I don't own Frozen.

They were four hours over the Atlantic before A even asked where they were going. Jane couldn't determine whether it was merely her carefree nature, or some odd indication that A had entrusted her well-being to the blonde. It also didn't help that Jane was still harboring foreign emotions. Being cared for in Louisiana was one thing; she could chock that up to a deluded sense of dependency while she was injured. It was only right for Jane to feel indebted to the girl, for all she had done for her.

But Jane felt the need to make it up to A. Again, with the reciprocity. So she had agonized over an appropriate exchange, something A could use, would like, something that maybe reminded her of Jane when she used it.

And then it hit her, in the dark of night as she lifted the phone from the abandoned stock room of an Apple store. Because somewhere she had heard that smell was the strongest memory-jogging sense. And maybe Jane wanted to be remembered. Specifically, by A.

There is significance in memories.

She was getting A a gift. It was the first present she had ever bestowed on anyone, and God, how she hoped A would like it. A's reaction was paramount; Jane felt if she failed in this endeavor then she would fail in all future ones. Jane even put thought into how the gift would be given. Alongside sweet pastries, in the stillness of the morning. Like rocking with A on that porch swing. Nothing said. Just existing together. And then a scent. A breath.

A moment.

And A's reaction, though subdued through the dregs of sleep, had been sincere. Heartfelt. Genuine in its purest sense, because she had scoffed, then smiled; the good, crooked kind, that reached her eyes and crinkled her flared nostrils just slightly. And then they had shared a bed together, and it warmed parts of Jane's chest that had never known heat. It also stirred parts of Jane's body, directly south, that she never thought would be stirred by another woman. A had warned her of an inevitable sprawl, but when a rogue hand flopped across Jane's bellybutton and short fingers curled into her side… best not think about that while she was piloting a jet.

She was content (for now! her mind screamed) with A's friendship, yet astonished that it even occurred. Too many pieces needed to fit into place for it to work, this arrangement they had. She let kismet rule, and refused to question why the blessing was bestowed upon her.

Jane very much wished to enjoy it while it lasted.

"Got a text from Sven. He and Kristoff are in Oslo, taking a break."

"Well, we took one as well, I can hardly fault them for doing the same," Jane responded. "Kristoff's arm?"

"Fine. But he's whining to Sven like a six-foot baby. Their extended family is huge, so he's in good hands. Rough, but good."

"Good. I'm glad he's not in pain."

"So… Amsterdam, then?" A asked. There was a solemnity to her tone that Jane didn't appreciate. An unfortunate weight that flattened her words and crushed her tone.

"That's where my readings have been strongest," Jane said. "He's logged onto his accounts from IP addresses that have registered in a series of Internet cafes in the city. Moving some of his funds around, really spreading them thin. He doesn't like to have more than ten million in each account. Do you know why that is?"

"I have no clue. He was in Amsterdam earlier this year, though. It's a bit of a home-away-from-home for Hans."

"How do you mean?"

"I worked one of my first big jobs with him in Amsterdam," A explained. "It was… illuminating."

"But not bright. You make it sound seedy and underhanded."

"It was, the whole affair. Quite— indescribable, I'm afraid. I'm glad he cut me loose not long after."

Jane continued piloting the jet, waiting for A to speak. It unnerved her when A offered no further information.

"I've never heard you speechless before," Jane commented.

"I was hoping not to come back here," A confessed. "Not that anything terrible happened to me, just…" she sighed. "I saw too much too young."

Jane checked her with a glance.

"In the red-light district."

"Ah."

"It was an experience," A continued. "I have more connections than I care to admit to in that part of the city, but I should warn you, I'm known as something of a courtesan there."

Jets are remarkably quiet when the conversation turns uncomfortable.

"I don't… that is, I wouldn't think any less of you," Jane began. "You were very young, when you started working, and I've never really considered the power a benefit, but now, I, well… I'm sorry. I can't seem to articulate anything very clearly. But there's nothing to be ashamed of, I'm sure I've—"

"I don't want you getting the wrong idea," A interrupted, perhaps a shade lighter. "My sins were primarily those of omission. I stood back and let bad things happened, enabled vices for a hefty profit. I did a few things, but I never, that is… I haven't… uhm…"

Jane turned sideways, inspecting the girl at her right. One leg swung over the armrest of the co-pilot seat, she gnawed her lower lip like a cow's cud. A was deep in thought, though broody pondering Jane considered her own specialty. She wondered what had fazed A to the point of silence.

"I'm still a virgin."

What?

"I'm sorry? What was that?" Jane asked. Had there been oncoming traffic, she might well have veered into it. But nothing save sky the color of graphite met her, night tunneling into darker night while Jane died a little inside.

"You heard me. I've had to… well, perform for other people, especially in Amsterdam. I know a guy, so well connected it's scary. Judge Frollo. Not to be crass, but he's got his fingers in every pot out there, his ears at every door. Proprietor of a few clubs, John to hordes of girls. And probably guys, too. I've done a few jobs for him, overlooked a few shipments—"

"And by shipments you mean…"

"Girls, yes. People for…" A trailed off sadly. "Some who were younger than I was."

"When did you first meet him?" Jane was afraid to ask.

"I think I had just turned fourteen."

"Fuck, A."

