A/N: Wrote this on a whim, around about midnight thanks to a bout of inspiration from watching a particular scene from The Notebook on Youtube. It kind of hit me later that the first thing I did on my birthday was write a story. Hah. Anyway, as I wrote it in a couple of hours in the middle of the night, it's probably crap but...wanted to give you all something. Like a celebration of sorts. Who knows. Turtles - that's who. Clever little things.

Anyway, usual disclaimer applies - the character Elsa from Frozen is owned by Disney, and the character Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians is owned by Dreamworks and William Joyce. I own nothing but the plot, sort of.

Midnight Oneshot

Jack hears the crunch of dainty footsteps on the stony shore, and doesn't even need to turn around to know it's Elsa. He tosses another stone into the moderately tidal sea, this one a little more forceful than the last thirty two. Dammit, Elsa.

"Jack…" she calls out to him. He doesn't turn around. Clenches his jaw and slips another stone into his throwing hand, while the salty August breeze meanders its way under his white shirt and out again.

She was supposed to marry that rich guy...Hants? Hens? Ah, Hans. That's the one. She's supposed to have that happily-ever-after with him. Supposed to enjoy a life of wealth and freedom - if you can call it that - where she wants for nothing and her life will not be in the slightest bit hard. What can Jack offer her? He barely makes enough to support himself as it is. Tiny apartment, food isn't great plus there's not much of it, he can only really offer his love - and in this day and age, with marriages that last a week, and divorces a great source of money, love isn't exactly stuff you can use to feed or live off. Elsa deserves the best, she deserves to never worry ever again.

She deserves the best, more than what he can give her.

"What do you want, Elsa?" he responds loudly, the waves nearly drowning out his voice. The sun has long passed the point of blinding, instead painting the sky into a gorgeous canvas of fiery reds and ambers. Romantic. "You made your choice, and it wasn't me. You've got no reason to be here." he finishes - no bitterness, only fact. Hans could give her everything - he doesn't really know the guy, only that he might have Elsa's best interests at heart. What was that song? Only know you love her when you let her go. That's the one.

Jack loves her, and she made her choice. He let her go, so why is she here?

"I don't know!" she calls. Jack feels the heat of frustration burn in his neck and he launches the last stone like a bullet before whirling round, glaring pain in his eyes. She shouldn't be here. She's getting married in a few days.

"Well, that's just classic Elsa, isn't it?" he snaps. "She knows what she wants, but she doesn't know, but she does, but she doesn't!"

Her eyes widen, and flash with ill-concealed indignant fire. "Don't you dare talk to me about indecisiveness, Jack! You left!" she yells back.

He throws his hands up to the sky. "Me, indecisive? I've always been clear about what, or who I want!" Bending to pick up another stone, he viciously catapults it to the horizon before adding, "and I left because I had to! Not much you can do when your parents decide to move out of state!"

"You could have called!" she shouts, her hands clenched at her sides while the soft blue summer dress ripples and flutters in the sea breeze. "Phone, email, text, even a letter!"

"I did!" he retorts. "I tried everything! I even tried to get Aster to contact you, but your father is way too clever for that."

"What?" Elsa gapes in mild surprise, and her expression is akin to being slapped in the face. "What do you mean, my father?"

"He drove all the way to Burgess to tell me that you'd found this other guy in college, this guy who could," he pauses to bitterly air-quote, "give my daughter the life she deserves. Said he'd blocked my number and email, intercepted my letters. Said I wasn't good enough for you."

"You're lying…" she says loudly, but her face tells a different story. It tallies up in her mind, somehow.

"I'm not," he turns to the sunset, and briefly marvels at how nature can be almost as beautiful as she is, "but he was right! Look at me, Elsa," he challenges her, turning back and spreading his arms wide. Offering himself, all that he is, all that Agdar says he will amount to be, "look at me, and then look at Hans. I'm nothing! So why the hell are you here? You chose him."

