So…here he is again. At a party of sorts. More of a get-together. Although it is rather different this time. It is not like the block party which was organized by the Bennetts, nor is it like the large gala concocted by the Russian. No, this is something which Pitch finds himself enjoying a little bit more.

New Year's Eve.

The pinnacle of everything. The summation of one's life over the past three-hundred and sixty-five days. Pitch has not been awake for an entire year, but he has had a rather interesting few months. In any case, he is standing here on the edge of the pier, looking out at the small lake which downtown Burgess overshadows. He has never paid much attention to this place when he has had bigger fish to fry in grander American cities like Chicago and New York and San Francisco. In their dark underbellies lie the shadows he loves.

However. Here. Here is someplace that he can definitely grow used to. And that is due to the young man who is currently trotting towards him with two steaming cups of hot chocolate in his hands, a long staff tucked under his arms. He hands one cup to Pitch, who takes it with a smirk, scrutinizing that pale face which he had seen in a much different state a few hours earlier.

Yes, had that not been the very face which had contorted with agonizing pleasure under his ministrations? He seems to remember those lips pink and swollen from eager kisses and playful nips, those blue eyes glazed over after his soul had been suspended in the clouds. Pitch shivers, because he remembers many things about that face and body too, and apparently Jack knows what he is thinking because he reddens with a sudden splutter after one look at those hungry, golden eyes and turns away to stare hard at the black waters.

"You perv." He tugs embarrassedly at the black scarf wrapped about Pitch's neck, the scarf he worked hard to make with as few mistakes as possible.

"Not what you said earlier," Pitch hums guiltlessly, splaying a hand on the small of his back and leading him to an empty bench near the water. They are seen by some people, unseen by others, but that is not what matters right now. They are here because they were asked to be here. The famous Twining Gardens of downtown Burgess are right behind them, the place where they all agreed to meet near—the Guardians, the Bennetts and their neighborhood friends, himself, and Jack. Jack, who knows he has to brave his fears and talk to his colleagues.

Pitch had not exactly had the chance to talk things over when they awoke again. They had leapt right into making up, and there had been a very close call when North had come tromping up the stairs to check on them for what was apparently the second time, but they had evaded that easily by slipping into darkness, back to that forgotten bed in the lowly lair. Afterwards, Jack mentioned the New Year tradition he usually shared with the children of old, and Pitch had agreed to come along.

And they still haven't talked.

"Jack."

The youth sighs into his drink. "Yeah, yeah, I know. That thing."

"It's better to get this over with before you see all of them."

"It's not all of them that I have a problem with. Only two. No big deal." But he has gone paler under the lights which are still strung up from the Christmas holiday. "I…what should I say? How do I say sorry to—"

"First of all," Pitch cuts in with a gentle sharpness, "you will not be apologizing. You are not at fault here." He threads his fingers through those soft locks and turns his face so he can lock eyes with him. "And second: I am sure they are wondering the exact same thing. Enough of this foolishness. You only need to sit and listen to them. You don't have to say anything. And if you cannot handle it, I will take you home and you can try it again another day."

"What makes you think I'd be willing to try again?"

"You said it yourself. You love them. Clearly you miss them, even if you're still angry for what happened."

Jack presses against him and leans his head against his shoulder. "I wish it had never happened." He looks up. "Do you? I mean, if it hadn't, we wouldn't be here right now."

Pitch tastes his drink and finds it somewhat agreeable. Not nearly as sweet as the way North makes it at least. "I could not say. I wish that this had never happened to you, but I cannot bring myself to wish that we had not met again like that. Perhaps if there had been a chance to meet and wind up here in a different way, then I could say it with a free heart. But at the moment, I can't give a concrete answer."

"Useless," Jack chides warmly, lacing his fingers with the hand over his shoulder. Pitch looks down and remembers the first day those pale appendages had been blackened by the cursed soil of his home. The day Jack had given him life again.

"You…what did I look like when you pulled me out of the ground?"

"Like shit."

Pitch tugs at his white hair. "Language, brat."

"Who're you to—whatever. What's it matter anyway? I went there because…well, you know why I went there." He is still uncomfortable about the subject. Pitch supposes that is only because he feels guilty for ever having thought that he might teach his friends a lesson by resurrecting the Boogeyman. "There's not much to say. You were just really weak and tired and you didn't look like you did before. You were thinner…your eyes were sunken and they weren't as bright. Really dull and empty."

