On stage under punishingly hot lights the following evening, Sarah tried desperately not to nod off in the play's final scene.

She'd actually slept better than she had in ages, even with all the residual aches and pains that two trips through a mirror had given her. She had been utterly exhausted, which helped, and her sleep had been dreamless. When she woke up the next morning she felt as if she'd been sleeping for years and had awakened feeling renewed, even if the world itself felt slightly unfamiliar.

Now, though, she struggled to stay awake out of the sheer boredom that the play induced. In the final scene the rhino was talking on the phone to someone about a dream he'd had. Half of this play was characters describing their dreams. And their dreams were invariably long, senseless, and boring—no Goblin Kings showing up in mirrors, no unexpected kisses that made you weak in the knees. These were dreams about random assortments of events and images that the writer-director had apparently thought were meaningful.

Sarah was depressed that the audience seemed to agree. Contrary to Jareth's predictions, it was not only the mad and the cast's closest relations who came out to see the show—the basement was packed. It was ridiculous—she was in this show, it was good exposure, she should want it to succeed—but she was saddened by the fact that so many people seemed taken in by what she knew to be a big pile of nothing.

The rhino's monologue was winding down. She forced herself not to look at Miguel, knowing that he would do something would send her into a fit of giggles. When the lights finally went down and the applause began, she uttered an inaudible "thank God" before she got into position for the curtain call.

The cast gathered with the audience on the street near the entrance to the theater. Sarah hadn't invited anyone to the show—Karen and her father and Toby knew about it and had offered to come, but she'd told them not to bother. Miguel's husband Nick was there, being as adorably supportive as ever. Lena was wrapped in the arms of a scruffy-looking rock star type who stared at her like she was the only person on earth. Alec was chatting with a group of friends, and Priya was holding her daughter while her husband chased their son around. Joshua, who'd thankfully taken the time to change out of his sweat-soaked underclothes, was fielding questions from people who were amazed that he'd been able to do much of anything in that costume. Sarah lingered near different groups of people, occasionally nodding and smiling when they acknowledged her or told her they liked the show.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. If you'd wanted people to come you should have invited them.

She couldn't believe how much everyone had seemed to enjoy the play. There was no script, she wanted to shout. Miguel was right, he totally made it up as he went along.

Maybe she was crazy, or just didn't appreciate great art. Maybe the play really was brilliant, and she just couldn't see it.

Thankfully Miguel was there to dispel that madness quickly. He dragged her over to where Nick was chatting with the stage manager and whispered in her ear.

"These people are all fucking insane," he said. "If you don't come get a drink with me and remind me how awful this show is I think I might lose my mind."

Sarah smiled at him with genuine warmth and relief and then glanced at Nick. "Don't you have a hot bath and rose petals waiting for you at home or something?"

"Nick has to be up early tomorrow with the rest of the corporate drones. You and I, however, are sensible enough to not schedule early shifts the day after an opening night." He squeezed her arm and kissed her forehead. "One drink. Maybe two. I'll have you home by midnight, princess."

Sarah blinked. "What did you say?"

"That I'd have you home by midnight. Unless you're in a true pretend-we're-still-eighteen, tearing up the town mood."

She relaxed."One drink. You're on."

-

Three very strong drinks and several lengthy rants about the play later, Sarah was feeling happier than she'd felt in quite a while. They were at Three Dogs, the tiny underground bar around the corner from Sarah's apartment that served bowls of hot peanuts still in the shell and hadn't yet been overrun by hipsters. They had reached that point in the evening where they were tossing peanuts across the table into each other's mouths, trying not to hit the bar's low ceiling.

Miguel smiled at her and ordered another beer. "You look good," he said.

She put her hand over her mouth in mock shyness. "Why monsieur, how forward of you!"

"I mean you look better," he said, words slurring only a little. "You've been…I don't know, sad. For a while now."

Sarah took another swig of the very potent (but thankfully cheap) cocktail that was the bar's signature. A voice in the back of her head warned her not to get carried away with the drunk sharing. "Thank you. You know, therapy. It's stupid, but it kind of helps."