He neglects to mention that he's nothing without her. Maybe it's his pride screwing with his insecurity. "Jack, I made a promise to him, when he gave me the ring," she says, frustrated. "I said I would marry him, that I loved him."

"And yet you went behind his back and loved me, and yet you're here," Jack points out, narrowing his eyes. "So, why? Must be something missing in that shiny engagement of yours, considering it was only a few days ago you broke us up."

"Oh, and what do you think that is?" she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she turns away from him, sassily resting her hands on her hips.

"Me." he snaps.

Her head swivels to meet his gaze, and her expression cuts one of incredulous anger. "My God, Jack! I know you're cocky, but now you're being an arrogant, immature child!"

"Yeah?" And you're being a stuck-up, self-sacrificing, pain-in-the-ass martyr!" he retorts, infuriated. She's right - he is cocky, and can be immature, but once upon a time she said those aspects of his personality were things she also fell for. Interesting how things change.

"I am not being a martyr!" she practically shrieks, jabbing a finger at him.

"Newsflash, princess, you are! Know how I know?"

"I'm sure you'll enlighten me," she groans.

"You don't love Hans, otherwise you and I wouldn't be having those secret lovemaking sessions in the hotel! We wouldn't have nearly eloped six days ago before you had me turn the car around! You wouldn't be here if you did! You're only with him for money and security, but mostly 'cause your parents want you to be!"

"You smug-" she begins, scowling, "how dare...you think you know it all, don't you? Well you don't!"

"Oh really? So I guess I was misreading all the times we slept together and kissed, that you were just stringing me along while you waited to get hitched with Mr Stupid Sideburns." he hisses.

"It's not like that and you know it." she cries.

"Then why are you here?!" Jack practically roars. He's had enough of this. The past two days have hurt so, so much for the both of them. Elsa being here just adds to the pain, drives the knives embedded in their hearts that much deeper.

"I don't know!" Elsa shrieks.

There's a moment of silence, where Jack looks on in exasperated disbelief, while Elsa turns away and covers her mouth with a loose fist to stop the tears from falling. She fails. "Unbelievable," he groans. "We're back to that. You can't decide what you want - and you call me irresponsible."

"But you are," she rounds on him, cheeks flushed with wounded fury and eyes wide with the same - even in pain, angry, distressed and confused, she still looks so amazing and goddesslike and what the hell is she playing at - "the past few weeks, they've been amazing," she continues in a much calmer voice, but it's forced...like she's rehearsing something, "amazing, memorable and...irresponsible. We should never have slept together. We should never have tried to elope."

Jack, open mouthed, shakes his head as though this is...out there. Like, X-Files out there. "So you just want to forget it? Like, you have a last fling with an old flame before you become a married woman? Or was it some kinda test to see who you really wanted, and I failed it?" he gapes.

"No, Jack! I made a promise to him that I would be-"

She doesn't finish the sentence, as all Jack needs to do is spread his arms wide as if to say 'what am I, chopped liver?' "Nice promise there, princess. I thought it was supposed to be the men that make promises they can't keep, or do gender stereotypes only work one way?"

Elsa groans and rolls her eyes, placing her hands on her hips as though he just told her the world's worst pun. "Oh, here we go with the stereotype humour. God, are we fighting again? We fought every day for the past few weeks!" she cries.

Jack's had enough of this. "Yeah, Elsa. we are. That's what we do. That's what people in love do. They fight. They say things. They argue. You tell me when I'm being an arrogant, smug ass, and I tell you when you're being a stuck-up woe-is-me martyr. Which, for the record, is exactly what you're being right now!" he hisses, the last part as though it's some sort of secret. Oddly, Elsa doesn't retort, but her lips do that classic slip-between-teeth thing as she stares at him with moistened eyes. His throat is absolutely killing him, so heaven knows what it's like for her.

