploits were also immortalized in the Goblin vocabulary. After her vengeful attack, the act of being thrown
out of the tower by the King was subsequently known as 'getting Rosalinda-ed' or 'doing a Rosalinda.' For instance, if a
goblin was to walk outside the castle and view a fellow goblin sitting groggily on the floor just under the tower window, he
would think to himself. "Ahh. That poor fellow was just Rosalinda-ed." Or if a goblin looked up to see a fellow goblin
sailing out of the tower window, he would simply think to himself "Oh, he's doing a Rosalinda."

But the most important ramification of Rosalinda's treasonous attack, a ramification that was to lead to a much larger
passage in the Goblin Kingdom history books, was yet to take place. Not that Rosalinda much cared—she was
remarkably oblivious to her fame and had better things to think about. She had just fallen down a hole with lots and lots
of hands to peck. Oh but it was turning out to be a wonderful day…

Sarah was far too busy to be aware of the various Rosalina-inspired musical and linguistic changes that were currently
taking place in the Underground. Outwardly, she was too busy sitting on a stool in her white-tiled bathroom, treating a
line of goblins who had all been injured during the Goblin King Assassination Attempt #15. Inwardly, she was too busy
trying to repress any memories of her recent jaunt to the Castle Beyond The Goblin City where she had appeared in the
throne room wearing little more than a bathrobe and a frypan. The specific memory that she was trying her very best to
repress was the one where her inner voice had somehow managed to wrestle control of her body and had asked Jareth
to come back to her apartment. To avoid a repeat of such unfortunate events, Sarah had since gagged her inner voice
with duct tape, hog-tied it with piano wire, and tossed it into a cage that was surrounded by an electric fence, which was
surrounded by a moat, which was filled with piranhas. Who were infected with rabies.

Inordinately pleased with herself at gaining some measure of control over her mind, Sarah turned her attention back to
treating the wounded goblins. "Next!" she called, and Squeak shuffled into the bathroom. Sarah lifted him onto the
treatment chair.

"Where does it hurt?" she asked.

Squeak pointed to a small scratch on his knee. Sarah put antiseptic cream on a piece of gauze and gently applied it to
the scratch.

"AHHH!! It burns! It burns!" screeched Squeak, bouncing up and down on the chair. Sarah quickly began to blow on the
spot where she had applied the cream.

"Is that better?" she asked, concerned.

"Much better," Squeak said gratefully.

"Well, you're all done!" she said to the little goblin. "Go to Skeep and he will give you a band-aid."

Skeep was perched on the bathtub, carefully applying colored band-aids to the injured goblins. And to his rubber duck—
it currently sported four. Skeep looked at Squeak critically, and pulled out an orange band-aid.

"I'd prefer blue," said Squeak.

"Orange!" Skeep insisted.

"Really, I'd prefer…"

"ORANGE!" Skeep yelled.

"Fine!" surrendered Squeak. Skeep carefully applied the orange band-aid to Squeak's knee. "Pretty!" he said contentedly.

"Next!" called Sarah. A goblin with a dented helmet shuffled into the bathroom and Sarah helped him onto the chair.
"Where does it hurt?" she asked briskly.

"Here," he said, pointing to his elbow. Sarah peered at it closely. "Are those fork marks?" she asked in surprise.

"Yep!" he said with pride. Sarah shook her head and put antiseptic cream on a fresh piece of gauze. "Just be prepared,
this may sting a bit."

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" the goblin screamed.

Sarah, still holding the gauze, tried not to smile. "You may want to wait until I have actually applied the cream before you
start screaming," she said helpfully.

"Oh," the goblin said, shamefaced. "Sorry. I'm new at this. Just tell me when to start yelling."

Sarah tried to be serious. "On the count of three—one, two, three!"

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" the goblin screamed theatrically.

Sarah quickly put antiseptic on the fork marks and then blew a little on the stinging cream to make it feel better. The
goblin continued to scream lustily, the noise making Sarah's eardrums burn. Sarah quickly covered his mouth with her
hand.

"Ahh, sorry to interrupt," Sarah said, her ears feeling somewhat singed, "but we're finished."

The goblin stopped. "Oh, really? That wasn't so bad," he said, surprised.

"Go to Skeep and he'll give you a band-aid," Sarah said, replacing the lid on the cream.

"Thanks Lady!" The goblin shuffled off the chair and went to see Skeep, who looked him over critically. "Green," said
Skeep firmly, taking out a green band-aid.

"Actually, I'd really like a…."

"GREEN!" yelled Skeep.

Sarah shook her head at Skeep's dictatorial control over the band-aid allocation process, and started to rummage
around in her First-Aid kit for more gauze. "Next!" she called, not looking up.

"That would be me," a silky voice said pleasantly.

Sarah took a deep breath. My will is strong, my will is strong, she repeated to herself like a mantra. And if it isn't, my iron
skillet is, she thought grimly. She looked up and finally made eye contact with the Goblin King, who was lounging
gracefully in the bathroom doorway. He was just as she remembered him—all otherworldly beauty and predatory grace
and just that hint of dangerous things and dark nights and disturbingly adult thoughts. Though this time, Sarah noted, he
looked a little less like the impeccably groomed, arrogant king of her childhood, and a little more like the target of a
poultry vendetta. There were black feathers in his disheveled hair, and a bloody cut on his forehead. His black leather
pants were dusty and there were pieces of straw and the odd goblin footprint on his white shirt which was open to the
waist. And yet, somehow, he made it work. Jerk, she thought, bemused. Who comes out of a poultry attack looking even
b etter than they went in? Her inner voice nodded in agreement. Is it just me, or does looking pathetic kind of suit him?
Sarah's inner voice mused from inside its cage. Sarah could not help but agree with the voice. In her distracted state,
Sarah did not notice that her inner voice had chewed its way through the duct tape.

Looking at her old nemesis in his disheveled state, Sarah felt a genuine desire to help him. She was not sure why
exactly. Maybe it was because she could see something almost a little hesitant in his stance. Maybe it was because of
that hint of wistfulness in his mismatched eyes. Mayb e it was b ecause he was wearing leather pants, her inner voice
said, helpfully. Sarah looked at the Goblin King's legs, opened her mouth to deny it, and couldn't think of anything to say.
The inner voice thought that was an encouraging sign. Even though he is looking a little worse for wear, the voice said in
a considering fashion, I, for one, would still like to try to get him naked b y the end of the evening. In fact, here is an artist's
rendition of what I think he may look like in such a state…Sarah looked at her inner voice in shock, blushed furiously at
the montage of images that her inner voice was presenting for her viewing pleasure, and calmly told the rabid piranhas
to attack the voice whenever they were ready. Shaking her head, Sarah then rummaged around in her First-Aid kit until
she was composed enough to acknowledge the king standing in her doorway.

Meanwhile, Jareth was keenly watching the play of emotions across Sarah's lovely face, particularly the moment when
her gaze had been directed at his legs, and her telling little blush immediately afterwards. He smiled his predatory smile
and filed that bit of information away. He had been surreptitiously watching Sarah care for his goblins, fixing their
scrapes, and bandaging their wounds. And he had felt…something almost indefinable. Something that tasted like
longing. Only stronger. And he decided then and there that he would do whatever it took just to have a little of her
attention lavished on him. In fact, he was happy to do anything at all for her, just as long as that attention did not include
using a stapler to fix his head wound. He looked at her shuffle around in her first aid kit, obviously stalling for time, and
smiled slyly.

"Take a seat," she finally said, still not looking up.

Jareth gracefully disentangled himself from the doorway and went to sit in the treatment chair just in front of Sarah. He
was exceedingly disappointed to see that she had changed out of that fetching white bathrobe she had worn when she
had burst into his throne room. He sighed. While Sarah had been tending to his goblins, he had been creating an
elaborate fantasy about their next meeting. Although he had regretfully ruled out the glittery entrance, the candlelight, and
the saxophone soundtrack, he was determined that the adult-type touching would remain. In fact, Sarah's bathrobe had
been a key feature in the adult-type touching that he had been planning. He looked forlornly at the jeans and green
button-up shirt she was currently wearing. And then looked again. And then smiled rather wickedly. The jeans and top
were far more figure hugging than the bathrobe, and Sarah had a lovely figure to hug, he noted with satisfaction. He put
'hug Sarah's figure' on the top of his To Do List.

Nodding with satisfaction at having a plan, a plan that he wished to implement as soon as possible, Jareth suddenly
noticed Skeep sitting in the corner, putting another green band-aid on his duck.

"Skeep, get out," Jareth ordered curtly.

"Wait," said Sarah, exasperated. "There is no need for him to go."

Jareth clenched his jaw. "There is a need, and it will not be served by having Skeep here. Skeep, out."

"It isn't necessary…" Sarah began.

"Trust me, it is," said Jareth firmly. "Skeep, out," he ordered.

"Ok King!" Skeep said, and picked up his duck.

Sarah sighed. "Here Skeep," she said, handing him the box of band-aids. "Give these to any goblin who needs them."

"Yes Lady!" he said happily, shuffling out of the room in his stilettos.

Smiling a trifle smugly, Jareth sprawled a little more comfortably on Sarah's treatment chair. He then tilted his head,
looking at her appreciatively. Sarah noticed that look and shivered. The inner voice was too busy fighting off the rabid
piranhas to inform Sarah that her shivers had nothing to do with the cold. "So," Sarah asked briskly, "where does it hurt?"

Jareth's inner voice supplied a small but crucial list of anatomical structures that required Sarah's immediate attention.
But, after looking at the sharp pair of scissors and other implements of torture in Sarah's First-Aid kit, he decided not to
bring those up.

Yet.

"Well," he said, thoughtfully. "Let's see. There was a chicken stuck to my scalp," he said, ticking it off on one gloved
finger. "And then I was assaulted with a frypan to the back of my head," he said, ticking off another finger. "Plus there was
the indignity and discomfort of being and knocked to the ground and bounced on top of like some kind of fairground ride,"
he said in disgust. "So the answer to your question is 'everywhere.'"

Sarah looked at him and smiled sympathetically. "Let's start by trying to remove the remnants of Rosalinda from your
head, shall we?" she said brightly, starting to remove the black feathers that were scattered in his wild gold hair and
putting them in the sink.

Jareth looked at the feathers. "Do not throw those out. I intend on making a trophy feather duster and mounting it to the
throne room wall as a warning to all other poultry who may have treasonous intentions," he said, rather coldly.

Sarah suppressed a smile. "As you wish, your Majesty," she said, jauntily.

Jareth watched Sarah's reflection in the bathroom cabinet mirror. "I'm appreciative of the care that you have given to my
goblins, and to myself," he said regally. "Where did you learn to do all this?" he said, gesturing to the First-Aid kit.

"Well," said Sarah, pulling bits of straw out of Jareth's hair. "I'm an older sister and Toby is a major klutz so I was always
bandaging him up." She instantly regretted mentioning Toby. She paused in alarm, watching Jareth for any change in his
demeanor that would indicate he was ready to whisk her brother off to the Goblin Kingdom.

Jareth, however, seemed quite content to stay in his chair and allow Sarah to remedy his chicken-crushed hair. "Ahh, that
little scamp," he said, rather fondly. "How is he?"

Sarah looked at him warily. "He's fine," she said carefully. She sought around for something innocuous to say about her
brother. "Though he's been having some trouble with bullies lately."

Before Sarah's very eyes, Jareth's whole appearance changed. One minute there was a beautiful, albeit wearily
disheveled man sitting across from her, letting her remove bits of poultry from his hair. The next minute there was a
mythical creature who positively radiated malevolent power, staring back at her with a rather cruel gleam in his
mismatched eyes.

"I will deal with them," the Goblin King replied ominously.

Sarah was suddenly very frightened for those bullies. "Oh no you won't," she said, shaking her head. "Toby has to learn
to fight his own battles. Besides," she said, with forced gaiety, "there isn't a bog up here for you to dip them in, or
oubliettes to throw them down."

He smirked. "I'm sure I could improvise." Sarah was relieved to see that he had relaxed again, and was looking less far
terrifying. Those bullies owed her big time.

Jareth made a mental note to check up on Toby later. And to find an Aboveground bog, should the need for it arise. He
looked at Sarah's reflection in the bathroom mirror as she tended to him. He watched the fall of her dark hair across her
shoulders as she bent over him, and watched they way that her green eyes narrowed in concentration as they carefully
noted his injuries.

"You really have grown up, Sarah," he said a trifle wonderingly.

Sarah smirked. "Well, it's been a while, Goblin King," she said dryly.

"Ten years, four months, fifteen days, four hours and fifteen…make that sixteen minutes," Jareth said absentmindedly,
looking down at his boots and trying to figure out just why the left one felt so uncomfortable. Reaching into the top of his
boot, he pulled out a fork that someone had dropped in there during the skirmish. Shaking his head, he looked up and
saw Sarah staring at him, open-mouthed. At first, he thought it was because he had conjured a fork from his boot. And
then he realized. Oh well done, old chap, Jareth's inner voice said, clapping sarcastically. Now she thinks that you've
spent the last decade just sitting in front of a clock, pining away for her. The voice paused. Which, let's face it, you have,
b ut you didn't have to make it quite so ob vious.
Sarah looked at him inquisitively. "That's pretty specific."

Jareth shrugged in an impressively nonchalant fashion. At least, he hoped it seemed impressively nonchalant. "I
remember the date clearly because it was the last time that I had a conversation with someone who was capable of
stringing more than three words together," he said indifferently. He paused. "That's if you count a repetitive chorus of 'it's
not fair' and 'it's a piece of cake' as decent conversation," he said blandly, trying to bait her into an argument.

Sarah was about to hotly retort when she noticed the challenging gleam in his mismatched eyes. Instead, she smiled
slyly. "Funny, but the conversation that I remember best is the one we had right at the end," she said brightly.

Jareth inclined his head toward her, giving her the point. "You were such a brat," he said fondly.

"And I still am, on occasion," she said, impishly. "And you, your Majesty, were an overdressed megalomaniac."

"And I still am, on an hourly basis," he said, carelessly.

Sarah smiled at him, and then looked at him critically. He just wasn't the Goblin King without his wild mane of hair. She
began to run her fingers through the crushed, silky strands, trying to restore their shape and vigor. The soft strands
seemed to caress her naked fingers and she almost sighed. "Surely," she said, a trifle desperately, as she tried to
distract herself from the feel of his hair moving through her hands, "I wasn't the last person to run the Labyrinth? Hoggle
mentioned that there have been several others."

Jareth barely heard her. He was currently in a state of bliss, the likes of which he had not experienced in …well, a very
long time…just from the feel of her fingers running through his hair. Even if she decides to staple my head wound
together, it was all worth it for this, he thought, dreamily. He tried to allocate sufficient blood-flow back to his brain to give
her a response.

"Last month," he said a trifle unsteadily, "an old Mexican woman wished away her eight beastly little grandchildren, not
that I can blame her. If they were mine, I would have sent them to work in the mines." He almost purred when Sarah's
fingers gently caressed his scalp. He tried to keep his voice steady. "During the thirteen hours, the little pests tried to ride
my goblins, broke my riding crop, and graffitied all over my throne room. I'm not even going to tell you what they did to my
throne." He shuddered as Sarah's fingers touched the nape of his neck. He hoped that Sarah thought he was
shuddering at the memory. "Their vile behavior was clearly genetic because the grandmother was no better. Every time I
went to check on her, she would spit at me, yell 'Diablo! Diablo!' and would try to beat me with her cane." He managed to
suppress a moan as Sarah's delicate fingers swept along his forehead. "Before that, I got summoned by a drunk
Armenian farmer who had wished away his goat after it ate his pants."

Sarah tried not to laugh. "Did you take the goat?"

He shrugged. "It was a slow month."

Sarah imagined the mighty Goblin King, in all his finery, confronting the drunken farmer. ("You have thirteen hours in
which to solve the Lab yrinth b efore your goat b ecomes one of us forever…"). She chuckled to herself. "So did the drunk
Armenian farmer win back his goat?"

Jareth looked irritated. "The drunk Armenian farmer met up with a few of my goblins as soon as he went through the
gates. When I went to check up on him an hour later, he and the goblins were sitting there, swilling ale, roaring drunk,
and singing some atrocious old Armenian folk song with far too many verses for my liking." Jareth winced. "From what I
could gather, the song was about a man professing his love for his tractor."

Sarah laughed. Jareth looked at her in surprise—she had never laughed in his presence before. He began to heartily
laugh along with her.

Sarah chuckled. "So, it's good to be King, hey?" she asked ironically.

He snorted. "There are days that I feel more like a zoo-keeper," he said in disgust. He noticed with dismay that Sarah
had stopped touching his hair. He sighed. Pity. He glanced at his reflection in the bathroom cabinet mirror and noticed
that Sarah had restored his hair back to its former nest-like glory. He was inordinately pleased. He tugged a strand or
two back to their rightful place, and watched Sarah's reflection in the mirror as she cut pieces of gauze to clean the
various scratches on his head.

"So," he said stretching out his long, leather-clad legs, "after ten years, four months, fifteen days, four hours, and fifteen
minutes or so, you burst into my throne room, looking rather fetching in a white bathrobe, I might add," he said, giving her
reflection an admiring glance. He watched her pause momentarily in alarm. "And armed with various implements of war.
Tell me Sarah," he said, tilting his head, "were you intending to slay my attacker or join forces with them?" he said slyly.

Sarah squirmed a little. "Let's just say I was keeping my options open."

Jareth grinned at that, the tips of his pointed teeth quite prominent, and began to brush the dust off his leather pants.
Sarah felt the need to explain herself further. "Skeep told me that you were being attacked and begged me to save you,"
she confessed. "In fact, he insisted you were dying."

"Ahhh Skeep," Jareth said fondly. "That poor misguided little cross-dressing dyslexic." He sighed in mock despair. "I
must confess, I don't really know what to do with him."

Sarah smiled. "Skeep's sweet. He just needs a strong role model," she said, looking at him pointedly.

Jareth snorted. "He needs a mental health-care professional."

Sarah stared at him indignantly. "He just needs a little attention."

"Or medication," Jareth suggested.

"And a little affection," she said sternly.

"Or an exorcism," he said drolly, leaning back on the chair.

It was Sarah's turn to snort. "He's probably just suffering from a brain injury from when you last threw him out a window."

Jareth opened his mouth to protest. And then shut it. "They don't usually land on their heads," he said in his defense.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. Jareth responded by shrugging his shoulders indifferently.

"Speaking of tossing things," said Sarah, as she went back to cleaning some of the smaller claw marks on Jareth's
head, "whatever happened to the four, I mean five-time chicken-toss champion?"

"I tossed her out the tower window," Jareth said, looking quite content.

Sarah looked shocked. "Is she still alive?"

"Unfortunately. Right now, she's probably terrorizing some poor brownie. Heaven help the fireys if she gets to them."

"Well, I think you're slipping Goblin King," Sarah said, pulling a stray bit of straw from his hair. "I would have thought that
after she attacked you, you would have struck her down and had her for dinner."

Jareth snorted. "She'd probably poison me." He shook his head. "The goblins would revolt if they found out that I had
cooked their chicken toss champion," he said disgustedly. He suddenly noticed the footprints on his shirt. "What they
don't realize is that the competition was always rigged," he said absentmindedly.

"What do you mean? You liked Rosalinda so you threw her further?" Sarah asked curiously.

"No, I despised Rosalinda so I threw her further," Jareth said, with more than a touch of loathing. He tried to dust the
footprints off his sleeves. "I doubt there will be another chicken-toss competition for a while. No-one is going to be able
to match Rosalinda's final performance." He rolled his eyes. "The goblins will probably make me issue a
commemorative stamp to mark the historic occasion, or petition to replace my picture with hers on the Goblin Kingdom
currency," he muttered bitterly.

He looked so put out that Sarah was tempted to laugh. She pulled out the antiseptic cream from the First-Aid kit. "Be
prepared, this may sting a bit," she said, putting a little of the cream on fresh gauze.

"It couldn't sting any more than having a chicken adhered to your scalp," he said, mildly.

Sarah gently applied the antiseptic to the largest wound. Jareth's eyes momentarily widened. "Or perhaps it could," he
said grimly. He glanced up at Sarah and noted her smile. "Try not to enjoy hurting me more than you possibly have to,
Sarah," he said dryly.

"I make no guarantees," she said swabbing happily. "Though, all things being equal," she said hesitantly, "I always
thought that you would be the one inflicting pain on me the next time we met."

Jareth looked puzzled. "Whatever for?"

Sarah blushed. "Well, after the way we concluded our last meeting, I thought you would have been angry with me."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Really Sarah, it's been ten years. You can't expect me to be angst-ridden for ten years—angst
takes up far too much energy. And frankly, I need all my strength just to withstand my daily interactions with the goblins
and the death plots hatched by their chickens."

"Well," said Sarah, clearly surprised, "that's a relief."

"Besides," Jareth said, tilting his head, "it's not as if I hadn't read that little red book of yours, Sarah. I knew how the story
ended so I was well prepared for what happened." Jareth was momentarily distracted as Sarah's fingers gently moved
along his skin. "That's not to say I was particularly overjoyed by the outcome," he said grimly, "but I was prepared."

Sarah had not thought of that before. She wondered if all fairytale creatures read their own press. Still distracted by
Jareth's confession, Sarah finished applying the antiseptic cream and, without thinking, blew a little on the wound. At the
unexpected sensation of Sarah's warm breath against his skin, Jareth grew completely rigid all over.

Completely rigid.

All over.

And closed his eyes. Now would b e a good time to ravish her, his inner voice informed him quite pleasantly. What a
splendid idea! I b elieve I shall, Jareth replied, just as pleasantly. For once, Jareth and his inner voice were in complete
agreement. They grinned roguishly at one another.

While Jareth and his inner voice were basking in a male-bonding moment, Skeep came clomping into the bathroom.
"Finished Lady!" he said, holding up the box of band-aids.

"Thanks Skeep," she said, patting him on the head. "But we'll need one for the King." Skeep looked at the Jareth for a
moment and pulled out a bright pink band-aid from the box.

"Pink?" said Sarah skeptically. "Ahhh, Skeep, are you really sure you want to…"

"PINK!" Skeep yelled.

Jareth looked at the pink band-aid and then at Skeep. "Skeep," he said, in a deathly quiet voice, "you should probably
start running."

"Ok King!" Skeep said happily, and shuffled off in his heels.

Sarah smiled mischievously and began to peel the backing off the pink band-aid. "Sarah," said Jareth, his voice still
deathly calm, "you do know of course, that if you put a pink bit of plastic on my head, there will be consequences."

Sarah smiled impishly at him and applied the band-aid to his head. "Not while you're in my kingdom, buddy," she said
happily. She noticed his scowl. "Oh come now Jareth—the pink will bring out your eyes."

For a moment, Jareth appeared to consider her statement. Turning, he looked at his reflection in the cabinet mirror and
snorted. He ran a gloved finger over the band-aid and it turned a rather fetching shade of pale gold with a hint of glitter.

"Yes, well gold glitter is definitely more masculine than pink," Sarah said sarcastically, looking over his shoulder at his
reflection in the mirror.

Jareth tilted his head, looking at himself critically. "I think it looks suitably regal," he said, sounding quite pleased with
himself.

Sarah sighed. His vanity was almost refreshing. "Well, your Majesty, you're all done," said Sarah briskly, "Though," she
said, looking at his clothing critically, "there seems to be blood on your shirt."

Jareth looked down at his shirt. "So there is." He looked at her slyly. "Are you going to extend to me the same courtesy
that you gave my goblins and offer to wash my shirt in fabric softener?"

Sarah blinked. "I suppose so. Do you want me to wash it?"

He nodded regally. "I believe I do."

Sarah shrugged. "Fine, let me pack this stuff up first." Sarah turned away and put the antiseptic cream in the First-Aid kit
and closed it up. When she turned back, Jareth was calmly removing his shirt.
Sarah's mouth dropped. "What do you think you are doing?!" she screeched, as he pulled the shirt free from his leather
pants.

Jareth looked at her, bemused. "Do you intend washing the shirt with me in it?" he asked innocently.

"No," she spluttered, "but…" The rest of the sentence was lost as Sarah became completely and utterly transfixed by a
sudden flash of pale chest and lightly muscled abdomen. Now that's more like it! Sarah's inner voice crowed with
delight, as it outran the piranhas.

"Stop!" she said frantically. Jareth watched in amusement as Sarah covered her eyes with her hand. "Don't do anything
till I get you something to change into!"

Sarah pushed blindly past him and ran into the bedroom. Just what I need. Naked fairytale men in my b athroom, she
thought exasperatedly. Exactly what you need, her inner voice agreed. Before Sarah could duct tape her inner voice's lips
shut again, her attention was caught by the goblins. They were all gathered in a group on her bed, heads down,
whispering and giggling to themselves.

"What are you guys doing?" she asked curiously, coming up behind them. Sarah looked down at what they were holding
and almost choked.

"Oh no!" she said in horror.

The goblins looked up at her guiltily. In one of Skeep's hands was Sarah's Goblin King figurine, in the other was her Hula
Honey Barb ie doll—both of which usually sat on the top of her bookshelf in what Sarah fondly thought of as her 'shrine to
childhood'. What had horrified Sarah wasn't that Skeep had taken them from the shelf, but rather that he had swapped
their clothing. She noted vaguely that the Goblin King really didn't appear as awe-inspiring when dressed in coconut bra.

"King pretty!" said Skeep, wiggling the Goblin King figurine so that his grass skirt and flower lei jiggled gaily. The goblins
started roaring with laughter, rolling around on her bed.

"No, no this is NOT funny!" she said, looking at Hula Honey Gob lin King. "Well," she amended, "it is, but if he finds it, you
will all be joining Rosalinda out the tower window. Unless you fellows have a death wish, you should hide it NOW!"

While the goblins frantically tried to hide the Hawaiian makeover they had given their king, Sarah rummaged in her
closet, pulling out two shirts at random and ran back to the bathroom.

Jareth was leaning with feline grace in the bathroom doorway, shirt still on but unbuttoned. "Here," she said, handing
him a white t-shirt defiantly.

Jareth unfolded the shirt and looked at it in bemusement. "I outrank this shirt," he said dryly, holding up the white t-shirt
with Princess written on it in bright pink glitter letters. "What else do you have?" he asked, throwing it back to her.

Sarah caught the Princess shirt and handed him a white men's business shirt. "Where did you get this?" he asked
coldly.

Sarah shrugged. "I think it belonged to an old boyfriend."

Jareth scowled down at the shirt. "How old a boyfriend?" he growled.

Sarah tapped her foot impatiently. "Are you going to give me your shirt to wash or what?" she said, determinedly making
eye contact with him in order to avoid looking at anything more incriminating. Jareth briskly removed his shirt and handed
it to her.

"When I get back from the washing machine, I expect you to be clothed," she said warningly.

Sarah ran into her small laundry, shut the door, and placed her forehead against the cold mental of the washing
machine. My will is strong, my will is strong…my skillet is great, my skillet is great, she repeated to herself, a trifle
desperately. Sarah tried to ignore the fact that Jareth's shirt was made of the softest material she had ever felt, and that it
was still warm from his body. She threw it vigorously into the machine and poured almost a bottle of fabric softener over
it before her inner voice could try to persuade her to rub it against her cheek, or smell it, or, heaven forbid, try it on. Damn
him she thought as she slammed down the lid on the machine. Damn him and his gorgeous b ody and his soft hair and
his sexy smirk. Damn him for b eing so stupidly irresistib le. She angrily switched on the machine. Why couldn't I have
wished Tob y away to Darth Vader? she thought despairingly. Sarah took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and
walked back to the bedroom chanting. My will is strong…My skillet is great…He isn't all that attractive … I've seen b etter
chests…
Meanwhile, Jareth was staring darkly at the business shirt in his hand. He had never felt such hatred and loathing
toward a piece of clothing in his life. And that included the time that his tailor had lost his measurements and created a
pair of breeches so tight that he had almost been castrated just by looking at them.

"Squeak!" he yelled.

After a moment, Squeak came shuffling into the bathroom. "Yes, Majesty?" he said.

Jareth gave him the shirt. "Take this and throw it into the bog." He paused. "Be sure to punish it a bit first," he said grimly.
Squeak nodded and began to leave the room.

"Oh and Squeak," Jareth called after him, "bring me back a shirt. Something black. Maybe with a touch of silver. And an
air of recklessness."

"I know just the one, Majesty," he said, and ran out of the room.

On the way back from the washing machine, Sarah saw Squeak running toward the bedroom with the business shirt.
"Hey! Where are you going with that?" she called after him.

"Bog," he called back and disappeared into the closet.

Sarah stormed into the bathroom and tried to ignore the half naked king lounging on the edge of the bathtub, smelling
her shampoo. "Why are you throwing that shirt into the bog?!" she asked indignantly.

Jareth put down the shampoo and crossed his arms. "It displeased me," he said regally.

Sarah looked at him incredulously. "More than the Princess shirt?"

Jareth smiled coldly. "That one merely annoyed me."

Sarah could feel a migraine coming on. Or an aneurysm. Most likely an aneurysm. "Just stay here," she said wearily and
ran off to her bedroom again.

Jareth watched Sarah leave and smiled. Now that the boyfriend shirt was on its way to the bog, he was having a perfectly
splendid time. He felt so amused. So exhilarated. There was something about Sarah that made him want to challenge
her, just to see her act deliciously defiant, or get all flustered. She definitely brought out his desire to provoke. And his
desire to strut. And to prowl. And to stalk. And to hunt. And to ravish. All of his favorite activities, all brought out by the one
woman. He was almost purring in pleasure.

Sarah came back and handed him the feathered cloak he had given her. He noticed with amusement that she was still
trying to keep up the pretense of not looking at his chest. "If you don't like this, you'll have to wear a garbage bag," she
said briskly, maintaining eye contact. "I don't want you wandering around half-naked around the goblins—they're
impressionable," she said sternly. She then turned her back to him so he could put the cloak on in privacy.

Jareth grinned slyly at Sarah's back. "Let me assure you, my dear Sarah, that the half of me that is currently naked is not
the half that usually makes an impression," he said wickedly, throwing the cloak around his shoulders. He noticed her
back stiffen and he started to chuckle. She was so adorable when she was being righteous.

"You can turn around now Sarah," Jareth said, dryly, "I am no longer capable of causing an impression." Sarah turned
around and almost groaned. Liar, she thought. It was worse than seeing him half naked. Standing there, with his low-
slung, fitted black leather pants tucked into black boots, his torso naked but for his pendant, and the white feathered
cape fluttering around his shoulders, he was an exotic mixture of heaven and hell, a fallen angel that had landed
inexplicably in her bathroom. Her inner voice began to sing a stirring rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus.

Unaware of Sarah's inner turmoil, Jareth merely looked at her and tilted his head. And then walked calmly toward her.
"What is that plastic thing in your hair?" he asked quizzically.

"What? Where?" she asked, touching her hair.

Jareth came to stand directly in front of her. Unconsciously, she took several steps back. He merely smiled in a predatory
fashion and followed till she was backed against the cold tiled wall. He then stretched out his gloved hand, untangled a
small piece of silver plastic from her hair, and handed it to her.

"Oh," Sarah said, looking down at it. "Oh it's the protective seal from the bottle of fabric softener. I don't know how it got
there…maybe when I was in the laundry." Prob ab ly when I was pounding my head on the washing machine and cursing
your fairytale hide, she thought

Sarah looked up at Jareth. He was standing so close to her that the tips of his pale blonde hair were brushing against
her shoulders. She could feel the heat radiating from his naked chest, and the edges of the feathered cloak brushing
against her calves. Jareth tilted his head a little and smiled down at her, a small, wistful half-smile. Odd, that smile,
coming from the Goblin King. She wanted to ponder it but she was momentarily distracted by the soft look in his eyes, a
look that seemed totally at odds with his usual indifferent, arrogant mask. Pinned to the spot by that look and that smile,
she watched as he took one gloved finger and gently traced the curve of her cheek.

As soon as his gloved finger touched her skin, an electric current of pleasure shot through her body, running from the
point of contact on her cheek, down to the tips of her toes. The shock of it knocked her knees out from under her and she
slid down the cold tiled wall into a heap on the bathroom floor.

"Why Sarah!" Jareth said in delight, squatting down gracefully so that they were face-to-face again, "whatever are you
doing down here?"

Sarah took one look at his joyous expression and fumed. "What the hell do you have in those gloves of yours, you
deviant? Viagra?" she yelled.

Jareth looked at her puzzled. "What is this 'Viagra'?"

Sarah blushed. There was no way that she was going to explain male potency enhancement drugs to the Goblin King.
"Nothing," she mumbled.

Jareth looked at her blush and very much wanted to know what this 'Viagra' was. "Is it an enchantment? Or something
used to preserve leather?"

"No!" said Sarah, looking down. "Let's just drop it."

"You will tell me about this Viagra right now!" he commanded.

She pushed herself back up the tiled wall. "Forget it!"

"Where can it be procured?" he persisted.

"I doubt it's something you will ever need!" She covered her mouth in shock. She could not believe that she said that.
Jareth looked at her, intrigued. Before he could ask another question, Skeep came into the bathroom.

"Lady!" he called happily.

"Out!" ordered Jareth.

"Ok!" Skeep said happily enough, and turned around and shuffled out.

"Look," said Sarah, before Jareth could start the Viagra debate again. "Those gloves you gave me were completely and
utterly deviant and it looks like yours are just as bad."

"Explain," he said grimly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know what kind of spell you placed on those perverted bits of leather, but let's just say that when you touch
someone with those things, that person suddenly feels pretty damn good!" she fumed. "And although I can look after
myself, you really shouldn't be wearing those things around the goblins."

Jareth's eyes bulged. "I assure you," he said in a stone-cold tone that would have struck horror in the nearest goblin,
"that these gloves have no effect on the goblins whatsoever. They are just gloves Sarah. And they are completely
enchantment-free."

"Why do I find that hard to believe, Goblin King?" she asked archly.

His face became a cold mask. "Don't believe me, if you wish. But it is the truth. Allow me to demonstrate," he said firmly.
"Skeep!" he yelled.

After a few moments, Skeep shuffled into the bathroom, his stilettos clicking on the tiled floor. "Yes King?" he said
happily. Jareth reached down and rubbed his gloved hand roughly over Skeep's face and tea-cosied head.

"Hey!" Skeep said indignantly, righting his hat.

"See," said Jareth, looking at Sarah. "Nothing." He looked at Skeep critically. "He doesn't even look mildly flushed. It's
almost insulting really," Jareth turned back to Skeep. "You can go now."

Skeep turned away, trying to put his hat back on properly, and muttering "Skeep come, Skeep go. Skeep out, Skeep in.
Pretty hat all messy now…"

Jareth ignored Skeep and turned back to Sarah. "As you can see, Sarah, they are just gloves," he said calmly, a
triumphant smile pasted to his lips.

Sarah was struggling to make sense of the situation. "Hang on a second—so those only work on me?"

Jareth smirked. "Apparently."

"But the gloves work the other way around too. When I wore mine, and I touched…things…I felt…ahh…" Sarah felt
herself start to blush.

Jareth folded his arms and enjoyed the spectacle of watching her squirm. "Do go on," he said indulgently.

Sarah's eyes flashed. "Let's just say that for the few moments I had those gloves on, I felt particularly pleased when I
touched things. And here you are, wearing them full-time while interacting with goblins," she sniffed righteously. "There
isn't a word yet in the English language to cover that kind of perversion."

Jareth raised an eyebrow imperiously. "There is such a word in the Goblin language, but I assure you, Sarah, that I was
in no way pleased when I rubbed Skeep's head," he said dryly. He suddenly leaned forward, putting his hands on the
tiled wall on either side of her head, bringing his face so close to hers that the tips of his hair brushed her forehead. "But
let me say, precious thing, that touching you made me feel very…pleased," he purred. He brought his hand up slowly, as
if to cup her cheek.

"No touching," she whispered hoarsely, watching his gloved hand.

"No touching," he whispered back.

Keeping his hand just above her skin, Jareth traced the contours of her delicate cheek all the way to her chin, caressing
the air between his gloved hand and her skin. She shivered involuntarily. His fingers hovered over her lips, tracing their
shape, caressing the air above their soft curves. It was the sweetest torture she had ever experienced. His face moved
closer to hers, his eyes half-closed as he brought his lips down to trace the same path as his fingers. His lips caressed
the air above her cheek, moving all the way to her chin, and then moved slowly to rest above her lips. Her mouth felt
scorched by the warmth of his lips as they hovered just above hers. He held himself there, poised above her, their breath
intermingling. And yet, he did not lower his mouth to meet hers. He simply brushed his lips…once…twice…in the air just
above hers. And it was all that she could do to resist leaning forward, ever so slightly, to brush her mouth against his. It
was all that she could do to resist the impulse to flick the tip of her tongue out to taste his lower lip as it hovered a
hairsbreadth above hers. And there they stood, suspended in a moment just before a kiss. Each daring the other to
make the next move. And just as both of them were about to scream in frustration, the mood was abruptly shattered by a
noise that sounded suspiciously like a bunch of rocks being rubbed against a cheese grater. Sarah dizzily looked down
to where the noise was coming from and noticed a small group of goblins, noisily clearing their throats to get Sarah and
Jareth's attention. Jareth sighed and closed his eyes but otherwise did not move.

"How are you feeling, your Majesty?" asked the goblin with the blue horns.

"I was ab out to feel marvelous," Jareth muttered murderously.

"Lady," said the goblin with the blue stripy socks, pulling on her jeans, "it's time to watch the special show."

"So it is," she said, trying to regain her composure. Sarah quickly ducked under Jareth's arm. "Let's go sit on the couch,"
she said briskly, not looking back.

Jareth watched Sarah's speedy exit with a strange mix of frustration and amusement.

"Majesty?" Squeak said, handing him a black silk shirt. "It's the most reckless one I could find," he said, helpfully.

"Alright, now let see if I have this straight," Jareth said, waving his fork elegantly toward the television set. Jareth, Sarah,
and the goblins were watching soap operas on cable and eating chocolate cake. The goblins were sprawled on the
couch, whereas Sarah and Jareth had claimed the comfy armchairs on either side of the couch. Jareth's was looking at
the television intently, his face fixed in an expression of mild concentration.
"Now that fellow, Robert," he said, pointing his fork toward a distinguished-looking older man on the screen.

"Roger," Sarah corrected.

"Yes," said Jareth, "is married to the much-younger Vanessa," he said pointing his fork toward the shapely blonde,
whose artificially-enhanced cleavage was threatening to break free from her low-cut red dress.

"Veronica," corrected Sarah.

"Yes," Jareth said calmly. "However, she is in love with his son, Troy."

"Philip," corrected Skeep.

"Yes," said Jareth. "Now, according to what you were telling me earlier, Veronica has found herself with child after
dallying in a harlotry fashion with both the father and the son. Now she is unable to determine whom she has actually
bred with," finished Jareth.

"That's right," Sarah said, eating a forkful of cake. The goblins nodded happily.

Jareth looked thoughtfully at the screen. "I'm enjoying the complexity of this show."

Sarah smirked. "I thought it would appeal to your twisted nature. Though," she said, looking at the screen where
Veronica, Roger, and Phillip were arguing. "I don't know how Veronica found herself in this situation. What could possibly
make you marry one guy, have a relationship with his son, and then get pregnant?"

"Love?" suggested Ignor.

"Cookies?" suggested the blue horned goblin.

"Ale?" suggested the goblin with the stripy socks.

"Stupidity," said Skeep disapprovingly.

Jareth peered at the screen. "I'm with Skeep on this one. Though, according to the particularly garish flashback
sequence that we were subjected to at the beginning of this puerile program, it seems to have been a combination of ale
and stupidity that got Veronica into this situation."

On the screen, Roger stormed out of the house, leaving Veronica and Phillip behind.

"Roger mad," said Skeep observed.

Jareth snorted. "So he should be. His wife has dubious morals and his son is a moron. And now his family tree is more
twisted than the hedge maze."

"What do you mean?" the blue-horned goblin asked, confused.

"Allow me to demonstrate," Jareth said, settling into his armchair. "If Roger is the father of the child, then the child
Veronica is carrying is technically the step-sibling of the man who is her lover. However, if the child is Phillip's, and
Veronica remains married to Roger, then the child will be accepted as Roger's legitimate child and the step-sibling of
Veronica's lover, but in actual fact, it will be his own grandchild."

Everyone thought about that a moment. "Ah…yes," said Sarah, rather impressed.

Jareth shook his indulgently. "Mortals."

On the screen, Veronica was crying and throwing herself into Phillip's arms. "I don't know what to do Phillip! Maybe I
should give this child away…"

"I'll take it," said Jareth, roguishly. The goblins laughed uproariously. Sarah laughed too, almost in spite of herself.
"Really," Jareth said disapprovingly, "I can't very well let a child grow up in such a debauched environment. Those people
have the morals of trolls."

Sarah looked at Jareth, amused. "So, what would you do with the child?"

Jareth shrugged. "The usual. Turn it into a goblin."

"And then what would you do with it?"

Jareth shrugged again. "Probably fling it into the bog occasionally," he said, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

Sarah raised an eyebrow, as she had seen him do many a time. Jareth rolled his eyes "But at least it would be free from
his debauched relations."

On the screen, Phillip grabbed Veronica and began to kiss her passionately.

"EEEWWWWWW" cried the goblins in disgust. Skeep covered his rubber duck's eyes.

