Good Lord, I'm back! Wow! I started this crazy fanfic over 10 years ago and I always intended to see it complete, in fact it was always going to be a trilogy to me. But what an eventful and harrowing and beautiful time the last decade has been for me. I recently went back and read the last few fics and thought, huh, I really didn't like Sarah in the beginning. But lo, she sort of evolved from a Mary Sure into a somewhat 'normal' and even flawed character. Which is what I like. I've also been out of the community for a while so if anyone has any good Labyrinth fics, please send them my way! Also, if you have not read the previous fics A New Life and Guardian, you should probably go back and read those first, otherwise you will be thoroughly confused reading this. So without much further ado, the finale begins.

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth or DC.

Batman reached into his utility belt and sprayed plastic onto the glass. He let it harden then quickly punched the window through. It broke quietly and he slipped inside.

They were on the floor below him – Russians – perhaps a dozen, maybe less. It was a new meeting place for them to rendezvous, refuel, and regroup. But it was the absolute last of them. He hadn't completely dismantled the Russian mob after Yuri was killed. The Russian mob leader Yuri took orders from was overthrown soon after by Chechen and his men, believing his time had finally come. The body was never found.

Just a handful compared to the immensity of their numbers just a few years ago. If he could take these men down, find Chechen, and his supplier, it could be over. A massive mob takedown in less than five years, it could be done.

The building he entered was still under construction. Floors were still missing, ladders, pipes, and buckets were strewn everywhere, railings and the foundations were still exposed. The floor between where Batman stood and the group of armed men was translucent. As a modern design, the floors would remain the same, but they weren't finished, and they masked a tremendous gap that would cause him to fall several stories with one false move.

Batman crouched from above and waited. They were exposed here, and the final count was eight men, he could easily take them all down. He slammed his utility belt, releasing a high energy batarang which hurled itself down to the wall closest to the men. It lodged itself in and before the men could react, a sharp explosion of sparks from the outlets and the few light fixtures that were turned on. The room went pitch black.

Immense. Empty. The frantic yells of the men caught unaware. They immediately knew who lurked in the shadows.

He flew in like a wraith and weaved through the bodies, dodging punches, delivering blows – an unstoppable force of fury and power. He nearly had them all. Skilled fists and sharp senses kept his adrenaline up. He had no use for guns, his body was its own weapon.

A rain of gunfire suddenly burst around him. He reacted quick enough to duck and leap for cover. He took a moment to catch his breath.

"Escalation," he thought.

Bigger guns and more bullets. He didn't count the small group with the heavier artillery. The only thing he had left to do was call it in to Gordon. He took a long breath before reaching into his belt again and took out a small black ball. He threw it up in the air behind him, and as expected, it was shot to pieces. It burst into a cloud of gray gas, covering the air in a thick blanket of smoke.

The gunfire stopped and he shot his grappling hook into the air. He became airborne but only until a few stray bullets bit into the was already too high and swung over too far over an exposed floor. Batman twirled on the rope until it snapped, he was sent tumbling in mid-air so his hands now extended before him. He dropped one floor but was able to grab one of the steel girders in the darkness.

He had enough leverage to swing over a banister, plummet out an unfinished wall, and into the darkness of night.

He passed quietly through the penthouse, the pads of his bare feet barely audible in the hallways. Shed of his armor, he was Bruce Wayne again, though his eyes remained bright and almost glowed in the still darkness. Dawn would cut through the horizon soon, it was that still moment when the night was at its darkest before the light.

Bruce pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside, sighing as he did so. Sarah lay sleeping, her bare arms and legs splayed over the bed, her black hair spread over the pillows, and her mouth slightly open. His eyes slowly took her in, but he wasn't smiling. She was sweating at the brow, her chest rose and fell too sharply, and the sheets had been thrown aside. Bruce spent enough nights with her to know that she had had her nightmares again. They were night terrors, really. Sometimes she could wake herself out of it, and sometimes she couldn't. Tonight she was able to wake herself up and fall asleep again fitfully.

On the nights when Bruce left, Alfred came to her, woke her, and stayed with her until she fell asleep again. When Bruce woke her, they would stay awake nearly the rest of the night, both silently remembering how the nightmares began. On nights like this they would eventually reach for each other and find comfort in their love-making. It was the comfort of another person in the dark, of not being alone, and of grasping for meaning of why they still felt alone. In the end, the comfort was short-lived.

