I don't own Frozen.
They were nearing the end of their third week in Natchitoches, and for Jane, it had been… enlightening. There was the initial discomfort, what with being somewhat mangled and bedridden. After day three of movies and couch-sitting (though the movies were endearing, she conceded), she needed to at least get out and walk down to the lakeside. A had the privilege of making errand runs, cleaning the house, replacing sheets and curtains and towels and manning the snow cone ice crusher whenever Jane requested more to fight her swelling. Even mothering Jane, A still found ways to keep herself occupied, a talent Jane couldn't seem to mimic no matter how hard she tried.
Just a bit of fresh air.
So she had emerged from the house on day four, and walked the perimeter just to get the feel of the place. When she had her full range of motion back, she'd be able to hop that little gap from the balcony to the windowsill sans harness and climb on the roof. Maybe she could drag A up there, too, with a little prodding. Might be lovely for stargazing, an activity the ambient light in New York and Chicago limited.
Jane sometimes missed the country life. The swing on the screened-in porch was her favorite. She tapped on her tablet at dawn, sipped mint tea, and listened to the stillness of the morning. She watched the mist settle over the lake like a cool blanket. The sun rose higher in the sky and A would stumble out on the porch, grunt a good morning, and clutch a coffee mug like a lifeline. She didn't say anything. She just sat, and rocked with Jane.
Jane found trails along the lakeside and got lost in spurts of cypress and middling river birches. She climbed to reclaim the air above, missing her heights and the invincibility they provided. For with A, she felt anything but invincible.
Jane had been right in her assertion that A would become a liability. For in their vacation (delusion more like it), she was doubtlessly falling in care with the girl. And what's worse, A was requiting her. A was at her side if she stumbled, noting her preferences, fulfilling her requests. Almost preemptive in her caring. It startled Jane how attuned A was to her needs, how quickly she was unraveling what Jane had thought was a durable wall of detachment. She sensed when Jane needed her alone time, which was a blessing, for their personalities were disparate as water and oil. But just as Jane began to feel that once-constant loneliness descend upon her, A showed up, wanting to take her down to the square, or the lakeside, offering her a burned CD, or trying to teach her to fish.
("You fish?" Jane had asked.
"I do anything I have to do. I did once fish for a job and needed to exude an air of seasoned outdoorsmanship."
"No, but you fish?!")
In the meantime, Jane had been secretly searching for Hans. Any blip on the international radar of that douche bag extraordinaire, and it would register for her. Of course, she was operating with limited equipment. Olaf would be able to sift through many of the hits that wound up being useless and only bother Jane with leads that might yield results. Or at least hints to results. But Olaf was nestled comfortably in her saved files back in New York.
So far, no good, and Jane was tempted to call off the entire thing. A seemed unconcerned, and Jane held no loyalty to Sven or Kristoff. But the fact that Hans knew her coding troubled her. No one had yet been able to replicate her methods, and that meant she was faltering. She was ahead of the technological industry by a good fifteen years; it would take an entire team of hackers straight out of MIT to learn, copy, and perfect her techniques. But Hans? Pretty-boy grifter with a penchant for wine and power plays? She never expected him to be able to undermine and then double back over a code she had spent years creating. But what was more troublesome was the message, buried under layers of code, which had caused her powers to spike in the first place.
Ice Queen my ass. I think I'll start calling you 'Sparky' from now on.
How did he know? What else did he know? How had he gotten her picture to give to A, so that she could make up that fake I.D. they used while shopping on St. John? Was there something more Jane could learn from him, about her past, about her family, about why this was happening to her? If only she could find him…
She had cried that night in Ursula's office for her lost identity, not her lost money. Her paradoxically stoic mourning stemmed from losing something she never really had. The disconnect from a person she might have been, if given all the information.
When her mind took to deeper thinking, Jane lost herself in the woods, in retraining her body to its peak. She stretched frequently, port de bras with a straight spine and then curving downward, nose between her knee as her ribs and back hollered not yet! Not yet! But she persisted; it helped her think less.
