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Chapter Text

The sound of her heels clicking against the pavement resound in the young woman’s ears as she weaves through the busy street. Her gaze remaining fixated on the piece of paper between her thumb and forefinger that reads; 
 
1014 B Morley Street
 
It isn’t often that Anna Rendelle found herself in Waterloo, a neighbourhood she repeatedly tried to avoid at all costs but found herself without any other options. 
 
The auburn-haired woman comes to a halt as she nearly bumps into a rather ragged looking man. The tall man turns, his cheeks and eyes hollowed. She tries not to let her gaze linger on that state of his appearance, not wanting to be rude. 
 
“Oh, I’m very sorry.” The young woman apologizes, holding the piece of paper to her chest. The older man blinks at her, turning away towards the long line cascading out of the very building Anna is trying to access. 
 
Nibbling the inside of her cheek Anna isn’t sure if she should wait in line or push forward. After all, she did have an appointment to see Mr. Brooker in nearly 10 minutes. She moves forward, weaving through the crowd of desperate people, various languages from the continent filling her ears as she enters the building. 
 
As she enters the lobby, Anna stares up the winding stairs, filled with lines of refugees barely holding onto their suitcases as mothers try to keep their children in check. Babies’ cries echo through the cramped lobby and staircase. 
 
“Excuse me,” Anna says, stepping around a woman sitting on the ground with an infant on her lap. As she stands in front of the door of Mr. Brooker’s office, Anna closes her eyes as she takes deep breaths, reminding herself it is safe. 

Finally, she pushes open the door, glancing around the room before stepping into it. There are three men seated against a wall, wearing too many layers for this weather. Their seats face the receptionist in the corner, watching as the young woman types loudly. Anna takes a step towards the secretary, whose eyes are downcast to her typewriter, her horn-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. 
 
Anna folds her hands in front of her forest green reefer coat, playing with one of the large black buttons as she taps her foot against the wooden floor. The receptionist’s typing stops, her eyes peering over her glasses at Anna with a scornful look.  

“Can I help you?” The young receptionist asks, glancing over Anna carefully before giving the auburn-haired woman her full attention.

 Anna attempts not to feel self-conscious about herself; knowing her hair is escaping from her braids, her bright red lipstick has nearly faded with her day’s work, her eyeliner and mascara smeared from the drizzle as she made her way to the underground. She knows she has a run in her stocking; Mrs. Steiner had been sure to give her an earful after work due to it. 
 
“Yes, my name is Anna Rendelle. I have an appointment to see Mr. Brooker in about 6 minutes.” She offers the receptionist a sweet smile, trying to ease the tension with her. 
 
The woman opens the appointment book with a sigh, scanning over Mr. Brooker’s meetings for the day. Her painted nail scrape against the page as she searches for Anna’s name. Anna could hardly remember a time she was able to paint her nails last. 
 
“Anna Rendelle?” She questions, her grey eyes darting up at Anna. 
 
“Yes, that is me.” Anna nearly discloses what her business is but quickly stops herself; this woman does not need to know why Anna is meeting with Mr. Brooker. 
 
“Alright, take a seat. I’ll see if Mr. Brooker is ready for you.”
 
Anna nods, withdrawing from the receptionist’s desk. Settling on one of the chairs between the men, she places her leather handbag on her lap, watching as the secretary stands from her desk. Anna sighs as she taps her heel against the floor, unable to care at that moment if she is denting it with her heeled shoe. 
 
She looks down at herself, pulling her pussy bow out of the top of her coat, readjusting the bow over the lapels of her jacket. She wishes she would have more time to fix her makeup; her touch up while on the underground had been less than productive. She glances back up from herself as the receptionist closes Mr. Brooker’s door, sitting back at her desk without saying another word. 
 
Opening her mouth to inquire after Mr. Brooker, Anna quickly shuts it, deciding not to agitate the receptionist further. She waits quietly, the only sounds in the room being the loud typing of the receptionist and the coughing of one of the men next to her. 
 
The door clicks open, causing Anna to sit up straight in her seat as a short, balding, rotund man emerges from the office. He wipes his forehead with his handkerchief. His other hand tucked under his suspender. 
 
“Who did you say was next?” His gruff voice echoes through the room. The typist points to Anna without looking up from her notes. Mr. Brooker turns towards Anna, groaning at the sight of her and rolling his eyes. 
 
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” He curses as Anna stands from her seat. 
 
“Hi, Mr. Brooker. It’s nice to see you again.” She states, racing forward to stand in front of the middle-aged man. He sighs, pointing his chubby finger in the girl’s face. 
 
“Has anyone told you that your tenacity is exhausting?” 
 
“Many actually,” Anna responds, opening her purse, looking through its contents, only to find two lipsticks, a change purse, mascara, and loose bobby pins; at the bottom sits a bundle of letters. “I’m here today because I have letters that may be useful to my siste- you see, my sister has be-” 
 
“Has been missing since ’43; yes, I am quite aware of your situation Miss. Rendelle.” Abruptly the fat middle-aged man turns, striding back into his office. Anna blinks before jerking forward to follow him, closing his office door behind her. 
 
“Yes, well, I was re-examining some of her letters, and I realized that I overlooked th-” Anna’s jaw clenches as Mr. Brooker cuts her off once more. 
 
“Listen, Miss. Rendelle, everyone has someone they’ve lost in this war.” He huffs, looking through paperwork. “Hell, just this morning, I had a 12-year-old boy in here with his five-year-old sister searching for their parents.”
 
“But I really th-” 
 
“My advice to you, Miss. Rendelle is move on with your life. I doubt your sister would want you waiting around for her for your entire life. Meet a lovely man, get married and have some children. There is no point in waiting anymore.” Mr. Brooker states. 
 
Anna’s eyes fixate on her hands resting on her knees, her thumb brushing against the hem of her grey skirt poking out from the bottom of her coat. The diamond ring settled on her left-hand shimmers against the overhead light. She shifts the gold band with her thumb before glancing up at the balding man with round eyes. 
 
She clears her throat. “That is why I’m trying to find her. You see, I am to be married by the end of the year a-and I have no other family…” The auburn-haired woman glances back down to her skirt, pulling on the hem of the grey garment. “She is the only family I have left.” 
 
The room is silent for a moment, Mr. Brooker shuffling through the various copies of letters Anna had provided over these last few months. She peers up at him once more, chewing the inside of her cheek, a habit she picked up after the war. It was better than chewing her lip and ruining her what was left of her lipstick. 
 
Mr. Brooker sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, trying to relieve the throbbing in his head due to the woman in front of him. “Miss. Rendelle, we put more resources on this out of respect for your late father and for 14 months, we haven’t found anything. It seems like your sister if she is alive, does not want to be found.” 

Anna’s gaze drops to her lap, staring at the bundled letters in her hand. Running her thumbs over the paper and examining her sister’s cursive writing. Wishing Mr. Brooker would listen to her for once, the last letter was sent from a different postal district from the others; Inverness-Shire, not Oxford, where Elsa lived since 1939. Not even England, but Scotland. 
 
Mr. Brooker leans forward, his forearms resting on his desk as those red-glassy eyes stare at her. He sighs, shaking his head as he scans his desk once more. “Why don’t you leave your information with my secretary…and if anything appears, we’ll be sure to contact you.” 
 
“Alright...” A pit forms in her stomach at those familiar words that every other official had concluded their meeting with. 
 
“It’s always a pleasure, Miss. Rendelle.” Mr. Brooker nods, his gaze going back to the documents on his desk. Somehow, Anna does not believe his words. She clutches her handbag to her front as she stands, leaving the office without another word. 
 
Anna steps into the waiting room, observing a few new people seated as they wait for their turn to see Mr. Brooker. She makes eye contact with a small boy, seated on his father’s lap; his coat nearly two sizes too big for him and eyes wide as if pleading. 
 
She quickly looks away from the boy, making her way to stand in front of the receptionist’s desk. The typist does not glance up from her typewriter, ignoring the woman in front of her. 
 
Rolling her eyes, Anna turns from the desk with a huff, knowing that Mr. Brooker will not do any favours. She will never hear from him again, as she hadn’t from everyone else who she’s talked to. 
 
She opens the door to the office, closing it as she steps into the building’s lobby. The foreign accents filling her ears once more as she strides through the building, careful not to shove past the refugees or make eye-contact with any of the poor souls. 
 
A shiver rushes through her body as she emerges from the building into the cold winter day. Clutching the lapels of her jacket to her chest, Anna glances both ways down the street as she tries to reorient herself. It wasn’t often that she came across the Thames. 
 
Biting her lip, Anna makes her way back towards Frazier Street, racing across the road before taking a left off the street towards Waterloo Station. She enters the underground station through Waterloo road, making her way through the crowds of people as she pays her fare. 
 
Walking through the massive station, Anna strides through the people attempting to get to her tram on time, not wanting to remain on this side of the city any longer. 
 
“Excuse me,” Anna calls as she slips past two men, now rushing to get onto the Northern train line. She clutches her purse, careful not to lose any of the letters tucked into the bag as she races towards the platform. 
 
The young woman barely makes it, stepping through the doors shortly before they close. She briefly stands in the doorway, her eyes scanning the car before spotting an empty seat across from a young mother and child. 
 
The young blonde boy kneels on the seat next to his mother, his fingers clutching the back of the bench as he stares out the window, not like there was anything to look at underground. Her body jerks slightly to the side as the train crawls forward. 
 
She glances up at the young boy before looking down at her lap, where her handbag rests with a small smile. Thinking about the few times her parents took them across the city in the underground, she and Elsa used to sit similarly, attempting to look out into the dark tunnel while their mother would scold them to sit correctly. 
 
Her face drops as everything comes racing back to her once again. Anna hadn’t seen her sister in six years since the funeral. They had only started to regularly correspond with one another shortly before Elsa’s disappearance. Her sister was supposed to visit her the weekend she disappeared; The week of July 11th, 1943. 
 
Anna knew the two of them weren’t on the best of terms when Elsa disappeared, but they had been working on things, at least she thought they had been. 
 
Her head perks up as she notices as the train halts to a stop.  
 
“Shit.” She curses, grabbing her purse as she stands from her seat, quickly exiting the train for fear of missing her stop. As she stands on the platform the large letters read: 

Tottenham Court. 

The young woman huffs in annoyance, having exited the underground too soon at the station instead of Goodge Street Station. 
 
Reluctantly Anna exits the station, deciding she would rather walk home then wait for the next tram to take her only one stop further. She emerges onto Oxford Street, walking westward. Tucking her hands into her coat pockets, Anna strolls past the various shops glancing in every window. 
 
She crawls to a stop in front of one particular storefront, the dress on display catching the young woman’s attention. It was forest green, her favourite colour, with a black lace overlay, short lace sleeves and a black bow tied neatly in the back. 
 
Biting her lip, Anna gazes at the dress a little longer, the corners of her mouth upturning as she decides to enter the shop. 

Anna sits alone at the table in her new dress, her hand propped up against her face as she overlooks the crowd of people. Finding the laughter and joy of people around her nearly infectious as the band plays. 
 
Her eyes drift to the balloons decorating the bannisters of the grand room, her smile fading as one drifts away from the others, slowly floating towards the roof. Her gaze remains on the champagne coloured decoration, eyes fluttering as she prepares for the noise, expecting the balloon to pop as it collides with the ornamental roof. 
 
She flinches as it hits the roof, waiting for the noise. But it never comes. Instead, the balloon bounces against the ceiling, settling in a corner. It hadn’t occurred to Anna that she was holding her breath until she releases it. 
 
“You look too gorgeous in the dress to be sitting over here with a cloud over your head.” A low American accent resounds through her ears, eliciting a shiver to run through Anna. The man brushes away her curled and pinned auburn hair from her neck, pressing a chaste kiss against her pulse point as two hands rest on her shoulders. 
 
Anna turns her head, forcing herself to smile up at her fiancé. She places her hand over one of his hands, her forefinger brushing against the back of his hand. 
 
“I know. I’m sorry, Hans. I’ve just been thinking.” Anna shrugs as he removes his hands from her shoulders, coming to sit in the chair beside her. 
 
“Oh no, usually those words don’t end well.” Hans raises his brow, reaching forward to take Anna’s hand into his own. The young woman titters in response, shaking her head as she glances to the ground. 
 
“No, it’s nothing like that… it’s just…” She trails off. Hans tilts his head, catching her sky-blue eyes with his emerald ones. 
 
“It’s just what, sweetheart?” The rust-haired man inquires, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, lingering over the ring he had placed there nearly a month ago. 
 
“Doesn’t it bother you to see everyone acting so normal after all that we’ve been through?” Anna questions. 
 
“Is it the party?” Hans asks. “We can go if you want. I just assumed that-” 
 
“No, Hans.” She sighs, cutting him off. “The party is wonderful. I just mean generally. Just the other day, I saw my neighbour who lost her eldest son at Dunkirk and then her second son at Caen, whistling and watering her garden as if nothing has changed.” 
 
Hans remains silent for a moment, staring at his fiancé intently. “I think that people want to continue on with their lives and not focus on everything that has happened these past six years.” 
 
“I suppose,” Anna responds. Not entirely convinced of Hans’ theory, his family hadn’t lost anyone during the war. Thirteen sons, half enlisted and none of them were called to active duty. Like his father and brothers before him, Hans had graduated Westpoint, only arriving in France in 1944 once it had been liberated as a First Lieutenant. 
 
“Come on, I want to show you off in that dress.” Hans springs up from his chair, holding his hand out to his fiancé. Anna takes his hand without any hesitation, accepting his help to stand from the chair. 
 
She struggles to keep up to him in her strappy black heels, almost sliding on the white marble floors of the room as Hans pulls her towards the dancefloor. In an instant, Hans pulls her flush to him, their chests touching as he takes her hand into her own.
 
Anna’s hand rests on his shoulder, running her fingers against his uniform’s woollen olive-green jacket. His khaki tie perfectly straight against his shirt of the same colour. 
 
The young woman grins up at Hans as saxophones echo in her ears, as Hans begins to lead them. Anna allows him to lead her around the floor rapidly, keeping in time with the Glen Miller song the band was playing that evening. 
 
Dancing had never been Anna’s strong suit; her parents had always taken the time to properly instruct Elsa as children, never her. But she still enjoyed it nonetheless, the way her heart pounds in her chest and how Hans’ arms feel around her. 
 
He smiles down at her, his eyes taking in every feature and freckle of his soon-to-be-wife. Anna stares up at him, raising a brow in response to his stare. 
 
“What is it?” She inquires. 
 
“I just…” He begins, pulling her closer to him with a smirk. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life.” 
 
“Me, either,” Anna responds, mirroring her fiancé’s expression before he spins her. For a moment, she actually believed it. 

Anna is grateful that her peacoat acts as a buffer between her back and the brick building Hans currently had her backed against. His gloved hands cupping her jaw as he crushes his lips against hers, humming as Anna weaves her hands through his hair. 
 
Grasping at his short, soft locks as his lips trail from her mouth to the column of her throat. She looks up at the night sky, her breath visible in the cold winter night as a gasp emits from her. 
 
“H-Hans, we shouldn’t do this again.” She manages to say, resisting the moan building in her as he licks along her neck. He detaches from her, his lips hovering only inches from her skin, his breath hot against her neck. 
 
“Is that what you want, Anna?” He asks lowly, his hold against her waist tightening. Anna’s hands fist the lapels of his jacket, pulling him back up for his lips to collide with her own. They stand on the street in their passionate embrace, not caring about bystanders who walk past them, some occasionally showing disdain for the indecent display of affection. 
 
Anna nearly jumps out of her skin as the door next to them swings open, flattening her hands against Hans’ chest to push him away. She glances to the side, where her landlady stands, her hands on her wide hips as she scowls at the young couple.
 
The auburn-haired woman clears her throat. “Oh, Gerda…Um…Mr. Westergaard was just…” 
 
“I know exactly what Mr. Westergaard was doing.” The woman states, her Norwegian accent nearly indecipherable. Hans chuckles, taking a step away from Anna as he clasps his hands together. 
 
“Please forgive me, Mrs. Karlsen,” The young man offers the older woman his best charming smile, ignoring Anna as she raises her hand to cover her mouth, attempting not to snicker. “You must believe me that I had no indecent intentions with Miss. Rendelle.” 
 
Gerda narrows her eyes at Hans, her lips pursing together. “You don’t think I know what men like you do to girls like her?” 
 
“Gerda it’s fin-” 
 
“You American men, ever since the war, stay here. Marry British girls. Then once there are babyer on the way, you send for them in American promising that you have a career, but all you own is a hotdog stand in midtown Manhattan.” 
 
“But you were saying the other day, that you do like all of the flowers Hans has been sending to the house.” Anna cuts in, trying to ease the tension and quell her landlady’s anger. 
 
Gerda shrugs. “They are nice enough.” 
 
“I’m glad you like them.” Hans replies, his charming smile now dropped as his glowers at the Norwegian woman in front of him. 
 
“I’ll be in soon enough Gerda, I’m just going to bid Mr. Westergaard goodnight.” The young woman takes Hans by the arm. They watch as the older woman turns from them, muttering in her native tongue as she slams the door behind her. 
 
“You know,” Hans turns to his fiancé, taking her by the hands. “We could go back to my hotel for the night, get comfortable.” He takes a step closer to her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Get wrapped up in the bed, maybe even with one another.” 
 
Anna giggles in response, shaking her head. “No, I um…have meetings all day tomorrow and then work in the afternoon.” 
 
She recalls the last time she spent a night in Hans’ hotel room before her shift; Anna had arrived in the same clothes from the previous day, the scent of Hans’ aftershave still lingering on her skin from the night. 
 
“Alright, I will release you into the clutches of the Nazi.” Hans acquiesces with a shrug. 
 
“Gerda isn’t a Nazi.” Anna defends the older woman, who had been generous enough to allow her to live in the boarding house at a low price. 
 
“I’m just saying, she left Norway rather quickly after the war.” 
 
Anna rolls her eyes as she shakes her head in disbelief. “I should go. If I stay any longer, I fear she may drag me in by my ears.” 
 
“We wouldn’t want that.” Hans chuckles. He leans over, capturing her lips with his once more, his movements slow and deliberate as if trying to convince Anna to come back with him for the night. 
 
Instead, she steps away from the embrace with a smile. “Goodnight, Hans.” 
 
“Night, Anna.” He repeats, watching as his intended disappears into the building, but not before she pauses at the entrance. Anna closes the door tightly behind her, her back resting against the wood as she sighs at the sudden desire to have his arms around her once more.  
 
“Is he gone?” Gerda asks, appearing from the kitchen with a wet spot on the front of her apron, indicating she is washing dishes.
 
“Yes, he’s gone.” Anna sighs, withdrawing from the door as she makes her way towards the stairs leading up to her room. 
 
“I don’t like that he comes so often.” The Norwegian woman huffs, staring at the door with narrowed eyes. 
 
“Gerda, he’s my fiancé.” The young woman states. She had known her landlady disliked Hans, of course, every time the reason for disliking him changed; he sends too many flowers, he touches Anna too often, the ring he bought wasn’t big enough, the list of excuses is endless. 
 
“I know. He’s just around too often. What will my neighbours think?” Gerda throws her hands up in exasperation as she turns away from the door. Anna stifles her laughter at Gerda’s newest absurd excuse as the young woman makes her way up the stairs. 
 
Anna walks to the end of the hall to her room. Her hand hovers over the doorknob, shaking as she reminds herself that she is safe. Slowly she opens the door, stepping into the room with hesitancy. She turns on the light before shutting the door, revealing the small room she has resided in over the past 10 months. The twin sized bed tucked in the corner against the window with her short dresser next to it with brown wallpaper and a few photos of the Dover seaside. 

 Anna locks the door behind her as she enters; Gerda had a nasty habit of barging into the room in the morning to gather laundry. 
 
She discards her heels to the side of her door, moaning in relief as her feet flatten against the hardwood floor. Despite her body urging her to collapse in the freshly made bed, Anna meanders towards the desk in the opposite corner of her bed.

As she settles herself on the chair, her eyes scan over the various documents and letters scattered on her desk, trying to recall where she had left off the previous night. Her hand hover above one pile, grabbing the message at the top. 
 
Unfolding the piece of paper, Anna’s glances at the photo on the desk; the glass long cracked, and a frame which has been repaired multiple times, holding a photo of her and Elsa as children on their summer vacation in Île-De-Ré to visit their maternal grandmother. Anna was eight in the photo and Elsa was eleven, both of them grinning in their nearly matching outfits. It was the last summer they took a trip like that, the last summer her and Elsa were close. 

Tearing her attention away from the photo Anna props her head against her hand as she begins to read the second last letter Els ever sent. 
 
Dearest Anna, 
I hope this letter finds you well since our last correspondence and things are faring well for you at your new job in the factory. I was surprised to hear that you had taken a job at a munitions factory but have to say that it’s very impressive. I know that mother and father wouldn’t have liked you taking over a man’s job, but it’s essential to contribute in any way possible to the war effort, I suppose.
 
My studies are going well, thank you for asking. I’ll most likely remain in Oxford over the summer again, you remember I never have fared in London well. I hope you understand. 
 
But I’ve been thinking a lot about what you wrote, and I’ll come to visit you for the weekend of the 11th. I’m set to arrive on the 8:30 train from Oxford to Marylebone station. Will you meet me there that morning? Maybe we can get breakfast or go for a stroll in Regent’s Park. I think we have a lot to discuss. 
 
Look forward to hearing from you, 
Elsa. 
 
Anna sighs as she re-reads the letter, placing it onto her desk. The train had been at Marylebone station, but Elsa hadn’t been. She had spent hours scouring this letter, trying to decipher any codes or messages her sister could have put into it to tell Anna about her whereabouts, but nothing ever turned up. 
 
Elsa had disappeared without a word, and Anna is determined to find her. She spends the rest of the evening reading through their correspondence, pushing aside her fatigue until falling asleep slumped over on the wooden desk. 

Chapter Text

Elsa does her best to ignore the group of boys sitting behind her, attempting to suppress her frustration as she tries to focus on the lecture while they continue to talk through it. They chuckle loud enough for everyone around them to hear, finally causing the blonde to snap. She turns in her seat, eyes narrowed toward them and a crease forming on her forehead.  

“Shh!” the blonde whispers, quietly scolding the men. The three men look at her, two of them looking at one another as they chuckle and roll their eyes in response. The third, a brunette, doesn’t mock her; instead, he smiles. 

“Shh.” He mimics, flashing the young woman a flirtatious smile. Elsa doesn’t reciprocate; she turns in her seat, focusing her attention forward once more without the distraction as the men quiet down. 

“Alright, please remember to collect your papers from me by Monday as it will be that last day I am on campus.” The male professor drones on as Elsa begins to quietly pack up her items. “But other than that, enjoy your summer break.” 

Slipping her books into her leather messenger beg, she picks it up in one sweeping motion as she stands. Her heels click against the wooden floor as she makes her way out of the classroom, her blonde curls pinned back from her face bouncing with every step. 

Her brows furrow as someone walks beside her, the wool of his sweater scratching against her arm as he stands closer for her liking. Glancing to her side, Elsa notices it is the same boy who seemingly enjoyed being scolded by her. 

“So, what’s a pretty girl like you up to on a Friday night?” The man asks, inciting conversation between them. Elsa sighs, looking ahead as she continues forward.  

“Studying in the library most likely.” She responds, briefly glancing up at him. He wasn’t…unattractive, his chestnut hair combed back, and hazel eyes glittering as he stares down at her. Yet, nothing, she felt nothing. No chest constricting, heart fluttering or a blush spreading across her cheeks. 

“You know, one of my friends is having a small get together tonight. You should come.” He suggests. Elsa stops in the middle of the hall, turning to get a better look at the man. He shrugs with a shy smile. “I know you don’t often come to gatherings, but I thought maybe you’d like to unwind.” 

Elsa stares into his eyes. Perhaps she could make an attempt. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” Knowing she must have heard it before but failing to recall it. 

“David Worster, and yours?” He questions as he extends his hand. Hesitantly Elsa takes his hand, offering a polite smile. 

“Elsa Rendelle.” She responds, quickly rescinding her hand from his. 

“Is that a yes?” 

She ponders for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek as not to ruin her bright red lipstick. “Alright. Pick me up in front of Bodleian?” she proposes, not wanting him to know where she resides. 

“O-of course!” David beams at her, having not expected an affirmative from the quiet girl in his civil law class. “I have to go to class, but I’ll pick you up in front of the Bodleian library at 6:30 tonight?” 

“I’ll be there.” She confirms, turning from him to careen down the hallway to her next class, hoping she won’t be late despite David. 

Much to her relief, she manages to make it to her Crusades history course, taking her seat next to the window right as the professor begins. Throughout the class, Elsa can’t seem to focus on the lecture, staring out of the window as the profess talks about the Siege of Jerusalem. 

Her eyes catch a brunette woman walking alone; the woman clutches her books to her chest, a smile gracing her features. Elsa stares at the woman, noticing her pixie nose and her emerald almond-shaped eyes; she’s beautiful. 

Quickly Elsa looks away from the window, squeezing her eyes as she tries to quell the thoughts of the woman from her mind. She had made a promise she would not do this anymore. 

She stands in front of the mirror in the shared bathroom, leaning against the porcelain sink as she applies her Elizabeth Arden lipstick. Finishing the application, Elsa steps back from the mirror, ensuring her makeup is nearly flawless. 

Her bright blue eyes are outlined with dark eyeliner and mascara with a light-coloured eye shadow. She hadn’t bothered putting on foundation. Her mother always said she had perfect skin and would ruin it, another rule her mother had instilled in her as an adolescent. 

With one more glance, Elsa smooths her dress, opting for a simple brown garment scattered with white polka dots and a pussy bow tied loosely between her breasts. Her hair was immaculate, curled and pinned away from her face. 

Sighing, she pulls away from the mirror, turning the bathroom light off as she enters the hall. As she glances up, Elsa notices the girl who rented to the room next to her, standing outside her bedroom. 

“Hi, Elsa.” Catherine greets with a smile before noticing the blonde’s appearance. “You have a date?” 

“Um…yeah sort of.” Elsa stutters, her finger tapping against her brown leather purse. “A boy from my civic law class told me about this party, so I’m going…with him…” 

“Well, have a good time,” Catherine calls before disappearing into her room. Elsa makes her way downstairs, glancing at her watch before realizing she’ll be late meeting David. 

Her heels click against the pavement of the street, rushing to meet her companion for the night. She runs through campus, her chest hurting with the warm summer air penetrating her lungs. She slows as she approaches the library noticing the outline of a figure leaning against the stone building. 

“David!” She calls, grabbing the attention of the figure. Puffing, Elsa stands in front of the young man, offering him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, I was late.” 

“It’s no problem.” He shrugs. Elsa feels uncomfortable as his eyes drift up and down her body, taking in every inch of her. The young man’s gaze finally meets hers. “You look great.” 

“Thank you.” She responds, wishing a blush would spread across her cheeks at the compliment like a normal girl would. “Is your friend’s house very far?” 

“No, it’s just a few blocks from campus.” 

“Lovely. Shall we?” 

As the two of them walk, David doesn’t offer his arm, or if he does, Elsa doesn’t take it. Her hands folded in front of her, eyes glued to the pavement as they meander down the street in silence. 

“Soo…” David begins, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances up to the sky. “How have you been finding Dr. Richmond’s class?” 

“Fine.” Elsa nods, finally peering up at him. Silence lingers between the two of them at her response. She begins to wonder if perhaps he found the quiet between them awkward, she had always enjoyed the silence but was well aware that her quietness often makes things uncomfortable between her and others. 

“I found his midterm to be quite hard.” Davids finally speaks, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. 

“Well, I mean, if you didn’t spend wasting time in class with your friends and maybe then you’d do better on exams.” As the sentence leaves her mouth, Elsa feels a twinge of regret, not meaning to sound as harsh as it came off. 

“Are you offering to help me with my studies?” David asks, stepping closer to her. She resists the urge to shrink away as his arm brushes her; she had always been uncomfortable with touching others since adolescence, after returning from the hospital. 

“I-I mean if you think you need help. I’m usually in the library on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 2 to 6.” 

“It figures you’d be in the library constantly.” He chuckles in response, shaking his head. Elsa raises a brow, confused by his comment. David glances down at her, his smile slipping as he observes her brow. “I mean, the law classes and being in the library, it’s clear you’re trying to get your MRS degree.” 

“My MRS degree?” Elsa stops in her tracks, hoping he wasn’t implying what she thinks he is. 

“I mean, come on, Elsa.” He stops, shrugging his shoulders. “I know you’re smart. Everyone knows you are, but we both know why most women go to college and take men’s classes.” 

For a moment, the blonde woman debates responding politely to the young man, not wanting a confrontation between the two of them. At least things had been going well between them. Hadn’t it? There wasn’t that excitement when meeting him. Her cheeks hadn’t flushed when he complimented her. But it didn’t mean that those reactions couldn’t develop over time. 

As those hazel eyes stare down at her, Elsa decides at that moment, even if she could learn to feel some sort of attraction to the man in front of her; he would never see her as equal. 

“I’m sorry, David,” She meekly states. “I’m not feeling well. I think it’s best if I return home.” 

“Oh, really?” David’s brows shoot up in surprise. “Would you like me to walk you home?” 

“No that’s fine. Enjoy your friend’s party.” Elsa offers him a polite smile before turning away from the man. 

“I’ll see you soon?” He calls after her, hopeful that they might get another chance at a date. 

Elsa turns her head to look back at the young man. “I’ll see you around campus I’m sure.” She walks away from him without another word, feeling some guilt over her quick rejection of David. But ultimately knows that he would never take her seriously as an academic. Perhaps that’s what she is waiting for, a man who would finally take her seriously. 

Absentmindedly the young woman wanders the streets, not wanting to return to her boarding house quite yet. Knowing that she’ll only be bombarded with questions by her landlady and other tenants, not wanting to explain why she returned early. They wouldn’t understand. 

As she reaches Albert Street, she meanders towards a café she had frequented since coming to live in Oxford. It gave her a quiet spot to study throughout the day away from campus. Stepping through the establishment threshold, Elsa is relieved to see her place by the window is unoccupied. 

She quietly makes her way to the table, placing her handbag on the wooden surface as she settles in the chair. Unbuckling her purse, Elsa pulls out Le Spleen de Paris by Baudelaire, flipping to the page she had dog eared the previous night. 

“What can I get you?” The waitress asks, stopping in front of Elsa’s table. The blonde’s eyes drift from the pages to the older women, who always waited on her. 

“Could I get a cup of Assam, please?” 

“If you want milk, you’ll need to give me your rations coupons.” The grey-haired woman states, wiping her spotted hands on her dress. 

“Black is fine.” Elsa responds with a polite smile, watching as the woman steps away from the table, glancing back to the book in her hand. She reads over the lines of poetry, taking the words at face value; she had never been one to overanalyze these sorts of things. 

The blonde doesn’t look up as the waitress places her tea on the table next to her handbag. Elsa turns the teacup's handle towards her, leaving the saucer abandoned as she drinks from the English rose china.   

The saucer's porcelain clatters against the table as Elsa places the cup back onto it, still engrossed by Baudelaire. She didn’t particularly enjoy his writing, but it always seems to bring her back to simpler times as a child in Île-de-Ré with her family. 

“Excuse me?” A man speaks. Elsa looks up at the stranger in annoyance, knowing she’ll have to restart the poem over again. She quickly folds over the corner of the page with her forefinger, closing the book. 

The man stands across the table from her, his hands resting on the back of the chair. He is perhaps middle-aged, a heavyset man; he was balding, the only red hair left on his head, creating an almost halo-like crown around his head. He smiles down at her, his gaze going to the book. 

“Yes?” Elsa inquires, raising a light brow. 

“I was wondering what it is your reading.” His accent is British, making it clear that he isn’t an American GI trying to get fresh with her. Elsa holds the book up for him to see without saying a word, trying to guess what this man wants. “Baudelaire. Do you speak French?” 

“I do.” She simply responds, wanting the man to be gone from her sight. 

“Would you be perhaps, willing to read some to me?” He inquires, flinching as if he knows the inconvenience of his request. “I’m afraid I don’t speak much French.” 

Reluctantly Elsa nods in agreement, not wanting to appear rude to this seemingly lonely man. He occupies the seat across from her, watching intently as she begins to read; 

“Malheureux peut-être l’homme, mais heureux l’artiste, déchiré par ce désir.” She begins, her accent slightly shaky as she starts, but in continuing, she becomes confident of herself, as she once had been as a child. Elsa doesn’t read the entire passage to the man, stopping after only a few lines. 

“How was that?” She asks, feeling self-conscious about speaking French. It had been a long time since she regularly spoke it, wondering if perhaps Anna had already forgotten most of it since their parent’s demise. 

“It was beautiful. Thank you.” He smiles. Elsa expects the man to stand up and leave her in peace, but he doesn’t. “Do you study French?” 

“I grew up speaking it. My mother was from Île-de-Ré. We spent every summer on the coast of France.” 

“Your accent is perfect; I wouldn’t have been able to distinguish you from a French citizen.” He crosses his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair. Elsa’s brows knit together, wondering how this man would know if her accent was perfect if he didn’t speak French. “Do you work?” 

Elsa shakes her head. “I go to school throughout the Autumn and Winter. But I’ll be working soon again for the summer at a shop, my 17-year-old sister lives in London an-” She stops, wondering why she is giving him details of her personal life. “I’m sorry, I must be going.” 

She quickly reaches into her purse, grabbing change to place on the table before grabbing her book. 

“Wait, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be rude.” He stands from the chair, blocking her from the door, something which Elsa did not appreciate. “I was wondering if you would like a job.” He holds out a card in his chubby fingers, urging Elsa to take it. She takes the paper scanning the card; 64 Baker Street. There wasn’t a phone number or person’s name on it, only the address. 

“Why should I? I have a job planned for the summer.” She inquires, perplexed by his offer. 

“This is important work, which you would be suitable for, and I imagine you’ll be compensated better than a shop.” 

“What sort of work?” Elsa’s questions, her thumb brushing against the leather of her purse. 

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say anymore. Ask for Yelana Magga when you go to that address.” 

“When should I leave for London?” She asks, mostly out of curiosity than sincerity, absolute that she would never go to the address. 

“Tomorrow morning.” He states, regarding the young woman. “So, you’ll take it?” 

“I never said that.” Elsa leaves a few coins on the table and leaves the café without another word. She tucks her book into her purse as she meanders down the street. 

She pushes against the door of her boarding house, sneaking past the living room as not to expose herself to her landlady. Climbing the stairs, Elsa sighs as fatigue overtakes her between her disastrous date and the stranger in the café. All she wants to do is lay down and sleep. 

The blonde woman opens her bedroom door, slipping into the room and closing it behind her as she turns on the overhead light. She toes off her shoes, letting them fall to the side haphazardly before stepping over them in her stocking covered feet. 

With a sigh, she sinks onto the mattress of her bed, groaning as she lays over the quilt. Her head lulls to the side, staring at her purse splayed on the bed next to her. Elsa sits up from the mattress, placing the leather handbag on her lap as she opens it, looking for the card. 

As she grabs it, Elsa allows her purse to fall to the ground before laying back onto her bed. Holding up the card to read the address once more, 64 Baker Street. She titters at the street, recalling those dreaded Sherlock Holmes books her father insisted reading to her and Anna as children. Not that Anna ever really paid attention. 

The card is very official, with only the address printed on the white paper. Elsa sits up from the bed once more, her forehead creasing as she begins to ponder what this all was. The man had said it was essential work that she would be well suited for. 

Elsa hadn’t been well suited for anything in her life. Agnarr had only sent her to university and enrolled her in men’s classes to meet a man, as well to dissuade her from her unfavourable romantic choices. 

She flips the card, inspecting the back in case there is any other information, but there is none. It was the weekend. Perhaps leaving for London a few weeks early couldn’t hurt. Anna would most likely be elated at the news. She doesn’t have enough time to write to her sister about the change in plan but knew her sister lived in a boarding house in Soho and has her number. Elsa could always call her when she finished her meeting in London.

Standing from her navy bedspread, Elsa walks across the room towards her dresser, crouching low to the ground to grab her leather suitcase under the lowboy. She carries the bag to her room, throwing the item on the mattress as she unbuckles the fasteners before opening the suitcase. 

She turns around, striding back to her dresser, opening the top drawer to reveal her tops; she grabs two white blouses, a grey long-sleeved shirt, and two high-necked tee shirts in both white and light blue

The next drawer holds her bottoms; grabbing her khaki pants, her rust and navy coloured flared skirts and a dark grey plaid pencil skirt. Adding a couple pairs of nylons for under her skirts, some white socks and her undergarments. The only other shoes she packs, other than her oxfords she plans to wear on the trains, are a pair of brown Spector pumps. 

She places her khaki pants, white high-neck tee shirt, a burgundy cardigan and a pair of socks aside for the next morning. Clicking the buckles into place, Elsa discards her suitcase on the floor. 

The fatigue of the day settling in as she strips from her brown dress, a shiver travelling down her spine from the coldness of the room. She slips the petticoat from her hips, kicking it off the side with her brown dress. Standing in her undergarments, Elsa turns to the mirror next to her bed, overlooking herself in the glass. 

Her sky-blue eyes come to rest on the silver locket resting between her breasts. She looks down at the necklace, opening it with a sigh to reveal a small mirror on one side and a photo of an adolescent Anna grinning in her standard braided pigtails. 

A sad smile occupies Elsa’s features as she stares at the photo; the locket had been their mothers and found in the rubble among her parent’s other possessions. Elsa had taken it without asking Anna, removing the photo of herself from the one side.

Gently she closes it, her hand clasped over the silver as her eyes focus on her own face in the mirror. She hopes her visit to London would finally allow her and Anna to discuss everything between them, hoping to fix things. They were all each other had left since their parent’s death in 1941. 

Elsa sighs, unsure how she would even begin to discuss her hospitalization. She isn’t sure how to even begin to explain it herself about her ailment. 

Unable to look at her reflection anymore, Elsa pulls away from the mirror. Taking off her bra and girdle, allowing the undergarments to fall to the floor before grabbing the nightgown at the end of her bed. She slips the cotton undergarment over her head, slipping her arms through the slim straps.  

Turning on the lamp next to her bed, Elsa moves towards her bedroom door, flipping the light switch to turn off the overhead light. With aching legs, she walks back to her bed, lying on the mattress with a sigh. In nearly a moment, Elsa’s eyes flutter shut, her hair still pinned back, and makeup now smeared across her face. 

Chapter Text

Anna’s brows knit together in confusion as her eyes flutter open, an incredible ache radiating down her neck and spine. With a sigh, she sits up from her desk, noticing the wet line trailing from her mouth and across her cheek. She wipes her face as she rolls her neck, trying to ease the tension before grabbing the letter her face rested on for the night. 

She had to stop doing this. The number of letters from Elsa having spots from her saliva was becoming innumerable. As she sits back in her chair, Anna notices the watch on her wrist, 9:00. 

The chair scrapes loudly against the wooden floor as she jumps up from the seat. She is going to be late. Anna unzips her skirt, shimmying it down her waist as she races across the room. Opening her closet, she quickly scans her dresses before grabbing her light green double-winged collar dress. 

She unfastens the two large buttons holding the bust into place with shaking hands and untying the belt around the waist. Her eyes catch the run in her stockings, causing her to huff in frustration. She detaches her nylons from her girdle, kicking them off as she grabs a new pair from her dresser, making a mental note to mend that pair later. Bunching up her girdle, Anna pulls down her panties, replacing them with a fresh pair.

Anna makes her way to her desk chair with her nylons in hand, settling in it before rolling on her stockings, attaching the lace cuff to her girdle and repeats with the other. Standing from the chair, she grabs the dress resting on the back of the chair. Stepping into the garment, she quickly fastens the two buttons and ties the belt around her waist in a neat bow. 

She strides towards the door, huffing as she finds it to be slightly ajar. Anna swings the door open, walking to the bathroom. 

Staring at herself in the mirror, she quickly washes her face with her light pink washcloth, cleaning her makeup off from the previous day. She applies her powder foundation, followed by applying her blush in a circular motion on the apples of her cheeks. Anna forgoes eyeliner but applies mascara before putting on her blasé apricot lipstick, careful to get her cupid’s bow just right so Mrs. Steiner would not scold her. 

Pleased with her appearance, Anna exits the bathroom, nearly bumping into Gerda on her way out of the room. The middle-aged woman wears a simple brown collared dress and her greying hair tied up into its usual bun, a laundry basket perched on her hip.

“Anna,” The Norwegian woman greets, taking in the young woman’s appearance. “Are you going out?” 

“I am.” 

“With who?” Gerda raises a grey brow. 

“I’m meeting a friend.” Anna simply states, not wanting to divulge that she was meeting a man this morning. 

“You would look better if you didn’t stay up at night and slept in your bed.” Gerda comments, walking past Anna to collect the dirty towels from the bathroom. Anna rolls her eyes as she ambles back to her room. 

She grabs her black mary jane shoes tucked beside her door; leaning over, she fastens the buckle on the ankle strap, repeating the motion with her other foot. Much to her relief, her green coat and purse still lay on her bed, where she left them last night. 

Racing across the room, Anna grabs her coat and purse, shrugging the garment on as she leaves her bedroom. She slings her bag on her shoulder as she moves down the stairs, buttoning her coat quickly. 

“Bye Gerda, I’ll be back around 6 tonight!” She calls, opening the front door, which lets in the cold air. 

“Alright, supper will be at 6:30. I’m making Fårikål.” Gerda shouts back from the top of the stairs. Anna offers her a polite smile before closing the door. Reminding herself to call Gerda at some point in the day to cancel supper. Maybe Hans would take her out again tonight. 

She turns right towards Newman passage, cutting through the pass to turn left onto Newman street toward Oxford. A chill passes through her body as she walks down the road, cursing to herself as she digs around in her purse for gloves. Her mother always used to harass her about bringing gloves for every occasion, but Anna had always hated them. Now during winter, due to her forgetful nature Anna made it second habit to always have a pair in her purse. 

As she reaches Chinatown, Anna peers into all of the windows, staring at the various items on display towards the street. She always loved walking through the market as a child. On the rare occasion her father would pass through the neighbourhood. She loved the smells and the experiences; she always felt as if she was travelling to another part of the world within the city she grew up in. 

Glancing down at her watch, she curses, being officially late for her meeting. Despite the desire to peruse through Chinatown, Anna increases her pace through the neighbourhood towards Trafalgar Square. 

She pauses before opening the door to The Clarence, glancing around the small pub before spotting a rather tall man with nearly white hair sitting at a table next to the front windows. 

“Olaf!” She calls across the quiet pub, waving to him. He stands from his chair, straightening his light blue vest and grey jacket as she comes to stand in front of him. “I’m sorry for being late.” 

Olaf takes Anna by to elbow, pressing a kiss to both her cheeks before staring down at her. “You’re always late.” He leads her back to their table, pulling out the chair for her. 

“I know, but today I have an actual reason.” Anna justifies, unbuttoning her coat as Olaf takes his seat across from her. 

“Hans, wouldn’t let you out of his bed?” Olaf grins, showcasing his missing incisor, inflicted by Anna as children. She reaches across the table, hitting his forearm resting on the wooden surface. 

“No!” She exclaims, her brows rising in shock at her best friend’s comment. She tries to hide her blush as the waiter comes to their table, placing water in front of them. The waiter looks down at the pair with a smile.

“What can I get for the two of you?” 

“Can we get two glasses of the Roc Noir?” Olaf responds. 

“Of course.” The waiter nods, withdrawing from the table before Anna can catch his attention to correct her friend’s order. 

“That second glass is yours.” Anna states. 

Olaf’s brows knit together in puzzlement. “Why?” 

“I work at 2. I can’t have wine before my shift. Mrs. Steiner is like a hound; she’ll sniff it on me in an instant.” She snaps her fingers before shyly tucking her hands under the table as the waiter appears, placing two glasses down in front of them. 

“Oh, whatever, it seems like that woman finds any possible reason to complain about you.” He huffs, shaking his head before leaning on the table towards her. “So, Mrs. Ancel is retiring at the end of the month. Come work for me! It’ll be perfect!” 

“Olaf, I’m not taking a job as your receptionist. Plus, Hans and I are planning to leave for America at the end of the month.” She states, taking a sip of her wine. 

“Oh…” Olaf looks down to the table, tapping his fingers against the wood as he falls silent. “So, you two finally decided on that, huh?” 

“Yeah, Hans, um, it will be easier for his mother and me to plan the wedding together while living in the country.” She explains rather awkwardly.

“Or how about this?” He ponders. “You stay here in London. We plan the wedding, and Hans’ family can come here.” 

Anna giggles at the prospect of her and Olaf planning the wedding together, knowing her childhood friend would take over the entire affair. She reaches across the table, taking Olaf’s hand into her own. 

“You’ll come to the wedding, right?” She asks, knowing how much of a pain it will be for him to travel overseas. Anna runs her thumb over his knuckles as his grip tightens on her hand. 

“Anna, of course, I will,” Olaf responds. Silence falls between them as she stares down at their intertwined hands. He catches his bottom lip with his teeth, hesitating to ask the question bubbling in the back of his mind. Before finally blurting “How did the meeting go?” 

“He wouldn’t look at the letters. He wouldn’t even listen to me about the postal district. I just…” She sighs, shaking her head, “Don’t know what to do anymore. No one from Red Cross will meet with me anymore, certainly no other agencies will. As my parents feared, my name is known around the city with negative connotations. I’m…a pain the ass.” She shrugs. 

“Maybe Hans knows some people?” Olaf ponders, taping on the wine glass. “Didn’t you say he has family high up in the US military?” 

“He does.” Anna dolefully gazes at her wine glass, unblinking as her mind becomes overrun with her next plan of action. But nothing comes to her. “But I try not to bother him with this sort of stuff.” 

“With what? Something important in your life?” Olaf scoffs, taking a sip of his wine as he chuckles. Anna breaks her gaze from the table to stare up at her best friend, her mouth set in a hard line. 

“You don’t understand being in a relationship with a man. It’s my job to support him as a wife and maintain our household. Not the other way around.” She snaps, reaching for her wine once again. 

Olaf leans in towards her, putting his weight on the table as he lowers his voice. “We both know that’s true.” Blinking in surprise, Anna’s frustration dissipates as a blush spreads across her cheeks. She cradles her head in one hand, shaking her head while squeezing her eyes shut. 

“I’m sorry Olaf, I didn’t mean…” 

“I know you didn’t.” Olaf smiles at her, his forefinger brushing against her palm. “But you shouldn’t be hesitant in asking Hans for favours, even if he may be unable to help. There isn’t any harm in asking.” 

Anna nods, her brow furrowing as she thinks it over. Perhaps Olaf is right. Asking Hans might be the next step in her search. The thought had crossed her mind often, but she had always been afraid to ask as Hans had his own business to attend to. 

“So,” Olaf begins, taking his best friend out her trace. She glances up to catch his dark brown eyes with her own. “About that new apartment.” 

Anna groans, throwing her head back in exasperation as he begins to chuckle in response. She straightens up to meet his gaze with a scowl. “We’re not doing this again.” 

“All I’m saying is, there is a beautiful little flat in Kensington on Campden Hill.” 

“Olaf.” She states, protesting his pitch about moving once again. 

“You’d only live a few blocks from me. Because, let’s be honest, living with Gerda isn’t…ideal.” He politely says as his eyes widen at the mention of Anna’s Norwegian landlady. 

“You’re just saying that because you’re afraid of her.” She swishes her wine around in the glass, watching the liquid cling to its vessel. 

“I’m not afraid of her. Gerda actually likes me.” Olaf sits up straight, beaming in pride that the surly landlady actually liked someone and that someone was him. 

“I know she does.” Anna titters, placing her elbows on to the table to cradle her chin in her hands. “So, what is the issue, then?” 

Olaf stares at her incredulously. “She barges into your room, unannounced.” 

“I think she’s started using a key on my door when I lock it at night.” Anna grimaces, knowing she isn’t making a case for herself. “But I like the neighbourhood. The underground is near me, and there are good restaurants.” 

“That’s where the cholera outbreak happened.” He states, taking another sip of his wine. 

“It’s historical.” She defends, leaning back in her chair once more. 

“It’s also,” Olaf clears his voice, speaking only above a whisper. “The area where many homosexuals live in the city.” She knows he isn’t trying to be scandalized but weary by the number of police raids in the neighbourhood.  

“I am an engaged woman and can appreciate a well-dressed man such as yourself.” Anna places her hand on her chest, waiting for the blonde man’s next complaint. 

“Thank you.” He responds, wiggling his brows as the comment. “Just come see this place with me, finish your wine, and we can be there in a moment. I’ll even drive you to work after.” 

“Olaf…” She begins, slightly uneasy with the prospect of going to Kensington; she hadn’t been in that area of the city since her parents' death. 

“We don’t even have to drive through the old neighbourhood if you don’t want.” He extends his hand across to the table to her, trying to bring comfort to his friend. 

“O-okay.” She stutters, managing a small smile as they both finish their wine. Grabbing her purse, Anna attempts to pay their tab. Olaf beats her to it, placing a couple of pounds on the table as he stands. “You don’t have to pay.” 

“Yes, I do,” He says, putting on his khaki trench coat. “I dragged you out here, and I can pay for us.” 

“Well, thank you.” She smiles up at him, shrugging on her coast as she remains seated. Only standing from the chair to button her reefer coat. 

“Of course.” Olaf offers her his arms as she finishes, a gesture accepted as they walk through the pub to outside. “I’m just parked on the corner of Dover and Stafford.” He points while leading her down the street as Anna rests her head on his shoulder. 

“And we don’t have to drive through Knightsbridge?” She confirms as they inch closer to Olaf’s black Chevrolet. He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“No, we’ll go through Hyde Park Estates.” He responds, opening the passenger’s side for his best friend. The auburn-haired woman smiles up at him as she disconnects herself from him, slipping into the car. Olaf closes the door before making his way around the vehicle. 

Anna rests her hands on her lap, shivering as the cold leather seats brush against her thighs, watching as the blonde man opens the driver’s side door. Olaf pulls out of his parking spot, driving towards Berkley Square. 

“So, this apartment is a Victorian style, just a few steps away from Holland Park and near the underground so you can get to work.” His words fade into the background as Anna stares out her window as they pass traffic, fiddling with the strap of her purse. She knows she won’t move into this apartment, it being Olaf’s last-ditch effort to make her remain in Britain.

It saddens her at the prospect of leaving the city she had grown up in and where many of her memories with her sister remained. She and Hans had discussed extensively where they should live. Hans loved London but had job opportunities back in America. Anna would at least have a family again; Hans’ mother would be her own. She’d finally have brothers, twelve of them and eight sisters-in-law. Though she would miss Olaf, he could always come to visit her, and she would come back to London. 

Anna hums in response to her friend as he continues to talk at her, feigning that her attention is on his words, hoping that he hasn’t asked her any questions as they crawl past Kensington gardens. As a child, she often begged Nora, their nanny, to take her and Elsa for walks through the neighbourhood. Now, as an adult, Anna never went through Kensington or Knightsbridge. 

Olaf turns onto the street, finding a place to park outside a row of apartments in all the same style. Glancing out her window, Anna observes an older man standing outside of the buildings, bundled in his woollen peacoat and hiding beneath his hat. 

“That must be Mr. Stanfield. He is going to show us the place.” Olaf states, opening the car door. With a sigh and much reluctance, Anna opens her door, finding her feet as she stands on the pavement, resting her hand on the top of the car door to steady herself. 

“Mr. Sommer?” The older man inquires, taking a step towards Olaf with his hand extended. The blonde man accepts the gesture as Anna steps away from the car, slamming the door shut. 

“Yes, Mr. Stanfield.” Olaf withdraws his gloved hand from the other man, outreaching his arm towards Anna. “This is Anna Rendelle, my close friend, who I talked to you about over the phone.” 

“Of course, Miss Rendelle, it is nice to meet your acquaintance.” Mr. Stanfield takes Anna’s hand into his own, giving it a gentle shake before detaching from her. “Shall we go up?”  

“Yes, let’s,” Olaf responds, offering his arm to Anna. She wraps herself around her friend’s arm, following close after Mr. Stanfield. Olaf comes to a stop before entering the house, allowing Anna to take a moment to herself before stepping through the building's doors, taking off her gloves as they enter the warm lobby. 

She lets go of Olaf as they reach the narrow stairs, her best friend trailing after her as she follows behind Mr. Stanfield to the second floor. They reach the apartment at the end of the hall. Mr. Stanfield opens the door. The stranger’s hand rests on Anna’s back, urging her through the threshold of the apartment. 

Anna steps into the apartment, pausing as she stands in the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest as the distinct memory comes racing back to her. 

Anna stepped into the apartment, her heart racing in her chest and eyes widen as she took in the state of her family’s flat. Most of it was gone, fallen to the ground below the hardwood panels sticking in the air. The London skyline exposed to the front door. 

Although the flight aspect of her brain was screaming, Anna stepped further into the flat, staying close to the wall as her hands started to shake. The creaking of the apartment echoing in her ears with every step. 

Olaf calling out for her from the hall. 

“Anna,” A hand comes to rest on her shoulder, bringing Anna back to reality as her gaze burrows into the paned windows lining the walls of the apartment. “Are you alright?” 

She nods her head, forcing a smile to reassure her best friend that everything is alright. Taking a deep breath, Anna steps further into the apartment with Olaf trailing behind her, his eyes never leaving her back as she observes the flat. 

Anna steps into a hall, observing the whiteness of the walls, making her feel as if she is being institutionalized. Her shaking hands not bringing comfort to the fact as stalks further down the entrance hall, ignoring the rooms to her side. 

“Uh, So, yes, at the end of the hall, you’ll enter the kitchen and dining area, to the left being the reception room.” Following after the young woman, Mr. Stanfield stutters, confused why she doesn’t stop to look at the bedrooms and bathroom off the hallway. 

Anna doesn’t stop to look at the kitchen and dining area. Instead, she turns into the connecting reception room. Her heels click against the hardwood floor as stands in front of the window. Watching the street below, she carefully watches the people walk past the building, mothers pushing their strollers and young couples clinging to one another.

“It does have a beautiful view, doesn’t it, Anna?” Olaf’s voice scares her out of the trace she had fallen into. Glancing at her friend, she blinks to clear her head. 

“I’m sorry, pardon?” 

“Mr. Stanfield said the flat has a fantastic view of Holland park,” Olaf repeats for the relator, taking to step towards her. 

“It really does.” She nods, looking back out the window as Olaf runs his hand against her back, offering comfort to his oldest friend. 

“The flat has three rooms, so there is plenty of room for you and your fiancé to expand your family.” The middle-aged man explains, lingering back from the young pair, fiddling with a button on his suit jacket. 

“Olaf,” Anna begins, turning her body towards him. Wanting nothing more than to return back to Gerda’s, to the comfort of her bed. “Can you take me home?” 

The blonde man wraps his arm around her shoulder, offering her a sympathetic smile as he pulls her closer to him. “Of course, darling.” Olaf turns around, taking Anna with him as they face Mr. Stanfield. 

“Thank you once again, Mr. Stanfield,” Anna begins, ready to give her excuses to the stranger, but Olaf cuts her off abruptly. 

“Anna is to meet her fiancé across the city in about 20 minutes.” Olaf lies, “I’m sorry, but it seems that we need to leave slightly earlier than expected.” 

“Of course, that is no issue.” The middle-aged man replies politely. Despite his seemingly unbothered response and demeanour, Anna’s year of experience working at the makeup counter informs her otherwise by the strain in his smile, Mr. Stanfield is clearly annoyed with the two of them. 

Olaf takes Mr. Stanfield’s card as they walk past the middle-aged man, tucking the information into his pocket. His hand remains between Anna’s shoulder blades as they walk through the flat to the front door. 

“It really is a beautiful apartment, Anna.” He states, closing the door behind them. Anna nods as his words echo through the complex, meandering towards the stairs. 

“I know it is.” She responds, holding onto the railing to steady herself as she descends the stairs. Stopping on the staircase, Anna turns to face her friend. “It’s just…I leave at the end of the month, Olaf.” 

He sighs when she turns, continuing her descent. “I know, but at least show it to Hans. He likes pretty things. Who knows, maybe he’ll love the apartment.” 

“Hans has also made it apparent that he wants to move back to America,” Anna comments as she steps into the lobby, struggling to put her winter gloves on her shaking hands. 

She huffs in frustration as she struggles to pull them on. Olaf steps forward, gently taking her wrist as he guides her hand into the glove. She glances up at him as he repeats the motion with the other, taking her hands into his own, his grip firm to stop the shaking. 

They never talk about it. Her attacks, at least that is what she calls these outbursts when her hands tremble, her heart pounds violently in her chest and ears, and that overwhelming sense of doom or fear takes over. Anna knew these signs were a silly response. She knew pausing before stepping into a building is silly; Hans always jokes at her expense about it. But she hates the way she feels whenever she doesn’t hesitate. 

“Alright,” Olaf sighs, squeezing her hands. “I won’t force you into anything. If you don’t want to bring Hans to the flat, you don’t have to.” 

“Thank you.” She whispers. With a reassuring smile, Olaf lets go of her hands, offering his arm to her instead as he turns to the front doors. The auburn-haired woman takes her friend’s gesture, pressing herself closer to him as they exit the building. 

“You want me to drop you off at work?” He asks as they approach the car. 

Anna checks her watch; 11:45. She still had enough time to return home and call in sick to work. “No, just take me back to Gerda’s.” 

“Alright,” Olaf smiles as he stands in front of the car, watching as she opens the passenger door. As she enters the car, Anna is sure to keep a hold on the car door, not wanting it to swing out of her reach as she settles in the vehicle. 

She is triumphant in her attempt, slamming the door as she settles against the cold leather seat. Knowing that soon, she would be home, giving her excuses to Gerda and settling into the comfort of her room. 

Anna could look over the last letter Elsa sent her as well on her unexpected day off, the one sent from the Iverness-Shire postal district. The one that simply read and perplexed her even more than before: 

Dear Anna, 
Please forgive me.
Love, Elsa

Chapter Text

Elsa arrives in London at 9:30 the next morning, wearing a blue cable-knit cardigan, white lace collared blouse and a grey pencil skirt. She gets off at Marylebone station, the closest station to Baker Street. Holding onto her single suitcase, the blonde woman makes her way through the crowded station, trying desperately to find the exit as she averts her gaze from the men in military uniforms appreciating her appearance. 

Upon spotting the exit, she wastes no time in striding towards it. She smiles politely at the old man who holds opens the door for her, racing through the threshold as not to further inconvenience him.

Crossing the road onto Harewood Avenue she walks south towards York Street. Elsa had been sure to study the map laying in her purse multiple times while on the train, as she is unfamiliar with London. She only knows Anna lives somewhere in Soho, near the Broad Street water pump, but that is all. Walking east, she finds herself on Baker Street, observing the building numbers until she reaches 64 Baker Street.

The young woman reaches for the door, hesitating momentarily before lifting the brass knocker. She knows this is absurd. Why risk everything she had to pursue this? All for what? To prove herself to two people who were no longer around. 

She doesn’t get a chance to knock before the door flies open, revealing a man on the other side. The man standing in the doorway is tall and imposing as he stares down at Elsa with suspicion. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, raising a brow at the young woman in front of him. 

“Hi, I’m looking for Yelana Magga.” She states, holding her suitcase in front of her body. The man sighs, stepping out of the building to point down the street. 

“Orchard Street.” 

“P-pardon?” Elsa inquires, her brows furrowing in confusion at his words. “I-I’m sorry, no, I was told Baker Street.” 

“You asked for Ms. Magga. She’s at Orchard street, just around the corner and down the street.” He huffs, clearing, becoming frustrated with the woman in front of him. 

“A-alright, thank you.” Elsa stutters, blinking in surprise as the man disappears into the building, slamming the door in her face. She steps away from the building, facing the direction the man instructed her towards. 

For a moment, she wonders if perhaps she should give up, find a payphone and call Anna. Instead, the blonde woman peruses down the street towards Portman Square, coming to a stop in front of the building called Orchard Court.

She doesn’t hesitate to knock this time, wanting this nonsense to be over once and for all. Though expecting someone to answer the door, Elsa still jumps when the door creaks open to reveal a white-haired butler. 

“Yes?” He politely asks. 

“Um…” Elsa blanks, the words she had been rehearsing in her head, now gone from her mind. “I was to-I-I’m looking for Yelana Magga.” 

“Of course,” The elderly man steps aside. “Come in.” The butler leads her through the foyer. Elsa struggles to keep up with the man as she admires the high ceiling and chandelier. Looking ahead, she notices how far she’s fallen behind, picking up her pace to catch up to the surprisingly fast older man. He opens a door on his left as he turns to her. “Please wait here.” 

Elsa stands in the foyer, running her fingers against the leather handle of her suitcase and tapping her foot against the white-and-black tile floor. She resists the urge to bite the inside of her cheek, the flesh sore from constantly biting it over the past few days. 

The butler reappears, offering a polite smile to the young woman as he steps out of the room, closing the door. “Follow me.” The white-haired man continues to lead her down the hall, turning the corner towards another corridor of endless doorways. 

He stops in front of a door, opening it to reveal a black and white tiled bathroom. Elsa’s cheeks flush as her brows furrow in confusion as to why he led her here. 

“I-I’m sorry. There must be a mistake…” She stutters, struggling to meet the butler’s gaze. 

“Wait in here.” He instructs, waiting for her to step into the washroom. Elsa nearly turns from him and leaves the building, getting tired of whatever all this was. Damn her curiosity. She steps into the bathroom, glancing around the room as the old man closes the door. 

Setting her suitcase on the tiled floor, Elsa huffs in frustration and embarrassment. Finding it harder and harder to believe that she is considered essential to this work, and yet, here she stood without a clue in a washroom. 

A few minutes pass, Elsa’s feet begin to hurt as she continues to wait. She moves towards the clawfoot tub, settling on the edge of the porcelain and crossing her ankles as she waits. Another five minutes pass, making Elsa wonder if she should just leave. 

Her ears perk up as the door clicks open, revealing an older woman whose face is set into a scowl. The woman’s white hair pulled back into a long single braid, wearing no jewelry or makeup and a white collared shirt, freshly starched. 

“I’m Yelana Magga,” The woman greets curtly, watching Elsa intently as she rises from the tub’s edge. “I’m the Chief Recruitment Officer. I apologize for the…setting of our meeting. unfortunately, with the size of our operations, we are short on accommodations.” 

Elsa tries not to raise a brow at the excuse, finding this to be highly improbable due to the number of rooms she passed. There is no way that this institution is short on rooms. A thought occurs to her, perhaps the people here weren’t meant to see one another. 

The blonde woman tries not to shrink away as Yelana’s steely gaze regards Elsa. The recruiter sighs, finally looking away from Elsa. 

“So, you’ve decided?” The white-haired woman inquires, crossing her arms. 

“I’m not…” Elsa begins, clearing her throat to rid the frog crawling up it. “I’m not sure what it is to decide on.” 

“You don’t know who we are, do you?” Yelana raises a brow at the young woman. When Elsa doesn’t answer immediately, the older woman continues. “Why are you here?” 

“A man gave me a card in Oxford, and… I’m sorry.” Elsa shakes her head, feeling like a fool as she stands in front of this imposing woman. “I-I’ll go.” 

Yelana raises a hand to stop the blonde. “Not necessary. You’d be surprised by the number of people from different backgrounds who come here. We often find promising recruits where we least expect it.” 

“The man at the caf-”

“He wasn’t authorized to say anything more. What we do is extremely classified. Most men in high positions at Whitehall do not know what we do.” 

“What do you do?” Elsa asks quickly, not wanting to be cut off by the woman again. 

“We’re a branch of Special Operations Executive.” Yelana further explains, though Elsa does not know what this means. Finally, Yelana cracks a small smile at the young woman’s silence and apparent confusion. “We run covert operations.” 

“Like codebreakers?” Elsa raises a brow, worried her answer might be wrong. 

“Similar to. What we do is a little more hands-on, so to speak. On the ground.”  

“On the continent?” Elsa inquires, beginning to pick at the cuticle of her thumb nervously. Yelana nods at the question. “I’m to be a spy?” 

“We’re not spies,” Yelana responds as if the suggestion is offensive. “Espionage is the business of the M16. Our primary objective is sabotage at the Special Operations Executive, destroying industry like railway and telegraph lines, factory equipment, and so on. With the intent of hindering the Germans, as well as helping locals’ arm and resist the occupation.” 

“I’ve never heard of the SOE before.” Elsa purses her lips, wondering if the woman before her is having a go at her. 

“That is the point.” The tone in Yelana’s voice pleased at the young woman’s statement. Elsa glances down to her oxfords, brows furrowed at the thought of these tasks; she had never in her life been destructive. 

“I-I think you’ve made a mistake. I’m hardly qualified to be a part of anything like this. I don-” Elsa stops as Yelana raises a finger to quiet her. 

“Nonsense. You’re smart and capable.” Yelana states, regarding Elsa once more. 

The blonde couldn’t help but wonder how she could possibly know that? They had only just met. No one had ever thought such things of her. Agnarr never had, using any excuse to tear her down. Even Iduna, though ever distant from both of her daughters, reduced her studies at Oxford to find a husband. The only person who ever thought highly of her is Anna. 

“You speak French,” The white-haired woman continues. “You’re exactly what we are looking for. Any girl who can speak French we’re always eager to employ. We even have a girl from America who is an Indian. Now open your mouth.” 

Elsa recoils back, surprised by the command. Unsure if the woman is joking, but her stern expression informs the young woman otherwise. “Excuse me?” 

“Your mouth. Open it.” Yelana repeats, stepping closer to the blonde. Hesitantly Elsa opens her mouth, resisting the urge to pull away as the stranger puts her fingers into Elsa’s mouth. She feels as if she was at the dentist as Yelana stares into her mouth. “That backfilling will have to go.” 

The older woman removes her fingers, stepping back as she turns to the sink to wash her hands. Elsa catches her reflection in the mirror that hangs over the sink Yelana is washing her hands in. 

“My filling is perfectly fine-new actually. I only got it last year, and it was quite expensive.” She objects, running her tongue over the filling. 

“Exactly, it is expensive. That filling alone could mark you as English immediately. Don’t worry, we’ll replace it with a porcelain one-it’s more French.” Yelana dries her hands, turning back to the blonde. 

It all made sense to Elsa then; the man’s interest in her language skills and Yelana’s comment about her filling. “You want me to impersonate a French woman?”

“Among other things. We will provide you with training in operation skills before your deployment. For the time being, this is all I am allowed to divulge.” Yelana further explained. “A car will pick you up from here to take you to training camp.” 

“Wait!” Elsa exclaims, feeling overwhelmed with all the information being thrown at her. “I-I can’t just pack up and leave. I have affairs to sort out before leaving.” 

“It is always the way.” Yelana states. Elsa wonders if they proceeded this way so those recruited could not go home and reflect on the decision. “We’ll provide you with everything and give notice to the War Office about you.” 

Elsa knows she should decline, leave the building without another word and return to her life; back to school, exams, studying, and men asking her out. But she doesn’t instead asking, “How long will I be gone for?” 

“That depends on the mission and a variety of circumstances. But you’re welcome to resign at any time.” 

“I have a sister here in London. She’s only seventeen.”

“And your parents?” Yelana leans against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“They died when the Germans bombed London in ‘41.” Elsa glances back at her shoes. Regret flooding over her while reflecting on her past decisions. 

“Your sister, is she well cared for?” 

“I-I don’t know, I think so she has a close childhood friend whose family has taken her in. I haven’t spoken to her much since I left for school.” Elsa captures her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Yelana nods, “You need to be able to concentrate on training. Worrying about family often hinders the recruitment process if there is unneeded stress. Will this be a problem?” 

Elsa shakes her head immediately, though she would always worry about Anna; she had just grown accustomed to distancing herself from Anna’s wellbeing. 

“You will be compensated 10 pounds per week,” Yelana adds. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Elsa sputters, eyes widening at the rate of pay. It was nearly five times what she would make working in a shop over the summer. The older woman stares at her, refusing to repeat herself again. “Alright, I’ll do it. I need to call my sister and let her know I won’t be coming.” 

The white-haired woman steps away from the wall, her hands clasping together. “I’m sorry, but that will be impossible. No one can know where you are going or that you are even going.” 

“I-I can’t leave without saying anything.” 

“It is what needs to be done. If you aren’t prepared for that, then I suggest you leave.” Yelana steely gaze focuses on Elsa, watching as the young woman deliberates. 

“No… I’ll do it.” Elsa squared her shoulders, remaining firm in her conviction. The older woman nods, turning to the door. “Wait, I need to inform you. My father’s lineage is Norwegian and German.” 

“I know.” Yelana turns back to her, her brows raised. 

“How?” 

“You sit at the same café every day at the same hour. That is a habit you should break; routine can be a downfall for anyone in this position. One of our people noticed you, always sitting alone in that café and reading French books.” Yelana states. “Our people followed you back to campus, learned who you were and ran you through the cards, and found you to be qualified for initial consideration.” 

“And you still think so?” Elsa inquires. 

“You might,” Yelana begins. “You’ve got the proper credentials. But your training will actually show if you are up to the task and employ those skills, which are useless if you are unable to carry through. Political affiliations?”

“Um, no. My mother didn’t bel-” 

“That’s enough.” The white-haired woman interrupts. “Keep your answers brief, and don’t over-explain. You’ll be given a new identity in training and never answer personal questions about yourself.” 

Yelana opened the mahogany door open for Elsa, watching as the blonde stepped out of the room. “The car will be waiting to take you north.” 

Elsa doesn’t ask where her training camp is, out of fear that Yelana would snap at her. Realizing she left her suitcase, Elsa turns to meet the older woman’s gaze. “I forgot my suitcase.” 

“Leave it. We’ll return your belongings when you return from the continent.” Yelana closes the door behind her, escorting Elsa to the front doors. For a moment, the woman wonders if the recruiter will accompany her to the training camp. The older woman stops at the door, turning to the blonde. “That is your car.” 

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Magga.” Elsa states with a polite smile. Yelana nods at the young woman, walking away from Elsa without another word. 

With a sigh, Elsa exits the building, slowly approaching the black car sitting in front of the building. She opens the back door, climbing into the vehicle. 

“Miss Rendelle?” The driver questions, staring at the woman in the back seat through the rear-view mirror.

“That is me.” She confirms, placing her purse on the middle seat. 

“I’ll be leaving you at Euston. From there, you will catch the train to Glasglow.” The driver glances at the young woman through the rear-view mirror. “Then to Morar in Inverness-Shire.” 

He pulls out of the parking spot, driving towards Euston station on Eversholt Street. Elsa stares out of the window, knowing this will be the last time she’ll be in London for a long time.  

The driver stops in front of Euston station with an abrupt halt, causing Elsa’s purse to fall at her feet. Shaking her head, the young woman gathers her bag, resisting the urge to glare at the driver. 

He finally turns in his seat, holding a scrap of paper out to her. “Take this. It tells you where you’re going, which trains to take and further instruction when you reach the camp. You cannot lose this and will be destroyed upon your arrival, do you understand?” 

Elsa nods without any hesitation, taking the paper into her hand. She tucks the piece into her purse while opening the car door, stepping out of the vehicle without another word. Glancing up at the train station, she slams the door. 

She enters the crowded building, making her way to the stand to purchase a train ticket for Glasgow, costing her £5. As she reaches the gate, the blonde spots an empty seat on a bench facing the tracks. Immediately she occupies it, relaxing against the wood with a sigh. 

In the corner of her eye, Elsa spots a young mother sitting on the bench next to her, watching her daughters intently as they wait. The younger daughter had freckles and more boisterous than the older, reminding her of herself and Anna as children. 

She can’t help but smile as the young mother encourages her daughters to play with one another, but not to bother other people waiting—the opposite of what her mother used to do. Iduna scolded them, grabbing Elsa by the shoulder to stop her from chasing after hyperactive Anna. 

A train crawls forward, forcing Elsa to look away from the scene before noticing it is the train to Glasgow. She rushes forward onto the train, glancing at her ticket to find her seat. Settling in her seat, the young woman places her purse onto her lap, thankful that she carries basically a library with her at all times for the ride north. Pulling out the Baudelaire she read the previous night, the book which started it all. 

Elsa reads through the journey north, finishing the collection of poems before moving onto A Farewell to Arms by an American author she hadn’t recognized in the bookstore when buying the book. She is disappointed that it isn’t historic, as she had hoped to learn something about the Great War. All the blonde knew about the time was that her father had served. Even then, he refused to talk about it or keep books regarding the subject. Only looking up from the novel as the train crawls to a stop, listening to the overhead announce the stop. 

Glasgow 

Her head snaps up at the announcement, clutching her purse as she stands from her seat, offering her apologies to the person she is nearly climbing over. At that moment, she moves towards the exit. She is grateful that there is no luggage for her to grab while leaving the train. 

Stepping onto the platform, Elsa reaches into her bag, grabbing the piece of paper given to her by the driver. The document instructing that she take the train to Morar, slightly over 3 hours north of the city. She places the letter back into her purse, following the signs toward the platform where her train would depart from in nearly 20 minutes. It takes her 10 minutes to find it. 

On the last leg of her trip, Elsa stares out the train window watching the landscape becoming darker and darker as it grows late in the day. She tries her best to drown out the people around her, wondering what waits for her in Morar. 

She drifts to sleep with her head pressed against the cooling window and arms crossed over her chest as the gentle rocking lolls her asleep. Only to wake when the transport crawls to a stop. The blonde suppresses a groan as she sits up, an ache radiating in her neck. It is most likely approaching 11; she determines by glancing out the window once more. 

“Excuse me.” She calls to the passenger across the aisle from her. The older couple glance at her, the white-haired woman smiling at the young woman. “What station is this?” 

“It’s Morar, dear.” The Scottish woman replies. 

“Thank you very much.” Elsa smiles politely, quickly standing from her seat to walk towards the exit of the train. Stepping onto the platform, she meanders closer to the station building needing light to read further instructions. 

Under the streetlamp, Elsa reaches into her purse once again to grab the paper which provides instruction of how she should proceed. From the station, she catches a taxi to take her to Rhubana Lodge. She emerges from the vehicle to take in the lodge shrouded in ivy, no different from the surrounding buildings. 

Upon opening the door, Elsa is surprised to see a man, a sentry, sitting at a desk. He looks up from his book at the sound of the door, staring at the young woman with an unreadable expression. 

“May I help you?” He asks, the corner of his moustache twitching. 

“Yes, my name is Elsa Rendelle.” She responds, folding her hands in front of her. 

The man nods, standing from his seat. “Follow me.” He leads her away from the front desk without another word, taking her up a flight of stairs and down a long corridor to a room, lined with six beds. 

The sentry leaves her without another word and further instruction, only closing the door as he departs. Elsa stands with her back against the door, examining the other five women in the room with her. 

Their chatter fills the room as if they hadn’t noticed Elsa’s presence. She stalks further into the room, trying to remain none descript as she walks past the dormitory row beds to the last bed on the left, the only one which seemed to be unoccupied. 

Throwing her purse onto the mattress, Elsa notices a trunk at the foot of her bed. It hadn’t occurred to her that she needed a nightgown. There is so much she is missing. 

“All the clothes are issued to us. You should find a nightgown in there for you. They’re scratching as hell, but they at least keep you warm at night.” A voice from behind startles Elsa, an American accent. The blonde looks over her shoulder to see a woman sitting on the bed next to hers. 

Elsa’s breath stops at the sight of the woman. The woman stares up at her with round eyes the colour of chocolate, and dark brown hair gathered into a long braid. Her skin tanned in a shade Elsa had never seen before. She ignores the way her heart speeds up, reducing it to the excitement of the day. 

“T-Thank you.” The blonde responds. Elsa is about to turn away from the young woman but instead turns away from her bed, settling on the mattress to face the stranger. “American?” 

The tanned woman rolls her chocolate eyes up toward the ceiling with a sigh. “For simplicity purposes…sure.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Canadian?” Elsa tries again, knowing how Canadians get into a frenzy for being mistaken as Americans. The woman laughs, swinging her feet onto her bed as she crosses her legs under her. 

“No, you were right the first time, I’m from the United States.” The woman extends her hand across the gap between their beds, waiting for the British woman to take her hand. Elsa meets her halfway, gently shaking her hand. 

“I’m Elsa Rendelle.” The blonde introduces herself first, shyly smiling at the woman. 

“Honeymaren Nattura.” The brunette responds, “and to answer your question, I’m Kanien’kehá:ka from St. Regis Mohawk Reservation in New York.” 

Elsa stares at the Honeymaren wide-eyed, unsure if she understood the words coming out of the other woman’s mouth. Without thinking, she sputters, “I-I’m sorry?” 

Honeymaren throws her head back with laughter, clearly amused at Elsa’s confusion. The brunettes settles, placing her hand on her chest. “I never tire of that. I’m a part of the Iroquois confederacy, I’m Native American.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry I have to admit I don’t know much about Ind-Native Americans.” Elsa feels her cheeks becoming warmer at her ignorance. 

“I’ve learned most people over here don’t.” Honeymaren giggles, trying to ease the English woman’s embarrassment. The overhead lights flicker out suddenly, causing Elsa to look to the ceiling, confused. “It’s lights out. It was nice meeting you Elsa.” 

The rustling next to Elsa indicates that Honeymaren is crawling into her bed. Quickly Elsa strips from her day clothes, laying them at the end of her bed nearest to the wall before changing into her nightgown. 

Laying in her bed, Elsa shifts against the scratchy sheets, her mother’s silver locket laying heavy on her chest as she stares up at the dark ceiling. She tries not to think of her sister, who will be waiting for her at Marylebone station in a week’s time and will never know why Elsa never arrived that Saturday afternoon.   

Chapter Text

The sheets are softer than her own at home. These ones are not cotton sheets that are pilling or developing holes in them since the beginning of the war. These ones were soft to the touch and smooth against her bare skin. Anna nuzzles her face into the non-lumpy pillow, never wanting to leave this bed. 

Yet the light shining through the gap of the blinds and window beckons her to do so. She sits up in the bed, glancing at the figure next to her to ensure he is sleeping soundly. Carefully the woman slides out from under blankets, not folding them back, so the cold air doesn’t wake Hans. 

She shivers as the cold air hits her bare body as she quietly pads across the hotel room towards the connecting bathroom, grabbing her purse. Anna closes the bathroom door before flicking on the lights, blinking to adjust her vision. Glancing in the mirror, she suppresses a groan wiping her cheek free of her spit. 

Grabbing the washcloth sitting next to the sink, she wets a corner of the fabric before wiping her face. She reaches into her purse, locating her hairbrush to brush the tangles out of her hair, wincing it pulls against her scalp. 

Anna wishes that she had brought her curlers with her. It would’ve been more similar to her hair last night. Reaching into her purse, she grabs her makeup. She opens her pressed powder applying it gently to her face until her freckles nearly disappear. Then her blush, spreading the light pink colour to the apples of her cheeks followed by her mascara, deciding to put her eyeliner on later once Hans had woken. She grabs a light pink lipstick, a shade slightly darker than their natural colour, applying it last. 

Looking at herself in the mirror, Anna brings her hair forward, the ends of her tresses slightly curled from the previous night. It was acceptable. She grabs her purse, turning off the bathroom light and pausing before exiting the room, discarding her bag into the same spot it had been in. 

Quietly as possible, Anna inches back to their bed, closing the curtains in the bedroom. She turns towards the bed, her feet brushing against the woollen rug as she stands next to the bed. Climbing onto the mattress carefully as to not disturb Hans’s sleeping form. The young woman rearranges the quilt to straighten the blanket over her body. She turns onto her side, facing away from Hans as she slips her hands delicately under the pillow. 

She doesn’t jump as Hans’s alarm clock begins to blare throughout the room, shutting her eyes as she feels Hans shift next to her before turning the noise off.

She shivers as lips press against the shell of her ear and fingers brushing against the curve of her back. Knitting her brows together, Anna’s sky-blue eyes flutter open as a low chuckle resounds through the room. 

“Good morning, gorgeous.” He whispers, causing the hairs on her arms to stand on edge. Anna shifts from her side onto her stomach with a moan, turning her head to glance up at her fiancé. 

The auburn-haired woman smiles up at him, enjoying the feeling of his soft hands against her skin. She hums, relaxing against the pillow once again. “Morning.” 

“How do you always manage to look so gorgeous?” Hans inquires, taking a strand of her auburn-hair between his fingers.

“You’re just saying that,” Anna responds. “I’m sure I look terrible; I haven’t even gotten a chance to get myself together this morning.”

“Quite the opposite.” He states. She smiles, shifting to lay on her back to stare up at the man next to her. 

“Well, that’s very nice of you to say.” She yawns, extending her arms toward the ceiling to stretch. Hans chuckles, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Anna props herself up on her elbows, her eyes following Hans as he crawls out of their shared bed, watching his naked form disappear into the connected bathroom. Glancing behind her, the young woman repositions her pillows against the wooden bed frame. She sits up in their bed with back against the headboard, the blankets pooling around her waist to expose her breasts to the air.

She quickly retrieves the fallen blanket as a loud knock echoes throughout the room, her brows knitted together in confusion at the presence of another person. Hans emerges from the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around his waist, seemingly unsurprised at the noise. Anna sinks into the mattress as Hans opens the door. 

“Ah, yes, put it by the window seating, would you?” The rust-haired man steps to the side, allowing a hotel attendant, wheeling a food cart into the room. The young man’s eyes focused forward at the window, his eyes downcast as Hans pulls out a few pounds and ration coupons. The attendant keeps his eyes focused as he moves forward out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

“Breakfast?” Anna inquires, leaning forward as Hans removes two cloches covering the plates one the maple table. He glances toward her with a smile. 

“I got you eggs on toast.” He responds, beckoning her to him. Anna throws the blankets back with a smile, walking toward the food tray as she settles on the window seat. Ignoring her fiancé as he ogles her naked form before he disappears back into the bathroom. 

Anna picks up the piece of toast, moaning at the hint of butter lingering on the bread. Her mouth-watering at the taste. She never had butter anymore. It is a luxury Gerda never indulges in. But it is something she occasionally got when she spent nights in the hotel room Hans had been living in for three months. 

Reaching forward, Anna grabs the porcelain coffee cup, decorated with lilies. She sips her coffee as her lover emerges from the bathroom, clad in a white terrycloth robe and carrying another. Hans chuckles as he comes to stand next to the auburn-haired woman, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before covering Anna’s naked form with the robe. 

“Thanks,” Anna smiles up at him while shrugging her arms through the sleeves of the robe, leaning forward to tuck the robe under her bottom. 

“You work today?” He asks, cutting into his breakfast sausage. Anna hums affirmatively, taking another bite of her toast. 

“Unfortunately.” She responds, covering her mouth with her hand as she speaks. Hans chuckles, picking up his cup of coffee. 

“You know if you quit, you could stay here with me all day.” He shifts closer to her, their shoulder touching as he wraps an arm around her. Anna drops her toast on the plate as he presses a gentle kiss to her neck. 

“Don’t tempt me. I may as well stay on; Mrs. Steiner is short on girls and can’t afford to have any of us experienced girls leave.” She explains, closing her eyes as Hans licks against her neck. He presses another kiss above her pulse point, his hand coming to rest on her bare thigh. 

“Too bad.” Much to Anna’s dismay, Hans pulls away from her, focusing his attention on his breakfast. 

“Don’t you have to go to work?” She cocks a brow at him. 

“Yeah, not until this afternoon.” He responds, taking another sip of his coffee. Anna peers at her fiancé from her peripheral, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, silently cursing herself for messing up her lipstick. 

“I still need to go home before my shift. I have no clothes here.” 

“You really should just leave clothes here.” Hans sighs, slicing one of his roasted potatoes in half. 

“I-I don’t spend that much time here.” Anna protests, knowing how it would look if she entered the hotel with her suitcase to stay in the room of a man who isn’t her husband.  

“Just leave a few outfits here. It really isn’t an issue.” He shrugs, cutting one of his roast potatoes in half. She opens her mouth to protest but decides not to press the issue further, not wanting to argue with him this morning. 

“Thank you.” She takes the last bite of her toast, allowing silence to fall between them as he opens the newspaper on the table. “Your mother called me yesterday.” 

“Did she?” Hans raises a brow, looking away from the newspaper in his hand. Anna nods, wiping her hands on the napkin on her lap. 

“She’s arranged everything with the priest at St. Patrick’s for April 20,” Anna informs him, noticing how his eyes flicker back to the newspaper. “Wants my answer on flowers, and I was wondering if you had any opinions.” 

“I’m sorry darling, what?” Hans meets her gaze once more, finally paying attention to his fiancé. 

Anna sighs, picking up her coffee cup. “Nothing, it’s fine. It’s just difficult to plan a wedding when you’re so far away.” Watching him as his gaze falls back on the newspaper in his hands. 

Perhaps pink roses and baby’s breath for the flowers for a spring wedding would be suitable. Anna had initially wanted Sunflowers and burgundy Dahlias, but Mrs. Westergaard had insisted that those were flowers for an autumn wedding. 

She has been increasingly finding it hard to plan for a wedding that will take place across the ocean. Never in her life had Anna been to Washington. She doesn’t even know what the church she’ll be marrying in looks like. She would have been fine with marrying in a courthouse. Since her parent’s deaths, Anna hadn’t attended church and didn’t regard herself as religious. But Mrs. Westergaard insisted that her youngest son and Anna marry in a church. 

“If you’d like, I could make arrangements for us to travel to the States sooner.” Hans finally responds, folding his newspaper. 

“What? No, that’s not what I...” Anna sighs, stopping herself. “I still have so much business to attend to here, I can’t just leave…not yet.” 

“We still leave at the end of the month,” Hans states, his brows furrowing in confusion. 

Anna opens her mouth, hesitating for a moment before answering. “I know we are…” 

“Good. I know it’s important for you to find Elsa, but at some point, you have to move on, and I know my mother will be overjoyed to plan the wedding with you.” He places a hand on her thigh, squeezing it reassuringly. 

“I’m still trying to find her,” Anna admits, chewing the inside of her cheek. 

“Anna…” Hans sighs, removing his hand from her to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “This has got to stop; everyone you have talked to will be in contact if any information about her surfaced.” 

“I know, it’s just…” Anna’s eyes cast downward to her lap, closing the robe to cover her thighs. “I know you think this is superfluous, but it matters to me.” She forces herself to meet her fiancé’s emerald gaze. 

“I don’t think it’s superfluous.” Hans shifts closer to her, placing his hand atop hers. “It’s just been four years, and there hasn’t been anything about her. There gets to be a point that you have to move on. But of course, if you want to continue searching for her. I support you.” 

She smiles up at him, resting her head against his shoulder as she wraps her arms around his bicep. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Hans presses a kiss to the top of her head. He shakes his head with a sigh as if unable to believe the next words coming out of his mouth. “If it’d make things easier for you, I can push back our departure for the end of February and, I could probably make some calls Stateside.”

“W-wait, really?” She questions, pulling away from her fiancé with wide eyes. Hans nods, nearly spilling his coffee on himself as Anna launches herself at him, peppering his cheek with kisses. His laughter echoes through the room as he wraps his arms around her, pulling his fiancé’s petite frame onto his lap. 

Her fists ball the collar of his terrycloth robe, trying to hold back the tears forming in her eyes as she peers up at him. Hans tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling softly at the woman he loves.

“I just want to make you happy. If making a few calls to DC is what will make you happy, then I’ll gladly do it.” Hans presses his forehead to hers tenderly. “Besides I know the British government sent some of their military files to America, so something may come up.” 

“Thank you.” She beams up at him, pressing another kiss to his cheek before standing from his lap. His hands don’t linger at her hips as she stands, nor does he make an attempt to pull her back to him. 

Anna sheds the large hotel robe from her body, throwing it onto the bed as she reaches for her clothing from the previous day. The young woman retrieves her undergarment, placing them on as Hans finishes his morning coffee. She doesn’t put her stockings on, knowing she’ll have to swap them out for a new pair when changing for work. 

She grabs her green floral blouse, fastening the buttons of her shirt and straightening the cuffs of the long sleeves. Picking up her high-waisted brown skirt from the floor, Anna steps into the garment, tucking the tails of her blouse into the waist as she zips up her skirt. 

“Do you want a ride to your flat?” Hans asks, standing from the window seat. She glances over her shoulder, watching him stalk toward the closet. 

“It’s a short walk,” Anna dismisses him, picking up her cropped mustard yellow knit cardigan before shrugging it on. “Besides, you should be getting to Westminster soon. Shouldn’t you?”  

Hans shrugs, placing on his olive-green trousers. “I put in some overtime this week; they won’t mind if I’m a little late.” 

“I mind. Don’t worry about me. I can walk home.” She reassures her fiancé, spotting her mary-jane shoes sitting next to her purse and coat. Padding across the room, Anna leans over as she slips her foot into the shoe, buckling the strap around her ankle, repeating the process with the other. 

“Alright, if you insist.” Hans replies, buttoning his khaki uniform shirt. Anna grabs her coat, watching him as she shrugs it on. A smile crossing her features while fastening the black buttons of her jacket as she steps towards her fiancé. 

She places a hand onto his back to gain his attention, her thumb brushing against the cotton of his shirt as he turns to her. “I’m going to leave.” 

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” Hans bends over, pressing his lips to hers for a chaste kiss. Anna withdraws from him, grabbing her purse from the ground as she leaves the room. She slings her back over her shoulder as she walks down the hallway of the hotel, trying to remain unidentifiable as she leaves Hans’s room. 

The auburn-haired woman leaves the hotel in a hurry, stepping onto Maiden lane towards Bedford Street. She tucks her hands into her pockets while walking along the street.

For the first time for what seemed like many years, Anna finally felt hopeful about her sister’s whereabouts. If everything went well by the time she leaves for America, she would have her sister again. 

Her smile drops at the thought of the potential of her sister’s fate, wondering what she would do if Elsa is, in fact, deceased, as everyone thinks. Despite wanting to visit her grave every day, Anna knows it would be unfair to lay her dear sister to rest in a foreign land. She would bury Elsa next to their parents in St. Mary’s. 

She had never considered that she never liked to think about it. 

Anna raises her foot, trying to ease the pain radiating in her foot as she stands behind the counter, smiling politely at the older woman in front of her. She stumbles slightly while switching to stand on her other one as she rings the customer’s products through the till. 

“That will be £75.50, please.” Anna states, watching as the older woman reaches into her purse to take out her money. She half expects the woman to argue with her over the price as nearly everyone did these days. But the customer doesn’t, instead handing her the money with a smile. 

Anna tries not to be nosy, wondering who had money these days to spend £75.50 on makeup. She tries not to be bothered by it, knowing that her commission from this sale will reflect this woman’s spending. 

“Have a nice day,” She beams at the woman, taking hold of the handle of the shopping bag and stepping out from behind the makeup counter to hand it out to the customer. The woman takes the bag from Anna without another word, walking away with her nose nearly pointed to the roof. 

The auburn-haired woman sighs, stepping back behind her counter as she quickly glances at her watch; 5:45. 

Her gaze darts around the sales floor, searching for Mrs. Steiner, only to find the 50-year-old woman scolding a new girl. Anna slips her feet out of her black pumps, moaning as her feet flatten against the tile floor. 

A giggle startles the young woman, causing her to look over her shoulder to see Mary, the other woman she shared the Revlon counter with, covering her mouth. 

“You’ll get an earful from Mrs. Steiner if she catches you doing that.” The brunette shakes her head. Anna smiles at the young woman who she now considered a friend, stepping back into her pumps. 

“You’re too spry for someone in heels.” Anna groans as the arches of her feet strain. Mary chortles, covering her mouth quickly as to not bring attention from Mrs. Steiner. 

“Okay…if I’m being frank.” The other girl giggles, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “My feet have been killing me for the past three hours. I’ve literally been doing that all day.”

Anna covers her mouth with her hand in an attempt to suppress her own laughter as she turns from Mary, who focuses her attention on the customer standing on her side of the counter. 

Anna jumps at the sight of Mrs. Steiner standing across the makeup counter, the older woman’s thin lips pressed into a line as she regards the auburn-haired woman. Anna forces a smile at her supervisor, folding her hands in front of her. 

“Anna,” Mrs. Steiner greets curtly, a clipboard perched in her arms. Anna stands up straight to indicate she is listening. “You can head back to the breakroom and clock out for the day.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Steiner.” Anna nods, stepping away from her station. Glancing down to the floor, she keeps her eyes averted from every customer in the store to not engage in conversation. She wanted to get home as quickly as she could. Wanting to call Hans and see him for the first time in a week since their morning together. A small part of her hopeful that he had gotten the chance to call into Washington. 

As she walks through the employee hallway, Anna offers sympathetic smiles to the girls making their way out to the salesfloor. She pauses upon reaching the second ladies’ breakroom, waiting for the three girls standing in the doorway to move. 

They each offer Anna an apology before stepping into the hallway towards the salesfloor. She steps through the door, turning the corner to clock off for the day. Scanning the small folders, she grabs her timecard, placing it in the machine to punch it through before placing her card on the other side. 

Absentmindedly Anna wipes her palms on her skirt as she stands in front of her locker, focusing on unlocking it. Opening the metal cabinet, she slips off her pump while grabbing the flats, which sat at the bottom of her locker, placing her heels there instead. She grabs her coat and purse off of the hooks, slamming her locker shut as she slips on her shoes. 

Anna normally doesn’t wear flats when around Hans, but she can’t bear the thought of walking in heels any longer. She shrugs on her green coat, buttoning it as her purse hangs off of her elbow. 

“Oh Anna! Thank god I found you.” A voice calls across the breakroom, causing Anna to look up from herself to see her co-worker striding toward her. The woman’s blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders as she walks. 

“Kathryn, what is it?” Anna asks, repositioning her purse to sit on her shoulder. 

“Would you be able to take my shift next Friday?” The blonde presses her hands together as if praying to Anna. “I know you have a fiancé, and I swear to take one of yours next time you need to. But Johnny asked me out for next Friday, and I feel like it this is finally going to be it.” 

Anna sighs, staring at the woman in front of her. This was the third time this month, Kathryn had asked Anna to take her shift, citing that each of these dates with Johnny would finally “Be the one.” Every girl in the department knew Johnny was also seeing two girls from the fashion department. 

“I’ll take it, Kathryn.” Anna sighs, knowing that having a shift owed would be useful if she were to have another breakdown soon. 

“Really?” The blonde nearly shrieks, grabbing Anna’s hands, “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise when Johnny and I marry, you’ll be the first to be invited.” 

Anna smiles, pulling her hands out of the other woman’s grasp. “I’ll see you Tuesday.” She leaves without another word, perusing through the hallway towards the front doors of the store. As she walks past her station, she catches Mary’s eyes, waving good-bye to her friend. 

The young woman approaches Mrs. Steiner, waiting for the older woman to finish belittling another new girl. The graying haired woman turns from the girl, stepping towards Anna. The auburn-haired woman opens her purse, showing its contents to her supervisor. 

“Good. Tuesday at 9am.” Mrs. Steiner states, stalking away from Anna without another word. Anna fastens her purse shut as she walks towards the front doors, pausing before stepping onto Piccadilly. 

Anna turns west towards Green Park station, slowing as she notices her fiancé standing against the department store windows. She approaches him with a smile, placing a hand on his black woollen peacoat. 

Hans smiles down at her, pecking her cheek briefly. “Hi, how was work?” 

“It was fine.” Anna scrutinizes him with suspicion. “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

“I thought I’d surprise you, maybe take you for dinner.” Hans shrugs. He offers his arm to his fiancé, a gesture she accepts as they walk towards the station. 

As Hans discusses his day, Anna bites back the desire to inquire if he made the call for her. She hadn’t heard anything for nearly a week now. Every moment of not knowing about Elsa was a moment lost for Anna. 

“So, I was thinking Wiltons for dinner. We could take the underground back to your flat, get you changed and freshen up.” Hans suggests as they enter the station. Anna sighs as they descend the stairs to the platform. 

“I’m not really in the mood for anything fancy tonight.” She admits, feeling guilty by disrupting his plans for what sounded like a lovely night. 

“Oh…” Hans holds out his hand with coins, letting Anna pick through the currency for his tram fare. He watches as she hands the attendant money for their tickets. 

“Is that alright?” She asks. Taking the tickets, she hands the second one to him as they walk towards the platform. Hans’s silence is unnerving to her, worried that she might have made him angry. 

“Of course, it is.” He smiles down at her as they stand on the platform, waiting for the Victoria Line. She presses herself closer to him, resting her head against his bicep. “Did you have anything in mind?”

Anna hums in response as she ponders about their supper. She peers up at him with the sweetest smile she can muster, knowing how to get her own way. 

The restaurant they sit in is warm, much to Anna’s delight as she orders food for Hans and herself with a smile. She reaches across the table, taking Hans’s hand into her own in appreciation. 

“Thank you, I know Indian isn’t your favourite. Just after the day I’ve had, I needed it.” Anna squeezes his hand. 

“It’s not, but you might as well enjoy it now.” Hans takes a sip of his red wine, reluctantly sitting back in his chair.

Anna turns her head away from him, looking out of the window into the dark street, not wanting to give away any hint of her feelings at that moment. She doesn’t know what he means by that but doesn’t ask; she had bothered him enough today. 

She smiles at the waiter as he places down a plate of pappadam between the young couple. Withdrawing her hand from Hans’s to grab the flatbread in front of her, placing it onto her plate as she pulls the bread apart. 

“So,” Hans begins, reaching under the table to grab the messenger bag he had been carrying. “I made some calls to my brother, Lars, who works at the Department of War. I had mentioned your sister went missing during the war without a trace, and he suggested perhaps Elsa had been recruited as part of a classified agency.” 

“Like a spy?” Anna furrows her brows, reaching for the glass of white wine in front of her. 

Hans shrugs. “She could have been a part of the M16. We know they recruited women from time to time. But Lars suggested I call our other brother, Fredrick, who works at the Pentagon.” 

“What did he have to say?” 

“Well,” Hans pulls out a brown folder file, sliding it across the table to his fiancé. “Fred owed me a favour, I got him to look through records at The Pentagon. It seems the British Government sent several records to the US for whatever reasons.” 

Anna’s hands remain folded over the envelope, trying to contain the desire to tear it open and scan all the contents. “And?” 

“Open the envelope,” Hans states, nodding at the papers in front of Anna. Without any hesitation, she unbinds the folder, revealing three pages of copied records. “It seems that there was another organization called the Special Operations Executive, called the SOE for short. They hired women and sent their records to The Pentagon.” 

Anna only half-listens to her fiancé as she glances over the records. The first three pages contain a list of names and places. She glances over the third page, scanning the shortlist quickly.

Name                                                Country of Origin                        Date of Entry
Nattura, Honeymaren                          United States of America           July 15, 1943. Lysander
Nearne, Eileen                                     England                                    March 2, 1944. Lysander
Nearne, Jacqueline                              England                                    January 25, 1943. Parachute
Olschanezky, Sonia                             Germany                                  Recruited in France
O’Sullivan, Patricia                              Ireland                                      March 22, 1944. Parachute
Plewman, Eliane                                  France                                      August 13, 1943. Lysander
Rendelle, Elsa                                     England                                    August 2, 1943. Parachute

Her heart stops at the name printed tenth from the bottom of the list, her hands shaking as her fingers brush against the lettering. As if her sister would materialize from the touch. She places the page down, reaching forward for the other folder. 

Elsa Rendelle, the label read. Inside the folder was a personnel file with a page of background; everything about her childhood in London and parents. Anna reaches into the folder, pulling out a page of extensive notes about her sister’s training in Iverness. Where the last letter was from. The last file she pulls out is a photo. 

Elsa had a small smile gracing her features as the photo was taken, in her SOE uniform and her blonde hair braided under her division issued cap. Anna stares at the image, the tip of her nose tingling as tears begin to pool in her eyes. Her fingers brush over the photo—her sister. 

Her blue eyes shift back to the personnel file, glancing at one particular row. 

Status: MIA, 1944

Hans reaches across the table, trying to offer comfort to his fiancé. “It seems that she went missing in action in ’44. Anna, you know what this must mean.” 

“Missing in action isn’t killed in action.” Anna states, looking up at her fiancé. “She may still be alive.” 

He sighs in response. “There’s another thing. Fred said that they’ve been corresponding with an American man here in London. A decommissioned NCO who is looking for someone from the same division as Elsa was a part of.” 

“What’s his name?” Anna’s head snaps up. Excited at the prospect of there being someone out there like herself. 

“Um…give me a second.” Hans reaches into his briefcase, pulling out a letter addressed to him from his older brother. She snatches the letter from his hand, scanning the contents which had nothing to do about the files and the Westergaard’s personal life. Her eyes landing on one unfamiliar name to her. 

"If it’s to any interest to you as well, there has been a man in London a former NCO from the 101st Airborne, searching for a girl from this same division as Anna’s sister. Technical Sergeant Kristoff Andrew Bjorgman." 

Staring at the letter, Anna knew what had to be done next.  

Chapter Text

The mist settles low on the lush ground. Elsa stands on the steps of Rhubana Lodge, staring at the highlands, entranced by the scene before her. She shivers at the cold morning air, despite the thickness of her military issued shirt. 

Her gaze is torn away from the landscape as a figure appears next to her. The woman is shorter than herself, her dirty-blonde hair pulled away from her face. 

“Are you coming?” The woman asks, her lips pulled into a polite smile. Elsa nods, not returning the gesture. The other woman’s eyebrow twitches as if attempting to raise one but is suppressing the urge. The dirty-blonde woman moves forward, joining the group of five other women standing in front of the lodge. 

Reluctantly Elsa joins the group, lingering behind the women as she didn’t want to get too close. The leader, a short brunette, shouts instructions about their morning run. Elsa stares at the ground; for the two days she has been here, the run has been the same. Run 5 kilometres up the hill and down back to the lodge for breakfast. It never changed. 

The women begin their run without another word, following the same path along the loch’s edge. As Elsa runs, she notices a certain brunette, her hair braided into a single plait and reaching slightly past her bottom. Immediately, the blonde knew it is Honeymaren, who always is at the front of the formation. Elsa wonders if it is from living in the American wilderness that Honeymaren is able to keep up with the leader’s fast pace. 

The run continues up a narrow trail on the hill, Elsa struggles to control her breath as the incline grows steeper. As a child, she had never had the constitution to do such tasks, unlike Anna, who could run miles ahead of Elsa. 

Watching the woman dressed in khaki pants and boots like herself, Elsa wonders how long these women have been running up this hill.

They come to a plateau, where they stop momentarily. In an instant, Elsa reaches for her canteen, drinking the water desperately and ignoring the burning in her throat. On her first day at the camp, she had forgotten her canteen, leaving her thirsty and uncomfortable during the remainder of the run. 

They only stop for a moment before the young woman in the front cries, “Onward!” 

The girls quickly tuck away their canteens and continue forward along the path. As they run, the fog begins to lift as the sparrows call to one another. Despite the discomfort she felt, Elsa cannot help but appreciate how the rising sun glimmers against the loch below. In her few days of visiting, she can’t help but wonder why her father never brought her and Anna to the highlands. 

They begin their descent down the hill, much to Elsa’s relief, knowing that the remainder of the run will be less strenuous, yet navigating the rocky path is nearly as difficult as the incline. Elsa’s foot lands unevenly against the ground, her ankle twisting inward. She yelps as pain shoots through her lower leg. Struggling forward, Elsa grits her teeth as she wills herself forward through the training. She only had to make it until they reach the lodge. 

With every step she takes her ankle throbs more, causing her to lag further behind the others. The young woman pushes through the pain, trying to make up the distance between herself and the group. 

Elsa doesn’t expect anyone to fall behind for her, and yet, Honeymaren does. The other woman puts her arm around Elsa’s shoulder. Though the Iroquois girl is not as tall as Elsa, she lifts her until her injured foot barely touches the ground. 

“Don’t worry,” Honeymaren says, glancing up at Elsa with a smile. “We can just pretend we’re dancing at a fancy club.” The other woman’s comment causes Elsa to smile in response despite the pain in her ankle. 

The girls push forward, still lagging behind the rest. Although Honeymaren did not seem to mind as she continues to guide Elsa along. They descend the hill, reaching the front lawn of Rhubana Lodge. 

“Are you okay?” Honeymaren inquires, slowly letting go of the blonde for her to find her footing. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” Elsa lowers herself on a stone wall that ran the perimeter of the lodge. The brunette stares down at Elsa with concern. Honeymaren crouches to the ground, gingerly taking Elsa’s foot into her hands. 

“It doesn’t seem broken.” Honeymaren surmises, her fingers running against the bruising flesh of Elsa’s ankle, not noticing the woman before her has stopped breathing. Elsa reaches forward, pushing Honeymaren’s hands off of her. 

“N-No, I think it’s just strained.” Elsa stutters, flustered at the contact. Touching others had always made Elsa uncomfortable, especially after her confinement as an adolescent. “I think I just need some ice, is there an infirmary?” 

The other woman shakes her head as she stands from the ground. “There really is no time. They are about to serve breakfast, and you don’t want to miss meals, there is nothing to eat between as you know. So, you can either eat now or go hungry.” 

Honeymaren extends her hand downward, helping Elsa to her feet. Gingerly, Elsa puts weight on her injured ankle, only to find the pain had been reduced to a dull throb. The blonde woman follows the others into the lodge, trailing into a large room. Which had once been a ballroom now converted into a dining hall, with long wooden tables running along the length of the massive space. 

Since arriving, this room never ceased to amaze Elsa. It offered a glimpse into what her life had been like back home. The routine of making her way down that stairs to Miss. Simpson’s dining room in the early morning seems like a distant memory now. Especially compared with their harsh morning runs. 

Elsa takes her regular spot at the women’s table next to Honeymaren, her gaze fixated on the porcelain and linen napkins. Shifting uncomfortably as a server reaches over Elsa’s shoulder, pouring coffee for her from a silver urn. 

She reaches for her water, taking a sip too big, causing her to sputter at the sensation of water burning her throat. Holding back her coughing, Elsa grabs the linen napkin to hold it up to her face as her shoulders shake with every convulsion in her body. 

As her coughing ceases, she reaches forward for a piece of baguette. What she had eaten every morning since her arrival; all the food is French but straightforward. She assumes it is to acclimatize them to the food that they will experience after they are deployed. 

“How many of us are there?” A woman across the table, Elsa recalls her name being Marie, asks as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Women, I mean.” 

“We don’t ask questions!” The dirty blonde from this morning barks, her words echoing Yelana’s from a few days ago. 

“There are about forty of us,” Honeymaren responds, ignoring the glare the head girl shoots her from across the table. Elsa finally glances at the Native woman, noticing her long brown hair is braided into a single plait similar to Elsa’s. “That includes those who have been deployed, as well as those who have gone missing.” 

“M-Missing?” A redhead, Diana, sputters with wide eyes and her mouth nearly hanging open. 

“Yeah. Missing in action.” Honeymaren clearly accentuates every syllable as if Diana spoke a different language from her. 

“What happened to them?” Another girl inquires. 

“Well, they’re missing.” Elsa begins without thinking. “So, no one knows.” 

“You don’t have to be a cunt about it.” The girl responds, her eyes narrowed toward Elsa. The blonde quickly glances back down to her plate, dread overtaking her as she regrets that she engaged. 

“I mean, Elsa has a point.” Honeymaren shrugs, her steely gaze meeting the other woman’s. “You’re in a situation that is dangerous, don’t be a fucking idiot.” The woman huffs, glancing away from Honeymaren and Elsa. 

“But I mean, we’re radio operators. Is it really that dangerous?” Diana asks, tearing off a piece of her baguette. 

A few girls giggle at that, shaking their heads in disbelief before the head girl responds. “We’re not broadcasting from BBC studios. We’re transmitting from Occupied France, and Germans will do anything to stop us.” 

