A.N.: Well guys, here we are again. "High Flying, Adored," has been waiting patiently since I was sixteen and I'm writing this thing. Whoops?

Honestly, I'm excited to be doing something longer. But, here are some warnings: A. I did spend a full day trying to understand the very complex world of the Sidhe and Fey and Seelie versus Unseelie, but I really have the most rudimentary grasp on everything. Which is why I'm not going to be trying for "accuracy" as much as "general fantasy," but if someone more educated on folklore wants to correct me, by all means do. B. I'm keeping the rating fairly mild for now, but I suspect it's going to go higher. Like, "Children, shield your eyes!" higher, because all of my favorite Labyrinth fics are rated "M," and I know how you people work. You're all perverts, and I am totally okay with that. C. The lyrics at the start of the chapter...I'm not married to this idea. I debated going back and forth with it, but honestly, I'm a sucker for quotes at the beginning of stuff. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to do this song, but as it had just become irreparably intertwined with my idea for this when thinking about it, I decided to go with it. If it's stupid, say so, I'll take it out. Also, it's amazing how many variations there are on the lyrics for "Say When." This is why we enunciate, boys and girls. Nat King Cole wouldn't have this problem. So I'm going to be picking and choosing which ones make sense to me, and my version could be totally different (and subsequently better) than any other out there. Apparently, this is what I went to college for.

Okay, so, dedications and thanks: once again, my friend Chet, who is far more kindly patient than any non-fanfiction-reading, not-obsessed-adult-male has any need to ever be. Also, GodlyJewel, since she was the first not-Chet person to hear I was writing it, and was kindly excited. Honestly, I'm looking forward to responding to reviews again (or at least my ego is), so please hurl all your compliments, questions and criticisms at me. I want them all. Yes, even that last one. I'm an adult, don't worry, I can (probably) handle it.

I'm going to shut up and get to the point.

They're coming back

And you just don't know when

You want to cry,

But there's nothing comin'

They're gonna push

Until you give in

Say when

"Say When," The Fray

Goodbye 1998! No more Monica Lewinski, Mark McGuire, and John Glenn. No more "Titanic," Celine Dion, and Billy Crystal at the Oscars. No more "Armageddon," Tubthumping or boy bands. No more Viagra, Pokemon and Furbies.

Well – until next year, anyway.

Golden streamers were hanging from the ceiling fan of Sarah's apartment. Time Square was lit up in all its glory on her television screen, and there were enough dime store kazoos, noise makers and party crackers scattered over her coffee table to deafen half of the apartment building. Chilling on the counter of her tiny kitchen were two bottles: one champagne for herself and her parents, and another sparkling cider for Toby, no matter how much he grumbled that he really ought to be old enough for just a taste of champagne. Sarah smiled at the thought, pushing her dark hair behind her ears, decorated as it was with colorful barrettes, lined with silvery streams of plastic tinsel. She was ready to ring in the New Year with the people she loved most.

"Are you sure you don't mind, Sarah?" Karen had asked over the phone as her step-daughter juggled the receiver nestled between her cheek and shoulder while simultaneously trying to cook a semi-appetizing dinner. "You wouldn't rather go out with some young people your own age?"

"Really, Karen," Sarah Williams replied, switching the phone to her other shoulder to try and fix the crick that was beginning in her neck. "I'm just not in the mood to go out and get pawed by a bunch of drunk guys. I've done the New Year thing, it's fun, but this year I just want to have a couple of entertaining hours with you guys, okay?"

"If you're sure..." the middle aged mother replied hesitantly. "You know, you're only twenty eight, you're going to have to get out there and mingle if you're ever going to-"

"Oh, my sauce is burning, gotta go!" Sarah had quickly hung up and stirred the not-burning sauce before she had to go over that conversation again. Come on, it was the twentieth century. Karen couldn't seriously think she wouldn't have a satisfying life if she remained single? It wasn't a big deal – it was just a "thing." Like New Years parties, Sarah had done the dating scene. She'd gotten her heart broken and broken some hearts as well; she'd gone on more first dates than she even wanted to think about; and she'd had a few steady boyfriends over the course of the last ten years. The relationships just always...stopped. One cheated on her, one they'd mutually broken up because they just didn't love each other anymore, and another...claimed she lived in a fantasy world he wasn't invited to.

