I don't own Frozen.

"Your entire mouth is covered in glucose residue," Jane said.

"Speak for yourself, Blue Man Group. You look like a lizard in a blizzard."

Jane flipped down the visor in the passenger's seat of the rental. The windows were down and A had the radio blaring some tropical ditty that featured a prominent steel drum section, a Mr. Robert Marley if she recalled A's song identification. The girl kept singing along, even with hair strings blowing into her mouth. Jane had experienced that before, threadlike strings of dead protein smearing drool on her face as she climbed the Tower of London.

But A sung around it, or in spite of it, carefree. Seemingly liberated.

As promised, the copper-headed girl had stopped for snow cones, and now the pair's faces were stained with blue and red dyes numbers twelve and fourteen. Jane had even removed her left glove to avoid damaging the inner digital workings of the fabric; the melting juice had dribbled down Jane's forearm, colored, sugary tears racing toward an elbow.

They had been walking down a shaded sidewalk, but when A noticed the dripping action, she had nudged Jane's arm skyward and begun cheering for 'Little Bluey', because, 'come on Jane, he's smaller than the other drop!', yelling like a madwoman when the drops crossed the inner crease of her elbow. There was much pomp and circumstance over Little Bluey's achievement, mainly coming from A. There was also much goosebump prickling and gut sinking, mainly coming from Jane. The blonde thought it directly correlated with the moment A had taken a paper napkin and wiped the race track of periwinkle liquid sugar up from her inner elbow to her palm, and had then tucked the flimsy paper shield between Jane's fore and middle fingers. Once clean, Jane had let lose a laugh at the ridiculousness of the affair, earning her a smile from A in response. The rest of the walk was spent between soggy paper napkins, sticky snow cone syrup, and conversations that had nothing to do with illegal activity.

She had not let loose one rogue spark, sans left glove.

Jane's eyes left her memory and returned to the visor mirror in the car. Her tongue prodded at the back of her own lips, its tip sneaking forward like a groundhog tentatively surfacing in February. Upon seeing its tinted head, Jane unfurled the rest of her tongue down her faded blue chin, studying the stains and dyed dots that were her taste buds.

"Your tongue is longer than Gene Simmons's."

"Thank you?" Jane said, retracting the pink-turned-blue flesh.

"Thank KISS."

"Who?"

"No, not The Who. KISS."

"Kiss?"

"Yes."

"Um, okay." And so she did as A instructed, and leaned over the console. It was difficult, mainly because her seatbelt was still strapping her down, but also because she had no clue as to why the length of her tongue necessitated a kiss. Unless it was an involved kiss, but she did not feel comfortable performing that act just yet. And Jane did see a lot of people kiss during her jobs: a brush of puckered flesh to cheeks in greeting, lips pressed against a temple in comfort. She didn't interact, but she did observe, so it wasn't a completely foreign concept.

And she had kissed before. Kissed, been kissed, given, received. But she didn't like to think about that now. Or ever. It was not pertinent, and it still smarted despite her repression.

Besides, A had said that she would 'coach' Jane on more casual interactions, starting with the clothes, basic touches, the ability to communicate without sounding 'like a robot or some chick from the 1800s with too much sass'.

So maybe a kiss was just the next lesson on that list?

Jane pressed her lips to A's cheek, just in front of the zygomatic process. Warm and supple, smooth and a little salty from evaporated perspiration. Even tangy, A's natural moisture mixing with her strawberry snow cone drippings. But the girl started, yanking the wheel and veering into a lane with oncoming traffic.

"Shit!" A said, and jerked the car back this side of the yellow line. Her face was redder than her hair, Jane noticed.

"What was that?!" A near-screamed.

"Was that not correct?" Jane asked. She had felt rather satisfied with mastering such an intimate social task so soon in their budding friendship. "I can try again, but maybe we should wait until you've stopped the vehicle."

"I—you—what?!" A sputtered, eyes bobbing from Jane to the roadway like pinballs on speed.

"Kiss? You said kiss. Is that not what you intended?"