"I'm not holding back," he continues, "because I shouldn't. We both know the most secret, intimate things about each other. We know where to hurt each other, and neither of us should be afraid to go for the jugular. So long as we know we love each other, then it's fine to argue. We could argue a lot." He bends down to make sure she has nowhere to look but into his icy blue eyes, and he tries so, so hard not to drown in her pools of silvery blue. It's so easy. "I don't have much, but I am more convinced than ever in what I want, and I want you. All of you. Me and you, together, forever, 'til we're old and wrinkly, and yelling at our kids when they want to take us to some retirement home."

"Jack," she chokes, and forcibly swallows something, "you're making this impossible for me. No matter what I do, I'm going to hurt someone. Either you, or Hans."

Jack's hands wave manically in front of her, "Forget me. Forget him. Forget your parents. Elsa, I want you to picture your life five, ten, fifteen years from now. If it's with Hans, then go. Leave me, and go be with him, or be on your own if you don't see either of us. Just make up your mind."

She shakes her head; he knows from the way her upper lip is trembling and how her left hand has started to really tug on her braid that she's seconds from fully breaking down. He knows that it's hard for her. Maybe she does have feelings for Hans. Who knows. All Jack knows is what his mother taught him - fight for what you believe in. And he believes in his love for Elsa, and her love for him. "But...I can't choose when I know someone's going to be hurt by it…"

"Elsa, you're killing me here," Jack sighs. Putting his hands together as though he's praying, he moves them during every other syllable as he speaks, "forget about what I want. Forget about what Hans wants, or what your parents want. We live in the days where women should be able to make their own damn choices in life, so what do you want? I let you go once, I could probably do it again if it meant you'd be happy, if it's what you really wanted."

She closes her eyes - practically screws them shut - and mutters something he can't quite catch. "Sorry, what was that?" he says, leaning in.

What she says, though, drops his heart to the floor where it shatters into a thousand pieces. "I need to go." she murmurs.

He straightens up, but it's his pride that's the only thing keeping him from collapsing to his knees. His hands fall to his sides, numb. "Okay," he says, "I...um…" he tries to force the words out, but his throat is choking him, "I wish you all the best with...him - with Hans."

Elsa doesn't say another word. She turns on a dime and practically dashes away from him, gravelly stones echoing like painful scrapes, oddly clear over the crashing of the waves behind him. He watches her as she climbs the bluff overlooking the stony beach and disappears over its grassy tip, leaving only purple sky.

She made her choice, and it wasn't him.

He'll just have to deal with it, like he did before.

If there's one thing that Jack does well, it's mope. In bed, outside, wherever. He'll take himself off to be alone, and he'll feel sorry for himself. Of course, it could be argued that he can be allowed such indulgence just this once - his first and only love did just pick someone else.

He tries to console himself as he sits, knees drawn to chest, by the window in his not-great apartment and stares out at the depressing weather conditions outside. The rain that started not long after he left the beach, a good hour or so after Elsa ran away, has only intensified to a thunderous barrage descending from the inky black sky that batters his window and the fire escape outside. Pretty accurate description of his state of being - angry, frustrated, despondent, alone. His heart still beats an ache throughout his chest with each pump, and all he can think about is everything they did together before he had to leave, and everything they did when he returned. The love they made, sunsets they admired, smiles they mirrored and kisses they shared.

Maybe it was better that she did choose Hans. Now she has security, money, no fear or worry. No days where she'll be anxiously wondering if they can make ends meet. Maybe Agdar was right; love is all well and good, but it doesn't pay the bills or put food on the table. Jack can barely support himself, so how can he support the goddess of love personified? He draws the scratchy cotton blanket closer around himself - it's cold tonight, and he can't really afford to have the electric heater on.

