Thank you to everyone who has read this story! It has made me a very happy writer and has made this experience very joyful and I cannot thank you all enough! Your praise and criticism has not only enhanced this experience but also improved my skills as a writer, so the biggest thank you to you all!

Please feel free to check out my other stories, especially the new one that will be uploaded soon that is a sequel to my Sherlock fanfic. Until then, enjoy the last chapter to "The Show Must Go On." :)

"Good evening, ladies and gents!" I exclaimed into the microphone. The black teeming mass in the theater before me erupted in a roar of cheers and applause deafening enough to make me cringe. "Damn, ya'll are happy to see me! I'm happy to see you all, too. I gotta say, Seattle is such a great city and even though I've only been here for about a day I've already fallen in love with it..." I trailed off as the theater went considerably quiet, and I felt a smirk pulling on the corners of my mouth.

"I'm totally kidding you guys," I began with a laugh. "It freakin' sucks here." The crowd lent their agreement in an array of cheers and claps. "I mean, you guys probably have no idea what the sun looks like. And when it does come out, it's this huge spectacle. Everyone stops on the streets and looks up like-" I gazed up and feigned a horrified expression, gaining raucous cheers and applause, "-'What in God's name is that?' 'Looks like a yellow smiley face without the eyes and the mouth.' 'Wow, Jim, thanks for that intelligent observation. You dumbass, it's obviously a big ball of fire about to consume the earth in an apocalyptic catastrophe.' 'Um, guys, it's just a medium-sized star of fusing hydrogen and-' 'I WILL FIGHT YOU, HELEN!'"

The crowd roared with laughter and I saw a few people in the front with tears streaming down their faces. I beamed at the laughter that continued to reverberate around the theater; it's not like I didn't get this kind of response with every show, but each time I was blown away by the collective rumble of a thousand people laughing at once. It was like a drug to me; one earful of it and I felt high with adrenaline and euphoria.

Of course, success like this hadn't come easily. It took six months to drag myself out of deep-seated depression from my broken-off engagement and the traumatic event that had caused it, and subsequently I reintroduced myself back into the comedy business.

After another six months or so of doing multiple shows per night and losing way too much sleep, I struck comedic gold in London and my name spread like wildfire. Before I knew it, my phone was ringing off the hook with comedy club owners and potential agents requesting my humor. In fact, my popularity in the UK reached such a height that my new agent, Ozzie (he seemed strangely familiar, too, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it), suggested that I move to the States and spread my name out there. So here I was, two years later, in Seattle, killing the crowd.

As I scanned the front row of the Seattle theater, revelling in the combined laughter and smiling faces, a familiar face struck me dumb. He was dressed in extravagant clothing - a black V-neck T-shirt, black denim jacket with studded shoulders, and white denim jeans that tucked into checkered Doc Martens - and his blonde hair stuck up in several directions in the most flamboyant manner imaginable. He looked like an 80's popstar had time-traveled to 2014; I half-expected to see a TARDIS somewhere in the room. But it was not so much his clothing that sent a jolt through my system and made sweat break out on my face, but his eyes. Even up on stage I could see that his pair of lightning blue eyes were mismatched by one pupil that was significantly larger than the other.

My heart began to hammer like a crazed African drum with excitement. Was I right this whole time? I wondered, thinking back to the experience that my previous therapist had called a 'trauma-induced hallucination.' Maybe I'm just seeing things.

But even as I moved on to my next joke with the crowd oblivious to my sudden mental conflict, the man with the flamboyant blonde hair had caught my glance and met it not with a smirk as I had expected, but a look of longing that shook me to the very core.

...

I stepped offstage an hour later with beads of sweat and a huge smile plastered on my face. One glance to the left told me that, once again, my agent Ozzie was arguing with the stage manager over a minor microphone mishap that had happened during the show. I really hadn't minded it; the audience find it hilarious when my mic suddenly went out and I took the chance to shout a particularly nasty curse word that only reached the fifth of hundreds of rows.

