Play the Game

Chapter 9 – Sensitive New Age Guys

Sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the women’s locker room, Sarah mopped at her face with a towel and eyed the closed door of the sauna with the longing of a woman who had had a very rough day. She’d hoped that forty-five minutes on the treadmill followed by a short yoga stretching class would help work out some of the stress that had collected behind her temples and settled in her joints. With her iPod blaring directly into her ear canals or her mind focused on breathing oxygen into stiff muscles, she was able to find a bit of peace. The moment that her mind was left free to wander, it began to tumble over the events of day, picking over conversations and over-analyzing hidden meanings behind words until none of it made any sense. If she entered that sauna, then she would sit in it and stew, literally and figuratively.

She wanted to beat her head against the wall.

The confrontation between the two men that morning had been… unnerving. Jareth had been too desperate for her to stop seeing Draco. He had known before that she was seeing someone; why did him being Fae make such a difference? She wasn’t sure how much salt she should take with Jareth’s warnings that Draco was dangerous. After all, Jareth was no one with whom one should trifle.

On the other hand, Draco had accepted the hiatus on their budding relationship with more grace than she had ever seen a Fae take that kind of news. He had simply wrapped her in his arms, kissed her hair, and told her that he’d see her in a week. Draco really was grounded and steadfast for his kind.

It hadn’t occurred to her until later to ask why she wouldn’t be seeing him tomorrow on the set. When she had mentioned it to Kathy, the make-up artist had told her that he was needed in the office – the Office PA had been injured in the earthquake and was laid up for the next two weeks, doctor’s orders. Draco would work the office until a replacement could be found.

Sarah had at once been relieved and disappointed. She hoped that her discomfort came from the unresolved state of her love life: the might-be-but-shouldn’t thing that seemed to be evolving between her and Jareth and the more practical, level-headed romance that Draco offered. It seemed clear, when she thought about it in those terms, which path she should take, but something inside her writhed unhappily in doubt.

‘Both paths seem to lead to… dun dun dun… certain death,’ she mused wryly, remembering a melodramatic pair of doors. It was a conundrum, and she didn’t like to leave those unsolved. She almost wished that she could drop the whole mess into an oubliette and move on.

She would not consider the implications behind the black leather glove that she had purloined from Jareth’s pile of clothes and stashed down her bodice on her way to talk to Draco.

Sighing heavily, she gave the temptation of the sauna a black look and headed for the showers. It probably wasn’t a good idea to leave Jareth and his minions alone in her apartment for too long.

Within twenty minutes, she had cleaned up and thrown on a comfortable jogging suit and flip-flops. With the stereo cranked to a deafening volume and her own voice rising to match it, if not quite in key, she managed to not think about Jareth for most of the drive home until she spotted the owl gliding above the trees ahead of her.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she grumbled, staring up at the owl so hard that she blew through a dying yellow light, earning a honk from a hapless motorist trying to turn left. Irritation aside, she felt a fluttering of flattery that he would watch out for her. “And you called Draco a spy.”

Pulling up to the curb near her apartment building, she watched the white barn owl soar to her living room window and squirm through the hole in the screen. Ire flared again that he would disregard her request to repair it.

“It’s not like I ask for much.” She jerked her gym bag out of the passenger’s seat and slammed the car door shut, huffing as she stomped up the sidewalk that led to the stairs to the second floor apartments. An old magnolia tree grew next to the stairwell, its gnarled roots lifting and cracking the cement walkway. She had chosen this apartment for that tree, instantly falling in love with its dark twisted branches stretching so close to her balcony that she simply had to reach out to pluck one of the white blossoms. Tonight, the warm air was redolent with their cloying citrus scent, and she inhaled deeply, letting the comforting fragrance soothe her frayed nerves.

She let herself into her apartment quietly, her eyes instantly spotting Jareth’s telltale mop of pale hair lit blue like so many optical fibers by the glow of the television. For an intense moment, she wanted to run her hands through the strands to test their softness. Shaking her head, she dropped her bags by the door and swept into the living room, placing herself between the Fae and the television.

