A/N As always, thank you ever so much for the reviews! Responses to reviews can be found by clicking the homepage link on my bio page. Next weekend is Fall Break, so more time to write! Huzzah!

Disclaimer I do not own Batman (or any of his accessories, allies, or antagonists).

Acknowledgement I would like to thank Jack London, whose hideous story To Build a Fire has cemented in me a violent fear of freezing to death.

Chapter 7

...I turned and saw beneath my feet and stretching out ahead, a lake so frozen it seemed to be made of glass. So thick a sheet never yet hid the Danube's winter course...the livid dead are sealed in place...and they beat their teeth like storks. Each holds his face bowed toward the ice, each of them testifies to the cold with his chattering mouth...

- The Inferno

Rachel had spent the day barricaded in her office, frantically trying to catch up on her work overload. Daylight was nearly gone when her howling stomach made it known that she had eaten nothing but half a bowl of cornflakes all day.

The break room vending machine was out of everything but peanut M&Ms, and she was well into her second pack before the blaring television finally caught her attention.

In relation to this morning's kidnapping, the police have asked that we periodically play the following tape.

The screen momentarily blacked out, and then a leering clown in a fluorescent green wig materialized. He perched on the end of a midnight blue sports car, a glass of champagne in hand.

Hello, people of Gotham. I apologize for interrupting your regularly scheduled programming; however, I have an urgent message for a mutual friend of ours. Yes, Batman, I'm talking to you. Been awhile, hasn't it? Nearly…five months? I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to renewing our acquaintance. Actually, I was wondering if, as an old friend, you could do me a favor. As I'm sure you know by now, I threw a small bash this morning and picked up a couple of unexpected guests. I don't have the time to drive them home myself and was wondering whether you would be kind enough to pick them up for me. If you can fit it into your schedule, just give the police a ring. They'll be expecting your call.

The news anchor was making some anxious and fatuous remark when Rachel's cell phone rang – the one whose number only very important people had. Tearing herself away from the television she flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Miss Rachel?"

"Alfred?" He hadn't called her Miss Rachel for years. Not, in fact, since her eighteenth birthday.

"Have you seen the news?"

"Yes, just now."

"Then there's something that you need to know. Can you come to the manor?"

"Thirty minutes."

- - - - - -

The most persistent thought in Cecilia's mind as they sped through the darkness was that heating obviously wasn't a priority of the…whatever it was the Bat was driving. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering and tried to shiver unobtrusively in her wet clothes. At least I'm not required to produce a scintillating flow of conversation. She envied Richard, who had actually fallen asleep, his fair head resting lightly against her arm.

Without warning, the vehicle pulled to a stop. Cecilia tensed – she had no memory of this dimly lit stretch of highway.

"Your stop," the Bat growled.

Richard shook himself awake and smothered a yawn. "Are we there yet?"

"Where are we?" she demanded.

"Wayne Manor. Just over the wall."

They climbed out and Cecilia stared up at the sheer fifteen foot stone barrier. "I suppose you have a ladder handy?"

When he pulled the gun, she was too frozen to feel more than a flicker of alarm before he shot the grappling hook over the wall. A moment later, the Bat and Richard were on top of the wall, and then they disappeared on the other side. A belated rush of adrenaline warmed her enough to shout. "Hey!"

The Bat reappeared. "Something wrong?"

"What did you do with him?" she demanded as the creature landed beside her.

"Lifted him over the wall. How much do you weigh?"

"Getting a little personal, aren't we?"

"The gun can only take so much."

"One hundred sixty-seven," she snarled. "Is that a problem?"

He stepped back and deliberately examined her. "Not at all. It's refreshing to find a woman who's honest about her weight. Hold tight."

And the next moment she was jerked with dizzying speed to the top of the wall and dropped with a bone jarring thud to the other side. "Ignorant son of a one-eyed goat," she muttered balefully, scrambling back to her feet, but the Bat hadn't stuck around to hear himself insulted. She heard a powerful engine fading into the distance.

"Come on!" Richard stood on the edge of an orderly group of trees, up to his knees in snow, the tail of her coat trailing behind him like a half-shed skin.

Cecilia plodded along his broken path until she reached the trees where the snow was less deep. Richard was already plunging ahead, and Cecilia devoutly hoped he knew where he was going. The adrenaline was wearing off fast, and a leaden weariness accompanied her chattering teeth.

