Today has been good, even if I did get splattered with hydraulic oil on several occasions. At least I didn't cover the bench with it. Yes, it was the Reindeer King. I was about two seconds away from telling him that that side of the piston chamber was still full, and I was getting ready to drain it. Not that I already had. But it had been something of a long day, and we were both a bit tired. So we spent the last half hour with rags, sawdust, and some cans of degreaser, cleaning the floor.

So right now, just getting home, it's shower time. I rush past Kristoff into the house, throwing off certain items of clothing as I go. I think I can hear a protest from Joan at that, but I'm up the stairs before anything really registers. And now that's better, warm water running down my back, splashing my face. It's the little things. I'm itching that scar, the one just beneath my left breast. I shouldn't, I know. You kept telling me back then. At least I'm not still covering myself with my arms if someone gets too close to that side—and you helped me with that.

Or maybe I'm still worried about Hans. I know I shouldn't obsess like this, but you remember the mess he left me. It's okay though—and now I'm using that bodywash you got me. Of course it's not the same one… you remember how many we bought that time—yeah, that was fun. I think you have ruined strawberries for me forever. Maybe not though, because I always did like forbidden fruit after I found you and God I'm rambling right now. Whatever. And I think I'm going to tell Joan the next part just in brief, because not a whole lot happened; not until you—you—asked me to be there to see you stand again.

Eeee. Cold. Cold cold cold. I don't care how the plumbing is linked in this place, I blame you. Also, yes, you're right, I might have kind of sneaked past the interns in the physio ward just to see you. But hey, at least I made you smile when they threw me out. Then I maybe tried to ask you on a date in my fumbling not really sure how to ask another girl out way, and you actually said yes—and actually, no. We will not revisit that evening, no matter how funny you think it is. Fine. Maybe.

I think Joan's surprised to see me in pyjamas this early in the evening. They're comfortable, and it's not like we're expecting company. I actually really like the idea of making tonight a family night. We'll just sit in, and play boardgames or watch TV or not really listen to the radio or something like that. I sit in one of the armchairs, flicking hair out of my face. I'm checking my phone—Belle wants to meet at the park again, and against what may be my better judgement, or may be just general anxiety about this whole Hans thing, I want to meet up with her too.

"Joan?"

"Yeah mom?"

"What'd'you think about meeting Belle and Adam at the park tomorrow?"

"Sure," she shrugs noncommittally. "It's not like you're gonna let me out for anything else except school at this point, is it?"

"And you know exactly why that is, too."

"It's been a week."

"I still let you keep fencing." Okay, I know it's an empty threat, but I don't think she does. She just huffs and goes back to her phone. Probably Tina, I'm thinking, complaining about how unfair parents are. Commiserating, I guess. Sometimes I wish had more insight into the Belafonts', enough to at least know Tina is actually safe and well, though I'm pretty sure Joan would still tell me if something was amiss.

A strong hand grabs my shoulder and lifts me from the chair. I'm surprised for a split-second before there's a voice at my ear. "Come on feistypants, you did promise to help me cook, after all."

Oh, right. So I did. Silly me. Joan asks what it is—a mince and pasta dish we reply, moving into the kitchen. Well, it's a little more involved than that, what with the vegetables, spices, and pasta sauce. It's not long before everything is simmering nicely. I like cooking with Kristoff—I still have my doubts as to where his cooking skill is from, but it's undeniable that it's there, and that it's significant. Anyway, it's about the sense of familiarity; of family; of belonging. He wraps his arms around me from behind while we wait for everything to cook, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"You're okay to go to the park tomorrow?" There's a hint of worry; concern for me.

"I should be. We'll be surrounded by our friends, just like last time." I pause—I have to—trying to think of the best way to phrase the next part. "I'm still kinda scared I might see him again, but this time I'm going to deal with it my way."

"Anna, why do I get the feeling that this might involve threats and/or violence towards someone's balls—do you really want another charge like that on your record?"

Okay, ouch, that was low. Harsh. I get the feeling he's right though. Maybe not for the reasons he thinks, because the last time I confronted Hans I ended up with that four inch stab wound in my chest. And that slash down my wrist. I won't count the trial or the summary divorce—those felt like formalities after the fact to me. Maybe I need to grow up, like you said, and actually deal with the anxieties and insecurities that bastard made in me. I can feel a soft kiss on my cheek, and Kristoff's teasing my unbound hair.

"You're overthinking things. Again. You don't have to confront him—and you probably shouldn't, even if you are stronger and arguably wiser now."

"'Arguably' wiser, eh?"

"Yup." He's not even trying. He wants to tease me about my impulsiveness. I guess he's earned the right by now—I'm pretty merciless with everyone else's flaws, after all. Doesn't mean I'm going to take it lying down though. I gesture towards the pots, those which need stirring while simmering.

"Age before beauty, mister wisdom." It goes from there.


"Well, that was fun," Joan commented drily, putting her monster back in the box as we pack up.

"You liked it, Snowflake. I saw that smile you cracked when the Bronx got levelled."

