"So in these dreams you're been having, you're a super hero?"
Elsa rolled her eyes and sighed. She made it sound so condescending, like she was just a child running around with a towel as a cape jumping off furniture. "Yeah, a super hero. You know, crime fighting vigilante?"
The woman looked over the rims of her glasses at the less than happy blonde before her. " And while you are having these dreams, do you possess any super powers?"
No doubt she was fishing for some mumbo jumbo key word, one that she could use to determine the true depth of some unidentified deep seeded problem.
"Actually yea, I have this impressive disdain for plebs." Elsa retorted, with a self satisfied half grin on her face. It faded when she watched the therapist jot down some notes. Of course she'd write that down.
"So no real powers then?"
"No, I have no powers."
"Can you describe a typical night in one of your dreams?"
The younger woman's gaze shifted up and to the right, as she tried to remember one of her clearer dreams.
"Um, every night after dark, I put on my alter ego and climb out the window." She started, glancing over at the elder woman's face, as if to make sure she wasn't smirking.
"I patrol the city, protecting the people I see that can't protect themselves." The faint sound of a pan scribbling across the paper filled the silence after her words.
"And when you fight for these people, do you get hurt?"
For a moment Elsa didn't really comprehend the question. Of course she got hurt, she had been getting hurt her entire life. "Yeah, I get my ass handed to me a lot."
"And you still fight for them?"
"Yea."
More scribbling. Elsa hated that noise. It was as bad as when her parents talked about her like she wasn't there. Stupid condescending pen. "Do you feel like this costumed figure, this alter ego of yours, is stronger than who you are without it?"
Hell yes.
"No."
"So you wear a mask to protect other people? Is that why you are trying so hard to be a hero?"
"No. Er, yes? I don't fucking know, why is this relevant?"
More scribbles. No doubt writing down how "irritated" the blonde was at the simple question.
"I'm just trying to understand why you are having these dreams, Elsa."
"I can give you that answer." The younger woman snorted. She watched the therapist gesture for her to do so. "I read comics all the time, isn't that normal for stimulation of that degree to find its way into your subconscious?"
"So you enjoy reading comics then? Stories about these super heroes?"
Are you fucking serious? Did I not just say that? "Yep."
"What do you like so much about them? These stories."
The list went on and on, she knew she could ramble for hours about a single story line, let alone all of them. "I don't know, there's a bunch of heroes and a bunch of reasons."
The older woman nodded and crossed her legs as she leaned back in her chair. "Why don't you tell me about your favorite then."
Elsa smirked at the thought; it took no time for her to reply. " Batgirl." She paused, as if she were reminiscing about the character. "Barbra Gordon, certified redheaded bad ass. She doesn't take shit from anyone. Barbra is constantly pushing forward and she is always bettering herself. Never lets anything get her down. She can hold her head up high through any amount of shit she wades through."
"So you admire her strength?"
"I admire her ability to do more than just survive."
"Is that what you are doing in these dreams? Trying to do more than survive?"
"I don't know, maybe."
The room grew quiet, the air so thick around the smaller blonde she almost had trouble breathing.
"Have you ever considered the possibility that you might be going out there to better yourself? To become some one you're proud of."
But Elsa didn't say a word. She just sat there, with her gaze trained on the speckled carpet below. As she stared into the seemingly random pattern everything started to fall in place.
"I do it for her..."
A slender brow rose and a practiced voice shattered the silence. "You do what?"
"You asked me why I try so hard to be a hero. I don't want to be just a hero. I want to be her hero. I wear the mask for her. I don't need a fancy name, I don't need fans, I don't even care if a single person knows what I do, as long as I can be her hero, as long as she knows I'd take a bullet for her, I'm doing more than surviving. I'm fighting."
And I would die a thousand deaths for just a chance to live by her side.
