AN: A big one for you guys (and girls) today. I've been inspired this past week, so I hope you enjoy the ride.


We went to the park on Sunday, met up with Belle and Adam. She wanted to talk about college, and he wanted to get out of their apartment for a while. It had to rain, so we took shelter in a little pavilion while it passed. Joan started asking too many questions—I'm thinking she was probably nervous about just waiting there—but Adam shut her down as gently as he could. We had planned for a picnic lunch, but the rain never stopped, just lightened up a little, so we had to call it a day. Hmm… what else?

Oh, yes, that's right. Mrs Belafont called in yesterday to thank us for taking care of Tina last week. I finally managed to get her name too—Cara. Fletcher now, not Belafont. She actually seems quite personable, and quite smart, so I'm still not sure why she would have married old Weaselly—Westley—Belafont in the first place. Eh, I'm not gonna pry, and that door's probably better left unopened.

In other news, work has been pretty light this week, but Al apparently has something big lined up for us on Friday afternoon. I get a feeling it's one of those big beamers that's been giving him trouble for a while now. Could be the Jute roller too, come to think of it—pneumatics need a bit of a tidy up there. That's later in the week though. Today's only Tuesday, and Joan's out at fencing right now. Kristoff's in the kitchen doing the dishes, and I'm here in the bathroom folding and putting away fresh towels. Friday afternoon seems so far away now, but I can still feel a twinge of sadness coming in here. I'm alright though, Kristoff helped me work through it on Saturday morning while we had a nice lie in and just talked.

Back down in the living room I check the clock and its nearly time to collect Joan from fencing. I tell Kristoff I'm going and he waves me off. The drive is pretty normal, cross town traffic much, much less this late at night. I get to the practice hall in time to see Joan standing outside, clutching her sword, looking disappointed. That's right, the grand melee is soon, and I've told her she still can't go. I have to stick to my guns on this one too. Joan throws her kit onto the back seats then buckles up on the passenger side. I can also see she's guarding her left side.

"You okay, baby?" Maybe my voice is a little too concerned for what's probably something minor, but I can't help myself.

"It just stings. Quarter-staves suck. News at eleven."

"Okay, okay, I'll wait 'til we're home—but then you owe me the full story, deal?"

"Deal," she's looking out the window, back at the hall. Her voice is heavy when she speaks again. "I'm still banned from the melee, aren't I?"

"You are, and you know why."

"This sucks."

And I don't think the rest of that conversation really needs to be mentioned, but suffice to say we were still fighting when we got to the front door. Kristoff opened the door for us, then just stood there, pointing at Joan, then me.

"You, shower; you, in here."

Kristoff takes me into the dining room and makes me sit. Upstairs I can hear the shower running. Kristoff fixes me with a disapproving look. Maybe I deserve it—I really shouldn't be fighting with Joan. Or anyone, for that matter. But I still have to make her see that what she did was wrong, and that severe actions have equally severe consequences. I mean, does she really know what she put me through that night? I wish could explain it to her in exacting detail—or wish that if she somehow has children they're exactly like her. I can't right now, she's in the shower. Instead, I stay seated, taking a deep breath, looking up at Kristoff as comes back with a mug of something.

Mmm, chocolate. He holds it just out of my reach so I have to pout.

"Only if you stop fighting, okay?"

I look at the mug of hot chocolate. I look at him. I look up at the ceiling, the shower still hissing away upstairs. I sigh and hang my head in shame. He's right. I don't hate him for it, but sometimes it's annoying how right he often is. Then again, he's the order to my chaos. It makes sense. And he makes a mean hot chocolate. With marshmallows.

"It was about her going to the grand melee, right?"

I nod.

"I know we said she couldn't go, and we've kept up with having her grounded for a month, but this thing is pretty big, Anna. It only happens once a year."

"I know, I know," it's hard to keep the sadness and frustration from my voice. "I know how much it means to her—and this would be her first, too."

"But you want to make the punishment hurt, so she remembers," Kristoff reaches down and squeezes my shoulders. "Just be careful you don't hurt yourself too."

"It's too late for that."

"Well, maybe she could earn it back—like we did with the stuff in her room?"

"It'd have to be pretty big." Wait, am I just agreeing to this because I want to see Joan happy?

