A/N: Again, sorry for a bit of wait during updates! Life I crazy busy, apparently. And I'm now sick as a dog, which you'd think would grant me more time in bed to write but it just makes me sleep in the hours I have to myself. But no matter. Here's a little more sex and angst for you patient, wonderful people :)

Chapter Nine: Catch and Release

There was something she wasn't telling him. Jareth might've been in love but he wasn't a complete fool. She refused to talk of anything but the past or trivialities, driving their conversation towards anything other than the future. That in itself he could understand, feeling no desire to think ahead himself. If it were not for the fact that she looked on the point of tears whenever she thought he was asleep, he'd have thought her no more anxious than was to be expected. But Sarah wasn't one to cry without good reason so he couldn't help wondering what was running through her mind. Each time he lay back down beside her, almost truly asleep, she'd curl into herself and rub furiously at her eyes. He was happy that he'd taken the day off to spend it there in bed, for many reasons, but also since this new puzzle had come to his attention. But there was never anything he could force from her and so he let it slide, knowing that she would tell him in her own time.

"Are you sure it was a good idea to take the day off?" she asked, awash in midday sun.

"I know it wasn't," he answered, trailing his fingers along her collarbone, between her breasts. "But that doesn't mean I can't do it once in a while." He smiled at the hand she'd threaded into his hair. "Are you bored of me already? Would you like me to go about my Kingly duties?" His hand hovered over her skin, waiting for an answer.

"Don't you dare," she replied, pulling him down for a kiss. "As far as I'm concerned, we are never leaving this bed."

"My how you've changed your tune," he remarked with a smirk against her lips. "I remember the days you frequently told me to go to hell."

"And I still will if you deserve it," she answered, running a hand down to brush against the tip of his cock with a wicked smile. He twitched, leaning over to draw a nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling. "But how – mmm – how could I resist you when I found out you were as big a nerd as me? I was doomed."

He ceased his ministrations, pulling back to stare at her. "I'm sorry? In what way am I a nerd?"

"You're a poetry geek," Sarah replied with an affectionate laugh. "And a sucker for literature. You're a huge bookworm. Don't you know that?"

She made it sound as if he were some gawky human teenager with a dictionary tucked under his arm. "I'm not sure I agree with you, pet."

"It's a compliment!" she assured him, stroking his cock in a way that had him very much inclined to agree with anything she said. "Knowledge is sexy, Jareth. Trust me."

"Would you still say that if – ah –" he paused to gasp – "If I weren't so devilishly good looking?"

"Haven't we been over this? It wouldn't matter if we were snails on a window ledge; I'd still choose you in every life."

The sensations she caused swiping her thumb over his tip were making it difficult to concentrate. "Even if – if I were a snail?" He returned to swirling her nipples into delicate peaks with his tongue.

"Even if you were a particularly slimy snail with a big crack in his shell and one eye."

It was probably more the sentiment behind it, but he never would have thought he'd groan so avidly at such a sentence. Releasing her breast, he clutched at Sarah's hips and pulled her into his lap, nails digging into the skin of her waist. She was an enchantress, that must be it. That was surely why he found it so difficult to focus on important matters. He was under her spell: doomed to spend his days in this bed without reprieve, unable to concentrate for too long on anything but the feel of her on top of him, beneath him, all around him. What are you doing to me?

"I could ask you the same," she whispered into his ear, making him wonder if he had actually spoken aloud or she was just acquiring the ability to hear his thoughts. The latter wouldn't have really surprised him, honestly. Thankfully the incessant chatter of his mind ceased the minute she sank down onto his cock, drawing him in until they both moaned at the depth. Settling her hands on his shoulders Sarah pressed her face into his neck and began to move.

Each roll of her hips sent a ripple of pleasure through him; each time she sucked on his skin he could do nothing but sigh. Fisting a hand in her hair Jareth tugged her head back and returned the favour, nipping at her neck with vicious appreciation. He snaked his free hand down between them and rubbed at her clit, eliciting a surprised breathy curse from her. It didn't take long for them to become fevered with urgency, kissing and writhing and groaning their way through another bout of sex as they'd been doing all night and morning. Jareth encouraged her with fervent words and purposeful touches, rolling ever onwards to his own climax while he kissed Sarah's throat and tried to pretend he hadn't noticed that blue mark on her wrist.

Sarah was being an idiot. She knew it. But as far as she was concerned there was no other way to be when you were completely fucked. She was in love with a Goblin King and had promised his mother she would help trick him. Why wouldn't she also go ahead and make it worse by sleeping with him? Why wouldn't she then let him cancel his plans – which happened to be crushing a dangerous rebellion – just so they could stay in bed and jump each other every few hours? If there had ever been a point of return before there was definitely no such thing now. She'd been reckless and ruined everything…but what hurt the most was the truth – that she'd do it all over again. Collapsing against his chest, letting them both fall to the mattress utterly spent, Sarah regretted nothing. If she had to cry when he was asleep just to cope, then so be it.