Someone came up beside me and tapped me on the arm and said to wait in my changing room until the limousine was ready to pick me up. I thanked them and made my way to my changing room. Gazing at my phone as I walked in the midst of the organized chaos that was the stage crew, I saw a text from Amita Singh that had come in a few minutes ago. Opening it, I read:

Hey there, Miss Comedy! How'd the Seattle show go? :)

I speedily typed out: I killed the crowd, as usual ;) and it's Miss Jackson... if ya nasty ;)

I pocketed my phone and looked up in time to avoid colliding with a group of crew members carrying a sheet of glass twice my size. I side-stepped them, knocked over a prop vase of flowers, and scurried away to my changing room as I heard the consequent shatter on the ground and the collective groan of crew members who were too old and underpaid for this shit.

Sliding into my room and closing the door and, after a moment's thought and hearing someone shout obscenities about the broken vase, I locked the door. I let out a breath and laughed at my clumsiness. I pulled out my phone and looked at the screen in time to see another text from Amita come in. Giving my phone my undivided attention and navigating my way to the couch with my peripheral vision, I opened Amita's text and read her response:

Oh, my God, Gwen. You are simply too much! Hey, I'll be in Los Angeles next week for a press conference, do you want to plan a show there and meet up?

If only I had the power to do that, Amita, I thought with a forlorn sigh.

"Something troubling you, love?" a voice asked.

I screamed and dropped my phone and jumped backward onto the couch into a crouching position, my hands bracing the back of the couch like claws.

Sitting at the wooden vanity with the large, round lights was the flamboyant haired man from earlier. During the course of the show, I had completely forgotten about him. Now I was shaking with terror because I clearly was not seeing things and this man was really here, in the flesh.

The strange man cocked his head at me, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion.

"Do you not remember me?" he asked. He started to get up but stopped when I pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Just... stay the hell away from me," I demanded, still crouching on the couch. "I need to... I need to process this."

Jareth's eyebrows drew even closer together as his confusion transformed into bewildered desperation.

"What is there to process? I am here, in the flesh. I... I broke my promise." His voice broke as he said this. I felt the muscles in my arms relax as I saw him tense up; he was less intimidating now, more... human. It made everything feel more real.

"What promise," I stated more than asked. It was a test; if I were hallucinating, then he'd fly at me and shout about how I'd broken his heart, as he'd done an innumerable amount of times in my nightmares that had only stopped last year.

Jareth slowly raised his eyes to mine and their softened look eased me back onto the couch with my hands placed in my lap.

"I promised that you'd never see me again, but... I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to see you tonight. I hadn't planned on actually meeting with you, but when you saw me, I knew I had to explain."

"To be honest, I thought I was hallucinating," I blurted out and then immediately regretted it. "Alright, lemme explain," I quickly added to his hurt expression. "I went through... some rough times after our last rendezvous so I saw a therapist and she told me that it had all been a dream from the trauma of my broken-off engagement."

Bad idea, bad idea, I thought as I squirmed under Jareth's intense gaze that had turned from pained to furious in seconds. Or, how the kids like to say today, zero to 100 real quick.

"You told someone else about us and believed their lies?" he asked, seething. I imagined steam blowing out from his ears like a train whistle. He jumped up from his seat as he said this, balling his hands into fists. If I had ever denied his kingliness of the goblins, I certainly wanted to retract that statement now as he towered over me, fuming.

"Hey, hey," I said soothingly, standing up to meet his level better. I put out my hands in a warning gesture. "Let's take this down a few notches, a'ight? You're at a ten and I'mma need you to go down to a two."

Jareth grit his teeth at me and stormed to the other side of the changing room, running a hand through his wild hair.

"That's better, I guess," I said uneasily. He seemed really unhinged, even more so than usual. And by usual, I mean that one time that he locked me in his labyrinth and forced me to solve it or marry him, and somehow I saw the humanity in him and fell in love while fighting for my fiance and I must have sassed my way into Jareth ' s heart, and let me go even when I failed. So, I suppose that grants me the title of being a decent judge of Jareth's character.

