Finally, a bit of an update to this story. Can't promise I'll be making regular updates on here, but wanted to get this piece out there since it was done! Hope you all enjoy, and if you're following my other story - Immortal Ties - please don't hate me for getting this chapter posted first. This one was on my mind for a while, so I figured if I got it posted I wouldn't have as much trouble completing the other!

As always, I own nothing of Jim Henson's work.

I know your type, black lights and leather tights

You're black ice on the road on a drunken summer night

I cannot bear to love you any less than you need

I cannot hold you, I cannot bear to lose the bruises that you leave

Wasted, Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Jareth studies the fragile lines of her face, that delicately spiteful grin still etched in her lips as she lie unconscious at his feet. His poor, infuriated pet, to test him so shamelessly and create such a scene before his guests. What a mess she's made just to retaliate against him. His own temper has faded to the background of his bemusement, but only just. Undoubtedly, his cravings demand that he keep her alive in order to sate them, so there is little debate on the matter these days. The realization disturbs him though, that he could so easily forget himself in the midst of her taunts and simply undo her existence. Does she seek to draw him to such a perilous ending? Surely this madness is nothing if but the precipice of such a fatal fall. How clever a creature she may be if she's surmised the ruin her own death would evoke upon him. Jareth relaxes his shoulders as he shakes himself from the thought. He's ensured she's incapable of an easy death, so long as their bond remains.

"How you exhaust me, you precious thing," he smiles as he speaks to himself, though there's a glint of unease in his eyes.

"I suppose you'll be expecting me to clean up the mess of this incident?"

A stiff tone reverberates through the hall. Jareth laughs, having almost forgotten the man standing behind him.

"As though you don't enjoy terrifying my subjects with your strict enforcement of court principles, Thomas. The gossipers will shudder should they ruffle your feathers." Jareth drawls, mocking the advisor as he continues to study Sarah's even breathing at his feet.

Thomas tugs on the cuffs of his shirt, a tell of his clear irritation.

"Fae creatures are flighty characters. I don't believe half your current court was around the last time I snatched the tongues out of the worst of the offenders. Quite a memorable mess, though it was."

Jareth cocks his head at the man. "Is there something else you wish to say, Thomas? You once savored such disciplinary actions."

Thomas levelled a gaze at the King, pulling himself up from the wall where he'd been leaning.

"I wonder what the point would be to punish your subjects, when your intentions with this human are far from clear. They will gossip regardless. I should at least understand what I am punishing them for."

"Should you really be concerning yourself with that?" Jareth's smile widens at the man's obvious disapproval.

"You didn't kill her," Thomas states flatly, almost accusingly.

Jareth's eyes glint sharply, but his smile remains. "Have I disappointed you, Thomas?"

"I find your methods to ensnare the girl problematic, yes. Your time is nearly up."

Jareth's grin fell slightly at that, his eyes narrowing. "You know I enjoy torturing my prey as much as I savour devouring them."

Thomas ignores the obvious deflection from his King, and persists in making his point.

"Perhaps you should reconsider your purpose for her. After all, a King has no sins to hide. Not even a betrothal to a human, one gifted to him by a rather powerful entity."

A dark humor lit Jareth's face as he pinned the man with a sinister glare. The movement is a flurry of shadows, the air slices with the movement and the scent of fresh blood joins the stench of char. Jareth inspects his now bloody claws, standing just a foot away from Thomas, whose cheek runs red. Thomas hasn't even flinched from the pain, but Jareth chuckles regardless at the trickle of blood falling upon Thomas's crisp white shirt.

"I didn't believe you capable of humor, Thomas. But should you speak of this again, I'll ensure you regret it."

Thomas shrugs, his cool demeanor appearing as though he couldn't care less what the King did with his thoughts on the matter. He approached the unconscious Sarah and carefully pulled her into his arms, ignoring Jareth's raised eyebrow as he did so.

As he turned to take his leave, he left one last thought behind him with his King.

"She's likely incapable of forgiving your transgressions toward her as it were, I suppose. I've never seen a Queen carry bruises quite so shamelessly."

Like poison to his mind are Thomas' words. It shouldn't infuriate him to hear the thoughts he's possessed himself these past few days spoken out loud, yet it sends him spinning as he considers all the possibilities before him. He could possess her unequivocally for eternity, if he simply accepted the Labyrinths offering. Though it would welcome war on his kingdom with such a flagrant show of weakness by crowning a human. And if any ever discovered that he'd bonded her as well, he'd face a rebellion from within his walls.

