A crossover with Doctor Who, this time.
There's nothing for her to do, so she just sits, and doesn't fidget, and counts the number of times Elsa flexes her gloved hand.
Forty. Forty-one.
"Anything you need," her sister says, for the fifth time that morning. Forty-two.
There are lines around Elsa's eyes that didn't exist before (forty-three), and Anna's…Anna'd try to cheer her up, but she's not feeling so great either.
Forty-four.
A clattering noise from the blue box in front of them, and the man who calls himself Doctor ducks out from behind a…something. "Hm? Oh, yes. The cooling really helped, I'm trying to re-establish the connection to the—'course the chameleon circuit's never worked properly…"
He trails off at the look on their faces. "It'll be fixed soon, and I'll be gone," he says, gentler now. Understanding.
Anna tries on a smile (forty-five), but looking at the Doctor hurts in a way that she can't describe. Forty-six. She remembers how he'd stumbled out of his blue box three days ago, the look on his face as he'd tried to explain how his machine managed to drop out of the sky and how she'd heard the words time travel and her mind had just…stopped.
Forty-seven; she remembers how Elsa'd shut herself in her room the first day, to stop herself—forty-eight—how Anna'd found her smelling of frost—forty-nine—how they'd held each other whispering we can't, we can't.
Fifty. Anna closes her eyes. She can't hate the man who dropped from the sky, or she can, probably, but that wouldn't be fair. She just…
She wants him gone. As far away as possible, as soon as possible, so she can get back to—living, instead of wondering; wondering if Elsa did something to the machine with her magic maybe they could go back to before and just fix something, anything—Mama and Papa or Hans or that night in the Great Hall—
We can't. We can't.
"Please," she hears Elsa say, and even though her eyes are still closed Anna counts: fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three. "Anything you need."