“Six weeks,” Honeymaren adds, her dark eyes downcast and her mouth set into a straight line. For a moment Elsa wonders if Honeymaren is addressing how long their training will be.

“What?” Elsa asks, her brows furrowing in confusion at her abrupt addition. The brunette woman glances at the blonde, holding her gaze. 

“The average life expectancy for a radio operator in Occupied France.” She continues. “Six weeks.” 

The table falls quiet at the statement, each of the girls not making eye contact with one another as they think about it. Elsa stares at her trousers, her hands fisting the fabric. Is this something that she really could do? Sacrifice her life for all of this? She wonders about Anna and what would happen if she dies. 

The dirty blonde woman glances around the table, observing the morose nature of every woman around her. “Don’t let her worry you. It’s just that depressing American attitude of hers.” 

Elsa notices the way Honeymaren grips the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white at the comment. She doesn’t have to look up to know that Honeymaren is glaring daggers at the dirty blonde. 

“Well, at least I’m no-” 

“En français!” A stern voice scolds from the doorway, causing every woman at the table to fall silent. They hadn’t noticed Madame Bisset’s presence, their instructor who reminded Elsa so much of her various headmistresses at Harrogate and a drill sergeant. 

A whistle, loud and shrill, echoes throughout the room, causing Elsa to shrink back into her seat. She turns to see a burly man standing in the doorway of the dining hall, his stern features scanning the room before barking, “Breakfast is cancelled. All of you back to the barracks for inspection.” 

Elsa leaves the last of her baguette, following the others down the corridor, then up the flight of stairs to their dormitory. The six women in Elsa’s room fly to their bed, quickly making them 
presentable for inspection, something which Elsa follows suit with. 

She stands next to Honeymaren as the colonel bursts into the room without knocking, his aide following close behind him. 

Honeymaren glances over to Elsa, her brows furrowing as she stares at the other woman. For a moment, Elsa wonders what she is staring at, then the cold silver against her skin made her realize. The oval locket hanging around her neck. She had hidden it upon arrival, a blatant violation of the order to surrender all personal belongings. 

In an instant, the brunette reaches around Elsa’s neck, unclasping the necklace and slipping it into her own pocket. Elsa begins to panic. If Honeymaren is caught with it, the locket would be confiscated, and they would be in trouble. 

This act catches the colonel’s attention. He strides towards Honeymaren and Elsa, opening Elsa’s trunk and studies the contents inside of it. The man looks through her non-issue clothes, neatly tucked in the bottom. 

She tries to not flush as he rifles through her belongings, including her undergarments. Unable to hide her humiliation as he pulls out a pair of stockings. The man turns to her, holding up the garment.   

“These stockings…” He trails off. Elsa glances at them, wondering what the issue with them could be. They were French, with a seam straight up the backs of them. “Were French. No one in France can get this style any longer or nylons.” 

“So, am I not to wear stockings?” Elsa retorts without thinking. She clamps her mouth shut at her outburst, horrified that she just did that. 

“The girls are painting their legs with iodine.” He responds. Elsa can’t help but feel some anger. She had only been here for a few days and yet hardly had any training. She had just been taught to sew a French stitch into her clothes and had her fillings removed the day prior. The colonel and aide continue to rifle through her things, searching for anything that could be considered contraband. 

Much to Elsa’s relief, they don’t find anything of hers that could get her further in trouble; she had restitched her clothing yesterday to conform to the standard French stitch. The colonel throws Elsa’s belongings onto the bed in a pile. 

“Radio training, all of you in five minutes.” He barks before turning on his heel and leaving, the aide following close behind him. 

“Thank you.” Elsa turns to Honeymaren, offering the other woman a polite smile. The brunette returns the gesture, handing the necklace back to Elsa. 

“Of course.” Honeymaren goes to her trunk, rummaging around in the chest for a moment before pulling out a pair of woollen tights. “They have this kind in France, so you shouldn’t get in trouble for having these.” 

“You really don’t have to.” Elsa holds up her hands, trying to refuse them.  

“I’m serious, take them. I don’t like wearing the woollen ones anyway.” Honeymaren holds them out to the blonde once more, not lowering them until Elsa finally takes them. 

“How did you get into something like this?” Elsa inquires, wondering how the other woman would be able to fit in a country like France. She gently places the stockings and the locket into her trunk, tucking the necklace into the woollen stockings to hide it. 

Honeymaren shrugs as they begin to walk towards the door. “They were recruiting across the border in Montreal. They saw me speaking French and approached me.” 

“Oh, I mea-I see, that is very similar to my situation.” Elsa stutters, trying to keep her curiosity polite and at bay. 

“You meant why did they recruit an Indian?” Honeymaren guesses, tucking her hands into her pockets as they leave the room.  

“I...I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just curious, you don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.” Elsa flinches away, knowing how this must sound out loud. 

“I understand. It’s kind of odd. They mistook me for like…actually Indian. They didn’t realize they made a mistake until I was sent over here.” Honeymaren chuckles as they descend the staircase. “The colonel wanted to transfer me elsewhere, but Yelana insisted I stay on and fought for me.” 

“Why did you join?” Elsa inquires, increasing her pace to walk beside Honeymaren as they move through the corridor. 

“I mean, it got me off of the reservation.” The brunette glances at her, shrugging. “I would have never had the opportunity to travel this way. Why did you join?” 

The blonde tears her gaze away from Honeymaren’s, staring down the hallway. Not entirely convinced Honeymaren is fully truthful with her. “The money. It’s hard to get a steady job these days, so…other than in a factory, and I’m not suited to that sort of work.” 

“And why not?” 

She doesn’t answer the question. Instead, Elsa squares her shoulders as they continue to meander through the corridor. Finally, glancing at the brunette woman. “We’re late for training.” She quickens her pace, pulling ahead of Honeymaren. Her sudden coldness confounding the other woman. 

“Elsa,” Honeymaren calls, matching her pace to catch up with the other woman. The brunette reaches forward, taking Elsa’s wrist into her own hand, her fingers circling around the blonde’s small wrist. “I’m sorry, was it something I said?”

Elsa stops, the simple touch sending electricity through her body as the pads Honeymaren’s fingers brush against the soft skin of her wrist. She snatches her wrist out of the other woman’s grasp. “It’s nothing. I’d just rather not be in trouble with Madame Bisset.” 

Honeymaren’s dark eyes bore into Elsa’s light ones, her hand still extended as they gaze at one another. Elsa’s heart pounds into her ears as she takes in every feature of the slightly shorter woman, her dark brows thick and finely shaped, despite the fashion presently. 

She pushes away any thought about the other woman’s lips and how soft her skin might feel under her touch. This isn’t attraction, no. Just exoticism, Honeymaren is unlike anyone she has ever met. 

Without another word Elsa turns from the brunette, marching down the corridor towards their code courses. She takes a seat surrounded by other women, ensuring there is no chance Honeymaren can sit next to her during class. 

No. She had to be good. As she settles, Elsa closes her eyes, trying to regain her composure. Recalling her father’s words to her that often repeated throughout her adolescence. 

It is an illness and depravity. If you try, these unnatural urges will cease.

It was as simple as that. At Oxford, she barely had those thoughts, instead focusing intently on her studies. That is all she has to do here and just focus on her training, and she could control this again as in Oxford. Everything would go back to normal, and she would be normal. 

Her gaze is stolen away from the instructor as Honeymaren takes a seat across the room from her. Elsa lingers a little longer than she likes. Honeymaren catches her gaze, offering her a smile before focusing on the instructor. 

Elsa faces forward once more, her fingers drumming against the wood of the table she sits at. Trying to ignore the various comments running in her head as she attempts to focus on the class. She could do this.

Chapter Text

It feels odd not wearing her engagement ring underneath her black suede gloves, nor carrying her purse, but Anna remained firm to leave all her valuables at home, save for a few coins in her coat pocket. 

Her gaze remains forward, firm not to make eye contact with any of the beggars on the street or the men calling out to her. She had lied to Gerda this morning when she left the house, knowing the Norwegian woman would have a fit if she learned Anna was going to Spitalfields this afternoon. 

She hadn’t even brought a piece of paper with the address written down, ensuring her pockets are bare if she is to be accosted. Walking through the crowded street, Anna repeats the address in her head over and over again, ensuring she will not forget it. Her memory has never been reliable. 

Even as she walks down the street, Anna feels as if she should know this area as she walks along Thrawl Street. Much to her annoyance, the sidewalk ceases at the bend, causing the young woman to walk along the road surrounded by brick structures. 

Anna shoves her hands into her green coat pockets, her fingers brushing against the satin inside as she approaches Flower and Dean Walk. She’s slightly uncomfortable by the idea of walking down the quiet street as if anything could jump out at her at any moment. But continues down the road, nonetheless. 

She glances behind her periodically to remain aware of her surroundings as she searches for house number 37. It is the last of the rowhouses on the block before the street turns into a courtyard surrounded by other brick houses. These Victorian neighbourhoods always unnerved Anna. 

Anna lifts the brass knocker as she approaches the door, which slips from her hand, causing the brass to hit against the door louder than she intended. She steps back from the house with wide eyes, worried about how the disturbance will be perceived, especially for a man who lived in such a place. 

Jumping at the sound of the door opening, Anna tucks her hands behind her back as her heart pounds in her ears. A man emerges from the house, ducking slightly as he walks through the short doorframe. 

He wears a plain cotton t-shirt and brass-coloured trousers with a green coat in his grasp. His blonde hair is ragged and unkempt as his beard is. The man raises a brow at her, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, his foreign accent resounding through Anna’s bones as she stares at the man standing at least three inches taller than herself. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out, trying desperately to say something as the man is growingly frustrated with her. 

“Bjorgman,” She manages to say, closing her eyes at how dim she must sound to him. “That…is…I mean. Shit.” 

The American man can’t help but chuckle at this awkward British woman standing on his doorstep, shaking his head. “You wanna try that again?” 

“Yes, I’m looking for a Kristopher Bjorgman.” Anna sighs, thankful she is finally making sense. Convinced it is this neighbourhood that is having an effect on her. 

“Um…” The man glances behind himself momentarily, then back to the woman, his eyes scanning over her briefly. “He isn’t home.” 

“Oh, well…might you have any idea of when he’ll be back? You see, it’s about this letter I have, well, a letter that was actually sent to my fiancé from Washington. He’s American, you see and has been helping me with some things…an-”

“He probably won’t be back for some time.” The man cuts her off, shutting the door behind him as he places on a coat which resembles Hans’ military one; the same olive-green colour but shorter in style with the buttons covered by a front panel with an insignia of an eagle sewn on the shoulder. 

“Oh, I see. Well, might I leave my information? You see, I don’t often get into this part of town, and my landlady will have the skin off my back if she ever found out I came here.” Anna explains, trying desperately not to be awkward as Hans always teased her about being. 

The man runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Yeah, just leave your name and phone number where he can reach you at.” He reaches into his pocket, presumably for a piece of paper and a pen.

“Perfect! So my name is Anna Rendelle, and I can be reached at…” She trails off, noticing the man isn’t writing any this down but pulls out a cigarette and lighter instead. He lights the cigarette, taking a drag of it as he stares down at the woman. 

“Alright, Anna Rendelle. I’ll tell him you came by.” The blonde nods, taking a step forward towards the street. Abruptly the wooden door swings open once again, revealing a short elderly lady with a red shawl wrapped around her shoulders. 

“Mr. Bjorgman,” She calls, stopping the blonde man in his tracks. Slowly, he turns to face the older woman with a grimace. “May I inquire when you might pay your rent for last month…and this month.” 

“I’ll umm…yes. I will have that to you soon, Mrs. Anderson.” The man, apparently the vary man Anna had been searching for, responds. 

“You better. The food for that mutt of yours isn’t cheap.” The white-haired woman places her hands on her wide hips. 

“Yes, ma’am. I will have this and last month’s rent soon.” He bows his head, avoiding eye contact with the young woman standing before him. 

“When Kristoff?” The older woman snaps as the young man turns from her.

He holds up his hand with his index finger extended. “Soon, Mrs. Anderson.” 

“It better be!” The older woman shouts at the young man, who was walking away, before she glances back to Anna sternly. “Who are you then?” Anna opens her mouth to speak but doesn’t, instead her gaze going back to the man making his way down Flower and Dean Walk.

“Hey!” She yells after him, racing to catch up with the tall man. As she comes to stand next to him, her pace remains increased to match his stride. “Mr. Bjorgman, my name is Anna Rendelle, and I was hoping to speak to you about a matter regarding my sister.” 

“I don’t know anyone by the name Rendelle.” He curtly responds, turning left onto Thrawl Street. 

“No, I’m sure you don’t. But I believe we may have a common interest in this particular instance.” 

“What? Is your sister a part of a country club that needs someone to work the grounds? Because I can assure you, I’m not interested.” He responds, raising a brow at the young woman as they turn right onto Commercial Street. 

“W-wait what? No, I m-mean my sister has gone missing.” Anna explains as they cross the street. 

He stops in front of a corner building, huffing as he throws away his cigarette. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I can’t help you.” Without another word, he disappears into the building, stepping through the glass and wood door. 

Anna follows him, only to stop in front of the door for a moment, collecting her thoughts before pushing into the building. The Ten Bells pub had seen better days, the establishment’s wooden interior worn, and the stairs to the second floor blocked off by several chairs. 

Mr. Bjorgman sits at the wooden bar on a tall barstool. She marches towards him, her brows knitted together, and her mouth pressed into a thin line as she climbs on the barstool next to him. 

“Listen, I need you to take me across the channel.” She states. Trying to remain firm in her resolve while squaring her shoulders, attempting to look strong and confident. 

Kristoff sighs, finally glancing at the young woman. He hadn’t expected her to follow him into the pub. “And why would I do that?” 

 “I heard from Frederick Westergaard about you. That you’re also looking for someone.” Anna explains, wishing she had brought her purse to show him the letters. 

He visibly stiffens at that, eagerly reaching the beer the bartender places in front of him and takes a sip. A vein visible shows on his forehead as he places down his pint. “I think you have the wrong man.” 

“My sister went missing during the war, I-I don’t know when. I think sometime in 1943, I’ve been looking for her since then. Last I heard is she was enlisted with something called the Special Operatives Executive.” Her fingers brush against the rough wood of the bar. He finally looks at her, turning slightly to face her as he pulls out another cigarette. “I need to find her before I leave for the United States with my fiancé.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He responds, his honey-brown eyes boring into her blue ones. “But I can’t help you.” 

Anna stares at him, carefully examining his features, noticing the way his eyes crease as he apologizes. She recognizes that look all too well. “Who did you lose?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” He takes another sip of his beer. “Listen, even if you can get across the channel, it doesn’t change the fact that she could be anywhere in Belgium, Germany or France.” 

“The ferries have been operating across the channel again. There won’t be an issue with that.” Anna shrugs, shaking her head as the gray-haired bartender offers her a drink. 

“And your fiancé? How does he feel about you going off on this wild goose chase?” Kristoff raises a brow questioningly as he takes a drag from his smoke, exhaling away from her. 

“Hans is…supportive.” She drags out her words, not having told Hans about her plans to travel to the continent. “He’s been helping me with finding her.” 

“So why doesn’t he take you to the continent?” 

“H-he’s busy with work, you know and trying to make travel arrangements back to the States. I couldn’t possibly bother him with this stuff.” She excuses, increasingly becoming frustrated with the stranger. 

“Sounds like a real knight in shining armour.” He rolls his eyes, finishing his beer and ashing his cigarette. 

“You know what?” Anna slips from the stool, her heels hitting against the floor as she narrows her eyes at the stranger. “I don’t need this. I can find my sister by myself; I have been doing it for four years now, and I don’t need your help.” 

Kristoff shrugs, his brows lifting slightly as he takes a sip of the freshly poured pint in front of him. “Fine.” 

“Fine!” Anna retorts, uncaring if she sounded like an insolent child as her mouth purses, “You may be satisfied sitting here like a sad drunk all day wondering what happened to your person, but I’m not. Good day sir.” 

“No. Wait. Stop.” Kristoff calls sarcastically, his eyes focused forward on the mirror behind the bar. For a moment, Anna does stop to turn and look at him but observes he is unbothered by her words or her leaving. 

She rolls her eyes in frustration while spinning on her heel, stomping towards the door before pushing through onto the street. The young woman walks quickly to the closest bus stop, not wanting to remain in this awful neighbourhood any longer. 

Anna wishes she had refused to take Kathryn’s shift the next evening, her mood still soured by her interaction with him from the other day. She had never understood the stereotype of the “rude American” until meeting Mr. Bjorgman. Certain she would tell Hans about all of it when they meet for dinner tomorrow night. 

Throughout her entire shift, Anna is fuming, trying desperately not to be short with customers or Mrs. Steiner when her supervisor scolds her for the run in her stockings. The very run Anna had fixed a week ago in the same pair of stockings. It was inevitable, she would have to buy a new pair. 

Groaning in frustration as she glances at the gold clock on the wall, noting that she only had 40 minutes left of her shift. She decided at that moment that she needs a drink after work, tired of everything the last couple of days had thrown at her. As she stands in the department store, Anna decides not to think about it, in fear of bursting into tears on the sales floor. 

Instead, she smiles at customers and discusses her wedding with her swooning co-workers in her spare time. After 4 years, she had perfected, pretending everything is fine in her life. As Anna smiles and jokes with Mary, a familiar voice resounds through the salesfloor, instantly souring her mood once again. 

She huffs in frustration, blowing her bangs out of her eyes before turning towards the department store entrance. The blond man stands at the front makeup counter, wearing the same clothes from that afternoon and still looking ragged. It surprises her that the security guard isn’t following him through the store as he meanders, looking a little lost through it all. 

He slinks through the salesfloor. His gaze searches every makeup counter until they finally fall onto her. As he awkwardly makes his way past customers, Anna watches as he apologizes to the various women he accidentally brushes against. 

Kristoff stands at the makeup counter Anna is occupying, drumming his fingers against the glass case as he carefully thinks over what to say. 

“Can I help you?” Anna snaps quietly, feeling bad for a moment as she sounds harsher than intended. 

“Yeah, I uh…” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, not making eye contact with the young woman. “I came to apologize.” 

“Did you?” Anna inquires, cocking a brow as she crosses her arms. She cannot bring herself to believe him quite yet, as he had yet to make eye contact with her. 

“Yes!” He barks, frustrated by this woman’s pride. Kristoff takes a deep breath to calm himself. “It was brought to my attention that I was a real asshole yesterday.” 

“Really?” Anna responds flatly. “And what gave you such an idea?” 

“I-It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to come here to apologize…and to talk.” His gaze drifts to the glass case, focusing on his hands. 

Anna’s gaze drifts away from Kristoff for a moment, noticing Mrs. Steiner staring at the two of them with interest. “Meet me at The Clarence pub in about 30 minutes.” 

“What?” Kristoff questions, his brows furrowed in response. 

“Have a drink while you wait.” Her eyes dart back to Mrs. Steiner to see the older woman inching close. Anna plasters on her best fake smile at the young man as she uncrosses her arms. “Yes, sir, as I mentioned before, you’ll find cookware on the third floor.” 

Kristoff stares at the young woman as if she had lost her mind at that moment, trying to understand what the hell she is talking about. Her eyes rapidly shift from him toward her supervisor, causing him to glance over his shoulder to understand what is happening. 

“Ah, yes. Well, thank you for all your help.” Kristoff responds somewhat stiffly before turning away from Anna, shoving his hands back into his coat pockets as he walks toward the door. Anna huffs that he doesn’t move towards the elevators to keep up their charade. 

Panic instills in her as Mrs. Steiner stands in front of her, glaring at the girl coldly. “What did that customer want?” 

“I’m not sure,” Anna shrugs, noting the look of disdain on her supervisor’s features. “He came in asking for a lipstick that would make his girlfriend look like Gene Tierney. I started showing him some samples, and then he asked about cookware. Then he just left.” 

“Hmm…how odd.” Mrs. Steiner comments, her gaze not leaving Anna for an instant. 

“It really was.” Anna nods, her fingers playing with the cuffs of her forest green collared dress. She learned not to play with the pussy bow on this dress around her supervisor, who would snap at her for fidgeting. 

Without a response, Mrs. Steiner glances down, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “Clean your counter in the last 20 minutes of your shift.” 

Anna stares at her supervisor in confusion as the older woman strides away from her. She had cleaned the glass earlier this morning. The young woman looks down to the glass, only to find finger smudges from where Kristoff had stood. 

She huffs in frustration. He really isn’t making this easy on her. 

Anna could hardly wait to leave work once her shift had finished. Rushing towards the lady’s breakroom to grab her coat and purse. She huffs upon leaving the department store to find it is raining, she had forgotten her umbrella at home. Quickly, Anna races down the street towards The Clarence, not caring if her braids were unravelling. 

As she reaches the pub, Anna pauses outside the building in the rain, catching a glimpse of herself in the door’s glass. Her eye makeup is slightly smudged from the rain, and her lipstick clinging to the creases in her lips. Her auburn hair now in loose brains and whisps of her hair sticking to her cheeks. 

Pushing open the door, Anna steps into the building in her wet clothes, shivering as warmth begins to overtake her body. She glances around the bar, spotting Kristoff in the same spot she had sat with Olaf only a week ago. Her gaze focused on the man; Anna moves through the crowd. 

He already has a dark beer in front of him, nursing it while he waits. Anna occupies the seat across from him without a word, shrugging her wet green coat from her shoulders as he watches her. 

Her dress’s cuffs are wet, causing the young woman to unclasp the cuffs and roll them up to her elbows. She wonders what this man in front of her must think of her looking a mess. A server quickly rushes to their side. 

“Can I get you anything?” The young woman asks, not bothering to take out the pad of paper in her apron pocket. 

“Could I get a pint of Newcastle?” Anna asks, feeling awkward as she orders. She never ordered beer anymore since she started to see Hans. It felt unladylike for her to do so.

 The server nods with a polite smile before turning to Kristoff. “How are you still doing?” 

“I’m good, thanks.” Kristoff offers a polite smile back, his face falling as the server walks away from their table. It falls silent between them once again. Before Kristoff mutters, just barely above a whisper. “You’re right.” 

Anna stares at the young man, initially shocked. A smile crosses her features as she flutters her eyelashes innocently, cupping her hand against her ear. “I’m sorry. What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the crowd.” 

Kristoff rolls his eyes, glancing around the pub with only two other men in the room. “You were right!” 

Anna sits back in her chair, cockily, crossing her arms over her chest as her smirk grows. “Well, I’m glad to see you can be reasonable, at least some of the time. Maybe I should’ve found you at the dingy pub yesterday.”

“The bar isn’t dingy it’s just…historical.” He shrugs. The server places the pint in front of Anna before moving onto the other table without another word. 

“I felt like I was going to be murdered in it,” Anna states, using both hands to pick up the heavy pint glass to take a sip from it. A small smile ghosts over his features at her comment, which makes Anna pause for a moment. If he were to trim his beard and hair, actually take care of himself, she could understand why one might find the man in front of her to be quite handsome. 

“You would have been fine.” He responds, taking a sip of his beer. 

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re a giant yank!” Anna exclaims. “Any person in that neighbourhood wouldn’t dare to pick a fight with you.” 
“I really think you’re over-exaggerating.” Kristoff pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it before inhaling. He reaches over the table with the pack of smokes, offering her one. 

“No thank you, I don’t smoke.” Anna refuses, her finger twitching at the urge. Smoking was a habit of hers, which is in the past now; she hadn’t smoked since she worked in the factory during the war. 

Kristoff nods, exhaling the smoke away from Anna. Silence falls between the pair once again. The sound of glasses clinking against one another echoes throughout the pub as the bartender puts them away. She suppresses the urge to bite her nails with a sigh, drumming her fingers against the table. 

The man sighs, taking another sip of his beer. The pint glass thuds against the table as he places it down, his eyes meeting hers once again. 

“Why did you ask me here? I assume it has to do with my attempt to reach out to you the other day” Anna inquires, unable to take the silence any longer. 

“It is…” Kristoff sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been searching for…someone since the war ended, and I haven’t gotten anywhere.” His eyes drop to the table, staring at the wooden surface dolefully. 

Anna stares at the man across from her. A very different man from the one earlier this evening and the other day. She wonders if perhaps that man who poked fun at her and drinks away his days in the pub is somehow a person who tries to forget. Someone, just like herself. 

“I know how you must be feeling.” She nods, her fingers brushing away the condensation away from the pint glass. “I-I’ve been searching for her four years now. Every time it felt like I gained an inch, I went back one foot.” 

Kristoff slowly glances up at her. “I gave up. My letter to the Pentagon last year was my last attempt, but then everything was classified.” 

“Yet you stayed in England?” Anna inquires without thinking. He goes quiet, avoiding eye-contact with the young woman. She feels a twinge of guilt from unable to control her impulses. It was something her father and mother always scolded her for, recalling her mother nearly shouting at her after an incident.

You need to learn to think before you act, Anna Margaret Rendelle.

Even as an adult, those words rang true. As she opens her mouth to apologize, but Kristoff simply nods in response as he takes another drag of his cigarette. “Yeah…I did. Just in case I heard anything about her.” 

“Who was she?” Anna can’t help but ask, placing her elbows on the table and cradling her chin in her hands. She wonders if he is searching for his lover, Anna always had loved romance. It was something Elsa used to tease her about a lot, back when they were close. 

Kristoff finishes his beer, placing the glass loudly on the table and exhales loudly. “It doesn’t matter.” His entire demeanour changes with that, as if pulling himself away from how he feels about this. “What documents do you have to help your search?” 

“Oh! Umm…” Anna trails off, unprepared for that question as she grabs her purse. Pulling out the envelope from her bag and sliding it across the table. Kristoff opens the folder, glancing over the documents. “I was given a copy of my sister’s enlistment forms. It says she parachuted into France near Arras.” 

“Alright, here is what I suggest. We’ll drive to Folkstone an-”

“I don’t have a car.” Anna blurts. 

“Just listen, I do.” Kristoff calmly explains, closing the folder with the documents. “From there, we’ll take the ferry across the channel to Le Havre.” 

She stares at him, a small smile crossing her features. He had come to the pub with a plan. No one had ever gotten this far with planning her search. “And where would you propose we go to next?” 

“From Le Havre, we’ll drive to Arras…and I guess…just hope someone knows something.” Kristoff sits back in his chair, sliding the documents back to Anna as he crosses his arms over his broad chest. 

Anna glances down at Kristoff’s empty glass and her nearly empty one. She stands from the table with her hands on her surface. “What are you drinking? I’ll buy us the next round.” 

“Guinness draught,” Kristoff responds, smiling up at the young woman. Anna nods, tapping the table twice with her right hand before meandering towards the bar. It is going to be a long night.  

Chapter Text

It is the same every morning since she arrived six weeks ago; 5 miles up the hill and back, around the loch and then the dreaded incline where Elsa had twisted her ankle during her first week at the lodge. Her feet have never been so blistered in her life resulted from the damp runs every morning, seemingly to be on the verge of infection. 

However, as she washes her hands after using the toilet, Elsa reflects how she no longer lingers in the back during the morning runs any longer. Never in her life had she ever thought she would have the stamina to run every morning. Elsa wonders if she could beat Anna now; as children, the younger Rendelle sister always was much faster. 

Wiping her hands on the starched towels, Elsa glances at herself in the mirror, ensuring her issued shirt was tucked neatly into her khaki trousers. Her hair braided into a single plait as always, whisps already escaping from the tight braid. 

The young woman makes her way to the dining hall, avoiding eye contact with the men passing her in the corridor. They are not allowed to engage with the other male recruits. In the dining hall, every woman is situated in their usual spot, a single empty space beside Honeymaren for Elsa. 

The brunette's eyes drift to where Elsa stands in the doorway, offering a smile at the blonde woman. Elsa reciprocates the gesture, ignoring the pounding in her chest as she moves towards her spot. 

Honeymaren and herself had become fast friends during Elsa's time at Rhubana Lodge. Despite Elsa's initial reluctance to become close with the other woman, Honeymaren remained insistent. 

A week after her resolve to stay away from Honeymaren. Elsa had been alone in the dormitory, changing into her nightgown quickly before the other women flooded into the room from the shared bathroom. The door to the dormitory swung open to reveal Honeymaren, still dressed in her uniform. 

Without a moment, the Haudenosaunee woman strode across the room towards her bed. Unbraiding her hair Honeymaren huffed, unable to take the silence any longer. The brunette woman walked to Elsa's bed, capturing the other woman between herself and the two beds. 

"Whatever I did to you, I'd rather you tell me than go on acting like a couple of adolescent girls." Honeymaren snapped, standing only inches from Elsa. 

"I-um… I'm sorry?" Elsa asked, taken aback by the other woman's outburst, her thighs pressed against her nightstand. Honeymaren glanced over Elsa slowly. With a sigh, she stepped back and sat on her own bed. 

"Listen, I get it." The brunette sighed, her gaze dropping to her knees. "I can be…a little intense, and I apologize. I just…I felt like we were really connecting." 

Elsa stared at Honeymaren, unsure what to say. The blonde stepped away from her nightstand, sitting on her bed across from the other woman. "It isn't you. I just… I've never really had a friend before. Not since I was eleven years old." 

"I mean…if you'd rather continue the way you are, I'll respect that an-" 

"No!" Elsa's head snapped up as she interrupted the other woman. The two women’s gaze met, eyes wide and surprised. "I-I just mean, after nine years i-it would be nice to have a…friend." 

Honeymaren smiled at the blonde, reaching across the gap between their beds to take Elsa's hand into her own. "I'd like that too." 

Since that night, the two of them completed everything together, they ran together, which became Elsa's motivation to speed up. The morning runs with Honeymaren was becoming her favourite part of the day. 

Elsa takes her seat next to Honeymaren, glancing around the table to get some indication of what the girls were discussing. The blonde unfolds her napkin, neatly placing it on her lap in a manner that would not get her in trouble with Madame Bisset, who watches over the girls. 

Eating meals is a constant lesson throughout the day. Leftover gravy is sopped up by bread and they are to never ask for butter as it was no longer served in France. A small mistake could get you into trouble with Madame Bisset. She recalled an evening they were given wine with dinner- an obvious test by the command to see if the girls became reckless when inebriated. Three girls were sent home the next morning.

She doesn't bother to grab a piece of baguette that morning, only drinking her coffee instead, rather quickly. As a university student, Elsa had grown accustomed to not eating breakfast, opting instead for black tea or coffee in the morning. 

Honeymaren cocks a brow at her friend, observing her. "You're in an awful hurry." 

"I have to retake codes." Elsa huffs, taking another short sip of her hot coffee. Honeymaren groans in response, rolling her eyes. 

"Again? How many times is this now?" The brunette asks, picking up her porcelain coffee cup. 

"Twice now." Elsa sighs, placing her coffee cup down. "I have to pass this round, or they'll send me packing." 

"Well, what are you struggling with? Maybe I can help you." Honeymaren offers, reaching out to her friend. Elsa resists the urge to inch her hand closer to the other woman's but keeps it still on the white tablecloth. 

"No, this is something I have to do myself. I just need to prove I can transmit." Elsa explains, reaching for her coffee once more. 

"I'm sure you can do it. God knows you're clever enough." Honeymaren comments, tearing another piece of her baguette. Elsa finds herself smiling at the compliment, tucking her hair behind her ears with both hands. 

In her first week, Elsa would have been at peace with the idea of being sent home. She could have returned to Oxford, work in the shop over the summertime and reschedule her visit with Anna in London. 

But now, after 6 weeks of the morning runs, intensive training from morning until night. Most of her time is spent in front of a radio and studying to be a wireless telegraph operator. There were things she had learned never imaged, how to set up dead and live letter drops and the difference between the two, how to establish suitable rendezvous sites. 

Much to her surprise, after a few weeks of training, her hands no longer shook when setting an explosives charge—her shooting and grappling slowly getting better every day with Honeymaren's guidance and help. Elsa would not have gotten far in the program without her. Lying and maintaining her cover story had come naturally to her. After years Elsa had gotten accustomed to lying to herself and others. 

The only thing she is failing at is codes. 

"Headquarters is here." One of the girls who shares a dormitory with the two women, Alexandra, announces abruptly. "Something must be wrong." 

Honeymaren and Elsa's gaze follows Alexandra's to the balcony, overlooking the dining hall where a short woman stands, looking down on them. Elsa recognizes her immediately. Yelana. 

"You've met her?" Marie asks Alexandra. 

The raven-haired girl nods. "She found me in a typing pool in Bristol. You?" 

"At a library in Essex," Marie responds. 

It dawns on Elsa then, Yelana had selected each girl personally. 

"Yelana decides everything for us," Honeymaren states, drawing the surrounding girl's attention. "She designed the courses and decides where we are deployed and what our assignments are to be." 

The girls finish their breakfast quickly before meandering towards the lecture hall, where each desk had a radio sitting on the surface. Their instructor had the assignment printed and placed on each desk, a code to be deciphered and sent. Yelana stands in the corner of the room, watching all of the girls intently. Elsa takes her seat next to the window, taking a deep breath as she settles herself, immediately putting on her headset. 

The radio in front of her is similar to one which a person could listen to music or the BBC on, only this one laid flat inside a suitcase with more knobs and dials. A small unit is at the top of the set for transmitting, another below it for receiving. The socket for the power adaptor is on the right side, and there are spare kits, a pocket containing extra parts in case anything were to happen. The pouch also includes four crystals, with the ability to be inserted into the slot on the radio to enable transmission. 

Elsa closes her eyes, trying to calm her pounding heart from nerves. She has one last chance. Glancing down at the piece of paper, carefully scanning the retest. It was a text of a Shakespeare poem: 

From this day to the ending of the world, 
But we in it shall be remember'd 
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; 
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me 
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile. 

The message has to be first coded through a cipher containing a small satchel, each printed on an individual square of silk, one inch long and wide. Each silk held a key, a printed one-time cipher to change each letter to another: in this specific one, a became m and o became w. Each cipher was to be used to code the message, then be discarded. Lighting a match, Elsa burns the silk cipher as she had been taught. 

She begins to type out the message, trying to recall the key in her head as she types. Elsa spent weeks learning to tap out letters in morse code, practicing to the point that she taps her fingers against the table at mealtimes. She struggles to keep her fist print consistent, which she needed to perfect to pass security checks. 

Radios could be interchangeable. If someone has the coils and crystals to set the frequency, they could send and receive messages. One's fist print and security checks are the only way in which headquarters can confirm the other person. 

Elsa's fist print is light on the first part of each word with pauses between sentences. Each agent had a security check unique to themselves, a quirk in which a reader could identify the typist. Elsa is to make a "mistake" and typing r on the thirty-fifth letter in the message. Her second security check was substituting k where a c belonged every other time a k appeared. 

With shaking hands Elsa finishes her retest, hoping to God she will have passed this time. For the first time since arriving, she feels quite pleased with herself, noticing Yelana watching her closely. 

The older woman rips the teletype's transmission, scanning over the paper as she marches towards Elsa. "You've gotten better. But it's still not good enough."

Elsa huffs in frustration, but before she has a chance to ask what Yelana meant, the older woman reaches over and pulls the telegraph key from the wireless. "What are you doing?" 

Yelana does not answer her, picking up a screwdriver to further dismantle the set. Elsa watches in confusion as it is torn piece by piece, screws and bolts clattering on the floor. The other girls watch in silence, stunned by the older woman's actions. 

Without any instruction, Elsa stands from her desk, beginning to collect pieces from under the table as Yelana tears apart the machine Elsa had worked with from the beginning. As the older woman finishes, she glances back at the blonde. 

"Put it back together." 

"I-I'm sorry?" Elsa stutters, her brows furrowing in confusion and anger. 

"You have ten minutes to put it back together again." Yelana walks away from the young woman without another word. Elsa stares at the pieces of the wireless, tears threatening to form in her eyes in humiliation. She sits back in her seat, not wanting to cry in front of the various girls staring at her. 

She tries to recall the manual she studied at the beginning of her wireless training. But is unable to remember any of the instructions to place the machine back together. 

"You need to start here." A voice startles Elsa out of her trance. Honeymaren is by her side, holding up a panel so Elsa could reattach the baseplate. 

"You don't have to help me," Elsa says, noticing Yelana staring at the two of them with interest. 

"I do. If you were to leave this place, I'd go insane." The brunette insists, her eyes boring into Elsa's. "Screw the piece back into place." 

Elsa nods, screwing the baseplate into place. As she works to reassemble the machine, Honeymaren hands pieces back to her, instructing the blonde how to put together the radio again. Humiliation floods through Elsa as she puts together the device, but it helps with Honeymaren by her side. 

With the Haudenosaunee woman's help, the machine is fixed within the time-limited set by Yelana. Elsa glances at Honeymaren, offering the woman a small smile in thanks. Her eyes drift back to the radio, hoping to God it would transmit. 

Holding her breath, she taps the telegraph key. A quiet click resounds through her ears, much to the young woman's relief as the code she entered registers. It works. 

Elsa looks up in a moment of triumph. For the first time in her life, she can prove someone wrong, that they are wrong about her. But Yelana is no longer in the room. Glancing back at the radio, Elsa feels tears in her eyes once again. 

"Why does she hate me so much?" She whispers, clenching her fists on her thighs. Her face hovering over her lap, her chest constricts. It was a question that she frequently asked herself as a child. 

"Hey," Honeymaren calls, placing her hand on Elsa's back. "It's not personal. Come on, sweetheart." The brunette woman guides Elsa out of her seat, offering excuses to the instructor as they leave the room. 

The two women ignore the curious looks of the men they pass in the corridor as they meander through the hall towards the washroom. As they enter the women's bathroom, Elsa leans against the wall, burying her face in her hands. 

Honeymaren rushes towards the sink, grabbing a towel and wetting it with warm water. She rings out the cloth, ignoring how the water burns her hands as she brings the fabric back to Elsa.

"Look at me," Honeymaren commands, but she doesn't touch Elsa, allowing the other woman to pull her hands away from her face. As Elsa's hands fall from her face to her sides, Honeymaren steps forward, wiping the blonde's face with the warm cloth. 

"Y-you don't have to." Elsa hiccups, suppressing the urge to sigh as the warm cloth touches her face. Honeymaren offers the other woman a small smile, continuing to wipe at Elsa's face. 

"I'm sure it isn't personal," Honeymaren states, pulling the cloth away from the blonde's face. 

"W-what?" 

"In class, you asked, 'why does she hate me so much?" The brunette explains, walking back toward the sink to warm the cloth once again. "I don't think it's personal. It's her job to be harsh with us and ensure we know what we're doing." 

"But we don't know what we are doing!" Elsa snaps, not noticing the way Honeymaren flinches at her outburst. "I don't even know why I'm being yelled at because I don't know what it is I am supposed to be doing."

"I know." Honeymaren quietly responds, the warm cloth still in her hands as she stands by the sink. "None of this makes sense, and I know you want to return home. But I believe that whatever it is we are doing here is important." 

"I…I just know if I can do this anymore. This morning I was certain of myself, and now…I just don't know." Elsa sighs, hanging her head once again. 

Honeymaren chokes back the urge to yell that every woman in this program feels the same way; no one knew what they were doing and always seemed to disappoint themselves. Huffing in frustration, Honeymaren throws the cloth in the hamper under the sink. 

"I understand if you feel that way. Excuse me." The brunette walks towards the door, glancing over her shoulder to Elsa. "I should be going back to class." 

Elsa watches in shock as Honeymaren pushes through the door, leaving the young woman alone. Watching the door, Elsa's brows furrow in response, wondering what she could have said to send the other woman away. 

Wiping the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, she pushes away from the wall to stand in front of the sink. She turns on taps, holding her hand under the running water until it becomes warm. The young woman splashes her face with water, staring at her reflection in the mirror. 

It is still an odd sight to see her face bare, having not worn makeup since she arrived in Scotland. Her eyes are rimmed with red and puffy, indicating she has been crying. She reaches for a new cloth, wetting it with water before pressing the towel against her eyes, hoping to reduce the evidence of her tears. 

She wonders if she should pack up now and return home without another word. Leave this place behind and return to everything she knew. Elsa hadn't felt this way since her first week in her training. Back when she was alone and afraid of all that was to come. 

Glancing up at herself, Elsa recalls that lonely girl she has been since she was eleven years old. The girl who had to do everything herself and never rely on others because they would always reject or disappoint. Just like her past friends, schoolmates, guys she went on dates with, her parents. 

Everyone…except Anna. And now, Honeymaren. Honeymaren, who had spent so much time making sure Elsa endured and succeeded in this place. Yet…she had never done anything for the brunette. She owed it to her to continue. 
With a deep breath, Elsa discards the towel as she decides it is time to return to class. Her eyes are still puffy from her tears as she withdraws from the sink, uncaring about it at this point. She steps towards the door, slowly crossing the threshold as she looks down at herself. 

"It isn't personal." A voice beside the ladies' washroom nearly startles Elsa out of her skin. The blonde glances to the right, Yelana standing against the wall with a cigarette held between her fingers. 

"Then, why me? I know for a fact that the girl next to me is doing worse." Elsa huffs, frustration building up inside of her once again. 

"Because I know you're capable of doing better," Yelana explains, taking a drag of her cigarette. The younger woman watches the smoke bellow towards the ceiling, almost casting a fog over the lighting. "I spent two weeks in Oxford watching for you and talking to your professors about you. You're smart, Miss. Rendelle, I know you can do better." 

"You're not going to ask me to leave?" Elsa inquires. She had been certain only moments ago that she would be dismissed. 

Yelana shrugs, "Not unless you want to leave. You would be free to, no more training early in the mornings, no more ciphers. Go home to your sister and work in a shop for the rest of the summer." 

Elsa doesn't respond right away. Instead, her gaze goes to the ground, examining her military issue boots. "I want to stay." 

"Alright." Yelana comments, her tone giving no indication of the small smile crossing her features. "Go back to the lecture hall and complete your lessons for the day. I'll talk to your instructor, but I want you to stay behind, and we'll work on your wirelss." 

 "Why?" 

"You need more practice. From everything that I've seen in your reports, you're nearly excelling in every training aspect except the wireless. You need to excel with the radio. Any mistake could immediately jeopardize the SOE and forfeit your own life." Yelana explains, taking another drag of her smoke. 

"Honeymaren says that the average life expectancy is 6 weeks for a wireless transmitter. Is that true?" Elsa questions. Forgetting the rule, Yelana had snapped at her during their first meeting: never ask questions. 

Despite this rule, Yelana nods with a sigh. "We thought that perhaps sending women into the field would be less conspicuous. The men tend to be shot on sight." 

"And the women?" 

"We don't know yet. We've only had one woman die in our operations; her ship was sunk in the Atlantic." Yelana explains, dropping her cigarette to the hardwood to butt it out. Elsa stares at the action, slightly horrified that the older woman had dropped the smoke onto the floor. 

Elsa nods, deciding she had asked enough questions, not wanting to agitate the woman in front of her. "I'll see you after lessons." 

"Good luck," Yelana calls as the young woman begins to walk away from her. Elsa meanders down the corridor towards the lecture hall, confident that she can do this. 

Everything hurt, her head, stomach and hands. Yelana had drilled her on the wireless all evening. They had even skipped dinner until Elsa got everything correct. The blonde meanders down the hall, exhausted, as she makes her way back to the dormitory. 

Elsa pushes open the door to her dormitory, expecting everyone to be settling in for nighttime. As she opens the door, laughter echoes throughout the room. She quickly enters the room, closing the door behind her to avoid the girl's laughter to be heard. 

Four of the girls and Honeymaren sit on the ground in front of beds in the back right corner. They sit in a circle, with Honeymaren resting her back against the wall. At the sight of the blonde, the Haudenosaunee woman beams, waving her over to them. 

"Elsa! Come join us!" Honeymaren calls across the room. Slowly, Elsa steps towards them, her brow rising as she inches closer. 

"What's going on here?" Elsa asks, staring at the girls on the ground, all of them holding mugs. The youngest girl, Beth’s, cheeks are flushed while Diana slowly sips from the cup. 

Marie stares up at Elsa with a grin, reaching behind her pulling out a clear bottle filled with a clear liquid. Elsa's mouth nearly falls open at the reveal. "I got us a bottle of gin!" 

"How?" The blonde gawks, excitedly stepping into the middle of the circle and taking a seat next to Honeymaren against the wall as she grabs the bottle. 

It isn't good gin but is probably better than most can get in these current conditions. 

Marie takes the bottle back, whistling at one of the other girls, Joy to hand her the last empty mug. The dark-haired girl stretches across the circle, passing the white cup to Marie. She uncorks the bottle, the pop echoing through the room, before pouring two ounces into the mug. 

"You're rather generous." Elsa comments, taking the mug into her grasp. 

"It will probably be the last time we can do something like this, so why not splurge a bit." Marie shrugs, pouring herself some more liquor. 

Elsa takes a sip, enjoying the taste of pine in her mouth as the liquor trickles down her throat; she hadn't had gin in a very long time. Honeymaren brushes her index finger against the back of Elsa's hand, slowly and lingering for a moment. 

"How did things with Yelana go?" The brunette inquires, barely above a whisper as the other girls begin to converse. 

"Good, I nearly expected her to take out a ruler and hit me across the knuckles. But it went well. I think I've gotten the hang of it." Elsa states, smiling at her friend. "Thank you for taking me down this afternoon. And I’m sorry, I'm going to stay." 

"Of course." Honeymaren leans in, touching her shoulder to Elsa's briefly. "And I'm glad you're staying." 

"I am too." Elsa's gaze remains locked in Honeymaren's, resisting to urge to lean against the other woman. She clears her throat, glancing back to her drink before taking another sip. 

As the night continues, the women get slightly tipsier as Marie becomes more liberal with her pours, having cut Beth off at round three. The women chat about their lives back home, although they are not supposed to. 

Alexandra turns to Elsa, having noticed that neither the blonde nor Honeymaren have spoken about their lives. "What about you two? Any guys for you back home?" 

Elsa hesitates to answer, unsure what to say. But Honeymaren speaks first, "Nah, I don't have time for any of that back home." Everyone looks to Elsa, waiting expectantly. 

"Well, um…there is a guy back in Oxford who I went on a date with," Elsa explains, not noticing the way Honeymaren's eyes widen and brows rise slightly at the information. 

"What's his name?" Marie asks, rather eagerly due to non-existent her romantic life.

"His name is…. David. He was in my civil law class, and we've only been on one date, but I-I don't know." Elsa shrugs. 

"Is he handsome?" Beth leans forward, bumping against Alexandra on accident, earning a glare from the ebony-haired woman. 

Elsa hesitates, unsure how to answer that, but everyone stares at her with undivided attention. "Y-yes, he is rather handsome, I suppose." 

"So, what are you unsure of?" Honeymaren asks, her gaze downcast to her bare feet and voice flat. Elsa glances at her friend, her chest tightening at the other woman's disassociation of this conversation. 

"Well…it was something he said on our first date." Elsa's brows knit together as she recalls the memory. "He implied that I was only in university to get a…MRS degree." 

A series of groans emit from each of the girls, Joy and Marie throwing their heads back in exasperation. Only Beth stares at Elsa with some confusion, cocking her head slightly. 

"W-what is that?" The slightly inebriated girl asks. 

"An MRS degree," Alexandra states, pronouncing every syllable for the youngest girl to clue in. 

The blank look Beth responds causes Joy to sigh. "It is the idea that women only go to university to find a husband." 

"Oooooh, I get it." Beth throws her head back, causing her to lose her balance. With a yelp, the young woman falls onto her back. Alexandra rolls her eyes at the 18-year-old, clearly growing frustrated with Beth. 

"If I were you, there wouldn't be a second date upon your arrival home." Marie takes a sip of her gin, finishing the contents of her cup. A groan escapes from her as she attempts to pour herself another helping, only to find the bottle of gin now empty. 

"Yeah, I don't think there will be." Elsa shrugs her shoulders, trying to seem disappointed but ultimately couldn't find it in herself to care. 

"Well, ladies." Marie sighs, slapping her thigh. "it seems we should turn in for the night before Madame Bisset enters the room to check on us." 

Elsa glances at the clock hanging over the door, 10:15. Bisset would be in the room to call lights out in nearly 15 minutes. By that time, every girl in the room would be required to be ready for bedtime. 

Joy and Alexandra help Beth from the ground, escorting the girl to her bed on the other side of the room before retreating to their own. Each girl carries their mugs to their bedside tables. It was the only piece of dishware they were allowed in their rooms for water. 

Elsa opens her trunk, grabbing a clean nightgown from the chest and discarding the garment at the foot of her bed. With her back turned against the other women, Elsa slowly unbuttons her issued shirt. She tosses the shirt into the truck, rolling her neck as she stands in only her khaki pants and bra. 

She had gotten over the fear of changing in front of others in her fourth week, it was a frigid night, and Elsa had been exhausted. She hadn't cared to even think as she stripped down into her undergarments and her nightgown in front of everyone. Elsa hadn't looked back since.

Her pants and socks join her shirt in the truck, closing the lid as they fall to the bottom of the chest. She slips on her nightgown, shoving her arms through the long sleeves before reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. Shimmying the support off her shoulders and reaching up into her sleeves to free her arms of the bra. 

The undergarment falls to the ground as Elsa bends to grab the garment, her locket swinging away from her chest as she bends over. She places her bra on the top of her chest as she stands back up. 

With a sigh, she settles herself on her bed, leaning back on her hands while looking up at the ceiling. The mattress sinks next to her, pulling the blonde's gaze from the roof to the figure sitting beside her. 

Honeymaren sits next to Elsa in her nightgown, her chestnut hair free from its braid and hanging freely to her lower back. As if it hadn't been cut in a long time. Elsa resists to urge to reach out and touch it, despite wanting to; she doesn't trust herself. 

The brunette's gaze rests on the locket around Elsa's neck, staring at it curiously with furrowed brows. "Is there a photo of your beau in there?" Honeymaren points at the silver heart with her forefinger. 

Elsa looks down at herself, placing her hand over it. "No, it isn't. I don't have a beau. As I said earlier, it was only one date."

"You would be surprised how forward many men can be," Honeymaren states, leaning back on Elsa's bed with her mug in her hand. "Whose photo is it?" 

The blonde smiles, reaching behind her neck to unclasp the necklace to hold it out to Honeymaren. The brunette places her cup on the bed, resting it against her thigh as she takes the locket, inspecting the roses engraved on the outside.

Upon opening it, Honeymaren sees a photo of a girl, freckles spattered across her face and hair braided into two plaits, her eyes wide as she smiles for the camera. "She's beautiful." 

"My sister, Anna," Elsa explains, watching closely as Honeymaren examines the photo of her sister. "She lives away from me in London. Last I heard, she had gotten a job working in a factory." 

Honeymaren reaches over, handing the necklace back to Elsa. "You must miss her." 

"I…" Elsa trails off, unsure how to answer. "I really do miss her. We haven't been close since we were children. But I was hoping to mend that the week I was called away." 

"Perhaps when all of this is over." Honeymaren offers her a reassuring smile, placing her hand on Elsa's thigh. 

"I hope so." Elsa nods, staring at her sister's photo once more before clasping the necklace on once again. Honeymaren slides to the edge of the bed, standing abruptly and reaching across her bed towards her nightstand. The brunette opens the drawer grabbing an item. 

Honeymaren sits on her bed across from Elsa, glancing down at the item in her hand as she hands it to the other woman. Elsa takes the flat object inspecting it closely. A photograph of a tall, slim young man, grinning ear to ear as his dark hair falls into his eyes. 

"My brother." Honeymaren offers with a smile, staring at the photograph. 

"He looks like you." Elsa comments, handing the photo back to the brunette. 

"Not really," Honeymaren shrugs. "I'm much better looking than he is." The two women giggle at the comment, staring up at one another once again 

"Is he involved in the whole racket as well?" Elsa inquires.

"No. He's only seventeen. I know he'd like to be, but if anything were to happen to him, I don't know what our grandfather would do." Honeymaren explains, her gaze falling back to the photograph. 

"Your grandfather relies on your brother?" 

Honeymaren nods in response. "He does. But I know Ryder would take any opportunity to leave the reservation. He's been trying to leave since we left school." 

"My sister's always been like that too." Elsa comments. "After our parent's died in '41, she was to remain with a close family friend in Harrogate. It's where we went to boarding school, but instead, she packed up and left for London. She's only seventeen and hasn't even finished secondary school." 

"Ryder almost dropped out, but the government demanded we attend. We went to a boarding school…at least that's what they called it, but he hardly could manage the militaristic style of it all." 

"Yet he wants to enlist?" Elsa inquires, her brows knitting together. 

Honeymaren shrugs, her brow rising slightly. "He wants an adventure, leave the place controlled by a government that stol-required us to leave home for their schools. Being paid to go to Europe doesn't seem like a horrible option." 

The door to the dormitory bursts opens, revealing Madame Bisset on the other side of the door. Her hands on her hips as her eyes scan across the room. 

"Au lit maintenant!" The older woman's voice resounds throughout the room as she flicks off the lights. Elsa shifts her legs onto the mattress, slipping under her woollen blankets as she settles in for the night. 

"Goodnight, Elsa," Honeymaren whispers to the other woman. Elsa turns her head toward the other woman, staring at her in the dark. 

"Goodnight, Maren," Elsa whispers back, staring at the outline of Honeymaren's figure. As she reflects on their conversation, Elsa can't help but be more curious about the woman's upbringing. Wanting to learn more about her closest friend's life. 

Chapter Text

Anna sits in The Clarence by herself, a slow warming beer sitting almost untouched in front of her as she jots down notes in a book. She is clearly overdressed for the pub, wearing a new pair of stockings and a blue button-down dress with black gloves extending to her elbows. 

She overlooks her writing, carefully reading the chicken scratch in front of her. Despite years of being drilled to write neatly and in cursive, Anna had never perfected her writing. She always printed, despite it taking longer than cursive and held her pencil wrong; having the lower end resting against her index finger as her fist curled around the pen. 

“You’ve barely touched your beer.” A deep voice comments, as the figure belonging to it, settles in the seat across from her against the wall. Anna sighs looking up at Kristoff, clearly frustrated. 

“You’re late.” She comments. “I’ve been here nearly an hour.” 

“Well, clearly you have a better sense of time than I do.” Kristoff shrugs, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “I’m gonna get a drink.” 

“No! I don’t have time for you to order a drink. Just take mine.” Anna slides her glass with the coaster underneath across the table. 

“I don’t want your drink; I’ll just get my own.” 

“Stop being such a baby and take my beer.” Anna huffs, the pint now sitting between the pair as she returns to her notebook. Kristoff reluctantly reaches forward, ensuring he knows where the lipstick stain on the glass is as he sips from it.

He groans, grimacing in disgust. “It’s warm.” 

“You should have gotten here earlier.” She retorts without looking up from the black notebook, ignoring Kristoff’s groans as he sips the warming beer. “So I was looking into it and I can get tickets on the ferry from Folkstone to Le Havre for 5 pounds each on the 7th of February.” 

“Alright,” Kristoff nods, sitting forward in his seat as if beginning to take this meeting seriously. “Do you have any idea what your sister’s code name could be?” 

“Code name?” Anna’s brows furrow in confusion, it hadn’t occurred to her 

“Yeah, I very much doubt that a government agency would send agents without some sort of protection.” Kristoff states, “Often times when my troop encountered members of the resistance, they would have code names or alias to protect themselves.” 

Anna finally looks up from the notebook, cocking her head slightly. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Yeah,” Kristoff responds, reaching into his pockets to grab his pack of cigarettes. She watches as the blonde lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply. She had expected him to continue, but he doesn’t.  

“Okay well, I don’t know. But it has to be in her file, right?” Anna asks, the pen hanging loosely in her hand. Kristoff shrugs, finishing the pint with a groan. 

“I would assume so. But it all depends if you can get access to it. Look and see if it on the paperwork you have for her. If not, you might need to get your fiancé’s brother to get that for you or see if the French have any records.” He explains, taking another drag of the cigarette. 

“Will the French have records?” 

Kristoff nods, exhaling smoke which is followed by a sigh. “Yeah…they’ll mostly likely be arrest records.”

Anna’s gaze drops to the table, her heart pounding in her ears as she thinks about the possible arrest of her sister. It was the worst scenario she had imaged Elsa to have gone through, being questioned by Germans, beaten and put into one of those horrid camps. The ones which the newscasters on the BBC are talking about more and more every day. 

“Will we be able to access them?” Anna finally asks, her gaze fixated on the table as she draws her lower lip between her teeth. 

“I’m not sure if we will, but we can always try. Paris isn’t that far from Arras.” Kristoff shrugs, glancing at the bar to check if the crowd had dissipated. It had not. “But speaking of which, we need to discuss payment.” 

“P-payment?” Anna furrows her brows, confounded by the American’s forwardness about money. She glances up from the table, wondering if he is joking. He is not. 

“Yeah well…i-it’s just…” Kristoff awkwardly trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Gas isn’t free.” 

“Oh…right.” Anna blinks. The price of gas, accommodations and food hadn’t occurred to her in regard to their journey over the Channel. “Um well…I can pay for half of the essentials.” 

“Half?” Kristoff stares at the young woman incredulously. For a moment he can’t believe this woman across from him had barged her way into his life, demanded he accompany her to France with no intention of paying him for his services. 

“I mean, you’re looking for someone as well,” Anna explains, crossing her arms across her chest. “I think it’s rather unfair to expect me to pay you. It’s not like you’re making money here anyway, a few weeks in France won’t be any different.” 

“I mean, I also don’t need to accompany you.” Kristoff glances over Anna once again; observing the pearl bracelet around her wrist over the silk gloves she wears, His gaze resting on the pearl earrings she currently wore. “I’m sure you have a trust system you can access.”

Anna stares at the man across from her, her red lips pursed as she stares at the man with cold eyes. “Fine. I will pay for our accommodations, food and gas. But any alcohol you order is on your own dime.” 

“Alright, fine.” Kristoff huffs, standing from the table without another word before making his way to a free place at the bar. Anna shakes her head, rolling her eyes as he walks away from her. 

Glancing down at her bracelet, Anna runs her fingers over the piece of jewelry. A piece which once had belonged to her mother, as had the earrings. They were the only pieces of jewelry salvaged from the wreckage of their family home in London. It always breaks her heart slightly at the thought of her mother’s silver locket containing the photo of both she and Elsa had been lost. It was the piece Anna wishes she could have. 

Since the bombing, Anna had worked for everything she had. The gloves she wore tonight having been restitched several times, only ever having three pairs of stockings at a time. Hell, she barely made enough to buy the makeup she sold at the counter. 

She doesn’t need him telling her what she is worth. 

A figure appears next to Anna sliding between the chair and the table next to them. With a huff, Anna doesn’t bother looking at the man. “Will you be much more agreeable now that you have your beer?” 

“I’d actually be a lot happier if you were to buy me a glass of wine.” The man retorts a voice that does not belong to Kristoff. In shock Anna looks up, baffled as Olaf stands next to her with an amused smirk. 

“Oh, my god. I didn’t even notice it was you.” She stands in that moment, wrapping her arms around his shoulders for a quick embrace. As she withdraws from him, Anna places her hand on his arm, the wool of his peacoat rubbing against her gloves. “Sit down with us please.” 

“I didn’t realize you and Hans were having pre-dinner drinks. I would have joined you earlier.” The light-blonde man comment, removing his grey woollen fedora. 

“I’m not with Hans actually. We’re still meeting him at the restaurant.” Anna explains slowly, unsure how to justify meeting a man, who isn’t her fiancé, at a bar. 

Olaf’s light brows furrow in confusion. “I didn’t realize you had friends other than me.”

“Haha, very funny.” Anna rolls her eyes sarcastically as Olaf takes his seat next to her. The man beams at her, clearly pleased with himself. 

“Oh hello.” Kristoff’s American voice resounds through Anna as he stands behind her. Kristoff stares at the strange man sitting next to Anna. Olaf’s chestnut eyes dart back and forth between his friend and the American stranger. 

“So...are we just collecting Americans now?” Olaf asks, his fingers tapping against the table. 

Kristoff’s brows knit together, slightly taken aback by the man’s question, unsure how to respond. He moves between tables to his seat against the wall, settling on the chair as he places down his beer. 

“No, we’re not. Kristoff this is Olaf Sommer, my childhood friend. Olaf this is Kristoff Bjorgman, he is…helping me find Elsa.” Anna introduces the two men. She is surprised as Kristoff reaches across the table, extending his hand to Olaf. 

Her childhood friend takes Kristoff’s hand, shaking it with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You too,” Kristoff responds, withdrawing his hand from the other man’s grasp. He picks up his pint, taking a sip from the glass. 

Anna glances back to Olaf. “What time is it?” 

Olaf pulls up the sleeves of his coat and shirt, taking a peek at the silver watch occupying his wrist. “It’s 10 minutes to 7.” 

“We should get going.” Anna sighs, her hands falling to her thighs before reaching back for her green coat. “I told Hans we would meet him Wiltons at 7, He’ll most likely be there already.” 

“I was just getting settled.” Olaf huffs, re-buttoning his jacket once again. “I wanted to get a bottle of wine.” 

“You can get one at the restaurant,” Anna responds, standing as she fastens her coat and grabs her purse. 

“It will be a lot cheaper here,” Kristoff interjects with a shrug. 

“He has a point.” Olaf waggles his brows at his friend, holding his hat against his chest. Anna glares at the two men, her hands settled on her hips. 

“I don’t like where this is going. You.” She points to Olaf. “Come with me. And you.” Pointing to Kristoff “Stay.” 

“What am I a dog?” 

“For all intents and purposes yes, you are a dog.” Anna retorts, taking Olaf by the wrist to lead him out of the bar. The pair push onto the street, Olaf offering his arm to Anna as they walk down dark Dover Street. 

“He seems like a nice chap.” Olaf comments. 

“He is a pain in my ass,” Anna responds with a groan. “I had to go all the way to Spitalfields last week to find him and then he had the nerve to brush me off coldly. Then he barged into my work and Mrs. Stei-” 

“Wait? You went to Spitalfields?” Olaf asks, turning to his friend with a look of horror. 

“Weren’t you listening? Yes, so he storms into the store and wants to me-”

“No Anna! You don’t get to blow this over; you found this guy in Spitalfields?” He repeats, his voice rising at the news. 

“It isn’t a big deal, anyway Kristoff is taking me over me to France to look for Elsa,” Anna states, staring up at her friend. Worried how he will take the news over this. 

“Wait. Wait…wait…” Olaf trails off, trying to sort through all of the information Anna handed to him. “You mean to tell me; you’re going to France with a man you just met…from Spitalfields…Anna are you insane? Your body is going to end up at the bottom of the Channel.” 

“I’ll be fine.” She waves him off, unconcerned about her safety. Olaf is about to question her further, but Anna detaches from his arm at the sight of Hans. She rushes towards her fiancé, dressed in his formal army uniform. 

She places her hands on the lapels of his olive-green jacket, smoothing them while peering up at him with a smile. Hans smiles down at his fiancé, his hand settling on her waist before pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. 

“You look beautiful.” He comments, offering his arm to her. Anna accepts the gesture as Olaf comes to stand next to the couple. Without hesitation Hans reaches over, extending his hand to Olaf. 

“It’s nice to see you again Hans.” Olaf forces a smile as he shakes the other man’s hand. 

“You too Olaf.” Hans nods, before glancing back to Anna. “Shall we go inside?” 

“Yes please, I am starving!” Anna exclaims as the trio make their way into the restaurant. Upon reaching the doors, Anna stops which causes Hans to halt to a stop as well. 

“Oh yes, the typical stop before entering a building.” Hans chuckles, running his finger against the back of her hand. Her chest constricts with guilt, hating that she had to make him stop every time. 

She forces laughter at his supposed joke, patting him on the arm to indicate she is ready, even though she isn’t. Panic blooming from her chest as they step into the building, trying to reassure herself that everything is fine. Hopeful that perhaps that memory won’t return this time, as it didn’t always when walking through doors. 

Olaf’s hand comes to her bicep, rubbing it gently as they step into the foyer. Glancing over her shoulder, Anna offers him a reassuring smile hoping to bring relief to her friend. She knows how it worries Olaf, not wanting to ruin his night over his worry for her. 

Hans approaches the maître d’ with her still on his arm. Instead of listening to the details of their reservations, Anna stares at the red-carpeted floor, relieved that her silliness won’t get in the way of a pleasant evening. 

They are led to their table silently, the music of a string quartet echoing through the quiet room. As they walk through the room, Anna can’t help but feel out of place here. She never feels as if she belongs in these restaurants that Hans brought her to. It isn’t that Anna is ungrateful, quite the opposite. She just isn’t used to it at all. 

Hans glances at Anna with a smile, inquiring after a bottle of wine that she can’t recall the name of. She returns the gesture with a nod, reaching across the table to place her hand over her fiancés’ as he hands the wine menu to the waiter. 

“So, Olaf,” Hans calls glancing up from his menu to the blonde seated across the table from him. “How is the life of a solicitor?” 

“It’s fine. You know…working in inheritance and contract law isn’t the most appealing field.” Olaf shrugs, tapping his long fingers against the table. “So rather tiresome, I’m afraid.” 

Anna clears her throat, waiting for her friend to ask a follow-up question. Instead, the blonde’s attention is focused on the wine glass being placed in front of him. “Hans is going to practice law once we relocate to Washington.” 

“That’s good.” Olaf comments, although Anna isn’t sure if he is talking to her or the waiter as the man holds the label to her friend. The young woman clears her throat once again, reaching over with her foot to kick Olaf’s shoe under the table. 

His gaze snaps towards her, his brows knit together questioningly. Anna stares at him pointedly, darting her gaze towards Hans before resting on the blonde man once again.

Olaf sighs, rolling his eyes. “So, Hans, what type of law will you practice?” he inquires reluctantly, taking a generous sip of his freshly poured wine. 

“Property Law, my mother comes from a prominent legal family in DC so when we get established, I’ll work out everything,” Hans responds, taking a sip of his red wine. 

“I thought you graduated from Westpoint, isn’t that a military school?” Olaf’s brows furrow, unsure how the 26-year-old man before him could possibly have a law degree and be a graduate of Westpoint. 

“I did. Top of my class.” Hans states, staring at Olaf. “I’ve completed two years of my law degree but enrolled at Westpoint in 1940 due to my father’s urging.” 

“Hans comes from a prominent military family in Virginia. But plans on finishing his law degree when we return.” Anna further explains, trying to regain her best friend’s attention. 

“Enough about us though, Hans,” Olaf calls across the table, seeming to be finally interested in Anna’s fiancé. “What do you think of Anna’s travel ideas?” 

She sputters as she sips her wine, not expecting her friend to bring up her impending journey to France. Coughing, Anna makes eye contact with Olaf, slightly shaking her head. Hans glances from the auburn-haired woman back to the blonde man, raising his brow at the two of them. 

“What journey?” 

Olaf’s eyes widen in realization, his mouth hanging open as he tries to piece together a lie. “Uhhhh…Spitalfields. I meant Anna’s travelling to Spitalfields last week.” 

“Why on earth did you go to Spitalfields?” Hans inquires, glancing back to Anna. A wrinkle appears between his brows as he scrutinizes his fiancé. 

“I um…” Her breath catches in her throat as she attempts to think of an excuse. There really is no reason to go to Spitalfields, especially this time of year. 

“Cheese…” Olaf blurts, causing the couple to look towards him. 

“Cheese?” Hans asks slowly, not completely believing the pair in front of them. 

“Yup,” Anna nods, slowly pulling her gaze away from Olaf to Hans. Trying her best to sound confident in her lie. “There is a certain…cheese shop I like in Spitalfields.” 

God, they were terrible liars. 

Hans huffs glancing between the two of them as he takes another sip of his wine. Setting the crystal on the white tablecloth, he clears his throat. “What is going on?” 

Anna glances down to her lap, her hands gripping the skirt of her dress as she summons the courage to tell him. Olaf sits back in his chair, staring at his friend with concern as he fiddles with the stem of his wineglass. 

“I’m going to France.” She states, not bringing herself to make eye-contact with Hans yet. Silence envelops the table at the news. Anna waits for him to say something, anything to her at that moment. But he doesn’t. 

Reluctantly she glances up from her lap. Hans stares at the tab, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Anna opens her mouth to call out to him in that moment, but he looks up at her. “We’ll talk about this later.” 

She nods, glancing back down to the menu in front of her, trying to distract herself from the impending conversation between her and Hans. The rest of the dinner passes without much conversation, save for the odd comment Olaf made towards Hans or Anna. 

The two men talk politics briefly once they receive their meals, Anna doesn’t feel the need to contribute to their conversation. She eats in silence as if she was dining alone, drinking her wine periodically. Hans doesn’t even inquire if Anna wants dessert, instead immediately asking for the cheque to be delivered. 

Hans and Olaf shake hands as they part outside of the restaurant, offering one another a polite smile before the blonde man turns to Anna. With a sigh, Olaf wraps his arms around Anna, his finger brushing against her green coat as he whispers in her ear. 

“Good luck.” 

Anna smiles at her friend as they withdraw from one another, her hand brushing against the wool of his grey peacoat. She turns to Hans, who stares down at her, offering her an arm as they turn from the other man. 

“Should I hail a taxi for us?” Hans inquires as they meander down Jermyn street with one other. 

“Could we walk instead? It’s not like we get many nice nights like these.” Anna comments, peering up at him hoping that he’ll agree to her request. 

“Alright.” Hans nods, patting her hand with his own. They walk in silence for a little longer, neither one of them knowing what to say. 

Cars pass them on the January night, tires rolling in the puddles on the street from all the rain experienced this week. Though it is to be expected for London in January, Anna misses the sun and cool breeze while walking along the Thames in the evening when the sun sets later in the day. 

“Hans,” Anna finally calls as they reach Wardour Street, a quiet street that ensures they won’t have an audience. “I think we need to talk about what happened at supper.” 

“I…I just can’t believe I had to hear it from Olaf about this Anna.” Hans shakes his head, clearly disappointed. “When were you planning on telling me? Were you going to send me a telegraph from the ship?” 

“No, I wouldn’t do that…I just…was looking for the right moment to tell you.” Anna shakes her head, staring down the street ahead of them. “I was going to tell you, I swear.” 

“I’d rather you not go alone. If you had told me about your plans, I would have taken time off to accompany you.” Hans shakes his head. “I don’t like the idea of you going alone.” 

Anna falls silent, her heart pounding in her chest, peering up at him with a grimace. “I’m not going alone…actually.” 

“E-excuse me?” Hans looks down at his fiancé, his brows knit together. “With whom?” 

“Your brother’s letter mentioned a man who was also making inquiries with the records department of the Pentagon…” Anna trails off, glancing down at her mary-jane shoes as they walk. “Well, I found his address here in London and I went to see him. Which is why I went to Spitalfields. To meet with him.” 

“So, wait, you’re planning on going to France. With a man, you barely know. And you expect me, your fiancé, to just…let you go?” Hans asks with a huff. 

“Hans this is important to me. Please understand.” Anna pleads as they turn right onto Hollen Street. “Kristoff will take care of me and make sure I don’t act brashly.” 

Hans raises a brow at her as they turn onto Newman Passage. “Kristoff? Should I be worried?” 

“Of course not!” Anna exclaims. “He’s a drunkard who spends most of his money at a murder bar in Spitalfields.” 

“Murder bar?” Hans chuckles, shaking his head as they turn left onto Rathbone. “Is that the actual name?” 

“No, it’s not…but it might as well be.” Anna sighs as they approach her boarding house. The sound of her heels echoing through the quiet street. The couple stop in front of the tall brick building with the rounded door frame. 

“I just don’t know Anna.” Hans sighs as Anna withdraws from him to stand in front of her fiancé. “This idea of you going across to France with a stranger, to look for your sister who has been missing for years…is ludicrous.” 

“I know how it must sound but…” Anna sighs, her gaze drifting to the ground where the garbage sits on the street. “I need to at least try. I will never forgive myself if I don’t.” 

Hans stares at her, cupping both her cheeks to tilt up her head, emerald eyes meeting sapphire ones as he gazes at her. “Alright, I don’t like it. But if you need to do this, I won’t stop you.” 

“Hans…Thank you.” She throws her arms around him, holding his body close to hers as tears threaten to spill. Anna has his blessing, finally after months of trying to explain and attempting to be understood. She is going to France to find Elsa. 

Chapter Text

She couldn’t believe it. After what seemed like weeks of skipping meals, losing hours of sleep she had finally done it. Elsa Helene Rendelle had finally passed codes. There had been an improvement in her coding since her private training with Yelana nearly two weeks ago. Since that night Elsa practiced incessantly, wanting to prove to Yelana and herself that she is capable of this. Within two weeks, Elsa accomplished this.  

As the blonde rushes down the corridor, her hair, pinned back at her temples, bounces with every step she takes. It is slowly nearing lunchtime; Elsa pokes her head into the dining hall to only see four girls sitting at the table. 

Honeymaren isn’t in the dining hall, Elsa purses her lips continuing down the hall. She doesn’t make eye contact with any of the men in the corridor, who have a terrible habit of attempting to talk to the women and get them in trouble. 

The blonde recognizes Alexandra weaving between men, ignoring their calls as she marches towards the dining hall. Elsa waves the raven-haired woman down, stopping her in the middle of the corridor. 

“Alexandra, have you seen Honeymaren?” Elsa asks, trying to remain out of people’s way as she chats with her dorm-mate. 

The raven-haired woman furrows her dark brows. “No, I haven’t seen her since the run this morning. I think Beth saw her talking with Yelana earlier today. I guess she was last heading towards the dorms.” 

“Oh, okay. I’ll check there, thank you.” Elsa smiles, continuing down the hallway towards the narrow staircase. She runs up the stairs, ascending each one without difficulty. In her first weeks, Elsa could hardly walk up these staring without panting. Now at eight weeks, she has no difficulty.  

As she inches closer to the dorm Elsa’s speed increases, unable to contain her excitement any longer. She grins upon reaching the doors, pushing them open without any hesitation. 

“Honeymaren! You’ll never guess what!” Elsa exclaims as she steps through the threshold, holding up the paper which proves her test scores. But the room is empty. The blonde glances around the room, the identical sets of beds made neatly earlier this morning, yet something felt different. 

Elsa sighs, figuring she must’ve missed her in the corridor or only missed her by a moment. She spins on her heel, tucking her score paper into her pocket while closing the door behind her. Meandering back down to the dining hall, Elsa wonders where Honeymaren could have gotten to. It isn’t like her to just disappear without a word. 

She descends the stairs slowly, a crease forming between her brows while wondering where Honeymaren could be. Assuring herself that her friend would be in the dining hall. 

But she isn’t. Upon reaching the dining hall, Honeymaren’s usual seat is empty. Elsa swallows the lump in her throat as she enters the room, making her way to the table. Next to an empty seat. 

Glancing around the table, Elsa doesn’t recognize half of these girls. It seemed as if every day someone Elsa knew was being deployed and replaced. Diana went overseas only a week ago and Joy the week prior. She knew it was inevitable, of course, this is what they signed up for. But it seems surreal that most of the girls who were here when Elsa arrived are now gone. 

“Elsa,” Alexandra calls across the table. The blonde looks up at the other woman with a raised brow. “Did you find Honeymaren?” 

Elsa shakes her head. “Could she have fallen behind during the run?” 

“I doubt it,” Beth interjects. “Honeymaren is normally always at the front.” 

“She could have been deployed,” Marie states, taking a sip of her tea. “We never heard anything about Joy or Diana when they went.” 

“I heard Diana got pregnant.” Alexandra shrugs, tearing off a piece of baguette for herself. The four women stare at her with wide eyes. 

“What!” Beth sputters, a blush spreading across her cheeks. 

“Yeah, she wasn’t deployed from what I heard,” Alexandra confirms, leaning in close to the table. “Apparently she was shaking up with one of the men here. Yelana kicked her and convinced the Colonel in charge of the men to discharge the guy.” 

“He better have some sense to marry her.” Elsa comments as she takes a sip of her tea from the English rose china. It hadn’t been like her to partake in gossip before, but since the night Marie brought gin, Elsa had become more willing to engage in just a little.

The other three girls continue discussing Diana’s possible predicament. Elsa listens to them, but her eyes are glued to the door frame. Waiting for Honeymaren to emerge at any point for lunch. She never emerges.

Throughout their afternoon lessons, Elsa expects Honeymaren to appear by her side, sitting beside her and asking 

“What did I miss?” Her brown hair would be unruly, sticking to her sweaty forehead and eyes wide in panic at the prospect of being late. Taking notes quickly as Elsa would fill her in. 

Elsa’s chest constricts at the thought. She would resist the urge to brush her bangs out of Honeymaren’s face while staring into those deep chocolate eyes. Only having been apart from her for half of the day, Elsa found herself missing the Mohawk woman by her side. 

The young woman manages to sneak out of the building after supper and shortly before lights out. Elsa sits on the stone wall that surrounds the lodge, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her breast pocket. She inhales as she lights the cigarette, the smoke blowing into the cool night. 

She glances down at her crossed ankles as her free hand rests on the stone wall. Elsa sighs, wondering if perhaps Honeymaren had been deployed. Her heart sinks at the thought as she takes another drag of her smoke. 

It isn’t the thought of Honeymaren being deployed that disappoints her. It is the idea that Honeymaren left without saying goodbye to Elsa. Tears form in her eyes as guilt begins to claw at her insides.

Is this what Anna felt that day? Waiting for Elsa at Marylebone station, tapping her heel against the ground as she sat at the platform. Her hair would’ve been bound into two plaits as usual in an attempt to keep her unruly hair at bay. 

“Do you have a light?” A gruff woman’s voice calls out to the young woman. Elsa glances over her shoulder to see Yelana standing behind her, holding a cigarette in her hand. The blonde nods, reaching into her breast pocket to hand the older woman the lighter. 

Yelana approaches her, taking the lighter from Elsa as she settles herself next to the blonde woman. Elsa takes the lighter back with a polite smile. Silence falls between the two women, the only sounds from the rustling of trees in the highland breeze. 

“Honeymaren Nattura.” Elsa states without thinking. Yelana turns to her, taking a drag of her own cigarette. 

“What about Miss. Nattura?” The grey-haired woman inquires with a raised brow. Despite knowing not to ask questions, Elsa cannot help herself. 

“What happened to her? I haven’t seen her since last night.”

Yelana sighs, turning away from Elsa as she exhales the smoke. “Remember what I told you about questions? It’s none of your concern.” 

“I know it isn’t.” Elsa sighs, still staring at the older woman. Her cigarette resting between her fingers, ash falling from the butt to the ground. “Please, I just want to know what happened to her.” 

Yelana stays silent, taking a puff of her cigarette once again. “She has been transferred to the south of England in order to prepare for deployment.” 

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Elsa says without thinking. 

“It’s what has to be done. You knew what is to happen to you and eventually you would be deployed. That is your job.” Yelana states. 

“I know it is,” Elsa responds, taking another drag of her cigarette. “It just seems so surreal that so many girls are being deployed.” 

“Is this not something you want to do Miss. Rendelle?” Yelana asks, her question hanging in the air between them. “I always have positions for girls as receivers in London if you’re not up to the task. It’s where Miss. Linnet has gone to.” 

“Diana?” Elsa questions. So, her ex-bunkmate had not gotten pregnant as previously speculated but sent to London as an operator. Elsa supposes it could be something as her part of the war effort. “No, this is something I want to do. I would like to be deployed to France if possible.” 

“Good.” Yelana nods. The blonde swears that she could make out a smile spreading across the surly woman’s face. The older woman stands from the stone wall as she drops her cigarette to the dirt ground, stomping on it.

Elsa drops her cigarette butt to the ground, looking over her shoulder to watch Yelana’s silhouette disappear into the lodge for the night. Her heart pounding, she stands from the wall while wiping her hands onto her pants. A part of her wishing Honeymaren was at her side. 

She rises with the sun nearly two weeks after that night. She had hardly slept throughout the night as she was instructed to meet with Yelana that morning, and her nerves were getting the best of her. Quietly Elsa dresses, careful not to disturb the other girls sleeping in the dorm. Her locket rests between her breasts, seeming to make the morning air even colder. 

Elsa stalks through the room and down the corridor towards the Rhubana lodge’s office. A receptionist in identical attire greets her with a smile. 

“Hi, may I help you?” The brunette woman asks. 

“My name is Elsa Rendelle. I have a meeting with Ms. Magga this morning.” Elsa informs the young woman, her hands folded in front of her. 

“Ah yes, Ms. Magga said you would be in this morning. I am to tell you to pack your things.” The receptionist states, glancing down at her notes. “There is a black sedan outside of the lodge waiting for you.” 

Elsa’s brows knit together in confusion. “I’m sorry. May I speak with Ms. Magga? I’m just quite confused.” 

“Ms. Magga left for the south yesterday. I apologize but I am not allowed to give you any more information.” The young woman offers an apologetic smile to Elsa. “Pack all your belongings, save for any military-issued clothing which was assigned to you at the beginning of your training.” 

Elsa nods, leaving the office without another word. Her mind runs wild as she walks back to the dorm. She shakes with every step, unable to process anything as she packs up her personal belongings into a suitcase. The young woman strips from the military issued shirt and khakis, discarding them into the chest for the next girl. 

She changes into a light blue collared dress and some French stockings along with a pair of brown mary-jane shoes. The dress exposes the chain of her necklace, though it saddens Elsa she removes the locket, slipping it into the pocket she secretly sewed into the inside of the garment. 

With everything packed into a square brown suitcase, Elsa meanders across the room stopping at the door. She glances over her shoulder, smiling at the sight of Alexandra, Beth and Marie still sleeping soundly. Three of the six women she had gotten to know over these past months, the only women she had ever gotten to know as an adult. 

She slips through the door quietly, making her way downstairs to the black sedan. The driver glances at her through the rear-view mirror. 

“We need to stop into town to get gas.” His Scottish accent thick as he speaks. Elsa nods silently, her mind still running wild at the thought of what is happening. They stop at a small gas station attached to a post office in the village. The driver gets out, beginning to pump gas into the car before heading into the building. 

Elsa stares at the post office, recalling Honeymaren leaving unexpectantly. She felt disappointed and hurt that her friend had left. The blonde begins to think about how it must’ve hurt Anna with her own departure. Although there is a difference. Honeymaren didn’t have to opportunity to write to her. But Elsa could. 

The young woman glances back to the gas station, noticing the driver is four people in the queue and distracted by the man behind him. In an instant, Elsa exists the car beelining it for the post office. 

A bell echoing through the quiet building alerts the workers to her presence. She approaches the counter with an older gentleman standing behind it. 

“Hello there, Miss, what can I do for ya?” He inquires, smiling at the young woman, exposing missing teeth. 

“I need to write and send a letter to London,” Elsa responds quickly, not wanting to waste any time. 

“London eh? Alright, it’ll cost ya 2 shillings. 1 for the paper.” The gentleman responds. Elsa nods in response, reaching into her purse placing the full three shillings onto the counter. The man takes her money and hands her a piece of paper. 

“Thank you,” Elsa responds, taking a pen on the counter as she positions it over the paper. She only had so much time. Years of wrongdoings and a damaged relationship to write in a single letter before her deployment. 

The postal man calls out to her, asking if everything is all right. She nods as she writes in a panic:

Dear Anna, 
Please forgive me
Love, Elsa.

She folds the paper, handing it back to the man who places it in a stamped envelope. “We’ll have it sent right away Miss.” 

“Thank you very much.” Elsa smiles as she withdraws from the desk. She leaves the room without another word. Stepping through the door, the blonde quickly looks into the window of the building beside the post office. The driver is now 2 people in the queue and still distracted. 

She rushes back to the car, opening the back door and climbing back into the black sedan. Her heart pounding in her chest as she shuts the door terrified that she might have been caught. The driver gets into the car ten minutes later without another word. 

He doesn’t speak to her again during the drive as the Scottish coastline disappears behind them. She wonders if perhaps she is being sent home. Maybe Yelana was having a go at her last night and wasn’t serious about sending her. 

Instead, she is brought to an airfield in Tangmere in West Sussex. Upon her arrival at the airfield, Elsa has to sign and fill out several forms. After what seemed like hours, she is given supper and then showed to her room in the barracks. 

For the first time in nine weeks, Elsa got to sleep in a bed by herself. She only hopes Anna would get her letter. 

Elsa sits in her room of the barracks of the airfield, waiting as she had been instructed the previous night. She readjusts the cuff of her mustard yellow cable knit sweater, her heart pounding in her chest while she waits. 

A knock resounds throughout the small room. Elsa stands from the bed, opening the door to reveal Yelana standing on the other side. Before the young woman can greet her, Yelana speaks. 

“You need to follow me.” The older woman turns on her heel without another word. Elsa closes the door behind her as she follows Yelana to a private office in a small brick building not too far from the barracks. 

The office is slightly larger than Elsa’s room at the barracks, the walls and floor the same shade of brown with a window overlooking the airfield. An oak desk, scattered with papers sits in the middle of the room, this is clearly where Yelana spends most of her time. 

Yelana takes a seat at the desk, motioning at the chair across from her for Elsa to sit. The blonde obliges, settling herself in the wooden seat, her hands resting on her knees. Her fingers brush the hem of her linen dress as Yelana produces a bottle of wine wrapped in newspaper.  

Elsa’s brows furrow at the liquor, it isn’t like the SOE to provide alcohol to recruits without some test. Much less did she take Yelana as someone who would indulge in the middle of the day. 

Instead, the grey-haired woman unwraps the newspaper which covers the bottle, her eyes scanning over the page as she places the wine on the ground next to her chair. “The ration cards in Lyon are changing…” 

“Excuse me?” Elsa inquires, cocking her head slightly at the news. That is when it occurs to her, the news. That is all Yelana wanted from that bottle of wine. 

“You must remain aware of current affairs. Even out of date intelligence is better than none at all.” Yelana sighs, brushing a stray hair fallen from her bun behind her ear. “And never neglect open-source information, things like newspapers and even gossip can be useful.” 

Elsa nods in response, “I understand.” 

“The seemingly most mundane sources can be the most useful. Even things that you observe throughout your routine, like movements of trains and soldiers. If you see German’s cashing in francs they are about to deploy.” 

“Yes, Ms.” Elsa states. The older woman glances up from the newspaper to look at the blonde woman in front of her. 

“You are Marguerite Mahy, a waitress from Givenchy-en-Gohelle, a town south-west of Lens and north of Arras,” the grey-haired woman begins without any indication. 

Elsa's heart surges with excitement and fear as she understands that she is being given her cover. “You’re going to send me?” 

“It was always my plan too. I just had to be sure,” Yelana shrugs her shoulders in response as she sits back in her chair. 

“Sure I was going to be a right fit?” Elsa inquires, still playing with the hem of her dress. Her heart leaping as Yelana nods in response. The young woman resists the urge to show her excitement, no one ever thought she was right. 

“So, you are to say that your family was killed early in the war. And that you’ve come to live in Arras to live in an apartment owned by your late aunt.” The older woman explains, her long finger tapping against the desk. 

“Won’t they have records?” Elsa questions, her brows knitting together in confusion. Yelana shakes her head, reaching for the pack of cigarettes and lighter on her desk. 

“Most records have been destroyed since the Germans occupied France. Arras has been no exception, especially with the British counterattack in ’40.” Elsa nods, accepting the woman’s answer without speaking. Yelana stares at Elsa pointedly, her lit cigarette dangling between her fingers. “If you are captured by the Germans, you must maintain this identity at all costs. Do you understand? If you can’t, only reveal your name and rank, nothing else. If you hold out for forty-eight hours, it will allow for the others to recover.” 

Elsa’s mouth goes dry, her heart pounding in her chest at Yelana’s instruction. “And then?”

“Then…” Yelana trails off, taking a drag of her cigarette. “Then they will break you. Just because you are a woman, does not mean they’ll treat you any differently. The Sicherheitsdienst, or the SD will torture you, and once they get the information, you will most likely be killed. If it comes to that it would be best to kill yourself first.” 

It takes everything in Elsa not to empty the contents of her stomach into the wastebasket next to the desk. The blood has drained from her face as her body turns cold. Yelana scrutinizes her emotionless, trying to read the young woman. 

“You’ll be landed by Lysander.” Yelana continues. Elsa raises a brow at the older woman questioningly as she scans the record with her name written in front of the grey-haired woman. 

“My record states I was to parachute.” Elsa states without thinking. Yelana’s brows knit together, covering Elsa’s file with another paper. 

“A slight oversight. We prepared your paperwork earlier than usual, but unfortunately, we don’t have enough time to train you for parachuting.” The older woman explains, ashing her cigarette in the crystal ashtray in front of her. “You will be deployed as a radio operator with the Farmer network. Farmer has seen quite a few issues since June of this year, and already a number of agents have been arrested.” 

Elsa nods in response, indicating that she is still listening. But her stomach turns on itself at all of the information as Yelana continues to speak. “You’ll be working for Sylvestre, he runs the Farmer circuit around the Lille area. He is an excellent fighter, he parachuted into France in ’41 and was arrested by the Vichy government. He’ll expect only the best from you.” 

“Reminds me of someone else I know.” Elsa retorts, her eyes glimmering with mischief. Although she knows it could get her into trouble, but she doesn’t care, the nervousness about her deployment overtakes her emotions. 

Yelana cracks a smile, raising her brows. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” A knock echoes throughout the room, interrupting the women’s conversation. “Yes?” 

Her gaze is focused on the door, watching as it opens with a creak. The man on the other side pokes his head into the room. “The hearse is here Ms.” The man reaches into the room and picks up the case containing her wireless radio, which had been brought from Scotland.  

Elsa cringes at the reference of the vehicle that will take her to the plane. As if it had some looming premonition of her fate. Her hands shake as if her heart is beating hard enough that it physically shakes her body. 

At that moment with her body shaking, Elsa can only think of one question if she were to disappear or die:

What would happen to Anna? 

Chapter Text

Her auburn hair is tied up in a messy bun and is dressed in a green satin robe as she stands in front of her closet, pulling out various outfits and throwing them over her arm. At this point, Anna has removed most of her clothing out of her closet. She carries her clothes to the single bed with her arms straining, discarding the garments on the bed next to her suitcase. 

Anna places her hands on her hips as she stares at all the items; there is no way she’ll be able to get all of this into one suitcase. But Kristoff had made her promise only to bring one reasonably sized bag. 

“You won’t be able to get everything into that.” Gerda’s voice startles the young woman out of her trance. Anna glances over her shoulder to see the Norwegian woman entering her room, placing fresh towels on the dresser next to the door. 

“I know.” Anna sighs. Gerda places the laundry basket, resting on her hip, onto the ground as she comes to stand next to the auburn-haired woman. The older woman looks at the pile of clothes. 

“That blue dress looks better with a hat.” Gerda points at the dress second on the pile. 

“I don’t have room for hats,” Anna responds with her hands on her hips. “Mr.Bjorgman said I’m only allowed one suitcase.” 

The older woman hums in response. “Smart man, you have too many clothes.” Gerda steps forward, grabbing the blue dress she just pointed at. 

“Hey, wait!? What are you going with that?” Anna’s brows rise as the other woman makes her way across the room, placing the dress into the closet. 

“You agreed it looks better with a hat, yet you can’t bring one. So, this stays behind.” Gerda responds, meandering back toward the bed. Anna sigh, glancing back at her pile of clothes. 

“I-I guess I haven’t done this in a while.” Anna giggles, embarrassed at her inability to pack for her journey. 

Gerda shrugs her shoulders, grabbing any dresses or outfits that she’s seen Anna wear to work or formal gatherings. “I came to England on a boat with only my purse. No silk, you’re going to France with a man who is not your fiancé. You don’t want to look like a whore.” 

Anna stares at her landlady, taken aback at the blunt insult. Although the older woman did have a point, it did reduce the number of her clothing. “Alright, no formal wear.” 

Gerda shuffles back towards the closet, hanging up the pieces she had rejected on behalf of Anna. She returns to the young woman’s side, handing appropriate items to Anna. 

“Take your brown tweed skirt and the olive blouse with foxes on them.” Gerda hands the outfit to Anna, who quickly packs the garments into the suitcase. She flattens the pussy bow on the blouse as Gerda passes her a navy cable knit sweater to match. 

Gerda hands Anna an a-line tartan skirt along with a white blouse while saying. “You can match the navy sweater with this outfit.” 

The younger woman nods, placing the second outfit next to the other. She is given a slim grey skirt which stopped a few inches below her knee along with a short sleeve light blue collared blouse. 

They pack a few more pieces, mostly short sleeve and collared dresses; blue, mustard yellow and a tartan patterned. All of which would match with her navy and burgundy sweaters, along with a pair of grey slacks. 

“So, this Mr. Bjorgman…” Gerda trails off, handing a pair of heels to the young woman. “Is he respectable?” 

Anna raises a brow at her landlady. “What do you mean respectable?”

“I mean, you are a single woman and man travelling together. I worry about your reputation.” Gerda shakes her head, handing a pair of black flats to her. 

“I’m not a single woman. I’m happily engaged, remember?” Anna sighs, placing them into the suitcase. Her gaze shifts to the large square diamond ring on her finger. 

“Even still. You’re an engaged woman, travelling with a man who is not your fiancé.” Gerda shakes her head. Anna suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at the older woman. The notion of travelling with a man who isn’t her fiancé being scandalous is completely ridiculous. 

“It will be fine, Gerda.” Anna sighs, placing her undergarments into the suitcase. Much to the young woman’s relief, the doorbell rings throughout the house. Gerda glances towards the door, shuffling out of the room without another word. 

Anna shakes her head, placing her three pairs of stockings into the suitcase along with a few pairs of socks. She quickly grabs a knit sweater and a pair of navy overalls from the pile, discarding her robe onto the floor before pulling on the sweater and stepping into the overalls, fastening the straps with the big black buttons.  With a sigh, she puts her hands on her hips, glancing around her room while contemplating what else she needs to pack. 

The letters are in her purse, and she still needed to pack her makeup. Although due to Kristoff’s instructions, she couldn’t bring her hard makeup case. She had to pack them into the small side pockets in the suitcase. Even still, she had to limit herself to four lipsticks, one grey eye shadow for the evenings, her liquid mascara, powders and blush. However, she had cheated and packed three more lipsticks into her purse. 

Her ears perk up at the sound of someone walking up the stairs, turning toward her door to not see her landlady standing in the doorway, but her best friend. Olaf gives her a toothy grin, taking off his hat as he enters her bedroom. 

“Bonjour, comment ça va?” Olaf asks as he settles himself in the desk chair. Anna shakes her head, rolling her eyes as she places in a third pair of shoes; her oxfords. 

“I don’t need to speak French until arriving there,” Anna responds, closing the suitcase and buckling it shut. 

“Yeah, but you haven’t spoken it since you were in fourth year.” Olaf points out, opening the drawers in Anna’s desk. “You’re going to need to practice.” 

“I’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s like riding a bike.” Anna shrugs, sitting on her bed’s edge with a sigh. Her friend’s brows are raised in surprise, staring at her with amusement. 

“I don’t think it is.” 

Anna shrugs, unconcerned about her language skills. “I mean, if you’re more confident in French than I am, why don’t you join us?” 

“I have a job. Besides, if you want someone to join you and your second yank, why don’t you ask Hans?” Olaf inquires, pulling out light green ribbons from the desk.

“Because Hans doesn’t speak French, and he’s busy trying to plan our passage to America,” Anna explains, resting her hand on the leather suitcase. 

“And how does Hans feel about you travelling with Kristoff?” Olaf crosses his arms, leaning back in the chair. She shrugs, her fingers now running against the bag. 

“He’s fine with it.” 

“He is?” Olaf raises his brows, not entirely convinced. 

“We talked it over, and he trusts me.” Anna shrugs. 

“I wouldn’t.” He states bluntly. “Have you seen Kristoff?” 

“Olaf.” Anna groans, throwing her head back in exasperation. “It isn’t like that, at all.” 

The blonde man chuckles, staring at her incredulously. “No? because I’m not entirely convinced, and honestly, if Hans noticed anything around him, he should be concerned about his fiancé running away to France with a handsome man.” 

“Ah yes, post-war France.” Anna sighs, rolling her eyes. “The most romantic place to run away to with a rude drunk yank.” 

Olaf stares at his friend. His smile fading as he regards the young woman. “Why didn’t you ask Hans to go?” 

“I just told you.” Anna’s brows furrow. “He’s busy here and trying to arrange our travel to America. I can’t just ask him to up and leave with me.” 

“Anna,” Olaf stands from his chair, grabbing Anna’s suitcase and placing it on the ground. He sits next to her, slipping his hand into hers. “We’ve known one another since we were children.” 

“And?” She questions, drawing out every syllable of the word. Completely unsure where her childhood friend is going with this. 

“Why isn’t Hans going to France with you?” Olaf questions again, not convinced of his friend’s excuse for her fiancé. Anna’s gaze falters from Olaf’s going to the ground, staring at the brown knit rug. 

“H-he’s just busy.” Anna insists. She didn’t want to get into it with him at the present moment, Kristoff would be here at any point, and Anna knows that the American would not take well to waiting for her. 

“Alright.” Olaf nods. It falls silent between them, both of them knowing that she is lying. “So, when does Kristoff come?” 

“He said he’d be here quarter to 10,” Anna responds, meeting Olaf’s gaze once again. “It’s about 2 hours to Portsmouth, so we’ll have lots of time to catch the ferry to Le Havre at 12:30. And then a 3-hour drive to Arras. We should be in Arras by 8:30 or 9 at night.” 

“That’s quite a journey.” Olaf comments. He gives her a sympathetic smile, knowing Anna’s attention span did not fare well on long travel, as he recalls their road trip to Dover last summer. 

“I’d rather spend 10 hours travelling with the grump than spreading it out into days. Something tells me that a lengthy road trip would result in the death of one of us.” Anna jokes, her heart swelling as Olaf chuckles. 

“As long as your body doesn’t end up in the bottom of a steamer trunk, I’m happy.” Olaf quips back, nudging his shoulder against Anna’s. 

She looks up at him, beaming. “I would also be very happy, if I don’t.” 

“I’m going to miss you.” Olaf places his free hand on top of their clasped hands. 

“I won’t be gone for long. Maybe only for two weeks at the most.” Anna shrugs, trying to reassure her best friend. 

“Two weeks?” He questions, brows raised. Unconvinced that his friend would be able to complete this undertaking in only two weeks. 

“Yeah, I mean. We know she deployed to Arras; it really shouldn’t take us a long time.” Anna explains as if trying to convince herself. She and Kristoff only have until the end of this month to find Elsa. She leaves for America at the end of the month. 

“Well…” Olaf trails off, squeezing her hand. “I guess I’ll see you in two weeks.” 

He smiles at her reassuringly. She leans her head against his shoulder. “You will.” 

They hear a car honk from the street below her window. Olaf laughs, shaking his head. “Wow, he is impatient.” 

“You have no idea.” Anna rolls her eyes, standing from her bed. She goes to pick up her suitcase, only for Olaf to slap her hand away and pick it up for her. She smiles, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. Plus, you pack so much I’m not even sure you have the ability to carry this.” He jabs, stalking towards the door. 

“I didn’t even pack that much!” Anna huffs, grabbing her purse and green reefer coat from the end of her bed. Olaf disappears through the door without another word as Anna places her reefer coat over her navy overalls and white-and-black striped sweater.

 Her purse hangs on her shoulder as she walks towards the door. Anna sighs, glancing around her room, flicking off the overhead light and closing the door behind her. She makes her way downstairs, her hand sliding against the polished wood railing, expecting to see Kristoff standing in the foyer with his arms crossed. 

Instead, Hans stands in the foyer next to Olaf, staring up at her with a grin and a bouquet of roses in his hand. 

“Hello.” Her fiancé’s voice rings throughout the old house. 

“Hi!” Anna beams down at the auburn-haired man, tripping on the last step of the stairs and catching herself on the bannister before falling on her hands and knees. Hans chuckles at her catch, shaking his head. “I wasn’t expecting you to show up this morning.” 

 “of course, I’m going to say goodbye to you.” He shrugs, taking a step forward. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, Hans lingers near her ear, whispering. “You left so early this morning; I didn’t get to give you a proper goodbye.” 

Anna feels her flush at his comment as he flashes her a smile. “W-well I’m glad you came.” 

“These are for you.” He hands the roses to her, which she takes, burying her nose into the flower closest to her. 

“They’re lovely!” She beams up at him, somewhat saddened that she’ll have to leave them behind. “I’ll put these in water.” 

Anna withdraws from the foyer, her fiancé following after her into the kitchen. She pushes on the swinging kitchen door with her shoulder, flashing a smile at him as she backs up into the room. Hans stands against the wall next to the door, watching Anna as she places the flowers on the counter temporarily. 

“Is um…what is his name?” Hans pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to recall the other man’s name. 

“Kristoff.” Anna answers, standing on her tiptoes to grabs a crystal vase from a high shelf. 

“Right, Kristoff. Has he arrived yet?” The auburn-haired man inquires, folding his arms across his chest. 

“No, he hasn’t. I thought I heard him honk, but I must’ve been someone else. I have the feeling he would be banging down the door if it had been him.” Anna responds, turning on the tap to fill the vase with water. Hans simply chuckles at that, glancing around the small kitchen as she unwraps the flowers and places them into the water. 

“Well, I’m glad to see the Nazi will enjoy my flowers on her dining room table while you’re gone.” Hans comments, changing the subject. Anna rolls her eyes, turning to her fiancé to scold him. In the corner of her eye, Gerda stands in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. Her eyes narrowed at the young man. 

“Anna, your other American is here.” The older woman announces, shuffling through the kitchen to take the flowers from Anna as she mutters. “Calling me a Nazi in my own home, fucking Yankee.” 

Anna snorts in response to Gerda’s not so quiet mutterings, glancing back to her fiancé with a smirk. “You deserve that.” 

“I know I do.” Hans sighs, opening the kitchen door for his fiancé, following after her into the foyer. Kristoff stands in front of the door, making small talk with Olaf as he waits. The blonde turn towards the couple, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. 

Kristoff offers her a polite smile, standing up straight. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes…” Anna trails off, surprised that he didn’t immediately snap at her for making him wait. She and Hans inch closer to Olaf and Kristoff, preparing to say goodbye to her fiancé and best friend. “Hans, this is Kristoff. Kristoff, this is my fiancé Hans.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Kristoff states, extending his hand out to Hans, who accepts the gesture. The auburn-haired man smiles at the other man. 

“You’re American.” Hans states, grinning. 

“Uh…yeah, I am,” Kristoff responds with an awkward smile. 

“I’m from Arlington. What about you?” Hans inquires, clearly pleased with running into a fellow patriot, travelling with his fiancé. 

“Ah, Sheridan.” Kristoff blinks, his gaze flickering at Anna briefly. He had tried to disclose as little information about himself to Anna as possible. She is about to insert herself in the conversation, not needing to know her escort’s personal life but is interrupted as Hans holds a hand up.

Hans’s brows furrow in confusion, trying to recall the name of the city. “I’m not familiar with that name. What state?” 

Kristoff clears his throat, saying almost inaudibly. “Wyoming.” Anna stares up at Kristoff with knitted brows. She had no idea such a place could exist. 

“Oh… I’ve never been,” Hans says politely, quickly adding. “But I’ve heard it is quite beautiful.” 

“It’s nice…I guess.” Kristoff nods. The two men stare at one another quietly, neither of them knowing what to say. Anna glances between the two men, figuring out if they are finished with their odd exchange. 

“This is very awkward,” Olaf announces to the room, playing with the buttons of his gray peacoat. Anna slowly turns to her friend with a small smirk, shaking her head in disbelief at him. She glances back toward Kristoff with raised brows. 

“Are we all ready?” Anna clasps her hands together.

“Yes! We are.” Kristoff announces. She nods, walking over to where Olaf had discarded her suitcase. Kristoff is the first to leave the house, going to start the car for their long journey. Anna follows the large blonde outside, while Hans and Olaf remain in the foyer.

As she exits on the street, she glances to see Kristoff standing in front of a truck, an old one. Looking at Kristoff in horror, she begins to shake her head. “No, no, no, no. You did not tell me about that.” 

She points at his green ford truck, the metal around the wheels beginning to rust and ready to break down at any moment. Kristoff glances back at the truck with wooden slates making up the truck bed’s edge. “What? It’s fine.” 

“That is not fine. That.” She points to the truck, puttering. “Is barely a vehicle.”

“Oh, Jesus. It’ll be fine.” Kristoff takes the suitcase from her, carrying it to the truck. Anna stares at the car; she hadn’t been expecting this. He is about to place her bag into the bed, but she calls out to him. “Wait! Is there like a little space behind the front seats?” 

“Why?” Kristoff cocks a brow as Anna takes the suitcase from him with force. Opening the door, Anna comes face-to-face with a large brown Irish wolfhound. The dog stares at the woman in front of him, lifting his head from the seat of the car. 

“Oh, hello.” Anna greets, reaching out to scratch the dog under his chin. She begins to panic as the massive dog shifts forward, attempting to leave the truck. 

“Sven, stay,” Kristoff calls, standing behind the woman in case the dog made his escape. The wolfhound looks at his owner with wide eyes before laying back on the seat. Anna raises her suitcase over the seats, placing her suitcase in a small space behind the front, which holds another bag. 

Anna turns away from the car, nearly running into Kristoff, still standing behind her with his hand resting on the door. She stares up at the man wide-eyed. “Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“Oh no, I’m…sorry,” Kristoff repeats, sidestepping out of the woman’s way. Anna walks back towards the building as Olaf and Hans emerge onto the street. She hears the car door slam behind her; glancing behind her, she sees Kristoff walking around the truck. 

Anna approaches Olaf with a smile, throwing her arms around his neck without any hesitation as she states. “I’ll miss you so much.” 

“Me too.” Olaf chuckles, withdrawing from his friend. “I’ll see you when you get home.” 

“Absolutely!” Anna beams up at him, squeezing his hands before reluctantly letting go of her friend. She turns to her fiancé with a smile, allowing herself to be swept up in his embrace as he crushes his lips to hers. She gasps in surprise as he dips her slightly, making her grasp the lapels of his jacket in case his hold around her waist were to falter. 

Hans pulls away from her with a smile, as Anna feels her head spin. He tucks her hair behind her ear as he cups her cheeks. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” She responds, placing her hands over his. They stare at one another tenderly as Hans runs his thumbs against her cheekbones. “I’ll be home in 2 weeks.” 

“I know.” Hans nods. “I’ll have our travel arrangement for home ready then.” 

She nods, standing on her tiptoes to press another kiss to his lips, lingering as she doesn’t want to pull away from him just yet. But Anna knows she has to. Reluctantly, she pulls away with a sigh, peering up at him. 

“Goodbye.” Her hand lingers in his for a moment as she walks away from him. Only detaching as she walks an arm’s length away from him. She opens the car door, glancing at the dog sitting on the seat next to Kristoff and her own. 

Anna slips into the seat, closing the door hard with her purse on her lap. Immediately the interior of the car smells like the dog’s breath and is humid. Kristoff turns the wheel as Anna glances out the fogging window, waving to her fiancé and best friend as her driver pulls away. 

As they pull onto Charlotte street, Sven whines, staring at Anna with wide eyes shifting closer to her until his head rests on her lap. Kristoff glances down at his dog, patting his bottom before re-focusing his attention on the road. 

“You’re in his spot.” 

“Oh, is that right?” Anna coos, scratching the hound’s head and behind his ears. “I’m sorry, but you’re such a good boy. Aren’t you Sven?” 

Sven begins to wag his tail, hitting Kristoff in the process. “Don’t talk to him like that.” 

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, rubbing one spot behind Sven’s ear. She stares out on the street, her heart pounding in her chest as it finally hits her. 

She is finally doing this. She is once and for all going to bring Elsa home. 

Chapter Text

She feels sick to her stomach as she and Yelana walk down the hall of the barracks, neither of them speak as they push through the door. Outside, a black car sits outside of the building. Elsa follows Yelana towards the vehicle. Both of the women climb into the back of the car. 

