Content warning: borderline self harm, and also sexual themes. Also language, but that doesn't seem to have bothered people so far.
If you are a moderator, and any part of this chapter isn't appropriate for a T rating, please contact me and I will happily change the offending passage. Please don't remove my story… sad pus'n'boots kitty eyes….
They sit in silence and the miles disappear beneath the tires. Elsa is in the passenger seat, Anna's hands are white-knuckled on the wheel.
"Fuck!" Anna smacks the wheel, the horn replies indignantly. "Fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Fuck!"
"You like that word," Elsa says. "A lot."
"It's a good word," Anna agrees. "Flexible."
"I think maybe using it so much robs it of much of its impact," Elsa shrugs.
"Fuck," Anna replies petulantly. "What are you? Ninety?"
"More than," Elsa corrects.
"It's easy to forget," Anna shrugs. "Until you complain about my language."
"I wasn't complaining," Elsa says.
"Grandma," Anna sticks out her tongue, but smiles to show she's joking.
"Child," Elsa crosses her arms, but returns the smile. Anna shrugs, but doesn't reply. The miles melt away.
"Do you regret it?" Anna asks quietly, after an indeterminable eon in the car.
"Do I regret… becoming a litch?" Elsa asks.
"Yeah," Anna confirms. She glances over. "It's just… you seem so sad all the time? I was wondering?"
"I don't regret it," Elsa confirms. "I regret a lot of things, but not dying isn't really one of them. Even with all the drawbacks."
"Oh," Anna says. "Good. You've talked about trying to destroy Nagash's spellbook? Wouldn't that kill you?"
"Being… suicidal, I guess, isn't the same as wishing I had died?" Elsa's voice is small, quiet, barely audible over the sound of the car's travel. "Road!" She says louder. "Road! Road! Anna! For god's sake look at the road!"
The redhead turns guiltily, jerks the wheel, corrects the car's crazed trajectory. "Sorry," she says. "Uh… why does it bother you? I mean, even if I do crash, it's not like it would kill you?"
"You're not immortal," Elsa replies. "I might be, but you're not."
"Yet," Anna says hopefully. "I'm not immortal yet."
"Sure," Elsa shrugs. "You're not having second thoughts?"
Anna gives her head a vigorous shake. "Fuck no."
"Why'd you ask?" Elsa takes a moment to admire her girlfriend- and to revel in the idea that she has a girlfriend! Such a wonderful caring girlfriend.
Anna shrugs, and the car lurches alarmingly. "Just, you always seem so sad, and I was wondering if you regretted it, and I can't imagine any drawback outweighing immortality."
"There are drawbacks, Anna," Elsa replies gently.
"I know that," Anna agrees. "I just can't see them outweighing immortality."
"They don't," Elsa says. "Not for me, at least. But then, people keep trying to kill me."
"Keep?" Anna prompts. "It was more than the once?"
"People have succeeded the once," Elsa says. "And anyway, I was never interested in having children."
"I don't want children," Anna replies.
"You might one day," Elsa tilts her head.
"I actually kindof hate that," Anna says, but not unkindly. "The whole 'you might one day' thing. You're not the first that's said that. I mean, you couldn't know, I'm not mad, I just… I feel like whenever a woman says it don't want kids,' people are like 'oh you might change your mind one day,' and… just no. I won't. That's why I got my tubes tied."
"You…" Elsa frowns. "What?"
"I can't have kids anyway," Anna says. "Don't want them. Never have. It's a surgery where…"
"I know what it is," Elsa cuts her off. "I was just surprised. It's more, I don't know? Decisive, than I would have guessed? I don't mean that as an insult…"
"I know you don't," Anna agrees cheerfully. "I'm pretty impulsive, and I'm self aware enough to know that. I just also know what I want. I like sex." Elsa thanks her lucky stars she can't blush, but does glance quickly away. "I do," Anna says again, with the same casual flippancy one might show when discussing the weather. "I like sex, I don't want kids, it wasn't a hard decision."
"Oh," Elsa says quietly. "I…"
"You don't have to," Anna says quickly. "I'm happy waiting until you're ready, and I don't care how long that takes. I don't care if that's never. I didn't mean…" Anna does blush now. "All I meant is, that's not a drawback for me."
"Oh," Elsa says again. "There are other drawbacks."
"I know there are," Anna agrees. "You trying to talk me out of it?"
"No," Elsa shakes her head, is mildly surprised when her braided hair doesn't eat her face like it normally does when it hangs loose. "I just want to make sure you're fully informed before you make a decision you can't undo."
"I am," Anna says. "As much as anyone can be. It's what I want. You don't regret it…"
"Ok," Elsa says. "Ok, it'll be a few weeks to get ready…"
"That's fine," Anna smiles. "Just as long as it's before I'm old and wrinkly and ew."
