Nora passed. It was a fact Victor could no longer deny, a disease incurable; no matter how long he spent in his frozen tomb. Days, weeks, months passed by in a sludgy haul, driving Victor mad with the thoughts of what if? Eventually, though, Freeze breached hibernation.

It began when Victor saw you at the scene of his latest escapade, robbing Gotham Bank to fund his suit's next upgrade. There, amidst the ice crystals and sludge, stood a petrified, fair-faced civilian with gentle features. You were so gorgeous cold, the flush of heat rushing to highlight your face, the quick, warm breaths escaping your parted lips. Absolutely, and indubitably beautiful. Victor had to retract swiftly, but kept a mental image of your face in his mind.

This one he would not let be stolen from him.

Rippling cascades of frozen slush lined the dim streets, closing off the sidewalk leading to your apartment. Vehicles, honking angrily, were encased with a layer of freeze. Fries found your home, him and his armed henchmen appearing from Gotham's inky darkness on your way home from work. They cornered you, a wall of ice boxing you in. From the dark came a brooding figure, looming into the street light donning a formidable suit and freeze ray. His translucent helmet shined in the light.

You were coming with him, willing or not.

"Do not be wary of me, my dear," the man of ice holstered his weapon, approaching with free hands, "I mean you no harm. But, you must come with me."

Victor's words were true and final -- he meant you no harm, he wouldn't dare lay so much as a hand on you. But he couldn't waste a moment without your presence, unwilling to repeat his previous mistakes.