It had definitely been less than fifteen minutes when they saw a light bobbing toward them and heard a voice calling, "Dick!" The boy began running, doubling the distance between himself and Cecilia and leaving the trees behind.

Thank heaven, she thought, as her teeth did a mean imitation of a snare drum. Dante was right when he described the deepest pit of hell as a lake of ice.

The moon was rising, and the light reflected off the snow created an eerily well lit scene. "Dick!" the voice called again, and now Cecilia could see that it was a woman with long, dark hair who had seen Richard and was running toward him. Do I know her?

The boy redoubled his efforts. "Rachel!"

Cecilia froze in her tracks, right at the edge of the trees. Her lips were almost too numb to form the words properly. "Speaking of the devil…"

- - - - - -

"Miss Dawes! He's safely on the grounds!"

Rachel stopped her restless pacing and bolted for the front door. She impatiently shoved her arms into her coat and was buttoning it on her way down the steps when Alfred caught her and issued a flashlight and walkie talkie. "He's near the orchard. Call in as soon as you've found him. I'll be waiting here. I'm certain Master Wayne will join you as soon as he's in."

The moon was bright enough to make the flashlight superfluous, but she turned it on anyway, sweeping the beam ceaselessly back and forth across the snowy landscape. It took ten minutes to bring the orchard into view. "Dick!"

A small figure ran toward her, and a minute later she was wrapping her arms around him. "Dick! Sweetheart, are you all right?"

"Sure," he answered cheerfully, returning her tight squeeze. "I'm kind of cold, though."

"Me too," she laughed, although she felt more like crying. "Let's go inside." Lifting the walkie talkie she announced, "Alfred, I've found him. He's fine. We're starting back to the house." Shoving both flashlight and walkie talkie into her pocket, she took Richard's hand and began walking.

------

Three minutes after leaving Somerville and Dick on the other side of the wall, the Batmobile zoomed into the cave and screeched to a stop. Batman emerged, already beginning his quick change act. At least it's not a tux, he thought wryly as he tore off the body armor and scrambled into jeans and the ancient Princeton sweatshirt Alfred had left for him. He all but flew up the stairs and out the front door, racing to join the search before the search ran into Miss Somerville. She'd love nothing more than to assume I'm sitting warm and cozy on my butt while my elderly butler searches the snow for my ward.

Halfway to the orchard, he all but ran into two figures heading toward the house and came to a bemused stop. "Rachel?"

"Alfred called me."

Bruce nodded and looked down. "Hey, Dick, you ok?"

"Yeah."

"Ah…where's Miss Somerville?"

Dick looked surprised and turned to look behind him. "I thought she was following us."

"Who?" Rachel asked in confusion.

"Miss Somerville," Dick repeated, as if that explained everything.

"I'd better go look for her. You two go back to the house," Bruce directed, resuming his previous course. He could hear Rachel again asking Dick about the identity of the mysterious Miss Somerville and was cravenly glad it was his ward and not himself making this particular explanation. Not that I won't get my turn.

He was just beginning to wish he'd paused to grab a coat (especially since he hadn't had to stage a joyful reunion for a certain social worker's benefit) when he finally saw the dark and huddled figure moving at a painfully slow pace. "Miss Somerville?" She didn't answer, but as he approached, he could hear her mumbling indistinctly. "Miss Somerville?" He laid a hand on her arm and felt her damp sweater that was beginning to freeze in the night air.

"M-Mr. Wayne?" she squinted through her filthy lenses. "Are you f-familiar w-with the w-works of J-Jack L-L-London? H-horrible s-st-tory ab-bout a m-man f-f-freezing t-to d-death. P-p-peaceful w-way t-to go. S-s-say you f-f-feel w-warm…" she trailed off, shivering violently.

Bruce lifted the walkie talkie. "Alfred? Call a doctor. I think she's in the beginning stages of hypothermia. He wrapped an arm around Somerville's shoulders and, half supporting and half dragging her, started toward the house as quickly as he could.

Alfred was waiting at the door, his arms full of warm and woolly items. "The doctor is on his way."

"Good," Bruce grunted, bodily hauling the social worker into the nearest room and depositing her on a sofa.