It's dark when they pull into the mostly-disused parking lot of Elsa's aging apartment. The headlights of Anna's battered green Honda cut brilliant triangles of clarity out of the fuzzy darkness of the cracked and grimy asphalt. Anna drums her fingers on the peeling leather wrapping of the steering wheel.
"Well," she says, "I'm sorry it didn't go better."
"It's ok," Elsa smiles. "It could have gone worse."
"Could have," Anna checks the car's clock. "Look, it's after midnight. Merry Christmas! I mean… I know you don't celebrate Christmas, being a… well. Ahem. Sorry."
"I'm not…" Elsa doesn't know how to put it… not religious? Not a Jew? It was always more a matter of who your parents were than what you believed. "Not anymore," she settles for.
"Oh," Anna lets out a long, jaw splitting, yawn and then goes on. "Well, I got you a thing."
"A thing?" Elsa repeats.
"Yeah," Anna twists around to grab her backpack from the back seat. "Here," she produces a wrinkled white envelope with a cheerful bow in place of a stamp.
"For me?" Elsa blinks.
"Yeah," Anna grins. "A Christmas present."
"I didn't…" Elsa begins, but Anna cuts her off.
"That's ok," the redhead offers her envelope again. "You didn't have to. We hadn't talked about it. I just wanted to do something for you."
"...ok," Elsa accepts the envelope and tears it carefully open. There are two slips of hard, reflective paper within, covered in numbers and letters. American Airlines, clearly legible at the top edge. "What are? Plane tickets?"
"Yeah," Anna says. "They're cheap right now, or two months from now. I guess no holidays for people to be driving prices up? Anyway. Um. So, these go to Houston."
"Texas?" Elsa blinks.
"Yeah," Anna says. "Well, no actually, there are other tickets too. Um. So, I wanted to book a flight to Florida, you see, but it was like way cheaper to have a twenty-something hour layover in Houston, and I thought what luck? And maybe we would go to the Houston space center, and poke around there, while we wait for our flight, right? And then we fly to Florida."
"Florida?" Elsa repeats.
"Well, Cape Canaveral," Anna says. "It's in Florida."
"I know where Cape Canaveral is," Elsa replies.
"Right," Anna nods. "Of course you do. Anyway, there's going to be a rocket launch, and I know you're interested in those, and we can watch it… is… that ok? I can… it's not to late to cancel?"
"That would be great!" Elsa smiles, and it's a deep heartfelt delight that Anna has rarely seen on the litch's weary face.
"Great!" Anna says. "Awesome! It's a date!"
"Yeah," Elsa says. "A date. Thank you so much- the time. Will you be safe getting home?"
"Sure," Anna yawns. "It's not far."
"Do you… want to?" Elsa hopes the hesitation wasn't noticeable.
"Sure I guess," Anna shrugs. "It's getting late. I probably should."
"No," Elsa swallows unnecessarily. The magic lurks tantalizing just beneath the surface of reality, begging to be used. There would be a solution… burn everything and at least she won't make a fool of herself. Not a good solution, she reminds herself. "I meant, do you want to go home, or stay here tonight?"
"Oh," Anna says and tries to guess what Elsa means by that. "I. Um. Well." She blushes for the second time today- Elsa can't see the redness seeping into her freckled face, but she does feel the rushing pounding heating in the winds of magic. "I could stay over," Anna chokes out. "If you want, I mean."
"Ok," Elsa's pale hands go to the door latch. They're shaking, which is ridiculous because how could she possibly have enough biological functions left for her hands to shake like this. She has to try three times to get the door open. She takes a deep unnecessary breath, and that helps some.
"Els?" Anna asks uncertainly.
"Well," Elsa puts all the confidence she doesn't feel into her shaking voice. "Coming?"
Anna is up and around the car before the old litch really knows she's moving. The car beeps, the latches click within, and Anna is pocketing the keys.
Elsa takes her sweaty hand, more to have something to hold onto than anything else, and leads her up the creaking concrete stairs. The light over her faded door is fogged and flickering. Her key sticks in the lock, and then they're inside. Elsa flicks on the lights with a tendril of telekinetic power so she won't have to release Anna's surprisingly hot hand.
It's much as Anna remembers it from last time. Small, faded walls, faded lights, the table they had built together. She yawns mightily.
Elsa is biting her lip, tugging on the braid Rapunzel had done for her, shifting her slight weight from one leg to the other. Anna wonders what she could be nervous about. The litch stands there, still but for her nervous ticks. She isn't breathing, but Anna supposes she doesn't need to. There isn't a pulse in her cool fingers. It's odd, Anna thinks- you don't notice your lovers pulse when you hold their hand, but you do notice when it isn't there. Elsa's sweater is close knit, pale blue grey. Anna appreciates the way it clings to her figure, to the round fullness of her chest… down girl, Anna reminds herself. Give Elsa her space. She isn't ready for anything physical, and Anna mustn't push it. This isn't a "come up for coffee," moment, it's a "it's late and I don't want you driving when you're this tired" moment. Anna can't help but admire the lines of the litch's slender legs beneath her tight jeans.
