The kiss is mercifully brief, but that means little to Sarah's shattered dreams. By the time Jareth draws back from it – quicker than the other woman seems willing to, she notices – Sarah can hear the blood pounding in her ears, the rest of their conversation seeming to come from far away.

"I was under the distinct impression you would not be here," Jareth says, each word a sliver of ice.

"I could say the same for you. 'Unavoidably detained', 'much too busy to attend' … you made it quite clear you had no intention of being here tonight." Orlaith cocks an exquisitely groomed eyebrow. "It's a good thing I know you better than you know yourself, wicked man, to realise you were lying. Now I see it was all a ruse to get out of seeing me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you positively relished all our time spent apart. I'm hurt, Jareth." The teasing smirk on the golden woman's features, so similar to that of the Goblin King, says she's anything but.

Jareth isn't smiling. "Yes, well, it's good to see you," he mutters.

Orlaith's smile brightens. "Is it? You've been avoiding me all evening. Not like you to be shy, darling. Any particular reason you wouldn't want to come say hello to your nearest, dearest friend?" She tilts her head towards Sarah in a not-so-subtle hint.

Jareth ignores it. "I have many other guests to take up my time, Orlaith."

"Not ones who you've so cruelly denied a long overdue meeting. Honestly, Jareth, making me wait to see you with the rest of the unworthy huddled masses, running in every direction but mine tonight. I've missed you, you silly thing. Whatever happened to our dinner plans? The outing last week? You missed the rest of the celebrations."

"I told you, I was detained elsewhere. I trust you received my letters."

Orlaith makes a show of rolling her eyes. "Every one of them, dear, but you were so secretive in your reasons." Those striking eyes flick over to Sarah's for the first time, her electric smile never seeming to fade a watt. "I can only guess what the cause of your detainment was. Something – or, rather, someone – you neglected to mention to me. At all."

Jareth chooses to remain silent, leaving Sarah to stand awkwardly beside him and giving the other woman ample opportunity to take in … who, exactly? Her rival? Is that what Sarah has become? Oh, but how could she even dream of competing? Even in all of her borrowed finery, Sarah feels frumpy and foolish as the elegant woman's gaze sweeps over her entire body, turning her beautiful silver dress to rags with just those gleaming copper eyes. What made her feel actually beautiful in the safety of her own apartment now seems to be a cause of amusement to the glamorous fae woman before her; Orlaith seems to actually be holding in the urge to laugh.

"Whatever have you got the poor dear wearing, Jareth?" she scolds. "It's hardly … appropriate for this evening. Surely, you must know that."

Beside Sarah, Jareth stiffens, a subtle tightening of their chain. "I hardly think it's your place to question it."

"It's always my place to question your mistakes, Jareth. You make so many of them." The smiling woman turns back to Sarah again. "Forgive me, my dear, I'm being rude. I'm … surprised, is all, to see you here tonight. You look lovely, of course. Absolutely perfect … in spite of the circumstances."

Somehow, Sarah manages to fix a perfectly warm, perfectly false smile on her face. "Thank you. So … so do you." The word feel like chunks of ice as they fall clumsily from her lips.

"Courteous as well." Orlaith turns her beaming smile back on Jareth, now. "A delight to hear. She is a lovely little thing, isn't she? Now I can rather understand why you've kept me waiting so long."

"Orlaith, this isn't-"

"Oh, hush, dear. I know exactly what this is. I have been watching the pair of you tonight, you know. Anyone would think … well, how could they not? Now, if your lovely … guest … doesn't mind, I think it's high time I whisked you away to have ourselves a little chat, about exactly what is and what isn't appropriate." Her hand closes with easy familiarity around Jareth's elbow. "Don't worry, dear, I'll have His Highness back to you in just a few minutes." Her eyes are only on the Goblin King now; she has no room for Sarah in them, hasn't even cared to ask for her name.

Jareth pulls back. "I can't."

Orlaith's smile actually widens. "Oh, nonsense, silly man. She can spare you for just a little while," she all but purrs. She starts to tug on his arm then, and when Jareth resists, that's when her eyes fall on the slim chain keeping the Goblin King bound. She gives a little squeak of surprise, and it seems to pierce the room, several pairs of eyes turning to find the source. Jareth gives a low grunt, perhaps of anger at the discovery, perhaps dismay, but Sarah only focuses on the other woman. Orlaith seems to have lost a little of her initial confidence, and Sarah immediately feels a bitter little stab of glee.

