#smingrid

So we know that Ingrid is baby crazy, and she was lucky to stumble across a baby and even luckier that her girlfriend and girlfriend’s dad was cool with that, but her baby crazy doesn’t go away, especially when her siblings start having multiple children and like…she wants more.  

And then it’s interesting because while Ingrid has no interest in being pregnant or associating with any of the activities required to get pregnant in like 1000AD, upon bringing the topic up with Smitelout it is discovered that she’s not quite of the same opinion.  In fact, she’s a Jorgenson, and as the only Jorgenson, it’s kind of weighed on her for her entire life that it’s the end of the line because it was always assumed that she’d get married and change her name and that would be that.  But she’s with Ingrid, still very much a Jorgenson, and Finn is great and she loves him and he’s her son, but she was also raised with a very deep and unique sense of family pride and she wouldn’t mind one of her own.  In fact, she’d like that, but wasn’t going to risk making Ingrid feel bad about it by bringing it up, but as it comes up organically, it’s good that it’s out there.  

So then it gets even more ridiculous, because once Ingrid gets a scent there’s really no chance in deterring her, and this is a unique opportunity because Ingrid has brothers so it’s even possible that the kid could be blood related to them both, which again, loves Finn, not about that, it’s just a thing Ingrid also thought she’d never get to have ever since she realized she was gay and even more after what happened to her.  

And Eret III is only Ingrid’s half brother, plus the line of succession is wild enough already and also no one wants Fuse to murder them at the insinuation so he’s out, leaving Rolf and Arvid.  Who are both married.  But it’s Ingrid and she’s gonna ask anyway.  And it’s Smitelout, who is relieved by the instantaneous exemption of Eret, because eww, and who immediately rejects Rolf as an idea too, because Super Eww.  

So that leaves Arvid.  Who, again, is married.  And it’s 1000AD, there are no clinics with weird little rooms full of supposedly stimulating posters.  There are no turkey basters.  There is one delivery method.  And Ingrid, being Ingrid, is going to ask anyway.  

And then as for what’s been going on with Arvid and Aurelia, they’ve just had their first kid and it was a tumultuous time full of surprise and unwelcome visits of long lost mothers and the complications that arise from a general incompatibility of the size of the partners.  Not a good time for Aurelia in particular.  She’s pretty dead set on not doing that again and she feels guilty about it every time she sees Arvid with the feret litter, which is probably coming up on 4 now.  

And Ingrid isn’t an idiot, she knows to ask Aurelia first, and they’re pretty tight because when Eret was dealing with all those warlords, Ingrid was pretty exclusively on Aurelia guard detail, given they were the only two without dragons.  Aurelia was there shaking her head when Ingrid obtained a baby, she gets that Ingrid has the motherly compulsion Aurelia doubted she herself had for a long time.  And maybe it shouldn’t, but it kind of seems like an idea…

Arvid is less convinced, initially, because this is stupid and absurd and shouldn’t his wife like…not want him to do anything like this?  But it’s Aurelia and she’s flippant at all the wrong times and probably says something like it never bothered her before that he narrowly avoided procreating with every other girl on Berk their age (which it did bother her, but whatever, this is the time to project wifely guilt away from herself).  And Arvid wants more kids, so much, because he’s the fixer who wants to do the big family thing right and it’s for Ingrid and Aurelia is devoted to her solutions past the point of rational and he agrees to talk it out with Smitelout and Ingrid.  

Which is the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever imagined because Arvid and Ingrid are attempting to have an emotional conversation about him doing her the biggest favor he conceivably could but they’re both these big murder jocks hiding behind their bravado so it probably goes like: 

Arvid: “Mostly, I’m just worried Smitelout will fall in love with me” 

Ingrid: “really not worried about that” 

Arvid: “Aurelia can back me up here–”

Aurelia: “not going to do that” 

Ingrid: “Trust me, I could not be less worried”  

All the while Ingrid is just hoping and Aurelia is trying to stick to this decision because she doesn’t know what will happen if she stays so averse to having more kids and Smitelout is just…the most embarrassed human on the planet because she had a crush on Arvid for like a decade before she realized the source of her antagonism with Ingrid or the fact that being bi as hell exists.  But she can’t be embarrassed in silence, so she’s probably insulting him pretty much non stop and somehow, despite all the stupid concentrated in one room, they come to an agreement.  

And so Smitelout and Arvid bang Once.  Which is just so deeply hilarious to me on so many levels.  Because it’s so awkward.  Ingrid and Aurelia are probably chilling in the other room having a drink.  It’s super silent.  Smitelout doesn’t know what to do when she has to stop being mean because apparently dudes aren’t just constantly armed with the ability to impregnate people, you actually have to be compassionate with them when they’re nervous (being a lesbian is so much easier oh my gods).  They both love their wives a lot and that makes it even weirder, because they’re both doing this in roundabout ways for their wives and also their shared desire to make more kids.  Smitelout probably thanks him for being tall.  They vow not to make eye contact for a decade, probably.  

nice pairing: *is created*

me:

And Snotlout, who loves his gay daughter and his gay daughter’s girlfriend, but he has struggled to reconcile himself with being the end of the Jorgenson line and also not getting to have grandchildren when he sees his peers enjoying it.  But he sees that thick black hair and that squishy little round face and instantly proclaims that it’s the best Jorgenson.  That’s his grandson and he’s so proud and he’s going to grow up to be the strongest best Viking in the entire land and would you look at that family resemblance?  Best grandson.  (Suck it Hiccup, Rolf’s kids don’t count, those are step grandkids, this is my daughter’s son, he has my jaw)

And Snotlout and Astrid work it out for Ingrid to move into the Jorgenson house, because she and Smitelout are moms together they deserve to raise this baby together, and the grown up gang actually thinks what he’s doing is really decent, especially because a lot of people are judging him and once upon a time he would have reacted to that but really, he’s just stoked his family is getting bigger.  And because he’s being so decent, people let him get away with the whole family resemblance thing, they’re like Snotlout, that baby clearly looks nothing like you, given that he is Asian and not related to you, at all, the resemblance stops at black hair and his is different.  

Until the kid starts to grow up.  And he’s kind of short and stocky, and he talks like a Jorgenson, and he’s got the swagger, and Astrid starts noticing, that’s Ingrid’s smile, how is that possible?  How does that child have Ingrid’s smile?  And everyone notices at some point like “what the Hel, those are Astrid’s ears?  None of her descendants escaped her ears?  Not even the Asian one not related to her?” Or “That’s Eret Sr.’s laugh, how is this happening?”  

“She’s uh…” I shrug, looking for a half decent lie, “coping.”  

“That bad, huh?” Aurelia looks up at Arvid and they have a silent conversation mostly made of eyebrows.  

“I was thinking,” Arvid says almost like he’s daring me to start a fight.  

“Yeah?”  

“About Ingrid.”  He continues like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d get this far and Aurelia’s the one with that disgusting fond face now.  “We could take shifts, maybe, staying with her.”

“That’s a good idea, in theory,” I pause there waiting for him to pick the fight and when it doesn’t happen I walk the rest of the way up to the table, hands on the back of an empty chair.  “But she’s pretty upset, she doesn’t want to feel like she has to comfort anyone else.”

