AN: Sometimes inspiration strikes, and sometimes you have to strike out on your own to find it as you write. I don't believe in writers' block, but I do believe a lack of inspiration can stop someone writing because they think their work might be sub-standard. The only way past is through, so if you're a writer, keep writing, if it's not good enough… revise. Keep going, and don't give up.


I'm shivering. At work. Mostly because I am most definitely not a plumber, and someone who shall remain nameless forgot to completely drain the pipework we're fixing so a whole mess of brackish and very cold water just went down the back—and front, and everywhere else—of my overalls. Right, well done. Now I've got see if I can borrow a pair from the guys on site—and even better I'm going to have to throw my clothes somewhere in the sun to dry, so they're going to know I'm only wearing my underwear in this thing. Wonderful.

I've gotta fix this myself, Kristoff is elsewhere, but still on site, talking through another step of the renovation with Naveen. Possibly getting us a new contract too, with his cousin Al. So, first, new overalls, then into the lockers to change. Honestly, I don't care if they see me at this point, all I want is out of these wet clothes because that really was a surprising amount of water for a supposedly empty system. We've built a second supply line through the tank farm, and we hooked it up yesterday. Now we're dismantling the old line to sell for scrap on Naveen's behalf.

Y'know what? It's close to lunch time. Maybe I'll just take a break for a little while, try and dry off in the sun. Be good for me, I'm sure. Still gonna throw the overalls somewhere though. After a slightly squidgy walk to the cafeteria, I figure maybe it's not so bad, and just grab my lunch and head outside. It's bright and clear, very warm for a late summer's day. I think I can feel the dampness steaming off me already. I close me eyes and take a deep breath, enjoying a moment's peace before everyone else is due out on break.

A hand against my shoulder makes me shiver and duck away, turning to face my assailant—it's only Kristoff.

"Still jumpy then," he sits beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Also, wet." Said arm is quickly removed from my shoulders and shaken off. "Care to tell me why?"

"Because we didn't drain the old line properly, that's why," I huff, shoulders sagging. I say we, I really meant me. I do recall him saying something about catchments and drainage points—but I was sure we got all of those.

"Don't worry about it," and he pats me on the back. "I'll be with you after lunch; I think we got in with Al."

"Cool." It occurs to me that aside from being Naveen's cousin, I know nothing about this Al. "So, what's he want?"

"Plant upgrade, believe it or not—Hi Marshall—and he wants to start in the workshop."

"I assume you mean his workshop—Hey Zoe—and he wants everything?"

"He does. He really does. Naveen's been talking to him about expanding, so this would be good for everyone."

I leave the intricacies of business to Kristoff—he's more than sensible enough to handle all of it. Honestly, I prefer having the simple jobs. Well, ones where I don't have to liaise with half a dozen people at a time. Except at lunch, which I don't mind right now, because the banter's going nowhere, but it's keeping my mind off the fact my shirt's still quite damp. Screw it. I unzip my overalls down to the waist, and tie the sleeves together. At least my shirt'll dry faster now. Then Kristoff whispers something dirty in my ear and I can't help but blush at the thought.

I thump him, but not hard. I keep my voice low. "You shouldn't be saying things like that in front of this lot."

"Yeah, but half of them are married, and the other half are just jealous." He rounds it out with a lop-sided grin, pulling me close. This time he doesn't take his arm away to dry it off. Looking at everyone's face, I have to wonder if maybe they're all jealous. Of me, of him, of us, in general. I don't know why, but I like that thought. It also keeps any thoughts of Hans far, far from my mind, at least for a little while.


The rest of the day wasn't so bad, so now I'm just sitting on the couch—your couch—thinking of one of those lazy afternoons we spent together. I wonder if you think of them, watching over us from up there. I still miss you, and I really wish you were here so you could see how amazing our daughter really is. I'm sure if you saw her you'd smile more. Although if you were here right now, I have feeling you'd be off hunting Hans, making good on your threats. Maybe you still can. I mean, you could always arrange an accident for him, couldn't you, Elsa?

Okay, fine, I know it's not very kind of me, but a) you know what he put me through, and b) maybe I'm more worried about this whole Hans thing than I really want to admit—even to myself. So anyway, I'm here on the couch, just thinking about one random afternoon we spent watching cartoons. Don't really remember which ones, only that I liked them despite myself. Or maybe it was because you were there, and we really weren't paying too much attention to the cartoons. Well… I wasn't, but you didn't seem to mind that I got a little hands-y that afternoon.

I guess that's probably enough daydreaming for now. Joan's finishing the dishes, and with the laundry list of things I gave her to do as punishment for stealing the car, she's now actually earned something back. I ask her what she wants back, and have to give her a quizzical look as she asks for her radio. Only and specifically her radio; doesn't even bother pressing for anything else.

"Any particular reason you want the radio before everything else?"

"It helps me sleep. And I have some of your old CDs, remember?"

"I was wondering where those went." I wasn't.

"Mom… umm… can you tell me more about auntie Elsa?"

"I can," I tease her for a moment, before hearing her annoyed huff. "Oh, you meant right now?"

