Flashes came quick and swift with the feeling of slipping and falling through air. A pitch black engulfed her mind. Bruce staring proudly at a stone manor only to see it burn to the ground. Another flash. Madness taking over an entire city and then four, five, six people are dead. This time the flash was bright white. Flash. Dancers twirling faster and faster in a whirl of black, unable to stop. Flash! Flash! Flash! They didn't stop coming. Dancers twisted around her, staring and smiling at her. The flashes became brighter and brighter, until they stopped and she saw Bruce's body, alone and dirty. His face was a pale blue and his eyes closed to a deathly white, the once handsome features contorted by death.

Sarah felt herself struggle against this one vision, terrified she might be seeing something real. Long shadows began to seep out from the ground around Bruce and moved towards her, along with thousands of pinpoints of light, attempting to paralyze and smother her. They were dark, smoky wraiths that poured from every crevice, pooling and taking the forms of shapeless demons. The vision swirled and distorted around her in garish, nightmare colors. She cried to the faceless predators, holding her arms out as the shadows descended on her, cold and sharp, like an icy winter wind. They did not hear her, and soon Bruce began to recede, getting smaller and smaller, until he vanished entirely in infinite blackness.

Another flash.

She saw Batman alive but worn out, sweating and gasping for air. He suddenly stopped in his tracks, and listened for something she could hear too; a strange, thunderous sound coming from just below them. Then it became deathly silent and freezing cold. Batman was abruptly slammed up against the wall as Sarah screamed out in terror. Seen only in her eyes were dozens of black wraiths surrounding and assaulting Batman in a violent torrent. She screamed again as three more piled onto his back from behind. One of the creatures bit him, tearing through the kevlar of his suit; the sudden flow of red blood flowing down his arm. Roaring like an animal Batman tried to throw them off in a chaotic frenzy, but to no avail.

She screamed again, and finally the thick veil of unconsciousness dissolved.

Sarah jerked upright, finally awake, but immediately clutched her head as though it were splitting apart. The world spun, dancing with the feverish glee of a spinning kaleidoscope. Opening her eyes was more than painful, it was nauseating. Sarah rose on one elbow, and before even pausing to check her surroundings, she gagged, fighting against her nausea. Groaning, she lifted her hands to her face, fingers slick against the sheen of sweat that had formed on her brow. After taking a moment to recompose herself, Sarah ventured to look up. She blinked once and pushed herself up unsteadily, her thoughts still in disarray.

"Miss," Alfred had been kneeling beside her. "Sarah…"

"I'm fine," said Sarah, though not very assuring. "I just fainted… I shouldn't be out of bed."

"You're quite right," he put her arm over his shoulders, "let me help you up." But he stopped, and listened. Sarah couldn't hear what he was listening for; her head still felt like it was underwater. Alfred gently released her and picked himself up. "Wait here, miss." Alfred quickly made his way toward the penthouse elevator, but the halls remained silent, even after the buzzing in Sarah's ears began to fade.

Trembling, Sarah managed to push herself up to a sitting position. She turned to look over at the window, hoping to see a black slate. But the sun was just beginning to rise over Gotham, and with the light came a sense of an ominous foreshadow. She could sense it the way animals sense a storm coming. Sarah shuddered, a feeling of dread filling her body as the hair on her arms rose to pinpoints.

The sound of the elevator door to the penthouse opening and closing managed to reach her. Sarah froze, the shivers still racking her body, but she listened to Alfred's voice followed by a huge thud.

She ignored the sharp stab of pain in her head when she scrambled to her feet and raced down the stairs. "Where is he?" she cried. "Where is he, Alfred?"

Sarah rushed over and would have collapsed into Bruce's arms, but was horrified to see the state he was in. She came to his side and tried to hide her horror at seeing him like this; shaking, sweating and bloodied – almost exactly like she had seen in her vision.

Batman grasped her arm and staggered on his feet. He struggled for breath through strained gasps of air until he fell against the wall and then heavily onto his hands and knees. She dropped down with him as he still clutched her arm. He was still in a state of shock, the growing pain becoming almost unbearable. His masked head dropped then fell to the side to look over at Sarah. But he looked right through her, nothing in his lifeless eyes indicated that he knew her.