Sarah had changed considerably over the last year. He blamed himself for some of that, he had not always been so kind to her; taking her as a hostage in his own home. Then kidnapped and tortured by Russians, nearly killed by Dr. Crane, and finally her memories were stolen away. They were memories of… whoever it was he rescued her from. Although, he wasn't really sure that was a rescue, she clearly wanted to be with him. But this man, this being, pushed her away. He didn't want to bring someone he loved into the darkness with him, even though Sarah didn't see it that way.

It broke his heart in a way, that this man could deny Sarah while she begged for him, and knowing that Sarah could never love him in that way. He knew she could never beg for him like that.

The events of that night were seared into Bruce's memory, but Sarah's mind was erased of all traces of… him. Bruce still didn't even remember his name or if Sarah had even told him. All he could know was that there were forces and beings beyond his imagining, and that Sarah was somehow a part of it. He didn't really know how or why, and that made him on edge. He didn't like not knowing secrets about a person who had become close to him, especially if that person didn't even remember their own secrets.

The space between them was growing, and he couldn't stop it. He didn't know if he even wanted to.

Bruce silently left the room and closed the door behind him.

Sarah walked out of the elevator, into the brightly lit penthouse, and hung her scarf up. She glimpsed Alfred walking in the kitchen. "Good morning," she called to him.

"Oh, good morning, miss!" Alfred walked into the hallway to greet her. "You left quite early this morning. Did you sleep well last night?"

"Just fine, Alfred." Sarah kissed his cheek, adding a profound smack. "I'll take my breakfast in the living room."

"Very well, miss. You do know it's 1:30 in the afternoon?"

She turned around, still walking toward the living room. "Is it that late?"

Alfred didn't answer her, but she shrugged nonetheless. She was enjoying a crisp, almost snowy morning in the city because she felt safer than she had in almost a year. There were no threats, no mob after her, and no Russians. Though she still felt she had to look over her shoulder and down every cross street she passed. She wasn't completely able to walk down the streets with as much confidence as she had before. But the unique vibrancy of Gotham was calling to her, and she couldn't ignore it any longer. At the very least, she reveled in her anonymity on the city streets once again.

Sarah grabbed the remote and turned the television on. The screen flashed to a tri-fold of political commentators on GNN.

"Batman is a major cause of crime in Gotham," a blustering, bald man commented. "Escalation has gotten out of control because of him. These street thugs and crime lords seek him out hoping to prove themselves in violent conflict. Batman does not deter crime, he invites it. What is the Dark Knight's credo? Batman does not kill? No! It's only a matter of time before he does. Batman ultimately belongs behind bars, not his morally disadvantaged victims."

A woman interjected, "Gotham is proud of an ordinary man standing up for what's right…"

"You're talking about the kind of city that idolizes a masked vigilante, he's already breaking the law!" The bald man started to turn red in the face. "No, what Gotham needs are heroes who are elected officials, not a man who thinks he's above the law."

"Exactly. But, who appointed the Batman? We did. All of us who stood by and let scum take control of our city."

She switched off the TV. The screen went black to reveal a reflection in the glass: Bruce, just behind her, frowning.

She tossed the remote down. "I don't have to say don't listen to them because I know you don't." She turned to him. He was looking at her with tired eyes, though they were sharp as always.

"What if they're right?" It wasn't a rhetorical question, he was asking her honest opinion.

"And what if you'd done nothing?" She walked toward him until she was close enough to see the hard line of his cheekbones that were becoming more prominent. "Then nothing would have changed. Nothing would have shaken anyone out of apathy. You inspired people to stand up for what's right, so much so that now political figures are finally turning their focus back and fighting for a second chance."

He looked down, a scowl was beginning to grow on his mouth. "Perhaps people are becoming too eager. They're not trained or disciplined for combat. They fight with guns and makeshift bombs."

"And you'll figure out a way to deal with them too," she assured. "One thing at a time."

He nodded slightly, and turned away, but winced when he did so.

"You're hurt," Sarah came to his side and looked him up and down. "What happened this time?"

He didn't look at her. "Just a bad landing."

"Right…" she said, unconvinced, and ran her eyes over his face. He kept his gaze averted from her. He wasn't even trying to hide the lie from her. But it was evident he didn't want to argue with her either. He was in pain, she could see that, but he would recover soon enough. "No sparring today?"

He shrugged, indifferent. "If you want."

"No, it can wait. You need to rest."

