Play the Game

Chapter 3 – Golf Cart of Doom

Striding along purposefully, his tattered cape fluttering in the hot afternoon sun, Jareth ignored the plaintive bleating behind him. He was so close to sound stage thirteen that he could taste Sarah’s surprise. The directions the man had given him had been as accurate as he could wish, and he was now passing auxiliary parking garage B. He had no time for whatever it was that was trying to get his attention. It could wait. He had kissing to—

Beep-BEEP!

The honking sounded loudly in his sensitive ears and seemingly almost on top of him. Turning reflexively toward the horrible noise, he realized that it was almost on top of him. There was just enough space between the parking garage and the building on the other side of the alley for two adult humans to walk abreast and for the narrow little vehicle honking at him to pass. A slow, but steady stream of people was walking to his right, so he had claimed the left side of the alley for his own quick gait, and Jareth was not inclined to step out of the way. He had been ogled and insulted enough for one day; this vehicle could move aside for him.

With another furious series of beeps, the strange vehicle bore down on him with no intention of stopping. Turning to face the vehicle, he planted his feet shoulder-width apart and propped his fists on his hips, staring it down with a flinty expression. The man behind the wheel furrowed his brow and sounded his horn, but kept to his path. Jareth glared, and if his magic hadn’t been blocked, then the vehicle would surely have burst into flames. As it was, it simply got noisier and closer. His heart thundering in his ears, Jareth rode the waves of adrenaline that accompanied facing down raging beasts and regretted only the fact that he didn’t have a sword with which to smite it when it came within range… which would be in five… four…

Something latched onto his arm and jerked him out of way, and Jareth stumbled to the side. Startled and off balance, he clutched at what had grabbed him, but it was just as unsteady. With a disgusted thought of, ‘Not again,’ Jareth hit the cement with his hip and elbow, his legs entwined with those of another man. “Your mother was an aardvark!” he shouted after the retreating vehicle before he could stop himself.

“Jesus, man! Were you gonna let that thing run you down? Are you crazy?!” the man shouted in his face, his breath redolent with the scent of spicy peppers and coffee.

Regaining his natural agility, Jareth rolled to his feet in a smooth movement and glared down at him. “It was no match for me,” he sneered.

As graceful as a cat, he began to brush the dirt from his Goblin armor. It had seen better days. When he got home, he’d have Hoggle clean it for him. Surely the little scab had done something irritating enough to warrant it. Even if he hadn’t, it would be good for him.

“It was a freakin’ golf cart, dude! It woulda taken out your skinny ass any day!” With much less finesse, the man climbed to his feet and began to dust himself off with frustrated little swats. Mumbling to himself, he collected the scattering of papers that he’d dropped and stuffed them unceremoniously into a black shoulder bag.

Jareth raised a disbelieving eyebrow. It really hadn’t been an impressive vehicle; spindly and narrow, it looked as if it would have crumpled in a stiff breeze. “I very much doubt that.”

“Whatever, man. Whatever.” Shaking his head, the man lumbered away.

Jareth watched him go with a frown and decided that he needed to acquire a notebook so that he could write down the names of the all mortals that annoyed him. Once he had full use of his powers (surely humans couldn’t populate every stinking corner of this city), he could sic the Goblins on them.

Cheated of his rightful victory, Jareth continued on his way, wondering how he might acquire a “golf cart” of his own. As frail they might be, they were just the right size to traverse Labyrinth, and they could be reinforced. Wouldn’t he look splendid as he chased Goblins through the its passages? He could swap out the tiny wheels for larger ones with spikes on the rims, paint the thing a lovely shade of eggplant, maybe attach a shark fin to the top…

Thoughts of tricked-out golf carts were interrupted as he passed the furthest edge of the parking garage and saw “STAGE 13” in white block letters on the side of an enormous building. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as his castle, but the sun glinted off the corrugated tin roof, lighting it up like a gold-plated onion dome. A smirk of triumph twisted his lips as his legs instinctively began a long, easy strut to the large double doors at the front of the building.

Glancing over his shoulder, he checked for stray humans. Naturally, several were wandering about, and Jareth sighed heavily. Wrapping his hands around both handles, he tugged, intending to send both flying open so that he would appear framed in sunlight and immortal splendor.

