A/N: First update of 2023! Sorry for the lack of update last week, but this chapter and the next few ones were just not ready last week. I hope you all had a good new year's celebration.

We're getting into Rowan's tattoos! I have been tattooed before, but it's been a while (thanks pandemic!). I feel pretty confident describing the process, but while I have more tattoos than Rowan, the only tattoo location that she and I share are the wrists. I do not have my neck, ribs, or inner arm done. I'll do my best when it comes to describing those (mostly in upcoming chapters), hopefully it's all still believable.

The buzz of the needle was such an enticing sound, a sound that signaled incoming pain that would result in something beautiful.

Chapter Eighteen: Painful Progress

Daedalus had been keeping himself busy, if his home was any indication.

There were mismatched containers of brushes of various sizes and made from various materials. There were multiple easels, some with half-finished canvases. More canvases were propped against tables and walls.

Sketchbooks were piled high, sketches taped to easels to reference while painting. Messy palettes for mixing colors were near each project, thick with layers of dried paint.

Polyhymnia stood near one easel in particular, gazing at the beginnings of a portrait there. All the other paintings-in-progress were landscapes, depictions of the sea, various attempts by Daedalus to appreciate the ocean again.

Footsteps. She turned to find Daedalus returning from his sleeping quarters, holding out his arms to show the meticulously embroidered tunic she had brought along for him.

"I worry it may be too grand for the likes of me," Daedalus said with a smile. The trousers he wore were dotted with bits of paint, quite the contrast to the carefully embroidered shirt. "You are quite talented."

"It suits you well," she said, and somehow, it did. Even with the mismatch of the paint-stained trousers, the shirt looked nice on Daedalus. It fit him well and the shade of blue that Polyhymnia had chosen looked quite nice against his skin, recently a bit darker from his time in the sun, scoping out locations to paint.

"Thank you. Please let me give you something for it, it must have taken you ages," Daedalus said.

"You have given me plenty already, I am the one returning the favor," she said. "Besides, truthfully, I've needed the distraction."

"I imagine things are quite hectic. How is Rowan?" Daedalus asked.

"I haven't seen much of her since her return," Polyhymnia admitted. "She trusts Jack more than she trusts us at the moment. Our time with her before her death was… hectic, to say the least."

"They must be beside themselves to be reunited," Daedalus said, glancing at the unfinished portrait Polyhymnia had been examining earlier.

"Well, he's reunited. She didn't experience a year without him," Polyhymnia said, glancing at the portrait as well. "I see you've taken a break from the sea."

"Yes, well. I thought for a time that I was done painting him, now that I'm not having nightmares anymore," Daedalus said. "It… well, before, it seemed like he was haunting me in my dreams and in my work. I thought that, if I wanted to move on now that he was not always dying in my dreams, I needed to paint other subjects."

"You always put such care into your work, you breathe life into it," Polyhymnia said. Icarus' grin was only hinted at in the paint strokes so far, but even unfinished there was a feeling of somehow knowing the boy. "It's a lovely tribute."

"I guess it never felt like a tribute before," Daedalus said. "It felt like something I couldn't escape, the worst memory surrounding me from all directions, in all mediums. And it's what I deserved, for still being here without him."

"They have a term for that now: 'survivor's guilt,'" Polyhymnia said.

The concept had been around for ages, of course.

"I don't know if I find it comforting or not that enough people feel this way to warrant a term for it," Daedalus said. "On one hand, I'm not alone. On the other, what terrible thing to have in common."

"I would like to think that our loved ones would want us to find comfort among those who have suffered similarly," Polyhymnia said, setting a hand to Daedalus' shoulder. "I never met your son, but I would like to think that he would want you to enjoy your work."

"I would like to think so, too. This portrait hasn't been as painful at the others. Not yet, anyway," Daedalus said.

"Perhaps they will continue to get easier. I would like to see it when it's done," Polyhymnia said.

"Come back in two weeks' time," Daedalus said, turning from the painting to offer her another smile. "I'll have plenty more to show you by then."

Polyhymnia hoped that her face didn't visibly fall at the notion of visiting Daedalus again in two weeks. In two weeks, the Muses were due to officially declare their independence from Apollo and Artemis.

