Chapter 42: The Things That Survive the Cold (part 2)
Elias stopped reading. "Thirty years." Abraham looked toward him. "More than thirty." Elias returned his look before he stared at the page. "Under the lake."
Beryl folded her arms. "That's a long time to be alone."
Harley nodded slowly. "Isolation does things to people. Especially when they've already got a lot of guilt and fear eating away at them."
Ace looked toward the snow globe. The tiny Wakati Mansion continued sitting beneath its gentle snowfall. She thought about spending years trapped inside Cadmus facilities. Rooms without windows. People studying her.
Adults making decisions about her life without asking what she wanted. She understood isolation. Probably more than most people in the room.
But thirty years? That was difficult to imagine. "Was Nora awake?" Ace asked quietly.
Elias shook his head. "No, my dear."
Ace looked down. "So he was alone the whole time?"
Abraham sighed. "Essentially."
Ace remained quiet. Then she asked something that made both doctors look toward her. "Did he ever talk to her?"
Elias considered the question. "I do not know."
Ace looked toward the snow globe again. "I think he did."
Harley watched her carefully. "Why do you think that, honey?"
Ace shrugged slightly. "Because when you're alone for a long time, sometimes you talk to people even when they can't answer."
Nobody immediately responded. Abraham gently squeezed her hand. Elias looked down at Victor's letter.
For the first time that morning, he wondered whether Victor had spent those thirty years speaking to Nora's frozen body.
Telling her about his research. Apologizing for failures. Promising tomorrow would be different. He suspected Ace was correct. And somehow, that made the entire story considerably sadder.
When I finally emerged from beneath the lake, Gotham had changed.
There were new buildings.
New roads.
New names attached to old institutions.
The technology had advanced in ways I had once imagined only theoretically.
And yet the city remained recognizable.
The lights still shone.
The streets remained crowded.
People continued living their lives.
I remember standing near the waterfront and watching traffic move across a bridge that had not existed when I disappeared.
For a brief moment, I felt almost happy.
Then I remembered why I had returned.
Elias read the next section more slowly.
I needed money.
Equipment.
Access to research facilities.
Materials that could no longer be obtained through ordinary means.
I had no legitimate position, no meaningful financial resources, and very little patience remaining.
So I stole.
At first, I told myself that I would take only what was necessary.
Then I told myself that the people I robbed could afford the losses.
Eventually, I stopped bothering with explanations.
Gotham gave me a name.
Mr. Freeze.
I disliked it.
I still do.
Harley smiled faintly. "Yeah, he really does." Abraham looked toward her. "He has mentioned that?"
"Oh, plenty. He says it sounds like something a child would name a refrigerator."
Beryl laughed. "He's not entirely wrong."
Harley nodded. "I told him it's still better than some of the names people around here come up with."
Elias continued.
For years, I committed crimes in pursuit of Nora's cure.
I robbed laboratories.
I stole technology.
I threatened people.
I injured people.
And there were occasions when my actions caused suffering I cannot justify.
I told myself that everything was for Nora.
That was convenient.
It allowed me to avoid considering whether Nora would have approved of the man I had become.
The truth is that she would have been horrified.
Abraham lowered his eyes. Elias continued.
I became increasingly unstable.
My thoughts narrowed until almost every decision revolved around obtaining the next piece of equipment, the next experimental treatment, or the next opportunity to force someone into helping me.
I convinced myself that anyone who opposed me was choosing to let Nora die.
Batman became an enemy.
The police became enemies.
Other scientists became enemies.
Eventually, almost everyone became an enemy.
It was an exhausting way to live.
Harley nodded to herself. That part sounded very familiar. Not only because of Victor.
She had spent enough years surrounded by Gotham's criminals to know how easily people could construct elaborate explanations for their own behavior. The more intelligent they were, the more impressive those explanations often became.
And Victor Fries was very intelligent. Which meant he had been capable of lying to himself with extraordinary sophistication.
Over time, my research produced an unpleasant conclusion.
Nora's illness is extraordinarily rare.
To the best of my knowledge, it remains unique.
I have found no other confirmed patient with precisely the same progression, biological markers, and underlying abnormalities.
There are similarities to other conditions, of course.
There are always similarities.
But similarities are not answers.
For years, I interpreted every failed experiment as evidence that I needed greater resources.
More money.
More advanced equipment.
More people working under my direction.
