Jareth woke like a cat, neatly, and completely aware from the moment he opened his eyes. He was lying on his front, sprawled inelegantly across the bed, and in sleep he had flung one arm over Sarah. Somewhat to his surprise, she had at some point during the night rolled over towards him, cuddling into his warmth. He felt an odd hitch in his chest when he realised it, and carefully moved away without disturbing her.

Gods, but the woman was beautiful…

In the pale morning sunlight that flooded through the gossamer curtains, he could see with even more clarity than last night. The loose shirt had slipped, revealing one white and perfect shoulder, and the red lips were slightly parted. There was a freckle at the very tip of her nose, and a tiny scar on her forehead. He fought the absurd urge to kiss it.

With a sigh, he got up and walked over to the window, absent-mindedly robing himself in clean clothes as he did so. Gesturing for the windows to open, he passed out onto the balcony and leaned on the railing, letting the cool morning breeze ruffle his hair and drinking in the beauty of a summer morning in the Labyrinth. He felt oddly heavy-hearted, though he could not say why. As soon as Sarah awoke, he would return her, as was the honourable thing to do. She would continue to live her life — whatever it was — as before, and he could get on with the business of being Goblin King and forgetting her. There was no reason to think otherwise.

He was musing on how she had managed to get to the Underground, when he realised something — something he should have realised before, had he not been so distracted. The pressure in his heart that had been a part of him for so long now, the aching emptiness that had been at the centre of the Labyrinth and gradually weakening it from the inside out, had vanished.

Jareth stood upright, electrified. What…? Am I imagining things? He made a quick mental exploration of his kingdom, but no, he was not. The Labyrinth was healed. Even now he could feel the difference: plants that had been withering were growing taller than ever; the grass was green; the fairies were chirping happily in the flowers once more. Overnight, it was as if a miracle had happened.

Sarah.

He looked back at her, still asleep, and ludicrous, irrational, foolish joy filled him. Sarah! She had done this for him, had given him this gift. It was quite clear to him, in this moment of exultation, that she could not go home now; could not go home ever, for she was the answer to the riddle. The Labyrinth needed her to survive. He would go now, and wake her, and tell her the good news —

The thought struck him even as he moved towards the bed, and it was though a light had been violently struck out. He could not do this. He could not keep her prisoner, though she was his salvation and the Queen of the Labyrinth: it was not his choice to make. Better to let her return to the life where she belonged than to pluck her ruthlessly and rid her of her freedom and innocence.

He had thought, before, that he had known what pain was; but in this instant he realised he had not. Now it filled him, exquisite torture, from head to toe, and he did not even know why.

Sarah stirred, and woke.

She blinked, several times, evidently trying to work out where she was, and then tried to sit up too suddenly: with a groan, she clutched her head.

"Does it hurt?" Jareth asked, suddenly worried, and annoyed that he was worried; the sound of his voice made her jump, and her eyes focused on him.

"Ja… Goblin King?" She looked adorably confused, one cheek redder than the other where she had lain on it. A swell of possessiveness rolled through him: it was as though the Labyrinth pointed at her and said, firmly, mine.

No, mine, he thought back.

"Yes." He came forward and sat on the bed; she watched him warily. "Do you remember why you are here?"

Brow furrowed, she searched for clarity. "No… yes? I remember the goblins, and the — the —" She hesitated.

"Catapult," he supplied seriously, and she flushed.

"Uh, yes. I — I'm sorry. I guess I — where am I now?" As though her surroundings had only just sunk in, her eyes widened, and she pushed aside the sheets and got to her feet with quick, jerky movements. "Am I — is this — oh God, Jareth, did we —?"

He wanted to answer her, to put her right, but by all that glitters she was standing, and the shirt only came halfway down her thighs, and it was translucent enough that he could get a tantalising glimpse of shadows and skin beneath it… They were caught in a strange uncertainty between stranger and lover, with so little spoken between them and yet that most intimate position of having shared a bed, a night, the joint vulnerability of sleep. He wanted to know her, to explore the curves and hollows of her, to learn her by heart.

