Author's Notes: Sequel of sorts to Reality Without Illusions. Various historical elements have been mashed into Frozen's timeframe, as is usual for my writing. Title comes from the cover of Bizarre Love Triangle by Frente.
She comes and goes like a blasted hallucination; she haunts him, defeating his attempts at living his life without her.
Failure, this time, doesn't burn in his chest like hot coals.
"You're back," he says dumbly.
Anna tilts her head to the side, amused. "Yeah."
His pleased surprise gives way to a pout. "You shouldn't have come back."
"And yet you waited for me," she points out. Anna seems… different, somehow. A little off. Hans pushes the thought to the back of his mind.
"I wasn't waiting for anyone," he says sharply, defensively, and she laughs.
"You didn't move, you frequent the same places, kept up the same routine for an entire year. I'd say you were waiting for something… or someone."
"What's it to you if I like where I'm living and the places I patronize?" he shoots back, but it's a half-hearted response. She smiles brightly and approaches him. He wishes he could resist her.
"Nothing at all," whispers Anna, and she kisses him.
Sated, she lounges like a queen, body curled around him. Just when Hans is about to doze off, Anna murmurs and shifts. "What's the matter?" he asks grumpily, voice already thick and drowsy.
"I need to go."
"Go where?" He's wide-awake now, lidded eyes gaining focus as he watches her slide from his arms and gather up her clothes. Anna tuts when she holds up her bodice – sporting an ugly tear from where he was a little too eager to get it off her – and tosses it aside casually.
"Back home," she mumbled vaguely, busy with her underclothes.
"You're going back home?" He's aware he sounds like a whiny child, but the thought of her departure has the bottom dropping out of his stomach.
"That's what I said." Anna brushes her hair into something more manageable. She forgoes her twin braids for a utilitarian bun, and smooths down the creases of her dress. "I promised Elsa I'd be home in time for the Winter Ball. I need to sail today if I want to make it by then."
"You've only just arrived." Dismayed, he approaches her from behind. Hands cup the sides of her neck, and he bends to nip her ear; her hasty movements still. "Stay," mutters Hans.
Anna closes her eyes, lets him tempt her. Just as he reaches her lips, she pulls away and snatches up her cloak. "Don't be silly, Hans; I've been here two weeks, I came to meet with Queen Victoria's minister. My men will be waiting for me, I've told them we sail today."
Hans, still naked, folds his arms across his chest. It's not the first time his charms have failed to work on her, of course, but he doesn't care. It's her casualness that irritates him more. "You said you'd stay until spring," he accuses.
She lets out a surprised laugh. "I did?"
Though he can't be absolutely sure she said that – breathless nothings during sex are still nothings, he knows that well – but Hans grasps at straws. Through a massive effort of will, he spins on his heel, collapses back into their bed; the picture of the spurned lover. "Never mind, it doesn't matter." Hans looks away carelessly. "Go home to your beloved sister and your husband."
"I have a son now as well," she offers with spectacularly bad timing, in typical Anna fashion; he makes the observation from the corner of his mind, because the rest of him is struggling to process the words.
"… A son?"
"His name is Lars." She's busy with her stockings.
"You have a son."
"Yeah."
"Is that why you were gone for so long?"
"So you admit you were waiting," she says. He waves a hand, dismissing her words.
"It changes nothing. Go home, then, to your sister, husband, and son. Your family."
"You're acting like a child," snaps Anna.
It doesn't sting the same way when his brothers said it to him, but Anna's always been the exception. She knows him far better than he knows himself; she's broken him down and put him back together with those tiny hands and slender fingers and wicked little mouth –
Hans is glad he's facing away from her, because the memory of last night – her red, red hair clenched in his fingers while he gasped obscenities – has him half-hard.
Oh, the things she does to him.
"Are you even listening to me? "He can picture her; exaggerated pout, teal eyes ablaze, her soft body rearranged in hard angles. Anna's the only woman who is attractive no matter her mood.
"I heard you the first time," he remarks, "but I wonder why you're still here when you said you were leaving." Hans turns his head to look at her. If he was hoping to see hurt in her eyes, he was disappointed. Anna's expression goes blank and hard.
