Chapter Text
She can’t stand the smell.
Aunt Yelena calls it antiseptic, and she doesn’t know what that is but surely septic can’t be so bad that they have to spray bottles of repellant all over the place. The scent puts her on edge, but that could also just be the sound of her auntie crying. No, scratch that, it’s definitely the crying that’s getting to her. Aunt Yelena never cries, and now she’s on the other side of the door and it’s not that Maren wants to see her uncle in this state, but she thinks that her aunt shouldn’t have to witness it all alone.
She watches as people hurry past, some in white coats and gloves, some looking like they just got out of bed. It is late, almost closer to the start of school than it is to bedtime, and she’s fallen asleep once in already, but the sound of the main door bursting open startles her fully awake.
The newcomers are all still in their pajamas, and look at first like they might be modeling them for a magazine. One girl is blonde, about her age and holding her mother’s hand, and the father is holding another in his arms. It takes Maren’s tired brain a second to register the panic on all of their faces, and another few to notice the dark crimson stain in the lighter red of the younger girl’s hair.
The father is led into the room next to her aunt’s, the mom and other girl lagging a few paces behind. But when the blonde girl tries to enter, her mother shakes her head and pushes her in the direction of Maren’s bench.
“Mommy, please!” the girl begs.
From inside, the man’s voice booms, “No, Elsa, go wait outside. You’ve done enough.” Maren winces in sympathy as the door closes on the girl’s shocked face. There’s silence for a moment, and then the girl-Elsa-walks rigidly over to the bench, sits down on the farthest end of it, and bursts into silent tears. She’s so pale , Maren thinks, looking at her ivory skin and platinum blonde hair. She wonders if maybe Elsa is a ghost, and haunts her sister. But the sniffles coming from the opposite side of the bench sound so very sad, and Maren thinks of all the movies she’s seen where ghosts aren’t mean after all, and so she scoots toward Elsa and fishes out a worn Kit-Kat from her pocket.
The blonde girl has her face buried in her hands, so it takes her a while to see Maren’s outstretched offering. When she finally notices, she startles so much that she almost falls off the bench, and eyes Maren with outright distrust. Now that Elsa is facing her, Maren takes in her delicate nose and sky-blue eyes; even though she’s red and teary and wearing snowman pajamas, Maren can’t but think that she looks like a storybook princess.
“I’m Maren,” Maren says. “Take it, I’ve got loads more, I’ve been working away at my Halloween stash,” she pats her pocket, which crackles in confirmation. For a moment, it seems like Elsa is going to sneer and turn away, but instead she takes the candy very carefully from her hand, as if Maren is a bomb about to explode. She stares at it for a moment, turning it over in her hands, and all of a sudden sobs and thrusts it back at Maren.
“Do you not like Kit-Kats?” Maren asks. “I think I’ve got a Milky Way in here somewhere-”
“No,” Elsa interrupts shakily. “Thank you, Maren, but I don’t think I deserve candy right now,” and with every word her voice gets smaller and smaller.
Maren frowns at that. “What did you do that was so bad?”
“I–we were playing in the snow, and Anna went down the slide expecting me to catch her, b-but I didn’t, and she would’ve been okay except I left my ice skates out there even though I wasn’t supposed to and-” She’s crying again, and can’t make herself finish, but Maren can imagine the end well enough. She and Ryder often fight, but she still winces when she thinks about the one time she’d hit him in the eye with a tennis ball. If he had been as badly hurt as Anna…
“It was an accident though, wasn’t it?” Maren says, searching for something to make Elsa feel better. “You guys sound like you’re really close. I bet Anna would say you’re a great sister. And,” she adds, inspired, “I bet you told your parents right away. When I hurt my brother once I didn’t say anything to my aunt, even though he could hardly see through one eye for a bit. So you didn’t mean to, and you did your best, and you feel really bad about it, so I think you do deserve candy!”
Elsa’s smile was fragile, but it reached her eyes. She held out her hand, and after Maren had given her the Kit-Kat and she’d thanked her and eaten it without getting a crumb on her blue pajamas, Maren reached toward her again.
