Author's Note: So, this is my first Elsanna fic – and, for that matter, it's my first fic in the Frozen fandom, period. I've been reading a couple stories over the past few days, thanks to Jaime (and, if you're reading this, I think thanks are in order?), and this little nugget just occurred to me. I'm still fleshing out the characters and trying to give them their own, distinct voices, but let me know what you think. I want Elsa and Anna to be in-character (or, at least, as much as they can be within the context of an alternate universe) and I'm happy to accept advice on what I can do better. Keep in mind, however, that this first chapter is a prologue, of sorts; future chapters will likely involve more dialogue, but I'm just setting up the circumstances, here, so please be patient with me.

All that being said, I have an ongoing story in the Pitch Perfect-verse (Burn the Day) that is occupying most of my free time, right now. I don't know when I'll update this next, if it will be tomorrow or six months from now, but I was so excited to write this that I couldn't bear to keep it shoved in a dark corner of my hard drive, like so many other little pieces. I hope you enjoy it, and, if you do, please spare a moment to review; I'm much more likely to update this within a decent time frame if I know that someone (hopefully multiple someones) are deriving pleasure from my work. Thanks for your time!

Onwards!

When Elsa sees her first – sees her sister; sees her Anna – she's almost certain that it isn't real. It wouldn't be the first time Elsa's imagined her, after all. If she's perfectly honest, Elsa imagines Anna on a pretty regular basis.

It doesn't matter that she hasn't shared contact with her sister in over a decade; Elsa thinks of her all the time. Elsa thinks of Anna every day.

Elsa thinks of Anna every time she's in the grocery store, throwing a vacant stare down the candy aisle as she wonders if Hershey kisses are still her baby sister's favorites. Elsa thinks of Anna every time it snows, and she wonders if her baby sister is still as miserable at ice-skating as she used to be, when Elsa had held her hands and tried to show her the way, failing spectacularly when she'd fallen on her tiny bum and giggled up at Elsa with a shy, embarrassed, 'Oops,' as her cheeks somehow pinkened further. She thinks of Anna when a fairytale flickers through the guide list on TV, and she wonders how old her baby sister was when she eventually grew out of them, or if she ever even did.

She thinks of Anna all the time, and, sometimes, when Elsa is lonely or afraid, or even particularly happy, the platinum blonde thinks maybe that she can even see Anna. Never fully, of course – just a flash of pretty auburn hair from the very edges of her perception, or a glint of that special shade of blue that has never existed for Elsa, outside of her little sister's eyes.

It wouldn't be the first time she's imagined Anna's presence when it isn't really there, so Elsa hardly bats an eye as she breezes her way through a crowd of students in the hall and thinks there's something familiar about the chipped necklace that catches the light and Elsa's eye, all in practically the very same moment. It's a cheap little thing, and it looks like it's probably only made from plastic, like something that would cost fifty cents in quarters from one of those child trap machines at the supermarket, where a kid could also choose to spend that wealth of money on a gumball, or a temporary tattoo, instead. The necklace was probably coated in some silver sort of paint, but it's mostly frayed, now, and the color underneath is black. It's in the shape of a basic, simple heart, but the chain it hangs from looks like it could be made of genuine silver, and, although it's incongruous, it probably isn't worth the amount of attention Elsa spares for it – but she can't help herself.

Anna had a necklace like that; Elsa knows, because she'd given it to her on Anna's sixth birthday.

(Elsa hadn't known it, then, but she'd only get two more birthdays with Anna after that, before life and tragedy ripped them apart.)

Their parents had bought all sorts of things for Anna's party, and they'd bought a couple of gifts for Elsa to sign her name on, too – but Elsa had wanted to give something special to her baby sister, all for her, that Elsa had bought all on her own. Being only eight, Elsa's funds had been few, but she'd wandered into a Claire's store at the mall, and had purchased a pair of necklaces very similar to this one for a grand total of three dollars and eighty-seven cents.

They had been matching, of course – which had been the trend, then, Elsa recalls with a heartbroken, lingering smile – and they had each read only one word across them: sisters.