"I am leaving," she responds curtly, "but I was hoping you could have been more mature about it."
Before she can turn her back on him, she finds Hans standing before her. "Do you expect me to be mature when you come here, you ask me to fuck you, and you leave just like that?" he growls. His hands grip her upper arms with a ferocity that makes her gasp. He's gratified to see lust bloom in her eyes for an instant. "Who do you think you are, Anna?"
She rises to the challenge – he expected nothing less. Her head tilts up, and Anna regards him coolly. "We both know this doesn't mean anything, Hans. I have my own life outside of this room, and you know it."
"Yes. You do. You have a family outside of this room, so that makes me your kept mistress."
"Must you put it in such crude terms?"
"Must we hide the dirty truth with sweet euphemisms?" He laughs cruelly. "You get tired of wailing babies and adorably dumb peasants. You come looking for me – and like the fool I am, I keep you entertained. You go home. You tire of them again, and you come back to me." Hans' face twists into a snarl. "You're still just a child with her playthings."
Anna tries to slap him, but he's having none of it. Hans catches her wrist; she cries out as his fingers dig into pale white flesh.
"Hans, you're hurting me!"
"Nothing we haven't already done to each other," he says, but eases his grip nonetheless. Slowly, reverently, he brings her arm to his lip and kisses it; she lets him, watching with half-lidded eyes.
Hans feels the tension between them shift. He hears her breathing hitch, and he knows he has her.
"Stay," he asks again.
Anna wavers visibly. She's got that nervous habit of Elsa's – her fingers clench and unclench in the fabric of her clothing. When she finally speaks, there's a hesitance that is all Elsa: "You could come with me."
"Come with you?" He wasn't expecting that. Hans snorts incredulously. "Go to Arendelle, where I was unceremoniously exiled for life because I tried to kill the queen and princess – you, if my memory serves me right?"
"You wouldn't have to wait too long to be with me." Anna's fingers splay over his chest, over his beating heart. "We can spend more time together. Hans – " Here her voice grows thin and needy, and oh how it affects him " – I need you. I know I'm being selfish, but I can't give you up. I won't."
It's a ludicrous idea. Hans can think of a thousand ways this could go horribly wrong. His lover is a married woman, and she has a son. Her sister isn't just the queen of an entire kingdom but also has ice powers. Her husband is twice his weight and cuts ice for a living; he probably could split his skull open single-handedly.
Of course, it doesn't need to be mentioned that he tried to kill her sister and left Anna to freeze to death – though arguably Anna's gotten over that.
Anna gets his attention by tugging hard on his sideburns and kissing him. Her body presses against his, and he can feel her grinning wickedly against his mouth when she feels him press into her stomach in turn. "Think about it," she says, and nibbles on his lower lip, "you can't miss my ship, it's the one with the Arendellian flag," her kisses turn sloppy over his jawline, "we're departing this afternoon at four," her hands slip lower and stroke his shaft, "and no one will search my rooms."
Hans groans softly. His hips thrust forward – he could never resist her when she's in this mood – but she backs away, leaving him cold.
Anna smiles, as smug as a cat with cream. "You could come with me," she says, "or you could wait for me to come back."
"You minx."
"Oh Hans," she says, "you did say, once, that you would wait for me."
"Damn you," he says, and doesn't mean it.
He could lie to himself all he wants; London is everything a nobleman in exile could ask for, the weather reminds him of home (though that's a bald-faced lie; at least the Southern Isles sees the sun more than once a year), the wenches that take his coin are pleasing enough to help him get by.
Hans goes for a walk to clear his mind (but really because his room smells too much like her) and finds himself at the harbor. "Damn you," he says again, and keeps on walking.
The normally utilitarian captain's cabin has been repurposed into a royal stateroom for this voyage; Hans merely raises an eyebrow at the lush interior and finds himself a hiding place.
Shortly after the ship lurches, Anna enters the cabin. She doesn't look around. She simply undresses and slides under the covers. He slips out from his hiding place and over to the bed. Hans doesn't need to announce himself. His hands, gliding over her legs, startle her from sleep.
"Hans?"
He smiles, all dangerous and spiky. "So what happens now?" asks Hans. "Am I your mistress? Will you set me up in style? Are you giving me a room of my own next to your husband's and your sister's?"
