WATCH OUT—YOU MIGHT GET WHAT YOU'RE AFTER

The wine was red and deep, with an insidious aftertaste of some rich fruit—an inexplicably familiar taste. It could explain why she saw him later. Some psychosomatic thing.

Sarah swallowed, and winced, and shook her head in appreciation as she laughed. Her friend Britta laughed with her. It was a good day for the adult Sarah. She had just won a writing fellowship, thanks to her latest playwriting endeavor. Britta had reminded her throughout the evening, no one wins fellowships any more. Not in this city. Not in this economy. Sarah, reinvented as professional playwright, with short dark hair and piercing eyes, was just bright enough and just lovely enough for people to be jealous. Not that she cared. Their jealousy and love was intoxicating. And to be fair, she was already a little intoxicated on wine.

Britta had taken her out, to a nice, low-key little wine bar downtown. At one point, Britta just had to ask wherever Sarah got her ideas. For a girl who had grown up wanting to be an actress, it was quite the step for Sarah to go from acting in worlds to creating them herself. And her play was quite the hot new ticket: a hysterical realist imagining of the Labyrinth mythos, with Ariadne as hero and Minos as minotaur. It was a huge hit. Already, there was talk of New York. There was talk of agents and mass printings and occasions to buy fancy dresses.

Sarah just laughed away the question, as she always did.

"Oh you know," she said, behind her crystal glass. "These things just come to you."

It became late. They stumbled outside, arm in arm. Britta was one of her few friends, and Sarah was grateful for her friendship. She had not had time for much of a social life, which only stung her rarely. It's just that, as she always said, nothing fell into your lap. Anything you wanted, you had to fight for. And she had fought for this success, for the power to shape her own world. You will always find what you are looking for. But you have to fight for it.

As they walked out into the road, a familiar shape caught her eye. There was someone off to the side, leaning against the wall a dozen feet from the door. It was a man, thin and light-haired, holding a cigarette with long thin fingers. He was watching them.

She had seen him before, that much was certain, except she had pretty much written him off as a dream—some specter to cause a catch in her throat, a man draped in dark, all pale angles. The features were sharp, and the the hair had more of silver ice than the blue and gold of before. But, oh, she knew that face. She knew that shape.

His lips curled over sharp teeth. Sarah felt cold. His hat brim was too low—and who even wears a hat these days? And his eyes were shadow sockets. But she knew him. She knew that face.

"Sarah?" a girl's voice said. "Sarah," it grabbed her, and she remembered to breathe. "Sarah, you're staring, what's going on?"

No, not now. She was ten years older. And she had quite put it all behind her. She was a moderately successful playwright now, of all things.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," she smiled, not taking her eyes off the man. She strained to see his face in the shadows, lit only by a cigarette cherry when he inhaled. It was the only time she could see his face, and it is not enough to make any judgement. Britta was waiting, hanging about awkwardly to make sure her friend was okay.

"Um..." Britta said.

Sarah laughed. "Sorry! Just thinking about something. See you later, okay?" She hugged her friend goodbye, and sent her off into the night.

As soon as Britta is out of earshot, Sarah grabbed her phone and called home. Fortunately, Toby himself answered, to save her from explaining to her father or stepmother exactly why she is calling the house at two o' clock in the morning.

"Hey what's up," Toby said.

"Toby? Honey. Why aren't you in bed?"

He laughed. "Dude. You're the one calling. I'm playing Playstation with some friends. What's up, is everything okay?"

"Are you okay?"

"Sure. I mean, Rob and Evan are here. We got pizza. We're fine."

"All right then. Go to sleep soon though. I love you."

"Bye."

She flipped the phone shut, pressed it momentarily to her lips, and made a decision

After taking a breath, Sarah turned around and walked toward the man. "Hi. Do I know you?" It poured out, completely without poise. As she reached him, Sarah almost lost her breath. She knew the answer to her question. It was him. The monster, the King, with his frosty smile and jagged teeth and crystal gaze. Her old gilded horror, dressed in subtle gradations of grey. In a marked turnabout from how she remembered him, he was dressed subtly and tastefully, in clothes that were obviously expensive in their nonchalant beauty.

