*I am so sorry. Years! It has been years since I have updated this story and for that I am so, so sorry. Whilst I was writing this story I had some health issues which first made it difficult to continue. Then life got in the way, as it is wont to do, and I found that my motivation had been insidiously zapped, as though Graham had stolen the Goblin King's almighty magic balls and had begun to use them for evil, trapping me in an oubliette of apathy. Please forgive me! Here is the next instalment, if anyone miraculously remains interested.*

Sarah stumbled gracelessly over the threshold of their room, giggling. She felt punch drunk on dances and kisses and the sheer unreality of a vacation with The Goblin King. As she bent to remove her beautiful, but undeniably uncomfortable GK Couture heels, Jareth reached to steady her as she wobbled dangerously. She held on to him gratefully, pausing to smile up at him briefly before fumbling with the buckled strap of the dark shining shoe.

Quick as thought and graceful as a cat, Jareth was kneeling in front of her, lithe fingers unbuckling the silver clasp easily. He looked up at her as he eased her shoe from her foot, gloveless fingers pausing to briefly caress her ankle before tracing his hands slowly up her leg in the lightest of touches. She could feel his hot breath against her skin. It was electrifying. Sarah's heart threw itself painfully against her ribcage as she noted the dark, longing look in the Goblin King's eyes as they met her own. She resisted the urge to shudder, her own breath hitching embarrassingly in her throat.

Jareth's smouldering look of intensity was replaced by an infuriatingly smug smirk as he savoured the effect he had produced in her. Sarah quickly stepped out of her other shoe unaided, putting several steps between her and the Goblin King. Her bare feet sunk into the plush carpet deliciously. She resisted the urge to wiggle her toes like a child playing in the sand.

She felt suddenly shy. The room was quiet after the hubbub of The Crystal Ballroom, too quiet. The sound of the orchestra was replaced by the beating of her own heart, the singing of a demonic choir of goblin singers exchanged for their King's slow, rhythmic breathing. It was so silent that she could hear the clock on the wall ticking loudly, amplified in the intimate seclusion of the Mountain View Royale's only Honeymoon suite.

A smooth, cultured voice rang in the ethers of Sarah's mind, echoing as if from a great distance…'you have thirteen hours in which to solve the Labyrinth…' She frowned, shaking her head violently as if to forcibly banish the obtrusive flashback.

"Sarah?" Jareth had closed the distance between them in one stride, cupping her chin with one pale hand. "Are you alright?" he asked, peering down at her intently. The smug look was gone, replaced with one of concern.

"I'm fine…just a headrush. I think I got up too quickly. That last glass of champagne didn't help, I guess."

"Do you need to lie down? The hour is late. Do you wish to go to bed?" he asked, valiantly attempting to keep any hint of carnal promise from his tone. He failed. Admittedly, he had not tried very hard.

"No! No. I'm fine, honestly. I don't want to go to bed. I'm not tired, I wouldn't sleep yet. Maybe we could sit for a while. On the sofa," she clarified, unnecessarily.

She was still shaken from her minds insistence to dredge up Labyrinthian remembrances from her obviously disturbed and slightly champagne addled psyche.

"It's further than you think," that unmistakable voice in her brain continued, cooly. "Time is short."

The Goblin King of the here and now smiled down at her contentedly, genuinely. He was so beautiful it made Sarah's heart ache.

"Of course," he conceded regally. "I am in no rush. We are on…vacation as you call it, after all. We have no pressing engagements."

Sarah smiled slightly, finally relaxing, the tension leaking from her body.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Nowhere to be." No babies to save. "All the time in the world."

The Goblin King studied her carefully, seeming to know, as he always did, that there was something going on in the intricate mechanisms of Sarah's brain that she was choosing not to voice to him. Wisely, he did not press it. Just this once.

"I'm just going to get changed," she murmured, looking away from his intent gaze. Her mouth tugged into a smile. "Thank you again for the dress, though. It really is beautiful. Just not as beautiful as my fluffy penguin pyjamas."

Jareth privately thought that Sarah could make even a chicken feed sack look charming, but felt he had bestowed quite enough compliments for one evening.

"I am used to failing to live up to your endlessly unattainable expectations of me, precious thing," he remarked in a tone laden with faux hurt. "I can only eagerly await the vision of penguin perfection you will present. I will be counting the seconds to your return. Waddle back soon."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Well," she muttered, "it's not like I can fly."

She returned in a matter of moments. Jareth savoured the sight of her, blue fleece pyjamas making her look oddly vulnerable. That she would allow him to see her like this meant more to him than he would ever voice.

Jareth looked her up and down, overtly critical.

