Notes:
So Elsa wanted a say, too. Last part, though; promise.

Enjoy.

From the Heart

The very first time she finds her, she's a child. A laughing, apple-cheeked girl; bundled up like a colorful ball and yet jumping and sliding and digging through the snow with such ease and such a light of joy in her eyes. She's not alone – there's a mass of children playing in a vast, open space under the careful, amused watch of adults – but she is still... different, somehow.

When the little girl throws two mitten-fulls of snow into the air and giggles, she doesn't even notice the soft, smiling kiss to her cheek as the powder flutters back to the ground around her.

xXxXx

She finds her every year as the seasons turn; watches her grow from a squealing child to a giggling pre-teen; from a stumbling adolescent whose limbs lengthen faster than her balance can keep up with, to an athletic young adult who's mastered her own body enough to move with a fluid sort of grace that only fails her when the excitement becomes too great.

It's lucky that this never fails to happen during the first snowfall, because watching her stumble backwards into a pile of snow and laugh as her friends pelt her is quite possibly the most enchanting thing she knows of. It warms her; something that should be impossible given what she is, but every time her gloved fingers scoop through the snow it feels almost like they're touching, and whenever she lies down in it, it feels almost like she's settling comfortably into her embrace.

It feels almost like melting, and she dearly wants to know more about that – about her – but the season is changing and she has to stay with Winter.

When she returns the year after, the girl is gone.

xXxXx

She searches. For as long as she can hold Winter in place and keep Spring at bay, she searches; clinging to the yellow grass in fine speckles of ice and chilling the rain that becomes ever more unwilling to turn into snow.

But still, she fails. The world is larger than even Nature knows, and when Winter moves away she's forced to follow; to make way for Spring and retreat to colder climes.

Something inside of her is aching.

xXxXx

It's Autumn that calls on her, after three years where even the coldest of seasons have been unusually mild; after Winter has lost the power to truly chill and entrance because she herself is weak with hopelessness. Countless countries and cities at the north and south ends of the planet; countless homes and faces and smiles and not once has she found the right one.

Autumn is wild and warm; deep browns, strong oranges and fiery reds in stark contrast to the silvers and blues and whites of Winter's underlings, or the greens and yellows and pinks of Spring. Wild, like the rushing wind that she carries her across the land on; stirring leaves and fruits and clothing until the people shudder and tighten their coats, but also – always – warm; like the gentle stop they come to over a wide road between tall buildings, or the touch that centers her attention and guides it to a door that's opening, and then closing.

"Look," Autumn whispers, like a breeze between falling leaves.

So she looks, and feels as if she would weep if she could.

"Brr." One of the two young women – a blonde – tightens the scarf she's halfway tied around her own head. "That balmy fall weather's wearing off fast now, isn't it? Figure the first snowfall's only a few weeks off, if that."

"Oh, I hope so," is the laughing the response from her companion. "I haven't seen a proper winter in years!" She stops in the middle of the crowded sidewalk and turns her face skyward; her arms lifting and her lips parting in a grin. "Come on, snow! I'm ready when you are!"

It's her.

It's Anna.

xXxXx

She can't stay, of course; not yet. There are rules to be followed in every cycle, and she at least needs to let Rime have his turn before she can start spreading her own influence, so Autumn takes her back where she found her; further north where Rime has already passed through. And she works with renewed energy; speckling the thinnest ice along the edges of pine needles and the few leaves that have yet to fall, extending fine patterns across windows, and coating grass and tarmac and concrete in a clear layer of silvery sparkle.

When she finishes a window, she hears the television inside raving about the photos viewers are sending in – photos of the most beautiful frost patterns in years – and smiles.

But the worry does catch up with her, and she pauses in the middle of spreading a thin layer of ice across a small lake.

What if Anna disappears again?

xXxXx

That's not a chance she can take; not with how much her strength waned the last time. She watched Anna enjoy the first snowfall again this year, and the sight was so beautiful that every tree in the vicinity grew perfect, shimmering leaves.

If Anna vanishes again, she somehow knows that it's only going to be harder.

"She's human," Winter reminds her as they take another southward leap. "They don't move as fast or as far as we do, but they do move in a way that makes it very hard for us to track them. She is going to disappear again, and sooner rather than later."

"I can't let that happen," she pleads. "I can't lose her again."

"But you will," Snow cautions, because they travel together now that the season is fully theirs. "It's out of your control."

The night air is cold, and though she tries to coat the rooftops and make them shimmer under the moonlight, she can't summon up the strength.

"There is a way," Winter says later, when they're flying through the air and guiding the clouds into place. "But it comes with very heavy restrictions."

She asks and Winter explains, and when everything is in place and the snow is falling gently onto the city below, she sighs.

"Who will be Frost with me gone?"

"I can do that!" Rime swirls around them with a grin, and then perches on a cloud that hasn't quite settled. "It's essentially the same job, just... colder."