A gurgled, chin bobbing fishlike.

"You know, on second thought, perhaps I acted too quickly," Jane said. "Kissing with our mouths so sticky seems highly unsanitary. There's dry juice all over the both of us. Look, it's all over your chin! And it would most surely be transferred in the act. I'm no misophobe, but with my saliva all over you, and your sweat on my face? Did you know that the lips are one hundred times more sensitive than average touch receptors—"

"Ohmygod stop talking. It's hotter than hell in here, is the air on?" A asked, mashing the snowflake button on the console and waving a hand to her face.

"I still don't understand what I did wrong," Jane said.

"KISS is a band!" A said.

"No need to shout. I merely thought kissing and tongues went together, though what connection they have to bands, I'm afraid I'm unaware."

"You've got to stop talking about your tongue. And," A coughed, rubbing ferociously at her chin all of a sudden. "A-a-and kissing. And juice… on chins. Please. Cease and desist."

"You brought it up," Jane said, now a little miffed.

She tells me to kiss her and I'm the one who did something wrong?

"Not like… I didn't… seriously, I'm not talking about tv, or movies, or bands, or anything around you anymore. It's too dangerous."

"Alright, I apologize."

"No, I—" A licked her lips, then brought the back of her hand to wipe away more red juice from a trail on her cheek. There was a bit of blue there, just above a dimple, from Jane's kiss. Jane didn't know why, but she liked it there. The colors suited each other.

"You don't need to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. You just surprised me."

"You'd think you'd know how to handle surprises by now," Jane said.

"Oh, my aliases can handle surprises," A said, turning into the resort drive. "I just get into this mode when I'm on a job. I'm unshakeable. But when it's just me, no aliases, no marks, I'm like… I don't even know the word," A trailed off, eyes on the road. "Consider it a compliment that you disorient me so. It's not typical."

"It takes a social inept to addle a social adept. Interesting."

"You're not inept."

"Please review the last two minute interaction and think your statement over. It may give you pause."

"Well, alright, not everyone knows who KISS is. It's a generational thing. And a taste thing. And a reality television show thing, if you really want to get into it."

"This is me, not getting into it," Jane said, unbuckling her seat belt. She got out of the car and started walking across the resort parking lot. It wasn't until she heard A yelling after her that she realized she'd exited the vehicle before the other girl had pulled into a spot.

She usually leaped from subway cars in tighter spaces, bricks inches from her cheeks. She hopped onto the backs of buses. And trucks, and trains, and ferries, and cabs. She hadn't considered this abnormal behavior.

I'm going to have to get better at this.

"Right, yes, sorry," Jane said, rushing back to the now-parked car.

A jack-in-the-boxed from the side door, trotting around to Jane's side.

"Do you always leap out of speeding vehicles?!"

"You were in a parking lot driving less than ten miles an hour."

"But still! What if you had gotten hurt?" A asked.

"Of all the things you know about me, you worry when I get out of a barely moving car?"

"I just think you should be more careful."

Jane quirked her head to the side. She wasn't even cognizant of the action anymore. When Jane thought about things, social interactions, emotions, she cocked her head. When it was her numbers, her analyses, she closed her eyes and let the information fall behind her lids. Drowning in math, drenched in code, and draped with electricity. She'd never be a conwoman, or a poker player for that matter. Her tells were too obvious, too blatant. And she noticed, the more she'd been in contact with A, the more she'd spoken with the girl, the more her head quirked to the side. The less she saw of numbers, the more she started in with those insufferable feelings.

Feelings that were completely agreeable, positive, and welcome.

Her sparks had subsided.

That's new.

"Encouraging care-taking implies that you… fear for someone's well being, right?" Jane asked.

"Of course!"

"So, you fear for my well being?"

"You make it sound so uncertain. Yeah, I care for your well being, if it means you're not jumping out of moving cars!"

"That's… nice."

"Huh?"

"I don't think anyone's ever cared about me before."

"Oh."

"Hm."

