I don't own Frozen.
Scotland missed the springtime memo. Shoots and sprouts attempted to blossom, but the sun was being temperamental and decided to take its leave for several days. Neither mild nor severe, but the wind was persistent. Thick white haar lumbered over grey stone daily, and moisture clung to crevices like limpet shells. Edemic nimbostratus clouds relieved themselves on the hour, and the seasonal depression was beginning to gnaw at Anna. She was perpetually chilly, but the temperature was never low enough to justify complaint. No amount of hot tea could jump start her muscles, and she nearly had the warning label on the back of the space heater memorized from reading over it in her boredom:
2kW output with adjustable temperature controller, thermal overload protection. IP44 rated. Size: 220 x 225 x 285mm.
Because she was rather bored. She and Jane had been cooped up in a two star hotel with one bed for four days. As luck would have it, the pair arrived at the start of the Edinburgh International Science Festival, one of the biggest science symposiums of its kind in Europe. Nearly every hotel was booked, and finding space (let alone nice space) was nigh impossible. They were lucky to find the room they had, though sharing a bed wasn't ideal. And all of Anna's contacts operated out of London, so there was little sway she had over such a stony city.
"Are you sure there isn't anything else?" Anna had asked the concierge.
"Ye cam in durin' th' middle ay th' festival. Th' weaither has postponed most ay th' events, sae we'll probably be foo up fur some time."
"Then I guess we'll take what you have. But will you let me know as soon as something else becomes available?"
"Aye, enjoy yer stae."
That had been four days ago. And it had all been quite fine, until Jane realized her Internet access was patchy, if not altogether lacking. She was even grumpier than Anna.
"Dammit!" she screeched, chucking her tablet onto the unmade mattress. Rain pattered overhead and the view from their window was bleak.
"What's wrong now?" Anna asked.
"I can't even get online," Jane growled.
"How do you mean? Can't you just—"
"It doesn't work like that," Jane snapped. The lights in their room surged and the heater died. The third time it had happened today. Jane ran a frustrated hand through her bangs.
"What's causing it?" Anna asked.
"Of course they would hold the science convention when we get into town."
"Why does that have to do with it?"
"They have a colossal supermagnet on exhibit two buildings down, and have been running demonstration tests since we got here," Jane grumbled. "Network connection is screwed, so I can't even tell if Hans has logged onto any of his accounts. I would quite literally have to reprogram multiple international satellites, which would set off enough red flags that it's not even worth the trouble. Which means I can't track him. If this hotel wasn't right beside the magnet—"
"You pick the hotel next time then," Anna said, justifiably irritated. "The first few we checked didn't even have Wifi access."
"I don't have to have Wifi, I can establish my own connection without interference. What I need is not to have some superconducting magnetic field strong enough to power a nuclear facility two doors down from me!"
"Then go somewhere else outside of the field range. Try a café, or something. And maybe you're not able to track him because he's having the same problems."
Or he's back in London. He's never worked this far north, but nooooo, Jane says he's up to Scotland so I'm forced to endure haggis and ungodly pipe music at six fuckin' A-M.
"You don't think he's here, do you?" Jane said sharply.
"I didn't say that," Anna returned.
Though it was implied. You can't track someone if they aren't in the general vicinity.
"Look, we're both a little testy, because we've been cooped up for so long," Anna said. "You probably just need to get out for a while."
"Yes, sorry, I didn't mean to bark at you," Jane said, shoving her equipment into her duffel. Jane popped a TicTac and zipped a fitted jumper over her torso, movements still tight. "I'm going to be out for a while. I'll try some different spots, see what I can find. Then again, I might just keep refreshing my devices and hope to hell Hans logs onto something over the next few hours."
"Okay, cool," Anna said, though she couldn't find it in her to keep speaking. Sometimes words only compounded the tension and, contrary to popular belief, she knew when to keep her mouth shut.
Jane nodded and headed out the door, and this was the first time Anna feared Jane might not come back.
God, was it frustrating not knowing what Jane had bottled up inside of that twisted platinum head of hers. The outing at the gallery had been somewhat of a reprieve after the performance at Club Utopia. It was a patch on a wobbly tire, and air was leaking. The patch couldn't mend the obvious restlessness the pair had adopted in their interactions. Hopefully it wouldn't end up with them wrecked in a ditch on the roadside.
Is Jane truly that uncomfortable?
Sleeping in the same bed night after night hadn't helped. It was a UK king size, which oddly enough translated to an American queen, so space wasn't exactly the issue. Nor was lying down and attempting REM completions while facing roads of pale skin, because Jane never went to bed when Anna did. What was the problem was waking up, intricately wrapped around a body that was not her own, because Jane was a fuckin' black hole that just sucked Anna straight into her gravity. And Anna would shift, and mutter, and blanch, because she had drooled on Jane's collarbone and would tunnel earthworm-like into the stiff mattress if Jane ever woke and found her out. On the third morning, Jane caught her staring. Her eyes were dull with sleep, so the blonde merely grunted and rolled onto her back, but not after grinning in the most adorable fashion Anna had ever seen. Lopsided, almost drunken, with clumsy magenta lips and a subconscious daring, she had grabbed Anna's hand and threaded their fingers together like knitted yarn. Jane placed their conjoined palms north of her bellybutton.
