long a/n, sorry folks. it's important.

i have had a good week, so have a chapter a day early. if you're lucky, i might upload another tomorrow :D

i do read the reviews, and i know that a few of you are getting antsy about the lack of elsanna and abundance of hanna. i know it's frustrating. im the one writing it. i am not going to compromise the story i want to tell, or compromise the characters, because a vocal few are unhappy with the relationships thus far.

that being said, i am actively going through the upcoming chapters and adding some more elsanna. you will notice some in this chapter, definitely (and in previous chapters: they were never supposed to move the beds together. you can thank turwen for that nugget). i'm even slotting in an extra chapter between two already written ones just so you have something more to gnaw on.

however, i am going to tell you right now: anna will get intimate with hans. i have not written it yet but it is coming up. i don't know how much detail i am going to go into; that really depends on the characters. i will give a warning the chapter of, just so you know. it is necessary because, as i've said before, anna's first proper relationship cannot be with her boss. it just can't.

so please believe me when i say i am listening to you, but also that there are elements of this story i will not budge on. anna becoming intimate with hans is one such thing.

now, onto the fic :) i hope you enjoy the little elsanna goodness in this one :)

You end the call not much later than that. You're not quite ready to hear exactly what Hans has been thinking about doing with you, so you tell him you need to finish packing. He doesn't argue with you about it – just says that he'll see you at work, and asks you to call when you arrive safe at home.

But the thing is, you don't have any more packing to do. You don't have anything else to do, and even though you should be, by all rights, completely exhausted, you're not.

Or, you are, but only in mind. Your body feels more awake than ever, and you know precisely why.

You can't do anything about it now, though. And you shouldn't. Elsa could be back literally at any minute, without warning, and then you'd be put in a far more awkward position than you would ever want to be in.

But... maybe you can go and have a shower. A long one.

It takes a full hour and a half before you're finally completely done in the bathroom and ready for bed. You leave out your toothbrush and paste, plus your shampoo because you might even have time for a shower before your flight, and you'd rather do that.

It has the desired side effect of making you sleepy, though – the hot water was lovely, and without Elsa there, you had no qualms with sitting below the steamy faucet for as long as you wanted. You use the time to open your pores so when you shave your legs, they're so wonderfully smooth it's actually almost ridiculous. And you do the same for your underarms, and it means that you've got all the gunk out from your face.

No pimples for you this week. You hope.

It's probably high time you treat yourself to a full-on pamper – like an actual spa day. Maybe Kristoff would come along, too.

You scoff to yourself. He's into a dude, but he hasn't actually said that he's gay – and, that's a huge stereotype that isn't fair to force on him.

It would still be nice to do something with him, but he was more inclined to spend money on a film than a mani-pedi.

You don't want to go to bed yet, but when your head hits the pillow, all thoughts of staying up vanish. You've left Elsa's side untucked so she can just slide in when she gets back, and maybe you should have asked her why the beds stayed joined. You must be far more tired than you'd thought, so even though you want to greet Elsa when she comes home, you know that unless that happens in the next two minutes, it's not going to happen at all.

And it doesn't. You manage to plug your phone in to charge just before you're completely gone.

You wake up to someone cursing. At least, it sounds like cursing – you're not entirely sure because it's not in English. It comes again, and at least the voice is familiar, if not the words. Rolling over, you flick on the light switch, and the room immediately flares into your field of view.

Elsa's staring at you from near the bathroom door. Her suitcase is splayed open, and it kind of looks like she tripped over it.

"Ohhhhh God," she says, eyes wide. Is she... drunk? She's definitely not sober, though at least this time her hair and makeup are still on point, and her dress is free from crinkles and ruffles.

Okay, wow, this was really not what you expected to happen at all. Elsa wavers a little on her feet, but she doesn't seem as though she's swaying too much. And really, you've got no chance at helping her – if you try, you'll honestly probably just get in the way.

"Elsa?" you say instead. She shakes her head vehemently.

"Mmm-mm," she says, very obviously not wanting you to say anything more. "Bathroom. Back soon." She reaches down to grab something from her suitcase – hopefully her pyjamas – and leaves. You take the opportunity to check your phone.

It's just past midnight, which means you'd only been asleep for a couple of hours. It would have been nice to sleep a little longer, but it's obvious that Elsa hadn't actually meant to wake you up at all.

Probably, she didn't want to be seen in the state that she's in, even though it's not like she was completely off-the-walls drunk. Just perhaps a little tipsier than was wise on a business trip.

It's a little strange, though. You'd think it were out of character for her, but then, you don't really know much about her personal life. She said she was meeting her mother, but this... doesn't really make sense. Her relationship with her parents seems really... complex. And you don't understand it, and you don't think you ever will, but it's completely obvious, even to you, that something about it has Elsa on edge. Makes her sad.

At least this time she made it home, you think wryly.

Sitting up more fully in the bed, you fold your hands over your lap and wait. Elsa doesn't take long to reappear, hair loose and the guiltiest, most contrite look on her face.

"Sorry..." she says, very quietly and very gently. You're not entirely sure what she's apologising for – waking you up? Or something else?

It seems that not even she knows. She slides into her side of the bed without looking at you, and turns away. This is different from earlier in the week; this... chill you feel emanating from her, it isn't quite the same.

"Hey, Els..." you say gently. "Is everything okay?"

The thought occurs to you that maybe you shouldn't be asking her when she's drunk and might possibly answer even when she didn't truly want to. But it's quickly squashed because you can't deny that you do want to know. And you want to help.

She doesn't move for the longest time, and you wonder if she's perhaps fallen asleep. You let out a little sigh and move to turn off the bedside light when her voice comes through the still air.

"I'm sorry," she says. Her voice is tight, and you're not sure why. She still doesn't turn around to look at you.

"Why are you sorry?" you ask instead, because her talking is better than her not talking.

"I just am..."

And that's an absolutely terrible answer, but it's the best one you've got.

For now.

"Is it because of this week?" you ask, shifting a little closer. "Because please believe me when I say that I've had a blast. It's honestly been really nice spending time with you here."

There's movement as Elsa nods, a very slight motion that could very easily have been missed if you weren't looking at her. "I'll remember that," she says. You nod and bite your lip. She's still not happy. Suppressing a disappointed sigh, you flick the light off.

You have a sudden thought, just as your head hits your pillow: maybe... maybe she just needs a hug? The thought makes you feel very foolish. She's like traversing a minefield sometimes; you never know how she's going to react to anything you say. Maybe you should just stop trying to force her hand, then.

But then you remember that night, earlier this week. When she had a cigarette and a drink and then came back in. She had curled into you, on purpose. And the beds are still connected so... you just move. Do what the little voice is telling you to do.

Elsa freezes solid when you arm comes to wrap around her. You hold her from the back in the same way Kristoff used to. Back when you were a teenager and the pain of your parents' passing still struck hard and fierce against your heart. Sometimes, all you needed was someone to hold you; and maybe that's what Elsa needed, too.

"Good night, Elsa..." you murmur. She chokes once, briefly, but doesn't say anything. It's okay. She doesn't need to.