I did NOT come up with this idea. Bente36 on tumblr and one of her friends made a post with this AU and I had to write this to get the beautiful idea of this oneshot. Please excuse that I could not do it justice.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians.

She's diagnosed early.

There's a chance they can get someone, they tell her. But the way she sees it, they must tell everyone that. It's something hospitals do; pretend everything's going to be alright, even when that might never be the case again.

But she pretends to believe them.

For now.

.

.

.

"You're not going to die," he tells her, trying sound firm, but his voice cracks.

"I never said I was going to," she replies.

And he pretends to believe that she's never said that, though she knows she has, and he holds her to his heart, chin atop her head, as they sit and wait for the doctor to call her name.

"Toothiana." Right on cue.

She stands up, and so does he; he even takes her hand.

They follow the nurse, and there, a doctor is waiting.

"There's still a chance," the doctor says, and the nurse nods in agreement.

She pretends to believe them again.

He doesn't.

"How much of a chance?" he demands.

The doctor gives him a positive response.

He's put to ease, but he's not too positive.

She, however, is still pretending to believe.

.

.

.

She starts to feel weak sometimes. She's already been away from her work as the doctors fear it's too much, and she reckons it might be, though she isn't sure if being a dental assistant is really as stressful as the doctor insists.

She isn't happy, being away from work, because then she can't see the smiles the kids give her or be near her love of teeth. However, she finds that she can now spend more time with him, and right now, she needs that more than teeth.

Her parents pretend to be optimistic.

She pretends to be optimistic.

He does, too, but only towards her.

"Do you feel okay?" he asks her today as they walk to the movies.

"Yes," she replies, but it's a lie. Everything hurts. And everything shouldn't hurt.

He doesn't believe her, and he stops. "Tooth, you look pale."

"That's an earful, coming from you," she teases.

He won't tease. Not right now. "Tooth."

"Okay," she mutters, breaking. "I don't feel good. I feel bad. Everything..." she trails off. "Everything is hurting, and it's not supposed to. I think I have a fever."

He places a cool hand on her forehead. "You're...you're burning up."

"I know."

"B-but I didn't even notice you were burning up. H-how-"

She sighs, tiredly, and she wraps her arms around her middle. "I'm fine. Don't-"

He places a hand on the small of her back, not listening, and he starts to ramble angrily to himself. "How did I not notice? I should've noticed something..."

"Jack."

"Why didn't I bring my car? I should've-"

"Jack."

He looks at her this time, tired blue eyes softening.

She takes his cold hand in her warm one and says, "I'm fine to walk home."

He doesn't believe her, but he pretends, just like always.

.

.

.

"It's not cancer. There's a chance for her recovery here," says her friend, Aster.

"You can't relate this to cancer. What kind of sick, twisted bastard-"

"Jack," she interrupts softly.

"-even thinks that?" he finishes, angry.

"Jack, please," she pleads.

Aster storms out of the room.

"He wasn't trying to be rude to you, Jack. He was trying to make you feel better."

A dry laugh, and then, "While talking about cancer."

"He didn't know."

"No, he didn't. But he should've never said it anyway."

She shifts closer to him on the couch. "Don't be upset."

"I'm not," he insists.

She doesn't believe him.

"Don't be worried about me, okay? Nothing's final. Nothing's going to just happen."

He can't find a reply to that, but he does know that he doesn't believe her.

.

.

.

They tell her she doesn't have much time left.

There are no donors. They've found no one. Still, they insist that there's a chance somehow, and that she shouldn't give up hope just yet, because something could still happen, but that's just what hospitals are supposed to do, right?

And she pretends to believe them once more.

.

.

.

"You should tell them," she says, quietly.

He takes her hand, but he doesn't answer as they gaze at his niece and nephew, both of them playing in his backyard, unaware of what she is going through.

"Jack. You should tell them," she repeats.

He hesitates, but replies, "Eventually."

She doesn't believe that he will.

.

.

.

She's in pain. So much pain. It's like someone is ripping her chest open.

"Tooth?"

She can hear him, but she doesn't open her eyes.

"Tooth? Tooth, I'm right here-"

She knows she's in a hospital. That there's something going on.

