Matchsticks.

Disclaimed.

Chapter two:

The things inside North's workshop never ceased to amaze Jack. The yeti alone were a marvel, the way they moved about, large and imposing, and yet, never making a noise. They worked tirelessly, meticulously, beefy fingers handling even the most delicate stitch work. The elves ran about, speaking a language entirely of squeals. When he was not causing snow days or freezing windows and plants, or bringing in a cold front, Jack enjoyed wandering through North's workshop, watching the Yeti make toy after detailed toy, and watching the elves do... whatever it is they do. He was never unwelcome now that he was a guardian.

He should drop in on Bunnymund more often, really, to make up for all of those Easters he ruined, but the Warren was not as fun. It was interesting to watch the eggs march, but it was too organized. This was chaos and fun, with marvels everywhere he turned, fascinating toys being made right and left; so many things to look at.

He had left his staff at the door—because Phil would have broken his arms if he had not—so he meandered around with his hands in his pocket, twiddling his thumbs and passing out off-hand complements, which all of the yeti seemed to disregard because he was not their boss. In fact, he could have sworn he saw one begin to work harder after Jack had told him he was going a good job. He walked around again, and said, "Keep up the good work!" and then the already furrowed brows furrowed more and the eyes squinted.

Jack came round again, "Doin' good there!"

He huffed, squinted more, and grabbed his wrist to steady it.

Jack came round again, "Doin' good there."

He slowed his pace to a crawl.

Jack came round again, "Doin' go—"

The yeti threw an already-completed toy plane at him. Jack laughed, ducked down, and watched the plane loop over his head, once, twice, a third time. The third loop became a beautiful arch, where the plane turned over and over in the air as it descended, crossing over the globe before, coming to rest in front of Jack's toes. He picked it up and threw it again, where it completed its series of loops, and seemed to go as high as it could. Once it looped five times before coming down again by zipping to the left and then to the right quickly, back and forth until it landed obediently in his open hands.

He went along like this, throwing the toy plane—he felt no reason to return it, he had been assaulted with it, after all—into the air, and watching it cut patterns on the drafts from the cold outside and the warmth from the fires, until he was out of the workshop, had walked across the great hall, and had gone to the stables. The reindeer did not take too kindly to him throwing a plane around, but he did it anyway, until it crashed into the antlers of Rudolph himself. The deer bowed his head, shook his antlers until the plane fell out, and then kicked it with his back hoof towards Jack.

It flew upwards in a brilliant vertical spiral, arched again, and landed on the deer's muzzle. He shorted, and his nose lit up in frustration. He shook it off again and then stomped on it a few times, and kicked the remains back to Jack. Jack frowned, and he grumbled, a little bitter, a little joking, "No wonder they never let you join in the reindeer games."

Rudolph just glared at him.

Jack tossed the remains into the waste bin and went back to the workshop, determined to get another, even if he had to steal it. Unfortunately, the word of his actions must have spread, because each yeti stopped working and gave him the eye the moment he was close enough. He went back to the yeti working on the toy planes, who gave him the meanest glare Jack could imagine, and that glare intensified when Jack walked away with a new-new plane, and went back to tossing it up.

This one was just not as spectacular as the first. It had a one-in-four chance of not coming back to him, and on that chance one-in-fourth time, it took a dive across the open shaft, dinged off the globe and vanished two floors above him. Disappointed, Jack followed it, only to think to himself that it must have vanished. He got down on his hands and knees. It had skidded under a low shelf an unused work bench, tucked away from the din. The space between it and the floor was just big enough for Jack to reach under and grab it. He pressed himself against the floor and slipped his hand in the nook.

Thunk-thunk. Jack ignored the sound. It must have come from another part of the workshop. He closed his eyes, pressed his cheek flush against the floor. His long fingers stretching blindly. The brushed the tail-end of the plane, pushing it beyond his reach.

Thunk. It was softer this time. Jack flicked his wrist in the little space he had. The plane shot upwards, arching back towards him to land on the work desk.

Thunk. Thunk.

The plane slipped off, hit his cheek as he rolled onto his back.

He caught sight of motion out of the corner of his eye.

He had thought it was a doll at first, because she was sitting with a bunch of other dolls on the work bench, but the motion he had noticed had been her shiny black boots swinging back and forth, two feet above his head. She was also quite a bit bigger than the other dolls on the workbench. She looked down at him and tilted her head. He picked himself up, stooped down to pick up the toy plane again. She was about seven, maybe eight years old, with dark hair in perfect spiral curls sticking out from under a white fur cloche, blue eyes and a little crease on her button nose.

"Hey there, I'm Jack Frost, what's your name?"

She did not respond.