See? You can't just take him away from me … at least not yet. The thought is petty, but god, it's satisfying.

"Oh. Oh, my."

Orlaith looks positively wounded, Jareth seems to be the most uncomfortable she's ever seen him, pale and tightly drawn, and Sarah … Sarah just wants to sink right through the floor, and crawl into the darkest oubliette she can find. She can feel herself blushing at the shame of it all. Around them, it seems everyone is listening.

"The two of you are-"

"Chained together? Yes, we had noticed," Jareth snaps.

"Then, this isn't-?"

"No," he growls. "It most certainly is not."

"Oh." Her face seems to fall even further. "Oh, but I thought that … well, it's been far too long to have … oh, Jareth, you can't seriously still-"

"Orlaith," Jareth seems to draw himself taller as he overrides her, in full, daunting Goblin King form now. "As lovely as it's been to see you dear, perhaps it's time you reacquainted yourself with some of the other guests. We will discuss this at length later – much later."

The golden-haired woman nods. "Yes … Sire. My apologies," She seems chastened, but there's still a small smile on her lips as she turns to Sarah again. "I'm … I'm sure we'll see each other again soon." The uncertainty in her eyes gives her away, and she seems to realise it too. "Well, I certainly hope we do, at least. It was lovely to meet you, Sarah."

Sarah raises her eyebrows at that, but before she can reply, Jareth turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving her no choice but to follow. He doesn't bother to take her arm again, and their chain clinks between them as he leads her to the opposite side of the room. Orlaith watches them go, as do a lot of the other guests.

"Who … who was that?" Sarah manages to croak, once they're a safe distance away.

"A friend." It's clear he's not going to give her any more than that.

"A friend," she echoes.

"Yes, Sarah, a friend."

He seems too annoyed to bother explaining himself. If she were feeling stronger, less helpless with her sadness, Sarah knows she would demand answers, demand to know exactly what the most stunning woman in the room means to him. Her shoulders slump when she realises she hasn't the right. What claim, after all, does she have on the Goblin King? He isn't hers. If he's anyone's, it's the woman he's apparently abandoned all of his plans with these past couple of weeks … though not by choice. The shock of the other woman is too great for Sarah to even start to contemplate how much Jareth has lied to her. Her overtaxed mind can only focus on the here, the immediate.

"She … she said my name. She knew my name," she blurts.

Jareth sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "You bested my labyrinth, Sarah – not an easy feat. You'll find there isn't a soul here who doesn't know who you truly are, despite their pretences. I should have trusted my own judgement and kept us both away tonight. Yet, here we are, at your request, and the evening is far from over."

Her stomach twists and pitches, easy tears pricking at the back of her eyes; as far as she's concerned, the night is over. She doesn't want to linger here. The magic of the night is soured for good. "We can go. If … if there's nothing else you have to say to your guests, we can just leave. Now."

Jareth's lips twist into a cool smile. "Nonsense. I promised you a dance tonight, didn't I? Far be it from me to deny you anything." His tone is harder than she's ever heard it, at least directed at her.

"Jareth, please-"

"No, Sarah, please." He extends his chained hand and graces her with a little bow, his smile fixed firmly in place. "Do me the honour."

"I … I …"

"Everyone's watching us now, pet, waiting to see us. Let's not deny them, either."

With nowhere to go but deeper into this whole mess, Sarah clasps her trembling fingers around his. Jareth takes the lead at once, guiding her back through a crowd that parts before him until they're standing in the middle of the room. A wide, empty circle forms around them as Jareth draws her into a fitting stance; none of the guests seem willing to join them, nor come any closer to watch. This dance is only for the two of them.

His free hand finds the small of her back, but with none of the easy familiarity she's grown used to. He seems hesitant to touch her, his fingers rigid and unyielding, a touch borne of necessity, rather than any real desire to be nearer to her. She finds his shoulder with care, and can feel the jump of muscle even through his suit coat as she lays her hand upon it. She wants to squeeze him, give and seek out some reassurance, at least, but she doesn't quite dare. This isn't the Jareth she's come to know, not at all.

He's tense, stiffer than she's ever felt him, drawn tight enough to suggest he might easily snap under her hands. He isn't the only one. The tide of the entire room has turned in just the last few minutes, the gathered guests staring at them, not with delight, but with something closer to despair. The music that plays for them is light enough that Sarah can hardly hear it above the beating of her heart. This can't be happening. Everyone is watching, seeing them, as though for the first time, gossip surging around them in hushed whispers and wide-eyed glances.