"Oh come now!" said Jareth, "He's not doing that bad of a job!" He then turned to Sarah and gave her a smoldering look
that seemed to say "ahh b ut precious, I could do so much b etter." After the little demonstration in the bathroom earlier in
the evening, Sarah was inclined to agree. She tore her eyes away from Jareth, shook her head and turned her attention
back to the screen.

"Why does Veronica like Phillip?" asked the blue-horned goblin.

Sarah smiled mischievously. "Well he is a very attractive man," she said innocently.

"Dreamy," agreed Skeep.

From the corner of her eye, Sarah could see Jareth's hand clench on the armrest and his expression darken. Sarah
smiled triumphantly. Out of the corner of his eye, Jareth saw Sarah's smile. He relaxed his fist. "A woman of Veronica's
obvious charms" he said seductively as a close up of Veronica's 'charms' filled the screen,could do better than an
insipid, bow-legged, emasculated little moron like Phillip."

It was Sarah's turn to scowl.

The insipid, bow-legged, emasculated little moron left the charming Veronica in order to make a phone call. An older
woman wearing a fiendish amount of purple eye-shadow and very expressive shoulder pads burst into the room and
confronted Veronica.

"And who is this wench?" asked Jareth.

"That's Phillip's mother, Alexandra. She's Roger's first wife," explained Sarah.

"She's bad," said the goblin with the blue stripy socks.

"That's obvious from her makeup alone," said Jareth.

Alexandra slapped Veronica across the face.

"OOOOOOooooooo!" crooned the goblins in horrified glee.

"You trollop!" yelled Alexandra. "I shall make you pay for destroying my family! Before I am through with you, you will wish
you had never been born! I will destroy you! Destroy you!" she screeched.

"Oh I like her!" said Jareth, smiling evilly. "She has style." The goblins laughed happily. Sarah just shook her head. Trust
Jareth to barrack for the villain.

"No," said Skeep. "Alexandra bad. Tried to poison Roger yesterday."

"Really?" said Jareth, raising one eyebrow. "Can't say I blame her. I want to poison him too and I've only just met him."

Skeep shook his head again. "No King, Alexandra b ad," he insisted.

Jareth shrugged. "Fine then. Roger should throw her into an oubliette."

Sarah smiled at him mischievously. "There are no oubliettes in day-time television."

Jareth snorted. "There should be. If it were up to me, I'd throw them all in an oubliette with one of those freezer-dwelling
alligators."

"Oh look! She's got her in a headlock!" Ignor said, gleefully. The goblins, Sarah, and Jareth all leaned forward as
Alexandra grabbed Veronica. Alexandra wrapped her hands around Veronica's throat and started to strangle her.
"Squeeze harder," Jareth encouraged pleasantly.

Unfortunately, Veronica managed to get free and run across the room.

"Oohhhhh," the goblins said in disappointment. All except for Skeep. "RUN! Veronica RUN!" he yelled at the screen.

Alexandra tackled Veronica from behind and threw her to the floor.

"I really do like her—she's feisty," Jareth said, smiling benevolently at Alexandra as she throttled Veronica.

Suddenly, Phillip burst into the room and managed to remove his mother from Veronica.

"Such a pity," sighed Jareth, as he took another forkful of chocolate cake.

The closing credits of the show began to roll and the goblins all applauded happily.

"That was good this week," Ignor said in satisfaction.

Jareth snorted. "Not nearly enough torturing for my tastes."

Sarah snorted in reply. "Yes, well, your tastes tend to be a little exotic for the average viewer."

He only gave her a wicked smile in return.

Sarah looked around the room. "Ok," she said to the goblins, "if you guys are finished, you'll need to clean up your
plates."

"Ok Lady!" the goblins chorused, picking up their plates and cutlery and following her to the kitchen which adjoined the
lounge room.

Jareth was completely surprised. He could barely even get the goblins to walk in a straight line without threatening them
with a bog dipping, a flight out of the tower window, or a free trip down to the oubliette of his choice. And yet here they
were, competently following Sarah's orders without the merest threat of physical violence. Then again, old chap, his
inner voice said ruefully, you'd prob ab ly tap-dance naked in a freezer full of alligators if she merely asked you to. He
grimaced, envisaging the possibilities for frostbite in that kind of situation. He hoped that Sarah would stick to her usual
expectations of him—reordering time, moving a couple of constellations, organizing the odd whimsical peach-induced
dance sequence—rather than ordering him to entertain reptiles while unclothed.

Jareth glanced over at Sarah and the goblins. They appeared to be following a routine. Ignor and the blue-horned goblin
had moved a chair over to the sink. Skeep had carefully climbed up the chair and was now preparing to wash the dishes
by putting on a pair of yellow washing up gloves, his rubber duck supervising the entire enterprise from the window sill.
The other goblins gleefully filled the sink with water and dishwashing soap and threw the plates and cutlery inside.
"Hey!" said Skeep indignantly as soap bubbles splashed his clothing. He carefully smoothed his hands over his shirt.
"Soapy," he said, rather pleased.

"We've got things under control here, Lady," Ignor said, helpfully. "Why don't you go sit down?"

Sarah looked around and made sure everything was running smoothly. "Ok," she said, satisfied. "Though if you need
me, just call."

"Ok Lady!" they chorused.

Sarah walked back into the lounge room and immediately regretted leaving the safety of the kitchen. Jareth was still
sprawled in the armchair, looking dangerously relaxed. His smile seemed to say "And now, precious thing, I have you all
to myself." For a moment, Sarah contemplated going back into the kitchen for her iron skillet. Then she squared her
shoulders, walked over to a spot on the couch as far away from Jareth as possible, and sat down, pretending to be
rabidly interested in a set of steak knives that were being sold for 19.99.

Unfortunately for Sarah, Jareth was directly in her line of vision. And he knew it. And it made him want to strut, to preen, to
unsettle her. Gracefully, he threw his leg over the arm of the chair in such a way that his leather trousers stretched taunt
over his hard thigh muscles in a very becoming fashion. From the corner of his eye, he watched for Sarah's reaction.
Sarah stubbornly kept her eyes glued to the screen, though he could see that her jaw was clenched. He smiled his
predatory smile and shifted in his seat so that his shirt gaped a little, showing off a little more of his lightly muscled
chest. Sarah still stubbornly watched the television, though he could see that her fingers were tapping on the armrest in
an irritated fashion.
Still looking at the television, she suddenly addressed him. "Is all that really necessary?" she asked sarcastically.

"Why Sarah, whatever do you mean?" he asked innocently.

She merely turned to him, raised an eyebrow, and went back to watching the television.Clever girl, he thought with
reluctant pride, and smiled slyly. Jareth tapped his finger against his nose and thought for a moment. He needed a new
approach.

"You know," he said in a deceptively mild tone, "I believe it is my turn to give you a present. And it will have to be
something special, given the fact that you attempted to save me from assassination," he said slyly.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "And what would this 'something special' be, dare I ask?"

Jareth looked down at his leather pants and then looked meaningfully at Sarah's legs. "Well, seeing how pleased you
were by the leather gloves, I thought that I would…"

"Oh no!" Sarah interrupted quickly. Oh yes! her inner voice said, breathlessly.

"Really Sarah," he said in mock severity, "they're only leather trousers. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?" she said hotly. "So your leather trousers aren't anything like those depraved, enchanted gloves of
yours?"

Jareth sighed in a mocking fashion. "Sarah, I think I amply demonstrated that my gloves are just gloves. And my trousers
are just trousers, nothing more."

Sarah knew a challenge when she heard one. "Nothing more?" she said, defiantly, looking him straight in the eye.

Before she had thought through the consequences of what she was about to do, she moved down the couch to sit
beside his chair, took her hand and trailed it slowly over Jareth's leather-clad leg, from his kneecap up to mid-thigh.

"Nothing nothing, tra la la?" she said in mock gaiety, and laid her palm flat on Jareth's thigh, not breaking eye-contact.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Time seemed to stand still, poised to see who would emerge the victor.

And then, almost in slow motion, Jareth swallowed hard and shut his eyes.

"Ah ha!" crowed Sarah victoriously. "I knew it!" But her moment of triumph was cut short as her body finally registered the
feeling of butter-soft leather stretched taunt across hard thigh muscles under her hand. Lightning bursts of pleasure
shot up her arm and then began to perform some kind of African tribal dance in the vicinity of her pelvis.

Jareth looked at Sarah—her mouth slack, and her green eyes glazed—and threw back his head in laughter. "Oh Sarah,
you precious thing," he purred in delight, looking at her fondly. "Was that as good for you as it was for me?"

Sarah tore away her hand from his thigh. Her hand tingled away quite merrily. Raising her chin, she sat straighter in her
chair. "Brave words, Goblin King. Though consider this," she said, brandishing her cake fork in a menacing manner. "If
touching your pants in a nice way makes you feel very good, then will touching your pants in a b ad way…"

"…make me feel better?" Jareth interrupted slyly. "Shall we find out?" he purred eagerly.

Sarah tried not to look shocked. Instead, she tossed her hair back and lifted her chin. "As long as I get to choose where
to stick the fork," she said dryly.

Jareth laughed delightedly. "Sarah," he said, gracefully untangling his leg from over the armrest. "Sarah," he purred,
turning his body and moving closer to her, "Sarah," he whispered, his mouth hovering above her earlobe. Involuntarily,
Sarah closed her eyes as his breath tickled the sensitive skin of her neck, the tips of his wild mane of hair touching her
cheek.

"Tell me Sarah," he said, his voice a low growl.

"Tell you what?" she whispered. She could feel his smile against her skin.

"Tell me Sarah….what is a four letter word for a 'portable music carrier'?"

"WHAT?" said Sarah, her eyelids flying open in shock.

Jareth smirked against her shoulder, delighted by her indignation. Touch my thigh will you, precious thing? He carefully
schooled his expression and pulled back to face her. "A four letter word for 'portable music carrier'," he said quite
pleasantly, as if he had been discussing crosswords all along, rather than practically licking her neck the moment
before.

"Ahh...why do you want to know?" asked Sarah, trying to regain her composure. It's not as though I actually wanted him to
lick my neck, she thought, determinedly. It's just that it's almost rude not to lick someone neck when you are in the
vicinity and show the intention to do so, she thought distractedly

Sarah tried to clear the thought from her head as she watched Jareth make a slight hand gesture in the air. The puzzle
book Sarah had given him appeared in his hand. He opened the book at the almost completed crossword. "You see," he
said, getting off his chair and sitting on the couch beside Sarah, moving close to her under the pretense of showing her
the book, "we completed everything but that one clue."

More than a little disturbed by his proximity, Sarah looked down at the puzzle. And blinked. Then she looked at it again
and smiled. "Trust me," she said, her eyes twinkling, "'portable music carrier' is the least of your worries." She pointed to
the puzzle. "A seven letter word for 'biting insects' is 'spiders' not 'fairies'. A six letter word for a 'warming device' is 'heater'
not 'firey'. And a six letter word for attractive is 'pretty' not 'Jareth'," she said looking at him disapprovingly.

He shrugged elegantly, not at all repentant. Sarah turned her attention back to the puzzle.

"And what is 'XHBITREP'?" she asked.

"The winning word of the day," Jareth said, mildly. He bent closer to her ear. "That was Skeep's contribution," he said
magnanimously.

Sarah shook her head. "Perhaps you guys should stick to the mazes," she said wryly, handing the book back to him.

"Perhaps," he agreed, pouting slightly.

Sarah stretched her legs out and put her boots up on the footstool in front of her. Jareth smirked and did the same so
that their identical sets of boots were side-by-side. They sat in companionable silence, contemplating their matching
footwear.

"They are really comfortable," Sarah said contentedly.

"Truly—I find I can kick goblins in them for hours without the slightest discomfort," he said mildly. Sarah rolled her eyes
and, forgetting for a moment just who he was, playfully hit him on the arm, just as she would do to Toby.

Jareth looked at his arm incredulously. He then sighed tragically. "I'm afraid that hitting a king is an act of war, Sarah. You
will have to be punished." Before she could respond, he lifted her onto his lap.

Sarah squirmed indignantly. "Let me go!" she said, shrilly. Don't you dare! yelled Sarah's inner voice.

Jareth shook his head in feigned seriousness and held her firm. "I have been generous up until now, Sarah," he said,
sternly. "I've endured the indignity of your pink band-aids and Princess shirts, and allowed you to be very cruel with your
antiseptic cream. But now, precious thing…" he said, whispering silkily in her ear, his lower lip grazing her earlobe.

Sarah gasped in shock at the sensation, and gasped again as his mouth began to brush down the sensitive skin along
the length of her neck. My will is skillet. My will is skillet, she thought confusedly. She knew that didn't sound right but the
Goblin King was growling against her collar bone, and it was all she could do not to growl back. Somehow her fingers
found their way into the silky mass of his hair and pulled him closer. She heard his triumphant laugh against the base of
her throat just before the tip of his tongue touched the sensitive skin just over her pulse.

Before Sarah could moan in response, the mood was suddenly broken by the sound of breaking glass and falling
dishes coming from the kitchen. "KING!" yelled Skeep. "KING HELP!"

"Oh no," groaned Sarah, as she tried to groggily remove herself from the King's lap. Jareth sighed mournfully against
Sarah's neck and held her tighter.

"No moving! You're a captive of the crown," he said sternly. Flicking his wrist, he conjured a crystal and threw it over his
shoulder. He cocked his ear, listening.
First there was silence.

Then there was cheering.

"YEAHHHHY!!" the goblins yelled from the kitchen.

"THANKS KING!" Skeep yelled. Jareth smiled and turned his attention back to Sarah.

"Now," he said thoughtfully, looking at Sarah, her green eyes overly bright, her face flushed, her hair delightfully
disheveled. "Where was I?" He tapped his nose with one gloved finger. "Oh yes, that's right—punishing," he growled,
moving his mouth back down to her ear.

"Oh no," Sarah said, shaking her head, "you had your chance. You can't be punished for the same crime twice," she said,
trying to push him away.

"Then do commit another," he said, huskily, his gaze rather dark and hungry. "As quickly as possible," he said rather
urgently, she noted with some satisfaction.

"All finished Lady!" said Skeep, coming into the room, the rest of the goblins behind him. Skeep was still wearing the
yellow washing up gloves, his band-aid encrusted duck sitting under his arm.

Sarah frantically pushed herself off Jareth's lap and sat down beside him. "Ahh…good!" she said, far too brightly. Jareth
just smirked.

"We have to go, Lady," said Ignor.

"It's time to play Wheel of Fortune," the goblin with the blue horns informed her.

"Good lord no," said Jareth, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Skeep," he said, bending toward the little goblin. "What's
the winning word of the day?"

"BOG" said Skeep happily, walking toward the bedroom.

"Ahhh…good ol' 'GOB' again," muttered Jareth. Sarah tried not to laugh at his obvious dismay and followed the goblins
into her bedroom.

The goblins crowded around her and she hugged them. She looked up at Jareth. He lifted one eyebrow and held out his
arms. Sarah snorted. "I don't think so," she said, tossing her hair.

Jareth shrugged. "It was worth a try," he said mildly. He sat down gracefully on a pillow that had been placed on the edge
of the bed. Grimacing, he stood up and pulled the pillow away to see what he had sat on.

"Oh no," groaned the goblins.

Jareth pulled out Hula Honey Gob lin King. He stared at the doll a moment. "My, my," he said mildly. "Aren't I looking
festive?"

"AHHH!!" yelled the goblins, and ran into the closet, shutting the doors behind them. Jareth walked over to the closet and
flung open the doors. "It's not as if I don't know where you live!" he bellowed into the closet.

The Goblin King looked livid. Sarah was suddenly very very worried about what was going to happen next. "Oh don't
punish them, they were only having fun," she said, trying to smooth things over.

Jareth growled. "To the goblins, wrestling a chicken is fun. Getting drunk and fighting each other with forks is fun. Singing
till the eardrums of passersby explode like ripe plums hitting the pavement is fun." He looked at the doll. "Putting me in a
coconut brassiere is not fun. It's treason," he said darkly.

Jareth looked back at the Hawaiian-themed Goblin King and sighed. "You poor chap," he said, addressing the doll, "look
what they have done to you." He looked over at Sarah. "I'll be taking him with me," he said, gesturing to his Hawaiian
counterpart. "Heaven knows the indignities he will suffer if he is allowed to stay here," he said sternly.

"I'll let you take him just as long as you promise not to punish them too severely," Sarah said defiantly.

"Define severely," he said, grimly.

"No bog," she said

He waved the desecrated figurine around, its grass skirt jiggling happily. "This is beyond the bog," he muttered.

"No throwing them out the tower window, no physical injury. I've just finished bandaging them up," she said briskly.

"Oubliettes?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Sarah thought about it. "If you must. But it must be for less than a day and they must have company and food and water,"
she negotiated.

"Where is the fun in that?" he asked, exasperated. He looked at her, his very own avenging angel. "Fine, I will be
generous, even thought their transvestite crimes against me deserve a more severe punishment. But only under one
condition," he said slyly.

Sarah didn't like his expression. It was a little too intense, a little too…well, devious. "Name it," she said, grimly.

Jareth only smiled wickedly and held out his arms.

Sarah snorted. "You want a hug?"

He nodded, that wicked smile reflected in his mismatched eyes.

Sarah squared her shoulders. "Fine. A hug. But nothing more."

"Nothing more," he agreed.

"And only for one minute."

"What!" Jareth said angrily. He put his hands on his hips and started circling her. "You go too far, Sarah! Since when did I
become your subject?"

Sarah defiantly stood her ground. "Since you came to my side of the closet," she answered pertly.

Jareth stopped walking and looked at her. He smiled slowly, showing the points of his teeth. "One minute will be barely
enough to do anything of interest," he said persuasively.

Sarah nodded grimly. "That's the idea."

He laughed shortly. "Fine. One minute. But you have to at least attempt to enjoy it."

Sarah rolled her eyes. She looked at the digital clock on her nightstand. It was 8:04. "Ok, Goblin King, your time starts
now," she said.

Making sure that the clock was in view, Sarah took a deep breath and walked stiffly into his outstretched arms. Given the
events of the evening, Sarah had half expected Jareth to lure her into some wanton display, or even to entice her into an
act of wickedness on the bedroom floor, witnessed only by his Hawaiian-themed twin. But instead, Jareth gathered her
to him and gently enfolded her in his arms, his cheek against her hair. With a jolt of surprise, Sarah recognized the
feeling of being held by Jareth—it was just like wearing his feathered cloak. If Sarah had been enthralled by the feeling of
being enveloped by the cloud-soft cloak, then the reality of being wrapped in the arms of the King himself was infinitely
better. And she feared, even more addictive. She glanced at the clock.

Still 8:04.

Without thinking about it, Sarah let her cheek rest against the black silk of Jareth's shirt, inhaling the dark scent that clung
to him. She allowed her arms to surround him, resting her hands along the hard planes of his back. She heard Jareth
sigh, a low rumble in his chest, and his fingers brushed through her long dark hair, coming to rest on the nape of her
neck where they caressed her gently. Sarah closed her eyes at the sensation, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with
each breath, hearing his heartbeat beneath her ear. Lulled by the sound, she completely relaxed into his arms, moving
her hands down the length of his back to link around his waist. Feeling her surrender, Jareth began to rock her just a
little, side-to-side, his lips caressing the top of her head. Sarah felt time and space disappear as she reveled in the
embrace. She was anchored to the world only by the feel of strong arms around her. She measured time only by the
sound of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

Time.

She opened her heavy eyelids and looked at the clock.

8:04.

It took a moment to register.

"You reordered time, didn't you?" she said accusingly against his chest.

"You didn't stipulate that I couldn't," he said unrepentantly, his voice husky.

He had her there. "For how long?" she asked curiously.

"About 20 minutes," he said smugly.

"You are a dirty cheat," she said in annoyance, pushing him away.

"I know, I'm so unfair," he said mockingly. He bent toward her. "But it was worth every minute."

She looked up at him, exasperated. "What am I going to do with you?"

He folded his arms. "What are the options?" he asked, genuinely curious. He took a good look at her annoyed
expression and grimaced. "Don't tell me. I have a good idea that most of them involve that fiendish skillet of yours."
Sarah's eyes widened. He snorted. "Thought so," he said, darkly.

"I think your time is up, Goblin King," she said cheerily, waving him toward the closet. Sarah suddenly stopped,
remembering something. "Hang on," she said, and ran out of the room. She returned after a minute with his clean shirt
and handed it to him.

Jareth bowed to her and took the shirt, smiling as he caught the scent of green apples. He looked at the sparking white
shirt thoughtfully for a moment. "If you give me ten bottles of fabric softener, I'll give you one of your dreams," he said,
conjured a crystal and spinning it gracefully over his hand. In fact, he thought to himself, I'll give you an unlimited supply
if the dreams are of an adult nature and they involve me, he thought, a little longingly. He held out the crystal to her, a
wicked glint in his mismatched eyes.

Sarah fisted her hands at her sides. "I have everything that I need, Goblin King, so I'll give you the fabric softener for free,"
she said breezily. She looked at the crystal. "Though that would make a nice paperweight," she said mischievously. He
looked at her, thoroughly disgusted.

Before he could retort, the closet door suddenly opened and Squeak peered out. "Ahhh, excuse me for bothering you,
your Majesty," he said, respectfully. "But we need your assistance. Wheel of Fortune went terribly wrong…"

Jareth sighed. "When does it ever go right?" he asked wearily.

"Exactly, Sire, but it went worse this time."

"How much worse?" he asked grimly.

"Ahh, there are chickens floating around the Escher room, Skeep is stuck to the bunny-shaped stain on the throne room
ceiling, and the blue-tusked goblin who was strapped to the wheel managed to roll straight out of the castle this time
and was last seen heading toward the bog. Unfortunately, he seems to have cut clean through the hedge maze and
collected several sprites, fairies, and brownies along the way. It's not going to be pretty," he said, grimacing.

Jareth blinked. "This all happened in the few minutes I was gone?" he asked curiously.

Squeak nodded.

"Well," said Jareth, almost admiringly, "looks like you've all outdone yourselves this time. I'm impressed at the sheer
level of destructive stupidity evident in this last escapade."

"Thank you, Majesty." Squeak said with a hint of pride.

Jareth threw Sarah a dark look as she tried not to laugh. "I'll be there shortly," he said to Squeak. Squeak disappeared
back into the closet.

Jareth threw his newly laundered shirt at Sarah. "Keep it," he said briskly.

Sarah caught it. "Why?" she asked, puzzled.

"Because," he said tersely, "if you are going to have a man's shirt in your closet, then it will damned well be mine!"
Moving faster than Sarah could anticipate, Jareth snaked one strong arm around her waist and pulled her hard against
the length of his body.

"And Sarah," he said, his mouth against her earlobe. "I am always more than willing to give you the shirt off my back,
particularly if you say your right words," he whispered wickedly.

And then he simply disappeared. Without his arm around her waist to support her, Sarah slumped to the floor. She sat
there for a moment, still holding his shirt, trying to blame her breathlessness on the fall. So much for the skillet, she
thought ruefully. She wondered if it were possible to buy iron-lined lingerie.

AUTHOR'S NOTE #2: Please review! Or I'll make Skeep Jareth's love interest.

(Jareth looks at Skeep. "Skeep," he says, "I like…aah…that is, I think…uh…" Jareth pauses.

Skeep waves at him.

Jareth pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, sorry, I'm just not feeling it," Jareth says apologetically.

"Phew," says Skeep, patting his duck.)

*Chapter 8*: Chapter 8
AUTHOR'S NOTE:Thank you all ever so much for the wonderfully entertaining reviews!! Free Hula Honey Jareth figurine to
all of you! Just promise me that you'll keep it away from the lawnmower (Lixxle shudders at the flashbacks). There were a
few votes for Jareth/Skeep so I'll tuck that idea away for when I feel the urge to write Jareth goblin slash. I anticipate that I
would only feel such an urge after receiving some kind of blunt-force trauma to the skull so that story may be some time
coming.

Disclaimer:Labyrinth is not mine. I just borrow it, fill it with chickens, cross-dressing goblins, and gratuitous leather pant
references for my own twisted pleasure. I bet I make it feel cheap and dirty.

Chapter 8: Sometimes the way forward is to have a dream containing excessive amounts of adult-type touching.

"Maybe he's sick."

"Maybe he swallowed a fairy."

"Maybe he's drunk."

"Maybe he's itchy."

The goblins watched their King carefully, trying to figure out the cause of his strange behavior. One moment, he would be
sitting on his throne, smiling at his leather trousers. The next, he would jump up and start pacing manically across the
throne room, frantically kicking chickens out of his path like some kind of poultry-despising showgirl. Afterward, he would
throw himself back onto his throne, close his eyes, and idly stroke a strand of his long white-blonde hair, as if relieving a
memory. Finally, he would lean forward, bury his face in his hands, and groan.

The goblin with the frypan on his head walked into the throne room. "What did I miss? Has he started flying again yet?"
he asked the goblins around him.

"No, the flying isn't for a while. First, he usually makes a crystal," Ignor said, watching the King.

Sure enough, Jareth flicked his wrist, conjuring a crystal.

"…and then he looks inside it," said Squeak, watching the spectacle.

Jareth murmured and then looked inside.

"…and then he usually goes all mushy-looking," said the goblin with the blue-stripy socks.

Jareth gave the crystal a look of such haunted longing, of such frustrated adoration, that it was a wonder that the crystal
did not melt from the sheer intensity of emotion directed toward it.

"…and then King yells," said Skeep.

"Damn this to hell!" Jareth yelled. "I'd rather be Timothy Bridges right now rather than me!"

"…and then the crystal bites the dust, so to speak," said Ignor as Jareth hurled the crystal at the stone wall and watched
dispassionately as the shards fell onto the throne room floor.

"Now we get to the flying," said Squeak, as Jareth walked briskly to the throne room window, stepped up onto the window
ledge, and leapt gracefully into thin air. For a moment, it seemed as though the Goblin King had performed his own
Rosalinda, so to speak. But then a snowy white owl rose to the level of the window ledge and soared high over the
Labyrinth.

"Wow," said the goblin with the frypan on his head, "you guys are good at this!"

The goblins shrugged modestly. "We've been watching since sunrise," Ignor said, looking out the window.

"It's a pretty good show," said the goblin with the blue stripy socks, patting a chicken who was still traumatized by her
time in the Escher room. Just a moment ago, she had tried to walk upside down under a table and was confused as to
why she had fallen off.

Skeep looked at the broken crystal shards and sighed. Ever since his King had been attacked by Rosalinda, Skeep had
been standing guard beside his throne, armed with a fork. Now he put the fork into his pocket, placed his rubber duck
gently onto the floor, and took out a dustpan and brush from behind the throne. He clomped over to the pile of glittery
crystal shards and, bending carefully in his stilettos, swept them up.

"Pretty…sharp!" he said, as a crystal shard pricked his finger. He reached into his other pocket, pulled out an orange
band-aid and put it on his finger. "Better," he said in satisfaction. He then happily carried the dustpan of crystal shards
over to the throne room window and threw the contents over the window ledge.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhh! It's raining glass!" a voice yelled from beneath the tower window.

The goblins ran to the window to look at the goblin who was running around, trying to shake the glass shards off his
clothes.

"Sorry!" yelled Skeep.

"No problems!" shouted the glassy goblin. Suddenly Rosalinda jumped from the top of a nearby shrub, landing on the
glassy goblin.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhh! It's raining chickens!" the glassy goblin screamed, running around in circles with Rosalinda on his
head.

The rest of the goblins laughed uproariously. "Hi Rosalinda!" called the goblin with the blue stripy socks, waving
delightedly.

The little goblin wearing the frypan hat looked at the snowy white speck high in the sky and frowned. "So why is the King
acting all funny?" he asked. He paused. "Funnier than usual, that is."

The goblins again began listing possible reasons why their King was acting so oddly.

"Maybe he's sick."

"Maybe he is cold."

"Maybe he ate something rotten."

"Maybe he swallowed a fairy."

"Maybe he's drunk."

"Maybe he's itchy."

"Maybe his trousers are too tight."

"Maybe he needs a nap."

"Or a hug."

"Maybe he misses Rosalinda."

"NEVER ROSALINDA!" yelled Skeep, waving his fork menacingly.

The goblin with the blue-stripy socks thought for a second. "You know, he's acting the same way that Marilyn, Veronica's
sister, was acting on the special soap show that we watched with the Lady."

"He's right!" said the goblin with the blue horns, excitedly. "Marilyn was happy, and then she was angry, and then she
cried, and then she threw a chair, and then she tried to stab her husband in the arm with a pair of scissors when they
were on holiday in Argentina."

"I'm never going to Argentina," said the goblin with the stripy socks, shuddering.

"So why was Marilyn acting that way?" asked the goblin in the frypan.

"Nerbus breakdown," said Skeep.

"Sounds nasty," said the goblin with the frypan on his head, aghast. "How did they fix her?"

"They gave her blue pills and then took her to the hospital."
The goblins thought about that. "We haven't got a hospital," said Squeak. The goblins looked dejected.

"But the Lady might have blue pills!" said the blue-horned goblin, excitedly. The rest of the goblins nodded happily.

"We should hide the scissors, just in case," said Ignor.

"And make sure that he doesn't go to Argentina," said the goblin with the blue stripy socks.

Squeak looked out the window. "He'll be back soon. Everyone, act natural!"

The goblins looked around puzzled, trying to determine how to act natural.

"I'm naturally quite lazy so I'll just lie down here," said the goblin with the blue horns, falling to the floor.

"Well," said the goblin with the frypan hat, "I'm naturally drunk so I'll be at the barrel if anyone needs me," he said, picking
up a tankard.

"I don't remember what's natural anymore!" cried the goblin with the stripy socks fretfully, running around in a circle.
Someone handed him a chicken. "Oh thanks," he said gratefully.

The other goblins threw themselves carelessly on the floor, or went back to patting the chickens, or started to play a
game of cards. Squeak idly began to polish the throne with a dirty red rag. Skeep picked up his duck and went back to
his post near the throne, on the lookout for treasonous poultry.

The snowy white owl flew through the window, and seemed to blur for a moment as it transformed back into the King.
Jareth barely missed a step as he strode purposefully up to his throne.

"Right," Jareth said determinedly. "I need something to distract me. Have I punished you fellows yet for what you did to
Jareth Jr.?" he asked, gesturing to the Goblin King figurine who was now reclining on one of the armrests of the throne,
dressed identically to the King.

"Not yet, your Majesty," said Beep. "You seemed a bit busy, what with all the yelling, and the crystal throwing, and the
flying and all," he elaborated helpfully. He was quickly tackled to the ground by two goblins and a chicken.

"Excellent," said Jareth, smiling his predatory smile. "Thanks to Sarah, you won't be receiving any of the old favorites. So
I've had to come up with a new cruel and unusual punishment. Let's start with the cruel part then, shall we?"

Sarah was feeling…wistful. Yes…wistful. There really was no another word for it. In the four days since the Goblin King
had come to her apartment, all disheveled and feathery, life had slid smoothly back into its normal routine. And yet…
there were times when she would be doing something perfectly mundane—trying to unclog the garbage disposal, or
perhaps folding her laundry, or waiting for the traffic lights to change color—and she would suddenly remember…the
feel of silvery blonde hair moving between her fingers…or the scent of black silk lying over a warm, pale chest…or the
feel of leather-clad fingers gliding over the crest of her cheek…or the sound of her name whispered against the skin of
her throat. And she would find herself minutes or hours later, still holding the plunger over the disposal unit, or with a
sock poised in her hand mid-fold, or with cars honking impatiently behind her. And she would shake her head and
continue with what she had been doing. But a feeling, a wistful feeling, would remain and linger with her until she fell
asleep, only to be waiting for her when she awoke.

Sarah shook her head. "What's up with me lately?" she thought quizzically.

Her inner voice smiled. It was a testimony to Sarah's wistfulness that she had released her inner voice from its fortified
cage and allowed it to roam free-range through her mind.

You're looking for magic, her inner voice said wisely.

"Oh," said Sarah, a little surprised by the answer.

And a hot-b odied male. May I just point out that Jareth is b oth?

Sarah simply rolled her eyes. But at the mention of his name, a memory came to her, unbidden. A memory of the soft,
wistful half-smile he had given her just before he had touched her cheek. She had been thinking about that smile a lot.

Oh enough with that smile already! groaned Sarah's inner voice in frustration. How ab out you rememb er his naked chest
for a b it? Or how his leather pants hung low and there was just a hint of…
Thankfully, there was a scuffling sound coming from the bedroom closet that required Sarah's immediate attention. She
quickly ran up to the closet it and opened the doors. For a split second, she found herself… hoping. But when she saw
the pink stilettos hanging out the door, she just shook head ruefully.

"Hi guys," she called. "How are you…" she paused and looked at them up and down. "What are you wearing?!" she
exclaimed.

The goblins came out of the closet, not quite meeting Sarah's eye. They were all wearing coconut bras, flower leis, and
grass skirts.

"It's part of the King's cruel and unusual punishment," muttered Ignor.

"Ahh," said Sarah, unwillingly impressed by the Goblin King's ingenuity. "And so is this the 'cruel' part?" she asked.

"No, the unusual part," said the goblins with the blue-horns. "The cruel part was being hung upside down in the
oubliette."

Sarah's eyes narrowed. The 'upside down' bit was not part of her bargain with the Goblin King. Then again, neither was a
20 minute re-ordered time hug."Did it hurt? Did you get food and water? Were you alone?" she asked, concerned.

"Don't you worry, Lady. It didn't hurt at all," said Ignor. "And we had plenty of food and water."

"And Hoggle kept us company," said the goblin with the blue horns.

"And he even poked us with a stick every now and then when we got bored. It was great!" said the goblin with the blue
stripy socks.

Sarah looked at them dubiously. "Well, as long as you were ok."

They nodded happily. Then they looked at their outfits and frowned. "Wish we were still in the oubliette," said the blue
horned goblin, miserably.

"Oh come on, it's not that bad, I think you guys look great!" Sarah said brightly.

Skeep wiggled his hips and the grass skirt jiggled happily from side-to-side. "Hawaiian," he said happily.

Sarah smiled widely. "It looks good on you, Skeep." The other goblins chuckled as Skeep continued his manic hula
dance.

Sarah pursed her lips. "Follow me." The Hula Honey goblins dutifully followed Sarah into the kitchen. "This always
makes me feel better," she said. She opened up the fridge and pulled out two large tubs of ice-cream, one strawberry
cheesecake and the other triple chocolate, and spooned it into bowls. She then handed them out to the goblins.

"What is it?" Ignor asked, sniffing it cautiously.

"Delicious," sighed Skeep, licking at the strawberry cheesecake ice-cream in his bowl.

Sarah smiled and took a spoonful. "It's the best food ever invented," she sighed happily and watched as the goblins
cautiously began tasting it. All except for the goblin with the stripy socks who simply tipped the entire contents of the bowl
into his mouth. "Careful," she warned, "don't eat it too …"

"AHHHHHH! BRAIN…FROZEN!" screamed the goblin with the blue stripy socks, holding his head and running around
the kitchen.

"…fast," she finished. She sighed sympathetically.

"I'm BLIND! I'm BLIND!" the goblin cried, running around the kitchen, bouncing into the furniture as he ran past.

"Quick!" said Sarah, trying to catch him. "Stop him before he hurts himself!"

Skeep watched the goblin run toward him, delicately stuck out one stiletto-ed foot, and neatly tripped him as he ran past.

"Ahh, not exactly what I had in mind, Skeep," she said, "but good job."

"No problem," said Skeep, as he continued to lick ice cream from his spoon.
Sarah knelt next to the stripy socked goblin. "You ok?" she asked, concerned.

The goblin nodded cautiously. "Can I have some more?"

Sarah pulled him onto his feet. "Why not have a break first?"

He nodded as the rest of the goblins sniggered.

Ignor put down his spoon. "Lady, we need your help," he said seriously.

Sarah took another scoop of ice-cream. "What can I do for you?"

"The King needs some blue pills," said Ignor.

Sarah blinked. "Oh no, if this is about the Viagra again, you can tell him no," she said forcefully. If that man was any more
potent, the pharmaceutical companies could package him, her inner voice thought, dreamily.

The goblins looked puzzled. "Is that the pill for nerbus breakdowns?" asked the blue horned goblin.

Sarah blinked again. "Nerbus breakdowns?" Sarah thought for a moment. "Do you mean nervous breakdowns?"

The goblins looked at each other. "Maybe. Do you need a hospital for those?" asked Ignor.

"And blue pills?" asked the goblin with the blue stripy socks.

Sarah was lost. "Hang on," she said, holding up her hand. "Who is having a nerbus/nervous breakdown?"

"The King," said Ignor.

"Just like Marilyn," said Skeep, daintily feeding strawberry cheesecake ice-cream to his rubber duck.

Sarah chose to ignore that comment. "What makes you think that the King is having a nervous breakdown?" she asked
curiously.

"He's acting funny," said the goblin with the blue horns.

"Funnier than usual," clarified the goblin with the frypan on his head.

"What do you mean," Sarah asked, puzzled.

"Well, he is happy and then sad, and then he looks at crystals, and then yells, and then breaks them, and then he flies
out, and then he flies in, and then he does it all over again. All day," explained the goblin with the blue horns.

"Though he hasn't stabbed anyone with scissors," Ignor pointed out.

"In Argentina," added the stripy socked goblin.

"Yet," the blue horned goblin said, a trifle worried.

"Oh," said Sarah, a little surprised. "And you say that he is like this way all day?"

The goblins nodded. "All day!"

"Except two days ago," admitted Ignor.

"What happened two days ago?" Sarah asked curiously.

"The King asked us to sing for him," said the goblin with the blue horns happily.

"WHAT!?" exclaimed Sarah. Mayb e he is having a b reakdown, she thought to herself. Her inner voice shrugged. I didn't
want him for his mind anyway, the voice admitted. Sarah gave the voice a warning glance and waved a rabid piranha at it.
The voice shut up.

"We sang him the new Rosalinda song," said the goblin with the frypan hat.

"All 15 verses," said Ignor, proudly.

"Even verse 12," said the goblin with the blue stripy socks.

That did not sound good. "And what did he say?" Sarah asked cautiously.

"After the first verse, he said 'oh please—kill me, kill me now'," recalled Ignor. "And on the second verse he said, 'Fine, I'll
have to do it myself,' and he got himself a tankard of ale."

"And then he got drunk!" said the goblin with the blue horns excitedly.

"The King got drunk?!" exclaimed Sarah. "Hang on, the Gob lin King got drunk?"

"Yep! And he sang too!" said Skeep happily.

"The new Rosalinda song," said the goblin with the frypan hat.

"All 15 verses," said Ignor.

"Even verse 12," said the goblin with the blue stripy socks.

"And then he danced on a table and hugged a chicken," said the blue horned goblin.

"And then he hugged us too!" said Igor.

"And told us that he thought we were fine fellows," said the stripy socked goblin.

"Even though we were imbeciles," admitted Ignor.

"It was the best day ever!" The goblins nodded happily.

"Jolly," agreed Skeep.

Sarah started laughing. The idea of the impeccably-groomed Goblin King drunkenly singing and dancing on a table
while hugging random chickens was a glorious image.

"He talked about you too, Lady," said Ignor.

Sarah froze but her heart sped up. "And what did he say," she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"He said that you smelt beautiful, Lady," said the stripy socked goblin.

"And that he wanted to hold you till the stars fell out of the sky," said the blue horned goblin.

"But he thought that you would probably beat him with your skillet if he tried it for longer than a minute, now that you were
on to him about the whole reordering time thing," said Ignor.

"Lady hit King with pan!" Skeep chortled. The rest laughed too.

Sarah closed her eyes. She was feeling it again. That warm feeling that was beginning to unfurl in the vicinity of her
heart. It still wasn't quite in her heart yet but it was closer now. Maybe in her gallbladder.

Sarah cleared her throat. "Did he…did he say anything else?" Ab out me? she thought.

The goblins thought for a moment. "Well, he started singing the song again, but then he fell off the table and fell asleep,"
said Ignor.

"For two days," said the stripy-socked goblin.

"It was a good night," Ignor said. "But a bad morning after."

"King cranky," said Skeep, shuddering.

"I expect he would be," said Sarah, imagining Jareth with a hangover. It was surprising that the goblins had survived to
tell the tale.

"So," asked the goblin with the frypan on his head. "Do you know what's wrong with him? Is it a nerbus breakdown?"

I know what's wrong with him! Sarah's inner voice said gleefully.
"And do you have anything that could help him?" asked Ignor

Oh! Oh! I know the answer to that one too, said the inner voice, jumping up and down. Pick me! Pick me!

Sarah looked at the concerned faces of the Hula Honey goblins. "Maybe the King is just tired," Sarah suggested.

Her inner voice snorted. More likely sexually frustr- "And," said Sarah, determinedly interrupted the voice, "he did get hit
on the back of the head with a frypan a few days ago. That can cause people to act a little oddly."

The goblin with the frypan hat looked a little shame-faced. The rest of the goblins nodded slowly. It seemed to make
sense. "What should we do?" asked Ignor.

"Well," said Sarah, "just watch him and see how he goes. If he still acts weird in say, a few more days, then let me know
and I'll figure out what to do next."

"Does he need pills?" asked the goblin with the frypan hat.

Sarah's inner voice snorted. Forget the pills. What you and the King need is a couple of hours spent in a horizontal
fashion, engaging in various acts of adult-type touching, the inner voice said wisely. Sarah determinedly ignored the
voice, which was not easy given that its last comment was accompanied by a series of rather graphic visual images all
set to the tune of Marvin Gaye's Let's get it on. Instead, Sarah walked to a shelf containing her vitamin collection and
looked at it critically.

