Thank you so much to everyone who has left a review! It makes me so happy and I appreciate each one so much. I never thought this silly little crackfic would get so much as a second glance.
To the user who feels bad for Anna, uh, you may not like this chapter, but it gets better, I promise!

I've planned the rest of this fic out and it'll probably be about 8 chapters including an epilogue. Hope you all keep on enjoying and please keep sharing your thoughts :P

Elsa spends most of her morning hunched over a desk, painstakingly forging documents for the "death" of Mr Samuel R Herbson, moving pictures of Samuel onto the records for Mr Harald Jensen - actually dead. Identity theft is so tedious. The movies never show all the painstaking paperwork that goes on in the background by overworked, underpaid lackeys.

Sometimes Elsa daydreams about being part of a workers union.

It's nice and quiet, with Redback driving out to the coast to make a delivery. He'll be gone most of the day, thank god.

Her focus is not hindered by the sound of banging on the metal door. It starts around lunch time, and she tunes it out. It's just one of many normal sounds around this place. Like birds singing, keyboards tapping, the 3D printer whirring, engines revving as they arrive and depart, and on the rare occasion, muffled screams from down in the basement.

Even when the bangs start to change pace, from a steady, moderate thumping to a slower, harder, more dysregulated crashing, nobody is particularly bothered. It's all part of the hostage process. She's just going through the motions. Assessing her new environment. Very normal.

It ends after a few hours.

After the identity transfer paperwork is finished, Elsa sets about divvying up the bricks of cocaine that have recently been delivered. All white as pure mountain snow, stacked up against the wall in a grid. She dons her mask and gloves and meticulously works her way through the tedious task. Each kilogram baggie has to be weighed exactly, to the fifth decimal. Otherwise there will be claims that they're favouring one dealer over another. Each brick also has to be tested with the kit - sometimes someone from earlier in the supply chain will try to swipe for themselves, replace it with talcum powder and make a buck on the side.

She's only about half done when Patch comes to get her, 'Blockbuster time.'

Around midday, Anna's parents asked for proof that she's alive and safe. Typical first move. They're still in the early stages of shock and trying not to panic. Trying desperately to garner some sense of control over the situation. Trying to establish that this is a two way thing.

But it isn't.

They think the video will reassure them.

But it won't.

Negotiating for a hostage is a little like dating in the modern age. You don't want to seem too desperate. You want to make it look like you're really busy, and you have lots of really interesting criminal endeavours going on, and their precious little baby boy or girl is only about in the middle of your priority list. At the same time, you don't want to leave it too long or make them feel like nothing is happening. More than a week and the cumulative stress makes them unpredictable. People start to notice the absence. The chance of cops getting involved rises dramatically.

Now her parents are starting to nag. Seven emails in half an hour. It's time.

'On it.' Elsa grabs the camera, heads down the hall and spins as Patch tries to follow her, 'It's alright, I can take care of it.'

'Nah, I need a break,' He stretches his neck with a series of pops. 'Sick of looking at a screen.'

'Oh, yeah, but you don't need to help with this.' Elsa stops in her tracks, blocking the hall. Patch looks at her quizzically, and even she isn't sure exactly why she wants to do this on her own. Why she doesn't want the guys to see this particular girl who's tied up a few metres beyond where they stand, where so many other unremarkable young men and women have spent an uncomfortable little surprise holiday. Part of her inexplicably feels like she's done something wrong and has to hide it. Like a dog that's chewed up a shoe when its owner was at work. Mostly, though, it's just that Anna is a damn powder keg. And how she might respond to the guys, how they might respond to her, is so unpredictable. Elsa doesn't like unpredictable. 'Aren't you driving out to Sydney tonight? You should take a real break. Go to the roadhouse. Eat some hot food.'

'Yeah, you're right, Snowflake.' He nods profoundly like she's just given him some really enlightening life advice, 'I think I will. You want anything?'

'Nah… ' She probably should eat something, but there aren't many vegan options at the tiny roadhouse, 'Actually, can you get me a packet of Oreos?'

'You sure? Don't wanna ruin that hot bod.' He winks and chortles to himself like that's comedic gold.

Elsa glares at him and breathes out aggressively through her nostrils, but ultimately it's not a battle worth fighting. He is dirt beneath her shoe, she tells herself. Not worth the energy. It would be like arguing with a snail.

