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punkpoemprose · 4 years

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December 10th- A Royal Portrait

Universe: Canon (Post Frozen 2, post Anna’s coronation, but before a KA wedding)

Rating: M-E (This teeters on the mature/ explicit line, read at your own risk)

Length: 3412 Words

A/N: I was in a bit of a rut, so I stole this lovely idea (with permission) from @kristanna who continues to do God’s work on her tumblr every day. The premise here, is of course, Anna sitting for a tasteful boudoir portrait that she sends to Kristoff while they’re apart. Not giving anything away here, but this is mature to say the least. There are also feelings and I actually did research. I apologize for nothing some things!

She thinks about changing her mind. She’s behind the dressing screen, completely naked, and Kristoff is up in the mountains, and no one ever sees her naked except for him. Not even her lady’s maids. She wasn’t particularly shy in any sense, but since she’d started seeing Kristoff there was something in her head that said that the only person that should see her naked was him. Or rather, that the only person that she wanted to see her naked was him. He’d never restrict her so. In fact they’d had an unpleasant conversation about just that point before he left for the mountains to lead the ice harvest. With Elsa living in Northuldra, the need for an Ice Master and Deliverer, someone to lead the harvesters into the mountains and ensure their safety, was more important than ever.

He’d heard that some royals, Queens and Kings in particular, often took lovers, most favored men and women of the court who attended to the regents needs when their spouse was ill fit for the task or off elsewhere. He’d brought it up with shaking hands and a downcast face, unable to look her in the eye as he told her that just because she was betrothed to him, just because they were to be married and soon would be, didn’t mean that he would stop her if she decided she needed someone else.

Her heart still ached. He’d been so nervous, so heart broken at the idea, but willing to submit to the mortifying ordeal for her sake. Even after she explained to him that it was something she’d never want, he’d seemed anxious. Sometimes she worried that he’d never see himself the way she saw him. In private quiet moments, he was so self-assured, so certain of their love, but when it came to the time they spent “entertaining” the aristocracy, or when they held court at the castle, he started to doubt himself. It hurt her in ways she couldn’t begin to explain, and she thought they maybe exile would be the best treatment for whomsoever mentioned the idea of most favored to him. It was a relic from a time where Arendelle’s rulers married for power instead of for love. It was a “tradition” that had died off with her Grandfather.

But his nervousness, even after being told as such, was enough to move her to action, to make her think of an entirely different conversation she’d had just a few weeks before.

When she had been officially crowned Queen of Arendelle, despite ruling since Elsa moved to Northuldra, there had been a weeklong celebration where other royalty from far and wide had come to celebrate. Anna had found herself very much enamored by a contingent of Princesses sent from surrounding Kingdoms and other countries and continents that considered themselves allies of Arendelle.

On the eve of their returns to their own homelands, they may have all spent the evening in Anna’s parlor getting a bit too wine drunk and giggly, sharing secrets and brilliant plans and becoming all in all, great friends. Kristoff had happily surrendered Anna for that night, and she knew that it brought him great joy to see her happily making friends and catching up on many years of doing so. He’d even managed, elsewhere, to become a bit comfortable with some minor nobility of Arendelle and with a man who was betrothed to the Princess of Corona. They’d found a comradery of sorts as she was, of course, one of the giggling women in Anna’s rooms.

They’d all at one point discussed the topic of photography, specifically boudoir photos which were evidently all the rage. Some girls had rather excitedly discussed their own personal sessions, sending them to their lovers, betrothed, and husbands, while others had mentioned that they themselves preferred the idea of having a painting done, and discussed their experiences with it. Anna had, of course blaming the wine, collected the name and contact information for a painter they’d recommended rather than a photographer, finding that she rather liked the idea of the tasteful nature a portrait leant to the whole matter.

She hadn’t expected to call upon the painter however, not until after her discussion with Kristoff.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and peeked nervously around the corner of her dressing screen to where a young woman stood smiling.

“Oh it’s fine to be nervous,” she said gently, “Most people are. If it helps, I’m very discreet.”

She had a soft French accent. Anna had been fortunate that she had been in the country doing some work for other clients when she’d reached out. It had only taken a day for her to come to the castle, and that meant that while Anna had planned to wait quite some time, she’d be able to gift the painting to Kristoff sooner rather than later.

Anna sighed, “It’s not so much that I’m worried about that… it’s just… Kristoff is usually…”

The young woman nodded, “Anna… if I may call you Anna?”

She nodded at that, “I wish more people would. Not that I dislike being Queen or anything, it’s just I like being more personal…” she laughed at herself then, “Well usually not this personal.”

That earned her a small chuckle from the other woman who nodded and continued.

“Anna, I often find the people I paint become more comfortable talking about the recipient before we paint. Maybe you’d like to slip a robe on and tell me about him?”

She found that idea very much to her liking and decided that she had been given an excellent recommendation after all. She’d be writing a discreet letter of thanks to a few Princesses after her session.

She did as she suggested and walked out, laying on her couch in her robe as the young woman did some preliminary sketching.

“So what is he like?”

Anna grinned, “He’s… he’s perfect really. I’ve never met someone so brave and funny in my life. He’s just, well he’d do anything for me, and I just… he gets insecure sometimes and I knew I had to do something for him…”

The woman nodded along, “I imagine it’s difficult being the Queen and having the man you love be of common birth. Others have married like you have, and there is always much love there, but it’s hard to navigate the climate of the court, is it not?”

Anna sighed, the young woman seemed to understand. “You seem to be doing well with it yourself, the court I mean,” she mentioned, knowing that the story others had told her about the young woman implied that she too was a commoner, and that was, of course, part of the reason she was so trusted and highly in demand by many an aristocratic lady looking for a particular sort of gift for their beloved.

“Yes, though I’ve been lucky to only have to work with those I want to work with. Some people, especially those who don’t think highly of people who aren’t of noble birth, aren’t really worth trying to talk to at all.”

Anna laughed at that. She’d met the type.

“But a word of advice for your Kristoff,” she said, turning from the canvas with a smile, “The court is but another mountain to climb to reach happiness.”

Anna gave the woman a wry smile, “How did you know he climbs mountains.”

The woman laughed, “Oh I always do my research, like I said, too many rude royals in the world, I have to know for sure that the person I’m painting for is going to be fun to speak with, and your love story is,” the woman held her hand to her chest and grinned broadly, “Well I’d love to hear more. I’m sure the gigglings of a few Duchesses don’t do it justice.”

Anna shrugged off her robe, feeling confident, and lazed on the couch as the woman excitedly started scribbling with her pencil on the canvas.

“I’ll start at the beginning. I was… unfortunately engaged to someone else…”

***

Kristoff was exhausted. He placed Sven in his stable and pulled from, a pail that Anna had sent along with him, a few carrots to give the reindeer.

Anna.

He thought of her with a heavy heart. He hated how they’d left things. He hated how he often let insecurity get in the way of their relationship. He loved her, and she loved him, and he knew in his heart of hearts that they would only ever want one another. She’d never so much as looked at another person with the love she showed him, and he’d heard a nasty whisper in court and completely lost sight of it. The truth of the matter was that Anna wanted to marry him, the people of Arendelle and most of its aristocracy wanted her to marry him as well. They were after all, marrying for love, but there were many who saw the other potential benefits of their union and they were a fairly well-liked couple as far as all went. Many were pleased that Arendelle’s new Queen was marrying for love like her father had before her, continuing the fairly new tradition of Arendelle’s monarchs wedding commoners for love instead of other aristocracy for political gain.

