The Peacheeks?

Being inside an airplane was not like what he thought it’d be.

Granted, the few expectations he’d had from movies all featured a comically overstuffed aircraft with seats crammed into rows of impatient, angry people, crying babies, talkative grandpas, and standoffish teens with oversized headphones.

This was nothing like that. 

From the moment they’d entered the building through the sliding doors, everything was smoothly in motion. There were no scanners or metal detectors or anything. Nobody asked for Elsa’s ID. Staff knew Elsa and Kristoff by face and addressed them as Ms. Arendelle and Mr. Bjorgman, and Jack was actually addressed as honest-to-goodness “Mr. Overland.” He couldn’t even remember the last time he heard his name like that. Elsa and Kristoff greeted each staff person by name, and he was pretty sure they never looked at their name tags. 

They passed through a series of hallways and open lobbies into a private waiting room, where it occurred to Jack that nobody actually had any luggage. He opened his mouth, ready to ask, but then caught sight of Elsa typing furiously into her phone, and closed it. 

The private waiting room had a coffee and snack bar with hot and cold options and no price tags in sight. Jack couldn’t believe he could just take some. For free. (“It’s complimentary, Jack,” Kristoff insisted, handing him a bottle—and not the mini ones, either. “Help yourself.”) 

(Later, he would wonder, Why is it that, the richer you are, the more people want to give you stuff you don’t have to pay for?)

They were fancy expensive coffee machines (like the spaceship in Elsa’s kitchen, but, like, industrial), and even fabric napkins. No flimsy tissue paper napkins, no sir-ee.

Elsa never seemed to have to ask for anything.

They only had to wait a mere twenty minutes, and then another pair of attendants led them out and across the tarmac in the nighttime darkness in a long stretch of valley under towering mountains amidst the September chill. They were boarding a plane with a dropdown staircase, like hoity-toity politicians. And like, royal people.

At the top of the stairs, Elsa and Kristoff stepped into a brand-new miniature world, totally undeterred by the shifting of reality as they passed through a portal to another dimension, this one of beige, gold, silver, and cream leather. Jack almost tripped over the threshold. 

A stewardess—flight person? attending person?—with a wide and shiny smile who reminded him of Thi told him to make himself “at home.”

“Jack, come join us,” Elsa’s voice pulled him from the marveling, and he realized that he’d been just standing in the middle of the big open cabin, gawking, like the peasant he was. Elsa seemed to be enjoying herself, watching him (make himself ever the fool), but at least she didn’t seem so stressed out anymore. 

The cabin was deceptively huge, but clearly intended for a small, private traveling party. How desperately he wished the others could see this. Thi would be beside herself with it all, and Aster would pretend not to be but would be crap at hiding it, Sandy would be asking a bajillion questions, and North would probably move the whole plane sideways—ooh, nope, wait, don’t think about that—

Was it rude to take photos? Lame? Did he care?

Kristoff and Elsa had both chosen to sit in the plush seats facing one another with a shared miniature table between them, rather than the honest-to-god dining booth with a full table large enough to seat five, and were already settling in. Kristoff glanced up at Jack to nod him toward the empty seat beside Elsa, while he dropped his backpack in the seat next to himself. 

Someone immediately brought Elsa and Kristoff more fancy bottled waters without even having to ask; overwhelmed, Jack sat down next to Elsa. Her single bag was stored away somewhere, but her laptop was already out, but sitting closed on the table—at the ready. Jack felt distinctly out of place without any of his own things, and just the promise of “a change of clothes” waiting for him somewhere aboard this plane. His tools, stored safely in Elsa’s mudroom, soon to be hundreds of miles away.

Seeing his uncertainty and idle hands, Elsa leaned closer to assure him, “Once we take off, you’ll be able to select something from the entertainment library—they usually have movies currently available at the cinema.”

“What are you gonna be up to?” Jack asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He was also desperately curious about the noises he could hear coming from the front of the plane, but didn’t want to make a big deal of it.

Elsa’s smile was more grimace than anything. “This will primarily be a working flight for me, I fear.”

“The whole flight?”

“Oof,” Kristoff chimed in, taking a sip of his bougie water. “Let’s hope not. You need some sleep, Elsa.”

