A/N: New week, new chapter! Let me know what you think, our last scene is a lot of descriptions we kinda have to get out of the way but hopefully it's still interesting.

It was such a simple statement.

Chapter Three: Empty Spaces

Ganderly was not a place on any mortal map.

Mortals had come close to finding it before, of course, had wandered through forests daydreaming and thought they saw some kind of structure near the top of the impressive sycamores. But, upon second glance, they would see only branches and leaves, and continue walking, picking up on their daydream where they had left off.

It was luck, or perhaps magic, that had managed to get this land declared a national park. These trees would remain undisturbed, the impressive structures that made up Ganderly still intact.

It had been a long time since Bunny had visited. When the place was constructed, he had helped with an enchantment that had been similar to the one cast on the base where the Muses now resided, an enchantment that prevented someone from entering unless that someone was a welcome and expected guest.

This posed a problem with Ganderly specifically, as most of the residents were no longer around to welcome anyone. The last time Bunny had dropped by the place, Katherine was still alive, still around to greet her old friend and welcome him into her home.

When she and Nightlight had retired, Katherine left Ganderly in the care of Mr. Qwerty, and had gone with Nightlight to live out their lives as mortals, in a mortal home, in a mortal town. They had been an odd, eccentric couple, as far as the other residents of the town were concerned, but they were happy.

Bunny stood at the platform just outside the front door of the main treehouse and knocked. Within a few seconds, someone inside called, "do come in!" and he entered.

The room was cozy, with many bookshelves and an illuminated fireplace (magic, like the fireplaces at the North Pole). Katherine had spent many an evening here, and her sleeping quarters were through a nearby door, untouched for centuries.

There were multiple chests dragged into the room, overflowing with books. They were all hand-written and some had post-it notes and makeshift bookmarks stuffed in them. Mr. Qwerty was at the nearby table, looking tired, with a stack of books before him, one open and propped up against the others.

"Hello, Aster," Mr. Qwerty said, removing his glasses so that he might properly rub at his eyes. Mid-yawn he said, "Have you gotten any information on Jack's staff yet?"

"Not yet, the days keep getting away from me," Bunny said, glancing around the cases of books. The books were all of similar style, all hand-bound as well as being hand-written. "How many journals did Katherine keep?"

"So many," said Mr. Qwerty. "And so much is about Nightlight."

"Well, that makes sense," Bunny said, recalling conversations with Katherine when she had been early into her crush on Nightlight (and deep in denial that it was a crush at all), how fondly and how often she had spoken of him. "What about Nightlight and Manny, specifically?"

"A lot of it is vague allusions, a lot of 'Manny was very kind during the visit today but something felt off,' and 'Manny's well-wishes have the air of a performance, but of course he is royal and perhaps all well-wishes feel somewhat performative from royalty,'" Mr. Qwerty said. He gestured to one of the journals that had been set aside. "I think this one might be relevant to your interests in particular."

Bunny picked up the journal and flipped it open to the first marked page, sighing slightly at the sight of his old friend's handwriting.

Katherine had hand-written so many stories, had hand-written so many of their records. Bunny hadn't realized, until seeing it again, that he had actually missed seeing her neat scrawl over the years.

[Becoming mortal again has been less jarring than expected, at least in my case. I do believe that the most annoying change has been the amount of paper cuts I have gotten in the past few days. I did not realize that the belief of children had protected my fingertips in such a way and I am afraid that a few of my storybooks will now always have a tinge of brown, dried blood in the corner of certain pages. I have thankfully not bled on Mr. Qwerty yet.

Father has been complaining about all his joints rebelling the moment he gave up immortality and the oath. I have tried to persuade him to allow Kailash to help him get around (my beloved goose is eager to be of assistance), but he is stubborn, and insists that he can fix up his old bones well enough with one of his old remedies… if he can only remember where he left the recipe. Perhaps Toothiana could help?

Nightlight has finally left to meet with Manny about becoming mortal himself. I have been concerned that Manny will back out, will refuse to help Nightlight obtain mortality.

Nightlight is the only one I have discussed my concerns with. He insisted that he would not leave until everything was sorted out, and that because of this, the meeting might take several days. I do hate the idea of being apart from my Nightlight for that long, but it will all be worth it when we can start our mortal life together.