Polyhymnia wasn't sure what things were going to look like after that, but a typical social call seemed completely out of the question.

"Oh, the next few weeks… well, the next few weeks are going to be quite busy for me," Polyhymnia said, eyes cast to the canvas again, to the boy who flew too close to the sun.

She couldn't elaborate further and endanger Daedalus. She feared that even visiting him in the first place might make him a target for Apollo.

No, it was best for Daedalus to know as little as possible, to have as little contact from her as possible between now and the coup. If Apollo came looking for him, he would have no information to give, and hopefully Apollo would simply move on.

Hopefully Daedalus would not hold it against her.

Still, this meant lying. It was lying by omission, which landed in a gray area depending on who you were talking to. Polyhymnia, unfortunately, was not one that saw it as an acceptable gray area and her stomach turned with guilt.

But she couldn't endanger him.

And as he glanced her way with his kind eyes, she found herself feeling that she couldn't have him thinking that this was anything he had done wrong, either.

"When things calm down, I would love to come back to see your work again," Polyhymnia said, pouring all the sincerity she had into that statement, a statement of truth among omissions and vague notions. "I'm just, well, I'm not quite sure when exactly that will be."

Daedalus didn't seem to find anything she had said suspicious, simply smiling again and nodding along. "You Muses do important work. I look forward to seeing you again when you have the time."

"You okay?" Tooth asked Jack as soon as the door closed behind Erato and Rowan, and his breathing immediately became forced.

He had hoped that it wasn't obvious that he was now counting the length of his breaths, that his hands were trembling, that his gaze was still fixed to the door.

"I'm fine," Jack said, his tone soft as he was speaking through his controlled breaths. He tried again, "I'm fine."

She's okay! She's alive! I just saw her! Am I really doing this again?

"Sit down, Jack," North said, gesturing to the chairs on the other side of the work table.

"I'm fine," Jack said once more. Tooth and North exchanged glances.

Stop worrying about me! I'm fine! Rowan is fine! Everything's fine! She's alive, I just saw her!

"Sit," North said again.

Ideally, Jack would just leave. He would go spread winter like Rowan was always suggesting. He would check on her parents like she had asked.

But the idea of trying to fly away right now… Jack wasn't sure how far he would actually get.

Maybe he should sit down for a little while.

Jack only realized when he stepped toward the chair in question that his legs were trembling too. He settled into the chair, heavier than intended. Tooth and North were both wearing those concerned looks again.

"Did… something happen?" Tooth asked.

"Nothing happened," Jack said at once, before North could say anything.

"Mm," North grunted, raising a brow at the boy.

Jack scowled. "Nothing new happened."

"What do you mean?" Tooth asked, brow furrowed.

"I left Rowan alone and she was attacked by the Shadow People. I left Rowan alone and she died. So now, when I can't physically see that she's alive, I start to worry that she's dropped dead," Jack said, the frustration that this was happening again seeping into his voice.

"Did this happen before?" Tooth asked.

"The other day, yes," North nodded. He focused on Jack. "You did not tell Rowan?"

"Of course I didn't!" Jack said at once, as though it was obvious. It felt like it was. "What the hell am I supposed to say? 'Hey, Sawyer, your death messed me up so much that now I'm ready to have an emotional breakdown the second I leave you alone! If you could stay where I can keep an eye on you for the rest of eternity, that'd be great!'"

Even the previous day, at the cemetery, Jack had spent half of his time deciphering the words on the old tombstones and the other half glancing back to Rowan's half of the cemetery. He would hover above the ground when necessary to see exactly where she was, to confirm that she was still alive and wandering about.

Check a tombstone, check on Rowan. Check a tombstone, check on Rowan. Repeat.

It had been during the moment that he had ducked behind a tree to battle with stubborn branches that were obscuring a headstone that he had let more than a minute or two pass without checking on her. It was, of course, during this brief moment that she had called for him, and he had briefly panicked before realizing her cries were not for help.

"No one is saying that you should ask her to never leave your side," Tooth said. "Just, if it keeps being an issue, that maybe you should mention this is something you're struggling with."

