A Rare Breed
By: The Dragon's daughter
*Disclaimer* (sobs in corner while rocking back and forth) don't own Jareth... Don't own Jareth...
Sarah's back in the Labyrinth, only this time she isn't getting out. She's been wished away by her own personal evil stepmother. Now she has to adjust to everyday life in the Labyrinth… with a little help from a certain Goblin King!
"Je frappe a ta porte, je frappe a ton coeur..."
Sarah only listened with half an ear as M. Renoir droned on in French. She stifled a yawn and fought to keep her eyes open.
God, she hated French...
"Por avoir bon lit, pour avoir bon feu..."
Sarah breathed in deep and let her head sink down onto her fist, she was almost through trying to look attentive. Most of the others in the class had already succumbed to the urge to pass out and had had M. Renoir descend upon their heads like a buzzard bellowing insults in French.
"Pourquoi me repousser? Ovre-moi, mon frere."
The air before Sarah's eyes began to shimmer and she squeezed her eyes shut partly in attempt to pretend that Jareth wasn't about to materialize in front of her and partly because watching him manifest gave her a headache because her subconscious was fervently trying to convince her it wasn't happening.
"Go away!" she hissed underneath her breath.
"No." He replied glibly and slid into the desk beside her. "My, he has an awful accent doesn't he? I could teach you French better than he could."
That always was assuming that he didn't get bored with it after the first lesson. Of course it was part of the point that Jareth was trying to make, Sarah supposed.
"Go away." She hissed again.
The boy in front of her twisted around to see if she was talking to him, Sarah gave him a chill, even stare that convinced him to turn around and pretend he couldn't hear her talking to thin air.
"Oh, but it's so much more interesting here!" Jareth chuckled. "I must confess your High School is nothing but a joke! I could see your entire family better taken care of by bodily transporting them to the Labyrinth. They certainly aren't managing very well on their own."
Sarah pointedly turned her attention to the ratty little man pacing back and forth before the classroom muttering in barely coherent French.
"That was an offer, you realize." Jareth whispered into her ear.
"Miss Williams!" M. Renoir snapped. "Do you find the view out of the window more interesting than the poem?"
'Are you kidding? Hell yeah!' Sarah shook her head and returned her attention to the teacher. "Of course not, sir." She said with barely any inflection. "I'm very sorry."
Jareth mouthed her speech along with her and sighed dramatically.
M. Renoir harrumphed. "Kindly pay me the compliment of your attention in the Future, Miss? Now... Pourquoi me demande la longuer de mon nez..."
"What a good little student." Jareth mocked with his eyes on M. Renoir. "No life, no interest, no imagination; another face in a sea of faces. Is this what your kind calls education? Bah!"
He then disappeared with a disparaging snort and was not to be seen again until the bell rang and Sarah was swept into the hallways on a tide of student bodies. He was lounging against the wall outside the classroom.
He had taken a form that Sarah occasionally saw him in, mostly when he was in a mood to be seen by someone other than Sarah. He looked like a teenager with slicked back blonde hair. Today he wore one of those black stretchy spandex tops, loose black jeans, and a pair of black tennis shoes. The silver cross hanging from one ear and the pewter beads strung about his neck enlivened the monotony of his clothing. His pants were belted with a black leather belt and a bulky silver buckle.
"Can I carry your books?" he offered coolly.
As much as she disliked his presence, Sarah turned the stack of books over to him and led the way to her locker. She'd tried to withhold the books before and he always just magicked them away.
Whispers flew back and forth as Sarah and Jareth walked down the hallway, her in stony silence and him chattering away merrily as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
Sarah noticed, with what she assured herself wasn't a twinge of jealously, the girls around her when they surreptitiously glanced back to check out Jareth as they passed. She knew Jareth had noticed them noticing him, it was the sort of thing he was constantly conscious of: attention.
"Most of them think you're gay." She grumbled in a growing bad temper.
Jareth's eyebrows flew up. "Do they?" he asked in surprise. He glanced back at the last girl to check out his ass, she giggled and elbowed a friend... a -male- friend who winked at Jareth. He turned back to Sarah. "Really?" he frowned. "It must be the make-up." He decided.
"Yeah..." Sarah shook her head as they reached her locker. "Why do you follow me around, Jareth? I know I've asked before, but you never really answer me."
Jareth leaned against the other lockers as Sarah crouched down to fiddle with the dial on hers. "I'm waiting, you might say."
Sarah felt a chill of foreboding. "Waiting for what?"
He smiled charmingly down at her. "For you to come to your senses. I only offer myself once, Sarah, but once I do I stop at nothing until the object of my affection accepts."
Sarah scowled. "Of course, I should have realized. And how many times have you offered yourself?"
"Once, before you, she is dead." A shadow passed over Jareth's eyes. "She's been dead for nearly two hundred years now. Gone, but not forgotten. She would have loved you, by the way. She would probably have been here with me trying to lure you into a group marriage."
Sarah flushed as she heard the note of forgotten pain in Jareth voice. "I'm sorry." She said automatically.
"You say that entirely too much." Jareth said in annoyance. "Of course, I should expect it, considering the people who are responsible for raising you and your generation." He shook his head in disgust. "I absolutely cannot -stand- the idiocy that occurs in this establishment on a day to day basis. They are teaching you to be victims and to roll over and die. Whatever happened to the fire that drove the immortals out of the aboveground, eh? Did it die once you all had no one to fight with other than yourselves?"
"I suppose it did." Sarah said blandly as she took to the books from Jareth's hands. "It is always said that people are always at their best under duress."
"Not all people." Jareth muttered. "But there are exceptions." He smiled fondly down at her.
Sarah flushed and stared at her locker. "I can't go back with you," she said flatly.