"The lady that Karen recommended? Is she teaching you how to clothe your inner child and stuff?" Miguel laughed a little too loudly at his own joke.

Sarah laughed along with him. "No, better. She's making me talk to my mirror."

"Oh God, please tell me that you're talking about how you're smart enough and good enough and doggone it people like you."

"Yes. Totally." She paused. "And it actually brought back a memory…of this time that I was really horrible to some of the only people in the world who I could trust…and I told them I was sorry, even though I knew they couldn't hear me. And I cried a lot, and it felt good, because I hadn't cried in a long time."

The room suddenly seemed quiet, even though they were surrounded by people. She had never told anyone about that—not even a version of the story that left out the fact that Hoggle, Ludo, and Didymus weren't exactly of this world. She felt her eyes welling up.

"Oh, sweetie." Miguel slid around to the other side of the table and put his arm around her. "That's heavy."

She rested her head against him. "Yeah, it was. But I'm feeling better now." She smiled, feeling the cocktail's effects rather strongly. "And then I had a dream about a hot guy."

He leaned back and stared at her gleefully. "Please tell me he had a buzz cut, lots of tattoos, and wore a wrestling singlet?"

She laughed. "No, no, and no. Tall. Lean. Blonde." She felt herself blushing. "Somewhat androgynous. Funny eyes. Very, very good kisser."

Miguel snorted. "A hundred miles away from my type, but I'm glad you got some action, at least in a dream. It's been way too long."

"We just kissed."

Miguel's mouth dropped in mock horror. "Just kissed?"

"Yeah, and the kiss…made me cry. For a long time. Which felt really good."

Miguel shook his head. "Sarah, honey, you clearly don't know how to do the sexy dream thing properly. You did nothing but kiss? And then you cried?"

Sarah shrugged. "It worked for me." She drained her glass. "And the best part..." She felt herself dissolving into the best kind of drunken giggles, because it suddenly seemed hilarious. "He's a goblin king."

Miguel found this equally hilarious. "This gets better and better. You made out with a goblin in your dreams?"

"No, no, no, he's human, but he's a king of goblins. And he's beautiful."

"Not beautiful enough to do more than kiss and sob over, apparently."

She punched his shoulder playfully. "A girl has to play somewhat hard to get."

"Whatever. You're looking much better, but you clearly need a dose of naked playtime. All of this," he gestured from her head to her feet, "is so tragically being wasted right now." Dramatically, he placed one hand on her head and spoke in a low, theatrical voice. "Goblin King, Goblin King, my dear friend Sarah needs—"

Sarah's hand shot out to cover Miguel's mouth. "Shhhhh! He'll hear you!"

Miguel laughed. "Yes, have to be careful of dream-men listening in on—" He paused when he saw that she looked genuinely worried. "Sarah?"

Sarah shook her head and forced herself to laugh. "Yes. The dream men are aaaalways lissstening…"

Miguel took a hearty swig of beer, and Sarah let out a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Well, technically it would have been him 'saying the words' and not me, but still. Not taking any chances.

It would also have been a convenient exc—

Whoa, whoa. Where the hell did that come from, drunk brain?

"And besides," she added, "I am not so desperate that I have to beg dream-people to shag me."

"Of course not, but dream-shags are great. No awkward conversations in the morning, no fear of pregnancy or STD's, and no sheets to wash."

She smiled a rather lopsided smile at him. "You have a point."

"Indeed. And I love you." He clinked his glass with hers. "To the worst play ever, and to two people who deserve much better."

She smiled, the effects of the alcohol mixing with a pure sense of contentment that she felt, for the first time in a while, quite deeply.

—-

Sarah stumbled into her apartment at around two a.m., careful even in her far-from-sober state not to make any noise that would wake Julia. She went into her bedroom and turned on the light, winced at the brightness, turned it off, stripped off her clothes and pulled on an oversized T-shirt that happened to be laying on her desk chair, and was about to collapse into bed before she glanced at the mirror.

There was nothing in it except her own reflection, barely visible in the darkness. She reached out and touched it.