"I can get you there," Snow adds, and smiles while a few flakes whirl in the air above her fingers. "And you, old timer?"

Winter sighs at the jibe, and Snow has to bat at the cloud that envelops her head. "I can give you the time, and make it as if you were always there. But I can only give you a year."

"A year is enough," she decides, and feels everything inside her tremble. "It has to be."

"Remember," Winter says. "She has to give you the choice."

Snow cups a vortex of snowflakes and blows them at her, and she barely has time to feel herself shift and condense before she's whirling through the air on a gust of icy wind; fireworks glittering and shimmering across the flurry as it spins and whooses down, down, down and then across; along an empty street, onto a sidewalk with footprints that grow steadily clearer the further she goes, and when she stops and shifts again so suddenly that it staggers her, she realizes that she's kissing Anna.

Anna stares at her and almost falls backwards from sheer shock, and she catches her by the arms and swallows a sigh.

Leave it to Snow to start things out in the most interesting way possible.

xXxXx

Her name is Elsa now, and she's as human as they come. Surprisingly, it isn't difficult to get used to that idea, or to the limits of the physical form she's in. She's lost the ability to glide through the air or travel with the wind; to cast her power across the world and be a part of the cold. In return, however, she's gained the solidity that lets her learn what ice-speckled grass sounds like under her feet; lets her feel the tactility of almost-fuzz against her fingertips when she runs them over a frost-coated fence.

She does worry about Rime handling everything, but only until the first morning. Then, she just smiles at the swirls of leafy ice that extend across the bottom of her bedroom window; swirls that unmistakably take the shape of a heart.

Good luck.

She has a home now, in this city. She has a name, and a job, and a bank account, and a thousand more things that she just knows what are for and how to use.

Winter is powerful.

xXxXx

It surprises her that Anna seems to know both sides of the story; both the one that Winter crafted, and the actual truth. What doesn't surprise her is that Anna seems far more inclined to believe the fabrication. It saddens her, though, that her presence seems to make Anna as uncomfortable as it does; evident in the faint stiffness of her smile and the veiled panic in her eyes whenever Elsa enters the coffee shop in the early mornings.

Elsa doesn't strike up conversation. She wants to, of course, but she cannot.

That's the price for this chance. That Anna must be the one to open all doors between them.

xXxXx

"I'm guessing you're as big a chocolate hound as me?" Anna asks, when the first month is drawing to a close and her smile is crooked and far easier to earn.

Elsa chuckles, and pays for her coffee. "I suppose that would depend on how big of a chocolate hound you are."

"English mastiff," is the prompt reply, and the register chirps before Anna holds out her change.

She shakes her head in response, and enjoys the smile that earns her. "I thought the Great Dane was the largest?"

"The mastiff is heavier," Anna defends, and actually grins when she adds another shot of chocolate syrup to Elsa's cup before handing it over. "Enjoy."

"Thank you."

She leaves with the added warmth of casual conversation.

xXxXx

It's called 'small talk' in daily parlance, as it turns out. 'Small talk' or 'chitchat'. Elsa learns that after having indulged in it a few times with her co-workers; not because the term was actually part of a phrase aimed her way, but simply because it was used and she inferred its meaning based on context.

She likes 'small talk' better, she decides, after letting the term bat around the inside of her skull for a day or so. For one because it sounds more accurate, and for another because the way 'chitchat' is pronounced makes her want to giggle, even if she's not quite sure why.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologizes the next morning; when she realizes that she's maybe enjoying this 'small talk' thing a little too much when Anna's the one she's sharing it with. Because Anna is working, and she herself should probably go before she ends up being late. "I didn't mean to take up so much of your time."

Anna chuckles, and sends her an amused look from over one shoulder as she works one of the machines behind the counter. "It's fine," she promises. "The 7:30 rush is over, and I promise that I'm fully capable of doing more than one thing at a time."

Elsa finds herself absolutely aghast. "I didn't mean to imply that-"

"Elsa." Anna turns fully this time, and steps over to the register to set her order down. "I'm kidding. Relax."

"Ah." This 'blushing' thing is horribly inconvenient, she decides. Especially since it only ever seems to happen around Anna. "I apologize. I'm not terribly good at small talk, it seems."

"You're doing fine," Anna assures her with a smile. "Besides, talking to you?" She gives another half-grin before turning back around to prepare the next drink. "Not exactly a hardship."

Elsa isn't quite sure if it's the steam or something else, but she easily decides that she likes blushing a lot more when Anna is the one doing it.

xXxXx

The second door Anna opens (with small talk being the first) turns out to be flirting, and Elsa is honest enough with herself to admit that she's surprised. That and contemplative, because it very well could have been the steam. That would scale the second door back from flirting to playfulness, which... they seem to be roughly the same thing, near as she can tell, though the intent behind them is different.

Elsa hopes it's flirting, and wonders if maybe she's allowed to try a little of her own since Anna's words and the circumstances surrounding them continue to be too vague to be determined. Right now, however, she simply enjoys one of the seasons she never got to fully experience herself; tilting her head back to watch small puffs of white slowly cross the blue sky.