He’d been listening to the wrong voices, and it broke his heart to think that he’d upset Anna as a result. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d never be able to make it back to the capitol and back before he needed to be out on the ice in the morning to lead the harvesters in their work, he’d hitch up Sven again and head back home, hell he’d even walk there, if only to tell Anna that he was sorry for not believing in her the way he should have.

When he walked from the stable and found, carefully placed directly in front of the doorway into his cabin, a wooden crate.

He lifted it from the ground and brought it in with him, noting the horse prints in the snow in front of his cabin, but also seeing that Anna’s horse Kjekk was nowhere to be found, he realized that while it could only be from her, she must have sent it with a courier or guard to be deposited on his doorstep. He was both grateful to have something from her, and sad to see that she’d sent something along to him when he should have sent an apology to her. If only he could call the wind spirit to him the way Anna and Elsa could call it to themselves and send letters back and forth. He would love to send her even the simplest sorry.

He set to making himself something to eat before opening it. He wanted to know what she’d sent along, but also felt that he needed to punish himself by waiting before he was given the joy of opening something, she’d given him. Anna was too kind, always. She was feisty and opinionated and said what she thought, but she was also forgiving and compassionate, and he was certain that she’d taken what he’d said to heart in a way that made him feel like breaking.

He managed to down some flavorless mush of porridge and realized, just how used to palace cooking he’d become. He’d never complain about any food, knowing what it was like for those who had too little to eat, but also it was one more reason he longed to return home. He wanted to tell Anna that he loved her and that he trusted her and that he knew that what they had was real, and then he wanted to stare lovingly into her eyes while he ate something that tasted better than unflavored porridge. It was, of course in order of priority, though he thought that maybe he could do both at the same time if he just tasted her. She did love having his mouth on her.

He set the bowl down in annoyance when he felt his cock jump at the thought. He was supposed to be feeling bad about what he’d done, not horny.

He huffed and stood, moving towards the box she’d sent along, wishing again, that he’d not been so foolish and had taken the time to love her like she deserved before he left. The week could not possibly come to an end soon enough for him.

The lid had not been nailed onto the crate, which he was grateful for as he was sore and tired and didn’t have the energy to go and find something to break the seal with. He pulled it open carefully, the wood only giving a slight resistance to his efforts due to it being a bit damp from the snow.

Once he had it open, he smiled softly, seeing that there was something wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a book, and that with it there was a letter. She often read to him, and him to her. He thought that perhaps the wrapped parcel was a copy of whatever book she was reading while he was away, for him to enjoy as she did.

It was thoughtful.

He picked up the letter first, breaking the wax seal with a smile as he saw that she had pressed a small flower into it. Anna was excellent with details and small gestures in a way he found amazing. He was not great at planning out romantic gestures, his many failed proposal attempts highlighting that well enough.

She’d sprayed the letter with her perfume. As soon as he opened the envelope it filled the air around him. She’d once told him it was made from rose and bergamot, but to him it just smelled like Anna, and as he pulled the letter from its envelope and found himself inhaling the smell of her, reading her handwriting, his manhood decided that despite his exhaustion it was not giving him a break.

Kristoff, my love,

I miss you terribly. My bed was cold last night without you and without the promise of you not so surreptitiously sneaking into it tonight, I find my heart, along with…other parts of myself… aching for you.

Kristoff paused for a moment closing his eyes. He could scarcely believe that Anna had sent him something so raunchy. Though if he was being truthful it wasn’t so much that he thought that she was incapable of writing such a thing as he was surprised, she’d entrusted it with someone instead of simply arriving unannounced and telling him about it herself. She used to do such things, but her inability to simply take off and follow him without warning was the one downside of her new position as Queen.

He opened his eyes and looked back to the letter.

I’ve sent you a small gift, I hope you enjoy it as much in the receiving as I did in the sending.

Love always,

Your Anna

P.S. Yours and only ever yours.

He smoothed his fingers over her signature, his heart leaping at her postscript. She was impossibly perfect.

She was sometimes insecure too, mostly around points of change, but he did his best to always help her through. That she was doing the same for him, was enough to make his heart skip a beat. He still wasn’t sure of what he’d done to deserve her.

When he set the letter down and lifted the brown paper package from the box, he was surprised to feel that it had much less heft than a book normally did. He found quickly too, pressing the paper, that the back was hollow under his hand.

He undid the twine securing the package and found that written on the brown paper was again, an echo of her letter “Yours and only ever yours”. It made him even more curious, and while he had many thoughts about what it might be, he had never expected what the removal of the paper revealed.

He cursed quietly under his breathe as he gazed upon what he now realized was an unframed canvas. It was no larger than a book, and the amount of detail and expression it contained was unparalleled to anything else he’d ever seen, even in a photograph.

It was a painting of Anna, smiling a bit shyly, reclined on the couch in her bedroom. She was rendered splendidly, the artist perfectly picking up upon the little blush on her cheeks, the half-lidded look through the thickness of her lashes, the slight shine on her lips.

The fact that in the painting she was completely naked, her freckles meticulously added with the tiniest detail, was not lost on him. He knew each of those freckles well, and not a single one was out of place. He’d touched those freckles, counted them, committed them to memory and caressed and kissed and licked each and every one of them in the process of loving Anna.

His heart raced. She’d sent him a beautifully painted portrait of her entirely naked body.

His fingers brushed against the surface of the canvas. She’d posed for it. It wasn’t a last second thought to send him a novel or snack or piece of clothing he’d left behind. She’d sat and posed nude for a painting with the express intention to send it to him.

His and only ever his.

He leaned the beautiful thing on the box it came in and couldn’t help himself but to undo the ties of his trousers, sitting back in one of his rough kitchen chairs as he took himself in hand and stared at the perfectly captured details of her body.

The air around him smelled of her as he ran his hand up and down his shaft. This was what she wanted, and he knew it. She was almost certainly in her bed, laying on the side where he slept, touching herself to the thought of him.

He groaned into the silence of his cabin, “Anna!”

What he wouldn’t give for her to climb out of that painting. It was beautiful, a masterful recreation of her every curve, of the slight slope of her breasts, the blush on her cheeks that extended down her chest. It was all so perfectly Anna, but he would give anything for her to be there, for her to bend over his table and let him show her just how sorry he was for ever thinking for a moment that she’d want anyone but him.

He’d been a fool, but she had been wicked and kind in her forgiveness.

His palm pumped faster and harder as he thought of her touching herself for him, as he thought about her posing for that painting for him, as he fantasized about having her right there bent over the table.

When he came, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her, letting himself forget, if only for a moment, that he wasn’t at home with her, warm and snuggled at his side.

He was going to make love to her when he got back. She deserved more than a quick bout of apology sex. He was going to kiss every freckle again, double checking that portrait for accuracy. He was going to show her why he knew that he could be secure in the fact that she never wanted anyone other than him, and he was going to show her with his hands, with his mouth, and with his cock until she looked as absolutely debauched as he felt.

He was a mess, and as he opened his eyes, gazing upon the portrait, he knew that he owed Anna all that and more as a proper thank you. He’d put it back in it’s box in the morning and keep it with loving care under his bed until the next occasion presented itself that he’d be back.