"Yes, now," and she flops bonelessly into one of the armchairs. I can't help but smile when I remember one time you did that, getting home, not realizing I was asleep in said chair.

—∞—

It took me another two days to recover enough to stand on my own, let alone walk anywhere—though some of that was due to having badly twisted my almost healed ankle. I have no idea how I broke my nose though, because despite the haze, I could remember landing on my back. No, that was wrong. I had been carried; I had floated away on my back. I remember feeling something sticky spreading underneath my shirt, running and pooling everywhere, staining the floor. I looked at my wrist through fuzzy eyes. So much blood.

Kristoff was right, I'd been damn lucky to survive. I guess that had something to do with a few transfusions. I'm grateful to those people that give blood. I decided then that if it was possible I would start donating blood. Back to Kristoff—he was there again, in the afternoon.

"Anna, if you don't settle down you'll be here twice as long." I let him press me back into the pillows, seething at the fact he was right.

"But I have to tell Isabella I'm oka—"

"I told her for you, while we were waiting for you to wake up."

"Shouldn't she know I woke up?"

"Told her that too. That was when I learned she really does like you." I decided to ignore that for now.

"But I want to see her, to tell her I'm okay."

"Anna, you are most definitely not okay," he gently took ahold of my left wrist, turning it over to show me the bandages I already knew were there. "Especially if this is any indication."

My eyes looked anywhere but at him. I knew he wasn't accusing me of anything, but it was hard to admit what I'd done had been done out of spite, not out of despair—and that that made it much, much worse. I couldn't tell anyone—back then, at least.

"I just hate feeling so helpless," I gave him what I hoped was a pointed look. "I need to do something."

"And that something is get better. And to do that, you have to rest," he gave me a mock-evil grin. "Doctor's orders."

I made a cross with my fingers to ward him away. "No. No. Anything but that!" He laughed.

"I knew you were in there—but I'm still not letting you out."

"Dammit Kristoff, I'm fine. I can do this."

"Not without hurting yourself." Only then did I have a grand flash of inspiration.

"Okay, if you won't let me out, will you take me out?" I facepalmed. "I mean, not like that—not that I wouldn't—I mean you're a great guy, but…" I held out a hand. "One shovel please."

"I'll just blame the painkillers for that…" but he still took my hand. "I'll take you to Isabella, but we have to get you a wheelchair first."

"Seriously?!"

He whispered in my ear: "Doctor's orders."

—∞—

"So that's why dad loves saying that when you're sick."

"Umm… wasn't I telling you a story?"

"I figure you got to auntie Elsa next, sitting pretty in your wheelchair."

"Sitting, yes. Pretty I was not. I have a picture on my phone somewhere."

"I wanna see it, but I kinda don't at the same time."

I'm scrolling through the earliest set of pictures I keep saved on every phone. We're both in there; and Joan, and Kristoff. "It's up to you, baby."

That's the one. Some of my hair's still a bit matted, snarled from too much time in bed. Fading black eye. Bridge bandage over my broken nose, bags under my eyes. Hospital gown. IV pole in the background, and a big hand on the back of my wheelchair. There's a couple more pictures—one of them is a before and after of the bandages on my wrist, and the angry scar it left. The other picture has my breasts in it—well, I tried to cover them with my left arm, still bandaged—but more importantly it has the scar. Just over two inches long, perfectly set between my ribs, on the left side. I don't think I'll be showing Joan either of those pictures.

I put the first picture back up, and hold out my phone so Joan can see. I see anger, then fear, then love playing across her face—so much like yours. Then she's on top of me, hugging me like we've been apart for years. She knew, of course, some of the details, but not everything. She knows how I got the scars, but she didn't know the full story behind them. Until now.

—∞—

"Anniken, you idiot!" Nice to see you too, Isabella. I was going to tell you I'm okay… I could only laugh at how right she was. Maybe it was silly, letting her call me out like that, but she did warn me. About everything, really. She smiled in relief as I laughed, and my good hand reached into the pocket on my gown, and snap. Gotcha.

I had to laugh even harder at her rabbit-in-the-headlights expression. Or maybe she was surprised I could move so fast. I wheeled myself over to the bed—Kristoff was waiting outside, he let me have that much at least. I showed Isabella the picture and she tried to steal my phone, but I got it off her somehow. I always was stronger. She pouted, and I cannot believe how attractive that made her look. I actually found it hard to believe I was attracted to another woman in the first place, but she was special.

There was a silence, and yes, it got awkward. We really didn't know where to begin. I was impressed that she made the first move.

"I… I missed you, Anna." I heard the sorrow in her voice, and it hurt. I know it wasn't my fault—at least not entirely—but still, it hurt.

"I'm sorry, Isabella… if I'd just listened…"

I think I sniffed a little, and suddenly I felt something warm in my left hand. She was reaching out to me. I felt it as our fingers twined together, and it felt… right. When she spoke her voice was low, and I still remember every word.

"Sometimes we have to make our own mistakes, only then can we truly learn from them."

I looked up at her as she finished. "I think this mistake schooled me pretty hard."

She smiled at me, not quite laughing. Her voice was carefully neutral when she spoke again.

"Anniken, if you like, you can call me Elsa."