"What were you expecting?" Jack's face is practically pink with laughter as he watches horror mar the Nightmare King's face. "You've been to one of these before, haven't you?"
Of course, Pitch thinks with growing panic, golden eyes burning from all of the red and green and less of everything in between which was thrown all about the workshop. But by God, it had never been this awful. The old Cossack has made things so much worse over the centuries.
First, the decorations. If North had a pet dragon specifically kept for Christmas, it is as if the wretched beast has thrown up a decade's worth of decorations on the walls. Tinsel and garlands, blinking lights and glittering ornaments, oh, and the bells. The goddamn bells. They jingle every time someone walks by them, and although it might sound like background noise to the guests who have been coming here for years, to Pitch, they are like nails on a chalkboard—and he usually likes that sound when he does it. But not here. Never here.
Then there is the food. No. Absolutely not. He will not partake in that infested feast of hors d'oeuvres. There are elves crawling all over the place; undoubtedly they have run their grimy little fingers – and worse, their tongues – all over the cookies, and oh, look, there is a small pack of them lapping up eggnog from the main bowl like dogs. Never, not ever. He will not eat, not even as Jack tugs him through the crowd saying that he's hungry and that Phil's gingersnaps are to die for.
Oh, the crowd. Right. The crowd. Spirits and elementals from every corner of the globe. Nymphs and satyrs and centaurs and elves – the tall, elegant kind, not these stunted little pests. They're everywhere. Pitch knows that North cleans up his workshop for this party after Christmas is over: puts away the raw materials, stores the paints, pushes the worktables together and gets extra benches out of storage for people to sit at. He has been to one of these. But he cannot stand it. There are beings strutting merrily about, here on the first floor, there on the second, leaning on balconies, perched in the rafters, flying this way and that conversationally. He can even see dark spirits like himself – witches, warlocks, dark elves, tengu, even an incubus or two. This is absolutely ridiculous.
"Pitch?"
He's going to kill this brat. "What?"
"Food. C'mon!"
"Never," he hisses, yanking his hand out of the pale grasp he utterly craved. "Do you know what those elves do to it? Have you seen—look! He's licking it! Right there!"
Jack reaches up soothingly and puts a hand on his cheek. For a minute, Pitch's mind goes blank. Taking his hand to guide him somewhere in public is one thing; this, however, is open affection, almost an admission of their togetherness. Pitch doesn't really care or mind. He'd clear off a table and take Jack on it in front of all prying eyes just to show his claim. Well, maybe not. But he'd leave love bites all over his neck—yes, maybe he should have done that before they came here. Actually, it's not too late—
"You're looking at the wrong table," Jack coos, eyes glistening happily as the shade leans into his touch. "The elves can't go upstairs today. North puts the real snacks up there for the guests, and the main meal will be in the village. You know, that great hall he has?"
Pitch vaguely recalls it from long ago when he had raided that same village. Something about children and a bear. But the memory is foggy as he takes Jack's hand, twining their fingers together. Jack looks surprised, and Pitch wonders if the youth really doesn't want to display their relationship in public. However, those white fingers tighten over his a second later, and he looks so happy, so Pitch supposes that they can do whatever they want.
They make their way upstairs and find a long line of tables filled with the same foods that are on the ones downstairs, and more. Jack holds out a cannoli. Pitch blinks a few times before sighing, because perhaps he maybe sort of wants to try a few things. After all, that tiramisu over there looks delectable. He munches on a few things, sips eggnog, and when Jack wanders off to talk to familiar faces, he leans over the balcony to watch the festivities.
The center of the magnificent room is left open for dancing, which has been going on since they got there. He admits that as useless as they are in all other aspects, the little elves can make such merry music. He taps his fingers to the beat and watches couples twirl and lines form, weaving in and out, whilst others clap and laugh.
It's not…entirely awful. Ages upon ages ago, he'd have left as soon as he set foot inside the door. Yet now, despite the noise and the colors and the crowdedness, the Workshop has a charming sort of warmth to it. It is familial. This feeling is familiar too. He cannot recall from where he has felt it, but it is pleasant enough. He supposes that the only reason he has great tolerance for any of this is because Jack hangs out around him all the time. Or…is it he who hangs out around Jack? The youth has him wrapped around his finger, just about. Pitch is certain he'd do anything for that little winter sprite.
"Well, well, well," a familiar voice drawls. "Look what the Frost dragged in."
Pitch rolls his eyes. "Ah, yes, how clever. The Frost, I get it. And how are you, Bunnymund?"
The Pooka looks as tall and furry as ever. "I'm alright, thanks fer askin'. S'ppose I ought to return the question."
"But you won't."
"Actually, I will. How are you, Pitch?"
Pitch Black is thrown and disturbed at the same time. He backs up and bumps into a couple of spirits who are trying to guess who will get what in the white elephant gift exchange later. They are good-natured and say it's no problem when he mumbles an apology, so he centers his attention on Bunny, who is looking fairly amused right now. That is the shocking thing. Usually, when they encounter one another, the furry spirit has a sneer or a scowl of contempt wrinkling his nose and lighting up his eyes. Or a smirk of triumph, like thirty years ago. But now, he seems calm and genuine with his question to Pitch's health.
