The Goblin King cuts a grave figure as he stands before the great throne, his back pulled stiff and straight with the proper level of decorum. Never has he been more aware of the absence of his queen at his side. The great hall seems to echo with his every breath, cold and judgemental, and he dares not shuffle his feet as his frayed nerves so long to. To do so would be undignified, and he will not lower himself before the High King. He holds himself still until Oberon nods to receive him, and only then does he step forward to give his bow and give greeting. With the proper esteem paid, Jareth makes his solemn request in a low, clear voice. The High King listens in silence, until he is done.
"You are quite certain this is the favour you ask of me, Jareth? You know that, even in all my power, I cannot reverse the call of death. This is still what you ask of your king?"
Jareth sinks to one knee and bows his head in a show of fealty and deepest respect. "It is, Sire."
"Very well. It is done." The High King extends a pale hand, and from it drifts a crystal of gleaming gold. He nods his head when the Goblin King accepts his offering. "Go now to this mortal woman, and give her this token. It shall be as you ask."
Jareth bows his head once more, before he rises to his feet. "Thank you, my king."
Before he journeys Aboveground, he first returns to his castle. He knows he cannot do this last part alone.
It has been a cold winter, both Above and Underground, but the house he finds himself in is warm and welcoming. The air smells of sugar and cinnamon and there's soft music in the air, all the gaieties of Yule still decking the room. The house's owner has yet to remove them, dwelling on tinsel and holly, and the joy of the season, before she embraces the new year and new century – the turn of a new millennium.
He follows the sound of humming, his companion at his side as he walks into the deeper warmth of a wide open kitchen. Molly turns at the sound of footsteps, surprise turning to happiness when she gets a look at her visitors.
"Sarah! How have you been, hon? What, you finally get so tired of fantasy life you have to slum it with us regular folks again? I guess I should be honoured."
Sarah steps into the other woman's embrace with a grin. "We saw you on Christmas Eve – don't you try that guilt-tripping bullshit on me."
"You'll have to forgive an old woman. Must be the senility talking."
"You're not old, and I think that's the rum talking, not senility. It feels like I'm still sleeping off all those daiquiris you served."
Jareth and Molly snort at the same time. "Lightweight."
Sarah rolls her eyes, ignoring her darling husband in favour of more tempting prospects. "Not if you keep baking like this." She snatches a cookie, still warm, off an overflowing tray. Taking a huge bite, she gives a long moan of appreciation that makes Jareth twitch beside her. "I married the wrong person. These are incredible."
The older woman cocks an eyebrow that rivals the Goblin King's own. "From the looks of those pants, I'd say your husband's packing something a whole lot more exciting than cookies."
That rouses Jareth's smirk. "Observant and ravishing as ever, Molly dear."
"Only for you, you big royal stud, you," Molly shoots back.
The pair embrace, chuckling. Before anything else can be said, the Goblin King steps back and leans in to his new bride, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Quite by coincidence, he manages to steal the last bite of cookie that's in the process of sliding between those lips. He smiles as he chews, leaving Sarah to growl at him. She turns back to Molly to complain.
"He steals my innocence, and then he steals every goddamn dessert I manage to get my hands on. I don't know what love is any more."
"It means he doesn't get any other dessert later on tonight," Molly says, still grinning.
"Evil harpies, the pair of you." Jareth plucks another cookie from the tray and withdraws to a safe distance, letting the two of them have their moment.
"Ain't it the truth? So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Surely, you're not missing work and me that much?"
Sarah smiles and shakes her head. It's a little bit of a sad smile, a little shy even, but there's hope there as well. "Actually, we brought you a gift – a late Christmas present, if you want to look at it that way … and if you want it."
Molly's eyebrows shoot up. "Well, aren't I the lucky one? Am I to assume this is a gift of the magical variety? Don't tell me King Hotpants there has a certain handsome henchman he's willing to hand over." Her grin widens, but then her expression grows sombre. "What is it, hon? What do you want to give me?"