Sleep. Jack hadn’t even truly considered the logistics of it all. This chair was going to be pretty dang comfy to sleep in. He bet Sandy would have loved it.

“I will,” Elsa crisply replied back, and actually went so far as to flick her braid over her shoulder. Jack ignored the sudden sharp sting of envy that poisoned the back of his tongue. “But the more I prepare tonight, the less frantic Olaf will be in the morning.”

Jack saw his moment to jump in. “Who is this Olaf guy, really?”

(Jack technically had read his entire Wikipedia page weeks ago, but didn’t feel like mentioning that bit.)

(And a tiny wiggly part of his brain wanted to hear what she’d tell him.)

Elsa paused. “Olaf is a very dear… eccentric member of the family, who manages all operations as COO.”

“He’s… got a screw or two loose? But not when it comes to Elsa, or her family’s legacy,” is what Kristoff said, and it could have been a weird thing to say except he obviously meant it sincerely. 

Elsa sighed. “I suppose I should prepare some notes for you, to help bring you up to speed. Excuse me.”

And just like that, the laptop was open.

The attendant let them know that they were preparing for takeoff. Jack’s knee bounced in anticipation. He wished Elsa hadn’t taken the window seat. 

As the plane door was finally closed behind them, Jack tried to reel himself in. The attendant asked them if they would like any drinks “to start,” and Jack, overwhelmed, ordered the first thing that came to his mind without thinking. 

(Elsa was already typing, but he couldn’t even peek because of a privacy screen on her screen.)

Elsa ordered nothing. She was polite and courteous, but immediately returned to her laptop, typing away furiously; Jack hadn’t seen her this focused and in the zone since that rainy April day in the coffee shop. Jack’s hands suddenly itched for a chisel and some scrap wood, but he was pretty sure that would not fly over well on a plane, even a fancy private one.

Kristoff kept asking him friendly questions, phrased just the right way to give Jack hints about what was going to happen next or what he was supposed to do, without ever having to face the embarrassing task of asking. I wonder if that’s a trick he learned from all the fancy Arendelle events?

Jack was mildly relieved then to see the attendant bringing a very fancy to-go cup of hot cocoa his way honest-to-god ceramic, with a silicone lid, no styrofoam here—but he was too distracted—excited—to drink it, so instead he just held onto it with both hands atop the table, so he wouldn’t spill chocolate over the fine beige leather or the crisp white carpet. 

The attendant strapped themselves into their own seat at the front of the plane, and let them know through a little phone they were ready for take-off. Jack’s fingers squeezed around the mug.

Kristoff nodded to Jack, “I can share the wi-fi password if you’re ready for it?”

Jack, who’d been under the assumption that phone service or internet service of any kind would send the plane plummeting to the earth, said, “Yeah, thanks.” 

Once Wi-fi access was granted, Kristoff turned his attention to scrolling through his own phone, brow furrowing. He kept mumbling words under his breath, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t English. The pilots and attendants were doing all sorts of checks and things, and nervous anticipation flitted through Jack’s skin. Reflexively, suddenly wishing he had a better prop—like Elsa’s busy laptop, or Kristoff’s busy phone—he took a sip of the drink in his hands—

—and immediately scalded half his tongue and the whole back of his throat.

The attendant quickly leaped up from her seat and into action with a glass—glass!—bottle of cold water as the plane curved around the pavement to get into position, while Elsa startled in her seat, and Kristoff smirked knowingly from his seat, and Jack tried not to die in his.

“I’m so sorry, Jack!” Elsa exclaimed quietly, as Jack embarrassedly reassured the entirety of the plane that he was fine, and the attendant rushed back to her seat, and buckled back in with alarming efficiency.

Cheeks hot, he brushed it off, aiming his most charming smile, “Don’t be,” but his cough slightly diminished the effect. He cleared his throat, purposefully, and added a dash of debonaire to his arched brow, “Should have remembered to wait for your perfect touch with my dangerously hot beverages.”

Elsa paled—

Kristoff looked at Elsa askance—

But then the plane was taking off, and Jack’s attention whipped to the world outside, which was steadily blowing past in the small window, as Mr. Jack(son) Overland—for the very first time—took flight.

//

Elsa wasn’t paying attention to him.

Which—okay, valid. She’d made it clear that this was an emergency business trip. She was taking care of emergency business. 