There's a knock at the door, two pairs of raps in quick succession. Glancing over, he sighs to himself - he's not really up for company, and who would want to endure the torrential rain to spend time with him anyway? Clambering down from the window ledge, his bare feet silently tread towards the apartment door while his thoughts remain upon her. It would be hard, he knew it. Hard for the both of them, if she chose him, but he thought they could make it...but he knew that she didn't deserve for life to be hard for her. He would bring her the best, and if that means someone else is the best, then so be it. His right hand lets go of the blanket to wipe a finger across his nose as he sniffs, and prepares himself for whoever is on the other side of the door. Maybe they won't be put out if he says he's not up for company and suggests they go home, back through the torrential rain. He can always apologise tomorrow, he decides as he twists the doorknob and opens the door, maybe he'll be in a better frame of mind for whoever his guest is.

"Elsa…" he breathes, completely knocked sideways.

She's a mess. Her platinum blonde hair is sodden and plastered to her head, and her braid has seen better days. Her eyes bear black streaks of mascara, and her dress is so wet that it's sticking to her skin. She regards him with an awkward gaze, her hands wringing themselves across her chest. "Hello, Jack…" she murmurs, blinking away a drop of rain water that slides down from her forehead. What the hell is she doing here, soaking wet against a backdrop hallway of cheap wood and crappy dim lighting?

It's when she shivers that it dawns on him - he's standing there like a gormless goldfish; spurred into action with the knowledge that his apartment is still freakishly cold, he rips off the blanket and wraps it around her shoulders, gently guiding her into the apartment. "Thank you for saving me the request to come in," she chuckles, and promptly sniffs heavily. He doesn't immediately respond, rather he guides her with one arm over her shoulders and the other resting on her upper left arm towards the hand-me-down, faded green chair in front of the electric fire. "Yeah, well, you look like hell," he finally answers, making his way over to the only source of heating. Sure, it'll probably eat into his electricity bill, but to hell with it. Elsa is cold, and for all her prideful claims that the cold never bothered her, there's a difference between being cold, and being wet too.

He twists the dial on top of the fire a few times. The thing's a pain in the ass at the best of times, so a good kick - which he dutifully applies to its side with a hollow, metallic clang - gets the infernal contraption going and brings a healthy orange glow to the six white bars of metal in the centre. "There you go," he murmurs quietly, and immediately drags the equally old coffee table over so he can rest himself in front of her.

Her slender frame wrapped in the coarse blanket with a finger poking out where the two edges meet, she gazes at him with an unreadable expression, the only sign of emotion being the lower lip between her teeth. "Why are you here, Elsa?" he asks the million dollar question, resting his elbows on his knees while his fingers lace themselves together.

"I-I…" she begins, her voice broken by shivers that tear their way through her body. "It's ab-bout...what w-we t-t-talked about...earlier…"

Figures. She's here to tell him what he already knows; she chose Hans. Why she decided to brave the torrential rain he'll never know. Maybe one last tryst is worth it, he supposes bitterly. "You didn't have to come all this way to-"

"I ch-chose you." she interrupts him, and whatever he thought he was going to say packs up, waves a white flag and disappears.

"You...wait...run that by me again?" he sort-of-repeats. Funny thing about Jack; he's a talker, but if you hit him out of left field he is remarkably inarticulate. Hilariously so, sometimes.

She draws the blanket closer, and hunches her body so part of her legs can share in the warmth of the itchy material. He reckons she's got about three minutes before her body gives in and compels her to start scratching. "After...the beach, I went to see Papa. I asked him if it was true, that he kept you from contacting me. I guess," she pauses to adorably crinkle her nose with one hell of an unladylike sniff, "I guess he didn't expect me to find out. I know he didn't expect Mama to be nearby, because she...well, let's just say he's on the sofa for a month, possibly two. He admitted it, and said that he only wanted the best for me. Mama sent him out of the house, and told me that Papa forgets he married someone who was poor, and he was so wrapped up in making sure I would be secure that he forgot to check if I would be happy. She told me to talk to Hans, right before she called Papa back into the house."

Jack winces; he's seen Idun in a bad mood, and morbidly wonders if Agdar is going to survive the night. "I kinda feel sorry for the guy." he says.

