A/N: I need to stop doing this. I seriously do. This was intended to be a oneshot... but will be a touch longer. Think short story. Yeah... Anyway, I hope you enjoy, this is an idea that I have been really excited for since summer.

**TRIGGER WARNING** This story contains mentions of abuse, rape, and other abusive activities. Some readers may be sensitive to this subject material.

The Clock Keeper's Husband

Part 1

She was the town whore. Her belly was as ripe and taut as a spring melon but the only man to speak of was whomever owned the threadbare cloak thrown over the lonely chair at her table. The pity of her neighbors was the only bounty of the village, babushkas leaving baskets of fresh bread and figs on her doorstep every other day. Mothers would stop her in the street to offer advice, for surely a woman as loose as she knew nothing of raising a baby. Men who had once tipped their hats now gave her the same reprise as a lame horse. No young sir wanted to be straddled with the accusation of a bastard child whether or not it was his own.

However, her smile was never dull. With a delicate hand she penned thank you notes to the babushkas, smiled and genuinely thanked the mothers in the street, and never looked twice at the men who shunned her. It had become her routine to accept the supposed kindness with grace even though she knew better.

Every night when she left the sweat shop, she would wrap her shawl tightly around her body to keep out the cold as she walked the cobbled village streets. Children bartered small Soya candies for marbles and jacks that they bounced off of the ice patches that filled the potholes in the ruddy streets, hollering to move when a horse and carriage approached.

When she came to her home, she would unlock the door with her brass key, bringing with her whatever goodies had been left on her stoop. She would put them in the cupboard but not before breaking the crust of the bread or a taking a slice of a fig and putting it on the rim of the Germanic clock above her stove because she always had priorities.

Then, she would light the stove fire and put water on for tea. While it was boiling she would slice herself a piece of bread and slather it healthfully in butter. By the time the kettle whistled, she would have already eaten her bread, so she would pour her tea and sit at the table to wait for the turn of the hour.

The drums in the orchestra pit pounded so loud Elsa couldn't hear the blood rushing in her ears. One of Hans' hands was wrapped around her pale pink pointe shoe, the other gripping her inner thigh beneath her skirt as he held her above his head. She could feel his breath on her ankle, traveling up to the back of her knee as his eyes traveled farther up her skirt. The velvet curtain fell and the drums ceased. The hot stage lights were shut off as those in the lobby of the theater were turned on.

Hans slowly lowered Elsa, allowing the chiffon of her long tutu to fall over his face. When her feet touched the ground, he held her hips a moment more so that his sweaty thigh could brush against hers, the thin nylon of their stockings the only barrier between them.

"For a plain girl, you really are—"

"Excuse me," Elsa said, lowering her as she separated herself from Hans.

"I'll find you later," He called after her but Elsa was weaving through extras and crew members as she tried to make her way to her dressing room. She could see the little white door with her name on it when suddenly three men carrying a ladder smacked into her back.

"Ouch!" She fell to her knees, the white-gold tiara tumbling from her powdered hair. She reached for it but the whispering foot of another dancer kicked it out of reach.

"Elsa—" Hans was behind her, calling for her. Pretending not to hear him, Elsa pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to her dressing room, wrenching the door open and slamming it shut behind her with finality.

Thirteen minutes without expectations. Thirteen minutes of freedom. Thirteen minutes without Hans.

She took a breath, grateful that she wasn't sharing the air with closer to a hundred other individuals.

Not much bigger than a walk-in closet, the room had a scarred wooden vanity with her cosmetics haphazardly jumbled on its surface. A crushed velvet seat was scooted underneath. On the far wall beneath the small window was a bare wooden pallet, her dirty clothes piled on top. Behind the door was a portable wrack made from pipe scraps that held her various costumes. For this show there were exactly three, but the intermission did not require a costume change this time so she could call this room her sanctuary.

For eleven more minutes. Elsa pulled the seat out and was about to sit when she heard a frantic wrapping on the window. When she looked up, she saw a wisp of a man with brown eyes as warm as summer, pounding on the window.

Elsa ran across the room and flung open the window. "What are you—"

"Please!" He grabbed her hand through the opening. It was calloused and warm. "You need to let me in." The way he rolled his R's was incorrect, giving him a funny accent. He wasn't Russian.

"What? Why?" Elsa tried to pull her hand back through the window but he held onto it tenderly.

"Because they're chasing me."

Her face went pale. "The police?"

He nodded. "I stole bread." A high crime when flour rations were at their peak.

