#rotgsecretsanta2018

The thing is that Jack doesn’t really have what one might call a home.

He doesn’t have a palace, or a warren, or a North Pole. He doesn’t have the kind of hideout one would expect from a Guardian. He has a lake. A small, ratty, ice-covered lake in a patch of unkempt and rather ugly forest.

He knows this.

So what the hell kind of nerve does Bunny have, coming into the tiny scrap that he has and insulting it?

“This is where you live?” Aster says, his nose wrinkled up in confusion as he looks around the barren place. “But…” he takes a step. “There’s nothing here.”

“Bunny…” Jack says through gritted teeth.

“I mean I knew ya spent a lot of time here, but I always sort of figured ya had a - an ice castle or somewhere you just weren’t telling us about.”

Jack grinds the end of his staff into the snow. “Yeah, well, I don’t.”

“There aren’t even any flowers! Even dormant ones, I’d sense ‘em. And these trees! Half of ‘em are dead and the other half are just hanging on out of spite - where do you sleep? Don’t tell me you’re just sleeping on the ground, I know you don’t get cold, but even spirits need pillows - ”

And okay, really, that’s enough.

“Oookay, you probably have tons of stuff to do. Easter is coming up fast you know, only ten months to go!” he says, swinging himself up into the air. “This has been just a ton of fun though, we should totally never hang out here again!” He jabs at Bunny with his staff, maybe a little harder than he really has to.

“Hey, oi, watch it mate!” Bunny snaps, stepping back in surprise as he’s roughly herded away from the lake. “What’s your problem?”

“I just think we’ve both got better things to do than stand around and list all the things wrong with the place where I died,” he says, his voice razor sharp. “Go home, Bunny.”

Bunny’s ears droop, his eyes widening in remorse and guilt. “Aw, Frostbite, I didn’t mean - ”

Jack cuts him off, not really interested in hearing him scramble to try and come up with reasons why the place isn’t actually that bad. “Look, I’ll see you later, okay? Bye, Bunny.”

The wind scoops him up, and he takes off, swooping away above the trees before Bunny has a chance to say anything else.

…

He avoids Aster for a while after that, even though rationally he knows he doesn’t have any excuse to be irritated about it. Bunny didn’t mean any harm, and really, what did he expect? The place is pathetic, no matter how many centuries he’s called it home for.

But still, it just...gets under his skin a little bit.

After a couple of months, though, he realizes that if he doesn’t face Bunny sooner rather than later, he’s probably going to have to face him in front of the other Guardians, and that’s just more embarrassment than he can handle.

So, he returns to the Warren.

The guards still let him in, so he guesses Bunny isn’t holding it against him too badly.

It’s warm, as always, and bright, even though there’s no actual sun. He steps delicately around flowers and grass, taking incredible care not to accidentally freeze or damage any of the fragile plants now of all times.

He finds Bunny sitting with his back to the entrance, a cluster of eggs and several pots of paint scattered around him on the blanket he’s seated on.

On another day, Jack would most definitely take the opportunity to try to sneak up behind him and scare the cotton right off the Pooka’s fuzzy tail.

Not today. He lets his foot scuff against a rock, and sees the rabbit’s ears perk up.

Aster looks up as he approaches, and something like relief flashes across his face. “Hey,” he says, a bit roughly.

Jack straightens his back, his knuckles white where they’re clenched around his staff. He stands silently and waits to be berated for his behavior.

Bunny’s ears twitch, and after a moment he jerks his head towards the blanket. “Well, don’t just stand there. Sit on the blanket where you won’t freeze the grass.”

Feeling a little confused and off-balance, Jack lowers himself slowly on to the edge of the blanket, as far from Bunny as humanly possible, wondering if this is some sort of trick.

Bunny shifts, looking just as uncomfortable. He clears his throat. “Look, I, ah...I just wanted to say…”

Jack stiffens. Here it comes.

“...I’m sorry.”

He blinks in shock. “You’re sorry?”

“Aw, c’mon mate, what do you want from me here?” Bunny snaps, throwing up his arms and nearly painting Jack in the face. “Yeah, I’m sorry, alright? I was being an idiot and a jackass, and now I’m apologizing. Take it or leave it,” he tells him crabbily.