"Well, I always though that the King looked a little anemic, but I guess iron supplements are out of the question. So give
these a try," she said, handing the goblins a bottle of multi-vitamins. "They should give him a little energy."

"Energy sounds good!" said the goblin with the frypan on his head, taking the vitamins.

"Thanks Lady!" the goblins said happily.

Igor smacked his hand against his forehead. "We were so worried about the King that we forgot your present!" He and
the other goblins ran to Sarah's bedroom and returned with a small box, wrapped in silver cloth that resembled spider
webs. Ignor handed it to Sarah. "King said not to open it till we left."

Alarm bells went off in Sarah's head. She looked at the box and was thankful that it was too small to contain leather
pants. "Ahh…thanks guys," she said, a little warily.

"We'd better go," said the blue horned goblin.

"If we hurry, we can probably catch the part where the King yells and throws the crystal. That's my favorite part," said the
goblin with the stripy socks, walking toward the closet.

"Hang on," called Sarah over her shoulder as she ran to the freezer. She came back with a new tub of ice-cream and
handed it to Ignor. "For the King."

"Ok Lady!" he said, pleased.

The goblins all climbed into the closet.

"Bye guys!" Sarah said, waving.

"Bye Lady!" they called, closing the doors behind them.

Sarah looked at the small box. It was definitely not leather pants. He's such a tease, pouted her inner voice in
disappointment. She pulled the silver card free from the blue ribbon and opened it gently.

"My dearest Sarah,

I b elieve you requested a paperweight. Never let it b e said that I don't fulfill your every wish, precious thing. Though…
should you also need someone to fulfill your every desire, I would like to point out that I would b e eminently suited to the
task. Yours always, Jareth."

Sarah smirked at his audacity. But she also shivered a little, quite deliciously, at the offer implied in his card. Not that she
would ever admit it….

A paperweight, she thought. What are you up to Jareth? she wondered.

Sarah carefully unwrapped the delicate silver-cloth and opened the box. Inside was a crystal. Nothing more. But when
she picked it up and held it in her palm, images began to flicker in its centre. Peering inside, she saw…her fifteen year-
old self, dressed in her white poet shirt, vest, and jeans, standing just beyond the gates of the Labyrinth with the Goblin
King. It was as if she were watching a movie trapped in the heart of the crystal. She could see herself and the King
speaking to each other. She touched her finger to the crystal in wonder.

"…further than you think. Time is short," the Goblin King said, as clearly as if he were standing in the room. She removed
her finger from the crystal and there was silence. Experimentally, she put her finger back on the surface. "Come on feet!"
she heard her youthful self say determinedly.

Sarah watched in wonder as her younger self moved through the Labyrinth—meeting Hoggle for the first time, throwing a
tantrum against the walls when she couldn't find an opening (Brat, she thought ruefully), chatting to the blue worm. Every
second of her adventure was held in the crystal, all displayed for her viewing pleasure. She began to experiment with the
crystal and found that if she thought of a particular event, such as her time with the door knockers or the fireys, the crystal
would play that part of her adventure. She laughed delightedly. It was quite a paperweight.

But the longer that Sarah watched, the more it became apparent that the crystal was able to show her events that she
had not personally witnessed. She watched astounded as the Goblin King danced around the throne room with a
laughing Toby, wincing slightly when he threw Toby a little too high. She watched as Jareth doted on her brother, rolling
her eyes when he announced that he would rename Toby 'Jareth'. Typical egomaniac, she thought, almost fondly.

She took her hand from the crystal and hesitated for a moment. There was one event that she both wanted to watch and
to avoid. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand back on the crystal and thought about the ballroom. She watched
herself, gowned as a princess, play a game of hide-and-seek with the King. She saw with fresh eyes all the things that
she had been too preoccupied to notice. The way that the King looked at her when he first took her into his arms, the
sound of his voice as he sang to her, and finally, when she broke free, the look of astonishment and pain that he gave
her retreating figure before he was swallowed up by the crowd. Feeling particularly masochistic, she rewound the crystal
and looked at his expression again. She felt winded.

Sarah bit her bottom lip and looked at the paperweight. With fingers that trembled slightly, she tapped the crystal and
thought of the Escher room. No longer preoccupied about Toby's well-being, she was able to truly listen to the words
Jareth had been singing to her. She winced, watching his expression when he confessed that he could not live within
her. She watched as Jareth emerged from the shadows in the feathered cloak for their final confrontation, and listened
as Jareth practically begged for her to choose him, even though it was apparent that the younger Sarah was too busy
frantically searching for the right words too pay him any attention. Finally Sarah watched Jareth's expression of complete
and utter defeat as he threw his crystal high above them both and let it fall delicately into the palm of her hand where it
burst.

The crystal paperweight then went dark, and Sarah slumped to the bed, as exhausted as if she had run the Labyrinth all
over again.

Sarah's inner voice piped up. Play that b it at the end again when you say the words and he gets that terrib le expression
on his face— like you've just ripped out his heart, tap-danced on it, and told him that his eye makeup makes him look
girlie.

"Oh nuts," groaned Sarah, as she buried her head in her hands.

Nuts indeed. The inner voice said, patting her on the back.

"There was no other choice. I did what I had to do, and even now I would do it all over again," Sarah said fiercely.

The voice nodded emphatically. Ab solutely. You had to save Tob y.

Sarah sighed, relieved that the voice was not going to challenge her.

The voice seemed lost in thought. I didn't realize how devastated he was when you said those words.

Sarah shook her head. "Neither did I."

It would prob ab ly have b een kinder if you had simply kneed him in the groin. The voice paused. Heaven knows it's a
target you couldn't have missed.

Sarah snorted and pulled herself off the bed. "I'm starting to think that fairytales aren't meant for children," she said wryly.

The inner voice only nodded in agreement. Sarah opened her closet and looked at the feathered cloak and Jareth's shirt
that were hanging side by side. "I'm about to do something ridiculously romantic and maybe a little bit weak and I don't
really want to think about why I'm doing it. So if you give me a hard time about it, I'll feed you to something worse than
rabid piranhas, got it?" Sarah said defiantly.

The voice thought about it. What, like feral b eavers or something?

"Maybe," Sarah said simply.

The voice considered that. Ok. I won't say anything.

Sarah nodded, pleased, and took the cloak and the shirt out of the closet. She slipped the cloak over her shoulders,
switched off the bedroom light, and lay down on the bed. She spread Jareth's shirt over her pillow and laid her cheek
against it.

"I feel a bit silly," Sarah said, a little shyly.

I'm not going to say a thing, the inner voice said wisely, thinking of feral beavers.

Sarah sat up, switched on her bedside lamp, and picked up the crystal paperweight. She looked inside at the image of
the Goblin King, dressed in the feathered cape.

The inner voice patted her on the head. At this point, the voice said consolingly, I should prob ab ly say something wise
like 'sometimes the way forward is the way b ack'. Sarah let out a muffled laugh. But instead, let's just rewind to the b it
where he is wearing that splendid outfit in the tunnels, the one with the tight pants and the leather jacket. I guarantee that
will cheer us b oth right up…

The Goblin king was sprawled in his throne, feeling somewhat…

Feeling somewhat…

Somewhat…

He was feeling something but he just could not define it.

Wistful, perhaps? His inner voice suggested.

Jareth snorted. "Ohhh no," he thought determinedly."I'll toss myself in the bog before I feel anything as insipid as
'wistful'."

His inner voice thought about it for a moment. Would you b e willing to admit to feeling 'rampantly overcome with lust'?

Jareth thought for a moment. "That would be acceptable," he thought, rather regally.

How ab out 'ob sessively fixated'? the voice inquired.

Jareth pursed his lips. "That's also tolerable."

How ab out 'completely and utterly in love'? the voice asked slyly.

Jareth flinched. "That one I am not as keen to endorse," he said as indifferently as possible.

The inner voice shrugged gracefully. How ab out 'completely and utterly in denial' then?"

"How about you shut-up before I am forced to hurt you?" Jareth asked pleasantly.

The inner voice just laughed. All it took was one look at her in that b athrob e and skillet and you were completely undone,
weren't you, old chap?

Jareth just sighed wearily. The inner voice smiled smugly. Well, you can always try to forget her b y getting drunk again, it
said slyly.

Jareth shuddered. "Good lord no! Never again!" he thought in horror. "That filth almost made me go blind. And the
hangover!" he shivered. "No wonder those goblins are morons—it took me two days to remember the word for 'spoon'
and another day before I remembered how to use one." He grimaced. "I may as well swallow iron shavings and be done
with it once and for all."
There's an idea, the inner voice said blandly.

Jareth ignored it. He turned toward the throne room door as Skeep and the rest of the Hula Honey goblins came walking
in.

"Did you give my gift to Sarah?" he asked them impatiently.

The goblins quickly ran up to stand by the throne, their flower leis and grass skirts waving madly.

"Yes, your Majesty," said Ignor. "And we made sure that we left before she opened it."

"Good job," said Jareth, rather blandly.

"Thanks King!" they answered happily.

Jareth looked at the posse of Hawaiian-clad goblins and sighed. He waved his hand and they were wearing their
original clothes once again.

"YEAHHHY!" they yelled happily. Except for Skeep who looked downcast. Jareth rolled his eyes and Skeep's grass skirt
reappeared.

"YEAHHYY!!"" said Skeep, jiggling his hips happily. Skeep jiggled up to the throne dais and took up his position beside
the King, holding up his fork.

Jareth looked at him in amusement. "Who in the devil are you planning to stab with that?" he asked Skeep, pointing to
his fork.

"Rosalinda," Skeep said venomously.

Jareth blinked. "Oh. Carry on then."

Skeep nodded and tried to look threatening in his stilettos and grass skirt, rubber duck tucked under his arm.

Ignor handed Jareth the container of ice-cream. "Lady gave some of this to us and she sent some to you, too. It made us
feel better," he said encouragingly.

Jareth took the ice-cream container gingerly. There was melted ice-cream dripping down the sides. "Is it meant to be
drooling this much?" he asked disdainfully, trying to avoid soiling his gloves.

"Eat fast," advised Skeep wisely.

"Not too fast though," the goblin with the stripy socks said, shuddering.

Skeep offered Jareth his fork. Jareth grimaced. "I appreciate the gesture, Skeep, but I don't even want to contemplate
where that thing has been."

Instead, Jareth flicked his wrist and a spoon appeared in his hand. Opening the ice-cream container a little warily, he
dipped his spoon inside and brought it to his lips. And blinked. And sighed happily. The goblins watched him closely.

"It really is unexpectedly pleasant," he said in surprise. The goblins nodded happily.

Jareth waved them away and reclined on his throne, savoring the delights of triple chocolate ice cream. You do realize
that there is amazing erotic potential for this food item, Jareth's inner voice said rather wolfishly.

Jareth blinked. "How so?"

The voice then gleefully presented a rather dizzying array of serving suggestions, none of which appeared on the
container, and all of which involved Sarah. Jareth paused, mid-spoonful, and quickly closed the lid. If he ever lured Sarah
to his castle he would need what was left of this. He waved a hand over the ice-cream and sent it to the back of a cold
storage room in the cellars of the castle. Remembering the nature of his subjects, he put a spell over it so that anyone
consuming it would be struck down with leprosy.

Satisfied, he went back to his train of thought. If he ever lured Sarah to his castle. He snorted. There was a piece of
wishful thinking. And he was tired of making wishes that no-one was qualified to grant.

She could make all your wishes come true, his inner voice argued.
Jareth snorted. "She wouldn't even let me kiss her," he thought sourly.

The inner voice considered that. She didn't really try all that hard to fight you off. In fact, there was even a moment when
she even pulled you closer.

Jareth considered that. He very much liked to dwell on that moment.

And there was also the hug where she held you. Willingly! the inner voice reminded him.

Jareth considered that too, thinking of her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek resting against his chest. He
shivered.

And, the voice finished triumphantly, she came to rescue you.

Jareth snorted. "That's just Sarah. She's so damn noble, she'd rescue Rosalinda if she had to."

But still, it gave him hope. And then he remembered how hope had destroyed him in the past and he ruthlessly crushed
it down. He knew from experience that it was best to remain sordidly depressed. Truth be told, he'd prefer to be
unconscious.

Sighing, he picked up the Goblin King figurine from the throne. He looked around at the goblins cavorting in the throne
room. "Jareth Jr. and I are retiring for the evening," he announced. "Be sure to drink yourselves into an alcoholic stupor
so that you are too inebriated to burn the place down."

"Ok King!" said Skeep happily.

The goblins watched as their King disappeared from the throne room. "He hasn't kicked any of us in days," the goblin
with the dented helmet said miserably.

"King broken," Skeep agreed.

"We need to figure out how to help him," said Squeak. The goblins sighed.

"Ale will help us figure out what to do!" said the goblin with the frypan on his head.

No-one could find fault with such impeccable logic so the goblins went to the ale barrel, determined to drink like they had
never drunk before so that they could come up with a solution to fix their King.

Jareth and Jareth Jr. materialized in the King's bedchambers. He looked at the large bed swathed in midnight-blue
covers faintly patterned with pinpoints of silver stars, and sighed. With a gesture, he was wearing a pair of white silk
sleeping pants. With another gesture, Jareth Jr. was wearing the same. He smiled a crooked smile at the figurine and
set it down on the bedside table. He paused for a moment, looking at the forlorn figure standing all alone on the table.
With a sly gleam in his eye, he flicked his wrist, and began juggling a crystal gracefully over his fingertips. It only took a
thought for the crystal to become a plastic figurine with long dark hair and green eyes, wearing a white bathrobe and
armed with a baseball bat and a skillet. He tilted his head, admiring his handiwork, and carefully placed the Sarah
figurine next to Jareth Jr.

"No sense in us b oth missing out," he said ruefully to his plastic counterpoint. He pushed the figurines a little closer
together so that their hands were touching. Stepping back, he looked again at the Sarah figurine and pursed his lips.
Then he reached out and removed the skillet. "Might as well give you a fighting chance, old boy," he said, smirking.

He lay down onto the bed and slipped beneath the sheets, sighing. If only it were that easy for me, he thought, dryly. And
then it occurred to him—it could be that easy. With a wicked gleam in his eye, he conjured a crystal. Looking inside, he
saw Sarah, her dark hair fanned across her white pillows, her body curled in sleep. Smiling, he held onto the cool
surface of the crystal, tucked it close to his heart, and willed himself to sleep.

And to dream.

Particularly to dream…

The first indication that Sarah had that there was something a little odd about the dream was when she looked down
and noticed what she was wearing. Not that it was in anyway scandalous or absurd—no racy black lace lingerie or sumo
wrestling suits here. It was a simple thin-strapped gown that fell in thick soft folds to the tops of her bare feet. But rather,
it was the material that was special. It was silver and made from the same silken fabric as Jareth's shirt. The soft
material dipped and clung over her form so closely that she did not know where the material began and her skin ended.
It was so soft, so light that she had the odd sensation of feeling simultaneously naked and clothed. She rolled her eyes,
knowing that Jareth must feel the same way when wearing his shirt. The man's wardrobe was an exercise in perversion.

She spun around in her dress, watching it flare around her ankles. Odd. She could feel…everything. The stone floors
beneath bare her feet, the fabric of the dress caressing her knees, her weight of her hair over her shoulders. Odd.
Things do not usually feel so real in dreams. She stopped spinning and looked around, starting to feel alarmed. She
was in a room with stone walls and stone floors. A tower room. There were vague shapes in the shadows that appeared
to be furniture but it was too dark to make them out properly. A large window with a wide ledge had been cut into the
stone, but it was too dark outside to let in little more than starlight.

Sarah looked around the room again, her eyes becoming accustomed to the dark and noticed a hint of pale gold in one
of the shadowed corners directly across from her. As she watched, a shape disengaged itself from the walls, and the
pale gold became a wild mane of hair over a pale aristocratic face. Oh, thought Sarah. It was going to b e one of those
dreams. She shivered.

Jareth began to walk toward her and Sarah fought the urge to step back. As he walked into the pale starlight, Sarah
noticed that he was dressed as he had been in her bathroom. Low slung black leather pants and boots, bare chest, and
feathered cloak, though the cloak was black rather than white, a dark shadow around his shoulders that made his skin
appear as pale as moonlight. She looked at him, all dark beauty and predatory grace and she shivered again.

Jareth noticed and smiled, a knowing smile, the tips of his canines prominent. He began to circle her, his cloak flowing
around him. Sarah tried to remain still as he walked around her, surveying her in her silver gown. Suddenly he stopped
and bent toward her. "Are you cold, my Sarah?" he asked, his question a caress against her neck.

Sarah fought the urge to shiver again and lifted her head defiantly. Before she could hotly reply, she noticed that his
mismatched eyes were dark with something…longing, perhaps? They glittered in the starlight as he glanced over her
silver gown. And his hands were clenched at his sides, as if he was resisting the impulse to gather her into his arms. It
goes b oth ways, she thought slyly.

So instead of yelling, she simply tilted her head and smiled. "Well, it is a little drafty and I am barefooted. Next time you
decide to pull me into one of your dreams, please picture me with shoes," she said impishly.

He looked at her, surprised. And smiled. "Clever girl," he said with pride. He looked down at her feet and smiled again.
"I'll consider it," he said, smirking.

"Thank you," she said simply.

They looked at each other, Jareth's cloak flowing around their calves in the night breeze. Sarah could feel her heart
beating frantically in her chest. It's a wonder that he can't hear it, she thought, bemused. But she noticed that despite his
calm outward appearance, the Goblin King's breathing was ragged and it made her feel better. Slowly, as though he had
all the time in the world, Jareth took her hand. Stepping closer, he turned her palm upward and brought it to his lips.
Sarah felt his breath scorch the centre of her palm, and watched his eyes close momentarily as his lips touched her
skin. She inhaled sharply at the sensation. He then took her hand and slowly placed it at the back of his neck, sliding his
gloved hand down the length of her arm, over her shoulder, and pulled her gently toward him. He then took her other
hand, turned it palm upward, and slowly brought it to his lips. Again, his breath scorched her palm, but this time, the tip of
his tongue flicked the surface of her skin and she gasped. She felt his smile against her skin and then he took her hand
and placed it over his heart. And held it there, his hand over her own. Under their hands, his heart began to beat wildly
and she looked up at him in wonder. And he smiled at her, a little ruefully, as if he had been caught out, and cautiously
removed his hand from hers as if he expected her to move away as soon as she had been set free.

But she didn't. Instead, she spread her fingers over the surface of his chest, over velvet-soft skin, over his frantically
beating heart, and felt him shudder at her touch. Exalting in his response, she ran her palm up over the smooth surface
of his chest, up over his collarbone, to join her other hand at the back of his neck. He splayed his gloved hand over her
lower back and slowly drew her toward him until the full length of her body was pressed against his. Sarah closed her
eyes at the sensation and shivered. Smiling that soft half-smile that had so mesmerized her, he took one gloved finger
and gently ran it down her cheek.

And it was in that moment, with that gesture, that Sarah realized something was wrong. When Jareth had touched her
cheek in the bathroom of her apartment, the pleasure had been so intense that it had literally knocked her knees from
under her. Here, in this dream, the caress still felt marvelous, but the pleasure was muted, almost as if her nerve-
endings had been muffled with cotton-wool. If she had not had a basis of comparison, this dream touch would have
more than sufficed. But knowing how his caresses could feel, how this situation would feel in the real-world, she could
not continue. She slowly removed her hands from around his neck.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at him and realized that he knew it too. But rather than pull away as she had, his
mismatched eyes had acquired a stubborn glint, and his jaw hardened in determination. Bending, he swiftly picked her
up into his arms and began to walk quickly toward the far side of the room.

Sarah sighed wearily but didn't struggle. "Jareth," she said, a little sadly. And he paused for a second, and then kept
walking. Candles sprung to life as he walked through the room and Sarah looked around at what was clearly his
bedchamber. He stopped as he reached the edge of the bed and gently placed her onto the starry midnight-blue cover,
lowering his body over hers, his black feathered cloak covering them both as his lips moved to her caress her neck. But
for Sarah, the spell had been broken and her attention was caught by something on the bedside table.

"Is that the figurine I gave you?" she asked curiously, noting that the Goblin King figurine was wearing the same black
feathered coat and leather pants as Jareth.

"Yes," answered Jareth, his voice muffled as he slid his lips over her shoulder.

Sarah suddenly noticed another figurine standing next to the Goblin King. A figurine with long dark hair and green eyes
and dressed in a thin-strapped silver satin gown. "And is the figurine next to him me?" she asked incredulously.

Jareth went perfectly still, his lips still on her shoulder. Sarah put her hands on either side of his face and lifted his head
so he was looking at her. She raised an eyebrow. Jareth looked at the figurines in annoyance and then looked back at
her.

"Damn it Sarah, just sit back and allow yourself to be seduced," he commanded.

She laughed but stopped when he noticed the furious expression on his face. "Well? Is it?" she asked firmly.

Still he said nothing.

"Jareth?"

Jareth sighed and rolled onto his back, looking up at the canopied ceiling. "Yes, it is," he said testily. "And it's a fine
likeness, I might add."

Sarah looked at the dolls. Their hands were touching. "Why is there a Sarah doll?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged indifferently. "He looked lonely." He rolled away from her, turning on his side so that his back was to her.
Immediately, Sarah rolled over too, tucking her knees behind his and putting her arm around him, laying her hand flat
against his bare chest. He held himself so rigidly that she felt as though she were holding a marble statue. Tentatively,
Sarah reached up and ran her fingers gently through his hair. In a flash, he caught her wrist in his hand and held it tight
enough to bruise.

"I don't need your pity Sarah," he said disdainfully and threw her hand away from him. He made to leave the bed but she
clasped her legs around his and threw her arms around him, holding him tight. He tried to move but stopped when he
realized that he would be forced to drag her along with him. He paused and she could almost feel his confusion. She
reached up so that her lips were beside his ear

"Jareth, I'm too busy feeling sexually frustrated, and bewildered, and annoyed to feel pity," she whispered in his ear.

He gave muffled laugh and felt him slowly relax in her arms. "Well," he said rather seductively, "I could take care of the
first bit for you."

In the blink of an eye, Jareth had her pinned to the bed. Slowly, he pressed the lower half of his body against hers. And
for a moment, Sarah was actually thankful that this was a dream and that her feelings were muted because that brief
contact alone saturated her body with a sensation so glorious that it made her moan aloud. If it felt that way in a dream…

"Sarah," Jareth said hoarsely. She looked up at him, his star-kissed hair falling over her face as he loomed above her,
his mismatched eyes glazed and wild, and realized that he had come to the same conclusion.

Before Sarah could answer, there was a brief flicker of light in the shadows beside the bed and a candle sputtered to life.
Surrounding the candle were goblins. Lots of them.

"Hi King, hi Lady!" said Skeep cheerily. The others waved.

"Ahh, hi guys," said Sarah, hesitantly.

Jareth swore under his breath. "As if this dream wasn't already an unparalleled disaster." He rolled off Sarah and looked
at his subjects. They were all swaying a little drunkenly. In fact, many of them were holding tankards of ale.

"Technically, it isn't even possible that you are here," Jareth said, looking at them in some surprise. "I am supposed to be
in control of this dream," he said dryly, looking at Sarah, "Though I guess it only makes sense that any attempt I make
toward attaining a measure of personal happiness is interrupted by you imbeciles."

"Guess so," said Skeep unrepentantly.

The goblin with the stripy socks piped up. "We were drinking and talking about you both, and then we were sleeping, and
then we were here! Isn't that exciting?" he said happily. The other goblins nodded. Jareth simply groaned.

The blue horned goblin held up a tankard. "Would you or the Lady like some ale?" he asked solicitously.

Jareth pushed it back toward him. "We would rather drink straight from the bog."

"Really?" asked the stripy socked goblin in drunken fascination.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. He suddenly felt his age.

Sarah cleared her throat. "I think it's time to go, fellas."

"Oh no Lady, we want to sing you the new Rosalinda song first!" said the goblin with the frypan on his head.

"Excellent," said Jareth sarcastically. "What a fitting end to a completely catastrophic evening."

Unfortunately, the goblins took that as encouragement. "Oh Rosalinda," they began. "You're the Queen of the Chicken-
toss/And you move like dental floss/Round the cavities of my heart," they sang in about 52 different keys simultaneously.

"Oh lord, not verse 12," said Jareth in horror, and quickly moved to cover Sarah's ears.

"Oh Chicken…we love you/You fell straight out of the tower and…"

"ENOUGH!" roared Jareth. The inebriated goblins were suddenly stone-cold sober as they looked at their furious King.

Sarah noticed that Jareth looked ready to smite the goblins where they were standing, and she quickly placed her hand
over his. "I think it's time that you guys went back downstairs. The King and I need to talk."

"Ohhhhhh," said the goblins. They nodded and drunkenly wove their way out the door.

"Nite Lady, nite King!" shouted Skeep as he clattered out the door in his stilettos.

Jareth quickly moved off the bed and bolted the door shut.

"Right," he said briskly, moving back toward the bed, "where were we?"

Sarah quickly lunged off the bed and stood before him. "Jareth, you know as well as I do that this isn't the right time."

A large clock suddenly appeared beside Jareth. "I'll make it whatever time you want, precious. I've reordered time for you
before and I'll do it again," he said fiercely, his black cloak billowing wildly around him.

Sarah sighed exasperated. "It's not the right place."

Suddenly the tower bedroom disappeared and the scenery around them began to shift. There were waterfalls one
moment, golden mountains the next, gardens perfumed with strange flowers, and cities teeming with people. "Anywhere
you want, Sarah," he whispered, his eyes haunted.

After a minute, Sarah stopped looking at the scenery and focused solely on the King. She looked at him sadly and
walked closer to him. "You know that's not what I meant. You and I both know the difference between reality and a dream.
I won't settle for the dream, Jareth. Please try to understand," she said softly.

The scenery around them stopped shifting and they were back in the tower room. "No, I won't understand," Jareth said,
circling her angrily. "Out there," he said, gesturing outside the tower window, "there is always someone claiming you.
Whether it a brother or a dwarf or a dog or a beast or goblins, there is always someone who takes you away. Here," he
said, walking up to stand in front of her, "it is just you and I. Here, there are no expectations or constraints to bow down
to. Here there is just us and whatever happens next. I will take this, this half world. I will choose this dream over reality
because here I stand a chance at having you all to myself." He placed his forehead on hers. "What is so miraculous
about the real-world anyway, Sarah?"

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. "It's real." She said simply.

He snorted. "Reality is over-rated."

She smiled. "That's often true. But what I do know is that in reality, all it took was a touch from you and my knees
buckled."

He seemed to consider that for a moment and gave a half-smile. He then sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

"Any moment now," he said, his eyes still closed. "I am going to wake up in a perfect rage fueled by broken dreams and
thwarted lust and I'll probably throw a couple of crystals at my bedchamber walls and then terrorize my subjects in
various cruel and devious ways." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "But for the few moments that we have left…" he
said, holding out his hand.

She hesitated a little. His shoulders slumped. "Sarah," he said wearily, "I ask for so little."

Without a qualm, Sarah reached out and took his hand and he drew her with him toward the tower window ledge. She
looked down at the long drop. "Are you going to toss me out, Rosalinda-style?" she asked mischievously.

He smirked. "Don't tempt me. You've given me good cause to." Instead, he sat down on the wide ledge, his back leaning
against the side of the window. He pulled her up so that she was sitting with her back against his bare chest, their legs
outstretched and touching along the ledge. He pulled his cloak around them both and then wrapped his arms
possessively around her.

"See," he whispered in her ear. "That wasn't too terrible, was it?"

She laughed. "I must admit that I was expecting something a little more diabolical. I'm almost disappointed."

He sighed mockingly. "There is really no pleasing you, is there?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps not," she said mischievously.

He gathered her closer and rested his chin on the top of her head. They sat a while like that, not speaking, just watching
the sleeping Labyrinth together. Sarah watched the hedge maze stirring in the night breeze below them, and the stars
moving in strange constellations above them. Jareth flicked his wrist and a crystal began to spin gracefully over his
hand.

"What do you say that we send Toby's bullies a dream or two?" he asked slyly, grinning his predatory smile. He stilled
the crystal on his finger tips and gestured for Sarah to look inside.

Sarah cautiously peered into the crystal. And blinked. "Are they being chased by an escaped circus lion?" she asked in
bewilderment.

Jareth's face remained impassive. "I've heard that it is a common occurrence in Nantucket," he said mildly, but there was
a wicked glint in his mismatched eyes.

Sarah shook her head a little reluctantly. "We can't."

The crystal spun over Jareth's fingertips. "If you prefer, I could arrange it so that they are chased by a real circus lion."

Sarah turned her head and looked at him sternly. He seemed to be joking, but one never could tell with fairytale
creatures who wielded unlimited power. "That's definitely not an option," she said forcefully.

Jareth merely continued to slide the crystal around his hands. Sarah looked at it, and remembered Toby's misery when
he told her the latest cruel act that the bullies had put him through. "Screw it," said Sarah, "let's give them the dream."

Jareth laughed in delight. "I love it when you are cruel," he purred.

"I blame the bad company I've been keeping lately," said Sarah, wryly. She looked up at him, a serious expression in her
green eyes. "Though promise me that they won't be hurt in any way."
Jareth rolled his eyes. "I give you my word. They'll just go for a nice little jog with the circus lion for a few hours. And in the
morning they will be rather repentant and somewhat exhausted. And maybe the slightest bit mauled," he conceded.
"Now," he said, bringing the crystal to her lips, "blow gently."

Sarah blew and watched the crystal float, light as air, into the night sky, the image of the three young bullies being
chased down the street by a lion wearing a bright yellow bow around its neck reflected in its centre.

"It's rather nice to have an accomplice," Jareth said, pleased. "Shall we do another?" he whispered into her ear. She
nodded, shivering a little when his warm breath blew against her earlobe.

Jareth flicked his wrist and another crystal appeared. "Tell me," he asked, rolling it around his palm, "how has your step-
mother been treating you lately?"

Sarah shrugged. "Fine really. Why?"

Jareth sighed. "Pity. I have a fine dream about a freezer alligator that I've been wanting to try out. I'll guess I could send it
to Rosalinda instead," he said thoughtfully.

Sarah began to laugh but it was cut off as the ledge beneath them began to shake. Jareth dropped the crystal and put
both of his arms around her protectively.

"What's happening?" she asked worriedly. "Is it an earthquake?" The tremors stopped for a moment.

"No," Jareth sighed. "We're waking up." The ledge began to shake again, as the tower around them began to lurch, dust
falling from the bedchamber roof onto the floor.

"What happens next?" Sarah asked nervously. "Should we move?"

Jareth simply wrapped his arms around her more securely, drawing her against him so tightly that it seemed as though
he were trying to make her part of himself. "No, we just watch as the world falls down around us."

Sarah tensed as the tower began to shake violently. "I don't care if this is a dream. If I fall off this tower, or if you drop me,
so help me Jareth, I'll come after you in real life with my skillet."

He laughed, throwing back his head. "I'd expect nothing less." He bent his head and brushed his lips against her
forehead. "Trust me, precious."

Even as the tower lurched beneath her, Sarah shivered with pleasure at the feel of his lips against her skin. The fact that
he was so utterly confident, sitting there with his arms around her, calmed Sarah somewhat. Squaring her shoulders
defiantly, Sarah leaned back against Jareth's chest and observed the chaos around them. She looked up at the sky and
saw it tremble. She watched as one-by-one, the stars shivered and then shot to the ground in fiery silver trails. She
watched as the city began to dissolve in a fierce white light that grew so intense, so bright that Sarah was forced to turn
her dazzled eyes to Jareth's chest. He simply pulled her onto his lap so that her face was pressed against the velvet-soft
skin of his chest, and stroked her hair, humming a song in her ear. Sarah relaxed against him as the tower shook
around them.

"Ready?" he whispered. Without thinking, she nodded and wrapped her arms around him tightly.

Then, without warning, the tower fell beneath them, and she felt Jareth gather her up into his arms and leap. Then she
felt herself plummet toward the earth, falling through time and space and for a moment she was fearful. But his arms
held her tight. And did not let go. And she felt them float together, weightless, turning in the sky, as if they were dancing
their way to the ground.

And when they landed, she opened her eyes, and her face was pressed, not against his chest, but against the softness
of his shirt spread across her pillow. And the arms that she still felt around her were in fact just the feathered cloak
around her shoulders. She looked up at the ceiling and exhaled slowly. Noticing the weight in her hand, she looked
down and saw that she was still holding her crystal paperweight. In its depths, she saw herself in the strong arms of the
Goblin King and they were falling yet not falling. She noticed that her eyes were closed but that she did not look
frightened. In fact, she looked rather content with her cheek resting against his chest. She noticed that Jareth's eyes
were open as they fell, but that they were looking only at her as he waltzed them both across the sky. And as the ground
approached them, she and the King simply dissolved in the sunlight.

Sarah sat back against the pillows and smiled.

Best first date ever, her inner voice said contentedly.

Sarah frowned. "That was not a date."

The voice shrugged.There was adult-type touching and a show. Close enough.

Sarah rolled her eyes. She hesitated a moment. The voice waited patiently. "I made the right choice, didn't I?" Sarah
asked. The voice looked puzzled. "About refusing to settle for the dream?"

The inner voice seemed to consider the question carefully. Well, it would have b een nice to 'try b efore you b uy', so to
speak, the voice said, grinning wickedly and Sarah blushed. But I think you're right. Dreams are all good and well…b ut
real-life man-flesh is always way, way b etter, dear.

Sarah groaned. It looked like the inner voice's free-range days were over.

Jareth smiled as he woke up. He felt…better. Better than better. Practically wonderful.

He opened his eyes and the feeling almost disappeared.

There were goblins all over his bedchamber and they were watching him. And they looked…concerned. Which
immediately put him on guard.

"What the devil is going on here?!" he roared.

Ignor cleared his throat. "Are you having a nerbus breakdown?" he asked.

"What!?" yelled Jareth.

The goblin with the frypan in his hand held out a bottle of multi-vitamins. "We want you to take these."

Jareth looked at the bottle. "Whatever for? Good lord, isn't it a little early in the morning to be trying to poison me?"

"But you're not yourself lately!" wailed the blue horned goblin.

"Please don't go to Argentina!" pleaded the goblin with the blue stripy socks.

"Do you want to go to hospital?" asked Beep, patting his arm comfortingly.

Jareth looked down at his arm in horror. "What I want is to rule a kingdom of subjects who do not try poison or molest me
in my bedchambers," he yelled, ripping off the bedcovers and leaping out of bed. He grabbed two small goblins and
tossed them out his bedchamber window. He vaguely heard them yell "Yeahhy! Rosalinda-ed!" as they fell. He then
pointed at two chickens who were pecking his boots. "Bog," he said and the place near his boots was a suddenly
chicken-free. He then turned to the goblins.

"Right," he said, his hands on his hips, "the last one out of my chambers will join our fine feathered friends for an early
morning dip in the bog. And the second-last person will be outrunning the cleaners for the rest of the year."

"He's back!" the goblins yelled gleefully as they ran from the chamber.

"YEAHHHY King!!" yelled Skeep, clattering out of the room in his stilettos.

Jareth straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. He was back. He knew what he wanted. He wanted her. And he
would strut, preen, stalk, scheme, seduce…b eg, plead, court, worship, adore, his inner voice supplied sarcastically…
until he got her. And this time he would keep her. Even if he had to wear every single leather piece of clothing in his
wardrobe simultaneously to do it...

Author's Note #2

Please review! Or I'll make Sarah's inner voice Jareth's love interest.

"WOO HOO!" cheers Sarah's inner voice.

Jareth, looks puzzled. "Ahh, is that even technically possible?"

Sarah's inner voice waves her hands impatient. "Enough talking, fairy boy. Take them off," the voice says commandingly,
pointing to his leather pants.
Jareth looks horrified. "Good lord!"

Sarah's inner voice gets comfortable in her chair. "Take them off….slowly."

Jareth backs away. "Madame, please. You're making me feel dirty."

Sarah's inner voice cracks a whip. "Now!"

Jareth looks around desperately. "Where is Sarah and her skillet? She won't allow me to be violated. SARAH!"

"I'mmm coommminnnggghhh!!" yells Sarah through the duct tape as she runs, chased by a posse of rabid piranhas…
*Chapter 9*: Chapter 9
AUTHOR'S NOTE: As always, many many thanks for your reviews! They were all exceedingly entertaining and rather
inspirational. Free hula goblin for all of you. I'm sorry that this update was a little slow coming—this chapter contains
mush and love and I'm just not built to write mush and love. In fact, it turns out that I'm only built to write about transvestite
goblins and chicken fights. My range as a writer is frighteningly limited.

FaeriesMidwife: Don't print this out. It's too long. If you take it into the bath with you, its weight will probably drag you down
(Death! Angst!). I don't want you to drown, it would be a great loss.

AriaAlways: I didn't forget about Squibble—thanks for naming him! Here is his big scene.

Doro.neko: I would love it if the goblins would make a music video of 'Chicken fell out of the tower and straight into my
heart'. I'd like them to do a rap remix so that the music video could have the goblins driving one of those bouncing cars
(you know, like the ones on Pimp My Ride) through the Labyrinth ghettos, wearing sunglasses and lots of bling. Skeep
would look great in bling…

LDeetz: I love the idea of a love triangle between the Sarah and Jareth figurines and Skeep's rubber duck. Though I could
have sworn that I saw that exact same storyline on The Bold and the Beautiful.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth. Nor do I own pro-wrestlers. I have a friend who is training to become a pro-wrestler
and every now and then I get rather distracted by his muscles. I also do not own, nor have I recently contracted, leprosy.
Last week, I thought I was developing scurvy after I realized that it had been over a month since I ate any citrus fruit. But I
solved that problem by eating lots of orange and yellow Skittles.

Chapter 9: Everything I've done, I've done for you. Or why you should never let your inner voice have access to your
credit card.

Sarah's inner voice was on a rampage. Buoyed by the hormonal tsunami that followed the adult-type touching dream
with Jareth, Sarah's inner voice was attempting to take over her body and mind in various manipulative ways, all in the
name of promoting her relationship with the King. Unfortunately, Sarah's attempts to foil her inner voice were not as
successful as usual. In fact, when Sarah had tried to summon the rabid piranhas to bring her inner voice back under
control, she found that the inner voice had poured a large quantity of vodka into the piranhas' moat, leading the piranhas
to lose their desire to kill while simultaneously acquiring a desire to party. It was most distressing.

The extent of the inner voice's growing influence over Sarah became apparent when she went shopping to find a birthday
present for Karen. It must be said that Sarah was not particularly focused on her task. Truth be told, she was merely
wandering aimlessly around the store, thinking about What Will Happen Next when it came to her relationship with
Jareth. Now, Sarah was more than aware of the fact that there were always potential pitfalls when becoming romantically
involved with someone. But there seemed to be more potential pitfalls than usual when becoming romantically involved
with Jareth. Nothing had prepared her for this situation, not even reading all those fairytales as a child. After all, storybook
princesses ended up happily-ever-after with rather bland princes, not arrogant, seductive, chicken-tossing, perverted
clothes-wearing, bog-dipping kings. In her romantic history to date, she had never gone out with a man who treated her
like a fairytale princess one moment, and then threw her in front of the cleaners the next. To top it all off, she realized that
she still did not know all that much about Jareth. In fact, she was still not even sure what he was. She had always known
him as the Goblin King but what exactly was he? Mythical creature? Fae? God? Goblin? Beast? Magician? Man?

I think we answered the 'is he a man?' question once and for all last night when he pinned you onto the b ed and you
could feel …

Sarah interrupted quickly, blushing. "Yes, yes, I was there, remember?"

In fact, if we want to get specific, he is quite the man…

"Enough! I get it!" thought Sarah furiously. "Anatomically at least, he is a man…"

Quite the man, the voice corrected.

Sarah ignored that. She sighed. "So how is this going to work between us? He lives in another realm."

The voice waved its hand dismissively. Think of it as a long-distance relationship.

Sarah snorted. "And how do I introduce him to my friends and family? How do I explain his baby-taking tendencies?"
Say that he works in 'acquisitions'. Then sound suitab ly vague when they ask ab out what he acquires.

Sarah groaned.

Sarah, the voice said quite seriously, do you want him out of your life?

At the mere suggestion, Sarah felt as though she had suddenly swallowed a handful of splintered glass.

The inner voice continued mercilessly. Because last night, even though you were technically in the right, you rejected
him. Again. And I have a strong feeling that if you reject him one more time, you are going to b reak him. Again. And then
he will disappear forever and you will b e forced to date aspiring actors with wandering hands, or acne-encrusted youths
with dub ious personal hygiene, or…heaven forb id…accountants with moustaches. And after seeing Jareth in all his
b are-chested, seductive glory last night, dating any other man would b e like drinking b og water after tasting fine vintage
champagne.

Sarah closed her eyes and groaned. "You're right," she said, resigned.

The voice nodded smugly. Of course I am. The inner voice patted Sarah on the back consolingly. Look, it's never easy to
start a relationship. And sure, starting a relationship with a guy who turns into an owl, who takes children and goats when
the opportunity arises, and who wears more eye-makeup on a daily b asis than you did on prom night, may present more
challenges than you've usually faced. But really, your will is strong, your kingdom is great, you've got an iron skillet, a
college education, and a killer b ody that he can't keep his eyes off when he thinks you aren't looking. Bab e, you're as
ready as you are ever going to b e to face Jareth.