"She's got two weeks." Not really. There's a lot of prep work involved, so we'd have to make the decision soon. Very soon indeed. Damn it, I just don't know what to do here. I can't tell if I'd be a good parent for saying no, or a bad parent for letting her go. I have to think about this. Stalling, I drink some more of the hot chocolate, trying to look thoughtful. I'm pretty sure Kristoff can see right through me at this point, but he doesn't press the issue. I decide it's probably best to table it for now.

"I just don't know. How about we pick it up in the morning?"

"Sure. I'll go make the bed. You going to tell Joan more about her mother tonight?"

"I should—I will. Should I tell Joan about the time you met her outside the hospital?"

"It was a Saturday, wasn't it?"

"And you'd just come to check up on me, because of this," I run a finger down the scar on my wrist. "There was always a reason I had you as my I.C.E. contact."

"Pretty much the same reason you married me, isn't it?" I let him have the kiss; it's not often he tries to steal them.

Joan doesn't seem that happy to see me, but that's probably because she's inherited my stubborn streak, so she can stay angry for quite a while. She's in bed, reading. I'm not quite sure what the radio's playing, but it's not a song I really recognize. It's recent, vaguely familiar, but beyond that I've got nothing. Joan turns to look at me the goes back to her book.

"I wanted to tell you more about Elsa." My voice is low, and Joan snaps her book shut to look at me. "Look, just because we're mad at each other right now doesn't mean I won't tell you Elsa's story."

"I'm still mad at you." She sets the book down on the floor rather more quietly, whispering. "But thank you."

"You'll probably still be mad at me after I tell you the story—but it's okay, I'm here to tell you the story, not ask you to forgive me." I can see the frown she's giving me, but it's half-hearted, and a little tired. She really does need to rest after a hard night fencing. She's still awake for now though, and still interested our story.

"So, mom, what is the story?"

—∞—

It was the Saturday after I tried Elsa's fish. One meal I would much rather have forgotten. We made up for it by going to a fancy restaurant on Friday night. We didn't dress up much for that one, but Elsa did wear a nice dress, and I had a fancy blouse and my dress trousers—because sometimes suits are fun too. The meal wasn't overly memorable, but I do recall that Elsa was almost falling asleep on the porch as I fumbled with the keys. I'd had just a little too much to drink, but as I wasn't driving, I didn't think mattered.

And because of that Elsa used me as a blanket in the morning, because we'd both collapsed on my bed. I know this because I woke up with something soft and warm beneath me, smiling up at me. This was before we started sleeping naked—

—∞—

"Mom!"

"What?" I give Joan a look. "It's more natural, and healthier. You'll understand the other advantages when you're older."

"No, I get them pretty well now," and Joan makes a very crude gesture to illustrate her point. So much for keeping her innocent.

"We were both consenting adults. Anyway, nothing happened. Now…"

—∞—

—and I was pretty sure we hadn't done anything the previous night. I don't even remember a kiss. That came later. We had breakfast together, and got to talking about our careers.

"You're an engineer?" she seemed surprised. "What field did you specialise in?"

"General engineering, Elsa. The nuts and bolts kind," I looked down at my toast. She assumed that because I was an engineer I'd gone to college and studied something special like civil or marine engineering. Not that I was at all ashamed of my place, I just felt like my achievements were somewhat underwhelming compared to hers.

"So… you just fix things?"

"Sometimes we make them too."

"We?"

"Me, Audrey, Kristoff, and Maurice."

"You work with Kristoff—I thought he was just your friend?"

"He's my boss," I smiled at her across the table, watching as she sipped her coffee. "But he's my friend too."

"He's a good man, Anniken. When you were hurt he made sure you were okay, then he came to tell me what happened."

"He told me, because the first thing I wanted to do when I woke up was tell you I was okay."

"And are you?"

I smiled and looked away shyly, blushing. "I'm better when you're around."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a pained look flash across Elsa's face, but she didn't say anything. She was quiet, just sipping her coffee and looking at me. I figured she was stalling for time. Until she completely changed the subject.

"Hey, think there's anything good on TV right now?"

I was rather shocked by the sudden shift. I'd just admitted that I liked being around her—because she made me feel good—and then she asked about TV? Then I remembered that flash of pain that maybe I hadn't been supposed to see. Her admission that someone—Yuriko—had led her on in the past. Did she think I was doing that? Couldn't she see I was doing all of this because I wanted to help? Because I felt responsible? And more and more, because I liked her. More than liked, in fact. For her to think that—it hurt, and I had a hard time keeping it from my face. It helped that I'd just turned away to put my dishes in the sink. Stopping dead in the middle of floor didn't.