Jane turned around and began walking toward the palm tree line, jungle heat bearing down on her skin. Heavy, moist, thick. Though that could have been the air from her and A's conversation. She didn't linger over it, but the atmosphere was congested enough for their words to simply sit there between them, mocking, reminding, confronting.

She pressed a thumb to the exposed skin on her upper arm. Jane released the pressure and observed as white brightened to fierce pink. The blonde could not feel the sunburn, not yet, but her limbs would be tight later. Her range of mobility would not be limited, but it would be painful and stingy all the same.

Perhaps today was a bad idea.

"I have some aloe lotion, if you need it," A said.

Jane didn't know when A had fallen into step beside her. They had reached the tree line on their right, lackadaisical sand knolls tumbling down to the water's edge on their left. Three children were digging a moat for an elaborate sandcastle that high tide would destroy. Jane pondered the futility of construction, and wondered why people put as much effort into buildings. They were such fragile, breakable things, in the face of something as powerful and unpredictable as nature. Or in the face of something as fickle as humankind. Constructions, though charming, were impotent in their fallibility.

Like relationships.

Unlike diamond. Diamond was stone, forged by time and pressure. Solitary. There was a reason it was the most coveted jewel. Because it was the best: flawless, sharp, unimpaired. It was above every other gem.

But it was quite lonely at the top.

"Wanna go for a dip?" A asked, inclining her head to the water.

If it were possible, Jane went stiffer. Yellow sparked from her fingertip, but A's concentration was on the water.

Thank God.

"No," she said. "No, thank you."

Better. That was polite.

"You can't swim?"

"I don't swim. Doesn't mean I can't."

"Why?"

"It's dangerous."

"No it's not. Just float around in the shallows. It'll make your skin feel better. And they haven't released a Jaws sequel in years, though Sharknado-"

"I didn't say it was dangerous for me," Jane spat. She could feel her hands tingling despite the gloves, electricity so eager for expulsion she rolled her neck and crossed her arms to get a better handle on the prickling.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," Jane continued. "It has to do with my… condition." She brought her hands up and wiggled her fingers in A's face, gloves keeping a lid on any capricious discharges. "I would very much enjoy swimming. It would cap a…"

What would it cap? The most fun you've had in a decade? The most splendid afternoon? The first time in forever you've simply… lived?

"It would've been the cherry on top of a surprisingly cordial interaction. I must confess, I did not expect that from you," Jane finished.

Wind blew off the ocean and hit Jane in the face, loose sand stinging the ridges of her cheekbones. She lifted a hand to her nose, poking the inflamed skin. She wondered if this were part of some master plan, Hans and A trying to incapacitate her, using nature as weapon. To make her movements less fluid, due to some nasty sunburn. That would explain the shopping trip, getting her out of her regular clothes. A's breakdown on the swing, a gambit for her trust, a gimmick for manipulation. A had confessed as much. But the confession seemed heartfelt, something more self-spiting than duplicitous. Was that not another tactic, another means of disabling Jane, melting the 'Ice Queen'? So thoroughly disorienting her that she had leaned in and kissed her, having only spoken to her on a handful of previous occasions?

Her fingers sizzled and the air pumped with electricity.

A touched a hand to a palm trunk and got shocked.

"Damn static, did it again," A said, shaking out her hand. Like she was trying to rid herself of some icky substance coating her fingers. After the reaction in the car, Jane wondered if that's what A would have done if she had kissed her knuckle instead. Jane likewise wondered why the thought of kissing A's knuckle was not displeasing.

"Fuck, right down to the toes!" A wriggled about. "That's like, the fifth time today, I swear."

"Seventh." Jane had been keeping track, and she hated that she had been responsible for each and every jolt. They were not comfortable, Jane had been told. Though she didn't know herself. A bizarre immunity from her own condition.

"Don't I get a computer lesson?" A reengaged.