He flexes his jaw and I half expect for him to kick my feet out from under me.  Aurelia looks at him, expectantly blinking, and he shrugs.  

“She doesn’t have to comfort me.”  He looks at the table, tracing the grain with a fingertip and not so expertly avoiding eye contact, but we’re talking and no one is bleeding so I’m going to take it as a win.  “I just wasn’t expecting—it’s Ingrid.”  

“I know.”  

“And…” He looks up like he’s debating with himself and Aureila stays out of it this time, writing away in neat little runes and making me really glad I convinced the chief to share that load.  “And I think she’s lying, it’s Ingrid, she’d never accidentally cut off half her hand. I don’t buy it.”  

It’s kind of a nice reminder of the days when Arvid and I used to operate on the same wavelength. I guess that’s true of Ingrid, in general, she left when we were still friends.  Maybe after he’d decided I wasn’t his brother anymore, but we were still trying to hold onto some part of that.  

Until I lashed out at him and called him stupid for not seeing what we both missed.  I hate looking back at that now, at that feeling that if I hurt him, somehow I’d have less hurt to deal with myself.  

“That’s a good guess,” I sigh, “don’t ask her about it, I’m hoping she’ll tell us all when she’s ready.”

“She told you?”  He doesn’t sound offended so much as left out and I get that entirely.  

“Not really by choice, it was right after she got back, she was really upset.”  I wince at the memory, “she cried.”  

“I saw that.”  

“No, she cried more than once.  But don’t tell her I told you that, because—”

“Got it,” Arvid crosses his arms and goes back to mostly ignoring me.  “I can be over there tonight.”  

“You—Dad—Er, your dad has been sleeping there, you can—not that I can tell you where to sleep or—”

“Can’t you?”  He snaps at me and Aurelia kicks his shin under the table.  He doesn’t quite flinch and I refuse to back off, but I get the feeling neither of us want to fight.  That fighting would just be clinging to the old newly established social order, that Ingrid is back and she’s hurt and everything feels different again.  Our parents are talking and we have to define our roles all over again and just thinking about it makes me exhausted.  

“I don’t want to.  Go sleep in your normal bed, if you want, ask your dad, I haven’t been forcing heart to hearts on him or anything.”

“Alright,” he drops it. For now.  I want it to be the final drop but I don’t feel particularly optimistic about it, even if Aurelia appears to be fully on my side for once.

“So you’ve got part of an afternoon off Ingrid watch,” Aurelia waggles her eyebrows at me in a way I really wish she wouldn’t in front of Arvid, “any plans?”  

“When have I ever had plans?”  

Arvid snorts then glares at the table, like he doesn’t want me to know I amused him even at my own expense.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “I just thought you might like to start with someone who’d like to have plans with you.”  

I glare at her.  She looks up at me and grins, and it kind of looks like a threat.  At the same time, someone threatening me with Fuse, who happens to like me and who I’m only now realizing I haven’t seen since the middle of the night when she slipped out from under my arm.  My glare turns into something goofy and she raises her eyebrows.  

“I’ll see you guys later.”

I go back outside and get on Bang, urging him into the sky and coating in the direction of the Thorston house.  I don’t know where I’m going to go if she’s not there, because it’s Fuse and she’s building bombs and that could mean day trips off island looking for supplies, and as willing as I am to follow her, time is shorter than I’d like it to be. How have I gone days without thinking about it? About her?  About the fact that she kissed me and we talked and she fell asleep under my arm like she fit there.  

I guess I’ve been busy.

I get lucky and spy her pink tinted head and Hotgut outside of her shed just as they’re about to take off. I land and she stares at me for a second before smiling, a nervous smile like she’s happy to see me but is also worrying about what bad news that implies.  Bang whuffs at Hotgut, dragging his tail back and forth across the ground and Hotgut snorts.  

“Hey,” Fuse cocks her head and her hair is shinier than I remember it, “I figured you wouldn’t be around for a while.  How’s Ingrid?”  

“She’s doing as good as could be expected,” I sigh, “Arvid offered to take a shift without pummeling my face in though so…”

“I was going to eat at the mead hall, my mom’s not cooking because my brother stole a stink bomb and set it off in the kitchen.”  

“Long story?”  I laugh and I can’t help but notice that she’s wearing a different shirt than the last time I saw her which means she must have changed at some point and existed in that temporary unclothed state.  

“No, I just told you all of it.”  She frowns at me like I hit my head and I practically feel like I must have.  

“I haven’t eaten all day. I could go for some food.”  

“Ok, let’s go,” she swings onto Hotgut and takes off before I can say anything else.  She lands before I do but waits and I’m not sure what to do when I step away from Bang’s side.  I think about hugging her, but that seems sudden, but everything’s going to feel sudden when each and every new thought about her hits like a physical blow.  

“Should we uh...go inside?”

“What else would we do,” she laughs but it’s not really at me but she doesn’t wait for me either and I don’t realize until I see her cheeks flushing that she doesn’t know how to do this either, whatever this is.  

We get food and sit down at the end of a table across from each other and she stares at me for a weird, warm moment I don’t quite understand.  I wish it were dark, somehow, it was easier to talk to her then, when she wasn’t blinding me with all of her everything.  

“What have you been up to?”

She smiles down at the table, a little of that dangerous edge sneaking in, “collecting Meatlug’s spoils. My uncle never lets me use her, something about keeping the peace but…it’s looking good.”  She nods, trying to force her trademark pragmatism over genuine excitement.  Her eyes are almost too blue to be real and I want to tell her that but my mouth’s dry. “I could probably have it done in three weeks.”  She smiles at me then, an awkward, off center smile that looks like flirting and my face is so hot it could restart the forge.  “Two if you had any time to help.”  

“I don’t.  But I want to.”  I take my first bite of food and realize how fully hungry I am, shoveling in two more.  Fuse wrinkles her nose and I remember that girls don’t like that, for some reason, wiping my chin with the back of my hand.  “It’s crazy how close we are.”  

“If we’re right,” she frowns, “it’s all going off of my hunch about that thermal vent.”  

“Hey,” I reach across the table and set my hand on hers and she doesn’t move away, “you’re right. You’re always right.”  

She smiles.  I’m not sure what to do with my other hand or my food now that my stomach is churning, excited and nervous.  

“That’s not true,” she shrugs, “you must be biased.”

“I probably am.” I wish we were on the same side of the table.  Why’d I sit across from her?  Why would I ever purposefully put anything between us at all?  I wish it was dark again, I wish we were alone.  I try not to look as out of control as I suddenly feel but it doesn’t work because I jump about a foot in the air when someone’s hand lands on my shoulder.  

It’s the chief.  

“Hey, you two, how’s it going?”  

At least I jumped high enough that my hand came off of Fuse’s so he can’t tease me about that. I don’t really feel like dealing with the chief’s teasing on top of everything else.  

“Fine.”  I shrug.  Fuse takes a bite that’s almost disappointed and I realize that she’d rather be alone too. Her gray sweater sleeves are pushed halfway up her arms, showing skinny, freckled wrists and the chief is staring creepily at us, vague half smile on his face.  

