AN: Here's some story you can sink your teeth into.


It's a nightmare.

Okay, not really. But Naveen's wirer is in about 50,000 pieces in front of me right now. They're organised across a bench running the length of the workshop. It might be an idea to point out said bench is made of stacks of pallets and covered with layerboards and parts bins. We—meaning myself, Kristoff, Audrey, and Maurice—have been responsible for doing a teardown on this thing. It had a major crash a couple of days ago, and now that we're finally into the guts of it we can see exactly what went wrong.

I think.

Because the main push-rods are supposed to have bearings on them that run in the cam track on the guide plate. Supposed to. Three of them are missing, and on the cam plate there is a massive ding out of one side, and scratches through the hard-chromed surface. That we'll have to outsource—if it can even be repaired at this point. Probably can, but it'll be a hell of a job. Me… I just have to remove what's left of the damaged bearings, then install new bearings on the end of every push-rod. It's only just after lunch, but I know we'll be back tomorrow—Saturday—and maybe even Sunday. Naveen has the line down for two weeks, but right now I'm not sure if that's too optimistic or too pessimistic.

The rest of the day is pretty standard fare, and late in the afternoon my mind is starting to wander, thinking about you, thinking about where I am in telling our story to Joan. I think the next thing was finding the necklace in the attic. Okay, yeah, maybe I should have told her that when we were up there, but then I'd be telling things out of order and you know I hate doing that. I come back to reality, staring at the crap scattered over my section of the bench. I start tidying up, picking up discarded packaging and collecting old and worn parts into a large parts bin—those'll go in the scrap bin later.

The day's very nearly over when Kristoff sidles up next to me. "I know you've had a hard day, but," I shrug. I knew we were coming in tomorrow anyway. "Tonight I'm going to—" and he whispers something very, very naughty in my ear. I find it incredibly hard not to blush at that. I think I manage. Just.

"I'll hold you to that."

"Oh, I hope you do, feistypants, I hope you do…" God he knows how to get me going. Well he should, we've been married more than 15 years now. I still can't help but wonder what we would have done, if you'd survived. Well, maybe what he just promised me. I can just imagine your blush if I'd said it that way too. Sometimes you were just so much fun to tease. I can't help but be a little distracted as we tidy up ready for tomorrow. Still, it's probably a good thing weekend work never really bothered any of us.

Back at home at last, and me and Kristoff are in the kitchen, cooking dinner, and doing more than a little teasing. It's always been fun to cook with him. It was entertaining trying to teach you how to cook, but that might not be entirely fair. Still, I remember a time we were tempted to try eating breakfast off each other, and yes, my mind keeps going there. What? I'm an adult after all. I should probably be paying attention to the spices though, doing the steaks carefully because of each us likes different spice mixes. I mix vegetables for the salad while Kristoff checks on the cubed potatoes in the oven.

"So, Anna," Kristoff is turning the potato cubes as he talks. "How much have you told Joan of your story?"

I flip the steaks again as I reply. "I've just told her about how you took me home from work."

"The first time?"

"Yeah, the first time. I'd honestly forgotten about the others."

"Well, they weren't quite as bad," he laughs, probably remembering the same thing I am. "They also might have been my fault."

I spread my hands in a non-committal gesture. "I don't think anyone thought the chains would snap lifting that tank out. Also, I think wrecking the bottom section of that tank was more expensive than squashing my bike. I guess we're lucky Naveen let us stay."

"He was there, supervising, and he was also the one that set the whole thing up. It was just unfortunate the tank fell that way when the chains snapped. Really, it's lucky the damn thing didn't crush the distillery outbuilding."

Shit… That's right, they were still using it. It was only about a year, year and a half later that the outbuilding was torn down and the distillery itself upgraded instead. Either way, it was a close call, and that meant paperwork. I actually remember us helping Naveen fill out what felt like six months worth of paperwork. And a small claim for my Ninja. It was also one of the few times we've had to use the company's liability insurance—for the tank and the damage, not my bike.

The door to the dining room swings open, Joan's head peeking through, braid swinging past her shoulders. "Hey, is it ready yet?"

"Nearly. Why don't you set the table, Snowflake?" I can feel Kristoff moving behind me as he speaks. He's up to something.

"Yes, especially as the Reindeer King's hands seem to be a little preoccupied right now." Definitely up to something—my apron just felt a little looser.

"Okay—and eww." I try not laugh at the way she's screwing up her face right now. Really, I do, but Kristoff just did something behind my back I can't ignore. "Mom! That is not helping!"

