Not a lot to say here... just my eternal Thank you to all of you who keep sending your love my way. It means more than any of you can imagine. Also, I want to give a very special shout out to gracepago0314. Her art has brought to life this story in ways that only she's been able to convey and I could not be more grateful for that.
Also #2, there are two songs that resonated with me throughout this chapter: Wonderwall by Oasis and London Thunder by Foals (in that order). Check them out if you're interested :)
Anyway I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think! Stay safe!
"Okay okay okay my turn... I spy with my little eye something... red."
"Is it a double-decker again?"
"...No."
"It is a double-decker, isn't it?"
"Okay fine. I spy with my little eye something fuchsia."
"Fuchsia?"
She nods frantically. "Or pink, I guess. I understand not all of us are well educated when it comes to color palettes."
Elsa glares at the girl hunched up with her chin hidden by the soft fabric of her blue scarf before taking a look around.
"Is it those lady's sneakers?"
Anna throws her head back with a groan. "How did you know?"
"I don't see anything more obnoxiously pink than those shoes around here," she says, lowly enough that the woman in question doesn't hear her despite being almost on the other side of the street. "And by the way that's not fuchsia. It's magenta."
Her girlfriend whips her head around and with the hand that isn't holding a cup of hot chocolate she pushes Elsa's beanie down to cover her eyes.
"Rude," Anna mumbles, but Elsa doesn't need to see in order to tell there is a smile playing on her lips.
They are sitting on the stairs of Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain, right in the middle of a peaceful Piccadilly. It is early, and a Monday. The crowd that would otherwise fill this place up to an overwhelming capacity—in Elsa's already low standards—has yet to make an appearance. Of course, by crowd she means tourists, and by appearance she means the incoming flow of people from all over the globe with the intention of scratching another landmark off their list. All of them with cameras in hand; all of them with a map sticking out of the back pocket of their pants that may or may not get lost at some point because who puts anything in there without kissing it goodbye?
Nobody. That's the answer.
"It's your turn."
"Okay," she drawls, looking around as she continues to savor her own hot chocolate. "I spy with my little eye something green."
"Is it that truck?"
"Nope."
"Dammit."
Technically speaking, Elsa should be on her way to the institute right now, but she is not. She'd decided to skip that same morning. Early enough that she could still get ready and be perfectly on time, and early enough for Anna to still be fast asleep with an arm thrown over Elsa's torso and her mouth threatening to drool on the pillow. She had texted Sasha a response to his last message (Just say the word. I got everything under control) which really just made her feel like she was giving him the permission to do something illegal. And it might as well have been with how she felt after asking him if he would be okay with handling things alone.
An odd feeling that one—to be breaking the rules. Awfully exhilarating and madly rebellious. Elsa has never skipped on her duties unless it's been absolutely necessary, but how could it not be necessary when Anna has traveled all the way from New York to see her? When she is sprawled in bed with her baby snores and her mane of a hair, and Elsa can't feel anything less than an insurmountable amount of affection along with the desire to spend at least one more day like this.
"Is it that thing on the trashcan?"
"Nowhere near close."
"I swear to God—"
Anna groans some more, crosses her arms and pouts. She scans the space before them and so does Elsa while she tries to suppress the laugh that's threatening to burst out. She may have cheated a little. She may have spotted a green ice cream stand behind them when she mindlessly looked back a few moments ago, but she plays along because Anna seems determined to find the one green thing that Elsa sees.
Strangers—mostly commuters from the sober, uninterested looks of it—pass them by and Elsa watches her girlfriend begin to follow them with her gaze. Somewhere near the fountain, a musician has set up with an acoustic guitar in his arms and its open case by his feet. He begins to play soon afterwards; the first few chords slowly weaving through the air as mellow as morning itself. Anna is quietly taking things in and if Elsa were to take a guess, she would accurately predict that the girl has been distracted by their surroundings and forgotten about the green.
"I like this place," Anna says offhandedly, her fingers fidgeting with the cardboard sleeve of her cup. "It reminds me of Times Square but the buildings are more historical and prettier, and you don't have people chasing after you in Elmo costumes or some random dude offering you coke in the middle of the afternoon."
Elsa stares at her. "You've been offered coke in Times Square? What kind of corners do you hang out on?"
She shrugs and takes the last few sips of hot cocoa. "He did it in front of the Disney shop, mind you."
Nearly another hour goes by. The man continues to play song after song, thanking the empty space through which many strangers pass and few spare him a glance. Some toss a few coins; one or two drop bills inside his guitar case. None of them stop to listen. Above them, gray clouds disperse and thin out, never quite revealing the blue morning sky.
Later on, Anna spots the green ice cream stand (she'd given up on that one) when she goes to throw away their empty cups and comes back to give Elsa a death stare.
"I didn't know you had eyes on the back of your neck," she deadpans.
They soon stand up to leave, but it isn't until Elsa has dropped a fiver in the musician's case and given him a smile which he responds to with a noble nod that they make their slow way out of Piccadilly.
She spends the rest of the morning trying to make it up to her even if she knows Anna isn't angry. Not quite at least. Not with the way she's pouting in an attempt to hide her smile and looking away when both can tell she's on the verge of laughing. But Elsa tries anyway because she has the excuse—not that she needs it—to shower her with love while Anna welcomes it even if she doesn't want to admit it. She tilts her head when she knows Elsa is about to drop a kiss on her cheek and conceals a sigh every time the blonde lifts their intertwined hands up to her lips. Because while it is true that Elsa has never been the type to be overtly affectionate in public, it is also true that she is still not over the fact that Anna is right here with her, in person, currently running like a madwoman towards the Chinatown Gate.
They (Anna) convince someone to take a picture of them standing below the gate, and it isn't until Elsa takes a look at the photo that she sees the expression of pure delight in Anna's face.
"I thought you were mad," she teases lightly.