"It'll just make her worry and feel guilty and she's got enough going on," Jack said, shaking his head, fidgeting with his staff. He glanced past North and Tooth toward the door that led to the rest of the pole.

He had no idea where Erato had taken her but she had said it wasn't far. He was already plotting whether it would be faster to hastily check all the nearby guest rooms himself, or to track down a yeti that knew which room they had disappeared to.

She's fine! I just saw her!

"Ah yes, and if she decided to keep something like this from you, you would feel just fine about that?" North said. "Bottling this up is no good."

Jack scowled again, trying desperately to ignore that he would not want Rowan to keep something like this from him. "It's my issue."

"I know you're used to going through everything alone," Tooth said, settling into the seat beside Jack. "And it makes sense that you're trying not to overwhelm Rowan. I'm glad you're at least telling us and I hope you do tell her at some point."

"You have a lot going on, too," North said.

"Yeah, no kidding," Jack said. He paused his fidgeting, glancing at his staff. "Nothing else world-ending about Nightlight's come up?"

"No, not to my knowledge," North said.

"Bunny is double-checking the records with Clio today," Tooth said. "I hope you're not dwelling on it too much. We still don't have a concrete link with you and Nightlight yet."

Jack tilted his head slightly, as though to say, I guess.

He supposed he hadn't been dwelling on Nightlight as much as he could be, mostly because one's romantic partner reappearing after being dead for a year was at least somewhat distracting.

Still, there were so many unanswered questions there, questions that disassembled the identity he had gotten comfortable with since taking the oath. It was difficult not to dwell whenever it came up again.

Was it too much to ask to have just one emotional crisis at a time?

(He considered that at least the Nightlight situation hadn't shoved him headfirst into a panic attack yet, there was that.)

"Do you guys know what happened to Nightlight's staff? Where is it now?" Jack asked, hoping to focus on this question even though his heart was still rattling his insides and his eyes kept wandering back to the door.

North and Tooth both fell silent, thoughtful looks passing each of their faces.

Every second that went by in the silence felt uncomfortably stretched, Jack's pulse ringing in his ears. He wished North had one of his records on.

"I don't remember," Tooth said finally. "I'm not sure that I ever saw Nightlight with his staff once he became mortal."

"I do not think it would be useful to him anymore as a mortal," North pointed out, his brow still furrowed. "I am not sure where it is either."

"Why do you ask?" said Tooth.

"I did tell Rowan about all the Nightlight stuff and she thinks this might be Nightlight's staff," Jack said, holding up the item in question.

"Oh," said Tooth. "Well, it's an interesting theory. I always figured it was just inspired by Nightlight's staff if anything."

"Nightlight could disguise the staff, it listened to his commands," North said, nodding along with the idea.

"But didn't you say you found your staff when you were still mortal?" Tooth asked Jack.

"Yeah, it was just in the woods," Jack said. "I always figured that when Manny granted me powers, he granted the staff powers, too, because it happened to be there."

"Perhaps Bunny or Sandy know where Nightlight's staff is supposed to be," North said, thoughtful. "But you should read Book of Guardians. It has more information."

"Right," Jack said, wincing slightly at the thought of the large, thick book that North had. The past week had been an emotional whirlwind. When was he going to find time to read that massive text?

"In the meantime, this is your staff," Tooth said, pointing to the object in question. "And you're Jack Frost. You're a Guardian, and whatever happens, that's still going to be true."

Tooth was trying to make him feel better, to affirm that he was meant to be there and she didn't expect him to be Nightlight. Jack wondered how much of his insecure statements that he couldn't be Nightlight had been relayed to Sandy and Tooth when Bunny was filling them in about the journals.

Jack supposed he appreciated the gesture. But it was hard to truly believe that he would still get to just be Jack Frost: Guardian of Fun, regardless of what conclusion came from all of these journal entries and odd coincidences.

"Thanks," he said after a beat, deciding he should at least acknowledge her attempt.

"Maybe you should go be Jack Frost. Spread winter," North said. "Get your mind off everything else. Rowan will be very safe here with the yetis."