Ever since the night the theater burned down, Bruce had insisted he train Sarah in self-defense. She agreed almost immediately. For two hours a day, almost every day, he taught her how to throw punches in close quarters, stay light on her feet, and deliver quick uppercuts and jabs. She quickly developed balance and power from learning stances and strikes, and she just started learning hold-downs and choke-holds. But what Bruce focused on the most was honing in on her incredible strength. Sarah could effectively break a doorknob by pushing down on it with the lightest force. If she wasn't careful, she could break a man's bone with a hard clench of her fist, like she had done to Yuri. Bruce had even tapped out several times when she got too carried away during their training. But that was the focus of her drills – knowing when and how to use her strength when she still hadn't come to terms with it.

Bruce began to walk down the hallway, but something had been nagging at Sarah all morning.

"Bruce..." she called to him. He stopped and turned to her. She crossed her arms over her chest, uneasy and nervous. "I had a nightmare last night. It was about him."

Bruce furrowed his brow and came toward her. He was suddenly tense with concern. "Who?"

She didn't like to say it, she didn't even like to think of him. He was vile, demented, and terrifying. "… Joker."

Bruce stopped in his tracks, not sure if he had heard her right.

They didn't say anything to each other for a moment. The Joker had not even reached the news yet, and Bruce certainly didn't tell her anything about him. How she could have known about the Joker was unheard of, at least for anyone else. But Sarah was not a normal person, they both knew that.

Just from her dream, Sarah knew that the Joker went beyond common criminals and even the Russians. He was on a completely higher level of crime and disorder. "What are you going to do?" she asked him, her eyes wide. There didn't seem to be a motive or an agenda to the Joker, and Batman was nothing if not strict about following codes and reaching a cause for every move an enemy took. But there was simply nothing there, just fire and chaos.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

"I have a horrible feeling..." she shuddered. She couldn't finish her sentence. She hadn't felt this fear since the Scarecrow. She pushed the image of a burlap mask from her mind, but another white face entered, and it was just as horrifying…

"It will be alright." He reached out and stroked her hair gently. "You're safe with me."

She pushed his hand away. "I'm worried about you. What if you're pushed too far this time?"

"I won't," he said firmly. "I never am."

"How do you know? You have never faced someone like this before."

"I know. But let me worry about him," he brushed his fingers over her cheek. "Don't trouble yourself, you've already been through too much." He began to lean in close to her face. "Don't worry about me," he said, brushing his lips along hers. Sarah tensed slightly, as much as she wanted to kiss him back she couldn't help but notice that he wasn't troubled at all by her dream. Though she couldn't remember the details, she woke up with visions of a scarred white face, yellow teeth, and a gruesome red mouth. It was truly chilling, and she couldn't understand why he wasn't taking this more seriously.

Sarah pulled back. "Don't try and brush this aside so easy. You know I've never worried this much. He's different, Bruce."

He sighed into her neck. "I know," he said. "But like you just said, I'll think of something, I always have."

Sarah tensed again when he placed an open-mouthed kiss on her neck. She didn't like this indifference coming from him. The images weren't something to be shaken off or ignored – they were different from common vigilantes in costume.

"Relax," he said, laughing slightly, "I just want a kiss." He moved a hand onto the back of her neck and pushed her face closer to his so that he could kiss her with more ease.

She pulled back again and frowned. They gazed at each other for a moment. Stubborn and immovable. They could go on like this for hours until eventually one of them gave in. Finally, Sarah sighed and raised her hand to his face, moving a strand of his hair aside. She shook her head and forced a smile – how could she say she was having doubts? He wasn't going to listen to her now.

He sensed her resignation and took her head in his hands and kissed her, deeply. Sarah returned the kiss, pressing herself against him. She then broke the kiss and took one of his hands in hers. Pressing her lips against his bare fingers, she looked up at him. Her eyes were full of desire. Bruce had the power to make her forget about the world sometimes, why not let him for a little while?

"You just want one kiss?"

Her long, black flowed over her shoulders in soft waves. She wore a magnificent dress of chocolate red, embellished with iridescent sequins and beads. Dark gold earrings completed the earth-toned ensemble. She turned and admired herself further; her eyes glittering as she moved. One thin slit on the right side of her dress went all the way to the middle of her thigh, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her bare leg. Sarah's body had certainly changed while learning self-defense, she was leaner and more flexible, it gave her an extra boost of self-confidence she hadn't possessed in a long time.