Yet, Thomas saw it so simply. He was a King. A King with a vice that he could simply indulge in if he chose to.

The thought turns sour in his mind, because Thomas was keen, if not a slice from the same callous cloth that Jareth was formed from. If he believed Sarah incapable of forgiving him, he was likely right. A Queen with a vendetta against her King was a ruinous monarchy.

Jareth traces himself to a balcony that has no entrance, hidden from everyone but himself. It sits along the eastern wall of his castle, overlooking the massive Labyrinth he'd once ruled with pride. It has become the bane of his crown, and the thorn in his sanity. He props himself up on the thick stone balcony wall, eyeing his treasured source of power with derision. For something incapable of being sentient, it certainly had a way of getting its kicks against its king.

Rain pelts the massive grey walls and the shimmer of magic within is noticeably dimmed since the last time he's visited this view. He may not rule it as he had before the champion came into play but the bond remains, lingering as he refuses to accept the offering of its Queen, and as Sarah repeatedly refuses to cast away her crown. He can feel it's disapproval in the air, can sense it grows ill as its offering to its king remains unaccepted. As one unravels, so too does the other. So was the way of the King and his Labyrinth, bonded so intricately to the core.

"You could have chosen anyone, yet you chose a child of no significance. I may be a cruel King, but it is you who have no heart, old friend." Jareth's eyes fog, his mind going distant as he spins a crystal on the tips of his fingers, seeing short glimpses of dark hair and vengeful eyes. "Yet now she is neither of those things, and I'm not sure who is more damned by the fact."

Vacant eyes drop from the glass sphere as he brushes his fingers against the vines growing along the stone hedge, white flowers wilting under the rain. The delicate petals shrivel and die upon his touch, his magic seeping black from his core.

"What a pity for us both," he chuckles.

Finding the pretense to mask her situation with amusement wains in the aftermath of the dinner party. Her circumstances have created quite an abysmal state for her mind, at best. Trapped, trapped, trapped… Always fucking trapped.

There is a bite of pain that singes her throat when she wakes, alone in her tiny room, a throbbing ache that wraps its way like a noose around her fair neck. It's a kiss of death, one that was never sealed properly, because here she lies still breathing on a lumpy cot. Pity…

All this pain over a little fire play. Dramatic King, a tiny voice in her head whispers.

What has she come to expect from the lunatic who haunts every crevice of her mind? That answer still evades her. His temper, cruelty, wit and deviant nature… that was simply what it was. That was Jareth, the Goblin King. That name alone so heavily saturated in power and control over every frame of her existence, and she envies the taste of such strength. Let him beat and break her, as she continues to siphon his attention and his temper like poison into her veins. In that slow, disillusioned spiral of destruction she blossoms like a night flower in the pale moonlight.

Her mind grows heavy as she finds the air to chuckle over her desolation. If there had been a single sliver of her former self left beating within her, that piece now rested in the warped depths of Jareth's heart now. Stolen, just like her youth, just like her happiness, just like her innocence. One last and final strike to eliminate the girl they'd both once known. With that loss she climbs higher amidst the treachery of his world, smiling as the playing field slowly levels between them, a match made by fate - wicked king versus jaded queen. What fun games they play, devouring one another till the very castle crumbles.

Foolish king, to sharpen his claws on her, when she had only just begun to unsheathe her own.

"Is that what humans call dancing?" his tone insinuates the insult.

The room fills with the heady annoyance that comes with the shadow of Thomas's tall frame standing over her. Sarah spins rhythmically before him, unsure how long she's been twirling to the music from somewhere deep in the castle. Another party taking place as the King continues to ignore her. How long has it been? She isn't sure. Nor does she know how many hours… days… it had been since the pain in her bones had set root. Just as the day after she'd taken Jareth's blood into her, now too did her body grow ill, aching with every movement even as she continues to sway.

"I'm also classically trained, if that appeases any of your abhorrence of me, Thomas," Sarah says wistfully, but her words crack and she barely hides the wince from the pain in her throat as she curtseys low to her invisible partner before placing her hands in the air where they would approximately rest, beginning her waltz around the space.