"I really, really, want to learn…how to…lovvve you, Sarah." She dissolved into giggles as she said her own name. "But I gotta say, right now, I am at least liking you. Maybe it's the cocktails. Or, you know, being able to say sorry to Hoggle and Ludo and Didymus. And make sense of some stuff. Which…" She paused, wobbling just a bit on her feet. "That was kind of nice of him, really. I mean, clearly he got something out of it, but still…"

She leaned somewhat clumsily against the mirror and kissed its surface. "Thanks for that, Jareth."

Sarah turned back to bed and then turned around again, noticing her shawl still lying on her desk. She picked it up and draped it carefully over the mirror.

"Just in case you have a creepy watch-girls-sleep thing going on."

Sarah fell into bed and couldn't resist pointing a wagging finger at the mirror one last time before she drifted off. "And I'm still mad at you for throwing me through the mirror."

She was sleeping a dreamless sleep almost immediately. The shawl over the mirror might have ruffled slightly some time later, but she never noticed.

—

The buzzing of her phone woke her up long before she'd planned to get out of bed. As her hand groped blindly for the offending device she wondered who in the world could possibly be calling her at this hour—not Karen or her father, they knew better, not Miguel, he'd be sleeping off his hangover as well, so who—

The screen showed the name of her agency. Really? Calling me before nine a.m. to offer me another Corpse #3 audition?

She cleared her throat but still managed to sound fairly wretched when she squeaked "Hello?" into the phone.

"Sarah, honey, it's Liz. Sorry to call you so early, but it's kind of important."

Sarah clutched her head, which throbbed slightly harder at the sound of Liz's somewhat nasal voice. "No problem. I've got the Law & Order audition on my calendar, been reading the script—"

"Actually I've got something better. Ever hear of Lori Meeker?"

Sarah's ears pricked. "Of course, who hasn't? Two directing Obies in two years, youngest writer-director to do that—"

"Good girl, doing your homework. Well, apparently she saw something she liked in you and she wants you to audition for her new show."

Sarah blinked. Saw something she liked in me? When could she have…oh wow.

"Uh…she saw me in the play last night? And she liked it?"

Liz laughed. Sarah could hear her shuffling papers as she talked. "She made a few less-than-kind comments about the play, but you, it seems, she liked. Advantage of being in shitty work, hon, sometimes you shine all the brighter."

Sarah barely heard her. Somebody saw me and liked what they saw. That feels…huh. Very, very good.

She realized that Liz was still talking. "…script by tomorrow morning, and your audition is scheduled for Wednesday night."

"My audition? Like, it's not a cattle call?"

"Nope, individual meetings. You've struck minor gold, Sarah, even if it is off-Broadway. I'll happily take all the credit when you get your Obie nomination."

She laughed. "If you can negotiate a living wage for me then I'm happy to let you take all the credit."

"You know I will. Gotta go, show them your best side and let me know how it goes."

Sarah put her phone down on her bedside table, barely noticing her hangover symptoms. She resisted the urge to get up and do a little jig, fairly sure that that might bring them back.

She glanced at the mirror with her shawl still hanging over it and felt a sudden pang of uncertainty. Was this…had he…

Sarah shook her head. No. You didn't express any need for this, and since when has the Goblin King done nice things for anyone without demanding babies or dreams in return?

She showered quickly and changed into jeans and a t-shirt—her shift started in half an hour. She left the bed unmade, last night's clothes on the floor, and felt herself dancing slightly toward the door.

-

"You seem to be feeling good."

Sarah smiled. "I'm sure I'll find a way to fix that soon."

Rebecca smirked. "You're deflecting with humor again."

"Yeah, I know." She sighed. "Sorry, this whole 'feeling good' thing is new to me, not quite sure how to talk about it."

"Well, why don't you tell me why you're feeling good?"

Sarah folded her hands and recounted her carefully constructed free-of-magical-mirrors version of the last few days."And then I found out I landed a really good audition, which, like, never happens for me, and for once I felt like I could take all the credit. So, yeah."

Rebecca smiled. When she didn't ask another question, Sarah kept speaking.

"So…all the mirror stuff is still weird, but it's been a big help. Thank you."

