Title: Petos
Coupling: Ansa(Female Tino)/Berwald; Finland/Sweden

Disclaimer: If I owned it, some of the canon couples would be different.
Setting Note: Takes place in an Alternate Universe, (Human Characters), 1951

Genres: Suspense/Horror


"Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken."
― Jane Austen, Emma


Summary: Ansa is a kind, loving person. So why does her own husband believe that she's really the devil in human form? Paranoia escalates into ideas, and from ideas come a murder. Who's the villain, really? Open for interpretation.


According to everyone, Ansa Väinämöinen was a saint.

She had the perfect life: a nice house, a good car, a loving husband, and many friends. She had every opportunity to become conceited. She was a child of privilege and had never been denied anything she wanted.

But Ansa was not a selfish person by nature. A solid third of her paycheck was donated to charity every month, and she was never known to refuse to donate to a good cause. She was so often at goodwill donating hardly-used clothing and furniture that all the employees knew her by name. When many of her upper-class friends were out drinking or partying, Ansa was at the local Catholic Church, preparing meals for the homeless. Her generous reputation earned her plenty of adoration.

Ansa was a popular figure at any evening gathering she attended. Part of it was because she was as beautiful as she was generous. Her full hair was the color of wheat fields. Her skin always tanned just so, making her the perfect picture of health. Every tooth in her mouth was exactly the right size, and not a single one was out of alignment. Her sparkling blue eyes noticed everything with a caring and maternal air.

Of course with a woman like that, who wouldn't be impressed by Ansa Väinämöinen? The woman, although shorter than a stalk of hay, certainly made up for her height by living a tall life.

And there was something about her… something that no one could place. It drew you to Ansa, just drew you.

Her husband was another matter entirely.

Berwald Oxenstierna looked like a zombie in comparison to his wife. His skin had more gray then tan. His eyes were sunken and dull, two aqua orbs in his face. His lips had long since faded into the rest of his waxy skin, leaving only the dullest hint of color to indicate that he'd ever had any. He was morbidly thin, so much so that you could count the bones in any given part of his body. His shining-blond hair was always poorly cut and rather unkempt.

When they stood by one another, no one would even guess that Ansa and Berwald Oxenstierna were the same species, let alone a married couple. Why would a beautiful woman like Ansa choose a hideous figure like Berwald? It was the subject of much hushed discussion among all of her friends. What could she possibly see in Berwald?

But Berwald loved Ansa. Everyone knew that. He would handle her coat for her whenever it was necessary. He pulled out her chair before seating himself. He never took a bite of food before Ansa. He had to love her. Why else would he serve her so?

Maybe even Berwald didn't know.


The alarm rang into the stillness of the bedroom. Berwald's eyes flew open in panic. His arm immediately left the blanket he was buried under and flailed around, trying to locate the snooze button. Finally, his fingers accidentally pressed it, and the room was silent once again.

Berwald pulled the covers back over his face and let out a relieved breath. He'd got it before she'd come.

The half-empty bottle of sleeping pills by the mattress seemed to taunt Berwald. He hadn't slept much that night. The nightmares had come back again. One pill, two pills tops, and he could get rid of them. His fingers twitched. All he had to do was take the pills and he could get away from here. He didn't have to be here anymore.

But no, no, he couldn't. His doctor told him not to take them too often. He'd become dependent on them, or something like that. Berwald gritted his teeth. He wanted his pills. He wanted to sleep.

Stupid doctors, thinking they knew everything.

He pushed the blankets back and sat up. The familiar surroundings of his room comforted him. Admittedly it wasn't much, but he was comfortable with it exactly the way it was. It was the one place Berwald could be free of her. She couldn't reach him in here.

He let his legs brush the floor next to the mattress. Berwald knew he should get a bed frame, but he honestly preferred the floor. It was solid, familiar.

With a grunt, Berwald pushed himself to his feet. He swayed a bit, but stayed up. Goosebumps broke out all over his exposed skin. His room was the coldest one in the house. Hurriedly, Berwald grabbed some clothes from the pile at his feet. He pulled them on haphazardly, not bothering to check for stains.

