He's seeking balance-something to keep at bay the nightmares, because
just because they've lost their king doesn't mean they're not still
tormenting him, someone who can alleviate the loneliness, banish the
cold, at least for a little while. And she finds him strange and sweet
and wonderful, and her heart craves his, her instincts for the love
she lost so young wakening. Confused and disorientated by something
neither's had for double a lifetime or more, they're rediscovering a
land left long ago-a land so far changed as to be unrecognisable.
To her, touching him is like sticking her hand in a snowdrift. She
glides her fingers across his cheek, and he catches her hand and traps
it beteen his, a butterfly pinned down. He's desperate, pulling her to
him, kissing with the hunger of one who's so cold they can't remember
what it's like to be warm. He's sapping the heat from every part of
her, turning her bones to ice, and she yearns to pull away, but she
stays, for him.
To him, she's like a fire, glowing warm and deceptively safe, and he
tries to take tiny parts of that heat, but ice always was hard to
melt, and just holding her hand or kissing her cheek isn't enough for
him. He crushes her against him, pressing every inch of himself to her-
and feel her slim body shivering. He knows, deep, deep down, that this
can never work-that they're only hurting each other, he burning, she
freezing-but he doesn't let go, because even Winter hopes for Spring.
The others don't understand. They see Tooth blue-tinged and shivering,
Jack drawn into himself, destructive and self-hating, and they assume
the two are doing it to each other, that it's unhealthy. And so they
try to break them up, North dropping anvil-sized hints he thinks are
subtle (really, Jack thinks through the fog he can't shift from his
brain, he should donate the workshop a bloody dictionary next
Christmas), Bunny glaring, making snide, piercing remarks that stab
them both straight through their bruised hearts (Tooth tells him he
once had a thing for her. Jack's unsurprised.), and Sandy just looking
at them, big, gold eyes sad, dream-sand falling like tears. And then
when that fails, they head for direct confrontation, cornering them,
trying to get them to admit their own failure; to no avail, of
course, and Jack's desperation increases, draining Tooth until she's
faint with exhaustion-and still she stays, for him. And then it's just
disapproving glances, snubbings, the cold shoulder, doors no longer
open to Jack, even as he needs them the most.
It's when Bunny finds Baby Tooth in the Warren, frantically searching
for him (well, for anyone) that things come to a head. Hurtling
through the tunnels, the tiny fairy clasped in his hands, he reaches
the Tooth Palace within seconds, to find his friend and companion for
so many centuries stretched out on the floor, beautiful wings faded,
skin almost as cold as-Jack. Suddenly, the Pooka's feelings of panic
and worry are overridden by cold steel fury. He knew the stupid,
stupid boy was hurting her, he knew he'd never be a true Guardian. How
could he have been so complacent as to trust him, to pity him even? To
believe he could take care of her, of the tropical flower he had so
long admired. And suddenly, there was a motion so complex, the
language of the earth-apes he had spoken so long had no words for it.
It was perhaps, like the whole world shrugging. And when it was
finished, E. Aster Bunnymund had been replaced with something far
different-and yet the same. The Last of the Pookas was in the Tooth
Palace. And he was furious.