“Just fine?”  

“Do you need something?” I huff and turn towards him, easily finding my most annoyed face.  

“How’s Ingrid?”  He asks with enough legitimate concern that I’d feel bad for glaring at him if it were anyone else.  

“Arvid’s with her.”  

“She still won’t let a healer look at it?”  He asks like he’s tired of asking and Mom’s probably been on his back about it even more than mine.  

“No, but I did convince her earlier to let Gobber look at it.  I thought Mom might take Gobber’s opinion as an answer even though she won’t take mine.”  

“She’s just worried, it’s not that she doesn’t trust you.”  He nods, “and Gobber, that’s a good idea.  What did he say?”  

“I couldn’t find him so he hasn’t seen her yet.”  

“I’ll let him know to come find you if I see him.”  

I look at Fuse and back at the chief, trying to silently tell him why I maybe don’t want Gobber finding me exactly right now.  He doesn’t get it, just awkwardly smiling at us when I don’t say anything immediately.

“Or maybe you could just tell him Mom wants him to look at Ingrid’s hand.”  

“I haven’t seen it myself,” the chief shakes his head, “I wouldn’t know what to prepare him for.”  

“It’s a hand without some of its fingers, I bet Gobber can figure it out.”  

“It’s better if you ask him.”  The chief almost orders and I sigh.  He’s probably right, Ingrid will be more likely to go along with it if it comes from me.

“Ok.  Sure.”  

“Also, just wanted to give you a heads up but Sven was asking me about that dam that’s apparently leaking over on Brinhild’s creek?”  The chief points in the vague direction he’s talking about and I can feel Fuse staring at the side of my face as he does and I wipe my chin again, self-conscious about being at the other end of her critical gaze.  Fuse could probably look at me long enough to talk herself out of the insanity of liking me and it’s going to be all the chief’s fault when it happens.  “I told him to come find you too, you just know more about it—”

“Sure.  Fine.”  

“Ok,” he looks between us again, that stupid smile like he has something to do with anything about this on his face, “well, you two have a good night.”  

“Bye, chief.”  I turn back to Fuse and look at her almost cautiously, “sorry about that.”  

“You’re busy,” she takes an almost dainty bite and she’s still just…looking at me and I try not to do anything weird with my face, but that’s probably impossible at this point. “I didn’t realize you were handling so much on your own.”  

“Not really on my own,” I shrug and do I always shrug like that?  Or does my shoulder usually move more normally?  I’m suddenly aware of how wide I am and it feels like the edge of my shoulder is really far out there and I’m not sure what to do with my hands because they feel limp and itchy just sitting on the table.  “Everyone’s been helping out but…”  

“But it sounds like the chief’s trusting you with some actual decisions.”  

“He didn’t really have a choice,” I snort, “someone had to step in when he was…you know, all…sad about—gods, that’s not a very cheerful conversation.  Why would I bring that up?  Sorry.”  

“It’s fine,” she smiles, “I’m used to your stream of consciousness word vomit routine by now.”

“Trust me, it’s not stream of consciousness.”  I look at her sweater again, like a tick, this time fixating on the point of her collarbone just barely visible outside of the stretched out collar and gods, I shouldn’t be in public, I’m making such a mess of this.  I especially shouldn’t be in public with Fuse, but that makes me think of the alternative of being in private with Fuse and I half expect her to read my mind and like…plant something deadly in my pocket.  

“You’re trying to tell me you have any kind of filter?” She laughs at me but it doesn’t feel mean, it’s like the Fuse version of a joke and I laugh too.  

“I’m filtering most of it right now.”  I tap my temple with my finger and it feels dorky and she looks at my arm like she’s not sure why I have to be so embarrassing and I wish I had an answer for her.  

“Why?”  She frowns and it’s the first time in my life I wish she weren’t so perfectly direct because now I have to tell her something that doesn’t make me sound like a pervert or an idiot.  

“Because you’re pretty.” I blurt, successfully sounding halfway between pervert and idiot.  “And I have a lot of thoughts about it.”  

Her expression doesn’t move but she turns red, redder than I’ve ever seen her, and I can’t help but wonder if it makes her skin feel hot to the touch.  And then I’m thinking about touching her face and how it’d fit in the palm of my hand and maybe I should ask for something to blow myself up before I dig any further into this pit.  

“Oh.”  She nods, still red but smiling slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards just enough that I relax.  

She likes being called pretty.  Ok. That’s good to know.  

“So uh…bombs?”  I fall back on something else I know she likes and she nods like she’s glad for the change of subject.  “What’s uh…what’s the coolest thing you’ve ever blown up?”  

“Probably that ice I cleared out of the harbor last year,” she grins at the memory and she’s so literal I want to hug her.  

“I didn’t mean coolest like…coldest,” I laugh and she turns red again, “but I remember that, that was pretty awesome, it made all that green snow.”  

“It was also one of the coolest.  I like the water ignited stuff, it’s so counter-intuitive.”  

“Because water should put out fire.”  It’s nice talking to her.  Like, actually talking to her.  Not her giving me advice, not planning something with her or clarifying some stupid misunderstanding, but getting her to share something.  She does that so little that everything she says feels like some secret she’s trusting me with.  I want to ask more about it, like if she has any idea how it works and I’m trying to figure out how to say it when Sven appears out of seemingly nowhere and interrupts.  

“Eret! Just the man I’m looking for,” he leans on the table between us, blocking half my view of Fuse and turning everything fun about this into torture, “the dam leak’s worse, too much water’s getting through to repair it with rubble from the new wood storage. It pushes those rocks down river before you can say flooded hanger.”  

“Did you tell the chief that?”  I ask, mostly to get rid of him and he shrugs, shaking the table.  

“He said you knew more about the problem.”  

“I’ll think about it and try and get some decision to you tomorrow, alright?”  

“Gustav wants us on it bright and early tomorrow morning, I wasn’t kidding about the flooded hanger, lad.” He looks a little awkward and lowers his voice, “not enough dragons in there right now for me to trust them to keep it dry.”  

“Is there a way to stem the flow up stream to slow it down enough for repairs?”  

“Not that I know of,” he shrugs, awkward again, “we used to use a whispering death to dig a new diversion trench but I haven’t caught any around yet.  It’s early season for them, though.”  

“Let me…oh!”  I draw with my fingertip on the table, “there’s that tributary halfway up the mountain, the one by that cave…do you know what I’m talking about?”  

“The cave,” he thinks for a second and I can feel Fuse looking at me again, her eyes hot on my face and I don’t know if I want to hide or look back at her.  “Right!  Just south of the point.”  

“Yes, that little creek flows into the bigger creek, but I bet it could be temporarily blocked with a boulder long enough for the repairs downstream.”  

“We can try that,” he stands up, nodding to himself like he’s thinking through it, “I’ll let Gustav know.”  

“You aren’t going to run it by the chief or anything?”  I don’t know why this decision feels more important than all those I made when I was alone, but somehow it does.  It feels like the first one of a new era, I guess, different because the chief could shut me down but won’t.  

