So I know I've said in my profile that I'll update this fic about once a week, but I've had the writers itch today and I've blasted another chapter for it, so here you all go :D

If you haven't already checked out my other RotG fic 'The End of Summer' then I'd really appreciate it if you did :)

As always, enjoy!

He was angry that she'd spoken to Jack about him. About trying to stop being afraid of him. It was fairly obvious, the way he had her pinned against the floor, his nose inches from hers, and he had the most serious, severe look on his face.

"I offered you the chance to escape fear," he hissed, staring hard into her shining blue eyes. Slowly he traced a finger along her cheek, wiping away the tear that strayed down, cupping her face and tangling his fingers in her hair. It could have been mistaken for affection, if he hadn't looked so ready to kill her. "I offered you power, strength, a place where you would not be forgotten ever again!"

"You wanted me so you could get close to my dad!" she cried, lashing out, but he was quicker this time, he had the advantage of position, and he dodged her hand before grabbing it, grabbing her other hand and pinning both her hands above her head, holding her wrists down with his left hand while his right closed around her throat, turning the tables. He watched fear and panic and terror strike into her eyes, and she whimpered as his long fingers closed around her airways, applying light pressure but enough to make her jolt up and writhe against him, trying to escape but ultimately increasing the pressure on her neck, making her gag and choke, before he pulled his hand away.

"Oh, how weak you are," he hummed, as she spluttered and gulped down air greedily. "And how easy it is to change the circumstances... barely an hour ago you were the one tormenting me."

She stared up at him with tears in her eyes, and as he stared into those pools of blue he smirked, drinking in her fear, feeling almost light headed. He loved tormenting her, loved tormenting anyone really, but fear like this, it was so overwhelming, it was like his own personal aphrodisiac. He felt somewhat dizzy, but he craved more. As did his nightmares.

They were screaming from the sidelines, desperate to come closer, but he held them back through sheer will, taking as much pleasure from her pain as he physically could. He only allowed them so close because their snorts and howls scared Sarah that bit more.

"Please," she gasped, staring into his eyes, pleading with him. "Please, let me go!"

Pitch let out a short laugh, sneering down at her as she begged, and she stopped, but her eyes bore into his. He tutted a little, shifting himself so he straddled lower down her body, leaning his long torso over her, pressing his lips against her jaw, kissing her gently. He trailed butterfly kisses up along her jaw, her cheek, then pressed his lips against her ear.

"My darling, your begging has never stopped me before... what makes you think now will be different?" he asked, and she shuddered beneath him. Pitch could feel her tremble, and he chuckled lightly, amused at how quickly her strength could come and go, how one minute she was sat above him trying to kill him, or sat opposite laughing about one thing or the other, but now she was lying beneath him, shuddering, her face pale with a delicate green hue to it, and he tutted as she retched. She was making herself physically sick thinking about what he could do to her.

He'd have his fun, obviously. There was nothing more musical than her screams of terror, not a more beautiful sight than a shaking girl, scared witless of him.

"Please," she whispered again, sounding weak. This displeased him, as she didn't sound as afraid, but now more submissive. As if she'd accepted her fate here, accepted what he might do to her, and he groaned, standing abruptly and turning around, watching as she rolled to her side and curled slowly into the foetal position.

"I'll deal with you later, my darling," he muttered, scowling at her, sniffing slightly as he retrieved his cloak from the peg by the fire, still damp but not quite as sodden, and he yawned. "Right now, I'm quite bored of your simpering and whining."

He snapped his fingers once, and the nightmares surrounding them in a circle dove in, and a scream ripped from her throat again as they attacked, fed from her fear, crawled into her mind and left her sobbing in a heap. Smirking, he left them at it, stretching as he admired their work... oh, he'd trained them so well.

After minutes of her sobs and pleads for mercy, for it to stop, for it to end, he shooed them away and scooped her up in his arms, and she clung to him, like she did in her nightmares, and he chuckled. It was one thing taking a woman's mind, but another completely to have the woman herself. He would enjoy himself.

"North!" the silver haired boy cried, wandering through the Pole, looking for the behemoth Russian. He'd come as soon as he could, flying up on the wind to find the man and talk to him about his daughter. It had struck Jack that Sarah had been incredibly secretive about her problems, but the one thing that stuck out was her fear of Pitch, the fact that she'd been so disengaged from the conversation, so unattached to everything that was going on about her, transfixed by nothing, really. For someone who had such a downright jolly father, she seemed awfully depressed, and it didn't sit right with him.