"Come on, your name!" he insisted with a little chuckle.

There was another pause, and then she held and extended finger to her chest and said, "Millie."

Jack, satisfied with that, leaned back a little and crossed his arms, "I suppose you get first choice of all the toys, huh?"

She looked towards the main part of the workshop, and pursed her lips. They were pale. She was pale. In the light, she looked very sickly, but Jack doubted sickly was something spirits worried about. he had never been sick a day in his life. Millie did not answer his question. Jack shrugged.

"Come on," he lifted her off the workbench and set her on her feet, "This place is too busy for someone your size. You might get wrapped up in a box." He said. He took her hand and noticed that there was something strange about the texture of her fingers. He turned it over. The tips of her fingers were burned, as if she had tried to pinch a candle out without really knowing how it was done, and the skin was warm, as if it had been recent. Jack chuckled and said, "Let's get some ice on that." He covered his fingers with ice, tugged his sleeve over his hand, and took hold of her again, "And you'll know better next time, right?"

She did not say a word.

He walked with her back to the doorway, with the plane in one hand and her hand in the other, until he spotted North (who really owed him an explanation of why he did not tell Jack about this kid!) and he changed course to talk to him.

"I don't like them. Make the dresses white." North was saying to a yeti. The Yeti looked at neatly organized display of ballerina dolls in pink dresses and growled.

"I think they look fine in pink." Jack butted in.

North turned around with a bright smile, the one that was holding back a booming laugh, but then his face changed to confusion, and then his eyes followed the slightly slouched line of his shoulder down his arm to the hand covered in ice and then to Millie.

"Never told me you had a daughter." Jack said, "Been practically a year, why didn't you say something?"

North's face went slightly blank, only his eyes moved, He looked back at Jack, slowly, and then at the girl again quickly, like he thought he would not notice. "Is—Is not my daughter."

"Okay." Jack grinned at her, gave her shoulder a little shake, and asked, "Where do you live? Let's get you home."

"She... lives here."

He looked back up at North, "Oh?"

"She is spirit." He replied, "For about two hundred and ninety years."

"Spirit of what?"

North shrugged, "You don't need to put ice on her burns." he added, "She has always had them."

Jack let go of her hand and let the ice on his fingers vanish, "She's allowed to hang around the work shop?"

"Are you kidding? She is best little product tester." North took two dolls, one in a newly completed white dress, and one in a pink dress and held them up in front of her. She looked from one to the other, and then pointed to the white dressed doll and said something decisive and profound that Jack could not understand, but North understood completely.

"Millie is right." North said, he returned both dolls to the stand, "All one color is too dull."

The Yeti looked even more frustrated. North said something to Millie in what was probably choppy Danish, hoisted her onto his broad shoulder and took her on a round though the workshop, holding onto her every word. She knew one or two words of English, and perhaps a little Russian, but she was very fluent in Danish, as she easily demonstrated when she went by a pile of defects made by well-meaning elves. She pointed at a bear with mismatched eyes and began prattling on like it was the most incredible thing she had ever seen.

North chuckled. He handed it to her, and very quickly set her down and backed away with a quick pat to her head. He must have told her she could keep it, because she smiled with delight and hugged it tightly.

And then she burst into flames.

Jack sputtered and flung himself backwards, "Wh—wha—GAH!"

North replied, a little too casual for Jack's liking, "Has nasty habit of self-immolation. Very combustible."

Jack watched the fire dance over her, making her curls flutter, she stretched out her hand and watched them, as if it was something she never got tired of seeing.

"Happens all the time." North told him, "Nothing to worry little head with. Shame her toys never survive."

Millie looked down at a pile of ashes at her feet and frowned, not in sadness, but just in a kind of resignation. She took a deep breath and sighed. A little spurt of fire came from her lips. Jack danced back, horrified.

"I make flame-resistant mismatched bear."

North walked away.

Jack was not capable of handling this situation calmly. He looked around for a blanket to smother the flames, but finding none, stripped off his jacket and attempted to use that. It proved useless. He began to look for a bucket of water, and force out a few words that vaguely resembled, "Please help, she's on fire!"

No one seemed to pay it any mind.

He realized that if he wanted water, he would have to make it himself. He scrambled for his staff by the door, about twenty feet away, and ran back to Millie, who was still a small pillar of fire. He made it snow above her head. It turned to steam before it could land. He made it snow a little more, the water hissed and evaporated to nothing. He made an entire snowdrift appear and hover in the air, and let it fall. All that remained was a mound of white for a moment, and then her head popped out, looking just as sickly-but-well as it had been before she had burst into flames. The rest of the snow turned into water, then evaporated. Millie nudged the ashes with her toe and sighed again. She uncovered two melted button eyes.

