I don't own Frozen. And I think you're gonna like this chapter...

St. John's, the U.S. Virgin Islands

The Caribbean!

Anna finished her third margarita and trotted barefoot along the sands of Scott Beach, one of seven private land holdings at the Caneel Bay Resort on the island of St. John. It was twilight, and a purple-orange sun sank dismally down over the palms toward the west, the north breeze off the water inducing excited shivers. She played footsie with the incoming tide, chasing and retreating, enjoying the peaceful seclusion of resort life in the off-season.

She had jumped at the opportunity when Hans had contacted her. A beach retreat and a seventy-five million dollar payout? Anna didn't care what she had to do for the job, she was there faster than you could say luau. And once she rolled that payday in with her current savings, tied them to her foreign investment prospecting schemes, arranged for her art collection to be transported…

She could take a break from all this. Anna was still young, she could still have a life. She was a thrill-seeker, sure, a bit of an exhibitionist, but that's what community theatre and bad karaoke was for. And with money like that… she wouldn't have to sacrifice adventure and luxury. Just nix the 'illegal' fragment, the life-endangering part, maybe give up the whole certain-death-at-the-hands-of-pissed-off-criminals element. And the most important aspect of early retirement: she could finally make a dent in her Netflix queue.

Anna continued running along the beach, ponytail flapping, cut-off denim overalls and bikini-top halter the most inconspicuous outfit she could assemble as a hip Malibu youth visiting Momsie and Popsie at their seaside chalet. She meandered through palm trees until she reached number twenty-two of the individual cabanas. Unlike other resorts (that kept all of their condos and rooms stacked atop each other in tall buildings like urban ant farms) Caneel Bay sprung for separate, family-sized cabanas. Rented at exorbitant nightly prices, but private, swanky, and unbelievably posh.

She pushed aside the screen door and saw Hans Westerguard, corkscrew in hand, twisting into a bottle of Reisling.

"From the motherland? You shouldn't have," Anna said, throwing herself onto a custom-designed sofa. She was starting to feel the margaritas, but she couldn't pass up Hans' selection. He was a somellier extraordinaire, in addition to an international criminal.

"I don't trust a white that's not grown in the Rhineland," Hans replied, a ship's decanter appearing in his hand.

"Please tell me it's been chilled."

"An eternal debate that you will always lose. I don't chill."

"It's the freakin' Caribbean, Hans."

"Well it's winter in Germany, and they say no chilling."

Two fancy pouring techniques later, and Anna was swirling the long-stemmed bowl of a glass in her left hand, toying absentmindedly at her ponytail with her right.

"So, any insider information you care to share?"

"I'd rather not begin the discussion until everyone arrives. That way we can avoid any redundant questions."

"Always the efficient," Anna said, sipping her wine. "Gotten to parasail yet?"

"I'm postponing the experience until my jet ski rental expires. Yourself?"

"Been sunbathing. Just wanted the opportunity to relax before I went to work. But the damn freckles resurface, no matter how much sunscreen I use. They're a plague."

"At least it's not melanoma."

"What's not melanoma?" A gruff voice called from the entrance way, the heavy tread of two men creaking against the teak floorboards.

"A's freckles," Hans responded, rising to greet the two gentlemen. "Kristoff Tröllen, I presume?" Hans extended a hand to the lumbering blonde. "And this must be Sven?"

The mute nodded, bulging biceps crossed over likewise bulging pectorals.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Hans turned on the charm. "I'm familiar with your work."

"No need for pleasantries, we know you're calling the shots."

Kristoff and Sven pushed passed the man, black, long sleeves and cargo pants clashing against Hans' aqua Polo and matching plaid boardshorts. They sat heavily in two chairs with bright yellow cushions. The wine had a buzzing effect on Anna, so much so that the Norwegian pair reminded her of obese bumblebees.

Sven grunted, looking at Anna's glass.

Kristoff translated.

"You got a beer?"

"White Reisling from the Daulle Farms, '94."

"So… no beer?"

Hans sighed. "I've got some Corona in the fridge."

"Can we get this started? I've got like, two more days to do some prep, and I want to know how much effort it's going to require," Anna whined, rolling her head to the back of the couch. She tilted the glass up to her lips, sweet, fermented grape juice tingling her taste buds.

"We're waiting on our fifth," Hans said.

Sven popped the Corona cap with his teeth, and took a swig.

"No need to wait, I'm here."

Anna turned at the voice, gasping when she recognized the raspy lower register.

