Chapter Text
“Morning, Elsa,” chirped Margaret from the reception desk as Elsa Didrikson pushed through the heavy glass doors of the law firm. She offered a tight smile in return, gripping the handle of her cardboard box filled with new policy books for the new trainees a little tighter. The office was a sea of familiar faces and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. She had been at Marx & Associates for about five months now and everything had been going well. Elsa had gotten along with everyone thus far.
Except for Serrilda Reynolds.
Ms. Reynolds was an associate when Elsa started, but she was made partner after having been at the firm for five years. Allegedly, that was the fastest route to partnership that the firm has ever had, so far. The eager young lawyer came in straight out of law school and worked her way up to the highest ranks before she even turned 35 years old. While she was definitely revered for her military-like work ethic and drive to succeed. However, there was a catch.
Her personality was a little on the...low end for most people. The new partner strutted in every day with an air of superiority that was palpable. Her sharp words and dismissive glances had earned her a reputation as the office ice queen. Elsa had tried to be patient, to see the good in her, but she had drawn the short straw in that respect.
Today was no different. Elsa's heels clicked against the marble floor as she approached Ms. Reynolds’ office, the cardboard box in her arms growing heavier with each step. The door was slightly ajar, and she could hear Serrilda's voice, a symphony of condescension, as she tutored a junior associate, through the inter office line. “It's not rocket science, Tim. Just follow the instructions!”
Ignoring the urge to sigh, Elsa nudged the door open with her foot and stepped in, setting the box down with a thud that made Serrilda look up. Their eyes met, and for a moment, Elsa felt a flicker of something unexpected. It was almost... sympathy? But the look vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the usual cold indifference.
“Serrilda, the trainees' policy manuals have arrived,” Elsa said, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.
Serrilda looked up from her laptop, her eyes lingering on the box for a moment before nodding curtly. “Thank you. Place them on the shelf by the window.”
Elsa obeyed, her mind racing. Why did she bother? Serrilda was nothing but a thorn in her side, a constant reminder of the office hierarchy. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the woman than her frosty exterior. She took her time stacking the manuals, her eyes scanning the room. The walls were adorned with diplomas and awards, a testament to Serrilda's undeniable intelligence and success. But amidst the grandeur, Elsa noticed something peculiar: a small, worn-out book peeking out from beneath a pile of case files.
Intrigued, she bent down and picked it up. It was a collection of poetry, the pages yellowed with age. The title was faded, but she recognized it as a book of sonnets by Shakespeare. “Surprise, surprise,” she murmured to herself, tucking it under her arm.
As she turned to leave, she heard a sharp gasp. Serrilda was staring at her, her eyes wide with what looked like panic. “That's my book,” she said, her voice unusually soft. “Please be careful with it.”
Elsa looked down at the book, then back up at Serrilda. “I didn't know you were a poetry fan,” she said, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.
Serrilda's cheeks flushed a shade of pink that was almost imperceptible against her porcelain skin. “It's a... a hobby,” she stuttered, reaching out for the book. “Just something I do to... relax.”
Elsa handed it back gently, feeling a sudden pang of guilt for invading her privacy. “I can understand that,” she said, her tone warming. “I love poetry myself. It's a great way to unwind after a long day.”
Serrilda took the book, her eyes never leaving Elsa's. “You do?” she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
“Yes,” Elsa replied with a nod. “I find it helps me think differently, see the world in a new light.”
Serrilda studied her for a moment, her gaze sharp as a scalpel. “What's your favourite, then?” she challenged, her voice still tentative.
Elsa considered the question, her mind flipping through the pages of her own poetry collection. “Well, it's hard to pick just one,” she began, “but I've always had a soft spot for 'Leaves of Grass' by Walt Whitman.”
Serrilda's expression softened, the first crack in the icy facade Elsa had seen. “Interesting,” she said, nodding slightly. “I've read some of his work. It's... unconventional.”
Elsa took the opening and ran with it. “Should I have said Dr. Seuss?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow. “I've got a feeling you're more of a ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ type of person.”
The room went silent for a beat, the tension palpable as Elsa waited for Serrilda's reaction. Then, to her astonishment, a low chuckle escaped the other woman's lips. The sound of Serrilda's laughter was like a melody that had been silenced for too long. It was warm and unexpected, and it filled the office with a sudden, pleasant energy. Elsa couldn't help but smile back, feeling a bit of the tension between them dissolve.
“I suppose I could be,” Serrilda said, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smirked. “But I assure you, my tastes are a bit more... sophisticated.”