“Remember the curfew in Arras has been changed to nine-thirty.” The older woman reiterates as they drive through the dark military base. 

Elsa nods in response, tucking her hands into the pockets of a coat that isn’t hers; pulling out a cinema stub and a bus ticket from Givenchy to Arras, both printed in French. Things created to make her character more authentic; more so than Elsa has been in her entire life. 

“This is for you.” Yelana passes Elsa a small leather purse. The younger woman takes it, glancing into the bag. It contains a compact, lipstick and wallet. These were all seeming toiletries but were in fact essential tools for her in the field; things she saw at her training at Rhubana lodge. 

They pass an RAF guard holding a lantern and stop on the edge of the aerodrome. Elsa emerges from the car and walks towards the driver, who was unloading bags from the back of the vehicle. She grabs the case which contains her radio, but Yelana reaches forward to stop her. 

“A-am I not supposed to?” 

“The radio is too heavy for the Lysander. It will be dropped separately.” 

“Oh…” Elsa stares at the suitcase, somewhat dismayed that she was departing with the radio that had been by her side over the past months. With much hesitancy she lets of the radio, glancing to the tarmac at the tiny Lysander. Her heart pounds in her chest at the thought that her wireless was too heavy to be transported on the plane but could carry her. 

“It will be delivered to you,” Yelana explains. “Don’t worry. They’re very good.” 

Though the older woman’s words were meant to reassure her, they don’t. Elsa doesn’t even know who these people are, how is she expected to trust them or believe Yelana’s words. 

They stand on the edge of the airfield, the damp air chilling Elsa to the bone. Yelana turns to the young woman, grabbing her cuffs to ensure they are folded just so. As usual, the grey-haired woman is emotionless, but Elsa notices the way her hands tremble. 

That is when her chest grows cold. Seeing Yelana’s fear sparks Elsa’s own. Yelana stares at her, giving her a nod before leading her towards the plane. The words Batting Order chalked on the side of the plane, followed by names she didn’t know. 

“What are those?” She asks. 

“It’s the priority of persons to be rescued if they are at the landing site. The plane only fits three people and can’t wait for more than a minute for passengers.” Yelana explains. Elsa nods, wondering why she is going overseas willingly while there are countless others trying to escape the continent. She wonders if she’ll ever be on a plane home to Anna. She hopes she will be. 

“Your money.” Yelana hands her a neat stack of francs, wrapped in a rubber band. “Half your pay comes in cash when you’re in the field to use for things you need. The rest will be paid to you in pounds upon your return home. And this is for you.” 

Much to Elsa’s surprise, Yelana hands her a necklace with a small silver snowflake charm. It is not a gift. Yelana unscrews the pendant next to the charm to reveal a small cyanide capsule. 

“The final friend.” The older woman states. “Germans know the smell and will try to make you spit it out. So you’ll need to chew it quickly.” 

Elsa takes it from Yelana with a nod. “Thank you.” 

“You can thank me by getting the job done.” Yelana takes Elsa’s hand, squeezing it for slightly too long. She then turns and stalks across the field towards the waiting car without another word. 

With shaking hands Elsa approaches the plane. She has never flown before and the small plane in front of her brought no comfort, it is intimidating. 

A man sits in the cockpit, waving for her to come aboard rather impatiently. She wastes no time in entering the plane, settling herself in a narrow seat behind the pilot. Within moments the crew close the doors, sealing Elsa’s fate. 

She had expected her pilot to be a military pilot, but his red hair is longer than military standard just barely touching the sherpa of his leather bomber jacket. Elsa can’t believe that the stubbled man in front of her is flying her to France. Hoping to god he is experienced enough to land her safely in France. 

 “There has been a change of plans.” He announces, revealing himself to be Irish. 

“Oh?” Elsa inquires, trying to retain her composure as her stomach flips violently.

The pilot nods curtly. “You’ll be landing blind.” 

She watches as the man turn back towards the control, pressing buttons and gauges she doesn’t recognize. Looking up from her lap, Elsa sees the propeller on the plane’s nose turn through the windshield. 

The plane rolls forward, jostling her as it rolls along the uneven earth. The sound of the propeller and engine resounding loudly in her ears as they increase pace. Elsa takes deeps breaths, trying not to panic and convince herself that this is the right decision for her. There is no backing down from this. Landing blind. No one is coming for her when she lands, it is up to her to find her point when arriving in France. 

She cries out as the ground slips out from underneath her. It is strange to the young woman, her hand pressed against the cold metal side of the plane. Taking a deep breath, she looks out of the small window; hoping to catch the sight of Yelana and the car, but they had already left. 

Her eyes squeeze shut as the plane shoots up at a steep angle. Her stomach-dropping, she leans forward, her forearms resting on her knees, her head dropping between her legs. She felt as if she might be sick. Taking shallow breaths as they had been instructed to fight off nausea as they had been instructed. She cannot throw up in the plane. 

The wave subsides, allowing Elsa to slowly raise herself from between her legs. Deciding to look out of the window as the pilot had stopped talking to her; not that they could hear one another over the engine. 

She can’t see any houses below, even though she knew there were. The mandatory blackouts had managed to turn the entire countryside dark. Elsa stares at the countryside, her heart aching at the thought of her sister. Wishing that she could see London and at least imagine Anna walking down the street in that damn reefer coat. 

Her hand clutches the jacket as the plane drops and turns sharply to the left. She places her free hand on the seat to avoid being sent forward by the jolt trying not to panic at the turbulence. 

“Is something wrong?” She calls loudly to be heard over the deafening roar of the engine. The pilot shakes his head, glancing over his shoulder briefly to the woman.

“No, everything it fine. You just feel everything flying in this thing. God knows the Lysander isn’t the best, I mean the Germans could take this thing down with a rock.” He comments, spiking Elsa’s anxiety. “But I can put her down in any condition and quickly.” 

He eases on the throttle as they reach the French coast, lowering the plane into a thick fog to encircle the plane. The pilot glances out of the window, trying to get a better view of the ground below. 

“We may have to turn back.” He announces. 

“We can’t wait till it clears?” Elsa inquires. Knowing that if they turned back, she wouldn’t get back into this plane. 

He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. We need to be back in ally airspace by daylight. We won’t be able to fly fast or high enough to escape enemy fire.” 

Elsa’s arm hairs stand on end as fear slowly creeps under her skin as it occurs to her, she could die even before landing in France. “A-are we turning back?” 

“I think I can manage it. Seems like we’re close enough to the right spot. I’m going to make a go at it.” He states, his deep voice confident. 

“That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.” She laughs nervously.

He turns to her with a smirk, shaking his head. “You’re going to want to hold on tight. This is going to be rough.” 

The plane drops without much notice, causing Elsa to grip the seat once again as the plane shoots in a downward spiral. Her heart pounds in her ears, trying to convince herself that they are not crashing, just that the pilot might be a maniac. She closes her eyes, taking shallows breaths again as her nausea returns. 

The hard jolt vibrates through Elsa’s body as the plane hits the ground, she hadn’t braced as she trained for although it only caused an initial shot of pain in her lower back. The plane glides along the ground, both the pilot and Elsa feeling every bump outside of the plane. 

The plane jerks to a stop with the brakes squeaking loudly, Elsa wonders if someone could have heard them. The pilot stands, opening the door to glance outside of the plane. “As I thought, no one for return.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” Elsa inquires, grabbing her purse, which had fallen on the ground from their journey.  

“It could mean a lot of things. But yeah, they might have been captured.” The pilot sighs. “Alright, head east for the train station. You need to keep low and move quickly through the trees. There should be a blue bicycle behind the station. There should be further instructions upon your arrival.” 

“S-should?” Elsa stutters, her blood running cold. “A-and if there isn’t?” 

“It’s Sylvestre’s circuit. Everything will be in order.” The man reassures her. 

Elsa nods as the pilot watches her, waiting for her to leave the plane. He clears his throat, his gaze darting at the door and back to the young woman. With her heart pounding, Elsa has no other option. She has to leave the plane. 

He watches the young woman as she stands shakily, offering her a sympathetic smile. “I’d come with you if I could. But I can’t leave the Lysander.” 

“Oh, of course. No, I understand. Thank you for everything.” Elsa nods as she climbs out of the plane. 

“Good luck.” He states. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” 

Elsa narrows her eyes at him, wondering if this was a test. “Marguerite.” 

“I’m Will.” The pilot smiles at her with a nod. “But you best be off.” 

“Of course.” She turns from the plane, feeling his gaze on her as she stalks away from the landing site. While inching closer to the treeline, Elsa glances over her shoulder to see the door to the Lysander closed. The engine revs and the plane begins to roll forward, picking up speed. 

Elsa turns away before it takes off from the ground. She is totally alone now, stepping into the unknown. She walks across the field in complete darkness, searching for the cover of the trees. 

The smell of lavender envelops her scent as if she stepped back into her childhood; of summers spent in Île de Ré. Running through fields on the coast at her grand-mère’s cottage on the isle. Elsa used to sit in the field of lavender outside of the house, while Anna ran around her in circles calling out for her; the very reason why she and Anna were often sent outside by their mother and grand-mère.

She finds the tree cover, standing among the dogwoods and pine trees, trying to recall what way Will had pointed when he directed her to go east. Reaching for her purse, Elsa slips her hand into the bag to find the makeup compact equipped with a compass. She squints trying to read the compass by the light of the moon. 

Orienting herself east, Elsa meanders through the trees. She trips on a rock, landing on the forest floor hard. The wind becomes knocked out of her as she falls, a pain throbbing through her ankle. Sitting up, she thinks back to her first morning at Rhubana lodge, wishing now more than ever that Honeymaren would be by her side. With a huff Elsa stands from the dirt, wincing with her first step but the pain subsiding as she continues. 

“Arrêt!” A voice orders. Elsa freezes, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn’t believe it she had already been caught. On her first night, not even an hour into her mission. There is no way of telling if it is the Germans or French police; either way, she had failed. 

Her hand flies to the necklace, her fingers brushing over the snowflake and her mother’s locket as she wonders if she should take the cyanide now. She never thought she would need it so soon. 

She turns to see a tall, imposing man standing behind her in the dark. Her breath stops as his gun is levelled at her. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fool.” The man growls in English. “You never listen to them, you either run or fight. But never obey!” 

“I…uh…” She stammers. But without another word he grabs her by the elbow, leading her roughly through the wood. Instinctively she pulls away from the stranger, unable to stand his touch. 

Her feet drag against the cold tile of the building, four hands holding her up as they dragged her back to her shared room, having no strength to stand on her own. Her head lulled up at the bright lights of the building as screams echoed through the hall. This had been all her fault.

“Come on!” He takes her arm again with a growl as if trying to lead a stubborn mule. “Unless you want to be found by the Milice!” 

She hesitates, having no information about anyone she is to meet in this whole racket. According to the pilot, no one is meeting her at all. The young woman wonders as she is dragged through the forest if this man is actually one of them. 

With no choice, Elsa follows after him as he urges her on. They walk through the forest, remaining completely silent as the moon shines down on them. 

It could all be a trap, a member of the Milice dragging her through this forest to her death. Or worse to be tortured into giving information. She isn’t even sure if she had any information to give up to the Germans at this point. Her radio hadn’t come with her so there was no ability to use the wireless to contact the SOE, nor did she know anyone within the circuit. 

They reach a clearing, with what must be farmland. The silhouette of the farmhouse noticeable in the distance. On the edge of the land stands a small windowless shed. 

“You are to stay here tonight.” The stranger states, pulling her towards the structure. 

“What? No.” Elsa objects, shaking her head. “I’m supposed to be at a train station and find a bike for my circuit.” 

“Be quiet!” He snaps harshly, causing the blonde to shrink into herself. “You should never mention anything about a circuit! Never mention any names to anyone.” 

“What about my wireless?” Elsa questions, insisting on answers. She isn’t used to this; she is used to Yelana standing by her side answering the questions. 

“Follow orders and stay here.” He opens the shed, struggling with the lock. “Someone will be here to collect you in the morning.” 

He opens the door, letting her into the structure. There is no light and the air musky, warm air. She steps inside as though having no choice, the smell of manure overtaking her senses with no bed or toilet. 

Without any warning, the door to the shed closes loudly, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoing through the small shed. Elsa rushes towards the door, her hand clasps on the handle and attempts to turn only for it not to turn. She couldn’t believe there were locking her in, she can’t even believe what is happening. 

Footsteps outside of the shed disappear with a loud huff, leaving Elsa in silence. She turns from the door at the sound of something scurrying across the ground. Either a mouse or a rat. Elsa didn’t care to know at this point; her bones aching and her skin crawling. 

She sinks to the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees as tries to calm herself in the dark. Her back resting against the wooden frame as her head hits against it with an audible thud. 

Listening to the mouse or the rat scuttling, Elsa smiles thinking back to training. In which she had nearly destroyed the decoy set upon the woman by the instructor. 

They had been standing around in the lodge, listening to the instructor about various explosives. The next thing she knew, several women were screaming and scampering away from the animal in the middle of the floor.  

Elsa didn’t hesitate as she stepped towards the rat, ready to kill it in a second.  But stopped as she noticed something different with this one. She leaned over picking it up to see it was an obvious fake. 

She held it up to the professor with a questioning gaze. The professor smiled at her, taking the rat from her hand. 

“This!” He held it up to show the class. “Is a decoy

The girls gathered around their teacher, inspecting the decoy with interest as he further explained “The Germans will think it’s a dead rat until they get close.” 

He walked away from the girls to the opposite field without another word, before rejoining them as he instructed them to step back. He pressed a button on a detonator held in his hand and without any other warning the rat exploded. Causing a series of gasps to erupt among the women. 

Elsa smiles at the memory. She and Honeymaren had sat on one of their beds that night, laughing at how most women scattered at the sight and how Elsa had been ready to destroy it without a second thought. 

She wishes Maren would be with her now, there would be an arm draped over her shoulder and whispers of reassurance throughout the shed. At least with Honeymaren by her side, Elsa would have some confidence that she hadn’t fucked this entire mission up on her first night. 

Chapter Text

Sven sits next to Anna near the railing of the ferry, whining as the woman next to him retches over the side of the boat. She sighs her body heaving violently despite having nothing left in her stomach to throw up. Her hands clutching the bars of the ferry, knuckles turning white as she grips it. 

“How are you feeling?” Kristoff’s voice appears next to her, having returned from his walk around the ferry. He had been teasing her about the seasickness during the first hour of their trip until Anna snapped at him to take a walk. Something he quickly complied with.

“Ugh.” She moans, spitting over the side to get the taste of bile out of her mouth. “Awful. I feel awful.” 

He chuckles, “What are you? Pregnant?” Anna slowly turns her head, eyes narrowed at the man next to him. Kristoff rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing. “I-uh I’m sorry. Bad joke. Here.” 

Awkwardly he holds out a bottle containing a clear liquid. “I’m not in the mood for a gin, it’s only 2 pm.” 

“No,” He shakes his head. “It’s uh…it’s not gin. It’s tonic, I thought it might settle your stomach.” 

“Oh, thank you.” She takes it with a deep breath, trying to control her flipping stomach. Kristoff stares at the woman leaning on the railing of the ferry. With gloved hands Anna cradles the bottle in her hands, taking small sips of the tonic. She glances at him in the corner of her eye, her mouth pursed. “And no, I’m not pregnant.” 

“I uh…yeah…was joking. As I said, a bad one.” Kristoff grimaces. “Sorry.” 

“I’m just seasick. I haven’t been on a boat since I was a small girl.” Anna explains, taking another careful sip of the tonic water. Even as a small child she didn’t take well to travelling on ferries, recalling being in their private cabin while the nanny held her tight and rubbed her back to soothe her. 

“You haven’t been off that rock since you were a kid?” Kristoff inquires, a brow raised as he stares at the young woman. Under her makeup and the powder, he can nearly make out a few freckles, unable to help but wonder if her cheeks and shoulders were scattered with freckles. 

Anna moans as another wave of nausea hits her. “Y-yeah, I used to go to Île de Ré with my family to visit my grandmother every summer until I was twelve.” 

“I’ve heard nice things about Île de Ré.” Kristoff awkwardly comments, trying to take the girl’s attention off her seasickness. “Why did you stop going?” 

“I don’t really kno-oh god.” She groans, her head hanging off the railing as she retches again. Nothing comes up from her stomach, her chest aching as it attempts to find anything to regurgitate. Standing up straight, Anna rolls her head back as she takes deep breaths.

“So, uh…when is the wedding?” Kristoff inquires, the large engagement ring on her left hand almost glaring at him. His mind goes back to the departing kiss shared between Anna and her fiancé, resisting to urge to roll his eyes at the flagrant marking of territory. 

Despite the seemingly sweet gesture, Kristoff knew that look and display all too well. When Hans’ eyes opened during the embrace and stared at the car, it was clear. Hans had been telling Kristoff to keep his hands off what is his. In his opinion, it was disgusting. 

“April 14th. We leave for the United States at the end of the month, March will be busy planning the wedding.” Anna explains. “I’ll be living with his mother and father for March, which may be a little odd because I’ve never met them but, I mean, I’m sure I’ll get along well with them.”

Kristoff looks at her with furrowed brows. “W-wait, you haven’t met his parents?”

“Well, I mean no. His parents live in the States and in the seven months that we’ve been together it’s nearly impossible to meet them.” She shrugs, reluctantly pulling away from the railing to sit on a bench overlooking the Channel. 

Kristoff remains frozen at the railing for a moment, trying to piece all of the information together until it occurs to him. He turns to her with wide eyes. “Wait…seven? Seven months?” 

“Yeah,” Anna confirms with a shrug, placing her hand on Sven’s head to scratch him behind the ear. 

“As in you two have been dating since…” He begins to count the months backwards in his head. “June of 1946?” 

“Yes, pay attention.” She huffs. “I wanted sunflowers for the floral décor, but his mother insists they are not a spring flower. So we’re going to have pink roses instead.” 

“You don’t know him!” Kristoff exclaims, “Who marries a man they don’t even know?” 

“I know him! I’ve been engaged to him for 5 months.” Anna states, her excitement about the wedding diminishing. 

“What does he do for a living?” 

“Army stuff.” 

Kristoff folds his arms over his chest, brow raised. “Army stuff? C’mon Anna, you have to know that isn’t a sufficient enough answer.”

“Fine! He does…” She trails off, trying to recall what it is that her fiancé does for a living. “Well, it doesn’t matter! He’s going into law when we go to Washington.” 

“He said Arlington.” He states. 

Anna’s brows knit together in confusion. “What?” 

“When we talked this morning, Hans said he is from Arlington.” 

“Oh…” her gaze drops from Kristoff to her lap, clasping her hands together on her lap. “I…are they not the same?” 

“They are close, but no. They aren’t the same.” He shakes his head, guilt building in his chest upon noticing her face drop. With a sigh he settles next to her on the bench, resisting the urge to reach over and place his hand over hers. 

Anna is silent, not looking at the man next to her. She isn’t mad at him, though she feels as if she should be. But cannot bring herself to feel this way. No, she is angry at herself for not asking enough questions. 

Glancing up from her lap, Anna watches the water continuing endlessly on the horizon. She takes a deep breath, her shoulders back as she thinks about the values her mother had instilled in her; stiff upper lip and carry on. 

“Well…none of it matters.” She clears her throat. “What matters is I’ll be with Hans, and I trust him completely.” 

“Do you?” he asks without thinking. 

Anna narrows her eyes at the man beside her. “The last thing I need right now is to be scolded by you about this. I don’t even know you.” 

“You don’t even know your own fiancé.” The blonde man retorts. 

“Oh, and what? Are you some sort of love expert?” Anna inquires, rolling her eye in disbelief. 

“Well, I-I…” Kristoff stammers, his face becoming red and flustered. “No, but my parents have been married for 30 years.” 

“Congratulations,” Anna says a little too harshly. She isn’t sure that had anything to do with knowing anything about love, her parents were together until their deaths, it didn’t mean that they were happy or in love. Most married couples stayed together even if they weren’t happy. 

Kristoff rolls his eyes, wondering if perhaps trying to talk to her is useless. “We land in Le Havre soon. We’ll stop for food there and continue onto Arras.”

“I’ll drive for the last leg.” She sighs, her anger still not subsided. 

“What? No, that is not happening.” Kristoff scoffs, shaking his head. 

“Why not?” Anna questions, narrowing her eyes at the man once again. She swears he is going to give her wrinkles around her eyes. 

Kristoff stands from the bench, taking a step away from her before glancing over his shoulder briefly. “Because I don’t trust your judgement.” 

He begins to walk away from her, patting his thigh to call Sven to him. Anna stands from the bench, picking up her suitcase to stalk after Kristoff. 

“Excuse me?” Anna demands as she finally catches up with him and with the wolfhound. 

He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re marrying a man you just met.” 

“As opposed to what? Do you have a girl back home in…wherever that you’ve been stringing along for years and years?” Anna asks

“Of course not, it’s just…” He sighs, turning to face her. His hand runs through his head before coming to rest on his beard. “Doesn’t it bother you that you hardly know the guy your marrying?” 

“Doesn’t it bother you that you packed up your entire life in London to help a stranger find her sister?” Anna insists, her free hand resting on her hip as she stares up at him. The pair stare at one another, her sky-blue ones boring into his golden-brown ones, silently challenging one another. 

The bell rings through the deck, announcing their arrival at Le Havre. Reluctantly Kristoff breaks their gaze, feeling as if he is backing down from their silent fight. Anna looks up to the sky as if praying to any being to give her strength. As at this point, Anna isn’t sure she’ll be the one to be found at the bottom of a steamer trunk. 

They both stalk toward the exit, waiting among the crowd who watch as the workers slide out the walk to the dock.  Anna shoves past Kristoff, slowly making her way off the ferry among the crowd of other people. He follows a few people behind her, not wanting to get close to the young woman. 

Anna’s hand floats against the wooden railing of the narrow walkway, not terribly concerned with Kristoff’s whereabouts. She could always find him on the harbour while waiting for the crew to unload the car. 

She steps onto the dock, glancing around at her surroundings, stopping in shock at the state of the Le Havre’s harbour. The young woman had thought parts of London are still in ruin, but this is different. The once beautiful harbour had been bombed flat, the debris of buildings still laying in the street. 

People walk past the young woman, casting her odd glances as they continue on their way. A hand rests on her shoulder, pulling her from her trance 

“What’s wrong now?” Kristoff questions, smirking down at her. Anna blinks, staring at everything with shaking hands. 

“I-it’s all gone…” She stammers, recalling how this harbour looked prior to the war. He stares down at her in confusion, before looking up at the scene before them to see the ruin around them. 

“Well…it was bombed pretty heavily in the war.” He explains, his brows knitting together. 

“I…I just never realized that…” She trails off, unable to speak any longer as that all too familiar feeling blooms in her chest. Tears prick in the corners of her eyes, watching helplessly as she did then. 

Kristoff stares at the young woman with concern, noticing her distant stare. It had been the quietest he had ever known Anna to be.

 “Hey…” He gently calls out to her. But she doesn’t glance up at him, instead still staring out at the ruin around her. “Anna,” 

She blinks, finally glancing up at the American man. “I’m sorry…what?” she asks somewhat despondently. 

“We should find the car.” Kristoff says gently. She nods in agreement, taking a step forward through the crowd. He lingers back for a moment, watching as Sven runs to catch up with the young woman.

Kristoff stares after the young woman, knowing the look present on her face only moments ago all too well. 

They collect the car on the loading dock without any issue, beginning their journey to Arras. Anna remains quiet as they drive through the city, watching the ruin and the reconstruction occurring throughout the city. Kristoff resists the urge to glance at her as they drive, knowing how he felt when people pried in his business. 

Her elbow rests against the door of the truck, her cheek pressed against her palm. She had expected the country to be in rough condition, but not like this. She assumed most of the country would have recovered, as England had but it hadn’t. 

Sven whines glancing at Anna before laying on the seats, his head resting on her lap. She feels a wet spot gathering where Sven rests his head on her thigh, not finding it in herself to care. They wouldn’t be arriving in Arras until late at night when everything would be closed. 

Without thinking she matches her breathing to the animal on her lap, her hand resting on his head as the rocking of the truck lulls her to sleep. 

Anna wakes to the sound of car horns throughout the street. With her eyes closed, she wonders if they had encountered an accident or a roadblock. Her eyes flutter open when Kristoff honks his horn, finally seeing what the commotion is. 

They are stopped at an intersection to see a procession of black cars following a single one, the convoy honking as they inch closer to their destination. Anna glances over at Kristoff as he honks his horn a couple more times, observing the smile spread across his face. 

“What is that?” She questions, her voice slightly raspy and her mind still clouded from her unexpected nap. Kristoff looks to her, not having noticed that she is now awake. 

“It’s a wedding. They’re either heading to the church or their home.” Kristoff explains. Anna raises a brow questioningly. 

“Is that a tradition in America?” She inquires, wondering if perhaps leaving the church people will be honking for her. 

Kristoff shakes his head, putting the car into gear as they crawl forward. “Nah, typically receptions are done in the church basements. At least where I’m from. The French believe that by making noise it wards off evil spirits for the newlyweds.” 

“And how do you know this? Your love experts?”

“No,” Kristoff, much to her surprise, chuckles at her question. “When I landed in France, many couples started to marry. There weren’t any more Germans and woman took our discarded parachutes to sew into wedding dresses. So the spectacle of people banging pots and pans outside of houses for newlyweds wasn’t uncommon.” 

Anna nods, no snarky comment following his explanation. She actually thought it is quite a beautiful notion. People coming together to celebrate the beginning for newlyweds amongst the ruin of their homes. A new beginning for a new couple. 

“We’re about an hour from Arras.” He states as they pull out of the city, passing a sign for Arras which states the city is nearly 40 miles from them. Anna nods, stretching in her seat which unsettles Sven from his place on her lap. 

She nods in response, reaching into her purse to grab her compact mirror to ensure her makeup is still presentable. As she reaches for the round mirror, her fingers brush the bundle of letters in her bag. Her fingers brush against the edges of the overworked envelopes. That familiar sinking feeling returning to her chest. 

“What if we can’t find anything about her?” She quietly asks, not meaning for the man beside her to hear. It had been something on her mind since stepping onto the ferry. They had no leads; they didn’t know Elsa’s code name or what she even did. The only evidence of her sister’s whereabouts is in the personnel file tucked away in Anna’s suitcase. 

The car is silent, save for Sven’s panting. Kristoff after moments glances over at the young woman, staring down at her purse. “I mean, you’ll never know until you try.” 

“I don’t even think I know where to begin.” Anna titters. Expecting the man next to her yell about dragging him to France without a plan. But he doesn’t. 

“I mean, we start simple. We’ll ask around the city, see if there was an influx of resistance activity in certain parts of the city. And go from there.” Kristoff shrugs, his eyes returning to the road in front of them. 

“Arras isn’t a small place.” She comments, finally glancing up at him. 

He shrugs, clearly unbothered by the fact. “That could be a good thing. If it’s a bigger place it means more people might be willing to talk to us and might know more.” 

“I’m just…” Anna sighs, glancing down at her shoes. “I’ve spent so long looking for her and getting nowhere. I’m just so afraid I’ll fail her again.” 

“I get it, that’s how I feel about Maren.” 

“Maren?” Her brows raise in surprise. She knows nothing about the man next to her, only that he is from a place called Wyoming and now this. Kristoff groans in response, he hadn’t meant to say anything. “Who is Maren?”

“I knew she was in Pays-de-Calais. That’s all.” He sighs, finally resigning to tell the woman next to him about his journey to France last year. “I had no records, the government wouldn’t give me anything because she wasn’t my family. I made it to Arras, but no one knew anything with the information I had.” 

“So, you returned home?” 

“I…returned to London.” He corrects, taking a hand off the wheel to grab a cigarette from his pocket. Anna watches as the man place a smoke in his mouth, grabbing the lighter out of the same place. He attempts to start the lighter, failing each time. 

Anna reaches over Sven, taking the lighter from him to ignite it. She holds it steady as she brushes the tip of the cigarette with the flame. Kristoff mutters a thanks as he inhales. 

“So…what that’s it? You just gave up?” Anna questions, tucking the lighter into her own coat pocket. 

“I didn’t give up.” He sighs, taking another drag. “For an entire year, I wrote the pentagon, trying to get permission to release those files to me. When you approached me in the bar, I thought you were insane. But it occurred to me that if you have your sister’s file then maybe she could lead us to her…” 

“Were you and her?” Anna questions slowly, staring up at him. 

“We’ll be arriving in Arras soon; you should probably find the map.” He changes the subject quickly. She nods leaning over to grab the map tucked under her seat. Wondering what the man next to her might be hiding. 

Kristoff turns onto a street called Rue Saint-Aubert, a name which Anna just barely makes out under the streetlamp. For a moment she is worried that Kristoff’s dilapidated car won’t make it up the incline of the road. 

“There is a hotel!” Anna exclaims, her hand extended into Kristoff’s space. The young man hits her hand away. 

“I see it. I just need to find parking.” He responds, scanning the street lined with cars. Anna nods, peering out her window to help him find a place. 

Kristoff doesn’t say a word as he pulls into an empty spot, barely fitting into the place as he shifts the car into park. He glances over at Anna with raised brows, thankful that what seemed to be the longest car ride ever is finished. 

Without any hesitation she opens the car door, surprised as Sven quickly stands from the seat, stepping over Anna and out of the car without any difficulty. Anna begins to panic, removing herself from the car to prepare to chase after the dog. She did not need Kristoff to be even more agitated with her. 

Instead, Sven sits on the sidewalk next to the truck, waiting patiently for Kristoff. She sighs in relief at the sight, relieved that she won’t be scolded by Kristoff once again today. Glancing down Anna realizes the man only carries his suitcase. 

“You didn’t grab mine?” She questions, brows knit together. 

Kristoff tilts his head quizzically. “Was I supposed to?” 

“I mean, it would have been nice. You were grabbing yours; it wouldn’t have been much extra effort to grab mine.” Anna explains, placing a hand on her hip. 

“Your door is still open with your purse inside.” He points out, rolling his eyes.

“I was trying to make sure your dog didn’t run off!” Anna protests. She knows that she is being too harsh on the man, it isn’t a large issue that he didn’t grab her suitcase. It is the issue that the man before her lacks common courtesy. 

She turns back to the car, grabbing her leather purse off the ground before reaching behind to seats for her suitcase. Her arm strains as she lifts the bag over the leather seats, swearing to herself as it gets caught.

“Don’t worry about him, Sven sticks around. If he does wander off it's never for long.” Kristoff shrugs, scratching the top of his companion’s head. With a grunt Anna pulls the suitcase from the car, slamming the car door shut behind her. 

“I see.” She responds plainly as they walk down the quiet street together. Sven jogs in front of them as they meander towards the tall brick building. 

Kristoff approaches the door, taking a hold of the handle to open it. He steps to the side, gesturing for Anna to go first. She smiles mirthfully at him as she steps through the threshold of the establishment. 

An older woman with glasses perched on the end of her nose stands behind a counter, a pearl necklace resting over her buttoned pink cardigan. The gray-haired woman sits up straighter, a smile crossing her features at the couple. 

“Salut!” She greets. 

“Salut,” Anna greets back with a smile, stepping towards the counters. The young woman places a hand on the surface, her finger tapping against the wood. “Nous avons besoin d’une chambre.” 

We need a room

“Pour vous deux?” The hotelkeeper inquires. Anna stares at the woman, taking a moment to think about what she had said. 

For you two?

“Oui s’il vous plait. Combien?” 

Yes please. How much?

“5 francs pour la nuit.” The woman responds. Anna nods, reaching into her purse to grab 5 francs. The older woman smiles sweetly as Kristoff comes to stand next to the smaller woman. 

5 Francs for the night

“Are we all squared away?” He inquires. 

“Yes, she’s going to show us to our rooms.” The auburn-haired woman explains. The hotelkeeper turns around, grabbing a key for one room before stepping out behind the desk. 

“Suivez-Moi.” The older woman states, leading the pair up carpeted stairs. They don’t speak as they are led down the corridor, Sven’s panting echoing through the hall. The small woman stops in front of the last door on the left. 

The hotelkeeper sticks the key into the doorknob, turning it a couple of times until the door gives way. The older woman steps aside, allowing the couple to go into their room. Kristoff nods politely at the woman as he crosses into the room, stopping halfway. 

Anna nearly runs into his back, “Kristoff move, I want to sleep.” 

“You asked for a room with two beds, right?” He asks. 

“Yes…I’m fairly certain.” Anna’s brows furrow as Kristoff steps further into the room. She follows behind him to see a single queen bed in the middle of the room. Quickly Anna turns to the hotelkeeper, who turns the overhead light on. 

“Est-ce bien?” 

Is it good?

“Nous sommes nés mariés.” Anna quickly states, trying to clear up any misunderstanding. The older woman stares at the woman in puzzlement, slowly nodding before saying something about other people on the floor which Anna couldn’t quite understand. 

We were born married.

“Well? Is she going to bring us to a different room?” Kristoff asks, standing next to Anna. 

“I think…she is saying the hotel is full…” She guesses. 

“You think?” he exclaims, exasperated by the events. “I thought you spoke French?” 

“I mean, I do it’s just…” Anna glances down at her shows bashfully, “I haven’t really spoken it since I left secondary school.” 

“Oh, Jesus Anna!” Kristoff huffs, walking past the young woman to follow the hotelkeeper, who slowly leaves their room. “Excuse-moi! Ma’dam! Nous…ne pas…together.” He stumbles, confusing the older woman even further.

“Oh my god, this is just pathetic.” Anna rolls her eyes, looking down at Sven sitting at her feet. 

The hotelkeeper simply smiles at him, patting his arm “Bonne nuit.” With that, she shuffles down the hall. 

Kristoff stares after the older woman, realizing she isn’t turning back. He takes the key from the doorknob, slowly closing it behind him. “What are we going to do?” 

“It’s not the end of the world, stop sulking.” Anna rolls her eyes, taking her suitcase to the side of the bed closest to the windows. She places her bag on the mattress, buckling it. Kristoff walks towards the bed, leaning against the wall to the unoccupied side of the bed.

“So, I’m assuming you’re taking the bed?” Kristoff huffs, staring at the woman unpacking her pyjamas. 

She looks up at him with knitted brows. “No, why would you think that? We’ll share it.” 

“We what? No tha-you’re engaged.” He protests, his cheeks becoming flushed at her statement. She shrugs, clearly unbothered by this prospect. 

“Exactly, I’m engaged. Besides, we can make a pillow barrier between us.” Anna re-buckles her suitcase as she pulls it off the bed. 

Kristoff sighs, staring at the woman before him going about her business without any worry. Only eleven hours into their journey and he is already in big trouble because of this incessant, pain in the ass. 

Chapter Text

A shiver wracks through her body as Elsa lays in the corner of the garden shed. The sunrise is just barely visible between the slats of the wooden structure. Elsa isn’t sure how long she’s been in the shed, but the longer she waits, the more she feels her heart attempting to climb out of her throat. 

She sits up completely exhausted, she hadn’t slept at all through the night. The ground had been too cold, and her body ached from sitting up all night. There is a wet spot on her bottom where the damp earth had soaked through the fabric.

The young woman wonders if this isn’t some sort of punishment for everything. For being unable to fix herself, for being selfish, and for leaving her sister. This is how she is going to die, having spent her last night in a dark and dingy shed, having appeared to have soiled herself. 

Just then a sound came, she looks up to the door of the shed. The sound of heavy footsteps crushing twigs and branches beneath them. She pushes the cyanide necklace to the side, clutching her mother’s locket in her hand instead. 

Shakily she stands from the damp earth, staring at the door with her head held high. If it is a German on the other side, she will accept her death with some dignity as it is the only thing she can control. 

The key turns in the lock, opening the door. Elsa furrows her brows at the appearance of the man in front of her, he doesn’t look like a German Officer. The man in front of her has dark skin, standing tall with short black hair and dressed in civilian clothes. 

Elsa wonders if this is the same man who led her to the shed last night, it was too dark that she couldn’t take in his appearance. 

He doesn’t speak, instead gesturing for her to follow. She follows him, her bright blond hair loose from her single braid while stepping from the structure. The sky is pink at the horizon, contrasting against the dark sky. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet. They move quickly towards the treeline, hiding between the poplar trees to cover themselves. 

“You managed all right?” He questions finally.

“Yes, I did,” Elsa responds, biting back the words at the forefront of her mind; No thanks to you. 

He nods in response as they climb a hill. “I apologize for treating you so harshly last night. You have to understand the severity of this all.” 

Elsa hadn’t expected an apology from the man in front of her, but it helps calm the agitation that had been brewing in her all night. “I understand.” 

They continue onward without another word, leading her through the forest in a different direction from the previous night. As they walk, she studies his sideburns and squareness of his jaw. Despite wearing the trousers and shirt of a French peasant, Elsa notices his too straight posture and gait gave him away as a military man. 

They walk into the clearing, a small unmarked rail station sitting on the land. The man holds out his arm, stopping her from continuing forward. He looks in both directions, ensuring they hadn’t been followed or detected. The two continue forward to the rail station, walking behind the small building where a lone bicycle sat. 

“Get on.” He orders, grabbing the bike and gesturing to the crossbar. Elsa hesitates for a moment before complying with his order. He steadies the bike as she climbs on the crossbar before getting on the bike, encircling her to reach the handlebars. 

He begins to pedal over the uneven ground towards a narrow path. Elsa resists a smile, being reminded of her childhood by taking a bike out with Anna in Harrogate, riding through the town and causing havoc if Anna was driving. 

The path gives way to a country road, crumbling stones and trees surrounding them as they continue. A valley reveals itself as they continue along the road, tilled fields and bright yellow creating the landscape in front of them which is dotted with red-roofed cottages and an occasional chateau. Elsa’s eyes begin to water as the scent of Canola envelopes her, giving her indication that they must be in the Pays de Calais region. 

They pass a farmhouse where a woman stands in the yard hanging clothes on the line. Panic rises in Elsa, until this point she had been in darkness, hiding from everyone around her. It feels odd to be out in the open. She worries that they might be found out, but the woman simply smiles at the pair. 

The two continue down the main road for a little longer, until he turns left off the path towards a stone chateau. The bike stops so abruptly that Elsa nearly falls off. She glances over her shoulder to the man. 

“Where are we?” She asks, curious why they stopped in front of this house. Although she isn’t certain that she’ll receive an answer. 

“A safe house.” He responds as he lets go of the handlebars, allowing Elsa to push off. “The house has been abandoned for a while. Normally these places are occupied by the Germans but, well look for yourself.” 

Elsa looks onto the property, noticing an undetonated bomb lodged between the paving stones. “Are they dangerous?” 

“Not from what we can tell, there are about six others in the garden.” The man shrugs, leaning the bike against the small stone fence surrounding the house. “Come on, it’s nearly breakfast time.” 

“Breakfast time?” Elsa questions, her gaze following after the stranger. The realization hits her to follow him into the house, she races after him. The chateau seemed nearly untouched from the war raging outside, the linens and china intact, the furniture uncovered. To the left of the foyer is the dining room, Elsa could see the table still set. Whoever lived here had left without much warning. 

Then came the faint titter of laughter from above, causing Elsa to look up towards the ceiling with furrowed brows. Without a word the man steps away from her, ascending the stairs towards the noises. Elsa leaves the dining room, rushing after him once again. 

He opens a door to reveal a room, which had once been a study. A handful of men are gathered around an oak desk that had now become a dining table. All of the men were about her age, laughter echoing throughout the room with closed curtains. 

In an armchair by the window, Elsa recognized the person occupying it immediately, Will the pilot. She huffs, wondering why he was here and what had stopped him from flying out of France after the Lysander took off. Glancing around the room, Elsa didn’t recognize anyone much to her dismay. 

She stands in the doorway, watching as the man who led her here, checks on each of the men in the room with a pat on the back. This isn’t what they had expected, she thought everything would be shrouded in darkness and secret. Not everyone crowded in a room, laughing as if they were in a café. 

Her stomach growls at the scent of coffee and eggs, wanting nothing more than to burst into the room and eat. One of the men, sitting across from her, notices her. 

“Are you going to stand there all day?” Elsa recognized his accent as Scottish. She shakes her head, finally stepping into the room but remaining against the wall. “Well don’t just wait for an invitation dearie. They’ll eat the rest of the bacon without a moment’s notice, you want to get some before they hog it all.” 

A series of murmurs and laughter erupts as a result of the man’s comment, one man punching the other in the arm playfully. Elsa could hardly believe her eyes; they hadn’t had bacon in England since the beginning of the war and yet here it sat in front of her. She begins to salivate at the sight, not realizing how much she missed the breakfast food until now. 

The man who led her to the house smiles at her, waving to encourage her to take a seat at the table. She pushes away from the wall, taking an empty seat across from the man who had been talking to her. 

A blonde man sitting next to her holds out the plate of bacon with a smile. “Go on. It isn’t every day that you’ll get to eat like this.” 

She reaches for the bacon with a smile, taking two pieces as it seemed that everyone had. The young woman passes along the plate, glancing at the table in front of her. It was filled with baked beans, eggs, cheese, fruit, some bread and an item that nearly filled her eyes with tears, butter. 

Her stomach growls, a painful reminder that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. She serves herself up a plate, careful not to take too much. As she prepared to eat, she finds no fork or knife by her plate. Glancing around the table Elsa notices the men eating their breakfast with their hands. 

She hesitantly follows suit, picking up the piece of bacon to take a bite. Holding back a cry, Elsa can’t help but wonder if she died in that garden shed overnight, wondering if she’s died and has gone to heaven. 

The Scot sitting across from her reaches over the table, pouring her some coffee with a smile. “I’m Malcolm,” holding out his hand to her. 

 “Bonjour, Je suis Marguerite.”  Elsa wipes the grease on her skirt, reciprocating the smile.

The man raises his brows, surprised at the woman. “Your accent is perfect! Are you French?” 

“On my mother’s side.” She explains. “I was raised in England but spent the summers on the coast of Île de Ré when I was younger.” 

“That’ll be useful.” The man next to her chuckles. “Most of us can only fumble our way through French.” 

“Speak for yourself!” Another man, a brunette, yells across from the table, causing the men to burst into laughter. 

“So, what is it that you’ll do?” Malcolm inquires, grabbing another piece of bread. 

“Radio Operator,” Elsa explains, reluctantly eating the baked beans with her hands. The men groan at that, Malcolm pointedly rolling his eyes in response. Making her wonder if she said something to upset them. 

“It seems such a waste to keep people with your language experience indoors.” Malcolm huffs, but shrugs in defeat. “but I guess Sylvestre knows what is best.” 

“Actually, would you mind pointing me in the direction of Sylvestre? I have some concerns.” Elsa asks lowly, hoping to keep her inquiry between her and Malcolm. 

“He’s in Lille.” 

“He’s what?” 

“He is in Lille for most of the time. Only coming to Arras for missions. Mattias would be who you would talk to.” Malcolm explains. 

“And which man is he?” Elsa asks, scanning the table. 

Malcolm nods his head towards the head of the table where her Courier sits with the other men. “That is Mattias.” 

“Really?” She inquires, not expecting the answer due to his handling of her last night. The men on the opposite end of the table begin to howl with laughter, startling Elsa. Mattias looks over his men with a smile, enjoying the spirit of everyone in the room. 

He stands abruptly from the table, striding towards the window before quickly holding his finger up to his lips. “Be quiet!” 

The merriment ceases at the order as a high-pitched noise echoes from outside the chateau. Elsa recognized it immediately, sirens. She studies the concerned expression of every man in the room. 

“If the Milice were going to arrest us, they wouldn’t announce it.” The man sitting next to Mattias quietly states. A few chuckles resound through the building, but the men go silent once again as the sirens increase. Much the relief of everyone in the room the sirens fade into the distance. 

“I heard there was an arrest in Lens.” One of the men whispers. “Two men at their safehouse.” 

Elsa glances down at the table, suppressing a shudder at the thought. Lens is only 11 miles from Arras, they were right in the Lion’s den. Glancing around the table, she wonders if it was a safehouse like this. Were the men sitting around a table with a bottle of wine, laughing like this before it had happened? 

The man sitting next to the man hits his shoulder. “Don’t say such things.” 

“They were some of our best agents.” Mattias sighs. “Don’t be too certain that they were careless. It can happen to any of you at any time.” 

The blonde next to her lights a cigarette, offering her one. She declines with a grateful smile; it isn’t proper to smoke in front of the men. The smoke from the man’s cigarette floats into the air ominously, as if one is burning incense to mourn those who were lost. 

Then, there is a clattering at the door. Malcolm and the man next to her leap to their feet, as Mattias’ hand flies to his side to reach for his sidearm. Elsa freezes, thinking about Mattias’ warning only minutes before. 

The door flies open and a woman enters the room, wearing a green tartan skirt, white collared blouse and a cream coloured sweater with a Sten gun tucked neatly under her arm as if it is a purse. Elsa couldn’t believe her eyes at the other woman. Honeymaren. 

Her heart flutters, having not expected to see Honeymaren again. Elsa stands from her chair, resisting the urge to call out to her friend. 

“You gave us a scare.” Mattias shakes his head. “We weren’t expecting you for another two days.” 

“We were compromised in Vimy, we had to disperse,” Honeymaren explains as she leans the gun against the wall, finally glancing around the room. Her gaze stopping at the sight of the blonde second from the end of the table. A smile slowly spreads across her face at the sight of the other woman. 

The two waste no time in rushing to one another, enveloping the other in a tight embrace. Elsa buries her face into the cable knit sweater, taking in the scent of her best friend; she smells like birch and bergamot.  

“I’ve missed you,” Honeymaren whispers in Elsa’s ear before withdrawing from one another. 

“I thought I wouldn’t see you again.” The blonde admits, tears threatening to form in her eyes at the sight of her friend. Honeymaren cups Elsa’s cheeks with both hands, her thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. The single gesture causes Elsa’s heart to pound more than she thought possible. 

“I’m glad you arrived safely.” Her nose wrinkles as she inches closer to Elsa. Her voice lowering as she states. “There is a washroom if you want to freshen up.” 

Elsa’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. She had gotten used to her own scent throughout this morning, it hadn’t dawned on her to ask. “Yeah, that would be good.” 

“I think that would be best. You’ll want to look your best before heading out.” Honeymaren’s hands drop, taking Elsa’s into her own. “I’ll help you!” 

The Mohawk woman leads Elsa out of the room without another word, leading her down the corridor towards the water closet. The two women enter the small room, the door closing behind them as Elsa moves towards the sink. 

She glances at herself in the mirror, unbinding her loose braid to comb her hair through with her fingers. Leaving her hair down, Elsa bends over the sink to splash water in her face. Honeymaren settles herself on the edge of the clawfoot tub, staring at the other woman with a small smile. 

“You don’t look so bad.” Honeymaren quips. 

Elsa chuckles shaking her head. “I could say the say the same for you.” 

“I look great!” Honeymaren’s hand flies to her chest as if offended by her friend’s comment. Elsa exaggeratedly rolls her eyes, before glancing at the other woman. The room is silent for a moment before both begin to laugh. 

“You do look great Maren.” Elsa acquiesces, “So the racket has been treating you well?” 

Honeymaren shrugs. “As well as they can. I’ve been travelling the countryside, arming the resistance and teaching them how to use weapons.” 

“You’re not operating a radio?” She inquires, pinning her hair into a low coiffure. Honeymaren had always been the best at transmitting class at Rhubana Lodge, it is a waste not to use her. 

“No, my radio never arrived for me.” The brunette explains. “But everything so much more fluid in the field. We do whatever is required of us.” 

Glancing at herself once more in the mirror, Elsa decides her appearance is at least somewhat presentable. She faces the brunette, her hand resting on the porcelain sink. “Better?”  

Her heart pounds in her chest as Honeymaren’s eyes carefully study her. Honeymaren stands slowly from the tub, sauntering towards Elsa. “Almost.” 

The brunette pushes a drooping strand away from her forehead, those chocolate eyes focusing on the task ahead. Elsa doesn’t shrink back as she would have months ago, enjoying the feeling of Honeymaren’s fingers against her temple. 

“There, now you're perfect,” Honeymaren says, her voice barely above a whisper. Elsa takes a visible breath as the brunette stares at her. 

“W-we,” Elsa croaks, her chest heaving. “We should get back.” 

Honeymaren blinks, breaking the trance. She nods, stepping back from the other woman as she clears her throat. “Yeah, Mattias will be searching for us.” 

Elsa follows her friend out of the bathroom, guilt rising in her chest. Her cheeks are still flushed from the incident, worried that Honeymaren might think differently of her. She noticed the way Honeymaren’s eyes seemed to darken in the moment. Shaking her head, Elsa knows it must just be the excitement of seeing a familiar face again, similar to how Elsa is feeling. That’s all it is, adrenaline pulsing through both of them and being in France. 

They enter the study where Mattias sits in the leather armchair next to the windows, cleaning the gun Honeymaren brought in. With a huff, the Mohawk woman marches towards him, a hand on her hip. 

“I could’ve cleaned that myself.” She raises a brow. Mattias looks up from the gun to the woman with a smirk. 

“Would you have?” He inquires. 

“W-well I mean…” She trails off. “I would have gotten to it!” 

Mattias chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief at the woman. Elsa stares at the other woman in awe, envying Honeymaren’s ability to easily converse with their temporary leader. The man looks up from the weapon, his gaze resting on Elsa. 

“You two will be Tuesday-Thursday on the schedule.” He states. Informing her of which days Elsa would broadcast and send her messages to London. 

“Where will I broadcast from?” Elsa manages to ask, stepping closer to the man. 

Mattias sighs, assembling the gun once again. “You will have an apartment in the square in Arras above a café. You’ll broadcast from there, while Eloise gathers intel.” 

“Eloise?” The blonde cocks her head, she didn’t know she would have a partner. Mattias glances at Honeymaren pointedly. The brunette turns to her, rubbing the back of her neck. 

“That would be me. Eloise Boucher.” Honeymaren reintroduces herself under her alias. Elsa giggles, unable to resist the urge to extend her hand to the other woman with a smile. 

“Marguerite Mahy.” Elsa states. Honeymaren takes the blonde’s hand with a smirk, indulging her. 

Mattias rolls his eyes at the two girl’s antics, although slightly amused by the two. “I’ll give you two instructions shortly. First, I have to talk to Will.” 

The man rises from the chair, leaving the two women standing close to one another. Honeymaren rolls her eyes at the mention of Will, leaning toward Elsa. “Watch out for Will, he isn’t hard on the eyes but definitely a ladies’ man. He’s got girl’s everywhere, even at a cathouse in Paris.” 

“Maren!” Elsa hits her on the shoulder, although not truly affected by her comment. 

Honeymaren giggles with a shrug. “What? These are long months out here and things are known to happen. Just watch out, I wouldn’t want these things getting back to your David.” 

“I thought Will was returning to England.” Elsa changes the subject, not wanting to talk about David. 

“Mechanical problems, he had to make an emergency landing and wait for repairs.” The brunette shrugs. The two watch Mattias pat Will on the arm before walking away from the other man. 

“Alright, you two.” He claps his hands. “Eloise, I want you and Marguerite to take the bike to Arras. Your apartment is in La Petite Place and over the café called La Esmerelda. The owner of the building, Madame Caron will let you two up. If anyone asks you two are cousins.” 

Honeymaren and Elsa look at one another with raised brows, then back to Mattias. He begins to stutter “J-just come up with something and make it work!” 

“Alright, anything else?” Maren asks. 

“If I were you two, I’d be leaving soon. Madame Caron is meeting you two at noon and she is not a patient woman.” Mattias states. “There will be trunks and your radio waiting at the apartment for you two.” 

“Alright, we’ll be in contact soon.” The brunette responds with a nod, taking Elsa’s wrist into her hand. The two women leave the room without another word, although Elsa still felt confused as to what it is she is doing. Although Honeymaren seems to know, much to the blonde’s relief.

Honeymaren links her arm with Elsa’s as they walk outside, making their way to the bike still leaning against the stone wall. 

“So, onto Arras then?” The English woman confirms. Honeymaren nods in response, glancing at her friend. 

“It seems that way! by the way, I’m driving the bike. You’re on the crossbar.” The brunette comment. 

“No! My arse still hurts from this morning!” Elsa groans. 

“Well good! Then you’ll be numb to the pain in only minutes.” Honeymaren disconnects from her friend, darting forth towards the bike. 

“W-What?! Maren, that isn’t fair!” Elsa yells, taking after her friend with a smile. Glad that although she had no idea what she is doing, she’s glad she has Honeymaren by her side again. 

Chapter Text

The feeling of something wet gliding across her cheek wakes Anna the next morning. She can’t bring herself to open her eyes yet as she listens to the noise in the street below the hotel. Kristoff had insisted on keeping the window open last night, despite it being freezing. But she didn’t have the energy to argue with the difficult American. 

Speaking of which, his snores no longer echo through the room. Anna only knows he snores because she was up most of the night, as she often is. Slowly she opens her eyes, squinting at the sudden change of lighting. Anna wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, reluctantly sitting up from the mattress. 

Her gaze drifts around the small room covered in red floral wallpaper, an old walnut chair and a small desk sitting next to the window overlooking the street. She raises her fist, rubbing her eye with a moan. The soft snoring of Sven laying under the surface echoing through the room. 

Her eyes widen in horror, realizing that she looks a mess and needs to fix it before Kristoff sees her. She glances to Kristoff’s side of the bed, the pillow barrier gone from the mattress. Only to find the man missing from her side. She curses to herself, throwing the blankets off of her body quickly to race to the bathroom before he could see her like this. 

She races to the ensuite washroom to make herself look presentable, only to nearly slam her body into the closed oak door. Anna curses; he had beaten her to access the water closet. Shuffling away from the door, the auburn-haired woman grabs her suitcase and places it on the bed, even though all of her toiletries are in the washroom. 

The door opens with a creak, and much to Anna’s dismay, Kristoff emerges from the small room. A smirk occupying his features and a hand on his hip at the sight of the dishevelled woman. He chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Oh wow.” His hand brushes through his beard. “You know now I can tell why Hans fell so hard for you. If this woman came knocking at my door that morning, I would’ve been more inclined to help you right away.” 

“Are you done?” Anna raises a brow, actually taking in his appearance. His hair and beard are still ragged and unkempt, but he is wearing a clean white cotton shirt. She stomps past him, glancing up briefly. “I wasn’t aware you had clean clothes.” 

She disappears into the washroom without another word, locking the door with a sigh. Glancing at herself in the small mirror, Anna’s hair is tangled and sleep still in the corner of her eyes. Anna grabs the white washcloth next to the sink, allowing the hot water to run over it before pressing it to her face. 

Throwing the cloth into the small laundry basket next to the sink, Anna reaches for her makeshift makeup bag, an old purse that she had used to carry her makeup across the Channel. She unzips the bag, grabbing her powder, rogue, eyeshadow, mascara, and a medium red coloured lipstick with a blue overtone. 

She opens her powder, careful not to snag her nail on the clasp. Her heart sinks at the contents of her powder foundation, the remaining powder clinging to the side of the case. Groaning, Anna knows there isn’t enough to cover her face, much less her freckles. It isn’t as if her skin is horrid, she had her mother’s complexation, and breakouts had been something long in the past of being an adolescent. She used foundation as her mother taught her to cover her freckles, a habit that carried on. Now she had no way to hide them now. 

Frustrated, Anna places down her makeup, unable to believe that she grabbed the wrong powder. She had been in such a rush to leave London that morning. 

Resigned, Anna grabs the golden coloured lipstick tube, twisting the bottom to extend the lipstick out of its covering. Leaning close to the mirror, Anna begins to carefully apply the red lipstick. Her focus intent as she paints her cupid’s bow, trying to mirror the shape of each. Pressing her lips together, she rescinds the lipstick, placing on the cap to protect it from the contents of her purse. 

Anna grabs her hairbrush, carefully combing through the tangled tresses. Wincing as she accidentally pulls too hard. Glancing to the counter, she grabs ribbons from the purse, sectioning her hair to create French braided pigtails. A heavy knock resounds through the room. 

“Are you almost finished in there?” His voice carries from the other side of the door. “I didn’t understand her, but the madame didn’t seem pleased that we hadn’t come down for breakfast yet.” 

Rolling her eyes, Anna ties off the end of the second braid with a huff. She marches towards the door, unlocking and pulling it open abruptly. The motion causes the man to stumble slightly into the washroom, having been leaning on the door. 

“We can eat elsewhere, you know.” Anna comments, staring pointedly at the man trying to gather himself. He straightens up, glancing up at her. He gazes at her, taking in the new feature of her face that he hadn’t ever seen. The lipstick seems to make her eyes darker, highlighting her cheeks’ natural rosiness and the freckles smattered across her features. 

Anna raises a brow, clearing her throat loudly to break the man’s gaze as she begins to feel uncomfortable. Kristoff blinks himself out of his trance as Anna pushes past him. “I tried to tell the madame that, but she…” 

“Didn’t understand you?” She finishes his sentence, pulling out the navy tartan dress and a pair of stockings. Placing the garments on the bed, she refuses to take out her undergarments until Kristoff is no longer present. “Do you mind?” 

His brows furrow in confusion, not noticing her state of dress, as she stands in her light pink short-sleeved pyjama set. “Mind what?” 

She stares at him pointedly, gesturing to her clothes rapidly before realization crosses his face. He mutters something as he turns from her, leaving the room without another word. Anna shakes her head, unable to believe that it took him that long to notice that she is still dressed in her pyjamas. 

Anna begins to unfasten the buttons of the light pink top, exposing herself to the room while her eyes are fixated on the door, not putting it past Kristoff to barge into the room with no notice. Discarding the sleep shirt onto the bed, she grabs her bra, placing the garment on.

She reaches into the cup to properly adjust her breast in the brassier before sliding the matching pants and knickers off her hips. Stepping out of them, Anna grabs a new pair and quickly places them on, now covered if the blonde man enters the room. 

Looking in her suitcase, Anna huffs once again, realizing an error in her packing. Along with her fresh powder, she had also forgotten her garter belt. She has nothing to hold up her stockings with. She knows there isn’t enough money to buy one in France, nor will she be in France long enough for Gerda to send some. 

Defeated with her usual routine, Anna grabs the tartan dress and unzips the zipper with a flick of her wrist. She steps into the dress, the skirt less full since she wears no petticoat underneath. She reaches behind her, carefully sliding the zipper up, superstitious that she may break it with her luck this morning. 

The zipper reaches the middle of her back, just barely out of the young woman’s grasp. Anna reaches as far as she can to re-take the zipper, her shoulder straining as her fingers barely brush the metal. 

Much to her annoyance, a knock echoed through the room, followed by the muffled voice clearly belonging to Kristoff. Anna purses her lips, stomping across the room and opening the door. Kristoff stands against the wall, having learned his lesson from only moments ago not to lean on the door. 

“I need you to zip me.” She states, walking back into the room. He follows after her with knitted brows as they stop in front of the bathroom door. The woman turns, revealing her half-exposed back and freckled shoulders. 

“Oh, right.” He nods, taking a step forward to take hold of the zipper. He carefully slides the zipper up, afraid of the rage he might be a victim to if he breaks it. Reaching the top of the garment, he notices a small hook at the collar. Without any warning, Kristoff slightly flips the collar of the dress to fasten the small hook. 

Anna stands still as he does so, surprised that he had fastened the hook, which Hans always missed when he helped her. She glances over her shoulder as Kristoff’s hands withdraw from her dress, offering him a polite smile. 

She walks across the room to her suitcase, grabbing the mustard cardigan from the bag. Kristoff grabs his olive-green army jacket from the small closet space, not bothering to zip the garment as he watches Anna button her sweater. She rushes over to the wooden chair in the corner of the room, where her purse and coat lay. 

Shrugging on her coat, Anna grabs her purse before making her way toward Kristoff. She stops in front of him, fastening the middle two buttons of her jacket as she asks. “Are you ready to go? Will you get Sven, or should I?” 

“Are you? I’ve been ready for 2 hours.” Kristoff huffs, following after the woman as she strides to the door. “Nah, let him sleep. He’ll most likely be out for another couple of hours” 

“I’m not a morning person.” Anna states as she enters the hall, turning back to face their room as Kristoff emerges through the threshold. 

“I noticed,” He grumbles, stepping through the door. Kristoff closes the door behind him, gesturing for Anna to keep up as he moves down the corridor.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” Anna states, increasing her pace to keep up with Kristoff, who is unbothered by where the young woman is. 

“Yeah, you kept me up half the night with your tossing and turning.” He huffs, shoving a hand into his pocket to grab a cigarette. He places it into his mouth as they reach the lobby, “By the way, we need to find a solution to your pillow barrier.” 

“What? It worked. I was still on my side of the barrier when I woke up even though you removed the pillows when you woke.” Anna smiles up at him triumphantly. “I would say it is a success.” 

The two emerge onto the street, Kristoff stopping in the doorway to light his cigarette. He takes a drag, staring at the woman. “Only because you weren’t the one who had to continue to wake up and readjust it because someone continued to cross over.” 

“I’m sure I did not.” Anna laughs it off as they walk down the street. “You said it yourself, I was tossing and turning for most of the night.” 

“Yeah, but once you did finally fall asleep, you were determined to be rid of it.” He states, taking a puff of his smoke. They both smile politely at an older couple walking past them, Kristoff straggling behind the woman to let the other pair pass. 

Anna rolls her eyes, listening as he trails behind her. “I’m not buying it.” 

“Really?” Kristoff questions, coming to walk beside Anna once again on the incline. She looks up at him as they pass the shops. 

“You fought me on my idea last night right before we went to bed.” She states, tucking her hands into her pockets. “Of course, you would find an issue with it the next morning.” 

“What would I possibly have to gain by dismissing your idea?” Kristoff raises a brow, tossing the burnt cigarette to the ground. 

Anna looks him up and down, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. “I can think of a couple.” 

“I… don’t even want to think about your implication.” He sighs, shaking his head. “But I don’t know how you managed it, but sometime in the night, I woke up with your leg hooked around my hip and your arm around my chest.” 

Anna falls silent, unsure if she believes the man beside her. Hans always made a point to tell her that she had issues with space in his bed. Though it doesn’t surprise Anna that she would try to snuggle into Kristoff, she’d rather not admit to it. 

“Fine, I can talk to the hotelkeeper when we return.” She huffs with a wave of her hand. Her stomach growls, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in over 12 hours. For a moment, she debates asking Kristoff if they can stop for breakfast but decides against it. He would only complain that she is slowing them down. 

“We can’t do that! We already spent the night together.” Kristoff states, obviously flustered. “We’ll…just share the room, but we have to figure out a way to keep you off of me.” 

“Alright if you insist.” Anna shrugs, resisting the urge to smile. In the moments that Anna was awake last night, she had to admit, his snoring brought some comfort to her in the night. They walk in silence along the street, smiling at people who pass them. 

Kristoff clears his throat as they walk past a small Moroccan restaurant. “There is a town square just ahead. We can get you some breakfast.” 

“Wait? What?” Anna asks, her brows knit together. 

“There’s a patisserie near the square.” He repeats. “I’m not sure if you can get coffee, but you most likely can get something to eat.” 

“That…would be good.” Anna nods in response. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” He responds with a nod. She stares at him from the corner of her eye, suppressing a smile. Despite the man’s rough exterior and attempt to seem gruff, there are small moments that always surprise Anna, which give away to Kristoff’s true demeanour. The man who brought her a tonic to settle her stomach and the man looked for a patisserie for breakfast. 

They turn a corner, revealing a tall bell tower at the end of the street. Her gaze remains focused on the structure, enraptured by the building. She doesn’t notice that Kristoff has stopped in front of a small shop with a large window looking onto the street. 

“Anna!” He calls after the wandering woman. Throwing his arms up in frustration when she doesn’t stop for him. 

Without her noticing, he dips into the nearly empty store, purchasing a Pain au Chocolat for the woman. The old shop keeper places the pastry into a paper bag for the patron who leaves the store as quickly as he entered it. 

Anna is nearly halfway down the street once Kristoff emerges back onto the road. He picks up his pace, racing after the oblivious woman. She stops in the middle of the sidewalk as the bells from the tower begin to ring out. 

He sighs as he comes to stand next to Anna, holding the paper bag out to her. “God you can move quickly.” 

“Oh! Thank you.” Anna blinks in surprise at the bag being held in front of her. She takes the bag, glancing into it to see the Pain au Chocolat. Gasping, Anna glances back to Kristoff, tears threatening to form in her eyes at the sight of the pastry; she hadn’t had Pain au Chocolat since before the war. 

“The baker said that the chocolate isn’t great quality, y’know rationing and all of that.” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. She glances back to the bag, reaching in and taking hold of the pastry. 

The two walk in silence as Anna eats the Pain au Chocolat with a grin. As Kristoff had warned, the chocolate isn’t terribly good quality, but it is the best thing that she’s eaten in a long time. She can almost taste the butter used in the pastry from childhood memories, even though the pâtissiers most likely only used a minimal amount to bake. 

She nibbles at the pastry as they walk down the street, hoping that her red lipstick hasn’t transferred to her chin. They meander into the square, surrounded by Flemish-Baroque townhouses: closed restaurants and a few boarded-up businesses on the flats’ ground level. 

 Anna is careful walking on the cobblestone in her heels. The last thing she wants to is trip and look a total fool. They cross the square as Anna finishes her pastry, wiping her hands of the crumbs. 

“So, what now?” She inquires as they leave the square, walking back toward Rue Emile Legrelle. 

“I figured we’d spend the day walking around the city, looking for anything that could be of interest.” Kristoff shrugs. She wonders if perhaps, just as herself, that Kristoff doesn’t know what to do either. 

She nods, glancing up at him with a raised brow. “What happened to asking around about Elsa and your Honeymaren?” 

“She isn’t my Honeymaren.” He retorts quickly. “Besides, it would take nearly all day to stop every person we come across. Best look around first and then think about where it might be that the SOE would have been housed.”

“Alright, so where are we going?” She asks. 

Kristoff shrugs in response, glancing down at her. “Whatever way you want to go.” 

“Seriously?” Her brows knit together, not certain that he isn’t having a go at her. “This way!” She grabs him by his jacket sleeve, pulling him right onto the next street. Kristoff lets a small sound of surprise at the sudden gesture. 

“You have to give me some warning.” Kristoff scolds half-heartedly, a small smirk occupying his features. 

Anna shrugs, smiling up at the man. “You told me wherever I want.” Her heart soaring at the presence of the faint smile of her companion. 

“If you’re not careful, I’ll take away this power.” He jokes, glancing ahead as they continue to walk through the street. 

“Nope! You gave me the power I fully intend in abusing it.” She beams at him. They had never talked like this before, always bickering or serious, never joking. 

“What have I done?” He glances up towards the sky with a smile. Anna stifles her giggle by covering her mouth with her hand, not noticing that he stares at her in the corner of his eye. 

They continue to walk through the streets, Anna pointing out various shops to her companion and chatting idly with him. Though Kristoff doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, he nods along as the young woman talks, listening to every word that passes from her mouth. 

The pair finally stop as they walk past what seems to be a park with a brick tunnel built through a hill near the street. Anna watches as several people float into the garden, going through the tunnel to the other side. 

“You want to take a look?” Kristoff inquires, noticing the young woman’s curiosity. 

She continues to stare, not answering him immediately. “N-no, it’s fine, we can keep moving.” 

“Anna,” He says, finally getting the young woman’s attention. She stares up at him with wide blue eyes as he smirks again, cocking his head toward the park. “Let’s go see.” 

Kristoff takes her elbow into his hand, leading her across the street quickly to avoid the vehicles. He lets go of her as they reach the other side. They walk along the small gravel road into the tunnel. 

As they walk through the darkness, Anna feels something brush against her hand; the back of Kristoff’s hand. Quickly she folds her hands in front of her, trying to avoid his touch again. They emerge on the other side. 

It reveals a large cobblestone square, lined with brick buildings of various colours. They meander through the court, watching the visitors go in different directions, each of them carrying flowers. 

The couple stop as a young woman places a bundle of daisies in front of a red brick building, tears streaming down her cheeks as an older woman consoles her. The young woman isn’t the only one leaving offerings in front of the buildings. There are other women, men and even children clutching their parent’s or grandparent’s hands. 

An older woman in a navy shawl offers Kristoff and Anna a sad smile as she passes them, her cheeks dry. 

“Pardon-moi,” Anna stops the older woman, her hands still folded in front of her green coat. “Que les ce endroit?” 

What is this place? 

The woman’s gaze flickers to Kristoff briefly before going back to Anna. “C’est une forteresse que les Allemands ont utilisée pendant la guerre.” 

“What did she say?” Kristoff asks, his brows furrowed. Anna sighs, her gaze not leaving the older woman. 

“She says that this is a fortress that the Germans used throughout the war.” She explains, now playing with a black button of her coat. 

“If it was a fortress, why are all these people gathering here?” He inquires. 

“Pourriez-Vous me dire, Pourquoi tout ces…um…gens sont-ils ici?” Anna asks his question, thinking through some of the words in her head. 

“Pourquoi sont-ils ici?” The woman repeats, rubbing the back of her neck as her eyes scan the structure. Though he didn’t speak the language, Kristoff stares at the woman, her clear look of distress and sadness evident on her features. “Pour rendre hommage aux morts.” 

“Le morts?” Anna asks, her brows knitted together in confusion. 

“C’est là que des membres de la résistance ont été tués pendant la guerre.” The woman explains, her brown eyes floating to the young woman leaving flowers. “Ils sont venus honorer leurs proches et leur sacrifice.” 

“Merci,” Anna offers a sympathetic smile to the woman, allowing her to continue on her way. The young woman is silent for a moment, glancing around the structure with slightly misty eyes. 

She clears her throat, glancing up at Kristoff. “She said that these people are here to honour the dead. Resistance members who had been killed here during the war. These are people remembering those who they lost.” 

Kristoff’s gaze shoots from his companion to an elderly couple resting wildflowers next to a building. “There are so many people here…”

“You don’t think…Elsa…” Anna trails off, staring at the long brick wall, unable to push away the thought of her sister being lined up against this wall with others for the moment of her death. 

The blonde man’s gaze flickers back to Anna with wide eyes. For a moment, his hand rests on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze before withdrawing it quickly, rubbing the back of his neck instead. “I-I’m sure she wasn’t. We would’ve heard of an SOE member being killed here as well with resistance members.” 

She nods slowly, wondering if her sister would have still been undercover and using an alias if she had been executed. Would anyone even know if there were SOE members among those who were murdered? Kristoff offers her a reassuring smile, something which brings a small comfort to Anna, knowing that he genuinely believed his own words. 

Wrapping her arms around herself, Anna turns from her companion meandering back towards the tunnel. Kristoff staggers behind her from a small distance, wanting to give her space from all of this. 

Witnessing these places is always jarring in his experience. He had grown used to them by this point. The worst had been Kaufering. He knew it is best to let her process this site herself. He isn’t even sure if he can help her. 

Anna leads them through the tunnel and the park, only stopping once she steps off the gravel road onto the sidewalk. Finally, she turns to Kristoff, unwrapping her arms from her body. 

“What’s next?” She asks, glancing up at the sky. There aren’t any tears in her eyes, yet her mood is somber, trying to think about everything she had just witnessed. He stares at her for a moment, his honey-brown eyes boring into her own. 

“We can go back to the hotel.” He offers, wanting to give her a break that she clearly needs. 

She shakes her head in response. “I want to keep going.” 

“Are you sure?” He asks, his mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“I’m certain.” Anna responds, firm in her decision as she turns from him. They cross the street in a hurry, meandering toward the same direction they came. “Do you really think Elsa wouldn’t have been a part of those executions?” 

“I’m fairly confident. She was a woman in the SOE. She would have been a radio operator. If she had been, she would have been detained by the Milice, they would have most likely questioned her first.” He explains as they turn right onto a quiet street. 

“Alright, and…even if she was. Someone is bound to know.” Anna says as if trying to convince herself. 

“Most likely.” Kristoff resists the urge to reach out to her. Reminding himself that she is an engaged woman. The fact that they were sharing a room made him uncomfortable enough. 

The pair weave through Arras' quiet streets, moving in different directions to become more familiar with the city. Taking notice of the government buildings and the shops. If anything, many shopkeepers might be valuable to their search. 

They are stopped by a flower vendor on the street near La Petite Place, trying to pressure Kristoff into paying for flowers for the young woman beside him. Anna begins to explain to their situation to the vendor as Kristoff withdraws from her side. 

The vendor’s words fall deaf on Anna as her gaze follows Kristoff as he ambles towards a massive stone church. Her brows furrow in confusion as she wouldn’t have taken Kristoff to be a catholic man. She withdraws from the vendor without another word, trailing after her companion. 

He doesn’t enter the church. Instead, he moves towards the side of the door where a blonde woman sits with a sleeping toddler in her arms. Her hand is upturned to anyone who passes, but everyone pretends not to notice her as they file into the church. 

Anna watches closely as Kristoff crouches to the ground, digging into his pocket to grab a couple of francs and hands her two cigarettes. She is about to approach them as the young beggar woman begins to talk to him. But a hand on her shoulder stops her. 

Glancing over her shoulder, Anna sees an old woman standing behind her. Her white brows are knit together, creating a crease between her cold grey eyes. 

“Tu ne devrais pas lui parler.” The old crone says surprising Anna. 

You should not talk to her.

“Pardon, je ne pense pas comprendre.” The young woman responds, raising a brow. 

I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.

The old woman huffs, frustrated. “C’est une pute Kraut.” 

She is a Kraut whore. 

“Elle est Allemande?” Anna inquires, not fully understanding the woman’s meaning. 

She is German?

“Non, elle a écarté les jambes pour un soldat Kraut.” The woman looks at Anna as if she is unintelligent. 

No, she spread her legs for a Kraut soldier. 

Anna looks back to Kristoff and the woman with the child, who looked to be around two years of age, old enough to have been fathered by an occupying soldier. She walks away from the old woman without another word, her gaze fixated on the beggar woman. 

She stands next to Kristoff, placing her hand on his shoulder to gain his attention. Kristoff stands from the ground, straightening his jacket. Offering him a smile, Anna removes her hand. “I think it’s time to move on.” 

“Actually, this is Antoinette. She actually has some information that may help us.” He explains, glancing back at the blonde French woman. 

“You don’t speak French; how could you know that?” Anna questions.

“Because I can speak English.” The other woman responds, staring at the auburn-haired woman. Anna stares at Antoinette, flabbergasted at her language skill; though a strong French accent is present, the woman is clearly fluent. 

“Please,” Kristoff cuts in, glancing back to the French woman. “If there’s anything you know, it would be appreciated.” 

Antoinette glances away from the pair to the various people passing them. “Not here. I can’t talk here.” 

Antoinette begins to stand with some difficulty, taking Kristoff’s hand as he offers it to her. Anna watches the pair, something irking her as he helps the French woman a smile. 

“Alright, where can we talk?” Kristoff inquires, hoping that all of this will be worth it. 

“Come with me.” Antoinette leads the pair away from the church, meandering towards La Petite Place with her child still sleeping in her arms. She brings them to her flat, leading the couple up the narrow winding staircases. 

Anna’s feet hurt as they reach the top of the stairs, but they walk through a door into a courtyard revealing four other flats in the building. Antoinette brings them across the yard to the apartment on the ground level, opening the door for them. 

Kristoff steps through the threshold of the apartment after Antoinette, Anna following close behind them. The apartment is small, the foyer immediately leading into a living room with books and papers scattered through the room. 

“Please have a seat. I’m going to put the baby down.” Antoinette instructs, crossing into the single bedroom. Anna and Kristoff settle on the old leather couch beside one another, Anna bounces her knee as they wait. 

Antoinette re-emerges from the doorway with a smile. “Can I get either of you anything? Tea? Coffee?” 

“We’re fine, thank you.” Anna smiles at the other woman. The blonde nods, settling in the leather armchair across from them. The three stare at one another for a moment. 

“What is it that you want to know?” The French woman asks, tapping her finger against her knee. Kristoff glances at Anna, waiting for her to start, but she doesn’t. 

“We’re looking for someone.” He explains, trailing off in case Antoinette will cut him off, but she remains silent. “Two women, they were a part of the Special Operations Executive.” 

A flash of recognition passes Antoinette’s face. “I was with the resistance throughout the war…we encountered many people who were enlisted with the SOE, not very many women, though.” 

“We’re looking for Elsa Rendelle and Honeymaren…” Anna trails off, realizing she doesn’t know her last name. 

“Nattura.” Kristoff finishes for her. Antoinette pauses for a moment, her brows furrowing in thought. 

“I…I know there were two women here, not by those names. They stayed in Le Petite Place in ‘43, their names were Marguerite and Eloise, but that’s all I really know. The one…Marguerite, I think, wore two necklaces which I thought was odd.” Antoinette explains 

Anna sits forward slightly in her seat, her heart racing. “Do you remember what they were?” 

“Let me think, well, the one that always sat on top of the other was a snowflake, but the other…it was a heart-shaped locket with roses engraved in the silver.” The French woman begins to play with the hem of her woollen skirt. 

“Where did you see them last?” Anna asks, now sitting on the edge of her seat with wide and hopeful eyes. Kristoff stares at Anna, resisting the urge to smile that she must’ve recognized something of her sister from Antoinette’s description. 

“Um…I saw them last in the Autumn of ’43, they left town in the middle of the night.” She says, noticing how Kristoff’s eyes widen and Anna’s face pales. “I know they weren’t captured. If they had been, there would have been German soldiers crawling over their apartment the next day, and a man with the SOE moved in a few days later.” 

Anna lets out a sigh of relief, knowing that there is a possibility that her sister made it out of Arras alive. Kristoff’s gaze drifts from Anna to Antoinette, hesitantly asking. “We came across the citadel today, is there any chance that they could have been executed with the resistance members?” 

Antoinette’s eyes become downcast, staring at the ground as if the memory pains her. She slowly shakes her head. “No, all of us who worked with the resistance knew who were executed. Marguerite Mahy and Eloise Boucher were never on those lists.” 

“Thank you,” Kristoff reaches into his pocket, placing two more cigarettes on a stack of books resting on the small wooden coffee table. Antoinette stares at the smokes, reaching out with shaking hands to take them. “If there is anything we can do, please let us know.” 

“If anything, it sounds like you need me more than I need you two.” The blonde woman manages a smile. Anna smiles at the woman, wishing they had slightly more money to offer her for all of the help she had so willingly given. “But I’m afraid it’s nearly time for my Gabriel to wake up from his nap. I would encourage the two of you to leave.” 

“Of course,” Anna nods, standing from the couch with Kristoff. Antoinette follows the pair towards the door, surprised as Anna turns around to take her hands. “Thank you for everything.” 

Antoinette nods, withdrawing her hands from Anna’s grasp. “If you need anything else, please do not hesitate to let me know.” 

“We will.” Kristoff nods, opening the door to the courtyard. Anna follows him into the space, glancing over her shoulder to see Antoinette standing in the doorway, clutching her shawl to her chest. 

Kristoff and Anna descend the winding staircase in silence, neither knowing what to think of their exchange with Antoinette. 

Anna isn’t sure if either Marguerite or Eloise could be Elsa, but the locket. It seemed familiar to her; silver cut into a heart shape with roses engraved on the face. The locket that was never found among the rubble, could it be possible Elsa had it this entire time? Her heart begins to pound in her chest as they reach the last set of stairs, feeling as if her chest is about to burst from excitement. 

 They emerge onto the street from the building. Kristoff immediately turns on his heel to look at Anna, his eyes wide with excitement as hers are. 

“Anna…you don’t think…” He trails off, trying to contain himself as he waits for her answer. 

She glances up at him, a smile threatening to cross her features. “The necklace Antoinette described it…it matches my mother’s locket. I thought it was lost when the flat was bombed, but…” 

“Do you think it is possible your sister could’ve taken it?” He inquires, his hands shaking at his side. 

“I-I think it is.” She stutters. Meeting his gaze with a grin, Anna’s heart begins to beat erratically as she speaks. Kristoff stares at her, his whole face lighting up as she voices her suspicion. He lets out a laugh, running his hand through his hair. 

“We found something.” He says breathlessly. 

“We did!” Anna nearly squeaks. Tears of happiness threaten to form in the moment as Anna throws her arms around Kristoff’s neck. He wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her small form off of the ground with a twirl. Their laughter echoing in one another’s ears as they embrace with happiness and excitement. 

When her feet touch the ground once again, the pair don’t hesitate to withdraw from one another. Nearly jumping away from the other’s touch as a blush begins to spread through Anna’s cheeks and down Kristoff’s neck. 

The two stay silent, Anna playing with the end of one of her French braided pigtails and Kristoff rubbing his neck. He finally clears his throat. “W-we uh…should head back to the hotel to let Sven out.” 

“O-oh, yeah. Of course.” Anna nods, still not making eye contact with him, her heart still pounding in her chest. 

“Right.” Kristoff says in barely above a whisper before starting to walk down the street. Anna follows behind him from a distance, thinking it best that she remains apart from him for the time being. Knowing that her emotions, especially when she is ecstatic, tend to get the best of her at times. 

But this is different. For the first time, she pushes away anything thread of doubt because Anna has finally has a reason, however small, to believe that her sister is alive.

Chapter Text

Elsa sits at a small table, a glass of white wine sitting idle in front of her as the blonde pretends to read Émile Zola’s L’Assommoir. Her eyes scan the La Petite Plaza over the book, carefully watching everyone who walks through the square. 

She had changed which café she sat every day since arriving in Arras last week. Remembering Yelana’s warnings about routine and consistency. Within the week, Elsa already knew who to talk to about helping them; L’épicier, le venduer de livres, et le boucher.

Honeymaren and her would start with the bookseller, an elderly man who offered everyone walking in the street past his business a pleasant smile. They had heard the older demographic may be more inclined to assist with them, having remembered another time similar to this with an occupying force and a decimated city. 

Her heart stops as she makes eye contact with a young brunette man, dressed in an all too familiar grey-green field uniform, his field cap tucked under his arm. Mouth dry and hands shaking, Elsa glances down at her book, hoping that he wouldn’t come over to speak with her.  

“Bonjour.” A heavily accented voice greets, much to Elsa’s horror. She lowers her book, peering up at the smiling man in front of her through her lashes. 

“B-Bonjour.” She responds, hoping the shake in her voice made her seem like a shy maiden in those stupid books Anna read as a child. 

Much to her relief, the soldier smiles warmly at her while gesturing to the empty chair across from her. “May I sit?” 

“If you would like,” Elsa answers, trying her best to seem coy and hoping that she is acting in such a way. He sits across from her, his eyes not leaving her for a moment as Elsa glances to her lap, tucking her pinned back hair behind her shoulder. 

She notices how he rudely catches the waitress’s attention, causing Elsa to shoot the young woman a sympathetic look. He glances back at her with a small smile. 

“My name Johann.” He states in broken French. 

Elsa nods with a shy smile, trying her best to play the part. “My name is Marguerite.” She hates this already, pretending as if she is some shy country girl who is flattered by the attention of an occupier. 

The waitress shoots Elsa a disapproving glare as she sets red wine in front of Johann, shaking her head as she walks away. Elsa knows this could have her ostracized from the community. But she couldn’t just walk away from him without a word, he had the power to do anything he wanted, and no one can stop him. 

“What is that book?” He inquires rather awkwardly in her second language. 

“L’Assommoir by Émile Zola.” She places the book on the table, her hand resting on it as she regards the clean-shaven man. 

“Zola…” He muses, repeating the name. “Wasn’t he a Jew?” 

Her heart nearly seizes at his question, shaking her head. “N-no, he wasn’t.” The man hums in response, still trying to place the name. Elsa doesn’t offer information on Zola’s influence and involvement during the Dreyfus affair. 

“What is it that you do, Marguerite?” 

“I um…I’m currently unemployed.” She stumbles, hoping she hadn’t ruined her cover as he raises a brow at her. “My cousin and I just moved to Arras from Givenchy-en-Gohelle, we’re living at our aunt’s apartment while we look for work.” 

“And your aunt?” He inquires. Elsa resists the urge to move her brows, her tell according to Honeymaren. 

The two women had sat together in the apartment during their first night in Arras, testing one another for cases like these. They had quickly found out that they both had immediate indicators when they lie; Elsa’s eyebrows wiggle slightly while Honeymaren’s nostril flare.  

“She passed last autumn,” Elsa explains as she glances down to the table, feigning sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” His grey eyes bore into her blue ones. 

She reaches forward, taking a large sip of her wine. “Thank you.”  

“I assume you two were close?” He asks, taking a sip of his wine slowly as he continues to regard her. Elsa doesn’t like how his eyes seem to scan over her, feeling exposed and hoping that Honeymaren would emerge from the flat at any moment. 

“Very, my cousin and I used to come to stay with her every June,” Elsa responds, glancing down that she has nearly less than half of her wine left. She had to ration it perfectly so that he wouldn’t insist that she order another, but just enough that if Maren were to show up, she could quickly drink the rest. 

“How lovely,” Johann responds. “I used to spend my summers in Bavaria with my grandfather. Which allowed me to leave the Rhineland occasionally.” 

Elsa nods, faking interest, noting that is how he knows French. Most German soldiers she had met were hardly able to speak the language well, if at all. “How lovely. I’ve heard wonde-” 

“Marguerite!” A voice calls out, catching Elsa’s attention. Much to the young woman’s relief, Honeymaren stalks towards the table in a grey tapered skirt, a white high-collared shirt with a dark green cable knit cardigan. Her mouth pressed in a firm line as she stands in front of her partner, hands resting on her hips. “It’s time to be going.” 

“Of course,” Elsa nods as she reaches for her wine, quickly drinking the rest. She glances at the soldier with a seeming apologetic smile. “It seems I must be going; it was nice to meet you.” 

“Why doesn’t your friend here join us.” Johann’s eyes shift to Honeymaren, looking at the other woman with interest. The brunette’s gaze shifts to the German briefly, her lips pursing in clear annoyance. 

“I think not.” Honeymaren’s eyes flicker back to Elsa, eyebrows raising. “It’s time to go.” 

Elsa nods, reaching into her purse to grab a few coins. She places the francs on the table, standing with her bag in her hands. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Johann.” 

“It was all mine.” He smiles charmingly at her. For a moment, Elsa wonders if he’ll stand to attempt to kiss her hand. Honeymaren grabs her by the arm before he can, dragging her out of the sitting area of the café. 

“So, I’m certain of the bookseller,” Elsa speaks in a whisper as they walk across the square, arm-in-arm. Honeymaren doesn’t respond as they approach their flat. The brunette reaches into her purse, grabbing the keys for the entrance to the complex. 

Upon opening the glass-windowed door, Honeymaren marches up the twisted staircase, Elsa following close behind her. The two don’t dare speak in the stairwell or in the hall in case anyone is listening. 

Their flat is on the fourth floor of the building, much to Elsa’s relief; even after the morning runs during training, she isn’t sure she could walk up several flights of stairs every day. Honeymaren switches to a small brass key, inserting it into the lock without any hesitation or fumbling. 

Honeymaren pushes open the door with a click, venturing further into the small two-bedroom apartment they had been sharing for the past week. Elsa closes the door behind her, following after the brunette into the shared space. 

A brick fireplace sits against the east wall, a red loveseat and armchair sit across from it with a coffee table separating them. A small table, which was once used as a dining table, has now been utilized for keeping notes and holds their shared radio. 

Honeymaren settles herself at the second chair of the dining table, opening one of the leather-bound notebooks. “You said the bookseller?” 

“Yeah, he seems fairly private. He doesn’t get a lot of business due to the economic decline as of late.” Elsa explains, slowly approaching the other woman. She wonders what had gotten into Honeymaren. Usually, the two of them talked non-stop. “Are you alright, Maren?” 

“You need to be more careful, Elsa.” The brunette states, not looking up from the notebook. 

Elsa’s brows furrow in response. “What does that mean?” 

“If locals seeing you fraternizing with a Nazi, they might not be willing to help us.” Honeymaren elaborates, glancing up from her writing.   

“I know.” Elsa sighs, leaning back against the armchair. “I was trying to think of ways to dissuade him but had no such luck. You have impeccable timing.”  

Honeymaren seems to crack a smile at that. “I try. But I mean it, we should go over some excuses for you. We wouldn’t want this getting back to your David.” 

Elsa nods with a small smile. Her chest aching at the implication of Honeymaren’s words. She doesn’t like that her friend assumed about her and David. After all, she didn’t have to tell her the entire truth.

“I mean…he isn’t my David.” She admits, voice slightly shaking. 

“Oh?” Honeymaren inquires, brows knit together. The brunette closes the notebook, turning her body to face Elsa in the armchair. “But I thought you and him…”  

Elsa shrugs. “We went out on one…date…kind of. I’m not sure, but the girls were asking, and I just…I don’t know. Felt like I should contribute.” 

Honeymaren stands from the chair, meandering toward the sitting area before settling on the couch. “How do you go on a kind of date?” 

“He made a comment about me only going to post-secondary to find a husband,” Elsa explains, her fingers tapping against the fabric of the chair. “So…I left.” 

The brunette jerks forward with a laugh, covering her mouth. “You just left him?” 

“Yeah,” Elsa affirms, a smile slowly spreading across her face in response to Honeymaren. “I just completely lied to him about being sick and left him before we reached the party.” 

Honeymaren’s cheeks begin to hurt as she laughs, trying to imagine the look on the white boy’s face as Elsa stalked away from her. Elsa cannot help but giggle at her reaction, wanting nothing more than to continue to hear that sound. 

As her laughter settles, the brunette tucks her legs under her as she meets Elsa’s gaze. “So…I mean, you don’t have to answer but, why did you tell the girls all of that stuff? I mean, if you regarded him as nothing…I don’t understand.” 

Elsa feels as if something was thrust into her chest, the coldness spreading through her body as she reflects on the question. Her mind racing with differing excuses that might sound plausible, anything that would deflect from the truth. 

“I-” She stops immediately, glancing down at the skirt of her navy dress. Inhaling through her nose, Elsa looks up at Honeymaren. “I’ve never had any friends before…and I…” Another sigh as her voice falters. 

“You wanted to belong?” The brunette inquires, raising a brow. Elsa hesitates before nodding, her heart pounding in her chest. Honeymaren gives the other woman a sympathetic smile. “I can understand that.” 

“You can?” Elsa asks, suddenly curious about what secrets the Mohawk woman might hold. Maren regards her for a moment, glancing out of the window, her eyes focused on a floating cloud as if deciding to further tell the British woman about her life. 

Honeymaren sighs, her head shaking slightly. “I-I too have never had a real friend. The way I was…” She scoffs, her gaze tearing away from the window to Elsa. “Educated, if that’s how one would explain that place. I never had the chance to establish any friendships, and once I returned to the reservation…most girls were either married, pregnant or left to find a job.” 

“You were sent away for school?” Elsa cocks her head, intrigued by what kind of school Honeymaren would have attended. 

The brunette forces a smile, pushing down every feeling in her bones as she responds politely. “Something like that.” 

The two fall silent. Neither of them particularly wanting to carry on with this conversation. Elsa has no desire to talk about what she has been through, as did Honeymaren. Although the two felt as if they finally had a true friend.

They leave the flat later when the plaza is sure to be quiet through the day with hardly any soldiers present in the square. 

Elsa and Honeymaren approach the bookstore, their arms linked as always whenever they were in public. Putting up the image of close cousins which dissuaded any unwanted attention from men. The sun beats down on the two as they slowly approach the building. 

In a quiet voice, Honeymaren relays the instructions. “You go in, ask him if he has a volume of Beowulf in the original.” 

“How will that signal anything?” 

“There is a well worked out series of questions used to see if they are sympathetic to the resistance.” The brunette explains. “We may ask a fishmonger if haddock is in season, a florist about tulips. Usually something out of season or hard to get.” 

They walk past a group of school children as they pass the boulangerie. Honeymaren withdraws herself from her friend with a reassuring smile as she meanders into the shop as they had agreed upon. 

Her heart pounding in her chest, Elsa approaches the bookshop on the north side of the square under a window box with cornflowers and poppies growing out of it. Librairie des Calais was painted in light yellow on the sign outside. She pushes on the faded red door, entering the small, quiet shop. 

The scent of old books and papers quickly overtakes Elsa’s senses as her eyes scan the shop. It is nearly empty, save for the old man sitting at the register and a blonde girl standing on a ladder, re-shelving books. 

She slowly approaches the counter, staring at the old man with a ring of white hair and spectacles that rested above his moustache. He looks up at her with a pleasant smile. 

“Bonjour, what can I do for you?” 

“I’m looking for a book,” Elsa replies, trying to control the uneasiness in her voice. She cannot fail this. 

The old man cocks a bushy brow at her. “Really? So few people want to buy books these days. Most rather use them for kindling.” 

He stands from his chair with a groan, clearly pleased with the idea of an actual business that Elsa couldn’t help but feel bad about it. “I-I’m looking for a volume of Beowulf in the original.” 

The old man pauses, his pleased expression falling being replaced with a grim one. His eyes cold as he stares at the young woman. 

“You don’t actually want the book, do you?” A clear indication that he knew the signal. 

“Non,” She responds quietly, shaking her head. 

The old man begins to shake his head. “Non.” His eyes flickering across the square to the café where several SS are eating their early dinner. 

“Monsieur, please, it would be low profile. Just a letterbox in one of the books. You wouldn’t even notice.” Elsa pleads, pushing aside her fear and panic. 

“Mademoiselle.” He huffs, his head still shaking. “I live upstairs with my granddaughter, who is not yet sixteen. She is the only thing I have left in this world. Had it just been me, I would not care at all. But I have to think about her.” 

 Elsa thinks of Anna back home somewhere in London. This man’s granddaughter is just barely younger than her. Leaving her sister behind had been one thing, but to have brought her right in the middle of danger or harm is unthinkable to the young woman. She has no right to ask this of the poor man. 

The blonde nods. “Merci Monsieur, for your time.” Elsa leaves the shop without another word as the old man disappears into the back. For a moment, she debates to re-enter the store and follow him, but she doesn’t. 

Resigned, she prepares to tell Honeymaren the news. This isn’t ideal; the more people they ask, the more people will know about them. 

“Mademoiselle!” A voice calls through the square. Elsa turns on her heel, watching as the blonde girl from the bookstore races after her. Elsa’s brows furrow as the girl approaches her, a book in her hand. The adolescent holds out a copy of Beowulf to the other woman. “You forgot your book.” 

“Oh, merci, but I couldn’t possibly. I’ll come back when I have enough francs for it.” Elsa says, continuing the charade. The girl’s brown eyes bore into Elsa’s, making her somewhat uncomfortable. 

“I insist.” The girl responds, continuing to hold out the book. 

Elsa sighs, knowing that this girl couldn’t possibly understand what this book truly symbolized. “Merci.” She reaches for the book with a grateful smile. 

“You have to understand.” The girl’s voice lowers as the book transfers from her hand into Elsa’s. “People like my Grandpere, they’re afraid and don’t necessarily know what is the right thing to do. He’s usually away Wednesday afternoons. I can organize anything you need.” 

Elsa nods, clutching the book to her chest. “May I ask your name?” 

“My name is Antoniette and yours?” The blonde girl smiles. 

“Marguerite,” Elsa replies, the alias slipping out naturally. “Merci, Antoniette.” 

“Adieu Marguerite.” Antoinette spins her heel, racing back to the bookstore, no doubt wanting to return before her grandfather could see her talking to the unfamiliar woman. Elsa watches the girl disappear behind the red door, turning the sign to read Closed.  

She withdraws from the shop, making her way towards the boulangerie where Honeymaren stands in front of the store window. The brunette pushes off the brick building, meeting Elsa in the square. 

“Home?” Honeymaren questions, her eyes widening as if silently warning her friend that it isn’t safe to talk. 

“I think so. It’s about time we start supper.” Elsa nods, taking the brunette’s arm without hesitation as they meander back to their flat. Neither speak as they make their way into the apartment, offering smiles to other tenants in the building as they pass them. 

Elsa turns to face her friend as they enter their flat, the door clicking behind Honeymaren as she closes it and locks the entrance.
 
“So? How did it go?” The brunette inquires, following the other woman into the living room.  
 
“Well…the owner wouldn’t agree.” Elsa sighs, her skirt flaring around her hips as she settles on the couch.  
 
Elsa expects her friend to be disappointed, even angry at her for failing. Instead, Honeymaren nods. “I’m not surprised. Mattias told me there have been many reprisals in the region. Everyone is scared to help.”
 
“But his granddaughter offered to help; she runs the store on Wednesday afternoons.” She explains, her fingers brushing against the hem of her dress. Honeymaren’s brows rise to her hairline in surprise.
 
“That could be useful. If we ask another store too soon, it will stir up gossip about us.” Maren huffs, pulling her long hair out of its low bun. “It may be our only option.”
 
“She’s only sixteen. We can’t ask her to do such a thing.” Elsa protests, knowing that she would never forgive herself if anything were to happen to the girl.
 
Honeymaren sighs, running a hand through her loose hair. “I know, but…at this point, we need any help we can get. People have to make sacrifices Elsa, the only difference between them and us is we get paid for it.”
 
“Promise me that as soon as it becomes dangerous for her, we’ll stop using the bookshop for drops.” Elsa chews the inside of her lip, worried that she might sound naïve. She knew that the SOE needed the information and help but can’t stomach the idea of harm coming to a child because of her actions.
 
“Alright,” Honeymaren nods, knowing her friend is struggling with this. “We’ll keep our eyes out for someone else who might be sympathetic and move the drops to there.”
 
“Thank you, Maren.” She feels as if a weight has been lifted from her chest, knowing that they would do everything they can to keep Antoinette and her grandfather safe. The brunette smirks at her, standing from the armchair.
 
Her hand brushes against Elsa’s shoulder lightly as she walks past. “Who knew you were so soft.”
 
“Excuse me?” Elsa’s vision follows Honeymaren as she pads into the small kitchen. The brunette stands on her tiptoes, grabbing down two wine glasses from the highest shelf.
 
A loud pop echoes through the room as Honeymaren uncorks a bottle of wine. She glances over her shoulder at Elsa as she pours the wine. “You put up this entire front of being so guarded that you just seem cold but, deep down beneath all of that, you’re soft.”
 
Elsa raises her brow at the other woman, who carries two glasses of wine back to the living room. One is placed in front of the blonde on the coffee table while Honeymaren holds onto the other as she settles into the chair.
 
“Isn’t that a bad thing?” She inquires, picking up the glass. Honeymaren shrugs, taking a sip of the red wine.
 
“Some think it is. My father always used to tell Ryder he was being soft, which was a bad thing.” The brunette explains. “But, my Rakshótha always said that it wasn’t a bad thing because you need people like that to keep others from acting brash.”
 
“Your Rakshótha?” Elsa questions, struggling to pronounce the foreign word.
 
“My grandfather,” Honeymaren smiles wistfully. “It’s Kanien’kéha for grandfather, he insisted that we didn’t call him by the English title.”
 
Elsa smiles as the other woman talks about her family; she never had a relationship with either of her grandfathers, both of them had died before her birth. “Were you close with him?”
 
“Yeah, I was. I mean…” Honeymaren huffs, her gaze looking up to the ceiling. “Ryder and I were raised by our grandparents. So, he was basically our father…more so than our biological father was.”
 
“Oh, I um I-” She stutters, not sure how to respond.
 
“Elsa, it’s fine. It is what it is. It is not a big issue.” The brunette is quick to respond, shrugging her shoulders. “Just take a breath.”

“I just never know what to say in those situations.” The blonde cringes at her own words, wishing she was better at this. 

“Most don’t. It’s why I never tell anyone.” Honeymaren shrugs. Staring at the other woman, the brunette tilts her glass toward Elsa. “I mean, except for you now.” 

Elsa props her feet on the edge of the coffee table, staring at them. “I-I wasn’t really close with my parents either.” 

“No?” Maren takes another sip of her wine. Elsa shakes her head in response with a sigh, an uncomfortable feeling building in her chest. “You aren’t obligated to tell me anything if you don’t want.” 

“It’s fine. I-I want to tell you,” Elsa states, wanting to finally share something about herself with a friend, something she hasn’t ever been able to do. “Just my sister and I were raised by nannies primarily. Our mother would fire them regularly so that we didn’t get too attached to any specific one.” 

Honeymaren’s dark brows shoot up in surprise. “Are you serious? Oh my god. Makes me wonder what sort of person your mother was.” 

“She was…” Elsa sighs, reflecting on Iduna’s character. The alcohol in her body making her mind slightly fuzzy. “She was quiet and reserved. She just let our father take the lead on everything. Whatever he said went. But she could also be distant and cold toward us…she was specifically hard on Anna.” 

“Why was that?” Maren tucks her legs up on the chair, taking another sip of wine. 

The blonde shrugs. “Anna was always high-energy as a child, impulsive, and our mother just couldn’t handle it. I don’t think she ever wanted to be a mother.” 

“Mine was the same,” Honeymaren responds with a sympathetic smile. They fall silent as Elsa waits for the woman to continue. “I mean, she did the best she could with us, you know?” 

“Yeah, I understand that.”

“Our dad left when Ryder was almost ten, and she just couldn’t handle it.” Honeymaren sighs. She reaches forward for the bottle of wine, pouring herself a large amount of alcohol before giving Elsa the rest. “I mean, she did her best to support us. But we never really saw her unless it was on birthdays or Christmas.” 

They fall silent once again, both of them sipping their wine as many undiscussed memories resurface. 

“Hey,” Honeymaren calls, a small smirk spreading across her features. “At least you’ll be a better mother than both of ours.” 

Elsa giggles at her joke, shaking her head. “I don’t think children are in my cards.” 

“Why not?” Maren inquires, her head leaning slightly. 

Dread fills in the blonde, her mind racing with any excuse she can think of to give to Honeymaren. She wonders if she should just tell her friend the truth about her affliction but quickly pushes away the thought. It would only ruin the friendship they had established; Elsa couldn’t have that happen. Even if Maren doesn’t…it didn’t matter. Because it isn’t like that in any way. 

The blonde shrugs. “It’s just…a feeling I have.” 

“I’m the same,” Maren responds with a nod. Elsa’s gaze snaps up to the other woman with wide eyes, wondering if she could possibly be the same. The brunette sits up slightly, rather uncomfortable. “In terms of just having a feeling.” 

“Oh yeah.” Elsa nods, a feeling pitting in her stomach at Maren’s clarification. The feeling seemed like disappointment, but it wasn’t. There isn’t anything for her to be disappointed over. They were friends, and that is enough, not that there is anything else to it. 

“Another bottle?” Honeymaren inquires, standing from the chair without waiting for a response. Elsa glances over her shoulder, watching as Honeymaren grabs a similar bottle from the counter and uncorks it. 

Carefully the Mohawk woman walks back over to Elsa, pouring her another glass before giving herself a large portion. The blonde picks up the glass by its stem, watching the Bordeaux-coloured liquid. 

Honeymaren reaches across the space with her glass, holding it out with a smile. “To our first mission being a success.” 

Elsa clinks her glass against the other with a small smile, the sound echoing through the little flat. They both take a sip of their wine, rather pleased with the outcomes from their day. Elsa sips her wine, knowing that the other woman was right; their mission had been a success. That’s why she was here, and it’s all that mattered. 

Chapter Text

Anna huffs in frustration as yet another citizen walks away from her that afternoon. It had been another day of trying to acquire more information about Elsa, Honeymaren or the SOE. The previous ten days had been spent doing the same, driving to surrounding communities to find anything about the SOE. 
 
They had found an old farmhouse near Wailly that once been used as a safehouse. However, all hope was dashed to see that all remained was a pile of rubble. It had been bombed flat by the end of the war. The locals surrounding hadn't even known that it was occupied throughout the conflict. 

Anna had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the SOE had done their job well; it was nearly impossible to find any evidence of their presence in France. She stands aimlessly on the street, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her reefer coat, her heeled shoe tapping against the pavement. They clearly were no longer getting anywhere by asking people on the street for information. 

She tucks her hair behind her ears as she strides down the road, having left her hair unbound and unpinned for the day. It had been strange to the young woman initially not wearing a full-face of makeup and having no hair curlers during her first week in France. Though Anna had to admit that she enjoyed not being forced awake early in the morning to put on her makeup and style her hair. 

Watching her step, Anna carefully walks on the cobblestone of La Petite Plaza, where she was to meet Kristoff and Sven for the afternoon. She stops in front of the belltower, her gaze scanning the plaza to spot her companions. 

She smirks at the sight of the tall blonde American man; Kristoff sticks out like a sore thumb among the people of Arras. His hair and beard had become slightly more rugged during their travels. He stands tall among the crowd in his green coat and khaki trousers, Sven sitting by his side. 

Anna withdraws from the stone building, attempting to keep her ankles sturdy as she inches toward her travelling companion. She raises her arm to catch the man's attention, her heart fluttering in her chest as a smile crosses Kristoff's features at the sight of her. 

Lowering her arm, Anna returns the gesture, knowing her heart was beating at the fact that he had smiled at her. There had been a few rough patches between the two of them since arriving in France, namely Kristoff's lousy temper and Anna's inability to wake up before 11 o'clock. Although it made Anna's heart pound whenever she managed to get him to smile at her presence. 

She shakily walks along the cobblestones, her smile not wavering as she stands in front of Kristoff and Sven. 

 "So how did it go for you two?" She inquires without greeting him. Kristoff huffs, running a hand through his hair. 

"Not well," He responds as Sven pushes his head into Anna's hand, begging for attention. "I mean, which was to be expected. I just…yeah." 

Anna sighs, slightly disappointing that he hadn't gotten much more information than she had in their task for the day. Though she knows it may be possible that they wouldn't find any information, since that afternoon at Antoinette's, her hopes had never been that high before. 

"What do we do next?" She asks, biting the inside of her lip as to not strip away her bright red lipstick. 

Kristoff stares at her for a moment, his hand coming to rest on Sven's back. His eyes drift to the ground, darting back and forth as he formulates a new plan. "I don't think we'll get much further with asking around. It seems like not many people want to talk about the war that or the SOE did an outstanding job covering their tracks." 

"We could always go back to Antoinette," Anna offers as the pair and the wolfhound begin to peruse through the square. "She might have some idea." 

"Do you really think so?" He raises a brow at the woman. 

"Absolutely. She might know who else we should talk to." The young woman explains, having wished that they would have asked the blonde woman about others who might know her sister or Honeymaren’s whereabouts. 

Kristoff shrugs. "Alright, if you think that's what would be best. We'll go to Antoniette." 

Anna beams at him as they leave the square, resisting the urge to reach over and squeeze his shoulder. As they stroll down the street with one another, Anna smiles as Kristoff recounts his daily walk with Sven. 

"So, I took him back down toward the Citadel. I did not realize how many people have dogs here." Kristoff shakes his head. 

"What? Do you not have dogs in your part of America?" Anna inquires, a smile creeping onto her face. He groans, looking up to the sky. 

"I mean, we do." The blonde trails off, "It's just, I was raised on a ranch, so it's not like I was surrounded by pets all the time. Any animals we had were working animals."  

Anna's hand runs over Sven's ear as they continue to walk. "So, what did you just lift this one from someone in London?" 

"Sven? No, I uh…found him abandoned when I was stationed in Germany." He explains, glancing down to his companion with a wistful smile. 

"Really?" Her brows raise toward her hairline in surprise.  

"Yeah, really." Kristoff's forehead creases. "What? Does that surprise you?" 

Anna shrugs, patting Sven once more on the back before placing her hand into her coat pocket. "Honestly, yes, it does. You don't really strike me as the type of person who'd rescue a dog from rubble and ruin." 

Much to her surprise once again, Kristoff chuckles at that, shaking his head. "I mean, I did it back in Sheridan enough." 

"Doing what? What could you have possibly done back home that you rescued animals from ruin?" She questions. 

"I was a firefighter on the Reservation near my family's ranch every summer." He explains. "My aunt and uncle have a house up in Lodge Grass in Montana. So, I would stay with them and work with a team to put out wildfires during the dry season." 