Sarah squared her shoulders. The voice was right, she was ready. She wanted this, she really should not be scared.
"Thanks," she said to the voice.

The inner voice shrugged. Anytime. Now, if you need me, I'll b e sitting on the couch here, picturing Jareth naked.

Shaking her head, Sarah looked around and realized that she was standing outside of the mall. Odd. She could not
remember actually leaving the store. She looked down and noticed that she was carrying a large pink shopping bag.
Odder still. She opened the bag curiously and found that it contained lingerie. Lots and lots of lingerie. She noticed a
receipt, so she didn't shoplift the lingerie, but for the life of her, she just could not remember purchasing any of the items.

Sarah curiously rifled through the bag a little more thoroughly. Hidden amongst several rather charming lace and satin
pieces, she noticed a few items that would have made a seasoned courtesan blush. In fact, there were items in that bag
that would have been more at home in a bordello than in Sarah's underwear drawer. Sarah pulled out two of the bordello
items—a concoction that consisted of a scrap of black lace and a few satin ribbons, and one that had…oh hell, were
those tassels?—and she blushed furiously, stuffing them back into the bag as quickly as possible. Looking up, she
noticed two sweet-faced little old women sitting on a bench, sipping coffee and smiling at her. One of them gave her a
thumbs up. Sarah blushed and rushed out to the parking lot. She quickly located her car, unlocked it, and sat inside.

"Ok," she said, trying to hold onto her temper, "how did the entire contents of the lingerie department make its way into
my shopping bag?"

You can thank me for it later, the inner voice said smugly.

"Thank you for what? Trying to make me look like a Vegas stripper? What do you think you are doing?!" Sarah said
furiously. She blushed again just thinking about the tassels.

The inner voice waved its hand dismissively. Look, you are ab out to emb ark on a positive frenzy of adult-type touching
with a ludicrously sensual man who seems to have a fetish for perverted clothing, leather, and riding crops. All I'm saying
is that you may have to b ecome a little more open minded….

Sarah scowled. "In last night's dream, he dressed me in something demure and elegant."

The inner voice snorted. I b et you ten b ucks that in his other dreams of you, you're wearing the outfit with the tassels
that's in that b ag.

"Not the tassels!" Sarah groaned and closed her eyes.

Don't worry, the inner voice said cheerfully, I b ought something for every possib le mood and occasion. You're b ound to
like at least one of the items.

Sarah reluctantly looked inside the bag. She had to admit there were some lovely pieces. And some that were so harlot-y
that they made her speechless in horror. She winced when she spied what looked like a leather corset. "I don't think I
have the courage to take the bordello items back to the store."

The inner voice smiled smugly. I was counting on that.

Sarah quickly put the bag in the backseat. "Look," she said briskly, "I need to go to a grocery store to buy Jareth's fabric
softener and more ice-cream. If later today I mysteriously find myself in the parking lot with another bag full of perverted
purchases, any new exotic body piercings, or Jareth forever tattooed anywhere on my body, then I swear I will drive to the
nearest psychiatric hospital and have you medicated out of existence. You got that?

The inner voice held up its hands in surrender. Got it. No tattoos, no piercings, no exotic purchases, otherwise you'll
medicate me.

Sarah nodded. "Just keep that in mind."

Just say no to drugs, Sarah, the voice said pleasantly.

Sarah dragged her shopping bags into the kitchen of her apartment, and quickly put her ice-cream into the freezer. She
picked up the pink bag with its dubious contents and walked toward her bedroom. And stopped. There were muffled
voices coming from behind her bedroom door. As quietly as possible, she crept up to the door and opened it a crack.
Peering inside, she saw Goblin King reclining against the pillows of her bed, surrounded by goblins.

The Gob lin King is on your b ed, the voice said gleefully. And it's not even your b irthday.

Sarah stifled a sudden surge of excitement that seemed to have originated somewhere in her pelvis, and focused on
simply watching the scene till she got a hold of herself. Jareth, she noticed, was wearing the high-collared brown leather
jacket that he had worn in the tunnels, matched with form-fitting brown leather pants and boots. At the sight of all that
leathery goodness, her inner voice swooned.

Pounce on him! the inner voice exclaimed.

Sarah glared at her inner voice. "He is surrounded by goblins."

The voice shook its head impatiently. Fling them out of the way! Eyes on the prize, Sarah! Eyes on the prize!

Sarah rolled her eyes and went back to watching the scene. The King and the goblins appeared to be looking through
her photograph collection.

"Look at how lovely she looks here," Jareth said fondly, holding up a photograph of Sarah in her graduation gown.

"Oooooooo," said the goblins, appreciatively.

"Put that one in my pile," Jareth said, handing the graduation photograph to Squeak, who dutifully placed it on a large pile
of photos. Jareth then turned to the next photograph and his face grew grim.

"Here's one for you, Skeep," he said coldly, handing Skeep a picture of Sarah standing next to a young man with blonde
hair.

"Ok King!" Skeep said. He pulled out a red permanent marker and started drawing a pointy tail on the blonde man,
whose only tail-worthy crime was that he was standing in a photograph next to Sarah.

"Very pointy," Skeep said, pleased.

Jareth surveyed Skeep's handiwork. "That's a very fine looking tail, Skeep," he said, rather encouragingly. He looked at
the photograph critically. "I believe he should also have horns."

"Make them blue!" said the goblin with the blue horns. Skeep nodded and pulled out a blue marker.

Sarah could not contain herself a moment longer. "What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, bursting into the room,
dropping her pink bag in the doorway.

"Hi Lady!" the goblins called.

"We're sorting out your photos," said Ignor.

"Into three piles," said the goblin with the blue stripy socks.

Jareth tilted his head and looked at her appreciatively. "Hello Sarah," he said, his voice a caress.

"Ahh…hi," she said, feeling strangely shy. He smiled, a very knowing smile, at her response.

"This pile is the King's," interrupted Ignor, pointing to a large pile that contained a number of charming photographs of
Sarah.

"My personal favorite is this one," Jareth said, pulling out a photograph of Sarah standing in the ocean, wearing a black
bikini.

Sarah was mortified. "Give me that!" she exclaimed, making a swipe for the photo, but Jareth easily moved it out of her
reach.

"I'm afraid that I can't—it's been confiscated by the Crown," he said in a mock regret, tucking the photograph into the
inside of his jacket. He gave her a sly smile. "Though I give you permission to try and retrieve it," he said
magnanimously.

"Keep it, I have doubles," she said tightly.

Sarah looked down at the second pile of photographs that Skeep was obviously in charge of. She noticed that it
contained photos of Sarah with various other people.

"As you can see," Jareth explained, "Skeep has been making some much-needed improvements to his pile of
photographs."

Sarah noticed that these 'improvements' consisted of Skeep drawing a tail, horns, mustache, or what looked like
festering sores on each of her male companions.

"Pretty," said Skeep in satisfaction, patting the photos.

"Quite," said Jareth.

"That will be enough of that!" Sarah said indignantly, and quickly took the markers off Skeep.

Jareth shrugged nonchalantly and picked up another photograph. His expression turned deadly. "Bog," he said coldly,
handing the photograph to the goblin with the blue horns.

Sarah noticed that the horned goblin's pile consisted of photographs of either Sarah and her old boyfriends, or
photographs where Sarah was showing any form of affection to another male.

"Show me that photo!" Sarah demanded. The blue-horned goblin handed it to her, dutifully. In it, Sarah was kissing the
cheek of a dark-haired fellow who was wearing a bright yellow hat. She sighed, exasperated.

"Jareth," she said, "this is a photograph of my friend Gary. He…ahh…," she faltered, not knowing exactly how to explain.

The Goblin King looked at her expectantly, his facial expression haughty.

Sarah swallowed. Mindful of the impressionable goblins around her, Sarah bent toward Jareth's ear. "Gary…prefers the
company of other males," she whispered.

Jareth blinked. "Tail then," he said, handing the photograph to Skeep.

Sarah groaned. "Ok, that's enough, show's over. Guys," she said, addressing the goblins, "I need to talk to the King.
Alone."

"Sure Lady!" they said happily, and began to walk out of the bedroom.

Jareth handed the rest of the photographs to Squeak. "Continue without me," he said quietly.

"Yes Majesty," said Squeak.

Unaware of Jareth's orders to Squeak, Sarah ushered the goblins out of the room and closed the door behind them.

"My, my," said Jareth, looking at the closed door happily, "this looks promising."
Sarah looked at him sternly. "It's not what you think." She sighed. "Look Jareth, you're going to have to cut down on the
territorial displays. None of the guys in the photographs present any threat whatsoever and none of them deserve a tail
or horns or the bog."

Jareth's expression was one of regal arrogance. "I am a King, Sarah. Kings do not share."

"And what makes you think that I would share my affections?" Sarah asked him archly. Her gaze turned hard. "Will I be
sharing yours?" she asked pointedly.

He looked flabbergasted. "Good lord Sarah, I'm exhausted living up to your expectations. Having a harem would probably
kill me," he said, dryly.

Sarah felt a remarkable sense of relief at his words. "Nevertheless Jareth, you can't just come here and…"

"…turn your world upside down?" Jareth interrupted.

"Exactly," Sarah said firmly.

Jareth gracefully swung his long, leather-clad legs from the bed, stood up, and began to circle her.

"Really Sarah, it's only fair. Ever since you re-entered my world, my Kingdom has been in chaos. Your influence has
ranged from the introduction of that detestable tickling game that encouraged the entire goblin population to fondle each
other with a feather duster, to Wheel of Fortune which has caused more destruction to my Kingdom to date than civil war,
plagues, and the last chicken-toss festival combined. Your cookies led to singing, Sarah, and irreparable damage to my
eardrums. You allowed my figurine to be desecrated in the most heinously Hawaiian fashion imaginable, and this
morning I was almost poisoned by my subjects because they were convinced that I had the same malady as one of
those puerile characters on your television programs. And let's not even begin to talk about the disconcerting changes
that have come over Skeep since he got access to your wardrobe and glitter eye-shadow. In a few short weeks, you have
completely turned the Goblin Kingdom on its axis." He stopped circling and stood before her. "Not to mention what you've
done to the King himself," he said softly, his gaze intense.

Sarah cleared her throat. "What of the King?" she asked hesitantly.

Jareth gave her a seductive smile that made her nerves perform a strange, tingly little mambo from the tips of her toes, to
the top of her scalp. He walked up behind her and, before she could turn, he pulled her back hard against chest,
splaying his gloved hand over her abdomen. The warmth of his hand branded her through her thin white shirt.

"The King is enchanted," he purred, tipping her head to the side, exposing the long line of her beautiful neck. Sarah
shivered as his breath touched her skin.

"The King is beguiled," he whispered darkly, his lips lightly skimming the length of her throat. Sarah sighed at the
sensation. She leaned back against him and entwined her fingers with his.

"The King is conquered all over again," he said brokenly, burying his face into the fragrant mass of her hair.

And Sarah was undone. There was something in his voice, a strange mixture of longing and resignation, that made her
ache. She turned a little in his arms and touched his face, her fingers gliding across the harsh angles of his cheeks.
Jareth closed his eyes at her touch and she marveled at the fact that he seemed almost stripped bare by his declaration.
There was a strange, almost self-mocking smile on his lips, as if he had accepted his fate even though he thought it
would lead him to the doorsteps of hell rather than heaven. Looking up at that smile, Sarah felt the warmth that had been
unfurling for the past weeks in the vicinity of her heart suddenly shift to her heart where it belonged, and burst into bright
white flame. Fueled by her own inner sun, Sarah took Jareth's face in her hands and kissed him. Willingly. Wildly. At long
last. And she marveled at the pure wonder of finally feeling his lips against hers.

For the rest of her life, Sarah would always remember Jareth's complete and utter amazement in the first moments of
their first kiss. She could taste it on his lips, and feel it in his stance. His first response to her kiss was so tentative, so…
disbelieving, that it caused her heart to stumble a little. She was awed by the fact that her little mortal self could have
such an effect on this wild fairytale creature in her arms. So she slid her fingers into the silky mass of his hair and
slanted her full lower lip back and forth across his again and again, just to convince him that it was not all simply another
one of his dreams.

When Jareth realized that Sarah did not intend to run or push him away, he gathered her to him recklessly and took fierce
possession of her mouth, claiming her, devouring her, until she felt branded by the warmth of his body pressed against
hers, until she felt as though she was falling with him through the sky all over again. She moaned, and his lips moved to
kiss the corners of her mouth, the line of her jaw, her closed eyelids, her temples. She slowly opened her eyes and saw
him looking down at her with such fierce joy in his mismatched eyes that it made her smile. Smiling in return, he took
one gloved finger and gently traced the contours of her smile.

At the first touch of leather on her lips, Sarah's knees buckled and she would have fallen if Jareth had not been holding
her so tightly. Her response to his gloved touch made Jareth laugh in wicked delight.

"Those damn gloves!" she said huskily, pulling herself back upright. Within the circle of his arms, she reached over to
the nightstand and picked up her own leather gloves.

"That's it," she said, pulling on the gloves briskly, "I'm leveling the playing field."

He laughed again. "Sarah, those gloves aren't enchanted, they have no power over…oh good lord!" he exclaimed as
Sarah ran one gloved hand over the exposed skin of his chest.

Sarah smiled mischievously and brought up her other hand beside it, slipping them both under his shirt and moving in
languid circles over his skin. Beneath her hands, Jareth's heart started to race.

"Now, what was it that you were saying last night about reality being over-rated?" she asked teasingly.

"I take it back," he said, his head falling back, his eyes closing in ecstasy. "Reality is marvelous," he positively purred.

Sarah exalted in her power over the Goblin King, who appeared somewhat defenseless at the onslaught of her leather-
gloved attentions. Smiling triumphantly, she ran her fingers over the sensitive places behind his ears. He growled.

"So," she said archly, "did you only come over today to desecrate my photographs, or did you have another reason for
visiting?" she asked, her fingers still moving over his skin.

The King cleared his throat. "I appear to be having some difficulty remembering the reason for my visit," he said hoarsely.
He took a shuddering breath. "Though, I am sure it will come back to me if you keep stroking."

Sarah laughed mischievously. The King opened his eyes slowly and looked down at her, his expression dangerously
predatory. She paused at the look in his eyes, and unconsciously licked her bottom lip. Jareth noticed the gesture and
gave her a dark, hungry smile.

"Ahh, now I remember," he said huskily.

Flicking his wrist, a large gold envelope appeared. "I came to deliver an invitation," he said silkily, holding it out toward
her.

Sarah took the envelope rather tentatively.

"It's just an invitation, precious thing," he said, smirking. He closed his eyes. "Do read it. I require a moment to compose
myself," he said a trifle hoarsely, and moved away from her to lean against the wall.

Sarah gave him a saucy little smile, and withdrew a beautifully embossed golden card from the envelope. It really was an
invitation.

Say yes! the inner voice exclaimed.

Sarah mentally snorted. "I'm not agreeing to anything without more information," she thought stubbornly.

I don't care if he is hosting a Tupperware party, say yes, said Sarah's inner voice urgently. The voice sighed. He's so sexy
—I'd gladly b uy plastic storage containers from him.

Sarah ignored the voice and began to read.

"His Majesty, Jareth, King of the Gob lins, cordially requests the presence of Sarah Williams, Champion of the Lab yrinth,
for dinner this evening at eight pm to b e held in The Castle Beyond the Gob lin City. This is assuming, of course, that his
Majesty can successfully threaten his imb ecilic sub jects to remove themselves, and their chickens, from the formal
dining hall. Should standard threats concerning the b og, oub liettes, or hula skirts fail to secure this outcome, dinner will
b e held in the King's formal gardens, although he has recently heard disturb ing reports that the wished-away goat has
taken up residence there."

Sarah laughed. "I have no objections to dining with the goat," she said playfully.
Jareth snorted. "You jest, but it is an unfortunate possibility."

Sarah turned back to her invitation.

"Dress code: His Majesty would not b e at all displeased if you wore something exceedingly seductive."

Sarah gave a startled laugh. "I'm sure he wouldn't." The King only smirked. She continued reading.

"RSVP. Immediately to the King who, in all likelihood, is prob ab ly standing b efore you looking roguishly handsome."

Sarah looked up at Jareth, one eyebrow raised. "'Roguishly handsome'?" she queried.

Jareth gestured to himself grandly. "Behold me, in all my glory," he replied drolly.

Sarah rolled her eyes but she could not quite smother her smile.

"So," asked Jareth, leaning toward her, "do you accept?" He said it in a casual, almost bored manner, though Sarah
could see a certain tightness in his jaw, a tension in his stance that seemed to reveal that he was feeling neither casual
nor bored.

Sarah pursed her lips and pretended to think the matter over. She tapped her chin with the invitation and tried to look
thoughtful.

"Well?" he said imperiously.

"I'm sure that there's something important that I should be watching on television tonight. Perhaps a documentary about
the mating rituals of Arctic salmon," she said mischievously

Jareth blinked. "You would prefer to watch fish spawn than dine with me?" he asked, clearly affronted.

Sarah pretended to consider his question carefully.

There was a sudden knock on the door and Squeak entered. "Sorry to disturb you, but the photographs have been
sorted, your Majesty."

Jareth kept his eyes on Sarah. "Bog all the boyfriends," he said coldly.

"Yes Majesty," Squeak said. He picked up the pile containing the photos of Sarah and her old boyfriends and ran toward
the closet.

"What?!" yelled Sarah, "Wait!" she said, trying to grab Squeak as he dashed past her. She missed and he fled gleefully
into the closet.

Sarah turned back to Jareth, trying to rein in her temper. "Hear me, Goblin King," she said as calmly as possible under
the circumstances. "I understand that being possessive and overbearing is a hallmark of your kingly nature, but that is
not to say that I will like it or even accept it. There will be consequences for your actions."

His eyes narrowed. "What manner of 'consequences' are you talking about, Sarah? And before you respond, I believe it
would be best for all concerned if you remember just who you were addressing," he said coldly.

Sarah smirked. "As if I could ever forget, your Majesty." She looked up at him, a challenging glint in her eyes. "You just
threw evidence of my old relationships into the bog. I demand that you do the same."

Jareth looked surprised. "What? You want me to throw all reminders of my previous paramours into the bog?"

Sarah nodded. "Letters, trinkets, portraits, tokens of affection, locks of hair, phone numbers…all bogged."

Jareth tapped his chin with his gloved finger. "One of the ladies in question gave me the rather large stone fountain in my
private garden. What of that?"

"Bog," Sarah said firmly.

"Really Sarah, the bog will lose some of its menace if it has a jaunty stone fountain in the centre."

"Bog," she said, crossing her arms.

Jareth was thoughtful. "Another one of the ladies planted the hedge-maze…."
Sarah thought for a moment. "The hedge-maze can stay," she said begrudgingly,

Jareth gave a sly smile. "Truly, you can be generous."

"Don't push it," she said tightly, her green gaze flinty.

Jareth was completely delighted by Sarah's possessive display. He pulled her resisting body into his arms.

"I agree to your terms, precious thing," he whispered into her ear. He felt her body relax somewhat against his.

"In fact," he said, brushing his lips over her earlobe, "if you come over tonight, you can watch me pitch everything into the
bog," he said persuasively, kissing the sensitive spot behind her ear. "Or, if you prefer, I'll pile the items up and you can
set them ablaze, hedge-maze and all."

Sarah suddenly stiffened in his arms. "How big is this pile going to be, Jareth?"

"If it contains the hedge maze, rather large, precious," he said, trying to distract her by gently tugging on her earlobe.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You are completely infuriating."

"It's my best quality, aside from my hair," he purred wickedly against her skin.

"Ahhh, Lady?" the blue stripy socked goblin said hesitantly.

Sarah pulled herself out of Jareth's arms. "Ahh, yes?" she said, clearing her throat.

Jareth took her hand and began to run a gloved finger along the delicate skin of her inner wrist. She glared at him, but he
continued regardless, smiling wickedly.

The rest of the goblins came into the room. "Can we watch television?" Ignor asked.

"Sure," Sarah said shakily, as Jareth brought her wrist to his lips and kissed it. She snatched her hand away, giving him
a look that clearly said, Not in front of the gob lins!

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a look in return that clearly said, If I create a distraction, would you let me ravish you
right here and now?

Sarah pointedly turned her back on him, ran her shaking hands through her hair, and followed the goblins into the living
room. She looked around as the goblins sat on the couch.

"Where is the goblin with the frypan hat?" she asked.

"Sick," said Ignor.

"What's wrong with him?" Sarah asked, concerned.

"Leprosy," said Skeep, matter-of-factly.

"Leprosy?!" exclaimed Sarah. "How did he get leprosy?"

"Stole King's ice-cream," Skeep explained.

Sarah looked over at the King who was lounging in the bedroom doorway. "Jareth, tell me that you didn't!"

He looked at her with an indifferent expression and shrugged. "Then I shall say nothing."

At Sarah's glare, Jareth rolled his eyes. "My dear," he explained, "the goblins were warned. The frypan goblin obviously
had a deep-seated desire to explore the delights of tropical illness," he answered blandly.

Ignor nodded at that. "He's having a great time."

The goblin with the stripy socks piped up. "We tried giving him your multi-vitamins after his ear fell off but they must only
work on nerbus breakdowns." The other goblins nodded solemnly.

Sarah closed her eyes. The man she was about to become intimately involved with was simultaneously capable of
making her tremble with a kiss…and giving leprosy to his subjects on a whim. It was hard to reconcile the two realities
without having a panic attack. Jareth noticed that Sarah was starting to look a little ill, and walked over to her, drawing her
into an embrace.

"Your concern for the little disease-encrusted cretin is admirable," he said, running his fingers through her hair, "but
really, precious, the spell will only last twenty-six hours. He'll be fine," he assured her. He paused. "As long as he doesn't
misplace any of his fallen body parts."

Sarah groaned and shrugged out of Jareth's arms, walking away from him toward the kitchen. "Next time someone eats
your ice-cream, just ask me for more before giving them a tropical disease for a day," she yelled back at him testily.

Jareth was waiting for her by the freezer. "I'll take that under advisement."

Sarah blinked, momentarily disoriented by the fact that Jareth had just appeared in front of her. She had a feeling that his
disappearing trick was going to get annoying very fast. She shook her head. "Really, Jareth, you can't keep dishing out
these kinds of punishments."

Jareth sighed. "I know that it may seem odd from a mortal standpoint, but the goblins expect a certain level of creative
discipline. I know that any day now, they will start petitioning me because I haven't thrown my quota of goblins out of the
tower window this month."

Sarah shook her head in disbelief. Jareth simply smiled fondly at her. "There is no need to despair, Sarah. I'm sure you
will be a positive influence on me in the future. I can almost feel myself becoming a better man whenever you're around,"
he replied pleasantly.

Sarah snorted. "It's more likely that you'll corrupt me."

Jareth smiled wickedly. "Now that, precious thing, sounds like a challenge."

Sarah rolled her eyes and opened the freezer. "Let's get back to the matter at hand. I'll swap you a tub of the ice-cream of
your choice for the frypan goblin's immediate good health," she said, waving him toward the freezer to make his
selection.

Jareth peered inside the freezer. "How delightfully refreshing," he said mildly, as the cool air moved through his hair.

In the blink of an eye, Jareth pulled Sarah into his arms and kissed the base of her throat. He then turned her toward the
freezer, letting the cool air hit the warm surface of his kiss. Sarah shivered at the sensation.

"What a delightful appliance," he whispered huskily into her ear. "So full of possibilities…"

At the very thought, Sarah simply shivered again. Unfortunately, she was distracted by a tug on her jeans.

"Excuse me Lady," said the goblin with the blue horns, tugging again. "It's my birthday today. Could I have some ice-
cream too?"

Jareth sighed. Before Sarah could respond, he reached into the freezer, flicked his wrist, and pulled out something that
resembled a large green lizard.

"Here's something better," he said, handing the lizard-type object to the blue-horned goblin. "Happy birthday."

"What is that?" Sarah asked curiously, looking down at the green reptile cradled lovingly in the blue-horned goblin's
arms.

"Freezer alligator!" said the goblin with the blue horns in awe. "Really, Majesty, you shouldn't have!"

Jareth shrugged modestly. "Never say that I am not generous."

"Yes, really Majesty you shouldn't have!" Sarah said in alarm. "You're going to have an alligator running around the
Labyrinth? Isn't that going to be a little dangerous?"

Jareth looked thoughtful. "We'll have to warn the rest of the population, of course, including the goat." He looked down at
the blue-horned goblin. "Try to encourage it to become a vegetarian."

The blue horned goblin nodded happily. "Yes Majesty!"

"What are you going to name the alligator?" asked Ignor.

"I don't know—how about 'Waffle'?" asked the goblin with the blue horns.
"'Waffle the Alligator'. How positively fearsome," Jareth said sardonically.

Waffle the Alligator had the decency to look embarrassed.

The goblin with the blue stripy socks put up his hand. "Excuse me Majesty, can I have a name too?"

Jareth looked at the stripy-socked goblin. "Possibly. What have you done for me lately?"

Sarah looked at Jareth, appalled. "Of course you can have a name!" she said to the goblin. She knelt down beside him.
"What do you want to be called?"

The goblin looked thoughtful. "I don't know. What are my options?"

"How about 'Pickle'," said Ignor.

"How about 'Imbecile'?" suggested Jareth pleasantly. Sarah glared at him.

"Or 'Ice-cream'?" said the blue-horned goblin.

"How about 'Chicken'?" said a small goblin with tusks.

"Why is it always 'Chicken'?" Jareth asked despairingly.

"How about 'Nantucket'?" said Squeak.

"How about 'Miscreant'?" said Jareth lazily.

"Or 'Rosalinda'," said the goblin with the tusks.

"NEVER ROSALINDA!" yelled Skeep from the next room. He came shuffling into the room in his stilettos, grass skirt
waving madly, and his fork ready.

Skeep looked at the stripy socked goblin critically. "Squibble," he said decisively.

Jareth shook his head. "Really, he looks more like a 'Cretin' to me."

"SQUIBBLE!" Skeep yelled.

"I like it!" said the newly-named Squibble.

Skeep nodded in satisfaction. "Good," he said, patting Squibble's arm. Sarah decided not to comment on the fact that
Skeep was wearing her pink pearl clip-on earrings.

Squibble ran around the kitchen in circle. "I have a name, I have a name! I am Squibble! I am Squibble!" he yelled
happily. Till he ran into the fridge door.

Jareth sighed and looked down at the goblin sprawled on the floor. "You'll always be 'Cretin' to me," he said pleasantly.

Sarah looked pointedly at Jareth. "Well, I think Squibble is a wonderful name and it definitely deserves ice-cream," said
Sarah, looking into the freezer. "What flavor do you guys want?"

When there was no response, Sarah looked up from the freezer. The goblins and Jareth were standing very still and not
paying attention to her. All of them appeared to be listening to something. Something that she could not hear.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly. Without realizing it, she put her hand on Jareth's arm.

Jareth cursed. "Someone is thinking of wishing someone away," he said quietly.

"They haven't said it yet," said Squeak, still listening.

"But they are close," said Ignor.

"We probably have about fifteen minutes," Jareth remarked.

"Ohhh!!" whined Squibble. "But we were going to have ice-cream."

"And we were going to watch the soap show. Today we will find out who's the father of Veronica's baby!" said the blue-
horned goblin.

"Roger," said Skeep, confidently.

"I don't know," the blue-horned goblin said worriedly, "it could be Phillip…"

"ROGER!" yelled Skeep.

Sarah sighed. And I was going to have dinner with Jareth in the formal dining room of the castle, she thought miserably.
Or in the garden with the goat, she added, ruefully.

Her inner voice was inconsolable. NOOOOO!! We were so close to the adult-type touching! ADULT-TYPE TOUCHING,
people!! Would someone please think of the adult-type touching?!

Jareth turned to Sarah. There was a stubborn glint in his eyes. "We are still having dinner," he said firmly.

"But…" said Sarah.

He bent and kissed her temple. "I can't wait to see how you interpret the dress code," he said slyly.

Sarah only smiled at that comment and laid her head against his chest.

The King stroked her hair soothingly as he tilted his head, listening to the summons. The goblins listened too.

"Oh lord no," Jareth said, horrified.

Sarah looked up at him in alarm. "What is it?"

"There's more than one," he said grimly.

Squibble looked at the King. "What's a pro-wrestler?" he asked, puzzled.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do believe that you are about to find out."

"Someone wished away pro-wrestlers?" Sarah said incredulously.

"Well, given what I was offered last month, I'm just grateful it wasn't a herd of goats," Jareth said dryly. He turned to
Squeak. "Go and gather reinforcements—we're going to need them," he said grimly.

"Yes Majesty," Squeak said, running to the closet.

"Come on fellows, you know the drill," the King said wearily, releasing Sarah.

"Bye Lady," the goblins said dejectedly, walking toward the bedroom, their King walking behind them.

Sarah suddenly remembered the fabric softener. "Ignor," she called, "could you and a few of the goblins carry the King's
fabric softener back with you?"

"Sure Lady!" he said. A small group of goblins followed Sarah to the kitchen.

Jareth leaned gracefully against the bedroom doorway, waiting for Sarah. Looking down, he noticed a pink shopping bag
by his boots. Curious, he picked it up and looked inside. And blinked. And looked again. And pulled out a scrap of black
lace held by thin black satin ribbons. "Good lord!" he said in awe.

And it isn't even your b irthday… gloated Jareth's inner voice.

Jareth smiled wolfishly. He looked inside the bag again, his expression a mix of anticipation and longing. "She is going
to be the death of me," he thought to himself, but he did not seem displeased.

Such a pity ab out that summons, his inner voice said sadly. You're going to spend all your time with the runner tonight
rather than with Sarah and her intriguing apparel. The voice paused. Let's hope it isn't another Mexican grandmother, it
said, shuddering.

Jareth looked back inside the bag of lingerie goodness. Surely those were not…tassels? Oh but reality was marvelous!

"Sarah will be coming over tonight," he said determinedly. "Our runner is about to set a new Labyrinth record. I guarantee
that they will make it to the castle within three hours, even if I have to carry them the whole way." Jareth said grimly.
The goblins carrying the fabric softener marched past Jareth and walked into the closet, Sarah following close behind
them.

"Jareth, I got you ten bottles, just as you asked and …oh hell no!" Sarah said in horror, as she noticed Jareth holding one
of the most risqué items in her pink shopping bag.

To Jareth's utter delight, Sarah blushed a rather fetching shade of pink. She shut her eyes for a second, as if to gather
her strength, and then lunged toward him, trying to grab the bordello lingerie item from his grasp. Jareth neatly stepped
out of her way, and moved around the room, Sarah frantically following him.

"It's not what you think!" she said, jumping up and down, trying to reach for the item above her head.

"Now, don't say that, Sarah," he said in mock sternness, "I was thinking of something particularly pleasant," he said
silkily, waving the underwear out of her reach.

She jumped up again, and he moved it at the very last second. "You almost had it that time, precious," he said
encouragingly. "Next time, jump just a little higher."

Sarah pursed her lips in determination and pushed a chair in front of him, trying to block his path. Jareth simply walked
through it.

"You know," he said, looking at the lacy scrap critically, "I'm not an expert when it comes to human undergarments, so I
am not even exactly sure what this is. But I'm quite certain that on you, it will exceed my wildest expectations," he drawled,
neatly stepping out of Sarah's reach.

Sarah pushed back her hair from where it had fallen over her eyes. "I swear Jareth, if you don't give that to me this
instant, I won't come over tonight even if you do finish with the summons on time."

Jareth stepped in front of the bed and stood perfectly still, the garment still above his head. With a graceful wave of his
hand, he gestured for her to take it from him. Sarah jumped up to reach it and in that exact moment, he let himself fall
back onto the bed. Sarah fell, or rather sprawled, on top of him. She wriggled along the length of his body, still reaching
single-mindedly for her lingerie. Jareth groaned, and put his arms around her tightly, trying to still her.

"Precious," he gasped, "please keep in mind that I am wearing a lot of leather, and your squirming is making me feel
particularly… pleased," he said, his eyes closed.

Sarah stopped abruptly. And then inhaled sharply as she finally realized the positioning of their bodies, and exactly what
she had been squirming on. "Oh…uh…sorry," she said, a little breathlessly.

"I'm not," he said, hoarsely, and deftly rolled them both over until he was above her and over her, and then he kissed her.

It was not a simple kiss. He poured himself into it—all his darkest longings, all his better thoughts, his every plea, his
every pleasure—down to the last bitter fragments and the brightest burning shards of his very core. He laid them bare for
her, half afraid that she would pull away. But she didn't. Instead, she twined her body around him, and kissed him back
till he felt raw, and they were both shaking. Jareth felt the summons pulling him away, and he reluctantly drew back from
her.

"You will come over for dinner tonight, Sarah," he commanded hoarsely.

Sarah nodded, in a daze.

"And you will bring that marvelous pink bag filled with all of my new favorite things with you," he said decisively.

This time, Sarah felt her inner voice nodding vigorously on her behalf.

He looked down at Sarah—her dark hair fanned across the white pillows, her skin flushed, her green eyes glazed with
desire. For me, he thought triumphantly. Mine! He could feel the pull of the summons even stronger now…it was almost
a physical pain. He smiled ruefully and gently brushed a strand of hair away from Sarah's face.

"You bring me such joy, Sarah," he whispered. And before she could say a word, he disappeared, leaving her with
tingling limbs, bruised lips, and covered in glitter.

Best kiss ever, her inner voice sighed dreamily.

Sarah did not even have the energy to nod. She felt incandescent.
I b et you ten b ucks that he changes the dress code for tonight to 'clothing optional', the voice said happily.

Sarah only smiled. Then abruptly frowned when she realized that Jareth still had her bordello lingerie.

Author's Note #2.

Due to the events of the previous chapter—where Sarah's inner voice forced Jareth to strip…slowly…against his will to
Joe Cocker's You can leave your hat on, before Sarah could liberate him with her skillet—Jareth has refused to take part
in any further goblin/chicken/freezer alligator/escaped circus lion slash pairings. Right now, he is curled up in the fetal
position, yelling "I feel so dirty!" and mumbling about how he wants to be loved for his mind, not his other leather-clad
assets. Sarah has reassured him repeatedly that she loves him for his personality. But, let's face it, Sarah is a dirty liar…

So, while His Majesty regains his composure, please review anyway…

(There's just one more chapter to go. And probably an epilogue, just because I really like the word 'epilogue').
*Chapter 10*: BONUS CHAPTER
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry this is late. Frankly, it's a miracle that I wrote anything at all after janeitsarah's review about
Jareth's bordello leather underwear. Dear lord, what a visual! I think I stared into space just thinking about that for an
hour. Or two. How time flies when you're thinking about Jareth's bordello underwear! In fact, let's all just take a moment
to think about Jareth's bordello underwear, shall we? And perhaps another moment…

As always, thank you for the reviews! They were very very humorous and inspirational. A little too inspirational in fact.
Remember how I said that there was only one more chapter to go? The chapter about the dinner and the chaos (oops, I
shouldn't spoil the plot, such that it is)? Well, I was happily writing that last chapter when I received several reviews from
people who asked questions/made comments about the pro-wrestlers and their time in the Labyrinth (you know who you
are—Jill O'Brien, janeitsarah, Natsuko37, snip-snippet, and of course Wolfish Oro). And I started thinking…gee, what did
happen while the pro-wrestlers were in the Labyrinth?

So I wrote this BONUS CHAPTER, primarily to appease my curiosity and to please Wolfish Oro and to show just what
Jareth had to go through in order to make his dinner appointment with Sarah (everything he does, he does for her etc etc
etc). I also made it a somewhat more outrageous than usual to cheer Mercuralis up a little ;). I should warn you that this
chapter is completely superfluous to the story and contains no leather or adult-type touching (well, there is the odd bit of
wrestling between consenting adults, but I don't think that counts). And for those who are wondering, it is not Jareth/pro-
wrestler slash. I know, I was disappointed too...

Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth. Nor do I own pro-wrestlers. I touched one once, in a platonic way; it probably
wasn't the most hygienic thing I have ever done. I do not own a llama, though it has always been a secret ambition of
mine to do so. Right now, all I own is a very small, non-llama-like dog. I do own apple-scented fabric softener, which
means that I often smell a little like an apple strudel. It's a hardship that I bear stoically.

BONUS CHAPTER: How you turn my world, you pro-wrestling team.

Standing on the hill before the gates of the Labyrinth, the Goblin King, resplendent in his black attire, stared haughtily at
the runner cowering before him. He gestured imperially toward a large clock that materialized beside him.

"You have three hours in which to solve the Labyrinth or else your trainee pro-wrestling team becomes one of us,
forever," he stated regally, placing his hands on his hips.

The runner, or 'Coach' as he was known, was a portly man in his late fifties with a thick, bullish neck, and large, beefy
hands that looked capable of crushing small sedans. Those same hands were currently clenched in frustration as he
stared over the vast Labyrinth that lay before him.

"Three hours!" he wailed. "How the hell am I supposed to solve that thing in three hours!?" He wiped his sweaty hands
down the length of his white track pants, leaving greasy stains. "There is no way I can get through that thing in three
hours!"

Jareth dropped his hands from his hips and gave a devilish smile. "You're quite right, old chap. There isn't." He walked
over to the coach and bent close to his ear. "Technically, I'm supposed to give you thirteen hours, but you called me on a
bad day," he said, rather conspiratorially.

The coach was outraged. He took off his red baseball hat and threw it onto the ground. "What the hell? That not fair!"

Jareth made an impatient hand gesture. "Yes, yes, life can be cruel, tra la la," he said blandly. He sighed and flicked his
wrist; a crystal appeared and he effortlessly transferred it from hand to hand.

"Look, neither of us wants to be in this situation. Why not just leave them with me and I'll give you your dreams," he said
persuasively, presenting the crystal to the coach.

The coach put his hands on his hips and shook his head forcefully. "Look pal, my dream is to win tomorrow's contest. I
can't win the contest without those boys. So technically, my dreams are null and void if I don't get them back."

Jareth considered that. "What if I grant you a wish instead?" he said slyly. "Anything you desire. A full head of hair,
perhaps?" he said, eyeing the coach's shiny dome.

The coach glared at him and reached down to pick up his hat. "No thanks," he said forcefully, jamming the hat back on
his head.
"No?" said Jareth. He bent closer to the man. "Surely there is something about your person that could be…how shall I
put this? …enhanced, perhaps?" he said persuasively, his voice dripping with innuendo. "I was thinking specifically of
…." He whispered something in the coach's ear.

The coach stilled for a moment and looked at the King. "You could do that?"

Jareth smirked and inclined his head. "But of course. If you wish it."

The coach glanced wistfully at the King's tight breeches before looking down at his track pants. He then sighed sadly.
"Sorry King, gotta get the boys back."

Jareth snorted. "Of course you do. Nothing in my life is going to plan lately." Jareth tapped his gloved finger against his
chin. "I want this over as soon as possible. Since you have decided to run the Labyrinth, allow me to give you some
words of advice. Be sure to heed them well."

The coach nodded.

"When the blue worm directs you to an entry way, turn left," said Jareth briskly.

"Left," the coach repeated. "Got it."

"And should you find yourself in a hole, suspended in the air by a number of hands, ignore their gratuitous fondling and
tell them that you want to go up."

"Up at the fondling hands, got it," the coach repeated.

"Do you like dancing, Coach?" Jareth asked pleasantly.

"Hell no! Can't stand it."

"Well stay away from the peaches," Jareth said jovially and started to laugh. Noticing that the coach was looking at him
oddly, he stopped. "Sorry," he said, wiping a tear from his eye, "I was picturing you in a ballgown."

"Ballgown!? What the hell!?" the coach yelled, backing away from Jareth. "What kind of screwy place is this?"

"Ah Coach, you have no idea," Jareth said pleasantly, smiling his pointy canine smile.

The coach took another step back.

Jareth smirked at him and looked back at the clock. "Very well, let's begin."

Jareth began to disappear, but then he remembered something and stopped. "Coach," he said, his voice a little faint. "If
an old man wearing a bird tells you that the way forward is the way back, ignore him. In your case, the way forward is the
way forward."

"Ok," the coach said dubiously, still making sure that there was considerable distance between himself and the King.

Jareth noticed and smiled, a predatory smile. "Your time starts now. Good luck," he said mockingly, and faded away
completely.

The coach looked at the Labyrinth and sighed. "Oh well," he said stoically, making his way down the hill. "Serves me right
for wishing them away rather than just making them do sit-ups."

The First Hour...

Jareth should have been a happy man. A very happy man. Sarah—his passion, his obsession, his delight—was coming
over tonight. There would be dinner, dancing, and a gratuitous amount of adult-type touching, even though he had failed
to mention the adult-type touching in his invitation. That thought alone should have made him joyous. Moreover, his joy
should have been compounded by the fact that he now had several marvelous photographs of his beloved to look at, and
a rather fetching scrap of her bordello-esque lingerie to contemplate. If that was not enough to make Jareth smile, all
photographic evidence of Sarah's past suitors was now lying at the bottom of his bog. The satisfaction from that act
alone would usually have led Jareth to perform a triumphant, testosterone-fuelled, song-and-dance number around the
throne room that would have kept himself, and his subjects, amused for hours.

Oh yes—Jareth should have been a happy man. A very happy man.