“Didn’t I ask you to fix the hole in the screen?” she asked imperiously, pointing at the offending window.

Jareth raised an arched eyebrow. “I wouldn’t say that you asked, precious. Must I remind you that I am a king.”

“King!” a Goblin voice shouted from the shadows in the kitchen. Jareth waved a graceful hand, accepting the accolade.

Propping her fists on her hips, Sarah opened her mouth to argue, but the king cut her off. “Sarah,” he purred, patting the couch cushion next to him, “do have a seat. I have something for you.”

Intrigued despite her better judgment, Sarah circled the coffee table and sank into the couch, eyeing him cautiously. He was still dressed in his conjured human clothes: dark blue distressed denim and an ornately designed graphic button down with a new pair of gloves in dove gray leather covering his hands. “Oh?” she asked, trying to feign only mild interest. It wouldn’t do to encourage him. “What is it?”

“A gift.” Holding his hand aloft, he pinched his fingers together, gathering magic to his fingertips and shaping it into a crystal sphere as delicate as a bubble. “Do you want it?” he asked with a slow sly grin that revealed the sharp points of his teeth. Distorted by the curvature of the crystal, something colorful twirled at its center, and she could hear the faint chiming of bells. “Go on, take it.”

She stared at it for a minute, pondering the wisdom of doing just that. His other gifts had been meant to distract her from her purpose, but she had always wanted to accept them. Undoubtedly, he was driven by motivations of his own, but she could sense no trickery… at least, no more than usual. Glancing at his face, she was startled by the earnestness in his eyes, carefully hidden beneath a mask of playful indifference. Instead of answering him as she had done fifteen years prior, she smiled at him, a mysterious twist of the lips that only a woman could produce. Reaching out, she covered the crystal with her hand, lifting it off his fingers.

The smooth polished crystal warmed her skin and curious, she turned her hand over and raised it to her face, staring into its hazy depths. The twirling colors spun giddily, swelling against the walls of the orb as the tinkling of bells coalesced into a familiar melody. Almost seeming to bulge with music and color, the crystal suddenly popped in a burst of glitter, and in her hand lay her music box dancer.

The song was the same sweet melody that it had always played, the song that Jareth had crooned to her as he had danced her through a crowd of masqueraders, but instead of the familiar plink of metal tines, this music box chimed as if it were made of fine shards of resonating crystal. The dancer was different as well. No longer dressed in an innocent frivolity of silver tulle, she spun in a flowing gown of shimmering gold, her face concealed by a feathered half-mask of an owl… and she had a partner. Clothed in a billowy shirt of gold and tight white pants, he held her close, his feathered cape seeming to loosely envelope them in white wings. His mask matched hers, and their eyes were locked onto each other.

“Oh, Jareth,” she breathed as the music slowed and the dancers stilled. “It’s so beautiful.” There was no mistaking the sentiment; the details of their painted faces were exquisite, and even if she had not recognized her own fall of dark hair and the stubborn point of her chin, the tiny up-swept eyebrows just visible beneath the male’s mask were unmistakable. Her heart swelled and tightened at the thought that had gone into his gift, and she set it reverently on the coffee table, meeting his gaze. He was watching her closely, the playfulness gone and the sincerity written plainly in the sensuous lines of his lips. She was so incredibly fond of him in that moment that she couldn’t resist.

“Thank you,” she said and leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss on his lips.

---

Jareth had heard the phrase “to be on cloud nine” years ago and had thought it a ridiculous expression. Why nine? Why not sixty-nine? That would have made more sense. Now he understood what it was to be on cloud nine: the dreamy euphoric feeling that he was floating far above the world, blissfully carefree and immune to hardships and heartache.

One of Draconus’ jewels had vanished.

Granted, Jareth had expected her first heartfelt kiss to be accompanied by fireworks, trembles in the earth, or at the very least, a bit of tongue, but he wasn’t about to complain. Tongue or no tongue, it had been one of the sweetest kisses he had ever received, and if anything could have made it more perfect, it would have been to recover from his surprise in time to kiss her back. Unfortunately, it had been over too quickly for him to take proper action, and then she had bounded off the couch, music box dancer in hand, and had told him that she would make him a special dinner in thanks. He’d simply watched her skip into her bedroom, a silly smile stretching his tingling lips.

