okay so updates are going to be spaced out a little more. i go back to uni in a couple of weeks, and i sorta need to write ahead so I can keep updating. Y'know? It doesn't help that chapters are getting longer, either… (though i don't think anyone's going to complain about that ;) ). warning: upcoming chapters, including this one, will feature mentions of body parts and potentially triggering, potentially embarrassing moments. idk yet, I haven't written it. just be warned. mostly due to incontinence because, surprise, when you have lost feeling and function in your lower extremities, that includes your bladder and bowels.

but i also just want to thank everyone for their support, particularly Lukaryu. Your feedback is both invaluable and incredibly uplifting. You and Unnamed Guest Reviewer, I look forward to your comments every time I post a chapter :)

There's a ridiculous number of things you have to organise. Of course, you do have a few weeks (almost a month) before you leave, but you've never had to organise anything like this before.

Kristoff agrees to look after Joan, but only if you bring him back a present. He's going to let you borrow his camera so you're not stuck with those shitty phone-pics. You don't even have the newest phone around, so you accept the offer gladly. You appreciate it because he's not a cat person. Or an animal person, really.

After organising that, you need to figure out what to take with you. Clothes, obviously. You debate, briefly, about taking your brace (mostly because you have no idea what Norwegian terrain is like), but it's been so long since you used it for any length of time. You should probably start practicing with it. Maybe surprise Elsa.

The thought has you smiling, and you don't pack them away. You probably won't bring them with you, but there's always other events.

Apparently, you're staying at a place called 'Fredrikstad'. According to Google, it isn't the capital city – which surprised you a bit, when you'd read that. You'd asked Elsa about it, and she'd just shrugged.

"We'll be staying in Oslo for some time," she said, "but the more important business is in Fredrikstad. If we have a chance, I'll see if we can go for a day trip to Sweden."

It had been said in such a casual manner, it was hard to absorb. Talking about crossing countries as though it were a simple hour-drive (and it was, you learnt, after fiddling around with Google Maps).

You try not to let your excitement get the better of you. There was still so much time between now and leaving, that something could go wrong. Sure, you'd been healthy for a while – no cold or infections in months. But then, youwould get them just before going on an international trip.

But then, Elsa keeps asking you questions, distracting you from worrying. Do you have an dietary considerations? Any other equipment to take through customs? Any preference in room positioning?

It's actually only a few days after she gave you the news that you find yourself in her office, talking plans. She's actually sitting behind her desk, pen held in her manicured hands, writing down notes. You feel a little uncomfortable, but it's not her fault. It's just… kinda embarrassing, telling her that you need handrails to go to the bathroom. That there needs to be a shower, with a chair (not a bath), and that the actual head has to be removable.

That you can't get into a bed shorter than about 17 inches, and if it's any taller than 23, you may as well just stay in your chair. Elsa nods and writes it down, and then looks at you.

"Is that from the floor to the frame, or to the top of the mattress?" she asks, and you have to blink back your surprise. One, because it seems fairly straightforward – to the top of the mattress. Two, because no one had ever bothered double-checking anyway.

"Will, uh, will flying be a problem?" you ask, once she's finished writing down the answers to her questions. Elsa tilts her head, puzzled for a moment, and you elaborate. "Well, it's a long flight. You know. Bathrooms and deep-vein thyroid-stuff?"

An amused grin plays on Elsa's lips, but she's shaking her head too soon for you too take offence. "Thrombosis? It shouldn't be an issue. We'll be flying business class, which will definitely have enough room to stretch our legs-"

She cuts herself off, and you can almost see the cogs working in her head. You wait for the apology to come – the one she feels she has to give – but it doesn't. Instead, she bites her lip and clears her throat.

"I'm…not sure of any specific exercises to combat DVT," she says. "We'll purchase some compression stockings, but it's always something to ask your doctor." She blinks at you for a moment, eyes never looking away. "There is an aisle chair for use on the plane, to get people from their seats and to the bathroom. Will there be any…problems?"

You know what she's referring to, and you feel your heat beat just a little quicker. It's not like you've never had to talk about these things before, but you didn't think you'd have to tell your boss about it.

"I won't need you, or anyone else, to help," you say, "if that's what you're worried about."

Elsa's eyebrows lift, hiding under her fringe as she looks at you. "I'm not worried about anything. I just want this to be as comfortable as possible for you, Anna."

You nod your head but don't say anything for a moment. "I'll, uh, I'll talk to my doctor and see what he suggests. I've never had to think about it before."

Elsa gives a smile. "We have some time, so don't feel pressured to find out," she says.

Of course, as soon as you have a chance, you ring up to make an appointment. You're actually late to lunch because you get stuck trying to figure out a good time. You have to take three buses and two trains to see the specialist, which is half the reason you don't see him very often. The other half is the stupid price, but thankfully, you hadn't had to pay for most of your life. The government, or something, had paid for all your expenses when you'd first become…confined.

Your mind is still thinking about it when you meet Hans for lunch. He's waiting in the foyer for you, biting his lip and holding a flower. It's actually a little wilted because he's holding it so tight, and he stumbles through an explanation when he gives it to you. Your face heats up like a sun-lamp, and by the end of it, you're both blushing. It's sweet.

He takes you to a Chinese place a few blocks away. You make idle conversation about how you'd never eaten out every other day until you started working at Arendelle Enterprises. It made you good at cooking, having to do it, but not so good at choosing nice places to eat. Hans gives a little chuckle at that as you round the corner.

"I think I might have eaten a total of three home-cooked meals in my entire childhood," he says. "I had twelve brothers – all older than me – so my mother never even tried. Too many of us, with such different tastes."

You put on a frown, and make a little noise under your breath. "That's a shame," you say. "There's honestly nothing as good as home-cooked. I make a mean tuna casserole if…" you trail off, unsure how to continue. Hans pauses as you reach the restaurant, and looks at you.

"Hmm?"

You swallow and look up at him. "If you…wanted to come around some time and try it?"