I totally own Fro- nope, sure don't. Made you look that time?

Anna didn't think she could eat. She was already walking the fine line between acceptably nervous and overwhelmingly neurotic, so putting anything into a stomach hell-bent on cramping and clenching and dropping at every light brush of Jane's hands didn't seem like a wise idea.

Because she was only about to reveal her identity to the most beautiful woman in the universe— whom Anna knew had always been beautiful, had always been undeniably attractive— but the supplement of more feminine apparel only enhanced what was already there: which was a downright gorgeous being. A being tailor-made and gifted, despite her list of ethical and moral offenses, just for Anna.

Not to mention her ass snaps harder than whiplash in those heels.

And Anna was all giggly, because Jane was going to tell her she loved her. The blonde had been telegraphing that little confession for weeks now. And Anna was equally gurgly, because Anna was going to… not quite propose, but she had bought a ring.

Bought it, and not with stolen money. With her own money, that she had worked to get when a random compassionate streak hit her for half a year in Canada. Anna had worked at a day camp with kids, and had been paid for it, and something about working for money made it more remarkable, more distinctive than money stolen or intangibly transferred. And the thought of Jane wearing something she had purchased, forever, as symbol or totem or promise or what have you, it meant that Anna was ready to spend the rest of her life with the thief, come thick or thin, good or bad, market spike or federal incarceration.

Of course she would propose too soon. Patience had never been Anna's virtue, but the idea of commitment was just as attractive as a Renoir, or a Manet. She had spent so much time thinking she was the artist, thinking she could create some sort of permanently revered magnum opus. But the realization came upon her gradually, somewhere between the go-karts and the lights and the pool:

Anna was but one half of a masterpiece.

She and Jane were an unintended masterpiece, an accidental canvassed relationship, Keatsian and epic-worthy. Ode to the cronut-loving moon and sun, to the talker and the typist. Relationships were already difficult enough without intrigue and lost identities. Which is why love (Anna was certain that was what they had), pristine, unadulterated love was such an achievement. Love, as so many were loath to admit, was surprisingly difficult for all the attention given it; so love as connection, as feat, as accomplishment, it was like pulling off an elaborate heist, hearts covertly and mutually stolen. The reciprocity of affection, of devotion.

You stole my heart, and I had no choice but to take yours.

Anna was already imaging the film in her head, the vows she would say right before the credits rolled smoothly by and the audience shed a tear for her happiness.

She had her name now: Anna Arrendale. And when Jane discovered her own, they could establish something firm, something legally indisputable for the first time in their lives.

A marriage contract.

When Jane is ready, of course.

Anna's current dismissal of all things legal paradoxically heightened legalities' importance. She broke the law all the time, but better people kept it. She wanted to be a better person, and Jane would make her one.

Anna could forge the license and add it to a register, or Jane could steal one, and they could file like normal people. Their real identities were lost, so they had never been sullied by something the pair couldn't easily erase and rewrite. Jane could delete any juvie records still on file, any socials or fingerprints with federal red flags attached to them. So that when they did unite it would be on a clean slate, and the only etchings visible to observers would be marks on time that they had made together.

Together.

And Anna… Anna wanted more vow and significance than garter and veil and ceremony. Marriage might just be paper to some, but to Anna, it was a binding contract, and she desired that permanence. A want so urgent it bordered on a need, for the sake of her future. Stability was a privilege Anna had never had access to, and the appeal of marriage didn't subside despite the horrors of her work. She remembered back, back to her first job with Jane. Back to Dr. Owen Moore, and his wife, and their own mutual decision to stay together and fuck elsewhere, how their marriage operated. She and Jane would never be that way, could never function with that kind of blatant disregard for the other's feelings. They had been hurt too deeply to cause any similar wounds, and had harbored too many past secrets to keep anything from the other.

Our marriage, or if not marriage, our promise, our life— it will work. We'll never keep anything from each other, never hurt.

Cultural inculcation and a life of uncertainties only made the eternal concept more beguiling, and Anna was intelligent enough to recognize factors contributing to that perception of marriage, of engagement.