"You know I don't have that kind of patience."
Elsa takes her hand and pulls her in for a smothering hug. "And here I thought it was because of my undying love for you."
"That may have helped," Anna mumbles against her chest, "But only a little."
"I'll settle for a little since you can't admit you were never mad in the first place."
Anna pulls away from the embrace with narrowed eyes. "Don't test me," she states before pecking Elsa's lips and pulling her by the hand. "Come on I wanna see if there are shady stores like the ones in Canal Street. Maybe we can buy a Gucci purse for ten pounds."
A while is spent browsing the shelves of exotic spices even though they don't buy any. They stop by a cake shop to try out fluffy pineapple buns and a fish-shaped waffle filled with custard that Anna may or may not have had a hard time eating because it was too cute to kill (bite). The shady stores are nowhere to be found. They would know because Anna specifically asked about them.
The colorful streets of Chinatown soon wane and give way to West End's theater district—or the Brit Broadway, according to Anna. They walk with no real destination in mind, passing by the National Gallery and stopping by Trafalgar Square to take a break. Nowhere along the way does Elsa really stop to think about the consequences of missing work today and she's not sure if that's good or bad. She is too distracted by the way Anna is leading the tour even though she has no clue as to where they're going (she lost the map she had tucked inside the back pocket of her jeans) and has chosen not to check her phone like most civilized people would. But Elsa doesn't really mind. She sort of knows her way around after living in London for a few months and besides, what's the worst thing that could happen?
"I'm pretty sure this isn't south, Anna."
"Yes it is. My pinky says it is."
"That's... okay."
She gives up. If they get lost they can just do what everyone else does when they get lost. And they probably will because Elsa is close to a hundred percent sure you can't tell which way you're going by the direction of the wind alone. Or some might. But that is not Elsa. Or Anna for that matter.
Not too long afterwards, when the redhead has cracked up enough to admit that she has no idea what she's doing, Elsa pulls out her phone to check directions. She decides to take Anna to her favorite coffee shop: A quaint spot, hidden in a basement setting.
Lusciously green plants hang from the windows above while the shop's front is framed by bushes of roses whose aroma can be smelled from the moment one goes down the stairs to the moment one reaches the front door. Inside, Anna's mouth goes agape. "Okay this place is much bigger than I expected," she mumbles as she scans the space. All around tables are scattered, many of which are occupied by people submerged in the bright screens of their computers. To the left sits the barista station and to the right sits a black upright piano that Elsa has never seen be used. There is also a bookshelf standing on the farthest corner where people trade books. It is this which Anna goes to check after they've placed their orders.
Meanwhile Elsa finds a table nearby, takes a seat and turns around in her chair to watch her do so. There is a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips that she doesn't feel the need to suppress. Anna is engrossed in the books, her fingers trailing down spine after spine, lingering on a few that catch her eye. The sight pulls Elsa back to the time their relationship was barely starting to blossom. Back to the days Anna used to work at the bookstore, and to the first time Elsa paid a visit because she could not get the girl out of her head. She chuckles lightly at that—how bold she'd felt carrying a box of chocolate cake and showing up unannounced. Surely she has done braver and bolder things than that? Surely, she thinks, her life hasn't been ruled by second thoughts.
"I wish I had a book to trade," Anna says when she approaches the table.
Elsa smiles at her and in a second she is brought back to the night they met. She had been brave that night. Brave enough to start a conversation; to not think twice about approaching the girl who'd caught her eye and never left her heart.
And look where that got her?
"We have the rest of the week to come back," she says.
Anna beams. "That is a jolly good plan."
They eat without rush and linger for a while afterwards, and Elsa thinks, not for the first time, that hours slip out of her hands whenever she is with Anna. It becomes a second thought, like a notion that falls to the back of her mind and doesn't return to the forefront until she takes a look at the time again. It has always been like this, since the very first night they met. Elsa could spend hours by her side and still feel like it's not enough.
After leaving the coffee shop they make their slow way south—this time with the actual help of a phone's map. They head to the London Eye with a few stops in between because Anna likes to check out the souvenir shops and Elsa likes to take pictures of her any chance she gets. They find a red telephone box along the way and spend more time inside than is necessary—"This is so cool," Anna gushes, "Why can't we have nice phone booths like these in New York?"—, and crossing the Westminster Bridge also takes them a while because... Well, there is no real excuse. They were just slow.
They make it in time for the last ride of the day and it isn't until they get in line that Anna pulls out her phone. She is distracted briefly, albeit immediately, and while Elsa chooses not to glance at the screen, there is a keen intuition already telling her who's on the other side of that conversation.
"Sorry," Anna says, putting her phone down but not away just yet. "Hans. He's asking about some papers."
Elsa nods mutely, forces a smile and looks away. What had Rapunzel called him once?
Another text comes and Anna goes to check it. The chuckle draws Elsa's attention but her mouth is suddenly too dry for her to ask anything.
"He's just asking about London," Anna tells her, as if she's read the question in her eyes. "He's suggesting the London Eye but I told him we called dibs on it already."
"Right," Elsa says. A smile. Give her a smile.
When the line starts to move and they near the capsule they're about to get on, Anna finally puts her phone away.
Clingy, Elsa thinks just as they begin to board. Clingy was the word her cousin had used.
She forces the thought out of her mind, putting it away the same way Anna has done with her phone; no intention of pulling it back out any time soon.
They shorten the distance between themselves and the farthest side of the capsule, with Anna mumbling something about spaceships and how they were probably about to enter a fourth dimension before having their memories obliterated for safety purposes. "All of this for fifteen pounds, who would have thought?"
Elsa is pretty sure the kid who's joined his parents on this trip is about to question his entire existence because he's looking at Anna like she's just enlightened him by accident.