Sarah wanted to touch his face, but she knew he had many devices on his suit that inflicted pain when someone got too close to his mask.

"We need to clean his wounds," said Alfred, "and he has many…" He paused, silently debating the best course of action. "We have to carry him to his shower."

Sarah glanced up at him uncertainly. Her nursing instincts were kicking in, and she didn't doubt her strength, but taking this massive suit off would be dangerous to both Bruce's wounds and themselves.

"Master Bruce, look at me."

Bruce turned his face towards Alfred's voice, but didn't really look at him.

"We're going to clean your wounds as quickly as we can. But we need to undress you. Turn off the stunner on your cowl."

Batman emitted a low moan and pressed something between his thumb and forefinger. Sarah trusted that he had understood and reached over to pull off his cowl.

Bruce Wayne stared up at her with dulled, sightless eyes then turned over. Pressing his forehead to the floor, he tried to dull the burning pain in his legs, back, and chest. He was barely aware of a pair of arms wrapped around him trying to help him up. Slowly gathering his feet under him, he pushed himself to an almost upright position and shuffled to the bathroom, still unaware of someone else helping him. His vision kept blurring and his body shook with pain and exhaustion while Sarah and Alfred were trying to carry the enormous deadweight of him.

Bruce suddenly lost his footing, slipped, and collapsed from the sharp onslaught of pain. Sarah cried out as she fell with him again onto the hard marble floor of the bathroom. But from there, her and Alfred bent to the not-so-calming task of stripping Bruce of his enormous suit. The cape was easy but taking off his armor piece by piece without adding harm to his injuries was more difficult than Sarah thought. Slowly, they pulled his gloves off, then his scalloped gauntlets, his boots, and his armor. Piece by bloody piece, Batman became Bruce Wayne again. Sarah began to slide his undersuit off his shoulders, and as her fingers touched his skin, she gasped harshly as he shot back and nearly took a swing at her.

Alfred grabbed his arm and restrained him. "Master Bruce, stop. Let us take care of you."

Sarah didn't need Alfred to tell her that the pain had overtaken Bruce's senses. He was still on the killing edge and it would take patience and skill to calm him again. Fortunately, Bruce relaxed at the sound of Alfred's voice and dropped his arm limply to the side. Alfred nodded to her and she reached out again, albeit hesitantly. Bruce shivered openly at her touch but he remained still.

Sarah's eyes widened as she slowly peeled away the fabric of his suit to reveal a bloody, sweaty, shaking body. She tried to ignore the red lines and welts that cut into his skin, and she tried to remain as composed as possible when they began to strip him from the waist down. A blush spread across her cheeks as she unbuckled his utility belt and shin guards. Her hands were gentle yet strong as they helped him into his very large shower, enough for eight people, really.

They sat Bruce down on the tiled bench, tilting his head up. Alfred turned the cold water on and Bruce was unable to stifle the sharp moan when his open wounds touched the water. Alfred and Sarah pushed him down with all their strength until the water completely rained over him. His blood swirled down the drain as Sarah ran her hands over him, cleaning him of all sweat and grime. He was chalk white, his body shaking from pain, and his lips trembled as water streamed down his face. Slowly, as the long minutes ticked by, Bruce began to tense with the cold. But by then they were all drenched to the bone. Sarah had to breathe through her mouth and her hair hung down in tendrils over her shoulders and back. She wished she could say that her trembling came from the cold, but running her hands over Bruce's body sent her heart racing, even if she was trying to aid him. It took everything in her to stay focused on the simplest of tasks.

Alfred held Bruce down as Sarah turned the water to warm.

"I must get his medical kit," Alfred said. "Everything we need is in there." They both looked down at Bruce. He hadn't opened his eyes since he tried to hit Sarah. "Do you think you can manage?"

"I think so," she answered quietly. She sat next to Bruce, the water pouring over the both of them as she examined him. She was careful to keep her eyes above his waist line.

"He seems to be out of danger. I won't be long." Alfred rose to his feet. "Don't be afraid to take your own swipe at him if he tries to move, just no where near an open wound." He quickly wiped himself down with a towel and rushed out of the bathroom.