A let her take the car out to go exploring on occasion, and Jane quickly located an abandoned field just outside the city limits for her electric expulsions. She performed her ritualistic lightening dance, bolts and zigzagging discharges detonating off of her skin like hydrogen bombs in the night. Stress relieved and not nearly as sore.
Her jury-rigged gloves kept a handle on the sparks during everyday activities, but she would be happy to get back to New York to retrieve a sleeker pair.
Jane had borrowed the car again today, but A didn't join her. The copper-headed girl wanted to take advantage of the lakeside to work on a tan only half-complete from her stint in the Caribbean.
("It's almost April, and summer will be here before you know it. You're beautiful with your ice cream cake skin, but I refuse to look like a puffy cloud on a beachside this year.")
Jane had blushed after that. Whether from the comment or imagining A in her swimsuit Jane did not care to examine. Jane inserted one of A's mixed CDs into the stereo and drove around for a few hours. It was almost like bungeeing, speeding down empty roads with the driver's window rolled down, sunglasses on, like a normal person her age might be doing. She located a sporting goods store with the tablet A had gifted her and waltzed right in, taking note of cameras and metal detectors. Two acne-faced boys in bright red vests leered as she walked by, but she didn't care to reprimand them. She found what she was looking for and plucked it from the shelf. She did not pay, nor was attention paid to her.
Jane had dismantled any security alarms with a wave of her gloved hands.
"Ohmygod, you're a closeted circus performer," A said, strolling leisurely through the cypress grove. She was tinged a faint pink and her freckles twinkled like stars against her sky of skin.
Jane nearly fell.
"What is that thing?" A asked.
"Slack line."
"What's a slack line?"
"What does it look like, dimwit?"
"It looks like you're training for the big top, asshole."
"Why would I train? I did a stint with Barnum and Bailey when I was twelve."
"Bullshit."
Jane lifted a goading eyebrow as she took another step forward, feet bare along a thin strap of nylon stretched taught between two trees. Suspended roughly two feet from the ground, she took tentative steps with loose knees and aware ankles, focusing on her equilibrium until A showed up in those cut-off denim overalls with her bathing suit underneath.
Balance and focus were unachievable after that. No way should she attempt her yoga poses. Jane bent her knees and the rope dipped down in response to her weight shift. Jane jumped from the line as it returned to its peak position, undulating and humming like a plucked guitar string.
"I'd make a dazzling circus performer. Don't you see how expressive I am?" Jane said, unsmiling.
"You're too much," A said, moving toward the tight-rope in miniature.
"You want to try?"
"Do I want to break an arm? No thanks."
"C'mon. You might like it."
"Oh, no you don't. I trip frequently on the ground, what makes you think I can traipse across this thing?"
"If you can manage stilettos you can manage a slack line."
"How do I know you're not looking for some blackmail for later on? You've probably got secret cameras stashed in the trees and plan on uploading a video of me eating dirt. It'll go viral. 'Ginger white girl busts ass.' I can feel the views accumulating as we speak."
"You won't know until you try it," Jane encouraged. "Like shopping. And, like you said, it'll help you with your balance."
"Jane, you know I don't-"
"I won't let you fall."
A eyed the line again, reaching out with apprehensive fingers. She ran her hands along the metal cinch near the trunk of the tree, pressed against the line with her upper body, and marveled at its give as she dipped down toward old cypress needles on the lakewood floor.
"If I fall, I hope I fall on top of you."
"That's the spirit!" Jane replied. "Now, come over to the trunk so you can prop yourself against it. Now face the line, and use your prominent foot to mount."
A ran around the tree, clinging to the bark as she caterpillar-crawled her way up the trunk.
"You might want to—"
"Just gimme a sec!" A said.
"But it could be easier if—"
"I'm just blocking you out, I gotta concentrate here…"
A squirmed about and somehow managed to plant the arches of her bare feet against the nylon.
"Like this?"
"Not even close, but I suppose that works as well," Jane returned.
Oh, this is rather entertaining.
"This may be a novel concept, but you will have to let go of the tree to walk across the line," Jane said.
"No! You mean I can't take the tree with me?"