He hadn’t even noticed that the jewel had disappeared until he had undressed for bed.

He had spent the rest of the night in a sleepless daze, his mind flitting through endless bright and dazzling futures filled with light, laughter, and love—

“What has you all twitterpated on a Tuesday?” Kathy, the make-up artist, asked him as she applied a dusting of shimmering powder to his cheeks. Leaning back, she sighed and gave him a consternated frown. “Just what are those?” she asked, eyeing his facial markings.

Jareth raised one of his impressive eyebrows and said, “They are mine.” He had to admit that the women knew her way around a make-up case, but her obsession with his markings was irritating, as had been the astringent with which she had tried to remove them on his first day in the mortal realm. It had stung!

“They don’t look like tattoos,” she mused. “And anyway, your eyebrows grow along the edge as if they had always done so.” Her passably pretty face crinkled as she paused.

“They have,” Jareth reminded her. It seemed that they had had this conversation several times already.

“Jareth, are you ready— Oh!” Sarah exclaimed as she peered around the doorjamb of the make-up room. Jareth grinned; he had yet to put on his shirt. After yesterday’s fiasco with Draconus, he had decided that he would be shirtless as often as he could in Sarah’s presence. If that meant wandering the sound stage half-dressed, then so be it. Besides, he rather liked this new costume: fitted royal blue leather breeches, ruffled white shirt and matching blue waistcoat and jacket in silk velvet. The breeches, boots and gloves he had donned, but the rest of it was draped over a chair on the set. Sarah had told him that he could keep his costumes, and this was one of the few that he would actually take Underground.

Sarah’s costume, however, would be staying in the mortal realm. The pale blue satin had been chosen as a compliment to his own costume, he assumed, for it was just a shade wrong for her pale, moonlit complexion. The cut of the bodice displayed her breasts sumptuously and nipped her waist to accentuate the flare of the full skirt, but the effect was of an ice queen touched by frost as opposed to a passionate and vivacious Goblin Queen. Such a pity.

The dress was no great loss; he had the finest of Underground tailors at his disposal, and he had taken the liberty of sending several of her pairs of jeans to the wardrobe he had set up for her. Jeans were, as Phil would say, awesome. Doubtless, the women of the Fae courts would adopt them in no time.

“He’s ready,” Kathy assured her, shooting Sarah a significant glance, then flicking her eyes toward him. Sarah’s cheeks began to glow a soft pink, but she rolled her eyes and shook her head. It was Kathy’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and Sarah blushed harder as she stomped up to the make-up chair.

Jareth was on his feet before she reached him and extended a courtly arm with a small flourish. Sarah’s flush began to creep charmingly down her neck to brighten her bosom, and Kathy chuckled wickedly. “Sarah, dear, now you must tell me if it’s stuffed.”

“Kathy!” she snapped, her green eyes wide, outraged and mortified, prompting the other woman into an outright cackle. “It’s not like that!”

“I bet you already know!” Kathy managed to say as she snickered into her hand. Jareth hadn’t a clue as to what they were discussing, but he was positive that it centered on himself. As was proper.

Grinning, Jareth led his blushing lady from the make-up room, his heeled boots barely touching the floor. ‘Cloud nine,’ Jareth thought happily. When he returned home, he would look up the address and take Sarah there as a surprise vacation. Wouldn’t she be pleased?

“I can’t believe that woman!” Sarah fumed at his side, her furious steps jerky and forceful. “And you can wipe that grin off your face.”

“I think not,” Jareth said, smiling smugly and patting the hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Unless you do something for me.”

She eyed him warily. “Like what?”

“Tell me: what’s stuffed?”