Sarah ran her hand over Bruce's head to keep the water from running into his eyes. She wasn't afraid of Bruce; she could easily hold him down. She trailed one hand up and down his face, her fingers wiping the water and sweat away. She then captured one of her hands with his and gripped it tightly. The sight of him in such terrible pain tore at her heart. He was just one man without even the powers she had now, and he was in pain.

But it seemed Bruce had subconsciously had enough of being fussed over. He tried to stand up, but winced and dropped back down when Sarah placed her hands on his shoulders. He tried to pull himself away, but her grip was too tight, and the wound in his shoulder gushed with fresh blood when he did.

"No, don't do that…" she told him.

He nearly growled at her, baring his teeth as he tried once again to stand.

"Stay still," Sarah tried, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. He pulled away again out of sheer stubbornness, his struggling only causing his wounds to sting and pulse. Her impatience got the better of her, and she pushed Bruce back against the marble wall of the shower, jostling his injured shoulder in the process.

Bruce screamed louder than any animal she had ever heard. "That hurt!"

She sighed and stood up, standing in front of him to block the water. "I'm sorry! But if you hold still it wouldn't hurt as much!"

"If you hadn't had run away none of this would have happened," he pointed out, very quickly laying the blame at her feet.

He was obviously coming back to himself, yet her natural defenses rose immediately. "If you hadn't had locked me up, I wouldn't have run away!"

Bruce opened his mouth to answer, and then remembered his uncontrollable rage and the look on her face as he glared at her; he knew she was right. Then he recalled what set him off in the first place.

"Well you shouldn't have been in my vault in the first place!" he said triumphantly.

"Well you should learn to control your temper!"

Bruce raised his hand to bring out another point, but he had nothing. Sarah was right about that. He couldn't control it sometimes. He bowed his head down. "Do you mind?" He was reaching in the direction of where all his towels were hanging.

Sarah stepped out, grabbed a towel and gently tossed it into the shower with him. "Do you?" she asked him pointedly.

He shook his head.

She pursed her lips and bent her head over the two enormous wounds he had, one on his shoulder and one on his waist – nearly missing a rib. That one hadn't been properly cleaned of dirt and sweat just yet. "Lift your arm," she told him.

She heard his sharp intake of breath and steeled herself to have him jerk his arm out of her gentle grasp. Amazingly enough, his muscles tightened before he lifted his arm to let her have a better look. Sarah bent over the wound and checked it thoroughly for any remaining debris or dirt. She let the cold water flush out the grime before she was satisfied. She took the towel that lay on Bruce's lap and held it tightly to his ribcage. Bruce gave a surprised grunt, but grit his teeth and let her tend to the injury regardless of the pain.

"You should really go to a hospital," she told him.

"That's not necessary."

Sarah gently put his arm back down over the towel before sitting next to him on the bench again, water falling in tiny rivulets down their bodies. Bruce knew her touch now, and he didn't flinch when she laid her hand over the wound on his shoulder.

Sarah envisioned the wound healing under her hand, just as Jareth had done for her. She had incredible strength and a strange burning that came from her hands now. Maybe they could heal, too. Sensing her struggle, Bruce looked at Sarah, concern creasing his brow as he knew what she was trying to do. Her hands tingled from the effort, a warm sensation suddenly enveloping her hands as she pressed them urgently against his wound. She breathed deeply, evenly; and when the sensation was gone she lifted her hand to reveal a still bleeding, raw gash.

It was hard to hide the disappointment in her face. It must be the diamond, nothing would work without it.

"Who are you?"

She was taken by the uncertainty and weakness in his voice, but she answered as simply as she could. "I'm Sarah."

He looked at her, piercing her eyes with his; then they moved down to stare at her mouth. "And what did I see?"

"The Goblin King."

Feeling decidedly and painfully intimate, Sarah parted her lips to speak. But she couldn't say anything when his face was so close to hers, when his hand swept over her head and tangled his fingers in her wet hair.

Bruce suddenly balled her hair up in his fist. His voice had turned low, trying to force an answer from her. "What did I see?"

Sarah opened and closed her mouth. She wanted to say the words that were on the tip of her tongue, but she could see fear rising up in Bruce's eyes. It sharply reminded Sarah of a child's fear; something he didn't understand and wanted badly to cower away from.

Alfred came rushing back into the bathroom just in time, and Sarah pulled away from Bruce.