"It gets quite hot then?" 

"Oh yeah, for the northern part of the country, it gets scorching and dry in the summer." A sad smile crosses his features as he reflects on his home. "In the summer, my pa and I would sleep out in the barn because it was so hot in the house, and we had to be up early in the morning." 

Anna stares at Kristoff as they wait to cross the street. This was the first time Kristoff had told her about his background; all she knew initially was that he was from Wyoming and had served as a paratrooper. 

She couldn't help the next words coming out of her mouth, despite knowing that it might make him shut down. "Do you miss it?" 

"Y-yeah, I do." He nods, clearly uncomfortable sharing aspects of his life with the auburn-haired woman, who he had shared so little with. "I mean, I still send letters home to my parents, but…its um…yeah." 

Anna nods as he falls silent, not pushing him any further as they approach Antoinette's apartment. Much to the couple's relief, someone is entering the building as they stand in front of the door, letting them into the structure. 

Footsteps echo through the corridor as they climb the winding stairs, Anna trying to keep her panting as quiet as possible to not embarrass herself in front of Kristoff. She sounded similar to Sven when they have the heat turned up a little too far in the car. It was embarrassing. 

They reach the top of the multiple sets of stairs, leading into the small courtyard that had surprised them when they were last here. The pair walk across the yard toward Antoinette's flat. Anna reaches forward, knocking on the faded painted door without hesitation. 

The door jerks open in an instant, nearly startling Anna out of her skin as Kristoff commands Sven to lay next to the door and stay. Antoinette stands on the other side of the door, her dirty-blonde hair collected on the top of her head as she holds her son on her hip. 

"Oh, it's you two." Antoinette greets, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her face. "What are you two doing here?" 

"We have some more questions," Kristoff explains to the clearly overtired woman. 

 "Alright, come on in." Antoinette nods with a sigh, glancing behind her toward her kitchen. In an instant, the other woman picks her son up by the armpits, holding him out to Anna. "Here, take him." 

Anna blinks in surprise as the boy is pushed into her arms, hurriedly resting him on her hip. She glances down to the rosy-cheeked blonde boy, his index finger hooked on his lip as he stares at the stranger holding him. 

"Oh, okay…" Anna trails off, glancing at Kristoff with her brows knit together. Kristoff shrugs his shoulders, pushing past the young women into the house. Glancing back at the child in her arms, she pats his back. "Shall we find your mama and see what she is doing?" 

"Ouais!" The toddler agrees, although she is fairly certain that he most likely doesn't understand her. As she enters the small flat, Anna closes the door behind her, stalking further down the corridor past the washroom. 

Kristoff is already sitting in the living room, his legs crossed. Antoinette stands in the small kitchen over a hot pot and a tea kettle on the stove. The blonde glances towards Anna and her son, smiling at the two of them. 

"You can put him down now." Antoinette states, turning back to the sauce she stirs in the tall pot. "If that door is open, he'll take any opportunity to race into the building. He drives the elderly woman upstairs crazy with his crawling up the stairs to her flat." 

Anna giggles as she places down the boy, who races toward the living room where Kristoff sits. She watches the boy squat low to the ground to grab a toy, immediately holding it out to the blonde stranger. Kristoff smiles at the toddler, taking the toy from the boy as he begins to babble, earning a grin from the blonde man. 

"He's quite the charmer." Anna comments. 

Antoinette raises her brows with a nod. "He takes after his papa in that way. He used to be able to charm any woman he wanted." The blonde woman's face drops at the mention of her son's father, clearing her throat. "You can join your sweetheart on the couch while the water for the tea boils." 

"Oh-he isn't- I mean, that is, we aren't together. Well, we are but not like…that." Anna feels her face become flush at her fumble, embarrassed by it. "I'm engaged, actually. To another man, not Kristoff." 

"So why isn't your fiancé here?" Antoinette asks without missing a beat. Anna pauses, her mouth slightly agape as she attempts to reason Hans's absence to the stranger. 

"Well, I mean. He's busy with work, and then we're moving to America at the beginning of March. So, he is attempting to make all of those arrangements." She responds, playing with the middle button of her coat. 

Antoinette's brow raises again, her hand resting on the counter's edge as she turns to face the British woman. "You're moving to America with your fiancé, and you just…up and left two weeks before? And he was alright with that?" 

"Well…yeah. But that's what is nice with Hans and I. We're…independent people from one another. Hans does as he wants, and he allows me to do what I want…" Anna retorts, that familiar twinge returning to the pit of her stomach. 

Antoinette nods slowly, turning back to the stove as the kettle begins to whistle. Anna stares at the other woman, unnerved by her muted response. It is clear to her that the other woman found her arrangement with her fiancé odd. 

Anna turns from the kitchen, stalking toward the living room. There was no point in further defending her romantic relationship to this stranger. She knew what she had with Hans is fine, more than that. It is perfect. 

She settles herself on the couch next to Kristoff, who was nodding along to the babbles of the toddler standing in front of him. Kristoff's eyes twinkle as the boy continues speaking in French with a small plush rabbit in his hands. She hadn't expected him to be good with kids. There were so many surprises about this man. 

The boy looks at Anna, giving her a shy smile before running from the couple towards his mother. She giggles at the small boy, her chest tightening. 

"You didn't understand a word he was saying, did you?" Anna inquires, unfastening her jacket's buttons to reveal her olive blouse decorated with foxes tucked into her brown tweed skirt. Glancing down, she re-ties the pussy bow around her neck. 

"Not at all. But he didn't seem to mind." Kristoff responds, watching as she fiddles with the bow. "We were having a good time." 

Anna giggles at that once again, glancing down at her skirt. She doesn't notice that Kristoff's gaze lingers on her, observing how her eyes twinkle whenever she laughs. 

He looks away from Anna as Antoinette sets down a tray on her coffee table, holding a teapot and three teacups. Kristoff smiles up at the young mother. "Thank you." 

"You're very welcome." The blonde woman settles herself in the leather armchair across from the couple. Anna leans forward on the couch, immediately pouring the tea into each of the cups. "Oh, you didn't have to do that." 

"It's really fine. It's the least I could do after you let us into your house one again." Anna waves her free hand as she sets down the porcelain teapot. 

Antoinette smiles at the other woman. "Well, I did offer my services if you ever needed them again. So, what can I help you two with now?" 

"We've been travelling the area of the city trying to ask people in the street about the possibility of finding our friends," Kristoff explains, tapping his index finger on the knee of his crossed leg. 

"I'm assuming the two of you haven't gotten very far since I last saw you." Antoinette comments, picking up the teacup decorated with lavender. 

Anna follows the other woman's action, picking up the teacup with forget-me-nots painted on the china. "It's been a lot more difficult than we expected." 

"No one really wants to talk about the war anymore," Antoinette explains. "We spent nearly a full year recounting the occupation with Allied soldiers. Everyone just wants to move on with their lives." 

"Can you recall anyone in the resistance who might be able to help us?" Kristoff inquires, leaving his teacup untouched. Antoinette sighs, glancing down at her son, who sits in front of her playing with his toys. 

"Everyone who I worked with closely either…defected or were executed." The dirty-blonde trails off, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth as she thinks. "I suppose you could look at archives at city hall. Although I don't know how much that would be useful." 

Anna's brows furrow, wondering why neither her nor Kristoff had thought of that. "Why wouldn't they be?" 

"Most of the records at city hall were either destroy before the occupation. Anything relating to the occupation would have never been recorded, destroyed or moved to Paris." Antoinette muses, taking a sip of her tea. 

"What sort of records?" Kristoff inquires, leaning forward slightly. 

Antoinette sighs, her brows raising slightly as she sits back in her chair. "Military personal stationed here after the liberation. Potentially arrest records. I'm not really sure what else." 

Anna glances at Kristoff, trying to gauge what he is thinking. She knew they do not have a lot of time; she is supposed to return to London in nearly 3 days. They don't have time to rummage through archives in Paris or are not certain that they can access the records to begin with. 

"What do you think?" She asks her travelling companion. Kristoff hums for a moment, staring at the old red rug on the ground, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

He finally glances at her. "I think I should at least try." Anna nods, taking note how he doesn’t say “we” when referring to a journey to Paris.  

"I have a friend who can help you navigate the archives," Antoinette states, putting her cup on the coffee table. The French woman stands from her chair, walking toward a small wooden table next to a window. 

In a moment, she walks back toward the couple. She holds out a piece of paper, handing it over to Kristoff. "This is my friend's address and phone number in Paris. His name is William, he was a pilot with the SOE. He might be able to help you, but he's been quite involved with cataloguing records." 

"Alright, we'll be sure to contact him when we arrive," Kristoff responds, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. Anna makes a mental note to make him give her the paper to place in her purse once they leave, even though she'll most likely forget to. 

Antoinette smiles at the couple, her gaze resting on Anna. "And um…watch out for William… he's a charmer." For a moment, Anna could've sworn that the other woman glanced at her son briefly as she spoke those words. 

"I'll watch out for her," Kristoff assures Antoinette with a smile. Standing from the couch, Anna shrugs her coat on, fastening the buttons. Kristoff rises with her, offering Antoinette a smile as he walks past her, muttering words of thanks. 

Anna walks past the other woman, turning to her. "Thank you so much for everything. It means so much to m-us."  

"Of course," Antoinette takes Anna's hands into her own without hesitation, peering into the other woman's sapphire eyes. "I wish the best for both of you and that you find his friend and your sister.”  

Anna smiles at the other woman, withdrawing her hands from Antoinette's as she walks toward the front door. Kristoff stands in front of the closed door, waiting for Anna to catch up to him. As she stands by his side, he opens the door for her, both of them crossing through the threshold without another word. 

Kristoff closes the door as Anna emerges into the courtyard, ensuring Antoinette's son didn't race out of the front. Sven stands from his spot next to the entrance at the sight of the pair, following them to the winding stairs. 

The blonde man trails behind Anna as they silently walk down the stairs, both of them trying to think through what they should do next. 

Anna only has 3 days until she is supposed to return to London, not including her travel time back to the city. But they are so close. She wonders if she were to write to Hans, if he would understand and allow her to stay only one more week. Though the woman knows deep down that he would not. 

The pair emerge onto the street, Anna holding open the door for her travelling companions. Kristoff tucks his hands into his pants pockets, looking both ways down the road before resting his gaze on Anna. 

"You want to get a drink?" He asks hesitantly, clearly not wanting to broach the subject of what to do next. Anna nods wordlessly, allowing him to lead the way back to La Petite Place. He chooses a small bistro just off of the plaza in the same direction as their hotel. 

"I'll get us a seat if you want to take Sven back to the hotel." Anna offers as they stand in front of the brick building. 

"Yeah, if you wouldn't mind, it shouldn't take me long." Kristoff states, "I'll just let him into the room, and I'll feed him when we get back." 

"Alright, I'll see you then." She smiles up at him with a nod. The blonde man pats his thigh to urge Sven to follow him. The two race down the street, jogging between various people to reach the hotel in a timely fashion. 

Anna pauses in front of the restaurant's door, taking a few deep breaths before taking hold of the handle. She pushes her way into the building, greeting the host with a smile and requesting a table for 2. 

He leads her toward a small table beside a brick wall, decorated with a painting of what looked to be a vineyard somewhere in the country. Anna settles herself in one of the wooden chairs, overlooking the menu as she waits for her companion. 

“Bonsoir Madame, puis-je vous offrir quelque chose à boire?” The man who welcomed her into the restaurant inquires. 

Good evening Ma'am, Can I get you something to drink?

“Oui, je vais avoir votre maison vin rouge et mon ami..um…leffe blonde.” Anna hopes that her French is passible to the server. 

He smiles at her, nodding. "Bien!" 

Anna looks back down to her menu as the server walks away from her, carefully scanning each item on the menu until she hears the door to the restaurant open. Kristoff stands in the entrance, sweat beading down his forehead as he stalks toward her. 

"Did you run?" She inquires as the man settles himself across from her. Kristoff wipes his forehead, reaching for the glass of water in front of him. Anna watches as he chugs the entire glass, sighing as he places down the cup. 

"Yeah, I did." He says, breathless. "I didn't want you to wait too long for me." 

Anna's brows knit together, feeling oddly touched by the gesture. "Really?" 

"Well yeah, I didn't want to be rude. I suggested we go for drinks." Kristoff shrugs, not thinking much of his hurry to return to her. She resists the urge to smile, hiding her expression behind the small menu. 

Since she had started to see Hans, he never rushed to meet her, not once. He was either early every time and scolded her when she was late or arrived with her to ensure she was punctual. The occasional time that Hans was ever late, it was followed by a non-sweaty and steady breathed excuse and a gift, usually earrings. It felt nice to feel urgent. 

The server returns with a glass of red wine and a beer glass filled with an amber liquid. He places the wine in front of Anna and then the beer in front of Kristoff. 

"Merci." Kristoff thanks the man. His accent clearly American and sounds odd to Anna as he speaks the language. The waiter smiles at him, withdrawing from the pair without another word. 

Kristoff looks at the Leffe glass in front of him, smiling. "You remembered." 

"I remembered what?" Anna inquires, taking hold of the wine glass by its stem. He taps his finger against the glass as he wraps his hand around it. "Oh, that yeah, I mean it's all you talked about when we first arrived in France." 

"I guess I did…" He trails off, taking a sip of the beer. "Although, you got one thing wrong." 

Anna raises a brow at him. "No, I didn't. You always order Leffe." She begins to question the past weeks together, confident that she is correct. Kristoff smiles at her, observing her as her eyes dart back and forth in thought. 

"You're right about that." Kristoff nods, glancing down to the table. "I drink Leffe Brune." She groans in response, throwing her head back in exasperation. 

"I was so close!" 

He chuckles, enjoying her reaction to the reveal. "You were, but not quite." The two quietly laugh with one another, trying not to disturb the two other patrons in the restaurant. Anna's laughter begins to die as she notices how the corner of Kristoff's eyes crinkle when he laughs. 

Despite starting out on a rough patch and having a few occasionally, Anna had found herself immensely enjoying the rugged man's company. Beneath the gruff exterior he had put up when they first met, Anna quickly found he was compassionate and considerate. There is no doubt in Anna's mind that she might actually miss him when she leaves. 

"So…" Kristoff trails off as he settles. "I think we should talk about what should happen next with the project once y-you…" 

"Once I leave?" Anna finishes his thought, that ache in her chest returning every time she thought of leaving with this unfinished. He nods, his gaze falling to the table. "What do you want to do? Once I…" 

"I mean, you only have 3 more days here." Kristoff states. 

"Well, I could probably get on a train from Paris to Le Havre and then take the Ferry from there to Portsmouth." 

His eyes widen in surprise. "From Paris?" 

"Y-yeah. I mean… we're still going to Paris for the archives, right?" Anna inquires, resisting the urge to shrink back in her chair. 

"Yeah, we are. We'll leave in the morning," He takes another sip of his beer, setting it down as he points at her. "But you have to get up before 9am."  

"Fine, but you have to buy my breakfast in the morning." Anna points back at him, pursing her lips. 

Kristoff smirks with a nod. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, princess." She sticks her tongue out at him briefly before reaching for her wine. 

Taking a sip of the liquor, Anna stares at him over the glass. She places the crystal back on the table, her eyes boring into his warm brown eyes. "Kris…if I have to leave before we find anything. I just wanted to let you know there is no obligation for you to continue-"

"Anna." He cuts her off. "I plan to continue to look for your sister and Honeymaren. I will find her, I promise." 

Tears prink in the corner of her eyes from his declaration and the sincerity in his voice. Anna reaches across the table with no hesitation, taking his larger hand into her own as she blinks away tears. "Thank you, Kristoff." 

"It's no worries. It's the least I can do for you after everything you've done for me." He states, squeezing her hand. 

"I haven't done anything." She shrugs, unaware of what he is talking about. Kristoff opens his mouth as if trying to conceive the words, but he doesn't speak. Instead, he withdraws his hand from Anna's. 

"You've done more than you think." He takes another sip of his beer. Anna doesn't ask any following questions, knowing she won't get anything else out of him. Though considerate and compassionate, Kristoff is stubborn as hell. 

Chapter Text

Elsa races up the set of stairs to the flat, a wicker basket hanging in the crook of her elbow, swinging with every step. She slows as she stands in front of the door, her chest heaving as she reaches for the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, much to the young woman’s surprise. 

It’s Tuesday, nearing 3pm. Honeymaren is supposed to be at the radio waiting for a transmission from headquarters. The door should not be unlocked at this point in the day. 

Pushing her way through, Elsa scans the small flat to see Honeymaren sitting in front of the radio at the table. Her headset on as she quickly transmits a message. The blonde quickly closes the door, lest anyone was to peer into the apartment. 

In their three weeks in Arras, the two women learned that more people are considered to be Nazi sympathizers than they thought. Specifically, Mademoiselle Alarie on the third floor below them. Meaning they had to be more careful than they expected to be, under instruction not to come and go frequently or late at night after curfew. 

She turns around, locking the door behind her as she places the basket holding their groceries on the ground. Approaching the couch, Elsa places her purse on the armrest, opening the bag to grab the reason for her going out that afternoon. She runs her hand against the interior stitching, looking for the small opening Honeymaren had created with a seam-ripper to carry messages back and forth from the bookstore. 

Her fingers brush against the paper in the secret compartment, dragging it to the opening of the small hole. She slips the folded piece through the hole, taking the message from the purse. 
Honeymaren is staring at her, hurriedly waving her over to bring the cipher for transmission. 

Elsa unfolds the paper as she races toward the other woman, her fingers brush against Honeymaren’s as she hands off the message. 

The brunette looks at the message muttering to herself; “Sunday will be sunny with a high of 25 degrees. Monday, cloudy and 23 degrees.” Honeymaren continues with every day of the week and the temperatures. 

Elsa settles herself in the chair next to Honeymaren, helping her sort through the various paper and keeping her organized as they transmit. A small smile crosses her features as she files through the sheets, it reminded her of helping Anna with her schoolwork at Harrogate. Back when they were still close. 

With a sigh Honeymaren removes her headset, placing it on the table as she leans back in the chair. Elsa gathers the papers into a single stack as she stands from the chair. She meanders toward the fireplace, throwing the stack into the pit. Grabbing a box of matches that sat on the mantel, Elsa slides open the box to take out a match. She strikes it with a flick of her wrist, tossing it onto the papers. 

“Els, could you bring me one of those?” Honeymaren questions, removing the crystals from the radio. Elsa turns from the burning papers, walking back toward the dining room table. She sets the matches onto the surface next to the Mohawk woman’s wrist. “Thank you.” 

Honeymaren closes what appears to be a small olive-coloured suitcase holding their wireless, securing it with the buckles. The brunette removes the transmitter from the table, placing it under the surface. 

“You’re welcome,” Elsa watches her pull out a cigarette from the pack that sat on the windowsill next to the table. “Actually, could you hand me one as well.” 

Honeymaren nods, a smoke already in her mouth as she hands Elsa one. The blonde woman grabs the cigarette offered to her, noticing the boxes of matches already in the hands of the other woman.  

Striking a match, Maren brings the match to the end of the cigarette to light it. Elsa holds out her hand for the box, her finger brushing against the brunette’s palm as she takes it. She places the cigarette in her mouth while grabbing a match, striking it to light the smoke. 

She blows out the match, reaching for the burnt match that Honeymaren had discarded on the table. As Elsa walks back to the fireplace, Maren stands from the chair to face the window, opening it now that they were finished with transmitting. 

Elsa throws the two burnt matches in the fireplace with the pieces of paper now reduced to ash in the pit. Stepping back from the fireplace, Elsa exhales the smoke from her cigarette, walking through the smoke as she moves to the window. 

Honeymaren leans on the wide windowsill, her head poking out of the window with elbows holding her up. The blonde stands next to her friend, ducking under the pane to join Maren half-outside. 

The two watch the crowd in the square as they smoke their cigarettes. Pointing with her cigarette Honeymaren singles out a portly older man making his way across the square. 

“That fucker asked if my father served in the Rif War.” Maren takes another drag of her cigarette as she chuckles. Elsa covers her mouth as she snorts in response, surprised at the comment. 

“I had a soldier approach me the other day and ask me if I was actually German.” The blonde titters as she begins to explain the story. 

“Oh no.” Honeymaren hangs her head. 

“And when I insisted that I am not…” Elsa trails off, trying not to cringe as she completes the line “He asked me if I would like to have one in me.” 

Maren retches jokingly at the line, unable to look her friend in the eye. “That is so bad.” The two women begin to laugh. “Men are the absolute worst.” 

“I can agree with that.” Elsa nods slowly, taking another drag of her cigarette. A loud knock echoes through the flat, causing both women to look back toward the door. The blonde glances back at Maren. “Who do you think that is?” 

The other woman’s brown eyes remain glued on the door, putting her cigarette out in the dirt of the box planer under their window. “I’m not sure. It could be the old hag from downstairs complaining that we’re being too loud.” 

“I hope not.” Elsa draws her lower lip between her teeth nervously. Honeymaren ducks under the windowpane, standing up straight prematurely. Her head hits the white-painted windowsill with a loud thud, causing Elsa to flinch in sympathy pain before scolding. “Be careful!” 

“I’m okay!” Honeymaren reassures her as she walks across the living room, her hand resting against the spot she had hit. Elsa shakes her head at the other woman’s carelessness, something which is becoming more common in their weeks together. 

The person on the other side of the door knocks again as Honeymaren stands in front of the door, glancing over her shoulder to ensure their radio was out of sight. With some reluctance, the brunette opens the door a smidge. 

“Oh Jesus christ,” The Mohawk woman sighs, opening the door fully to reveal Mattias standing on the other side. “You nearly scared us both.” 

Mattias walks into the apartment past Honeymaren, who closes the door behind him. He scans the room as Elsa leaves the windowsill, standing up straight at the sight of their superior. 

“Your transmissions are taking too long. I could hear your tapping all the way down the corridor.” He raises a brow at Maren briefly before his gaze softens. “How are you doing?” 

“I’ve been well, we’ve been making lots of progress in these past weeks,” Honeymaren responds. Mattias nods, turning to Elsa who still stands in front of the windows. 

“And you Marguerite?” 

She feels clueless and nervous living surrounded by Germans was what she how she truly felt about everything but managed a “Fine, thank you.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Mattias walks across the flat, settling himself in the leather armchair. Honeymaren stalks toward the living room with crossed arms. 

“What are you doing here? We don’t transmit again until Thursday and why didn’t you send Will?” The brunette asks. 

“There is no message.” He crosses his legs, Elsa noticing as he taps his fingers against the armrest of the chair. 

Honeymaren moves forward, sitting on the couch. “Then why are you here?”

“I need your help.” He explains, his gaze darting to Elsa briefly. “Both of you.” The blonde withdraws from the windowsill, standing behind the couch. 

“To translate something?” 

“No, actually,” Mattias responds, standing from the chair quickly. “I’ll leave you two with instructions, it isn’t safe for me to stay here much longer. But you need to be at the train station by 4 pm. Memorize this address.” 

He hands the blonde a piece of paper with an address scrawled onto it: 58 Rue des Lombards. Elsa looks up from the paper with a raised brow. “Where are we going?” 

Mattias grins at her. “I think it’s time that you two see Paris. 

Three hours later, Honeymaren and Elsa emerge from the metro station at Châtelet, stepping out onto the sidewalk above ground. In the distance Elsa can make out a tall column, the sun shining brightly on the gold that adorned the top of the structure. Behind the column stood a grand building with a dome-shaped roof.  

It had been years since Elsa had been in Paris, only having gone once in her life before this. Iduna had insisted they needed to see more of France other than Île de Ré. Though Elsa wonders as an adult if it wasn’t an excuse for her mother to leave Agnarr’s side for a weekend. 
 
A hand rests on the blonde’s shoulder, causing the young woman to jump slightly. Honeymaren smiles at her friend, cocking her head in the opposite direction. “The apartment is this way.” 

Elsa nods, following after Honeymaren away from the column in the distance. The two don’t speak as they cross the street, which felt like it should be busier than it is. Her blue eyes remain focused on the ground as they walk in the street, avoiding eye contact with any German soldiers they pass; they had been instructed not to engage.

They turn left onto a quiet road, although the first portion of the road felt more like an alley to Elsa. The street was lined with dark cobblestones, cars parked in what seemed to be a small courtyard across from shops. A brick building with a red canopy draping over the outside sitting area catches Elsa’s attention immediately, surprised to see that the establishment that large is still operational. 

“The apartment is just on the left here.” Honeymaren glances over her shoulder at her companion. Elsa follows her as they turn left onto Rue des Lombards, surrounded by tall stone buildings on both sides. The street is narrow as they reach number 58, a single door shoved between two buildings now boarded up. 

Honeymaren reaches into her brown leather purse, grabbing the key given to her by Mattias before their departure from Arras. She has to turn the key a couple of times before the door gives way to the pressure, allowing the women into the building. 

The foyer into the apartment is small, only big enough to hold a bike or two and a set of stairs next to the door. The two women climb the stairs, making their way to the top floor. They stand in front of the door to the flat, a small, frosted window next to the entrance. 

Elsa immediately notices a small vase holding a wilted poppy sitting on the windowsill, though the flower hadn’t been replaced the dust around the vase had clearly been disturbed. The blonde reaches forward, picking up the small crystal vase which reveals a key underneath. 

“Nice catch,” Honeymaren comments as Elsa steps forward, putting the key into the lock. 

“I was surprised that you didn’t notice it first.” The blonde responded, turning the key and pushing on the oak door. 

“Well excuse me, I was busy trying to get us here alive.” The brunette remarks as the door open to reveal a narrow corridor. 

Elsa throws her head back with laughter as they pass the washroom. “Oh, I see. That must have been such an arduous process.” 

“It was.” Honeymaren closes the door behind her, checking twice that she locked it. “My partner in all of this likes to day-dream as we walk, so it takes longer to walk than it should.” 

“Oh my god, that sounds so horrible.” Elsa giggles, spinning on her heel to stare at the woman behind her with a smirk. 

“It really is.” The other woman leans against the blue painted wall, not feeling rushed to explore their new flat quite yet. 

“She doesn’t sound nearly as bad as my partner.” The blonde says exaggeratedly. 

Honeymaren raises a brow with a smirk, encouraging the other woman to continue with the banter. “Is that right?”

“She’s the most stubborn and headstrong person I’ve ever known,” Elsa remarks, her smile faltering as Honeymaren steps closer to her with a raised brow. At that moment Elsa feels her mouth go dry at the other woman’s simple gesture. 

“I fail to see why that’s an issue. I think those are both endearing qualities about myself.” Honeymaren places her hand on her chest as if she is offended by her friend’s comment. 

“You screamed at a German soldier before we boarded our train. I thought he was going to arrest us.” Elsa states. 

Recalling how the young man had started flirting with Honeymaren, his actions becoming bolder toward the Mohawk woman despite her not reciprocating. It had accumulated when his hand not so innocently slipped to the brunette’s rear, earning the young man being shoved away and receiving an earful from the irate woman. 

Elsa had known it was a miracle that their train pulled away once he was finally sitting up from the concrete ground. 

“But he didn’t, so I don’t see the issue.” Maren shrugs with a smirk, walking past her companion into the flat. “Besides, I don’t think his superior would have liked the fact that he was even entertaining that idea with someone who looks like me.” 

Elsa pauses at that. She is aware of how differently Honeymaren is treated, although it is uncommon for the Mohawk women to comment on it when those sorts of things occur. Even back at Rhubana Lodge Elsa recognized the way that some girls spoke to Maren as if she was stupid or below them in some way. She couldn't understand it, how someone could have those sorts of feelings toward a person without even knowing them. 

Of course, Elsa knew that people who were not white British were treated differently than those who were. But watching Maren have certain comments directed at her because of her skin colour was an entirely different thing. Until then Elsa had never seen how people were treated differently. Elsa would never be asked if her father served in the Rif War as a means to question her existence nor would she be turned away from certain shops in the city.  

The blonde turns to follow her friend, trailing close behind her into the front corridor toward the main part of the flat. Trying to push down that twinge in her chest whenever she hears about these aggressions toward Honeymaren. The kitchen is the first room they encounter off to the side of the hallway, a counter separating it from the living area.

There are only five small windows through the lower level of the flat, covered by heavy curtains which no doubt will be helpful for their preparations for their mission. There is a small set of stairs leading toward the second floor of the flat, which Elsa can only presume is where their bedrooms are.

Although Elsa wonders if they’ll be in Paris long enough to sleep. Honeymaren makes her way up the stairs without another word, leaving the other woman alone on the first floor. Elsa walks between the furniture to stand in front of the coffee table surrounded by two couches and an armchair.

From Mattias’ instruction, there should be a package somewhere in the flat. They were to deliver the package to a man named Louis at 22 Rue de Bièvre during nightfall. If there is a candle in the window, approach the house. If no candle is lit, it means it is not safe to approach.

“Elsa! I found it!” Honeymaren yells from the top of the stairs, taking one step down. The brunette slips on the hardwood stairs, landing on her bottom hard. Elsa steps forward, eyes wide and brow raised in concern.

“Are you okay?” She asks, but the laughter which follows answers her quickly. Maren holds the object wrapped in brown paper close to her chest as she sits on a step.

“I’m fine,” The brunette manages through her laughter, slowly standing from the step. Elsa watches as her friend descends the stairs carefully as to not slip on the hardwood again.

“She’s also incredibly clumsy.” Elsa quickly adds, hoping that the addition to their earlier banter would make sense to the other woman.

Honeymaren steps off the last stair, making her way to where Elsa stands in the living room. She places the package on the coffee table, standing next to her friend before nudging her shoulder with her own. “Whatever.”

Elsa smiles at Maren, withdrawing from her side toward an oak bookcase that sits against the wall between the two windows. Her eyes scan the content of the shelves, taking note of the well-worn books: Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms. Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front. London’s Call of the Wild.

They were all books and authors who had been banned during the occupation of France. Titles which she hadn’t seen since her arrival in the country. There are things she is beginning to miss about being home in London; her radio, silk stockings, books, Benny Goodman and Duke Ellington. Although there are things, she would no doubt be missing had she left the SOE.

“I wonder what’s in this.” Honeymaren ponders. Elsa glances over her shoulder to see the brunette holding the package, inspecting it with curiosity.

“Don’t you Americans have the saying that curiosity killed the cat?” The blonde inquires, turning away from the bookshelf. Maren places the package back on the surface, slumping back on the couch with her arms crossed.

“Yeah, but it’s just no fun.”

Elsa titters, taking a step closer to her friend. “I would’ve thought you’d be more official when it came to this sort of thing.”

“You did?” Maren stares at her incredulously. “You really should know me better. I’m starting to think that maybe you’re a poor judge of character.”

“Clearly, first David and then that German soldier a few weeks ago. Looks like I’m completely helpless when it comes to this sort of thing.” Elsa settles herself in the armchairs across from the other woman with a dramatic fling of her arms.

“Well, it’s a good thing that you have me now.” Honeymaren giggles, tucking her legs up underneath her.

Elsa peers at Maren with a small smile. “Yeah, it really is.”

Their coats were non-descript, both Maren and Elsa dressed in brown trench coats with a belt wrapped around the waist. Even if someone caught them outside during curfew the description of the jacket wouldn’t be enough to be identified.

They both wear woolen stockings and oxfords. Elsa stands by the door, hands tucked into her pockets as she waits. Her hair has been tied back into a low ponytail, unable to remember the last time she had worn it like this. Most likely back at Rhubana Lodge, which seemed like years ago now.

Honeymaren approaches her companion, a cross-body leather messenger bag hanging at her hip to carry the package. Her and Elsa were dressed nearly identical to one another, with the exception that Maren’s long hair is pulled into a single plait.

“Are you ready to go?” Maren asks, ensuring the bag is securely shut.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Elsa manages, nervousness building in her chest. Honeymaren walks closer to her companion with a smile, standing only an inch from her.

“You’ll be great.” The brunette rasps, reaching behind Elsa for the door handle. Much to the blonde’s disappointment Honeymaren steps around her, leaving the flat without another word.

Elsa clears her throat, turning around toward the door. Her heart hammering in her chest she steps through the entrance, closing the door behind her. Trying to convince herself that everything would be alright. They would complete the mission with no trouble and be back in their beds by midnight.

However, the erratic beating of her heart didn’t cease as they quietly snuck out of the building, Honeymaren grabbing her hand as they slunk through the street. Though her hands were warm and had a gentle touch, the contact did nothing to quell Elsa’s nerves.

Chapter Text

The car’s air is becoming almost unbearable to Anna. It is mixed with cigarette smoke and Sven’s breath. It doesn’t help that she has been shoved into the middle seat between Sven and Kristoff in their 30 minutes of driving. She had no idea how she lost her spot to a dog in less than an hour. 

She huffs, trying to dispel the motion sickness building inside of her. This is the worst. 

“Would you like me to roll down a window?” Kristoff’s voice echoes through the vehicle, starling Anna out of her trance. 

“What?” She looks over at him, her forehead creased in confusion. Kristoff smirks, reaching over to the hand crank without another word, rolling the window down to let some air in. Her eyes widen in surprise, managing a smile. “Oh, thank you.” 

“You can always ask, you know.” Kristoff shrugs, throwing the butt of his cigarette out of the window. “For me to roll down the windows, it can get quite overwhelming in here quickly between Sven and me.” 

“Yeah, it is. Although you don’t smell nearly as bad as he does.” Anna lovingly places her hand on Sven’s head, rubbing the spot behind his ear. 

Kristoff scoffs, mouth falling open in mock offence. “Are you telling me I smell?” 

“You could do with a proper scrub. If you bathed and groomed properly, you might actually be quite handsome under all that.” She states without thinking, lulling her head back as the crisp cool air enters her lungs. Not noticing how Kristoff’s hand reaches up to caress his beard as she closes her eyes. 

The fresh air is helping her nausea, deeply inhaling through her nose to settle her stomach. Anna thinks about falling asleep for a moment; it is only two hours to Paris, not very long. But long enough that falling asleep for the entire drive would throw off her already horrible sleeping schedule. 

Then the noise comes, rattling through the truck and auditable to everyone in the car. Anna sits up, listening closely to the sound the vehicle is making. 

“Fuck!” Kristoff curses, pulling into the shoulder of the road. He parks the truck with a groan, burying his face into his hands. Anna resists the urge to smirk at the situation. She knew it. She knew that the truck was bound to break down at some point in their travels. 

“You have a toolbox?” Anna asks shyly, not wanting to exacerbate his frustration. He nods, pulling his hands away from his face. The blonde looks over his shoulder, checking to see if any cars are passing them. 

There are none. He exits the car without another word, slamming the door shut as he walks around the vehicle. Anna glances down at Sven, turned toward her and where Kristoff once sat as if he knew something is amiss. 

Kristoff jerks open the car door on Anna’s side, staring at his travelling companions. “Get out both of you.” 

Anna does not hesitate, patting Sven to move out of the car quickly, followed by her. She doesn’t want to do anything to further anger the American man. She and the wolfhound stand in front of the hedgerows, watching as Kristoff repositions their suitcases to find the toolbox in the back of his car. 

He pulls a black box out of the truck, leaving the door open as he moves to the front of the vehicle to open the hood. Nothing is smoking as he had expected, nor does anything seem out of the ordinary. 

Anna finally steps towards him, hands tucked in the pockets of her green coat. “So? Anything look terribly wrong?” 

“No, I mean it’s hard to tell. But clearly, there is something wrong. I just don’t know what.” He huffs, placing his hands on his hips-the grease on them dirtying his white shirt. 

“Would you mind if I?” She points to the truck with a raised brow. Kristoff’s brows knit together at her, stepping away from the vehicle with a shrug. Anna slinks to where he had stood, looking under the hood. She is thankful that her hair is tied back today, making leaning over easier in this situation. 

It is all too familiar to her, and the motions come back to her without much thought. She reaches into the toolbox, grabbing a wrench from the bottom. She tightens a few bolts to ensure the car's battery is secure, although she knows that isn’t the issue. 

She finds the issue in a matter of minutes. Stepping off the front of the car she smiles, glancing up at him. “You're low on transmission fluid. At least I think it’s that, or the torque converter might be a little worn.” 

“W-okay.” Kristoff’s brows rise in surprise. 

“If it continues, we’ll check it out once we get to the city.” Anna steps forward, raising her darkened hands. “Now I’m just going to...” Without another word, she wipes her hands on his shirt. 

“Hey!” Kristoff protests, but doesn’t step away from the woman cleaning her hands on his shirt. “T-this was clean!” 

“You’ve worn it for the past 3 days.” Anna steps away from him. “That. Has not been clean since Monday. You ready?” 

She doesn’t wait for his answer, sauntering toward the car as she calls for Sven. Almost at that moment, Kristoff could imagine her walking in long grass, calling out to Sven as the sun shines brightly above the Bighorns. But quickly shakes the thought away. 

He grabs the toolbox, closing the hood of the truck before walking toward the driver’s side door. Anna smiles brightly at him as he climbs into his truck, placing the box in the backspace behind the front seats. 

The car jerks forward, Anna listens closely as they pull onto the road, waiting for the rattling to return but it never does. She leans back in her seat, smiling victoriously at Kristoff, although she felt that her fixing the car should have earned her the seat Sven is still in.  

They drive in silence for a little while, ensuring nothing else sounds wrong with the vehicle. Kristoff glances at her in his peripheral, clearing his throat. “So…where did you learn to fix a car?” 

“I would hardly call what I just did classifies as fixing a car.” She smirks at him. When he rolls his eyes, Anna sticks her tongue out at him. 

“I’m serious though Anna, how does a woman working in a department store know how to fix a car?” He presses, resisting the urge to grab another smoke. 

Anna sighs, fighting the urge to look away from him “I worked in a munitions factory throughout the war. We had a lot of vehicles coming in and out of the warehouse, so we were taught to fix cars in case any broke down near us.” 

“Wait…” He trails off, processing the information. “For how long?” 

“From ‘42 to ’46.” Anna answer without hesitation. She smiles, though the job was tough and at times could be dangerous it was the most fulfilling work Anna ever did. 

Kristoff hums in response, his brows furrowing as a thought comes to him. “Your…21, right?” 

“I am,” Anna confirms, leaning back against the seat once again. Kristoff falls silent for a moment, trying to think through everything his travelling companion had just told him. 

“Anna…you were 16 in ’42.” He points out, finally looking at her. Her eyes widen and immediately feels the want to shrink into her seat. 

“Yeah, I was…” She affirms, her voice pinching off as she begins to pet Sven’s back. His gaze stays on her, waiting for an answer. Anna glances down to her lap where her hands are folded, picking at her nail. “I…might’ve dropped out of secondary school…” 

“You dropped out of high school?” Kristoff exclaims, causing Anna to shrink back slightly.

“This is why I wasn’t going to tell you. I knew you were going to make a whole thing out of it.” She huffs, slapping her hand against her thigh in frustration. 

“I’m not flipping I just…” He huffs, taking in a deep breath to control his displeasure. “You never thought about going back?” 

Anna looks back at him with a shrug. “I did for a little, but I mean the war continued and I figured I could make money without an education. I did well until they forced us out once the boys started coming home.” 

“That’s why you work at a makeup counter.” Kristoff deduces, glancing briefly at her before returning his gaze to the road. 

“I met a girl at the factory who knew they were hiring at Fortnum & Mason.” Anna sighs, running her fingers through Sven’s fur. “I wouldn’t have gotten it without Mary’s help. My parents didn’t really do me any favours with that fancy school anyhow.” 

Kristoff hums in response. He hadn’t expected Anna to have worked in such an environment, especially at such a young age. He knew that the munitions factories were not devoid of dangers for the women working in them. Anna would have clearly seen something during her service, Kristoff is certain of it. 

Anna clears her throat, becoming uncomfortable with the silence between them. “So, what is it that you do, when you’re not gallivanting around France with a stranger?” 

“I’m sorry?” Kristoff chuckles, not tearing his gaze from the road. 

“What did you do with your secondary schooling, if it’s so important.” She restates the question, resisting the urge to sidle closer to the man who she had come to almost consider a friend. 

“Well, when I graduated there were almost no jobs in the country. So, I joined a program called the Civilian Conservation Corps, which means I basically spent the summer and fall of ‘41 tree planting and fire fighting in Yellowstone.” 

“What’s Yellowstone?” Anna inquires, looking down at her bare nails. 

“It’s a National Park in Wyoming.” He explains with a smile. The auburn-haired woman stares at him, waiting for him to continue but he doesn’t.  At every turn, Anna tried to respect Kristoff’s boundaries but this was something she couldn’t leave alone, she wanted to know more. 

She shifts slightly closer, her thigh just barely touching his while staring up at him. “What’s so special about it?”

“We-it’s one of those things you have to see for yourself.” Kristoff sighs, smiling wistfully as he reflects on his homeland. “My Ma always used to say if there was heaven on Earth it would be Yellowstone.” 

“It’s that beautiful?” Anna inquires watching as Kristoff nods and reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes. “I think I’d like to see it someday.” 

“Maybe you will.” He shrugs, grabbing a lighter from his jacket. 

Anna smiles up at him, her heart fluttering in her chest. She glances back down to her lap, down at her bare nails resting on her knees. She wonders if she might be able to go see places like that once she and Hans move to America. Her finger twitches against her bare knee, pondering if Hans liked the outdoors, it was never something they discussed. Brows furrowing, Anna wonders if Hans would even want to visit Kristoff. 

Were there places like the one Kristoff was describing in Virginia? Would they be living in the middle of the city or surrounded by wilderness and fields of gold as Kristoff had described? She hopes so. 

“So,” Kristoff speaks again, disturbing the silence. “Do you wear all of that makeup because you’re making up for lost time while working in a factory?” 

“No.” Anna rolls her eyes. “We were allowed to wear makeup, though minimal. It was actually encouraged, kept us from looking manish.” 

The man begins to cough, the smoke burning the back of his throat before rasping. “Excuse me what?” 

“They wanted to keep us looking as feminine as possible.” Anna sits back in her seat with a shrug. “I heard from a co-worker it was a way to weed out the lesbians but I’m not so sure about that.” 

“Why not?” He raises a brow, taking another drag of his cigarette. 

“Mostly because I knew a few lesbians in the factory, they passed letters frequently and no one ever suspected a thing. I think the higher-ups turned a blind eye to it.” She guesses, looking down at Sven as his head raises from the seat. 

“Did that bother you at all?” Kristoff asks, sticking his arm out of the window to ash his cigarette. 

“Not really. They kept to themselves and I mean I’ve known people like that all my life. I’ve known about Olaf since we were 18 years old.” She peers at him in her peripheral, gauging his reaction.  

There isn’t any, he simply nods while taking another drag of his cigarette. The corner of her mouth twitches up at that as he doesn’t say anything. It isn’t often that she discussed her oldest friend’s sexuality with others, even Hans. But Kristoff and Olaf seemed to get on well; she knew Olaf didn’t mind people knowing about him being a homosexual unless it came to the authorities or someone who wouldn’t be so understanding. 

It’s why she never told Hans; she wasn’t sure how her fiancé would respond. He and Olaf didn’t get along at the best of times. It just wasn’t pertinent or any of Hans’ business about her best friend’s preferences. 

She glances down at her hands, picking at the skin around her nail. Though Mrs. Steiner had always scolded her about the habit, insisting that no customer wanted to look at her wrecked nails. Her nail slips against the skin, pulling it back further than she meant with a hiss. 

Kristoff looks at Anna, noticing the blood beginning to pool in her cuticles. She sticks her index finger in her mouth, trying to stop the bleeding. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” He inquires. 

Anna pulls her finger out of her mouth, wiping it on her jacket. “Yeah, it’s fine. I just wasn’t paying attention.” 

“Let me take a look at it.” He requests, holding out his hand to take hers. 

“Kristoff it’s fine really. My carelessness is nothing new, I’m sure it’ll stop hurting when we get settled in Paris.” She insists, surprised when he takes her hand anyhow as they stop at a sign. The car goes silent as his honey brown eyes inspect her hand. 

He smirks, letting go of her hand as it is his turn to drive through the intersection. Anna raises a brow questioningly before inquiring. “What is it?” 

“It’s nothing just, I would’ve expected your nails to be shaped and painted.” He shrugs, tossing the butt of his cigarette out of the car. 

“Oh, yeah.” Anna sighs, glancing down at her bare nails. “I used to. But we weren’t allowed to paint our nails in the factory and when I was forced out, well…working the makeup counter at Fortnum & Mason doesn’t exactly pay well.” 

“You’ve never looked for a different job?” He inquires. 

“There’s never been any need. They treat me well enough at the department store and I mean, I’ll be moving to America soon anyhow.” Anna sighs with a shrug.

Kristoff falls silent, hesitating for a moment. “You deserve to be happy Anna.” The auburn-haired woman’s head snaps toward him with furrowed brows, her smile wavering. 

“What does that mean?” She asks. 

“I-never mind, it doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, his courage leaving his body as Anna continues to stare at him. Her gaze unrelenting, Kristoff feels his resolve cracking. “I know that you have the ability to put your all into something. For Christ’s sake, just all of the effort you’ve put into trying to find your sister is admirable and thought out. It’s just…there are things about you, about your life Anna that, you could put the same energy into.” 

“Like what?” 

“Your schooling, you’re smart Anna I know you are you could go back. Or your job, you have so much more potential than being a makeup counter girl at a department store.” He expands, his heart rate increasing as he tries to organize his thoughts. “And Hans…” 

“What about Hans?” Anna questions, any evidence of a smile gone from her face. 

“I-nothing it’s…nothing. None of my business.” He shakes his head, reaching for another cigarette. It falls silent as he grabs the lighter out of his pocket, igniting the end of the smoke. 

“No, I want to know about Hans.” She demands, her teeth sitting on edge. “What about him?”

Kristoff huffs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, you want to know?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“You didn’t even know you were moving to Virginia, Anna. You agreed to marry him and leave your home without even knowing where you’re going or what its like. You hardly know him. Did he even give you the option to stay in London?” He asks, taking a puff of his cigarette. 

“Excuse me, I’m fine with my choices,” Anna states, not breaking eye contact with him. 

“Are you?” He inquires

The truck goes silent once again, the smoke from Kristoff’s cigarette billowing. Anna’s eyes bore into him, her eyes fluttering slightly as the question hangs in the air before she answers hesitantly. “Yes.” 

“Well, I guess then that’s it. As long as your happy.” He states, his finger tapping against the steering wheel. 

“I am.” She affirms, tearing her gaze from him back to her lap. Kristoff only hums in response, taking another puff of his cigarette. Silence hangs in the air as Anna shifts away from his side, so her thigh no longer touches his. 

The remainder of their trip into Paris is spent in stillness, neither one of them speaking to the other as they drive to the centre of the city. It is moments like these that Anna wishes that Sven didn’t demand to sit on the passenger’s side. Even though she didn’t necessarily want to be separated from Kristoff, it was just that he could be so difficult sometimes. 

He challenged her at every turn, every decision. It was infuriating but, it had been such a long time since anyone had treated her as such. Kristoff was the first person that didn’t walk around her as if she was about to break at any moment. He wasn’t afraid to yell at her or tell her that she was wrong. In an oddity, she missed this sort of interaction with someone. He made her feel that there wasn’t anything wrong; that there wasn’t anything wrong with her. 

They find a small hotel in the Marias that is relatively inexpensive, though they both knew they could find cheaper accommodations in the outskirts of the city. Accessing the archives and official buildings would be easier from the centre of the city. 

Anna shifts uncomfortably from each foot as she waits for Kristoff to unload their luggage from the car, not making eye contact with him. They had barely spoken during the drive since their tiff. There were multiple times she had thought to apologize, but it never came naturally during the tense drive. 

She grabs her suitcase as Kristoff places it on the sidewalk, following him with her eyes downcast as they walk toward the hotel. 

They had been having such a nice drive and it had been a few days since they fought, his mood had been increasingly getting better since they arrived in France. It was just that damned question. Though slightly condescending, Kristoff’s words of reassurance about her schooling and work had been quite sweet. No one had ever thought of her as smart or hard-working. 

It hadn’t escaped Anna’s notice that Kristoff didn’t like Hans. His disdain for her fiancé had been apparent the moment the blonde man had met him. It was one thing for Olaf to question her marrying Hans, but it was different with Kristoff. 

They hadn’t known each other for that long and he already thought that Hans was wrong for her. So had Antoinette. 

Anna pauses at the door, Kristoff waiting patiently as he holds it open for her. Her heart drops as she realizes something that hadn’t occurred to her. Kristoff always waited for her without question, no doubt he had noticed her tick; either being behind her or holding the door open for her when he was in front. Hans never held the door. 

With a deep breath, she enters the hotel, stepping in front of her companion into the lobby. An elderly man is at the counter, rounded glasses perched on the end of his nose connected by a chain around his neck. 

“Bonjour.” He greets a polite smile, not standing from the chair he sits on behind the pine desk. 

“Bonjour, comment ça va?” Anna asks, mirroring his expression despite the feeling in her chest. 

Hello, how are you?

“Bien, merci.” He answers with a nod. “Comment puis-je vous aider?” 

Good, Thank you. What can I help you with?

“Nous avons besoin d’une chambre.” Anna responds, unbuckling the front of her leather purse to grab her wallet from the bag. 

We need a room. 

“D’accord chéri,” He smiles at her, opening his book to glance over the list of rooms. “Voulez-vous une chambre ou deux?” 

Alright, darling. Do you want one room or two?” 

“Combien pour une chambre?” 

How much for one room? 

“10 francs par nuit.” 

10 francs per night. 

Anna inhales sharply as if someone had punched her in the gut. It was double to stay here than it was in Arras or any of the hotels in the outskirts of the city. She looks at Kristoff in the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his reaction but there is none. 

“Nous prendrons une chambre, s’il vous plaît.” She decides without consulting her companion; not wanting to give away their unmarried status to the innkeeper. 

We will take one bedroom, please. 

The old man nods, turning around slowly to grab a set of keys hanging from the wall. He hands the keys off to Kristoff with a smile as his eyes dart between the two. 

“Vous êtes dans la chambre 105.” The innkeeper states, taking note in his book. “Celle au bout du couloir.” 

You are in room 105. The one at the end of the corridor. 

“Merci.” Kristoff smiles without any hint of an accent. The blonde man turns from the desk with the keys in his hand as he makes his way down the hallway toward their room. Anna hopes to god that the room might have a sofa, she didn’t want a repeat of what happened with the hotel in Arras. 

She follows him with Sven by her side. Staring at the red and white striped walls of the corridor covered in paintings of the countryside. 

“Here it is.” His voice echoes through the hall. Standing in front of the door, Kristoff puts the key into the lock with a twist, opening it.

It was slightly bigger than their room in Arras, but not much difference in appearance. The large windows looked out into a garden of a neighbouring building. The walls are painted cream, and the bed is covered in light blue sheets with a small oak desk pushed against one of the windows. No sofa. 

Kristoff sighs, throwing his bag on the side of the bed closest to the door as Anna trails in behind him with Sven. Hesitantly she walks around to the other side of the bed, placing her suitcase at the foot of it. 

Sven finds his place under the desk, curling up in the dark space before closing his eyes. The auburn-haired woman finally looks up from the duvet cover to Kristoff standing across from her. 

“Kris I-.” 

“I think I’m going to go for a walk.” He states, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Oh,” Anna blinks, finally looking up at him. “Would you like me to come with you?” 

“Nah, it’s fine.” Kristoff shrugs, he goes to move away from the bed but stops. “Anna, what I said in the truck. I’m sorry. I was out of line and you’re smart, I know you do what is best for you.” 

She smiles at that. “I’m sorry too, for reacting the way I did. You were well-meaning.” 

“I stuck my big nose in where it didn’t belong.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I should stick to being cold and distant like before.” 

“I kind of like being close with you.” Anna peers up at him. Kristoff shyly smiles at her, withdrawing from the side of the bed. 

“Alright. Well, I’m gonna…yeah.” He awkwardly points toward the door, shoving his hands back into his pockets as he leaves the room without another word. The reddening of his cheeks not escaping Anna’s notice as the door closes. 

With a sigh she glances around the bedroom, her hands going to the buttons of her coat, unfastening each one slowly. She slips the garment from her shoulders, throwing it on the bed as her eyes fixate on a painting on Kristoff’s side of the bed over the dresser. 

She makes her way around the bed, her hand sliding against the metal of the bed frame. Her eyes don’t leave the painting as she settles herself in front of it on the mattress. 

It a painting of a harbour, surrounded by white houses with familiar rust-coloured roofs with the coast in the background. It was a scene she had seen many times as a child. That landscape filled with the best and worst parts of her childhood; Île de Ré. 

She hated visiting her grandmère with her parents. Her dad constantly down at the postal office taking calls, while her mother and grandmère drank cocktails on the veranda. She recalls being shouted at by her grandmère to stop sitting on the arm of the “chesterfield” or for crying when lightning struck. 

Though it wasn’t all bad. Those days were also filled with her and Elsa running through fields on the coast to escape from the house for a little while. The baker giving them day olds while fondly looking at the two as they giggled and Elsa wiping chocolate from Anna’s face. 

Anna had only been to Paris once before; their mother had taken both her and Elsa from Île de Ré to the city. It had been a good trip, potentially the most time she had ever spent time with their mother in her life. She remembers being shocked when Iduna reached down and took both her and Elsa by the hand as they walked along the Seine to mass one Sunday morning. Or Iduna painting their nails with her nail polish; Iduna never let them touch her beauty products. 

Tears unwillingly pool in the corner of Anna’s eyes as she thinks about that trip in ’34. It was probably the happiest she ever saw her mother when Iduna was away from Agnarr. 

She thinks about her parent’s marriage, she had known from a young age that it was strained. It was nothing like those books Elsa would read to Anna when they were small. They fought constantly whenever their father was home, and when he was home it always seemed like their mother was trying to get away from him and them. 

It hadn’t always been like that. They had a whirlwind romance following The Great War when Agnarr had visited the island, marrying only 4 months of courting. Similar to Hans and herself. Maybe she is destined to repeat her mother’s mistakes, she doesn’t even know what her fiancé does for a living. 

A glimmer on her hand catches her eye, causing her to look down where her engagement ring sat. The large square diamond resting there, something that she had always wanted. Yet, after months of wearing the ring, it never felt right to her. It wasn’t her. 

Unable to bear it Anna removes the ring from her finger, her eyes never leaving it as she stands from the bed. Without a second thought, she places the ring into a pocket of her suitcase; her brows furrowing as she feels as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. 

Maybe this isn’t what she wants.  

The door opens as Anna closes her suitcase, glancing up as Kristoff enters the room. He awkwardly smiles at her, rolling his eyes. “I forgot my wallet.” 

“I see,” Anna nods, returning the gesture. His smile fades as he notices her eyes rimmed with red. “Are you going for a drink?” 

“Y-yeah that was the plan…” He trails off, pondering if he should ask if she is alright. 

“I know that you didn’t initially want me coming with you but…I really could go for a drink.” She titters, blinking away the urge to cry again. 

“Actually, I was feeling pretty lonely when I was walking toward the closest bar. I’d really like it if you would join me.” His smile returns, shoving his wallet into his coat pocket. 

“Only two weeks with me and you can’t even drink alone anymore? What is this world coming to?” She manages to joke, grabbing her coat and purse off of the bed. 

“I know,” He chuckles, shaking his head. “It seems you’ve ruined me.” 

“Or did I save the countless women who will be swooning over you when you return home?” She jokes, making her way to the door with her bag and coat slung over her arms. Kristoff laughs as he follows her, shutting off the overhead light. 

“Right, I’ll be sure to tell my mother about your kindness.” 

Anna giggles at that, waiting for him as he locks the door to their room. They leave the hotel still laughing as if their fight that day never occurred. It now seemed silly to Anna that they fought over such trivial things. 

The bar they find is located just around the block from their hotel with large windows and a door painted bright teal. They settle themselves next to the windows on looking into the street, Anna orders them a bottle of red wine without consulting Kristoff first; not caring if he had any or not. 

They share the first bottle of wine and the second. It has grown dark outside thanks to the short hours of the winter. Anna laughs at something Kristoff says, grabbing the bottle of wine to pour herself another glass, only to find the bottle empty. 

“Oh, it’s done.” She slurs slights, trying to concentrate on making her words seem coherent. “Let’s get another bottle.” 

“I think you’ve had enough.” Kristoff chuckles, his cheeks slightly reddened by the wine. “Plus, we’re meeting with Antoinette’s friend tomorrow, I think you’ll be very angry at me if you’re hungover.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine.” She shrugs, sitting back in her chair. Anna knows she should stop drinking, knowing Kristoff is right that she’ll be hungover if they have another bottle of wine. She just didn’t want to think about…everything. She hangs her head, observing her bare finger again as a pang of guilt settles in her stomach. 

“Anna…” Kristoff sighs, staring at her with furrowed brows. “Are you alright?” 

She doesn’t answer immediately, still staring where the ring once sat. Anna looks up, her lips pursed as her gaze bores into his. “Kristoff…” 

“What is it?” He inquires. 

She opens her mouth, tapping her finger just belong the hem of her brown tweed skirt. “Is Wyoming close to Virginia?” 

Silence hangs in the air as Kristoff stares at her, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he processes her question. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, it isn’t.”  

Anna nods, her gaze dropping back to her lap with a sigh. Knowing that if she leaves on Friday with Hans to America, she’ll never see Kristoff again. Something which she doesn’t know if she is prepared to do anymore. Maybe he was right. Maybe she did deserve better. 

Chapter Text

It is an hour past curfew. Elsa knows that they could get into serious trouble if they are caught. They could be arrested or even shot on sight; it isn’t rare for the police to just shoot without question. She just hopes that if they are caught, it isn’t by the Milice; they would immediately detect Elsa’s Île de Ré dialect and Honeymaren’s slight French-Canadian accent which could give them away as foreign intelligence. 

The sound of their shoes echo through the quiet streets as they walk close to the buildings, trying to stay out of the streetlamp’s light. Elsa trails behind Honeymaren, a small smile forming on her features as she watches the Mohawk woman’s long braid swing with every step.  

Maren pauses as they approach Rue de Rivoli, her arm extending out sideways to stop Elsa from walking past her. Elsa stands behind her friend, her chest only inches away from Maren’s back. 

The brunette reaches into her messenger bag, pulling out a map with the destination marked with a black dot. Honeymaren looks up across the street toward a dark park. “If we cut across the park, it’ll cut down our time significantly.” 

“Alright,” Elsa nods, wanting to take any opportunity that will shorten the amount of time they are out of the flat. 

“Okay, we cross…now.” Maren instructs. The two women sprint across the street towards the cover of the trees. They walk through the park, not caring about the pavement as they cross through the dirt of where the flower beds rested. 

Elsa looks to her friend, awe filling her at Honeymaren’s determination through all this and willingness to take the lead in this situation. Elsa hadn’t stopped shaking since leaving the flat. 

“We’ll have to be quick crossing the street in front of the river.” Elsa whispers as they make their way through the trees. 

“I agree, they’ve increased the number of soldiers on the island, we might have to pay whoever is taking us across the river extra. When we reach the south side, we’ll have to move quickly” Honeymaren states. 

“Alright, I can keep up.” The blonde responds, falling back behind her friend as they reach the edge of the park.

Maren glances over her shoulder with a smile. “I know you can.” 

Elsa feels herself beam at the compliment, her heart pounding in her chest as they cross to a quiet side street. She can see the river in the distance, her hands shaking as they inch closer towards the bridge. 

They stop at the last row of houses when they reach the river, scanning the street to ensure no one could see them. In the corner of her eye, Elsa could’ve sworn she saw a little girl, peering out at the two of them through the window with curiosity. 

Fear spikes in Elsa; in Arras they know nearly everyone in their neighbourhood. Who to watch out for and those who are most likely sympathetic to their cause. Paris is totally unfamiliar to both of them, as are the people. 

“Elsa,” Maren calls out, catching her attention. The two of them bolt across the well-lit street toward the river. Quickly Honeymaren leads them toward a set of stone stairs to the Seine. As they reach the bottom of the staircase, Maren takes Elsa by the wrist to lead her down the dark road beside the river. 

Crossing under the bridge, Elsa feels more secure to walk alongside Maren, their hands now intertwined as they cross into darkness. The blonde stops, her heart leaping at the sight of another silhouette in the dark against the river. 

Honeymaren turns to glance at her friend, brows raised in confusion. “What is it?” 

A crease forms on Elsa’s forehead, wondering how Maren hadn’t noticed the man standing in front of them. The blonde nods toward the stranger, watching as her friend glances over her shoulder. 

She turns back with a reassuring smile, squeezing Elsa’s hand. “It’s alright. He’s our Paris contact; he’s going to take us across the river.” 

“Can he be trusted?” Elsa inquires, her gaze resting on the silhouetted figure. Maren’s smile falters, her blood running cold at the question. 

“He’s the best option we have.” The brunette responds, inching toward the man in the shadows. Though the other woman’s words didn’t reassure her, Elsa follows behind her friend; though she doesn’t trust the man before them, she trusts Honeymaren. 

“Are you Eloise?” The man asks in a whisper, observing the two women. 

“I am.” Maren nods, letting go of Elsa’s hand as she stands in front of him. Elsa takes in his appearance feeling as if he had leapt out of a book characterizing Frenchmen; he wears a black jacket, buttoned to the middle of his chest with dark slacks and a black beret. A cigarette dangles from between his fingers. 

His eyes dart to the blonde, “Who is she?” 

“My cousin, Marguerite. She’s helping me this evening.” Maren states, clutching the strap of her bag, “Are you René?” 

The man runs his hand along his stubble, not responding to Honeymaren immediately. “My price just went up.”  

“Excuse me?” Maren's brows shoot up to her hairline, her nostrils flaring at the man’s audacity to ask for a higher price than what was agreed upon. 

“If you want across the river, I want 20 francs to take you and your cousin.” The contact restates, throwing his cigarette butt to the ground. 

“You can’t do that! We had a deal!” Maren snarls, her nose scrunching up like an angry animal. 

The man shrugs. “Well, I guess we don’t anymore. I’m sure there will be some Milice in the area who would want to know about two resistance members trying to cross the river at night.” 

He turns from them without another word, preparing to leave. Elsa steps in front of Honeymaren, squaring her shoulders. 

“Wait!” The man turns with a raised brow, a smirk forming on his face. The blonde sighs, glancing down at her purse. “We can pay you 15 francs to get us across the river there and back.” 

“Deal.” The man agrees after a moment of thought. 

Honeymaren takes Elsa by the bicep, lowering her voice. “We don’t have that sort of money to pay him extra.” 

“I have a few francs to spare.” Elsa informs her friend. “It’s better that I give him money out of my pocket rather than him turning us in.”  

“Alright,” Maren hesitates, unsure how she feels about Elsa paying out of her pocket. Without a moment of hesitation, the blonde opens her purse to take the 5 francs out of her bag. The man takes the 10 francs from Honeymaren before turning to Elsa, winking at her as he grabs the remainder of the cash. 

“In the boat, both of you.” He orders, turning from the two as he begins to count the money. The vessel is a small rowboat that had appeared as if it had seen better days, before the war perhaps. 

Elsa walks forward first, leading Honeymaren toward the boat. She gets low as she steps into it, moving toward the front. The boat rocks as Maren climbs onto it, moving up behind her friend. 

A hand rests on Elsa’s hip, causing the blonde to look over her shoulder. Elsa raises a brow questioningly, curious why the sudden touch. Honeymaren leans forward, speaking in a hushed voice. “I don’t trust him; we don’t discuss anything in front of him.” 

“I agree.” Elsa nods, quickly falling silent as the boat rocks again, indicating that the man had stepped onto it. They push away from the roadway, slowly moving across the river in the silence and darkness. 

Elsa keeps her gaze on the other side of the river, watching as the boat floats across the Seine, the south side of Paris completely shrouded in darkness. It wasn’t anything like Elsa remembered from the last time she had been in the city. 

When she came to Paris with her mother and Anna, they stayed in a hotel along the Seine close to the Jardin des Tuileries. She and Anna had spent the majority of one night alone in the hotel room, watching the lights sparkle on the other side of the river while Iduna went dancing for the night. She resists the urge to dip her hand out of the boat, running it through the water as they move quickly across the river.

Honeymaren sighs behind her, resisting the similar urge to jump into the water as she had once as a child. Thinking back to summers of canoeing with her grandfather and brother on the St. Regis River. Phantom laughter echoing in their head as their grandfather held Ryder close to him, teaching him how to fish. The good moments of her childhood, not shrouded in shame or fists raised against her and other children. 

Elsa reaches forward as they reach the south side of the river, taking hold of the stone’s edge to pull them closer. The boat glides sideways, allowing their courier to grab the rock to steady the vessel. 

The boat rocks as the man climbs out of the boat, holding tight to the stern rope, holding the vessel as still as possible as he ties it around a peg in the ground. Honeymaren slips out first, turning immediately toward Elsa with a smile; she holds out her hand to the blonde. 

Elsa takes the Mohawk woman’s hand without hesitation as she shakily stands in the boat, stumbling forward as her feet touch the concrete road. Maren is quick to catch the other woman, holding her from under her arms as Elsa’s face rests in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of lavender and linen on her skin. 

She quickly pulls away from Maren, her cheeks warm as her eyes dart to the ground. “I-I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Maren smiles at the other woman, which made Elsa’s heart pound in her chest with excitement. The man clears his throat, causing the two women to look away from the other toward the stranger. Honeymaren’s smile drops as her gaze meets the courier’s. “We’ll be back in about 15 minutes; wait here for us.” 

“Alright,” The man shrugs, slipping to the ground as he grabs a cigarette from his pocket. 

Honeymaren glances back to Elsa, giving the other woman a slight nod to indicate to follow after. The two women hurry towards the set of stone stairs leading up toward the main street, crouching low against the wall as they emerge from the river’s side. 

Elsa glances up into the street, noticing a pair of headlights rolling toward them. Looking back in front of her to Honeymaren, who is about to step onto the sidewalk in plain sight. Hurriedly, the blonde reached forward, grabbing the back of Maren’s shirt, pulling her back into her own body. 

Honeymaren stumbles, her back pressed against Elsa’s chest as they hide from the oncoming vehicle. With her friend pressed against her, Elsa notices the sharpness of her cheekbones and soft curve to her jawline. The brunette glances back at her friend, giving her a thankful smile before moving forward as the car drives past them. 

The two women emerge from the river, glancing across Quai de la Tournelle to ensure there is no more oncoming traffic. The two race across the street to a quieter and darker one, where they wouldn’t be so easily spotted. 

Walking down the street, Elsa trails close behind her friend. She glances across the street, noticing the placard on the stone building. 

22 Rue de Bièvre

They had made it without realizing it; Maren looks up, noticing the building before Elsa can say anything about it. In the window sits a candle lighted as they were told there would be. Without any hesitation, Honeymaren grabs Elsa by the hand, leading her across the street to the building with no other markers on it. 

Approaching the building, Elsa knocks on the door gently, so the noise doesn’t carry down the quiet street. An older woman creaks the entrance open a touch, just to look onto the two women standing at her home. 

“Hello, I believe we have something for you.” Elsa explains, resisting the urge to fiddle with the strap of her bag. It isn’t expected that they actually meet their contacts in the line of work they had been carrying out for the past few weeks. But here the old woman stood in the flesh.  

The old woman nods, opening the door further and stepping aside. “Please come in.” 

“Thank you.” Maren smiles at the women, stepping through the threshold first with Elsa following close behind her. The Parisian closes the door behind the two young women before leading them through the small hall toward a cellar. 

The cellar is dark with a single light hanging from the ceiling over a table, the small windows covered by black paper. Had it not been for the three men sitting around the table, Elsa would have thought that they were being led to their interrogation. 

The men fall silent at the two women's presence, their faces sombre as they regard Elsa and then Honeymaren. Two of the men are younger, one with dirty-blonde hair and the other having raven-coloured hair. 

“What can we help you with?” The man with dirty blonde hair inquires, standing from the table. 

“We have a package from Mattias for you.” Honeymaren explains, unbuckling her messenger bag to grab the brown paper package. The older man at the table stands, shuffling toward the two strangers.  

“For a second there, I thought that maybe they had sent the Milice instead.” The older man jokes, a smile cracking through his former steely demeanour. 

“We’re sorry to have worried you.” Elsa finally speaks, making eye contact with the old man. He offers her a reassuring smile before taking the package from her companion. He stares at Honeymaren with tired eyes. 

“If you two are hungry, I’m sure my Roselyn could fix something for you. As well, we have a spare bed you’d have to share, but it would be safer than going out there again at night.” The man offers, his fingers brushing over the twine holding the package together. 

Elsa smiles at the kind man, folding her hands in front of her. “Thank you, but my partner and I must be getting back to the safe house. Our train from there leaves early in the day.” 

“It’s for the best, it seems.” The man nods. “You won’t want to miss that train; with talk of an increasing resistance, the Germans are starting to limit the amount of traffic coming into the city.” 

“They’re increasing searches by the tenfold every day, it seems.” The raven-haired man comments from the table, the pen in his hand tapping against the surface. 

“Where is it that you two are returning to once your business is over in Paris?” The woman inquiries from behind the two.

Maren glances over her shoulder. “Elsa is returning to Arras in the morning. I’m moving onto Lyon for a time.” 

Elsa’s gaze snaps to her friend with furrowed brows; she hadn’t known that Honeymaren is going to Lyon following this mission. She would have insisted that she accompany Maren to the city to help and protect her had there been the knowledge prior. 

“You’ll need to be careful; I’ve heard the Butcher has increased his search for resistance members exponentially.” The raven-haired man warns. “Don’t think they’ll take it easy on you because you’re a woman.”

His sentence didn’t sit well with Elsa, as if he saw them as two young girls running around, not to be taken seriously by their comrades. Everyone in the circuit knew Klaus “The Butcher” Barbie is a monster, torturing men and women alike if he thought the person had any affiliation with the resistance. 

“I’m well aware of that,” Honeymaren responds, her gaze narrowed as she looks at the man and her jaw clutched in annoyance. 

Elsa clears her throat, catching the attention of the other woman. “If we’re going to try to make it back across the river, it’s best that we be going.”

“She’s right; if you two stay much longer, you’ll have no choice but to stay the night here.” The grey-haired man nods. Maren glanced at Elsa briefly before turning back to the older couple. 

“Thank you for allowing us into your home,” Maren says. The older man nods in response before turning from the two of them, shuffling back toward the table. The woman smiles at the two young women, leading them back through the house to the front door. 

“I hope you two know exactly what it is your getting into.” The grey-haired woman comments as they stand in front of the closed door. Elsa raises a brow at the statement, her heart rate increasing. 

“What do you mean?” The blonde inquires, her hands flying to the strap of her bag. Maren’s expression doesn’t change, still unreadable as she stands with her hands balled at her side.  

“Institutions such as the one you work for, aren’t always so caring towards their women.” The woman’s steely grey eyes bore into Elsa and Honeymaren. “Though my husband disagrees with me, the resistance is not any better nor will they help you if there came the opportunity.” 

“We understand Ma’am. Thank you for your concern.” Honeymaren responds as if she had practiced her response to the concerns of the woman. 

“What I’m trying to say, is to them you’re just another number. They do not care if you are tortured or killed just as long as it doesn’t affect them.” The woman restructures her statement, her face sombre as she reflects on the dangers these women are putting themselves through. 

“Thank you,” Elsa responds, wondering what this woman has been through that would warrant this warning from her. The woman opens the door, allowing Honeymaren and Elsa to step out of the house. 

They hurry their way toward the river, crossing the Seine with no further issue from the courier, who barely speaks to them on the return. They manage their way across Quai de l’Hôtel de Ville quickly toward one of the quieter streets. 

Elsa follows behind Maren in the darkness, glance over her shoulder as she hears the roar of an engine. Without much thought, the blonde reaches forward, grabbing her friend by the wrist and pulling her into the doorway of a stone house. She presses herself against Maren, trying to make themselves as invisible as possible. 

The truck passes them without any indication that the driver saw them. Maren’s eyes bore into Elsa’s, her breathing heavy as she catches her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“Thank you.” Honeymaren manages, her voice raspy as Elsa withdraws from her, ignoring the heat building in her cheeks. Stepping out of the doorway, the two continue down the road until they reach an intersection. 

Glancing down the adjacent street, Elsa sees the lights on the truck's back illuminate as the vehicle comes to a stop in front of a building not too far from the intersection. 

Elsa waits for Maren’s indication to sprint across the street, but it never comes. The blonde glances behind to her companion to see why Honeymaren isn’t acting on the moment of opportunity. Honeymaren’s gaze is on the truck that passed them only moments again, observing as four men leave the vehicle. 

“Maren!” She calls out quietly, trying to catch the attention of her friend. 

“What are they up to…” The Mohawk woman ponders, watching as the men open the back of the truck. 

“Maren, we have to go!” Elsa responds quietly. Honeymaren waves her companion off, her brows knitting as the men begin to unload oversized pallets from the vehicle. 

“You go back to the apartment; I’ll meet you there.” Maren moves toward the truck without another word, remaining close to the buildings to keep out of the light. 

“Maren!” Elsa calls out, following after her friend hesitantly. Standing beside her, Elsa grabs her by the wrist. “What do you think you're doing?” 

“They’re up to something I know it.” 

“We need to get back to the flat; if we’re caught, we’ll be shot.” Elsa protests in fear. 

“Then you go back, I’ll meet you there.” Honeymaren retorts, moving down the dark street once again closer toward another intersection. 

Elsa huffs, shaking her head as she follows her friend. They hide around a corner of a stone building, hugging the row housing corner as they watch men go back and forth from the truck. 

“What do you think they’re transporting?” Elsa whispers, glancing up at her friend questioningly as she squats low to the ground. 

“Based on the size of the pallets and how narrow they are, I would guess it’s art. Especially since this is near General von Choltitz’s house, they’re most likely stealing it for him.” Maren peruses, glancing down at Elsa with a smirk. Glad that she followed close behind her for this unexpected stop. 

They observe for a few more minutes, watching closely as the final pallets are carried into the house. Elsa still doesn’t understand why they stopped and how this had anything to do with their Paris mission. 

The door slams shut, echoing through the street as the light from the entrance disappears. Elsa stands from the ground, still hidden around the corner, as she tucks her hands into her pockets as Honeymaren steps away from the building. 

Neither of them see or hear him in the shadows approaching them in that grey-blue uniform, his military cap neatly placed on top of his slicked-back blonde hair as those brown eyes look down to the young women. 

“Good evening.” His voice causes both Elsa and Honeymaren’s blood to run cold. They turn around to face him, trying to mask the apparent fear coursing through their bodies. 

“G-good evening.” Elsa responds, her mouth incredibly dry. 

“And what would two young girls like yourselves be doing? You know that there is a curfew.”

“Our uncle is very sick; we had to leave our home to tend to him.” Elsa states, trying to control her heart rate. “We didn’t mean to be out past curfew. We just lost track of time.” 

“Let me see your papers.” The soldier orders, the pleasantry no longer present in his tone as he continues to talk to the two of them. Elsa’s eyes flutter, thinking back to the falsified identification papers sitting on the coffee table at the safe house. 

“Of course,” Honeymaren finally speaks up, unbuckling her messenger bag. The blonde looks to her friend, wondering what she could be reaching for. 

Everything happens so quickly. The shot ringing out loudly in Elsa’s ears through the quiet street as the soldier falls to the ground with a bullet lodged in his forehead, fired from the gun in Honeymaren’s hand. 

Elsa grabs her by the hand, stepping over the body as they race down the street toward the flat. She isn’t sure if a whistle echoes out, her heart pounding in her ears as they race through small and quiet streets. 

Honeymaren wastes no time as they reach the flat, unlocking the door quickly and nearly dragging Elsa into the small lobby. They race up the stairs as the front entrance closes behind them, moving toward the third floor. 

Elsa’s hands shake as they stand in front of the flat door, waiting as Maren unlocks the flat before pushing open the entrance. The brunette steps through the threshold, walking immediately to the bathroom. 

The blonde still stands outside of the flat, crossing through the entrance and closing the door behind her. Staring at the ground, Elsa navigates toward the living room, settling herself on the couch in the dark. She rests her elbows on her thighs, burying her face into her palms. 

She couldn’t believe what had just occurred. Honeymaren had just risked everything to get a glimpse of that truck and refused to leave. The art had nothing to do with their mission, yet Maren had acted brashly, which resulted in someone's death by her hands. 

Elsa knew that look on Maren’s face in that alley, the gun in her hand still smoking as she blankly looked on the body, her eyebrow twitching while unable to look away from the lifeless German. 

Glancing up from her palms, Elsa watches as Maren floats into the living room. The brunette sits across from Elsa in an armchair, staring at the ground. 

They sit in silence, both of them trying to formulate a word or thought to speak. But nothing comes to either of them. 

Elsa doesn’t realize that she is angry until she finally speaks. “What happened?” 

“I-I don’t know, it all just happened so quickly.” Maren responds, her voice quiet. 

“You don’t know?? We were already in enough trouble being out past curfew.” Elsa states. “We could have been shot or interrogated by doing that alone. You just signed our death warrants.” 

“We didn’t really have an option, did we? We can’t be caught.”  

“So why did you not listen to me?” Elsa questions, brows knitted together. “You willingly risked the mission without consulting me in the first place. You risked us!” 

“I told you to return to the flat when I branched off. Why didn’t you??” Maren inquires, standing from the armchair. Elsa mirrors the action, her shoulders squared. 

“I couldn’t just leave you!” 

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” Maren retorts, stepping around the coffee table to stand in front of her partner. 

“I know you are!” Elsa responds, throwing her hands up in frustration. 

“Then why couldn’t you leave?” The brunette insists. 

“Because I-” Elsa is quick to stop herself, her sky-blue eyes boring into Maren’s chocolate ones. 

“Because you what?” Honeymaren’s voice lowers, standing only inches from Elsa. When she doesn’t respond, Maren presses. “Because you what, Elsa?” 

Without another thought, Elsa takes a step forward, closing the space between them. In an instant, Elsa’s mouth covers Honeymaren’s in a desperate kiss. Arms wrap around Elsa’s waist, pulling her flush against Maren. 

Elsa could hardly believe what she is doing, yet everything felt right about being pressed against Honeymaren as if they fit together perfectly. Maren’s fingers brush against the fabric of Elsa’s shirt as they remain in the embrace. Her lips are soft as she had always thought they might be, as is the skin of her cheek resting under Elsa’s touch. 

They pull apart, Elsa’s eyes still closed as she didn’t want the moment to end. Because she didn’t want to reflect on what she had done. 

“Elsa…” Honeymaren’s voice calls her out of the trance. Elsa’s eyes snap open, wide as the panic of what she just did settles in. The blonde backs away from her friend, the back of her knees hitting against the couch, which stops her from inching further away. 

Honeymaren stares at the other woman, eyes warm and searching Elsa’s carefully. She collapses on the couch, running her hands through her bound hair, releasing the strands. 

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Elsa whispers, feeling as if something is crawling its way out of her throat. She cannot bring herself to look at Maren, shame overtaking her every being at what had just occurred. 

Maren slowly approaches, settling herself next to Elsa as to not encroach on her space. “You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“You don’t understand; I-what I just did was inexcusable.” Elsa shakes her head, gaze transfixed on her dark skirt. 

“Elsa, you did nothing of the sort.” Maren extends her hand out, placing it on top of Elsa’s in comfort. But Elsa only pulls her hand from Honeymaren’s, standing abruptly from the couch, still not looking at the other woman. 

She doesn’t say another word as she stalks from the living room towards the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Honeymaren calls after her, following behind but isn’t quick enough as Elsa closes and locks the door behind her. 

Knocks echo through the small bedroom Elsa occupies. She ignores them as she settles herself on the small bed, her elbows digging into her thighs as she buries her face into her hands as dread overtakes her. What on earth had she just done?

Chapter Text

Anna winces as she removes a curler from her hair, placing it on the porcelain sink in front of her. The strand of hair bounces as it frees itself from the curler in a slightly tighter curl than she had wanted. She huffs, removing the rest of the rollers from her hair, knowing that she’ll have to loosen the curls with a fine-toothed comb. 

She reaches into her small makeup bag to grab the wooden comb, running it through the curls to loosen them from their ringlets. As her hair falls into loose curls, Anna sections off the front, carefully rolling the hair on the top of the scalp as she carefully pins the rolls into place. 

Glancing at herself in the mirror, Anna smiles, pleased with how her victory rolls turned out from all her efforts. Not daring to move, she reaches for the hairspray, closing her eyes as she sprays the product over her hair to keep the curls into place. 

Satisfied with her results, she reaches into her makeup bag, grabbing a raspberry-coloured lipstick. She leans over the sink, carefully applying the lipstick to her cupid's bow before applying it to her bottom lip. 

With a sigh, Anna opens the door to the room Kristoff and her shared, jumping in surprise as Kristoff enters the room from the hall.  

“You nearly scared the lights out of me.” She sighs, clutching the top of her light green robe closed as she meets his gaze. 

Kristoff chuckles, smirking down at the young woman. “I think that goes beyond nearly scaring you. I outright scared you.”

“Whatever,” Anna rolls her eyes, pushing past the American man toward the bed which her suitcase sat next to. She grabs the leather bag, resting it on the mattress as she unbuckles to open it. “So, what who was the call from?” 

Kristoff settles himself in the wooden chair next to the desk where Sven still slept under with a shrug. “It was from Antoinette’s friend Will.” 

“Oh? What was he calling about?” Anna asks, grabbing the mustard-coloured A-line dress and navy cardigan from the suitcase. 

“He can’t meet us today but will pull any records he thinks might be useful. We’re going to meet with him tomorrow.” Kristoff responds, his finger tapping against his knee. Anna discreetly gathers her undergarments from her suitcase, hiding her knickers between the sweater and dress. 

“Alright, did he give you a time?” She grabs her clothing from the mattress, carrying it toward the bathroom, pausing in front of the door. 

“Yeah, he said he’ll meet us at noon.” He responds, glancing down to Sven out of respect as he sees the peach strap of Anna’s brassiere. Trying to think of anything other than how the colour would look against her skin. 

“Alright.” Anna flashes him a smile before disappearing into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She places the neatly folded pile of clothing on the toilet seat, her hand immediately going to the tie holding her robe together. The garment falls from her shoulders, leaving her completely bare in the bathroom, having removed her nightgown before making herself up for the day. 

She removes the sweater from the top of the pile, revealing the light pink bra and knickers sandwiched between her dress and cardigan. Grabbing the high-waisted cotton step-ins, the young woman places them on, straightening the elastic band around her waist. The bra is next, slinking her arms through the straps of the cotton bra, securing it at the back. 

Reaching into the bra, Anna adjusts her small breast to fill out the unlined cup. She grabs the mustard yellow Grable dress from the toilet seat, unfastening the side zipper. Anna slips the dress over her head, slipping her arms through the short flutter sleeves, not caring as the sweeping gore skirt catches on the waist of her knickers. 

She ties together the keyhole neck before fixing the skirt, allowing it to flutter around her knees. Smoothing the shoulder yolks and gathering under her bust, Anna steps into view of the mirror, smiling at her appearance. 

Her gaze catches her finger, where the engagement ring had sat only two days ago, causing the smile to falter slightly. In the first few hours, Anna felt incredible guilt over taking it off as if she was betraying her promise to Hans. But even now, she didn’t know how she felt about its absence. Though she hated to admit it, it hardly bothered her any longer. 

The ring never felt like her, it being a large and ostentatious halo surrounded by smaller diamonds with a white gold finish. Since the evening that Hans had placed it on her finger, it never felt truly like her. It had been so long since she had anything nice, she had tried so hard to convince herself to enjoy it, but she could never do so. 

Anna reaches over with a final sigh, grabbing the navy cardigan from the toilet seat before making her way toward the door. She puts on the sweater, untucking her hair from the collar as she walks into the hotel room. 

Kristoff glances up from the book in his hand, smiling at the sight of her with sparkling eyes, unable to stop the following words coming out of his mouth. “Wow.” 

Anna shyly smiles, grabbing the sleeves of her cardigan. “D-do I look okay?” 

“You look…yeah, you look uh-good.” He blinks, silently cursing himself. “I mean to say that as like well, y’know um...not in an objectifying way. You have a fiancé I understand that…” 

“Thank you…I think.” Anna giggles walking past him to the desk, where her purse sits. She opens the bag, putting the lipstick she is wearing that day into it, among others. “So, what is it that we are doing today?” 

“I-I’m not really sure. I figured we could wander around the city.” Kristoff shrugs, trying not to make it seem weird as they would be wandering together in what is considered one of the most romantic places on earth. It isn’t like that. Nor would it ever be. 

“Great!” Anna beams, picking up her jacket from the back of the chair. “Are you ready?” 

“Y-yeah, I am. Also, it’s pretty nice out there. You might not want your jacket.” He stands from the chair, pulling his brown pull-over down over his hips. 

The auburn-haired woman nods, throwing her jacket on the back of the wooden chair. She sits on the chair, reaching under the seat to grab her shoes lying underneath it. Slipping her foot into the mary-jane shoes, fastening the strap over the top of her foot. As she secures the second heel, Anna could feel Kristoff’s eyes on her. 

It had been something she noticed lately, the way his gaze lingered on her when he didn’t think she is looking. Never in a disrespectful way that the men in London's streets would leer at her. It is never like that with Kristoff. It always felt different with him. 

Anna stands from the chair, grabbing her purse as she straightens. The bag hangs from her shoulder as she walks toward the hotel room door, Kristoff following close behind. As she opens the door, Kristoff reaches over Anna, grabbing the door’s edge to hold the it open for the woman. 

She glances over her shoulder with a smile as she steps into the hotel hallway, meandering down the corridor. Glancing over her shoulder, Anna watches as Kristoff closes the door to their room. 

His heavy footsteps echo through the hallway as he catches up with the shorter woman, both of them silent as they enter the lobby of the hotel. 

The old man at the counter smiles warmly at the couple, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Bonjour.” 

Good Morning 

“Bonjour, comment vas-tu ce matin?” Anna asks, stopping in the lobby, much to Kristoff’s frustration. 

Good morning, how are you this morning?

“Je vais bien, merci. Comment s’est passée ta nuit?” The man asks, his grey eyes looking tired. 

I am well, merci. How was your night? 

“C’était bon, merci. La chambre était très confortable.” She responds, her hands flying to the large buttons on her cardigan to fiddle with them. 

“Où allez-vous tous les deux?” 

Where are you two going? 

Anna isn’t sure if the hotel clerk ignores Kristoff’s increasing restlessness or simply didn’t care. “Nous allons nous promener dans la ville.” 

We are going for a walk in the city. 

His grey eyes dart back and forth between the two of them, a sweet smile crossing his features. “Prendre plaisir.” 

Enjoy. 

She simply smiles at him, turning slightly to Kristoff to link his arm into hers leading him from the lobby into the street. The door to the hotel closes behind them, strolling down the road towards the river. 

“What was that about?” Kristoff inquires, not saying anything as Anna’s arm continues to wrap around his. 

“He was just asking us about our night and was wondering what we were up to for the day.” She explains, resisting to lean into the man beside her. 

“Why would he want to know that?” 

Anna shrugs, rolling her eyes. “He’s just making small talk.” 

“Oh, right.” He nods, his annoyance dissipating at her comment. She glances up at him with curious eyes, wondering if his secretness resulted from his time in the military. 

“Why are you so abrasive like that?” Anna asks, trying to keep her tone light as to not anger her companion. 

“What do you mean abrasive?” He raises a brow, glancing down at her. 

She sighs, looking up at him. “I mean like this morning, the sudden defensiveness of the old man asking simple questions like that.” 

“Ah, yeah.” He huffs, using his unoccupied hand to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t know, it’s just…you learn not to get too attached to people. So why bother with any of that at all?” 

“Why?” She blurts out without much thought, hoping that Kristoff doesn’t get up in arms about her question. It hadn’t happened often for a couple of weeks, but even still, trying to respect his boundaries hadn’t been easy for her. Her face scrunches up, detaching herself from his arm. “Sorry-that was…you don’t have to answer. I totally understand-” 

“Anna, it’s okay,” Kristoff reassures her, disappointed at the loss of contact with her. He offers his arm to her again, his heart leaping as Anna links her arm with his once again. “I mean, it’s just in the paratroopers you don’t really get to know anyone. You don’t really get the chance to before…well…” 

She nods, not needing him to finish his thought to understand what he was saying. “You didn’t have any friends while in the army?” 

He chuckles in response to that with a shrug, “I was close with a few guys from my battalion, most from Camp Toccoa in Georgia, but there were a few replacements I became close to.” 

“Who knew you could be sociable?” Anna jokes, resisting to urge to jab him in the side. 

“I said I was close with a few; it does not mean that I knew everyone in the battalion or even talked to the ones I knew.” Kristoff shakes his head, placing his hand over hers as they inch closer to the river. 

He doesn’t lead them across the bridge to île Saint-Louis as Anna thought he would have. Instead, they turn at the river. Perusing down the pavement together toward île de la Cité, their arms still linked. Kristoff keeps his head down, while Anna politely refuses the vendors they pass, ignoring many of them. 

They approach the wrought-iron bridge leading to île de la Cité. Without much thought, Anna begins to lead them across the bridge, Kristoff following without question. Her body comes to a halt as he abruptly stops, looking at the city before him toward the Eiffel tower. 

She looks up at him with a raised brow. “Have you ever been to Paris?” 

“No, never.” He shakes his head, his gaze glued on the scene before him. “We were supposed to land in Paris, but, we were sent to Germany instead.” 

“I’ve never been to Germany.” Anna comments, looking out onto the river. 

“It’s nice…I guess.” Kristoff shrugs, finally glancing down at her. “I mean, I spent most of my time in rural Bavaria. What about you? Have you been to Paris before?” 

“Only once, my mother brought Elsa and me here when I was younger.” 

“Is that how you know French?” Kristoff inquires

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing against her neck. “My mother i-was French, born in île de Ré. She and my father met after the First War and married soon after, so she went back to England with him.” 

“What was it that your father did for work?” 

“You know…I don’t actually remember.” Anna looks up at him, a crease forming between her eyes. “I just remember him working all the time. It’s been only after they died that I realized that I didn’t know them at all.” 

He sighs, meeting her gaze. “I think that as children, we never truly get to know our parents, not fully at least. There will always be things we won’t know about them. It’s just how life is.” 

“I know that, but I mean…” She trails off. “What does your father do for a living?” 

“He’s a farmer in Wyoming.” He answers without missing a beat. 

“Exactly! You know. I can’t even tell you what field mine worked in. I only know my mother loved to dance, and my father liked his gin to be Beefeater.” Anna shrugs, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “I guess that’s what happens when you leave nannies to primarily raise your children.” 

“I guess.” Kristoff sighs, unable to stop the words coming out of his mouth. Much to his relief, Anna giggles at his comment as they peruse toward the square in the distance. “What about Elsa?” 

“We were close when I was young, but…I don’t know. When she was about thirteen, she just cut me out. I was told it was just how things happened, but it never sat right with me.” She explains.

“How so?” 

“I don’t know. It just happened so suddenly, my father dragged me into his study one morning and told me that Elsa couldn’t be around me anymore alone and that she was going away for the summer. It just fell apart within a matter of weeks.” She says, “it wasn’t until our parent’s died that we started becoming close again.” 

Kristoff hums, his brows furrowing. “Well, maybe you’ll get to ask her when we find her.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Anna glances up at him, smiling at her travelling companion. 

They return to the hotel shortly after noon strikes, their arms no longer tangled together as they walk down the street. Instead, their shoulders touch as their laughter echoes through the quiet street their hotel is on. 

In the distance, Anna can make out a figure standing in front of their hotel, the man leaning against the brick building. As they inch closer to their accommodation, the man still stands outside. 

He isn’t nearly as tall or imposing as Kristoff is, dressed in a familiar light wool letterman jacket with a cigarette dangling between his fingers. His rust-coloured hair catching in the sunshine. 

She immediately leaves Kristoff’s side upon realization who the figure is, increasing her pace to meet the man. 

“Hans,” Anna calls out, her brows knit together in confusion at the sight of her fiancé. The Virginian pushes off of the building with a smile, meeting her halfway. 

“Anna, it’s so good to see you.” He greets before crushing his lips to hers in a brief embrace. The auburn-haired withdraws from Hans’ arms, confounded at his presence. 

“I-What are you doing here?” She inquires, thinking she still had 3 days to return to London.

“Olaf told me where you were staying. Apparently, you have the time to call him but not your fiancé.” He raises a brow at her, quickly relaxing it before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m just joking, of course. But I came to get you.” 

“Oh…” 

“Is there something wrong?” Hans inquires. 

She hesitates for a moment, trying to wrap her head around everything that is happening. “No, I’m just…surprised. Of course, I’m happy to see you here.” 

“I’m glad. I’m so excited for this next part of our lives together.” He takes Anna’s hands in his, running his thumbs over her fingers. Hans’ gaze drops to her finger, his brows furrowing. “Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

Anna withdraws her hands from her fiancé’s, clasping her hands together self-consciously. Her heart pounds in her chest, her mind racing with excuses. “I-um, I didn’t want to lose it. You know me.” 

Hans stares at her, not totally convinced of her excuse. Instead, he turns to the other man, who lingers behind the couple staring out into the road. 

“Christopher.” He calls out, stepping past Anna toward the blonde man.

Kristoff turns to Hans, annoyance evident on his face as he takes Hans’ outstretched hand. “It’s Kristoff.” 

“Right, well, I have to say thank you for taking care of my girl.” Hans cordially smiles, withdrawing his hand to wrap his arm around Anna’s shoulder. “But I’ll take things from here.” 

“What?” She inquires, looking up at him confused. 

“Well, I figured that we have a couple more days in Paris.” His voice drops as he leans closer to his fiancé. “I got us a room at the Ritz, maybe spend the last couple of days getting reacquainted with one another.” 

“Kristoff and I actually have a meeting with someone tomorrow.” She comments, unable to meet her travelling companion’s gaze as her cheeks become heated. 

“Well, we can make more concrete plans tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ve had all of your things removed from this...hotel and put them into the car.” Hans explains. 

“Where are we going?” She inquires, brow knitting together. 

“To the hotel. I wouldn’t want to force you to spend another night here.” Hans glances back at Kristoff. “I hope you don’t mind me stealing her away from you Private.”

“It’s actually Technical Sergeant, but I wouldn’t expect you to remember.” Kristoff huffs. His gaze softens as he looks back to Anna. “It’s fine. I mean, she’s your fiancé.” 

“Great! Anna, are you ready to go?” Hans asks, not waiting for her response as he meanders toward the waiting car. 

Anna turns to Kristoff, still trying to think things through. Kristoff sighs, glancing down at his shoes. “You should go with him.”

“Yeah, I should.” She nods absent-mindedly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though.” 

“If you can’t, it really isn’t a big deal.” He shrugs. 

“I didn’t come all this way with the potential of being shoved into the bottom of a steamer trunk for nothing.” She responds with determination. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” 

Kristoff smirks, relieved that Anna would be there. “I’ll see you tomorrow, feisty pants.” 

“Feisty pants?” She raises a brow at her new nickname. He chuckles with a nod. 

“Yeah, it’s how I refer to you to Sven.” 

“You’re an odd one, Bjorgman.” Anna comments, a sense of melancholy washing over her. Despite her promise to be at the meeting tomorrow. 

“And you’re not the first person to tell me that.” He smirks. A car honking causes them both to look away from one another. “I guess that’s your cue.” 

“Yeah, I guess it is.” She sighs, stepping away from Kristoff. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Without another word, Anna withdraws from her travelling companion, a man she had come to see as a friend. Wondering if she would ever see him again. 
……….

Anna sits on the canopy bed on the white duvet cover, facing the balcony overlooking the hotel's courtyard. Her suitcase sits on the end of the bed, open as she attempts to settle herself in the room. 

Glancing around the room, Anna notices all the small details of it. The gold picture frames, the silk curtains framing the glass balcony doors. Her hand reaches out to touch the headboard, fingers brushing over the gold accents on the wood. The Victorian era chairs' are in impeccable condition with the silk cushions still a vibrant blue and the floral designs still visible. 

It is funny to her as she sits in this beautiful room. She could barely remember what Hans’ hotel room looked like in London. She had spent countless days and nights in it, and yet, it seemed to all merge with this one. 

She could remember nearly every detail of each small hotel she had stayed in since her arrival in France. The hotel in Arras had a lumpy mattress and a ratty old rug which had once been red but slowly turned brown over the years. In Paris, the painting of île de Ré in a splintering wooden frame and lavender resting on the windowsill. 

Hans had left her immediately upon their arrival, stating that he had a few things to arrange for their night out together. Anna knew that the night would be wonderful under the careful planning of Hans. 

She sighs, trying to remind herself to be grateful to have all of these luxuries in her life. Another night of sitting in a fancy restaurant made her feel as if she is an imposter, wearing another dress which constricted and shaped. Hans would be late to dinner, as usual, giving her a diamond bracelet or earrings to apologize for his tardiness. 

Glancing down at her lap, the ring sits on her dress, shining brightly in the light. She knows she can’t leave it off any longer. Anna slips the ring back on her finger with slight hesitation, the weight of it already foreign to her.  

She looks back out to the window, recalling a time when she would have been thrilled to spend a few nights in the Paris Ritz. To be wearing this ring and being here days before moving to America with the love of her life. Even then, something always felt wrong. 

Not with Hans. Always with Anna, all of the beautiful jewelry, dresses and hotels never could entirely fix her. For a time, Hans helped mediate all her loneliness as a child and adult and for a moment allowed her to forget it all; Her parents and Elsa. She had felt normal for the first time in a long while. But as usual, it never lasted. 

Anna follows the maître d’ through the hotel, her shoulders squared back as she walks through the restaurant in a mid-length navy dress with a high collar and gold buttons cascading down the bodice with elbow-length black gloves. It’s the fanciest she’s dressed in weeks, with her hair pinned up in a low chignon and face fully covered in makeup, covering her freckles. 

The restaurant is covered in red carpet with white walls and gold accents and a large crystal chandelier hanging over the room. She is surprised to see Hans sitting at their table, dressed in a tux with a bottle of champagne in front of him. 

The maître d’ pulls out her chair for her, waiting as she settles herself into it across from her fiancé. 

“You look absolutely ravishing.” Hans comments, smiling at the sight of her. 

“Thank you.” Anna politely smiles, her gaze drifting to the champagne in the ice bucket. 

Hans reaches for the bottle, pouring them each a glass. “We need to celebrate.” Anna takes hold of the fluted stem, clinking her glass against Hans’ with a sigh. His face drops as he takes a sip of the champagne. “Anna, what is it?” 

“Hans, I-I’m sorry.” She glances down to her lap, smoothing the skirt of her dress. 

“What about?”

“I am very sorry. But…” Anna trails off, finally making eye contact with him as she slides the large engagement ring across the table to him.

He picks it up, eyes boring into hers as he tucks it away into his pocket. “Is my mistake letting you go to France in the first place? Or let you go with him?” Hans huffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “I should have never let you out of my sight around him.” 

“Kristoff has nothing to do with my decision.” Anna states, “I think I would’ve found myself here eventually even if I never left.” 

“So, what is it? If it isn’t because you’re sleeping with him?” 

Anna pauses with a sigh. “I-I’m not ready to move on. I can’t leave knowing that Elsa could be somewhere out there, and you, you’re ready to move on with your life to the point that I can’t quite follow.” 

“Did you ever love me?” Hans asks in a quiet voice.

“I-I loved our time with one another, and I do truly care for you.” She hesitates, tapping her finger against her knee. 

“Isn’t really the same thing, though, is it?” He questions, looking back up at her, clearly upset with everything happening in this situation. 

“I feel terrible-”  

“Well, that hardly pertains to me, doesn’t it?” He snaps, picking up his glass and downing the remainder of the champagne. 

“Hans, I know you are unhappy with me right now, but I know that being married to me would not have changed that.” She sighs, resisting the urge to pick up the glass in front of her. 

“Well, clearly.” 

“You deserve someone who can share everything you want to give them, and you deserve better than me.” She continues. 

“Well, I deserve better than I got. That’s for sure.” He huffs. “and I will have it, just not at this table. Goodnight.” Hans stands without another word, stalking off to find another table to sit at. 

Anna’s body is shaking as her heart pounds in her chest, glancing down at her lap as a tear slips down her cheek. A hand on her back causes her to look up, Hans standing over her with tears in the corner of his eyes. 

“Goodbye, Hans.” She whispers. He nods at her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Goodbye, Anna.” He responds, reaching over her to grab the bottle of champagne from the bucket before walking away from her. 

She inhales deeply, calming the pounding of her heart. Knowing that despite how much it hurt right now, Anna had made the right decision.

He didn’t hesitate to order another beer, finally free from Anna’s hounding about his drinking. Though it annoyed him and occasionally pissed him off, Kristoff finds himself missing her company from across the table. 

Despite her promise to make the meeting tomorrow, Kristoff doubted that she would. If she was his fiancé, he wouldn’t let Anna out of his sight after being separated for almost 3 weeks. He downs the last of his drink, trying to purge any thought of that from his mind. He and Anna were friends. That’s all they were and would ever be. He probably would never see her again. 

He doesn’t want another drink. He places a couple of francs on the surface before standing from the bar, patting down his pockets to ensure he had everything. 

Leaving the bar without another word Kristoff peruses down the street of Le Marais, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He can hear music pouring out of the bar a block away from the hotel, a smile forming on his face at the sound of The Mills Brothers. 

He hums along to You Always Hurt the One You Love, remembering all of the words to the song from his time in the war. It used to play on repeat in the showers to improve morale. He smirks, recalling how good that first hot shower felt coming out of Foy. 

They had spent nearly a month freezing in that fucking forest in their foxholes, waiting for a German shell to take any of their lives. Yet it never got him. It was surreal standing under that stream of hot water as feeling returned to his fingers and toes as this song played over the speaker as he stared off in the distance with most of his company gone. 

He glances into the window as he passes the bar, confusion overtaking him as he sees a familiar head of auburn-hair at one of the tables, a bottle of wine in front of her. Kristoff crosses into the bar, his gaze focused on her in her navy dress. 

“Anna?” He calls out as he approaches her from behind, walking past to sit across from her. 

“Hey! It’s you!” She slurs, lazily pointing at him. “I was wondering when you might show up.” 

“Have you?” He chuckles, amused by how intoxicated she is. Trying to ignore the way his heart pounds erratically in his chest at the sight of her. 

“I was because I went. Hey, this bar is near the hotel, so he’ll find me here.” She takes a rather generous sip of her white wine. “Do you know this song?” 

“I do know this song.” He confirms, sitting back in his chair. 

“This song…” She trails off, finishing her wine. “This song is me.” 

Kristoff rubs his beard, slightly concerned for her wellbeing; he had never seen her this intoxicated. “How so?” 

“I…only know how to hurt the ones I love.” She explains, pouring the last bit of wine into her glass. She mimics Kristoff and leans back with a sigh. “I broke things off with Hans.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“It’s probably for the best.” She shrugs, trying to play off the tears threatening to form in the corner of her eyes. “We would have made one another miserable.” 

“I think it’s time to go back to the hotel, Anna.” Kristoff changes the subject, knowing how affected she is by all of this. She nods, finishing her glass of wine before fishing francs out of the bottom of her purse. 

They leave the bar, Kristoff nearly holding Anna up as they walk toward the hotel as she rambles on about current politics and culture. She stops abruptly, holding up her hands, yelling “WAIT!” before leaning over and unbuckling her shoes. 

She takes off her shoes, walking alongside Kristoff toward the hotel in her bare feet. Much to her relief, the hotel clerk is not behind the desk when they arrive, allowing Kristoff to lead her back to their room without having to make any conversation. 

They stand outside of the room as Kristoff looks for the room key in his pockets. Anna leans against the wall, observing him as he bites his lip in concentration. She reaches out, putting her hand on his bicep to catch his attention. 

Kristoff glances down at her, raising a brow. “What is it?” 

“Just…just wait.” In an instant, Anna throws her arms around his broad shoulders, crushing her mouth to his in a desperate, sloppy embrace. Kristoff’s hands don’t rest anywhere, his eyes open at her sloppy kiss. 

He pushes her off him gently with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, trying to think of what to say. After only a moment, Anna doubles over, retching over his shoes. Kristoff sighs, looking down at her, reaching out to rub her back as she continues to spill the contents of her stomach. 

“Nice to have you back feisty.” Kristoff finally comments and actually means it.

Chapter Text

Her heels click against the pavement as she walks down the street in her light blue reefer coat, her heart pounding every time she passes a soldier. The curfew had been lifted for the morning. Even still, the streets seemed eerily quiet for 7am. 

Elsa left the flat without another word to Honeymaren, not wanting to talk to her after last night’s incident. Much less about the incident. She isn’t even sure if Maren was at the apartment this morning; she didn’t bother to check. 

With her heart pounding in her chest, the blonde descends the stairs to the train station, listing the motions in her head to distract her from thinking. As she reaches the door for the train station, a young man races in front of Elsa, holding the door open for her with a smile. She reciprocates the expression, walking into the station. 

Long lines cascade in the building, with German soldiers patrolling the area as aggressive dogs bark at passengers. With a sigh, Elsa joins one of the lines for the train to Lille, reaching into her bag to grab her identification and travel papers, both falsified by one of Mattias’ men. 

It is her first time doing this alone. She always had Maren by her side, offering words of reassurance and comfort. But Elsa knows she can do this. Breathing deeply, she approaches the check-point, steadying her hand as she hands over her documentation to the imposing man sitting at the desk. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, his French heavily influenced by his German accent. 

“I’m returning home to Arras.” Elsa swallows, conscious to bury all of her nervous tics as she answers the officer’s questions. 

The dark-haired man scans her papers carefully, glancing back up at her with no expression. “Your identification says that you’re from Givenchy-en-Gohelle.” 

“I am sir, I’m currently in Arras to take care of my deceased aunt’s estate.” She lies, trying to keep her expression unreadable. 

“And what was your business in Paris?” 

“I was visiting my uncle with my cousin; she’s staying behind to further care for him,” Elsa explains, guilt building in her chest about leaving Maren behind without saying goodbye. 

He hums carefully, scanning her papers to detect any issues with her documents. Without another word, he grabs his stamp, slamming it against the identification before handing it back to her. “You can go.” 

“Thank you.” Elsa grabs her papers, shoving them into her purse hastily as she continues forward past the check-point. She makes her way through the underground tunnels towards the platform for her train to Arras. Weaving between people, Elsa clutches her suitcase tight, her knuckles whitening as she strides through the station. 

She manages to dodge nearly every soldier on her path, keeping her head up high even as they try to make conversation with her. Her shoulders squared back with her ponytail bouncing on the back of her neck. 

In the distance, Elsa can spot platform #9 for the train for Lille. She increases her speed toward her location, noticing the train is already there. The last thing she wanted is to be left in Paris without any idea of what to do next, especially since she is alone. Honeymaren wouldn’t be able to help her in any way, and Elsa isn’t sure that she would want her to. 

Elsa searches through her purse, looking for her ticket as she approaches the train. She pulls it out of the bag as she steps onto car # 3, glancing down to find her seat for the next few hours. The ticket leads her to the back in a window seat, much to Elsa’s relief, where she would be hidden from the rest of the passengers. Hoping that the seat next to her would remain unoccupied, the last thing she needed is a chatty neighbour. 

A mother and daughter take the seats across the aisle from her, the small red-haired freckled girl perched next to the window. Elsa softly smiles as the girl turns back to her mother, asking her dozens of questions, each one her mother answers. 

Elsa looks away, that familiar feeling of guilt enveloping her once again as thoughts of Anna come to her. She recalls sitting in that first-class car leaving Paris for London, their mother sitting in the seat across from them, despondent and solemn for the first time since they had arrived in Paris. Anna had sat next to the window, turning to Elsa with every question and comment that came to her mind. Each one Elsa answered with a giggle and a smile. 