It also made it easier for him to hide just how lame he was for being so delighted to fly. 

Tiny lights scattered across the black, like golden specks of sand. He wondered what they were all doing, these tiny ants with their own important lives. He wondered what they dreamed about. 

After twenty minutes in the air, the stewardess—flight attendant, Kristoff had gently corrected, although he only called her by the name on her shiny name tag—approached the large dining table with a push cart, and started setting the table with plates, each covered and steaming. A hot meal. 

Kristoff politely thanked her—Jack hurried to follow suit—and then unbuckled from his fancy chair, and stood.  “Hungry, Jack?”

Jack looked to Wlsa, who didn’t tear her eyes away from her screen. “I’ll join you both shortly.”

Shrugging, Jack unbuckled himself from the big beige chair and slid into the booth opposite Kristoff. Steak cooked to perfection. Buttered, delicate potatoes. Roasted, fresh vegetables. 

“Yeah, it still freaks me out a bit, too,” Kristoff admitted good-naturedly, as Jack simply stared at his hot meal—a dozen kilometers in the sky. Jack also wasn’t sure what to make of this new general atmosphere of solidarity. It’s not like he wasn’t already used to feeling like the last one to catch the drift… but he’d gotten used to his regular audience. 

“What do you mean?” Jack played dumb.

Kristoff shook his head, partially lost in memory, as he cut into his juicy steak. His smile was a bit sad. “At first, I was definitely not used to… all this.”

Are you now? Jack wanted to ask, but held it back; he wasn’t sure what the implications would be, to let on that he was curious.

So, Kristoff gave him a brief primer on how the FBO crew partnered with a select catering company as part of their services, and he’d actually put in the order when they’d made the reservation, to save time (“Sorry—Elsa recommended your order, and it was all a bit last-minute,” but Jack has no qualms about being literally catered to—right?). But, as they talked about Kristoff’s first trip to New York, and Jack asked the questions he least wanted to know but figured would be the safest to ask…  Elsa’s plate remained covered and untouched. 

Then Jack’s phone miraculously buzzed with an incoming message. From Elsa. 

Jack opened the document file on his phone. He stared at the title, aghast.

“What’s this?”

“Just a few notes,” Elsa demurred, but he could see that she was starting to doubt herself. He really didn’t want to make her second-guess anything about herself, ever, but… 

He scrolled through the attachment she’d sent, frowning. “Elsa… What did I just read?”

Kristoff glanced up, intrigued—especialy when Elsa’s cheeks blushed pink. 

It was very pretty, of course, but Jack was shockingly too distracted by the file in his palm. “Am I just tagging along, or am I being trained for battle?”

He did not like the way she said, “…both?”

Kristoff held out his hand when he saw that Jack was simply staring at his phone in bewilderment. Jack wordlessly handed it over.

Kristoff hadn’t even scrolled a quarter of the way down when he eyed Elsa across the aisle, “Els, really—five pages?”

Els. 

Jack jammed another piece of steak into his mouth.

“I know,” she was apologetic, but he could tell from the firm slant of her brow that she was about to dig her heels in. “But Jack, I just want you to have a firm grasp of what you’re walking into.” Reassuringly, “You don’t have to think of them as rules. Simply… treat them as… helpful guidelines!”

Kristoff silently mouthed, half-conspiratorially, half-true warning: They’re rules!

Oh boy.

New York Visit – Briefing & Etiquette Overview Date: September 29, 2025 Purpose: Prepared for our guest; R&D check-in re: Southern Isles, Inc., New York City Description: This brief schedule outlines logistical expectations and behavioral guidance during our time in New York. Please review carefully. General Conduct: • Assume you are visible at all times. • When uncertain, observe before acting; defer to Kristoff when in need and I am unavailable; when Kristoff is unavailable, defer (with cautious judgment) to Olaf (note: he is excitable and prone to theatrics). • In the apartment, you may speak freely; otherwise, assume that others are listening at all times.

Yikes.

⸻

Monday 6:00 am – Arrival (Airport Terminal) • Olaf contacted security; media presence will occur, courtesy of a tipoff from Southern Isles, Inc, but will happen outside the office, not on the tarmac or at the FBO. We hope.  • Allow security or staff to manage perimeter interactions; they will begin duty upon our arrival. • Walk with us, on Kristoff’s right; please do not fall behind or rush ahead; keep pace.