The smile he gave her was icy and electric. He feigned confusion. "Oh, do we?" He offered nothing else. She must do all the work.

"I know you from somewhere."

"Oh really." He looks her over, his gaze lingering on her body, not so much to take her in as to annoy her. "I am a lucky man."

"What are you doing here?"

"Had a drink. Having a cigarette. Much like you, I suppose. I'm sorry, though, I don't remember you from everywhere."

Sarah felt a tragic vertigo. "I know you," she said, trailing off a bit.

"Are you quite all right?"

"Why aren't you admitting it?"

The man looked around, as if seeking a way out. "Didn't you have a friend with you? Very pretty girl." There was a purr in his voice that made her hate Britta, irrationally. "Perhaps you can call her to take you home."

"It's you. You look-" but there was no kindness in his face. No sweetness in his composure, and no mercy. She had raised her voice, and some of the people pouring out the doors as the club closed were pooling around them in little curious eddies.

"Then what's my name?" the man said.

She narrowed her lips and looked at him. Was she insane? Was she crazy? Was all of this finally catching up to her and she had fallen to the edge? But she had accomplished so much, and she could accomplish so much more. She could certainly do something as simple as say,

"Jareth." The name shivered through her lips. She had never said it to his face before.

He laughed, his distracted cackle. "Jareth! What a name!"

"Are you—are you not?"

"Life's so confusing, isn't it?"

She balked, and took a step back. Perhaps she really was overly exhausted. Perhaps she had drunk more than she planned on. Perhaps she really had gone over some bend, and hadn't gotten over whatever it was had happened as a child.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I must be mistaken."

"Sarah," he said, and it was a soft call she remembered from before. "Do you really remember me?"

"Of course I do," she said, and they stood there looking at each other. She supposed an embrace was out of the question, as he had been confrontational at best. It had probably all just been a large understanding. Yet he had given her so much. He had given her her dreams.

"How did you find me?"

"You've always burned so bright, Sarah. You are never hard to find."

She stared hard, so he would know that she would not be charmed, unaware that he was telling the truth. "Why are you here?" she finally said. "I called Toby, he's fine."

Jareth looked confused. "Toby—oh, the baby? Well, of course, I have let him be. Charming lad. You didn't ask me to take him. And like I've told you, I have never done anything you haven't asked me to."

"You haven't...stolen anything?"

"You have nothing to steal. You have only broken crystals. What you think are your dreams."

"I remember you always had a pretty liberal definition of what I wanted."

He sneered. "And I was always right. You never gave me any credit or thanks, to be sure, but I was and am always right."

"Jareth. Why are you here?"

He shrugged, bony shoulders strange in modern clothes. His eyes flicked to her mouth, and hers to his thin-lipped predatory smile. Sarah remembered how he made her feel, when she was young, and how being older evidently exacerbated this longing. How she suddenly thought how sweet it would be to press her lips to his. Perhaps he knew her thoughts. He was always so clever. But then again, so was she.

She couldn't bring herself to turn heel and leave. "So...um. " The words felt foolish. "Aren't you going to do anything?"

He shrugged. "What would you like me to do? Sarah...I was never your enemy." His eyes had such a sadness, and she noticed the crows feet and frown lines she had never remarked before, and he looked so grey and tired—cut from paper, and painted like a man.

"You were never my friend."

"Is this about the Labyrinth?" He said it was if she was being petty and irrational. "You can't deny you were better for the experience."

"That is not the definition of friendship. Look. Let's find somewhere to talk. I feel like we never got closure anyway."

"I have places to be."

"Oh yes? How long have you been up here?"

He took another drag of his cigarette. Sarah disliked smoking cigarettes, but was not averse to the smell, which to her had always seemed so bitter and adult. Intoxicating. "You're not afraid of me?"

"What, are you going to rape and kill me? Kidnap me? You could do that right now."

