Chapter 1.

It was late on the night before Sarah's 21st birthday. The house was still, except for the silent murmurings of the memories that seemed so much clearer tonight then they had in years. Sarah, tired of sleep eluding her, got up and opened the single window, leaning out into the night. There was no moon, and it was past the time when street lamps were lit, leaving the world in an eerie darkness. Tendrils of delicate winds combed through her unbound hair, and she closed her eyes and inhaled, imagining that she could smell the faint scent of peaches blowing from the one place she would never again see. The place she had destroyed in her mind when she thoughtlessly uttered the words those years ago.

Sarah reached out an uncertain hand, as if to close the window. With it shut she felt stifled, suffocated. It was wrong to shut the night out this time, she decided, opening it again. With a sigh, she turned back to her small, one room apartment. She wondered aimlessly from the area she slept in, with its large four poster bed, the one luxury she allowed herself, to her studio. The studio was were she did her paintings, large, temperamental oil paintings of images and friends thought lost for all time. Turning to sit on a rough wooden stool, Sarah turned her eyes to the unfinished work still sitting on the easel. It had taken a long time to start this painting, as it needed to be perfect. She had spent many hours drafting and redrafting the pointed but sensual face, the lithe but masculine form. Agonizing over what to clothe such an important memory in, an issue still not yet resolved to her liking.

The eyes on this painting, the eyes were the one bit that had caused her the most grief. 3 days she had spent, practicing with different shades, until she had gotten them perfect. They stared intensely out of the canvas, laying bare the soul of the viewer.

The wind turned cold over her bare back and shoulders, making her shiver. Considering for a moment closing the window once more, Sarah became distracted. There was something not quite right in the line of the hands. They had always been masked in leather gloves, so artistic license had had to be employed in order to lay bare the hands. But they never turned out right. I will fix that when I have natural light to work with, Sarah resolved, before turning and going back to bed. Feeling constricted by the covers, she lay on top of them, letting to cool breeze from the open window lull her exhausted mind to sleep.

Outside her room a haunted presence kept watch, a ghost form on white wings who ruled the night. Its feathers bristled in the welcome wind. It would help him keep his patience, so as not to lose this chance, his last chance.

Her neighbor's clock loudly announced that it was midnight, the time not belonging to either day or night, when enemies could meet as equals, Sarah shot up in bed in a cold sweat. Her dream had been so real. The reality behind her painting had been in this room, talking to her, though she couldn't understand what he had said. Her eyes had been glued to his lips, the shapes they made when he spoke. Tentatively she had reached out a hand, expecting to meet warm flesh, a reality. Instead his image had shattered into a million pieces of tiny glitter upon impact, which darted around and began to choke her. It was then she woke up. She shuddered in memory, and certain it was the night air that had caused such a dream, got up to close the window.

Reaching the window, she cast a wary glance outside, at the peaceful surroundings. The air didn't feel right, like it had a different vibration to normal. The wind grew stronger, its gentle caresses becoming slapping blows as it blew around her nightgown and hair. Blinded by the sudden change, she numbly thrust a hand out and slammed the window shut.

The room was immediately still. All movement had ceased. With a suspicious glance to her clock, Sarah froze. The hands had stopped turning over. Time only stood still for one person she had ever known. But he was gone; she had banished his influence on her life when she had voiced the words that destroyed her childhood fantasies. Her life had been a blur of loneliness since that last gathering in her room, the night she had beaten the Labyrinth. Seeing her friends was nice, but the only one she wanted to see never showed. The whole thing became pointless after that. She began to withdraw from life, her family, and her friends. Before she turned 17 her father and Toby died. It was a medical mystery, how cancer could sneak up so fast, on two people, father and son, and be so utterly untreatable. Unable to live with her grief, Karen had committed suicide shortly after, leaving Sarah alone in the world. With a combination of insurance and inheritance Sarah had managed to move on, but not constructively. She had sold the house she grew up in, not caring about the memories, and had bought the unsophisticated little apartment that had become more home to her then anywhere else had ever felt.

Well, almost anywhere else…

She shook off her feelings of unease. The clocks batteries must have stopped, she reasoned, wandering back over to her 'studio' and sitting tensely back on her stool. Suddenly she became aware of a presence behind her, of strong arms wrapping firmly around her waist, of decidedly hot breathes on the back of her neck. Tilting her head back, believing this to be naught but another dream, she allowed him to place a trail of hot kissed from her earlobe to her bare shoulder and back up again.

"Jareth..." she whispered, tasting the name for what seemed like the first time. His hands began to wander, and when his fiery touch reached her breast Sarah started awake, and jumped up from the stool, crossing the room.

Struggling to control her trembling, she couldn't bring herself to face him, knowing that when she did he would be wearing that infuriating smirk. Mustering her strength, wishing she had her robe to hand, and squaring her shoulders, she turned to face the formidable figure who had so recently invaded her sanctuary. The smirk she had expected might have been on his face, except he wasn't looking at her. Something in the far corner, set up on her easel, had captured his attention. He stood, studying the half finished image set on the lifeless canvas. Abruptly he turned to face her and Sarah stumbled backwards from the intensity in his gaze.

"An amazing likeness, if not yet completed." He drawled in his superior manner.

She was suddenly struck by the immense similarity between his eyes and those she had painted. Sarah grinned secretively, her first smile in months, she had known she had gotten the eyes right.

Encouraged by a misinterpreted smile, Jareth took a step towards her, intent unmistakable. Sarah, distracted by her mental comparison of the painting, was struck by an idea that she just couldn't ignore.

Stepping backwards out of the attempted embrace, she walked around behind him, delicately tracing the line of his shoulders, and, standing on the tips of her toes, whispered gently into his ear, "Take off those gloves."

Again misinterpreting her meaning, with a triumphant smirk he made his gloves vanish. At once Sarah descended into a flurry of activity, preparing her paints, pushing a confused Jareth back onto her stool, switching on the electric lights. Electric lights aren't as good as natural, she thought, but they will do for now.

And so she began to paint, first focusing on getting the hands just right, a task much easier now she had something to base them on. After she had finished them she made him stand up and pose for her. All the previous distractions and problems seemed to fall away as her paintbrush erratically moved across the canvas. She painted until she was exhausted, until she was swaying on her feet. Seeing this, Jareth employed a little spell he knew, making her fall asleep. Catching her before she hit the ground, he gently carried her over to the bed. Gently he covered her over, before laying down next to her and dozing off himself. "I wonder what her reaction will be when she wakes to find me here." He whispered to himself before sleep claimed him.

The clock began to tick away once more.