I am also still concerned at how his body will react to losing his powers and becoming mortal. I do not want harm to come to him, but he is insistent on trying and it would be a lie to say that I do not desperately want the mortal life that we have talked about for so long. How nice it would be to take all those plans from hypotheticals and turn them into reality.

Still, I cannot help but worry. I wish that I could be there at the meeting, but Nightlight insisted on doing this alone, and now that I am mortal again, it would be much harder to travel with him to the moon.

Aside from the logistics, it may in fact be better for Nightlight to speak with Manny without me anyway. Nightlight insists that Manny loves me, as he loves all the Guardians, but still, I find myself second-guessing.

Perhaps it is not me he dislikes as much as the idea that Nightlight is giving up immortality. Regardless, he is unhappy about the situation, this much is clear.]

Bunny glanced up from the entry as he reached the end, Mr. Qwerty watching him carefully.

"I mean, we knew that Manny didn't want any of them to give up immortality or the oath, he said as much," Bunny said. "It's just that Ombric and Katherine could become mortal whether Manny approved or not and he had to actually grant mortality to Nightlight."

"Go to the next marked entry," Mr. Qwerty said.

Bunny turned a few pages, stopping at the next mark, the ink was difficult to read in places, due to what seemed to be water damage of some kind.

[Nightlight has returned to me.

He fell from the heavens and landed at the base of Ganderly in the snow that has lingered despite it being springtime. He could not stand, he could barely speak, saying only the first syllable of my name when I came at the sound of the crash and found him. Kailash helped me move him to my sleeping quarters.

I suppose I should have put him in his sleeping quarters. In the panic, I forgot the lie we have told the others for years about him sleeping in his room each night instead of curled up next to me in mine.

I do not know how much the others have truly believed that lie. Erato gave me a knowing look the first time it came up around her, but she mercifully said nothing.

(Cupid, on the other hand, actually laughed the first time it came up around him.)

Nightlight is sleeping now and has barely stirred. He has always been pale but I swear he is nearly transparent now. I helped him remove his armor so that he could rest and his entire body is in pain from the fall, his back covered in what seems to be one large bruise. Somehow, he didn't break any bones, but he was feverish and confused when he was still awake and his breathing has been labored this whole time.

I am furious that Manny would strip him of his powers and drop him the great distance here rather than providing transportation. The fall itself should have killed him.

I do not know what transpired the past few days while Nightlight was meeting with Manny, but I fear this reckless disregard for Nightlight's safety was not an accident. If he has sent Nightlight back to me only so that I may watch him die, Manny will have made a strong enemy out of me.

If he has sent Nightlight back to me only so that I may watch him die, I will never forgive him and I will do everything in my power as a storyteller to be sure no one else does either.

If he has sent Nightlight back to me only so that I may watch him die, I fear I shall never know joy again.]

Bunny frowned. The water damage was not water damage at all.

"Katherine and Nightlight always told us that Nightlight was suffering side effects from becoming mortal, never that Manny took away his ability to fly and dropped him here," Bunny said.

"That is what she told me as well, what she wrote in her account that I kept as a record," said Mr. Qwerty. "And I believe the fever and confusion may in fact have been side-effects like they said. But a lot of his recovery seemed to have been from the fall itself."

"I don't like the fact that Katherine's not ruling out Manny trying to kill him," Bunny said, turning to the next marked page. "Does she end up with more information from Nightlight?"

"Go ahead, read," Mr. Qwerty said, gesturing to the page.

This entry, at least, was not smeared and blotchy from tears.

[Nightlight was well enough to sit up, talk to me, and eat a little today. He has, apparently, never experienced the sensation of hunger before now and thought it was another odd symptom of his fall. He seemed thrilled when I explained that he must be hungry, simply ecstatic to be getting the full mortal experience.

I must say, I am relieved beyond words to see how brightly my Nightlight still shines when he smiles. There is a warmth there that has not been snuffed out, even as he is no longer a mythical being.

After I made sure he ate, I asked how things had gone with Manny and how he had fallen such a distance. Nightlight said that the details were a bit fuzzy, that there was a lot of back and forth about what exactly his oath as a Nightlight was and if he was allowed to be released from the oath at all.

He explained that by the time everything was said and done, Manny sent him back to Earth, saying he would be fully mortal by the time he touched the ground.

Nightlight said that he did fly for a time, but that his ability to fly was the first thing to go and that soon he was falling. I asked if he thought that Manny did that on purpose to cause him harm.

