AUTHOR'S NOTE:

1. IIIIII LIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! Geez, I haven't really posted anything new for about 2 and a half months, while I've been working on the draft. Thank you thank you THANK YOU SO MUCH for everyone that's reviewed—AND for your patience with me! Ooooh, my WORD, I miss you guys (and I've needed ALL the encouragement I can get!). ICE ALLIANCE IS STILL ON HIATUS, but yeah, okay, the draft is taking WAY longer than I thought. Because of this, I caved and finished this chapter up, so that at least there will be SOMETHING new to read while we all wait for this new draft. I didn't realize exactly how much I needed to change and fix... (Bit of advice; if you want the first chapters, especially, as they are, I recommend copy-pasting them, because THEY'RE GONNA BE REEEEALLY DIFFERENT.) ;)

2. This chapter is where "Broken, Jagged Edges" was ORIGINALLY going to go. However, because Elsa isn't really emotionally to that point yet (and because there's a different piece sung by Idina Menzel that already exists... and fits PERFECTLY, for this scene!), we're saving it for later. Trust me, as soon as the recording is done, I'll put it up.

3. If you're seeing parallels between this chapter and chapters 1 and 22... don't worry. It's intentional. ;)

4. Patt: To answer your question, although I'm almost certainly going to regret it someday... I got my undergraduate degree in Physics, and I'm specializing in the study of light for my PhD. My research involves laser shtuff. Thanks for asking! And, for the record, NO, none of my colleagues are EVER going to find out that I'm writing a Jelsa fic!

5. You guys are fantastic, and I miss you more than I can say, and you're all awesome. Thanks SO MUCH for being here and justifying my secret hobby! :D

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CONTENT WARNING: Sexual innuendo, like usual. As it turns out, Jack isn't the only one struggling to control his thoughts... ;)

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46: CROCUSES

It wasn't that Elsa couldn't sleep. It was that she didn't want to.

With the Council, and the suitors, and the ball, and the various reforms she needed to push through in the court, the young queen's mind was racing as it was. And then, add on the fact that Jack Frost—the Jack Frost, Jack Frost, himself, in the flesh, was sound asleep in her room, on the other side of the thick wall of ice—no. Sleep, if it was going to happen at all tonight, would not be happening for another few hours, at least.

She had far, far too much thinking to do first.

On the legal front, in addition to continuing to work on the housing reform, it appeared that she also needed to start a long campaign of research on child abuse. In politics, there were the suitors. Then there was the ball, and the children's party, and Christmas, all while trying to keep a general grasp on the usual affairs of the kingdom, along with coming to terms with Queen Anna's pregnancy, her own problems with the council, and the intense desire to hop on the Nokk and ride back to the Enchanted Forest to get away from EVERYTHING, including the episode with King Edvin on the previous afternoon. Then, at the center of the whirlwind, there was a beautiful set of deep blue, sparkling, snowflake-marked eyes.

She had known that another holiday season reinstated with the crown would be hectic, but—goodness. Some Christmas this was turning out to be.

The Fifth Spirit sighed, sitting up in her bed again and hugging her knees to her chest through the covers. Even though she couldn't see him through the wall of ice, she could hear Jack's breathing, the calm, rhythmic sound strangely comforting in the silence of the room. A weak smile began to spread over her face, her heart swelling as she longingly looked towards her art gallery…

The realization hitting her fresh again, Elsa collapsed back into the covers. Jack Frost was in her room.

Jack. Frost.

Pressing her lips together, she cupped her hands over her eyes, struggling to suppress the fit of giggles building up inside of her chest. Jack Frost was in her room. No big deal. He was only Jack Frost. You know. Jack Frost, her adolescent obsession. Jack Frost, her secret research project. Jack Frost, her one little piece of hope, that she had clung to for so many years, that ice powers didn't make her a monster…

Jack Frost. Her childhood hero.