“Jeez, Kangaroo, relax. I accept your apology? I guess?”

Aster looks at him suspiciously. “Just like that? You’re not going to freeze my ears or something to get back at me?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t really think you’ve got anything to apologize for in the first place. I mean you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. It’s nothing fancy, it’s just...nothing,” he tells him simply. “Just a fancy grave.”

Bunny doesn’t say anything, his expression unusually unreadable, but his nose twitches in what almost looks like distress.

Jack decides that clearly he’ll have to be the one to break the strange mood that’s descended upon them. “So whatcha doing?”

Bunny holds up the egg he’s painting, half-covered in elegant whorls and loops. He side-eyes Jack warily. “You’re not feeling bored already, are ya?”

Jack grins. “Worried I’m going to cause trouble?”

Bunny rolls his eyes, and they both begin to relax. “I always am.”

Within a few minutes, Jack has successfully stolen one of the pots of paint, and spends the next few hours flicking balls of frozen paint at the back of Aster’s head.

The sheer fact that Aster doesn’t kick his ass into next winter is proof enough that he really is sorry, even if Jack still isn’t one hundred percent sure why.

…

Two months later, Bunny shows up in Burgess with a plant.

“Hey, uh… what’s up with the flower, Kangaroo?” Jack asks, floating overhead.

Bunny shifts his weight from one foot to the other, scowling at him from over the large potted plant. “It’s a gift,” he says gruffly.

Jack blinks at him, drifting down to perch on his staff. “Um. Bunny. You are aware that you’re the one with the plants, right? I’m the one who you’re always warning away from the plants so I don’t kill them?”

Bunny rolls his eyes. “I grew it special. It’s a Calendula. They like the cold anyway, but this one’s studier than most. Ya can’t cuddle it, but it’ll survive in hard winter. It’s...to grow here.”

Jack stills. “Oh,” he says softly.

“So,” Bunny asks, glancing around. “Where do you want it?”

Jack looks about, at the scruffs of frozen grass beside the lake, and the dark trees. Snow drifts down lightly, silently. At last, he tips his head towards a patch of earth where he knows the sun falls when it’s out, and they both move towards it. Jack kneels down, swiping the snow off the frozen earth, knowing it’ll bother Bunny’s paws far more than his hands. He starts to dig, scraping at the hard dirt with his hands, feeling his fingernails catch painfully against the rock, before he’s gently pushed aside.

Bunny kneels beside him, setting the pot down delicately. He puts his own paws to the dirt, and starts to dig.

In mere seconds, there’s a hole a couple feet deep. He takes the plant, carefully extracting it from the pot and setting it in the hole. Together, they pat the disturbed earth back down around it, smoothing it around the tangled roots.

Finally, Jack settles back on his knees to admire their work. The plant is bright and healthy, and the cheerful golden flowers stand out among the woods.

It’s jarring, really. But in a good way.

“Thanks, Bunny, it’s amazing,” he tells him honestly, grinning. “And you’re serious? It’s not going to die in the cold?”

Bunny puffs up a bit, looking proud. “Nope. Tested it myself, put the pot in antarctica for a couple a weeks. Did just fine.”

“Huh,” Jack says, pleased. “Awesome.”

…

They settle back to into their old routine for a while after that. Jack still comes to hang out at the warren and bug Bunny whenever possible, and Bunny still doesn’t come by the lake unless he’s looking for Jack for Guardian business. Which is totally fine and understandable, because really, the place is awfully cold, and even with its new and carefully tended plant, it’s still pretty desolate.

Then, a few months later, Bunny’s back again. This time, he’s got a bucket full of small, pastel flowered plants.

“Let me guess,” Jack says, peering into the bucket. “They don’t freeze.”

“Good guess, mate. Glad to see your brains don’t either,” Bunny drawls. “Got a good spot for them?”

He stares at the Pooka for a long moment. Then, finally, he shrugs. “Yeah, sure, over here.”

They spread these ones out along the lake’s edge. Within the hour, small, cheerful clumps of Easter egg-colored blossoms bloom bright among the otherwise dead grass.

By the end, they are admittedly hurrying a bit, as Jack can tell Aster is doing his best not to look like he’s freezing his fuzzy little tail off, but they manage.