Elsa glanced at the clock on her vanity, an empty Soya candy wrapper beside it. Ten minutes to go.

"Get in." Pulling his hand. She helped hoist him in. He really was as thin as a thimble.

Tufts of snow from the street tumbled through the window and onto the pallet with him. The breeches he wore were too short and his shirt was stained with coal. The cloak around his shoulders was a rough burlap and he had no shoes.

She stared. And so did he.

"Um..."

"Thanks!" He extended his hand to her. "I'm Jack, Jackson Overland."

Slowly, she extended her hand to him, but instead of kissing it he shook it with vigor. "Thanks for your help, uh?"

"Elsa, I'm Elsa."

"A lovely name for a lovely girl."

His words reminded her of Hans and his hands wrapped around her foot; touching her thigh. The smile on her face disappeared. "Please don't flirt with me."

"Why?" Jack sat on the pallet, pulled out not one but two loaves of bread from under his cloak. "Are you married?" They still smelled sweet and yeasty. The crusts looked thick and delicious. But this was food she could not eat.

"Hardly. But I have other obligations."

Jack put the bread away and shrugged. "Figures. You might be missing a crown, but you look like a princess to me." He gestured to her costume, a gorgeous ensemble of white silk and chiffon with semi-precious diamonds sewn into the bodice in the pattern of snowflakes.

"It's just the dress." Elsa said, her hands falling politely to her sides. "I'm pretty plain."

Jack laughed rudely. "Who ever told you that?"

Wincing, Elsa said, "A-Aren't you going to eat that bread?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

"Why not? Isn't that why the police were chasing you?"

"Sure is. But this is for my sister. She has a big audition tomorrow and I want her to have enough to eat tonight and a good breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Audition? For what?"

Jack grinned, his eyes on Elsa but she was not the one he was seeing. "She wants to be like you. A dancer."

Elsa blinked. "But aren't you, uh... American?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, but she isn't like me. She doesn't have the accent, she could pretend. And she's good. Like, really good."

"You'd let her join a dance company? How old is she?"

"Old enough." He said carefully. "Besides, if she joins a company," Jack's eyes fell to the floor, so he could pause and feel the gravity of his own words. When he looked up at Elsa again his mouth was smiling but not his eyes. "They will be able to feed her."

"And what about you?"

"Why are you so worried about me, Ellen?"

"Elsa."

"Okay, Elsa, why are you so worried about me?"

There was a knock at the door. "Elsa, are you in there?" Han sounded concerned, but Elsa knew his worry was not for her, but his own agenda. He jiggled the knob but it didn't open. "We have to go back on."

"Uh, just a minute!" She began opening drawers on her vanity frantically, rummaging through lipsticks, pressed powders, and clean white panties until she found the small tin hidden in the back of the last drawer.

"Elsa?"

"Hans!" She snapped. "Give me a minute!"

"But I found your crown—"

She shoved the tin into Jack's hands. "Here," she whispered, then turned and left. Jack sat for a moment, his back against the stone wall as he watched the door. Cold crept from the thin glass panes and tickled the back of his neck, but he was feeling rather warm anyway.

Pulling his feet underneath him, he removed the lid of the tin to find it was filled to the brim with Soya candies and milk chocolate bars wrapped in colorful paper.

Her arms were full of prickly white roses. Elsa dodged the mass of cast members, Hans included, the latter who tracked like a hunting dog. He tried to call for her but she disappeared amongst the other dancers as quickly as possible. She wanted the place where he could not ask her to stand beside him, where he could not put his hands up her skirt and call it necessary for the performance. This was the once place that had a lock and he had no key.

But there was that Jack guy. Would he still be there?

No, likely not. Elsa thought he would eat the entirety of her sweet tin and leave the wrappers everywhere, the window open to let all of winter into her dressing room.

But the only part she was right about was the wrappers. As soon as she stepped into her dressing room her foot crinkled a wax Soya wrapper. He was laid out on the pallet, her dirty clothes balled up underneath his head as a pillow. He was fingering one of her silk headbands, rubbing the beaded rose brocade.

"This is, like, probably worth more money than I have ever had in my entire life. No joke."

"Jack," She said, coming to the side of the pallet. "Why are you still here?"

He shrugged innocently. "It's warm in here. And I liked the candy?"

Elsa sighed, turning away.

"Or did you want me to say that I wanted to see you again?" Jack sat up. She looked over her shoulder at him. His head was cocked like a puppy. "Because that's true too."