For all those years of study, Elsa had obsessed over the very idea of Jack Frost, just dreaming of a kind, elderly man with ice powers—a person she couldn't hurt—who would come and be her friend, to keep her company in her loneliness. And then, expecting a funny old elf of a creature, a breathtakingly handsome young man had showed up instead.

Correction: A breathtakingly handsome young man, who had waited for approximately ten seconds before casually tossing the first sexual innuendo in her direction.

Does the phrase 'emotional whiplash' mean anything to you? Jack had asked on the previous afternoon.

Shaking her head slightly, Elsa pulled her hands away from her eyes, pressing them together and touching the tips of her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

You. Have. NO idea, she thought.

And as if meeting her hero—and, eh heh, being flirted at by him—somehow wasn't enough, there were all the gaps in her theories that were suddenly filled in. For an example, there was the matter of Jack Frost's age. While it wasn't a big deal to Elsa (at least in how it affected their friendship), Jack had been completely embarrassed by it, as if she'd somehow be disgusted to find out that he was—well, three hundred and nineteen years old. While she was twenty-three. But, friendship couldn't be stopped by something as trivial as age. At least, not to her. In some ways, Jack was definitely still a young man, but in others, he was an ancient. In Elsa's mind, this was a good thing, not a bad thing. He had the snappy sense of humor, the spirit of adventure, and the boyish, romantic enthusiasm of a man her own age, paired with the wisdom and kindness of someone that had spent three hundred years silently (and thanklessly) helping mankind. That, Elsa was certain, was a combination that she wasn't going to find ever again.

Not to mention the ice powers. Not to mention the protective streak. Not to mention—well.

Not to mention that—face of his.

Yes, please.

Elsa slowly pulled her hands away from her face, holding them above her in the air and staring at her palms. This was something of the same position she'd found herself in during their snowball fight in the library, when he'd caught her in the snow. Practically feeling his cold grasp on her wrists again, Elsa let out a dreamy sigh, blushing slightly at the memory as she gazed up at her hands.

Lovely.

That had felt… lovely…

AUGH! NO! Elsa jolted, sitting up suddenly. Don't think about that!

Ripping off the covers as she desperately scolded herself, Elsa swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was the Snow Queen. She was raised to be a lady, and ladies weren't supposed to—to think about such things. It—it wasn't—proper. Or ladylike. Right?

Elsa bit her lip.

But... she hadn't exactly been running the kingdom by being "ladylike," either...

Such things didn't matter, anyhow. She shouldn't allow herself to linger on such thoughts, proper or otherwise, because they were only setting her up for more heartbreak. She and Jack were—friends. JUST friends. He was a flirt, that was for certain, but it certainly had nothing to do with her. Thinking about it would only make things worse…

But—but Jack. FROST.

All those years, and here he was, every bit as kind and clever and fun as she could have ever hoped he would be. But, he wasn't just that, of course. He was also brilliant. And witty. And, oh, Jack was handsome… which didn't help matters in the least. By this point, as far as Elsa was concerned, that boy could nip at her nose ANY time he—

Stop! THINKING about it!

In her mind's eye, Jack was scooting up next to her on an icy piano bench in the library, grinning and wagging the feathered end of a quill in her face.

You. LIKED it.

Getting onto her feet, the folds of the icy nightgown swinging around her legs again with their reassuring chill, the Fifth Spirit gave her head a vigorous shake as she walked out into the room through the moonlight. She—it—NO. Just—NO.

Self. CONTROL. Elsa—! She thought desperately. She suddenly realized that she was standing in front of the wall of ice, peering down at what she could see of him through the tiny window. He'd promised that, for the night, he wouldn't melt any of it.

Elsa hadn't made any such promise, herself.

Taking a step back, she silently swept her hand over the ice, and the window expanded, a shimmering mist disintegrating into the air. Leaning over the windowsill between the rooms, she stood in quiet wonder, resting her chin on her hand. Gazing down at him as he lay with his body slightly sunken into the pile of snow, Elsa felt her heart swell again.