Somehow, the color of the sky is different than it is in the wintertime. She can't quite decide how, but it is, and the feeling of the warming sun on her face makes her smile.

"Hey." She turns her head to see Anna standing a few feet away; her expression somewhere between friendly and nervous. "Haven't seen you around here before. New to the area?"

Elsa knows enough to recognize the joking tone, and decides to play along. "Why yes," she says, and smiles. "Just moved in down the block. Are you the neighborhood welcome wagon?"

Anna snorts. She has a backpack slung over one shoulder and looks very different from how Elsa normally sees her; with her hair in twin braids rather than the updo she uses for work, and dressed in jeans and a light jacket.

"Better than a third wheel, I guess," she responds, and hoists her bag up a little higher. "So... lunch break?"

"Is that a question or an invitation?" Elsa wonders, because she honestly isn't sure.

"Um..." There's a few seconds where Anna seems to be floundering; her mouth opening and closing with no sound emerging until she finally laughs a little, looks away and scrubs a hand over her face. "Lemme try that again," she then says. "Mind some company?" Her smile is definitely nervous now. "I've got chocolate, if that helps."

Elsa feels like she can't quite breathe right, but it's the best type of oxygen deprivation she can imagine. So she smiles, and somehow manages to keep her hand from shaking as she gestures to the space next to her. "By all means," she says. "Though really, the chocolate is just a bonus."

That is unabashed flirting – Anna clearly knows that much judging by the single instant where her expression is almost achingly open – and it takes several moments before Elsa realizes that there's no backlash for it. She doesn't feel so much as a twinge.

So she smiles briefly into her own lap before falling back into the conversation they're sharing, because that means she wasn't the first one to do it.

xXxXx

Doors number three and four are in-depth conversations and light touches, in that order. It starts that day in the park and continues over the course of the next few weeks while the air grows warmer and Anna's sleeves shorten.

Elsa takes care to place herself in the same general area whenever she can escape the office around lunch time. It doesn't work all the time, at first, but whenever her break coincides with Anna's the younger woman inevitably appears, and after a few tries at that, Elsa knows when Anna's break is on the various weekdays and adjusts her own accordingly when she can get away with it.

When she feels Anna intentionally touch her bare skin for the first time, it's on a particularly warm April day and perfectly innocent. Anna is regaling her with some tale or other that involves one of her friends, a large dog and several pounds of carrots, and she tells it so well that Elsa's stomach is aching from laughter.

"He didn't!" she accuses, and covers her mouth with one hand to muffle the guffaw.

"Oh, he did." Anna nods solemnly, but her eyes are twinkling in the sunlight. "All the way down the stairs and directly into the main auditorium where – as it happened – the alumni board was meeting."

Elsa is quite sure that she's going to slide right off the bench if this keeps up. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes." Anna is laughing too, now. "They freaked and jumped up, carrots went everywhere and I counted at least three falls, as well as twelve words that I'm not allowed to use in class." She rests her chin on a loosely curled fist, and grins. "Not sure how I could hear it under all the barking, but that's why pets are no longer permitted in the main building."

"Poor Christopher," Elsa sympathizes, though she's still chuckling, which presumably ruins the effect.

"Kristoff," Anna corrects with a smirk and a pat to her arm. "And if you think that's bad, I clearly need to tell you about the time we-"

Elsa doesn't hear a thing because the skin on her arm is still tingling. Anna's touch felt almost like a mild shock – albeit a pleasant one – and she's so focused on trying to chase down that feeling that it takes the second touch to make her realize that she checked out for several moments.

"Hey." Anna looks a little worried now; that, and halfway uncertain. "Am I boring you? Because if I am, just tell me. I know I tend to go on about everything, so really, if you want me shut up, that's fine. All you have to do is say s-"

"Anna." Elsa covers the hand on her arm with her own, and decides that she needs to say that name more because she definitely enjoys the way it feels on her tongue. "In all the weeks I've known you, you have never once bored me."

"Oh." Their faces are maybe a little too close and her fingers linger on the back of Anna's hand for several seconds too long, but there are no walls behind those eyes and Anna looks as breathless as Elsa suddenly feels. "Good. I mean, I'm... glad to hear that."

"Then I'm glad to say it," Elsa returns. And under her hand, she swears she feels Anna's fingers curls a little tighter against her skin.

xXxXx

Every time they meet – and they continue to do so – Elsa's heart races for all the best reasons. One meeting in particular even manages to make her heart stop for several beats; one on a spring day so warm that she imagines this is what summer must feel like, where she's the one telling the tall tale and Anna is the one curling ever tighter around herself in a mostly fruitless effort to muffle her laughter.

