A/N: So umm. I'm back. I wanted to brush the cobwebs off my writing by posting a one shot I've been meaning to finish for a while.
Inspired by Kill of the Night (which you don't need to read to enjoy this) and the prompt: "'i'm in my underpants in a laundromat waiting for my clothes to get washed and your clothes are in the machine next to mine and i noticed that when you put your clothes in they were all covered in blood what the fuck' au"
Elsa stifles another yawn. The words in her textbook have started blurring together under the fluorescent lighting of the laundromat. She squints at the washer her clothes are currently in, noting that it has twenty more minutes before finishing, and she'd have to dry them for at least forty minutes afterwards. Only then could she head back to her room and get a meager amount of sleep before she has to teach tomorrow's lecture.
She still can't believe she ran out of clothes. The last few weeks had been much more hectic than usual—between her teaching and an unexpected bump in lab time, she somehow forgot to do her laundry until all she had left was currently on her body; a pair of navy, coffee-stained shorts and her raggedy alumni shirt.
She's thankful to live so close to the laundromat, and even more thankful that the weather is still warm enough outside to not necessitate wearing more than what she has on. While she's mostly immune to the cold, she doesn't want to attract any unwarranted attention her clothing would offer if there was snow on the ground.
The bell above the laundromat's door jingles, causing Elsa to snap out of her thoughts. She turns towards the door, wondering who else is desperate enough to do their laundry at 2am on a Wednesday.
A man and a woman shuffle in, only to stop dead in their tracks when they see her. Elsa stiffens—these people look like a walking horror scene. Blood stains their shirts in liberal spatters, and their pants are covered in twigs and mud. Their skin isn't spared either; the left side of the man's face is completely covered in blood, ostensibly coming from the cuts above his eye.
And the woman…Elsa has to wonder how she can look simultaneously filthy and beautiful. Her eyes are bright and alert despite the time, and they flash teal under the light Elsa found so annoying just a minute ago. Her figure is slender, accentuated by the tight tank top under her green and black flannel, and her copper hair is kept in a loose, mostly undone ponytail.
After a tense moment of silence, the woman leans towards the man and whispers something. He quickly nods. "We're hunters, Level Ones," the man calls out to Elsa. His voice is clear and confident, easily carrying over the rattle of Elsa's washer.
Elsa releases a breath, relaxing a little. So they were hunters. That certainly explains…well, everything about their appearances. "Ice fae," she replies back.
Neither of them look surprised by the admission, but that's probably because she carries all the proper physical characteristics of her species—the white-blonde hair, the dark blue eyes, the snowy skin.
The pair make their way over to a machine only a few down from Elsa's, speaking quietly to one another. Elsa tracks them with interest; it's not often she sees hunters, much less Level Ones. What had these two just taken down, a feral pack of werewolves? A coven of vampires who strayed from their sanctioned blood supply? She's thinking so hard about the possibilities that she doesn't even realize the two are beginning to strip right in front of her.
She wants to avert her gaze. She really does. But, well...she has eyes and there's not much else to focus on at the moment.
The woman collapses on the wooden bench like a sack of potatoes, wasting no time yanking her shoes off. Her mismatched socks are next, carefully peeled off to reveal dainty feet and blue-painted nails.
Elsa—with a huge amount of effort—turns her attention back to the textbook in her lap. This is stupid of her, no it's more than that. It's...it's lecherous. That woman might be a freshman, for crying out loud. But Level Ones were usually older, right? She tried to recall what she learned about hunters from her high school class on Guild employment.
Hunters were relatively low on the Guild totem pole, yet they were of the utmost importance for those who lived near the wild. Arendelle is one such place, being flush against the largest stretch of forest in the Pacific Northwest. Here, hunters were treated with the respect their abilities deserved; especially the Level Ones who protected the city from the dangerous supernatural threats that were beyond the scope of Level Two training.
And that means the incredibly beautiful woman currently undressing must be older than eighteen, right? Elsa takes another peek towards her—and sucks in a surprised breath.
The woman had already shrugged out of her flannel and tossed it into the washer. Now she crosses her arms in front of her, bruised and bloody fingers gripping at the hem of her shirt and slowly...slowly pulling it over her head.
Inch by tantalizing inch, the dirty shirt lifts higher, exposing lightly tanned, almost golden skin. Her stomach is flat and lean, and did Elsa ever think belly buttons were cute before this moment? She wants to do nothing more but dip her tongue into that divot, kiss that smooth skin, run her fingers across those tantalizing ribs—
"I'm stuck."
Elsa blinks hard, taking a second to realize her face is engulfed in a blush of epic proportions. Since when have I been such a peeping tom? The worrying question is put aside when the woman speaks again.
"Kristoff," she nearly whines, her face obscured by the bottom half of her shirt, "can you help me get this off?"