The young Guardian rapped his knuckles against the door to Norths' office and entered when the man shouted for him to come in. Blue eyes met and the older man jumped up, beaming at him and pulling him into a gruff fatherly hug. He could sort of see why Sarah had been so upset with him, he'd never once seen North hug her on the rare occasion he'd been over and the two North's had been in the same room.

"Jack! What brings you to the Pole?" he asked, his voice loud and cheery, and he felt strange feeling so serious when North was acting as if nothing in the world could go wrong in the world. They were at complete opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, and Jack felt determined to bring North closer to his end.

"North, I'm worried about Sarah," he started, and instantly the cheerful demeanour of the old man dissipated, and his bright eyes darkened, as if he already knew what he was about to say. A flicker of worry crossed his expression, and he glanced over the shorter boys shoulder.

"Is she not with you?" he asked quietly, and Jack shook his head.

"Not right now... North, I think somethings wrong with her, she was asking me about Pitch."

North heaved a sigh and sat down on the corner of his desk, reaching one arm up and running a hand through his hair, scratching his head as he considered the issue the boy had brought up with him. Of course he knew Sarah had problems with Pitch, it was obvious. No child had nightmares so frequently, and he had been searching into finding out how to stop them for years. Sandy hadn't had much luck... it was disturbing to know how warped his daughters mind was. Apparently even in the most blissful of sleeps, she had shadowy corners of her mind. Whatever Pitch had done to her, he had left deep emotional scars, and he grit his teeth as a million sinister possibilities raced through his mind, and his fists clenched and his knuckles turned white as he thought about what he'd do to the Nightmare King if he ever managed to get hold of him.

"What has she asked you?" he asked Jack slowly, looking up from under his bushy grey eyebrows at the teen who looked like a concerned brother. Like himself, Jacks' brow was knotted tightly, his eyes darker than usual, his normal crooked smile fixed into a surly frown. It didn't sit well with either of them.

"How I got over my fears, but I don't think I helped, I told her they were just bad thoughts, it was nothing to be afraid of."

"How did she take it?"

"Not well," Jack admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "she said she was just having nightmares, but when I tried to get her to talk about it she said it was nothing and rushed off all upset."

North considered this, then his eyes narrowed and his head cocked to the side.

"She... rushed off. Where?" he asked, and Jack shot him a confused glance before sticking both of his hands in his hoody pocket.

"Here, I think," he muttered, looking out of the door he came through to the workshop where they Yeti were tinkering away, and elves were running around causing havoc with fairy lights and by knocking toys over. There was no sign of Sarah anywhere, and there was no indication she'd been back. She hadn't come to tell North she was home, and the older man gulped as he pulled one of his swords free of its sheath and walked out of his office and down the hall, Jack on his heels.

"I have bad feeling," the Russian muttered, looking sideways to Jack whose jaw was tense and eyes focused ahead. "In my belly."

They reached Sarah's room, and while North readjusted his grip on his sword Jack gripped his staff tighter. Slowly the older Guardian reached his hand out and turned the knob, and pushed the door open gently. If Sarah was inside, he didn't want to terrify her... but as it was, the room was empty. It was cold... and though the curtains were thrown wide open and the light was streaming through, it seemed dark. He could hear the slither of shadows in the room, and his blood froze as he looked around. Dark shadows seemed to shiver in the corners of the room, whispers of tiny, evil voices sounded out, taunting them both, and the pair narrowed their eyes.

Suddenly, a loud snort sounded, making both the men jump, and from under the bed a black nightmare stallion charged at them. They had but seconds to react, but they were quick enough, Jack blasting ice out at the attacking nightmare, and North whipped his sword arm around, slicing through the frozen monster and shattering it upon contact.

They entered the room then, and the shadows seeped away, the room returned to normal, except there was no sign of Sarah, and the nightmare beneath the bed was enough to tell the Guardians that Pitch was definitely part of this. The Russian approached his daughters bed, looking at the sheets which were crumpled. She never made her bed, but now he was faced with the prospect that Pitch had his baby, and depending on his intentions, she may never sleep in the bed again... never return to the Pole... he may never have his daughter back.

Clenching the fist not gripping the sword, he slammed it into the bedpost, anger swelling in him, and he shouted out in blind rage;

"derr`mo!"