Bunny takes off pretty quickly once they’re done, shivering even as he grumpily summons a tunnel, leaving Jack alone in the soft and frosty evening.

He curls up in one of his trees, high up enough to see the entire lake, and looks down at the pastel constellations that dot the dark earth.

It’s a good view.

…

The next week, Jack comes back to his lake to find Bunny waiting for him impatiently. Which is really only strange because he’s wearing a jacket. A very shiny jacket.

Jack promptly takes the opportunity to hang upside down in the air and laugh at him.

“What are you wearing? Why is it so..bedazzled? And...are those bells?”

Bunny’s ears flatten, and there’s a pink flush under the fur on his cheeks. “Would ya shut your mouth? North made it.”

Jack darts up next to him to flick one of the bells on the shoulder. “Why?”

Bunny picks him up by the back of his hood and drops him a couple feet away where he can’t reach to poke at him. “Because I asked him for something warm, and he made some sorta thermo-tech crap. I did not ask for all the spangles.”

Jack tilts his head, puzzled. “Why’d you ask him for a new jacket? Your fur always seemed to work fine before.”

Bunny rolls his eyes as though it should be obvious, and holds up the pair of tree clippers Jack had failed to notice in his paw. “Your trees need clipping, and I’m tired of freezing my nuts off everytime I come here.” He sets off towards the closest tree. “Now come on, you can help me gather the scraps.”

Jack stares after him in shock. “You had North make a jacket just so you could come here?” he wonders quietly. “Oh.”

If Bunny hears him (which he almost certainly does), he doesn’t offer any more of an explanation than that.

It takes them a couple of hours, but the jacket seems to be very effective, unsurprisingly, and Bunny doesn’t shiver or complain while he works. Jack trails him, keeping up a constant stream of chatter for both of their entertainment, and gathering up the trimmed branches and twigs to form a pile somewhere not underfoot.

“There,” Bunny says at last, sounding satisfied. “They’ll be healthier now.”

Jack dangles upside down from a branch to poke Bunny with a stick. “So how does cutting branches off help them?”

“Gets rid of old growth,” he says, gathering up the pile of scraps. “Lets the new come through.”  

“Hm.” Jack looks around them at the scruffy plantlife and skinnier (but still rather dead looking) trees. “Not a whole lot of new growth around here.”

Bunny pauses, tucking the clippers somewhere into his jacket. “Not yet,” he says simply.

He gathers the branches into his arms, and stomps his foot to make a tunnel. “See ya later, Frostbite,” he says with a nod, legs tensing to leap down.

Jack swings easily down past the rim of the tunnel, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, no, I’m coming with you. There’s no way I’m letting you run around in that coat as is. Listen, I love watching you look ridiculous as much as the next guy, but even I’m not going to let you wear a coat that jingles, I don’t HATE you.”

Together, they make their way down the tunnel and into the warren. Jack grips his staff in the warmer air, drawing on his magic to coat himself in a thin layer of protective frost.

Bunny leads them to the edge of the grass, and Jack stops in surprise. There’s a stone path leading through the green blades.

“When did you put this down?” He laughs, delighted, as he steps out onto it, for once free of fear of damaging anything.

Bunny shrugs. “Not too long ago,” he says vaguely, and leads them on along the cool stone trail.

They end up settling in one of the smaller chambers of the warren. It’s brightly lit, but there’s a cool enough breeze that Jack can be fairly comfortable.

Jack settles on the ground with Bunny’s cloak and a box of sewing supplies the pooka scrounges up from somewhere. Bunny sits a few feet away, a basket of eggs and paint in front of him.

Jack studies the cloak. Under the gaudiness, it really is a fine garment, not that North would really give his friend anything less. The fabric is thick and warm in his hands, almost uncomfortably so, and he can tell it’s made to last. The vines and flowers that wind up the back and across the sleeves and collar would almost be elegant, if they weren’t covered in sequins. And of course, there’s the bells. Those will definitely have to go.

A plan of attack forming quickly, he settles in and gets to work.

The hours pass peacefully as they work on their respective tasks. Jack relaxes into the soothing flow of needle and thread, so focused that it takes a while for him to notice that Bunny is watching him.

“What?” he asks the Pooka defensively when he finally catches him.