The doors didn’t budge.

“Damn,” he muttered, giving them another firm tug. Stepping back, he glared at them. Insolent doors. A high-pitched beep caught his attention, and he glanced to his right where another sound stage loomed. A man had his hips held closely to a small panel set in the wall next to the doors. After a mechanical clunk, the man grasped one of the door handles and swung it open. Taken aback, Jareth shook his head at the insanity of mortals, but walked to a similar panel next to the doors of sound stage thirteen. In imitation of the man, Jareth pushed his hips toward the panel and listened for the sound of the door unlocking. Both the panel and the door remained silent. Vexed and confused, Jareth tried the doors regardless. They were still locked.

“It must have been intimidated,” he grumbled as he positioned himself in front of the panel. Just for good measure, he gave his crotch a surreptitious dusting; it needed it anyway. Slightly more tidy, he once again thrust his hips at the panel.

Silence.

At a complete loss, Jareth thrust his hips repeatedly at the panel, muttering under his breath. “Come on, you little scab. What do you expect, foreplay? Open, damn you…”

At the apex of one particularly exuberant thrust, his elbows drawn back, his back bowed to extend his groin and his mouth pursed in concentration, the doors swung open and two young men walked out carrying floppy rectangular bags. Jareth froze in surprise, and one of the men met his mismatched stare.

“Dude! What the fuck are you doing?”

Straightening his posture with an air of nonchalance that he was not feeling, Jareth eyed them with disdain, but did not deign to respond. Before the door could close behind them, Jareth pushed between them and entered sound stage thirteen.

---

The pizzas had arrived, and not a moment too soon, in Sarah’s opinion. Though several slices of hot cheese pizza liberally dressed with marinated jalapenos would cost her several hours at the gym, they would taste so good going down! Several furry puppet faces watched her despondently from the set where they were being coordinated for the next scene. Because her co-star still hadn’t appeared, Phil had rescheduled a puppet dance number. Unfortunately for the puppeteers, the pizzas had arrived between takes and before the wrap.

Before she could leave her seat, Draco was at her elbow with a plate laden with pizza and salad. His attentiveness was almost unsettling, but it was very Fae. “Here you are, Sarah,” he said with a sultry smile that revealed sharply pointed teeth. She couldn’t help but shiver as she took the plate with quietly murmured thanks. “Would you—” he stopped mid-word and glanced toward the doors, frowning slightly.

“Would I…” she prompted.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve just remembered something that requires my attention. However, I would like to ask if you’d allow me to take you out tonight. Drinks and dessert, as no doubt we will have both eaten dinner by then.”

“Well, I suppose—”

“Excellent. I’ll be at your apartment at eight-thirty. Text me the address.” He handed her a small slip of paper with his digits scrawled in spidery handwriting. Picking up her free hand, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles in an old-fashioned, courtly gesture. Gwydion, her Fae ex-boyfriend, hadn’t done anything like that. He’d placed quick kisses on her cheeks and then tweaked her nose. It had been cute the first few times. Perhaps they came from separate parts of the Underground where traditions differed? Depending on how this dessert date went, she might get the opportunity to ask.

Draco flashed her another sharp smile and walked brusquely off the set. Watching him go, Sarah wondered a bit wistfully if Jareth would have been the nose-tweaking type or the hand-kissing type. She had a feeling that no matter how charming and gallant Draco could be, Jareth would out-match him in style. Sighing softly as she chalked it up to Things She Would Probably Never Know, she took a large bite off the end of one slice of pizza.

Boiling hot sauce burst through holes in the cheese and basted the roof of her mouth, instantly causing painful blisters. Her eyes widening and watering, she squeaked and fanned her now open mouth. So distracted by the damage to her mouth, she missed seeing the set doors swing open with a flourish and a reed-thin figure dressed in outlandish black armor stalk in, his glittering midnight blue cape billowing behind him.

“Wa! Wa! Wa!” Sarah gasped, still frantically waving at her mouth as she searched the surrounding area for something cold and liquid to douse the burn. For once that day, Draco was not on hand, and neither was a beverage. Since everyone else was staring at the interloper, she was left to dash over to the ice chest and pull a can of soda from its frigid depths. Never had an Orange Crush felt so good going down. She heaved a heavy sigh in blessed relief.

