Falling - Ch 18 - Laby Fan Fiction

"God, I wish I had a bolt cutter," Chet said, gazing at the cable running through the broken, still rusted pulley.

"Ah, Chet," Jareth said, keeping his head bowed over Sarah, who lay in his lap, motionless under his calming ministrations. She rested peacefully for the present while Sam searched the area, considering their next move. Jareth dared not wake her until needed, knowing she would feel tremendous pain. "A week ago I could've granted your wish."

Startled, Chet crouched next to him. "Seriously?"

Jareth returned a taut half smile, saying in a mocking tone, "Seriously." He shrugged. "However, if I still had my magic we could skip this ridiculous tediousness while I recovered Tobias directly."

"So Fixer was right about you," Jareth's arch brow and sped Chet on, "I mean about the magic and stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Granting wishes."

"I'd hardly say I grant wishes." Jareth scoffed. "I'm no bottled jinn. Though I hear they're quite useful if you're clever enough to master one."

"Jinn?" Chet scooted closer, head tilted, hands dangling between his hunched legs. "You mean like a genie?"

"Precisely."

"Yeah, having a genie right now would be useful."

"Mm …" Jareth nodded, his fingers gently combing tangles from Sarah's hair. He didn't really understand why he continued to caress her, but some part of him acknowledged how easy it was to do. "I would rather answers to my quickly multiplying questions," he mumbled.

"What kinda questions?"

"Wh-? Oh." He frowned, hands stilling over Sarah's forehead. "You're still here?"

"Where else would I be?"

Jareth curled his lips in a sneer. "Perhaps searching the property with Sam? Solving our water retrieval problem?"

"Oh man," Chet shook his head, oblivious to Jareth's sarcasm, "you have any idea how much that cable weights? And that's not including the filled bucket. He's lookin' for something we can drive into the ground, something that'll support the weight and that's assuming the three of us," Chet hand-waved from him to Jareth, then outward to Sam's whereabouts, "can even lift the damn thing multiple times." His head shook again, chin hanging down. "I just don't think it's gonna happen."

Jareth's hand stilled; Sarah moaned and stirred restlessly. "What are you saying?"

"Look." Chet scratched the back of his neck, then his two-day's worth of stubble. "This isn't gonna work."

"This being?" Jareth didn't like where Chet led, yet his logic couldn't disagree.

"This chasing after the Vultures," he said earnestly, his voice rising a bit. Chet didn't notice Jareth's eyes flick upward.

"Don't you fucking say that!" Sam shouted, grabbing Chet from behind and yanking him up and back. Chet sprawled on his butt and back in a large puff of dust, before scrambling to his feet into a fighting stance.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Chet shouted back.

Sam took a mirrored fighting stance, teeth bared. "We are not giving up!"

"Really? Well I don't see anything useful or problem-solving in your hands!"

At Chet's accusation, Jareth eyed Sam closer, discovering Chet to be correct. Sam carried nothing new or large enough to be used as the type of weight-supporting post Chet described. He disliked agreeing with the man, but Chet seemed to be right.

Sam didn't share Jareth's viewpoint. "Just 'cause this place is picked over doesn't mean we give up! We haven't even tried to lift the thing yet." He pointed at the well.

"Are you nuts? How we gonna support the weight and keep the cable secure with only three of us?" Sam opened his mouth; Chet pointed a finger. "And don't you say nothing 'bout Fixer." Sam snapped his mouth shut with a loud click. "She's out for now and you know it. Her hands are tore up bad."

Sam scowled. "Even so, she wouldn't give up."

"Fixer is unconscious!" Chet pointed to where she lay in Jareth's lap. Meanwhile, Jareth continued to observe this volatile display with a growing alarm. Something niggled at his gut, but without knowing either of the men well, he couldn't get a clear impression. But he didn't like it.

Bunching Chet's jacket in his fists, Sam pulled him up short. "Fixer would agree with me. It's her brother."

"Fuck!" He jerked from Sam's grip, stumbling. "Without water we'll barely make to the mountains!" Chet paced, kicking up more dirt and waving his arms.

"But we can make it!" Sam said with a fist smacking to palm. "It's a day or so from here."

"And if we don't find fresh water there? Then what?"

Glancing to Jareth, whose hands were motionless causing Sarah to become more restless, Sam ducked his head. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Chet echoed snidely, mocking him with his entire body. He faced Jareth. "He doesn't fucking know! Well I do! We die, that's wha-!"

"Sam," Jareth said in a commanding voice, cutting Chet off mid-rant. Both men's heads whipped around, facing him. Though Jareth looked up from his sitting position, his decades of royal experience easily ruled the situation, cooling tempers and deescalating tension. "It seems to me you're quite determined to follow these Vultures regardless of the risk."

Sam sighed and spoke in a calmer voice, "I'm just choosing what Fixer would've decided. You know I'm right."

Jareth's hand hovered over her hair, tempted to start combing again as he considered Sam's opinion. The Sarah he knew—stubborn, determined, loyal—she wouldn't give up. But this maze of life and death offered worse odds than his Labyrinth, which was merely a challenge to usher children into maturity. He looked down at her lips, squeezed tight, and her eyes shifting rapidly beneath their lids. Could she hear them? Did she try to wake and answer for herself?

Resting a hand on the crown of her head, he realized a vital difference between the woman of his memory and the one in his arms. This Sarah, while as stout of heart and as annoying as ever, was not the Sarah he remembered. She was so much more. This Sarah would face the life-threatening chances to retrieve her brother just as she had faced his lesser, childish challenges. And whatever fate had planned, he decided then and there, he would stand by her side until they found the answers to both their questions.