Snow.

She was looking at Jack Frost, quietly sleeping in a pile of snow.

If it was possible to flirt in one's sleep, he would be the first to figure out how. Oh, that face...

Elsa blushed, looking down and fidgeting with her fingers, tracing the edge of the sill between the rooms. After a few moments, she pulled in a deep breath.

"You really are a Guardian… aren't you?" she whispered.

But, of course, Jack didn't answer. As he slept, breathing steadily, the Spirit of Winter clutched his shepherd's crook to his chest, a clump of white hair falling away from his face. Elsa closed her eyes, pulling in another long breath and shifting her elbow on the icy windowsill.

"I spent six years working on that map," she said quietly, "And I—well, you were the only hope I ever really had, Jack. Being locked away from my sister and all."

Elsa shook her head, shifting on her feet.

"Life's been wonderful since I learned to control my powers," she added. "I mean—really. Even that little 'I'm hearing voices' adventure last year. I have Anna now, and I know my destiny as the Fifth Spirit, so it has been. But that doesn't change all those years of isolation. Or," she whispered, a breathy giggle escaping her lips, "Hi. I have ice powers, and I don't know why… right?"

She let out a tiny laugh, a little blood rushing to her face as she gazed down at the sleeping boy in the snowbank.

"Something that always confused me with the records was—well—I kind of named it the Prankster/Protector Paradox," she admitted softly. "Silly of me. I know. But you were so confusing!"

Elsa let out another soft, bitter bark of laughter, the memories of frustrated befuddlement rushing back into her mind as she leaned back from the window. "In one account," she whispered into the silence, "You'd be icing the streets and blowing people's packages away from them to see their reactions. Then, in the next, you'd be sweeping a snowbank in front of a falling child, to catch them before they got hurt. How do those things go together? That—that doesn't even make sense! It's a paradox! Are you a prankster or a protector? Who are you, Jack Frost?"

Shaking her head, Elsa looked down and suddenly realized that long, jagged shots of frost were spiking out across the crystalline windowsill from her hands. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, pulling in her breath.

Opening them again, she slowly exhaled, gazing down at the beautiful, white-haired young man sinking into the snow. Her heart swelling again, she leaned forward into the window, resting her chin on her fist again.

"You're not a prankster or a protector," she said softly, "Jack… what's so incredible about you is the fact that you—you're—you're actually both. Two sides of the same coin. You mess with people, just like you mess with me, and honestly, sometimes you go too far. But the moment you notice that someone isn't having fun?"

She leaned forward further into the windowsill, her eyebrows lifting slightly.

"The instant that you realize that someone is hurt, or in danger, or truly upset—you stop," Elsa breathed, "You always stop. Everything changes. And you aren't okay again, until they are."

She looked down, absent-mindedly running her fingers along the edge of the windowsill, tracing the patterns in the ice.

"The Prankster/Protector Paradox… it's not a paradox at all. It's a parallax," she continued. "You know—like in astronomy. When you look at the same thing from two different angles, you see it projected against two different parts of the same backdrop. It isn't actually moving or changing, but looking at it from different locations, in different ways, in different—situations—makes it look like you're seeing it coming from a completely different place. I—well, honestly, I think you're kind of like that, yourself. When I first met you, and you were going out of your way to mess with me, I met the prankster. The funny, fun-loving Jack Frost. I mean, it's not that I don't like that side, but—!"

Elsa's voice trailed off, and she looked down, feeling a little blood rushing to her face again. Moonlight poured into the art gallery from the balcony doors in the middle of its length, catching the hundreds of icy statues lining it and setting them agleam in the darkness. There was a tiny sigh, and she looked back down to see the Spirit of Winter turning over slightly in his sleep, the frozen fractals on his shirt glistening as he moved. A hint of a smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, and Elsa's heart leapt.