"Is she conscious?" the butler inquired anxiously.

"Sh-she c-certainly is."

"Excellent, then you'll need to remove your wet things. Do you require assistance?"

Interpreting the change in the direction of her shivers as a "No," Alfred led his employer from the room. "Sir, Lieutenant Gordon has been calling for you. On both phones."

"I should call." Bruce waved at the closed door. "She's all yours."

Alfred went to the kitchen and picked up the waiting tea tray. Back outside the closed door, he knocked gently. "Miss Somerville?" When he received no answer, he carefully opened the door and found her still sitting on the sofa, but wrapped in the enormous quilted bathrobe he had discovered in her room, with a pile of crumpled clothing on the floor beside her. However, as he drew closer, he perceived that not only was she still shivering, but that she was still wearing her shoes and gloves. "I hope you are feeling a bit warmer," Alfred said, setting down the tray and carefully kneeling before her. "I'll just help you off with these, shall I?"

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but made no move to stop him as he removed her sensible and ugly shoes and replaced her socks with dry ones.

"And may I have your gloves?" He gently worked open her left fist and pulled the glove free, but he had more trouble with the right one. Her fingers refused to pull straight, and when the leather was at last removed he could see why. Angry red ropes of scar tissue ran diagonally across her palm, pulling the fingers into a permanent claw. "How about a cup of tea?"

She managed a weak style. "S-step ov-ver B-bachus."

He smiled in return. "I quite agree. Not even the great vintages can live up to a properly brewed cup of tea. Cream or sugar?"

"B-both. Th-thank you, Mr. P-Pennyworth."

"Not at all, Miss Somerville."

- - - - - -

The Joker sat cross legged atop an enormous crate, his purple silk bathrobe spread out around him like a royal mantle. Across from him, a television rested on another crate, and he was occupied in rewinding and fast forwarding through a tape in the VCR. On the screen, a light flashed in the window of a blue Jaguar, then flashed again as the tape was rewound. The Joker giggled softly to himself. "Such an obedient woman. And so punctual. Exactly fifteen minutes between flashes. Then five minutes…and then…" Thirty seconds worth of fast forward. "Pop! Goes the weasel," he sang softly to himself, watching the burning car with the delight of a child on the Fourth of July. He continued talking, telling himself a bedtime story. "They sat there, eagerly holding their breaths, watching the second hand tick by, waiting, waiting, waiting for the moment when they could start the engine and turn up the heat…" He collapsed into giggles. "Oh, how I wish I could have seen His face. It will drive Him crazy, trying to figure out who it was in the shed. He'll go round and round…round and round and round the mulberry bush…"

Mikey approached cautiously, cordless phone in hand. "Excuse me, sir?"

The Joker smiled benignly. "Yes, dear boy?"

"Phone for you, sir."

The Joker took it and held it to his ear. "And how are we this lovely evening?"

A voice, low and tight with controlled fury, commanded, "Turn on the news."

Joker stiffened indignantly. "Who is this?"

The voice softened into a hiss. "You fool, turn on the news."

Reluctantly, the clown stopped the tape and switched to the local news station.

To update those viewers who are just joining us, the hostages taken in this morning's bank robbery have been rescued unharmed. Their identities have not been released, but we have an anonymous source that confirms Batman was involved in the rescue operation.

Joker drew in a long, sharp breath. "That's impossible! They were in the car…the car exploded…" The news station flashed a picture of the smoking remains of the Jag. "You see!"

"I see," the voice said softly. "And whatever dark altar you bow to, you'd better start sending up prayers of gratitude, because the only reason your delightfully reconstructed face remains reconstructed is because they were not in the car."

"Impossible! Batman was nowhere near the scene…"

"Batman had nothing to do with it."

"But how? They were scared, stupid…"

"Perhaps it's because the people I choose to employ don't sit around waiting for death. I allowed you to come back to Gotham because you might prove useful. But from this second on, you will move exactly when and where I tell you, or you will cease to be employed…by myself or anyone else…Do you have any idea who that boy was?"

An excited news anchor looked up from her desk.

This just in. The identity of the hostages has been released. Apparently, the boy taken was Richard Grayson, ward of local billionaire Bruce Wayne. Richard was being escorted to his dentist appointment by a friend of the family...

To Be Continued...