Well, she's stubborn and prickly about it, but at least Elsa's willing to admit it when something's wrong.

Only heaven knows how many times his father stoically refused to acknowledge his troubles. He would sit there by the fire with a serious, unreadable expression, hardly saying a word. It was like he was in a world all on his own—one where even Mother couldn't always reach him. But Jack did his best. He told jokes, acted out stories, teased Emma, tried anything he could think of at the moment. Sometimes his efforts were more successful than others, but every subdued smile or low chuckle was worth a thousand words of praise.

He usually never did find out what had caused Father to become so melancholy in the first place. But Elsa was a bit more open about her problems, and Jack hoped he could do more to help than lifting her spirits. Despite her reassurances, he kept a close eye on Elsa. He could feel the now-familiar energy pass from her hand to the balcony doors as they closed.

"So," she began, taking a few steps toward him, "What do you—" Elsa stumbled, clutching at her head.

"Elsa! Are you okay?" Before Jack could finish the question, her eyes rolled back as she collapsed. He barely managed to catch Elsa before her head hit the floor. "Elsa?!"

His brain froze for a moment. He was holding Elsa's unconscious body in his arms, and couldn't remember a single piece of first-aid.

What do I do?! I can't call 911!

A terrible thought surfaced, spurring him to action as he checked her pulse. It was faint, but steady. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, I can do this. What else do they check? Breathing—is she breathing?" His rational mind was beginning to overcome the shock, and Jack became aware of the gentle rise and fall of her chest as he cradled her.

"She's not choking. She's not bleeding." He didn't have much else to go off of, but it seemed likely that Elsa wasn't in immediate danger. Hopefully whatever caused this was nothing serious. He searched for an explanation, repeating the facts to try and make sense of it all: "She was tired, and she said her head hurt. And then she passed out."

There had to be something more, some clue he had missed.

Jack replayed the scene over and over in his mind. A heart attack didn't make sense. Elsa was talking and walking normally before it happened, so it probably wasn't a stroke. He knew there had to be answers somewhere in his memory—there had to be.

Everything was normal. She wanted to go inside, then we sort of argued, and she closed the doors, and then—

She closed the doors.

Jack audibly groaned at his stupidity. "Her magic! She closed the doors using her magic."

I should've stopped her after she made the bridge. I never should've let her finish the palace, let alone her dress!

He had been so in awe of Elsa's powers that he hadn't even thought to consider what it might be costing her. She probably hadn't known any better. He was supposed to be the teacher, her mentor, the one who protected her while she learned to use her magic.

This is all my fault.

The only time he'd come close to using that much energy was when he destroyed the Nightmare army. Jack vividly remembered Sandy's apparent death; he stood there, helpless, watching Sandy's very essence becoming corrupted as he crumbled into black powder. In an explosion of uncontrolled emotion, he'd thrown everything he had into that single anguished attack. He'd even managed to instinctively tap into reserves he didn't know existed, draining every last drop before blacking out. But why hadn't Elsa fallen unconscious earlier? The amount of energy required to close the doors was miniscule in comparison to building this ice castle. Maybe it was because deliberately using your powers minimized the negative effects of overexertion? It could be that your body gave up only when it was well beyond the breaking point.

And Elsa is the one paying the price.

Everything ached. But it felt distant, like she was tethered to another person's body. She was floating in a sky of numbness and drowning in a sea of soreness at the same time. Why were her eyes closed? She fought to lift the heavy weight of her eyelids; looking at something—anything—would be a welcome distraction. Elsa's eyes finally opened. Her surroundings seemed to blur and morph with every breath she took. She moaned, closing her eyes to fight the nausea.

A familiar voice murmured, "It's okay, Elsa. I've got you." Elsa could hear a warped child-like voice overlaying the comforting words. She was holding Anna's tiny body. Wait, no—she was being held. The floor was still cold. She could sense light; it was supposed to be dark. Where was she? Reality was shifting amorphously, twisting and bending around her in a convoluted cloud.

"Elsa?" The child-voice was gone. It was Jack. "Elsa, can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," she slowly said.

Jack let out a sigh and she could feel him relax. "Could you look at me please?"

Elsa grasped at the arm around her waist, clinging to it like a lifeline as she shook her head. "I don't want to." The protest was childish; her voice sounded small and timid. It was humiliating.

"That's okay, Snowflake. We're gonna take this as slow as you need it to be." Jack somehow made those words feel comforting instead of patronizing. However, she could still feel the heat of embarrassment rising in her cheeks.

"Do you think it's okay if I move you?" he asked.

Focusing on the conversation seemed to help ground her wandering mind. "Just give me a minute, then I can do it."

"No." Jack's reply was gentle, but firm.

"But I—"

"—don't want to open your eyes, and therefore can't see where you're going."

Elsa opened her mouth to protest, but was blocked before she even voiced a syllable.

"No," Jack repeated, adamant.

"You could help me," she mumbled.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he asked, lifting her from the ground with a surprising ease. Elsa stiffened as the world began to sway once again.

Jack. Focus on Jack.

He was carrying her; he was taking care of her. She took a deep, calming breath—and with it came a bouquet of familiar scents. She inhaled again, trying to identify the distinctive aromas. Cotton. Pine needles. Sage... and cedar, mixed with something cool and fresh. It was a unique, but pleasant combination.

"I'm going to set you down now, okay?"

"Okay." Elsa held her breath as she felt Jack shift. It was one thing to pick someone up, another thing entirely to set them down gently. To her relief, her trip to the ground was uneventful.

