It was not as if Jack thought of the battle with Pitch much, or of Pitch at all, but sometimes he found himself thinking of him. These usually happened when there was a moment of bliss, when he had a moment to himself and with his new family, the Guardians. On one occasion, he had frozen Bunny's ears together when he had napped through North's eloquent (but downright boring – in Jack's mind) speeches when they had their monthly meetings. Bunny flew into a rage and chased him, pursuing him around the workshop while Jack laughed till his sides hurt. When Bunny had reached to throw his boomerangs at him and found that those too were also frozen solid - that had been a sight to see, in Jack's opinion, when Bunny flew into the most spectacular fit of anger.

'OH YOU BLOODY PUDDLE OF… HALF-MELTED SNOW STICKS! YOU COME BACK HERE!' Bunny yelled, and was practically red down to his fur. Tooth and North had laughed till they cried (Sandy silently clapping away in glee), and watched as he threw himself at Jack just as he was dipping low to the ground

Jack had chortled and flew all over the shop, and Bunny tackled him unto the work tables, breaking some poor yeti's work, making him cry out in despair – yet again. They had gotten into trouble with North for that and made to repair the damage. But in the end, it was all water under the bridge and the pair of troublemakers had worked together, laughing as they did their best to mend their mess.

Jack flew over Burgess, resting on a high tree overlooking his home of the lake, a site of many significant events in Jack's life….and he sighed. It was moments like that he was so happy - to have a family, friends - just to belong with somebody. That feeling of wholeness and friendship and love – it overwrote any amount of the sadness he had felt when they had turned from him. He knew whatever he did, they would forgive him…and whenever they needed him, he would run through fire to help them. This gift, the Moon had given to him…he would cherish and love. He laughed to himself as he peered over the lake. He cherished their company, despite revelling in the solitude he usually spent on his own. He was content with just Jamie and his friends, and the occasional child that came across him and their laughter fuelled his own, even if they did not see him.

There was one, who would never experience this… One who had turned to him, and nearly convinced him to turn to his side. He was sad and alone – Jack knew that feeling. The centuries passing with almost nothing to offer in return... The loss and isolation…Jack understood how it could feel, especially when your rage could turn a fine day into a storm. Pitch Black had looked on him with such hope, Jack could see it in his eyes. He thought about the way Pitch had looked when Jamie ran right through him. He knew that sensation all too well, the stinging cold, and the pain of invisibility, to be not believed in…the despair. He remembered the fear in Pitch's eyes when the nightmares dragged him back under the bed, to hear his screams. These moments, Pitch would never experience

Jack looked up at the moon's glimmering face. Was it so bad that Pitch had done all he had? Sure, he had ''killed'' Sandy. Jack would never forgive him for it. But still… All he had ever wanted was to be believed in. Was that so different from what Jack had wanted? Although his methods were extreme, cruel and downright evil, Jack couldn't help but pity the Nightmare King.

"Cast out…", "to not be believed in…", "long for a family…" These were the words which echoed in Jack's mind. It stuck with him more than he had let on. These words he had cried out at the Moon, begging him to reply - the hope fading from him and the despair and rage. He understood what it felt like, and what Pitch might have hoped for. He had turned that around whenever he played with children. Just to see their smiles was uplifting. Pitch couldn't have that…

Gripping his staff resolutely, Jack hopped off the branch and drifted over to the hole where they had last seen Pitch - the entrance to the dark lair, which Jack did not want to ever see again in his immortal life. He knew better than to venture alone into the darkness. He knew that he out of all the Guardians had more reason to be cautious of Pitch, for he had been the instrumental cause of Pitch's defeat. But he couldn't stop thinking about the despair in Pitch's voice. When he cried 'No!...', as he was passed through – unseen.

He fell through the hole and landed on his feet, staff up with caution. He slowly walked out into the open, the dark cavern opening up to welcome him. It was otherwise empty, but Jack could feel the shadows writhing, like they were alive, and watching him. His bare feet padded almost soundlessly, echoing off the wisps of shadow which morphed on the walls. The darkness making his white hair stand out in the gloom.

'Hello Frost.' A cool and inflectionless voice rang from the darkness. 'Come to gloat?'

'Pitch…' Jack tightened his grip on his staff. His head swivelled round cautiously. 'Come out where I can see you' Jack shouted. He wasn't particularly afraid, but he was definitely not going to let his guard down.

'Why? Afraid of the dark are we?' Pitch snickered, echoing off the walls like he was all around Jack.

'I have no reason to fear you Pitch.' Jack answered. He panned around, eyes boring into corners where the darkness seemed to be the blackest. But nothing emerged. He carefully stepped around, staff ready.

'Oh.' Pitch's voice came, right behind Jack, and he whirled to find the Nightmare King himself, stepping out of the shadows, arms behind him, looking bored. 'I doubt that…'

Pitch gazed at the Guardian apathetically, like he was examining a ware that was not particularly interesting to buy. 'So. What is the purpose of your visit? As you can see, I have no quarrel with you Jack, for now…' Pitch gave a dismissive wave of his hand, leaning a shoulder casually against a pillar. Then, his eyes shifted and turned cheeky and he looked back at the young man. 'Although…' Pitch smirked, 'Now that you are here…' Pitch smiled, stepping away from his pillar and moving forward, circling Jack

'No tricks Pitch, I'm here to help' Jack replied, his eyes narrow with caution and stern vigilance.