Berwald headed for the open doorway to his room. He peered into the hallway and turned his head to both sides. She wasn't there. He relaxed visibly and walked out into the open.

Mistake.

"You're up early," came the silken voice. Berwald froze and cringed. His eyes darted to the left, and there she stood.

Ansa was dressed to go out, in a nice gray pencil skirt and a white V-neck sweater. The pearls on her wrist caught the light of the windows surrounding the door behind her, shocking Berwald's eyes. He blinked quickly and prayed that when he looked over again Ansa would be gone.

No such luck.

She stared back at him with the same smile she always gave him. The smile everyone else said was a kind, affectionate, thoughtful smile. That smile made Berwald want to scream.

When she smiled, something bad happened.

"Couldn't sleep again?" asked Ansa, as though she were oblivious to Berwald's panic. "Did you try taking your medicine? You remember what the doctor said, don't you? If you keep sitting up all night you'll get sick."

Her eyes glittered strangely when she said, 'you'll get sick.'

Berwald bit the inside of his mouth and tasted copper. Gross. He wanted to spit, but he didn't dare do it in front of Ansa. Her eyes didn't leave his face, and her smile didn't waver. With a familiar jolt of fear,, Berwald realized that she wasn't blinking. A piece of ice seemed to appear in his stomach.

"You should try counting sheep," Ansa continued on, voice taking on a childish edge. Berwald could almost hear her chuckling internally. His breath caught in his throat. He had to get away. But how could he? Ansa was standing right there. She would see him no matter where he went.

"I'm going to a charity luncheon later," she said. "But first, me and the boys will be at the country club. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

Okay, now she was mocking him. Berwald bit the newly closed wound in his mouth to keep from shouting something back at her. Let her go, let her go. She wouldn't be home for several hours. He could be alone.

A shadow of something wicked seemed to flash across Ansa's face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by her usual sweet aura. She didn't wait for a response. Instead, she turned and stepped down the single stair that put on level with the door. She didn't give him any further acknowledgement as she left.

Thank god. That could have gotten messy. Berwald breathed in and out, in and out like the doctor told him. His hands absently clutched at his sides as though to keep himself from falling apart. Relax. Relax. She wasn't going to come back anytime soon. He tried to focus on something positive. Work! Yes, work was positive. Today he had to design a spreadsheet for his employer.

That thought cheered him up. Work always did. Berwald straightened up fully and let his arms fall to his side. He'd get breakfast and then he'd get to work. That was one of the many benefits of working from home – he could set his own hours.

Berwald entered the kitchen and only stayed long enough to grab a strawberry yogurt and a spoon before he ducked back out again. His office was just past the door to his room. It was a small but cozy space. He'd carpeted it in a nice, sandy color that reminded him of the beach and painted the walls a nice shade of beige. His desk was near the window so that sunlight could peer through the Venetian blinds without creating a glare on his computer screen. Berwald's desk was cluttered yet organized. It was a mess, but he always knew where everything was. He functioned best in disorganization. At least, according to his therapist.

The computer was already on. The little green light seemed to greet Berwald and welcome him back to his world. He smiled cheerily and sat down in his comfortable office chair. It squeaked lightly, and the sound put Berwald even further at ease. This was his routine: his good, safe routine. He was alone and he could get some work done now.

And Ansa was gone.

With that thought in mind Berwald set to work.

When the clacking of keys finally ceased, Berwald was shocked to see that it was 3:00. He hadn't paused to get up once. As though to remind him of that, he realized that his mouth was dry as the desert. With a sigh, Berwald pushed his chair back from his desk and stood. He jogged into the kitchen, still thinking about work. He had to design another Internet ad, and it had to be ready in two weeks. He wondered briefly if he could make that deadline. He knew he would, but it made him feel normal to ask himself that question. But soon enough, Berwald wouldn't be able to sleep again and he'd get up at midnight and have it done by three AM. That was how the majority of Berwald's projects got done.

