It's been a bit since I wrote something Labyrinth! Recently I've had a bit of an Avengers kick.Lately I've been thinking a lot about the movie...though, this piece was started months ago.

Anyways.

As per my usually stories...people pass out a lot...there are twisty points...and lots of thinking...

DISCLAIMER: Labyrinth and her characters are not mine.

-XXX-

She isn't about to let him get away with this. No matter what tricky turn of phrase he might turn about as an excuse for this behavior, Sarah Williams would not let this knaving, thick-headed, cowardly Fae wiggle his way out of this one. No way, no how.

"This isn't what I wished for," she grumbles to the darkness, crossing her arms in a half-hearted attempt to bring about warmth, hugging herself against the damp coolness of the oubliette. Not a pinprick of light shines through the dank hole. She is grateful for this, unwilling to know what, exactly, her setting consisted of.

Not all of the Labyrinth's oubliettes are the same, said Hoggle. They're all dark pits, yes, places to leave people to be forgotten, true, but they're not all little carved-out caves. Some of squishy wet places, others hot and dry, some dizzyingly deep, others effectively tiny cupboards to lose a person in. She doesn't wish to know which this one is, so she keeps her mouth shut and her limbs close. A sensation of cold trickles down her spine, though that could be leftover from the rush she'd experienced on seeing the Goblin King for the first time in ten years. Either way, it's uncomfortable, and Sarah hugs herself even harder.

He's not changed much, in the decade or so since their last meeting, in this place -"Well, not specifically, this place," her inner voice scolds. "More like…the Labyrinth in general. Or perhaps the dream-scape of falling castles. Whichever you prefer." – having the same wild look about him with a mad mane of hair, tight breeches, an equally tight smirk, and mismatched eyes that would narrow with displeasure or grow wide with false innocence at the will of their master. Little has altered, which is perhaps good, as she knows what to expect. Sarah, on the other had, has changed a great deal since fifteen, as the King was oh-so kind to point out in a delicate purr. She'd not asked for detailed observations, but rather, bitten her lip and glared.

"Welcome back, m'lady Sarah. You've come again to regale us all with your bravery…tut, tut, not dressed for the occasion, are we…."

-XXX-

He'd taken her from her dreams. Or, at least, her dreamings. Sarah was perfectly content in her slumber, alone in her, snuggled beneath the duvet. Fairy lights lined the molding on the ceiling, giving the room a fantastic soft glow. The digital letters on her alarm clock faintly read 2:36 a.m. The cat snoozed at the foot of the bed. One of the pillows had fallen to the floor. She was in a nightgown – a far cry from her usual bedwear of sweats and a tank top, but tonight she was feeling particularly luxurious and went for the silky, slinky dark blue, spaghetti-strap, knee-length night gown instead. In the midst of all of this comfort, in the middle of a rather dull dream that involved the mall and shoes that sang Christmas carols, everything…shifted. Scene twisted, Sarah was pulled into a familiar setting of falling pieces of stone, broken clocks, and a desert sunset. And she was greeted by an even more familiar figure, who crept forth from the shadows on languid limbs, a sneer already set upon his most marvelously curled lips, brow furrowed with frustration.

The Fae King was not happy, nor was he exactly discontented. No, he was more…happily agitated by his problem. For she was, indeed, his problem.

"Sarah. Williams." He said her name as though it were two separate statements. Sarah gazed at him with hard eyes. "You've returned to grace me with your most honored presence. Back in the Labyrinth…at last."

Sarah, believing that this was, of course, merely a dream, simply watched the king near, then pace. He walked slow, predatory circles around her. Gloved fingers flexed in and out, straining against the leather. A crop appears out of thin air and taps against his knee-high boots. The noise caused her to flinch. But she didn't look away.

"Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever we may be…take me back." Sarah crossed her arms. She is, after all, rather underdressed. And she didn't miss the way the king's eyes traveled up her form. A mere nightgown was not the most desirable of attire for such a kidnapping. "Well. This is quite the nightmare."

Jareth bared his teeth in something that might've resembled a smile had he not been so tense. "Oh, I would say it is your dream come true, m'lady, but it most certainly is not. Back in my kingdom, where you belong."

She sniffed. "I wouldn't agree."

The King wasn't let down by her attitude, however, and visibly relaxed. "Same Sarah, I see. On some points…" he eyed her form again, letting his gaze linger. "Others have certainly altered."

Sarah turned away, crossing her arms tighter. "Oh, this is an awful dream!"

From behind her, he tutted. The sound neared as he crossed the flagstone to stand at her back. Through the thin silk she could feel his heat. It felt painfully foreign. Sarah unconsciously drew away, back arching. A hand found her neck, brushing aside the curtain of dark hair as hot lips met her ear. Her fists clenched, anger rising to her throat, but before she could protest Jareth was speaking.

"I already told you…this is no dream, Sarah." Her name came out measured. Even. Pronounced very, very carefully. "You are not merely sleeping, dear girl."

Sarah stepped forward, out of the king's reach. "And you're pulling at straws, Goblin King." She shook her head, half-turning.

"This is no dream," the king hissed. "There was something you missed. Something between the lines. You've not won yet."

"What?"

He had her full attention. Smiling lightly, the Fae continued. "We've never had a winner before, you see. So…the rules were little muddled to you. But now that we've cleared things up, we know that winners are granted rights to the kingdom."

She blinked. "Oh. Well. Then…I don't want the kingdom. Thank you. Goodbye."

She attempted to sweep away, but Jareth caught her wrist. "It isn't that simple."

"How can it not be that simple?" She rounded on him, snatching her limb away from the king, eyes flashing. Fiercely, the young woman snarled. "You lost, I won. You offer, I reject. You plead, I refuse. Thanks, but no thanks. I leave. End of story."

"No." Her wrist found its way back into his grip. "Not end of story. You don't know what this means. It isn't a matter you can merely cast away with a wave of your hand, Sarah. Not like every other impulse you've had flit through your mind."

"Watch me," she sneered.

That's when he pulled her tighter, closer. Growling, the king looms over the young woman. "Ah, I'd prefer not…Congratulations, Sarah Williams. You've nearly won the kingdom, its king…you're just a few years late finishing the game to claim the prize. If you do not…well, you see, that will cast my kingdom into chaos. They will, following your petty refusal, be without monarchy, order, stability – a king. And we can't have that."

For nearly a full minute he stared at her with icy eyes, trying to impart the gravity of his words. It appeared to have an affect – she quivered slightly.

"Okay, okay," Sarah said, softening her voice. Years of babysitting Toby had finally taught her that when tension rose, when responding it was better to drop tone than rise. Introducing calm did miracles in producing reason. "I get it. You need me to finish…this game. For them. But what if I don't want to accept the kingdom and all that?"

"That is not an option," the King replied calmly.

"Not…an option…." She spoke slowly, eyes glazing. "Oh…my."

"You'll stay here. Rule from the Goblin City. Run the Labyrinth."

-XXX-

I'm praying this won't be too typical...anyways. I think it's going to be 7 chapters or so, depending on how the editing goes.

Reviews are golden!