When some small amount of energy came back to them Sarah suggested they take a bath. Maybe scrubbing at her skin would help make her soul feel less dirty. That was a naïve moment on her part. Why had she thought that sitting in a warm tub with a glistening Jareth would lead to anything but slow and messy bath sex? It was only after they'd gotten that out of the way that she could lean back into his slick chest and feel vague stirrings of contentment. Jareth had his eyes closed, chin resting on her shoulder, idly murmuring the poems he was tracing into her arms.

"Do you remember what you were like as a boy?" she asked around a yawn.

"Of course," he responded mildly; she felt his jaw moving against her skin. "Do you think I've gone senile?"

"No, I just wondered…three hundred years is a long time." She took one of his hands and started to toy with his fingers, massaging the digits.

"Not for us it isn't. I recall things in my life just as any other. Perhaps even better."

"So what were you like then?"

"As a boy?"

"Mm."

"Oh…" he puffed out his cheeks, exhaling softly over her neck as he thought. "I was known as something of a larrikin, you might say."

"Of course you were," she grinned. "You were a hell raiser, weren't you?"

"Only in reputation, I assure you. Lina was the one that got herself into trouble. I only took the blame for her."

"I'm sensing a theme with you and your sister."

He didn't answer, just leant back into the tub and pulled her snug against him, arms around her middle. She rested her head against his shoulder and gazed up at the ceiling.

"I'll ask Wick if we can see her again tonight," she told him distantly, wondering if they would go back to the Festival that evening. Could she handle the stress of parading around with him in public, acting as if nothing earth-shattering had happened?

"You're too good to me," Jareth murmured, lips on her cheek.

I'm really not, she thought wistfully, turning to steal a proper kiss. A thought occurred to her. "Do you remember your first kiss then?"

"You're an inquisitive little thing, aren't you?" he teased. "Although I suppose I encourage it. Yes, Sarah, I remember."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-six."

"What!" she spluttered, holding back a laugh. "Twenty-six? For just a kiss?"

"It took me a while to grow into my looks," he sniffed. "I spent my early years as a rather gangly, shaggy haired youth. Not to mention my being a bookworm, as you so eloquently put it…it took me a while to catch the eye of women." When she didn't say anything he added a defensive: "What?"

"I'm just trying to imagine you as an awkward teenager," she answered, smile obvious in her voice. "Long arms and legs, pimply nose pressed into a book, maybe a pair of glasses…"

"Careful pet, you're treading thin water," he warned half-heartedly, giving her neck a playful nip. "You did promise to choose me even as a snail."

"That's right, I did. So what was it like? The kiss?"

"Quite beautiful, actually," he answered thoughtfully. "She was a friend of Lina's whom I'd become very fond of. One afternoon she sought me out, which I thought quite odd – she'd never bothered before. She told me that she was promised to a Lord in Eberhard but she'd always liked me – and then she kissed me right there in the hallway. I never saw her again after that."

Sarah curled his hand into her chest. "I don't know if that's really romantic or really sad."

"Well I could tell you about all the women I had after that, if you think it'd be a less solemn subject." She could feel him smiling against her shoulder blade.

Did he expect her to act jealous? To say she never wanted to think of him with another woman? Well, two could play his game. "While we're at it how about we just swap stories?" she answered, feigning enthusiasm. "I'll go first. My first time was with a guy called Troy. I was seventeen, I finally had nice boobs – we did it on his couch in summer. There was a lot of sweat. I smoked my first cigarette afterwards. Your turn."

He was grinning into her back; she could feel his teeth at the nape of her neck. Without hesitation he replied: "I was twenty-eight. Her name was Eva. She had huge breasts and a gorgeous mouth; we shagged blind drunk in a field one night and every night for the whole week following."

The way he said shagged in that delicious accent did things to her. Determined not to be beat, she thought up another amorous adventure that she could exaggerate. "Matt liked public places; we always let ourselves get too worked up to wait.I gave him head once in the Reference section of the public library." She could feel him tensing behind her and grinned. "Your turn, I believe?"

"I hardly believe you would defile your sacred library," he replied, tone a little too forcibly casual.

"Oh it wasn't my local place," she responded cheerfully. "Not that time at least. There was an incident involving an armchair and a photocopy machine in mine. And then there was…let me see…his parents' back yard, a mini golf tournament, the bathroom in the Museum of Natural History –"

"All right," Jareth sighed in defeat, clutching her tightly with his free hand. "You win, pet. Enough."

"You wouldn't think you could be turned on in a room full of dead insects but seriously –"

"Sarah –"

"And then the dinosaur exhibit, oh my god –"

"Sarah –" Jareth clamped a hand over her mouth with a growl.

Grinning against his palm she tried to pry it off, chuckling at the sudden strength of his kisses along her neck.

"If I let you go, will you behave?" he murmured into her ear, nipping at the soft skin.