She reaches the edge first and beckons Anna over with an extended hand. She's genuinely smiling at this point. It's inevitable; Anna doesn't even have to try.
"I'd been thinking about riding this thing since you told me you were coming to London," Anna says lowly.
"Does that mean you were secretly planning to come all along?"
"No," she giggles, "You know I don't work that way. I wanted to come all along."
They're standing closely together, surrounded by at least fifteen more people in the large capsule-like space. It is not a setting that screams intimacy but somehow, with the way Anna is leaning into Elsa's side and has her arm loosely wrapped around her hips, they might as well be the only ones there.
The ascending is slow. So slow, in fact, that it never fully stops for people to step in and out of the ride. Yet, neither of them is impatient to get to the top.
"Do you ever see yourself living here?" Anna suddenly asks. "Or anywhere else that isn't New York?"
Elsa considers this for a few seconds before slowly shaking her head. "New York feels very fitting at the moment."
"Why?"
The wheel is turning slowly but Elsa is already beginning to have a clear view of the skyline. Down below, the muddy Thames moves in ripples caused by the wind. Next to her, Anna is watching her with inquiring eyes.
"You would think that someone like me would want to live isolated from the world," she says nonchalantly.
"Not really."
Elsa smiles although she doesn't know why. At the first full sight of the Big Ben she raises her hand and points at it so that Anna can see it. "The city is stuffy and overwhelming sometimes," she tells her, "And on a good day I still feel like screaming because of the sheer amount of people that can fit inside the train. But somehow I'm still comfortable living there."
"So you wouldn't like to live in a cottage somewhere with a beautiful garden, five dogs and me?"
She laughs. "I'd live in a cave if it were with you."
Anna smiles before resting her chin on Elsa's shoulder and falling silent as the wheel continues its steady rotation. Amidst clouds, the sky is slowly changing its hues. As they begin to reach the top of the wheel, softened blues begin to fade into bright oranges that kiss the landscape of London's skyline. Sunset is upon them, and they're both welcoming it in each other's arms.
Until Anna breaks the spell.
"Is that..." She narrows her eyes, leaning in so close that Elsa thinks she's going to bump her nose into the glass. "Yes, it's the cucumber."
Elsa has to strain her eyes but even then it has to be pointed out to her: The Gherkin. Her girlfriend is pointing at The Gherkin.
"That doesn't look like a cucumber, Anna."
"Well it looks more like a vibrator but I can't exactly say that out loud, can I?"
She grins. "You just did."
Anna stares at her before she bursts into a fit of giggles that soon becomes unrestricted laughter. It is contagious, and it is hard to keep a straight face at the sight of her doubling over with a hand on her stomach. Her abs, she keeps saying, they hurt. But Elsa can't help her because every time they make eye contact she giggles, Anna snorts, and it begins all over again.
Several moments later, Elsa recovers enough to see that the sun is close to meeting the horizon and she pulls Anna's attention away from wiping the tears off her eyes.
A few people draw closer to them in order to snap a picture, driving Elsa to place herself behind the shorter girl. She hugs her tightly and smiles when Anna reciprocates by squeezing her forearms with affection. The Enlightened Kid stands somewhere next to them, and Elsa catches his curious eyes for a second. She wonders for how long the notion of two people loving each other like this will be a foreign concept to him. If it is, at all.
"You know what makes me really happy?" She says after a while; when the sun has kissed the horizon and the kid has moved on to newer, more curious things than two women in love.
"What?"
Her lips brush against the shell of Anna's ear before she says: "Being in love with my best friend."
Anna ducks away with a giggle when the blonde's breath hits her neck. "You're my best friend too," she says, "Just don't tell Kristoff cause he'll get butthurt."
"So did you guys get to explore a lot?"
"Yes."
"Did you go to the London Eye already?"
"We did."
"Did you get to see the sunset? Was it romantic? I need details, Elsa."
She chuckles. "I'm trying to focus, Sasha."
Elsa wasn't able to miss a third day. Not because she didn't want to, or even because she was incapable of mustering the rebellious courage required to skip her daily duties and pretend like she still had a really bad stomachache, but because Anna had insisted that she should not go against her own nature. She'd be fine exploring London by herself, she'd said, which led to Elsa being stuck here, scanning sheets of data and interview results that she could not focus on because she kept thinking about Anna and her shenanigans, and because Sasha kept refusing to cooperate.
"Did you go over the cholesterol levels from last week's interviews?"
A hum. "We should hang out again," Sasha then muses, "Some people are gonna go to a bar Friday night. You wanna come?"
From the corner of her eye she can see him spinning around on a black stool that's a little too small for him. He looks too comical on it; too large with his bony legs sticking out.
"What is it with you people hanging out at pubs only?"
"It's not exactly the best weather for a picnic. Where else are we gonna go?"
"I don't know? A museum?"
Sasha snorts, finally drawing Elsa's attention away from the papers. He's trying really hard not to smile. "Okay, honey. Next time we'll do a field trip to the museum."
Elsa throws the pen's cap at him. "Focus."
"Fine." He places his feet down on the floor and walks the stool to where Elsa is sitting at the desk. Child, she thinks, a six-foot tall child is what I'm dealing with.
"For what it's worth," he continues, "I promise we won't hang out exclusively at bars when we go back to New York."
She turns to him, bemused.
"What? Did you think you'd be getting rid of me once we're back? That this was just a London fling?"
"No," she responds, holding a smile back. She knows she shouldn't be this giddy to know that the friendship they have formed in London can and will be carried back to New York. She is almost twenty-five years old for God's sake, many people her age have heaps of friends at a phone's reach. "If I agree to tell Anna about the bar will you focus on this?"
In his smile is the answer.
After five more hours of cardiovascular structures and critical analysis Elsa feels like she could sprint out of the room and rush down the stairs to reach the entrance by which Anna has been waiting for exactly thirteen minutes.