“Ticket, please.” A man’s voice takes her out of her trance. She hands over the ticket with a small smile, watching him as he scans the ticket carefully. He hands it back to her with a nod, moving onto the next set of passengers. Now confident that the seat beside her would remain unoccupied, Elsa picks her suitcase up from the ground, placing it on the seat. 

Her hand goes to her neck, pushing aside the necklace given to her by Yelana for her locket. She wedges her nail between the sides, prying it open. Glancing down at the photo, Elsa sighs at the photograph of her sister; her hair braided into two plaits and smiling politely, nothing like Anna’s genuine smile. 

She found herself thinking of her sister more often since arriving in France, revisiting those memories of their time in France together as young girls. The happiest memories she had of her childhood.

Her body jerks forward as the train begins to move, slowly making its way out of the station, much to the young woman’s relief. She is finally leaving Paris. The past 24 hours had been the most stressful of her life. Despite having been to the city before, it is nothing like it had been; the streets and brasseries empty with boarded-up shops and broken windows. 

A part of Elsa knows that leaving Paris signifies nothing being the same again, not between her and Honeymaren at least. Resting her head against the cold window, she sighs as that familiar feeling crawls into every depth of her soul. 

The kiss had been a mistake. She had known that leading up to it. Her eyes had been unable to leave Honeymaren the entire time before drifting to the other woman’s red lips. Then the question had emerged from Maren without any warning, and Elsa hadn’t known what to say; she had denied how she felt about the Mohawk woman for so long it was easier. 

She couldn’t even remember the exact moment that those feeling had emerged for Maren. It hadn’t been just a spark of the moment that she is certain of. It had drawn out over their time at Rhubana Lodge; Elsa had just been so excited to have a friend who was a woman for the first time in a long while. 

Perhaps the realization came with what would be Maren’s last night at the lodge. Elsa had been sitting outside of the lodge on the stone wall, staring up at the stars. Her hands were shaking as Honeymaren and her shared a cigarette while looking up at the night sky together. She had never admitted this to herself, but the moment Elsa had looked away from the stars to gaze at Maren was when she knew. 

It had been a moment of weakness, as had the kiss. It would be the last time she would ever slip again in that way. If she made it out alive, perhaps, she could find an open-minded man back in Oxford and settle down. Although the union entailed children; this is something Elsa isn’t sure she could do. She had grown up in a home with parents in an unhappy marriage. It was something she couldn’t do purposefully to her own. 

Elsa sits up from the window, unfastening the buttons on her reefer coat as the train car becomes warm. Shrugging the jacket from her shoulders, she straightens out the collar of her blouse while sitting back in the seat. 

Glancing out the window, Elsa knows that she and Maren can’t stay partners after what happened last night. Nothing good would come out of it. Although she isn’t sure how to discuss it with Mattias.  

They had clearly been friends before arriving in France. He would ask why Elsa was requesting reassignment. She wouldn’t know what to say to him; it couldn’t be the truth. Despite being in France, they still worked for British intelligence; she would be deemed disruptive and discharged without a moment’s notice. 

She didn’t even want to think about what would happen upon her arrival back in England. Though Lesbianism isn’t illegal as Homosexuality is, Elsa knew she would be reported to the government, and steps would be taken to make her a functioning member of society. 

The crackling sound of an announcement echoes through the train car, declaring that they had pulled into Arras. Elsa slips her coat over her shoulders, grabbing her suitcase as the train comes to a stop. She stands from the seat, moving through the narrow aisle toward the doors, glancing back at the mother and daughter before exiting the train. 

She barely pays attention as she makes her way out of the train station. Her hands are tucked into her pockets as she keeps her head down. Much to her relief Elsa doesn’t have to engage very much with any soldiers upon her arrival in Arras. 

The walk back to la Place de Heroes feels almost automatic as she tries to push every thought from her head.

Elsa finally looks up as she enters the square, her brows furrowing in confusion at the sight of Will standing in front of her apartment. It isn’t his presence that perplexes her. It’s that Antoinette stands next to him, her hands clasped behind her back as she laughs at something Will says. 

Huffing, she stalks toward the pair, despite not being in a talkative mood. Will’s gaze focuses on the British woman, a smile forming on his face as he opens his arms for an embrace. 

“Marguerite!” He greets, wrapping an arm around Elsa’s shoulder briefly. “How was Uncle?” 

Elsa’s gaze flickers to Antoinette before glancing back to Will. “He was tired, but he seemed well while we were there. Eloise stayed behind to care for him.” 

“I should be getting back to the shop. Grandpère will be wondering where I’ve gotten to.” Antoinette states, wiping her palms on her mustard-coloured skirt. Will turns back to the younger woman with a smile. 

“It was nice meeting you, Mademoiselle Fèvre.” Will winks at Antoinette. The flush that spreads across the French girl’s features doesn’t escape Elsa’s notice. It seems that she hadn’t been the only one who had been striking up romantic action. 

Antoinette saunters away from the two, Will’s gaze lingering on her. Elsa reaches over, smacking him on the arm to pull his attention to her. 

“She is 15! Stop it!” She scolds, reaching into her purse to grab her keys. Inserting the key into the lock of the street door, Elsa turns it with no difficulty. Will steps into the building despite the door nearly closing on him. 

“It wasn’t what it looked like.” He retorts, following Elsa up the stairs to the flat she shares with Honeymaren. “She approached me and asked after you and Eloise.”

“So, you took it upon yourself to flirt with her? You’re what like 25?” She snaps, not looking back at him. 

“I’m actually 18, but…Y’know…close enough.” Will chuckles as they climb the last set of stairs to the flat. They walk toward the door of the flat in silence. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.” 

Elsa huffs in annoyance, turning with her back against the door, nostrils flaring, but she doesn’t speak. Opening the door, she steps through the entrance to the flat and holds the door open for the man. He steps through, jumping slightly as she slams the door shut behind her. 

“I barely slept a wink last night and had to be on a train by 6am this morning.” She snaps. 

“Oh shi-.” 

“And that doesn’t even begin to explain the night that preceded both of those.” The blond marches through the flat to the living room, throwing her purse on the sofa. “So yes, William, I did wake up on the ‘wrong side of the bed.’ And in all honesty, I just want to change into pyjamas, lie in my bed with a cigarette and a glass of wine that I know is in that refrigerator.” 

Will goes silent, staring at the young woman with a meek gaze. Glancing down at his jacket, he begins to look for something in the pockets of his leather jacket. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to the British woman. 

Without any hesitation, Elsa steps forward, grabbing a cigarette from the pack and snatching the lighter also being offered to her. She inhales deeply upon lighting the smoke, calm settling over her chest as she hands the lighter back to the man in front of her. 

“Better?” He asks, tucking the lighter back into the pocket of his pants. Elsa simply nods, exhaling the smoke from her lungs. “Good. What happened during the mission? Did you find our contacts?” 

Elsa takes another puff of her cigarette, “We did and delivered the package.” 

“Then what went wrong?” Will asks, an eyebrow raised in concern. 

“While we were heading back to the safehouse, we had a run-in with an officer…” Elsa trails off, glancing down at the mud on her heels. “Eloise shot and killed him. We left his body in the street we didn’t have time to get rid of it.” 

Will stays silent, staring at the woman with wide brown eyes. “Well…that may cause some issue for agents entering Paris and the agents a part of the Prosper network.” 

“As I was leaving, they were tightening security already. I have no doubt in my mind it was due to that.” Elsa’s hands begin to shake just thinking about the previous night. 

“Your probably right.” Will sighs. “Did Eloise catch her train to Lyon at least?” 

“I’m not sure.” She shakes her head, taking another puff of her cigarette. 

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” 

Elsa huffs, pulling her hair out of its high ponytail. “We didn’t have any contact this morning. I think I left before she did.” 

“I see.” Will sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, hopefully, her trip to Lyon will be smooth. By the time she returns in a week, things should have calmed down a bit.” 

“A week?” 

“Yeah, she’s just filling in as a courier and operator for an F section girl who went missing last week.” He shrugs. 

Elsa’s brow arches slightly in concern. “Who went missing?” 

“Someone by the code name of Colette. All we know was she was deployed two weeks ago.” He states, his expression grim. Elsa nods. It wouldn’t be someone she knew, thankfully. “Well, I should get going. I need to meet with Mattias to update him about Paris.” 

“Alright, have a safe return.” Elsa sighs, putting out the butt of her cigarette in a nearby crystal ashtray. 

“I will,” Will offers her a smile as he turns from her. He glances over his shoulder, digging into his messenger bag. “I nearly forgot about these.” The young man places a carton of cigarettes on a small wooden table next to the door. 

“Thanks,” She doesn’t move from her spot, her arms now crossed as Will leaves the flat without another word. The white door slams shut, nearly making the young woman jump as the noise echoes through the small apartment. 

Elsa makes her way toward the surface, opening the carton of Gauloises cigarettes. With only two women in the house, it had been hard for them to acquire cigarettes since the government had declared it illegal for women to buy them. 

Grabbing a pack, Elsa immediately pulls another smoke from the cardboard before tossing it back onto the table. She marches toward the kitchen, placing the cigarette in her mouth, pulling open the drawer next to the stove. Her gaze drifts to the box of matches tucked in the corner before grabbing it. 

She opens the box, immediately striking a match against it. Quickly, Elsa brings the lit match to her cigarette. She throws the box back into the drawer, closing it with her hip as she exhales the smoke. 

Holding the smoke between her fore and middle finger, she opens a cabinet over the single sink. She grabs a wine glass from the shelf, closing the cabinet while placing the glass on the counter. Elsa steps toward the refrigerator, opening the door to the scarcely filled space. The bottle of Riesling sits in the door, next to a Sauvignon Blanc. 

The blonde chooses the Riesling, knowing that Maren preferred the latter. The refrigerator door closes gently on its own as Elsa steps away from it. She pours herself a generous amount of wine, well above the accepted amount when pouring wine. The liquid sits only about an inch or so below the lip of the glass. 

She couldn’t bring herself to care about appropriateness at this point; nothing about any of this is appropriate. Settling herself on the sofa, Elsa crosses her legs, a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. 

Nothing about her had ever been appropriate.

At a young age, she knew there was something wrong with her. She never seemed to gush over boys or romantic tales as Anna had when they were children. While Anna became fascinated with fairy tales and Jane Austen, Elsa was more engrossed by poems and Virginia Woolf. 

She never made grand plans surrounding a wedding or coming up with baby names as Anna always did when discussing their futures. Anna could conjure the image of a perfect man in her scenarios, changing every year as she grew. But for Elsa, when she managed to imagine him, he was always faceless with no discerning features that she thought made him handsome. 

It wasn’t until Lillie Davies started attending Harrogate did everything begin to make sense for Elsa. Lillie had curly brown hair that shone copper in the sunlight and stormy grey eyes. Elsa’s heart would pound at the sight of her, and her every waking thought was taken up by Lillie. 

They were thirteen when they shared their first kiss. Elsa would never forget how her mouth went dry as she shyly nodded when Lillie asked. She could still nearly feel how cold Lillie’s hands were against her cheeks as they moved close to one another. How Elsa’s hands shook as she rested them on the other girl’s waist. 

When their lips finally touched, it was as if the final piece of Elsa fell into place. Although in an instant, everything was ripped out from under them. 

Charlotte Brown was standing in the doorway when they withdrew from one another. Elsa would never forget the look of disgust on the third girl’s face, those judging blue eyes glaring at the two of them framed by those blonde curls and bangs. Charlotte took off to the headmistress’s office in a second before either of them could stop her. 

Within the next 30 minutes, they were in the office, both of them standing in their stuffy uniforms. Elsa’s eyes downcast and her hands folded in front of her while Headmistress Danvers lectured them on sexual morality. 

To this day, Elsa could remember the middle-aged woman’s voice telling the both of them that this sort of thing was a phase they would grow out of.  

Elsa never saw Lillie again after that. At least not until she saw the engagement announcement of Lillie Davies in the newspaper only a year ago. It seemed that Lillie did, in fact, grow out of it, but Elsa never did. 

There had been some hope that Headmistress Danvers wouldn’t tell their parents to save the school from scandal. But it wasn’t kept quiet. The next day Elsa was on the train back to London. 

Upon her arrival at the house in London, Elsa was dragged into her father’s office by her mother. She would never forget the anger across his face as mirroring eyes stared accusingly at her. Never in her life did Elsa ever feel so small. 

Elsa couldn’t remember everything that her father yelled at her. She just remembers the guilt building inside her, her head tilted forward with eyes squeezed shut. The only thing she recalled being the words shot at her; 

“Have you done anything to your sister?” 

Elsa’s eyes shot open at that statement, chilling her to the bone as she finally made eye contact with her father for the first time. 

“No!” She nearly shouted back, the very idea that her father thought that she had touched Anna in such a way almost made her sick. “I-I would never!” 

Agnarr glared down at his adolescent daughter, shaking his head in disbelief as he lit another cigarette. “Not yet, at least.” 

“Father, please, I could never, I would never do such a thing.” She sobbed, wanting nothing more for him to understand. 

Even now, the accusation made Elsa sick to her stomach. Her father ordered her to distance herself from Anna until she was cured of her perversion. But even once she returned from the hospital, her feelings toward women remained unchanging, so she stayed away from Anna for the rest of their adolescence. 

She didn’t want to hurt Anna. 

Never in her life has she said the words sapphic or lesbian out loud to describe herself both sounding dirty and wrong to her. As she became older and left London for Oxford, Elsa tried to convince herself that it was surface level. She had heard her mother call other women gorgeous or beautiful. That’s all Elsa ever thought her attraction extended to, just looks. 

She heard that heterosexual women often look at lesbian pornography while touching themselves. For her first 3 years of university, Elsa convinced herself that she was normal. Any sign or thought that happened she pushed away and justified. 

Elsa takes a large sip of her wine with a huff, curling her legs up underneath herself. She draws her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to think about when she stopped justifying it. Of course, there had never been an acceptance of it, just a resigned acknowledgment. 

She figured she could push it down and carry on with her life. Perhaps settle down with a tolerable man that she could live the rest of her life in comfort and never confront this all. But that hadn’t happened. The men never worked out. That is what disappointed her about David; all of the men had been like him. 

Then Honeymaren. The Mohawk woman had changed and derailed all of those plans. Since she was 13 years old, Elsa finally felt a connection to someone. For the first time, Elsa was able to look at someone and imagine the rest of her life with them. And it scared the hell out of her. 

The very idea that she could see herself carrying through life with this woman in a relationship that everyone around her considered being sinful scared Elsa. This was the very thing every psychiatrist her parents sent her to, warned against. Yet this feeling was like everything all the movies, novels, poems and musicals portrayed in being this wonderful thing. 

Yet Elsa was meant to feel guilt and shame over who she loved? 

She takes another sip of her wine, smaller than the last sip, as her forehead creases. Wondering if perhaps, despite everything each pastor, psychiatrist, orderly, and her father said is wrong. That, in fact, there isn’t anything wrong with her. But that it was the society that she was born into.  

Chapter Text

Even intoxicated, the dream doesn't leave Anna. Though the events are altered slightly, it's always the same event that replays in her dreams and mind. 

The cold London air hitting her face as Anna stands in the doorway of the second floor of the house, frozen in fear. Those hardwood panels sticking out into the air against the London skyline, the entire floor creaking as she stepped forward in shock. 

With her eyes wide in disbelief, Anna's back hits the back of the wall next to the door, sliding to the floor. Olaf calls out for her as her eyes catch the photograph on her father's desk. Shakily she stands up, taking slow steps toward it and reaching out for the last memories of her and Elsa. 

As she grabs it, the floor beneath her begins to crumble. Only this time, Olaf isn't there to pull her back. 

Her eyes snap open as her heart leaps in her chest. Her cheek is pressed against the pillow, now wet with tears and sweat. Anna blinks, rubbing her eyes before glancing at the clock to see it is 11am. 

With a groan, she buries her face back into the pillow; her head felt as if it is splitting apart while her throat is parched. Resigned Anna pushes herself up from the mattress, her matted hair pulling on her scalp. 

Glancing to the bedside table, the young woman notices a large glass of water and an aspirin sitting on the surface. Anna stretches forward, grabbing the small pill, popping it into her mouth while holding the glass of water. She feels immediate relief as the water re-hydrates her mouth and throat. 

She places the cup, now half-empty, on the bedside table before flopping back onto the mattress. Staring up at the ceiling, Anna reflects on everything that had happened the previous night. 

The break-up with Hans, though it felt like the right thing to do it still felt raw to the young woman. She groans, knowing that she'll have to confront her ex-fiancé. All her possessions in France are still in his hotel room. She isn't sure what she had slept in last night. It isn't as constricting as her pyjamas typically are.  

Her brows furrow at that thought, glancing down to see what she is wearing, an oversized white shirt and a pair of navy-blue night pants. Anna's hands run over the flannel, her fingers brushing against the excess fabric pooling around her thighs. They were clearly Kristoff's clothes. 

Anna groans, burying her face into her hands as she thinks about the previous night. She had made such a fool out of herself, throwing herself at Kristoff like that. She wonders what he must think of her now. 

Of course, she would be lying to herself if she denied ever thinking about how Kristoff's lips would feel against her own. But the way she conducted herself last night wasn't the way to go about that. He must think of her as a complete fool. 

It dawns on her then, where is Kristoff? Anna sits up from the bed, glancing around to the room to see both Sven and Kristoff gone from it. 

"Kristoff?" She calls out, waiting for a response. There is none. Reluctantly Anna throws the blankets off her, slowly standing from the bed as she feels her stomach flip. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as she straightens up, waiting for nausea to pass. 

As it does, she steps away from the bed, slowly walking toward the desk, where she sees a single sheet of paper on the surface. Anna picks up the document to see a note written in Kristoff's messy scrawl with a sigh. 

Took Sven on a walk this morning, be back before noon. 
Hope you feel better. I left an aspirin and water next to the bed for you. 

Also, the hotel clerk brought your suitcase to the room while you were still sleeping.
-Kristoff 

Anna glances to her right to see her suitcase up against the wall. Placing the note down, the young woman grabs the bag. She carries it to the bed, putting the suitcase on the mattress. 

Resting her hands on her hips, she stares at the bag, hesitant to open it. No doubt Hans had dropped it off earlier this morning. She steps forward to open the suitcase, her shaking hands hovering over the buckle. 

She doesn't know why she hesitates. Almost as if opening the suitcase officially marked the end of her romance with Hans. That everything would become too real. The fantasy that she shrouded over herself for the past months is finally gone. And it scared the hell out of her. 

Finally, her hands unfasten the buckle of her suitcase to reveal her clothes and something else Anna hadn't been expecting. A brown file sits on top of her clothes, something that doesn't belong to her. 

Anna grabs the file, unbinding the folder as she settles herself on the bed next to the suitcase. Tipping the folder, a few documents fall into her hand without warning. With her brows furrowed, she glances over the files, carefully reading every line. 

She had seen official documents regarding Elsa's assignment before. But not like this. She only knew the basics of her sister's work, but this gave her everything that had been missing: Elsa's assignment and her code name. 

Marguerite. 

It brought a small smile to her face, though she knows that the women didn't choose their alias'. It still brings comfort to Anna in knowing that her sister carried her name for a time. She wonders if Elsa ever made the connection- Anna Daisy Rendelle. In French, Marguerite means Daisy. 

She quickly shakes the thought from her head, knowing that they were barely on speaking terms when Elsa disappeared. It most likely never crossed Elsa's mind. 

Anna places the enlistment document on the mattress next to her, eyes welling up at the sight of the next piece. No matter how many times she sees the photograph of Elsa in her uniform, it will always affect her. 

The photograph of Elsa in her SOE uniform with her blond hair braided under her military-issued cap. The familiar small smile on her sister's features, strained and polite as they usually were. 

Her hand shaking, Anna brushes her fingertip over the photo as if stroking her sister's cheek. "Els…" She whispers into the empty room. Wondering why her sister would willingly leave everything behind. Why Elsa would leave her behind.  

She jumps as the door of the room clicks open, Kristoff and Sven stepping through the threshold. The wolfhound bounds across the small room toward the auburn-haired woman, his nose pressing against the documents in Anna's hands as he stands between her thighs. 

Before the documents can be damaged by Sven, Anna places them next to her. Reaching out without hesitation, to scratch the wolfhound behind his ear, making the dog lean into her touch as his leg bats against the ground. 

"How are ya feeling?" Kristoff asks, standing at the end of the bed with two mugs in his hand. Anna reluctantly makes eye contact with him, the memory of her kissing him followed by her vomiting over his shoes still present in her mind. 

A flush creeps up her neck, spreading to her cheeks as she tries not to think about how his lips felt against hers. Though it was sloppy and ill-timed, there is no denying that Anna felt more at that moment than she had in years. It wasn't anything like Hans where it was exciting; no, this brought warmth as if it was familiar and right. 

"I've been better." She sighs, earning a smile from the blonde man. 

"Clearly. Here this might help you." He responds as he places one of the mugs on the desk. 

Anna peers at him, trying to gauge his mood this morning. By all means, he had the right to be angry over the kiss; she most likely ruined his boots. But Kristoff doesn't seem mad or annoyed by her; he wouldn't be here if he was. 

Shakily she stands from the bed, making her way toward the desk. She settles herself in the second chair, reaching for the mug of coffee. "Thank you." 

Sipping the hot beverage, a smile crosses the young woman's features, noticing Kristoff had put some sugar into her morning coffee. He would've had to use a ration coupon for this. The room falls silent as the two sip their coffee, Sven's panting being the only noise.  

"Kristoff, I just wan-" 

"Listen, I think we should-" 

They both stop with soft strained laughter as their gazes finally meet. Kristoff sighs, gesturing at her with his palm open. "Sorry, go ahead." 

"I just wanted to apologize about last night." She begins, running her palms against the flannel pyjama pants. "I was completely intoxicated and made an absolute fool out of myself and I-." 

"Anna, it's fine." He trails off, an eyebrow-raising slightly as he begins to rub the back of his neck. "I understand that your emotions were running pretty high last night after well…um, anyhow. I wanted to make sure that you're feeling okay with…everything that happened." 

She sighs, glancing down at her lap as her finger taps against her knee. "I mean, I know ending things with Hans was the right thing to do, but I just…." 

"You just what?" 

"Why am I not devastated over this? I ended a perfectly fine relationship with a wonderful man, and I just… can't make myself."

Kristoff stares at her, a finger tapping against the white mug. "I think because somewhere deep down, you know it wasn't right. I think you truly cared for him and he for you but knew it wasn't meant to be." 

"Maybe…" she trails off, eyes glued to her lap with a soft chuckle. "Maybe there is just something wrong with me."  

"That's not true." He rebukes immediately. The woman glances up at him, her brows furrowed in uncertainty and doubt. "You have this energy that just draws people to you, your kind and free-spirited, unlike anyone I've ever met. And you have this optimism that is so exhausting, but it's something I'm in total awe of." 

"I'm sorry I threw up on your shoes last night." She forces herself to meet his gaze while changing the subject. 

Kristoff chuckles with a shrug. "I'll be sure to add the cleaning to your bill." 

"I wouldn't have it any other way." 

"Good." He states, standing from the chair as he glances down at her with a raised brow. "We're to meet Will at the archives soon. Are you up to come?"

Anna's gaze follows him, peering up at him as a smile creeps onto her face. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

Kristoff reciprocates the smile, extending his hand down to his travelling companion. Anna stares at his hand, blinking in surprise before meeting his gaze once again as she takes his hand into her own. Standing from the chair, her hand lingers in his for a moment before withdrawing from him. 

She moved toward the bed, where her suitcase lays, grabbing her clothes for the day. Not bothering to hide her undergarments in the folded clothes as she makes her way toward the washroom.

Anna dresses in her brown tweed skirt with the olive-coloured blouse with foxes decorating the fabric.  She arranges the pussy-bow over her mustard yellow cardigan collar, which compliments the raspberry lipstick she wears for the day. 

With a sigh, Anna composes herself as she stares at her reflection in the mirror before turning toward the door, opening it without hesitancy. She steps out into the room where Kristoff sits on the bed, Sven's head resting on his knee while the American gently pets the wolfhound. 

Anna smiles at the scene before her, hand resting on the wall as her body drifts toward the structure. A moment passes before Kristoff finally glances up, smiling at the auburn-haired woman. 

"Are you ready to go?" He asks, standing from the bed. 

"Yeah, I am." She responds, taking notice of where her shoes are haphazardly placed near the door. Anna turns from the American, slipping her feet into the heels before bending over to clasp the buckle over her ankle. Slightly an inch taller than before, Anna watches Kristoff slip on his boots with much difficulty before securing them. 

Without another word, she opens the door, stepping through the threshold and waiting in the hall as Kristoff locks the hotel room. 

The two walk through the hotel as if nothing had changed between them. The kiss and events from the previous night are left unspoken as they wander through the streets of Paris toward the archives. 

They stand out in a courtyard in the front entrance of the archives. Men and a few women pass them as they are undoubtedly employees heading to their lunch break for the afternoon. 

The couple walk down the length of the pavement toward the front doors. A man catches Anna's notice as soon as he leaves the building, his appearance immediately sticking out against the others. The man wears a British RAF leather jacket, bright red hair and freckles, nearly giving him away as a British citizen. As he walks straight toward them, Anna's suspicions are confirmed that he might be the man they are looking for. 

"Hi, Kristoff?" The stranger asks, extending a hand toward Kristoff with a smile. 

"Yeah, I'm assuming you're Will." The blonde responds, reciprocating the gesture to introduce himself to the Irishman. They withdraw from one another as Will turns toward Anna with a smile. 

"Then you must be Anna." The redhead steps forward, his hands resting on her shoulders as he presses a chaste kiss on both of her cheeks. 

The auburn-haired woman leans into the greets, smiling as Will steps away from her. "I am. It's nice to meet you, Mr. O'Shea." 

"Oh please," The man shrugs, glancing between the couple. "Just call me Will. So, Antoinette said over the phone, you two are looking for some records about the SOE." 

"Yes, well, my sister went missing during the war, and I've been looking for her ever since an-" Anna begins to explain, flabbergasted as Will interrupts her. 

"Shall we go for lunch? I feel like you both could do with a drink." The redhead walks between Kristoff and Anna toward the street. Anna glances at her travelling companion, her brows furrowed in confusion at the Irishman's behaviour. Kristoff simply shrugs, his eyes wide as if silently asking if they should follow him. 

The young woman follows Will, her hands holding the cross-body strap of her purse. Kristoff peruses after his friend a slight scowl forming at the sight of Will offering his arm to Anna. A smirk crossing his features as she politely refuses. 

The brasserie Will leads them toward is a few blocks from the archives, a green awning hanging over the sidewalk where there is no doubt outdoor seating during the spring and summer. Will holds the door open for Anna as she approaches the building behind him, a slight pause in her step before moving into the restaurant. 

Will guides them toward a table against the window overlooking the street, taking a seat against the wall. Anna takes the chair across from the Irishman, smiling up at Kristoff as he takes the seat next to her. 

The waiter approaches the table quickly, pulling out a notebook and a pen while he waits for drink orders. Will glances at his two companions before shifting his gaze back to the waiter. 

“Nous aurons deux Leffe brun et un cidre pour la dame.” Will orders quickly, smiling at Anna across the table. 

"Oh actually, I just want water." Anna protests, not thinking to speak in French. 

Will shrugs as the waiter leaves the table. "Trust me, cider is good for hangovers. You'll thank me later." 

She doesn't further protest, falling silent at his assurance. Kristoff's fingers drum against the table as Anna tries to think over her following words, eager to know more but unsure if she wants to know the answers to her questions. 

"What is it that you guys wanted to know about the SOE?" Will finally asks, his gaze flickering between Anna and Kristoff. 

"Well…" Anna begins, ensuring that the Irishman won't interrupt her. "As I was saying earlier, My sister disappeared during the war, and we've found some documents that show she was enlisted with the SOE." 

"So, you two are looking for her?" Will repeats, leaning back in his chair as the waiter returns with their drinks. The cider is placed in front of Anna in a white teacup. While the two pints of beer are divvied between Kristoff and Will. 

"We have been for about three weeks now," Kristoff responds, taking a sip of his beer. "We're also looking for a friend of mine." 

Will sighs, his finger tapping against the dew on the pint glass. "Do you know what their codenames were? Unfortunately, once we were in the field, we couldn't give out real names unless it was vital. I was part of the few that there was an exception." 

"We don't know Honeymaren's. We haven't been able to get information on her." Kristoff responds with a sigh. 

"That will be much more difficult. I know the ex-coordinator of the F Section was looking for some of the lost girls." Will explains, finally taking a sip of his beer. "Yelana might have gathered more information on her. What about your sister?" 

"Her code name was Marguerite. I believe she was in Arras for most of her enlistment." Anna explains, trying to recall obscure details from the forms. But nothing seems to come to her mind. 

Will noticeably pales, recognizing the name and city. "Marguerite…Mahy?" 

"I-I believe so." She responds. 

"You wouldn't happen to have a photograph, would you?" He asks, sitting forward in his seat. Anna nods, not hesitating as she opens her purse, producing the photo of her sister in the SOE uniform. 

With what seems like some reluctance, Will slides the photograph closer to him, glancing down as his eyes scan the document. His eyes widening as if seeing a ghost. The table falls silent as he looks at it, time seeming to slow as Anna and Kristoff wait. 

He hands the photo back after a moment, clearing his throat as his gaze drifts to the table. "I knew your sister." 

Anna sits up in her seat, leaning over the table in response. "You did?" 

"Yeah. She was a wireless operator in Arras. She worked with a woman named Eloise." He titters, glancing back up at Anna with a slight smirk. "If you ask me, you look much more like her than Eloise did." 

Her brows furrow in confusion, head tilting slightly at the comment. "What is the supposed to mean?" 

"Well, it was odd for two women to live together alone unless they were in a boarding house, family or in a Boston marriage at the time." The redhead explains. "So, it was easiest to pass them off as cousins, but they didn't look anything alike. I think Eloise was Muslim or Sikh." 

A part of Anna feels slight disappointment, knowing that the woman Eloise wasn't Kristoff's Honeymaren. Though it would be an unlikely coincidence, Anna would be lying if she didn't imagine a situation in which Honeymaren and Elsa were with one another. Almost as if it would have been a sign from the world. Although it comforted her that Elsa wasn't alone, with a part of her hoping that Honeymaren had someone throughout this as well. 

"Do you know what happened to my sister?" Anna asks, watching as Will takes another sip of his beer. He places down the pint with a slight sigh, running his hand through his hair as he hesitates to answer the question. 

"I don't know." 

"When was the last time you saw her?" Kristoff asks, sitting forward with his forearms resting on the table. The sleeves of his sweater are now pushed up to his elbows. 

"I last saw her and Eloise in November of '43," Will responds. "The Gestapo and Milice were started to become ruthless in the city. The last I saw them was the night Antoinette's Grandpa was taken to the Citadel. I heard they were heading back to Paris to a safe house." 

"Do you know if they made it?" Anna's eyes are wide, hopeful that the man in front of them knew something or could point them to her whereabouts. 

"All I know is the brothel I told them about was raided a week later." His gaze flickers back to the table, unable to make eye contact with the younger Rendelle sister. "I tried to get them out sooner. I really did. Yelana did as well, but Marguerite and Eloise both refused to leave." 

Anna simply nods, taking a sip of her cider. Will had been right; the alcohol seems to be helping with her hangover as well as the news. A hand rests on her shoulder, Kristoff staring at her with creases in the corners of his eyes. 

"Are you okay?" He asks, brows knitting together in concern. She simply nods with a small smile, trying her best to reassure him despite not feeling as such. 

"I know Mattias has always regretted not being able to find those who went missing. Yelana took it the hardest, though." 

"Why is that?" Anna inquires. 

"The women of F Section was her project. She fought with the higher-ups for years to enlist women in the SOE and oversaw every aspect of their training once they were allowed." Will explains, making eye contact with Anna one more. "She never forgave herself for the disappearance of her girls." 

"Where is she now?" Kristoff interjects. 

"She died two months ago in a vehicle collision. I know she and Mattias were in close contact up to her death. I believe he has all of her files." The Irishman explains. The table falls silent once again as if allowing a moment to remember the woman they didn't know. 

Anna's finger taps against the teacup holding her cider, her gaze drifting to Kristoff before glancing back to Will. "What would you suggest we do from here?" 

"Well, I'll ask the archivist and see if we have any files on the SOE or suspected members. I'll spend the rest of the afternoon looking. We can meet over the next couple of days if I find anything, they're thousands of records to go through, so It may take a bit of time." Will plans, finishing his beer. 

"You can reach us at the same number. We'll be here for…" Kristoff trails off, glancing at Anna with uncertainty. They hadn't had the chance to discuss how long they would stay in Paris, not since Anna had ended things with Hans. "For a little while." 

"Sounds good. I'll be in contact." Will nods, smiling at the other man. "Please tell me, how is Antoinette?" 

The auburn-haired woman smirks at the mention of the French woman. "She's well enough, rather blunt with the two of us." 

"She and her son are living in an apartment just off of Place de Heroes," Kristoff adds, his pint glass sitting in front of him. 

 "Doesn't surprise me. She used to live there with her Grandpa." Will smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. Anna notices the way his smile drops. "And how is her son?" 

"He's a happy little guy, keeping Antoinette busy for sure," Kristoff responds. Will nods, turning his head to look out the window. 

"You should go see her. I'm sure she'd like the company." Anna adds gently. 

The Irishman chuckles, glancing back at the young woman. "Maybe, we'll see." 

"She mentioned that she knew Marguerite and Eloise." She states, taking hold of the handle of her cup. 

"Yeah, she was their contact and later courier in Arras. I met Antoinette through Marguerite, although we didn't get close until after the war when I returned to France and well…you know how she can be." Will trails off, his smirk returning. With a sigh, he taps the table twice before glancing between the couple. "Well, I should be heading back to the archives. I'll be sure to keep in touch with you two about any records." 

Kristoff stands as Will does, the two men reaching across the table to shake one another's hands. "Thank you, we really appreciate it." 

"Of course." Will flashes Anna another smile before leaving the table, pausing for a moment at the end of the surface before placing down a few francs. "Anna…what was Marguerite's name? Her real one." 

"Elsa," Anna responds, noticing how a corner of the Irishman's mouth turns upward. 

"Elsa…" He repeats, brows knitted together as if pondering it over as the name repeats in his head. Flashing one last smile at the two, the red-haired man walks away from the table without another word. 

Kristoff remains standing, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he glances down to Anna. "Are you ready to go?"

Anna simply nods, standing from the table to follow the American man out of the restaurant. They don't walk arm-in-arm as they had the previous day, but at a distance, as they meander through the streets of Paris. 

It is odd to Anna this unfamiliarity between the two of them. It felt like it had when they met in the pub in London to discuss the details of their trip, back when they were slightly hostile to one another. But these past weeks in France had changed everything. It had changed them. He no longer snapped at her, and she no longer made snide remarks against him. But that same awkwardness had returned. 

And Anna had ruined everything they had. As she always did. 

They approach the bridge toward Ile de la Cite. As they stand at the traffic light waiting to cross, Kristoff glances down at her. Without a word, he moves closer, smiling down at her as he offers his arm to her, a gesture which she accepts. 

Maybe she hadn't ruined everything. 

They walk across the street, conversation coming back to the two of them as if nothing had happened the night before. Older couples smile at the pair as they walk past them on the bridge, assuming the two were together. 

As they reach the other side of the bridge, Anna stares up at the old brick buildings as they felt familiar to her. "We used to walk down this street when we stayed in Paris." 

"I strangely can imagine a small Anna racing across that bridge." Kristoff chuckles, imagining a small girl with auburn hair bound into braided pigtails running ahead of her mother. He believes Elsa would be behind chasing after her, though it always felt odd imagining the elusive sister. 

The couple make their way toward the prominent structure in front of them, Notre Dame. They ignore the vendors on the street who try to sell them various items. They meander past multiple restaurants and patisseries toward a large plaza with the church looming over them. 

Anna glances up at the structure, almost feeling overwhelmed as she did the first time seeing Notre Dame. The couple stop in front of the church, staring up at it with awe. Kristoff's eyes are wide as Anna's mouth hangs open. 

"Have you ever been in?" Kristoff inquires, smirking at the look on his companion's face. Anna shakes her head, her mouth closing as she finally looks away. "Do you want to?" 

"No, I don't." She responds, staring up at the tall towers. 

They don't linger long in front of the church, moving to the small garden next to Notre Dame, where they find a bench against the iron fence. They settle on the surface, arms unlinking from one another as they stare out into the garden. 

"How are you feeling after our meeting with Will?" Kristoff finally asks. 

Anna shrugs, still unsure how she felt about it all. "He's bound to find something, right?" 

"Maybe, he said, there are thousands of records. Even if it's something small, anything will be helpful for us." He shrugs, glancing at her. "Although who knows how long it could take, it could be weeks." 

"That doesn't matter." Her gaze meets his, sapphire eyes boring into honey-brown ones. She resists the urge to take his hand into her own as she smiles up at him. "We have all the time in the world now." 

"I guess we do." He reciprocates the smile before glancing back into the garden. Anna's gaze follows his, staring at the flowerbeds, her smile never wavering as it finally occurs to her. They could take their time to find their loved ones. 

Chapter Text

The sun is high in the sky by mid-afternoon as Elsa stands in the patisserie, holding her string bag filled with her groceries for the week. She smiles at the baker as she hands him two ration coupons for the bread in her basket. A gesture which he doesn’t reciprocate in an effort to move people out of the patisserie as quickly as possible. 

She moves through the crowd of people, hoping to God she won’t encounter another fight in the bread line. It seems as though they were becoming more frequent as grain became scarcer to feed German soldiers along the coast. 

It’s the days carrying out errands that Elsa finds herself missing Honeymaren. She misses having the security of walking on her arm while they ignore soldier’s advances and argued with middle-aged women about their place in line for food. 

The feeling is worse when she’s alone in their apartment. Constantly missing how her laughter echoed through the flat without effort and how it was constantly filled with her voice, now it is just quiet without her. 

She moves across the plaza, the bag in her had hitting against her knee as she walks. The blonde ignores the glances she receives from soldiers passing her, by now she had grown used to their lingering gazes and comments. Her physique drew unwanted attention from them much to her dismay.  

Approaching the flat building, Elsa reaches for her keys to unlock the door to the lobby. The young woman makes her way up the staircase, the effort of walking up the steep stairs becoming easier after months. 

As she reaches the third floor, Elsa is surprised to see the woman who lives in the third-floor apartment standing outside of it. A cigarette rests between her perfectly manicured hands, nails freshly painted as if rubbing it in everyone else’s face. No one could afford nail polish anymore. Unless you collaborated. 

The neighbour’s raven hair is pinned away from her face, framing her round emerald eyes and angled face perfectly. “Bonjour.” 

“Bonjour,” Elsa responds, forcing a smile at the woman who always made her nervous. She doesn’t plan on furthering the conversation, they had only spoken a few words to one another since her arrival in Arras. 

“I haven’t seen your cousin in some time.” The woman comments, ashing her cigarette onto the ground. Elsa pauses on the steps, turning slowly to face the intimidating woman.  

“She’s in Paris caring for our sick uncle,” Elsa responds, trying to control the erratic beating of her heart. “I was with her a week ago but needed to return to Arras.” 

“Why is that?” The woman’s eyes narrow at the blonde questioningly. Elsa pauses for a moment, her mouth slightly agape as she tries to think of an excuse. 

“Eloise thought it was only necessary for one of us to stay with him, one of us might as well be back here to finish dealing with our aunt’s estate.” The blonde responds, her palms becoming sweaty as she continues to lie. 

The French woman raises a perfectly shaped brow at Elsa. “Many of your family members have been unwell no?” 

Elsa slightly curses the SOE for making her cover have two ailing relatives. “It seems that way, doesn’t it? Our uncle has been ill for years now, but it’s now advancing. Our aunt went suddenly when she returned to my parent’s home.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The woman glances down to the floor, tossing the butt of her cigarette next to her shoe. 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

The woman looks up again, meeting Elsa’s gaze. “It’s just when people travel so suddenly you have to be wary around them.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Elsa inquires, wondering if she might have had an ally underneath the flat this entire time. 

“Well, it’s just that traitors have been travelling across the country to spread messages to support their useless cause.” The woman pushes off the wall, standing only an inch from Elsa. 

“I-I’m not sure I know what you mean.” 

The woman smirks, eyes taking in every inch of Elsa to make her conscious. “You know, people who want things to return to normal and don’t believe that this is the future.” 

“I see,” Elsa responds, feeling small under the other woman’s gaze. “Well, I’m sure many of those people will discover that their efforts are futile. I’m sorry I really should be getting my milk in the icebox before it spoils.” 

“Of course.” The woman steps away from Elsa with a smile. “It was nice to finally have the opportunity to talk with you.” 

“You too.” Elsa turns from the French woman without another word, moving up the stairs at a quicker pace than she had been previously moving at. She pulls her keys out of her purse as she steps onto her floor. Unlocking the flat door, Elsa glances over her shoulder to ensure the neighbour hadn’t followed her. 

As she steps through the threshold, Elsa ensures the door is locked behind her. As she turns from the entrance, she notices a folded piece of paper laying on the ground in front of her. With her brows furrowed, the blond bends over to pick up the letter. 

Stepping away from the door, Elsa walks toward the sitting area to settle herself on the sofa. Her purse falls from her shoulder as she places her string bag at her feet, unfolding the paper as she scans the writing. 

Farmer division has been compromised. Several members have been captured: 3 in Lille, 4 by the Belgian border and 1 in Paris while on mission. Identities unknown as of yet will be in touch in the next few weeks.

Operations to carry on as normal, proceed with extreme caution. 
-Mattias 

The letter slips from her hand, falling onto the skirt of her light blue dress. She stands, allowing the memo to fall to the ground as she makes her way to the fireplace. Kneeling on the ground, Elsa carefully arranges small pieces of wood with shaking hands. The box of matches lays on the coffee table where she had left them the previous night. 

She strikes the match, holding it to the thinnest piece of wood and waits for the end to catch on fire. Elsa watches as the flame makes its way down the thin edge to the pile, spreading to the other pieces with no difficulty. Standing from the ground, Elsa brushes the dust from her dress before walking to where the letter rests. She grabs it from the floor, nearly running into the coffee table as she walks staring at the writing. 

Standing in front of the fireplace, Elsa balls up the note, tossing it into the fire without hesitation. She wraps her arms around herself as she watches the paper burn brightly against the wood. 

One agent had been captured in Paris. She doesn’t breathe for a few moments, trying to recall if Maren had to go through Paris on her return from Lyon. But nothing reappears in her mind. She hopes to god that wherever Maren is, that she’s safe and not in a prison somewhere in Germany or France. 

Elsa stills as she hears a creak come from the other side of the door, her gaze snapping toward the entrance. It is odd for anyone to be on this level, the building only had one more floor higher than their flat, but it had been abandoned since her arrival in Arras. 

Though the woman on the second floor is a collaborator, Elsa doesn’t think she would be stupid enough to follow her. It would make more sense for the woman to try and snoop if Elsa wasn’t home. But maybe she is waiting for Elsa to be home to send the police after her. 

Her body jerks slightly as the steps stop in front of the door, the handle attempting to turn only for the figure on the other side to learn it is locked. At the next attempt to open the door, Elsa blinks as she realizes that she needs to act right now. Because whoever is on the other side of the entrance won’t wait much longer before breaking down the door. 

She sprints from the fireplace toward her bedroom, racing past the white door toward the small bed tucked into the corner of the room. Wasting no time Elsa falls to her knees, wincing slightly as the bone makes contact with the hardwood floor. She reaches under the brass metal bedframe, her hand brushes against the handle of the suitcase.

Jerking her arm, Elsa slides the suitcase out from under the bed. With shaking hands, she unbuckles the bag, her head snapping up as she can hear the intruder slam something against the door. She lifts the top of the suitcase, revealing the radio tucked into it. 

She gathers the crystals from the pockets in the lining, placing them on the ground as Elsa quickly stands. Thankfully she still wears shoes, she raises her foot prepared to smash the crystals beneath her foot before destroying the radio. 

As she is about to bring down her foot, a voice rings out through the flat. “STOP!” 

Elsa pauses as the voice calls out, looking to the door to see a familiar brunette standing in the doorway. The blonde’s eyes widen at the sight of Honeymaren, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a men’s jacket that is too big for her frame. 

The blonde steps away from the radio crystals, her heart threatening to climb out of her chest at Maren’s presence. At that moment Elsa would rather take her chances with the police. The air is filled with silence as both women try to think of anything to say. 

“I…you scared me.” Elsa finally says, her expression unreadable as she continues to stare at the Mohawk woman. 

Maren smirks, glancing down at the opened radio. “I noticed.” The brunette’s smirk falls as she makes eye contact with Elsa once more. Without another word Elsa sinks to the floor, gathering the radio crystals in her hand. She tucks them into the pockets of the suitcase, closing the bag with a gentle ‘thud’ before sliding it back under the bed. 

As she finally gains the courage Elsa looks back to the doorway, only to see Honeymaren gone from the spot. The blonde stands from the floor, straightening out the skirt of her dress as she glances down to ensure the white collar is neatly placed. With a sigh she walks toward the door, her hands tucked into the pockets of her dress. 

Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, she watches as Honeymaren locks the front door surrounded by her suitcase and a second bag. The brunette catches Elsa’s gaze once again, her mouth slightly agape as if trying to think of something to say. 

“Maren…” Elsa starts, knowing that their last night in Paris had to be talked about. “I just wanted to apologize for how I acted during the mission.”

Honeymaren removes the coat, walking past Elsa to the living room to throw the jacket over the back of the armchair. She remains quiet at the other woman’s apology, waiting for her to go on. 

The blonde sighs, stepping into the main room of the flat to stand with Maren, who no longer makes eye contact with her. “The kiss was a mistake; I understand that now. And I understand if you want to ask Mattias for reassignment away from me because of the kiss, you have every right to be angry with me an-”

“You think I’m angry about the kiss?” Honeymaren finally speaks in a quieted voice, those chocolate brown eyes boring into sapphire ones. 

Elsa’s brows knit together in confusion. “You’re not?” 

“No.” Maren shakes her head, staring at the blonde incredulously. “I’m mad because you left without saying anything.” 

“I didn’t know how to talk about it-the kiss with you.” The British woman admits, wanting nothing more than a cigarette. 

Honeymaren chuckles in disbelief, rolling her eyes as her hands rest on her hips. “So, you thought running away would be better?” 

“I’m sorry. I was scared because… I know ruined our partnership in one movement because I wasn’t thinking.” Elsa explains, her palms sweaty against the fabric of her dress. “I know it doesn’t excuse my behaviour and it never will. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry before you left.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Honeymaren speaks up, interrupting the blonde’s apology. “You don’t have to worry about that. Because as much as I am angry about how Paris left off, you’re my closest friend and I care for you.” 

Elsa nods silently, though it felt nice to hear, she also knew that Maren didn’t care in the same way as her. But none of that mattered to her, as long as the brunette would be by her side for the rest of their assignment, that’s all that mattered. 

“Welcome home,” Elsa responds, earning a raised brow from the other woman. 

“That’s all?” Honeymaren questions, perplexed at the blonde’s response. The Mohawk woman shakes her head with a chuckle as Elsa continues to sort through her thoughts, the overthinking clear in her wide eyes. “I just never expected that when I finally confessed my feelings of love, they would be replied with ‘welcome home.' I thought it was more probable for anger or I mean…anything but that.” 

Elsa stares at Maren, mouth slightly agape at the other woman’s confession. Honeymaren cared for her and not in a platonic sense. But in a sense that Elsa never thought someone would feel toward her. 

“You l-love me?” 

“You’re such an idiot.” Maren sighs, shaking her head with a smile.

Elsa stares at the brunette bleary-eyed, a small smile forming on her face. “I-I love you too.” The two women stare at one another with misty eyes and small smiles, neither one of them knowing what to say but also not feeling the need to say anything. 

Honeymaren closes the space between them, her hand coming to rest on her cheek as she stares at the taller woman with wide eyes as if silently asking for permission. Elsa shyly nods, her heart pounding as Maren presses herself against her. 

Her eyes close as the darker woman’s lips touch her own, her hands coming to rest on the slight curve of Maren’s hip. It doesn’t feel rushed or panicked as their first kiss had, but this felt warm and right. As if everything is falling into place for Elsa. 

Maren’s lips are soft against her own, she hadn’t noticed that in Paris. The warmth of her hands is something she hadn’t forgotten, Elsa had spent these past weeks thinking about them. She finds herself missing the contact as Maren withdraws from her, the brunette resting her forehead against Elsa’s.  

Elsa’s hands remain on Maren’s waist. A smile coming to her face as she feels her eyes becoming misty. Honeymaren meets her gaze, her brows knitting in concern. 

“Are you alright?” The Mohawk woman asks, her hands still cupping Elsa’s face. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Elsa nods, trying to blink away the tears. “I love this, it’s just a lot.” 

Maren brushes back a stay hair from Elsa’s face, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s okay, we can take this slow. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I’m not either.” Elsa shakily sighs, smiling at the woman she loves before wrapping her arms around Honeymaren’s waist. Maren holds her close, smiling as she feels Elsa bury her face into the crook of her neck. 

For the first time feeling loved and deserving of it. 

London, November 1943. 

Yelana walks through the halls of the underground base, avoiding eye contact with the soldiers walking past her. Thankfully her uniform obviated her authorization to be in the war rooms. She most likely had more authority to be here than most of the young men here. 

She pushes against a metal door of Room 251, the sound of typing echoing through the concrete room. Nearly 11 radio operators occupy the room, not paying any mind to the older woman making her way through the room as she glances over their shoulders at their work. 

Her ears perk up at the sound of the door opening, an older man stepping into the room. His khaki uniform freshly pressed and in place with his cap tucked under his arm. It was no mistaking Major Atkins by his sharp jawline and steely demeanour that nearly rivalled Yelana’s own. 

With a sigh the older woman makes her way toward the ranking officer, not bothering to smile at him. “Major Atkins, what can I do for you?” 

“Don’t mind me Miss. Magga, I’ve just come to see how your operators are performing.” He responds, glancing around the room barely acknowledging the Sámi woman. The gray-haired man steps around Yelana, observing the girl despite not knowing what he should be looking for. 

“I can assure you everything is going smoothly,” Yelana states, following him through the room. As the words leave her mouth, in the corner of her eye she notices one of the girls raise her arm. The girl with dark brown hair and round glasses, who always purses her lips in concentration; Joy as Yelana recalls. 

The older woman stalks across the room to Joy, standing next to the younger woman. “What is it?” 

“It’s El-Marguerite’s radio, ma’am.” 

Yelana furrows her brows, it was unlike Elsa to have issues transmitting. “What seems to be wrong?” 

“I’m not sure but her typing…it’s different.” Joy readjusts her glasses, staring up at the woman who had been leading them. 

“Did she pass her security checks?” Major Atkins asks, standing behind both women. Joy turns in her chair, glancing up at the man momentarily before settling her gaze on the Yelana. 

“She did, but usually every twelfth I am mistyped as a j on purpose but…it’s not on this message.” Joy states. 

“Do you think she’s been compromised?” Yelana questions, raising a brow at the young woman. Joy glances to Major Atkins momentarily before looking to Yelana, conscious of answering in front of the Major. 

“I-I think she might have been ma’am.” The dark-haired girl responds, her mouth dry and hands shaking at the thought. 

“Cut all communication off with Marguerite and Eloise at once, any transmissions that come from their radios report to me immediately but at this moment no information is to be transmitted to the-” Yelana’s head snaps to Major Atkins as he cuts her off. 

“Well, if she passed her security checks, I see no reason to cut communication. I have a new series of codes I’ll be bringing to you that I’d like you to transmit to this Maguerite’s radio.” Major Atkins instructs. 

Joy looks back and forth between Major Atkins and Yelana, unsure of whose instruction to follow. The older woman turns from the operator, her brows knit together as she addresses the ranking officer. 

“Sir, with all due respect. We must cease all communication; we could be transmitting plans right into the enemy’s hands without knowing it.” Her voice is defensive, causing the typing around her to stop. Each woman’s attention now focused on the clash in the room. 

“I understand that, but she’s with the Farmer network, isn’t she?” Atkins asks, raising a brow to the older woman. 

Yelana nods hesitantly. “Yes sir, she is with that network.” 

“At this point, the Farmer network is our most vulnerable we need all the manpower we can get from it.” He insists. 

“But sir, it’s more than that. We haven’t heard from Marguerite or Eloise in a matter of weeks and now we see them transferring from Calais. They aren’t supposed to be there.” Yelana explains, trying to make the Major understand the severity of it all. 

“Perhaps plans changed and they were unable to transmit.” He muses, his cold blue eyes boring into Yelana’s. 

“But sir, I thi-” 

“That’s enough Miss. Magga!” He finally snaps. Reluctantly she stops her sentence, hands balling at her sides. “Continue transmitting to that radio, or I will have you dismissed from this post immediately. Do you understand?” 

She hesitates in answering him, her temper flaring as she imagines walking out on this operation. It would be easy enough for her to throw her identification on the ground and bolt out of the office. But she can’t. She had an obligation to her girls, to see that they were safe and would return home. Yelana owed that to them. 

Yelana would never get a job such as this again, she was Sámi who escaped the persecution of her people in Norway. No one would even take a second glance at her resume. She wasn’t even a British national. 

She looks to Joy with a sigh. “Continue transmitting to Marguerite and Eloise’s radio with the codes given to you by Major Atkins.” Her voice echoes through the quiet room, all of the women staring at the scene. 

“Very good Miss. Magga.” He turns from her, striding out of the room. The heavy metal door slams behind him, all of the women staring at their leader. 

Yelana places a reassuring hand on Joy’s shoulder, trying her best to offer the young woman comfort before looking around the room to the other women. “As you were.” 

The typing slowly continues across the room, before erupting as it had before. Yelana turns back to Joy, squatting next to the woman as she begins to speak in a lowered voice. 

“I need you to transmit something to Elsa,” Yelana says, not bothering to use the young woman’s code name. Joy doesn’t look away from her wireless as she nods. “Tell her that I hope the roses are still on her.” 

It was a thinly veiled reference to the locket that Elsa always wore. Yelana had noticed it the day they deployed her but hadn’t confiscated it from her. There was something about Elsa that reminded Yelana of herself, there was so much pain and fear behind those sapphire eyes. They were both hiding who they were. 

Yelana watches Joy transmit the message, waiting for the reply that could define the course of the war.  

Chapter Text

The French flag flies high over the archives, Anna’s eyes focus on it as she and Kristoff approach the building. It had been less than a week since they met with William and he had already called them, telling them he had found some information on the SOE. 

They are to meet with his colleague, Bridgette Dubois, the assistant who had been working with Will throughout the past year. A person who William assured Kristoff and Anna knew the archives better than himself. Though Anna trusts the former SOE pilot, there is a melancholic sense over the idea that she might never see Will again. After today there might never be the need for their paths to cross again. 

As they enter the building, Anna’s eyes immediately go up to the crystal chandelier hanging over the lobby. She stops in the middle of the black and white marbled floor, head craned up as she takes in every detail of the decorated roof. 

Kristoff’s hand brushes against her shoulder, catching the young woman’s attention. “I’m going to go check with the woman at the inquiries desk about finding Bridgette.” 

“Alright,” Anna responds, tearing her gaze away from the ceiling to look at her companion. He flashes a smile at her before withdrawing. She meanders after Kristoff, her hands clasped behind her back as he gives the woman behind a desk his name. 

The auburn-haired woman’s eyes dart around the lobby while the secretary responds to Kristoff’s query. As the woman behind the desk begins to make a call, Anna glances up at her companion; slightly worried that they will be turned away. 

But after a few moments pass, a curvy brunette in a pencil skirt approaches them with a smile. This woman is only about a year or two older than Anna and impossibly glamourous in a way in which Anna could never achieve. Her mother had always told her that she was ‘the girl next door pretty.’ Someone like Judy Garland and had Katherine Hepburn’s charm, but Iduna had made it clear Anna could never make it on looks alone. 

No, this woman wore her dark hair in curls, her mouth shaped in a perfect red bow. She reminded Anna of a curvier Hedy Lamarr. As the woman approaches the young couple, there is a faint hint of rose in the air. 

“I’m Bridgette. You must be Kristoff.” 

“I am,” Kristoff responds, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. I know this must be an odd request.” 

“Nonsense.” Bridgette waves, “I’m always happy to accommodate Guillaume’s friends." 

“We appreciate it,” Kristoff adds, offering a polite smile to the woman. She flashes a smile at the American man, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“It’s my pleasure.” She answers, her voice taking on a new tone with Kristoff. Anna resists the urge to roll her eyes at the tug of jealousy that she had no right to. She couldn’t believe this woman would try to flirt with Kristoff in front of her. 

Bridgette catches Anna’s eye, her smile faltering as she notices the way the British woman stares at the two of them. “You must be Anna.” She adds, almost like an afterthought. Before Anna can answer, Bridgette turns back to Kristoff. “You two can follow me.” 

She pivots on one foot, her heels clicking against the floor as she leads them down a corridor past identical oak doors. They pass several men in suits and some in uniform, expressions grave and not paying mind to the young couple. 

“We don’t have long,” Bridgette says in a low voice, ensuring they were alone in the hallway again. “Pierre, the archivist, is at lunch. He normally takes a long lunch, so we at least have an hour, but you two need to be out before he returns.” 

“Are the files classified?” Kristoff inquires as Bridgette opens a door to a back staircase. Anna raises an eyebrow at the woman, she hadn’t realized that they would be sneaking in. 

Bridgette shrugs, ushering them through the door. “They aren’t classified, but not public either.” She leads them down the staircase. Anna watches her footing as she makes her way down the steep stairs, her hand brushing against the railing. 

Anna gasps as she stumbles slightly as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, thankful as Kristoff grabs her by her arms to steady her. 

“You alright?” he asks, honey brown eyes boring into her own. 

The auburn-haired woman nods, offering him a smile. “Thanks for making sure I didn’t crack my head on the steps.” 

“I mean, I have to make sure I get paid. Your wellbeing depends on my ability to sit in the pub for the next 3 months.” He shrugs, letting go of her shoulders. Anna doesn’t resist the urge to stick her tongue out at her travelling companion, earning a smirk from the blonde man. 

Bridgette clears her throat, hand resting on her hips as she stares at the young couple in the stairwell. “The archives are just through this door.” 

She yanks on the heavy door, allowing Kristoff and Anna to step through the threshold first into the records room. There is a distinct smell in the air upon entering the dark room with no windows and artificial lighting. The room is lined with metal shelves, each one filled with hundreds of records and books. Panic rises in Anna at the sight, Will had told them there were many records, she just wasn’t expecting this many. 

Bridgette guides them through the stacks quickly, trying not to waste any little time they had left. In the middle of the maze of documents, newspapers, books and film sits a wooden table, covered in file boxes and brown paper documents. 

“This is everything Will was able to pull on the SOE for you before his assignment was completed here.” The dark-haired woman explains, pointing to a shelf behind the table.  

“What was it that Will did at the archives?” Anna asks, growing more curious by the moment. 

Bridgette shrugs. “I know he was to accompany these records to Paris and help us with the sorting progress. But his employment with us was completed at the beginning of this week, I believe he was heading to Arras before returning home.” 

Anna nods, understanding finally why it was this woman who was helping them sort through rather than the Irishman. Kristoff overlooks the documents, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers with furrowed brows. 

“Why was all of this sent here?” He inquires. 

“We’re not really sure. From what we understand they sent some to us and some to the Pentagon in the United States.” Bridgette crosses her arms while looking at the mess of documents. “I would recommend starting with those boxes there, the rest of the files are ones Will pulled only because they contain the words SOE and arrest records just in case.” 

“Alright,” Anna sighs, looking at the boxes sitting on the shelves. This was going to take forever for them to go through all these documents. 

“Just be sure to put everything back as you found it. I’ll be back in an hour unless Pierre returns early.” Bridgette turns from the two, leaving them alone in the room full of boxes. 

Anna stares at the records, totally overwhelmed by the number of documents to go through in such little time. Kristoff approaches one of the boxes, running his hand over the box to clear some of the dust from it. 

“Well, I guess we’ll each take half. We need to find out how they’re organized.” The American proposes. 

Anna nods, agreeing with the statement as she studies the side of the boxes. Each bore a single letter, handwritten and circled. “What do you suppose these mean?” 

Kristoff glances at the mark, shrugging with his brows knit together. “Do you have Elsa’s enlistment photograph with you?”

“Yes,” The young woman responds, opening her purse to grab the photo of her sister in her uniform. “Here we are.” Kristoff takes the photo, scanning it carefully until reaching the bottom. 

“I remember Will said something about Yelana working for a specific section of the SOE.” His eyes scan the page, until noticing the label that reads Section F at the bottom of the photograph. “There it is!” 

Before Anna can react, Kristoff gives the photo of Elsa back to his travelling companion before moving through the boxes and stacks. She follows him, racing behind him until he comes to a stop in front of five boxes marked with F. 

“Same letter as on the box.” She states, looking between the photo and boxes. 

Kristoff pulls two of the boxes off the shelf, setting them on the ground. Kneeling on the cold floor, he opens one of them. Anna finds her gaze drawn to the spot where the collar of his sweater is pulled back, revealing a pale bit of skin and his blond hair curling against his neck. 

She silently scolds herself, tearing her gaze away to look up at the ceiling. She had only just ended things with her fiancé, she couldn’t just rush into something romantic again. He was doing this for payment and once everything was done in France, they would never see one another again. 

Anna kneels in front of the other box on the ground, coughing as she disturbs the dust. The files inside of the box are labelled with surnames, each file containing photographs like the one of Elsa’s personnel photograph. The files detailed locations and missions in Occupied territory, most likely which the agents had undertaken for the SOE. 

 “The F is for French section.” Kristoff states. “All of these people were deployed to France during the war.” 

She flips through the file, looking at the names. “Mine are all men.” 

“As are mine.” Kristoff stands from the ground, putting the two boxes away before moving to the next. Pulling it down, his heart leaps at the reveal of names, mostly women’s. “Anna, here!” 

Anna races over to Kristoff, standing next to him as he pulls out a thick stack of files from the boxes. “Diana Simms.” She reads out each name as Kristoff flips through them. “Marie Belcher. Alexandra Ivanov.” 

“I don’t see Elsa or Honeymaren.” She points out, biting her lip. 

“I wonder how many girls worked for the SOE.” 

“There seems to be about thirty here,” Anna replies, thumbing through the files. Kristoff hums, looking for any indication for Honeymaren. “Maybe the files on Elsa and Honeymaren are in another box.” 

Kristoff shakes his head. “There are four other boxes and the rest are on men.” He reaches forward to look through the box in front of Anna. “What’s this?” He pulls out a thin manila folder that had been wedged between two personnel folders. 

His brows knit together in a way that notified Anna that he is confused. “What is it?” 

“I-it looks like wireless transmissions. Interoffice documents and telegrams. But it’s not supposed to be in with personnel files.” He hands his friend the file, watching as she watches over the document. Each of the documents containing the same letterhead:

From the desk of Y. Magga. 

“Yelana’s name is all over these.” Anna states. “It seems that she was in charge, or close to it.” 

“I thought Will said she was a secretary.” 

“He made it seem so.” 

Kristoff pulls out two papers stapled together, scanning them. “Anna…this is a full list of the female agents, a-at least I think it is.” 

“Are Elsa and Honeymaren on there?” She asks, placing down the folder to look at the document in Kristoff’s hands. 

“Yeah, they are.” He confirms.  

“So, they were on the list. But why aren’t their official personnel files with the others?” Anna asks no one in particular. She cocks her head as she notices a notation next to a dozen of the names including Elsa and Honeymaren’s: NN. “I wonder what that means.” 

Kristoff flips the next page, where there is luckily a small legend. “I-It stands for Nacht und Nebel.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It’s German for Night and Fog.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “It was a program designed by the Gestapo to make people completely disappear without or barely a trace.” 

Panic rises in Anna; she stands from the ground turning to the table. “There has to be more.” She whispers as she goes through the documents, scanning everything on the table as fast as she can. 

“Anna,” Kristoff gently calls out. “Anna, what are you doing?” 

“There has to be more Kris.” She turns to him, eyes wide with panic. Shaking her head, the young woman looks back to the table. “W-we didn’t come all this way only to find nothing. There has to be something.” 

“We still have thirty minutes before Bridgette gets back.” He reassures her, wanting nothing more than to gather her into his arms and comfort his friend. “I promise you; we’ll find something.” 

She shakily nods, breathing deeply. Anna turns from the table, putting the file on the wireless transmissions back into the box before returning it to the spot on the shelf. Kristoff stands at the table, flipping through the files on the surface, determined to find something for Anna. 

Flipping through the documents, Anna isn’t sure she understands any of the files passing through her hands, the English, French and German seem to merge. She puts the documents she’s read into one pile before moving onto the next.

Her mind races as fast as her hands work, anxiety building in her. The possibility that they may never be able to find Elsa had never occurred to her. Anna had been expecting to find her sister living peacefully in the French countryside; she had even been prepared for the worst. There something about the status of missing that seemed more hopeless than deceased. The uncertainty around it and never knowing what happened to her would eat Anna alive until her dying day. 

Kristoff’s head snaps up as he calls her name once again for the day, brown paper in his hand. The young woman races to his side, staring at the document with curiosity. With some hesitance he hands Anna the paper, taking a breath as she begins to scan the document. 

It’s a list, most of it in German but some in French. At the top of the page under the label of Lage. Emplacement. She immediately recognizes it as the location of where the papers were created. Fort de Romainville, Les Lilas, France. 

She scans the list of names, searching for what Kristoff saw. It’s halfway down the page, the familiar name that makes her gasp. 

Mahy, Marguerite 

Her finger trances across the page to the next column next to her name, under the label Ziel. Destination: Esterwegen, Lower Saxony, Germany. 

“Do you think it’s Elsa?” Kristoff inquires, studying her closely. Anna looks up at him, nodding unable to tear her gaze from him. 

“What is this place?” Anna asks, pointing to the place under the destination heading. The tall man looks over it, rubbing the back of his neck as he thinks about it. 

“Esterwegen…” He muses, taking the paper from her to look over the document in more detail. “I’ve never heard of it, but it's gotta be German right? Soviet the American and British occupied zones are only about a day’s drive from Paris.” 

“Alright, we’ll leave tomorrow.” Anna smiles up at him, taking his hand into her own as he sets down the document. There is a clattering at the door to the archive, Bridgette emerging from the entrance. 

“Pierre is back from his lunch slightly early. You two need to leave.” She announces. “Come quickly.” The dark-haired woman leads the couple out a back doorway and up a different flight of stairs. A few moments pass and Bridgette leads them out onto a loading dock. 

“I can call you a cab, the quicker you’re off the premises the better,” Bridgette says, brushing dust off her pencil skirt. “I can lose my job you see, and I’d rather not become a make-up counter girl.” 

Anna can’t help but feel that as an insult to her, though Bridgette didn’t know what she did as a living. “That won’t be necessary, our hotel is only a short walk from here.” 

Bridgette nods, returning into the building without another word. Anna shrugs at Kristoff as the door closes behind the French woman. Without much difficulty the blonde man steps off the loading dock, turning to his travelling companion. 

In her tartan dress and heels, Anna struggles slightly more than her counterpart, there are no stairs anywhere near them. Kristoff chuckles watching her try to step down. 

“Here, let me help you before you hurt yourself.” He steps forward, extending his arms upwards. Reluctantly Anna steps into his embrace, wrapping her own around his neck as Kristoff’s strong arms wrap around her waist. She lets out a small cry of surprise as he hoists her up, turning before setting her on the ground. 

She stands on her tiptoes as her feet finally touch the ground, her arms still wrapped around his neck. With a shy smile, Anna detaches herself from the American. The couple walk through the cobble-stoned alley behind the archives, trying to figure out which way to their hotel to get Sven.

They walk close to one another as they emerge onto the street, passing shops along the way. A smirk crosses Anna’s features as they pass a small barbershop, glancing up at Kristoff. 

“It’s a sign.” She jokes, pointing at the sign the reads, La Coiffeur. Kristoff rolls his eyes sarcastically, faking laughter at her attempt. 

“Very funny.” He comments, his hand going to stroke his beard. “Does it really bother you so much?” 

“I mean…it’s better now from when I first met you now that you’ve started to trim it. It’s just…” 

“It’s just what?” He cocks a brow at her.

She giggles, trying to find the word. “You looked like Sven while we were in Arras. It was an uncanny resemblance really.” 

He places a hand on his chest in mock offence. “Are you saying I looked like a dog?” 

“In the best way possible.” The woman defends. 

“I don’t think this is a ‘best way possible,’ situation, Anna.” He chuckles as they come to stop at a light. 

“You look better now” 

“I think this is harassment from you to convince me to shave.” Kristoff quips, glancing down at her. 

“I mean it wouldn’t hurt.” She giggles, walking across the street with her companion. 

He exaggerates a sigh. “Just for you, I’ll consider it, to uphold your reputation and look.” 

“You’re too kind.” Anna beams up at him, her cheeks beginning to hurt as her heart pounds in her chest as they walk back to the hotel. Though she joked with the man next her, there is still a pit in her stomach slowing eating away at her in worry over her sister. 

Kristoff sits on his side of the bed that night, watching as Anna hurriedly packs her items, not bothering to organize her suitcase as she throws her clothes into the bag. “I’ll try to rise early tomorrow so we can be on the road by 8. With any luck we can be in British occupied Germany by 7 in the evening if we cross through Belgium, I figured we can ask around and find out abou-.” 

“We’re not going through Belgium,” Kristoff states as he shucks his boots off. “We’ll cross straight into Germany from France along the border.” 

Anna stops her movements, brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean? Going through Belgium would cut our travelling time significantly.” Kristoff remains silent at the comment, laying back on the bed. “Wow, what has the world come to? I’m concerned about travel times and you want to take the long way, it seems that we’ve swapped places.” 

“Leave it alone Anna.” He responds, his eyes still closed with his hands clasped behind his head. 

“I’m being serious, we’re so close Kristoff. It makes no sense to travel across the border from France into Germany.” Anna’s hands come to rest on the clothes in her suitcase. “Why are you being so weird about this?” 

“I’m not.” His eyes snap open. “Just it’s none of your business, leave it alone.” 

With a huff Anna makes her way around to bed to Kristoff’s side, placing her hands on her hips as she stares down at her travelling companion. “Well, I see it as being my business, I organized this whole thing not you. This is about my family, not yours.” 

Kristoff sits up from the bed, standing to face the young woman. He towers over her with forehead creased as he stares down at her. Anna feels small under his gaze, but remains firm in her resolve, shoulders back and square. 

“We’re not going through Belgium.” He reiterates, practically seething. 

“Why?” Anna asks, throwing her hands up in frustration. “If you feel this strongly about it, just tell me why at least!” 

Sven stands at the edge of the bed, watching the couple argue with wide eyes and ears pinned back. “No, I’m not going to! We’re not friends, we’re not anything. You hired me to help you find your sister, that is it.” 

Anna recoils as if she had been slapped, her eyes not leaving his as she backs away from him. “Fine.” 

Kristoff’s eyes widen at her response, running his hand through his hair with a sigh. Knowing he didn’t mean what he had said, it was always the response he used to push people away from this topic. “Fuck, Shit. Ann-” 

“No, I get it.” She turns from him, walking around to the other side of the bed. As she sits on the mattress and thinks about leaving, though Kristoff would inevitably leave before she could. 

But he doesn’t, instead, he sits on his side of the bed facing the wall. His back to her own as the room fills with silence. Anna’s eyes remain on her lap, playing with the skirt of her dress as she tries to decide what to do. 

“I’m sorry for what I said.” He finally says, turning slightly to look behind him at his travelling companion. “I didn’t mean any of it.” 

With a sigh, Anna glances over her shoulder at him. “I know I can be a lot, I’m sorry for being too pushy. We can go through Frankfurt.” 

“It keeps me honest at least.” He half-heartedly jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Anna manages a smile at the attempt. “But we're not going through Frankfurt, well go through Belgium.” 

“Kris…don’t do that for me. If it means that much to you going through Frankfurt is only about an hour and a half longer.” Anna sighs, still playing with the fabric of her dress. 

“No, you’re right. Going through Belgium makes more sense.” Kristoff’s finger begins to tap against his knee. “I know some guys still enlisted on the German-Belgian border; they might be able to help us out. Especially since we don’t know where we are going.” 

Anna stays silent, staring down at her dress while tracing over the plaid design with her finger absentmindedly. Though she had gotten what she wanted, the British woman felt slightly guilty as if she had pressured Kristoff into going through Belgium. Even though he had immediately made it clear that he didn’t want to. 

With a sigh she shakes her head, knowing that this isn’t right. “Kris, we’re going through Frankfurt.” 

The mattress raises on his side of the bed, causing the young woman to glance over her shoulder at him. Her heart sinking as he stands from the bed, though he walks around the frame to her side. 

He offers her a smile while settling next to her, taking her smaller hand into his bigger without any hesitancy. She reciprocates the gestures, squeezing his hand as they gaze at one another. 

Her eyes search his at that moment, noticing the flakes of hazel in them. Never until now did Anna notice how warm and rough his hands are. Kristoff’s thumb brushes the back of her fingers as she continues to peer up at him through her lashes. In the movies this would be the moment that the man would shuffle closer to her, putting his arm around her lower back to pull her close in that instant before their lips met in an electrifying kiss. 

But this isn’t the movies. And Anna had only just ended a relationship with another man who she certain was the love of her life until a few weeks ago. 

“While I was in the military, I was stationed in Belgium. It was the worst months of my enlistment; the weather was the coldest it had been in years and they sent us in without winter clothing.” Kristoff smirks in disbelief, his gaze not wavering from hers. 

“Kris you don’t ha-”

“Honestly…I don’t think I’ve ever really talked about my time in Belgium, but you just get so tired of holding onto it.” His eyes shift to his lap, brows knit together as he reflects on his time. 

Anna stares at him, shifting closer so their thighs touch. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me what division you were a part of.” 

“I was enlisted with the 101st Airborne under Easy Company.” He answers, meeting her gaze once again. “I didn’t initially want to enlist for the paratroopers, but it was $10 more than any other branch.” 

“What did you want to enlist with initially?” Anna inquires, raising an eyebrow questioningly. 

He rubs at his jaw against the bristles of his beard, letting go of Anna’s hand. “Uh…air force because it was…fashionable and all my friends back home were joining it.” 

She giggles at that, balling her fist to cover her mouth as she thinks about a young bright-eyed Kristoff eager to join the air force with his mates. “Yet you went with the less fashionable one.” 

“In the end, the pay was worth more. My parents had been struggling with keeping the farm after the Depression.” He states. “In the end, I lucked out, most of my buddies who joined the air force went to Missouri for training. I got sent to Toccoa in Georgia, I mean it wasn’t that much better…but it isn’t Missouri.” 

She smiles at that, though the young woman doesn’t understand the joke. It brought familiarity to see Kristoff laugh as normal, to see that sparkle return in his honey-coloured eyes as he continues. 

“We didn’t start out that close but combined with the arduous training and the asshole who was running the program, we became close with one another. By the time we landed in Normandy, it felt like we had known one another since we were children.” His face falls as those words lease his mouth. 

“Kris?” Anna calls out, cocking her head slightly as he stares off into space. That smirk returns but his eyes remain sad. 

“When the replacements arrived after D-day, we were so…harsh towards them because they replaced Toccoa men. They hadn’t seen what we did in Normandy.” He speaks. “It wasn’t until after Market Garden that we even considered them a part of our unit. Once they had seen the combat it just didn’t matter anymore, they had gone through the same things we did. My friend Ryder always got to know replacements because he knew how it felt to be ostracized.” 

“Because you bullied him relentlessly before?” She jokes, causing a chuckle to emit from the man next to her. 

“Not exactly.” He shakes his head, glancing back at her. “I was close with the guys I enlisted with at Toccoa but the replacements either died right away or couldn’t handle it so there was no point in getting to know them. The only reason I became friends with Ryder was because we were often assigned with one another and I don’t know how to explain it…” 

“You saw yourself in him?” 

“Not really, he was a kid from the Reservation in a different part of the country. But he had this passion for wildlife and conservation that I shared. Once I found out that he had just turned 18 I just…felt more protective of him. He reminded me of my younger brother.” He pauses, eyes boring into Anna’s as he continues. “His older sister joined the WAC in ’42 but she…disappeared a year later after going overseas. He was hoping by chance he might encounter her while enlisted in Europe.” 

“Honeymaren?” Anna clues in, sitting up at the mention of the other woman she knew so little about. Kristoff nods, his hands clasped together as his knee bounces. “But if she disappeared in ’42 and you met Ryder after D-day then….you’ve never met her.” 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Is Ryder looking for her as well?” She watches his face fall, his gaze averting from her own. Her heart sinks to her stomach, her eyes following his to the spot on the ground. “Oh…” 

“It was our fourth night in Bastogne; we were running low on supplies and the Germans were bombing the forests nearly every night.” He begins, eyes focused on the faded orange carpet. 

January 1944

His hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to light a cigarette, his fingers felt as if they would fall off at any moment. Kristoff let out a small cry of victory as the end of the cigarette lit, handing his box of matches over to the 18-year-old who sat across from him in the foxhole. 

Ryder grabbed the box, striking the match to light the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. His cigarette lit much faster than his friend did, causing him to laugh at the older man. 

“I got it!” The brunette cried, taking a drag of his smoke.

 Kristoff shook his head, letting the ash from his cigarette fall to the ground. “You’ve had more experience with harsh winters than I have. It’s not exactly a fair competition.” 

“Yeah, but it’s a different cold. Just be grateful there isn’t a wind coming off a body of water.” Ryder shrugged, letting his back fall against the dirt wall of their dugout. 

“It’s still too fucking cold.” The blonde retorted. Turning his head Kristoff sees a silhouette approaching their dugout quickly. It was clear to both that it was Eugene or as he was known as “Doc” in the unit. They had heard from Shifty that he was making his rounds to every foxhole. 

Doc slid into their foxhole, nodding at both in greeting with his shoulders tensed to his jawline to stay warm. “Hey you two.” 

“Hey Doc,” Ryder greeted with a smile, holding out his pack of cigarettes to the medic, who refused the offer. 

“I was wondering if there is anything you could spare from your medical packs?” The medic inquired. 

“Yeah, what do you need?” Kristoff responded, reaching into his pockets to grab his med-pack. 

Doc shrugged, struggling to be asking for supplies from his fellow soldiers. “Morphine, scissors, bandages…plasma if you have any to spare.”  

Kristoff handed his entire pack to the other man with the knowledge that if either he or Ryder needed medical attention Doc would be there for them in an instant. The Mohawk boy handed the morphine from his medical pack to the medic, having lost most of its contents along the way and broken his scissors. 

“Thank you two, I’m sorry to have to ask for this.” Doc sighed, stuffing the items into his pack. 

“No need to apologize,” Kristoff reassured the man from Baton Rouge. “Just promise if we get hit, you’ll be first one here.” 

“I think I can try to manage that. I gotta keep moving, still need to get supplies from Dyke.” Doc shot the Wyoming man a knowing look. 

Kristoff groaned while Ryder rolled his eyes before commenting. “Good luck with that.” 

“If ya’ll want some entertainment Luz is doing impressions of Dyke from the air raid the other night.” Doc retorted. 

“I caught the end of it before Lipton shut it down,” Ryder responded. He had hung around to watch the impression while Kristoff simply walked away from the men. 

It was well known that Lieutenant Dyke approached First Sergeant Lipton during the previous night’s air raid, making the excuse of finding help before abandoning his unit for the comforts of the nearby town while everyone else sat through the bombing in their foxholes. 

“Alright,” Doc sighed hoisting himself out of the dugout. Kristoff’s gaze drifted back to Ryder, noticing his bare hands balled together to warm them. 

With a sigh Kristoff dug into his pockets, pulling out a pair of non-issued mittens knit by his mother. “Ryder.” 

The Mohawk boy looked up as Kristoff threw the mittens at him. The older man had known that Ryder lost his gloves somewhere along the way. The brunette glanced up from the mittens to his friend with furrowed brows. 

“What abo-” 

“It’s fine, just take them. You’re going to start complaining about how cold your hands are in about 30 mins.” He asserted. Ryder smiled as he tucked his hands into the mittens, feeling slowly returning to his fingers. 

Kristoff smiled at the young man, crossing his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the earth, his eyes to drifting shut. 

Allowing himself a few moments of peace before there no longer was. With the screeching of shells dropping around them, Kristoff and Ryder ducked low to the ground with their arms crossed over their heads to protect themselves. 

The sound was deafening as the trees shattered into little pieces around them, pine needles and wood being projected into the dugout. His heart pounded against the ground, hoping to god the shells will miss their foxhole. 

Suddenly the sounds stopped, Lipton’s voice echoing through the forest telling everyone to “stay in your foxholes.” 

Not a moment later did Kristoff hear someone yelling for help. Ryder went to stand from the ground, ready to help whoever it is. 

“Ryder stay down!” Kristoff ordered; Ryder looked at his friend perplexed. 

“But they need help.” The brunette protested; his eyes wide with the clear want to help whoever was yelling out. 

 “Alright,” Kristoff sighed, standing from the ground. “You stay in the foxhole; I’ll go see what it is.” 

Ryder nodded, remaining on the ground as Kristoff slipped out of the dugout. The American made his way across the frozen ground, the snow crunching under his boots.

He moved quickly toward the yelling, slowing as he saw the scene from where the yelling was coming from. He chuckled approaching the foxhole covered in tree branches that have trapped the occupants of the dugout inside of it. 

“Help!” The voice from inside called out again.

“I’m coming David, Ben,” Kristoff called out, pulling the branches away from the dugout. As the two men’s faces appeared, their clear distress faded as they laughed.  

“It looks like we got a little overzealous Serg.” The younger of the two, Ben joked his chubby cheeks red as he stared up at Kristoff who squatted on the ground. 

“Seems so. Are either of you hurt?” He inquired, looking over both boys to ensure they aren’t injured.  

They shook their heads. “No, we’re fine.” 

“Okay, good. Lipton wants us to stay in our foxholes, there will most likely be another round. Just be careful with your cover next time.” Kristoff stood, turning from the boys. Walking away from the young men’s foxhole Kristoff glanced up at the grey sky, trying to discern if he heard the rumbling of planes over. 

The shrieking of the shells falling only confirmed his suspicion. In an instant Kristoff dropped to the ground, knowing that he needed to get back to his foxhole. He moved along the ground on his front, dragging himself through the snow toward the dugout where Ryder was. 

He inched closer to the foxhole where Ryder stood, wavering his arm to signal to his friend as the Mohawk man yelled above the shelling. 

“Kristoff! Come on! Come on!” He shouted frantically waving his arms as if reaching out to his friend. His hands were cold as was the rest of his body as he crawled closer, eyes trained on his friend when the earth around Ryder exploded. 

His blood turned as cold as his body, watching as the place where Ryder stood was no longer there. That Ryder was gone. He spent the rest of the air raid in the same spot covering his head as the forest shatters. 

Everything after that seemed numb to Kristoff. They gathered once the air raids were done, having lost nearly 10 men that night. Lipton offered Kristoff to go into the town to get a hot meal but refused, knowing that if he is alone, it’ll be too much. That he’d finally have to accept that Ryder was gone. 

Even when they pulled out of the Ardennes, Kristoff spent his first shower focusing on the return of feeling into his fingers and hands. How the perpetual cold coursing through his body for the past 4 weeks dissipated. 

It wasn’t until after the Battle of Foy when Lieutenant Dyke nearly killed them did it finally occur to him. The nuns of the parish in the village opened the church to them that night, fed them out of their own pockets and gathered the choir to sing for them. 

It was sitting in a wooden pew, away from everyone as Kristoff looked around the church at how many men the company lost. They entered Bastogne with 145 men, leaving with only 63. He glanced to the empty spot next to him, where Ryder should have been. 

He wasn’t a religious man by any means but sitting in the church that night with the choir’s voices echoing off the stone building and the hospitality of the nuns. There was something there. Ryder would have loved it, it felt that Ryder was with him one last time. 

April 1947 

“After Ryder died I just…I don’t know. I didn’t expect to make it either.” Kristoff sighs, remembering how hopeless he felt after that night. “But then the war finished, I was still here, and he wasn’t.” 

“Is that why you stayed in London?” Anna inquires, her hand taking his to comfort the man next to her.  

He nods, his gaze finally catching hers once again. “I don’t know, it just seemed wrong to return home to my parents and siblings. When Ryder can’t, if I had let him go instead, he would still be here. His grandparents lost both children in this war, I owe it to them and Ryder to at least bring home Maren.”

She nods, understanding where he is coming from. It finally made sense to her why he agreed to all of this. They are in similar situations. While the world had put the war past them and move on with life, her and Kristoff were unable to move on. They were both chained to their pasts. 

“We’ll find Honeymaren.” Anna affirms, holding his gaze with determination in her eye. “I promise Kristoff.” 

“Anna…you don’t need to do th-”

“I mean it!” Her grip tightens on his hand. “We can look for her while we look for Elsa.” 

Kristoff sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know anything about Honeymaren’s enlistment. Your sister’s case is the furthest I’ve ever gotten.” 

“We will find her.” Anna states. It seems every day they are getting closer to finding Elsa and the thought that soon she wouldn’t be spending her days with Kristoff saddened her. “Even after we find Elsa, we can go back to London and find Mattias. Will said he had records on the missing girls.” 

He smiles at her, his thumb brushing the back of her hand slightly nodding. “Okay.” 

Without much thought Anna leans over, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, the scent of pine clinging to his clothes. Kristoff smiles down at her, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head as the two fall into comfortableness. 

For the first time, Anna is the first to be ready the next morning. Her hair pulled back into a high ponytail and dressed in her navy overalls with a striped knit long-sleeved shirt underneath. The buckles of her suitcase click loudly through the room as she closes them. 

Sven stands at her side, watching her every move. “Kris! Come on we have to get going!” She calls out, pulling her suitcase off the bed to carry it towards the door. The bathroom is closed, where Kristoff has been for the past 10 minutes. 

She knocks on the door, waiting for a response, but she gets none. Rolling her eyes she strides toward the bed where Kristoff’s suitcase sits, picking it up to put it next to her own. 

The door to the bathroom clicks open, Kristoff stepping into the main room. He is dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a white shirt, his army-issued olive coat over his shoulders. It isn’t his clothes that make Anna stop in her tracks but at the sight of his facial hair, or now lack thereof. 

“Y-you shaved!” She exclaims, eyes wide in shock at the change. 

“I-I did. I figured it was time for a change.” Anna stares at him in silence for a little longer, taking notice of the curve of his jawline and cheekbones. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze shifting to the ground. “Does it look okay?”

Her gaze meets his, a smile crossing her features. “You look wonderful, it suits you.” 

The American man beams at the compliment, clearing his throat as his cheeks tinge pink. “We should get going.” 

Anna nods in agreement, calling for Sven to follow the two of them out of the room. She watches Kristoff’s back as they move along the corridor. Having a newfound sense of closeness with her travelling companion on the next part of their journey into Germany. That no matter what they found there, they would at least have one another.  

Chapter Text

Elsa sighs as her brassiere slips from her shoulders, tossing it onto the bed. Standing in her bedroom only in her knickers, her breasts bare as she searches for her nightgown in the dark. The only light coming in from the single window and the crack in the door that she had left open on purpose.
 
She finds the nightgown resting on top of the armoire, slipping it on as her nipples begin to pebble when a shiver runs through her body. The cotton is soft against her body as she moves towards her bed, grabbing a cable knit navy cardigan from the mattress. Shrugging the sweater on Elsa makes her way to the entrance, opening the door to the rest of the flat.
 
The fireplace dimly lights the flat, a pot of water boiling on the stove to warm the darkened apartment. The power had been cut two days earlier, allowing the autumn wind to creep its way into the flat. Nearly two days being spent in front of the fireplace, both Elsa and Honeymaren bundled under blankets and sweaters to keep warm from the cold.
 
A smile crosses her features at the sight of Maren standing in the kitchen, her hair unbound from the updo she wore throughout the day. The blonde’s stares at the other woman’s hair, admiring it in the dark as it falls just below her buttocks, making it clear that it hadn’t been cut in years.
 
“I can feel you staring.” Maren calls from the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder briefly at her partner. A flush creeps up Elsa’s neck at the exposure.
 
“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She apologizes, walking toward the living room. Trying to find something to make her seem busy to distract her. The brunette’s chuckle resounds through the flat, making Elsa smile in response.
 
“I mean, it’s not that I mind at all. Just thought I’d ensure you were still breathing over there.” She jests, earning a laugh from the British woman.
 
Elsa turns away from the fireplace toward Maren. “I can assure you that I am.”
 
The blonde walks around the coffee table to the couch, grabbing the red blanket that is folded over the back. With the item tucked under her arm she makes her way back around the table, standing in front of the fireplace as she lays the blanket down on the ground.
 
Looking up from the floor, Elsa watches as Honeymaren ambles from the kitchen to the living room with two teacups in her hands; one decorated with forget-me-nots and the other with poppies and cornflowers. Maren is dressed in a similar nightgown to Elsa’s own, both being long sleeved and giving a little shape to both women. Though she has a thick orange cardigan draped over her shoulders. 
 
“Here you are!” The Mohawk woman holds out the cup decorated with poppies to the other woman. Maren pauses as she glances around the living room. “It feels like we’re having a picnic.”
 
“Except for it’s the middle of autumn and we’re currently being frozen out by the Nazis” Elsa jokes, taking the warm teacup.
 
The brunette smirks. “I mean, what isn’t romantic about all of this? Sitting in front of a warm fire with some cider and being without power for two days.”
 
“I mean…it would be slightly better if we weren’t freezing.” The British woman retorts. “But other than that, it is very nice.”
 
“To not freezing.” Maren holds out her cup toward the other woman, clinking the mugs together.
 
Elsa repeats the brunette’s words, finally taking a sip. Her body seeming to warm as the spices of the apple cider touch her tongue. With a sigh, Maren places her cup on the coffee table before lowering herself to the ground on top of the blanket.
 
A smile breaks out across the blonde’s face as she watches the other woman get settled. Silently admitting to herself that Honeymaren looks rather cute, all dressed in her nightgown with a slightly oversized cardigan with her teacup cradled in her hands as she crosses her legs. The only thing missing is a pair of rounded glasses on the tip of her nose.
 
As Elsa settles next to the Mohawk woman, she leans over to press a kiss to her cheek without warning, unable to resist the urge. Something that rarely happened, often kissing was hesitant between the two and always preceded with asking permission.
 
Maren beams at her, a dark brow slightly rising in question. “What was that for?”
 
“I just felt like it.” She shrugs, a sudden sense of anxiety making her freeze. “I-is that okay? I didn’t mean to overstep boundaries. I shou-”
 
In that instant Maren leans forward, pressing her lips against Elsa’s in a brief kiss. Pulling away with a grin before replying. “It was very welcome.”
 
“Maren…” She begins, glancing to the ground to avert her gaze. Maren’s eyes go wide, realizing that though she didn’t mind being kissed unprompted. It didn’t mean Elsa was. The darker woman is about to apologize when the question is finally asked. “H-how did you know that you were well…you know…”
 
“A-a lesbian?” Maren finishes the question, shocked that this is a different conversation than she thought it was going to be. A smile crosses her features as Elsa shyly nods. “I mean…I’ve always known to some degree. My Akshótha (Grandmother) used to tell me as I got older that she always knew as well, I’d come home from playing with my friends and I would only talk about the little girls, never the boys.”
 
“And she knew just by that?”
 
Maren shrugs, rolling her eyes playfully. “Or so she says, there must have been other things she noticed. I knew that I didn’t like men when I was twelve, I thought I was broken. When I talked to my Akshótha about it, she assured me nothing was wrong but told me to keep quiet about it in case the nuns overheard me.”
 
“Nuns?” Elsa cocks a brow at her. “I wouldn’t have taken you for someone who attended catholic school.”  
 
“I mean…I did but not really.” Maren sighs, staring at the red blanket they sit on. “I went to a school funded by the government and run by the Catholic church in my community. They sent us kids to these schools across the country.”
 
“Us?” The blonde inquires, catching the Mohawk woman’s gaze finally.
 
“Indian kids. We had to go to these schools, where they taught us to forget our traditions and language.” She explains, much to the shock of the woman next to her.
 
“That’s horrible!” Elsa exclaims, surprised and horrified that she had never heard of these schools before.
 
“The one in Akwesasne wasn’t as bad as the others in the country. We weren’t treated that well, we still got beat if we spoke out of turn and they still cut our hair. But they at least recorded our Kanien’kehá:ka names.” The brunette recalls.
 
“Your hair?” As the British woman asks, she realizes just how little she knew of Maren’s culture and upbringing.
 
Honeymaren nods in response. “We wear our hair long in my culture, as it has special cultural and spiritual connections. We don’t cut it unless we are mourning the death of a loved one, and we don’t let people touch our hair because of the significance.”
 
“And in these schools, they cut it.” Elsa reiterates.
 
“Yeah, it’s to cut our connection from our culture and spirituality. They tried to change my name as well because Honeymaren Ojistah sounded too Indian for the nuns. I was Ruth while at school, but as soon as I got out, I went by my given name.” Maren explains, knowing she was one of the fortunate ones.
 
Honeymaren continues to tell Elsa about her upbringing along the Canada-US border on the Reservation. Describing her schooling and her commitment to stay in school as long as possible for her. However, Ryder refused to attend, not caring about the beatings that might be inflicted upon him by the nuns or priests. He would spend the days in the bush with their Rakshótha. But Maren remained persistent with her schooling, wanting to become a nurse at all costs as their mother had before she had fallen pregnant. Nearly after a year after finishing school, Maren went to Philadelphia for nursing school at Chestnut Hill Hospital School of Nursing.
 
“It was the furthest I had ever travelled from home. I didn’t meet anyone like me until I was 18 when I was enrolled. I had crushes of course as an adolescent and a child, but my community was small and no other girl my age liked women, at least no one said as much.” Maren states.
 
“What was her name?” Elsa finally asks, the question weighing on her since the beginning of this conversation. Honeymaren smiles at her, hugging her knees to her chest.
 
“Rebecca. She was a white woman from Albany and I just, I don’t know, we had finished our first set of exams, we were celebrating, and she just kissed me.” The darker woman smiles at the memory of the weight of Rebecca’s lips against her own. “We were together for 5 months before our supervisor found out. Her father removed her from the school shortly after.”
 
“What happened to Rebecca?”
 
“I’m not really sure. I heard she was married and had kids. But I’ve also heard she died of septicaemia among other things, so I’ve just learned to stop listening to rumours.” She sighs, “I like to think she found another woman wherever she ended up and is living happily.”
 
Elsa smiles at that, decidedly hopeful that Rebecca found the life that Maren envisioned for her. The Mohawk woman continues, sapphire eyes resting on her as her voice fills the room.
 
“I went back to St. Regis to work for the Indian Hospital there. I only lasted a year; I saw how the white doctors treated patients there and I just couldn’t stand by and watch.” Honeymaren’s brows knit together as she thinks of the unspoken horrors and mistreatment she saw during her time in the hospital.
 
The darker woman describes how she returned home with slightly more money than she had left with, living with her grandparents until the war broke out. She recalls being envious of her cousins on the Canadian side of the border, getting to volunteer while she sat at home idle until Pearl Harbour was bombed, and then the United States joined the war. As soon as congress passed the approval for the WAC, Maren planned on enlisting. But she had been recruited for the Special Operations Executive before she could.
 
“I wasn’t even sure if the WAC would’ve taken me.” Maren continues. “So as soon as the SOE found me in Montreal, I jumped at the opportunity to join.”
 
“Was it that important to you?” The blonde inquires, not having been aware of Honeymaren’s passion for the military.
 
Maren shrugs, shaking her head. “Not really, I didn’t actually want to serve a government who tried to destroy everything in my life. But…this was the first time in my life I could make something of myself.”
 
“What are you talking about?” Elsa recoils in surprise that the woman beside her felt that way. “You put yourself through nursing school against impossible odds and worked in the field before leaving because of your values. You made something of yourself before you were in your 20’s.”
 
She smiles at that, glancing at the lighter woman with tenderness. “Thank you. But it’s different over there, I wanted to show them.”
 
“Show who?”

“Anyone who doubted me because I’m Kanien’kehá:ka. To prove that I’m not some ‘lazy Indian’ as they think me to be.” Her arms tighten around her knees, trying to make herself smaller. “Even to just escape all of that for a time. To live just like a normal person without the connotations of who I am and where I came from.” 
 
Elsa stares at her with wide eyes, trying to hold back tears as she thinks of everything the woman she loves has gone through and has had to endure. She had no idea.
 
It seemed that they were both running away from something for different reasons. In that moment all Elsa wants to do is wrap her arms around Maren and reassure her that never again would she have to pretend to be someone who she isn’t.
 
Though she saw the irony in it.
 
The room is silent for moments afterwards, allowing both to process the information that had been shared. Honeymaren feeling more exposed and raw than she had in years, she never told people about her upbringing. Always having the feeling that the people around her had no need to know about it, the last thing she needed was pity.
 
But there had been something about Elsa that immediately felt different to Maren as if they were kindred spirits. Nothing like the other women she has come across or had brief affairs with, there had been nearly a shared sense of pain they both have had to endure.
 
With a sigh Maren finally works up the courage to ask. “What about you? How did you know that you were a lesbian?”
 
“I mean…as I look back on my memories there were some early signs. I never fawned or obsessed over boys like Anna did. My mother used to joke that Anna would be the type of girl to fall for the first boy to look at her and be engaged within the first month.” Elsa shares, crossing her legs to allow the fabric of her nightgown to pool between her thighs.
 
“That’s a bit harsh.” Maren comments.
 
“My mom was just like that.” Elsa half-heartedly defends, recalling how she thought the jest was unfair against her sister at the time. “But I was thirteen…I met Lillie. I knew it was wrong at the time, I thought there was something wrong with me and I was terrified.”
 
The blonde goes on to explain her crush on Lillie, their first kiss and the headmistress cutting their romance short. With a sigh, she details the things her father said to her in the office that night which left Honeymaren practically shaking with anger. Elsa explains the distance she put between herself and Anna in order to protect her younger sister.
 
“I just pushed her out without an explanation. It wasn’t until our parents died that we started talking again. Even still it was because she insisted on having a relationship with one another.” She explains.
 
Maren smiles at that, thinking of the girl photographed in Elsa’s locket with braided pigtails and a toothy smile. “I assume her tenacity is exhausting.”
 
“You don’t even know. When I returned to Oxford after the funeral Anna followed me north and then called me every day to try to form a relationship with me.” Elsa smirks, thinking about how frustrated her landlady was with receiving calls from her sister.
 
“Does she know about everything?”
 
The British woman shakes her head, “No. I was supposed to go to London to see her the week before I enlisted. I was going to tell her the truth about everything about myself to see if we couldn’t repair things. I was just so tired of lying to her.”
 
“Would she respond well?”
 
“I think she would.” Elsa smiles again, staring at the ground. “Nobody loves like Anna does.”
 
She goes on to explain how shortly after the incident with Lillie, Agnarr and Iduna had made the decision to send her to a hospital to “cure” her ailment. Detailing how she spent the 4 months of summer vacation in the institution having her mind picked apart. She knows it could’ve been worse, she heard the rumours of what happened to the men. At least that had been what she told herself as she tried to rationalize her parent’s decision to institutionalize her.
 
Her chest aches as she thinks about the look on Anna’s face when returning home, eyes wide in confusion and hurt as Elsa turned her back on the auburn-haired girl. The blonde felt immense guilt, retreating to the comfort of her room away from Anna.
 
Even then, the younger Rendelle sister stood outside of her door for nearly a year asking for her until their mother would urge her away. Elsa had spent years pretending she was someone who she wasn’t, trying to force attraction to people she felt none for.
 
“It feels all pointless now that I look back on it.” She laments, shaking her head. “If I could go back, I wish that I could convince myself that it wasn’t me. That I had been more open with Anna about it all and that maybe…we would’ve stayed close.”
 
“I know what you mean.” Maren sighs, resting her chin on her knees still drawn close. Elsa looks over at the woman with caring eyes, waiting for her to speak. “Ryder and I fought a lot before I left and was enlisted for the SOE.”
 
“About what?”
 
“He wanted to enlist in the army so badly, but…he was only 16, about to be 17 early this year.” She shakes her head, thinking back on it. “His friend told him about a recruiter in Canton who would forge ages for boys who wanted to enlist but were too young. Our last argument was about that, he and a few boys from town were driving to the city to enlist the next day.”  
 
Elsa had heard about boys who were underage joining the military, hell, her father had been one of those 17-year-old boys who enlisted. As a child she often heard him drinking with his friends telling them that when he signed-up, he was told to “Go outside, turn around and come back in being 18.” But with this new war, the British government had been more discouraging having lost most of their young men after 1918.
 
“He told me I was a hypocrite for telling him that he couldn’t enlist. I was just so angry that he wouldn’t listen to me. And I told him if he enlisted, he’d either end up a flake like our father or dead. I regret not getting the opportunity to apologize before I left.”  
 
“When you return home, you can apologize to him then. I’m sure he knows deep down you didn’t mean it.” Elsa offers some comfort, placing her hand over Maren’s.
 
“I hope so.” The brunette smiles wistfully. “I can’t wait to return home and see him again; we’ll go canoeing on the St. Regis River and go trapping together.”
 
“That sounds lovely.” The blonde sighs, eyes darting back to the fire in front of them. “I’m not going back to Oxford. I’m immediately going to Anna’s London flat just to wrap my arms around her. We have so many years to catch up on and I don’t want to waste any more time with her.”
 
Maren sighs, moving close to Elsa, their hands still clasped together. “I’d like to meet her someday, when you’re ready of course.”
 
“I’d like that very much. I’m sure you two would get along very well.” The blonde looks to the Mohawk woman, with a grin. “I’d like to go to your reservation and meet your family.”
 
“My Rakshótha might take a while to warm up to you, he’s not very enthusiastic about British people.” Maren states with a smirk. “But my Akshótha and Ryder will love you without much effort.”
 
Elsa’s thumb brushes over the back of Maren’s hand, catching her gaze once more with tender eyes. “I’m so glad I met you Honeymaren.”
 
“I am too.” Maren shifts to her knees, turning toward Elsa as her opposite hand rests on the blonde’s cheek. “I love you Elsa.”
 
“I love you too.” Without any hesitancy the British woman leans forward to press her lips against the darker woman’s. Maren’s hands are warm as normal and her lips are soft, every day the feeling of her lips against her own feels more familiar. Her touch is becoming familiar and finally Elsa felt no shame or guilt for her feelings. She is finally properly loved.

Chapter Text

It’s late. Anna knows it is, feeling as if she’s been lying in bed awake for hours staring at the ceiling. Her eyes heavy but every time she closes them, sleep still seems to elude her. With a sigh she resists the urge to get up and wander the town, which would no doubt waken Kristoff who sleeps beside her. Him being a light sleeper made these nights more difficult. 

With Hans, who could sleep through the world’s end. These nights seemed better, being able to rise from the mattress and stand out on the balcony of his hotel room. But not with Kristoff, she had learned that early in their trip, making the excuse of using the washroom when he had caught her attempting to leave the room. 

She doesn’t want to disturb him, knowing that at least one of them should get some sleep. 

Their overnight had been unexpected, but necessary. The truck had broken down outside of Arras near a small village. They had been fortunate enough that a couple passing had picked them up and taken them to the closest village; Mont-Saint Éloi. 

They managed to get the truck towed into the village, but unfortunately, they were in Mont-Saint Éloi for the next two nights before they could make their way into Germany. 

Shifting to her side, Anna tucks her arm under her pillow as she faces Kristoff’s sleeping form. His chest rising with every breath he takes, a part of her wishes she could blame his snoring on her inability to sleep like any other couple would. But she can’t, even home in London she would lie awake, praying for sleep. 

Though even when she did manage to sleep, her dreams are plagued with the same memory that has intruded its way into her life. She resists the urge to huff, not wanting to wake Kristoff or Sven as frustration builds in her. 

Closing her eyes, Anna begins to count in her head at an attempt to calm herself and with the possibility of falling asleep. Though her heart slows as her emotions calm, sleep does not take her. 

A deep breath echoes through the room, causing the British woman to open her eyes at the sight of Kristoff shifting in his sleep. He faces her, his eyes fluttering before slowly opening. 

His brows furrow as their gazes meet. “Can’t sleep?” 

“No,” She shakes her head, not wanting to look at the clock on the table at the side of the bed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Go back to sleep.” 

“It’s fine.” He shrugs, his hand slipping under his pillow. “I wasn’t sleeping that great, I doubt I’d be able to sleep now anyhow.” 

Anna raises a brow questioningly at him. “Do you dream about your time in the military?” Her eyes widen as she realizes the weight of her question, panic instilling into her. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I just kind of asked without thinking.” 

“It’s alright, I don’t mind.” He reassures, a tired smile crossing his features. “I did for a time, mostly when I was still enlisted. But not really since I returned, though still occasionally I do.”  

“What do you dream about?” She inquires, curious if even his odd dreams are similar to her own. 

He sighs, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand. “It depends, sometimes I dream about landing in Normandy or I’m running through a road in Holland with bullets whizzing past my head. But mostly they’re of Ryder.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” He lazily smiles. “Not even about Foy, just conversations that I wished we had. Sometimes I dream of him just sitting next to me on a train and we’re stateside again, returning home.” 

Anna stares at him, wondering how it must feel to have normal dreams of the people who are gone from life. As opposed to ones that leave your heart racing and difficulty in breathing. “Are you bothered by them?” 

“Not really. I mean at first, it was unnerving to see him. Honestly, it’s just become a comfort to see him again, not covered in dirt, shit or shivering but him just being himself.” He admits to the odd comfort it is seeing his deceased friend in his dreams. “I know it’s strange but…”

“I don’t think it is.” She remarks, shifting closer to the man lying next to her. 

He smiles softly, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Thanks. I knew a few guys who dream like you though.” 

Her brows furrow. “What do you mean?” 

“I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to overstep. But I noticed when we got off the Ferry in La Havre.” He explains. “There was a look in your eyes that was so familiar. I had seen it in so many men’s eyes before. Then I noticed that you had trouble sleeping and the pausing in front of doors before entering buildings…” 

“I-it’s fine, I mean it’s nothing.” Anna shakes her head, her heart racing. “Honestly, those are just bad habits. I’ll be over them soon enough.”

“Anna, there isn’t anything to be ashamed of.” He states, his gaze burrowing into her own.  

Her eyes become misty at the statement, those words having never been spoken to her before. Olaf would comfort her in small quiet ways with things like holding her hand while helping with putting on her gloves. But they never speak about it. Hans accepted the excuse that they were odd habits, often having a laugh at them. But never knowing. 

“I just…” The tears threaten to spill over as she pauses. Her voice breaking as she continues. “I’m so afraid that I’ll never feel normal again.” 

He shifts closer to her, his hand crossing the space between them to rest on the curve of her hip. “I mean, these things won’t disappear overnight.” 

She feels his thumb brushing against her hip through the blanket. “I don’t know what to do. It just feels so helpless that I’ll never be rid of this.” 

“I know.” He sighs, his eyes searching hers. “There are some things you can do to cope.” 

“Like what?” 

“Well, knowing what sets it off, talking to others about it and what you’re feeling. I know some men found exercising helped and…” He trails off with a sigh. “Giving yourself time.” 

“Will I ever be over this?” She asks in a whisper. 

He shrugs in response. “It’s hard to say. There hasn’t been a lot of research on this condition but, I don’t think you do. But there will be improvements over time from what I hear.” 