The man next to her snorts in amusement. He's already out of his pants and shirt, leaving him clad only in a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. Even though Elsa has no interest in men, she can still appreciate how good looking he is—he has clearly defined abdominals under the shirt, and his quads flex impressively as he walks in front of Anna, obscuring most of Elsa's view.
"Alright," he says, and Elsa can picture the bemused smile that must be on his face, "this is gonna hurt, but it'll be like pulling off a bandaid." He grips the shirt, and the woman raises her hands in preparation. "One, two...three!"
"Oww, fuck, fuck, fuck—" the woman hisses when the shirt gets caught against something. As Kristoff gently fixes the problem, the cursing subsides. "Ahh, that's better. Thanks."
Kristoff steps back and tosses the shirt in with the other dirty clothes. "Any time. Just get your pants off and we can start the load."
"Right!" And with that, she begins to unzip her jeans. When she pulls one leg out, the material follows, turning it inside out. Her foot gets caught, and she stumbles against Kristoff, who doesn't even budge at the weight of her against him. Muttering darkly to herself, she drags her other leg out and throws the pants into the washer with more force than necessary.
Aaand Elsa's staring again.
But really, how could she not? The full picture of the hunter is now displayed—her bra and underwear are both black, with the latter looking like it's made of some sort of silky material. Even with the bruises of all different colors and shapes sullying the otherwise flawless skin, Elsa can appreciate just how long and lean those legs are.
Those legs flow upwards into gently curved hips and what is most likely a firm backside (Elsa can't see her back, but she's more than capable of using her imagination). Elsa's eyes drag across the woman's body—past that cute bellybutton—to focus on the rest of her. Her chest is smaller than Elsa's own, but those breasts would be able to fit perfectly into her palms, and she can now see the constellation of freckles dotting the skin of her chest, arms, and face.
Dear god, her face.
The wild copper hair is now completely free of its ponytail and Elsa can see streaks of grime within its strands. Adorable freckles trail along sharp cheekbones and the bridge of a small nose. Her full, pink lips are stretched into a smile, and something tells Elsa that that's her default expression. Not that she's complaining; the smile brightens her eyes, and they almost appear to be luminous now.
But that smile, those eyes...they're directed at her hunting partner. The tendril of hurt unfurling in Elsa's stomach is completely unexpected and more than that, it's entirely unwarranted.
Who is she to expect a stranger to look at her like that? She's a nobody, too awkward and closed-off for most people to tolerate. Unless she's teaching, the only other places she occupies are her office and apartment, in that order.
She doesn't deserve to have this woman's gaze on her, especially not when she's just been acting like a total pervert. If her clothes weren't locked in the washer right now, she'd haul them out and hang them to dry in her bathroom. But until the load is done, she's stuck here and forced to contemplate just how sad her life is.
"It's your turn to get the bleach," the woman is saying, motioning towards the washer. "It's easier for you to reach anyways." Her hands are on her hips, and she hasn't spared Elsa a single glance since she first arrived.
Kristoff sighs as he sinks to his knees and reaches behind the machine. He stands up a few seconds later, a bottle of color-safe bleach in one hand and a wadded up shirt in the other. He tosses the shirt at the woman. "Here, you need it more than I do."
She shoots another smile at him as she unfolds the blue and white flannel. "Should I find that offensive or thoughtful?" Ever so carefully, she guides her arms through the sleeves and gingerly shrugs it over her shoulders. The shirt hits her mid-thigh, covering up enough of her to not completely distract Elsa.
While she's buttoning up, Kristoff pours some of the bleach into the washer and walks over to the backpack he brought with him. Rifling through it, he comes up with enough quarters to feed the machine. It rumbles to life, and he covers a yawn with a giant hand—the first sign of fatigue Elsa's seen from either of the hunters.
Choosing to ignore his partner's quip, he says, "Rock-Paper-Scissors or thumb war?"
Elsa raises an eyebrow at the randomness of the question, but the woman seems to understand its meaning. "Rock-Paper-Scissors, obviously. I'm pretty sure your thumb is dislocated." She pokes the offending digit, and Kristoff winces in confirmation.
"That would have given you an easy victory, but suit yourself," he replies, playfully glaring at her. "Best out of one, because I'm tired and wanna go home."
"Alright," she agrees, curling one of her hands into a fist and placing it on top of the other. "Let's get this over with."
He mimics her pose and they narrow their eyes in concentration.
"Rock, paper, scissors!" they both shout in sync.
Elsa can't see the end result, but Kristoff's happy exclamation is enough to let her know he won the round.
"What, no!" the woman protests, "Best two out of three, please!"
Kristoff hefts up his backpack and gives her a superior look. "Nope, rules are rules. Text me when the dryer's done and I'll pick you up. Oh, and one more thing…" he leans close to her, whispering something that has her turning bright red. Pulling away, he winks at her. "Think about it."