Bunny flicks an ear towards the green thread poking out of the sleeve he’s holding. “Where’d ya learn to do that?”

Jack’s fingers still, looking down at the half-finished embroidery. He’s removed the sequins that formed the vines, and is currently replacing them with embroidered vines and leaves that curl in an almost fractal pattern. He shrugs. “I taught myself the basics of how to sew so I could fix my clothes when they got damaged or worn out, and I liked doing it, so I guess I sort of picked it up as a hobby. I’d steal the occasional bit of fabric or thread, off of clothes lines and out of open windows, and just sort of...mess around, I guess. Stitch doodles and stuff when I got bored. Guess everyone needs a hobby when no one will speak to them for three centuries,” he says with an awkward laugh.

Bunny grimaces. “Well,” he murmurs, cradling the half-painted egg he’s currently working on. “I suppose we all find ways to pass the time when you’ve got centuries like we do.”

Jack hums, pushing the needle back into the fabric.

It’s another couple of minutes before he notices Aster still hasn’t picked his paintbrush back up. He raises an eyebrow at him. “Whatcha doing?”

Bunny eyes Jack, still holding the egg, half-covered in orderly polkadots. “You wanna give it a go?”

“What, painting?” Jack says, startled.

“Yeah! Here, take a googie,” Bunny says, pushing an unpainted egg towards him, “and a pot of paint. And, oh, here, paintbrush.” He shoves the tools over to Jack’s side of the blanket.

Jack picks up the paintbrush skeptically. “You know I’ve never painted before, right?”

Bunny huffs lightly. “Time to learn, then. You’ve got the attention to detail and the fine motor skills, obviously,” he flicks an ear towards the jacket. “The rest is practice. Just don’t freeze the egg or the paint and you’ll be fine, the kids’ll love it so long as it’s got color.”

Jack stares at the egg in his hand. “Practice and don’t freeze anything. Okay,” he mutters under his breath. “Easy enough.”

It is not easy enough. When Aster checks on his progress a couple minutes later, Jack is holding a rather disgruntled egg splattered in colors that have run together to form a murky, vaguely purplish hue, and Jack’s hands and arms are somehow just as stained. He’s even got smears of paint on his face, for Moon’s sake.

Bunny rolls his eyes. “Oh for the love of - gimme that.”

Jack snatches the egg and brush out of his reach, glaring. “Hey hey hey, no, I’m figuring it out, alright? I’m practicing, this is practice.”

Bunny reluctantly withdraws his hands, looking dubiously at the splotchy egg.

Jack dips his paintbrush back in the paint, then frowns. “I might need a new egg, though.”

…

Bunny leaves him and a fresh egg be to go tend to a few plants in another section of the warren. He mutters to himself as he kneels in the soil, a watercan and clippers beside him, and it doesn’t take him long to forget all about his guest.

That is, until there’s a quiet rustling from behind him, and he hears someone softly clear their throat. “So, you remember how you said not to freeze the paint? Well…”

Bunny smacks his hand against the dirt, temper rising as he stands up and turns to face him. “Damnit Jack, really? You couldn’t just - ” he cuts off.

Jack stands in front of him, eyes twinkling with mirth even as his shoulders are hunched defensively, and cradled in his hands is an egg that is - well, beautiful.

Emerald paint forms the majority of the shell, laced through with soft yellow fractals blooming upwards from the base, far more intricate than any brush could achieve.

Jack shifts shyly from one foot to the other. “The paint was too runny. I couldn’t get it to do what I wanted. So...I froze it. Lightly, I promise! The egg is fine. I just added a tiny bit of frost,” he explains, a small grin on his face.

Bunny reaches out, silently accepting the egg into his paws to examine it more closely. It sparkles in the light, the shell cool against his fur. He looks up at Jack in awe. “Snowflake, it’s amazing.”

Without even stopping to consider it, he reaches out and grabs Jack’s hand, dragging him off back towards the rest of the eggs and supplies. “Oh, we’re experimenting with this.”

Jack doesn’t pull his hand away until he needs to to show Aster how he did it.

Neither one of them minds.

…

The jacket is almost unrecognizable by the time Jack finishes with it. The gaudiness is gone, and the elegant stitchwork which now decorate it is positively regal.

Which is good, because Bunny wears it all the damn time nowadays, which is because he’s around Jack’s lake all the damn time.