"Well, I hope you're satisfied, Master Wayne," Alfred said. "You've managed to ruin all of your good towels. Turn off the water please, miss."

Sarah was more than eager to oblige. She turned the water off and helped Alfred dry Bruce off. Alfred then gently put Bruce on his feet. "Let's put you to bed." He was as temperate and doting to Bruce as if he were a young boy again.

Sarah watched them leave, Bruce limping beside his old caretaker, and then she looked back and started cleaning up the blood that was left behind.

Alfred bit the thread and examined his stitches; his eyes scanned over the scars criss-crossing Bruce's shoulders and frowned deeply. Some of the recent ones had split open again. Soon Bruce's back and shoulders would be covered with them as permanent scars. He sighed and finished by placing an ice pack on Bruce's chest.

Sarah waited outside the master bedroom and heard Bruce hiss through his teeth. "It's getting harder to stay in control, Alfred," she heard him say. "I feel like I'm falling…"

"Master Wayne," Alfred said soothingly, "you have to be standing up to be able to fall. You couldn't fall if you were sitting on your ass, nothing's going to happen. Only brave warriors fall from their horses in battle. How can kneeling cowards know what a fall is?"

"Which one am I?"

Alfred sighed. "Why do we fall, sir?"

"So we can learn to pick ourselves up." Bruce had his answer and didn't say anything more. He took another painkiller under Alfred's watchful eye, lay back and began to fall into a fitful sleep, breathing deep but still uneven.

Sarah slipped into the room after a few minutes. "I'll stay with him," she whispered.

Alfred took the ice pack and draped a blanket over Bruce, tucking him in and careful not to jostle any injuries. "Are you sure, miss?"

"I won't bother him," she assured. "I'll be here to get whatever he needs. The two of us are too demanding of you."

Alfred just smiled. "I live to serve those I care for." He watched her settle into a chair next to Bruce's bed; then nodded, exhaustion becoming prominent around his eyes, and moved away into his own room.

Sarah sat and studied Bruce's sleeping face with her eyes. She had noticed a long time ago that people were at their most beautiful when they slept. They were completely at peace when the world around them was black and non-existent.

"Like in death."

Sarah violently shook her head at the thought, and focused again on the several small cuts and scratches upon his cheek and nose. A part of her felt proud. How Bruce must have fought and survived through such ordeals. He had developed such a keen strength of his own self-control. He had so much rage and power in him, not to mention money, that he very well could rule Gotham with an invisible, iron fist. But he chose not to. Bruce actually kept a balance between Gotham and in himself. He wore black, yet black was not always evil; only intimidating. Batman embodied the shadow side. He looked like pure evil, yet his values were of a virtuous man. He was a perfect union of two sides – the good and evil that coexists in every living thing.

After studying Bruce with her eyes, Sarah explored his face with her hand. His skin was clean but damp. Her fingers wiped the sweat from his brow and smoothed his hair from his face. She touched his cheek and jaw, and when her thumb grazed over his lips, she immediately stopped herself. She should have been touching another's face. She wanted another set of eyes and thin lips under her touch.

She gazed down at the man sleeping before her and that familiar, empty ache overtook her again. She pulled away and tucked her hands away into her sweater pockets. After this, time seemed to pass slowly and silently. She waited for a voice or a presence to appear, but nothing happened. Suddenly, Bruce moaned lightly as he awakened, and Sarah reached for him, resting a soothing, warm hand on his arm.

He opened his eyes slowly and looked in her direction, but then quickly squeezed them shut again.

"You're awake," Sarah's voice cut through the silence.

He took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes again. "I didn't sleep long, did I?"

"No." She placed her hand on his forehead. There was no fever, but he was still sweating. "How do you feel?"

Bruce groaned and put a hand over his eyes.

"Bad dreams?" she asked him.

He sat up, looked at her, and nodded his head. "Yeah…"

"Sorry, I know how that is."

"I don't remember… much," he looked distracted, worried. "I must have blacked out…"

"You took a couple swings at me."

He looked over and flicked his eyes over her, checking for any bruises he may have caused.

Sarah waved his concern aside as she sat next to him on his bed. "Don't worry. Our shower together calmed you down quite a bit." His body stiffened and his face suddenly turned bright red. "Oh, now you turn bashful on me?" she said dryly. "Well, don't worry about that either."

