For the Love of Iron Heinrich

by atlonglastlove on September 6, 2011. the scenes were missing. now they aren't. this story, this couple. brilliant. but not mine.

-Set immediately after 162-

"Ready to go?" Jenny asks softly, unhurried.

Emma takes one last look after Timo's retreating form and shakes off a slight feeling, of, what?

Oh, just your usual.

Worry. But, Jenny wants to take her home and today, Emma wants nothing more than to be with Jenny. So.

"Okay." Taking Jenny's hand in hers, pulling her whole arm close to Jenny's body, Emma doesn't stop to think the entire school will see them touching, doesn't worry about anyone knowing anything about her, about Jenny, about them. The funeral, the loss of two lives, Timo's health, her own cathartic moment in the chapel, those are the thoughts that occupy all the space within her mind.

All the space, that is, except for one sliver, containing one unspoken thought. Emma starts to ask, her body imperceptibly tightening its hold on Jenny, before she thinks again. And says nothing.

"What?" Jenny asks.

"I didn't say anything." Emma says, then, quietly, "Did I?"

"No. I just thought.… It seemed like you wanted to."

Emma stops. She looks intently at Jenny, who is simply standing, waiting, car keys dangling from long fingers. The clear, crystal blue of Jenny's gaze meets her solidly. Jenny's eyes, so sympathetic, gentle, patient. Unexpectedly, deep in Emma's core, a swell of emotion surges, an unseen punch to her gut. It sends a tear slipping from one hazel eye, and Emma finds herself swallowing a racking sob even as Jenny quickly gathers her close.

"Oh, God!"

"What? It's okay!" Jenny hugs her, tighter, tries to reassure her.

"No, I'm fine. It's just… I'm so… very… Oh, Jenny, I'm so lucky!"

"I know."

"No. Not because I wasn't… hurt." Emma pulls her head back from Jenny's shoulder. "Because I have you. I have you."

Jenny smiles. "You do."

And when Emma opens her mouth to ask her previously unspoken question, this time, she gives it sound.

"Take me home with you?"

Jenny smiles. She presses her cheek to her love and lays a gentle kiss at Emma's jaw.


Emma opens her eyes, wondering if she actually dozed off a moment, there on the Bergman's couch, wrapped up in Jenny's limbs. Jenny is drawing her hand up and down one of Emma's arms, the caress a balm, returning, up and down, with each breath.

"I haven't thought about that fairy tale for ages."

"Hmmn?" Jenny asks, shaken from her own reverie.

"The Frog King."

"Uh huh."

They are both lost a moment, remembering Emma's metaphor of her own painful silence being lifted at the chapel, singing, recalling the breaking of the coachmen's metal bands.

"Funny." Jenny continues. "In a story about a king in a frog's body and a princess who breaks his spell, you… you identify with the coachman."

Emma is quiet, but she burrows in a bit more.

"I hardly remembered his part of the story." Jenny finishes.

Emma smiles, "Well, I never really understood the princess or the frog. I guess, I mean, I've always seen them as a kind of cautionary tale?" Jenny raises an eyebrow and listens. Wondering.

Where will this go?

"You know, the princess doesn't even want the frog. The King pushes her to be with this frog she doesn't like. And who could like her? I mean, first of all, she totally breaks her word. She takes without giving anything in returning. And she just… she loathes that frog, tries to kill him, even, okay? So she chucks him against the wall and he becomes a handsome prince and none of the rest of it matters all of a sudden?"

Jenny laughs at the notion. "What? Doesn't she kiss him? I thought she kissed him."

"That's the Hollywood version."

Jenny smiles into Emma's hair, and kisses the top of her head.

"Why do you know this?" She says, amused, and rather more to herself.

"But the coachman?" Emma continues, her breathing more rapid, excited…

Someone's getting her mojo back. Yes!

"He loves that frog king without condition. His love is absolutely pure, which is why he put the bands so tight—to keep his pain at losing the king to the evil spell, to his king going all… frog-like, from overwhelming him. And then he's so happy to have his king back, BAM!"

Jenny jumps a bit, hangs on.

"He just bursts with joy! Breaking his bands," She sighs.

After a long silence, Jenny asks, "And who am I in this fairytale? You see a part for me?"

"You?" Emma squeaks, remembering where she is, where they've been, that she's been babbling away… "You."

"Me." Jenny says with another kiss, another long caress that makes Emma shiver.

"You're the feeling he has for his king. You're my…"

"I'm your king?" Jenny smirks.

"I think in my fairytale," quietly, and with a bit of a tremble, "you're a goddess." Emma blushes and sneaks a look up at Jenny.

Who winks.

"Got that right." She says.

Emma's grin is broad. Broad enough to shift continents, reposition ice caps, move flippin' mountains. Jenny is so happy to see it, she nearly weeps at the sight.

But Emma has other plans for Jenny. Because as she grins, she breathes, and the feeling, the emotional shove from before, returns, but with a gentler nudge, reminding her of how fleeting our life, our time can be.

And she turns herself, facing Jenny fully, supporting herself above Jenny's body, languid and lanky on the couch. And Emma starts to climb.

She moves upwards, slowly, methodically, one square inch at a time, up, up, up, Jenny's body until her hands cradle Jenny's head and her mouth is at Jenny's ear and she can say, with absolute assurance that Jenny will hear her.

"I love you."

And she kisses Jenny's ear, and she says,

"I love you."

And her lips move along Jenny's hairline, as her body collapses into the arms that are wrapping themselves around her, and onto the length of this woman, this goddess, she loves.

"I love you."

She says again, this time against Jenny's lips that have moved to hers, waiting, waiting for just the perfect moment, which Emma so graciously provides.

And Jenny kisses her, answering Emma's pronouncement, and two sets of hands begin to move along two bodies, both feeling lucky to be bound up in the bands that hold them so exquisitely close.

"I love you, too."