I was reluctant to consider that my entire approach might be flawed.
Elias nodded slowly. "That sounds familiar."
Abraham looked toward him. "Victor?"
"All of us." Abraham considered that. Then sighed. "Unfortunately." Elias continued reading.
There were people who offered assistance.
Some were sincere.
Others had their own interests.
Lex Luthor was among them.
Abraham's expression immediately soured. "Oh, wonderful." Harley made a face. "Yeah, that's never a good sentence." Beryl looked toward Elias.
He continued.
Luthor possessed resources beyond anything I could have assembled independently.
His laboratories were impressive.
His personnel were capable.
His understanding of several relevant fields was considerable.
I would be dishonest if I pretended his assistance offered no possibility of progress.
But assistance from Lex Luthor is rarely without conditions.
And the conditions became increasingly difficult to ignore.
There were suggestions about using experimental subjects.
Proposals involving technologies whose consequences had not been properly examined.
Requests for access to Nora's biological material that extended well beyond the needs of her treatment.
I considered some of them.
That admission shames me.
Eventually, I refused.
Not because I suddenly became a better man.
But because I remembered Nora.
She would never have agreed to save her own life at the expense of innocent people.
And if I had succeeded through such methods, I suspect she would have found the result unbearable.
Elias lowered the letter slightly. "At least he remembered that." Abraham nodded at that. "Yes."
Harley looked thoughtful.
"Victor talks about Nora a lot during our sessions. Sometimes he gets stuck on the medical side of things, but lately he's been talking more about what she actually liked. Her hobbies, her favorite foods, the little things they used to do together."
Beryl smiled softly. "That sounds healthy."
"It is," Harley agreed. "Or at least healthier. He's starting to remember that his wife was a person with her own opinions, instead of treating her like a medical problem he's supposed to solve."
Ace looked toward her. "Does he know you're saying all this?"
Harley blinked, then grinned and shrugged, "Oops, probably gonna complain about patient confidentiality if he finds out."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "Should he?"
Harley immediately straightened. "Hey, I'm not telling you anything he hasn't given me permission to discuss. I'm a professional."
Beryl coughed. Harley pointed at her. "Don't." Beryl smiled innocently. "I said nothing." Harley's face grew a frown. "Your face did." Ace laughed quietly. Harley sighed. "Everybody's a critic."
The next section of Elias's letter took an unexpected turn.
Now, Elias, I must address something that has caused me considerable amusement.
Your grandson.
Elias stopped. Abraham immediately looked interested. Harley sat up straighter. Beryl smiled. Ace leaned forward. Elias sighed. "Oh, dear."
I recently learned the boy's full name.
Kairo Victor Fugate Wakati.
I confess that I read it several times before I fully understood what I was seeing.
Victor.
You actually did it.
Elias closed his eyes. Abraham began laughing. "Oh, I remember that." Harley looked between them. "Remember what?"
Abraham was already smiling so broadly that Elias knew there was no possibility of stopping him. "A drinking game."
Beryl's eyes widened. "Doctor?" Elias rubbed his forehead. "Please do not."
Abraham ignored him.
"Back in college, Nora organized a rather ridiculous evening involving several bottles of alcohol, a collection of card games, and an argument about whether any of us would ever become responsible adults."
Harley looked delighted. "Oh, this is gonna be good."
Abraham continued. "Elias lost."
"That is an oversimplification."
"He lost spectacularly."
"I was distracted." Abraham nodded at that. "By alcohol."
"By a flawed interpretation of the rules."
Abraham laughed. "Nora made him promise that when he eventually had grandchildren, he would name at least one after Victor and another after her."
Beryl slowly turned toward Elias. "Oh, that is wonderful."
Elias looked deeply offended. "It was a perfectly respectable agreement made under questionable circumstances."
Harley burst out laughing. Ace covered her mouth. Abraham shook his head. "Respectable? You spent twenty minutes arguing that the game was mathematically unfair."
Elias sighed, "It was. I should have known better, Nora was much more capable when it came to drinking, party games, and even better when she was drinking and playing party games."
"You agreed to the game." Abraham answered back, The Good doctor simply shook his head, "That does not make it fair."
Harley laughed harder. Beryl looked as though she had just been given enough teasing material to last several years. Elias pointed toward her. "Not a word."
Beryl smiled sweetly. "Of course, Doctor."
He knew that tone. He was doomed. Elias returned to the letter.