"Ugh, that was the annoying one to hear...and it's totally not true, is it, guys?" The Sarah of the present, the one getting ready for her miniature party, sunk on her black couch, smiling.

Wordless, a brownie in a jaunty red stocking cap handed her another streamer to hang along the ceiling fan, shaking his head in response to her question.

"Thanks," she smiled quietly, passing him a nut from the dish on the table in an act of reciprocity.

…So brownies had taken up residence in her hall closet? It didn't mean she was locking some critical part of herself away from her potential lovers!

Sarah sighed, a dark lock of her hair swaying at the movement of her breath. Perhaps it was just a little difficult to have a normative relationship when one bizarre night thirteen years ago led to her seeing all the glittering denizens of Above and Under and in between wherever she went. She'd always been imaginative as a child, but she'd never seen anything before running the Labyrinth – that would have been when she'd have wanted to have fairy tale creatures beside her the most. No, it was only after the fact...when she could call to Hoggle or Sir Didymus from her mirror, and have them respond; or take a walk through the park and find a wood sprite giggling to her from the branches of a hawthorn tree; or have pixies giving her fashion tips when she went to buy new clothes. Oh, they'd all explained it to her as simple as the letters of the alphabet: she'd beaten the Labyrinth. Of course she'd take its magic with her. Of course she'd see.

Sarah had taken this blessing and this burden in stride. It had been very apparent very quickly no one else saw what she did, and she wisely said nothing, lest everyone think she'd lost her mind sometime in her teenage years (ah, but don't we all?). In fact, it hadn't been that difficult to become used to being the only seeing person in the land of the blind. The various lesser fey and creatures of myth that had flocked to her, excited by her notice of them, provided excellent company when the mortals she was forced to spend her life with did not live up to her expectations – which became more often as she grew. She was the girl with the sparkle in her eye, the unearthly glow. And perhaps more importantly than that, she was a Champion: she wasn't sure if it was good or bad, but she found herself less tolerant of the petty complaints and foibles of her peers. It was hard to feel sympathy when she knew exactly what a moment of rash selfishness could cost. Hard not to scoff a little at unhappy grumbles when she remembered the bone-wearing hours of struggle through the Labyrinth. If it made her a little colder, it also made her that much more impressive, chin held high through every trial. Where others of her class had groaned and mumbled under the pressures of tests or papers or just societal expectations, Sarah kept her mouth shut and simply pressed on until at last she was victorious.

After all, it wasn't like it was the Bog of Eternal Stench, or anything. She was pretty sure she could take on most human tribulations.

As for being the only Seer, well...she wasn't sure about that. Sometimes, when she sat in her family's garden and had quiet conversations with the pixies on the petunias, she might catch Toby looking at her – or at least in her direction. His eyes would be squinted so tight, it was a wonder he could see at all, his mouth turned in a solid frown. Like he was straining very hard to see something, something that might not quite be there... Sarah would pale a little and quickly quit her fairy tailing, hurrying to distract him with some game or other. Sarah wasn't sure why she didn't want Toby seeing, only that she worried about him. After all his time with the goblins, it would only make sense for a little of that to wear off. The only explanation she had for her concern was that if Toby saw, he might also see him. And her little brother hadn't beaten the Labyrinth like she had; she wasn't sure if he could best the Goblin King should he ever appear again. Which is why she was vowed to be his protector, through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, against goblins and more domestic bullies and brats.

