AN: Something short, took me ninety minutes (challenging myself). Trying to find time to write with my new job taking a lot of it. I do hope you like what you read here. Be warned though, it's angsty, and tragic, and there are some passing mentions of unpleasant things. NB: This is no longer just a one-shot.

I'm sitting on the couch, hair falling over my face—well, I'm lying on the couch actually, using the armrest like a pillow. It's Elsa's couch, and it's actually kinda comfortable like this. I'm only half watching her. We're fighting, and the words are getting heated, but I can't seem to make myself move this time. She looks beautiful. She always did. Sharp featured, some might say. Not me. She has a kind face, but it's always been a bit gaunt. Like she could never put on weight. That's what the fight's about. I'm not really paying attention—she's wearing a low cut top, and it's effectively distracting. To anyone she might walk past. But we're at home, in the front hall. It's the loudest argument we ever had. It's when I learned the truth.

"Elsa!" I shouted. "Why do you keep shutting me out?"

I can see the hurt on her face. I haven't just hit a nerve. It's like she just fell apart on the inside and her body is simply a shell holding her shape. She strides closer, I always think she's going to slap me or something. I forget often that she's not the violent type—I spent too long being dominated and abused by Hans. It's not a memory I dwell on. Elsa sags against me; she's heavy, and trying to hold her up actually takes some strength. Good thing I've always been the physical one. But it's more than that, the way she seems to be falling apart. I ask that question; I've heard it so many times, but I'm still amazed I said it that way.

"What are you so afraid of?"

And when she whispers in my ear, we're suddenly both on the floor, spent. We don't fight anymore. There's no use. I'm stubborn and she's right. She could be stubborn too, but nothing like me. She whispered in my ear, and those words echo through every day we spent together.

"Dying. Anna… I–I never wanted to hurt you."

It was a hell of a shock, figuring it out. Why she was so thin, how easily she would bruise, those weekly visits to the doctor. We'd only been going out two months then. She hadn't known at first. Hadn't really warmed to me either. That, however, may have been because I hit her with my motorbike. I broke her leg so badly it needed steel pins to put it back together. She was afraid she'd never dance again. But she did, waltzing slowly one night with me after her physiotherapist told her she could put some weight on her legs if she was careful not to overdo it. It was the most romantic dance we ever shared back then. At least, upright.

I visited her in hospital every day that I could. She couldn't stand me at first, but she didn't call out harassment or anything either. I think she might have seen the marks Hans was leaving on my skin. Then she saw me with a broken nose, and a bandage over my wrist. She didn't see all the bruises on my chest, or the cracked ribs, or the two-inch puncture wound beneath my breasts. She hadn't seen me for a week, and she was starting to get worried—I hadn't even given her my number, she'd been so frosty towards me.

But we warmed to each other. I wandered around like the walking wounded I was. Hans had pushed me too far, and I'd nearly done something unforgivable. The cops got involved, and now Hans is stuck behind bars for at least five-to-ten. When Elsa learned about that she told me that if he ever laid a hand on me again, she would personally castrate him and feed him his testicles. I laughed until I saw that look on her face. She was furious, and it was terrifying. I had no idea how she could be that scary one moment, then start asking me about my day the next.

We fought between then and now, of course; all couples do. We just didn't let it come between us; until I found out she'd always been hiding something from me. That fight, in the hall. It was our worst, but it set the tone for our new relationship. We made the most of what time we did have. I dropped down to part time to help Elsa around the house. It was hard sometimes, watching her coming home from treatments. Watching the pain wracking her body. Throwing up afterwards, for days. I think the worst part was when she started losing her hair. We both wept over that. Beautiful platinum tresses, and when the morning sun hit them right they turned into liquid gold across our sheets.

The argument's still going. We're still on the floor. I know what's coming, but it still hits me like a runaway freight train. Everything made sense. Why she kept pushing me away, too. She didn't realize how worthy she was of love and affection, despite all she'd done; all she'd suffered through. Three little words, that even now, reduced me to tears. Five words. A ton of bricks to go with that freight train. I said I was devastated when I told Kristoff about it—I just had to tell someone. That word just didn't do how I felt justice. The deepest, darkest, blackest pit, devoid of all hope. That's where I went. Until I realized an amazing quote from that interminably long movie about rings that make people invisible and can control the world—I simply couldn't sit still though it long enough to understand it. Anyway, that quote: "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

Suddenly Elsa's words weren't quite so scary. "I have cancer. It's incurable."