The Queen was standing in the corner of the cabana, clutching that black duffel bag like a lifeline. She was in her catsuit again, tight black fabric everywhere. The beanie even made a reappearance. So did the gloves.

Anna was blindsided, displeased, and tipsy (not necessarily in that order).

"How long have you been standing there?" Kristoff asked the Queen.

"Long enough to know you're all borderline alcoholics."

"So I take it you don't want a drink?" Hans asked.

"No."

The Queen looked around the room, eyes shifting, finally settling on the only open seat.

Right next to Anna on the couch.

The blonde stalked to the furthest end and pushed two patterned cushions toward the middle, makeshift barrier securely in place. And, if that wasn't enough, she deposited her duffel bag on the couch, opting instead to balance precariously on the arm of the sofa, legs tucked under her body like a levitating Indian chief.

Hans was busy in the kitchen, gathering up papers to start explaining his plans.

Sven and Kristoff were exchanging grunts, torsos hunched protectively over their Corona bottles.

Which left Anna, staring purposefully at the Ice Queen. And all those jitters, that impressed feeling she had taken with her that night at Deburque's, her fury over the snafu at the minimalist exhibition downtown, that scintillating bubble of mystery— it all returned when the Queen looked her right in the face. Determined.

"Hi."

Anna raised her eyebrows knowingly and took a fortifying drink of wine.

"Hi? Hi, me? I didn't know we were on speaking terms. Unless you're here to tell me how 'dangerous' this is. That you have to 'teach' me something."

"You wouldn't stop staring, and, as I know I have nothing on my face, I thought I was supposed to address you."

"The robot recognizes social cues," Anna smirked. "What emotional program did you hack to figure that one?"

"Must you be so antagonistic?"

"Must you be so easily rattled?"

"You are insufferable."

"There's a string of gentlemen from here to Tokyo that would disagree with you."

"Yes. I'm sure they're intimately familiar with all aspects of your person."

The wine may have been white but Anna saw red.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" she shouted.

"The hell? Calm down, A," Kristoff said, rising.

"Hans, what the fuck do we need her for?" Anna seethed.

The Queen did not smile, instead choosing to quickly lock eyes with each person in the room. She cocked her head at Anna again, gaze scanning her overheated body. Anna could feel those eyes, ice blue and blank, studying her shoulder, the button hook on her overalls, the chipping red paint of her nails, the arch of her foot in her tan thong sandals. Like the blonde was judging the grainy sand stuck between her toes. That look swept back up her arms, and Anna just knew the Queen was scrutinizing her damn freckles.

It felt horribly invasive.

At Deburque's, Anna always knew she had the upper hand. And even at the art exhibition, Anna at least considered that a draw. But then the woman waltzes right into the cabana, unaffected, unconcerned, and destabilizes any notions of superiority Anna might have held with social awkwardness and affirmations of sobriety. It made Anna feel significantly less than. Which in turn made her furious.

"A, what's wrong with you? You got a problem with her?" Kristoff asked, moving toward the now-standing Anna.

"I'm the one who has legitimate concerns," the Queen retorted. "We're all criminals, but I've experienced a personal sleight at the hands of— I don't know, whatever your name is. Sarah? Janene? A, apparently?"

Anna did not like the blonde knowing her initial. It was one step closer to her name. Which was one step closer to her self, something Anna didn't even fully comprehend yet. She felt violated, and pretty drunk.

"Yeah, it's A," Anna fumed. "A for 'about to kick your—"

"Woah there, feistypants," Kristoff said, jerking Anna up by the two denim straps of her overalls. She had to look the fool, hanging there in mid-air, struggling to no avail against the blonde behemoth. She only succeeded in intensifying her wedgie.

Hans slammed a stack of notebooks onto the coffee table, causing even Sven to startle.

"A!" he shouted. "And you," he pointed toward the Queen, who was watching the whole affair with mild disinterest. "I don't know what the fuck's going on, but you two best check yourselves at the door. This job is the biggest you will ever see, and so help me if some bitch fight fucks it up—"

He didn't need to finish. His face was red enough and his fisted hands were shaking.

"Just know that you are replaceable."

The Queen huffed irritably.

Anna felt Kristoff pull her closer to his body. Her sandaled feet returned to the ground, and the warm sensations in her head were subdued in the face of Hans' anger. She'd been on his bad side before. She did not care to revisit.

"Can I talk to you, please? Alone?" the Queen asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Anna rolled her eyes and followed the other woman into the entryway.

"And dammit A, give her some of your clothes!" Hans yelled. "Between her and your mercenary pals in black, the whole island is going to have eyes on us!"