Nodding, she turned her face the moment he let go and captured his mouth in a kiss. He dug his nails into her hipbone, holding her flush against him as they kissed each other into a stupor.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, threading a hand into his wet hair. "I was just playing with you."

"I know." He nuzzled her cheek, lips pressed to jaw, neck, ear. He swept a thumb over her bottom lip.

Sarah suddenly hated herself for the way she trembled under his touch, for the gentle way she caught his thumb between her teeth momentarily. "Jareth…" she sighed, his name a balm for her aching heart. They were safe, she thought, as long as they didn't say it. She could figure something out. They were safe as long as –

"Sarah, I –"

"Stop." She covered his mouth with a hand, surprising them both with the speed of her action. "Don't say it. Don't."

With a tenderness that broke her heart, Jareth kissed her palm. She took it away and drew it into her chest as if he'd bitten her. "I know you're afraid," he said gently. "I understand why. But –"

"No, you don't," she replied forcefully. It was an effort to turn around enough to properly meet his gaze but she managed it. "I mean it Jareth. You can't ever say that to me."

"Sarah –" he broke off, hearing something she couldn't. His face went blank in the familiar way it did when he was being summoned. When the calling faded his expression turned to one of utmost frustration and impatience. "I have to go." He gently encouraged her to stand so he could extricate himself from the bath.

"Was it another wish?" she asked needlessly, just to cover the sound of her thumping heart.

"Mmm," he nodded, summoning a towel to him and drying off quickly. "And here I was thinking I could have a day off. How foolish of me." He was all efficiency and grace, using magic to dress himself in the appropriate Goblin King garb. Sarah couldn't help thinking that terrible armoured outfit wasn't as impressive as it used to be. It symbolised too much to be attractive any longer.

"When…when will you be back?" she asked, leaning on the edge of the tub.

"No idea," he answered stiffly as a black cape whirled into existence around his shoulders. "Although the process doesn't seem to last long these days."

She shuddered at what that inferred, at the slaughter he was bound to attend. "I'll wait up for you," she assured him. I will be there for you.

He strode back over to her and placed a chaste kiss against the top of her head, suddenly all false smiles and charm. "You will not. You will enjoy yourself. Go to the library. Sit in the garden with your friends," he commanded in a falsely cheerful voice. "When I return we'll go back to the Harvest, if you'd like. There's a lot you haven't seen yet." If he had any intention of mentioning anything more important, he didn't show it. They were both becoming such fluid actors, even around each other. It made her sad.

"Sure," she muttered, laying her cheek on her arm. "Sounds fun."

"I'll see you later," he said with another false smile before vanishing.

His absence left her feeling distinctly hollowed out, as if he'd taken the core of her with him. She inspected her left wrist bitterly. "I hate you," she said aloud, uncertain if she was talking to the Queen or herself.

When Sarah was a little girl she made a mess of tying her shoelaces. It didn't seem to matter which way her mother explained it, every time she tried to do it on her own she'd make a bundle of knots. One morning before day care she'd heard her parents fighting in the kitchen. She'd thought that getting herself ready would make them happier. When her mother had found her a few minutes later, top inside out and skirt back-to-front, sneakers tied together in disarray, Sarah had cried with embarrassment. She'd tried to do something helpful but had only made things worse. Now we'll be late, she'd cried. But her mother had wiped away her tears and kissed her on the head. Together they'd set about sorting her outfit. This was what Sarah had learnt at a young age: the only way to fix anything was one step at a time.

The image of untangling rainbows one knot at a time was powerful in that moment.

"One step at a time," she muttered to herself, peering into the vanity mirror.

Jareth had gone off for the day and she'd procrastinated the afternoon away by playing a ball game in the gardens with Didymus.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course fair maiden! Speak questions to thine heart's content!" he replied, rushing to catch the ball she threw at him.

"If you were being forced to do something for someone, which might involve hurting someone you care about…what would you do?"

He was on alert instantly. "Hast some wicked villain threatened you, sweet lady? I shall have his hide! I shall rip his –"

"No!" Sarah lied firmly. "It's just a question, Didymus. I'm not in any danger, I prom – I'm not in trouble." She was sick of making promises.

"Oh." He looked lost without the need to seek retribution on her behalf. "Well then, I suppose…I wouldst attempt to plead for another choice. One that does not involve surrendering my good friend to potential hardship."

"So ask them not to threaten me or my friends? That's all you've got?"

"It is merely a hypothetical, is it not? Don't let it distress you too greatly."

But distress her it did because it was the best plan she had. Wick was still not answering calls. She wished she could be happy assuming he was busy enjoying his week off. However, there was no ignoring the tiny voice of unease that suggested he might've gotten in trouble for the dream state thing. But there was no way anybody could have found out about that, right? Only his cousins were there to witness it and why would they turn him in?