"Shut up, I haven't really thought this through. I wasn't really expecting you to come." Despite those words, she can't hide the fact she's radiating happiness like the sun. It's infectious, really; he finds himself smiling. All his worries are gone, melted by her, and he can't think of a reason he hasn't done this sooner.
"I'm sure everything'll be fine," he says, reaching for her. Anna squeaks with surprise. "You are the princess, after all. You'll manage something."
Her eyes crinkled. "What if you end up on the next boat back to London – or the Southern Isles?"
"I fully expect you to be on the boat with me. Or, at the very least, paddling a rowboat in hot pursuit," he says with mock severity. She bursts into peals of laughter.
"Hans, you're ridiculous."
"Aren't I?"
Her laughter trails off as she studies him carefully with a frown on her face. He wants to kiss it off. "What if they find you?"
"I trust you to keep me hidden properly," he responds with equal gravity.
"What if you fall in love with me?"
The question makes him pause; it's a very real concern for them both, their vehement denials of any feelings whatsoever aside. She's Princess Anna of Arendelle; she has more love and kindness in her little finger than most people have in their entire bodies, and certainly more than he does.
Undoubtedly she feels something for him. It's just a question of what he's willing to admit to her.
Hans meets her gaze. "I highly doubt I will. I'm just your kept mistress, after all."
Kristoff is just a little overwhelmed. Lars hasn't stopped crying in hours – it figures that he inherited his mother's lungs – and rocking the baby is an uphill struggle when you've done it for hours without any rest. He would put brute strength into it like he used to do on the ice, but the boy – his son – is so very tiny and fragile in his massive arms, and he's terrified.
Elsa isn't much help; she spent an entire month after Lars' birth hovering around the room and freezing things whenever she was asked to hold the baby.
The burly man juggles his son, praying to every deity he can think of to make the noise stop just for a second –
"The Princess Anna," announces Kai, and the princess herself hurries in with a quick smile. "Shh, shh," she says, "Mama's home, Mama's here." She takes Lars into her arms, cooing into his ears.
Miraculously the baby's cries trail off into a grudging mumble, and then nothing. Kristoff's ears are still ringing in the abrupt silence.
"Hello," she says, kissing his cheek. "I think you've missed me."
He snaps out of his trance. "Of course." He grunts and stretches his limbs, groaning when his back cracks noisily. "Lars hasn't stopped crying since – " Kristoff glances out the window, " – yesterday."
Anna laughs. "Poor baby."
"Which one?"
"You know which one I mean." She tucks their son into his cradle, smiling fondly as she strokes his hair; wispy blond tufts tend towards his father's, though one could argue the touch of auburn comes from her. Anna admires the unmelting ice that adorns the cradle.
Kristoff's arms go around her waist. "I'm glad you're back."
"I am too." She turns in his embrace. The princess' lips ghost over his unshaven chin, and she giggles. "You look terrible. Go get some sleep."
His deep chuckle joins hers. "Do I look that bad?"
"Yes." She tugs on his hand. "Take a nap."
"And you…?"
"I'll look for Elsa," says Anna, already drawing him to the bed, "I came straight here. Kai'll have told her I'm back, and she'll be wondering where I am."
He starts to ask a question but the words are lost in a yawn. Anna tucks her big baby in, next to her small one. "Sleep," she says, and kisses his forehead.
His deep snores fill the room just as she leaves it.
"Hi."
"Anna?" She has intimidating amounts of paperwork that go forgotten when Anna shows up at the study. Elsa moves to hug her tightly. "Welcome home."
"It's good to be back." The princess eyes the paperwork, and adds, "and just in time to save you from yourself."
Elsa laughs nervously. "It's been a busy week."
"I'd say." Anna starts pushing the papers ever-so-indiscreetly to one corner. To save her paperwork, Elsa takes her sister's hand.
"How did the meeting go?" The queen's eyes crinkled slightly. "Should I expect a flurry of complaint letters from Great Britain?"
Anna huffs. "It was fantastic, if you must know. The lords were perfectly nice, and we talked about ice and Arendelle and the British weather."
"Sounds riveting."