“This has been happening to me since ’41. But the dreams didn’t start until 3 months after the bombing.” She explains. 

He hesitates to ask, his hand stilling on her hip. “You don’t have to answer this but, what happened?” 

“I was home from school for winter break, Olaf and I went out the week before I returned to school.” She sighs, finding comfort of the weight of his hand on her body. “I’d forgotten something, I don’t remember anymore but we returned to my parent’s house.” 

January 1941

“I swear I’ll be only 5 minutes.” Anna huffed as Olaf poked fun at his best friend. The 14-year-old girl and 15-year-old boy walked arm-in-arm with one another. 

“Right, you always say that, and you take hours longer than you say.” Olaf nudged his shoulder against the auburn-haired girl’s own. “There will be another air raid before you get out of that house.” 

Anna rolled her eyes as they approached the brick row housing that she called home for the summer and winter breaks. They stood in front of the iron fence of the manicured garden in front of her parent’s home. “I promise, I’ll only be 5 minutes. Just stay out here and wait.” 

“I’ll be timing you.” He shouted, leaning against the fence as Anna ascended the stairs to the front door. She pushed through into the grand salon, immediately the scent of smoke heavy in the air. With her brows knitted together Anna made her way to the set of blue carpeted stairs, her hand floating along the railing as she walked around the bend past the washroom. 

“Mama?” Anna called out, trying to get an answer but is not greeted by any response. Not from her mother, father or any of the staff. She reached the second floor, walking through the corridor toward her father’s office, the place he was every day at 5 without fail.

There was a strange breeze floating through the hallway. The house creaked with every step Anna took as she inched closer to the office. Standing in front of the door of her father’s office, she pushed it open. 

The cold London air hit her face as Anna stood in the doorway of the second floor of the house, frozen in fear. Those hardwood panels stuck out into the air against the London skyline, the entire floor creaking as she stepped forward in shock. She stood in what is left of the room, stepping to the side where bookshelves used to stand, now an empty space. 

Her back pressed against the wall, slinking to the floor with wide eyes and mouth parted as she was frozen in fear. 

It was all gone. Everything she had ever known in this house. Her and Elsa’s bedrooms on the floor above also gone. She had nothing anymore. The air was cold against her body, a part of her wanting to creep to the edge and peer down to see everything that had fallen into the back courtyard. 

Her chest heaved as she thought she might throw up, but it never came. Instead, her body shook as her eyes darted at everything around her. Her father’s desk remained, nearly tipping on the edge of the house.

In front of the imposing dark oak desk, that Anna had once stood in front of, is an object. Her eyes widened as she withdrew from the wall. She inched across the floor on her hands and knees, trying to keep her weight even. 

She didn’t go further past a certain point, knowing the floor would fall out underneath her. Her fingers brushed against the object, trying desperately to get it as Olaf’s voice echoed through the house. The object slid closer to her as her fingers brushed against it, taking hold of it quickly. 

Standing, Anna held the object close to her chest as the floor creaks. She backed away from the edge. A hand took hold of her bicep, jerking her out of the room as the rest of the floor fell to the courtyard. 

Anna and Olaf laid crumpled on the floor in the hallway, her shaking hand clutching the lapels of his jacket while burying her face into his clothes. He stoked her hair, trying to offer comfort with his own shaking hands. 

The room is silent, and Kristoff has stilled, the only thing indicating that he is still awake are his eyes still gazing into her own. As he continues to stare at her, Anna’s heart begins to race again. 

Worried that he might be mad at her, or think less of her because despite his earlier words he had been through so much more than she had. If he had these types of dreams and fears, it would be understandable but not her. She only walked into her destroyed childhood home, her parents were dead and taken to the morgue by the time she arrived. There wasn’t any carnage she witnessed, not like Kristoff. 

“I’m really glad you have Olaf.” He simply says, removing his hand from her. “Do you two talk about it at all?” 

Anna shakes her head. “Not outright, he’s good with helping me when I have an episode. But we don’t really speak of it, he’s a rather private man.” 

“I understand that. A man like him I would imagine has to be very private.” He comments. 

“Yeah, it’s hard for him. Once you get to know him, he’s very open and the most honest person you’ll meet.” Anna says, smiling at the thought of her friend. 

“Hey Anna…” He trails off, changing the subject. “What did you grab? The object by your father’s desk. What was it?” 

“It’s so stupid.” She shakes her head with a small smile. He reciprocates the gesture, urging her to tell him regardless. “It was a photo of Elsa and I when we were little.” 

“That isn’t stupid. It’s actually very sweet.” He reassures with a tired smile. 

Anna nuzzles her cheek into the soft pillow. “It was taken on our last vacation to our grandmère’s estate. The summer before she pushed me away.” 

“You never told me what happened between you two.” He states, his eyes catching every freckle scattered across her nose and cheeks. “What did happen?” 

“I don’t know.” She begins to chew on her lip. “We had just returned from Harrogate for the summer and my father pulled her into his office, all I remember was he was angry, and Elsa was quiet on the drive home.” 

June 30, 1936

Anna could not wait to get out of her school uniform, the tights constricting around her legs, the wool tartan skirt itchy and the collar of her white blouse choking her. Thankfully, she had taken off her blazer before getting into the car. 

The hour had passed quietly. Which was odd for Elsa and Anna in the backseat of the car, driven by their father’s chauffeur. Once summer vacation began it was nearly impossible to get the Rendelle sisters to stop talking for the next three months. 

“What horrible dessert do you think grandmère will have ready for us when we get to France?” Anna asked, wanting nothing more than to break the silence. Elsa did not answer, staring out of the window despondently. A few moments passed without an answer, causing the younger sister to furrow her brows. “Elsa? Elsa!” 

Elsa turned to look her sister, confusion, and something else evident on her features. “What?” 

“Are you feeling well?” The auburn-haired girl’s head tilted slightly in question; eyes wide as she stared at her. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” Elsa turned back to the window, her gaze breaking from her younger sister’s. The car fell silent once more, much to Anna’s dismay and discomfort. Her fingers linked together, her thumbs brushing together as she bit her bottom lip. 

“Why didn’t Lillie didn’t come say goodbye?!” Anna questioned, kicking her feet against the empty seat in front of her. “I really liked her.” 

Elsa didn’t respond to that, despite hearing the comment. The younger Rendelle sister huffed, trying to get a word out of the girl next to her. 

“I hope I don’t get Ruth as a bunkmate next year again.” Anna commented, “She talks too much.” 

She expected a retort from Elsa, something along the lines of ‘so do you,’ but it never came. Instead, she was met with more silence much to her annoyance. Rolling her eyes, Anna glanced out her window as she slunk against the leather seat of the car. 

The drive was quiet the rest of the way to London. Anna watched expectantly as they inch closer to their home as they drove through Notting Hill towards Knightsbridge. Her knee bounced excitedly; they were so close to their summer vacation. A month in France, their mother had promised they would take another trip to Paris as they had the year before. 

When the car parked in front of the house, Anna immediately knew something was wrong. On the front steps stood their parents. Their father standing in his usual dark suit with a stern look, the slight raise in his eyebrow giving away his emotion. Their mother stood on the step behind him dressed in a lavender day dress, her arms wrapped around herself with clear distress evident on her features. 

Her brows knitted together, Anna opened the car door, stepping onto the pavement as she approached her parents. Iduna’s expression softened at the sight of her youngest daughter, offering the girl a sad smile. 

“Papa, Mama.” Anna greeted with a smile as she approached them. Agnarr’s gaze drifted to her briefly before flickering up. 

“Go inside with your mother, Anna. I need to talk to your sister.” He said, his voice firm and cold. The auburn-haired girl looked over her shoulder to Elsa standing at a distance on the sidewalk, eyes downcast and hands folded in front of her. 

“Come on, ma Chérie.” Iduna reachesd out to Anna, guiding her daughter into the house away from Agnarr and Elsa. She followed her mother into a main salon, knowing the house staff wouldn’t have her room ready yet. 

Anna sighed as she settles on the red couch across from the identical piece of furniture her mother sat on. The marble fireplace next to them, which had remained unlit since the winter, despite this room always feeling cold. 

“Anna, I have some news for you.” Iduna stated, uncertainty lacing her voice. “But your father has decided to cancel our yearly vacation to France this year.” 

“W-we’re not going to see Grandmère?” Anna asked, her heart sinking at the news. Visiting France was the only thing the girls at school were interested in when she returned to school in the autumn. Last fall, all the girls could talk about was Anna’s trip to Paris, all of them envious of the Rendelle sisters. 

“I’m afraid not.” 

“But why?” 

“Your papa will talk to you later, but there are some things going on that he feels like it wouldn’t be appropriate to travel this year.” Iduna explained, trying to keep her tone still as possible despite feeling a mix of emotions. 

The young girl’s brows knitted together, gaze drifting to the crème-coloured carpet. “I don’t understand…” 

“I know.” Iduna attempted, trying to make her daughter feel better. Anna looked up as the maid entered the salon, holding a crystal glass with a clear liquid. The older woman delicately placed the glass onto the wooden side table on a coaster. “Thank you, Martha.” 

Anna’s looked to the glass, watching closely as her mother takes a drink from the crystal. 3pm on a Thursday, the drink was no doubt a Gin and Tonic. 

“I want to get changed.” Anna sighed, standing from the couch. 

Iduna’s brows rose in alarm. “Are you certain? The girls won’t have had the time to unpack your things.” 

“I’m sure.” The 10-year-old replied, walking away from her mother toward the staircase. 

“Also, I have Roberta making Soup a L’oignon, your favourite for dinner tonight to celebrate your birthday.” Iduna called after her daughter. Anna muttered a thanks over her shoulder as she left the salon. Even though Anna hated French onion soup. 

She hurried up the staircase, past the washroom and the studies on the second floor. Past the third floor which contained the master bedroom to the fourth floor where her and Elsa’s rooms were.  

Lingering in front of her bedroom, Anna sighed before opening the door. Her mother was right, nothing was ready for her. The dresser and vanity were covered in a layer of dust and her trunk from school still sat unpacked at the foot of the bed. 

The door closed behind her as she meandered to the bed, sitting on the edge before falling back onto the mattress. Her uniform still itched. Though it was nothing in comparison to the realization that there would be no France that year. A tradition that had been the only constant in her life since she was born, suddenly disrupted, gone without barely any notice. 

A knock resounded through her bedroom, the door opening without any other notice to reveal Martha, standing on the other side of the door. “Anna, your father would like to see you in his office.” 

The young girl nodded, sitting up in her bed before standing from it. She ambled out of the bedroom, leaving the maid behind .  
She descended the stairs to the second floor of the house, walking down the corridor with paintings of the French countryside on the walls. 

Anna knocked on the oak door, waiting for her father’s reply before entering the imposing office. Large windows overlook the courtyard of the row houses, bookshelves lining the walls of the office. Agnarr sat behind his dark desk in the middle of the room, a cigarette between his fingers and a scotch sitting on the surface. 

“Come have a seat.” He called, beckoning his youngest further into the room she was seldom allowed into. Anna closed the door behind her, hurrying across the room to settle in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk from her father. 

They sat in silence for moments, Anna knowing better than to attempt to say the first word. He finally looked up at her, his eyes boring into her own. 

“I have no doubt your mother told you that our summer plans have changed.” Agnarr stated, waiting for his daughter to nod in response. “Your sister is not well.” 

She sat up, eyes wide in fear as she leaned forward in her chair. “She’s what? What is wrong with her? Is she going to be alright?” 

“Anna, I’m going to ask you to refrain from another outburst such as that.” He scolded. The auburn-haired girl leaned back, making herself small under her father’s gaze, though fear was still crawling up her throat. 

“S-sorry.” 

“Now, as I was saying. Your sister is unwell, it isn’t anything too serious and can be cured of it.” Agnarr began, his gaze drifting down to papers in front of him. “That being said, I think for the time being it’s best you stay away from her. She’ll be spending the summer at an institution to make her better.” 

That provided some comfort to the young girl, though it still saddened her that she would be spending her summer without Elsa and without France. “I understand.” 

“Good. Now your dismissed.” He responded, not sparing her a single glance before she left the office. 

It bothered her for the rest of the night, Elsa’s illness. No one spoke of it at dinner nor after while her parents finished their bottle of wine. It was strange to Anna that they were not talking about it, if it was serious enough that Elsa had to be sent away for it. Whatever ‘it’ was.  

She laid awake in bed that night, tossing and turning as sleep continued to evade her. With a huff, Anna rose from the mattress. Her bare feet padding across the room as she moved toward the door. Opening it, Anna stepped across the hall to her sister’s door, light spilling through the bottom. 

“Elsa,” Anna quietly called, squatting lowly in front of the door so that her sister could hear her. She didn’t get a response. “Papa told me that your unwell. I hope you feel better soon and that next year we can go to France and go looking for clams on the beach.” 

There was a shadow at the door, indicating that Elsa stood near it listening. For a moment Anna was hopeful that the door would open. But it didn’t. The first of many disappoints Anna would face on the opposite side of her sister’s room. 

The hem of her nightgown brushed against the tops of her feet as she waited for Elsa, her arms wrapped around her knees. With a sigh, she slowly rose from the floor. 

“Goodnight, Elsa.” She whispered before retreating to the familiarity of her room. 

Anna sighs, blinking away the tears threatening to form in the corner of her eyes. Not wanting to cry in front of Kristoff as he continues to stare at her. “She was hospitalized after that night and…nothing was the same after that. Elsa avoided me, we only ever interacted with one another at meals when we were in London.” 

“Even when you went to France?” He inquires, shifting slightly against the mattress. 

“We never went back to France as a family after that summer.” Anna reveals, her hear aching as she says it out loud. “My parents still visited Paris from time to time, but…this is the first time I’ve been in France since I was 10-years-old.” 

11 years. It feels odd to Anna to be saying it out loud, living without France had become a constant in her life that she hadn’t realized how much she missed it. Until now. 

“Maybe when you have children that can be something you do with them every summer.” The American offers, trying to fill the silence building between them. 

The British woman shrugs, fighting the heaviness building in her eyes. “Maybe, if I decide to stay in London.” 

“Why wouldn’t you stay in London? Isn’t it home?” 

“Not really, I mean-I spent my summers in London with one month in France. But I lived in Harrogate for most of the year. I didn’t even live in London for the war, I lived in Leyland until ‘46.” Anna explains, her eyes closing against her will. “I’ve never really had a home.” 

Kristoff stares at her, watching as the auburn-haired woman finally falls asleep. Anna barely registers the feeling of his lips against her forehead and the soft whisper, 

“Goodnight Anna.”

Chapter Text

Honeymaren shifts against the wooden chair sitting at the low table in the corner where the radio sits, now thinly disguised as a gramophone. Her back hurts the longer she remains in the chair. 

She pulls the tiny paper from her brassier, delivered to her earlier by the courier. The code printed on the back of a wine label, no doubt to hide the code if the courier was stopped by soldiers. In the lining of her shoe is the worked-out code, a small slip of silk containing the cipher. 

To the untrained eye, the message is barely intelligible, but not to her any longer. After spending nearly 4 months sending these messages, Honeymaren finds herself being able to understand some of it with just a glance. This one was something along the lines of destroying a rail line in the north being successful, but that was about it. 

From the spare parts pocket, the Mohawk woman grabs the crystal that allows her to transmit on the proper frequency. After inserting the crystal, she begins to type the message she had coded. The wireless key clicks under her fingertips much to her satisfaction. Her radio touch was often light, though adding more pressure at her 13th keystroke, enjoying the sound the keys made with the extra emphasis. 

A loud burst of laughter erupts from below, nearly causing Maren to jump out of her skin. She glances over her shoulder to the window into the night as footsteps echo through the apartment. Elsa ambles from the living room with a book in her hand toward the window, glancing down at the ruckus. 

“It’s coming from the café.” The blonde assures the darker woman. Maren sighs with a nod before turning back to her radio. 

“I’m almost done,” Honeymaren responds, smiling as two hands rest on her shoulders. 

Elsa stands behind her, watching her type the message. “Good, we don’t know what sort of company our downstairs neighbour is having and I’m fairly certain she can hear us.” 

“From what I hear from the lady living on the first floor, our neighbour tends to be at the barracks most days turning in innocent people.” Maren comments, still concentrating on her transmission. Relaxing as she feels two arms wrap around her, Elsa’s chin coming to rest her shoulder. 

“Thanks for that.” The British woman mutters, tucking her head into the crook of the other woman’s shoulder. Maren smiles at the feeling of Elsa’s breath against her neck as well as the rise and fall of her chest against her upper back. The blonde only lingers for a moment, withdrawing from her lover to put the kettle on. 

Though she smiles at Elsa’s retort, a sense of uneasiness settles over the Kanien’kehá:ka woman as she finishes the transmission. Communication with London had been infrequent over the past month.  

Lately, the only information they learned which came from London was carried through Will or Mattias. Even then the circuit’s second-in-command barely heard anything from headquarters anymore. Maren can’t help but wonder what is happening within the ranks which would cause this silence. 

July and August of this year had been riddled with a series of arrests and betrayals by leaders and associates in the circuit. Perhaps London no longer saw the Farmer Network as reliable and trustworthy. Even Sylvestre, the leader of the network, is on the verge of a breakdown and smoking incessantly according to Mattias. Just the other day Sylvestre had apparently ordered the execution of his former deputy, Lemercier, who continued to threaten to betray them all to the Germans. It feels as if everything is falling apart around them. Even hideouts around Lille and Arras are becoming scarcer as the residents live in fear of the German soldiers. 

Before she knew it, there is a response from headquarters, something she is not expecting as the transmission carries through to her. She works quickly to decode the message, the person transmitting the message to her is obviously new or is typing quickly to them as if they were not supposed to be in contact at all.  

Four arrests early in the morning of November 27. Gunfight between SOE operatives and German militants, three dead. Names and ranks unknown at this time. HQ has concluded the farmer circuit has….

Maren sits at the radio slightly longer waiting for the message to complete. But it never does. Instead, it remains hanging in the air without any conclusion which left the young woman nervous. 

Four people were arrested and three dead. That could mean several things; the entire circuit could be compromised, that she and Elsa could be the next ones thrown into prison, or worse. Or it could mean that Sylvester, Mattias or Will could have been captured, which would secure Elsa and her own position in France for the unforeseeable future. The longer they stayed in Arras the more danger they could be in. 

Taking off the headset, Maren immediately begins to disassemble the radio with shaking hands the crystals nearly slipping from her grasp as she puts them away. 

Elsa stands in the kitchen, watching the brunette with furrowed brows as she turns off the stove prematurely. “Maren…is everything alright?” 

Panic rises in the Kanien’kehá:ka woman, almost as if a bubble is building in her chest as her mouth opens to answer. 

“T-There were four arrests last night.” Her voice trembles as she speaks, despite the attempt to keep steady. She had to be strong for Elsa. “Which resulted in a gunfight only 4 hours later…three people are dead.” 

“Did one of the arrested members talk?” Elsa questions, striding to her side in an instant. Her blonde hair hanging over her shoulder in a neat plait, the blue of her dress complimenting the colour of her eyes. 

“I’m not sure.” She breathes, her words barely comprehendible with shaking hands. The blonde woman takes a step forward, taking Honeymaren’s hands into her own to stop the shaking. 

Elsa catches her gaze, her hands giving a gentle squeeze; trying to keep a brave face for her lover at this moment. “W-we’ll stay in Arras until we hear otherwise from Yelana.” 

“I think so too…” The brunette agrees, her gaze drifting to their clasped hands. “No doubt William will be bursting through our door in the next couple of days.” 

“Most likely.” The blonde nods, her thumb brushing over the back of Maren’s warm hand. 

Neither of them speak of the possibility on the forefront of their minds; that Will might be one of the three dead, his blood spilled on the streets of Lille. Or Mattias might be sitting in a prison somewhere in France, bruises littering his body. That there could be soldiers coming for them at this current moment, readying to take them away. 

Maren shakes her head with a sigh as if trying to push away all those thoughts, not wanting them to be her last if everything goes wrong. Reluctantly she pulls her hands out of the other woman’s grasp. “I’m going to go to bed.” 

“Are you certain?” Elsa asks, tilting her head slightly. “We could have another bottle of wine or some cider.”  

“No, I think I’d rather get some sleep.” The brunette insists, wrapping her arms around the British woman in a tight embrace. Elsa holds tightly onto Maren, her hand clutching the back of her yellow dress. A shiver running up the blonde’s spine as she feels lips brush briefly against her neck. 

Without another word, Honeymaren withdraws from Elsa. She walks across the living room toward her bedroom, the door on the left. Despite the want to turn into the door on the right and to climb into the warmth of Elsa’s bed and hold her throughout the night. 

Stepping through the threshold of her bedroom as Elsa’s voice calls “Goodnight,” earning a smile from the Kanien’kehá:ka woman. 

Closing the door to her room, Maren immediately sheds the mustard yellow dress she wore for the day. Allowing the garment to fall to the ground in a heap, followed by her bra and panties. She meanders across the room to her bed, where her white nightgown lay across the multi-coloured quilt left by the previous owners of the apartment.
 
Her nipples pebble as a shiver courses through her body, quickly she slips into the linen nightwear shimmying it over her head. She gasps as the fabric grazes lightly across her nubs, closing her eyes while ignoring the flash of heat pooling lowly in her belly.
 
With a huff, Maren flicks on the lamp sitting on the table next to her bed before moving across the room to turn off the bedroom light. She makes her way back to the mattress, sighing as she tucks herself under the blankets.
 
She wishes that as she climbed into bed that her worries from the day would melt away, but they won’t. 
 
This isn’t like her, back when she was doing more dangerous work, she had no issue with the idea of swallowing the cyanide capsule hanging around her neck. Hell, even back in Paris she didn’t care.
 
But then Elsa had come back into her life without any warning. The kiss between her and Elsa following the Paris mission had changed the way she carried out missions. Even in Lyon, separate from the blonde, Maren had been more cautious than previously in the Pays-De-Calais region.
 
Her fate had been sealed the moment she stepped back into this apartment that afternoon while watching Elsa scramble to destroy the wireless without any hesitation. Elsa has come so far since their training at Rhubana Lodge. The scared, unsure young woman she had met in Scotland had nearly been replaced with the very one she stayed with. Every day since then Maren found herself falling more in love with Elsa.
 
It scared her. The feelings she harboured toward the other woman. It was something that she hadn’t ever felt before, though she had thought she once did. Her feelings toward Elsa transcended anything she’s ever felt about her former lovers.
 
Maren had come here to prove herself, to make an unmistakable legacy for her family-for her brother. But instead had found romance in the bloodiest time the world had ever seen.
 
Her feelings for the other woman are no doubt getting in the way of their job. Even that afternoon Maren had nearly put out the lights of a soldier who was getting too friendly with Elsa. Though they are used to it by now. While Elsa typically drew the attention of the German soldiers with her snowy blond hair and sapphire eyes, Honeymaren would be lying if she said that she hadn’t experienced some leering and inappropriate comments. It was the ones who saw her as exotic and forbidden fruit-untouchable.
 
A knock resounds throughout her room, making the young woman prop herself up on her elbows with furrowed brows.
 
“Maren?” Elsa’s voice calls from the other side of the door. The brunette doesn’t answer as she throws the blankets back, leaving the comfort of her bed to answer the call.
 
Upon opening it Honeymaren suppresses a smile at the unexpected sight of the woman she loves, standing in a nightgown, like her own, with her long blonde hair unbound- nervousness evident on her features.
 
“What is it? Are you alright?” The Mohawk woman inquires, her hand resting against the doorknob.
 
Elsa shrugs, glancing down briefly at her feet. “I just…didn’t want to be alone tonight, not after everything today.”
 
Honeymaren's mouth curves into a smile, stepping to the side with her back against the door, silently giving the other woman permission to enter her bedroom. Elsa hesitantly steps into the room, which is slightly bigger than her own.
 
The only light that spills into the room is from the moon shining brightly through the window facing the plaza. The door closes behind the woman who hesitantly makes her way across to Maren, wrapping her arms around the slightly shorter woman once again.
 
Honeymaren winds her arms around Elsa’s waist, pulling her body against her own. “I don’t want to be alone either.” The brunette finally admits.
 
“I’m scared,” Elsa whispers, burying her head into the crook of the Mohawk woman’s shoulder.
 
“I know,” Maren responds, her hand weaving its way into Elsa’s light hair. “I am as well.”
 
It felt oddly freeing finally admitting to it, no longer attempting to hold in her emotions for the sake of the woman before her. For so long Maren felt as if it was her responsibility to hold up Elsa through every difficult situation, but not any longer. Now they could finally support one another in a difficult decision and face it together.
 
Elsa pulls away from Maren slightly to look at her, eyes wide. “I don’t want to think about it anymore- any of it.”
 
“What do you want to do?” The Kanien’kehá:ka woman asks, her dark brows furrowing curiously. Suddenly aware of how warm the other woman’s body feels against her own. 
 
“I-I want you.” Elsa stutters, her cheeks flushing as the words leave her mouth.

Maren’s back straightens at the statement, her brows shooting up to her hairline. “W-are you serious?”
 
“Y-yes, I-I’ve never…” Elsa stammered, her cheeks flushing as she admits her virginal state. Maren leans forward, capturing the other woman’s lips with her own. The blonde gasps before circling her arms around the Mohawk woman’s waist
 
Maren is hesitant to touch Elsa, not wanting to push her into doing anything she didn’t want to. Though her fingers twitched with the want to touch her all over, feel the blonde’s skin under her touch- feeling every dimple, freckle. She could only imagine how it would feel to have Elsa quivering underneath her.
 
Unable to take it any longer, Maren breaks the kiss for a moment, resting her forehead against the lighter woman’s. “Els, are yo-you sure about this?”
 
Elsa nods, the heat growing lowly in her belly spiralling downward to settle between her legs as she buries her hand into Maren’s thick dark hair. “Yes, I’m certain. I can tell you if there’s something I don’t like, right?”
 
“Of course,” Maren responds, her hands cupping Elsa’s cheeks as she pulls her lips to her own once again. Her tongue trailing a line against the blonde’s lips, silently begging for entrance as their embrace becomes more desperate.
 
The brunette shifts slightly, trying to relieve the pressure building between her legs as it becomes more intense as Elsa’s hands slowly trail down her neck. She could hardly believe they are in her bedroom, kissing with intentions reaching further than Maren ever thought they would go.
 
It feels as if at any moment Maren would wake up from this dream, sweat clinging to her skin with familiar wetness pooling between her thighs-but she never wakes. The only thing keeping her grip on reality being the coldness of Elsa’s hands, the touch that makes her nipples harden against the fabric of her nightgown once more.
 
She can feel Elsa’s need searing through every movement she makes with her lips and hands, how she sucks at Honeymaren’s bottom lip which tears a wanton moan from Maren. Elsa hesitantly pulls back to look at her lover once more, her lips swollen and eyes wide as if she’s lost on how to carry on.
 
“I-I’m not really sure…um…” Elsa swallows, her heart threatening to crawl out of her throat. “What do you want Maren?” 
 
Maren pulls her body against her own once more, her lips trailing against her light skin before pressing a kiss behind Elsa’s ear. In a quieted voice she states, “I want to taste you.” Causing the woman in her arms to gasp as the Mohawk woman gently nibbles her earlobe.
 
“Yes.” The British whispers breathlessly. The darker woman continues to pepper kisses against the column of her throat, allowing a series of gasps to escape from Elsa’s lips. Maren unwraps her arms from the other woman’s waist, her fingertips brushing against the fabric of the blonde’s nightgown.
 
She tugs on it gently, silently asking permission while pulling back to meet Elsa’s gaze once more. “May I?”
 
Elsa nods enthusiastically, her hands touching Honeymaren’s to further encourage her. With a grin Maren pulls the garment over Elsa’s head, tossing the nightgown aside. Chocolate eyes take in every inch of the blonde woman.
 
Subconscious arms wrap around Elsa’s body, not necessarily trying to hide from the gaze of her lover but feeling exposed in a way she had never been before.  
 
“It’s alright,” Maren reassures with a smile, noticing the way Elsa’s skin flushes. The blonde meets her gaze once again, the way Maren smiles at her softly dissipates any nervousness building inside of her. Finally letting go, Elsa steps forward impatiently before kissing her passionately, trying to convey that this is something she wants. Maren matches the kiss with the same intensity, her warm palms sliding against the other woman’s stomach, moving across her ribcage- enjoying the feeling of Elsa’s skin under her touch.
 
Elsa’s lips falter as Maren’s hands caress her breasts, gasping as the darker woman’s fingertips brush against her nipples. The blonde’s eyes are closed as pleasure ebbs between her thighs, slowly becoming slick with her own arousal. Maren delicately smooths her fingertips over her nipples in small circles before gently rolling them between two fingers, making Elsa keen at the sensation.
 
Everything from the day, the stress of everything that had happened slowly melts away from both women. Honeymaren focuses on the feeling of the other woman’s skin as she plucks at her chest and the way their tongues dance with one another.
 
Without any warning Maren breaks the kiss, instead peppering a slow trail of chaste pecks along the blonde’s jaw before pressing her lips against her pulse point. The kisses following are passionate, sending sparks of heat between the British woman’s legs once again.
 
Honeymaren’s kisses trail lower, stopping to nip lightly at Elsa’s collarbone before they trail to her chest. The brunette wastes no time to begin kissing her right breast, lips dragging across the soft skin before reaching the pink peak. Elsa gasps loudly as Maren’s mouth closes around her nipple, alternating between sucking it between her lips and swirling her tongue around the sensitive nub. Ministrations on her other breast continue, the pad of Maren’s thumb sweeping against the peak making the blonde tremble at the sensation.
 
After a few moments, the Mohawk woman withdraws from the skin, the hand on the blonde’s breast coming to rest on her hip, thumb brushing against Elsa’s hipbone. With a small smile, Maren leans forward, pressing her lips to the other woman’s once again in a chaste embrace.
 
Elsa is hyperaware of the feeling of the darker woman’s thumb brushing against her skin as chocolate eyes bore into sapphire ones. “I would like to taste you. Would that be alright?”
 
“Y-yes!” The blonde nods, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth in embarrassment over her over the eager answer. “I want you, Maren.”
 
Smiling at the comment, Honeymaren slowly sinks to her knees in front of her lover. She presses a kiss to the spot on Elsa’s hip bone where her thumb had been only moments ago, her smile only widening as the blonde gasps once more.
 
Maren can practically feel her mouth-watering as she can faintly smell Elsa’s arousal through the light curls. “You’re so fucking gorgeous Elsa.”
 
She presses languid kisses against the other woman’s creamy thighs, making Elsa catch her breath while waiting in anticipation.
 
“You don’t get to tease,” Elsa manages to scold, while the small series of kisses felt good against her skin, she felt herself burning for more. Without any warning Maren presses a gentle kiss at the apex of her thighs, earning a surprised moan from the lighter woman.
 
Her tongue is warm as it parts her folds, exploring every inch of her cunt until finding her centre. The noise that escapes Elsa further encourages Maren to brush her tongue against her clit once again.
 
Elsa whimpers as the other woman’s tongue begins to circle her clit, beginning to squirm against the feeling as if it’s becoming overwhelming. Her brows knit together as an unbridled cry escapes from her mouth while focusing on the sensation of Maren’s warm mouth on her core.
 
“Ah!” She gasps, heart pounding in her ears. “Maren!”
 
Honeymaren’s eyes snap open, staring up at her lover’s expression. Rubbing her thighs together to alleviate the pressure between her legs while continuing her ministrations. Her want to know what Elsa sounds and tastes like when she comes undone becoming overwhelming, already finding her scent and taste intoxicating.
 
A series of moans and gasps leaves Elsa’s mind and body at the whim of the woman before her. Knees buckle underneath her, threatening to give out at the intense feeling. The slight stumble makes Maren pull away from Elsa, the bottom half of her face evident of the blonde’s arousal.
 
“Are you alright?” The darker woman inquires in concern, wondering if they had taken things too far.
 
“Y-yeah.” Elsa nods, breathless. “I’m very good. I j-just don’t know how much longer I can stand.”
 
Maren smirks at that, standing from the ground. “That can be remedied,” She gently takes Elsa by the wrist, leading her toward the bed. The Kanien’kehá:ka woman settles the British woman in the middle of the mattress.
 
Sliding back down the bed, Maren slips back between Elsa’s thighs, humming appreciatively as this position opens her up more. Her tongue circles her hyper-sensitive clit once again to rebuild the sensations.
 
Elsa’s thighs are on either side of her head, squeezing tighter as she rocks her hips against the brunette’s mouth. Grinding her clit against Maren’s tongue while uncontrolled sounds escape from her. The wet heat of her lover’s mouth drawing out every thought and sanity from her as she feels something building inside of her.
 
“M-Maren!” She cries, her thighs tightening around Maren’s head as she finally finds release. Her thighs relax as she falls back against the mattress, a sheen of sweat covering her body as her chest heaves. Only slightly aware as the brunette comes to lie next to her.
 
Propping herself on her elbow, Honeymaren rests her free hand on Elsa’s sternum. “How are you feeling?”
 
“I…” The blonde trails off, “I’ve never felt anything like that before.”
 
A giggle escapes from Maren before pressing her lips to her lover’s own, Elsa able to vaguely taste herself on the brunette’s lips. The blonde presses her palm against the other woman, urging her to lie on her back on the mattress. Maren eases into the action, her head hitting the pillow as she looks up at the lighter woman.
 
Elsa kneels on the mattress, straddling Maren’s hips as she hovers over the brunette. With her core pressed against the fabric of her nightgown, the British woman cups the other woman’s cheeks, pulling her in for another kiss.
 
Fingertips dig into the blonde’s hips as Elsa lazily licks her way into her lover’s mouth, their tongues brushing against one another languidly. Pulling back, Elsa smirks down at Honeymaren while tucking locks of her hair behind her ears.
 
“D-did you want me to…” She trails off, biting her bottom lip suggestively.
 
“Did I want you to? What?” Maren grins, running a finger along the curve of Elsa’s body, making the other woman jump.
 
Elsa buries her face in her hands with a groan. Her voice slightly muffled, “Don’t make me say it.”
 
Propping herself up on her elbows, Maren chuckles at her reaction, finding it quite cute and endearing. She reaches forward, stroking Elsa’s snowy blonde hair, allowing the tresses to curl around her fingers.
 
“You don’t have to,” She assures with a small smile. “Getting to see you enjoy yourself was enough for me.”
 
“I want to.” Elsa presses, leaning into her lover’s touch. “I want to make you feel good…is that alright?”
 
Maren’s hand drifts to her shoulder, breathless by the admission as another spike of arousal shoots through her. “Of course, it is. I just didn’t want to push anything with you.”
 
“Don’t worry about…though…I don’t really know what I’m doing.” Elsa admits, her fingers brushing against the fabric of Maren’s nightgown.
 
“I can help with that.” The brunette promises her, leaning forward to kiss her lover once more. Her hands join Elsa’s, helping her remove her nightgown before tossing it somewhere into the room with abandon.
 
Elsa’s mouth goes dry at the sight of Maren’s bare body, her eyes trailing from her breasts, a perfect handful by the looks of it to the dark curls between her thighs. With some hesitancy she reaches forward, cupping the brunette’s breast.
 
Brushing a thumb over the dusky tip, Elsa glances up at Maren’s face as a cry emits from her. “I-it’s fine, m-my um…nipples are quite sensitive.”
 
With a smirk, Elsa leans forward to take a nipple into her mouth gently sucking on the nub as she gets an immediate response from the other woman. A series of gasps and cries escaping from Maren. Underneath her, the blonde notices how the darker woman squirms, her thighs rubbing together to relieve the ache between her legs.
 
Moving off Maren's body, Elsa lays next to the Mohawk woman. Her hand sliding down her stomach toward her mound. She stops inches above the curls, waiting for some sort of approval from the other woman. Impatiently Maren guides Elsa’s hands toward her core, her breath staggering as fingers meet her wetness.
 
Elsa runs her finger along Maren’s slit, allowing her finger to land just below her clit. She’s already quite wet, craving Elsa’s touch for some time now. Maren closes her eyes while focusing on having her lover’s tongue against her breast as her legs fall open.
 
Fingers fall on her clit, tracing lazy circles against the nub with a light touch. The brunette focuses on the sensation, though it was small shocks of pleasure to her core, she preferred it that way for the build-up.
 
Maren pulls at her other nipple as Elsa continues sucking and licking her peak, her fingers still working her clit. A series of moans emit from Maren as her arousal grows, her voice echoing through the room.
 
“Elsa!” She cries out with abandon, her hands grasping the sheets underneath her. For a second, she thinks she might cum at that moment, but she doesn’t-though the sensations from her breasts were getting her close.
 
“I-I need,” She whines, unable to hold her head up. “I-I need your fingers in me now,”
 
Glancing up at her momentarily, Elsa complies with the request, trailing her soaked fingers toward her opening. Slowly she slides her index finger into Maren’s pussy, revelling in having her finger completely enveloped by warmth and wetness. Another finger slips in at the brunette’s request before slowly pumping in and out of her cunt.
 
Elsa angles her palm down, pressing the heel of her hand against Maren’s clit before going back to sucking at her chest. The position reaching every part of her that is aching with need and want. The brunette rocks her hips into her lover’s hand, grinding against her palm until she feels herself finding release. Elsa finds herself loving the feeling of Maren’s walls fluttering against her fingers as she comes undone.
 
Her cries are quieter than Elsa’s but are more stuttered as her hips rock up as she finally reaches release. The young woman’s panting is the only noise in the room, moaning as fingers slip out of her.
 
Chocolate eyes meet those sapphire ones, watching closely as Elsa brings her hand to her mouth, sucking on her fingers to properly taste her lover.
 
“Come here.” Maren beckons, pulling the blonde toward her. While practically laying on top of the brunette, Elsa rests her head against her bare chest, listening closely to her heartbeat. Maren runs her fingers through the other woman’s blonde tresses, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
 
She can get used to this. Falling asleep and waking up with this woman in her arms or with Elsa’s arms wrapped around her.
 
“How was that?” Elsa looks up at the Mohawk woman, her chin resting on her breastbone.
 
“It was…” Maren trails off, trying to find the words. “Amazing.”
 
“Really?” The blonde asks, brows rising toward her hairline in surprise.
 
Pressing her lips to Elsa’s once more, the young lovers drift to sleep in one another’s arms, content and sated for the night. Unaware of all that was to come for them.

Chapter Text

Throughout their entire journey, Anna hadn’t expected to be sitting outside in the late afternoon with a glass of rosé in her hand. No less dressed in a mustard dress with white cuffs and a round collar without a sweater. The weather had been unseasonably nice since the beginning of April. 

Kristoff and Sven had gone on ahead to the mechanics to hear the latest on the truck; not needing Anna’s assistance as the sturdy handyman spoke near-perfect English. The American had insisted that she finish her wine while waiting for him and then they would wander the town together upon his return.  

Her fingers brush against the condensation of her wine glass, her eyes catching the pack of cigarettes sitting where the blonde man had been less than 15 minutes ago. Taking another sip of her wine, Anna looks onto the street, watching locals make their way through the market. 

In the corner of her eye, she notices a woman leaving the bar who stops in the doorway to dig into the pockets of her pants. 

“Merde!” She swears with a huff, catching the auburn-haired woman’s gaze. “Pardon, je vien de réaliser que je n’ai plus de cigarettes.” 

Shit- Sorry I just realized that I have no more cigarettes.

“C’est bon,” Anna responds with a smile, taking another sip of her wine. 

It’s alright.  

“Puis-je vous vole rune cigarette?” 

The woman’s slight accent confuses Anna, making her sentence incomprehensible to the British woman. She pauses, trying to recall any of the words spoken to her to answer the statement. Her eyes darting in panic as she attempts to answer the woman’s question.

“You speak English?” The brunette woman inquires in English, her accent American, though slightly different from Kristoff’s or Hans’. 

“Y-yes I do,” Anna responds, nodding her head. “I can speak French nearly fluently, your accent showed through slightly though and it confused me.” 

The other woman nods, smiling slightly. “I’ve heard that happens from time to time. Would you mind if I steal a cigarette?”  

“Hmm? Oh um, yeah. That’s fine.” Anna clumsily reaches across the table, grabbing Kristoff’s cigarettes. She holds out the pack out to the woman. “I mean, they’re not my cigarettes, they’re Kristoff’s but he’s not here so…” 

The stranger laughs at that, taking a cigarette between her two fingers. “Well, I’m glad to have asked you. I get the sense that Kristoff wouldn’t be so forgiving of me stealing a cigarette.” 

“I’m sure I could convince him otherwise,” Anna reassures, placing the pack back on the table. 

“Well thank you for it anyhow.” The woman lights the cigarette, taking a puff. “It was nice meeting you.” 

She watches as the woman walks away from her, the smoke from her cigarette trailing behind her. With a small smile, she takes a sip of her wine, her gaze drifting to her heels against the cobblestone. 

“Anna!” Kristoff’s voice carries through the street as he approaches the table, breathless as if he had been running. She cocks a brow at the man before her, noticing the sweat dripping from his brow. 

“Did you run?” She inquires, smirking as he settles himself in the seat across from her. Reaching across the table for the water in front of Anna, not caring that she had taken a few sips from it. 

With a gasp, Kristoff places the glass, now half empty, back on the table. “Yeah, I didn’t want to miss you. The last thing I want to do is try and hunt you down in this town.” 

“I think you could find me pretty easily,” Anna takes another sip of her wine, shrugging her shoulders. “The colour of my hair is pretty uncommon. I stick out like a sore thumb here.” 

“That’s true, but you are very small. I would have a hard time finding you in a crowd.” The blonde chuckles, casting a glance toward her to gauge her reaction. She narrows her eyes toward him, sticking her tongue out in mock anger. 

Crossing her arms across her chest, she sits back in her chair. “It’s a good thing you’re a giant, you would be able to see over everyone within seconds to find me.” 

“It also helps that your loud.” He retorts, smirking as he finishes the glass of water. Anna can’t help but smile at the response, taking another sip of her rosé. She takes in his appearance, his white shirt clinging to his body in this heat; the warm weather has clearly affected him this past afternoon. His hair, which had been styled away from his face earlier this morning, now falling into his eyes. Though it wasn’t as shaggy as it had been when they first met, not after Kristoff had reluctantly allowed her to trim it, it still fell into his face occasionally. 

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the tresses out of his face. Anna’s bare nail taps against the glass, beginning to feel restless sitting in this warm air. “What did the mechanic have to say about the truck?” 

“It should be ready to go tomorrow by noon, we’ll be on the road to Germany in no time.” The blonde man responds. He notices how she simply nods, not out of disappointment but not out of excitement either. “Anna, is everything alright?” 

“It’s fine, I just…” She sighs, taking the final sip of her drink. “It feels so close but also that there is so much to go. I don’t know how to feel about it all.” 

“I mean, who knows. We could find another unexpected turn that takes us to Italy.” He suggests, reaching forward to rub Sven behind his ears, noticing how the dog had been attempting to scratch the itch in the hard-to-reach place. 

Reaching behind her, Anna grabs her purse from the back of her chair. “Don’t even joke about that, I’ve put up with your snoring in the night for long enough.” 

“My snoring?” He points at himself, watching as she places a few francs on the table. “Until we address the state in how you wake up and sleep, you can’t pin this on me. I feel like my legs are entirely bruised now after sharing a bed with you for weeks.” 

“Well, if you don’t like it, you’re always welcome to get another room at our lodgings.” Anna states, fastening her purse closed once more. 

“Then it’s settled, when we go to Italy, we get separate rooms.” He smacks his hands against his knees before standing from the table. Smiling as Anna’s giggle resounds in his ears as he turns to face her. 

“Alright,” She beams up at him while standing. Kristoff taps his thigh, calling Sven to him as the couple begin to meander through the town. The American man offering his arm to the British woman by his side, a gesture which she takes without any hesitation.  

The town is quite nice Anna realizes after the morning of wandering the streets. It being built on a hill required the auburn-haired woman to rethink her choice of shoes that day. The streets are narrow with not much pavement for pedestrians as many people are parked on the sides. Though there is some charm to it. 

The way people smiled politely while passing her and Kristoff in the street. The markets opening early in the day to sell pastries. It isn’t until they walk up an inclined street toward the town square that she finally stops to examine the buildings. 

This one is different than the rest, still in ruin. The front of the building is still intact but the back is completely gone, exposing the now single wall to the fields beyond the village. 

She lingers in front of it, her hands folded in front of her while Kristoff and Sven continue; not realizing that they have left one behind. It reminded the young woman of her childhood house in London. The front façade is seemingly strong in structure but has fallen away in the back. 

It was nearly impossible to discern what colour the stone used to be, perhaps nearly white but now stained with shades of black and grey since the bombing. She doesn’t notice that Kristoff and Sven made their way to the top of the hill before realizing their travelling companion is gone. 

Leaving the wolfhound at the top of the hill, the American man ambles back toward the woman, his hands tucked into his jean pockets. He stands next to her, staring down with a raised brow. 

“Anna, you alright?” He inquired, resisting to urge to place his hand lowly on her back. 

She doesn’t answer right away, her gaze lingering on the ruined building before drifting her gaze to the man next to her. Blinking herself out of her trance. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just…” 

Kristoff follows Anna’s gaze, realization hitting him as he takes in the former church. “I see,” 

“It just…” She trails off, “I don’t know. This is exactly what my neighbourhood looked like at the end of the war. I’m just surprised this building hasn’t been repaired yet.” 

He hums in response. “I think villages like these are choosing not to rebuild some of the destruction.” 

“Why not?” The young woman asks, her brows furrowing in confusion. 

“Mostly so, these things aren’t forgotten over time and don’t repeat in the future.” He shrugs, staring up at the looming building. “I heard de Gaulle is leaving a village that was destroyed by the Germans that way to serve as a reminded of what happened.”

Anna pauses at that, wondering how these people lived in a constant reminder of the war and of all the heartache it brought with it. Yet they seemed to grow and continue their lives around these living monuments.

“It’s just in London…they were so quick to fix things and move on from the war,” Anna explains, chewing the inside of her lip as to not ruin the raspberry coloured lipstick she wore for the day. 

It seemed as if in France these structures symbolize a new future that carries lessons from the past, rather than London which tried to thrust itself into one which effectively erased the recent past. It made Anna feel as if she no longer had a place in London. She couldn’t be surrounded by constant reminders yet being told that there shouldn’t be the scars resulted from the war. 

“You people tend to move on from tragedy quickly.” He offers, knowing it won’t provide any comfort, but it had been something he’d seen over the year living in London. Even the neighbourhood he had lived in had been surrounded by a tragic and violent history and there wasn’t anything to denote it. If anything, they tried to convince people otherwise. 

“We seem to, don’t we?” Anna notes, thinking about the day they held their parent’s funeral; being surrounded by distant relatives wondering what was next for her and Elsa. It never seemed out of concern for her, but more the idea of ‘bucking up’ from the pain and moving forward. 

After a few lingering moments, the auburn-haired woman takes Kristoff’s arm once more, moving along through the street with one another. Taking in each brick building they passed, though at first glance they appeared to be older than they were. Most of the buildings have been rebuilt since the war. 

“Once we get the car tomorrow, we’ll move straight on from here to Germany.” Kristoff comments. “I know a few guys still stationed along the Belgian-German border; they might be able to point us in the right direction.” 

A smile briefly crosses Anna’s features at the mention of Belgium. Pulling herself closer to him, she looks up at him. “Are you certain about going through Belgium?” 

“Of course, I am, I think it’s about time I face some of that.”

“I just…don’t want you feeling like I forced this upon you.” Anna sighs, her finger absentmindedly brushing against the hairs on his arm. The slight motion causes a shiver to cascade down Kristoff’s spine. 

He smiles down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “You didn’t and if you had, you definitely would have heard about it from me by now.” 

“Good,” She absentmindedly pulls herself closer to him, her bicep pressing against his elbow as they continue to stroll through the small town. 

Before the two of them knew it, they had found themselves outside of the small town’s limits, meandering through the unpaved country road. 

Freshly tilled fields stretching out into the foreseeable distance, with a few houses dotted in their view against the sky. Anna stops in the road, eyes wide in amazement at the scene before her; it was as if someone had taken a paintbrush to the sky, creating a gradient of blues, pinks, and oranges against the landscape. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen a sunset like this...” Kristoff comments, his gaze transfixed on the sky as well. Not minding as Sven runs ahead of them, sniffing his way into the hedgerows. 

“Me either.” She replies, recalling memories of watching the sunset in Île de Ré with Elsa by her side. Watching the sun disappear over the coastline as they sat with one another on a quilt, they would no doubt get in trouble for using in such a manner by either their mother or grandmother. 

“My Ma and I used to sit on the porch together to watch the sunset when it was like this.” He says, still staring out before them; even as Anna looks up at him with interest. “She always used to say that she and my father brought me home on a night when the sky looked like this.” 

“The sky looks like this in Wyoming during the winter?” She inquires, brows shooting up in amazement. Though her excitement dwindles as Kristoff’s brows furrow in confusion. 

“What? No, it doesn’t.” 

Anna pauses for a moment, trying to piece it all together. “I-I thought I had seen your birth month as November on your passport.” 

“It is,” He finally looks to her, smiling in amusement at the young woman’s obvious confusion as she tries to piece everything together. “I was adopted when I was about 2 years old and so the day I arrived in America apparently the sky looked like this.” 

“I didn’t know that about you.” She states as they begin to move forward once again. 

He shrugs in response, their arms still linked. “I don’t tell people. You know, it’s odd when you tell people you’re from Norway, but you don’t speak the language or know the culture.” 

“You know nothing?” She inquires, chewing the inside of her lip. 

“I mean…I know a little, but it isn’t like there’s much of a Norwegian community in Sheridan. I never had the opportunity to learn anything. I mean, my parents tried their best but there is only so much you can do.” He comments, slowing their pace as he leads them to turn around back toward the town. “Both my parents tried to teach me what little of the language they knew from their grandparents.”

“They sound like good people.” Anna follows Kristoff’s lead, their arms still linked. 

“They are, you and my Ma would get on quite well. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who could match her energy level.” His gaze softens at the mention of his mother. “My dad is much more…” 

“Like you?” 

“As much as I hate to admit it, yes. He and I are very similar.” Kristoff chuckles in response, shaking his head. “Isn’t that how it always goes? Children don’t want to turn into their parents but somehow inevitably they turn into them.” 

“Jesus, I hope not.” The words slip out of Anna’s mouth before she can think, quickly shutting her mouth as it occurs to her. “I mean- It’s not a bad thing. To turn into your parents, I mean it’s a good thing in some cases it can be a quite positive thing but- I um…” 

“Anna,” He calls, stopping her thought process. “Nobody wants to turn into their parent.”  

She smiles at that, reaching her free hand toward their linked arms, placing her palm over his forearm. “Well…if your father is anything like you, then perhaps it’s not such an awful thing.”  

In the corner of Anna’s eye, she sees the corners of the American man’s mouth turn up slightly at the comment, clearly flattered by the compliment. “Also, I don’t think any less of you for not wanting to become your parents. Just so you know.” 

“I appreciate it.” She responds, grateful for his reassurance. Kristoff only knew about the role her parents played in separating her and Elsa, as well that they had left her with virtually nothing after their deaths and the course of series nannies that took care of the Rendelle sisters; though it was only a fraction of it all, it was enough for the man to know it wasn’t a positive relationship. 

Their arms remain linked as they stroll back toward the town, the sun setting behind the couple as they walk along the quiet country road. The row of trees and bushes along the path dampening their voices. 

“So do you think you’ll go back to the farm when this is all over?” Anna inquires as they walk up the slight incline. 

He shrugs, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. “Most likely, at least for a little while. My dad is getting old and is needing more help around the farm every day.” 

“Is that the life plan for Kristoff Bjorgman?” She asks, glancing down at her feet as she begins to kick a rock along their way. 

“I mean, I know my dad wants me to inherit the farm. But I don’t think it’s for me.” He replies, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. 

“No?” 

“Nah, I think if I had worked on it following secondary school it could be a different story.” Kristoff sticks the smoke into his mouth before pulling out his lighter. “But working with the CCC, I just…I don’t know.” 

“You found a passion that you were not expecting.” Anna guesses, withdrawing her arm from his as the American begins to struggle to light his cigarette with one hand. Without any warning she snatches the lighter from him, covering the flame from the slight breeze as she brings it toward his cigarette. Her hand is steady as the end of the cigarette lights, her thumb slips off the ignitor. Kristoff nods in thanks as she allows the lighter to slip through her fingers into his open palm. 

“I really did.” He exhales the smoke away from her face, taking another drag as their gazes meet. 

“What unexpected passion derailed your plans of becoming a farmer? Becoming bigfoot?” Anna asks while resting her hand on her sinched waist, her raspberry lips upturned slightly as his laughter echoes through her ears. 

“No, I would probably go into forestry of some sort.” He admits as they begin to walk again, their arms no longer linked with one another. “Buy a house just outside of the Bighorns and live out there with Sven.”  

Anna folds her hands in front of her as they meander up the hill, stone fences on either side of them. “With some pretty girl no doubt.” 

“Perhaps,” He pauses as if wanting to continue the thought, but he doesn’t finish it. Instead, he continues taking a puff of his cigarette. “And you? What will Anna Daisy Rendelle do when she returns to London?” 

“I...You know I’m not sure anymore.” Her brows furrow in thought, trying to formulate a plan of some sort. When she left London, she had plans to return to Hans, go to the United States and get married, become a wife and mother. But there was nothing now. “I mean…I guess I’ll go back to the department store and make up for lost time with Elsa.” 

“You wouldn’t go back to school?” Kristoff inquires, ashing his cigarette onto the pavement. 

Anna huffs at the question, shooting the blonde man a dirty look. “And where do you propose I go to do so? It’s not as if I can just write my old school and ask to finish my secondary school.” 

“I mean, programs are being developed in the States to help returning soldiers to complete their high school education.” He explains, taking another puff of his cigarette. 

“Yes, we have something similar in England.” She rolls her eyes.

“Then why not take it?” He asks, not in an accusing manner in any sense but more a curiosity than anything. 

“I-I just can’t.” She stops in her tracks, her gaze focused on the man before her. Kristoff stops, turning to stare at her.

“Why not?” He asks calmly with a shrug, his cigarette falling to the ground. Anna’s eyes remain locked with his, her brows knitting together as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth; her lipstick be damned. “Anna, why can’t you go back to school?” 

“Because I’m not the smart one!” She bursts, taking a deep breath to calm herself. His gaze is soft as he continues to stare at her. With a sigh, Anna blinks as she look over Kristoff’s shoulder at a point in the road. 

“Anna…”

“Elsa was, and…she’s off god knows where! I was meant to…not this.” She motions to herself and her surroundings. 

She isn’t angry at him, more about the situation she found herself in and despite her tone, Kristoff understands. Often, he felt the same, as if these past 5 years had thrown his life off course without any warning. 

He takes a step forward, closing the gap between them as his hands cup her cheeks; his thumb brushing against her cheekbones as his eyes bore into her own. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.” 

“W-what does that have to do with anything?” She asks, tears threatening to form in the corner of her eyes. 

With a sigh Kristoff takes his hands off her, running a hand through his neatly cut hair. “Just that…I know everything seems to be crumbling around you. But after everything you’ve been through Anna, you’re resilient as hell and your tenacity is exhausting.” 

“I fail to see how that’s a compliment.” Her brow raises questioningly, her hands settling on her hips as she waits for his retort. 

“It’s a good thing because it shows you don’t give up and don’t give a shit if people tell you that you can’t do something. It’s quite admirable.” A soft smile crosses his features as he backs away from her. “I sat on my ass, hopeless for nearly a year until you came along. You’re the reason we’ve gotten this far.” 

“You’re hardly being fair to yourself.” Her hands fall away from her waist, wishing that he’d come nearer and touch her one again. “You’ve done so much throughout all of this.” 

His smile widens at the compliment, finally taking a step forward to continue his way up the incline back to the village. Anna quickly turns, taking a few hurried steps to match his pace before settling in a comfortable speed. 

“As well, don’t listen to me. If you want to go back to the department store then you should, who knows. Maybe you could become the next female supervisor for the makeup department.” He encourages his early words bearing guilt upon him. 

“God no, I don’t think Mrs. Steiner will ever die,” Anna states, glancing up at him. 

“No?” He inquires, a brow raised questioningly, and voice verging on amusement.  

“No, I have several theories surrounding it.” 

“Like what?” 

“I’m not entirely sure that she’s fully living.” She says, a giggle building in her throat as she examines her travelling companion’s expression. 

“Jesus Anna,” He huffs, rubbing his eyes in exasperation. “You think she’s an undead being?” 

“Not an undead being perse, more in terms of I don’t think she has a soul.” She clarifies, her chest swelling with pride as Kristoff’s laughter echoes in the road before them. A smile crossing her features as they continue into the village. 

Soon houses surround either side of them, the church visible in the distance as they meander closer toward the village centre. As they reach the open field next to the crumbling church music reaches the couple’s ears, confusing both foreigners. 

They approach the green space on the opposite side of the street, slightly diagonal from the former place of worship. In the space stands several people, townsfolk gathering in the space holding glasses of wine and beer, dancing and laughter echoing in the street among the music. 

The café across the road from the greenspace has its doors and windows wide open, clearly serving alcohol from the building as people flooded the street and the park. In the area that had been previously reserved as outdoor seating, several couples, young and old, dance with one another; the elders barely keeping up with the swing music blaring from the bar. 

Anna and Kristoff stand a short distance from the celebrations, unsure if they should take a slight detour to their lodgings around the party. But instead, a middle-aged man, with greying hair catches their gazes, urging them to come closer. 

“Venez mes amis, rejoignez nous!” His jovial voice calls out as he moves toward them, his clothing slightly too big for his thin frame.

Come, my friends, join us!

The strange man’s hand comes to rest on Kristoff’s shoulder, leading the couple further into the crowd as Sven runs forward, enjoying the attention the villagers give him as he passes them. Without so much a word, two pints are shoved their way by an elderly man. 

They stand among the crowd, slightly taken aback by the festivities, music, and the alcohol, which at this point Kristoff is mainly concerned whether if it is free or not. But they sip on the liquid, smiling as various people talk with them, ensuring the visitors felt at home as Anna attempts to translate the fast-paced conversations. 

A middle-aged woman with a rounded face approaches Kristoff with a smile, taking him by the arm without any warning as she takes his beer from his hand and places it on a nearby table. The American man calls out confused as the woman leads him toward the dancing, Anna’s laughter echoing around her as she repeatedly hears Kristoff’s attempts to decline the dance in English.  

After the woman’s insistence, Kristoff reluctantly takes her hand, stumbling through the steps as The Andrews Sisters voices blare on the gramophone. The auburn-haired woman giggles as she notices the flush climbing the man’s neck to his cheeks. 

For a moment Anna debates if she should go save Kristoff from the predicament, he’s found himself in. But, before she can make a decision; a man, approximately in his 30s approaches the British woman, offering his hand politely. 

“Voulez-vous danser?” He asks with a smile. 

“Would you like to dance?” 

Anna nods, placing her drink on the table nearest to her as the stranger takes her by the hand to lead her toward the dancing. His hand settles on her hip, at a respectable level, while their hands remain clasped as Anna places her hand on his shoulder. 

The man was only slightly taller than herself, no doubt unable to swing her around while dancing as Hans used to. He is clean-shaven with a square jaw and hair combed away from his face. The cool metal of the ring on his left hand is the only thing that kept Anna from feeling threatened or defensive. 

They dance in silence, a few smiles exchanged between the two as their gazes meet occasionally. Anna’s eyes search through the people dancing, looking for any sign of Kristoff but is unable to find him. Until his unmistakable form catches her eye, standing in front of the bar and surrounded by four middle-aged women, who are no doubt teasing the young man. 

Kristoff’s hands are folded in front of him as he stares at the ground, clearly not understanding anything being said to him but not wanting to be rude. Anna can barely contain her laughter at his facial expression, eyes wide while his lips pursed as he waits for it all to be over. 

“Je suis désolé, mais je devrais aller sauver mon mari.” Anna withdraws herself from the stranger, making excuses. 

I’m sorry, but I should go save my husband. 

Feeling odd describing Kristoff as her husband, though they both agreed that it would be for the best while travelling through France. No respectable lodging would take them in as an unmarried couple travelling together. 

The man glances toward Kristoff and a gaggle of women surrounding him, chuckling in amusement. “Ce serait probablement pour le mieux.” 

It would probably be for the best.

Anna nods in thanks as she leaves the man, making her way through dancing couples toward the bar. As Kristoff’s gaze meets with her, immediate relief floods his face at the sight of the auburn-haired woman. 

One of the middle-aged women takes Anna by the elbow, leading her into the circle as various voices fill her ears, catching the odd sentence here and there. Most of the comments regarding Kristoff’s height and stature, having not seen men like this since the Americans came through the village on their way to Belgium. 

Kristoff’s eyes widen momentarily at Anna as if silently asking her to save him. Though reluctantly as she was enjoying the bashfulness being exhibited by her travelling companion that she seldom saw, Anna relinquishes. 

“Excuse-moi mesdames, je vais voler mon mari pour une danse.” 

Excuse me, ladies, I’m going to steal my husband for a dance.

Though the women all voice their disappointment, it does not take them long to relinquish Kristoff back to Anna. The British woman leads him back to the floor, not noticing as one of the middle-aged women goes into the bar. 

“Thank you for that, I was worried that one of them might adopt me if I stayed longer.” Kristoff sighs, standing awkwardly in front of Anna. 

“I think you were.” She jests, holding out her hand with her palm facing up. “Nonetheless I saved you, therefore you owe me a dance.” 

The American man chuckles, shaking his head as his hand slips into hers with no reluctance. “I guess I have no option.” 

“You don’t!” She beams, stepping closer to him as her hand slinks onto his shoulder. Her gaze meets his as his large palm comes to rest on her waist. It takes a moment for Kristoff to find a rhythm to The Andrew Sister’s Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen, a few clumsy steps before finding the right time. 

But suddenly the gramophone comes to a screeching halt, stopping the music. Everyone looks to the bar questioningly as they wonder what happened to the music until a loud scratch of a record emits from the speakers. 

Everyone pauses at the first few chords of a piano sounding out until the trumpet line softly builds, allowing couples to resume their slow dancing. It doesn’t take Kristoff long to recognize to tune, finding his footing much quicker than previously. 

He hums along to the tune as they gently sway to the music, their bodies only inches from each other. Anna absentmindedly brushes her thumb against his own, watching him closely as he continues to hum. 

“I didn’t know you can sing.” She comments, smiling up at him. 

He shrugs slightly. “I mean, it’s never come up before.” 

“What is this?” Anna inquiries about the music, trying to place the song but is unable to. 

“Duke Ellington’s Prelude to a Kiss.” The blonde man replies. “It’s my ma’s favourite.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.” 

“Really?” 

“My parents weren’t very fond of jazz, they found it too modern for their taste,” Anna explains, tilting her head slightly. “We grew up with a lot of classical.” 

His brow raises slightly in response. “You know Glen Miller?”

“I was sheltered not oblivious.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head as he chuckles. 

“I just had to check; you’d be surprised.” He shrugs in response, detaching from her momentarily to gently twirl her. Her smile returns as their bodies connect once again, slightly closer than beforehand. 

For a moment she tears her gaze away from the American man, glancing around the makeshift town square, noticing a member of their party missing. “Where is Sven?” 

“He’s around, I spotted him playing with a couple of other dogs a little while ago. We probably won’t see him till tomorrow.” Kristoff shrugs. 

“He won’t get lost?” 

“Nah, Sven always finds his way back.” He explains. “Back in Bavaria, Sven wandered off somewhere for three days and I didn’t think I’d see him again. But he somehow found his way back to me, three pounds heavier but seemed like he had a good time, so I’ve never worried since.” 

“That’s quite sweet.” She comments

Her sapphire eyes take in every inch of his face, noticing the small smattering of freckles across his nose. How his cheekbones softly curve with his cheeks and how they easily redden from the weather and embarrassment. His hands are rough against her own, calloused after years of work and are warm against her skin.   

Despite not being ready, the song ends. Effectively ending the moment, though the young couple linger for a moment longer, still gazing at one another. Until Kristoff clears his throat, his eyes flickering to his hand still on her waist before withdrawing it. 

“We should probably head back to the hotel; we have an early start.” Kristoff comments, taking a step back from the British woman. 

“Yes, of course.” Anna nods, tucking her hair behind her ears as the American man turns from her. She follows him through the village toward their lodging, her heels clicking in the quiet street as the music and festivities fade behind them. 

Kristoff falls behind her as they approach the hotel, his eyes focused on her silhouette against the streetlights. He watches as her hair bounces on the back of her neck with every step, how her voice carries through the street effortlessly and how the skirt of her dress sways. The way she felt in his arms still seeming to linger on his hands despite her being a small distance away.

“Anna,” He calls out, watching as she turns to face him. Her brows raised toward her hairline as her gaze meets his once more, her hands tucked in front of the buttons of her dress. He tries anything to say at that moment but finds himself unable to as a million things run through his head. 

She smiles at him, her head tilted slightly. “What is it?” 

He stares at her, eyes darkening as he studies her face with sincerity and a mix of emotions going through him. Anna’s smile disappears as he continues to gaze, her heart pounding in her chest as she waits for his answer. 

It only takes a few short strides for Kristoff to close the gap between them, his hand snaking around her waist to pull her flush against him. His lips crushing to her own as his free hand cups her cheek. 

Anna’s eyes flutter close at the contact, her hands clutching his white cotton shirt as the embrace grows more desperate. As if everything had been amounting to this moment; all of the fights, the laughter and the high running emotions these past weeks had led her into Kristoff’s arms. 

Chapter Text

Elsa has her hands on Maren’s thighs, her fingertips digging into the soft skin as her tongue licks into the brunette’s core. Smirking as she listens to the woman above her moan, which further encourages her ministrations. The sounds are music to the British woman’s ears as Maren’s hips gyrate above her face, the other woman’s eyes closed as she cries out in pleasure.  

Maren grasps the headboard, the only thing keeping her upright as her free hand weaves its way into Elsa’s platinum tresses. Her hips stuttering as she rides her lover’s face faster, feeling her orgasm building as the woman under her continues to lap at her cunt. 

Breathing becomes harder for Elsa as Maren leans forward, her face screwed up with pleasure. “F-fuck Els!” Though it doesn’t bother the blonde woman in the moment if it meant giving her lover another orgasm. 

The blonde pulls Honeymaren’s hips closer as she feels her lover’s body tense above her as a series of curses and moans spill from the Kanien’kehá꞉ka woman’s lips. Elsa continues to swirl her tongue against Maren’s clit, working through her orgasm before having to push the brunette’s hips away to finally catch her breath. 

The brunette raises herself from Elsa’s body, rolling next to her lover. Her chest heaving as she comes down from her orgasm, her one arm tucked across her sternum and the other raised above her head. Shifting to her side, Elsa watches Maren with a smile as she places a hand on her hip. 

“Was that alright?” The blonde asks, though more confident in her skills than the previous night, a part of her always wants it to be amazing for the woman next to her.

Maren glances at the British woman with a raised brow. “You have to ask? That was more than alright!” 

With a smile Elsa rolls closer to the body next to her, resting her head against Maren’s breast; listening to her slowing heartbeat as sapphire eyes threaten to close at the rhythmic drumming. 

“I-I just want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.” The blonde comments, her finger tracing against the skin of Maren’s stomach; watching the muscles twitch under the slight pressure. 

“I think it’s safe to say that you never have to worry about that.” Maren presses a kiss to the top of her head. “If anything, I should be asking you if that was alright? Was it too much?”  

Elsa rests her chin on the other woman’s breastbone to look at her as she shakes her head. “It was perfect. I like watching you” With a smile, the blonde slides up further drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. “And having you sit on my face.” 

The Kanien’kehá:ka woman smirks at that, leaning forward to crush her lips to her lover’s as her hand snakes into Elsa’s hair. The blonde runs her hands against the soft skin of the darker woman’s thighs as she takes Maren’s bottom lip into her mouth. 

Elsa breaks the embrace first with a grin. “You want coffee?” 

“I think I’d prefer something else.” Maren winks, biting her lower lip as she attempts to seduce her girlfriend back. 

“Coffee it is,” The blonde leans forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Besides I officially cannot feel anything below my waist anymore, it’s a miracle I’m standing.” 

In a hurry she reaches forward, flicking Maren’s dusky nipple, smiling as the brunette’s gasp echoes throughout the bedroom as Elsa scrambles from the bed toward the door. 

“That was uncalled for!” Maren exclaims, resisting the urge to smile at the action. Elsa smirks over her shoulder at her lover in the entranceway. Strutting into the living room without another word into the kitchen.

The sheer curtains cover the windows and her from the street below, even though there aren’t many people in the plaza this early in the morning. Elsa turns on the gas, grabbing the box of matches next to the stove. With a flick of her wrist, she lights the match, holding the flame to the burner, her hand quickly flinching back as it ignites. 

She brings the aluminum kettle forward onto the front burner, opening the cabinet next to the stove to grab the teacups; one which is painted with lavender and forget-me-nots and the others with cornflowers and poppies. 

As Elsa notices the kettle beginning to warm, she opens the lid to pour 4 teaspoons of coffee grounds into the water before closing it once again. She wishes that they had sugar, however, they didn’t have enough rations for it, nor could they afford to bribe the grocer. If anything, the British woman is grateful that they are not drinking day-old grounds this morning. 

Arms wrap around her waist, a smile crossing her features as she feels Maren’s lips against her neck as she is pulled against the other woman’s now covered body. 

“Fresh grounds?” Maren asks, withdrawing sightly from her lover to cover the blonde’s shoulders with a grey cotton robe.

Elsa snakes her arms through the sleeves of the robe, tying it tightly around her waist as Maren departs from the kitchen to the living room. “Yes, but no sugar.” 

“Damn it,” The brunette curses, resisting a yawn as she settles herself on the couch. “I guess fresh coffee without sugar is better than old grounds anyhow.” 

“It most definitely is.” Elsa agrees, quickly turning off the stove as the kettle begins to scream, removing the aluminum vessel from the burner. She grabs the tea infuser sitting on the counter, placing it over the teacups. Pouring the water, she watches carefully as the mesh strainer catches the coffee grounds. 

Though she had been expecting it, she’s slightly disappointed that there isn’t any coffee left over for a second cup of coffee; something which is more of a luxury now than it was 2 years ago. 

Carefully she picks up the teacups, forgoing the saucers as she brings them to the living room, where Maren sits. Her eyes remain on the liquid with every careful step she takes, not wanting to spill the scalding coffee onto her hands. She navigates her way to the living room, placing the teacups onto the coffee table in front of her lover. 

As it normally is, coffee is drunk in silence; as Elsa preferred it that way. The odd comment made here and there between the women as they read the newspaper; despite knowing it had been heavily edited by censors to ensure it fits the Third Reich’s agenda. It had somehow become a daily routine among the two of them. 

Elsa rises from the sofa, leaving her empty teacup and her paper on the table as she knew Maren would clean up after she is finished her coffee. She strides into her bedroom-or the room that had been hers before last night. A part of her wonders if she’ll ever sleep in that familiar bed again or if staying with Maren through the night would become a regular occurrence while they remained in France.  

She comes to stand in front of the old dresser, opening various drawers to grab her clothing for the day; A white blouse, a brown pencil skirt and a light blue cardigan along with her wool stockings, a garter belt, and undergarments. 

Dressing quickly, Elsa tucks her blouse into the waistband of her pencil skirt before shrugging the cardigan over her shoulders. She moves toward the small mirror sitting atop the dresser, next to her hairbrush. 

Gently brushing through the curls Elsa longs for the day where she might be able to wear lipstick again. It had not been something she packed when she left for London and acquiring a tube was nearly impossible in France anymore; she could barely get any new makeup while still in England.

A smile crosses her features as she wonders how Anna is doing with the rationing of cosmetics, curious if her younger sister uses burnt cork as a substitute for mascara as other girls did. Silently hoping that Anna’s affinity for lipstick wasn’t causing her to use her ration coupons frivolously, she always had trouble with her impulsiveness. 

She wonders if some of that is her fault; after all, Anna was only 15 when their parents died. Elsa had shown for the funeral and that was it, soon after she hurried back to Oxford without another word. The last time she had seen her younger sister in person was in London while Anna told Elsa of her plans to drop out of school. Perhaps if Elsa stayed with Anna that wouldn’t have happened. 

Though she had to admit, Anna seemed to be doing well without her. Getting a stable job at a munitions factory throughout all of this. Though it did not ease the guilt that Elsa felt about abandoning Anna. The fact that there were multiple instances only made the guilt worse. 

Once as children, Elsa allowed for their father to come between them; because of his own fear he felt toward his sapphic daughter and his inability to understand her sexuality. Again, as adolescences, when Elsa left when her sister needed her the most after the death of their parents. And now this, when they finally had a chance to remedy all the pain and hurt brought on from lonely childhoods and growing up too fast. 

Her thoughts are interrupted as a loud knock echoes throughout the flat, nearly causing the British woman to jump out of her skin. She rushes to the doorway of the room, looking to Maren with knitted brows. 

The Mohawk woman looks just as perplexed as her lover is; her gaze fixated on the door. With some hesitance, she takes a step forward as the knocking persists. Elsa trails behind the other woman, reaching forward to take Maren’s hand into her own as they stand behind the door. 

Maren jerks open the entrance, preparing for the worst as the person on the opposite side of the door pushes their way through immediately. Causing panic for both women until Mattias comes into view for both women as he enters the flat. 

His arm reaches over, slamming the door shut as he turns to Elsa and Maren. He looks like hell, the stress of these past weeks evident on his face and hair slightly greyer than the last time Elsa had seen him. 

“Mattias!” The brunette exclaims, surprised to see him. “Wh-”

“Sylvestre is dead.” He states with a huff, running his hand against his beard. 

“What?” Honeymaren questions, her hand letting go of Elsa’s in shock. 

“He was killed in the fire fight along with his courier Denise.” He responds, striding further into the flat toward the living room. Mattias settles himself on a couch, his face buried into his hands as Elsa lurches forward toward the kitchen, pouring him a glass of water. “The third killed was a Nazi.”

Elsa hands him the water, settling herself on the armchair as Mattias downs the water without another word. Everyone in the room is still in shock from the news, even Mattias himself as if it was finally hitting him. 

“At least they took down one of those fuckers.” Maren remarks, crossing her arms as she stands next to the fireplace. 

“What happened?” Elsa questions, sitting forward in her chair. 

He places the glass on the coffee table, sitting back on the sofa as if it’s the first time he’s been able to sit for the first time in days. “I’m not certain. I think one of the agents was captured and talked before the 48 hours. Nearly all of the safehouses have been searched and raided.” 

It had been a well-known code among the SOE if you were captured by the Nazis and they took your cyanide capsule to hold out for at least 48 hours to allow other members to escape and get word to the rest of the network. 

“What about William?” The blonde inquires, fearful for her friend’s life. 

“I’m not certain, at this point I am assuming unless I have been in contact, that all of the agents of the Farmer network have been captured or have gone into hiding.” He explains. 

“What are we to do now?” Honeymaren asks, her expression unreadable as she stares at the two others in the room.

“London is scrambling to get everyone in the Farmer network out, but it’s not been as simple as we thought. Anytime a plane is sent, it’s shot down as soon as it flies over Northern France.” He huffs, his hand twitching against his thigh. “But…if you could make your way to Paris, the Prosper network has been able to get people out of the city without much difficulty.” 

Elsa glances at Maren briefly, unable to make eye contact with the darker woman. They both knew Prosper network had its share of difficulties, though it seemed like the better option at this point. 

“So we’ll destroy the wireless and make for Paris as soon as we’re able?” Maren inquires, glancing to the radio still disguised as a gramophone. 

“No, don’t destroy the wireless.” He protests. “If you’re about to be captured then the radio should be destroyed, under no other circumstances should it happen.” 

Elsa notices the small bit of annoyance in Maren’s disposition, clearly unsettled by the notion that they’ll continue carrying around the wireless wherever they go. 

“I can give you the coordinates for the pick-up and the date.” Mattias continues, reaching for a pen and paper on the coffee table. “If you miss this opportunity, I cannot guarantee I can get you out of France.” 

“What about you?” Elsa asks as he begins to write down the location for the pick-up. 

Mattias pauses as he continues to write the details. “I need to continue to make my way to the other safehouses and see if there is anyone left to get them out.” 

The blonde nods in response as he slides the paper toward her. Mattias stands from the couch, glancing at both Maren and Elsa as if knowing they all have heavy burdens weighing on each of them. 

“Alright, we’ll be leaving for Paris soon.” Elsa stands, following Mattias toward the door. 

“The flight doesn’t leave until December 2nd. If you two need to leave Arras earlier than that, I’ve written down an address of a whore house in Paris that will take you in.” Mattias sighs, his hand hovering over the doorknob. “I wish the two of you luck.”  

He leaves without another word, the door closing behind him softly as if not to draw attention to him leaving, most likely wanting to come and go without being noticed. Leaving the flat in complete silence. 

Elsa stares at the door, completely dumbfounded by everything that Mattias had said. As well a sense of melancholy, as if feeling that it might be the last time that she would ever see him. 

With some reluctance the blonde turns from the door, catching her lover’s gaze. Honeymaren still stands by the fireplace, clearly having watched Mattias’ departure. Elsa worries about how the brunette might be feeling, she had worked closer with Mattias than Elsa ever had. 

“So, we’re what?” Maren finally speaks. “We’re supposed to be sitting ducks for the 10 days?”

Elsa sighs, ambling into the living room and settling herself on the leather couch across from the fireplace. “I mean…we could leave Arras and make for Paris.” 

“Paris is even worse, if we leave for the city our chances of being arrested nearly double.” Maren shakes her head, withdrawing from the fireplace to sit in the armchair. 

“Well, we can’t exactly run into the countryside and disappear forever.” The British woman states, not in annoyance more to bring attention to her lover that they hardly have any choice at the time. It was Paris or Arras. 

“Who’s to stop us?” Maren ponders, her brows knitting together in thought for a moment she looks up to Elsa before repeating. “No one would stop us…we could just disappear.” 

Elsa stares at her lover as if the brunette has lost her mind. “You can’t be serious; we can’t just live in a ditch for the remainder of the war or find an abandoned house to take up residency in.” 

“No, you’re right about that.” Maren stands from the chair, pacing in front of the fireplace with her hands folded behind her back in thought. The Kanien’kehá꞉ka woman stills, turning toward Elsa with a clear plan formulated in her mind. “There’s a town in the south, Annecy near the Swiss border. There has been a strong resistance there since the Vichy government has become a puppet. We could get into Switzerland through there, they forge documents, and we could be free.” 

“Maren…” Elsa rises from her chair, walking around the coffee table to stand in front of her lover. “We can’t just leave on a hunch; we don’t have any contacts down there nor do we know if this resistance is still operational. We’d be completely blind going in.” 

“It would be better than sitting here waiting to die,” Maren responds with a stoned face, her shoulders back as if standing her ground. Elsa glances to the floor briefly, before meeting chocolate eyes once again as she takes the other woman’s hand. 

“We won’t die.” The blonde reassures. “We know everything that goes on here, we know everyone, and this war won’t last much longer. We’ve been here for 3 months, another 10 days here is nothing compared to that.” 

Honeymaren stares at Elsa, uncertainty evident in her face, but nods nonetheless. “If anything happens, we leave for Paris or Annecy immediately.” 

“You have my word.” The blonde pulls the other woman’s hand, jerking Maren’s body closer to her own. Pressing her lips against the brunette’s as their fingers tangle together as Elsa’s other hand comes to rest on the swell of Maren’s hip. The fabric of the Mohawk woman’s robe is soft under her fingertips, the feeling of cotton bringing Elsa back from her state of mind. 

She withdraws from Maren with a small reassuring smile, her chest tightening as she manages a smile out of the brunette as well. 

“I should dress if we want bread.” Maren comments, withdrawing from her lover. 

“Don’t take too long, I get the feeling that we might’ve missed our opportunity.” Elsa sighs, walking through the living room to the front foyer, where the shopping basket sits. Shrugging on her grey coat, the elder Rendelle sister waits for Honeymaren to emerge from the bedroom. Trying to ease the uneasy feeling building inside of her, despite her reassuring words to Maren earlier.

Maren emerges from the bedroom in her woollen stockings and an orange dress with a navy cardigan. Elsa hands her the brown wool coat that had been hanging next to her own, to which the brunette takes with a smile. Not bothering to untuck her hair from the collar of the garment as the lighter woman opens the door. 

Their walk to the street is quiet as usual, never sure where the neighbour below them is lurking. Elsa hates leaving the flat, it always meant she couldn’t embrace Maren or talk to her in the same ways that they would if they were alone. Elsa hates pretending to be Marguerite Mahy with her cousin Eloise; she wants to be Elsa again. 

The overcast sky not helping the blonde woman’s melancholy mood still lingering from earlier events. She wishes it would snow, even just a little bit. Yet, the weather in Arras hadn’t listened to her desires. Instead, it was cold and grey as if her life had turned into a cinematic event. 

Perhaps she was that girl in that children’s movie, lost and helpless in a world of greys, black and whites. Though Elsa still waits for the day that her world would have some colour again; a glimpse of red perhaps. Maybe that would happen when she returns home to England, after all there is no place like home. 

There is already a substantial line at the bakery, women crowded shoulder to shoulder as they wait their turn for bread. Maren stands next to Elsa, her fingers brushing against the back of the blonde’s hand; a subtle touch that no one would notice yet a significant one that made Elsa’s heart flutter. 

As they stand in the bakery, yelling is heard through the window. Elsa turns around, looking past all of the baking displayed in the window, toward a group of soldiers and an army transport idling outside of a shop. 

Her eyes widen in panic, dropping her ration coupons to the ground, not bothering to fight off the greedy women who scatter to grab them despite Maren’s attempts to ward them off. 

“What are yo-” The brunette is cut off as she sees what has caught Elsa’s attention. Two soldiers emerge from the bookstore, dragging someone between them as they step onto the street. Immediately the two women panic, hoping to god German intelligence hadn’t found about Antoinette’s involvement with the resistance. 

Elsa bursts from Maren’s side in a second, pushing her way through the crowd of people to leave the bakery. Not caring as people slowly congregate in the square to observe the arrest. Honeymaren is behind her, both rushing toward the bookstore. 

Eyes widening as they spot a figure of Antoinette standing in the doorway of the bookstore, her cries echoing through the plaza as she begs the commandant not to take her grandfather. Elsa goes to the young girl’s side as she reaches her, Antoinette’s face is red and stained with tears, her voice hoarse and raw from screaming. 

The adolescent girl can barely say anything as Elsa wraps her arm around the girl’s frame, her words wracked with sobs as her grandfather calls out for Antoinette over his shoulder. 

“Rentre à l’intérieur, tout ira bien.” 

Go back inside, everything will be okay. 

Maren stands next to the butcher’s wife, watching the scene. No one knowing what they should do as they watch helplessly as they have for the past 3 years every time this occurs. As truck doors close, sealing Antoinette’s grandfather inside, Antoinette falls to the ground not even wincing as her knees connect to the cool cobblestones. The girl falling in silence as if she is unable to cry anymore.  

The butcher’s wife withdraws from Maren’s side as the soldiers depart from the scene, moving to the girl’s other side and taking her arm as if to physically restrain the girl from attacking one of the soldiers. Though Elsa doesn’t think Antoinette has it in her at this time.  

The older woman and Elsa silently count to three as they help Antoinette off the ground, her knees bruising, and her stockings torn as the two women turn her around. They help her back inside, the butcher’s wife holding open the door to the shop as the crowd outside begins to disperse. Maren following behind the two women and Antoinette quietly with her eyes focused on the girl’s back.  

As they walk through the entrance, Elsa glances over her shoulder to Maren, sharing a look with her lover. Both of knowing that their time in Arras had come to an end.  

Chapter Text

Kristoff’s fingers brush against the fabric of Anna’s dress as if to keep him grounded in reality. Worried that he might wake from this dream at any time. That the feeling of Anna’s hands clutching the front of his shirt will disappear without any notice. 

But he never wakes, his eyes fluttering open as he withdraws from the shorter woman. He watches as her sapphire eyes meet his own, unable to help the smile crossing his features. His heart pounds in his chest as she mirrors his expression of pure elation. 

She gazes up at him through her eyelashes. “I’m really glad that you finally made the first move.” 

“I thought you were a modern woman; shouldn’t you be able to make the first move?” He questions, unable to resist the urge to tease her. 

“I mean,” She huffs rolling her eyes. “I would’ve but the last thing I want to do is disrupt your fragile male ego.” 

He chuckles at the comment, shaking his head. “Clearly, the night you kissed me in Paris my poor ego nearly didn’t recover.” 

“Well, I’m more than glad that it did.” Anna quips, standing on her tiptoes to press her lips against his once again. Kristoff’s brows raise in surprise at the sensation, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her closer to him as his eyes flutter shut once more. 

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this moment since the day he had laid eyes on Anna. The moment she had stood in front of Mrs. Anderson’s home in that green dress with her auburn hair curled and mouth painted red, he knew. Though he found himself pushing away those thoughts as he got to know the young woman, though her being engaged to Hans was a part of it, it was more that she pushed his buttons and got on his every nerve at every chance she could. 

Kristoff didn’t exactly remember when his opinion of the British woman changed. Often, he attributed it to the moment they landed in Le Havre, seeing her reaction and recognizing the look in her eyes at the sight of the destruction. But it hadn’t even been then. 

Wondering if perhaps it had been a gradual thing, eventually, the bickering between them became less irksome to the American, the more he had fun with her. Her sense of humour and her persistence wearing him down at every twist and turn of their journey. Before he knew it, Kristoff found himself wishing that Anna wasn’t attached. 

But when he found her in the bar, alone and looking so broken, the sight was reminiscent of himself in the past. It was the first time he had seen the carefree, wild woman he was quickly falling for, down. And in that moment, he wanted to do anything she wished of him. Then the kiss. Though he was surprised, he’d be lying if he hadn’t hoped for it. But he knew it wasn’t real. Nor did he want to take advantage of the situation of the drunk, heartbroken woman in his arms. 

It didn’t mean that there was hurt knowing that none of it meant anything. He was nothing but a rebound at that moment for Anna to feel something once again. And he did what he knew best, buried those feeling deep within him and never addressed it. Though his chest ached at every step Anna took his arm while they meandered Paris. He cared and craved Anna’s friendship than he did for her affections. 

Everything had seemed to fall into place tonight, the meandering through the village and the dancing. The urge to reveal everything to her bubbling as they swayed to the music with one another and gazing. The way her fingers twitched against his bicep as they danced and how her touch lingered after they decided to come back to the hotel. 

The kiss had been a risk. He was going to ask if he could kiss her-he meant to. But he called out to her, and he found it all overwhelming, the emotions from the following weeks and unspoken words crashing down on him all at once. 

Anna pulls away from him, her darkening cerulean eyes boring into his own as they continue to stand in the street. Her hands still clutching at his shirt as his hands rest on her waist, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of her dress. 

Her smile returns to her features, a giggle escaping from her mouth as her grip loosens on his shirt. “I think we should probably go inside.” 

“Y-yeah we should.” Kristoff nods still caught under her darkening gaze. He offers his arm to her once again, wanting nothing but to be touching Anna in this moment. With a grin, the young woman accepts the gesture, matching his pace as they move toward the hotel. 

Kristoff opens the door for her, waiting patiently as she pauses for a moment in front of the entrance. Glancing up at him as he squeezes her forearm in reassurance, earning a smile from the British woman. The door closes behind them as they walk into the lobby, the smile on the old hotel clerk’s face not escaping Kristoff’s notice as they pass him down the corridor to their room. 

As soon as the door closes behind them, Anna is on him, tugging at the fabric of his shirt to pull him to her once again. His eyes are wide at the initial contact, not having expected a reaction as such from his travelling companion. Their lips crash together as he steps forward, leading them toward the middle of the room. His eyes fluttering closed as Anna’s tongue eases between the seams of his lips, a request which Kristoff obeys. 

Something stirs within him as her tongue dances with his, a crease forming between his brows as that heat travels from his chest to his lower belly and creeps even further down. He hadn’t been expecting this, nor did he expect anything to result from this. 

His hands run against the cotton of her dress, remaining firmly against her waist. Smiling against her lips as Anna grabs his hands, bringing them to the front of her dress as she encourages him to grasp her clothed breasts. He had not been expecting that. 

They break apart briefly, their giddiness consuming one another as Anna pulls at the hem of Kristoff’s shirt as if asking permission to take it off. They both giggle as his hands join Anna’s at the hem, yanking the garment off in one swift motion. 

Her eyes take in every inch of him, noting her appreciative stare which further encourages him. Cerulean eyes meet his once again, Kristoff closes the space between them in a matter of seconds, crushing his lips to hers in a searing kiss. 

Anna’s hands weave their way through his hair, lighting pulling at the tresses beneath her fingertips. Pressing her body to his, Anna wants nothing but to be out of this dress to feel Kristoff’s skin against her own. 

He withdraws from her lips, pressing chaste kisses against her jawline and down her neck as she sighs under each touch. When he reaches the collar on her dress, Kristoff presses one final kiss to her collarbone before meeting her gaze once again. 

“Anna are y-”

“Yes,” She answers before he can finish the question. It had felt like she had been waiting for this for years, wanting nothing more than having Kristoff touch her intimately. It had been something she pondered since meeting the American man, how his hands would feel against her skin, touching her. 

He smiles at her with a slight titter, capturing her lips once again, his tongue silently begging for entrance. His tongue licks against hers as his hands come to the front of her dress, his fingers fumbling to undo the series of small buttons cascading down the garment. 

With furrowed brows Kristoff breaks the kiss, glancing down at the task at hand. “Jesus, do I have to unbutton every single one?” 

Anna glances down, finally aware of the situation. Giggling at the sight of his fingers fumbling against the small buttons. 

“On the back.” 

“What?” He questions, his fingers finally stopping in confusion. 

“There’s a zipper on the back of this dress.” She smiles, pulling her hair over her shoulder as she turns from him; revealing a zipper at the back of the tartan dress. 

“Why are there buttons on the front then?” He huffs, shaking his head. His hands going to the hook at her neck to unfasten it. Unzipping the dress with a flick of his wrist, eager to finally have the garment pool on the ground. 

“It’s fashionable.” Anna retorts as the dress slips from her shoulders, falling to the ground around her feet. 

“It.” Kristoff begins, wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her to him, her back pressing against his chest. He kisses above her pulse point, eliciting a shiver from the woman in his arms. “Is.” Another kiss on her pulse, “Ridiculous.” His mouth hovers above the crook of her neck, making Anna wait in anticipation for his warm lips to find purchase against her skin once more. 

A smile crossing her features as he finally does, leaning back against him. Her hands settling over his hands that rest on her hips. She takes them into her own hands, dragging them against her stomach towards her breasts. Encouraging his hands to grope and squeeze her small breasts, still covered by her light pink brassiere. 

A soft moan escapes from Kristoff as he feels Anna’s bottom grind against his clothed erection, enjoying the sensation of the woman moving against him. Pressing another kiss against her neck, he removes his hands from her breasts while taking a small step away from her. 

Anna is about to ask him if there is anything wrong, until she feels his hands against her once again, working on unfastening her bra. She draws her bottom lip between her teeth, resisting the urge to offer assistance as he curses under his breath as his hands fumble with the many hooks. 

“Did the catholic church put this outfit together?” Kristoff inquires, not angry or frustrated more amused than anything. 

Anna giggles at that, looking over her shoulder. “Would you like help?” 

“No, this I can do.” He insists, fumbling for a few more seconds before she feels the bra loosen around her. Kristoff laughs, holding the bra triumphantly while exclaiming, “Success!” 

The British woman laughs in response as the brassiere falls to the ground. Without any hesitation she turns to face him, exposing herself to him. His eyes search hers before racking down her body, watching her hands as they go to the waistband of her knickers. 

She sheds them from her hips, standing bare in front of the American man. At the moment she finds it hard to feel self-conscious about her protruding hipbones from years of rationing and low income. With Kristoff staring at her with a small smile, taking in every inch of her; her small breasts, stomach, hipbones and the auburn curls at the juncture of her hips. Thinking for a moment that he had died and had gone to heaven. 

His gaze meets hers once more, beaming at the shorter woman as she steps toward him with a smile, taking his wrist in her hand to lead him toward the bed. Gently Kristoff pushes Anna onto her back on the mattress, her hair splaying against the duvet cover as he steps between her parted legs.

He stares at her a moment longer, making Anna grow impatient and anxious being in such an intimate pose. “Kristoff?” 

Honey-brown eyes meet sapphire ones as his hand glides up her thigh, over her stomach and up to her jaw, resting it there as his thumb brushes against the soft skin. He steadies himself with his free hand as he bends down to cover her lips with fervour. She matches his intensity, her hands going to his back, revelling in the feeling of her breasts touching his chest. 

Withdrawing from her lips, Kristoff licks his way down the column of her throat, continuing past his stopping point from earlier. Moulding her soft breasts in his rough hands as he nips at her collarbone. A soft moan spills from Anna as his thumbs circle over her nipples, stiffening under the touch of his calloused fingers. 

Finally, he brings his mouth down, pressing a light kiss to her right breast as his hand remains on her left. Anna watches breathlessly as he begins to tease her nipple with his tongue, soft sounds spilling from her mouth further encouraging him. 

His mouth closes around her nipple, his tongue swirling around it, causing Anna to slightly arch at the sensation with a gasp. Taking the nub between his lips, Kristoff lightly pinches her other one, smiling against her breast as soft moans fill the room. 

The American could have spent hours teasing her sensitive buds, but his erection is straining against his jeans. Instead, he moves further down her body, nipping at her hipbone gently as she stares at him. 

Anna breathes as she waits impatiently for him to reach her core as he crouches between her open legs hanging off the bed. A slow smile crosses his features as he looks back into her eyes. 

She inhales as he presses a kiss to her inner thigh, waiting for his mouth to press against her cunt. Much to her frustration, she feels his mouth and nose brush against her damp curls, his breath skirting across her pussy before he presses a kiss to her opposite thigh. 

“K-Kristoff…” Anna whines, throwing her head back in frustration. He smirks against her thigh, glancing up at the British woman with mischief in his eye while continuing to kiss her inner thighs. 

Finally, his lips touch her centre much to the young woman’s relief. The sensation of him flattening his tongue against her folds causing her to gasp in pleasure. His hands grip her thighs as his tongue circles her clit. Her legs tensing as his tongue flicks up and down her nub, as she buries her hand into his hair, her head tipped back, and eyes shut as a series of moans spill from her lips. 

She tastes amazing, every sound coming from her intoxicating, and she is so wet. Kristoff moans as Anna continues to pull at his hair, his cock uncomfortably straining against his pants; wanting nothing more than to feel her cum against his tongue. 

He continues to tease her with his tongue, listening to her breath as a cue to further push her to the edge. Giving him something to focus on other than the pounding blood of his own desire; he varies the speed and pressure with his tongue. Glancing up as her gasps grow ragged. 

Both knowing she is close. But he continues to tease her a little further, waiting until her thighs begin to quiver around his face. A sudden rush of wetness coating his tongue as she cries out loudly and her fingers weaving deeper into his hair. 

Glancing up at her, Kristoff watches her breasts heaving as she comes down from her climax, her lips parted as she attempts to regain her breath. The American man leans forward, lapping up as much of her essence as possible. As his tongue flicks over her oversensitive clit, Anna’s legs twitch and a whimper escapes from her. 

He moans at the sound. He really likes her sounds. Repeating the motion, he wrings another shudder and sigh from her. It doesn’t take him long to coax out another orgasm, her body already so responsive and overstimulated from his earlier ministrations. 

Her cerulean eyes open, propping herself up on her elbows to look down at Kristoff still kneeling between her legs. Much to her disappointment and delight, he pulls away from her, slowly standing from the ground with his eyes still on her. 

Anna sits up from the mattress, scrambling to stand from the bed to position herself in front of him. Her chest pressed against his body as her hands fly to his belt, her deft fingers unfastening the buckle. His hands join hers as she begins to struggle with the button of his jeans, unfastening the pants quickly. 

She pulls his jeans and boxers down, lightly gasping as he kicks them away. Her eyes linger at his erection, reaching out without any hesitation to stroke his cock. 

The American man moans at the light touch, earning a smirk from the woman standing in front of him. Her hand retreats from his body while peering up at him with a smirk. She guides him toward the bed, urging him to sit on the edge of the mattress. 

Slowly, Anna sinks to her knees in front of him, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. She goes to lean forward, only for Kristoff’s voice to cut through the room. 

“A-Anna, you…don’t have to do that.” He protests, breathing deeply to contain himself with the feeling of her hand wrapping around the base of his cock; languidly stroking him. His cock leaking under the swipe of her thumb. 

“Let me do this for you.” She replies, leaning forward to kiss the tip. Kristoff uses everything in his power to control himself at the feeling of her lips on his cock. Her auburn hair unbound and wild as she sits on her knees and eyes half shut. 

He moans loudly as Anna licks up the underside of his erection, gripping the bedsheets as his eyes flutter shut at the sensation. As she takes him into her mouth, Kristoff is overwhelmed by the sensation of Anna’s mouth on him and the urge to release at that moment. She erratically bobs her head up and down, sucking hard and swirling her tongue against his tip. 

Kristoff can feel himself twitching, getting closer to his climax. “Ah-Anna, S-top.” 

She pulls away with raise brows, glancing up at him with concern. “Did I do something?” 

“No, no. It…was amazing. I just…” He trails off, the words catching in his throat. “I don’t know if I’d be able to last much longer if you keep that up.” 

Anna nods with a smile, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. Never once, had Kristoff seen Anna Rendelle be bashful; he didn’t think it suited her. He leans forward, pressing his lips against hers once more; still unable to believe that this isn’t a dream. The pressure of her mouth against his being the only thing keeping his grip on reality. 

He withdraws from her with a grin, a gesture which she reciprocates. That is the Anna he knows and loves. 

“Do you have a French letter?” Anna inquires, her hands resting on his thighs. 

Kristoff’s brows knit together in confusion. “A-a what?” 

“Protection.” She clarifies, cocking her head slightly which causes the man in front of her to chuckle. 

“A condom?” He guesses, shaking his head. 

“I mean,” The woman draws out each syllable. “There is no need to be so forward.” 

“There isn’t anything about this that isn’t forward” He states, finding the irony in Anna’s coyness surrounding the language of protection but finding no issue in standing naked in front of him; nor taking his cock in her mouth in a moment. 

“Shut up.” She smiles up at him, leaning up to kiss him once again. Withdrawing quickly as she rises from the ground. 

His laughter resonating in her bones. “You should find some in my bag.” 

The British woman nods, strutting away from the bed toward the corner of the room where Kristoff’s duffle bag sits. She unzips the grey bag, filled with his clothing, though not nearly as much as she had brought. There is a small zipper sewed in the inside, she unfastens it to search the pocket. 

Small paper envelopes touch her hand, she grabs one looking to the package as she pulls it out. She immediately recognizes the image on the front, a woman wearing an evening gown with red, white and blue behind her. The label reading Mimosa. 

With the condom in her hand, she saunters back toward him. Standing in front of him, Anna opens the lift on the packaging, taking the latex protection out of the paper sleeve. With darkening eyes she slowly rolls the condom over his cock, smiling as a hiss escapes him. 

She straddles him, her hands resting on her shoulders as she does so. His hands find purchase on her hips, fingertips digging into her skin as he prays that this isn’t a dream. Her desire apparent against his own. 

Kristoff isn’t sure how long he will last. 

A moan escapes him as she finally sinks onto his length, penetrating her sweet, wet core. A sigh emitting from her while settling onto it. Her forehead rests on his shoulder as if taking in the feeling of him inside of her. Kristoff breathes deeply, knowing that he is completely at her mercy. 

She slowly rolls her hips against him experimentally, smiling as another gasp escapes from him. He groans, narrowing his darkening eyes at her. “Stop teasing me.” 

“Fine.” Anna acquiesces with a grin. She rocks against him once more, finding a rhythm as Kristoff wraps an arm around her. In an instant she crushes her lips to his as she moves faster, his other hand weaving its way into her auburn tresses; lightly pulling at them. 

He resists the urge to flip them over, wanting nothing but to take control of the situation and pound into her. But he wouldn’t, knowing Anna has complete control here. 

Anna withdraws from him, peppering kisses along his jawline down the column of his throat. Her breasts pressing against his chest as she leans forward, taking his ear lobe between her teeth as she continues to ride him. Enjoying the sounds, he makes as he grows closer to his release. 

“A-Anna!” He calls, holding her close to him tightly as he bucks up into her. Huffing as he spends himself, his chest heaving against hers as he buries his face into her shoulder. Anna’s fingertips digging into his back as she presses a chase kiss to his temple. 

She smiles at the sound of Kristoff whimpering as she slips off him while he withdraws his face from her shoulder, her chest heaving as she presses her forehead against his sweaty one. His arm around her doesn’t loosen while regaining his composure from everything that just had happened; only now being convinced that none of it was a dream. 

He titters as his gaze meets hers once again, receiving a giggle from the woman in his lap as his hands come to rest lowly on her hips. 

“I should get up,” Anna states, her fingertips brushing against the skin of his shoulders. But she makes no effort, still straddling her lover with no seeming desire to make her body comply with her words. 

“You should.” He replies, not doing anything to urge her to move from her spot. Rather enjoying the feeling of her thighs pressing against his own. They sit for a moment longer wrapped up in one another before Anna finally rises from his lap. 

She walks toward the washroom, closing the door as she enters the ensuite, Kristoff watching her as she stalks away from him. He rises from the bed, discarding the condom in the small trash next to the oak dresser in the room. 

He grabs the pair of boxers that he had kicked away earlier, slipping them over his hips. The American settles himself on edge of the mattress, where he had been sitting only moments ago. Swinging his feet up onto the bed to lounge back against the pillows.

Kristoff could barely believe anything that had happened in the past evening. For the past two years, he never saw himself being with anyone. Much less someone like Anna, who lit up every room she entered. A woman who could melt the icy exterior of anyone with a smile and a joke. 

When they first met, he would have been content, sitting in that pub for days on end, working for the bare minimum to pay for his beer. 

Travelling to who-knows-where for some woman, ensuring she eats and watches out for herself when she acts rash. He would have never done any of that before. He never thought he would love someone. 

The bathroom door opens, tearing Kristoff’s gaze from the floor to Anna standing completely bare in the doorway; her hair has been brushed through for the night. She beams at the man in front of her, meandering toward him. 

She slips in beside him on the mattress, resting her head against his chest while gazing up at him. Her hand coming to rest on his jawline, while her thumb brushes against his cheekbone. While he absentmindedly strokes her shoulder blades, his free hand draped across her lower back. 

“I don’t think I ever want to leave this bed.” She comments, burying her face into his chest.

“No?” He questions, a chuckle escaping from him as he imagines Anna being told to stay in one place; no doubt she would go insane. 

The British woman glances up at him, her chin resting against him. “What time are we leaving here?” 

“Well, we’re not really sure where Esterwegen is in Germany. So it’d be best if we are moving by 7 and the mechanic said the earliest the truck will be ready is 8.” Kristoff responds, brushing some of Anna’s hair away from her face. 

“That’s too early.” She groans, smiling as he laughs again. 

“I don’t know what to tell ya, someone insisted we cut through Belgium.” 

“Well, that someone is an idiot, who should keep her mouth shut.” Anna retorts

“I don’t know if I would go as far to call her an idiot.” The American says, shifting to sit up which causes Anna to rise from his chest. “A pain in my ass for sure, but there are some redeemable qualities about her.” 

Anna rolls onto her side of the bed on her back, looking up at him with a raised brow. “Oh? Like what?” 

“Well…she is free-spirited and energetic.” He turns toward her, laying on his side. Without any hesitation he takes her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Her optimism and persistence are unmatched.” 

She smiles as he comes closer to her, kissing her cheek. “Is that so?” 

“It is, she’s also the person I trust the most. And she is hopeful and fearless.” His body covers her own, peppering kisses along her neck. She sighs at the contact, relaxing against the pillows as more of her redeeming qualities are showered upon her, followed by kisses to her body. 

Her moans echo through the room once again as he reaches her breasts. The words continue as he kisses every inch of her, wanting them to permeate into her as she had found her way into every inch of him. 

Chapter Text

They barely left the flat since the arrest of Antoinette’s grandfather. Not wanting to draw any attention to themselves. They only have six days until their flight back to England and out of France.

These past few days Elsa barely found any peace of mind, panicking anytime she heard a bang on the door. Worried that the soldiers might be coming for them at any moment. 

Antoinette had been sent away from the city to live with a distant Aunt in Vimy, at least until she is old enough to live on her own. Though Elsa is grateful knowing that the girl would be looked after, she feels guilt over the arrest of the book storekeeper. Knowing that it had been her fault that he was arrested, she had accepted Antoinette’s help without any hesitation. 

Maren washes dishes leftover from lunch carefully as to not make much noise. It had become an unspoken agreement between the two lovers that they could not make any loud noises in the flat. Worried that a crash of a plate or the dropping of a suitcase would be cause for the downstairs neighbour to call the Milice. 

Elsa sits on the couch, the copy of Madam Bovary sitting on her lap now abandoned. Instead, her gaze remains on her lover in the kitchen. It seems so odd that they are to return to England so soon, and the chances of them returning to France seem low at this time. The British woman finds herself wondering what is to happen with them upon their return. 

Honeymaren had mentioned bringing her to meet her grandparents and brother back in America. But even still, it is something Elsa is unsure if Maren meant or if it had been something said in passing at the moment. 

Elsa hopes that it hadn’t been. With each passing day and night of sharing a bed, Elsa hopes that they will continue to share a bed in England, even America if that’s what Maren wants. They won’t be able to be public with their relationship in either country. But even still, if Elsa could keep Maren all to herself that’s all she could ask for. 

“Can you check the windows?” The darker woman asks from the stove, glancing over her shoulder. Elsa nods, standing from the couch and throwing the blanket off her lap. They made a habit of keeping the window open in case of an emergency, despite the cold weather. 

The blonde shifts the linen curtains, confirming that the window is still open a crack. But it isn’t the only thing that catches her attention. Two soldiers stand in the square by a truck, having a smoke while they wait. Four more soldiers walk towards the flat. 

“Maren!” Elsa calls, inching the window shut so they cannot be heard from below. The brunette withdraws from the sink, striding across the room to her lover’s side to watch the motions of the soldiers. 

Uncharacteristically, one of the soldiers knocks on the door, waiting patiently for a response. Maren shakes her head, unbelieving at the sight. “Polite of them to knock.” 

Elsa watches, expecting the landlady to answer the door. But it isn’t her. Instead, it’s the woman on the third floor, wearing a red silk dress with her raven hair pulled back into a low chignon. Maren pulls away from the blonde’s side as soon as the neighbour points at their window with those perfectly manicured and painted nails. 

At that moment, Elsa feels that it is fitting that the neighbour wears red. Hoping that each and every night she’ll be haunted by the fact that she betrayed and murdered her countrymen.  

“Elsa!” Maren calls the lighter woman out of her trance, the wireless already packed in the suitcase. Elsa tears away from the window, grabbing their purses, Mattias’ instructions, and travel documents. They don’t have time to pack their things; carrying only the essentials along with the personal mementos they always kept with them. 

They had formed the escape plan early in their placement; up to the fourth, unoccupied floor and down the fire escape ladder on the back of the building. 

The door to the flat closes behind them, hopefully giving the pretense that they are still there while they make their escape. It will spare them a few extra moments. The heavy steps of the soldiers echo through the building as the women rush to the set of stairs leading up, making their way to the fourth floor. 

Elsa and Honeymaren rush to one of the windows off the back. Maren places the suitcase down, opening the window before quickly crawling through. Her feet touch the rungs, the metal awkward against her heeled shoes, taking the suitcase as Elsa hands it to her through the opening. 