Rebecca nodded. "I'm glad the exercises are having a positive effect, Sarah. This is a good start."

Sarah's smile faltered slightly. "A good start?"

"Yes. There's a lot more that I think we should cover, but this is a very good start."

"Right." The tingle of uneasiness she'd felt began to spread. "Exactly what else do we need to cover, besides all my issues with not liking myself very much and getting mad all the time?"

"Well…everything beneath that."

"Oh. Like…subconscious things, repressed stuff."

Rebecca smiled. "Maybe. The process varies from person to person." Rebecca leaned forward slightly. "And I'd just like to stress again that I won't force you to talk about anything you don't want to talk about. I won't even push you to continue coming here, if it's not something you want to do."

Yeah, but I need the money from Dad and Karen. That thought made her feel childlike and helpless again, and the warm glow she'd been feeling from earlier began to trickle away.

"That said, if you're up for it, I'd like to move on to some other topics. Like your mother."

Sarah froze. "What?"

"Your mother. We haven't talked about her at all yet."

The room seemed to have gone very quiet. Sarah hooked and unhooked her fingers, multiple protests beginning on her lips and dying before they could be spoken.

Rebecca picked up on the change immediately. Her voice was gentle. "What's your relationship with your mother like, Sarah?"

Sarah's body responded before her words could, in several ways at once. She felt a tightness in her chest, a flush in her cheeks, felt her hands clenching, and a chill that seemed to travel from her cheeks down over her chest and into her stomach. Snippets of memory danced through her mind, some faded, some much clearer than she wanted them to be.

And in that instant she knew exactly what was lurking in the crystal ball Jareth had been looking into before he threw her through the mirror.

Rebecca leaned back, mercifully aware of when to back off. "If you're not comfortable, Sarah—"

Sarah rose abruptly from the sofa. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just realized that I told my boss I'd come in an hour early today, to help with…something. Is it all right if I leave now?"

Rebecca stood. Her eyes never left Sarah's. It was a neat trick, being able to meet people's eyes all the time—she really should work on it.

"Sarah, we don't have to talk about anything that you don't want to talk about."

"Thank you. I'm sorry, I just…I just really need to go."

"Of course." Rebecca reached across her to open the door. "I'll have my assistant call to set up your next appointment, all right?"

"Sure."

Sarah practically ran out of the office, closing the door behind her to lean against the wall in the thankfully empty hallway. She let out a long, slow breath and closed her eyes, pushing away the images and sounds that raced through her mind.

When the panic subsided she felt angry. Gee, what else is new? Angry that her feelings of security were so precarious, that she could be so easily undone just by the mention of her mother.

Not just the mention of her, of course. It's what Rebecca might suggest that you do, what well-meaning friends and boyfriends have suggested that you do, when they don't know the half of it…

Sarah thrust her hands in her pockets, pulled them out again, and walked toward the elevator. She wanted to leave this place and never go back into Rebecca's office again. But she needed the money from her father and Karen. No, maybe if she got this part in the play that would be enough…no, not likely…

Sarah let out a little cry of frustration and slammed her fists against one wall, then the other, wishing for all the world that she were searching for an opening in a seemingly impenetrable maze instead of trying to untangle the knots of her past.

—-

The rhino-monkey dream play thankfully had a very short run, only five performances. By Sunday it was all over, and Sarah made awkward small talk at the cast and crew party, thankful to have Miguel with her as a sort of beacon of sanity amidst a group of people who genuinely seemed to think that they'd participated in a moment of great art.

She went through the motions of her Law & Order audition, which didn't feel so different from her previous corpse auditions, even if this time she actually got to speak. Liz called her later to say she hadn't gotten the part, and Sarah actually felt relieved. Spending all day on a set to only speak one line was depressing, even if it was a paycheck.

She threw herself into preparing for her Lori Meeker audition to try to forget, at least momentarily, about Rebecca and the mirror and everything attached to both of them.

The script was called The Retreat, and it was wonderful, as Sarah had known it would be. She'd gone to see Lori Meeker's last play with Miguel and they'd both swooned and dreamed about starring in one of her shows. Miguel was now pretending to be furious at her for "stealing" his dream, though he was also texting her regular messages of support.