"So you just stuck you hand in the dirt and dragged me out?"

Jack looks up at the sky. The stars are just barely there because of the city's lights, but they are visible, so it's enough. "No, I…the entrance was gone. I remembered where it was, but there was only dirt. I had to dig a lot. Shoulda gotten a shovel."

Pitch remembers the dirt on these lovely white hands, the particles beneath the nails, and wonders why something so pure would bother with a corrupted creature such as himself, even for revenge.

"When I got through and made it into the main cavern, I could hardly see anything. I looked around a lot, but I didn't have much to worry about. Sandy had made a visit through another entrance years earlier to take back his sand and hadn't had any trouble. Knowing that, I didn't pay attention to the darkness. I should have."

A chill crawls down Pitch's spine, and it's not because of Jack's skin. "The shadows. Did they—"

"Find me? Yeah. I knew you had power before the sand. I mean, it wasn't like my team-up with the Guardians led to my first meeting with you. You chased me away a couple times with these weird…things."

A word passes through Pitch's mind but he does not say it because then he would have to explain what those "things" were, and the thought of them chasing Jack is infuriating enough. "So you saw something in the shadows?"

"No, the point is that I didn't. I let my guard down. Found you in that room way in the back, actually. Our bedroom." He pauses and blushes again. "I can say that, can't I? 'Our'?"

"Please," Pitch agrees, nuzzling his hair. "I have no qualms with it."

"Yeah? Okay. I found you there though. You wouldn't wake up. So I just reached out and touched you. Um, everything went crazy. Like, the ground started shaking and the shadows started shifting even though it was super dark down there, and the walls started screeching—the walls, Pitch! That's so weird! And I got really freaked out, so I grabbed you and flew outta there. Whatever was down there tried to chase us. You know, for a guy who was super thin, your ass sure was heavy—ow, hey!"

"Watch yourself."

"Truth hurts, don't it?" He gives this grin which is blinding and lovely. "Where was I? I flew us out, and the thing tried to pull you back down when I got outside. That's when you started waking up. I kept tugging until you were out and the shadows were in and you opened your eyes and everything down there just went still and silent. Like the shadows knew that the master was finally up and ready to deal with them. Or something like that."

The Nightmare King is rather impressed, and expresses his approval through a kiss. "My hero."

"Damn straight." He is going to boast more, but his attention is caught by someone else. "Jamie!"

Pitch lets him run off and sits staring out at the pier with all of the festive lights. Somewhere far beyond, his sharp eyes pick out a small team prepping an impressive stash of fireworks for the night's scheduled event. Midnight is a long ways off though, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees a certain group of spirits approaching through the crowd, some of whom stop to give them strange or disbelieving looks. Pitch goes to greet them.

"You have thought long and hard about your transgressions?"

"They don't need you to tell 'em what they did wrong," Bunnymund grumbles. Pitch may have agreed to visit again, but they are still enemies first and foremost.

"He's worried," Pitch counters. "I'd hate it if either of you said the wrong thing again and set him off." When he notices the nervous expressions on Tooth and Sandy's faces, he back off a little. "But I trust that you will make amends well enough."

Jack has returned to his seat on the bench, swinging his legs as he waits for Pitch's return. The shade points at Tooth. "Now is your chance."

She flutters forward, then hesitates. "What if he runs off?"

Pitch wants to be the one by his side, so he glares at her in a way that says she just needs to go now and get it over with, yet not rush it too much that it sounds insincere. She steels herself and makes her way to the bench. One delicate hand stretches out to brush Jack's shoulder; the boy turns with an expectant smile, then freezes for a second before ducking his head. Pitch turns away at that moment. The moment belongs to those two now, and he should not interfere.

To pass the time, he leads the Guardians to Jamie and the group of children of old, along with their families. The reunion between spirits and mortals is a joyful riot, though Pitch hangs on the fringes of it with his cup of cocoa and a hint of a smile hidden beneath the pearl stitch of a warm, handmade scarf.

Perhaps ten minutes later, Toothiana appears at his side. Her face is flushed and her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she is smiling, and that is all the shade needs to see. "I take it that your talk went well?"

She sniffles and wipes delicately at her eyes. "Yes…yes, I think it did. Thank you."