The week absolutely could not pass quickly enough for him. As he straightened and cleaned himself, he thought again of her posing for that portrait, just for him. His sweet Anna bare and blushing, likely there for hours, just to give him something special.

This time his heart leapt at the thought. He laid himself in his bed and blew out his lantern, warm with the thoughts of her love, and how he would show her his appreciation.

#kristanna advent 2019 #kristanna #This has a plot and I'm as surprised as you all are trust me #A bit unreasonably proud of this one #I'm going to go sit in the sin bin for a while and think about what I've done

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 4 years

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Shattered Reflections {23}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 22. Waltz of the Snowflakes

23. Cordially Invited

Elsa overslept after her long evening, but she'd still got up well before Anna started stirring out of her slumber. Oversleeping to Elsa only meant she'd gotten up at a more sensible hour, closer to when normal people (and not extra early birds, such as herself) tended to awaken. Her mind not shutting off right away once she'd gone to bed really took a toll and the price was more sleep, how tragic. Perhaps Anna would have been able to do her hair after all, if she only allowed herself to sleep in, for real. She smiled a little, gazing in the vanity mirror as she brushed and put her hair back in her usual braid, remembering the compliments she'd gotten.

Soon she was off on her normal routine even if she had started a tad bit later than usual. Her workload seemed quite manageable that day. As lunchtime started rolling around, Elsa started thinking of possibly having a tea time with Hans that afternoon. Sure, it was imprudent, especially considering the late night they just had, but she was eager to spend more time together if they were both able. She was eager, but perhaps not dauntless enough to go ask him directly, maybe being a bit nervous to face him now that he was more sobered up. So she decided to send him an invitation, yes it might have been overly formal, but sending him a written request put her more at ease (particularly for the off chance he would decline instead). He was to receive the invitation along with his lunch, and Elsa would have to wait until tea time to see if he would join her, which was a bit suspenseful, she of course would be a disappointed if he didn't show (but probably not as much if he'd told her), but she'd given him the option of not coming if he was unable as well.

Hans was also an early bird, now too beset by the idea of waking up at a reasonable hour. He still slept in a little later than Elsa, but for his part, he had little to do but sleep, much to his eternal vexation. The invitation was a surprise, but a pleasant one. He thought it was terribly cute that she wrote it all out formally. She could've easily sent someone to just ask, it wasn't as if they were a mile apart, but she had opted for a formal letter. He was half-tempted to be cheeky and write a formal acceptance back, but suspected she would miss the humor in it. Instead, he opted to wear some of his nicer clothes -still quite ordinary, as he did still have his prison clothes, but some of the ones with the bloodstains best washed out- and appear there when tea time arrived, on the dot. He had little better to do than be punctual, and as a Navy man, punctuality was important. more so than uniforms, at any rate.

"Good afternoon, your Majesty. Or is tea time when we switch to 'good evening'?" He asked with a smile, just being sweet and light.

At the sound of Hans' voice resonating through the room, Elsa turned to look at him. She had previously been playing around with the table spread trying to make it look just right, she could be a bit obsessive when it comes to being orderly. Seeing him more dressed up than she'd become accustomed to, caught her by surprise, she hadn't seen like that since he'd first arrived, not that she was complaining.

"Oh, good afternoon," she greeted with a smile. "Glad you were able to join me."

"Of course. I made room in my busy schedule of 'nothing much to do' just for this." He assured, with a playful smile. "Tea in the music room perhaps, then? So I can play for you?" The tone of a servant, though given with what was perhaps a knowing smile. He suspected she might've liked him. He didn't think he was deserving of it, part of him wanted to warn her away from it, but he couldn't deny that it felt nice to be liked. He hadn't decided yet how to feel about the whole thing.

"Sounds like you really had to clear your schedule just to make it," she lightly laughed. "Yes, of course, but please do have some tea first,"she offered, signaling with her arm that he should take a seat at the already arranged table, she didn't want him to just play for her the whole time.

"As you please." He hummed, settling where she gestured and moving to pour the tea. He was a gentleman, and a Navy man. In a way, he was used to service. It was a small gesture, but not one that one might expect of a prince, let alone the one once accused of Treason. The silence was unusual, but amicable. Hans didn't want to be the one to break it, when tea warranted a bit of thoughtful introspection and quiet contemplation.

Elsa was used to silence while she sipped tea in solitude, yet with Hans there it somehow felt unbearable, even if it was rather nice just to have him there, she had to break the ice. Starting conversations wasn't her forte, but she gave it a try just to get him talking. She needed to think about a topic, of course she could ask about the weather but that was so drab, she had to come up with something better. Think Elsa, think. She looked around the room. That's it! Instruments. She could ask what instruments the rest of the Princes of the Isles had taken up, but then she didn't like being the one to bring up his brothers or the Isles, she still only felt comfortable asking when he was the one opening up to talk about that subject.

"So, when did you start learning to play the harp?" she asked instead, she didn't know the answer despite them talking about his ability to play the harp countless times.

Hans had to think about it a bit. "Oh, when I was young I suppose, maybe around my early teenage years? Those were difficult, but Gregory plays piano, and makes music his life, so he taught me." Hans seemed to detect Elsa's discomfort with the silence, and opted to go on. "He married a singer, Katharina. Sweet girl, never heard her say an unkind thing, and that is an accomplishment, living with the family. Gregory is a good man, all kindness and passion for music. His response to terminal illness was to opt out of any crown business and focus solely on music. The castle would be a miserable place without it." He didn't mind talking about the good parts of his family. If asked in good faith, he wouldn't mind talking about the bad parts, either.

"That's sweet, it's awful that your brother is ill, but it sounds like he's making the best of it by surrounding himself by things he loves." Elsa didn't know how else to respond. It was bittersweet. It was nice to hear that one of Hans' brother's was the one that taught him.

"He is, and filling the castle with music. A number of us learned some instrument or other, so I chose the Harp. In a family full of men, even Eduard was shy of choosing a feminine instrument. He's changed a lot since then, of course, but I wanted something unique, so I picked the Harp. It's a background instrument, something no-one but the player truly pays attention to on most occasions. Exactly the sort of role I wanted in the house: unnoticed." He explained simply. "My brothers harassed me for all sorts of things already, adding one more was meaningless, and by that point I was learning to withstand them. Not well enough, but I made it through my teenage years." With the help of some other brothers cutting him down, but she didn't need to know the details of that venture. The harp was much more harmless, better to talk about that.

Unique but unnoticed, sounded a bit like a contradiction. Elsa let out a groan at the mention of him being tormented by some of his brothers, it was always upsetting to hear that his own family was purposely callous towards him.

"Hopefully, you don't mind being noticed playing for me." He would not be obscured in the background playing for her, instead he would be the focal point of her attention.

"I don't mind being noticed here. Unless it's by Anna, I'd sooner she forget I was here at all. But for you, I don't mind being noticed." He assured her gently. He cringed a little. "When I say it all out loud it sounds much worse, doesn't it?" He admitted with a weak chuckle. "Many of my brothers are sweet or largely inoffensive. Most of my 'tormenting' was sibling teasing. A few bad apples made my life a bit rough, though statistically the number is higher than I'd like." He assured, apparently trying to comfort her with the idea that not all of his childhood was awful. It was, he just didn't realize he deserved his traumas.

