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Falling --COMPLETED	By : jinx1764 Category: G through L > Labyrinth Views: 10231 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth, don't make any money, this is a work of fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
They walked until full dark, then walked a bit further until Chet located a row of ramshackle houses set off the road. At sunset, they'd used their blankets as capes, wrapped them tightly around their torsos to retain as much body heat as possible. With temperatures quickly dropping, they wasted little time setting up camp and getting a fire started inside a decaying fireplace in one of the houses.
Having a fire was a calculated risk. Without it they might freeze; with it Vultures (or other dangers) might spot the smoke. They took the chance that most sought shelter, eschewing travel at night. After all, Vultures risked freezing to death the same as them.
They huddled in a horseshoe around the hearth, the cold easing from their limbs as it warmed the space. Sarah place a small pan filled with water on the fire until it boiled, then removed it. Initially too hot, by the time she unpacked her soap and old washcloth, it was the perfect temperature for what her real mother used to call a "French Whore's Bath"—basically cleaning the most important parts, staring with her face and hands and ending with her private area and feet.
Water was a precious resource, but so was cleanliness. After such an extreme battle, Sam and Chet imitated Sarah. Soon, all three crouched over their pans, removing articles of clothing when appropriate. Jareth, however, stared at the unusual practice, unsure of what to do.
"You don't want a bath?" she asked him once her face was clean and Jareth's staring had crossed the line from exciting to uncomfortable.
"I've never … bathed like that before." His nose wrinkled and his lips curled.
She snorted. "Yeah, I bet you're used to solid gold faucets and beautiful maidens scrubbing your back." Looking up from their chore, Chet and Sam laughed lightly.
"As a matter of fact, I am."
"Yeah … well, you wouldn't be so smug if you could see how gross you look right now."
"Hmm." Jareth scratched his face, felt the stubble of several days abrade his fingers along with flecks of Danu-knew-what. "Being a king does have its advantages."
She threw her sopping rag at him, making him duck and catch it one-handed. Grayish water ran down his up-thrusted arm, spraying his face and causing him to squint before he let it fall to the floor with wet plop. Chet and Sam had both froze, watching with growing interest.
"Better learn to wash yourself, Goblin King! 'Cause I'm not about to scrub your damn back!"
His smooth baritone chuckle filled the small room. "No, I suppose not."
Grumbling, she dug through her bag for a second washcloth, then pulled out a change of clothes and a large plastic bag. She addressed Sam, while pointedly ignoring Jareth. "If we find a water source, we can clean these, until then they're going in the bag."
"Agreed. Yours too, Jareth," Sam said as he slipped off his crusty shirt and handed it to Sarah. "We took enough of a risk today smelling as bad as we do. Anything could've caught our trail."
"I have no spare clothing."
"No worries," Sam said as he pulled extra shirts from his rucksack. "I've got a t-shirt you can wear."
Reaching across their small circle, Jareth accepted Sam's gift, then frowned at his pants. "I fear my trousers are not replaceable."
Chet nodded toward the rag Sarah lobbed at him earlier. "At least wipe the leather down, it'll help."
"Yes, of course." He picked up the rag and started to scrub the worst of the filth away.
"We have a limited amount of water, so be use it wisely," Sarah said harshly, continuing her bath. Crouching to better reach the water, he glanced at her from his under his stiffened bangs and nodded before returning to his task. Behind him, the orange flames silhouetted his patrician features, placing his lithe figure in black outline as he carefully scrubbed.
Sounds of the crackling fire and the men cleaning filled the air as Sarah studied Jareth. For some reason, she couldn't stop watching him: The efficient motions of his arms, the way his long fingers tighten around the rag when he dipped and squeezed, dipped and squeezed. The dark outline of the tight-fitting leather over his thighs and how it glinted in the fire as he cleaned it and shifted his weight, then worked the cloth up higher. Despite their earlier sniping, watching him now calmed her frazzled nerves and made thinking about Toby less … raw.
Her breathing shortened when his hands grasped the edges of his filthy shirt and worked the buttons loose from the bottom, each one exposing another pallid shadow of his skin. Before she knew it, Jareth shrugged off his shirt and stood in the firelight, bare-chested and leanly muscular beneath the remnants of dirt, blood and bruises clinging to his skin.
Frowning, Sarah swiftly looked down, a negative image of his pale, faintly shimmering torso seared onto her mind. She clenched her jaw and fisted her hands, willing away the strange prickling coursing through her, making her chest feel tight and her lower torso between her legs feel … tingly. He must still have some magic, that's why I feel so weird around him. Eyes averted from the frustrating fey, she leaned over the pan and wrung out her washcloth with a vengeance. It's a spell or somethi—
Her thought stuttered when his hands bumped hers over the pan. A feeling akin to static electricity zapped her and she jerked her hands back, tucking them to her chest. Their eyes met and she tried to be mad, sputtered as she worked up a solid rant, but his tentative, lop-sided smile made that odd tightness in her chest return and her false ire fled.