So maybe Jane's not uncomfortable? Hell, when did she become so hard to read?
That would be when you got personally attached to her, Anna's inner voice chided.
Anna thudded her head against the wall in rhythm, hoping for a thought not Jane related, something to do that didn't take place within the confines of a dreary Scots hotel room, before she climbed the walls and peeled the flesh from her eyeballs.
Jane's out, and we're not attached at the hip. I entertained myself before she came into the picture. I am NOT one of those love-sick nincompoops that defines my self worth through other people. Well, people that I… crowds that don't… I mean, I like it when other people notice me, but—
More on that later.
Anna gathered up a jumper and tromped out of the hotel room. There was a science convention going on, she could distract herself with elements off of the periodic table and rocket propulsion and maybe even take a look at that magnet Jane loathed. Yes, good plan.
She skipped down to the concierge desk and received a pamphlet for her troubles, some vague gestures and inarticulate dialect relaying convention locations. Nodding, she stepped onto the front stone stoop of the hotel, only to be met with steady precipitation.
Not before coffee first.
She made the mistake of entering a tea house and asking for a mezzo Americano (with a shot of mocha, if you have it), and earned a sniff and some garbled sounds that were certainly hostile, coming from the matronly barista-slash-tea-marm behind the counter.
Caffeine and sugar laden Anna faced the outdoors once more, mood still somber due to the unrelenting grey. She walked several blocks into the city centre, and stumbled across a fascinating science display. A complicated filtration rigging had been fitted to a gutter system outside of one of the science convention's host hotels. An enthusiastic brown headed man reed-thin and sopping wet explained in rapid high Scots the intricacies of the system while children looked on starry-eyed and parents regarded him as if he were deranged.
Some people love science. Sort of like Jane—
And we're back to her again.
Anna segued into the purely pedestrian district, the majority of outside experiments battling through unfortunate weather conditions while native Scots negotiated the rain with familiar ease. Anna singled out tourists from blocks away: they were the ones in slickers and waders, with umbrellas and varying degrees of raingear. One contraption exploded confetti to her left, multicolored paper strips bleeding faint dyes onto cobblestone. Soggy rainbow.
She ducked into an open exhibition space, arrayed university stalls set up with the winners of science fairs from countries as geographically disparate as Chile and Indonesia. A representative from New Zealand had bounced a laser off of the moon in timed bursts and was able to alter wave length patterns that corresponded to scaled music notes. She had gotten the computer receiver to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and her and her partner's reaction video had gone viral on YouTube. Upwards of three million hits. They were explaining the methodology to the Scots judges, and the short black-headed guy was abuzz with scientific rapture.
"When we got to 'up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky', we just flipped the table!"
Like a diamond in the sky.
Jane.
Shit.
Anna meandered, sipping on her coffee, just enjoying the bustle of the symposium. She wondered, if she had lived a normal life, if she had parents, and a home, something more fixed, would she have gone to college? Would she have even liked art, or would her tastes have gravitated toward STEM education? If memory served correctly, she'd be nearly finished with her freshman year by now, the novelty gone and stress of exams settling over her like a blanket of briars. Would she date? Join a club? Would she be a good, bad, so-so student? What would her major have been? Would her favorite foods have been different? She had practically raised herself, no way any might-have-been parents would have allowed their daughter to consume the annual poundage of chocolate she funneled down her esophagus.
God, I might even like… Brussels sprouts, or some equally ridiculous vegetable.
Anna pushed through a particularly tight throng of attendees (one family trucking along with a double-seated stroller and three crying infants) and emerged onto another pavilion dedicated to filtration systems.
Again, with the pipes and the irrigation and the boilers and the— wait.
Is that… Hans?
Anna ducked behind a glassware apparatus, bubbling red liquids in Erlenmeyer flasks distorting her head shape as she peeked at the green-eyed monster.
No doubt. Those sideburn ruffles that would make an Elvis impersonator sneer. I can't wait to give him a piece of my—
Now, now, Anna. Let's think about this logically for a moment. Her inner voice was usually squished by adrenaline, but this time it stopped her. Because this venture wasn't really for her.
It was for Jane.
She had no way to approach him. Anna couldn't very well saunter up to the man who had robbed her of millions and start in with, "Fancy meeting you here! Look, Bunsen burners and beaker fun, amiright?" He'd bolt, and she had no way to track him. Better to keep her distance, so as not to spook him, and call Jane. Jane, who had been correct about Hans' location all along.
Anna set aside her guilt and focused on the problem before her. She stuck her hands in her pockets, unable to come up with more than twenty-seven pounds and the key to her hotel room. She usually only worked with disposables, so she hadn't quite made it a habit of keeping Jane's gifted iPhone on her person at all times.