“Don’t have time,” he shrugs, “I was lucky to find you before I had to bring another excuse back to Gustav.  I’ll let you get back to your meal,” he looks almost suspiciously at Fuse, who doesn’t seem to notice, and I sigh, relieved, when he leaves through the main doors.  

“Sorry, about that,” I gesture at the doors and Fuse shakes her head.  

“Don’t be,” she fiddles with the end of her braid, almost shy for a moment before that feeling that she can see straight into my thoughts comes across me, “just maybe next time we want to talk we should stay away from people who want you to make decisions.”  

“Right,” I sigh, “we should have never left your work shed, honestly.”

“Next time,” she suggests. Her cheeks turn red again and I almost ask why until I realize that she’s talking about being alone in her work shed the next time we have a chance to talk.  

And that the idea is something to blush about and she’s been staring at me so long that she can’t hate it as much as I feared.  And I remember what kissing her felt like and the warmth of her under my arm and it feels like there’s not enough room in my chest when I think about being alone with the air as clear as it is between us.  She likes me.  I look down at her sweater again, remembering how soft she felt when she hugged me and the tips of my ears feel so hot I’m scared they’re about to spontaneously catch on fire.  

“Y-yeah,” I stutter out, ever eloquent under pressure.  She raises her eyebrows and breathes out a single laugh, almost relieved that I made a bigger fool out of myself than she did.  

Like she ever even makes a fool out of herself.  I can’t remember a time she didn’t come out of a conversation sparkling clean while I was an embarrassed mess.  I must have liked her longer than I knew to be so stupid around her for so long. Hel, maybe my body knew before me from the way I keep wanting to lean into her, like she’s a magnet pulling on me in particular.  

“Hey twerp,” Smitelout sits down beside me and I jump, glaring at her and hoping my red face makes me look as angry as I suddenly am and not embarrassed.  “Can I measure your hand?”  She holds out a piece of leather with a few marks on it at even intervals and I reflexively hold my hand to my chest.  

“What?  No.  Of course not.”  

“Ugh, they’re gigantic anyway,” she looks at my hands before doing the same to Fuse’s and it feels oddly violating in a way I don’t totally understand.  “And Thorston’s are too skinny.  You guys are no help at all, where’s your mom?”  

“I don’t know!”  I snap, “go find her yourself, it’s not that big of an island.”  

“Just asking,” she stands up, rocking the bench as she does so and making me feel even more off kilter. “Oh yeah, and Fuse.  I’ll have the uh…stuff,” she whispers as loudly as anyone has ever whispered, making it seem like she’s talking about something secret and also like she wants me to punch her, “ready pretty soon.”  

“Thanks Smitelout,” Fuse’s tone is clipped and she’s annoyed and that means she was thinking something that got cut off too.  

And she liked whatever she was thinking about enough that it’s annoying to have it truncated and I don’t know what to do with that.  Or any of this.  She likes me, that’s impossible enough.  Just look at her and it’s impossible and it just gets even more improbable when she opens her mouth.  

“Have a good rest of your date, nerds,” Smitelout just has to get in one more comment before walking away and of course it’s the worst of them all.  

“This isn’t—I mean, maybe it—”

“Does it matter?”  She shrugs, “I don’t care what you want to call it—”

“I mean, date is a word.” I cough and stutter over nothing because I can’t make anything not stupid come out of my mouth.  

“Yeah, I know that.” She laughs at me like she still somehow likes me and I have no idea how I haven’t messed this up yet.  

Someone else taps me on the shoulder.  Every bit of anxious hope in my chest instantly turns to intense frustration and I snap, loud enough that someone drops a plate across the room.  

“What?  What do you want?”  I look over my shoulder and it’s Gobber, eyebrows raised.  “Oh.  Hi Gobber.”

“Smitelout told me you were looking for me.”  

“That’s uncharacteristically helpful of her.”  

“Was it to apologize for yelling in my face?”  He asks, not quite annoyed, and I’m getting dragged into another conversation against my will, aren’t I?

“Sorry.  You just…uh, scared me.”  I look apologetically at Fuse and she shrugs like she somehow already accepts that this is just the stupid new order of things.  “What I actually wanted to talk to you about is—well, I, uh…” I struggle to think about anything other than Fuse and date and the fact that she blushes when she thinks about being alone with me, “Ingrid. Right.  I wanted to talk to you about Ingrid.”  

“I heard she’s back,” Gobber shrugs, “well, most of her.”  

“Yeah,” I hold up my right hand and mime cutting across three fingers, “that’s what I wanted your help with.  She won’t let any healers look at it because she’s as stubborn as a Rumblehorn with a yak carcass and my Mom doesn’t trust me that it’s not rotting off.  I was hoping you could look at it and reassure her.”

“Well, is it rotting off?”

“No.  No swelling either, no fever, no uh…signs of infection,” I try to say delicately, because it feels like a bad plan to say ‘pus’ in front of a girl on something that might be kind of a date, “since the first time I cleaned it right after she got back.”  

“Yeah, sure, I’ll take a look at it.”  Gobber holds up his hook, “my lifetime of experience should convince Astrid.”  

“Thank you, that’s what I was hoping for.”  

“Where is she?”  

“She’s up at my old house. My dad and Arvid are there if you want to drop by now.  Or tomorrow is fine but—”

“Let’s get it over with now, in case you did miss something and your Mom has reason to worry.”  He looks between me and Fuse and raises an eyebrow, “I don’t have Grump with me so you’ll have to give me a lift, if that’s not a problem...or is it?”  

I sigh and try to say sorry to Fuse with my eyes.  I’m lucky, because she gets it, even though she looks so disappointed it hurts when I stand up away from the table.  

“It’s not a problem. You’re right, we should do this now.” I take a second to look forlornly at my half eaten food before waving at Fuse, “I’ll…see you later.  Sorry it’s just—”

“I get it,” she’s so understanding I could kiss her.  If we weren’t here in the center of all annoying, interrupting people, I’d get to.

Gobber and I walk outside and I try to ignore his look, so he intensifies it as I help him onto Bang.

“What?”  

“Fuse Thorston, eh?”  

It’s not her problem that Smitelout suddenly likes her.  That’s not something she has to deal with.  She doesn’t have room for it and even if she did, she’s not sure why she should care.  It’s Smitelout.  Smitelout who has thrown a million petty little tantrums about losing to her.  Smitelout who threatened to spread rumors about Eret’s real dad.  

Smitelout who treats Ingrid like she did before she left.  Smitelout who makes Ingrid a new hand without even being asked.  

Ingrid still appreciates it even if it’s bent now.  She didn’t bend on purpose or anything, it honestly surprised her when the healer was trying to set Eret’s arm and he resisted with that much force.  And her fingers fit well enough that she just didn’t think about it, she braced him as well as she could and noticed after that they were bent out of shape.  

She lives with it for a while.  It’s hard to hold her axe but no one points it out until Aurelia is watching her attempt to hit the target in the chief’s front yard.  The first two throws clip the side but the third misses entirely and Aurelia narrows those chiefly but less irritating eyes and pauses, bag of tightly rolled scrolls on her hip.  

“What?”  Ingrid collects her axe, holstering it and adjusting her fingers back to neutral.  They still ratchet but not as well, the bend in the first digit making everything in them harder to move.  

