A/N: I changed something; did you notice? 8D;;


The air was still.

Clouds swirled slowly overhead, warm golden light diffusing through their soft thickness.

Jack sat in the middle of an endless lake, resting cross-legged on the surface as though it were made of glass. He could see fish swimming below; he could feel them as they passed, each one pulling him almost magnetically. He longed to join them, to swim in the crisp, clear water, and to feel the delightful chill on his skin.

He raised a chalk-white hand and dipped his fingertips into the yielding water. It felt cold, like he'd expected; but too cold, the wrong cold. He tried to pull his fingers from the water but they were stuck there as though in ice.

Night approached in a matter of minutes. The overcast sky turned dark and the edges closed in, like a cavernous star-studded ceiling above him.

He whipped his head around, looking for anything or anyone to help him. The second time he looked behind, he saw a forest had suddenly appeared there. It was dark; all he could make out were the silhouettes of trees. It was gloomy, but natural, and he could tell that it belonged.

A dark shape advanced from the forest. A huge wolf lumbered towards him, stepping out onto the surface of the water. Ripples spread towards Jack, breaking gently against him.

Jack realized it had been snowing, silent and soft, everywhere except the patch he himself occupied; as soon as became aware of it, the snow started falling too thickly to see the wolf clearly. Silvery-gold eyes peered at him through the softly dropping curtain, waiting.

After a moment's hesitation, Jack touched his free hand to the powdery wall, stopping the huge flakes midair. He brushed a handful away, revealing the wolf's face. He beckoned it into his snow-free patch, and it entered.

It circled him, looking sadly at his hand frozen in place. It came to a stop behind him, laying down and allowing Jack to lean against its warm fur. Jack sighed. It was comfortable, and he felt he could sleep happily here, but the mystery of what lay beyond the snowy curtains would not let him.

"Can you help me leave here?" He asked. The wolf lifted its head, looking worried.

"It's ok," Jack reassured it, though slightly disappointed; "You can stay in your forest." It rose, coming to stand at his side. Jack felt his hand come free, and he examined the frosty residue that spread from his fingertips to his palm. His eyes focused behind his hand, seeing that the snow was falling sparsely enough to see through; but before he could make anything out, a sound came from beside him.

"No", said the wolf. "We will go together." And, with the wolf pressed warmly against Jack's side, they slipped headfirst into the lake.


Jack gasped, opening his eyes to dim light and sitting up so quickly he whanged his head on the stone above him. He groaned, looking around; he was in some sort of niche cut into the library wall, cushioned on thick furs and surrounded by more blankets of the same.

The night before came rushing back, jarring him. He felt sick and afraid, feeling the truth he'd learned looming over him, larger than him, larger than anything he knew. He clutched the fur in his hands, feeling its warmth through his cold fingers. Yes, he knew it was true; he knew as soon as it was said, that it was right.

That was what scared him.

He was old. Older than old. And although he'd been worried before at his loss of memory, this went beyond worried. This was a brain-punching sort of 'How could I forget three-hundred years?!' that left him sitting in an incredulous fog... for a few minutes, at least. He shook it off.

He supposed he'd always been able to recover quickly.

'Besides', he thought, 'being in shock is boring. I want to test out my Old Dude legs!'

He hopped lightly from the alcove, taking the first few steps gingerly. He wasn't sure where Pitch was at the moment, but he didn't want him to come running because he knew his guest was up and about. He plodded around as quietly as he could manage before deciding that was lame, and opted instead to do whatever he pleased.

He began climbing the nearest bookshelf, noting the lack of dust on the thick wooden planks set expertly into the stone wall. He felt as though he weighed naught at all and lifted himself with ease until he was near the ceiling. He found a gap with no books and sat for a moment, surveying the dark room from above.

It was only in this new vantage that he spotted Pitch. He was sleeping in the large chair, head lolled slightly to one side, lean arms resting in his lap. He looked so peaceful, Jack thought... but a little part of him knew that this particular man was never truly at peace.