Before Elsa could say anything further, the moment was shattered by the sudden appearance of Kristoff Bjorgman, a fellow lawyer at the firm. His face was a mask of urgency as he strode into the room. “Reynolds,” he said, breathless, “we've got a situation. One of our clients is being arrested.”
Serrilda's expression shifted immediately from mild amusement to one of concern. She whirled around to stare at him, the book of poetry forgotten. “Who? What for?”
“It's Mr. Jenkins,” Kristoff replied, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. “Embezzlement. The cops are at his office now.”
Serrilda's chuckle was cold and humourless. “For how much?” she asked, her grip on the book tightening.
“Three million,” Kristoff replied gravely, his eyes never leaving hers. “It's a mess, and we need to be on top of it before it hits opposing counsel’s top news stories.”
Serrilda's heartless chuckle sent a chill down Elsa's spine. “And he said he had no funds to get his kids into soccer,” she murmured to herself, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a twisted smile. Her expression then became way more serious. Without waiting for a response, she turned to the flustered Kristoff and barked, “Which clerk was working on filing the financial statements for Mr. Jenkins?”
Kristoff stumbled over his words. “It was... uh, it was James, I believe.”
Serrilda's eyes narrowed. “I see. And when did he file the last one?”
“Last week,” Kristoff managed to reply, visibly sweating.
Serrilda groaned, setting the poetry book aside with a thump. “I wish we hadn't had James file those statements so early,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “Now we've got no wiggle room, and he may get locked up without bail.”
Elsa felt a pang of pity for the junior clerk, who was about to be dragged into the storm. “Is James in today?” Serrilda asked Elsa, her voice demanding and assertive.
Elsa nodded in affirmation and watched as Serrilda's gaze sharpened, the softness from their unexpected bonding moment evaporating like mist in the face of the crisis. “Kristoff,” she ordered, her voice clipped and urgent. “Tell James to draft up an affidavit for updating financials and get opposing counsel on the phone.”
“What do I tell them?” Kristoff asked, as he was fearful of the recourse if he were to get the task wrong. He saw Tim run from his office to the lunchroom on his way here. Poor guy looked devastated.
Serrilda rolled her eyes but was internally glad that Kristoff wasn’t afraid to ask for clarification. “Tell them that we can no longer do mediation on Tuesday, but don’t tell them why. Tell them we suddenly lost contact with him and have not yet gotten instructions on their third offer, so it will just be a waste of time. We have to wait until Jenkins can talk to us.” before Kristoff could leave, Serrilda stared daggers into his soul. “Got all that, Bjorgman?”
Kristoff nodded and retreated from the office, his footsteps quick and heavy. The door swung shut behind him, leaving Elsa and Serrilda alone again. The silence hung between them like a thick fog, charged with unspoken tension.
Elsa took a step back towards the door, her eyes on the book of poetry. “I'll leave you to it,” she said, her voice tentative. “Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help.”
Surprisingly, Serrilda's expression softened, and she spoke in a tone that was almost gentle. “Elsa,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You do entirely too much for us already. Take it easy and focus on whatever office managers do to keep us in line.”
Elsa blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in demeanor. It was as if a storm cloud had parted to reveal a sliver of blue sky. “You're... concerned about me?” she asked, her voice filled with disbelief.
Serrilda rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Don't get too excited,” she said, her tone teasing. “But yes, even I recognize when someone is overdoing it. Besides, if you burn out, who will organize all of our schedules and keep this chaotic place from descending into anarchy?”
Elsa couldn't help but chuckle at the image of the firm falling apart without her. “I'll keep that in mind,” she said, backing out of the room. “But if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”
Serrilda nodded, her eyes flicking back to the poetry book. “Thank you,” she murmured, the words seeming to stick in her throat.
Elsa took a moment to absorb the rare expression of gratitude. She had never seen this side of Serrilda before, and it was jolting, like finding a bouquet of flowers in the middle of a battlefield. “You're welcome,” she replied, her voice just as soft.
As Elsa walked back to her office, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just witnessed a rare glimpse of the woman behind the ice queen façade. The way Serrilda had looked at her, with genuine concern, had been like peeking behind the curtain of a stage play and discovering the real person beneath the costume. It was a humanizing moment, and Elsa found herself feeling a flicker of empathy for her prickly colleague.
Deciding to take the plunge, Elsa resolved to get to know Serrilda better. Maybe there was more to her than just her sharp tongue and superiority complex. Perhaps there were layers she hadn’t noticed before, like the poetry book hidden among the vast expanse of legal documents.