"Why would anyone betray anybody else?" she grumbled, forcibly reminded yet again of her own dire situation. Shaking off the thought, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Okay Sarah. You can do this. You're just going to make one more little demand, that's all. One more promise and then you'll give her what she needs." The pep talk was actually helping, ridiculous as she felt. It was nice to feel silly for a change instead of the usual cocktail of adrenalin, anguish and lust. "And if she doesn't go for that, you get down on your hands and knees and you beg so pathetically that she feels embarrassed for you."

It was a pitiful plan. It wasn't going to achieve anything. Sarah physically smacked a hand against the glass and practically shouted to see the Fae Queen before she lost her nerve.

The girl that stepped through the gateway was a different person to the one she'd been months ago. That young thing had been full of equal parts fight and naivety. This creature was new. She held herself with aplomb but in those green eyes Mira saw a wild thing scared of cages. A human who had lost and found too much to ever be the same. What is it you have found to make you so? Her lips were pressed tightly together, eyes narrowed in austerity.

"Your Majesty," Sarah curtsied without hesitation. In an ill-fitted shirt and a faded pair of shorts, she should have been absurdly out of place among them. And yet she moved with careful assurance, determined to achieve whatever it was she had come here to do. And again, there was that look in her eyes: something desperate, something calculative, something almost Fae in itself.

"Sarah," Mira acknowledged with a stiff nod. "Why have you requested audience with me?"

"I need you to make an alteration to your vow," she said plainly.

Mira said nothing. She was starting to expect this type of thing from the girl.

"I want you to promise that you won't hurt Jareth in any way when de-throning him. Send him somewhere for penance, make him a farmer, let him tend chickens for all I care. But you aren't allowed to hurt him."

"I'm not allowed?" Mira repeated indignantly. "Are you truly so arrogant as to presume control over my actions, girl?"

"I'm not presuming anything," she replied with a shrug. "Except that I have your son in a position to confess, and he won't do a thing unless I say so."

Her outrage fluttered like a bird in a cage, flinging itself at the bars in vain. She would not let it break free. She would keep a tight rein in order to handle things properly. "And how have you secured this with such certainty?"

"By lying, of course. He thinks I'm head over heels for him."

If only there wasn't that touch of fevered panic in her eyes, Mira would almost believe it. She decided to test her. "No."

A flicker of a frown, hands itched to turn to fists. "No?"

"I will not amend my vow to you. What's said is said."

Sarah lifted her chin and met Mira's gaze with resolute calm. "It must suck to rely so much on humanity."

"What?"

"You act so high and mighty all the time. 'Oh, the Fae are the only race responsible for this reality and blah blah blah'…it's bullshit. Where do you get all your power from? What are you harvesting right now? Human dreams. Our imaginations are enough power your entire world. Doesn't that terrify you? That one day we might stop dreaming and you'll cease to exist? Must make you bitter, huh?"

"On the contrary," Mira bit back. "You are doomed to your small, short little lives in a realm without magic. Humanity will never stop dreaming of things it cannot hope to possess. I do not fear you; I pity you."

"You shouldn't. We're capable of amazing things. Better than anything you can do with simple little magic tricks."

Mira laughed. It was rusty and unusual in her throat, an uncommon sound. But it was genuine all the same…because the Fae woman knew she was close to winning. "I will never grow accustomed to the strength of your foolish spirit," she said with a shake of her head. "Very well, Sarah Williams. I shall make one adjustment to my vow. Come forth." She held out a hand and snatched up the girl's warily proffered wrist quickly. "I amend my vow to you. I will do no harm to Jareth El'Maven upon his arrest. Nor will you come to any harm at such a time. I still pledge to restore your existence in the Above upon your return to it and to grant freedom to your friends." This time she spoke the final lines with unmistakable warning in her voice. "If you reciprocate his feelings then you must accept the full consequences of your actions. This is my vow. May I hold myself to it from now until the Last Days." When it was over Mira released the girl, who couldn't seem to believe her luck.

She was holding her freshly marked wrist tenderly and appeared at a loss for words. "Thank you," Sarah stammered, looking around for the mirror that had yet to show itself. Her easy victory, oddly enough, seemed to have leeched the confidence from her.

"Before you go, I wish to ask something."

Once again she noticed that caged expression in response.

"Why concern yourself with the safety of my son? Why come here and make demands of a Fae Queen that you have no right to make?"

"We've become friends," Sarah said quietly with a shrug. "I don't like seeing my friends in pain. Simple as that."

The answer was a clear lie, which she'd expected. Mira let it go and dismissed the girl, satisfied that she would soon have order restored to her Domain.

It didn't feel like she'd won. Legs curled under her on the carpet, Sarah stared at the new scarring on her wrist with unease. It was purplish and overlapped the feint blue ring, twining them together. It wasn't blistering but rather looked as if it were old, bumpy when touched. It stung as if it were new and made her feel as if she'd done something ridiculously naïve. But the Queen only agreed so fast because it meant that Sarah would finish her task, right? She promised not to hurt him, Sarah repeated a few times to herself. He's safe, no matter what happens next.