It was a lot easier to wait if you were holding someone’s hand.
She wasn't a huge fan of the smell.
She’s here for the week before New Year’s, because if she wants to be a doctor—and she might—then she'd better start shadowing. So she makes a few calls, fills out some paperwork, and shows up to the local university hospital at 7AM sharp. She hasn't set foot in the building since she was nine and her uncle died, and the white-haired doctor who meets her at the front doesn't help her feel much older.
“You must be Maren,” he says, looking her up and down from around his huge, bulbous nose (mostly up, because he's tiny ). “I’m Dr. Pablo Trull, but everyone calls me Pabbie. Lovely to meet you. And I must say, it's great to see young students like you showing initiative. Sometimes a future doctor doesn't see the inside of a hospital until their rotations, and boy I'll tell you those guys can be real fixer-uppers. Oh, right this way...”
Despite the conclusions one might draw from his mindless chatter, Pabbie is incredibly collected and put together when he works. Maren watches from the sidelines as he sets broken bones and stitches up lacerations with unshakeable calm. There is something to be said about the ER, Maren thinks, even if it is just peculiar to Northuldra Hospital in particular. The tribe of surgeons and nurses and PA’s and anesthesiologists flit around seamlessly, a solid center amidst a flurry of urgency and emergency.
But even Pabbie’s eyes widen when paramedics rush in with two stretchers from a car crash. From the corner where she stands, Maren can hardly make out any features on the victims’ faces among the mess of cuts and burns. Her view is cut off by the team swarming around them, but from the injuries that are being listed off, even Maren can tell that resuscitation would be a lost cause.
Sure enough, the team halts their frenzy almost immediately, and takes down the time of death. “There wasn't much we could do,” Pabbie tells her a few minutes later, as she follows him down the hallway. “It’s rare to see a case like that here, away from the city. Their next of kin has just arrived, and while most shadowers don't see this, it's important not to overlook or trivialize this part of the job, so if you want to see how I handle it, then you can.” Maren gulps and nods, and he continues, “It’s an awful business. I’ve actually met the family a few times, and they were terribly nice, even their daughters were so polite.”
They reach the waiting room, and Pabbie steps in first. Maren can hear him asking permission for her to enter and a brusque approval in response before the door opens for her. Three tense faces paid her almost no attention, listening as Pabbie begins to explain the circumstances. There’s a man with sideburns that take up most of his face, a redhead with a streak of white clutching his hand, and Maren feels a ghost of remembrance as she turns to the last person in the room. The woman’s skin is so pale as to be nearly translucent, her hair scarcely any darker, and her eyes are icy blue. Beautiful, thinks Maren, despite the circumstances, and it was only when she hears a noise of despair that she remembers herself again.
The redhead is crying freely, being quietly consoled by her boyfriend. But the blonde keeps her face expressionless, even she stands up and walked toward Maren. Their eyes met, and Maren thinks she sees a flare of recognition, but then she is past Maren and slipping out the door without a sound.
“Elsa, wait! What-” the girl begins, but she's already gone. Elsa, Maren repeats, memories of her last visit to Northuldra surging into her mind. Pity is a sharp tang in her mouth, and when she looks out the window in the door, she can see Elsa’s shoulders shaking as she walks away.
Six years later, and she's pretty much used to the smell.
Yes, she's only been back at Northuldra for a few months, after finishing medical school at a university halfway across the country, but it seems like every hospital uses the same antiseptic solution. Now, back at the place where she did her undergraduate shadowing, it's jarring to suddenly have patients, to be able to walk into a room all by herself and be treated as a figure of authority. And yet, to everyone working in the ED, she's a lowly intern with much to learn.
It's an absolute whirlwind, and if it weren't for the streak of white hair, she might not have even noticed. The patient has frostbite and acute hypothermia—and no wonder, Maren thinks, when she sees the thin leggings and threadbare shirt, offering almost no protection against the near-blizzard outside. She’s about to put in the IV when she sees the telltale white among the red, and her first thought is what are the fucking chances.