She dove deep into the mind of her potential role, a young wife and mother in a cult-like religion whose world is turned upside down when her husband announces that he's leaving the church. It felt good to pretend to be someone else, especially someone whose life seemed so distant from her own.

She ignored the call from Rebecca's office to schedule her next appointment. She knew she couldn't do that forever—Karen or her father would call, she was sure Rebecca was at least letting them know whether or not she was attending sessions, even if ethically she couldn't share what they were talking about. For now, though, she simply couldn't bring herself to walk into Rebecca's office and start down a long road that could end in a face-to-face meeting with her mother, however long and circuitous that road might be.

She didn't speak to the mirror, and she was careful not to express or even feel any sort of deep need so as to avoid unplanned meetings with the Goblin King. She knew what was waiting for her in his crystal, and she didn't want to look at it. At least not yet.

But then, the day before her audition, she came home to find an envelope in the mailbox.

It was pale blue with flowers around the edges, small, and smelling faintly of lavender. Sarah thought for a moment that it might be a gift from one of the distant relatives who occasionally wrote to her (and she felt guilty at how much she hoped there was a check inside). But then she saw the return address.

Her palms began to sweat. It had been three years since the last one, the first one she hadn't replied to. She had waited for another one to come, or even a text or a phone call, despite the fact that she knew her mother abhorred phone calls and digital communication. None had come, and she'd been left feeling like a fifteen-year-old again, slamming the door in her father's face but feeling infuriated and hurt when he didn't try harder to talk to her.

The feelings had cooled over time. Sarah was amazed to realize that she hadn't really thought of her mother much at all until Rebecca had brought her up, or earlier, in that dizzying moment when Jareth had first kissed her and she had remembered so many buried things.

She carried the letter into her bedroom and placed in on her desk. The thought of opening it made her feel ill, but she knew uncertainty would eat at her until she did.

The worst part, actually, was the tiny flame of hope that the letter inspired. The idea that there was something magical inside it that would erase everything that had come before.

It was that stubborn hope that made her rip open the envelope and unfold the letter inside, scanning the words hurriedly as though lingering on them too long might burn her eyes.

Nothing, of course. There was nothing in the letter that changed anything. No apology, no questions about Sarah. Just a long stream of words about auditions, a new boyfriend, needing more money…

Sarah threw the letter against the mirror, angry at herself for yet again being drawn into a trap of her own making.

How can someone who's been absent for so long have so much power over me?

It had to stop, she realized. This constant looking over her shoulder, constant waiting for something that was never going to materialise. And in order for that to happen, she was going to have to look the past full in the face.

"I need to let her go."

The mirror seemed to shimmer slightly. Taking a deep breath, she touched the surface and said it again. "I need to let her go."

There was no response from the mirror, but the pages of the damn book fluttered. Sarah groaned.

"You are clearly enjoying this."

She flipped ahead several pages. "Right, there's got to be something appropriate here…here we go." She faced the mirror and made her face as sincere as possible. "All human beings are worthy of love. I love myself, and I deserve to be loved by others." She winced, both at the ridiculous sound of the words and at the fact that she really, really didn't believe them at the moment. "All human beings are worthy of love. I love myself, and I deserve to be loved by others."

The mirror surface seemed to liquify as it had before, and Sarah was no longer shocked to find herself facing a vision of her childhood home. For some reason this time it wasn't her bedroom—it was the entryway that faced the large staircase. Jareth was standing in front of the stairs with his back to her. His dark leather clothing and wild hair looked strangely…faded, like an image photographed in sepia.

"I would argue that not all mortals are worthy of love," he said quietly.

Sarah sighed. "Kinda with you on that one."

There was a long silence. "You've been hiding," he finally said.

"Yeah." She felt her hackles rise. "I just—maybe I didn't feel like getting yanked or thrown through a mirror."

"Ever predictable," he sighed. "I expend great effort doing what's best for you and you are supremely ungrateful."

"For Christ's sake, why is it so hard for you to understand the concept of asking? And…damn it, will you turn around and look at me?"

