A/N:

Standard disclaimer: I don't own Frozen or any of its characters. Disney owns the rights to these. This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. The only thing that belongs to me are the creepy creatures I've come up with, the general plot, and the futuristic elements populating this world/galaxy.

I'd like to thank Cattleworks for reviewing this. I'd also like to thank Concolor44 for his continued support, even though he wasn't able to review this time. Like all of us, there's a life outside of this realm and sometimes it gets crazy.

Out of the Frying Pan

Anna … Roxanna … The two names twisted, tumbled and turned inside Kristoff's head. How could she forget her own name? Or was the former just an abbreviated version of the latter? He was confused.

She pronounced each distinctly—the first 'a' sounding more like an 'ah' than he would have anticipated. He couldn't exactly qualify the affect as entitled, but it hinted at some kind of privilege. Then again, maybe it was simply regional?

Kristoff absently ground the sole of his foot into the NanoCrete surface, disturbing a thin layer of dust. The incident with the bot's name nagged him. In the end, he shrugged it off to the designers trying to introduce human quirks, much like the pronunciation of her name. The freckles, the absolutely life-like skin, the flattering, yet still natural contours all spoke to a meticulous attention to detail. The hiccup with her memory, if it was that, must have been an engineered nuance. Right?

"Um, hello? Are you guys paying attention?"

Both Oaken and Kristoff looked at each other and then back at Roxanna.

"You are in Arendelle City, Miss Roxanna, on the planet Arendelle-255," answered Oaken, giving the softbot an overly cheerful smile.

"Didn't they set you up at the factory before they sent you off?" inquired Kristoff. He found this fact to be a gross oversight. This, too, nagged him.

Forgetting himself and speaking to nobody in particular, he lapsed into Sven's voice, "Geez, this whole day is turning into one giant Arendellian cluster-fu … "—then caught himself midstream as the softbot's expression soured"—fu-fungle ..." His voice faded sharply as he finished his sentence, and his expression turned sheepish.

The softbot cleared her throat and continued to glare at him disapprovingly.

Kristoff chuckled nervously. "Yeah … that. Um, let's just … um, can we talk about that later?" He pulled at his collar uncomfortably. "But still, that doesn't answer my question about why you didn't get prepped before they shipped you?"

Roxanna began to push herself up and out of the cryo-transport, only to fall back inelegantly. Kristoff's instinctive reaction was to reach in and help her recover. The contact with her skin unexpectedly caused his pulse to surge. Her hand in his felt soft, warm and perfect. This is nice, he thought before an unspoken alarm registered. What am I doing? Embarrassed, he quickly pulled away and awkwardly apologized.

The woman … softbot—it was too easy to forget she wasn't human—looked back at him. Teal eyes locked with his brown, and Kristoff felt an odd connection, but only for a moment. He chastised himself for being so socially out-of-sorts, especially when face to face with an artificial construct.

She scrambled out of the unit, brushed at her clothing and spoke. "Well, of course I was prepped … I was just checking to make sure I was shipped to the right spot." Her eyes darted around the loading bay, taking in the inventory—a pallet of canned beans, a pile of guacca fur, a stack of self-help books ... "Ya never know with that inter-space-stuff shipping, right? I could've landed on some godforsaken,"—she eyed the beans—"backwoods"—then the animal fur—" planet … with a bunch of …"—her eyes quietly settled on the two men—"creepers ... Um, and who exactly are you guys?"

"My name is Oaken. I am the owner of Oaken's Trading Post, the finest establishment to shop or trade in all of Arendelle City. We are having a big seasonal blowout. Lutefisk special today! Would you like some, yes?"

Kristoff rolled his eyes and whispered under his breath, "She's a softbot. They don't eat." At least he didn't think they did. Then he faced Roxanna, hands loosely on his hips, and introduced himself. "I'm Kristoff. Ah, Kristoff Bjorgman. Ice Harvester. And I'm still wondering about my utility robot … unless you're gonna tell me you're the surprise upgrade to the B-9?"

"Christopher, Oakley. Got it."

"It's Kristoff …"

A smiling Oaken, palm facing forward and hand about mid-chest high, wiggled his fingers. "And I am Oaken. Hoo-hoo!"

"Um, yep, Kristoff, and Oaken. Exactly. Totally normal names."