Not that Jack’s complaining. There’s a new plant almost every time he visits, and the lake has, somehow, turned into a virtual garden of specially-created unfreezable plants. None of the native plant life is gone. But somehow, the merging of scruffy and dead-looking and vibrantly alive - it works.

Weeks pass, and when Jack’s not out doing his duty as a seasonal spirit, he’s either at the lake helping Bunny garden, or in the warren painting eggs (and staying carefully away from the far less sturdy plants that grow there).

And so they pass the seasons.

It’s a long time before Jack asks the question that’s been at the back of his mind since Bunny showed up with the very first flower.

“Hey so,” he begins one day as they’re in the garden around the lake, performing what have become their usual chores of trimming and watering and otherwise tending to the plants. “Why did you decide to start a garden here? I mean I love it, obviously, it’s incredible,” he adds hurriedly. “But... why? The place didn’t exactly scream potential. The only thing that makes it special is...well, that I died here. It’s just a grave where I hang out. So...why do all this for it?”

Bunny’s ears tilt, considering. His hands move deftly, carefully removing a small weed from among the roots of one of the larger plants, one Jack knows he’ll take and replant somewhere else. “When I first landed on Earth, millennia ago,” he says slowly. “I landed in what’s now called Australia. You already know that.”

Jack nods.

“Well, the aboriginals have a… rather unique relationship with their land. It’s… to them you’re a part of the land, and the land is a part of you.” Bunny looks around the garden they’ve grown together, his eyes a little distant. “You died here, Jack. You’re buried here, more or less. I figure this land is about as close to you as it gets.”

Jack’s hands fiddle with the small spade he’s holding, frost forming along the dark metal. “So you looked at… at this land and saw a place where something could grow,” he says quietly.

Bunny turns to look at him, studying his face. “Was I wrong?” he asks, just as lowly.

Jack’s fingers flex, and the snow falling around them twists in a nonexistent breeze. “No,” he breathes at last, with the same quiet finality as the snowflakes settling on the carefully tended trees above them.

Bunny shifts closer, his eyes bright and soft, and Jack can’t tell who the hope bubbling inside him belongs to. “What next, then?” he asks.

And Jack knows, somehow, deep inside, that he could say no to this. He could turn away, make a joke, and pretend this moment never happened, and nothing would change. Bunny would still come here to garden, and he’d still come to the warren to paint, and they’d still be friends.

But maybe, if Aster’s taught him anything, it’s that while change and growth are not one and the same, growth and change are.

He leans forward, meeting Bunny halfway. “Next is this,” he breathes, and then he kisses him.

It’s too warm for Jack, and probably too cold for the pooka, but neither one of them minds. It’s comfortable. As comfortable as sitting among the flowers around the lake and watching the stars, as comfortable as the warren, as comfortable as soft fur and an embroidered jacket and decades of trust and togetherness and love.

And that is brilliant.

They break apart after a long minute, and Jack can’t stop smiling. Joy thrums under his skin like magic, and he has the absurd desire to laugh aloud. He keeps his laughter in, not wanting to break the mood.

But he doesn’t try and control his grin, and neither does Aster. The wind brushes happily against him, and he can sense she’s saying finally.

Bunny is watching him, a light flush under the fur on his ears. He shivers slightly, and Jack glances up, noticing for the first time that it’s getting dark. Even North’s wonderful old jacket can only do so much once the sun goes down.

“C’mon,” Jack murmurs, reaching out, and Bunny puts his paw in his hand. “We should head for the warren.”

He tugs lightly at him, and Bunny rises to his feet, brushing soil off himself. He looks down at the plant they’d just been tending to, nodding at it with his chin. “Calendula’s getting big. Should bloom again soon.”

Jack tucks the spade back into Bunny’s tool satchel, picking up and twirling his staff in his free hand. He allows the wind to slip under his feet and carry him closer to lean against Bunny’s side, careful to keep his bare skin only touching the jacket. “Well,” he says, “I guess the land is pretty healthy. Someone’s been taking good care of it.”

Bunny looks down at him, bumping his hip gently against him. “It’s good land. Worth tending.”

Jack smiles back at him, and together, they head through the tunnels to the warm warren, hand in hand.