She thought that his body tensed slightly before he slowly turned around to face her. She gasped.

His face looked gaunt. The space under his eyes was sunken and grey, and she could see streaks of grey in his hair. His body was thinner than usual, clothes hanging off of him much more than they normally would.

He half-smiled at the shock on her face. "Oh, dear Sarah." His voice dripped with a level of contempt that had been mostly absent the last time she'd seen him. "Am I not the vision you remembered?"

She backed away from the mirror slightly, stung. "What…what happened to you?"

Jareth smirked. "You happened, precious. Or rather, a distinct lack of you, and your fellow mortals with needs, happened to me. King I may be, but I am also at the mercy of humanity's petty desires and its willingness to speak them aloud."

He spat each word like a curse, and Sarah suddenly felt very young and vulnerable again, and foolish for offering him a doorway into her world.

When will you learn not to play with fire?

He saw the fear in her eyes and grinned wider. "Afraid, precious? Not so eager for kisses from a dying animal with its claws out?"

Sarah's breath caught. "You're…dying?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, you silly girl, I'm not dying, and that, as they say, is the rub. I will never die, no matter how much mortal need and wishing is withheld from me. I will simply diminish further and further, reduced to begging for words of need like a street urchin. Death would be a blessing."

She was horrified at that image, of the idea of endlessly losing more and more of herself but seeing no final death at the end of it all. Without thinking she reached out and touched the mirror. "That's…I…"

He snarled at her and slapped at the mirror, and she jumped back as her fingers seemed to burn. "Don't look at me that way, Sarah. I won't be pitied."

"I wasn't—all right, I was, but not because you're pitiful, Jareth, but just because it's horrible, and I…I know a little about what it's like."

His laugh was raw. "Do you, now? You know the sensation of being beholden to mortal whims, reduced again and again to a shadow of yourself through neglect?"

"Yes." Sarah was shocked to realize that it was true. She took a cautious step toward the mirror and reached out, stopping just shy of touching it. "I…" She swallowed. "I know what it's like…to feel that you aren't needed. To feel useless." She laughed. "I think it's kind of central to the human condition, actually."

He folded his arms, looking slightly more intrigued than enraged. "Enlighten me."

"We all need, all the time, but we can't admit to it, and we all love to feel needed, but other people won't admit that they need us, so we drive ourselves crazy pretending that we don't need anything or anyone and it diminishes all of us."

Jareth stared at her. "That is absolute, complete, and utter madness. I have no choice in my lot, but mortals do—and yet they choose pain, again and again."

Sarah shrugged. "Hey, if we were sensible you wouldn't have nearly as much fun feeling superior to us."

He laughed, and she sensed some of the bitterness draining out of him, though his next words were still wry. "Regardless, I am here now, summoned by your magical book—"

"Right, my bullshit self-help book has magical powers. It's not just a bit of fun on your part to get me to say ridiculous things into a mirror."

Jareth smiled and folded his arms. "Perhaps a bit of both."

"Anyway, I…" She looked away. "I need something from you."

His eyes lit up, but then he grimaced. "I'm going to need a little more conviction from you, Sarah, if you want this to work."

She nodded and took a deep breath, pressing her hand against the mirror. He pressed his hand against hers, and she felt a very faint warmth. Her eyes met his.

"I need something from you."

The warmth became a more intense heat, and as she watched a tiny bit of color seemed to return to Jareth's cheeks. His eyes never left her face as his fingers pierced the mirror's surface and entwined with hers. "Tell me what you need."

"I need to…let go of something. I need to look at something I've been hiding from."

More color in his cheeks, more luster in his hair, though he still looked frighteningly gaunt. He smiled and started to pull her hand, and then paused.

"Shall I…" He cleared his throat, obviously struggling a bit with the words. "May I bring you through the mirror and cause you very temporary discomfort, for a purpose that will ultimately be to your benefit?"

She gave a short laugh and nodded. "Yes."

Author's note: Thanks as always for the follows, reads, and reviews! This thing will definitely get finished, it's all mapped out, so barring acts of God it'll be updated regularly and completed within another three or four chapters.