"Tooth, if you can hear me, please show me."

She wants to show him some sort of sign. A squeeze on his hand, a flutter of eyelashes, maybe even opening her eyes, but she can't. Something is pulling her under. Drugs, maybe. Are they going to operate? She hopes they do, if it means no more pain.

No, wait, it can't be drugs. She's still in pain.

Drugs would mean no pain.

"Tooth, you're going to be okay."

She doesn't believe him.

.

.

.

When she opens her eyes, he's there. Watching her. His blue eyes, which once shone with love for her, are empty. There are bags under his eyes. His hair is rumpled. So are his clothes. He looks terrible.

"Hey," he mutters, and that's it. Hey. Nothing else.

"Hey," she whispers back, and even that takes a lot of effort.

He's holding her hand, she realizes.

"Your heart," he says, quietly. "It- it-" He doesn't finish.

She does. "It's getting worse."

"Yeah." His voice wavers.

She closes her eyes. Sleep sounds great right now.

"Tooth. Don't- don't close your eyes. Please."

She forces her eyes open, then, for him. It's hard, though.

"You've been up too long," she whispers, seeing his relief on his tired features.

"I know."

"I hope you've been brushing your teeth still."

He laughs, and ducks his head, and she smiles, because that's all she can manage.

"Do you remember when I asked you out?" he asks.

She manages a nod.

"All you talked about was my teeth," he recalls, smiling tiredly at the memory. "I was thinking you only said yes to me because you thought my teeth were so great." He squeezes her hand, but she barely feels it.

She smiles. "Maybe I did," she jokes.

His smile stays where it is as he places a pale hand on her forehead, fixing sweaty strands of brown hair with gentle fingers. Afterwards, he presses a kiss to her forehead, desperately, and just like that his smile is gone.

"You really scared me, you know," he says, still quietly.

She feels her face fall. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Just don't do that again," he says, somberly.

She breaks into another smile, this time smaller. "I won't."

But he doesn't believe her.

.

.

.

"Y'know, sheila, I really liked you," Aster confesses. "And not as a friend."

She's tired. She's sleepy. But this confession still shocks her.

"Oh," she says. "I- I didn't know."

Aster breathes in, shakily, and says, "Yeah, I know. I never told you. But I figure I might as well tell you, ya know? Not leave anything unresolved or anything like that..."

She can't help but smile. At least he's not telling her it'll be okay. He's being honest.

"I'm sorry," she tells him. "I don't think I've ever liked you like that."

Aster shakes his head. "No, it's just Frost. It's always been Frost."

And she nods, because she knows that's true. It's always going to be true.

"You'll find somebody," she says, gently. "Someone who's your Jack."

Aster makes a face. "No offense, sheila, but I hope I don't find someone like Frost. I'm not fond of bloody show ponies like that arse is, and if there's more of him, well, then I'd better get the hell out of town."

"Well," she says, pretending to be offended, but she can't help but laugh.

Aster grins, knowing she doesn't take it to heart, but he falls somber a second later.

"So," Aster continues, "you and Frost."

"Me and Jack," she affirms.

"Is it...serious?" Aster asks, but he quickly says, "I mean, the two of you have been together for three years, so of course it's serious, but do you love him? Really, really love him?"

She leans back on the hospital pillow. She knows the answer. Of course she does.

"I do," she says. "I really love him. I'd do anything for him."

Aster nods. "Well, then, do me a favor, would ya? Stay alive for him?"

She smiles at that; Aster is so...Aster.

"I will," she promises.

But even she doesn't believe herself.

.

.

.

They're letting her leave the hospital.

When she steps outside, he's waiting for her. Blue eyes lit up, hands tucked in his worn hoodie, he's a sight for her sore eyes. She doesn't delay and goes over to him, taking his face in small hands and kissing him.

"You feeling better?" he asks in a low voice.

She doesn't trust her words, but she nods.

He takes her hand. Intertwines their fingers. Smiles.

"I want to show you something," he says.

She grips his hand tighter. "Okay."

He takes her to the beach. It's winter; they shouldn't be at the beach, but they are anyway.

"You've never seen the sunset at a beach," he informs her when they get there.

"Ah," she says knowingly. "This is some kind of bucket list thing."