She stares at him in disbelief. "That's not...you're clearly lying!" she sputters.
He just shrugs and begins to walk out of the laundromat, throwing a peace-sign over his head. "See ya in a bit, Anna."
Anna. The name is light and airy, reminding Elsa of summer and sunshine. It suits her perfectly.
Anna grumbles as she sits down on the bench in front of her machine, blush starting to subside. She seems stiffer than just a few moments before, more tense. Elsa wonders what Kristoff said to her, then she wonders if the two of them are more than just hunting partners. They were clearly comfortable around each other, and not the least bothered by their states of undress.
Elsa pinches the bridge of her nose. That is none of her business. Whatever they are to each other, it shouldn't—doesn't—matter. She turns back to her textbook, because she knows she'll never be able to work up the courage to speak to her anyways.
And for about fifteen minutes, that's fine. She makes some notes in the margins, highlights a few passages. She doesn't look at Anna once during this time, and it almost feels like things are returning to normal.
It isn't until she transfers her laundry over to the dryer and is re-settling into her book that she's forced to remember who she's here with.
"Oh shit," the words are quiet, hardly more than a whisper over the din of the machines. But Elsa hears them, and it takes all of her self-control to keep her eyes on her book. She's not going to look up, she's not going to get dragged back into that black hole of a person, that stranger she's been ogling ever since she got here.
So it's somewhat of a surprise when she feels a soft, quick pressure against her shoulder.
Elsa twitches violently, her book hitting the floor as she stands, hands curling and ready to freeze whatever just touched her.
Anna—who had somehow padded over to her as silently as a wolf—recoils, looking like she was the one who nearly jumped out of her skin. "I'm so sorry!" she exclaims, eyes anywhere but Elsa. "I was just...my friend took our money with him, and I was wondering if you had any extra quarters I could borrow for the dryer? I could pay you when he comes back, but I don't want to text him now since he's probably sleeping."
Friend...she said Kristoff was her friend. Not boyfriend, fiance, or husband. That makes Elsa feel much more hopeful than she should, but she can't help but hang onto that hope.
Anna is even more gorgeous when there's only a few feet separating them. She's still averting her gaze, toeing at a crack in the linoleum floor. She hasn't even rolled up her sleeves, Elsa thinks fondly. The baggy shirt is clearly not hers and the sleeves stretch out far beyond her hands, obscuring them from view.
"I…" Elsa tries to find her voice. "I have some quarters."
Anna finally looks up at her, relief clear on her face. "Thank you so much!"
But Elsa doesn't hear the words, not really. Her heart feels like it's being tugged in fifty different directions and there's a roaring in her ears.
Mine.
The thought is a punch to her gut, and she's finding it hard to breathe.
Mine.
Those vibrant eyes, when they finally looked directly into her own, had unlocked something inside of her. Something innate in all ice fae, something both wonderful and terrifying.
This hunter, this beautiful woman...she was Elsa's mate.
"So, umm...you said you had some change?" Anna's voice, which was so confident earlier, is now timid and unsure. She clearly doesn't know what to think of Elsa's reaction—Elsa is still standing, fists clenched at her sides to prevent her from reaching out and touching, jaw clamped shut and aching to prevent her from saying the wrong thing.
Humans aren't like ice fae. They don't feel that tug, that overwhelming urge to be near their mate. This stranger has no idea who she is, and it will stay that way unless Elsa actually does something.
Carefully uncurling her fists, she turns and rummages through her bag until she finds a few quarters. But she can feel herself shaking as she brings the change to Anna.
The hunter is smiling patiently, and has helpfully rolled up one of her sleeves to expose a hand. A hand that should, by all rights, be disgusting to look at—what with the blood and dirt under the fingernails, and the streaks of flaking mud rendering most of her palm filthy. But Elsa wouldn't mind knowing what that hand feels like against her face, against other parts of her.
The rush of emotion that accompanies the thought causes her own hand tremble, and she watches—as if in slow motion—the coins she was holding clatter to the floor.
"Oh no, I—"
"It's no problem, I got it—"
They speak over each other, both ducking to retrieve the quarters. Elsa's forehead hits something solid on the way down, and Anna whimpers.
Did I just... Elsa looks up in horror from her spot on the floor. The hunter is wincing, clutching at her nose as blood streams between her fingers.
Elsa gasps at the sight. The impulse to reach out and heal is so strong that she can't help but gently press her fingers to Anna's cheek for a moment. "Are you…"
Anna recoils, her back audibly hitting a washer. "I'm fine," she tries to assure Elsa, voice muffled. Her eyes have begun to water and blood is now dripping all over the flannel shirt. "I—I think you just dislodged a blood clot from earlier. No big deal."
It certainly looks like a big deal. "Can you tilt your head back?" Elsa asks, scooting closer to her. "I can heal it if you'd like."