Elsa had been a little embarrassed to give Anna the gift, especially after the small redhead had unwrapped a brand new Game Boy and about a hundred different games to play on it, but Anna had been nothing less than thrilled. Elsa remembers, even now, her sister's choked, elated squeal, and how Anna had just insisted that Elsa press a kiss against it and hook the flimsy chain around Anna's neck herself, so that Anna could always carry Elsa and her love with her everywhere she went, forever.

The blonde remembers rolling her eyes, and she remembers smiling, anyway – because Anna could just be so dramatic, sometimes, even at six, but Elsa had secretly been pleased, anyway. No matter what else happened, Elsa was Anna's big sister, and she was proud to be; it had made her young heart swell to know that Anna was proud to be her baby sister, too, and that she would prove it by wearing Elsa's necklace all the time.

Anna never took the damn thing off, except to bathe, and, even then, it was still a struggle to get it off of her.

With a sigh, Elsa shakes her head and shoves through her classroom door. It's the first day of classes, and Elsa – Ms. Weathers – has a fresh crop of seniors to educate in English Composition. The first day is always difficult, and, Elsa supposes, it likely always will be; it's difficult for the teachers to slip back into their roles after a three-month break from the school, but it's an infinitely more difficult shift for the students.

They're reluctant to be here, in the first place, and they retain as much of the carefree attitude of summer as possible, choosing to catch up and relentlessly chatter, instead of focusing on the new school year. It's understandable, but frustrating to teach through, which is why most teachers in the school allow a day or two merely for a syllabus review and a brief explanation of the class, and the material to be covered within it.

Her first two classes blow over without a hitch, the whispers of the male (and occasionally, though rarely, female) students being the only exception, but Elsa is used to this; she's only a couple of years older than most of these students, and Elsa knows, by now, that she is considered by some to be uncommonly attractive. She doesn't let it bother her, even if it makes her a little uncomfortable, and she proceeds with her introductions as though she hasn't even noticed the whispers at all.

Elsa's only a third-year undergrad, and she isn't paid to be here. In fact, Elsa initially had been reluctant to add the stress into her schedule, in the first place. Still, Professor Marlow – Elsa's Literature professor – had lauded praise upon all of Elsa's work, and had practically begged for her assistance; Mr. Crawley, the real English Composition teacher at Arendelle High, is a dear friend of Marlow's, and he's growing rather old, and perhaps just a little bit senile. Grading papers is becoming more and more of a challenge, for him, and keeping track of his course schedule has essentially become a lost cause, without help.

That's where Elsa comes in.

She helps him finish grading, and she keeps the class moving at an appropriate pace by visiting once a week, and shuffling things around to be sure that all the material will be covered, and, though Elsa had certainly had her concerns, she's grateful for the opportunity. She's learned a lot, in the last year, and she hopes to learn more in the next couple, too.

Plus, the experience will look spectacular on her resume.

It's an all-around win, as far as Elsa is concerned – at least up until her third class, after which Elsa's opinion shifts drastically.

She's moving down the roster, calling out for attendance, when her breath hitches and a hard throb begins somewhere in her throat, refusing to give voice to the next name on her list. Because Elsa can imagine all she likes – can catch sight of any number of things that could remind her of her sister, or even make Elsa believe, even for a second, that her sister might actually be there – but that's all in her head.

It isn't real.

It isn't a stark, boldly printed name at the very end of Elsa's roster that reads, 'Anna Weathers' like it's just another student, and just another name.

Elsa's eyes dart swiftly upward, and she frantically scans the room for something, anything familiar, and she finds it almost instantly. A pair of wary, turquoise eyes blink back at Elsa from the very back left corner of the classroom, and Elsa blinks in rapid succession as tears mindlessly well up in the sockets of her eyes.

She spares a thought – a very brief one – to consider that neither 'Anna' nor 'Weathers' are truly rare names to have, so, maybe, this Anna isn't even Elsa's, but the thought is gone the very moment she stares into those beautiful, terrified eyes, and catches another shimmer from the chain around the girl's neck, because Elsa knows this is her sister.

Elsa knows this is her Anna.

She finally calls out the name, and has her answer confirmed when Anna merely lifts her hand into the air to indicate her presence. It's a struggle – perhaps the largest one that Elsa's ever faced – but she stumbles through the syllabus, like with every other class, and stills the violent tremoring of her fingers by clutching them tensely around the steel edges of her desk.