"Kind of," he agrees. "Except you're not about to die, as usual people acting out their bucket lists are. Come on." He offers his hand, and when she takes it, he leads her to the edge of the cliff he's driven his car up to.

They sit down. He places a blanket around her shoulders. She leans onto him gently.

"I love you," she whispers as they watch the sun go down.

He wraps his arms around her. "I love you." His voice sounds weird.

"I'm sorry I..." she trails off.

He kisses her hair. Desperately. "Tooth, I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

She believes him. Even when she knows that's stupid.

.

.

.

"You should go to work."

He looks up from sketchpad he's been working on. "Are you trying to kick me out?"

"I'm serious," she insists. "You've been taking care of me all week. What's North going to say? You've probably used up all your sick days and all your vacation time."

"Well, North gave me all the time off I needed," he says carefully. "North likes you. He-"

She doesn't look at him. "He's letting you stay until I die. Is that it?"

He almost falls off the couch. "What?"

"Jack, maybe it's best if you don't...be here," she says gently. "I don't want you to be the one who has to be there when I die. I don't want to put you through that kind of pain."

"Tooth," he says, pained, "don't say that."

"It's true, though," she groans. "I'm going to die because my heart is too weak to function and there's nobody who is going to donate theirs. No one's on their deathbed and just wants to give their heart up."

"No, you're not going to die," he argues. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

She looks at him, incredulous. "How can you say that? You of all people know that miracles don't happen. Your sister died from cancer, Jack. A-and now you're going to lose me too. I can't just let that happen to you!"

His face falls. She's gone too far, mentioning his sister and how he never got a miracle with that scenario. She's about to apologize- she has to apologize- when he stands up and leaves.

"Jack," she pleads, softly. "I'm sorry."

He closes the door behind him. He can't believe her.

.

.

.

She's weaker now.

Her heart's been having worse days. She's been having worse days. Still, even her heart doesn't hurt her more than the pain she feels without him around. It's been two weeks, and she hasn't tried to contact him, because she knows it's for the best that he's out of her life.

"Sweetheart, do you want to do something?" her mother asks, hopeful. "Just the two of us? We can go out for a drive, or go to the beach, or go see your sisters..."

Her mother. She can't remember the last time she spent some quality time with her mother. She's twenty four years old, about to die, and she thinks back to the days when her mother would hold her and she cries. She cries because yes, she does want to do something, just the two of them.

They go out for a drive after all. The day is beautiful. Birds chirp, sun shines, and everything seems alright in the world when they go back to her parents' house, where her many sisters and father are waiting.

And him. He's there, too.

"Jack, what are you doing here?" she asks, confused.

"I came to talk to your dad," he replies. "I wanted his blessing."

"His blessing-?"

Suddenly he's down on one knee, looking more serious than she's ever seen him, and also more nervous. He's barely even asked the question when she throws her arms around his neck, and he lifts her and spins her around, and she sobs a yes into his ear.

He believes her answer wholeheartedly.

.

.

.

It's like a stupid movie. Too cliché. She realizes this too late.

When she's about to walk down the aisle, rather.

She hates herself. In all the movies, the guy always ends up losing the girl a few months later (A Walk To Remember plagues her mind). Why didn't she think about this? She can't let him live with that pain. Not now. Not ever. She has to leave. She has to die without him there.

Yet when she takes off in a run away from the church, she cries.

She cries because a part of her wants this. He's being so sweet, doing this for her parents and for her (because both she and her parents have dreamed of her wedding day), and he loves her. She loves him, too, but she can't do this.

She can't believe she almost let it happen.

.

.

.

"Don't be mad."

He's still wearing his tux, even though it's the day after. "I'm not mad."

She sighs, and she rubs at her tired eyes and begins, "Jack-"

"No."

"You didn't even-"

"No. I'm not going to leave. I love you."

She hands him back the engagement ring. "I- I can't love you. You know that."

But in her heart, she can't believe that.

.

.

.

She goes to the doctor again.

It's late January by now. Sufficient time has passed since the disastrous (almost) wedding, which was just after Christmas, and she still hasn't seen him since the day afterwards, where she had left him again.