Before reaching the main doors with Sasha by her side, Elsa catches sight of her girlfriend standing outside and facing away. She is in the middle of a phone conversation, and from the moment Elsa sees her to the moment they're close enough for Anna to notice them, she feels the bitter weight of apprehension pressing down on her chest. It is brief, almost capricious. It washes over her nearly as fast as she urges it to go away.
She watches her friend squeeze Anna's shoulder and wave at the two of them goodbye. He mouths the word bar as he goes, and Elsa feels like rolling her eyes.
Facing Anna again, she stands by quietly. She can tell the girl is trying to end the conversation—can see the apology in the smile she gives her and can sense it even in the way she reaches for her hand and squeezes. A beat passes and Elsa has to take a deep breath. She feels stupid for having felt this way—stupid and insecure. She knows who the person on the other side of the line is, but it really shouldn't matter in the first place.
"I'm sorry," Anna says after hanging up, her arms instinctively wrapping themselves around Elsa's neck. "Hans was just going over a few things with me."
"It's okay," she breathes, and means it. Deep down she knows she means it.
Anna pulls back: "Everything okay?"
"Yes, baby," she says. It comes out faster than it probably should have but she's choosing not to give herself enough time for second thoughts.
"Are you sure?"
Elsa smiles; her own attempt at relaxing. There is nothing wrong with a phone call.
"Yes, I'm sure," she insists, "What were you up to today?"
Anna drops her arms from where they'd been resting on Elsa's shoulders before she reaches for her hand and guides her away from the doors. "I went to the coffee shop again because I wanted to trade a book," she starts, "But then I realized that the one I brought is from the public library so I can't exactly leave it here. Then I went for a long walk and ended up at King's Cross which really is just a railway station—oh and I bought a postcard for Theo. We can write something on it and send it to her."
There is an idea that really makes her smile. "I'm sure she'll love that."
Elsa forces herself to come back to the present, away from unreasonable thoughts and impulsive emotions. She has no reason to feel this way about something as trivial as Anna's boss checking in with her on a weekday. It is irrational; downright ridiculous, and she knows that she must get a grip before doing or saying something that could hurt Anna. So she focus instead on the sound of her girlfriend's voice, on how she didn't lose the map this time, and how she'd considered taking a train to Paris but didn't because Elsa wasn't with her. And as Anna goes on and on about her day and Elsa becomes both their eyes (because Anna can't talk animatedly and walk without the risk of tripping on something), she begins to think that as long as it doesn't bother Anna, it should not be bothering her.
It becomes her mantra.
They spend the next few days as though untouched and unmoved by the outside world. They scratch every landmark off Anna's napkin-list. They eat some of Elsa's favorite biscuits (with tea): the custard cream ones and the Jaffa Cakes. They spend a rainy afternoon in Hyde Park, sharing an umbrella as they stroll amongst the oranges and browns of fall's foliage. They send pictures to everyone, and spend Thanksgiving night at the hotel with a feast set up on the room's floor and British rom-coms playing in the background. Through it all, Hans becomes an afterthought but every time Elsa sees his name pop up on the screen of Anna's phone he is pushed to the forefront.
Is it normal to feel an inkling of dislike towards someone you've never met? Towards someone you've never even conversed with? Elsa goes through these questions time and again, and the answer is always the same.
Friday evening comes along with heavy, darkened clouds. The girls make it to the bar earlier than Anna would have arrived had she been by herself and later than Elsa is accustomed to. It is the Gin Club again tonight, which Elsa has nothing against except that the gin they served her here was disturbingly strong. The vintage signs plastered on its walls are a familiar sight. Its ambiance, even its music; she can recognize it all because she was here nearly three weeks ago.
From where they stand by the door, Elsa spots a few of her colleagues by the corner of the bar. They are deeply involved in a conversation. However, she doesn't take a single step forward.
Sensing her hesitation, Anna pulls her to the side. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not sure how to do this," she mumbles, "I'm not very close to any of them and I'm scared I'm going to make things awkward if we just show up right now."
The redhead glances back and for a moment Elsa is hit with the childish desire to duck behind her. "We don't have to go say hi if you don't want to," Anna says.
"But I'd like them to meet you."
A smile, small and full of love. "I'll help you then. We can say hi, then order some drinks and wait for Sasha."
Below the bustling sounds of the pub, Elsa greets her colleagues before introducing them to her girlfriend. They are all polite—friendly even, and Anna has no problem speaking above the noise and greeting them all back while Elsa watches her do so with a small sense of pride filling her up from the inside.
Elsa's eyes never leave her as she attempts to strike up a conversation but upon entering a group of pre-established friendships one often feels like an outsider, and neither Anna nor Elsa are able to settle in for too long. Unfortunately, it doesn't come as a surprise. None of them has shown much interest in getting to know her. According to Sasha she has been pinned as the shiest of the group and ever since finding this out it has hung over her head whenever she's around them. It's a tag they've attached to her back; one that is a little too late to remove.
This is what she tells Anna after they've stepped away with the easy excuse of ordering drinks. She does it quietly and with a hint of self-consciousness, because compared to her Elsa feels like she holds no candle. But Anna sees none of that—she never has—and she lets this be known by dropping a kiss on her cheek.
"It's their loss, baby," she whispers, and Elsa tries her best to believe it.
A girl with a purple pixie haircut and a smirk that could pass as flirtatious comes to take their orders. Elsa gets the same thing as last time while Anna goes for something called Plum and Apple Daisy, which earns her a curious look: "What? I like apple."
The taste of alcohol traveling down her throat is as sharp as she remembers it but, not wanting a repetition of last time, she begins with slow sips. Unwilling to return to the group for a second round of awkward pauses they stay by the bar, perched on high stools and elbows almost touching.
"I really don't wanna leave tomorrow," Anna says all of the sudden.