Soft voice humming along to the tune she doesn't know, spinning about the room barefoot in a robe that had been left for her. They hadn't even graced her with a change of clothing, but she didn't particularly care.

It should surprise him that she has a grace unsuspected of her, that perhaps the peach dream in which he'd first gazed upon her hadn't been all due to the King's talents. It should be comical, watching her dance with a ghost, eyes dim as she loses herself in remembering the steps. Yet as always this imprudent creature evolves into something more captivating and his scorn decides to refrain itself for the moment. When she stumbles, grey lines darkening on her sickly pale skin, his ire returns.

"You stupid girl," he chides, words slicing through the small space. Sarah steadies herself slowly, tilting her head up at him to flash a dull smirk. "I explicitly warned you not to get yourself killed."

Sarah falls back onto her heels, abruptly turning to face him, knotted hair in disarray around a still dirty face. Thomas is closer than she realized, standing just a few feet behind her in the white of the moonlight shining through her bare window. He is dressed as pristine as always, the one-note black attire as dark as his perpetual mood. Arms crossed stiffly, he is watching her with unmasked tension and anger. Had she thought they were making progress in their companionship? Silly Sarah.

"I'm hardly in a state to entertain, Thomas. Too busy plotting your King's demise at the moment," she coos lightly.

He ignores her words, as though her anger has no place here, and takes a step toward her. A hand extends, revealing a small purple vial that he gently sets atop the lone dresser in the room, keeping the distance of a few feet between them.

"I must advise that you drink this," yet his tone is a command. She laughs in reply.

"Tell Jareth he can keep his poisons. I can find more creative ways to kill me if he's run out of ideas."

"You poor, self-destructive thing," Thomas chides, as though it is his patience being tested beyond reason. "Beyond the physical pain of your most recent outburst, surely you've begun to feel the effects of rejecting your bond, have you not? It's a healing elixir."

Sarah's lips part to deny it, but he cuts a hand through the air to wave off her rebuttal with clear aggravation. He picks the vial up once more, stepping just close enough to hand it directly to her this time.

Jade eyes pierce his with open distrust, a rhetoric on her tongue, but a shallow breath catches in her throat with a soft noise of surprise. Thomas had only just entered fully into the moonlight glow from the window behind her, and upon doing so revealed four long, deep slices along his right cheek. They stood out starkly, a glisten of red that could have been painted black in the shadows against his ghostly skin. A clean set of cuts made by a very sharp blade. Or very sharp claws…

"And here I thought I was receiving special treatment," she mocks casually, but there is a tinge of vehemence behind her lashes that Thomas is certain she doesn't realize she is showing, nor can he fathom why his wounds would matter to such a selfish creature.

"Special? I would say so, given that you're still breathing."

He raises the vile once more, and this time Sarah reaches out for it, but her hand brushes past his gift and instead reaches to graze over the wounds gently, a ghost of a touch that does not meet cold skin. The usual discomfort is subtle behind her pain and her anger, somehow the humor in that is nowhere to be found. Mute blue eyes watch her silently as she lets frail fingers graze gently against broken skin. It burns, but not terribly. She doesn't quite hate the contact as she had before.

"I've wondered, why your own nails are blunt like a humans, when Jareth's are not. Does he abhor any similarities with mortals, or is Jareth just gifted to be so deadly a creature?" Sarah murmurs darkly.

Thomas snatches the wrist of her hovering hand, tightly but not painfully, and somehow managing to keep their skin separated by the thin sleeve of her robe.

"Gifted? One might think you fancy such features. Or perhaps it's simply the owner of them, who wishes you nothing but pain. Yet your skin prickles and flushes red when the space evaporates between you and any other. As it does now," Thomas is eyeing her with a clinical gaze, assessing her reaction with no more interest than had she been an insect trapped in his palm. He leans in just an inch, dull blue eyes focused solely on her sharpening jade ones. His eyes never linger. They never dip. She doesn't find this amusing anymore. "For the record, because I abhor ignorance, I keep mine clipped."

He releases her abruptly, uncaring that he's left her unbalanced as he steps away. He moves just a few inches, and already she feels more at ease.

Sarah shrugs off how troubled it makes her that his observations are so precise, that he knows exactly how close he can be, and how fleeting his touches remain. She wouldn't be surprised if he knew the exact number of inches, the exact timing of seconds. She cannot decide between irritation or amusement, the impasse between the two transfixed in her gaze and knitted brow. Thomas appears unbothered by her, but he subtly tugs at the cuffs of his perfectly pressed shirt, drawing her gaze to his dull fingernails. Perfectly trimmed. The exact same length on each finger.