They tell her her heart's gotten worse, and she just might have a few weeks.

That's when she decides to call him. And she's in tears, too, because she can't believe it. Her time's running out already, and he's not even there to spend the final moments with her like she'd always secretly imagined and now has to come to terms with.

He shows up at the doctor's office before she's finished the call. There, he embraces her, and she holds him tightly and sobs into his work shirt- he's gone back to work- and he doesn't care, doesn't think twice, because they're together now.

"I-I'm going to die," she sobs.

He wipes at her tears. "No, you're not."

He believes his own words, because he's going to get her a donor.

.

.

.

She tells him she isn't scared.

She tells her parents she isn't scared.

She tells herself she isn't scared.

But she is. She's so scared and she doesn't know what she's going to do about it. There are the usual questions that plague one's mind when he or she is about to die that run through her mind, like what happens after death, and what she can do with her final moments.

She stays on her bed the whole day with these questions burning her mind. That's how he finds her when he lets himself in with the key she gave him (though he's only supposed to use it for emergencies).

"How're you doing?" he asks, hopeful.

"I'm great," she says, but her voice cracks.

He sits down at the edge of her bed. "Is there anything you need?"

She wants him to stop treating her like she's a fragile child, and she wants him to just go back to work full-time instead of babysitting her, but she realizes there's just one thing she really needs.

"You," she answers. "I need you."

And there's no doubt in his mind that he believes her.

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.

.

February. It's February.

She tells herself she wants to live until Valentine's day. She wills herself to. She's never really been fond of Valentine's day (because there are too many chocolates that are exchanged that mean bad things for people's teeth), but it's the only "holiday" left in the span of months she's been told she might have left. She loves holidays, so she hangs on to this hope.

He comes back to her apartment today.

"I have something for you," he tells her.

She's been watching TV, but she looks up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah."

He holds out a ring. The one he proposed with and she gave back to him the day after the wedding fell through. While she wonders what this means, he goes over to her and holds it out, not kneeling this time.

"I'm not going to ask you to marry me again," he informs her. "I just want to know if you love me enough that you'll just wear it. I didn't ever want to pressure you, Tooth. I love you and that's just it. I don't need a paper to know I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you. I just need you."

She's awestruck. "Jack..."

"But if it's only if you'll have me," he tells her, seriously.

She nods carefully. "Of course."

He kisses her, gently and sweetly, before taking her hands.

"And don't ever mention not wanting to hurt me again, either," he informs her.

"I'm sorry for ever saying that. I just didn't think you'd...want this."

"Of course I don't," he replies easily. "If this means not being with you, then of course I don't want it. I want to be with you, Tooth. Please don't forget that."

She doesn't say anything, but she leans forward and kisses him.

"I'm going to get you a donor," he whispers as they pull apart, and she throws her arms around his neck, and he wraps an arm around her waist, and suddenly they're both crying tears that indicate their happiness.

There's a feeling in her heart (no pun intended), that makes her believe his words.

.

.

.

The doctor tells her they have to perform a surgery.

She's worried. Because she still doesn't have a donor, they're going to try to operate anyway, to attempt to fix whatever is wrong with her heart. They tell her that, of course, it's all her own decision.

She tells them she'll do it.

She tells him she'll do it.

She tells herself she'll do it.

But when he enters her apartment, she's in shambles.

"You're going to be okay," he tells her, his words gentle, as is his voice.

She just hugs him. "Don't leave me."

"Never."

She starts to cry. "I love you," she sobs.

"I love you, too."

Love.

That is one thing he's always going to believe in.

.

.

.

They set up a date for the surgery.

He insists they put it off until late, but she insists on the day after Valentine's day.

"Why?" he asks, mystified. "Why afterwards?"

"Because I want to spend the day with you," she replies like it should be obvious.

Everything seems to be going well after that discussion, but suddenly, they get to the topic of whether or not he's going to accompany her to the hospital and wait while the surgery procedure takes place.

He says he is.

She says he isn't.

"Damn it, Tooth! I want to be there."

"I don't care. You can't be there. I don't want you to be."

"Why? Why can't I be there?"

"Because- because you can't!"

"Well why fucking not?" he snaps.

