I don't own Frozen.
It was midday and Jane was tired. She was by necessity nocturnal, but this job would require her full faculties during daylight as well as evening hours. She still had another day to get her system regulated. But that day would be used to prep her devices, rig up her cloning software and viruses, input all of the diversionary traces and securely link Seven Seas Trading wiring route numbers with the team's personal accounts. Then they'd start the con and pray all ran smoothly over the course of the company's retreat-come-hostile-acquisition. Hans had said it could be done in two days. They just needed the account numbers, which were stored in the only vault Jane had never been able to crack:
The mind.
The mind of one Ursula Carrol, the Seven Seas Trading CEO.
Which is where A came in. The bulk of the con rested purely on A's performance, on her ability to extract those numbers from the mind palace of a corrupt business woman. Jane tried not to think about how the girl had passed out in a puddle of drool while Hans ran over the company's financials last night at the initial meeting.
But all of that was for tomorrow. And the next day. Jane was sort of looking forward to that venture, in light of what today's mandated agenda entailed.
Shopping.
The blonde walked up to A's cabana door and jimmied the lock, disabling the electronic swipe with a wave of her hand. She walked in, eyes roaming the interior of the place, sensory perception heightened just a bit, extending, calculating… making sure there were no electronic bugs. Got to give it up to the Caneel Resorts. They valued their customers' privacy.
She crossed to the egg-shell curtains, soft linen over a floor-length sliding door. She pulled them back, opening onto a private beachfront. It was beautiful and blinding in the sunlight.
The girl was not afraid of expense.
Jane heard footsteps and turned, A padding into the kitchen with half a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. The girl's hair was mussed and poofy, her eyes a bit duller than the previous night but less glazed. Jane watched her take a glass from a wicker cabinet, fill it with water, swish and spit into the sink. The girl rummaged around in a bag on the counter and popped two pills, chugging the rest of her water, until she locked eyes with Jane and spewed the mouthful over the entire kitchen.
"Holy shit!" A gargled, coughing and spurting like a land-beached fish.
Jane tilted her head, and felt the edges of her lips sneak upward.
Was this what smiling felt like?
"How long have you been standing there? And why do you do that?!" A asked.
"Not long. And do what?"
"Just… appear!" A waved her hand around in Jane's general direction. "With no introduction, or knock, or any alert as to your presence."
"I'm used to going unnoticed," Jane said. And she was. Why alert anyone to her presence if they weren't going to address her anyway? She'd perfected the art of self-camouflage.
"Well, from now on, if you ever want to talk to me, you can at least knock. I mean you're welcome to come right in. But 'knock knock knock, A, I'm here!' That's common courtesy."
"If we were planning on meeting anyway, what's the point? You said eleven didn't you?"
"There's eleven, and then there's eleven-ish," A explained, snagging her toothbrush from the side of the sink.
She moved from behind the counter to address the blonde without the barrier between them. It was only then that Jane realized the girl was not wearing pants under her t-shirt.
"Is that all you have, really?" A asked, pointing to Jane's ensemble.
She wore a pair of faded jeans and a grey, v-neck fitted shirt. Plain sneakers. Her black aviators held her bangs back out of her face.
"You're not wearing pants," Jane responded. "I'm fairly sure I'd win if we were put in a competition as to acceptable daywear."
"Daywear is the key. I just sleep in this shirt."
"Oh."
That should have been obvious to Jane. But then again, she slept in the nude, so what did she know?
"Well, pants would speed this whole affair up exponentially."
"So I'm not modest. Bits of the con life bleed into my personal character, no matter how hard I try," A answered, hands on hips. The hem of the shirt inched higher and Jane's gaze followed. A noticed, and her arms fell.
"I'm not one to harp on propriety," Jane conceded. "I have little regard or knowledge of what constitutes the personal sphere—"
A pulled her arm up and gestured to Jane, shaking the flat of her hand in an alien gesture. It made Jane twitch.
"So you know you're a bit off?"
"Yes. I recognize it."
"But you don't change it?" A asked.
