A/N: This has been bouncing around in my head for a while, so even though literally no one asked for this here we go...

She beats his Labyrinth and he's so terribly proud, so terribly fond of her that he has to fight to keep the smile off his face. He lets her have her childish celebration, let's her be the victor.

All for you, all for you, all for you…

He checks in on her periodically, the way creatures like him are bound to do when taken with a mortal. He expects to see her age out of her delightful naivety and is pleased when she doesn't. Year after year, she stubbornly holds onto her imagination, speaks with the cruel honesty of a child's narcissism.

He's completely besotted.

Doors open for her, the kind that rarely open for most modern children nowadays, but he's not surprised. At fifteen, she was older than all of the runners he'd had in the past four decades, and yet she was the strongest. He watches her dip in and out of worlds, always wondering which adventure will be her last, when she'll decide to go home and settle down and raise some babes. (She doesn't).

He imagines she will probably become a writer or an actress or something equally glitzy and glamorous, some imaginative career that will allow her to savor the adventures of her youth for a while longer.

Sometimes, when he is quite bored, or when a runner fails, he entertains the thought of bringing her over again, of having her run. He wonders what it would be like now that she's older, wiser, (a bit more vicious), and he imagines the fun of running, chasing her through the walls, (tasting her blood), (tasting her)-

But time has no place in his world, and he loses track of the come and go's of the thirteenth hour, and he is a creature of immortal, so even with his love (obsession) for his little mortal girl running amuck round his mind, he loses track of the years, and when one day the trees bloom and he smells peaches and he is reminded of her. He looks in on her, expecting to see an older Sarah that holds no more traces of magic except for fond memories of her girlhood. He expects to look in on her, a responsible, reasonable woman, writing a book or directing a play.

What he does not expect to see is piracy.

"There's a what on board?"

The small, round man is trying to look anywhere but the bed. He decides that the spot beside his left shoe would do. There's absolutely nothing special about that spot, but Smee decides that very second to become a flooring aficionado. It's not that Smee has never seen a naked woman before, but he suspects (knows) that the naked woman next to his Captain will cheerfully run him through with her blade if he rests his eyes a second too long on her nude (entangled) form.

"A fairy, Cap'n. A rather large one at that too."

He can almost hear the Captain raise an eyebrow. Smee shifts his gaze to the spot next to his right shoe.

" 'E says he wants t'a speak with Miss Williams."

I adore you, he wants to say. You delight me.

Instead, he says with a mocking drawl, "And here I'd thought you'd be more suited to the Lost Boys."

It's the other man, the one who's not like him but not quite a mortal either, who laughs uproariously.

"My gods, have you met the woman? She doesn't have a mothering bone in her body. Lord knows what would happen if you left her in charge of a normal child for one minute, let alone those ghastly things."

Oh, Jareth thinks, If only he knew.

Sarah is smirking too, obviously on the same train of thought, and they exchange the private smiles of those who share much history together. He observes her in the candlelight of this dinner their host has graciously provided (it's good form). Though she looks delighted to see him, she hasn't said a direct word to him all night. He traces her contours with his gaze, reverent. She's all soft planes of youth still, though she should look (be) much older. There's the unsettling air of magic, of corruption of the natural order of things clinging to her skin, shifting the air around her.

"I thought she was Peter, the first time I laid eyes on her." The pirate's tone is warm and his gaze affectionate. "Then she shot me."

"I was startled." Sarah shrugs, unapologetic.

The pirate is a good conversationalist, and Jareth learns about this strange place and trades stories of his own kingdom. More importantly, he learns that Sarah has been pirating for the better part of six months, that she knew how to sail but that the Captain has been teaching her fencing, that she's a fantastic (ruthless) pirate-

That she's cruel, more so than when he first accused her of it years (decades?) ago, that she's playful and still laughs like a child, that she's befriended the mermaids and they let her swim the seas without drowning her to it's depths-

That she is most definitely sleeping with the Captain, but that she cocks her head at him across the table smiles and she knows-

And the Captain says nothing when she offers to walk Jareth to the quarters they've arranged for him, even though all three of them knows he will disappear before dawn.

They reach the door and he moves towards her, she moves back until she'd pressed up against the wood. The moonlight only illuminates half of her face, splitting her in two. He imagines her as a princess, wearing a half mask during a ball. He can see her pert nipples through the thin fabric of her (the Captain's) billowy white shirt. With something akin to curiosity, he traces one lightly with his index, listens to her sharp inhale. He drags the finger across her chest and under her chin, gently pushing the obscured half of her face into the light.

"You never came for me."

("It's not fair!" echoes somewhere in his mind).

They regard each other, green eyes meeting blue. She's frowning at him, petulant as ever, entitled as ever. He smiles- a sharp, cruel thing, and his fingers from a grip on her chin and tightens. A small pinprick of fear blooms in her eyes.

"And you," He returns smoothly, "were supposed to grow up."

She was supposed to-

She was supposed to have forgotten all about the Labyrinth and moved to New York, dazzled on stage for a few decades, had a few children and died. She should not be some tangible reality, something so far removed from human that she has become a part of this world (his world).

But she is, and it's this thought that spurs him to bury his face into the curve of her neck and inhale deeply, to kiss the soft spot beneath her jaw. His lips find her pulse and he stills for a moment, feels it beat wildly, and he doesn't know if he's more aroused by the idea that he excites her or that he scares her-

"Tell me, precious," He whispers against her throat. "Am I still powerless over you?"

He trails his nose up the curve of her cheek and dips his hand low, low, low-

He hears her breath hitch, feels her shift her entire body to press harder, closer against him, and he chances a look at her face.

Her pupils are blown wide under half-lidded eyes, her cheeks flushed. She looks entrapped, enchanted. Gods, this is how he's wanted her for so long, and he smirks in triumph-

Her eyes snap up to meet his and she places her hands on his chest and pushes hard.

"Not so easily, Goblin King." She announces, breathy and defiant. Her hands are still on his chest and he feels her sharp little nails digging into his flesh, poised to attack.

"No," He agrees, baring his teeth in a wolfish (proud) smile. He knows what she wants and it is what he wants (needs)-

"Run my Labyrinth."

If the Captain notices the rivulets of blood that her nails drew from his back, he makes no mention of it. They lay together, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and cigars and sex (goodbyes).

"You're not upset that I'm leaving? Jealous?" She asks (a formality).

"My darling," says James Hook, propping himself up on the elbow of his arm with the good hand. "I've been at war with Pan for centuries." He smiles that dangerous smile, rakes his hook down her breast towards her belly button, lowers his face between her legs.

"A true, worthy, adversary is a rare thing indeed."

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will trade pirate captains for reviews