She choked and tripped over the hem of her ball gown. Throwing his head back, Jareth laughed, then swept her into a waltz. Ignoring her squeak of protest, he danced her onto the set and across the ballroom that had been constructed at the back of the sound stage, startling a hapless grip and driving their stand-ins off their marks. Phil cursed them, but Jareth just spun Sarah in a graceful pirouette before bending her over his arm and kissing her soundly. He wouldn’t lose a jewel for this kiss, but her lips were warm and soft, and he could hear her heart fluttering under her ribcage.

‘“It’s not like that,” indeed,’ he thought with amused indignation. It was very much “like that.”

When he had righted her, her eyes were dancing with delight and surprise. “Jareth!” she gasped, her shapely bosom rising and falling above the tight lacing of her dress. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” he said airily in singsong voice. “Nothing, nothing!” He knew that he must look like a fool, but the glorious thing about euphoria was that he didn’t care in the least.

“Tra la la,” she responded sarcastically, but her face was still glowing with excitement. “Do you dance like that with your Goblins?”

“Only with you, precious thing,” he purred, grasping her around her slim waist and pulling her close. Her arm wrapped around his back and she clung to him in a most delicious manner. He would have to keep her off balance more often. “Besides, how many female Goblins have you seen?”

“Well, there was… the old junk lady!” She grinned up at him in triumph.

“How can you be sure that she’s a she?” he asked archly, trying to remember of which Goblin she spoke. “Did you check under its tail?”

“Jareth!” she gasped, horrified and blushing, as she stiffened in his arms. He spun her suddenly, relishing her small squeak of surprise. “Of course not! How could you even suggest—”

“I’m just saying that it’s remarkably difficult to tell the difference.” He hummed a few bars of their song and twirled her in a slow tight circle, imagining the gold satin of the music box dancer’s dress swirling about their legs.

She frowned at him as they turned. “Isn’t that a bit irresponsible as their liege lord?”

Precious Sarah, always concerned for others.

“I make more of them, don’t I?” he asked rhetorically. She winced, and he was almost sorry that he had reminded her of her wish so many years ago. He decided to kiss her again to make up for it and spun her out to the end of his arm, giving her a rakish, enticing grin as she paused at the zenith of the step, and then spun her back into his embrace, bending her over his arm so that she was completely at his mercy. Leaning in, he brushed his lips lightly against hers, so gently that he might have been kissing a butterfly’s wings. He repeated the motion a second and third time, the satin of her dress cool and smooth against his bare chest and her quick puffs of breath hot against his mouth.

“Jareth, we’re on set—” she began to protest breathily, her straight white teeth flashing behind lips moist and pink with exertion. He silenced her with firm kiss, deepening it quickly to forestall any more complaints. Meeting her tongue halfway, he answered her tiny moan with a deep groan as he clutched her slim body tightly to him.

A throat clearing itself loudly and perfunctorily jarred him from the red fog that had begun to creep into his brain, and he righted Sarah to glare at the owner of said throat. Phil and a man he did not recognize were staring at them, Phil’s lips pursed with envy and the other man’s face bearing a thoughtful expression.

“Well,” the man drawled, shifting his weight to one leg and crossing his arms over his heavily muscled chest. “They certainly have chemistry, I’ll give them that. The steps, though… trite and anachronistic. I thought that this was a children’s film?”

“It is,” said Phil as if he’d just been sucking lemons.

The other man shrugged gracefully and glided onto the set, his movements as easy and graceful as a jungle cat’s. He was clad in a thin white tee shirt and stretchy black cotton pants that artfully hugged his sculpted physique. His head was shaven, and his dark skin gleamed a rich chocolate in the sound stage lighting. “Hm. I don’t remember seeing kissing like that in the films I watched as a kid. But if you can dance as well as you kiss…” He raised a black eyebrow and grinned whitely at Sarah, winking, then raked Jareth with a critical eye. “Put some clothes on, Romeo. Let’s keep this PG.”

---

“Hoggle, I need you,” Sarah said as she gazed solemnly at her reflection in her vanity mirror. The music box in front of it was winding down, the golden dancers twirling slowly to a stop and the crystalline tinkling dying into silence. She had wound it up five times that morning, trying to drive away the oppressive stillness that seemed to have settled on her apartment since Jareth had departed the prior evening for a summons.

