sorry it's taken so long to get this out. i just want to thank the anons who keep reviewing, because you always make me smile :) also, got an awesome one from an author whom i really respect and admire, so that was warming. i actually had more written but it was really cruel to anna, and everyone wanted me to be a little nicer to her, so it got cut. might make an appearance later. who knows... anyway, hope you like this chapter. moving forward~

Elsa is standing on the threshold, looking at her hand. There's a scrap of paper there, with a number you recognise as your apartment's. As soon as she hears the door open, she jerks her head up, then down again when she realises you're not exactly her height.

"Anna!" she says, voice lilting as though she's surprised to see you. "Uh, may I come in?"

Your heart lurches at the sound of her voice, and wordlessly, you nod, backing up so she can slide inside.

When you close the door, you realise just how dark the apartment is; you regret opening the blinds, however, when it becomes apparent just how filthy the place is, too. You never get guests, so you hadn't been bothered to clean up. You feel… embarrassed. You don't like it.

No wonder Elsa fired you. You can't even keep your personal life together, let alone a professional one.

"So…" you begin weakly. "Coffee?"

You don't even wait for her response before you're heading towards the kitchen. You hear her follow you, and send Kristoff a silent 'thank you' that he cleaned the kitchen.

Elsa stands awkwardly off to the side. Once again, she's in everyday clothes, and once again, they look awesome. She's wearing a loose-fitting tee with a print of a llama on it, and her hair is up in a ponytail. She's got purple eyeshadow on, and soft pink lipstick. You glance down at your own dingy tracky-dacks, and manage to catch sight of a new stain on your shirt. Great.

She takes her coffee black, with one sugar (of course she does), and you make your way to the lounge room when you've finished adding several spoonfuls of sugar to your own mug. Elsa sits precariously on the edge of the single chair, and you move to the sofa, back straight. You like to think that it gives you an air of comfortable confidence, but Elsa doesn't even look at you as you move.

"What's, uh, what's up?" you ask, taking a sip of your coffee. It burns the roof of your mouth, but at least it gives you a distraction. Elsa takes her own sip, and doesn't look at you.

"Did… something happen?" she asks softly. When she looks at you, her eyes are wide and imploring, like she's begging for something. You aren't sure what. You glance away, eyes falling to Joan, who's decided to sneak under the coffee table. She doesn't like guests; you can see the stub of her tail flicking as she watches Elsa.

You're silent so long, Elsa begins speaking before you've answered. "If anyone's said anything…" she hedges, and you frown.

"What?" you say. Your voice is louder than you expected, and Elsa's eyes widen. "Why is it always, 'has anyone done something', with you?" you demand. Your bottom lip is quivering, and there's a tightness in your throat you aren't used to. It feels like your heart is trying to thunder its way from your chest. All the while, Elsa just sits there, gaping.

"You always wanna know if I'm being- being bullied or harassed," you continue, "but you- you let me get happy, and then nothing. You gave me an office and you made me feel like I was safe there…" Your gaze has fallen to the floor, because even if you can't see Elsa through the tears, you still don't want to look at her. You feel pathetic. She's reduced you to tears in your own home, and you hate it. Sniffling, you wipe at your face and steel yourself. No more weakness, you think as you take a sip of your drink and force yourself to calm down.

"I get it," you continue softly. "Life isn't fair. But I'm so fucking sick of being on the receiving end of it. So you can take your 'I'm only looking out for you' complex and leave me the fuck alone. I don't need it."

In the ensuing silence, you regret having moved from your chair to sit in the couch. You can't get away easily, and you're not about to struggle in front of Elsa again. It would probably set her off, and her pity is the last thing you need. You sit stoically in the silence, waiting for her to move.

When she finally does do something, it's just to whisper out a question. "…You… left for your independence?"

You whip your head up. "Left? What-? You didn't give me any choice," you snarl. Joan decides to jump onto your lap, and you scratch her rump as a way of ignoring Elsa. You feel so small under her gaze.

Suddenly, the couch dips, and you find your personal space being taken up. You can't even remember the last time someone was this close to you – and Kristoff doesn't count.

"Anna," she says seriously, peering at you from behind long lashes. "You thought I fired you?"

Dumbly, you nod. Elsa lets out a breath. Her hand comes up. "Why would I fire you? You haven't done anything wrong – in fact, your work ethic has been one of the best I've ever seen. We- we promoted you. You were happy!"

It's your turn to gape. "Happy? I was crying."

Elsa looks away, shame in her eyes. "I thought it was happiness…" she admits softly. "Why would you think I'd fire you?"

"Because- because…" Because that's what always happens…

You can't bring yourself to actually say those words, though. Elsa's looking at you with the worst expression; it's all soft and pitying. You rub at Joan's fur, staring at the little cat, and you're not prepared to feel Elsa's fingers wrap around your hand.