"Isn't that a shame," she hums lowly, taunting smile a charade to mask the confusing and colliding thoughts in her head.

Thomas blinks, silent in response to her jab.

"Come along. You smell like ash," he finally states, casually derisive.

The bathroom in Thomas's room is white and clean. Almost too clean. Each item within is perfectly placed, not a single thing out of order. He's left her to fend for herself, but she wonders if it burdens him to leave such a chaotic girl alone in such a pristine space. Even his soap is subtle and sharp, the scent of fresh evergreens washing away the remnants of her fire and the smell of ash. He's left her a towel and a black blouse to cover herself with, and it drowns her small frame. It's no better than her robe but at least it doesn't smell.

When she exits, fully bathed and dressed, she expects to find him tapping his foot impatiently, ready to escort her back to her hovel, or the King. She itches for the latter, her desire to lash out at Jareth only growing as her achy bones begin to settle. His elixir had done wonders, and she'd begun to feel better almost immediately. Yet when she rejoins him in his bedroom he is silently at his desk, scratching away at a piece of paper with a feather pen. Thomas doesn't even acknowledge her when she reappears, so she ignores him in return and inspects the bare pieces of his room. It is far less rich in color than Jareth's but just as sterile feeling.

Bored within moments, Sarah falls onto his bed, unsurprised that his linens are starch and crisp, smelling of clean, fresh air. It amuses her that his systematic stiffness extends to even the more mundane pieces of his life, like the comforts of a bed. Peculiar, tense Fae.

"You cannot rest here."

Clipped, as always. The scratching of his pen never slows, so she isn't sure if he's bothered to glance up at her or simply senses her wavering energy from the edge of his bed.

"Afraid I'll sully you and your very clean sheets?" She coos back, eyes still closed because they've become surprisingly heavy. Had his medicine drugged her? Her body tries to tense but the muscles continue to grow lethargic.

"Presumptuous little thing, aren't you? Are you unaware that your charms may be an acquired taste?" His words bite, but when she cracks open an eye she sees the faintest crack in his lips, not quite a grin, but something close. "You cannot rest here, because the longer you stay the more your scent will mingle with my own."

Sarah stretches as she replies, albeit a bit sluggishly. "And the King would be displeased?" She laughs sleepily. "I'm growing fonder of this idea."

The scratching quill finally ceases.

"I have no intention of dying for you," Thomas says after a moment, and it's an almost sigh in his tone. Is he really so easily perplexed by her?

"Of course not," she chuckles, amused by such a statement. "I'm quite sure I'll die alone."

Sarah's eyes peek open when no response comes, and she finds the fae staring down at her from above the edge of the bed.

"You speak of such so carelessly."

"I have no fear of dying, Thomas. I just hope I take them both with me," she sighs whistfully, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers as she studies the ends with disinterest.

"Yet could one such as you ever truly be capable of such a task?" he asks, and without even trying he tears at her with the honest ridicule in his speculation of her. "I've had to wonder since your arrival. What outcomes of this game will there be? Which play on the board do I choose to follow for my own benefit?"

Sarah rolls over to her stomach and props a hand under her chin, a bitter smile spreading.

"I may be insignificant to everyone here, Thomas. But haven't you underestimated me before?"

He studies her with another of his cold expressions. Calculating, but what she isn't sure.

"Precisely my thoughts." He turns from her and returns to his desk, the scratching of his quill beginning once more.

Sarah returns to her back and closes her eyes, uncertain what to make of the King's second-hand this night, but certainly amused by his own perplection over the matter.

"I will not die for you, but I won't let you die of your own accord either," he states casually from his seat. "The King will crumble to your will sooner or later. It's high time I place my bets on the Queen in this game of chess."

"A Queen? I believe you once referred to me a rabid human."

"From the ashes do we rise, Defeater. The flames may burn you, but within pain do we discover what our true selves are capable of."

She laughs at his words, and for once the cynicism of her broken mind is absent from it.

and that's all for now. Sorry for a shorter chapter. I hope to update again soonish. Do let me know what you think, and what your guesses are for what Thomas is up to.