AUTHOR'S NOTE/CONTENT WARNING: Hello again, everybody! This chapter is honestly a bit of a doozy, in terms of angst. It's short, but if you aren't in a good emotional state for reading that kind of thing at the moment, I would personally suggest that you might want to delay reading this chapter until AFTER the next chapter posts, so that you can read the angst in a little more of a hopeful context. (Don't worry, the next chapter will NOT take three months to finish!) ;) Happy Thanksgiving, and thank you so much again for all of your love and support! ~NNT

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90: EVERYTHING

Elsa fell asleep in Jack's arms that night.

It had taken him a few hours to get her calmed down again, sitting cross-legged on her bed and holding her as she cried, but the tears had eventually slowed, her body going limp against his own in a final, defeated calm. Jack had just kept carefully stroking her hair back from her face, willing all the joy and fun that he could into her skin as he did so, saying nothing.

He was in shock, too.

It was only upon closer inspection of the newspaper, which he could read by craning his neck to the side and staring very intently towards the nightstand where it lay, that he realized the article about the snowstorm was blurred in several places by suspiciously black and lavender-tinted tearstains. Seeing words like massive and disaster, and—the most chilling phrase—death count (apparently, a large structure in the central hub of the kingdom had collapsed in the storm), he could see why Elsa had gone to such drastic measures trying to "appease" him. And that wasn't even taking into account all of the political sabotage stuff that the Ice Powers Girl's fear had dreamed up to freak her out with.

In their first few minutes of trying to calm her down, the beautiful Snow Queen had (between the sobs) spun out this incredibly elaborate plot involving him using his invisibility to threaten her via attacking all of Arendelle's alliances across Europe with blizzards created in her name. Which was a particularly maniacal form of blackmail that DEFINITELY would have never even occurred to Jack, if the Acting Queen of Arendelle hadn't laid it all out and explained it for him. With all of that imagined political pressure on TOP of the Kingsley snowstorm, it was no wonder that she had gotten so scared.

But for now, Elsa was asleep. And that was a good thing—he thought—considering what she'd just gone through. What he'd gone through too, of course, although he'd get to that later. For now, he could only hold her, and wait.

The snapped heart ornament in his pocket had become increasingly uncomfortable, its sharp corner jabbing into his stomach, and he had thankfully been able to jimmy it out a few minutes after Elsa had fallen asleep. Unable to put in anywhere else, he'd currently just left it on her nightstand, which was the closest non-bed surface he could reach. It sat, of course, at the bottom of the vase he'd made for her, filled with the ice-flower bouquet, and next to the first ice rose he'd ever created to convince her that he was real during their first encounter. Seeing the broken ornament next to that special ice rose felt like a punch to the stomach. But there was nothing he could do about it. It was kind of a perfect summary of how Jack felt about everything, at the moment.

He sadly looked down, readjusting his grip on the sleeping young queen. The wrinkle in her brow appeared again, and the Spirit of Winter flicked his hand over her eyes, a glowing little shimmer of frost falling across her skin. She pulled in a shaky breath, and then relaxed once more, leaning into the dark blue fabric of his hoodie with a sigh.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut.

"Do you have any idea what you just accused me of?" he choked softly.

Elsa, of course, didn't respond, her chest rising up and down steadily as she breathed in his lap. Jack bit his lip, trying to move his numbing leg underneath her limp body.

He would never threaten Elsa. He would NEVER threaten Elsa, or any lady, or any PERSON, for that matter, but for some awful reason, the INSTANT that his rival's kingdom had gotten hit by an unusually bad snowstorm, it seemed that everybody had immediately jumped to decide not only that he was to blame, but that he had done it as a sick attempt to actually enslave the love of his life. How was he even supposed to respond to that?

He shifted uncomfortably beneath the Fifth Spirit's sleeping body, readjusting his grip, being careful (paranoid?) to only put his hands on her back, arms, and shoulders. He'd just made out with her. That was all. It wasn't like he'd—you know—gone for it, or anything. He wouldn't have let that escalate. Right? Or let things get truly out of control?