Golden orbs slide lazily towards the happy group tossing snowballs at their children. "I've done nothing. Perhaps you should tell Sanderson that his number is up." He purposely does not look at her as she brushes a grateful hand against his arm. She laughs at his stiff personality and catches Sandy's eye, motioning to Jack. The Guardian of Dreams goes immediately, and once again, Pitch keeps his eyes off of the pair in a surprisingly respectful manner. He can no longer interfere with them.

Jamie comes over to him a little while later and slings an arm comfortably around his shoulder, ignoring the frigid sneer and glare he receives in return. "You've changed."

"I will strike you."

"You're still coming around for dinner on Fridays, right?"

"Why on earth—"

"Because, I mean, Jack seems very happy with you around. And Sophie's been keeping me updated on what's been going on between him and the others and you. Apparently Bunny's her informant."

Pitch scowls at the blond-headed young woman who is being twirled about in the snowy grass by her husband. He'd all but forgotten of her. Well, then. "It's none of your business."

"Who said anything about business? I just wanted to know if you'd be there this Friday. So that Pippa knows how much to make."

"If I have not missed a dinner yet, what makes you think I'd miss one now?" the shade snaps, because maybe he does not mind eating with the Bennetts as much as he lets on.

Jamie looks at him with wide eyes, then chuckles. "Right, you're right." His kids are calling him, begging that he help them work on a snowman, and he waves. "For the record, Pitch, it's been great having you around here. I hope you'll be around for a long time." He then rushes at his children with a playful roar and sweeps them up in a wide circle, his laughter mingling with their thrilled squeals.

Pitch hangs off to the side, his half-empty cup still warming his already-hot hands. What is this? This clichéd heat spreading through his chest? This common feeling described in the ridiculous books scribed by mortals, this sensation which is found by the hearth in the chilly winter? He thinks he hates it. He murmurs into his scarf that he loathes it. But he looks at the Guardians and the humans, and although he wants to remain an outcast, wants to be on the outer circle, wants to make sure that they understand that he has no intention of becoming their friend…

"I hope I'll be around for a long time too."

A soft glow alerts him to Sandy's approach. He is not sure what to make of the expression on the little man's face. It is a mix of sorrow and jubilation, a very complex thing which has him stepping in his path to stop his approach towards the group. "Well?"

Sandy looks up, surprised, then glances back at where he has left the winter sprite. Pitch allows himself a peek too. Jack is leaning forward, hood up, back hunched, clutching his staff to his body in his usual contemplative way. The Sandman huffs, not in exasperation, but in relief. The shifting symbols fly up.

There is hope for me yet.

"Then he has forgiven you?"

No. Nor has he forgiven Tooth. And he does not trust either of us completely. Yet. But he wants to. He told me he wants to, and that he understands why we did it. He said you helped him figure it out.

"I did absolutely nothing," Pitch disagrees, trying to think of what he could have possibly said to make Jack think that he—

He mentioned something about your rather violent threat against us. Sandy fixes him with a knowing look. I don't doubt that you meant it.

Pitch nods without shame. He had meant it with all of his heart. "What of it?"

You spoke of love. How you would do anything for him. Back then, when Tooth and I tried to tell him why we did what we did, or at least why we tried to do it, we told him it was because we loved him and couldn't bear to see him hurt.

"That explains that," Pitch snarls to himself, remembering exactly how Jack had rejected his confession.

However, Sandy continues (though he looks like he knows about that too even though there could be no possible way), because of what you were willing to do, he understands. He didn't like it, but he understands. Our loves are of the same material, though yours is a little stronger and somewhat different. But he gets it. So thank you for that.

"I wish you'd all stop thanking me. I've done nothing."

You call loving him nothing?

Pitch looks again to the blue hoodie and sips his drink. "No. Never nothing." He sighs. "Very well. Does that mean this business is all behind us?"

It will take time. But as I said, he wants to trust us again. We will start slowly and keep our expectations low, but if you continue to support him, it will be alright.

"And what if I want to be selfish? What if I want to make sure that this rift never heals so that I can have him for myself?"

You won't, Sandy chuckles silently. You love him too much.

"Wouldn't love be the reason for selfishness?"

No. I mean that you love him too much to do the wrong thing for him. You know that we are right for him. And because you want what's right for him, you want to heal this friendship. And you will. Face the facts, Pitch Black. Until all is set right, you're stuck with us.