"You can stay here and we can go back together," Elsa suggests, "I can hide you under my bed."
She giggles behind her balloon glass, green apple slices floating and swirling in the pinkish liquid of the cocktail. "I'm not sure your roommate would appreciate that."
Elsa shrugs. "We can come to an arrangement—"
She's distracted by Anna's phone vibrating on the bar counter, its screen lighting up to display a name she is dreadfully familiar with by now. She watches the redhead check the incoming message before typing a quick reply and putting the phone back down. It isn't long before another text arrives, and this time Elsa can't keep her thoughts to herself.
"Didn't you say you had nothing scheduled this week?"
Anna glances at her phone. "We didn't."
"So why is he still..." She frowns and looks away. "Never mind."
"No, tell me," Anna says as she searches for her eyes. "I don't want you to keep it in."
This requires liquid courage, Elsa thinks in a flash, but that would mean chugging the drink. So instead she lifts up her gaze to find not a single trace of judgement.
"Do you—I mean... You don't think he texts you too much?"
"I hadn't really thought of that," Anna responds with a frown and she thinks that she might as well have chugged the gin because her stomach suddenly feels like it's turning upside down.
"Oh..."
"But maybe you're right," she adds, already grabbing her phone and putting it away. "I'm sorry. This is our last night together, we should be enjoying it without getting distracted by other people."
"But you should respond to that message. Maybe it's important."
"It's not," Anna says, and the way she shakes her head and her voice doesn't waver makes Elsa think of two things: That she means it, and that Hans is probably not texting her about work after all.
She tucks this notion away for another day—she has to, for her own sanity. Because thinking about this will get her nowhere good and because Anna is right. The last thing they need tonight is a distraction like that. So she accepts the hand that has moved across the surface of the bar to reach for her own and smiles when Anna's fingers intertwine with hers, reminding herself once again that this, right here, is what's important.
Half an hour later, when they're on their last sips and Elsa has nearly forgotten about the group of people who peg her too shy to have a conversation with, Sasha finally arrives. He beams as he walks directly towards them, sidestepping a few people on his way over and barely stopping by to greet the people from their group.
"You're late," the blonde comments as he reaches out to hug her.
"The sun rises when it's ready, Elsa."
Next to her, Anna snorts. "That's diva talk."
"You can call it that," he says, taking off his spectacles to wipe off the droplets of mist. "Or you can call it fashionably late."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"I don't even know," he laughs. He then sobers up enough to turn to Elsa and say, "I ran into Tracy outside."
A pause. "That's lovely," Anna says sarcastically.
Sasha brings a hand up to his chest. "Was I not supposed to bring her up?"
"I don't think it really matters," Elsa tells him. She turns to her girlfriend who shrugs with uncharacteristic indifference. It makes her want to reach out and ask for a reassurance she's in desperate need for. And it isn't just because Tracy is here and she doesn't want her presence to ruin their night—Elsa knows it isn't—, she knows it is because the thought of Hans keeps searing itself into her mind and she needs something to keep it at bay.
"So... drinks?" Sasha suggests.
That will do.
"Yes, please."
Two hours later: Elsa sits perched on the same stool. To the right of her, sits Anna. She is laughing at something Sasha has said; laughing so hard she snorts and holds onto Elsa's shoulder so that she doesn't fall off the stool in the process. Some cocktails have passed, the music has not stopped and the continuous clusters of conversations even less so. She's caught Tracy's eye from time to time, which has been as unsurprising as the girl not approaching them at all, although Elsa can't say she minds. She may not be actively holding onto any more animosity, but the bridge between where they stand and any sort of friendship feels large and unbreachable.
An hour later and the guy who Sasha met at the club in Piccadilly will arrive. He is shorter than him, with slick, black hair and a stylish gray coat over a broad chest. His voice is thickly laced with a Spaniard's accent even if he says he's from Italy, but Elsa knows nothing about accents and who is she to judge anyway? If he wants to be from Italy then so be it.
A hand flies across her line of sight.
Dazed, she turns to Anna. "What?"
"You're staring, sweetheart."
She blinks twice. "Sorry," she mumbles, and everyone laughs except that Elsa doesn't really know why.
The two drift off at some point, leaving the girls by themselves—delighted and tipsy. Only that Anna has pulled out her phone to take a few pictures and left it again on top of the bar, its screen facing up and tantalizing Elsa with an unopened message she has no reason behind wanting to read.
"I need bathroom," she mumbles. Because better than staring at the phone is not having it in front of her at all.
Everything is muffled once she reaches the bathroom's stall. Everything except for her thoughts. She pulls her phone out and stares at its screen. Maybe she can call Rapunzel right now and ask her why she thinks Hans is clingy. Or she can call Kristoff too and ask him why he doesn't like the guy, but as her eyes move up lazily to stare at the wall she realizes: nothing good can come out of that. So why does it still bother her? Why, all of the sudden, is this something she won't stop thinking about? (because he won't stop calling her and texting her, that's why). She rotates her neck slowly, but closing her eyes doesn't do anything to quieten her mind. It makes her feel dizzy.
And why is it that you never realize how much alcohol you've had until you hit the stall?
Elsa opens the door with a deep breath and goes through the motion of washing her hands without so much as another thought. She stares at herself in the mirror and finds glassy blue eyes staring back at her with troublesome detachment. As though she were her own enemy.
She leaves the bathroom not with the intention of talking to Anna about this. Although even if she were, her plans would have fled straight out of the window. Because someone is sitting on the stool she was once occupying, and that someone is Tracy.
Three steps in: she feels like throwing up and it isn't because of the gin. Four more steps and she catches a distress in Anna's expression that is hidden as soon as she sees her.
"What's going on?"
Unperturbed, Tracy turns to face her. "I was just getting a drink," she says, lifting up her glass as if to give a toast. "But I'll leave the two of you to enjoy the rest of your night."
