AN: Life has been good recently, but I hit a hell of a rough patch today. But that fires up my creativity for some reason, so I managed to power through another chapter for you guys. As always, questions, comments, and constructive criticism is welcomed. I won't bite. I might gum you a little though. :P


The TV's on in the background, re-runs of The Simpsons on some channel or other. We've got it turned down anyway, because we're both in the kitchen. Me and Joan I mean. She's got her hair tied back in a bun, pinned up with a couple of chopsticks. It's a good look for her—so's the apron. She can cook better than me, and way better than you, but somehow Kristoff still has the edge over all of us. It's okay, we're baking a cake, because why not, right? Okay, fine, it is for someone. Tina's still here, and Joan thought it would be a nice gesture. It's a jelly-crystal cake, strawberry, because that's what she likes—Tina, not Joan, though Joan doesn't mind.

Then the cake is in the oven, and Joan goes to sit with Tina. I let them have the couch, sitting in one of the armchairs towards the outside of the room. I've considered channel surfing, but right now it's pointless. Plus, it's that episode of The Simpsons where Homer's the 'Beer Baron'. It's still funny, all these years later. Maybe I never did manage to grow up properly like you wanted me to—but is that such a bad thing? No, wait, don't answer that.

Another episode, and then the timer on the oven rings. Cake's done. I take it out of the oven and leave it on the bench to cool. We've all been a little too eager for a slice, and burnt our tongues on molten jelly crystals before today. I remember that time you… which meant… god that was frustrating. For both of us. Anyway, cake, bench, cooling. Joan passes me at the kitchen door, already grabbing ingredients to make the icing. See, I wouldn't, but apparently Tina's never had a cake like this before—which we're fixing—so Joan wants to do the whole 'surprise filling' thing there.

I lounge back in my chair, looking over at Tina. She really is tiny, probably four foot nothing, slender as wishbones and matchsticks. According to Joan she eats like me, so no one knows why she's still so skinny. It's not… not an illness, not like you had. She's just skinny. She also wears her hair quite short, not even shoulder length. With her cut-off jeans and vest she looks every bit the tomboy Joan acts. Funny, really, considering she's the shy one in the relationship. I guess I can call it that now, given they're rather past the point of being just friends.

"Tina?"

"Yes, miss Bergman?"

"Did you enjoy your sleepover with Joan?"

"I–I did. I think I dreamed about waiting in a hospital room for Elsa—except she looked like Joan the other day. Umm, when she wore that awesome jacket to school."

I just smile at her, and she leans back against the cushions of the couch, watching the TV. Interesting that she dreamed of Elsa/Joan. Maybe her subconscious took what I was telling Joan and turned it into a funny little story for her. She'll learn the truth soon enough if Joan keeps relaying the story to her. I don't mind, not really, but Elsa, you're meant to be ours. We keep your memory, your legacy. I don't know if Joan and Tina will last—I hope they do, honestly, but it's just high school romances, you know? I don't want to see either of them getting hurt. Sometimes we just can't help it; and then sometimes we take the hurt so others don't have to.

"Is it… is it okay that Joan's telling me about Elsa?" I see the worry and embarrassment on her face, and it's easy to see why Joan likes her. She's adorable when she's flustered like that,

"It's okay," I nod slowly. "It's not some big secret—but it is something you have to respect."

"I do, miss Bergman, I do. It's just… you loved her so much—she had to be special." She's looking down at the floor, but she continues speaking. "I–I'd like to know why."

Joan chose that moment to walk back in, flopping down on the couch, surreptitiously licking icing off one finger. "So, what's everyone talking about?"

"Elsa," Tina replies quietly and Joan pats her on the back.

"It's okay to ask, Tink. I mean, you don't mind, right?" She's giving me a pointed look.

"I don't mind, but it would have been nice if you asked me first." She's got the grace to at least look chastised. I doubt she really is, and I really wasn't worried. Like I said, it's not some horrible secret. The silence is getting awkward, and Joan takes off into the kitchen, muttering something about cake. I push myself out of the chair, and then motion for Tina to follow me to the kitchen. It's time to take our cake for a test toast—taste. I mean taste.

It's good. Very good. Tina has two and a half slices, while Joan asks her where it's all going. She's quite interested when Joan tells her the secret ingredient is just jelly-crystals. She smiles like an idiot when it's revealed the cake was for her, made at Joan's bidding. She gives Joan a quick peck on the cheek, then huddles protectively over the cake when we try to take another slice. She tries to growl menacingly, but it's endearingly funny. I don't think she quite meant for it to come out like that.

It's getting late in the evening now, and Tina's parents have come round to collect her. She takes the cake we made for her, promising to share at least some of it, and I try to look away as she says goodbye to Joan with a hug and a little kiss. Sometimes it's hard to accept how fast my daughter's growing up. My teenage years are a bit hazy, but I can't remember feeling as lucky as Joan is. Maybe I did, though, and it's just my experiences later jaded those few early weeks with Hans. I still remember you though, and our first rocky weeks. I'm glad we made it through, I'm glad for everything we shared, and even though it's still sad, I can find solace in our time together—we had so much; we did so much… I just wish we'd had more time. If we had though, we might not have made those plans. We—me, you, and Kristoff—we might not have had a daughter. Even though it hurts to say it, I'd never trade for more time with you if it meant losing Joan. Never. I just hope you can understand why.