"So," Elsa moves abruptly to the cramped kitchenette. "You want coffee?"
Anna flexes her hand and wipes it discreetly on her T-shirt. "It's late," she says. "I shouldn't, unless I want to be up all night."
"Oh," Elsa says, and something in her voice sounds sad.
"Oh what the hell," Anna says. "Yeah, I'll have a coffee."
"Ok," Elsa says, and her hands fly. A pinch from this cabinet, a shake from that. Sugar, which she spoons liberally from a bag, coffee beans she grinds by hand, chocolate she shaves from a dark block, a drizzle of caramel, a whipped cream flourish. She works quickly, she has to, in a coffee shop, and the drink is ready even before Anna feels the need to sit down. It's delicious, Anna had known it would be. It always is. She sits now, at the little table they had built together, and sips her drink.
"This is fantastic," she sighs. "God damn I love your coffee."
"And I love you," Elsa says quietly.
"I love you too Els," Anna says. "I really really do."
"I know," Elsa says. "I…" her hands go to the hem of her sweater, wind into the elasticy band. They hesitate there, Anna assumes it's just a nervous gesture, but it isn't. Oh Elsa is nervous, sure, hesitating from the apprehension, but it's not a gesture. It's a preparation for what's next. Her hands come up, and the sweater comes with.
Anna splutters. "Elsa?" She asks. The litch's stomach is flat as a board, her ribs strain starkly against her pale skin. Her bra is a blue-black glint under the harsh electric lights and her veins are blue just beneath her translucent skin. Anna swallows.
"Yes?" Elsa drapes her sweater carefully over the back of Anna's chair.
Don't look don't look don't look, Anna tells herself. Elsa is having an off day maybe? It doesn't mean what you think. Elsa takes her hand. Anna swallows again. Elsa pulls gently, upwards, Anna's hand closes on something soft, and she doesn't have to look to know what. "Oh," she says, and her coffee is left forgotten on the table. She squeezes gently. That's nice, so she does it again, and then her hands are moving. Elsa leads her to the bedroom, to the old creaking bed there.
This is nice, Anna registers disconnectedly. Nice, but… she pulls away. "You…" she gasps. "You don't have to."
Elsa doesn't really feel Anna's hands. Doesn't feel the way they slip inside her bra, lay along the long-dead muscles of her abdomen, toy with her rigid waistband, rest on her collarbone. There isn't any of the pleasure a human would feel, there isn't… anything, really. It's thrilling, it's consuming her entire attention. There's something like anticipation, curiosity about where those wandering hands will wander next, but none of the wild animal passion a human would feel. No real pleasure, and no arousal. "I want to," she says quietly, and it's true, but not for the reasons Anna would guess. Not because she gets anything out of it, but because Anna does. It costs Elsa nothing, and it makes her Anna happy. She DOES want to, just not for the reasons a human would. "I want to," Elsa repeats, "if you do."
"Oh god yes," Anna replies, and loses her shirt. She's pretty. Just the sort of athletic freckled pretty that Elsa likes. There's attraction, in the old litch's dead heart. There's admiration, an appreciation for beauty. There's INTEREST, but her old dead body isn't capable of anything more carnal. She had hoped there would be, but she doesn't mind. She hadn't been optimistic. She smiles, and she DOES enjoy herself- or enjoy the way Anna enjoys herself, at least. Anna pulls away again.
"You're… cold?" Anna says, and Elsa can't figure out what's behind her voice. "I…" Anna frowns. "You're really pretty."
"Thanks," Elsa replies, because she's not sure how she should.
"I'm sorry," Anna says, and Elsa can't understand because she can feel Anna's very human pleasure purring in the winds of magic. "I… there's something about… your heart isn't beating?"
"I can," Elsa swallows her disappointment, because tonight isn't about her, and she knew it wouldn't be, and she is ok with that. She does understand now. "I can make my heart beat, I think," she says. "We'll get the shower nice and hot, and it'll be just like I'm a real girl."
"You are a real girl," Anna says, and sits up. "God I'm such a shit. I'm sorry-"
"Sorry for what?" Elsa interrupts. "For being human, or because I'm not?"
"It's not fair to you," Anna says. "I'm not being fair to you. You deserve to be accepted for you."
"Who cares?" Elsa shrugs. "I'm having fun. You can't control what you're attracted to. If I can be what you're attracted to, why shouldn't I?"
