Just a oneshot based on a list of AU's I saw on Tumblr. Please review, tell me what you think! - marth

"Can I help you?" The blonde muttered, glaring at him from over the top of a plain, tan book. A few drops of warm chai had spilled from the fragile cup, the table jarred by the stranger now sitting across from her.

The tall man cocked an eyebrow and set his messenger bag on the floor, the tiny table barely affording him any room as it was. "I'm just waiting for my coffee, and this place is packed. Don't get too flustered, sweetheart." The young woman sneered and started to close her book. He rolled his eyes and put his hand over hers. "Don't bother leaving, I'll be gone in a few minutes. Jesus, I didn't mean to ruin your breakfast. Just stay put and I'll be out of here before you know it." The blonde seemed to recoil at his touch, but she merely opened her book again and went to ignoring him. He withdrew his hand and reached instead into his suit pocket, pulling out a sleek black phone.

He absentmindedly flicked his eyes over the screen of his phone, sneaking glances at the young woman across the table when he thought he would get away with it. She presented a nice front, very mature, but once you got past the makeup, she barely looked twenty. Girlish youth combined with white blonde hair and lashes as thick as any movie star's gave her a delicate sort of beauty, almost doll like. Expertly applied makeup and styled hair couldn't make up for all the naivete that practically glowed from her, however. Probably an English major getting away from the stress of her oh so horrible teachers, or one of those strange hippie girls who believed in the healing power of crystals and lived on daddy's trust fund. "What are you reading?" he asked before he could stop him mouth, mentally kicking himself even as the words escaped.

She studied him coldly before her eyes softened and she reached for the thin white cup that held liquid comfort. "It's poetry," was all she revealed before taking a sip. She seemed to want to avoid conversation.

"Who?" he pushed. Her cheeks flushed at his insistence, or the warmth of her beverage. He couldn't tell.

"Bukowski."

His green eyes widened in surprise. "Really? He's a bit brutal for a girl like you." He stashed his phone, intrigued by this barely-a-woman who claimed to love the ramblings of a drunk. The half eaten scone to her right reminded him that he had missed breakfast to get coffee for the idiots he worked for.

"And what kind of girl am I?" she asked darkly, her sharp blue eyes piercing right through him. There was a lot more to this girl than a trust fund, he mused. Suddenly he was glad that this hole in the wall coffee shop had gained popularity, that it was so busy he was forced to sit and observe another person rather than play them.

"Mr. Westerguard? Thanks for being so patient, I'm sorry for the wait. Here's your order," the harried barista presented him with a tray of coffees. The man stood and pulled his bag over his shoulder, then accepted the tray. With a smirk, he left her glaring.

"Are you still reading the same book?"

She glared at him again. It seemed to be her favorite expression. But this time, she was slightly startled too. "Are you really here again?"

He grinned. "What can I say? This place gives Starbucks a real run for its money. Plus the atmosphere is nice, too." The black messenger bag took its spot to the side and the redhead pulled out his phone. Without meeting her eyes, he pretended to text. "So, Bukowski?"

The blonde refused to look up. "Yes, Bukowski," she practically hissed. "He's crude, but he has a way of peeling back the flesh and poking at his own soul. The common man's poet."

"Spoken like a true student of the English language. Is that what you do?" he continued to type. She finally looked up at him and openly studied his features. Red hair that glinted from the dawn that poured in through the window, and a haircut that seemed a bit outdated. A smattering of freckles, a hint of stubble, and eyes as green and as shallow as the water in the gulf.

Her eyes dipped back to her book, the words jumbling together as she lost her place. Damn. "I .. was. I'm taking a break, but I'm not sure if it's for me." The tea cup that found its place in her fingers was yellow today.

Red eyebrows rose a bit with the revelation, but her uninvited companion said nothing. Before either of them could respond, the chipper barista brought the tray full of drinks and the young man stood. He thrust his hand out to the young woman, who flinched a bit at the gesture.

"Hans."

