A/N: So, this is my first attempt at publishing a story [but not my first time writing one]. Slow start, but hopefully it'll turn out into something nice. Good chance I'll edit most of it, but hey, opinions are appreciated. Unfortunately I don't own these characters.

"We are asking you one more time, young man, and trust me, you don't want to make us angry," a uniformed man spat. He looked about 50 plus, a grey moustache covering his thin lips which were pulled in a straight line. Wrinkles tugged at the corner of his beady washed out blue eyes and his face was flushed and sweaty. Across from him sat a hooded boy, who looked like he was in his mid-teens, jet white hair spiking in different directions. Typical punk, the old policeman thought. The boy stayed quiet. "Where were you on the night of the 25th?"

Finally the young man looked up, a smirk on his light pink lips, his pale skin almost luminescent under the bright LED lights of the interrogation room. His eyes were a bright icy blue, unlike the officer's.

"I was celebrating christmas, sir. Just like everyone else."

The officer scoffed and placed both of his hands on the metal table in between them, trying to be intimidating, but only exposing his oversized belly.

"Christmas? With who? Your file says you have no direct related family."

The boy shrugged. "Friends."

"Friends? So there's a gang, a whole bunch of you-"

"Oh for f-.." The young man rolled his eyes and tipped his chair back, sighing deeply. "Can't a guy just have a nice christmas with his friends, without being interrogated? What has the world come to?"

The officer grumbled something before turning around and grabbing something from a plastic bag behind him. With a loud bang he placed the item in front of the boy. It was a used graffiti can. The white haired male didn't move an inch, his face giving nothing away. He pursed his lips and pointed at it.

"You got that for me? I mean, it's a lovely gift, honestly, but it looks kind of use-"

"No I didn't get it for you! This, young man, was found at the crime scene. Right under a vandalizing piece of work, signed Frost." The officer smiled arrogantly, holding his hands behind his back. "Now, I've been asking around, and.. Well I have to give you credit, your buddies are quite loyal, but there's nothing a bit of bribery can't do. Finally, one of the little buggers admitted Frost's identity- Jackson Overland. That's you, isn't it?" There was a moment of silence after the officer announced his great discovery, a smug look plastered on his face. Jack slowly let his chair tip straight again and smiled.


Five minutes later, Jack was escorted out of the bureau, free to go. He was heading for the exit when there was some commotion coming from one of the help desks.

"What d'ya mean, at least 2 days?! I know some bloody wanker stole'm, I'm not crazy!"

Jack raised his eyebrows curiously, a smile forming on his lips as he heard the deep australian voice. The voice belonged to a tall, lightly tanned male with curious dark blue hair tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing baggy jeans and a brown leather jacket, but it didn't hide his athletic form, which Jack was inspecting greedily as the man continued to rant.

"Where is y'manager, don't make me pop y'bloody head off, ya fuckin' c-."

"Woah now." Within seconds, Jack was at the male's side, gripping his arms and trying to ignore the lovely tensed muscles beneath them. He gave the lady behind the help desk an apologetic look. "I'm sorry ma'am, my...uncle forgot to take his medication, he has issues, terrible issues."

"Issues?" the man interrupted, "who the h- AH!" Jack silenced him with a heel in his foot, ignoring the grumbled insults hurling his way.

"Again, very sorry, but we'll be going now." He winked at the abused, flustered woman behind the desk and grabbed the man's wrist, dragging him out of the police station. After making sure they were a safe distance from the building, he finally let go of the male's wrist and turned to face him before feeling a painful fist hitting his face.

"Thanks for that, mate, now they think I'm starkers," the Australian grumbled as Jack groaned, grabbing his jaw.

"Doesn't that mean naked? 'Cause I'm sure that lady wouldn't have cared if.." He fell silent and swallowed as the attractive tall man cast him a glare. Dropping his hand from his face, he put on his most charming smile and slid his hands in his hoodie, slinging one leg in front of the other. "'Sides, I did you a favour there, mate," he said mockingly, "She was about to call security and get your fine ass locked up." He bit his lip, noticing what he'd said a bit too late. He braced himself for another punch, but instead he noticed the man was pinching the bridge of his nose, frustrated.

"First of all, 't means crazy. Second of all, I was handling the situation just fine." He muttered. Jack scoffed silently at that and rolled his eyes, but decided not to push the subject matter. The wound on his jaw was starting to sting. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten hit in the face, but it certainly was the first time someone that attractive had punched him. Right on queue the male looked at him and Jack swore he saw something strange flash in the male's expression. But the moment passed soon and Jack shrugged awkwardly, pulling his hood over his head.

"I uh.. I better..go. Sorry 'bout your missing whatever-it-is, but the police around here aren't the best at stopping criminals. Trust me," he said with a cheeky grin, gaining an amused look from the male in front of him. "The name's Jack, by the way. Jack Frost," he called, as he waved and ran off into an alleyway, leaving the confused australian behind in the streets, strangely enough, hoping to see the white-haired boy again.