Even though her second through tenth thoughts are screaming for her to look around for her sister, Maren keeps her focus. She puts in the IV, arranges the heating pads, and helps insert the oxygen tube. As she rolls up sleeves and cuts away most of the leggings, the material stiff and frozen, bruises are revealed like villains unmasked. Maren’s seen enough to know that they aren't from a fall, and from the slight frown on the other resident’s face, he knows it too. She almost doesn’t want to do it, but when they’re finishing up and getting ready to move Anna to the main wing, she goes to the waiting room and searches for platinum blonde hair.
At first glance, Elsa looks poised and regal, but once Maren gets another look, she sees the iron grip on the arms of the chair and the tear tracks down Elsa’s face. She's no stranger to the grief and the grieving, but this woman has crossed her mind enough times that the sight is a tiny punch in the gut. “Miss Winters?” she asks, ridiculously, as if she doesn't know who will stand up. “Come with me, I'm Dr. Nattura,” and Elsa leaps from her chair to follow. Maren watches for a sign that Elsa knows her, but her focus on Maren could just be her desire to hear the news.
As they walk, Maren says, “Your sister has yet to regain consciousness, but she is in stable condition right now. We’re going to get her scanned to get a preliminary idea of how her brain might have been affected, but she seems to be doing okay. With some luck, we won't have to operate at all. In the meantime, what else can you tell us about what happened? We have all of the information that you gave to the paramedics, but if there's anything more…”
“Anna called me from a payphone about an hour ago. She didn’t seem to be thinking clearly and was difficult to understand. When I arrived, she was unconscious, and I drove her here immediately. I think it's possible that…” Elsa swallows, and nods as Maren holds the door open for her. As she catches sight of Anna, she leaves her sentence unfinished, and claims the chair right next to the bed. “C-can I hold her hand?” she asks.
“Yes, but be sure to keep it in the bath,” Maren answers, forcing her voice to stay even.
“Thank you. Sorry, I was telling you about…” Elsa nods to herself, and her small smile vanishes. “I think that her husband locked her out of the house. She didn't have her cell or anything on her, and he–well, it wouldn't be his first display of cruelty. Their house is pretty isolated and that payphone was probably the closest one. She would have walked it, and it was almost half a mile away.” She’s trembling, whether with anger or sadness Maren can't tell.
Maren hesitates, wondering whether to tell her about what has almost certainly been happening in that house. In the end, she settles on, “Your story certainly lines up with the information we have.” And she doesn't have to stay, probably should go even though it's been one of the quietest shifts she's ever seen. But she can't help but linger just a second longer-
“Thank you,” Elsa says earnestly, and Maren wonders what it could be like to make this woman smile, to make her laugh instead of cry.
Instead of trying, she says, “You’re welcome, Miss Winters,” and hands the sisters off to the nurse.
Maybe it means she’s overworked, but to Maren it smells like home.
It's nearing the end of her shift, and it's been a rather busy; there was an office fire a few streets over, so Maren is more than ready to go home and collapse into bed. As she’s finishing up with the last patient—nasty second-degrees up her arms, she catches a flash of the palest blonde out of the corner of her eye. And maybe there are other people out there with hair that pale, but Maren knows, she can feel an unmistakable tug in her heart.
You've got to be kidding me, she thinks. Does she want to be friends with this woman, who has been so wounded by time, but is still so polite and so caring? Absolutely. But all in all, she'd prefer not to see her in Northuldra ever again.
(A corner of her mind, a corner that remembers her high cheekbones and lovely eyes, her grace and intensity, whispers that she’d rather like to be more than friends. Maren ignores it.)
Of course, Maren knows where she's going to end up. But as she arrives at the bed, she realizes that it's not Elsa’s sister with Elsa accompanying, it's Elsa herself. She's momentarily surprised at the break in this absurd pattern. At least, she thinks, Elsa seems like the kind of person to prefer that she get hurt rather than a loved one, so this is the best reason she could be in the hospital.
