"Anna, I swear to god…" Elsa picked her way through the rubble of the house, obliterated by a German bomb. Not a single window was intact for three houses distant in every direction, including back towards the heart of the block. "…if you're dead…" Elsa placed delicate hands against a charred beam, carefully vaulting over it, making sure her dress didn't catch. "…I shall never…" She winced as her shoes crunched against shattered glass. She hoped it was glass, because she never wanted to see the other thing again. "…speak with you…" And in the middle of the house a single door was still standing, surrounded by devastation, forming a small pocket. "Again."

Twin red braids fell from the ceiling when the door opened, and Elsa sighed. The redhead that owned those braids was hanging head-down, her torso in the room, gracing Elsa with quite a wonderful view up her dress. Or down. The point was she could see Anna's breasts quite well—and she was sure Anna could see hers too. The redhead inclined her head, starting to talk.

"Is that any way to speak to your dead best friend?"

"You're stuck, aren't you?"

"No."

"Then I guess I can just leave, and you'll find me at home." Elsa suited action to words, flicking her platinum braid over her shoulder, closing the door behind her. A muffled protest came from behind it, and she took a moment to imagine Anna's legs, in the attic, kicking around in idle frustration. She let the redhead stew another minute, then opened the door.

"Okay, so I'm maybe just a little bit stuck between floors here—but look"—Anna fished around in her dress, pulling out a chunk of green painted metal with a yellow stripe—"I found the tailfin."

"You're mad." Anna just smiled at her friend.

"Shut up and pull me down, Elsa. I'm getting a headache."

"Yes, and whose fault is that?"

"Yours, because you won't help me, stinker." So Elsa took ahold of her friend's wrists and pulled hard, the redhead landing heavily on top of her. In what appeared to be a compromising position. Anna didn't complain, she liked things this way. It was more fun to tease Elsa too. "Okay, let's go, I got my tailfin."

"Oh, your tailfin?" And Anna couldn't help but smile, because she knew Elsa was subtly mocking her tomboyishness—the very same quality that had caused them to share that first, supposedly accidental, kiss. So what if her friend didn't collect war souvenirs, she knew plenty of people who did, and a tailfin was worth a lot in trade. Especially a yellow-stripe.

"We should probably get out of here before the rest of the house falls down."

Elsa made an exaggerated show of looking around amidst the devastation, and Anna could only laugh. "There's nothing left to fall down." The weakened door frame and ceiling section chose that exact moment to collapse. "I stand corrected then. Alright feistypants, we should start moving."

They walked home slowly, talking idly about what to expect at school the next day, Anna hoping one of the bombers had hit there, drawing a peeved look from her more studious friend. Elsa invited her to stay for dinner, and she happily accepted—even if rationing had seen said dinner reduced to just two sausages and half a loaf of bread. Anna would often complain that they were starving her on purpose, and Elsa would generally shake her head, wondering why, with everything she ate, the redhead was not the size of a house. It probably had something to do with the boisterous energy she seemed to exude.

The sun was setting, and the house was blacked out, heavy curtains draped across every window. No light could be seen from outside, but Elsa was able to read comfortably by the light of a small lamp, Anna stretched out on the floor in front of the chair she was sitting in. The house was empty aside from them, Elsa's parents having been killed in a U-Boat attack on their convoy. At eighteen Elsa was old enough to take care of the property, and she managed most weeks to pay the bills, Anna's parents occasionally helping to cover any shortfall.

A loud wail echoed through the night.

Elsa threw down her book and grabbed Anna's arm, lifting her from the floor. She doused the lamp, running down the short path to the shelter in the back yard. The hatch slammed closed with deafening clang, and she could hear Anna fumbling for the light. One loud click later and the entire shelter was bathed in a dim glow from a single overhead bulb. She still lit the storm lamp, just in case. Then she remembered something she'd read in the paper the previous day.

"Did you know St Paul's got hit?"