It is stunning, really. It is also very uncomfortable. "I…am well enough. I won't beat around the bush. I don't understand what's going on here."
More amusement. "A post-Christmas party, mate."
"No, no," Pitch hisses, clenching his cup in one hand. "This—you. Why? Explain. I'm here for answers. Jack has not told me much of anything—"
"You got Jack to talk about that?" Bunny says, green eyes opening wide. "Kudos to you."
"Wrong. I am unaware of what that is. Something happened between the lot of you and I'm only here to get my answers."
"What for?"
"I'm curious," he deadpans.
"Naw. We know, see. 'Bout the both of ya."
Pitch pales with embarrassment, but Bunny waves the look away.
"It's alright. Can't say we were happy at first, but given the circumstances, I think it's turned out alright." Ah, there is that smirk. "And you seem alright with him too, judging by that scent which is clinging to ya. How many times did you do it before coming here?"
A scream of bewilderment builds up in Pitch's throat, and he jerks violently, sloshing a bit of eggnog on the bannister. "All I am here for is answers."
"And Jack."
"No." A frown. "Perhaps. If you would be so kind as to tell me what—"
"Pitch!" North booms, clomping down some stairs with a delicate glass of sparkling juice in his giant paw. "Aha! There you are! I've been looking for you."
This is getting out of hand. Pitch gives the man a look that says no, he does not want to be hugged. North returns the look with one that says too bad, and catches him up in a jovial embrace. At least it's one-armed. Pitch suffers gracefully as he is put down, and even manages to take a cool sip of his eggnog with the air of a king. "North."
"Is good Jack brings you here," the Cossack says with a knowing smile.
"It was my decision to come here," snaps the disgruntled shadow. "He had no influence."
"What were you just saying about answers?" Bunny says wryly.
Pitch almost hisses at him to shut up, but it is too late. North understands the comment and his brow furrows with concern. "Ah. That. Yes. Well, I suppose you are wondering what it is you are doing here. Awake."
He has been wondering for months. "An excellent deduction."
North looks pleased with himself, the fat fool. "Isn't it? But about the answers you are wanting, I'm afraid I can't give them."
Why is he not surprised? "I figured as much. No matter. I did not expect any of you to be of any help. There are more ways to find out what's happened than through mere words." Speaking of which, Jack is suddenly there, laughing as he ends a conversation from behind him before turning his attention to the shade.
"Pitch, I—oh, hey."
Those words speak volumes. For one, they are casual. Perhaps a little sheepish, but that might be because he feels as though he has just interrupted an "adult conversation". But the words are also very light, no awkwardness there. Therefore, Jack does not have a problem with these two particular Guardians. For some reason, Pitch is glad for this. He loves it when Jack clings to him, cries quietly into his chest, trusts him alone. But that is when Jack is hurting, and when Jack hurts, Pitch hurts, oddly enough.
He thinks it is odd, at least.
"How've ya been, squirt?" Bunny asks.
"M'good." Jack clings to Pitch's arm though, making him doubt himself on his own interpretation of the winter spirit's previous words. "How're things coming along for Easter?"
"Well enough. Got some new designs I'm trying out on the eggs. If you'd like, you can come by the Warren sometime and tell me what you think…?" Hesitant, as though it's been a while since Jack has come by for a visit.
From the young spirit's shy smile, Pitch takes that as a yes. "Okay. Sure, I'll come by."
Pitch spies an opportunity on the first floor. His heart twists for an unknown reason, for he is going to take meaningful steps to learn where Jack stands with the others. He takes a chance and brushes some hair away from those beautiful, frost blue eyes. "Don't you find it odd that there are no candy canes up here?"
He is well aware of the surprise on the Guardians' faces. Jack is only momentarily stunned before he grins widely and agrees. "Yeah, North! What is up with that? You put the candy canes down there where all the elves could get at them."
North reddens at his mistake. "Was tiny mistake. I had bigger things to worry about."
Jack glances up at his companion. "What's it matter? You want one?"
"Perhaps," Pitch says. "But until I have one, yours will have to do." He playfully snatches the powerful cane from slender fingers. Jack laughs brightly, plants a kiss on his cheek, and trudges to the stairs to fetch him a substitute so the hostage can be returned.
"My God."
Well, time to bear the brunt of their insults. "Do you have something to say?"
"Naw," Bunny chuckles. "Not a thing." North looks like he's trying to contain his laughter, but some sort of puff of air escapes his lips and he has to walk away before any more sound can come out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Pitch watches Jack weave slowly through the crowd. "I'm surprised that you haven't tried to hit me yet. I honestly doubt that whatever happened between all of you was enough to make you forget centuries of conflict with me."
Bunny's ears twitch. "No one's forgotten. And as I already said, we weren't really okay with it at first. But you don't have your full powers anymore, fer one. And two, Jack's changed you."
"This is the second time you've seen me since my awakening," Pitch snorts. "What makes you think I've changed?"
Then it happens. Down below, the encounter he was hoping for happens. Two figures lock eyes over the elf-contaminated dessert table. Pitch ignores Bunny entirely and gives his attention to Jack's reaction.