Elsa has fractures in her wrist and possibly her ankle, and is very much conscious and very much in pain. “Skiing,” Elsa explains, letting out a whimper as Maren probes her wrist. “Kid hit me from behind and I got twisted up and fell forward onto my wrist. I guess I’m probably not your first patient from the Ahtohallan Slopes, though.” Her sheepish grin quickly turns into a grimace.
Her ankle seems like just a bad sprain, which will resolve itself with proper care. The wrist fracture, however, looks as though it'll have to be set. “Oh!” Elsa exclaims, as they're waiting for the local anesthetic to kick in. She starts to move her hand in her haste, and Maren has to catch it in her own to keep her still. Elsa blushes a bit but continues, “My sister Anna Winters is in the waiting room. She doesn't do too well with blood, or this kind of thing, but could you ask for her afterwards?” Maren replies in the affirmative, and then tears her eyes away from Elsa’s ocean-blues to work on her broken bones.
She holds Elsa’s hand gently as she works and tells her to keep her fingers moving. And Maren is a good doctor, she really is; she would never compromise her performance, no matter how drop-dead gorgeous her patient is. Still, she can't help but notice how lovely Elsa’s fingers are. They’re long and delicate, belonging to an artist, and when they move against the back of Maren’s hand she can feel their coolness through her glove.
She wants to talk to her, but what do you say to someone whose life you’ve unwittingly invaded, haunting their worst memories? They end up having a stilted conversation about skiing and snowboarding (Maren does the latter), and she’s just as proud of the upturned corners on Elsa’s mouth as she is of her wrist when she's done. Afterwards, she promises to return, has an intern fetch Anna, orders some X-rays for Elsa, and leaves.
She stops by right at the end of her shift. Elsa’s got an ankle brace on, and her cast has probably just finished, but it’s already covered in snowflake patterns. Anna is tracing out the newest one on her wrist, and Elsa is laughing at something she's said. It's enough to make her feel a little less bone-tired. “Hello again, Miss Winters,” she says, knocking and stepping in.
The smile lingers on Elsa's face as she says, “Elsa, please. And this is my sister Anna.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Anna. I'm Dr. Nattura.”
“Wait, Nattura?” Anna’s eyes widen, and she shakes Maren’s hand with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. “Do you have a twin named Ryder, by any chance?”
“I-yes, I do,” Maren answers, stunned. “Do you know him?”
“He’s my boyfriend’s best friend! I don't know if he's ever mentioned Kristoff, but he's always going on about his little sister Maren,” Anna says excitedly.
"Littler by ten minutes,” Maren snorts. “I have met Kristoff once or twice, actually—he seems like a great guy. Small world though, huh?”
“Small world,” Anna agrees, and gives Elsa a significant look. The woman in question frowns back at her ever so slightly.
Maren gives them both a rundown of Elsa’s X-rays, information about the cast and the PT she'll have to do afterward, and activities to avoid in the meantime. Luckily, Elsa is left-handed, so she won't be out of commission in the meantime. She's an architect, Anna informs her, with no small amount of pride. In fact, Anna does almost all of the talking, which makes sense when her sister has two broken bones, but Maren can't help but wish that Elsa would say something. She's probably sick of seeing me , Maren thinks wryly.
As she's taking her leave, though, she gets her wish. “I remember you,” Elsa says quietly. “I don't know if you...”
“I do,” Maren says, her heart beating rather faster than it should. “How much...which…” she trails off awkwardly.
“I recognized you every time,” Elsa answers her unfinished question. “It was funny,” she says, running a self-conscious hand through her hair. “I rather felt like you were my guardian angel.”
Maren laughs, despite herself. “I always felt like more of a curse,” she confesses. “But either way, the string of coincidences-”
“You almost want to call it something more than coincidence,” Anna comments, a twinkle in her eye. Elsa blushes, and Maren can feel a heat in her own cheeks. Professionalism, professionalism, she chants in her mind.