Somehow, Anna shrinks even further away from her touch. "N-no, that's not necessary. You don't want to touch me right now. I'm covered zombie guts and other fun stuff. Bleeding'll stop by itself."
"Please let me—" Elsa forces herself to stop talking. Takes a calming breath. Tries again in a much more dignified manner, "I'm a certified healer, and as a Level One hunter you know that when an ice fae sees an injury, it's in our instinct to heal it. So," she raises one of her hands again, slowly splaying her fingers out between them, "may I help you?"
Anna squints at her, eyebrows raised in a mix of pain and exasperation. "You just had to fall back on Protocol, didn't you?" she mumbles around her hands.
Elsa can't prevent a tremulous smile from overtaking her. "Often times, those who are injured don't know what's in their best interest. Healers are trained to resort to Protocol if nothing else works." She thanks her lucky stars that she's been keeping up with her certification for no other reason than habit.
Anna's resigned sigh is gurgly and she looks like she immediately regrets the action, but soon tilts her head back against the washer and stares at the ceiling. "Okay, I...I accept your offer," she says, struggling to get the words out as the blood from her nose begins to trickle down into her throat. Her hands are still cupped around her chin, and Elsa gently takes a hold of one.
"This won't take very long, but I'll need you to relax," Elsa says, voice soothing and low. She repositions herself so she's squarely in front of Anna, ignoring the fact that it places her between Anna's bare legs.
One of her hands comes up to lightly hold the spot where Anna's head meets the back of her neck, and the other sweeps across her face. A stab of guilt goes through her when she sees how much blood Anna has already lost due to her—it's under her fingers now, wet and mixing with whatever else is on Anna's face.
She stills her hand when her thumb brushes across the bridge of Anna's nose and Anna winces at the light pressure of it. Elsa suppresses a frown at the response; no matter what Anna said, this was more than just a blood clot.
She pushes away that worrying thought; the injury would be healed regardless, and any negative thoughts now could interfere with the process. She takes a long, even breath, then delves into a deep part of herself.
Anna's eyes flutter shut as the first sign of healing begins, and Elsa follows suit soon after. It's easier to concentrate when she doesn't see the injury, but rather senses it.
Anna is...more damaged than Elsa thought. It's not just her nose, which has already begun to repair itself at Elsa's behest. There's also the usual accessory scrapes and bruises people have come to expect on a hunter's body, but more than that…
"Your back," Elsa murmurs, eyes still closed. Her hold on Anna's neck shifts, fingers burying themselves into copper hair. "Why haven't you done anything about your back?"
It's ugly, and it must hurt. So many muscles are knotted and pulled that it's a miracle Anna was able to stand up straight, and a large, slashing wound stretches from her right shoulder blade down towards her left hip. The wound had started to bleed again recently, most likely from when Anna practically threw herself against the washer.
"It's fine," Anna's reply is breathy, not entirely there; a side effect of the healing process. "I was...I was going to put a salve on it when I got home."
Elsa tuts under her breath. She can fix this now, save Anna the pain of having to wait for some stupid salve to work. When she's finished with Anna's nose, her hands wander across Anna's back, probing gently at the wound through the soft fabric of the flannel before sliding her fingers under the shirt.
Anna jerks in her grasp. "Wait—"
Elsa doesn't wait, and that probably breaks about eight different rules about consent during the healing process. But this is Elsa's mate and she's in pain. To do nothing would be even worse, and she's in too deep right now to concentrate on anything but Anna's wounds.
She moves even closer to Anna, until she's almost pressed against her, until she can feel Anna's ear next to her lips. The body beneath her shivers, and Elsa wonders if it's due to more than just the cool hands now trailing along her spine.
Shaky breaths rattle through Anna, and she breaks from Elsa's hold as soon as her back is finished healing. They open their eyes at the same time, and Elsa heats up when she realizes how close they still are.
Anna immediately averts her gaze. "Umm...that was…"
Elsa's eyes widen, and her stomach clenches painfully. Oh god, what did she just do? She...she violated her mate while she was vulnerable, ignored her when she started to protest.
She swallows thickly, feeling sick. "I am so sorry. I-I didn't ask for your permission before I kept healing you, and that was...that was really wrong of me. I'll understand if you want to press charges, and—"
"Whoa!" Anna holds up her hands, waving them furiously in front of Elsa's face. "I'm not going to report you," she exclaims as if the very idea is preposterous. "I was just worried that you'd drain yourself trying to heal me. I've seen it happen before, and I didn't want you to like, pass out in the laundromat. That wouldn't be very cool." She pauses and rubs at her neck. "So I guess what I'm trying to say is...thank you."