A hand touched my shoulder and I flinched, turning sharply. I could see the surprise in Elsa's eyes, and the slow understanding. For a long time sudden movements, being too close, or being touched from behind would set me off. Hans had hurt me, and my mind still expected any sudden movement to be like him—to hurt. My reactions were automatic. But this time Elsa persevered, wrapping her arm about my shoulders and pulling me close.

Only then did I see what she thought must have stopped me. Only then did my hands shake. I kept seeing it and seeing it—trying my best to ignore it every day. The red tide marks on the wood. From me. They were blood. They were a reminder of just how close I'd come to death—and all the other memories of that night. I stepped over to the sink and put my dishes down, but Elsa didn't let go. She turned me to face her, and then she leant her forehead against mine.

"He'll never hurt you again, Anniken," she whispered to me. "I swear it. I'll keep you safe."

"You don't understand," I whispered back, eyes closed. "That was my fault."

My eyes were closed, so I never saw it coming. I've said before that Elsa wasn't the violent type—and she wasn't. This was one of only two or three times she actually hit me and wanted to hurt me. I couldn't keep the hurt and betrayal from my eyes, or the stinging from my cheek. I could see tears in her eyes, and I wondered why, because I was the one she'd hit. Before I could react, or say anything, she had pulled me into an almost bone-crushing hug—just like some of mine.

"You must never—never—blame yourself for what he did to you." Then she squared my shoulders and kissed me on the cheek. Many times, in fact. She fussed over my hair, then kissed my cheek again. "I'm sorry I hit you, Anniken. It was wrong of me."

"It was," I agreed solemnly. "And it's worse"—I held out my left wrist for her to see—"because I did this"—I pointed to the stain on the floor—"and this lead to that. So it is my fault. So you just slapped me for nothing."

Elsa said nothing, eyes bright with regret, and just turned her cheek to me, inviting me to hit her.

"No."

She turned to look at me, intrigued.

"Hitting you wouldn't solve anything, and it wouldn't make me feel better either—oh, well, it might, but only right now, I'd just feel terrible and guilty and like a horrible person later so I won't. But I will forgive you. I mean, as long as you promise not to hit me like that again because you've got quite an arm there—ever play baseball?"

Elsa pulled me into a tight hug. I flinched, because she really was quite fast, but I relaxed when she rested her chin on my shoulder.

"I promise I will never hit you again, Anna."

I had some meaningful reply lined up, but I forgot it the instant I heard the doorbell. It was Saturday. Morning. I most certainly was not expecting any visitors. Neither, I guessed, was Elsa, given how alert she suddenly became. Frowning in consternation, I opened the door, Elsa at my back, one hand on my shoulder, trying to look past me.

"Umm, hi?" It was Kristoff, and I'm pretty sure he hadn't meant to turn that into a question.

"Kristoff?"

"Let me try that again," he backed a half step from the door and smiled at me. "Hi Anna, can I come in."

"Uhh, sure," I was still unsure as to why he was there, but I wasn't going to make him stand on the porch the whole time.

"Nice couch." He sat heavily on the end closest to the door, then patted the cushion next to him. His next words were very serious. "Anna, can I talk to you?"

I was a little taken aback—couldn't we just talk at work, on Monday? I stayed standing, Elsa at my side, and Kristoff frowned slightly at me. It looked like maybe he wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure he could—or should—say it in front of Elsa.

"I just want to make sure you're okay, given the last few weeks."

I sat heavily on the cushion next to him, then laid my wrist against his leg so he could see the scar. "It's about this, isn't it."

"That—and why you did it. I… I don't really know how to ask, Anna."

"Then don't," I shook my head. "I don't want to go through that again."

"I… I just want to know you're okay, that's all," he took a deep breath, then placed his hand in mine. "As a friend. Not your boss. You really, really scared me Anna."

"You are not the only one she scared with that," Elsa sat next to me, one hand resting just above my knee, squeezing my leg. She meant it as a show of solidarity.

There, the three of us on the couch, that was my world. I didn't know it back then, but now it's so obvious that that's the moment it all started. It was a small moment, intimate, among friends. Among people that cared for me. Perhaps even actually loved me. They didn't press me for the story about the scar on my wrist. They didn't expect me to say anything. They just wanted me to know that I was cared for. Loved. By both of them. I'd never felt anything like it before—except maybe in my youngest years with my parents, busy though they sometimes were. I took a shuddering breath and wiped my eyes. My hands came away damp with tears.