"… Who am I kidding, it was boring. On the upside, though, Lord Chester taught me this sport called polo which we should try over here."
Elsa chuckles, loops her arm through her sister's. "You can tell me all about it over tea."
"Have you missed me?" she purrs, sliding into his lap. Hans snorts at the presumption.
"That implies I've been doing nothing all day but waiting for you to come back, which is clearly not the case – therefore, no, I've not missed you." He kisses her anyway, smothering her affront with his lips.
"I was trying to be seductive." Anna proceeds to completely destroy her efforts with a pout that is more childlike than sultry.
"Trying is the word for that."
"Hush, you." Her fingers toy impatiently with the buttons of his waistcoat. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask; do you like your rooms?"
Hans takes his time, considering their surroundings. "It could be better," he says eventually, and earns a sharp jab in the ribs for his trouble.
"How can I make it better, then?"
"A little… diversion, would certainly be welcome." His mouth finds the crook of her neck, and she sighs happily.
"Like this?"
"Mmm," says Hans, pretending to think as she lifts her dress to show him her lack of undergarments. "Not a bad suggestion."
"Mama!"
"Oh," says Anna quietly, then again, louder. "Oh!"
Lars is walking – stumbling forward, rather – on unsteady legs. He doesn't quite make it to her outstretched arms but she moves forward to catch him, and the triumphant grin on his face is definitely something he's inherited from her. "Walked!"
"Yes, darling, you did! All by yourself!"
To Kristoff, she says, "I didn't know he learned to walk."
"He started while you were on your trip," answers Kristoff. Lars squirms free of Anna's arms and totters back to his father, managing to tumble into Kristoff's lap.
"Oh." Her face must have fallen, because he adds in a more conciliatory tone, "Only just. That was the farthest he's ever managed."
"He's growing up fast, isn't he?"
"Yeah." Kristoff tousles Lars' hair.
She looks frazzled when she arrives; it's a look he's never associated with her.
"Tired?"
"God, yes." Anna flomps on the couch beside him, her boots half-kicked off. He tuts and removes them for her.
"Such a slob."
"You're one to talk." It's an exaggeration at best; Hans keeps himself with a military severity that simultaneously intimidates and spurs her on to greater impudence. But he sighs indulgently and starts to rub her feet. Anna moans happily.
"Yes, more please, right there, yes."
"You used to say that in bed," complains Hans, but diligently works his thumbs into the side of her feet. "What got to you? Domesticity?"
"A toddler." Anna hisses as he makes his way up her calves and loosens muscles she'd never realized were still tensed. "More precisely, the care and upbringing of a toddler who gets into more trouble than humanly possible with Olaf's unwitting help."
"And that makes me the safe haven from your hellish offspring," Hans comments dryly. "Young children can be such a burden – which thankfully, I know nothing about. My condolences nonetheless."
"You always know the right things to say," she grunts. "Kind, understanding, and – ooh, naughty." The princess slaps a wandering hand away lazily. "You're insatiable."
Hans smirks and leans over. "I also know the right things to do," he slips both hands up her legs, "to you, Your Highness."
Anna gasps. Her back arches, responding oh-so-eagerly to his touch.
"Tell me, when was the last time your husband touched you like this?" he says, silky-smooth, palming her breast. "When was the last time he wanted you?"
"Hans, don't," she manages, but her eyes are hazy, and her legs part for him.
"Don't what? Don't compare?"
"Just don't – oh – talk."
Hans chuckles. "As you wish."
The doctor beams. "Congratulations, Your Highness! You're with child!"
"Wait, what?"
"You did this!" squawks Anna indignantly, gesturing at her still-flat tummy.
Hans looks confused; his shirt is still unbuttoned, cravat hanging sloppily around his neck. "I'm sorry?" asks the young man after a long pause. "What have I done?"
"I'm pregnant!"
He takes the news very calmly. "You're also married to a very eager husband," he adds, buttoning up his sleeves, "who's already given you a son. How can you be so sure I'm the father?"
"… He hadn't – we haven't – you know, recently," she mumbles, blushing crimson. "I calculated."
Hans' fingers slip on the last pearl button. "Wait, what?"