"Oh. Well, I…" Elsa trails off, a weight feeling like it's been lifted off her chest. She doesn't hate me. I somehow haven't screwed it up. And yet she can't just come out and say, 'I did it because you're my mate and I can't stand to see you in pain'. She has to tread carefully from now on. "I'm Elsa Norling," she says hesitantly. Introductions were always a good start, right?
Anna grins, the action highlighting just how much blood is smeared across the lower half of her face, reminding Elsa of a lioness after feasting on a gazelle. At least it brings a warmth into her eyes, making the macabre sight a little more bearable to look at. "Anna Theron."
Elsa narrows her eyes in consideration. 'Theron' sounds familiar, but she doesn't know any hunters in person. Then it hits her. "Wait, are you…"
Anna has the grace to look a little embarrassed at the recognition. "Yeah. Alaric and Lydia Theron are my parents."
"Wow," Elsa says softly. The Therons were two of the top hunters in Arendelle, responsible for saving the city and its inhabitants from countless supernatural threats. They're also media darlings, both being ridiculously attractive and charming. It's really no wonder Anna is so...so everything.
And now that she has Anna in front of her, she can't help but ask, "What you said earlier, about zombie guts, were you being serious?" Living in Arendelle, she's seen things, but nothing that put her in the middle of danger. She can't imagine how intense a hunter's life must be.
"Yeah, actually," Anna says, smiling faintly. "Zombies were involved in this production of 'Dirty Jobs'. But I mean...you don't have to ask if it's not something you're interested in."
Elsa's eyebrows draw together. Did Anna think she was asking just out of politeness? It's strange; most hunters—especially the younger ones—tended to boast about their cases loudly and often. Yet Anna is trying to appear modest even when it's clear she's had a busy, dangerous night.
"I want to know," Elsa gently insists. I want to know everything about you, she adds silently, because it's both true and too scary to voice out loud.
Anna abruptly stands up. The position puts Elsa at eye level with those toned thighs, and she looks away sharply, not at all liking the rush of blood suddenly pounding in her ears.
Anna doesn't seem to notice her reaction, but instead meanders back over to her washer and plinks the quarters down on the dryer next to it. By the time she returns, Elsa has relocated herself to the bench and stowed away most of her impure thoughts.
Anna settles down next to her, shifting slightly so they're face to face. She claps her hands once in anticipation of her story. "Okay, so you know how necromancers aren't supposed to bring any negative emotions into their rituals?" she asks with no further ado.
Elsa nods, though she knows nothing of the sort. But it does make sense in some odd way; the few necromancers she's seen around town have all seemed like incredibly cheerful people.
"Well, apparently this necromancer was new and to top it off, had just walked in on his girlfriend cheating on him a few hours prior. Not exactly great conditions when he's been hired to set up a meeting between a recently deceased man and his widow."
"What happened?" Elsa asks, unable to stop herself from leaning towards her.
"He raised the man successfully, but he also raised almost everyone else in the graveyard," Anna grimaces at the memory. "And because he was so angry and hurt, the dead just sort of...went haywire, for lack of a better word. They absorbed his feelings and started destroying everything in their path, too out of control to obey him. That's when he called the Guild. Kristoff—that's my hunting partner—and I were the closest, so away we went."
Anna's eyes slide past her, a distant look in them as she continues, "There was...a lot of chaos. Thankfully the graveyard was on the smaller side, but that doesn't mean it was a cakewalk. I usually use my bow when hunting, but zombies require decapitation. I haven't had to use a sword in a while, so I was a little rusty and got hit a few more times than I normally would've." Her nose wrinkles cutely. "Not many people are unfortunate enough to be thrown through tombstones, but I think that's how I hurt my back."
When Elsa frowns and Anna's quick to reassure her, "Don't worry though! It was really soft stone."
There's a beat of silence as Elsa absorbs the earnestness in Anna's tone before they burst out laughing at the same time. The sound of her own laughter is almost foreign to her ears, and she can't quite remember the last time she's felt like this—so light and carefree, despite knowing she only has a few hours until she has to be in class.
Nothing could have prepared her for what it would be like to find her mate. She used to roll her eyes whenever she came across a news article or fluff piece about a fae finally finding their other half. That would never happen to me, she promised herself when she saw how lovestruck, how completely gone they were. But now she's one of them, and how could she not be?
Even when Anna objectively looks like...well, like she just fought twenty zombies, Elsa barely notices the dirt, grime, and blood anymore. All she sees are those beautiful eyes, the playful quirk of her lips, and the easy, confident way she holds herself.
"So what about you?" Anna says once her laughter subsides, "What brought you here this time of night?"
Elsa squirms and stares down at her shorts. "It was nothing so exciting, I assure you. I just...forgot to do laundry." She subtly tries to cover the coffee stain near her thigh, hoping Anna hasn't already noticed it.
She glances back up in time to see Anna nod knowingly. "School can do that to you. Are you a senior too?"
"First year grad student," Elsa breathes, too relieved in knowing Anna isn't a freshman to control her voice.