"You don't get it," she mutters, annoyed, turning away from him.

He frowns. "What? What do you mean I don't get it?"

"I mean exactly that. You don't get it. You're not the one who is predicted to die on that operating table; I am," she snaps, angry that he's even suggested accompanying her to the hospital.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Can you stop talking like that?"

"How? Honestly?"

He sits down and places his face in his hands. "Tooth," he moans, "stop."

"I'm sorry." She softens just the slightest. "I know you're trying to be supportive. I do. I get that. But you have to respect that I don't want you to have to be there and suffer the possible consequences. I care about you too much to let that happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me. Nothing's going to happen to you."

"You can't say something like that."

"Yes, I can, because I'm not going to let you die."

"You're not going to let me?" she repeats, incredulous. "Listen to yourself, Jack! You're acting as though you have the power to stop my death. Well news flash, you're not freaking God! You can't say things like that because you can't do them!"

He looks at her, raw hurt in his eyes. "I'm not saying I'm God," he says quietly. "I'm not even sure God exists anymore. I'm not sure I've ever really believed in a God."

She falters slightly, because this is news. He's always believed in so many things, even things small ones children even don't believe, and to know he's losing faith worries her.

"What are you saying?" she questions.

He sighs. "I don't know," he confesses. "Everything is just fucked up, Tooth. You're so pessimistic about everything now, but you've always been so optimistic about everything else. And now you don't even want me there to support you through your hardest time. I don't know what to think anymore."

She takes his hand. "I'm sorry," she says, though more sincerely this time.

He doesn't believe her apology.

"Prove you're sorry. Let me go to the hospital with you."

She feels the ring on her finger and says, "I will. I promise."

That he believes.

.

.

.

It's the day before Valentine's day.

"Are you going to want to do something?" he asks. "For Valentine's Day, I mean?"

She does. "Yes," she informs him. "Something special."

He smiles. "Good, because I've planned some things," he tells her, nonchalant, but of course still grinning at the prospect of spending the day together.

"Oh? Like what?"

"I can't tell you," he says, but of course, it all spills out anyway.

They're going to go to the beach again, but this time to watch a sunrise. Afterwards, they're going to go see the new movie she's been wanting to see. This will be followed by lunch, and then they'll go see his niece and nephew because she adores children (and them). Then they'll spend their time together back at her apartment, watching old movies and playing card games (because she loves Go Fish), and he promises he'll listen to her talk about teeth all she wants.

It sounds perfect to her.

"I'm really lucky to have found you," she informs him.

He looks at her and takes her hand, softly saying, "Ditto."

It's unspoken, then, her thank-you to him for everything he's done, and what it's been like, to be with him. She's thanking him for the time they've spent, and also quietly saying goodbye.

"So," he says brightly, "do you want to go for ice cream?"

She laughs. He loves the cold, so of course he'd want ice cream, even in the winter. Still, she knows there's no way she can deny him, so she squeezes his fingers and says, "Sure. But don't expect me to get any."

They stand up, and he bumps into her good naturedly, and she bumps him back, and they leave her apartment hand-in-hand, with their fingers interlocked tightly.

Tomorrow will be perfect, she thinks to herself. It has to be.

And she believes it will be, because she's going to be with him.

.

.

.

She's in pain again.

They were at the movie theatre when it had begun. The pain, the hurt, the panic. He had rushed her to the hospital, where they insisted they would have to operate right away, to try to save her life.

"Stay with me, Tooth! Stay with me!"

Her eyes are closing.

"Get him out. Nurse, get the morphine!"

"No! I can't leave-! Tooth!"

She hears him, but faintly, because her pain is ebbing away and that is what she focuses on. She tries to lift a hand, or whisper his name, but she can do nothing as the drugs start to make her sleepy.

"Nurse, put her under."

"Tooth!"

"What-? Get him out of here!"

She's sucked into a world of black.

Or at least she thinks it's black. Because, before her eyes, splatters of color begin to appear. His color dominates everything. Icy blue, dark blue, the softest shade of blues she can imagine. Aster's color, gray, is also there.

She's going to miss them both.

Green.

Blue.

Yellow.

She imagines she's a bird.

White.

Gray.

Black.