Kristoff sighed. He was too busy trying to untangle what might have happened to his utility robot to bother responding. The red light district was really the only place in Arendelle City where a softbot would be useful. Could his B-9 have landed there? Maybe the shipments got swapped by mistake? And with a softbot of this quality, only the Duke would have been able to afford it. At least that's what he thought. In reality, he had no idea what a softbot would go for, but he was betting he could buy a cargo bay full of B-9s for the same price.

Roxanna, now that she was up and about, continued to examine the bay. She started asking Oaken about his wares. "So, you're saying you keep a lot of wintery stuff in stock 'cause most of the planet's icy cold … Hey, what's up with all the self-help books? Who Moved My Finnbiff? Hmm. Move my krumkake and that'd be a deal breaker ..."

Her youthful enthusiasm surprised Kristoff as she "oohed" and "aahed" at the various items that caught her interest. Were all softbots like this? Kristoff really didn't know, once again reflecting on the fact that he had zero experience with them.

In certain cases, her face was particularly animated as she spoke—"And chocolate … you do have chocolate here—right? Right?" When Oaken shook his head, "no" she pouted and Kristoff couldn't help but stand there half-amused, although he now wondered if his earlier remark regarding softbots eating was accurate.

Oaken latched onto her, no doubt in an attempt to leverage the situation to his advantage and profit at Kristoff's expense. The two began walking out the bay, back toward the store's entrance, with Kristoff tagging along.

A series of queries followed. Oaken was more than happy to respond to all of Roxanna's questions, especially since she was eager to learn all about his store and he was eager to sell. Apparently Oaken forgot he was talking with an artificial construct. It was easy to see why.

As they moved along, Kristoff picked up other small snippets of dialogue. Unsurprisingly and half-amusingly, Oaken kept steering the conversation towards his most expensive wares but Roxanna seemed to have a mind of her own. Kristoff was only partially listening. He was still trying to sort out how he was going to work through his robot situation.

In the back of his mind, he was amazed at the volume of words exchanged between the two.

"What're important things to take with you if you're out alone on the ice fields? … So, that parka over there is rated to like, -90 degrees, wow … Say, how did you say people find their way around without GPS? … " and so on. Roxanna, apparently, was a complete chatterbox.

Kristoff began to pay more attention and grew increasingly puzzled by her line of inquiry.

"And exactly how does that navigation thingy work? Inertial navigation? Periodic running fixes? Celestial triangulation? Kalman filters?"

To his increasing surprise, she deftly maneuvered the conversation, sidestepping Oaken's sales pitches at every turn, and subtly inquired about gear necessary to strike out on her own. What would a softbot need with these things? Something here sure smelled fishy and it wasn't just the lutefisk. Still, he tried to shake it off. Heh. It was likely just another engineered quirk.

His thoughts returned to the mystery of his utility robot. He wondered if he should travel back to the red light district and ask around there? Maybe he should contact the freight company first and have them check their invoice ... What to do, what to do ...

As she walked in front of him, his gaze unconsciously drifted down towards her posterior. It was hard to look away. Her hips subtly swayed with each step—Kristoff had never seen anything quite like it, certainly not here on Arendelle-255, where hardscrabble women tended to walk in plodding strides. Her skin-tight outfit emphasized her shapely form and only fueled the distraction. Wow!

Roxanna stopped abruptly. Looking over her shoulder, she stared straight back at Kristoff with a mild frown. Huh? Had she somehow known where his eyes were glued?

Immediately, Kristoff felt like a kid caught pilfering sweets. A series of panicked thoughts flooded his mind. Did she know? How could she know? She's a softbot—aren't you supposed to look at them? Then why is she looking at me like that? It's not my fault her butt looks so—

The head whipped back in place. "Hmph," he thought he heard. He was probably being paranoid. Whatever the case, it didn't stop those hips from swaying. If anything, the motion became even more pronounced as Roxanna picked up her pace. This time Kristoff forced himself to look away and tried to think of something unpleasant. Lutefisk, lutefisk, lutefisk ...

Meanwhile, Oaken, oblivious to what just transpired, switched tactics and began to regale Roxanna with the products she seemed interested in, scurrying from display to display. The huge man's movements were oddly graceful given his considerable mass. He settled by one table overloaded with small fur caps. Kristoff couldn't identify what animal they came from, except that the fur was thin and dank. Oaken eagerly modeled one. It, of course, looked completely ridiculous on his large head—as if some unfortunate pet had suddenly and tragically expired then and there.

"Oh, yeah, um, that looks really great … on you. I was thinking, I don't know, something a little less furry?" remarked Roxanna. She pointed toward another area with a variety of arcticwear, glanced back at Kristoff with a timid smile, and then walked over to make a selection.