Clutching the wrist to her chest Sarah closed her eyes, head titled back. "Wick," she murmured. "Wick, please come see me. I need your advice. I need to talk to you." He hadn't answered earlier, before she went to see the Queen, so she didn't quite expect an answer now.

Maybe he'd noticed the obvious pleading tone in her voice, or maybe he was finally recovering from a night of drinking – either way, Sarah noticed a shape stepping out of the mirror and scrambled anxiously to her feet. "Oh thank god!" she cried. "It's so good to see you –"

It wasn't Wick stomping over the vanity and crushing things beneath booted feet. It was Keel, his sharp-eyed cousin, holding up her skirts as she jumped to the floor and glared at Sarah viciously. "You," she growled low in her throat, stalking towards her prey. She actually gripped Sarah by the arms and shook her with surprising strength, furious face pressed close. "I told him not to get involved with you and your mess and look what happened!" she shouted. "You sent him into the dragon's den armed with a stick! You've ruined him, Sarah Williams, my poor cousin is broken and it's entirely your fault –"

"Keel, that's enough," came a voice of firm reason, pulling the Elf woman off a bewildered Sarah. Freed from the violent tirade Sarah realised that Tork had also stepped through the mirror and was now gripping his cousin tightly by the arm. "I'm sorry she startled you," he added, looking paler and older than when she'd seen him just the other day.

"What – what did you mean?" Sarah asked Keel hoarsely, numb with the thought of what might have happened to her friend. "What's wrong with Wick?"

"He'll never be the same again," Keel spat angrily. "Because of you –"

"Hush cousin, you're too angry for useful conversation," Tork interrupted emphatically. He addressed Sarah with a heavy expression. "Wick has been Severed, Sarah."

The word terrified her though she had no idea what it meant. "Severed?"

"The Queen has cut him off from his True Self," Tork replied sombrely. "He can only serve, with no access to his real soul."

Overwhelming fury pooled inside Sarah. "Why?" she asked, voice trembling with outrage. "Why did she do that to him?"

"Because of you," Keel hissed. "His whole involvement with you has meant nothing but taking risks this whole time."

"So the Queen found out about the visit with Lina?"

"She caught him eavesdropping on a conversation last night," Tork explained, looking significantly abashed. "We had drinks, you see, to celebrate helping you. And it came about that Wick started to boast of how he'd been relaying information about the Royal Family back to you for months. We…we didn't believe him. So he made a bet to prove that he could make it into the Palace without being seen."

"A foolish act that you encouraged him towards," the Elf woman growled at her cousin.

"I know I did wrong by him," Tork snapped. "I will carry this weight for the rest of my life. I don't need to keep hearing it from you."

"And she caught him?" Sarah asked, feeling cold inside and out. Her skin prickled. There was a high pitched buzzing in her ears. "He tried to sneak in but she caught him and cut out his soul?"

"It hasn't been cut out, precisely," Tork answered. "But he can no longer access it. He exists as nothing but a servant now."

A horrible sense of resignation was settling over Sarah's itching skin. The buzzing stopped; the world seemed crystal clear before her eyes. She was going to untie the knots she'd created. "Can it be reversed?" she asked quietly.

"…only by a very powerful Fae," Tork answered slowly, clearly put off by her reaction. "But I don't see why the Queen would –"

"I'll fix it," Sarah told them both firmly. She felt as if she were breathing thin air, walking on glass. Yet her voice radiated dreadful conviction. "I'll fix everything. I promise."

There was not a scrap left of the lad. He'd had such promise, the determined idiot, making it all the way to the gates of the Goblin City. And now there was nothing but the metallic tang of blood in the air to say that Thomas O'Reilly had ever existed at all. Soon it would be the same for his younger brother, who would be inducted into the City soon enough. Jareth felt sick at heart. Finishing the report in his ledger he threw down the quill with shaking fingers and turned away from his work in disgust. It was beyond a joke now. He'd let this happen to his Kingdom. He was the reason these humans died every day. It was becoming very apparent that there was only one possible outcome at the end of all this. It made sense, he knew, and couldn't begrudge the truth of that. Face in hands, Jareth sighed long and deep, exhausted beyond measure. Yes, there was only one way things were going to change…but he couldn't do it. Not yet. There were still matters to attend to.

When he made contact with his mother and requested a meeting, he thought it odd that she wasn't surprised. They spoke in regularly scheduled occurrences and only then of politics and duty. To meet her now with no forewarning at this time of the night – she should have been suspicious to say the least. But then again, much as he loathed to admit it…his mother was smart.

"You know why I'm here," he said brusquely.

For once Mira was not perched in that throne looking down her nose at him. She sat on a marble bench against the wall, bare feet tucked into the undergrowth around them. She nodded at his words. Her face was impassive as ever, too unkind to ever be beautiful. It was an irony Jareth never tired of: father had been so plain in appearance and yet his personality had made him glow brilliantly in comparison to his pretty, stale wife. Looking at her now, completely unresponsive to the reality between them, Jareth knew he would never understand her even if he lived an eternity.