Elsa doesn't really understand why she wants to quiet it, but she readily admits to her own bias – at least to herself. They're sitting on the fragrant grass beneath a wide tree and are shielded from the park by a large shrub, so she simply smiles and enjoys the sight and sound of Anna's laughter, as well as the warmth that blooms in her chest whenever their eyes meet. And again, there's a moment. One where they hold each other's gazes a few seconds too long while Anna's chuckles wind down and then die out, and then... and then Anna's expression shifts to something oddly wistful, and she hesitates before one hand is reaching out to catch a loosened lock of Elsa's hair and gently settle it back into place.

She doesn't dare move because Anna isn't moving either, apart from the faint tremble in her fingers that Elsa can feel where they linger against the side of her face. Instead, she hopes – prays – that her expression is encouraging enough that Anna can find the courage to do what she herself has wanted to for some time.

Please kiss me, her mind whispers as if she expects Anna to hear it somehow. Kiss me, kiss me, kissmekissmekissm-

So really, it shouldn't come as much of a shock when Anna does kiss her, but it does; enough for her to suck in a startled breath, and for her whirring mind to happily start cataloging every sensation brought about by Anna's lips against her own. The softness, the warmth of a shaky breath against her own skin, and the slow building of heat somewhere low in her body that finally makes her heart start beating again and rouses her enough that her hand comes up to pull Anna back in when she starts to move away.

Her skin is so warm beneath Elsa's fingers. She tastes of... of summer and sweetness and golden light, and the low, almost helpless sound she makes when she presses closer makes the burn in Elsa's belly flare so abruptly that it makes her lightheaded.

"Wow." Anna's voice is distinctly breathless when they part by however little, but her eyes are absolutely lit up from within. "That was, um... I definitely wouldn't be opposed to us doing that again. A lot."

"What is the expression?" Elsa wonders, and smiles when Anna's fingers curl tighter against her shoulder. "No time like the present?"

Anna laughs against her mouth, and Elsa decides that she tastes of love.

xXxXx

Clothing and the lack thereof was never anything that Elsa worried about before the change. As Frost, she was always attuned to the temperature around her, and while she did in some ways have a body, there wasn't such a thing as nudity. Or sexual desire.

So she really has no idea what she's in for when Anna learns that she can't swim. Or, more specifically, when she agrees to let Anna teach her how to swim, because Anna is apparently a certified lifeguard, and with the school year officially being over, the campus pool is abandoned and she has both the time and the access.

Elsa knows what swimwear is ahead of time, of course, but the abstract idea of swimwear is a far cry indeed from the very visual reality of Anna in a skin-tight one-piece that leaves nothing to the imagination, and she wasn't aware that she knew this many swear words, but she's at least managing to only repeat them in the privacy of her own head. Even if she's also outright goggling as the door to the changing room swings shut behind her.

At least part of what her mind is screaming must be showing on her face, because she's getting a very amused look from the corner of those pale eyes while Anna packs her clothes away.

"You okay?" Anna asks in an entirely too innocent tone, and grins when Elsa flushes hotly and glowers at her.

She gets some of her own back, though. A lack of nudity also means that she had no reason to develop a sense of modesty about exactly that, and since Anna finished changing before Elsa even entered the room, she has very few ways of distracting herself when Elsa starts undressing. She does turn her head away, but Elsa can still see the red tint to her cheeks.

Fair is fair, she decides with a smile – and a chuckle, when removing her slacks makes Anna cough seven times and mutter something about checking the water before practically fleeing – because in this form, she herself apparently has a preference for bikinis and she's quite sure that it's now Anna who has no idea what she's in for.

Judging by the soft choke that echoes between the walls when she finally reaches the indoor pool, she's right. And it really isn't fair how much the mere sight of a drop of water slipping over Anna's clavicle affects her, because she wants and she can't have. Not unless Anna is the one to initiate.

It does help to know that Anna wants, too. And she must, because she seems uncommonly flustered whenever her instructions has her hands touching Elsa's skin (which, given her garb, is roughly 95% of the time). When Elsa completes her first solo swim across the width of the pool and rises to a stand in the shallow end, there is so much heat in the eyes watching her that it sends tingling chills down her spine, and when she wades closer, both the sloshing of the water and the soft sound of Anna's hitched breath echoes.

Something is those eyes is a little off, though, and because she notices before their lips meet, she stops when they're just barely nose to nose and she can feel the pleasant chill caused by Anna's exhales against her own, wet skin.

"What is it?" Elsa wonders softly, and tucks back a stray lock of hair that has escaped the tie and is now clinging to the curve of Anna's jaw.

Anna's laugh is low and quiet, and definitely also breathless. "Stop reading my mind," she accuses, and though her voice and her gaze are both wavering, they're also unmistakably warm.

"I can't do that unless you stop speaking with your eyes," Elsa points out, and smiles at the sharp blush that earns her. "Tell me?"

There's a long, shuddering sigh, and Anna scrubs a dripping hand over her face. "I... guess I'm kinda wondering when the other shoe's gonna drop," she admits. "Everything's happening so fast."