They had just been making out.

That was all he was going to do. He'd made out with Elsa. They'd just been kissing! He'd kissed her! That was all!

Biting his lip, Jack Frost swallowed hard.

On her bed.

While lying on top of her.

And holding her wrists down.

Jack shrank into the headboard, wanting to die. To simply disappear, rather than face the extreme shame of what he had done. Wishing he weren't trapped underneath her sleeping form—wishing that he could escape—he cowered from reality, his cheeks flushing as deep a red as her dress.

I'm a monster.

Jack looked down to his free hand. It was resting on top of her, his hand carefully positioned to only be touching the outside of her arm. From somewhere on the inside the fabric of his sleeve, he guessed that the remnants of Elsa's kisses—the sparkling lipstick, that had long-since rubbed off of his skin—were still staining the fabric. But this new lipstick, this candy-red color, didn't feel like something he was proud of. It was definitely still a trophy, in his mind, but it didn't feel like something he'd won. It felt like something he'd stolen. Even that deep, rich crimson color of her dress looked different to him now. It no longer looked like candy, but blood.

A numbness swept over him at the realization, making his muscles feel cold.

This wasn't fun anymore.

He scoffed angrily at himself, looking away from the lipstick marks. He'd just had to push her, didn't he? He'd just HAD to touch her so much, and tease her about her hips, and keep bringing up her clothes, and—!

All this time. ALL THIS TIME, and effort, and restraint, and—and what did it even matter? If everybody was so determined to declare him the villain, then why was he even bothering to try and change their minds? Like she was ever going to believe in him, now. From his perspective, a full nineteen years of waiting, of restraining, of always, always, ALWAYS striving to being the good guy, was challenge enough. But then, for him, THAT was followed by an additional three hundred years of being completely alone. Altogether, it was nearly thirty-two decades of innocent curiosity and desperate loneliness; nearly thirty-two decades of wanting, and wishing, and simply wondering, what this might be like.

He was going to be thinking about this night for the rest of his life. Queen Elsa, the Ice Powers Girl, had tried to seduce him. She had tried to SEDUCE him. She'd literally even attacked him, with her promises and her physical advances, while actually saying that she'd do—anything. Anything! ANYTHING he wanted! Everything he'd always wondered about; every fantasy, every curiosity, everything that a teenage boy could dream up in three hundred years of never having a chance—Elsa had literally given him license to everything, for as long as he "spared" Arendelle. Like he'd actually threatened it, or something. She'd said she was okay with it!

But she so obviously wasn't.

It wasn't like Jack knew what he was doing, because he didn't. But, he did have a general idea of a bunch of things he wanted to try. An unintentional mental list of them, actually. And Elsa was so pretty…

Because we're friends.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, the sound of his own condemning voice echoing through his mind. Because we're FRIENDS. He might as well have said, Have a nice life with Prince Wonderful. Like she would EVER choose him, now.

He wasn't even completely sure why he'd said it. There were a MILLION things he could have said, ranging all the way from the overly-noble, heroic because I'm a Guardian to the much more straightforward (and honest) because I'm not scum. But—friends.

Jack swallowed hard, reframing the dooming statement in his mind.

Because we're friends, I don't murder people as a form of blackmail.

Because we're friends, I don't feel like casually molesting you. Oh! And, send my congratulations to Prince Frederik! Because we're FRIENDS!

Ugh.

But she'd looked so scared…

In the moment, it'd seemed like the right thing to say. Like it was the only thing he could say that would actually calm her down. But that wouldn't be enough to stop Jack from spending the rest of his miserable, lonely life remembering the phrase as the single dumbest move he'd ever made.