Bruce couldn't laugh or even smile in response. He seemed to still be in a state of shock, but to Sarah, it seemed the weight of failure was pressing on top of him.

"Yuri got away, didn't he?" she asked him, her tone beginning to turn. Bruce looked at her, without any emotion, and she knew she was right. "Crane is still out there too… out there still looking for me." Sarah shook her head slowly. She couldn't believe she was even considering the thought, but the words wouldn't stay locked away. Sarah's voice was soft, but forceful. It was clear that her intentions were completely serious. "I want you to kill them both."

Bruce looked at her in a way he never had before. Not in a sense that he was seeing her for who she really was, but rather looking at something that was not a part of her – a parasite or a strange monster that had latched itself on to her. A pale monster with a lion's mane… Or maybe it was his own fault…

"Sarah…" he looked her up and down.

"Think about what could happen" she insisted. "You can lock them away, but for how long? I've known for a long time that this city is corrupt. Somehow, the Russians will work around the system. And they'll be out on the streets again. And all of your work would have been for nothing. You've ignored what they did in the past; blindly, stupidly ignoring the graveyards they've filled, the thousands who have suffered at their hands, the people they've crippled."

"This is against everything I know you to be, and everything I am."

Sarah looked away from for a moment, her eyes falling to her hands in her lap. He was right. The thought was against everything she had ever believed in… but she would not feel safe, content, until they were all finally dead. Wouldn't that have been better for her? For everyone who still feared the mob in this city?

"Look at you," said Sarah, "you almost killed yourself tonight, and they would certainly kill you without any thought."

Bruce shook his head and looked down. "You don't understand..."

"What? Your moral code just won't allow for that? It's too hard to cross that line?"

"No!" he suddenly grabbed her wrist and squeezed, hard. "It would be too easy. All I've ever wanted to do was kill them all. Not a day goes by that I don't think about subjecting them to every torture that they have all dealt out to others. But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place, I'll never come back. I have only one rule. And I've never broken it. Not even for you. Killing won't take the pain away. It will only make it worse." Bruce stared beyond Sarah, into his own past; and his grip tightened even more. "Batman has to rise above this. So you don't know what you're saying."

Angry at being ignored she jerked away from him. "Yes, I do. I know exactly what I'm saying!"

Bruce reached up and his hands pulled her face to meet with his, eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. "Do you really, Sarah? Do you really wish that of me? To take a life?"

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. "I can't take this anymore. He's constantly trying to get into my mind, invading my dreams." She looked up to him, pleading with her eyes. "Those dreams are so vivid. He's always there haunting me." Her hands clasped his that were still cradling her face. "Crane… he's there. I can't get him out!

Bruce licked his lips and pulled her closer. "You should have lost your mind in there, Sarah; you should be a shell of a person. But you came out almost intact. I can help you through this because I should have gotten to you sooner. I swear to you I will help you get Crane out of your head and make you whole again." He paused then, and glared at her, his nostrils flaring. "But I will not kill."

Sarah's green eyes bored into his, easily filing through his thoughts, they were so easy for her to pick up on now it was almost overwhelming. And she was keen enough to detect a chink in his armor.

"It's not just the sadness, is it?" she said, her voice soft. "The shame is worse. Feeling like somehow you should have saved them."

His hands fell away from her face. Sarah may have well stabbed him in the heart and left the knife there. He shifted away, and refused to even look at her now.

"I'm sorry…" Shame and guilt overwhelmed her, until she finally had to look away from him too. Jareth was right. She could be incredibly cruel. "You're obsessed with being this other person. It's so easy to drop Bruce completely and you can't stop being Batman. Each day you're dividing between your true self and your secret identity. Who is the real person, Bruce Wayne or Batman? Can the two of you ever truly coexist?"

Bruce remained stoic, but Sarah was right on.

"Get out," was all he said.

"I'm sorry," she said again, before she rushed out of the room.

Sarah fought against the coming tears as she lowered her head and clenched her fists to her chest tightly. She hated that what she said had made sense to him; he knew there was truth in those words. The stinging of them within her thoughts and the sharp pain within her palms caused her to run to her bedroom. She felt shattered as shame and humiliation swept over her for what she had said to Bruce. He must have understood that she truly didn't mean all those things she said, especially the part about his parents. That could have been a moment where his rage might have spilled over and he would have broken his rule. But he never did. He was constantly reining his monster in – even with her.

