A/N: Another oneshot type deal, takes place sometime after the previous chapter. Bumping the chapter rating up to T

Disclaimer: Disney's stuff. Not mine.

- Mark II -

"I'm not getting in that thing."

"Well if you've got a better idea, I'm all ears."

"Don't you guys have any planes? I can do planes."

"No planes, I'm afraid. At least...no planes with guided missiles systems, as far as I know."

Kristoff stares up at the suit, all bright, gleaming silver beneath the halogen bulbs. To anyone else, the sleek design might conjure up images of the futuristic utopias of the 1950's—that kind of chrome-coated optimism only old comic book heroes can promise. But Kristoff's not fooled; he's seen the blueprints. The suit's a veritable war machine.

"Why don't you fly it, huh? You're more...tech-y. Like Anna."

"Can't. Claustrophobic."

Kristoff wants to scoff, but as he watches the robotic arms systematically disassemble the armor, prepping it for an occupant, he can easily imagine being trapped inside, the metal wholly encasing one's person, the weight of the armor immediate and inescapable.

Now even he is uneasy. He doesn't want to think about Elsa being inside that thing.

And it must be killing her; he knows for a fact it's killing her, because he's seen it happen before. When Anna was gone. The whole...useless thing. The horrible feeling of guilt. Of wanting to help and being unable to do so.

But this is not quite the same Elsa from several months prior—this Elsa does not retreat into herself, does not shut out the rest of the world. (This Elsa also does not rely so heavily on alcohol, thank goodness.)

Rather, this Elsa pulls her hair back out of her face and stalks over to workbench, where she unceremoniously shoves aside an entire heap of equipment, seemingly not caring as it all clatters to the floor. (Kristoff winces enough for the two of them.) The projected keyboard is now exposed, and she hurriedly types in a command. The robotic arms come to a rest beside the armor.

It's ready.

Kristoff's not, but he has a feeling that doesn't really matter, right now.

Okay, Bjorgman. Anna needs your help. He focuses on her as he steps up to the suit. Her, and taking down Westergaard.

"Um. Okay. How do I do this?"

Elsa surveys one of the screens, frowning a little, lips moving as she silently reads over the schematics.

"Well...it looks like...you step into the—yeah, like that." Elsa nods as Kristoff steps back into the...boots, for lack of a better term. "Now I'd...I'd hold as still as possible, if I were you."

"Why?"

"Because I'm about to run this program and I have no idea what I'm doing."

"...Right."

Kritoff takes a deep breath and holds it without meaning to as Elsa's fingers fly across the keys. The robotic arms whir and come to life once more, piecing the armor together around Kristoff. It's...almost like they're stitching him into the suit. The legs are locked into place, followed by the torso, the arms.

Kristoff expects it to be heavy, all that metal sitting on top of him. But the suit itself takes most of the brunt. The final piece clicks into place—the face mask. One minute, he's staring out at the cluttered workshop and garage, regarding Elsa as calmly as possible (which isn't all that calm but the armor hides his shaking knees) and the next the mask comes down.

It's pitch black inside the suit.

"Um." He's not sure if his voice is getting out—it doesn't echo, or anything, but it feels close, like it's not going much farther than his mouth. "Aren't there supposed to be eye-holes or—?" there's a sound like a computer starting, and a screen flickers to life, just centimeters from Kristoff's face. It's disorienting, for a moment, but then the garage snaps into focus. A HUD appears at the edges of his vision. "—never mind."

"Sorry," he hears Elsa say. He turns a little too fast—again, he was expecting some...resistance, at least. Something to suggest and entire metal exoskeleton built up around him, but it's light and easy to maneuver. He'll have to tell Anna, later.

If there is a 'later.'

"I'm a little out of my depth here," again, Elsa has to admit it with no small amount of guilt. "I understand most of what's here, but some of it..." Anna's notations weave in and out of coherence. "I'm going to load up the AI."

"Alright."

While Kristoff waits, he takes an experimental step forward. It goes well, so he attempts another, only to belatedly remember that the other foot is still half locked in place. There's a high pitched whine from the robotic arm; it doesn't know if it should release the foot or not. Programming says 'no,' but Kristoff's unintentional command says 'yes.'

So it lets him topple to the floor.

"Hiya Sven! Um, what are you doing down here?" a cheerful voice fills the inside of the helmet. Kristoff groans.

"I thought K.A.I. ran the suits!"

"Sorry, sorry! Anna's file maintenance is god-awful..." Elsa frantically scans the screen. "I don't see his OS anywhere—"

"Ooooh, is this the Mark II? I've always wanted to see the Mark II!" O.L.A.F. gushes.

"No, it's fine, we don't have time to find him," Kristoff tells Elsa. She nods and moves to shut down the computer. "Olaf?"

"Yeah Sven?"

"It's Kristoff. Can you help me fly this thing?"

"Um. I think so?"

"...Good enough."

Kristoff pushes himself up and staggers to the other end of the workshop, checking the HUD and familiarizing himself with the systems. He flexes his fingers, shakes out his legs. It's...not that bad, actually.

"Okay, so...I've seen Anna do this before. Um." he stands up straight, arms at sides, palms held parallel to the ground. "...Go." he commands.

The suit remains firmly on the ground.

"...Fly? ...Flame on?" he tries a few more. "Okay, I give. How do I get this thing to—"

"Hmmm? Oh! Sorry, I was a bit distracted there—thrusters at fifty percent!" O.L.A.F. bleats.

Kristoff has seen them at two point five percent.

"No, no, WAIT—"

He goes straight up, and then straight down. Mostly due to the fact that there's a ceiling—and an entire two floors between him and the sky. Had he attempted the flight outside, he probably would've been fine.

Elsa's there with a fire extinguisher; fortunately, they've no need of it. Yet.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he tells her. "Thick skull."

"Right."

"Okay, for real this time," he says, bracing himself and angling towards the tunnel-like entrance to the sublevel garage. "I think I've got it."

Elsa tosses the fire extinguisher aside and moves to follow him.

"Well. Once you get out there, stick to the main roads, and I'll—"

"Wait, wait, you're coming?" the glare Elsa gives him could peel paint. "I mean, of course you're coming. But how..." his voice trails off as Elsa raises an eyebrow and directs her gaze to somewhere just behind his shoulder. He takes the hint and turns and...

And he feels a little stupid.

When he turns back, Elsa's got a keyfob in her hand, and the glare is replaced with a sly smirk.

"Let me guess. You assumed the cars belonged to my father?"

"...Noooo?"

She wastes no time, selecting a vehicle and revving the engine. He get's the message. LET'S GO.

"Alright, Olaf. Let's try this again. Thrusters at...thirty percent, okay?"

"Got it!" the AI chirps. The suit obeys, and Kristoff finds himself hovering unsteadily several feet above the floor. He wishes he had more time to get his bearings, but Anna needs backup yesterday, so he's just going to have to figure it out on the fly. Um. Literally.

"Alright, up it to fifty—not yet!" he adds quickly. "When I tell you to." He angles himself again. Elsa's at his back, ready to go as soon as he is. "Let's go kick Hans' ass," Kritoff growls. "GO."

O.L.A.F. complies. The suit takes off, a single silver streak, O.L.A.F.'s rallying cry rattling in the helmet.

"Let's go kick Hans' ass!...wait. Who is this Hans?"

A/N: Short, unedited, but hope it was a fun read regardless! :D