I had almost forgotten Nora's little victory that evening.
Almost.
She certainly never did.
For years afterward, whenever we spoke about children or family, she would remind me that somewhere in the future there would apparently be a young Wakati carrying my or her name, perferble both.
I always assumed she was joking.
Apparently, you took the promise seriously.
I cannot tell you how much that means to me.
Elias's expression softened.
I am also rather pleased that it took me so long to discover the boy's full name.
Gotham is a city ruled by secrets.
Some are harmless.
Others are hidden knives waiting for the right moment to strike.
I have spent enough time among its criminals to understand how dangerous information can become when placed in the wrong hands.
Keep your family close, Elias.
Keep them out of the light when you can.
This city is sick in ways that extend far beyond the people locked inside Arkham.
It was sick before we were born.
I suspect it will remain so long after we are gone.
And yet, in my own way, I still love it.
Perhaps that makes me foolish.
Then again, we have all been rather foolish men.
Abraham nodded. "He's right about Gotham." Beryl looked toward the ceiling. "Unfortunately."
Ace glanced toward the reinforced doors. She had lived in Gotham long enough to understand that people could be frightened of things they did not understand.
She also knew that being powerful did not necessarily make someone safe. Sometimes it simply made them more interesting to dangerous people.
Elias looked toward the snow globe. The miniature mansion stood beneath its gentle snowfall. Victor had reproduced the building perfectly.
Including the clock tower and the mansion's private grounds. Elias wondered how much time Victor had spent making it. And whether the old scientist had smiled while doing so.
Abraham's letter contained a similar section.
I understand that you have a granddaughter.
Rebecca.
I have heard that she is a remarkable young lady.
Given her family, I imagine she has inherited an impressive collection of scientific curiosity, stubbornness, and a rather unreasonable fondness for bats.
Abraham smiled. "Accurate."
Ace nodded. "Very accurate."
I have also heard that your family has experienced considerable difficulties in both past and recent years.
I will not pretend to know everything that has happened.
I have spent enough of my life having strangers discuss my personal affairs to understand how unpleasant that can be.
But I know that the name Man-Bat has become connected to your family.
Abraham's smile faded.
I am sorry, Abraham.
I know what it feels like to watch one's scientific ambitions become something the world fears.
I know what it means to see a name associated with research, discovery, and hope transformed into something people whisper about in frightened voices.
And I know how painful it can be when those consequences reach the people we love.
Abraham looked down. Ace watched him carefully.
I will not insult you by suggesting that our circumstances are identical.
They are not.
But I hope you understand that I sympathize.
I hope Rebecca is well.
I hope she is happy.
And I hope she has been allowed to enjoy the childhood that so many of us have spent our lives complicating.
Ace smiled faintly. "She's happy."
Abraham looked toward her. "Most days."
Ace nodded. "Most days." She thought about Rebecca flying through the night, laughing while her wings caught the wind.
About the way she talked about Kairo. About the strange collection of friends who had gradually become part of her life.
Rebecca had problems. Of course she did. But she also had people who loved her.
Abraham continued reading.
I understand that Elias's family has suffered its own difficulties.
Clock King.
Temple Fugate.
Names I have heard spoken often enough during my years in Gotham.
I will not offer judgment.
I have very little right to judge another man for the criminal actions of someone connected to his family.
But I am sorry that both of you have been forced to carry such burdens.
You were good men when I knew you.
I believe you remain good men now.
Abraham stopped. Elias looked toward him. For several seconds, neither spoke. Then Abraham smiled faintly. "Well."
Elias nodded. "Yes."
Abraham looked down at the letter again. "He always did have a rather dramatic way of saying things."
Elias smiled. "Especially when he meant them."
The final pages of both letters were shorter.
But they were also the reason Victor had written them.
Elias unfolded the last page.
There is something I would like to ask of you.
I understand that I have no right to expect anything.
Our friendship ended badly.
I have committed crimes.
I have hurt people.
And I have spent many years becoming someone you may no longer recognize.
Still, I find myself wondering whether it might be possible for us to speak again.
Elias read more slowly.
I would like to see you, Elias.
And Abraham.
Even if only for a few minutes.
There are things I would like to say that I find difficult to place on paper.
There are memories I would like to share.
And, if I am being entirely selfish, I would simply like to hear how your lives have been.
Forty-five years is a great deal of time.