But, the fact of the matter was, Jareth was not a happy man. Actually, he was an exceedingly unhappy man, and he was
demonstrating his unhappiness by cursing so foully that the goblins standing around him were starting to feel a little
nauseous. His deep unhappiness came primarily from job dissatisfaction; he should have been preparing for his
evening with Sarah, but thanks to the summons, he was babysitting pro-wrestlers. Not that babysitting the wrestlers had
been particularly difficult so far; although they had initially been convinced that they were experiencing some kind of
shared hallucination brought on by spiked Gatorade, to Jareth's relief they had settled in quite well. In fact, Jareth had
found their placid acceptance of the situation to be rather curious.

"You don't think that all of this is quite…odd," he'd asked them when they arrived, gesturing to the goblins and the castle.

The wrestlers shrugged. "No weirder than what we see daily," said one.

"I'm from New York," said another, yawning.

Jareth looked over at the three wrestlers in their matching navy tracksuits. They were sitting in the round stone pit,
chatting quietly amongst themselves. One was a large muscled blonde with a rather crooked nose. What was his name?
Jareth thought to himself. Chuck? Chump? He shrugged. The one sitting next to him was much taller and rather lean
with limp, dark hair pulled into a low pony tail. Jareth pondered over his name for a moment. Dean, or some such thing.
And then there was a sleepy-looking fellow with bleached streaky blonde hair and a bright orange tan, whose name,
strangely enough, seemed to be Weasel.

Jareth looked at the clock and pinched the bridge of his nose. The coach had only been in the Labyrinth for thirty minutes.
Good lord, would this torture ever end? He conjured a crystal and looked at the coach's progress. The three wrestlers
jumped out of the pit and gathered around him.

"How's the coach going?" asked Chuck.

Inside the crystal, the coach had given up on trying to find an entry point past the outer wall of the Labyrinth and was
instead attempting to climb over it.

"Dismally," said Jareth dismissively.

"Go Coach! Climb that wall!!" the wrestlers yelled encouragingly.

Jareth sighed. "Let me explain to you how this crystal works yet again," he said slowly to the wrestlers, as if he were
speaking to the goblins. "We can see the coach, but he can not see or hear us. So let's keep the yelling to a minimum or
I will render you all mute."

"Sure King," the wrestlers said good-naturedly.

The wrestlers peered intently into the crystal. "Is it just me or has the coach put on some weight lately?" asked Chuck.

"Yeah, I think you're right," said Weasel.

"Man, we're screwed," said Dean, watching as the coach fell off the wall.

"Don't write the coach off yet," said Chuck optimistically. "I'm sure he'll be here soon."

"As heartwarming as your confidence in your rather obese coach actually is, I'm afraid that he won't be here soon, given
that he hasn't made it past the outer wall," Jareth said grimly.

The wrestlers sighed. "I was supposed to be going surfing after practice," Weasel said miserably.

"Yes, well, we all have things that we would rather be doing," Jareth said testily.

"We were supposed to be eating ice-cream at the Lady's house and watching the soap show on television," said
Squibble.

Ignor nodded. "And we were finally going to find out whether Roger or Phillip is the father of Veronica's baby."

Chuck looked surprised. "You guys watch that show too?" he asked.

The goblins nodded happily.

"It's totally Roger's child," Weasel said with conviction. The other wrestlers nodded in agreement.
"I agree," said Jareth, "there is no way that his emasculated son could spawn."

The goblins nodded their agreement with their King, although the blue-horned goblin did not look completely convinced.

Jareth turned to the large clock and grimaced. "This is taking far too long," he said angrily. He jumped up off the throne
and began pacing up and down.

"What's his big hurry?" Chuck asked the blue-horned goblin who was standing beside him. "Does the King have a date
or something?"

The blue-horned goblin nodded happily.

Dean looked at the King's outfit. "With a woman?" he asked dubiously.

"Yes, with a woman," Jareth said testily.

"The Lady is coming for dinner with the King!" said Squibble excitedly.

"Ooooohhh!" the wrestlers said jovially. "The Lady."

Jareth rolled his eyes, yet felt strangely gratified by their ribbing.

"So," asked Weasel, "is this Lady hot?"

Jareth shot him a black gaze. "Are you inquiring as to whether or not her body temperature is somewhat higher than
normal for mortals? Or are you using that particularly imbecilic phrase to discern whether or not she is attractive?"

The wrestlers looked momentarily confused. "Ahh…both?" said Weasel, looking perplexed.

Jareth sighed. "Sarah's beauty is beyond compare in your world and mine." He paused. "I also believe her to be warm
blooded so the answer to your question is 'yes'."

"Alright!" the wrestlers said, and went to high-five Jareth.

Jareth gave them a cold stare. "I thought that I had explained to you earlier that any attempts to touch me would result in
dire and painful consequences," he said grimly.

"Oh come on now man, relax, it's just something us guys do," said Chuck, grabbing Jareth's arm playfully.

Within a heart-beat, the wrestler was lying facedown on the floor, his arm twisted behind his back and Jareth's booted
foot on the back of his neck.

"Uncle!" Chuck yelled.

"What of him?" asked Jareth, coolly.

"He means let go," said Dean, obviously amused by Chuck's discomfort.

Jareth let him go and sat back down on his throne.

"That was AWESOME!" said Chuck in awe, not at all disgruntled. "Man, with moves like that and your look—the big hair,
the tights, the leather—you could really make it on the pro-circuit."

"Yeah, if this whole king thing doesn't work out for you, you should definitely give it a try," said Weasel.

"At times like this, you have no idea how tempting the idea is," Jareth said drolly.

Jareth looked at the clock again and stood up. "I'm going to speed up proceedings and get Higgle to lead your coach to
the centre." He turned to the goblins. "While I'm away, keep an eye on the wrestlers." He then turned to the wrestlers.
"While I'm away, keep an eye on the goblins. If they begin to sing or play Wheel of Fortune, you have my permission to
beat them senseless with whatever object you find handy."

"Ok King!" the goblins and wrestlers chorused.

As Jareth was about to disappear, he noticed that Weasel was happily accepting a tankard of ale from the frypan goblin.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Jareth observed. "Unless you want to be numb from the tongue down…."
Weasel did not look too convinced by Jareth's statement.

"…for the next decade," Jareth finished wryly.

Weasel put the tankard down and backed away from it.

The Second Hour...

"How did he manage to lose Hoggle?" the King asked incredulously, too shocked to mangle Hoggle's name.

The goblins shrugged. "Hoggle's pretty short," observed the frypan goblin.

"Maybe you should have asked someone taller," the goblin with the blue horns said helpfully.

Jareth rolled his eyes. He thought for a moment, tapping his finger against his nose.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he said dryly. He flicked his wrist and a crystal appeared. He gracefully
tossed it onto the throne room floor; in its place stood four large signs.

"Four of you, come here," he ordered.

Squibble, Beep, the blue-tusked goblin, and the goblin with the blue horns came up to the throne.

"Now, each of you take one of the signs. Make sure that the coach sees you, and then lead him to the castle. Is that
clear?"

"Yes King!" they chorused and ran out of the throne room, holding their signs aloft.

The coach wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. He'd lost the ugly little fellow he'd been following. Hedgehog?
Hobbit? Whatever, he'd lost him. How the hell was he supposed to make his way out of here now?

Suddenly, directly in front of him, four goblins appeared, each holding a sign that said: Follow me to the castle. One of
them was even holding it up the right way.

"Come on Coach!" they yelled.

"Lead the way!" he said jovially.

And all was well.

Until the goblins all ran off in different directions.

The four goblins entered the throne room, still carrying their signs aloft. They received a hero's welcome; goblins
cheered and handed the sign-bearers tankards of ale, patting them on the back as they walked past.

"We're back, Majesty!" they yelled triumphantly.

Jareth looked up from the throne. "Excellent. Where is the coach?"

The sign-bearers stopped grinning. They looked behind them.

Then they looked at each other.

Then they hid behind their signs and gulped down their ale as quickly as possible.

Jareth closed his eyes and tried to rein in his temper. He took a deep breath. "You imbeciles,' he said in a deathly quiet
voice that made all the goblins in the throne room tremble in terror; particularly the leprosy-encrusted frypan goblin, who
trembled so hard that he lost a finger.

Jareth stood up from his throne and began to circle the sign-bearing goblins. "All that you had to do was bring the coach
back to the castle. I sent out four of you. I would have thought that, by sheer luck alone, one of you would have carried out
my orders correctly. Instead, you have just demonstrated yet again that I am far too optimistic when it comes to
estimating your intelligence."
"Sorry Majesty," they said contritely.

"We were just too excited about holding a sign," said Squibble mournfully.

The wrestlers snickered.

Jareth looked at the wrestlers. "Do you see what I have to deal with?"

"Man, it sucks to be you," said Weasel sympathetically.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose and then turned back to the sign-bearing goblins. "I will deal with you all when this
is over," he said ominously.

Beep looked horrified. "I'm not going back to the bog sober!" he wailed. He ran to the nearest barrel of ale, tore open the
lid, and shoved his head inside, sucking down as much ale possible, his little legs flailing in the air.

"That's my kind of goblin," Weasel said admiringly.

Jareth shook his head and looked at Squeak. "Make sure he doesn't drown before I get the chance to throw him in the
bog," he ordered.

Squeak nodded. "Yes Majesty."

Sighing, Jareth summoned a crystal. "The coach is with the helping hands," he said tersely, peering into the crystal. He
then swore under his breath. "And he looks as though he is about to make the wrong choice."

The goblins laughed uproariously. The wrestlers groaned.

"Shut up!" yelled Jareth. He glared at the coach. "What part of "choose up!" didn't you understand?!" he yelled at the
crystal.

"Dude, he can't hear you, remember?" Weasel pointed out.

Jareth gave him a deadly look. "Don't make me bog you, Ferret," he said curtly.

"It's Weasel," corrected Weasel.

"Close enough," Jareth said irritably, and disappeared.

"Which way?" asked the helping hands.

The coach looked perplexed. "Ahhh…hang on, what did that king guy say I should do?"

"Up or down?" the hands asked impatiently.

The coach looked down. "Well, since I'm on my way down…

"Choose up, you imbecile!" Jareth yelled testily, peering down the hole.

The coach looked up and saw Jareth. "Oh, ok. Up it is. Thanks Fairy King!"

The helping hands started to snicker.

"It's Gob lin King," Jareth said through clenched teeth. "I'm nothing like the Fairy King, you twit. The Fairy King is a drunken
egomaniac who wears a corset," he said in disgust.

"Whereas the Goblin King is a sober egomaniac who wears tight pants," said one set of hands.

"Big difference," said another set.

The treasonous hands gave each other a high-five. The rest chortled happily.

Jareth raised an eyebrow and there was a sudden fleshy sound. It was the sound of fingers being twisted.

"Ouch!" yelled the treasonous set of hands. "My pinkies!"

"Say anything more and I'll break them…" said Jareth menacingly.

The hands continued to chortle.

"…off," he finished.

The hands went silent.

Jareth looked sternly at the helping hands. "Send him up, and quickly, or I'll relocate this oubliette to the bog," he said
coldly and disappeared.

The helping hands made a number of obscene gestures at Jareth's retreating back.

"I saw that," Jareth's disembodied voice said menacingly.

"Well, you heard the man," said one set of hands.

"He chose up!"

While Jareth was with the coach, the wrestlers decided to pass the time by instructing the goblins on a few wrestling
moves.

Chuck knelt down in front of Skeep. "Now, you're only little. Who do you usually fight?"

"Chicken," Skeep said, pointing to a chicken who was currently pecking a sleeping goblin.

Chuck looked at the chickens wandering around the throne room. "Well, you're probably pretty well matched. You've just
got to be prepared to fight dirty. If all else fails, get yourself a folding chair and hit your opponent with it. That's what I do."

Skeep looked around the throne room. "No chairs," he said sadly.

The wrestler looked thoughtful. "What else could you use as a weapon?"

Skeep pulled out his fork.

"Whoa! That'll work. Just jab the chicken in the kidneys with that."

"Ok, kidneys," said Skeep happily.

"And when the chicken is on the ground, jump on it, landing elbow first, ok?" he said, demonstrating the landing.

"Ok Man!" Skeep said, happily.

"Off you go and give it a try. I'll be watching," Chuck said encouragingly.

Jareth reappeared in the throne room and watched in amusement as Skeep stalked a chicken with his fork. He turned to
Chuck. "Your coach is back on the path, and I've instructed Hedgewood to bring him to the centre as quickly as possible."

"Thanks," said Chuck. He watched Skeep put down his rubber duck so that he could better stalk the chicken. "So what
are you planning for your big date tonight?" he asked the King.

Jareth thought about that for a moment. "I'm still making preparations, but there will be a sumptuous dinner and dancing,
and…well, other amusements," he said, rather wolfishly.

"Alright King!" said Weasel, leering.

Jareth returned his leer. The two nodded at each other in a male-bonding moment.

Chuck looked around the throne room. "You might want to clean this place up a bit."

Jareth snorted. "Sarah said that she preferred reality," he said indifferently.

Dean looked dubious. "This may be a little more reality than she can handle."

"Yeah dude, I just saw a goat being chased by a big lizard outside in the hall," said Weasel.
"Oh no!" wailed the blue-horned goblin, running out of the room. "Bad Waffle! Bad Waffle!"

Jareth took a good look around the throne room and tried to see it from Sarah's perspective. Chickens were wandering
around, free-range, laying eggs on the rafters and scattering feathers and filth on every available surface. There were
drunken goblins and their drunken chicken pets sleeping all over the floor. The sober goblins were playing tug-o-war
with a string of sausages. Consequently, the entire room was beginning to smell like a rather diseased delicatessen.
Jareth looked up and noticed that the bunny-shaped stain on the ceiling had mutated so that it was now approximately
the size of a llama. He suddenly felt queasy.

"You may have a point," Jareth conceded.

"If you want, we can give you a hand," Chuck offered. The other wrestlers nodded.

"Sure, it's not like we're really doing anything at the moment," agreed Dean.

"And dude, you need all the help you can get," said Weasel, pityingly.

Jareth looked at them, surprised. "Actually," he said thoughtfully, "there are a few items that I need thrown into the bog,
including a fountain."

"Well, let's get to it," Chuck said happily, rubbing his hands together.

The Third Hour…

Overall, the throne room was looking much better. The majority of the chickens had been herded out of the room by the
blue-horned goblin. Jareth was not sure where they had been herded to; he just hoped that it was not his closet. The
remaining chickens were being used, rather successfully, as feather dusters, so now the widow ledge and the other
surfaces were dust-free. Despite the fact that Jareth had thrown a number of crystals at the llama-shaped stain, it had
refused to budge, so the goblins were cleaning it the old fashioned way; they strapped Skeep to a sponge and attached
him to a spear. They then smeared Skeep back and forth over the stain.

"Tickles," said Skeep, giggling.

Jareth rolled his eyes at Skeep and turned to watch Squeak and another small goblin as they scrubbed the throne. His
attention was caught by a goblin tugging on his breeches.

"Majesty," said Squibble, "can I put this near the throne? You know, to brighten the room up." He handed Jareth a cracked
tankard filled with soil. A stick had been pushed into the centre, and was currently leaning rather precariously to the left.

Jareth looked at it critically. "And what is this supposed to be?"

"Potted plant. The Lady has some in her house."

Jareth squatted down beside Squibble. "Oh dear," he said sympathetically, putting his hand over his heart in mock
distress. "This potted plant seems to be a little, shall we say, deceased."

Squibble nodded happily.

Jareth stood back up and handed Squibble the tankard. "There is so much wrong with this pathetic attempt at a potted
plant that I believe that my life would be infinitely better if I was to never see it again. Remove it," he ordered.

"What if it had two sticks in it?" Squibble bargained.

"Remove it!" Jareth said tersely.

Squibble muttered under his breath and moved away.

Skeep walked toward the king, unstrapping the sponge from around his waist.

"Finished," he said to the King.

Jareth looked up. The stain had shrunk down to its original size. "Ahh, I see the bunny is back," he said sardonically.

Skeep nodded happily. He looked around the throne room. "Need flowers," he said to the King.
Jareth looked around also. "You're right. Flowers would be good; they may help to dispel the rancid sausage smell." He
turned to Squeak. "Inform one of the dwarves to pick flowers for the throne room." He paused a moment. "Tell him to
avoid the poisonous ones, the ones that bite, and the strange orange ones that smell like rotten fish."

"And what about the purple ones that induce forgetfulness?" asked Squeak.

Jareth thought for a moment. "Let's keep a few of those handy just in case the night is a complete disaster."

"Yes Majesty!" said Squeak, running off to the gardens.

Jareth looked toward the throne room entrance as the wrestlers and a group of goblins entered. They all looked tired but
surprisingly cheerful.

"Everything's bogged, King," Chuck said happily.

"Everything?" Jareth said incredulously. "Even the carriage?"

The wrestlers grinned. "Hell yeah!" said Weasel.

Jareth summoned a crystal and looked at the bog. Sure enough, there was a carriage slowly sinking into the fetid
waters, along with a multitude of shirts, letters, crystals, portraits, hair ribbons, a velvet chair, and three riding crops. The
fountain sat at the centre, refusing to sink. In fact, it looked rather picturesque.

Jareth shook his head in disgust. "The fountain makes the bog look like a picnic spot," he said wryly. He sighed. "The
things I do for Sarah." He turned back to the wrestlers. "Excellent job, fellows. Many thanks."

The wrestlers smiled at the praise. "It helped pass the time," said Dean modestly.

Jareth looked over at the clock. "Speaking of time, let's see how your coach is doing, shall we?" he said, summoning a
crystal. The wrestlers and the goblins gathered around and watched as the coach put a firey into a headlock.

"Go Coach!" yelled the wrestlers and goblins.

"He really needs a folding chair," observed Chuck.

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "Such a chair would speed up proceedings?"

"Oh yeah!" said Weasel.

Jareth focused on the crystal and a blue folding chair suddenly appeared next to the coach. The coach grabbed it and
started to systematically beat the fireys with it until the fireys ran for their lives. Whooping in delight, the coach ran off after
Hoggle toward the castle.

"See, much better," said Chuck.

"Quite." Jareth said, surprised.

Chuck looked around the room. "It's looking good in here."

"I must admit, it's the first time I've actually seen the floor in years," Jareth confessed.

A goblin, who was now wearing the tug-o-war sausages as a scarf, ran past.

"Pity you can't clean up the goblins," Dean said dryly.

Jareth looked at the sausage goblin with a raised eyebrow. "Who said that I can't?" he said arrogantly. "I am, after all, the
King."

The wrestlers grinned at him. "Go King!" they cheered.

Jareth laughed and walked over to the window ledge. Looking down, he dropped a crystal from the window. The goblins
and wrestlers gathered around to watch as the crystal fell onto the stones below. It bounced once, twice, and then
became a large stone tub, about the size of an average swimming pool.

Jareth turned to Squeak. "Have it filled with water. Everyone is going bathing."

The goblins looked at him, horrified.

"Don't do it, Majesty! Please!" wailed Squibble.

"Be merciful, Majesty! Send us to the bog instead!" Beep slurred in drunken desperation.

The goblins all nodded and fell to their knees.

Jareth waved his hand impatiently. "Come now, we must all make sacrifices if we want Sarah to become our Queen.
Lord knows I just lost a fountain and several of my favorite shirts," he said dryly.

There was a sudden commotion at the throne room entrance. The coach came running inside, swinging his folding
chair madly back and forth, a wild gleam in his eye. The goblins ran to greet him but he batted them out of the way,
managing to hit Squibble so hard that he flew out of the tower window.

"I'm coming Rosalinda!" Squibble called out happily as he fell.

Skeep watched Squibble fly out the window and his little face contorted in rage. He ran toward the coach, his fork raised
menacingly.

"KIDNEYS!!" yelled Skeep, and stabbed the coach in the knee with his fork.

"KNEE CAP!!" yelled the coach, dropping the chair.

"Good work Skeep," Jareth said encouragingly. He walked over to the coach, who was looking at the fork marks on his
knee. "Congratulations, you have made it to the centre of the Labyrinth. You have won back your wrestlers."

"Way to go, coach!" the wrestlers cheered, patting him on the back.

The coach looked relieved.

Jareth raised his hand for silence. "As a Champion of the Labyrinth, we would like to present you with this goat as a
token of our esteem," he said rather sardonically, gesturing to the doorway where Ignor was leading in the wished-away
goat.

"Wow," said Weasel. "Free goat."

"He can be our mascot," Dean said dryly.

"Did the last Champion get a goat too?" asked Chuck.

"No," said Jareth, "the last champion is going to become my Queen."

The coach shuddered. "I'd rather take the goat."

"Trust me coach," the Goblin King said silkily, "the other option was never a possibility in your case."

The coach gave a reluctant smile. "Well," he said heartily, "I won't say that it was a pleasure because that would be a big
fat lie. But it certainly wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be." He looked at his wrestlers. "We have a contest
tomorrow. Can we go home now?" he asked the King.

The King nodded. "But of course." The King summoned a crystal.

"Hang on," said Chuck, "let us say goodbye first."

The wrestlers said their goodbye to the goblins who clustered around their knees.

"You did some fine stabbing today, Skeep," Chuck said encouragingly, "but the kidneys are a bit higher."

"Ok Man!" Skeep said happily, experimentally jabbing his fork in the air as high as he could reach.

The wrestlers turned to Jareth.

"Good luck with your date, King!" said Weasel.

"Yeah, let us know how it goes," said Chuck.

"Keep her away from that big lizard," Dean advised.

"Freezer alligator," corrected the blue-horned goblin.

Jareth grinned at them. "I shall. Many thanks to you all," he said smiling. He threw the crystal in the air and promptly sent
them Aboveground.

The goblins looked forlornly at the place where the wrestlers had been standing.

"Sad," said Skeep, still brandishing his fork.

The blue-horned goblin sniffed.

"Is it just me, or are the summons becoming increasingly odd lately?" Jareth asked.

"Weird," agreed Skeep.

Squeak came running into the throne room. "Your Majesty, the pool has been filled."

The goblins all groaned.

"Excellent," Jareth said rubbing his hands together. "Gather everyone outside."

"It's not too late to bog us instead of bathing us, Majesty," the blue-horned goblin said hopefully.

"The day is young," Jareth said pleasantly. "I could still do both."

Two Hours Till Sarah's Arrival…..

Jareth walked into the courtyard and groaned when he saw the pool; there were fireys frolicking in the water.

"What the hell are they doing in there?" Jareth asked Squeak.

"Heating the water, Majesty. How else would we have warmed it up?" asked Squeak.

Jareth gave him a scathing look.

"Oh, right. Magic. Sorry Majesty," he said penitently.

Jareth looked at the fireys distastefully. "They better not have left too much hair in the water," he muttered.

Jareth strode up to the stone pool. "Out," he ordered the fireys.

The fireys ignored him. "Come on in, boss man! The water's fine!" a fiery yelled irreverently.

Jareth looked at him scathingly. "Don't make me hurt you."

"Oh boss man, you need to chill," said one.

"Don't loose your head!" called another.

They all began to laugh uproariously.

Jareth made a small gesture and the fireys' heads flew off into the hedge maze. There was a sudden blur of black
feathers and Rosalinda came tearing out of the bushes, pecking furiously at the heads.

"Ahh! It's a voodoo chicken!" yelled one of the beheaded fireys as Roslinda viciously pecked him on the nose.

"YEAHHY ROSALINDA!" cheered the goblins.

Jareth smiled, a rather sinister smile. "Odd, but that chicken is starting to grow on me," he said in mild surprise.

The goblins cheered as they watched Rosalinda menace the heads. Jareth looked back at the pool and made another
quick gesture; this time, the fireys' bodies were suddenly ejected from the pool, thrown in all directions.

"No fair, boss man! You play rough!" one of the fireys complained, as he tried to remove himself from the top of a hedge.

Jareth ignored him. "Ignor!" he called. "Do you have the box?"
Ignor and four goblins came toward him, carrying the box of fabric softener that Sarah had given them.

"Here it is, Majesty," Ignor said happily, unpacking the box.

Jareth reached in and pulled out a bottle. "Pour the fabric softener into the pool," he commanded.

The goblins gleefully began emptying the bottles into the pool, the crisp scent of green apples filling the air. Inhaling
deeply, Jareth began to read the label. "Apparently, this product is guaranteed to make your clothes twenty percent softer
than all other leading brands of fabric softener." He looked up at the goblins. "See, only the very best for you, my fine
fellows," he said jovially.

The goblins cheered and continued to pour.

Jareth went back to reading the label. "Hmm," he said thoughtfully. "Apparently you should not get this product in your
eyes. Keep that in mind, won't you?" he said, addressing the crowd of goblins.

"Yes Majesty," they said, nodding solemnly.

Jareth put the bottle down onto the floor, and began flinging goblins into the pool. "Eyes shut, chaps," he said pleasantly.

Some goblins chose to jump in the pool rather than be flung by the King. Unfortunately, they typically landed on the other
goblins who were already inside, leading to a kicking, screaming, seething mass of apple-scented chaos.

"Majesty, are we allowed to drink the water?" asked one goblin.

Jareth finished flinging his final goblin and walked over to an empty bottle of softener. He quickly read the label. "It says
here that the softener is not for human consumption but it says nothing about goblins." Jareth snorted. "Anyone who can
survive goblin ale can survive fabric softener. Go right ahead," he recommended.

"Yeahhy!!" cheered the goblins. They cautiously sipped the water.

"Fruity," said Skeep happily, lapping the water from his hand, his rubber duck floating happily beside him.

Jareth looked over at Squeak who was pouring the last bottle of softener into the pool. "Squeak, I need to organize a few
things for this evening. Supervise the bathing," he said, turning to leave.

"Yes Majesty," Squeak said dutifully.

"Oh and Squeak—don't let them out until they are twenty percent softer," he said slyly.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Majesty," Squeak said solemnly.

One Hour Till Sarah's Arrival.

The goblins were gathered in the throne room. Their helmets were shiny, their clothes were clean, and their skin had
that just-bathed-in-fabric-softener-against-the-recommendations-of-the-manufacturer kind of glow.

Jareth looked over his apple-scented subjects and smiled happily. He cleared his throat.

"Hear me now. As you all know, Sarah is coming over tonight. You all like Sarah, don't you?"

The goblins nodded reverently. Skeep looked around the congregation to see if anyone disagreed, his little fork ready.
Satisfied, he turned back to the King.

"Now," said the King "for whatever reason, Sarah appears to like you too; a fact that would typically make me question
her mental health. However, she has also made it clear that she also likes me, so it must be a selective form of insanity
on her part." He paused and looked at them all. "So tonight is a very important night as I intend to ask Sarah to become
our Queen. Would you like that?"

"YEAHHY!!" the goblins cheered happily.

Jareth smiled widely. "Excellent. So let me say this quite clearly; if any of you ruin this evening for me, there will be dire
consequences," he said ominously.

"Like what?" asked one.

"Will you send us to the Bog of Eternal Stench?" asked Squibble.

"I'll send you to somewhere worse than the bog," Jareth said grimly.

"What's worse than the bog?" asked Ignor.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll create something worse than the bog"

"Like what?" asked Squibble.

"The Swamp of Perpetual Suffering," Jareth improvised.

"Oooooohh!" said the goblins in horrified glee.

"Sounds bad," said Skeep.

"What does it do?" asked the frypan goblin, completely fascinated.

"If you should even dip your toe into the Swamp of Perpetual Suffering, you will be turned inside out,' Jareth said with
relish.

"OOooooooooh!" the goblins said, clearly impressed.

"And then would you suffer?" inquired the goblin with the blue horns.

"Perpetually?" Squibble said hopefully.

"Yes, just as the name suggests," Jareth said sardonically. "So, pass on the word that by Royal Decree, anyone who
ruins my evening with Sarah will be dipped into the Swamp of Perpetual Suffering."

"Yes your Majesty!" the goblins cried and ran off to tell their friends. However, given the rather limited mental capacity of
the goblins, and their general excitement at having something new to fear, it was no surprise that their message
become corrupted with each telling, so that by the end of the hour the Royal Decree had become: "King says bring in
your frypans for a free buffing!"—a message that caused just as much excitement in the buffing-obsessed population as
the original decree.

Jareth, however, was completely oblivious to the desecration of his decree. He was basking in his sparkling-clean,
flower-and-apple-scented throne room. Looking around, he noticed the leprosy-encrusted frypan goblin sitting near the
throne.

"How are you doing, old chap?" he asked solicitously. "Only four hours to go before you're cured."

The frypan goblin gave him a thumbs up. That is, until his thumb fell off.

Jareth sighed. "Be sure to pick that up; we don't want Sarah tripping on it."

AUTHOR'S NOTE #2

Given that this is a bonus chapter, I'm happy to give you a break from reviewing.

Skeep runs into the room, brandishing his fork. "Review!" he says, sternly.

The blue-horned goblin clears his throat. "But Skeep, Lixxle said that there's no need because…"

"REVIEW!" yells Skeep.

The blue-horned goblin shakes his head. "No, she said…"

"KIDNEYS!!" yells Skeep, raising his fork menacingly.

"Better do what he says," the blue-horned goblin says warily, "he has a fork..."
*Chapter 11*: Chapter 10: The Date Part I
AUTHOR'S NOTE: First are foremost, many many thanks to those who reviewed! And I am sorry, so very sorry that it has
taken so long to update. The reason that it has taken so long to update is simply because this chapter became
exceedingly obese; at last count, it was seventy pages long. Seventy pages. Long. Frankly, I think I kept writing filler
scenes so as to avoid writing the adult-type touching scenes (as you may have noticed, I do not excel at adult-type
touching scenes). A very wise friend told me to cut the seventy-page mega-chapter into several smaller chapters, so that
all you good people would not develop an aneurysm trying to read it all in one hit. So this chapter is: 'The Date: Part I',
with the rest to be uploaded by the end of the week.

Now, I have received several PMs from people asking me to up the rating for the date. Trust me, that would be
disastrous. As a compromise, I have inserted many many gratuitous references to Jareth's crotch in this chapter. In fact,
this chapter is an ode to Jareth's crotch. And leather. And a combination of the two. Speaking of which, to get a visual of
the 'bordello jumpsuit' that Jareth wears in this chapter, rush to deviant art and check out the pics "Wrath" and "Jareth:
Leather and Velvet" by Mercuralis. They are completely drool-worthy. If you ever need me, you'll find me in front of those
pics…

If you find gratuitous crotch references offensive, then you should skip...hang on, what the hell are you doing in this
fandom? (after all, 'the Area' really was a central character in the film...).

Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth. I do not own a leather bordello jumpsuit. I would probably avoid anyone who did. I
do not own Jareth's crotch.

Chapter 10: I saw my baby…in bordello lingerie.

Sarah stood in front of her closet and quietly began to panic. "I have nothing to wear to dinner!" she wailed, rummaging
through her clothes.

Oh come now, there has to b e something in there! her inner voice said encouragingly.

Sarah just shook her head and searched desperately through the racks of clothes. "What are you supposed to wear to a
formal dinner with a king?" she asked in alarm.

Something that can b e easily removed, the voice said wisely.

Sarah rolled her eyes and pulled out a pair of black dress pants and a black satin top. "How about this?" she asked,
holding it against her as she stood in front of the mirror.

The inner voice raised an eyebrow. It's great…if you were aiming to look like a stick of licorice.

Sarah groaned and threw the items onto her bed.

Wise idea, the voice said knowingly. Licorice is not the most sultry of candy.

"What about this?" she said a little desperately, holding up a black long-sleeved, floor-length, turtle-necked gown.

The inner voice looked critically at the severely cut gown and noted that it showed off no skin whatsoever. So…how long
have you b een in the nunnery, Sister Sarah?

Sarah looked at her reflection mournfully. "You're right, this dress is terrible."

Beyond terrib le. It positively reeks of self-loathing.

Sarah threw her hands up in defeat. "That's it; I'm wearing what I have on. Jareth will just have to love me for my mind."

The inner voice looked at Sarah in her Princess t-shirt and her track pants and patted her shoulder comfortingly. Jareth
won't care what you are wearing on the outside.

Sarah smiled gratefully at her inner voice.

He'll b e more interested in the b ordello lingerie that you're wearing underneath.

Sarah put her head in her hands and groaned. "You are not helping matters!"
Here, let me try and find something for you to wear, the voice said happily. I love makeovers! The inner voice pursed her
lips. How ab out we start with the b lack halter top?

"Ok," said Sarah, removing her hands from her face and taking the top from the closet.

And the b lack knee-high b oots.

"Ok," said Sarah, a little dubiously.

Now, the voice said, looking frantically around the closet, where do you keep your hotpants?

Sarah stared at the voice in shock. "Hotpants? What hotpants?"

The voice sighed, exasperated. Fine then, how ab out mini-skirts?

Sarah just looked at the voice as if it were crazed.

Unfazed, the voice kept searching. Or something leather, particularly if it has a fringe or tassels.

Sarah looked at the voice incredulously. "What are you? A fashion stylist to strippers? I'm going to dinner with Jareth in
the Goblin City, not dinner with a drug dealer in Vegas!" She put the top back in the closet. "For the record, hotpants are
out. Mini-skirts are out. And while we are at it, so are sequins, anything fishnet, leather, or tasseled."

The inner voice looked horrified. You've got to give me something to work with here!

"You're fired," Sarah said firmly.

Her inner voice pouted.

Sarah sighed. "Look, if you want to help, you have to stop seeing tonight from an X-rated perspective. Imagine that, once
upon a time, a fairytale king asked a young woman to dine with him in his castle. What would that woman be wearing?
And just keep in mind that there were no hotpants in the Brothers Grimm," she said sternly.

The inner snorted. With good reason. Most of the heroines in those stories were peasant girls. They prob ab ly used to
crack walnuts b etween their large, muscular thighs for kicks. The voice shuddered, and then peered curiously at the back
of the closet. What is that, way at the b ack? What's in the garment b ag?

Sarah pulled out the garment bag and unzipped it. "I forgot all about this!" she said in wonder.

Carefully, she pulled out a gown. It was red—not the color of wine, or fire engines, or apples, but the deep red of summer
poppies—and made of silk chiffon so light that it seemed to float.

Sarah gently touched the soft material. "I bought it to wear at a friend's wedding but I couldn't go because I had the flu. I
just put it away and forgot about it."

Put it on! The inner voice said excitedly.

Sarah quickly stripped and put on the form-fitting red silk slip, followed by the silk chiffon overdress. The gown gently
molded to the curves of her body before falling in soft folds to her calves. Sarah knotted the tie at her waist, and twirled in
front of the mirror, watching as the dress dipped and flared, continuing to float around her even after she had stopped
moving.

Now that is what a young woman wears to dine with a fairytale King! the voice said in satisfaction. It paused thoughtfully.
Then again, when the King is Jareth, you could prob ab ly just wear a smile and a sign that says 'Come and get me.'

Sarah rolled her eyes. She carefully removed the gown and placed it on her bed, ready to put on after her shower.
"Speaking of playing hard to get," she said, wryly, "I think we need to establish some ground rules for tonight."

I was going to b ring this up myself, the voice said approvingly. I was thinking something along the lines of: Rule 1—
Ravish the Gob lin King. Rule 2—Repeat Rule 1, possib ly varying the manner and location of the ravishing. Beyond that,
we can improvise…

Sarah took a deep breath. "Not exactly what I had in mind. But I do need your help…"

But of course! the voice said eagerly. I'm always here to help you in any way possib le! I'll happily give you advice and
encouragement throughout the entire night. In fact, I'll even hum the "Rocky" theme song for you just b efore you pounce
on Jareth in order to keep you motivated.

Sarah had a vision of herself pouncing on a surprised Goblin King to the accompaniment of the Rocky theme song and
she groaned. "Look, I know you are trying to help me. But given the way that you try to help me, I think that it would be best
for all concerned if you fell into some kind of coma tonight."

What?! the voice screeched. Surely you're joking! If I'm in a coma, I'll miss the adult-type touching! You can't do that to
me! I have so little in life—I'm a disemb odied voice for heavens sakes! Surely, you aren't going to b egrudge me the
voyeuristic thrill of seeing the Gob lin King naked? That would b e a crime against humanity. In fact, I think it is in direct
violation of the Constitution and the Geneva Convention, the voice said, horrified.

Sarah remained unmoved by the outburst. "The one thing that our little excursion to the lingerie department has taught
me is that you can't be trusted, particularly when it comes to Jareth. I don't want you taking over my body tonight when I
least expect it and doing something that will embarrass me. I don't want to be talking to Jareth about the weather only to
look down and suddenly notice that I am cupping his crotch."

Explain to me why that would b e a b ad thing, the voice asked, puzzled.

Sarah bit her lip and decided to try another approach. "Look, I have a feeling that tonight is going to be really important.
Not just a 'first date' kind of important, but a 'rest of my life' kind of important. I know that it probably seems rather silly, but
that's just how I feel. So if you screw this up for me, I will do everything in my power to thwart you, even if that means
marrying a stamp-collecting accountant who has a lisp and wears a pocket protector."

Nooooo! the voice said, shuddering. The voice took a deep breath. Fine! it said grudgingly. I'll stay out of things tonight.

Sarah looked at the voice sternly. "And?"

No cupping the Gob lin King's crotch when you talk ab out the weather, the voice muttered sullenly.

"Thanks," said Sarah gratefully.

Though if he is wearing leather, all promises ab out crotch-cupping are void, the voice warned. I just won't b e ab le to help
myself; it's like a 'call of the wild' or something. And not even the threat of a stamp-collecting accountant will stop me. Got
it?

Sarah suddenly remembered the delicious vision of Jareth, topless in her bathroom, wearing only his low-slung leather
pants and the feathered cloak. "Agreed," she said generously.

Jareth walked out of his bathing chamber and stood in front of his cavernous closet, wearing only a gray bath towel
around his waist and an expression of mild panic. "I have nothing to wear," he said to his inner voice in dawning horror.

His inner voice raised one eyebrow and looked meaningfully at the countless racks and shelves of leather, linen, velvet,
and silk. Your closet is as large as the hedge maze; you have the hides of a herd of animals on one shelf alone, and
there is more velvet in there than can b e found in the closets of all the females in the Fairy kingdom comb ined—how
could you possib ly have nothing to wear? the inner voice asked in amusement.

"Yes, but she has seen me in most of these outfits," Jareth said airily.

The voice snorted. Serves you right for changing every three seconds the last time she was here.

Jareth shrugged. "A villain has to look his best," he said with the devil's own charm.

The inner voice merely raised an eyebrow and continued to look inside the closet. "What about the blue jeweled coat?
You always look rather smashing in that."

Jareth shuddered. "Too many memories."

Ahh yes, the crystal b allroom. Well, how ab out the gold jacket?

Jareth stared at the gold jacket that sparkled away quite merrily amongst the grays and blacks of his wardrobe. "It's a
little over the top," he said dubiously.

When has that ever b een an issue for you? asked the voice drolly.
Jareth gave the voice a hard glance. "I don't want to look as though I am trying too hard."

Why not go naked then? Nothing says "I'm not trying" like nudity. It's just so casual…, the inner voice said sardonically.

"How would you like to be the first entity to test the new Swamp of Perpetual Suffering?" Jareth asked pleasantly.

The voice shuddered. Really, there is no need to b e so b arb aric. The voice looked around the closet again. Well, what
ab out that one? You haven't even worn that one yet, the voice said, gesturing toward an outfit at the back of the closet.

Jareth walked into the closet and pulled out a one-piece black leather jumpsuit.

"This one?" he asked incredulously, holding it up.

The voice waved impatiently. Well? Try it on.

Jareth sighed and with a gesture, he was wearing the outfit. He stood in front of the mirror and surveyed himself critically.
The soft black leather was tight…skin tight…and looked as though it had been poured over his lithe body. The top of the
outfit had a scandalously low v-cut that showed off a vast expanse of pale chest—far more than was typically shown in
his poet shirts. Unlike his other outfits to date, the v-cut dipped well past his navel, showing off his lightly muscled
abdomen and drawing the viewer's eye ever downward to…well….everything that was below.

In all its glory.

The soft leather molded lovingly to the contours of his lower body, showing the play of leg muscle beneath the surface as
he paced the floor in front of the mirror. A high-collared, black leather cloak completed the look, whispering on the floor
behind him as he paced back and forth.

Standing in front of the mirror, in that outfit, Jareth was aware that he was lust personified; even a glimpse of him would
be enough to conjure up thoughts of forbidden delights and carnal temptations. He incited visions of twisted sheets and
entwined limbs, hoarse moans spoken against flushed skin, and bodies arched in exquisite tension. It was, all things
considered, quite an outfit.

In actual fact, it was a bordello jumpsuit.

Good lord! said his inner voice. Were you drunk when you ordered that?

Jareth grimaced. "I had it made after Sarah ran the Labyrinth. I wanted a new look."

And the look you aspired to was that of a male prostitute?

"I was having something of a crisis of confidence, remember?" he said tersely.

Ah yes, the rejection.

"Thank you, yet again, for bringing that up," Jareth said testily.

So this was a way of asserting your virility?

Jareth smirked at his reflection. "I guess so."

Well, if it is any consolation, I'm sure that you will arouse anyone in a ten mile radius.

"That is absolutely no consolation whatsoever given who lives in a ten mile radius," Jareth said dryly. He looked out the
window at his subjects milling in the courtyard and shuddered.

Then you should prob ab ly move away from your window. Unless you want the guard to start swooning in a hormonal
frenzy… the voice pointed out helpfully.

Jareth moved quickly away from the window and went back to preening in front of the mirror. "Do you really think she'll
like it?"

The inner voice looked at Jareth critically. Sarah is a woman with a rich imagination. Though she wouldn't have to use
much of it with that costume, the voice said meaningfully.