Anna doesn't speak for the entirety of class, and she even passes her turn when Elsa moves around the room, allowing the students to introduce themselves both to her and to their peers, if they choose to do so.

It's lunch after this period, so, when it ends, Elsa swallows and swallows and can't lift her eyes away from Anna, curled around her desk with most of her face buried in the crook of her elbow, only her eyes left visible; Anna doesn't move – remains perfectly still, just as Elsa does – but as soon as the last student (excepting Anna, of course) flees from the room, Elsa bolts toward it, locks the door, and spins around to place her back against it in an effort to catch her breath.

It fails.

"Anna," she breathes softly – incredulous, and reverent.

The redhead lifts her chin, resting it against her forearm as she pitches a very weak, very small smile toward the front of the classroom, where Elsa stands.

"Hi, Elsa," she murmurs shyly, and stretches her free hand up to sweep a couple of slightly greasy, red locks of hair away from her eyes.

"I- How can you- Anna," Elsa breathes again, because it's literally the only coherent thought she can form.

She stumbles several steps forward, and keeps pushing her feet forward until she's moved down Anna's row and hovers uncertainly a desk's length away.

Elsa's imagined this moment every day since she'd last seen Anna, but, now that she's in it, Elsa doesn't know how to behave, or what to say. There's so much to tell Anna – so much to ask Anna – and Elsa doesn't know where to start, or how to segue into it. All Elsa knows is that her heart is racing furiously beneath her breast, and it feels so difficult to breathe. Her lungs feel like there's ice inside, and every time she inhales, it numbs through her body until it moves in her head like an ice cream pain, and all Elsa can think is that, finally, she's found her.

She's found her Anna.

"I- I don't…" Elsa stammers, shaking her head and her blonde braid along with it. "Anna, please, I – "

"It's nice to see you, too," Anna twists her mouth into something that should be a smile, but it doesn't glimmer in her eyes the way that Elsa remembers.

But that's okay, Elsa tells herself quickly. It's been years, and of course Anna's different. That's okay. Elsa's different, too.

"I've missed you," Elsa chokes, as tears flood her eyes and drip instantly across her cheeks without warning.

It's just- this is overwhelming, and Elsa is so, so happy, but she's nervous, too; Elsa hasn't been a part of Anna's life for such a very long time, and, even if she hadn't meant to be, Elsa is to blame for that.

She's afraid.

She's afraid Anna won't want to know her, anymore. She's afraid Anna's built a life without her, now, and that she won't be interested in renewing a relationship with her sister at all. She's afraid that Anna's forgotten nearly all of what they'd shared together, and that Anna- doesn't need her, anymore.

It's a difficult thought to bear, but it's one Elsa's considered before. Anna had been only eight, when they'd separated, and Elsa hadn't kept her promises to call, or to write. She'd let Anna go in the only way she'd known how.

"You look good," Anna tells her softly, with eyes bright with damp tears. "Are you good?"

"I'm- yes," Elsa gasps out with an elated, winded laugh. "Yes, I'm good. Are you, Anna? Are you good?"

Anna's expression wavers, and she shrugs from beneath an oversized hoody. Elsa's smile falters as she really takes Anna in. Not just her eyes, or the so unique shade of her hair, or the smattering of freckles that have plagued Elsa's nightmares intermittently over the last ten years; Elsa eyes as much of Anna as she can see, from the redhead's seated position, and she makes out a pair of oversized jeans to match the green sweatshirt Anna wears.

There are holes everywhere, and the materials have long-since faded from their original colors. Anna's shoes even bear tears in them, and Elsa can just barely spot a black sock peeking from beneath the toe of Anna's sneakers. A ratty belt keeps her pants from slipping away from Anna's slim waist, and the backpack at Anna's feet is so frayed on the left strap that it's only still attached by the padding.

Anna is beautiful, still – she's beautiful always, Elsa thinks vehemently – but she's hidden behind clothes that are obviously drowning Anna's already too-thin frame, and there are deep shadows underneath and within those suspiciously dull, teal blue eyes.

And Elsa– she is doing well, but- it's clear to her that Anna might not be.