“Sarah…” a voice purred right behind her ear; a throaty baritone that she hadn’t heard in the waking world for fifteen years, but had starred prominently in several x-rated dreams. It had an effect similar to that in her dreams, igniting a rush of hormones that left prickling goose bumps in its wake. Flustered and startled, Sarah whirled in place and lost her grip on the can of soda. Almost in slow motion, she watched the can bounce off an intricately tooled leather breastplate and orange liquid splatter down close-fitting black pants that displayed a well-toned male physique.

“Shit!” she exclaimed by reflex, then, “Sorry!” It wasn’t until her apologetic gaze skittered up to his face that her higher thought processes caught up to what her body already knew. For a long moment, she couldn’t say anything at all.

Staring down at her with his mouth open in what could only be stunned disbelief, his blond hair slightly limp, but characteristically disheveled, was the Goblin King.

“Jareth!” Phil shouted, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the two. Rushing over to the pair, he sized him up with a flick of his eyes. “Finally! Where the hell have you been? And I see you have already become a victim of Sarah’s clumsiness.”

“I’m not that bad,” she said faintly, backing up a step and running into the snack table, her eyes still fixed on the Goblin King’s face. Already he was regaining his composure, his face settling into a cocky, if somewhat strained, smirk. ‘Really,’ she thought in a fit of mental babbling, ‘it was only one rack of puppets that one time, and now I’m the production’s klutz.’ Clearing her throat, she shook the shock out of her brain with a toss of her hair and snatched up a wad of napkins from the table, offering them to him. “Here, and I am sorry, um… what did you say your name was?”

“Jareth,” he said smoothly, darkly, making dangerous eyes at her from underneath his wing-tipped eyebrows. The napkins were ignored. Sarah wondered at the state of his pants after their dousing and had to fight a mental battle to keep from looking. “But you already knew that.”

“Did I?” she asked innocently and hoped that he couldn’t hear the frantic beating of her heart. ‘That’ll teach him to sneak up on me in the middle of a pizza emergency… But what is he doing here? Unless…’

“Sarah, I’d like you to meet Jareth, your new co-star of ‘Journey to the Center of the Maze’!” Phil said grandly and clapped Jareth on the back, his eyes wandering down the neckline of Sarah’s gown. The Fae blinked, giving the director a hard look. “Good grief, you’re a mess, Jareth. I want you in wardrobe immediately. We still have time to shoot the first scene. Why on earth did you come in that costume? I’m Phil, by the way, your director.”

“Jareth.” Sarah rolled his name across her tongue much like he had done hers and was gratified by an answering flicker in the depths of his strange eyes. So this was what all the foreboding feelings had been about: a figure from the past coming to meddle in the present. She hadn’t a clue what he was playing at, but movie making was probably not it. Could it be coincidence that two Fae were on the same production staff? ‘Probably about as much coincidence as finding Labyrinth in my vanity the same day that the Goblin King appears on set,’ she mused. ‘In other words, none at all.’ Nevertheless, she had to play it cool now and wring the answers out of him later. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Sarah Williams, your leading lady.”

“Mine, yes,” he drawled slowly, his normally clipped accent smooth and melodic.

Sarah suppressed a shudder, shooting Phil a perturbed glance. He shrugged and mouthed, “British.”

“Right, so into make-up and wardrobe you go.” This time, Phil’s hand stayed on Jareth’s back, attempting to guide him toward Kathy, who had just acquired several slices of pizza and looked none too happy at the interruption. Neatly stepping away from Phil, the Goblin King-turned-actor held up a quelling hand.

“I’d like a private word with my… co-star,” he said in a tone that brooked no denial. To Sarah’s surprise (though not really), Phil subsided with a short nod. With a small bow and an extended arm, he bade Sarah precede him. ‘I bet he kisses hands,’ Sarah thought with a small thrill before she could properly squelch it. Despite misgivings and traitorous tingles, she led him to a relatively secluded area of the stage where several extra lighting umbrellas and an enormous foam boulder had been stashed.