“Nothing,” Aurelia shifts the weight of the scrolls onto her slim hip and when she cocks her eyebrow, she looks so much like Eret a year ago that Ingrid can’t help but feel like she should listen.  “Just that’s not really Hofferson aim.”  

“I just lost half my hand, what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Aurelia shrugs, “it seems like the new one was working out for you pretty well before it got bent.”  

“It’s a grip thing,” Ingrid clears her throat and she knows that a glare won’t help her.  Aurelia wouldn’t be so comfortable with the rest of the family if glaring did anything.  

“You know, I’m sure Smitelout could fix those.”  

“What?”  Ingrid hides her fingers behind her and Aurelia shrugs.  

“She made them, I bet she could fix them.”  

Aurelia was there.  She heard all of that.  Not that it should matter, because Ingrid doesn’t care, but it makes her feel like she needs to try.  Like this stupid situation is something she needs to fix, like all the others were.  A Jorgenson telling a Hofferson something like that with no answer is reason for issue.  

Or it was, back in the world before Eret was next in line for chief.  Ingrid isn’t quite sure how all of that works but she’s sure, at some level, that it’s ultimately in her favor.  

“Like I have money for that,” Ingrid rolls her eyes and Aurelia contests Eret’s best deadpan with far less effort.  

“Right.  That’s the problem.  It’s not that you don’t want to talk to her.”  

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk to her?” Ingrid reaches for her axe to make an argument ending perfect yak’s eye before realizing it’s not guaranteed anymore and pausing.  

“I don’t know,” Aurelia shrugs, “I’m just thinking about how many weapons you have that need sharpening occasionally.   And if Eret isn’t working in the forge anymore, are you planning to leave Berk to get that done—”

“No,” Ingrid scowls.  “You were there, do you think I could just walk in and ask Smitelout to do something for me?”  

Ingrid hates the idea that she could.  That Smitelout might do it just because she likes her, and that’s fake too.  If Smitelout really does like girls and she hasn’t minced words before so why would she start now?  And that means that Ingrid is the only option Smitelout has ever known, aside from Spitleaf.  And Spitleaf never had the same problems that Ingrid did with the forceful proposals.  Her face isn’t so loud and people aren’t so presumptive.  

“I don’t know,” Aurelia shrugs and for a moment, Ingrid sees how pretty she is and how firmly she guards it.  It makes Ingrid jealous, suddenly, because her looks are still causing problems for her and she doesn’t know how to stop them.  But with Aurelia, it’s all words and no bite and somehow it works. “Have you tried?”  

“My hand is fine,” Ingrid lies and Aurelia knows it just how Eret always used to.  It’s irritating, she really didn’t need another Eret running around, especially one who seems to need less advice.  

“Yeah, I can see that.” She rolls her eyes and Ingrid tries not to seethe.  

Before her fingers bent, they were almost as good as the real thing as far as her axe was concerned.  A good solid throw was a single ratchet and it happened perfectly halfway through the swing, just in time for the axe to release at the right angle.  It felt alright if not perfect and that’s all she can ask for.  Except she didn’t ask for it, Smitelout just decided to give it to her.  

It was nice before Ingrid learned why.  It kind of felt like maybe they could be friends or at least consistent rivals, the way they used to be.  But now she knows that Smitelout wants something from her.

“It’s just bent.”  Ingrid ratchets her fingers, acting like it’s not difficult and Aurelia blinks.  

“Just a suggestion,” she rolls her eyes before starting down the hill without finishing the argument, like she knows she won without dealing the final blow, and Ingrid can’t say she’s currently overjoyed with having a new sister.  

She knew it was an inevitability, what with having so many brothers, and Rolf’s wife is great but also more attached to Spitleaf than Ingrid wants to be.  And it’s complicated, like everything is.  But mostly, Aurelia is annoying and pushing her when she doesn’t want to be pushed.   And that’s new too, she’s never had pressure feel so oppressive.  It always felt like something to push back against, people who doubted her were just waiting to be proven wrong.  

Now everything is a little more daunting and she’s lost her taste for being daunted.  

What if Smitelout says no?  Does she suddenly have to leave the island to get anything sharpened?  

That scares her.  She’s not doing that.  Fuck that.  

“Ugh, fine,” she stalks down the hill after Aurelia, turning before she sees the long red braid and almost jogging towards the forge, because might as well get this over with.  It’s not like she’s going to fly off island to get her axe sharpened, that’s a fair point, she has to work this out at some level or she’ll be defenseless.  

The forge is quiet and Smitelout is pounding away at some red hot hunk of metal on the other side of the window.  Ingrid doesn’t let herself pause, she doesn’t let herself feel fourteen and confused and lonely and see Smitelout as safe, because at least she’s predictable.  She doesn’t let herself see Smitelout’s arms, sweat slicked and intentional, or her hands, comfortable around her hammer.  

She doesn’t take the hammer as a potential weapon and she doesn’t think of a thousand ways to stop an attack.  She definitely doesn’t notice the way that Smitelout’s concentration looks more like avoidance, like she knew Ingrid was coming and didn’t want her to.    

“Hey,” Ingrid starts, trying to be neutral and Smitelout fumbles and drops her hammer on the floor.  It’d be funny if Smitelout didn’t like her.  

“What?”  

“Nothing,” Ingrid tosses her braid over her shoulder, “just wanted to ask if you could fix my fingers but if you’re busy…”

“What needs fixed?”  Smitelout doesn’t make eye contact but she moves purposefully, wiping off the counter with a wet, smudged rag.  

“They got bent.” Ingrid avoids the eye contact that Smitelout attempts to make.  

“So explanatory,” Smitelout rolls her eyes, “I need to see the actual damage to fix it.”  

“Here.”  Ingrid unstraps her fingers and throws them on the counter, wincing at the thunk of gronckle iron on wood.  She didn’t mean to hurt them more.  Hel, she didn’t mean to hurt them in the first place.  

Smitelout picks it up, ratchets the joints that she made and sighs.  

“What’d you do to it?”  She glares, heavy eyebrows low over those hostile blue eyes.  That look has always pissed Ingrid off and that’s no different now, except for the fact that she’s still preoccupied with the fact that Smitelout likes her.  

Why?

She knows why, rationally.  It’s always because she looks how she does.  It’s because she’s this perfect Viking wife.  Except Smitelout can’t be concerned about her line or the heirs Ingrid would make and there’s no carrot of redeeming the Hoffersons through marriage to dangle in front of her.  Smitelout can’t have thought that admitting it like that would go well.  But she still did it and it doesn’t make sense and Ingrid has no room right now for things that don’t make sense.  

“I held Eret down while the healers were setting his arm,” Ingrid shrugs, “he’s stronger than he looks.  Don’t tell him, because I can’t take his ego getting bigger than it is but…”  She trails off.  Smitelout looks between her and her fingers, frowning.  

“Why would I tell him?”  Smitelout picks up the fingers, quickly diassembling the rivets that hold leather to metal and moving it to her anvil, like she’s actually going to fix it.  

“I don’t know,” Ingrid crosses her arms, her bad hand folded under her good arm so that no one looks at it.  Smitelout doesn’t even try and that’s worse.  “You might think it’s funny that he can gloat, or something.”