Inside the cell she finds Anna stark naked, sitting inside the metal sink with her legs dangling over the edge, covered in soap suds. Her saturated dress hangs over the back of the plastic chair, and her wet hair hangs limp down her slim, freckled back.

'What are you doing?'

'Uh, bathing?' Anna says in a duh tone. And it's fair - that much is obvious. But it's not quite what Elsa meant.

'And you had to get inside the sink? You didn't want to just stand in front of it and wash yourself like a normal person?'

Anna shrugs and scrubs at her armpit cheerily, 'This seemed tidier. I didn't want to get water all over the floor. Now, can you take this tape off my feet, please? I need to get these knickers off-'

'No!' Elsa is mortified, and she doesn't love the word knickers, either. Although it's definitely better than panties - ew. But she doesn't really want to be talking about any such word right now, 'No, absolutely not. You need to keep your…' Her face contorts as she says the word, 'knickers on!'

'But I've been wearing them for days-'

'And you'll keep wearing them for days!' She hisses, 'You can't just roll around in that tiny little dress with your bare bum hanging out. These guys will think you're asking for it.'

'Hey, that's messed up!' Anna's tone is suddenly very authoritative. She places her hands on her hips, and the soap suds slide down her chest slowly, exposing more than Elsa was ever mentally prepared to see. 'A woman is never asking for it. No matter what she's wearing.'

Elsa's eyes awkwardly shift over the floor, walls and ceiling, anywhere to avoid those two perky little… anyway. It's sweltering inside the laundry. They really need to do something about that. Get a fan or something. Elsa has the urge to plunge her head into a bucket of ice. 'This organisation isn't exactly founded on feminist principles like consent and autonomy.'

'Well, I'd expect better from someone like you.'

'...someone like... me?' Does she even want to know what is meant by that? 'Because I'm a paragon of integrity and ethical life choices?'

'A beautiful, intelligent woman trying to get ahead in what I assume is a brutally male dominated industry.' Anna rolls her eyes as though this is a perfectly obvious thing to say, just part of a perfectly normal conversation for her to be having while she's naked in a metal sink, with her ankles taped together and knickers dangling around her feet, while Elsa stands gobsmacked, holding a cheap digital camera and suddenly very sweaty, 'Look, they're already wet now. If I put them back on I'll get a yeast infection! So just let me dry them by the window for five minutes. You're overthinking this.'

Look, maybe she makes a kind of logical point. Or maybe the flattery is working. Who doesn't want to be called beautiful and intelligent? Or maybe her nakedness has served as an effective method of mentally destabilising Elsa. An odd kind of power move, if you will. Regardless, she is going to need spare clothes anyway. They need to make the video and there isn't really time to wait for the dress to dry. The sun is getting weaker, and the breeze wafting through the window is cooling by the minute.

Elsa begrudgingly leaves to find an old towel and some of the spare clothes they keep around the place for when hostages get so upset they vomit or soil themselves. It's not that they're particularly benevolent captors, but ain't nobody wants to drive all the way back to Melbourne or Sydney with that stench in the back. Some asshole has moved them so it takes her a little while to rummage through various drawers and boxes, coming across all sorts of various ninja-style weapons, explosive ingredients and computer parts as she does. Eventually she finds the slightly musty stash of op-shop clothes and grabs a grey T-shirt with a picture of Shrek on it, and navy basketball shorts.

Heading back down the hall with the clothes and a towel, she discovers that Redback has unfortunately returned from his coastal mission. He looks at the clothes, raises his eyebrows, and asks, 'already?'

'Yep,' Elsa laughs nervously, 'She's a messy one.'

Back in the cell, Elsa keeps her eyes squarely on the duct tape as she cuts it, then awkwardly plays with her pocket knife to avoid looking at that whole entire naked freckly body with its slender dips and supple curves. It should not take this long to dry off and get dressed. She suspects Anna is deliberately dragging it out to further destabilise her. 'Hurry up, would you?'

'What's the rush? You got us a dinner reservation or something?'

'We're making a video.'

'Oooh!' Anna's eyes light up.

'Not that kind of video, you little pervert. Your parents want to know you're alive.'

'Oh, you spoke to them? What did they say? Are they mad at me?' She gasps and her eyes sparkle like Christmas lights, 'Are they getting a divorce?'

'I didn't speak to them. That's not my job. Come on, now, in the chair.'

Finally dressed and decent, Anna settles into the plastic chair, looking far too clean and refreshed - she's even managed to get most of the glitter off. They should have made the video earlier when she was shiny with day-old party sweat and black makeup smeared all over her face.