She allowed herself the smallest smile and took his hand in her small, cold one. "Elsa."

It was a week before he saw her again. A new intern was hired at the firm, and (Wesley? Tony? Something.) started bringing the coffee for the office. Hans had almost forgotten about the girl until the new guy called in sick (of course, on Friday) and as the youngest employee, Hans was sent out to get coffee. It was later in the morning, so the shop wasn't nearly as crowded for once. Before he could place an order, a familiar voice, albeit laced with panic, caught his attention.

Elsa was sitting at her normal table, tucked to the side and beside a large, sunny window. A gangly young man was attempting to talk to her, but the blond did not seem enthused. Hans flashed the barista a grin and a "hold that thought" before striding over to the table.

"Elsa, love, sorry I'm late. You know how bad traffic can be." He had to work to contain an evil smirk. Intimidating yuppies was almost a pastime for him; it didn't take much in a designer suit, even if it was a few seasons old. And being a head taller than the wimpy intruder helped. A few stutters later and the kid was gone.

"You're like a shark," Elsa watched the young man retreat with pursed lips. Her knuckles were white from her iron grip on her teacup, but she did not drink.

"A 'thank you' would suffice. I know very well how to present myself to weaklings," he sat and smoothed his pants. Her giggle was pleasing, not overly saccharine like so many women he knew.

"I'm sorry. He just came over and started asking me all these questions, and I didn't know how to make him leave. I'm not exactly extroverted." She relaxed once the coffee shop settled back into comfortable quiet. "I haven't seen you in a while."

That she had noticed his absence made him want to preen like a rooster. "Oh, you know. Super busy important lawyer stuff." He eagerly watched for her response.

"You're a lawyer?" The genuine interest and innocence of her simple question caught him off guard. Most women associated lawyer with money, but maybe she didn't care about that.

"Not yet, but I work for Russell & Parr. One step above coffee lackey, most days." She giggled again at his response. His charm and wits were worth something after all.

They talked for a few minutes more, about poetry, about lawyers, about sharks. Elsa quietly answered most of his questions, but was vague in a reclusive way. For some reason he told her about his brothers, about being better than all of them, and how he had huge plans for his twenty fourth birthday. Her love for chai came from all the times her father brought the spices home from business trips; he took his coffee black because it made him feel sophisticated. They both happened to love the chocolate scones that were occasionally for sale here. But soon, his phone rang and he was reminded of the actual reason he was in this coffee shop. So Hans left her to her book and swiftly managed the coffees, but not before buying her a scone and writing his number on the napkin.

"Would this count as our real first date, or was the first time you so rudely sat at my table the first one?" she asked between giggles. Hans smiled at her, admiring how pretty she was and how lucky he was. A week had passed before she had called him, and another two before he had convinced her to spend the day with him. They had gone for a walk in the park, visited every tiny antique store and tacky gift shop between here and 16th street, and had stopped into the coffee shop for afternoon cappuccinos. The weather was pleasant, so the high sun found them sitting at one of the iron wrought benches outside the cafe.

"This is the first real, official, Hans sanctioned date. No exceptions," he said as he swirled the coffee in his cup. It was a bit overly sweet for him, but Elsa had talked him in to it. All worries that she would write him off as others had were gone; yes, he was spoiled, egotistical, and a bit of a brat, but she hadn't seemed to notice yet.

She leaned against him slightly and stretched her legs out. "I don't think I've ever actually been on a first date." It came out so quietly, he wasn't even sure she had said it at first. Before he could ask, she continued. "My mother passed away when I was very young, a boating accident. My father was involved as well, but he survived." A labored breath shuddered through her. "Barely. He's been in and out of hospitals ever since, but he took a turn for the worse about two years ago."

"Which is why you dropped out of school," Hans connected the dots mentally and took her hand in his, gently squeezing.

"Yes." Elsa turned her face into his shoulder. "I've had to raise my sister Anna, and prepare to take over the family's accounts should my father pass."