She was smoothing out the fabric of her gown when Bruce appeared in the doorway. Sarah immediately sensed his presence and looked up anxiously before he said a word. Bruce's eyes had widened at the sight of Sarah in the glittering dress, but then quickly regained his composure. His eyes became hooded and he leaned against the doorway more languidly, his hands in his pockets. He wore a sharp formal tuxedo, complete with a bowtie. She would have preferred him in his sweats and plain t-shirts. But they obviously had to put on appearances tonight. Her eyes looked over him closely, but she could not pick any kind of emotions from him, it was as if he were blocking her. He was good at that, and it always made her a little nervous.

"You don't approve?" she asked with raised brow.

He finally smiled, and it was genuine. He nodded his head as he looked her up and down. "Where did you get this?"

"It was given to me."

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"I swear it was! Some designer who wants her dress to be seen at the gala. And I'm giving it back as soon as we get this over with." She turned and looked over her shoulder at the low cut of her back.

Bruce half-smiled at the way she looked over herself. There was an air of vanity to her that was not in her any other time. He finally held his hand out to her. "Come, my lady. We can't keep the court waiting."

Sarah smiled and made a small curtsey before answering, "Yes, my Lord."

The first time they made love was the night of the worst storm Gotham City had ever seen. Cars overturned, streets were flooded for days, people were without electricity for hours, and the trains were out of commission for a week due to the debris. No one was injured, but Alfred would later tell Sarah that the thunder had shook even the penthouse loft. But none of this made any difference to them. The lightning had been the light to see each other with. Their cries seemed to echo after each thunder strike.

Yet however great and intense their desire for each other, Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that that was the only true thing between them. Bruce remained hidden from her. She knew one of his greatest secrets, but she could never bring the real Bruce out for very long. He was only vulnerable with her once, and he kept an invisible shield around him ever since then. She tried to be open with him, hoping that he could do the same for her, but he never unburdened himself to her again. He reverted to closing himself off and was only available to her on the surface.

Alfred drove them the short distance through Gotham's Diamond District – Gotham's most affluent neighborhoods. Bruce sat back with a heavy sigh. Sarah could at least see that he was not looking forward to the gala tonight; he despised socializing with the wealthy. They both agreed that they were nothing but spineless cowards who were too busy making fools of themselves, trying to show how much better they were than those around them. It was quite tiresome having to deal with them, and they were both not looking forward to the experience.

Bruce acted like the irresponsible, superficial playboy who lived off his family's personal fortune and the profits of Wayne Enterprises, however, Bruce was also known for his contributions to charity, notably through the Wayne Foundation, a charity devoted to helping the victims of crime and preventing people from becoming criminals. This was one of those fundraisers, and it was more trouble than it was probably worth.

Once Alfred pulled up to the entrance of the great hall, Bruce helped Sarah out of the car and guided her through the mass of people huddled outside. They were quick to make their way through, because once people started recognizing who they were, everyone crowded closer for a better look. Once inside, Sarah took his arm more graciously and proceeded down the hallway. She pushed her hair away from her face and nervously fingered at the beaded material of her gown. This was the first time they were going out as a couple. People knew they were loosely connected when he threw the Arabian themed party nearly a year ago at his penthouse. But now that Bruce's PR confirmed to the tabloids that he and Sarah were an item, every one of these strange people watched and looked and pointed their fingers at her.

Bruce turned to Sarah beside him, saw her fidgeting with the dress, and grinned, "Don't pay any attention to them. They all thrive on envy."

Sarah smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly.

As they entered through a large pair of doors, Sarah's breath caught in her throat. The gala was over the top golden glitz. A kind of Versailles meets punk couture. The ballroom was packed with people sipping exotic cocktails and munching on complicated hors d'oeuvres. The ceilings with huge, gold and black chandeliers were so high above Sarah's head that she hardly see the top, they were almost lost in the shadows. Aerial acrobats with pink hair and serving girls with filled champagne glasses in their wide skirts drifted through the hall, as music and conversation buzz remained steady and lighthearted. And into this zoo walked Bruce and Sarah.

There was an initial barrage of flashing photographers crowding for a perfect photo for the gossip tabloids, but then ceased once Sarah and Bruce sauntered past the foyer designated for the Press. Though Bruce had her arm, she advanced hesitantly and looked around for any familiar face in the crowd, but she didn't recognize anyone. People were wearing just about any kind of formal wear tonight. She saw the most expensive and beautiful gowns blended with sober evening wear and the most outrageous trash. She then saw that people were staring at her and she felt a shiver of discomfort. She could feel them appraising her and trying to get into eye contact with her.

