Jack was getting really sick of passing out.

Before Pitch had kidnapped him, he had never passed out before, or at least, not that he could remember. But now, Jack had lost count of how many times he had been knocked unconscious, and to be frank, he was tired of it.

So when he woke up in an armchair in the middle of Pitch's study- even though he could have sworn he was being tortured just a few moments ago- Jack groaned exasperatedly. At the noise, Pitch's head snapped up next to the arm rest, making Jack jump.

"Good, you're awake. I was almost beginning to worry," he said casually, whipping out a long stretch of gauze and twirling it around his fingers.

Jack jerked his head to give Pitch an evil glare, but instantly regretted the decision, finding himself painfully dizzy. His head felt like it had been cracked open like an eggshell, and the contents of his stomach were threatening to spill out of him.

Almost as if Pitch were reading his mind, he said "Don't you dare vomit on this chair, boy."

Jack swallowed.

"What happened?" He croaked, his throat soar and tired. He could barely manage the words.

"You," Pitch said, still winding out more gauze, "Were stupid enough to get captured, and tortured. I was thoughtful enough to come and rescue you."

Jack was trying to concentrate on his breathing, letting his dehydrated lungs drink the air, and settle his nausea. "You… saved me?"

Pitch nodded, busily trying not to look Jack in the eye as Jack so keenly observed.

Nodding contently, Jack leaned back in his chair, and griped, "Took you long enough."

Was that a smile Jack detected on Pitch's face? Before he could be sure, it was gone, and Pitch was standing over Jack with fistfuls of gauze in his hands. He leaned over, and Jack followed him with his eyes, gazing at the bloody wounds that were now cleaned, but still deep and grotesque. Pitch seemed unbothered by this as he gently, but firmly, wrapped the bandages around Jack's pale flesh, sending shivers up Jack's spine.

"Why?" Jack suddenly pondered aloud. Wrapping his arm slowly, Pitch almost seemed reluctant to answer, but in the end, he decided to use his fallback excuse.

"Because I still need you."

"Is that it?"

Normally, Pitch would respond with something snarky, or suggestive, making Jack's cheeks burn crimson. But today, as Pitch tended to the boy, he went for a more practical retort.

"That's it."

He should've known that Jack wasn't going to give in that easily

"I don't think that's true," Jack pushed.

"Regardless of what you think, I rescued you because you are still quite valuable to me." Pitch countered, using a rag to wipe the crusted blood from his fingers elegantly. Pitch was the only person Jack knew that could clean blood from his hands in such a way. "I needed you. I wasn't going to let you die on my watch."

Instead of just agreeing for the sake of the argument, Jack decided not to respond, silently refusing to let the subject go. Pitch stuck a pin through the wrappings, sealing them in place.

"These will scar," Pitch said.

Jack shrugged.

"I don't care."

Jack was surprised to see Pitch purse his lips together bitterly, before he turned away, almost as if he were indicating that he cared… almost like Jack's indifferent attitude about his own safety bothered him.

"So," Jack approached tentatively, "those men… they know you're alive now."

"Yes," Pitch replied curtly.

"What will they do to you?"

"You mean if they catch me?" he said with a cocky tone, "Which they won't. I taught them everything there is to know about the art of disappearance. I know all their tricks and tactics."

"But, if they do catch you…"

Jack's words faded off, and Pitch let the silence drift for a moment, putting various medical items back in the first aid kit, and snapping it shut.

"… did it hurt? When they tortured you?" he finally asked, his voice soft, but pressing. Jack blinked before he nodded, watching Pitch's lips turn up into a sad, but somewhat psychotic smile.

"It was child's play. They were toying with you. Those men could squeeze every drop of blood out of you like a wet dishrag, and still keep you alive long enough to feel the worst pain you've ever felt. They are skilled in the practice of killing slowly. It could've gone on for days… weeks even… You received the very tip of the iceberg."

Jack didn't really want to dwell on the prospect of weeks of torture. However, he couldn't suppress the violent shudders, or the sudden sting of his wounds.

"Let that be the answer to your question; which is exactly why they aren't going to catch me."

"Then this deal you made for me," Jack thought out loud, "It must be pretty important if you would risk your life to keep me alive."

Pitch grumbled something incoherent as a response, turning his back to Jack as he stored the medical kit away in an upper cabinet.

"So, it only begs the question… what could you want to trade for so badly, that you would risk your life for it?"

Jack was trying to be gentle with his words, because he knew this subject was a touchy one for Pitch. The last time they spoke of what Jack was being traded for had left the boy choking for air; so Jack was cautious with his tone, hoping to come across as less of a threat. It was like baiting a dangerous wild cat.