Oooooooooh, goodness…

After a few more moments, smiling dumbly as she leaned on the windowsill, Elsa jolted, snapping back into focus. She gulped, shaking her head in slight embarrassment at herself.

"So, that's the one part of you. The Prankster," Elsa started again. "But then—when I was with that suitor—I saw the other side of your personality. The protective side. You choose to project the first more than the other—you know, the flirty, mischievous side—but that doesn't make the protector side any less a part of you. I think you're trying to hide that side, because it's the more—vulnerable one. I mean—that's what I think motivates you to be so fun. You know?

"I don't know if I'm right, but—well, I wouldn't be surprised if that's why you're a Guardian," she admitted softly. "The pain. Everyone's got pain; everybody's a little bit broken, in one way or another, but it's not what we're struggling with that defines who we are. It's how we respond to it.

"And, Jack—that's what makes you so amazing. Your response. From what you've told me, you were—tortured. More than I think anyone could really imagine. You could have become bitter and cruel. You could have really hurt people—you know, trying to get back some sort of feeling of power, or of control. It would have been easy to justify. But—you didn't.

"You told me that it helped distract you. Helping other people have fun. But I don't think that's it.

"From how you treat me—how you're always messing with me, and trying to make me laugh, and to relax, and to let things go, and everything—I think it's because you know what it feels like, to not be able to have fun. And you don't want anyone else to go through the same pain that you did."

Elsa bit her lip, fidgeting with her fingers as she stood, gazing down at him longingly through the window in the ice. Blushing slightly, she let out another tiny laugh, shaking her head with disbelief.

"I—oh, come now! Who in Heaven's name responds, to being tortured, by trying to help people?" she giggled breathlessly, "That's—that's incredible! For all those years, all the research I did was on Jack Frost, the Spirit of Winter—I mean, the version of you from after your death. So, I'm not going to pretend that I know who you were in your past life. But Jack—if there's one thing I do know, it's that—in this life, and from everything you've told me—you are a Guardian."

She took a step back from the wall of ice, turning and looking across the room to the crystalline vase sitting on her dresser. The jagged edge of the crack through its center caught in the moonlight, highlighting the two sets of broken pieces that were now fused together as she walked towards it. Elsa picked up the vase, pausing for a moment as she ran her fingers gently over the fissure. A bitter smile tugging at the edge of her mouth, she turned around, leaning back against the dresser.

"My sister thinks you're in love with me," Elsa whispered into the silence. "But I know that can't be true. I mean, the flirting and all—that's just you, being you. It—it wouldn't make any sense for you to love me. I'm just glad you're willing to be friends with me. Even though I don't deserve it. I just—this has been the most amazing day. I just—wish it could be like this all the time."

A few moments passed in the silence. Her face fell as she stared down at the vase.

"But—it can't."

Elsa sighed, shaking her head sadly. Pushing herself away from the dresser, carefully putting down the vase, she took a few hesitant steps towards the ice, finally coming back to the window. She gulped, gazing down at the pale boy laying, sound asleep, in the snow.

"You're—Jack Frost," she breathed. "Jack. FROST. You're a legend. And I'm only—I'm—!"

A moment of silence fell as the heartbreaking realization hit her in the chest.

Elsa.

She looked down to the windowsill in the ice, pulling her hands into her stomach and taking a tiny step back.

Just Elsa.

She pressed her lips together, swallowing the pain as a sharp pang of heartbreak hit her in the chest. But—wait, though, she thought, drawing herself up. She wasn't 'just Elsa' anymore. She wasn't even Queen Elsa, anymore! She was the Fifth Spirit! And, THAT was impressive... right? That had to count for something.

Biting her lip, Elsa looked down at Jack Frost's sleeping body.

Don't flatter yourself.