Jack read that line a second time. Be unremarkable.

Be invisible.

Hmm. Best to deal with that feeling later.

7:30–9:00 am – R&D Team Meeting (Headquarters) • We must immediately head to HQ, so unfortunately, we will not be able to drop you off at our apartment first. Please excuse us while we take our critical meeting with Olaf and my advisors. You will wait in the lobby. • You will be offered coffee. You may accept it if you wish, but please be prepared to leave at any moment. • If approached, introduce yourself briefly as Mr. Bjorgman’s assistant and redirect inquiries to my staff by saying, “Ms. Arendelle’s team will be happy to assist you with that.” Otherwise, do not speak; adopt a neutral expression and make clear with your body language that any further pressing will be considered an intrusion. • Do not discuss personal matters. Assume others are listening at all times. 9:15 am – Transfer to Apartment

“Wait. So, this apartment… You don’t like, rent it? You own it? In New York City?”

“Correct. I invested in the location when I first inherited my role, and made trips to New York a more common occurrence.”

Kristoff fondly, smirkingly added, “And it was a lot easier to keep an eye on Anna’s mischief, too, with your in the ice fortress tower.” But then Elsa’s expression shuttered—and Kristoff’s next words stumbled out. “What I mean is—Anna’s wild days were—the nickname—it’s just the color scheme and the paint job that—“

“Very smooth, Bjorgman,” Elsa replied drily, while Jack’s head swiveled like at a tennis match. This was the first time they had brought up Anna so casually—

“Ice fortress?”

Kristoff nearly choked on his steak bite. Elsa glared at him from across the plane.

“As I said,” Elsa crisply replied, and it was clear that her zesty chill was directed at Kristoff, who was doing a remarkable job of smirking while still looking distinctly uncomfortable. “It is a silly nickname. He insists on using it. Something to do with the color palette I’ve chosen for decor, of all things.”

Jack’s mind filled with endless carvings of snowflakes. Something tugged at the back of his mind, a feeling not unlike the sensation he sometimes used to get as he’d leave her house—at the top of the North Mountain—the empty snow globe—

But Kristoff composed himself, and, with a fuller smirk that was oddly reminiscent of what Jack usually saw in the mirror, said, “Go ahead and skip over the ‘fortress’ aspect, sure—so, obviously you’ve also told Jack that HQ is 'the Castle’?”

Elsa’s rolling of her eyes was her only response, so Kristoff threw a grin his way; Jack wasn’t sure what his expression held as that strange sensation fluttered away, dissolving like smoke. He pretended to laugh and smile along at their clear inside jokes, which they were clearly trying to—at least partially—bring him in on. He tried to recapture it, the sensation of being on the cusp of something—but it was gone. 

“Hey,” Kristoff called to her from across the aisle, even though they had both already returned to their screens, and Kristoff was typing something simultaneously. “Send me a copy of that, will ya?”

“If you insist—but behave. And I can see you procrastinating your Dutch upkeep.”

Kristoff swore under his breath—probably in Dutch.

Jack resumed his reading.

9:15 am – Transfer to Apartment  Afternoon – Scheduled Obligations • Kristoff and I may leave for meetings; precise itinerary is pending. • You should remain inside the apartment unless instructed otherwise. There will be plenty of entertainment for you to enjoy! And the view to admire, of course. (Windows are tainted for privacy.) We will provide all meals inside the apartment, of course, and all the snacks your heart desires. • Do not admit anyone.  ⸻ Tuesday Morning and early afternoon – • No public appearances scheduled. • Remain indoors.

“Damn,” Krisoff’s voice cut through the mild brain fog once more, just as Jack was, with mild disappointment, figuring that he probably wasn’t going to be able to follow Aster’s instructions to try a slice of authentic New York-style pizza after all. “They sicced the media on you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Kristoff paused with a weighty enough silence that Jack actually looked up from his phone. 

“Has that… ever actually happened before?” 

Elsa took a moment to consider this. “Not since… the childhood protective laws were put in place.”

Kristoff looked worried enough that Jack was also starting to worry. He added that to his mental list of things to Google later—he got the feeling that there was a story underneath. Jack wondered if Elsa would need cheering up soon, but her face was steely grim.