Jack was still speechless. Hastily, he pulled his jacket on, but by the time his head had popped into the hood and he could see the place she had been standing, there were only two little elves sweeping up the ashes. He jumped over them and hovered above the chaos of the workshop, but he could not see her. He dropped back to the floor in front of the door and left, going through the great hall again, his toy plane quite forgotten. He looked around and muttered to himself, "She can't have gone too far, right?"

Jack knew there was not much point in trying to find a girl that did not want to be found. Kids knew how to hide when they wanted to hide. He gave up, flipped his cane over his shoulder with a dramatic flourish, swung his foot in a wide arch and turned around on his toes and marched straight to the front door, whistling a little tune. He exited the front door, stood on the wide porch for a moment, and pressed his ear against the door, trying to listen. He was constantly distracted by what sounded like reindeer's hooves crunching in the snow very fast, and harness bells jingling with a great foray, and then it all vanished very suddenly.

He heard nothing. No tell-tale patter of shiny black boots on the floor. Jack cracked opened the door again and peered through the gap. She had not shown herself. Frustrated now (the Guardian of Fun could not be seen loosing a game) Jack swung the door wide, leaned against the knob, and frowned into the room. He went back to his foggy memories, back to his sister. What had he done to find her when she hid?

Nothing, he remembered, nearly palming himself in the forehead it came back so easily, she was remarkably good at hide and seek.

North came wandering through another bear with mis-matched eyes clumsily resting on one arm, he was calling, "Millie! Oh, Millie!"

Jack drummed his fingers on his staff and was about to comb through the house when he heard a sudden chime of bells and something horrendously warm and half-melted hit the back of his head, where it became all melted, splashed down his back, slicked down his hair, and pelted out a sharp "Ngyaah!" Very much like the chain reaction in a Newton's cradle, this sharp "Ngyaah!" hit North, who turned abruptly, and exclaimed a brief, "Ah!" which hit Jack and sent him spinning around, spluttering, staff poised at the ready, but all he saw was a thick, downy blanket of white.

He spluttered a bit more, felt the ice firmly caked into his hair, and demanded of North, "HOW?"

"She can't throw snowballs. They melt in midair, more like water balloons. Obviously freeze when they hit you."

"WHY?!" Jack demanded.

North just shrugged, handed him the flame-retardant bear, and trotted back to his workshop.

Jack turned back to the blanket of snow. He saw a deer's shadow pass over it, bobbing up and down on the ripples in the snow like the waves on the sea. It dipped down quickly, and Jack saw that on its back, clinging to one antler, was a Millie. She scooped up a handful of snow and the deer doubled back with a quick quarter circle. As she made her return, Jack saw a quickly melting pellet of snow, then icy slush, then water, making an arch right for his head, which he froze in mid-air, "Ha!"

It continued on its merry way and nailed him square in the jaw.

"Gah!"

Jack, bear held in the bend of his elbow, stalked forward in to the snow and looked up at the reindeer. Millie saw him, looked right at him, and began to circle him, sizing him up. He stopped glaring firmly at her to test the feel of his jaw. It was tender to the touch, not entirely swollen, not bruised, but maybe getting there. He looked back up at the girl, who was still circling him.

"Mille!" he said firmly.

She widened her circle.

He held up the bear as an attempted peace-offering. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to get a better look.

"Now come down here."

She understood tone, but not the words. He would readily admit that he had sounded upset. He was upset. She turned the reindeer around and flew off. Jack huffed and slouched. He glared at the flame-proof bear, and it just gave him the same wide-but-mismatched-eyed smile he gave everyone. It was more psychotic than encouraging.

He let the wind carry him after the reindeer. He chased them far away from North workshop, down the mountain side to Santoff Claussen. The reindeer bounded off rooftops, cleared the top of the giant evergreen in the center of town, and then plummeted downwards, nearly using the heads of the people that walked down the street there to regain height. It was not long before he started to have fun again. He cut corners, made ramps to stop them, but at every turn that deer was sharper, at ever obstacle he overcame it. He looked back to give him a snide glance, and his nose flashed red audaciously. It was enough to slow him down a bit.

She had riding privileges? For Rudolph?

Jack accepted the reindeer's unspoken challenge. Once out the outskirts of the town, Millie scooped up another handful of snow and threw it at him, he dodged it as it melted (no reason to freeze it again) and waited until it was less of a mass and more of a stream before freezing it into snowflakes once again. Millie slowed Rudolph down to witness the transition and Jack used that opening to catch up with them and hold the bear up for her to see.

He had expected her to pull the deer short with delight, but she reached for it, and he, working from playful habit, pulled it back before she could touch it. She followed, it, arm out stretched, and Jack thought of it before it actually happened.