Anna exhaled and followed the Queen onto the front porch. Tiki torches were burning, and the Queen was as pale as ever in the tropical firelight.

"I'm not apologizing," Anna said.

"I never asked you to."

"I got that diamond. It was my job to begin with."

"We can sit here and argue claims to stolen goods, or we can put that aside and attempt to do something useful."

"I don't trust you."

"Nor I, you."

Anna turned and stomped to the porch swing, falling onto the suspended wood and bonking her skull against the linked chains. And the swing began swaying, as swings do, which was not great for Anna's head.

"You said I was easily rattled, but you get excessively flustered for a conwoman."

"It's only around you," Anna spat back. Her head was spinning so much she didn't notice the Queen's quirked brow. "You and your bendy little body, hanging off of buildings and hacking vaults like it's a fucking cakewalk. You're good at it and I give credit where credit is due but…" Anna rubbed her closed eyes with a forefinger and thumb. "… there is something about you that is completely unnerving. And I don't do well in the realm of the unfamiliar."

"Isn't that what improvisation is? Expanding on the unfamiliar, the unknown?"

"Perhaps in reference to content. But not structure. Even improv has rules; any low-level actor could tell you that."

"Well, I'm sorry I make you so uneasy, but there's nothing I can do about it," the Queen said, arms still crossed over her breasts.

"I don't know you well enough to work with you on something this big. I don't trust you not to take all our shares and split," Anna explained. "I know a merger like this requires wireless transactions, I'm not an idiot. And I know that the only reason they'd have the infamous 'Ice Queen' around is to siphon those funds directly into our accounts. But you could just as easily put it all in your own. Tell me I'm wrong."

"I can't."

Anna's voice turned raw: "It's what I would do."

The woman walked closer, hovering over Anna in that invading manner that suggested a failure to comprehend personal space. She bent over, pupils scanning Anna's face. Anna could smell her. It was the opposite of warm and sand. It was charged, cold and somewhat severe, her odor of fresh linen and mint discomfiting in its appeal; Anna once again blamed her hypersensitized nostrils on the alcohol. Her eyes crossed at the Queen's proximity, her focus readjusting as those stupid blue eyes drew nearer. This close, even in the dimness, Anna could see that the Queen's complexion was not as flawless as she once thought; more like moon-bleached, with a swath of faint freckles fanning out over her cheeks, cascading from the peak of her nose.

"You need to be quieter," the blonde said, kneeling on the dimly lit porch. Anna felt the swing hit the woman's shoulder. Some exotic bird squawked and palm leaves rustled. Anna couldn't stop staring at her.

"Why did you get drunk the night we were supposed to run over the plan?"

Anna couldn't answer. She frowned at her freckled knees, outward blemishes a manifestation of all her inner failings. She was covered in them.

Shit. A lightweight and a philosophic drunk.

"I only ask because you seemed to be drinking with intent. You were at the bar on Scott Beach for two hours before you came here."

"How did you know that?" Anna asked.

"I saw you."

"I didn't see you."

"Probably because you had your head in a salt-rimmed glass."

"How old are you?" the question was tumbling over her lips before she could stop it. Anna didn't know where it came from, but it seemed necessary to know. She conceded that she was inexplicably drawn to the woman, but even in her drunken state, Anna didn't trust her as far as she could throw her.

But I want to.

The Queen had put the painting back. She could have walked off, and sold the thing on the black market. Walked off, just to spite her. Why did she do that? What was in it for her? Almost like… extending an olive branch. Anna had not wanted to trust someone in a really long time. Which is why the terror of that want revealed itself in the form of deeply personal questions: How old are you? What's your name? Do you really hate me so much?

"I… I don't know," the Queen answered.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Anna asked.

"Just that. I'm not sure how old I am," the Queen said.

"Why?"

"Pieces of my memory are missing. I don't wish to go into detail."

"I'm eighteen," Anna said, eyes still on her knees. "I'm eighteen, and I've done more despicable things than you would care to know. I'm eighteen, and two of my only acquaintances are assassins. I'm eighteen, and I'm about to infiltrate one of the largest corporations in the world, and attempt to steal over three-hundred and fifty million dollars."

Anna looked to her right, and saw the blonde staring at the edge of the sofa cushion. When the Queen felt Anna's eyes on her, she returned the look, face softening for the first time since Anna had interacted with her.

She looked incredibly human.

"You're afraid," she said.

"Yes."

"You're eighteen, and you're afraid."