Her face fell. It was impressive, but... not like how HE was impressive. HE was amazing. And, as for her… what could she possibly have to offer him? Jack had ice powers because he was chosen. He was a GUARDIAN. She, on the other hand, had only been granted her magic because of her mother's act of saving her father. It wasn't like Elsa was particularly special. She was different, yes—in fact, so different that normal rules did not apply, but that wasn't necessarily something attractive. She knew that was a good leader, and an even better "Fifth Spirit," but Elsa was—awkward. And emotional, despite her efforts to suppress it. She wasn't even good at being a just friend, let ALONE a girlfriend. She'd be terrible. She just knew it. Even with her ice powers—well, those were unusual, and they were probably most of the reason that Jack Frost was even interested in being her "just friend," in the first place. When he'd said that he wanted to be in a relationship with her, that was more a mark of his general loneliness—no, desperation—than anything else. Surely, he couldn't actually be interested in her.

Having absent-mindedly started walking towards her dresser again, Elsa found herself standing in front of it, the vase beside her, gazing into her own reflection in the mirror that hung above it on the wall. A look of puzzlement sweeping over her face, she took a tiny step towards it, pausing and eying her own image in wonder.

Was she beautiful?

It had never actually occurred to her to wonder if she was, Elsa suddenly realized. It wasn't as much a lack of caring—she knew in her heart that, yes, she did sort of care, no matter how trivial and narcissistic the idea would seem—as much as it was simply a lifetime of understanding that there were much more important things to worry about. Like growing up and ruling a kingdom.

Like never, ever revealing her ice powers.

"Wha—what is it?" Elsa heard herself stammering from that morning, standing in almost the same place that morning as she was now and staring down at a paralyzed Jack Frost, curled up into a ball on the floor at her feet. "What's wrong NOW?"

"You—um—heh," he'd choked. "You're pretty."

And then he'd run away.

It had seemed that everything that had been blurted out in that particular encounter had been—well, blurted. The entire experience was still a little humiliating (improper, to say the least!), as far as accidents went, but—but had Jack really meant what he—? Did he actually think tha—

NO! Don't think about that! Elsa scolded herself desperately, whirling away from the mirror and pacing across the room to her bed. He's—you're—you're friends. JUST friends. He's Jack Frost. Sort of the definition of unattainable, right? Reality calls…

She sat down on the edge of her bed, the satiny threads on each of the quilt's Arendelle crocuses catching in the moonlight as she glanced back to the wall of ice.

Or does it?

She reached over to her nightstand, absent-mindedly picking up the ice rose again, holding it up and watching the faint lamplight bend and sparkle through its clear, hard surface as a prism. The colors danced across the bedsheet, and she sighed.

This was far too wonderful to be reality.

Jack had made her promise to stop—well—suppressing her center, as he called it. She'd tried it, for just a few moments, and it had been fine. Nice, even. It felt good to let herself really love someone who wasn't a family member or a spirit; that was for certain, but—well, that one time was different. Jack had needed a hug. Um—really needed a hug. So, it was okay for her to give him one—right? Was she still being a good queen? She had to be a good queen again; she couldn't let Anna down. But would it really be alright if—well, with her heart and all, with the whole love thing—if, for just this—one time—?

Elsa swallowed hard, shakily reaching over and placing the ice rose back on her nightstand. She knew the truth about love. At least, as it applied to her.

If she opened her heart, disaster would follow.

"You are TERRIFIED of love. That much is obvious," Jack's voice played in her mind.

"T-Terrified? Why would I be terrified of love?"

"Because you value it so much."

Elsa shook her head, picking up the edge of the quilt to crawl under the covers again, and then pausing. What would it even be like, to simply—fall in love? To be that type. To be free, to follow whatever romantic desire she had, without fear of retaliation or turning away from her responsibilities? Even as the Fifth Spirit, she still had political connections with Arendelle. A part of her was even beginning to wonder if she was still obligated to try and marry, if for nothing else, to give the kingdom another backup plan. She just—with all her heart, she wished she could—

Don't wish.

The heartbreaking realization stabbed her fresh once again. She who she was. And he was—well.

Jack Frost was a fantasy.