Jareth turned to the side and stared at his reflection in shock. "Good lord! It really is quite obscene." He looked again.
And smirked. "Flattering, but obscene."
If you had paid her a visit in that outfit five years ago, we'd have had a queen b y now. And a few dozen heirs.

"Your confidence in this outfit staggers me," he said dryly. He looked at his reflection and shook his head a little
regretfully. "Well, given the tenor of the evening, I think that this outfit is inappropriate."

I disagree, the voice said thoughtfully. If the night looks like it is turning into a complete disaster, I strongly recommend
changing into this.

"A contingency plan is useful," Jareth agreed. He waved his hand negligently and he was wearing his towel again, the
bordello jumpsuit back in the closet. "But we still have the same problem; I don't know what to wear." He looked around
in frustration. "It's important that I give the right impression this evening."

And what impression are you trying to convey? the voice asked in amusement.

Jareth started to toss jackets out of his closet. "Romantic hero with a dash of virility." He paused. "And perhaps a hint of
danger."

The inner voice raised an eyebrow.

Jareth glared at the voice. "Just work with me."

Hmm, the silver jacket says "romantic hero", the voice said thoughtfully, gesturing toward a formal silver-gray velvet coat
with small silver crystals scattered along the cuffs, high collar, and lapels. Pair it with the matching vest and the gray silk
top.

Jareth held the coat up against him and watched the crystals sparkle in a suitably romantic-hero type fashion as they
caught the light. "I believe you're right," he agreed.

As for the dash of virility, wear the slightly tighter dark gray pants. The low-slung ones.

Jareth took the pants from the closet. "And the hint of danger?"

The voice shrugged. Smile that pointy smile of yours and leer down her b louse whenever the occasion presents itself.
That should do the trick.

Jareth laid the ensemble onto the bed. "That was already in the game plan," he said wolfishly.

You can never have enough leering, the voice agreed silkily.

The King and his inner voice smiled identical pointy smiles and nodded knowingly at one another.

Jareth looked up at the clock and grimaced. He then started to pace up and down the chambers.

The inner voice smiled slyly. A little…nervous…are we?

"Whatever gave you that impression, old chap," he said tersely, clenching and unclenching his ungloved hands.

The inner voice eyed him sardonically. Oh, just a feeling, it said, airily. The voice watched Jareth stalk the chamber. I
guess it's only natural; after all, you are going to ask her to b e your Queen tonight,

Jareth simply grunted.

A daunting task at the b est of times. Glad it's you, not me, the voice said rather cheerfully.

Jareth shot the voice a dark gaze. "You are practically begging me to swamp you—you do realize that, don't you?"

The voice waved off the threat. So, how do you plan on making Sarah consent to b ecoming your Queen?

Jareth snorted. "That's the problem. With Sarah, all my best laid plans come undone. If I planned not to make her my
Queen, odds are we'd be married tomorrow," he said scornfully.

True, you have spectacularly b ad luck where Sarah is concerned, the voice agreed. The voice thought for a moment.
Hmm, you'll need a foolproof plan then. The voice tapped its finger against its chin. Might I suggest that you start b y
feeding her delicacies to distract her from her surroundings? Then overwhelm her senses b y initiating a frenzy of adult-
type touching featuring acts of unparalleled pleasure that are as yet unheard of, or possib ly even outlawed,
Ab oveground. Then propose to her while she is either intoxicated or under the influence of hallucinogenic fruit.
Jareth gave the voice a black look. "Feed her, feel her, drug her? That's your plan?" Jareth snorted. "I only wish you had
as much faith in my abilities as you do in my leather jumpsuit," he said sarcastically.

The voice waved the comment aside. Oh, I have faith in you; I have no doub t that b y the end of the evening, she will b e
swooning in your arms. But she doesn't just have to agree to b e with you, Jareth; she has to agree to b ecome the Gob lin
Queen. Not many women would agree to that. The voice thought for a moment. At least, not while sob er, it amended.

Jareth groaned and walked over to the window. "Tonight, failure is not an option," he said harshly. "She has to say yes."
He closed his eyes. "I am almost fearful of what further lengths I will go to, what boundaries I will cross…what depths I
will sink…just to make her mine. If she says no…," he paused, his face turning harsh. "She has to say yes," he said
determinedly. "Now that I have held her, kissed her, tasted her, I can't go back; there is nothing there for me. I'll reorder
time for centuries until she agrees. I'll pull down the very stars to entice her into accepting me." He took a shuddering
breath and let the breeze coming from the window cool his skin. "One way or another, she will say yes."

Hmmm, perhaps you should wear the leather jumpsuit after all, the voice said dryly.

Jareth snorted and opened his eyes. He looked down and noticed that a small group of goblins had congregated under
his window and were looking up at him, wide-eyed. Some of them were clapping.

"What the devil are you fellows looking at?" he yelled testily.

Squibble merely pointed to Jareth's waist. Puzzled, Jareth looked down and realized that somewhere between removing
the bordello jumpsuit and pacing around his chambers, he had lost his towel, and was currently standing at the window
in all his kingly glory.

"Pants, King!" yelled Skeep. "PANTS!"

Jareth rolled his eyes and gave the crowd a mocking bow. The goblins cheered. Skeep covered his rubber duck's eyes
disapprovingly.

Jareth merely smirked. "Now get back to work, you perverts, before I swamp you!" he yelled, and turned back to his
chambers.

Show off, the voice said dryly. The inner voice looked out the window. Hmm, you should prob ab ly know that Squib b le is
still pointing, the voice observed. It appears that a sighting of the crown jewels has left the poor fellow paralyzed in shock.

Jareth sighed and with a wave, he was dressed "Wouldn't be the first time," he said, nonchalantly, adjusting his gloves.

The inner voice rolled its eyes.

Smirking, Jareth briskly walked over to his bedside table and removed a pitcher of water. He walked over to the window
and, with a flick of his wrist, flung the water over the ledge and onto the still-pointing Squibble. The goblin didn't move.
Pursing his lips, Jareth tossed the jug out of the window and hit the goblin right between the eyes. Squibble shook the
shards of pottery from his head, lowered his arm, and smiled in relief.

"Thanks King!" he yelled and went on his way.

Jareth rolled his eyes and moved away from the window.

Well handled, your Majesty, the voice said drolly. Well, let's just hope that Sarah is equally dazzled b y your husb andly
qualifications. It may b e the only way to make her agree to b ecome the Gob lin Queen.

Jareth was about to retort when his attention was caught by the Goblin King and Sarah figurines standing on his bedside
table. He was not surprised to see that Jareth Jr. was now dressed identically to himself in silver velvet finery. But to
Jareth's delight, the Sarah figurine was now dressed in a red chiffon gown and delicate strappy heels. Jareth smiled and
picked up the Sarah doll, twirling her around so that the red chiffon swayed and flared around her. He resisted the
impulse to check for tasseled bordello underwear, and instead gently ran his fingers through the doll's long soft hair. His
pulse began to quicken in anticipation.

"If Sarah wants me, but not my kingdom, then I'll find a way to give it up," he said decisively.

The voice looked incredulously at him. And then what would you do?

Jareth shrugged. "There's always pro-wrestling," he said jauntily.

Well, the voice said in resignation, you already have the pants for it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE #2: Stay tuned for "The Date: Part II—the Revenge", which will be coming to you just as soon as I beat
the evil out of it.

Jareth's inner voice sits sprawled on the throne, adjusting his leather gloves: "Review, precious things, and I'll make
Jareth wear the bordello jumpsuit for the rest of the story. Or perhaps you'd prefer him in just a towel? Or the leather
bordello lingerie that he keeps hidden in the back of his draw for special occasions?"

Lixxle shaking her head: "Oh no pal! If you think I'm writing a chapter where Jareth is wearing only bordello underwear…
perverted…caressing…hugging…leather…bordello…underwear… arghghhghghg!!…"

(Lixxle is experiencing technical difficulties. Please hold…)

*Chapter 12*: Chapter 11: The Date Part II
AUTHOR NOTE: Many thanks for the reviews! Here it is: 'The Date: Part II'. Be warned, this chapter contains adult-type
touching (though I tried to get it over with as quickly as possible).

DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Jareth's crotch. Oh…or the Labyrinth. Sorry, I was a bit distracted…

CHAPTER 11: No one can blame you…for indulging in some gratuitous adult-type touching.

Sarah sat down on her bed in her red gown.

And fidgeted.

And then abruptly stood up and started pacing around the room in her delicate strappy stilettos.

And stopped.

And looked down at her delicate strappy stilettos.

And grimaced.

"These are a mistake," she said critically.

They are a good strategic choice; a few inches of height will put you closer to eye-level with Jareth, her inner voice said
confidently.

"Why is that important?"

It will make it easier to ravish him.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "But I can't run in heels."

The voice snorted. Where will you b e running? You're supposed to b e running toward Jareth, not away from him.

"You can never be too prepared," she said stubbornly.

The voice snorted. He invited you to dinner, not a marathon. Sneakers are not particularly sultry.

Sarah sighed and continued pacing, her red dress fluttering around her.

The inner voice took a good look at her. Nervous?

Sarah shrugged. "Maybe. A little. Should I be bringing something? You know, a bottle of wine, some dessert…?"

…a b ag of b ordello lingerie? the voice supplied helpfully.

Sarah rolled her eyes.

Hey, he asked you to, rememb er? the inner voice reminded Sarah.

Sarah put her hands on her hips indignantly. "Since when do we do everything that Jareth asks us to? If the Goblin King
jumped off a bridge, would you?"

It would depend on whether or not he was wearing leather when he jumped, the inner voice said dreamily.

Sarah dropped her hands from her hips and shook her head. "You had better fall into that coma tonight," she warned
sternly.

The voice conveniently ignored the statement. There's no need to b ring wine or anything else, it assured her. You are gift
enough, the voice said wisely.

Sarah smiled gratefully at the voice.

Though, you would b e an even better gift if you were wearing the b ordello lingerie with the tassels, the voice suggested.
You'd b e the gift that keeps giving.
"Your coma starts now," Sarah ordered.

The voice conveniently ignored her. Do you think Jareth has b ordello underwear? the voice asked curiously. Something
in leather, perhaps? the voice pondered dreamily.

Sarah felt her knees give way and abruptly sat down upon the bed. Before she could scrape together a coherent thought,
she heard a familiar banging sound coming from her closet. She quickly jumped up and opened the closet doors and
out tumbled a small group of goblins.

"Hello Lady!" they said happily, picking themselves off the floor and lining up in front of her.

Sarah looked at them closely and blinked. They all looked—clean. Their armor was polished, their clothes fresh, and
their skin was…well, as rosy as goblin skin could be.

"My! Don't you all look nice!?" she said, bending down to hug them.

They all looked bashfully at the floor.

"Clean," said Skeep stroking his shirt in satisfaction.

Sarah sniffed the air. Green apples. "Have you been doing laundry?"

They shook their heads. "Nope, King gave us a bath," said Ignor.

"In fabric softener," said Squibble.

"Tasty," said Skeep, patting his duck.

Sarah looked horrified. "The King washed you in fab ric softener?" she said incredulously.

The goblins nodded happily. "The label said that we are now twenty percent softer," the blue-horned goblin said happily,
puffing out his chest in pride.

"Feel," said Skeep, holding out his arm to Sarah.

Sarah touched him dutifully and had to admit that he did feel softer than usual. Possibly even twenty percent softer.

"Well," she said dubiously, "as long as no-one was hurt…"

"Oh no Lady—we all closed our eyes, just like the King told us to," said Ignor.

"Though the frypan goblin lost an ear in the bath," said the blue-horned goblin.

"But we found it!" Squibble said triumphantly.

"It had fallen into his pocket," said the blue-horned goblin.

"Happens," said Skeep wisely.

"That's…good," Sarah said a little doubtfully.

"Come on Lady, we have to take you to the castle or the King will bog us," said Ignor.

"Or swamp us," said Squibble.

"What do you mean "swamp us"?" asked Sarah curiously.

"Swamp of Perpetual Suffering," said Ignor.

"It's new," clarified the blue-horned goblin.

"It turns you inside out," Squibble said with relish.

"Messy," said Skeep, straightening his Hawaiian skirt.

Sarah looked horrified. "When did you guys get this swamp?"
"Today," said Ignor.

"The King was busy but he still took the time to make it for us," said Squibble proudly.

"Which is thoughtful of him, really," said Ignor.

"Generous," said Skeep, nodding.

Sarah shook her head in amazement and decided to have a few stern words with Jareth about this swamp.

"We really should go now otherwise we'll be swamped. Or bogged. Or both," the blue-horned goblin said worriedly.

Sarah smiled at them. "Well, you guys had better lead the way," she said, gesturing to the closet.

Ignor shook his head. "Oh no Lady, not that way." He walked up to the bedroom door and reached for the knob. Twisting
it, he pulled on the door. "This way," he said triumphantly.

As the door opened, Sarah did not see her tidy living room before her, but rather the throne room of the castle beyond the
Goblin City. At least, she thought it was the throne room of the castle beyond the Goblin City. This room was
immaculately clean and decorated with urns of brightly colored flowers that gave off a soft spicy scent. There was not a
chicken to be found; instead, neatly dressed, apple-scented goblins lined the room, waiting for her to enter.

Sarah stepped from her bedroom into the throne room. "Welcome Lady!" the goblins chorused.

Sarah smiled widely. "Why thank you!" she said happily. She looked around her. "This room looks marvelous—you must
have worked very hard to clean it up."

The goblins shook their heads emphatically. "Oh no Lady, it always looks like this," said one goblin.

The others nodded in agreement. Except Beep. "It took us hours!" he said dramatically.

The goblin standing to Beep's left kicked him in the shins.

"Ouch!" wailed Beep.

"Accident," said the goblin innocently.

"Oh. Ok then," Beep said, mollified.

Sarah looked around the room, puzzled. "Where are all the chickens?"

"What chickens?" asked Squeak with a straight face.

"There aren't any chickens allowed in the castle," said the goblin with the blue-horns.

"We locked them in a room," said Beep conspiratorially.

The goblin standing to Beep's right hit him in the back of the head.

"Ouch!" he said, rubbing his head.

"Accident," said the goblin innocently.

"Oh. Ok then," Beep said, mollified.

Sarah looked at the goblins suspiciously. "You didn't go to all this trouble for me, did you?"

"Oh no Lady!" they chorused.

"Yes we did," said Beep. "All for you."

With a delicate motion, Skeep stabbed Beep with his fork.

"AHHHHH! My kidneys!" Beep yelled.

Skeep patted him consolingly on the shoulder. "Good," he said in satisfaction.

Squeak cleared his throat. "Lady, would you please follow me? I will lead you to the King," he asked courteously.

Sarah looked over at Beep who was trying to simultaneously rub his shins, head, and kidneys, and raised her eyebrow
at the surrounding goblins who were all doing their very best to appear earnest and innocent. And failing spectacularly.
She sighed and then inclined her head gracefully to Squeak. "Of course," she said, and followed him out of the room.

"What did you do that for?" Beep asked the others.

"We want the Lady to think it's nice here so that she stays!" said the goblin with the blue-horns.

The others nodded. "The Lady won't throw us in the bog."

"Or the swamp," said a small beaky goblin.

"Or the bog then the swamp," said the goblin with the blue horns.

"And the King is nicer when she is with him," said Ignor

"And he is mad when she isn't," said Squeak.

"And has nerbus breakdowns," said Squibble.

They all shuddered.

"Oh. Now I get it," said Beep. He looked around. "Do you think she'll stay?"

"King will do it," said Skeep with conviction.

"You think so?" said Beep wonderingly.

"He can turn into a bird," pointed out a small goblin with a spear.

"Lady likes birds," said Skeep

"And he has magic and glitter," said another.

"Girls do like glitter…" said Beep thoughtfully.

"And he wears nice clothes," said the goblin with the blue tusks.

"King pretty," said Skeep.

"Yes but is he pretty enough?" asked Squibble, worried.

They pondered that for a moment.

"Yes," Skeep said emphatically.

The rest of the goblins looked relieved.

"Though we should probably keep an eye on them," said the goblin with the blue tusks.

"He may need our help," said the goblin with the blue horns.

"He does get a bit angry sometimes," Ignor agreed.

"Oh no, what if he bogs her?" Squibble asked, horrified.

"KIDNEYS!" Skeep yelled, holding up his fork.

Squeak led Sarah down a series of twisted corridors until they reached a large ornate wooden door.

"Here you are Lady," he said bowing.

"Thank you Squeak!" she said, smiling. Before she could reach for the handle, the door- knocker winked at her and the
door swung open. Sarah walked inside the dimly lit room and then stopped, mesmerized by the scene before her.
It was the crystal ballroom of her peach dream, but instead of being brightly lit and decorated with white gauze and pearl,
the room was in darkness, lit with thousands of silver candles that flickered like stars. Crystals floated throughout the
room like bubbles, reflecting the candlelight. It was as if she were standing in the starlit sky.

"How are you enjoying my ballroom, Sarah?" Jareth asked.

The voice—low, melodic, entrancing—seemed to be coming from all around her. Sarah looked around the room but
could not see him. "It's a thing of beauty," she said in awe.

She heard him laugh softly, pleased, and then felt a strong arm encircle her waist. Warm lips touched the sensitive place
behind her ear and she closed her eyes at the sensation.

"Hello, precious thing," he said softly, his breath warm against her cheek.

"Hello," she said, a little breathlessly.

He took her hand and turned her so that she was facing him. Sarah inhaled sharply when she saw him—he stood
before her, all lithe beauty and dangerous grace; a silver-clad fairytale shining in the candlelit room. But it was the look in
his eyes that set her heart pounding; he looked at her as if…as if…she were his last hope of heaven. It was a look that
made her feel a little lightheaded. She shook her head and desperately tried to think of something to say.

"I thought your invitation said that we would be having dinner in the formal dining room," she said feebly.

He smiled his predatory smile and brought her hand up to his lips. Brushing his lips against her knuckles, he smiled
against her skin. "Apparently the freezer alligator has taken up residence there. I thought we'd dine here instead. You
don't object, do you?"

Sarah shook her head, watching the crystals float around the room. "Not at all—I'd hate to disturb Waffle," she said wryly.

Jareth gave a short laugh and led her across the room to the cushion pit, drawing her down to sit beside him. Jareth
looked at Sarah, her red gown stark amongst the midnight blue and silver cushions, and smiled.

"You're looking lovely tonight, Sarah. Quite in keeping with the dress code," he said teasingly.

She inclined her head formally. "Thank you. You also are looking very well this evening."

Sarah knew that was a lie as soon as she spoke it; he was looking more than well. In fact, he was looking positively
delicious. She suddenly suspected that her inner voice wasn't as comatose as she would have liked when she heard
the faint strains of the Rocky theme song being played somewhere in the back of her head. It was accompanied by a
strange urge to lick the exposed skin of Jareth's chest just above his pendant. She shook her head and dragged her
thoughts back to the conversation.

Jareth inclined his head regally. "I thought I'd dress the part tonight," he said wryly. At Sarah's puzzled expression, he
gestured to his jacket. "Romantic hero," he said conspiratorially.

Sarah laughed. "I was wondering where the leather had gone." She gave him a deliberately appraising glance. "It suits
you."

"Many thanks," he said, inordinately pleased.

He reached over to a table that had been set up beside the cushion pit and picked up a bottle of what appeared to be
champagne. He gracefully poured the wine into two crystal goblets and handed one to Sarah.

Sarah looked at the glass and smiled mischievously. "Are you planning to get me drunk, Goblin King?"

"Just enough to lower your resistance to my advances," he said with easy charm, sipping from his glass.

Sarah laughed and took a sip, her eyes widening in delight. The wine was sweet and cold and the bubbles seemed to
hum over the surface of her mouth. She looked up and noticed that Jareth was staring intently at her lips. Unconsciously,
she licked them and his gaze turned dark. She shivered.

Jareth leaned closer to her. "Are you cold, my Sarah?" he asked caressingly.

She shook her head. "Ahh, no. It's actually quite warm in here," she said truthfully. With Jareth so close, and looking at
her just so, and the champagne bubbles dancing through her very veins, it was suddenly rather warm.
Jareth gave her a knowing smile, as if he knew exactly how warm it was becoming and the precise source of that
warmth. "Actually, it has been quite warm for this time of year," he said, his nonchalant tone belying the wicked look in his
eyes.

No! Sarah's inner voice yelled. Not the weather!

"Really?" Sarah said politely, trying unsuccessfully to subdue her inner voice.

"Yes," he said distractedly, still looking at Sarah's mouth. "It's much warmer than it should be so close to winter."

Must…resist…crotch cupping…said Sarah's inner voice tersely.

Sarah's eyes bulged. She took a quick look at Jareth's pants. They aren't leather, she mentally told the inner voice. So
you aren't getting out of our agreement. She then quickly gulped down a mouthful of champagne, hoping to subdue the
voice with alcohol.

Jareth raised an eyebrow as Sarah quickly drank down the contents of her goblet. He tilted his head. "What is that
expression you mortals use?" He tapped his finger against his chin. "Ah yes, 'penny for your thoughts'?" he asked
curiously, raising the bottle and filling her glass again.

"Ahh, it's nothing," Sarah said quickly, and took another swallow of champagne. Jareth's eyes narrowed over his
champagne glass as he took sip but he said nothing more.

The inner voice looked at Jareth's pants critically. Are you sure they aren't leather? You won't really know until you touch
them…, her inner voice suggested persuasively.

Sarah gave the voice a fierce glare. Cup it and you'll b e spending the rest of your days with an accountant, she thought
threateningly.

The inner voice sighed in defeat. Fine, I'll just b e over here…in a coma…if you need me.

Sarah sighed in relief…until she realized that she was still staring at Jareth's pants. She blushed fiercely and took
another gulp of champagne.

Jareth noticed her stare, and her blush, and was immediately intrigued. "Kingdom for your thoughts?" he said silkily.

To Sarah's dismay, she realized that there was no more champagne in her glass, and heaven knew that she needed
champagne to deal with the inner voice and Jareth's far too perceptive glance. Lots of it. "It's nothing, it's just…rather
warm tonight," she said lamely.

Jareth looked at her rather shrewdly for a moment and leisurely put his glass back on the table. He then dipped his head
and laid his cheek against hers.

"You're blushing, Sarah," he whispered low in her ear, his voice tinged with delight. He brushed his cheek back and forth
over hers, letting her heated skin warm his. "And given that I have been on my best behavior…so far…something else
must have elicited this charming blush of yours. What were you thinking of, my Sarah?"

Sarah inhaled sharply as she felt his eyelashes flutter along her cheek. "It's a long story," she said in a strained whisper.

She felt him smile against her skin. "I love stories," he purred, skimming his lips along the curve of her cheek.

Sarah inhaled sharply again and tried to figure out how best to explain the existence of an inner voice that forced her to
purchase bordello lingerie and ravish kings. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said ruefully.

Jareth lifted his head and gave her an amused glace. "Sarah, you are in the castle of the Goblin King, surrounded by
mythical, albeit typically imbecilic, creatures. Trust me, there is very little that I won't believe," he said dryly.

Sarah could not fault his logic. She sighed. "If you're still interested at the end of the evening, I'll tell you then," she said,
hoping desperately that he would forget all about it, or that she could distract him into forgetting all about it. Either would
suit her perfectly.

Jareth gave her a penetrating look and then inclined his head. "I won't forget," he warned.

"Damn," said Sarah ruefully.

He laughed and briefly touched her cheek. "Are you hungry?"

Sarah nodded. She had been too nervous about the dinner to eat much during the day.

"Good. I thought we would begin with something light to accompany the champagne, before moving on to the other
courses."

Jareth turned to the table and contemplated the several covered silver dishes that lay before him. He lifted the heavy lid
from one dish and revealed an ornately displayed selection of fruits of many different varieties, not all of which Sarah
recognized. Although the fruit appeared to be ripe and particularly delectable, Sarah was immediately on her guard.
There were, after all, a few too many peaches for comfort on that platter.

"Fruit," she said lightly. "How nostalgic of you."

She looked up and noticed that his smile was amused but also a little rueful. "I thought it high time that we buried the
past," he said quietly.

She took a deep breath. "So are you going to tell me which piece is drugged or am I supposed to figure it out for myself?"
she asked archly.

"Sarah," he admonished. "What's done is done. When you were in the Labyrinth, we both had our roles to play. I would
have hoped that we could have put those roles aside by now."

She sighed—apparently the fruit course was to be an exercise in trust. He looked at her intently and gave her a knowing
smile.

"None of the fruit is drugged," he said dryly. "I believe we are well beyond that. And besides," he said, smiling wickedly,
"having you unconscious would rather hamper my plans for the evening."

Sarah suppressed a shiver at his smile. "Fine," she said in mock resignation, "introduce me to the joys of drug-free fruit,
your Majesty."

He smiled and she caught a glimpse of…relief?…in his eyes as he turned toward the platter.

"Tell me, do all the runners get drugged peaches?" she asked curiously.

He neatly pulled two golden grapes from a large bunch. "If a runner is performing too well, then they will receive a dream,
but not all receive peaches."

He placed a grape in his mouth, testing its sweetness. When it met with his approval, he offered the second grape to
Sarah. She reached for it, but he pulled it away teasingly, and instead pressed it against her bottom lip. She opened her
mouth and he placed the grape between her lips and slowly eased it inside her mouth. Sarah bit into the grape and
sighed with pleasure; it was sweet with a faint aftertaste of honey. Jareth smiled at her obvious enjoyment and fed her
another grape from the bunch, again teasing it against her lips before letting her take it. As she chewed the grape, she
thought over what he had just said.

"So, hang on, what do you mean that not all runners get peaches?" she asked, taking another grape from him.

Jareth finished eating his grape before answering. "There are different types of dreams and each fruit represents a
particular kind of dream; I match the dream to the runner."

"So…for example?" she asked.

Jareth pulled a plump, ripe strawberry from the platter. "On occasion, runners are children who have wished away a
friend or sibling. They receive strawberries and innocent dreams of childish escapades."

Jareth took the strawberry and brushed it along Sarah's lower lip in a decidedly non-innocent manner, and watched,
mesmerized as she pulled it into her mouth. Smiling his predatory smile, he conjured a crystal.

"Dreams such as this one," he said, holding the crystal before her.

Curiously, Sarah looked into the crystal. She blinked and then laughed in delight. Inside, Sarah and the Goblin King were
having a pillow fight in the firey forest. They appeared to be having a fiendishly good time.

She turned to him. "Pillow fight?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "As I said, it's a dream for children."

Sarah moved closer to Jareth to better see the crystal. With infinite care, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and
gathered her close. Together they watched the pillow fight unfold.

"You're cheating!" she said incredulously.

"Of course," he said, surprised that she would think otherwise.

She peered intently into the crystal. "Go Sarah! Beat that dirty no-good cheating King!" she yelled encouragingly.

Jareth looked smug. "There is no way she can win; it's my crystal."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said defiantly.

He gave her an indulgent smile and peered inside. And blinked. And looked closer. "How the hell did that happen?" he
said in amazement, as the Sarah within the crystal stood over a defeated Goblin King, pillow in hand, shrieking with glee.

Sarah laughed triumphantly. "Pure skill, no doubt."

Jareth snorted. "Most likely I let you win. Look," he said, pointing to the Goblin King who was laughing on the ground as
he defended himself against further swipes from Sarah's pillow. "There is no way that I would literally take defeat lying
down."

Sarah shook her head emphatically. "No way. I won fair and square! And to prove it, I demand a rematch—anytime,
anyplace."

Jareth raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that so?"

Sarah nodded defiantly. "Bring it on, Goblin King."

"Very well then, little girl. One month from today—you, me, this pillow pit. We shall see who conquers whom. In the
meantime, anticipate your imminent downfall," he said, smirking.

"In your dreams. Or," she said, looking at the crystal where Sarah was playfully hitting the laughing King with her pillow,
"not even there."

Jareth snorted at his crystal counterpart, who seemed to be quite content on the floor. "Come on, old boy! Get up and get
her! Where is your dignity?" he said incredulously.

Sarah just laughed at Jareth's dismay and rested her head on his velvet-clad shoulder. He smiled and placed his cheek
against her hair, and they watched themselves lying next to each other on the forest floor, looking up at the sky and
smiling.

"We look happy," he said a little wonderingly.

Sarah turned and looked up at him. "Are you happy right now?" she asked curiously.

He stilled for a moment. "Yes," he said in some surprise.

Sarah tried to hide a smile. "Your surprise isn't very flattering to my ego, Goblin King," she said mischievously.

Jareth gave a half smile. "It isn't at all surprising that I am happy when I am with you, precious thing," he said, brushing
his lips against her hair. "It's just that it is still something of a…novelty…for want to a better word," he said dryly.

Sarah gave him an inquiring look.

Jareth sighed. "Let's just say that my day-to-day surroundings are not particularly conducive to happiness. They are
conducive to anger and frustration and tedium and loneliness and the occasional outburst that leads to chicken-tossing
or leprosy."

Sarah thought about that for a moment. She then turned and ran her fingers gently over the crest of his cheek. "I'm glad
that I make you happy," she said softly. She briefly looked at the couple in the crystal. "Even when I am kicking your butt,"
she said smiling slyly.

Jareth rolled his eyes. Nevertheless, he turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm.

The light in the crystal suddenly went out and the vision of their pillow-fighting selves disappeared.
"Oh!" said Sarah in dismay.

Jareth laughed and picked up another strawberry from the platter. He held it up to Sarah's mouth. "I can bring it back any
time you like, love," he said, coaxing the strawberry past her lips and smiling triumphantly when she took it.

"Good!" she said, happily eating the berry. She looked down at the platter of fruit curiously. "Show me another one," she
said, gesturing to the fruit.

Jareth smiled at her, his predatory smile. He pretended to contemplate the fruit platter, tapping his finger against his lips.
He then picked up a blood-red apple and held it up before her. The apple was perfection—fragrant and shiny, topped
with a beautifully formed stem and green leaf. He then spun it leisurely in the palm of his hand, his eyes never leaving
hers.

Sarah stared at the apple, and then up at Jareth. She was more than aware of the fact that Snow White had given her life
for such an apple. Adam and Eve had lost far more. There was a hint of challenge in Jareth's mismatched eyes. Ask me,
his look said. Ask me…

She decided to indulge him. "So, who gets the apple dreams?" she asked.

He smiled in satisfaction. "Consenting adults," he purred.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Sarah said sardonically.

Jareth merely smirked and took a sharp silver knife from the platter. He began to cut the apple into segments with quick,
precise strokes. "It is somewhat clichéd for temptation to be offered in the form of an apple," he agreed, slicing the crisp
flesh of each segment into thinner slices. "Then again, it seemed inappropriate to offer carnal delights in the form of a
pineapple or, heaven forbid, some kind of vegetable," he said wryly.

Sarah nodded solemnly. "I'd be very suspicious of a carnal turnip."

Jareth laughed and placed the knife and the apple pieces back on the platter. He moved closer to Sarah, so that the
length of his thigh was pressed hard against hers, and summoned a crystal.

"Watch," he said, his voice a low purr.

Sarah peered inside and inhaled sharply. She cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. "That's a different look
for you," she said a trifle huskily, gesturing to the crystal.

Jareth glanced at himself dressed in the leather bordello jumpsuit, and looked back at Sarah. "I take it you don't
approve?" he asked, his voice deceptively nonchalant.

"I didn't say that," she said quickly, and then almost cursed when she realized how eager she sounded. She hoped
Jareth hadn't noticed. She looked up at him and stifled a groan. He had noticed and apparently found it amusing…and
something else. There was a hint of triumph in his eyes and…anticipation? She quickly looked back at the crystal.

Jareth knew what was in the crystal—he had tortured himself over that dream many a night. Instead, he turned his
attention to Sarah, savoring her responses as she gazed at the dream. He watched, transfixed by the way her lips parted,
and the slow flush that began to flood her cheeks. He watched as her green eyes became glazed and her breath
quickened, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Unable to resist, he reached out and slowly stroked the back of her neck
with one velvet-gloved hand.

Absorbed in the crystal dream, Sarah gasped at his touch. It certainly wasn't helping her composure. Sarah could not
help but thinking that there was something disconcertingly surreal about watching herself make love to a man whom
she had yet to touch intimately; a man who was sitting beside her, stroking her neck in a rather distracting fashion. She
felt almost shy about watching something so private, so personal, and yet the fact that she was watching herself …and
him…made it seem acceptably illicit. But then again, the fact that she was watching herself …and him…made the whole
scene almost unbearably erotic. Knowing that the crystal dream could in fact be a reality this evening made her
exquisitely attuned to the crystal Sarah's every response. When the leather-clad Jareth used his teeth to pull down the
thin strap of Sarah's black silk slip, she shuddered. When he licked a path down her bare shoulder, over her collarbone,
to the centre of her chest, Sarah unconsciously arched her back. The increasingly explicit caresses that the leather-clad
Jareth was lavishing on the crystal Sarah were in sharp contrast to the almost chaste caresses that the real-world Jareth
was bestowing upon her and it was maddening. She almost moaned when the crystal Sarah began languidly kissing
her way down the exposed skin of Jareth's smooth chest. Her mouth watered as Sarah let her tongue taste the curve of
his navel and the hard muscles of his abdomen. She was suddenly inexplicably envious of herself.
Just as her crystal self began to peel the skin-tight leather suit from Jareth's body, Jareth touched the crystal and the
scene grew dark. Sarah had to stop herself from groaning.

"I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise," he whispered in her ear with wicked humor. Before she could respond, Jareth held
out a slice of apple to her lips. "Do you want it?" he asked, his eyes dark and predatory.

Sarah licked her lower lip and leaned forward, but Jareth pulled the apple away. Sarah leaned forward to take the slice,
but again, he pulled it away. Sarah raised her eyebrow.

"Tease," she said dryly.

Jareth smiled his predatory smile and held the slice of apple out to her again. "If you want it," he whispered darkly, "then
close your eyes."

Sarah read the challenge in his gaze. Smirking, she closed her eyes and opened her lips expectantly. For a moment,
there was nothing—she was puzzled until she realized that he was simply looking at her; simply watching her sit there,
eyes closed, lips parted, waiting for him. Then she felt the slick slide of the apple slice being teased slowly over the
surface of her lips. She held her breath, waiting for his mouth to cover hers, but he did not move to kiss her. Instead, she
felt his velvet gloved hand thread through her silky hair, settling at the base of her skull, and slowly tipping her head back
so that the length of her throat was exposed. For a moment, she felt his breath against the base of her throat and the
muscles of her stomach tightened in anticipation. Then she felt the heat of his mouth slide slowly over her skin, moving
upward to caress her jaw. She felt him hover above her mouth, his breath scorchingly hot against her lips. And then, ever
so slowly, she felt him lower his mouth to hers and taste her.

At the touch of his lips, Sarah almost leapt out of her skin. After being teased by the erotic play in the apple dream, the
sudden drag of his tongue over her lower lip was enough to make her shudder, the champagne taste of his mouth made
her moan. Her responses seemed to spur him on; he tilted his mouth and deepened the kiss, devouring her mouth with
a passion that had her fisting her hands in his hair to drag him closer. She felt herself sliding backward into the soft
cushions and she pulled him down with her, entwining herself around him. He growled low in his throat and the kiss
became something wild and dark and it made her twist and writhe beneath him. She ran her hands hard down the
velvet-clad length of his back, and then lower still, and he shuddered and pushed her deeper into the cushions, bringing
her body hard against the full length of his. She gasped and he tore his mouth away from hers and began to trail wicked
sharp kisses down the length of her throat which he soothed with a brush of his tongue. Shuddering against her, he
rested his lips against the pulse of her neck and held himself there, still.

"Oh what you do to me, precious thing," he said hoarsely, feeling her heart beat against his lips.

Sarah arched beneath him and pulled his head back to her mouth. He gave a husky laugh, and merely brushed his lips
back and forth against hers.

"Shhh," he said against her lips. "Softly, now. Slowly. I have prepared a banquet for you, Sarah, and there is so much still
to savor. This is merely the beginning," he said soothingly. "In fact, there are still four more courses," he said wickedly.

Sarah closed her eyes and groaned. "Four?" she said in despair. How would she last four more courses?

"Four," he said grimly. "Trust me, no one regrets that more than I do. I should have just invited you over for a sandwich,"
he said sardonically, brushing his lips against her cheek.

"Do we have to have all of them?" she asked, reaching up and licking his lower lip.

He inhaled sharply. "Yes, we do—if you want your dessert. What would you like for dessert, Sarah mine?" he asked, his
voice a whisper as he grazed his lips along her jaw.

"Apples?" she asked hopefully, turning her head to give him better access.

He laughed huskily and brushed his lips against hers. "If you wish." He tugged teasingly on her bottom lip. "As many as
you want," he promised hoarsely.

As many as you want. Out of nowhere, a stray thought ripped her completely out of her passion haze. "How many of
these apples have you given out, Jareth?" she asked firmly.

Jareth looked up, suddenly wary. He waved his hand vaguely. "I certainly didn't give one to the Mexican grandmother," he
said teasingly.

"How many Jareth?" she asked tersely.

"Nor did I give one to the inebriated Armenian goat-herder," he added dryly.

"Jareth…" she said warningly.

He raised himself on his elbow and looked down at her. She was so fetching when she was jealous—all flashing green
eyes and flushed cheeks. He briefly contemplated teasing her further, just to glory in her response. But he noticed that
there was a stubborn gleam forming in her eyes, and a definite edge of defiance in the angle of her chin that did not
bode well for his adult-type touching plans later in the evening. He smiled his most charming smile.

"The question you are looking for, my Sarah, is not "how many apples have you given out, Jareth?" but rather "how many
apples do you intend to give out in the future, Jareth?"," he said meaningfully, taking his gloved finger and tracing the full
curve of her lower lip.

Sarah took a deep breath. "How many apples do you intend to give out in the future, Jareth?" she asked and swiftly
placed her fingers over his lips. "And before you say anything, I think it only fair to warn you that an incorrect answer is
going to hurt you more than it is going to hurt me," she said sweetly, rearranging herself so that her knee was poised to
inflict maximal damage to his person—should the need to inflict maximal damage to his person arise.

Jareth tried very hard to repress his smirk. He looked down at her and stroked her face. "Even without the threat of
permanent genital disfigurement, I would have told you that I have full intentions of retiring the apples."

"When?" she asked briskly, moving her knee against him slightly in warning.

Unfortunately, Sarah's warning had quite the opposite effect on Jareth. He growled low in his throat, and took her lips in a
hard kiss. And, just like that, they were back in that wild, dark place again. Her hands tangled back in his hair, pulling him
deeper into a long, drugging kiss; his hands dragged her body back against his, trying to fuse her to his very being. But
this time, it was Sarah who pulled away, pushing back his shoulders and staring into the lust-filled eyes of the Goblin
King.

"When?" she asked hoarsely.

"Now," he said fiercely.

"Good," she said just as fiercely.

He took a shuddering breath and gave her a rather pointed smile. "You really are quite cruel, Sarah," he said huskily.
"First you have me bog my fountain, now you exile my apples. I'm left to ponder—when will you be generous?"

Sarah smiled ingeniously. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I did let you keep the hedge maze…"

He inclined his head in agreement.

"And I did let you kiss me…" she pointed out.

He snorted. "It seems that our definitions of 'generous' tend to differ considerably."

"And I may let you kiss me again this evening…" she continued.

He lifted one elegantly arched eyebrow. "May?"

"May," she said firmly.

Jareth shot her a wicked look as he bent his head. He let his lips hover over the pulse at the base of her throat and then
slowly touched it with the tip of his tongue. He felt Sarah inhale sharply at the contact and he smiled against her throat.
He leisurely trailed his lips upward along the curve of her neck, over her jaw, and slowly dragged his lower lip over hers.

"May?" he asked huskily. "Or will?"

She looked up at him and saw triumph in his eyes and an expectation that she would simply succumb to his caresses.
She took a deep breath. "May," she said firmly. "Depending, of course, on the next piece of fruit you show me," she said
archly.

Jareth's eyes narrowed but his lips quirked. He gracefully sat up, bringing her with him so that they were back to sitting
against the cushions.

"Then let's continue, shall we?" he said solicitously, as if he had not been coaxing her into wickedly carnal acts just a
moment earlier.

"By all means," she said as lightly as possible, trying to match his calm while steadfastly trying to ignore the wild
clamoring jungle beat of her hormones. She busied herself by smoothing her skirt over her knees to give herself a
moment to compose her expression.

While she did so, Jareth looked at the fruit platter. "We've had strawberries and apples…I believe that leads us to
peaches," he said, taking one from the platter and deftly spinning it in his palm.

"I'm quite familiar with peaches," she said wryly.

"Not exactly," he said, continuing to maneuver the peach gracefully from hand to hand. He then took the silver knife and
began to cut the spinning peach into segments.

Sarah looked at him puzzled. "What do you mean, "not exactly"?"

Jareth caught her look and smiled. "Peaches are always a ballroom dream; a vision of beauty and fairytale grace
designed to tempt young women, who are our most popular demographic," he said sardonically, inclining his head
toward her as he placed the peach segments and the knife back on the platter. He conjured another crystal. "Look," he
said, holding it before her.