She was pulled out of this particular rumination on Toby by a soft tug on the hem of her black skirt; a chimney swift had come in through her...er...heating vent? Her apartment most certainly did not have a fire place. Not that it was the bird's impromptu visit that was distracting her, that sort of thing happened all the tim-

"Ugh..." Sarah dropped her face into her hand, going back to her previous thought. "Okay, so sometimes small animals come in and tidy up or whatever, doesn't mean I'm living an elaborate fantasy life!" The chimney swift didn't seem to particularly care if it was keeping her from forming a serious relationship with a man or not; it kept pulling at her hem and beating its wings in a soft hum. "What, what is it?" she at last addressed it. The drab grey little bird looked relieved to at last be noticed and lit quickly to the clock hanging on her wall, settling there and pecking absentmindedly. The time was nine thirty. "I guess they are a little late." Sarah stood up from her couch, stretching lithe arms idly. Her family ought to have been here some time ago. "I suppose I can call the house and see if they've left yet." The swift responded with a high pitched twitter, apparently satisfied by her response, and took off back to...wherever it had come from. "As long as I don't start singing about fairy tale kings I'm sure I'm fine."

Sarah picked up her phone without any particular worry, dialing the number reflexively from memory. It was New Year's Eve, there was bound to be traffic with people going to and from glittering parties. It rang – and it rang. "Hello, you've reached the Williamses," that was Toby's voices on the recording, stuttering over the plural of their last name. "We're not home, so please leave a message after the-" Smiling, the young woman hung up, satisfied. "See? On their way already." If gossamer-winged faeries gave her solemn, quiet looks, Sarah paid it no more attention than she usually did. She'd sit back and find some kind of count down on TV, something to pass the time away. With no more than a click of her remote, she was dismissing any sense of growing alarm.

The Top Ten fashion blunders of the year – her family still hadn't come. But no big deal, right?

The Top Ten best music videos of the year: she watched "Zoot Suit Riot," and "Pretty Fly," and even sat through all of Puff Daddy – but her family still hadn't come. Just traffic, surely.

The Top Ten funniest commercials- she changed the channel by that point, glancing worriedly up at the clock. Past ten now. Alright, where were they...?

The sound of the phone ringing nearly sent her out of her skin. "Jeezes!" Sarah lay her palm over her breast to calm her wildly beating heart, her fight-or-flight sense startlingly active. She wasn't sure why, but for a moment, she was hesitant to grab for her telephone. Sarah Williams, the brave Sarah Williams, afraid? And of what? She quickly shook her dark head to clear it, and grabbed the phone from its cradle. "'lo?"

"Is this Miss Sarah Williams?" There was a lot of static on the other end of the line, lots of...shouting. It was a man's voice, middle aged: he sounded tired, a little gruff.

"Yes..." she replied slowly, hesitantly.

"Is your father Robert Williams."

"Yes..."

"And is his address seven-oh-nine Castle Heights Avenue-"

"Yes, so? Who is this, what's all this about?" It was perhaps a rude reply, but Sarah could feel a real terror starting to grab at her throat, and her thin hand tightened around the arm of her sofa.

The man sighed, a world-weary, heavy hearted, soul-straining sigh. "Miss Williams, we need you to come to the urgent care clinic at Sisters of Mercy hospital, there's been an accident."

Please, step this way, miss. Coffee, miss? Miss Williams, about the accident – oh, please, have some tissues. Yes, I know. Well, the other driver was...well, his blood alcohol content was point one five. Yes, it's very high. I can't tell you that. No, I'm sorry, I can't tell you that. What we really need from you is – Miss Williams, please. I know. Please, try to calm down, we want to get you through this as best we can. Yes, miss. Yes, miss. Well, what we need is for you to identify...yes, in the mortuary- oh Miss Williams, I'm so sorry. I truly am. Yes, both of them. And if you can sign this paper work – oh, it's for dental records. For Toby, yes. Well, if we use dental records, then you won't need to see him. No, Miss Williams, it's better if you don't see. It's better if you don't see. The glass from the windshield went straight through – there was no pain. It was so fast, no pain at all-

She didn't believe them.

It's better if you don't see. No pain, no pain at all. Don't see. Don't look.

