A/N: I've fallen in love with this movie. In LOVE. As in, watching it after my kiddos are in bed because I just adore the characters that much. As usual, it was only a matter of time before the plot bunnies started. So here's one! My first foray into this fandom. I hope everyone enjoys and I promise you this isn't a one chapter deal. It should be three chapters and tie in with another Jack Frost centered fic I'm going to start working on.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians and make no profit from writing this fic.
Paint My World
Chapter One - Game On
She had almost stopped believing in him.
Once – and only once.
That was as much as he would allow it to happen. Fifteen years old - she was just starting to find her way amongst her peers… in over her head with home work, volley ball practice, art club and attempts at dating. And fifteen…
It had been a wonder that she'd remained firm in her belief for that long. As a general rule, once children started creeping up on those teenage years, they just stopped believing. And it was acceptable. It was understood that being an adult meant losing that sense of wonder, that sense of hope and awe.
And she almost had.
But he couldn't let her.
With the sun creeping over the horizon and chasing away the night, he swung by her house, crept into her room, and made sure that she would always know that he existed. Then, he slipped outside the window where branches of an overhanging tree hid him shadows, waiting for her.
The pale yellow and blue blankets on the twin bed shifted and stilled, then shifted again. They were abruptly thrown back and the girl underneath stretched, shoving her blond hair out of her face. She turned her head, looking at the bedside clock through narrowed eyes. And then those green eyes went impossibly wide. Slowly, she pushed herself up until she was sitting, the blankets a mass of fluff around her.
One hand reached out, the tips of her fingers brushing over the intricately painted Easter Egg – brilliant colors of red, gold, pink, green and purple wrapped in a fringe of silver vines. He watched those eyes fill with the wonder that had been slowly ebbing over time. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as her fingers closed around the egg.
As her grip tightened ever so slightly, so did the faith in his existence. He could feel it – like coming home. It settled warm and content in his heart as he leaned back and grinned, a satisfied sigh leaving him in a rush.
A moment later, the grin vanished as he watched her set the egg aside, leap out of bed and dash out of the room.
"What the-."
He started to doubt his intent, started to wonder if his refusal to allow her to forget was a good thing. Guardian's were not supposed to interfere with the natural growth of maturity, even if it did mean that all of the things that made a person's childhood amazing and beautiful slowly stopped existing.
He edged toward the window, contemplating how quickly he could get in, snatch the evidence of his transgression and get out. And then she was back, running to the large vanity across from her bed, yanking open drawers and rummaging through them. Carefully, he moved back into the shadows, just out of view.
A few minute more of wild searching, of cursing in a way he had no idea she was capable of, and she apparently found what she had been looking for. She returned to the bed, crossed her legs and made herself comfortable.
It was then that he saw it – the simple white egg clutched in her hand. In the other was a collection of brushes and small tubes of what he could only assume were oil paints. She tossed them over the bed spread, carefully selected her first color and brush and set to work.
He lost track of time as he watched her – watched the way she nibbled on her lower lip, the way her brows drew so close in a frown of concentration. It could have been late morning by the time she straightened, rolled her shoulders and smiled down at her accomplishment. He could have cared less.
She placed the painted egg in the same place he'd left his. Then, picking up his gift, she hugged it close to her, rolled out of bed and skipped back through the doorway, closing it behind her. He waited for her to come back, the minute ticking slowly by but the door remained shut.
Even if she did come back, it's not like I wouldn't hear her and be able to make a quick get away-.
Realization of just how idiotic that that thought was hit immediately. She knew who he was. She had seen him countless times over the course of her childhood. She had curled up in his arms and trustingly fallen asleep on him in that instantaneous way that only children seemed capable of. What did it matter if she saw him now?
But still…there was that thrill of secrecy that he couldn't quite ignore.
He slipped through the window, his narrowed eyes fixed on the door, his large ears catching everything from the tick of the clock on the nightstand to the muffled lull of voices downstairs.
Only when he had the egg she'd painted resting in his paw did he look away.
She'd covered half of it in teal and violet paisley swirls spotted with tiny golden hearts. In the middle of the riot of colors, written in swirling feminine cursive, were two sentences.
Thank you. I miss you.
The tension left him in a sudden rush and he smiled.
"Miss you too, love," he murmured, then tucked the egg safely away, thumped one large foot against the beige carpet and disappeared down the hole that opened up just beside him. Already he was plotting for next year, thinking about what he could do to ensure that she never stopped believing in him.
Those two eggs were just a minor start to the new game Sophie Bennett and Aster Bunnymund had started. And in the beginning, it was just that – a game. Neither had a clue that as the years passed, it would become so much more.
