A/N: Surprise! A bonus chapter for all of your reviews! This one's an unseen conversation between Wisp and Pitch. Happy late Halloween!
The screaming never stopped, not really, though millennia of experience helped Pitch to tune the fearlings out…most of the time.
Tonight was not one of those times.
Tonight, in their prison in his mind, the fearlings snarled and roared and thrashed against his mental barriers, making any form of respite impossible. They longed to be free, like their Nightmare brethren, but giving all of them the release they so desired would be tipping his hand to the enemy. No, it would be better for the end to keep the true number of his forces a surprise known by only himself.
Not that the fearlings understood the logic—or cared.
Shadows parted like curtains before him as he emerged from the darkness, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the meager light of his domain. Yellow-gray light spilled into the mouth of the cavern he stood in, illuminating the lair enough for him to see the edge of the precipice that waited several yards ahead. With a tired sigh he released a stream of black sand, willing it to take the shape of an overstuffed armchair and setting it before the edge. He all but threw himself down onto his creation, settling into it more comfortably and glaring out over his dim domain.
The fearlings railed and rallied in his mind as he stared numbly at the decrepit square directly below, dusky fingers dragging back and forth over the slightly gritty 'upholstery'. Think of something else, anything else, he prompted himself. Immediately, the first thing that popped up into his mind was Wisp, as was becoming habit for him: Wisp with her sea of starry hair flowing behind her, her gray eyes peering up at him through eyelashes darker than any of his shadows, that ring of silver around the pupils shimmering like starlight. But starlight held no warmth for him, unlike her eyes. Her smile always served as a pleasant shock to his system—no one ever even spoke with him, much less smiled for the King of Nightmares.
"Pitch?"
The querying voice smoothed over him like a balm, quelling the fearlings' shrieks to whispers and helping to draw him back to the present. Speaking of the little dove….He sat up a bit straighter, twisting in his seat to see Wisp climbing the last of the stairs to his overlook. Her hair was a tangled mess of stars around her tired face as she deftly hopped over a half-buried arch to get to him, and his fingers ached to smooth the cosmic tangles away from her eyes. If she would let him—if he would let himself.
"Hello dearest. My, what are you doing up?" He asked as she crossed the last few feet to where he sat, settling against the side of the chair so that she just perched on the arm. A gentle breeze followed her, swirling gently around them and carrying her scent in its wake, like honeysuckle on a warm summer night. "I thought for certain you'd sleep for several more hours."
With how she sat, bare inches were all that separated them, and he felt every one of them. Peace and warmth beckoned off of her, the promise of it teasing his senses and driving the fearlings back into a frenzy as they begged and pled for him to reach out and touch, oh just one touch. His hand itched to comply.
Laughter leaked into her voice, the sound causing splendid warmth to trickle through his veins. "Are you keeping tabs on my circadian rhythms now?" He didn't answer, his gaze focusing on the infuriatingly adorable smirk her lips had curled into. She raised and dropped one shoulder in a lopsided shrug, the movement stirring her breeze again. "I woke up and just couldn't go back to sleep, so I thought I'd see what you were up to."
He hummed low in response, the best he could manage in his distracted state. Seemingly of its own accord, Pitch felt his hand shift from cupping his chin to rest on the chair's arm, the side of his hand just brushing her thigh. Instantly the fearlings silenced, and tranquility washed over him in a wave of blessed warmth. His gaze languidly traced up the curve of her cheek, shifting focus to her eyes. They were so deep, so gray, like the comfort of his lair. He'd never admit it, of course, but he could stare into those eyes of hers for hours. He could almost convince himself that they glowed brighter and warmer just for him, sometimes.
Like now, when it was just the two of them and nothing but time between them.
And maybe the barest hint of awkward silence.
Dove-gray eyes danced away from his, the glow in her cheeks flaring a bit with embarrassment as she scratched her neck. "Did I interrupt something? I can go—,"
"Oh gracious, no," a flourish of his hand, and a matching chair materialized next to his. "By all means, join me in my insomniac contemplation."
She smiled at the laughter behind his words, the teasing lilt causing the silver in her eyes to shimmer at him, and he thought he felt what little remained of his heart squeeze. "Thanks."
She slipped from the arm of his chair to go to her own seat, ripping away her warmth and serenity. The fearlings roared their outrage at the loss, their screams ricocheting through his mind, and he clenched his jaw to keep from snarling at them. Instead he watched Wisp settle into her chair, legs hooked over one arm while her head rested on the one closer to him, her hair swirling around and over the back of the chair. Midnight strands seemed almost to stretch across the distance to him, around the hand he left hanging limply over the arm of the chair, spilling between his fingers like shimmering ink.
"Pitch?" She kicked her legs a bit, restless, her head tipping back so he could just see her left eye peering at him. "Can we talk?"
He shifted, crossing his right ankle over his left knee as he begrudgingly pulled his hand back. "Whatever about, darling?"
"I don't know, I barely know anything about you," she sighed, twisting in her seat so that she sat upright, legs crossed and feet tucked neatly under her knees. "Isn't that weird?"