It was obvious that Pitch knew what Jack was trying to do, but he had to admire the boy's efforts. He turned to face him, his gold eyes gleaming dangerously.

"That's still none of your concern."

Jack held up his hands in defeat, not daring to press further than that. Maybe another day, but if he continued to question Pitch now, it would only end badly. He looked down at his wrapped arms, and tried to bring them back down to his sides, but was met with another wave of pain.

"Ow!" he cried. Pitch leaned forward, clicking his tongue shamefully.

"Try not to move them too much. The cuts are more serious than they seem. Just be thankful that you still have your arms."

Jack peered at Pitch through a haze of lashes.

"How did you get to me so fast?" Jack questioned, cocking his head to the side like a curious child, "I mean, you were outside the building… How did you know I was being tortured?"

Pitch let out a pompous snort, easing back into that same familiar sense of superiority he was so comfortable with.

"I was already in the building, Jack. You're screams could be heard from the other side."

"… Why were you in the building? When we planned this, you said you would wait for me outside…?"

Pitch raised an eyebrow, the smile plastered onto his smug face. Jack felt like he was missing something big here…

"What… what were you doing?" he asked.

"I was doing my job," Pitch responded.

Jack gave Pitch a serious look of confusion, shaking his head stupidly.

"No, I was doing your job."

"Oh? And how did that work out?"

Jack let his mouth open; his words prepared to dribble out, when he froze, and retracted, feeling ashamed.

"Ah," Pitch pointed out, dragging another chair from the table over to sit next to Jack, who was now refusing to meet his eyes. He felt like he should defend himself; after all, there had been little chance that Jack would make it out alive, much less escape with the necklace. Nevertheless, Jack had failed his first mission. Pitch had put faith in him, and Jack let him down.

Jack felt like he cared a little bit too much about what Pitch thought of him, but Pitch didn't need to know that. So the boy sat there quietly, fuming in his own guilt.

"Don't beat yourself up, Jack," Pitch said in a toying tone. Jack didn't understand why he wasn't upset. "It was your first time. Besides, the necklace really wasn't all that important."

Jack scoffed incredulously, "What do you mean, 'not important'? Isn't every client you get important? Won't this one be a little upset that you didn't get them what they asked for?"

That stupid, arrogant expression on Pitch's face only increased Jack's frustration. He realized Pitch enjoyed watching him dance when, clearly, the grey man knew something that Jack did not. Pitch reached into his jacket pocket, and withdrew something on the end of a string with a look of satisfaction.

Jack gazed at it curiously. It was a small vile filled to the top with what looked like black sand, and it shimmered as it hit the light of the fire. Pitch cradled it in his palm preciously.

"I-I don't know what that is," Jack hissed obviously, trying to coax Pitch into telling him what exactly he was missing.

"This, my dear boy, is what's left of Mond Kniaso's dream sand: very rare and very valuable. These grains of sand could give you the best dreams, or the worst nightmares, that you've ever had."

Jack curled his lips inwards, and glared at Pitch with confused disdain.

"Okay… what does that have to do with anything?"

Pitch sighed.

"While you were tromping around the building, keeping the men distracted, I slipped inside another way, and nicked this. I figured that you and your mediocre thieving skills – at best! - would keep them distracted long enough that I could do the job without being detected. This-" he held the vile up high, "is what I really needed. This was the real treasure, not some obnoxious expensive necklace. So, to answer your question Jack, my client will be very, very pleased."

Jack gawked at Pitch stupidly for a moment or two, letting himself really drink in what Pitch was telling him, before he lunged for the grey man's neck angrily.

"You mean to tell me, that all this was for A DISTRACTION?" he yelled, "Being tortured was something to keep my capturers OCCUPIED, while you gallivanted off around the building like a fairy collecting sand?!"

He scratched, and clawed at Pitch, the pain searing in his arms only reminding him of his rage. He did all that work, just so that Pitch could get a free pass in. "You lying, cheating scumbag!"

"JACK!" Pitch yelled powerfully, forcing Jack to turn his head, and notice that he hadn't even reached Pitch. Pitch had snagged his wrists before he could dig his fingernails into his skin vengefully, keeping him at bay.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Jack continued loudly, "I don't know what part of my stupid mind thought, for even a moment, that I could trust you!"

"Jack, your wounds-" Pitch started, pointing out that Jacks fresh gauze was now dripping with blood from being overexcited, "you need to relax!"