“He’s pretty hurt, isn’t he?”  Smitelout starts taking apart the fingers, treating each part with delicate care that makes Ingrid feel not only guilty but ungrateful.  “Yeah.”  

“Is he…” Smitelout looks up at her and then back down, sorting the parts of her fingers into two piles, presumably damaged and undamaged.  Not that Ingrid cares.  She just wants them fixed.  “Is he going to be ok?  Or…”  

“He’s going to be fine.”  Ingrid sighs and she doesn’t remember the fight leaking out of her this quickly.  The longer she tries to work this out, the less tainted the gift seems.  Smitelout started in on insulting her the second her feet touched Berkian soil.  Hel, she charged Ingrid for the hand in the first place.  “Scarred up, but fine.”  

“He looked pretty fucked up.”  

“Yeah.”  Ingrid leans her elbow on the window and looks across the square.  

Smitelout rustles with the parts on the counter for a second before pausing, her voice rising in pitch and volume when she does speak again.  

“Is it because of what I said?”  She squawks, kind of like a baby terror and Ingrid looks at her slowly, cocking her head.  

“What?”  

“Are you acting weird because of what I said?”  She clears her throat, slumping her shoulders forward and looking anywhere but at Ingrid.  “About the liking you, or whatever.  Is that why you’re being weird?”  

“I’m not being weird.”

“You’re kind of being weird,” Smitelout snorts.

“I’m not.”  

“You—”

“It wasn’t the time to do that,” Ingrid snaps, slamming her good hand on the counter like punctuation.  Smitelout doesn’t flinch.  “I don’t care that you like me.  I’m just here to get my hand fixed—”

“After you broke it.”  

“After I bent it.”  

“It’s pretty fucked up,” Smitelout holds up one of the finger joint pieces, running her finger along the pale seam where the metal bent.  “Like, this used to be flat.”  

“I told you, Eret’s stronger than he looks.”  

“So are you,” she scoffs, “this took a lot of force from both ends.  I can fix it, but it’s going to take a couple of days, I might have to re-forge a couple of parts.”  

Ingrid doesn’t feel strong, not anymore, and the sideways remark resonates as a compliment in a way she doesn’t like.  It feels like it might matter more because Smitelout likes her, and that’s absurd, because she really doesn’t care.  

“How much?”  Ingrid tries to bluff and Smitelout hems and haws, inspecting a couple more pieces with squinted eyes.  Her face is sharper than it was when Ingrid left.  Not lighter, but more purposeful.  It’s not a face that can hide things and more importantly, Smitelout has never been tactful.  Hel, any bartering she’s planning to try is already undermined by the way that she’s blushing.  Ingrid wouldn’t have taken her for someone who blushes, honestly, she never seemed to get embarrassed about anything else.  And in Ingrid’s mind, at least, throwing a tantrum about losing Thawfest is a lot more embarrassing than liking someone.  

Ingrid catches herself staring and looks away.  Smitelout doesn’t comment, for some reason, even though she’s never let Ingrid get away with anything, ever.  She’s the one acting weird.  

“I’ve got some scrap from making…the bombs,” Smitelout stutters through it, “it’s not good metal but this is just a draft, obviously, if you and Eret can fuck it up this bad.  I’ll do it for free with shit materials but you’ll have to pay for the next try.”  

“Fine.”  

“Really?”  Smitelout’s voice cracks again and Ingrid tries not to care that she’s nervous.  Even so, it’s a weird thrill to make someone nervous even with her hand off and taken expertly apart in front of her. It makes Ingrid feel significant in a way she’s been missing ever since Haddocks started talking over her all the time. “I mean, it’s a deal, you should take it.”  

“I already did,” Ingrid stands up, debating for a moment before leaving her bad hand out of her pocket, “that’s fair.  When can I pick it up?”  

“I’ll let you know,” Smitelout shrugs, “depends on how busy I get, it’s been pretty busy with kid saddles since the dragons came back.  But I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”  

“Don’t rush it for me,” Ingrid clears her throat.  “I just mean—”

“I’m not going to make it weird,” she tosses the pile of good parts into a leather bag and sets it on the shelf beneath the counter.  “I get it, I—”

“Ok.”  Ingrid shrugs.  

“Ok what?”  

“You don’t get it,” she bites her lip and sighs, “but you won’t make it weird.  That’s good, considering this is the only forge on Berk.”  That’s too harsh and Ingrid sighs, “I don’t know what weird is.  Everything is weird.  I came back to a different Thor-damned island.  You overcharging me for repairs is about the only thing that feels normal.”  

Smitelout is quiet for a moment and it’s almost comfortable.  

“This one’s free, Hofferson, in what world am I overcharging you?  You’re just looking for something to complain about.”  

Ingrid can’t quantify her relief and she doesn’t try, standing away from the counter and shaking her head at a very red Smitelout.  

“Let me know when I can pick up the hand.”  

“Fine,” Smitelout huffs, “don’t expect me to rush on it or anything though.  It’s a free job—”

“I get it,” Ingrid takes a couple of backwards steps, heels dragging across hard packed dirt, “you know where to find me.”  

“Fine, give me more work, now I have to come get you when it’s done,” Smitelout rolls her eyes even though she basically volunteered for it and if she’s putting on a show to make Ingrid feel better, it’s not exactly failing.  

“I’ll come pick it up, you just have to let me know when.”  

“Whatever,” Smitelout shrugs, picking her hammer up off of the floor and twirling it absentmindedly.  “Are we done here?”  

“Sure.”  Ingrid rolls her eyes, “I’ll get out of your hair.”  

Smitelout waves her off and Ingrid pauses another second before turning back towards the chief’s house.  She’s not entirely sure what just happened.  Smitelout likes her, it’s obvious and she didn’t take it back, but she didn’t shove it forward either.  She didn’t expect Ingrid to do anything about it, at least.  Maybe that’s ok, maybe it can just exist and Ingrid doesn’t have to do anything about it right now.  Maybe it can just hold steady for a while and Ingrid will deal with it when she’s ready to.  

Smitelout starts pounding on the dagger, but her eyes keep flicking back to the axe, its new handle hardwood and shiny.  It was practically a rebuild, it would have taken another full day if Smitelout had switched the balance the way Ingrid asked her to at first.  It only took three or four late nights to get the other solution together, once she had the measurements.  And that was a way more reasonable use of scrap metal than a bunch of bombs, anyway. 

“Fuck!” She swears when her hammer hits the tongs she’s holding the dagger with instead of the blade and it gets flipped into the air, stabbing into the ceiling joist and sticking there.  “Gods dammit,” she jumps and reaches towards it, but of course, the ceiling has to be really fucking tall so she can’t reach it. 

“Need a hand?”  Ingrid says from the window, because it has to be her and it has to be now and of course, Smitelout has to be jumping like an idiot. 

“You’ve got spares to offer people?”  She blurts out, tugging at the hem of her tunic where it rode up from jumping. 

“That’s really original.”  Ingrid leans on the window, raising an eyebrow.  “You’re the one who told me to come pick up my axe, it’s not my fault you were goofing off when I had time to.” 