The mischievous words and conniving look in the Sandman's eyes shocks Pitch. He has seen the Guardian look crafty when they fought and he had the upper hand, but never with such a sharp gleam like now. The plotting behind it is astounding. A wicked grin twists Pitch's face, and he cackles softly. "God, Sanderson. We could have been powerful. If only you had a bit more taint, we could have ruled ages ago."

You know that's not what I want for the children.

"You could have done whatever you wanted for the children without them. It would have been just the two of us."

He snorts, but his golden smile is utterly amused by the idea. Don't start propositioning me. He might get jealous.

Pitch looks at the unmoving frost spirit. "Right." It's high time that he goes to the boy. He downs the rest of the hot chocolate, hands the trash to his rival counterpart who huffs with resigned annoyance, and makes his way by a group of civilians, some of whom smile knowingly and nervously at him, some of whom do not see him at all. He smirks back at the ones who look at him, sending them into a flurry of whispers. It's good to have believers. They radiate a mixture of fear and curiosity, a very delicious scent which Pitch takes a moment to savor before sitting by Jack.

The boy shifts and mumbles, "Hey."

Pitch touches his hands. "You look rather glum for someone who's on his way to having his friends back." Jack shrugs. Pitch frowns, leans down, and sees that his cheeks are still wet. "Is something wrong?"

"Um…not really." But he suddenly leans closer so Pitch has to wrap an arm around him. "I mean, nothing's wrong at all. I'm not ready to hang out with them right away, but I'll visit sometimes and it'll get better."

"Then why do you weep?"

"Why do you talk like an old British geezer?" comes the counter. Pitch chuckles and presses his lips to the blue hood. "Sorry. Nothing's wrong. But…I still don't remember them, Pitch. I don't like that. There's no way to get those kids back, and it just doesn't sit well with me. There's a hole in my head. I hate it."

Pitch thinks quietly to himself as they watch the humans mill about. His thoughts almost go into a daze with all of the pretty lights and the buzz of voices. After a bit, Jack pushes back his hood, lifts his head, and steals a kiss. Pitch blinks and finds himself staring at those brilliant blue eyes, which look just a little bit happier.

"Well?"

Jack kisses him again. "Well, what? I'll try not to think about it for tonight, because I have you, and that's enough. In the meantime, there's a couple hours before midnight. Let's go have some fun."

Of course the Guardian of Fun would be the one to convince him to run about the city with the rest of the pack. Once upon a time, Pitch would not be caught anywhere near civilization during festive holidays, save Halloween. But, as Pitch has told himself time and time again since his awakening, that time is past. This is a new age, and he does not mind it at all.

Though he does hesitate when they visit the small carnival along the pier, and the brats of the people who were once his enemies try to drag him into fun houses and onto large rides. He might enjoy his time with Jack, and he may push himself to be more sociable to a certain extent, but this is stretching it. A lot. Still, Jack is smiling as he watches him step into a carriage of the Ferris wheel, so he goes along with it. And tries to hide his own smile. God, this is getting all quite ridiculous.

"Uncle Black!" Joey giggles with excitement while his sister and the other children are pressed up against the window as they rise through the air. "Look! Loooook!"

Pitch rolls his eyes as the boy crawls into his lap and looks down at what Joey is pointing at. One of his canines is missing.

"You thee?" Joey cries. "I lotht it this morning! Momma thaid Tooth would come to get it tonight! After we get back."

A fatherly instinct kicks Pitch in the heart, and he nearly loses his breath from it. Without thinking, he bounces Joey on his knee and damn near croons with a much smaller idiotic smile than Jamie would have done, "Good for you. But you'll probably fall asleep before the night's out."

"Nu-uh! This ithee only night we get to be awake really late. I'll thtay up!"

Pitch can't decide if his lisp waning or waxing because of the lost tooth, but he'll have to tell Jamie to find a way correct it for the boy, because that kind of speech pattern can lead to vulnerability at school, and the last thing he wants is for Joey to be bullied. Again, that feeling of protectiveness worms its way in, but before it can latch on, he sets Joey down so the kid can go look down at the city beneath him. As he leans back and vaguely listens to the children rave at the sights, he thinks again of Jack's memory situation. The golden glow of the lights outside reminds him of the dream sand which deprived Jack of happiness. Then he hears Joey bragging to the others about his tooth while Molly tells him to hush, and a solution suddenly rattles about in his skull, shining with brilliance.