"Nobody knows anything about me, Wisp," he chuckled, bemused. Where was she going with this? "In case you'd forgotten, I'm something of a pariah. You probably know more about me than anyone else."
She rested her elbows on her knees, propping her chin on her fists, and scowled. "You say that, but—,"
"Is there something in particular you want to know?"
"Something? Everything? Anything." She huffed, brows pinched in a frustrated scowl.
He found himself grinning at her, delighted. Why was her questioning so enthusing to him? "I'm afraid 'anything' is a bit broad of a subject."
She threw her hands up in an exasperated gesture, glancing up towards some unseen audience hidden among the stalactites high above them. "I don't know where to start! What's your favorite color?"
"Really?" the slightest tinge of disappointment leaked into his voice, his grin slipping into a rueful smirk.
"I told you, I don't know!" Her laughter was more self-deprecating than anything else, her hands falling back into her lap. "What about hopes for the future?"
"Oh! World domination, of course." Her nose wrinkled at him teasingly, drawing a bark of laughter out of him.
"Of course," she echoed, "I should've known."
"Anything else?" he prompted.
"Any, I don't know, regrets?" she pulled her hair over one shoulder, fingers glowing softly as she tugged them through the tangles.
The question drew him up short, wiping away his smile altogether. Regrets? Where was this coming from? Had all her time spent with the Guardians made her start to wonder what she was doing with him? An unpleasant taste crawled up the back of his throat at the thought. "Regrets?" he repeated slowly, as though the word was being dragged from him.
"Yeah. I know that things for us are a bit different," she shrugged, twisting her hair in her hands as he tried not to let his mind fixate on how easily the word 'us' had slipped from her lips, natural as breathing, "what with the whole magical, sometimes-corporeal, maybe-immortal thing we've all got going on, but still."
"I regret my losses, but other than that?" he shook his head, curling his hand into a fist and resting his cheek against it. "Why, do you?"
She blinked at him owlishly, the light in her cheeks wavering a bit. "Well, yeah. I died really young, so," she cleared her throat awkwardly, one of her hands disappearing into the depths of her hair to rub at the back of her neck, "I didn't really get to do anything. I know that's really cliché and all, but it's true. I was a kid, I went to school; I grew up and got a job and still went to school. I never got to legally drink, or—hey, no!" she stopped herself, holding her hands up as though to physically stop the babble that had started to escape from her. "We were talking about you, not me."
"Do you have any regrets from this life? Your new one," he clarified, leaning forward a bit in his seat, his interest piqued.
She frowned at him. "Pitch."
He blinked at her, expectant. "Do you?"
Wisp let out a huff, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her back against the chair's arm. "No. Not yet, anyway, but it's still early on."
He hadn't registered the tightness in his chest until it uncoiled with her answer. "Of course," he chuckled, relaxing a bit more against the back of his chair. The chuckle died as he took in her despondent expression, dark thoughts causing the light in her eyes to dim.
An idea came to him. With a snap of his fingers, shadows pooled between the two chairs, shifting and solidifying into a simple table, an obsidian decanter and two small glasses taking form upon it.
Shaking her head, as though to fling the thoughts she'd been caught in from her mind, Wisp narrowed her gaze on the vague shadow of liquid hidden by the dark glass. "What is that?"
"Cognac." Pitch replied simply, rising to his feet and pulling the stopper from the decanter. A dark, intoxicating smell wafted from the icy bottle as he poured a decent measure into both glasses. "A good drink helps, sometimes."
It helped, if only for a moment. When the fearlings became too much, when their wails threatened to drive him over the edge. When he needed to escape the desperate loneliness that yawned before him as his eternity, trapped with just the monsters and himself.
He gave himself a firm mental shake, setting the decanter down in favor of the glasses and offering one to the bewildered Wisp. "Here you are, dove. Cheers."
"Seriously?" Her tone was dubious, even as she shifted as though to take the proffered glass.
"My lair, my say-so," he replied smoothly, watching her fingers close around the glass, tantalizingly close to his own, before he released it to her.
Laughter bubbled from between Wisp's lips as she held her glass—somewhat unsteadily—for Pitch to refill for the umpteenth time, his answering grin stretching wide. Somehow his chair had developed into a loveseat. Somehow that had led to Wisp sitting sideways so that her back was against the arm and her legs arced over his lap, toes curled into the opposite arm. Her hair floated and twisted loftily around her glowing face, rosy light dancing in her cheeks, and the breeze that wafted around them held a balmy but not altogether unpleasant warmth.
She was drunk.
He was…not much better.
But this was a new type of intoxication for him. Usually when he imbibed, what followed was a numb, hazy perception that could only be foggily remembered later. But this? With her knee resting lightly against his chest, tendrils of glittering hair reaching out to caress his face, her infectious giggles filling the air between them? With that warm light dancing in her eyes for him, Pitch could only assume that this was the closest thing to bliss he could ever feel.
"I'm serious!" She continued when she managed to mostly swallow back her laughter, "sometimes when North says 'Pitch', it sounds like he says—!"
