A/N: I started this little fic after finishing Pandora Hearts... then promptly left it abandoned, unfinished, for months. But thanks to a sudden burst of lets-get-things-done motivation, I whipped up an ending and here we are! Hope you enjoy. I feel the need to express how much I love Pandora Hearts, but then, if you're reading this, you already understand my feelings perfectly. Anyone else cry buckets during the last chapter? (or let's face it, pretty much the last twenty chapters). Anyway, without further ado:

Centuries

When Gil wakes up, it's to the sound of something crashing downstairs. He blinks open his eyes to find Oz before him, wringing his hands and wearing a nervous smile.

"Um… that was Alice," he explains. "She's in the kitchen, making breakfast."

"Making a mess," Gil grumbles.

"I hope you don't mind," Oz adds, somewhat nervously. He's sitting on the armchair beside the bed, perched on the edge like he'll jump to his feet any moment.

"I expected it," Gil says. He sits up, swipes his hand across his eyes to clear them, and glances sideways to find Oz watching his every move, eyes wide and bright and serious.

Gil's about to say something, but Oz beats him to it. "Gil…" he begins, and tacks on an uncertain "...bert." He then wrinkles his nose. "I always called you 'Gil,' didn't I?"

"Yeah," Gil says, and he's glad for Oz remembering, but the memory's uncertainty tinges it all with slight bitterness. He wants to ask— they hadn't got around to it last night, full of laughter and stories and thoughts for the future—

"Oz—" How much do you remember?

But Oz is too quick, again. "Gil, let me help with that."

Gil pauses— he's just pulled on his shirt and is in the process of buttoning it up— no easy feat minus a hand, but one he's had years of practice with.

"I'm fine, Oz, don't trouble yourself," he says sincerely, but Oz's mouth has already set into that stubborn line so familiar to Gil and yet so distantly remembered. He springs to his feet, marches over and takes hold of Gil's shirt.

"Oz— it's really okay, you don't have to—" Gil gestures with his hand, but Oz completely ignores him.

"I want to," is all he says, and he helps with the tie too, even when Gil suggests they leave it be after the first twenty six attempts. Oz grits his teeth and keeps trying for another half hour, until the clanging in the kitchen has subsided to a quieter sizzling sound that Gil thinks is probably more dangerous.

When Oz finally gets it he crows with excitement. Gil smiles at him wryly. "Do you remember—" he starts, then pauses uncertainly.

"Tying your scarf," Oz supplies, with a sunny grin. "It just kinda came back to me, while I was doing this. I remember—" he cuts off, sunny expression melting away.

When he meets Gil's eyes, Gil can see nothing but sorrow in them. He still holds the tie, and his hands tremble slightly. "I remember… how it's all my fault."

"Oz—"

"Gil— Gil— Gil," Oz repeats, and presses his face into Gil's chest. "I'm—"

Gil hugs him, but interrupts: "Don't say you're sorry, Oz," he says fiercely. "I made my choice, and I don't regret it. Not once in this past century. So— you're not allowed to say it."

Oz lifts his head, and some of the sadness leaches from his face as he raises a brow. "Did you just give me an order, Gil?"

"Huh?" Gil freezes. "Uh— yes— no— I didn't mean it like that— I— well— it's just— Oz…"

Oz smiles then, a real smile, sunny and bright and wide and just like Gil remembers it, this ridiculous boy who would accept the strangest of realities and keep grinning despite them. "Gil— it's been a hundred years, but you haven't changed a bit."

Gil lets himself chuckle. He lets go of Oz, pushes him towards the bedroom door and the aroma of sausage and sizzling bacon wafting from the kitchen below— is meat the only thing Alice is preparing?— and he says, half-grumbling. "It seems like that stupid rabbit is still the same as ever."

Oz laughs. "It's amazing, isn't it? One hundred years, and we can pick up right where we left off. I'm glad."

Gil blinks. A sudden lump has welled up in his throat, but he talks over it. "Me too."

Oh, there's small changes, no doubt. The clothes for one, the little differences in speech, in manner, that come from living in a different century. And maybe Oz can't remember everything at the moment, but it's okay.

Because Gil knows, even if the memories aren't all there right now, there'll be time to discover them— and plenty more new ones to be made besides. Because the thing that matters most is that Oz is still Oz and Gil is still Gil and Alice is still a crazy meat-loving rabbit, and now they're together again. They've found each other. And he doesn't intend to leave their sides anytime soon.

Not for another hundred years, at least.

FIN