The sound of the front door opening startled him out of his reverie. Berwald almost dropped the glass he was holding. He froze and listened carefully. He couldn't have imagined it… Sure enough, the sound of high heels clicking on tiles could be heard. They were coming towards the kitchen. Berwald stayed where he was, like an animal trapped in the headlights.

Ansa stepped into view, hair and make-up still as perfect as they had been when she left. She stopped in the kitchen doorway, and her eyes slid over to Berwald. Her characteristic smile widened.

"Out of the office, I see," she said. Her voice made Berwald feel like a mouse about to be eaten by a cat. "How was work today?"

Berwald refused to answer. He realized with a start that he was clenching his jaw again. He knew he should let up, but if he relaxed at all then she would notice and take advantage of it. He kept his rigid stance, eyes never leaving Ansa.

"Did you get a lot done?" Ansa didn't seem to notice that Berwald wasn't speaking. She pulled her purse off of her shoulder and walked over to the kitchen table to set it down. Even though her eyes were focused on her task, Berwald could still feel her gaze burning a hole in him. He tried to swallow, but again his mouth was dry. "I thought I'd cook dinner tonight. What would you like?"

Berwald took a small breath and held it for a second. He allowed his eyes to close, blocking him from Ansa. If he played deaf, maybe she'd go away. What interest could she possibly have in a broken play toy?

"So, meatloaf again?" said Ansa. "You sure do love your meatloaf. It's not healthy for you, you know. You have to eat more than that to sustain yourself. Oh, that reminds me. Did you remember to eat today?"

Her voice was so soft and caring. How could someone so terrifying sound so angelic? For a second Berwald almost let himself answer her. But then he remembered who was speaking, and a shiver ran up his spine. He forced himself to open his eyes and look at Ansa again, before he became confused and said something he didn't mean to. And nothing would please her more than to get inside his head.

"You need to eat more often," Ansa said, eyes dancing with a bizarre light Berwald couldn't place. "You wouldn't want to starve to death out here, all by your lonesome, now would you?"

She was either amused or mocking him. Berwald couldn't tell. Her face kept its angelic quality while her eyes dug into him. He wondered if it was possible to start bleeding from the sheer force of someone's gaze.

But if anyone could kill someone with her eyes, it was Ansa.

"Hmm?" asked Ansa, as though Berwald had spoken. "Don't you want to go sit down? Or do you want to help me with the cooking?"

Now Berwald let himself move. He set his glass down and noticed to his surprise, that he was shaking. His eyes darted over to Ansa. Could she tell? Her eyes stared back at him, ever unblinking. Berwald looked down at the counter, suppressing the urge to shudder openly. He stepped forwards. Ansa was standing by the only exit to the kitchen. With a prickle of fear, Berwald knew that he would have to pass right by her to get out. He drew in another breath and stepped past her, not daring to look at her or even acknowledge her presence. His eyes remained glued to the door. His hands pulled it open easily, and the entrance hallway it lead to had never looked so good. Berwald stepped through and let the swinging door shut itself behind him. He'd done it. He'd survived Ansa.

Berwald speed-walked towards his office, not daring to look back. If he did, Ansa would probably be there, standing in the kitchen door and watching him walk away with her unblinking eyes.

The moment Berwald's feet hit the carpet of his office his shoulders sagged. He felt certain he'd just avoided something bad. He didn't know exactly what, but it was something, and it had been looming over him, preparing to strike for as long as he was under Ansa's gaze.

Berwald's hands became fists at his side. For a second he stood like that, letting his nails dig deep into the familiar scars in his palm, but then he came back to his senses. He had to calm himself down. Deep breathing. Positive thinking. Happy place.