"I don't want to relax! I- I want to kill you! I want… I want…" he slowly faded off as his blood pressure lowered, the corners of his eyes beginning to fade again. He weakly fought against the darkness.

"You've lost too much blood. Perhaps you should save killing me until after you've recovered."

"Who's going to 'try'?" Jack gurgled, "I'm going to kill you, Pitch. You did this to me."

Jack was fighting so hard to stay conscious, determined to stay awake for once. Pitch's lulling voice wasn't really helping his cause.

"I know, Jack, I know."

"And you don't… you don't even feel bad for… f-for what you did," Jack stammered weakly, "You would p-probably do it all again if you had to."

Something cool was pressed against Jack's lips and it smelled sweet. "Drink," Pitch commanded, "You'll feel better."

Jack obliged, letting the delicious liquid flow past his lips, and over his taste buds. It was cool and refreshing, clearly his mind, and bringing him back to reality almost immediately. As his vision refocused, he saw it was some form of medicine, and he swallowed graciously before sitting up and propping his now bloody arms back on the arm rests.

"We'll need to re- bandage those," Pitch said, eyeing the blood wearily.

"I don't care about the stupid bandages," Jack snapped.

"You should care, it's your life."

"Well you seem to care about my life more than I do," he retorted, "Maybe I should've died back there, and saved you the trouble. You were probably planning on letting me die anyways, until you remembered that I was worth something to you."

As expected, Pitch slammed the first aid kit back down onto the table, and stormed over to where Jack was sitting. This time, Jack didn't back down from Pitch's anger. He knew the effect his words would have, and was prepared for whatever wrath came his way.

"I told you to never talk like that!" Pitch snarled, leaning forwards, and pressing his fingertips into the armrests tensely; though obviously being careful not to touch Jack's wounds, "Ever!"

Jack met him halfway, equally as defensive, "Why, Pitch? Why does it matter if I talk about my own death? Why should that bother you, seeing as you're the one who almost got me killed?"

"I don't have to answer to you, boy!"

"Well, then I'm just going to keep prying, because I hate not being answered!"

The two stood there, rage and frustration steaming off them like hot broilers, threatening to overheat.

Then, Pitch grabbed Jack by the small of his back, pressing their torsos together, and kissed him.

Jack was surprised to say the very least. His head was still dizzy with anger, but now that Pitch's lips were pressed to his own, he wasn't really sure what to do. Attempting to push past the confusion, Jack was trying to come to terms with what was happening, and once he finally did, his anger melted like hot ice. Instinctively, he threw his arms around the man's torso, tilting his head back so as to lean into the kiss better. Pitch growled appreciatively, moving a warm hand up to cup Jack's neck. Tongues danced across teeth and intertwined passionately, and Jack sighed, letting himself get lost in the absolute pleasure that swept him away like a strong gust of wind. The warmth, the excitement… Jack wanted to drown in Pitch. That would be a wonderful way to die, he decided.

Pitch's grip might have been painfully constricting if Jack had been paying attention to pain. All he could feel was pure desire ricocheting through his body like an electric shock, pulsating with each shared breath between kisses. Pitch's lips were hungry and eager, yet loving and tender, as they devoured Jack's. Neither of them realized they had been moving backwards until Jack's heel ran into a wall. He stopped walking, but did not part from Pitch until the grey man made the first move. He parted unwillingly, and Jack unintentionally leaned against the solid brick, requiring something to support himself with. As he moved backwards, Pitch moved forwards, as if drawn to Jack like a magnet. Their noses mere hairs apart, the two stared at one another, breathing raggedly, and chest's rising and falling in sync. Even their heartbeats seemed to beat harmoniously as they were pressed against one another, separated by layers of skin and muscle.

Pitch licked his lips subtly and Jack's immediate thought was to reach out and snatch it with his teeth, but before he could do so, it retreated. Jack started to speak, and he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say…

And he never would. Pitch unexpectedly leaned down and began kissing Jack again; clearly unable to restrain himself, though Jack could tell he was trying. Somewhere far away, deep within the depths of Jack's mind, he knew this whole thing was a bad idea. But the rest of Jack screamed otherwise. It leaned into Pitch willingly, almost begging for his touch, craving everything he had to offer. Pitch was all too willing to take advantage of this and ran a slow hand enticingly down the muscle in Jack's back. It was the brisk, almost prickly sensation of Pitch's fingers that made Jack moan into his mouth, as he felt them dance along the sensitive skin around his spine. Pitch must have mastered the art of patience in foreplay, because he was going painfully slow for Jack's taste. Jack wanted more than just his teasing touch. He was growing restless, and unknowingly began to grind into Pitch, his thigh rolled into the grey man's groin sensually. The heat was becoming unbearable, and Jack wanted to succumb to it.