"Jareth." There was a definite note of panic in her voice now. "Tell me, please, what happened last night?"

He forced himself to concentrate. "Well, I walked in on you apparently winning the chicken toss by a significant margin," he said lightly. "Then you exchanged a few… pleasantries with me, and passed out."

"Ohh…" she groaned again in mortification, collapsing back onto the bed with her back to him and burying her face in her hands. He could see the delicate outline of her spine through the shirt, and he had to stop himself from running a finger down it to make goosebumps appear on her skin.

"I assure you, nothing else happened," he heard himself saying. "I thought it was best to let you rest; transportation spells can be… unpleasant, and I didn't want to risk your health."

"Mm." She still didn't turn round. What would she do if he just touched his lips to the nape of her neck? "Yes, my journey here wasn't great either."

"How did you get here?" He was distracted enough by the question that he momentarily stopped ogling her; it had been nagging at him.

"Wished for the goblins to take me." Yes, of course, for though his power over her had been revoked, her own power remained intact…

"Then — why?" Why would she come back? To gloat at her vanquished enemy? Surely not.

She laughed. He was so astonished that he just sat there frozen; it was a real laugh, warm and endearing, and he had never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his entire centuries of life. Sarah turned round, swinging her legs up onto the bed, and grinned at him. Her whole face lit up when she smiled.

"You really want to know?" she asked, half amusedly, half wryly.

"Yes." The word escaped his lips with more desperation than he had intended.

She twisted her lips in an enchanting pout. "See, the thing is, I… well, yesterday was my birthday."

He tipped his head to the side, waiting.

"And… I had a party. With all my friends. It was great. Music, food, drink, everyone was having a great time." He could just picture it; the way she would laugh with them, talk with them. In her world. Belonging. "But I was really quiet, and people kept asking me why." Oh. That was unexpected. He'd barely known this new woman-Sarah for five minutes, but she already seemed like someone unlikely to be quiet. "I tried to brush it off, but when everyone had left, I… I began to cry."

Jareth swallowed. Had someone hurt her? Did she have a human lover who had perhaps offended her? He would choke the life out of him —

"So, yeah, I'm sitting there in the middle of this room filled with gifts and food and stuff, and I'm crying my eyes out, and as I'm crying I realise something —" Sarah laughed again, but there was an edge of bitterness to it this time. "I realise that I fucking miss you."

He remained very still. There was a strange pricking sensation all over his skin.

"Like, how screwed up is that? I'm twenty three years old, I have the best life a girl could want, I've got friends and a job and a flat that doesn't have damp problems, and I miss the villain of my own whacked-out adventure story? And that's when it really hit home. I didn't… I wasn't… Oh, I don't know!" She waved an arm, frustratedly. "I just knew that I wasn't complete, I wasn't me, without you. I'd known it for a while, if I'm honest. I was waiting for you for a long time. But you never showed, and…"

Could it be that sometimes, the gods granted the prayers of the faeries?

"…Well, anyway, I drank most of a bottle of wine, and at that point it suddenly seemed like a really good idea to wish myself away to you. So I decided to pay a visit."

There was a moment of taut silence, then she opened her lips to say more, but to Jareth it was perfectly natural to pull her towards him and kiss her sweet mouth and her eyes and her neck and the smooth, warm skin of her temple, and she was kissing him back, and there were simply no words for the joy in his heart; the whole world held its breath as he let it take him under and drowned in the wonder of her love.

When he came back to himself, she was curled in his arms, and he was lazily tracing patterns on her collarbone. His whole body was humming with contentment. My Champion has come back to me. The Labyrinth has its Queen again.

"Please don't send me home," she whispered, and he smiled, and pressed a kiss against her white shoulder.

"You are home," he said.

Love and glitter as ever, and reviews are always greatly appreciated (and occasionally copied out and framed).