Hi! This is my first fic, so please please please favorite and follow and review! I will try to update bi-weekly at the longest. Thanks for reading!
This takes place between 2x10 and 3x1.
Rating: T-M
In Limbo: In a condition of oblivion or neglect; on hold
"Stay."
It was no more than a whisper, but Jasper Frost knew Eleanor inside-out, and knew her subtle tells. He saw the hurt in her eyes, the desperation in her voice, and the shake in her movements. He saw that behind her pretty faec, she was just a girl. After all, that was what made him push the button for her at the stadium. She was simply a girl, and he was a boy, and he was in love with her.
"Is this what you want?"
His cautious, yet piercing but eyes met hers, and she had to look away, it was too, too much for now, and she just couldn't. She didn't understand— yes, it hurt too much to simply look at him, but she couldn't even imagine the prospect of living without him. She stared out the tinted glass of the limo, watching London pass by. Buildings started to blur as tears began to well in her eyes. The events of the day hit her, Robert, Dad, and of course, Jasper. It always came back to Jasper. And right now, he was the largest problem at hand.
Eleanor swallowed, mustering up the courage to admit her feelings. She knew that her heart had been broken far too many times, she knew that she couldn't withstand someone else letting her down. She knew how fragile, how broken, how fucked up that she was. But she remembered to choose love. And somehow, this gut-wrenching, heart-palpitating feeling in her heart destroyed all logic.
"Please."
She was a princess. She never had to beg for anything in her life, ever. Jasper knew this, knew the meaning behind one simple word, and knew how much she needed him. Because he needed her more than he goddamn needed anything in his entire life.
"Okay."
"Okay."
"We've arrived at the palace, your highness."
Eleanor sighed, readying herself. She knew the 23 steps to the palace by heart, and 23 steps was less than 30 seconds of walking. She could keep it together for 30 fucking seconds. Her slightly clammy palms ran up and down her thighs, smoothing the red chiffon of her dress.
Chin up, deep breath.
Jasper went through the motions, sliding out of the limo and quickly walking around to open Eleanor's door. His hands grasped the cool metal handle and he pulled the door open smoothly, his other hand outstretched to catch hers. Eleanor's fingers lightly ghosted over his, making his fingertips tingle where she had brushed over them. He quickly followed a few paces behind her, and he couldn't get her out of his head— her hand grasping his at the stadium, his arm around her as they left, and she asking him to stay.
She held her head high, five, six, seven, walking with the posture of a princess, twelve, thirteen. Eleanor could her him behind her, seventeen, his presence always unwavering and familiar, twenty-two, twenty-three. She stepped through the great doors, legs trembling, barely holding it together. Stumbling through the corridors, Eleanor breathed shakily, finding her way to the sitting room.
Helena looked up at her entrance with a look of relief across her face.
"Thank God you're safe, darling."
In a rare display of maternal love, Helena tightly embraced her daughter. Eleanor collapsed in her mother's arms, shaking with sobs.
After a minute, she pulled herself together and out of her mother's arms. Eleanor took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and asked, "Liam?"
"Safe, and resting."
Eleanor nodded, tired, but with her head still held high. She quietly exited, heels quietly padding down the plush carpet to her room. He followed soon after, silent as a shadow. Eleanor slipped inside her room, the door clicking shut, and he resumed the bodyguard position outside her room, as he had done so many nights before.
Eleanor collapsed on her bed, the red fabric her dress spilling out around her. She didn't bother to kick off her boots, remove her makeup, or turn off her light. Instead, she curled up on her bed, gasping like a fish out of water, as she silently sobbed.
She laid there, stuck in the same fetal position, until shortly after three in the morning. That was when she heard the soft click of the doorknob, saw the hand turn smoothly, and he walked in. He knew she wasn't asleep, that she physically couldn't sleep, and that she needed him right now, just as he needed her. Jasper quietly stalked over to her bedside, surveying the sight of her: her boot-clad legs curled to her chest, the mascara-stained tear tracks running down her cheeks, her dress from yesterday splayed out across her duvet, and the rattle of her chest slowly heaving up and down. His breath hitched in his throat, and though she was exhausted and (depressed), she was still beautiful.
In a rare display of outward affection, his hand gently caressed her teary cheeks, his rough fingertips gracing her soft, tender skin. Jasper Frost was normally anything but a gentle lover, but she did these things to him and made him go soft. For christsakes, he had traveled across Europe without compensation for her, and he had toiled away to find her father's murderer. He would go to the ends of the world for her, if he hadn't already.
Knowing he had to leave this all behind, he felt a sharp twinge of longing in his heart. But he wouldn't be Jasper Frost if he didn't take the gamble: He shed his suit jacket and tie, letting his shoes fall to her floor with a soft thud. Eleanor felt the bed dip with his weight, and she knew that she should protest, push him away, and force him to leave, but again, something in her heart told her head No. His arms wound around her, and she felt his chest pressed up against her back. She melted into the stability of his touch, which was so ironic because any relation she had with Jasper Frost was tumultuous, never stable or secure.
He nuzzled the back of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair— the smell of her French shampoo and musky perfume that was so distinctly Eleanor. "I'm so goddamn sorry," he mumbled into her neck, pressing a soft kiss to her head. His fingertips started to draw abstract patterns on her arms, and she curled tighter against him, if that was even possible. Within his strong embrace, she soon fell into a pattern of restless sleep.