'Can I have something to eat?'

'After the video,' Elsa clicks the camera on, waits a second for it to load, and switches it to video mode.

'Why are you using an old school camera?'

'It- because it shows the date and time on the footage, and it's harder to trace,' Elsa shakes off a wave of irritation, 'I'll ask the questions now. What's your name?'

'Anna Arendelle, why do I have to say my name, though? I think my parents will recognise me-'

Elsa sighs and stops recording. This is not working. Not at all. Anna's back is too straight, her head is too high, and aside from the slight glaze of hunger, her eyes are too bright and focused. She looks like she's ready for a job interview. And honestly, she'd probably get hired on demeanour alone.

'Kid, I can't believe I'm asking this, but can you try to act a bit more upset?

'Right, yeah, of course!' Anna says, looking decidedly even less upset. 'This is going to be fun! I've actually been in a few plays, back in high school, so I'm somewhat of a thespian. You know what a thespian is, right? It's a way better word than actor. Because it rhymes with lesbian. So it, like, puts sexy thoughts in people's heads.'

Elsa rubs the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

'Right! Upset, sorry. Do you usually have to ask your hostages to act for you? What if they're crappy actors? It's kind of one of those gifts. You either have it, or you don't. Can't force it. You know what I mean?'

'Normally they don't have to act.' Elsa says. She still isn't quite sure where she's gone wrong, here. It was probably the brownie. Yeah, definitely the brownie. That was a moment of weakness she will learn from in the future. 'Normally they're genuinely upset. Don't you want to go home? Have some proper food? Change into clean, um, er, knickers?'

Anna stops and thinks very seriously, for once, knitting her eyebrows together and looking toward the window, 'I am pretty bored, yeah. And hungry. And I miss my phone. Alright. Take two, aaaand, action!'

'I think I'm supposed to say that part.'

'Sorry! Yeah, of course, because you're the director.' She rubs her knees, looks to the wall, to the floor, and admits, 'I might be trying to drag this out a little…'

Elsa's head just about explodes, because once again Anna is responding oppositely from how she's supposed to, like a kid playing opposite-day. 'Why? Why would you possibly want to do that?'

The next words come out so pitiful and earnest that it melts all the irritation gripping Elsa's fingers and jaw and threatens to prick and scratch at the seams of her constrictive, calloused costume she has worn for so long that it's begun to feel like a second skin. Not enough to rip or tear it, just to fray it a little at the edges and leave annoying threads itching at her sides, 'I don't like being left all alone.'

Bang bang bang. 'You done yet?' Crap. Patch is back. Already? This has taken way longer than it should have.

'What's taking so long?' Redback as well? They're ganging up on her. Typical.

'Nothing!' Well that sounds suspicious. Why is she nervous? She hasn't done anything wrong. Deep breaths, Elsa. Get it together. 'We're nearly done.'

'What have you done, Snow? She unconscious or what?' Redback says.

'I've been saying that room gets too bloody hot,' Patch says, 'One of these days someone's going to-'

'No, she is not unconscious.' Elsa snaps.

'I'm not unconscious!' Anna repeats happily.

'Everything is fine. We will be done soon. Goodbye.'

'Let us in then.' Redback says.

'No. Fuck off.'

'Why not?'

Because she's sick of him always undermining her for a start. Elsa has done this countless times. Abducted countless young men and women, made satisfactory videos, delivered them safely back home without being caught. Not just abductions, but her cargo deliveries, her hits, her fraudulent documents, her thefts. Every task she completes is executed with flawless precision and efficiency. She doesn't make mistakes. She never leaves behind witnesses or evidence. She doesn't get carried away on whims of violence or take unnecessary risks to fulfill her bloodlust. And yet he has the gall to act like she needs his help! Constantly!

Beep. Click. Shit.

'When did we get a spare key?' Elsa asks.

'Last week.' Redback opens the door and barges in with Patch in tow. 'Why is she all wet? What are these panties doing here?'

'She was bathing. You've probably never heard of it, it's something civilised people do.'

'You're such a bitch, Snowflake, do you know that?' Spittle forms at the corners of his mouth as he speaks, 'This is why you're single. This is why nobody wants to have sex with you.'

And right at that moment, of course, Anna apparently decides to say the most inappropriate thing she could possibly say, in her bright and cheery voice, 'I want to have sex with her!'

'Shut up, you.' Redback's fist immediately slams into her cute little upturned nose.