Gathering a pile of goods, she meandered through the store while still engaged in conversation with Oaken, who beamed brightly as Roxanna's pile grew. Occasionally, she glanced at Kristoff, who just stood idly by. Kristoff rubbed the back of his head, wondering what exactly was going on. He started to worry about how this exchange was going to end. It wasn't like he could afford the items Roxanna had accumulated. Was he even responsible for them?

The glances continued. Roxanna would move toward an area, look up at Kristoff and either beeline for the product, or inexplicably veer in a new direction. It was somehow fascinating, the way the softbot operated, and all this while continuously chatting up Oaken.

Carrying a pile of clothing that was surprisingly well suited for the open Arendellian tundra, she plopped them onto Oaken's checkout counter. Perhaps she was prepped at the factory after all? Still, it begged the question, what purpose would a softbot have with arctic gear?

Oaken pulled out a scanning register from behind the counter and waved it over the small mountain of clothing that Roxanna had dropped there. A stylish cap, gloves, various layers of outerwear, insulated boots and more, along with the navigation widget Roxanna had been so keen on, caused the scanner to beep in series as each item was acknowledged. Oaken's eyes shone brightly as he took in the price (plus tax) from the scanner. He turned to Kristoff. "That'll be an extra thirty-three credits on top of the extra shipping charge. It makes a total of seventy-three."

Kristoff's lips began to sputter. "W-wait, what? T-that's not even my stuff!"

"This is your bot, ja?"

"Um …" Kristoff thought quickly. If he denied ownership, he'd be walking out of here empty handed. Who knows how long he'd have to wait for his order to come through? On the other hand, if he accepted, then he'd be stuck with this extra bill and a softbot he had no use for. His stomach lurched. This was going to hurt. "Um, yeah. She belongs to me …" at least until I get my B-9.

Oaken's grin, if possible, seemed to broaden.

From the corner of his eyes, Kristoff noticed Roxanna carefully look him over, lips mildly pulled in. "Well, Mr. Oaken," she began. "I think we can strike a bargain here." Smiling, she leaned into the counter. "So, um, since this is the bestest trading post on the planet …"—her smile seemed so genuine—"and I'm sure you're famous for dealing more than fair and square with your customers …"—Kristoff coughed—"I figure that that cryo-transport back in your loading bay has gotta be worth more than all this stuff here. Way more." She beamed at Oaken angelically. Oaken's brow momentarily furrowed while looking at Kristoff, but as he turned his gaze back to the softbot, he relaxed and, to Kristoff's surprise, nodded in affirmation. Roxanna's smile grew even larger. She added, "Oh! While we're at it, that big blond guy over there"—she pointed directly at Kristoff—"looks like he needs a serious fashion makeover. Add him to the tab."

Kristoff's face fell. "Hey, wait a minute!" His day kept on sinking. "Technically, since you belong to me … at least until this entire cluster fu-"—there was that look again—"fungle gets sorted out …"

"Whoa, serious potty mouth." interrupted Roxanna. She folded her arms.

"I said 'fungle,'" He tried to look steadfast.

"What is a fungle?" asked Oaken, his face twisted in bewilderment as the tips of his fingers drummed against each other.

Kristoff was pulling at his collar again. "Um, it's—"

"Go on," prompted Roxanna, a single eyebrow askew.

"It's a … " He looked desperately back at her; her lips were distinctly set in a smirk. "A-a road … a really twisty … tangly … wooded road … for cows …" Oh, hell.

Oaken nodded.

Roxanna stifled a snort with her hand by pressing it against her lips. She made her way up to him, pulling him down toward her by his collar and whispered in his ear, "You're a really, really bad liar, Christopher." Her arm relaxed and she added, "Okie-dokie, let's see how we can fix this," motioning to his weathered outfit with her free hand. Her expression was filled with mirth, while Kristoff was feeling quite the opposite. Smiling, she then tugged him along by his shirt sleeve to another corner of the store.

"It's Kris—Hey, wait a minute! Where are you dragging me?" Her close proximity unsettled him. "And I wasn't …"

"Shush!"

"Are you sure your developers weren't insane?"

Roxanna glared at him. "I assure you, sir, that my developers were beyond reproach." She lightly pushed him on the back toward a stand filled with extra large clothing. "Now come on."