With that, she shares one last look with Anna, gives her an imperceptible smile, and is gone.
A second later, Elsa steps closer. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Anna mutters, "Just... Tracy being Tracy. Weird and obnoxious."
She puts her phone away as she says this but Elsa barely registers it. Something doesn't sit well with her. Something about the way Anna's smile doesn't reach her eyes, or the way she is throwing her arms around Elsa's shoulders and holding on tight.
"Can we go now?" she whispers next to her ear, and the only thing Elsa can do is nod. Because she is suddenly exhausted and scared, and the only thing she really wants to do is to hold onto Anna and never let go.
"British Airways 1017 to New York City..."
It is hard finding a moment of privacy inside an international airport. There's people everywhere. Many are coming and going in a blur; some are loitering around the check-in area, double checking their passports, fixing their suitcases, saying goodbye to their loved ones.
Elsa doesn't want to be here. She doesn't want to see Anna go.
"Just twenty-three more days," Anna tells her, hugging her for the umpteenth time today. "And before you ask, yes I counted."
Elsa chuckles as she hugs her even closer. Her eyes are closed, tight and unforgiving of the tears that threaten to fall if she were to open them right now. Her nose looks for Anna's scent and her lips search for any patch of skin they can find. Her mind: it goes back to last night. They haven't talked about it. Elsa has asked but Anna has brushed it off, and what else is left for her to do other than accept her girlfriend's decision? If nothing has changed in Anna's demeanor perhaps it is best to leave it behind.
"Did you make sure to check the departure time?"
"Yup."
"And you're positive you didn't pack your passport in your check-in bag?"
"Yes," she drawls, "I'm not that reckless."
"Didn't it happen to you once?"
"Once."
Elsa feels like laughing but the only sound that comes out is a weak and airy chuckle. It is almost time for them to part.
"You'll text me once you get through customs?"
Anna nods weakly.
"And we'll see each other again soon, so it's okay."
A weary sigh. "Maybe I should just hide under your bed."
Elsa cradles her face in her palms and searches for the eyes that keep staring at the ground. When Anna finally looks at her, she leans in for a kiss. It is long enough that she can sear the taste of her lips into her memory until they see each other again; deep enough that they can convey exactly how they feel at the notion of parting.
Reluctantly, they let each other go. Anna tries to give her an encouraging smile and she does the same. Twenty-three days aren't so bad, she thinks as Anna gets in line at the passport check. The longest gap has already passed and they've just spent an incredible week together that nothing and no one can take away from them.
Anna offers her passport and her ticket to the officer, and she is let through. She turns around in order to give Elsa the thumbs up and the blonde reciprocates it with a wan expression.
What are twenty-three more days?
One last smile, a blown kiss, and Anna is gone.
Twelve days left.
Professor Park's office is located on the third floor of the Institute of Cardiovascular Science. It is smaller than the space Sasha and Elsa have occupied for almost five months, but big enough for a single person. It is also immaculate; as pristine as any doctor's consultation office should be, to the point that if there were an examination bed one could almost assume that Elsa was here for a yearly medical check up and not for a one-on-one chat that begins as soon as she sits down across from the professor.
"So we're close to the end," she says, "How are you feeling?"
"Very good," Elsa responds with honesty. "I'm still very grateful for this opportunity. Frankly, I don't think I would have learned as much if I hadn't accepted this offer."
"Are you satisfied with your own results?"
She pauses. "I believe so."
Park leans back against her chair. Whether she is happy with her answer or not, she doesn't let on. "I'll be going through all of your thesis as soon as we get back but I have no doubts in your capabilities, Elsa, and neither should you. That being said, I'm calling for individual meetings because I am curious as to what your opinions are on your own work. Was there anything you improved while being here? Or anything that you think you might have to work on moving forward?"
The question is not unexpected and yet she feels unprepared to answer it. How many people often feel like saying: I have nothing to improve but thank you for the question this has been a lovely meeting goodbye. And how many people actually say it? Most people stumble on their own words, they say something generic without really meaning to do anything to change it. Elsa knows she could do the same thing right now—shorten this conversation by about half an hour.
Except that she doesn't.
"I think I take it too personal," she says, "Some cases, I mean."
"What exactly is it about those cases that you take personal?"
The memory of Mrs. Davies floods her mind as the professor looks at her with both encouragement and curiosity. Elsa is starting to regret not going for the generic response. "They hit close to home," she mumbles.
"Has that affected your judgement?"
"I wouldn't say it affects my judgement more so than the fact that I carry it with me for a while."
The professor gives her a smile laced with understanding. "There is only so much we can take before feeling the weight of another person's life on our shoulders."
Elsa frowns. "But shouldn't there be a line? Between what we can allow ourselves to feel and what we should prevent ourselves from feeling?"
She looks at her with curiosity. "You know," she says, "When I was about your age, right at the beginning of my internal medicine program, I was called to the cardiac care unit for an emergency. It was a male patient, probably in his fifties. He had been admitted with a horrible chest pain that was treated and taken care of immediately." She stops for several seconds, her eyes intently focused on the desk between them. "A few hours later, we were paged back. The patient was writhing in pain this time, stroking his sternum up and down, desperate to get rid of the pressure."
"The resident I was working with told me to check his blood pressure. I remember calling out the number, and I remember him telling me to check the other arm. More people were arriving by then, I guess they were attracted by the commotion. So I wrapped the cuff around his right arm but when I let out the pressure, I heard nothing. Must be doing something wrong, I thought. I tried again and nothing, and I thought it must be all this noise. For a moment I wanted to ask Isaac to check the pressure himself but he was busy doing more important things. So I stepped to the side to give others access before I was pushed to the fringe."
The professor looks up to find Elsa intently listening. "The next morning, Isaac caught me before rounds. He told me that the patient had a tear from the abdominal aorta all the way back to the heart. The night resident had picked it up because he noticed a pulse deficit between both arms. There was no pressure on the right."