"Which would be a little uncouth," he said, his lips twisting just a little. Like a regal demon. Sarah gave a little shiver, imperceptible to the man. She remembered him. She remembered being overwhelmed and fascinated by him. She did not necessarily remember the feeling of wanting to scratch and bite and kiss every inch of him, to wrap her legs around him, to possess him. The image played in her mind, a quick jump-cut, a flash of another life. She blinked, and when she focused again on him she wondered if he had put that image in her mind, and what it would serve, and if he was even capable of doing so.

They returned to her place, which is simply decorated in blues and bloods and cream colors. Decorations were lush, but spare. She gestured for him to take a seat on the couch, and looked him up and down as he obeyed. He was all smooth slim lines, the modern clothes he had chosen enhancing his build nicely. It was very strange, having him on her turf, in this intimate space. Especially after all this time. The same thought might have occurred to Jareth. He was polite and reserved as he took off his coat and folded it, carefully placing it next to him on the couch. Jareth sat down, looking at her expectantly.

"Can I get you anything to drink, or eat, or...whatever," she finished lamely.

He waved her away. "You have a lovely home," he said.

She waved him away, and sat next to him on the couch.

"Let's talk. And we really only have one thing to talk about. Which is—why are you here, and not in your maze, Jareth."

He smiled, the wide animal smile she remembered, with bared sharp teeth. He never looked completely human when he smiled.

"The short answer? Is that I am uncertain. The borders between our worlds are becoming thin again, and one thing looks much like the other. I am not sure why this is. It could be poison, it could be pain, it could be fate, it could be anything. All that I know, is that you have invested too much of yourself within me. And you carry too much of me within you. This is unsustainable. I need to return home, and stay home. You have to forget me. You have to let me go."

"I have let you go. I have moved on."

"And yet here I am. One of your unconquered demons. We have only switched places, Sarah," he said. "I am in your maze now. It is no longer a concrete maze, but it a maze nonetheless."

"What do you mean?" she said. "I solved your Labyrinth. I escaped. I became happy. I became successful. Jareth, I was out just tonight celebrating a pretty major professional success. I write plays. I can shape my own worlds, and don't need yours anymore. I am happy."

"Are you happy?" he said. "Are you really. Is this your dream, is this what you first saw in those crystals all those years ago? Sarah. You are 25 years old now. I know how it is. I know how you feel. And it feels like much time has passed and is passing faster every day. Every single moment of your life you must make a thousand choices as to what is good and important and fun, and unlike my Labyrinth there is no going back."

He cocked his head thoughtfully as was his wont, only without the usual tendrils of long hair falling over his face. "Once you choose, you have to live with the foreclosure of all the other options those choices foreclose. And you just gained a significant success, and you see how insignificant it is, and you are starting to see how as time gains momentum your choices will narrow and their foreclosures multiply exponentially until you arrive at some point of some sumptuous branch of all life's branching complexity where you are trapped on one path, and time speeds you through stages of apathy and atrophy and decay until you are imprisoned forever."

Jareth laughed. "It is dreadful, isn't it? Yours is a far worse Labyrinth to dwell in than mine."

She snorted. "How dire. But, Jareth, that's what life is. That's what being an adult is about. I mean, in your own words since it's my own choices that'll lock me in, it seems unavoidable—if I want to be any kind of grownup I have to make choices and regret foreclosures and try to live with them."

"As you say."

She frowned, and began to fidget with one of the throw pillows. "Jeez, Jareth. Did you just come to bum me out? Good heavens. This is a terrible new trick of yours. I think I liked being kidnapped better." She was pretending his words didn't horrify. She remembered too, how he always was so cold, and so cruel.

He only smiled, and changed the subject to her great professional success. She took care not to mention that her award-winning play had everything to do with him. They ended up talking for some time more, but it really was becoming quite late.

"How long are you up here for anyway?" she asked, like he was just on holiday.

"I'm not sure," he said. "That depends on you."

"Well, I'm exhausted at the moment, so any nefarious plan will have to wait till tomorrow. Do you just want to maybe stay here tonight? This couch is actually pretty comfortable." She was beginning to realize that he could be in more dire straits than he was admitting. That maybe the great goblin king was not aboveground by choice. Something in his eyes, she supposed, or his strange sad demeanor.