Sarah couldn't take it anymore; she had a sudden burst of unimaginable rage. She smashed everything in sight, punched and kicked at the walls, tore her bed apart, and was able to lift and break heavy furniture that no full grown adult should have been able to move. Items of porcelain and glass tumbled to the floor, their noise as they broke mingled with her screams.

She felt a pair of arms try to restrain her with every ounce of their strength; but it only left bruises on her skin. She knew it wasn't Bruce or Alfred. Her immense strength would have left them completely useless.

It lasted for what seemed like hours. And after the screams and the shattering of glass had finally subsided, there was no sound in the room except for their heavy breathing. Jareth had collapsed into a chair and flung back his head back. Sarah lay on her stomach, her cheek to the floor. The aftermath of her violent outburst was scattered throughout the room. Furniture had been knocked to the floor and Sarah could feel the hard pulse of the bruises beginning to form on her body. Her entire body ached – she was completely exhausted, barely finding the energy to breathe.

Jareth sighed. "Control, Sarah," he said. "You must learn to control this."

"I was poisoned!"

"You still must learn to overcome."

Sarah clutched her stomach, feeling her blood beginning to boil again. She winced in pain, as her stomach turned and she felt another onslaught of hate and anger building up to an almost explosive pitch. Sarah flinched again, and took a deep breath. And another, and another, focusing on her lungs as if they were the only things that existed. She expanded her lungs with air, cleared her mind, and focused on her breath until her body completely relaxed. Her last breath ended with a shudder.

Sarah moaned again as she turned to her side and pushed herself from the floor. She walked on shaky legs to the bathroom, slammed the door behind her, and fell against the sink. She wet her hands and splashed water on her face one last time before taking a deep breath. Looking at the large circular mirror that hung on the wall of the wash room, she peered at her flushed face. She hardly recognized herself from a few days ago. Her face looked truly haunted, almost defeated. She saw a woman tormented and tested to her limits. Grabbing the sides of the sink, she stared up at her reflection. She wanted to smash it.

Jareth appeared at her side and gently pried her hands away from the sink. Sarah closed her eyes from her reflection and pulled away from the feel of leather on her hands. She couldn't seem to stand it just now; it pricked her skin like thousands of tiny needles.

Jareth watched her as she started to back away. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were beginning to turn white. Her nails dug in deeper into the palms of her hands as she willed herself to remain in control. She stepped back again and shakily swiped at the few tears that streamed silently down her cheeks. But something wet remained on her face. She turned again toward the mirror and found blood on her cheeks. She looked down at her hands and was shocked by the sight of more blood trickling down from her hands. She did not realize how hard she had been digging her fingernails into her skin. But on closer inspection, she noticed that more blood began to trickle down her hands and wrists, far more than usual. Her body began to shake again, this time from fear. She cried out and looked to Jareth.

Jareth stepped closer, concern on his face when he couldn't see what was wrong. She held her bloody hands up to him, imploring; but he shook his head, he couldn't see what was troubling her. He tried to take her hands again but she jerked them away with a cry.

Sarah felt a chill of terror crawl up her spine. Her throat was dry, she felt feverish and ill. Waves of dizziness washed over her until her head began to throb. She tried to talk but her tongue felt large and heavy, all she could manage was a mumble. Jareth touched his hand to her forehead and could tell she was burning with a fever. Her eyes were unfocused and glazed, her breath coming in jagged rasps. He tried to heal her but his magic was ineffective.

Sweat began to bead her forehead, her body was trembling from the growing fever, all her joints ached, and her throat was so sore, she could barely speak. Her skin was on fire and he had nothing more that he could do to help her. Whatever it was that was infecting her was no ordinary infection.

She knelt down and fell over onto the floor. Jareth knelt down with her, holding her perhaps too tightly out of fear.

Sarah's body started to still itself as she heard whispered words in her head, their deep voices calming her as she struggled to cling to her surroundings. She could feel their presence adding strength to her effort to hang on, to not give in to the call of letting go, of letting it all end. A tear escaped the side of her eye as she moaned again softly.