Hans seemed to be speaking intently with the delegation from Ireland, and from the looks of it, was getting the brush off. The two boys behind the counter seemed mildly confused, and Hans too intense for their liking.
No surprises there.
Anna could see he was getting no where with the two, but he handed one boy his card and stormed out of the back of the exhibition hall. Anna followed as best she could, what with not knocking over toddlers and elbowing adults. She was moving against the crowd, and only just caught a glimpse of Hans turning around a corner two blocks away as she shuffled after him in the rain.
He took a right, didn't he?
It didn't much matter, as the street she had turned onto housed at least five side alleys within walking distance, three bus stops (with one double-decker already two traffic lights ahead of her), and a number of cabbie cars parked with their on-duty lights blinking and ready for passengers.
Anna harrumphed.
What to do, what to do, what to— ah, yes.
"Hello boys," Anna said, skipping up to the Irish duo. The pair of boys no older than she were breaking down their display in the exhibition hall, carefully loading large vats onto dollies and bronze piping into cushioned cases. One was folding a green, white and orange flag, and the other packing away a framed quotation from Ulysses: "What's in a name? That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that we are told is ours."
"The fair's over, in case you dinna know," one boy said. Dark hair, blue eyes.
"Shut it, James. You're very welcome to our stall, miss." The other one. Carrot top ginger. Blue eyes again with a chin that collapsed in on itself. Rather homely looking.
Bingo.
"What was it you boys were showcasing here?" Anna asked.
"Are you from the American delegation?!" the ginger asked.
"Ah, sadly no, just an observer."
"Well, if you needed an escort, James and I— name's Colin, by the by— we'd be happy to take you out—"
"Sorry guys, I'm sort of with someone," Anna said. "That guy who was just talking to you?"
Their faces soured like expired milk.
"You're with him?" James asked.
"Not quite. He's my… brother, trying to keep tabs."
"You don't sound German," Colin, this time.
"Distant brother. Mom's in the States and I'm with her, dad's in Berlin… complicated family history, doesn't matter," Anna waved her hand as if she were swatting a fly. "Just trying to figure out why he was harassing you guys, and to offer any apologies on his behalf."
"Ah, see, compassion and manners didn't die, there, Colin."
"Oh aye, not with her. And it wasn't really a bother, just a wee bit odd. He's just after inquiring about our process, here."
"And what exactly is your process?" Anna guided them to the conclusion.
The two boys pointed at another frame, the name Arthur curlicued in ravishing calligraphy with a painted pint glass beside it. When Anna only returned their gesture with a questioning expression, Colin spoke up.
"We're with the Guinness Brewery out of Dublin, working on a new stock Stout. It's in its early development stages."
"I thought this was a collegiate competition."
"We're at uni!" James said. "UCD. But when the storehouse heard we were experimenting with alternative yeast inclusion in the maturation system—"
"— after a rejuvenated wort boiling process, they made us an offer we couldn't refuse."
"They hired you because you're moonshiners," Anna said skeptically.
"Hardly," Colin said, offended. "This isn't backwoods poteen. What we do is science."
"And it also gets you fairly lit. Had three platinum weeks last term!" James nudged Colin playfully. "Some of us can't hold it all as well," he teased, hiding his pointer finger behind a flattened palm, clearly indicating Colin.
"But why was Hans so interested in your… what was it? Warts?"
"Wort," Colin said. "It's the liquid mixture mashed from the barley grain that constitutes the base liquid for our traditional stock. And he was asking about supplies, if we wanted to leave Guinness and work with him."
"As if you leave Guinness," James rolled his eyes.
"So, he wanted to hire you?" Anna asked.
"Said he had some big venture in the works, wanted to know if we could get him any supplies, estimated shipping costs to the States, some shite about investment prospects. Thinks just because we're young that we're idiots."
"We don't handle that bit anyway," James said. "We are brewers. Scientists, artisans. We craft the most perfect beer to ever pass your ruby lips."
"Easy, Casanova," Anna chided. "He didn't mention where he was going, did he? He likes to run off and leave me at times."
"Nah, can't say that he did. Sure we can't interest you in a pint? Freshly brewed from the exhibition, shame for it to go to waste," Colin said.
"Yeah, and you'd be wrecked before we're even out," James said to Colin.
"Shut it, you!"
"Thank you boys," Anna said good-naturedly. "But I need to get going."
"Sure you dunnie need an escort?" Colin yelled.
"I'm quite capable. You two sure tease each other a lot."
"What are brothers for?" James said, pulling Colin's head under his armpit and noogieing him into squealing submission.
Anna laughed. "I wouldn't know."
James released Colin and pushed off of him.
"Wha? That Hans never take the mickey out of you?"
"She's lived in a different country from him, don't be rude," James instructed.
"Oh, no, I just meant, I'm not a brother… I'm a girl— like a sister, so it'd be different, I guess?" Anna backtracked. "Sorry guys, I have to go."
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