"Because I don't see any reason to. If I had to communicate more, then maybe I would. I'm just an expert at social avoidance, so I never saw need to perfect the trite rituals that constitute superficial interactions."
"Ohmigod!" A squealed, bounding up and down. She clapped her hands together and the lost light returned to her eyes. Jane liked the light, but it frightened her all the same.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm going to Eliza Doolittle you!" A chirped.
"I beg your pardon!?"
"Oh, come on! You can call me Henry, I'll teach you fun accents, you'll get me my slippers-"
"You're not wearing slippers!"
"Beside the point. We're basically Pretty Woman-ing you already today. Does that make Hans Richard Gere? It certainly doesn't make you a prostitute—"
"Okay," Jane said, clutching her arms over her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about, nor do I want to, but I think we should get this day started so it can be over with sooner."
"Oh, seriously Jane. Shopping is fun."
Jane didn't see the point in disagreeing with her. She was certain it was a verbal battle she would lose. "I'll just be out here," she gestured to the private deck leading down to the beach. "When you're ready we can go do whatever it is we're going to do."
"Alright. Give me ten minutes."
Five minutes later, Jane felt something soft hit the back of her head. And then something significantly more solid, which hurt.
"Ow!"
"Sorry. Sunscreen. You're gonna need it."
"I—"
"I'm not walking out of here with you dressed and ready for fall in the States. We're on a beach. Now put that sunscreen all over, especially your face and shoulders. Or you'll end up looking like me," A said, poking at her freckled arms.
"I have some. They're not so bad."
"Yeah, but on you they're a highlighting feature. On me, they're like this giant mass slowly consuming my body. A pigment monster of harrowing proportions."
"I… uhm. Freckles aren't catching. Nothing so debilitating as, say, necrotizing fasciitis. They're a hereditary trait, usually signified by a parent with the X—"
"I don't care!" A singsonged. "Now go change."
Jane stood up and wandered down the hall of A's cabana to the washroom. She had given thought to changing where she stood, but something stopped her. It might have been decorum. Yes! She recognized it this time. Plus, that was a lot of bare leg for one kitchen to see in less than half an hour. It seemed unsanitary.
She stripped and eyed the outfit: blue denim shorts shorter than she had ever seen and a baggy tank top with a graphic print of what was probably a band logo. The shirt was fine, but the jeans…
"A?"
"Whassamatter?"
"I can't… quite… my proportions are significantly different than yours."
"Huh?"
A barged into the bathroom with a mascara wand at her eye, then broke out into a wide smile. Jane had been struggling with the fly and button, the fabric refusing to come together over her hips.
"Wow! Who would've known under all that black the Ice Queen had a booty?"
"I'll thank you not to mention my 'booty'."
"We're going clothes shopping. We're gonna have to talk about your butt. Or," Anna stuck her nose in the air, saying with a snooty accent, "posterior, if you prefer."
"I do prefer. But why?"
"Do you know your measurements?"
"Uhm…"
"Thought so. Here, I think I've got something else."
A returned seconds later with a blue skirt. Similar to the previous article, but the zip was at the side. Jane traded the shorts for the skirt, feeling unnaturally comfortable pantsless and alone with the girl she'd come to know as 'A'. Their little tête-à-tête last night on the swing at Hans' cabana had been illuminating in the informational sense, and had kept her up thinking the majority of the night. A wasn't an easily solved equation; too many factors in play, too many unknowns for the time being. But Jane had never met an equation she couldn't figure, and the combative charges of their conversations brought out her own stubborn streak.
A was just another safe. One she couldn't wait to crack.
Jane pulled the skirt over her hips and let the waistband rest there. When she zipped it up, the skirt crawled north toward her waist, the panel smooth along her abdomen and flaring when it hit the hips, elongating her legs but still covering what needed covered. It was still a little short. You could hardly see the hem underneath the over sized tank.
"A?"
"Yep?" she was back at the doorway, still smiling.
"Is this… right?"
"Almost, here. Unzip it a little." A charged toward Jane, extending her hands.