"I can go with you," Tooth said at once. "We don't have to go far. My fairies and mice are already running things on their own, they can handle things for a few more hours."

Jack's eyes fell to the door again, his stomach turning at the notion of physically leaving the building.

Erato's gentle statement from the last time he panicked over leaving Rowan came to mind.

But I think the only way you can feel like she'll be okay if you leave her alone is to actually leave her alone sometimes.

"We can try. I guess," Jack said, reluctant.

"Great," Tooth said, wings fluttering so that she could rise from her seat. "You've helped me collect teeth so much, I'm excited to tag along while you do your work for a change!"

"Will be good for you," North assured Jack.

It didn't feel like it would be good for Jack. He had a terrible feeling of dread that he was sure was only going to get worse the further he got away from the pole, the further he got away from his half-baked "bust down the door, track Rowan down, and confirm she's alive" plan.

But he didn't want to do this every time they had to be apart.

Erato was right, how else was he supposed to prove to himself that it was possible to leave Rowan alone without dire consequences?

He pulled himself to his feet, legs still trembling slightly.

"We'll be back before you know it," Tooth said, opening the balcony door. It was dark, as it usually was this time of year.

Jack forced another deep breath. A portal would get them away and back much faster, but if he was really trying to commit to this, to really leave Rowan alone and go about his usual business, he should probably just fly.

"Okay," he said. The wind picked up and he crossed the threshold, letting the gusts take hold of him. Tooth followed close behind.

Rowan was glad that the guest room did not remind her of the one she had been staying in before her death.

The bed had been shoved up against a far wall, replaced by an adjustable black chair that looked very much like the ones she had seen in tattoo shops before, but far larger. She supposed it had to be big enough for someone like North to sit in comfortably.

There was also a padded table, not unlike the ones used in massage, which she had also seen in tattoo shops before. Again, it was quite large.

There were several adjustable lights in the room, a large magnifying glass being held by a metal arm, a table covered in stencils and the reference pictures she had brought along, a case full of different colored ink, boxes of different needles, an arrangement of different tattoo machines.

It still didn't feel like any tattoo shop Rowan had been to before. There was no art on the wall, no eccentric figurines. There were no binders with examples of artist work. There was no careful calligraphy declaring the shop's name and the hours of operation.

But at least it didn't look like the room she had been staying in before her death.

Moe had been finishing wiping down the chair when Erato arrived with Rowan. He had been eager to show her the stencils he had completed, and Rowan felt her eyes water to see the designs laying out before her.

She had expected to have to ask for adjustments, to have to scrutinize the references in comparison. But it immediately became clear that this was unnecessary.

They were exactly the right size. The lines were precisely the correct weight. Each angle was correct. Each curve was perfect. Moe had truly taken very careful care with the references she had given him. Seeing the designs laid out felt like being reunited with an old friend.

Then there came the new design, the one Moe was meant to draw up on his own. Rowan had been quite curious to see what he would come up with, having not seen much of his usual work. What he showed her was quite lovely, and complimented the other designs well, with more graceful curves and small stars embellishing the design.

It was better than any vague idea Rowan had in her head when she put together the references and notes she had, and she told Moe as much.

"He wants to know which one you'd like to start with," Erato translated.

"I know it doesn't really matter, but I'd like to go in the order I did the first time," Rowan said. "I want my first tattoo to still be my first tattoo. So, the stars, then the quill, then 'once upon a time,' and then the new one."

Moe nodded then made another statement.

"He says I should be able to go now, that you two should have this handled from here, unless you want me to stay or have more questions," Erato said. "If not, Nicky and I will be around if you do need a translator again."

"We should be okay," Rowan said. From here it was mostly getting the stencils right and then, well, moving forward with the tattoos.

"All right. I won't stray far, good luck," Erato said. She left through the door, closing it behind her and leaving the room mostly quiet.

Moe babbled a brief statement, holding up two records before him, which Rowan took to mean that he was letting her pick one. Rowan glanced between the two, finding that she unfamiliar with them both. However, the name on one of them rang a bell, the composer that Jack had mentioned being his first concert.