"It has to be you."
"You told me you were off your fertile period!"
"These things happen sometimes, Hans!"
They were shouting now, nose-to-nose, faces almost as red as their hair. His jaw goes rigid. "Shouting gets us nowhere," he says, standing up straight. "What are we doing about it, then?"
"Nothing." Anna's hands encircle her belly. "I'll tell Kristoff and Elsa, if the doctor hasn't already informed them." She smiles fondly. "It's going to be a girl, I know it."
"You – "
Hans would protest. He knows she knows he would. But her lip juts out stubbornly which tells him her mind's firmly made up. "How do you even know if it's a girl or boy? I mean, my family isn't exactly known for producing daughters. How long has it been?"
"The doctor said two months. And I just know."
"It'll be his," says Hans sourly. He doesn't even know why it bothers him.
Anna doesn't say anything, but she closes the last distance between them and hugs him.
She stops visiting him towards the end of her pregnancy. Anna's done it before with Lars, but back then he didn't know why. Now that he knows she's in bed, eating chocolates and holding her husband's hand while they coo over her belly, Hans feels an inexplicable surge of jealousy.
It's their baby, but he doesn't get to be its father, and most annoying of all is the fact that he cares enough to be angry about it.
I just went into labour.
Hans' knuckles turn white over the sloppily-penned message. Finally, but not just yet.
He flings himself down to wait.
"It's a girl!"
"I knew it," she says smugly, eyes dark with exhaustion, "I told you."
"You did? When?"
"Ages ago," says Anna hurriedly. Kristoff nods, looking as exhausted as she is, but his grin is wide enough to light up the room. He places their daughter into her arms.
Elsa peers at the baby, still a little shy despite the years of practice being Aunt Elsa. "She's beautiful."
"Guess she takes after me." Anna smirks at her husband.
"Hey," protests Kristoff, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist. He kisses her sweaty temple. "Thank you for bringing her into the world."
Her stomach gives a little lurch – she tamps it down. No guilt on this special day. "I love you," she says to him, and kisses her daughter's forehead, adding, "and you, my precious one. Elsa, can you take her for a moment?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you." Anna bundles the baby into her sister's arms; she gurgles, and Elsa's expression gradually loses its tension. The princess laughs.
"What are we naming her?" asks Kristoff.
Anna pauses. "I thought Little Elsa might be a little weird," she says, "so Elise."
Elsa raises an eyebrow. "Little Elsa?"
"I wanted to name her after the most awesome person I know."
"Anna…"
"Please, no. I don't think Arendelle can handle two of me," says Anna, scrunching up her nose and dispelling the emotion in the room. They all laugh.
Hans is slumped in his study writing letters when the door creaks open. "Oh, there you are," says Anna. "I tried the stables but your stableboy said you haven't been riding for a week, so – "
"I was bored of riding," he replies, stifling a cultured little yawn with his hand.
She grins. "Let me guess. Sitron threw you?"
"Nonsense. He simply didn't want to attempt the jump; he's getting a little old."
Anna climbs into his lap as they talk, and wordlessly he pushes his things away to make room for her. "Pregnancy has always been good for you," notes Hans, running his ungloved hands down her arms and belly; she shivers. "Look at that. Not a mark."
"It's Gerda's tonics. She always makes me drink gallons. Plus Kristoff and Elsa were their usual overprotective selves; Heaven help me if I dared put a toe out of bed."
"I've always maintained that it was all for their wellbeings than yours. Nothing more terrifying than an obscenely-bloated woman sliding down a banister."
She squawked, mortally offended, and smacked his chest. "I was pregnant, you bastard, not obese!"
"No difference to us menfolk, apart from the magical slimming down and the awful squalling in the nursery." He glanced over her shoulder to the wrapped bundle she'd deposited on the chaise lounge. "What's that?"
"Chocolate cake from Elise's christening." Anna slipped off his lap to unwrap it. "I brought you some."
"Elise? You had a girl?"
She smirks. "Yep. I told you so."
He shakes his head. "Looks like your side of the family won out over mine."
"Oh, I wouldn't be so quick to say that. She has your hair."
"Anna, we both have red hair."