"The penguin motif is as enchanting as it is tasteful," he murmured drily. "I do so like how they are wearing hats. Adds to the realism beautifully."

Sarah ignored the jibe and crossed her arms, feeling suddenly exposed under Jareth's gaze. A small part of her brain was screaming that she should be wearing a suitably sexy silk night gown rather than a night set so ancient that where once the penguins had been resplendently fluffy, they now had the decidedly dejected appearance that they were moulting. Another even smaller voice in the back of her mind suggested tentatively that perhaps Jareth wouldn't mind.

He quirked one eyebrow and lifted one arm to gesture regally to the plush velvet sofa. He snaked his arm gracefully to encircle her waist.

"Then let us sit, dearest Sarah," he murmured softly. He steered them adroitly to the couch.

They sat. They were so close their legs were almost touching. Sarah had never envisioned that she could feel so much sexual tension whilst wearing pyjamas that would have made her Great Aunt Vivian exclaim that they were 'just darling!'

She looked down at one blue fleece encased leg. One particularly petulant looking penguin gazed back her witheringly, as if reproaching her terrible outfit choice. Sarah reflected that fluffy PJs were perhaps not the best armour for a battle with a Goblin King.

Especially when he looked so damn good and was sitting so damn close. She could smell the warm leather and spice scent of him. She resisted the urge to lean into him, to be consumed by the smell, the very essence of him.

The memory of the kiss she and Jareth had shared on the balcony of the ballroom flooded her mind, bringing a rosy glow to her cheeks. She ducked her head, attempting to hide her blush, a curtain of dark hair obscuring her face.

The ring that Jareth had bestowed on her earlier in the evening despite her weak protestations glittered, winking at her in the dimly lit suite. Its exquisiteness was almost jarring against the unapologetic ugliness of the polyester fleece.

A pale, aristocratic hand tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Why, precious thing," murmured Jareth silkily, turning Sarah's inside to a consistency that she assumed was reminiscent of goblin goo, "I believe you're actually blushing. Do share."

"Hmm, tempting, but you know I don't think I will."

Jareth gazed at her innocently.

"So secretive, Sarah! I might have to be forced to use my next question on finding out what exactly has incited that delicious pink in your cheeks."

The pink in Sarah's cheeks deepened to an attractive shade of puce.

"Nice try," muttered Sarah mutinously. "It's my turn anyway, as you've so conveniently forgotten. I'm not counting the stupid sauna thing earlier. You tricked me and you know it."

"My, my you sound so surprised Sarah. Trickery is my bread and butter, as you have so often insinuated. Ahh, what is it that phrase?" mused Jareth, grinning wickedly, "can't blame a Goblin King for trying."

Sarah moved her leg from beside Jareth, tucking them underneath her in a childish gesture. "You are trying. Very. But this is my go. I'm claiming it."

Struggling to suppress her embarrassment at being caught moony eyed after reliving an admittedly spectacular kiss with her favourite fae Lord, Sarah barrelled on in her characteristically bull-in-a-china-shop fashion.

"I've thought of my next question and I'm going to ask it, and that's all there is to it," insisted Sarah, sounding braver than she felt.

Jareth raised an upswept eyebrow, schooling his expression into one of polite interest. "Is that so?" he enquired, tone carefully casual.

"Yep. You asked me something on our hike – about why I have the career I do – about why I wanted to act."

Sarah dimly registered that she had unconsciously slipped into the past tense.

"Anyway, it got me thinking."

"Sounds dangerous," murmured Jareth sardonically.

Sarah pretended she hadn't heard him.

"So…my question is this; if you lived Above – permanently, I mean – if you weren't the Goblin King, if you were free to live as any other human being…to be whatever you wanted…what kind of life would you choose?"

Jareth was silent.

Sarah swore the temperature in the room had instantaneously dropped by several degrees.

"That," said Jareth eventually, each word dropping from him like a stone, "is a ridiculous question. It is a moot point. I cannot change my nature. You ask a wolf what kind of field it would choose to graze on should it so happen to one day transmute into a sheep."

"It isn't!" protested Sarah, hurt. "Jareth!" she exclaimed, as she took in the poorly disguised pain in the sharp angles of face. She reached out for him fruitlessly as he sprang, panther like, from the sofa. He withdrew into the shadows of the room until she could no longer see his face.

"You ask me to wish away a great deal of inescapable truths," came a cool, detached voice from the corner of the suite. "To shut my eyes against the reality of my existence, of the very purpose of it. To naïvely imagine that I can be other than what I am. A futile exercise. A useless dream."

The bitterness and pain that Sarah's question had catalysed within him poisoned his insides, infecting his voice with viciousness. "You really are still such a child sometimes, Sarah."