"Which still wasn't enough to get me the win, was it dad?" Joan kept complaining. "Especially not when you and mom play as a team."

"Hey, I couldn't help all those hearts he rolled. And anyway, I thought you really liked this game?"

"When I was a—okay, yeah, I still like it," she let out a heavy sigh, rolling onto her back on the carpet. "I'm just worried about Tina. I haven't heard from her all week."

"She's been at school, right?"

"Yeah, of course she has mom. It's just, I haven't heard a single thing from her after school. At all. All week. And so now I'm worried about her and what her dad's doing and my mind's just running in circles trying to make some kind of sense of all this and its not easy to do and sometimes I wish I could talk to auntie Elsa, in person, and ask her advice about these things but I know I can't and… and I wish it really wasn't that way."

"You know you can still talk to us—even if you're mad at us; or if we're mad at you?"

"I know, mom. I know. It's just… someone else to talk to would be nice. Another adult, family, but like not you, or dad, but… is it possible to miss someone you've never met? Because I think I really would have liked to talk to my grandparents about stuff like this."

"Maybe there's somewhere else we should visit first tomorrow," Kristoff nudges me, nodding in the rough direction of the cemetery. Maybe he's right. It has been a long time.

"It's also bedtime. Sleep on it baby, you'll see it clearer in the morning."

"Mo—"

"Also, didn't you want to hear more about how auntie Elsa—" Hmph.

Did not know she could move that fast. I make my own way up the stairs, and then I close the door quietly behind me, sitting against the side of the bed. Joan scoots over, under the covers. It's a little awkward, given the angles, but hey, we can still see each other's faces.

—∞—

I had just spent the last week in the hospital. I'd spend the next one there too—both for observation of my mental state, and the fact the stab wound got infected. I was bored. There was never a whole lot to do in a hospital. There was crappy daytime TV, of course, and I had some phone games, and Lefou had left me a book—I don't remember what it was anymore, except that it was somehow worse than the TV. But I wasn't watched 24/7 anymore. I seemed stable. I was; better than I had been in years.

All it took was getting stabbed in the chest, leaving the man who tried to break me in an abusive relationship, and discovering somehow that I might have secretly been a lesbian all along. It was a lot to take in, and Kristoff and Lefou helped me sort through it. So did Elsa. It was weird thinking of her that way, and somehow the name Elsa fit her much better than Isabella. They let me visit her during regular visiting hours, and I really appreciated that. It always left both of us with a smile.

Then end of the second week came, I went to visit Elsa, I was still using crutches—because the nurse insisted—but that wasn't the first thing my blonde goddess commented on.

"You look much better, Anna." She smiled at me as she spoke, sitting up slowly in the bed.

"It is," I pulled open the top of my gown, letting her see the raw pink flesh around the knife wound, and the black thread of the stitches. "Still kinda looks like a zipper though."

She facepalmed, blushing slightly. She wasn't used to people so confident in their own bodies. I could tell. Also, I maybe could have been a little more discreet in showing off my scars. It was too late by then of course.

"So, you'll be starting physio for your leg soon?"

"In a few days, hopefully. I'll let you know more when I know."

"And exactly how are you going to let me know, without a phone or anything?"

"You'll just have to come and ask me yourself, won't you."

Oh. That made sense to me—and she still wanted to see me. I wanted to keep seeing her too. Progress seemed slow, but I know now she wasn't just looking for a physiotherapist. We'll get to that later. We made small talk, mostly about the inadequacies of daytime television, and generally not saying a whole lot. We would lapse into silence every now and then, but by that point it was a companionable kind of silence.

I was discharged from the hospital a day later, but they recommended I take it easy for the next couple of weeks, just in case. They also recommended seeing a physiotherapist about my ankle due to how I'd injured it again—apparently in a different way—during the recovery period. I took the doctors' advice. The hospital had a physio ward, so it was convenient whenever I might also visit Elsa. Little did I know she would show up in that same ward two weeks later. It was weird, the first time, seeing her outside the hospital. I had to do a double take, especially given how disheveled she looked—but I knew from recent experience how much effort it actually took to move around on those crutches.

The person helping her move was a giant. Not literally, but he must have been at least 6' 6", and I don't know how massive. Maybe 280? He was an absolute bear of a man, but there was absolutely nothing threatening or imposing about his size. Elsa stumbled, and he caught her as gently as he might his own child. I looked away, fairly sure Elsa didn't want me to see her like this. I caught a snippet of their conversation as the door to one of the physio rooms opened in front of them.

"…more careful, miss Frostad."

"I just… slipp—" And the door closed behind them.

I went home, as had been my routine for the past two weeks. I'd had no work—although Kristoff said I could come in and do the basic machining on our next project if I felt up to it. I figured I would start on the next Monday, ease back into work. It would get me out of the house, at least. And the house just felt so damn empty. Part of me—a small, desperately lonely part of me—wanted Hans back just so the house wouldn't be so empty. The rest of me was considering whether or not I'd rent out a room; or invite a friend to stay for a while.