“Well?” she snapped when they were properly ensconced behind the umbrellas and out of view of the crew. Not that anything on the set was truly private, but she did give it a good try. Now that the shock of his arrival had begun to wear off, she found herself quite put out and even more so when he leaned his shoulder casually against the wall and raised a slanted eyebrow, giving her a rakish grin.

“Miss me?” he asked. She wasn’t going to answer that; lying to the Goblin King was dangerous and probably futile, and telling the truth would swell his fluffy head.

“You just magicked your way into this production, didn’t you?” Sarah hissed instead. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Need you ask?” Sighing, she rubbed her face with her hands, uncaring of the hours-old make-up. “Messed with a few minds, removed a key player and poof,” she said, twisting her wrist in a fair imitation of him conjuring a crystal, “part of the show! Well, nobody wished you here, so you might as well go back Underground.” He cocked his head, tendrils of pale hair brushing against his black breastplate. Sarah forced her eyes back up to his face. It really wasn’t fair that a dusty, sweaty, orange soda-soaked Goblin King could still pull off sexy.

“Perhaps I wished myself here,” he said, unfazed by her quiet tirade. She hadn’t expected him to be, but it had felt good to get it out of her system. “Wanted to see how the other side lived. Hm?”

“Right,” she said slowly, meeting his gaze. One eye was blue and the other light brown with an enlarged pupil. The effect was striking and a little distracting. She suspected that he knew it and dropped her eyes to his lips, which were well formed and sensual. That didn’t help at all. When she met his eyes again, there was amusement dancing behind them. “What do you really want?”

“How about a kiss for old time’s sake?” he asked, leaning toward her.

Affecting his indolent pose, she leaned her shoulder against the wall and raised her eyebrow, trying to pretend that the thought of kissing the Goblin King wasn’t the least bit interesting. “Which time, the one when you sent the Cleaners after me or when you tried to dump me in the Bog?”

“I was thinking the very last time, right after you destroyed a very unique room in my castle, and despite it, I offered you... Well.” He made a sarcastic self-deprecating hand gesture.

“That room wasn’t very practical.”

“I assure you, that it had its uses. It was the only place I could get any peace and quiet, for one thing.”

Sarah sighed and forced the conversation back on track. “That still doesn’t explain what you are doing here or when you plan to leave.”

He watched her intensely for several long unblinking moments, his very stillness inhuman. Just as her eyes had begun to water from the effort of meeting his stare, he pushed off the wall and closed the distance between them. He was only a few inches taller than her (not including his hair), yet still managed to loom. “I’m on holiday,” he said finally. “For a couple of weeks. You, precious thing, will entertain me, just as I entertained you.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he placed a gloved finger across her lips. “Ah, ah, I don’t expect you to starve or exhaust yourself on my account. Simply… entertain me.”

Something didn’t sit right; she had a suspicion that there was more to his visit than that. Unfortunately for Sarah, she could feel the warmth of his finger through the leather, and it distracted her long enough to let other pressing worries gather. Swatting his hand away, she fixed him with her best no nonsense stare. “You’re staying here for two weeks? What happens to this production when it loses another co-star? Are you going to bring Erik back from Tibet… or wherever you sent him?”

“I did not send him anywhere. I simply gave him a… nudge to leave,” Jareth said, impassive and unimpressed.

“And now Phil believes that you’re some British rock star. What about your supposed past works? Your agent? PR? Don’t you think someone will notice that no one has heard of you? That’s not to mention such details as your accommodations… I bet you didn’t plan for that, did you? What, are you going to sleep on the set?” A slow smile began to stretch his lips, and though it undeniably made her stomach tighten, it nudged the suspicious part of her brain until it was awake and kicking. “What? Oh, no. No. Absolutely not.”

“Come, Sarah. Surely you wouldn’t deny an old friend?”

“Friends, is that what we are? Go talk to Phil and pull some hotel reservations out of his ass,” she snapped. Jareth looked at her askance, slightly disturbed, and she sighed. “I didn’t mean literally.”

“You owe me, precious thing. You did spill that nasty orange concoction on me.”

She winced. He was still wearing her soda. Perhaps she did owe him some laundry, but that was a far cry from bunking down on her couch. “No, Jareth. You can’t stay with me.”