Anna nodded.

"I— I— why are you telling me this?" the Queen asked.

Anna shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe I'm just lulling you into a false sense of security. Maybe I'm manipulating you, like the conniving little bitch I—"

"No. Stop."

The swing creaked. The bird squawked again. And this time, Anna could hear the woman breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

Mint.

"I believe you have deeply-seated personal issues. I confess I have the same. You do not trust easily. I can appreciate that. But you're… that is, I… you…" The blonde pulled her beanie off, raking her fingers through her bangs. "Humidity."

"I'll get you some of my clothes."

"I notice you," she blurted.

"What?" Anna asked.

"From before, what I was trying to say, is that I notice you. You are a noticeable person, and that is not a bad thing. You've used that quality to your advantage, and I commend you for it. You stand out. What I'm trying to say, in some circuitous, inarticulate manner, is that you are good at what you do. I am good at what I do. I know of Hans, and his reputation. And I can only imagine what those two Norwegians can get up to."

"Your point?"

"My point being, we are the best at what we do. If anyone could pull this off and get out unscathed, it would be us."

"Us?"

"The collective, yes. It may not be coming across very well, but this is my attempt at comfort."

"Thank you, but I still don't trust you."

"Then trust yourself," the blonde answered. "Hans needed all of us. You are integral to this job, which means I will be somewhat indebted to you. And vice versa. I told you I prefer to work alone, to avoid this obligatory reciprocity, but this job could… well, you won't have to worry about us crossing paths again. Jewels and art and money aside. I'd be out."

An incomplete silence followed, punctured by waves and nocturnal animal life. The chains on the swing squeaked persistently, every creak bearing down on Anna's shoulders like a brick load. The speech had died, for the time being, a paused moment in a comrade's presence. Until Anna got up the courage to extend her own olive branch.

"I want to quit, too," she confessed.

"Really? You seem to live for this," the blonde said.

"For some reason, in all the best movies, there's always an element of danger in the adventure. And I like adventure! Love it. Indiana Jones, Harry Potter, the Princess Bride. There's always something at stake. But I can still live with thrills and excitement without the looming threat of disaster over my head. After this job, I want to get out. Settle, somewhere."

"You could go to college," the Queen said.

"Or I could finally watch the rest of those Veronica Mars episodes."

"Or you could do that. It doesn't matter what, just… not this."

Anna nodded, gnawing at the interior of her jaw.

"We could've been friends, in another life," she whispered.

It had to be the alcohol talking. That's the only reason she would say something so stupid, so revealing, so—

"Why can't we be friends in this life?" the Queen asked.

Well, that was unexpected.

"I know you're not up on the whole 'interaction' thing, but you sort of have to trust your friends," Anna said.

"And we have established that you don't trust me."

"You don't trust me, either."

At the beginning of the conversation, the statements had been caustic, accusatory. Now, the women just seemed sad that they were true.

"Perhaps I could… work on that," the blonde continued, extending a gloved hand.

It shook, barely, and Anna looked at it skeptically.

"I'd like for the last hand I shake before incarceration to be a friendly one," the blonde quoted.

And Anna was done for. She was going to cry, if she wasn't careful, because hearing those words out of the blonde's mouth, the same words she had said at their first meeting, it meant something. It meant she was worth listening to. Not a character, not an alias, just her. Just Anna. And talking with the Queen tonight, revealing more of herself to the blonde than she had in as long as she could remember…

Rule one of the grift: never offer the mark the thing he wants. Offer him the chance to get it. Because the chance, the whet appetite, is more tantalizing than the thing itself.

And this woman was offering her the chance to get the thing she wanted most in this life, the thing Anna had been striving to secure for years:

Friendship. Stability. Trust.

Anna took the gloved hand in hers and shook it.

"Hi," the blonde said. "I'm Jane."

"A."

"Nice to meet you, A. Do you think you're ready to go inside and listen to Hans?"

"Yeah, but you better take good notes. I'm going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow."

A/N: You guys, I freakin' love all of you. Followers, I can't thank you enough! It might have taken a turn for the heavy in there, but I think this one ended on a bright note. Would love to hear your thoughts on the matter. Like, 'hey, that was good, but let's get to the meat of the issue'. Or, 'what the heck was with that bulky prose at the start', or even, 'Kristoff giving Anna an inadvertent wedgie is the stuff dreams are made of'. (Not that I'm speaking from experience). Or maybe I am. That image in my head of Anna suspended by her overalls and running midair is so. freakin'. caaaayoooooot.

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