Elsa frowns, because she... honestly hadn't considered that. She herself has known Anna at least in some way since she was a child, so to her, the emotion between them has been building for years. Anna, however, never knew Elsa as anything more than a passing acquaintance until a few months ago, and in a romantic sense, she really only has a few weeks to draw on. That thought makes her realize just how fast Anna is catching up, and she has to close her eyes and take a breath because simply imagining what that must feel like is staggering.

"Is that bad?" she asks when she opens her eyes again, and feels the uncertainty settle in her chest when Anna looks away and she has to press her fingers gently against one warm cheek to bring her back. "Anna..."

"No." The reply is remarkably soft; especially considering how lightheaded the sheer relief makes her feel. "Not bad. Just... a little frightening. Like- like a roller coaster, when you try one for the first time as a kid, y'know?" There's a brief, thoughtful furrow to Anna's brow, and her touch glides from Elsa's elbow, up along her arm and over her wrist until her palm is covering the hand that Elsa still cradles her cheek with. "Like you're super-excited to finally get to try it but also a little-" Briefly, her eyes drop to the surface of the water. "- a lot in disbelief at being allowed to in the first place." Here, she smiles crookedly. "And I know this metaphor's getting weirder by the word, but I just... I keep waiting for some guy in a corny outfit to tell me that I need to be a few inches taller."

In that moment, Elsa truly hates the restriction of Anna having to open every door, because everything she can think of to say in response is invalidated by it. Instead, she curls her arms around Anna's shoulders and pulls her in; closes her eyes at the secure hold encircling her in return and the way Anna's face presses into her shoulder, and hopes that she can speak without words.

She certainly tries. She kisses Anna's temple, first – lightly – and then the skin just in front of her ear; she draws slow, soothing lines over the exposed skin at the center of Anna's back with only the very tips of her fingers, and feels more than hears the soft sound when her lips flutter against the skin that covers the edge of Anna's cheekbone.

When Anna's fingers curl around the back of her neck and their mouths meet, she remains oh so very careful to keep her touches innocent; at least as innocent as she can make them, given the circumstances. Even with Anna's taste filling her mouth and the press of a warm, water-slicked body against her own, she does her utmost to ensure that the contact stays slow and tender rather than fast and heavy; to keep herself from expecting and instead focused on enjoying, and she must be succeeding, because this moment is so sweet that it aches and Anna just pulls her closer until Elsa swears that she's immersed in her instead of in water.

She definitely still wants, and a part of her knows with undeniable clarity that she always will.

Her adoration, however, far outweighs her desire.

xXxXx

It's worth the time spent; worth the long, heady sessions on Anna's couch or hers (and, in one case, in a corner of the park that probably wasn't that private), the times where her body sings so loudly that it feels as if it will burst, and the unsatisfactory relief that she finds under her own touch. Every frustrated moment of wanting is worth it, because every moment with Anna is worth it. Every smile, every laugh and every touch of warm skin; every blush, every shy glance and every instance of being in Anna's arms. Of having Anna in hers.

She has waited ages for this feeling without even knowing it. Ages to find Anna and years after that to know her; to learn what makes her smirk or gawk or stutter or sing without thinking, and every new piece of knowledge she uncovers only makes her want to know more; adds depth and detail to an already intricate image of someone who is sweet and stubborn and unflinchingly loyal, distracted and sensitive and frustratingly lazy, simple and complex and so, so very beautiful.

She has waited ages without Anna. Waiting a few more weeks with her barely even registers.

It only makes the moment all the more potent when it does arrive; in the privacy of her home on a hot summer's day, and in the middle of her living room floor. That isn't exactly the spot she would have chosen, but she has learned by now that mortal life includes much more rolling with it than planning for it, and she is deliriously absorbed in the sound of Anna's nails dragging across the carpet and the contrast between smooth skin and warm, rough wool.

Under her hands, Anna is – impossibly - more beautiful than Elsa has ever seen her; bare and flushed and gasping against her mouth, and oh, Heaven, the sound she makes when Elsa curls her fingers inside of her. Her skin glistens in the sunlight streaming though the windows and her taste explodes across Elsa's senses; that of her lips, of her skin from clavicle to belly, and when she wraps an arm across Anna's hips and slender fingers bury themselves in her hair, Anna is hot and wet under her tongue, and the cries that fill the air makes it feel as if her heart is going to burst from her chest.

It's completion. Perfection. It's everything that she has never had a good enough imagination to dream of, and when Anna's body stutters and tightens below her mouth and around her fingers, when one hand hastily releases her hair to instead clap itself over Anna's mouth, it's clear as the nose on her face that this sight – this feeling - is something she will never tire of.

What's better still is after; when Anna pulls her up and they're skin to skin and lip to lip, and she can see the emotion in those pale eyes when she kisses her softly and Anna's hands slip over her back.

"I definitely wouldn't mind doing that again, either," come the words against her mouth; a little breathless, but warm with affection and sweet with the smile that shapes them.