He nearly jumps through his shadows as soon as he realizes it, but recalls that he's supposed to be watching these brats, and he does not want to hear Pippa's nagging if he abandons them, so he sits and practically vibrates with excitement. When they reach the top, the children tug at him until he comes to the window.

Down below, he sees the beautiful lights, the stretching buildings, the pier, the dark water, and the glow of the cities on the other side of the lake, because it is no Lake Michigan, that's for sure. Still, it looks nice, and he can actually spot the Guardians and others waiting in line to go up. Jack, though he fidgets with his staff, is actually chatting shyly with Tooth, who looks like she's going to faint with elation. Sandy is somewhere else in line, so that's going to take more time, but every once in a while, the young spirit glances back to smile nervously at him. Pitch's heart glows with pride. Just as he is making efforts, so is Jack.

Ah, but there is his idea to remember. When he and the brood reach the ground, he shoos them back to their parents with a miniscule smile. When some of them linger, he threatens them, but ruffles their hair like a good Nightmare Uncle should and makes the shadows pinch playfully at their heels as they dash with delighted screams towards their parents. Then he straightens up and barks, "Sanderson!"

The Guardian gives him a look, but floats over. Pitch gestures to Tooth as well, and they take to the edge of the pier where he tells them of his idea. When he finishes, he struggles not to grin as the pair looks out upon the waters with wonder and excitement. "Well?"

"Well? Well? Pitch, it's genius!" Tooth hugs him before he can protest, but he wonders if he would have protested at all. Well, yes, he would have, but the embrace is over before he can make a big deal of it, so he does not say a word, even as Sandy claps a hand on his shoulder in congratulations.

I think that this truly is a night for celebration.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Pitch warns him. "First, you need to tell me if this is within your abilities."

Absolutely, Sanderson says immediately.

"Of course it is," Tooth agrees. "But should we tell him now, or surprise him by…"

Pitch shakes his head. "No. What happens if he wakes up and sees you hovering again? He'll do worse than cry. More than likely, he'll lash out if he doesn't know what's happening, and that is very unsafe for both of you. I'll tell him later tonight, and if he's willing to go along with it, then all should be set right."

They don't say a word of it afterwards, though every time he passes by them as they wander up and down the pier, he can sense their excitement. It is only about fifteen minutes or so before midnight when they all meet up before the Twining Gardens again.

Jack has cleared away the snow in the grass to give them a comfortable sitting ground. The others have brought blankets, and at Jack's urging, Pitch delves his shadowy powers into the ground to give it some warmth so they aren't uncomfortable. He sits a little ways off, not close enough that they would feel encouraged to include him in their laughter and talk, but not far enough that he cannot listen in and have the sensation of being a part of the group. Molly brings him a folded blanket and passes it off to him, taking the advantage to kiss his cheek with a giggle before running back to the other little girls, who are breathless with laughter.

"Looks like I might have competition when she gets older."

Pitch rolls his eyes as he spreads the cloth out on the cleared grass. "That will never happen."

Arms slip around his waist. "Thank God for that."

They sit down, and Pitch cannot wait any longer. "I've been thinking."

"Oh boy."

He cuffs him upside his snowy head. "Stuff it. This is about you."

"You've been making a lot of things about me," Jack murmurs seductively, pressing his lips to Pitch's neck. Not that the shade doesn't mind it, but he really does want to give the good news.

"There might be a way…"

"Hm?"

"To help you remember the children."

The lips on his skin cease all movement and seem to grow colder than ever. He feels a tremor rip through Jack's lithe body.

"…Do you mean that?"

"Of course."

"How?" he whispers hoarsely, fumbling for Pitch's hands.

Pitch laces their fingers together reassuringly. "I remembered something that Sanderson showed me. He showed me what happened that night in your head, when the memories were destroyed. That means I could see the faces of the children too."

"I don't—"

"Hush and let me speak. He and I have the power to show one another our memories, and to show others if we want. He showed me what he remembered, and he remembers in great detail. All of the children's faces were there. This is what he will do: he will show the faces of the children you've forgotten to Toothiana, and she will have her fairies hunt down their memory boxes."

Jack pulls back frantically. "But she'll have to describe thousands of faces to them! Either that, or she'll have to find every single box alone!"

"She communicates with those little puffballs telepathically. How hard is it to send them images of these forgotten children?" Jack holds his breath, so Pitch continues gently. "When she finds them, she and Sanderson will sift through every box to find the memories each child holds involving you. That is all you need, really. And once those are found, they will have a collection to give to you of all of the children you forgot, from the moment they began to believe in you to the very last second they were able to see you. Or even beyond that, if they haven't stopped believing in you yet."