"Explain yourself, please," Jareth said from the other side of the changing room. The room itself was not very large, but large enough to fit more than ten people. So having him at that distance gave me some security but he was still close enough to tackle me or, worse, banish me to the Bog of Eternal Stench. "I am losing my patience."

"Well, hot damn, we can't have that happen, now can we?" I challenged, starting to feel fed up with his attitude. I really should have been scared but honestly, I was tired from my show and the last thing I needed was King Asshole over there making a fuss.

"Now," I began, "let me preface this by saying that you never said our... whatever the hell this is, was supposed to be secretive."

"It was implied-"

"Bullshit, I didn't sign no contract. And second," I went on, despite Jareth's grinding teeth and balling fists, "I never believed her. It just didn't seem right, y'know? The whole labyrinth had seemed too real... and so did my feelings."

Zero to 100 real quick, I thought as the tension in the room plummeted into the negatives. Jareth's shoulders relaxed and he stretched his hands out and pursed his lips. His eyes were softened again, but he was feigning irritation - I was the Queen of Faking Irritation so I saw right through him immediately.

He hesitated, and then dropping his act and adopting the most wary tone I've ever heard him use, he asked, "How are you doing, then? Since, you know..."

"Fine," I replied, and I was pleasantly surprised that I was telling the truth this time. To Jareth's doubtful look, I reiterated, "I mean it, I'm doing better. My career taking off has really helped, to be completely honest."

Jareth smiled but something seemed hidden behind it. Not so very genuine of a smile, I noticed.

"That is very reassuring," he said, and his acting was so bad that I rolled my eyes. "You deserve your success, truly."

"Thanks, but I'm calling bullshit on that," I proclaimed. I promptly plopped down on the couch and patted the cushion beside me. "Sit. We're gonna have a feelings jam."

Jareth eyed the seat reluctantly, then reasoned that he really didn't have a choice besides just leaving, so he trudged up to me in his extravagant clothing and took a seat. It wasn't until then that I noticed, quite belatedly, that he was wearing the same clothes as he had been when we had first met - brown tights, white puffy shirt, black boots, and a bronze necklace that covered the bit of chest that showed through his shirt.

We sat, thighs touching, on the couch in my changing room, and I reflected on how odd it all was. The Goblin King of mysteries and children's stories was sitting next to an American comedian of five foot three inches in height and divorced parents, and they were going to commence a feelings jam.

God works in strange and mysterious ways, I thought to myself, and Jareth is as strange and mysterious as you can get.

"Okay, spill," I ordered him. He was sitting with his arms resting on his knees and his head hanging slightly. He hesitated, keeping his eyes on the floor, not looking so kingly. With a sigh I took his hand and grasped it tightly. He glanced up at me quickly, surprised by my touch, to which I offered a friendly smile. Tell me your woes, it said.

"You called out to me a few times," he reflected, speaking slowly. I nodded, remembering the nights I had spent at the same old bus stop, calling out Jareth's name and hoping that my therapist was wrong about it all being a dream. "I ignored you. I had to, I promised. You deserved better. You deserve someone who won't ever put you through what I put you through."

"What, making me solve a labyrinth on my own and popping up occasionally to taunt me along the way? Yeah, not cool, dude."

Jareth laughed nervously, squeezing my hand. His touch was cool and soft. I wondered if he ever moisturized or if being a Goblin King granted him incredibly soft skin.

"Why, yes, exactly. But, also, of course, threatening you with taking you away from your world was... immature of me."

"Uh, ya think?" I blurted out. "Sorry, right, you have the floor now. Man of the hour, speak!"

Jareth started to speak, dissolved into giggles at my quip, and then continued, "I missed you terribly, Gwen." At this he gazed at me with the most intense eye contact I could ever remember having. My heart started thumping and I hoped that Jareth couldn't hear its thunderous pounding.