Elsa chuckles and touches that smile with her own; her hands slipping up the backs of smooth thighs and parting them to feel the shift, the catch in Anna's breathing and the fingers that glide across her skin when she presses closer. "No time like the present?"

Anna's laugh is sweet on her tongue. "Definitely."

xXxXx

It's still difficult, sometimes, to remember that she has to let Anna open every door. She is reminded of it, at least, whenever everything is so right that she's on the verge of forgetting. The twinge at the back of her neck isn't comfortable, but it isn't particularly painful either; simply enough to make her remember.

The times where it's the hardest are the ones like this; ones where she has the pleasure of having Anna in her arms for the entire night. Where she can feel deep, relaxed breathing against her skin and the pleasant weight of Anna's body sprawled across her own; where the darkness is a soothing blanket and the warmth of shared covers makes her pull Anna closer and listen to the low, contented murmur as soft lips press a gentle kiss to her chest.

But she has learned to speak without words, and does so now; breathing the truth against Anna's skin, weaving it into her hair on the back of her hand, and tracing it over her spine with the barest touch of her fingers.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

xXxXx

Anna loves her. Loves her, and she remembers every last thing about how that confession came to be. She remembers the way the air smelled, the warmth of the sun on her skin and the heat of Anna's blush under her hand; remembers the sweetness of that kiss, the giddy, half-tearful laugh against her own mouth and how the rose had trembled because Anna's hands did.

Her heart still aches in the best of ways; as if it's swelled too large to fit in her chest from the sheer joy of that knowing, and from finally being able to say what she herself has felt for what seems like eons.

So she thinks that maybe now is the time to be more honest; to try to broach the topic of the fact that her time here is limited, and to bring up the fact that the backstory Winter fabricated for her isn't the truth, as Anna already knows. Maybe, just maybe, that will end up with Anna giving her the choice to stay.

She picks the best moment possible; one where they're alone and Anna is squirming and giggling in her hold because she is delightfully ticklish and her laughter is the most beautiful sound that Elsa has ever known. One where they're close and the atmosphere is relaxed and easy, with her smile pressing into Anna's skin and the sound of a TV-show that they stopped watching a while ago playing in the background.

"Seriously," Anna giggles, and cranes her neck to give better access even as her hands push playfully at Elsa's shoulders. "You are way too cute for your own good. How are you even real?"

Elsa hums against the shoulder under her lips, and feels the twitch when her palm slips under Anna's shirt and onto smooth skin. "You know how." She nibbles lightly at a spot that has Anna choking back a laugh, and feels the tremble under her hand when her fingers splay over Anna's abdomen. "You kissed a snowflake, and there I was."

"Yeah, yeah." A soft chuckle warms her temple, and then there are gentle fingers curling in her hair and tugging until Anna's lips are parting below hers for a long moment of pleasant exploration. "You're allowed to be serious every once in a while, you know."

"I am serious," Elsa insists gently; cradling Anna's face in her hands and letting their noses brush. "I mean... I wanted to land where I did, but you're so beautiful, Anna; so alive, and you always have been. I wanted to know you for so long, and I just... took the chance that night."

"Elsa..." Anna is smiling when her nails scratch gently at Elsa's scalp, but it's wry and sort of tired. "You're sweet, but can we table the whole snowflake thing, please? It's a little goofy, y'know?"

"Goofy." She parrots the word a touch dumbly, and hopes that Anna can't tell from her expression that her stomach is dropping like a rock in free-fall. "Of course, Anna. I'm sorry."

Apparently she's an excellent actress, because they spend the remainder of the evening curled together in Anna's bed with the laptop showing something from either Hulu or Netflix. Anna is watching, Elsa knows, because she can feel the odd chuckle under her hand where it rests on Anna's belly, and against her chest where Anna's back presses against it.

Anna assumes her to be sleeping, she judges, and bases that on the slow stroking of fingers over her own. That's okay; she really isn't up for being particularly social right now as it is. Not when she has to acknowledge the now very probable reality of losing this in a few, short months.

Just as Anna can open doors, she can close them.

xXxXx

There are less than three months left, and Elsa tries to stay positive. Three months isn't a year, but it's still a long time, and there are several ways in which she can subtly guide their conversations in the right direction. She can't bring up her origins anymore – Anna closed that door and she can only do what Anna wants – but she can ask questions, and keep them broad enough that what she's fishing for isn't obvious.

"What do you want out of life?" she therefore asks one day; leaning against the coffee shop counter in the wee hours of the morning where she and Anna are the only people there.

The pale eyes lift from the textbook that Anna is leaning over, and a single fiery eyebrow quirks. "Aside from graduating without losing my ever-loving mind?"

She chuckles, and sets her chin on one raised fist. "Aside from that."

"Well..." Anna straightens and looks around the quiet shop; two fingers tapping idly at the pages of her textbook. "Much as I love this place, I guess I want a bonafide 'adult job'. You know; one where instead of having to argue with the milk frother, I get to bitch about how people keep stealing my pens."