Sarah stared inside the crystal and saw the masquerade ball of her dreams. She blinked and peered at it closer; there
was something odd about this dream. Something different. At first she couldn't put her finger on it, and then she realized.
The other dancers, just as beautifully attired and extravagantly masked as they had been in her own dream, were
behaving impeccably; there was no licentious behavior, no stolen kisses, or leering looks and certainly no adult-type
touching. Instead, they danced merrily, giving Sarah courteous smiles as she passed them. Sarah noticed that even her
own behavior was different in this dream; there was no frantic searching, no fear. Instead, she moved happily amongst
the dancers, entranced with the scene. She saw the Goblin King walk directly toward her—no hiding, or teasing in this
dream—and offer her his hand, his gaze polite. The dream Sarah happily accepted and the couple danced. Sarah
noticed that her dream self seemed to be having a splendid time, enjoying herself more for the pleasure of the dance
itself rather than for the illicit delight of being held in the arms of the Goblin King.

Sarah blinked and looked up at Jareth who was staring at her intently. "I don't understand. This isn't the dream I had."
She looked again within the crystal and understanding dawned. "Was this the dream that I was supposed to have?"

Jareth inclined his head. "Clever girl," he said approvingly and briefly brushed his lips against her temple. He turned
back to the crystal. "A dream is influenced by the desires of the dreamer, who is typically the runner. However, in your
case, there were two dreamers—you and I. I do not typically join the dream, but in your case I made an exception." He
brought his lips to her ear. "Let's just say that my desires when it came to the dream…when it came to you…were a little
more…decadent… and hence the scene was influenced accordingly," he whispered.

He touched the crystal and the vision changed to reflect Sarah's peach dream. She watched as the King's gaze turned
from polite interest to something that was intense and heated, his arms tightening around Sarah possessively. She
watched as Sarah's gaze became entranced, dazed by the pleasure of being in the King's arms. She watched as the
adult-type touching of the fellow ballroom guests became increasingly rampant.

"So hang on a minute—you perverted my peach dream?" she said incredulously.

"Yes," he said, completely unrepentant. He held out a sliver of peach for Sarah.

Sarah took the peach from his fingers. "You complete and utter deviant," she said accusingly as she slipped the peach
into her mouth.

"Yes," he said with a charming smile. He reached out and gently traced one gloved finger along her jaw, feeling the play
of muscles below her warm skin as she ate the peach.

"You so owe me," she said sternly, very conscious of that gloved hand moving against her skin.

Jareth smirked and held out his hand. "Shall I start making it up to you?"

Sarah sighed. "You had better—you've got a long way to go before I forgive you for that," she said briskly, and placed her
hand in his, letting him draw her to her feet. He smirked and led her through the candlelit room toward the dance space.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "for a split second, I almost offered Ludo the first bite of that peach. It would have
served you right," she said impishly.
He threw back his head and laughed. "That is probably the only thing that went my way during your run," he said wryly.

Jareth turned to face her and she placed her hand on his shoulder, her palm resting on soft silver velvet. The music
began; haunting, enchanting, familiar. As he swept her expertly along the dance floor, she had the oddest sense of déjà
vu, which wasn't at all surprising; through dangers untold and hardship unnumbered, she had fought her way through
the Labyrinth, college, gainful employment, and several unfulfilling relationships only to find herself back in the castle
beyond the Goblin City, dancing in the arms of the Goblin King. It was almost as if Fate had picked up the loose threads
of her life and had woven them back together with his. The thought was, in a strange way, comforting, and Sarah found
herself stepping closer to Jareth and resting her head against his shoulder. She felt him sigh and pull her against him,
till she could feel the hard planes of his body beneath the soft velvet. Turning her cheek against his jacket, she closed
her eyes and let him lead her effortlessly in ever dizzying circles around the room until she felt as though she was
weightless, until she felt as though she was floating.

Floating.

She opened her eyes and gasped. They were floating, moving gracefully amongst the crystals suspended high in the
room. Jareth smiled at her amazement.

"Don't worry, precious thing," he said, "I won't let you fall."

"I still have that skillet," she warned.

"Probably hidden somewhere on your person," he said dryly.

She smiled, but he still felt the tension in her body. He had forgotten that she was not accustomed to the joys of flying,
and made a mental note to introduce them to her. Slowly, carefully, he shifted their stance, bringing her hands around
his waist, and enfolding her in his arms. He felt her relax against his body, felt her shift so that her cheek was pressed
against the bare skin of his chest, and he struggled to stifle the sudden fierce exaltation that poured through his veins so
hard and fast that it almost made him lose control of the dance and plunge them from the sky.

Sarah did not know how long they floated for; he could have reordered time and danced them through space for
millennia and she would not have minded. Her whole focus had narrowed down to the way that his arms wrapped
around her body as they floated across the room, the heat of his skin beneath her cheek, the whisper of a song crooned
softly in her ear. She contented herself to simply trail her fingers along the planes of his back, and luxuriate in the gentle
velvet caress of his gloved fingers through her hair, over her cheek, and across her back.

The sheer unadulterated joy of the moment had Jareth enthralled, but there was something…something in the air that
was vying for his attention. Reluctantly, he turned his attention from Sarah and heard a strange scratching sound coming
from an antechamber door. Frowning, he listened a little harder. The scratching was getting louder. As he was about to
waltz them closer to the door, he heard an even odder sound. Almost like…chanting. In fact, almost exactly like chanting.

Sarah felt the sudden alertness in Jareth's body and looked up at him. He was listening.

"What is it?" she whispered.

He frowned. "I am not completely sure," he confessed. "But given my luck, it is bound to be catastrophic."

Sarah listened and suddenly she could hear it too. "Is that chanting?" she asked.

Jareth sighed and waltzed them both across the room to a large window. What he saw almost made him shudder.
"Good lord! What the hell is going on?!"

Sarah looked out the window and noticed a large mob, consisting of most of the inhabitants of the Goblin City,
congregated around the courtyard. They were holding torches and what appeared to be frypans and other pots. Although
it was, by very definition, a very large torch-wielding mob, they didn't appear angry or violent. Rather, they appeared rather
happy and excited. And they were chanting.

"What are they are saying?" asked Sarah.

Jareth looked perplexed. "They appear to be chanting 'buffing'," he said, bemused.

"BUFF-ING! BUFF-ING! BUFF-ING!" the mob yelled.

Sarah blinked. "Why are they chanting 'buffing'?" she asked.

Jareth shook his head. "I am almost afraid to find out. But I had better, before they trip over and accidentally set fire to
each other." He bent and kissed her, quite dizzyingly. "Stay here, love; I'll be back shortly."

Sarah grabbed his arm. "Oh no you don't! There is no way that I am going to miss this."

Jareth hesitated, but she took that brief second to entwine her fingers with his. "Come on, let's see what this is about,"
she said eagerly.

He rolled his eyes. "You are going to wish that you had never asked," he said shaking his head. He looked at the mob
and raised one eyebrow. "Then again, it could be good news—they could be here to overthrow me." He sighed. "One can
live in hope," he said dryly, gathering Sarah up into his arms and transporting them from the room.

As soon as Sarah and Jareth disappeared, the scraping noise behind the door of the ballroom antechamber became
louder…and louder…until it became a roaring scratching, squawking, b anging sound. Suddenly, there was a muted
crack and the door swung open, revealing…chickens. Lots and lots of displaced throne-room chickens who, to their
bewilderment, found themselves floating around the ballroom to the strains of a rather enchanting piece of music. The
chickens looked at each other and shrugged…it was better than being chased by a stiletto-wearing, fork-wielding goblin.
Contentedly, they began to practice their synchronized somersaults with the fervor of Romanian gymnasts…

AUTHOR'S NOTE #2: "The Date: Part III—Once More With Buffing" is coming soon to a computer screen near you. Right
in front of you, in fact. How is that for convenient…

Jareth, wearing his b ordello jumpsuit, gracefully spinning an apple in his hand : "Do you want it, precious thing? Then
review," he purrs.

Sarah comes in holding a pillow: "Hey you! Are you ready for our rematch because…why are you wearing the jumpsuit?
Hang on, is that an apple?! That had better not be an apple, Jareth!

Jareth, a trifle desperately: "Not at all precious thing, it's just a crystal …nothing more. And if you turn it this way…"

Sarah, rich in wrath: "Don't try that juggling act with me! That is totally an apple. That's it, you're dead fae boy! SKEEP!"

Skeep runs in, b randishing his fork: "KIDNEYS!!"

*Chapter 13*: Chapter 13: The Date Part III
AUTHOR NOTE: Oh thank you ever so much for all the reviews! And many many thanks for not objecting to the excessive
crotch references or the flagrant misuse of a fruit platter in the previous chapters. Now, here's 'The Date: Part III—Once
More with Buffing!' (btw there were b ig hints about the origins of the buffing in the last few paragraphs of the Bonus
Chapter. Never say that I didn't warn you…).

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Labyrinth. I am, however, a firm believer in buffing.

Chapter 12: It's only forever…and your time starts now.

In the courtyard of the castle beyond the Goblin City, a large frypan-waving, torch-wielding mob was gathering. For the
most part, they were having a wondrous time— they were enjoying the novelty of waving frypans, and the danger of
wielding torches in close proximity to others, and the overall jollity of chanting. However, there had already been a few
casualties; four goblins had been knocked unconscious by the enthusiastic pan-waving of their peers, and two others
were now missing eyebrows after a close-encounter with one of the torches. The fact that most of the mob members
had been drinking ale just prior to their trip to the castle meant that the overall mood was quite celebratory. On the
downside, it also meant that the mob was quite flammable.

In the throne room, the goblins clustered around the tower window, watching and cheering as the mob waved their pots
and pans in the air.

"BUFF-ING! BUFF-ING! BUFF-ING!" the mob chanted.

"It's kind of catchy, isn't it?" remarked Squibble.

"Maybe," said Skeep thoughtfully. He waved his fork in the air. "BUFF-ING, BUFF-ING!" he chanted. He stopped abruptly.
"Catchy," he said, nodding his head in agreement.

Unbeknownst to the distracted goblins, their King and their Lady had materialized directly behind them. To say that their
King was displeased was a severe understatement.

"What the devil is going on!" yelled Jareth.

The goblins jumped and turned around abruptly.

"Hi King! Hi Lady!" said Skeep happily.

Squeak cleared his throat. "Your Majesty. It appears as though a crowd has gathered because of the Royal Decree you
issued earlier."

Jareth thought for a moment. "From my recollection, the Royal Decree did not involve attacking my castle with kitchen
cutlery; it involved a one-way trip to my new swamp for anyone who ruined my evening," he said with cold malice. "Are you
suggesting that the entire population has developed a sudden desire to sample the delights of the swamp? If so, I am
more than happy to oblige them."

The goblins started to shuffle around nervously. "Ahh, about the Royal Decree…," began Squeak.

Jareth narrowed his eyes. "What did you imbeciles do this time?"

"We were a little excited…about the swamp…," began Squibble.

"It's hard to remember things when you are excited," interrupted the goblin with the blue tusks.

"Very hard," Squibble agreed.

"And it is also easy to mishear things when you are excited, so the message may have become a little mixed up…" said
Ignor.

"Very mixed up," Squibble agreed.

"How mixed up?" Jareth asked between clenched teeth.

"What started as a decree about the King threatening to throw us in the swamp…," began Ignor.
"…apparently ended up as a decree about the King promising to buff everyone's frypans for free," finished Squeak.

"BUFFING?!" Jareth said incredulously. "Buffing, buffing tra la la is the cause of the predicament? You imbeciles!"

Jareth could not trust himself to speak any further. He was very much aware of the fact that it was only a glass of
champagne, a midair dance, and a series of scorching apple-flavored kisses that was stopping him from bogging
and/or swamping every one of his subjects. Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, and then walked slowly to the
window. He leaned over the edge, and looked down at the chanting, pot-waving populous below.

"Well, I guess that explains why they keep chanting "buffing"," he said as nonchalantly as he possibly could.

"Catchy," said Skeep, waving his fork in time to the chants.

Jareth felt a touch on his hand. Looking down, he noticed that Sarah had placed her hand over his and had entwined
their fingers together. Meeting her gaze, Jareth noticed that her eyes were shining with laughter.

"This is not funny," he said sternly.

"Oh I think you'll find that it is," she said merrily, looking out at the crowd. Sarah leaned forward a little and suddenly
started waving. "It's Hoggle!" she said happily.

"Well that's improved my evening immeasurably," said Jareth sarcastically.

The dwarf, holding two pans, happily waved back at Sarah. He then scowled at Jareth, muttering under his breath. Jareth
smirked in return and, quite irrationally, felt somewhat better.

"What shall we do, your Majesty?" asked Squeak.

Jareth sighed. "Well, I could order them home, but I fear that they will revolt if I deprived them of their buffing," he said
dryly.

Squeak nodded. "They are very serious about their buffing."

Sarah looked down at the frypan-waving mob. "Can't you just…?" she said, waving her hand in a vaguely magical-looking
gesture.

Jareth looked at her hand gesture. "What? Kill them?" he asked, perplexed.

"No!" said Sarah, aghast. "You know, use magic," she said, making the magic gesture again.

He looked at her, amused. "So that hand gesture is supposed to denote the use of magic?"

Sarah nodded, making it again.

"Hmm, it looks more like a gesture for strangulation," he said dryly.

Sarah gave him an indignant look. "No it doesn't! It looks very magical."

He looked at the gesture critically. "Try flicking your wrist a little more. See?" he said, demonstrating a graceful magical
gesture rich in wrist-flick.

Sarah tried it again, with greater wrist-flick. "Better," he said critically. "We'll have to work on it."

Sarah smiled, flicking away. "So couldn't you just use magic to buff their frypans?" she asked curiously.

Jareth pursed his lips. "Possibly, seeing that killing them is out of the question," he said dryly. He looked over at the
crowd and made some quick calculations. He grimaced. "But given the events of the day, using magic to buff every
single pot will exhaust me." He bent his head and placed his lips to her ear. "And I can think of far better ways to expend
my energy this evening," he purred.

Sarah inhaled sharply as his teeth grazed her earlobe. "But isn't that what Kings do? Make sacrifices for their kingdom?"
she asked teasingly.

"Not this King. Not tonight," he said emphatically.

Sarah swallowed and felt her heart race. She swallowed again. "If buffing each pot would exhaust you, then could you
perhaps make something that could buff the pots for you?"

Jareth thought about that for a moment. "Clever girl," he said approvingly, letting his lips rest against her hair for a
moment. He then turned to Squeak. "Bring me an empty ale barrel," he commanded.

"Yes Majesty," said Squeak.

The goblins scattered and brought Jareth a barrel. Conjuring a crystal, he dropped it inside. The crystal spun around and
around, coating the sides of the barrel with glitter, and becoming smaller and smaller until it disappeared.

"Now, give me a pan," ordered Jareth.

A small goblin handed him a crusty, diseased-looking, frypan. Jareth dipped it into the barrel, held it inside for a few
seconds, and then removed it. It was now sparkling clean.

"Oooooooooooooooh!" the goblins crooned in awe.

"What's it called?" asked Squibble, reverently touching the barrel.

Jareth shrugged elegantly. "The 'Barrel of Constant Buffing', I suppose."

"YEAHHY BARREL!" yelled Skeep, waving his fork in the air.

"Would you care to make an announcement to your subjects about the barrel, your Majesty? They're all very excited about
the buffing," asked Squeak.

Jareth snorted. "Let's make this quick. Follow me with the barrel," he commanded. He raised Sarah's hand. "I'll be back
shortly," he said, brushing his lips to her inner wrist.

"Have fun," she said impishly.

He threw her a rueful look and left the room, the goblins following him with the Barrel of Constant Buffing.

Watching Jareth leave, Sarah noticed a blue fold-up chair near the window. "That looks a little out of place," she said,
pointing to the chair.

The goblins nodded. "It was for the wrestlers," said Squibble.

"Did you guys like the wrestlers?" she asked.

The goblins nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes!"

"They taught us this," said Beep. He picked up the coach's folding chair and, with a deft swing, hit Squibble in the back of
the knees, dropping him to the ground.

"And this," said Skeep, taking his fork and stabbing Beep in the vicinity of his kidneys.

"AH! My kidneys," yelled Beep, dropping to the floor.

"Oh no!" groaned Sarah, as she watched Squibble and Beep rolling around the floor in agony, Skeep standing over them
triumphantly with his fork.

"Good job fellows," said Jareth from the doorway.

Sarah gave him a pointed look. "You shouldn't be encouraging this!"

Jareth shrugged and moved toward her. "But Sarah, they have been practicing; it's rare for them to practice anything that
isn't ale or chicken-related. You have to reward such diligence."

Sarah shook her head. "But you are their King; it's your duty to stop your subjects from attacking each other," she said,
trying to reason with him.

Jareth sighed and crossed his arms. "Sarah, as a King, it's my duty to stop my subjects from attacking me. What they do
to each other is typically of less concern, particularly when you rule over a population that is near indestructible."

Seeing Sarah's skeptical expression, Jareth sighed. "Fine," he said begrudgingly. He walked over to Beep and Squibble,
who were still rolling around the floor. "You have my permission to get your revenge," he said to them regally. He looked
around at his clean throne room. "Just try not to get blood on the floor."

The goblins stopped rolling. "Thanks King!" they said happily.

Sarah watched in horrified fascination as Squibble sat up and bit Beep in the shin. Beep then reached up and poked
Skeep somewhere in the vicinity of his spleen.

"Pointy!" wailed Skeep, dropping to the floor, clutching his spleen.

All three goblins then diligently rolled around the floor in agony.

Sarah shook her head and turned to Jareth. "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind," she said wearily.

Jareth shrugged elegantly. "In my experience, the goblins are happy just as long as everyone is injured."

Sarah looked down at the throne room floor; all three goblins were wailing in pain, legs flailing in the air, Skeep's
stilettos occasionally injuring innocent bystanders who were crowding around to watch the spectacle. Despite their
wails, the injured goblins looked…pleased. She sighed. Perhaps there was more to ruling the Goblin Kingdom than she
had initially thought. She caught Jareth's gaze and noticed that he was looking at her smugly. She decided not to inform
him that he may have a point.

At that moment, Squeak came running into the throne room. "Ahh, Majesty?"

Jareth sighed and looked toward him. "Yes Squeak?"

"Ahh…we need your assistance."

Jareth sighed again. "It has only been moments since I fixed the last catastrophe. Surely you need longer than that to
make my life a misery?" he asked in a rather pleasantly menacing manner.

"Usually that would be the case, your Majesty. However, the goblin with the frypan hat put his frypan in the barrel…."

Jareth looked at Squeak blankly. "And why is that a problem?" he asked blandly.

Squeak cleared his throat. "He was still wearing it at the time."

"Of course he was," said Jareth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up at the clock. "And let me guess—he still
has leprosy?"

Squeak nodded. "That's right. We were wondering if you could put him back together, your Majesty. He's just in the next
room….well, most of him is."

"I expect that he is feeling a little under the weather," Jareth said dryly.

Squeak nodded. "Though, on the upside, his hat has been buffed to perfection."

"There is the proverbial silver lining," Jareth remarked sardonically, looking over at Sarah. She returned his gaze
sympathetically.

"You go right ahead," she said, briefly touching his arm. "I'll wait here."

Jareth shot her a grateful look and followed Squeak out the door. Sarah could hear Jareth yelling at the frypan goblin
from the next room. "You imb ecile! Ob viously contracting leprosy didn't increase your intellect."

The goblins walked across the throne room and stood around Sarah. "Are you having a good time, Lady?" asked the
goblin with the blue horns.

Sarah nodded. "A very good time," she said smiling.

They all looked relieved.

"Do you know what would make it better?" asked Squibble.

Sarah shook her head.

"Ale," said the goblin with blue tusks, holding up a tankard.

"Oh no," said Sarah shaking her head more forcefully. "No ale for me."

"But Lady," said Squibble, "you gave us so many delicious things. Cookies …"

"And ice cream…"

"And chocolate cake…"

"And potted plants…"

"So we want you to try something that we love. Won't you try some?" asked the blue-horned goblin.

"PLEASE!" pleaded Squibble.

"Just a sip," said Ignor.

"Tasty," said Skeep patting his small stomach.

"And then we will sing! The Rosalinda song, or the one about the man and his tractor," said Squibble.

"But we have to sing softly, or the King will bog us," warned the blue-horned goblin.

"Or swamp us," said Beep.

"No swamp Lady!" Skeep said warningly, his little fork ready.

"No, the King wouldn't bog or swamp you," Ignor assured Sarah.

"Pretty," said Skeep, patting her dress dreamily.

"PLEASE!?" said Squibble, offering her a tankard.

Sarah looked down at several sets of pleading eyes and sighed. "Ok," she said in resignation. "Just a sip," she warned.

"YEAHHY!!" the goblins cheered.

Sarah took the tankard from Squibble and brought it to her lips. "Cheers," she said dubiously and sipped. And grimaced.
It tasted as though someone had boiled a soiled running shoe in turpentine. As soon as she swallowed, Sarah felt a
wet, warm heat rush over her face—almost as if she had been slapped around the head with a large fish. Then she
started to feel dizzy.

"Everything's dancing," Sarah said dreamily.

Jareth entered the room and his jaw dropped. He saw his Sarah holding a tankard of ale and swaying drunkenly back
and forth, much to the joy of the surrounding goblins. He literally felt his heart stop.

"Oh lord no!" he moaned, running over to Sarah, manically tossing and kicking any goblin in his path. "Everyone out NOW
before I use you to road-test the swamp," he yelled harshly.

The goblins fled, dragging their tossed and kicked brethren out with them.

Jareth grabbed Sarah's shoulders and shook her gently. "Sarah, listen to me carefully; can you see me?" he asked,
peering intently into her green eyes.

"I can see time," Sarah said in awe, wiggling her fingers in front of her face.

"Here, drink this," he said urgently, conjuring a goblet of water.

Sarah ignored the glass and transferred her gaze to the Goblin King. "You're pretty," she sighed, touching his cheek.

"Yes, yes I know," he said impatiently. "Now drink," he urged, bringing the goblet to her lips.

Sarah giggled as she drank the water. She looked up at him again and gasped. "Did you know that your eyes aren't the
same color?" she asked in awe.

Jareth sighed. "I have noted it on occasion."

"Are my eyes the same color?" she asked, opening her eyes as wide as possible so that he could see them.

Jareth's lips quirked. "I believe so."

Sarah nodded, trying to look thoughtful. She then looked up at him again and giggled.

"You're pretty," she said dreamily, touching his cheek.

Jareth couldn't help smirking. "We don't seem to be making much progress, do we precious thing?" he said ruefully.
"Come, let's get you some fresh air."

In a heartbeat, they were standing in the King's formal garden, which was conspicuously missing one large stone
fountain.

"Now," he whispered in her ear. "Take a couple of deep breaths and all should be well."

Sarah nodded agreeably. With remarkable poise, she stood up straight, squared her shoulders, took a deep breath…
and promptly passed out. Deftly, Jareth caught her as she fell to the ground, and carried her to a large stone bench that
was surrounded by hedges. He sat down and carefully arranged Sarah on his lap, smoothing her skirt over her knees.
After checking to ensure that she was merely sleeping, he stroked her cheek and sighed ruefully.

"Needless to say, this is not how I thought tonight would turn out," he said wryly. He gently brushed her long dark hair
away from her face. "You have no idea what I had to do today just to get you here this evening—baby-sit wrestlers, bog
fountains, create swamps, decorate ballrooms, coax fruit to ripen…the list goes on." He sighed wearily. "And then all of
my best efforts are undone by one sip of ale." He snorted. "Tomorrow I'm replacing that stuff with fabric softener." He
paused. "I doubt they'll tell the difference."

To Jareth's delight, Sarah snuggled closer to his chest and sighed. Jareth ran his fingers idly through her hair.

"Although you would probably scoff, I was actually hoping for a little more conversation this evening before you fell asleep
in my arms," he said wistfully. "I do so enjoy our conversations."

Sarah only sighed against his chest.

Jareth looked around the garden and saw the large fountain-shaped hole. He grimaced. "I rather miss my fountain. What
do you think, my love—should we get another one?"

Sarah murmured something incoherent.

"Was that a yes or a no?" he asked her solicitously. He pretended to give the matter a great deal of thought. "Would you
prefer a statue instead?"

Sarah murmured sleepily.

Jareth nodded solemnly at her response. "You make a convincing argument. Statue it is then. What kind of statue would
you like? Perhaps one commemorating our reunion? You, of course, would be immortalized dressed in your bathrobe,
armed with your skillet. And I," he paused, realizing that such a statue would probably have to have Rosalinda perched
on his head, mid-attack. He shuddered. "Perhaps not. What would you like a statue of?"

Again Sarah mumbled something incoherent and snuggled further into the soft velvet of his jacket.

Jareth bent his head closer to her. "Forgive me, love, but I didn't quite catch that. It sounded a little like 'yak'," he said
smiling. He waited but Sarah did not say anything more. He shrugged. "If a yak is what you want, then a yak you shall
have. Anything you want, my love," he said, brushing his lips against her forehead.

Jareth sat back on the bench and looked up at the starlit sky. The moon had started to rise, full and silver, giving the
garden a silver sheen. A group of fairies flew toward the King and his Lady from a nearby hedge, lured by the vision of
Sarah in her red gown. They hovered around her, stretching out their tiny hands to touch the pale moonlit skin of Sarah's
cheek.

Jareth looked at them coolly. "Bite her and I'll bite you back," he warned pleasantly, smiling his pointy canine smile.

The fairies backed away fearfully. When they were safely out of reach, they gave him saucy pointy little smiles of their
own, and flew off giggling. Jareth laughed and looked down at Sarah again, and sighed in contentment. It went without
saying that this was not an ideal situation for the Goblin King; after all, Sarah was not even conscious. But from Jareth's
perspective, she was here, in his arms, and that was a definite improvement on the day before when she was not… and
the day before that…and all the days prior to this one in his long, long life. He settled back on the stone bench, content to
wait.

The first thing that Sarah noticed was that her cheek was pressed against the softest pillow she had ever felt. Really, it
was like velvet and it smelt divine and …strangely enough…it appeared to be breathing. Odd. Slowly, Sarah opened her
eyelids and found herself looking up into the concerned mismatched gaze of the Goblin King.

"Sleeping Beauty awakes, I see," he said drolly and smiled that half smile she liked so much.

She smiled back. She felt warm and safe and exceedingly happy, even though her brain felt oddly gelatinous.

"Is this a dream?" she asked him sleepily.

He smiled in delight. "We both know that this scene is a little too innocent for one of my dreams," he said wickedly. "And
although I am very fond of that gown you are wearing, after seeing the delightful contents of your pink lingerie bag, I
probably would have dressed you in something tasseled."

Sarah rolled her eyes, though her inner voice awoke from her fake coma to perform a jolly little I told you so dance. Sarah
ignored the voice and looked around the garden.

"What happened? How did I get here?" she asked, confused.

"You, my love, are the latest victim of goblin ale," Jareth said wryly.

Sarah groaned, remembering. "I only had a sip! Wow that ale is potent." She shook her head to clear it. "It was so weird
—I dreamt I was tossing a chicken. And I enjoyed it!" she said, bemused.

Jareth laughed. "There's an art to it. I'll teach you, if you so desire."

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," she said laughing. She sat up a little. "Where are we?" she asked, yawning.

"My formal garden."

Sarah looked around. "Didn't you say that the wished-away goat was living here?"

"Not anymore—he's now living out his days as a pro-wrestling mascot."

Sarah raised her eyebrow. Jareth merely shrugged. "I know—none of us saw that coming," he said dryly.

Sarah looked around and saw the large hole in the centre of the garden. "Is that where the fountain used to be?" she
asked.

Jareth sighed a long suffering sigh and conjured a crystal. Sarah peered into it and noticed the fountain sitting jauntily in
the middle of the bog.

"It definitely brightens up the bog," she laughed, noticing Jareth's pained look. "How did you get the fountain in there?
Magic?" she asked curiously.

"The wrestlers threw it in," he admitted.

"The wrestlers?" she said in surprise.

Jareth nodded. "Actually they were surprisingly helpful. The goblins really took a shine to them. I myself became almost
fond of them, particularly Weasel."

Sarah laughed. Jareth bent his head and brushed his lips gently against hers. "I am glad you're awake," he said
teasingly. "It makes having a conversation with you so much easier."

"I'm sure," she said ruefully. She was about to kiss him back when something in the crystal caught her attention. "Is there
a carriage in the bog?" she asked incredulously.

"The things I do for you," he muttered, and deftly tossed the crystal into the air where it promptly disappeared.

Sarah rested her cheek against his shoulder and trailed her fingers languidly along the exposed skin of his chest and
neck.

Jareth closed his eyes and purred low in his throat. "As lovely as the garden is, I think it's time that we return to our
dinner. There are still too many apples left on that platter for my liking," he said, running his gloved finger over her bottom
lip.

Sarah tried not to look too eager. "If you wish," she said as nonchalantly as possible.

Jareth looked at her knowingly. "Oh I do wish," he said in a low whisper.

He bent to kiss her but stopped suddenly, tilting his head as if he was listening to something. Sarah felt a shy tap on her
shoulder and she turned. A long leafy vine had unfurled itself from the hedge behind her and had curled around her
shoulder.

Sarah looked up at Jareth in alarm, but he was smiling. "Nothing to worry about, my love. It's just a present."

Sarah looked back at the vine and her eyes widened in surprise as a small silver flower appeared, blooming before her
very eyes. Its petals were gossamer thin, like dragonfly wings, and in its centre was a small faceted crystal that glowed
like a star. Sarah reached out and gently touched the petals with the tip of her finger. She gasped in dismay when the
petals disintegrated, falling to the floor like ash. But the crystal centre remained and fell, glowing, into her palm.

"Oh Jareth, it's beautiful! Thank you!" she said, stroking the small shining stone.

He laughed softly. "I can't take the credit—it's a gift from the Labyrinth itself." He snorted. "It seems that you are
universally adored here. The Labyrinth loves you, my imbecilic subjects love you, I lo-…" He stopped abruptly.

Sarah felt Jareth's body tense around hers. Her own body tightened as she waited for him to say something more. She
noticed that the breeze that had been moving through the garden stopped, as if it too were holding its breath, waiting.

Say something! Her inner voice urged. Or b etter yet, pounce. I'll get the music…

Sarah ignored the inner voice and took a deep breath. "Well…," she said slowly, "I love the Labyrinth, and I love your
imbecilic subjects, and I lo-…" she paused, teasingly.

She felt the tension slowly ebb from Jareth's body, and felt him exhale, slowly, as if he had been holding his breath for a
very long time. Released, the breeze moved through the garden again, caressing the leaves of the hedge. Gently, Jareth
took Sarah's hand and brushed his lips against the skin of her inner wrist. The look in his eyes made her heart lurch
almost painfully.

"Teasing minx," he said darkly.

"You started it," she answered cheerfully.

He laughed and touched the starlit stone in her hand; briefly, it glowed brighter in her cupped palm. When it faded, she
noticed that the stone was now set in a ring with an intricate silver band. Jareth took her left hand in his and attempted to
put the ring on her second finger.

"Hmm, it doesn't seem to fit," he said mock sadness. "Such a pity."

Sarah looked at him incredulously. "Well then try again—I have nine other fingers!"

He laughed and slipped it onto her third finger where it refused to go over her knuckle.

"Not this one either," he said in dismay, though there was merriment in his eyes.

Sarah gave him a hard look. "Keep trying," she said imperiously.

He gave her a pointy smile and tried her fourth finger. The ring fit perfectly. "There, all is well," he said in satisfaction. "And
here I was worried that there may be something lamentably wrong with your fingers," he said slyly, moving her hand back
and forth so that the star ring caught the light.

Sarah punched him in the arm. "How could you say that? You go and do something amazingly romantic and then…"

He interrupted her by kissing her joyously, and Sarah suddenly forgot why it was imperative that she continue to hit him,
especially since his kiss seemed to be saying far more than his words; it spoke quite eloquently about forever, and
happily-ever-afters, and copious amounts of adult-type touching performed in various intriguing forms. When Jareth had
determined that Sarah was far too limp with pleasure to raise her hand against him again, he broke the kiss and gave
her a haughty look. "I can not believe that you had the audacity to hit me. That, as you well know, is an act of treason, and
this time you shall be punished." He bent close to her ear. "I have a dungeon, you know," he whispered silkily.

"I'm sure you do, you pervert," she muttered.

He laughed softly against her ear and gently tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. Sarah began to tip her head back to
give him better access, when her attention was suddenly caught by a rustling in the bushes before them. Jareth looked
up, alert.

"What is that noise?" Sarah whispered. Looking over at the bush, she gasped—there were two pairs of red eyes coming
toward them.

"What the hell?" said Jareth. He stared and then groaned. "You have got to be joking…"

From the bushes emerged Rosalinda, five time chicken-toss champion, riding Waffle, the freezer alligator.

"Good lord, they've joined forces," said Jareth incredulously.

Rosalinda muttered a triumphant squawk that sounded suspiciously like "Charge!". Or it could have been "Kill!".
Regardless, the freezer alligator picked up its pace.

"Hold onto me," Jareth said to Sarah, gathering her close. Sarah wrapped her arms around his shoulders and shook her
head. "I can't believe you are being stalked by a chicken…who is riding an alligator," she said, suppressing a laugh.

"I'd actually approve of her thirst for vengeance if it wasn't directed at me," he said dryly. He looked over at Rosalinda.
"This isn't over, feather duster," he said grimly. Then he and Sarah simply disappeared from the garden, Rosalinda
shaking her claw after them.

Jareth and Sarah appeared in the throne room to a scene of such exotic chaos that Jareth didn't know whether to cringe
in horror or sit back in admiration. The flower-strewn, apple-scented room that he had so admired this afternoon was no
more; in its place was a scene so drenched in noise and bedlam that it took a while to even determine just exactly what
was going on. The room was bursting with goblins and other members of the kingdom who had originally come for the
free buffing, but had stayed on for the impromptu buffing festival had sprung up in the throne room. In one corner of the
room, a goblin was sitting on the rafters and pouring ale in the waiting mouths of about fourteen goblins who were lying
on the throne room floor below. In another corner, someone had located a string of sausages and a heated tug-o-war
contest was taking place between the goblins and the dwarves. Having run out of pans to buff, the goblins were now
throwing anything handy into the barrel, just to see what would happen. Skeep, clutching his newly-buffed rubber duck,
pulled a sparkling fork from the barrel.

"Shiny!" he said happily, experimentally waving it at kidney-height.

But what froze Jareth in his tracks was the sight of the blue-tusked goblin being strapped to a large barrel lid. "Good lord
no!" he said in horror.

Sarah looked at the row of tiles on the wall curiously. "Is that…?"

"WHEEL OF FORTUNE!" the goblins chorused.

"That's it, we're leaving," he said, pulling Sarah into his arms and transporting them out of the room.

As soon as Jareth and Sarah materialized into the ballroom, Jareth took one look around and thought longingly of
becoming a pro-wrestler. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why is it always chickens?" he asked in mild horror.

Sarah took one look at the scene before her and started laughing. Chickens were floating around the room in a sort of
elegant, aerial poultry ballet. Delicately they spiraled, clucking contentedly as they swooped to catch the pieces of fruit
that floated around the room along side them. Sarah doubled over with laughter as two ambitious chickens
somersaulted in unison toward a pineapple.

Jareth ducked automatically as the pineapple sailed toward him and pinched the bridge of his nose. I'm cursed, he
thought wearily.
Sighing, he gathered the still-laughing Sarah into his arms. "Let's try this again, shall we?" he said dryly.

"By all means," Sarah gasped, tears in her eyes.

When they appeared in Jareth's bedchamber, Sarah was still laughing. She looked up at him and tried to contain herself.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "It was just that the…chickens…and the pineapple…and…it's been a long day…sorry…" she
gasped as she doubled over again and shook with laughter.

Jareth wanted to laugh. He enjoyed laughing and the fact that Sarah laughed without having to be ordered to do so was
still an exquisite novelty. But today had been too much. There had been too many obstacles and too many defeats. And
there was still too much at stake. Sarah had accepted his ring, but did she understand what it meant? He cursed himself
for not making things clearer when there had been the opportunity—when the setting had been starlit, and romantic, and
free of freezer alligators, and homicidal chickens, and buffing-crazed citizens.

This would prob ab ly b e a good time to reorder time, his inner voice suggested helpfully. Or to put on the b ordello
jumpsuit. The voice looked at Sarah, who was now leaning against the window ledge and laughing joyously. Or perhaps
a comb ination of b oth.

Jareth's shoulders slumped. The situation was so completely beyond redemption that he doubted that even his bordello
jumpsuit could save it. He would have to reorder time, perhaps back to the ballroom and the apples. Focusing, he
started to gather in his magic…

Don't do it! said a voice.

Jareth blinked. So did his inner voice. Who the hell is that? his inner voice asked.

The new voice spoke up. If you love her, as you claim to, then why are you trying to trick her into staying with you?

Jareth's inner voice looked puzzled. That isn't your conscience, is it? the inner voice asked Jareth disdainfully. I could
have sworn that we took care of that limp-wristed cretin long ago.

"Obviously not well enough," Jareth said darkly.

Jareth's conscience ignored the inner voice and addressed Jareth directly. If you love her, how could you condemn her
to stay in a place that you yourself wish to escape? The voice said beseechingly.

Jareth hesitated.

The conscience noticed Jareth's hesitation and pressed on. After all, would a woman like Sarah stay in the Gob lin
Kingdom willingly? Even for yo—

The conscience's voice was cut off abruptly as a bag was thrown over its head. The conscience struggled until Jareth's
inner voice elegantly beat it into unconsciousness with a fold-up chair. The inner voice then briskly dusted off its hands.
Well, that's enough of that drivel. I'll go dispose of the b ody, you continue here. The inner voice threw Jareth's conscience
over his shoulder. Seeing Jareth's hesitation, the inner voice paused. Come on, old b oy! You have time to reorder, a
b ordello jumpsuit to put on, and a queen to seduce. Let's get to it, shall we? the inner voice said briskly, and walked off to
find a deep dark oubliette. And some piranhas.

Jareth looked over at Sarah, standing in the moonlight, laughing.

If you love her, how could you condemn her to stay in a place that you yourself wish to escape?

The words replayed themselves in his mind. His conscience was clever—he'd give it that; it was the one thing that
anyone could have said that would have made Jareth hesitate. Sarah— with her red gown, and flashing green eyes, and
fierce courage, and indomitable spirit—did not belong here, just as he did not belong here. As his queen, she would be
forced to stay here at his side and endure the trials and the tedium of the Goblin Kingdom. And who better than he knew
the toll that would take on her heart and soul?

After all, would a woman like Sarah stay in the Gob lin Kingdom willingly?

She might, he thought desperately. She seems to love the Lab yrinth, and those imb ecilic gob lins, and that moronic
dwarf. Though, he thought darkly, she had b etter not love that moronic dwarf too much or Hogwart would find himself
head-first in the swamp and…
He swore viciously, knowing what he had to do…even though everything in his body and heart and soul would fight him
the whole way. Truly, he had to be cursed…

Jareth's inner voice came back from disposing of the ill-fated conscience and looked at Jareth in mild horror. You're
going to let her go, aren't you? his inner voice said incredulously.

"Yes," Jareth thought tersely.

What the devil are you thinking?! the voice yelled. I leave you alone for one minute and look what you do! The voice
snorted. This is what comes from dressing as the romantic hero. This would never have happened if you had worn
villainous leather, the voice said peevishly. You would have had her in your chamb ers within the first five minutes if you
had worn leather…

Jareth took a deep breath and let his habitual indifferent mask slip over his features. "I believe it is time to take you
home, Sarah," he said coolly.

His words penetrated Sarah's laughing fit and she suddenly stopped. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself
down. "What did you say, Jareth?" she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

He clenched his jaw. "I'm taking you home."

Sarah's heart began to pound, but she tried to keep her face neutral. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked softly.

"It would be for the best," he said indifferently, adjusting his glove and not meeting her gaze.

Sarah's mouth went dry. She licked her bottom lip and noticed that his gaze flicked to her mouth, his eyes darkening. It
gave her courage. She stuck out her chin. "Best for whom?" she asked curiously. She walked across the room until she
was standing before him.

"Go Sarah," he said harshly. "Go home before it is too late."

Sarah ignored his tone and looked into his eyes—they were haunted. The sight made her inordinately pleased.

"You've been spending too much time with the false alarms, Jareth," she said mischievously.

She placed her hand very deliberately on the bare skin of his chest. He growled low in his throat but did not move her
hand. She took that as another good sign.

"And Ludo too, if that growling is anything to go by," she said slyly.

She placed her other hand on his cheek. He made a move as if to brush it away, but he seemed unable to do so, instead
covering her hand with his own.

"Given the chaos you witnessed tonight, you should take this opportunity to run away as fast as possible, while you still
can," he said, his tone cold despite the fact that his hand had enclosed hers. "Lord knows I'd run off to Nantucket if I had
the chance, even with the threat of certain death via escaped circus lion."

Sarah smirked. "Oh yes," she said cheerfully, "there have been hardships unnumbered on this date: I got stalked by a
chicken and a freezer alligator; I suffered a coma thanks to goblin ale; and I was almost exposed to goblin Wheel of
Fortune. But," she said, stroking his cheek. "I got to witness the first Goblin Kingdom Frypan Buffing Festival …"

"Truly, one of the great wonders of our world," Jareth said dryly.

"And a chicken ballet," she added.

Jareth snorted. "Which is about as close to a cultural event as the Goblin Kingdom is capable of providing," he said
sardonically.

"And a king hand-fed me grapes, and peaches, and apples. You can't feed a girl apples and then let her go, Jareth," she
said softly, tracing his bottom lip with her finger. She felt him shudder. She looked at him solemnly. "How could you ask
me if I wanted to go home? Do you want me to leave?"