Elsa shrugged a little at his question, she truly didn't mind either.

"Having only one sibling it's hard for me to truly understand, but I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have a sister as loving as Anna."

"I would suggest that being alone would've been much more unbearable without knowing there was someone on the outside missing you. It's a sharper pain, but I've found that while sharp cuts hurt more in the moment, they do less damage overall than significant blunt pains." It was probably for the best if he didn't expound on his knowledge of that.

"I suppose," she answered with a nod as she took another sip of her tea. Their conversation seemed to have gone gloomy without delay, but that wasn't new, it seemed to be a common occurrence with the two of them. Thinking of a way to try to brighten it up proved rather difficult for Elsa since starting and keeping a conversation going was already a challenge for her.

Hans, by contrast, seemed perfectly comfortable with both the quiet and with the gloomy turn. He lived mired in it, so being able to talk about the gloomy things may have actually been a bit of a good sign. They were comfortable, and could unload on each-other all the dark things that bothered them-- if they trusted each-other with that.

"Hmm, sorry. I didn't mean to bring up anything dark. It's a bit how my mind works, I think. I don't think it's always a bad thing, to reflect on bad things. We just have to watch that it doesn't overtake us. The seas are allowed to be a little edgy, so long as we don't sail directly into a maelstrom." He would bring it back to sailing, somehow.

"Oh, don't be. My mind tends to go down that path as well. I don't mind talking about that stuff, I'm just so used to changing the subject before it gets too dark because I don't feel I can really talk to Anna about some of these things."

"Well, thankfully for me, I'm not Anna or I'd have to be even angrier with myself. You're welcome to talk about the dark things with me. Lord knows I do it enough, but I suppose I only talk about the darker things here because you actually seem to take an interest." And express sympathy, rather than telling him to man up or get over it. She didn't need to know that part.

"Of course, I like to listen. I think it helps me understand you a bit better," she assured.

"For better or worse, hm?" He suggested with amusement. He meant it as a joke about how it might not be a good thing to understand him better. He didn't think about the line as also being used in wedding vows, and it was probably best not to read into it. "Well, is there anything you'd like to know about me? While we're being chatty and talking about dark things, may as well."

Anything? Everything, if she was being honest. She had countless questions, but that moment being put on the spot she couldn't think of any. What could she ask him that she was most curious to know.

"Hmm." She paused and pondered. She could really ask him anything, yet her mind was blank. Then she thought of something she was still in the dark about. She seemed to have gotten a better understanding of the relationship he had with his brothers when he described them to her but she still didn't know much about his parents. What she gathered from previous conversations was that Hans thought of his father as a good man, but he was unfortunately ill and his mother seemed to be a different story; he seemed to hold some rancor towards her. She wondered if it was a can of worms she was really wanting to open.

"Um, I think I would like to know more about your relationship with your parents, so I can get a better idea of what they're like --like I did when you talked about your brothers-- Of course you don't have to answer if it's too personal." She asked somewhat nervously, thinking she might have overstepped the boundary. She really could have asked him absolutely anything and yet that's what came to mind.

Hans shrugged a little, as much a gesture of opening his hand as it was with his shoulders, he was willing to give up that knowledge if she was willing to ask for it.

"My mother was an actress, and in many ways, still is. I'm sure I'll never know what father saw in her aside from her beauty. She is quite beautiful, and a talented actress, but unfortunately she is also a horribly neglectful mother, and prone to the 'man up and make something of yourself' school of parenting. 'Westergaards are lions, not mice' she would say, and we would all casually overlook the fact that she's only one by marriage, so what would she bloody well know about it?" He shook his head a little.

"She's the type to tell the people that she loves all her children, but she never learned sign language for Bernhard, and that, I think, tells you all you need to know about her. Though I'll be happy to talk about what a terrible mother she is all day if you're interested." He certainly pulled no punches, there. "My father, on the other hand, has always been loving and supportive. Gerard took after him splendidly; all integrity, loyalty, and honor. I only pray that Gerard didn't also inherit his poor health."

Ouch, that was harsh, both how Hans saw her and how she treated her children, though it wasn't far off from what she'd deduced. She didn't know how to respond, but she asked in the first place. Elsa almost wanted to apologize, but refrained herself for doing so, because he would only tell her it was not her fault, which was true.

"You're welcome to talk about it whenever you want, I'll listen," she offered, with sincerity. Though now might not have been the best time to spend all day talking about it, souring their tea time with bitter memories.

"I don't think of when I want to do things, generally. Remember, I'm a mirror. Who do you think I got that from?" His mother, of course. The actor took after the actress. "I do what people approve of. I want to be approved, that's how I am. When left to my own devices, I try to avoid notice and be as unremarked as possible, usually. At least in the Navy I had a role, it was whatever my rank said I was. To be approved of I simply had to do my job. That was easy. Fools tell stories and jokes as long as they have an audience, guards protect and train and are ready to defend a kingdom, prisoners need only to sit in a cell and be repentant. Jobs are easy. Being a prince is damned near impossible. At least where I'm from." It was a novel way to think of it, and one he had never really put to words before. As long as he had a job, a role, an identity, he could be. When he didn't, he tried not to be at all, because then all he was left with was 'mirror'.

He kept saying that he was nothing but a mirror, yet Elsa didn't fully believe it herself, she firmly felt there was something more. Yes, he was excessively adaptable trying to seek validation, but she didn't think he was reflecting 'what people wanted' without reflecting a bit of himself as well. Though perhaps the problem was he failed to realize he even had a reflection. He lost himself playing the parts, yet that didn't mean people didn't recognize the actor in the role. In actuality, she saw him more as a man trapped in a mirror instead of being the mirror himself, and because of that he was unable to see his own reflection. Elsa wanted to state something similar to her speculation out loud, but no words came out, instead she remained silent and sipped her tea.

"Hm, the more time I spent telling you I don't talk about my issues, the more time I spend talking about my issues." Hans admitted, after a long and awkward silence. He couldn't help but smile sheepishly over his tea, while he shut up and drank a bit. "What can I say? You bring the truth out of me, whether I want it or not. And maybe deep down I do." What an odd thought, yet it seemed true. He wanted to talk to her about things, and hear what she did -or didn't- have to say about it.

"I'm glad to hear that," Elsa smiled with an audible hum, she was indeed flattered that he was willing to open up to her, and certainly more than happy to listen. Her beaming blue eyes jumped from her tea cup to Hans and back again.

He wondered a moment if she had wanted to say something. He certainly didn't mind as the quiet settled in again, this time more peacefully.

"I wonder how it is, that my kingdom has all the sun, but yours is somehow brighter?" He mused. It was just a general 'feeling' of brighter and lightness. Maybe it was just her. "Our land is warmer, but yours has the warmth, as it were." And it was true, Arendelle was -at least socially- warmer.

"Hm, you really think so?" She questioned with curiosity. She hadn't known much about how things were outside her own home so it was hard for her to compare. "How else would you say the Isles really differ from Arendelle? As a place I mean."

"Our humor is darker, we're a little less... I'm not sure. I want to say 'we're less kind', though I'm not sure how to justify that accusation. More, we have different philosophies about the world, I think, and Arendelle's is lighter and sweeter. Of course, the majority of my exposure to the Isles is through the castle. It's possible the town is nothing like that and my expectations are just colored." He shrugged. "My perspective is certainly much darker than most. But then, the Isles still has corporal punishment, so I think it's probably justified to say that we're much darker." It was just a fact, as he knew it. It was less frequently used than it had once been, but it was still there.