Jareth could feel her weakening from the mental battle that was being raged from within her. He could feel her heart racing beneath his touch. He moved his hand to touch the side of her cheek tenderly and she didn't flinch away, which worried him even more. He watched as her eyes closed, her face leaning into his hand.

Right then he decided to do something he had never done before with her. He would see into her mind. He had invaded her dreams more than once before, but seeing what she could see in her mind's eye was something he had never done. If he wanted to manipulate someone, which he had done with her before, then the challenge was that much greater when the opponent was worthy. Sarah was more than a worthy opponent, and that leant a certain amount of respect.

Jareth focused in on Sarah's eyes and leaned forward slightly, opening his mind to hers. But nothing prepared him for what he saw.

The scene filled with smoke as the screams of hundreds of voices filled his mind. Jareth's eyes shot open in horror, stunned as he felt her fear; sharp yet dull, like an old razor, cut into her. The smoke cleared and before him stood a black demon with huge horns and leathery wings, eyes glowing red against smooth black skin, with an enormously muscular, well-defined chest and abdomen. He exulted in his power, looming over the whole scene. Everything in the demon's path was crushed to ashes as he moved closer. Flames flared at his nostrils, and when he roared, it came thundering out of a cavern-mouth. It seemed for a moment that the whole world had been swallowed by the creature and had turned into the maw of Hell. The pain, her fear, was burning too great; it felt like he was being scalded by fire.

Jareth pulled away. But before he opened his eyes, he saw himself dressed in white standing in a field of green, the bright sunlight reflecting off his pale skin. He was taken aback by this image. This was something he clearly didn't remember, yet it was familiar to him, like a forgotten dream. Was this what Sarah saw when she was locked away from his reach? Was this something she imagined to cope with the pain and torture, or something more?

Jareth retreated from the image completely. "Sarah…" he rasped. He glued his dark eyes on hers, waiting for some kind of reaction from her. There was nothing. Inert green orbs stared ignorantly at the ceiling. She was in complete shock.

Jareth lifted himself to his knees and brought her up with him. "Look at me, Sarah." It was a demand. "Look at me!"

No response. Her eyes registered pain for a fraction of a second and she nearly raised an arm to strike back as emerald-gold made contact with mis-matched pupils. Then it was gone again, only an obstinate emptiness was there to replace it.

"Yes, fight back." His hand reached out and grabbed her chin, and he locked her eyes with his own. "Fight. Back. Sarah."

When she opened her mouth, her voice was rough and quiet with ill-use. "Jareth..."

He leaned into her. "I'm here, Sarah."

Sarah's body suddenly went limp, as if the fog in her mind had somewhat dissipated. The fever suddenly withdrew, and her temperature returned to normal, but her body was still shaking. She reached up and clung to Jareth, her eyes filling with tears again as she raised them to meet his. Her look was deliberate, she knew that he had only caught a glimpse of what she was seeing in her mind, and she allowed it. He returned her gaze and stilled himself, keeping his arms wrapped around her.

Gently, he pulled her to him against his chest and buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent, engulfing her in his embrace. The shame and guilt Sarah had felt moments before seemed to be transferred to him. He should have been there when she was taken, he should have tried harder to find her, he should be done with the shadows he had allowed into his existence. Look where it had led the only human he had turned the world, his world, upside down for. He only wanted to bring himself back into her world, but his obsession had turned into a pain-filled nightmare for her, and he was to blame for it.

His arms tightened around her as he kissed her eyebrow, then her cheek, and then her hair as if to make certain she was alive. Sarah sighed and fell limply against him, listening to his rapid heartbeat. She laced her fingers with his and clasped his hand to hers. They clung to each other until Jareth pulled away, cupping a hand under her chin and tilted her face to him, his breath leaving a soft tingling sensation on her skin.

"Do you know why you were never to identify Batman? You were more than capable of it."

Sarah's mind may have become clear again, but she was on the verge of falling into a deep sleep, she was absolutely exhausted. She only managed to shake her head.

"I hid him from your sight. I hid the truth from you."

"Why?" she asked, closing her eyes, still clinging to him.