"You can't imagine the dread I felt," she tells her, "I knew about pulse deficits but in all that commotion I had somehow forgotten it. I'd felt scared; unprepared. I thought about saying something but by then there was nothing anyone else could have done. The patient died a few hours later."
In the silence that follows, Elsa doesn't know how to react. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
Park dismisses it weakly. "Don't be. For weeks I couldn't get over the idea that I was somehow responsible for his death. If we'd caught the tear the previous day, maybe he could have been saved. It took me a while to convince myself that the death wasn't entirely my fault, but that didn't make me any less afraid of cardiac patients."
"Why were you afraid?"
"Because a single misdiagnosis or a single misjudgment can cost you their lives."
Elsa feels like plopping herself down on the floor and give up on medicine entirely. She really hopes this isn't supposed to be a pep talk because the professor is faring poorly.
"You look discouraged."
"I'm not—" Don't lie "—but it is a sobering fact."
The professor smiles at her again, and this time there is nothing but good nature. "Fear is sometimes related to things hitting too close to home. But fear can also lead to insecurities. They can make you question everything you were once so sure about, until they cloud your judgement and you end up making regretful decisions."
"Why does that sound like you're not just referring to being a doctor?"
"Maybe because this resonates with more than just one aspect of your life."
Elsa nods before looking down at her hands. "Clearly, that's something I need to work on," she admits.
"You know where your faults lie," Park tells her, "Isn't that's always the first step?"
But isn't the first step also the hardest?
Elsa has never been good at pinpointing her emotions, including her fears. She has never been an expert at discerning the reasons behind them because they often look like an indecipherable puzzle where half of the pieces are missing. They are conflicting; sometimes contradicting, and they drive her mad. It is why she has spent years building a wall, like a defense mechanism against her own turmoil that is now hard to take down. Because she's kept herself from feeling too much, to the point of tiptoeing a line she doesn't allow herself to cross too often. And while the first step may be to recognize this, Elsa has no clue how to get to the second one.
Yet, four days later, she finds herself alone with her emotions.
She's come up to the hill on which Alexandra Palace stands. 'Ally Pally' the cab driver had called it, and Elsa had smiled because it sounded like something Anna or Rapunzel would have come up with. She wishes she could have brought Anna to this place but neither time nor the weather were on their side. Now, she sits alone on the grass, watching for a while as the sun sets over London and thinking of more things than she knows what to do with.
She keeps wondering if anything has changed back home, or if anything will change at all when she returns. She wonders, too, if she is ready for her residency to begin. The long hours, the real patients. It makes her both excited and scared. She fears another breakdown caused by the impotence of being unable to save someone's life and questions if there ever has been a trade-off in situations like these. For what is there to gain? Wisdom, perhaps. Experience.
But at what cost?
A couple walks by hand-in-hand and Elsa follows them with her eyes until they find a spot a few meters away from her. It suddenly makes her feel lonely even if she knows this is just an illusion. She has her cousin, she has her friends. And more importantly, she has Anna. Anna with her tireless affection, her overflowing generosity and that borderline bizarre capability to cheer someone up based on mere intuition. Anna with her creative mind and her book appreciation; her love for anything chocolate and her coffee addiction. Anna with her job at the agency and that clingy boss of hers that won't stop texting her even when she's supposed to be on vacation.
Suddenly, her thoughts come to a halt and so do her hands (when did they start plucking out the grass?). She'd convinced herself that she would not think of this again. She has to say this often and repetitively, like those kids in school who have to stay inside during recess to write on the board a single sentence over and over again: I will not think of Hans under any circumstances. Does it work? Not really. But first steps and all that.
Perhaps it will be different once Elsa is back and Anna is at work. Maybe Hans is just one of those bosses that are useless without their assistants—it sounds about right.
Up in the sky the sun has cast its light behind the clouds, darkening their shadows and delineating their formless shapes with a bright orange hue. Maybe things will change for the better, she thinks, if they change at all. But when have changes ever listened to anyone? She must be realistic; changes are not always good. The only thing that is left for her to do is face them, accept them, and adapt—which sounds like something from a handbook for people who are about to go into the wilderness, so Elsa decides to drop that train of thought entirely.
A man and his dog have joined their sunset-watching party. Are you here to contemplate your existence too? Elsa wants to ask him. Or are you just here for the ride? Maybe he's just here for the ride. Pets do that to you, don't they? They change you for the better. Maybe she'll suggest Rapunzel adopting a dog. But images of a wrecked apartment come to life in her head and she drops that immediately as well. Maybe a fish. Or a lizard. Something that can't join in on her cousin's madness.
She almost laughs at this, and just like that she feels ready to go back home.
London will always hold that special place in her heart because of everything it stood for, and everything it taught her. She will remember the way she felt when she was living here, both the loneliness and the happiness. She'll recall its streets, and the tea shops she got to visit, and the pubs where she went a couple of drinks past the point of tipsy. She will treasure every famous spot along with images of Anna in every single one of them, and she will tuck London away in her heart, right where nostalgia rests. Because the thing about memories is that no one can take them away from you, but you can also never bring them back to life.
And now that the sun has set and has started to give way to a starless night sky, Elsa begins to slowly stand up. She looks out at the city lights glistening across London and, with a few deep breaths, she takes it all in one last time.
She turns her back to it with a smile and something gently weighing down on her chest. It feels like wistfulness already.
It feels like goodbye.
Eight-ish hours left.
Not that she's counting.
It is cramped inside the airplane. Elsa has already found her way to her seat, two away from the aisle. She's removed her jacket, folded it and placed it on top of her already buckled-up lap. Out the window: a gray midday at Heathrow, vehicles transporting cargo and men in bright, yellow vests. She feels like closing the shade and closing her eyes but there is too much going on around her: passengers awkwardly bumping their way down the aisle; a man assisting a tiny woman with her huge overhead luggage; the steward's voice coming on and off to welcome them aboard.