"Very well, Sam." He nodded slowly as he adjusted the unconscious Sarah, shifting until he could slip one arm beneath her neck and the other under her knees. Standing, he hefted her close to his chest and met Sam's wide-eyed gaze. Was he astonished or relieved? Uncertain, Jareth disregarded it, focusing on Sarah instead. Her weight felt slight in his arms, lighter than he expected given her physical strength, and another of those twisting pangs hit his heart as her hands curled onto her chest, settling within their white mittens.

"We push on." Jareth rotated his head toward his and Sarah's things. "Carry our bags, then. I'll carry her." And he strode off toward the mountains, not caring if Sam or Chet followed, though he knew they would. What choice did they have?

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She woke gradually to the stinging burn of her hands and the comforting sway of being held and carried. The last time she remembered feeling so safe and comfortable—if she deliberately ignored her hands' increasing pain—was years before The Shove. On Saturday mornings, before Karen forced her up, she would snuggle deep under her blankets with Lancelot tucked next to her. Her bed became a toasty cocoon, securely holding back the harsh reality of her life.

As consciousness continued to trickle around cracks, prying them wider, Sarah resisted the growing urge to open her eyes. If she gave in, her delicious throw-back fantasy would end, and she'd have to admit whose arms held her so well. Instead she breathed, enjoying his singular aroma of spicy musk, which even the most arduous of exertions never quite masked. Perhaps, while lost to the world of dreams, she might press her nose closer, surreptitiously inhaling his scent guilt-free.

"Enjoying yourself?" His question rumbled from his chest to hers; the bass soothing even as it startled her.

She cracked her gummy eyes, peeking up, felt her skin prickle as she blushed. "You knew?"

"Your sniffing was rather obvious." His half smirk crinkled the skin around his eyes, mocking her, but in a lighthearted, jovial way.

She realized with a stomach, rolling jolt—Jareth teased her. And even worse, she liked it. Against her will and better sense, a return smile tugged until she felt her lips stretch and cheeks mash upward. What's he doing to me? Even her hands didn't hurt so much as long as he kept looking at her with that half smile and sparkling, mismatched eyes.

"Sorry," she mumbled, not at all truly meaning it.

"It's alright. Your sniffing is infinitely preferable to your sniping."

She stiffened slightly. "I don't snipe!" Ignoring her, Jareth raised his head toward their destination, his lips blanching and twisting as he fought a wider grin. Accepting the change of topic, she craned around for a better view and asked in a grumble, "Where are we? And why are you carrying me?" She felt his chest expand, preceding his heavy sigh. So much for pleasant conversation.

"We are several hours closer to the mountains, and I'm carrying you because it seemed the most expedient choice at the time," he spared her a wry glance, "given your state of unconsciousness."

She rotated her white-mittened hands, the sting doubling as soon as she looked. "Unconscious? The pulley? Did I fix it?"

"No."

No? What went wrong? Oppressive heat mixed with images of melting cheese for a moment, then Sarah threw the memories away and focused on the current problem. "So … how'd we get the water?"

Jareth waited a few breaths, his long-legged pace rocking her while her anxiety increased. "We didn't."

"What?" She shifted, trying to sit up, but Jareth tightened his hold and glared until she relaxed.

"Sam felt you would choose to proceed regardless of the risk."

"He did?"

"Was he mistaken?"
"I—." Sarah slumped and Jareth pulled her closer to his chest. She allowed herself the indulgence while she thought about Jareth's explanation. Was Sam wrong? The mountains were a good distance, and they needed the water. But they might be able to make it, if they moved fasted and rationed what they had left. No, Sam wasn't wrong.

"I can tell by the disappearing crease between your brows that you've reach a conclusion."

She met his intent, downward gaze. Keeping resolute, she overlooked how his long hair framed his face, dangling toward her in a flattering sweep of platinum. "I have to save Toby."

Pursing his lips, Jareth nodded slowly. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"Remember, I swore to get him back."

"I remember," she said softly, tucking her hands back to her chest as she burrowed closer to his. "Are you tired, Jareth?"

"Rest, Sarah." His fingers dug lightly into her body through her clothes, his eyes determinedly staring straight ahead. "I may be without my magic, but my stamina remains greater than a human's."

She yawned, suddenly tired in the combined day's heat and Jareth's warmth. "Okay."

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Sam wasn't sure what to think of the fey striding along in front of him as if he owned caffeine on tap. Jareth had carried Sarah for hours with only a few breaks. He had turned down both he and Chet's offers to trade out his burden with a feral-like frown. When Sam had insisted, he expected a growl with Jareth's vaguely sharpened teeth. The man had to exhaust himself eventually, right? Man. Sam used the term so casually, but the more he got to know Jareth, the more he understood him to be no man. At least, not in the human sense of the word.

Odd thing was, Sam didn't hear Sarah complaining, and he knew she had regained consciousness because they chatted off and on in hushed tones. He didn't know how to feel about that. Oh, he was glad she was awake and feeling better. Of course he was. He supposed he should feel happy she warmed up to Jareth. After all, he had claimed to be here to help, possibly even heal the world. But now that Sarah changed her mind and apparently buddied up to him … well … something about it tweaked Sam. Not that he had any right to th feeling.

He thought about the Vultures and Toby and Sarah's harebrained scheme they were currently being tortured by. He thought about all his plans for the compound that were, as of all this, wasted. How easily he tossed the future aside. For what? Family?

Gritting his teeth on the painful feelings welling up in his throat, Sam kept his sight on the mountains. The foothills sloped beneath their feet and soon the trek would steepen. Too bad there weren't hardly any trees left in the lower altitudes. Sam hitched his rucksack higher on his shoulders and readjusted Sarah's pack in his left hand, her weapon in his right.

No, he didn't have any right to the feeling at all.