"I knew that you would have become fascinated by him; but in another way entirely, nothing like the last one. As Bruce he has everything this world could give him, except for a family, and that made you pity him. But as Batman there is a darkness in him that drew you in; a hidden side that you humans are so compelled to seek out. In so few words, he is me."

Sarah shook her head. "No… He's crazy… insane…"

Jareth's hand tangled through her hair as he watched her closely, she was starting to drift into a deep sleep that he was casting for her. "He's not," he said. "Batman doesn't fit any psychological pathology, at best he's someone suffering from post traumatic stress disorder mixed with a little OCD with a sprinkling of a hero complex and fetishes for dressing up as a bat."

Sarah briefly opened her eyes, and they flicked over Jareth's high, arched brows that complemented his sharp cheekbones so perfectly. She reached out and touched the ends of his long, blonde hair with her fingertips. "Fetish…"

He bent down, swung her up into his arms effortlessly and carried her to the bed. On the brink of mental exhaustion, Sarah let herself fall into Jareth's arms and wilted over into the bed like a rag doll.

She sighed as her head dropped onto the pillow and her eyes finally closed into sleep when Jareth's voice whispered in her ear. "I shall find a way to make things right… for you and me."

Standing at the entrance to Bruce's room, Jareth watched the way his hand and wrist glided effortlessly through the air, and the turn and spin of the crystal ball as it passed from one slender finger to the next. The movement of the ball back and forth was like pushing a crib for a child, ensuring that for once, everyone inside was sleeping soundly. Jareth watched Bruce sleep in his King-sized bed, breathing deeply and unaware of any physical or mental pain in this state.

He narrowed his eyes, his hand movements becoming faster as he studied his sleeping form. It took a strong person to do what Bruce did. Jareth had greatly underestimated this man; so different from all the other humans; someone who faced tragedy and chose to rise above it all. He had an extraordinary capacity for self-discipline, and used it not only to improve himself, but the world. That made him a hero. But he was as complex as he was contradictory. Jareth smiled, a bit cynically. They were more alike than he would have cared to admit.

He shifted his weight as he added another crystal in his palm.

But Bruce was also so like a human. In that they all yearned for love and acceptance for who they truly were, even if they were monsters. But they were not transparent beings; they needed masks to protect themselves. In Jareth's honest opinion, humanity had been hiding behind masks since the Garden of Eden, afraid of their emotional nakedness, so they hid themselves instead. But of course, wasn't that the point of their masks anyway? To hide what was ugly and painful within them and allow them to play a more desirable role to find acceptance? Ah, but that was a desire that went both ways; the desire to instill fear and for people to accept it as frightening, and the desire to blend with the rest of the revelers that played through the masque of their short lives.

Another crystal orb appeared, and the carousel was complete. The image of himself all in white appeared in the orbs. This was what he had seen in Sarah's mind. There was a shaft of rich sunlight that illuminated all of the orbs. It was maddening looking at himself, at a memory he did not remember, but it was familiar to him. Why? He hadn't immersed himself in that kind of sunlight in years and he certainly did not wear such a plain, yet striking white as that. He did not even have the glamour that the Fae were accustomed to wearing, his mask as it were.

Jareth suddenly dropped the carousel of crystal balls; and with it his image. They all disappeared before they hit the floor.

He lived behind a mask too, he knew he did. He was no better than any human who had to cover their deepest hurts and darkest thoughts. For someone to pull the mask off and reveal what was underneath, is a painful experience. For him as a Fae, it was near impossible. Yet it still took great courage to remove the mask and reveal your true self to another person. Sadly, human nature was cruel and superficial, and perhaps it took a divine nature to love and accept another unconditionally.

Could Sarah love him as he truly was? He was a King of goblins that were once impish and eerie, but now sinister and malicious. How could Sarah, who still saw him as a prince in white, ever love him as a King of shadows?

Jareth sighed heavily, his shoulders nearly sagging. A weight was beginning to burn in his chest. No human had ever left the Underground completely. For Sarah it was more so, because she carried the curse of his obsession.

Jareth looked at Bruce again before fading away. "Sleep well," he said, "prince of Gotham."

AN: I think some of you may recognize a familiar scene. Also, I couldn't get the scene of Darth Vader collapsing and dying from 'Jedi' out of my head. I figured I would try to use it here. Only a few months til the next movie!

Shalom y Amor