The redhead frowned slightly. He wasn't too fond of the dark turn this pleasant little date was taking. With a cool hand, he lifted her chin and met her eyes. For a moment, it seemed she might cry. Hans brushed a thumb against her cheek and slowly inclined his head, until his lips met hers in a chaste kiss. Her lips were unbelievably soft beneath his, and he wanted to explore her more, but instead he pulled back and placed another kiss on her forehead.

"What do you mean, I'm 'soulless'?" came the angry retort. Unrelenting? Snarky? Maybe. But soulless? He didn't deserve that, did he?

"Yes, soulless. The way you treated that woman was absolutely horrible!" Elsa scolded him. She had come to visit him for a short lunch break when the ex wife of a previous client of the firm had come in, a very unwelcome sight.

"Elsa, she's crazy! Her case was over, she didn't get what she wanted and it's not my fault. Showing her the door was the last kindness I could do for her." His sushi was suddenly tasteless; arguing and not getting paid for it was annoying.

"She just had her husband walk out on her, doesn't she deserve some compassion? You manipulated her into thinking all sorts of things, of course she was upset!" Elsa's voice rose a bit higher.

Hans frowned. "And this is my fault, that she couldn't see that he was a scumbag sociopath?"

Pink lips formed a straight line. "Of course not, but you could have been a bit nicer."

"I don't get paid to be nice, sweetheart." Hans rolled his eyes.

"You shouldn't have to be," Elsa spat rather icily, before leaving the room in a rush. Hans felt like the room had dropped ten degrees as she left, but instead of rushing to apologize, he angrily tossed his lunch into the trash.

Weeks passed, schedules conflicted, the uncomfortable memory of their argument hung on their conversations, and soon their primary form of contact was by phone, but still Hans made a point to call. He needed Elsa more than she realized; needed someone he didn't have to keep an act up with. He never had to impress her like he did the partners, or his family. The young man did everything in his power to keep in touch with this fragile relationship. But more weeks passed, and her calls dwindled, and then they stopped. So he began to camp out at the coffee shop, from the moment they opened til the very last possible minute he knew he could stay without getting fired. Elsa never showed. Anger and hurt roiled inside of him, but still he held out for the reclusive girl who had managed to take up residence under his skin, next to his heart.

And then, one morning she walked in. She didn't seem surprised to see him waiting patiently at her table, his messenger bag in one seat so that no one would even think to try and sit there. The blonde stood in front of him, dark circles marring her pale eyes. Otherwise, her front was impeccable.

"You look like hell." He glanced her over from head to toe. The untrained eye wouldn't notice, but he had spent too long studying how she was beautiful in every way. Her braid was slightly off center, her knee length blue dress a tad wrinkled.

Elsa took in a deep breath before answering. "My father passed away." She was trembling, but she tried to continue. A rehearsed speech, the same she had given all of his business acquaintances. "I'm alright, I'm just a bit tired. Sorry I didn't call. I-" but her sentences were muffled by Hans' shoulder as he stood and embraced her tightly. His large hand stroked her hair, and like ice that finally gave under too much pressure, she was sobbing.

Minutes passed, and he held her still. Strong arms held her up as the facade she had worn for too long melted with her tears. After what seemed an age, Elsa pushed away slightly, sniffling. "I'm sorry, I've messed up your suit, I'm sorry I yelled at you." Hans rubbed the tears from her face, ignoring her mumbling, and kissed her mouth. Long fingers tangled in blonde hair as he deepened the kiss, savoring the breath he stole from her lungs. She clung to him, like she would be lost forever if she did not.

When they broke apart, her tears had dried. His hands clasped hers, and he watched as her eyes finally fluttered open. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it. Tell me what you need, I'll get it." His thumbs massaged soothing circles into her cold hands. "I'll help you through this, and you'll be okay. I promise." She smiled, but it was a ghostly thing, barely moving her lips. "I missed you," he murmured quietly, almost afraid to admit it. A small, broken giggle escaped the weary young woman and she leaned back into him.

"I missed you, too."

And he knew they would both be okay.