She imagines she's being sucked into space.

He likes space; he's always wanted to be an astronaut. Gravity is the only thing that keeps him on the ground; if it were up to him, he'd be floating in the wind, going wherever he would want.

She's flying with him.

She has wings, and her little sisters are also there, flying with her, their little wings flapping so fast she can't even tell they're wings. They're like little hummingbirds.

His nephew, Jamie, and his niece, Sophie, are there too. Smiling gap toothed smiles and running, running after him, through brilliant patches of white snow. And the snow's so white, so clean, so perfect...

Like teeth.

White teeth are her favorites. Aren't they every future dentists' favorites?

But she's not going to be a dentist. She's going to die.

Aster's probably shaking her head at her right now, knowing she couldn't stay alive. She apologizes to him. She thinks she does. The world is still spinning, with colors and space and teeth and Jack and Sophie and everything...

Red.

Red like her blood.

She hates blood. Can't stand the sight.

Orange.

Orange like the sunset.

Like the one at the beach, the one she saw.

Purple.

Purle like her contacts.

She's always liked the color purple.

There's a rainbow now, isn't there? She doesn't remember rainbows. Maybe she should've asked to see one with him before she died. She would've liked that, but she would've liked to spend just any time with him anyway.

Did she say goodbye?

Goodbye, Jack.

She's going to miss everything about him.

His mischievous smiles.

His shining blue eyes.

His love for the cold, even though she pretends it bothers her.

His worn hoodie.

His love to go barefoot.

I love you.

"She's stable."

Her world of black fades into white.

She's in pain. Again.

Why aren't the drugs working?

"His family's waiting."

"What about her family?"

"They're waiting, too."

She's alive.

Eventually she opens her eyes, a day after Valentine's Day. Welcomes her parents. Talks to her little sisters. Greets Jamie and Sophie. Catches up with Aster and her other friend, Sandy. North even comes by.

Yet he isn't there when she wakes up.

"How're you doing, sheila?" Aster asks her amiably, as he and Sandy are there.

"Better," she answers, truthfully. The operation is history, but pain isn't.

"Good, good," Aster says, and she notices that something's off. Aster's smile is too tight, too forced. Sandy, who can't speak, but is very chatty with sign language, doesn't even lift a finger.

She cuts to the chase and questions, "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, something's happened," she insists. "What is it?"

Aster rubs the back of his neck. "I'm not sure I should be the one to tell you."

She frowns. "Then who is?"

"Jack," Aster answers.

Sandy looks at Aster in what can only be alarm.

"Well, where is he?" she asks. "He told me he'd be here."

Aster shakes his head at Sandy, who begins to tug on Aster's sleeve.

"What? Where is he?" she demands again.

Aster hands her a paper, and then he and Sandy leave.

Hey, Tooth.

I guess if you got this, then ol' Cottontail worked up the guts to hand this to you. I also guess that you're buzzing with questions. So I'm going to answer them, even though I've got to hurry right now. First off, I'm sorry for not being there with you. And also, if everything worked out, then you have to know that I'm the one who gave you my heart. I meant it when I said I wasn't going to let you die. I hope you won't be too mad at me for this, because I really do love you. This is my final way of saying it, I guess.

-Jack

Tears drip down her cheeks. It can't be.

How can he does this? Why did he do this? Why didn't anyone stop him?

And she remembers. The way he always insisted he'd get her a donor. The way he insisted she wasn't going to die. The way he never tried to be pessimistic about her condition. He stayed the optimistic when she couldn't. He brought happines to her when she thought she could never be happy again.

Why'd you do it, Jack? Why?

Her tears keep dripping, and they dot the paper that her fingers won't let go of. She holds it to her heart, but she finds it hurts, because the heart she carries is now his. It isn't even hers to hold one of his letters to.

She notices there's writing on the back of the paper.

P.S.: If you're crying, then please don't cry. I love you, remember? You don't ever have to cry again. Love is supposed to be fun, so would it kill you to crack a smile?

She finds that she does end up smiling. It is almost like he's there, flashing a taunting grin and speaking in his low-but-not-too-low voice, interacting with her in his fun, almost childish way.

Love is supposed to be fun.

That is something she's always going to believe.