"We'll give Antonio Vivaldi a shot," Rowan said. Moe nodded, approaching the record player in the corner of the room. Soon the pleasant sound of a violin was filling the room, a tune that Rowan actually was familiar with (from where, she couldn't remember exactly), and Moe was carefully rearranging some of the reference pictures.

He pulled on a pair of gloves and gestured for her to take a seat in the large adjustable chair. Rowan did so, feeling very much like a small child as she settled into it. Gears whirred as the chair was raised. Moe set an arm rest next to her left arm and gently set her arm there, with her palm facing up.

A few more adjustments were made, to the chair, to Moe's magnifying glass, to the way her arm rested, before her wrist was wiped down and Moe finally retrieved the stencil.

He eyed her wrist, the reference pictures, her wrist again, the stencil, and the reference pictures again. It seemed that the yeti was still being meticulous in his attempts to recreate what she had lost, and while his careful glances made her somewhat nervous, Rowan found herself appreciating it.

Moe held the stencil over Rowan's wrist, hovering about an inch above the skin, making the slightest adjustments in his hands. She could hear her heart beating in her ears much better than she could hear the orchestra from the record player.

She held her breath as he finally set the stencil to her skin, pressing the lines down before peeling away the paper.

Moe was quickly back to comparing the lines to the photo, but Rowan heavily released her held breath, eyes watering again just to see the lines in purple.

Two stars, the one on the right slightly larger. They were exactly right, exactly where they were supposed to be.

They hadn't been gone very long. As far as her perception of time was concerned, it had only been a few days.

She had only had the tattoo for about two years at the time of her death, but she was already so used to them being present whenever she glanced there.

This was right.

Moe babbled and made a thumbs up gesture quickly followed by a thumbs down before pointing to the lines. She gave him a thumbs up with her free hand.

"It's perfect," she said.

Moe walked away from the chair and returned shortly with a tissue box that he set on the other side of Rowan, having obviously noticed her teary eyes.

"Thank you," she said. He babbled and nodded, setting up a small tray with plastic caps and a bottle of black ink. He filled the caps with ink before retrieving the tattoo machine and a new, sterile needle.

There was a buzz as Moe brought the machine to life and Rowan's heart raced in excitement. The buzz of the needle was such an enticing sound, a sound that signaled incoming pain that would result in something beautiful.

It was a pain that was productive. A pain that would leave behind art.

The needle met the ink and Moe said something else, another statement that sounded like a question and offered her a thumbs up.

"I'm ready," Rowan nodded. He gently reached forward with his free hand and tapped a finger against her hand, which she had curled into a fist without realizing. She relaxed her fingers and Moe made a few more small adjustments to the way her arm was positioned on the arm rest before that buzz filled the room again.

The prick of the needle immediately took Rowan back to her eighteenth birthday, wandering into a tattoo shop she had found online with good reviews, her copy of Peter and Wendy in her hands.

She had gotten that tattoo alone, too. A falling out with her best friend had led to a very lonely senior year of high school. But still, she had looked forward to the appointment from the moment she made it, still she was absolutely thrilled with the results.

The needle was pulled away, a careful black line now filled into the purple stencil. The pain ended as soon as the needle was absent, but the line had the familiar sting of a cut exposed to the air. That's what it was, after all: an open wound.

The pain, the sting, it all felt right.

Moe gently wiped ink and blood away before adding the next line. This one managed to hurt more, the needle gliding over a tendon. Rowan winced, but her smile had been fixed from the moment she heard the tattoo machine buzz.

The yeti glanced up at her as he finished this line, giving her another thumbs up.

"I'm good," she said, returning the gesture with her free hand. Moe's impressive mustache shifted in such a way to imply that he was smiling at this.

Another careful line. Moe frequently glanced at the references as he went.

The tattoo was the smallest, simplest one they would be working on today, and soon enough the stencil was no longer visible. Raised black lines were doused with cleanser and wiped clean.

The whole area was sore, the skin around the lines was red.

But it was right.

Moe offered her another thumbs up, babbled another statement with the inflections of a question.

"It's perfect," she said again, her heart racing, her eyes welling again. "Thank you, so much."