Elsa nodded along. Perspective was a fickle thing, experience really could mold the outlook someone held about something, be it a place or a person. Elsa would have never imagined that her perspective of Hans would ever alter, yet here they were, an unlikely pair having tea together. Naturally it would have never happened without Elsa allowing herself the opportunity to try get to know him better.

"You know I used to wonder...and worry, whether or not I could maintain Arendelle’s prosperity as Queen. That's still certainly on my mind, but it was more prevalent before my ascension, back when I was planning to keep the gates closed." She remembered, with the talk about their homelands. "I'm truly grateful that the gates are now open, I'm sure the people are too and find it more pleasant, than having an ominous Queen ruling them from behind a closed gate. I really am blessed to be able to see, feel and enjoy Arendelle's happiness myself."

Hans nodded thoughtfully. "In spite of everything that happened, I'm... glad that whatever awful things happened, I ended up here, at this moment. I certainly wouldn't want to repeat past events if it could be helped, but, being here now is nice. It's certainly better than I expected would happen after those events." Not quite what he had hoped or planned for before them, but hopes and plans of 'then' were meaningless now. Now he was just happy that Elsa seemed to have forgiven him. "Do you think Anna will forgive and forget? Or, at least, forgive? I wouldn't be surprised nor offended if she didn't, but I'm curious about your perspective."

Elsa pursed her lips like she usually did when she pondered.

"I really don't know to be honest. I want to say yes, maybe someday, because Anna is the kindest, most loving and forgiving person I know...but she's still hurt and I don't know when or if that will ever heal," she offered her insight. "I don't know if forgiveness will come for sure, but there's hope for a compromise."

Hans nodded thoughtfully. "It's a difficult proposition, I know." He thought about the cold dismissal in Anna's voice when she said 'I have no use for you'. It was something he should have expected, yet it still knotted his stomach to think about. He gritted his teeth a little and refocused on his tea, taking a sip and trying to re-center himself on something nicer.

"So, ah, anything else you'd like to know about me or my family? Working on a ship, foreign lands, anything?" Questions. Anything to prompt him to think of something else. He didn't look at her when he said it, he was staring off at nothing, the corner moulding on the far wall by the rug. He wasn't really looking at it, but trying to wrestle himself away from his thoughts.

Elsa noticed the subtle change in his demeanor. It was clear he wanted to change the subject, but she forgot to tell him something and perhaps it would have been better if she had started off with it.

"You know last night Anna told me it was perhaps good that you were here and that we could learn something important," she mentioned.

Elsa remembered she never did get the chance to tell Hans that Anna had a habit of hitting a person's weak spots without knowing it, like Kristoff had suggested after their confrontation, so it was likely he was taking the idea of being seen as 'useless' by Anna to heart ever since then. She didn't know if her words would help any, but she was at least putting them out there.

Hans tilted his head a little, curiously. "Oh?" He sounded very puzzled by that thought. "And what on earth could be learned from this, for you?" Yet even as he asked, some part of him started filling in answers. "She thinks it might be good that I'm... well, I did help with the invasion." He admitted with a shrug. Indeed, he had helped to turn the tide of it, he just didn't realize how vital he had been, yet. To say nothing of re-training the guard staff.

"Hm? Yes, she recognized that you helped stop the raid."Elsa nodded, and added." I don't know what we would have done without you.

Hans blinked, perplexed by the thought. He knew it, yes, but it was different to hear it out loud. It seemed his mind was bound and determined that he should hate himself, so evidence that he shouldn't was slow to process.

"I'm still perplexed that Weselton tried at all, that's a hangable offense in the Isles, starting wars against other nations. Especially with me here. My brother would never have authorized an attempted coup, let alone knowing I was here." He got lost on that thought a moment, almost forgetting to acknowledge his own help. "I suppose... The coup would have been successful. Or at least, more successful than would matter otherwise. I can't imagine..." But he could, all too well. He knew what sword-hacked necks looked like, and he trembled to think about the blood in the grand hall.

"Forgive me, my imagination just ran away with me in an awful way. I think I know what will feature in my nightmares now." He had them all too frequently, but nightmares were normal to him.

"Let's think of something more pleasant than that battle. Olaf seems to have figured out who I am, and he's taking it well. Your little snow-prince has quite charmed me." Hans admitted, putting on a pleasant tone as he tried to find something as far removed from blood and gore as he could drag it.

"Oh, he has? It makes sense he would have figured it out by now, I didn't know how to tell him myself. The only reason I didn't want him to know in the first place was to keep him from telling Anna, because as you know, he is a rather chatty snowman," She assured. "It was rather pointless considering what happened next, yet it did make you 'Hans the Fool' which both of you seem to enjoy, so some good came out of it, I suppose," Elsa smiled, remembering how entranced they'd been when Hans told his story.

"Olaf is an embodiment of excitement, so I'm not surprised he's taken a liking to you especially considering you enjoy indulging him, which the rest of us aren't always able to do. I'm glad you've taken a liking to him as well. I'm sure he's ecstatic to have found himself a kindred spirit." She noted. "Though why do you keep calling him my 'little snow-prince'?" It was admittedly a rather cute nickname, but did Hans actually believe Olaf was next in line to the throne because he saw Olaf as her magic snow child. She didn't know how she felt about that, even if it was just another jest.

Hans chuckled a little. "Because the first thing I asked was 'is he in line for the crown', and I noticed you never actually answered that question." Hans laughed into his hand, a little impish again. "I know he's probably not, because that would be a clerical nightmare, but it's a very cute thought and I can't help but find it endearing. He is very much like a child, so I rather want to treat him like one." That said some pleasant things about Hans, and how he spoke to children, at least. "Excitement and adventure do go along delightfully well, perhaps that's why we get on. I've built my life around a yearning for adventure, and the excitement that goes with that feeds stories."

"I think I might have missed the question entirely, because my mind was certainly preoccupied about other things when Olaf entered," She admitted. "Oh, he’s definitely not in line, though I will admit it's an endearing idea. But could you even imagine? Just thinking about it is giving me a headache, Arendelle being ruled by a living snowman, but certainly another interesting read for the history books, for sure. No offense to Olaf, but I don't think he's cut out to be king, it would certainly bore him to death," she lightly snickered, shaking her head at the silly notion. "Though it makes me wonder if he would disappear if I-" she brushed that thought away with a jerk of her head "... it's probably best not think too deeply about this silly little 'what if'."

"Perhaps you could accompany Olaf on a little adventure around Arendelle someday, I'm sure Olaf would appreciate it, he's always eager to do anything to quench his infinite boredom, and you could always tell me the story of your quest afterwards," she suggested with a smile. It was a silly little idea, but she was sure the two childish boys would enjoy it.

Hans gave a slightly strained smile. "No, probably best not." He agreed, because he knew what the 'what if' was, too.

"There's a nice thought. Maybe I'll give us a task the next time he's annoying you and Anna, and I'll 'babysit' the snowman. What else is a fool good for, if not entertaining the children?" He smiled a little, impishly, as if daring her to argue that he wasn't the fool or shouldn't boil himself down like that. "Perhaps that would be a fun children's story on its own, the snow-king, all about a snowman king in a world full of human kings. What a funny thought. I can't imagine him being adult enough to wear a crown, let alone use its power."