"Y'know, sooner or later you're going to have to accept that we still have a sex life." And now she's pointedly not looking at us as she grabs plates and cutlery. It's probably for the best she doesn't see me spanking Kristoff for what he just did.

"I heard that. You two are worse than—"

"Teenagers?" Kristoff cuts her off. "Were you going to say a pair of teenagers? Like you and Tina?"

I have to put a hand over my mouth to hide my laughter. I did not know she was capable of turning that shade of pink. Course she's probably gonna get us back later, but that's part of the fun. I turn back to the oven and turn the pan off, flipping the steaks one last time. Saw that trick on a cooking show ages ago—now I wish I could remember which one.

"Truce," I hold up my hands. "Let's just have dinner."

And we do. I even let Joan try a little wine. Just a taste really. She doesn't like it, and from the look she's giving me I guess she's wondering how anyone could like it. The rest of the evening is uneventful—at least while Joan's around. Well, we'll get to that in a bit. Right now though, I'm sitting at the foot of Joan's bed, and she's sitting next to me, leaning into my shoulder.

"So I can really go next weekend?"

"To watch, yes."

She looks disappointedly at the lattice cast around her left wrist. "I couldn't fight anyway."

"There's always next year, baby," I wink at her. "Assuming you don't try stealing people's cars again and running away with your girlfriend."

"Yeah, I guess. But next year's a long way off."

"It's already mid-October."

"Mo–om."

"I know," I have one arm around her shoulders in a loose hug. "I told you about Elsa's necklace, right?"

"Her snowflake one?"

"That's the one. I told you I forgot it in the attic too. It's about time I tell you when we found it—also, because it was a couple of days after Kristoff dropped me home from work, and he'd convinced me to take a couple of days off. Doctor's Orders."

"You always did hate that…"

—∞—

"It's not a negotiation, Anna. You're staying home. I'll call Isabella and have her tie you to the bed if I have to."

"But…"

"No. Stay home. We've got this," he eventually relented. "Look, it's a three man job at the most, and probably only two for ninety percent of it. Think of it as an extra-long long weekend."

"Kristoff, I'm going nuts just staying here."

"Then go out somewhere with her; enjoy your life—lives. Hold up, Mel's trying to get through."

I hung up. I wanted to do something. Anything. The hardest part of doing nothing was actually the nothing. I sighed, glad Elsa was out for the morning. I frowned—I couldn't be sure if it was physio or treat—no, wait, Friday, so it had to be treatment. I knew what I would see when she got back; what she didn't want me to see. Something she still didn't know I had seen. There were questions too; questions I should have asked that first night. Or any time between then and now. My mind always was kind of scattered.

Then I remembered the necklace. The one I'd bought for her. I'd stashed it in the attic, wanting to bring it out as a surprise for her. Turned out I'd forgotten exactly where in the attic I'd hidden it. So that was it, I was going to have to clean the attic to find it. I shrugged, traipsing up the stairs. I could not remember the last time I had properly cleaned it. Some time after moving in with Hans. I absently itched at the scar beneath my breast. Surely I've cleaned it since then.

I opened the hatch and pulled down the stairs to the attic. When the light was on it became clear I hadn't cleaned the place in a very long time. There was a book in one corner. Something vaguely familiar. I dusted off the cover, realising it wasn't just a book, but an old photo album. The back was empty, no loose photos waiting to find a place. No missing memories. I flicked to the front, and on the second page I saw my name in smooth, flowing calligraphic script. The album was older than I thought.

I sat, cross-legged, leafing slowly through the pages. Thankfully there were only a handful of baby pictures—but in all of them I seemed to have a shock of ginger hair. I guess I really was born with it. I shrugged, turning another page. I was six. Lilo was there, and my cousin Rapunzel—I don't think she ever forgave her step-mother for the name. Nani, Lilo's sister/caretaker is in the background with my mom, and Rapunzel's step-mother. Everyone looked so happy back then. Maybe it was the birthday cake.

Suddenly I was driven to wonder if I would ever be one of those background parents. Me—or Elsa. It was crazy, thinking about children, but… Would she? Did I? And when? It was all too jumbled up to really think about. I turned the page, ignoring the photo of me in that horrible Christmas sweater. Just photos of everyday life, me and my parents. A younger Hans is in a few of them. Kristoff isn't. One of my old projects from shop class, putting the boys to shame.

Junior prom. I remembered how awkward the dress was, and how I simply didn't have the figure to fill it out. I also remembered several attempts at using various kinds of padding to help the situation. It didn't. Hans in a suit—it was hard not to rip that photo in half. After junior prom. I still wasn't sure if I was happy with my father immortalising that kiss on the porch. A few more everyday photos. I turned the page again.