"Technicalities." The princess has already climbed back into his lap, her hands full; she drums her heels on his shins to get his attention. "Here. Yours."
Hans blinked. "You brought me chocolate cake from your daughter's christening?"
"She's our daughter, technically. And I thought you liked chocolate?"
He shook his head in exasperation. "I do like chocolate, but that's not the point I was trying to make. Don't you think this arrangement we have is becoming somewhat bizarre?"
"As usual, you think too much." She shoved the slice at him; he took it from her automatically. "I'll be happy to finish what you don't want," adds Anna slyly.
Sticky with sweat, still a little red in the face, he says: "Tell me about your daughter."
She smiles, suddenly alert. "Our daughter has your mouth. I'd know that imperious little pout anywhere, considering how many times I've kissed it."
"I do not have an imperious little pout."
"You do, and so does she; it's adorable. She won't have any trouble making boys do her bidding."
"Her father most of all, naturally."
"I really don't think you're the type of person to dote on children – no offence."
"No, I meant your husband." He's practically spitting the words.
"Kristoff isn't her father."
"For all intents and purposes, he is."
"I know," says Anna in a small voice. "That doesn't change the truth. What we know."
He's silent for a moment. "I'm a father," he tries, the word unfamiliar and heavy in his mouth.
"Yes."
"Me. A father." Hans rolls over so his back is to her. She hugs him tightly from behind and says nothing as he pretends he isn't crying.
Granted, for all they profess this arrangement to be (and all the lack of profession of any feelings involved), Anna still takes enough liberties for it to be considered a relationship.
He's been waiting since he got her message. When she finally arrives, she has a child in tow.
"Anna?" His horrified gaze drops to the auburn-haired girl clinging to her skirts. "Dear God, you brought Elise."
"At the very least," she says determinedly, "I wanted you to meet our daughter." To the little girl, she says: "Elise, this is Hans."
Hans drops to one knee awkwardly. "Hello."
"Hi." When she peeps out, it's clear she's a miniature version of Anna – except for her eyes. They're greener than her mother's teal, closer to his own. A lump forms in his throat.
Anna's amused. He sees it in her sparkling eyes. Hans refuses to give her the satisfaction of seeing him melt, and so he reaches out a hand to Elise. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess Elise," he says, kissing her tiny hand and earning a delighted giggle.
He always did have a way with redheaded women.
"What say we make you a father again?" she whispers wickedly in his ear.
"Thirteen brats are twelve too many for any sane woman." He dips his head to kiss down her neck; she tugs on a fistful of his hair, her preferred method of getting his attention.
"Don't be ridiculous, Hans, I don't want to spend my life on my back with my legs spread, popping out babies like it's going out of style."
"What a pity. I rather like the first part."
"You would."
She's pregnant again. All she wants to do is sleep, even when she's with him. Anna demands he hold her throughout, and so he does, spending hour upon hour with her lost in his arms while he wonders how he ended up like that.
"I'm bored," he says when she wakes up. Her brow creases.
"Take a nap, then."
"I tried. That brat of yours kept moving." He nods at the gentle swell of her belly. "Please tell me you aren't bearing that husband of yours any more after this one."
"Oh no," laughs Anna, "three are quite enough. One for me, one for Kristoff, and one for Elsa to spoil rotten."
Hans squints at her. "This one must be his, then," he concludes after a lengthy pause, "the most violent one."
Her smile turns wicked. "Obviously, you haven't spent enough time with Elise."
It's a hazard of growing old; they no longer have the stamina to rut all day, settling for a quick fuck and the rest of their time spent dozing in bed. Gone are the days when their coupling was frenzied, violent, and sustained; Anna demands tenderness, and reciprocates with the same; it drives him mad with desire.
The truly terrifying part is how domestic it all is, and how comfortable he is with it.
She's sprawled over his chest, toying with his sideburns (the last vestige of his youth; he won't shave them off). "They're going grey," remarks Anna.
"You're going grey too."
"I blame the children."
"What have they done to you lately?" Hans combs through her hair with his fingers. He lied; it's still vividly red, but he doesn't like the fact he's only forty-two and already greying.
"Lars doesn't want to be crown prince."
"Is he going to run off, freezing the kingdom along the way, and build an ice palace?"