"Pens?" Elsa lifts both eyebrows. "Real twenty first-century woman, are you?"

"Hush." One tanned hand finds the end of the braid that hangs over her shoulder, and gives it a light tug. "Me preferring everything to go digital doesn't mean that I can't realize how long it'll take for people to figure out what cyber security standards are."

"You just want to submit everything electronically because your handwriting is atrocious," Elsa teases, and leans forward enough for their lips to brush.

"Ha ha." Anna plucks the empty cup from her fingers with a smirk, and nips gently at Elsa's lower lip before puling back and depositing her prize into a nearby bin. "We can't all write like professional calligraphists, Miss Curlicue. That's what word processors and cursive fonts are for."

Elsa watches her turn her back to focus on the available machinery, and slips a few bills into the tip jar while Anna is distracted enough to not insist on the next cup being on the house, too. She notices when she turns back around, of course, but only gives Elsa a look and sneaks another kiss as she hands the coffee over.

It's Saturday and the streets outside are practically abandoned. So Elsa has zero compunctions about curling her fingers behind Anna's neck; about tugging her back in until they're both leaning on the counter and the contact can linger and deepen, with Anna's mouth warm and sweet against hers and a low, encouraging sound sending tingles down her spine. The kiss lengthens until Anna is lifting her heels off the floor and her fingers are tightening in the front of Elsa's coat, and when Elsa traces the slow scoop of her neckline with the tips of her fingers, Anna whimpers against her mouth.

There's a faint, alluring flush spread across Anna's cheeks when they pull back, and she takes a deep, slow breath before giving Elsa's nose a light tweak. "Had to do that at the start of my shift, didn't you?"

Elsa chuckles, and kisses the fingers when they pass her lips. She doesn't say 'sorry', though, since she isn't. "So you hope to graduate with your sanity at least mostly intact," she says instead, and curls her fingers around the cup. "And to secure a different job. What else?"

Anna fishes the bills from the tip jar, and - after lifting them up and giving her a look that's half wry acquiescence, half affection – enters Elsa's drink as a sale and drops the change into the jar instead. "You." Her lips quirk in a half-grin when Elsa feels herself blush, and she winks before heading towards the back. "And I definitely want that more than the other options."

And Elsa loves knowing that; she really does. It's a wonderful feeling of warmth that spreads from the center of her chest outwards, and she's sure that she has the silliest smile on her face when she watches Anna slip through a doorway and out of sight.

But it isn't something that gives her the choice.

xXxXx

Months dwindle to weeks, and while Elsa notices, the first hint of frost in the air when she leaves her apartment in the morning still throws her off. She makes it into work, but by 10 AM, her head is pounding enough that her boss takes one look at her and sends her home, with a firm instruction to stop by a pharmacy on the way because 'stress headaches are no joke'. That, clearly, is the truth, because even the strongest over-the-counter stuff doesn't touch the pain, and she spends at least an age curled under the covers in her bedroom; trying to sleep – or at least rest – and failing to do anything other than feel achy and nauseous all over.

It feels like an age, anyway, but when the doorbell rings, a very brief, very squinty glance at the bedside clock tells her that it can't have been more than a few hours. Unless she actually did manage to drop off and it's now 1 PM on the next day, which... she really hopes not, because it still feels like someone ran her through an industrial-sized tumbler.

It's Anna she finds when she opens the door; not because she sees her – her vision is still tunneling and even having her eyes open makes her want to throw up – but the soft curse when she comes into view is in a voice she knows, and the blessedly cool fingers that touch her face are as familiar as her own.

"Right back to bed with you," Anna orders softly, and Elsa doesn't have it in her to argue when a gentle hand covers her eyes to block out the light that isn't filtered by her eyelids. "Migraine?"

"Think so," she mutters, and lets Anna close and lock her front door before guiding her back into the bedroom. "Tunnel-vision, headache, nausea-"

"Migraine," Anna deduces gently, and helps her under the covers before slipping in beside her; after some shuffling noises that Elsa determines to be her shucking out of most of her clothes. "Glad I picked today to drop by your office for lunch."

"Mrmph." She grimaces at the careful fingertips that prod at her neck and shoulders, but they do alleviate some of the throbbing pressure in her skull and make it all the easier to nuzzle into Anna's chest and inhale her scent. "Glad it isn't infectious."

The low, derisive snort makes her smile, and she pulls Anna closer in exchange for a lingering kiss pressing against the top of her head. "I wouldn't care if you were Typhoid Mary," Anna murmurs into her hair. "I'm just glad you're not seriously sick."

Elsa hums into the smooth skin and kisses it, and tries to just relax into Anna's arms and not think about the fact that she is sick.

Heartsick.

She does tell her – sometime later – that she has to leave at the end of the year.

Anna doesn't take it well, but she tries.

xXxXx

Weeks become days, and by now, Elsa is resigned. She just wishes that the resignation would make it stop hurting.