"You won't put Lina in my place," he continued in the same tone as before. There was no other way to go about this with a woman like Mira. He didn't pose it as a question.

"No," she answered, inspecting a garden of flowers beside her. "She is too weak to control the hordes as they are now. It would be a waste of all her time learning in the Dust Bowl."

Jareth's fingers curled tightly into fists at his side. "She is not weak," he replied coldly. "She has never been weak."

"Then why did you beg to be her replacement so desperately?" she countered stiffly.

"Because she's my sister and I would die for her," he answered sharply. "I have died, every day, handling this Kingdom for her sake."

"And who will you die for now, Jareth? Who else will you be a martyr for?"

Neither one of them uttered the answer.

"Just let me say goodbye to her," he murmured. "Give me this last night, mother. I am your son, if that means anything to you at all."

She blinked and studied him with a curious expression. "I have never understood you," she said mildly.

"And now, mother of mine, you never will," he answered.

"No, I suppose not," she replied, unaffected. "Very well. A few more hours. Go."

And with a heavy heart, Jareth went.

Sometimes life was unfair. Sarah had no qualms about such a thought that evening. She knew that other's lives were difficult too; people suffered through cruelty, divorce, abuse and isolation. She was old enough to understand that she was actually quite lucky in life.

But right now, waiting for Jareth, there was no other way to put it: it wasn't fair.

Why had she gone and fallen so painfully hard for a man she was doomed to betray? What had been the point of it, learning him and loving him and changing as a human, if she just had to give him up now anyway?

"But that's the way it is," she told herself firmly, arms wrapped around her middle. She paced the length of Jareth's bedroom floor, having invited herself in to wait for him. No, nothing would ever be okay again. Maybe she'd be allowed to see him once in a while; maybe he'd only be punished for a few years and then they could be together again. There was no way of knowing. The only certainty in Sarah's mind as she walked back and forth across the carpet was that it had to be done. It was the right thing to do. At least she had secured Jareth's safety, if that was any small comfort.

She had a speech planned for when he showed up. A declaration of the things she'd learnt from him and the ways she adored him. A plea for forgiveness after she confessed what needed to be confessed. It would be all right, she kept telling herself. He would forgive her because he loved her and they would figure it out. It was the right thing to do. It had to be done. They could figure it out. Words tangled in a nervous repetitive mantra as time wore on. She gave up pacing and sat in the middle of his bed, hugging knees to chest. It would be okay. It had to be done. He would forgive her. Even if he didn't, maybe that would be best for him. It might be easier to suffer exile if you could gather strength from hating someone. The very idea of Jareth hating her brought tears to her eyes. As she was wiping them away with cold determination Sarah thought about Wick, whose fate had brought her to this decision.

She thought about his sharp warm smile and genuine soul, his snarky comments and wide eyes. She recalled the damp heat of his feverish head when he'd slept on her lounge and the adorably hungover expression of his face. He was always filled with a strength from within. It didn't come from that lanky green body but from somewhere deep inside. It was why she adored him and why he'd done so much for her. And why his horrific punishment was all her fault, because she'd been so damn adamant about getting him to find Lina –

Oh, Lina. As if a cold wind suddenly blew, Sarah shivered. She couldn't do it. She couldn't ask Jareth to confess. Because asking him to give in would mean asking him to risk Lina being made Goblin Queen, as she was meant to decades ago. She had no doubt that he would gladly go to jail for Sarah but there was not a star in the world he wouldn't move to keep his sister safe. Safe, which meant away from the Goblin Realm…which meant that she couldn't ask him to abandon it. Hot tears of panic fell at the realisation. The world became a blur as she was overcome with anxiety; she barely noticed a figure standing in the doorway. In a heartbeat that figure resolved into Jareth, the only solid thing in her existence. He was on the bed with her in an instant, folding her into his arms.

"I don't know what to do," she told him desperately, voice high and shaky. "I don't know what the fuck to do, Jareth. Every way I turn I'll be letting someone down. There's no way out."

"Ssssh," he soothed, running fingers through her dark hair. "There's always a way out, pet."

"I need to tell you something," she murmured against his skin, inhaling his earthy, warm smell. Would it be the last time she'd ever be enveloped so completely by him?

"In a minute," he replied gently. "First I want to kiss you."

He hesitated at the last moment, holding back just enough to cup her chin, nuzzle her nose with his own. A small galaxy filled the space between their mouths, a whole universe of lives spent together and love shared without consequence. And then he hummed, a discontented, hungry sound that spilled forth as he consumed her. They kissed in an attempt to live out a whole reality in the span of a few seconds. Images flashed through her mind: how ridiculous Jareth would look watching television in her apartment; introducing him to her own library; how he might propose; fighting over a side of the bed. They were flights of fancy, idealistic notions of what might have been. It drove her to seek out more, to stretch out the moment for as long as possible.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her. Apparently just as eager to stall heartache, Jareth gripped her chin and held fast as he kissed the air from her lungs. Dizziness overcame her for a hundred different reasons: the need to breathe, the intense heat pooling in her middle, the taste of his tongue, the sounds he made against her mouth. He looked starved; it wouldn't have been surprising to find that he'd impatiently dissolved their clothes away with magic. Yet he turned his attention to the art with great care. Sarah knew he was memorising everything: the catch of her breath when he pulled down her shorts, the flush of her skin as he dragged up her shirt. His fervent expression clashed with the gentle fluidity of his movements, as if he were forcing patience on himself.