"Is there any part of London that hasn't been hit?" Anna's voice was light, but her words were serious. She was scared, covering it up with humour, just like always. Because nowhere was safe, and almost every night, without fail, the bombers would buzz overhead, releasing their deadly cargo, only to return the next night. Even the pom-poms and Spitfires didn't seem to make a difference. It was like the Germans had an unlimited supply of bombers—and bombs.

Anna was not the kind of girl to scare easily—she was the one that teased others with large bugs, stood up to bullies, and tended to have scraped knees and dirty nails at every turn. Most people seemed to like her, and even Elsa had eventually warmed to her. She hadn't known at the time that Elsa was like her, and that that was why the blonde was so quiet and withdrawn—afraid of being judged and shunned for who she was. But Anna had embraced that, letting the older girl just be herself, and because of that they were now best friends. More than that, even, because somehow this war was bringing people together as much as it was blowing them apart. Nobody knew if they would see tomorrow, so they wanted to keep the tally high on their side; treat others nicely, say your graces, give to charities, and so on.

Finding someone to love wasn't so hard. Unless that someone happened to share the same sex, thus making the relationship all but illegal. That was why no one knew about them, and because girls tended to hang out in groups, no one seemed to suspect either. Anna didn't like the secrecy, but she respected Elsa's wish for privacy while they figured out if maybe—just maybe—they could make things work. After the war. However long that might take.

Elsa was also afraid, not so much of any immediate danger, but of what might come if she survived the war—or if she survived and Anna didn't; or vice versa. It was a sobering thought that their lives could be taken at any moment, and that it might take days, or even weeks to find out what had happened. Like with her parents, drowned at sea in February, and she hadn't been told until April. Not knowing what had happened, after they were overdue, had been one of the hardest things to deal with. Anna had helped, she somehow made life easier, even if her antics had very nearly gotten them caught more than once. She was irrepressible.

That was why it was so affecting to see her fear, because normally she was fearless, facing down any challenge. But here, Elsa knew, her best friend couldn't see the danger, so she didn't know where to stand, how to hold firm. Even Churchill's magnificent oratory, his speech of fighting them on the beaches, had not greatly helped Anna with her shapeless fear. In fact, the only thing that seemed to help was being in Elsa's presence, because she knew, then, that if anything happened she would at least be with the one person who knew the real her—and loved her because of it, not in spite of it.

A bomb landed dangerously close, shaking dust from the ceiling and rattling the entire shelter. Anna dived for cover, landing hard under the bunk bed. That Elsa happened to seek the same shelter at that moment was entirely coincidental. At which point they both realized that while somehow they had managed to get into the space, they couldn't get out of it.

"I think we're stuck."

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock, now if you'd get your hands off my—I mean, not that I don't like it, but your elbow's also and oh, hey, what's this?"

This, Elsa discovered after somehow wriggling out from beneath the bunk, using various parts of her best friend for leverage—nice, soft parts—was a box of Scrabble. A few tiles appeared to be missing, but other than that it seemed to be a good way to pass the time.

"But you'll win. All the time," Anna complained, quickly realizing her best friend's vocabulary was far larger than her own. "I guess it might still be fun."

Another bomb landed nearby, making both young women jump with fright. The shelter wasn't large, but as it was intended for a family, with only the two of them it seemed spacious, and the lamp light was close enough to a fire that they sometimes forgot what they were sheltering from in the first place. Reality had a habit of cashing its cheques during those idle moments, much to their dissatisfaction.

"How about this?" Elsa asked with a seductive wink. "For every round you win, I'll take off a piece of clothing."

"Well, that's definitely motivation, and hey, wait, what if you win—because you're going to win lots."

"Then you lose your clothes instead," Elsa was matter of fact. "Although, once you lose the blouse, well, I might not be able to concentrate so well on putting words on the board."

"Is that a come on, or are you telling me how to win?"

"Both," Elsa smiled, blushing slightly. It wasn't like they hadn't played similar games in the past.