He wasn't one to allow himself to be led by the nose. On the ice fields, he had a reputation for being rather surly, especially when crossed. Most harvesters knew better than to try to intimidate him or order him around. Yet he found himself yielding without much resistance to this enigmatic softbot in the form of a young woman. Why?

Maybe because he found his whole situation just so upside-down? Or was it that he had never met anyone quite like Roxanna? He had to admit, he never would have figured that a softbot would have so much verve, and personality. She had an endless quantity of expressions, both verbal and non-verbal. The way her eyes would flit from corner to corner, the way her lips would pout, purse, pucker and smile intrigued him. He could go on.

He caught her relaxing her breath when he complied. Somehow, that made him feel better.

Of course, he wasn't influenced at all by her looks. Yes, she happened to be beautiful, gorgeous even. Yes, her—

Kristoff's train of thought stopped dead in its tracks as Roxanna roughly shoved a pile of clothing into his arms. "Pay attention," she added.

"Gloves. I need gloves," he managed to feebly mumble. His comment was shortly followed by a pair of black mittens smacking directly into his face.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry," she apologized, slowly motioning with both hands. Concern was written all over her face, but then vanished in a flash. "Ooh! Wait. What's that?" Her eyes focused on something just over his shoulder.

"Huh? What's what?" Kristoff answered, as Roxanna grabbed his sleeve once more, almost dragging him into a post, "Whoa!" and then pulling him further along until they settled in front of a stack of shirts.

"This! This!" she exclaimed exuberantly, while retrieving a large black shirt made from XephyrTech. Looking very self-satisfied while placing the garment up against his chest, she proclaimed, "Yes, I think this has possibilities!"

"Possibilities?" Kristoff eyed the garment suspiciously, as if it were an ice wraith at a petting zoo. It was a matte black, not quite as black as vantablack, but still very black. The advantage of XephyrTech was that it was an exceptional insulator and hydrophobic, making it the perfect base layer for extreme cold. Unfortunately, it was also very expensive; he never bothered with anything made from it simply due to cost.

He was about to object when Roxanna steered him to a yet another location. Before long, he had accumulated a considerable inventory.

As they approached Oaken's checkout counter, Kristoff fully expected Oaken to reject most, if not all of the additional supplies. Roxanna was right, the cryo-transport was worth a lot more than everything they had presently before them. The storekeeper sat behind the counter wearing his typical grin and playing with his fingers.

Roxanna eagerly launched into the merits of each and every article Kristoff was carrying, while simultaneously motioning him to place the load beside her own on the counter. It was really mind numbing, at least for Kristoff. Oaken just sat there smiling and nodding, not able to get a word in edgewise. Before anyone knew it, Roxanna announced, "Well, I think that's it! Really, it was great shopping here. You're an awesome businessman!" She handed half the goods to Kristoff, grabbing the other half for herself.

"Ah-ah-ah," Oaken interjected before the two could exit. "A softbot is very very much more expensive than a utility robot—ja?" He retrieved a close by eCatalog and began running a search … "Ja, B-9 …" he mumbled. "Ah, advanced softbot … very realistic full personality …" He performed some calculations as he intermittently chuckled to himself. With barely contained glee, he looked back up at Kristoff with a grin that wanted to state "friendly businessman" but, instead, conveyed con-artist. "Oh dear, oh dear, my meticulous computation, including discounted handling fee, shows you owe 720, 535.23 credits." His fingers, free of the eCatalog, danced against each other arrhythmically.

Kristoff's eyes narrowed sharply; his fingers curled into fists. "What do you mean, I owe you more than 720 thousand credits? And handling fees? That's ridiculous!" The word crook lingered heavily on his lips.

"Ridiculous?" echoed Oaken as he began to rise and assert his position by looming over the harvester.

"Guys, um, gentlemen, I mean," interjected Roxanna. She carefully wedged herself between the two. "I was just wondering for a minute here … you know, if I was the "surprise upgrade" to the B-9—let's say the B-52—then Mr. Oaken here wouldn't exactly be justified in the extra charge—would he?"

The bushy red brows, normally raised in accompaniment with his ubiquitous sales grin, sunk and knitted together in puzzlement. "You are not a softbot?" Oaken asked. For once, his hands came to rest on the counter, palms solidly pressed against the surface.

This series of unexpected turns took Kristoff by surprise, too. His mind raced at the possibilities. B-52 … The implication that Roxanna was a utility robot was absurd, but he wasn't about to dispel the notion and let Oaken soak him for thousands of credits, even if he could afford it. To walk out of here empty handed was unacceptable.

