TRY A LITTLE TENDERNESS

Summary: Sarah Williams grew up and put away childish things, childish dreams, childish memories. But when tragedy strikes nine years later, a Goblin King from her childhood proves to be the only one capable of helping. And so she invites him back into her life. Heavy first few chapters, fluff to follow soon after. Definitely Jareth/Sarah.

Disclaimer: It's been a good twenty-something years, so you'd think the rights to the movie would be somewhat more affordable now. But no, I've been saving up for nothing. Labyrinth is many things, but it isn't mine. I couldn't even come up with a title for this, for crying out loud. More on that in the A/N below.

PART I

Chapter I

Moonlight flooded in through the open windows, bathing the familiar room in a soft glow. Beams of pale light fell upon his sleeping form, washing away the color in his hair until all that remained was an unruly mop of silver. His chest rose and fell slowly, painfully slowly, and she knew it wouldn't be long now.

Sarah reached for the boy's right hand, one of the few limbs and appendages free of bandages and casts, and gripped it securely yet gently in her own, mindful of his condition. Tears clouded her vision and distorted the sight of her brother as her eyes fell upon the cuts and bruises on his face, the sea of white bandages covering up more of the likes on his arms, chest, legs…

"Oh, Toby," She cried softly, her voice thick with sorrow and pain. "You stupid, stupid boy." She chided gently, not a hint of reproach or even disapproval behind her words. It was too late for that now. Surely her baby brother hadn't meant to fall off the roof of his school building. He was a perfectly happy ten-year-old boy, a boy with average grades and a handful of little league victories and countless friends. A boy with a mother and a father and a sister, all of whom loved him very, very much. A perfectly happy, normal, wonderful boy with everything to live for.

No, her brother hadn't meant to fall off the roof and sustain a three-story drop. His plan had ended at sneaking up to the rooftop garden and sitting on the ledge on a dare from Tom or Tim or whatever the neighbor's name was. It was just the kind of stupid thing ten-year-old boys did with their friends.

And now here he was, in his bed, in his room, in his home, drawing shallow breaths that each, Sarah feared, would be his last. The doctors had sent him home yesterday, and even though no one had possessed the nerve or the heart to state the obvious to either grieving parent, one of the doctors, an older man, had inadvertently revealed everything to Sarah with one sympathetic, defeated look.

There was nothing more they could do for him. With all of their fancy doctorates, all of their modern machines, all of their scientific breakthroughs, there was nothing a single doctor in this world could do for her dying baby brother.

Dying.

It was the first time she'd phrased it that way, even in her own bitter, painfully truthful mind. And it strengthened her resolve even more. She would not stand by in her old room, by her brother's deathbed, and count his breaths and his eyelashes and the freckles on his cheeks crisscrossed with angry red cuts and illuminated by pale moonlight. She simply wasn't strong enough.

She wasn't enough. Karen's pleas and their father's silent tears weren't enough. The doctors and surgeries and machines weren't enough. Nothing in this world was enough.

What she needed, in this moment, was a miracle for her brother. Nothing short of magic. And though she had vowed to leave that world behind, to wake up and anchor herself in reality, to forget his very name… sitting by her dying brother and listening to his now labored breathing made that impossible.

And so Sarah spoke the words she had never, ever, even in her darkest hours, let herself speak. It was no more than a whisper, a hesitant call, an empty prayer uttered by one unsure of one's faith and one's worthiness.

"Jareth."

All was still. Moonlight filtered in uninterrupted. The open windows allowed a gentle breeze – fresh air might do him good, they'd offered as a last resort, they with all of their medical degrees and doctorates and fancy certificates - into the room and nothing more, no howls or shrieks, no thunder and lightning. No Goblin King.

Drawing a deep breath to infuse her voice with more strength than she had felt in the last six days, more belief than she had felt in the past nine years, her lips formed his name once more, followed by a desperate plea.

"Jareth, please. I need you."

Hi there. Welcome to my first attempt at a Labyrinth fic. Well, the first one I've actually written enough of to publish. Choosing a title for this story actually proved trickier than the writing itself, and after much back-and-forth (with myself), I settled on a Florence + The Machine title to hammer home the point that things will be different this time around. Jareth is trying a little tenderness. (Get it?) And Sarah too, in later chapters.

It might seem a bit heavy and sad for now, but fear not, my fellow fangirls-and-boys. This is only the first part and I'd prefer you think of it as backstory, something to keep you from wondering just what exactly is going on between Jareth and Sarah once the main focus of the story starts. I expect the first part to last two chapters, no more than three, before we skip a few months and see where we find our leading characters in the second part of this story, which won't be all that long either. Something short and (hopefully) sweet to get me started off with this fandom, I figure.

How am I doing so far? I couldn't possibly hope to compare with some of the very best I've seen in the archives here, but I'd love to hear your thoughts. It's always just the slightest bit intimidating when you enter a new fandom, no matter how many times you branch out, so maybe set me at ease?

E Salvatore,

April 2013.