"And you're such an ass!" she exploded, suddenly furious. "We'd had such a lovely evening, I loved tonight. And now…now you're being cruel."

She continued, quieter now, allowing some of the sadness she felt at the sudden cataclysmic down-turn of the events of the evening to leak into her voice. "I thought that there was a time when you thought that dreams were a pretty big thing."

He paused, and she saw the anger and tension ebb from his lithe frame.

She allowed the loaded silence to linger in the room only for a moment.

"But why, Jareth?" she pressed, "why do you have to be Goblin King? Why does it have to be a case of being 'what you are'? rather than 'what you want?'"

"I do not know, Sarah!" Jareth almost shouted, his coldly furious voice reverberating in the large room. "I do not know," he repeated more quietly, looking slightly surprised at his loss of control.

With an effort, he smiled at her. It was not a happy one, a smirk tainted by its bitterness. Sarah would have preferred more shouting. The moon shone suddenly through a crack in the curtains, lending the room an uncanny glow and highlighting the pale, suddenly cruel beauty of Jareth's face.

"Because Sarah…it is, to borrow one of your favourite phrases…simply the way it is done. I was never given the option to reside in a…. countryside cottage with a picket fence and a waggling tailed little puppy!"

"And that's what you want?" she asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

He sighed, and Sarah could tell it came from some place deep buried deep inside of him.

"How can I truly know when the concept of a human life is so…alien to me." He smiled wryly. "I have glimpsed into it with a…birds eye view of mortal existence, as it were. A clouded vision in a crystal. That is all."

Silently, impulsively, Sarah took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers. The diamond ring still glittered on her finger, a remnant of their magical evening.

The Goblin King, Jareth, all that he was, raised their entwined hands as though looing to ascertain their materiality. His pale skin was almost translucent in the eerie light the moon had lent the suite. To Sarah's dimly registered surprise, she could see his veins. Blue blood, thought Sarah drily. No shocks on that score. On instinct, she traced their spider web pattern lightly with her fingers.

She felt Jareth tremble beside her.

"But…that kind of life…that ideal, the storybook cottage 2.4 kids and a dog…that's what you think you'd want?" she asked gently. "If you could?"

"Not to put too fine a point on it," he whispered, the words coming from him almost unbidden. "I am…denied certain opportunities for a certain way of life. Were circumstances entirely different, I feel I might enjoy certain aspects of that kind of existence."

She nodded. All was quiet.

"Thankyou," she murmured, their hands still linked. "Thankyou for answering."

He squeezed her hand gently, soothingly. We are okay, he conveyed wordlessly. No matter what.

"As for the puppy…" she murmured teasingly, some lightness creeping back into her tone, "I can't imagine you'd be too delighted about doing poop patrol, anyway."

He smiled slightly, some of his old humour returning. When he remained quiet, she removed her hand from his as gently as she could.

"It is late," she murmured. "I'm going to head to bed. You can sleep in the room with me. Come in, if you want…whenever you want. Whenever you're ready." She reached up to kiss his cheek, chastely, sweetly and then turned away from him.

"Sarah," called Jareth calmly, as she crossed the hallway to the master suite. His rich velvet voice turned her very name into a caress. "If I did desire the mortal life you described…if I had been granted access to it…it would be only in order to share it with you."

Her breath caught in her throat.

"There are some if my kind," he continued conversationally, when she remained silent, "that admire the mortal capacity for passion, for romantic love. They believe that you have such a short life span, comparatively, such a brief bright flame, because you effectively burn yourselves out. But I do not share their sentiments."

"Oh," murmured Sarah, still reeling. She did not feel real. Her head was still spinning. "Sorry the entire human race is so disappointing to you. I'd love to hear more about the failings of my genetic mutations. What are your thoughts, then?"

"I think that I have a been granted a true concept of eternity and would still treasure every second of it with you. And that is real passion."

She turned back and walked in slow, measured steps towards him. She looked up at him for one long moment, as though committing his every feature to memory. She went on tip toe, bare feet sinking in the plush ivory carpet, and kissed him. It was a slow, coaxing kiss.

She wanted to kiss the sadness out of him, to absorb it, to absolve him from his pain and his loneliness. To show him just how bright a human passion could burn.

He broke away first, leaning his forehead on hers, hot, sweet breath tickling her face. He sighed, and Sarah could sense the contentment and the relief contained within the exhalation.

"You are tired," he murmured, his usually velvet voice uncharacteristically rough with supressed emotion. "Go to bed. I will see you in the morning. After all, we have, as you said earlier, 'all the time in the world.'

I really, really hope you enjoyed this. I enjoyed writing it. Please do tell me your thoughts. Thankyou so much for taking the time to read this embarrassingly late chapter.