"I know. It's awful. But once you're in there, you cannot, and I mean CANNOT break cover. Because if they knew you were an orphan, if they knew I was a nobody, they'd put me in so deep I'd never be able to claw my way back to the surface. It's legal there, and they're trying to make it better, but…"

A let her sentences linger in the present, though her mind was obviously in the past. Memories deplorable and regrettable cut deeper than the cheerful times, and despite her positivity, A was not impervious.

"I don't mean to pry, if it's uncomfortable for you—" Jane began, but she had to know.

How could such a brightness survive somewhere that made a habit of extinguishing the light? How could she remain untainted?

"— but how did you get around, well—"

"Sex?" A asked. "I was always working with other people, which helped. Some of Hans' brothers. Hans himself on a few jobs. And once I caught Frollo's eye, I was… let's say promoted. There are tiers of courtesans and call girls, levels of prostitution there. Some are for the lowest of the low. Others have fetishes. And, uhm, well… natural red-heads aren't common," A whispered the last bit. "But most of what I did was performance, like any other grift. A bit of show, a well-placed accent. And if I ever felt truly unsafe, I resorted to drugging my client. You wouldn't know it, but I'm a rather adept chemist."

How is it that she can withstand such treatment? Place herself in such danger with nothing more than a pill as protection? Just how foolhardy is this woman?

Weren't the brave of history considered the foolhardy of their present?

"But you never—"

"No," A said. "Not that there weren't close calls. Or even normal calls, with nice people. Chances with, with good people, I mean. I just never found someone that seemed… right."

Jane couldn't speak any more. She felt too guilty. For thinking poorly of A, forcing her into a category to which she never belonged. Jane had essentially called her a whore that night in Hans' cabana on the island.

Has it really only been a month since St. John? And now we're flying to the sex capital of Europe together?

A had escaped an industry where others suffered, and yet when the other girl was safe (with good people, with nice people), she still never succumbed to… what? Her base needs, just to feel a connection with someone else? A said it never felt right. How did it ever feel right?

Jane wasn't even sure what 'right' was. She had never been sure, would probably never be sure, and it grieved her.

"I was a dancer," A finally said, quashing Jane's dangerous imaginative musings. "Exotic, yes. I did… strip. At first I thought, it could be a little glamorous, a little titillating, but after each performance, I felt so… dirty. Humiliated. Subjugated. Not just by the audiences. But by the people I worked with. I mean, they couldn't very well get up there and prance around like I did, but it was necessary for the con. To get close to our marks, who were usually in the audience. I've been in a room with countless politicians, hands down their pants, so that my partner could get what's called the 'money shot'. The picture we'll take back to their wives and their presses unless the mark pays the blackmail money. Those were some of our simpler cons.

"But with the constant presence of organized crime, our jobs got bigger. Drugs, weapons, stuff I wasn't interested in, didn't want to be a part of. I like art, for fuck's sake. That's why I got out of Amsterdam. Pity, too, because the Netherlands had a real Golden Age of painting during the 17th century. I mean, Rembrandt! I could've worked wonders with some of those pieces."

"Do you think this— Frollo person can get us to Hans?" Jane asked. "He never frequents the same establishment twice, according to my readings."

"He can get us there," A said, again, not brightly.

"But…?"

"But not without us giving him something for it."

"How do you mean?"

"Information is a commodity. And so we have to be willing to pay."

"I expect he doesn't do dealings in paper currency," Jane said, fearing where the conversation was going.

"Correct. I just don't know if I still have it in me."

"Have what in you?"

"The guts to perform again," A sighed.

"He surely wouldn't make you—"

"The perversions of man in the red-light district would send jolts even up your spine, Jane," A grinned sadly.

"Well, we won't let it come to that," Jane spoke with authority. It was the least she could do. Fake confidence, even if she knew better.

"Perhaps. I mean, I'd still do it. It's only one time, and I feel safer than I've ever been with you there. Not that I consider you a weapon, or anything!" A rushed, attempting to backtrack. "I mean, well, maybe I do. Is that insensitive of me? It is, I know it is, it's just you've never been there, Jane, and there's just so much sadness in those dank little rooms, and it's suffocating and you don't even know if you'll see the sun again. I wouldn't only take you along as protection, I shouldn't even take you along at all! I'd never try to use you. God, that's what those men did to me, I would never want to imply that you're just a tool—"

"I understand, A. Really. Even with my power, I can't say that I would have been brave enough to go there."

I can't say that I've been brave enough for anything. To accept. To reject. I just let things happen, hoping they'll mean something. Or I walk away. Omission, as you said… or apathy. Apathy is the worst sin.

"Well, good. I didn't mean to insult you," A told her.

"You didn't. You made me feel… needed."

"Oh. Well, not my intention, but this time, yes. Yes, I do need you, if we're to get out of this relatively unscathed with the information we want."

"You're right. We'll be… we'll be fine."

Jane only wished she believed what she said.

Because knowing that A had been a stripper, knowing she moved and slid and swayed and gyrated while men double, triple her age jacked off in chairs or booths or… it almost made Jane cry. But knowing A had saved herself; had somehow managed to swim despite the sharks, breathe despite the overwhelming tide, it made her feel guilty.

Because A didn't have a power, and she had waited.

Jane did have a power, and she hadn't.

What was odder? A red-light district conwoman who was still a virgin, or a computer hacker hermit with electric powers who wasn't?

Shorter chapter, but we're gearing up for some more action. Reviews and critique appreciated. All my gratitude goes out to the readers of this piece. You guys are the real heroes :D