"…she was an actress… I see she's found a new act… she's pretty, in a peculiar sort of way… I wonder how long she'll last…"

She heard everything that was being said about her and clung to Bruce, grasping his arm and not realizing how hard. Bruce began to turn to her, but just as he did, an older man with white hair approached the two. "Bruce," he began, "so glad you came!"

Bruce smiled and regarded the man with a nod of his head. "Lucius, I'm glad to see you here too. This is Sarah," he turned, presenting her, effectively returning the flow of blood through his numb arm.

The soft-spoken man known as Lucius looked at Sarah with a warm smile. "So, you're the one causing all of the trouble?"

Sarah laughed nervously, but she could tell that he was only lightly teasing her.

Bruce relaxed a little with Lucius next to him, Sarah could tell that Lucius was someone Bruce trusted and even admired from the way he looked at him. Lucius was an older, African-American man who seemed to like Bruce too, the real Bruce Wayne. Sarah was even starting to think from the casual and knowing tone of their conversation that Lucius knew just as much as she did… All the board members had their doubts about Bruce's ability to settle down and run a corporation, but really, he was quite the businessman. He had a vision, like his father, and he knew how to follow through with it. There was more to Bruce Wayne than flashy cars and repugnant women. Lucius seemed to be one of the few who knew that about him.

"… you want me to run the data with you now, Bruce?"

"The sooner I know the better I'll sleep."

"I can't believe that you'd want to leave a beautiful woman alone," Lucius turned to Sarah, "and would want to be deserted by her date so quickly."

"I can take care of myself," she said, looking at Bruce.

"She certainly can," Bruce agreed with an admiring tone.

"Go, I'll be fine," Sarah dropped her arm. "It sounds important."

"It is," Bruce leaned in and kissed her cheek. "I won't be long."

Lucius winked at her and both him and Bruce walked away into the crowd.

Sarah sighed and grabbed a glass of champagne from a girl with a ridiculous Marie Antoinette wig. She sipped at it slowly and let her eyes roam over the ballroom. A few people would glance her way and trade words, about her dress, about her hair, her figure, her date… it went on and on. She cursed this sharpened sense of hearing she had. It would have been better if she could only hear the music. So that's what she focused on – she recognized the atmospheric synth pop of New Order – perfect for how she felt about this party. She sighed again, closed her eyes, and began to relax under the electric sway of the music. The voices were tuned out and all she could feel was the music filling her mind. The energy ran up her arms and legs until she felt a snap in the air, a changed energy.

She opened her eyes and the room was suddenly dressed in filmy white, huge chandeliers were dripping from the ceiling. People dressed in silk and satin, taffeta and lace, brocade and leather twirled around her dizzily.

"Oh no…" she whispered, "please not this, please not now."

Just recently and every so often, her world would completely change, and she would find herself in the most peculiar places from her time in the Underground. The hedge maze, the goblin city, the oubliette. They lasted only seconds but it bothered her a great deal, because though for over ten years she had become accustomed to strange occurrences and friends who were dwarves, monsters, and foxes who thought they were knights, she didn't like that her world would completely change with the Underground. She feared it would last far too long and would become lost or trapped, and she couldn't control it – that was the worst.

A haunting melody filled the entire room. All around her masks both beautiful and grotesque turned her way, winking and laughing. Sarah spun, looking behind her. She felt she'd been here before, when she was younger, and then it had been strange and beautiful, but frightening. Now it was merely beautiful and strange, but where before she'd felt out of place, now she felt only annoyed because she was always looking for something here.

"Toby…" she thought. But no, he was home safe with her father and step-mother.

The taunting laughter and the wicked grins. The feeling that they all knew something that she did not. She didn't know why they were laughing at her, she was always alone in the crowd, or at least she thought she was. She always had the feeling of someone in command of the ball, someone watching her every move, more so than anyone else in the room. The confusion filled her mind now, as the soft, beautiful tones of the music flooded her ears.

She knew it was here, whatever it was she had lost, and these people were trying to keep her from it. She pushed through a cluster of them, noticing that they were all lithe and beautiful and decadent. If she looked closely, she suspected she'd find that in the corners more than a few of them were engaged in even more risqué pursuits. Around her the dancers spun, turning to look at her scornfully.