She was not, however, strong enough to resist the benefits that type of promise afforded her.

Despite every move forward Jane had made in their relationship, there was a small yet persistent twinge in the back of Anna's mind that Jane would up and leave her after a harrowing ordeal. They had been shot at, beaten, blackmailed into sexual performance, and mentally tormented even on their best days together. Jane had run from her when the sparks started flying on St. John in Ursula's office, had literally jumped out the window. There, that idiotic tendency of Jane's to be so fuckin' noble, her isolated self-sacrifice to protect everyone else. Anna read that as a character flaw, one that she could exploit (she blamed A for that tendency).

Because nobility in a relationship that hadn't been sealed with a promise translated to compassionate abandonment, but take nobility and add another factor (i.e., proposal, marriage, commitment), and Jane would stay if not for Anna, then at least for her given word.

In the back of her mind, Anna knew it was wrong.

Proposing out of an irrational fear of loneliness. And she knew, tangentially, through her jobs, that marriage did not always equate with devotion. But, if she were attributing percentages to her reasons for proposing, loneliness was but a fragment of the larger parcel. Ten percent, at best. She loved Jane, she wanted Jane, forever. And together with her, Anna had grand, romantic delusions of sunflowers and moonvines and life loved and lived avoiding tragedies.

And Jane recognized that fault in Anna's own character, even found it attractive. Anna's (or A's) adroit handling, (read, manipulation) of other people, to get the job done. To seal the proverbial deal. Anna had manipulated Jane before, in circumstances social and personal. She lightly nudged, prodded and prompted Jane, helping the blonde unfurl her wings to take glorious albeit clumsy flight in her very first relationship. That very afternoon Jane had gone to a salon, of all places. Had let people touch her, and talk to her, and damn anyone who categorized that achievement as negative or manipulative.

And Anna felt a bit like Icarus in that moment, pride swelling and lifting her heavenwards, that she had been the one to instigate that. That she had somehow contributed, no matter how minimally, to Jane's little accomplishment.

Masterpiece, indeed!

And so what if Anna liked being needed? Did it make her manipulative? Yes, but it also made her lovestruck, and she could forgive herself almost anything in such an addled state. Jane's reaction at this point was almost negligible. A yes would be welcome but unexpected; a flat no, disheartening but equally unexpected… Anna had more faith in Jane's heart than to let herself believe that a 'no' was a possible answer. But a maybe, yes, a maybe and 'with time' was all she could practically hope for. But the maybe was one step closer to that foundation atop rock, that solid, unbreakable and steadfast love that Anna needed.

She only hoped she didn't do something stupid and screw everything up.

Like propose too early.

She doesn't even know my name and I'm going to sort-of propose. God, best get that out of the way first thing.

They were seated at a table near the wall at the resort's most exclusive restaurant, Elysium: wine list available per request, candlelight, instrumental piano in the far background, hushed, dulcet tones and dim bulbs and pristine tables cloths with no creases at the corners. Jane took one look at all the silverware and shrank away from her place setting, but Anna laid her hand on the table (etiquette be damned!) and waited for Jane to take it. Jane brought hers up when they were finally settled, and all was right in the world.

"So," Anna started. "I've got some things to say to you."

"Let me go first, please, or I'll forget everything. You're so much better with words than I am."

"I don't know about that."

"Don't patronize me, you know you are," Jane said, firm but obviously joking. The blonde took a fortifying breath. "And I need to get this off my chest before the violinist arrives."

"You hired a VIOLINIST?"

Jane sucked her lips in and the corners of her mouth piqued upward. She covered her giggle with her opposite hand. "Sorry," she said between her fingers.

"You little jerk. 'Before the fuckin' violinist arrives.' What am I going to do with you?" Anna asked fondly.

"Anything special tonight, ladies?" the sommelier asked, handing over the wine list with a flourish. "We're featuring a red Bordeaux Cabernet Franc and an Italian Merlot."

Anna studied the listing.

"Est le Bordeaux du Château Haut-Brion?" she asked.

"Oh! Oui, mademoiselle."