"His heart was in the right place, but his fears had his ear, I think. In any case, I went to see Hans shortly after and told him. He said that he loved me, but he knew that he'd lost me as soon as you came back into my life. He even said 'I have two options - I could shoot Jack, or leave you...but either way, I lose'."

"What did you say?" Jack asks, rapt.

Elsa smiles weakly. "I told him that if I married him, I could never worry about the future. I could be secure and safe...but I didn't know if I could be happy. Because that's all it is, isn't it? Who makes you happy?" She pauses, and a hand slips out between the blanket edges and rests itself upon his. He almost jumps at the electrifying touch. "The answer is you, Jack. That's why I came here, to tell you that I chose you. I feel like a new person when I'm around you, and a completely different person around him. I like...who I am now, and I love you."

He chokes down the lump in his throat, and rushes forward to embrace her. The blanket falls onto the chair as her hands rise to wrap themselves around him, and feeling his heart thunder in his chest he buries his face in her neck and nuzzles her skin. "You mean that?" he whispers, and immediately feels her nod into his shoulder.

"I do, Jack. I want to be with you. I made my choice. I want to be happy, and you make me happy. It's a no brainer." she murmurs close to his ear.

He pulls back, and gazes into the moistened pools of sapphire blue, unable to prevent his anxiety. "But...look around you, Elsa. I can't afford much, and this place is...I can barely pay the rent, I don't know how to-"

Her finger shoots up and rests against his lips, and she gazes at him with an expression that dances between warm love and stop-talking-Jack. "It doesn't matter, Jack. When I chose you, I meant everything. Your sense of humour, your cheeky prankster ways, your cockiness, your smug attitude-"

"Easy there, princess." he deadpans, frowning a cocked eyebrow.

"-your sometimes unnecessary snark, your stubbornness-"

"Okay, that's quite enough, thank you." he pouts, scowling.

"-your heart and your soul, and your financial situation. I chose it all - and besides," she leans towards his ear to whisper, "Mama made it clear that Papa has a lot of making up to do, and I have a few ideas as to how he can do that."

Jack shakes his head; this is too good to be true. Yes, that's it. Elsa is a mirage, a hallucination thanks to his despondent mind to remind him of what he lost. She's not really here, and he's running up an electricity bill for nothing. "I just, I can't believe…"

But then she surges forward and captures his lips in a sweet, passionate, rain-soaked kiss that carries with it her honesty, her love and the unequivocal truth that she is actually there and not a figment of his imagination. Initially taken aback, he responds eagerly into the kiss, holding her waist while she cups his face to deepen it. His hands slide down her damp dress to her rear, where he grasps and - with a startled squeak - he lifts her from the chair and pulls her astride his lap. The dress starts to leak water onto his brown pants...but who cares?

She.

Chose.

Him.

She draws back just enough for their lips, freshly kissed and inflamed to brush against each other, and enough for him to whisper the three words he's been telling her for the past who-knows-how-long, "I love you, Elsa."

Her instant smile cuts the width of her face. She traces a thumb across his eyebrow, moves her lips to his forehead so as to press a gentle peck to the skin, and rests their noses together as she whispers back, "I love you too, Jack. Forever and always."

There's a certain predictable reaction both in his heart and a certain place in the male anatomy; so he gently glides his hands down her thighs, brushing over the damp material until he slips it between two fingers, and slides them back up to her hips to free her bare skin. The nigh-invisible hairs begin to stand to attention under his touch and more than likely thanks to the cold, and there's an audible hitching of breath as he thumbs circles on her hipbones - God, she feels like silk. "I can't tell what you're thinking…" she chuckles with mild sarcasm.

Jack snickers, and feigns an innocent shrug. "Same thing as you, Elsa. We need to get you warm, don't we?"

There we go, the product of Youtube, insomnia, and feels.

I've never actually watched The Notebook, for the record.

Peace out! Oh, and if there are those that don't like shipping or Jelsa - there's the door. Yes, I'm in a slightly snarky mood :P