It made her want to cry for a moment, until she realised she should be doing the same thing. Why should he have all the memories while she laid there simultaneously numb and on fire? Threading fingers into Jareth's hair Sarah brought him close and rolled them over. He sat up, running hands along her thighs as she worked the fastenings of his vest. She pressed her forehead to his, revelling in his sigh on her cheek, the soft bumping of noses. Throwing the clothes aside she tasted his neck, kissed his ear, bit gently on his collarbone. Her hands brushed against cold metal and she paused to remove the pendant he still wore.

"What is this anyway?" she murmured into the silence, carefully placing the necklace to the far side of the bed.

"An inheritance from my father," he answered, deftly removing her bra and ravishing her breasts in turn.

She arched backwards, grinding into his lap, eliciting moans from them both. Jareth's hands rested in the small of her back, encouraging a steady rhythm against him. The pressure had her flushed from head to toe, eyes rolling shut under the wet onslaught of his mouth. The edges of her vision were starting to blur. It was too much and not enough. Thankfully he seemed to think the same, growling as he rolled them over and started tearing at his pants with impatience. She sat up to help, stroking his released cock in the process. Would there ever be another time where he would look at her like that? With heavy-lidded eyes and a groan waiting to escape his mouth, as if she were the sexiest thing in the world? Would she ever again lie back and feel his hand travel down her sternum as if he wanted nothing more than to touch her heart?

Jareth settled between her thighs, entwining a hand with hers as she took hold of his cock. Sarah licked her lips at the teasing slick head of him, meeting his shadowed gaze when they came together in one smooth movement. It was impossible to look at him and not hear the silent question: last time? Yet he didn't feel any different. Sarah had expected something to change, to feel as if the world was ending. Maybe his kisses were more frequent, his thrusting more urgent…but she was so overwhelmed by raw ecstasy that it was difficult to let the future burden her. So she let him move her, felt bliss tugging at them from afar. She peppered his face with kisses; bit his shoulder when it became too much; whispered scattered prose against his ear. They moved with careful ease, drawing out each moan with measured need. She was sure that neither one of them had any desire to let it end. When she came, it was magic and fire and ice tainted only by the smallest hint of reluctance. But you couldn't run forever. Sooner or later the story had to finish. Sarah gathered him into her arms and buried her face in his neck, tasting the salt of his skin and her own tears.

Jareth knew that if he didn't do something soon he never would. He was far too comfortable propped against the headboard with Sarah reading poetry to him from a book. It would be a fine way to spend the rest of his life, he mused wistfully.

"I like this one," Sarah murmured, pointing out something he hadn't quite been paying attention to.

"Who is it?" he replied distantly. It was difficult to concentrate when he was fighting the sudden impulse to gather her in his arms and spirit them away to some hiding place a whole life away.

"Anne Michaels," she answered, shifting softly against him. The pad of her finger made a delicate tap against the old page. "'Like the light of anything that grows from this newly-turned earth, every tip of me gathers under your touch, wind wrapping my dress around our legs, your shirt twisting to flowers in my fists.' Isn't it beautiful?"

It was impossible not to be grounded by those words and her voice. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching the moment's scent: the feint dust of the book, the fading smell of sex, Sarah's floral musk.

"Very nice," he replied hoarsely. "Did you see where my necklace went?"

With a frown she glanced around and spied it near the edge of the bed. With a careful shuffle she retrieved it, letting the pendant hang between her fingers. She traced the lines of the insignia. "It's quite pretty, isn't it?" she murmured.

"Mmm," he agreed. "Put it on."

"What?"

"I want you to have it."

She eyed him warily. "Jareth, it was your dad's…"

"I mean it, Sarah. Please. Put it on."

Reluctantly she obliged, slipping the cord around her neck and fastening the clasp. It hung low between her breasts, glinting silver and gold. As much as he detested anything to do with the Fae, he had to admit she wore it well. A complicated mix of emotions swelled within, threatening to spill over. Wordlessly he leaned in and kissed her to keep them at bay a little longer. She was soft against him like a sigh, fingers scraping lightly along his neck. I can't do it, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not because he was afraid but because he didn't ever want to leave her.

"I have to ask you something," he gasped against her lips.

Her response was a throaty hum, muffled by the way she curled into sought out her left wrist and brushed his fingers over it, feeling her stiffen instantly.

"Is it worth it?" he murmured. "Whatever they've promised you?"

