Jack sat on the bed with a bounce, enjoying the soft mattress. He tried to control the urge to bounce again, but couldn't help it. After his third jump, Rhea finally complained, and Jack stopped apologetically. He sat with his hands clasped together and legs flicking, watching her back as she typed away at the computer.
"Did you find anything?" he asked.
"I've hacked into their system. Now we have access to all data for Hermes Movers & Packers. What do you want to look for?" Rhea pushed her glasses back as she turned to look at him.
"Uh... I just want to know where he went next."
"Well, an empty application form isn't going to help, Jack. Honestly, can't you give me something more specific?"
"Is it on the list of requirements for twelve year old child prodigies?" Jack asked with a sigh, "Number one - be a grouch."
Rhea puffed angrily, and snapped back, "Don't you have to pass an IQ test to be eligible to be the Spirit of Winter?"
"Ouch," Jack complained, making a hurt face, "I bestow on you the honour of meeting you face-to-face and this is how you react. Where is your sense of wonder? Where is your joy?"
Rhea rolled her eyes, and Jack realized she wasn't going to reduce her 'coolness quotient' by squealing excitedly 'like a little girl'. Why were they growing up so fast? The world was changing so rapidly. She glanced out the window again, quickly turning back to look at Jack. This was the fifth time since his arrival, and Jack got curious.
"How about you start with whether they have air lifted any cargo recently from Tibet?" he suggested, "I doubt there will have been many."
"That - is doable," Rhea responded, and swiveled back to face the computer. Jack turned to look out the window, and noticed a group of excited children building a snowman.
Rhea whistled. "This guy you are following is super rich," she commented as she typed away, "or at least has a rich benefactor. Charges for customized international air cargo? Crazy high."
Jack wasn't paying attention, and he just hummed in response. He was still looking at the children outside. "Am I keeping you from playing with your friends?"
"I don't play," Rhea replied crisply, "And I don't have friends."
Jack pulled at the window, and it slid open, letting cold air in.
"Hey," Rhea complained, as she quickly placed paper weights on sheets scattered across her desk, "I closed it after you came in for a reason."
"I like my surroundings cool and airy," Jack justified, "Are we getting anything?"
"In a minute," Rhea said, as she sat back and watched the computer go through the data. Hesitantly, she looked at Jack from the corner of her eye, trying not to stare. "So, you fly around and stuff?" she asked in an uninterested tone, "And bring snowstorms and winter? You are, like, really, Jack Frost?"
"In the flesh," Jack said, smiling at the hint of awe twinkling in her eyes that she was trying very hard to suppress.
"Can you fill my room with snow?" she asked timidly.
Jack blinked, "Uh... are you sure? How would you explain it to your mum?"
"Never mind," Rhea said, as the computer beeped and she leaned back into it, "Stupid thing to say. The result is here. Wow, just one hit. Must be it. I'm gonna print it out for you."
Jack thought a moment about doing what she asked - but what was more important than what she wanted was what she needed. He went to the window and watched the children playing. He created a nice, mushy snowball between his hands as he looked at the children, trying to pick the kid with the most amount of enthusiasm and sense of fun. Then, without further ado, he threw the snowball out the window. It went whistling down and landed straight on the boy's head, soaking his black hair. A yelp could be heard to their first floor window. Rhea watched in horror and rushed to the window.
"What did you do?" she cried, "Why'd you do that?"
She looked down to watch the boy run his hands through his hair and shake his head, trying to get rid of the snow. Then, he looked up at the window, and stared straight at her face. His friends laughed and shouted. Slowly, he started walking towards her front door.
"Oh my God!" Rhea cried, "Oh my God, oh my God! Why'd you do that? Jack!"
Calmly, Jack walked to the printer, took the page, folded it and placed it in the pocket of his hoodie. The doorbell rang, followed by a large commotion. Rhea's eyes grew wide with fear, but Jack just laughed.
"Rhea!" her mom cried from downstairs, "Rhea! Come downstairs and deal with your friends! We are not having snow inside the house! Take this outside!"
"You better hurry," Jack said, his features schooled into mock concern as he filled her hands with two large snowballs, "And relax with that brain of yours. Use your arm." Jack pantomimed throwing a snowball. Then, he laughed, ruffled her hair, and left out the window.
xxxx
"We have her," Hans said, "Let's just kill her and be done with it."
Elsa shuddered at the words, at how easily he decided to kill her, and how helpless she was to act if it did come to that. The other man smiled in response, a threat twinkling in his dark eyes. It was the first time in her life that Elsa witnessed a threatening smile.
"We've taken care of your enemies. Now it's time for mine. Don't try to sneak out of the deal."
"No," Hans said quickly, "That's not what I meant. Only, she could get in the way."
"On the contrary," he replied, "she is going to help us."
Elsa looked at the prisoners, including Kristoff, obedient blank expressions on their faces, and fear strummed through her. Help them do what? Hans was smiling at the words, his face lighting up, "Oh! Good idea. Why don't you put her under right now then?" He gave her a concerned glance. He was worried she might get away - he expected more of her than she did of herself. His concern gave her confidence - there must be something she could do.
The other man laughed, "No. Let her be a little while. I haven't felt such fresh raw fear in a long time. Let me enjoy it. The fear through the pool of despair is so... artificial."
"Ok," Hans said, his expression unhappy, "but after everything is over, remember - I get Arendelle and the Southern Isles. You can do what you want with the rest of the world."
The man shook his head slowly, smiling, "Just the children. Just the children of the rest of the world."
"Why are you so obsessed with children?" Hans blurted, then looked at his partner fearfully, afraid he might have offended him, but the man was still smiling.
"Children, Hans, feel so purely and completely. Such utter love; such complete faith; such raw, abject fear. In adults, all the feelings are corrupted and diluted. They aren't as powerful. They have no blind love or belief or fear. There is doubt and second thoughts in everything. Children are perfect. They can create the perfect nightmare world."
"Ok," Hans said, his expression uncomfortable, "You can go around killing 'just the children'. Whatever works for you." Elsa realized this was an unstable partnership - and Hans didn't really like this guy. Could she use this?
"Not kill," he responded, frowning at Hans' stupidity, "They are my vessels of fear. Why would I destroy them?"
"You're weird," Hans said, "And creepy."
The man laughed loudly, "You go around killing people, and you call me creepy?" Ghostly shadows danced around the cave, and Elsa watched them, afraid of being attacked. She noticed him watching her, drinking in her fear, and that scared her even more. She clenched her fingers, controlling the ice.
"You attack me," he said to her, "and Hans here will kill the prisoners. You attack him, and I will kill them. Partnerships are useful that way."
"I know," Elsa said, her voice barely a whisper, "I won't do anything." As she said that, she thought desperately of ways she could attack and not endanger the men - and came up with nothing.
"Are you sure she is a friend of theirs?" he asked Hans.
"Are you sure they would risk themselves to come save an ally?"
"They are the freakin' Guardians! They always do the right thing. Of course they'll come."
"Then she's your perfect bait," Hans said, and sat back with his arms folded, a confident smile on his face.
The complete situation finally dawned on her. "You're Pitch," she whispered, the evidence around her making the deduction painfully obvious, "You're Pitch Black."
Pitch turned to her, smiling such that his pointed teeth glinted, "I think Hans, that you are right."