Elsa's breath catches in her throat. That's not good. That's a hasty overreaction even for a volatile piece of shit with a tiny ego like him. Things must have gone badly on the coast. She steps forward to do damage control, because there's no need to have this escalate into something messy, but of course, Anna decides to make things even worse and starts mouthing off at him as blood drips out of her nose and mouth, 'Oh do you feel like a big man, now?'

'The fuck?' Surprise paints Redback's gnarly features.

'Does bashing up little girls make your teeny tiny cock get hard? Huh? You gonna go kiss your slimy little biceps in the mirror and brag to the boys while you all wank each other off-'

Elsa has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. She was so ready for tears and terror. Ready to swallow down any empathy, any distress, any revulsion. To hold herself rigid and diffuse the situation with a level head.

But she was not ready for… whatever this is.

'You little-' Redback grabs the collar of her Shrek shirt, lifts her to her feet and slams her against the wall.

Elsa's stomach churns at the nasty thud sound of skull hitting brick, but she keeps a carefully neutral face and steps up beside them. 'Okay, I think you've made your point!'

'I'm not sure I have.' He raises his fist again, not earning even a flinch in response from Anna. Just stubborn defiance and utter readiness in her teal eyes, like a boxer in the ring. Luckily she doesn't seem to be going so far as to enjoy this, because Elsa is definitely not paid enough to deal with that level of crazy.

'Get a grip, Red!,' She reaches up and clamps her hand over his fist, lowering it, 'So she's a little mouthy. Stay focused. We're in this for the big money, right? So don't fuck it up by losing control.'

'I'm in it for the money and the violence.' Patch says sheepishly.

'Yeah,' Redback says, 'Rearranging motherfucking faces in is the best part of the job!'

'Well you're not allowed to rearrange this motherfucking face!'

He knows it's true. It's too early in the process. Right now, they still have the leverage of everything they could do to their hostage, but haven't yet. Using parents' own imaginations against them. Give them a false sense of control, prompt them to take the fastest, easiest action - pay up.

We haven't hurt your precious brat yet, but we could. We might. Depending on how you go about this.

Also, of course, they need to return these fragile kids in more or less one piece, physically and psychologically, or the chances of authorities getting involved rises. Even dads as crooked as Mr Arendelle have their limits.

Redback knows this, and he releases Anna who slides down to the floor in an uncharacteristically defeated slump. A little something sinks in Elsa, like a corpse slipping below the surface of the river, way down deep beneath her soulless work mask, beneath the cold hard surface she has spent years freezing solid.

Normally a defeated slump is a good thing. Compliance is so much easier and safer for everyone. And yet Elsa registers the faintest tinge of disappointment? She pushes it aside and readies the camera. 'What's your name?'

'Anna Arendelle.'

The blood coating her chin and dripping onto the T-shirt will be enough to show Mummy and Daddy they mean business, though the girl still doesn't shed even a single goddamn tear. Elsa isn't sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned. She'd better not be being abused at home or something. That would make this a lot more difficult. Elsa knows what she's doing is evil. But she justifies it to herself with the idea that these vapid, spoilt trust-fund kids have never faced a day of adversity in their rich little lives, and they're only getting a taste of the real world. That it's character building, even. Enriching. But all that goes down the drain if they have faced actual hardship.

She swallows down these questions and their implications. That's a really dark conclusion to jump to, anyway. Just because Elsa's world is dark and cold and full of violence and hopelessness doesn't mean everybody else's is. Anna's probably just a little bit brain damaged from eating too many magic mushrooms at those hippie-dippie music festivals she loves so much.

They get through the questions quickly. Anna responds, sullen and without any silliness. States her name, when she was captured, how long she's been there, and that she's not been hurt… too badly. She does her piece perfectly at the end. 'Please daddy! Pay the money. I'm so scared!'

It's an oscar-worthy performance and everybody is satisfied. Except Elsa, who feels like she's failed, even though the task is completed satisfactorily. It's so jarring and bizarre. Everything is jarring and bizarre with Anna and she can't wait for when this is over - to dump her in a 7/11 carpark and be done with all this confusion. All the ridiculous talk of knickers and thespians and gun in your pants and oversharing about her bowel routine. Elsa huffs and puffs and mutters under her breath about this as she stomps to the freezer and retrieves an ice-pack. She grumbles to herself - how bloody obnoxious this girl has been - as she grabs a lighter. And she shakes her head and sighs - how foolish and reckless and impulsive - as she empties the flavour sachets into the hot cup of instant noodles and stirs them thoroughly. She grabs an apple too, and a muesli bar.

