Standard Fanfiction Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations created and dramatized by Terry Jones, Brian Froud, Jim Henson, David Bowie, et al. I do not own Labyrinth, nor am I making any money from it.

She pushed open the door to the pizza parlor and frowned. She would have preferred to meet at a coffee shop or a juice bar, but it was his turn to pick this year, and he wanted to meet here. Looking around, she spotted him at a corner booth, his face buried in his phone, as usual.

Making her way across the crowded room, she slid into the seat opposite him. He did not look up, but merely continued to tap furiously on the brightly-lit screen with his thumbs. She waited. After several minutes, she leaned down, trying to get her face into his line of sight. He did not respond. She waved. Nothing.

Finally, she put her hand over the phone screen and said, "Yoohoo, Jareth. I'm here."

That did the trick. Blinking, he raised his head and stared at her dumbly. "Oh. Sarah," he said. "When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes ago, not that you noticed or anything," she snarked back.

"Gimme a sec, okay?" He removed her hand from the phone screen and continued tapping on it for several more seconds. Sarah drummed her fingers on the table impatiently. With a final nod of satisfaction, Jareth put his phone down. "I'm almost at the next level in HuniePop," he told her. "So far, I'm up to level eight. Only a hundred and fifty more points, and I can upgrade to level nine and arrange a date with a Hunie from the elven kingdom."

"Your courtship rituals are truly fascinating, Jareth," she replied dryly. "Have you tried Tinder yet?"

The waitress arrived to take their order. After ascertaining that, no, the pizzeria did not have gluten-free crust, Sarah settled for buffalo wings and a diet soda. Jareth ordered a large, pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and a cola.

"You know," Sarah mused after the waitress had left, "there's no way you're going to maintain your girlish figure eating like that."

Jareth cocked an eyebrow at her. "Look who's talking," he shot back. "It's not like you've ever won any beauty pageants."

Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her weight had always been a sore point, but Jareth had no room to talk. "You're not exactly a GQ model, yourself," she said.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Whatever," he said.

"You're saying you don't care, not even a tiny bit, that they put him in the movie?"

Jareth rolled his eyes. They had this same discussion every year. "Yes, it bothers me – you know it does – but he's been dead for over a year now, so what's the point in going on about it?"

"The point is," Sarah said huffily, "that there are millions of screaming fangirls out there who have thought for the past thirty-two years that you look like him."

He shrugged again. "So what? There are equally as many fans who think you look like her."

Sarah held up a hand. "Jareth, don't get me started. You know how I feel about her."

"Indeed, I do, precious," he said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Indeed, I do. And you've not let me forget it for thirty-two years."

"I mean, seriously," Sarah went on, "what were they thinking?"

Jareth sighed and scratched his dark, scraggly beard. Sarah was working herself up to full rant mode, and he knew there was little he could do to stop her. He would just have to wait out the storm. "No idea," he said. He'd learned a long time ago that it was safest to just agree with her when she was like this.

Sarah shook her head. She'd styled her short, blonde hair into rambunctious spikes today, an outward reflection of her inner turmoil over the anniversary they were "celebrating."

"What's wrong with being blonde, anyway?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"And five feet tall?"

"Not a thing."

"And a size eighteen?"

Jareth did not respond. Best not to, he thought.

"Well?" Sarah demanded, glaring at him.

"Oh, I thought you were being rhetorical."

"I was, but that doesn't mean you can't agree with me."

Jareth sighed. "Precious," he said, "there is about as much wrong with looking like you as there is with being six-foot-five, four hundred pounds, and bald." He paused and ran his hand over his almost bare head. It wasn't that he minded so much that the actor who had portrayed him had been seven inches shorter and over two hundred pounds lighter. No, it was the hair that really got to him. Why did they have to give him so damn much hair?

Sarah eyed him. She knew exactly what he was thinking. They had been over this ground many times in the past three decades.

"Thirty-two years, Jareth," she said with deliberation. "Thirty-two, fucking years today since that damn movie came out."

"It was a pretty good movie."

"I know it was, but why couldn't they have made us look like us?" she demanded. "After all, it was our story to begin with. It happened to us, not to them."

Jareth shrugged. He found he did a lot of that around Sarah. "That's Hollywood for you," he said.

"I never should have written that book. Or sold the movie rights to Henson."

"What's done is done, precious."

Sarah harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"And you do get royalties," he added.

"Yeah, which I split with you to fuel your online gaming addiction."

"Only fair, considering you wouldn't have had a story to write without me."

"According to the internet, I'm not the only one who's writing stories about us these days."

"Speaking of which, have you actually read any of the fanfiction that's out there?"

Sarah snorted. "Not much, but I've read enough to know that I'm supposedly Aphrodite in the flesh, and you're some kind of legendary sex god."

He leaned forward across the table. "Do you want to find out if those rumors are true?"

"Are you propositioning me?"

"Gods, no. I never pay for sex."

"There's not a snowball's chance in hell I'd sleep with you, Jareth."

"Still afraid of the big, bad Goblin King, are we, Sarah?"

"I'm not fifteen anymore, Jareth."

"No, by last count you were forty-seven."

"Did you have to remind me?"

He shrugged. "You're the one who keeps pointing out how much time has passed."

"What? Not hitting it off with any of your Hunies?"

"Don't be jealous."

"Jealous of some emo gamer chicks who have to resort to overly sexed avatars to attract mouth-breathing guys like you? I think not."

"Oh, do tell just how stimulating your sex life is, precious."

Sarah glared at him, but refused to answer.

"Besides, think of the fanservice. They've been trying to get us together for over thirty years."

"No, they've been trying to get a perfected, sanitized version of us together for over thirty years."

Jareth waved that aside with a pudgy hand. "Semantics. And, must I remind you? You're not getting any younger, Sarah. This offer is only available for a limited time."

She eyed him for a moment. "Fine. What've I got to lose? I'll have sex with you, but only if you bathe first."

Jareth raised an arm and sniffed his armpit experimentally. Maybe she had a point. "All right," he responded, "but only if you shave your legs."

Sarah glared at him. "I'll shave my legs, if you shave your neck-beard."

Jareth ran a hand along his throat, considering. "I'll shave my neck-beard, if you wax your upper lip."

Her hand flew to her face. "My upper..." She glanced up at him again. "Okay, fine," she said, "but only if I can be on top."

Jareth grinned. "Deal."

They stood from the table and made their way towards the door. Sarah turned to look up at Jareth as he held the door open for her. "Do you think one of these days we should tell the fandom who we really are?"

"Gods, no. They'd never believe it. Better to keep the myth alive, precious."

"You're probably right."

They stepped outside.

"So," Sarah asked, "my place or yours?"

"Better make it yours," he replied. "Mother still hates it when I bring girls home to the castle."

A/N

So, I had this crazy idea and decided to run with it.

What if we all got it wrong?

Cheers.