At least with the softbot in his possession, he would have some leverage. "I think Roxanna has a point. I never ordered a softbot. I've been expecting a utility robot the whole time. It only makes sense that she's an upgraded utility robot. I bet, if you check, Jupiter II discontinued the B-9 and … um, replaced it with this … this B-52. It's obvious."

Roxanna nodded in accompaniment with Kristoff's statement.

Oaken began to sputter. It made Kristoff want to laugh. "Nei, that can't be!"

"Face it, it makes sense. The only other possibility is that my order was cross-shipped and ended up with someone like the Duke."

Oaken glumly acknowledged Kristoff with a slow nod.

"Well, it's all settled now," added Roxanna. Waving goodbye after both of them placed their items into bags, she escorted Kristoff past the lutefisk display and out the door.

Exiting the shop, Roxanna exhaled loudly as the door behind them slammed shut. Kristoff looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the huge man rushing the door. Instead, Roxanna guided him forward. "Come on, Christopher, we need to get moving." There was a sense of urgency behind her voice.

"Gah! It's Kristoff!"

"Didn't anyone teach you not to raise your voice to a lady?" she chastised.

Kristoff sighed. What a day. Once he had his B-9 in possession he would gladly settle his affairs, and hand over the softbot, or whatever she was, to its real owner. One thing for sure, she wasn't a utility robot. B-52 my ass! He'd sooner figure that Roxanna was an ancient bomber or a music group before he bought into that.

The temperature outside was colder than indoors. First timers typically had a tough time adjusting to Arendelle's climate. Even the thermal glades seemed cold to them. Kristoff noticed Roxanna shivering and his first impulse was to reach out and put his arm around her. He thought better of it soon after his arm was already in motion. It moved past her shoulder, then clumsily boomeranged back toward his head, where he faked an itch.

Roxanna glanced at him, and Kristoff returned that look with what he hoped was a nonchalant smile. Maybe he was wrong, but he thought he heard her mumble something like "weirdo."

As they came up to his snowcat, he stopped and introduced it with a grand flourish. "Roxanna, meet Sven. Sven this is Roxanna." In temperate climates there was no need for him to use a headset to communicate with the snowcat. Outside, on the open tundra and with the wind howling, it was a necessity.

Sven didn't answer and Roxanna gave Kristoff a curious look. "Okay … Hello, Sven?"

"He's shy with strangers. Sven, don't be rude."

Roxanna's expression read "I'm standing here next to an idiot," prompting Kristoff to kick the vehicle's tread at which point, the snowcat finally responded.

"Ouch, I was taking a nap." An overhead sensor whirred into place scanning the two of them. "Whoa, my scanner's picking up one long ass, sorry story. This should be good." The sensor then jogged slightly left and zoomed in to survey Roxanna. "Whoa, now that's a top notch utility robot you got there! Looks like another Oaken inspired cluster fu—"

A small, delicate foot made sudden impact with the snowcat's chassis. "Language!" She turned to Kristoff. "He talks just like you. I can see the apple doesn't fall far from the tree here."

"Feisty," responded Sven.

Kristoff groaned. "Come on, Let's get out of here before I have to deal with that raging crook." He motioned over his shoulder toward Oaken's.

"I thought he was nice," huffed Roxanna as she made her way into the cab.

"You're not the best judge of character, are you?" remarked Kristoff as he hoisted himself into the cab alongside her.

"Excuse me, I'm here with you." A short moment later she gave him the once over, shifted her eyes away from him and shuffled her body so that the gap between them was larger.

This day just keeps on getting better. "Um, Sven text Intergalactic Freight and have them run a trace on a cryo-transport." He gave Sven the tracking ID and turned to Roxanna. "I think a visit with the Duke might be on the menu."

A/N - For those of you who don't know:

The Class B-9-M-3 General Utility Non-Theorizing Environmental Control Robot is the robot from the Lost in Space series (1966-1968)

Who Moved My Cheese is a popular self-help book. Finnbiff is a Norwegian dish prepared with reindeer meat. Alas, poor Sven.

The Fungle Road is an old drove road from Glen Esk to Deeside. It starts in the hamlet of Tarfside.

Vantablack is the trademarked name (owned by Surrey NanoSystems Limited) for a chemical substance made of vertically aligned carbon nanotube arrays and is one of the darkest artificial substances known, absorbing up to 99.965% of radiation in the visible spectrum.