“You’re going to talk to me about time?  I’m only keeping this whole forge going by myself and reviving mangled axes from the dead.  I don’t have time to goof off.”  Smitelout grabs the axe by the middle of its new handle, right where the old one was gouged.  She hesitates for a second before grabbing the small leather bag next to it. 

Ingrid didn’t ask for it.  She wanted the balance flipped.  It might not even work, it’s not like Smitelout spends all her time on dinky little pet projects, she’s never made anything like it before. 

But Hel, it’s not like it’ll fit anyone else buying and she did spend all that time on it.  Might as well let Ingrid see it. 

“I forgot, Eret always complained about the part of being Gobber’s apprentice where he had to jump up and down in an attempt to retrieve daggers he got stuck in the ceiling.”  Ingrid raises one eyebrow in an infuriatingly artful, sarcastic expression and Smitelout sets down the axe before she uses it.  Or drops it.  Or decides to keep it because it is some of her best work and Ingrid isn’t appreciating it, already. 

“Here you go, back from the dead, you could be a little appreciative.” 

Ingrid looks down at it and freezes, expression falling entirely into something vulnerable that Smitelout hadn’t seen before prior to her getting back.  It’s that damn face that did it, honestly, that apprehension she’d never had before.  That’s the face that for some thor-forsaken reason, makes Smitelout feel like Ingrid is someone to protect. 

She wasn’t excited for Ingrid to get back.  It was peaceful, the silent, uncontested winning.  She got her job back and didn’t have to deal with the little shits at the academy.  And she knew that would all change when Ingrid appeared over the horizon, triumphant as usual, just so much better than everyone but mostly Smitelout herself. 

But then she was hurt.  And it made her look smaller.  And her little brother was treating her like she was going to shatter and Smitelout didn’t want that to be true.  It couldn’t be true.  And while before when she insulted Ingrid and had something thrown back in her face, it felt like losing.  Like just another way Ingrid was faster or sharper than she was, but this time, when Ingrid snorted with a shadow of her old unflappable brush off, it felt like a return to the natural order of things. 

Except this time, Smitelout really wanted to kiss that dumb looking smirk off of her stupidly good-looking face. 

“It’s got a new handle.”  Ingrid reaches out with her bandaged hand before catching herself and hiding it back under the other side of the counter.  Her left hand is slow but sure as she wraps it around the handle and lifts the axe a couple of inches before her eyes dart back to Smitelout’s, cold and judgemental as Berk’s winter.  “The balance isn’t flipped.” 

“I said that would be a bitch,” Smitelout exhales and reaches for the leather bag, pulling it open and dumping its contents onto the counter.  “So here.”  The metal fingers land stretched curled so that it’s not obvious what they are. 

“What’s that?”  Ingrid gestures at it, unimpressed, her eyebrows a flat line.  And Smitelout now likes that determined face that she always used to hate, and she hates that she can’t help but notice things she doesn’t want to notice.  The fine blonde hairs in front of Ingrid’s ears and how they’re the only thing soft about her still too skinny jaw line.  The way the bridge of her nose is golden instead of freckled, like everyone else’s is. 

Fuck, when did she become as unoriginal as Darren Thorston.  Ingrid’s pretty but entirely intolerable, as a personality, who the fuck cares what she thinks about Smitelout’s dumb, experimental project? 

“Here,” she picks it up by the strap and unfolds the fingers so that it’s obvious what they are and which they are.  “Try it on.” 

“It’s a…” Ingrid looks at her cautiously for a second before pulling her hand from where she’s hiding it under the table and holding it out between them.  It’s shaking.  “Help me try it on?” 

“What?”  Smitelout looks at Ingrid’s hand for a second, the crisp white bandage against golden tan and Ingrid wants her to touch it?  To touch her? 

“I don’t know how it fits, I didn’t make it,” Ingrid snaps, but it’s hollow.  Impatient.  The kind of tone that used to make Smitelout furious because as hard as she was always trying, Ingrid was furious at someone or something else instead of her. 

“Fine.”  She stabilizes Ingrid’s hand with her fingertips against her palm and starts lining up the fingers with the lumps in the bandage underneath.  Her skin is clammy and her pulse is racing in the heel of her hand and Smitelout hasn’t ever touched anything this hurt before.  “Tell me if I hurt you, or whatever—”

“You’re not.”  Ingrid grabs the strap that goes around her wrist and starts fastening it.  “This goes here, right?” 

“Yeah, but after this one,” Smitelout flips over her hand and fastens the strap across her palm.  “There, the wrist one goes now.” 

“Like that?” 

Smitelout nods but Ingrid doesn’t look up to see it.  She stares at her hand, tentatively touching it with her other hand, bending one of the fingers and cocking her head when it ratchets through the first couple of settings. 

“It’ll hold its position,” Smitelout starts to explain, “I didn’t test it with an axe because—I mean, it doesn’t fit me, but it picked up my hammer—”

“You mean…” Ingrid looks at her for confirmation, cheeks pale and face oddly expressionless as she sets her bandaged palm against the axe handle and uses her other hand to wrap all three fingers around it.  She picks up the axe and swings, slow and cautious, and her face splits into a blinding smile. 

Oh thank Thor she likes it. 

Smitelout didn’t know what she was going to do if Ingrid hated it.  Or if it didn’t work.  Not that it wouldn’t work because it’s not even a complicated mechanism and Smitelout knows what she’s doing.  So of course it worked. 

“Hey, that’s enough playing with the merchandise before paying for it,” she cuts Ingrid off when she takes another couple swings, moving a little more forcefully.   She steps into one last swing and her arms flex when she stops it right before the blade hits the counter.  She’s still smiling and it’s kind of hard to look at without squinting.  It’s actually kind of rude to just show up here looking like that and flexing those travel skinny arms all over the place until Smitelout wants to offer her some of the food she has stashed in the back room.  “Ok, show off, let’s talk gold.” 

“Yeah, anything,” Ingrid pulls a bag off of her belt, dropping it on the counter and using her new finger to help pull it open.  “How’d you get the fit so good?”  She grins down at her hand and Smitelout swallows against the knot in her throat. 

She likes it.  She actually, really likes it. 

“Your mom let me measure her hand.”  Smitelout almost hates how pleased it makes her to see Ingrid almost stuck staring down at it, the fingers pressed flat against the table, because that means Ingrid is winning even now.  Normally, the work isn’t worth it until the money is in her hand but right now she almost tells her to not worry about it.  “It does fit though?  Like—”

“Fits great,” Ingrid looks up at her for a second and she looks almost confused.  “Why’d you do this?”  

“Because, like I said, if you’d listen for like a second,” Smitelout clears her throat, “flipping the balance on an already fucked up axe head is a pain—”

“Harder than this?”  She looks at it almost reverently.  “I’m not stupid.”  

“Uh, yeah you are.”  

Ingrid sighs and shakes her head, “thanks.”  And there’s a warmth to her tone that Smitelout has never earned or wanted and it makes her remember Spitleaf, all of a sudden, even though she’s only seen the back of her head across the square since they’ve been back.  

Spitleaf didn’t make her a hand, she let her lose half of it.  Presumably.