She had been surprised by her laissez-fair attitude that he had whisked away to “steal” a child. When he had announced his need to leave as she had been pawing through the fridge for something for an early dinner, her first thought had been disappointment that he had to go. It wasn’t until after he had left that what he had gone to do actually struck her.

“Well, the idiot did ask for it,” she had groused in reference to the anonymous wisher as she stared at her boxed macaroni and cheese that was congealing into a room-temperature bowl of wheat gluten and orange glue. The Goblins hadn’t even been around to agree with her; they had been summoned along with their king. If anything, she resented the fool for interrupting what would have been a pleasant Tuesday evening. They had left the studio after an early wrap, Jareth taking to the choreography like a professional and collaborating with the choreographer to create a dance scene that had been quite spectacular.

Tapping her nails against the vanity’s top, Sarah frowned pensively as the mirror’s glass darkened, a dense fog seeming to swirl deep within it. She really should call work and tell them that Jareth was sick – she should have left for the studio ten minutes ago. But Jareth was late, thirteen hours having already expired. Hadn’t she reached the Castle in ten and was sent home on the stroke of midnight? Above, only five or so hours had passed. She had expected him to wriggle his way through the hole in her screen last night as she watched late-night television. Instead, she had dozed off on the couch, sleeping fitfully and startling awake at the slightest noise only to glance at the window. At two in the morning, she had finally stomped off to bed, irate in her disappointment, and scowled at the crack in the ceiling for an hour before falling asleep again, her bedroom door propped open.

She hated how much she missed Jareth’s presence. It was as if he were some sort of potent black-market drug and she were suffering withdrawals. ‘This can’t be healthy,’ she thought, mentally castigating herself even as she called on Hoggle to get an update on his sovereign. ‘I’m acting like a silly punch-drunk teenager.’

The fog behind the glass of the mirror rippled, then cleared to display a lumpy face with two protruding blue eyes and eyebrows resembling gray caterpillars. Behind him, her tidy bedroom was reflected as if he were standing at her shoulder.

“Sarah!” he said, his homely face arranging itself awkwardly into a smile that could frighten timid children. “Where’ve ya been?”

“Sorry, Hoggle,” Sarah said, at once feeling guilty for not contacting him sooner. Traditionally, she called him every couple of weeks just to say hello, but Jareth had understandably distracted her. Well… she wondered if Hoggle really would understand. The Goblin King was not a typical topic of conversation; occasionally, Hoggle would complain about him, but they never dwelled on him. The Dwarf was still afraid of him, and Sarah had the distinct impression that he didn’t care much for the Goblin King. “I had an unexpected visitor stop by last week and, well, you know…”

“Ah.” He nodded sagely. “Been havin’ fun, then, showin’ ‘er about?”

“Him, actually,” Sarah prevaricated, wondering how to broach the subject. ‘Say, Hoggle, have you seen Jareth about? Tell him to call me, or whatever,’ was probably not the best way to go about it.

“Got a new beau, then?” Hoggle asked with a broad wink. He always liked to hear about her love life and took great delight in slandering the poor sod’s name when she broke up with him.

Sarah laughed nervously. Should she tell him? What would she tell him? ‘You might say that, if by beau you mean kissing the daylights out of him while trying to decide if I want to date him. Oh, and by the way, he’s that king who can never get your name right! Remember, the one who tried to dump us into the Bog of Eternal Stench?’ This was going to be a disaster, but she would rather he find out from her than through the Labyrinth rumor mill.

“I’ve got two lined up!” Sarah laughed again, not meeting his guileless blue eyes. “Two, um, Fae, actually.”

“Well, at least Fae won’t puke in yer shoes,” Hoggle said chuckling as he referred to the werecat she had dated for a number of months.