"No need to be snarky, just letting you know it'll snap in half if you hold it any tighter."
"Oh, I'm the snarky one? Isn't there like, I don't know, some chi or zen or trick to this whole thing?" A asked, teetering at the end of the line. Her hands were wrapped behind her, still clutching the tree.
"Yes, it's called balance."
"Jane—"
"Concentrate. Clear your head and think about your body. You know how it works, how it moves. You flail, but in heels you sway, in skirts you strut. Today is about engaging your core, learning how to control those limbs that tend to flap. Many people think you have to extend your arms for balance. You can, that's fine, but it's not necessary. Keep it tight, keep it compact, and, if all else fails… put your hand on my head to steady yourself."
"Uhm…"
"Don't worry A, I've got you. Move."
A slid a foot forward, then transferred her weight to it. Jane studied her feet, which were tan, but unfreckled. Bright red nail polish.
The girl had finally let go of the tree but was just standing there, bobbing on the line. Sometimes, being stationary was worse than going backwards.
"Your other foot, A, I'm right here."
A hurriedly brought her right foot forward and the rope swung wide right, eliciting a shriek from A as she lunged to her left side, her hand coming down on Jane's head in the process.
"I said you could use me as a prop, not try to plant me in the ground," Jane chided.
"And you told me you 'had' me."
"And I do! You've not fallen yet."
"'Yet' being the operative word," A mumbled, attempting to resituate herself onto the line more squarely.
Jane's hand came up to A's wrist to stabilize her as the line and her knees wobbled back into place.
"Don't let go," A pleaded.
"Not until you're ready. But don't spread your legs if you fall."
"Huh?"
"That thing will slap your crotch."
A tried another step and she tensed in Jane's hold but continued moving, recognizing that stalling on her last attempt had led to her inelegant bumble.
"Did you get to swim?" Jane asked her.
"No, just tanned a bit. It's not every lake in Louisiana, but you can never overlook possible alligators."
"Whatever would we do if they snapped off your ear?"
"I'd have to get a pretty fancy haircut."
Jane let go of her hand.
"Wait wait wait—"
"You got it!"
"I don't got it!"
"Keep moving!"
"You thought distracting me with talking was going to help, but this isn't something you can just— hey. Tree trunk," Anna grasped hold of the opposite tree, looking down at Jane with a wide-toothed grin.
"You're capable of more than you know," Jane said.
"You are, too."
A beat passed as Jane looked up at A. The blonde was flooded with an anxious desire to touch A's calf, count her freckles, for no reason other than study. To know her, what she was before this moment. What she will be after it. A pure yearning for something tactile, the grifter so liberal with her touches despite the shock, despite the knowledge of Jane's set-apartness. Jane rarely initiated, but there was something attractive about looking up to A. She felt grounded against her own jolting nature while A soared above, content with the arrangement.
An orchestra of crickets rubbed their legs together and sound exploded. A fish shot above the lake surface and flapped about, splashing loudly. Leaves fluttered. Squirrels chittered. The woodpecker hammered incessantly into the tree A was grabbing and her gaze faltered, as did her balance. Jane's arms shot out, A tumbling into the ungrudging embrace. A's face was so close and Jane was nervous and shaky and her stomach clenched. Gloved hands on denim and skin, it was all Jane could do to resist the tickle of A's bangs at her nostrils, ignore the fingers wrapped round her waist, overlook the slight discomfort of A's foot atop her own.
Their bodies were clumsily mushed together and something needed to happen.
"I— I've been thinking," Jane said.
"Yeah?" A whispered.
"I— I think… think we should go after Hans."
Jane couldn't help but feel she'd sidestepped something gargantuan. And she was beginning to regret her decision as A retracted from her hold.
"What?"
"Well, he screwed you out of your money," Jane began.
"I don't care about the money."
"Well you should at least care about what it does to your reputation. It will make you vulnerable."
A took another step back and crossed her arms. "I can take care of myself."
"I'm not saying you can't!"
This isn't going as I hoped it would.
"Then what's this really about? It's not just the money," A challenged.