The young man stares and stares, while the bird stops flying and sets her tiny feet on the smooth wood of the floor. Then she says something, very brief, very polite. Jack's response is shorter. His frame is tense, rigid, and he snatches a handful of candy canes from a pile and backs away from the table. Tooth is in his face in a flash, her mouth spilling forth words in rapid succession, so fast that Jack can only stand there in stunned silence. When she finishes, Jack staggers and bows his head. He says something very softly, but Pitch can read his lips: "I have to think about it."
Then he walks away.
Bunny drags Pitch away from the edge of balcony with a scowl. "You did that on purpose."
"I did," he confesses. "I don't expect answers from any of you. He is not willing to tell me yet. I will wait for him to speak, but that does not mean that I can't do things to further my own investigation. Will you deny me this?"
"That was cruel, what you did."
"Was it? Don't you want whatever this is to end? Don't you want to have him in the same room as the rest of you so you can laugh around hot drinks and tell one another how your day was? Don't you?"
Pitch wonders if it is what he wants too.
Bunny stares at him, ears flattened with contemplation. Then his eyes narrow almost comically, and he sighs heavily. "Fine. But if you…push too hard…"
"Please, Bunnymund," Pitch drawls. "I know how to push people to their boundaries best of all. But…I will try my best."
Jack returns at that moment, leaning heavily on the shade. He mumbles something about the candy canes and pushes them weakly into Pitch's open palm. Once he has his staff back, he manages a smile at Bunny. "Hey, I need a breath of air. See you at dinner?"
"Sure," Bunny says, and he and Pitch watch Jack float up and out the open skylight. "You should probably take him home." As Pitch nods faintly and steps towards one mercifully dark corner of shadows, Bunny adds, "Oh, and don't forget the goodie bag."
"…The what?"
The Pooka points with a maniacal grin to a tree that Pitch can't believe he missed. There are stockings hung everywhere on it, all different colors and shapes. Pitch stares and stares and says, "No" while Bunny cries "Yes" with undeniable glee.
"They have names on them, so find yours and Jack's and get outta here. I'll make excuses to North for you, but he'll understand." A beat. "Go on. It's calling you."
"Oh, shut up." Pitch sinks into the shadows and pops up in a corner down by the wretched tree. It takes him less than a minute to find their stockings, and he snatches them off their branches and holds them up reluctantly for Bunny to see. Bunny chuckles approvingly and gestures to the skylight. Pitch sinks into darkness once more and finds his wintery companion sitting on the edge of the roof.
Jack curls into himself even further when he feels Pitch approach, and when a shadowy hand brushes his shoulder, he slaps it away. "Don't."
Pitch sits down beside him. "Jack. What's wrong?"
"Don't bullshit me. You saw her. You set me up."
"How was I to know she would be down there?"
Jack throws his hands in the air and invades his space, their noses nearly touching. Pitch thinks Jack's eyes are rather beautiful when he's furious, so he nearly misses what he says.
"You said you would wait until I was ready for you to talk."
"I will wait," Pitch reassures him, trying to cup his face, but he leans out of reach.
"No, you'll just back me into a corner until I crack and come crying to you. That's not waiting, Pitch. That's handling me, and I don't want that. Shit, can't believe I thought this thing might have worked out too!"
"Thing?" Pitch inquires too gently. When did he grow so soft, so sympathetic to the spirit's pain? "I'm only doing this because I'm worried about you. It hurts to see you like this."
"Newsflash, buddy: there's no need. We're not friends. We're not lovers. We're just two people who got lonely and hook up sometimes."
It is a cruel, vicious stab at Pitch's heart, and he imagines that a void is forming again in him, a void he thought he had filled with fear and Jack. "You're blowing this out of proportion. I think that if you talk about it, things will get better."
"You—you! What the hell would you know? You're just a shadow I dug up to get back at them! You don't get to give a shit about me, because you're nothing to me!"
The void really does threaten to open itself.
Pitch watches him hurdle himself off the roof and race away through the sky until he is but a speck against the Man in the Moon's gleaming light. Ah. The Lunanoff brat. Pitch scowls at him, but then gives up the expression for something a little more world weary. The words that had been spit with loathing hurt more than Pitch is willing to admit, and he has lost all respect for himself right now as he gazes up at the satellite.
"Well?" he murmurs. "Perhaps you did not need the Guardians to put me in my place every time. All you needed was the boy. If you had sent him to me, he'd have brought about my downfall singlehandedly. Congratulations."
His heart aches and he does not know why.
The answer comes in a soft whisper that he has not heard in a few decades. When it graces his ears, he blinks and squints at the home of the young royal. Then, after a moment of consideration, he stands, clutching the party favors. "Don't think I have changed too much, old friend."
The Man in the Moon does not respond again, but his words are still ringing in Pitch's head, throbbing in his breast, branding themselves onto his heart. It is the truth, which is why, when he thinks of Jack, everything hurts all the more, especially the painful acknowledgement that he and Jack Frost have just had their first fight. The unfortunate chances are that it will not be their last.