"Hang on a sec," he said, continuing to prop her head and shoulders up. "There, that works." Elsa felt the cool touch of snow cradle her back and hair as Jack settled her into a reclining position. "The cold is okay, right?"

She nodded, and he withdrew, no longer touching her. How exactly had she ended up in his arms in the first place?

"Do you think you could try opening your eyes again?"

Elsa mentally prepared herself to see the world spin. "Yeah, I'll try." She slowly blinked, Jack's face coming into focus. "What happened?" She tried to sit up to gain her bearings, but he immediately stopped her.

"Whoa, easy there, Snowflake." Though she'd only risen a fraction, Jack carefully eased her back down. "You're not getting up any time soon if I have something to say about it. Using that much magic really did a number on you."

Elsa wanted to object to the implication that Jack was in charge of her, but quickly thought better of it. He was simply concerned for her wellbeing. Besides, it would be wise to trust his years of experience. "What do you mean, 'did a number on me'? Did using my powers cause me to faint?"

"Magic is a form of energy; it needs to come from somewhere. In most cases, it takes that energy from the user's body," he explained. "Trouble is, our bodies are like a battery. No—wait, that doesn't work here… A bowl! Our bodies are like a bowl."

Elsa wrinkled her brow. "A bowl…?"

"A bowl can only hold so much water, yeah?" She nodded. "When we use magic, we're pouring water out of the bowl and into the world. What happens if you pour out all the water?"

"You have an empty bowl?" She thought aloud before the analogy clicked into place. "Oh, there's no more energy in your body."

"That's right. Creating that snowman, the bridge, this palace, your dress,"—he ticked each item off on his fingers—"Even closing the doors cost energy. When you overextend yourself and use too much energy, your body shuts down."

"That makes sense." It sounded similar to some aspects of economics. "You've depleted the resource and it needs time to replenish."

"Speaking of replenishing," he said, grabbing his staff to pull over the abandoned sack, "Let's get some food in you." Jack held the bag open. "Pick your poison."

"I certainly hope none of it's poisoned," she quipped, reaching inside for a handful of dried fruit. "Where did you get all this?" It wasn't like people left food lying about for a winter spirit to take. Elsa gasped. "You didn't steal it, did you?!"

"Relax, Ice Queen." He withdrew a piece of jerky and took a bite, continuing to talk between mouthfuls. "I got it from the palace kitchens. I figure it's not stealing if it technically belongs to you."

She let out a small sigh of relief.

Jack swallowed. "You didn't seriously think I'd commit a crime for you?" He said, raising an eyebrow.

Elsa opted to continue nibbling her fruit in silence, though her free hand began fidgeting with the end of her braid.

He burst out laughing. "I might be the Naughty List record holder, but I haven't stooped to petty theft... yet," Jack said, issuing the veiled threat with an absurdly overdone sidelong glance.

A giggle erupted from Elsa. "The 'naughty list'?" she prompted.

"Y'know, Santa Claus, Father Christmas, whatever you call him around here. He makes the list, checks it twice, finds out who's been naughty or nice and all that? Three-hundred-odd years is a lot of time to cause some mischief." With the twinkle in his eyes and that smirk, Jack looked positively impish.

"Well, as long as you don't plan on dragging me along..." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I think I've had quite enough excitement for the time being."

Instead of throwing out a witty rejoinder, Jack suddenly grew solemn. "I agree. And Elsa?"

"Yeah?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"I'm sorry—about the magic," he said, gesturing to her. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Jack, it's okay." She smiled to let him know her words were sincere. "You don't have to apologize."

"No, I do. It was my job to keep you safe, and I blew it!" He ran his fingers through his hair before clenching them at his side.

"Jack." She reached out and placed her hand over his. "You did keep me safe. Who caught me when I fell?"

"Well, me, but—"

"Who carried me?" she interrupted before Jack's mind could fall into the pit of self-blame. "Who made sure I was okay? Who kept me comfortable and brought me food?"

His hand began to relax under hers. "I did, I guess."

"And who—" Another yawn cut Elsa's sentence off. "—is going to let me take a nice nap?" she finished.

Jack smiled at her. "I will. Sweet dreams, Snowflake."

With that assurance, she finally let herself succumb to the bone-deep fatigue.

He watched as Elsa's eyes drifted shut, her hand becoming limp where it rested atop his. Slowly, so as not to wake her, Jack carefully slid his hand away. She shifted. He held his breath—but Elsa continued to sleep, uninterrupted. It seemed his makeshift snow-bed was comfortable, though Jack could've kicked himself for making it necessary in the first place.

It could've been worse.

He was immensely grateful that Elsa appeared to be recovering nicely. Still, as he studied her, he couldn't help but worry that she'd get cold. Ice powers or not, Elsa was still mortal and it was possible she could go into shock. But what could he do to keep her warm? The last time he'd been in a similar situation with Baby Tooth, the best he could do is keep things cold. She'd eventually resorted to hiding inside his jacket pocket.

In a moment of realization, he quickly removed his hoodie and placed it over Elsa. Though it had only been a few decades since he'd acquired it, Jack felt strangely exposed without its familiar cottony warmth. He couldn't fight the smile, though, when Elsa curled up and tucked it under her chin like a blanket. It didn't cover her completely, but at least it was something.

Unless…

Jack looked towards the balcony doors, then back at Elsa's unconscious form. Surely it would be okay if he left for a few minutes, wouldn't it?