Characters belong to DC Comics, and I don't intend to profit financially.
Mr. Freeze has to take an hour by himself before he can work up the nerve to step out onto her street. The stress building inside him feels exactly like he's reliving their first date-worse, even, as he holds none of his old advantages and knows that if the evening should end badly there is no conceivable way his heart can recover.
Everything begins well enough. He waits until the people in her building have either left for work or fallen asleep and cautiously comes up to her door, as quietly as his heavy boots will allow. The very fact that she'd agreed to meet with him at all is a good sign, at least.
The look of shock on her face, the slight gasp and a single, small step backward in her flat dress shoes is just something he has to soldier through.
She's wearing a dress that he's never seen before, dark blue and simple with a black jacket to keep her arms warm. Her hair has been tied up close to her scalp and away from her neck, pale and with somewhat disorderly curls. There's no jewelry on her anywhere, and she is doing her best to not look at the goggles over his eyes.
He can tell that he makes her nervous. He'd give anything to be wearing a tuxedo right then and not the monstrous shell of machinery and cold that he needs to survive Gotham's lukewarm winter. There wasn't much he could do to appear even remotely presentable aside from a little polish and dismantling some of the suit's more intimidating features.
Not sure which greeting is appropriate, he simply says "Good evening".
To her credit, Nora recovers from the sight of him well, smiling politely and following him off her doorstep with her signature grace, despite the shaking.
The Iceberg Lounge is empty of patrons for the night. Freeze doesn't tell her the favors he now owes the Penguin for that, or the equipment he had to trade—he just holds the door for her and pulls out her chair while she marvels at the atmosphere.
It's late. He tells her she can have anything she wants; she agrees to some dessert and he's left with nothing to do but observe. Occasionally, she looks up, the small curve of her lips the one she uses to dissolve tension, but slightly broken-timid.
He's still making her uncomfortable.
"You look beautiful," he offers, and can tell he's touched on a sensitive area; her sleep worn eyes crinkle in a real smile, a relieved one, almost, before turning back to her plate again self-consciously.
"Thank you." Her voice is soft and sweet, and it's the first thing she's said to him all night.
"I am glad that you are here," he adds, attempting a smile with small success.
She pauses, and stammers out, "It—This has been lovely."
Encouraged, he takes her hand in his and indicates the icy ballroom floor. "Would you care to-?"
"Yes." She blanches at sounding so eager. "…I-I would love to, yes."
The dance is slow and somewhat awkward, but as always her skill, unhampered by whatever illness and his experiments had done to her, makes it perfect.
"How have you been?"
"I..." She hums and bites her lip. "Fine. I mean, I..." He raises a hand and brushes a stray hair out of her eyes, and she seems to lose her nerve. "How-how have you been?"
Freeze knows she regrets the question the minute she's asked it. "I am well. Though..."
"Yes?"
I am very lonely without you. "It has been difficult to find engaging work."
Her chuckle is high and anxious. "I-I know what you mean."
She tells him how her condition has taken her away from professional dancing and his heart starts to bleed. Nora changes the topic to the weather, and she tries to mask her disappointment for the lack of snow this year.
Eventually they fall into a rhythm all their own and banter through the dance. It's as if the last few years had never happened-that is until the night begins to wind down and she, hair fallen free and limbs trembling, asks him to take her home.
The drive back is silent. The tension builds again and he finds himself intermittently gripping and releasing the steering wheel while she rests her head against the cold van window.
When she turns around to face him at the door, all words catch in his throat. Her own are smooth and seem to come easily; she thanks him, says she enjoyed herself-that she needed a night out. It feels very much like a sendoff.
He prepares to leave, when she suddenly curls her painfully thin fingers around his glove and all but chokes out, "Stay?"
He hesitates, but in all of the years they'd been together she's never had to ask for anything twice.
It's a nice apartment-he appreciates being able to see more of it than a doorway view, though he feels more out of place than ever inside of it. She apologizes for the state of her living room, though it is clearly immaculate, and asks him if he would like any of the drinks that she'd put in the freezer beforehand.
"No, thank you." He feels awful for declining.
"Maybe some other-?" She's afraid to finish the sentence at first. "S-some other time?"
"Perhaps. Should I find myself free." He hates the tinny distortion on his voice that causes the words to hang there. Free from Arkham, Batman, the police, his suit, it doesn't matter. "If you wish."
"I...I would like that." But she's not looking at him, she's fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lip.
"Nora."
Her ice blue eyes snap up to him, shiny and wavering and so very, very uncertain.
"Victor-"
Every wall crumbles, and able to think of nothing else, he says impulsively, cutting her off, "I love you."
It is every bit the guilty confession it had been when he first told her so many years ago; and in this moment he really does feel like a Gotham criminal.
Tears start dribbling down her cheeks; she kisses the glass of his viewing window and whispers, almost apologetically, "I know."