Caveats And Cliches (A Labyrinth Fanfiction)

Chapter 2: Be Careful What You Wish For

"Well, if it isn't you." 

I hear myself say.  Hallelujah!  When every fuse in my consciousness is blown, innate sarcasm comes to the rescue! 

Jareth gives me a smirk, and looks about to say something else when a voice to my left calls out.

"Oy!  Are you alright there, Miss?" 

We both turn toward the man who has spoken.  He is standing a few paces away smoking a cigarette and looking as if he has seen his share of fights.  He's watching us intently, and probably has been since I hurriedly rounded the corner.  Jareth regards him coolly, but says nothing.  Whatever business Jareth and I have with each other, I definitely don't want this guy involved. 

"Of course," I say with as much composure as I can muster.  I turn to Jareth. 

"You startled me, I thought we were going to meet inside."  I say pointedly.

Jareth's gaze switches to me.  A slow smile spreads across his face. 

"Where's the fun in that?" 

He quips, shifting my hand to the crook of his elbow and leading me toward the door of the coffee shop.  I give the man with the cigarette a reassuring smile and we march through the door of the coffee shop.

Once inside, we drop the charade, and I gesture to the left. 

"Grab a table, I'm going to go order." 

Without a word, Jareth turns and peruses the seating, like it is the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing.  I stare after him for a moment trying to process the reality of him being here, but my mind is in a full blown riot.  Panic is wondering if I have somehow called him here with all my Labyrinth nostalgia.  Logic is trying to detect his motive.  Sarcasm is composing a list of snarky remarks about his clothes.  (Instead of his usual 19th century gothic wear, he is sporting J Crew.)  I shake my head for the millionth time today and go to the counter to order. 

Cappuccino in one hand and herbal tea in the other, I make my way to the table Jareth has chosen.  It's a two seater near the back wall, tucked between an overstuffed couch and next to a half wall that divides the seating area from a corner that displayes the work of local artists.  Work brain kickes in.  Back to the wall, minimizing disturbances, relative privacy.  And not even the hint of a smile.  Whatever the reason for Jareth's sudden appearance, it is undoubtedly serious. 

I slide the cup and saucer in front of him and take my seat across the table.  He turns puppy dog eyes on me and I feel a flutter in my stomach.  I'm suddenly grateful for the rain.  I'm   dressed in knee high wedged biker boots, soft black ankle pants, and a long sleeved maroon cold shoulder shirt.  My hair is in an elaborate updo and my eyeliner was wickedly sharp.  I feel like a superhero.  It gives me enough confidence to address the situation at hand. 

"Would you mind telling me just what in the hell you are doing here?"  I ask in my most casual superhero manner. 

Jareth's face brightens just a bit at my insolent tone, but he doesn't smile.

"I'd like to know what you've been up to since we last met."

My eyes narrow and I feel the right one tighten more than the left one.  I wonder if this conversation is going to be what finally gives me a tic. 

"You don't really expect me to believe that you've just popped in after seventeen years for a cup of tea and a chat, do you?"

Now a small smile creases his face. 

"There's the hint of an accent creeping into your speech.  I think living here is rubbing off on you."

I lean away from the table and cross my arms.  Jareth loses the coy expression and turns serious.