“I’ve been assured that they don’t know which airline or which aircraft, and Olaf will ensure it stays that way. However, I… It’s best not to attempt to fly business class again anytime soon; too many aliases were leaked.” 

Kristoff really looked worried now. Jack shut his phone to sleep.

Elsa was frowning, but her fingers still rested over the keyboard, poised to strike. Apology clear in the air, she looks Kristoff dead-on, “I know you hate the charters, but I don’t think it’s safe to fly commercial any longer.”

Safe.

Kristoff cursed under his breath. “Great. Guess not.”

Jack was also frowning; this Hans guy was a real piece of work, forcing Elsa out of her safe place and straight into a pack of wolves, ratting her out as soon as she was in her way to deal with him. Loathing wasn’t a familiar feeling—Pitch’s Produce aside, but that was a story for another day—but he could feel it crawling up his arms now.

“And the Cabin?” Kristoff suddenly tacked on, nervous.

She sighed. “Safe,” said Elsa, voice tight. She did not glance at Jack, but he could feel that she wanted to; could feel a weight in the air when she added, with audible reluctance and relief, “For now.”

The cabin. The castle. Ice fortress.

Jack realized, with growing alarm, that the questionable safety she was referring to was her house on North Mountain. 

Elsa could sense Jack’s realization, and Jack could sense Elsa sensing—and ignoring!—it. All meaningful attempts to initiate eye contact were thwarted when Elsa deliberately turned her gaze back to her laptop.

Patience, Overland. Show her you can handle the Big Emergency Work Trip! 

He was actually wondering if he could handle the Big Emergency Work Trip.

Kristoff and Elsa both resumed their screentime, but there was a markedly pensive air within the aircraft now. He was about to push, to break the silence with something, maybe ask for a second hot chocolate, but then his phone buzzed again. 

She’d texted him. Right in front of Kristoff! When they were sitting just a few feet away from each other! 

A warm wave of glee filled his chest at the feeling of secrecy and specialness, until he read:

I’ll explain later. 

Not bothering to hide it, Jack texted back. Do you promise?

She must have been texting from her laptop. Of course. 

He was reluctant to let her go back to work so easily. Pinky promise?

In what way is a promise of the pinky any more binding than a regular promise?

Loads. Now I have reason to doubt your Promise Power.

There is no need for doubting. I pinky promise.

Jack, desperate to find a way to extend the texting, typed as fast as his fingers could fly, before she had any chance to put an end to it.

And will you fill me in all the inside jokes if I’m good? ;)

He was deeply satisfied to see her fingers hover, frozen, over the keyboard. Heat rushed through him. Their texting contests had been one of his favorite games, but he’d never pictured what it’d be like to watch her decide how to play along.  

WILL you be good?

Okay, well, that vaguely anxious tone was not necessarily the sexy vibe he’d been going for, but he could work with what he got.

For you, I certainly can be. :)))))))

CAN… or WILL?

Jack could see that Kristoff was noticing—and deliberately pretending to ignore!!—the text exchange taking place right in front of him. Heartened by this turning of the tables, Jack magnanimously replied, 

I WILL, of course. :)))))) 

Started to write, For you, I’d do anything, but erased it. Tried, For you, I’d go anywhere—case in point, this aircraft. Erased it.

Cheekily tacked on: 

How will I know if I’ve been good?

Belatedly realized he’d walked right into her less-than-satisfying answer:

By following the guidelines outlined in my overview.

Jack actually looked up at her, mildly offended at this overt avoidance of a perfectly good opportunity to send naughty texts—until he saw her unsuccessfuly trying to hide her smirk.

Satisfaction restored.

Fine, Jack texted, in a great show of grace, if he did say so himself. You win. I relent.

Thank you, she texted back, once again missing a perfectly opportune moment to write good boy.

Please finish reading the document and let me know if you have any questions.

Maybe it was the private jet, or the Emergency Work problem, or the combination of the two, but she sure was comfortable giving him orders now. 

Still. He was eager to comply. 

He read.

Monday Afternoon & Evening – Prep, Dinner with Hans • This engagement is dreaded, regrettable, strategic, and unfortunately necessary. • Public interpretation of this meeting may be inaccurate; do not respond to commentary.  • Please do not Google.