"I'm sure it's just the thickness of his accent, dear," he chided fondly, the dark liquor flowing like a ribbon of sin into her glass, "North is far too goody-goody to actually curse my name."
Her eyebrows rose in disbelief as she took a drink. "If you say so."
"Cheeky," he chuckled, fumbling a bit as he retired the now-empty decanter back onto the table. She only beamed back at him, thumping her knee against his chest.
"Tell me something?" Her words held the slightest slur as she curled a bit closer to him, scooting nearer so she could rest her head against the arm he had slung over the back of the loveseat, her legs sliding down to hook over his knees.
He hummed in question, tossing back the rest of his drink. Heat thrummed through him, his mind muddled with a dreamlike fog induced by the alcohol and fueled by his present company. He shifted his arm a bit, causing her head to shift to rest on his shoulder, and his fingers wandered to trail down her arm, warmth like sparks prickling up his fingertips. Or were those actual sparks coming from her skin? He couldn't really be sure.
"What're you planning to do, y'know, after?"
"'After'?"
"After you win." She clarified, and his arm fell to clench around her waist, keeping her upright as she twisted to look him in the eye. "What happens then?"
"I'll be back at full power, darling dove," he smiled, his empty glass dissolving back into a shapeless mass of black sand in his free hand. "I'll be able to do whatever I want."
She nodded, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "I get that, but what will you do with that freedom?"
"I hadn't really thought that far, to be honest,"the admission slipped from him.
He blinked, and suddenly she was in his lap, her hands almost painfully warm where they pinned his shoulders to the back of the sofa. Her eyes sparkled with inspiration, her hair stirring around them with her excitement. "We could go on vacation!"
"Vacation?" he echoed, losing himself entirely to her glimmering gaze and her infectious enthusiasm.
"Yeah! We could go anywhere, do anything!"
Rich, genuine laughter spilled from his lips, and her fingers slipped from his quaking shoulders to twine into his hair. "How exactly is that any less vague than what I proposed?"
Her eyes rolled towards the heavens, as though the answer should be obvious. "Because at least now you know we'll be doing whatever it is you want to do, together!"
His heart stumbled in his chest. We. Together.
She was so close, her breath warm on his face as she gazed down expectantly at him, her lips centimeters from his own. Her lids drooped, her focus slipping to his mouth and back up to his eyes.
"Of course," the response came out hoarse, drawn out of him by the beckoning force that emanated from her, tugging him closer and enticing him into wrapping his arms around her. "I can deny you nothing."
The smile she graced him with snatched the very air from his lungs, and he had no time to brace himself as she swept down, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. His mouth ached from her barely-restrained flames when she pulled away, looking far too pleased with herself. "Be careful, or you'll end up spoiling me," she teased, tugging his hair playfully.
The nightmare sand that coated his hands shifted and reformed until he was holding an obsidian tiara, its intricate whorls glittering as he settled it into her starlit tresses.
"I can think of little else that would grant me such pleasure," he rasped. Captivated, besotted, that's what he was. Spellbound by her every movement and word.
Enamored.
Her cheeks glowed alarmingly bright, as though about to burst into flames. "Who would've thought the Boogeyman was such a charmer when drunk?"
"You're the inebriated one!" he argued with a laugh, lightly tapping the tip of her nose with a dusky finger.
"Am not!" she insisted childishly, wobbily floating up into the air. "I can fly just fine, see? I'm as sober as a funer—oh!"
He surged up just in time to catch her as her winds failed her, his arms locking under her knees and around her back as her own wound tightly around his neck. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"
She erupted into a fit of giggles, and he clutched her quaking body closer as he skirted around the edge of the sofa. "S-sober as a f-f-funeral!"
"Of course you are, darling." He teased drily, being careful not to jostle her too much as he carried her down the stairs. "Still, won't you indulge me and let me carry you back to your room?"
She sniffled, calming down from her laughing fit. "Oh, I suppose."
"Thank you, that's very gracious of you."
"Isn't it?" she grinned up at him.
When her silly grin stayed firmly in place, her gaze unwavering from his profile, he turned a bemused smirk on her. "What is it, darling dearest?"
That ring of silver glowed up at him again, her smile beatific. "You're being very princely right now."
He let out a snort. "Need I remind you that I'm a king, not a prince?"
"Where's your crown, then?" she demanded, peering up at him through her wild tangles as her hair got caught in her lashes.
A tug on his powers, and a crown matching the one he made for her materialized on his brow. "Right here, of course."
"All hail Pitch Black, Boogeyman extraordinaire and King of Nightmares, dread ruler of the realm!" She proclaimed in an overdramatically deep voice, her face pinched in a playfully serious expression. It lasted all of a second before more laughter burbled up from her lips, ruining the already awful charade.
Still, he found himself smiling down at her, doting affection swelling in his chest. "You're a ridiculous creature, you know that?"
"You're a ridiculous creature!"
He opened his mouth to respond, but could only shake his head with wonder. "Perhaps I am. But only for you."
A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoyed this extra fluff! Please review ^_^