“I suppose that depends on what you believe in,” she says, and then forces herself back to the matter at hand. “Either way, it’s probably better for your sake if there weren't any more of them. Good evening, Anna, Elsa. Please don't hesitate to reach out to me if you have any questions or issues. Someone should be coming by shortly to discharge you.”
The sisters, mostly Anna, respond with eager politeness, and Maren goes, shutting the door behind her. Get a grip, she tells herself, leaning against the wall for a moment to calm her racing heart. It's the only reason she hears Anna’s shriek (maybe not the only reason–she is pretty loud).
“You seriously called her a guardian angel, and didn't follow that up with a comment about how beautiful she is?!”
“She's working, Anna,” Elsa hisses in response.
Maren’s legs still don't feel very steady, but she pushes off the wall anyway and walks away.
She fidgets, and hopes that she doesn’t smell like a hospital.
“Relax, Maren,” Ryder punches her arm.
Maren punches him back, getting a yelp in response. She scans her red button-down for stains, tucks back a stray hair, fiddles with the belt loops on her black jeans. “I am relaxed,” she mutters.
“If this is you relaxed, it's a wonder they let you work in the ER,” he shoots back, right as the door opens. “Kristoff!”
“Hey, Ryder! Hey, Maren. Come in.” Kristoff’s massive size belies his gentle kindness as he takes their coats to hang up. “I'm glad you could make it. Game nights are getting kind of predictable,” he grins.
“I heard that!” Anna shouts, appearing by his side. “Elsa and I are getting better every time, you know. Hi Maren, Ryder.” She darts forward to hug them both. “Nice to see you out of scrubs, Maren. You look great! Doesn't she, Elsa?” she says slyly, as the woman in question walks around the corner.
“Oh–yes–Maren, hi, good to see you,” she stammers, blushing. Maren thought she was pretty before, but her mouth goes dry at the sight of her. Elsa’s wearing a blue sweater and white pants, nothing fancy, but it’s the first time that Maren’s seen her happy, and she’s radiant. Anna leads them into the living room and introduces her to Olaf and Bruno, two short, stocky men with the same untamable energy as Anna.
The night is wonderful, lively and loud. Apparently after Elsa destroyed the boys at pictionary for three weeks straight, they picked charades in revenge, or so Anna tells her. Indeed, Elsa is abysmal at it, and Maren herself isn't much better, and they lose handily. “You guys are really on the same brainwaves, though,” Anna informs them, grinning. “I think that's a personal record for you, Elsa, even though I really don't know how Maren got ‘snowboard’ from that.”
The only downside of the night, Maren thinks, is that charades doesn't provide a lot of opportunities for conversation. She's sitting right next to Elsa, shoulders occasionally brushing, but they only ever manage a few scattered sentences between rounds. So despite being exhausted at the end of the night, Maren is reluctant to go.
The party crowds around the entrance in a chorus of goodbyes, and somehow Elsa appears beside her amidst the chaos to help her into her coat. “I'm glad that our meeting this time hasn't been a coincidence,” Elsa tells her. Their fingertips brush.
“I made sure it wasn’t,” Maren dares, and is gratified to see Elsa smile and blush. “In fact,” she ventures, “I wouldn’t mind ensuring that our next meeting isn't a coincidence, either.” She holds out her cellphone, wondering at her steady hand despite all her years of performing surgery.
She leaves with Elsa’s number, feeling like she's walking on air.
“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” Maren murmurs. Elsa gives her an oh-so-familiar exasperated look, although she can't quite keep the smile off her face.
“I'm just saying, it's a real coincidence. And we're matching, too!” Maren says under her breath some minutes later, gesturing to Elsa’s white dress. Her words are nearly drowned out by the sound of Anna blowing her nose, but from the roll of her eyes she knows Elsa hears her.
“I now pronounce you wife and wife,” Olaf says magnanimously, looking surprisingly formal in his suit. That is, until he giggles and gestures, “Go on, guys!”
“Well, coincidentally enough, it's the only way to shut you up,” Elsa says dryly, pulling her in for a kiss.