Nightlight is not sure if Manny knew that his ability to fly would disappear first. He said he would not rule that out, that Manny was not thrilled at all about their agreement.

He does not think Manny wants him dead. He thinks Manny wants him to realize that he hates being mortal, that the whole thing is too painful and inconvenient. He thinks Manny wants him to beg to be put back the way he was.

I am still unconvinced that Manny did not wish to kill Nightlight, but I have no proof and I suppose Nightlight knows Manny better than any of us. I am hoping he will remember more details as he recovers.

He is sleeping again now, still in so much pain. Earlier, we found that embracing caused too much discomfort, so for now I will have to settle for holding his hand. I think I will send a message to Aster about pain remedies. Perhaps there is something in his garden that can be of assistance.]

"Hmm," Bunny said. He only barely remembered making a remedy to help Nightlight's recovery. It had been so long ago by now. "So, they both thought Manny wanted to do Nightlight harm, there was just a disagreement over how much harm."

"It would appear so. After that, most of the mentions of Manny in that journal have to do with wedding planning and Katherine being unsure about the sincerity of his well-wishes," Mr. Qwerty said. "I've been combing through her other journals from after their wedding. She mentions Manny less and less as they go along."

"I wish they would have said something at the time," Bunny said. Surely it would have been important information for the rest of them to have, that Manny had it out for one of them. Katherine was not usually the type not to speak her mind. "Is there anything about that? Why they stayed quiet?"

"It seems that Nightlight saw the whole thing as a personal disagreement with himself and Manny, not something to get the rest of you involved in. Katherine makes a few vague mentions of not wanting to make things awkward or difficult for those of you still bound to Manny through your oath," said Mr. Qwerty. "She also mentions not having any real, concrete proof, as we discussed ourselves."

"Did Nightlight keep journals? Maybe he would have more to say specifically about his meeting with Manny," Bunny said.

"Not to my knowledge," said Mr. Qwerty. "Has Clio attempted to observe the meeting?"

"Her powers are bound to Earth and its history, she can't even observe the moon landing, even though there's plenty record of that," Bunny said. "She can't see anything that happened on the Moon Clipper or anything that happened at Apollo's base near the sun. I imagine Apollo didn't want her eavesdropping on him."

"Drat," Mr. Qwerty said, frowning. "Has she had a chance to look into much else?"

"She said a lot of conversations between Nightlight and Manny that she did find are shadowy and muffled, so the records are inaccurate or damaged," said Bunny. "But she hasn't had a chance to do a lot of looking, Rowan's anniversary is in a little over two weeks."

"Ah, yes, how is Jack holding up?" Mr. Qwerty asked.

"I haven't actually talked to him since the ball," said Bunny. "From what I've heard, he's keeping busy."

"Yes, I suppose that's all he really can do, isn't it?" Mr. Qwerty said, pausing to yawn hugely.

"You should take a break," said Bunny.

"There are so many more to go through," Mr. Qwerty said.

"It's been nearly a thousand years," Bunny said. "We don't need to solve this tonight. Get some rest and come back to it."

Mr. Qwerty glanced from the open journal in front of him to Bunny and back again. "I will rest. But only after I finish this journal."

"Fine, just don't convince yourself you'll just read one more entry in another one or you'll still be at it this time next week without sleeping," Bunny said, eying Mr. Qwerty knowingly.

"Mm, fair enough, you know me well," Mr. Qwerty smiled. "I look forward to talking to you again soon, Aster."

Dorothy Sawyer had her cellphone set to speaker phone, propped next to the open recipe book on a stand. She was chopping vegetables. A few paces away Linda, the basset hound puppy, was running in and out of her newly-installed dog door. Initially terrified of it, the dog had caught on quickly that the small door would allow her to run around the back yard on her terms, and was fully taking advantage.

"…So, anyway, I don't think I'll be invited back for the next poker night," came the voice of Dot's mother, Jean, from the phone.

"Well, they sound like a bunch of sore losers," Dot said. "How's Jasper doing?"

"Oh, spoiled as ever. He thinks he's too good for kibble, but I am not going to end up like Lois, doing meal prep for her dog every week. I don't even meal prep for me."

"Bill and I always have grand intentions of doing meal prep and then suddenly we're going to bed on Sunday night realizing we haven't done it," Dot said setting the potatoes she had just chopped onto a baking sheet.