The blonde waits until her lover is a little lower before climbing through the window herself, hanging on tight as she shifts the window shut. She finds it difficult in climbing down with two purses hanging from her shoulders, unable to imagine how Maren is fairing with the wireless. 

They hurry down, every moment remaining on the ladder is minutes wasted. Maren waits for her lover when she reaches the bottom, glancing around to plan their escape from the neighbourhood. 

As soon as Elsa’s feet touch the pavement, the Kanien’kehá:ka woman grabs her wrist, leading her down a south-east facing road. They walk with purpose through the street, walking fast enough to make a quick away but not so that would draw suspicion toward the two of them. 

“I’m surprised there is no one behind the building to box us in,” Elsa comments quietly, matching her pace to the brunette. 

“Either they didn’t take the tip seriously or they are just slow.” The darker woman responds. 

Shouts in the distance proving the women otherwise. They increase their pace, hoping to be out of the neighbourhood soon so that they would blend in with the crowd. It now is the issue of reaching the railway station before their fake names and appearances could be reported to the soldiers at the station. 

The suitcase hits uncomfortably against Maren’s legs as they walk down the street, slowing as they get further and further from the flat. 

“Are we heading for Paris?” Elsa inquires.

“I think so, we’ll head for the brothel in Montmartre and stay there for the next few days.” The brunette confirms. “Hopefully the Prosper network can get us out of France.” 

“If we can find the drop-off.” Elsa quips, “It’s not like Mattias left us much instruction.” 

“Well…if we can’t find it, then…” Maren trails off, trying to think of the alternative. “We head south for Annecy, maybe we can make it across into Switzerland.” 

Elsa nods, knowing that her lover is listing plans A through Z as they walk toward the train station. At this point, neither of them cares how they are going to get out of France, only that they need to do it safely without being caught. 

The Arras train station is covered by a sea of blue-grey uniforms, causing Maren to feel as if her heart is going to crawl out of her chest. Hoping that they hadn’t been found out, they are so close. 

The British woman notices how Maren’s jaw clenches, her dark brows knitted together. Without thinking Elsa reaches out and takes the Mohawk woman’s hand into her own, squeezing it in comfort to reassure the woman she loves. 

Neither of them makes eye contact with the soldiers who stand in front of the doors, pushing into the building without any difficulty. The stone building is packed with people lining up in front of various tables to display their travel papers and identification; hoping for some way out of the city. 

Maren’s hand remains in Elsa’s own as they stand in line with the tickets they purchased upon entrance; to any onlooker presenting the idea that they might be relatives or close friends. Nothing to raise suspicion to mothers try to wrangle their children and father’s sorting identification. 

Moment by moment, they inch closer toward the checkpoint, Elsa digging into the purses to find their identification cards, dreading the idea of handing them over. Both of their hearts pounding in fear that they might search the suitcase, which would reveal everything in a second. 

They reluctantly let go of one another they approach the desk. Maren’s knuckles whitening as her grip tightens around the handle of the suitcase as if protecting it with her life. 

Stepping toward the table, Elsa hands over both of their information, trying not to vomit as he carefully looks over the documentation. The soldier raises his brow with a sigh, placing both travel documents on the table before stamping them both and handing the identification back, urging them both through the line. 

Neither of them could believe it, they had expected a search of the bags, questioning-but there had been nothing. They are free to leave Arras without any trouble. The two women race toward their platform, boarding the train quickly in case anything is to change. 

Elsa feels an urgency pulsing through her as they slow through the aisles behind a family, her patience wearing thin as the mother settles her three young children; wanting nothing more than to push past and find their seats in the back. 

Neither of the women say anything as they wait, pushing past the family as they clear from the aisle. The two make their way to the back, Elsa shuffling into the window seat of the train and settling herself as Maren sits next to her. 

Glancing at the darker woman, Elsa manages a smile as sapphire eye meets chocolate ones. Honeymaren reciprocates the gesture, reaching for the British woman’s hand to squeeze it in her grasp. They only feel relief as the doors close to the car, knowing that they are finally on their way. 

Elsa feels slightly melancholy at the thought. This feeling seems odd to her but despite that the constant fear, anxiety of being surrounded by German soldiers and the threat of arrest at any point. This had been the city she oddly found herself, found her courage. Arras had been the city that she found love, learned to accept herself as well to come into her own.

For years, her feelings toward women had been encouraged to be repressed and she had been told that it is wrong. But every day, waking up next to Maren, feeling her skin against her own and knowing a woman such as Maren; she feels that if it is wrong, Elsa never wants to be right in her life again. 

No matter where they go, they won’t be accepted, England, America, even Canada. Though it won’t be easy, it will be worth it just to be next to Maren and to live with the Kanien’kehá; ka woman for the rest of her life. 

The train crawls forward with a lurch, finally indicating that they are to escape to Paris. If everything is to go according to plan, they will be in England in 7 days’ time. 

Elsa will sleep in her bed again; she’ll see Anna again. God, she doesn’t even know what she’ll say to her sister. Nearly a decade of unspoken heartache between the two of unspoken reasons and unanswered doors. Everything to mend. It scared the hell out of Elsa.

But the moment the train rolls forward, four soldiers run onto the platform, the one holding up an arm to stop the train. Elsa sits up, her eyes widening at the sight of the soldiers which catches Maren’s attention. 

They don’t let go of one another, knowing that if this is their last moment, they want to be holding one another’s hand. The train stops under the orders, allowing the soldiers to board the train, their car. 

Elsa looks to her feet, focusing on the strap across the top of her foot. Although she remains aware as the soldiers meander through the car, requesting to see every passenger’s piece of identification and tickets. 

They had to be looking for them, there is only a small percentage that it won’t be them. It was only a matter of time until they would be found out. It's nearly certain that they will be arrested, and they both know it. 

She only looks up as there are shouts. To see a soldier grabbing a middle-aged man by the arm, dragging him out of his seat. They don’t handle his wife as roughly, but even so, she is dragged off with a soldier holding her elbow. 

Neither of them could believe it as the soldiers begin to depart from the platform, it was supposed to be them getting arrested. Not this. The train lurches forward once again to their surprise, signifying that they are finally on their way to Paris. 

They’ll most likely have to dump their identification cards. It will not take long for word to travel from the Milice headquarters that Marguerite Mahy and Eloise Boucher had been on a train to Paris, right into the Gestapo’s clutches. With any luck, they will be in Paris before word about them reaches the authorities in the capital. 

Other than the occasional comment the two hardly speak on the train, not wanting to risk anyone overhearing their conversation. Not wanting to be traceable to anyone who might turn them in as soon as they arrive in Paris. Despite the lack of words, Maren keeps hold of Elsa’s hand throughout the entire journey, not letting go once until they arrive in the city. 

Elsa takes hold of the suitcase, both women carrying their respective purses as they exit the train in a hurry; not wanting to waste any more time in the train station. Neither looks back to see the dirty look directed at them by the father of the family as they shoved past. 

There are no soldiers on the platform much to their relief, allowing them to race toward the city metro without much panic. Though both are unsure of which train will get them to Montmartre. Maren moves so quickly that she nearly races past the billboard with the train routes. Only stopping as her lover does to find that the #9 will take them close enough to their destination. The two women push their way through the crowds toward the platform, boarding the tram quickly. 

Elsa does not let go of the suitcase as they settle themselves on a bench, not wanting to risk anyone picking it up accidentally. Not only would it potentially put the stranger in danger, but it could also increase their risk of being caught or identified as SOE. 

Across from their seats, Elsa spots two little girls with their mama, kneeling on their seats next to the older woman, their small fingers no doubt clutching the back of the bench as they look out into the dark tunnel. 

It reminds the British woman of taking the underground as a child with their nanny, Agathe. She and Anna sat in that very way, ignoring while Agathe scolded the two of them to sit properly. She never understood why, but Anna always believed it had been their mother with them on the tram. Before she had been institutionalized, they bickered about it quite a bit. Whether it was their mother or Agathe on the underground with them.

Their mother would have rather been dead than caught using the underground. She had been scandalized enough that her daughters had used it. Elsa can still remember her shrill voice while berating the Parisian nanny for exposing the children to that experience. Agathe’s things were gone the following morning, only to be replaced by another string of nannies. 

Iduna would be rolling in her grave if she knew how her daughters lived now. Anna, working in a munitions factory and living in the boarding house in Soho. And Her, on the run in France with her lover, a woman no less; everything her mother and father had despised about her. 

“I think this is our stop,” Maren says, breaking Elsa’s thoughts as the train comes to a halt. Glancing out the window the station sign reads Barbès-Rochechouart. 

They stand from their seats, Elsa’s hold around the suitcase handle tightly as they exit the train, avoiding eye contact with the soldiers they pass. Moving at a respectable pace as they weave their way through the underground station toward a set of stairs leading them out to the boulevard. 

The two women walk east from the station, using the main street to make their way towards Rue de Bruxelles to the safehouse. 

The building’s exterior is white brick, several large windows cover the outside, completely covered by red velvet curtains. It feels so odd to Elsa, not sure if she can even remember the feeling of velvet against her fingertips. 

She nervously glances to Maren, stepping forward toward the door before lifting the brass knocker and slamming it against the black-painted door. The women stand in the street, glancing around to ensure that there are no soldiers near them. 

The door jerks open, to reveal a dark brunette with a navy silk robe hanging from her shoulders; her dark brows plucked and shaped meticulously. Her eyes take in both women, flicking down to the suitcase in Elsa’s hands. 

Before either Maren or Elsa can speak, the woman grabs them both by the wrists, jerking them into the building. The door shuts quickly behind them as they stand in a narrow corridor. The woman glances between the two of them. 

“You’re Mattias’ couriers?” She inquires, her French accent thick while speaking English. 

“Yes, we are,” Maren responds, resisting the urge to break eye contact with the imposing French woman. 

The dark-haired woman nods, pushing past the two women. “I’m Madame Dubois, Follow me.”

Elsa surges after, Maren trailing behind her as they make their way through the narrow corridor, passing several parlours and lounges lavishly decorated and empty. No doubt where the other women entertain clients before leading them up to the bedrooms for the services paid for. 

But the foreign women are not led up the stairs as Elsa had expected, instead, they follow the Parisian to the back of the house. Carefully climbing down a series of stone stairs leading to the basement, where the kitchens are. 

A part of the blonde wonders if perhaps a wealthy family had lived here prior to the revolution hundreds of years ago. It is more lavish than the apartment they had come to call home in Arras, and even the one she had lived in Oxford. It is much more similar to the one she grew up in. 

Even in the basement, the air is thick with cigarette smoke and perfume. Without the scents, Elsa would have almost thought the whorehouse was abandoned. But the laughter of women echoing from the upper levels to the basement reminds her of their presence. 

Madame Dubois leads them past the kitchen toward a small storeroom, wooden shelves on every wall surrounding the women. Maren glances around, wondering if this is where the madame intends on keeping them; noting that it isn’t the most secure hideaway for fugitives. Wondering even for a moment if the madame is caging them in like animals to be caught with nowhere to run. 

The French woman kneels, rolling up the rug in the middle of the storeroom to reveal a square cellar door. Lifting the heavy door, the madame stands from the floor, wiping the dust from her robe; not caring as her breast slips from the covering. 

“This is where you will stay, I will have the kitchen maid bring you food every day.” The madame begins, “once you hear movement in the kitchen, it’s usually the time we begin our services, so I’ll ask that you remain quiet in case anyone hears you. There is an overhead light and a candle down there along with some blankets.” 

“Thank you,” Elsa replies, thankful for anything at this point. She is just grateful that the madame of the brothel is not turning them in. 

The older woman regards the British woman for a moment, “Careful on your way down, the steps are steep.” 

Elsa nods stepping towards the dark cellar, careful with every step she takes further into the ground. Maren follows behind her, trying to peer into the cellar as the only light spilling in is from the open ground door. 

As her foot hits the concrete, the lighter woman can see a white string hanging from the ceiling in the vague light. She pulls on it, illuminating the cellar as the door above them slams shut; as if sealing their fate. 

Like the storeroom, the cellar has wooden shelves surrounding each wall, devoid of any ingredients or alcohol. Opposite the stairs are two down pillows and a pile of blankets on the floor. 

With a deep breath, Elsa looks towards the door wondering if it’s too late to turn back. Maren stares at her lover, taking a step toward her and taking her hand into her own. 

A smile finally crosses the blonde’s features as the Mohawk woman squeezes her hand reassuringly. “It’s better than nothing.” 

“It’s just so different from Arras,” Elsa replies, placing down the suitcase on the ground. Immediately feeling comfortable as the weight relieves from her arm. 

“I know,” Maren answers, the sadness evident in her voice that they had to leave the safehouse so quickly. They had confessed to one another in that flat as well their first time being intimate with one another. So many memories in that place and they had to leave with barely a word, with only the clothes on their back and the wireless. 

“This reminds me of the night I first came to France, Mattias threw me in a shed overnight.” The blonde smirks thinking back to the memory. Sitting in that cold shed, shaking with fear over what would happen to her. It hardly felt like anything now. 

Maren leads her toward the pile of blankets, pulling her down as the darker woman lays on the make-shift bed. Elsa collapses with her lover, her head resting on the Kanien’kehá:ka woman’s chest, listening closely to her heartbeat. 

“What a day.” The brunette comments, pressing a kiss to the top of her lover’s hair. Elsa looks up at her, chin resting on her sternum. 

“Oh? How do you think?” The retort causes both women to giggle, something much needed after the day they had. 

They lie in silence for a while, allowing both women to fall into a light sleep. Feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted from the day. Maren is awake by the time Elsa rouses from her nap. She stares up at her lover still nestled beside the brunette. 

Maren looks down at the British woman with a smile, before whispering “Did you nap well?” 

“I did,” Elsa blinks, matching the volume while sitting up from Maren’s chest. Her back and shoulders cracking as they straighten. “What time is it?” 

“I have no idea.” The Mohawk woman shrugs, glancing around her. “Unfortunately, being 12 feet underground doesn’t allow you much of a reference. All I know is business hours are open.” 

Elsa’s brows furrow in confusion. Watching as Maren points to the ceiling above them, indicating that she should remain silent. The blonde follows the request, listening closely to the sounds above them. 

Her mouth falls open as she hears the loud over-exaggerated moans of one of the prostitutes, which overshadows the grunt of an older man. 

Nose scrunching up in disgust, Elsa shakes her head. “How can we hear that? We’re so far into the ground.” 

“Not sure, maybe echoing through the pipes or something?” The brunette muses. Another woman’s loud over-exaggerated cry rips into the cellar, earning a smirk from Maren. “I’ve created a game while you were asleep. Fake.” 

“Do I even want to know?” Elsa crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Yes, because it's incredibly entertaining.” Honeymaren pats the blankets next to her, encouraging her lover to take a seat. Skeptically the blonde inches towards the other woman, settling herself onto the pile of blankets, waiting for the answer. “I listen to their orgasms and guess if they’re fake or real.” 

Elsa groans in response, throwing her head back. “I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“It does pass the time,” Maren responds, laying back onto the pillows. “And gets entertaining after about the second round.” 

“It better,” The British woman acquiesces, settling back with her lover. As if like clockwork another cry echoes through the building, causing Elsa to sigh. “Real.” 

“Really?” Maren looks to the other woman with a raised brow, “I could have sworn that was fake.” 

Elsa cannot help the giggle that escapes her at the darker woman’s response, earning a smirk from Maren. The two continue to guess, quietly arguing over the occasional climax whether it was fabricated, real or a mix of the two. 

They turn off the light, hands clasped together as they continue the game in the dark. Managing to find some humour despite the day they both had. Hoping that they will finally be on their way to England. Back to their lives from before all of this. To finally be safe back home once again. 

Chapter Text

The warmth from the sunlight touches Anna’s cheek as a hand begins to run against her shoulder lightly. She stirs, her brows furrowing in confusion as her eyes flutter open. She had been sleeping on her side, facing away from Kristoff throughout the night. It hadn’t been what she wanted-she had been hoping to wake in his arms but feeling his hand against her skin is nearly enough.
 
His warm hand rests on her shoulder, fingers brushing against her soft skin and his breath against her neck.
 
“Are you awake?” He whispers, trying to remain quiet in case that the British woman still sleeps.  
 
“I am, unfortunately.” She sighs, turning her body to lay on her stomach and twisting her head to look at the blonde man. “All I want to do is sleep in.”
 
“One day, but we have to get going.” He chuckles, running his hand through his hair before pressing a kiss to Anna’s shoulder. She smiles at the contact, watching him closely as he stands from the bed.
 
A part of her wishes she isn’t on the other end of the bed, wanting to reach over without much difficulty to smack his bare bottom. They both slept in the nude the previous night, something which had been new to Anna. With Hans, once they had finished the act, Anna always stood and used the powder room where she would dress for the night.
 
She would have had she been allowed to, but after their night together Anna had quickly fallen asleep in Kristoff’s arms. Only to wake now, the first time in a long time that she doesn’t feel exhausted upon waking.
 
Kristoff pulls on his boxers and jeans for the day, fastening his belt as he glances over his shoulder at her. He shakes his head with a chuckle, turning to face her with crossed arms.
 
“I could get used to this sight every morning.”
 
Reaching up, Anna feels her tangled hair, no doubt her mascara smudged against her skin as she knows her makeup had been left on overnight. She curls up into the mattress, burying her face into the pillow. “You better get used to it.”
 
His laughter booms through the room, causing the auburn-haired woman to smirk in response, daring to peek at him. He shrugs on a black shirt, a red-and-black flannel shirt on the bed. It looks like something a man in a poster about Canadian lumberjacks would wear. But it suits him well.
 
With a sigh, she rises from the bed, not bothering to grab a sheet to cover her body from Kristoff. There isn’t a part of her that can bring herself to care. She feels eyes on her as she bends over to grab her suitcase, resisting a giggle as she hears him groan.
 
Turning to place the suitcase on the bed, it only confirms her suspicion that his eyes remain on her. He glances away quickly, clearing his throat as if to pretend he hadn’t been gawking at his lover’s bottom and breasts.
 
She opens the suitcase, glancing up with a smile as she pulls out her clothes for the day. Kristoff walks into the bathroom as she slips on her knickers and fastens her brassier. Dressing in her yellow day dress with white flowers and a navy cardigan for the chilly mornings, Anna meanders toward the washroom. Knocking on the closed door, not wanting to barge in on Kristoff in case he is using the toilet.
 
“Yeah?” His voice questions from the other side.
 
“May I come in?” Anna asks, hoping that she isn’t intruding on anything.
 
Without a response, Kristoff opens the door with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. She smiles up at him, stepping into the small bathroom. She takes her toothbrush from her toiletry bag, squeezing a small bit of toothpaste onto the bristles.
 
The couple stand together in front of the mirror, stealing glances at one another as they continue the ministrations. Kristoff spits out the toothpaste, washing the bristles before slipping it into his shaving kit bag. He places a hand on her waist, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek before exiting the bathroom.
 
From the other room, she can hear whistling from the other room. Pausing the young woman listens closely. A smile crosses her features at the sound of Kristoff whistling as he no doubt begins to gather his belongings from the room.
 
She immediately finds herself missing the weight of his hand on her waist, or even how their shoulders brush as they stand together. Last night had undoubtedly changed everything between them. While they aren’t officially dating or expressed feelings of any sort, Anna knows it will be something that needs to be discussed. Just not yet. Not until they find Elsa and Honeymaren.
 
It’ll never feel right to move on until they are found.
 
But even still she knows it is different than anything-any feeling, she’s ever had toward a man before. Even with Hans when she was certain that he was the love of her life. It never felt right. Not that it hadn’t been nice, but that’s really what it was. Nice.
 
With Kristoff, it feels different. She isn’t sure why, but it does. There’s a certain closeness that she shares with him that she never did with Hans. There is no anxiety about waking before him to put on her makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes from restless nights, to add colour back into her cheeks and brighten her lips.
 
It feels more authentic with Kristoff. He knows her better than anyone, even perhaps Olaf. The issues that stemmed from her experience with the war were hardly brought into the conversation, much less understanding.
 
Olaf tried to understand, being patient with her in those overwhelming moments, to hold her shaking hands when they become uncontrollable. But they never talked about it, only silent glances, and quiet concern passed between them. Kristoff had been the first to talk about the issues, the restless nights, and the nightmares, the only one to reassure her that she isn’t insane. And it feels nice.
 
With her hair slightly styled in loose curls and lips painted a bright red, Anna glances at her reflection once more with a smile before stepping out of the bathroom. Kristoff’s back is turned to her, still softly whistling as he packs away his stuff.
 
She walks around the bed to her side, placing her toiletry bag into her suitcase. “Will we spend the night in Esterwegen?”
 
“If you want.” Kristoff looks up. “It’s not a terribly long drive, so if it isn’t too late, we can make our way back into France or the Netherlands.” 
 
“You said it’s about a five-hour drive.” Anna raises a brow questioningly, wondering if she had heard him correctly earlier.
 
“Yeah, it is.” He confirms, zipping up his duffle bag. The British woman closes her suitcase, fastening the buckles to secure the bag.
 
She pauses, grabbing her suitcase handle. “I’m just wondering in what world is five hours not a long drive.”
 
“I mean, my dad and I used to drive down to Cheyanne and come home in the same day. It was a five-hour drive as well.”
 
“You’d do that just for fun?” She asks, taking her suitcase.
 
“Well…” He shrugs, sitting on the edge of the bed to tie up his boots. “I mean it was for business or picking up parts for the equipment. But it was fun, nonetheless.”
 
She slips on her oxfords, holding the handle of her suitcase with both of her hands while waiting for Kristoff to put on his boots. “Did your mother ever accompany you on these trips?”
 
He chuckles at that, throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder. “Oh god no. At least not often, if she did it was during visits with family in Wheatland.”
 
“I didn’t realize you have more family.” Anna comments, beginning to walk with Kristoff trailing behind her toward the door.
 
“Yeah.” He chuckles, holding the door open as it swings open. “My dad is one of six and my mom is one of twelve.”
 
“Twelve?!” She sputters, stepping into the corridor as the American man closes the door behind them. “Oh my god. Hans came from a large family too, but I just assumed it was just his.”
 
His laughter reverberates through the hallway as they walk toward the lobby. “What? You don’t have big families in England?”
 
“Not if you come from money.” She retorts as they step into the lobby, placing the key to their room on the desk. Much to her dismay, the old woman that usually occupies the seat behind the counter is not there. Anna would have liked to say goodbye but leaves the key as instructed if the old woman wasn’t there.
 
They push out of the building, the morning sun shining brightly against the white brick making Anna squint as they step onto the cobblestones. Her suitcase dangles from her hand, creating a barrier between herself and the American.
 
He glances at her, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “Would uh…you mind switching your suitcase to your other hand?”
 
“Oh! Yes, I can.” The woman transfers her bag to her other hand. “I’m sorry, was it hitting you?”
 
“Uh, no it wasn’t.” He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s stupid, I was-I was just going to wait for a moment to naturally slip my hand into yours.”
 
A smile creeps onto Anna’s features as she looks up at him, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Without hesitation, she reaches out and takes his hand into her own.
 
“You don’t have to wait to take my hand ever.” She responds, glancing away from him immediately at her words. Her cheeks getting warmer as she wonders if she could blame the flush from the heat. “I mean to hold my hand, not to um I’m not talking about marriage at all and I’m not expecting anything from you in that regard, even with what we did last night. I don’t expect…”
 
“It’s alright Anna, I knew what you meant.” He resists the urge to laugh, not wanting to embarrass her any further.
 
She waits for him outside as they arrive at the mechanics, allowing Kristoff to talk with the owner about payment and to retrieve the truck. Almost like clockwork as the American is given the keys to his vehicle, Anna notices a familiar hound striding toward her with a large smile.
 
The British woman squats to the ground, calling him toward her. Scratching him behind the ears as soon as he reaches her side, allowing Anna to shower him with compliments as they wait for Kristoff.
 
With keys in his hands, the blonde steps outside. “There you are! I thought we were gonna have to go searching for you.”
 
Sven happily wags his tail in response, moving closer to receive pets from the man.
 
“Are we ready to go?” Anna inquires, standing up from her low position.
 
“We are.” He confirms as she picks up her suitcase. They walk across the street to where the mechanic had parked the truck for the night. Quickly loading their luggage and themselves into the vehicle.
 
Much to their relief, it starts without any issue, allowing them to drive through the narrow streets of the village. A sense of melancholy washes over Anna as they pass the buildings, knowing that they will be leaving France. Not all their time had been good, but most of it had been.
 
Anna watches the village disappear in the rear-view mirror, something tugging at her chest as they inch further away. Despite the situation that had brought them together, Anna wishes that she and Kristoff could have stayed in bed together all morning. Hoping that maybe in the future they would be able to.
 
“Have you ever been to Germany?” She inquires, curious about the next phase of their journey.
 
“Not since the end of the war.” He replies, “But I was stationed in Berchtesgaden, which is in the south. It was surrounded by mountains and the buildings were beautiful, even though most of them were abandoned.”
 
She furrows her brows in confusion, looking at him. “Why would they be abandoned?”
 
“Well…Berchtesgaden was where Hitler’s vacation home was, as a result, many of his goonies moved into town.” He explains, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Many of us raided the abandoned homes and took things. One guy took a set of silverware for his fiancé back home.”
 
“What did you take?”
 
“Nothing.” He replies almost too quickly for Anna’s liking. The American meets her gaze briefly, noticing the skeptical look she gives him. He sighs, clearing his throat. “I took a copy of Kohler’s Medicinal Plants and a book about trees with all of these illustrations.”
 
She pauses, the space between her brows creasing. “You could have taken anything, and you chose books that are not even in a language you speak?”
 
“I mean,” He begins with a chuckle “There are a lot of illustrations in them and if I really wanted to know…I picked up a few words in German here and there.” 
 
“Now you have two beautiful books in your boarding house back in London.” She comments, placing her hand on Sven’s back to run her hand through his wiry hair.
 
“Actually, I shipped them back to my parents in Wyoming shortly after I took them.” He explains. “I have a small collection of books about forestry and medicinal herbs back home, among other things.”
 
“I would love to see them sometime.” She blurts, her cheeks flushing at the outburst. “Not specifically your collection, I mean not that I don’t want to see it.”
 
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t hurt yourself, it’s fine. Honestly, it isn’t anything too special. Most of them are sketches of my own from my time working in Yellowstone.”
 
“Really?” Anna asks, her eyes lighting up in response. “I didn’t know you illustrate.”
 
“Not well, but I make do.” He shrugs. “At least for my own eyes. Although it would be nice to finally show them to someone.”
 
Anna resists the urge to beam up at the American, finding it sweet that he wants to share that part of his life with her. It makes her wonder if perhaps he’ll ever take her to Wyoming. That she’ll meet his family, a part of her wondering if they would like her.
 
The truck begins to slow as they approach a line of cars on the road, approaching a checkpoint in the distance. Anna had barely recognized that they passed through Belgium, there had been barely any signage regarding the change in borders.
 
Anna leans forward, grabbing her purse to take out her identification as they slowly roll along the torn-up road. Kristoff reaches across the woman, attempting to open the glove compartment box to access his paper. Rolling her eyes, Anna leans forward to swat his hand away, opening it for him.
 
She grabs his identification, holding onto the papers as they inch closer to the soldiers. Kristoff hums in confusion as he spots the soldiers. Anna looks from the landscape back to the American with furrowed brows.
 
“Those are American soldiers.” He points out, not surprised as if he is solidifying the idea in his mind.
 
“Aren’t we in the British-occupied zone?” She inquires, absentmindedly placing her hand on his thigh.
 
“We are, but it’s not too uncommon to see Americans manning check-points here occasionally.” He explains. “It all varies based on manpower in the areas and occasionally there are gaps.”
 
Anna opens her mouth to respond but a soldier approaches the truck, the man stands next to Kristoff, looking into the window. The blonde man takes the papers from Anna, handing them to the soldier before the khaki-clad man can ask.
 
“Thank you, sir,” The soldier carefully looks through the identification papers. “Alright, you’re all set.”
 
“Thank you very much.” Kristoff takes their papers back, “Would you be able to tell me which way Esterwegen is?”
 
“Um, well I am unsure about Esterwegen.” The American man comments, his southern accent even more prominent as he tries to pronounce the German village. “But my superior and others have a tent set up just off the next road, they might be able to point ya in the right way.”
 
“Alright, we’ll try that.” Kristoff nods, “Thank you.”
 
The truck pulls forward as the soldier waves them on, driving through the check-point zone. They turn right onto the road slightly past the checkpoint for people coming from Belgium and just before the point for people coming the other way.
 
The road is short before reaching roadblocks, causing them to stop. Kristoff sighs as he shrugs on his olive-green jacket.
 
“I’m going to go ask for directions, hopefully, it won’t take long.” He opens the car door, stretching as he exits the vehicle. Anna slides against the seat toward the driver’s side door, stepping down from the truck. “Oh, you don’t have to come with me.”
 
“Why wouldn’t I? This is my inquest. Come on.” Anna begins walking toward the tent, leaving Kristoff behind. The American closes the truck door, rushing after his travelling companion.
 
She smiles up at him as they walk beside one another, approaching the makeshift centre for the checkpoints. In front of the tent stands a group of soldiers, all having a cigarette. Anna’s brows furrow in concern as she notices firearms stacked in a pile on the ground.
 
“No way!” One of the men yells, pushing through the group as he notices Kristoff. The auburn-haired woman looks up at Kristoff as she hears him chuckle in disbelief, his pace quickening. “As I live and breathe, Kristoff Bjorgman.”
 
“I can’t believe the army still wants a guy like you around.” Kristoff retorts, clapping the soldier on the back. Anna can’t help but smile at the interaction, she has never seen him being so giddy.
 
“I mean, who wouldn’t want a handsome guy like me around?” The man places a hand against his chest as he jokes with Kristoff.
 
“You’re nearly 50 miles from the nearest town, somehow I doubt anyone cares about that.” The blonde man crosses his arms shaking his head.
 
“I do quite well thank you.” The brunette comments, his eyes finally landing on Anna. A charming smile crosses his features, glancing over her body. “I didn’t realize you had someone with you, who might you be?”
 
“This is Anna, she’s my…” Kristoff trails off, catching her gaze in the moment of silence while thinking over the nature of their relationship. “Travelling companion.”
 
“Travelling companion?” The man raises a brow questioningly before extending his hand out to her. “It’s very nice to meet you, Anna, I’m Jack.”
 
“Nice to meet you as well,” Anna repeats, shaking his hand. Only grateful that he hadn’t attempted to kiss her hand at the moment. Being labelled as Kristoff’s travelling companion had been worse enough. Though they hadn’t discussed the exact nature of their relationship, she would’ve hoped there would be another way to describe their relationship.
 
“Jack and I served together throughout the war; he was a replacement when we landed in Holland,” Kristoff explains, his hand settling lowly on Anna’s back. His eyes narrowing toward his friend.
 
“It was a good time to be a replacement.” Jack jokes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Although the girls didn’t pay much attention to me. But Ryder looked like he had died and gone to heaven with all the attention he was gettin’.”
 
Kristoff chuckles at that, causing the young woman to look up to him. Noticing the sadness that flashes in his eyes. “Yeah…he did, did he?”
 
“I mean between you and him it hardly gave a guy a chance,” Jack responds, kicking his foot against the ground. “We could barely get a girl to spare one glance at us if this guy was in the room.”
 
“Yeah, I guess.” Kristoff removes his hand from Anna, rubbing the back of his neck with a strained chuckle.
 
Anna stands quietly with the two friends, clasping her hands behind her back. That familiar pang of jealousy hitting her in the chest as she thinks about all those women fawning over Kristoff. Wondering if he had been one of those men with a woman in his lap after liberating a village that was so heavily published after the war.
 
With a sigh, she attempts to push away any of those thoughts. It isn’t fair for her to harbour jealousy over this. Less than a month ago, she had been engaged to another man. In no world does she have the right to feel jealousy of Kristoff’s romantic past from a time that they didn’t know one another.
 
“What brings you two here?” Jack finally asks, digging out a pack of cigarettes. “I thought you were still in London.”
 
“I am. I’m just here with Anna to help her find her sister.” The blonde man responds. “We’ve found paperwork to show that she worked with the SOE and we’ve followed her to a location called Esterwegen. Do you know it?”
 
The Brunette hums, taking a puff of his cigarette as he thinks. “It rings a bell; I think it’s further north from here, about an hour or so.”
 
“Any idea what the closest city is to it?” Anna inquires, chewing the inside of her lip as she waits for the American to answer.
 
“It’s about an hour west of Oldenburg from what I remember,” Jack responds, ashing his cigarette. “I’m sorry, that really is the only thing I can recall about it.”
 
“Anything at this point is helpful. Thank you.” Anna smiles at the other American. The brunette’s gaze shifts to Kristoff, raising an eyebrow.
 
“So, you’re still playing this game huh?” Jack inquires, running a hand through his hair. For a moment the woman expects Kristoff to respond, but he doesn’t. “Well, I wish you luck with it this time.”
 
“Thanks,” Kristoff nods with a small smile, his hand returning to rest on Anna’s back. “I’ll see ya around Jack.”
 
“Stay out of trouble you two!” The brunette responds, watching as Kristoff leads Anna back toward the car. Wondering if he’ll ever see his friend again.
 
“What did he mean by that?” She inquires as they walk along the gravel road.
 
Kristoff sighs, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her dress. “When I was looking for Honeymaren, I called around to friends from the company to see if anyone knew anything. Which no one did and they all thought I was insane.”
 
“Yet you’re attempting it once again with a total stranger.” She quips while raising a brow at him. They come to stand in front of the truck, Kristoff reaching around her to open the driver’s side door. She steps up onto the running board of the truck, preparing to enter the vehicle.
 
“I mean after last night; I feel like we’re a little more than strangers.” He smirks, waiting for her to get into the car. She spins on her heel in an instant, her eyes wide in a mix of shock and amusement that he made such a comment.
 
Despite the flush spreading across her cheeks, Anna’s smiles crossing her arms smugly. “You’re right, we’re not strangers. We’re travelling companions.”
 
“Well…I didn’t mean it like that exactly.” He begins, stepping closer to the woman. Standing only inches from her. “But we can be whatever you want us to be.”
 
“I like the sound of that.” Anna’s hands settle on his broad shoulders, leaning forward to crush her lips against his with fervour. Knowing exactly where she wants to go with Kristoff. Once her sister is found and Anna can finally move on, then she would be sure to make things official.
 
Though unbeknownst to her how driving up to the place called Esterwegen would change any plans of happily ever after. How could there be such as the sense of dread and fear overtook her emotions at the entrance gate of their destination which read:
 
Esterwegen
Konzentrations Lager

Chapter Text

Two days. That’s how long Elsa and Honeymaren have been in the cellar of the whorehouse in Paris. 

Elsa looks around the small space encased in darkness, Maren sleeping soundly next to her, it reminds her of the small garden shed Mattias had left in that first night. Now looking back on that night, recalling how afraid she was, she’d choose to be back in that shed rather than this. 
 
Her clothes are grimy, and she can smell her own stench, wanting nothing more than a stick of deodorant or a bath. She sighs, thinking how nice it would feel to finally wash her oily hair, having it feel soft to the touch and not stringy. To have soap that wouldn’t disintegrate the minute it touched water.
 
Maren stirs in her sleep, her brows furrowing as she opens her eyes slowly. “Elsa? Are you awake?”
 
“Yeah, I am.” She responds, looking down at her lover. A long sigh escapes the darker woman as she sits up from the ground, her joints popping as she sits up.
 
“I’m so sore, I don’t know how much longer I can keep sleeping on this ground,” Maren says, attempting to roll out the knot forming in her neck.
 
“Me either,” The blonde stands from the ground, walking to turn on the overhead light. “Our flight is only a few more days away.”
 
“I hope so, all I want is to sleep in a real bed.” Maren blinks as the harsh light illuminates the cellar.
 
Elsa smiles at that, thankful that she isn’t the only one who is missing simple things in life-like beds and baths. Hell, she even missed listening to the radio. “Honestly when we get back to London, I think we should go dancing.”
 
“Dancing? I didn’t take you as someone who would want to do that.” Maren smiles up at the blonde, tucking her knees to her chest. Elsa meanders back toward the makeshift bed in her bare feet.
 
“I guess I never found the right pe-.” She stops her sentence at the sound of a loud noise from above them. Both women look to the ceiling, both stilling as if movement might cause any indication of their presence in the cellar.  
 
Heavy steps rush through the brothel, down the stairs into the kitchen. Where they can hear men shouting above them at the kitchen staff and shuffling feet-then it goes quiet. Elsa hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath silence falls above them.
  
And then it happens.
 
The cellar door jerks open, causing Elsa to spin on her heel to stare back into cold and unforgiving eyes.
 
Neither Honeymaren nor Elsa resist arrest. Both just too tired to fight it, knowing that dreams of sleeping in their own beds and bathing would be even further away than they thought.
 
As they are led out of the brothel, the British woman assumes that they’ll be put into the round-up wagon with the prostitutes. But instead, they are led toward a black Renault with leather seats. One of the officers sits in the back next to them, locking the door beside him with an ominous click.
 
Maren holds her hand as they weave through the streets of the Nineteenth Arrondissement, squeezing it tightly as they drive towards uncertainty.
 
The car drives toward a large imposing brick gate, driving past two soldiers guarding the entrance of it. They continue through the fortress, passing large brick buildings that look identical to one another.
 
The vehicle stops in front of one of the buildings, signifying that they had finally reached their destination. The two women are ushered inside, the building cold and seemingly devoid of any life.
 
The policeman who sat next to them through the drive has a hold on Maren’s elbow, leading her through the corridor. As a second man has a tight grip on Elsa’s own as she trails after her lover. They are led to a basement, watching as one of the men unlocks a heavy metal door before pushing it open.
 
It leads into a concrete room, brightly painted red doors surrounding the corridor as they are marched through toward one of the entrances. They come to a halt in front of it, waiting as the policeman unlocks the door.
 
The policeman holding Maren’s elbow not even bothering with the pretense of civility as he throws the Mohawk woman into the cell. Her feet stumble underneath her before falling to the hard. 
 
“Hey!” Elsa yells without even a thought, seething at the man before her as Maren lies on the ground. With a smirk the officer, raises his hand to her cheek, brushing away her blonde hair as he speaks to her. Things that make Elsa’s stomach turn, before he hits her hard across the mouth.   
 
The blonde can taste iron as she is shoved into the cell roughly, catching herself so she doesn’t fall to the ground as the other woman had. The door slams shut, locking behind the two women as they stand in a tiny cell.
 
One window illuminates the entire room, with two wooden framed beds suspended from the wall and a bucket in the corner. Elsa doesn’t even head for the bucket to spit out the blood pooling in her mouth. Instead, letting the bodily fluid fall to the straw-covered floor.
 
Maren is standing in front of her in a second, a gentle hand resting on the other woman’s slowly swelling cheek. Those chocolate eyes peer at her with concern. “Are you alright?”
 
“I’m fine,” She probes the inside of her mouth with her tongue, feeling a gap between her incisor and molar. Her eyes scan the ground searching for it, but there is no evidence of it in the red puddle at her feet. She hadn’t even noticed when she swallowed it.
 
“Are you certain?” The brunette takes a step forward in the narrow cell, her hand resting against the tender skin. Her finger brushes against the British woman’s cheek, reddening from the slap.
 
Without any hesitancy the blonde places her hand over the other woman’s, “I’m fine. What about you? How are your knees?”
 
“I’ve survived worse.” Maren gently smiles, despite the pain of scraped skin. “The nuns always made sure of that.”
 
“What do we do now?” She asks, her eyes scanning around the cell as if reality is finally hitting her. They are trapped, exactly like rats. She hopes to whatever being that her lover might have a solution, a plan. Anything to get them out.
 
But Maren falls silent, removing her hand and glancing around them. “I don’t know.”
 
The words seem to hang in the air between them. Their future hanging on the line by a thread.

 
Her knuckles hurt, still resting on the table; bloodied and bruised, no doubt broken from the abuse that had just occurred. Perhaps she underestimated the damage a bust could do to one’s body.
 
She is spat at by the black-haired soldier who had rendered her hands ineffective, causing her to flinch in disgust before he leaves the room. Elsa stares at her mangled hands, feeling nothing at this point. No more pain shooting coursing through her body and unable to scream anymore. The only thing she feels is her throat burning from the bile threatening to climb up.  
 
She hopes they haven’t subjected anything like this to Maren. Though there had been other things they had subjected to the Mohawk girl. The other night she was returned to the cell with her hair chopped and was hardly able to walk.
 
Maren had sobbed into Elsa’s arms that night. Slowly every day it seems as if they are slowly breaking their spirits, but no one knew the abuse that they’ve had to endure every day of their life. 

A noise echoes from the corridor. Footsteps, followed by the turning of a key in the lock. Two soldiers walk in, the younger one, the same one who had busted her knuckles. The second and older man, she hadn’t seen before as the horn-rimmed glasses perched at the end of his nose separates him from everyone else in this prison.
 
The older man sits across from her at the table, his nose crinkling in disgust at her dishevelled appearance. They sit in silence, staring at one another as if waiting for the other to talk first.
 
“How about some tea?” He finally speaks, smirking as he glances down at her hands.
 
“Sounds lovely,” Elsa responds in English, no longer continuing the pretense of being a French woman.
 
“Tea, bitte.” He calls, waiting as the second man steps out of the room to retrieve the tea for her. As soon as the door slams behind the soldier, the older man smirks at the British woman. “Now that we’re alone, why don’t we get to work?”
 
She doesn’t respond while watching him rise from the table, only standing as he gestures for her to follow into the rear of the office. Walking into the annex, her heart sinks. Sitting on the table is her radio.
 
But as she walks closer, she notices that this is not the radio the police had confiscated from the cellar; the markings on the case are different. She wonders through the pain whose it had once been, and how long they’d had it.
 
Her brows knit together in confusion, the throbbing in her hands threatening to derail her thoughts. The Germans had been broadcasting to London, acting as one of their own-and headquarters believed it. Then the thoughts all come together-how the Germans impersonated agents and fooled London into sharing critical information. It had been their undoing. The very reason they are in this situation.
 
“I will not transmit anything for you” She manages to spit, her voice raspy and eyes full of fury.
 
“With those hands, I highly doubt there is anything you can do.” He glances down at her bloodied knuckles. “No, Fräulein. I’d ask you to stand right over there.”
 
He gestures to a corner in the room opposite from the wireless, with furrowed brows and shaking hands she makes her way across the room. Turning to face him, Elsa watches closely wondering what his next plan of action is.
 
The door attached to the annex jerks open, a figureless voice speaks into the room. The older man doesn’t turn toward the door, instead, his cold steel eyes peer into her icy ones. He responds to the other man, glancing briefly with a smirk as footsteps echo in the corridor along with a woman cursing.
 
Elsa’s blood goes cold at the woman’s voice. She freezes, the blood draining from her as she glances toward the door. Swallowing the urge to shout as Maren is pushed into the room, blood running from her nose and the skin around her eye swelling. 
 
Their eyes meet, trying not to convey anything that might give the nature of their relationship away-anything about them away. The German man turns to Maren with a smile, clasping his hands in front of him.
 
“We’ve been waiting for you. Please sit down.” He gestures to the chair in front of the radio.
 
Maren pauses, glancing from Elsa to the radio and then back to the officer, her eyes narrowed. “What do you want from us?”
 
"I need you to authenticate the messages. It seems as though your little friend here has had an accident.” He smirks. Maren’s chocolate eyes flicker to Elsa’s hand, tears threatening to spill over at the sight of her mangled knuckles.
 
“Go to hell.” The Mohawk woman spits at the German with a snarl. The officer walks around the front of the desk, standing before her. Without speaking, he slaps her across the mouth so hard she lifts from the chair. Falling backward onto the floor, her head slams against the ground.
 
Tears well into Elsa’s eyes at the sight, feeling helpless as she watches her lover being hit. It brings no comfort to her knowing that Maren will no doubt smile about it later and cite that she had it worse at school. Yet, Elsa feels paralyzed at the situation as the officer walks over to Maren. 
 
He reaches down and helps her back into the chair with unexpected civility, her lip split from the hit. The officer places down a list in front of Maren, away from Elsa’s gaze.
 
“We have everything.” He says smugly, crossing his arms as if he’s won.
 
“Then I suppose.” The brunette lifts her chin defiantly, “You don’t need me.”
 
Elsa feels the anger radiating from the officer, his nostrils-flaring at the Kanien’kehá:ka woman. He hits her again, his open palm slamming into her repeatedly. Elsa watches as she falls to the floor, yet when he lifts her this time it’s by the hair. The blows begin to rain down until Elsa can no longer take it.
 
The blonde screams out, lunging forward for the man, though she knows her hits will be useless with her hands. Before she can even hit him, the officer grabs her hand, bending the broken fingers back causing the blonde to yell out in pain. She falls to the ground next to Maren, staring at her lover’s swollen face through tears.
 
“Do it.” He repeats through clenched teeth. A click resounds above Elsa, then cold metal presses against her forehead. “Or she dies.”
 
Tears streak down Maren’s dirtied and bloodied face, staring at her lover through swollen eyes. Elsa wants nothing more than to reach over and take the darker woman’s hands into her own and reassure her.
 
“Maren, don’t…” She pleads, knowing that the mission is more important than her own life. She attempts to smile to reassure her that everything would be alright. Her eyes flutter shut, waiting for everything to end. Though she knows she’ll be missing a future with Honeymaren, she hopes that her lover will move on with her life and find someone to spend it with.
 
Hoping that Anna might forgive her.
 
She waits, but instead, a voice cries out. “I’ll do it.”
 
Her eyes flutter open, her lashes wet with tears as she looks to Maren with a sinking heart. Unable to blame the other woman, she knows that she would have likely done the same thing- Yelana is smart, she’ll know it’s a forged message with no difficulty. That’s what she tells herself to ease the guilt. 
 
Maren shakily stands, sitting back down at the table. With shaking hands, the brunette reaches for the machine, but the officer shoos her away and sets up the transmission himself-as expertly as any operator who had trained with the SOE would.
 
He places a box of worked-out keys in front of the Mohawk woman, which they no doubt confiscated from arrests. “Send a message, telling them that is it you and everything is fine. Then send this.”
 
A message and a slip of silk bearing a cipher are handed to her. Elsa watches as Maren transcribes the message into code. “The security check.”
 
“What is it?” He nearly barks.
 
“Changing the thirty-fifth letter of the message to P,” Maren reveals the first check. Elsa can’t make herself look at the officer, knowing that they are betraying everything they had fought for.
 
Silence hangs in the air for moments as the transmission goes through and is processed by headquarters. It takes longer than Elsa would have expected, wondering what could be going on in the bunker that would take them so long to reply. If this fails, she will no doubt be shot in an instant.
 
The response comes through after what seems like years, she watches as Maren uses the worked-out key to decode the message. The brunette looks at the officer, her nose scrunched up as if she is snarling like an animal.
 
“There…” She begins, her eyes showing a flurrying of conflicting emotion.
 
“It wasn’t so hard after all was it?” The officer reaches into his pocket, taking out a pack of cigarettes. Both women watch in silence as he lights it, taking a drag as he lets in two soldiers. “It should make hunting down and killing every person on this list much easier. Take them back to their cell and tomorrow and proceed as you were.”
 
Fury builds inside of Elsa, her eyes focused on Maren with her head hung in defeat; the swelling in her face not dissipating with time as she had expected. Glancing down at her own bruising knuckles, unsure what else they could unleash on them. What more could they want? They had transmitted the message as asked, they had already been beaten to a pulp. What did they want?
 
“We did what you asked…” The blonde begins, still looking down as she speaks. Within an instant she looks up, meeting the officer’s gaze. “We are prisoners of war under the Geneva Convention. You cannot treat us this way!”
 
“Prisoners of war?” He laughs with contempt, squatting to meet Elsa’s eye line with a cruel smirk. His next words would forever haunt the British woman, always remembering how her blood turned cold at a simple sentence. “Fräulein, where you are going, you don’t even exist.”
 
Within that instant, Elsa is hauled up from the ground and dragged back to the shared cell, Maren following her with downcast and lifeless eyes. All Elsa wants to do is reach back and take her lover’s hand into her own, wanting to tell her everything is going to be okay. The soldiers would have gotten the information either way. If not from them, it would have been the next people brought in for questioning.
 
Both are roughly shoved into their cell, the door slamming behind them as it falls silent. Elsa walks towards one of the cots suspended from the ceiling, settling on the edge of the thin mattress. Staring down at her hands as she attempts to move a finger or two, but the pain is too great, and they are too stiff.
 
With hesitancy, Maren crosses the cell to sit next to her lover, gingerly taking one of her hands into her own. Tears fall from the Mohawk woman’s eyes as she slumps over.
 
“I-I’m sorry.” She sobs, shaking her head; unable to look Elsa in the eye. “It’s all my fault I-I shouldn’t have…”

“Maren…” Elsa begins quietly, wrapping her arm around Honeymaren’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault. Anyone would have done the same thing if they were in your position…including myself.”
 
The couple lean back, pressing Elsa’s back against the concrete wall as Maren rests her head on the lighter woman’s chest. Maren’s breath stutters as she takes a deep breath.
 
“I just want to go home. I’d give anything to go fishing with Ryder again.” She says, letting out a half-hearted laugh. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? I’ve wanted all my life to leave the reservation and now that I have…all I want to do is return.”
 
Elsa wishes she could run her hand through her lover’s hair, knowing that her stiff hands won’t allow her to do so. Her blue eyes close, seeing a familiar sight behind her eyelids of a young woman with auburn hair and identical eyes to her own. “Anna…I want to see Anna again.”
 
Maren wraps her arms around Elsa’s waist, holding herself closer to the other woman. Her fingers brush against the fabric of the blonde’s clothes. They both focus on the feeling of one another, how their hands feel pressed up against the warmth of one another’s bodies.
 
“Elsa…” Maren begins with a shaky breath. “I-I’m scared.”
 
The British woman looks down, pressing her lips to the top of her lover’s head. Trying to control the shaking of her body as she attempts to comfort the Kanien’kehá:ka woman. Throughout their entire time in France, Maren had been the strong one; leading them through every twist and turn with no panic. Now it is her turn to do the same.
 
“I have you, I won’t let anything happen to you.” Elsa rests her cheek on top of Maren’s head. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.” 
 
They hold each other closer, trying to bring reassurance to one another in which there feels as if there is no hope. In an instance the cell door jerks open, causing both women to sit up in the cot and finally let go of one another.
 
 Two soldiers enter the cell, stalking toward the two women with purpose. Without any word one of the soldiers reaches down, jerking Maren up from the cot. Elsa stands in alarm, wincing as she places pressure on her hands.
 
She waits for the second to take her as well, but he doesn’t. Instead, one soldier drags Maren from the room while the other holds the door open. As Maren passes the threshold of the cell, she turns her head to see Elsa not following her. 
 
The Mohawk woman cries out her lover’s name, turning in the soldier’s grasp only for him to hold her back from re-entering the cell. Elsa lurches forward to go to her lover, calling out for her as well; not bothering to use their alias.
 
The soldier holding the door open shoves the blonde back from the entrance, sending her to the floor. Causing the woman to cry out in pain as her body collides with the concrete floor.
 
“Elsa!” Maren is reaching for her lover, desperate to be by her side. Elsa doesn’t hear how often she yells out her name, only hearing, seeing her tear-stained and terrified face as the cell door closes. “You promised!”
 
Then it is silent.
 
No more yelling or trying to fight the guards. Placing her hands against the floor, Elsa cries out as she places weight on her stiff fingers, falling back to the ground with a sob. She had failed every person she has ever loved.
 
She had abandoned Anna at such a young age, then left without a word knowing how lonely the girl has been. A part of her hopes that her sister might find a handsome young man, get married and have a gaggle of children following her around. That Anna will be able to move on with her life after Elsa is gone from all records along with this place.
 
Honeymaren…all she can do is hope that she will be safe and make it out of whatever horrid place she is sent to.
 
Not finding it in herself to even care when they come to collect her hours later and lead her toward her final place. 

"The threads of the organization....remain unbroken and ready for the resumption of activity." 

- Pierre Séailles, Farmer Circuit (1943)

Chapter Text

Anna’s eyes don’t leave the sign as she and Kristoff inch toward the gate, the truck rocks gently as it drives along the uneven pavement. Kristoff slows the vehicle as a soldier raises his hand to them, indicating for them to stop before approaching the gate. The car idles as the brunette soldier comes to stand on Kristoff’s side of the truck, watching as the American rolls down his window.
 
“Please state the purpose of your business here.” The British soldier asks, his eyes flickering to Anna briefly as he speaks.
 
The auburn-haired woman leans toward the window, placing her hand on Kristoff’s thigh. “We are looking for my sister, based on several records we have reason to believe she was interned here.”
 
“Is there anyone who we could speak to regarding this?” Kristoff asks, finishing the thought for her.
 
The young soldier hums in response. “I would seek out Major Bryant, he’s in charge of our regiment for the time. You’ll find him in the officer’s barracks, it’s the third building on the left.”
 
“Thank you,” Anna responds, smiling as he steps away from the truck and motions to the other soldiers. They slowly push open the gate as Kristoff puts the truck into gear, covering Anna’s hand with his own as they crawl forward into the former camp.
 
It isn’t anything Anna had expected. Anticipating for those gates to open and see a dirt field with dilapidated shacks. Similar to all of those photos she saw in the newspapers describing the horrors that took place at these places. But instead, this one is lush with trees and grass in front of the well-maintained buildings.
 
Kristoff counts as they drive past the buildings, parking on the side of the road when they reach the third. He glances at the woman on his right, watching her as she stares at the building next to him; her eyes conveying every conflicting emotion she feels. Wanting to burst through those doors to find her sister, as well as turn away from this place and never look back. Unsure if she wants to know.
 
But she has to.
 
His hand squeezes hers reassuringly, offering her a smile. “I’m here for you. We can go in whenever you’re ready.”
 
“I’m ready.” She responds after a moment, taking a deep breath as Kristoff opens the car door.
 
He commands Sven to stay as Anna slides across the seats toward the open door, her hand not leaving his as her feet touch the ground. Kristoff closes the car door, letting her lead him toward the building.
 
The only thing grounding the British woman is Kristoff’s hand into hers as they inch closer to the building. A soldier standing near the front door approaches the couple, his shoulders back and head held high as he stands in front of them.
 
“What is your business at this building?” The other man asks, standing only a few inches taller than Kristoff.  
 
“We’re looking for Major Bryant in regard to a missing person. I am Technical Sergeant Kristoff Bjorgman and this is…” Kristoff responds, his posture improving at the sight of the other man.
 
“Anna Rendelle.”
 
“Alright Sergeant Bjorgman and Miss Rendelle, please follow me.” The soldier spins on his heel, marching toward the doors of the building and not bothering to look to see if the couple is following him. Anna does her best to keep up with Kristoff and the soldier, her heels not helping her.
 
As they enter the building it is clear to Anna what it was once used for. Clearly, it is a place for the soldiers to convene, with no evidence of a prison or harsh conditions. The walls are dark oak with lighter spots, where no doubt art used to hang.
 
They walk down the corridor, wondering what door they might walk through to meet this Major Bryant. Both hoping that he’ll be able to help them, if not then they have nowhere else to go.
 
Finally coming to a stop in front of the door at the end of the hall, the soldier knocks twice before turning the handle.
 
“What is it?” An older British man shouts from the room, clearly unimpressed. The soldier salutes his superior, breaking it as he is commanded.
 
“There is a Technical Sergeant Bjorgman and a Miss Rendelle here to see you, sir.”
 
“Let them in.” The older man sighs. The soldier turns toward the couple, his back pressed against the door as he waits for them to walk into the room. The walls are covered in bookshelves similar to her father’s office back in the old London apartment.
 
In the middle of the room sits a large imposing oak desk, an older man of average stature standing straight as the couple enter the room. The red-headed man runs a hand through his hair as he throws his reading glasses onto the surface of the desk.
 
He steps out from behind the desk, walking across the medium-sized room. The floorboards creaking with each step. He reaches out a hand to Anna, shaking it as she accepts the gesture.
 
“Rendelle…” He greets, his eyes lingering on Anna and barely focusing on Kristoff at all. “Is that a maiden name?”
 
“Yes, it is.” She confirms, feeling so small under as he scrutinizes her with pinched brows.
 
“Your father wouldn’t happen to be Agnarr Rendelle, would it?”
 
Her heart stops in her chest, pondering for a moment if she should deny it. She had used his name in London to further her cause and it never got her anywhere. “Yes, he was.”
 
“I heard about his passing,” Major Bryant nods, his eyes flickering down to the carpet for a moment. “I served with your father back in the Grea-well I guess now the First World War.”
 
“Really?”
 
“We served at the Somme together in ’16, he was a good man.” The major smiles wistfully, it fading as quickly as it forms. “He was a good man. I was sorry to hear about his passing.”
 
“Thank you,” Anna responds, managing a smile as the major turns to Kristoff.
 
The American salutes, almost as if it is out of habit, easing without the Major’s word. “Thank you for meeting with us Major Bryant.”
 
“Of course, Sergeant. Let us take a seat, unfortunately, my knees aren’t what they used to be.” Major Bryant quips, looking between the young couple who follow him toward the desk. As the older man sits in his seat, he smiles as Anna and Kristoff settle across from him. “Now, might I ask what I can do for you two?”
 
“Well…” Anna begins with a sigh, her sweaty palms resting on her knees. “My elder sister, Elsa went missing back in ’43 as did a friend of Kristoff’s, Honeymaren. We’ve been searching for them these past few months and have concluded that they were with the SOE.”
 
Major Bryant deeply sighs, leaning back in his seat. “And you think they were sent here?”
 
“We know that Elsa was.” Kristoff responds, “We found a transport record and her alias name on the list for a train heading here from Paris.”
 
“Well…I can see if we have anything, but the German’s did destroy a lot of the records of this place.” Major Bryant explains. “We think this place was used to contain POWs. What was her alias with the SOE?”
 
“Marguerite Mahy,” Anna replies, sitting forward with anticipation.
 
“With a woman’s name, we might be able to find it much quicker. Please, follow me.” Major Bryant stands from his chair, striding toward the closed door. Anna scrambles to stand, racing after the older man with Kristoff following close behind her.
 
He leads them through the corridor through the building. Anna can’t help but glance as they pass an archway into what must’ve been a dining hall, the tables in the room now filled with items.
 
She pauses, standing in the entrance while scanning the seemingly endless number of items, completely overwhelmed at the sight. Kristoff stops behind her, peering into the room with curiosity.
 
He sighs deeply, glancing down at her. “These are the belongings of people who were imprisoned here.”
 
“Well…surely they would want their items back…wouldn’t they?” Anna asks, turning slightly to make eye contact with the American man.
 
His warm brown eyes drift back up to the room, looking around it as if considering every item there. “They um…most likely aren’t around to retrieve their items.”
 
“What do you me….” She trails off, noticing his grim demeanour before looking back to look at each of the tables as it finally occurs to her. “Oh…”  
 
“Yeah…” He responds, staring blankly into the room illuminated by harsh lighting. Silently, Anna reaches down, taking his hand into her own.
 
“Did you ever see anything like this during your service?” She inquires, feeling his hand squeeze hers briefly.
 
“Once.” He doesn’t look at her, still staring into the room. “When we went to Bavaria, we came across a camp and uh…”
 
“Liberated it?” Anna guesses, finishing his sentence as she glances up at him; noticing the tears that threaten to form in his eyes.
 
He shakes his head, blinking. “We had to lock them back in because there wasn’t enough medical care available to them.”
 
She doesn’t respond, not even knowing what she should say. What do you say to someone who has seen something so horrific? To someone who experienced or witnessed the truly unthinkable?  
 
“Sergeant Bjorgman, Miss. Rendelle.” Major Bryant hesitantly interrupts the couple, tearing their gaze from the room filled with objects. “I have a few men looking through records for your sister’s name or alias, but it might take a couple of hours.”
 
“Thank you, is there anywhere we might settle for the next little while?” Anna inquires, wanting nothing but to sit for a little while.
 
“Well…there isn’t much.” The older man sighs, glancing around the hall. “I can have tea brought to my office, though I’m afraid I have a lot of work to do and will be unable to entertain the two of you or you two may remain in this room here.”
 
“Ah, I see…” Anna trails off, glancing up at the American man. She wouldn’t mind settling in his office for the wait, though she understands that Kristoff might find sitting across a man in complete silence might be unbearable.
 
“Well…we wouldn’t want to impose…” Kristoff responds, meeting the woman’s gaze. “I-I think we’ll stay here.”
 
“Of course, please keep in mind not to touch any of the items and not enter any rooms that you are not authorized to.” Major Bryant informs, folding his arms behind his back. “If you are found in any place where you do not have an authorization, it will be at least a 5-year prison sentence. Am I clear?”
 
“Yes sir,” Kristoff responds as a soldier would, his voice full of certainty.
 
Major Bryant looks back at Anna. “I will find someone to fetch you two when we find something.”
 
The auburn-haired woman nods, watching as the Major walks back down the hall toward his office. Glancing back up at Kristoff with a shrug.
 
“Now what?”
 
“We wait.” He responds extending an arm for Anna to step into the room first. She smiles up at him, crossing the threshold of the room.
 
It is rather large extending further than she had previously thought. The wooden tables ever cascading through the room toward the stone fireplace at the north end of the room. There are a few chairs pushed against the walls, the rest no doubt having been used for firewood or scrap wood for menial repairs.
 
The couple make their way toward two of the closest chairs, settling on them immediately. Anna sighs as she sits, the ache in her feet relieving as the weight is lifted. Then they wait.
 
They exchange a few words occasionally between them, trying to speak quietly despite the echo in the room. When it falls silent between the two of them, the only noise is the tapping of Anna’s heel against the wooden floor.
 
She isn’t sure how long they sit there before Anna feels the need to stand from the chair. Walking toward the tables absentmindedly, the British woman glances at all of the objects laid across the table; playing cards, lighters, family photos.
 
Reading the paper and watching the telly, it had been easier to think about what happened objectively. But hearing Kristoff discuss seeing one of those camps and now seeing all of these items, it feels more real to her. As she looks through each object, the heavier the weight on her chest feels. Though she finds, herself unable to look away. As if doing so would be to forget them to further rob them of their humanity.
 
Kristoff remains sitting, watching Anna as she closely examines each object. Taking notice of the crease between her brows and the pursing of her raspberry-coloured mouth as he picks at the skin around his nail. He can’t look at the objects, reminded of the endless rows of hollowed faces and darkened eyes staring back at him.
 
It isn’t only that, worried that he might find a familiar object. A photograph or a piece of jewelry that might belong to Honeymaren or even Elsa. When Anna had approached him about this journey, he had expected to only focus on finding Ryder’s sister. But it had turned into something more than he had expected, now he finds himself caring about Elsa’s fate.
 
Hoping that neither of them ended up in a place such as this. Or at least that they didn’t last long enough to have hallowed out cheeks and darkened lifeless eyes.
 
They lose track as time as Anna peruses each item, her eyes scanning every inch of the surfaces before pausing at a piece. Footsteps echo behind her as Kristoff approaches her, placing his hand on her shoulder.
 
“See anything of interest?” He questions, waiting as the auburn-haired woman turns away from the table.
 
“There is just so much here…” She responds, looking around the room. “Such mundane things that…we have in our everyday life that these people clung onto right until the end.”
 
“Yeah…”
 
“Like this,” Anna points to the object she had just been looking at; a locket engraved with roses that has tarnished. “My mother had a locket just like this one when I was a girl.”
 
“Had?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as he glances down at her.
 
She nods in response, “I looked for it after the bombing, but wasn’t able to find it. I just assumed it disappeared with a lot of other things.”
 
Without being able to help herself, Anna reaches for the necklace. The pendant touches her palm as she runs her thumb over the design, the oil from her finger wiping away some of the grey. She feels an engraving on the back, no doubt initials.
 
Turning it over in her hand, she stares at the initials on the back of the silver locket with furrowed brows. The auburn-haired woman doesn’t hear anyone approaching her as she continues to focus on the piece of jewelry.
 
“Miss Rendelle…” Major Bryant calls out gently, but Anna doesn’t hear him. Her entire focus on the piece, unable to take in the world around her.
 
“Anna…” Kristoff tries, reaching out to place his hands over hers to gain her attention. Blinking, she looks up at him before looking to the Major and the soldier behind him.
 
“Many of the documents regarding this place were destroyed before the end of the war.” Major Bryant begins, glancing down at the paper in his hand. “We have evidence that Elsa was interned here in December of 1943...”
 
He falls silent, glancing up to stare at her. She looks to the document in his hand, comforted by Kristoff’s warm hand resting on her lower back with his thumb brushing against her spine. “But?”
 
“But…” The older man begins again with a sigh. “We don’t have any records that indicate that she was liberated from this camp.”
 
“So, what does that mean?” Kristoff asks, his thumb stilling.
 
“What…it means is…either she was sent to another camp or…”
 
“Was murdered here.” Anna finishes his sentence, not needing him to say it. The major nods in response, unable to look at her any longer. “But those records mean nothing right? As you said she could’ve been sent elsewhere.”
 
The major sighs, not answering immediately. The British woman looks to Kristoff, with those creases in the corner of his eyes as he stares at her. A look she knows too, one full of regret and heartache.
 
Suddenly the pendant seems to weigh heavily in her palm, causing her to look down at the locket in her grasp. The initials on the back screaming at her once again, two letters that she tried to convince herself didn’t mean anything.

I.R

She wedges her fingernail between the wedges of the locket sides, prying it open to see the only photo in it.
 
This isn’t right. There used to be two photos, one of a blonde child with a shy smile in a blue dress with hands folded in front of her. Not just the one photo of a small girl with braided pigtails with a toothy smile and bright freckles.
 
And suddenly Anna’s world came crashing down on her.

Chapter Text

“I’m so sorry for your loss Miss. Rendelle, if there is anything we can do…” Major Bryant continues, but Anna doesn’t hear him speak. Instead, she still looks down at the necklace in her hand.
 
The locket weighs heavily in her palm as her ears begin to ring loudly. It feels like sitting in the street during an air raid. Her heart hammering in her chest as she finally looks up from her hand, mouth agape and brows furrowed in confusion.
 
“No…I mean we...we came all this way…” She trails off, glancing at Kristoff in a daze.
 
“Miss. Rendelle, I offer my sincerest apologies but…” Major Bryant begins, pausing as the young woman cuts him off.
 
“No..she can’t be…I-we came all this way…she can’t….” She meets Kristoff’s gaze, her voice breaking in an instant. “Kristoff…”
 
“Anna…”
 
Kristoff reaches out to Anna, grasping her arms as she grabs his forearms to steady herself.  

She shakes her head, her mind looping as she tries to think everything through. “No…she can’t be dead…we came all this way…”
 
She begins to gasp for breath and her chest heaves while trying to contain the mix of panic, grief, and despair overwhelming her emotions. He stares down at her in concern, unsure what to say or do. Instead of asking, “What do you need?”
 
“Air.” Anna gasps, her knees threatening to give out underneath her. “I need air.”
 
“Alright,” Kristoff wraps an arm around her shoulder, guiding her toward the room’s exit. “Move!” He barks at the soldier and Major Bryant before pushing past the two men, knowing that she needs to be out of the building.
 
He goes to open the door for her, only for the young woman to push the entrance open to burst into the courtyard. She rushes toward a line of untrimmed bushes, spilling the contents of her stomach into the greenery as Kristoff comes up behind her, holding her hair back from the mess.
 
Spitting to get the residual taste of acid and bile out of her mouth, Anna stands straight from her bent-over position.  
 
She doesn’t want to be anywhere near these buildings that once housed the people that murdered her sister. Without another word, she walks away from the building to the road where the truck still remains parked on the cobblestones.

She glances at the gate from where they entered the complex earlier this morning. Without much thought she walks away from the gate, making her way to the unfamiliar side of the complex. Knowing Kristoff is following behind her, giving her space.
 
The barbed wire fence stands tall against the skyline, two tall outposts on each end of the wall; no doubt where guards stood on the watch for escaping prisoners. Approaching the wire fence, Anna comes to a stop, standing in front of what used to be a locked gate.
 
Beyond the wire is a second section of the complex with smaller wooden buildings, half of them blackened from likely a fire. With furrowed brows she looks through the yard, hoping that her sister didn’t suffer much in this place. She had heard enough things about these sorts of places through the papers, the word horrid barely represented what it had been.
 
The tears begin to spill over, and she knows she looks like a madwoman; sobbing while clenching a barbed wire fence, the metal digging into her skin. She doesn’t let go as she hears Kristoff call out for her.
 
“Anna.” He says, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. Before he can, the British woman turns on her heel, her cheeks wet and indented hand covering her mouth. Without warning, she grasps his forearms as her knees give out underneath her.
 
He collapses to the ground with her, not caring if the mud dirties his jeans as she whispers. “I-I promised I would bring her home.”
 
“I know,” Kristoff says, not knowing what to say to her. He had been through this before, losing someone, but even still there never seemed to be any right words to say to someone going through this.
 
Instead, the American pulls her into his embrace as she begins to sob once again, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her dress. Shakily, she looks up at him “I-I had so many things I wanted to tell her.”
 
“Like what?” He asks, hoping that expressing some of that would help her.
 
“A-about my job at the munitions factory, and how I-I’m working at the makeup counter.” She stutters, her tears clinging to her eyelashes. “How O-Olaf is and about you…I wanted to sit up all night and tell her all about you Kristoff.”
 
She begins to sob once more, resting her head against his shoulder. He rubs her back and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “Shhh, tell me more.”
 
“I-I wish…” Anna breaths, closing her eyes as the tears fall down her cheeks. “I wish things were different between us, that we were close like when we were little. I want to know why things changed and what I did wrong for her to push me away. I-I just want to apologize.”

He holds her tight, pressing another kiss to her temple. “I didn’t know your sister and I don’t know much about her but…I doubt that there wasn’t a day that passed that she didn’t miss you or thought about you.”
 
“Kris…”
 
“I don’t think she would’ve blamed you for anything, especially in her last days.” He finishes, hoping that his words will bring some comfort to the woman in his arms.
 
She begins to sob once again, her body shaking with hiccups as she begins to settle. Tears no longer spill from her eyes as there are no more, just the pain and empty feeling in her stomach.
 
The auburn-haired woman finally calms- no longer shaking or hiccuping from the overwhelming shock of emotions. But an understandable silence remains between them, he continues to hold her, rubbing circles on her back. Anna focuses on the sensation of the blonde man’s hands on her with eyes closed and deep breaths.
 
The British woman hopes that Kristoff is right, that Elsa thought of her every day while she was gone. That Elsa didn’t hold any contempt toward her in her final months. As Anna had never felt any ill will toward her elder sister.
 
The girl who used to let her crawl into bed whenever Anna had nightmares. Who shared all of her dolls and sewed back together a split in a stuffed dog Anna used to own. Holding hands as they went for walks and chasing one another through lavender fields.
 
Blinking, Anna looks up at Kristoff bleary-eyed and her voice hoarse. “I want her body.”
 
“Anna…” He says, as if trying to warn against the request but doesn’t continue.
 
“I said I would bring her home and I have every intention of doing well on that promise.” She says with determination, her eyes hardened. She would be damned if she was leaving Elsa’s body in an unmarked grave in this place.
 
“Alright,” Kristoff nods with a sigh. “We’ll talk to Major Bryant and see what he can do.”
 
She nods, acquiescing as Kristoff helps her from the ground. He wraps his arm around her waist, leading her back to the building. He opens the door for her into the building, his arm returning to her waist as they step back into the corridor before leading her back toward Major Bryant’s office.
 
They pause in front of the open door, Anna unsure if she can handle what information is waiting for her on the other side. He doesn’t lead her through the door, allowing her to move at her own speed. Not wanting to push her on this.
 
Anna makes the first move through the door, Kristoff following behind her. Major Bryant sits in his office, looking through documents in front of him with two cups of tea across from him. The ageing man looks up from his desk, offering a sad smile to the couple.
 
“Please, come sit. I had tea prepared for us.” He stands from his seat, holding his hand out to the two chairs across from him
 
Slowly they both take step toward the chairs, silently settling into the seats. Without having to be told, Anna reaches forward to the teacup to take a sip. Warmth spreads through her body, feeling comfort for the first time that day since arriving in this place.
 
The saucer clatters as she places the teacup back onto it, unable to control the shake in her hands.
 
“I once again would like to reiterate my condolences, Miss. Rendelle.” The older man says, folding his hands in front of him.
 
Anna doesn’t thank him for his words, at this point no longer having the energy in herself to answer him. She doesn’t want his condolences, she wants Elsa.
 
“I want my sister’s body.” She begins, holding up her hand as Major Bryant’s brows furrow in confusion. “I want to bury her where she belongs, next to my parents’ graves.”  
 
“Miss. Rendelle, the process of exhuming the bodies is not an easy one. It could take years.” The Major sighs, taking a sip of his tea.
 
“Major Bryant…I have spent the past 2 years of my life searching for my sister, I have put my life on hold and I’m no longer waiting.” Anna huffs, frustration finally overwhelming her. She’s tired; of everyone giving her false promises and empty excuses.
 
“I understand that but…we don’t have many records. When the Germans abandoned Esterwegen, they destroyed most of their documents and from what you’ve told me-” He sighs, running a hand through his greying hair. “If your sister was truly a Nacht und Nebel member there will be nothing regarding her existence here.”
 
Kristoff reaches over to take Anna’s hand into his own, squeezing it in reassurance before looking back to the Major. “So what can you do?”
 
“We’ll do what we can and as soon as we know anything I’ll be in contact.” Bryant sighs, not making eye contact with the couple across from him.
 
Anna continues to stare at the man in front of them, having heard that sentence phrased in many ways before. The man in every seat across from her, making empty promises to her about contacting her in the small chance that they locate her sister. She has been through this before, knowing that there won’t be a search for Elsa nor will she ever hear from Major Bryant again; his words full of empty promises and false sympathies.
 
The legs of the chair scrape against the floor as she stands, staring at the Major. “Thank you so much for your time.”
 
Without another word, Anna strides out of the room while slinging her purse over her shoulder, vaguely hearing Kristoff saying his ‘goodbyes’ to the older man. She pushes open the office door, her hair bouncing against her shoulder while marching down the corridor toward the front entrance.
 
She blinks away the tears forming in her eyes, the tip of her nose tingling as they threaten to spill over. Feeling nothing but the urgent need to leave this place, as if she might scream if they don’t leave now. Only hoping that Kristoff is following close behind her. She doesn’t want to be here any longer, not in the place where Elsa and countless others were murdered.
 
Pushing the door open, Anna stumbles slightly on the cobblestones as she moves toward the truck. Breathing deeply as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she walks to the passenger’s side of the truck before jerking open the door.
 
Sven hasn’t left much room on the passenger’s seat, taking up what normally is Anna’s spot and his own. At the opening of the door, however, the wolfhound looks over his shoulder to sit up at the entrance of the young woman. Anna takes the opportunity to slide into the seat next to the door, slamming it shut.
 
She watches through the glass as Kristoff emerges from the building, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as he walks toward the truck. As her lover opens the truck door silently, Anna leans against the window, holding her cheek against the cold glass.
 
Kristoff starts the car, glancing at the auburn-haired woman. “Major Bryant wanted me to give you this.”
 
He holds out the object, the chain dangling from his hand as he places it into her hand. Anna knows what it is before even looking at the piece of jewelry. She doesn’t look at it, not ready to see it again.
 
Kristoff drives through the loop of buildings, turning them around back toward the main gate of the complex. She remains silent as they pass through the military-occupied zone and toward the town nearby.
 
“I don’t want to stay here.” She manages, her voice hoarse and shaky. Kristoff nods in understanding, allowing her to take control of what they do next. “I don’t want to stay in Germany any longer.”
 
“Alright, we’ll head back to France tonight.” He responds, pausing briefly as he wonders if he should ask the following question. “And then…back to London?”
 
The vehicle falls silent once again, save for the rumble of the wheels against the pavement as Anna finally opens her hand. Gazing down at the locket as if in a trance before speaking.
 
“You know what’s funny?” She questions, eyes not leaving the necklace. “I never thought of what I might do after all of this.”
 
Kristoff doesn’t respond, knowing that Anna is talking to herself, trying to process everything that is to come. She isn’t looking for comfort or reassuring words, at least not yet.
 
“I mean when we left London I knew what I was going to do. But that’s all changed…” She trails off, her thumb brushing over the engraving of the locket. “I could go back to the makeup counter…Ms. Steiner will most likely hire me back. Olaf was looking at apartments for me, but I think I’ll stay with Gerda for a little longer so that I’m not totally alone.” 
 
The American glances at her, wishing he could reach over his dog and place his hand over her own. Knowing that it wouldn’t solve anything that she is going through, but even to have a familiar warmth against her skin would provide some comfort. He looks back to the road, clearing his throat.
 
“You won’t be alone.” He states after some hesitation, not sure if what he says is appropriate in the moment but continues nonetheless. “I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. You’ll always find me in that damned bar.”
 
In the corner of his eye, Kristoff sees evidence of a faint smile crossing her features before it falls again. Her brows knit together as tears begin to fall from her eyes once again as she clutches the locket to her chest. 
 
As a sob echoes through the truck, the blonde man finds himself unable to continue the drive without doing anything. Within an instant he is pulling to the side of the road, turning off the ignition and opening the door.
 
He steps down, calling to Sven to exit the car; knowing he could do with a bathroom break. Climbing back into the car, Kristoff slides across the seat next to Anna. His arm wraps around her shoulders in a second.
 
Anna curls herself into his chest, clutching at the wool of his sweater as she sobs into his shoulder, the locket falling to her lap. He holds her tightly, his hand running through her auburn tresses and fingers brushing against the cotton of her sweater.
 
Neither of them know how long they sit there, holding on to one another; only that the sun descends further in the sky.
 
Anna breaths deeply as her sobs settle, pulling away from her lover as she peers up at him with reddened eyes. He gazes back down at her, still running his hand against her back. She cups his cheek, pulling his lips to her own. Sighing as their lips connect, Anna shifts against the seat, throwing her leg over his hips to straddle him.
 
His hand stills as she presses herself closer to him, deepening the kiss even more. Urgently she trails kisses down his jawline and down his neck.
 
“Woah, Anna. Baby slow down. ” He cautions, unsure what is happening as her hands slip toward his belt buckle. Grabbing her wrists, he looks at her with concern. “Talk to me.”
 
“I-I don’t want to talk.” The British woman shakes her head as she pulls her hands out of Kristoff’s grip easily. “I don’t want to think about it at all.” Cupping the back of his neck, Anna pulls his lips to hers once more before withdrawing, hovering an inch away. “Please, help me forget.”
 
His mouth collides with hers once again at those words, wanting nothing more than to help her in any way. Kristoff begins to pepper kisses down her neck, behind her ear as he knows she likes.
 
Her hands fly to the buttons of her dress, wanting nothing more than to be rid of it. Unbuttoning the bodice of her yellow dress, exposing her brassiere before her hands fall limply to her lap with a hollow laugh.
 
Kristoff withdraws from her neck, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he watches her. Anna shakes her head, unable to stop the laughter. “I’m sorry, I just um…keep going. I’m fine.”
 
“Anna,” He sighs, brushing her auburn hair from her face and tucks it behind her ears. Forcing her to look at him, her eyes still red and her dress unbuttoned to her sternum.
 
“I just…I thought I would find her alive. I thought that Elsa would be somewhere in the countryside alive and well.” Anna admits to someone and herself for the first time since her search began. “Not in a mass grave. I can’t believe how stupid I was…I just…didn’t want to believe the obvious. So, I just need to feel something because I...I don’t...”
 
“It feels like you’ll never feel anything again,” Kristoff begins, his thumb stroking her cheek. “That the numbing pit settling in your stomach will never go away and that you’ll do anything just to feel something other than that.”
 
She nods, raising her hands to place them on his shoulders. “What did you do to make it go away?”
 
The American man pauses, trying to think of the answer. “You continue living your life and with some time the numbness slowly goes away and you begin to feel normal.”
 
“You just have to live without them in your life.”
 
“Yeah.” He manages with a nod, “And it’s going to hurt…for a long time and probably forever but it’ll get better eventually and the thought of them will hurt less.”
 
“I-I just wish…” Her brows furrow as tears spill over once again. Wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I wish I could see her once again.”
 
“I know,” Kristoff leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lover’s forehead. Taking a deep breath, Anna throws her head back to blink away the tears. She lingers on his lap for a moment longer before buttoning up her dress.
 
Without another word, she slides off his lap into the seat next to him. Leaning against him for a second before they gather Sven back into the car into his usual place in the passenger seat; where Anna had been.
 
As they begin to drive along the road, Anna finds herself settling against Kristoff’s side and dozing off as they drive further toward France.
 
Not waking until she is surrounded by nighttime, light streaming in from the town surrounding the vehicle. She sits up from Kristoff’s side, rubbing her eyes.
 
“Oh perfect, you’re awake. I was just about to wake you up.” Kristoff comments, turning off the truck.
 
“Where are we?” She asks, grabbing her purse from her feet.
 
“A small town called Givenchy.” He answers, opening the car door. Anna slides against the seat after him, exiting the car.
 
The hotel is a small brick building identical to the others next to it with a freshly painted door. As Kristoff unloads their luggage and ushers Sven out of the truck, Anna meanders toward the hotel with rose bushes in front.

Kristoff follows behind Anna as they approach the building, stopping as the young woman pauses in front of the door. With a sigh, she pulls on the handle to open the building up to them. She holds the door open for Kristoff allowing him and Sven the cross through the threshold of the hotel.  
 
The hotel lobby is painted white with an oak front desk, a red shelf behind the surface holding the keys to approximately six rooms. A middle-aged woman stands behind the desk looks up at the couple with a small smile.
 
“Bonjour.” She greets  with a gentle voice, “Comment allez-vous ce soir?”
 
Hello, how are you this evening?
 
Anna doesn’t manage a smile, taking a deep sigh before answering. “Bien, merci. Nous avons besoin d’une chambre pour nuit.”
 
Fine, thank you. We need a room for the night.
 
The older woman doesn’t blink twice at Anna’s incorrect grammar. “Bien sûr. C’est six francs pour la nuit”
 
Of course. It is six francs for the night.
 
Anna pulls out the money, handing it over to the woman. The hotelkeeper turns, grabbing a key from the wall before sliding it across the desk. The French woman then opens a book, no doubt for her records, jotting down some notes before placing the book in front of Anna.
 
“Votre nom s’il vous plait.” The greying woman requests, handing the pen to the other woman.
 
Your name, please.
 
Anna nods, leaning on the counter to sign her name on the lined sheet. As the pen hovers above the paper, her eyes scan the sheet in front of her. Stopping on one particular name that seems so familiar. 

And suddenly that numb feeling is replaced with something else. 

Hope. 

Chapter Text

Ink blots onto the cream-coloured paper as the pen in Anna’s hand hovers above the guest book. Her eyes glued to the handwriting in front of her which seemed so familiar, yet so strange to the young woman.
 
She looks up at the older woman with knit brows, trying to find the words-anything to ask the hotelkeeper. But her throat feels dry and nothing comes out of her mouth.
 
“Anna,” Kristoff calls out, once again his voice full of concern as he tries to bring her back from the depths of her mind.
 
“Pardon, Ce nom…quand est-elle restée ici?” The British woman asks, pushing the unsigned book back to the older woman. The hotelkeeper places the glasses hanging around her neck by a chain onto the tip of her nose.
 
Excuse me, This name…when did she stay here?
 
The woman takes a moment to observe the name. “Ah! Elle est restée avec nous peu de temps après la fin de la Guerre.”
 
Ah! She stayed with us shortly after the war ended.
 
“Tu te souviens d’elle?” Anna asks, her heart now pounding in her chest.
 
You remember her?
 
“Bien sur que oui. Elle a emménagé au village au peu de temps après.” The older woman responds.
 
Of course, I do. She moved to the village shortly after.  
 
“Elle l’a fait? Où?”
 
She did? Where?
 
“Juste en bas de la rue.” The woman pauses for a moment, tapping her finger against the desk. “Numéro 47 je crois, un cottage anglais avuc porte rouge vif.”
 
Just down the street. Number 47 I believe, an English cottage with a bright red door.
 
Anna jerks away from the counter in an instant, not even thinking to thank the woman for the information. Not even stopping as Kristoff calls out for her as she pulls open the front door. She barely takes a second to look across the street to figure out which direction to go, bolting from the hotel toward the house numbers that increase slowly by block.  
 
The streetlamps light her way as she races through the street, her ankles threatening to twist as the heel of her shoe makes contact with the cobblestoned road. Kristoff calls out to her, trailing behind with Sven as she stops in the road.
 
Ignoring her lover, Anna scans the house numbers quickly. She doesn’t run again, her ankles unable to take it any longer but strides quickly down the street. Watching as the house numbers increase with every step as she follows the bend in the road.
 
Her heart continues to pound in her chest, reverberating through her body in a way that Anna wasn’t sure she would ever feel again. Not after what they saw in Esterwegen. After learning of Elsa’s death, Anna wasn’t sure she’d feel anything ever again.
 
She didn’t feel anything like that with her parents’ untimely deaths, not that it hadn’t devastated her. It was a memory that continued to follow her, no matter where she went. But back in ’41 she still had Elsa, even if they weren’t close then. Back then there was still a possibility that they might mend things between them.
 
That possibility had been gone. 
 
But the name written in the check-in journal had changed everything Anna thought was a reality: Marguerite Mahy.
 
Elsa’s code name during her time in the SOE.
 
Hair sticks to the back of her neck as she increasingly grows warmer as she continues to march down the streets, wishing she had left her coat with her suitcase in the hotel lobby. Her breath becomes heavy as she walks faster than she normally does.
 
It isn’t until she spots a figure in the streetlight that Anna comes to a stop. She watches as the figure walks up toward the door of a house. Standing at the end of the walkway of the house with a bright red door, Anna watches the silhouette for a moment.
 
Though the porch light is dim, Anna can just make out the colour of the woman’s hair. An unmistakable colour, one which she often envied as a child; wishing her hair could be that bright. 
 
“Elsa,” She calls as her heart pounds in her ears, draining out every other sound around the young woman. The rise and fall of her chest is the only sensation she is aware of as she waits for the figure to turn toward her.
 
The woman at the door drops the bag in her arms, not catching her groceries as they fall to the ground with cans hitting loudly against the pavement. Anna’s fingers twitch at her side as the silhouette glances over her shoulder. The curve of her cheek and upturned nose, so similar to her own, visible in the dimmed light.
 
“A-Anna?” The figure asks, turning fully from the door. Mirroring blue eyes now staring back at the auburn-haired woman. Anna stills, her breath escaping from her at the sight of her sister standing in front of her.
 
She is much thinner than Anna remembers her being, dark circles under her eyes, dressed in a dark blue dress and her bright blonde hair pulled back into a braid. Elsa glances down the street nervously, her brows furrowed in confusion as she begins to wring her hands.
 
“W-What are you doing here?”
 
Anna doesn’t answer instead of taking a slow step forward, unblinking as she moves towards her sister. Her mouth parts but there is nothing, no matter how much she wants to say something; after so many years of silence, yet Anna cannot find the words.
 
As the auburn-haired woman approaches the house Elsa looks to the ground, unable to meet her sister’s gaze. “I know I’ve been selfish a-and I don’t deserve your forgiveness or understanding…” 
 
She stops, unnerved that Anna still doesn’t respond, still slowly moving toward her with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. The blonde blinks, trying to stop the tears forming in her eyes; knowing she has no right to be upset at this moment, she had been the one who hid for years, never reaching out to Anna even just to tell her that she was alive.
 
“Don’t look at me like that…” The elder trails off, shaking her head as she finally meets Anna’s gaze as the younger Rendelle sister finally stands in front of her. “Say something, anything. Scream or yell at me, God knows I deserve it. I just…”
 
Her thought is cut off as arms wrap around her shoulders in an instant, wrapped in her sister’s embrace. Anna buries her face in Elsa’s shoulder, the scent of lavender hitting her senses. “There hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t thought of you.”
 
Tears finally spill from Elsa’s eyes as she returns the embrace, holding her sister close as if she might disappear at any second. Anna’s shoulders begin to shake, crying as it becomes cemented in her mind.
 
She had found her sister. After all these years of searching and what seemed to be fruitless efforts, she had done it. No more wondering, lying awake at night and re-reading letters to find some clues. Now, they could begin anew, have the relationship they were deprived of for so long.
 
Reluctantly they withdraw from one another, Anna taking Elsa’s hands into her own. As if convincing herself that her older sister is truly in front of her. That this isn’t a dream or a hallucination.
 
“I-I can’t believe that you’re here.” The younger Rendelle sister states, her fingers brushing against Elsa’s clammy palms. “After so many years…I-I thought you were dead.”
 
The blonde pauses briefly, looking down at their clasped hands. “I’m sorry…” her mouth remains open, trying to think of something to say but nothing comes out. There is so much to say in yet seemingly so little time. 
 
“None of it matters now, I found you and we can finally go home together,” Anna states, her heart pounding in her chest.
 
“Anna…I…” Elsa begins, stopping as a loud bark echoes throughout the night. The women look to the street, finally taking notice of the broad man standing at the end of the walkway, holding tightly onto a dog. “Oh, I didn’t realize you brought someone with you.” 
 
Letting go of her sister’s hands, Anna waves Kristoff and Sven over to them. A smile crosses her features as the American man slowly moves toward them, resisting Sven’s insistent tugging.
 
“This is Kristoff, he’s my…” Anna trails off, meeting Kristoff’s gaze with a small smile. “Well, he’s been helping me find you.”
 
“I hope my presence isn’t a bother.” Kristoff rubs the back of his neck, feeling small under Elsa’s scrutinizing gaze.
 
“Not at all,” Elsa reassures him. “I’m just glad that Anna’s had someone all this time. Anna always said she’s wanted to be married before she was 25 an-.”
 
“Oh, n-.” Kristoff shakes his head but is cut off before he can finish his sentence.

“Oh! We’re not together…I mean we are, but not at the point that engagement or marriage has come up.” Anna’s voice cracks, her mouth dry as she continues on despite her brain screaming at her to stop. “Nor should it…it’s still pretty new.”
 
Elsa glances between the two lovers with a cocked brow. “Ah, well either way I’m glad. W-would you two like to come in?”
 
“I mean as long as we're not imposing, we can always come back tomorrow,” Anna responds quickly, trying to ignore the shake in her hands. The last thing she wants is to chase Elsa away, after 4 years she isn’t going to ruin this moment.
 
“No, it’s fine. I can put on the kettle.” Elsa opens the door to her home, Sven running through the threshold first. Before the older Rendelle sister can, Kristoff bends over to pick up the spilled groceries. “Oh, that’s fine, you don’t have to do that.”
 
“No, it’s okay. We gave you a good scare, it’s the least I can do.” He shrugs it off, picking the last can off the ground. Shyly, Elsa steps forward to take the canned vegetables and her grocery bag from the blonde man.
 
It falls silent between the sisters as Anna follows her elder sister into the house, stepping through the doorway into a living room. The auburn-haired woman pauses in the doorway, glancing at the pink and white floral wallpaper and the stone fireplace on the west-facing wall next to another doorway into what is presumably the kitchen.
 
She glances over her shoulder as the door closes behind her, Kristoff standing in front of the entrance, offering her a smile which she reciprocates. A part of her wishes that he’d place a hand on her back, drawing circles against the fabric of her dress.
 
“Please sit anywhere, I’ll be back with some tea.” Elsa offers before disappearing through the doorway. With a sigh, Anna steps further into the room to settle on the beige sofa, her hands clasped on her lap as Kristoff sits next to her.
 
Glancing around the room Anna takes note of the paintings on the walls, all of flowers or the countryside. There is hardly any personal effects of Elsa’s throughout the room, no photos of their parents or even of her.
 
As she looks around, Kristoff reaches out to place his hand over her clasped ones gaining her attention. He studies her face for a moment, squeezing her hands. “Are you alright?”
 
“I feel like I’m dreaming…that I’m not actually sitting in this living room with her in the other room you know?” She states, meeting his gaze as she begins to chew the inside of her cheek.
 
“Yeah, I understand
 
“Alright, here we go. I apologize, I’ve run out of sugar rations for this month.” Elsa says as she emerges from the kitchen holding a tray with a single teapot and three cups. Anna watches as it is brought to them, noticing the shake of her sister’s hands.
 
Her aqua eyes focused on the blonde woman’s hands as she places the tray onto the coffee table, resisting the urge to gasp at the sight of heavily scarred and misaligned knuckles. Elsa notices the strained silence, knowing her sister saw her hands.
 
As she lets go of the tray, Elsa looks down at her knuckles with a titter. “Ah, my hands…a souvenir from the former Herr Hitler.”
 
The callous joke slips from her easily, a pang in her chest at the look on her younger sister’s face, full of concern. Though it doesn’t escape her notice how Kristoff smirks briefly at the attempt of humour. Maren would have found it funny.
 
“Elsa…what happened?” Anna finally asks, her brows furrowing. With a sigh, the older woman sits in the armchair across from them. “I mean…it’s been 4 years and nothing…I just want to know…”
 
“I know.” The elder sister responds, falling silent as her gaze goes to the steeping tea. With a deep breath, Elsa finally talks about her time during the war for the first time since the end of it.

About being approached in the café in Oxford that night after a disastrous date with a boy, whose name she can’t recall anymore. Going south to London to meet with Yelana before being whisked off to Scotland without any warning and given instruction not to contact her family. Her time at Rhubana Lodge and training for her deployment. Then her landing in France, her first night alone in the shack and being brought to Arras with her partner for their placement.  
 
She leaves out all the personal details, things like the first time she and Honeymaren shared a kiss and the nights they spent tangled up with one another in her bed. Knowing that Anna isn’t ready to hear about that yet.
 
Though she doesn’t want to, she explains how they ran from Arras to Paris, hoping to find a way out of the country. The days locked in the basement of the brothel before being arrested. Trying to bite back emotions as she describes to her sister the torture she was subjected to, wanting to be gentle as she notices tears beginning to pool in Anna’s eyes. As well about her time in the camp, being shoved into a small shack with about 60 other women, maybe more, as well the hard labour and lack of food. Watching as women she had gotten to know over the months slowly waste away along with herself. Until the day the guards threw torches into the shacks and left without another word or command. Then the British soldiers came.
 
“I planned on returning to London after the war…but it just…didn’t feel right. Knowing that my partner could be out there somewhere.” Elsa says, tapping her fingernail against the porcelain teacup in her hands. “I went back to Arras to see if I could find my partner, but I couldn’t find her. I found myself in this town and an elderly woman took me in as a caregiver, she passed away and I’ve been renting the house from her son.”
 
 “So, you’ve been searching for your partner all this time?” Anna asks, brows furrowed. Still not understanding why she hasn’t heard from her sister for years. 

Elsa shakes her head, “Not really. I gave up in ‘46 after I heard rumours that she had died in one of those camps. I just…couldn’t go back to London.” 
 
“Well…we can go home now. I mean Gerda takes a little getting used to but I’m sure she would love to have you stay at the boarding house and I mean we could even ge-.”
 
“Anna stop!” The blonde woman cuts off the other, sitting on the edge of her chair. “I…I’m not going back.”
 
The younger Rendelle sister’s face drops at that sentence, her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach. “B-but why? I found you, I’ve spent years looking for you so I could bring you home.”
 
“I just can’t!” Elsa snaps, her eyes narrowed on her sister. It only takes a moment before her features soften, watching her sister’s eyes widen in shock. With a sigh, the blonde shakes her head. “W-were betrayed Anna…that’s why I can’t go back.”
 
“Yeah, your neighbour, a French citizen, betrayed you and no doubt has suffered the consequences for her actions.” Anna huffs, still not understanding. 
 
“No, not just the neighbour…” Elsa trails off, glancing down at her scarred knuckles briefly before meeting her sister’s gaze once more. “We were betrayed by everyone: Allied high command and the Government. They fed us willingly to the wolves.”
 
“Why would they do that?”
 
“They needed a way to transmit false information to the Germans somehow. Letting us get captured and our radios taken was the quickest way to do that.” Elsa explains
 
“How do you know all of this? This seems like something the military would keep close to their chest.” Kristoff questions, taking a sip of his tea.
 
“They do,” The blonde woman confirms with a nod, pursing her lips as she hesitates for a moment. “Yelana found me back in ’46 before her death.”
 

September 1946
 
It had been a cold autumn afternoon, Madame Gagnon already off to her Tuesday tea with her other elderly widowed friends for the day. Which finally gave Elsa a moment to herself, allowing for her to have room for error and weakness as well.
 
Though she tried to ignore the dull ache in her knuckles and joints as she help a tin watering can to finish feeding the plants. As she watered the fern perched on the windowsill in the living room, movement in the front yard caught the young woman’s attention.
 
A grey-haired woman, though not bend over from age as most of Madame Gagnon’s friends were. No, this one stood tall, marching as Elsa had once whenever she was on a mission.
 
No matter that she expected it, the knock on the door still sent her heart pounding out of pure fear and adrenaline. Though she knew the time for unwarranted arrests was over.
 
With a deep breath, Elsa withdrew from the window, wiping her hands on the skirt of her red dress as she placed the watering can down on the side table. Preparing herself to inform the older woman that she had gone to the wrong address for tea that day.
 
She opened the door with a sigh, “Bonjour Madame.”
 
“I didn’t realize this was a formal visit.” The woman on the other side of the door commented in English, smirking at the young woman. Looking at the woman closer, Elsa’s breath caught in her throat. Yelana.
 
It seemed as if she aged 10 years since the Blonde had seen her last, though she knew she probably seemed the same to her old instructor.
 
Elsa had invited her in not a moment later, the two exchanging pleasantries as tea was prepared for a much longer conversation. When the women finally sat across from one another, teacups filled as Elsa finally asked the question pressing on her mind.
 
“Why are you here Yelana?” The young woman questioned, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.
 
Yelana paused for a moment, placing her teacup onto the coffee table. “After the war, many of our agents didn’t return from France. I’m trying to find those who are still alive.”
 
“Is Maren-?” Elsa sat up straight, eyes wide in hope before the older woman cut her off.
 
“I haven’t located her yet. I have paperwork that states she was imprisoned at Dachau.” Yelana explained. “But all of the women we have listed being imprisoned there were documented as being executed on September 13, 1944.”
 
“But there is no documentation on her being one of those women?”
 
“No there isn’t, but there isn’t any documentation about her being liberated. Meaning she could’ve died of starvation or honestly anything…” Yelana trailed off, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry Miss Rendelle, I know you two were close.”
 
“You could say that.” A single tear fell down her cheek, though she tries her hardest to keep her composure.
 
Silence fell between them briefly as Yelana sipped her tea. “I talked to Honeymaren before she was deployed, we had a lot in common her and I.”
 
“You did?”
 
“We both watched our parents and grandparents struggle in a world that was changing around them and how to raise their children in the old ways while ensuring their survival.” The older woman stated. “We were too alike in fact; I confiscated some personal items from her the night before she was deployed.”
 
Yelana grabbed the messenger bag at her feet, digging through the bag to pull out a file envelope. Within seconds she pulled out a small photograph, handing it to Elsa without any hesitation.
 
Taking the object in her hand, Elsa immediately recognized the photo of a young man with a bright smile. “Ryder…”
 
“I told Maren I would keep it safe until her return home…I can’t think of a better place than with you until she is found.”
 
“Thank you.” Elsa managed, still staring at the photograph.
 
“There were a couple of other things, I confiscated from one of the other girls, Alexandra I think.”
 
Yelana handed her a small pile of photographs, remaining quiet as Elsa filed through the pictures slowly. She had nearly forgotten Alexandra had snuck a small camera into the lodge.
 
There were a few photos of all of them; Elsa, Honeymaren, Joy, Diana and Beth all in their uniforms in the dorm waiting to begin training. The ones that make Elsa smile though were those of her and Maren.
 
One of them sitting on the edge of her bed, an item in Elsa’s hand to show to the Mohawk woman. Though it wasn’t visible the British woman knew it was her locket, the night she talked to Maren about her sister.
 
The next photo made her heart soar, both girls sitting on the ground together. Hands clasped together as they laughed at something that was said. Maren’s eyes focused on Elsa, whose were closed in reaction. It was the night Marie had let the girls finish her bottle of gin.
 
“Honestly, looking at these photos I should’ve searched you girls better. Alcohol, a camera AND personal items, I knew you girls were troublemakers.” Yelana shook her head, though her eyes were soft while staring at the photos. 
 
“Are any of them missing or dead?”
 
“No, just you two. I gave the rest of the photos to Alexandra…she got married last month.”
 
Elsa smiled faintly. “I guess that’s one positive to come out of it. How did any of this happen? I don’t understand where we went wrong.”  
 
“Elsa…” Yelana trailed off as if debating to say her next words. “It wasn’t anything you did.”
 
“What?”
 
“We received a message from you and Maren that couldn’t be authenticated. And I was ordered to send a transmission despite this.” Yelana started, her fingernail tapping against the porcelain cup. “I later learned that they had been doing this for months before this incident, this was kept from me to keep us transmitting to you two which…led to your arrest and imprisonment.”
 
Her ears started to ring in that instant, her body numbing at the final words. “What are you saying?”
 
“The Government and Allied High Command betrayed us so that the Germans would get a hold of a radio so that they could transmit false information to the Nazis.” Yelana finished, placing her teacup down once again.
 
Elsa silently stared at the older woman, eyes narrowed, and mouth pursed before standing abruptly from the couch. “I think you should go.”
 
“Elsa I-.”
 
“No, I think it's best you go. Because if you don’t, I’m afraid I might say some things about how you were the one assured me that I’d be fine when I felt nervous about deploying.” Elsa jerked open the door as Yelana stood. “That you facilitated the arrest and torture of myself and the woman I loved. That you mostly likely murdered her and are the reason that I can’t sleep throughout the night anymore.”
 
“I promi-”
 
“I don’t want to hear it.” The young woman snapped, tears pooling in her eyes. “Please leave.”
 
With a nod Yelana grabbed her bag, walking toward the door before pausing to look at Elsa. “I’ll telegraph you if I find anything about Honeymaren.”
 
Elsa didn’t respond, not even looking at the Sàmi woman as she stepped through the threshold of the house. The door slammed behind her in an instant.
 
The British woman hadn’t expected to hear from Yelana again. Until about two weeks later she received a telegram from a D Mattias, the name so familiar yet so strange to Elsa, which read:
 
September 29, 1946
           Yelana Magga, deceased in a car crash.  
 
Elsa had crumpled it up and threw it away without another thought.

Anna is nearly too stunned to speak, staring at her sister with wide and concerned eyes. Wishing there was less space between them so that she could place her hand over her sister’s, there are no words that could make any of this okay. None of it was.
 
“I know I should’ve returned after the war and probably after Yelana’s death...I just…” Elsa trails off with a huff. “England isn’t my home anymore, not after what happened to Maren and I.”
 
“I understand.” Anna nods slowly, a faint smile crossing her features, “This Maren must’ve been truly someone.”
 
Elsa reciprocates the small smile. “She really was. Honeymaren came all the way from America to serve and was the best out of all of us.”
 
“Honeymaren Nattura?” Kristoff finally speaks, staring at the British woman with a curious glance.
 
“You knew her?” Elsa asks, brows furrowing. She had never heard about any Kristoff from her lover.
 
“Not personally no,” He shakes his head. “I…served with Ryder during the war.”
 
Elsa chuckles, shaking her head. “He got his way then. Did he return to America?”
 
“He- No he didn’t go back.” Kristoff looks down at his lap, unable to meet her gaze. Anna reaches over to take his hand into her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
 
“I’m sorry...” The elder Rendelle sister says, looking down to her lap. 
 
Kristoff lets go of his lover’s hand, standing from the couch to linger in front of the fireplace, placing his hand on the mantle. Anna’s gaze remains on him as he continues to stand in silence. Barely registering as Elsa settles next to her on the couch.
 
She had been so focused on finding her own sister, she had nearly forgotten about Kristoff’s own want to find Maren. It seemed like a joke, that the same person was ripped from both people she cared about most in this world.
 
“I’m glad she had you.” Kristoff finally says his voice cracking slightly. “Ryder would’ve been comforted by that.”
 
“I loved her,” Elsa responds out of habit, not having talked about her with anyone else in years. Panic thrums in her chest as she realizes what she’s said, hesitantly looking to her sister to see her reaction. Ready for the yelling and scolding at any moment that she got when she told her father.
 
Instead, her eyes meet misty ones staring back. “D-did she love you too?”
 
“She did,” Elsa says with certainty. In an instant Anna takes her hand into her own, holding it tightly as she smiles.
 
“Good.” The auburn-haired woman simply says, happy knowing that throughout all this time her sister was loved. 
 
“I have a few photos of her, would you like to see them?” The blonde woman inquires, smiling as Anna nods. Noticing how Kristoff even pulls away from the fireplace with his hands in his pockets.
 
The younger Rendelle sister watches as Elsa stands from the couch, moving toward the fireplace to grab a framed photo. Anna can’t help but smile as she watches her sister show Kristoff the photo.
 
A grin crosses his features while looking at the item. “Holy shit, Ryder told me they looked similar, but I didn’t realize there was that much of a resemblance.”
 
“It was really astounding.” Elsa comments, with a giggle. “Whenever she got really excited, she got this stupid little grin that scrunched up her cheeks and made her eyes squinty.”
 
“Ryder did the same thing,” Kristoff shakes his head in disbelief.
 
For a moment the blonde woman’s laughter stops, looking up at the American. “I have a photo of him. You’d be welcome to have it if you’d like.”
 
“No…I think you should keep it; he should stay with his sister.” He responds after a brief pause. “Anna, come see this.”
 
With a smile Anna stands from the couch, meandering toward the two to stand beside her lover. He turns the photo toward her, allowing her to reach out and take the frame into her hand.
 
It was of Elsa and Honeymaren, which Anna finally feels glad to put a face to the name. The photo captures the laughter of the two women, their hands clasped together as Maren stared at Elsa with a loving gaze. Anna looks over the unfamiliar woman, her dark features unmistakable to the young woman. As if she’s seen her somewhere before.
 
Her brows furrow in thought as she continues to look at the photo, pointing to Maren. “I-I know her.”
 
Both Kristoff and Elsa look at her, completely surprised. “What do you mean by that?” Her sister asks.
 
“The town we stayed in.” Anna looks up at the blonde man. “The one where the truck broke down, I was standing outside of that bar and you left me with your cigarettes. She asked me for one and I handed her it.”
 
“Are you sure?” Kristoff inquired, a crease forming between his brows as he stands up a little straighter. Elsa looking between the two of them with wide eyes. 
 
“I’m certain.” Anna looks back to her sister, meeting her hopeful gaze. “Honeymaren is still alive.”

Chapter Text

Sweat beads from the young woman’s brow as she moves from table to table, placing empty wine glasses onto a tray. It is only the beginning of May, yet it feels so hot in the bar; it could be from the large south-facing windows or maybe even that the building was consistently filled with 160-pound French men from open to close. Though now only four remain, Henri, Louis, Pierre and Hugo. 

“Eloise!” Hugo shouts, now on his fourth glass of wine. “Une autre bouteille s’il vous plait.” 

Eloise! Another bottle of wine, please. 

Honeymaren comes to stand in front of the table, raising a brow at the remaining five men. “C’est un jeudi. Vous ne devez pas tous travailler demain?” 

It’s Thursday. Don’t you all have to work tomorrow?

“Ben Ouais, mais c’est le début du mois! C’est bientôt le jour de la Victoire.” Louis adds, his face slowly reddening as he finishes his current glass. 

Well yes, but it’s the start of the month! It will be Victory Day soon. 