The lead weight was still there, and the tears never stopped, but I had already decided what I would do with the time that was given to me. I would help Elsa live; for however long she had left. We did… everything. She didn't bother with a bucket list. She started small, experiencing life through my eyes. She loved my bike—she was never scared of it, she just didn't know how to ride, but I was okay with that. Not everyone is born to be a biker.

Now the fight is over, and the floor turned into the wall, so it looks like we're defying gravity. A slim hand, with long, slender fingers reaches out across my field of view.

"Anna, why were you recording us?"

"I had a surprise for you. I wanted to see your face when I—"

The screen goes black. I forgot what my big surprise was. I just remember we found it somewhere in the attic three days later, after I'd had some time to recover from hearing that news. I remember another discussion we had. I said I would love Elsa to the end of time. She asked me why, gave some silly reasons why immortality would really, really suck. Especially if you had to watch everyone you ever loved slowly dying. She said it wouldn't work, you'd have to become some kind of hermit. I countered that you would have been richer for having known and loved all these people. Wouldn't the love of an immortal have been stronger, knowing they would always lose that which they loved most?

Elsa began weeping when I said that, and I suddenly knew we hadn't been talking about immortality, or loving people until the end of time—romantic as it sounded. We had been talking about us. Elsa saw herself as the mortal; saw me as the immortal. My memories of our time together are still my most treasured possessions. I watch this video because it brings them all back. We didn't record much—we were too busy experiencing it. But this one, above all the others, was where we really knew we loved each other. Because I asked that question, and she told me the truth. No matter how much the truth had hurt, it had opened our hearts. I knew I could never love another person as much as I loved her, but I would try. I would be richer for the experience.

I thumbed the TV off with the remote. I think I was crying. Probably. Every year I do this to remind me of who I lost—of who the world lost. And on this little video, forever perfect, ageless, timeless, and beautiful, the love of my life was preserved. I wondered then, if perhaps she was the immortal one. Any time I wanted I could watch one of our few videos; see her face, her smile, the way she would brush my hair from my eyes going for a kiss. Her laugh, so rich and playful. Her voice, like ice, or silk, or husky having just awoken. I recorded some of the bad times too—I had to, because even then she was still beautiful to me, and I had to make her see it. In her darkest days—in her final hours—I gave her hope. She left the world more loved than she'll ever know. I can't keep it in anymore, and the tears flow freely.

"Mommy… are you okay?" Joan was home from school. It's hard to believe I forgot how late it was. Or did I? Maybe I just lost track of time. It always happens on this day. But I have to reassure my daughter. I find I'm doing it more and more—I think I might need help. Maybe life is just getting rougher at school. I'll talk to Kristoff later. He can help me. But not right now.

"Hello Joan. I–I'm not okay," I think there might have been sniffling. Joan handed me the tissues. "You remember aunty Elsa?"

"I'm so sorry mommy, I forgot today was her birthday. Can I go make her a card?"

I can't speak anymore, so I just nod. It's getting harder. I got the flowers in the morning. White crocuses, her favourite. The rest of the day passes in a blur. Kristoff comes home with his traditional gift; a snowglobe of a city we never got to visit. Just before dinner we go to the cemetery. To the crypt. My life savings went into that, to make sure she got a more than proper burial. I'm the only one with a key. Kristoff borrowed it yesterday to clean. We're there before I know it.

Those words I said—that I would love Elsa until the end of time—they were true. I love Kristoff, but it's not the same as what I shared with Elsa. Nothing is. But he's my rock now, and I need him more than I care to admit. He knows it though, and I appreciate that he doesn't bring it up on days like this. Elsa's birthday is sacrosanct. We all place our offerings and light a votive candle for the love of my life. Then everyone else leaves, waiting quietly outside. Tears streaming down my face, I say the words, and hope I can be strong enough to do this again next year, and the next, and the next, until the day I die. Because I will love her until the end of my days.

"I love you Elsa. Always," my throat clenches, and I have to choke out the next few words. I have to accept that she's gone, and I only have those memories of her now. I have to try and move on, even though I know I never will. I have to try. For my family. Before I do something… bad. So I say the words that hurt so much every time I think I can never say them again. "Sleep now, in peace, my sweet princess. I miss you."

One word, one more word, and I can leave, but it's like a weight in my stomach. Just saying it isn't any kind of relief. But I have to. Just like I have to turn around, and leave her in peace for another year. It takes me nine minutes before I can say that last word. Before I can even think about starting to move on. But I can say it this time. I just don't know how many more I have left in me.

"Goodbye."