---

“…Damn it,” she swore as she flicked on the entry lights in her tiny apartment and dumped her keys and purse on the telephone table placed by the door. Sidling around her, Jareth stalked through the entry and into the living room, looking about him with thinly veiled curiosity.

“Sorry, but I just had all the chickens removed. Didn’t know I was going to have a houseguest.”

“What a pity. It will do, I suppose,” he said, swiping a gloved finger across the screen of her television and eying the dust that had collected there. Nodding in approval, he sauntered into her kitchen and began to open cabinets.

Squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose, Sarah mentally cast Phil into the Bog of Eternal Stench. It was his fault that Jareth was now opening her jar of peanut butter and giving it a good sniff. The director had sought them out behind the umbrellas and whisked Jareth off to wardrobe before the Fae King could properly take “no” for an answer. Later, she had saved Phil from a stint in an oubliette by agreeing to help Jareth practice his lines. The lecher owed her.

The sight of the time flashing on her microwave clock struck a chord in her memory, and she suddenly grinned. “Make yourself at home,” she called gaily over her shoulder as she headed to her bedroom. “I’m going out for a while; I’ve got a date.” From the kitchen emanated a sound that could only be a peanut butter jar hitting her ancient porcelain sink. Grinning wickedly, she added, “With a man.”

She closed the bedroom door behind her, snickering to herself. Before she could properly congratulate herself, a wind swept through her bedroom, bringing with it a thick cloud of glitter that coalesced into the form of a startled Goblin King. She didn’t have time to ponder his surprise before his face settled into a petulant scowl and his fists planted themselves on his hips. “What do you mean, a date?”

“I mean,” she said slowly and smugly, though taking several small unobtrusive steps backward, “I’m going out for drinks and dessert with a man who is romantically interested in me.”

“I know what a date is, little girl.” He began to close the gap between with peacock-like strutting steps. “What I want to know is why you think you’re going on one with someone else.”

“You think I’d go by myself?” She raised incredulous eyebrows, purposefully misunderstanding him. Really, he had enough gall to digest a cow whole, alive and kicking. “Now, I’ve got to get ready, and you are in the way.” Poking him in the chest, she reached within herself for that unnamable spot and tweaked…

Her bedroom became free of Goblin Kings, and Sarah smiled with satisfaction. The smile only grew when she heard an outraged squawk from the vicinity of her living room. Sashaying to her closet, she chose a flattering dress in midnight blue and ignored the pounding on her door and the increasingly colorful cursing.

“If you make too much noise, my neighbors will call the cops!” she said in a singsong voice, seating herself at the vanity. The pounding ceased, but the cursing did not. Humming tunelessly as she touched up her mascara, she couldn’t decide whether she was more pleased by her upcoming date or by foiling whatever it was that Jareth had had planned.

With only minutes to spare before Draco arrived, Sarah was dressed and made up. Despite her reluctance to play hostess to the Goblin King, she couldn’t quite shake the training that Irene, her stepmother, had drilled into her. Sarah made a quick detour to her linen closet to fetch a clean towel, washcloth, pillow and blanket and glided into the living room, her tiered mini-dress fluttering about her bare legs. She found her houseguest sprawled across her couch as if he owned it, though his expression was anything but relaxed.

Giving him a bright smile, she dumped the linens in his lap. “You’ll be sleeping on the couch. The guest bathroom is through the door next to my bedroom. I suggest you take a shower. You’ve already found the kitchen. And here,” she said, snatching the TiVo remote from the coffee table and turning on the television. “TV. So, you’re all set!”

Throughout her speech he was silent and still except for his fierce eyes, which watched every move she made with a concentration so intense that she could almost feel the pressure on her skin. Feigning indifference, she grabbed her purse and keys from the telephone table just as her cell burbled with a new text message. Draco was at the complex, but couldn’t find her unit. “That’s my cue,” she chirped. “Don’t wait up!”

She shut the front door on the vilest glare she had seen any being produce.

---

A/N: Thanks to my beta, leanansidhe1228, and all of my readers and reviewers! Feedback is so very important, and many of you have had wonderful things to say.

No, this is not a Sarah/OC fic, though it might seem so at first. It is most definitely J/S, but he has to work for it. Yes, I know, poor baby.