“How’d it happen?”  Smitelout blurts out and Ingrid goes pale again, smile slowly deflating. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want—”

“It was an ambush,” she looks small again, crossing her arms and making petulant eye contact.  “Maybe twenty guys?  I killed thirteen. Well, twelve, but number thirteen wasn’t going to last much longer from the way my axe lodged in his spine.”  She shrugs a shoulder, “that’s where I messed up.”  She sighs and looks at her hand again, “took a hammer to the back, knocked me down.  And, you know, there were still seven.”  

Smitelout can read between those lines.  Fuckers.

“Shit.”  

“Yeah,” she dumps her bag of money out onto the counter like she needs something to distract her so that breaking eye contact isn’t admitting defeat.  “You know what?  Just take it.”  She pushes the whole pile over and Smitelout reaches out to stop her, hand on her good forearm.  No, they’re both good, if arms can be good, which they can’t because that’s stupid and they’re Ingrid’s.  Her arms are annoying.  And stupid.

And she’s looking at Smitelout’s hand like she wants to smack it off and Smitelout wishes that she would.  That would feel normal.  

“Like half of that should be enough,” Smitelout starts counting the money into two piles, “I used scrap leather.  The rest went into a new saddle for Old Mr. Ack.  So, your hand is twins with his ass.”  

Ingrid snorts, “that’s an image.”  

The dagger in the ceiling falls out, suddenly, smacking the anvil on the way down and cracking in half from being improperly tempered.  Ingrid laughs, looking at Smitelout like they’re on the same side of a joke for once. Like she did when they got stuck hanging out with the twerps at Thorston’s house.  And it was impossible then, because she wasn’t used to Ingrid looking at her without all the animosity protecting her from it.  

“I should fix that,” she steps back from the window, picking up the dagger and holding the two snapped ends against each other.  “Or maybe just start over.”  

“I’ll leave you to it,” Ingrid scoops her money back into its pouch, swinging the axe over her shoulder and into the holster that looks dingy compared to the new, shiny handle.  She pauses for a second like she has something else to say and Smitelout feels observed.  She wants to tell Ingrid to fuck off.  

Ingrid holds up her new fingers and carefully ratchets the joints into their old enemies salute.  

“Oh fuck off,” Smitelout tosses the broken blade into a crucible to melt down, “that’s what I get for my generosity?”  

Ingrid laughs, “see you around, Smitelout.”  

"Of course."

"I mean it, Ingrid, this is an actual secret--"

"I won't tell anyone." Ingrid doesn't know where she got this reputation for being such a gossip, but it's not true. She can keep a secret, she doesn't know how everyone keeps forgetting that she kept Eret's paternity a secret for sixteen years and she tells Smitelout as much, as indignant as she is worried.

"Well good, because it's all about Chief Twerpling--"

"The nickname has a lot less impact when he doesn't hear it, you know." Ingrid rolls her eyes, prodding Smitelout's upper arm with a metal finger. "The point please? Especially if it's about my brother."

"You're really not going to tell anyone?"

Ingrid shoves her, not hard, catching her shoulder before she can dramatically stumble backwards. Smitelout sighs through gritted teeth and brushes Ingrid's hand off of her shoulder, puffing up slightly with that unfortunately adorable air of superiority.

"This is getting out of hand, the twerp just needs to deal with his own shit and fuck! Fuck. Ok," she looks seriously at Ingrid, blue eyes catching the light and making her expression more somber. Oh no. What if something is really wrong with Eret? What if he's in trouble? What if no one told her because the chief doesn't like how she overreacts, whatever that means? "So, you need to go blow something up for Fuse."

"What?" Ingrid isn't quite prepared for the bright flame of anger in her chest at the suggestion after Smitelout spent so much dramatic time getting her all worried. "Why would I need to do that? Last time I checked, Fuse is not only capable of blowing things up on her own, but she's pretty thrilled to do it."

"That's the problem," Smitelout wrings her hands together, "she likes blowing things up a little too much--"

"I'd agree with that, given the state of Elva's island." Ingrid is rapidly losing her patience with this, her muscles cooling and stiffening from an abruptly cutoff workout for seemingly no good reason. Smitelout's lucky she's cute, honestly, it's about the only thing keeping her here posturing instead of getting back to her business. Snotlout said he'd watch Finn for the morning because Smitelout had to work, but if Ingrid is gone too much longer, she's going to get home to her son chanting 'oi oi oi' again or something. "Look, I don't really have time for this, right now. And aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Yes, and that's where I was when Aurelia came up asking me to stop Fuse from blasting up some cliff or some shit while she's pregnant!" Smitelout snaps, cheeks flaring bright red and it takes a second for Ingrid to actually comprehend what she said.

Ingrid's mouth falls open and she smacks Smitelout's shoulder with the back of her hand.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"You didn't tell me that you knew that Fuse is pregnant! How long have you known?" Ingrid thinks back and scowls deeper, "and you said Aurelia knew? She didn't tell me either? I'm going to--"

"We're trying to keep it quiet, ok," Smitelout remembers to whisper, checking over her shoulder again in case someone heard her outburst, "Eret told Aurelia to keep an eye on her and Aurelia had to let me in on it a couple weeks ago." She has the good sense to look guilty and Ingrid smacks her shoulder again. "I don't know if Aurelia told Arvid, honestly--"

"Well, I'm not Arvid, he's ok with all the diplomatic secret keeping. I'm not."

"I know," Smitelout rubs her forehead, tucking an ashy piece of hair behind her ear. "But I'm telling you now and you need to go head her off and go blow up the cliff or whatever because breathing that shit can't be good for a baby."

"You're guilting me by reminding me there's a baby involved," Ingrid narrows her eyes.

"Your niece or nephew even, and Fuse is breathing all that caustic powder she has and you know explosions make those shockwaves--"

"It's working," Ingrid nearly growls, stalking over to the tree and wrenching her axe out of it, "fine, I'll go do the thing, do you know where she is?"

"She was heading down to the docks last time Aurelia saw her," Smitelout catches Ingrid's arm before she can jog off in that direction, "and you can't let her know that you know, so just...sound really excited about it. Or something."

"I'll figure it out," Ingrid pats Smitelout's hand until she lets go, feeling a little awkward. It's sweet, in a way, that Smitelout wants to help Fuse so much. She knows they've gotten a lot closer in the last year but...well, when it comes down to it, Eret will be Ingrid's priority, and she's not sure how keeping this secret can be good for him. He knows enough about heirs out of wedlock from the other side and someone should remind him of that, Fuse's secret or not. "But I'm going to talk to Eret about it. Not today, but..."

"Fine." Smitelout rolls her eyes, "I saw that coming, of course you want to do the right thing and be the good big sister. I get it. Well, I don't, but I know you."

"Enough to know that you're still in trouble for lying to me?" Ingrid raises an eyebrow and Smitelout flushes, too stubborn to just be guilty.

"I didn't lie, I just didn't tell you, it's not the same thing." Smitelout holds her hand out for Ingrid's axe, "I'll polish it for you, the handle looks like shit and you gouged the blade again, I keep telling you--"

Ingrid cuts her off with a quick kiss, setting the axe in her hand and brushing another sooty lock behind her ear.