There was only silence and moonlight in the room. Then: "I don't know anymore," she whispered, sounding for all the world like a lost little girl. "No." Biting her lip, Sarah looked as if she were about to jump from a ledge. Or, more accurately, being pushed from it.

He curled his hand around her wrist and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss against the mark. His eyes stayed on hers intently. "I can read it, if you like," he offered quietly. "It's quite easy to read vows on skin."

She didn't make a sound, just nodded with a resignation that made him uneasy. They kissed, his gentle grip becoming firm. He closed his eyes and sought what would be his undoing.

He'd thought about death a lot for an immortal. It was a curiosity to him, especially after the fate of his father and his sister's lover. Granted such longevity, how did one comprehend the end? It was a strange concept to someone with countless centuries in which to live. Or not live, as he had thought some decades ago, wondering if he was even truly alive. Now Jareth had no doubt. Loving Sarah made the blood run fresh through his veins. Loving Sarah made him feel younger than he'd ever felt, even as a boy. It was easy to boast that he would die for her. It was not so easy to acknowledge the terror he'd been feeling at the thought of leaving her alone. He never wanted to leave her with nothing.

But now he knew that she wouldn't be.

Mira would reinstate Sarah's existence Above; she could go back to her family without consequence. Her friends would be freed from the castle. Sarah would be far from alone, even if it meant losing Jareth. And beyond that, his Kingdom would flourish under new leadership. The realms would be guaranteed safety once again. Lina would be okay. That his mother had promised she wouldn't harm him…that was a vow he saw through instantly. There was no other way for this to end than in his death. But so what? He wasn't afraid. What could he deny Sarah, the woman who had breathed life into him? If his demise granted her normality, then so be it. She might not thank him for it, given how she felt about him…but she would be all right one day. She'd be alive and safe, which was all that mattered. Besides that, she'd instilled in him a strong belief in reincarnation, a trust that they would always find each other. It was only a matter of waiting to meet her in the next life.

He could do this now. He would take the responsibility away from his beloved Sarah, who had backed herself into a corner by caring too much.

Resurfacing from the reading, he was surprised by the anger in her expression. "Before you start hating me, I want you to know that your mother gave me no choice," she said boldly.

Had he expected her to be crying and pleading for forgiveness? No; she wouldn't be Sarah Williams then. "I know," he answered quietly.

"And I didn't do it for any nasty reason, even if I did hate you in the beginning."

"I know."

"As soon as I realised how I felt, I tried to fix it. I tried to gain some control back."

"I know."

"Your mother is a bitch."

He chuckled despite himself. "Sarah, I know."

"And –"

He silenced her with a forceful kiss, fisting her hair tightly and biting on her lip. Was it some subdued attempt at punishing her for lying? Maybe. But he thought it more likely that he was just so turned on by the fire in her, at the expression that clearly said don't you dare be mad at me.

"So," she stammered in the wake of his interruption. "So you don't hate me then?"

He ducked his head to hers. "I could never hate you."

"Why not? I lied to you. I tricked you. I screwed you over big time, Jareth. You almost got arrested because of me."

None of that mattered in the least to him. He understood doing what you had to in order to protect those you loved. "Because you're my soul mate," he answered simply, sweeping back the hair from her face. "You might have come to me for the wrong reasons but it doesn't matter now. We were meant to be, Sarah."

She bumped her nose against his, sighing on his cheek. "Why do you make me feel like the luckiest doomed woman in the world?" Her smile was thin. "I am sorry, Jareth. Really."

"I know, pet."

"Stop knowing so much." She kissed him. "What are we going to do now? I can't see a way out of this, short of running for the hills."

"Relax," he murmured, fingers brushing against her jaw. "I'll sort it out."

"How? How can you just sort out a mess like this?"

It broke his heart to ask this of her under false pretence, but it had to be done: "Trust me."

And she did, which both humbled and haunted him. Her kiss spoke of a belief in him that needed no words. He encouraged her to settle against him, reassuring her that he'd find a way. Eventually she grew calm enough to read to him some more. What she recited, he couldn't have said. He was too busy listening to the delicate timbre of her voice, watching the way she followed the words with a swift finger. Each time she turned a page she'd lick her thumb before doing so; the paper scraped softly with the movement. He was lulled into the calm before the storm, falling limp against an oncoming hit so as to reduce damage. When she was tired of reading they spoke in whispered tones of random subjects: the trivial details of their lives, if Dwarves really had invented poker, what Lina might be up to. Small things, conversation that put Sarah to sleep a short while later, content with the knowledge that she didn't have to fix everything on her own.

Jareth lay there enjoying the quiet sighs of her breathing, soaking in the warmth of her pressed against him. He took his time trailing a barely-there hand over her arm, her shoulder, collarbone, along her neck, into her hair. She was the most beautiful soul he'd ever had the misfortune to love. "The next life," he whispered, a promise and a plea.

Pressing a kiss into her hair, Jareth closed his eyes and whispered the damning words.