He paused. "I suppose that would be more convenient."

"Right. Hold on, I'll grab sheets and stuff." She walked off to the linen closet to obtain extra sheets and blankets, and took one of her own pillows from the room. As she did so, it was difficult not to consider how surreal the experience was, that she would soon have Jareth sleeping on her couch.

He stood as she approached, and watched with some curiosity as she made him up a bed.

"Thank you," he said, sitting down, leaning back. "This will be fine."

She smiled, her hands on her hips, and made to leave. She couldn't. Instead she sat on the couch, her back against his legs.

"Jareth. You might—you might be right. I think something is broken in me," she blurted. without a thought of how appropriate it was to share her deepest fears with a man who would almost certainly turn it against her. "I am never really happy. I am never really complete. I never feel myself."

He looked sad. He reached out, touching her cheek. "You were never supposed to come back, after eating that peach. You were supposed to stay there forever. I fear you still suffer from its poison."

"But I don't understand. I beat it. I escaped. You never had any power over me."

"And yet you still remember. You were the one who remembered me. You were the one who approached me. I want to be free of this, Sarah, as much as you ever did. You put too much of yourself in me. You carry too much of me within you. I want to return home. You have to let me go, forever."

They were silent for a moment, and something in her burned and flared. She leaned forwards and kissed him, far more hungrily than she had been intending. She felt his initial shock, but he leaned into the kiss. He tasted electric. He tasted like storms. It was clear that she not kissing a man but a fey, and it was clear that she had forgotten that even the oldest antipathy can still break your heart. She steadied herself on his bony shoulder, and he leaned back to wrap his hands round her waist, one hand moving up her ribcage.

Sarah had wanted to do something like that for so long, it wasn't till she opened her eyes and saw his mismatched ones all alight that she realized what she was really doing.

She felt suddenly and acutely that her insides had gone missing, and had been replaced and flushed with adrenaline. She stood up suddenly. "I'm—I'm sorry," she said, backing up and almost tripping against the coffee table. "I didn't mean to-"

Jareth made as if to stand. "Sarah. Allow me apologize. That's not why I'm here. I-"

"Look, um, have anything you want from the kitchen, bathroom's down there, I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight." It was not Sarah at her most graceful, or her most in-control. But to her credit she walked towards her room with every intention of staying there like it was any other night. Jareth should know that it was never wise to test Sarah's willpower.

Still, the hallway seemed a thousand endless miles to her room. Once inside she dove straight into bed, not even pausing to change into pajamas. She pulled the cold bedding up and around her and stared at the ceiling. Her head was heavy on the pillow. She remained there for some time before sleeping, not daring to move, not daring to break the spell, not daring to check if Jareth were really there or just some sign she would never be all right again. Certainly, she heard no noise from outside her room.

If you cover yourself with a blanket, she remembered thinking as a child, the monsters couldn't get you.

She covered herself with the blanket, still, like a child, not daring to close her eyes.

Nothing happened, of course. She closed her eyes.

(But what if he followed her—what if he slipped into bed with her, or maybe she could go outside and find him, and...)

She uncovered herself so the filtered city lights from her window would drive away these silly fantasies, and instead stared at her bedroom door, plain and white and completely uninteresting. Maybe if she stared long enough she would realize how unlikely this all was, and that even if he was here now there was no way he'd still be there in the morning.

It didn't help.

He was right about everything. And, she could still taste the peach—that insidious aftertaste of lust and the unknown.

A/N

Look. This could get dark. And somewhat sexual. Just a warning in case it seems like a departure from my older stuff. Because hopefully, it will be.

Speech about "some sumptuous branch of all life's branching complexity" liberally borrowed from "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again," by David Foster Wallace. May he rest in peace, and may all of you read all his books. Or at least that one.

I love you all, as always. I love this sharing of enthusiasm that fanfiction promotes. Let me know what you think.

~~Dollfayce