Frustrated, she tried to climb the stairs only to be stopped by a group of revelers who were busy playing a game with mirrors. One of them turned a mirror toward her and she paused, surprised by her reflection. A beautiful woman-child in a fairy-tale gown of white gold and silver looked back at her. Her hair was an elaborate construction of curls and silver leaves and cobwebs, with jewels winking out of the dark strands.

She tensed. No, this wasn't right. She wasn't this girl anymore. She didn't want to be the innocent and unwitting teenager, she was tired of this getup…

A flash of sapphire blue at the top of the stairs caught her eye and she turned again. Whatever it was was gone. She was beginning to feel angry now. She pushed past the dancers and climbed the stairs. A feathered fan fluttered beside her, and she smelled something wild, dark, and untamed - roses, earth, musk... Again, she spun toward it to find nothing but more masks, more dancers. She went back down the stairs, and a gloved hand reached out and touched her hair as she passed, she turned just in time to see the sapphire blue coat and a wisp of long, silver blonde hair vanish in the other direction.

"Stop!" she screamed, her frustration was finally past the breaking point. "Stop it!" She began to pull at the silver wires in her hair. She screamed and ripped them all out one by one until her hair was disheveled and frayed like a wild thing.

And then everything became as it was before. People were not wearing masks, there was gold and black velvet décor, and she was wearing her dark red gown again. No one was looking or laughing at her. She ran her hands over hair and found it was smooth and in soft waves. But she was shaking badly, and her heart was pounding so hard it was becoming difficult to breathe.

Staggering, and without caring who saw her, Sarah rushed to the darker interior hallways. She found an isolated corner and backed against the wall, still trying to catch her breath. Inhaling and exhaling carefully, she was slowly starting to regain her whereabouts. Her panic was like fighting the tunnel vision that came before passing out, in fact she felt like she was going to if she didn't calm herself down. She took a few more deep breaths and put her hand over chest, silently willing her heart to slow.

Why did that memory always cause her to panic? Up until now, her dreams of the white ballroom were fragmented and unclear. And she was sick to death of it. None of it made any sense to her. The real, vague memories she had were always the same – people in masks, her in a gossamer ballgown that would look far too immature on her now, and soft, almost seductive music. She had never remembered why she was there in the first place. What was the reason behind it? And why did it feel like someone important was always there watching her? What did they want? The worst part now was that someone important had touched her. No one had ever tried to do that before.

Sarah shook her head. Too many questions she couldn't possibly try to answer now. The Labyrinth had too many secrets and riddles, perhaps this would always remain one of them. She took one more deep breath, straightened her back from the wall and smoothed her gown again for the hundredth time that night. With her clear eyesight, Sarah scanned the room for a moment before she was able to find Bruce in the melee of people. She had had enough for one night, she was ready to grab Bruce and leave.

She began to make her way through the crowded room, but suddenly stopped short when she saw a tall, slender woman approach him. Though the woman was neither striking nor sensuous, she had an air of authority about her; an outward confidence that Sarah was sorely lacking. If Sarah were to envy anyone in this room, it would have been this woman.

Sarah slipped away in a corner to avoid being seen and managed to hear their hushed conversation from a safe distance.

"Bruce Wayne…" the woman greeted him in a mocking tone.

Bruce had not seen her approach him, and was caught off guard, but his voice was warm. "Hello, Rachel." He smiled, his eyes becoming brighter as he took her in his gaze.

"It's been a long time."

"We've both been busy."

"Yeah, I'm sure you have." She paused, and looked him up and down, assessing him. "I heard about the theater. I'm sorry, it was so beautiful. But you seemed to keep the silver lining, I hear you're still attached to the actress. I'm happy for you Bruce, really."

Bruce's voice became lower. "It's nothing, Rachel."

"Don't say that," she hissed, shaking her head. "Don't say that to me. I've heard all the rumors. That she's been living with you for months…"

"It's more complicated than you know."

She sighed, sadly. "It always is..."

Sarah suddenly couldn't hear anymore. Her blood was pumping hot, her heartbeat drowned out all other sound. She felt a lump growing in the pit of her stomach; a sick, terrible realization had hit her. She shook her head as she began to feel flushed, she could feel her skin start to overheat. The liquid fire that was running through her veins and pooling in her chest made it difficult for Sarah to keep her thoughts straight.

Jealousy and betrayal.

The air surrounding her seemed to crackle with an energy that danced over Sarah's skin. She couldn't take it anymore. She didn't want to hear the rest of their conversation and left the party without a word to anyone.