"And being away from you," he continued, "even away from your comedic shows, it simply tore me apart. You may have noticed that I am lacking in patience, which I attribute as a symptom to my predicament."

"Well, from now on, swing by to say hi and have a few beers," I offered, hoping to lighten the mood. "Just because you made some stupid vow doesn't mean you can't decide against it for a far wiser decision."

"I have this fear," he continued, staring ahead, "that, with your growing success, you won't want to see me. You'll have everything you need and I'll just have to... fade into the background, I suppose." He contemplated his words for a moment before adding, "But, that should not deter you from your career, Gwen." He met my eyes with an intensity and said, "Your happiness is far more important. I shall not force you to do something that is not your wish."

I was struck dumb yet again; this Jareth was far different from the one that had kidnapped me two years ago. He emanated a warmth in his eyes that was new and kinder than his old icy stare.

I offered him a smile and said, "You know, I see nothing wrong with having a successful career and a boyfriend, too. We could make this work. Visit on weekends and stuff like that. And you seem able to travel around the world via magic or voodoo or whatever the hell you do, so at least airfare won't be an issue."

Jareth laughed genuinely, and then did something that I wouldn't have guessed in a million years: he leaned his head on my shoulder. I sat there, frozen at his sudden comfort in my presence and his hair touching my face, wondering what the hell to do. So I did the first thing that came to mind: I put my arm around his shoulders and rubbed his arm.

We sat like that for God knows how long, but it quickly became just as comfortable for me and time seemed to slip by seamlessly.

"I don't believe I have mentioned this," Jareth said out of the blue, "but you smell incredible."

I snorted. "Why, thank you. I call it Essence of Women's Deodorant."

"I must invest in this deodorant," he ventured. "I have always been fond of floral scents."

We were enveloped in silence once more, with Jareth on my shoulder and my arm encircling him. His wild blonde hair tickled my face and touched my lips, so when I spoke it got in my mouth and made me sputter.

"Oh, God, your freaking hair, man!"

"What?"

"It's in my mouth!"

"What is it doing in your mouth?"

"If you're going to invest in anything, mister Goblin sir," I sassed, "then it should be a haircut."

"I am offended," Jareth said, straightening back up to look at me. "I was under the impression that you were taken with my hair."

"The only thing I'm takin' is you to the freakin' barber," I quipped. "How do you even manage it?"

"Magic."

"Of - freaking - course."

Jareth roared with laughter, clutching his stomach. I laughed with him, simply because hearing his laughter was sweeter than birds chirping on a beautiful Sunday morning. His laughter died off after a bit but I was still chuckling, and he was simply gazing at me as I attempted to gain control of my giggles. He'd quirk an eyebrow and I'd dissolve into another fit of giggles, doubling over and crying off my makeup.

When I resurfaced, Jareth had crossed the space between us and was nearly nose to nose with me. My giggles cut off suddenly as my heart rate accelerated like a speeding train without brakes. His eyes asked one question: May I?

I answered his question simply: I grabbed his face and pressed his lips against mine. I have to say, the euphoria that followed from that kiss was a solid equal to what I felt on stage. A far different euphoria, but undeniable happiness all the same. And it was a feeling so unique to me, yet so natural that I knew that it was not insane to balance both happinesses.

I would repeat that mantra to myself upon visits to the labyrinth to see Jareth, and of course Hoggle (who apologized profusely for tricking me with the peach, an incident I had no bitterness over), Sir Didymus (still addressing me as Warrioress, much to my satisfaction), and Ludo ("GA-WEN!" he exclaimed, knocking the wind out of me with a bone-crushing hug). And, soon enough, Jareth would meet my friends and family, too.

Sooner, he met Amita in Los Angeles the following week after my Seattle show and I concocted some story about him being a fashion designer from London whom I had met a few months ago. Amita bought it, simply happy to see me smiling and someone smiling at me fondly.

As I recall, a wise man once described insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Well, my life has never been more different, but I must say, it has given me some pretty different and amazing results. I highly recommend it.