Author's Note: First things first, this story is intended to be a continuation of "Be Strong, My Girl" written by the wonderful hotskytrotsky over at AO3 (with her permission, of course). If you somehow stumbled upon this without having previously read her work, I highly encourage reading BSMG first (though I am quite thankful that you have considered spending your time reading my work). BSMG can be found at the link below (and it's only a 2 chapter commitment).

/works/1618208/chapters/3448535

That said, if you love BSMG as is (or if you choose not to read it, I suppose), you're welcome to read this as a standalone. However, keep in mind that I will be making direct references to it as often as I can, so you might have to fill in some blanks. Also, for anybody who isn't familiar with BSMG, this is non-incest Elsanna.

Fair warning to people who are just coming from reading BSMG, this may read rather differently. Not only for the differences in writing style between hotskytrotsky and I, but also because I chose not to write in a first-person perspective, and perhaps for other reasons. I think it would be arrogant and insulting of me to presume that I could recreate her unique style (one that I, and others found quite powerful in the original story) so I didn't attempt to. For better or worse, I'm embracing my own style and the story her work inspired me to tell. All I can do is hope that it isn't off-putting for anyone.

Thanks again hotskytrotsky for your work, and your blessing to write this.

Notes on music: You'll notice that at the beginning of every chapter I list a handful of lyrics from a song, which is a practice that I'm blatantly ripping off from Kurrent, author of "Feel, Don't Conceal" (another story that I recommend). I listen to a lot of music when I write, and I have this terrible compulsion to share. I realize that approximately 110% of people do not care what I listen to ever (let alone while I write), and don't have the same taste in music, so I figured this would be a pretty unobtrusive way to include it. I've tried to tie it in with a theme of radios (because I think a lot of the settings I'll use in this story would have radios in the background). If you see a song you know, and want to listen while you read (or just have a love of listening to new things), I recommend Spotify. But feel free to only read the lyrics, or to skip over them entirely if you don't feel they add anything to the story.

My intention, with that whole radio theme, is to try and only select songs that have seen radio play, or are by artists that have. As for the song I chose for this chapter, I thought the melancholy (boom, pretentious word) really caught the essence of how it feels to go back and read BSMG for me. Also, I think the lyrics are mostly appropriate and applicable to that story, as well as moving forward into this one.

Enjoy.

PROLOGUE

On the radio...

Put another X on the calendar

Summer's on its deathbed

There is simply nothing worse

Than knowing how it ends

And I meant everything I said that night

I will come back to life

But only for you...

- Panic! At The Disco, "The Calendar" (Vices and Virtues)

It's been almost 11 years. What the fuck am I doing here?

A woman not quite thirty, lost in her own thoughts, walks steadily down the streets of a residential district in a European city. The sun shines above in the nearly-cloudless afternoon sky. It's not cold, but she wears a light jacket, that blows loosely in the slight breeze along with her copper ponytail. A perk of her most recent occupation; she doesn't wear it in the twin braids that she used to, once upon a time, but she can at least have it long now. Even if she doesn't know what to do with it.

If I take a step back here, and ask what do I really expect to come of this? It was great to find out that she was even alive. I'd have heard somehow if something catastrophic happened, but there was always that nagging feeling that she could have slipped quietly away next to an empty bottle of pills… No, I deal with actual worst-case scenarios too often to be dwelling on the ones I make up.

She sighed as she turned a corner, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket, but ready to be removed at a moment's notice, more out of habit than any actual fear of the neighborhood. There were talks of gang violence in the downtown area, but nothing out here.

So maybe that's why I'm here. That nagging. I convinced myself that I'd moved on. But clearly I haven't. We were together half a lifetime ago, known each other for half a lifetime before that, but I only really knew her for those six sweet months…

She stopped. She was across the street from her destination. She didn't need to recheck the address.

But here I am. And suddenly I'm that fucking little girl again. Confused. Apprehensive. Nervous. Fuck, nervous? I don't get nervous. Scared? All the goddamn time. But nervous? Thought I grew out of that. Or at least had it beaten out of me. But honestly, for all I know, this could be the worst decision I've ever made. I know nothing about her now. The things that could have happened… I can't even fathom. God knows the shit that I've kept busy with. I better just accept the fact that my motivations are selfish. I don't feel the way that I used to, for certain; I definitely grew out of that. Or something like growing out of it. But I need… something… here. Closure? That's a good word for it. A good excuse at least, until I figure out what the fuck I'm thinking. I just need to know that she's okay.

Another sigh and she started across the street. Gritting her teeth at the feeling of vulnerability. At least she had a gun. Well, not a gun. Two. She was beyond certain that she wouldn't need them, but she felt naked without them. Usually she had more. She still felt slightly undressed with only two means of defending herself, so that was probably where that vulnerability was coming from.

She stopped herself, hand poised to knock on the door in front of her, and almost gave a small laugh. I'm too old to be lying to myself, she thought shaking her head.

She knew exactly where that feeling of vulnerability was coming from. It had nothing to do with the familiar weight of a handgun in its holster at her side, or the lack of one at any of the other number of places she'd concealed a weapon in her life. It had everything to do with what was on the other side of this door.

The past.

Her past.

The past she'd shared with another woman, and the futures it had made her younger self dare to dream of.

She'd focused for so long on doing something. Any something. Forcing her life to mold itself into something worthwhile with her own hands. Always moving forward, always moving away from that naïve little girl she had been when she graduated from high school.

Or was it running away?

This was going to be difficult. Anna knocked on the door of the small home anyway. Firmly and professionally because she was committed.

There was a short pause before she heard the shuffling of footsteps coming to answer the unexpected caller at the door. The platinum-blonde that answered the door was just as stunning as the redhead outside of it remembered. Even in sweatpants, a loose t-shirt, and with a single braid hanging lazily over one shoulder, somehow it looked as if the years had been kind to her. The expression that crept across her face was that of one who'd seen a ghost.

"Elsa Arendal?"