"Hm. That's not exactly how I was envisioning it," she bobbed her head a bit. "I was thinking something more for the fun of it, I thought you'd enjoy exploring together as friends, instead as a nanny watching over a child," she shrugged. "Oh, and fools are good for far greater things, but seem to be too stubborn to see it." She glanced at him with a half smile before taking to another sip of her tea.

"I really can't imagine Olaf ever really growing up, perhaps growing a little wiser, but magical snowmen don't really age like people so it's really hard to know." She shrugged again." And yes, the snow-king does sound like it'd make rather an interesting story," she agreed. "Maybe another story you can tell Olaf sometime... and perhaps me too." she added a bit shyly. "I do enjoy listening to your stories, fact or fiction, you make them so vivid and immersive. You really are a great storyteller you know, ever consider writing one?"

"Oh it would still be a friendly adventure. But when else do I leave the castle, but when I have a task?" He was task-driven, it seemed, and perhaps he too was only just noticing that fact. "I used to write, but I would always burn the pages, remember?" He remarked, perhaps a bit more quietly. The only examples of his handwriting that he knew of, unbeknownst to him, were locked in her desk drawer. "I don't like to share thoughts I've written. To me they always carry the threat of being evidence to some unknown failure. Sooner or later someone will find it out and confront me with it." It was so petty, but that was his life in the Isles. Constantly picked apart by petty quibbles.

"Oh, right, sorry," she said softly with a somber sigh. She hadn't forgotten, she just didn't think he would still worry about that anymore.

"It's one of those things you don't want to draw attention to yourself over...but I really don't think anyone would hold it against you here, in Arendelle at least, especially not with something as innocent as sharing a story. From what I got to read, you are quite a riveting writer, I'm sure people would approve and..." she paused, realizing her knack was probably kicking in, she frowned a little bit to herself, her tone turned more apologetic. "...pay me no mind, it was just a silly idea." Her bottom lip curled underneath the top one as she stared down into her tea cup. It was disheartening that he still believed he'd get reprimanded for expressing himself that way. He should be feel free to write without the looming fear of some unforeseen failure, over something so trivial. He wrote so eloquently in her eyes, a bit of a shame it was something he wasn't willing to share with others, because she believed they would enjoy reading his storytelling.

Hans looked curious. "No, go on? You rarely say so much, you must be passionate about the subject. I'm humbled to think that the subject would be my writing, of all things." He seemed quietly proud, and very humbled by the idea. "What are fools good for, if not silly ideas?"

Elsa lifted her gaze. "Oh, uh all I was really going to say was that I think people would enjoy reading your writing, but if you didn't want to bring attention to yourself, you could always share anonymously or using some alias," she suggested a bit sheepishly.

Hans smiled a bit at that. "Not a bad thought, I suppose." He admitted gently. "I'll consider it, at least. It would be nice to see if people enjoy my stories." He sounded humble, maybe even shy of the prospect.

Elsa smiled faintly, her eyes softening. She was happy he would at least consider it, that felt like an accomplishment to her.

He shifted, almost uncomfortably, but he was still smiling.

"Never be afraid to voice your thoughts in your own kingdom, your Majesty. You're the Queen. Your opinion is the correct opinion, or at the very least the one that matters the most in most conversations you'll ever have here. It's okay to be confident now and then."

Hans' formality got her out of her head, breaking the gaze she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She was definitely more confident when it came to giving her opinions on actual official matters as Queen, but for whatever reason when it came to more casual interactions with people (which were only a few) she definitely became more diffident. Perhaps because during those more personal times she tended to momentarily forget she was Queen and ended up behaving more like a normal person, which she really didn't have much experience in, so of course she was a little more awkward.

"Yes, of course," she said in a more serious tone, her gaze fixed on the far wall. She was perhaps a little embarrassed of being reminded.

Hans pondered her a moment, noting that she seemed difficult to jar from her thoughts.

"Of course, you're a human, too." He pointed out, gently. "I've heard it said that part of a fool's job is to remind kings that they, too, are men. You're a human, you're allowed to make mistakes, and to be without poise once in a while. It's a difficult thing for royals to learn. We spend so much time learning how to be perfect, that it's hard to remember that we aren't, and never will be. That's part of why I tried to get the hell out of the castle when I got the chance. I was always trying to raft away from the island as a boy, there was a standing order for years that if anyone saw a raft in the water they were meant to look for me and make sure I didn't end up drowning somewhere. Funny enough, I ended up nearly drowning far more often as a Navy man." He transitioned seamlessly from gentle coaxing her out of her reveries into amusing childhood tales, just to try and cheer her. He was good at being a Fool.

She returned her gaze to him. "How many times have you almost drowned? I think you've only told me about the sirens."

It was probably not the part she was supposed to retain out of what he'd been saying, but it was the one that piqued her curiosity.

He thought about it and shrugged. "Not really something I keep track of, honestly. Are we only counting times we've been resuscitated? If so, then never, but only barely. But if we're talking about nearly passing out, it happens with fair regularity for various reasons. Usually me trying to be clever, is the root cause of it. And I am, but it has the side-effect of nearly killing me in the process." He laughed a little at that. "I'm not afraid of drowning, it's the coming back that hurts. I've never had to be resuscitated, but choking on inhaled seawater is never a fun experience."

"I can only imagine," Elsa replied pithily with a slight shiver and perhaps somewhat more withdrawn than before. She had innocently asked the question out of what she assumed to be pure curiosity, yet perhaps there was more to why that topic had specifically caught her attention, and she just hadn't realized it right away. She seemed to have started slipping into her daze once Hans mentioned that he wasn't afraid of drowning.

Hans noticed her slipping. It seemed to be happening a lot, that day. Usually that was his job. He stood, and moved to sit directly next to her, whereupon he offered her his hand. "Something is troubling you, my lady. A pence for your thoughts?" He asked, gently. "You're dwelling on death, I know the feeling."

Elsa's eyes followed him as Hans made his way to sit beside her. How did he always seem to be able to read her so well? She didn’t deny his observation for it was true and instead let out a faint sough that accompanied the long breath that escaped her. Her hand easily placed itself in his without much hesitation, thankful to be surrounded in it's warmth yet again.

Elsa took in a gasp of air and slowly began to speak, if softly and still a bit detached, but at least trying to voice what was troubling her mind.

"They were only supposed to be gone a fortnight,"she began, her fingers tightening their curl around his hand. "I asked them if they had to go... they said I'd be fine, of course that wasn't what I had been worried about." She grew quiet again.

Hans softened and held her hand without a word for a while, tightening his grasp in a warming sort of way. He only wanted to help.

"You had every reason to be afraid. Few from land consider the unknowns of the sea." He admitted, reassuring her with a sort of calm. He kept his voice down so she could contemplate it in her own time, but he stayed with her there.

"Never walk into a sea of doubt alone, you may need someone to pull you back out. Go on ahead with your thoughts, I've got you." He suspected she needed to process some thoughts and be reassured. He would be there to tell her it wasn't her fault, and she could move on. It might not fix everything, but he thought it might help her handle it.