Maybe he should have just gone for it. Or something. Maybe she would have even liked it. Maybe—

He looked down to the Snow Queen, the beautiful Ice Powers Girl limp across his lap. Seeing the tear stains—the smeared lipstick, the uncomfortable-looking dress that had kept making her squirm—his heart sank.

Don't kid yourself.

Jack let out his breath, leaning his head back against the wood of the headboard and staring up into the canopy over Elsa's bed. No… he had already allowed everything with Elsa to go too far. WAY too far. THAT was his worst mistake, not the self-friendzoning thing. And he had to believe that. He had to, had to, believe that he'd eventually done the right thing…

You make a mess wherever you go, hissed an unwelcome memory in the back of his mind.

Jack stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut. He tensed, holding Elsa as carefully as he could, bracing himself for the flashback.

Why, you're doing it RIGHT NOW.

Shut up! Jack thought desperately, gritting his teeth against the memories, SHUT! UP!

He would leave in the morning.

Even here, fully dressed and in the worst situation possible, Elsa still looked like an angel—a snow angel—in his arms. She was so soft, and cold, and—that trust, as she snuggled into him, felt just a little bit like some sort of drug. Knowing that it was the last time he'd ever hold her, and knowing that she'd only let him do so out of the sheer relief that he wasn't as much of a monster as she'd initially supposed, felt like a stab. He already knew that this night was going to haunt him forever. This feeling, this desperate loneliness, would only grow as the years went by, feeling like every. Single. Guy in the world had a chance at love, except for him…

Not that his feelings had ever particularly mattered to anyone. Being invisible, and all.

Jack shuddered, a newer, darker feeling of dread sweeping through his mind. What if he hadn't figured it out? What was going on? What if he'd—well, why did he—?

How could he have been so stupid?

Elsa shifted in her sleep, turning over slightly in his arms. As she did so, the pathetic scrap of fabric that was the front of her skirt moved over her legs, the long slit falling open across her thighs.

Jack froze, then jerking his head back and determinately staring at the ceiling. After a few moments, he squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath.

He looked back down to Elsa.

"Ooooh-kay," he choked, "Just—okay, just in case you wake up—I'm putting it back."

Shifting uncomfortably on the bed, he reached over and gingerly picked up the edge of her skirt, blushing and hesitantly glancing to Elsa's face.

Still asleep.

Holding his breath, Jack flung the cloth back over her knees, frantically pulling his hand back and looking away. After a few paralyzed moments, he slowly looked back to her legs.

Aaaaand now the skirt had slid up even farther, the fabric falling open another inch across her upper thighs.

Jack blushed harder, exhaling as he looked back into Elsa's sleeping face. Biting his lip, he ran his free hand through his hair.

"You are not making this easier for me," he squeaked.

Letting out his breath, he allowed his head to fall back against the headboard with a soft thump. Staring up at the canopy again, Jack swallowed.

He closed his eyes.

"Tonight was my fault," he choked, "I didn't do the blizzard, and I know we didn't go all the way or anything, but—it went too far. I let it go too far. Because I've been a creep."

Still asleep, the unconcious Fifth Spirit didn't respond. Breathing softly, he could feel her chest rising and falling against his body, her cheek pressed into his chest.

"I'd never hurt you, Elsa!" Jack squeaked, his voice barely audible in the cold silence, "I'd—I don't want to disrespect you! I swear! I just—I really, really like you, and I'd give anything to make you happy, and I just—I—!"

He closed his eyes, the reality of what he was saying hitting him all at once. Choking up—or rather, suddenly struggling not to do so—the Spirit of Winter pulled in a deep, shaking breath.

"I'm ninety-nine percent sure that I'm in love with you," Jack whispered.

He looked back to her. Fighting back the stinging in his eyes as he hopelessly gazed down upon the the stunningly beautiful, courageous Snow Queen of Arendelle, fast asleep in his lap, he gulped, trying in vain to force down the increasingly crushing weight of his despair.

"And I'm one hundred percent sure that I just ruined everything."