Disclaimer: Disclaimed.
Summary: Sarah sees Jareth again. How long has it been since the last time? Why is it never at the good times?
Good Times
I haven't seen you in a while, she says, looking into the mirror. How have you been?
Oh the usual, he says, as you'd expect. And you?
She hadn't been too bad. The job was turning out all right, she finally ditched the accountant she'd been dating and her mother remembered to send her a birthday card this year. Hadn't she told him? How long has it been since she last spoke to him?
I lose count of time, he sighs, it may have been yesterday or yesteryear. What's it to me?
But he knows that that she is older, that her dog is long dead.
It's been really good actually, she says. The gallery's a hit. We're in the New Yorker. She pauses. It's a shame dad has to miss the opening night. Toby's moving into dorms tonight. She feels she has to explain. He's in college now, I thought you knew.
I knew, he says, although he had forgotten.
What's it to me, she says. Toby was so pleased to get his first choice of school. But I-
She is distracted. The journalist wants an opinion. What's her favourite painting here? Prying now, tell me more about Sarah Williams.
Excuse me, she says.
Do you mind? Jareth adds, chiding the journalist. You're here to review the show.
Sarah is not sure at what point he traversed the mirror, but there he is.
A little later, when the guests are leaving and the champagne is flat, Sarah says, here we are again. Just like when Merlin died, when I had to attend mom's premiere.
Was that really the last time? He is lost in her, in time.
Why is it never at the good times? She never thinks of him then.
I suppose dad will see it when he's back, she thinks aloud, flipping through the catalogue, reclining on the bench, her head resting on his lap. We've had a good time tonight, you and I.
The last of the guests have gone. The cleaners who swept the floor have gone.
I asked you before, she says, remembering, if you would stay.
He doesn't touch her hair. She doesn't look at him.
You said nothing then too, she says, clenching the catalogue, I woke up and you had gone.
Yes, he nods.
Is it so hard for you to stay? She holds back from reaching for his hand. She lets her voice sound long and distant.
Yes, he says at last. It is so hard to leave.
She is quiet. She cannot say, don't leave.
...
The next morning her father calls. How is the gallery and all that. Fine, fine. The sun is up and out outside, its rays are golden on her skin as she looks out of the window, her ear pressed to the phone. Sure I'll show you, she says in response to his wish to see the paintings. How's Toby? And she laughs as he tells her how Toby got his room mixed up and met a girl quite by chance, a nice girl, her father emphasises, approving.
She squints at the sky. Today will be good. Sarah smiles.
-FIN-