Sarah takes a step forward, drawing the gleaming golden orb out from the safety of her pocket. Molly's eyes are drawn to it at once. "It's a kind of magic even more powerful than Jareth's," Sarah explains. "A once in a lifetime thing – something that can bend time, even decades past."
Molly's eyes shift from the crystal to Jareth, to Sarah, and then back to the crystal again. She isn't smiling now, but there's a soft, curious light in her eyes. "Time?" she asks, her voice thick and heavy.
Sarah nods, and can feel tears are brimming in her own eyes now. "Time and magic," she confirms. "I can't give him back to you – I'm so sorry – but you can make things right before … before."
There's no question of what or who she's talking about. Molly's eyes haven't left the crystal. She takes a tentative step forward, then pauses. "What if …" she clears her throat and tries again. "What if he hates me for what I did?"
Sarah lays her hand on the other woman's shoulder, and feels the slight tremble there. "He could never hate you – not when you've spent your whole life loving him." She raises the crystal in her palm. "Do you want it?" she asks, and Jareth hears those echoed words from long ago, now in her voice. "Will you take the magic?"
The hand that comes to grasp the crystal is shaking. The eyes that meet Sarah's own are already a little damp, but they're certain. "Yes," Molly says, as the world dissolves around her.
When Molly blinks, she finds herself somewhere old and familiar. It's not something out of a fairytale, not one of their romantic hotspots – just the back end of a grocery store. It's the place she used to meet Tom whenever he finished his shift – though with her bus always running late, he was usually the one waiting for her. It's just the same as she remembered: drying puddles gathered in the cracks in the uneven paving beneath her feet; the faint sound of traffic carrying over from the main highway; the slightly cloying smell of fermenting fruit wafting up from the dumpsters. All that's missing is …
Yes, sure enough, there he is. He's sitting on a grimy step, finishing the last of his soda, before he pitches the bottle into the nearest dumpster. It's been years, so many years, but he hasn't changed a bit. He looks exactly the same as he did when she last saw him: same brown hair and brown eyes; the same jutting chin – no model, but always gorgeous to her. It's only when he really smiles that his features bump from 'average' to 'stunning', at least in her eyes. It makes her knees a little weak to approach him.
He isn't smiling now, but his eyebrows lift in surprise when she walks over. He gives her a polite nod. "Help you, ma'am? My shift's over, but if you go around the front of the store, we're still open for another …" He checks his watch, and then does the slowest double-take she's ever seen. His eyes widen as he stares up at her for the longest time. "Ma'am?" he says at last, then: "Molly?"
She's about to answer in the affirmative, then, with a quick glance down, she realises that this odd little time warp hasn't made her any younger. Though he's managed to recognise her face, lines and wrinkles and all, her nineteen-year-old beau is staring up at a middle-aged lady – and that's being generous. Suddenly horrified, shamed, she turns to leave. Tom stands up at once.
"Wait, don't go. Lady … is it … are you … Mol? Is that really you?" He's confused, but the strange hope in his voice makes her turn back at once. She can't deny him this.
"It's really me, babe," she says, just about managing a smile to soften the blow – what must seem crazy as hell to him.
He scrutinises her for so long, she thinks he's about to tell her how full of shit she is, but in the end he just nods his head. "It is you. But … but how? You're …"
"Old?" she snorts. "Yeah, don't I know it."
"Here," he corrects her. "Same time and everything. I thought I'd never see you again when you broke things off." He frowns. "I … I don't know what's happening. You said-"
She reaches out and takes his hand, and oh, it makes her weep to feel him again after so long. "I said a lot of things," she says now, swallowing down tears, "and I'm so, so sorry for all of them."
"Hey, hey now, don't cry. You know I hate it when you bum out on me."
