Author's Notes: Day 6 prompt: I'm scared.

You'd think a prompt-based seven-parter fic like this would be done by now, but nooooo. Apologies friends, I was traveling in Japan for a month. Here's an extra-long chapter to help make up for the long hiatus.

In archery, eliminations progress along a match table until there are four archers (who have won all their previous matches) left in the semifinals. The winners go into the gold medal match (loser gets silver) and the losers in bronze medal match (loser doesn't get a medal). Bronze medal matches are especially bitter because it's the archers' last shot at a medal.

Despite Shang's formidable shooting, he was no match for Hans. The latter was barely able to hide the pleased smirk as the men shook hands after the match, and Elsa scowled.

"In fine form, I see," she remarked caustically as he carried his equipment off the line.

Hans grinned. "Oh, definitely."

Elsa decided it was a waste of time. She had a match of her own coming up, and she needed to focus.

Kristoff divided his time between sighting for both Anna and Elsa (despite the older girl's insistence that she was perfectly capable of shooting solo, and wouldn't Anna appreciate it if her boyfriend was supporting her?), despite the sisters fighting their matches at opposite ends of the field.

"High – 7 points," he called, and Elsa nodded tightly.

"Aim off at red under."

Kristoff blinked; Elsa, halfway through setting up her next arrow, froze.

Hans was setting up his scope casually. "You can go now, Bjorgman," he said offhandedly, preoccupied with adjusting his lens, "Elsa will be fine here."

"Wait, what?"

He made a dismissive waving motion at the blonde man with his free hand, just as Elsa glanced at them – and froze. Much to her credit, she recovered quickly and returned her attention to the match. As the buzzer sounded for them to collect their arrows after the set, though, she shot a murderous look at Hans, who responded with his characteristic smirk.

Kristoff shrugged helplessly.

The recurve archers had a long lunch as the compound category took to the field for their own 1/48 elimination matches.

" – and then when I turned around, he'd set up his things there and was giving me advice," huffed Elsa, stabbing at her chicken viciously as though it was Hans' face.

"Was the advice useful?"

"… yes."

"Well, there you go." Anna's smirk widened in a manner that reminded Elsa of Hans. "Honestly, Elsa, I don't know what you're complaining about." She sucked on her straw, making loud slurping noises that deepened Elsa's grimace. "You won those matches! You're in the top 12, you're on track to be Norway's youngest-ever archery champion under-25, you've got a cute boyfriend – "

Elsa spluttered. "He is not my boyfriend, you little brat!" The blonde archer reached over the table to poke Anna in the ribs as she attempted to squirm away amidst helpless laughter. "Kristoff, help!"

"I'm not getting into this one. You brought it on yourself."

"I think boyfriend is a bit of a stretch. No, I'd settle for the friend part first," commented Hans, seating himself at the table. All three froze in a comical tableau as he calmly started eating.

Elsa scowled. "Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?"

"That whole… showing up unexpectedly in places where you're not wanted, thing."

He arched an eyebrow. "I'm not wanted? That's rather harsh of you, Elsa."

"Harsh? Did any of us invite you here before you just flung yourself down?"

"I don't mean that. I meant the open hostility that you've regarded me with these past few days, despite the fact I've done nothing to justify that."

Neither Hans nor Elsa noticed Anna and Kristoff quietly withdrawing from the table.

"I came here to compete, and so did you. I'd appreciate it if I could focus on that, rather than having to put up with distractions."

"Oh, am I a distraction then?" He was rapidly losing his cool. "In case you've forgotten, I'm your teammate. I'm also here to compete, but unlike you, I am actually being sociable and helpful."

Elsa gritted her teeth. "Sociable…? You've been nothing but condescending and insufferable – "

"Enough." Hans stood up, his expression cold. "I think I'd rather not wait for you to finish that sentence. If you want to be left alone, you can just say so and save us both the trouble. I apologise for the inconvenience I've caused, then. Good luck for your match later." Before she could say anything, he had left the cafeteria.

Now that the puzzle of Hans was resolved, Elsa was free to devote her fullest concentration on shooting. No more puzzling over his behavior, no more having to deal with his slick attempts at conversation, and especially no more smug smirking.

Much to her surprise, she was even more distracted than before.

The cherry on the icing was her abysmal shooting. Bad shots frustrated her, and the frustration bled over into the rest of her performance, ruining good shots. The only saving grace was that her opponent seemed to be having a worse day than her, and Elsa scraped through by a hair.

As she waited for her 1/8 eliminations match to start, she was surprised to see Anna and Kristoff slink over to her. "We both got kicked out in the 1/16s," said Anna sheepishly. "I kinda expected it, but Kristoffer here is being a big baby about it."

He nudged her. "Am not. All I said was that with Sven on my side, I was expecting to make the semifinals at the very least." Kristoff tugged on her braid. "And that's for the Kristoffer crack."

"Clearly you weren't betting on that guy with his mascot, Abu."

"Yeah, since when does a monkey trump a reindeer?"

"When it's a real live monkey, that's when."

Elsa allowed herself to smile for the first time that afternoon, amused by their childish bickering. "A live monkey?"

"I know, right? How he managed to slip that past customs, I have no idea."