The Mohawk woman smiles at that, not letting her features give away the pang in her chest at those words. VE Day, the newest holiday in the country had soon become her least favourite one. 

The first one she spent being questioned by American soldiers about the conditions of that awful place and being poked by doctors. Last year she spent it locked in her house, drinking wine as she thought of Elsa. She hated VE Day, it only reminded her of everything she lost; the love of her life and her little brother. 

“Eloise, prend un verre avec nous pour fêter ça!” Henri nearly shouts, his glasses now abandoned on the table. 

Eloise, have a drink with us to celebrate! 

“Je vais te chercher une autre bouteille” She responds, walking away from the table. As quickly as she walked away she soon turns back to the men, pointing her finger as if scolding small children. “Mais ce sera la dernière! Je ne veux pas que tes femmes me blâment le matin.” 

I’ll get you another bottle. But it will be the last! I don’t want your wives to blame me in the morning. 

A series of cheers echo throughout the room as she ambles towards the bar, smiling up at the bar owner, Jean, as he narrows his eyes at the young woman. 

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Maren questions, placing the tray of glasses on the counter. 

What is it? 

“Ils vont me boire pour les affaires.” He huffs, shaking his head. 

They’ll drink me out of business.  

“Tu peux te le permettre, en plus ils s’amusent tellement.” 

You can afford it, plus they’re having so much fun. 

“Trop amusant.” He grumbles, reluctantly handing Honeymaren another, cheap, bottle of red wine for his frequent patrons. 

Too much fun. 

The brunette chuckles as she takes the bottle of wine, reaching for the corkscrew to pop the cork out of the glass neck. With a loud pop, Maren meanders back to the table of men. Pouring the wine as she passively listens to their conversation; something about De Gaulle’s reconstruction plan. 

Once everyone has their glasses filled, she leaves the bottle on the table next to Henri; knowing full well he is the only one with a fair pour and would result in the least amount of arguments between the middle-aged French men. 

She pats Henri on the shoulder before turning back toward the bar, taking the damp cloth from the surface to wipe down the other vacant tables. 

With a sigh she begins wiping the pine table with the lukewarm rag, barely cleaning off any of the sugars from the surface. Waiting tables hadn’t exactly been something Honeymaren wanted to do following the war, but it is a job and it pays well. Which is more than many could say for themselves. 

The brunette closes her eyes as she hears the bell to the door ring, not sure if she can handle another customer at the moment. 

“Vous pouvez vous asseoir n’importe où, moi ou Jean serons avec voud sous peu.” She calls out, not bothering to look over her shoulder. 

You can sit anywhere, Jean or I will be with you shortly. 

“That’s…not exactly why I’m here…” The patron responds in English, causing the Kanien’kehá:ka woman to pause her movements, her brows knitting together. The voice belonging to the person seemed so familiar but so strange, one which she never thought she’d hear again after years of waiting and searching. 

The world seems to still around her as she turns from the table, the cloth abandoned on the surface without a care. 

Her eyes are wide as they focus on the figure at the door, the same bright blonde hair hanging in waves around her shoulders, the light blue colour of her skirt and cream-coloured blouse standing out against pale skin and complimenting those familiar eyes. Though she seems thinner than she was years ago, similar to Maren’s own frame. 

Tears springing to her eyes, Honeymaren floats toward her lover. A smile crossing the blonde’s features as she inches closer. Without a second thought, the brunette takes Elsa’s face into her hands to study her lover’s features carefully; as if to ensure she is truly standing in front of her. 

“I-is it really you?” Maren inquires, trying to stop her tears from spilling over. 

Elsa covers the darker woman’s hands with her own. “It is.” 

Maren doesn’t hesitate to bring Elsa closer to her, her lips connecting with the other woman’s cheek following the line of faint freckles across her nose to her other cheek. Both wishing that she could press her lips to Elsa’s after so long but knowing this is best. This way they seem like close friends, reunited after many years. Though it is only half the truth. 

Pulling back to look at the blonde, Maren continues to cup Elsa’s cheeks, her thumbs brushing against her cheekbones as they gaze at one another. 

“Y-you’re here…” the brunette whispers, her eyes searching her lover’s face. The blonde woman manages a smile, placing her hands over Maren’s as she nods; the corners of her eyes creasing to stop tears from falling. 

“I am.” 

Brown eyes look over the lighter woman once more, as if to confirm that the woman she loves is standing in front of her. Unable to hold back a sob, Maren wraps her arms around Elsa wanting to hold her close for the first time in years. 

She still smells like lavender and soap, still wearing clothes made of soft cotton and never linen; remembering how the blonde hates the way it feels against her skin. 

“I thought you were dead,” Maren states, burying her face into the fabric of her lover’s dress. Elsa’s arms tighten around the Mohawk woman’s body, her hands clutching the back of Maren’s white cotton shirt. 

The blonde sighs, her tears wetting the collar of Maren's dress. “I’m here…” 

Maren doesn’t respond, continuing to hold her lover in the middle of the bar. Reluctantly she finally detaches from her lover, taking Elsa’s hands into her own as she steps away from the blonde. With a deep sigh, the brunette gazes at the other woman longingly. “I-I have so much to tell you.” 

“Me too…I don’t even know where to begin.” Elsa catches movement in her peripheral, reminding the British woman of where they are. Slowly she withdraws her hands from Maren’s. 

“I can come back once your shift is over, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your boss.” 

“No, no. Don’t leave…” Maren insists, grasping her lover’s hands again to stop her from leaving. “Jean, je pars tôt.” 

Jean, I’m leaving early. 

“Quoi?” The man’s head pops up from his task, brows knit together in confusion. “Pourquoi?” 

What? Why? 

Maren glances to the bar briefly, letting go of the other woman’s hands. “Give me one moment to handle this.” 

“Wha-” Elsa begins, watching as the brunette walks away from her toward the bar. The Mohawk woman puts down the rag she had been cleaning tables with, ducking behind the surface for a moment before resurfacing with her purse. 

“Je te verrai vendredi Jean.” She calls over her shoulder, nodding at the middle-aged patrons as she walks past them. Without waiting for a response from the bartender, Maren takes Elsa by the arm. Leaving the building without a second thought.  

I’ll see you on Friday Jean. 

Elsa looks at her lover with a raised brow and a smirk. “How can you be sure you’ll still have a job on Friday?” 

“Because Jean leaves every Friday early to see his mistress and no one knows that but me.” The brunette quips back. 

A giggle escapes from the British woman, despite the want to suppress it. Her emotions are too high to even attempt to hide anything from Honeymaren at this moment. The couple walk down a narrow street, their hands still holding the other as they walk past the brick houses. Both of them keep steady as they walk downhill. 

They come to a stop in front of a gate where Maren finally lets go of Elsa’s hand to find her keys, unlocking the gate which leads to a complex of identical small red brick houses. Elsa steps into the courtyard first, her lover trailing behind, closing the gate behind them. 

The blonde takes the other woman’s hand once more, allowing herself to be led down the closed-off cobblestone street. Stopping as Maren comes to stand in front of the fourth small house on the right. Within an instant the door creaks open, exposing the interior to the young woman. 

Maren extends her arm, gesturing for Elsa to go enter the house before her. Letting go of the brunette’s hand, Elsa steps into the house, the hardwood floor creaking under her weight. 

The walls are covered in cream-coloured wallpaper with light pink flowers, with only a few photos hanging of the seaside; indicating the space is clearly rented with no personal items anywhere. It reminds Elsa of her own cottage in Givenchy-en-Gohelle, though Maren’s house is much smaller than hers. 

The kitchen is located off to the left of the front door, with three cabinets against the wall, the stove sitting underneath the front window and the icebox tucked into the corner. A small round maple table stands in the middle of the kitchen, four mismatching chairs tucked against the surface. 

 The living room consists of a green sofa and a leather chair in the opposite corner, sitting between two doors: no doubt the lavatory and the bedroom. There are a few worn books resting on the floor with no bookshelf insight. No doubt the living space is cramped, even for a single woman however, Maren had never been good at organizing. 

The door clicks closed behind Maren as she trails behind the British woman, watching her back as she looks around the place she has lived for these past 3 years. Years wasted on tears and thoughts consumed of the loved ones she would never see again; something she had been sure of until today. 

The Kanien’kehá;ka woman finds herself unable to look away from the blonde, watching how the light shines against her bright blonde hair and how her eyes sparkle as she takes in her surroundings. 

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Elsa ponders out loud, finally looking at her lover. 

“What is?” Honeymaren questions, cocking her head slightly with a raised brow. 

“All these years unable to find one another, and there we were nearly 20 minutes away from one another by car.” The light woman smiles sadly, the corner of her eyes crinkling. “All of those years…wasted and…you were only a half-hour away.” 

For a brief instance, Maren’s eyes flicker to the ground before returning to Elsa. She is right, the years they spent mourning one another. Maren crosses the space between them quickly, cupping her lover’s cheeks as she presses her lips against the other woman’s. 

Elsa’s eyes shut the moment their lips meet, humming softly at the contact. She missed the warmth of Maren’s palms against her face, feeling the rise and fall of her breasts against her own. She missed her. 

Even after all of those years, the two of them seemed to fit together. Kissing Maren is so easy and feels so natural to her as if they never were separated from one another in that horrible basement. 

She slides one hand into Maren’s thick hair, cupping the back of her head as she deepens the kiss. Thrill rushing through her at the other woman’s eager response as their tongues move together. A familiar throb pulsating between her legs. 

Maren’s hands withdraw from Elsa’s face, her warm palms radiating through the blonde’s clothes as her hands trail along Elsa’s side. Her worn fingers brushing against the hem of Elsa’s blouse before slipping underneath, stroking her bare skin. 

Without any hesitancy Elsa withdraws her hand from Maren’s hair, her hands going to unfasten the pearl button on the front of her shirt. She flicks open the remaining button, shrugging the garment to the ground, leaving her exposed to the waist. 

With a hum Maren pulls away from the kiss, her eyes scanning her lover’s body appreciatively. Though she was thinner than Maren recalls, hip bones protruding similar to her own. An unspoken knowledge between the two of them as Maren removes her own dress. 

Everything feels so familiar once again, the way Maren leads Elsa to her bedroom. Helping one another strip the British woman out of her skirt. How Elsa trails her lips against her lover’s soft skin as she kisses along her neck, eliciting soft moans from the Mohawk woman. 

As they lay on the bed Elsa straddles Maren, pressing down against the darker woman’s upper thigh as she cups Maren’s breasts. Her thumbs rubbing against the other woman’s silk-covered nipples as her lips travelled down past her clavicle. 

Her lips skim along the fabric of Maren’s bra, teasing the woman beneath her. Unable to bear it, the brunette reaches behind her back to unhook the garment. Elsa wastes no time in pulling away the piece of fabric, tossing it to the side as Maren slips her arms from the straps. 

Elsa kisses and licks the curve of Maren’s breast, before finally taking a nipple into her mouth. caressing it with her tongue as her hand goes to the woman’s other breast, rolling the bud between her fingers. The soft moaning of her lover further encouraging the blonde. 

Everything feels right again. More so than it has in three years. The way Maren’s skin feels against her lips and under her hands as she continues to kiss down her lover’s body. The soft skin of her inner thigh brushing against Elsa’s cheeks as she settles between Maren’s legs. How her blonde hair curls around the Kanien’kehá:ka woman’s fingers. 

Maren’s voice echoes as her orgasm builds, the brunette pushes down against Elsa’s tongue as her hips jerking while she climaxes. Panting as Elsa pulls away, Maren stares down at her with a flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes. 

A gasp escapes from Elsa as Maren flips them, the Mohawk woman’s body covering her lovers as their lips crash together, helping her discard her knickers. Elsa’s hair stands on edge as Maren peppers kisses along her hips before settling between her thighs. Licking at her core until she reaches her own high. 

A sheen of sweater covers Elsa’s body, her panting echoing through the room as Maren rolls off her. They don’t lie apart for very long, Elsa shifting closer to her lover to wrap her arms around the other woman. 

It feels right, laying in bed with Maren once again after 3 long years. The brunette’s head rests against Elsa’s breast, listening to her heartbeat with closed eyes. Soft tresses wrapped around the British woman’s fingers. 

“I’m never leaving this bed,” Maren mumbles, burying her face into the crook of her lover’s neck. Elsa giggles at the announcement, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head.  

“You always say that.” The blonde responds with a smile, pressing her lips to the other woman’s temple. 

The brunette hums, her eyes opening once again as she shifts to lie on her stomach, her chin resting on Elsa’s chest as she stares up at her. Goosepimples break out across the blonde’s arms as Maren begins to draw circles on her clavicle. 

“I still can barely believe that you’re here with me…” Maren states with a small smile. “I thought I had died when I saw you walk through the door. Even if I did in that moment, I would’ve died happily on the floor of the bar if it meant I could see you again.” 

The blonde giggles at that shaking her head. “I would hope not, I came all this way to find you. It would’ve been devastating if you died the moment shortly after I successfully found you.” 

Maren surges forward, pressing her lips against her lovers for a moment. Her dark brows knit together as they withdraw from one another. “How did you find me?” 

“It’s…kind of a long story.” Elsa shrugs, sitting up against the headboard. She sighs as her lover cocks a brow in response. Without another word Maren stands from the bed, picking a robe up from the ground. 

“Shall I make tea then? It’ll make the time go faster.” The brunette comments, glancing over her shoulder once more before disappearing from the room. With a smile, Elsa stands, not bothering with putting on her knickers as she steps into her dress. Fastening the buttons as she follows Maren to the kitchen. 

Maren’s hair shines in the light from the windows as she stands at the stove, preparing hot water. Elsa settles at the small table, watching as her lover flitters around the kitchen to grab teacups and a pot. The Mohawk woman prepares builder’s tea once the water is boiled, putting the pot on the table as she settles across from the lighter woman. 

It takes Elsa a moment to finally speak until after the tea is poured, unsure where to start about everything that has happened. 

Elsa tells Honeymaren about her time in the camp for political prisoners, discerning from her expression that she had suffered a similar experience. Discussing the liberation by the British soldiers and slipping away to Arras with barely another word to try to find her. 

“I stayed in Arras for about 3 weeks. I was planning on staying but…it just wasn’t the same without you.” Elsa sighs, tapping her nails against the surface. “Every face I saw, I wondered if that was the person who turned us in or had betrayed us for a loaf of bread.” 

“We know who turned us in Elsa…” 

“I know we do, but even just thinking that…the grocer or the woman pushing a baby stroller down the street could’ve sold out her Jewish neighbours or people like us...” The blonde’s eyes flutter as they threaten to tear up. “I left for Givenchy-en-Gohelle thinking you had died, I reached out to red cross and other organizations but nothing. So, I disappeared.”

Maren listens quietly as Elsa continues, not looking up at her lover as she details finding her home in Givenchy. The only sign of emotion crossing her features is when her brows raise as she hears of Yelana finding Elsa in the small town and exposing the true nature of their arrest. 

“None of that explains how you were able to find me.” Maren points out. 

“By some odd miracle…Anna found me.” Elsa reveals, a smile crossing her features as Maren’s face lightens up. “I was showing her photos of us during our training that Yelana gave me and…she recognized you, apparently you bought a cigarette from her.” 

“That is…quite serendipitous.” The brunette says with shock, not sure if she fully believes the odd occurrence. Though her rational side knows it is more than plausible, Maren has a bad habit of buying cigarettes from people off the street when she forgets her own. 

“I actually have something of yours.” The British woman grabs her purse from the floor, going through its contents to reach a small pocket sewn on the side. She places the object on the surface, sliding it over to her lover. 

Without any hesitance, Maren picks up the item- a photograph. She sadly smiles looking at the picture of her younger brother. “Yelana confiscated this from me. I thought I’d never see it again.” 

“Maren…the man Anna is travelling with…” The blonde begins, unsure how to tell her lover the news. “He served with Ryder as a paratrooper…Maren…R-Ryder…” 

“I know,” Maren responds, her misty eyes not leaving the photo. “I was travelling through Belgium on my way back to France and I came across a memorial with his name written on it. Nattura isn’t really a common name in this part of the world.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Elsa says, reaching across the table to take the brunette’s hand into her own. 

“I knew we couldn’t stop him from enlisting, he was so determined.” She shakes her head, blinking away the tears forming in her eyes. Maren finally looks at the British woman with a sigh. “I just…I’m really glad that I didn’t lose you too.” 

Elsa squeezes her girlfriend’s hand, unable to stop tears from forming in the corner of her eyes. “I’m glad that I didn’t lose you…I-I thought that I…” her voice breaks as she attempts to speak what is on her mind. 

The legs of the chair scrape against the floor as Maren stands from her seat, wrapping her arms around Elsa in an instant. The two women cling to one another, their sobs echoing through the house; so much left unspoken as they cry out of grief and relief that they still had one another despite everything that had happened. 

Her heel taps against the ground nervously, the glass of wine in front of her hardly touched as her eyes remain fixated on the table. It is dark out now; It had been slightly over 4 hours since Elsa left Anna and Kristoff at the hotel to find Honeymaren. If Kristoff hadn’t suggested they go to a small restaurant and wait there, Anna wouldn’t have left the room at all. 

“You’ve barely touched your wine,” Kristoff comments as he places his pint glass down. The auburn-haired woman shrugs, rubbing her fingers against the stem of her wine glass. 

“I don’t really feel like drinking yet…” 

“She’ll be fine.” He tries to reassure the young woman, knowing what consumes her thoughts. 

“I know she will…” Anna looks down at her wine glass, finally taking a sip of the liquid. “It’s just…I only just found her and the next day she’s disappeared for more than 4 hours. A part of me can’t help but wonder if she hasn’t run off again.” 

Kristoff nods with a smirk. “She won’t, these things take time, especially considering…the nature of their relationship.” 

“I know, I’m being completely ridiculous, and I probably seem mad to you.” 

“I mean, I knew you were crazy before this, so it isn’t anything I haven’t seen from you.” He quips without any hesitancy. Anna glances at her lover with narrowed eyes, the only indication that she found it humorous is the smile crossing her features. 

“That was unnecessary.” She retorts, taking another sip of her wine. Her eyes shine as she meets his gaze. “Besides, you’re the one who followed me to France with that knowledge.” 

“That is correct.” Kristoff reaches across the table, taking Anna’s hand into his own. Chestnut eyes staring back into sapphire ones, “and I have to say I haven’t regretted it for a moment.” 

Anna leans over in her chair, crushing her lips to his in an instant. Her eyes close as she savours the feeling of his mouth pressed against her own. His warm palm rests on her thigh, squeezing it as he withdraws from the British woman. 

As she sits straight up, Anna glances toward the door once more out of habit before taking another sip of her drink. 

She tries to think of other things rather than her sister walking through that door; trying to imagine how many flyways have escaped from her braids and how most of her lipstick must have faded from pressing against the wine glass. But none of it seems to matter anymore. 

Watching her lover take another sip of his beer, a faint smile crosses the British woman’s features. Feeling grateful in that moment for all that has occurred; she had found her sister and Honeymaren. She understands the delay, trying to put herself in her sister’s shoes of finding Honeymaren and no doubt wanting to make up for lost years. Feeling grateful at that moment as the man she strongly cares about sits next to her. 

Kristoff had been a force in her life she hadn’t expected. Despite not having said it to him, Anna loved him entirely, even if he could be a curmudgeon and brash. She would never admit to it openly, but a part of her feels disappointment that their journey has come to an end. Despite that, the young woman tries to push past thoughts of what happens next, trying to focus on the celebratory nature of the night.  

The door to the small restaurant opens, causing Anna to look up at the door. A grin crosses her features as Elsa steps into the building, a brunette woman following close behind her. The auburn-haired woman stands from the chair, her hands balling the fabric of her skirt as the two women approach them. 

Elsa shyly smiles as she stands in front of the table, her eyes trained on her sister as she tries to gauge the younger woman’s reaction. Worried that the early loving and supportive words said last night might disappear at the sight of the Kanien’kehá:ka woman. 

But they don’t, instead, Anna smiles at the brunette woman standing at her sister’s side. A smile Elsa had thought of nearly every day while in Esterwegan, a smile which could light up a room and make anyone welcome in a second. 

“Honeymaren this is-.” Before Elsa can even finish her introduction, Anna is reaching across the table to take Maren’s hand into her own. 

“Anna, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard lots about you…I mean not too much, Elsa told me some but of course, she kept some things private. Not that I would ever ask but…” 

Despite the young woman’s fumble Honeymaren simply laughs at the seeming mad rambling of her lover’s sister. “I think you should sit before you pass out.” 

The Mohawk woman’s joke relaxes Anna, allowing her to titter in response before taking her seat at the same time Elsa does. Maren’s gaze goes toward the man still standing at the table, watching her carefully. 

“You must be Kristoff.” The Kanien’kehá:ka woman states, fighting the urge to square her shoulders and hold her head proudly at the sight of the intimidating American man. Her demeanour softens as he offers a small smile. 

“I am, it’s nice to finally meet you.” He extends a hand to the woman he’s been searching for all this time; it feels surreal as her palm connects with his. “I heard a lot about you when I served with Ryder.” 

Honeymaren chuckles, shaking her head as she sits across from him. “It’s nice to know that he didn’t forget about me.” 

“He would never. Some of the guys could be quite tough on him when he first joined our battalion, the first time I got the other guys off him he smiled up at me all bruised and said ‘it was nothing compared to what my sister put me through while fishing.’” Kristoff laughs thinking about the memory of Ryder with a bruised cheek and split lip. 

“He always had a habit to overexaggerate about those trips, he used to go running to our Akhsótha-grandmother crying about how mean I was to him.” She rolls her eyes, remembering the petty fights and squabbles they used to have over idiotic things like that. 

“That seems extremely plausible from everything he told me I wondered knowing that no sister could be that cruel to her brother.” 

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong I was horrible. But he also deserved it.” Honeymaren cackles, her smile widening as Kristoff begins to laugh with her. Elsa watches the two close with a smile, her heart pounding at her lover’s laughter; feeling as if she hasn’t heard it in years. 

Anna watches the two, ecstatic to see her lover opening up to someone else besides her for the first time in a long time. Slowly barriers come down as the four continue their conversation, bottles of wine slowly piling up on the table as their laughter echoes through the restaurant. 

As Kristoff and Maren shift into talking about American politics, Anna glances at her sister with a smile; studying her face closely before reaching across the table. The younger Rendelle sister grins as her elder sister takes her hand, giving it a squeeze as Elsa grins back. 

At that moment Anna is certain that she has everything she ever wanted. She has a family again. 

Chapter Text

The sound of her heels clicking against the pavement resounds in Anna’s ears as she turns left on Dean and Flower Walk. Somehow not feeling as intimidated as she did back in February, despite still knowing that this wasn’t a safe neighbourhood. 

She approaches number 27, knocking without any hesitancy. She clasps her hands together, idly looking around while waiting for the door to be answered. The door jerks open in an instant, as if Kristoff’s land lady had been waiting behind the entrance waiting for visitors. 

The older woman scowls at Anna, a cigarette dangling between her fingers as she regards the auburn-haired women. “Can I help you?” 

“I’m looking for K-Mr. Bjorgman.” Anna sighs, trying to control her nerves. It feels odd calling Kristoff by his formal title, after everything that they had been through together. It almost reminded her of the first time she met him, standing on this cobblestoned street with wide eyes. 

“You must be Anna.” The woman takes a drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke at the younger woman. “He’s in the upstairs bedroom, on the left at the top of the stairs.” 

Anna nods with a strained smile. “Thank you.” 

The young woman steps into the house, her eyes welling from the smoke lingering in the house from the recently lit cigarette. She awkwardly shuffles toward the staircase across from the entrance, fully aware how Kristoff’s landlady watches her. 

The step creaks lightly under her weight, avoiding putting her hand on the splintering rail. 

“I expect the room to remain open, I have a reputation to uphold.” The older woman scolds from the lobby. Anna nods in response, continuing her way to the second floor. 

Sighing a breath of relief as she steps out of sight of the landlady. Sunlight beams into the small hallway from the high window, specks of dust floating through the air as Anna walks toward the door on the left. 

Anna straightens her skirt, attempting to get noticeable wrinkles out of the fabric. Clearing her throat, the young woman knocks softly against the dark wood nearly jumping out of her skin as the door jerks open. 

“You scared me half to death.” Anna remarks, her hand pressed against her chest as she stares up at the American man. 

Kristoff grins at her before swiftly pressing a kiss on her cheek. “So glad you could make it.”

Anna steps past her lover into the room, glancing up at the tilted ceiling then to the queen size bed pushed against the wall, a suitcase sitting on the freshly made quilt. 

They had been back in London for nearly 3 weeks already, arriving back with Honeymaren and her sister following the couple 3 days later. Kristoff and she hadn’t exactly talked about the two of them since their arrival, still unsure what to title the nature of their relationship. 

Anna hadn’t been too concerned about it until Kristoff announced his intent to return Stateside nearly a week ago. The news had come as a shock to the British woman, hoping that they would have more time together. However, the letter waiting for Kristoff upon their return to England had other plans; his grandfather had fallen ill, and his mother was encouraging him to come home. 

She turns at the sound of the door closing behind her, Kristoff watching her with his hands in his pockets. Anna smirk, raising a brow. “I’d keep that door open; your landlady is trying to maintain her reputable house.” 

“Right,” He chortles, taking a step toward her. “We wouldn’t want Ms. Anderson to run a house of ill repute.” 

“You never know. An unattached women-alone in an unattached man’s room. You never know what could be occurring…maybe something scandalous.” Anna smirks, closing the gap between them. Her hands come to rest on his chest, staring at him through her lashes.  

He chuckles, placing his hands on the curve of her waist. “Right, because the prostitutes who live next door seem to care so much about what happens in Ms. Anderson’s house.” 

“Clearly,” She laughs, glancing back to the suitcase sitting on the bed. With a sigh, she runs her hands against the fabric of his shirt. “How is your packing proceeding?” 

“It’s…coming along.” Kristoff shrugs, watching Anna closely as she steps away from him. She ambles toward the bed, settling on the mattress with her eyes scanning over the contents of the bag. “You never realize how much shit you acquire after staying in one place for so long.” 

“Are you going to be able to get everything home?” She inquires, cocking a brow at her lover. 

“Pretty much, anything I don’t need I’ll leave with Ms. Anderson to deal with.” He responds, striding toward his armoire. “She’ll have a field day, but I won’t be around to witness it.” 

“I mean if it’s going to cause a commotion, I can always handle it too.” 

Kristoff walk backs toward the bed with a pile of shirts in his hands. He tosses them into the suitcase haphazardly, not caring as they scatter in the interior. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. She’ll either toss them the second I leave or hoard them for years to come.” 

“If you insist.” Anna shrugs, grabbing the garments out of the suitcase to fold the pieces. Though she isn’t certain that it is any better than Kristoff haphazardly throwing clothing into the bag as the short sleeves of the shirt peak over the folded edges. 

“I do,” Kristoff responds, reaching into a drawer to grab a few pairs of socks. “I paid her rent while we were in France, she can handle a few items of mine.” 

“At least she won’t have an address to reach you at, her complaints will likely go straight to the walls.” 

“Thank god for that.” He sighs, placing his socks next to the shirts Anna had folded. The room falls silent as Kristoff pads across the room toward the armoire, many of the drawers left open and empty. 

Anna looks down at her lap where her hands rest, clearing her throat as she tries to ignore the full suitcase next to her. “Your train for Southampton leaves tomorrow morning?” 

“Yeah…it does.” He doesn’t look at her while responding, unsure if he’ll be able to bare it. “I leave from Waterloo Station at around noon.” 

“So, you should get to Southampton by 2 o’clock.” Anna comments, her thumb drumming against her knee. 

Kristoff nods in confirmation, grabbing the last of his personal belongings from the armoire. He finally meets her gaze while walking back toward the bed. “Then I should be back on the farm in about eight days.” 

“What are you looking forward to most when you return home?” Anna asks, tucking her legs up underneath her as Kristoff places a photograph frame and assorted other trinkets in his suitcase. 

“My mom’s cooking.” A faint smile touches his mouth as he closes the suitcase. His warm gaze meets his lovers once more. “Ms. Anderson’s cooking leaves a lot to be desired, as does Gerda’s.” 

“Ration cooking does have that effect on cooking.” She jests, watching closely as he fastens the buckles on his suitcase. 

“Definitely something I will not miss.” Kristoff responds, having been overjoyed at the news from his mother that rationing in the United States had ended in ’46. Despite its continuing in England. Though there would be other things he would miss about England. 

Not wanting to remain in Ms. Anderson’s house any longer, Kristoff rushes the last bit of his packing not caring if it was organized or not. He ushers Anna out of his room, not bothering to take another glimpse in the small, sad room before closing the door behind him. 

Ms. Anderson stands at the bottom of the stairs, her arms crossed with a scowl on her features as the young couple make their way down. Sven trailing behind them as if he hides from the older woman. 

“I heard the door close.” She immediately comments, her narrowed eyes focused on Anna. 

Kristoff chuckles, electing to ignore the comment “Well I have stripped the bedding as per your request and I vacuumed.” 

“If I were in the right mind, I’d have you vacuum the entire house. Your mutt sheds too much for me to keep up with.” The gray-haired woman snaps, hands on her rounded hips. 

“Oh, how I’ll miss you Ms. Anderson.” Kristoff sighs, only half meaning his words. 

“I’ll never find anyone to fill your room now you know. It took me long enough to fill it before you.” She complains, her foot tapping against the worn hardwood. 

“I very much doubt that.” Kristoff smirks, “You’ll find some poor foreign fella to take my place and maybe finally have someone to help you with the laundry.” 

Ms. Anderson falls silent, staring at the American with a raised brow for quite some time before huffing. “Maybe I can find someone better to care for the yard….” 

“Maybe.” Kristoff chuckles, taking Anna’s hand into his own. “Goodbye Ms. Anderson.” 

The older woman doesn’t respond, instead scrutinizing as the young couple and the dog trailing after as they leave her house for the last time. 

Anna matches the blonde man’s speed as they walk toward the main street, dodging through the crowds of people as they move toward Aldgate East station. Sven follows close behind the couple, unbothered by strangers trying to reach out to him on the street. 

As they step into the station Anna wrinkles her nose between the smell of urine and hot air while avoiding the eyeline of others. 

The couple settle on a pair of seats on the tram as Sven settles on the ground next to Anna. The young woman looks up at Kristoff, sighing dramatically as she rests her head on his shoulder. 

He chuckles, placing an arm around his lover. “Are you tired already?”  

“Well, you did just drag me through Spitalfields in just under 15 minutes.” She quips back, holding back a yawn as her body settles. 

“Would you rather have waited for the next train?” He questions, a smile lightly gracing his features. 

She raises a brow at him, trying to hold back the smirk forming. “I think not, I could feel my coin purse getting lighter by the minute.” 

“Oh c’mon,” Kristoff laughs, shaking his head. “It’s not that bad.” 

“I had two prostitutes try to proposition me on my way to your flat.” Anna counters, lifting her head from her lover’s shoulder. 

“It’s an area which…” 

“Which what?”

“Women are able to operate their own businesses.” He finishes meekly, knowing his argument doesn’t have a strong footing to stand on. 

The small woman can’t help but snort in response, causing a few onlookers to glance at the young couple. Kristoff pays no attention to the others, his gaze focusing on the woman sitting next to him. 

The Anna who marched up to him in a bar all those months ago had changed so much. Catching how her eyes seem to sparkle more than they once did and how her smile feels brighter. To the American man she seemed happier than she had once been since her sister came back into her life. 

He takes her hand without second thought, smiling as their train inches toward their destination. 

Kristoff follows behind Anna as they weave through the crowd of people, impressed with the young woman’s skill to maneuver her way throughout the city. Sven trots alongside the American man, creating a buffer between him and other pedestrians. 

He patiently waits behind Anna as she pauses at the door, watching her shoulders rise as she takes a couple deep breaths before opening the door into the pub. Without any hesitancy Kristoff walks up to the bar, inching himself between two men sitting at the surface to get the attention of the barkeep. 

“What can I help you with?” The man inquires, drying his hands on a ragged cloth. 

“Yeah, I’d like a room for the night.” Kristoff responds. 

The man nods in confirmation, turning to grab a book on the counter behind him. Opening the leather-bound book as he swivels back toward Kristoff. “Would you like a single or double?” 

“Single is just fine thanks.” 

“And just for one night?” He glances up at Kristoff, who nods in confirmation. “If you go upstairs and, on the right, Room 218 is yours for the night. That’ll be £13.” 

The blonde man reaches into the pockets, pulling the few bills and coins he had left from his pants. The bartender hands him the key to his room as Kristoff places the money into his hands. 

“Thank you.” Kristoff says, his grip tightening around the key. The other man flashes him a quick smile before returning to serving patrons. Anna approaches her lover, his suitcase in her hand. 

“Were they able to take you?” 

“We’re in room 218.” He responds, flashing the key at her briefly before stuffing it into his pocket. 

Anna raises a brow, resisting a smile. “We are? Are you assuming that I’ll spend the night with you Mr. Bjorgman?” 

“I mean…I did assume.” He shrugs, his hand brushing against her own as he takes back his suitcase. “But of course, if you’d rather not I understand.”

“No, I mean I don’t mind spending the night.” Anna peers up at him, reluctant to let go of the bag just so that his hand would remain pressed against her own. “After all it’s not as if I have a clean reputation anyhow. Gallivanting around Europe with an American was enough to tarnish it.” 

A smile crosses his features offering his arm without any hesitation. She takes his arm with a smile, her heart pounding loudly in her ears as they walk through the bar toward their room. 

Sven trots in front of them in the hallway as if he knew where they are going, though it takes Kristoff’s whistle to call the wolfhound back as they reach the door to their room. Anna steps into the room first, glancing around their lodgings for the night. 

The room is bigger than any of the ones they stayed in during their time on the continent; decorated with teal green wallpaper adorned with light pink flowers, and a cream-coloured rug resting on the hardwood floor. The queen-sized bed stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by two mahogany dressers and matching end tables. White sheer curtains cast some light into the room, providing some privacy from the street below. 

Kristoff doesn’t hesitate to throw his bag on the mattress, settling next to the suitcase to face his lover standing in the entrance of the room. “Well, what now?” 

“Well, since it’s your last night in London I suggest you finally do some sightseeing.” Anna quips, knowing that despite living in London for nearly 1 year the American hardly saw any of the sights. 

“I guess that could be arranged.” He responds, rubbing the back of his neck. “But only if you’re my guide.” 

“Alright, but you’re paying for dinner.” The auburn-haired woman bargains, despite knowing that she won’t take “no” as an answer. 

He chuckles, stepping toward his lover. “I think I can accept those terms.” 

“Good, now come with me.” Anna doesn’t hesitate to take his hand into her own, dragging him through the halls of the hotel into the street. 

The young couple meander down the street together, no destination in mind as they wander the neighbourhood of Covent Garden. They spend their afternoon walking through Trafalgar Square and the surrounding area, Kristoff listening as Anna points out places she and Elsa used to frequent as children. Their hands clasped together throughout their exploration of the city, unbreaking no matter the circumstance. 

By the end of the night the couple sit facing one another in The Clarence, a beer sitting in front of Kristoff and a cider in front of Anna. 

The American man looks around the pub, the place feeling eerily familiar to him. Looking to the bar, he recognizes the curved arches over the liquor shelves. “I-is this where we met to plan France?” 

“It was, it’s one of my favourite pubs in the city.” Anna confirms, taking a sip of her cider. “We sat over by the window there.” 

His gaze follows where her finger points to a table currently occupied by an older couple. “I almost forgot about that.” 

“It feels like it was years ago.” She comments, her nail tapping against the table. 

“You were sitting there in that blue button-down dress and wearing those ridiculous black gloves.” He recalls with a fond smile. 

She nods, surprised that he would remember a detail like that. “I was…” 

“I remember seeing you sitting there with that beer sitting in front of you while you were writing away in that journal.” He recounts, taking a sip of his beer. “I paused at the door when I saw you because you looked-” 

“Insane? I was so overdressed for here.” She shakes her head, trying to push away the evening which followed their meeting. 

“Beautiful.” He corrects, glancing down at his lap. “I thought you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever saw.” 

“I never knew that.” 

“Well…you were engaged, and I didn’t want to overstep.” He admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “There isn’t really an appropriate way to tell an engaged woman that she’s attractive.” 

“No, I suppose not.” She responds, grinning. The two finish their drinks, Kristoff throwing the last of his pounds onto the table. Anna takes his hand, leading him back toward the hotel as the quiet streets are filled with their giggling. 

The walk back is somewhat of a blur to the couple, emotions high on their last night together, though they tried their best to ignore it. Anna enjoying the weight of his arm around her waist as they stumble through the street. 

Both are pleasantly surprised as they enter the room as Sven isn’t standing at the door to greet them, but instead his snores echo from the bathroom. Quietly Kristoff approaches the door to gently close it. 

“What are you doing?” Anna asks, with a cocked brow. As he turns from to door, Kristoff smirks before pressing himself against his lover. His lips crashing against her own as her back hits the wall. 

The auburn-haired woman moans into the embrace as she tangles her hands into his hair with ease, a comforting familiarity of the action. Her heart hammers in her chest at the contact, still wanting to be closer to him. 

His hand cups her cheeks, thumb brushing against her cheekbone as he gazes at her with a flurry of emotion. All of them indescribable to the young man. The way he felt about Anna is indescribable to himself. 

He presses a kiss her forehead softly before moving to her cheek, his lips brushing against her cheekbones and then to her lips once more. His kisses soft but becoming more impassioned as they continued. Kristoff groans as Anna sucks on his bottom lip while he pulls her body against his. 

Her back remains against the wall as Kristoff pushes his whole body against her, grinding against her. Resisting the urge to smile as Anna groans at the feeling of his growing erection against her hip. 

In a second she pushes against him, not wanting to waste any more time. Anna’s hands finding his to pull him toward their bed for the night, stumbling as their kisses become more fervent. His hands tangle into her hair to keep her close as Anna’s slide around his back, clutching the fabric of his black shirt. As they moved Kristoff explores her body, his hand slipping down her neck toward her breast, cupping it through the fabric of her dress. 

As the back of his legs hit the bed Anna’s hands already on his shirt, wasting no time in slipping it off him and throwing it to a corner. While Kristoff becomes free of the garment, his hands go to the buttons of her dress; making quick work of the fasteners as Anna slips her arms out of the sleeves. Letting the garment slip from her body quickly. 

Before Kristoff could get to her undergarments, her fingers making quick work of his belt and his pants. His pants are soon kicked away as he settles on the bed, watching carefully as Anna straddles him while taking his face in her palms. She pulls him in for a bruising kiss, which he responds enthusiastically. 

His hand slides against the curve of her back as they continue to kiss. Anna pulls away for a moment, getting up from his lap. The American cocks a brow at her as she stands, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra and garter belt; her stockings falling with the other pieces. 

He reaches out to her, pulling her back toward the bed. Instead of settling back on his lap Kristoff guides her beside him, pressing kisses against her neck as he lays her back against the mattress. His body covers hers, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. 

Anna’s moans echo through the room as he moves down her neck, her moans turning into a gasp as he lightly bites her collarbone. Her nails digging into the skin of his back as his hand moves to her breast, grazing it softy before his fingers go to her nipple. He gently rolls the bud as he licks along her skin. 

Kristoff smirks against her collarbone as his other hand presses against her core, massaging her through her panties. She bucks against his palm, gripping the quilt under her. Anna whimpers as her lover withdraws from her body, standing over her in a moment. 

She props herself up on her elbows, brows furrowed about to ask him if anything is the matter. The words don’t reach her lips as he reaches for the elastic on her panties, slipping the silk garment down her thighs and calves before tossing it away from the bed. He puts his hand back onto her, savouring her noises and movement against him. When Kristoff’s mouth joins his hand, Anna moans loudly. The warm sensation of his tongue circling her clit. 

“Oh Kris, that feels so good.” She moans. After several minutes of his attentions, she can feel herself getting close. Something which the American notices as her moans become more frequent and louder.  

His nails bury into the skin of her thighs as they squeeze around his head, her wetness coating his tongue as she cries out in pleasure. He begins to lap at her oversensitive clit again, not waiting for Anna to come down from her climax. 

“Ah Kristoff! P-please I need you.” She whimpers, grabbing at his bare shoulder. 

With a grin Kristoff obliges her request, covering her body with his once again. Crushing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss as he aligns himself to her core. She gasps at the sensation as he enters her slowly. 

The blonde man groans, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. “God, you feel so good Anna.” 

She wraps her legs around his hips as Kristoff begins to move in and out of her slowly, soon picking up speed. He raises his head, pressing his head against her forehead to gaze into her eyes. Knowing that tomorrow would be the last morning he’d wake up to that bright blue gaze. 

Anna watches his face closely as he begins to pound faster, sweat beading on his temples as his pace grows more desperate. 

“A-Anna!” He moans, holding her close as he releases. His chest heaving against hers as he buries his face into her shoulder, panting incoherently as Anna threads her fingers through his hair. 

They hold one another for a moment, before Kristoff rolls them. Having Anna laying on top of him as to not crush her in their embrace. 

The only light comes from the small lamp on the bedside table, creating a warm glow throughout the room as Kristoff and Anna lay in bed. Her head resting on his bare chest as he runs his fingers against her shoulder blade. 

The British woman remains silent, not wanting to ask the next question floating in her head but finds herself unable to hold it back. “What happens to us?” 

“I-I don’t know…” He replies with uncertainty. “I could work within the next year and return once I have enough saved up…in the meantime we’ll write to one another.”  

Anna stares up at him, offering a small smile as if to convince him that was enough. It wasn’t. She knew that Kristoff had to return to the United States. She feels selfish that she wants him to stay. Wanting to wake up with him in the morning, to feel the warmth of his hand in hers. Not to only communicate through writing with no way of feeling him by her side or hear his voice. 

“I supposed you’ll be quite glad to be gallivanting through the countryside again.” She jests, trying to lighten their conversation. Not wanting these last moments to be melancholy ones. 

“Gallivanting? That’s not exactly how I’d put it.” He chuckles, his fingers stilling against her skin. 

“Fine; bushwhacking, trudging.” She giggles, shifting closer to him while running her fingers against his sides causing Kristoff to jump in surprise at the tickle. Her guesses coming through her giggles as he returns the gesture. 

With her guard down Kristoff manages the shift them, with his body covering his as Anna’s laughter echoes through the room. He stops after much begging on the British woman’s behalf, his hands now brushing through her hair lightly.  

They lie in bed for the next few hours, teasing one another and avoiding the conversation surrounding tomorrow. Kristoff falls asleep first, his chest rising and falling softly as Anna watches him closely. 

Not wanting to leave anything unspoken on her behalf before he leaves for America tomorrow, she shifts closer to him.

 “Kristoff…. I-I love you.” The British woman presses a light kiss to her lover’s forehead. She reaches over his sleeping body to turn off the light, careful not to disturb him. Settling comfortably against his warm form with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as she drifts to sleep. 

Anna remains close to Kristoff as they make their way through Waterloo station, avoiding from being swept away in the crowd. Her heart pounding harder as they make their way closer to Kristoff’s train to Southampton. 

Kristoff turns to Anna as they stand in front of the train car 

“I guess this is it.” He sighs, a small smile gracing his features. As if he is trying to remain in denial about the situation. 

“I suppose so…” The British woman responds, feeling as if her heart is climbing up in her throat. Silence lingers between the young couple for a moment before Anna takes a step toward her lover. “You’ll write me when you arrive in the States?” 

He chuckles with a nod. “The moment my feet touch the soil.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” The American man responds, removing his hands from his pockets. The whistle of the train screeches in the corridor, indicating that there's only 5 minutes before departure. 

The couple fly to one another quickly, their lips crushing together with urgency as Anna’s hands grip the fabric of Kristoff’s jacket. Hoping that Kristoff would never pull away, not wanting this to end. 

Kristoff rests his forehead against Anna’s when the separate, wanting to remain close to her as possible. “I love you too.” 

A tear slips from the corner of her eye despite resisting the emotion. Glad that she got to hear it from him at least once before he disappeared from her life. 

With a sigh of reluctance, Anna finally speaks. “You should get to your train.” 

“Yeah.” He responds, pulling away from his lover. “Goodbye Anna. Thank you for everything” 

“Goodbye Kristoff.” She wants to say more but isn’t sure what in the moment. Before he walks away, he pulls her back to him into a crushing hug. 

His sniffle not escaping Anna’s notice as he forces a smile. “If your ever in America, you know where to reach me.” 

“Yeah…I do.” She glances down at her shoes with sad smile. 

With her hands in her pockets Anna watches as the train rolls away on the tracks, a part of her hoping that he’ll appear as the steam in the air dissipates as if it was a Hollywood movie. But he doesn’t. His silhouette doesn’t appear in the shadow, and this isn’t a film. Something Anna should know by now. 

With a deep breath, Anna tears herself away from the platform. Walking away from the station as she chews on the inside of her lip. It was time to go back to reality. Away from him. 

Chapter Text

Her hair yanks against her scalp, she had pulled her hair back too tight this morning into a high-curled ponytail for her meeting. There isn’t anything about this that Elsa is sure about. Standing in front of a tall door in Knightsbridge, wearing borrowed clothing; a high collared white blouse and a grey skirt which hangs loosely on her hips which both belong to her younger sister. 

With a deep breath, the blonde reaches forward and gently presses the doorbell. She doesn’t look away from the door, silently preparing herself for the next 30 minutes before she could finally meet Maren for drinks following this interview.
 
Her heart leaps in her chest as the door abruptly opens, revealing a middle-aged woman in a dark uniform.  

“Hello, I’m Miss. Rendelle. I’m to meet with Mrs. Davis regarding her advert for a tutor.” Elsa states as she had practiced earlier in her head, trying to keep her fingers from tapping on the handle of her purse.  

“Right, please come in Miss. Rendelle. I’ll let her know that you’re here.” The maid steps out of the way, allowing the blonde to step into the house. The door closing echoes through the main hall of the building. “Wait here.”  

She watches as the maid disappears down the corridor, taking a moment to glance around the foyer. It reminded her of the house her parents once owned, the entrance decorated with a single potted plant in the corner. The walls are covered in dark blue paper with a long burgundy rug running down the hallway to a room at the end, which Elsa could only assume is the kitchen.  

“Mrs. Rendelle, I hope I did not keep you long.” A new voice calls following the click of a door. Elsa tears her gaze from the stairwell to focus her attention on the woman striding down the hallway toward her, the maid following close behind the new woman.  

She’s taller than Elsa had expected, standing nearly 5’10 with her skirt fluttering around her ankles as she strides down the hallway. Her mousy brown hair is tied back into a low chignon with drawn-on eyebrows a shade darker than her hair.  

“No, not at all. I was just admiring your art collection.” Elsa comments with a polite smile. The woman standing in front of her briefly glances at the various paintings of the countryside along the stairs. 

“Ah yes, my dear Henry has a certain affinity for pastoral pieces I’m afraid. Every month it seems my house looks more like the English countryside.” Mrs. Davis rolls her eyes with an exacerbated sigh. “But never mind all of that. Ruth, take Miss. Rendelle’s coat would you.” 

Awkwardly Elsa’s fingers fumble with the buttons of her coat. She shrugs her way out of her peacoat, handing it to Ruth who throws it over her arm. The blonde woman straightens the waist of her gray skirt, which is still noticeably too big despite Gerda’s attempts at taking it in this morning. 

The brunette glances over her shoulder at the maid who stands quietly behind Mrs. Davis. “Ruth, has the tea been served in the reception room?” 

“Yes ma’am.” The other woman nods, “I used the English Rose china and brewed some camellia.” 

“Thank you, Ruth. Please let me know once Mr. Davis returns home from work. You’re dismissed.” 

“Of course, Ma’am.” Ruth nods before quickly disappearing through the door to the right of the foyer. 

“If you’ll follow me.” Mrs. Davis offers with a smile which feels insincere to the older Rendelle sister. Elsa nods in response, hesitating briefly before ambling after her potential employer. The hall feels narrow to the young woman as they move toward the back of the house. 

They walk into a large sitting room, light beaming in through the sheer curtains onto the large cream and light pink area rug. The walls are covered in white floral wallpaper with paintings of the English coastline. 

“Elsa,” Mrs. Davis calls, catching the attention of the younger woman. She stands in front of a silk-upholstered armchair, gesturing to the couch in front of her.

The blonde woman nods, tearing herself away from the doorway to settle on the couch. With shaking hands, she smooths the wrinkles in her skirt before neatly folding her hands on her lap. 

“Did you bring a copy of your CV?” The older woman curtly asks, her hands settled neatly on her crossed knee. 

“Oh, yes of course.” Elsa grabs her purse with shaking hands, opening the clasp with some difficulty. She hands over the piece of paper, trying to control the tremor in her grasp. Hoping that Mrs. Davis will not notice the occasionally inked-in letters as Gerda’s 20-year-old typewriter was missing the key for many of them. 

She waits patiently for Mrs. Davis to speak or comment on the CV in her hand, but instead, the woman quietly scans the paper which causes Elsa to be more uneasy about the situation. 

“I see here that you attended Oxford.” Mrs. Davis states, her gaze not leaving the paper. 

“Yes, I attended for about 3 years to obtain my English degree, but I had to withdraw before my final year,” Elsa states, still trying desperately to control the shake in her hands.  

“Why did you withdraw?”  

“I decided to enlist in June of 1943.” The blonde offers, reaching forward to pick up the teacup, despite the ache in her knuckles.  

Mrs. Davis makes a surprised noise while taking a sip from her cup. “Oh, I see! Which division did you volunteer for?”  

Elsa pauses for a moment, setting the china cup back onto the coffee table. “I um…I served in the ATS as a clerk.”  

“Several of the women from my club had daughters join the ARP during the war.” The older woman comments, clearly not knowing the difference between the divisions. “Although, I know a girl who enlisted to drive ambulances on the front.”  

“Oh really?” Elsa takes another sip of her tea, feigning interest in the prattling of her potential employer.  

“Her mother was truly horrified. Could you even imagine putting your life on the line in such a way as a young eligible woman?” Mrs. Davis scoffs, shaking her head. “But once we all learned that Princess Elizabeth trained as an ambulance driver, the girls were lining up to train as such.” 

“I could only imagine.” An ingenuine smile crosses the blonde’s face, having lived that reality for 6 months before her inevitable arrest. Most of those girls Mrs. Davis discusses didn’t come within 40 meters of danger. Many of them having wealthy parents who had the ability to pay to ensure their safety. 

Mrs. Davis continues to blather on about the women from her club and their daughters, Elsa tries her best to engage in conversation, despite her attention wavering while her prospective employer spreads idle gossip.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking.” Elsa starts, unable to listen any longer about this subject. “How old are your daughters?” 

“Ah, Betty is about 6 now and Nancy is 4.” Mrs. Davis states. “I have them both enrolled in Queen’s Gate School for now. But of course, I plan on sending them to Harrogate Ladies College. But my husband thinks they should attend school in the city in the meantime.” 

Elsa simply nods, noticing how Mrs. Davis’ glances at her hands for a moment before looking back to the CV. Worried that Mrs. Davis might have seen the scars on her knuckles, she silently reprimands herself for not wearing gloves to cover her hands from scrutiny. 

“A-and what areas of study would you like the girls to attend to?” The blonde asks, reaching forward to the teacup on the coffee table; wanting desperately to relieve her dry mouth. 

“Well, Mathematics of course but then I find them struggling with History and English…” 

Though Elsa meets the gaze of the older woman, she finds her thoughts drifting elsewhere despite her best efforts. Wondering if this is really what she wants, teaching two girls as an auxiliary teacher. Two girls who, without a doubt, wouldn’t listen to a thing Elsa has to say about any subject. God knows she didn’t listen to anything her governess’ taught her.

Knowing that this job would take away from her time with Maren, as well as Anna. She had already lost so much time with them. Could she stand to lose more to work for someone who reminded her so much of her own mother? Being surrounded by people and a society that she has learned to resent so much. Everything she hated about growing up re-packaged in a post-war society filled with ingenuine understanding and compassion. 
 
“…. though I see you attended Harrogate for years. Could you tell me what you remember about the application process?” 
 
Elsa blinks, just barely catching the last half of the question. “I must admit I was only 3 years of age when my parents admitted me, so I don’t remember much about the process I’m afraid.” 
 
“Well, that’s no matter, I’m sure some of the women at my club will have some advice for me.” Mrs. Davis reaches forward, finally taking another sip of her tea. “I see here you only attended for 10 years.” 
 
“Ah, yes…” Her mind goes blank as her heart sinks, unsure how to answer the question. “I withdrew due to my health. My parents thought it best for me to return to London and study under a governess for the remainder of my schooling.”  
 
Mrs. Davis hums in response, finally putting down the CV on the coffee table next to her tea. “I think that’s all my questions for you. Is there anything else pertinent to your experience I should know about?” 
 
“I think we’ve covered it all.” Elsa offers a smile, her thumb rubbing against the cotton of her skirt. 
 
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Davis stands from the chair, pressing a button fixed to the wall to no doubt call Ruth to the sitting room. “I think that’s it all from me.” 
 
“Thank you so much, it was wonderful to get to know you.” Elsa stands, still holding her purse in front of her. Within the minute Ruth appears through the doors with the Rendelle woman’s coat in her arms. 

“I feel the same.” Mrs. Davis smiles. “Ruth will show you out and I will be in touch with you if I have any more questions. But I have a wonderful feeling about you Miss. Rendelle, I think we could work quite well with one another.” 
 
Elsa nods with her ingenuine smile, stepping away from the couch she had been settled on for the past 30 minutes. Feeling immense relief as she walks out of the sitting room and follows the maid down the narrow corridor toward the front entrance.
 
She and Ruth don’t speak as the blonde woman places on her coat, buttoning it with her shaking hands in uncomfortable silence. 
 
“Thank you, have a pleasant rest of your day.” Elsa finally speaks, opening the front door quickly. Ruth responds with a nod, closing the door as Elsa steps out onto the front stairs. 
 
She lets out a sigh while stepping out onto the pavement, quickly reaching into her bag for a cigarette but waiting to light it until she is a touch further from the house. She needed this job, despite all her reservations, she needed a way to keep her mind occupied throughout the day and keep her busy. 
 
She hated sitting around at the house every day, trying to read but often found her thoughts drifting when reading the books she once loved. Baudelaire now reminds her of sitting in that café where she was “found” by the SOE. Hemingway only reminded her of the horrors of war she had experienced herself. While Woolf made her think about her own mental scars. Unable to feel joy from the things she once found comfort in. 
 
The rare occasion of travelling on the underground which brought a young Elsa such excitement, now only fills her with dread and an impending feeling as if she’ll never emerge from the darkness. 
 
She glances at a portly man slumped in his seat, the gentle rocking of the tram car no doubt having put him to sleep on his way home. Something which now, she could never do. But without taxi fair, Elsa is left without any other options for transportation. She has noticed her joy in many little things has fallen apart since her return to the city.   

The blonde weaves through the crowds at the station, wanting nothing more than to leave the stuffy building and meet Maren for the night. Breathing a sigh of relief when she finally emerges onto the street. 
 
Marching with determination as she checks her watch, knowing she is about 30 minutes late, having expected to meet at The Dog and Duck at 4. 
 
She pushes against the heavy black door, a bell ringing out to announce her arrival into the building. Almost immediately she spots her lover sitting at the back, writing in her small navy notebook and unaware of her surroundings. 
 
With a small smile, she offers her apologies as she pushes past some men in her way, ignoring the way some of them leer at her while slipping through. The older Rendelle sister saunters towards the table, smiling at the brunette in front of her. 
 
Without looking up Maren sighs, “I knew you’d be late.” 
 
“I’m sorry.” Elsa offers, taking the seat across from her. “The interview ran longer than I had expected.” 
 
“It’s not all that bad.” Maren shrugs, nodding her head toward the group of men. “Those gentlemen were kind enough to buy me a drink while I waited.” 
 
The blonde smirks, gesturing to the bottle of red wine sitting on the table. “I’m assuming that is the product of your endeavours.” 
 
“When I told them I had a friend coming, they were quite insistent.” 
 
“And did you care to disclose you don’t care for the company of men?” Elsa chuckles, pouring herself a glass of wine. 
 
“Not in so many words.” The other woman states, taking a sip from her glass. “But I think I managed to make it clear neither one of us was interested.” 
 
“You’re incorrigible.” The British woman shakes her head, finding her lover’s beaming contagious. 
 
“How was your interview this afternoon?” The brunette asks, changing the subject as she ashes her cigarette.  
 
“It was good.” The other woman replies, taking a sip of her wine. “It’s located in a nice neighbourhood and has good wages. Mrs. Davis seems a little out of sorts. But she seemed impressed so I think I might have it.” 
 
“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.” Maren offers without any hesitation, taking another drag of her cigarette. Elsa is slightly taken aback by her lover’s words. Though she has her reservations about working as a governess for Mrs. Davis, she wasn’t expecting Honeymaren to object to her potential employment. 
 
“I know I don’t have to.” Elsa shrugs, reaching across the table for the pack of cigarettes to grab one. “There just aren’t as many employment opportunities for me here.” 
 
“You could always take Anna up on her offer.”  
 
“I don’t think working in the ladies’ fashion department is right for me either.” The blonde sighs, allowing the cigarette to burn between her fingers. 
 
“Really? I thought you would love to place orders for white women who are way more comfortable with spending money during rations than they should be.” Maren jests, taking a sip of her wine. 
 
Elsa chuckles, rolling her eyes with a shrug. “I don’t know, maybe temporarily it won’t so be horrible. I could save up some money to go back to school. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad as working as a governess.” 
 
“You know,” Maren sighs, reaching across the table to place her hand over Elsa’s. “You don’t need to take either job if you don’t want to. Gerda doesn’t seem too impatient to collect rent from you yet, you can keep searching.” 
 
“It’s easier said than done.” The blonde comments with a sigh. “I don’t have an education and even if I did, I can’t enter academia and would only be qualified to be a grammar schoolteacher. My only others options are secretary, which I would still need training, governess, shop girl, and waitress. There isn’t much else out there.”   
 
Both women don’t hesitate to take a long sip of their wine as everything Elsa had just said is true. Opportunities for women out there being scarce and even less so for women of colour. 
 
“But I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night.” Elsa starts, chewing the inside of her cheek.  
 
Maren’s brows furrow in confusion, trying to recall her own previous words. She remembers the other night, but only barely. Drinking gin straight with the Rendelle sisters would do that to a person. 
 
Anna had come home with the bottle following her shift, Kristoff’s departure from the country the previous week still weighing heavily on the younger Rendelle sister. Elsa and Maren had stayed up with her, taking advantage of Gerda’s absence to talk and listen to music. But past that she didn’t remember much, other than waking up the next morning in Elsa’s bed in the clothing she wore the previous day. 
 
“I’m surprised you remember anything from that night.” Maren chortles, putting out her cigarette. 
 
“I didn’t have as much to drink as you and Anna.” The blonde responds, “So I’m not too surprised that you don’t remember much.” 
 
“I remember Anna falling down the stairs.” Maren retorts with raised brows as if that detail proved that she wasn’t that drunk. 
 
“Yes, she did,” Elsa confirms with a laugh. Recalling how Anna stumbled down the stairs from the bathroom and her foot missing the next step, resulting in her falling hard on her bottom. “But you crawled into my bed at about 3 and you said that ‘I should do what makes me happy and that you’d be by my side no matter what.’” 
 
The brunette beams, feeling proud of herself at that moment. “And what poignant thinking has resulted from my eloquent words.” 
 
“Trust me, you were not that eloquent,” Elsa remarks with a smirk. “But it had me thinking, what if we left England?” 
 
“Left England?” Maren echoes, her finger tapping against the surface of the table. “I mean, I didn’t think the job market was that bad here.” 
 
“It’s not just the jobs. It’s just…ever since we’ve returned, something has felt wrong.” Elsa sighs, feeling as if a weight had been removed from her chest. “People put on airs, pretend that nothing has happened and act as if nothing has changed, but it has. We’ve all changed, and we’re not even allowed to talk about what happened to us over there.” 
 
Maren sighs, pulling another cigarette from the pack but setting it on the table instead of lighting it. She couldn’t deny anything the other woman brought up; upon their arrival back in London they had a meeting with some military and political higher ups, who promptly told them that anything they had seen and experienced during wartime was classified and there would be no hesitation to put them in jail if they spoke of it. 
 
“So, if not England. Where were you thinking?” The brunette questions, finally placing the cigarette between her lips.  
 
“I’m not sure.” 
 
“We could go back to France.” Maren offers despite her reluctance to return there. 
 
Elsa shakes her head, staring at the drink in front of her. “No, I feel as if I’m constantly looking over my shoulder there as well.” 
 
“Then I guess that takes Germany out of consideration.” The Kanien’kehá:ka woman jests, taking another drag of her cigarette with a smirk. 
 
“You think?” Elsa chuckles, reaching across the table to grab Maren’s cigarette pack. With a sigh, she lights the cigarette before taking a drag, worried how her lover might take her suggestion. “What about…Canada.” 
 
Maren’s smile drops, raising a questioning brow. “Canada?” 
 
“Vancouver specifically,” The blonde clarifies as her finger brushing against the base of the crystal wine glass. “From what I understand, there’s a university that is growing quite rapidly there and in need of academic staff. I would only have about a year left in studies and I could work as a tutor for French to support my education.” 
 
“And then what?” 
 
“Well, I was hoping that I could teach at a college or university, many along the west coast are hiring women in English departments as lecturers or professors.” She explains, tapping her finger against the table. 
 
The brunette doesn’t show any emotion, staring at Elsa’s tapping fingers as she thinks it through. “You know that it’s not any better than here or the US, right?” 
 
“I know, I know,” Elsa reassures, knowing that as a commonwealth Canada isn't that much different than England; no matter where they went Elsa and Honeymaren’s relationship would always be a hidden aspect. As well, Canada had a dark history similar to that of the US. “It’s just…not England and it’s not the US.” 

Maren sighs, pondering the suggestion. Silently debating if Canada would be far away enough from her demons. “So, Canada…I mean it’s not like my job prospects are any better there than anywhere else.” 

“It seems actually, there is an organization in Vancouver of Native women who are trying to help natives get adjusted to the city.” The blonde explains, taking another sip of wine. “They have numerous of programs to help and I thought you might be perfect to join them.” 

“You realize they’re different types of Native right?” Maren questions, the corners of her mouth threatening to upturn. 

“Yes, I do,” Elsa smirks, knowing the brunette is trying to tease her. “From what I understand, there all sorts of women from different tribes involved, even ones from the east coast.” 

“Alright….so Vancouver.” the Kanien’kehá:ka woman finally smirks, gazing at her lover. She lights another cigarette, taking a long drag as she finally asks that question lingering in the back of both of their minds. “When do we leave?” 

Elsa beams at her lover, reaching across the table to take Maren’s hand into her own. “I was thinking sometime in August.”

“Alright, I can do August.” Maren gently brushes her fingers over her lover’s knuckles. Her smile dropping as she finally asks the question looming. “What about Anna?” 

Elsa hesitates, aware that Anna is another factor in all of this. She can’t just abandon her sister, who has searched hell and high water to find her and bring her back to Maren once again. “I’ll talk to her.” 

“I can be there if you want.” Maren offers, squeezing her hand.  

“No,” the blonde responds, returning the gesture. “I need to talk to her by myself.” 

Honeymaren nods with a small reassuring smile, drawing her hand from Elsa’s to pour themselves more wine. She raises the crystal glass in the air to her lover, gazing at her with so much emotion. “To Canada.” 

“To Canada,” Elsa repeats, hoping that their life there might be better than it has been so far. 

There is a layer of dust on Anna’s desk settling on the paper which remains scattered on the surface. She hadn’t looked at the letters since her return to London, that longing to find or feel close to her sister now gone as Elsa is with her. Only now sitting at the surface to sit down and write Kristoff since his departure over three weeks ago. 
 
He still hasn’t written to her, though she had expected that as the journey from London to Sheridan isn’t exactly a straight shot. But it doesn’t stop Anna from writing him to keep herself from going mad with anticipation. Though it occasionally crosses her mind that he might not want to write upon his return home. 
 
Dearest Kristoff,  
 
She quickly strikes it out, having a moment of hesitation to open her letter in that way. 
 
Dear Kristoff, 

A huff passes her mouth as she strikes out a second line, wondering if it might be too formal of an opening for a letter to someone who meant so much to her. 
 
My dearest Kristoff, 
 
The ink blots on the paper as she hesitates to write her next sentence, unsure of what to write about. She doesn’t want to discuss her work, the position is as monotonous as ever. Nor does she want to discuss her pining for him, missing how his body felt pressed against her while sleeping; or how he made her laugh, or challenged her with the small things. She missed the way the corners of his eyes crinkles when he laughs and the way he gazes at her when he thinks she isn’t looking. 
 
“Anna?” Elsa calls out, poking her head into her younger sister’s bedroom, startling the young woman from her trance. “I’m sorry I tried knocking but you didn’t respond.”  
 
“Elsa! Hi! Come on in.” The auburn-haired woman winces as she stands from her chair, the legs scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. 
 
The eldest sister slips into the room, closing the door behind her to ensure there would be no eavesdroppers. “Could we talk?” 
 
“Of course!” Anna sits on the edge of her bed, gesturing to the spot next to her. Her smile dropping as she notices her sister’s worried expression. “What’s wrong? Did the interview not go well? Because my offer still stands, I can talk to Lucy up in fashion about a job for you.” 
 
“No, it’s not that,” Elsa reassures, settling next to her younger sister. Her gaze goes to the desk, immediately noticing the clutter on the surface. “Trying to write Kristoff?”
 
“Yeah, ‘trying’ being the main operative.” She sighs, tapping her finger against her knee. “It hasn’t been exactly a successful endeavour. Not that it matters, even if I did manage to write anything, I have no clue where to send it.”  
 
“I’m sure he’ll write as soon as he gets home.” 
 
Despite her older sister’s reassurance, it doesn’t bring any sense of relief to the young woman still worrying that she might never hear from Kristoff again, despite his promises. 
 
“But enough about me.” Anna chirps, trying to bring her mood back up. “What was it that you wanted to discuss?” 
 
Now it was Elsa’s turn to be nervous, her mouth drying as she looks down at her hands, her eyes remaining on them as she picks at the skin around her fingernails. “So…Maren and I were talking, and w-we both feel it’s time for us to move from here.” 
 
“Oh I see. Well, that’s to be expected right? Of course, you and Maren would eventually want to have your own place to call home. Olaf knows an estate agent who could help find a flat for you two in London.” Anna offers, expecting that this was inevitably going to happen. She couldn’t expect her sister and Maren to live with her forever in Gerda’s house. 
 
“Well…that’s just it.” The blonde finally looks at her sister. “We’re actually thinking about leaving London.” 
 
“O-oh.” The younger Rendelle sister stutters. This was unexpected, believing that she would live in the same city as her sister for at least a year. “Where are you thinking?” 
 
“We’re thinking about Vancouver.” 
 
“Vancouver? In Canada?” Anna’s eyes widen in surprise, anticipating that they would either move back to France or somewhere else in England. But not across the ocean. 
 
“Yeah, the job and education prospects seem more promising out there and it just makes sense for us.” Elsa sighs, feeling out of breath as she explains. She doesn’t want to hurt Anna, not again. “It’s just…I don’t think I could ever truly be happy here.”
 
“I understand.” The auburn-haired woman responds after a moment of silence, understanding that London held nothing but horrible memories for her older sister; their childhood, her institutionalization, and her enlistment. “When will you leave?” 
 
“Not until August, there are some matters I need to take care of still,” Elsa explains, noticing how Anna’s eyes remain downcast. “But, we had also been discussing it and we both think that you should come with us. You could live with us for a time and then decide to go wherever you want.” 
 
Anna ponders the thought, finding the offer tempting as it would be a new adventure for her. A new place for a new start for all of them. Not only that but she could be closer to – She shakes her head at the thought, the reality of her obligations here now weighing down on her.  
 
“I-I can’t,” She pauses, finally making eye contact with her sister. Elsa raises a brow and opens her mouth to question her but is interrupted. “I can’t just leave my job a-and there’s Olaf. And I can’t leave Gerda, she’ll have a hell of a time trying to find a tenant again an-”
 
“Anna.” Elsa cuts off her rambling, unsure if she should continue to speak. “It’s time you start living your own life.” 
 
The younger Rendelle sister furrows her brows, unsure how to respond to the statement. “I-I….” 
 
“For the first time, don’t think about what others want from you. It doesn’t matter how Olaf feels, or me, or any man. You spent so long appeasing our parents, then looking for me, and then appeasing Hans; it’s time for you to live your own life. So, what do you want?” 
 
For the first time in a long time, Anna is speechless, unsure how to respond to her sister as she feels lost in the question. She had spent so much of her life focused on what others around her wanted from her; listening to her parents’ instructions to keep away from Elsa, listening to those who felt her endeavour to find her sister was foolish, and listening to her own doubts. She had spent so long looking for her sister that she never saw the future that lie ahead of her. 
 
What did she want? 

Kristoff. She wants Kristoff. 

Chapter Text

Arras, France – June 2, 1947

There’s a lump in his throat as he stands across the street from the apartment. The worry that the flowers in his hand are wilting is long gone as he debates whether to enter the looming building. Would she even want to see him? 

It had been nearly two years since Will left Arras and Antoinette along with it. He should’ve begged her to come with him to England, but recalling the strong-willed woman, he would not have had a chance. 

Pushing down his doubts and anxiety, Will rushes across the street, dodging the traffic. He catches the door as a resident leaves the complex. A sigh resounds in the lobby as he looks up at her apartment's never-ending spiral of staircases. Recalling that she lived on the top floor. 

He climbs the stairs slowly, not wanting to run out of breath before reaching the apartment. He knows that she will not give him a chance to speak if he doesn’t pace himself. 

The Irishman pauses at the top of the third floor, ensuring his breathing is steady and wipes the sweat from his brow. Wanting to appear put together for this. He steps into the courtyard, the sun shining brightly into his eyes as the red-haired man scans the cobblestoned courtyard. 

His gaze stops on a toddler sitting on the ground, playing with a small toy plane, clearly unbothered by the older man’s presence. The small boy’s bright blonde hair reminds Will of Antoinette’s. But as the boy glances up at Will, he sees mirroring eyes staring back with curiosity. 

“Salut!” The boy greets him with a smile. 

“Salut…” Will responds, the French language sounding odd with his accent as always. He steps closer to the boy, squatting down at eye level with the toddler. “Qu’avez-vous ici?” 

Hello… What do you have here?

“C’est mon avion.” He holds out the plane to the strange man. “Ma maman me l’a donné.”

It’s my plane, my mama gave it to me. 

Will looks up as a figure emerges from the apartment's open door, piercing blue eyes staring at him with a dark raised brow. Since the last he saw her, Antoinette hadn’t changed a bit; her dirty blonde hair piled on the top of her hair, wearing a light blue blouse tucked into a brown skirt, and a glare which could bring a grown man to his knees. 

“Pierre, it est temps d’entrer.” Her gaze softens as she looks to her son. 

Peter, it’s time to come inside.

Peter hums momentarily, debating to disagree with his mother as he looks between his toy and Will, unsure if he is finished with his conversation with the stranger. Until his mother extends her hand to him, insisting he return to the apartment. 

“Maintenant Pierre.” 

Now Peter. 

The blonde boy takes his mother’s hand, allowing her to help him stand from the ground with his plane still in his other. Antoinette leads her son inside, Peter looking over his shoulder at Will before disappearing through the door. 

The blonde woman closes the door behind her son, standing in front of the entrance with crossed arms. “What are you doing here?” 

“I-uh, I brought you flowers.” The Irishman extends the bouquet of now-wilted daisies to her. The French woman glances at them, impressed that, after these years, Will still remembers her favourite flowers. 

Her arms remain crossed, and she refuses to take the gift, repeating herself, “Why are you here?” 

“When you called me to help that couple…I just…” Will starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hearing your voice again made me realize how much I missed you. When I returned to London in ‘45, you told me never to contact you again, but I miss you, Ann.” 

“You didn’t ask me to go with you,” Antoinette states, her arms finally falling to her side. 

“What?” Will’s brows raise, not understanding. 

“When you left for London…you didn’t ask me to go with you.” She repeats. “I was so mad at you for leaving me, leaving us.”  

Will sighs while taking a hesitant step forward, the flowers now at his side. “I was going to come back, but they kept me in London as long as possible, and I didn’t know how to tell you. By the time I could get back, you had sent the letter.” 

“You could’ve ignored it.” 

“And face your wrath?” Will smirks, “I’d rather fight an entire panzer division before defying your word.” 

“Tu es un idiot.” She shakes her head, a light smile gracing her features. 

You’re an idiot. 

“Yeah, I am.” He chuckles. “Listen, I’m not asking anything from you. I only ask to be in little Peter’s life and be there for him, unlike my father.” 

Antoinette pauses, glancing down at her shoes before peering up at him through her eyelashes. “Do you want to come in?” 

“I would love to.” He lets out a relieved sigh. 

“Where are you staying in town?” The blonde woman inquires. 

“Ah,” Will shrugs his shoulders in embarrassment. “I haven’t decided yet. I got off the train and immediately came here. Well, that and I got flowers.” 

Antoinette giggles as he holds the further dishevelled flowers back out to her. She takes them from him, her fingertips brushing lightly against his hand. “Well, you might as well stay here for your stay.” 

“I’d like that.” 

They remain fixated on one another, and no other words are spoken as they take each other in. Looking over familiar features that they once knew so well. 

“Well…don’t just stand there; lunch is getting cold.” Antoinette finally speaks, opening the door to step into the apartment and glancing over her shoulder. “Allez!” 

Not wasting another moment, Will follows after Antoinette, closing the door behind him. 

Sheridan, Wyoming, USA – July 29, 1947

It’s the days of arguing that irritate Kristoff the most. When his aunts and mother sit at the kitchen table bickering about their father, who lies in the next room, still recovering from his fall last month. 

Finding comfort in his childhood bedroom didn’t drown out the voices of the Jakobsen sisters, nor did leaving the house for the yard. His mother and her sister’s voices ring out throughout the Bjorgman property. 

“He can come to stay with my family in Lodge Grass.” Aunt Nora offers as if the answer is obvious. 

Bulda lets out a sigh. “He’s not going to Montana.”

“I don’t understand why he can’t stay on his farm.” Aunt Sigrid states. “He seems fine now and has no difficulty moving around. We can just rent out the land.” 

“He fell because he was dehydrated. He can’t take care of himself anymore.” Bulda explains once again to her youngest sister. “The doctors are adamant that he can’t live by himself.” 

“We could hire someone to care for him.” Sigrid offers.

“We don’t have the money for that,” Nora states, pulling a cigarette out of her purse. 

“Nora, can you not smoke that in here?” Bulda asks, obviously at wits end with her sisters. “He can stay with us. Cliff and I have more than enough space for him.” 

Kristoff doesn’t even try to decipher the argument as the sisters yell over each other again. He’s sitting on the porch, for god’s sake. Desperately trying to relax, he pulls a cigarette from his shirt pocket. 

He glances over as the front door opens and his father emerges from the house. 

“40 years and nothing has changed between those three.” Cliff comments with a smirk. 

“I think I’ve had an ongoing headache for the past two weeks since they’ve arrived,” Kristoff states. 

“It was even worse when they were young.” The older Bjorgman states, “Your uncle Frank and I had to practically hold Nora and Bulda back from jumping on each other.” 

The blonde man smirks, shaking his head. “I’m glad all the cousins haven’t come down.” 

“Not yet.” Cliff corrects, wincing as Kristoff raises a questioning brow. “They arrive next week.” 

Kristoff groans loudly, slumping in his chair; not fully prepared to deal with his female cousins. “Are the husbands and kids at least coming?” 

“I assume.” Cliff responds. A loud yell from inside startles both men, Kristoff staring at his father with wide eyes. “I think now is a good time to get out of here.” 

“It sounds like they’ll be throwing punches any minute.” Kristoff comments, standing from the bench to trail behind his father. 

“It’s alright.” Cliff calls over his shoulder as he steps off the front deck. “Your mother can hold herself against your aunt Nora.” 

Kristoff chuckles, matching his father’s long strides to catch up to the older man. The blonde man whistles loudly, calling Sven to his side in a moment as they approach an old truck. Cliff approaches the driver’s side, opening the door and sliding behind the wheel. Kristoff urges Sven into the passengers’ slide, the dog scooting over as the blonde man settles on the passenger seat. 

“Where are we going?” Kristoff inquires, rolling down the window as Cliff pulls away from the family house. 

“You’ll see.” 

With a smirk, Kristoff shakes his head, looking out the window as his father drives past the familiar landscape. Past the farms with horses and livestock grazing in the meadows and the slow-moving tractors driving on the roads. 

They drive about 30 minutes from the farm, a place Kristoff knew quite well as a young boy. As the car crawls to a stop, he looks to his dad, “Why are we here?” 

“C’mon,” is all Cliff says, opening the door. He exits the truck, walking around to the bed of the vehicle.  

Still confused, Kristoff follows his dad, watching closely as Cliff pulls a long wooden box from the truck bed. Upon opening it, he notices two hunting rifles along with some ammo. 

“I thought it’s been a while since we’ve been grouse hunting.” Cliff observes, picking up a rifle and holding it to his son. “I think it’s about time we re-start the tradition.” 

With a smile, Kristoff takes the rifle. The familiar weight resting in his hands as his father closes the back of the truck. 

The two men venture further into the wood, and Sven paces several paces in front of them as he sniffs the dirt of the unfamiliar place. 

“You know, I went hunting the first year you were gone,” Cliff says, stepping over a fallen tree. It was so quiet. I hated it.” 

Kristoff laughs, glancing at his dad. “Did you? I thought you preferred the quiet while hunting.” 

“I do…I did.” Cliff begins. “But as I sat alone in these woods, it was too quiet, and it made me realize…how much I missed you.” 

Kristoff smiles as his father places an arm over his shoulders, squeezing his neck. The two stalk through the forest, listening and looking for any quail movement. Kristoff’s head whips in the direction of rustling in fallen leaves. 

Without hesitance, he points the barrel of the rifle in the right direction. His grasp is steady as he focuses on the quail walking through the bush. His finger rests on the trigger, waiting to get a clean shot. 

Before he knows it, the air around him feels cold, his heart pounding in his chest. He recalls turning every corner with his gun in his hand, waiting for any movement near him as if his life depended on it. His vision is blurry as he tries to focus on the small animal, his finger pressed against the cool metal of the trigger. Cliff still speaks to him, but he can’t make out anything he says. 

His hands begin to shake, as does his body, anxiety coursing through his veins as he prepares to shoot. But he doesn’t. The grouse flies away instantly as Kristoff lowers his gun with a sob. 

“Kristoff?” Cliff questions 

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” The young man cries, reluctantly turning to face his father. Without hesitancy, Cliff rushes forward, wrapping his arms around Kristoff as the young man buries his face into his father’s shoulder. 

Cliff cradles his son, not saying a word, just as he once did when Kristoff would wake in the middle of the night with nightmares. The older man closes his eyes, warding off his own tears as Kristoff chants apologies.  

“It’s alright; you don’t have to apologize to me, Kristoff.” Cliff says, “I reckon the grouse population will be mighty happy.” 

Kristoff manages to laugh at the quip, but it soon dissolves back into sobs. 

He sits on the slope of the ditch, the guns now sitting back in the lockbox. Kristoff’s hands still shake while he focuses on the treeline before him. He hadn’t expected to react like that. 

Cliff stands next to his son, reaching down to hand him a beer bottle with a small smile. 

“I’m sorry.” Kristoff sniffs, taking a large gulp from the bottle to calm his nerves. 

“You,” Cliff begins, groaning as he sits on the ground next to the blonde. “Have nothing to apologize for.” 

“I ruined your first hunt in nearly five years.” 

“Nothing was ruined.” Cliff tries to reassure him, placing a hand on Kristoff’s knee. 

“This has been a tradition of ours for nearly 14 years.” Kristoff laments, more upset that he is depriving his father of this hobby. 

“Well…” Cliff begins, taking a sip of beer. “I guess we can find another tradition. How about we go fly fishing in Yellowstone instead?” 

“Yeah, that’d be good.” 

“You know, it took me quite some time to pick up a gun again when I came back.” Cliff states, his finger tapping against the cool bottle. 

Kristoff glances at his father, “How did you do it?”

“Well, you know my dad was never one for weakness.” The older man sighs, “He took me out on a hunt every day until I finally shot something. He insisted that we continue until I felt nothing about it anymore.” 

“Did it work?” 

“Sometimes I think it did, sometimes not. Those feelings never really go away. You just learn to live with it.” Cliff answers with a sigh. 

“I don’t know if I can just learn to live with it.” Kristoff protests, taking another large sip from the bottle. “I feel like I’ve barely slept since I’ve come back.” 

It wasn’t that sleeping next to Anna made the nightmares disappear entirely, but her presence brought a sense of comfort to him whenever he woke. He’d take in her features, count her freckles, and titter as the British woman drooled, just to ground him back to reality. Occasionally, she would be awake as well, having faced her own demons, and they would talk about it.  

“You know I fought so that you never would have to,” Cliff titters. “Look how well that turned out. Nearly 26 years later and you get shipped off to do the same thing I did.” 

“It wasn’t all terrible.” Kristoff shrugs, noticing how his father’s brow slightly raise at the statement. “I mean, it was terrible. It’s just…I saw more of the world than I ever imagined, and I met so many people that I wouldn’t have otherwise – without it all, I wouldn’t have met Anna.” 

Silence falls between the two Bjorgman men, both sipping from their beers as they stare into the forest before them. 

“Have you written to her yet?” Cliff asks, despite not knowing much about the British woman who had captured his son’s heart. Kristoff only spoke briefly of Anna, never going into the details of their relationship. Still, the older man knew that his son had fallen head over heels for the mystery woman. 

Kristoff shakes his head, “No, I wrote her when I got back to the ranch; we’ve exchanged a few letters here and there, but she hasn’t responded to my last letter from a couple of weeks ago.” 

“Well…she’s probably busy with her sister.” Cliff offers, trying to soothe the blonde’s anxiety. 

“Yeah, probably.” 

The older man claps his son on the back reassuringly, hoping that Anna will respond to Kristoff’s letters – even if it is to let the young man down easily. He reaches into his pants pocket, grabbing the watch tucked away. 

“Oh damn.” Cliff swears as he sees the time, quickly taking the last sip from his beer. “We should probably get back to the house before your mother and aunt Nora end up killing each other.” 

Kristoff chugs the rest of his beer, standing from the ground with ease as his father groans to stand. The blonde grabs Cliff’s beer from his hand, whistling for Sven to follow them back to the truck. The two walk along the gravel road toward the truck, Sven trailing behind them. 

“I don’t know.” Kristoff sighs, “I’m hoping Aunt Sigrid will surprise us and take down Mom as well as Nora.” 

Cliff cackles at his son’s comment, clapping him on the back as the two approach the truck. They are both concerned about what might be waiting for them back at the house. 

Ahkwesáhsne (St. Regis), New York, USA – August 1947

The taxi refused to take her into Ahkwesáhsne, instead dropping her off at the town's border. Maren tries to argue with the driver, insisting that she had paid him for the entire trip and that he must drop her off where she had indicated. 

Instead, the driver threatened to call the police on her if she didn’t leave the vehicle at once. Knowing she was fighting a losing battle, Maren exited the car, angry and out $15. With her suitcase in hand, the brunette marched down the grid road, the tall trees providing the young woman with protection from the hot sun. 

However, her decision to wear her wool uniform kept her above a comfortable temperature. The jacket sat heavily on her shoulders, and hair gathered at the back of her neck, causing the young woman to sweat. But she had to do this. 

A light smile graces her features as she spots some children playing tag on the side of the road. 

“That’s not fair!” A small boy yells at the group of slightly older kids. 

She looks away as the other children re-explain the rules to the small boy, trying to stop herself from laughing at the outburst. 

“Yes, it is!” A small girl’s voice shouts back. “I told you, Matthew, if you don’t play by the rules, I will tell Auntie!”  

Maren sneaks a glance back to the children, watching as a slightly taller girl berates the boy with her hands on her hips. Her small brows creasing as she threatens the boy, who is undoubtedly her brother. 

She continues to amble down the road, a sad smile gracing her features. Recalling a time of being that bossy older sister. Telling Ryder he was playing the game wrong even though he was playing it right, but she and her friends just wanted to get a rise out of him. His face would get all red, and his fists would ball as his nose scrunched in frustration, something which he does as an adult. Or he used to, she silently corrects herself, still finding it odd to talk about him in the past tense. 

As she walks through the town, Maren takes in all the familiar sights of her childhood, including the scattering of houses along the road, making the St Regis River visible from the road she continues along. 

The brunette pauses as she reaches a fork in the main road, looking down a long gravel road with only one other house along the path; at the end of the road, a small house sits against the St Lawrence River. 

Maren feels her chest getting tighter the second she turns down the road, inching closer to where she grew up. Recalling how her and Ryder would chase each other up the road, ignoring their grandmother as she yelled after them. 

Ryder would no doubt be laughing at her hesitation to step up onto the porch, poking her back as he made a crack about her uncertainty. Something like: ‘With the way you’re acting, you’d think you’re going up against a firing squad.’ 

It almost does feel that way. A familiar tremor in her hand as she steps onto the wooden porch, the plank under her foot creaking as she approaches the door. 

It had been nearly five years since she stood on this porch in front of this house, something she had often dreamed about while in that camp. Every night when she’d finally lay down, crammed between other women’s bodies, Maren would think of this moment, of finally coming home. A part of her worries that she might still wake up on that horrible bunk in Germany. 

The sting on her knuckles as she knocks on the door solidifies that this is real. She sets her suitcase on the porch before stepping away from the entrance. Nervously, Maren adjusts her uniform skirt and pulls down the jacket. She must look presentable.

Her head snaps as the door opens, revealing a short woman. Her greying raven hair is tied into a low bun and wears the same light pink dress Maren always imagined her wearing in her dreams. 

The older woman’s mouth is agape at the sight of Honeymaren standing before her. 

“Honeymaren?” She questions, as if her granddaughter is an apparition coming back to taunt her for not protecting her grandchildren better. 

“It’s me,” Maren confirms, tears forming in the corner of her eyes at the sight of her grandmother. The older woman’s face crumples at her words, reaching forward to take Honeymaren into her arms. 

Maren buries her face into the shoulder of her Akshótha, a sob escaping her as she feels arms wrapping around her. 

“My girl.” Her grandmother says repeatedly, clutching to her granddaughter as if she might disappear instantly. 

“I’m home,” Maren finally manages once her grandmother stops chanting. Her gaze drifts up to the door as she hears heavy footsteps clamber toward the pair of them. Her chest tightens at the sight of her grandfather in the doorway; his hair is short and grey now with age, and his clothes hang loosely from his lanky frame with furrowed brows. 

He doesn’t speak, instead bursting forward to wrap his long arms around his wife and granddaughter. Maren closes her eyes as she feels him press a kiss to her forehead, chanting repeatedly in Kanien’kéha. However, Honeymaren doesn’t understand any of it; she finds peace in hearing her people’s language spoken for the first time in a long time. 

Their photos sit side-by-side on the credenza in front of the living room window. Maren's photo is from her time at Inverness; she’s laughing while giving a mock salute to the person behind it, dressed in her uniform. Maren doesn’t recall who was behind the camera; it feels like a lifetime ago. 

She stands from the couch, floating toward the surface, and picks up the second photo of her brother. He stands in front of a building in his uniform, arms folded behind him, with a large grin. A small smile crosses her features as she places the photo down. Her eyes drift to an object resting in front of his portrait. She picks up the small pin, a simple blue bar that fits in the palm of her hand. 

“His presidential unit citation.” Her Rakshótha’s voice appears, causing Maren to jump at his sudden presence. She places it back onto the surface before facing the old man, watching as he settles in his rocking chair. 

“Was he awarded any others?” She inquires, meandering back to the couch. 

Her grandfather nods in response. “He has a purple heart, a victory medal, and a few others, but I don’t remember what. They’re hanging in your old room on his side above his bed. We received yours as well in your absence.” 

“I wasn’t even aware that I received any.” Maren comments, knowing that Elsa had received a few upon their return to London, but there was never mention of her own. 

“A Legion of Honour and a Croix de Guerre, to name two.” He specifies with a small smile. “I think I’d like to know how you got those one day.” 

“One day,” Maren confirms. In an instant, she reaches across the gap between the couch and chair, placing her hand on top of her grandfather’s. She is about to pull away when he turns his hand around to grasp hers, squeezing it tightly. 

“We had him buried in Luxembourg.” Maren’s heart sinks at the grandfather’s statement, having expected her brother to be buried in their community. Not in Europe. “We thought about having brought back home, but…at least there, his grave will continue to be taken care of when we’re gone. And though we’ll never be able to see where he rests, at least he’s buried next to his brothers.” 

“I didn’t know…” She responds quietly, her eyes glued to the round brown rug before her. Guilt eating away at her, knowing that she could’ve seen him one last time. She could’ve left flowers and tobacco where he rests. 

“You never wrote.” Her grandfather shrugs.  

“James!” her grandmother snaps, scolding her husband for his harsh words. The older woman stands in the living room doorway, a flour-covered apron hanging from her waist. 

The old man sighs, squeezing his granddaughter’s hand once more. “The chief and council had a memorial dedicated to boys we lost.” 

“It’s small, but it meant a lot,” her grandmother adds, shuffling over to the rocking chair next to the credenza. Ryder’s name is on it, along with the others.” 

“Who else died?” 

“Do you remember Charles and Evelyn’s son, Robert?” Her grandmother asks gently. Maren nods in response, having been in the grade below the young man. “He died over the Atlantic somewhere. His plane was shot down.” 

“And then um…John Maracle. He died in Normandy. Solomon Phillips, his cousin, died a couple of days later.” Her grandfather continues, his gaze fixated on the dirty area rug. 

Maren doesn’t respond, focusing on her finger as it taps against her stocking-covered knee. She had known about Ryder’s death but was unaware of the other boys whom she had grown up with and played with as a child. All these men she’d known, and yet she never knew. She never thought of it, never stopping for a moment to consider who else died overseas. 

“I’ll go pay respects before I leave.” The younger woman comments without much thought, glancing at her grandmother. 

Her Akshótha’s face falls at the comment. “Leaving? You’re not going to stay?” 

Guilt begins to eat away at Maren, knowing that she should have broached the subject of her moving better. She doesn’t look at her Rakshótha, not wanting to see his expression. 

“I-I have a job in Vancouver.” She manages, sitting on the edge of her chair. “I meant to tell you two in better circumstances…but I’ll be helping people like us. I’d be helping them reconnect to their culture, help with settling native families in the city, and people who need help.” 

“You could help here…” The older woman whispers, looking at her lap with wet eyes. 

“What is she going to do?” her grandfather finally asks. “Work in a hospital again? She hated it there. At least in the city, she’ll be doing something worthwhile.” 

Maren stands from the couch, kneeling on the hardwood floor before her grandmother. Without hesitation, she takes wrinkled hands into her own while peering up at the woman who had raised her. 

“Akshótha….it won’t be like last time. I promise.” Maren states, unblinking at her grandmother, who continues to look at her lap. “I will write. I’ll come visit whenever I am able. I promise that I won’t disappear, not again.” 

This time, she meant it. 

London, UK – August 1947 

Olaf groans as he rocks back and forth with Anna in his arms, trying his hardest not to cry in the middle of Euston station. Elsa suppresses her laughter while staring at the two friends, who are making a spectacle out of themselves. 

“I’ll write you as soon as we get to Canada.” Anna sniffles, her words muffled by the fabric of his suit.  

“You better.” Olaf articulates, “Or else I’ll personally show up in that frozen wasteland to beat you senseless.” 

The auburn-haired woman giggles at his empty threat, finally tearing herself away from his embrace. She had tried to convince Olaf to come with them to Vancouver, but the British man had adamantly declined, stating that he didn’t have the constitution for long winters.  

Olaf turns to the elder Rendelle sister, taking her hands into his with a sigh. “You look after her and make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.” 

“I’ll see to it,” Elsa promises, squeezing his hands. I’ll also have Maren help keep her in line.” 

“That gives me a lot more confidence.” Olaf chuckles as tears threaten to spill from the corner of his eyes. The blonde man quickly wraps Elsa into his embrace, taking a deep breath as he pulls away from her. 

The train whistle sounds off, giving its final call for passengers to board the train to Liverpool. 

“Okay, we should get going.” Elsa sighs, glancing at her sister. 

“Right,” Anna nods as the blonde woman picks up their suitcases, their trunks already stored on the train. 

“If you ever decide to come back to London,” Olaf begins, wrapping his arms around his oldest friend once more. “You know where to find me.”

Anna nods in response. “I’ll write to you every week, and I’ll send photographs and postcards whenever possible. And you best come visit me.”  

“I will,” her friend reassures, pushing the woman out of his arms and urging her to get on the train. Now you should be going. That last thing I want is Honeymaren coming back from America to give me a beating because I made you two miss your train.” 

Anna grabs her suitcase from Elsa, flashing a bright smile at her friend before boarding the train with her sister. The Rendelle sisters quickly find their seats, Anna sliding next to the window as Elsa stows away her suitcase. 

The elder sister settles on her seat, watching her younger sister wave to her friend through the window. The train lurches forward, finally pulling away from the station into the surrounding city. They were finally on their way.

The eldest Rendelle sister opens her purse, thumbing through it to ensure she has all her important documents. She sighs, trying to ignore the London skyline in her peripheral. A slight impending sense of nostalgia is trying to permeate her brain, wanting to remember the good memories of her home city that she once felt in France. 

But as she finds it in herself to look out the window, none of those good memories of playing with Anna come to her mind. Instead, those memories are marred with blinding hospital lights, the voice of her father berating her, and complete isolation. This was the place that caused her so much pain and hurt. 

Anna hasn’t been able to look away from the city as she crawls further from its centre, her thumb tapping against the back of her other hand. A flurry of emotion coursing through her while she watches the sights so familiar to her disappear behind her. Tears pool in her eyes as she thinks of leaving behind Olaf, Gerda, and the girls from work, worrying over them and hoping that she will see them again. 

Her shoulders begin to shake as an unexpected sob escapes past her lips, her hand flying to cover her mouth while squeezing her eyes shut. With a small sigh, Elsa wraps her arm around her sister’s shoulder and pulls her close. 

“Hey, are you okay?” The blonde asks, her brows furrowed together in concern. 

With a sniffle, Anna nods. A smile crosses her features as she looks back to the skyline of the city. The memories of the past seven years finally come to a head: her lonely childhood, the demise of her parents, and the seemingly never-ending search for Elsa.   

But it had ended. She had found her sister and, in her search, unexpected love. She had found Kristoff. in all the ash and despair of her life. Now, Canada is a new beginning. A time for healing from it all. 

Chapter Text

Vancouver, Canada - September, 3 1947

The rain had finally subsided, leaving the city streets slick and glistening. Puddles shine under the glow of the Vancouver streetlamps, and the air is thick with the scent of wet pavement and petrichor. It is a quiet Vancouver night, only interrupted by the occasional hiss of a car passing by.  

The two walk with their arms linked together down a narrow side street, their steps slow and unhurried as they often were now. They do not need to rush constantly; they have the rest of their lives. However, Honeymaren had a purposeful air about her that night, attempting to mask it behind small talk about their days and pressing Elsa further about her students.  

Elsa knows something is off, for a former spy, Maren, is an awful secret keeper. The flare from Elsa’s blue wool coat catches on the breeze as they amble, her heels clicking against the concrete.  

“You’re quiet tonight,” The blonde finally remarks, glancing at her companion.  

Maren tries her best to hide a smile in response, failing miserably. Her hair curls ever so slightly from the earlier rain cascades over her soft ivory sweater, neatly tucked into a grey skirt that stops above her stocking-covered knees.  

“I don't know what you mean.” The brunette feigns, “I thought it would be a lovely night for us to take a stroll.”  

“A lovely night? It was pouring up until an hour ago.” Elsa questions, her brow raised.  

Maren’s laughter echoes through the quiet street, resounding off the old brick buildings surrounding them. “More of a reason to go for a walk. It’ll be winter soon, and we’ll practically claw at the windows to get outside.”  

“Soon? It’s only September. Winter isn’t for another 3 months.” The blond responds with a shake of her head, knowing that her lover is being absolutely ridiculous.  

“It sneaks up on you a lot quicker than you think.”  

“I’m very aware; we have winter in London, too.”  

“I know that I spent many a winter with you.” Maren retorts, quickly pressing a soft kiss to the other woman’s cheek. “And you are an absolute child regarding the cold.”  

Elsa scoffs in mock offence, unlacing her arm from Maren’s as she stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “I am not!”  

“You are.” Maren asserts, stepping back towards her. The brunette places her hands on Elsa’s waist, her thumbs brushing over the scratchy fabric of her coat as if reminding her that the blonde stands before her and it isn’t a dream that she’s often had these past years. “But that is alright; I’ll be sure to keep you warm.”  

Elsa’s flushed cheeks glow under the soft light, taking a moment to tuck a strand of Maren’s hair behind her ear. Maren breaks her gaze, quickly looking around the street to ensure it is devoid of others. Ensuring it is, she reaches out, cupping Elsa’s face before pressing her lips against the other woman’s.  

The blonde woman’s eyes flutter close at the contact, revelling in the heat from Maren’s hands as her own find purchase on the brunette’s waist. Reluctantly, Maren pulls away from her, knowing that displays like this shouldn’t last longer than a moment in public.  

“It’s a surprise.” Maren finally says, linking her arm with Elsa’s once more.  

“A surprise?” The Kanien’keha:ka woman hums in affirmation. “I don’t like surprises.”  

Maren laughs again, her head slightly tilted, “You’ll like this one.”  

They turn down a narrow alleyway lined with cafes and grocers, the smell of baking lingering in the air.  

“Are you trying to get us arrested?” Elsa inquires, her voice dripping with mirth.  

“Of course not,” Maren responds, briefly pausing before adding, “Well...hopefully not.”  

“Honeymaren,” Elsa groans. 

“It’ll be fine.” The brunette assures quickly, “It’s just not the type of place they want people to know about. You’ll see when we get there.”  

They stop in front of a nondescript door beneath an unlit sign. It doesn’t look like anything but an abandoned basement entrance to one of the nearby grocers. Maren knocks twice against the wood, waiting a second before following up with three patterned taps. It’s completely silent momentarily, and then the door slowly creeps open.  

Inside, the air is warmer, cigarette smoke and perfume wafting through the building. Music drifts up the stairwell—jazz, the hum of a saxophone threading through. Maren beams at Elsa’s bewildered expression as they descend the staircase, the door closing behind them.  

“Maren...what is this?”  

“It’s called The Lantern. I heard about it from the woman at the bookshop on the corner of Davie and Bute.” Maren explains as they reach the bottom of the stairs.  

They step into a low-ceiling room filled with warm light and laughter. Small, rounded tables are tucked into corners around the room, with a stage at the far end holding a group of musicians playing a lively tune. Couples sit close together under the warm light, a few women with men but heavily outnumbered by women with each other. They talk, laugh, and touch without flinching. There are no stares or whispers about the amorous contact between the women in the room.  

Elsa’s sapphire eyes shine as she looks to her lover. “You brought me here?”  

“I wanted you to see it.” Maren responds, “I wanted you to come with me.”  

Elsa steps closer to Maren, slipping her hands into Maren’s grasp before leaning in and kissing her, not bothering to look over her shoulder.  

“It’s amazing,” She whispers, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”  

Her lover beams, “Come, let's have some fun tonight.”  

Honeymaren drags Elsa through the room, finding a table close enough to the stage, their fingers entwined underneath the table and leaning on each other, freely stealing kisses occasionally through the night. The past 5 years' wear melted away on them, even just for one night. Finally, peace was found for the first time since the war ended. Knowing that they would never be apart again.  

Sheridan, USA - September 15, 1947

Light shines from the windows as music blasts over the cacophony of voices in the building. There’s a lump in her throat as she stands in front of the Inn’s stairs, trying to control the shake in her hands. She ignores the people pouring out of the front lobby into the night.  

She’s overdressed, and it’s noticeable to Anna, who quickly noticed that most of the girls wore either short cotton or satin dresses this evening. Nothing compared to the emerald-green floor-length gown she wears, with pearls accentuating the low neckline.  

She brought the dress in case any event in which she needed to dress up occurred. When she saw a formal dance being hosted at the Sheridan Inn, the British woman assumed everyone would be dressed up like herself. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case.   

With a deep breath, Anna finally climbs the stairs, ignoring the gawking of men standing out on the porch, no doubt to escape the pawing of their sweethearts. The auburn-haired woman steps through the French doors, the inn's ballroom packed with people with many in the middle of the floor dancing.  

Anna walks through the crowd of people, not bothering to grab a glass of champagne as she scans the room, hopeful that he’ll be here. She has no idea what her plan is and is unsure what to say to the man she loves. But she doesn’t think of any of that, instead looking for him between the crowd.  

Her heels click softly against the polished wood as she makes her way around the dance floor, the sound nearly swallowed by the swell of the bandstand. No one stops her, but she can feel eyes on her – curious, maybe even a little amused – as if she’s wandered into the wrong place.  

The light casts a golden hue across the room, flickering against the crystal chandeliers like candlelight. Couples spin and sway to the rhythm of the music as laughter and flirtation fill the spaces between notes. But Anna remains focused, scanning faces, hoping to find a familiar one. Her fingers twitch at her sides, and she trembles ever so slightly despite trying to appear composed.  

She catches a glimpse of an olive jacket near the bandstand, and her heart leaps – but it isn’t him. Disappointment floods her, wondering if this is a stupid plan. Weaving through party attendants, Anna finds herself by a table lined with half-finished drinks. She leans slightly, taking a breath as she continues to search passively. Then, she sees him through the thrum of music and a blur of swirling colours.   

He stands by the far wall, half shrouded in the dim light, a glass in his hand as he speaks with a woman with a laugh on her lips. He remains clean-shaven, his hair combed back neatly, but a stray strand escapes over his forehead. Anna’s breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t hesitate.  

She steps forward with deliberate steps, a pounding reverberating in her ears that has nothing to do with but with her thoughts. She hadn’t thought this far. What would she even say? I missed you; I should have written, why didn’t you write? Did you ever think of me? - but the words will come. They must because she’s here in Wyoming, across the sea from London, across the border from her sister, and across the room from him.   

The woman he speaks to laughs again, resting a hand on his arm before turning away and disappearing into the crowd. And then – he sees her.   

His smile falters just slightly as recognition dawns. His eyes widen, not in surprise but in something softer—something that flickers between memory and wonder.   

“Anna?” He says, almost like a breath. He steps toward her, and for a moment, neither speaks. The ballroom spins around them, attendants caught up in their worlds, but this pocket of space between them remains.   

She nods, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. “Hello, Kristoff.”  

He glances down at her dress, his gaze lingering long enough for her to feel the blush creep up her neck. “You look...stunning.” He comments, his voice low.   

“I thought it was more of a formal affair.” She admits sheepishly, smoothing the silk of the emerald garment.  

“I’m glad you did,” He replies, placing his drink on the window ledge behind him. “W-would you like to dance with me?”   

Before she can answer, the music shifts to the first slow and warm notes of Harry James. Kristoff offers his hand, and she hesitates for only a moment before placing hers in his. Her breath catches at its warmth, a familiarity she missed.  

He pulls her gently into his arms, everything fading away around them – the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the shimmer of chandelier light. There is only him: the familiar scent, the strength in his arms, and the press of his hand at her back.   

“I thought you don’t dance.” She finally teases as they sway gently to the music.   

“You know I’ll always make an exception for you.” He retorts, thinking of that night in Mont Saint Eloi. Anna finally looks into his eyes, and they watch her as they used to. As if she’s something precious.  “I didn’t think I’d see you again,”  

“I wasn’t sure if I’d come,” She admits. It had been nearly a month since Anna moved to Vancouver, and the desire to get on the next train to Wyoming had completely consumed her waking thoughts. But something in her was hesitant as if Kristoff would reject her when seeing her again.   

“But you did.” He murmurs, pulling her close.  

The auburn-haired woman nods, her smile blooming softly. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”  

They sway gently, letting the music guide their steps. His warm hand steadying against the small of her back, grounding her in this moment that feels like a dream.  

“I wrote to you,” Kristoff says quietly, searching her face. “But my letters were returned.”  

“I left London,” She responds. “Everything there reminded me of...well, everything. So I left.”  

Kristoff nods, not pressing further. He knows the weight Anna holds on her shoulders, the way she tries to carry it all herself, and London reminds her of all the pain and hardship.  

“Elsa, Maren and I moved to Vancouver.” She elaborates, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Elsa teaches English in a primary school, and Maren works for an organization that helps her people.”  

“And you?”   

“I’m finishing my education; there are courses for shorthand at a nearby college.” Anna begins, her eyes lighting up as she talks.

Kristoff chuckles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “A far step away from the makeup counter.”   

“It is.” She confirms, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his jacket. “I needed to change, a change. Something I could feel good about finally. Canada gave me that opportunity.”   

“Canada,” He states as if testing the word on his tongue. “That’s far.” 

Anna laughs, “Farther than I thought I’d go.”  

“I’m not so sure about that.” He quips, his heart pounding as her laughter encases him once again. Wanting nothing more than to hear that sound for the rest of his life. “I would’ve followed you if I’d known.”  

She glances up, her gaze meeting his warm one. “You would have?”  

Kristoff doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he spins her slowly, their bodies close as the song swells. He leans down when he draws her back in, his lips ghosting against her ear. “I still might.”  

The words settle between them like a promise, still hanging by a thread. Anna’s breath hitches, and she feels overly warm. “You don’t have to say things like that Kristoff.” 

“I know.” His gaze holds her, “But I mean it.”  

Silence stills between them, the music carrying on, as do the people dancing around them. But Anna and Kristoff remain in their world, so many thoughts remain unspoken yet full of understanding. The final notes of the music swell, and for a heartbeat, neither moves. The world is hushed and holding its breath around them. His thumb brushes over the back of her hand, slow and deliberate, as if he is re-learning how she feels against his skin.  

Anna tilts her face up towards him, her lips parted with unspoken words and her heart pounding.  

“Kristoff,” She breathes. 

He leans in with urgency as if she’ll disappear from his sight in a second. Their lips meet, soft at first. It's a question and an answer all at once. His hand cradles her cheek, anchoring her as the room finally slips away entirely. She melts into him, into the familiar warmth and certainty of that kiss. It tastes like the past and future colliding, and she feels that she's finally found home.

They part with a gasp and a soft laugh, both slightly breathless and in disbelief at themselves. 

Anna brings a hand to her lips, eyes crinkling as she grins. "I wasn't expecting that." 

"Neither was I," Kristoff replies, laughing softly as his forehead falls against hers. "I was planning something far more dramatic. Maybe flowers. A speech." 

"Travelling over a thousand miles just to see me again?" She offers with raised brows. 

"It seems like you beat me to that one, feistypants." 

"I like this better," She confirms, her hand settling on his chest. 

He leans back just enough to gaze at her, joy bright in his eyes. "So, Vancouver?" 

"Yup! I mean, it's not London," She says, a smile tugging at her lips, "But I think a grouch like you might actually like it." 

"Thanks," He responds sarcastically, but his smile gives him away. "I think I'd like anywhere if it means I get to be near you." 

Anna shakes her head, giggling as she steps back, her hand still enveloped by his. "Careful Kristoff. You're starting to sound serious."

The blonde man lifts her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "Maybe I am." 

There's a long, full moment between them- filled with something light, something healing. The music starts up again, a livelier tune, but they don't rush back into a dance. Instead, standing at the edge of it all, two people find their way back, piece by piece. 

And Anna feels it for the first time in a long, long time—the sense that she may finally carry on with her life without guilt.