She winces beneath their stares. Gone is the elegant queen she fooled herself into thinking she was. She's no more than that nervous, bumbling teenage girl she once was, stumbling through her steps as she tries to keep up with the king, surrounded now, not by merry laughter, but cold judgement. Even Jareth is lost to her, staring somewhere above her head, unseeing, uncaring as he sweeps her through the ballroom at a slow waltz. He isn't here, but she has to try to reach out to him, has to connect somehow.

"Jareth," she whispers, casting an uneasy glance back over her shoulder.

He finally takes notice, snapping up the room and all its spectators at a glare. "Oh, damn the world and everything in it," he growls, letting go of her hand for only a moment to sweep his arm in a brisk circuit around both their heads.

Sarah blinks. Blurring the staring guests around them is a shimmering, translucent barrier of some sort. It gleams blue and green and gold, twinkling and glowing, ever changing as Jareth continues to move them in their dance. She turns her head, and sees the barrier surrounds them completely, stretching up overhead to cocoon the pair of them. She can still hear the soft strains of music, but realises the murmurs of the guests, the curious whispers are all gone. She's safe from the crowd, safe with him.

"It's magic, Sarah. They can see us, but they can't hear us. They don't deserve to hear us. I never meant for this to happen, love. Never meant for this at all. Just … just dance with me. Forget them. Forget all of them."

So many words clamour to leave her mouth, but somehow her mind picks out the most important one. "Won't … won't Orlaith mind this?"

He gives her no audible response, but his posture seems to soften some. The hand at her back loses its rigid hold and draws her nearer, pulling her into the warmth of his body. It soothes her some, calming some of her frantic thoughts with just his presence. He's finally in the room with her, in her embrace and in her thoughts, and she in his. There's a spark of that long ago magic between them. He draws her closer than he ever did during their first dance, the swells of her breasts pressing flush against his chest, but the look in his eyes is almost the same, that haunted, hungry look that now darkens into something more.

He implored her with those pale blue eyes back then, promised her a future of Valentine's evenings and devotion, begged her to stay, stay in this dream with him. Those eyes implore her now, but for something she cannot quite place, held captive by his curious stare. He's asking something of her, whether it be forgiveness or perhaps for her to turn a blind eye to whatever the other woman is, maybe even an understanding that she just can't give. All she can do is stare back at him, memorising this, the feel of being in his arms again, dancing the same old steps now as they've danced around each other all these years.

It only takes her a couple more turns in his embrace before she realises that she isn't still that girl from long ago. That girl was too young to understand, too naïve to know what love and pain truly feel like. The dance goes on. Neither of them seems willing to let the other go.

He sang to her once, and he does so now, holding her closer as he gives her a long-hidden piece of his heart. His low, rich voice curls around her ears, her senses, filling her with love and longing, a desperate certainty that drops the pit out from her stomach and sends more tears to sting her widening eyes. In his song, in his gaze, her hopes crest and fall deeply, cleaving her chest. His song takes and gives everything.

In your eyes,

Is all I'll ever be.

The fool, the man,

Who gave you everything.

So many years of hoping,

And hoping gave me wings.

We'll never be,

We'll never be,

Apart.

Through my eyes,

I wonder what you see.

Your hopes, your smiles;

The ones they wake in me.

Through all your years of wanting,

I tried to give you wings.

We'll never be,

We'll never be,

Apart.

A different set of stars,

The chance to follow free.

Another time, another place,

Another you and me.

And all we might have wished for,

All we might have dreamed,

Will never be,

Will never be …

His voice fades into nothing, but she knows his words will linger in her head, in her heart for eternity, heavy and haunting, delicate and damning. Whatever he wants, whatever both of them want, it isn't happening. It can never happen, should never have been allowed to come this far in the first place. Oh, what a fool she was for coming here, for daring to dream, daring to wish all these long years. Wishes are for children. Wishes aren't for grown women, bathed in jewels and silks and her own despairing tears. The hand at his shoulder clings to him helplessly. She wishes it wouldn't hurt this goddamn much, but knows he can never grant that wish.

They're still inside their gleaming haven, but it no longer feels so safe. She's too numb to sob, but her tears slide down her cheeks in a hot, steady stream. The hand at her back comes up to cup her face, Jareth's thumb brushing away what he can even as she continues to cry. She can't hold his gaze any more, turning her head to rest against his shoulder. His arm comes around her waist, holding her to him, letting her tears soak into his suit coat. He says nothing more; there's nothing left for either of them to say.