The problem with that of course was I only had something like four or five friends. Kristoff, but he was also my boss. Lefou, and his problems were comparable to mine, but I got the feeling he would deal with it in his own way. Rapunzel, my cousin—who I still haven't seen in years—who was living across the ocean with her new husband Eugene. Okay, so scratch that one. Audrey wouldn't, mostly because her and her sister are completely inseparable. I was getting desperate. Then… then there was Elsa. I had no idea how she might react if I offered her the room. And whether or not I would tell her why.

The following week became a blur of tiredness at work, aching muscles and joints, and making some real progress on my physiotherapy. I could walk without crutches, and even stand for quite a while. I could not, however, run, or even jog. Elsa, well, she had it a lot worse. I contrived various excuses to stay in the ward, to find ways to see how Elsa was doing with her own physio course. When Kristoff asked me why I was basically stalking my girl-crush, I had to stop.

But she was so close. I'd seen her every time. The struggle to rise. To take even one step. The pain and concentration on her face; and the despair when she couldn't. There had been many false starts. So many close calls—but her physiotherapist caught her every time. I was watching a gentle giant nurse a broken bird back to health. She would take a step with her good leg, then move her hands across the rails. Then she would try to take another step, and her ankle would twist, or her knee would give way, or both hands would go to her thigh, and her physiotherapist would catch her. She was convinced she would never dance again. He told her she wouldn't with that attitude.

Then he asked her to show him how to waltz. He placed each of her feet atop one of his own, then began to move slowly about the room. He asked her if that counted as her dancing, and she laughed. Maybe at the absurdity of it, but I could tell it was a happy laugh. I had a master plan now for how to get into Elsa's next session.

—∞—

"I'm guessing that's what got you thrown out, right mom?"

I smile for Joan. "Yup. Blew up in my face completely."

"And what else were you doing, because I know you weren't just working, sleeping, and stalking auntie Elsa. You… you divorced Hans, right? Was there some kind of hearing? And, um… your license too—didn't you get that back?"

"Baby, divorcing Hans was a non-event. I didn't even need a hearing, and I got pretty much everything in the settlement for all the harm he'd done to me over the years. You're right, I did get my license back, but that wasn't until some time later."

"Oh, oh, and what about the spare room—did someone stay in it before auntie Elsa moved in with you?"

"No," I sigh, shaking my head sadly. I can still remember those empty nights and afternoons. Mornings that were far too quiet. Even background noise from the TV or radio didn't help. I just can't stand to be alone. It's a weakness; like my impulsiveness, or the way I always tease people. I couldn't stand an empty house, and back then, I recall I had a vague notion of selling the place and moving into a cosy little apartment so I'd have people all around me.

—∞—

I was watching Elsa intently. Her physiotherapist, whom I now knew went by the name of Oaken—possibly a nickname, given his and strength and sturdiness—had taken away the rails. Elsa stood in the middle of the room held up only by her crutches, not resting any weight on her right leg. She had one of those fancy plastic walker casts.

"You can do this, Isabella. I know you can rest some weight on that leg now."

"I… it's hard, Oaken. I keep thinking I'll fall again."

Oaken smiled warmly at her. "If you do, I will catch you, like always. But this time we will try again. And again. And again. Until either you pass out from exhaustion or you stand. This is the first step. Do this, and you will dance again. Are you ready?"

Elsa nodded reluctantly, and Oaken took the first crutch—the one under her left arm. I watched as she tottered back and forth, left arm spreading out to maintain her balance. You can do this. I knew she could, but I tried to project that thought straight at her to give her more than what she needed. Oaken took the second crutch, and I wriggled around uncomfortably in my hiding spot, trying to get a better view. Elsa was standing. Unsteadily. Her arms moved slowly, and seemingly awkwardly, keeping her balanced, almost all her weight on her left leg.

"You can do this Isabella—just do it slowly—don't press on your leg, just shift your balance with your hi—yes! Yes! Just like that. Good."

Elsa was panting with effort, and I could see sweat beading on her forehead. All her concentration was on this one task.

"Yes!" That was Oaken, congratulating her.

"Yes!" That was me, and I really should have known better, but I had just seen Elsa standing on her own two feet. Oaken dragged me up from my hiding spot. His demeanour had changed in an instant, and now he really was scary.

"What were you doing back there?"

"Watching?" I asked hopefully.

"Get out!"

Oaken turned—because it was Elsa that had just shouted at me. She was furious, and she advanced on me, taking two, shaky steps. I cringed back, arms covering my chest, and turned aside. Elsa stumbled, but Oaken caught her, carefully lowering her into a sitting position. Then he slung me over his shoulder, and despite some colourful protests, marched towards the door. Somehow there was an orderly there waiting for me, and I recalled something that I probably shouldn't have.

"Oooh, kicking and screaming, please."

I made a scene. I scared some people, I'm sure. But what I saw as I was dragged away made it all worthwhile—including the serious reprimands I got from the staff, the hospital, and even Kristoff. Because just before I went past the doorjamb, I had seen Elsa covering her mouth with her hands, shaking with silent laughter. At me, no doubt, but I didn't care. I'd seen her stand. And smile. And made her laugh. It was worth the world to me.