Jane retreated.
"What? C'mere and let me fix it."
"You don't need to touch me."
"Do you have some transferable flesh-eating bacteria?"
Jane eyed her skeptically.
"I know what necrotizing fasciitis is, know-it-all," A said.
"No, I don't have a flesh-eating bacterium."
"Then stop whining and get over here!"
"But I—"
"Get!"
Jane walked over to A, who then proceeded to stuff the tank top into the waistband of the skirt. Which meant she had her hands underneath Jane's skirt. Which means her fingers brushed her navel.
Jane yelped.
"Oooookay, I understand," Jane said, disentangling herself from the limb-lock. She finished tucking the piece into the skirt, sliding the zipper back into place.
"Alright, now juuze it a little," A instructed.
"I really think you just make up words."
"Give it a little juuze! A little oomf! Like this," A advanced, and Jane retreated again. "I'm not gonna put my hand down your skirt. God, so jumpy."
A tugged gently at the tank top, which ballooned just the slightest, high on her waist. The skirt fell out like a bell, the lines and cinches of the ensemble the perfect complement to an hourglass shape.
"Now you look like a lady ready for some fun in the sun!" A said. "Did you put the sun screen on?"
"Not yet, just a moment, please."
"And you thought I would take forever."
A hurried out of the room.
Jane looked down at the bottle. An SPF smelling like some god-awful concentration of faux coconut and banana, with a slew of chemicals that promised softer skin but probably damaged the melanin in the process. She sighed and removed her gloves, pouring a dollop into her palm. She rubbed it all over, the white lotion only a shade or two paler than she. Jane wondered what the sun would do to her skin. She'd not been out this much during harsh daylight hours since she'd been back on the Arabian Peninsula, when she'd spent that summer with—
No. Not now. That's done. I said I would never go back. And I'm not.
Rolling her gloves back over her alabaster fingers, she couldn't stop herself from looking in the mirror. She had her arms pulled tight across her chest, but released them, cocking her head in study. She stepped back further, wanting to get the full view. And she sort of… liked it. Jane hadn't worn a skirt in ages, and it was nice not having the material constricting her calves.
Calves that are pretty damn svelte, by the way.
She stuck her head out into the hall to make sure the coast was clear, and then, for some reason she could not fathom, twirled. The skirt flew out and she gasped, covering her hands over her face. She did a one-eighty, smoothing the skirt down over her backside and… juuzing the tank top back into place.
She was smiling. Big. Beaming. Shining. And she thought she was about to cry.
Jane had all but given up her femininity in lieu of practicality long ago. Had traded in touches for the type of security she thought she needed in confinement. But now, in the span of half a day, she had touched another person, willingly, and hadn't shocked her. It was just a handshake, gloved, but it was a big step. And then A had barreled in just now, caught her off-guard enough to sneak a tap at her abdomen, which felt so treasured and so missed.
And she was back in a skirt! A casual one, but a skirt no less. It made her feel good. It made her feel girly. Before she could stop herself, she yanked her ponytail from its hold. Her hair fell, like fog pouring over a ledge, long layers of platinum discovering their place on untouched shoulders. She raked her fingers through it and smiled again. She didn't even care if she had to go shopping. Just as long as she could feel like a woman again, not a criminal.
If only for a day.
A/N: You guys, the reviews and feedback for this piece have been so sincere! I don't have a tumblr or anything to self-promote, so I never even expected it to get this much attention, which is why I have to thank you at the end of every chapter for being so awesome :D And I knew the concept was suuuuuuper AU to begin with, which is not everyone's cup of hot chocolate. Hot Chocolate! See what I did... nevermind. My point being, I don't plan on abandoning this story, now that the trajectory/outline is somewhat solidified in my head. Now I'm just nervous that I'll measure up to your expectations!
But if you wanted to review, that's totally within your rights. And, I mean, I'd really like it, and so would Jane and A. So don't do it for me. Do it for two criminal orphans with deeply seated trust issues...
Happy St. Patrick's Day, sláinte!