"I'm okay," Anna tells her through a too-bright grin. "I've missed you too, Elsa."

Elsa swallows again, hesitates, then glances at the clock. There isn't enough time for all the things she wants to say, or all the subjects Elsa wants to cover; there's only twenty minutes left of lunch, and, even if Elsa's last period is for planning, Anna definitely still has class.

"Would you- Would you like to go for coffee? After school, of course? Or we could do something else? There's so much we've missed, Anna, and I – " Elsa chokes, and shakes her head weakly. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting- and I'm just not sure how to – " She breaks off again and weakly raises her hands in the space of air between them, indicating her loss for words.

"It's okay," Anna comforts carefully. "We can do this another time. I have to get to class," she explains unnecessarily, standing and pulling her backpack across her right shoulder.

Anna hesitates for several moments, wavering forward on her feet before shying away again seconds later, and Elsa watches her repeat the cycle a half-dozen times before Anna throws her free arm around Elsa's shoulders and pulls her in for a hug that Elsa might think is too tight, if she hadn't dreamt of it happening exactly this way since she was still a child.

Only, it isn't the way Elsa dreamt it at all, because the hug lasts hardly to the end of one-Mississippi before it's over, almost like it never even happened to begin with, and Anna pulls away like she's just folded herself around a burning flame, instead of her big sister. Anna coils her left arm protectively across her waist and avoids looking at Elsa entirely, whispering to her feet with heated cheeks, "I really did miss you, Elsa," before she slips past the blonde without a single sound, even in her footsteps, as she shuts the door to the classroom noiselessly behind her.

Elsa inhales a long, shaky breath, and collapses in her chair at the front of the room as she tries to puzzle through everything that just happened.

On the one hand, Elsa has never been so ecstatic or relieved or grateful in her life, but, on the other, Anna- is not at all the way that Elsa remembers. The blonde has always known that, if she ever found Anna again, the girl wouldn't be the same as Elsa had known her to be as a child. Still, Elsa remembers Anna as loud, and interactive, and open-hearted; she remembers her little sister as carefree, and bright, and impossibly determined, even at only eight years old.

But this Anna – the one Elsa had only barely managed a conversation with, just now – bears very little resemblance to that girl. The little she has seen of this Anna is quiet, and isolated, and guarded; she is anxious, and subdued, and oddly unimpassioned. She smiles, but it isn't real; she shies away, even when she seeks affection.

Elsa remembers, even after their parents had died, the way that Anna could be heartbroken and devastated and innocently, childishly confused, all at once, and the way that, even then, her younger sister had sought constant solace by burrowing into the safeguard of Elsa's arms.

Anna could hardly touch her at all, just now.

She's hardly known this Anna for an hour, and, already, Elsa is sure that something is wrong. Only- Elsa isn't sure that it's her place to help, or even that Anna might want her to. Her attempts to schedule something – anything – with Anna had gone unacknowledged, and Elsa isn't sure how else she can learn about Anna's life without Anna participating in conversation, with her.

Elsa tries very hard not to think that Anna just might not have any interest in sharing a conversation with her.

It's three months into their stay at the group home when ten-year-old Elsa realizes something very important.

None of the adopting parents ever take more than one child at a time.

She's told it happens, sometimes, and that they try to keep siblings together whenever possible, but- Elsa's counselor makes it clear, when she asks, that it's a lot harder to place two children than one. It breaks little Elsa's heart, but it plants a seed in her mind that only grows when, a couple months later, she understands something else that's important.

The younger kids are usually adopted first.

The night she realizes it, she holds her baby sister in her tiny cot, cradling Anna's head against her chest and stroking her fingers through her soft, red hair, and Elsa buries her nose into it and cries all through the night, after Anna falls asleep.

She doesn't want to do this, and she doesn't think it's fair, but she's the big sister, and that's something Elsa's always been proud to call herself. She takes her duty to Anna very seriously, even at ten, and, now that their parents are gone, it's Elsa's job to take care of her, because no one else will.

So, even if Elsa doesn't want to, and even if it's the worst thing she can even bear to think about, she tells her counselor that she should find different homes for her and Anna, both.