Elsa had never gotten time to properly process the passing of her parents, even now she had never really talked about it in depth with her own sister. It had been around five years now and it still weighed heavy on her heart, how she couldn't even embrace them before they'd left, or how she couldn't be present at their memorial, and worst of all how she could not mourn alongside her own sister in their mutual time of heartache. And all that additional regret just because of her powers and the fear that used to consume her. The warmth and clasp of his hand around hers, help anchor her from going too deep into the dark sea of her subconscious. She took another deep breath before she began to speak again, this time a little more audible than the last.

"I know it was out of my control, but a part of me still wonders that if I tried a little harder perhaps I could have convinced them to stay." she sighed. "It aches my heart that I wasn't able to give them a proper goodbye." There was a slight wavering to her voice. Her eyes became slightly watery, but tears still at bay.

"Here, now. Those what-ifs will be the death of you. They're always deceptive little things, questions as small as thumb tacks that will pierce holes in your heart. Parents never listen to their children, they had work to do, and they likely would have done it regardless how you felt. By your grace in letting them leave, they could at least know that you weren't greatly distressed when they left. They could remember their calm and thoughtful daughter and their upbeat and bright daughter, and they wouldn't feel they had made your last memory of them miserable." He didn't know if that would help, but he tried to think of what he would have wanted to hear. "It's okay to be unhappy about it, though. Don't think of the impossible 'what if's. It's said that we don't mourn for the dead, we mourn for the living they left behind. Be sad, mourn for your loss. And if you need a shoulder to cry on or arms to be held by, I'll volunteer mine any day." Was that too forward? He felt it was only right. He felt he understood her misery.

Elsa listened and felt a bit relieved just receiving reassurance.

“Thank you," she said softly, giving Hans' hand a firm squeeze. Letting herself lean in a bit closer to Hans.

Hans nodded. "What are fools for?" He joked gently. He shifted to settle, and opened an arm for her. She could keep holding his hand, or she could accept his arms and let him hold her. He told himself it was just because she was mourning, and he knew it would help her feel better. He tried to tell himself that was the only reason she might accept, too.

She saw his opened arm as an invitation for an embrace, now the question remained of whether or not she would accept it. She was perfectly content the way they were now, holding his hand, it was in itself nice and warm, but a hug on the other hand could be a lot nicer and more comforting. It wouldn’t be the first time they embraced and Elsa really did like warm hugs, even if she wouldn't openly admit it like Olaf. It would make her a bit nervous being that close to Hans, but that was insignificant if she could surround herself in more of his warmth. It was a tough decision, but in the end she went with the one that felt the most right. Elsa slowly let go of her clasp on his hand, freeing his arm so he could hold her.

Hans was at least a little bit surprised, but he thought that was probably a good sign. He rearranged himself to pull her close, as he would a good friend. He did wonder if that might seem a bit too intimate, though.

"Is this okay?" He asked, hoping that it was. She was surprisingly warming, for an ice queen. Or maybe that was him blushing, it was hard to say.

"Mmhm," she answered with a nod. Elsa was quite used to receiving close and personal embraces from her sister, Hans was no Anna of course, yet their hugs felt somewhat similar, experience wise at least. Both their embraces made her feel safe and warm. The differences really boiled down to how they felt physically. Anna felt more soft, while Hans was not necessarily more stiff but certainly firmer. Their proportions and how they held her was different of course, Hans was far bulkier than Anna that was relatively the same her, and with Hans being taller as well it made his head float over hers. It also seemed their body temperature differed, Hans always felt somewhat warmer, yet her constant flushing whenever they came into close contact might have also played a part in why that seemed to be the case. Another difference that was perhaps strange to admit she took notice of was their scents. Anna always had a sweet aroma about her, Elsa hadn't figured out what exactly Hans' scent was yet but it was far muskier, that's for sure.

Hans was sorely tempted to rest his chin on the top of her head, but he possessed just enough sense of decorum to realize he probably shouldn't treat the Queen of the country he now lived in like a small child. But, she seemed like she needed that warmth. At the very least, he held her close and petted her back, to try and calm her and help her feel better. Admittedly, he wasn't sure what to do after that. He would let her lead, and think of himself as just there for emotional support, as long as she wanted him there for.

In his embrace she no longer restrained the flow of tears she’d been holding back and began to sob silently. Finally letting the sorrow that's been stewing inside her to seep out. Allowing herself to grieve was a necessary process in enabling her heart to heal and overcome her anguish.

Her tears slowly began to fade away as she closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the warmth that blanketed her. It was so calming just to be cradled in his arms. She stayed perfectly still a long while, clearing her mind of everything, but the bliss of the moment. Hans always seemed to have a way of easing away her worries.

In their silent embrace all she could really hear was breathing and the palpitations of Hans' heart, which was rather soothing for a time, until eventually his heartbeat started to evoke a resemblance to a ticking clock, which prompted her back to reality, realizing that she might have been holding on too long and that tea time wouldn't last forever.

Elsa recognized that separating from their embrace might be equally or more awkward than initiating it. She started to shift her body slightly, slowly pulling her body away from Hans’.

"I'm sorry if this is not the tea time you were expecting, but thank you for indulging me regardless," she said earnestly.

Hans smiled a little anyway, as she pulled away, to encourage her. As much as he enjoyed that moment, it also made him wonder if he deserved it, and the more he thought along those lines, the more anxious he became.

"No apologies necessary, I'm glad to help," He assured. "I hope tea time isn't over already? I believe I promised to play for you." He pointed out sweetly. He would remember holding her for some time, but he wanted to linger on the moment for a little while. As anxious as he was, it was still a very pleasant experience.

Even as they were prying apart from each other, there was a part of her that wished it could just stay nestled in his caress. As the distance between them increased Elsa still didn't seem to feel the warmth dissipate, yet that was likely due to all the blood deciding to rush to her face (which made it the only thing she could really sense at the moment).

"We still have some time, besides this tea time couldn't possibly be over before even getting the chance of listening to you play the harp," she reassured with a soft smile. It was the reason they originally planned to meet in the first place after all, they just ended up getting a little sidetracked along the way. Undoubtedly a little awkward and unexpected, but it had been pleasant overall as they continued to comfort each other with their company.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #Fanfiction #Frozen Fanfiction #Fanfic #Shattered Reflections

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thebeautyofdisorder · 5 years

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Blog of John H. Watson, Hidden Post #57 (Adlock Drabble, Post S4)

This is what happens when I’m bored at work and speculate on the possible dynamic that could spawn out of Irene’s continued presence in Sherlock’s life being revealed in The Lying Detective, as well as the thought that John totally keeps an up to date documentation of Sherlock’s bullshit, even when he doesn’t share it. Short head canon in a blog post. A happy medium ending shall we say. Compatible with canon.

Rated T, for language and innuendos.

---

Sherlock Holmes is not a romantic, by any meager stretch of the imagination. In fact, if there were a term in the English language adequate enough to be defined as the polar opposite of a romantic, I wouldn't hesitate to employ it in regards to the world's only consulting detective. But, as with everything else in the complex world surrounding him, it's never quite so simple as that, either. For every area of disinterest in his over-wrought brain, there never ceases to be an exception to the rule. He hates the television, except for when he needs to pass the time.; he's seemingly ignorant of any charms the fairer sex may possess, until he decides to point out which one's they're lacking; he doesn't eat while on a case, unless you buy a very particular brand of biscuits and force them into his line of sight; and he doesn't have a single romantic bone in his body until The Woman is brought into the equation.