"Oh yeah?" Anna's eyes light up with interest. "What are you studying?"
Elsa turns towards Anna a bit more. "Conservation politics for endangered magical species. So many of them are still hunted for their various properties without consideration for the animals themselves. It's something so many people—humans, fae, everyone—would rather ignore than fix. I would like to be an advocate for those species, make sure they don't become extinct because their horns or hearts are needed for superficial apothecary goods."
Anna hums in response, but she's looking past Elsa in quiet thought. Elsa bites at her lip, knowing how strongly she just came across. Hunters in general weren't known for their consideration of those they were hunting; it was said they were trained to answer their assignments with ruthless efficiency, not thought. From her research, Elsa had learned of the many organizations for which rogue hunters killed endangered species in exchange for hefty paychecks.
"You're right," Anna says after a few moments, pulling her gaze back to Elsa, "everyone is so focused on maintaining relations between Level Ones that other creatures get cast aside. And it's a tricky thing; humans don't want to tell trolls not to use endangered plants, because that could mean humans are told to stop poaching phoenixes. So everyone just self-governs, which really means nothing changes."
Elsa smiles brightly, and the sight seems to catch Anna off-guard—she flashes a quick smile of her own and her cheeks take on a light pink hue. "Exactly!" Elsa says excitedly, "Those are the kinds of issues I would like to help solve at some point. But for now it's just grading papers and taking classes." Repressing the urge to continue what she could easily talk about until dawn, she shifts the topic slightly. "So what have you been studying?"
"Zoology," Anna answers, shoulders slumping a little. "It's the expected major for professional hunters, but…I honestly don't want to keep hunting past graduation," she confesses, mouth twisting unhappily.
"Why is that?" Elsa asks, genuinely surprised. Professional hunting is almost considered a rock star career and Anna's parents were among the most famous hunters in the province.
"It's just…" Anna tugs at the hem of her flannel, frowning when her hand comes across a fresh bloodstain, "I don't care for it, to be honest. I mean yeah, I'm really good at it, but that doesn't mean I like it. I've been thinking lately that I might make a good medic, or maybe a nurse. Someone who is familiar with a hunter's injuries and can heal them when they're unlucky enough not to be near an ice fae," she smiles wryly at Elsa before abruptly sighing. "Sorry, I know that's a weird thing to unload on a stranger. And I probably sound really whiny."
"You don't!" Elsa is quick to assure her, reaching out to put a comforting hand on Anna's knee before she can think better of it. The skin is warm under her palm, muscles tensing under her fingers.
But Anna isn't convinced. "No, I do!" she nearly groans in realization, "I sound like every spoiled kid who complains about being good at something. It's horrible."
"If it's so horrible…" Elsa starts, encouraged that Anna is talking so openly with her already, "maybe you could make it up to me?"
Anna raises an eyebrow with wary curiosity. "What do you mean?"
Elsa takes a deep breath to make sure she's really doing this. "Maybe we could get a drink sometime?" she finally asks, the words coming out more timidly than she had hoped, "Perhaps some coffee?"
Anna stares at her for what feels like a whole minute, completely blindsided. Her mouth has dropped open slightly and those bright eyes have gotten bigger. Right when Elsa fears she's made a horrible mistake, Anna stirs. "You mean...like a date?"
Elsa's on shaky ground now; even if the hunter in front of her—her hunter—was interested in females, there was no guarantee she'd be interested in dating a non-human. That's the real danger of having a human soulmate; there's no way to know if the bond will be reciprocated, and the effects of a broken heart for a fae can be painful enough to die from.
But Elsa tries to ignore that. Tries because Anna is still staring at her with what seems like interest now instead of confusion. "Y-yes," she breathes, and the strangest combination of stark relief and horrible anxiety course through her with that answer, "like a date."
Anna's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline and she grins. But the grin is quickly stifled, and she purses her lips instead. "Now I owe Kristoff twenty bucks."
Elsa's heart sinks. Did the hunters have some kind of bet involving her? Is that what they were talking about right before Kristoff left?
Anna must see the hurt starting to spread across her face. "No!" she frantically shakes her head. "I didn't mean that in a shitty way! Kristoff just thought...well he thought that you were…" the tips of Anna's ears turn pink and she averts her eyes, "checking me out earlier. I mean, when we were changing. I told him he was being an idiot, because someone like you definitely wouldn't be interested in me. I mean you're like, Hollywood gorgeous and I'm—"
"Beautiful," Elsa murmurs. She can't even feel bad for saying the word because of how goddamn true it is.
"I—I'm not," Anna sputters, gesturing to her general state. "I'm covered in blood and guts. That's the last thing I am."
Elsa stay quiet, letting the silence of her disagreement stretch between them.