"You shouldn't have to!" Anna snaps, but the venom is directed inward. "I am attracted to you, it's just? I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Shh," Elsa says. The book of bone isn't built for telekinesis, but it's not impossible to cludge something together. She reaches out with her mind, and turns on the shower.
"Ok, that's pretty hot," Anna says.
"Hot enough for steam," Elsa confirms, and reaches inwards.
"Not what I meant," Anna's eyes are on her lover's body. She reaches back over, "I think maybe," Elsa bats away her hands.
"Hang on," the litch says. A tendril of eldritch power around her old dead heart. It constricts. The myocardium is stiff and dead, but it moves like she wants. Her blood is thick, half congealed. It isn't pleasant, as it oozes through her veins, but it doesn't properly hurt. She breathes, not because she has to, but because Anna will like it. Twelve breaths a minute, sixty unpleasant beats per minute. She stands, strips off what clothes remain, moves to the bathroom. It's hot. She knows what else was hot, all those decades ago. This isn't as hot as the crematorium, she will endure. The steam writhes and coils like the dancing flames, Elsa closes her eyes. If Anna knew what this would cost the old litch, she'd tell her not to. If Anna knew, she would be content with Elsa's cool dead flesh, or she'd be happy to live with the celibacy, but Anna doesn't have to know. Elsa knows, but she also knows that she wants it. She wants to make Anna happy, and what's a little hot water really? She steps into the shower, eyes still closed. Her foot catches on the edge of the bathtub, she stumbles a little, but catches herself.
The water is hot, it brings back memories she doesn't want, but she isn't in Germany anymore. She's here, with her Anna who loves her. There's a strength there that she had forgotten about. Someone cares about her, and really what's a little hot water? She sees the way the water runs over her body, and ignores the heat. The memories are there, but she isn't living them again. This isn't one of her troubled dreams, and this isn't Dachau. There's a thrill of accomplishment living in a heart beating for the first time in decades, and she knows she's going to do this again. And again, and again, as often as she can, because it feels NICE to do this for her girlfriend. It feels good to stare her demons in their faces and laugh.
There are hands on her shoulders, she jumps, but they're only Anna's pale freckled hands. The thumbs drill into the tight muscles like awls. "God, your shoulders are tight," Anna says. "When's the last time you saw a chiropractor?"
"Never," Elsa says, and leans into Anna's embrace. The hands creep down, cradle her chest. Elsa purrs, not from pleasure, but because that's what humans do in a situation like this. "Better?" She asks.
"Mmm," Anna agrees, and her hands go to Elsa's flat stomach. "You don't have to," she says for the second time that night.
Elsa doesn't know if she means the shower, the heartbeat, the breathing, or the sex, but it doesn't matter, because the answer is the same. "I want to," she says, and it still isn't a lie.
Anna's hands go lower, and Elsa pretends to enjoy it, and then it's Anna's turn, and Elsa does enjoy that.
After, they lay in bed, and the heat radiates off Elsa's dead body in half-visible waves. She relaxes the eldritch hold on her dead heart, and relaxes her body in her girlfriend's caring arms, and has no regrets as she drifts off to sleep. For all the struggle, for all the pain, this was the best night in her long memory.
So of course there's bad news waiting for her in the morning.
AN: So, that's a thing. I was really uncertain of how to do this chapter. Normally, I would err on the side of tame-ness and non-explicit-ness. I do however, think that everything in this chapter is necessary to the story. Everything that I did wind up including, adds to the story. Everything I kept, I kept because it relates to who Elsa is, how she sees herself, that sort of thing. I hope it's clear that I wasn't writing smut for the sake of smut. I've had this chapter planned for a LONG time and was honestly putting it off because I had no idea how to do it…
As always, comment, criticism, etc. very much welcome.
Pro tip: if you absolutely MUST slit your own throat, please try to aim the resulting spray away from responding EMS. It's gross, it gets everywhere, I had to shower for like two hours and I still think I didn't get it all. Also, please don't mess with the dressing. I mean, I get that the only reason to intentionally slit one's own throat is to kill yourself, but…. Well, I've got a job to do and I don't want to get sprayed.
Edit: guest reviewers to whom I cannot reply have expressed discomfort with the above ambulance pro tip due to its graphic nature. On reflection, I could have probably phrased that better. I would like to publicly apologize. I will not at this time be removing it, as I am generally uncomfortable with removing things from a published work. If people feel that it (or anything else in this or any other chapter) is not appropriate for a T rating, I WOULD rather alter it than see the whole story removed or rendered less accessible by a rating change.
To said guest reviewers, I do hear you, and I apologize. I will attempt to bear in mind that not everyone is as jaded. There have been a LOT of suicides recently and I have been frustrated with that generally, and a very gross call specifically, and was speaking flippantly as a result. That is not an excuse and I will try to keep the ambulance pro tips somewhat more palatable in the future.