Elsa glanced to her own reflection again in the mirror across the room. Don't start, she scolded herself bitterly. She had been reinstated as the Queen, because Anna needed her. ARENDELLE needed her. She couldn't be distracted from that. And, who could even know how many times Anna would need her to take on the mantle again. And besides… even if she weren't in such a position of power, she wasn't exactly born for the rose and pearl of romance. Jack might have been, but…her?

By this point in her life, for a number of reasons, Elsa had accepted the she wasn't the type for people to fall in love with. She was the Snow Queen. The one who woke up the spirits of the Enchanted Forest. Now, as the Fifth Spirit, she wasn't even certain if she was technically human, anymore, and her new role made her even MORE unapproachable. The Scary Ice Powers one, so unlike her lovable little sister...

If Jack Frost was in love with someone, it wasn't—her. If he was indeed "choosing" her, like Anna and Kristoff seemed to believe, then it was only logical that he was falling in love with a misconception of who she was; a fragile, light golden-haired girl with ice powers, who could see him, a version of herself cast into a romantic ideal that Elsa (inadequate as she was certain she was) could never live up to. Even if Jack were desperate enough to develop such feelings for this girl that he thought she was, Elsa had long-since concluded that Jack Frost was much, much too good for her. It was a ridiculous and self-flattering fantasy to believe that she could stand a chance.

Sitting down at her desk, Elsa pulled a piece of stationary off the pile, the foiled shimmer on the corner's Arendelle Crocus gleaming in the moonlight. She would often write a few lyrics here and there, singing to herself when she was alone, which she almost never was…

Swallowing the pain, Elsa bit her lip, pulling in a deep breath. Trembling slightly as she wrote, the quill began to scratch across the parchment.

Don't dream—too far

Don't lose sight of who you are

Don't remember that rush of joy—

Elsa paused, closing her eyes. Opening them again, she shifted in her seat, glancing to the wall of ice.

He could be that boy.

Fighting back the stinging in her eyes, she shifted her hold on the quill, shakily reaching over and dipping it in the ink well again. Touching it to the parchment, she scribbled down one more line.

I'm not that girl.

Elsa dropped the quill.

Picking up the piece of parchment, the wet ink gleaming in the faint light, her eyes fell onto the Arendelle Crocus in its corner. That fleur graced nearly everything in her life. It was the mark of the kingdom. The mark of royalty.

The mark of responsibility.

Elsa sighed, standing up and walking slowly towards her dresser. All around her in the room, Arendelle crocuses were on the walls, in the paintings, even woven into the blanket on her bed. Whoever designed this room probably thought that they were a beautiful adorning mark, and to anyone else, the flower symbols among the rosemalding would have seemed like nice decorations. But to Elsa, they were reminders. Reminders of her responsibilities-even the responsibilities that she'd thought she had escaped, that had somehow followed her to the Enchanted Forest to call her back.

First the people. Then herself.

She must never get those two things in the incorrect order.

She finally came to a stop in front of the dresser, looking at her own reflection in the mirror and putting down the piece of stationary. All around her in the background of the image were dozens and dozens of Arendelle crocuses. The sharp pang of heartbreak hitting her once again, she looked to the parchment with the scribbled lyrics, then gazing back up miserably into her own eyes.

I'm such a fool, Elsa thought.

In front of her on the dresser, and in the mirror, she saw the familiar gleam of ice around her in the room, amongst the other objects. The cracked vase. The rose. The ice.

Her eyes started stinging again. The young queen drew herself up the best she could, biting her lip against the stabbing pain in her heart as she looked at the crocuses, surrounding her, bearing down upon her, in her reflection.

The crocuses.

I can't be free.

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(ANOTHER) AUTHOR'S NOTE: Now, go look up "I'm Not That Girl - Wicked (With Lyrics on Screen)" on Youtube. This should take you to an Idina Menzel version. Think of Elsa, in her room, and this scene... ;)