Friday. I've survived another week. It's been chaos recently and now it's time to take a deep breath and let it all out, to once again find my centre. I think Kristoff helped; we're lying here, tangled in the sheets, sweating, breath slowly coming back to us. A lot of the stress has melted away, and I just nuzzle into his chest, enjoying the warmth, the beat of his heart, the sweet smell of his body. In this moment we don't need any words, and he tilts my head back so he can kiss me again. Sometimes we lose ourselves so high we have to bring each other down gently. I tighten my arms around his back and tangle my legs with his. It's a good kiss, and it makes me forget all the problems we've had throughout the week.
I can feel my body spread out languorously across the sheets, falling away from Kristoff. I don't think I've quite come down yet, my mind just outside my body, not quite in sync. I like it, the feeling of weightlessness. It's how Elsa made me feel, and I'm glad Kristoff can make me feel that way sometimes too. His hands roam around my body, and he tickles my stomach—a soft caress just enough to bring me down. Not quite down, but enough that I feel like drawing the sheets over us and snuggling into his arms. I'm tired, but it's a good tired, a happy tired; the tiredness of the recently sated. I didn't realize just how badly I needed tonight.
But I sleep, calm and happy, bound in my lover's arms. I dream of her, and I dream of him. Happy dreams. I know the morning I'll forget them, but I've come to accept them. Only now, only this half-lucid state between sleep and wakefulness am I aware of such things. The tendrils of deeper sleep wrap me in a cocoon outside of time, and my body rests as if I were a child again.
I blink slowly, awake, and turn to look at the clock on the nightstand. Ten-thirty… ish. About right for a Saturday. Kristoff's already up, and I think I can hear the TV downstairs, meaning Joan must be up as well. I pull on something reasonably presentable and laugh at my hair in the mirror. You'd appreciate it, I know. Stinker. Looks like my hair slept better than I did—and I slept pretty damn well. Best I have in a long time actually. I make my way to the kitchen and decide I'll just have toast and a cup of coffee for breakfast. Still decaf—or maybe I'll make myself a hot chocolate. It's the weekend after all, I can mix things up a bit.
Tina went on Thursday night, her mom swung past to pick her up. They're both staying at her grandparents now, so I know they're safe and I guess reasonably happy. Tina seemed excited, Joan… less so. I saw them in the same bed on Thursday morning, so I wonder—but I won't pry. If she needs to, I know Joan will tell me in her own time. So it's just us in the house today. I can see some cloud from the kitchen window, and I get the feeling it might rain this afternoon. I'd like that.
I flop down in one of the single seaters, careful not to spill my hot chocolate or send my toast flying—though it does dance dangerously close to the edge of the plate. And over my light breakfast I tell Joan more of our story; of when I discovered you weren't telling me the whole truth.
—∞—
I was back at work in earnest, and I discovered that in my absence Kristoff had hired a fourth man for our crew. He went by the name of Maurice, and had a three month old daughter. Kristoff quietly told me that he'd been looking for work for nearly six months, and because of his low level of experience to qualifications he couldn't find anything suitable. But Kristoff saw his potential, especially for drafting and process design. I was impressed by what I saw, and I helped guide him around on his first few days.
We were doing a big build, and were working evenings to meet the deadline, so I didn't see much of Elsa that week. We alternated between the couch and the bed until she managed to arrange delivery of a new bed and a new couch. The bed I could understand, but I thought my couch was alright. Until I sat on the new one and she pushed me over. Now that was a comfortable couch. She started commenting about how well it matched the other furniture and the style of the house.
"You are so gay," I teased.
She responded with a devious smile, kissing me on the cheek, and making me blush. Her next question was serious. "What about you?"
"What about me?" My mind had drawn a blank because I hadn't been asking any questions.
"A-are you gay?" Dammit, she sounded so cute when she was nervous. Okay, if I wasn't gay—and at this point I was more confused that anything else—she was turning me gay. And I liked it.
"Well, I'm going out with you, aren't I?"
She sighed. "Maybe you're just leading me along, like Yuriko did."
How could she say that? How could she even think that about me? I bit back an angry reply about my honesty and fell back on the couch. Just because I'd never seen any marks on her skin didn't mean she couldn't have been hurt just as deeply as I was. There were different kinds of hurt, after all. I patted the cushion next to me, and she sat, reluctantly, shuffling away from me slightly. I wondered why she would say that to me, but I didn't actually say anything. I closed my eyes and let out a breath, placing my hand between us—she could take it if she wanted.