Anna smacks him half-heartedly. "He doesn't have ice powers, and he's not as interested in architecture as his aunt."
"You haven't discounted the possibility of his running off."
She sighs. "Elsa never got married. After she's – gone, he's the next heir after me. He can't run off, he knows that."
"Don't you want to be queen?"
"Oh, you'd love that. You'd finally get to be king, of sorts." Anna cackles. "Or at the very least, you'd be sleeping with the queen."
"Impudent wench." He rolls them over, his mouth setting to work over her neck and chest.
His manservant knocks on his door in a flurry; the queen herself is in his sitting room, requesting his presence. Hans smiles at how easily she's taken command of the situation, and hastens to obey. It won't do to keep Anna's sister waiting.
"Hans," says Elsa tightly when he enters.
"Elsa," he rejoins, "it's nice to see you." It really is; he's mellowed over the twenty-odd years in between their last meeting. Elsa has aged well; if her hair has started to grey, it's indistinguishable from her white-blonde hair. There are a few lines on her face but nothing that betrays her age. Hans is suddenly conscious of the slight pudge of his belly, and the greying hair at his temples. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"It's Anna," she says without preamble and his stomach tightens at the flatness of her voice. "She's asking for you."
Anna coughs weakly. "You made it."
"Shh. Don't talk." His hand twitches at his side; her family is arrayed by her bedside and he feels it unseemly to take her hand with her husband – her husband! – looking on. He's done many regrettable things, but something stills his hand now.
Anna pouts at his shyness. Her thin, thin hand reaches for his, and automatically his fingers curl around hers. They remain rigid in the familiar movement, afraid to break her.
"As you can see, I'm having a little trouble getting out of bed." She breaks off with a prolonged coughing fit. It pains Hans to see her overbright eyes too large in her sunken cheeks, and the glossy auburn hair gone thin and lank. His grip tightens as much as he dares, as though he can physically pull her back and keep her safe.
"Anna…"
"You don't have to state the obvious," says the princess dryly, and he manages a smile. "I've seen better days."
"You'll be fine. Have you been listening to the doctor? I know you used to sneak out of bed and climb down the ivy after promising him complete bed rest for the day."
The children laugh at that, subdued murmuring into their hands. Kristoff's eyes haven't left Anna, and Elsa still has her hand pressed to her mouth as she hovers at the fringes.
Anna's eyes twinkle. "I assure you, my bed-escaping ways are far behind me. I'm an adult and a princess to boot – I have my standards, you know."
"That's good to hear." He wants to sit down. His knees have gone wobbly seeing her like this, and the painful twist in his stomach hasn't yet dissipated. Kristoff grunts at his elbow, the tilt of his head indicating a chair. Hans declines it with a taut smile. "Thank you, but I won't be long – "
"Lars, Elise, Brida," says Kristoff suddenly, "your aunt has something to show you in her study."
Elsa blinks rapidly but catches on after exchanging a look with her brother-in-law. "Yes, come now, before I have to go for a meeting."
They leave, shooting looks at their mother and Hans. Kristoff and Elsa bring up the rear without a glance at Hans and Anna.
"Anna," he says immediately, seating himself at her bedside, "how long more?"
She goes very still and quiet. "The doctor says I'll be lucky to make it past winter."
The knot swells, filling his chest.
"You'll be fine," she says, shaking her head, smiling for his benefit, "the children are mostly grown, Kristoff is – well, he's Kristoff – and Elsa isn't as bad as she used to be."
He laughs shakily. "I'm not worried about them. What about me?"
"What about you, Hans?" she parrots teasingly – and breaks off into coughing. She takes a handkerchief from her bedside table and covers her mouth; it comes away bloody. Hans pretends not to see.
"You're leaving me." His words are jumbled up inside him, tangled up in his prickly pride. Desperation to tell her what he wants her to hear vies with what he wants to tell her. He's broken their rules, but somehow that isn't important considering they've lost track over the years. "Again."
She looks down at their entwined fingers. "I suppose I am," she says at last, the words heavy with reluctance.
"Then this is goodbye?"