Lately Jack knew how that felt, as that tiny bit of him kept acting like it knew things he didn't, like it held all the answers he needed but wasn't telling. He felt that agitating sensation strongly when next he found himself wondering if Pitch was dreaming, and what his dreams were like and if they were good, and that little part kept urging No, no, no, he doesn't, he can't, they aren't, how could they be.

He felt such pity in that moment. Such a terrible, horrible wash of sadness and solidarity. He pitied himself, though he didn't know why, and he pitied Pitch, feeling that he did.

He almost wanted to laugh at how sad he felt for that short time. It was absurd. Everything about this was absurd. Not for the first time since waking with a relatively fresh head wound, he relied on his capacity to shunt annoying feelings to the back of his mind. He was not one to brood.

Looking at Pitch from so high up, Jack had the sudden giddy urge to jump from the shelves, feeling like he might just drift down and land near him like a feather on the wind. It was a strange thought; he recalled the day before, though, and wondered if maybe it was not so curious after all.

He gazed down at the sleeping man. He said he was old, too; much older than Jack.

He also said they'd known each other. Jack tightened his grip on the shelf. Maybe together, they could piece together his memories? He moved to climb down, pausing at the slick of frost that had appeared under his palm. It wasn't that cold in here, was it?

No matter. He descended from the wall, intent on hearing a little more from his host.


Pitch jolted. Although recently he'd felt more tired than usual and had attempted it, he didn't often sleep, and for a moment wondered why the fire had suddenly gone out. He rubbed at his sore neck and yawned, thinking absently about relighting the half-burnt logs in the hearth, and turned to direct a small smile to Jack's current sleeping nook.

He blinked. Jack was gone. Well, no matter, he probably just went to sleep in a proper room. He'd come back when he wanted to.

In the meantime, Pitch rose to light the fire. He thrust a new log into the midst of the ash along with a handful of kindle, carefully placing every piece. Small tasks such as this kept him busy during the long days and nights spent in his lair, and he always gave it his full attention. Soon he had constructed it to his liking, and pulled a match from his cuff.

'Where do you keep getting those?'

Pitch twirled it in his long fingers and struck it quickly against the stone hearth, tossing it under the sticks. He leaned back, still crouching, watching the flames spread.

"It's a shadow thing."

"What is?" Pitch spun around, rising to his feet in the same instant. Jack was sitting cross-legged on the back of Pitch's chair, watching him.

"Hh-! When..!" Pitch sputtered. He was used to being the one watching from the shadows, not the other way around. It felt... creepy.

Kozmotis 'hmm'd' thoughtfully.

Jack wiggled his toes, grinning shyly. "Sorry! I thought it would be funny. You took a while to wake up, though..." He stretched his legs out with a tiny 'crick!' noise and began clambering down off the tall-backed chair.

Pitch was taken aback by this, and it obviously showed on his face because Jack immediately asked, "What's up?"

The grey spirit didn't answer right away, but he closed his mouth when he realized it was open slightly. He frowned, thinking.

"Afraid you talked in your sleep or something?" Jack's grin widened.

"It simply took me by surprise that you didn't... float." Pitch wondered if it was wise to say this so bluntly, but decided if he treated the claim as normally as possible, Jack might be more inclined to believe it. 'Doesn't hurt to try... unless he kicks you again,' Kozmotis joked.

"What? Float?" Jack looked quickly at his feet, most likely remembering the fiasco from the day before. He gave Pitch an oddly pensive look, crossing his arms and waiting for him to continue. This was unexpected; Pitch had foreseen a little more trepidation on Jack's part, but he wasn't going to question it. This whole thing had been difficult enough already.

"You've always liked to, ah, perch in high places, Jack, but I've never seen you climb there." Pitch folded his arms, grasping his chin with long fingers. "Maybe this is where we shall start."

Jack stared serenely, seeming to accept this small factoid about himself easily.

'Perhaps he's already discovered that,' Mused Kozmotis, as Pitch's keen eyes caught the unmistakable glint of frost, several meters up on the bookshelves.


A/N: Ooh, what's this? Jack's coming to his senses a little bit? It's about time ;)