Anna lies on the mattress with her legs up against the wall, looking very tired. Being drugged at 4pm the day before and waking up at midnight is apparently catching up with her.

'You okay?' Elsa places the noodles on the ground and offers the ice-pack.

After a good thirty seconds of staring deep into Elsa's uncomfortable soul with narrowed eyes, Anna takes the slushy blue pack to her swollen face and smiles briefly but warmly. 'Thanks.'

That somehow makes it worse. At least when they hate her and look at her with terror and revulsion and resentment in their eyes, she knows it's what she deserves. She is the bad guy. They are the poor victim. It makes sense. It's like a movie and she can detach herself and just play her part like a morally challenged thespian. But a smile? Why is she getting a smile after all this?

And more to the point, why does she even care?

'Is there anything else,' Elsa says awkwardly, not sure where she's going with this, 'that you…' that you want? That would make this more better? Because if you're going to look at me like I'm an actual human being with a soul then I feel obligated to behave like an actual human being with a soul, 'that you need?'

She'll probably say something stupid and horny and ridiculous-

'Yeah, I kind of need a hug.'

Aw. Poor thing is finally starting to miss her friends and family. And her menagerie of animals. 'You'll be home soon. Your parents are making all the right moves, we should be able to let you go within-'

'From you, dickhead!'

'What? M-me?' This is not a request Elsa was mentally prepared for. She isn't really the hugging type. She's more the pulling someone's arm behind their back and holding a gun to their head while threatening to burn their house down type. And it's one thing to shut down her silly flirtatious shenanigans, but this isn't silly flirtation. It's a genuine, vulnerable request for a shred of humanity that she apparently believes Elsa to possess. Of course, Elsa frequently denies requests for humanity but the utter faith in those eyes is what catches her off guard. 'I don't really… know how…'

'What? You don't know how to hug?' Anna laughs like she doesn't have a broken nose, like she isn't locked in a sweltering laundry room against her will, like her parents don't scream at each other and smash plates, 'You're so funny!'

Elsa remains speechless. She is funny, now, apparently.

'Please? I've had kind of a rough day!'

'I don't… usually do that…' But she's already taking her phone, pocket knife and keys out of her pockets, placing them on the table, and going in for the kill- er, hug. Why? She cannot say. Perhaps she is possessed. Perhaps she has actually gone mad. Perhaps she's breathed in too much drug residue over the years and her brain is starting to misfire. She tells herself she's just humouring her hostage to keep her compliant. She knows that's bullshit.

'Oh for fuck's sake, I'm not trying to pick your pockets. Do I look like a Victorian-era orphan to you? I'm just asking for a shred of human warmth. I'll behave, I promise.'

'Okay, so…um… ' Elsa slowly kneels down, suddenly unsteady in her steel cap boots, and tentatively opens her arms like a scarecrow, holding her head back like she's avoiding a bad smell. But Anna takes it. She crawls forward and wraps her arms around Elsa's torso, rests her head sideways in the crook of Elsa's neck, and squeezes gently.

'What are you doing with your arms? Being crucified by the Romans?'

'I don't know,' Elsa is barely breathing at this point. For some reason this is more nerve wracking to her than going into a shoot up with a rival syndicate, or breaking into a designer store at night to steal diamonds, or lying to the federal police with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of class A drugs in the back of her car, 'What am I supposed to do with them?'

'Put them around me, you absolute dingbat. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you?'

So she does. She begins with awkward patting and slowly brings them down to gently encase Anna's body. And she finds that when the awkwardness and the nerves finally die down and the ringing siren in her ears quiets and the pulsing adrenaline dissipates, allowing her rigid muscles to soften just a bit, it feels… nice. It feels really, really nice. The warmth, the pressure, the closeness. She feels so held and so safe and almost a little bit, like, hungry? But hungry in her heart. Like she wants to absorb the softness and the pleasant smell and-

And then there's a funny feeling bubbling in her stomach. 'Okay, there's your hug.' She gets up abruptly, taking her items from the table, leaving the lighter, apple and muesli bar in exchange, 'I'll see you in the morning. Sleep-'

Sleep well. Sleep tight. Sweet dreams.

'Go to sleep.'

In the kitchen, a packet of TimTams sits on the table. Not the Oreos she asked for. TimTams.

Every damn time.