Only a single faded Polaroid. Stained and faded. The corners were dog-eared, and the right edge was starting to crack. I must have put it in there for safe keeping—the last time I ever saw my parents. We all wore such happy smiles. I had to wonder then if they would have been proud of what I'd done; what I'd made of myself. Gently dabbing at my misty eyes, I put the album in a box on its own. A box for things I wouldn't let go.

The next few boxes were just old junk, a couple of small broken appliances, and clothes I never wore. I figured maybe I'd donate them to an op-shop. If the moths hadn't eaten them. There were three—no, four, one peeking out from behind that beam there—boxes of clothing. After a quick search through the clothes I stacked the boxes up against the back wall. There was still no sign of the necklace I'd bought. I was beginning to think I might have imagined it—except for the number printed on that receipt that first made me do a double-take.

I found an old CD though. Several, in fact. Three of Evanescence's early albums, and Metallica's Black album. I pulled my phone from my jeans' pocket and started scrolling through all my playlists. I couldn't decide, so just threw the first Evanescence album on shuffle, then put my phone back in my pocket. I hummed along with the song, shifting more of the mess around, but one verse really struck me, the words crystal clear.

"I'll miss the winter
A world of fragile things
Look for me in the white forest"

It just made me think of Elsa. She was cold like winter, but also had its secret warmth. She was fragile—physically, at least. And I had gone looking for her. The rest of the verse was just words, but those three lines stood out. Crazy, perhaps, but not untrue.

A sudden downpour against the roof made me start, looking around for danger. I sighed, shivering slightly as rain pelted down against the roof. I looked at the time on my phone. Time for a snack at least—that it would get me out of the attic was just an unintended bonus.

—∞—

"You really, really didn't like storms, did you, mom?"

"No, I didn't. Not then. It was still a while before Elsa showed me their beauty too."

"Hmm," there's a pause as she frowns, remembering. "And what's a Polaroid; some special kind of picture?"

"Essentially. There used to be a camera that would instantly print your photos. The company that made it was called Polaroid. They got so big—and had so many kinds of camera—that people just started calling pretty much any of those instant pictures 'Polaroids'."

"Cool. So, did you and Elsa…?"

"I lost mine before I met Elsa. They stopped making the film paper not long after anyway, so it would have been pretty pointless."

"Oh." She actually seems pretty disappointed by that revelation.

"So, after snacks, I went back to try and find that infernal necklace."

—∞—

I left the door unlocked for Elsa before climbing into the attic again. The rain hadn't lasted long. I found another photo album—of me and Hans. I frowned at the pictures; at him; at me. I'd been a different person then. Maybe that night I had died. The old me, and the new me rose from the ashes. I shrugged, idly tossing the album aside. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. I found an old journal—when I'd hidden that in the attic I had no idea. More recent than the album though, because in it I'd written a lot of notes about Kristoff, and Audrey, and our first few jobs for Naveen. The last scribbled entry had something about—is that really how I spelt Lefou's name?

Downstairs I heard the door creak open. Elsa was home.

"Anna?" her voice barely carried up the stairs. "Anniken, are you here?"

I crawled to the hatch. "Up here Elsa!"

"You'll make me climb stairs?"

"I'm cleaning."

"I'm helping. I've seen your room."

"Ouch." But I waited patiently at the top of the attic stairs, taking her hand as she climbed the last few steps. She sat next to me, both of us cross-legged, taking in the piles of boxes around me.

"You are not just cleaning, are you, Anna?"

I looked around at the old photo albums and CD cases. She was right. "I haven't been up here in a while, and being off work has made me a little stir-crazy."

"I am not sure you needed today off."

"Well, he claimed it was because it was only a small job today."

She frowned, cocking her head to the side, suspicious.

"It probably was," I sighed, looking around. "I just hate not being able to do anything."

"Sometimes doing nothing is important," she changed the subject so quickly I thought I heard gears clashing. "Keep there and throw away there?"

I nodded. My system wasn't hard to figure out. Also, the 'keep' pile was a lot smaller. We worked slowly, taking our time, and as we threw around certain items I told her more of my past. More about my parents. About the earliest days with Hans, back in high school. About Lilo, and my cousin. She told me about Norway, about growing up in an empty house despite how hard her parents tried to help. She talked about mergers and corporate deals that kept her father away. How hard her mother worked as a nurse. How they'd taken a cruise on that ill fated ferry around the Polynesian islands. She had a company, but no idea how to run it. Money, but no idea how to invest.