Don't.

Don't.

Yes, there will be an investigation – please, have more tissues. No, I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Well, the police have the car in custody right now, they may want to look over the things left in the- yes, Miss Williams. Well, you can pick them up after the holiday, the station will be open on...Monday. We want you to take these packets – they're for grief counseling. It's something the hospital offers. We have group therapy or private sessi- of course you want to go home. Of course. Please, let us know if we can help you, we will be calling you to release the bo- Oh, Miss Williams, please.

No, we're quite sure, there was no pain. No, please don't ask to see, please.

No pain. Don't look. Don't look.

She was standing her apartment again – dark, it was so dark. Not a single light was on, no flicker from a television set, nothing. The only thing she could see were the street lights filtering in through her living room window, and those were splattered with rain. At least, she believed it to be rain. She felt her eyes to see if she were crying, but the rest of her vision was crisp, not blurred. Her cheeks were dry; no, no tears.

An hour and a half at the hospital. It seemed so short a time, and also so long. Well, why would it take more time? They hadn't needed for her to make decisions on life support, or to give them insurance information or explain any possible allergies. There were no decisions to make. Briefly, that was the worst part – she was powerless to choose for them. Choose funeral parlors, choose music for the wake, choose what kind of sandwiches to serve – but god damn it all, nothing important to choose! Nothing that mattered.

So quiet. The leaflets in her hand were crumpled with how tightly she held them. Her thumbnail had scraped away the ink in places as she dug into them on the ride back to her empty, broken apartment. It wasn't true that it was totally quiet, she could hear the dulled noises of parties going on throughout her building, but the sound never reached her. Sarah wouldn't turn on the lights. She refused to see the streamers where she'd left them hanging, the party crackers she was going to pull with Toby, filled with corny jokes and paper crowns. She didn't care if they sat there forever, she wasn't going to touch them. On her kitchen counter, the wine had gone warm.

Sarah took a few halting steps forward, the heels of her shoes catching on the loops of her carpeting. Thoughtlessly, wordlessly, she stumbled forward, and did not try to keep herself from falling. The pain of landing on her hands and knees was a relief. With the slightest of choked whimpers, she drew her scratched hands to her breast, soothing over them for a moment. Her hands weren't the problem: it felt as though claws were tearing her apart from the inside out. God! She wanted to cry, she desperately did! She ran her nails across her smooth face until she was sure she was leaving marks, drawing blood. She balled her hands into fists and pounded them mercilessly on the floor until the bones ached, not caring if any downstairs neighbors objected, or even heard. She wanted to sob – and she just couldn't.

It was too much pain to be marked by mere tears, too much haunting sorrow. Turmoil, grief, no word in the English language was up to describing the kind of pain Sarah Williams was feeling, destroying her entire being.

"God!" She yanked her glossy dark hair, sending barrettes and tinsel flying across the room or otherwise breaking apart in her cruel, demanding fingers. "Why did this have to happen? Why!" She screamed fit to shame a ghost, screamed for lack of her ability to cry, and almost broke out in a choked sob. "I'd do anything, anything, I...I-!"

Small eyes peered at her over her counter tops and from behind her furniture. Whispers too soft and in too many languages for her to understand were exchanged in cabinets and hummed behind various appliances. The whole world – even New York City, on New Years Eve – went silent for one moment, collectively holding its breath, to hear what Right Words Sarah Williams might say next.

Slamming her fist back into the drab carpet flooring, she shouted, "I wish the Goblin King would come and take it all back – right – now!"

In the memory of her mind's eye, Sarah wasn't sure if the silence came first, or the crashing noise. A logical mind, a mind not fevered with pain and despair, one that had not seen what lay beyond the veil of this world, would have chalked the noise up to fireworks displays or a vicious winter wind and nothing more. Not Sarah. She knew much better.

There was a crashing noise coming from her bedroom. Her tired feet slipped from under her as she struggled off the floor, barely able to find purchase, and gasped, tearing for the doorway-