This one is written for Miss creepykeyla, and I do hope it lives up to her expectations. If it doesn't I sincerely apologize for the disaster about to ensue ;) I took her prompt, started writing it, and it took on a life of its own and got entirely out of hand!

Chapter 1

Ten years. Ten long years. Even for an eternal being, they had dragged by.

Jareth, King of the Goblins, was in misery. Heartbroken and lonely, the past decade had seen him more cantankerous and peevish than ever. The goblins had noticed, oh yes, and were generally quite keen to stay out of their King's way. It was therefore with great trepidation that the goblin Kerg approached His Majesty this evening when he was summoned.

"Kerg!" the king shouted, though the goblin was standing feet from him.

"Yes, your Majesty?" Kerg said, bowing and trying not to sound too nervous.

"Bring me the stores of the elf-made wine," Jareth commanded.

"All of it, sire?" Kerg said, his eyes widening.

"Of course all of it, what have I just said?" Jareth snapped, sneering at the goblin.

"Yes, sire, of course," Kerg said quickly. "Will you be enjoying it here in the throne room?"

"You will bring it to my rooms," Jareth said, eyes narrowed. "And be quick about it." With that, he turned on his heel and strode off down the hall to his own bedchamber, awaiting the arrival of the wine.

Four hours later, more than half the stock was gone. Jareth had been moodier than usual all day, and hoped partaking in the strong drink would be enough to chase away his darkness. Drinking usually worked to help him rid himself of the memories of that day, and he always needed it when another full year had passed– but of course, it was the tenth anniversary of the day the child had beaten him, had denied him, had rejected him completely. As such, it wasn't destined to be a good day, no matter the circumstances.

But this year…this year, Jareth thought with a sigh, opening another bottle of the elf-made wine. This year marked ten years. Ten entire years he had endured, lonely, depressed, and increasingly bad-tempered. One whole decade, and not once had she wanted even to see him again.

He knew she was well, of course. The damned dwarf and the others who visited her on occasion would have told him if something terrible had befallen the girl. Woman, now, he corrected himself. She would most certainly be a woman now. But though she called upon the other creatures, though she desired their company, not one time in ten years had she called upon him.

It simply wasn't fair, he thought, hitting the wall moodily when he realized the implication of what had just passed through his mind. But by the gods, it wasn't fair, her past overuse of the phrase be damned. It wasn't fair that he had offered her his entire world, and she had been just as careless with the heart he held out to her as she had been with the life of her baby brother! At least the tiny wretch was safe at home now, Jareth thought with a sneer. He'd be older now, too, Jareth supposed. Not that it mattered.

He wondered briefly what the child might be like, now. He wondered if perhaps he had at least manage to teach the bratty Sarah Williams a lesson about how precious love was – at least the love of family, as she hadn't realized the sincerity of it during her time within his Labyrinth. He wondered what might have become of her, what she might have made of herself over the last ten years.

He could ask the dwarf, he knew. Or the excitable knight. Perish the thought. Hear endless tales of how well off she was, how much happier she was than himself, how much she enjoyed her time with her friends from the Underground? No, he would not dare ask them for such information.

But, he thought, sitting up as he drained the last of the current bottle of wine (for he had fallen to the bed without even realizing during his musings), he could ask her.

Of course he could. He could go see her himself. Demand answers. But would she give them? Naturally, she would. He was a king, after all, and she would not dare refuse him. Not again, anyway. Right?

Well, he could simply force the words he wanted to hear from her. He could use threats. Even violence. Even as he thought it, he knew it was impossible. Dear Sarah, terrible Sarah…he could not harm her. But there was still a chance…if he showed up…just maybe…

"Fine. I'll go," he said, the words echoing in his empty bedchamber. He did not know why he had spoken aloud, except perhaps to convince himself. Convinced he was, however, and that decided, he threw open his window, transformed into his owl, and took flight into the dark night.

Sarah was sitting at home, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, an ice pack held to her eye. He'd hit her again, before going off to the bar. It was a familiar routine, now. She was quite used to it.

Suddenly she heard a loud crash from the window across from her and screamed, jumping up and dropping the ice pack as she looked around. Surely it couldn't be him; he would've used the door, wouldn't he? Or was he trying to scare her? Terrified, she grabbed the poker for the fireplace and slowly moved toward the window, holding it at the ready. He wouldn't take her by surprise this time; she would be ready to defend herself, for a change.

Reaching the window, Sarah peered out into the rainy night. She saw nothing at first, but then a small twitch teased the corner of her eye and she glanced down.

A snowy white barn owl lay on the ground, its wings fluttering slightly as it tried to right itself.

"No," she whispered, lowering the fireplace poker in shock. It couldn't be him. Even as she thought it, she knew. Ten years ago to the night was the last time she'd seen this owl. There was no alternate explanation.

She tried to think what to do. She was no longer scared of him as she had been as a child, though she didn't particularly want to see him, either. Nevertheless, there he was, and a small part of her was a little worried he might be injured – that had been rather a loud crash. Taking a deep breath and making up her mind, she opened the window just as the owl righted itself, and it flew rather ungracefully inside, landing with a thump on the carpet. She shut the window and turned to stare; a moment later, the owl was a fully grown man, lying on her living room floor and clutching his blond head.

"Hello, Jareth," Sarah managed quietly, her voice slightly shaky.

To Jareth's shock, she didn't sound terribly surprised to see him.

"Are you alright?" she continued when he didn't say anything.

"I am fine," Jareth said, sounding annoyed. His head was absolutely pounding; he couldn't believe he'd been drunk enough he crashed into her blasted window.

"You're bleeding," Sarah answered, voice still quiet as she knelt next to him. He pulled his hand away from his forehead and saw to his even greater annoyance that she was correct. He'd hit the window hard enough to break the skin.

"Damn it," he hissed angrily, attempting to stand up but swaying slightly. She caught his elbow, steadying him, and a jolt went through him at her touch – he hadn't been this close to her in ten years, and hadn't felt her touch before.

"Here, sit down," Sarah offered, guiding him to the sofa with concern. "I'll…uh…be right back." She hurried out of the room and grabbed a glass of water and a paper towel, trying to get her thoughts together after the shock of him showing up. She walked back into the room, picking up the fallen ice pack and handing him the water.

"You don't seem very surprised," Jareth said as Sarah sat down next to him.

"I react well under pressure," Sarah said with a slight smile. She folded up the paper towel and pressed it to the small wound on his head. In truth, she was quite surprised, but she had learned to control herself very well. She had no idea why he was here, but she found she wasn't at all upset about it; if anything, she somehow felt pleased to see him again. It confused her, but so did many things these days. Perhaps she was simply happy to see a new face.

"Why are you being so kind?" Jareth asked. He didn't know what to make of her caring behavior; he had assumed she would be downright furious to see him again.

"I don't like seeing people hurt," Sarah said quietly. "Hold this here, apply pressure. It'll stop bleeding."

Jareth did as she asked and finally looked up at her properly. She looked worn out, as though she hadn't slept in several days, and a bruise covered one eye.

"Well, I must thank you, Sarah Williams," Jareth said, eyeing her. Inebriated as he was, he still appreciated her beauty, both of her body and her heart.

"Halloran," Sarah corrected, looking away from him.

"Pardon me?" Jareth said, not understanding.

"It's Sarah Halloran," she repeated. "Not Sarah Williams anymore."

"What do you mean?" Jareth asked, afraid of the answer.

"I'm married," Sarah replied. Her voice was slightly bitter.