"I'll have a glass, thank you," Anna said.

"For you, mademoiselle?"

"None for me."

"One moment, s'il vous plait," and the gentleman retreated.

"Does that bother you?" Anna asked.

"What?"

"Whenever we go anywhere, and they ask about drinks. Is it hard for you?"

"It's not terribly easy, but I don't want you to curb your habits just for my sake," Jane said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up."

"We've got to stop apologizing to each other," Jane continued. "I feel like everything has been so… fragile lately, with us."

"Why is that?"

"I just feel… raw. And I guess that's as good a segue as any… A," Jane said, stroking her thumb over the back of Anna's hand. It felt like she was rubbing a salve over every past hurt and every forthcoming worry. Anna smiled, and the power of the ring and all it promised pulsed through the thick material of her clutch and heated the skin of her thigh.

The sommelier had the grace to deliver the single red wine glass without speech, and disappeared promptly after.

"A…"

"Wait, Jane, you should know, before you start, what my name is—"

"No, you wait," Jane insisted, holding up her other hand. "Let me say this, to A, to that half of the girl that didn't trust me all the way. I want you to know that I am very well aware of who I'm choosing to… to be with."

For the rest of your life?

Anna dared to hope.

"I am not an easy person to… do anything with. I am, not quite handicapped, but much of my self, many of my actions are predicated upon my… powers," Jane whispered. "And for so long, those powers and their negative effects were the only thing I could focus on, the only thing that mattered. They helped me to live, but they also killed me. Whoever I am. They made me think I was somehow above and beyond something as commonplace as friendship, made me think I would never be privileged enough to find companionship. I was set apart, and I stayed apart… until you."

Jane licked her magenta lips, the corner chapped from her nervous gnawing. Anna could tell the blonde was using every ounce of restraint she possessed not to run a worrying hand through her bangs, so as not to displace a single stray lock.

"You were the strangest person I had ever met. I had partnered before, as I said, all those months ago in a little dark van outside of a creepy mansion. But you were this ball of— something. Fire or energy or sunbeam or lightning, I don't know. You were just so bright, and I couldn't stop looking at you. And it bothered me, irked me irrationally, that I was so fixated on you. It wasn't a crush, or a draw, but this unexplainable pull, like you were an impulse under my skin just waiting to explode. Like it was urgent, that I just had to know you.

"And A, this is it for me. This is more than I ever wanted, because I never allowed myself to want. It was nonessential to who I thought I was, that feeling of want, of yearning, of desire. Not sexual, but… just simple wish fulfillment. How often do our prayers go unanswered, and how often do our dreams fail to materialize?" There was a pause while Jane studied the silverware.

"Being wanted?" Jane asked disbelievingly. "Who in a million years would want me? Some odd, antisocial sparker who could kill if things went poorly. Has… has killed," Jane stopped again, and shut her eyes momentarily. "I never expected you, but it feels like I've been waiting my whole life for you to show up."

Anna was crying now, noiseless tears trekking a cheek, running along the curve of her nose. She willed herself to stop, because she wanted to tell Jane these same things. That she had never felt wanted, that she craved attention because she had been dismissed. But now that dismissal seemed so trivial in light of this, this personal disclosure of Jane's sublimated existence. How Jane had redirected her desire for love into a retraction from it, how she had sacrificed for some twisted ideal of the greater good.

Damn martyr, falling on her electric sword.

"Don't cry, sweetheart," Jane said, releasing Anna's hand to brush a tear with the knuckle of her index finger.

"Happy tears," Anna blubbered, praying her mascara hadn't made her look like a weepy raccoon. She ran her index fingers under her bottom lids and blinked furiously.

"I know," Jane whispered, glancing about, to ensure they hadn't drawn undue attention to themselves. "I'm sure you know what I want to say—"

"Doesn't mean I want to hear it any less."

Jane smiled with her eyes, a sanguine expression overrunning her round, pale face. "A, what I'm trying to tell you, what I've been wanting to tell you for weeks—"

Anna felt her heart constrict.