Had I just been crying?

I felt an arm around each shoulder, and I winced, trying to shrink away. They wouldn't let me. I felt both of them slide just a little closer.

"It's okay, Anna, you're safe now." Elsa.

"You'll be okay." Kristoff.

I turned and smiled for each of them; to let them know I appreciated their words. So, so much. I wasn't crying because I was sad. I was crying because I was happy, and loved, and I hadn't felt like I mattered like that for a very long time. It felt like in that moment I had regained some vital part of myself, something hidden or stolen from me. I wasn't yet better, but I was okay. I was safe. It was enough.

Wiping away the tears, I turned to Elsa first. "Thank you for showing me I was worth more." Then I took Kristoff's hand in mine and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you for being there; and for not giving up on me."

I stood, turning to face them. There was something I had to get off my chest. They both thought the scar on my wrist was because I'd lost hope—they knew the one under my breast was because I'd challenged Hans—but I wanted them to know the truth. I wanted them to understand the enormity of what I'd almost done—let happen—because I was convinced it was the only way to get revenge. And as I spoke, I saw the horror on Kristoff's face. I saw anger too, and back then, that scared me. But I didn't stop talking. It was like a dam breaking, and either I was going to get it all off my chest, or drown in the flood.

Elsa had started angry, but very quickly her face had become blank. She was aghast. I understood why, too. For one terrible moment I had been like Hans. I wanted to destroy him. To destroy him and leave him so utterly broken he would never recover. I wanted to destroy him like he'd tried to destroy me. I told them; I gave them my rationale, hard to swallow though it might have been. Kristoff stood, hands balled into fists, knuckles white. I took a half-step back, but he didn't move.

"Anna, why?" I looked straight at him. I'd just told him why. He stared straight back and I looked at the floor, pretending to find it interesting. Very interesting. I didn't want him to see the shame I felt. I saw a shadow move, and when I looked up he was standing next to me. I let out a quiet breath as he spoke, wishing I could just disappear. "I know you wanted to hurt him; to break free—"

He took a deep breath, and I looked away. I had a feeling something big was coming.

"—but you went too far, you—"

"She did not." I heard Elsa interrupt; she would defend me when I couldn't do it myself. When I felt like I didn't deserve it.

"Isabella, let me finish." I saw Kristoff hold up his hands to forestall any protest, then he took my hands in his, making me look him in the eye. "You went too far, Anna. No amount of vengeance; no amount of damage; nothing you ever do to him is worth trading your life for"—and here he flashed me mischievous grin—"besides, who else do I know that can do an inverted weld in a two thousand litre tank while dangling by her ankles?"

I couldn't help it. One hand went to my mouth to try and hide the giggles, and the other covered my stomach as I almost doubled over. Elsa stepped over to straighten me out, resting her forehead against mine when we stood again. I felt her flyaways brushing my cheeks. I felt her nose just touching mine. I smelled her, raw, primal, and beautiful, and for a moment it almost overwhelmed me. There was something intoxicating about being that close to another woman. Being that close to her. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper.

"You truly are an idiot, Anniken," I felt her hands reach out to cradle the back of my head. Her nose no longer touched mine. Her lips seemed dangerously close. "But you are my idiot."

And in that moment I felt it. I knew it. Then, now, and forever. The taste of that spark; the dull heat of rekindled embers; the sheer, simple truth of that moment. I was in love. With another woman. Who loved me back. I knew. She knew. Softly, quietly, breaking the eternity of a ghostly second she broke contact and made it true. She didn't have to say it, because I knew it, but she said it anyway.

"I love you."

That was when Kristoff, rather embarrassed, cleared his throat and made us remember that we were not, in fact, the only two people in the world.

—∞—

Joan looks at me, quite surprised. "Dad was there when you kissed auntie Elsa?"

"Yup," I smile at her. "Though I think he probably remembers it rather differently."

There's a quiet moment. I don't say anything, I leave it up to her, if she wants to. She doesn't. I guess she must still be mad at me. I'm okay with that—sometimes to be a good parent I've got to be the bad guy. I don't like it, but I'm okay with it. And you, up there, I always will wonder what kind of mother you would've been. I remember how you took care of me when I was sick. I'm sure you'd make a great mother. Hmm… maybe you already did; she's your daughter too.