Jareth sighed. "Must you bring up that sordid topic again?" he complained. "Really, we could have been quite happy if you had just accepted me the first time. But no, you had to go back to this disgusting little cesspool of a realm where the very -air- is poisoned to supposedly 'save' your little step-brother."
"Exactly, to save him! I couldn't let his entire life be torn apart just because I was being a selfish brat!" she snapped. "When are you going to get the fact that it wasn't about me, nor was it about you! It was about saving Toby's future from my stupidity!"
A smile eased across Jareth's lips. "Of course, it was never about what -we- wanted. Was it, Sarah?" he purred. "Even now you stay because you would be missed, because your step-mother characterizes all Evil Step-mothers, because you love your father even though he barely notices you anymore, and because when Toby says 'Mama' he means you. I know all of that, Sarah. I know you."
Sarah burst to her feet. "Then why do you torment me!?"
"Many reasons." He replied lackadaisically. "One, I needed to know you realized why Toby had been endangered. You wouldn't have benefited if you considered -me- the villain forever now would you? Two, I know all about mortal psyche. I had to make sure that you wouldn't convince yourself that the Labyrinth, Heggle, and I hadn't been some sort of dream."
"Hoggle." Sarah corrected him automatically. "His name is Hoggle."
Jareth made a face. "Whatever." He growled. "The point is that I have been 'tormenting' you, so to speak, so that you won't end up like these placid morons." He gestured sketchily at the rapidly emptying hallway. "Adventure is fleeting, herd mentality is forever."
"And all that 'fear me, love me, do as I say' spiel?" Sarah asked coldly.
Warmth tinged on Jareth's voice. "That was me trying to seduce you, dearest. I am attracted to you, I think I might even love you." he held up his hands as Sarah drew herself up in indignation. "Don't look at me like that! Emotions come harder to the Fae, for a reason as well. Can you imagine falling head over heels in crush with another; only to have the attraction turn bitter as it so often does when you are immortal? Could you imagine what it would be like to see that person everyday for the rest of eternity, and no, you couldn't just 'make-up' either. One has a very limited social life in the Underground, we avoid strong emotions like the plague."
Sarah pulled her lips to a disapproving line. "And the point of this speech is...?"
Jareth scowled. "By Danaa's name, you are hard headed." He cursed. "Well, sometimes words just aren't enough..."
That was all the warning she got before Jareth pulled her into his arms, scattering books this way and that. Their lips met in a scalding kiss that shook Sarah all the way down to her toes.
Well, if anyone still thought he was gay they certainly didn't think it now.
She gasped as Jareth pulled away... he was in his true form and the Crystal Ballroom stretched out around them.
His gloved hand traced the outline of her face as she stared around her.
"Don't worry, Darling." He assured her. "None of your teachers will report your absence, indeed they won't even notice you are gone."
He took one of her hands and clasped it between his own, energy surged around her and suddenly she was in the splendorous white confection that Jareth had clothed her in during the Crystal Ball way back when he'd slipped her the drug-laced peach.
"I trust that this time I won't need to bespell you to convince you to dance with me?" he purred as he pulled her close.
"Think before you answer, Sarah. Last time neither of us had any choices but now it is not about anyone else but us and we have several hours to ourselves before I must return you home like a good swain." Jareth chuckled. "Do you think your parents would enjoy meeting me?"
"I think they'd prefer that I was dating a black lesbian biker." She said candidly.
Jareth laughed. "I suppose it's a good thing that I don't care what they think, now isn't it?"
He drew her onto the dance floor and phantom music began to play. Sarah easily matched his effortless dancing with a grace she rarely got to employ. "... I'll place the stars within your eyes..." he murmured into her ear. "They'll match the ones already there." He caressed her cheeks. "Pale jewels..."
Sarah flushed. "Cruelty that melts into kindness... how do you manage it?"
"Being cruel to be kind." Jareth whispered. "It made it so much easier to solve the Labyrinth if you could hate me, didn't it? I didn't mind. It amused me to see you play the Hero rather than the Damsel in Distress for once. Did you enjoy it?"
Sarah swallowed. "More than I should have." She admitted.
"Don't be ashamed." Jareth spun her out into a quick sprint and then pulled her back in close to his chest. "You're a rare breed in this day and age. As are villains with brains."
Sarah snorted inelegantly with laughter. "You watch too many movies."
"Indeed I do." He confessed without shame. "Marry me, Sarah, and watch them with me!"
"How can I refuse a romantic offer like that?" Sarah joked.
"Easily." Jareth said quite seriously. "But I hope you won't."
Sarah blushed. "I'm 15, Jareth."
"And?" he asked. "I'm 675, let's not quibble over numbers. Shall we?"
Sarah snorted. "Unless my parents sign a little slip of paper or some such, I can't get married at least until I'm 18."
Jareth shrugged. "Three years, that's not long to wait. Not to me of course, that can be an age to you, though."
"I can manage." Sarah said dryly.
"I believe you can manage anything," Jareth told her quite seriously. "I believe that miraculous quality was what first attracted me to you... like a moth to a flame."
"Oh, that's flattering."
Jareth grinned. "It's true, so are you agreeing to marry me?"
"You haven't really asked." Sarah pointed out. "And I just told you that I can't."
"... For another three years." Jareth quoted. "Of course, I'll ask again then."
Sarah had the sinking feeling that he wasn't joking.
Oh well, there were worse things that could happen.
She could still be in French class.
AN- the only line of French in this that I understand is Pourquoi me demande la longuer de mon nez which translates roughly as 'why are you asking why my nose is so long?' The whole French verse he was reciting was a French poem that my French Prof. Makes us recite every-damn-day.