Archive of Our Own ^beta

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He probably knew her best out of any of them. Or at least, he used to. They had been best friends for a long time, before things started to come between them. And people.

But even still, writing about her came naturally even after all these years.

She was Ice, through and through

 It was as clear as the ocean was blue.

She was beautiful and shiny like an ice figurine. Never a hair out of place, a ruffled shirt or a broken nail to be seen. She was always dressed for success, ready to overcome the day ahead. The last thing she wanted was to be called a mess.

She had form, she could be rigid; a plan, an idea, a goal, a way to do things. Failing to follow through was like shattering the ice, breaking her down to her essentials. But she always put the pieces back; re-froze, started from the beginning.

She was clear and sharp, almost closer to glass than ice. She stated her opinion truthfully and meant it, didn’t like to lie or break rules or go behind backs. She was smart and well-read, always reading and eager to learn more about anything. She threw herself into her studies, into athletics, into hobbies, into life.

Clear, in a refreshing way. And sharper than any valedictorian he had seen speak.

She was fragile. Lot’s of things could put cracks in ice. But that’s the thing with ice; with enough water, you can fix the cracks. Freeze them over and start again. Ice could be cracked, broken even, but the pieces were still there.

Still true.

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He thought he knew her the second best, but he didn’t know her at all. Not really, anyway. He only knew the conclusions he had come to about her.

They had never been friends, and he almost resented that she was best friends with his old best friend. But, that was nobody’s fault but his own.

Unequivocally, she was the water.

That was true now more than ever, becoming one of its daughters.

She was fluid and calming all at once, underneath a carefully constructed exterior she fronts. It’s not a complete lie, while she may act frantic or helpless there is much more to find. She’s a master at rolling with life’s punches, always one to turn the tide.

She was bland; ordinary, to those outside looking in. Like the water itself; deceptively calm, boring even. Until you were standing in it. Way past knee-deep, way past surface level. You had to dig deep into her, uncovering secrets kept just like the ocean itself.

If she liked you, the water was refreshing. Calming. Beautiful. Exciting. Something to be explored, played in. But if she didn’t, the water was harrowing. Cold. Rough. Explosive. Sickening. Deadly. Something to be feared, respected, avoided at all costs.

Are we talking about her, or the ocean itself?

Both.

She was vast and growing, coming into her own. Her second life had only just begun, and she was taking charge of it. The water had taken her back, after her resisting it for years. Maybe that was why she had such a control over it?

Retribution against water itself, for controlling her life all those years.

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This one, he knew the best of them. He loved her more than he loved himself sometimes. It was hard not to, she made him feel everything twice as hard as he had before.

She tripled the size of everything he liked about himself and halved all the negative thoughts he had about everything else with her brazen honesty and fiery passion.

He loved her.

She was fire.

She burned brightly to look at, dressed warmly and inviting. You wouldn’t even know you were close to death, and you would not go fighting. She scorched to the touch, every bit hurting just a little too much. But you couldn’t pull away because her light beckoned you to stay.

And you did, and you were glad you did. Because fire is deadly, but fire is beautiful.

She was passion, she was rage, but she was warm and she was eager. She sought somewhere her fire would not be extinguished, for even fire cannot light infinitely. She played off the others well, hot against cold.

She was truthful in a way so raw it burned rather than cut. She was fluid in a way that was freeing rather than formless. She was stable in a way that was self-igniting rather than constant. She was the best of them, he was sure.

Fire and water seem like opposites, but she took to the water naturally. She made it her own, heated it to her own liking. Didn’t stop until she was satisfied, just like everything else. She wouldn’t let the water put out her passion; she would carve through the water with it.

She was as wild as the raging sea, even before being adopted by it. Maybe that was why, of them all, she seemed the most emboldened after the change.

The unforgiving harshness of the ocean and its crashing, thunderous waves welcomed her fiery, burning personality.

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Turns out, he knew this one pretty well. Maybe it was due to the time they had spent together lately, bound by the secret. Or maybe it was the countless jabs and insults they used to trade, lending deeper insight than empty pleasantries.

He was the earth, that was all he could be.

He was the ground beneath their feet, giving them a solid foundation. It wasn’t an easy position to be in, but he made it seem so the way he was constantly their salvation. He was their rock in times of crisis. The lengths he would go to and the solutions only he could be trusted to form would prove priceless.

Without fail, when you look down there was the ground. The earth that carries us all. Without it we would be nothing, without him we would’ve been nothing. We relied on him like it was only natural; you trust in the stability, in the steadfastness of the earth against the worst of natural disasters. It’s the earth that creates them, and the earth that resolves them.

A grounding force, pulling against the waves. Earth was mighty enough to content water, even if not permanently. But that’s all they needed; a lifeline, a place of refuge against the raging seas where the water could not get to them.

So they walked to land; they walked to him.

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Ironically, he sometimes felt like he knew himself least of all. But, if he had to really think about it…

Wind.

He liked to think he was like the wind, with the perspective he gained after he sinned.

Consistently inconsistent, like the wind through the trees. Always there, always present but never just a gentle breeze. He had to be in the way, in the middle of it all. They all took turns making him feel like he was holding the idiot ball.

A fresh new perspective he gained, from seeing them trapped inside a cave. It was the turning point of an internal storm, and his breeze began to blow in another direction. Instead of fighting them at every turn, they carried on their days with the wind at their backs.

It wasn’t much, they weren’t helpless without it. The wind wasn’t anybody’s friend for long; it was too thin, to malleable and eager to collide with another element. Wind worked better paired up than alone, he had learned. Wind plus Ice was a hailstorm. Wind plus water was a typhoon. Wind plus earth was a tornado. Wind plus fire was so much more fire.

But he tried to stay loyal, and tried to be there when he could. It did them good to have one less thing resisting them at every turn.

And he liked to think he had blown obstacles out of the way for them a few times now.

He might’ve been wind, but he wasn’t the air they breathed. They didn’t need him, but they still came together smoothly in the end.