Through her bleary eyes, Sarah spots Orlaith, still resplendent amidst the crowd, though she's removed her mask. The other woman has had a front row seat to this strange encounter, and when Sarah looks close, she can see the glisten of tears in her eyes as well. Orlaith's head is shaking slowly from side to side, pain written in the way she's clasping both her hands to her mouth.

Her stomach lurches, and Sarah wants to be sick. She pulls back from Jareth's embrace with a moan. "Stop it. Can't you stop all of this? We're only hurting each other, hurting everyone. This is wrong."

His chest is heaving to match her own, his eyes dark, wide and staring, but as always, he does as she asks. The wall of magic around them shimmers blue one last time and fades, and with its disappearance, the murmurs of the crowd come crashing back over them. Sarah winces. She can't look at them. She can't even guess who they hate more, their deceitful king, or the woman who dared to be foolish enough to think she could ever steal him away.

Orlaith is the first to step forward, her pale face still beautiful, even twisted in despair. "Jareth. Oh, Jareth, darling, this can't go on. This can't go on any longer, dear. Tell her, Jareth. You have to tell her. You have to-"

Sarah hears the woman say no more, as Jareth's magic steals them both away.

The familiar sight of her living room is both welcome and horrible – they're away from the celebrations, away from the staring crowd and Jareth's weeping lover, but they're here, stuck together with no way out. No hope. Jareth slumps onto her couch, defeated, but she remains standing. The long silence between them is deafening as Sarah wipes her tears away.

"Tell me what, Jareth?" she asks, at last. "What was so important for her to beg you to tell me?" Her own voice sounds cold and alien.

"Nothing. Everything. It doesn't matter."

He seems distracted once more, irritated, and like talking is the last thing he wants to do. There's not a trace of that previous warmth in his expression now, and it's an effort for her to keep her own outward veneer from cracking. The only thing keeping her from crying again right now is telling herself that this is all happening to someone else; she can't be in this much pain if it's another Sarah who's had her heart torn open.

With a flick of his wrist, there's an opened bottle in his hand. From the look on his face, it's something strong. Jareth goes to take a swig, but she's quicker. She snatches the bottle from him and upends it into her waiting mouth. The liquid burns like nothing else as it goes down her throat, but that burn has promise. It's a burn that says it'll help her to forget. She takes another generous gulp, and then a third, before Jareth pulls the bottle away from her.

"Enough, Sarah. Any more and I'll have to drag you into bed."

She gives a harsh bray of laughter as he sets the bottle aside. "Isn't that what's been happening all along?"

Jareth settles for just burying his face in both hands. He scrubs at his cheeks and eyelids with long, pale fingers, and Sarah feels an odd smile curving her lips as her chained hand is dragged along for the ride. It's so absurd she has to laugh again; it's either laugh or cry, and she's done enough of the latter already. She lets him have his moment of despair while she has her own mercifully brief burst of hysterics.

When Jareth looks back at her, his eyes are clear, and there's a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. "What a mess, love. What a mess this all is."

"I know."

That smile widens just a fraction. "Do you? I wonder." He drops his gaze to his feet without waiting for a reply. His elbows rest on his knees, and he seems contented to sit that way a while, head hung, looking at anything but her.

She can't bear another long silence. "Jareth?" she says, hating the timidity of it.

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for this whole mess: the wish, you being here … I'm sorry for ruining everything."

"You haven't-" he begins, his tone sharp, but as he turns his head up to look at her again, his face softens some. He exhales deeply, his chained hand rising to clasp hers. "You haven't, love. It isn't your fault."

Of course, it is her fault, but his words are kind and meant to soothe, and the solid warmth of his fingers against hers keeps her from falling apart completely. She clings to him with some gratitude, squeezing her eyes shut until the fresh burning behind them goes away. When she opens them again, she takes a good long look around, she sees what a ridiculous sight the humble human furnishings of her living room make next to his regal attire. He doesn't belong here, just as there's clearly no place for her in his world. Only the chain keeps them together. She feels another sudden lurch of pain in her gut as he starts to speak, to explain, to justify this whole thing somehow.

"Sarah, our conversations, our friendship has come to mean so much to me over the years, and I-"

"Don't. Please don't."