I imagine you have stories.
I know I do.
Abraham looked down at his own letter. The request was nearly identical. Victor wanted to see them. Both of them.
Together, if possible. Elias continued.
There is no urgency.
I understand if you refuse.
I understand if you require time to consider it.
And I understand if you decide that our friendship belongs entirely to the past.
I will not hold that against you.
I have already spent too many years blaming others for decisions that were mine to make.
But if you are willing, I would be grateful.
More grateful than I suspect I could adequately express.
Elias stopped. He looked toward Abraham. His old friend was staring at the same request. For a moment, the room seemed to grow very quiet. Then Elias noticed another paragraph.
He continued.
There is also the matter of your grandchildren.
I understand that Kairo and Rebecca have become close friends.
That pleases me.
Perhaps more than it should.
There is something rather comforting about knowing that the next generation has managed to form friendships where ours were allowed to fall apart.
I would be delighted to meet them someday.
Under appropriate circumstances, of course.
I have no desire to frighten either child, and I certainly do not expect you to bring them into Arkham simply because an old man has become sentimental.
Elias smiled.
However, there is something I find deeply confusing.
Apparently, I remain their godfather.
Elias stopped. Abraham blinked. Then slowly looked up. "Oh."
Harley looked between them. "What?"
Abraham started laughing. Elias closed his eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake."
Harley leaned forward. "What? What is it?"
Abraham shook his head. "Nora."
Elias nodded. "Nora."
Ace looked confused. "What's Grandma Nora got to do with it?"
Abraham smiled at her. "Everything, apparently."
Elias continued reading.
I remember Nora insisting that if either of you ever had children or grandchildren, Victor Fries would be their godfather.
I also remember laughing at the suggestion.
I assumed it was another one of her little jokes.
Apparently, I was mistaken.
Elias, Abraham, I must ask... why?
Surely you could have found someone more suitable.
Someone with a respectable career.
Someone who has not spent a considerable portion of his life committing crimes.
Someone who is not currently confined to Arkham Asylum.
I am flattered.
Deeply flattered.
But also rather confused.
Harley burst out laughing. Beryl smiled. Ace looked toward Abraham. "He's my godfather too?"
Abraham nodded slowly. "Apparently."
"Did you forget?" Ace gave him a look. Abraham considered that. Then sighed. "I may have."
Ace stared. "Grandpa."
"It was a very long time ago. And in your case, I may have been a litte drunk when I did it, sins of an old man."
Elias looked toward him. "You forgot?"
Abraham pointed at him. "Don't start. And I did say I was drunk!"
Elias smiled. "I remembered."
Abraham waved him off, "Of course you did. You named your grandson after him."
Harley was laughing so hard that Carl had begun smiling too. "Oh, this is fantastic. The guy spends forty-five years being a supervillain, and you two are still out here keeping him on the family paperwork."
Beryl looked toward Elias. "To be fair, Doctor, you have always had rather unusual taste in friends."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "You are among them."
Beryl smiled. "Exactly."
Ace looked down at the letter in her grandfather's hands. She thought about Victor Fries.
Mr. Freeze.
A man she had heard about through Batman, Arkham records, and occasional news reports. A man who had spent decades trying to save his wife. A man who had apparently been friends with her grandfather long before she was born.
And now, somehow, her godfather.
She smiled. "That's kind of nice."
Abraham looked toward her. "Is it?"
Ace nodded. "Yeah."
She thought for a moment. "Maybe he just needs people."
Harley stopped laughing. The room quieted. Ace looked a little embarrassed by the attention. "What?"
Abraham smiled softly. "Nothing, sweetheart."
Elias looked toward her. Then back at the letter. Perhaps she was right.
Perhaps Victor Fries, after spending so many years surrounding himself with machines, research, cold, and regret, had finally remembered that people were important too.
Elias continued reading.
I do not know whether I deserve the title.
I suspect I do not.
But if you still consider me family, even in some small and distant way, then I would be honored to accept it.
And if the children ever wish to know about the man whose name they have inherited, or the old friend their grandparents once knew, I would be grateful for the opportunity to tell them.
Preferably without frightening them.
Although I suspect any child raised by Elias Wakati or Abraham Langstrom has already developed a rather impressive tolerance for strange scientists.
Abraham laughed. "That is certainly true." Elias smiled.
Thank you for reading this.