Then, his hands were slammed behind his head, and the excruciating pain returned. His wrists were on fire, and warm blood trickled down his pale arms. Pitch had not stepped back; in fact, if anything, he was closer to Jack, pinning him to the wall helplessly. He wore a wicked grin that made Jack's erection immediately harden, and his golden eyes punctured Jack delightfully.

But Jack couldn't ignore the agony that now pulsed through his wrists. He tried to swallow back the cry, but a small whimper escaped through his swollen lips. At the sound, Pitch looked up, and realized where he was gripping Jack. He quickly released him, taking an apologetic and shameful step back.

The pain subsided a bit, but Jack had not been prepared for the release on his body. Weak, and feeble, he crumpled to the floor.

"Oh, Jack," Pitch murmured, rolling his eyes, and immediately ran over to help the boy to his feet. Jack was shaking violently, and his world was spinning, but he could still feel the cry for Pitch's body echoing throughout his own.

Once Pitch had hoisted Jack up gently, avoiding his arms, Jack pathetically clung to his shirt. He couldn't feel his legs moving, but the softness of a cushion met his back as he returned to the armchair. The room was spinning.

"Don't you dare stop," Jack hissed. Pitch chuckled darkly, only magnifying Jack's growing sexual hunger.

"I apologize. That was hardly appropriate given your current condition," Pitch said, and to Jacks utter delight, he could still hear the raw lust in Pitch's voice.

"Who cares about my stupid condition," Jack groaned.

"I do," Pitch sighed.

Jack bit his tongue and turned his head away from Pitch, unwilling to go through this whole argument again. Pitch sounded so sincere and caring, and even though he clearly held some feelings for the boy, he really only cared about his stupid deal. Jack didn't like feeling sad, so he resorted to silent anger instead. He knew Pitch was staring at him, waiting for him to shoot out a retort, but it never came. Pitch exhaled loudly, and began to ponder aloud.

"Oh Jack, if only…" Pitch mumbled under his breath, "If only…"

"What?" Jack asked, looking at Pitch profoundly, "'If only' what, Pitch? I don't understand! One moment, you're treating me like a prisoner, and the next, you say you care about me! Make up your mind! If you don't want me, just freaking say so, and quit doing this!"

Then, Pitch was right next to Jack's ear, and his voice scared the living daylights out of the boy.

"You don't think I want you?" he asked seductively. Jack was trying his very hardest to stay mad. Pitch wasn't going to get away with this just because Jack found him incredibly attractive… no sir… "You don't think I wouldn't ravish you, right here, right now, if I could?"

Then, Pitch moved directly in front of Jack, kneeling in front of the fire which cast an unnerving aura around his figure; almost like he was glowing. "Jackson Frost, I would make love to you on every piece of furniture in this room, nay, everywhere in this palace if I had the chance. I crave the day when I can make you scream my name, or moan it into my mouth at my command."

There was no way he could stay mad at Pitch.

"Then why don't you?" he whispered, leaning forward a fraction of an inch. Pitch mimicked his movements.

"Because I have other factors to take into account. I can't allow things like affection interfere with my work. It's not good for me, or you, Jack. This whole thing could only end in suffering."

"I don't- AH!" he cried, his arms accidentally grazing his leg. Jack looked down, and saw that the gauze wasn't doing much to staunch to flow of blood anymore. Pitch got up and walked back over to the first aid kit, which was much too far away for Jack's liking.

"Try not to overexcite yourself again. I don't particularly enjoy playing doctor," he said. Jack flopped his head back, annoyed at how handicapped he was. Though, he was determined not to fall back asleep, so Jack refrained from responding to save his energy. Pitch walked back over and began re- bandaging everything. Even though the whole thing was slightly painful, Jack couldn't deny how comforting Pitch's gentle touch was. He didn't even care if it was genuine or not. He felt cared for.

"You'll have to sleep in here tonight. I won't risk having you moved until the morning." Pitch continued.

"Will you stay?" Jack asked weakly. Then, realizing how childish he sounded, he added, "Not that I enjoy your company or anything, but I don't think I could bandage myself if I had to."

Pitch gave him a smirk and responded, "Of course Jack. Now rest."

Jack did not rest. He didn't close his eyes once that night. He simply gazed into the fire, and listened to the soothing sound of Pitch's pen scribbling on paper.