#and this bit about alice's bday is a long one w a lot of kind of exposition/setup stuff

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 2  of true north is here!

[kristanna / t / the actual fic version of my single dad au at long last]

ch. 1

For once, Kristoff’s up before his daughter. It’s kinda nice to see her all sprawled out in her big-girl bed, curls all over her pillow and an arm slung haphazardly across her face, to be the one waking her up instead of the other way around. He’d go to the end of the earth for her, but he’s never really going to get used to being woken up by little elbows jabbing him in the ribs as she climbs up beside him and sings, “Rise and shine, Daddy!” until he groans and rolls over.   

She’s only sleeping in this late now because she had a rough night last night, asking again if her mom was coming for her birthday. He ended up putting her in her carseat and driving her around for an hour until she fell asleep, the same way he did when she was teething. It’s just a phase, that’s what Ma told him, but it still breaks his heart every time he has to tell her that no, Bailey’s not coming around. 

He’d let her, if she wanted to, but he hasn’t heard from her since the last text telling him she’d faxed over the paperwork terminating her parental rights. It was a new number with a Nevada area code. He tried calling it a few times afterwards for her third birthday and then for Christmas, but eventually after some googling about how these things work, he realized Bailey had already blocked him.

Alice makes a little snuffly noise and rolls over, facing him. He kneels beside her, gently brushing her hair out of her eyes. She blinks awake, rubbing her tiny fists against her eyes.

“Daddy?” she whispers, and his heart might just burst.

“Good morning, baby girl,” he says, leaning down to pull her into a hug. “Happy birthday.”

Alice giggles and leans into the hug, clinging to the front of his shirt. “Rise and shine!” she sings, her favorite jingle from her favorite kiddie show, and he chuckles as he stands up, gently patting her back. 

“Do you know how old you are now, Al?” he asks as he carries her into the kitchen.

“Three!” she chirps out of habit.

“No, honey, you’re four now, remember?”

She leans back, her forehead creased with confusion. “What?”

“It’s your birthday. So now you’re four,” he explains, shifting her to one side so he can hold up four fingers with the other hand. 

“Oh, okay,” she says, laying her head back down on his shoulder. “Do I get cake now?”

“No, that’s later with Nana.” 

He sets her down on the counter, and she giggles up at him. It’s a special treat getting to eat up here instead of at the table, where she’s sort of at his eye level if he leans down like he’s doing right now. “But I made you Funfetti pancakes. That okay?”

“Can I have strawberries on them?” she asks hopefully. 

That’s her other phase right now, strawberries on everything, and he’s prepared for that, too. “Already done,” he says as he hands her a paper plate with the pancake already cut up.

She squeals with delight and dives right in with her hands, and he thanks his five A.M. self for deciding on Reddi-Whip instead of maple syrup today-- much less of a hassle to get out of her hands and her hair. 

After breakfast, he helps her get dressed, and he doesn’t try to steer her in a more conservative direction even when she asks to wear one pink tennis shoe and one purple. He ties them for her and blows a raspberry on one of her knees, and she squeals and ruffles her hands in his hair. “You’re silly, Daddy!” she laughs as he swoops her up high before settling her on his hip again. She’s getting too old to be carried around everywhere like this, but damn it, he’s feeling sentimental that already his baby is four, un-fucking-believable, and if he doesn’t set her down again ‘til the next birthday that’s his business.

“I’m silly? Nah, Ally Pally, you’re the silly one,” he teases as they go into the living room to watch the kids’ channel until Sven shows up.

It’s seven thirty on a Saturday morning, and they both know exactly what that means. Alice hasn’t missed a showing of Poppy’s Garden Tales since the show started airing a year or so ago, and she’s sure as hell not going to miss it today, even if it’s another rerun. 

She settles back against Kristoff’s chest as he flips to the right channel, just in time to watch Poppy the pink mouse go into her garden to greet all the little creatures and flowers waiting out there. “Rise and shine, everybody!” she sings, and Alice echoes like she always does, off-key as ever.

“Good morning, Poppy!” comes floating over the polka-dotted fence, and then the gate swings open to reveal the only human member of the cast, Alice’s hero Miss Anna, a book in her hand like always.

And just like that, Alice is hypnotized. It’s hilarious, sometimes, to see how fast she can go from a little maniac running around the room with one of her toys or throwing a screaming fit to being dead silent, eyes wide, when Miss Anna starts to tell her stories. Sven never fails to get a kick out of it, and Kristoff snaps a picture of it now to send to him.

 Lol, comes the response a minute later. Be there in 15. :)

 “Uncle Sven is almost here,” Kristoff says, shifting Alice forward a little on his knee so he can start twisting her hair up into two buns on either side of her head, her current favorite hairstyle. 

No response comes; she’s entirely focused on the story of the three little pigs and the faces Miss Anna is pulling when she does the Big Bad Wolf’s voice. It’s for the best, really; even with a couple of years of practice under his belt, sometimes Kristoff gets his fingers tangled in her mass of dark brown curls. 

It makes something in him ache, sometimes, to see how much of her is Bailey; that beautiful hair, her heart shaped face and deep dimples, even the faces she makes sometimes when she gets excited about something.

She looks up at him then, though,, and the tension in his chest melts away when he sees her brown eyes wide and hopeful. That, at least, is all him. “Daddy?” 

“What, baby?”

“Can I have ribbons today?”

“Uh-huh,” he says, already reaching for the plastic tray he keeps on the side table full of all her hair elastics and barrettes and tiny little glittery things, all the shit YouTube had to teach him to use. He grabs one pink one and one purple-- to match her shoes, of course; maybe he’s hopeless at dressing himself, but he likes to think he’s pretty in tune with four-year-old sensibilities.

He ties the second bow just as Miss Anna pulls out her guitar for the goodbye song. He has to admit, he kinda likes this part, too; she’s got this slow, sweet accent that makes him think of sun-soaked flowers and tea that makes his teeth hurt, the kind he used to get on the crazy-long road trips to championship games south of the Mason-Dixon line. Alice loves it, too, she sings happily along, a beat behind and twice as loud, but Kristoff grins anyway and snuggles her a little closer.

The doorbell rings then, but it’s just a courtesy warning; Sven’s had a key to the house since the day Kristoff bought it. Alice takes off like a shot from his lap, and a moment later he hears a familiar laugh, followed by a, “Hey, Ally Pally. How’s my favorite niece?”

Kristoff grins and follows after her, just like always.