Later, sometime after dinner, we're both in Joan's room. I'm sitting at the foot of her bed, leaning back against the boards. She's sitting between my legs, and I've got my arms wrapped around her, my chin on her shoulder. We're both in shock a little.

"It's gonna be okay, baby," I whisper softly in her ear.

"Is it?" She sounds so unsure, and I hate it. So many questions, so many fears.

It was Tina. She's not allowed to see Joan. At least, that's most of what I got when her parents rang. I think she might have decided to come out—after all, she really does like Joan—but apparently her parents were not nearly as accepting as I am. I know why Joan's afraid. I've got a feeling she thinks this is somehow her fault, too. Tina's old enough to make her own choices. She's smart enough to make informed choices. But who you love… why you love them… it's not a choice. It just is. Joan likes other girls, and I'm fine with that. I only ever liked one other woman like that. I don't know what it was that made her so special that I'd be like that, but that's how life goes. It's messy. It's difficult. What we really need, sitting here, lost in our thoughts, is a distraction. I guess more of our story will work. Maybe things will be better after.

"The next day I saw Elsa in the afternoon again, I think it was a Friday… maybe…"

—∞—

I hobbled into the hospital room of my blonde goddess and took my place in the chair beside her bed. I remember passing a flower shop, but first off I didn't know what she liked, and secondly I had no idea if she'd actually appreciate the gesture. She might even have been allergic. I did bring a couple of apples though, fresh and clean. I took a bite out of mine, not saying anything. I wanted her to make the first move, to say something—anything—without having to be pushed. Eventually I offered her the apple.

"It's not poisoned or anything," it was a bad joke, but it's all I had. "It's got to be better than what passes for food here."

She sighed, taking the apple from my outstretched hand. I noticed how carefully she avoided actually touching me. I wasn't sure why, but it wasn't what I'd expected. She ate in silence, sitting up in the bed. I looked over, and with the angle I was on I could just see the top of her breast through the neck of the gown. I turned away, not knowing why I was blushing. I guess I was embarrassed for her—but that's what hospital gowns are like sometimes. She still had my jacket, spread out like an undersized blanket on top of her bed.

I threw our apple cores in the bin, then just sat beside her in silence. I wanted to talk, to say so much, but I couldn't seem to get my thoughts in order. She still said nothing, running a hand through her platinum hair, smoothing out some flyaways. Her breathing became slow and even, and at first I thought she was sleeping. Her eyes were open, and her body was relaxed. She was meditating. Then again, hospital room, broken leg; there really wasn't a whole lot she could do. I didn't say anything—I didn't want to interrupt her meditation. I might even have called what she was doing rude. But I wasn't going to try and break her meditation out of spite.

She simply might not have wanted me around. I mean, I was the cause of all her recent suffering. I was trying to get through to her, of course, but you can only go so far. I left, as quietly as I could manage. I looked back as I closed the door. Had she been crying this whole time? Had she been holding it in so I wouldn't see? But why? What was it making her so sad? What was it that had made her try to kill herself? I just didn't know. I wanted to know, but those were questions I just couldn't ask. I had to respect her privacy.

I saw her again on Sunday morning. Well, I tried to, but that was when her next op had been scheduled. Fixing her leg was proving to be quite a task—complex compound fractures, and several sections completely shattered by the impact. They were putting in a titanium plate, screwing it to what was left of the bones. I went home, looking up information on what they were doing. It was by turns fascinating and gross. I think I pitied her then, knowing how hard her life was going to be, all the physio she would have to undertake as her leg healed. I hated myself. I was the cause of all of this, and no apology was going to make it right.

I asked Hans what to do. All he did was slap me, and tell me to try harder. I felt like I deserved it that time. I just wanted to do something to help this woman. Something that would never involve Hans. I had no idea of what she liked; what she didn't. I didn't even know if she liked me, or was just putting up with me because it was helping me. Not knowing was slowly driving me to distraction. I resolved to be there early on Monday morning. I wanted some answers, and god willing, I was going to get them.

Honestly, she looked terrible. Aftereffects of the anesthesia and poor sleep. I had to say something. Anything.

"Are you alright? You look terrible—I mean, like you've been through hell and I can't get the words right and I think you're beautiful anyway and—wait, what?"

"You think I'm beautiful?" Damn it, but she sounded so shy and uncertain. It wasn't cold and distant either, it was like she was daring to hope. For what, I wasn't sure, but it was there. I was a little taken aback, actually. I couldn't take back what I'd said, even if maybe I hadn't meant to say it. It was true.

"Yes. I think you're beautiful. Under everything. You don't have to look fantastic to be beautiful, you just are."

"Thank you."