"My apologies," he said, so low she more read his lips in the half-light than heard him.
"S'okay," she mumbled, shuffling away. "I'm done." She felt him watching her as she dug through her bag; she felt him studying her as she prepared her sleeping roll; and she felt the weight of his restrained tongue—what did he want to say?—while she tucked herself in. She refused, however, to acknowledge him, keeping her vision lined up with the fire between her three companions, Jareth's motionless shadow in her periphery.
Finally, as she held her breath and waited for her rumbling empty stomach to settle, Jareth resumed his bathing. Soft splashes of water and mild scrubbing became her mantra as she concentrated on it and the snapping fire. It wasn't until just before she drifted off to sleep that she realized she could easily differentiate any sound of Jareth's from Chet and Sam.
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An insistent nudge butted the small of his back, dragging Jareth from a restless sleep borne more from exhaustion rather than comfort. Reaching around, he blindly batted one hand at the nuisance. "Leave off, Jenea!" The nudge returned, harder, prompting his eyes to fly open as he rolled over.
"Gah, Jenea, I said—." His next words died as he muscles reacted while his brain stammered at the horror looming over him. Rolling back to his side, he continued the motion and angled his body until he bumped into Sarah. She jerked awake, her head popping up from the floor, eyes wide. In the pre-dawn gray, their eyes met, nose-to-nose, and for a split second the startled green sliver of her dilated irises absorbed his attention, making him forget the danger. Fortunately, Sarah wasn't similarly affected.
"Fuck! Empties!" she shouted, sitting up and pushing away from him. Sam jumped from a dead sleep to a crouch, while Chet lurched to his hands and feet. Jareth quickly joined them and they instinctively circled with their backs touching, watching the dozens of apparently mindless people filling the room.
"What do they want?" Jareth whispered, his right hand inching to his knife.
"Don't know," Sam answered just as quietly. "They're walking aimlessly; maybe we can sneak past them." They exchanged silent shrugs and nods in the gradually lightening room, the sun chasing off the chill which the cooling embers no longer held at bay.
"If we can get our things without disturbing any …" Sarah said as she leaned for her rucksack which had doubled as her pillow.
Jareth's belongings were farther away, and the Empty which woke him wandered the area with more joining him. Chet and Sam gathered their things, keeping wary eyes on the shadowy figures. The one Empty near Jareth's bag, was an overly thin male of indeterminate age dressed in filthy clothes. What struck Jareth, more than anything else, was the severe blankness in his expression. The man's facial muscles hang slackly from the underlying bones and a bottomless haze swirled in his eyes.
He gingerly approached the Empty, his peripheral vision tracking the dozen or so others milling about nearby. Now fully conscious, their smell hit Jareth in a tidal wave. Stale and unwashed, it was far beyond missing a few baths. The stench encompassed the room like a weighted aura.
"Hurry!" Sarah hissed at him. Looking back, he saw the three of them slipping on their rucksacks, preparing to flee the rapidly filling room.
Where are they all coming from?
"Bloody hell," he muttered, lunging for the rumpled green sack. Mid-crouch, he accidentally body-checked the man, knocking him back just as his fingers enveloped a shoulder strap. Freezing in place, Jareth looked up as he heard someone—he couldn't tell whom— cussing behind him. Seconds became elastic when the Empty tilted his head down and stared, dull eyes blinking in his sun-burnt face framed by long crusty hair. For a heartbeat, Jareth swore intelligence sparked in the man's eyes, so close that even in the gray light Jareth thought he saw something stirring, then it vanished with the Empty blinked and unending ash returned. The Empty shrieked, jumping at Jareth with clawed hands and flying spittle.
"Watch out!"
"Bloody hell!" Jareth fell back, bag in hand, and pivoted from his side to his feet, narrowly escaping the Empty's ragged nails which scraped along his neck and face. The shallow cuts burned, stinging ten times more than he expected; he winced and swiped at his neck, feeling blood welling up.
"I thought you said Empties weren't violent," Jareth said, directing his statement to Sam.
"Not as long as you don't disturb them," Sam said.
"Yeah," Chet said. "But I've never seen so many flock like this or attack like that!"
Having missed him, the Empty staggered and tripped to land on his hands and knees, snarling and throwing his head up. A great howl rose up from the other Empties, their indifference to their group suddenly evaporating as they shifted and turned in a one motion to face the four huddled back-to-back in a circle. The Empties stepped towards them, the rising sun peeking at their backs through the open door and cracked windows, creating an unholy corona.
"What the fuck did you do?" Sarah asked, slipping her M-16 from her shoulder to her hands.
"I have no idea. I didn't strike him hard," Jareth replied, freeing his knife from its sheath. It's perfectly balanced weight hefted in his right hand, resting snugly between the well-worn pommel and guard as if it were custom forged for him. His bloodlust, hardly calmed from the previous battle, hummed beneath his skin, eager for free reign. The accompanying carnal response in his lower torso, now so painfully in tune with Sarah's proximity, nearly distracted him from the swiftly approaching danger.