Tom, bless his heart, actually takes her in his arms, and god, it feels so good to be held. He even smells the same as she remembers: a little of the freshly-baked bread from the grocery; a little of Old Spice; a little something that's just him. He holds her just as tightly as he did the last time they were together.
"Is … is this real?" he whispers.
She starts to shake her head, nods, then gives up. "I have no idea, babe. No idea."
The arms around her waist tighten. "I'm … I'm really not going to see you again, am I?"
She can't help it – she sobs against his shoulder. "No … no, Tom. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, baby."
"Shh. Shh, I'm here. I'm here."
He goes on holding her, goes on making everything better, and she clings to him for so long she thinks she'll never be able to let him go again. For just that one, precious moment, all is right in the world. She whispers things to him – declarations of a love that will never die, even though they'll never be together; secrets that only he will ever know. He rubs her back the way he always used to, presses soft kisses to her hair, and tells her just how much he's going to miss her.
Eventually, he has to ask. "Do you ever get your castle … you know, where you're from? As big as the one I wanna build you?"
She thinks of the trip she made into the Underground for the wedding – thinks of the grand home of the friends who have made this whole thing possible. "Not exactly, but I get to sleep in one once, just like a real princess, and it's beautiful. It's beautiful, babe."
"Then that's good enough for me." He pulls back and looks into her eyes, and then he smiles – that real smile that turns him from just a grocery boy into her real fairytale prince. "And Mol? You're beautiful too. Still so beautiful."
She laughs through her tears. "So are you, babe. So are you."
They share the sweetest kiss she's ever known – so warm and good, fresh and yet so familiar, her homecoming and her goodbye – and then the world is awash with golden light.
She blinks, and then she's back in her own kitchen. Her arms are empty once more, but there's a new fullness in her chest that's golden in its warmth. She finds Sarah with her watery eyes, and sees that the younger woman is sobbing too.
The two women embrace, tears flowing freely down both their cheeks. "Magic?" Sarah whispers.
"Magic," Molly affirms, hugging her all the tighter.
Soft laughter fills the warm kitchen as the first drifts of cold sleet begin to fall outside.
They've barely made it back to the castle before the Goblin King finds his arms full of his new wife – not that he's complaining. Though he will never admit it aloud, the concept of lost love – what could have been – has affected him too. As he pulls her against his chest, it's a little alarming to realise just how much he needs the reassurance. Her cheeks are still reddened and damp with her tears, and as he turns his mouth to hers, he takes his time in touching each one, stroking and soothing her. She needs this now more than ever, it's clear, and he will always need her.
"Take me to bed," she begs him. "Please … please, just love me."
He does.
He starts to undress her in haste, and when it becomes clear that even that is not enough, he simply frees himself and thrusts inside her. He sheaths himself to the hilt, watching her eyes, holding himself over her as she cries out her pleasure. Now that they are joined as one, she calms somewhat, and urges him down to join her. Jareth lets his weight sink down atop her as they kiss, his fingers tangling in her hair, just as hers find his. He gives her his mouth; his body; his everything.
They get lost for a while, but they're lost together. When he finally begins to move, it's slow and deep and sweet, and he knows that when his release comes, when pleasure takes him over, it will be captured in her eyes. She's so beautiful, and she's his. The world stops spinning for those long moments spent in one another's arms, both of them finding solace in the other's heat, the matched movements of their bodies.
After, as they lie staring into one another, he can see everything – her worries; the fear he once demanded, yet never truly wanted of her.
"What is it?" he asks her.
"I'm afraid," she admits. "I read so many love stories, edit so many neat, tacked-on happy endings. I know in real life they're never the same. No matter how much you love someone, it's hard to say if the ending you wish for will ever really come true."
In his long life, he has made many vows, but this is perhaps the easiest – the most sure he has ever been. "With you, love – always with you – it will. I promise you, now and forever, it will."
With a smile, she wraps her arms tightly around him, and he can feel her wishing with all of her soul – with every fibre of her being – that he will turn out to be right.