It doesn't.

xXxXx

The night between December 30 and December 31st, Elsa doesn't sleep at all. Anna is curled against her, and though her face is pressing into Elsa's chest, the light from the street outside is enough that she can make out the faint puffiness of her eyes, and the uncharacteristic downturn at the corner of her mouth. She sleeps, at least.

Elsa is tired, but in a few short hours, sleep isn't going to be something that she needs anymore, so why waste time on it? She knows painfully well that this is the last night she gets to spend with Anna in her arms; the last chance she will get to simply watch her sleep and feel her breathe, and she wants to remember every flutter of her eyelashes, every faint twitch of her fingers and every soft, somnolent murmur that leaves her lips.

All too soon, the memories of these moments are going to be all she has left.

When dawn breaks, Elsa wakes Anna by making love to her. The first time, she does so slowly; feeling every dip and curve under her palms, tasting her skin and her mouth, hearing the soft moans and sighs and inhaling the scent of her skin, of her hair, her arousal and the clean linens around them. Every last thing is painstakingly cataloged and imprinted in her memory.

The second time, she takes her. Hard and fast and possessive; claiming every limb - every inch – with her mouth and hands, until Anna's skin is littered with bites and marks and she screams her release into Elsa's shoulder; clawing at her back and biting at her neck.

The third time, Anna takes her, and Elsa groans into her mouth and lets her; submits to the hard kisses and fevered touches that feels as if they're turning her soul inside out.

Maybe if they never leave the bed, the day won't actually end.

xXxXx

It does, of course. The sun sets, darkness falls, and a few hours after that, they're heading to a party although neither of them are feeling even remotely festive. Anna, at least, is putting on a brave front, but of course she doesn't know that tonight is the last one they'll have.

Elsa does. She can feel the pull to return; a subtle tugging at the center of her being, where she is still - in some way – Frost. She fights it, though, because months have become days, which have become hours and then minutes, and every last one of those is precious. So she pays no attention to the crunching of the snow under her feet or to the clouds gathering above, and instead focuses all of her attention on Anna; on the way a few locks of escaped hair flutters in the chilly breeze, on the warmth of the fingers that twine with her own, and on how they walk close enough for their arms and shoulders to brush with every step.

And she hopes – prays, even – that maybe there's still time. That maybe there's still some way, something she can say or do that'll let Anna place the choice for Elsa's future on her.

There isn't. But she does get to tell her one more time that she loves her, and she tries to find some small amount of comfort in that as the city shrinks in size below her; swirling upwards on a flurry in the same way that she swirled downwards to begin with a year ago, and feeling – somehow – the gentle sympathy of Snow in the chilly air that no longer feels chilly.

It should feel like home to reclaim her old form; to settle above the clouds and be met by Snow and Winter and Rime, to no longer worry about death or disease or the other concerns of mankind. It should, but it doesn't, and one of the things that hurts the most is the loss of the ability to cry.

"Can you make her forget me?" she asks, and watches Winter startle.

"Why would you want her to forget you?"

"Because all I'm doing right now is hurting her." She feels Rime hover next to her; young – comparatively – and concerned. "It isn't fair to her to be the only one who remembers."

She senses that Winter is about to answer, but something distracts her, and she – along with Snow (who perks up) and Rime (who zips to the edge of a cloud and peers over it) – turns her attention downwards.

More than anything, I want you to be happy.

She doesn't need to breathe, but still feels her breath hitch. She no longer has a heartbeat, but still feels it skip, and at the rush of warmth, she looks down in wonder to see her hands turn pale and opaque as she begins to shift once more into mortal form, and this time without the faintest help from Winter's power.

"But it's too late," she breathes – breathes – and watches her friends, her family, smile.

"Love is never too late," Winter reminds her, and then frowns. "But we should get you back down there before you simply fall."

"She'd better take care of you," Snow hisses in her ear, and she returns the tight hug while she still can; before she solidifies enough to be unable to touch her at all. "If she doesn't, I'm going to send a fresh handful down her back every chance I get."

"I'll tell her," Elsa – not Frost; Elsa – laughs, and then feels tears build when she turns to Rime, who has grown from a boy to a young man in the time she's looked away. "Good luck," she tells him, and smiles when she cups his cheek and sees the awe in his eyes. "Frost."

He hugs her tightly enough to almost squeeze the air from her lungs, and that's a clear sign that she really does need to go before she turns completely. She's sent off with much fanfare – not a flurry this time, but an absolute whiteout – and the pounding of her heart only grows more tangible the closer she gets; racing and spinning between buildings and down streets, until there's a yard and a snowpile, a thud and an 'oof', and wide, beautiful eyes that stare up at her from a field of pristine white and fiery red.

"I'm happiest with you," she whispers, and feels Anna's breath on her face, the familiar hands pressing into her back, and the stunned almost-curse that she catches on her own tongue and turns into a tight hold and a low moan that warms her from the inside out.

This, she knows as Anna pulls her closer still, always has been – always will be – home.