There was a knock at the door again and before Elsa could answer, whoever it was tried the knob. "Elsa?" It was Hans, always Hans. She was thankful she had locked it. Elsa closed her eyes.

"Go away, please. I'm changing."

There was a brief pause. Elsa didn't breathe. "I'd like to come in, then." He said.

Jack looked away, then back at Elsa. His eyes observing her without judgment.

She at the bare stone wall instead of Jack. "No, Hans, not tonight."

"Elsa—"

"Leave me be!"

On the other side of the door Hans didn't say anything. All three of them were silent, two holding their breath until the sound of the thirds' footsteps walking away could be heard. Elsa let out all of the air she had been holding, allowing herself to slump.

"He keeps a pretty tight leash on you, eh?"

Elsa turned to find Jack within inches of her. "Excuse me," she stepped away. "But does it matter? I mean, is it any of your business?"

"I mean, no." Jack admitted. "Probably not. But I know that I would hate to see my sister with someone like that."

Elsa wrung the fingers of her left hand with the right, feeling her knuckles pop painfully. "We're not together."

"Then someone's taking more than his fair share."

Elsa sat down, her romantic tutu falling elegantly over the stool. "I... I don't know what to say to that."

"You gave me kindness, I thought I'd return the favor. Should I go?"

"Ha! How is that a kindness, Jack?"

"Because it's honest." Jack popped open the window. A breeze caught a tuft of fresh snow, blowing the flakes in to bite Elsa's cheek. The makeup she had applied before the show was faded and slightly smudged, there were flecks of her mascara on her rosy cheeks. When she brushed the cold snow away it came with pink and black streaks.

"It really kind of hurts."

Jack nodded, slowly closing the window. "Sometimes the truth does that, you know."

Elsa wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her bare elbows to the bite of the wind. She wasn't quite sure how he could stand to have bare feet in this weather. And then she remembered shoes were likely a luxury he could only afford for his sister

"It does." She acknowledged.

"Well," Jack said, standing on the pallet. "I should probably be going."

"Okay, goodbye."

His shoulders slouched. "Aw, you're letting me go that easy?"

Elsa stared at him, not quite sure what he was expecting. She nodded.

"At least let me say thank you."

"Okay, then say thank you."

"No, close your eyes."

"Close me—that's ridiculous."

"Just do it. Please?"

Before she closed her eyes, she rolled them, then folded one leg over the other with her hands neatly in her lap, just as a lady should. She was expecting a crumb of his bread, a page from his Bible, or a rusted bolt he had found in the coal yard that he deemed lucky. Ultimately something partially manly but an item a man could misconstrue as sweet and touching.

Elsa was given none of these, for when she closed her eyes, Jack took her face in his hands and kissed her.

His lips were painfully chapped from the cold but this kiss itself was as tender and sweet as warm milk with honey. She opened her lips slightly to say his name but he took the words from her, nibbling the soft folds of her lips so she would taste him and forget. When she moved slowly, so did he, responding to her desire and asking only for her to do the same. Heat radiated down her neck, shooting down the soft curve of her back and settling as warmth between her legs.

Hans had never kissed her like this. It was always hard and selfish, his tongue against her closed teeth. Hans.

Elsa broke the kiss, turning away. "Jack..." Her face burned, shame and desire bleeding into one another.

He pressed his lips to her hot forehead. "Yes?"

"That... that felt..."

Jack tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her in for a second kiss. She gasped against his lips and this time Jack took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, and she obliged, letting him have what he wanted not because of his violence but because of his gentle desire.

She put her arms around his neck, pulling their bodies together. Jack's hands were on her waist, fidgeting the sharp points of the diamonds on her costume. He wanted to feel her naked hips, her skin that smelled of roses and French lavender.

Breaking the kiss, Jack ran his thumb across her wet lips. "I bet no one has ever listened to your body like that, mnn?"

She took the tip of his thumb lightly between her teeth, her cheeks hot. When he moaned softly she quivered but not from the cold. He kissed her eyes closed.

"Jack, I can't—"

"Shhh," Jack's fingers ghosted up her calf, over her knee. "Just listen." His lips kissed the soft place under her ear so she would sigh, lay her head on his shoulder. "Listen to what your body is saying."

For so many years Elsa had used her body as an expression of art. Everything she did reflected her desire to dance; what she ate, the company she kept, the world she lived in. During the day she drilled herself with rigorous recitals and exercises to hone her muscles and mentality for the evenings when she wore a gown of diamonds and pretended to be what she was not; a princess in a Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale. Elsa was confidant that she had a handle on the capabilities and limitations of her body.