"Why are you doing this?" Jane finally asked. It hadn't been a problem until just now, until everything shifted into something near tangible, almost definite. But it wasn't quite there yet… like, a mirage of a solid. A reflection of a friendship, once-removed and more possible than probable. Jane hated the almost more than anything, because it was so incomplete. She'd rather none than some, especially if she couldn't have all of it. There was security in completeness, whether it be completely full or completely empty.

"Doing what?"

"Being… nice," Jane said.

"I… don't know?" A answered. "It's just, how I am?"

"Is it really? How you are?" Her back was against a scratchy palm tree, glove-clad hands propping up the base of her spine, one foot hitched against the trunk in an apathetic lean. She feigned indifference even in her posture, but her shifting eyes were probably giving her away. Jane knew she cared too much for A's next answer.

"Yes. I mean, it's not like I'm… oh," A said, her own eyes falling to a few stray palm fronds.

It was high afternoon now, the sun unforgiving in its direct angle. Jane thought the sun suited A. They were both big and round, not in a physical way, but round in their mannerisms, bringing everything together, continuity and smoothness and illumination. Jane was more moon than sun; stilted, half-complete some nights, barely a sliver on others, sometimes not even present. You could see the blemishes on the moon, slice space apart with its khopesh-like crescent. There were no blemishes on the sun, not from this far away. There was only brightness; so much it could blind you. Incapacitate you. And that was why Jane feared the sun, in some distant, illogical way.

Perhaps that's why she feared A as well. Because she wanted nothing more than exposure, even if she suffered burns.

"You think I'm running a play on you, don't you?" A asked.

"Yes."

No beating around any bushes here, Sarah, Janene, Miss Desmond, A—

"I'm not."

"We're back to trust again."

"I fear it'll be recurring," A said.

"Until something breaks. Today felt very…"

"Fantastic. But a little… removed."

"Fantastic, and far away. Shopping and socializing. That's not what we're here for."

"When was the last time you went shopping and goofed off?" A challenged.

"I know, I know, you shop and goof off all the time," Jane said spitefully.

"You'd be surprised," A whispered. "For what it's worth, I wasn't messing with you. Today was me."

"A."

"Yes."

"A for what? Anonymous? That's about as defining as Jane Doe."

"I know what A stands for. No one else does. I don't know much more than that, but at least I have my name."

"That must be nice," Jane said.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I'm sorry you don't have a name," A said.

"Don't you dare pity me. How do you know I'm not keeping it to myself like you do?"

"I can just tell," A said. "And, if I'm right, which I usually am, it means we probably have even more in common than we think. And if that's the case… I really am very sorry."

"I don't know what to say to that."

"You told me to be careful. In New York, at the SUNY showcase."

"Yes, and…?" Jane asked.

"You said that telling people to be careful means you fear for someone's well being. And, well, like you said…"

Jane's eyes swept her form, a length of tanned leg in stirrupy sandal, well-fit shorts and slip of bare navel, like a smiling orange peel, loose cropped shirt and wild arms all topped off by the most open and honest face Jane had seen in her life.

Like staring directly at the sun.

"It's nice feeling worried over," A confessed. "Cared for, even… sort of in abstract. By a stranger."

Jane didn't respond. She didn't feel she could.

"But you're not really a stranger anymore," A said. "We're… kindred spirits. Maybe a little hostile, frenemies of sorts. Until something breaks."

"I only hope it's not our limbs," Jane said.

"Yeah," A agreed, head bobbing in a chuckle. Her body gravitated toward the sunlight, heliotropic flower seeking its sustenance. "I'll be sure to get you that aloe," she said, not looking at Jane. The blonde was glad for the reprieve. "You'll definitely need it."

Jane pushed off from the tree and turned into the forest, this time waiting for A to join her before continuing.

"I need to introduce you to Olaf."

A/N: Usual love and thanks to all reviewers and followers! So happy yall are enjoying this story. What did you think of this little foray into Jane Doe's psyche? You can let me know! You have the power! Also, I received a handful of PMs asking about eventual frickfrack and whether it will happen. Let me direct your attention to the modifier 'eventual'. ;)