Thank you for the kindness you showed Nora and me when we were young.
Thank you for the friendship I was too foolish to appreciate.
And thank you, perhaps most of all, for remembering me.
Your old friend,Victor Fries.
Elias lowered the letter. For several seconds, he simply sat there. The room remained quiet. Abraham finished reading his own final page. Then folded it carefully. Neither man spoke immediately. They had spent decades building lives without Victor Fries.
Decades hearing his name associated with crimes. Decades wondering what had become of the brilliant young scientist they once knew. And now, after all that time, Victor had written to them.
Not demanding money. Not asking for equipment. Not requesting access to their laboratories.
Simply asking whether they might be willing to speak. Elias looked toward Abraham. Abraham looked back. The two men understood one another rather well. They had been friends for most of their lives.
They had argued about research, disagreed about ethics, supported one another through difficult years, and occasionally spent entire evenings discussing subjects that made everyone else in the room deeply regret inviting them.
They had also lost friends. Some to death. Some to distance. Some to the simple passage of time. Victor Fries had been one of those losses. But perhaps he did not have to remain one.
Abraham slowly smiled. "Well."
Elias nodded. "Indeed."
Abraham looked down at the letter. "Forty-five years."
"A long time."
"Do you think he's serious?" Elias considered the question. Then looked toward the snow globe. The miniature Wakati Mansion continued sitting beneath its gentle snowfall. The silver number ten stood in the center of the lawn.
Victor had remembered Kairo's birthday. He had remembered Nora's old drinking game.
He had remembered the promises made by young men who had once believed the future would be considerably simpler than it turned out to be.
Elias smiled faintly. "Yes."
Abraham nodded. "I think so too."
Harley had been watching them with growing anticipation. She had managed to remain quiet for almost an entire minute. For Harleen Quinzel, that was practically a medical achievement. Finally, she could not help herself. "So..."
Both doctors looked toward her. Harley clasped her hands together. "Whaddaya think?"
Elias raised an eyebrow. "About?"
Harley stared. "About the letters!"
Abraham smiled. "They were very thoughtful."
"Yes," Elias agreed. "Very thoughtful."
Harley waited. Nothing. She leaned forward. "And?"
Elias looked toward Abraham. Abraham looked toward Elias. Beryl slowly smiled. Ace covered her mouth. Harley narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you two are doing this on purpose."
Elias adjusted his glasses. "Doing what?"
Harley threw her hands up into the air, "Old-man psychological warfare."
Abraham laughed. "I wasn't aware that was a recognized field."
"It is now!" Harley threw her hands into the air again, then slammed them into the stable. "Come on! Victor spent months working on this. The letters, the gift, the whole thing. He's actually making progress, and if you two agreed to visit him, it would mean a lot."
Elias looked toward her. Harley's expression softened. "Seriously." The humor faded. "He's trying."
Abraham nodded. "We can see that."
"And I know you don't owe him anything," Harley continued. "I really do. Nobody should feel pressured into forgiving somebody just because they're doing better now. But sometimes, when a person reaches out after a long time, it helps to know somebody's willing to reach back."
Elias looked down at the letter again. Abraham slowly folded his own pages. Harley took a breath. Then added, with considerably less dignity than she probably intended:
"Also, my program really, really needs a win."
Beryl laughed. Ace smiled. Carl looked toward the ceiling. Abraham shook his head. Elias sighed. "Dr. Quinzel."
"Yes?"
"You are a remarkably persistent woman."
Harley grinned. "Thank you."
"That was not entirely a compliment."
"I'll take what I can get."
Elias looked toward Abraham. His old friend smiled. Then both men looked back toward Harley. Neither answered immediately.
And Harley, who had spent years trying to convince Gotham that rehabilitation was something worth believing in, found herself sitting on the edge of her chair, hoping that two elderly scientists might finally agree to visit a man they had once called their friend.
Because sometimes progress came from years of treatment. Sometimes it came from difficult conversations. And sometimes, apparently, it came from two very old men receiving cold letters at four in the morning.
Harley clasped her hands tighter. "Please?"
Elias closed his eyes. Abraham started laughing. Beryl shook her head. Ace smiled.
And somewhere inside Arkham Asylum, Victor Fries remained unaware that the letters he had spent so long writing had finally reached the people he hoped would read them.
For the first time in nearly forty-five years, the possibility of seeing his old friends again was no longer quite so impossible.