"Enough chatter," Sam snapped. "We got bigger problems, like how to get out of here." The metallic slide, snap, click of three M-16s chambering a first round reverberated as they faced the incoming horde. Only feet separated them from dozens of Empties, snarling towards them.
"Then what'da we waitin' for?" Chet said as he fired into the crowd. Bullets tore apart their tattered clothing, uncovering old wounds side-by-side with the new. Some Empties, being thinner and weaker, fell immediately to writhe or die on the floor. But the stronger ones took the damage and lurched through the onslaught to fall at their feet, grasping and tearing at their legs. Jareth slashed at hands and arms dragging him down, yet more followed and soon his leather pants were soaked in blood again.
"Move. Move!" Sam pushed at him; Jareth saw the others arrowing a way through the non-stop horde. Gunfire was punctuated by inhuman screams. Sarah and Chet were already gaining some distance, and if he didn't listen to Sam he'd be the only left behind.
Quickly exchanging his knife for his rifle, Jareth copied the others' actions: firing while stepping towards the exit, never stopping their momentum. Still awkward in the usage of the M-16, nonetheless his initial fear remained correct. His fey nature craved its ferocity, crowing every time he killed or maimed an attacking Empty. Feeling his rational mind disconnect, Jareth flowed within his bloodlust, reveling in the kills, uncaring and unknowing of his physical surroundings.
One Empty slipped past his guard, grabbed his neck and they both fell with Jareth landing atop the thing. The hard smack on the dirt did little to daze either one. Simultaneously, Jareth released his grip on the M-16 and unfettered his knife, using it and his superior weight and position to stab, repeatedly, into the thing's gut. The smell of fresh evisceration and the feel of slippery hot blood coating his blade, hand and forearm, hit him and Jareth growled, sinking his teeth in the Empties exposed neck.
Bliss! Tasting fresh blood of one's kill, human or fey… He needed … he needed … he needed…
"What the fuck are you doing?" a man said, yanking him from his kill. Jareth backhanded the bulky, annoying person. His bloodlust overcame any desire for killing the pest as he sought out his new prey … there… Her aroma bloomed stronger than any blood.
"Oh … God, Jareth?"
She spoke his name. She knew they were mated. Even her arms up and palms out looked to be beckoning and welcoming to him given his current state of mind. A second man attempted to stop him as well, but Jareth shoved him aside without a glance and grabbed Sarah's forearms, slick blood on his hands staining her skin. Yanking her to him, his arms became bands around her torso as he ground his heavy erection into her pelvis.
"W-what …" She panted and tried to pull away. Jareth could see her eyes fluttering and knew her wall against him crumbled.
With the taste of blood in his mouth and the scent of Sarah in his nose, Jareth knew he must have her now. "Mine …" he said, lowering his lips to hers. Her eyes widened and she trembled but she didn't struggle. "Other half," he whispered just before his lips touched hers. Sarah moaned, then a sharp pain lanced from his head to his neck and he saw a shocked look on Sarah's face before blackness.
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Sam stared down at an unconscious Jareth, again covered in blood. Sam would've hardly believe the truth if he hadn't witnessed it for himself—a berserker Jareth ripping open the last Empty's jugular with his teeth. He didn't seem to actually drink the blood, but some obviously was in his mouth since it coated his lips and dribbled on his chin. The danger passed, the Empties either killed or outsmarted, they'd found temporary cover in another house, but Jareth had continued the violence, dragging an Empty inside the building and getting medieval on him.
That's when Sam knew Jareth was out of control, so when he approached Sarah he didn't hesitate to knock him out. Ironic how Jareth appear so peaceful now that he'd pistol whipped him with the butt of his rifle. Usually so controlled, you'd never know the man was a freaking manic during battle.
"You okay, Sarah?" Sam asked, one hand gripping her quivering elbow.
A shaky nod. "Yeah." She kept staring at Jareth, too, a look of incredulity smeared across her face.
"He didn't hurt you?"
"No." Head shake and another body tremble.
"He alive?" Sam asked Chet, who knelt by Jareth's head probing for damage, then checking his vitals.
"Still breathing, though I 'spect he'll have a helluva headache when he wakes up."
"Good."
Sarah turned to him and asked sharply, "Too him being alive or the headache?"
"Both." Her brows furrowed as she nibbled her lower lip. "You got a problem with either, Fixer?"
"No," she said softly, her body slumping in on itself. "I just … wish I knew why he attacked me like that."
Sam chuckled lightly and turned Sarah to face him directly, his hands gripping her shoulders. "He didn't attack you, not really."
"What do you mean?"
"I knew guys in the military … they'd get deep into the killin' during a hardcore battle; at a certain point the bloodlust flips to pure lust. They can't help it."
"You mean," she glanced at Jareth again, sprawled out supine on what used to be a living room floor, "he didn't know he was about to," she gulped, "... with me?"
"Basically. Your Goblin King, he's a berserker."
- 14
- 15
- 16
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Falling --COMPLETED