"Is that I am deeply, irrevocably, in love with—" Jane stopped, and her face shattered, a baseball bat at a monitor screen. "Ursula?!"

…

…

…

What the FUCK?

"Wait, what?" Anna spat.

"Hans!" Jane exclaimed.

"Fuck no, what?!"

"Don't turn around," Jane whispered hurriedly. "Just… don't. They're at the bar, a group of them, and Hans is talking."

Anna didn't turn, but gripped the napkin in her lap with enough force to rip the expensive cloth. How like Hans to screw up her moment.

"Can I look yet?" she asked.

"Be discreet."

Anna played with her earring and turned her head to the side. Sure enough, Ursula Carol was there with a breathing mask and oxygen tank, looking wan and cruel as ever at Hans's right side. They were surrounded by men in varying degrees of suit, from Armani to second-hand. Their faces were glinting, and they stood with an air of self-assurance, though they were likely posturing for the other people in the group, sizing the others up.

Shit.

"They're the players," Anna deduced.

"Is this some kind of meet and greet?"

"I don't think so…" Anna said. "I've been to a few of these before, Hans is probably explaining the stakes before the game, just so everyone has time to get acquainted. People don't usually socialize the night before. Deals like this, it's meet one night and out the same, especially if it's off the books for the casino. I was going to work my way in on the table as long as Hans wasn't around, but with Ursula playing…"

Anna regarded Jane forlornly, because their special night had just been torpedoed, shot, kicked, swallowed and then regurgitated, only to have the Little Boy dropped soundly atop it. Romance? More like a mushroom cloud of regrets.

"Jane, you were going to tell me—"

The blonde just shook her head, and nodded directly toward the gambling group across the bar.

Anna sighed, defeated. "They moved up the date, probably because of the break-in in Manhattan," Anna explained. She cast another surreptitious glance in the direction of the group, and saw Ursula rasping in Hans's ear. "I'm not going to be able to get in, she knows my face," Anna said. She turned back to the blonde. "Jane, I know we had so much planned for this evening, but we have to act now. I can't play with Ursula here, but maybe I can run surveillance. It all hinges on whether Hans sits in at the table. As I said, I've been to a few of these, but he's never played before. If he doesn't participate, we might can get you in. So you're going to have to—"

"I can't go to that table, I've played two games of online poker and then swapped to crosswords because I was shit at it," Jane insisted. "Besides, what if Hans stays in the room?"

"There was an H on the manifest, but come to think of it, it never said all the initials were players, just those invited. I'm guessing those other initials we saw belong to those people. Ursula Carol, the C. That leaves us with A, B, and D, and possibly an H if Hans doesn't play. There are three people over there not including Hans and Ursula, so that might be all of them."

"Do you recognize anyone?"

"No, I don't think I do," Anna mumbled, craning her neck.

"Of course this happens," Jane said, ready to bolt. The cluster around Hans had thinned, and he seemed to be guiding Ursula, oxygen tank in tow, to a private room in the back of the restaurant. "We're going to have to… postpone, if we want to figure out what they know about B4. As if this night could get any worse."

Anna took a sip of $100-per-glass wine to calm her nerves. It was drier than she expected, and burned a little going down.

Maybe that's what pride tastes like, before you get a mouthful of salt water.

"Blondie?"

Anna observed as Jane froze, her face losing all expression. She reverted to neutral, to stasis, a reboot or robot or whatever it was that made her so characteristically blank. Anna hadn't seen that face in a long time. In a really long time. The Ice Queen returneth.

"Blondie, is that you?" a handsome man with dark eyes and olive skin approached, waving genially across the restaurant at one of the men in Hans's group of all-star gamblers.

"Aladdin," Jane acknowledged him without feeling.

Anna looked up at the man standing beside their candlelit table. It took all of her grifter reserve not to spat the wine in his face and pummel him into oblivion.

I am not overexaggerating when I say I fear for my well-being after this chapter. Well, maybe a little. Thanks again for all the readers and reviewers! I've also put up a few FAQs about writing Stolen Ice on my FF profile, just because I've had some similar questions (that I don't mind answering!). Just thought this might be easier.