Sarah tried to chuckle with him, but it came out squeaky and slightly hysterical. He shot her a confused look, so she bit it back. Curse that Fae for not giving her a method to contact him. Why did she need to talk to him so badly, anyway? It was his maze; it held no dangers for him. Or did it? For the first time, Sarah wondered. “So, Hoggle, what’s new in Labyrinth? Anyone try to reach the Castle lately?”

Hoggle nodded and rolled his eyes. “One just came by ‘ere, tripping over cracks in the stones and sniveling into ‘is sleeve. Rude little bugger, that one.”

“Really? Just now?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “How is he doing?”

Hoggle shrugged, a jerky, artless movement that accentuated his oddly shaped lumpy body. “Hard to say, yet. Lad just started.”

‘That can’t be right,’ Sarah thought in worried bemusement. ‘Winner or loser, he should have finished already.’

“So, um,” Sarah said, relying on her acting experience to force nonchalance into her tone, “did the Goblin King throw him any curve balls yet?”

“That rat ain’t hardly paid ‘im any attention, not like ‘e did you…” Hoggle trailed off and then blinked at her in silence, his mouth slightly agape. “What’re ya askin’ about him for?”

“Well…” For a moment, Sarah considered inventing an excuse, but she didn’t want to lie to Hoggle. Straightening her spine, she drew on her significant reserves of courage and smiled brightly. This was Hoggle, for heaven’s sake. He was her friend, a true friend, and he wouldn’t abandon her over something as trivial as dating his monarch. “He’s my houseguest.”

Hoggle pursed his lips and gave her a hard stare, and for one terrifying moment, Sarah thought that he might actually cut their connection in sheer pique. When he finally broke the uncomfortable silence, it was with a stern warning. “Ya’d best steer clear of ‘im, Sarah. He’s always been a rat, and ‘e always will be. Can’t be trusted, and especially not around you.”

“Me? What about me?”

“Y’ain’t nothin’ but a prize to ‘im.” Hoggle jabbed a finger at her, his bulbous nose glowing bright red in outrage.

“What are you talking about, Hoggle? Prize?” She enunciated the word carefully in her confusion. “Hoggle—” she started, but the Dwarf suddenly glanced behind him, his whole body jerking as if in fear of something. He vanished from the glass without another word, leaving Sarah to call futilely after him.

“Hoggle? Hoggle?” she shouted at the glass, beating lightly on it with her fist just in case it might help. As if to mock her, it resolutely reflected her bedroom, empty except for her. “Hoggle? Shit!”

Springing out of the chair, she paced in front of the vanity, turning her head as she moved to keep her gaze fixed on the silvered glass. Something was wrong. She was sure of it. Hoggle had seemed frightened. Not a difficult feat in and of itself; Jareth must have caught the Dwarf bad-mouthing him and put a stop to it.

‘You’d better not do anything too nasty to him,’ she silently threatened the absent man. What had Hoggle been about to say, though? Prize? And hadn’t the Goblins mentioned a game? Sarah shook her head, running a frustrated hand through her hair as she chewed on her bottom lip. The Goblin King had some explaining to do.

So why was he still in Labyrinth with a wisher who had just started the maze? Had he lied to her to return Underground, then had a summons coincidentally timed after his fib? Sarah shook her head, stopping her pacing to stare at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t believe that he wanted to leave; he had seemed sincerely reluctant and irritated when he had left last night. It didn’t make any sense. Releasing her frustration and worry in an inarticulate shriek, she aimed a kick at her chair, sending it toppling over with an unsatisfying clatter.

“Fine!” she shouted at her vanity mirror, throwing her hands in the air. She was getting nothing solved at the moment, and she was running quite late. Phil would shout at her for it and pitch a fit when she told him Jareth was ill. “I have to go to work,” she snarled at her reflection.

Her mind whirling with questions and doubts and her chest aching with fear that some of those doubts might be valid, she stalked out of her bedroom. A moment later, her apartment was empty, the windows rattling with the force of the front door slamming shut.

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A/N: Big thanks to my betas leannansidhe1228, thoughtfulillusion, and spiderlover421, and of course to my readers and reviewers!

This chapter was named after the Christine Lavin song by the same name.