The first round went to Elsa, of course. Rhythm scored fairly high on a double word space, and Xylophone managed to use the all important X tile. Anna's best was Mosquito. So, in accordance with the rules, she undid her jacket, slowly enough that she knew she was just doing it to tease Elsa some more. Maybe if she could get her a little more flustered, things might go better in the next round. They didn't. Anna's best was Warship, on a triple word score. Elsa won with Syzygy on a double word space. Anna countered that that wasn't a real word—it had way too many consonants—so Elsa showed her the dictionary.

"Fine, smarty pants," and she undid the buttons on her blouse, letting it hang open across her chest. Curiously it was at about this point that Elsa nearly lost a game, winning by a margin of only a few points. That was when Anna had her idea to distract Elsa during the next several games—because if they were going to touch each other intimately later, she wanted in on the foreplay now. It wasn't difficult to arrange, given Elsa's distraction allowed her to occasionally check a tile for the right letter. It started with Want You on the board, each of those extending from one of Elsa's words. Elsa still won that round, and Anna obliged by unhooking her bra and taking it off through the sleeve of her open blouse.

This, of course, was the point at which Elsa knew she might be distracted enough for Anna to actually stand a chance. Because most of her thoughts weren't about what words to put down, but what she'd like to do with her friend's dusky flesh and small though well proportioned breasts. Lots of thoughts, many of them scandalous—and some of which they'd already done. It was about that time, just after Anna had removed her bra, that Elsa realized what her friend's final play had been. Want You. It had been coincidental, right?

Touching Teasing Bodies was the next secret message. Anna wasn't sure if Elsa had noticed the first one, but this was rather more blatant. She hoped. Something must have worked, because she somehow managed to win that game, forcing Elsa to remove her cardigan, the ice-blue woolen piece that was her mother's final gift to her. She still remembered having to comfort Elsa throughout that first week alone. Her parents hadn't been sure of the wisdom of someone only just fifteen comforting an emotionally frail seventeen year old. So she'd told them the truth—Elsa didn't have anyone else. No other real friends, none of the other women at her work. Anna was the only one, so her parents gave their grudging blessing to let their daughter try to help a pained young woman.

It was also the first time Elsa had let anyone touch her, at all. It had only happened because she'd slipped at work, opening a deep cut along her arm. Anna had helped her change the dressing, and when she'd accidentally touched Elsa's breasts, the blonde had blushed and smiled, looking away shyly. It was then Anna knew she had a chance, a real chance, to be with someone who was like her, and who could appreciate what that meant. She'd been more than a little surprised when she felt those soft pink lips brush against her own, a kiss not quite chaste.

Anna shook her head, noticing that Elsa had started the next round with Risqué. She would have questioned about using a French word, with that funny little line over the 'e', except for the fact it appeared to be an immediate response to her final play from the last round. So Elsa was getting the messages—a good sign. Another play, Lesbian, and Anna stuck out her tongue as she finished the word. Elsa responded with Prudish, though Anna wasn't sure if that was all she had, or if it was a warning of some kind. Elsa's first play made a mockery of the board, because most of the other words there bordered on the obscene, both young women blushing brighter as they placed the tiles down to complete their words.

Smiling brightly, Anna reached over the board to undo the first button on Elsa's blouse. The blonde protested, but the redhead simply pressed a finger to her lips. There was no more need for talk. She'd won, fair and square. Well, maybe not entirely fairly if Elsa had been telling the truth earlier, but it was her own fault for playing so well. And liking her so much. A distant rumble like hollow thunder rippled through the room. Anna started, but Elsa wrapped an arm around her, keeping her safe—and she felt safe, as if those slender, beautiful arms could indeed shelter her from any harm. She graced Elsa's lips with a gentle kiss.

They were both scared, but they were both anchors, keeping each other sane. The game pieces lay scattered and forgotten across the floor of the shelter. The young women, friends, and lovers just sat there, in each other's arms. For now, it was simply enough to be. Bombs fell outside like rain, explosions echoing through the night, but they were safe. They felt safe, climbing into the same bunk bed. The raid would last 'til morning—they knew, because the hour was now so late, and the all-clear had not sounded yet. So they slept, enjoying their closeness, hair falling over faces and lips occasionally brushing together. Their arms locked in a loose embrace, and for a time, all was right in their own little world.