"Damn it Sarah, I'm trying to be noble!" he said hoarsely.

"I think I prefer it when you are villainous," she said impishly, reaching up to brush her lips against his.
He closed his eyes at her touch. "You don't know what I am offering. That pretty ring on your finger will bind you to me,
and this Kingdom, forever. Which, despite what I may have told you on earlier occasions, is a bloody long time in the
Goblin Kingdom," he said in exasperation. "Forever is long, and lonely, and soul-destroying."

She tilted her head and looked at him. "But you'll be with me, won't you? How could forever be lonely if I'm with you?"

Jareth opened his eyes and looked down at her. She smiled slyly up at him. "No doubt it will be irritating and annoying
and frustrating. But it won't be lonely," she said wryly.

Jareth blinked at that and Sarah knew she had him. "And I really don't think forever will be all that long b ecause we are in
the Goblin Kingdom," she continued, stroking his cheek. "We'll be too busy teaching Skeep to read properly, and
collecting wished-away goats and wrestlers, and you'll teach me to toss chickens, and we'll plant an apple tree in that
big hole in your garden when the fountain used to be," she said persuasively.

Jareth looked down at her and sighed. He looked defeated and yet strangely hopeful. He was a king, after all—he was
only capable of so much self-denial. Sarah was oddly touched that he had even made the effort. She watched his newly-
developed chivalrous side start to crumble and decided to help matters along.

"Give me your hands," she said briskly.

Jareth raised his eyebrows at the command, but he was sufficiently intrigued to hold out his hands regardless.

Sarah began to briskly remove his gloves.

He tilted his head. "What are you doing, my Sarah?" he asked curiously.

"Well, if you aren't going to seduce me, then I may as well seduce you," she said gaily as she took off his gloves and
handed them back to him.

That's my girl! said Sarah's inner voice, and then went back to faking a coma.

Jareth looked at Sarah in surprise. "How delightful," he said, bemused. Without looking back, he threw his gloves out of
the window.

Sarah tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Now, I'm trying to remember how you seduced me during our shared dream the
other night. Ah yes," she said thoughtfully. "I think you began by circling me whilst giving me several seductive looks."
She put her hands on hips and, in her most imperious Goblin King manner, began to circle him.

Jareth threw back his head and laughed.

"Do you mind?" Sarah said in a mock stern voice. "Seduction is a serious business."

"My apologies," Jareth said, and repressed his smile. He watched Sarah's gaze travel over his body, lingering on his
long legs and the exposed skin of his bare chest. He felt his heart begin to pound. "And what would you like me to do as
you seduce me?" he inquired, his voice a little huskier than usual. "Act coy and a touch eager, perhaps?"

Sarah pretended to consider the matter and then nodded. "That sounds acceptable," she said imperiously, continuing to
stalk him. She tried not to smile as Jareth attempted to arrange his facial features into an appropriate expression…and
failed.

"You're not looking particularly coy," she said disapprovingly.

In fact, he looked rather wild, and dangerous, and quite hungry, and it made her shiver, and wonder for just a moment if it
was sensible to be circling a known predator in his own lair. Then she remembered the taste of red apples and decided
that being sensible in the presence of Jareth in his starlit bedchamber was bound to be a highly over-rated experience.

Jareth's eyes glittered. "You'll have to forgive me—acting coy it is not something that comes naturally. Perhaps I should
just focus on looking eager?"

Sarah inclined her head regally. "I guess that would be acceptable."

He inclined his head just as regally in response and smiled his wolfish smile. She looked up at him and decided that
eagerness was quite becoming on the Goblin King.

Sarah circled him once more and then stood before him. She pretended to ponder the situation. "After the circling, I
believe you took my hand," she said thoughtfully.
"I believe I did," he said caressingly.

She took his naked hand and brought his palm to her lips, just as he had done to her in their dream. She kissed it
slowly, and then placed his palm at the back of her neck, lightly running her fingers down his arm, and then moving to his
shoulder, pulling him closer. His mismatched eyes glittered in the dim room.

"And then," she said a little huskily, "I believe you took my other hand."

His naked fingers caressed the back of her neck and she almost lost her balance at the pure pleasure of feeling his skin
against hers. "I believe I did," he said softly.

She took his other hand and brought his palm to her lips. She closed her eyes and touched the tip of her tongue to the
smooth skin of his palm, just as he had done to her in the dream. She felt his fingers tremble. Smiling up at him softly,
she took his palm and placed it over her heart, and held it there. Jareth felt her heart racing against his palm and he
closed his eyes, savoring her response. Sarah moved her hand from over his and he splayed his fingers across her
chest, just as she had once done to him. He let his thumb caress the soft curve and she moaned softly. He inhaled
sharply at the sound, and then trailed his hand across her collarbone, tracing the long line of her throat, until his hands
were linked at the back of her neck.

"And then what, my Sarah?" he said huskily, his fingers caressing the back of her neck, and sliding under the heavy
mass of her hair.

Sarah shuddered and tried to focus. She swallowed. "Then you carried me to bed."

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "This should be interesting," he said, a glint of amusement entering his passion-dark gaze.

Sarah smiled wickedly. "I could carry you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but I don't think that's very seductive."

Jareth tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see," he said, and gracefully flung Sarah over his shoulder.

"Jareth!" Sarah laughed. "I'm supposed to be seducing you!"

Jareth ignored her. "Hmm, I see what you mean by this lift; it's a little barbaric, isn't it? Though…" he said, slowly running
his hand down the back of her thighs, "it does have its advantages," he purred silkily, leisurely caressing the back of her
knees.

Jareth felt Sarah inhale sharply at his touch and he smiled. "Though you are right—it's not particularly seductive," he said
teasingly.

Jareth carefully lowered Sarah back onto the ground; however, Sarah's knees, still tingling madly from his caresses,
promptly buckled. He caught her easily and picked her up, laughing in delight.

"Really Sarah, I'm not even wearing my leather gloves. Perhaps your knees are somewhat defective…?" he asked, his
tone tinged with false pity.

Sarah groaned. "My knees were fine until you came along!"

Jareths laughed softly and brushed his lips against hers. "Given the non-seductive nature of the shoulder lift, and the
apparent weakness of your knees in my presence, might I offer my services in transporting us to my bed?" he asked with
easy charm.

Sarah inclined her head regally. "Thank you, your Majesty. It would be much appreciated."

Jareth began walking to the bed but stopped abruptly.

"Damn those imbeciles!" he cursed.

"What is it?" she asked, a little dazed.

Jareth looked disgusted. "They are outside the door."

"Who?" she asked, confused. "Rosalinda and Waffle?"

Before he could answer, Sarah heard them, too.

"Can you hear anything?" asked a goblin who sounded suspiciously like Squibble.
"Has he asked her yet?"

"Shh!"

"But can you hear anything?"

"Shut-up!"

"No you shut-up!"

"Maybe we should sing for them—singing is romantic."

"Shut-up!"

"No you shut-up!"

"KIDNEYS!"

Sarah looked at Jareth and smiled conspiratorially. "I don't want them bursting in like the last time. Could you…?" she
said making her magic gesture.

The door disappeared. "Done," he said with satisfaction.

Unfortunately, although the door had disappeared, the goblins had not.

"Hey, where did the door go?"

"There was a door here, wasn't there?"

"Door gone."

"Just like magic, really."

"We should tell the King that his door has gone."

"KING! DOOR GONE! KIIIIINNGGGG!!"

Sarah stifled a giggle and Jareth sighed. With a determined step he quickly walked across the room and gently laid
Sarah down onto his bed. For a brief moment, he simply allowed himself to glory in the vision of her—her red gown stark
against the midnight-blue covers, her hair fanned across his pillows, her skin glowing in the candlelight. He felt like
dancing around the room in triumph…

"KING! DOOOOOOR GONE!"

…or stabbing Skeep with his own fork in frustration.

"Ahh, could you…?" Sarah asked, gesturing again.

Jareth bent his head and tasted the skin at the hollow of her throat.

"KING! DOOO—" Skeep's voice was abruptly cut off.

"Done," Jareth purred and promptly went back to kissing her throat.

Sarah arched beneath him. "You didn't bog them, did you?" she asked huskily.

"Oubliette," he said distractedly as he fanned her hair out along the cushions, arranging it so that it mirrored the many
visions that he had conjured of her over the years.

"But…?"

"Shh, I'm trying to seduce you," he said sternly.

Her lips quirked. "I'm supposed to be seducing you," she said just as sternly as he let his lips trail along her collarbone.

"We'll take it in turns," he said huskily, licking her pulse at the base of her throat.
"But…?" she said hoarsely.

And her arguments were lost as he began to kiss her in a manner that promised pleasures untold and delights
unnumbered, spanning all the days from now to forever.

"KING! DOOOOOOR GONE!" Skeep yelled.

The goblins suddenly realized that they were no longer in the castle, and took a good look around.

"Are we in an oubliette?" asked Beep.

"Looks like it," said the blue-horned goblin.

"Yes but it's the one with the window," noticed Squibble.

"Luxurious," said Skeep.

Ignor went over to the floor and pulled up a door. Fitting it into the wall, he opened it up and found not an exit but…

"ALE!" yelled the goblins happily.

"The King must be in a good mood," said Squibble in awe.

"Let's sing!" said the goblin with the blue horns.

And they did. The Rosalinda song—all fifteen verses, including verse twelve—repeated five times. But the strange thing
was, that even after five repeats of the Rosalinda song, the stars were still in exactly the same place in the sky.

"That's a bit odd, isn't it?" asked the frypan goblin, looking out of the window.

"Strange," said Skeep.

"Bet the King's been reordering time again," said Ignor.

"Why would he do that?" asked Squibble.

"Romantic," said Skeep, approvingly.

"Hmm, seems like he's reordered a lot of time," noted the goblin with the blue horns.

"Very romantic," said Skeep, patting his rubber duck.

In the bedchamber of the Goblin King there is darkness. And silence. On the vast bed, the midnight blue covers of silk
and stars are twisted around two moonlit lovers. Even in sleep, his arm surrounds her possessively; his lips graze her
forehead, his bare hand against her lower back, molding her to him. But the possessiveness is not his alone; her long
leg is thrown over his, anchoring him to her body, her cheek is resting against his heart, her fingers entwined in his
silver-spun hair. Their fingertips meet on a crystal that lies beside them, glowing with a shared dream. If you were to look
inside this crystal, you would see the couple waltzing across the sky, their feathered cloaks billowing in the breeze, as he
whispers something in her ear which makes her laugh and catch his lips in a kiss—a kiss that prevents them from
noticing the goblins falling, Rosalinda-style, around them, and the chickens performing synchronized somersaults just
to their left. Which, let's face it, is probably for the best—there is nothing less romantic than aerial goblins and
synchronized poultry…

AUTHOR'S NOTE #2. Stay tuned, there's a bit more to come…just a little more. And an epilogue. I still like the word
'epilogue'.

Sarah and Jareth's inner voices sit in the pillow pit of the b allroom, holding a crystal that shows Sarah and Jareth as they
sleep…

"It's about time!" Sarah's inner voice says in exasperation. "I can't believe that it took them so long to get together! How
many chapters is this—twelve?"

Jareth's inner voice nods regally."Indeed. If it were up to me, this would have been a one shot," he says sardonically.
Sarah's inner voice snorts. "If it were up to me, it would have been a 'one-line'. Something like…'Sarah walks over to
Jareth and says: "It's been a while, Goblin King. Jump me!".'

"Indeed," says Jareth's inner voice approvingly. He gives Sarah's inner voice a sly seductive glance. With a wave of his
hand, he is wearing a leather bordello jumpsuit.

"Come over here, precious thing," he says, silkily, "I have something to show you."

"Oooh," says Sarah's inner voice in delight. "Is it a crystal?"

Jareth's inner voice just laughs wickedly and reaches for an apple…and a pineapple.

(Look, don't ask me what the pineapple is for. Frankly, given how deviant those two are, I don't even want to know…)
*Chapter 14*: Epilogue
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many many thanks, as always, for the reviews. It appears that many of you are concerned about the
Chicken of Destiny/Freezer alligator alliance—I too feel a coup is coming and, at the very least, 'Goblin King
Assassination Attempt #16' is nigh. Though, they should know better than to mess with Jareth while Sarah is around—
she has a skillet. And her skillet is great…

Despite all the PMs I have received about the significance of the pineapple, I am really not going to ask what the inner
voices used it for. Let's just take it as a given that pineapples are the Karma Sutra of fruit (thank you for your expert
opinion on the matter, Natusko37) and we'll leave it at that.

Warning: This chapter contains leather-induced adult-type touching, as every chapter should, and the odd bit of crotch.

Disclaimer: The Labyrinth is not mine. No frypan goblins were harmed during the making of this chapter, nor were any
underage root vegetables used in an inappropriate tight-stuffing fashion.

Chapter 13: Labyrinth—The Bestest Story Ever (as rated by four out of five goblins)

Three months later….

"Gimme child," said Sarah, advancing on the Goblin King unsteadily in her stilettos. "For will is strong and kingdom is
big," she said with steadfast determination.

"Stop!" implored the Goblin King, holding up one yellow rubber-gloved hand. "Look at what I'm offering. Your dreams," he
entreated, holding out a snowglobe to Sarah.

Sarah was momentarily mesmerized by the snow falling on the sunbathing citizens of Tijuana within the globe. Seeing
her hesitation, the Goblin King continued. "Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave."

Sarah stared at the king and shrugged her shoulders. "Ok!" she said, and threw her arms around him joyously.

"That is NOT what happened!!" yelled Sarah, jumping up from her seat.

Sarah looked down accusingly at Jareth, who was lounging on his throne and roaring with laughter. Sarah turned back to
the actors who were standing on a large stage that had been erected in the middle of the throne room.

"You can't say that line, Skeep! That is not how it really happened! It's not accurate!" she said indignantly.

Skeep stood on the stage, looking perplexed. He was wearing a long dark wig and a little replica of the jeans and poet
shirt that Sarah had worn the first time she had entered the Labyrinth, with the addition of pink stilettos…and a fork.

"Not right?" Skeep asked, perplexed.

"No," said Sarah between clenched teeth. "Definitely not right."

"Not right," Skeep said, turning to Ignor.

Ignor was dressed in Goblin King finery—a fluffy white chicken-feather wig, tights, and a frilly white shirt. He adjusted his
rubber gloves so that they were no longer falling off his hands. "But we said our right words," he said, confused, holding
up the script of Lab yrinth: The Bestest Story Ever (as named by Squibble. Jareth claimed that the title made his teeth feel
soft every time he heard it).

Sarah raised an eyebrow and quickly flicked through her script. And frowned.

"So you did. Funny how the script keeps changing, isn't it?" she said scathingly, turning to Jareth who was adjusting his
gloves in a supremely nonchalant manner.

"Weird," agreed Skeep, stroking his wig absentmindedly.

"I agree," Jareth purred. "It's truly diabolical. Obviously the work of an evil genius."

Sarah snorted. "I wouldn't go that far. More likely the work of a petty totalitarian dictator."

Jareth put his hand over his heart and attempted to look innocent. "Really Sarah, you cut me to the core by calling me
'petty'."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Jareth, stop sabotaging the play," she said sternly, crossing her arms.

Jareth mirrored her stance. "My love, why would I sabotage this epic tale of love, goblins, and…lord help us… chickens?
After all, who was it that asked you to put on a play to assist the Goblin Literacy Program in the first place?" he asked,
inclining his head, patiently awaiting her reply.

"You," she said as graciously as possible through clenched teeth.

He nodded in acknowledgement of her reply. "And who has generously provided props, and costumes, and sets, and
spent his precious time listening to these quasi-illiterate imbeciles recite their lines while certain people were
gallivanting around Abovegound?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Gallivanting? I believe the word you are looking for is working. You may not be familiar with
the term, but it involves exchanging one's labor for currency," she said wryly. "After all, not all of us are lucky enough to
have minions and a treasury at our disposal."

Jareth snorted. "You're welcome to my minions—they are vastly over-rated," he said, pointing to two goblins who had
stuck themselves together while trying to glue leaves to the firey forest backdrop.

The newly-conjoined goblins waved merrily to Sarah, who obligingly waved back.

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Serves you right for gluing while drunk," he told them sternly.

The goblins shrugged and went back to getting drunk on the job.

Jareth turned back to Sarah. "You're also welcome to my treasury— why you insist upon working when I could give you
everything you desire is completely beyond my comprehension," he muttered.

Sarah raised her hand. "We've talked about this before—I enjoy my job and I just want another month of normalcy before
I throw myself headfirst into a fairytale. As it is, I spend almost every waking minute here, not counting all the time you
keep reordering."

Jareth looked a little mollified at that. To be honest, Sarah was no longer all that opposed to Jareth's tendency to reorder
time—in fact, she had rather come to enjoy hitting the snooze button on her alarm and getting three extra hours or so of
rest-time instead of five measly minutes. Which was time well spent when one woke up in the arms of a distractingly
naked Goblin King …

Sarah noticed that Jareth was looking at her with a particularly devilish gleam in his mismatched eyes, almost as if he
knew that she had been thinking about the pleasures afforded by three-hour snooze buttons. He gave her a lazily
seductive smile and Sarah felt a sudden flutter in the pit of her stomach. She quickly looked back down at the script, and
cleared her throat.

"So, what else have you changed today? Besides removing all the chairs from the ballroom scene," she asked the King
briskly.

Jareth snorted. "That chair was treasonous and deserved banishment—if it wasn't for that chair, you would not have left
the ballroom. If you ask me, the true villain of this play isn't me, it's that chair."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Well, thanks to your new chair-less ballroom scene, Skeep was forced to bust his way out of the
bubble using his fork."

Skeep waved his ultra-buffed kidney fork in the air triumphantly.

"Remind me to also ban cutlery from the scene," Jareth said dryly.

"Jareth," she said warningly, tapping her foot on the floor. "What else have you changed?"

"Lady…there's no tunnel scene anymore," volunteered Beep from where he was inexplicably painting the firey forest
backdrop a rather vivid shade of hot pink.

A goblin standing to Beep's right kicked him in the shin.

"AH!" yelled Beep. "What was that for?"

The goblin shrugged. "Habit," he said apologetically.

"Oh. Ok then," Beep said, mollified.

Sarah turned her attention back to the script. "You're right Beep! Where is the scene with the cleaners?" she asked
Jareth, flicking through the pages.

"Gone," Jareth said indifferently, picking up his riding crop and tapping it against the arm of the throne.

"Why?" asked Sarah. "That was an important scene!"

Jareth shrugged gracefully. "I didn't approve of it."

Sarah looked at him shrewdly. He was staring rather fixedly out the tower window. She knew that that was about as close
to an apology as she was ever going to receive for having being chased down a tunnel by a pulverizing machine.

"So what happens when we are in the tunnels? Do we even meet up in the tunnels in your new and improved version?"

Jareth turned to look at her. "Why of course, precious thing. Speaking to you in the tunnels was one of my favorite parts of
your run. Though, as you can see on page fifty-six, there have been some modifications," he said, gesturing to the page
with his crop.

Sarah quickly flicked to page fifty-six and read. And shook her head in disbelief. "You have got to be joking!" she said
incredulously.

Jareth tsked. "Don't be so quick to judge. Read it aloud—you'll find that it is a definite improvement on original events."

Sarah cleared her throat delicately. "Sarah b ats her eyelashes flirtatiously at the sinfully handsome king." She raised an
eyebrow at the Jareth. "When have I ever batted my eyelashes at you?"

Jareth snorted. "Not often enough—I'm rather partial to a bit of eyelash-batting." He gestured back to the script. "Do go
on," he urged pleasantly, waving the crop.

Sarah turned back to the script."Sarah says (in a sultry manner): "What's a gorgeous man like you doing in a tunnel like
this?"." Sarah rolled her eyes. "Were you trying to make me sound like a stripper in a B-grade movie?"

"You're a difficult character to write for," he said, a touch defensively. "Do go on, it gets better."

Sarah continued, against her better judgment. "The King says: "Why, I thought you might b e parched after your journey,
so I've b rought you some non-drugged refreshments. And b ecause I am feeling particularly generous, I may even give
you an extra hour to solve the Lab yrinth, precious thing". Sarah looks up at the King in rapturous wonder." Sarah glared
at Jareth."Non-drugged refreshments? Rapturous wonder?" she said incredulously.

Jareth waved his hand gracefully. "Oh there's more."

"I don't think I want to know," Sarah muttered.

Jareth continued regardless. "You are so full of rapturous wonder over the fact that I have generously provided you with
non-drugged refreshments and an extra hour that you try to touch me in an adult-type fashion."

"WHAT?!" Sarah choked out.

Jareth tried not to smirk. "I, however, manfully resist your improper advances—I thought it important to create some
sexual tension in the play," he said conspiratorially.

Sarah was too stunned to say a word.

The goblin with the frypan hat looked up from where he was hammering props—to the throne room floor, it turns out,
though he had yet to discover this fact—and turned to his king. "You gave her non-drugged refreshments and an extra
hour?" he asked in amazement.

"Generous," said Skeep, nodding happily and stroking his wig.

"How romantic!" sighed Squibble.

Sarah snorted. "Generous! Romantic! Ha! He took away four hours and tried to kill me," she said pointedly. "There was
nothing romantic about being chased by the cleaners."

Jareth waved his hand dismissively. "There are many ways to show love," he said lightly. "Some send their beloved
flowers or candy. Others send several tones of steel hurtling toward them down a tunnel. Who is to say which is better?"
he said, shrugging elegantly.

Sarah glared at him. "Remind me to come with you when you select my Valentine's Day present."

Jareth gave her a sharp smile. Sarah noted that Jareth seemed to be enjoying rewriting their history a little too much; in
fact, his smile was a little too…smug. Sarah had a terrible feeling that the tunnel scene wasn't the last of his
modifications. She quickly resumed reading the script.

"Hang on," she said, looking up at Jareth. "Where is Hoggle in the tunnel scene?"

"Gone. Actually, I removed Hoggle from the entire play," Jareth said with a triumphant smirk.

"WHAT?" screeched Sarah.

"In fact, if you turn to page twenty-four, you'll find that you now make your way through the Labyrinth with the aid of a
friendly chicken named Higgle."

"I was going to say that the play needed more chickens," said the blue-horned goblin.

The other goblins nodded in agreement.

Sarah shut the script. "That's it. Change it all back now. We have opening night in a week and I need the script to
accurately reflect what happened. Put it all back to how it should be."

Jareth lounged more comfortably on his throne, tapping his crop against his boot. "Really Sarah—where is the fun of
putting on a play if you can't improve upon reality? I rather like some of my amendments, particularly this new final
confrontation scene," he said, gesturing to Skeep and Ignor.

Sarah snorted. "I'm sure you do. I don't whip your butt in this version."

Jareth tapped his finger against his chin. "Funny, I don't actually remember any, 'butt whipping' in our first meeting. I
suppose we could insert some into the play, though it would mean upping the rating."

Sarah clenched her hands. "Change it back, Jareth."

He looked up at her with his most arrogant expression, which, it must be said, was spectacularly arrogant. "No, precious
thing. I'm sure the crowds will appreciate the extra romance. In fact, let's ask the audience, shall we?" He turned to the
goblins who were scattered around the throne room, building sets and props or wrangling chickens. "Raise your hand if
you like the changes to the play."

All of the goblins raised their hands. Jareth gave her an insufferably smug look.

Sarah looked at the goblins shrewdly. "Raise your hands if you liked the play the way it was before."

All of the goblins raised their hands again. Sarah shot Jareth an equally smug look.

"I'm confused!" groaned Squibble, dropping his face into his hands.

Skeep ran up and patted him on the shoulder consolingly. When it had no effect, he delicately jabbed Squibble in the
kidneys with his fork.

"Ah! My kidneys!" yelled Squibble. He sighed in relief. "Thanks! Everything makes sense now," he said happily.

"No problem," said Skeep, patting him on the shoulder again. He then shuffled back onto the stage.

Sarah bent down toward Jareth so that her lips were just above his ear. "You promised me last night that you would stop
tampering with the script!" she whispered.

"We both know that you tricked me into making that promise," he whispered back, looking at her shrewdly. "You were
wearing tassels when you made your request; you know that I can refuse you nothing when you wear tassels," he said
wickedly.
Sarah blushed a firey pink. Enchanted by her blush, Jareth dropped his crop and pulled her down onto his lap in a
heartbeat, pressing his cheek to hers, and savoring the warmth of her skin. She squirmed and tried to break free.

"You promised!" she said tersely.

Jareth pulled on her earlobe with his teeth. "I changed the script b efore you wrung that wretched tassel-induced promise
out of me, precious thing," he whispered low in her ear.

Sarah paused for a moment. "Oh," she said. She then resumed her squirming. "In your own words, 'what's done is
done'; you interfered with my script which means that you are still an interfering jerk." She squirmed hard on his lap.

Jareth laughed a little hoarsely and tried to hold her still.

"My love," he said a trifle unsteadily. "Do keep in mind that we are both wearing leather pants so squirming could lead to
all sorts of rather delightful outcomes that should not take place in a crowded room in front of a pack of impressionable
imbeciles," he said carefully, his voice a little strained.

Sarah paused. "I'm not wearing leather…" She looked down at her legs and groaned. "Jareth, I'm not the Sarah doll—you
can't just keep changing my clothes whenever you feel like it!"

Jareth smiled a rather predatory smile, and settled her more comfortably on his lap. "No love, you are not the Sarah doll
—you are infinitely superior with far more working parts," he said slyly.

"And you won't get to play with any of them unless you stop meddling with my script!"

Jareth only laughed. He deftly lifted her legs over the armrest of the throne, and then ran his hand slowly down the long
length of her leather-clad calves, idly caressing the sensitive places behind her knees. Sarah shivered all over.

"Damn you and your perverted leather clothing," she moaned.

Jareth smiled in delight and ran his lower lip along the curve of her ear and down the long soft length of her throat.
Almost against her will, Sarah closed her eyes and angled her head to better enjoy his attentions.

He gave a low laugh against her skin. "As much as I love you in those pants, I must admit that I am even fonder of the
shirt you are wearing," he purred softly.

Sarah opened her eyes warily and looked down. She was wearing a white t-shirt with Gob lin Queen To Be written on it in
pink glitter letters. She rolled her eyes.

"What happened to the Princess t-shirt?" she asked curiously.

"It wasn't accurate." He smiled and began to trace the letters with one gloved finger tip. "I'm very fond of this shirt," he
drawled, tracing the 'G'.

Sarah's breathing increased at the warmth of his touch through the thin cotton shirt. She cleared her throat. "You're trying
to distract me," she said unsteadily.

"Of course," he said unrepentantly, though his eyes were dark and hungry and his voice had become a little rougher
around the edges.

"You can't rewrite our history," she said huskily, trying to ignore the fact that his gloved finger was slowly tracing its way
across her chest, leaving her progressively more shivery and breathless with each letter.

"But of course I can! I am the King," he said arrogantly.

Sarah thought about that for a moment. "So by that logic, when I am Queen, I can just change things around too?"

"Yes," said Jareth without thinking, momentarily distracted by the fierce streak of joy that ran through his body at her
acknowledgement that she would soon be his bride.

Sarah laughed. "Oh that's going to come back to bite you, your Majesty! You do know that don't you?"

Jareth looked rueful. "Yes, I believe it will." He grimaced. "Lord knows what you'll do with unlimited power; replace the
bog with a nice pond, perhaps? Or order that the fingernails of each helping hand be painted a fetching shade of pink?"

Sarah laughed. "That will be fine—for starters…" she said mischievously

Jareth mock groaned and lazily traced the curve of the underside of her thigh with his palm, smirking a little when he
elicited a shiver. He looked at her archly. "Let's strike a deal—wear that shirt for the rest of the day and I will change the
script back."

"And help the goblins with their lines?" she bargained.

"Yes," he said solemnly.

"Without getting all impatient and throwing them in the bog?"

Jareth made an impatient gesture. "Really Sarah, you ask too much of me!"

Sarah sat up straight. "You can't keep bogging them all! Soon we will have no actors left. I've already had to re-cast Ludo
four times; keep it up and he will have to be played by Waffle."

Jareth shrugged. "That's no hardship; Waffle is by far the best actor we have," he said dryly.

Sarah decided to try another approach. "Whatever happened to being my slave?"

Jareth snorted. "That deal required you to fear me and do as I say. I've found little evidence of either."

"Hey!" she said indignantly. "You said fear me, love me, do as I say;I score one out of three. Surely that earns a little
slavery on your part? In fact, it suggests that you should be my slave for at least a third of the day," she said archly.

He gave her a wicked look and bent toward her ear. "But of course. And we both know which third of the day I would
happily be your slave, my love," he whispered low and dark and very very seductively in her ear.

Sarah recognized the look in his mismatched eyes; it was a look that she had initially associated with bordello jumpsuits
and succulent red apples and the giant velvet-draped bed of his starlit room. But she had seen that look often enough in
the past three months to know that it would also appear when they were alone in shadowy hedge-mazes, dark
oubliettes, conveniently-located broom closets, and now, apparently, in throne rooms.

"Oh no," she said shaking her head. "You just said that this place was too public for leather pants," she said a little
shakily.

Without a word, Jareth took his cloak and draped it over Sarah so that only her head was visible. "It's the King's
prerogative to change his mind," he said regally, though his eyes were dangerously predatory.

"Oh no," she said determinedly, trying to squirm out of his embrace.

Jareth bent his head. "It will be 'oh yes' if you keep squirming, precious thing," he whispered huskily against her cheek.

Sarah swallowed. "The room is full of goblins…" she said urgently.

"…who are completely preoccupied with helping the frypan goblin, who seems to have nailed himself to the throne room
floor," he said persuasively.

Sarah looked briefly at the commotion and noticed that the goblins were all huddled around the flailing frypan goblin. "It
won't be long before they free him," she said a trifle huskily, trying to ignore the fact that Jareth's gloved fingers had
slipped beneath the back of her shirt. He began to languidly stroke the bare length of her spine in such a marvelous
manner that she found herself arching under his touch.

"Given that Beep is trying to free him by painting him pink, I think we have more than a few minutes," Jareth said dryly,
eying her hungrily. He dipped his head and traced her jaw with his lips, as his other hand slipped under the front of her t-
shirt and traced slow circles over her stomach.

Sarah moaned softly. Smiling his predatory smile, Jareth bent his head and began to trace the delicate shell of her ear
with the tip of his tongue. She gasped at shock of his touch, then entwined a hand in his gold-spun hair and pulled him
closer.

He growled against her skin. "Forget about the play, my Sarah," he whispered darkly. "There is something I want to show
you…"

His voice—so beautiful, so full of carnal promises—made her shiver, made her heart pound, made her open her mouth
to cry "yes"…but then she looked up and saw the triumph in his mismatched eyes, and her passion-addled mind finally
registered his words. Forget ab out the play. That manipulative…!
Sarah untangled her hand from his hair and smiled sweetly up at the King. "I'm sure it can wait—after all, I doubt that it's
anything that I haven't seen before," she said dryly. She punctuated her sentence by squirming against his lap in a
manner that she knew, from previous experience, typically made the Goblin King feel particularly pleased. It seemed that
this time was no exception; Jareth closed his eyes and shuddered. He sat completely still for a moment…and then took
a ragged breath.

"That, precious thing, was not fair," he said curtly.

Sarah patted him consolingly on the cheek. "Yes, yes I know," she said unrepentantly. "I learnt from the best."

Jareth shot her a reluctantly admiring look, and took another deep breath. As he composed himself, Sarah removed the
cloak, and shuffled off Jareth's lap so that they were sitting beside each other on the throne. Jareth glared at her, but
before he could argue, Sarah handed him his script and turned her attention back to the stage.

"Who are you playing today?" she asked Squibble, who was sitting on the stage steps, wearing a black feather duster on
his head.

"Rosalinda," he said proudly.

"I'm sorry Squibble, but we won't be requiring your services any longer," said Jareth solicitously, flicking through the
script. "If you turn to page one hundred and seventy-four, you will find that Rosalinda's fall from the tower has a rather
unfortunate end." He shook his head and sighed. "Such a pity."

"Roslinda dies!" wailed Squibble. "NOOO!!" he yelled, falling to his knees. "She's too young to die!"

"Good!" said Skeep in satisfaction.

"Oh no," said Sarah forcefully. "Rosalinda has to be in the story. She started all this." She turned to Jareth. "If the goblins
hadn't chased her into my closet, and taken my duster and stilettos, then you wouldn't have written to me. If she had not
attacked you, we would not have met up. And…," she said, bringing her lips to Jareth's ear, "if she and Waffle had not
chased us from the formal garden, I would not have seduced you," she said triumphantly, brushing her lips against his
cheek.

Jareth rolled his eyes. "We both know that I would have gotten around to it sooner or later," he said dryly.

Sarah smiled. "Regardless, Rosalinda stays in the story," she said firmly.

Jareth sighed. "Good lord—when I think of all the cunning machinations that took place to get you to run my Labyrinth in
the first place, and of all the plans and schemes that I was hatching to bring you back here…" He shook his head
ruefully. "It pains me greatly that we owe our current state of happiness to a treasonous chicken."

Sarah nodded in agreement. "I know—we owe everything to poultry. Ain't love grand?"

Jareth merely shook his head in disgust. Sarah looked across the room where the chicken of destiny herself was
standing beside Waffle, methodically pecking the freshly-painted frypan goblin who was still nailed to the floor.

"A little help, please!" the frypan goblin cried out.

Skeep sighed and walked over the helpless pink goblin and handed him his fork.

"Thanks!" said the frypan goblin gratefully. He waved it in the air, attempting to fork Rosalinda.

Skeep looked at the pink frypan goblin critically. "Kidneys lower," he said helpfully.

Sarah looked at Rosalinda curiously. "So if Squibble is playing Rosalinda, what is Rosalinda doing here?"

"Oh she's playing Skeep," said the goblin with the blue horns.

Sarah stared at Rosalinda. "I guess that explains why she is wearing a tea cosy."

Sarah sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, unconsciously mimicking one of Jareth's favorite gestures. Jareth
noticed and laughed.

"Do you approve of the sets at least, if not the script?" he asked playfully.

Sarah nodded. "They are lovely."

"And the costumes?"

Sarah smiled. "Skeep makes a lovely Sarah."

Skeep beamed and caressed his dark wig. "Pretty!" he said.

Jareth rolled his eyes. "He refuses to remove it. I believe he and I are going to have to have a man-to-man chat." He
paused. "Man-to-goblin chat." He paused. "Man-to-gender-confused goblin chat." He waved his hand impatiently. "We're
going to talk about it."

Sarah shrugged. "Does it really matter? Just as long as he is happy." She turned her attention to Ignor dressed as the
King. "Though, I have some definite reservations about Ignor's costume," she said disapprovingly.

Ignor looked down at his outfit. Jareth looked at it also and shrugged. "I see nothing wrong with it."

Sarah raised one eyebrow. Jareth looked again. "The rubber gloves are only temporary—the leather ones should be
here by tomorrow."

Sarah sighed. "That's not what I was referring to."

Jareth looked again. "I guess the snowglobe should go." He summoned a crystal. "Swap," he said, throwing the crystal
to Ignor who caught it and threw back the snowglobe in return.

Jareth caught the globe and smiled. "Ahh, the snowy beaches of Tijuana," he said sardonically, spinning the globe in his
palm.

Sarah continued to look at Ignor disapprovingly. "That's not what I was referring to."

Jareth looked back at Ignor and shrugged. "Now I really don't see anything wrong."

"What about his tights?" she asked.

Ignor and Jareth looked down at Ignor's tights. In order to add a level of authenticity to his portrayal of the Goblin King,
Ignor had stuffed a pair of socks down his tights. Sarah knew that it was a pair of socks, and not…for instance…a bread
roll, or a bag of marbles, or a root vegetable because the sock ends were sticking up above his waistband.

Jareth contemplated Ignor's tights. He nodded gravely. "I see what you mean," he said thoughtfully. He conjured a crystal.
"Here," he said, throwing it to Ignor. As Ignor caught the crystal, it promptly turned into a very large pair of socks.

"Thanks King!" Ignor said happily. He gleefully stuffed the giant pair of socks down his tights alongside the first pair,
resulting in a perversely pumpkin-shaped crotch mass. Smiling in satisfaction, Ignor then proceeded to strut around the
stage, pelvis first, in a truly rock-star fashion.

Skeep looked at him critically. "Better," he said.

Sarah covered her eyes. "That's not what I meant!" she groaned.

Jareth only laughed at her expression. "Oh come love," he said, stroking her hair consolingly. "You were the one who
insisted that this play be an accurate representation of events," he said in amusement.

"You are infuriating," she said in a resigned tone.

He smiled his pointy canine smile. "Yes, yes I am."

"Completely overbearing…"

"Don't forget arrogant," he supplied helpfully.

"Arrogant," she repeated.

"Exceedingly attractive," he prompted.

"Vain," she added.

"I do so pity the woman who is going to marry me," he said in mockingly sympathetic tone.

She snorted. "As do I. She's obviously a masochist."

"Precisely my type."

Sarah snorted.

Jareth gently lifted her hands away from her eyes and kissed each palm. He then bent his head and kissed her, his lips
coaxing hers to respond. Which, despite her better judgment, they did. Completely, passionately, lovingly.

"EEEWWWWWWWW!!" screeched the goblins, disgusted by the behavior of their monarchs.

"It's worse than the kiss between Phillip and Veronica on the soap show," said Squibble.

The goblins nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

Jareth reluctantly broke away from the kiss and sighed. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a crystal and threw it onto the
ceiling. A greasy stain appeared, larger and far more complex than the bunny stain. Cooing in delight, the goblins
congregated under it.

"It looks like a chicken!" said Beep.

"No, a circus lion!" said Ignor.

"It looks like Waffle," said a small goblin.

"No, it's Rosalinda!" said Squibble.

"NEVER ROSALINDA!" yelled Skeep, grabbing his fork from the frypan goblin.

The goblins, completely enthralled by the delicious complexity of the new stain, did not see their King take their Lady's
hand, and place it over his heart, and whisper something that made her smile up at him as if he had just moved the
stars for her. Nor did they see their King gather their Lady gently into his arms and disappear from the room. In fact,
when they turned back to ask their monarchs whether or not they thought that the stain looked like a wished-away goat,
all they saw on the throne was the snowglobe containing the snow-bathing citizens of Tijuana. After three months, the
goblins knew better than to try and find their monarchs—after all, an oubliette is an oubliette, even if it is one of those
luxury ones with a window…

The End

AUTHOR'S NOTE #2.

"Sad," said Skeep, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes.

"Why?" asks Lixxle.

"Story…DEAD! FINISHED!"

"True," says Lixxle.

Skeep sniffs. "Epilogue," he says forcefully.

"This was the epilogue," says Lixxle.

"EPILOGUE!" he yells, raising his fork.

Lixxle covers her kidneys. "How about a prequel instead?"

Skeep waves his fork menacingly. "Keep talking."

Lixxle turns her back to the wall. "It's a Wizard of Oz cross-over. You get to beat up some munchkins."

Skeep nods. "Good!"

"Look, do me a favor and keep an eye on Rosalinda and Waffle; I don't approve of that relationship. Last thing we need is
for them to breed." Lixxle shudders. "Frankly, the whole thing weirds me out,"

"Unnatural," agrees Skeep.

(Go on, review--it's your last chance to tell me if it sucks...)

Although I don't wish to sound like an Academy award recipient, I'd just like to thank a few people for making my first foray
into fanfic a jolly good time. The grandest thanks of all goes out to everyone who reviewed. Frankly, I always thought that
the best part of this story were the reviews—not only did they make me laugh, they also provided invaluable suggestions
that shaped this story. Heaven knows that if it wasn't for the pants-obsessed fangirl reviewers (you know who you are)
this story would never have been chock-full of leather and gratuitous crotch references. Which, let's face it, was most of
my plot. Many thanks in particular to those who have been reading and reviewing the whole way through, and those who
hunted me down on deviantArt for the sole purpose of slapping me around every time I failed to post on time (you know
who you are, you stalkers!). Extra mega thanks to FaeriesMidwife, KnifeEdge, and Phuriedae for all their encouraging
and witty PMs. Phurie's awesome beta advice (i.e., "add more crotch") and KnifeEdge's invaluable feedback (i.e., chop
the seventy page chapter up before it kills someone) was very much appreciated. I owe you all a Jareth strip-o-gram.

This story was heavily influenced by the magnificent artwork on deviantArt—go check the site out! The story was inspired
by Pika-la-Cynique's awesome pic Envy; the adult-type touching dream sequence was based on Phuriedae's gorgeous
pic Sarah and Jareth—though I took the liberty of making Jareth topless in the dream (frankly, can you blame me?). And
all adult-type touching in this story is directly the fault of the smoking hot, bordello jumpsuit-clad Jareths that belong to
Mercuralis (though she lets me drool over them on occasion). Many many thanks to all those who have created fanart for
the story, including the wonderful pictures of Skeep drawn by Mercuralis, ColetteLongbottom, OceanFae, and
JarethsGenevieve; as well as pics of Jareth in his feathered cloak by ColletteLongbottom, and a rather saucy pic of
Sarah in her bordello underwear by shii. Drop me a line if any of you ever decide to draw Jareth in his bordello lingerie.
I'm having that pic tattooed to my body …

Keep an eye out for the MFFF prequel Something Glittered This Way Comes. It's a Wizard of Oz/Labyrinth cross-over. I
should warn you right now that I am not an Oz fan, so Dorothy is going down…