Anna shifts, uncomfortable with the lack of response. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and she stands after a pause. "This doesn't make sense to me," she says, not looking at Elsa.
"What doesn't?" Elsa asks, trying not to let any desperateness seep into her voice. This is the only thing that makes sense to her right now—both of them here, at this moment—and so she doesn't understand where Anna's confusion is coming from.
"Earlier, you…" Anna frowns, eyebrows drawing together, "you said you were an ice fae, right?"
Elsa closes her eyes. So it's going to come down to this after all, is it? She would never take back being a creature of ice and snow, of healing and light. But that doesn't stop the pain from blooming in her chest at Anna's response. "Yes, I'm fae," she says quietly, proudly. She won't apologize for what she is, not even to Anna.
Anna sighs, already knowing that would be the answer. "It's just…I don't know much about ice fae," she admits. "But I know you have mates and I...I'd feel like I would get in the way of that. You just asked for one date, I know that, but if it becomes more than that...you'd just be playing a waiting game, right? And no one blames fae for that," she adds quickly, realizing how that sounds, "It's part of who you are, but I don't want to be a benchwarmer. I've been there before and I can't do it again."
She clamps her mouth shut, still not looking at Elsa. All the energy she had earlier has evaporated, leaving behind an exhausted and vulnerable girl.
The instinct to heal her again nearly bowls Elsa over, but she can't fix these kinds of injuries, not the same way she fixed Anna's nose and back. She's just as human as Anna when it comes to handling someone's emotional pain.
But there's a sense of calm under that instinct because maybe she might just be able to give Anna an answer she wants to hear. "You wouldn't be a benchwarmer," she says softly, almost to herself.
Anna finally looks up at her, eyes made impossibly teal by the white light of the laundromat and the dark blood still on her face. "What does that mean?" The words are equally faint, and she tilts her head endearingly.
But then the realization of Elsa's words—and the weight of their true meaning—has Anna reeling and she takes a couple steps backwards until she bumps into a dryer. The dazed, slightly off expression is the same as when Elsa healed her earlier; a comparison that would be amusing at any other point in time. Now it just adds to the anxiety building in her chest as she waits for Anna to say something.
"Wait, am I…" Anna swallows hard, shaking her head against the possibility even as she speaks again, "Am I your—"
The laundromat's door swings open violently, slamming against the wall with a loud crack. Anna and Elsa both jump, and Elsa turns to see Kristoff storming in, spots of angry red on his cheeks and snowflakes melting against his beanie.
He cuts between them, outstretching a gloved hand to Anna. "We need to go," he says without any sort of explanation. Panic is lurking at the edges of his eyes, so at odds with the playful demeanor he had earlier.
Anna stares at him like he's grown another head. "But...what about our clothes? And—" she starts to gesture at Else when Kristoff cuts her off.
"They can wait!" he nearly yells in exasperation, causing Anna to flinch in surprise. "I put fresh clothes and boots in the car so you can change on the way to the hospital."
Anna's mouth drops open and she immediately pushes away from the dryer. "Who is it?"
A pang goes through Elsa when she hears the sheer worry in her voice, and she senses this is far from the first time Anna's asked that question. She grips her arms tightly, willing herself not to get between the two hunters and comfort Anna.
Kristoff takes a step closer, lowering his voice. "Something happened to Hiccup and it…" he casts a sharp look at the floor. "It sounds pretty bad."
"Hiccup," Anna echoes, swaying slightly. "Is he in stable condition?"
"For now. He just went into surgery." Kristoff's jaw tenses, but that doesn't stop his lips from trembling. "We would have known sooner if I hadn't been sleeping. I took the pager with me and I just didn't hear it. I'm sorry Anna—"
Anna reaches up and puts a hand against the back of his neck. "You didn't do anything wrong. The page wasn't a call for backup, was it?" When Kristoff feebly shakes his head, she continues, "Then it was an update on his situation, a situation that happened who knows how long ago. We wouldn't have been able to help him even if you had been awake. All we can do now is be there for him, right?"
Kristoff doesn't reply, but he seems more grounded now. Anna moves her hold to his upper arm and starts to guide him out of the laundromat. As she reaches for the door, she hesitates and turns back to look at Elsa.
The calm disposition she had put up for Kristoff slips, and Elsa can see the fear as plain as day. Anna bites her lip, caught between the condition of her friends and the confession Elsa just dropped in her lap.
For a moment, it looks like she chooses Elsa. For a breath, it seems like she'll stay.
But then Anna tears her gaze away from her and pushes the door open, guiding Kristoff into the night and leaving her alone in the laundromat once more.
Five days later
Elsa stares blankly at the test in front of her, not really looking at the answers her student had scrawled down. She can't focus, not even on the simple task of grading papers.
She hasn't been able to since the night she saw Anna for both the first and last time, since she was cast aside right after she practically told Anna that she was Elsa's mate.