There are a hundred questions she wants to ask him, and she can tell he has much he wants to say to her, keeping her hand locked in his, stroking the backs of her knuckles with his thumb as a storm of emotion brews behind his pale eyes. Then, without a word, he stands, bends his head to hers, and kisses her, letting go of her hand only to drag her into his arms.

It's wrong; he has a fiancé, a girlfriend, a lover – whatever the other woman is, it's plain she's gotten to him first. It's so wrong, but the heat of his mouth, the strength of his arms around her are the only things right in her world right now. She's too late, she's missed her chance by not telling him her feelings years ago, but in his arms, time stands still. She kisses him back, and when those kisses grow hotter, wilder, airing some of both their frustrations, she lets him take her to bed.

They don't speak, don't bother with the light as they stumble into her darkened bedroom, strangers once more in the cold night, living only off one another's heat. She strains her eyes in the dark, tries to imagine something more than unrequited longing and careful, calculating precision as he sets loose her hair from its pins. He leaves the flowers where they are, their perfume surrounding her as her curls fall heavy around her shoulders.

He falls on her just as heavily, urging her down onto her bed, and she goes willingly for him. He kisses her deeply, entangling his fingers in her hair as he cups her head, holding her to him as if he intends never to let her go. She squeezes her eyes shut against the notion, against him, the man who has sent her soaring and falling so very far, but has never freed himself enough to fall alongside her. She tries to shut out that man, that kiss, but he forces his way into her senses, coaxing her near frantic response, her tears, her everything as his body rests atop hers, willing their clothes away so they can be joined. They're simply man and woman in the dark, drawn to one another and powerless to resist it. The chain still binds them, holds them close, but she knows she cannot ever escape him, even without it. He's a part of her, always has been, always will be, sinking inside her to fill her body like no other ever could, possessing every last secret part of her.

She prays for speed, for disengaged heat and satisfying, blissfully anonymous hardness. She can't make herself wish for it to be over, but she knows that the longer it goes on, the more passionate they allow it to become – the more she allows herself to go on hoping – the worse it will be after. She prays for that cold, uncaring sex without meaning it, but yet again he seems to anticipate her needs, giving her what it is that her heart truly longs for. He makes slow, tender love to her in the dark, in the place they've come to know one another, come together after so long.

She can sense his face above her in the darkness; can remember every flash of his eyes, every line, every twist of his mouth and lift of his brows as he takes his pleasure from her, inside her. She feels her own need rise to meet his, desire winning out over despair, love and lust making one last triumphant surge against the emptiness. It's something, rather than the nothing her emotions have become, and she needs it badly, needs him now more than ever. She sighs her pleasure as his warm, throbbing cock fills her deeply, gives him her moans as his soft mouth covers hers.

Her body burns for him, but when he takes her hands in his and guides them up to rest on either side of her head, she truly starts to cry out for him. His fingers twine with her own, gripping her, holding her, keeping that connection between them as he leans down to her, thrusting deep as he brushes her lips with his. They're together here, together now, and no matter what happens, that feeling of now can never be taken away. She'll always have this, even if she can't have him. Always, always inside her, always here and now, deep and thick and hers. His thrusts grow harder, the rise and fall of her hips more desperate as they move together, giving herself to him completely, taking all he can give.

"Want you," he moans as he fills her, taking them both towards the edge. "Want you so much. So much, Sarah. Always wanted you." Wanting isn't enough, but it has to be. It's all he'll ever be able to give to her, yet still she gives him everything she has.

She comes for him, hard, and the sharp buck of her hips, the powerful contractions of her body draw out his own release. His fingers squeeze tight around hers as they cry out together, locked in lust and the act of love, that moment of purest bliss. His warm breath covers her lips as he gives her one last kiss, but the heat is gone almost as soon as they untangle their panting, sated bodies. Her hair is plastered to her neck, sweat trickling between her breasts, but it's so fucking cold in her bed that night. She shudders in the darkness, turning onto her side without a word, but before the tears can come, Jareth turns with her.

His body moulds to hers between the sheets, and from the way his arm locks around her waist, drawing her as close to him as possible, she thinks it's as much to take comfort as to give it. His breathing slows as they come down together, his chest settles into a regular rhythm against her back, and he feels so warm, staving off that horrible coldness that rises anew in her chest. He doesn't speak, doesn't offer any hollow words of comfort, but he kisses the top of her head, and when the fitful rest she finds causes her to wake in the night, he kisses her hair and soothes her back into a merciful, dreamless sleep.