"How's Bill doing?"

"He's tired, had a very productive therapy session today," said Dot, glancing in the direction of the staircase. Bill was upstairs, lying down. Some therapy sessions required a great deal of lying down in exhaustion afterwards, they had both learned. "It's starting to hit both of us that it's almost been a year without Rowan. It's been a year today since she went missing."

"Already?"

"Yeah, based on the footage from her school's security cameras at least," said Dot, pulling the bottle of olive oil out of a cupboard. "It wasn't until the following Monday that her friends reported anything. I keep thinking—I should have reported something sooner, she didn't pick up her phone that whole weekend."

"Kids don't pick up their phones! They get caught up in other things. For all you knew, her phone was dead, or she was distracted. You know how Rowan was, she would get caught up in a project and barely hear anyone else talking to her."

"I just keep thinking, if we had realized sooner—"

"Rowan was an adult. You couldn't keep an eye on her all the time any more than I can keep an eye on you all the time from Florida. You can't keep torturing yourself with hypotheticals, Dottie. You did the best you could."

Dot sighed, setting the bottle on the counter. "She was barely an adult. If she was still around, she'd hardly be old enough to drink. I just don't know what to do except go over hypotheticals, they're all that make sense."

"You're trying to solve a problem. But you can't solve this one."

It was such a simple statement.

Dot was sure she was holding herself together so much better now, that she could talk about Rowan without immediately breaking down at the memories. But this simple fact that nothing she did, no amount of logic, no strategy, no argument, could undo any of this left Dot's vision blurred with tears.

She could discuss hypotheticals and agonize over what they had and had not done until Rowan had been gone for twenty years, and it wouldn't make a difference.

"Dot? Sweetheart, you still there?"

Dot wiped her eyes, glancing back to her phone.

"Yeah, Mom. I'm still here."

The sun was setting in Burgess when Jack landed outside his cabin, the structure silent, dark, still. The only indication that North and the Yetis had been there at all was the large footprints in the surrounding snow.

There was a proper front porch now, the roof extended to cover it and keep it mostly free of snow. Before, the front door had opened straight to the forest floor, leaving snow to be tracked in easily and the door often freezing shut.

Jack sighed at the sight of the porch, for it had not been included in the blueprints that North had shown him before.

It wasn't as though Jack didn't like the porch. It was fine. It was a porch. He wasn't angry that it was there.

But what else had they added while he was away?

There was only one way to find out, Jack supposed, bracing himself slightly as he approached, finding it odd to have to climb the two steps that now led to the porch.

When he entered, the room was dim, all the curtains drawn to keep the limited light from the setting sun out. He reached for the light switch that North had somehow, with his great talent for combining magic and technology, rigged the magical fireplace and oil lamps to.

Well. The inside of the cabin did not look abandoned anymore.

To Jack's left was a small kitchen. There was a full-sized fridge in the corner, which left Jack wondering what North expected him to keep in there. It wasn't as though Jack made weekly trips to the grocery store.

Beside the fridge was a small counter, where the coffee maker that North had given him was carefully perched. Beside the coffee maker was a collection of mugs, artfully arranged, and a sink. There were cupboards on the wall above.

Across from the counter and fridge was the small table and two chairs, now set against a wall that had not been there before. There was now a small room set in this corner and when Jack glanced through the open door, he was greeted with his own reflection in a mirror above another sink. Peering through the doorway proved this to be the small bathroom that had been included in the blueprints.

Along with this new room, the ceiling was now lower on this side of the cabin, a loft now above Jack's head.

Jack eyed the ladder that led to this loft, and resolved to examine the right side of the cabin before checking the loft.

The mantle above the fireplace used to be home to only a clock whose face was a full moon and gave off a soft glow. The clock was still there now, but there were several picture frames as well.

The frames were small, for they held Polaroids that had been taken more than a year ago, when Jack had brought the camera along to Rowan's apartment. Holding the camera at arm's length, she had captured these images that he had simply been pinning to the walls of the cabin before.

They hadn't taken a lot of pictures. He hadn't brought a lot of film, intending mostly to get at least one or two decent pictures of Thalia disguised as him to send to Rowan's loved ones who kept asking about him, pictures that would come back to haunt them when Rowan was declared missing.