'Help?!' Pitch threw his head back and laughed. He placed a graceful hand on his stomach nonchalantly as he chortled, his dark chuckles echoing off the walls of the empty cavern. 'What could the hero of the pathetic Guardians do for me? Give yourself up to me on a platter?' He threw his arms wide in a dramatic gesture. 'Why would you possibly want to help me?' Pitch gazed sceptically at Jack

For the first time since he entered, Jack noticed that Pitch was haggard. His robe was slightly frayed around the edges and he looked…tired. His power was definitely drained. But that didn't stop Jack from being careful.

'Honestly? I don't know myself. I just felt…kind of sad that you were lonely…' His reasoning sounded lame, even to his own ears, and Jack mentally kicked himself for being so honest. Oh sure, state your unclear purpose to your sworn enemy, Jack…very clever.

That however, managed to stun Pitch a bit. 'Oh? I have to admit… I am a bit surprised that you're all alone here. Thinking of me, were you?' Pitch gleamed sardonically.

'And I have to admit that I'm a bit surprised you hadn't planned your revenge yet…' Jack said. Mentally kicking himself again for being so honest. Why couldn't he come up with some smart comeback? Stupid, Stupid…

Pitch laughed to himself, slowly walking away from Jack. 'To be honest…I tire of all of this. Time and time again I've been forced into hiding in shadows, licking my wounds….'Pitch seethed, 'I hate it!'

Jack looked down at Pitch and notice a limp in his step, his hands were grubby and his nails were dirty, like he had been digging in the dirt. He stepped back, circling, shadowing Pitch's movements to maintain the distance as Pitch walked.

'You've been tortured by your own nightmares haven't you?' Jack called. His eyes softened in pity and sadness. He felt sad for this man. Could he say he didn't deserve it? No, though….

Pitch did not turn but remained with his tight smirk. 'Well. I don't mean to be a martyr here, but who did that to me? Who?!' Pitch turned on Jack, punching him, catching him under his guard and sending him flying across the room. His sudden turn to rage catching Jack off-guard.

Jack got back up on his feet, ready for another strike, but this time, Pitch stayed where he was. He scowled at Jack and all he could see in his blurry vision was Pitch's yellow eyes peering at him with seething hate

'That's why…I want to help. I don't want you to be alone' Jack rasped, catching his breath. 'Nor am I offering to help you defeat the Guardians.' He clarified. 'There has to be a win-win for all of us'

Pitch snorted. 'What good would you give me?' He sat on his beaten up throne, which Jack had not noticed in his previous visit. It was made of what seemed to be iron, cold and emanating death. It was rimmed with black nightmare sand and wrought iron that did not look at all comfortable. Pitch say back on the massive seat, his head dangling over his right shoulder as he looked at Jack with a bored sigh.

'Well, maybe it's time to find a new job' Jack said. 'We could find something else for you.'

'Unless you can find a place for Fear in your pretty little world of faeries and light, there is no place for it.' Pitch spat with faint disgust, wriggling his fingers in mockery. 'You and I are destined to fight each other. We cannot exist together. That is why you destroy me, and why I destroy your dreams.' Pitch stated monotonously, like he was bored with this obvious fact that was hanging between them.

'Well actually, you started that one first, and I still feel you should apologise about Sandy…' Jack frowned, waving his staff at Pitch.

Pitch guffawed, his baritone laughter bouncing off the walls. 'Apologise?! What a ridiculous idea. Still such a child Jack…' His black mop of hair, which was matted and untidy now, shook in mock amusement.

Pitch stepped off his throne and inched towards Jack. 'Why are you trying to help me Jack? Are the Guardians not entertaining enough for you?'

'Because I know how you feel. And I don't want that to happen anymore. I've decided find a place for you.' Jack said, his eyes were sincere and his posture relaxed. His heart full of pity for the Boogeyman who had no one to believe in him

But what he said bothered him. Fear thrived in the darkness, it fed off the light of life. If all that Jack and the Guardians were goodness and light, the total opposite of Pitch, then what could they possibly do? Were they destined to keep fighting each other? Keep destroying their dreams and crushing their hope? Suddenly, Jack felt strangely tired. Even though he had just started out as a Guardian, and his will to protect the kids and Jamie had not wavered, he felt sad for this endless cycle.

He likened it to the almost exact feeling he had when he was invisible. The endless winters and years flowing by with nothing to hope for, nothing to dream about. He had questioned his very purpose, and cried out to Moon so many times. He remembered the anger he felt when he discovered other spirits couldn't care less about him, despite being the same. He felt Time's cruel sting – oozing on, with nothing to ease its passing. He remembered when he had accidentally sunk the Titanic…

He stood in that frigid cold so empty. 'Who's Jack Frost?', 'There is such a thing as a winter spirit?', 'I thought that Nature brought the snow'. He had stood on that iceberg, surrounded by freezing water and seething foam, over the sinking of the cruise ship. He had only wanted to take his anger out on the ice, creating one so large he felt like his head was going to explode. He had not noticed that the humans did not see that the iceberg was going to hit them. He had watched, desperately as the screams of the passengers echoed into the night, with no one to help. He was powerless to help. He had tried stopping the hole in the hull with his ice, but to no avail. He had sat on the iceberg, crying as he saw the men who had stayed behind, the people who were freezing to death, and anything Jack did would make it worse. That day he vowed never to show his anger again, he would never lay a hand on another again. Now things were better. Now he had a purpose: he was a Guardian.

There had to be a better way. There had to. As he looked at Pitch, withering away in the dark, destined to return in vengeance, in hope of children believing in him, probably to defeat again and again. How could he just let this be?