And the thing is, Elsa can't even blame Anna for making that choice. Here was this stranger who said they had some sort of mystic bond with her that most humans can't comprehend, and then there was one of Anna's friends in the hospital, getting prepped for some kind of surgery. It certainly didn't seem like an easy choice for Anna to make, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
Giving up on grading for the time being, she flicks her pen to the side, watching as it slowly rolls towards the edge of the desk and topples off completely.
Elsa puts her elbows on the desk and lays her head down on top of them. She still has at least another fifteen minutes until her office hours are up and she can't bear to sit here any longer. This has quite possibly been the worst Monday of her life and she just wants it to be over already.
Elsa had stayed an additional two hours at the laundromat that night to see if the hunters were coming back for their clothes, but there was no sign of either of them. Dejected and shaky with exhaustion, she had gone home and thought of the various ways she could contact Anna.
Facebook seemed like the obvious answer, but it made her strangely uncomfortable when she found Anna's profile, showing the woman smiling broadly next to the bronze statue of their school's mascot. What am I supposed to say to her over a stupid Facebook message? She cursed herself for not giving Anna her phone number when she had the chance.
Apart from wandering the campus like a ghost on the off-chance of bumping into Anna, Elsa didn't know what else to do. So she turned even more inwards than usual; playing mopey songs loud enough for her neighbor to bang repeatedly on her wall, eating almost nothing but chocolate and baked goods, and snapping at students whenever they were texting or talking during her lecture.
She's actually about to snap again when she hears a timid knock on the door before it's pushed open without warning. The reproach dies on her lips when she looks up and sees Anna standing before her.
Elsa quickly straightens up, pushing loose strands of hair away from her face and smoothing the front of her shirt. She wants to say something—she really does—but she's just as starstruck as she was in the laundromat, and can't help but stare once more.
Anna's so much cleaner now, her hair vibrant and plaited into two braids underneath a dark blue beanie. Snow flakes melt on her black utility jacket and underneath is a faded shirt with a Young Frankenstein poster emblazoned across it. Her cheeks and nose are pink from the cold weather.
And more importantly, Anna is here. She sought Elsa out with no prompting and of her own volition. The thought warms Elsa to the core.
"So, I umm…" Anna starts, and Elsa snaps out of her daze to realize the other woman is blushing furiously because of her blatant staring. "I never paid you back for those quarters."
Silence stretches out between them while Elsa tries to process that statement.
Anna grimaces, looking appalled at herself. "Wow, I was trying to be funny but that was actually horrible. Please forget I said that."
Elsa smiles timidly, relieved Anna's not just here to return a few quarters. "How did you find me?"
"Oh," Anna seems surprised that she's being left off the hook so easily. Jerking her thumb at the door, she replies, "You said you were a grad student studying conservation politics, so I looked up the department and found your name and office hours. I hope that's not weird."
"It's not!" Elsa says quickly. "I'm...I'm really glad you're here."
Anna's head dips down and she's at a momentary loss for words. Elsa waits for her to speak, for Anna to tell her why she's standing in the middle of her office.
Anna takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, looking back up to lock eyes with Elsa. "I didn't want to leave the laundromat that night, but Hiccup…Kristoff wasn't lying—he really was in bad shape, and he...he lost part of his leg," she blinks hard, the pain in her eyes clear from across the room. She visibly fights against it, tamping it down. "We stayed with him for the rest of the night and almost all of the next day."
Anna crosses the room and stops when she's just short of Elsa's desk. She hesitates, looking like she wants to sit down before deciding against it. Smiling awkwardly at the pause in her explanation, she continues, "After that...I looked up all I could about ice fae, about your lives and magic...and soulmates. There was so much I didn't know—so much I still don't know—but I didn't want to come here completely ignorant of what it would mean to be...yours."
A delightful shiver spreads down Elsa's spine at that word coming from Anna's mouth. So Anna hadn't forgotten about her—she had been doing the exact opposite; researching and learning about the bond they now shared.
This woman….Elsa doesn't know what she's ever done to deserve someone like her. It's why she feels obligated to tell her, "This bond...it doesn't have to always be romantic in nature."
Of course Elsa wouldn't mind at all if that's where the bond takes them. Hell, she still can't stop staring at Anna like she's the only source of water in a desert wasteland.
Anna quirks her lips in thought, straying a little closer to Elsa's side of the desk. Elsa now has to tilt her head up quite a bit to look at her properly, and the position makes her feel all the more vulnerable.
"I read that too," Anna says after a moment of consideration. "But I've been thinking and I'd like to get some coffee together and talk some more, like you suggested. Would that still be okay?"
Elsa's heart leaps into her throat, and it must show on her face. "'Okay'? That's...that would be wonderful."
"Then it's a date," Anna says, and her smile is as warm and beautiful as sunrise after a terrible storm.