Now when I say 'romantic', don't think I mean that in the normal sense of the word - marriage and babies aren't something I can see him ever willingly seeking out, even for the likes of her. That man's idea of a valentine is probably the still-beating heart of one of her enemies, but thankfully (dreadfully?) that woman would happily accept it, and even prefer it over the largest diamond at Tiffany's. Domesticity, suffice to say, has never been a prominent part of their 'relationship'. They do so enjoy flirting with it though. The way anyone else would take a holiday from their mundane desk job to somewhere more exciting, every once in a great while, The Woman formerly known as Irene Adler takes a brief respite from whatever chaos she's getting up to on the other side of the pond and finds her way to Baker Street. Sherlock never seems surprised, though whether that's because she warns him ahead of time of her eminent arrival or if he can sense her presence like some sort of lovesick bloodhound, I don't know (I mostly suspect the latter). But one moment everything is perfectly normal, and the next she's there - and the world has turned upside down. It's never really that dramatic a shift, though, truly. Sherlock is still very...Sherlock. Not even Cupid could fix that. It's his resolute single-mindedness that suddenly seems to take its leave. Whatever has been at the forefront of his thought process is, if not completely usurped, carefully shifted over as if to make room for her. Normally anyone or anything having such an impact on his needle-point focus would annoy him - and sometimes it still does, 'defiance' added to the cluster of other emotions that seem to radiate from him in her presence. More often than not, however, he accepts this adjustment without complaint. If he's particularly deep in the depths of boredom, dare I say with relief. One moment he'll be in a rush to go over some experiment or contact a client, and then there she is - sometimes sitting in his chair looking over a file he'd left lying on the floor or lounging in the bathtub as though she had always been there, and hadn't just broken in. If the timing is really inconvenient, he might shoot her a look not unlike one you or I would give a beloved but stubbornly misbehaved house cat - but it still happens, the immediate recalculation of his priorities. He probably just pulls up a day planner in his mind and starts crossing things off and pushing them around. Brooding can wait ‘til next week, there'll be time to annoy Mycroft tomorrow afternoon, etc. The case - if there is one - still gets solved, of course. No force, however unstoppable, would ever halt the investigative side of his brain. If anything we just gain an amused spectator or even another educated opinion. However as soon as the thinking is done and the only thing left of it is the 'boring' part - contacting the client, handing over evidence, explaining all of his elaborate deductions to a mostly confused and unappreciative audience - I tend to finish it out. Hell, I volunteer to do so, or else it simply doesn't get done. Found that out the hard way once when he stopped answering Mycroft's phone calls halfway through halting a smuggling operation and - well, suffice to say he always knocks now, even if he did have a spare key made just to be intrusive. Not that it seemed to phase either of them. Hardly anything does, during these short visits. As affronted or even offended Sherlock will no doubt be at the turn of phrase, the world by and large ceases to exist to him when The Woman is in town. Once the mostly-metaphorical detective hat is off, there's nothing that can begin to compete with her hold over his attention. I've certainly never had any interest in trying. It took me less than five minutes, the first time she showed up, to see how obviously under-stated he had been when he told me that it was 'just texting' between them that first night I discovered their continued interaction. There had been a tension between them since the moment they'd met, obviously, but it had evolved somehow. It wasn't the unresolved curiosity it once was, but it wasn't a comfortable fondness like most couples have after a reasonable period of time either. It was trapped somewhere in the middle: a constant thrum of kinetic energy almost. It was the power of uncertainty and yet the knowing acknowledgement of potential. I've never seen it’s like anywhere else, probably because no other two people in the world have the patience and tenacity to make such an unreasonable constant work. Coupled with the fact they seemed to be in a continuous competition with each other, for what stakes I still don't know, it was a tangible thing. I'd call it a 'battle for dominance' but that seems far too on the nose for my taste. No, the only thing out of the ordinary about her physical proximity to the detective was that I was now privy to it. I'd say I'm now 'in on the joke', but that doesn't sound right, as funny as the idea of Sherlock shagging a (former?) dominatrix sounds. More like being an unwilling member of an obscure and elitist secret society whose meetings I don't attend and yet end up bearing witness to anyway. Then again, with Sherlock Holmes, when don't I feel like that? Neither of them have ever asked me to make myself scarce during these periods (the shortest being all of 12 hours or what I would deem An International Booty Call - the longest was a full week: Christmas to New Year, leading into a suspicious spike in our usual caseload), but I often do it anyway. No matter the innocence of the conversation they're having - or not having, it seems voyeuristic somehow. And not just in the sexual way. There's a certain foreign intimacy to their seemingly benign interactions that makes it almost more intrusive to walk in on them having tea than any of the more explicit scenarios that end up occurring at 221B Baker Street behind closed doors. There are exceptions of course - the three of us have managed a few pleasant evenings (as pleasant as Sherlock is capable of), but all in all, I leave them to themselves. For as suddenly as she arrives, she's just as quickly gone - leaving no obvious sign of her presence save the lingering of her perfume and usually some spontaneous possession that finds its way to the mantelpiece, and remains there until the next time she inevitably appears in another few months. Hell, maybe the next year. A bottle of red nail lacquer, a hair pin. Last time it was a dagger. I think it's probably deliberate - an excuse, outside of sheer interest, to return. Or maybe some sort of weird code, fuck if I know. Regardless, as soon as her presence dissipates, the Consulting Detective is back to his obnoxious and hyper vigilant self, as though nothing and no one could ever distract him from his single-minded search for problems to solve and humans to outsmart. If Sherlock's unhappy with this unstable 'arrangement' - hell, even if he's perfectly happy with it - he's never really said. In fact, he makes almost no comment about her at all when she's not here. This alone, apparently unbeknownst to him, makes her unique in the whole of the human race. The only exception seems to be under the specific pretense of making his older brother look both nauseous and disapproving at the same time. As for Mycroft Holmes, if 'The Ice Man' ever had any specific ill intentions towards The Woman who nearly brought the nation to its knees, he's apparently given up on them for now. He's even stopped making lewd comments about beheadings just to make Sherlock angry. Every once in an even greater while - only thrice in my memory - some mysterious 'case' will arise from overseas and Sherlock himself will vanish from the streets of London for a number of days. He always asks me if I'd like to come along, and I always give some sort of excuse to remain: can't find a sitter for that long, my passport expired, etc. I know what he's really doing, just as he knows that my passport is perfectly legal, and yet neither of us say a word. I don't know if it's some twisted way to extend the 'mystique' of a secret tryst, or he's just helping her out with something very illegal, but I'm not sure I want to. It's not up to me to say if this sort of dynamic will last - if either of them will eventually require something more steady or resolute, or simply grow bored with one another. But for now, as I write this, Sherlock is restocking the kitchen for the first time in months without being harassed and has ceased whining about Lestrade not calling him back all weekend - so I doubt it's going to be a concern for a long while. By morning I'm sure I will walk in to witness my boorish and manner-less best mate who will rarely even boil his own water trip over himself to have her coffee made by the time she wakes, so he can regale her with the gory details of how he solved the grisliest murder we've had since her last visit. And they say romance is dead.

#my writing #adlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #irene adler #post series 4 #john's blog #the adlock yacht #narrative nonsense

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