Jane had planned to do this later, when she had evidence, more than just a gut feeling to back it up. And more than the current feeling of failure fusing itself to her skeleton.
"I think he knows more about me than he's revealed," Jane said.
"Wait, he's revealed stuff?"
"Not overtly. But too many pieces fit. He's been able to contact me on numerous occasions, and I make myself difficult to find for a reason. He gave you my picture, to make that I.D., but I didn't give him my photo. He diverted my code to deposit the Seven Seas money into his own account, and I couldn't combat it. And he sent me a message…"
"Yeah! You mentioned that back… back at Ursula's office," A faltered.
They had glossed over that confrontation. Hadn't quite swept it under the rug, what with Jane's electric revelation, but the heightened emotions and misdirected anger were never addressed head-on. Jane preferred it that way; no need to prolong an unpleasant experience by talking it into submission, when simple acknowledgement would suffice. She longed to let it go, to put her behind in the— no, to put her past behind her. Jane hoped her repentance was evident in her actions over the past few days.
"What kind of message? Did he send it to you… recently?" A asked.
"Back in Ursula's office, when I was… when I was crying, trying to fix the transfers," Jane said. "That picture wasn't just a 'screw you' to all of us. It was for me. It said, 'Ice Queen my ass. I think I'll start calling you 'Sparky'."
"Well, if I was going to threaten you, I'd at least be a bit more poetic about it."
"A! Try to take this seriously."
"I am. But 'Sparky'? Come on. More like Sizzle Sister."
"No."
"Electra?"
"Hell no."
"How about I keep working on it?" A asked.
"How about we return to the topic at hand. I'm going after Hans."
"Woah, woah, woah, there, Joulsie. Hey! That can go both ways, for the sparks and the diamonds! See what I did there?"
"Yes. And then no."
"So you don't like going both ways? Or you do?" A asked, face unreadable.
"What? What are you on about? Can we return to your objection?"
A huffed, blowing her bangs from atop her forehead, hands perched on indignant hips.
"At first it's all, 'We're going after Hans!' And now it's just, 'I'm going after Hans.'"
"You seemed less than enthused when I first proposed the idea," Jane argued.
"You've got to warm me up to the plan first. Can't just proposition me and then expect me to fall right in. I like to be wooed a bit before I commit so fully."
"Really?" Jane asked, obviously skeptical. "This from the woman who did zero prep on our first job together?"
"Like you said, I'm a woman. I can be as fickle as I want," A teased.
"I suppose I should have expected no less from a woman whose first major thefts were Romantic period scenes."
"So this is technically your fault," A smiled. "I'd like to think you know me better by now. When are we leaving?"
"I need to get some things first. We'll have to stop in New York. But what little activity I've seen from him has surfaced rather randomly over Europe."
"He's not easy to find," A offered.
"I am confident in my electronic tracking."
"You didn't seem so confident when he hacked your code. How do you know he's not done the same with your magic tracking devices?"
Jane had not considered that prospect. Hans had either astounding intelligence or astounding luck to compromise her code. Perhaps that's why her nets had managed nothing more than blips and rerouted IPs on all of her known electronic contacts with Hans. Maybe he was still screwing with her, letting her think she was more capable than she truly was. Lulling her into a false sense of security, as A had said.
"I see you've gone broody," A continued. "Either way, you'll need me."
"What do you mean? I'm competent at tracking without you. I've managed thus far, have I not?"
"So you're prepared to walk into a store or seedy underground pub and snoop about, asking for information and sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, all the while coming off charming and self-assured?"
Jane had wrestled the slack line down and was rolling it back up into its carrying bag. "There's no need to be rude about it. I'm sure you're coming along even if I forbade you from it."
"Oh, you're forbidding me now?"
"I'm saying there's not much I could do to stop you from getting your way."
"Damn straight. And, you still owe me a trip to a Swiss chocolate shop."
So now they're going to Europe. *gulp* Looks like I might be writing this story until I'm 80.
Not super happy with this chappie, but hey, I edited until my eyeballs bled. Always open to critique if you're willing to provide it. Again, extended thanks for follows, favs and reviews.