Still, he was glad to have the pictures he did have, though he noticed that his favorite, the one he had captured of her when he first arrived with the camera, was not present in the frames. Perhaps it was still tucked away in the box he had set all the pictures into in preparation for these renovations.

The wall beside the fireplace featured more picture frames, all artwork that had been gifted to Jack from believers, including the portrait that Rowan had done. The frames were all arranged artfully, perfectly level, much more precise than the haphazard collage that Jack had before.

Across from the fireplace, set against the opposite wall, was a sofa, settled beside Jack's small chest of drawers. It looked plush, comfortable, and was a deep brown color, which suited the cabin's interior just fine. There was a blue knit throw blanket draped over part of it.

The top of the chest of drawers was now home to another oil lamp, along with the only picture Jack had from the New Year's Eve Ball he had attended with Rowan, now framed. His matryoshka doll that North had given him was also settled here, as well as the ornate case for the wisdom tooth that had been given to him by Tooth.

Against the wall, halfway between the sofa and the fireplace, was what seemed to be an entertainment center perched below the window. The globe that North had given him for Christmas, glowing with the lights of believers, was at the center of the top surface, where a television would go on most entertainment centers. To the right of the globe was a handful of books that Jack hadn't had before, and to the left was a record player and few vinyl records that Jack definitely hadn't had before.

The cabinets beneath left room for more books, more records.

Scanning the books on the shelf to see what North had left him, Jack actually managed to smile at one of the titles.

He pulled the book from its place with the others. Peter & Wendy by J.M. Barrie.

The cover was simple, featuring two stars, the one on the right slightly larger. It was a design Jack was familiar with.

Rowan had those very stars tattooed on her left wrist. On her eighteenth birthday, she had brought her copy that she had read more times than she could count, with signs of wear present in the spine, to a tattoo shop to make her request.

It was this edition of the book, with this simple cover design, that Rowan had cherished.

It was this edition of the book, with this simple cover design, that Rowan had been buried with.

It couldn't be a coincidence that North had left behind this edition specifically. Jack didn't know how North had found out about Rowan's tattoo or that she had taken the design from the book cover. Perhaps it was the same insect and animal observers that reported back incidents of children being naughty or nice to the man. Perhaps Rowan had talked to North at some point when Jack was not present.

Regardless, North knew how to give a thoughtful gift, and Jack was pleased that the book was now a fixture in his cabin.

Book still in one hand, staff in the other, Jack kicked off the floor to fly rather than take the ladder to the loft.

Here, Jack found his bed, the base much lower now to account for its closer position to the ceiling. At the foot of the bed was a storage chest, and on either side was a low bedside table. Behind the bedside tables and the head of the bed was a large, triangular window that had not been present before.

On the bedside tables were additional lamps. One featured a single framed photo, the one that had been missing from the Polaroids on the mantle.

Jack sat on the bed and curiously glanced inside the drawers of one of the bedside tables, finding all his pens that were usually scattered around the cabin and the leather-bound journal he had been keeping notes and logs in.

The drawer of the other bedside table held Rowan's notebook.

All in all, the loft was cozy. The entire cabin was, really. It was still small, informal, which Jack appreciated. But it still felt odd that North would go through the trouble to improve Jack's standard of living.

It had felt odd when the others had first asked where his home base was, shortly after he took the oath. Confused, Jack had said that he didn't have one. He hadn't thought it was a big deal.

The others disagreed. He needed a home base, emphasis on home.

Jack had only agreed to the initial structure to get them to shut up about it. But it was hard to deny that once he got used to the place, once he no longer had Rowan's apartment or bedroom to go to every night, he found himself in the cabin more and more.

Sometimes having somewhere to live in and of itself felt outlandish, far too luxurious for the likes of Jack Frost. Somewhere to live with this many extras that North had been able to slip in? It still felt like too much, and Jack was certain North would be making more suggestions soon enough.

All of this was certainly enough. More than enough.

There was another set of light switches nearby and Jack fiddled with them for a moment until all the lights in the cabin had gone out.

Setting his staff aside and the book on one of the bedside tables, Jack laid atop the covers of his bed. He crossed his arms atop one of the pillows and rested his chin there, eying the falling snow outside the window.

It was still early evening, but it was dark by now, another day nearly complete. Time still didn't make any sense, and Jack was beginning to wonder if there was ever a moment that it had actually made sense in the first place.

Jack gently set his fingertips to the windowpane, watching frost crawl across the glass.