Jack lets him go in a state of shock and sits there, stumped. Pitch can't help but laugh. "Simplest solution in the world, isn't it? It will take a long time, but they are willing to do it all for you. The only problem is that Sanderson will have to transfer the memories to you through his dream sand, and the memories will have to be given to you gradually, which means he'll have to get inside your head again, preferably when you're asleep. I'm not sure how you'll want to do that, but I'm sure there's a way around it if—"

"No. No." Jack is crying again, and Pitch pulls his hood over his head so that the others don't see with their meddlesome eyes. "I think that's a good way to—to get back in touch with them. A sign of…"

"Trust," Pitch breathes, gently pushing Jack's staff out of the way and taking his face into his hands. "All is well then?"

"All will be," Jack says, then smashes their mouths together with a fervor not unlike this morning. His tears are cold and wet on Pitch's skin, but they are a sign that this will work. All of this will work, and they will be fine, and life will continue in this way that Pitch is slowly growing used to.

"Hold on," he grunts, mouthing at Jack's splendid neck. "There are children present."

"Then why don't you stop?" Jack gasps, the noise sending a spike of heat shooting straight down south for both of them. "Never knew you cared about the sensibilities of kids."

"If I do now," Pitch growls, nipping at his collarbone, "it's thanks to you."

Jack stops his hands from sliding under his hoodie and pulls his face up so that they can stare one another in the eye. "Pitch?"

"Yes?"

Those blue eyes, so bright and trusting, soften. Jack looks like a dream in the soft lights, his pale face partially shaded by his hood. Pitch wonders at his luck, especially when Jack smiles his perfect smile and whispers, "I love you." He guides their lips together, hot and cold, and they create a warmth of body and heart, not sensual, but simple and pure, more emotional than lustful.

"What did I do to deserve you?" Pitch murmurs.

Jack laughs as a strange shouting picks up from the depths of the city, being taken up by others along the pier. "I could ask the same."

"No, you couldn't."

"Yes. I really could. But I guess we'll just keep asking those questions for the rest of our lives, because we'll never know."

It is the countdown, Pitch realizes. He stops Jack from stealing another kiss and listens to their companions as they give voice to the numbers. Jack listens for a moment, then grins as they enter the final ten. "Nine, eight, seven, six—"

Pitch's heart swells again, as it will until the end of time, if he's lucky enough to stay by Jack's side for that long. "Five, four, three, two—"

Jack doesn't even wait for the final count. He tosses back his hood, throws himself at Pitch, and kisses him as hungrily as ever, as though he has been deprived of the shade's mouth for days on end. The echoing cry of "Happy New Year" nearly deafens him, but he is too preoccupied to care. After a few seconds of the cheers, all he can hear is his heartbeat—and Jack's.

This is love, he thinks, sitting there as Jack suddenly springs up to give his friends the same words. This is love and warmth and family, even if he is reluctant to join in with these humans. He has not had this feeling since…well, he can't remember. He is probably forgetting something. But his memories were probably worthless before Jack came along, so he does not care.

Something cold smacks him upside the head and he sits up, spluttering. Jack is doubled over with laughter while the children, surprisingly still filled with energy this late at night, squeal and taunt "Uncle Black" to join them in a chase through the snow. He only has to look at that winter spirit for a second before energy floods his limbs and he's on his feet, much to the surprise of the adults.

"You brat," is all he growls, which can somehow be translated to "I love you too", and then he scoops up some snow and lobs it (quite accurately) at Jack. It flies true and strikes hard, and the first snowball fight of the New Year is upon them. He hears Jamie's encouraging laughter and thinks that this isn't too terrible. This family business. Another snowball narrowly misses his shoulder, and he returns fire again.

Well. It is officially the first day of the New Year, and he can afford to enjoy himself for the moment.

Author's Note: You know, technically this fic was supposed to be over at the Halloween chapter, but the storyline changed, and it led to all of this. What can ya do? But it was very fun, either way.

Give me a week or so to get started on the STHS sequel. Updates will not be every day like they were last time. I don't think I'll ever have the strength to do that again. But once a week should be enough. That's the normal thing to do anyway. Hope you enjoyed this! And thank you for wishing me well on finals. I'd say they went well. See you soon!