The buzzer went, and Elsa snapped to attention. Anna and Kristoff took up their spots behind her, mouthing "good luck" and (solely on Anna's part) flashing exaggerated thumbs up signs. Her opponent – a sturdily-built woman she didn't know – kept drumming an incessant tattoo on her riser with her fingers, and Elsa couldn't help but focus on the motion.

There was a sour sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she recognized it as fear.

Another buzz, and everyone surged forward to the shooting line. Elsa lined up an arrow automatically, her body accustomed to the routine; as she anchored, levering her hand underneath her chin.

Her opponent was right-handed, meaning left-handed Elsa shot face-to-face with her. The other archer had just released, and it must have been a good shot from the pleased smirk she wore; she tossed a jaunty look at Elsa as she reached for another arrow.

Elsa collapsed the shot and put down her bow.

Behind her, Anna frowned. "She put it down? Wait, what?"

"She looks nervous. I never thought I'd see her nervous," commented Kristoff, and the redhead jabbed him in the ribs.

"Shush, don't say the N word. You'll throw her off." Anna lifted her head, raising her voice slightly to reach Elsa. "You've got plenty of time! Relax, and go for it! I know you can do it, Elsa!"

The blonde archer gave no sign she had heard, but her next shot was in the yellow, and Anna let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"That," said Anna, "was wayyyyy too close for my liking." When her sister didn't respond, she flung herself dramatically over the scope. Elsa sighed and looked up. "What are you talking about, Anna?"

"If that girl hadn't hit her arm with her string on that arrow, she would have won."

"But she did, and she lost. That's it." The older girl returned to studying the target intensely. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to prepare for the semifinal match."

"Funny you should say that, because that's what Hans is doing too."

"Hans?" Her composure wavered for an instant, and Anna smirked.

"Got you there."

Elsa narrowed her eyes. "That's good for him and our team if he's in the semifinals as well."

Anna only raised an eyebrow; the gesture was deliberately ignored. "Mmhmm. Suuuure." As though sensing she was pushing close to the end of Elsa's patience, she flounced off with a quick excuse.

Left to her own devices, the blonde archer glanced at her opponent.

"Weel," said Merida, folding her arms across her chest and smiling in a way that sent a spike of fear down Elsa's spine, "gude t'see you agin, Elsa."

"Likewise."

Arrows, fired in quick succession.

Elsa wiped a bead of sweat from her face.

On the other end of the field, Hans' expression was dark.

The buzzer sounded.

Hans, slumped and scowling in the grandstands, watched as Elsa shot her way through her final match of the day.

Anna singlehandedly threw a party in a nearby bar to celebrate Elsa's place in the medal matches; the star of the event herself, however, was nowhere to be seen. With a little help from Kristoff (who detested attention almost as much as she did), Elsa escaped halfway through Anna's dramatic retelling of the match. The street outside was nearly deserted, except for the occasional car that sped past.

"I'd imagine they'll be looking for you soon, Miss Brundtland. It is your party, after all."

Elsa cringed, even as she felt heat prickling her cheeks; the formality in that familiar voice was something she wasn't used to.

"I'm not too fond of social gatherings – those are more of Anna's thing. Besides, you should be celebrating too, am I right?"

"Evidently, though I believe my thoughts on that matter are rather apparent," he said dryly, glancing back as a distant roar of laughter echoed. He pulled the cigarette stub from his lips and ground it out with his heel. "Though I don't understand the need to celebrate a loss." Elsa watched, strangely fascinated, as the red glow faded.

"I didn't know you smoked."

Hans pulled out a pack and a lighter from his jacket pocket; a flame flickered and was snuffed out, replaced by the glow of the fresh cigarette. "It's my guilty pleasure."

A long moment passed before he broke the silence. "Congratulations on getting into the medal matches."

"… Thank you. The same to you, I suppose?" Elsa honestly didn't understand why people saw the need to congratulate her as she was only competing for a bronze medal – her defeat at Merida's hands for the second time in the tournament stung. However, she was well aware there was no polite way to brush him off; the atmosphere between them was already stilted. Her anger at him from earlier in the day had long ebbed away, replaced by guilt and a sense of awkwardness, and a desire to make amends.

Hans raised his cigarette in a mock salute. "Here's to us, then." In the gloom, he shot her a quick sidelong glance. She nodded tightly, still not meeting his eyes.

Another long moment passed, in which Elsa studied her shoes intensely and he ground out the new cigarette stub.

"Tomorrow," said Hans, "are the team eliminations. Coach didn't enter us for that, so we're free and easy." Elsa nodded. She had planned on spending the day in her room; though the archer hadn't expected to get this far in the individual eliminations, she knew that she needed to prepare herself mentally.

"There is an excellent restaurant nearby that Flynn told me about; would you care to join me for dinner?"

Elsa blinked. "Flynn?" she asked slowly, deliberately ignoring the invitation.

"His preferred name when going incognito from the palace." He sounded annoyed, but she persuaded herself that she was imagining things.

"Palace? Are you talking about Prince Eugene?"

"I am, but that's besides the point."

She hesitated. Her first impulse was to turn him down flat, but the hurt and anger in his eyes from earlier...

"Alright," she found herself saying.

Hans' expression changed swiftly, from surprise to a genuine pleasure. It suited him better than the arrogant smirk he usually wore. "Thank you. I honestly didn't think you would accept."

"Neither did I," said Elsa, her heart pounding in her chest.