Contrary to what you thought would happen, you don't drive down to the post office to pick up some passport forms. Elsa keeps looking at you, but she doesn't say anything. The drive actually takes you to the other side of town, an unfamiliar shopping district appearing from between bland corporate offices and brick buildings.

Most of the shop windows are completely glass, bright candescent light shining from the beige and off-white depths, and there are trees planted in the sidewalk. It looks expensive.

Of course, that's precisely where the car stops. Elsa leaves you to do your thing as she speaks to the driver.

"He will pick up the appropriate forms from the post office, and meet us here when we've finished our business," she says, and you just nod.

The place Elsa takes you is a large, brightly lit shop, with rotating mannequins in the window. They seem to be wearing formal clothes, which you think is a little odd until you actually enter and realise it's a tailor.

What in the hell?

But you don't say anything as Elsa leads you through the shop. You don't say anything when she introduces you to the shortest woman you're ever seen – seriously, you think you must be taller than her. And you're in a wheelchair.

You don't say anything when you're getting measured and Elsa's choosing out fabric, and asking your opinion on colours.

You don't even say something when the woman – Edna, you think her name is – announces she has all she needs, so "just a deposit, dahling, and pick it up next week!", and Elsa takes out her wallet.

Actually, you're outside the shop, Elsa smiling to herself and wondering where you wanted to eat lunch ("because there's a lovely little Italian restaurant down the block") when you finally speak.

"Why are you doing this?"

Because this stuff doesn't happen. Your boss doesn't get you a tailor-made winter jacket for a week-and-a-bit stay in another country on business. She doesn't take you out to lunch afterward.

Why are you being given such special treatment?

Elsa flushes and looks at her shoes. She doesn't answer the question for a moment, and when she does, you're still not satisfied.

"You'll need a jacket, Anna," she says. You know that she knows that wasn't what you were asking, but you don't want to cause a scene by demanding a real answer. You can maybe keep telling yourself that it's just because Elsa is strange, but you know that excuse won't hold out forever.

She is strange. But she's- this is ''hiding'' behaviour. You glare up at her for a few seconds, but her eyes are still fixed obstinately on her shoes.

Like she's a child being scolded, and she's accepted her punishment.

"I can buy my own jackets, all right?" you say. It comes out harsher than you expected, and you run a hair through your bangs. "I... appreciate all this, Elsa, I do. But you don't need to."

"But I want to!"

The words are out of Elsa's mouth almost before you finish your sentence, and they're left hanging in the air between the two of you. She seems like she wants to bite them back. Her eyes widen and her mouth flaps, searching for something to say.

The word, "why?", plays on your lips, but you can't bring yourself to voice it. You tighten your jaw and look away.

"I... consider you a friend, Anna," she says slowly, softly. "I... understand if the fact I am your boss gets in the way of that..." She sighs. "I understand if you don't..." She trails off, but you can still hear the unspoken words. If you don't want to be my friend...

Why wouldn't you want that? You can't just tell her how weird this is. You don't even know what to say. You can't even remember the last time you made a friend (and Hans is... different). This is so new and unprecedented.

But... nice. It's nice. You're not sure what her definition of 'friend' is. Different to yours because... well, you work together. Go out to lunch occasionally. But that's like, a work relationship. Acquaintances. How can you actually become friends from that when there's such distance between you anyway?

When you look at her, though, you realise you can't say any of that. There's a look in her eyes, soft and hopeful, and you don't want to be the one to snuff it out. You don't want to because you're a little selfish, too, and you want to be friends with Elsa. She's never been anything but nice and polite and accommodating, and that's not something you come across much in your life.

So you offer up a shy smile and nod. "Sure, Elsa. Friends."