From the seat in front of her, Sasha pops up his head. "I can't believe Park assigned our seats like we're in middle school."
She chuckles. "Maybe it's for the best."
Down the aisle comes Tracy, sidestepping a man who's taking a little too long with his luggage. She passes number 14, then 15. At 16 she catches Sasha's eye and smiles before moving on to 17. There is a halt in her actions that resumes when the woman behind her clears her throat.
She takes the seat next to Elsa.
Sasha makes a face before sitting back down with a huff that almost makes her smirk. In an attempt to ignore the girl next to her she pulls out her phone and opens her messages. She looks for one in particular. Anna's last text: Just a few more hours and I'll have you in my arms again! I LOVE YOU.
Closing her eyes, Elsa sighs and rests her head back. She can hear Tracy shuffling in her seat, perhaps taking off her coat or searching for the buckle end of the belt, but she will not open her eyes again to look at her until they are flying well above the ground, somewhere on the outskirts of London.
Tracy is immersed in a book, and in another world—another galaxy maybe—Elsa would endorse her choice of Sartre.
"What did you say to Anna?" She asks, her voice low enough to match the humming sound of the airplane's engine.
The girl puts her book down slowly, almost as if she'd been expecting this question all along. She regards Elsa with a serenity that is unnerving before saying, "Wasn't that like three weeks ago?"
"That's not important."
"You mean she hasn't told you?"
She maintains her stare until the brunette looks away with a heavy breath. "To be honest with you, I didn't say much about anything which is probably why she didn't tell you."
Elsa bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't know what to say to this and after a few seconds, when she's looked out the window to observe the clouds below them and Tracy has gone back to her book, she will realize it is because there is nothing left to say.
"But actually," Tracy suddenly says, "You know what can destroy a relationship?"
Elsa turns to her with a weary expression.
"Besides cheating, I mean. Cause we all know that leaves you with some trust issues and more often than not it fucks up any future relationship you may have."
"Speaking from experience?" Elsa asks without thinking.
Tracy rolls her eyes. "If you must know, yes. But my point is, there's something other than cheating that can mess up a relationship."
Part of her doesn't want to hear this, another part tells her she doesn't have a choice; a smaller, almost insignificant part really wants to know. But Tracy is already leaning closer, enough so that their elbows touch and she can look at Elsa straight in the eye when she says: "Miscommunication. It's Anna who you need to talk to, not me."
Elsa puffs out a sigh. "That's nothing I haven't heard before."
"Then maybe you needed a reminder."
She glances at the man sitting on the other side of Tracy, with his head heavily leaning towards the aisle and his double chin protruding out of his neck pillow. Elsa partly wishes she could be him, sleeping and unperturbed.
"Happy birthday, by the way."
Her eyes fall back on Tracy again. This takes her by surprise. "It's not until tomorrow."
"I know, but unless you'll accept a platonic invitation to have coffee or tea then I won't be seeing you until the next semester starts."
Elsa nods weakly and lets out another deep breath. "How did you know?"
Tracy smirks. "I work in administration, Elsa. I've seen your birthdate at some point."
What else do you know? She wants to ask, but that is paranoid and pointless, and the only thing this tells her is that she should just try to sleep and stop talking nonsense for the rest of the flight; close her eyes and open them back up when they land at JFK. Yet, manners are manners, and Elsa would not sit comfortably if she didn't at least treat Tracy with some sort of cordiality and say: "Thank you."
"No biggie," the girl responds with a smile, ending the conversation herself by plugging in her earphones and going back to Sartre's existentialism.
It feels good to be back. Better than she expected actually, like a lengthy sigh of relief.
She thought she'd be nervous, that she would feel the readjustment of coming back home hit her as soon as she stepped off the airplane and began treading across the jet bridge. She thought her stomach would be doing somersaults at the notion of coming back to New York's endless hustle; of submerging herself once more into its cacophony, or of leaving London behind. But all she feels is an eagerness that fuels every step, from the moment she arrives at the gate to the moment she's picked up her suitcases at the baggage claim.
She's already said goodbye to everyone before reaching the doors. She's hugged Sasha as though they were separating forever. She's shaken Park's hand with deep gratitude, and she's even gone as far as giving the faintest of smiles to Tracy.
And what a good idea that was—to have said goodbye already. Because as soon as the doors slide open she is tackled by her cousin.
Elsa laughs as she hugs Rapunzel back and thinks: It feels good to be home. It feels good to have her cousin talking her ear off already even if she only catches half of it. Even as she keeps trying to move them to the side and away from the doors, her eyes searching for Anna amongst strangers.
"I need to tell you something," Rapunzel rushes out, but they're soon tackled by Kristoff and Eugene, and Elsa is sure that whatever she has to say is not Move, you heavy beasts!
Kristoff has a goofy grin plastered on his face when he hugs her and lifts her up the floor. Eugene, ever suave, is smirking, although the warmth in his embrace betrays his aloofness.
Meanwhile, Rapunzel insists on poking her arm. "Elsa, Elsa—"
But Elsa's attention is elsewhere, for Anna is standing close by, smiling softly, and opening her arms to welcome Elsa home. And what could be more important than this?
They embrace in silence, amidst the elation of dozens of strangers meeting with their loved ones again. Unlike their meeting in London there is a lack of urgency this time. Everything has been subdued. Yet, nothing has changed. Anna smells like she always has, and her eyes show the same flicker of delight they always have.
But then Anna is leaning back and her face lights up the same way it always does when she suddenly remembers something. And not even that has changed.
"You must be Elsa," someone behind her says, and when she turns around she will not need to recognize his face to know exactly who he is.