I felt long, thin fingers twine with mine, and I felt her leaning in to my shoulder. "I have to go to the hospital tomorrow."
"More physio?"
She hesitated—never a good sign—then simply nodded.
"Oaken treats you well. And is David helping?"
"He is helping, I'm getting most of my flexibility back now. Two months—six weeks if I'm lucky—and I might even be able to take to the stage again."
"That's incredible!" It was. I was happy for her, because knowing about her life as a dancer, having heard her aspirations, I knew it would be a big step, and it would be good for her to get out there again. I couldn't really understand how her excitement seemed so dull compared to mine on this matter.
"It's still two months away, Anna. I don't know if I'll be ready."
"You will be," I kissed her on the cheek, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. I wanted her to know I was willing to support her every endeavour in returning to a career I had nearly ruined for her. It was the least I could do.
The next day, around lunch, I got a call from the hospital. The physio department was asking if I had any concerns or had had any problems with my ankle. I told them I hadn't. Remembering that Elsa had somehow missed her alarm that morning, I asked if she'd managed to make her appointment on time. There was a long silence on the other end of the phone—I had a feeling that perhaps they remembered I was the one who had snuck in and watched her that time. I heard the clicking of a keyboard in the background, as if something was being searched out.
"What is your relation to miss Frostad again?"
"Concerned friend?" I tried. I elaborated. "I'm the one that brought her in when she got hit—I just want to make sure she's doing okay."
More typing in the background, and what sounded like a call on another line.
"Hmm, that's odd. Her next appointment is on the sixteenth."
"There's nothing today?" I frowned, trying to put things together. "She sees Doctor Oaken."
"Oaken works at St. Claire's on a Thursday." There was no way Elsa was at physio then. I nearly dropped the phone.
"Thanks." I hung up, angry and confused.
Why was she lying to me? What made her think she needed to keep this a secret? I shook my head, leaning back against the wall of the workshop. I'd gone outside to take the call, and now it was over Kristoff wandered out next to me. He must have seen my look.
"Something wrong, feistypants?" he didn't use my nickname much back then, but when he did it meant he was concerned. Times change.
"It's Elsa."
"Did something happen?"
"I'm not sure," I shrugged. "She told me she had a physio appointment today, but they just rung me, and I kinda asked if she made her appointment because she missed her alarm and that's totally not like her and her next appointment isn't even until next Tuesday and even Oaken doesn't work there—"
"Anna?"
"—on a Thursday so she can't have any appointments there today but she's still going to the hospital right and it's not like she'd try to run away because she seemed to happy to stay in the spare bedroom and—wait, did you say something?"
"Breathe."
"Okay, okay. Elsa went to the hospital, but not for physio, because they told me she doesn't have any appointments today, so why?"
"Why don't you just ask her when you get home?"
But it wasn't that simple. I couldn't just confront her like that. The last time I'd done anything like that we'd had a massive argument that led to me saying things I nearly didn't get a chance to regret. Then I'd confronted Hans, and everyone knows how that turned out. I could try subtlety, but I knew it wasn't my strong suit. And if I asked, well, Elsa would ask how I knew she wasn't there that day. Maybe if I asked something neutral; something about her day over dinner—but I had to be smart, to somehow catch her out. I was going to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.
As long as I didn't wind up driving her away, I would continue my investigation until I uncovered the truth—and no matter what it was, I would support her. I wanted her to know she didn't have to hide anything from me, in the same way I never hid anything from her. Trust was a street that went both ways, but I felt like there was a roadblock on her side of it. I would find a way around it, and eventually she would have to tell me what it was all about. I did find out, a few weeks later—but not before she tried cooking for us. If I didn't love her—and hadn't been obsessed about making amends—that meal might have been a deal-breaker.
—∞—
"Was auntie Elsa's cooking really that bad?" Joan raises a quizzical eyebrow at me from the couch.
"Yes." And if we're perfectly honest, it never improved either, even when you got tips from Kristoff.
"Is my cooking better than hers?"
"Also yes."
"…but not by much?"
"You can definitely bake better, but I think your father's the only real cook in this house."
"At last, some recognition!" This coming from the man himself, currently in the kitchen. I laugh—he knows he's much more appreciated than that, but sometimes it's just funnier to play along.