Elsa's counselor asks why, but Elsa sniffles and sniffles and tearily tells her, "I'm not enough family."

They share several sessions over several weeks, and, every time, Elsa tells her the same thing. Because it's the truth. Elsa is ten, and she worries about Anna more than anything on the planet, but Elsa's whole world has shattered, too, and she doesn't know how to be what Anna needs; she's too little, and too afraid, and Anna needs a family. She needs love, like Elsa's, but she needs it from someone who can take care of her, and who knows how to make her stop crying, because Elsa can't figure it out.

Elsa can barely stop crying, herself.

Eventually, her counselor agrees, but nothing goes the way Elsa planned it.

The next four couples don't look twice at Anna, and the fifth isn't much of change, in that regard – but the fifth is different in another way.

The fifth couple – a strict, but honest man named Harvey, and his quietly intelligent wife, Danielle – aren't interested in a baby or a toddler, or a messy adolescent; they come to the home looking for an adolescent to guide into young adulthood, hoping to provide an education and a safe home in which that adolescent can grow for a few years before paving the way for college.

It's the first couple Elsa's seen who isn't looking for a baby, or as close to it as they can get, and it confuses Elsa, a little. But they ask to see her, and speak with her, and they come back a couple of times to check in on her and say hello, and the next thing Elsa knows, they're adopting her.

Her, but not Anna.

She sobs quietly into her pillow every night she's in their house for months, but she studies like she's told, and she doesn't make a fuss. Elsa's always been quiet, and dedicated, but the Petersons don't ask much of her; they only request that she keep on top of her schoolwork and be home by eight, and, other than that, they mostly stay out of each other's way. They aren't terribly affectionate, and, sometimes, as she grows older, Elsa feels more like a charity project than anything else, but the Petersons are always kind, and they treat Elsa well. It doesn't necessarily feel like a family, but Elsa has a roof over her head and four-star meals on a regular basis, and every now and then, when she's done well in school, Harvey and Danielle spoil her a little and take her out for ice cream and a movie.

Still, when Elsa thinks about that time in her life, all she remembers is the death grip of Anna's arms around her neck when she'd told her baby sister 'goodbye,' and Anna sobbing into her chest and begging her not to go.

But Elsa hadn't had a choice. She'd requested separate placement, and she isn't worried about Anna; everyone loves Anna.

She knows her baby sister won't be here much longer, and Elsa can't give up the only chance she might get for being adopted, too. She has to go with the Petersons, even if it's the hardest, most terrible thing she's ever done or felt.

When Elsa thinks about that time in her life, all she remembers is prying Anna's arms loose from her neck and pressing her mouth into Anna's temple, softly murmuring, "It'll be alright, Anna. I'll see you again, I promise."

Elsa wakes from her troubled slumber and sighs deeply.

This isn't the first time she's dreamt of the orphanage, and she's certain it won't be the last, but- it makes a deeper impact, today, than she's allowed it to in years.

She knows it's because she's seen Anna – has seen how poorly she even might be doing, in Elsa's absence – but that does nothing to alleviate Elsa's guilt. She'd only been ten, and she'd only asked for what she'd thought would be best for Anna, but now she isn't sure that the whole thing hadn't colossally backfired, somehow.

Elsa doesn't know what's happened to Anna, or what her life has been like for the past ten years, but, given Anna's appearance and demeanor, Elsa has to assume that time hasn't done her little sister any favors. As a result, Elsa's left to wonder about every aspect of Anna's life since their separation.

Part of her might have feared that Anna had never actually been adopted, but Elsa knows this can't be true; she knows it, because, the very day that she'd turned eighteen, Elsa had trekked across three state lines to the group home with every intention of taking Anna home with her, if that had been the case. The receptionist, however, had told Elsa that Anna had already been placed, and that the adoption was a closed one.

Her files were inaccessible.

With access to her parents' funds, since coming into her inheritance as an adult, Elsa squares away enough money to set herself (and Anna, if she ever finds her) up for college, and she keeps enough for five-years' worth of rent money, just in case – but Elsa uses the rest to hire a private investigator, who proves to be entirely ineffective.

That had only been last year, and Elsa had already hired a second one, but she probably needs to stop paying him, now.

Elsa's found Anna all on her own.