She slipped off of Rudolph's back and plummeted downwards, right above a deep cut in the mountain range. Jack swore softly to himself. Rudolph kicked Jack with his back hooves while diving downwards at a dizzying angle. Jack following quickly, straightening himself out and holding his crook close to him, the bear was not far behind that. Tumbling and cartwheeling, no care to the real purpose behind the sudden need to free-fall.

The plane fluttered out of his pocket, shot away, carried by their slip stream out of the gorge and far, far away.

Jack caught up with her first. They still had a great deal of distance to cover, "It's going to be alright." He tried to say, but the air rushing past stopped him. Instead, he just grabbed her by the back of the collar and pulled her close, holding out the staff and bringing them to a screeching halt in midair. Unfortunately, he missed catching the bear as it tumbled past. Millie did not seem to notice it, or the rush of Rudolph diving past in a valiant effort to save the bear.

The fall would not have killed her, Jack knew that, but it did not make the ordeal any less terrifying. He sat down with her on the first level surface he could find and rocked her until she stopped shaking.

He was shaking.

He missed his little sister.

He had been to Burgess. He had felt the pain of loss he should have felt three hundred years ago, but never before had he felt anything this intense. Yeah, there were lots of kids around the world that made up for that feeling, but right now, he just wanted her. He had to let those kids be with their families, eventually, he had to let them grow up.

He wanted Emily back. He wanted Mom back, too, but not as much as he wanted his sister.

"I've got you."

Rudolph joined them on the ledge, bearing the sad remains of the second teddy bear in his antlers. He had scraped it up, like one might scrape up week-old road kill. Jack tried to set Millie onto his back again, but she refused to let him go. He carried her back to Santoff Claussen, and by the time he reached the workshop, she had stopped crying, and was looking around again, quite used to the change of pace from his side from Rudolph's back. They came in via the stables, and North was making sure all of his reindeer were in good health.

When he saw what remained of the teddy bear—stuffing falling into the snow in little clumps like entrails—North frowned and glared at Jack. It was almost hurtful how he knew it was his fault. The large man picked it out of the reindeer's antlers and brandished it in his face. Millie was heartbroken by this callous display, "I can no make impact-proof bear!"

North left in a huff—doubtless to fix the bear, leaving Jack and Millie to their own devices. She was possessed with the need to be set down immediately. He struggled to set her down easy, but the effort was still very clumsy, and she tumbled down to the trodden snow, winding up on all fours.

A new understanding forged between himself and Rudolph, he let the reindeer into his stall and gave his muzzle a wary pat, picking a little more stuffing out of his antlers. When he looked back at Millie, she had zipped away and vanished. Jack huffed in frustration, then let it go. Millie had spent more time here than he had. She knew her way around, and she probably knew what was dangerous.

He found Millie and North chatting on the stairs. North was stitching the bear back up, presumably to stuff it, there was a pile of fresh fluff on his other side. They were speaking about something, presumably something nice, because Millie had a huge smile plastered on her face.

They both looked at him and she fell silent abruptly, because she was not stupid. She knew perfectly well Jack could not understand a word that came out of her mouth. She knew it. She could insult him to his face, and as long as she was smiling sweetly, North would be the only one to know.

And he felt left out.

He was well aware of the feeling, being left out. Over the past three hundred years, he had become quite familiar with it, that persistent weight of loneliness. North looked away from Jack to Millie, then back at Jack. His eyes sparkled—the way they always did.

"You still want family, no?" North said knowingly, "Have little sister again?"

He knew how to cut him to the quick. Jack's eyes shifted, "Oh, well, I don't really... That is, I... I have an entire world of kids, I'm the Guardian of Fun...I mean, Jamie."

North stated the obvious, "Jamie will not be a child forever."

He looked away, out to the snowy landscape. "Yeah."

He felt a tug at his staff, then a hiss and the feel of warm steam. Then boiling steam. Then he smelled something burning. Her jerked his staff away, dragging Millie with it and leaving her sprawled on the floor in front of him.

"Please don't touch this." He pointed to the staff and shook his head. He realized it was still smoldering. He smothered the embers with his hand, freezing them. It repaired itself. He reiterated, "No."

She picked herself up and dusted her front and knees off, though there was no need. The floor was perfectly clean stone. Jack grinned, squatted down in front of her. She smiled cheerfully, and he could not help it. He pinched the tip of her nose, and pulled his hand away very quickly, and said something he had missed saying very much.

"Got your nose!"

Yeah, one guess as to who Millie really is. Title is Matchsticks. Burns on fingers. Speaks Danish. Yeah, pretty obvious.