But this fire Jack was pulling out of her was new. It felt strong and sudden and made her heart jump to her throat. Her toes wanted to curl but the hard wood of the point shoes kept them at a precise angle.

"M-My shoes—"

He took her left foot in his hand. His slender fingers wrapped entirely around the tiny shoe. "You want them off?" Elsa nodded, leaning against her vanity. Jack hooked his hands under her buttocks and lifted her onto the counter of it, knocking pressed powders and imported hand lotions to the floor. His hands traveled down her right leg as he kneeled, part of him touching her at all times. He untied the laces around her ankles quick as a sailor and tossed the one shoe over his shoulder going for the next one.

When they were off, he stood again, running his hand along Elsa's inner thigh. When he looked up at her, that pale face was the color of roses, her lips parted just enough that he could hear her soft isps of anticipation. Who was he to keep a lady waiting?

Elsa shut the window behind Jack and secured the latch. The hour would turn to midnight in a few minutes and she had to make it to her apartment. Elsa predicted she would likely be the only one left in the theater, perhaps a janitor or three. She picked her costume up off the floor where Jack had tossed it, found its hanger in the rubble, and returned it to the rack, a smile equal parts whimsy and embarrassment on her lips. Usually she was more careful with company property.

Turning around, her eyes fell on the mess of her vanity that they had made. Frowning, she began picking up the cosmetics and putting them back in their proper place but quickly found she was too tired to care. Opening the top drawer, she shoved whatever was left on the floor in. noticing one or two of the cases were cracked and the powder within unevenly distributed. A tragedy she would have to save for tomorrow.

Elsa shrugged on her coat and scarf, left her dressing room, and closed the door behind her. The lights in the auditorium were dim but not out, signaling that she was indeed not the only occupant of the building. It wasn't particularly unusual for the janitors to still be here. Shrugging, she ran her hands across the surface of her hair. The knots Jack's fingers had made were still there, held in place by the remnants of the hair spray and talc that had been applied before the show this evening.

She was almost to the foyer when someone slammed into her, pushing her against the wall without mercy.

Elsa cried out but her voice was quickly nuffed by a gloved hand.

"Bitch," Hans sneered. He let go of her mouth, wrapping both hands around her throat. Elsa clawed at him but he didn't relent. "You don't shut me out. Ever!"

Elsa couldn't even sputter. She was helpless, losing air and her hope with it. And then he let go, allowing her to crash to the floor, hacking and sputtering as she filled her lungs again.

"You are nothing without me. Don't you dare treat me that way again." Then he left.

"What's this?" Jack turned the two rectangular slips of paper over in his hand. The words were written in Russian, which he couldn't read.

"Well," Elsa said. "You've been in the theater more times than I can count but never been to a show, so I thought you might want to bring your sister to the ballet tomorrow night."

Jack's eyes widened. "Elsa, you didn't have to—"

"No, but I wanted to!" She put her hands over his. "I want her to see what it's like to dance in front of an audience. And I want—" She blushed, looking at the flickering candle beside them. "I want you to see me when I dance."

Jack looked at the tickets, smiling, then back to Elsa. "Oh, I know how to make you dance."

"Jack!" Playfully, Elsa rolled over, the blanket sliding off of her shoulders so he could see her naked top. "Not like that! It'll be fun. I promise."

He didn't say anything at first, only looked at her, smiling. The shadows of the candle defined his chest, hiding the fact that he was ungodly skinny and at times downright uncomfortable to snuggle with. But she knew he could always make her melt by kissing the place under her ear.

"We've been doing this for two months and the only part of this theater you've seen is my dressing room."

"Well," Jack said. "I've gotten to explore the inner workings of a ballerina, if you get what I mean." He winked at her.

"Jack..."

"Okay, okay, okay, I'm sorry. But hey, I want to see you dance, I think it will be fun." There was something amiss. His smile was incomplete.

"I got you the tickets the night the Tsar and Tsarina will be there, so you can see them. I thought Emma would like that."

"She will." Jack nodded. "But if I'm coming to your dance, I want you to come and see, well, part of my life."

She lowered herself back onto his chest, catching him with a deep kiss. "I would love to, Jack." Smiling, he wrapped his arms around her and flipped her underneath him again.

A/N: Time period jumps around but later scenes take place in Russia at the dawn of the Soviet Union. A babushka is a grandmother and Soya candies were available in copious amounts during food shortages in Russia. They're little peanut candies with a TON of calories. It's a little eclectic but I had fun writing it and there is more to come. :3 -Kay