We just sat in silence for a little while after that, but it wasn't awkward. I knew now that she didn't just want to be rid of me. She didn't hate me—or at least not as much as I'd expected her to for practically destroying her life. I felt something brush against my shoulder and I jumped. I turned just in time to see a pale, slender hand retreating towards the bed. Had I just scared her off? She looked quite apprehensive, so I tried to take her hand. She got to the covers first, but she noticed what I was doing.

"It's okay," I told her. "You just surprised me."

I dragged the chair a little closer to the bed—hard to do with a slowly healing broken ankle, but I managed—and I left my hand free. I felt something soft and warm against my palm, and I dared to look. We were holding hands. Such a simple thing it's sometimes hard to appreciate what it means. Time passed, I can't remember how much, and then she quietly asked me to leave. I asked if it was okay to come back tomorrow morning, and she nodded slowly.

She looked better, more put together on Tuesday. I'd also dressed up a little, or maybe down. I was wearing an off the the shoulder dress, pale green. It was perhaps a little more revealing than was decent—or at least my idea of decent—but I knew Hans liked it when I wore it. So did Kristoff, when I'd worn it to the Christmas party. I didn't know quite how much my beautiful mystery woman was going to appreciate it; or even if she would notice it at all.

I still didn't know her name. The doctors, I guess, must have, but I didn't, because she hadn't seen fit to tell me. I don't think what we had even amounted to friendship. Not yet, anyway. I finished pinning up my hair, and Hans grabbed me in a sort of appreciative way, telling me I was being a very good girl making my amends to this woman. As Hans let me go—with a playful little smack—I wondered how I'd feel if it was her doing that.

Her?

I don't know what I was thinking, but that might have been what started it. Or maybe I'd been thinking like that for a while, but I just couldn't see it. Maybe that was why I wanted to keep Hans away from her. Maybe that was why I felt such a deep connection to her. They say we don't get to choose who we fall in love with, only how we show them. And her, my mystery woman… I wanted to show her she was the most amazing person in the world. Because to me, then, she was. We hadn't even shared more than a dozen words, and I was falling for her. Falling hard.

"Hi," I waved shyly as I entered her room. It was a bit late to make a first impression—my bike actually did a number on that count—but I still hoped to make a good impression.

She smiled. She smiled at me, and waved back just as shyly. I guess this was new territory for both of us. I hadn't even made it to my chair before she spoke. She spoke first.

"You look beautiful today."

I could only smile at her. She had noticed the effort I'd made, and I really appreciated that. "You look beautifuller."

Oh god. What was I even saying?

"I mean, not fuller, but more beautiful."

She laughed, happy, amused at how flustered I was. "Thank you."

I managed to regain some dignity by sitting down as gracefully as possible, resting my crutches beside the chair. I figured I would be there for a while today.

"I–I don't even know your name…" I hoped she might give me an answer.

"I hadn't thought to ask yours." Not what I'd been expecting. She actually sounded a little embarrassed.

I offered her that shy little wave again. "I'm Anna."

"Isabella." She wasn't looking at me as she spoke; she actually seemed a little distracted.

"Isabella," I was testing the name out, it fit her, but it wasn't perfect. I saw her hand pressing against her leg through the sheets on the bed. "Are you okay?"

"My leg hurts. It's very sore." I can't repeat what she said next, because I don't know Norwegian. What I do know, what she told me later, was that she hoped I never learned the meaning of any of those words.

"I–I can go, if that's easier?"

"No, Anniken, stay. Please?"

"Anniken?"

"Anna," she shook her head, as if she was trying to clear it. "Will you stay?"

"I will." I promised. I never knew what that idle promise would cost me—or all it would give me. All I knew was that it was all I could do for Isabella. That's how most of my mornings went for the next week. When I was healed enough to start work again—at least some light duty stuff in the workshop—I asked for a few mornings off. Kristoff only asked why once. He knew how responsible I felt, and how hard I was trying to make amends. He said I'd done more than enough, but I wasn't convinced. It felt like she was hiding something from me, and I couldn't be sure it wasn't because of what I'd done to her.

—∞—

Joan shifted against me, turning to look me in the eyes. "You di–you didn't know? I mean, that you liked auntie Elsa?"

"No, I didn't." And I smile down at our beautiful daughter. I really wish you could have seen her. Well, I guess you have; you're up there somewhere, watching over us. Spare a thought for Tina too, she could use the support. "Now come on missy, it's past your bedtime."

"But Tina…" I can hear the cracks in her voice.

"We have to give her parents time." I don't tell her what they said to me. What they accused me of—what they accused her of. It's not our choice who we love, only how we show them. "Tina probably needs some time too, so be careful when you see her again, okay?"

"Okay mom, but how much time?"

"As long as it takes. You can be patient, right?" I smile at her. "Remember how long I said I'd love Elsa for?"

"Until the end of time."

"I still do. If that's how long it takes, that's how long it takes. But I don't think her parents can stay mad for more than a couple of years."

"Years?!"

I tuck her in gently. "They'll get over it, eventually."