She hired a lawyer, sold the company, then allowed the new board to buy out her shares. She took advice and invested wisely, but locked the money in a trust—to remove the temptation, or so she claimed. Her being rich—or pseudo-rich, or whatever—just didn't matter. Only she did. I told her as much. I tried to hide my smile at her blush. Then, then I knew I had to ask the hard questions; the ones I was afraid of. Because she was important, and so were her problems.

"Can I…" I coughed softly, clearing my throat. "Can I ask what kind of cancer it is?"

I could see the battle raging behind her eyes. She was fighting against some inner demon and this time, at least, it wasn't up to me to intervene. Eventually she sat against the wall, sighing, looking at her legs. She shook her head—maybe to clear it—and then spoke softly towards the floor.

"Stage III pancreatic cancer. It might even be stage IV. They didn't tell me my chances, but I could look them up. Three percent. Three percent to be alive in five years. Three percent, with every possible treatment running through me. I don't know if I can fight that long."

I knew it sounded trite, but I said it anyway. "I'll fight it with you. Every day."

She sniffed, then laughed. I loved that quiet little laugh. "You really are my idiot, Anniken." Only she could get away with calling me an idiot like that. And so often too.

"Insults, my icy queen?" I let her hear every ounce of mischief in my voice. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't a dusty pillow at fifty miles an hour. Sprawled flat on my back I could hear her muffled laughter from across the room. "You know, of course, that this means war?" Another pillow flew my way. I picked both up and flung them back at Elsa. One hit, messing up her hair. She frowned, picking up the offending pillow.

"Now it's personal."

She chased me around the attic with that pillow, and I couldn't remember a time I'd had more fun. It was mid-afternoon by the time we settled down. We'd made a little fort with an old blanket and the pillow ammunition, and she sat in the middle of it, me nestling against her left side, our fingers intertwined. It was a moment of grace, something unexpectedly beautiful. It also put me in mind of something else beautiful, and I pulled out my phone.

"Really, Anna?"

"Shush you, I wanna show you something." She leaned closer as I flicked through the pictures on my phone.

"Who's that?" A blonde goddess sprawled out on my bed, face relaxed, smiling in her sleep. "Is that—is that me?" I just nodded. "I look so peaceful."

"That's how I see you, Elsa. I saw what we could be."

"Even though you know I'm going to hurt you?" I shifted slightly against her, trying to get more comfortable.

"It's not your fault, I was already in too deep." It wasn't her, it was the pillow behind us. I yanked it out and threw it gently across the room.

"And to stubborn to see reason." The pillow fell from the box it had landed on. I heard a rustling, then a soft thud. Something slightly curved and covered in velvet poked out from behind the box. Elsa shifted her weight, leaning over me, squinting at the box. "Anna, what's behind that box?"

"I don't know." I knew. Elsa rose slowly, stepping over to the velvet covered box.

"It looks like a jewellery box." Of course it does, because it is.

I looked away, pulling up one knee to wrap my arms around. I couldn't do much more than whisper. "Open it." She did.

The way she cocked her head, the slightly raised eyebrow. I knew that look—she was confused. "It's… it's…"

"It's for you, dummy." She turned to look at me, clearly unsure of what was happening. Wait, does that kind of jewellery mean something different in Norway? If it did, I was in so much trouble. And if it didn't, then what was her problem? Was it possible it was too much? Did she not like snowflakes? She just stood there, holding the necklace box for what seemed like an eternity. Or maybe it was ten seconds. Time was being weird that day.

"Is it…" I coughed softly, a false start. "Do you like it?"

"I do. It looks very nice."

"But…?"

"But it looks expensive. I did not think you could afford such things." I know it wasn't meant as a slight, but it still stung. I knew I was drawing down a more than decent wage.

"Maybe once or twice a year. I thought it would last, you could remember me by it."

"You bought before you knew, didn't you?"

I sighed, finally standing, moving next to her. "The day I found out."

The smile forming on her lips, the sudden gleam in her eye. She knew. "The camera." I nodded. I didn't need to say any more. I lifted the necklace from its box, gently opening the clasp. And yes, she saw me struggling with it three times before it finally decided to play nice. She lifted her hair out of the way—but before I gave her the necklace I kissed her on the cheek, lips brushing against soft, warm skin. She raised a hand to touch her cheek as I secured the clasp behind her neck. I arranged the necklace so the pendant hung on the front of her shirt. That it gave me a reason to brush against her breasts for a little longer than normal probably shouldn't be mentioned. Oops. I blushed, but I'm pretty sure she saw straight through me anyway. She caught my hands with hers, pulling me into a tight hug. I knew I'd made the right choice.

She wore that necklace until the day she died.