At least Ansa couldn't get to him in his office. That thought calmed Berwald down slightly. Ansa had never been in his office with him, ever. If she needed him, she'd always stood in the doorway and called to Berwald. She might have been in there when he wasn't, though. Sometimes Berwald would set something down and leave for a while and come back, only to find the thing missing. And his chair, which had remained permanently adjusted to exactly Berwald's height, had a strange habit of occasionally being pushed all the way down. It was like Ansa's way of mocking him, of letting him know that he was never really safe.

But he was, right now. Ansa wouldn't dare set foot in his office while Berwald was still there, he felt sure of that. It just wasn't something Ansa did. She'd wait till he was gone before she crept in here, leaving small hints that she'd been there just to frighten Berwald. She couldn't crawl inside of him, so she had to make sure that he always remembered her using external mediums. After all, how could she sleep at night if she didn't believe that Berwald was lying awake, eyes scanning the darkness frantically and waiting for her to finally come and drag him down to hell with her.

But she won't, Berwald thought. Not now.

He could vaguely hear the sounds of Ansa moving around in the kitchen. Berwald wondered if she was listening for him, too, trying to hear him scurrying around, imagining that he was afraid. He could picture her as she set up the kitchen, preparing the only meal she could adequately make. She would probably be thinking of him, planning her next move, waiting for Berwald to collapse in a panic so that she could attack.

Well, he wouldn't. Berwald wouldn't oblige her like that.

For lack of anything better to do, Berwald checked his E-mails. There was nothing new but some junk mail, which he deleted without opening. He sighed as he leaned back against his chair. He felt so isolated, alone with only himself and her.

Berwald couldn't help but wonder what would happen when he died, which surely wouldn't be too far in the future. How long would it take everybody to notice? Would there be a big funeral, or just a small service before they threw him in the ground forever?

'Stop it!' Berwald chided himself. 'I can't think about that'. He remembered what his therapist told him about thinking morbid thoughts. Something about raising his stress levels and a heart attack. Berwald hadn't really been listening. He'd suddenly wondered if it was possible for Ansa to hear them where she was waiting just outside the door. Berwald could almost feel her stifling malevolent presence. What was she thinking?

Berwald blinked furiously and tried to focus on the screen in front of him. That had been a long while ago. There was no use thinking about it.

He leaned forwards and studied the article in front of him. Apparently a man had gone missing and turned up recently, swearing by god that he'd been abducted by aliens. Berwald would have been amused if the man didn't remind him of himself. Nobody believed him, and everyone dismissed him as crazy like they dismissed that man. What would they say when he was gone?

No. Berwald couldn't allow himself to go there. He pressed the back button on his browser. He needed to get away from anything that reminded him of himself and Ansa.

He stayed like that for what might have been hours. His eyes stared through his computer as his numb brain froze on a thought about flowers and funerals. Not quite asleep, yet not awake, Berwald remained suspended between something dark and something cold until his ears picked up the sound he'd been dreading.

It was Ansa's heels.

He sat up and turned towards the doorway to his office. He didn't want her to see him when he was vulnerable. Berwald hoped to god that he looked like he'd been awake. If she thought he'd been sleeping god only knows what Ansa would think.

Momentarily she appeared, filling out the gap between him and the hallway. Her eyes peered at him like she was trying to pry into his mind.

"Dinner's ready," Ansa said cheerfully. She waited for a reaction. When she received none, she continued. "I thought we'd eat in the kitchen tonight."

Eating in the kitchen. Having her sitting right across from him, eying his every move, watching every bite he took. Oh, boy. Berwald was sure having a good day.

He hesitated. He could say no, couldn't he? After all, how could Ansa exist? Surely she wasn't strong enough to physically drag him into the kitchen. Was she? Berwald honestly didn't know. Maybe if he just stared at her she'd let him off the hook.

"Come on," said Ansa. Her tone made it obvious that it was not a request, but a demand.

Berwald stood up. Ansa grinned at him as though to say, 'that wasn't so bad, was it'? But really, it was. And he'd have said it, too, if he weren't afraid of what her reaction would be. Berwald followed her back into the kitchen, hating himself for being spineless and hating her for being brutal.