"Unless I come looking for you again," she says, her lips twitching with poorly-suppressed humour, "in which case I recommend you ask a good priest to perform an exorcism." Hans manages a chuckle, just for her. Even on her deathbed, he thinks, she brims with lively irreverence.
Hans wraps her in his arms. She's always been small, but never as fragile as this. "I never thought everything would turn out like this," he confesses into her ear.
She hums her agreement. "Life's full of surprises," says Anna. "You were one of the good ones."
He hears the past tense. Hans buries his face in her neck and just holds her.
He lingers long after everyone has left. Hans slowly approaches the towering boulder near the ones belonging to the king and queen. His hand hovers, unsure of whether he can touch it, whether he has the right to –
"You."
He knows that voice. "Did she – was it… peaceful?"
Hans almost feels the person behind him relax. "She passed in her sleep," affirmed the voice gently. "She was smiling."
He would speak but his throat is too tight to force the words out; he nods once instead, jerkily.
Kristoff looks worn-out by age. "Elise is yours, isn't she?"
Hans lifts his head. "She's your daughter," he responds peevishly. "I'm a Westergaard. We don't produce girls."
Kristoff gives him a you're-not-fooling-anyone look. "Of course she is," says Kristoff, "but not by blood. She looks like you."
"She looks like Anna."
"She has your eyes."
A pause. "So you know."
Kristoff's mouth twitches at that, but he doesn't say anything. "Yes." His gaze slants to the gravestone, his palm splayed over the cold surface. "I don't hate you," Kristoff informs him suddenly, and the other man blinks. "I should, but I can't. Anna loved you. She loved everyone too much."
"More than she should have," agreed Hans easily. "Though there were times she growled at me."
"Did she stamp her foot?"
"Sometimes, when she was really mad. Once, she flung herself on the floor and threw a tantrum."
"She did that once as well, when the girls found her chocolate stash and ate it all."
They exchanged weak smiles.
"I should have been the first to go," admitted Hans. "After – well, you know – I was exiled to London and was living a life of debauchery and drink." He could picture his death in so many ways; his bloated self lying dead in a gutter. Wasted and yellow in a hospice, his liver drowned in cheap whiskey. Knifed over a whore in a dark alley.
"But she found you and brought you here."
"She told you?"
"Officially, a few days before she passed." Kristoff's eyes were dull. "I suppose she didn't want me creating a scene at the funeral, in front of Elsa and the children. But I've always suspected."
"What?"
"The regular absences. The things she says that don't match up. I may not be noble-born, but I'm not stupid, you know."
Hans flushes. "And yet you don't hate me."
"How could I, when she was everything to me? Her heart was big enough for everything and everyone. What mattered was that she was happy."
"Who else knew?"
"Elsa, of course. Anna couldn't keep a secret to save her life. I suppose Kai and Gerda – the older servants, from when Anna was a child – they must have guessed." Kristoff scratched his chin. "The children don't know."
"That's for the best," says Hans. In a sense, he could appreciate how true that was, and how important she was to him. He would never admit it, of course – and never had in all their years together – but he had loved her in his own way.
"She always talked about you and her children to me," says Hans, "how much she loved you all."
Kristoff wrinkled his nose. "Now that's just weird."
"That's Anna for you."
"Yeah." He half-turned, looking over his shoulder. "I need to go. The children will be wondering where I am."
"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay a little longer."
"Of course." Kristoff paused, and then added, very awkwardly: "You know, if you ever wanted to – that is, if you're not in a hurry to go elsewhere, Elsa and I… we're quite willing to give you a room in the castle."
Both of Hans' eyebrows rose into his hair. "You're joking."
"I'm not. We just… it's something Anna would have done."
Hans inclines his head slightly. "Thank you. I'll think about it." He will. It's not a small thing he's been granted – he's inclined to think that people grow up different in Arendelle – and he's as grateful as it's possible for him to be.
Kristoff nods, and leaves.
When the footsteps have receded, he turns to the headstone and says: "You could never really leave me alone, could you? From the day we met, to the day you came for me. But I suppose now you really are gone."
"So this is goodbye forever, then. I don't think I'll end up where you went." He brushes the runes of her name with a thumb. "Goodbye, Anna."
She doesn't haunt him anymore.